Chapter Text
April 2017
Ilya entered the code Shane had given him before the start of the game into the keypad with shaking hands. One nine one nine. He half expected it not to work, but the little light turned from red to green as he heard the lock click free. When he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, Ilya was hit with an overwhelming sense that maybe he shouldn’t have come here. But they had planned for Ilya to spend the night here and after seeing Shane’s too still body being taken off the ice, he couldn’t bring himself to stay at the hotel with his team.
Ilya had been thinking about this game for weeks, desperate for another chance to see Shane again. To have Shane all to himself — his Shane — the one who smiled at Ilya with soft eyes, even when he was calling Ilya an asshole. Maybe especially then. Ilya had planned on falling asleep with Shane in his arms, their heads sharing the same pillow. He had let himself believe it would be a sure thing. Instead, he was here alone. He would fall asleep alone. He would wake up alone.
Ilya toed his shoes off in the entryway, knowing that Shane would never let him walk around his home with them on. Setting down the backpack he had shoved a few essentials into before leaving the hotel, he reached along the wall to where he remembered Shane flipping the lightswitch to turn on the light for the kitchen, casting the rest of the space in a soft glow of light.
He looked over into the living room, eyes searching the shelves for photos that Shane might have displayed hoping to find one of Shane himself. He was a little surprised to find that there were none, not even any of Shane with his parents. He wondered if this was how Shane’s cottage in Ottawa was decorated. Dangerously, Ilya let himself wonder what it would be like to have photos with Shane, framed and lining the shelves — maybe even hung up on the wall. It hurt how badly he wanted that. How badly he wanted to belong in Shane’s space. Everything had a place here, and everything was kept in that place. Ilya so desperately wanted a place in Shane’s life. Somewhere close, somewhere chosen, somewhere kept.
He scrubbed his hands over his face, willing the tears not to fall. In the end, the craving for closeness won — it always did. Ilya headed upstairs and went to Shane’s bedroom. He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the dark blue bedsheets under the grey comforter, eyes tracing the subtle dip in the middle of the bed where Shane slept every night. He could still smell the lingering scent of Shane — his favorite body wash mixed with something warmer, something Ilya only ever associated with his skin.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he curled up in Shane’s bed on top of the covers, pulling Shane’s pillow tight against his chest. Ilya buried his face in it, letting the tears fall in earnest now. He just wanted to know if Shane was okay — could he walk? Could he speak? Would Ilya ever get to see him again?
Screwing his eyes shut, he tried not to think like that. He considered refreshing the news websites on his phone for news of Shane’s condition like he had on the cab ride over. And in the hotel room. And in the locker room immediately after the game. But the thought of there still being no update was more distressing than the thought of there actually being a headline to find.
He just had to make it until morning. His coach would know what hospital they had taken Shane to, or would at least be able to find out. It wasn’t unheard of for a team captain to go check on an injured player from an opposing team, especially when the other player was also a captain. He pressed Shane’s pillow tighter to his chest. He just had to make it a few more hours, and then he would be able to see for himself that Shane was alright. He had to be.
xxx
Predictably, once Ilya had finally managed to fall asleep, he slept terribly. He had dreamed of when he found his mother, her hand hanging limply off the side of the bed. Only this time when he opened the door to her bedroom, it wasn’t his mother he had found lifeless on top of the sheets — it was Shane.
Ilya could not handle going through that again. He could not survive Shane leaving. Because Ilya knew Shane would leave, would come to see that Ilya was not worth it. He could not keep letting this thing go on, not when his heart beat for it. He had to take a step back, he had to be the one to leave. It would be agony, looking Shane in the eye as he said the words, but letting this go on was slowly killing him. He could not let whatever was going on between them go any further than it already had, and for Ilya, it had gone far beyond just fucking each other a long time ago — much longer than he was willing to admit, even to himself.
It scared him, how much he wanted them to be something. All Ilya wanted was Shane. Shane, Shane, Shane. His name was there, screamed in every beat of Ilya’s heart — something that could no longer be soothed by a few stolen hours across the length of a season. And that was exactly why he had to end it. Because if he didn’t, he had no idea how much longer he could stop himself from saying I love you — this time in English, a language Shane actually understood.
