Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s September before Shane and Ilya get another two night stretch at the cottage. To be honest Yuna isn’t sure how they’ve managed it at all, given the training load and media circus at this time of year, but she is grateful nonetheless. She is even more grateful to be granted two hours of afternoon sunshine with them during their second day at Shane’s cottage. Yuna and David can skip across to Montreal almost as they please (they do so, regularly), and while she’s very pleased to see Ilya again, she would’ve understood if Shane had wanted to keep his boyfriend to himself for their short pre-season hideaway.

They arrive as instructed at 2pm on the dot, ten minutes after a reminder text, and enjoy a round of hugs and hellos before they make their way out onto the deck. Pleasantries dispensed with and first teapot drained, talk shifts to plans for the remainder of their stay. Yuna is fairly certain she doesn’t want to know how they will be spending a good portion of their time, but at least she knows they are well stocked for… activities. Cooking is one thing not on the agenda, as Shane has brought meals prepared to his specifications along with him. Drinking isn’t either – it’s too close to season start for Shane to indulge, and Ilya, as per the trend Yuna has observed, is happy to fall into step with whatever Shane wants. Yuna suggests a swim, and both boys look at her as if she’s grown a second head. Ilya mentions offhandedly he has at least five episodes of Grand Designs to catch up on, which leads to a punch to the bicep from Shane and a lengthy conversation with David about a concrete-only monstrosity built by a couple of engineers perilously close to the edge of a supposedly stable but very dicey looking cliff.

“They are confident. They will be right, or they will look very stupid.” Ilya says with an air of finality. “Time will tell.”

Yuna gives him a nod of approval – it is only two weeks since she had used the same phrase with him via one of their infrequent texts. Ilya beams back at her the way a young Shane did whenever he showed her a new skating manouvre or sleight of hand trick. She is proud of his increasing vocabulary and confidence with conversational English, prouder still of the way he is becoming more comfortable interacting with her and David without their son playing mediator.

Shane, who has been watching the rustling leaves that are gradually turning colour around them, snorts.

“You reckon people say the same about you, Mr. 50 Goals In Your Rookie Season? Too confident, will be right or look very stupid?”

“Eh, they say what they want anyway." Ilya shrugs. "I was close. Too bad there was annoying centre every time I play Metros though… maybe if he goes easy on me I get there.”

“Dream on, Rozanov,” Shane retorts, “never gonna happen.”

“Would never, dorogoy, I have better things to dream of” Ilya drops a wink with the pet name and Shane blushes so rapidly Yuna has to look away with her hand pressed to her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

“I’m, ah- I’ll… grab some kindling for the fire.” Shane says, making his way off the southern side of the deck with more resolve than required. David shakes his head fondly and makes for the log pile on the far edge of the northern yard to collect a few larger pieces of firewood.

“Sorry,” Ilya says to Yuna. The apologetic tone and tilt of his head fails to hide the glint in his eye.

“No, you’re not.” Yuna answers, with a smirk of her own.

“Okay maybe a little sorry, a little not sorry,” Ilya corrects loudly with faux seriousness. “Number one goal in life is to make Shane Hollander blush. Makes his freckles extra pretty.”

“I can still hear you!” Shane hollers from his place under the autumnal trees, the higher than usual pitch to his voice betraying his ongoing embarrassment. “You say another word and you’ll-“

Ilya cuts him off to continue speaking directly to Yuna.

“See, does not matter I not get all 50 goals. I am very good at reaching other goals when they are important.”

Shane’s answering groan is enough to finally force Yuna’s laugh free. Despite his protests and the pine cone he lobs at Ilya’s head, her son is clearly besotted, and Ilya looks young and carefree. Despite the weight of the hockey world on their shoulders, in this moment both are genuinely happy. Yuna will never take these small miracles for granted.

The sound of chimes rings out and Shane stuffs the branches he’s been collecting under his left arm. Yuna watches as he pulls the phone from his pocket with his right hand, smiles at the caller ID and turns away from them as he raises it to his ear. To be honest she’s surprised his phone is even switched on during what she thought was protected Ilya time, but surprises and Shane seem to go hand in hand these days. She tries to let the thought slide rather than sting. She suspects Ilya is attempting a similar feat next to her, the looseness in his body now looking somewhat artificial compared to the natural relaxation of only ten seconds prior.

Shane paces back and forth for a while, bare feet crunching brown leaves and small twigs as he goes, speaking a little too quietly for them to hear the words. He laughs and nods occasionally, before checking the time on his screen. He seems satisfied with what he sees and has a final word with the caller before hanging up and pocketing the phone. He grabs a few more sticks and makes his way back up to the deck.

