Chapter Text
The strangeness and fear Shane feel around his accidental marriage to Ilya Rozanov are starting to subside.
Not entirely, of course. Not even time will ever truly erase the little thrill of fear and excitement that shivers through Shane when he remembers that, he is, technically (in the state of Nevada, at least) married to Ilya Rozanov.
They’re talking more than they ever had, and it’s not even all sexting.
In the immediate weeks after the awards show, it’s mostly chirping each other for the whole debacle. The secrecy of their relationship has taken on a new layer, and the forbiddeness of it all does a little something for Shane.
(He thinks – hopes – it does for Ilya too.)
But all in all, they’re starting to text just to talk, recently, and it’s been nice. They talk about hockey a lot, but that’s because it’s something they both spend a lot of their time doing. Even over the summer, ostensibly on break, Shane lives and breathes his sport. He knows Ilya isn’t quite as obsessive as he is, but he’s happy to discuss and engage with Shane on all sorts of hockey-related things.
Ilya sometimes ventures into non-hockey topics, like new recipes he wants to try or dogs he sees, and Shane indulges him without complaint. They even talk on the phone a few times– though even the most chaste conversations tend to end up in phone sex.
Shane isn’t complaining.
It’s a weird summer, but a good one. Ilya is only in Moscow for about ten days this time, before he returns stateside and back to Shane’s time zone.
They talk about when they should meet back up in Vegas to submit the annulment paperwork, but they keep pushing things off. First, Shane comes down with a cold, and he may or may not have played it up more so Ilya would coddle him a little and they would reschedule.
Next, Ilya says he has some kind of commitment in Boston involving his friend Svetlana’s business, and Shane readily agrees that they can find another time. There’s no time-limit for filing for an annulment, after all.
But suddenly, Shane is heading to Montréal to report for pre-season training and Ilya is doing the same in Boston, and then the season is upon them.
So, they’re still married.
They really should have contacted Ilya’s immigration lawyer at this point, figured out what kind of implications this whole wedding has on Ilya’s residency, if any. Having a non-US spouse shouldn’t impact his work eligibility or visa status, they don’t think, so they let that slide off the to-do list too. At this point, Shane is almost too afraid to ask, and Ilya doesn’t bring it up either.
Other than the strange little certificate with their names on it that Ilya now displays on his refrigerator, nothing has really changed.
They still live too far apart to see much of each other in person, so there’s a lot of sexting and phone or video calls. They still talk around any real emotions or feelings or whatever, because it feels like a minefield and it would ruin whatever rose-colored illusion they have going on.
Shane wonders if Ilya is still hooking up with women in clubs, but he knows he’s not in any position to ask Ilya to stop, so he just doesn’t bring it up.
That’s not what this is. It can’t be.
It’s enough. It has to be.
Pre-season exhibition games begin, and Shane throws himself into hockey like he always does. He feels a little extra motivated this season, almost like he wants to show off. If he looks too far into that, he starts to realize he wants to show of for Ilya. As if he needs to brag about how great he is at hockey to prove that Ilya married the right NHL player.
Which really, is a little ridiculous. But if it’s helping his game, so Shane tries not to look too hard into that feeling.
Things have admittedly been a little strange with his parents. His dad will only discuss safe topics like hockey, the weather, and crossword puzzle clues that stumped him recently. His mother, on the other hand, has taken to lecturing Shane about any topic that comes to mind, it seems: brand deals, investment portfolios, skin cancer screenings, and his recent real estate moves feature prominently. She never brings up the marriage, but he knows she’s still judging his decision making skills and finding them lacking.
The good news is, neither of his parents has made any further inquiries into his dating life. The bad news is, his mother cannot seem to go more than a few days without asking Shane when he is going back to Vegas for the annulment.
It’s his fault, really, and Shane knows at this point, the only thing that will truly convince her he’s done it is if she flies there with him.
Which of course, he cannot allow her to do.
“It’s already the pre-season, Shane,” she insists to him. Yuna Hollander does not whine, but this is the closest Shane has ever heard from his mother. “You said you and Lily were going to take care of this quickly. I know you wanted to wait a little for the hockey buzz to die down, but it’s been two months now!”
“I know, but our schedules just aren’t lining up,” Shane deflects, feeling bad about the continued lying to his mother, but helpless to do anything differently.
“This is your future, Shane, and I’m worried that you’re not taking it seriously. It’s not like you to avoid taking care of something so important.”
He means to tell her why this is so complicated. He feels like he owes it to her to come clean. But every time he thinks about telling her – coming out, and then also coming out with Ilya Rozanov as his sort-of husband – he gets nauseous and dizzy and has to go through his old breathing exercises to quell the panic attack.
“I know, Mom. I promise, I am taking it seriously,” he says. He considers blaming ‘Lily’ for the delay, but decides against it, in case he ever does manage to come clean about who his spouse really is. “I get it. It’s just… complicated.”
She fixes him with a stern look that says she doesn’t think it’s complicated at all.
Ilya has been no help, of course. Which is to say, he has been so relentlessly sincere about supporting Shane, even offering to come to Ottawa to tell his parents together, in person, that Shane wants to crawl into a hole.
“You can tell your parents you’re gay without telling them it’s me, you know,” Ilya tells him over a video call one night. “Baby steps, no?”
“I know, I know!” Shane whines. “But this has gotten so… out of hand. It feels too big, like I can’t just tell part of it and leave the rest of it.”
“But they would be good, yes? About you being gay?”
“I mean, I think so? I don’t know, we’ve never talked about it. Obviously.”
“What is English expression – no time like the present?” Ilya smirks. “Or wait – Marly taught me this one: Put on your big boy pants.”
“Never say that to me again.”
“Why? Is very funny. And you are being a baby about this.”
“I am not!” Shane snaps. “This is hard for me, okay?”
“I know it is, Hollander,” Ilya says, tone softer now. “But I keep giving you ideas and advice for what to say, how to say; I offer to come say it with you. But you will not. So now I try new way: maybe I embarrass you into doing it. Or maybe we can make competition, somehow?”
“Fuck off, Rozanov.”
Ilya is quiet for a moment. “I’m trying to help you, Shane.”
Shane hates when he uses his first name like this, like it’s a weapon. It always finds its mark, and it stings with the possibility of what can never be.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Shane sighs. “But now that the season is about to start, it feels like this whole thing has to be put on pause. We have more important things to focus on.”
“Like how badly you will lose when we play you in week 2?”
“You wish,” Shane smiles, grateful that Ilya has let it go for now.
They can’t avoid it forever, but Shane just wants one more season. One more season to be normal, before this can all blow up in his face.