Knowing he couldn’t stay in Shane’s bed forever, Ilya took one last deep breath with his face buried in Shane’s pillow before pulling his phone out of his pocket. Intending to check the news to see if he could avoid asking his coach which hospital Shane had been taken to, instead he found several text messages from Cliff Marlow — the last person Ilya wanted to hear from right now.
Marlow: Hollander is at Montreal General
Marlow: Wanted to make sure he’s alright
Marlow: Figured you might want to come as captain
Marlow: Or you know because you seemed so concerned yesterday
The messages were all from about half an hour ago. Marlow might have already headed over there himself. Ilya typed out a quick reply, choosing to ignore Marlow’s final message.
Ilya: you left already?
The reply came back fast.
Marlow: No
Marlow: Been waiting for you
Ilya: do not bother
Ilya: i am already here
The lie came easy to Ilya. The last thing he wanted was to have Marlow there at the hospital with him. He didn’t know how he would react to seeing Shane, especially since he still had no idea what kind of injuries he had.
Marlow: Oh
Ilya: hollander does not want to see you anyway
Marlow: You know what
Marlow: That’s fair
Marlow: But I didn’t mean it
Marlow: Tell him I’m sorry
Marlow: But make sure you actually sound sorry
Marlow: Because I am sorry
Ilya: i will think about it
Marlow: You’re a menace
Ilya: do not complain
Ilya: is what wins us games
Marlow: Hell yeah Rozy, wouldn’t have you any other way
Satisfied that Marlow was going to let him handle it, Ilya pulled up the address to the hospital. It was only about ten minutes from Shane’s apartment. He grabbed his bag from where he had left it by the front door and dug through it until he found his toothbrush. While brushing his teeth with Shane’s toothpaste, he called an Uber. When he was done in the bathroom, he had just enough time to smooth out the comforter and straighten the pillow so it looked like he had never been there at all. Part of him had wanted to leave it the way it was, but he couldn’t stand to think about how pathetic Shane would think he was for having spent the night here.
Ilya gave the apartment one last look as he put his shoes back on. He made sure the door locked behind him before getting into the waiting car. After greeting the driver, he leaned his head against the window. Ilya closed his eyes and cleared his mind of everything but Shane. He would allow himself to indulge one last time before he locked the memories away in his heart forever. The shine of determination in Shane’s eyes when they met for a face-off on the ice. The soft smile he tried to hide when Ilya called him boring. The way his fingers dug into Ilya’s shoulders when he begged for more. He was perfect. Too perfect.
And Ilya wanted too much from him. Things that he could not want, not if he ever wanted to return home to Russia. But if Ilya was honest with himself, he had not thought of Russia as home for some time now. Somewhere along the way, Shane had become his home. He felt more at peace with Shane than he ever had in his home country — even if it was just for a few stolen hours in a hotel room. Ilya would take whatever Shane was willing to give him. But the traitorous voice in his head reminded him that Shane would never — could never — feel the same about him. It was why he had to end it now. Everyone always left. It would hurt less if he didn’t wait around for it this time.
As the hospital came into view, Ilya blinked back his tears. He tried to soothe himself with the thought that he would at least get to see Shane one last time before all that remained between them was their rivalry. The driver pulled into the drop off loop near the front doors. Ilya took a deep breath before exiting the car, shoving everything back down the same way he had learned to do in the presence of his father. He knew one day everything he let fester would come back up and drown him, but he couldn’t think about that now. He had to focus on not letting whatever Shane might say break his resolve.
When he walked in through the sliding glass doors, it was easy to find the reception desk. He told the nurse he was there to see Shane Hollander, and she gave him the room number. As Ilya stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor, he still felt a bit shocked it had been so simple. A part of him had hoped they wouldn’t let him see Shane so that he could have just sent a text. But he knew that he had to make sure Shane was okay first. He needed to see it with his own eyes to truly believe it.
Ilya stopped in front of room 412. His hand hovered over the door handle, heart beating wildly in his chest like a trapped hummingbird. He steeled himself for the worst as he turned the handle and pushed the door open. Shane, already sitting up in bed, turned his face from looking out the window to take Ilya in. For a moment — seconds or hours, Ilya couldn’t tell — Shane just stared at him, like he couldn’t quite believe he was really there. The smile that spread across Shane’s face chipped away at Ilya’s resolve. Ilya didn’t move away from the door.
