Archive of Our Own

The Five Year Farewell

Recommended Playlist - 1hr 25min.

‘1234 – Feist’

It started small.

Ilya would set something down and immediately forget where he put it. A knife he was just using to cut up cucumber or the pack of toilet paper Shane handed him to restock their bathroom. Sometimes he forgot he even had said objects in the first place, much less that he had also then promptly lost them. But that was okay, normal, everybody did that. Right?

The small quirk was exacerbated by the weird places Ilya began stashing stuff. Random items moved for no reason, not even making sense to Ilya once Shane pointed them out. He once stuffed an entire tuna melt into the top drawer of his nightstand, only realizing when it turned and started to smell like rotting fish. The two spent over twenty minutes searching to locate the stench gagging them out of their own room.

Shane found the sandwich. Ilya stared, then said, “Was planning to eat in bed while watching TV, I think. The remote was in the drawer. Forgot.”

Shane grumbled about a potential pest infestation while supervising Ilya removing the almost four day old sandwich and throwing it away. The blunder was such an odd deviation from Ilya’s normal everyday behavior neither of them thought much about it outside of simply being a funny mistake. Ilya even laughed about it that night at dinner, regaling their three teenage daughters of the fiasco with a truly obnoxious amount of glee.

“You should have seen your Dad’s face.” Ilya cackled.

“Papa, that’s gross.” Hana’s nose scrunched up. She was freshly showered after practice, hair wet and skin flushed. The oldest of the trio at sixteen, it was her first season as a Junior Hockey goalie.  

“So gross. He looked so angry.” Ilya mimed strangling someone, eyes bulging comically and teeth bared. He pointed at Shane accusatorily. “If I go missing, he murdered me.”

~*~

When Ilya destroyed his sixth set of AirPods in five months, Shane decided he was done. It wasn’t the consistent haphazardness that exasperated him, it was the fact it happened six times.

Losing the first one was fine. Whatever.

Putting the second pair through the washer and dryer was fine. Oops.

Running over the third set with his car after dropping them in the driveway was fine. Fuck.

By the fourth pair of Airpods, Shane wanted to super glue the damn things into Ilya’s ears so he could stop buying new sets every month like a subscription service.

Ilya secretly bought a fifth pair. Shane had no idea until Ilya, fidgeting like a child on his way to the Principle’s office, explained he had lost them too and could Shane please help him find them?

When the sixth set of headphones met their demise via being chewed up by the dog because Ilya left them laying around, Shane officially banned earbuds for the entire household, no exceptions, no complaining. Everyone could get over the ear, traditional headphones and nothing else.

One week later, Ilya found the fifth pair stacked neatly with the batteries in the supply closet next to the office.

They survived eight days. Ilya mused he may have left him on the Panera Bread tray he dumped into the trash.

~*~

‘Shine A Light – Wolf Parade’

“Where could he have gone!?” Shane hissed furiously, looking down at his phone as his unanswered call went to voicemail. Again. ‘Hello, this is the super famous Ilya, who is way more interesting than Shane Hollander. I will probably never call you back… Unless you are one of my kids.’ BEEEEP. The festival raged on around him, music and food and a sea of people. Shane could feel the overstimulated migraine beginning to pulse in his temple.

L.J. blinked up at him, her confused face cast in stark contrast by the multicolored lights illuminating the warm summer night. She had left her little posse of fellow figure skating friends to help Shane search for Ilya.

“It’s been almost two hours.” Shane mumbled, trying to not let fear and anger seep into his voice. Two hours since Ilya had told him he needed to piss and wandered off in search of a bathroom. Their girls were all enjoying the night’s festivities with their friends, Hana with members of her team. Davi, the middle Hollander-Rozanov child, was currently canvassing the food tent without success. Shane contemplated enlisting Hana’s teammates to hunt down his wayward Russian menace of a husband.

“You didn’t actually murder him, did you?” L.J. deadpanned, even as a smirk tugged at the edges of her mouth.

“Lily Jane, you are not helping!” Shane burst out, indignant, until he caught the undercurrent of panic in her twelve year old eyes. She looked so young, so small. Shane pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “Sorry. I’m just- “

Shane cut off abruptly as he noticed flashing lights in the distance, alternating red and blue. Police cars. And an ambulance. There were two police cars and an ambulance parked on the edge of the concert grounds. His stomach plummeted.

