Chapter Text
Svetlana Vetrova opened the front door of Ilya's house swiftly, just as Shane was poised to knock. A small smile played across the woman's beautiful face, a face Shane had only seen in paparazzi photos of her and Ilya, during those times he hadn't been able to stop himself from searching the internet, desperate for a glimpse. Which, Shane could admit to himself now, was far more often than was reasonable for a casual hookup. He dropped his hand to his side as Svetlana stepped back, gesturing him inside. He did, muscle memory taking over as he slipped off his shoes and placed his duffel bag on the floor just inside the entry.
"I'm sure this wasn't how you pictured us meeting," Svetlana said softly, holding out her hand. "Nonetheless, it is good to finally see you in person."
Shane gave a rueful half-smile in return as he shook her offered hand. "I'm not sure I thought we ever would meet."
Svetlana's eyebrows rose, and he hurried to explain.
"Rozanov - I mean, Ilya, he likes to keep things, people, separated."
"Hmm," Svetlana mused, her head tilting a little to the side in contemplation. "You are right, I think. Ilyusha seems like an agent of chaos on the surface, but in truth, he likes order, likes his little boxes. I have let him have this, this control, because he needed it, but he needs something different now."
Shane must have looked as puzzled as he felt, because Svetlana grimaced and waved him further into the house, leaning against a counter in the kitchen while Shane followed suit, propping himself against the island.
"I am sorry for the secrecy," she continued. "For being so cryptic with you when I asked you to come. It's just, it's very complicated and I know you and he are complicated—"
"I'm not sure what we are, actually. If we're anything."
Svetlana rolled her eyes skyward as she muttered something in Russian exasperatedly.
"You are as bad as he is." She fixed him with a look then, and Shane suddenly felt like a butterfly pinned to a board. "I know, Shane. I know. I know that you are Jane. I know that 'Jane' and 'Lily' have been seeing each other for years. So many years. I know how it started, I know that it changed, I know that you both tried to move on and I know that neither of you have."
Shane felt like he'd been cut open, that everything he'd tried so hard to hide for so long was now exposed. "How?" he croaked.
Svetlana's expression softened, her voice soothing now.
"Do you think I didn't notice how he was before every game between Boston and Montreal? It was more than the rivalry, Shane. He would be so excited, and afterwards, so happy, no matter if Boston won or not. I saw the way he smiled at his phone when you were texting, how it happened more and more, even in the summers, even when we were back in Moscow. He was more interested in flirting with you by text than with any of the girls who flirted with him in real life."
Shane snorted at that; he couldn't help it. "Yeah, I'm sure I really cramped his style."
Svetlana tilted her head slightly from side to side. "You didn't, but then you did. Not in a bad way, though. Well, not until Rose Landry, anyway."
Shane grimaced, looking away. "I fucked up before then."
"I know," Svetlana said, and his gaze cut back to hers. "I don't know exactly what happened, he wouldn't say. But that is how I know it was bad."
Shane chuckled without humour. "It seems very stupid now, but at the time, it felt huge. I overreacted; I freaked out and left."
His eyes tracked over towards the living room, towards the sofa he'd left Ilya sitting on that day, hand outstretched, his whole body begging Shane not to leave. He bit his lip to keep the tears from welling up at the thought of how much he hurt them both that day.
"It was getting too real, yes?" Svetlana asks quietly.
"Yeah," Shane huffs. "And then I met Rose—"
"And you thought you could what? Fuck movie star to forget you are gay?"
"Jesus Christ!" Shane spluttered, but the expression on Svetlana's face wasn't reproachful, it was humorous, if more than a little mocking. "No. I mean, yeah, maybe. But I really liked Rose, I do really like Rose, she's one of my best friends now. We just weren't, you know, compatible. In that way."
"Yes," Svetlana grinned impishly. "Because you are gay. And in love with my best friend Ilyusha."
Shane shook his head but didn't deny either thing. What would be the point. His mind snagged on something then as he replayed her words. "Ilyusha," he said, sure he was butchering the pronunciation. "Why do you call him that?"
