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The day had come to face Shane Hollanders fear of his past team, the Montreal Metros, which he’s been lucky to avoid for a while now. The first game the Ottawa Centaurs were scheduled to play against the Metros was unexpectedly cancelled due to weather and a few of their players being Injured. The second, Shane was recovering from his own Injury, a muscle pulled a few too many times in his calf. So in short, he’s been lucky.
Today, Shane is not lucky.
Ilya has been… cheerful. He’s trying, which warms Shane’s heart more than he’d ever admit, but it’s not enough to lift the never ending pressure on his shoulders.
“Shane! Anya needs to go outside!” Ilya calls from where he’s making breakfast for the two of them. Eggs on toast with a side of bacon. Not as healthy as Shane usually prefers, but he’s been trying to cut back on worrying to much on what he’s eating, even if he still sneaks protein bars that Ilya would call a “disgrace to the food gods” if he ever saw Shane eating one.
Shane makes his way down the stairs to the kitchen where Anya is sitting at Ilyas feet, begging for a piece of bacon while visually fighting not to pee in the house.
“I’ll grab her leash,” He sighs.
“Wait!” Ilya leans his head over his shoulder, closing his eyes and making a kissy face.
Shane pretends to be annoyed, but he can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face as he dramatically shuffles his feet towards Ilya to give him a peck on the mouth before continuing to grab Anya’s leash and clip it to her collar.
“Today is good day, да? Sun is shining, i did not burn the eggs, and we don’t even have to fly today, only road trip.” He nods, turning slightly, showing that he’s wearing his “kiss the chef” apron that Troy Barrett thought would be a hilarious joke to get Ilya for Christmas, which Ilya carries on to this day, wearing it every time it’s his turn to cook.
Shane smiles, walking out the door with Anya in front of him.
She does her business, sniffs the snow, barks at trees, and refuses to move halfway back home.
“Anya, home!” Shane commands. She doesn’t move.
“Come on, girl, i’ll give you a piece of bacon. Up!”
Anya licks her lips, cocking her head to the side as if asking Shane if she looks like she wants to walk home.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Come on, Anya!” He tugs lightly on the leash.
Shane shacks his head, both at Anya and his realization that he was just talking to a dog. turns out spending so much time with Ilya is rubbing off on him.
He bends down, scooping Anya up in his arms, and continues to walk home, just like most mornings go.
Unfortunately for him, Ilya has picked up on Anya’s little ritual of making Shane carry her home, and is waiting by the door with his phone in his hands.
“Ilya, no.”
“Ilya yes,” he smirks, snapping a shot of Shane looking irritated whilst Anya licks his cheek. If you look close enough, you can see Shane smiling.
“Harris will love this,” Ilya laughs.
Shane sighs once again, stepping inside, dusting off the snow on his boots.
“Breakfast ready?”
“Yes! I made it look pretty.”
He did, in fact, make it look pretty. He put the toast and eggs on one side, neatly placed, and the bacon on the other, looking social media ready, Which Ilya takes advantage of, taking pictures at all angles of both of their plates.
Once finished, Shane takes the dishes to the sink, and starts to scrub at the ketchup mess Ilya left on his.
Hands start to snake around Shane’s waist as he finishes with the plates and starts with the pans, moving up his torso and onto his chest, then down again.
“Is all going to be okay.” Ilya whispers into the crook of Shane’s neck, where he’s decided to rest his head.
“Mhm.” Shane mumbles.
Ilya starts to pepper kisses up to Shane’s jaw, stopping there for a moment, whispering jumbled russian that Shane can’t quite find it in himself to translate as Ilya’s hands slowly dip under his sweatshirt and continue to ride up his torso, pushing the fabric up with them.
You’d think Shane would be used to this by now.
He’s not.
He never will be, and he thinks that’s okay.
Ilya carefully removes one of his hands from Shane’s chest, reaching out to turn off the sink and take the sponge and pan out of Shanes grip, just to put his hand right back where it was, lifting more until it’s clear what he wants.
“Ilya…”
“Later, dishes can wait.”