And then he was running, his daughter’s hand clutched tightly in his as he tugged her along. At forty-six, Shane wasn’t what he used to be though, and soon L.J. led him as they sprinted through the crowd. His back burned, his side cramped, and a knee injury that had never quite healed right twinged angrily. Neither mattered as he approached the mayhem. A few festival-goers gawked openly while others rushed past pretending not to notice.

“One in custody. Male, early to mid-forties. Appears to be intoxicated.” One cop reported into his shoulder radio. He seemed annoyed. His much younger partner tried discreetly to get his attention.

“I’m telling you I know that guy. I’ve seen him somewhere before-,” The junior cop hissed before quieting as Shane came to stop in front of them.

“Officers!” Shane gasped out as soon as he was able. “What’s going on?”

A string of very creative Russian cursing erupted from the back of the ambulance.

“Just someone who doesn’t know their limit.” The irritated officer sighed, but Shane was already moving around to the ambulance’s side with L.J. hot on his heels, no longer able to hear anything but the familiar cadence of low accented words. A woman’s voice broke through the Russian chatter, calm and authoritative.

There he was, perched on the back bumper of the ambulance as an EMT shined a flashlight into his blue eyes, assessing. Ilya was uncharacteristically grumpy, his face flushed.

“I am just trying to find-,” Ilya cut off, waving one hand searchingly. He reddened further, embarrassed. More Russian. “I got confused in the dark. I am fine.”

“Ilya.” Shane breathed, his chest tight. He should be relieved with Ilya now here in front of him, seemingly unharmed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something had felt off for months now.

Ilya turned towards him and… nothing. There was no recognition in those eyes. They were hazy and lost, not a shred of their usual perceptive sharpness to be found. A single long blink drove the dead look away as Ilya’s face belatedly lit up at the sight of his husband, but Shane couldn’t ignore the dread seeping down his spine like ice water.

“Sweetheart,” Ilya called in Russian, “These officers think I’m high as fuck right now. Come tell them I am fine.”

 “Please, I’m his husband. He says he’s okay. He’s not drunk and he didn’t take anything.” Shane told the EMT as she turned her evaluating gaze towards him. It had been two hours since he had last seen Ilya though. Had his husband taken something? No. No, the idea was impossible. Ilya hadn’t done anything but occasional pot for injury pain management in almost twenty years and wouldn’t start now. Shane whirled towards the officers. “I swear, he’s not intoxicated.”

“He was in the middle of the intersection and couldn’t tell us what year it was.” The officer griped back.

“Intersection?” Shane repeated stupidly.

“Yeah, at Porter Boulevard and St. Laurent.”

“Is dark, I have never been to this part of Ottawa before.” Ilya spat. “This boring fucking city, I swear.”

“Oh my god! Hockey! Ilya Rozanov!” The younger officer finally exclaimed. Silence fell as every set of eyes turned to stare, making the uniformed man shrank down a little. “Sorry, I just realized how I knew you. Oh, you must be Shane Hollander, right? I grew up watching you guys play, I’m a huge Centaurs fan.”

“Ha.” Ilya said, eying Shane with vindictive glee, “He recognized me first.”

~*~

They both pretended they didn't know what was happening. Ilya excelled at this game, to the point he almost convinced himself sometimes nothing was wrong. He liked pretending their fairytale happily ever after had no flaws. Nothing compared to his life as a house husband and proud WAG, or rather WAG adjacent, while Shane continued to scorch his name into the hockey history books as an Assistant Coach for the Ottawa Centaurs, who were now five time Stanley Cup Champions within the last two decades.

Shane was significantly less good at their mutual game of avoidance. Ok, Shane really fucking sucked at it.

Every time Ilya slipped, Shane’s eyes grew more anxious. Distant. Ilya could think of nothing worse.

~*~

“Pebble! Peeeeeeebbbleeeeee, come here boy!” Ilya called, watching the dog in front of him run through the manicured grass of the community park. The day was so perfect, the sun so warm, and…

Shane stared at him, eyebrow cocked. Ilya paused, then made a questioning ‘what?’ gesture with his hands.

