Chapter Text
Ilya woke up and knew something was wrong but he didn’t know what. He was alone in bed. And the bed felt weird - harder than the bed in the cottage. The sounds were wrong too. It sounded like a city out the window, not the noises of nature. In his half-asleep state, he only sort of processed these things. All he really knew was something was wrong. He opened his eyes and was very confused. The room was his old bedroom from his penthouse in Boston. What the fuck? Why would he be in this room?
“Shane!” he called out. Nothing. No answer. He rubbed his eyes and then looked at his hand and noticed he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. No husband, no ring. What the fuck? He picked his phone up to try and call Shane and figure out what was happening. He opened his texts and the text he knew Shane sent yesterday asking Ilya to get some eggs while he was at the grocery store wasn’t there. There were no texts from Shane on the phone at all. He opened a new message and typed his name in but there wasn’t any contact under the name Shane. What was going on? It had never occurred to him to learn Shane’s number so he had no way to know it if it wasn’t saved in his phone.
He opened Instagram. He could message through there. But there were no messages to Shane in his DMs either, which, yes he didn’t message there often but he did sometimes. It looked like he didn’t even follow Shane on Instagram. When he looked up the account, it was all wrong. The photos from camp last week weren’t there. Nothing from any of the camps were. Nothing of Ilya was on there at all. Mostly it was reposts of Voyageurs content. Voyageurs?
Ilya opened up his own account. If Shane was still on the Voyageurs and he was in Boston, was he still on the Bears? It looked like he was and, like Shane’s, nothing of his Instagram account indicated anything about their relationship. There weren’t even the cryptic pictures Ilya had posted back when they were still hiding. Had he dreamed the last 15 years? No, he looked at his calendar and the date was right.
He googled Shane’s name. Hockey, hockey, and hockey. Nothing about Ilya, nothing about the Irina Foundation. Nothing about signing with Ottawa. Ilya googled his own name and the results were similar - he played hockey in Boston. He googled their names together and all he got was their rivalry. That documentary from a few years ago didn't even show up.
He had no way to get in touch with Shane. Even if he messaged on Instagram, if whoever this Shane was was anything like his Shane, he wouldn’t check those messages. Would he be at the cottage? Did he have the cottage? He googled “Shane Hollader Cottage ESPN” because he remembered that video from 5 or 6 years ago. It was right there, the same as he remembered with Shane doing yoga on the dock. Fine. He could get on a plane and be at the cottage in a few hours. He would figure this out.
It was a long day of travel. He spent the whole time trying to figure out what happened. Shane still existed. Ilya still existed. Did they never hook up when they were kids? Did they start and stop at some point? They obviously hadn’t been outed if they were ever together. At some point it occurred to him to check his phone for Jane but the only Jane in there was a woman he seemed to meet up with in Vancouver sometimes. So not Shane. Finally he pulled up to the cottage and without actually considering if it was a bad idea, knocked on the door.
A huge wave of relief washed over him when Shane opened the door. It was short lived because Shane’s face went from curious to furious as soon as he realized it was Ilya on his doorstep. It was not an angry look that said “my husband disappeared out of our bed in the middle of the night and I’ve crossed over from worried to angry.” It was the look of “I hope you and all your progeny for 7 generations die slow painful deaths.” The closest Ilya had ever seen in terms of anger levels was that day in Roger Crowell’s office when Shane told the commissioner to go fuck himself. That angry, plus a factor of 3. Ok. Not great.
“What the fuck are you doing here? How did you even know where I live?” Angry Shane asked.
Ilya had really not thought through what he would say.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“Why?” Shane asked.
“I want to ask you a question,” Ilya tried.
“So ask,” Shane said, crossing his arms across his chest.
Ilya took a deep breath. This anger did not come from their rivalry. Something had happened. He needed to figure out what it was and how to fix it. The information he needed only lived inside the man in front of him. The man in front of him did not want to give him any information. How would he get it?
“Don’t we ever spend time together off the ice?” Ilya asked, a little suggestively.
“Not anymore, Rozanov,” Shane said.
How long, Ilya wondered.
“How long?” Ilya asked.
“What?”
“How long has it been since we were last together?” Ilya asked.
“What the fuck, Rozanov?”
“Please, Shane. Please,” Ilya said desperately.
“Don’t call me that,” Shane said, his anger now tinged with hurt.
“Ok, Hollander. But please. How long has it been?”
“Five years,” Shane said.
“Five years? But…” Ilya did some math. “Five years ago, that is when everything changed.”
“I know,” Shane said, back to being angry.
“No, I mean. Fuck. Can I please come in? Something is wrong and I am forgetting things. Can I just ask you some questions?” Ilya asked. Five years ago was when he first came to the cottage.
Shane looked like he wanted to refuse, like he wanted to slam the door in Ilya’s face. Ilya tried to look sorry and desperate and pleading, which really wasn’t that hard. Shane’s stance softened a fraction, even though his face stayed hard.
“Fine,” he said, moving out of the doorway.
“Thank you,” Ilya said.
Shane didn’t invite Ilya to sit or even to move further into the house than the entrance. That was fine. Ilya started pacing. He needed to retrace the steps to see what changed.
“Five years. You dated Rose?” Ilya asked.
“Yes.”
“And you broke up because you realized you are gay?” Ilya asked. Shane just nodded.
“And we played on the same all-star team that year?” Another nod.
“And we talked after the game? About my father and what happened with Rose?”
“Yes, Rozanov,” Shane said impatiently.
“And then my father died. And we talked while I was in Moscow?” Ilya asked. Nod.
“And then you got injured?” Ilya asked.
“Yeah.”
“And I came to the cottage that -”
“No,” Shane cut him off.
“No?”
“No, you didn’t come to the cottage.”
“I didn’t?” Ilya asked. That was the difference, obviously.
“Fuck, Rozanov. No, you didn’t fucking come here. You went to Italy for the summer. You froze me out.”