_/ \_
The Voyageurs are off to a fantastic start to their season, winning three of their first four games. The team is playing well, their lines are in sync, and Shane has a feeling this is going to be a good year.
Boston has also started strong, having started their season with three away games, and their home opener is slated to be against Montréal.
The arena will be electric, and definitely in Boston’s favor, but Shane relishes the challenge.
Shane makes a clumsy excuse to his coach about some kind of sponsor-related meeting in Boston so that he can fly in a little early, ahead of the team. Shane knows he’s not a great liar, but he likes to think he’s gotten better since he started sneaking around with Ilya. Coach buys it anyway, and Shane relaxes a fraction.
He doesn’t wear the ring in public, but he brings it with him like a good luck charm in his pocket or his sports bag.
As he waits for Ilya to answer the door for him the afternoon before the game, he slips it onto his finger, half admiring it, half laughing about what a shitty ring it is.
Ilya answers the door in sweatpants and no shirt, and Shane gives him a hungry once-over, eyes stopping on the necklace around his neck. Nestled next to the usual cross is his own ring.
Shane licks his lips as he steps inside. As soon as the door is closed, Ilya is all over him, kissing him deeply, mouth open and tongue diving straight in.
Shane yields to him immediately and lets his hands roam all over Ilya’s arms and chest, his fingers dancing along the ring.
Ilya breaks the kiss with a filthy, wet sound. “I missed you,” he breathes. He kisses along Shane’s jaw and cheekbones, dropping kisses along his freckles.
“I missed you too,” Shane sighs. It feels right to be with Ilya again.
The one thing he regrets about not going back to Vegas is that he could have had more time with Ilya.
But if they had actually gotten the annulment, Shane fears it would have pushed Ilya away. Like maybe if they were no longer tied by this terrible mistake, Ilya wouldn’t want to bother with Shane anymore.
He pushes that thought down though and sinks down to his knees to show Ilya exactly how much he’s missed him.
_/ \_
“You hungry?” Ilya asks him after they’ve fucked twice. Shane is starving, but he doesn’t want to leave the bed. He’s too happy where he is, sweaty and tangled with Ilya. He can almost forget the mess of the sheets that Ilya has carefully positioned them around.
“Mm,” Shane replies instead of real words.
“You stay here, I bring something back,” Ilya says, and he kisses Shane’s shoulder. Ilya gets out of the bed, and Shane whines at the loss of him dramatically.
“I will be quick!” Ilya promises, and he darts out of the room.
Shane lets himself daydream while he hears Ilya rummaging around in the kitchen. He wonders what it would be like to have this: no need to hide or pretend, to really be together. He has no idea if Ilya would even want that, and he is under no delusions that coming out in their notoriously homophobic sport would even be possible.
But in his mind, he can pretend for a few moments that the Roger Crowells of the world don’t exist, and he and Ilya can be together.
Ilya returns with a snack tray, practically jumping back onto the bed.
A few crackers spill off the edge, and Shane takes in the sight. “Are you a child?” Shane laughs.
“Shut up and eat it, Hollander,” Ilya smiles in return, holding a slice of cheese out to Shane.
Shane takes a bit of the cheese directly from Ilya’s hand, and Ilya’s face stills, eyes widening before he can school his expression.
Emboldened, Shane reaches forward and eats the rest of the cheese in Ilya’s hand, letting his lips and tongue brush against Ilya’s fingers.
Ilya smirks. “You are… shit, I learned this word. You always have appetite. Ins… In-something!”
“Insatiable?” Shane offers.
“Yes, this one! You are insatiable.”
“Only for you,” Shane says, and then cringes. Was that too much?
Ilya swoops forward and kisses him once, hard. “Good,” he says.
And Shane thinks maybe it is.
_/ \_
As expected, the arena is absolutely electric. Not only is it the Boston home opener, but it’s against their main division rival.
Rather than nerves, though, Shane feels excitement pulsing through his veins.
During warm-ups, he can’t help but steal glances over at Ilya, and their eyes meet once or twice. Ilya smirks, the challenge clear on his face.
Whatever is going on off the ice, neither of them will ever go easy on each other on it. Shane knows that in his very soul.
Finally, the game starts, and Shane wins the first face off, taking off down the ice and letting the intensity of this game fuel him.
He gets a few shots on goal early in the game, but Boston’s goalie saves them.
Ilya scores first, just over six minutes into the first period, but Shane gets the assist for Montréal’s answering goal less than a minute later.
By the middle of the second period, both teams have scored once more, and Shane is running on adrenaline and the boos from the home crowd.
To open the third period, Shane scores a goal off the face-off, and Montréal’s defense holds Boston off for several minutes.
With about three minutes left in the game, Montréal is still up 3-2. Hayden has control of the puck but Ilya delivers a hard check and steals it away. Shane’s momentum is taking him the wrong direction, away from the play, and it looks like a break away, like Ilya is about to tie things up.
Shane can’t let that happen. He surges back towards the play and calls out to his defense, as if they need him to tell them to stop Ilya from scoring.
Suddenly, J.J. is there in front of Ilya, and Shane is overwhelmed by a sense of dread. It’s like everything happens in slow motion.
Ilya, head down, focused on the puck. He doesn’t see J.J. coming.
J.J. was clearly expecting Ilya to have his head up, to take the check like always, off his shoulder pads where his body and equipment can take on the impact.
But with his head down, J.J. collides into his head, and Shane watches helplessly as Ilya’s neck whiplashes violently with the impact.
The crowd goes silent – or maybe that’s just the horrible, nauseating ringing in Shane’s ears that makes it seem that way.
Shane is already skating full-speed toward the play, so his momentum takes him right up to where Ilya is lying motionless on the ice.
The medical team is already coming onto the ice, and the refs are making sure the players stay back and give the team room to work.
Ilya isn’t moving.
Shane’s eyes well up with tears, and he blinks them away. He needs to… he doesn’t know what he needs. He needs Ilya to be okay. He needs to see him move, to chirp about J.J.’s hit, something.
He needs to stay close, but the refs are pushing him back.
Shane is terrified, but he knows he can’t do anything. The medical team needs to do their job.
Ilya isn’t moving. Shane can’t breathe.
He somehow ends up back on the bench, and Hayden puts his hand on Shane’s shoulder. He can clearly tell that Shane is upset – who wouldn’t be? – and the weight of his hand helps ground him a little.
Instinctively, he reaches for the ring he usually keeps in a pocket. Of course, he doesn’t have it on him right now. It’s in his bag in the locker room.
His ring.
Ilya is being taken off the ice now, the paramedics wheeling the gurney towards the tunnel and off to the hospital. From this distance, it’s impossible to tell if he’s awake yet, if he’s okay.
