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Shane had texted Ilya no less than a dozen times today and had yet to get a single response.
He stares at his screen, his thumbnail between his teeth while he attempts to will a message into existence when his coach calls them onto the rink for warm-ups.
This is good. He'll get to see Ilya face to face and find out what the fuck is going on.
He follows his teammates out onto the ice and immediately he spots Rozanov against the boards, a water bottle tilted back against his lips. Shane hates how the sight immediately makes him think of a million dirty things while simultaneously the most innocent touch of hands that sparked this entire situation they had gotten themselves into.
They're turned out onto the ice to start stretches and Shane very chalantly skates over to center ice where Ilya has positioned himself after his water break.
“You don't return texts now?” Shane asks, his words cutting despite the tone being soft and casual. He doesn't need anyone to guess they're fighting because it'll turn into fodder for their rivalry, and Shane will be playing this game with no answers.
“I did not get any texts, kotyonok. My phone has been off because my brother will not stop bothering me.”
“Your brother? Do you have to go back already? I thought-.”
“Shane.” Ilya's voice is a soothing balm that calms Shane's nerves immediately. They really should not be having this long, drawn out discussion on center ice. “We will talk later, yes?”
Ilya is right. Now is not the time to be discussing anything. “Right. Okay. Well, um… 1919, that's the code. For my front door. I'll text it to you.”
“Front door? Brave.”
Shane rolls his eyes. “Fuck you.”
“Later,” Ilya replies cheekily, and Shane hates how it immediately causes his cheeks to heat. And he especially hates the smug look on Ilya's face right now, knowing how hard Shane just got from that one word alone.
He shakes his head at Ilya in exasperation and skates off towards the boards where Hayden was apparently watching their entire exchange.
“What was that about?” his best friend asks as he reaches over the boards for a water bottle.
“Nothing. Just offered my condolences.”
Shane figures that isn't too out of the ordinary considering he's the team captain - it's the polite, honorable thing to do considering the passing of Ilya's father.
Luckily, Hayden doesn't push the subject any further despite the weary look on his face and after a few parting words the two of them head off to do their warm-ups.
~
Shane and Ilya face off against each other because of course they do; the MLH loves to shove their rivalry in everyone's faces every single chance they get. Not that Shane minds in this particular instance because right now Ilya is looking at him with that beautiful sparkle in his eyes and a grin on his lips that alone could light the whole arena.
They clack their sticks against one another's, then the puck drops and Ilya takes off with it. Shane shakes his head fondly and his heart skips a beat when he realizes that Ilya is still looking back at him - as if there's nowhere else he wants to look ever again.
Unfortunately, before Shane can spend even a second sitting in this feeling of adoration, Hayden comes barreling towards Ilya, the two of them colliding hard.
Shane's jaw unhinges at the sight of Ilya's body hitting the ice with a thud, his best friend standing over him in shock.
Ilya hadn't seen him coming. Neither had Shane for that matter. They were both locked in on each other, the outside world forgotten and now Ilya was on the ice, unmoving.
“Pike! You motherfucker.” Shane briefly hears Marleau yell before he throws a punch into Hayden's face but Shane can't bring himself to care.
He can't bring himself to move. Not until Ilya does. And he's not moving. “Ilya.” The name spills so easily from his lips now. “Ilya.” He repeats, panic ratcheting up as he starts to skate towards him. “Ilya.” He shouts now, not caring that anyone can hear the sheer panic in his voice.
Finally, the medics descend on the ice but Ilya still isn't moving and Shane feels his chest tightening.
“Hollander.” Shane hears the referee call his name but the rest of whatever he's trying to say falls on deaf ears.
“Is he okay?” He's vaguely aware that he should not be this visibly shaken by Ilya being laid out on the ice but Shane doesn't have the energy or wherewithal to pretend right now - not when Ilya isn't fucking moving.
“To your bench Hollander.”
“Tell me if he's okay.” He demands, his gaze finally snapping away from Ilya to glare at the referee instead, the man who is now trying to forcibly remove him from the ice.