“Why?” Ilya asked himself but Shane answered.
“Because you didn’t want to be with me,” Shane said, with more hurt in his voice.
“Oh sweetheart, no. I did.” Ilya moved to reach for him but Shane stepped back.
“Don’t do that. You didn’t. If you did, you would have come.”
Ilya muttered to himself in Russian to figure this out. This Shane obviously wouldn’t have learned Russian so Ilya could hide behind it. He tried to remember back “Why wouldn’t I come? You got hurt. It was so hard to love you and not think there was a way. What changed my mind?” He switched back to English.
“Did Hunter come out?” he asked.
“Who?” Shane asked.
“Scott Hunter. Did he kiss his boyfriend on TV after he won the Cup?” Ilya asked. He remembered it was after that kiss that he made the decision to come.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Shane said.
“Did New York win the Cup that year?” Ilya asked.
“No. You did,” Shane said.
“I did?”
“Yes.”
Ilya pulled out his phone. He wandered over to the living room and sat down on the couch while he searched for Scott Hunter. There were a lot of Scott Hunters, apparently. He added “hockey” to the search. He found an article from 2008. Scott Hunter was a rising star for the New York Admirals when he had a career-ending injury. He never played hockey again. Ilya tooled around some more and found that he now taught gym and coached hockey in Rochester, NY. It took a moment for it to sink in. Then something rose inside him. He got up and started pacing again. Suddenly he was furious. He threw his phone at the wall.
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I OWE MY WHOLE FUCKING LIFE TO FUCKING SCOTT HUNTER?” he roared.
“Who the fuck is Scott Hunter?” Shane asked again.
“Nobody, apparently,” Ilya said. “A hockey player who wasn’t.” The fight went out of him. It felt like the life went out of him. He sank back down to the sofa and buried his face in his hands.
“Rozanov, is there someone I can call for you?” Shane asked. His voice was missing the anger that had been in it since Ilya arrived at the cottage. It sounded almost sympathetic.
“There is no one.”
“Do you have a place to stay? There aren’t a lot of hotels around here.”
Ilya shook his head without taking it out of his hands. Finally he looked up.
“You will not believe me when I tell you this. Last night I fell asleep in the bed upstairs, lying next to you. When I fell asleep, we were married. I came to the cottage five years ago and we got married last year and I don’t know why I woke up in Boston this morning,” Ilya said, sad and weary.
“Fuck, Ilya. Don’t do this,” Shane said.
“Do what?”
Shane stood up from the couch and his anger was back.
“You wrecked me five years ago. It took me years to put myself back together. Why are you doing this now?”
“I’m so sorry Shane. I know you don’t believe me, but that wasn’t me. I guess it could have been me but it wasn’t. I’m so sorry your Ilya did that to you. But I promise you, it wrecked him too.” Ilya said.
“Sure,” Shane scoffed.
“I can prove it to you,” Ilya said as he retrieved his phone which, miraculously, survived the impact with the wall. It was a risk because he hadn’t checked. But he thought about what he would do in the scenario Shane described. He would remove Shane’s number from his phone so he wasn’t tempted to reach out but there was one thing he would have kept. He went to the photo gallery and found the Boring folder. There was some comfort to him that it was there. Whoever this Ilya was, he wasn’t so far away from himself. He handed the phone to Shane.
“I didn’t look to see if these were here before just now. But they are still on my phone and I thought they would still be on his,” he said.
Shane took the phone and scrolled through the selfies from the NHL Awards in 2014. Tears started rolling down his face.
“Oh Ilya. Why didn’t you want to try?” he asked, although he seemed to be addressing the man in the photo, not the man sitting next to him.
“This was one of the best nights of my life,” Ilya said. Shane just nodded.
“You can stay here tonight. I’ll make up one of the guest rooms for you.”
“Thank you,” Ilya said. He felt unbearably sad but relieved that Shane had not thrown him out of the house.
Once Rozanov closed the door of the guest room, Shane grabbed his computer and sat at his kitchen table. What a weird fucking night. And draining. And infuriating. He was a little concerned about Ilya’s mental well-being. He hadn’t lied about being wrecked but he had lied a little bit about putting himself back together. He mostly had but he hadn’t fully gotten over Ilya. Most of the time it was background noise but whenever he was face to face with the man, it fucking hurt. The part of him that hurt was the same part of him that cared and was worried about the man who showed up on his doorstep tonight. Most of it just seemed desperate, like Rozanov finally realized what he wanted five years too late. But something about what he said didn’t make any sense and that’s what Shane looked up on his computer. The more he thought about it, the name Scott Hunter was familiar. There was a player for New York back when Shane was like 14 or 15 named Hunter. That’s what Shane searched for. He found the old stuff, the player, the injury. He checked the time. It was late. Eric Bennett would remember this guy. Shane knew that Eric traveled a lot in retirement and had no idea what time zone he would be in right now but he took a chance.
Shane: Hey man. Where are you these days? I haven’t seen any new photos in awhile.
Eric responded within a few minutes and Shane was relieved because he really wanted to ask the questions tonight.
Eric: Yosemite
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Shane: Wow! That is beautiful. I love your photography.
Eric: It’s fine. Nothing special.
Eric: You gearing up for the season?
Shane: Getting ready.
Shane: Random questions. Do you remember a guy named Scott Hunter?
Eric: Sure. Great guy. Before your time. He would have given you a run for your money if he hadn’t gotten injured. Stellar hockey player.
Shane: Did you keep in touch with him?
Eric: Not really. Social media and Christmas cards kind of thing. Why?
Shane: Ok, this is going to seem like a really weird and kind of intrusive question and I can’t explain why I’m asking it but do you know if he’s gay?
Shane’s phone rang with Eric’s name popping up on the screen. He sighed but picked it up.
“Hey.”
“Why are you asking that Shane?” Eric asked.
