Archive of Our Own

The first box Shane unpacked at their new house was the coffee machine.

Not because it was important to him, but because it had a place. A designated place in their new home. A beautiful home they had brought together after he finalised his trade. 

The coffee machine belonged on the counter beside the fridge.

"Why are you unpacking appliances first?"

Ilya stood in the kitchen doorway holding a roll of packing tape.

"It needs to go somewhere." He simply replied and stood back to watch their new coffee machine in its new place. 

"So does everything else." 

"Yes." 

"Then why are you unpacking the coffee machine?"  

Shane looked at him. "Because it has a place." He answered him. It was simple. 

Ilya stared for a second and then nodded.

"Ah." 

"You understand?" 

“No, but I understand that for you it makes sense.” 

Shane rolled his eyes.

Behind him, Anya sprinted through the kitchen carrying something she absolutely should not have. “Anya!” He shouted after her and she accelerated. 

"She knows her name." Ilya proudly said while Shane went after her.

"She knows she is being chased." 

“Same thing.”

For the first time all day, Shane laughed. A real laugh. The kind that made his chest loosen.

~

That night, they slept in the same bed. Their bed. 

Not for a weekend. Not for a week. Not counting down the days until one of them had to leave.

Just together. Shane should have been happy. Instead he lay awake listening to Ilya breathe. Listening to Anya snoring somewhere in the hallway. And feeling guilty for missing a place he had chosen to leave. 

~

A week later, Troy invited them over, and it really meant the whole team was coming over. 

The backyard was full of people. Music playing. Bood at the grill. Players and their families all gathered together. 

Harris filmed something for social media while simultaneously trying to stop Troy from being an idiot. Everyone was talking, smiling and laughing. Ilya stood next to Wyatt and Troy laughing. 

Shane found himself smiling. Watching and listening to their conversations. 

These people were good, kind, funny and easy to be around. 

That should have made things easier, instead it made him feel worse. Because if the team had been terrible, at least there would have been a reason. Ottawa wasn't the problem, so maybe he was. 

Ilya came over and sat in his lap.

“Hello husband.” He gave him a soft kiss. “Having fun.” 

“Yes,” He lied while hugging him harder. “I’m happy I’m here.”

~

Later that night when Ilya was sound asleep, he found himself scrolling through old photos. 

Montreal. Road trips. Team dinners. The captain's "C" on his jersey.

Faces he hadn't seen in months. Not even Hayden with being busy with the move and going on to the new season. 

Something inside him hurt, and not because he regretted moving to Ottawa. He didn’t, because he missed being somebody he understood. 

Back then, he knew exactly who he was.

Captain. Leader. Montreal Canadien. He was going to retire with Monteral. His jersey up on the wall. Now, he wasn’t sure who he was anymore. Everything had changed. New team. New role. New city. New house. New routine. 

He didn’t feel like Shane Hollander anymore. 

~

Three weeks into the start of their training camp, Shane stopped sleeping properly. 

Nobody noticed that he came in with bags under his eyes, or maybe they did.

People always said they didn't notice.

Then months later they'd say things like, "Looking back, the signs were obvious." 

Shane was tired. That was all. He was putting his focus into training, media, Ilya and the new team. He had to keep going. 

He went to practice, the gym, sponsorship meetings, team dinners, and phone calls with his parents. 

Checking on Ilya. Making sure Ilya had eaten. Making sure Ilya took his medication. Making sure Ilya was sleeping. Making sure everybody was okay.

Somewhere along the way he'd forgotten to ask himself whether he was okay. And he couldn’t, because he knew he would hate the answer. 

~

The captaincy hurt more than Shane expected it to do, but he never talked about it. Never complained. He never really admitted that to himself. 

Because Ottawa already had a captain, and that captain happened to be his husband.

What exactly was he supposed to say? "I'm jealous?"

He wasn't, not really. He was proud of Ilya. Incredibly proud. His husband was a good leader. A good man. He didn't want to take that from him, even if Ilya would give it away in a heartbeat. 

But for years Shane had carried responsibility, the room, the players, the culture, and the expectations. 

People had looked at him. Now they looked at Ilya, and Shane couldn't figure out who he was supposed to be.

~

The season started really well. Which was almost worse, because if Shane had been playing badly, at least the problem would have been obvious.

Instead he was producing points for the team. Convincing everyone that they were going to win the Cup this year. 

The coaches were happy. The media were happy. The fans seemed happy.

Ottawa was winning more than it was losing and everything was fine. 

Everything looked fine.

~

"Three points tonight." Troy dropped into the seat beside him on the plane. As Ilya was off talking to the assistant coach about the game. "Not bad, Hollander. A hat trick!"

Shane shrugged. 

"You scored the game winner." Troy said and turned to him. “You are a machine!” 

"We shouldn't have finished it in overtime." 

Troy stared at him. "We won." 

"We gave up two goals in the third." 

"We won." 

Shane looked out the window.

The problem wasn't that he couldn't see the good things. The problem was that the good things never stayed. The mistakes always stayed.

~

One night Shane slipped out of bed at two in the morning. He was careful not to wake Ilya, but once he was asleep, he stayed asleep. Especially on his medications. 

The house was silent, except for the sound of nails on hardwood. 

Anya appeared immediately. 

"No." Shane pointed toward her bed. She ignored him. 

He sat on the kitchen floor and Anya sat beside him. They sat there together for a while, and eventually she rested her head on his knee. The pressure should have been comforting. Instead it hurt in his chest. Because even the dog seemed to realize he wasn't sleeping anymore. 

Shane stared into the darkness, and his hand automatically moved to scratch behind her ears. The dog sighed happily. A horrible thought appeared. I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this

The thought scared him, so he buried it immediately.

~

"How was therapy?" Shane asked as he unloaded groceries. His favorite part of their new life was going to the supermarket together. Picking up all the bits they need together during the week. Shane loved it, even when Ilya snuck in Nutella in their basket and he pretended not to notice. 

"Good." Ilya sounded lighter than he had in weeks. That should have made Shane happy. It did make him happy. "My therapist says I am doing better." 

Shane smiled immediately. “That's great." And he meant it, because Ilya deserved good things. Because Ilya had worked hard for this and Shane loved him more than he loved anyone else. 

What he didn't realize was how quickly his brain followed the thought. 

Good. One less thing to worry about.

The realization should have bothered him, instead he just started putting groceries away. 

~

Ilya was speaking to Wiebe about game strategy. They were playing Boston at home. They were all hyped and wanted to win for the fans. Ilya also had a bet riding on a win so for him it was extra important to win. 

Boston still loved Ilya. The fans still loved him as well. He was met with respect and love whenever they played Boston. Shane knew it wouldn’t be the case the first time they would play Montreal. He would be met with nothing but hate. 