“I don’t think the Pikes would be happy if you stole their dog, Ilya.” A smile inched its way onto Shane’s face, but a tense curiosity also reflected in the careful scrunch of his eyebrows, in the stiff way he held his body.

“I do not steal.” Ilya gasped out. “And who steals a dog? That is a terrible thing to do!”

“Well, Pebble is definitely not here right now, so…”

Ilya turned to examine the hyper animal that sprinted joyfully to his side and rolled onto its back. White fur, dark eyes, three legs. And no dick poking out from a furry belly.

“OH! Yes Anya, sorry. How could I call you a boy, gross! And a Pike too? Double yuck! Is such an insult to you, my precious.” He laughed, trying to cover up the mistake. The white fur beneath his fingers was so soft, so fluffy, Ilya wanted to press his face into it. Like a pillow.

Shane wasn’t talking? Why did Ilya suddenly feel so unsettled?

“That’s not Anya either.” Shane said carefully. “Anya passed almost nine years ago.”

The sudden news hit Ilya like a punch to his sternum. A mixture of flustered embarrassment warred with uneasy despair, but there was also grief. Wait, of course there was grief, Ilya had lost his precious fur-baby. But this felt new, raw and unhealed. Like it had happened yesterday and Ilya was hearing of Anya’s death for the first time.

Ilya made a dismissive huff, grumbling in Russian. The moment jarred him, shaking his reality like the world beneath him had tilted unexpectedly.

He scrambled mentally, searching and searching and searching. Desperate.

“Rookie.” He said finally. They had adopted the three legged puppy when Anya was eleven years old and three years before she had passed. Someone had left the Husky mix on the side of the road with a badly broken and unattended left rear leg. The infected limb had been unsalvageable, but Rookie never seemed fazed by its loss. She approached becoming a senior citizen herself now, slowing down but still so playfully happy.

“You are Rookie.” Ilya whispered to her, clutching at her fur.

“You’ve been forgetting stuff a lot lately.” Shane noted, voice neutral.

“We are busy, so much to remember.”

“Yea...”

“Yes.” Ilya clipped confidently, his tone final. He wanted, needed, for this conversation to be over.

“But this is, like, a lot of forgetting.” Shane pressed, as if he’d been mulling over the issue repeatedly in his head and was finally able to voice his conclusions. “There were the cold groceries you left in the car all day last week, you missed your yearly physical with your doctor-“

“I did not need to see him, I am not sick.”

“Don’t start, I know your shoulder is still fucked, there’s times you can barely use that arm. So yes, this was another important thing that you just didn’t do.” Shane was on a roll. Inevitable and crushing.

“Shane-“

“You forgot to pick up L.J.!”

Ilya flinched, like he’d been slapped. Shane might as well have punched him in the jaw. In the heart.

“I told you, I was just-,”

“Three hours. She had to wait three hours before I-,” Shane stressed the word, jabbing a thumb into his own chest, “Realized you never picked her up from a routine practice. We were lucky Coach Moreau had back to back classes scheduled so he’d be out on the ice all day anyways. What if she hadn’t been able to just wait on the bench and watch other students practice? What would have happened? I was prepping for a game so I couldn’t have my phone, which you knew, but you wouldn’t answer yours no matter how many times they both called! He was the only adult there all day! She’s twelve, and he was the only one there to make sure nothing happened to her!”

They both stood there, trembling and red-faced and so very, very scared. L.J. was their baby, their figure skating prodigy, and Ilya had failed her.

Shane blew out a harsh breath and turned away.

“It will never happen again.” Ilya pledged. “Never.”

Shane looked at him like he wanted to believe it, like he longed to accept the promise being made, but something held him back.

“Yea, it won’t.” His tone was cold. And Ilya knew there might be no earning that trust back.

~*~

‘Damocles – Sleep Token’

On the night of Davi’s fourteenth birthday, they took her to her favorite Italian restaurant, where she always ordered the same exact dish, had for eight years in a row. Spaghetti, sauce on the side, with five meatballs, also on the side. Yuna already sat at their reserved table, eyes dancing as she beamed at her three granddaughters. Ilya watched Shane hug his mother, saw the instinctive glance around, looking for something that was not there but was supposed to be. Ilya’s heart ached as they all crowded around the table.