“Rose called. She flies to LA tomorrow but she’s gonna come visit for a couple hours today. She’ll be here at 4, gone by dinner.” Shane delivers this news while placing his bundle down by the firepit. He stands and brushes his hands, then raises a smiling face towards Yuna and Ilya. Yuna will not deny she’s excited to meet Rose Landry, but the timing… if Ilya’s fixed glare on the rippling water was anything to go by, it admittedly could be better.

“Rose Landry is coming today.” Ilya says, confirmation rather than question.

“Yeah, I mean, she’s been so supportive and she’s keen to see the cottage. I knew she was in the area but she didn’t think she’d have time to come by, but she does, and it seems like a good opportunity for you to meet her, and-"

As much as she loves her son, she wishes he would stop rambling. Shane is still talking, and Ilya is staring through the horizon with a storm building in his unblinking eyes. His words finally fail when Ilya stands and moves to the edge of the deck, sliding himself off it and down on to the grass. He takes off his shirt and leaves it in a crumpled pile on a rock by a solar garden light.

Shane looks crestfallen. Yuna makes a hurrying motion with her hands in the direction of Ilya’s back until Shane gets the message and scurries after him. They are too far away for Yuna to hear their conversation, but she has seen enough subtitled films to know that whatever is being said is getting no closer to a resolution.

Ilya walks to the water’s edge, kicks off his slides and continues forward until he is waist deep before shallow diving and beginning a sloppy freestyle. He is an elite athlete but his form says swimming is not his forte, and the island he appears headed for is a good distance away. Ten minutes constant swimming by Yuna’s memory, and she is confident her form and pace are both better than Ilya’s.

Shane picks up a few more sticks on his way back to the deck. He folds Ilya’s shirt, placing it carefully on the table before sinking into his original deck chair.

“Is Ilya okay?” She asks tentatively.

“Said he was hot, decided you were right about a swim.” Shane says quietly.

Yuna lets the words hang for a while, pulling her cardigan around her shoulders, both of them watching the back of Ilya’s head as he stops to tread water maybe a fifth of the way to the island.

“You don’t believe that, Shane.” Yuna says, and Shane sighs.

“I should have asked him first, about Rose coming. Like we’d agreed someday he’d meet her, and I said I'd meet Svetlana too, but hadn’t decided when. I said I could tell her not to come but he said it was fine. She’s actually so nice, Mom, she wouldn’t even mind.”

Ilya sets off again, Yuna watching him splash excessively as inexperienced swimmers tend to do. Rose was a piece of their strange and winding timeline that had perplexed both Yuna and David. Beyond “she’s my friend”, Shane had not been forthcoming about his short-lived (real? pretend?) relationship with Rose, and despite her burning intrigue, Yuna knew better than to ask Ilya. And so she had gone looking for other sources of information from that time. While articles and press conferences gave nothing away, it was Montreal’s 1-0 home win over Boston last fall, played at the height of Shane and Rose’s well documented public sightings, that spoke volumes. Yuna had watched every face off closely, every scuffle and check and bump. Shane and Ilya had both played appallingly, which is to say passably by anyone else’s standards, but it was Ilya’s eyes she noticed most of all. They didn’t rise higher than the logo on Shane’s jersey once the entire game. Add a distinct lack of chirping (towards anyone, not just Shane), not managing a single goal or assist to his name that night and a post-game interview in which he didn’t bother hiding his fatigue or disinterest, and Ilya had painted a sorry picture.

That tape was how Yuna knew Rose was not a cover story or PR stunt. Regardless of who had said what, who hurt who, which girls he was pictured with in the weeks prior or following, that godawful game was proof Ilya was hurting. Shane had seen him hurting, but Ilya would not have seen Shane, because he couldn’t even bring himself to look. Ilya was not fine then, and clearly, eleven months later and partway across a very cold lake, he was not fine now.

“What does Ilya usually do when he’s upset?” Yuna asks tentatively, probing for answers she is fairly certain she already knows.

Shane sits for a while, seemingly deciding if he will answer or ignore the question.

“He deflects, tries to laugh it off.” He says eventually. “And if that doesn’t work, like if I don’t drop it… it doesn’t happen so much now, but before, he’d close off. End the call. Leave, or tell me to.”

Yuna is quiet for a while. The air feels thick between them, even as a faint breeze plays with her hair and sunshine tingles on the back of her neck.

“Okay. I guess some people need space when they’re unhappy. Not for me, but sometimes for your Dad.” Yuna says. She is aiming for guiding without patronizing, a needle she’s not as confident in threading with Shane the adult with boyfriend troubles as she was with Shane the schoolkid with playground disagreements. Shane still hasn’t responded, but she knows that whether he wants to or not, he is listening. “Is that how it works for Ilya? Does he come back better for that time alone?”