Shane watched them from across the room. Ilya was gesturing wildly with his hands while Wiebe was showing him the game plan. He wasn’t watching them with jealousy. Shane was not jealous, that was the frustrating part. Instead he was grieving. Because for years people had looked at him when things got difficult, and now they looked to Ilya. 

As they absolutely should, but every time it happened, Shane felt another tiny piece of himself become untethered. 

Luca sat next to him and Shane looked towards him. 

“Do you have any pointers to me for tonight?” He nervously asked. Shane smiled.

“Just listen to your captains.” Shane answered and presented not to see how Luca’s face fell. 

~

Sunday dinners had become a thing at his parents house, time allowing with two professional hockey players. It was Ilya’s favorite part of the week. 

Shane's parents visited when they could.

They all took turns cooking, and sometimes they ordered takeout because they didn’t have the energy. This time they had all decided the week had been too long to cook so they ordered more Chinese food than four people needed. Anya making hopeful circles beneath everyone's chairs.

"She has already eaten." Shane pointed at her and Anya looked directly at him. Then looked at his mother, and she immediately handed her a piece of chicken.

"Mom."

"What?" Yuna asked and gave her another chicken. “She’s my grandchild! I get to spoil her.” 

"Don't encourage her."

"She's starving."

Anya had eaten less than twenty minutes ago. His father and Ilya both laughed. Traitors.

For a little while, Shane almost felt normal. The conversation moved from hockey to travel plans. Then to where they were going on holiday. Then from home renovations to whether Anya was secretly smarter than all of them.

A debate Ilya was winning.

Mostly because he was absolutely convinced she understood Russian.

“How’s therapy Ilya?” His mother asked. Not in a worried way, but just checking in. 

"I am doing better." Ilya smiled and the smile was genuine. 

“I’m very proud of you.” Yuna reached over and squeezed his hand. "We worry about you."

"I know." Ilya said with a soft voice. 

"And we love you." David smiled leaning against him. 

"I know that too." 

Shane found himself watching them. His mother treated Ilya exactly the same way she treated him.

His father argued with him about hockey. His parents remembered his birthday. Buying him Christmas presents. Checking on him after road trips.

Like family.

Not in a polite way.

Not in the “my son married you” way.

In the real way.

Something in Shane's chest tightened unexpectedly. Because they loved Ilya. They genuinely loved him.

"You'd always look after him, right?" The question came out before he could stop himself. 

The table went quiet and they all turned to him looking confused.

His mother blinked. “Pardon?"

Shane shrugged, and he immediately wished he hadn't said it.

"I mean..." He picked at his food. "If he needed help."

His father frowned. "Of course we would."

"Why wouldn't we?" His mother sounded equally puzzled.

Shane nodded. "Right."

The need to know somebody would be there. That somebody would catch him. That Ilya would never be alone.

"You'd keep inviting him, right? If something happened?”

His father's eyebrows went up in confusion. "What kind of something?"

“I don’t know.” Ilya was still next to him and Shane did not want to meet his eyes. 

His mother looked between them. “Shane.”

"I'm serious." The words came out more forcefully than intended. The table went quiet, and Shane could feel his husband staring at him.

"If something happened," Shane said again, "you'd still make him come for dinner?" 

His mother looked horrified. "Of course we would." 

"As if we'd have a choice," his father added. "We'd never get rid of him." 

They all laughed, even Ilya smiled. But Shane wasn't joking.

His mother reached across the table, and touched his hand.

"He's ours too." 

The words settled heavily in Shane's chest. "Okay." 

His mother gave him a strange look. "You're being weird.”

"That's rich coming from you."

The conversation moved on.

~

Later that night, lying awake beside Ilya, he found himself replaying the moment.

Not because he was planning anything, and not because he wanted anything to happen.

Because even though Shane didn't realize it yet, the question wasn't really about family dinners. It was about reassurance.

About needing to know that if he ever dropped one of the thousands of things he was carrying, somebody else would catch it. Lately, more and more often, Shane found himself wondering what would happen if he couldn't keep carrying them at all.

And more often than not, those questions ended with the same thought.

I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this.

He rolled onto his side and watched Ilya sleeping beside him. His beautiful blonde curls free. A faint snore. 

Anya sprawled across the foot of the bed. Everything he loved most in the world.

And somehow that thought didn't comfort him, it just made him feel more terrified of letting them down.

~

"Not your fault." Wyatt dropped into the stall beside him after one game where they had lost 4-1. Ilya was doing media while the rest of the team was quiet in the changing rooms. 

"We lost."

"Yeah."

"So it is."

Wyatt rolled his eyes. "We are a team."

"We lost."

"Shane."

The goalie waited  until Shane looked at him. "We all played."

Shane nodded, but he didn't believe it. 

That's the thing nobody understood that every mistake made felt personal. Every missed opportunity was a failure from Shane. 

Everything becomes evidence of how he could do better. 

Evidence that Ottawa made a mistake signing him. Evidence that Montreal was right not to fight harder to keep him.

~

The first person who almost noticed is Luca.

Mostly because Luca worshiped everyone around him and paid attention.

"Do you ever stop?"

Shane looked from the weights he was lifting. "What?"

"Training."

Luca gestures vaguely. "You're always doing something."

"I'm fine."

"Okay."

Luca shrugged. 

Conversation over.

~

The problem is that Shane is starting to believe effort is the only thing holding him together.

If he keeps moving, he doesn't have to think.

If he keeps training, he doesn't have to feel.

~

Then one evening Evan corners him after practice with Country music playing quietly from his phone. As usual.

"You coming?" He asked him with a big smile. 

"Where?" Shane asked while continuing to pack his bag. 

"Dinner. We decided to head for a team meal. Ilya demanded it after today.” 

"No." He could not think of anything worse than faking a smile at a team dinner 

"You ate?"

"Yes."

Evan narrows his eyes, and Shane immediately regrets answering. Because he didn't, but now he has to commit.

"Okay."

Evan studied him for another second, but let it go. 

Because why wouldn't he? Shane Hollander is responsible. Reliable. Put together.

“You will have to explain it to Cap.” 

“Say I’m gonna head home to Anya and take her for a walk.” 

“Smart.” 

~

At home, Ilya is exhausted. 

The captaincy is heavy and the season is long. They are all desperate to get to the play-offs this year. His depression isn't gone just because he's doing better. Therapy still exists. Medication still exists. Some days are harder than others.

So Shane focuses on him. To make sure his husband is happy. 

"How was therapy?"

"Fine."

"Good."

"You ate?" Ilya asked him from the kitchen where he was getting food out from the fridge. 

"Yes. I can make you something?"

A lie, and Ilya doesn't catch it. “Thank you. No rabbit food please.” 

“What about a nice omelette?” Ilya walked over to where Shane stood and leaned in. 