Eric was one of the few people who knew Shane was gay. And he knew because they had hooked up during the All-Star weekend a few years after Ilya had called things off with Shane and right after Eric’s marriage had ended. Shane was still a mess, and Eric kind of was too. They agreed to keep it to the one time and stayed friends after. Eric was also the only person in the world who knew about Ilya, another product of that weekend.
“Rozanov showed up at my door tonight,” Shane said.
“What?!” Eric said, appropriately shocked.
“Yeah. And he was saying a lot of really out there things. I’m a little worried about him. Most of them were off but maybe made sense if he was having some regrets about how things ended with us. But he also said something about a guy named Scott Hunter kissing his boyfriend on TV after he won the Stanley Cup. I didn’t know who he was talking about but I googled.”
“If Rozanov was talking like that, I’d be more than a little worried about him, Shane,” Eric said.
“I know. I know. But do you know if Hunter is gay? I promise I have a good reason to ask that had to do with some of the other things that Ilya said.”
“I mean, yeah. He is. He got married to a nice guy a few years after he left the Admirals. We were still in touch then and I went to the wedding,” Eric said. Shane blew out a breath,
“Thanks Eric.”
“Are you gonna be ok? Where is Rozanov now?” Eric asked.
“Asleep in my guest room,” Shane said.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Is there a chance he’s dangerous?” Eric sounded worried.
“I don’t think so. I don’t know what’s going on with him but I don’t think he’d hurt me,” Shane said.
“Ok, but will you check in with me? I just want to know you’re ok.”
“I will. I’ll text you tomorrow. Promise. Enjoy Yosemite,” Shane said.
Shane was really grateful to have Eric in his life. They had tossed out the idea of actually dating after Eric retired but it was clear to both of them that Shane still hadn’t fully gotten over Ilya, which wouldn’t be fair to Eric. Also, Shane found Eric intimidatingly intelligent (which Eric thought was ridiculous) and Eric thought he was too old for Shane (which Shane thought was silly) but the result was the same - they were better off as friends. They worked to maintain that friendship and Shane had a feeling he would need to lean on it now.
When Ilya woke up the next morning, he was relieved to sense that he was at the cottage. The sounds were right, it smelled like home. But he opened his eyes and realized he was in one of the guest rooms, not in his and Shane’s bedroom. Not a bad dream, then. Just a nightmare he was still living. He used one of the tools Galina gave him and listed the things that were good. He was alive. Shane let him stay the night. That is as far as he got but it was two good things. Too bad if he tried to call Galina she would try to have him committed. Maybe he could convince this Shane to let him stay until the season started in two weeks. A lot could happen in two weeks. If he was stuck in this place, he would do everything he could to get this Shane to be part of his life.
He went downstairs to get started on that but the house was empty. Looking at the clock, he realized Shane would be on his morning run. That was ok. He could start winning him over by making him breakfast. Maybe this Shane was still on that stupid diet. He could make him a gross smoothie. He opened the fridge and was happy to see cheese. Ok. Smoothie and eggs. He was just finishing up with the blender when Shane walked in the door.
“I made you a smoothie,” Ilya offered, handing Shane the glass of green yuck.
“Thanks. I’m, uh, gonna take a shower,” Shane said.
“Of course,” Ilya said. “I was going to make eggs, if you like.”
“Sure,” Shane said. Ilya couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling. Hesitant, he would say, but not closed off. He decided to take it as a good sign.
When Shane came back downstairs, Ilya placed the poached eggs in front of him. Shane looked at them and then up at Ilya. Ilya realized that this Shane had never told his Ilya how he liked his eggs.
“You like poached, yes?” Ilya asked. Shane ignored his question.
“So when you say two days ago you were married to me, does that mean we were out? Like publicly?” he asked. Ilya let go of some tension he didn’t realize he was holding. Maybe Shane didn’t completely believe him but maybe he also did a little?
“Yes.”
“When did we come out?”
“About a year ago. A little more.”
“So for four years before that we were together but hiding? And long distance? How did that work with you in Boston?”
“I was only in Boston for one more year. I signed with Ottawa after that.” Ilya explained. He told Shane about the plan they came up with, the Foundation, coming out publicly as friends.
“And the plan was to keep doing that until we retired? So what changed?” Shane asked.
“Do you remember a couple of years ago when the Centaurs plane had some mechanical issues and had to make an emergency landing?” Ilya asked.
“Sort of.”
“I was on that plane. It scared you, I think more than me.” He noticed something in Shane’s face. “Not you, I mean my Shane. It scared him to realize if I died while we were still hiding how hard it would have been for him. It didn’t seem worth it anymore.” Ilya smiled for the first time since he woke up the day before. “He proposed to me when I got home from that trip. We planned to come out and get married that summer.” Shane picked up on what Ilya didn’t say, the fucker.
“Planned? That isn’t how it went?”
“We got married that summer. After we were outed.”
“How? What happened?”
“I don’t want to tell you,” Ilya said.
“Why the fuck not? Did someone out us on purpose?” Shane asked.
“No. It was an accident but what happened after was not good. I don’t want you to be mad at people who have done nothing wrong to you here,” Ilya said. Shane thought about it but looked like he saw Ilya’s point.
“So we got outed and married last year and now you're in Ottawa and I’m in Montreal, married but living apart?” Shane said. Ilya didn’t want to lie.
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly,” Shane said, obviously frustrated with Ilya’s reticence.
“You play for Ottawa too.”
“WHAT?! Why? Why would I leave Montreal?” Shane asked, clearly shocked.
“How do you think your team would react to finding out we were together?” Ilya asked. Shane thought about it.
“Well Hayden and J.J. would probably support me, once they got over the shock. I don’t think they would be assholes to me.” Shane smiled ruefully.
“Not to you, no,” Ilya assured him. No need to tell Shane how long it would take for the acceptance to come.
“If they were dicks to you, Rozanov, you absolutely deserved it,” Shane said sharply. He quieted again, maybe thinking about how the rest of the Voyageurs organization would react and coming to some correct conclusions.