Shane sits for a long moment, still as a statue save for the muscles working either side of his clenched jaw.

“No.” He says firmly, and stands.

Shane pushes off the front of the deck as Ilya did minutes before. He pulls his water shoes, two kayaks, paddles and life vests from underneath. Without another word, Yuna helps him take these down to the lake shore. While Shane connects the front of one kayak to the rear of another, Yuna collects Ilya's dry shirt and two of the larger beach towels from the storage compartment of the ottoman.

“In case he’s cold.” She says, pushing them into the seat of the rear kayak before returning to the deck.

Shane and his trailing kayak are 100 feet offshore by the time David returns, arms full of dry timber.

“What did I miss?” He asks, motioning his head towards the water as he stacks the pieces next to Shane’s branches by the firepit.

“Rose Landry will be here at 4pm.” Yuna answers, as if this explains everything.

“Right.” Says David. He squints at the lake where they can see Ilya around two thirds of the way to the island. “And there are... mixed feelings about the visit?”

“Yes.” Yuna nods. They can talk more later, but for now, there’s not much point elaborating. They watch for a beat more, Shane closing the gap between them at pace.

“I know they do ice baths and all sorts these days but the kid must be freezing out there.” David says, collecting the teapot and cups onto a tray. If Yuna knows her husband, and she does, his next move will be to make a new pot.

“He’s going to need some thawing out, that’s for sure.” Yuna agrees, opening the porch door for David and his tray. “I’ll get the bathtub going.” She says, and with one hour until Rose Landry arrives, heads up the stairs to do so.

Chapter Text

Shane paddles into a slight headwind, water splashing occasionally over the bow of his kayak. It is harder going than usual with a second kayak trailing behind, but given the amount of time he spends swinging a hockey stick, he is far from slow.

Shane makes ground quickly on Ilya, who isn’t tiring exactly but seems to have eased up on his pace after powering away from the cottage (from Shane, more likely) like he did early on. Shane will reach him within a minute, he guesses. If he judges it just right the two of them will hit the shallow water near the edge of the island at the same time. And what’s he meant to do then? Step one was to come after Ilya, but he’s not sure how step two should go, what he should say. “Sorry” is the obvious one, but he’s tried that and it didn’t seem to help. “I love you” was met with a sad “I love you, too” and a dive into the lake.

It’s embarrassing, but Shane truly isn’t sure where he’s gone wrong. There are a few main contenders, the short notice and timing being the most likely, but reading other people has never been his strong suit.

Admittedly, it usually gets easier the more time he spends with someone, the closer attention he pays to them, the more chances he has to clarify things with them. His Dad is easy, his mom he can read most of the time, and Hayden is an open book. Rose was an anomaly – he realizes now her directness was a big part of why he felt so comfortable with her from their first conversation. Despite their long history, this kind of romantic relationship with Ilya is still so fresh and the time they physically spend together so limited he’s still sometimes unsure he’s if he’s interpreting it right. He knows the love is there, knows it goes both ways, but layer a language barrier, cultural differences and a past Ilya is rarely willing to talk about atop his own shortcomings, and sometimes a simple conversation can feel like walking through a minefield.

This is where Shane finds himself now. A simple conversation, he thought, that blew up in his face. The thing that troubles him most, other than Ilya’s obvious upset, is that they have already talked about Ilya and Rose meeting – or at least, Shane thought they had. While Ilya started the wheels turning on his transfer to Ottawa, and Yuna started investigating requirements to open a charity, they had decided to gradually let a few carefully selected, trusted friends in on their secret. After the conversation they’d had over summer with his parents about emergency contacts, Shane and Svetlana now had one another’s phone numbers. They weren’t yet in direct contact, and for now he was still ‘Jane’ to her, but that would change when he met her in January during his next two night stay in Boston. Ilya seemed confident she already knew of Shane’s identity, and expected her response to be positive.

They hadn’t put a timeline on it, but had decided together that Rose would be the next of Shane’s inner circle to know about and meet Ilya. As much Shane hated lying to Hayden, Rose already knew he was gay, that there was someone he was seeing, and that the someone else was another top-level player. Rose understood hockey culture well enough to know the importance of keeping another layer of their secrets, didn’t move in circles with mutual friends (reducing the likelihood of an accidental slip up), and like Svetlana, could be asked to provide cover in the public eye if needed. It also helped that unlike Hayden, Rose and Ilya had no history of fist fights on the ice, no front row seat to their supposedly fierce rivalry. Shane expected some awkwardness between his ex (if Rose even counted as one) and his boyfriend at first, but he truly believed once that was dealt with Ilya and Rose would get on so well he’d be the one playing third wheel through their conversations in no time.

