Chapter Text
Somewhere else entirely different...
Shane didn't even glance at his phone sitting next to him on the bed until the second ring. Then he saw the caller ID. Lily. What the fuck?
He put down his book and let it ring one more time, working up the courage to pick it up.
But somehow, he did and accepted the call. "Finally unblocked my number? What the fuck do you want, Rozanov?"
It had been YEARS since they'd spoken off the ice. Years since Rozanov had broken it off with him with a litany of reasons why they could never be together. YEARS since he'd texted to beg Rozanov to try again, and had found out he was blocked. Why the fuck now?
"It's Svetlana," came a breathy, almost desperate voice on the other end of the line.
Shane instantly sat up. "Is he ok?" He couldn't imagine any other reason why she'd be calling. It wasn't like they had ever spoken before. Hell, he'd only found out she and Rozanov were married from a press release.
"No," she said with another long breath. "He's not. Maybe you can talk to him."
Shane threw the covers off of his legs and stood up. "What's wrong?"
"He's--I don't know. I don't know." She groaned. "He woke up this morning searching the house for you. He's panicking now. Ranting. About being married to you, and how I've kidnapped him or drugged him or something. He called Scott Hunter and was going off on him for not kissing someone on television." She sounded scared. Shane didn't know anything about her, but he doubted she scared easily, if she put up with Rozanov willingly.
Even though Rozanov was no longer his problem, and hadn't been for a long time, something clenched in his stomach. Married to him? "Yeah. Uh... yeah. Let me talk to him."
She said Rozanov's name and something in Russian. There was a sound of fumbling on the other side of the phone, then heavy breathing into the speaker.
"Rozanov?" Shane asked.
More heavy breathing.
In the background, Svetlana said something in Russian.
"Sh-Shane?" he asked, sounding so uncertain.
"Yeah." Shane actually had no idea what the fuck to say. Shane got up out of the bed and started pacing.
"I want to come home." Rozanov sounded... devastated, defeated and dejected. "Please." With the last his voice cracked.
Something ached in Shane's chest, but he didn't know how to respond.
"Please?" Rozanov begged again.
"You ARE home, Rozanov."
"To Ottawa. With you."
OK. Rozanov's wife was right. There was something seriously wrong with Rozanov. "Dude... alright. Ok. What do you THINK is happening?" He sounded... delusional or something. One too many hits to the head? Maybe it was something like his father had?
"I don't know!" Rozanov shouted down the line. "I don't know! I woke up here. And this place is not right. None of it. I went to bed with you and I woke up with Svetlana. This isn't real. it isn't--"
"Ok," Shane said, cutting into what sounded like the start of a deep spiral. "Take a minute. Breathe." If there was one thing Shane knew, it was a hundred techniques for coping with a panic attack. "Now, tell me. Before you woke up this morning, what's the last thing you remember."
More heavy breathing on the other end. "Anya didn't want to come to bed. So I waited for her, and when she was finally done, you were asleep." Who the hell was Anya in this delusion? "I got into bed. Kissed you goodnight and then... this. Boston. Svetlana. She says I broke it off with you."
"You don't remember that?" Worst fucking day of Shane's life. It was burned into his goddamned head, and Rozanov didn't remember it?
"No! No! Because it did not happen."
Ok. Ok, he had an idea. "Can you put me on speaker?" he asked in a voice that was far gentler than the roiling emotions tossing around inside of him.
"Speaker. Yes. Speaker. Ok. OK." He said something to his wife before he heard it switch over.
"Ok. I'm here," she said, still sounding upset, but not quite as amped up.
Shane wandered out of the bedroom, letting feet take him wherever. He didn't care. But in his own rising agitation, he couldn't stay still. "Has he had any hits to the head lately?"
"No. And no signs of... you know." There was a hesitancy to say the word that hung in the air between them. Dementia. "He's been fine. Normal."
Shane ran a hand through his air, letting out a long breath. "Ok. Uh...what did he do yesterday?" Why was it incumbent upon him to figure this out? She was his wife. She should be taking him to the emergency room or something.
"We went to Costco!" Rozanov shouted. "You wouldn't let me buy a giant skeleton!"
That twisted something in his stomach. "Rozanov, we did not go to Costco yesterday. Svetlana, what did he do yesterday?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I don't know!" Oh great, he had two panicking individuals on his hands. Fuck his Saturday morning, he guessed.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "How do you not know?" He asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. That wouldn't help anyone right now.
"He was gone all day."
"And you don't know where he was?"
"How the fuck am I supposed to know?"
"YOU'RE HIS WIFE," Shane shouted. Then he realized what he was doing and backed off. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. How did she have no inkling what he'd been up to? Shit, his mom knew what the fuck he was doing every day.
Granted, that was because of the rough time he'd had after things had ended wth Rozanov. Now she or his father still checked in every day.
"I am not his babysitter," she said, offended. "He left in the morning. He came home at night. I was busy. We didn't talk before bed."
They hadn't even spoken? What the hell? That... didn't sound right. His parent always talked about their day. Hayden and Jackie were notorious for talking into the night, even when away on the road.
Of course, he didn't know what Rozanov and his wife were like together. Especially when she didn't sound like this was unusual behavior.
"Alright. We don't know what he did. Drugs, maybe?"
"He has NOT done that in years," she said with confidence.
"Well... I don't know! Why did you even call me? Take him to the hospital."
It was quiet on the other end for a moment. "He won't go. This is the calmest he's been all morning."