His ring.
Shane grabs for his skate guards and bolts down the tunnel.
“Shane!” Hayden calls, bewildered. Shane can’t stop. He pulls off his helmet, his gloves, dropping them along the way to the locker room, uncaring.
He unlaces his skates faster than he’s ever done before, tears off as many of his pads as he can get off quickly, and grabs his shoes from his cubby.
Shane runs down the hall in socked feet, finding his way over to the Boston side, out the nearest exit where he sees the most commotion. He’s just in time to see the ambulance close its doors.
One of the arena trainers is there, and Shane approaches him, breathlessly. “Where are they taking him? Which hospital?”
The trainer looks confused as to why Shane Hollander of all people is asking him this. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to give out medical information before the official statement…”
“He’s my… Please. Just the name of the hospital. That’s all I need.”
Reluctantly, the trainer gives him the name, and Shane takes off again, this time to the taxi stand.
Traffic is slow while Shane’s thoughts race. He just left mid-game to go running after his rival’s ambulance, without telling his coach or anyone where he was going or why.
Luckily, he managed to grab his phone in his rush, so he opens it, planning to send Hayden a text at least. He won’t see it until after the game, but he can at least reassure him he’s not passed out from hyperventilating somewhere in the arena.
When he opens the message though, he realizes he has no idea what to say. Sorry for bolting, I had to go make sure my husband is alright!
He settles for an extremely vague I’m okay, I’ll explain later and closes his phone.
When the taxi arrives at the emergency department entrance, Shane barely waits for the car to come to a complete stop before getting out.
He walks up to the first hospital employee he sees, and summoning every ounce of his confidence, says, “My husband was just brought here by ambulance. I need to see him.”
The employee startles a bit, at Shane’s abrupt arrival. Shane is also dripping in sweat, still wearing his uniform pants but thankfully just his black compression shirt. He has probably already been recognized, if not by this employee then by someone else. He swallows down the panic rising like bile in his throat.
“Ilya Rozanov, like the hockey player?” the man asks. His name tag says Francesco.
“Yes,” Shane says, confidence starting to waver. But he needs to see Ilya, needs to know he’s alright. So he pushes through. “Please.”
“Give me a minute,” Francesco says, and he picks up the desk phone. He eyes Shane suspiciously, probably trying to connect “husband” and the famed Boston captain and the sweaty, panicked man in front of him.
The phone rings briefly, and then Francesco is talking to someone. “I have a visitor here for an ambulance arrival, do we have them checked in yet?”
A beat.
“Yeah, he says he’s a spouse, but…”
Shane blanches. How is he going to be able to prove that they’re married? He has a ring, sure, but he can’t exactly tell them “trust me, Ilya’s matches, it’s fine!”
Impatiently he waits for Francesco to relay what’s happening to him. When he hangs up, Shane holds his breath.
“He’s being evaluated right now. Someone will reach out to his emergency contacts, so if that’s um, you, they’ll give you instructions on where and when you can see him. You can have a seat here while you wait.”
Shane lets out a shaky breath. He’s not going to be Ilya’s emergency contact. It would have been insane of Ilya to list him. They’re not even friends publicly, and they don’t live in the same country.
He doesn’t feel like explaining to Francesco why someone’s husband would not be listed as an emergency contact, so he just nods and looks for a chair away from too many other people.
He needs another way.
He had been so paranoid about having any traces of their marriage that he never did end up taking a photo of their marriage certificate. He briefly considers calling his lawyer’s office to see if they could maybe send him something, but it’s already nearly 10pm on a weekend, so he’s not sure anyone would even answer.
His parents know about the marriage of course, but Shane has still been too much of a coward to tell them about who ‘Lily’ is, much less provide them with any kind of proof.
He looks up how long it would take to go to Ilya’s house and retrieve the certificate from his refrigerator, but when the round trip would take well over an hour, he’s loathe to leave for that long.
Shane next considers calling Hayden, but decides against it. What could Hayden do, anyway?
Desperately, he opens his texts with Ilya.
Jane: Please be okay.
Jane: I’m trying to come visit you, just please be okay when I get to you, alright?
Jane: I’ll figure something out. I told them you’re my husband, but I can’t prove it. I don’t know how to get in to see you.
He’s about to send another message when his phone starts to ring. The name Lily lights up on his screen, and his heart stutters.
“Ilya?” he asks, his voice cracking on the second syllable.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice says. “This is Serena Gordon, I’m one of the nurses here at Massachusetts General Hospital. Am I speaking with Shane Hollander?”
“Yes!” Shane nearly shouts. “Is he okay? Ilya?”
“Yes, he’s here with me and asked me to call you. Are you able to come to the hospital?”
Relief floods Shane’s veins. Ilya had to be awake then, if he was asking for someone to call Shane. He could still be terribly injured, but he was awake and asking for Shane. That was good enough for now.
“Yes, I’m already here. I’m in the waiting room at the emergency department entrance."
“Okay, great. I’m going to give you some directions so you can come join Mr Rozanov.”
Serena tells him where to go and he finds his way through the labyrinth of hallways and elevators until he finds the nurse’s desk and sees a middle-aged woman in scrubs with the name tag Serena on it.
“I’m Shane Hollander, we spoke on the phone?” he tells her. He winces, realizing he didn’t even say hello and that he probably sounds very rude, but Serena smiles patiently at him.
“Hello, Mr. Hollander. If you’d just sign the visitor’s log here, we’ll get you a visitor badge and I’ll show you to Mr. Rozanov’s room.”
Shane scribbles his name down and they hand him a sticker with the date and time of entry on it. He sticks it to his chest, and then Serena leads him to a small room.
Shane takes a deep breath, bracing for the worst.
“Shanya!” Ilya exclaims when Shane walks in.
He’s still wearing the C-Collar and light bruises are starting to bloom on his face, but his smile lights up and he reaches towards Shane, half his body wiggling.
“I’m here, baby,” Shane tells Ilya, approaching the bed and holding one of Ilya’s hands in both of his. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“I am better now that you are here, my handsome husband,” Ilya says. He puckers his lips like he wants to kiss Shane, but can’t reach.
Shane is so relieved that Ilya is awake, not paralyzed, and apparently in good spirits, that he humors Ilya and gives him a quick but firm kiss.
“He is okay, right?” Shane asks Serena, who is fussing with a monitor in an apparent attempt to give them a moment to reunite.
“Well, he has a concussion and his neck is going to be very sore for a while, but x-rays were clean and the doctor had no other concerns based on the results of his scans,” she explains. “We’re going to have him stay overnight for observation, but he will likely be ready to go in the morning.”