“The medics are taking care of him.”
“That's not what I fucking asked.” Shane spits, his breaths fully labored at this point.
He's having a panic attack but he can't help it because the man he loves is being loaded onto a fucking stretcher and no one is answering him.
“Shane.” Theriault clasps a hand on his shoulder and Shane wonders when his coach had made it across the ice to him. “Come on. Let's take a breath.”
Shane doesn't have a choice but to clear the ice; they're carting Ilya off and they have a hockey game they have to resume sooner rather than later.
“Come on,” Theriault encourages.
Shane should follow his coach towards the bench, towards where his teammates are expecting him, but he can't.
“I need a minute.”
Theriault looks at him for a second and then another before he nods in agreement. “Fine. Take five. And then I want you back on the ice ready to win this game.”
Shane nods his head, even though he can't imagine a world in which he plays a modicum of good hockey tonight with the vision of Ilya lying still on the ice, stuck in his head.
He makes it to the locker room and immediately takes off his helmet and pulls off his shirt, his body currently covered in too many layers.
“Fuck.” He mutters, dropping his head into his hands as the tears start to fall. He can't do this. He can't play this game. He can't keep pretending that Ilya Rozanov is his rival and he most certainly can't stop the tears from streaming down his face over the thought of him not being okay.
“You know, I feel like I should've put it together sooner.” Shane's head snaps up at the sound of his best friend's voice.
“Hayd?”
“It's been five minutes, and coach is getting desperate. He needs you back on the ice.”
Shane shakes his head. “I'm done. I'm not playing tonight.”
“You think that's what he'd want?”
What the fuck was happening right now? Did Hayden really think he knew what was between him and Ilya.
“Boston? That should've been my first clue but Lily? That really does sound so similar I kind of hate myself for not making the connection.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Buddy, don't try and bullshit me. You're talking about missing a game because he got knocked out.”
“You should've realized he wasn't paying attention.”
“And you shouldn't be distracting him.” Hayden shouts back and he's right. Unfortunately, that makes the pain worse. “He'd want you on the ice, not in here sulking.”
“We don't even know if he's okay.”
“Exactly. You need a distraction so, let's go.”
Shane wants to continue arguing but he knows it's hopeless. So, he does the one thing he's always done. He ignores his heart and does exactly what's expected of him instead.
~
Ilya Rozanov exits Boston v Montreal game after hard hit
Ilya Rozanov exited tonight's game mere seconds into the first period after a hard hit from Metro left wing Hayden Pike. Rozanov went down on the ice and appeared unconscious while medics tended to him. He was taken to a hospital for examination. This breaking story will be updated as information becomes available.
That was all the article said. No words on how he was doing, not even confirmation that he'd woken up. Shane was going to lose his mind.
“Ginger ale?” Jackie leans over the couch with a can of Canada Dry in her hand, the other resting comfortingly on his shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” Jackie gives him a parting pat on the shoulder before heading back into the kitchen where she's re-heating dinner for him and Hayden.
His best friend was incredibly lucky to have a partner who understood hockey and everything that came with it, most especially the late nights.
“Are you ready to talk yet?” Hayden asks, his feet kicked up on the coffee table beside him. Shane on the other hand is sitting ramrod straight with his thumbs rubbing anxiously up and down the ginger ale can he had clasped between his hands.
“What do you want to know?” Shane figures this may be the easiest way to start this conversation that he doesn't want to have.
“How long?”
Shane laughs because at this point Shane can't remember a time before Ilya and he knows that his best friend isn't expecting the answer he's about to be given. “We met when we were 17, started hooking up when we were 19.”
Hayden's eyes go wide. “I'm sorry? That's- our fucking rookie season?”
“It just happened. We had the CRM shoot and I don't know.” Shane shrugs. “I never would've admitted it back then, probably because I didn't realize it, but I found a piece of myself in him. He makes me better in every possible way, Hayd.”
