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There were few things as painful for Ilya Rozanov as watching the man he loved absolutely crash out in the middle of an interview being given just minutes after he watched Ilya’s plane crash. For all intents and purposes, the world thought Ilya was dead. Which meant Shane thought Ilya was dead. Which meant that when that interviewer asked him if he was happy that Ilya was dead, Shane appropriately lost his shit.
Ilya could never blame him for that. If their positions had been switched, he knew he’d start throwing punches at anyone who dared even look his way. All things considered, Shane’s reaction was quite tame.
Still, it took a while before Ilya could properly breathe around the ache in his chest as he watched Shane lose the control he usually held onto with a sharp, talon-like grip.
Ilya stumbled upon the interview clip accidentally. Actually, he wasn’t even the one who’d found it. The team was waiting to be seen by hospital staff, as the hospital had been a bit backed up when they’d finally arrived. Ilya knew already that most of them were fine. They’d found food and fresh water on the island, they all made it out of the rough landing relatively unharmed, except for Haas, who’d sustained a concussion in the impact, but even then, the team had doted on him and taken care of the young rookie and nursed him back to health on the island. Otherwise, they were in pretty good shape, for a group of men who’d been stranded on an island for several days. Ilya was pretty sure it’d only been three days, too. So, really, not too bad, all things considered. They’d already gotten into contact with all their loved ones. Ilya had already talked to Yuna and David, after Shane couldn’t be reached (which was terrifying), but they told him they loved him and Shane was having a difficult time but would be happy he was home. So, really, everything was fine and would continue to be fine.
If he kept telling himself that, he just might start to believe it.
But the point was that he wasn’t the one who’d found it. The team was sequestered away in a private waiting room away from prying eyes that was big enough to hold them all as they waited to be assessed by a doctor. They were given a remote to watch tv. Bood flicked through the channels for a while, finding nothing to hold the attention of the whole team. Ilya was only half-paying attention to the television, if only because he really had nothing else to do.
Bood had just flipped past a screen that Ilya realized had Shane just a second after it was gone.
“Go back,” he heard himself say.
Bood didn’t say anything, just did as he was asked. Shane’s face filled the screen again, expression carefully blank as he avoided everyone’s eye or looking into the cameras. He looked worse for wear, frayed around the edges. Ilya saw something swirling in his eyes, something almost painful, something deep. It took the air from his lungs.
But it was still Shane. His Shane. God, Ilya missed him. It hadn’t been very long since they’d last seen each other. Hell, they used to go months at a time without seeing each other. But these past few days felt like a thousand eternities stretched and warped so much that Ilya was starved for even a glimpse of his beautiful face.
The interview seemed recent. Judging by the questions he was being asked, Ilya would guess it was only taken in the past few days.
A reporter asked, “We got word just minutes ago that the Centaurs’ plane crashed outside of Florida. Do you have any comment?”
Shane’s nostrils flared as Ilya digested the realization that this interview must have been right after the plane crashed. Fucking hell, his poor Shane. Ilya wanted to destroy everyone who had put his boyfriend in front of the press after the crash.
Shane gritted out a soft, menacing, “No more questions about the Centaurs’ plane.”
Of course, the media would never leave well enough alone, because the very next question was, “Shane, are you glad that Ilya Rozanov, your main competition, is out of the way?”
Someone near Ilya hissed out a breath. “What the fuck?”
Ilya, though, couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe past the tightness in his throat. He watched, feeling paralyzed, as Shane’s face seemingly cracked open, exposing something raw and vulnerable and furious underneath. Ilya wanted nothing more than to cradle that face in his hands, soothe him with kisses and soft touches and reminders that I’m here, I’m fine, I’m alive, I love you. He couldn’t, because he was in Florida, and this interview was several days old.
“Excuse me?” Shane asked darkly. In any other context, the tone would’ve gone right to Ilya’s dick. Hell, it almost did, anyway. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Beside him, Wyatt shivered as they all took in the terrifying glare Shane was directing at the cameras. Ilya gulped, fear and arousal and aching sadness all warring within him.
“You think I’m fucking happy about this?” Shane asked, voice trembling with barely-concealed rage. “People are dead, and you seriously think this might make me happy?”
“Jesus,” Bood muttered. “I didn’t realize this guy could be so… terrifying.”
“At least he’s on our side in this,” Dykstra muttered.