“Thank god,” Shane whispers, and lifts Ilya’s hand to his lips to kiss it softly.
Serena steps out of the room, and Shane wonders vaguely if visitors are protected by confidentiality laws, or if they’re about to face an absolute media shit storm, but he pushes that to the back of his mind for now.
Him running off the ice and harassing a Boston trainer for hospital information wasn’t exactly playing in his favor either.
“Who won?” Ilya asks, pulling Shane out of the beginnings of his panic spiral.
“Of course that’s what you’re worried about,” Shane laughs. “I don’t actually know. Montréal was up before… before I left. But I didn’t stay for the last 3 minutes.”
“You must really care about me if you left hockey game early,” Ilya grins.
“Of course I care about you, asshole,” Shane says.
Ilya’s smile fades a bit. “We’re not really husbands, though.”
“Technically…” Shane starts. He knows that’s not the real issue though. “Let’s not talk about this here. Not now. Right now, you should just be resting and healing. I need you healthy so I can kick your ass for getting hurt.”
“Is J.J.’s fault,” Ilya whines.
“No, you’re the one who had your head down, watching the puck like fucking junior league,” Shane chastises. “I know you know how to take a check better than that.”
“Suddenly I don’t remember, must be concussion,” Ilya says. He tries to wink, but it’s clumsy in his current state and Shane finds it adorably endearing, somehow.
“Bullshit,” he says softly.
Shane looks at Ilya intently, who tries to hold his gaze defiantly but then drops it, shifting uncomfortably.
“Wasn’t watching the puck,” Ilya says, finally. “Was looking for you.”
“What? Why?”
“Wanted to make sure you were watching.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Shane asks, incredulous.
“I’m sorry,” Ilya says. “Was stupid of me.”
“You’re damn right it was.”
“I should know, you are always watching me anyway.”
“Fuck off.” Shane can feel his tears building but he’s careful to not let them fall. “You’re such an idiot.”
“Not always,” Ilya says. “Sometimes I make very good choices.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Like marrying you.”
Shane was expecting a joke answer, so he’s not sure how to take Ilya’s response.
“Ilya…”
“I know it was crazy. It was probably also stupid. But it means you can be here now with me.”
“It was definitely stupid,” Shane agrees. “But I’m glad I can be here with you. And once you’re out of this hospital and feeling better, we’ll talk, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Ilya lets his eyes flutter closed, and Shane pulls up the chair next to his bed to sit with him while he drifts to sleep.
He knows he can’t stay much longer – he’s already got a whole mess to clean up with Hayden, his coach, and the rest of the team, for starters – so once Ilya is asleep, he untangles his hand from Ilya’s fingers, and presses a light kiss to his forehead.
He wishes he could leave something with Ilya, like some sort of token to prove he was really there, but he doesn’t have anything so he just has to hope that Ilya will remember the visit and he’ll know.
It will have to be enough for now.
_/ \_
Shane has four missed calls and 17 unread texts from Hayden. The texts begin with absolute confusion as to why Shane had run out of the arena over Rozanov, but they escalate into how pissed Theriault is and that he blames Shane for Montreal’s loss.
That answers that question, then, Shane grimaces.
Shane: on my way back to the hotel. Need a shower first but then we can talk?
Hayden’s reply is immediate.
Hayden: oh so now you reply.
Shane doesn’t want to fight over text, so he closes his phone, calls for a cab, and heads to the hotel.
Hayden is in the room when Shane arrives, but Shane silences him with a look. He grabs his change of clothes quickly, and heads straight to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.
He showers off the game, and tries to gather his thoughts. He probably has to just come clean entirely, or else Hayden will never let it go.
He’s not going to like any of it, but Shane can at least give him the full story.
He gets dressed, and realizes the pants he’s grabbed have the little velvet pouch he keeps his ring in.
May as well, Shane thinks, and he puts the ring on his finger before exiting the bathroom.
Hayden turns off the TV and sits on the edge of one of the double beds expectantly. Shane had almost hoped that Hayden would start yelling at him or offer him a plausible lie he could latch onto, but he knows he owes his friend the truth.
“Well?” Hayden prompts, eyebrows raised.
“How pissed is coach?” Shane starts.
“Pissed!” Hayden exclaims. “You ran out on a game, dude. And you’re obviously not dead or dying, so what the fuck were you thinking?”
“I… needed to make sure he was okay.”
“Who, Rozanov?”
“Yes.”
“Because you guys are such great friends, huh?” Hayden asks sarcastically.
“Hayd…”
“Okay sure, it was crazy to see him go down on the ice, but there were only three minutes in the game, and you know it always takes a while for statements. That doesn’t explain why you bolted like that.”
“It wasn’t just crazy, I was… terrified. He wasn’t moving. I needed… I needed to know.”
“So you left your team, that you are the captain of, to go sit around at a hospital? No way were they letting visitors in or telling you anything.”
“They did,” Shane says softly. “They let me in.”
Hayden stares at him, disbelieving. “How-- why?”
Shane fidgets with the ring on his finger, and decides he just needs to rip off the band-aid, so to speak. “I told them he’s my husband.”
“Right, and they believed that?” He’s trying to play it for a laugh, but it comes across more like he’s asking Shane to please, please say it’s not true.
“Well...” Shane turns his head away, unable to look at Hayden. “He is.”
“Dude. What are you talking about?”
“We… we were drunk. In Vegas, after the awards show. And…” Shane holds up his hand with the ring on it.
Hayden is speechless, mouth opening and closing but no sound comes out.
“At first we thought, of course we have to get an annulment. We can’t be married,” Shane laughs, wetly and without humor. “But we just never got around to it, and things were good, and so it just sort of stuck, and then it turns out it was kind of useful because it meant that I got to see him. When he got hurt.”
Shane’s voice is thick, but he needs to get this all out. “I think… I think I love him, Hayd.”
The confession breaks Hayden out of his stupor. “Back the fuck up, Shane. You love him? Wait, what do you mean things were good, you got fucking drunk married to Ilya Rozanov and things were good?!”
“Yeah,” Shane laughs. “They were. They are.”
“I need a minute,” Hayden says, standing up. For a moment, Shane is scared he’s going to bolt out of the room, but he just paces wildly, clenching and unclenching his fists, scrunching his fingers into his athletic shorts, and taking deep breaths.
Once his breathing steadies, Hayden looks back over to Shane. “Fucking Rozanov?”
“I sure am,” Shane says. “Or I guess… other way around.”
“Dude, TMI!” Hayden hisses. “I do not need to hear about Rozanov’s sex life.”
