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The blood covered his hands. That was bad. It wasn’t supposed to be on his hands; it was supposed to be held back by the sweatshirt pressed against the wound. The voice on the phone was saying something but Shane couldn’t make it out. His ears buzzed and all he could do was stare at the blood on his hands, staining his fingers.
“Mr Hollander,” the voice on the phone said again, sharply. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“I can’t stop the bleeding. It’s too much. It’s too much.” His voice shook, making the words jump around. She couldn’t understand him. He was doing this all wrong, all wrong.
“Try and stay calm. The ambulance is almost there. Is he still conscious? You need to try and keep him awake if possible.”
Shane dragged his eyes away from the blood – there was so much blood, how could one person lose that much blood – to Ilya’s face. His skin was so pale, like paper, like snow. Because there’s no blood, he thought, a hysterical laugh threatening to bust out.
“Ilya. Ilya, wake up. Wake up. You have to wake up. Don’t leave me like this.” Shane squeezed Ilya’s hand like a prayer, but there was no response.
Half an hour earlier –
Lily: Fuck. We’re flying out straight after the game. Something about a weather warning. If we don’t leave then, we’ll get stuck.
Jane: And you’d hate to be stuck in boring Montreal, right?
Lily: It has a couple of things I like.
Jane: A couple, eh? Come over, now then. Just for an hour.
Lily: Didn’t you tell me that was a bad idea, last time?
Jane: Didn’t you prove me wrong? Twice, if I remember correctly.
Lily: 😈
Jane: Come over. I have something important to ask you.
Lily: Oh? Tell me now.
Jane: No, I want to do it in person.
Lily: 😭
Jane: You’ll live. Front door code is 1919#
Lily: Front door? No more murder alley? Where will I get my thrills now?
Jane: See you soon, asshole.
The wail of sirens echoed off the alley walls, their arrival sudden, making Shane jump. In a panic, he pushed down harder on the sweatshirt. He had to stay still, couldn’t move. He had to stop the bleeding. If he didn’t stop the bleeding, Ilya would die.
Is he still breathing?
No, no, he couldn’t think like that. There was blood all over his hands, but he was stopping the bleeding. He had to be stopping it, because he wasn’t going to let Ilya die.
“Mr Hollander?” the paramedic called as they approached, as if making sure that this person bleeding out in the alley was the correct person he was supposed to be attending. “Can you tell us what happened?”
His colleague was kneeling beside Ilya, speaking softly, and Shane thought he heard Ilya respond. Maybe he just hoped that he did.
“He…” The words caught in his throat, hot and sharp and bitter as bile. “He was stabbed. I didn’t see who did it.”
“Okay.”
It sounded strange to hear it in a normal Canadian tone, rather than Ilya’s Russian one. And Shane had heard okay pronounced that way millions of times over his life, but today, today, it sounded wrong. A dark omen.
“Where was he stabbed?”
“Just here,” Shane said. “I haven’t moved him.” You weren’t supposed to move people who were hurt, right?
“I mean where was he stabbed on the body,” he said and Shane felt stupid. “It’s okay. Let me have a look. Mr Hollander? I need to see.”
He was asking Shane to move his hands. But Shane couldn’t because he was stopping the blood and Ilya had lost so much already. Gently, the paramedic eased Shane’s blood-stained sweatshirt away. Shane sat back, pulling it close to his chest. It marked the shirt he was wearing and Shane was worried there was more of Ilya’s blood on him than there was left in Ilya. He folded his arm and rested his forehead on them, suddenly feeling sick and dizzy.
Ten minutes ago
“And then Marley finds this place where you put your feet in fish tank and they eat at your feet and it is supposed to be health thing,” Ilya was saying. Shane could hear the sound of traffic over the phone, the radio from the taxi playing something in French. He wondered how closed Ilya was, how much more time he had to rehearse.
“Are you going to go?” He opened a can of ginger ale, the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder while he did. His stomach was in knots, despite his best efforts to keep calm.
“Sounds weird, but you know me. I’ll try anything once.”
“Keep that in mind when you get here.”
“Oh? You have new kink to explore?” The grin resonated through Ilya’s words.
“Not like that, asshole. You’ll understand when you get here.”
“Tell me,” he urged.
“No. Patience.”
“I do not like this. Is like edging for the mind. Rude.”
Shane laughed. “See you soon.” He was about to hang up, but Ilya said,
“Hang on. Car just pulled up next to us. I will go around the back just in case. See you in murder alley.”
Shane took a moment to take another sip of ginger ale, a couple of deep breaths, and to run though his speech. The words were burned into his mind by now, but it made sense to practice once more. Just in case. It had to be perfect. His argument had to be flawless.
Someone touched his shoulder and Shane yelped, almost falling over backwards.
“It’s okay,” the paramedic said softly. “We’re ready to go. Are you coming with us in the ambulance?”
It’s not safe, his mind screamed. It’s not safe; they’ll know. Better to wait at home, call the hospital later, calm and dispassionate, for an update. But they’d already seen him kneeling there, covered in Ilya’s blood. And Shane couldn’t just let him go, alone. Shane hadn’t realised how alone Ilya really was, not until Tampa. Not until Ilya had cried silently into his shoulder on the hotel bed.
And Shane wasn’t going to let him be alone again.
“I’m coming,” he said, following the stretcher into the vehicle. The door of the ambulance closed with a cold thud. The other paramedic didn’t even look at Shane as the vehicle drove off, focused on the monitors connected to Ilya. A soft beeping competed with the wail of the sirens.
“Is… Is he going to be okay?” he asked quietly, needing to say something. He didn’t want to hear the answer, though, in case it was something he couldn’t deal with. There was so much blood.
“He’s in good hands,” they said, and went back to ignoring him.
Five minutes ago
Shane took the stairs two at a time, mind and heart racing. He was excited and nervous and happy and scared all at the same time. He couldn’t wait to see Ilya, hold him, kiss him. And he couldn’t wait to ask him, even though the question terrified him with what it meant, both if Ilya said yes, and if he said no.
There were sounds outside, muffled. Had someone spotted Ilya? Shane paused, his hand on the door. Perhaps he should wait. Just in case. There was so much at stake for both of them.
A thump. A thud. Angry voices. Now Shane was worried for a different reason. They’d joked about the alley his apartment backed onto, but this was a safe neighbourhood. And no one would be silly enough to try and mug Ilya, right? He opened the door.
Ilya fought two men, both dressed in black, hats pulled down low. Ilya was yelling in Russian, his face twisted into a snarl. There was blood on his face, on his knuckles. Shane watched as one of the men delivered a blow to Ilya’s kidney, making him stagger back.
“Hey!” Shane strode towards them. He felt something inside him snap and all the anxiety that had been building on the stairs evaporated in the face of the situation in front of him. “Hey, who the fuck are you?”
Ilya turned, eyes wide. “Shane,” he whispered and Shane had never heard him sound so afraid.
One of the men turned to the other and said something in what also sounded like Russian. His companion ran and Shane chased him down. He was faster than the man, gaining on him easily. Anger lent him strength – how dare these people lay their hands on Ilya? Shane would make sure they regretted that decision. He reached for the man...
And Ilya cried out.
Shane stopped, turning in time to see the other man plunge a knife into Ilya’s gut. He threw the weapon aside and ran off in the opposite direction.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Ilya fell, hands clutched around his stomach, curled up on the hard cold ground. The Russian man gave Shane a grin, his expression one of sickening glee. Shane could reach of him, or he could go to Ilya. He couldn’t do both and the man knew it.
Shane let him go.
He dropped down next to Ilya, pulling his sweatshirt over his head so he had something to press against the wound. You had to apply pressure, right? You had to stop the bleeding. That was the important thing. He fumbled with his phone, his hand slick with blood.
“Ilya! Stay with me! Please. You have to stay with me. I have something important to ask you.”
But there was no response.
The hospital was a riot of noise, people shouting, doors banging, groans and cries all around him. He tried to follow the stretcher but he was stopped by a nurse at a big set of double doors.
“I need you to wait out here,” she said. “Are you hurt?”
Shane shook his head. He backed away, aware the nurse was still speaking to him, but unable to hear her over the buzzing in his ears. The room felt too hot, too large, and he couldn’t bear it. He drifted on an invisible current, unable to settle, despite the fact people were staring.
Of course they were. He was covered in blood. He should do something about the blood.
How could he give Ilya back his blood?