“I love you husband.”

“I love you too.” 

~

Shane's favourite part of living with Ilya had always been the ordinary moments. Not the big ones. Sunday mornings in bed. Grocery shopping. Laundry. Walking Anya. Fighting over what route to take to the rink. 

The things they'd spent years trying to fit into short weekends and stolen days between road trips.

Now they had those things all the time, and somehow Shane was enjoying them less and less. That realization hit him one Saturday morning while standing in the cereal aisle.

Ilya was debating between two different boxes. A debate Shane knew was entirely for show because Ilya always bought both. Every single time.

"You are buying both."

"I am considering my options." Ilya shot back with that boyish grin of his. 

"You are holding both boxes."

"I like to feel I have made informed choices."

Shane managed a smile, a real one. It disappeared almost immediately, because the exchange should have made him happy. It was exactly the kind of moment he used to treasure.

Instead he felt distant from it. Like he was watching it happen through glass. The laughter was still there. The affection was still there. The love was still there, but something inside him wasn't connecting properly.

And that frightened him more than he wanted to admit.

~

Ottawa beat Toronto six to two and Shane scored twice.

Added an assist and was named first star. The crowd chanted his name during and after the match.  The media praised his performance.

His phone filled with messages.

Great game.

Huge win.

Unbelievable night.

Shane sat alone in front of his locker after everyone had left staring at the floor. Trying to figure out why he felt nothing. Not sadness, or happiness. Just nothing. 

A few minutes later Ilya appeared still wearing his suit with the tie hanging loose around his neck.

"You disappeared."

Shane looked up. "Sorry."

"You got first star." Ilya walked up to him and put his hands on his shoulder. 

"I know."

Ilya frowned. The response had been wrong. Shane knew it had been wrong, but just couldn't find the correct one.

"You played well."

"I was okay."

"You scored twice." Ilya said with conviction. 

"I missed two chances in the second."

Ilya stared at him and for a moment Shane thought he might argue. Instead he simply sat beside him.  The silence stretched.

Comfortable for anyone else, but not for Shane. 

Because the silence gave him space to think, and thinking had become dangerous. The thought appeared again. 

I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. 

~

Later that night, Ilya found him watching game footage. Again.

The clock on the microwave read 12:47 a.m.

"You are still awake." 

"I'm reviewing Boston."

"We play Boston in three days."

"Exactly."

Ilya looked at him with narrow eyes. "Shane."

"What?"

"When was the last time you did something that wasn't hockey?"

The question irritated him immediately. "I walked Anya."

"That is not a hobby." Ilya said back with clear irritation. 

"It is if you own a dog." He replied back, getting annoyed that Ilya was not leaving him. He wanted to keep watching the tapes. 

Ilya looked deeply unconvinced. "You need a day off."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Shane."

The warning in Ilya's voice was familiar, and Shane looked away first. Because he didn't want to have this conversation. He didn't want to explain why stopping felt impossible. Why every moment of stillness felt dangerous.

"Goodnight, Ilya."

For a moment neither moved.

Then Ilya sighed. "Goodnight."

The bedroom door closed. Shane watched another three hours of game footage.

~

"What do you want for Christmas?" Ilya asked one evening as they sat next to each other on their couch that they had picked out together. After many arguments. 

Shane looked up from his laptop. "What?"

"Christmas." Ilya reste. 

"I know what Christmas is."

"Good. I’m glad my husband is not stupid" Ilya turned a page in his book. "What do you want?"

Shane opened his mouth and then stopped. Because he genuinely couldn't think of an answer. He could not think of a single thing he wished for and a year ago he would have had a list. Now his mind was completely blank.

"What do you want?" he asked instead.

Ilya immediately narrowed his eyes. "You are avoiding it."

"No, I need time to think."

"You are."

Shane looked down at his laptop. "I don't know." He said quietly, more honest than intended.

For some reason that made Ilya put his book down. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Shane stared at the screen. At numbers that suddenly made no sense. "I don't know."

And the terrifying thing was that he wasn't talking about Christmas anymore.

~

In January they are scheduled to play Montreal. 

The game had already been ugly since puck drop. Monteral made every battle along the boards, every hit, every shove feel personal. Every little reminder that Shane didn't belong there anymore. At least not according to some of the people wearing Montreal jerseys.

Ottawa noticed it happening. 

Troy had already started two arguments. Bood had nearly earned himself a penalty for retaliating after a late hit. And Ilya had spent most of the game glaring at anyone who touched his husband.

Shane wished they wouldn't. Not because he didn't appreciate it because he didn't want them carrying this too.

Late in the second period, a whistle stopped play in front of Montreal's net. Players gathered immediately. Sticks pushing. Gloves shoving.

Shane was already skating away when somebody grabbed his jersey. Not hard, but enough to stop him. He turned and Comeau was standing there. 

Someone he'd spent years sharing a locker room with. Someone who had stopped speaking to him properly after he was outed.

He smirked and then leaned closer. Close enough that nobody else should have heard.

"Having fun down on your knees for your captain."

For a second Shane just stared at him. The words weren't even original, but still something inside his chest twisted painfully.

Comeau must have seen it, because his smile grew. 

"I’m glad we don’t have a cock sucking faggot in Montreal anymore." Shane felt himself go completely still, not angry and not even surprised. Just tired. So incredibly tired.

"You used to be a captain. Now you're just Rozanov's husband.” Before Shane could react, another voice cut across the ice.

"What did you say?" The entire scrum froze and Ilya was standing three feet away. The expression on his face made several players immediately take a step backward.

Comeau laughed. A mistake. A massive mistake, because Ilya's self-control had already been hanging by a thread all night and now it snapped.

The next few seconds dissolved into chaos. Players surged forward. Troy appeared seemingly from nowhere. Bood joined immediately  Half of Ottawa's bench was suddenly involved. Referees threw themselves between players.

The crowd roared in excitement.  Everybody was shouting. And through all of it Shane simply stood there.

Watching.

Feeling strangely disconnected from the entire thing. As though it was happening to somebody else.

Eventually the officials restored enough order for play to continue. The Montreal player earned a penalty. Ilya earned one too. Neither of them looked remotely sorry.

Back in the locker room after the game, Ottawa's victory should have been the biggest story.

Instead Ilya was pacing. Furious. Absolutely furious. Russian curses blended with English ones.

Neither language seemed strong enough for how angry he was.

"He's lucky referee got there first."

Shane sat at his stall watching his husband. "Ilya."

"No."

"Ilya."

"No."

Troy, who was halfway through taking off his gear, pointed at Luca "You're supposed to be the calm one."

"I was calm."

"You threatened three people."

"They deserved it." Luca proudly smiled, while Ilya turned around and gave him a proud smile. 