"Is a thing in Russian," she shrugged. "We don't usually call people we are close to, like family, friends, by their proper name. Ilyusha is one diminutive form of Ilya. Like, nickname, pet name. He calls me Sveta. You can too," she said, smiling.
"So, we're friends now, huh?" Shane grinned.
Svetlana's smile grew wider. "Was inevitable, I think."
*******
Seated at Ilya's dining table, both Shane and Svetlana held their coffee mugs between their hands. It was warm outside, but cool inside the house, the AC obviously set to Ilya's desired temperature, which was maybe a little cooler than average, given he had a tendency to run hot.
"I owe you an explanation, Shane. For why it was so important that you be here."
Shane nodded, but didn't say anything, giving Svetlana the space to speak.
"You know that Ilya left here suddenly, right? His father was dying. He had been sick, but he started to get very bad, and Ilya's brother, Alexei, was staying at the house to look after him."
Shane nodded again. "I didn't know before, but the Raiders put out a statement saying he had a family emergency, and then another after his dad passed."
"Yes, they were very careful about not giving out too many details. Ilya didn't want anyone to know why he had to be there so quickly."
"What do you mean? His father was dying. That's a pretty valid reason to go home."
Svetlana frowned, seeming to weigh her next words carefully. "Yes. His father... he had dementia, Shane. He was very confused by that stage, and he would call Ilya sometimes, not realising that Ilya was here in Boston, thinking that he was still 17 and living at home."
Shane thought about that day he'd been here, when Ilya had taken a call from his father. What had he been dealing with all that time that Shane had known nothing about? Fuck. At the time, Shane had stupidly thought that Ilya had missed the game the next day because of him, because of what he'd done, but that wasn't it at all, was it? Ilya hadn't gone with the team for their next game, and only after that did Boston put out the press release. He was so lost in the maelstrom of his own thoughts, he startled slightly when Svetlana started speaking again.
"His father didn't recognise many people by then, and he had become aggressive." She broke off then, scrunching one side of her face up a little. "Well, he was then openly aggressive, anyway. To people he thought he didn't know. His wife, Polina, he... he didn't recognise her and he'd thrown her out of the house. She obviously couldn't stay there, so Ilya had let her live in his condo. He was paying his brother to look after their father, too."
"Paying him?" Shane asked in disbelief. "Why did he need to be paid to look after his own father?"
"Because Alexei was a piece of shit who would never have done it out of kindness," she said flatly. "But also, because he had to leave his job for awhile too. So, Ilya paid him well, too well it would seem, because Alexei had enough money to get himself fucked up on coke and drive his car into a fucking tree."
"What?" Shane exclaimed.
"That was the real family emergency," Svetlana nodded gravely. "His father called, Alexei wasn't there. Ilya tried phoning him, no answer. Later on, another call from his father. Still Alexei didn't answer. Tried phoning his sister-in-law, no answer. He eventually phoned his stepmother and she went to the house. Police were there, trying to notify his father that Alexei and his wife had died. Doctor had to be called to sedate Ilya's father because he was so aggravated. Nobody knew where his niece, Alyona, was. Ilya took the first flight to Moscow to sort everything out."
Shane's mind was spinning hopelessly. He'd left Ilya on that couch, which was bad enough, but then all this had happened and he'd had no idea. He'd just gone on with his life, playing hockey like normal, while Ilya's whole life had fucking imploded. And when he'd heard about his dad dying, he'd sent a stupid text message, for fuck's sake. Ilya, of course, hadn't responded. Then Shane had called and left a voicemail after he broke things off with Rose. He wondered if Ilya had even listened to it, but if his voicemail greeting was any indication, probably not. Given the circumstances, Shane couldn't blame him.
"Where was his niece?" Shane asked, and his voice sounded strangled, even to his own ears.
"Thankfully, she was at a friend's house. She'd been there for a playdate, and apparently when the mother of the other girl had gone to take her home, nobody answered the door. Her mother wasn't answering her phone either, so the woman took her back to her house after writing a note and slipping it under the door. Ilya found the note when he went looking for her and tracked her down."