The sign for the bathrooms caught his eye. He needed to wash up. Get presentable. Call the police. A plan made him feel a little more stable, a little more solid, less like a leaf on a breeze. It was empty inside, which helped too. Shane folded up his sweatshirt, set it on the side of the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. There was blood on his hands, his chest, even in his hair where he’d thoughtlessly run a hand through it.
Shane turned and dashed into the nearest cubicle, bent over the toilet, retching up ginger ale and bile. Legs wobbly like cooked noodles, he sank to the floor, resting his head against the cubicle wall. In his pocket, his phone buzzed and he pulled it out frantically, in case it was the hospital with an update. But of course, they didn’t have his number.
Mom: Are you free for lunch tomorrow?
Shane almost dropped the phone again. He pressed it between his palms, squeezing them together and centering himself on the sensation. When he was certain his hands had stopped shaking enough to not to drop it, he called his mother.
She picked up on the second ring. “Hi, sweetheart. I was just thinking about you. What’s up?”
“Mom, I...” he started but the sobs overtook him and he struggled to breathe, let alone speak. He hated to cry, almost never did it, but everything was all too much to deal with. She let him cry, until there was break in the sobbing.
“Shane, where are you?”
“Hospital,” he managed between hiccups.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” He shook his head, even though she couldn’t see.
“Good. I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon, okay. I love you.”
She hung up, leaving him alone in the bathroom. Other people might have considered her brusque, but those three parting sentences were exactly what Shane needed. He pulled himself to his feet, flushed the toilet, and returned to the sink. Someone opened the door, took one look at him, and closed it again.
Shane ran the tap, and washed his hands, arms, and face in the hot water. When he was done, the white enamel was flecked with specks of brown. He took a moment to wipe it down and inspected himself in the mirror. The steam warped his reflection, making him look unreal. Static.
“Fuck,” he breathed out softly, resting his forehead against the cool glass.
Staying here wasn’t doing anything. He needed to find out what was happening. He needed to be with Ilya. He wiped his eyes once more, picked up the bloodied sweatshirt, and stepped back out into the lobby.
The noise around him dropped as several people turned to stare. It started as a ripple that spread out across the room. A falling hush. A shocked gaze. And then a hasty pretending that they’d seen nothing.
Shane couldn’t blame them.
“Shane Hollander?”
He turned to see a nurse approaching. “Yes?”
“Let’s get you somewhere you can wait privately. The police are going to want to speak to you about what happened. Can I get you anything? Glass of water, or a cup of coffee?”
“Just water, please.” He felt as if he’d drunk several cups of coffee already. Shane followed her meekly into a small room with worn seats and a small table covered in magazines at least six months old. There was a water dispenser and a coffee machine in the corner. Shane took a seat and the nurse set down a cup of water in front of him.
“I’ll let you know when the police are here, okay?” she said from the doorway.
“Is... Is Il- I mean, is Rozanov going to be okay? Can I see him?”
“He’s in good hands,” she said, and Shane felt his chest tighten. Her expression softened. “I know waiting is hard, but I promise I’ll let you know when I hear more.”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak in case he screamed instead. She closed the door and Shane closed his eyes. At one point his phone buzzed and he turned it off, unable to face whoever it was.
The police came, took a statement, and told him nothing about what had happened or who was involved. Shane felt useless, unable to recall any clear details of the event. His memories felt like sand, losing their shape and running through his fingers. What if he’d forgotten something important, something that should have led to an arrest? What if they got away with it and it was all Shane’s fault?
The police left and he was on his own again. There was no clock in here, so there was no way to tell how much time had passed. It could hand been minutes or days. Shane worked at a loose stitch on the chair to give his fingers something to do.
The nurse came back and he jumped to his feet, but she gestured for him to sit back down, then took the chair opposite him. Shane clutched his bloodied sweatshirt to his chest.
“How is he?”
“He’s stable enough to go through surgery now. It was touch and go for a while.”
Touch and go. That was bad, right? He wished someone would give him a straight answer rather than hiding behind platitudes and niceties.
“But he’ll be okay, right? After the surgery?”
She touched his knee gently. “Your friend has suffered a very serious injury.”
He’s not just my friend, Shane wanted to yell. He’s so much more than that. He’s the only person in the world who understands me. He’s the only one who makes me feel safe and terrified at the same time. He’s the light that comes through the window first thing in the morning – blinding and bright and soft and warm.
But he couldn’t say any of that out loud so he let her carry on.
“He has a deep stab wound to the abdomen, which has caused internal bleeding and there’s a risk that the bowel has been perforated. The surgery will assess the internal damage, stop any further bleeding, and repair any perforation. But you have to understand that he’s lost a lot of blood. His heart stopped in the emergency room, and there’s a risk that he might not be strong enough to survive.”
Suddenly Shane wanted the platitudes back.
“Will you let me know when he’s out of surgery?” he said weakly, unable to bring himself to say anything else.
“Of course.” She gave him a sad smile and left. Shane couldn’t imagine what that was like, day after day, telling people their loved one’s lives hung in the balance, being polite and kind and facing all the possible reactions to that news. Shane would rather do bag skates every day for the rest of his life.
He’d do them willingly if it would help Ilya, too.
For a while, time slipped around Shane. He pulled at the thread, until it opened a rift in the chair between the plastic cover and the foam underneath. But that reminded him too much of a wound so he got up and paced around the room for a bit.
How long did surgery take?
Too quickly was probably a bad sign, but the longer he waited, the more he worried that Ilya would be too weak. Which didn’t make sense because there was no one stronger than Ilya Rozanov.
The door opened again and Shane turned around, his heart in his throat. But instead of the nurse it was his mother, his father standing behind her shoulder. She took one look at him and threw her arms around him. Shane pressed his forehead against her shoulder, hot tears coursing down his face and she rubbed her hand on his back in slow circles.
“We came as soon as we could,” she said.
“Probably got a couple of speeding tickets in the process,” his father agreed. “Worth it, though.”
Shane wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and his mother took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. Shane tried to look away. Everything was too much. It scratched at his mind and he couldn’t focus.
“Shane,” she said firmly. “What happened? Did someone get hurt in training? Is it Hayden?”
He shook his head. Words were too hard. They slipped over his tongue and skidded out of control. He couldn’t make them do want he wanted so he stayed silent.
His parents shared a look and his mother helped Shane to sit down, while his father pushed a plastic cup of water into his hands. The cold liquid helped him ground himself and he cleared his throat.
“It’s... It’s not Hayden. It’s ...” He swallowed the knot in his throat. “Rozanov.”
“Rozanov?” His mother’s eyes went wide. “But you hate that guy.”
Shane shook his head. “I never hated him. But we got to talking in Tampa, at the all stars game. I think I understand him much better now. We have more in common than we realised.”
Again, a look passed between his parents that Shane couldn’t read.
“What happened?” his mother pressed.
Shane was too tired to lie so he told them Rozanov had been on his way over when he was attacked and badly hurt.
“I tried,” he said, the tears flowing again. “I really tried to stop the bleeding but I’m not sure it was enough.”
She took his hands in hers. “I’m sure you did a great job, sweetheart. He’s lucky you were nearby. Come on.” She squeezed his fingers. “Let’s get you home.”
Shane pulled away. “I can’t. I have to stay. They’re going to tell me when he’s out of surgery. I have to be there. I have… I…” He couldn’t breathe. The walls pressed in on him, crushing him, and the room faded in and out. Everything was turning to grey and he couldn’t breathe.
“Shane. Shane, look at me. Look at me.” His mother’s hand was on his jaw, forcing his head up. Her face floated in and out. She held up a hand and Shane focused on the finger nail of her ring finger. It seemed a small enough thing for him to hold onto. “Breathe in.”
I can’t, he wanted to say. His lungs didn’t work. His chest had turned to concrete.
“Come on, you can do it.”
He tried, hearing the intake rattling in the back of his throat.
“Good. Now hold it. Five, four…” She counted down slowly, lowering a finger with each number. “Okay, breathe out, slowly.”
He let the breath go in a whistling exhale. She made him do it over and over again until the room stopped fading, and he could breathe in and out without issue again. As he settled back to reality, he became aware of his father’s hand on his back.
“This is why you need to go home,” his mother said, soft but firm. “You’re stressed and over stimulated.” She held up a hand as Shane started to protest. “I will make sure the hospital calls us the moment there is any news, okay? But you need to change clothes and rest. You’ll be no help to your friend if you don’t look after yourself.”
Shane gave up trying to argue and let himself be led out of the room. His mother had the force of a hurricane, but she left order in her wake rather than destruction.