Once Svetlana and Rose knew, they would tell one teammate each. They had both felt isolated for so long, and after Shane’s injury last year, decided it was best if someone trustworthy on their squad knew so they could back them up in a crisis or cover for them if people became suspicious. Hayden would be Shane’s pick, although for reasons to do with Hayden’s extensive dental history, telling him was a conversation he didn’t exactly look forward to having. Cliff Marleau was Ilya’s most likely choice, but he was hesitant to tell someone only to switch teams the following season. Shane thinks it would strengthen the respect between Ilya and Cliff if his friend understood his reasons for requesting a transfer away from Boston. Their current predicament in the lake reminds Shane that any thoughts he might have about predicting the responses of people in general, let alone Ilya’s closest teammate and recurrent on-road roommate, are best kept inside his head.

Shane slows his paddling, leaving enough gap between him and Ilya to go unnoticed. He trails a few boat lengths behind until Ilya stands in the shallow water, wading towards the edge of the island. Ilya reaches dry land, shakes himself off and turns, only to see Shane gliding towards the shore nearby.

“Fuck, Shane!” Ilya swears, taken by surprise.

“What’s it like in?” Shane asks. The answer, according to Ilya’s blue lips and rock hard nipples, is very fucking cold. Ilya turns his face away from him.

“Why you here, Shane? You not want to make your cottage pretty for your friend?”

‘Your friend’ Shane can take, but ‘your cottage’ ricochets inside Shane’s brain. Ilya only ever called it “the cottage” now. One night recently, on a night Shane had been a little melancholy and Ilya had been a little drunk, Ilya tried to console him.

“I miss you.” Shane had admitted.

“Da. And I miss you. But is okay. Only two weeks and we are home.”

Ilya had called the cottage home. Shane could have cried.

“Nope. The cottage is fine. Wanted to show my boyfriend around the island.” Shane says as he steps out of his kayak and pulls both boats further up the shore. He grabs one of the towels and comes to stand an arms’ length away from Ilya.

“There’s a tree I used to climb as a kid just around this bend. Wanna see it?”

Ilya doesn’t answer, but accepts the towel and wraps it around his shoulders. Shane moves off, hoping beyond hope Ilya will follow, and is wholly relieved when he does. They pick their way across rocks and logs, losing sight of the cottage as they round the small point. Shane is grateful for the change of angle – there’s no way his parents would grab binoculars and spy on them, but knowing this time and place are theirs alone feels important.

“This is it.” Shane says, stopping at the base of an impressive red oak. “Seemed even bigger when I was small. I always felt brave when I climbed it, even when I couldn’t make it to the top. I’d mostly sit in that fork. It was like my own secret hideaway. I could watch everything, but no one could see me. One year, I was maybe 13, there were birds nesting there, cardinals I think. They were so used to me being in the tree, they didn’t care I was close to their eggs. It was cool to watch the chicks hatch and grow, but then they begged for food all the time. It was so noisy.” Shane shakes his head fondly at the memory. “I guess I got busy with hockey after that. More focused on training. I probably haven’t climbed it since that summer.”

Within seconds Ilya is grabbing branches with strong hands and hauling himself up the tree, his toes catching footholds Shane used to know with his eyes closed. He pushes up another branch and looks back down at Shane. The expression isn’t a happy one, but Ilya isn’t ignoring him, so Shane takes it as a win.

“You will climb now, yes? Do your job showing boyfriend the island?” Ilya asks, and Shane races up the tree after him. They find a branch, angled less steeply than the rest and strong enough to hold them both 12 feet or so off the ground, and sit alongside each other. There’s still distance between them, but Shane hopes the gulf is closing. Ilya rearranges the towel around his shoulders and looks up and around him at the medley of green, yellow and orange leaves encompassing them. The leaves aren’t red yet, but Shane knows its only a couple weeks more until the tree will be a magnificent red. He wishes they’d be here to see it, rather than crisscrossing the continent on separate buses and places.

“Thank you.” He says. “For the towel.”

“That’s okay.” Shane answers. He waits a while then takes the leap. “Wanna talk about it?”

Ilya sighs and hangs his head. “No. But probably should.”

“Yeah. I fucked up, Ilya, you don’t have to pretend to be fine. I just- I am really bad at this. Bad at reading situations, people. I thought we’d talked about it enough, me meeting Svetlana and you meeting Rose, for a visit to be okay, but I upset you.”

