Chapter Text
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Hayden: I told J.J. not to call you.
Hayden: But text me after he calls you anyway.
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Shane woke to his phone ringing. A glance at the clock showed it was 7 AM. Enough light had bled through the curtains that Shane could see the hotel room. He grabbed his phone, his heart dropping when J.J’s face filled the screen. Shane hesitated, took a breath, and answered.
“Hello,” Shane muttered, pulling himself out of bed and heading straight to his bathroom. He could hear J.J’s angry huffs on the other line.
“Please tell me this isn’t true. That you and Rozanov aren’t together?” J.J. demanded as Shane shut the bathroom door, resting against it.
“It is,” Shane admitted, wincing slightly as J.J. started swearing in French.
“Pourquoi tu ne l’as pas dit?” J.J. asked, and before Shane could respond, J.J. went off. “You know I thought you had this one-sided crush on Rozanov? This whole time I thought, ‘My poor best friend, Shane Hollander, crushing on the biggest womanizer prick of a human being-”
“That’s enough, J.J.,” Shane said sharply.
J.J. continued on as if he hadn’t heard Shane’s anger. “Why do you think I kept trying to set you up with all these nice men? It was to get your mind off of fucking Rozanov, putain de merde!”
“His name is Ilya,” Shane said through clenched teeth, pacing the bathroom as his anger made him restless.
J.J. had the audacity to laugh.
“Do you know how embarrassed I felt for trying to set you up? Do you know how many times I’ve just walked up to random men to see if they would want to date you? Or ask friends of friends for you?”
Shane rolled his eyes. Was J.J. really crying over his bruised ego at a time like this?
“I didn’t ask you to do that! I kept telling you to back off!”
“But you didn’t tell me why I should back off-”
“I didn’t tell anyone about Ilya-”
“Vraiment? You’re a fucking liar, you told Hayden-”
Shane stopped in his tracks and threw his hand up. “Hayden guessed! What was I supposed to do?” His voice was rising.
“Lie!” J.J. shouted. “Or confess to him and tell me!”
“Because you’re handling it so well right now?” Shane yelled back, leaning against the door. He shook his head, turning on the fan to cover the argument.
J.J. let out an exasperated sigh. “Shane, there is no fucking way Hayden Pike reacted well to this news. He still punches Rozanov-” J.J. quickly corrected himself, “I mean, Ilya, on the ice every chance he gets. Do not tell me he blessed this whole thing,” J.J. said, his tone thick with disgust, and Shane saw red.
He was exhausted. Ilya was still in the hospital. And J.J. sounded disgusted by the relationship itself. As if they were school kids and Shane said he had cooties.
Is this what he had to look forward to? His friends and teammates reducing this to a quick and dirty hookup?
“Thing?” Shane snapped. “Ilya is my boyfriend. We’ve been together for nearly eleven fucking years, don’t you dare downplay the relationship,” Shane shouted into the phone. He was gripping the phone so hard, his knuckles were turning white and the phone shook.
Shane heard a clatter and some mumbled noise before silence. Shane blinked, letting his grip relax slightly as J.J. got back on the phone.
“Eleven years?” J.J. whispered hoarsely, disbelieving. “The entirety of our friendship, you’ve been dating Ilya Rozanov?”
Shane sighed and sat on the floor, crossing his legs. “We weren’t together the whole time. But,” Shane fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt, “we’ve been committed for the past few years.”
“He signed to the Centaurs for you, didn’t he?” J.J. said, the pieces clicking together. Shane rolled his eyes. Did everyone pick up on Ilya’s sacrifices but him?
“Partly. Mostly,” Shane said, blushing slightly.
“Well, that’s romantic as hell. I’ll give him that.” J.J. huffed, causing Shane to smile a bit. “But why didn’t you tell me? And don’t give me the whole, ‘no one knew’ or ‘people guessed’. I got pretty damn close and you didn’t crack.”
Shane sighed, shutting his eyes. He had no good answer. “I don’t know. I wanted to tell you. But I was worried you wouldn’t be supportive-”
“I’m supportive of you being gay!”
“But are you supportive of me loving Ilya Rozanov?” Shane asked gently.
There was a pause. “Okay, why him. Why go through all of this?”
Shane smiled. It was actually an easy question. “I love him. He loves me. I’m the happiest when I’m around him, I play way better hockey when I’m up against him, and I can go on about all the mushy stuff that I don’t think you want to hear-”
“Save it for the wedding vows, I’ll hear it then,” J.J. teased.
Shane’s eyebrows shot up; hope spread through him at J.J.’s joke. “You jumped to marriage real quick.”
Shane could see J.J. shifting his weight from leg to leg, maybe even scratching his nose. The nervous, awkward ticks of J.J. whenever he was put on the spot were familiar. “Yeah, well, it’s kinda obvious, right? Eleven years, he moves teams for you, you’re at his bedside… all of this screams happily ever after.”