“So Montreal treated me badly when it all came out and I decided to leave and go play on a second-rate team with my husband,” Shane said. Ilya lost his breath a little when Shane said “my husband.”
“Ottawa wasn’t so second-rate by then. We had gone to the playoff that year, right before we got married. With both of us on the team after that, we won the Cup.” Ilya said without thinking through to the conclusions Shane would be able to draw.
“Did we have to face each other in the playoffs after we had been outed and my team was being terrible?” Shane asked.
“Shane, please do not make me tell you this part. Is not good for you, I promise,” Ilya pleaded.
“Fine,” Shane held his hands up. He hesitated. “Are we happy?”
“So happy, moy lyubovnik,” Ilya said and he knew his face was so soft when he said it. Shane nodded slowly, thinking more, Ilya guessed.
“I talked to Eric Bennett last night,” Shane said.
Ilya lit up. “How is Bennett? How is Kyle?”
“Who?” Shane asked. Of course. If Hunter never met Kip, Eric would never have met Kyle. Maybe there was a Kyle out there trying to convince Eric they were in love, the same way Ilya was sitting here.
“No one. Nevermind. What were you saying about Bennett?”
“He played with that guy you were talking about last night, Scott Hunter.” Shane said.
“Of course.” Ilya hadn’t thought about the fact that even though his and Shane’s career didn’t overlap with Hunter in this world, other people’s would have.
“He also said that Hunter married a man a couple of years after he left the league,” Shane said. Ilya was shocked that Shane had tracked down this information.
“Why did you ask Bennett about this?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Rozanov. You seemed really upset last night, but you didn’t seem delusional. I just wanted to try to understand. Some man named Ilya Rozanov has spent the last 5 years acting cold and distant from me. That man doesn’t even give me shit on the ice anymore.” Ilya could see that. It would hurt too much to engage Shane at all after cutting himself off. Shane continued, “I don’t know if that was you or some alternate version of you but since you showed up last night, you’ve acted like the you of five years ago. If what you’re saying is true, I don’t want to hurt you the way you hurt me.” Shit, maybe he didn’t but that cut Ilya’s heart in half.
“I can’t change what happened five years ago. If I could, I would. But could we start again? I don’t know how to be in the world without you in my life,” Ilya said. Maybe he should have hedged but he really had nothing to lose by putting it all out there.
“I can’t just pick up where we left off,” Shane said. “But if you want to stay here for a few days, maybe we can get to know each other off the ice a little.”
“Yes!” Ilya said immediately and enthusiastically.
“Sex isn’t part of this,” Shane said. “I can’t, ok?”
“That’s fine,” Ilya assured him.
“But I like the sound of this Irina Foundation. I’d like to put something good like that in the world. Maybe we can talk about that.”
Ilya grinned so wide he thought his face might break. Something occurred to him, though.
“Hunter never came out. Is anyone out in the league?” Ilya asked.
“Yeah. Fucking Troy Barrett, if you can believe it. Knocked me over, he was such an asshole.” Ilya grinned even wider.
“This is great! Is he with Harris, still?” he asked.
“I don’t know his boyfriend’s name but he works for the Centaurs in social media or something. I guess you know them if you played for Ottawa. I didn’t think of that.”
“Yes! They are the best couple. I’m so glad they got together in this world.” Something occurred to Ilya then. “Are you out?”
“Not really. Eric knows. My parents. Rose, obviously.”
“Not Hayden and J.J.?” Ilya asked.
“No, I… I couldn’t lose them too,” he said quietly. Ilya put his hand on Shane’s. The most chaste touch.
“You would not. They would support you, I promise,” Ilya said quietly and seriously. If he didn’t do anything else, he could at least make Shane feel less alone in this world. Shane nodded and wiped away some tears. Maybe this was enough for now.
“I think I will take a shower, if that is ok,” Ilya said, clearing off their plates.
“Of course. Do you need me to show you…” he trailed off at Ilya’s grin.
“I think I can figure it out. I do live here sometimes, you know?”
Ilya woke up in a strange bed. This was not completely unprecedented but he definitely remembered falling asleep in his own bed last night. He thought back. Yes. He hadn’t even gone out. He felt an arm draped over him and someone’s morning wood pressed into his back. Again, not unprecedented but he was definitely alone last night and he hadn’t been with a man in months.
“Morning,” the man murmured while he kissed a line over Ilya’s shoulders. Well. No reason not to have some morning sex while he figured out where he was and who he was with. The man turned Ilya onto his back and kissed a trail down his body. Ilya saw a head of black hair but couldn’t see the man’s face. Something seemed familiar but he was still too asleep to figure out what it was. The man looked up as he took Ilya’s cock into his mouth and Ilya became even more confused but also...
“Yes, Hollander,” Ilya moaned. Maybe this was a dream. He often dreamed of Shane Hollander like this. It felt more real than a dream but he hadn’t felt those lips around him for real in years. Hollander hummed around him and Ilya decided whatever was going on, there was no reason not to enjoy it. So he did. And he enjoyed returning the favor when they got into the shower. He felt Hollander’s balls on his tongue and questioned all the choices he made in his life that had meant he hadn’t had this for so long.
After the shower, Hollander went down to make coffee and Ilya decided he needed to figure out where he was and why he was here. He looked out the windows in the bedroom and saw a lake. Maybe this was Hollander’s cottage - the one he invited Ilya to, the one Ilya never visited. Ilya then looked in the mirror and saw some differences. For one, he was wearing a ring on his left hand. He never wore rings but he'd noticed Hollander had on a matching one. Ilya also had an unfamiliar tattoo on his shoulder of some kind of bird. Weird.
Ok. Ilya looked around the room. There were a few framed photos. One that must have been Hollander’s parents. Another of Ilya and Hollander on the ice in workout clothes instead of hockey gear. They were smiling at each other, not the camera. Whatever was going on between him and Hollander in this world were Ilya had woken up, it wasn’t the casual sex they had been having before Ilya decided that casual sex hurt too much and it would be better if he cut Hollander out of his life entirely. In whatever this world was, he and Hollander were together.