“Shut up,” Ilya heard himself say. “All of you.”
On the screen, Shane was barely holding himself together, ready to shake apart at a moment’s notice. From outside the frame, the reporter’s voice came again, this time much more timid as he explained, “Well, you two are always neck-and-neck for games, awards, everything. And now your main competitor is gone. Surely this must bring you some relief? Joy, even?”
“Can this man shut up?” Someone said. Ilya ignored them, even if he agreed with them. He desperately wanted them to just leave Shane alone, let him break down in private. It was going to happen, Ilya knew it, and there was nothing he could do about it. He just wished Shane didn’t have to have an audience for what was possibly one of the worst moments of his life.
Ilya wondered if Shane would have been thrust into this position right now if people knew the truth. Surely they wouldn’t put a grieving partner in front of a bunch of reporters just minutes after his boyfriend’s plane crashed? Not the same way that they’d done for who they thought had been Ilya Rozanov’s reluctant friend and business partner. Someone who’d hated him longer than he liked him. Ilya at least hoped that was the case. He wished he could jump through the screen, step between Shane and all these reporters, and start punching anyone who threatened to get in his way as he pulled Shane from the room. He ground his teeth together, trying to calm some of that aggression threatening to bubble to the surface.
He was shocked into stillness when Shane growled, “I fucking love him.”
Someone in the room gasped at the declaration. Beside Ilya, Wyatt froze. There was a curse muttered somewhere. Ilya was deaf to it all. He stared at the television as if that could change the course of what had happened the last few days. He’d do anything if it could just change what happened.
Ilya had spent so long feeling painfully insecure about Shane’s love for him. He knew he wasn’t being totally fair; they had so much at risk if they decided to come out. But it had hurt for so long that Shane didn’t want to share their love with the world. He wondered sometimes if he was ashamed of Ilya, if he was embarrassed that the man he loved was publicly known as an asshole and a man slut. It hadn’t been fair to either one of them. But feelings didn’t always take fairness into account.
And yet, here Shane was, telling the whole world about their love, even when he thought it was coming seconds too late for them to share it together.
But Shane wasn’t even done. He was radiating anger, and fear, and pain, and he wasn’t even done. “I love Ilya, and you’re standing here asking if I’m happy he’s dead?” His voice shook, slowly turning into a shout.
“I love him!” He said again. And it was like all hell broke loose inside him. He looked almost like he was vibrating with rage, tears streaking down his reddened cheeks, eyes wild with too many emotions to parse through, let alone name. But he still kept going, kept raging. Like screaming it loud enough might be enough to bring Ilya back.
“I love Ilya Rozanov. You fucking understand me? I have loved him since I was fucking seventeen years old! There has never been a Shane Hollander that hasn’t been in love with him. Just hours ago, I was planning a fucking proposal. And now he’s dead! And you think I’m fucking happy?
“I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him!” He screamed. He was eyeing the people in front of him like he wanted to kill them. Ilya wanted to jump through the screen and kill them all for him. “I was going to marry him! And now I fucking can’t! I will never see the man I love again!”
I’m right here, Ilya wanted to scream. I’m here. I love you. We’re okay. You still have me. We can still have this.
“Do you understand that? I will never fucking see the man I love ever again! I have lost everything today, and you have the fucking nerve to ask if I’m happy about it? Because of some stupid rivalry we played up for the press?
“An entire hockey team is dead. Almost all of my friends are dead! The love of my life is fucking dead! And all you can think about is hockey? Hockey doesn’t fucking matter! People are dead and you don’t care!”
Suddenly, Hayden Pike of all people was there. He must have shouldered past anyone trying to hold him back. He was trying to herd Shane out of the room, gentle, but firm as he told the reporters to get out and leave Shane alone.
Shane didn’t seem to hear him as he continued to scream, “I love him! He’s fucking dead and I love him! And it’s because of you fucking vultures and your bullshit rival narrative that I couldn’t be with him sooner—“
“Shane.” Pike tried again. Shane shook his head and shoved Pike off of him with a strength Ilya knew was only ever reserved for the ice. Pike stumbled backwards, his back hitting the wall, but he thankfully didn’t seem upset by the show of force. He watched Shane stalk off, tense. Then, he turned to the reporters. “Leave Shane Hollander alone. If anyone upsets him like that again, I will destroy you.” And with that, he followed Shane’s path out of the room.