"Jesus Christ," Shane exhaled.
"Hmm, yes. It was a bad time. Ilya looked after his father but he declined really quickly. It was only about a month before he passed too. I went back to Moscow just before the funeral, for Ilya. I'm sorry to drop all this on you, Shane, but I'm assuming he probably didn't tell you much about his family, right?"
"No," Shane shook his head. "I got the sense that he didn't like to talk about them, that it wasn't... happy."
"Ah, no," she grimaced. "It wasn't happy. It was probably the farthest you could get from happy."
A thought struck Shane then, born of a long-ago memory.
"He never mentioned his mother. When we— before the Olympics in Sochi, I asked him if his parents would be there, and he mentioned his father and his brother, but that's it. Was she... not around?"
Svetlana closed her eyes briefly before responding. "It should be Ilyusha telling you this, but you must know now, so you can understand. His mama died when he was twelve. It was suicide, though his asshole father covered it up, told everyone it was an accident."
Shane's heart dropped. "That's awful," he whispered.
"It gets worse, Shane. Ilya was the one who found her."
Shane felt like he'd been hit with a sledgehammer to the chest and he rubbed at it absently with the heel of his hand.
"Oh, fuck. That's... he was twelve?"
Svetlana nodded and Shane could only think of the first time he'd met Ilya, in the freezing cold outside the rink in Regina. They'd been what, sixteen? Seventeen maybe, just? He remembered how nervous he'd been to introduce himself to the Russian, who seemed so confident, cocky even. To think that it had likely all been an act, that Ilya had lost his mother just a few years before, like that. It made Shane rethink and rewrite history in his mind.
"Shane," Svetlana said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "Please don't think badly of his mother, okay? She was a good person. But she was very sad. Suffered from depression. And Ilya's father was a very hard man. On her and on his sons too. Ilya was very sad after she passed, obviously. Traumatised by finding her. His father made this worse, not better."
"Worse how?" Shane asked, unsure if he really wanted the answer, but needing to know anyway.
"Ilya was not allowed to tell anyone how she died. It would have been shameful, you see. A failure, both in the eyes of society and the church. She would not be able to be buried in the family plot if the priest had known it was suicide. But mostly, I think his father didn't want the shame to tarnish his reputation. He was police. Quite high ranking. Russia is a very different place to the US, to Canada, I know."
Shane nodded. "I remember, being in Sochi for the Olympics. It was intense."
"Mmm," Svetlana nodded, a tense smile on her lips. "Yes, and that was Russia on its best behaviour in front of the international media. When nobody is looking, it is much worse."
"So what, Ilya wasn't allowed to talk to anyone about his mother then? He bottled it up?"
"More or less, yes. He told me, of course, but nobody else. After the funeral, his father told him he wasn't allowed to cry anymore. If he caught him, he beat him. Like I said, his father was a sick bastard who didn't deserve Ilya's love."
Shane gripped his coffee mug harder, unable to contemplate twelve year old Ilya being hit by his father, just for being sad.
"What about his brother?"
"Also worthless trash," Svetlana sighed. "He knew about their mother, obviously. And he blamed Ilya for it. He was jealous always, Ilya was already so talented at hockey and Alexei was not. He was five years older, so at that time he was bigger and stronger than Ilya. He took out all his jealousy and frustration and pain on him."
"Meaning?" Shane was afraid he already knew the answer.
"He would go out and get drunk and high with his friends, then come home and beat the shit out of him too."
"Jesus fucking Christ," Shane folded his arms on the table, dropping his forehead onto them. "Where was his father while this was happening? Did he even care?"
"Probably not," Svetlana sniffed. "He wasn't around much, between work and finding himself a new wife."
"Oh, my God," Shane groaned. There was an empty hole where his heart had once lived. How had Ilya even survived all that? It made him sick to think of a younger Ilya, all bright blue eyes and golden brown curls, his face and body bruised, and his young heart broken. Fuck. No wonder Ilya had always seemed so off at the end of the season when he had to go back there. Jesus, Shane felt like an idiot. A naïve idiot. His own family was the complete opposite of all of this. His parents both alive and loving, his home always safe. Always a refuge. Somewhere to go when everything outside was too hard, not a place that made everything harder.