Shane tilts his head back, asking for Ilya’s mouth, but Ilya doesn’t give it to him. Instead, he continues to kiss every inch of skin on Shane’s face, before lifting his sweatshirt completely, gently pulling it off before dropping it right there on the floor.
With the new skin bare, Shane shivers under Ilya’s touch.
“I wiped down the counter,” Ilya whispers.
“Mm, sexy,” Shane laughs under his breathe.
“I know. I’m good at that.”
Ilya turns Shane around so the two are facing each other, and finally, Shane gets what he wants.
As Ilyas mouth does what Shane swears it was made to do, Shane backs Ilya up against the earlier stated cleaned counter.
Ilya lets out a moan, letting him know he’s satisfied.
Shane’s hands explore Ilya’s body, even though they know every line and bump of him.
“Bed,” Shane murmers, the sound getting lost in between kisses.
“Too far,” Ilya smirks.
Shane breaks from Ilyas mouth and leans back enough to glare at him. Ilya rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the counter, pulling Shane by the hand to the stairs.
They barely make it there in the end, but Shane insists on it.
This time, it’s Ilya pushing Shane onto the bed, following soon behind him, covering his body with his own, grinding against Shane’s thigh.
Ilya’s mouth crashes against Shane’s, more urgent now, moving as if it was their last, but still somehow as comforting as it was before.
His tongue slides against Shane’s bottom lip, asking for entry, which Shane gives. Oh, how he always gives.
Shane unties the Apron Ilya for some reason still had on, sliding it over his head, as they separate for Ilya to start trailing his kisses down shane’s abdomen, to wear Ilya has started to pull on the waistband of Shane’s sweatpants and boxers.
Shane helps Ilya slide down his pants, and Ilya does the same, along with the tank top he was wearing under the apron. Shane instantly has no worries, the only thing in his mind being his husband, who is undeniably the most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on.
Ilya’s curls fall in front of his face as he looks down at Shane and smiles.
“Is very good day.”
~
As Shane and Ilya drive down the familiar road, they both turn their heads towards their neighbors house, one that has a sign, along with the Shane Hollander and Ilya Rosanov Funko Pops on their tree, that reads
“MAKE MONTREAL REGRET IT”
Ilya honks, and yells “We will!” before rolling up his window and continuing to drive.
At the Arena, the team will pile into a large bus that they will embark on the 2 hour and 30 minute drive to Montreal on.
2 hours. He’s still got 2 hours. It’ll all be okay.
That thought is supported by Ilyas hand on Shane’s thigh, resting there, as his thumb traces lazy circles into his pant leg.
At the Arena, the boys are greeted with slobbery kisses and excited barks from Chiron, who Harris promises will be good on the bus. Weibe couldn’t be more doubtful.
After Chirons attention is snatched away from Ilya, instead training on Zane Boodram, who has just pulled up in his truck, Ilya jobs over to where Harris is laughing with Luca Haas, and after showing Harris a picture, (most likely the one from earlier this morning) Harris loudly belly laughs, and gestures for Ilya to send it to him.
“So, Hollander, how’re you feeling, going back to Montreal?” Wyatt asks from behind Shane, where he had been staring at his husband. He quickly turns to face Hayes and Barrett, who’s standing close behind.
“It’s…” Shane considers this for a moment, deciding what he wants to share. Ultimately, Shane remembers who he’s with. He’s only been with the Centaurs for a little over 5 months, but he trusts them, especially Wyatt and Troy.
“It’s overwhelming, i think? like, that was my team, you know? and it’s not like i don’t love it here it’s just… well, it was my home for years, and i was the captain, and i lifted multiple cups there. My names there. I haven’t paid much attention to the Montreal fans reactions to my trade, so i don’t know what i’ll be dealing with while there. It’ll be hard.”
Troy nods, “You know, i felt that way with Toronto. Even though it brings back bad memories, i still get sentimental there. Not all memories were even bad. If i’m being real, most were good. Like i’ve said before, i fucking hate Dallas Kent, but before, when i was as much of a dick as he is, we were close. I’ve never felt empathy for him, but i’ve had to grieve the loss of a friendship i thought i had, even with all the new ones i got here.”