“Is it… are you okay with me um, being with a man?” Shane asks. He can’t say gay, it feels too insignificant, somehow. Like that’s only part of this whole mess.
“I mean, I’m surprised, I guess? But yeah, of course I’m okay with it. In theory, of course. Because in reality, apparently you have the worst taste in men.”
“He’s not that bad. It’s mostly an act,” Shane says defensively.
“It’s an act that he’s one of the league’s biggest assholes?”
“It’s more like a persona, I think,” Shane says. “With me, it’s different.”
“Okay but… married, Shane?”
“That part wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“So you were, uh, together before?”
“Yeah.”
“Since when?”
“A while?” Shane hedges. “It’s complicated.”
“Was it serious?”
“No, that’s the complicated part. It was supposed to just be for fun. Stress relief, maybe. I don’t know. We understand each other in a way that no one else can. And the sex was so good, Hayden.”
Hayden puts a hand up in a “stop” gesture. “Don’t need to know, Shane.”
“You tell me stuff about Jackie that I don’t want to hear, this is payback.”
“This is different!” Hayden retorts.
“Because Ilya is a man?”
“No, Shane, because he’s our fucking divisional rival!”
“This is why it had to be a secret.”
“I’m getting that,” Hayden says. “Oh fuck. He’s Lily, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus Christ,” Hayden swears. “And does anyone else know about this?”
“No,” Shane says. “Well, I guess some hospital staff know now. Or know something. And now you. And my parents know I accidentally got married, but not um, to who. I just said it was Lily.”
“Dude, you’re fucked.”
“Don’t remind me,” Shane groans. “But it was worth it.”
“What was?”
“Seeing him. Knowing he was alright. He got really lucky nothing was broken. Just some serious whiplash and a concussion.”
“Well that’s good. I mean, obviously I’m glad he’s not hurt. Or not too bad. It’ll be nice for him to be out a few games, no?”
Shane shoots a harsh glare at Hayden.
“Too soon?” Hayden asks.
“Way too soon.”
“Alright so like, what’s the plan?” Hayden asks. “You’re Shane Hollander. There has to be a plan.”
Shane shakes his head. “Don’t really have one yet, honestly. With Ilya it’s… it’s always been a little more fast and loose—”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
“Hayden!” Shane scolds. “Read the room.”
“Sorry, I’m just in shock still, okay? Right, so a plan. We need a plan.”
“We?” Shane asks. “You’re gonna help me?”
“Yeah, but I’m helping you, not the enemy,” Hayden says. “We’re gonna need code names or something.”
“We already have code names,” Shane reminds him. “Lily, remember?”
“And what does that make you?”
“Jane.”
“Wow. Could you be more obvious?”
“Well we haven’t gotten caught so far, so…” Shane shrugs.
“We’re so fucked.”
_/ \_
Shane and Hayden stay up late into the night, talking through ideas: what they would do in a perfect world (“I just want to kiss him and stuff, and for people to leave us alone,” Shane supplies immediately) and what they would do in the worst case scenario (“quit hockey and live in a cave in the woods where no one can look at me ever again”).
Ultimately, they land on a very tentative outline that Shane insists that Ilya approve before they enact: clear things with Theriault, get Yuna Hollander on board, and create a long term plan with lots of contingencies and back-ups in case things blow up.
Shane has to offer some kind of explanation to his coach about why he bailed, so they go with the panic attack explanation – it’s only happened once in the presence of any teammates besides Hayden, but there’s enough precedent and it was a rough enough hit that Shane decides it’s much better than revealing everything to his coach before his parents even know.
Once the Voyageurs are squared away, they both agree that the next most important part of any plan is going to require Yuna Hollander: her planning, her connections, and her support. This is the part Shane insists on getting Ilya’s agreement to, since it wouldn’t just be Shane coming out, but both of them.
They’ll need statements in case of any leaks, and they’ll need to decide if they’re staying married – even if only in the US. Hayden urges Shane to consider if Rozanov is really “husband material” or just a fuck buddy, because if it’s the latter, then there are way less complicated people to hook up with.
Shane can tell that Hayden is not very in favor of Ilya’s part in this whole thing, but he knows he’s trying to be a good friend. Shane can admit that this has been a lot to dump on the man all in one go, and he can give Hayden some time to process.
He sends Ilya another text before they turns the lights off to finally sleep, even though Ilya should be sleeping too and definitely shouldn’t be looking at his phone.
Jane: sleep well. I’ll come back in the morning <3
The anxiety storm of “what ifs” whirls ferociously in his mind as he tries to fall asleep, but when it gets too bad, he fidgets with the ring and tries to focus on the memory of Ilya’s face lighting up as he saw Shane enter his hospital room, saying Sometimes I make good choices, like marrying you.
If Shane has anything to say about it, Ilya will never change his mind.
_/ \_
He wakes up early despite the lack of sleep, his body well-conditioned to always wake at the same time.
Hayden is still asleep next to him, but Shane gets up and decides to hit the hotel gym for a quick workout before he has to face the rest of the day.
The team is supposed to return to Montréal for a home-stand, but they don’t play for two days, so Shane decides he’ll stay with Ilya as long as he can, making sure he gets set up at home and that one of his teammates can look after him in his concussed-state or something.
The visiting hours don’t start until 10am, but Shane is hoping he can sneak in early and avoid being seen. He’s definitely playing the husband card again, though he supposes that he can also play the “captain’s visit” card now that it’s the next morning and that he knows Ilya is alright.
After his workout, he grabs a quick breakfast and slips out of the hotel quietly. He sends Hayden a quick text confirming that he’s with Ilya, and that he’ll talk to coach as soon as it’s after 8am.
The front desk staff has rotated, and the nurse from last night, Serena, is no longer there. After explaining in hushed tones who he was there to see – so much more discretely than he had last night, but he was running on adrenaline and panic. A quick verification of some records later, they agree to let him visit early.
He sees small flower stand and briefly wonders if he should have brought Ilya something, but he’s getting released this morning and Shane worries it may draw attention, so he decides against it. The stand isn’t open yet anyway.
Ilya is asleep when Shane slips into his room, so Shane walks over to the chair next to the bed and just sits with him a few minutes.
He’ll have to wear the C-collar a few days still, and it doesn’t look very comfortable to sleep in, but Ilya’s face looks peaceful enough.
Shane wants to grab his hand, and realizes that there’s no one stopping him from doing it, so he does. Ilya doesn’t wake, but seems to reflexively clasp Shane’s hand back.
After around fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, Ilya stirs awake, a dopey grin on his face when he sees Shane staring at him.
“Dobry utro,” Ilya whispers.
“Is that ‘good morning’?” Shane asks, and Ilya tries to nod in response, grimacing a bit at the pain.