“I’d like that,” Shane admitted, holding back the actual line he wanted to confess.
If he wakes up, if he is healthy, if he can…
Shane had to cut himself off before he got lost in another spiral, focusing himself back into the current phone call. “Look, J.J. I am sorry I didn’t tell you. You were always going to be next on the list if that helps.”
J.J. sighed, “I appreciate it. And look, I still need time to adjust to this. It is a lot. I don’t want to be mad at you, especially at a time like this.”
“You can be mad. Just don’t stay mad forever, that’s all I’m asking.” Shane said, biting his lip.
Shane could hear the grin through J.J.’s voice. “Deal.”
Shane let himself fully relax against the door, pulling his knees up, and resting his head on them.
Maybe, just maybe, he’d get through the day in one piece.
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Hayden: Just heard from J.J. Sounds like you two had a good talk.
Hayden: Call if you need anything, phone is glued to my hip today.
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Shane left the bathroom to find Farah and his parents sitting around the small table. Each of them clutched a fresh cup of coffee, staring anywhere but at Shane. A clear sign that they heard parts of the argument.
Shane stretched his arms out, trying to release the tension in his shoulders. “Anything new? Or is the story picking up?” he asked as he headed toward the coffee pot.
“Story is picking up, media blackout still holds, and no updates on Ilya,” Farah ticked off as Shane filled his cup, the smell of burnt coffee filling his nose.
He could hear his mom tap nervously against her cup, her rings pinging quietly. “We need to talk about whether we should release a statement confirming the relationship or if we want to deny it,” she said softly as Shane joined the group at the table.
He thought he had an answer to this question last night, after Svetlana, but in the morning, after a few hours of pitiful sleep, and the reality of J.J.’s conversation settling in… he had no idea how he wanted to handle the situation.
He desperately wanted to talk to Ilya. He woke up several times in the middle of the night, thinking that if he turned over he could quietly chat with Ilya in the dark. His hands reached for his phone anyway, as if to send a text. He just wanted to talk to Ilya and make this decision as a couple.
And yet, Shane was here on his own. Having to call the shots. And he didn’t want Ilya to suffer anymore because of Shane’s wants and needs.
“I don’t know,” Shane said, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I want to think about it more. I want to evaluate the risks for Ilya if we confirm, I want to get a sense of how my team could react… J.J. seemed to take it okay, but that’s just one person.” His mom put a hand on his arm, gently squeezing.
Shane turned to her, “I know I can’t wait forever, but can I have a day? Maybe two? We can start drafting official statements either way.” he asked as she nodded her head.
“We can do that. I know that Coach Wiebe was going to stop by-”
A pitiful knock came at the door, irregular and slow. Shane got out of his chair, already aware of who was going to be walking through the door.
Standing in the hallway was Coach Wiebe, balancing delicately on two crutches as he hobbled through the doorway. He awkwardly maneuvered through the room, clearly unsure of where to put his weight.
Farah and Shane’s dad quickly got up to help Coach Wiebe into a chair, placing his crutches to the side as he settled in. Coach Wiebe exhaled, as if he’d come from a strenuous workout. Shane went to get a coffee for Coach Wiebe, grabbed some sugar and cream, before returning to the table and offering it to the coach.
Coach Wiebe smiled, muttered a thank you, as he proceeded to dump a sugar packet and creamer into this coffee. He turned to Shane as he took a sip of the coffee, slight wince at the taste.
“Shane, I am so sorry that you and Ilya had to be exposed in this matter. It is unforgivable,” the coach said, genuine sympathy filled his face. Shane shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the apology coming from possibly the kindest man on Earth.
“Am I right to assume that you and Ilya are serious?” the coach asked gently. If it had come from anyone else, Shane would have thought it was an accusation or a jab. But from him? It felt like a parent who just wanted to know more.
Shane nodded, surprised by the lump in his throat. “I love him. And he loves me. I’d say it’s serious,” he said quietly, sniffling, staring down at his cup and staring at a small crack.
Coach Wiebe nodded, “I thought that.”
“Are you, are you going to bench him for this? Or try to trade him?” Shane asked quietly, scared to look up to see the coach’s face in case he saw the answer before he heard one.
Coach Wiebe took a sharp breath, shaking his head. “No. I will not bench Ilya for being in a loving relationship with the captain from the Voyageurs team. I’ll keep him on the bench so he can heal. And if his injuries take longer and I get pressure from the league to trade him… I’ll fight to keep him on the roster. Or the team payroll, if that’s what he wants.”
Shane took a sip of his coffee, gulping down more than necessary to hide the tears in his eyes.
Coach Wiebe leaned forward, putting a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “I came by to say that I’ll support Ilya, and you Shane, in whatever happens next. I won’t pretend that this is going to be easy. My phone has overheated quite a bit this morning with the calls and texts. But we’ll weather this storm together.”
“Thank you, sir,” Shane croaked out.
If only Ilya was here to hear this.