The video changed to a pair of news anchors talking about Shane’s interview, now pairing it with the fact that Ilya was alive and safe to return home. They were talking about potential repercussions, Ilya’s reaction, whether it was even true or if Ilya would come forward and denounce the whole thing. As if Ilya would ever put Shane through that.
“Christ, Roz,” someone said beside him. Ilya didn’t really care who it was. He thought it might have been Bood, moved over to comfort Ilya better, but he couldn’t be sure.
“I need to get to him,” Ilya heard himself say. His voice shook with all the emotions he couldn’t name. There were no words for it. He searched the Russian language, then English, but still came up with nothing. Nothing could ever explain the emotions building inside him, exploding like fireworks in his chest. He half-expected his whole body to explode with them. He’d need a new word after this, a word that transcended language barriers and was understood by everyone.
Bood nodded, understanding, even as he clearly had a million questions he knew better than to ask. “We’re gonna get you to him. I promise.”
Ilya tried to find solace in that, but he knew he wouldn’t feel it until he had Shane safe in his arms again, warm and solid and happy.
***
We’re going to talk to him, Yuna had told him on the phone. He hasn’t said anything since the press conference he had. I’m not sure how much he’s been processing, but we’ll try to get him to understand.
At the time, Ilya didn’t really know what she meant. He didn’t know what press conference she was talking about. Had there been a conference about the plane crash? He found out some time later about the press conference to which she was referring. But he also didn’t understand what she meant about Shane. He wasn’t understanding? Wasn’t processing? What did this mean? Ilya didn’t think he’d get it until he was home safe in Shane's arms.
He understood now.
The entire team had been nervous about taking a plane back to Ottawa, understandably so. The pilot and co-pilot had come to talk to each one of them, commending them on their bravery, reminding them exactly how long the flight should take, what to expect regarding turbulence. The pilots did their best to keep the passengers calm. All through the flight, they’d continue to come onto the tannoy, explaining that the plane was still okay and nothing was wrong. At first, it had made Ilya more tense, but he quickly came to look forward to their updates. They were little reminders that the plane crash had been a one-off, something uncommon, and it was unlikely that they’d experience it twice. And eventually, as they were about to touch down at the private runway in Ottawa, as the pilot explained that there would be some jostling as they came to meet the ground, Ilya almost couldn’t believe the team had made it through the flight without a single panic attack between them. If Ilya had his wits about him, he might pull the pilots aside and thank them for their efforts to keep them calm. As it was, the only thing on Ilya’s mind was getting to Shane.
Ilya stepped off the plane onto the runway, legs shaky. All around him, there were people. He scanned the tarmac, spotting little clumps of people, crying and rejoicing over their loved ones’ safe return. There were several news crews scattered over to one side, broadcasting what should have been a private moment for the team and those they loved. Ilya sneered at the cameras. He remembered what they’d done to Shane. He remembered the way they’d capitalized off his grief. Here they were, wanting to do it again to dozens of people.
Ilya shook his head to himself and scanned the crowd again. This time, he saw him.
Shane.
Shane was looking right back at him, terrified. He was surrounded by his friends, his parents, but Ilya barely saw them. It was like he had tunnel vision, allowing him to see only the man he loved.
Their gazes connected across the distance, their eyes finally meeting for the first time in so long, too long. Ilya watched as Shane, hunched into himself and a shell of what he usually was, seemingly shedded that hollow exterior. He straightened, eyes locking on Ilya. And then, he was running.
Ilya dropped the bag he was holding of the only belongings of his that survived the crash. He opened his arms, ready to catch Shane and hold him for the rest of their fucking lives, but Shane stopped short, just inches from Ilya.
And, okay, Ilya didn’t think he could be blamed for the way he nearly collapsed into himself when Shane wasn’t in his arms. He had almost died, he spent days wondering if he was going to die on that island, then watched his boyfriend unravel on television and inadvertently come out to the world. Ilya wanted to hold him and kiss him. He wanted to make life-affirming love to him. But Shane stopped short for a reason, and Ilya had to respect that.
“Moya lyubov’,” Ilya tried. He dropped one arm back to his side and reached the other out for Shane to take, or to just get a single second to touch him, but Shane stepped back, shaking his head, eyes wild.
“You’re not real,” Shane insisted. His voice was hoarse and shaking. “No, fuck, this isn’t real.”