Downstairs were more pictures. Most of them were as unfamiliar to Ilya as the ones in the bedroom, but he stopped in front of one he sort of recognized. He at least remembered this one being taken. He stared at the laughing faces of two kids who had no idea what was in front of them. He didn’t know how long he stood there but he felt Hollander come up behind him, wrap his arms around Ilya and rest his chin on Ilya’s shoulder, looking at the picture with him.
“That was a good day,” Hollander said.
“It was,” Ilya replied, quietly.
“That was a good one too,” Hollander said, pointing his chin to the other photo on the wall. Ilya looked and, as unbelievable as this whole situation was, the only conclusion he could come to was that the picture Hollander indicated was from their wedding day.
“Yes,” Ilya agreed, because what else could he say? If he told Hollander that he didn’t remember that day, that they hadn’t spoken in five years, Hollander would think he was out of his mind. Just then a dog ran into Ilya’s legs. A husband he had no idea how to deal with, but a dog? That he could handle. He dropped to the floor and spoke in Russian. He probably spoke to his dog in Russian and maybe that would hide the fact that he didn’t know the dog from Hollander.
“Who’s a good boy?” he said, giving the dog a big body rub. “You are such a good boy.”
Hollander gave him a weird look.
“Come on, Anya,” he said, also in Russian. “Let’s go for a walk.” The dog immediately abandoned Ilya.
“I’ll take her,” Hollander said, again with a weird and worried glance. Because of course if they were married, Hollander had learned Russian and just understood that Ilya called his female dog a boy. Fuck. He needed to figure out what was happening, or at least how to fake being Shane Hollander’s husband better than he was. He went back to the bedroom and found the phone that had been on the side of the bed he woke up on. When it lit up, the lock screen was a selfie of him and Hollander. They looked happy. He looked happy. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt as happy as the man in the photo looked. Luckily his face unlocked the phone because he had no idea what his password might be. Where to start? He didn’t need the public information. He needed to know how he and Hollander spoke to each other and what their lives were like. He started with the texts. Everything was “buy eggs” and “my mom said don’t fucking forget about the thing tomorrow.” But of course they were together all summer, they would not need to text. Ilya scrolled back to the spring when they would have been apart for the season but it was all the same. Domestic logistics. Hearts and eggplants. A few thirsty selfies. Nothing that told Ilya anything. It was like they lived together during the season as well as the summer which made even less sense to Ilya than the fact that he woke up married to Shane Hollander. Maybe he did need the public information. He googled himself and found he played for the Ottawa Centaurs. Well that sounded terrible. He googled Hollander and found that he also played for Ottawa. They were on the same team? How would that have happened? He would never leave Boston. Hollander would definitely never leave Montreal. He looked up the Ottawa Centaurs and found that with the best two centers of a generation, they had won the Stanley Cup last year and were favored to do it again this year. Well, that wasn’t terrible. He heard the door open downstairs and panicked a little because he hadn’t really found anything out.
“Ilya,” Hollander called.
“I’m up here,” Ilya yelled back. When Hollander appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, it took Ilya’s breath away.
“You are so beautiful,” he said because it was true. How had Ilya forgotten? But also he said it because maybe then Hollander wouldn’t notice that Ilya wasn’t exactly his husband. Hollander smiled brightly and he was even more stunning.
“Stunning,” Ilya said, walking over and kissing Hollander in a way that he hadn’t let himself think about or want in years even though it was all he thought about and wanted when he forgot to block it out. Hollander’s eyes looked a little glazed when he pulled away but he blinked it away quickly.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“Go?” Ilya asked. Shit.
“To my parents’.” Hollander said slowly. “For brunch?”
“Right,” Ilya said. “I am not feeling myself this morning. Can you go without me?”
Hollander gave Ilya that weird and worried look again. “Sure. Did you take your pill?”
“Not yet,” Ilya said. Fuck, what pill? “I will.” He could probably find a pill to take.
“Should I take Anya with me?” Hollander asked.
“No, leave her,” Ilya said. The dog wouldn’t care that Ilya didn’t know her. He hadn’t been able to hang out with a dog in so long. Once Hollander left, Ilya looked for a pill to take. He found a bottle of antidepressants with his name on it in the medicine cabinet and took one because it felt like the least he could do for the man who was obviously confused and worried about him. Then Ilya went back to his phone and started searching. He opened the text chain with Hollander and scrolled all the way back to the beginning. It all seemed familiar up until about five years ago. He slowed down around the time his father died and Hollander got that concussion. Then it didn’t look the same. Hollander was asking about his ribs, which he didn’t remember hurting that year. Then Hollander was sorry that Ilya got knocked out of the playoff which isn’t what happened at all. Ilya won the Cup that year. Ilya could see that he had been pulling away from Hollander, the same way he remembered. Around the time that Ilya remembered he had stopped texting entirely he saw some confusing texts.
Shane: Holy shit
Shane: Are you seeing this?
Shane: What the fuck?!!? Is that his boyfriend???!!!!!
Shane: What is happening??!!! Did he really just do that???!!!
The next text in the chain was flight information from Boston to Ottawa. A flight that Ilya had never taken but apparently the man who married Shane Hollander had. The difference had something to do with the Stanley Cup playoffs that year. Ilya looked it up. The Bears had been knocked out in the third round by New York. Ilya looked up that team. He recognized most of the names - Bennett, Vaughn, Huff. But the center wasn’t Bodnar like Ilya remembered. It was a guy named Scott Hunter. Ilya looked him up and was stunned by what he saw. The video of this man kissing his boyfriend after winning the Cup. That must have been what those texts were about. The speech after. The activism. Ilya thought back to when he had decided not to accept Hollander’s invitation to the cottage five years ago. He had been scared and hadn’t seen a way that they could make it work. He thought about what he might have done if he had seen this kiss at that pivotal moment and thought, maybe, he would have made a different choice. And, from what he could tell, he would have been much happier if he had. He thought about trying to find out more about his life from the last five years but it all seemed like too much effort. He would not be able to fake his way through whatever this was.