There were police in the lobby, watching the door and Shane spotted several people who looked to be journalists.
“Let’s go out the back door, eh?” his father suggested and no one disagreed.
Shane spent the drive home picking at a bit of loose skin on his thumb. His mother was on the phone the entire time, but he wasn’t sure if it was to one person or several. She spoke with that calm but forceful tone that said she was not going to back down on an issue and anyone who disagreed with her should quickly find a way to change their minds.
“Go and get some clean clothes on,” his mother said as they walked into the apartment. “I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”
The walk up the stairs to his bedroom felt like a mountain climb. Shane wondered if perhaps he had been hurt and hadn’t realised it. Perhaps some of the blood was his after all. He found he couldn’t bring himself to care. He set the sweatshirt down on the chest of drawers, the once blue colour now stained brown. It probably wasn’t salvageable, but he couldn’t bring himself to bin it, not just yet.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he came down to find his mother setting down the little Japanese tea pot and cups on the coffee table.
“I hope genmaicha is okay,” she said.
Shane picked up a cup, inhaling the scent of green tea and toasted rice.
“The game tonight has been cancelled,” she continued as she and David settled on the couch. “I’ve spoken to your coach, explained the situation.”
“What did he say?” Shane asked, fresh panic flooding through his veins. What if his coach questioned what he was doing spending time with the Boston captain?
“He’s recommended you take a couple of days off to look after yourself after such a traumatic experience.” His mother took a sip of tea. “Do you want to tell us what happened, Shane? What happened to Rozanov?”
“I don’t really know.” He hung his head, the steam from the tea tickling his cheek. “I came out and he was fighting two men. I think they were speaking Russian, but other than that, I don’t know who they were. One of them stabbed him as I approached.” Was it his fault? The thought hit him like a train. If he hadn’t stepped out at that moment, maybe they wouldn’t have panicked and perhaps Ilya could have fought them off.
“Shane,” his mother said sternly. “Breathe.”
“Fuck.” He put the cup down, his hands shaking too much to hold it without spilling hot tea all over himself.
“Tell us about Rozanov,” his father said suddenly. “I only know him from watching him play, and it’s hard to get a sense of a man from just that. You said you got to talking at the all stars? You two played really well on the same team.”
“We did, didn’t we?” Shane closed his eyes, thinking of the cheers from the crowd, Ilya’s loud kiss on his helmet. The game had a vibe he’d never considered possible. “People think he’s an asshole, but I’ve never heard him say anything actually unkind to anyone who didn’t deserve it. I think it’s mostly just an act because he struggles to get close to people. I can relate to that.”
“Then it’s good you two found each other,” his father said. “How does he like Boston? Is it very different to where he grew up?”
Gently, his father pulled information out of Shane with question after question. Some Shane couldn’t answer, but David always has another one to hand. Time passed. The tea cooled. Outside sirens flared and died away as police came and went to the alley.
And Shane waited.
When his mother’s phone rang, hours later, he jumped right out of his seat. Immediately, his chest tightened and he forced himself to try and breathe slowly. His heart pounded in his ears, blocking out his mother’s conversation. He couldn’t read anything on her face. Was Ilya okay? Was he alive? The thought made his stomach lurch and he tasted bile in the back of his throat.
“Is he okay?” Shane demanded as she put the phone away.
“He’s out of surgery,” she said. “His condition is serious but stable.”
“What does that mean?”
She came over and put her arm around him. “It means they’re worried, sweetheart, but right now he’s alive and that’s what you need to focus on.”
Shane swallowed and nodded. “Can... Can I see him? He doesn’t have any family, Mom. He shouldn’t be alone. It’s not fair.”
“Let’s go,” she agreed and Shane let out a sigh of relief. No one stood in the way of Yuna Hollander.
They didn’t say anything on the drive to hospital, but that didn’t bother Shane. He felt like he’d spoken a week’s worth of words already. While his mother spoke at the hospital reception, he waited quietly, trying to keep himself as small as possible. He followed her upstairs to the ICU, a place that managed to be more stark and clinical than even the rest of the hospital, until they came to a door with a police officer seated outside. They had to show ID and get checked against an allowed list of visitors.
“Go on in,” his mother said. “Take long as you need. I’ll be outside.”
Shane’s footsteps were too loud as he entered the room. His shoes squeaked and his steps were too heavy and he was sure any moment now, someone would step out and tell him to shush.
He approached the bed, fear coiled tight in his throat. Ilya was frighteningly still, half his face covered by an oxygen mask. Beside the bed, a monitor beeped and chirped, numbers flashing on the screen. Shane didn’t know what any of them meant, whether they were good or bad.
He took a seat and picked up Ilya’s hand. It was warm, perhaps a little too warm, but he’d been dreading it feeling cold and stiff.
“Hey, it’s me. Shane,” he said, his voice rough. “I... Um... I wanted to be here sooner, but they wouldn’t let me see you until now. But I’m not going anywhere. And there’s a police officer outside, so you don’t need to worry about that. You can just rest and focus on getting better, okay?”
There was no response, of course, but he felt Ilya’s fingers twitch in his. Shane raised the hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle, one by one.
“I know you’re probably worried about... People seeing us, together, like this, but...um... I’m being careful. And I told my parents we were friends, at the all stars game, and they bought it and I think if I fooled them then I can fool anyone. So you can relax about that too. I’ll worry enough for both of us.” He gave a laugh that sounded too high pitched and clamped his mouth shut. “I wish I knew who those people were. I’d make them pay for hurting you. I swear.”
Something buzzed and Shane turned to the monitor in panic, but there was nothing different. He realised the sound had come from the little cabinet by the bed. Cautiously, he opened it and pulled out Ilya’s phone. On the screen, a newly received text message was visible. He couldn’t read what it said, but the name attached was Sveta.
There is a girl I like here very much. Her name is Svetlana.
Shane stared at the screen. If that was the same person, she was probably beside herself with worry. The cancelled match had been announced on the news, along with the report that the Boston captain had been hurt in an incident. If it was him, he’d be climbing the walls trying to find more information.
He used Ilya’s finger to unlock the phone and called the number. The other person answered after a single ring. “Hello,” he started.
“Who is this?” The voice that cut him off was feminine, with a strong Russian accent, and full of fury. “Where is Ilya? Put him on phone. Now.”
“I... This is Shane Hollander.”
She gave a sharp intake of breath. “Hollander? Why do you have Ilya’s phone?”
“He’s been hurt. Hurt bad. I ... I thought you’d want to know. You’re his friend after all, right”
The silence on the phone line was heavy. “Thank you, for calling. How bad is it?”
Shane told her everything he knew, and as much as he remembered from what happened earlier.
“I see. Please let Ilya know I will be there as soon as I can.”
“Wait,” Shane said, sensing she was about to hang up. “Do you know who it might have been, who did this?”
Another pause. “I do not know for certain, but I have some ideas. We will speak more in person.”
Shane put the phone away and picked up Ilya’s hand again. “She seems like a good friend,” he said out loud. “I’m glad she’s looking out for you.”
He remembered his own phone was off and switched it back on, feeling guilty. That only increased when he saw the number of messages waiting for him. There was one from his coach telling him not to worry about training for a couple of days. One from Rose asking if he’d seen the news. And six missed calls from Hayden.
“Hey, buddy,” he said as Hayden picked up.
“Shane! Where the fuck have you been? Have you heard? They’re saying someone stabbed Rozanov! Andropov has started bets on who did it. Currently, the Russian mafia is winning.”
Shane loved Hayden, but in that moment, surrounded by the sound of a heart monitor and swallow breathing, he could have punched the guy.
“He was stabbed. And I’ve been elbows deep in his blood trying to keep him from bleeding out because I saw it happen.”
“Oh, shit. Seriously? Is he gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know, Hayd. No one knows right now.”
“Damn. Are you okay? You weren’t hurt too?”
Shane rubbed a hand over his forehead. His limbs felt like lead and there was a dull headache at the back of his skull. “I’m fine. I’m just here at the hospital because I feel like I should be. You know, as team captain.”
“Sure. Yeah, that makes sense. Listen, do you want to come round for dinner? You probably could use some company.”
“My parents have come over.” And I don’t particularly want to be around you right now, he didn’t add.
“Okay, buddy. Well, let me know if I can do anything.”
Shane hung up. “I’m sorry,” he said to Ilya. “They don’t understand you. You have to get better so you can call them out on the ice. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you, though. You wouldn’t want that.”
It got easier to talk as the time went on. He didn’t know if Ilya could hear him, but he hoped that he could. He hoped that Ilya knew he wasn’t alone.