One chair was empty.

“Where is Oksana?” Ilya asked as he sat, even though he had several very good guesses.

“Probably sleeping.” L.J. said innocently.

“Probably getting a drink.” Hana cut in, nodding towards the restaurant bar, because of course she would, “Or partying. Or a million other things.”

Oksana Rozanova was often called ‘her uncle’s female twin.’ Ilya liked the comparison, most of the time, mainly because it was true. His niece, clever girl that she was, grew up hearing tales of her strange, rich hockey uncle living his best queer life in Canada with, gasp, a man, and had said, “Yes. That.” So copy and paste it was. As soon as she turned eighteen, Oksana left Russia in her rearview mirror and was drafted into the PWHL. A new hockey superstar was born, created directly in Ilya’s image, complete with flashy confidence, fast sports cars, and a never ending carousel of gorgeous women.

Coincidentally, her first season had also been Ilya’s last.

He was thirty-seven, recovering from a recent concussion and a constant low throb pulsed in his shoulder. It was time. So, he decided to push through one last year and announce his retirement at the end of the season, barely a month before his thirty-eighth birthday.

Hockey fans had lost their shit when the NHL and PWHL did a joint promotional photo shoot of the two of them, Rozanov vs. Rozanova, old vs. new, facing off against each other in the low light. Reminiscent of another face off photo shoot so many years prior.

Ilya might have had a growing amount of grey hairs in his beard and crow’s feet creasing his face, but the joy he felt as he posed opposite his teenage niece sporting her brand new Seattle Torrent jersey and a downright fiendish grin was one of the greatest moments of Ilya’s life. There were no words in English or Russian to describe it. Ilya barely managed to stay in position long enough for the photographer before sheer giddiness overpowered all his self control and a goofy grin split his face in two like a clown.

Unfortunately, Oksana exhibited many of her uncle’s more infamous traits, both the good and the bad ones. Outwardly, Oksana only appeared to care about Oksana. She did what she wanted, she went where she pleased, and she answered to no one.

The only exception being maybe her uncle, on occasion.

As they sat in the restaurant, laughing because Shane was wrestling a birthday girl party hat onto the head of a distraught fourteen year old like someone who was giving a cat a bath, Ilya became irritated.

There was an empty chair.

There was an empty chair for someone too preoccupied and lazy to show up, while someone who should be here to see his second granddaughter turn fourteen wasn’t. Even years later, David Hollander’s passing from colon cancer haunted Ilya. The family patriarch might not have been Ilya’s father, but he was the dad that stepped up when Ilya needed it.

His absence burned right now.

They got their drinks and placed their dinner orders. Ilya did not even notice he’d grabbed the basket of bread, meant for the entire table, and begun systematically shredding it all over his plate and a little onto the table until Shane griped at him.

“What are you doing?”

Ilya stared down at the bread. What the fuck?

“Jeez Papa, want to share with your children at least?” Hana chirped.

Shane gave her the look before rounding back on Ilya, “Stop! Please put the rest back so we can have some too.”

“I don’t really want any if he’s put his hands all over it.” Davi said quietly. She had always been very particular about food and germs were a big trigger for her, even when it came to family members. Despite that, she stared at the bread with longing despair, like she was almost willing to risk it at her own disgusted peril.

It set Ilya off.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he grabbed the last few pieces he hadn’t turned into breadcrumbs and threw them aggressively into the mix of olive oil and herbs meant for dipping. The viscous green liquid splattered everywhere, but mainly all over Davi’s carefully chosen birthday outfit.

“Ilya!” Shane snapped, furious, and Ilya immediately jolted back to reality.

A cold flash of mortification rocked through him as he realized what he had done. Wide horrified eyes surrounded him and his daughter cowered slightly. Ilya had never in his life exhibited an ability for violence, besides while out on the ice, and they had no idea what to do. They were staring at a stranger, a very scary stranger. There was no apology strong enough, but Ilya tried, desperately, eventually mumbling that he needed a breath of fresh air. He left the table, red faced and angry and feeling so very small.