“I am upset, yes. But is not your fault.” Ilya answers.

“Yeah, it is. Can you tell me where I fucked up, so I can try not to do it again? Was it the short notice? That it cuts into our alone time too much? Or like, because my parents know already, did you want me to meet Svetlana first so it’s more fair or something between us? Something else? I don’t know, Ilya. If I can’t fix it this time I at least want to know how to not fuck up the same way again.”

Shane waits for so long he’s not sure Ilya will answer at all. When he does, his voice is low, sad.

“Doesn’t matter reason, Shane. You can not fuck up again by checking with me first. Not assuming. Same like we do in sex, checking in before, during, after. Just that, in life together. Then we are always fine.”

“Okay.” Shane says, quietly. It’s a non-answer in a way, but it is practical advice he can apply in future, that is if he can get his excitement under control enough to remember in the moment. “Thank you. I love you.”

They sit together a couple minutes longer. When Ilya is shivering despite the towel, Shane speaks.

“Are you cold?” he asks, as if Ilya could be anything but.

Ilya wraps the towel tighter around him and stares resolutely through a gap in the leaves.

“Last time I saw Rose Landry she had her hands up your shirt.”

As if Shane needs reminding – that night is seared into his memory for all the wrong reasons. He huffs a little laugh, smiles a small smile.

“Yeah, not the best first impression, I’ll give it that. I’m guessing that was before you had that blonde’s earlobe in your mouth,”

“Fuck, Shane.“ Ilya scrubs his hand down his face in frustration, and Shane knows his awkward attempt at humour has failed spectacularly. “Yes, was before. I wanted make you jealous like I am jealous.”

“It worked, if you’re wondering.” Shane says. He’s still trying to keep his tone light, but any progress they’d made feels like it’s slipping through his fingers. He knows he is not doing this right, but can’t seem to spot a path back to safer ground.

“No, Shane. Could never.” Ilya shakes his head.

“Well it did, Ilya. Seeing you with her… It hurt so bad I could’ve cried in the middle of the dancefloor.”

Ilya turns on Shane, the look on his face one of a broken man. “You wanted to cry? You? That night you see me touch someone else, imagine me in bed with a woman I just met. Is not same, Shane, does not hurt like I hurt. Every day and night for six fucking weeks I think you are making whole rest of life plan without me in it.”

Shane is trying to stay in the moment, with his boyfriend who is clearly struggling, but the reality is he is lost. If Ilya didn’t want to meet Rose yet, if he never wanted to meet her, he could’ve just said so, and Shane would have accepted it. He might not have liked it, but he’d have respected Ilya’s decision and kept them separate in his schedule until further notice. But that wasn’t what had happened at all. They’d talked, uncharacteristically focused, and drafted a step-by-step community building plan together, with one of the very first steps being an in person meeting between the two of them. Cut back to the present and Rose is on her way, Ilya is shivering halfway up a tree in the middle of the lake, and they’re rehashing a part of their convoluted history Shane thought they’d well and truly put to rest.

“We only dated for three weeks, Ilya, you know this.” He tries for softness, soothing, and can only hope it lands. “And the last week of that was Rose trying to figure out how to break up with me and inform me just how gay I am in the same conversation without me having a complete breakdown.”

Clearly this is still the wrong thing to say, because whatever dam has been holding back the tide of Ilya’s emotions breaks.

“But this is it, Shane! You, Mr. Serious, are dating! That night you imagine me fucking random person I just met in sweaty club, but me? I spend seven fucking years growing balls to ask you to stay one night, and when I fuck up and you run… Fuck. No message, nothing. That is very bad but I can accept. Maybe you don’t feel like I do, or I push too hard, you get scared, whatever. I am sad, yes, but still at start I have stupid hope you maybe come back if I give space.

But then you are on gym TV going on dates and holding hands with Rose Landry. She is on every teammate’s phone, in stands at your game wearing your fucking jersey and you are smiling and blushing and I hate myself for fucking up what we have, thinking it could ever be anything else. Even on good day, when I think maybe you are not into women, maybe if I do everything right I have chance, all I see when my eyes close is you and Rose Landry and your perfect kids living your perfect life together in your perfect cottage from documentary. And then, when I play like fucking shit in Montreal and want to forget you want her not me, I go to club-”

“Ilya, if you didn’t want to meet-“

“No, Shane, I am not done. I see it with my eyes that night, that you want it to work. With her. You might not love her yet but you want to, and I know how hard Shane Hollander works for what he wants. You say it was three weeks only with Rose, but I not know this then, because you not tell me til later. Pictures in Montreal, New York, all over. You say nothing, and I keep thinking I am nothing to you. Memory only, maybe, if I am lucky. Or forgotten, I don’t know which is better. And my Dad is calling me and Alexei is terrible and Sveta pities me and I am angry all the fucking time, because it’s that or crying. Three times I break phone screen, Shane, two times not even mine!