“Hey, careful,” Shane soothes. “You’re still hurt, remember?”
“Yes, yes,” Ilya says. “But my favorite nurse is here to make it all better, no?”
Shane rolls his eyes affectionately, and kisses Ilya’s hand.
“Mm, here too please,” Ilya says, and points at his lips, puckered almost cartoonishly for a kiss.
“No way you brushed your teeth yet,” Shane says.
“I am in hospital,” Ilya whines. “And you will deny me kiss? My husband is so cruel.”
“Shut up, you big baby,” Shane says, but gives him a quick (closed-mouth) kiss anyway.
“Spasibo, lyubimyy.”
“What’s that one?” Shane asks.
“Thank you,” Ilya says, a twinkle in his eye. Shane isn’t sure if Ilya is pulling his leg or not but decides not to question it.
“How do you feel?” Shane asks after a moment, bringing his hand up to gently brush through Ilya’s curls.
“Okay,” Ilya says. “Sore. Tired. Head hurts a little. But I am strong Russian hockey player, so I am okay.”
“You don’t have to be strong Russian hockey player all the time, you know.”
“I know. Sometimes I am soft Russian husband of Shane Hollander. This is good too.”
Shane’s heart clenches at the simple declaration. Ilya doesn’t seem too loopy from pain meds, but it’s unlike him to be so unguarded.
Shane supposes it’s unlike himself to be doing this too; seeing each other without a plan to fuck, just to comfort Ilya in his hospital bed.
Shane doesn’t know what to say, though, so he just kisses Ilya’s forehead softly, lingering a moment so he can inhale his scent. It’s tinged with the tang of antiseptic, but underneath is still him.
“I talked to Hayden last night,” Shane says when he pulls back.
Ilya raises an eyebrow, waiting.
“Do you remember how I told you I ran out on the game last night? Before it was over. And so I told him where I was.”
“How did he… how did it go?”
“Better than I expected,” Shane admits. “He isn’t thrilled that it’s you, but… he was a good friend about it.”
“Why not thrilled is me? I am perfect, perfect for Shane Hollander. He will see.”
“He’s just in shock, I think. He’ll come around. He won’t tell anyone, and he was okay with the whole… gay thing.”
“Good, because I am too injured to fuck him up if not.”
Shane squeezes his hand. “Please don’t hurt my best friend.”
“I will not have to if he comes around, as you say.”
“He will,” Shane assures him. “I do have to talk to my coach this morning, though. Explain to him why I ran out on the game, and that I’m going to go back on my own to Montréal. Our next game isn’t until Tuesday night.”
“Why?” Ilya asks, confused.
“I want to make sure you’re settled in at home first,” Shane says, like it’s obvious. It is obvious, isn’t it? “Why wouldn’t I?”
“But your team, they are okay with this?”
“Well I’m not exactly going to tell him I’m staying in Boston an extra day and half to be at your bedside.”
“But your coach will believe you?” Ilya asks more urgently. “I do not want you to get in trouble with your team for me.”
“Hayden and I talked about me telling coach I had a panic attack when I saw an unresponsive player on the ice. And that I need a day to get my shit together so I can be focused and 100% on the ice. We think if I make it about hockey and my performance, he’ll… accept it. Maybe not happily, but he will.”
“Tell him you have food poisoning,” Ilya suggests. “You left rink to go puke forever and you still puke now. See you in two days, Theriault!”
Shane considers it. “Honestly, that may be a better idea than the panic attack thing.”
“Don’t give him any more info than you have to,” Ilya advises.
“You’re probably right.”
“Of course I am. I am best, always.”
“And so modest.”
“Also one of my best qualities.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“But I am your ridiculous.”
“Yeah, you are.”
Shane kisses Ilya’s cheek, and then moves to stand. “I’m gonna go call coach, and then I’ll come back when they’re ready to discharge you, okay?”
“Call him from bathroom so he hears echo and knows is real!”
“Okay, Ilya. Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you in a bit.”
_/ \_
The conversation with Theriault goes better than Shane expected. He questions the timing of it, and actually asks if the nausea and vomiting is from having seen a fellow competitor out cold on the ice, and Shane gives him an “I’m not sure” as an answer.
He digs in that he really is too sick to travel today, though, and that he’ll join the team in Montréal as soon as possible, definitely before the next game.
An hour later, the hospital calls Shane and says that Ilya is ready to be discharged. Shane packs up his belongings from the hotel room, gets a bear hug from Hayden, and then he goes back to the hospital to pick up his concussed husband.
The hospital staff agrees to release him through one of the staff parking lots to avoid unnecessary press attention, though things have been calm.
The Bears release a statement shortly after Ilya is released saying that he has a concussion and will be out short term per concussion protocols but expected to make a full recovery.
“Has your team reached out to you to check on you?” Shane asks on the drive over to Ilya’s home.
“I asked the nurse to read me some of my texts this morning,” Ilya says. He’s wearing sunglasses and his C-Collar, and the car ride looks uncomfortable. Shane is driving one of Ilya’s cars – he didn’t want it sitting at the arena forever – but unfortunately it’s not a very smooth ride.
Normally, Ilya likes how he can “feel the road”, but with a concussion and severe neck pain, Shane can tell that this was a bad choice. It is, however, the most private option they had, so Shane drives slowly and avoids as many potholes as he can.
“Most of the team sent me get better texts, Marly sent me a bit more about the game and that he will check on me when I am home. I was going to tell him not to come until tomorrow afternoon, but if team already announced I am out, he may try to come over sooner.”
Shane blanches. Hayden knows – Shane had told him. Hadn’t even really consulted Ilya about telling him before he did it. He knows he should offer the same to Ilya, that he can tell Marleau about them, but the fear of it chokes him. He doesn’t know Marleau, and while he knows he and Ilya are friends, he doesn’t know how open they are about this kind of thing.
“I can hear you thinking,” Ilya teases.
“I just… you should call him. Tell him… that I’m here. If you want.”
“You are okay with this?”
‘Okay’ feels like a stretch, but he knows it’s what Ilya deserves. “If you trust him, I trust you.”
“I trust him. Maybe I don’t say that we are married, not yet. But I will tell him you are here. When will you have to leave? So I can tell him when is safe to check on me.”
“I’ll need to fly back tomorrow afternoon at the latest. I’ll look at flights when we get to your place,” Shane says. “But what do you mean when it’s safe? I have no problem with Marleau.”
“Safe so he does not walk in on sexy time,” Ilya says.
“We are not having sex while you are concussed and in a neck collar!” Shane hisses indignantly. “I don’t want to hurt you!”