The room settled into comfortable post-game noise. Players changing, laughing, talking and moving on. 

But Shane couldn't stop watching them from where he was sitting. Watching Troy complain on his behalf. Watching Wyatt still look irritated. Watching Ilya remain furious. Watching all of them care.

He should have felt supported. Instead he felt guilty, because they shouldn't have had to defend him. Shouldn't have had to worry about him.

The thought settled heavily in his chest. Another weight and another thing to feel bad about.

~

A week later Shane scored twice against Tampa. A game they had all been worried about. 

The crowd cheered and his teammates celebrated. Troy nearly tackled him into the boards, and Shane felt absolutely nothing. The realization followed him back to the locker room, because hockey had always been everything to him. The thing in his life that made sense. 

Even when everything else hurt.

Even when life was complicated.

Even when Ilya was in another city.

Even when the world felt too loud.

There had always been hockey and now even that felt wrong.

~

A few days after the Tampa game, Shane woke up before dawn again. He slipped carefully from bed, trying not to wake Ilya. Anya immediately lifted her head and followed him downstairs. 

Shane made coffee with their fancy coffee machine that Ilya spent way too much money on. One of their first arguments when they had moved in. He sat down at the kitchen island and stared at absolutely nothing.

The house was silent, the uncomfortable type of silence. For a while he simply sat there. Then a chair scraped behind him. Shane looked up.

Ilya stood in the doorway wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt. His curls were sticking out in every direction.

"You are doing this a lot."

Shane frowned. "Doing what?"

"Being awake."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Again."

It wasn't really a question. Shane looked down at his coffee. "I'm fine."

Silence. When he looked back up, Ilya was still watching him clearly worried. A different kind of worry than Shane was used to seeing. The kind that made something uncomfortable twist in his stomach.

Eventually Ilya walked over and sat beside him and neither of them spoke. After a minute Ilya reached over and stole Shane's coffee. "You have your own."

"I like yours better."

"You say that every time."

"Because it is true every time."

Normally that would have made Shane smile, but this time it barely managed one.

The smile disappeared from his own face immediately. "Husband."

Shane stared at the counter. "Hm?"

"You know I can tell when you are lying, yes?"

Something tightened painfully in his chest, because he did know. The problem was that Shane wasn't sure he was lying anymore. Fine had become such an automatic response that he wasn't entirely sure what it meant.

"I'm okay."

Ilya looked at him for a very long time and then finally nodded.

But it wasn't the nod of someone who believed him.

It was the nod of someone deciding to wait.

And somehow that was worse.

~

Hayden texted him sometime in late January.

You alive?

Shane looked at the message while sitting in the locker room. Then he put his phone face down and finished unlacing his skates.

By the time he remembered to reply, it was nearly midnight.

Sorry. Busy.

Three dots appeared immediately. Apparently Hayden had still been awake.

Busy doing what?

Shane stared at the screen trying to think what to reply to him. 

Training.

Games.

Media.

Ilya.

Sleeping badly.

Pretending he was fine.

He settled on:

Life.

Hayden's response arrived almost instantly.

That is not an answer.

Despite himself, Shane smiled.

It literally is.

No. That's a Shane answer.

The smile faded, because Hayden was one of the only people who could tell the difference.

There was a long pause before Shane typed:

How's Ruby? Is she feeling better?

Nice attempt. That's not an answer either. She is fine. Back at school.

Relief loosened something in Shane's chest.

Good.

And Arthur?

Obsessed with dinosaurs this week.

Only this week?

Fair point.

For a few minutes the conversation drifted comfortably toward Hayden's kids.

Pictures appeared.

Jade and Ruby proudly holding a science project.

Arthur covered in mud and grinning like he'd discovered a new continent. Amber and Jackie outside together in the snow. 

Shane smiled despite himself and he saved all the pictures. 

Then Hayden sent another message.

Now answer my question.

The smile vanished and Shane stared at the screen.

I'm fine.

The response took longer this time. When it arrived it was only one word.

Sure.

For some reason that hurt more than if Hayden had argued, because he wasn't convinced.

And Shane knew it.

A few days later another text arrived.

Amber wants to know if Uncle Shane is coming to visit soon. 

Shane looked at the message for a long time. Last year he would have replied immediately.

Now even thinking about a visit felt exhausting. 

Tell her I'll try.

The typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

You know she'd rather hear no than maybe.

Shane stared at the message, because he didn't know.

He didn't know when he would manage to come. He didn't know what next month would look like. Shane wasn't even sure what next week would look like. So he locked his phone and left the message unanswered.

Across the room, somebody called his name.

Practice was starting.

Shane shoved the phone into his pocket and stood. For a second he found himself wishing he was sitting in Hayden's backyard instead. Watching the kids play. Listening to Jade explain something important. Letting Arthur climb all over him.

Something simple.

Something that didn't require him to be good at anything.

Then the feeling disappeared.

Just like everything else seemed to lately.

~

A few days later, Shane woke up at three in the morning. Again. The number on the bedside clock glowed in the darkness.

3:07.

Beside him, Ilya slept soundly. Shane stared at the ceiling for another twenty minutes before giving up. Carefully, he slid from beneath the blankets.The mattress shifted.

Immediately, a sleepy Russian voice spoke into the darkness. "Where are you going?"

Shane froze. "I didn't want to wake you."

"You did." His husband opened one eye. "You are very loud for somebody trying to sneak away."

"I am getting water."

Ilya looked at him for several seconds and then at the clock. Then back at him. "You needed water yesterday too."

Shane didn't answer. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Ilya sat up slightly. "Shane."

"I'm fine."

The response came too quickly and Ilya's expression changed. "You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

Ilya continued staring at him and the silence stretched. Eventually Shane looked away first. "Go back to sleep."

Something flickered across Ilya's face. Concern. Frustration. Fear. It disappeared almost immediately. "Okay."

Shane nodded and then walked downstairs. Twenty minutes later he was sitting at the kitchen island drinking coffee he didn't really want when he heard footsteps behind him.

Ilya appeared wearing sweatpants and one of Shane's old hoodies. "You followed me."

"You left."

"I was getting coffee."

"You have not slept properly in months."

The words landed harder than Shane expected. Months.

Hearing somebody else say it made it feel real.

"Ilya—"

"No."

His husband pulled out a chair and sat down. "You do not laugh as much."

Shane stared into his mug.

"I laugh."

"You pretend."

Something painful tightened in Shane's chest, because Ilya was looking at him the same way he used to look at Ilya during the worst parts of his depression. Like he was trying to see through him.

"I'm okay." Ilya looked unconvinced, but eventually he nodded.

Not because he believed him.

Because he knew pushing harder wouldn't work.

That somehow felt worse.

~

Shane was standing at the kitchen counter making dinner, or at least pretending to.