Then All Stars is coming up. I hope maybe I get sick, not come to Florida, not see you happy with someone else, even though you deserve happy life, best life. At bar you sit down and ask to tell me something. I am okay outside but inside I am so fucking scared what you will say. Maybe you are engaged already, speed romance. Maybe she is pregnant, I don’t know. I know now you not say this, but then inside I am dying. For six weeks I am dying because every time I think of you I think of you and Rose at this cottage and how-“

Ilya cuts himself off, tucking his chin below the towel and clamping his eyes shut. Shane’s stomach is in knots, tears threatening at his waterline, a lump in his throat. Ilya looks scrubbed raw.

“How what?” Shane whispers. Ilya shakes his head and turns it away, but Shane has seen this before and doesn’t let it slide. He swings one leg over the massive branch so he is straddling it, facing Ilya side on. “I love you so much, Ilya. I’m listening. I know I’ve run before, but there’s nothing you could say right now that could make me turn away from you.”

Ilya lets out a long and shaky exhale. Shane rests both hands heavily on the tree branch between his legs and leans forward until his forehead rests lightly on Ilya’s shoulder.

“Please.” Shane whispers, and waits. Ilya’s breathing is rapid, his response as quiet as Shane’s request.

“How my hurt is good because your life is better without me to fuck it up.”

A sob wrenches free. Whether it’s from Ilya, himself or both of them, Shane isn’t sure. His arms are moving of their own accord, wrapping Ilya into a tight embrace, pulling him sideways against his chest, cradling damp curls against his no-longer dry shirt. Shane is gripping the tree branch with his legs as if both their lives depend on it, gripping his boyfriend with his arms because he knows it does.

“No, baby, no.” Shane starts, and once the floodgates open, he can do nothing but bare his heart. “You are the best thing in my life. God, I was such a fucking idiot. Am an idiot for not telling you every single day how incredible you are. My life was grey without you in it, empty. Trust me, I tried it and it sucked. My life will never be better without you. I don’t care how fucked up you think you are, you’re my boyfriend and I love you exactly as you are and the only plans I want to make for my life are the ones I make with you.”

Ilya’s gasps for breath slow gradually under the force of Shane’s determined outburst and ongoing firm embrace.

“God, Ilya, I’m sorry. Seeing Rose and me together at the cottage is like your worst fear from that time come to life, isn’t it? And I sprung it on you with no notice.”

Ilya manages a choked laugh. “Not worst fear, Shane. Unless she arrives with your baby in her belly, then maybe yes.”

“I can give you a 100% guarantee Rose is not pregnant with my baby.” Shane chuckles.

“You are that gay, huh?” Ilya says, rubbing his temple against Shane’s chest.

“Yeah.” Shane answers. “100% on that one too.”

Ilya nods and shoulders drop, but doesn’t make to move yet.

“Is not really about Rose Landry. Or cottage. Is about me. Worrying I not make you happy. Ruin your life.”

Shane’s heart breaks - how Ilya can’t see his goodness is beyond devastating.

“There’s no life worth ruining if you’re not in it, Ilya. I mean that.” Shane says firmly, and finally, finally Ilya raises his arms to the one Shane has wrapped around his front and hugs it .

“Why you so good to me, Shane Hollander?” Ilya sighs.

“Pretty sure we’re up here because I was an asshole.” Shane laughs.

“Is true. But you are still my favourite asshole.” Ilya says, pulling back just enough that Shane can see Ilya’s waggling his eyebrows at him.

Shane seizes the opportunity to steal a kiss in the branches of a tree that was once his safe haven, housing every dream and ambition he dared to let have.

Shane releases the hug, instead cradling Ilya’s face in his hands, and drops their foreheads together.

“I love you, Ilya. Thank you for telling me. Loving me.”

“Telling is hard. Loving is easy,” is Ilya’s earnest response. When he says shit like that, Shane’s not sure how his chest doesn’t physically burst from the sudden swell in pressure.

Shane brings him into one more hug. “Wanna head back?”

“Da, freezing my dick off up here.” Ilya says, his voice once again clear and strong. “Let’s go home.”

Home, Shane hears, and every feel good receptor in Shane’s brain cartwheels with joy and relief. Thank fucking god, he thinks. We’re gonna be okay.