After a couple of hours his mother dragged him down to the cafeteria. Shane ate his way through something that looked like a dish sponge and tasted like cardboard. He wasn’t sure if the food really was that bad or if it was just he’d experienced too much today and his senses were on strike. But he did know he had to eat both to keep his strength up and to stave off a lecture from his mother.
“You should go home, Mom,” he said as they were leaving the cafeteria. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. I might stay all night if they’ll let me.”
“Nonsense. We can stay in your spare room,” she replied, brushing off his suggestion with a wave of her hand. She paused and looked at him quizzically. “You and Rozanov must have become really good friends, huh.”
“Yeah, we did. And he doesn’t have any family. Not just here, but at all. His mother died when he was young, and his father died last week. He doesn’t speak to his brother.”
Her expression softened. “Well. He’s got you. Don’t worry about us, Shane. We’ll be fine. But call if you need us, okay?”
He gave her a tight hug. “I will. Love you.”
After the noise of the cafeteria, Ilya’s room was calm and peaceful. He settled down in the chair, twined his fingers between Ilya’s, stroking the back of his hand with his other one.
Every now and then a nurse would walk in and check things and Shane would let go, pretend he was just sitting there or looking at his phone. They’d chat quietly with him, but never stayed long. Probably run off their feet looking after other patients.
When he was a teenager and starting to fly frequently, his mother had said to watch the stewards on the plane if he felt nervous. They know their jobs, and they know what’s normal. If they’re not nervous, then everything is fine. Shane started doing the same with the nurses. As they evening drew on, they frowned less when checking the monitors.
“How is he doing?” he asked one. It was about ten thirty at night, now. Shane has lost track of how many hours he’d been at the hospital.
“Doing good, all things considered,” he said. “His pulse is stronger, more stable now. That’s a good sign. We’ll know more when he wakes up, of course.”
An hour later, the door opened again, but this time it wasn’t a nurse. Instead, it was a young woman, about his age, dressed in black jeans and a long black coat with a fur trim. Her skin was dark and her hair a collection of dark red spirals.
“Svetlana?” he asked.
She looked over at him, and nodded.
“I’m Shane. Shane Hollander.”
“I know.” She strode over to the bed where she picked up Ilya’s hand and pressed it to her forehead. She spoke to him shortly in Russian. Shane didn’t understand the specific words, but he was pretty sure he got the sentiment. You scared me. You better get better or I’ll kick your ass. I love you. She kissed his cheek and turned to Shane.
“I’m sorry. That was rude.” She held out a hand. “Svetlana Vetrova. It’s nice to meet you in person, Shane Hollander.”
He shook her hand. “Don’t apologise. I understand.”
“What are they saying about him?” she asked, taking off her coat and settling into the chair.
“That he’s doing well, all things considering.”
“That sounds like Ilya,” she said with a sad laugh. “Thank you, for staying with him.”
“I’m happy to,” he said, and she gave him a curious look, staring at him as if trying to read his mind. Shane looked away. Eye contact was hard enough without someone trying to see how he functioned through his pupils. “You… You said you had some ideas about what might have happened?”
“I might.” She reached out and brushed a stray curl of Ilya’s face, her expression one of sadness and fondness combined. “After his father’s funeral, Ilya cut his brother off. He’s been living off Ilya’s money for years, despite treating him like shit, and I don’t think he’s the sort to take it well.”
“That’s awful,” Shane said quietly. “I had no idea.”
“Ilya’s not exactly the sort to talk about himself,” she pointed out. Shane nodded. He’d only found out Ilya had a brother a couple of years ago, and he still didn’t know that man’s name.
“You think this was his brother’s doing?”
“He might have been trying to scare Ilya in to funding him again. Though this goes far beyond a scare.”
That’s probably my fault, Shane thought. If I hadn’t stepped out, maybe it wouldn’t have gone this far. But he couldn’t take it back now, and he didn’t fancy admitting it Svetlana.
“Are you going to stay with him overnight?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I’ll leave you two alone then.” Shane felt like he was intruding – she was Ilya’s closest friend. He’d want her there.
She didn’t say anything, her attention focused on Ilya. But when he got to the door she called over her shoulder, “Come back in the morning, please. We have much to discuss but I’m too stressed and tired right now.”
“I will. Good night.”
Shane took a taxi back home. The alley behind the apartment was blocked off with police tape, and he could see people moving around. His parents were still up as he came in, but they went to bed soon after. Shane sat down on the couch, unable to bring himself to do the same.
He tried to read, but the words on the page jumped around and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pin them down with his eyes. The phone screen made his head hurt, and he kept glancing at Ilya’s texts, which made his heart hurt.
In the end, he turned on the shower in the en-suite as hot as possible and let the water patter over him. Once his skin was red from the steam, he dried off and crawled into bed.
Shane woke early after a fitful night, filled with dark dreams. His father was in the kitchen, standing up eating toast while fiddling with the coffee machine.
“Mom will tell you off for not eating at the table,” he said.
“What your mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” he replied with a wink before turning back to the machine. “Honestly, this is humiliating. I can manage huge government budgets but I can’t make this contraption give me a cup of coffee. Why is it flashing at me?”
Shane peered over his shoulder. “It’s out of coffee beans.” He opened the cupboard and fetched a new bag. The sound they made as he poured them into the machine was almost like rushing water.
“Thanks. How are you feeling this morning?” His father embraced him while the machine worked behind them. The rich, bitter smell of coffee was comfortably familiar.
“I’m okay. It wasn’t me that got stabbed after all.”
“Doesn’t mean you weren’t hurt,” his father replied firmly. “It was a traumatic experience for you too.”
“I know, I know.” He took his own cup of coffee, feeling the heat seeping into his palms. “Are you going back to work?”
“I have to, I’m afraid, but your mother will be here.”
“Thank you. Both of you.”
“That’s what family is for,” his father replied.
Shane thought of Ilya in Tampa, and how alone he sounded. He wished he could share his parents so Ilya never had to feel like that again.
Later, his mother insisted on dropping him off at hospital. She promised to return later with something better then cafeteria food, too. Shane asked her to bring something for Svetlana too, something his mother was delighted to do.
He made his way up to the ICU and let himself into Ilya’s room. Svetlana was asleep in the chair by the bed. Ilya had changed position, but Shane didn’t know if he’d done that himself or if the nurses had moved him to prevent bed sores. He took a seat on the other side, looked around, and then kissed Ilya.
“I hope you got more rest than I did,” he said softly. Perhaps he was being hopeful, but Ilya looked less pale than he did yesterday. The multiple blood infusions were probably a big part of that.
Svetlana woke with a start and blinked at him for a moment as if working out where she was.
“Good morning,” he said to her. “How are things?”
“Stable still,” she said and Shane gave her a smile.
“That’s good, right?”
“I hope so.” She stood up and stretched. “I’m going to find some coffee, do you want anything?”
He shook his head. “I’m good, thank you.”
She left, muttering to herself in Russian, and Shane turned back to Ilya. This time when he curled his fingers around Ilya’s, he felt a definite response back. There was pressure from Ilya’s hand to his.
Shane turned to the bed. Ilya’s eyes were still closed, but there was movement under the lids.
“Ilya?” Shane held his hand up to his chest. With his free hand, he gently caressed his fingers through Ilya’s hair. “Hey, can you hear me?”
Ilya’s lips twisted in a grimace and he tightened his grip on Shane’s hand.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Shane said softly. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m here with you.”
Ilya’s eyes flickered open. He didn’t seen to see Shane, his eyes unfocused. Shane reached over to the call button to summon the nurse.
“Hey, Ilya. Hey, it’s me. Can you hear me?”
Ilya blinked again, and his hand moved to his neck. His fingers clutched and twisted, as if seeking something.
“ожерелье,” he said, his voice muffled under the oxygen mask. “мамино ожерелье.” His voice rose in panic, his fingers curling and uncurling.
“I don’t understand,” Shane said softly. “What’s wrong?”
“мамино ожерелье,” Ilya said again, looking him in the eye. Shane could see fear and shame in his expression. Suddenly he understood.
“It’s okay, I’m sure it’s here somewhere. Hang on.” He reaches to open the bedside cabinet just as the nurse arrived. She took one look at the situation and pointed to the door.
“Outside, now!”
“Just a moment. I need to...” Shane muttered, rummaging through the cupboard. Several of the monitors were making alarming sounds and he knew he had to hurry. His fingers curled around a small plastic ziplock bag. He opened it and pulled out the contents, pushing it into Ilya’s hand.