And Rozanov was still freaking out. Shane grew quiet. "Rozanov... I think you need help."
"I do not need help! I need someone to tell me what is happening! Why is it like this? Why are you like this?" His voice was high-pitched, the agitation growing again.
Shane sighed. "We didn't go to Costco yesterday. I've been here in Ottawa, and you're in Boston, and we haven't even talked in years."
"WHY?" Rozanov demanded.
Frustration took hold of Shane. "I don't know, Rozanov. YOU were the one who broke it off. We were watching the last game of the Admirals' cup run and texting, they won, Hunter lifted the cup and you called me and told me you couldn't do it anymore."
"No, no no no... I called you. I said I was coming to the cottage."
"Maybe that's what you WISH had happened. All I know is..." he didn't finish that thought. All Shane knew was his fucking heart had shattered. Rozanov didn't get to know that.
Rozanov was breathing heavily again in his agitation. "No, NO! Hunter kissed his boyfriend. He kissed his boyfriend, on the ice, and I called you and said I was coming to the cottage."
"His BOYFRIEND?" Rozanov was off his rocker. "Hunter isn't gay."
"You remember Kip. We went to their wedding. Shane--"
"Don't call me that," Shane warned.
"Hollander... We went to their wedding."
Shane laughed dryly. "First, Hunter isn't gay." After Shane had been outed and shunted to Ottawa, anyone else who MIGHT have come out was far too fucking scared of the consequences. She was lucky to still have a fucking career. "And Scott Hunter fucking hates you. There is NO WAY you went to his wedding." To some guy that didn't exist. Rozanov was out of his goddamned mind.
"He loves me."
"Then why didn't you marry him?" Shane quipped without thinking.
Rozanov growled. "Because I married you!"
The force and conviction with which Rozanov shouted that statement down the line almost knocked Shane off his feet. It made him feel sick for what could have been. "Rozanov... please see a medical professional. I don't think there's anything else I can do to help you."
"Shane!" Rozanov cried out desperately, knowing the conversation was coming to an end.
"Get him some serious help," Shane advised Rozanov's wife. "I can't..."
"Thank you for talking to him," she said, her voice faltering. "Ilya..." she said something soothing in Russian.
"I guess... let me know how he's doing," Shane found himself saying. Before she could reply, he hung up. He stared at his stove, having no memory of coming into the kitchen. All the things he'd said... all of his delusions... it all sounded so nice. In his own fantasies, he'd never dared dream them up. But when Rozanov said them, they sounded lovely. How things maybe could have been in a world where maybe homophobia didn't exist or something.
Too bad it was the product of a delusion, and had absolutely no basis in what could be reality.
But Jesus. Scott Hunter? Gay? That was batshit. Them being at his wedding was even more delusional.
He sat down hard in the nearest kitchen chair, a million old and new feelings flooding through him. That pressure in his chest that had been a near-constant after the breakup had returned. In addition to the nausea that had eaten away at him for months after he was outed by a one-night stand and he got kicked so hard from the Metros that he landed back in his hometown.
Part of him wanted to laugh at Rozanov losing his mind. But most of him wanted to cry. Rozanov had broken the shit out of his heart. But he didn't deserve that.
Shane knew what he had to do. It was the plan he'd made with his therapist years ago when things had been awful and almost beyond his ability to cope with after the outing and losing his team.
FIrst, he tried Hayden, who wasn't answering. Hayden was first on his list. Then he tried his parents.
His mom picked up on the second ring."Hi honey, did you give any more thought--"
"He called me," he said, cutting her off.
"Who called you?"
"HIM."
"Oh."
He'd never given them a name. It wasn't his place to out Rozanov, no matter how badly Rozanov had hurt him. But he'd been a fucking mess after it had happened. He'd tried to keep it to himself, handle it himself. But his parents noticed. And after it had dragged on for months, he told them some of it. That it was a breakup. He hadn't really known if it was a breakup. They'd never really officially been together. But saying it was a breakup put it in terms his parents could understand.
He hadn't told them he was gay, though. They found out with the rest of the world when his random hookup (or what he thought was his random hookup) posted a video online and he was easily recognizable.
He'd been in Ottawa by the end of the week despite a no trade clause. Things had been so awful for those four fucking days before it happened that he waived the thing. He'd just wanted the hell out. He didn't care where.
Well, he should have cared a little bit more.
He'd spiraled the fuck again when he landed with the Centaurs. Maybe harder than he had the first time. It had been so bad, his parents had made him talk to someone and had started the daily checkins. It had been a rough fucking first season with Ottawa because of him falling apart.
But things were looking up. The team was rebuilding around him. He was only seeing his therapist once a week now. He was starting to vaguely consider that not everyone out there was out to hurt him, and maybe try a relationship again.
Then that conversation with Rozanov had happened.
"How was it?" his mother asked, breaking the long silence.
Tears welled up in Shane's eyes. He couldn't pinpoint one exact thing that had made it terrible, but it had been. "He's... not ok." He drew in a shuddering breath. "I'm not ok," he admitted too. It had taken him a very long time to be able to say that out loud to anyone, even his therapist.
"Oh, honey, I'm sorry. What did he want?"
"He..." but where the fuck did he start? "I think I need an appointment with Agatha. Like... today." He let out another stuttering release of air.
"Do you want me to do it?"
He nodded, and realized that wasn't an answer. "Please." His mother didn't really handle too many of his personal affairs anymore. But this one he was passing off.
His hands were shaking, now, and he had forgotten how to breathe.
Fuck.
TO BE CONTINUED...