“I’m sure we can find something that will work,” Ilya says. “Otherwise, would be a waste.”
“I just want to take care of you right now, okay?”
“There are many ways to take care of me, Hollander.”
“You’re impossible.”
They arrive at Ilya’s home and Shane walks Ilya to the door like he’s the most fragile thing he’s ever held. “Couch or bed?” he asks.
“Couch for now,” Ilya says. “Stereo is in living room, I can listen to music or something so I do not go crazy with boredom.”
“No screens, though,” Shane warns.
“Yes, nurse,” Ilya says. “Mm, you would be a sexy nurse. We should do role play some time.”
“You’re a terrible patient,” Shane complains, but he’s blushing and he hopes that Ilya can’t see it through his sunglasses.
The knowing smirks suggests otherwise, but Ilya doesn’t say anything.
Shane gets him propped up and arranged comfortably on his couch, then Shane goes back to the car to bring in their bags.
He finds Ilya’s phone from his bag, and helps him dial Marleau.
“Put it on speaker,” Ilya instructs.
“Ilya, I can step out. Give you some privacy to talk to your friend.”
“No, I want you here. Stay, put on speaker.”
Marleau picks up on the second ring.
“Roz, that you?”
“Hi Marly, is me.”
“I was going to pick you up from the hospital, but they said you already left. How’d you get home?”
“Yes, I’m home and all tucked in. Feeling alright, but have very good nurse to take care of me today.”
Shane glares daggers at Ilya, but doesn’t say anything.
“They sent a nurse home with you?” Marleau asks, confused. “If you need more care, why would they release you from the hospital?”
“Mmhmm, very sexy nurse will watch me.”
“Ilya,” Shane hisses, trying to avoid being overheard. “This was not what we agreed on!”
“Okay fine, he is not real nurse. But still very sexy and still will watch me today. And tomorrow morning a little. So you can come babysit me when he has to leave, yes?”
“Roz, what the hell are you talking about?”
Shane would normally smack Ilya for this, but he doesn’t want to hurt him, so instead, he decides he has to do his own damage control.
“Marleau, hey, it’s uh, Hollander. Shane Hollander. Rozanov is a little high from the pain meds, sorry about… that.”
“Hollander? Why are you at Roz’s? What’s going on?”
Shane lowers his voice and makes eye contact with Ilya. “Are you going to behave and explain, or do I need to?”
“Ooh, I like when you take charge like this, keep going,” Ilya says giddily.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Shane says, but he can’t help the affection that seeps into his voice. He takes a steadying breath and then addresses Marleau. “It’s a long story, but yes, I picked him up from the hospital and I’ll take care of him today and tomorrow morning. I have to fly back to Montréal, so I can’t stay the full 72 hours they want him supervised by someone, so if you’re okay to take over when I leave, that would be great. Or if not, if there’s someone else, I can call them.”
“No no, it’s cool, I can come babysit him. But Hollander, why… why you? I mean no offense, you seem like a decent guy, but why would the hospital release him to you? What am I missing?”
“I asked him to!” Ilya pipes in, and Shane is just relieved that he didn’t say they were married. Ilya is so far off script at this point, he doesn’t know what is about to come out of his mouth.
“Hollander, you can’t skip out on your team for Roz,” Marleau says. “I’ll come take him.”
“No, Marly. Shane stays with me. Was his idea, even, to stay.”
“Roz, what the hell is going on?”
“We are together, Marly,” Ilya says, and it sounds as easy as breathing for him, like he even relishes it. “Shane is mine, and he wants to take care of me.”
Shane bites his lip at the silence that radiates out of the phone.
“You’re… you’re serious? You’re not fucking around?” Marleau finally asks.
“Very serious,” Ilya says. “You could even say that Shane made vows to care for me. In sickness and in health!”
“God dammit, Ilya,” Shane whines, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Hollander, how high is he? Is this… I mean, does he mean what that sounds like?”
“Yeah, unfortunately. It’s… it’s complicated. Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow? When he’s less high. We can talk tomorrow before I have to leave. I’ll need to show you the instructions from the hospital anyway.”
“Yeah, uh, sure. Thanks for taking care of him, I guess? This is… a lot. Weird.”
“Please don’t say anything,” Shane says desperately. “I know I don’t know you that well, but this could be really bad for Ilya if things get out. We’re… we’re not ready to handle that. So please, just. Don’t say anything, okay?”
“Is very important secret, Marly,” Ilya chimes in unhelpfully. “Shhhhhhh.”
“I’m not gonna say anything,” Marleau agrees. “But I do want to know what’s going on. Is 9am okay? For tomorrow?”
“Yeah, 9am is fine. Thank you, Marleau, really,” Shane says. “I know this is... yeah. So thank you.”
“Thank you, Marly!” Ilya says.
They hang up, and Shane crumples onto the couch and buries his face in his hands for a moment to stave off the panic attack.
Coming out twice in 24 hours is taking a lot out of him, and he didn’t sleep much last night either.
“I need a nap,” Shane says. “You good here, or you want to join me in bed?”
When Ilya’s face lights up, Shane adds, “Just to nap!”
“Aww, fine. But with you, always.”
_/ \_
They spend the day napping, Shane reads some of his book aloud to Ilya, and they listen to music.
Shane cooks some simple meals for them both so they don’t have to go anywhere, and they cuddle and relax.
Shane helps Ilya shower, but insists on keeping it just to clean the hospital stench off of him. They kiss a little, both in the shower and after, but Shane puts his foot down about any kind of sex, no matter how still and easy Ilya promises he will be for Shane.
In the end, Shane agrees to phone sex next week, once the C-Collar is off and Ilya isn’t on the prescription pain meds anymore.
It’s hard for Ilya to get comfortable and cuddle Shane while they sleep, but he insists, and they eventually find a position that works: Shane is draped over Ilya’s chest, one arm around his waist and Ilya rubs Shane’s back absent-mindedly.
They wake up just before 8am – late, by Shane’s standards – and have a simple breakfast. Shane does a quick workout in Ilya’s home gym and showers before Marleau can arrive.
Marleau pulls into the driveway just before 9, a travel tray of Dunkin in his hands. There’s three drinks, like a peace offering.
He rings the bell, and Shane lets him in.
“Hollander,” he says a little stiffly.
“Please, Shane is fine. Come on in.”
Marleau steps inside, a bit awkward, but resolute. He offers one of the coffees to Ilya – no doubt, his usual order – and then one to Shane.
“I had no idea what your order is, so it’s just a black coffee, but I got sugar and figured Rozy has some milk or creamer or something if you need it.”
“Thanks,” Shane says, willing himself to relax. “This was kind of you.”