The vegetables had been chopped ten minutes ago and the pan was heating.

Across the room, Ilya looked up from his book. "Shane."

"Hm?"

"The stove is on."

"I know."

"You are not cooking."

Shane blinked. "Oh." He turned back to the pan and for a few seconds neither of them spoke.

"You do that a lot lately."

Shane frowned. "Do what?"

"Leave."

"I'm literally standing here."

"No." Ilya closed his book. "You disappear."

Something uncomfortable settled in Shane's stomach. "I don't know what that means."

"I know."

The answer came too quickly. Like Ilya had been thinking about it for a while. "You sit beside me and disappear."

Shane looked away. "I am tired."

"I know."

"You know hockey is busy."

"I know."

“Travelling is hard.”

“I know.” 

"And?"

"And none of those things explain why you look sad every time somebody says something nice about you."

The words hit harder than they should have, because Shane immediately wanted to argue. Instead he just stood there staring at the counter. 

Finally Ilya stood and walked around the island. Stopped directly in front of him.

"Shane."

Shane looked up. "What?"

The concern in Ilya's face was so obvious it almost hurt. "When was the last time you were happy?"

Shane opened his mouth and nothing came out, because he genuinely didn't know. His mind scrambled backwards through the last few months.

The move. The season. The house. Sunday dinners. Wins. Goals. Ilya laughing in the cereal aisle. Anya stealing socks.

All things that should have been the answer.

None of them felt like one. The silence stretched too long.

"Shane."

He looked down at his drink. "I don't know."

The admission felt wrong the second it left his mouth. Ilya went still.

"When was the last time you slept through the night?"

Shane immediately shook his head. "That's not the same thing."

"I think maybe it is."

"It isn't."

Ilya didn't back down. "You are tired all the time."

"I'm fine."

"There it is again."

"I have things to do." He said and turned back to cooking them dinner. 

"Shane—"

"No." The word came out harder than he intended and both of them froze.

For a second guilt flashed through him. Then exhaustion buried it.

"I am just tired."

It was easier to say he was tired, because tired was temporary. Being tired didn't make people worry.

Ilya stared at him for a long moment. "You know I love you, yes?"

Something in Shane's chest hurt. "Of course I do."

"Then stop treating me like I am stupid."

The words landed with frightening accuracy, because that wasn't what Shane was doing.

He wasn't hiding things because he thought Ilya was stupid. He was hiding them because if he said them out loud they might become real.

And if they became real, somebody would expect him to do something about them.

So instead he picked up his mug and carried it to the sink. Conversation over.

At least officially.

Behind him, he heard Ilya sigh and when he turned to look at him, he didn’t look angry. Just worried. 

That was the worst part, because Shane had spent years convincing himself that worrying people was the same thing as failing them.

~

Shane had started arriving earlier than everyone else to the arena. Before Ilya and Shane would arrive together, now Shane was driving on his own before Ilya had even left bed. 

It wasn’t intentional. Sleep simply stopped being something he did. 

By four am he was already awake. By six he had walked Anya. By six-thirty he was sitting in the rink parking lot staring at absolutely nothing.

Most mornings he just sat there until somebody else arrived. Today it was Wyatt. The goalie pulled into the spot beside him and immediately frowned.

Shane considered pretending not to see him, but unfortunately Wyatt had already seen him.

A minute later the passenger door opened.

"What are you doing?"

Shane looked up. “Waiting.” 

Wyatt snorted. "At six-thirty in the morning?"

"Apparently." Shane replied without looking at Wyatt. 

The goalie climbed into the passenger seat without invitation, and neither of them spoke for a while. Wyatt seemed unusually comfortable with silence. Something Shane hated lately.

Eventually Wyatt glanced at the dashboard clock. "You know practice isn't for another two hours."

"I know."

"So why are you here?"

"I woke up."

"At six?"

Shane shrugged and  Wyatt watched him.

The way goalies watch players to figure out their gameplay. 

Patient. Waiting. Looking for weaknesses.

"I couldn't sleep." The admission slipped out before Shane could stop it.

"Again?"

Shane stared through the windshield. "Yeah."

Wyatt nodded slowly.

"Everybody keeps acting like it's a big deal."

"It is a big deal."

"It's not."

"You haven't slept properly in months."

The words landed heavily. Months. Again. People kept saying months.

"I'm fine."

Wyatt immediately rolled his eyes. "So that's a no then."

"I'm serious."

"No. You're not." The response came so casually that Shane actually looked at him, but Wyatt wasn't smiling. "You know what's weird?" Wyatt asked.

"What?"

"You keep saying you're fine."

Shane felt irritation flare. "Because I am."

"Okay." The goalie nodded and then pointed toward the steering wheel. "Then why have you been sitting in a parking lot staring into space for forty minutes?"

Shane froze, because he hadn't told Wyatt he'd been there forty minutes. Which meant Wyatt had noticed before walking over. Apparently somebody had been paying attention. The realization made something uncomfortable tighten in his chest.

"I'm not asking because I want gossip." Wyatt said with a quiet voice. 

"I know."

"I'm asking because you look exhausted."

Shane looked away. The windshield blurred slightly. "I'll figure it out."

The answer sounded weak even to him and beside him Wyatt was quiet. "You know what the stupid thing is?"

"What?"

"If this was Ilya, you'd have dragged him to a therapist three months ago."

The words hit like a body check, because Wyatt was right. Shane hated that he was right. and for the first time in months he didn't have a response.

After a while Wyatt climbed back out of the car, but before shutting the door he paused and leaned back in.  "You don't have to figure it out by yourself."

Then he walked away. Leaving Shane alone with a thought he had spent months avoiding. Maybe the problem wasn't that nobody had noticed. Maybe the problem was that everybody had.

~

The video session had already run fifteen minutes longer than scheduled, and nobody was paying attention anymore. Ilya and Bood were in another room with the assistant coach looking at other tapes. 

Half the room looked exhausted and like they would rather not be there. Luca was whispering something to Evan. Troy was doodling on the corner of his notebook. Someone at the back laughed.

Wiebe paused the video. "Again."

The clip restarted. "We need better communication here." He pointed out and Shane made a note of it. 

The coach clicked forward and people started talking among themselves again. Someone muttered a joke and laughter followed. And something inside Shane finally broke.

"Can we stop?"

The room fell completely silent.

Wiebe looked at Shane in confusion. "Pardon?"

His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood up.  "Can we stop acting like this stuff doesn't matter?"

Nobody spoke and even Troy looked confused.

Wiebe frowned. "Shane—"

"No."

His voice came out sharper than intended. "We keep watching the same mistakes." Nobody moved as he spoke and he could feel himself getting angrier.  "We keep talking about accountability.” His chest felt tight. "But nobody actually seems to care."