“Here. It’s not lost. They had to take it off in surgery, but it’s right here.”
Ilya held up the small gold cross, tears running down his face. He clutched it to his chest.
“Out,” the nurse said again and this time Shane complied.
He met Svetlana coming up the corridor from the other direction.
“He’s awake,” he told her and she murmured something in Russian. From her expression and tone, he guessed it was something like ‘thank goodness’.
They waited in awkward silence until the nurse emerged again. She told them Ilya was doing well, but to sure he rested and didn’t try to talk too much too soon.
“I’ll keep him in line, don’t you worry,” Svetlana said.
Shane hung back and let Svetlana fuss over him. Russian was probably easier for Ilya right now and Shane didn’t know the language at all. He felt a little guilty, but Ilya had not taught him anything, not even ‘please sir’ or ‘harder’.
He wondered if he should perhaps leave, give them their space, until Svetlana stood up and stretched pointedly.
“Now Ilya is doing better, I am going to take a nap and a shower.”
“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Shane asked. He already felt crowded in his place with his parents staying there, but he also felt he had to offer.
“I am fine, thank you. I’ll get a hotel. Something expensive. Be good, boys,” she said with a wink, raising her hand as she walked out the door.
There was something about her tone and Shane felt a cold stab of fear. But Svetlana was Ilya’s closest friend. Even if she had put things together, she wouldn’t say, right?
He settled in the chair and Ilya tried to sit up straighter. He moved the oxygen mask down to talk more easily.
“How are you feeling?”
“I am oke,” Ilya said. One of his eyes was surrounded by a huge bruise, and there was a piece of gauze taped over one temple.
“You got fucking stabbed,” Shane pointed out. “I’m not sure that qualifies as okay.”
“Small stabbing.” Ilya gave him a smile that melted away Shane’s fears. He checked around him and then leaned in to kiss Ilya, this one a hungry, deep kiss. He almost didn’t care if they were caught. At least Ilya was alive.
“Hey,” Ilya said, brushing his thumb against Shane’s cheek. “No sad. Makes freckles all bunch up.”
“I’m just glad I was there. If I hadn’t been, if I hadn’t known what happened to you...” Shane swallowed. “Fuck. I don’t want to think about it. I wish... I wish it could be different. I wish I could tell someone, at least. Someone I could ask in case I could get hold of you, or I could pass a message to.”
“Is not fair at all.” Ilya folded his arms sharply, and then winced. Shane shook his head.
“Careful.”
“I am always careful. Is fine.” He’d paled significantly, so Shane didn’t believe a word of it.
“Again. You have been stabbed, asshole. Try to keep your blood in your body.” He poked Ilya’s shoulder forcefully.
“Ugh, Hollander, you are so boring.”
They both stopped, stared at each other, and burst into laughter. Ilya clutched at his side and groaned.
“You are the asshole making me laugh. I have been stabbed, Hollander, have a little consideration.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” He looked down at Ilya, who looked back at him with wide blue eyes. They were exquisite, Shane decided. Part summer sky, part deep, cool pool of water. “We’ve been through so much.” He brushed his thumb over a curl. “So much.”
Ilya lay back down, pulling the mask into place. For a moment, Shane thought he might go to sleep, then his eyes snapped open.
“Shane. I have plan! Is perfect.”
Shane waited, but Ilya seemed to be staring at him expectantly. “What is your plan?”
“Oh. Yes.” He paused again and Shane was just about to poke him again, when Ilya said, “We tell Sveta!”
Shane stared at him, taking time to process his words.
“Is perfect, yes?” Ilya continued. “She knows I like both, and she knows you are very handsome.”
“Oh, is that all I am, handsome?” Shane teased but Ilya grabbed his hand and pulled it close. His eyes were wide, pupils enlarged and Shane wondered how strong the painkillers were right now.
“You are Shane Hollander, second best player in the MLH!” Ilya said earnestly. “You are very handsome yes, but you are talented and fast and you are also boring and safe and you have beautiful freckles like looking at whole of universe in one go. Is breath-taking.” The words came out in a river of praise and adoration that made Shane’s stomach flip.
“Second best player?” he asked in mock outrage, but his eyes were misty and his heart was beating rapidly in his chest.
“Very close second.” Ilya gave him a wink. He tried to smother a yawn and failed.
“You should rest,” Shane said. He lifted the oxygen mask back into position. “Get some sleep.”
“What about plan?” Ilya sounded more than disappointed; he sounded hurt.
“It’s a good plan,” Shane reassured him. “I just need to think about it a little.”
“Oke,” Ilya said and closed his eyes.
Shane settled back in the chair. It was true, Svetlana was a suitable person, and Shane also had the suspicion that she wouldn’t be too surprised. But it was hard to let go of his fears. Only two people knew he was gay, and one of them was Ilya. It wasn’t something shameful, he knew that, but it still… it still didn’t quite fit in the mould he’d carefully carved for himself, then forced himself in. It still felt like something that had escaped, something that should be carefully concealed.
But if he wanted more, and Shane wanted so much more, he needed to be brave. He wasn’t good at being brave. He was good at pushing his feelings down and focusing on what he needed to do, but that was different to being brave.
He though over his speech, the one he’d been rehearsing before Ilya arrived. That was a step towards being brave, he realised. He needed to hold onto that, to the feelings that had led him there. And be brave.
Because this was important enough to be brave for.
Ilya was quickly fast asleep, so Shane didn’t get to agree straight away. He closed his eyes and dozed in the hospital chair, feeling fully able to breathe for the first time in twenty-four hours. It wasn’t terribly restful – between the uncomfortable chair and the nurses coming in and out, he didn’t get much sleep. But a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and that was rest enough,
His mother came by a few hours later with a flask of soup and some sandwiches. He greeted him with a warm hug.
“How are things going?”
“Good,” Shane told her. “He’s awake and seems to be doing much better this morning.”
“That’s wonderful. Do either of you boys need anything?”
“I don’t think so.” He didn’t know if Ilya needed anything, but right now he probably shouldn’t be doing anything other than sleeping. As if to prove him wrong, Ilya chose that moment to open his eyes and mumble Shane’s name. Immediately, his mother leaned in.
“Hello, Mr Rozanov, I’m Yuna Hollander, Shane’s mother. We met briefly in Toronto, during the commercial shoot, remember?”
“Ah, yes,” Ilya said, looking distinctly uncomfortable suddenly.
Shane touched her arm. “Mom…”
“How are you feeling?” she continued, ignoring him. “Is the hospital doing a good job? Have they provided a translator? I know medical discussions can be difficult in a second language. If you have any problems, do let me know and I’ll speak to them for you.”
“Mom,” Shane said, more forcefully. Ilya looked as if he was trying to back away through his pillow.
“What?” she asked, turning to him. “Anyway, I should get on.” She kissed Shane’s cheek. “See you later, sweetheart.”
“Sorry about that,” Shane said as his mother closed the door behind her. “My mom can be a lot, but she means well. She likes fixing problems and gets frustrated when she can’t.”
“I see where you get it from,” Ilya said fondly. “Is okay. I am just not used to people caring.”
“That’s awful,” Shane said. “People should care about you. I care about you, and so does Svetlana.”
“I know.” His voice was quiet and he seemed to be staring through Shane. It reminded him of the night in Vegas, Ilya suddenly short and distant when Shane had pressed him about Russia.
“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he said, taking Ilya’s hand. “But I’m here if you need to.”
Ilya pulled his hand back. “I think I want to sleep now. You should go. You probably have things to do.”
“Oh, right.” He didn’t. Not really, but Ilya’s tone was clear. “I guess... I guess I’ll see you later.”
Ilya didn’t respond.
On his way out, Shane found a nurse and told him he was worried about Ilya’s sudden change in mood.
“Painkillers and anaesthetic can affect make people feel down sometimes,” the nurse told him. “And he has been through a violent incident. It may well improve as the drugs wear off but do you know if he has any mental health issues?”
Shane did not. For all the time they’d spent in ... whatever this was, talking was not something they did. He’d tried, he’d tried so hard to get Ilya to open up, made some progress on Tampa, but the fact remained he didn’t know much about the man.
“Not to worry,” the nurse said. “He’s in good hands here. We’ll keep an eye on the situation, I promise.”
Shane left and ate his lunch in the hospital garden. It was bright and sunny, but cold still and he didn’t hang around. Part of him wanted to go back and press Ilya about his reaction, to find the exact thread that has been pulled out of place and stitch it back where it should be. As if Ilya was a tapestry that had merely come apart at the seam and would be fine with a few stitches.