Most of dinner Ilya spent standing outside the restaurant really wanting a fucking cigarette. Deep down, he knew he was a great dad and that he was only human, but right now he felt like the shittiest human being in the world. His family deserved better.

“What are you so pissed about, old man?” A familiar, Russian voice called out. Ilya normally loved the verbal sparring, but was not in the mood today.

“Reservation was at 6.”  He growled as Oksana came to stand beside him, her leather motorcycle jacket open and a full helmet in one hand. At least she’d ridden her Ducati here, Ilya half expected her to roll up in the McLaren. She nonchalantly pulled out and lit a cigarette with her free hand, shrugging.

“Sorry.”

“If you cannot be here on time, you should not have come at all.” Fuck. Oh fuck, he sounded like his Father. Everything just made the anger worse. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He reached over, yanked the smoking cigarette from Oksana’s mouth, took a long drag, and then threw it to the ground, making sure to stamp out the butt.

“That shit will kill you.”

Oksana fluttered her lashes. She looked so much like Irina that Ilya sometimes had a hard time looking at her.

“Better live while I can then.”

 Those words from Oksana’s mouth left Ilya speechless. He could only stand frozen, dumbfounded and swimming lost inside his own head.

A text vibrated the phone in his pocket; Shane telling him their food had arrived. Ilya grudgingly stomped back inside, Oksana swaggering behind him. What was wrong with him? Why did he feel like a rubber band about to snap, thinned out while tension tightened every inch of him?

Davi wouldn’t look at him as he rejoined the table, her dark eyes downcast and solemn. She had always been the quietest of the trio, but this exceeded simple introversion.

Ilya reflexively retreated into himself, shriveling up as he allowed Oksana’s arrival to overshadow him, not that she needed his help or his permission. Even as the table livened up, Shane kept shooting worried glances his way and Yuna’s quizzical gaze penetrated straight through Ilya like a spear. Chicken parmesan turned cold on the plate in front of him as Ilya struggled to take even a single bite. His appetite had been unreliable lately, he’d lost almost fifteen pounds. The looming tension made Davi, who was sensitive to atmospheric vibes, even more upset. It was a vicious cycle of negative feedback. Not even the combined valiant effort of Oksana, Hana, and L.J. could save this shitshow of a birthday dinner.

By the time dinner ended, everyone was just ready to leave. Davi had moved past tears and had shut down completely, blank faced and mute. 

“What is your problem?” Shane hissed as he situated himself in the driver seat of his Jeep.

“Nothing.” Ilya nearly shouted towards the car’s interior as he leaned in, one hand clutching the car’s open door jamb, stabilizing himself because a wave of dizziness had him reeling like he was trapped in a dryer.

“Bullshit. The way you are acting is unacceptable and-,”

“Fuck this.” Ilya sneered as he slammed the Jeep passenger door closed instead of getting in. “I do not need this right now.”

Then the pain set in. Shooting, burning agony and that was him screaming as he instinctively wrenched the door back open. From where he had just slammed it closed on his hand. His crushed fingers felt like fire eating up his arm and fuck, it had been almost a decade since he’d suffered physical pain like this. Ilya grasped at his wrist with his uninjured hand, as if to stabilize the injury. Every one of his fingers was bent oddly, all crooked in various directions like sticks collected off the ground. The skin was broken in places and oozing blood, while other areas were swelling at an alarming rate, blooming purple and red. He brought the hand to his chest protectively.

“Oh god, Ilya, are you okay?” That was Shane.

L.J. cried shrilly in the distance as Hana tried to console her, even as she herself sounded on the verge of freaking out.

“I did not mean to.”

“Ok fuck, that’s definitely emergency room worthy.” Shane stared wide eyed down at Ilya’s hand for a moment before reaching for his phone. One call had his mom swinging back around to pick up the girls because Ilya, being the gigantic idiot he was, had hurt himself. Shane didn’t actually say that, but Ilya felt it all the same.

That was how he ruined his daughter’s fourteenth birthday and spent the evening in the hospital emergency room.

~*~

‘Loop – The Retuses’

“She hates me.” Ilya said two days later, miserable, his entire hand splinted and wrapped. They were waiting to see if he would need surgery.