Across the room Luca straightened and Wyatt immediately looked concerned.

"Shane—" Coach tried again.

"We want to win a Cup." The words were coming faster now. "And we're sitting here laughing through the video review."

The room had gone completely silent.

Luca swallowed. "It was just a joke."

The second the words left Luca's mouth Shane regretted everything, because Luca wasn't the problem. Luca had never been the problem.

But Shane was already falling and once he started he couldn't stop. "Then maybe stop making them."

Luca looked like he'd been slapped and the silence afterwards was horrible. Shane saw it. Saw Wyatt's expression. Saw Troy stand up. Saw several players exchanging worried looks. Because they were looking at him the same way everyone had been looking at him lately.

Like he was the problem. Like something was wrong.

His chest suddenly felt too tight, and he needed air. "Forget it." He grabbed his bag.

"Shane." Wyatt stood.

"I'm fine."

The automatic response slipped out and nobody looked convinced.

"Hey." Troy moved into his path. "Take a second."

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

Something snapped again. "Move." He shouted and he wanted to die when he saw Troy’s shocked expression.  Because Shane had never spoken to him like that. The realization of what he had done hit Shane a second later, and guilt followed immediately.

"Shane—"

"No." His voice cracked and the entire room heard it. Shane turned and headed for the door and behind him chairs scraped.

"Shane!"

He didn't stop.

"Shane, wait." Wyatt this time.

Then Troy and then somebody else, but he was too busy running away.  The door slammed open and footsteps followed him into the hallway. Which was ridiculous, because they were treating him like he was in crisis. Like he was going to do something stupid.

Like—

The thought stopped him cold, because for one horrible second he realized why they were chasing him.

Not because he had yelled, but because they were scared. And deep down, for the first time, Shane thought maybe they had a reason to be.

The hallway disappeared behind him.

Someone shouted his name and Shane didn't turn around. If he turned around, they would see his face, and if they saw his face, somebody would stop him.

The exit door slammed behind him hard enough to rattle the glass and cold air hit him immediately. His lungs burned.

For a second he just stood there in the parking lot staring at nothing and then he ran towards his car.  His heart was pounding so hard it felt painful. Not from the argument, but from the They had looked at him the way people looked at injured teammates.

The way people looked at Ilya during the worst periods of his depression. The way people looked at someone who wasn't okay.

His phone started vibrating as he unlocked his car. He knew who it would be. The team.

The screen lit up.

Ilya.

Something twisted violently in his chest, and Shane stared at the name for several seconds. Then declined the call and immediately another one appeared. He turned the phone off completely. The screen went black.

He got into the car and locked the doors and for a moment he just sat there gripping the steering wheel. His hands were shaking. 

He started the engine and Shane backed out of the parking space. Then he drove away. 

~

At first he wasn't really paying attention to where he was going. Just driving in silence. He needed to not think and just focus on something that wasn’t his body and mind for a while. 

The roads blurred together.

Traffic lights.

Intersections.

Street signs.

None of it really registered, because his thoughts were too loud. Every conversation from the last few months seemed determined to replay itself at once.

You don't laugh as much.

You haven't slept properly in months.

That is not an answer.

You look exhausted.

When was the last time you were happy?

That one hurt the most, because he still didn't know. He worried that Ilya would think it was his fault. That he would blame himself. Shane had spent weeks trying to answer it and every answer felt wrong.

He loved Ilya, loved him so much it hurt. He loved their house. Loved Anya. Loved his parents. Loved hockey. Loved his teammates. Loved the life they had built together.

So why did he feel like this?

Why was he trying so hard just to survive days that should have been making him happy?

His vision blurred and he blinked hard. Shane needed to focus, because he would never forgive himself if he was the cause of an accident. 

The road stretched ahead of him and the sky was dark. It was still winter in Ottawa and the days were short. In front of him were bare winter trees. Everything felt colourless.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel and his chest felt tight.

A horrible thought surfaced, not for the first time.

I don't want to do this anymore.

Shane immediately flinched from it, because that wasn't true. It couldn't be true.

He wanted Ilya. He wanted Anya. He wanted Sunday dinners. He wanted hockey. He wanted all of it. He just didn't want this feeling.

This feeling of drowning while everybody kept congratulating him for swimming. The tears hit before he realised they were coming and his vision blurred again.

He blinked and then blinked harder. The road curved ahead and an enormous oak tree stood beyond the shoulder.

And suddenly another thought appeared.  What if I just stopped fighting?

His hands loosened and the car drifted. The tree got closer to him. 

Closer.

Closer.

And then—

Reality slammed back into him. His stomach dropped and pure terror exploded through his chest. 

What the fuck am I doing?

The steering wheel jerked violently beneath his hands and the car swerved. Tyres screamed against the asphalt. The vehicle fishtailed. For one horrifying second Shane thought he was going to lose control completely and actually hit the tree. 

Then the brakes locked and the car shuddered. Everything stopped. Then there was just silence and Shane sat frozen behind the wheel. His heart was hammering so violently it felt like it might break his ribs. Both hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

The tree stood thirty feet away. Thirty feet.

Thirty feet.

He stared at it and then looked away. Then looked back again, because his brain couldn't quite process what had almost happened.

Not because he wanted to die, he didn’t. The thought of leaving Ilya made him feel sick. The thought of his parents getting that phone call made him feel sick. The thought of Anya waiting by the front door for someone who was never coming home made him feel sick.

He wanted to live.

He wanted to go home.

He wanted his husband.

He wanted all of it.

But for a few seconds he had been so overwhelmed by wanting the pain to stop that he had stopped paying attention to whether he survived it. And that frightened him more than anything ever had.

Because for the first time in his life, Shane Hollander didn't trust himself.

And sitting alone on the side of the road, staring at the tree he had almost hit, he finally understood something he had been refusing to admit for months.

This wasn't something he could fix by himself anymore.

~

Shane didn't know how long he'd been sitting there by the side of the road. It could have been five minutes, maybe thirty or even an hour. 

The engine was off. The headlights were off.

His hands were still shaking and every time he looked up he could see the tree.

The realization kept crashing into him over and over again.

I almost did that.

He didn’t even want to die, instead it was one moment of thinking:

I don't want to feel like this anymore.

Shane squeezed his eyes shut. His chest hurt and his phone sat on the passenger seat. Still turned off. He started it back up again and when it was back on the notifications started coming in. 

Dozens of missed calls. Most of them were from Ilya.

The sight made guilt twist inside him. He couldn't call him. Not yet.

He couldn't hear the panic in Ilya's voice. Couldn't be responsible for that too.

His hands moved before he could stop them as he looked through his contacts.

Wyatt.

For a second he just stared at the name and then he pressed call.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

"Shane?" The relief in Wyatt's voice hurt. 