“Ilyaaa,” Shane said, his voice full of affection, looking ridiculously happy to see him — like he had been waiting for him. Ilya took in the sling cradling his left arm and the bruises blooming over his face. His heart clenched, unable to fully accept that there wasn’t anything else wrong.
When Ilya didn’t move, Shane reached out for him with his free arm. “Come here.” And god, Ilya was helpless to resist the longing he saw in Shane’s big brown eyes — the way he looked at Ilya like he was the only thing he had ever wanted in life. Ilya moved forward and took Shane’s hand after looking behind him to make sure no one was watching them through the window on the door.
Shane squeezed his hand. He must have seen some of the dread still lingering on Ilya’s face because he said, “Hey, I’m okay. It’s just a concussion and a broken collarbone. Could have been a lot worse.”
Ilya let out a humorless laugh. “Much worse, yes.”
Shane sighed, and Ilya couldn’t stop himself from brushing the back of his hand over Shane’s cheek, cupping his jaw, and stroking his thumb over Shane’s beautiful freckles. “Well, I’m out for the playoffs.”
Ilya hummed in agreement. “That is worse. Will make it much easier for me to win the Cup.”
“If I can’t win, it should be you.” Shane’s gaze was so stupidly adoring that Ilya could already feel his resolve beginning to crumble. Ilya didn’t know what to say. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and his eyes were beginning to sting.
Trying to collect himself, Ilya went for something safe. “Marlow is sorry. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Part of the game. It happens to us all eventually.” Shane’s thumb traced small circles over the back of Ilya’s hand.
Ilya took a slow breath, listening to the steady hum and gentle beeps of the machines. He should have decided what he was going to say on the car ride over. He should have known he would need an exit strategy. Shane kept brushing his thumb over Ilya’s knuckles. Eventually, the motion stilled. He gave Ilya’s hand a light squeeze before speaking again.
“Will you come to my cottage this summer?”
Shane looked a bit anxious, but so beautiful in the light of the sun filtering through the window. Ilya felt unmoored. He couldn’t. They couldn’t. He knew it was long past time to end it. But he was too much of a coward to speak the words. Ilya let his eyes trace the freckles beneath Shane’s bruised face, trying to memorize their pattern one last time.
“We could be alone, together. For a week, or maybe even two,” Shane said when Ilya remained silent. He sounded so hopeful, as if that was all Shane had ever wanted. And god, that was all Ilya had ever wanted — more time. Days of uninterrupted time alone with Shane. Days instead of hours — where he could kiss Shane, take him to bed, and spend the hours after pressed so close he might disappear into him. Selfishly, he wanted forever. Wanted Shane to be his the way he was already Shane’s.
Instead, Ilya forced himself to say, “Hollander, we cannot do this.”
“Ilya… Just think about it,” Shane said, wincing as his brow furrowed and pulled at one of the bruises.
“No, Hollander… we cannot do this anymore.”
“Can’t do what anymore?” Shane whispered, his eyes pooling with tears. Ilya felt like he was drowning in them. If he kept talking, the truth would bleed out of him. He couldn’t let it, not when Shane was high on painkillers and looking at him like that.
“I am sorry,” Ilya murmured, gently slipping his hand from beneath Shane’s. His chest felt tight. He might as well have been prying his ribs apart and tearing out what remained of his battered heart. It belonged to Shane. It would stay with him when Ilya walked away.
“I… I don’t understand,” Shane whispered, his eyes darting from his empty hand to Ilya’s face, searching, silently begging him to take it back. Ilya began backing away from the bed until his back hit the wall beside the door.
“Goodbye Hollander.” He opened the door, turning his back to the tears running down Shane’s cheeks. This hurt would fade, Ilya reasoned. Shane would move on. He would find a nice man, one who wasn’t his rival. Maybe even one who wasn’t involved in hockey at all.
The further Ilya got from Shane’s hospital room, the more he knew that for him, this hurt would never go away — not ever. But he would learn to live with it.
He had to.