Coach Wiebe withdrew his arm. He took another sip of his coffee, another grimace before he pushed it away. “I’d better be going, but please call me if you need help with any statements and such. We have our social media manager, Harris, on the ground and he can coordinate with Farah and Yuna on this.” Coach Wiebe said, as he started to stand up.
Everyone gathered around, helping with the crutches, moving shoes or any obstacles out of the way as he made his way through the door.
“Good luck, Shane, and I’ll see you at the hospital. Farah? Yuna? We’ll be in touch.” Coach Wiebe nodded to Farah before turning to Shane’s dad, a wide and genuine smile on his face. “Love the sweater, David.” Coach Wiebe said as he turned to hobble out the room and into the hallway.
Shane exhaled and sat on the floor, setting his empty coffee cup to the side as he buried his hands into his hair. It was starting to become clear that the Centaurs were a supportive group, from the top down. And even the Russia fears felt muted now.
The fear though, that the larger hockey forces would intervene and cause issues for Ilya and Shane loomed heavily. Shane adjusted his seat uncomfortably.
Why was he still hesitating on confirming their relationship?
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Coach Theriault: Mandatory team meeting tomorrow at noon. Skype invite will come through email, keep eye out.
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Shane sighed as he leaned back in the seat, the baseball hat pulled low over his sunglasses. Based on the instructions, he had to park the car a few blocks away and enter the hospital from the back entrance.
Zipping his jacket, he got out of the car and started his walk towards the hospital. It was a nice change to feel the wind on his face rather than go directly into the stale hospital rooms.
Before he could appreciate the change, he spotted his first set of paparazzi. They were adjusting their lenses and scanning the roads for any notable cars. As if Shane would show up in one of Ilya’s flashy cars, versus one that blended into the traffic.
Shaking his head slightly, he hunched and hurried past, goosebumps on his neck as he anticipated the dreaded ‘click’ of a camera.
It never came.
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Entering his name into the visitors log was still the same, the pen caught on the ‘O’ of his name, and the guard made the same tired excuse about a dried-out pen. What was different was the request for his ID, and when Shane looked up bewildered, the guard gave a tight smile.
“Sorry, protocol changes for this particular patient.” He answered grimly, as Shane pulled his ID out of his wallet. Once he was verified, the guard waved him off.
Another set of guards, outside the room, slightly covering some of the cards and posters that were tacked earlier in the week. Shane, much to his annoyance, had to pull out his ID again as the guards verified that he had been on the authorized list.
Shane dodged their looks as they eyed him wearily, connecting the dots. His cheeks heated as he realized that they knew exactly who he was and how he was connected to Ilya.
Finally, they let him through and Shane was able to enter the quiet room. Well, quiet for Shane now; the beeps and hums of machines could be his white noise at this point. The room had been dimmed greatly, as if Ilya hadn’t quite woken up to the morning.
“Dobroye utro, moy lyubimyy,” he whispered, kissing Ilya on the forehead as Shane took his hand in his own.
There was a small spike in the heart rate, and Shane was too tired to use reason and logic to stifle his hope. And instead, he let himself fully believe that it was Ilya’s whispering back, “Dobroye utro, moy lyubimyy.”
“It’s been a long day already. And it’s not even noon,” Shane said, letting the tears well up in his eyes as he took a seat, sniffling slightly as he gazed at Ilya’s face, his skin still healing but he could see him more.
God, he was beautiful. Bruised and broken bones, Shane still felt haunted by Ilya’s beauty.
Instead of stopping the tears, he let himself fall apart.
He was safe to do that with Ilya.
“I know I say this all the time, but I wish you were awake. I wish you were here to talk through what’s going on. I miss you so much,” Shane said, his voice catching at the end, as he felt the tears streak down his face.
“I love you and I want to be better for you. And I know I was a bad boyfriend before- please don’t argue with me here. I was and I’m so sorry.”
Shane refused to feel embarrassed asking a sleeping man not to argue.
“I want to be better. I can do better.” Shane let out a shaky breath as he focused on how the light caught Ilya’s eyelashes, they were always so long. A flicker of a movement under Ilya’s eyelid.
Shane pressed on. “And I’m scared. I’m so scared, Ilya.” He said, switching the hands that held Ilya as he wiped the tears off of his face. “I’m scared that I’m already fucking up and I’ll do something that will make you leave me forever. Beyond this whole nightmare.”
“Please, just wake up and tell me what to do.” Shane pleaded, tearing his gaze away from Ilya and up to the ceiling, counting the tiles overhead as he threw another prayer into the universe.
The machines hummed on as Shane continued to cry by Ilya’s bedside.
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-&- TRANSLATIONS -&-
Pourquoi tu ne l’as pas dit? (FR): Why didn’t you tell me?
Vraiment? (FR): Really?
Putain de merde (FR): colloquially, “for fuck’s sake” / “holy shit”
Dobroye utro, moy lyubimyy (RU): Morning, my love
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