“Well, least I can do if you’ve been taking care of my captain.”
“He has definitely been taking care of me,” Ilya calls from his spot on the couch.
“Can you give it a rest for five fucking minutes?” Shane chirps him. He walks towards the living room area, and Marleau follows him. He’s both reluctant and insanely curious about whatever the hell is going on.
“But it’s so easy to make you all blushy!” Ilya laughs.
Marleau looks from Shane to Ilya and back before shaking his head as if he understands everything. “So, this is… a real thing.”
“Yeah,” Shane croaks. It had felt easier with Hayden, not only because he knows Hayden so much better than he knows Marleau, but also because Ilya wasn’t there. Shane is certain it would have been ten times worse if Ilya had been there when he told Hayden everything.
“How long has this been going on?” Marleau asks Rozanov.
“Long time,” Ilya says. “Years.”
“And you never said anything?”
“How can I?” Ilya says, a bit petulantly.
“You fucking married the dude, apparently!”
“Well, that was… not supposed to happen,” Shane cuts in. When Marleau raises his eyebrows and gestures impatiently, Shane adds, “we got drunk in Vegas last summer. At the awards show.”
“Christ on a bike,” Marleau swears.
“We were going to get an annulment. But we um, haven’t really gotten around to it yet,” Shane says sheepishly.
“I like being married,” Ilya says, leaning over to Shane for a kiss. Shane stiffens, hyper aware of Marleau sitting on the far end of the couch, but then kisses him, and it feels so right and natural, like they’ve been this way forever, even though these softer, sweeter moments are so much newer.
Marleau runs a hand roughly over his face and takes a long drink of his coffee, searching for something to do.
“So now what?” Marleau finally asks.
“Well first, he needs to rest and heal up,” Shane says. He’s dodging the real question, but he doesn’t have an answer. “Should we go over his care instructions?”
Marleau allows for the interruption, and Shane gives him the medication schedule, activity limitations, and reviews the standard concussion protocols even though they should be familiar to Marleau.
His care is straightforward enough, all things considered, so the conversation fizzles out again quickly, leaving a heavy silence.
“Shane, you should give Marly your number,” Ilya says finally. “So he can text you for me.”
“Actually, if you don’t mind,” Shane says, “I’d appreciate if you would let me know how he’s doing? Since he can’t really use his phone much.”
“Yeah, I can do that,” Marleau accepts.
They exchange numbers, and Ilya’s face splits in a grin that Shane knows can only mean he’s about to be an asshole.
“Marly, please text Shane that I need more kisses or I will die,” Ilya says, and Shane groans.
“I am not texting Hollander anything outside of medical updates,” Marleau says. “Glad to know you’re feeling well enough to be a dick.”
“Shane says I cannot have his dick yet,” Ilya pouts, and Shane slaps his hand over Ilya’s mouth.
“That’s enough of that,” Shane says, cheeks burning. “I do have a flight to catch, and you should rest. Do you want to nap on the couch or in your room?”
“Couch,” Ilya says, “but I need a real goodbye first. So bedroom, then couch.”
“Ilya,” Shane warns.
“Is just so we do not offend Marly’s – what is phrase?-- delicate sensitivities.”
“Sensibilities,” Shane and Marleau correct together.
“Fine, come here,” Shane says to Ilya, then adds to Marleau, “We’ll be brief.”
_/ \_
Nearly fifteen minutes and one poorly-hidden hickey later, Shane and Ilya emerge from the bedroom and Shane fusses over Ilya’s set-up on the couch.
He makes sure his water bottle is full and within reach, and that he has the stereo-system remote within reach.
Marleau says he’s organizing with some of the other guys a rotation for the last part of Ilya’s mandated supervised period, and even a few days afterwards for further check-ins. Marleau adds his follow-up appointment with the Raiders’ medical team to his calendar, and assures Shane that Ilya will be there on time.
Shane assures Marleau that he won’t bother him too much for updates, but he knows his nervousness betrays him a bit.
Shane picks up his bag, eyes darting to Marleau, uncertainty clear on his face if this is okay, if Marleau is really, truly, alright with this.
Marleau rolls his eyes but waves his hand in a just do it gesture, so Shane leans down for one last kiss to Ilya before he has to leave.
“Poka poka, Shanya,” Ilya calls after him as Shane goes outside to meet his Uber.
“Bye, Ilya. Behave.”
_/ \_
True to his word, Shane limits himself to two requests for updates on Ilya’s health per day. Marleau sticks to press conference-like answers about his symptoms, but then adds a comment or two about how annoying Ilya is being or how Shane obviously has the man absolutely whipped.
Shane decides to ignore those comments – he doesn’t want to make Marleau uncomfortable, and he’s also not sure how much he really wants to tell Ilya’s teammate about them.
He’s a little worried that Ilya has already shared way more than Shane has with Hayden, but he thinks that Marleau is, so far at least, handling the rivals-to-husbands portion much better than Hayden is.
Shane is overly early to pre-game warm-ups, as though he can re-commit to the team by spending more time at the rink.
He’s fiddling with tape when Hayden arrives and gives him a look that makes Shane feel guilty and terrible. Hayden doesn’t say anything else – not here, at least – so Shane hopes he just needs more time.
After the game – which they win, but only just – Shane lingers, and Hayden does too. Once everyone else has cleared out, Hayden sighs loudly.
“Look,” he says. “I’m not going to pretend this is all okay. I cannot do that. But I’ve got your back, alright?”
“Thank you, Hayd. Really,” Shane says. “This is so not how I wanted you to find out. About any of this.”
“You and me both, dude.”
“Do you… do you wish you didn’t know?” Shane asks, fidgeting with the ring in his pocket. Despite the exhaustion from the game, he can feel a nervous, jumpy energy building in his bones.
“Shane, you’re my best friend,” Hayden says. “But sometimes, I feel like… maybe I don’t know you that well. I get that you’re private, you’re reserved – that’s okay. I just need some time to get used to all of this new information. It’s kind of rewriting a lot of what I know about you.”
“I’m the same person,” Shane says, voice small. “You’re my best friend too. I’m… I’m still the same.”
“You haven’t changed,” Hayden agrees. “But what I know about you has. So I just need to put things into perspective, alright? Like fuck, dude, how did I not know any of this?”
“I was trying so hard to not let anyone find out,” Shane says. “It’s not your fault. I don’t even think I really understood what it was until last summer.”
Hayden sighs, and they sit in a mostly comfortable silence for a moment. “Am I allowed to give him the shovel talk?”
Shane laughs. “Fine, but only after he’s off the IR.”
“Deal,” Hayden says. “Now let’s go get something to eat. I’m fucking starving.”