Shane opened his mouth and nothing came out. For a second neither of them spoke.

Then Wyatt's tone changed completely. "Where are you?"

Shane swallowed. "I don't know."

"Try again." The response was so Wyatt that Shane almost laughed.

Instead he looked through the windshield. "I pulled over."

"Where?"

Shane gave him the road number and the nearest exit. The gas station he'd passed ten minutes earlier.

"Okay. Can you stay there?"

Shane nodded before realizing Wyatt couldn't see him. "Yes."

"Good. I'm coming."

Something inside Shane cracked, because Wyatt hadn't asked if he needed him. Hadn't asked what happened.

Just:

I'm coming.

"Sorry." The word escaped before he could stop it.

Wyatt immediately sounded annoyed. "For what?"

"I—"

"Don't." Shane stopped talking. "Stay where you are."

The goalie paused, then added quietly. "And turn your hazards on."

The line went dead.

~

Forty minutes later headlights appeared and he looked and saw a familiar truck. He was thankful it was Wyatt this time. Four cars had already stopped to ask if he needed help, one almost refusing to leave before he promised someone was coming for him. 

The truck parked behind him and Wyatt climbed out of the car and shut the door behind him. 

He started walking over and he walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. 

“Can I come in?” He asked with a soft voice. Shane just nodded. He didn’t trust himself in speaking.  "You look awful."

Shane laughed, a horrible broken sound. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." 

It went silent again, and Shane could tell that Wyatt was waiting for him to tell him what had happened and why he was parked on the side of a road. 

“What happened?” Wyatt finally broke and asked. 

Shane immediately looked away. "I feel stupid."

"No." Wyatt responded immediately. 

"I called you because I couldn't drive."

"Good."

"What happened?" Wyatt asked and turned to face him and Shane had to look away. 

"I almost hit a tree," he whispered. 

Wyatt went completely still. "On purpose?"

Shane immediately shook his head. "No. Not really. I got scared.”

Wyatt swallowed and instead stared at the road ahead. "Good."

Shane blinked. "What?"

"You got scared."

Wyatt finally looked at him. "That means part of you knew something was wrong."

The tears came then. Just exhausted tears Shane didn't have the energy to stop. For months he'd carried everything alone, and now he couldn't anymore. 

"I don't know what's happening to me."

Wyatt listened. "I know."

"You do?" Shane said and looked at Wyatt hopefully. 

"Yeah."  Wyatt looked almost offended. "The entire team knows."

Shane opened his mouth in confusion.  "What?"

"Not everything." Wyatt shrugged. "But enough."

The words hit hard, because suddenly Luca's questions made sense. Evan watching him. Troy refusing to leave him alone.

The worried looks.

The concern.

The way everyone kept checking on him.

"We've been trying."

Shane looked away. "Oh."

"We love you Shane.” He swallowed again.  "Come on."

Shane frowned. "Where?"

The goalie looked at him like he'd asked the stupidest question imaginable. "Home."

Fear immediately flared. "I don't want to—"

"I know." Wyatt cut him off gently. "I know."

Because home meant Ilya, and Ilya was going to be terrified, guilty and worried. Shane hated all of that. 

Wyatt leaned over slightly until Shane had no choice but to meet his eyes. "Listen carefully." His voice softened. "Ilya is already scared."

Shane looked down, because that was probably true.

"You disappearing doesn't protect him." Wyatt offered a hand. "Let us help."

Not me.

Us.

Shane stared at the hand and then finally took it.

~

The lights were on when they reached their house and Shane felt sick immediately.

Wyatt parked and turned the car off. Neither moved.

Then the front door flew open and Ilya ran outside. Without any shoes in the middle of winter in Canada. 

Shane had barely unbuckled his seatbelt before Ilya opened the door to the car.  For a second Shane expected yelling. Instead Ilya grabbed him with both arms, holding him so tightly Shane could barely breathe.

"You idiot." The words cracked halfway through. "You absolute idiot."

Shane felt tears burning again. "I know."

Ilya buried his face against his shoulder. For one awful second Shane realized he had been crying. Probably for hours. "Don't do that to me."

Shane wrapped his arms around him. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Ilya's grip tightened. "I know."

For the first time in months Shane stopped trying to hold everything up by himself and he let himself be pulled inside his home. 

~

The front door shut behind them and for a few seconds neither of them moved.

The warmth of the house hit Shane immediately. The familiar smell of coffee and laundry detergent. Anya's nails clicked frantically against the hardwood floor as she raced circles around them.

Home.

He should have felt relieved.

Instead he felt hollow.

Ilya was still holding onto him. One hand gripping the back of Shane's hoodie like he was afraid that if he let go, Shane would disappear again.

"You idiot," Ilya whispered. The words were muffled against Shane's shoulder. "You absolute idiot."

Shane swallowed. "I know." The reply barely made it out.

For a moment neither of them spoke. Anya pressed herself against Shane's legs, whining softly. He automatically reached down to scratch behind her ears, but his hand was shaking so badly he could barely manage it.

That was what finally did it. Not almost hitting the tree or calling Wyatt. Instead the shaking, because there was no denying it anymore. He wasn’t okay. 

A horrible sound escaped him. Half laugh. Half sob and his knees almost gave out.

Immediately Ilya tightened his grip. "Hey." The panic in his voice returned instantly. "Hey, hey, hey."

Shane shook his head and he didn't know what he was trying to say. Another sob escaped him. Then another. And suddenly months of carefully controlled breathing and forced smiles and "I'm fine" came crashing down all at once.

His face buried itself against Ilya's shoulder. The tears came so hard his chest hurt. His hands clenched in the fabric of Ilya's jumper. 

"I'm sorry," he gasped.

Ilya's arms wrapped around him immediately. "No."

"I'm sorry."

"No." The answer came firmer this time and  Ilya pulled him closer. "So help me God, Hollander, if you apologize one more time—"

The sentence broke apart and Shane realized with surprise that Ilya was crying too. His husband buried his face against Shane's hair.

For a moment they simply stood there in the hallway holding onto each other. Two exhausted men who had spent so much time trying to protect each other that neither of them had noticed how badly they were both hurting.

"I thought—" Ilya stopped and his voice cracked. "I thought something happened."

Shane squeezed his eyes shut. The guilt hit immediately.

"I know."

"You wouldn't answer."

"I know."

"You turned your phone off." Shane felt Ilya trembling.

"I'm sorry."

This time Ilya didn't argue. Instead he just nodded against Shane's shoulder.

For a long time they stayed exactly where they were and Anya eventually settled at their feet.

Shane couldn't remember the last time he'd let somebody hold him like this.

"I've got you." The words were so quiet Shane almost missed them, but he heard them. And for the first time in months, he believed somebody actually did. The tears didn't stop, but he stopped fighting them.