“Is real,” Ilya assured him, pleaded with him, because he was pretty sure if he didn’t get Shane in his embrace soon, he would simply die. “Please. Shane. Let me hold you.”
He held his arms out at his sides, not reaching. He stood as still as he could, even as his body was screaming to move closer, and let Shane make the next move.
Shane reached an unsteady hand across the gap. His fingers brushed against Ilya’s chest. Ilya leaned forward slightly, desperate for more.
Shane sobbed. “Oh, God!”
Then, he was finally, blessedly in Ilya’s arms, sobbing into the crook of his shoulder. Ilya realized belatedly that he was sobbing, too, his hands gripping into Shane’s hair so hard it must have hurt. He wasn’t even sure Shane had noticed. He just pressed in closer, like he was trying to climb into Ilya’s skin. Ilya wanted to cut himself open, rip his skeleton apart, and let him in.
Shane’s knees buckled, and Ilya guided them unceremoniously to the ground. He hooked a hand behind Shane’s thighs so that he fell into Ilya’s lap. Ilya met the hard concrete, but he didn’t feel it. All he felt was his Shane.
Shane straddled his lap. His movements were erratic as he ran his hands over Ilya’s body like he was cataloguing injuries. Or maybe making sure that he was whole. Ilya let him, all too happy to be touched. He wanted to savor this, after thinking he’d never have it again.
“You’re here,” Shane was muttering to himself, again and again, barely audible as he continued his frantic assessment of Ilya’s body. “You’re here, you’re alive.”
“I’m here, lyubimyy,” Ilya assured him, heart aching at the pain still twisting Shane’s features. “I’m alive. We’re okay.”
Without any forewarning, Shane hauled Ilya into a rough kiss. It was immediately something Ilya knew was inappropriate for the setting they were in, but he leaned into it, opening his mouth for Shane to shove his tongue inside. Ilya groaned and pulled him closer. He wanted to drag Shane onto his dick right there, remind them both that he was alive and they were together, and nothing could pull them apart again.
“Moya lyubov’,” Ilya breathed when they briefly parted. “Moya lyobov’, moyo vso, o Bozhe!” Their lips brushed as he spoke, their breaths mixing as they panted together. Shane’s lips were back on his, still frantic, still charged. Shane started dotting shaky kisses all over Ilya’s face, kissing away his tears.
Shane had started making this soft, high-pitched keening sound in his throat that went straight through Ilya’s heart like a dagger. His hands scrabbled across his chest, then flexed against his skin. Ilya could feel Shane losing his grip on his composure, and he knew soon he was going to fly apart if Ilya didn’t calm him down.
Ilya slowed their kiss, using his hands to angle Shane’s jaw so it was more chaste. Shane started to calm down, his body still shaking, but Ilya felt like it was manageable now. He could keep Shane together before he burst at the seams. He ran his fingers through his already mussed hair, pressed soft kisses to his face as Shane caught his breath.
I love you, Ilya told him through each brush of his lips against Shane’s skin. I love you. I’m still here. I’m safe. I’m yours. I love you.
When Shane was suitably calmed, Ilya said softly, “Let’s go home, yes? I hold you all day in our bed.”
Shane was all too happy to agree. Ilya grabbed his bag and helped them both stand, then got them situated on their feet. When he was sure Shane could walk, he led them back over to where their friends waited for them. Yuna was crying, trembling like her son had been. She reached for him like she couldn’t wait any longer, reeling him into an embrace. Ilya returned it with one arm, the other staying firm around his boyfriend’s waist. He didn’t think Shane minded, judging by the way he kept one hand curled into the fabric of Ilya’s shirt, stretching the cotton, not that Ilya cared. Yuna held him tightly, talking about how she was so worried about him, about her baby. Ilya tried not to cry too hard when she said that.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Yuna said, voice wet.
“Me too,” Ilya breathed. He couldn’t believe he almost died before he could fully enjoy this.
David was next, pulling him into a strong hug. “I’m so glad you’re home safe, son.”
Ilya sobbed into his shoulder. Shane and David’s arms curled tighter around him.
Next, surprisingly enough, Rose Landry threw herself into Ilya’s arms, sobbing. Ilya gamely returned the embrace.
“God, I'm so glad you’re alive,” she said, voice muffled in his chest.
It was then that Ilya realized he and Rose were friends. Good friends. Close friends. And Rose had grieved him, too. He squeezed her tighter, resting his cheek on her head.