“Uh-huh.” Hayden is looking at him like he's grown a second head. “And you're sure no one casted a love spell on you or something? Because this is Rozanov we are talking about here. He's your rival.”
“He's not.” Shane disagrees. “He never has been.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I think it's cute,” Jackie interjects from the kitchen.
“Cute? This is Rozanov! He's a dick.”
“He's not,” Shane argues immediately. “He puts on a good front but I promise he's a good guy. Do you really think I'd have been with someone all these years if they were a dick to me all the time?”
Okay, admittedly Ilya was kind of a dick sometimes but Shane liked it, liked being challenged in the way only Ilya could.
“So, what? You're just together? I didn't even know he was gay, or that you were gay.”
“He's not gay, Ilya is bi, but yes, I am gay and you have to promise you aren't going to tell anyone. I don't even know if we're together or whatever.” All Shane knew was that he couldn't lose him.
“But you want to be together? Because you like him?”
“Oh my god, babe! He's in love with him! Will you stop giving him the third degree? How would you feel if I were in a hospital and you couldn't get to me and someone was interrogating you on the details of our relationship?”
“That'd be completely different.”
“No, it wouldn't and right now you are the one being a dick.” Shane laughs when Jackie reaches across the island for her purse, grabbing a dollar and slipping it into the swear jar. “Come get dinner, please, and let's try and find a way to help Shane, okay?”
“Fine.” Hayden relents. “But I want to properly meet him.”
“Gospodi,” Shane mutters to himself, getting up and following his best friend into the kitchen.
~
“You alright?”
Shane hadn't slept at all last night. He spent every waking hour refreshing his phone, hoping for any news whatsoever about Ilya, but every outlet had gone silent.
It was debilitating, the not knowing, and Shane couldn't take it anymore. So, he'd called his coach first thing this morning.
“Do we know where they took Rozanov last night?” Shane asked, trying for nonchalance when he felt anything but. His body was buzzing with nerves - the unknowns about Ilya now swirling with anxiety over making this phone call.
“Why do you need to know? He's already injured, Hollander, you don't need to be adding insult to injury.”
If only Shane were looking into Rozanov's whereabouts with rivaled intentions, that would certainly make his life easier.
“I'm team captain. I just want to go and check in. Offer my apologies from Hayden.”
“Are you sure you want to do this? We can just send Pike outright.”
“No.” Shane shook his head. “It needs to be me.”
Theriault hadn't thought anything was amiss and offered up the name of the hospital with no further questions. Which was why he and Hayden were now in the Pike minivan heading off towards Montreal Gen.
“Buddy? Hello?” Hayden took his hand off the wheel briefly to wave it in Shane's face, attempting to bring him back to the present. “He's gonna be fine, Shane.”
If only Shane could believe that. But until he had eyes on Ilya, he'd continue being this nervous, wrecked shell of himself.
“You really do love him, don't you?”
Apparently Shane's best friend was adamant on filling the silence with the worst possible questions - questions that Shane had no idea how to answer.
Of course, he loved Ilya but it felt wrong to admit that to someone else before he was able to tell him.
“It doesn't matter.” Because it didn't. At the end of the day they were professional hockey players who had a rivalry to maintain. How they felt about each other off the ice was irrelevant.
“Of course, it matters,” Hayden argues, flicking on the turn signal. The sign on the corner of the street informed them that they were less than a handful of miles from the hospital now.
“Look, he's not my favorite person but if you care about him,” Hayden hesitates, his hands tightening on the wheel momentarily. “I want you to be happy. Even if it's with Rozanov, okay? So, don't try and tell me or yourself that your feelings aren't important. If you love him, tell him.”
Tell him. Shane wishes it were that simple, but how does one even broach such a subject? They'd been together for almost eight years, how was he now supposed to gather the courage to shift everything off its axis.
“I'll wait here for you.” While Shane had been spinning out in his head, they'd arrived at the hospital and the minivan was now idling in the drop-off lane.