If only it was that simple.
He headed home and went straight out on a run. Normally it was enough to clear his head, put him back in control of things, but today he still felt adrift in his feelings. Shane tried the gym instead, pushing himself harder and harder, until his muscles ached and his body was dripping with sweat.
When he came out of the shower, there was a missed call and a text from Svetlana.
I made Ilya give me your number, hope that’s okay. Give me a call when you’re free?
He dialled her number and she picked up almost immediately.
“Hi Shane. Thanks for calling back. Are you with Ilya?”
“No, I stepped out for a bit. What’s up?”
“I have a …Er ... Friend, in Russia. He tells me Ilya’s brother... His wife has left him. That’s probably why he’s done this.” She sighed. “I don’t know how to tell Ilya. He’ll be distraught.”
“He got on well with his sister-in-law then?” Shane asked.
“Hmm? Oh, no. Not like that. She was a spoiled cow. But Ilya will see it as his fault.”
“I... I don’t think I understand,” Shane admitted, rubbing at his temple.
“It’s hard to explain and probably not my place to do so anyway,” she replied. “I just know it’s going to hurt. I wish I knew how to help him understand.”
“Maybe we should both be there when you tell him,” Shane said. And maybe we can tell you something else while we’re there.
“Sounds good. Give me half an hour to get ready and I’ll head to the hospital.”
Shane finished getting dressed and headed over to the hospital himself. Ilya was sitting up, but his eyes seemed dim and unfocused. He looked older, worn out, and Shane wanted to pull him into his lap, wrap himself around him, and keep the world away.
“Svetlana is on her way,” he said as he sat down. Ilya’s expression said he didn’t particularly want to see her either. Shane shook his head. “We’re not doing this. You can feel however you need to, but you’re not pushing us away.”
Ilya’s eyes widened and he looked away. “I wasn’t…”
“You once told me I was a really bad liar,” Shane said, talking his hand and kissing Ilya’s knuckles. “And while you might be better than me, I think I’m starting to learn your tells.”
“You are bad liar,” Ilya muttered. “And boring.”
“And you’re an asshole,” he replied firmly. “I guess that makes us a good pair. You’re not going to push me away again. I put up with that shit in Vegas. Not anymore.”
Ilya looked up at him, his eyes moving from side to side as if trying to read Shane’s face like a book. “Look at you, Hollander, being assertive.”
“Maybe I’m starting to learn my worth,” he replied with a shrug. “Maybe it’s time for me to teach you yours.”
Ilya’s hand tightened around his own. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered.
“Never.”
For a while, they sat, hand in hand in silence. Ilya closed his eyes, his breathing slow and steady. Shane waited for Svetlana to appear, keeping his tumbling emotions down below the surface. Whatever happened she arrived with the news, for the moment, he could just keep Ilya calm.
The phone rang, startling both of them.
“господи,” Ilya muttered. Shane reached for his phone, but it was the one on the bedside table ringing. Ilya answered it, listening as his expression grew darker. He yelled something at the person on the other end of the line, his face dark with fury. By the side of the bed, the monitor began to beep in alarm.
“Hey,” Shane said, putting a hand on Ilya’s shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Ilya threw the phone down. It bounced off the bed and Shane caught it.
“Ilya. What’s wrong? What happened? Was that Svetlana?”
Had Svetlana decided to call rather than come in person? That didn’t really seem like her, but she’d said Ilya wouldn’t react well to the news.
Ilya pulled the blanket aside, revealing the large bandage on his stomach, as well as several bruises, at least one of them that had the shape and pattern of the bottom of a shoe. He tried to push down the bars on the bed, slapping Shane’s hand out of the way when he moved to stop him.
“Hey, no, lie down. Lie down. You’re going to open your wound again,” Shane urged. “Ilya, listen to me.”
“Alexei’s got Svetlana!” Ilya yelled. “He’ll hurt her if he doesn’t get money. I need to go. Let me go!”
“Who, your brother?”
Several hospital workers burst in at that point. One eased Shane out of the way, while a second tried to push Ilya down on the bed. A third injected something into the cannula on the back of his hand.
Ilya slumped, his body limp, his eyes rolled back. Shane felt helpless as they eased him back into bed and began checking his injuries.
“She’s going to be fine,” Shane tried to reassure Ilya. “I won’t let anything happen to her, I promise.”
It was a stupid thing to promise, Shane realised, given he has no idea of the situation that Svetlana was in, but he had to say something. He left medical staff to their job and hurried out of the room.
Outside, he called his mother and asked her to come by the hospital as he had to step out for a while. Then he pulled out Ilya’s number and dialled the previous caller. A voice answered in Russian.
“Listen to me carefully,” Shane said. “You want money, right?”
“Who...?” an unfamiliar voice asked gruffly.
“It doesn’t matter who. I have your money. If you want it, let Svetlana go.”
There was some discussion in the background that he couldn’t understand. A moment later, Svetlana asked, “Shane?”
“Yeah, it’s me. What happened?”
“These bastards jumped me when I was coming out of my hotel. They must have been watching me.” She sounded more furious than hurt, which was something. There was more angry Russian in the background, and Svetlana snapped something back at them. “Sorry. They want me to tell you to get off the phone and come in person. Bring money.”
“Let me know where you are.”
She gave him an address and he noted it down.
“Tell them I’m on my way.”
He took a taxi to the location, which turned out to be a small, run down house on the edge of the city. Shane felt frighteningly calm, as if he’d locked all his common sense in a box, out of sight and out of mind. It was similar to stepping out onto the ice before a game. All the stress of the outside, all the expectations melted away and briefly he was gloriously free.
They must have seen him coming as the door opened, and with it, the box of fears that Shane was doing such a good job of keeping closed. Still, he couldn’t back down now, so he entered, his body tense and alert for danger.
Shane found himself in a small kitchen, decorated in shades of beige and dirt. Svetlana was sat on a wooden chair on the far side of the table to him, and there were two very burly looking me either side of her. In the middle of the table was a tablet with a third man’s face. He didn’t look much like Ilya, but Shane could see the resemblance in his eyes.
He pulled out his phone and wrote a number, a six figure number, on the screen.
“This is yours,” he said. “Provided you let Svetlana go and agree to never contact Ilya again.” A moment later, Svetlana translated his words.
The man’s eyes widened. He said something and Svetlana said, “He agrees.”
It was all a little too easy and Shane knew the man’s word couldn’t be trusted. The money was no issue to Shane, but if he didn’t do something else, Alexei would just come back at Ilya once he’d spent it all. He didn’t strike Shane as a reasonable person.
“Svetlana, come here,” he said, gesturing at her. She started to rise, but one of the men pushed her back in her seat. “She walks out of here or no money.”
Alexei growled something and Svetlana said, “He says money first.”
The other Russian moved around the table towards him. Shane let him move, pretending to keep his attention on Svetlana. The man didn’t appear to be armed, but Shane knew better than to be careless. The man reached to grab him and Shane ducked under his grip and delivered a solid punch to the man’s jaw.
He staggered back, rubbing his jaw and fixed Shane with a cold grin. A moment later he’d charged Shane, knocking him into the wall. Stars burst in front of Shane’s vision. The man dealt him a solid punch to the solar plexus, and the breath rushed out of him.
Alexei said something and the man laughed. Svetlana didn’t translate, but Shane knew from the tone it was mocking. He gritted his teeth. People underestimated him. He was a well behaved player, rarely fought, and his body was less bulky than some of the other players.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t fight, just that he rarely wanted to.
He let the man get closer, pretending to be winded. As he got within reach, Shane launched himself upwards, hitting the Russian with an uppercut that made his teeth slam together. He followed it up with a blow to the stomach and as the man staggered, Shane drove his foot into the man’s knee. There was a crack and he cried out, dropping to the floor.
The other man started towards him but Shane held up a hand.
“We can do the same thing again and I can leave you like your friend here. I’m just getting warmed up and believe me I’d love to hurt you for what you did to my friend. But I have an idea.”
The man paused, eyeing him cautiously, while his companion writhed on the floor.
“How much did Alexei pay you to hurt Ilya?” Shane asked.
“Ten K,” the man muttered.
“I’ll pay you fifty to walk away and leave us in peace,” he replied. “And, if you bring me any evidence of Alexei trying to harm his brother in anyway, I’ll pay you another ten K. Sound fair?”