Wyatt Smiles at the two of them, nodding towards the bus.
“Alright, we’re not getting sentimental yet though, i just know i’ll cry later and i don’t think i have enough tears to cry twice today. Bus time!”
“Bus time!” Ilya yells, his hands lifted, looking like a toddler who was just told they’re going to Disney Land. Shane laughs.
“You really got one of the best ones out there, didn’t you Hollander?” Troy teases.
“I did.” Shane says fondly.
~
“Alright everyone! We’re making some changes here, so listen up! Hollander, you’re taking puck drop! Rozzy, i want you on right wing, Barrett on left. Dykstra and Boyle on defense as usual, and Hayes in net! Now get out there and shoot some fucking pucks!”
The team yells a sound of agreement in unison, as the announcer starts talking in the loud speakers. Each of the players line up the the order they will be called, Shane in front, then Ilya, Troy, Evan, Boyle, and Wyatt.
Shane’s hands start to shake where they rest on his stick. He absentmindedly traces the lines where the names “Yuna” “David” and “Ilya” are drawn onto his stick tape.
“NOW EVERYONE GIVE A WARM WELCOME BACK TO OUR PAST TEAM CAPTAIN, A FAN FAVORITE, SHAAAAANE HOLLANDER!”
Shane skates out to center ice, refusing to look up to the stands, too scared for what he might see.
“AND AN ALL TIME RIVAL, ILYAAAA ROSANOV!”
Ilya skates up next to him and places a hand on Shane’s shoulder.
“Shane,” He starts.
“No. I don’t wanna know.”
“No, Shane. Look!”
As Troy’s name is called, Shane looks up, blinded for a moment from what he sees.
On the Jumbotron, a message is written.
“WE MISS YOU HOLLANDER”
which changes to:
“WELCOME BACK 24”
Troy stands on the other side of Shane, also putting a hand on his shoulder. He smiles at both his linemen, already feeling his eyes full with tears. He blinks them away.
After the national anthem, Weibe calls them in for one more huddle before they’re sent back out for the puck drop.
Shane looks up again, this time to the stands, only to see people holding up Hollander jerseys and posters with his name and number, some people are waving around flags with his face on it, others wearing shirts that welcome him home.
the ref reels him in to bend down to take the puck drop against Hayden.
“Hey Hollander. Feels weird, you being on the other side,” He smiles.
“Get used to it, Pike,” he teases, playfully knocking his stick against Hayden’s.
As the puck is dropped, Shane snatches it from Hayden’s stick and carries it down the rink, passing the puck back and forth to Troy, before shooting.
Drapeau catches it, but not without a struggle.
The first whistle is sound.
The first period is just that, Berkes getting good passes in to Comeau, and J.J. playing good defense when Shane or Ilya charge the net. it ends 0-0.
When the first period is up, Shane settles himself into an open seat next to Bood and LaPointe, which is shifted after Ilya joins them on the bench, shouting semi-serious threats if he doesn’t move over.
Shane doesn’t get to hear them though, because he’s lost in a trance as he stares at the stands once again.
“Shane, are you okay?” Ilya asks, but to Shane, he sounds a mile away.
across the rink, a family stands against the glass, holding up signs and jerseys. His jersey. But this isn’t just another one of the many families at the arena today.
Shane recognizes these faces, people he’s seen many times over the years in this rink, always up front, cheering him on. He’s given multiple pucks to both of the young children, two boys, who are now holding up a banner, this one reading “We’re sorry”, colored in rainbow stripes, a picture of Ilya and Shane in the right corner, and a pride flag in the other.
Shane isn’t sure why this gets him, but it does.
He immediately breaks down in tears.
suddenly, the rink is flooded with posters saying things along those lines, rainbow lights flashing onto the stands, the jumbotron now showing some of Shane’s best goals, funny moments, celebrations, and him hoisting the Stanley cup. It even shows funny moments in the children’s hospital they would visit, like when he dressed up as a monster for halloween one year. A few fights are played, followed by more goals or plays, before showing one last screen.
“Welcome home, Hollander.”
“oh.” He shakily sighs.
His teammates all turn to face him, along with Weibe and Harris. Wyatt and Harris are crying.