Ilya didn’t know how long he had been lying on the couch staring at the wall when Hollander came back. He felt so tired and he knew he would have to tell Hollander what was happening and it was going to hurt both of them. Hollander sat at his hip on the couch and ran his fingers through Ilya’s hair. Ilya closed his eyes. It felt so good. Why had he been so scared to let himself have this?
“Ilya, what’s going on?” Hollander said, all concern.
“You will not believe me,” Ilya said.
“Of course I will,” Hollander said. Ilya felt tears in his eyes and Hollander wiped them away. So tender.
“Should you call Galina?” Hollander asked. Ilya wondered who Galina was. He shook his head. It felt selfish to keep it to himself and cruel to share. As worried as Hollander was now, he would probably be beside himself if Ilya told him what was going on. The season started in two weeks and this Hollander would probably spend those two weeks checking his husband into a psychiatric hospital. Ilya sat up.
“Please hear me out. You are not going to believe me but please listen?” Ilya said. Hollander nodded.
“I have not seen you or spoken to you off of the ice in five years. We have not been together. I went to bed last night alone in my apartment in Boston. I woke up this morning here with you,” Ilya said.
“What are you talking about?” Hollander asked.
“I told you you would not believe me,” Ilya sighed but he went on. “I remember that day in Toronto,” Ilya said, pointing at the picture they had been looking at earlier. “But I have no memory of that day,” Ilya pointed to the wedding picture. “I have never been to this cottage before. I still play in Boston. I looked back on our texts to see if I could figure out what changed. I needed to know what made my life so different from this one.” He could tell Hollander didn’t believe him but needed to understand what was happening.
“What did you find?” he asked.
“The difference came in the playoffs in 2017. I was pulling away,” Ilya said.
“I remember,” Hollander said.
“The way I remember it, I kept pulling away until I cut myself off from you completely,” Ilya said. “But that is not all that was different. This man, Scott Hunter? The one who kissed his boyfriend after winning the Cup? I have never heard of him,” Ilya said.
“What the fuck are you talking about? I know you have a love/hate relationship with Scott but come on, Ilya,” Hollander said.
“No, I have no relationship with this man. I don’t know who he is. The center for New York is a guy named Bodnar, not Hunter. Nobody kissed their boyfriend. I didn’t come here. I was too scared to try and be with you and I can see now what a big mistake this was. Because I have not been as happy as I look in all these pictures in years. I don’t know if I have ever been this happy.” Ilya admitted.
“I think you should call Galina,” Hollander said again.
“Who is Galina?” Ilya asked tiredly. Hollander didn’t believe him but he didn’t have the energy to fight it or fake it.
“Your therapist.”
“Fine. I will call Galina. But Hollander,” Ilya looked at him with a plea in his eyes, “please do not have me committed somewhere.” Hollander put his hand on Ilya’s cheek.
“I won’t. I promise. We’ll figure it out together and I won’t do anything you don’t agree to, ok?” Ilya leaned in to Hollander’s hand, closed his eyes and nodded.
The first week that Shane let Ilya stay at the cottage was… fine. The first day they were very polite to each other. It was like living with a stranger, which Ilya supposed was what he and Shane were here. The second day they played some hockey and Ilya could trash talk him on the ice in a way that felt comfortable and familiar. By the third day, Ilya was able to tease Shane without him shutting down. Every day Ilya made Shane his gross smoothie and a healthy breakfast. He picked movies to watch that he knew Shane liked. They swam and rode the jet skis. At the end of the first week, Shane made a bonfire and Ilya told him the story about the first time he heard a loon.
Ilya noticed that Shane texted Eric Bennett a few times and overheard one phone call where he was reassuring Bennett that “it's fine, really.” Ilya didn’t want to shatter the fragile calm of the week but he was curious. He didn’t remember Shane ever being particularly close with Bennett. They both liked the guy but they weren’t exactly calling frequently friends.
“When you talked to Bennett last week, did you tell him I was here?” Ilya ventured over the burgers Shane had grilled on the night that marked a week since Ilya had shown up at the cottage.
“I did,” Shane said, without elaborating. Ilya pushed it.
“Did he know about us before that?”
“He did.”
Ilya could tell Shane was hiding something about this. He couldn’t help himself from pushing until he knew what it was. If he had been with his Shane he would have made it a game to get him to talk but, even though this Shane had thawed to Ilya, he still wasn’t playful in the same way.
“Do a lot of people know? About us, I mean?” Ilya asked.
“No,” Shane said shortly, “Just Eric.”
“Why him?” Ilya wondered. Shane slammed his hand on the table, suddenly furious. Ilya jumped.
“Fuck Rosanov. Because he found me crying in the bathroom when your brought your girlfriend to the All-Star Weekend a few years ago and he comforted me while I had a fucking break-down,” Shane blurted out.
Something about this seemed... If Eric had never met Kyle...
“Did you sleep with him?” Ilya asked, with more accusation than was fair to this Shane.
“Yes. I slept with him,” Shane said, still angry. “I’ve slept with several people in the last five years.”
“Are you sleeping with him, still,” Ilya asked, unreasonably jealous. Shane stood abruptly.
“I’m going for a walk,” he said.
“Shane,” Ilya said apologetically, standing too.
“No, Rozanov. You don’t get to show up here out of nowhere and judge my choices. Just leave me alone,” he said and walked off.
Ilya sat for a few minutes, hoping Shane would storm back and continue to fight with him. When he realized that wasn’t going to happen, he cleaned up their dinner and put the kitchen back in order. He went through the house, tidying up, picking up anything that he had lying around. He couldn’t quite bring himself to pack his bag, but he gathered everything together so he could pack quickly if Shane asked him to leave. He sat on the sofa to wait and did some more research on this version of Ilya Rozanov. It mostly looked like he had gone on in Boston the way he always had but without secretly sleeping with Shane. He grew more worried as the hours passed but finally he heard the door slam. Shane sat next to him on the sofa.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked quietly.