The man stared at him, and Shane could almost see the thought processes churning behind his eyes. He glanced from Shane to the man groaning on the floor.
“Oke.”
Shane smiled coldly. “Glad we could assist each other.” He turned to Alexei. “If I ever hear you coming near Ilya or Svetlana ever again, in person or by proxy, I won’t be so generous. I won’t give you the option to back out. I will hunt you down and make sure you regret every moment of your sorry, pathetic life. Understand?”
Svetlana translated his words and he suspected she added in a few choice words of her own. Shane transferred the money he’d promised and held out a hand to Svetlana. “Let’s go.”
She walked calmly over to him, muttered something at the man still standing, and kicked the one lying groaning on the floor.
“You don’t look very happy, given the situation is resolved,” Shane noted on the drive back. “Do you think there’s any risk that they’ll break their word?”
She shook her head. “The word of men like that isn’t worth shit, but Alexei has what he wants now and I think if he tries anything we’ll hear about. I’m just worried and Ilya.”
“I’m sure he’ll be okay. The nurses stopped him before he could get out of bed and do anything stupid.”
“Its not that.” She sighed. “Have you ever been part of something you’ve loved so much, but you feel like you can never live up to expectations?”
“Yes,” Shane said.
She started at him, eyes narrowed, then nodded. “Yeah, you probably have, haven’t you? Look, it’s not my place to talk about the details but Ilya’s family is a big source of pain for him and I’m worried one day it’s going to break him completely. I thought things might be better after his father died but I guess I’d forgotten what a piece of shit Alexei is.”
“We won’t let him break,” Shane said firmly.
At the hospital, they found Ilya looking pale, a fresh blood infusion in his arm, but awake and looking at something on Yuna Hollander’s phone. He looked up as they entered.
“Sveta,” he said in clear relief.
She said something softly in Russian to him as she came over and gave him a hug.
“Everything okay?” his mother asked and he nodded.
“Everything is fine. Thanks, mom.”
“It’s all good. I was just showing Ilya pictures of you when you were little.” She stood up and let him take her seat. Shane’s ears burned.
“Mom!”
“Was nice time, Hollander,” Ilya said. “You were very cute as little hockey player. Very serious.”
His mother kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Shane said as the door closed behind his mother. “Your brother isn’t going to come after you or Svetlana again.”
“What did you do, Hollander?” Ilya asked suspiciously.
“I just made sure we were all on the same page,” he replied with a shrug.
“I didn’t ask you to do anything,” Ilya said, his voice quiet. “I could have handled it. It’s my family, Hollander! I ...”
“No, you couldn’t have handled it,” Shane snapped back. “Because you were stabbed! What part of ‘you nearly died yesterday’ are you not getting?”
“Shane,” Svetlana warned him.
He held up a hand. “Sorry. Sorry. Why don’t we change the subject.” He turned to Ilya. “We have something we wanted to tell Svetlana, right?”
Ilya’s expression softened. “You are oke with it?”
Shane took his hand. “I am.”
He struggled to sit up straighter and turned her. “Sveta. This is my Jane.” His voice was a mixture of nervous and proud and Shane tighten his grip on Ilya’s fingers.
Svetlana laughed. “Sorry, was this supposed to be a secret?”
“You knew?” Ilya sounded hurt.
“You’re not subtle, Ilusha. I worked out Jane was a man when you wouldn’t tell me anything, and I’ve seen the way you look at Hollander. And the way you deny it. And I wasn’t completely certain until I watched Hollander ride in like a knight to defend you. You should have seen him fight. It was hot.” She grinned.
“You will have to give me demonstration,” Ilya said hungrily.
“When you’re better,” Shane replied. “I’m not being held responsible for you reopening stitches because you got horny.”
“Mean.”
“Anyway,” Svetlana continued. “I’m happy for you both, and I’m grateful you told me. I was waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to let me know. I would never have said anything without that.” She wrapped her arms around him and Ilya pressed his forehead against her shoulder. “I’m glad you found someone who deserves you.”
Being seen brought a sense of calm over Shane. The secret they’d kept for so long now wasn’t just theirs. It was a weight he hadn’t even realised had been pressing on him. The afternoon passed and all three of them slept from time to time, now the adrenaline of early had faded away.
In the evening, Svetlana announced that she had to get back tomorrow, but she’d check in on Ilya’s house in Boston and make sure everything was ready for him to come back to. She hugged Ilya tearfully as she prepared to head back to her hotel and demanded the same from Shane. He agreed – reluctantly, as he wasn’t find of hugs unless he knew the person well – and she wrapped her arms around him.
“Take care of him,” she whispered in his ear.
“I promise,” he whispered back.
“Do you want me to stay the night?” Shane asked once she’d gone. “I have to go to practice tomorrow, but I’ll stay here if you need me.”
“Am oke,” Ilya replied. “You should sleep on proper bed or you will be all out of shape for practice.”
“I wish I could share the bed but that’s probably a bad idea. Ilya...”
“Hmm?”
“Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, after everything that’s happened. You can talk to me. I want to help.”
Ilya looked away. “You give too much to me already. I don’t deserve it.”
“Hey.” Shane reached over, brushing his finger over Ilya’s cheek, gently urging him to look at him. “Don’t say that. I give you want I want to give you.”
Ilya sniffed. “I thought we agreed I was injured, Hollander.”
“I’m being serious here.” Shane pinched the bridge of his nose. “You almost died. Your brother was responsible. He had your best friend abducted. That’s a lot, even you have to admit it. It’s okay to feel something about it.”
Ilya rolled into his side, giving Shane a view of the back of his head. His curls were a crumpled mess where they’d been laid on.
“I don’t feel anything. Does that make me broken?”
Shane wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. “I ...I don’t think you’re broken. I mean, people react in different ways to things. Doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
“My father would say I was lazy. Not even making effort to get angry.”
Your father sounds like an idiot, Shane wanted to say but he held his tongue. “What would your mother say?”
“I don’t know. She died when I was young. I miss her.”
Shane reached out and gripped his hand.
“Sometimes, I go to the highest place I can. It’s easier to talk to her there.”
“That’s good.” Shane wished he knew what the right thing to say was, the words that would magically convey all the feelings that were sloshing around in his heard. They felt so intense they were probably glowing. He wished he could unpeel his skin, fling open his ribcage and bathe Ilya in that light.
“Go home, Shane,” Ilya said, rolling back over to meet his eye. “You will get soft and unconditioned if you do not practice well and that will take all the fun out of our next match.”
“Never gonna happen, dude,” he replied, hoping the relief wasn’t too obvious in his voice. “But if you need to talk in the night or anything, just call me. Okay?”
“Oke.”
“I mean it.” He leaned in and kissed Ilya, slow, lingering, in the hope that Ilya could taste his feelings instead. “Sleep well. See you tomorrow, Ilya.”
“Goodnight, Shane.”
He lingered in the doorway, still uncertain if he was making the right choice, but Ilya was right, sleeping in the chair overnight would leave him in a bad shape. And Ilya was safe in the hospital. There were nurses around who’d make sure he was okay, right?
Shane arrived at the rink in time to receive a message from his mother that Ilya had been moved to a room on a general surgical ward, which was a good sign. On entering the locker room, he was immediately bombarded by questions.
“Hey, Cap, it’s really true you saved Rozanov’s life?”
“What you do that for, huh?”
“Was it the Russian mafia? Say yes, I’ve got money riding on this.”
“How long’s he out? How long have we got free of the Russian menace?”
“Hey, give the guy a break,” Hayden called. He put a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “He’s probably had a shitty couple of days, dealing with the police and shit.”
Shane nodded gratefully. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.” He began changing and the rest of the team moved away, clearly realising they weren’t going to get any juicy gossip. Hayden stayed.
“Sorry about them,” he said with a shrug. “You know what it’s like.”
“Someone almost died,” Shane said quietly. “They do know that, right? What if it was one of them, or me? Do they think Boston should have been talking about me like that if I’d been stabbed?”
“I guess. But they wouldn’t, right? Because you’re not an asshole,” Hayden pointed out. “You know this isn’t about you. You don’t have to take this personally.”
That’s easy for you to say, Shane thought. But it is personal because I love him. He stopped, his fingers still twisted in his laces. He loved Ilya. The thought wasn’t shocking, wasn’t even surprising. The realisation was like sinking into a comfortable seat. He loved Ilya and he’d prefer probably loved Ilya for a very long time now. He didn’t know how Ilya felt, didn’t want to risk saying it in case he didn’t feel the same. But Shane could no longer deny it to himself.