“Oh, moya lyubov’,”Ilya whispers to Shane, “they missed you.”
Shane laughs, the sound hitching in his throat.
The jumbotron is now showing a close up of Shane’s face, wet with tears.
Ilya taps his back, and Shane stands, waving to the crowd as he smiles. It’s a genuine smile, which he didn’t expect from himself, but he feels all the love and emotion circulating through him and all his fans. He will never regret coming to Ottawa, it’s his dream team. His husband is there, he’s made some of the best bonds with all of the guys, and he hopes to bring them to the Stanley cup finals this year.
But this feeling that he’s having now? it reminds him of the first time he visited his parents house after moving to Montreal. It’s not his home anymore, but it’ll always be his house. It’ll always be his bedroom, and it’ll always be his locker.
“Ilya,” Shane turns, whispering his name, gesturing for him to come with.
They skate out to center ice, hand in hand, and when there, Ilya raises their joined hands, grinning and waving.
Shane’s doing the same, but he’s crying so hard it’s almost impossible to keep the smile on his face. As a song starts playing, the crowd sings along,
Sleep, don’t visit
So, I choke on the sun
And the days blur into one
And the backs of my eyes
Hum with things i’ve never done
Sheets are swaying from an old clothesline
like a row of captured ghosts over old dead grass
was never much, but we’ve made the most
Welcome home (home, home, home)
Shane laughs, and so does Ilya before hugging him, and returning to the bench.
Shane waves again, blows kisses to the crowd, and follows behind Ilya, but he doesn’t stay.
Shane grabs one of his spare sticks, and takes off again, skating over to the opposite side of the rink.
“Hey!” He yells to the family behind the glass, “I miss you guys, okay?”
The little boys look up at him through their mops of curly hair, one crying almost as hard as Shane, and yell “We love you!”
Shane puts his hand up to the glass, where the boys meet with their own on the other side.
“I love you too,” Shane tosses the stick over the glass.
The father catches the stick, and hands it down to the shorter boy, the one that’s crying, and he makes a little heart with his hands. Shane does it back.
~
In the third period, things have mostly calmed down, and Ottawa is playing better than ever. Passes are connecting, goals are being scored, and Montreal is losing 1-3.
Dykstra makes a pass through to Shane in neutral zone, and Shane takes off to the net, scoring by an inch off of Drapeau’s glove. His third of the night. a hat trick.
Shane skates around the net, yelling through his adrenaline rush as his teammates huddle around him.
Except they’re not his teammates, and it’s only one person.
Suddenly, an ungloved fist connects with his jaw, a hand in the front of his collar.
it’s over before it started, because Shane’s teammates are there, and they’re pulling Andropov off him.
he’s punched by more then a few of the Ottawa players, even some who were on the bench not a minute before.
This ends up with Ilya, Troy, and Haas in the penalty box, but it’s worth it when Ilya winks at Shane before the ref pulls him away, a bruise already forming on his cheek.
Only one other time is a player brave enough to face the brunt of Ottawa, when the new center Montreal traded after Shane left, a young russian named Maksim Smelov, which Shane thinks is ironic, skates up to him and starts getting mouthy.
“Listen, man, i’m just here to play hockey,” Shane jokes, his adrenaline still pumping. Nothing can bring down his ego at the moment.
“Why don’t you and all the other fa-“ and that’s all he gets out before Ilya comes barreling to Shane’s rescue for the second time that night, knocking Smelov onto his ass.
The refs have to physically pull Ilya off him, and he gets a game misconduct, but he’s smiling as he skates off the ice, blowing a kiss to the crowd, then to Shane, which makes him laugh again.
Smelov doesn’t return to the ice that night.
Ottawa wins 5-2.
~
The next morning, Shane and Ilya wake up to hundreds of notifications on all forms of communication and social media.
Turns out, after the win last night, Harris posted a slideshow.
The cover is the photo Ilya took the morning before, followed by a close up of Shane with his hand against the glass, talking to the kids from last night, then a picture of Ilya and Shane hugging at center ice. It’s captioned: “Shane Hollander - a metros legend, no matter what team he’s on”