"Shane?" Svetlana pressed, squeezing his arm lightly.
"Yeah?" he managed, lifting his head to look at her.
"I know this is a lot, okay? But I promise, I was there for him as much as I could be. Ilya spent a lot of time at my parent's house, especially in the summers. He was not without friends, okay?"
"Okay," Shane nodded, slowly sitting up again.
"Anyway, it was my father who encouraged Ilya to go for the MLH, who helped him get an agent. His father was not happy about it, he wanted Ilya to stay in Russia and play for KHL, but Ilyusha would have been wasted there. He's too good to be hidden away there. He deserves to play here."
"Yeah," Shane smiled. "Yeah, he does."
"His father came around, sort of, once Ilya signed with Boston and the money started coming."
"What do you mean?"
Svetlana sat back in her chair, crossing her arms.
"He sent money home, for his father and his brother, always. It is expected that Russians do this, take care of their family, even when that family are horrible people. He paid for a lot for them, made sure they were all okay, comfortable, and didn't want for anything really. His brother was greedy, a corrupt cop who gambled and snorted away too much of Ilya's money. Nothing was ever enough for Alexei, even though he earned none of it."
"Is Ilya... is he okay?" Shane asked softly. "I know that's a stupid fucking question, because how could he be, but..."
"He's functioning," Svetlana said, her voice quiet. "Because he has to, because he has no choice. But his spark is gone. He's not thinking clearly. He can't see past today and I don't blame him. He's been through more, lost more, than any one person should have to in a whole lifetime, let alone 27 years. I refuse to stand by and watch him lose hockey and you. I won't do it."
Dumbfounded, Shane stared at Svetlana across the table, his coffee long gone cold in front of him.
"Hockey and me? Svetlana, Ilya and I aren't together."
"Only because he thinks you don't want him."
Shane closed his eyes, cursing himself for being another source of sadness in Ilya's already too-sad life.
"Hey," Svetlana said, drawing his eyes upwards to meet hers. "I'm sorry for... overstepping, but I needed to know. When you tried to call and llyusha didn't answer, I listened to your voicemail."
Shane flushed at the thought of anyone, even Ilya, pouring his heart out like that, even in the kind of abstract way he'd managed to articulate it.
"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter, because he never responded. That was a pretty clear answer."
"Then why did you agree to come here?"
"I—I don't know! You said it was important. That Ilya needed my help."
"And he does, Shane. Desperately. He is convinced that he will need to give up hockey."
"What? Why?"
Svetlana looked conflicted and for a minute Shane thought she wouldn't tell him, but finally she sighed, pushing her chair back from the table and standing.
"I think it's easier if I show you. Come."
She didn't wait to see if Shane would follow, just strode off towards the far end of the house, the part Shane had never seen before. He found her there, leaning against the open doorway of a bedroom. A bedroom that had clearly been decorated for a young girl, complete with a princess-style canopy bed and more stuffed toys than Shane had ever seen. He felt his eyes growing wider as he took it all in, before rounding on Svetlana.
"I swear to God, if you tell me that Ilya Rozanov has a daughter he's never spoken of—"
Svetlana held her hands up in a placating gesture. "No, no. At least, not the way you're thinking."
Shane glared at Svetlana, his emotional state worn thin. "Then what fucking way?"
"She's his niece. Alyona. His brother's child. After they died, there was nobody else, no one Ilya trusted, to take her. He is her legal guardian now."
Shane was not emotionally equipped for this. Each time he thought that there was no way he could be any more shocked, Svetlana opened her mouth and proved him wrong.
"He adopted her? His niece? He's bringing her here?"
Svetlana nodded seriously. "For now, yes. The world is not safe for pretty little girls, Shane Hollander. Especially ones nobody cares enough about to miss. Especially in places like Russia."