“No,” Shane said, equally subdued.
“You are right, of course. I have no right to be jealous. I’m sorry,” Ilya said. Shane nodded. He gave Ilya a long look.
“Fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself. Then he kissed Ilya. It was desperate and urgent and angry and unbelievably hot. Ilya met Shane with his own urgency but still let Shane take the lead. He had no right to take anything from this man or push him anywhere he wasn’t ready to go. Shane pushed Ilya on his back and deepened the kiss. He ground his erection against Ilya's and they both groaned.
“I need to taste you,” Shane said as he moved down his body, pulling down Ilya's shorts. He took Ilya’s cock in his mouth and sucked him with a hunger in his eyes that Ilya hadn’t seen in years.
“Yes, Shane. So good,” Ilya gasped. He put his hand on Shane’s face and drew his thumb across his freckles. Shane closed his eyes and sucked hard and fast and Ilya wasn’t going to last. He could feel his orgasm building, too quickly with this pace. He tried to warn Shane but Shane stayed on him. Ilya erupted into Shane's mouth. Once he caught his breath, he sat up and kissed Shane again, tasting himself on Shane’s tongue. He pulled Shane’s shirt off before he pushed him onto his back. While Shane had sucked him off with the desperation of a five-year absence, Ilya worshiped Shane’s body with all the knowledge he had gathered in the last five years. He went slow and hit all of the most sensitive parts of Shane’s body. He had Shane desperate and begging. He looked up at Shane with a wicked glint and the smile he received in return was the warmest Shane had given him all week. He closed his eyes to keep it in his mind while he swallowed Shane’s release.
Ilya kissed his way back up Shane’s body and pulled him close so they were lying side by side. They lay like that for several minutes, Ilya running his fingers through Shane's hair.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Shane said.
“Good,” Ilya said and gave him a soft and tender kiss.
The two weeks after Ilya woke up acting strangely were…weird. Ilya called Galina like Shane asked but he still insisted he lived the last five years differently than Shane had. Galina suggested Ilya go to the hospital to get a full evaluation but Ilya didn’t want to and Shane kept his promise to not force him to. Shane did research on selective amnesia, and side effects of concussions and antidepressants, and PTSD. Nothing matched what Ilya exhibited. As far as Shane could tell, their memories matched right up to the moment when Scott came out. And Ilya seemed to remember the last five years. He just remembered them with some variation. He remembered the big world events the same way that Shane did. He remembered Troy coming out but he didn’t remember being friends with Troy or knowing Harris. The part of Shane that thought Ilya was having some kind of psychotic break diminished every day and he was starting to believe that this really was some kind of alternate reality version of Ilya. When more of him believed that than not, he broached the subject with Ilya.
“Ilya?” he said gently over coffee about a week in.
“Yes, Hollander?” Ilya said tiredly. He always sounded tired. It was as bad as it had been when Ilya had been going through the worst of his depression. And that was the other thing. He hadn’t called Shane by his first name since that day. That’s where Shane decided to start.
“Why don’t you use my first name?” he asked. He hoped he sounded curious and not accusatory. “You did before. I mean, five years ago. You called me Shane before you came here for the first time.” Ilya looked at him for a long time.
“I don’t let myself. I don’t even let myself think it. I worked very hard to be an asshole to you so you would give up but I worked even harder to build a wall in myself around the part of me that loved you,” he said. “This wall crumbled when I woke up in your bed and calling you Hollander is the only protection I have left. What if I wake up tomorrow in Boston in a world where you hate me? I cannot survive this a second time, I don’t think.”
Shane thought about how he would have reacted if Ilya had acted the way this man described. He would have been hurt. He would have been angry. He would have been a wreck for he couldn’t think how long. But he couldn’t imagine a scenario where he would completely stop loving Ilya. He probably would have done something like what this Ilya described. Built a wall around that part of himself. But it would still be there, inside him.
“Is your Shane with someone?” he asked
“I don’t know. He is not out. He could be,” Ilya said without thinking. He looked up. “You believe me?” he asked a little hopefully.
“I don’t know,” Shane said honestly. “What you’re saying sounds absolutely insane. But the longer you’re here, the less insane it seems.” The hopeful look in Ilya's eyes shifted back to a resigned sadness.
“I am not your husband, though. You can believe me but I cannot be him. I don’t have his memories. I haven’t experienced the same things as you. All I have are years of regrets and a wish that I had been as brave as him,” Ilya said.
“I know,” Shane said. “You can’t be him. But I promised Ilya Rozanov that I would always be by his side. I promised him we would face life together. It might not have been you who I made those promises to but I did make those promises and I don’t intend to break them. So we’ll figure it out, ok?”
Ilya was blown away by the fierceness in Hollander’s face when he promised to be by Ilya’s side. He made a decision to let the last of the wall fall away.
“Ok, Shane. Together.” Ilya said. Shane’s smile bloomed and Ilya could feels its match on his face.
And they did face it together. Shane brought him up to date on anything and everything he would need to know about his life in Ottawa. Ilya knew the Centaurs players as opponents but Shane filled in the gaps of how these men were his friends. When they were with other people, Shane covered Ilya’s mistakes. It wasn’t easy but it got easier every day and Ilya could see how this could be his life. Maybe he could be as happy as the man in the photos. He went to bed the night before the season began feeling good. Excited.
“Are you coming to bed?” he asked Shane.
“In a minute. You go ahead. I’m just gonna lock up.”