“Are you sure?” Shane didn't particularly want him to come inside but he also didn't know how long this was going to take, and he felt kind of bad for leaving Hayden in the car.
“Sit out here or watch you make heart eyes at Rozanov?” Hayden lifts an eyebrow. “No contest. I'll watch Netflix or something.”
“Okay,” Shane replies, a gentle chuckle falling from his lips for the first time since Ilya went down on the ice. “See you in a bit.”
Shane opens the door and steps out, looking up at the massive building. He didn't hate hospitals but they also weren't his favorite. Countless floors and endless hallways were a perfect recipe for getting lost, not to mention all the beeping of machines, announcements over the loudspeakers and harsh lighting. It could be very overstimulating.
But he'd deal with it because he had to see Ilya.
He walks in through the sliding glass doors and right up to reception. “Shane Hollander. Here to see Ilya Rozanov,” he explains when he reaches the desk.
They were expecting him, Theriault had made sure of it so it was no problem getting a visitor's pass and the directions he needed in order to get to Ilya's room.
He heads towards the embankment of elevators and luckily, catches one opening before he even has to bother calling it. He gets on amongst a handful of nurses but none of them appear to be hockey fans because not a single one gives him a second glance. Thank god for small miracles.
The ride is quick and before Shane has any more time to stress, he's standing in front of Ilya's hospital room.
The door is shut, probably because Ilya hates noise and most people - Shane excluded, of course.
“I also like you.” It still sent Shane into a tailspin thinking of those words rolling off Ilya's tongue.
He'd be happy to see him. That's all Shane had to keep reminding himself. He takes a deep breath and pushes open the door.
“Shaneeeee.” Ilya's smile is bright, stretching across his face and Shane is almost positive that Ilya is a little high on pain meds.
“Hi.” He shuts the door behind himself and presses himself against it. His hands, flat on the wood so that they don't do something stupid like reach out to him. “I uh-.” He doesn't know what to say now that he's here. Is he honest? Does he tell him how fucking out of his mind he was all night?
“Sweetheart,” Shane's heartbeat trips at the endearment. “Why you are standing over there like a statue?”
“I'm not– I just–” He starts and stops. His thoughts are racing right alongside his heart, and he can't catch up to either of them.
“Shane.” Fuck. His name on Ilya's lips shouldn't cause him to come undone like this but he can feel his eyes welling with tears. “I am fine. A little concussion and a fractured collarbone. No playoffs this year but fine.”
Fine. Shane was glad to hear it but was now worried that he may not be. “Malysh.” Ilya holds out a hand towards him. “Come here.”
He shouldn't. Anyone could walk in at any moment and catch them but Shane can't stop himself. He was so scared for him and now he was here, right in front of him and fine. Breathing and smiling at Shane like he's the only thing that matters. It immediately causes the tears he was trying to hold back to fall.
“I couldn't– They wouldn’t–” Shane doesn't know where to start and worse, he can barely form a sentence through the lump in his throat.
“Is too bad we can not have each other as emergency contact, yes? Would have made both our lives easier last night.” Ilya pats the bed and Shane dutifully takes a seat. “I am sorry you were so worried. I woke up in ambulance and wanted them to tell you I was fine but apparently I was too out of it for anyone to understand me.”
“Ilya, do you know how risky that was?”
“Shane. Would you not have done the same?” He wants to argue that he wouldn't, that he'd keep their secret safe but he knows he's right. If the roles were reversed, Shane would only care that Ilya didn't worry, because he knew he would.
“Did you get any sleep?” Ilya asks, brushing his thumb gently beneath Shane's eyes to wipe away the tears that were starting to slow. Having Ilya's hands on him, watching his chest rise and fall steadily was beginning to calm him down.
“A little, but I had to call Theriault to get permission to see you, and Ruby and Emma were up early and wanted me to have pancakes with them before they went to school–”
“Ruby and Emma?” Shane can see Ilya running those names through his mind, trying to place them and then, “Pike?”
“Yea. I um. I kinda lost it. When you went down. I had a panic attack.”