And Ilya never once let go.

~

Ilya made him a warm drink and got him his old hoodie that Shane loved to borrow. They sat down together on the couch while Anya was curled up next to them. 

“Please talk to me.” Ilya begged him after the silence had gone on for too long. 

“I don’t know where to start.” Shane started. 

“Just talk.” Ilya replied. So Shane did. He told him everything. 

"I didn't tell you because you were having a hard time." The words came out quietly after he finished telling him what had been going on. 

Ilya looked over. "With therapy."

Shane stared at his hands.

"With everything." The silence stretched. "And I know some days are still bad."

Ilya's jaw tightened slightly.

"So I thought..." Shane swallowed. "I thought I should be okay."

The words sounded stupid the second they left his mouth.

Ilya stared at him. Long enough that Shane started wishing he hadn't said anything.

"You thought you should be okay."

Shane nodded. Then Ilya looked away.

"Do you know what I hear?"

Shane frowned. "What?"

"I hear my husband telling me he has been miserable for months." The words landed heavily. "I hear my husband telling me he has not been sleeping." Each sentence was precise. "I hear my husband telling me he is training until he is exhausted."

Shane looked down. "I hear my husband telling me he almost drove into a tree because he is overwhelmed." The lump in Shane's throat returned immediately. "And then I hear him explain that he could not tell me because I go to therapy."

The last sentence was delivered with enough disbelief to make Shane flinch.

"Ilya—"

"No.” Ilya sternly said.  "No, Shane."

For a moment, Ilya rubbed a hand over his face. Suddenly looking older.

"You know what therapy taught me?" Shane didn't answer. "That loving people does not mean protecting them from reality." The words were quiet. "It means trusting them with it."

Something twisted painfully in Shane's chest. "I wasn't trying to shut you out."

"I know. I know exactly what you were trying to do.” Ilya looked at him then. "You were trying to carry everything yourself."

Shane's eyes burned.

"You were trying to be a good husband."

That hurt even more, because it was true. "And you did not trust me enough to let me help."

The sentence hit harder than anything else, because Shane had never considered it that way.

"I trust you." His voice cracked.

"I know." Ilya's expression softened immediately. "I know you do." Then he reached over and took Shane's hand. "But I am your husband, Shane." His grip tightened. "Not somebody you need to protect from your bad days."

Everything inside Shane seemed to stop. 

Because for months he'd been acting as though Ilya was fragile.

As though therapy meant weakness.

As though depression meant he couldn't handle someone else's pain, and the truth was the opposite. Ilya knew what struggling looked like. Knew what isolation looked like. Knew what happened when people convinced themselves they had to survive alone.

The tears returned before Shane could stop them. "I don't know how to do this." It was the most honest thing he'd said all night.

For the first time, Ilya smiled. "Good."

Shane blinked. "What?"

"Because neither do I." Then he fully looked him in the eyes. "We can be disasters together."

Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped Shane and Ilya squeezed his hand.

"And tomorrow," he said in the tone of a captain issuing instructions, "you are calling the team psychologist."

Shane groaned immediately.

"See?" Ilya said with a smirk.  "Already making progress. That sounded like a real emotion."

And now the thought instead was, “I can do this with help.” 

~

That night, for the first time in months, Shane didn't lie awake waiting for sleep to come. It wasn't because he felt better.

His chest still hurt. His thoughts still felt heavy. Tomorrow he still had to call the team psychologist. There would still be difficult conversations and difficult days.

None of that had magically disappeared, but for the first time, it didn't feel impossible.

The bedroom was dark except for the faint glow of the digital clock on the nightstand. Beside him, Ilya was asleep, or pretending to be. Shane couldn't tell.

Anya was sprawled across the foot of the bed taking up an unreasonable amount of space for a dog her size. The familiar sight pulled something soft through his chest.

A few hours ago he'd been sitting in his car convinced he couldn't keep doing this.

"Are you asleep?" Shane asked quietly.

"No."

"Me neither."

"Obviously."

Shane huffed out a laugh and Ilya rolled onto his side.  "You scared me today."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

Shane stared down at the blankets. "I really am."

"I know that too."

Then he felt Ilya's hand find his beneath the covers.

"You know what I hate?" Ilya asked.

Shane glanced over.

"What?"

"I spend years being disaster."

That earned the smallest smile.

"Ilya—"

"No. Listen."

His accent thickened slightly, something it always did when he was emotional. "I spend years being depressed. Terrible at communicating."

"You were never—"

"I was a nightmare."

"You still are."

"Thank you."

Despite everything, Shane laughed.

Satisfied, Ilya continued. "You help me through all of it. Every bad day. Every stupid decision."

"There were a lot of stupid decisions."

"There were many." Then Ilya squeezed his hand. "And then moment you start struggling, you decide to do it alone."

The laughter disappeared.

Shane swallowed. "It wasn't like that."

"It was exactly like that."

The bluntness should have annoyed him. "I thought I was protecting you."

"I know."

For a moment, Ilya looked away. "That is stupid."

Shane blinked.

"What?"

"This thing you do." Ilya gestured vaguely between them. "You act like love is reward for being useful."

Shane looked away.

"It is not." Ilya's voice softened. "I loved you when you were captain. I love you now. If tomorrow you stop playing hockey and become man who annoys me in kitchen full time, I still love you."

"That's a terrifying image."

"For both of us."

After a while, Ilya shifted closer and rested his forehead against Shane's shoulder. "I am proud of you."

Shane immediately groaned. "There it is."

"There is what?"

"The thing where you say something nice and I hate it."

Ilya laughed quietly. "You called Wyatt."

"I guess."

"No." Ilya poked him. "No guessing."

Shane rolled his eyes. "You called."

"I called."

"You stayed." Ilya's expression was serious now. "You stayed."

For the first time all day, Shane let himself think about how differently everything could have ended.

How close he had come to continuing down that road. How close he had come to convincing himself he was completely alone. Instead he had stopped. Instead he had called. Instead he had come home.

Ilya pressed a kiss against his shoulder. "We will figure it out."

The future still felt overwhelming to him. Therapy would be awkward. Recovery would probably be messy. He still had to say sorry to the team for shouting at them. There would be good days and bad days and days where getting out of bed felt like work.

But lying there in the darkness, with Ilya beside him and Anya snoring loudly, Shane realized something.

He didn't actually need all the answers tonight. He just needed to make it to tomorrow.

And for the first time in months, tomorrow didn't feel quite so frightening.

Beside him, Ilya's breathing slowly evened out. A few minutes later, Shane felt his own eyes getting heavy.

The hurt was still there.

But so was hope.

~

The next morning wasn't easy.

But Shane made the call.

And that mattered too.

The beginning of getting better wasn't feeling better.

It was deciding he deserved the chance to.

~