When Rose let go, Jackie stepped in. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders and tugged him down into a tight embrace. She was crying, too, her tears wetting his shoulder, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t stopped crying since his eyes locked with Shane’s across the tarmac.
Jackie didn’t say anything, just held him for a moment before she stepped back. Ilya figured they were done with the hugs, but Hayden Pike came forward and pulled Ilya into a quick hug.
“I’m glad you’re okay, man,” Pike told him. He sounded oddly choked up.
Ilya swallowed hard. “Worried about me, Pike?” He tried to tease, but it came out just a bit too genuinely.
“Hardly,” Pike answered, but his heart wasn’t in it. He clapped him on the back, then stepped away. When he was far enough away, Ilya saw him wiping tears from just below his lashes. Ilya kindly didn’t mention it.
JJ Boizeau stepped forward, pulled Ilya into a one-armed hug. “Glad you’re all okay.”
Ilya nodded, suddenly too choked up to speak. JJ patted him on the back, then pulled away with a nod.
“Come on,” Yuna said. “Let’s go home.”
Ilya reeled Shane into his side. They followed the slowly thinning crowd through the doors into the airport, then out to the small parking lot. Yuna was saying something about how they’d all go back to the cottage and stay the night there. As much as Ilya wanted time alone with Shane, he could acknowledge that he also wanted to be with everyone for a while. They were all rattled, and he couldn’t begrudge them the time they wanted to spend with him. After all, a few years ago, he would’ve been going home to drink alone, trying to forget about what he’d just experienced. Well, except for—
“Has anyone heard from Svetlana?” He asked.
Yuna nodded. “She couldn’t get a flight out for a while, but she’s planning to fly in the day after tomorrow.”
Ilya nodded and tried to find relief in that. He nudged Shane. “You have her number, yes? Can I call her when we get home?”
Shane nodded, but didn’t speak. Ilya held back a sigh. There was so much pain between them all after this. Ilya couldn’t even begin to fathom how long it would take to undo it all.
Yuna and David drove them back to the cottage, with the Pikes’ car close behind. Ilya pulled them to the couch the second they got inside. He pulled Shane directly onto his lap, wanting them to be touching from head to toe.
“Can I call Svetlana?” He dared to ask.
Shane nodded. Sluggishly, he fished his phone from his pocket and handed it over to Ilya.
Ilya was quick to navigate to Svetlana’s contact, and pressed the call icon and held the phone to his ear. She answered on the first ring.
“Shane?”
“Close,” Ilya replied.
“Ilyusha!”
Svetlana burst into tears. She started ranting at him, cursing at him for scaring her like that. All in between, she was sobbing, and telling him she loved him. Ilya talked her down, told her he was sorry. They spoke for a while. Shane rested his head on Ilya’s chest, over his heart, and just let him talk to his best and oldest friend.
In the meantime, Yuna and Jackie took charge and ordered dinner for everyone. Rose and David set to work getting Ilya a replacement for his phone. Sveta assured him that she would be coming to Ottawa as soon as she could. Ilya thought about making a ‘I hope your plane doesn’t crash’ joke, but he figured it was too soon for that.
Eventually, they said their goodbyes, assured each other they were okay and they loved one another. Ilya handed Shane his phone back. Shane pocketed it.
“Everything okay?”
There were a lot of things Ilya could say to that. Nothing was okay, because Shane wasn’t okay. And, if Ilya was honest, he wasn’t okay. Sveta wasn’t okay. Even fucking JJ Boizeau, who Ilya had never before met off the ice, wasn’t okay. And none of them would be okay for a while.
But Ilya was here, in his home, surrounded by people who mattered to him. His teammates were all at home with the people they loved, recovering. Sveta would be here in just two days. And Ilya was sitting on this comfortable couch, with Shane in his arms and sitting on his lap, his ear pressed to Ilya’s chest, warm and calm. There was no more hiding. They could tell the world about them. Shane’s closest friends were supportive. They were safe, and they were together. Shane wanted to marry him, and Ilya wanted to marry Shane. Everything was splintered and scary, but Ilya had everything he needed right here.
“Da,” he whispered. He pressed a kiss to Shane's head, breathed in the smell of his shampoo and musk. “Everything’s perfect.”
And maybe it wasn’t right now, but it would be, and that was all that mattered to Ilya.