Chapter Text

Rose pulls onto a non-descript gravel driveway that winds carefully between dense hedges. There is no gate or security system, which surprises her given Shane’s superstardom, private nature and publicly declared love for his cottage. What surprises her more however is that her car is the fourth to join what has become a parking lot outside the glass-fronted ‘cottage’ – one sensible Jeep, one sensible VW and one low, sleek, black sportscar.

Rose unbuckles her seatbelt and shrugs her softest green cardigan on over her white tank top. She carefully gathers the delicious smelling parcel that has been teasing her from the front seat for the past hour and a half and swings open the door. Shane is jogging down the steps to meet her before her feet hit dirt.

“Heeeyyyy” he calls, and it’s so welcoming, so sincere in his happiness to see her, that Rose can’t help but smile.

“Hey to you, Handsome. If I knew there was a party going on I would’ve brought wine, not sweets.” Rose says, giving him a kiss to the cheek as she hands over the white, honey scented box.

“You didn’t have to bring anything, but I’m sure Il- they’ll be appreciated.” Shane says. Rose notes the slip, but given all will be revealed in the next few minutes, lets it pass. “My, um, my parents were here when you rang and they’re gonna to stay for a while. To meet you. And also, uh...” Shane trails off, trying to look anywhere except Rose’s face.

“Also?” Rose asks gently.

“Well, my boyfriend, he is, um, he’s good to meet you too. We’d talked about it before and stuff. Just when I said you were coming today, with not much notice… Like he knows I’m gay. That you’re not a threat to him or whatever. But I guess I didn’t realise how hard he took it when there were photos and stuff of us in the media. And how that linked to this house? Mom and Dad are gonna be here for a while to add, like, a buffer?”

Rose marvels at how easily the words ‘my boyfriend’ fall from Shane’s lips. Yes, Shane’s sexuality and partnership remain a closely guarded secret, but for never having told anyone he was gay before Rose, she can see he has made great strides in regards to accepting himself in only six short months.

“That’s fine with me, Shane, I’d love to meet your folks. Your boyfriend though… are you sure he’s alright with meeting me? We can do it another time if he’s not ready.”

“No, no. I checked with him many, many times. We went kayaking before and he’s just taking a bath upstairs, but he’ll be down after.” Shane says. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

Shane leads Rose up the front steps, through the entry way and to the left, leading her into a room drenched in natural light. He’d told her how calming the cottage was for him. The photos he’d shown her hadn’t really done it justice (do they ever?) but being here in person she gets it. Through every one of the floor to ceiling windows Rose can see nothing but nature – clear sky, swaying tall trees, an occasional tiny white cap on the rippling water of the lake that stretches before them. To her right is an open plan living space plucked from a country escape magazine replete with kitchen, dining room, a sitting area that looks ripe for sups of tea and reading in the morning sunshine. To the left is a lounge room, a long leather couch with three cushions arranged neatly at each end faces the lake. A man who can only be Shane’s dad is seated right at its centre, leaning forwards as he methodically turns puzzle pieces face up on a large glass-topped coffee table.

“My dad, David.” Shane says as he gestures towards him with his free arm before placing her box onto the counter. Rose gives a little smile and wave as the man looks up and shifts his glasses to the top of his head.

“Hi, Mr. Hollander. I’m Rose.” She says.

“Good to meet you, Rose. Better call me David though, unless you’d like me to call you Miss Landry?” David answers good naturedly. Rose laughs.

“David it is, then.” She says, as Shane’s mom steps through the sliding doors between deck and  dining room.

“And I’m Yuna,” Yuna says, extending her hand for a handshake. “It’s good to finally meet you, Rose. I didn’t expect to be sharing my weekend with three stars, but here we are. Shane only has good things to say about you.”

Three stars, Rose thinks, and for the hundredth time in the last two hours, feels the confidence in her hunch grow stronger.

“Glad to hear it, Yuna. If he was saying bad things I’d be in a dangerous place wouldn’t I? I’ve played enough victims to know secluded hideaways like this are the go-to if you’re hiding hostages or dumping bodies.”

Yuna laughs and Shane gives a little chuckle under his breath. Nothing like a joke about horrific crime to get everyone relaxed.

“There’s a, uh, guest bedroom through that door” Shane says, pointing past David. “If you need the bathroom the small one’s around here,” he says indicating back the way they’d come. “Outdoor shower just off the southern deck, but I’m guessing that won’t be required. What else… there’s another couple bedrooms and the main bathroom upstairs, which I can show you later if you want.”

Rose hears doors opening and closing upstairs and watches Shane take a deep inhale and close his eyes for a moment before he opens the fridge door. Rose can hear footsteps coming down the stairs, and knows from the way Shane is nervously rambling he can too.