“Shane.” Ilya grabs Shane's hand and squeezes.
“I ran to the locker room and Hayden followed me. He knows.”
“He figured it out.”
“He did.”
“And?”
“And, he's… confused mostly. He thought we hated each other.”
“Is true sometimes.” Ilya teases, squeezing Shane's hand. “But he is okay? With you?”
“Being gay?” Shane nods his head. “I guess I never really doubted he would be. I was mostly afraid of him finding out about us but I don't know, I guess it's good that it all happened at once.”
“Yes. Does not give you chance to overthink.”
“Okay. Good to know you're still an asshole when concussed.”
“Do not lie Hollander. You like when I am asshole.”
“Maybe a little bit.” Shane admits begrudgingly, glancing up at the clock on the wall. He's already been here for almost a half hour. He promised Hayden he wouldn't take any longer than that.
“I should probably go.” Even if that was the last thing Shane wanted to do.
“Probably, yes. Nurse will be back soon for rounds.” Ilya sounded about as amused as Shane felt at the idea of them separating.
But there was one last thing Shane needed to say before he left. Something he was planning to ask him last night had their evening gone according to plan.
“Before I go.” Shane rubs his thumb against Ilya's, the contact unfamiliar but comforting in a way that he knew he'd already become addicted to. Hand holding was an intimacy they hadn't shared until now.
“I was wondering–”
“Shane.” Ilya sits up slightly, just enough to be able to reach forward to cup his cheek. “You are shaking, malysh. Breathe.”
Shane takes a steadying breath and in one rush asks, “willyoucometomycottagethissummer?”
Ilya's eyes go wide and he immediately feels the urge to backpedal. “Only if you're feeling up to it, of course. And only if you want to. I know it's risky and stupid and probably very irresponsible–”
“Shane–”
“You probably have better things to do, I know you spend your summers with Svetlana usually–”
“Shane–”
“And this is supposed to be casual so why would you even want to–”
Ilya finally surges forward and shuts him up with a kiss. Shane is taken aback but only momentarily and then he's kissing him back with a matched enthusiasm that is nowhere near appropriate for a hospital room. “Let me think about it, yes?” Ilya murmurs when they pull apart, both their chests heaving.
“Is not as easy as I wish it were, but I will try. Okay? I want more time with you.”
“You do?”
Ilya sighs in exasperation, his palm lightly slapping Shane on the cheek. “Malysh, who else would I want to spend my time with? It's you. It's always you.”
Now, Shane kind of feels like he might cry. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, a knock sounds on the door and the two of them bolt apart.
Shane turns his back immediately, attempting to wipe his tears before the nurse can ask questions. “You are back. That's unfortunate.” Ilya quips.
“Haha, Mr. Rozanov. Just need a few vitals and I'll go.” Her eyes move towards Shane and widen accordingly. “Mr. Hollander. I didn't realize your rivalry allowed for hospital visits.”
“Ha,” Shane guffaws. “I just came to check in. Captain to captain. Apologize on behalf of Pike for the whole incident.” Shane looks back at Ilya once more. “But now that I've said what I needed to, I should–” He points to the door. “See you next season, Rozanov?”
“Ah, yes,” Ilya nods, “next season.” He adds a wink, and Shane prays the nurse chalks it up to him being heavily medicated. “Goodbye, Hollander.”
Shane waves, pulling open the door and slipping back out into the hall, his heart still racing.
He couldn’t believe that he'd asked him to spend the summer together, and that Ilya hadn't shot him down immediately. It was a miracle, truly.
But, for now he'd have to be patient. There was still hockey left to play, and he needed to focus. He could think about Ilya with his bright smiles and soft curls later.
He starts off towards the elevator when his phone buzzes.
Lily: Thank you for coming
Lily: I like you x
Jane: Of course
Jane: I like you too xx
Maybe even more than liked but that was a thought for another day. Hockey. He would focus on the game, like he always has and then afterwards… well, he couldn't wait to find out.