“You okay, buddy?” Hayden asked.
“Yeah.” Shane could feel his mouth pulling into a smile, and there was a lightness inside him. “Yeah, I think I am. Come on, ice is waiting.”
It felt good to get back in skates. Couldn’t wait for the next game. Couldn’t wait to face Ilya in the face off, look him in the eye, caught in that moment when there was only the two of them. Shane let the rest of the world fall away and focused on drills, on speed and precision.
As he left, he checked his phone again, and found another string of messages from his mother, ending with one saying Ilya was asleep so Shane should meet them for lunch at the little French restaurant she liked.
“How was practice?” his father asked.
“Good,” Shane replied. “We’re going to destroy New York on Saturday, I can feel it.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“How about you? How was your morning?”
“Mostly fine,” he answered, a little sheepishly. “I thought taking UNO might be fun, but it got a little competitive between your mother and Ilya, and a nurse told us off for making too much noise.”
Shane laughed. “You let him house-rule playing multiple pick up twos, didn’t you?”
“It’s more fun that way,” his mother replied.
“Sure, mom.” He rolled his eyes.
“It’s good to see you smiling again, Shane,” his father said.
“It feels like things are going to be all right now,” Shane answered. “It’s a weight off my shoulders.”
They ate lunch and chatted about nothing much, and then Shane sent his parents back to Ottawa, before returning to the hospital himself. He made his way to the new ward and knocked on the door to Ilya’s room. There was no answer, so Shane assumed he was probably asleep, but when he entered, the bed was empty. A sinking coldness settled in Shane’s stomach, but he forced himself to check the bathroom before he allowed himself to panic.
The bathroom was also empty.
The panic flooded through him, leaving him feeling sick and shaky. Ilya’s phone was on the table beside the bed, switched off, next to the pack of UNO cards. He caught a little piece of paper sticking out from under the cards and gripped it with shaky fingers.
I’m sorry, Shane. Don’t look for me.
“Fuck!” Shane shouted. He pushed the note into his pocket and hurried to the nurse’s station. No one had seen Ilya, and he wasn’t scheduled to leave the ward for any reason. Immediately they leapt into action, calling for security to check the monitors, checking in with reception to see if anyone had seen him leave.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find him,” the nurse assured him, but Shane had never been one to listen when someone said don’t worry.
Where could Ilya have gone? That was more important than the why right now. There had been no sign of him in reception, but he could have left the hospital via another exit. But where would he go? He wouldn’t have left that note if he was planning to go to Shane’s place. And Shane couldn’t imagine he was in that big a hurry to get back to to Boston. He almost called Svetlana, but she was either in the middle of a flight or already in Boston and he didn’t want to distress her when she was far away and unable to help.
“Sometimes, I go to the highest place I can. It’s easier to talk to her there.”
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself again, and ran to the nearest elevator.
It took him to the top floor of the hospital but he had to climb another flight of stairs to get to the roof. Shane’s heart was racing in his ears as he ran up the steps, desperately hoping, praying, that he was in time.
Hr opened the door and was immediately hit with a blast of cold air. The sudden change from dim stairwell to bright sunshine made his eyes water and he held up and arm to protect himself. Blinking, Shane looked across the roof and caught sight of a figure on the far side, one bare foot on the railings.
“Ilya!”
At first he thought Ilya hadn’t heard him. The wind whipped his words away, running icy fingers through Shane’s hair and down his back.
“Ilya!” he cried again, crossing the roof and this time Ilya looked back. His face was pale and he stared at Shane as if seeing through him. But he didn’t climb any higher.
“I told you not to come,” Ilya said quietly. “I didn’t want... I didn’t want you to see me.”
Shane said nothing, but he stayed close.
“I’m so tired,” Ilya continued. Something gold caught in the light and Shane realised he was wearing his mother’s cross again. “There was a point where I was lying there, bleeding, and I felt so calm. I’d finally given enough. It might have been all my blood but it was finally enough.”
Shane felt the tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Slowly, he reached for Ilya’s hand and let their fingers brush. Ilya’s eyes widened, just for a moment.
“Maybe it’s better this way,” be continued. “Maybe this way I’ll stop causing problems for people.”
“You’re not causing problems. Not for me. Not for Svetlana. My parents love you, I can tell. They don’t play UNO with just anyone.” He moved his hand around Ilya’s, tightening his fingers around them. “Your brother isn’t going to come after you anymore.”
“I thought that too, but he did. And he will again. I can’t escape, Shane. I thought I could leave Russia behind after my father died, but I can’t, can I? It’s always going to come back to me. And I don’t anything left to give.” A tear rolled silently down his cheek.
“Come here.” Shane gently urged Ilya into his arms. Together, they sank down onto the cold roof. Ilya was shivering constantly, and there was a stain of blood on the hospital gown. “You don’t have to give any more. You can take sometimes, too. From me.”
“I can’t ...”
“You can,” he replied firmly. “Look, I get it, more than you might think.” He pulled Ilya close, wrapping himself around him as much as he could. He pressed Ilya’s head against his shoulder, gently kissing his hair. “I gave everything to hockey. All my time, my energy, my thoughts. I never had time for dating or going out with friends much as a teen because I had to be the best. I had to be the best or it would reject me, push me away. Because of who I am. And there have been times where I’ve thought I’ve given everything and anything more is going to kill me. But I kept going because it’s what I want. You shouldn't break yourself for something you don’t want, Ilya.”
In the distance, a seagull called, the sound mournful in the wind.
Shane looked up into the blue sky. “I was going to ask you something, when you came over and I never got the chance. Can I ask you it now? I spent a long time practicing my speech, it would be a shame to waste it.”
Ilya looked confused, but he nodded slowly. Shane took a deep breath. The words came back to him instantly.
“Will you come to my cottage this summer? Don’t go to Russia. Come to my house. We’ll have so much fun. It’s so private, no one will know. We could have a week or even two. Completely alone. Together.”
The wind whipped eddies of dust and dry leaves around the flat roof. Shane tightened his fingers around Ilya’s fingers and waited.
“Maybe,” Ilya said softly. “Maybe.”
It wasn’t yes, but it wasn’t no, either.
“Think about it, at least,” Shane said. “You don’t need to give me an answer yet.”
“Why?” Ilya asked. His face was pressed against Shane, muffled by the fabric of Shane’s shirt.
“Because it will be fun,” Shane started, but Ilya shook his head.
“Not the cottage. Why me?”
“I seem to remember you started this,” Shane teased, “in the showers after that commercial shoot.”
But Ilya didn’t smile. “You’re fucking perfect. You’re stunning. You take my breath away every time I look at you. Every time I tried to forget about you over the years, I couldn’t. I only want you. But I’m not enough. I am... broken.”
“Yes, you are enough. You don’t get to make that judgement. Only I do.” He pulled Ilya onto his lap. His legs were quickly going to go numb on the cold hard floor but that didn’t matter. Only Ilya mattered. “And you’re not broken. You’re human. Flawed maybe. But not broken. Not lazy. Not unlovable.” He took a deep breath and lifted Ilya’s jaw so they were looking eye to eye. “I promise.”
Ilya pressed his forehead against Shane’s. Shane held him tightly, rocking him gently in his arms as Ilya wept silently.
The door to the roof opened and several medical staff emerged. Shane gestured for them to hold on for moment.
“I know it feels too much right now, but it won’t always feel that way. It will get better, and I’ll be here, no matter what. Are you ready to go back to bed?”
Ilya looked over his shoulder and tensed.
“They won’t judge you,” Shane reassured him. “They just want to help.”
Ilya said nothing for a moment, and then, to Shane’s relief, he nodded.
Two weeks later
Shane pulled up in the Montreal airport carpark.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“I am fine now. All blood is inside me and I have cool scar,” Ilya said, lifting his shirt to prove it. “And ... I am fine about other things too. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Thank you for trusting me,” Shane replied. “And I know there will come a time where I need that and you will be there to hold me together.” There was a moment of silence between them. Shane wished he could see what Ilya was thinking, whether any of the dark thoughts still lurked.
“I should go,” he said, reaching for the door. Shane grabbed him, pulling him back into a deep kiss.
“Don’t miss your flight,” he said as they pulled apart.
“I have had quite enough of Montreal. I will call you when I land, do not worry. And Svetlana is picking me up in Boston. We are going for sushi for dinner.”
“Sounds good.” Don’t forget about the cottage, he almost said, but he didn’t want to push things. Ilya would answer him in his own time. But Shane hoped he would agree. And maybe then could finally admit how he felt.