“I’m not sure what you’d like from what I’ve got here, sorry. There’s coke, ginger ale, some Sav Blanc but it’s been open a long time so might not be great. There’s black tea, earl grey… I think maybe a box of different herbal teas in the pantry too, you know like those gift boxes you get from people who don’t know you very well? Also the, uh, water here is really good. I’ve got my own well, which you can see-“

“There is also vodka in freezer,” a deep and rich voice sounds behind Rose. She meets Shane’s eyes, knowing her own are dancing. She knows that voice. Has heard it a thousand times. Has heard its owner named in the same breath as Shane Hollander just as often. Of course it’s him. For Shane Hollander, it could never be anyone but the best.

I fucking knew it, Rose thinks triumphantly. Thinks too, in the nick of time, that saying the words aloud will send Shane into such a state of panic she’ll never forgive herself. “You lucky bitch,” she mouths at Shane, who blushes fiercely in response. God he’s adorable, sometimes she just wants to wrap him up in a fluffy blanket and cuddle him to death.

Rose turns slowly on her heel to take in the sight of Boston Raiders captain Ilya Rozanov in Montreal Metros captain Shane Hollander’s mansion of a cottage.

“The good kind, I’m guessing?” She asks playfully.

“Best kind. Is Russian.” Ilya answers unflinchingly, eye contact not challenging exactly but intense nonetheless.

Rose beams at him, can feel her face has split in pure delight. She wants to shake him. Hug him. Based on the feigned relaxation he is trying to pass over his body, neither of those is appropriate. Ilya Rozanov is Shane’s boyfriend. He’s so good at hockey. They’re both so good at hockey. Literally the best players the ice has seen in decades. Her brother would die of jealousy if he knew who she was with right now. Rose opens her mouth to say exactly this, thinks better of it, closes it again.

Shane starts. “This is-“ before Rozanov cuts him off.

“You are okay, Rose Landry?” Ilya asks, a mix of genuine concern, tension and nervousness rolling off him in waves. Rose sees Yuna find an excuse to move closer to him, straightening the throw rug over the arm of the lounge. She knows neither Rozanov or Yuna have any reason to trust her with what are now three very big secrets, and the little protective gesture warms her heart. God, Shane has it made. God, they are both so fit, their stamina must be out of this world. She banishes the inappropriate thought, only to have it replaced by another. God, if these two made a baby it would be the player of all time, if neither of them are already. Rose realizes she has been looking at Rozanov with a goofy smile a little too long, and pulls on all her acting training to get herself together.

“Yes, I-, I am okay. Thank you, Mr. Rozanov. I am just your standard hockey fan and I am trying very hard not to fangirl out loud right now,” Rose admits.

“I guarantee you I did not get this reaction,” Shane says, looking at his mom before shooting Rose a glare. “Also, you can not call my parents Yuna and David and my boyfriend Mr. Rozanov.”

“This is true. It’s Ilya,” Rozanov (no, Ilya) says, slowly extending his hand like the olive branch it is.

“Eel-ya,” she turns the unfamiliar shape over with her tongue as she returns the handshake. “Two syllables, not three. There is a reason I don’t do roles with any accents other than my own, but for Shane’s boyfriend, I’ll work on it. Eel-ya.”

Ilya gives a small nod and smile as he retracts his hand, and looks expectantly at Shane, who has traded his glare for a look of hopeful disbelief. Ilya passes by Rose to take his place is at Shane’s side, pulling them hip to hip. They fit perfectly together, better than she and Shane ever had or ever could, because of course they do. Rose is ecstatic for them.

“Are you going to ask questions?” Shane asks, seemingly steeling himself for an inquisition.

“No need.” Rose says firmly, shaking her head. She knows the look that passed over Shane’s face when they spoke about him being with a man, another player, before they dated. She knows how he turned down a chance with Miles in favour of working things out with someone else. She knows about his Operation All Stars fashion overhaul, and his successful climbing of the tree now known as Ilya Rozanov. She knows that his parents are here, that Shane is surrounded by love.

“I came to visit, not interrogate.” She says. “You can tell me whatever you want to, but I’m not going to ask questions. And anything you say, I’ll never tell.”

Rose punctuates this statement by zipping her lips.

“She can stay,” Ilya murmurs as he plants a soft kiss into Shane’s hair, and Shane visibly relaxes.

“Thank you, Rose.” Shane exhales, allowing Ilya to take more of his weight.

Rose nods, smiling warmly at them both.

“Actually, I do have one question.” She says hurriedly, “Probably more for Ilya than Shane.”

A look of alarm flashes in his eyes, until she reaches for the white box and opens the lid.

“Do you like baklava?”