Shane watched Ilya walk up the stairs and waited until he heard the water flow in the bathroom. He sat on the couch, tipped his head back, and closed his eyes. The last week had been exhausting. He saw traces of his husband in this Ilya and hoped that eventually he would be more like the man he had gone to bed with two weeks ago. Shane took the wedding photo on the side table in his hands. He brushed his finger over Ilya’s face. “I miss you,” he whispered. And he walked upstairs to the Ilya he had left.
The last week at the cottage before the season began was… good. Shane was rediscovering what it meant to be with Ilya and Ilya did everything to show him how good it could be when they were together. But it was also different. Shane’s anger didn’t disappear overnight. Ilya’s jealousy about the life Shane had lived still popped up. They had to figure out what being together meant once the season started and they were living in two different countries. It was not something Ilya was looking forward to doing again but this Ilya had signed a long-term contract in Boston that had many years left on it. Shane was in the same situation. Shane wasn’t ready to come out either. He said he would come out to Hayden and J.J. and he even said he would tell them about Ilya. But he also would not entertain the idea of coming out publicly - either as gay or as a couple. Ilya wondered if he could go backward in this way and seriously considered whether or not it was worth it. But then he would look at Shane and know he would do anything.
Montreal was starting the season in Boston so they had a little more time before they needed to part. Shane even agreed to spend the night in Ilya’s apartment instead of at the team hotel. This wouldn’t be perfect but it would be fine. Ilya lay next to Shane and listened to his breathing even out. He slipped out of the bed and found a pack of cigarettes where he expected to in the kitchen drawers. He went out onto his balcony and inhaled the first, blissful puff, thinking about the man he had left behind.
“I miss you, moy lyubovnik,” he whispered into the universe. He stubbed out the cigarette, went back inside, and wrapped himself around the Shane in the bed.
When he drifted out of sleep, something felt different. He still held Shane in his arms but the light in the room was wrong. He felt some movement behind him like weight shifting around and felt some wetness on his neck. He opened his eyes and was face to face with Anya. He looked around the room and realized he wasn’t in Boston. He was back in his bed in Ottawa. Ottawa!
“Anya, my munchkin! I missed you so much!” He hugged her and scratched her head and her belly and anywhere else he could reach. Shane stirred next to him.
“She shouldn’t be on the bed,” he mumbled.
“Shane!” Ilya pulled him up and hugged him so hard. Shane hugged him back. He pulled away and looked into his husband’s eyes. His husband! Not the wrong Shane. Shane seemed to be searching his eyes as well and a smile bloomed on his face.
“Hi. Good morning to you, too,” Shane said with a grin.
“You will never believe what happened to me, Shane,” Ilya said.
“Did you wake up two weeks ago in a world where Scott Hunter didn’t exist and realize you owe everything to him and get very mad about it?” Shane said, teasing a bit.
“Yes! I did! Very mad. I threw my phone,” Ilya said earnestly. He paused. If Shane knew that, it must mean… “Was he here, the other Ilya?” Shane nodded.
“Please, tell me everything,” Ilya said.
“Let’s get some coffee. We’ll tell each other everything,” Shane said. Ilya waited patiently while Shane brushed his teeth and then took his face in his hands and kissed him. “I missed you so much, Shane. He was not you and this hole in my heart where you were could not go away.”
“I know,” Shane said, giving Ilya another long kiss. “I missed you too.
Ilya woke up and immediately knew where he was. When he opened his eyes, the bed in his apartment was as empty as he thought it would be. No Shane. No Hollander, he corrected himself in his mind. He tried to build the wall back up. He knew this time it wouldn’t work. He would be shattered on the inside forever.
He dragged himself out of the bed and started on the coffee. He still needed to play hockey today. He looked up who he would be playing. He hadn’t bothered to consider Boston’s schedule when he was in Ottawa with Hollander. Fuck. Montreal. Maybe he should just quit his life. Who would miss him, really?
The apartment buzzer rang just as Ilya took his first sip of coffee.
“Hello?” he asked the intercom.
“It’s me,” came the reply. Who, Ilya wondered? But the date said time had gone on while he was in Canada with Hollander so maybe he was expecting someone. He buzzed them in and waited. When he opened the door he was 80% shocked to see Hollander.
“I woke up at the hotel,” Hollander said. “I don’t know what happened.”
Ilya had a suspicion and he was now 30% hopeful that he was right.
“Come in,” he said, opening the door wider to let Hollander in. “Do you want some coffee?”
“No, I don’t want some coffee, Rozanov. I want to know why I woke up in my hotel when I fell asleep here,” Hollander snapped. “Actually, yes. I want some coffee.”
“I am going to put out an idea for you and you tell me what you think,” Ilya said as he poured. “Two weeks ago I showed up at your door and told you we were married.”
Realization dawned on Hollander’s face.
“That’s wasn’t you, was it?” Hollander asked.
“No. Two weeks ago I woke up in Canada married to a man I hadn’t spoken to in five years,” Ilya said, calmly.
“I should go,” Hollander said as he put down his mug and started to walk to the door.
“Shane, wait,” Ilya said. Hollander stopped but didn’t turn around.
“I made a mistake back then. I know I hurt you and you are probably still very angry with me," Ilya said.
"I am," Hollander said, his back still to Ilya.
"I am so sorry. I thought I was protecting myself but I have regretted it every day. I saw what my life, our life, could be if I hadn’t made that mistake. I don’t know if we can have what they have. But I can’t keep going without you in my life. I don't want to,” Ilya took a chance and walked to Shane, putting his hand on Shane's shoulder.
Shane turned around slowly, looking half-miserable, half-hopeful. Ilya continued, brushing his fingers over Shane's cheek, "I can’t not try. Not this time."
"We... I want..." Shane took a deep breath. "I want to try too, but I don't see how. They came up with a plan that won’t work for us. It barely worked for them."
“I know. But we can come up with our own plan, yes? They are not smarter than us,” Ilya grinned. Shane smiled.
Ilya took Shane’s face in his hand and pressed their foreheads together. “I really fucking missed you,” he said. They leaned into each other. The kiss felt like coming home.
“I missed you, too.”