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“I ruined her big day.”

“Maybe.”

“I am a horrible father.”

“Ilya, it was an accident. You didn’t mean to, you just kind of…”

Lost control. Went crazy. Are an asshole like your father.

True, true, and true. Three truths. How did the Americans phrase it? Three strikes and you’re out? Well, he had definitely struck out as a parent and maybe even at life in general. He was a failure. Why was he still trying? He didn’t need to keep fighting, did he?

Ilya hated the dark thoughts in his head.

Another hard truth was that Ilya had always struggled with their middle daughter. He was a natural with kids, he loved them, and becoming a father felt so instinctively familiar, so rewarding, that Ilya never doubted his own parenting. The glaring fact his relationship with Davi remained a fragile bond made of glass always on the verge of shattering was a heart breaking thing to examine.

They had adopted Hana when she was five days old. She had been abandoned at the hospital without even a name. Ilya took one look at her, burrito wrapped in a hospital bassinet, and knew she was his. Theirs. Shane picked out Hana, wanting to honor his mother by choosing a Japanese name while also finding something ending with ‘-na’ to honor both Yuna and Irina. Ilya thought the name was perfect.  

Davi’s journey into existence had been a long and very expensive labor of love. They’d discussed their next child being born using a donor egg and surrogate. The question was which one of them would be the biological father, or should they use donor sperm too so no one in the house shared genetics? Fair, equal, and blood did not make family anyways. Ilya had immediately said he was unwilling to father their second child. Between his mother’s depression and his father’s mental decline, Ilya refused to pass on those genetics. Secretly, he also really wanted a little Shane running around their home, and Shane finally agreed.

Thus, Davi.

L.J. came along barely eleven months later, another abandoned baby girl. Even having their hands full with a toddler and a baby, Ilya and Shane never hesitated. They adopted L.J. and brought her home, knowing their family was finally complete.

But over time, it became apparent that something was different with Davi. Ilya knew to never compare his daughters to each other, that it was useless at best and cruel at its worst. However, Davi did not develop like her sisters. Even though L.J. was younger, she quickly passed Davi in both motor and social skills. Davi had yet to say her first word, even as she passed two years old and rapidly approached three.

At age five, she was diagnosed with autism.

Shane and Yuna were both shocked, telling their doctor that some of her behaviors were just little quirks. They’d both done similar things as children. A knowing look from the doctor had everyone reevaluating their lives. And that was how Shane Hollander, at age thirty-nine, discovered he had autism and Yuna possibly could too.

It had made no difference to Ilya. Except he wondered obsessively why he was having such immense trouble connecting with his middle child. He was so in tune with Shane that it chaffed at him Davi remained challenging to manage.

He asked, why, why, why? This is my daughter, my mini-Shane, why am I fumbling something so important?

Then he remembered those early years with Shane. How they had struggled with the most basic of interactions outside of sexual desire. So much miscommunication, so many missed cues and unanswered ambiguous situations. Ilya had laughed. The strain suddenly made perfect sense.

Shane, however, beat himself up for months. In their quest to not pass on Ilya’s issues, they’d instead handed their child all of Shane’s. Maybe surrogacy had been a mistake? No, Davi could never be considered a mistake.

“Depression and dementia are horrible awful things that kill you.” Ilya had said simply one night, pulling a distraught Shane into his lap. “Autism just is.”

Shane could only gape at him, speechless.

“I would pick you and your unique brilliance over my family demons every time. Every single time, understand? Our Davi is beautiful and she will be successful and loved. I believe it.”

Davi never played sports, having the physical capabilities and coordination of a freshly born foal. Quiet, unassuming, she knew she was different and had expressed she sometimes felt she did not fit in, even amongst their family.

Of course, cosmic irony had specifically chosen Davi’s birthday for Ilya to fuck up, and it just had to have been Davi he aggressively splashed olive oil all over. Hana had thick skin, she would barely flinch, while L.J. was just so happy to be included in literally anything she would have forgiven Ilya immediately.

Of all his relationships, Davi, the one child -the only child really- Ilya struggled to reach, was the one he had to wreak irreparable damage upon.

She barely looked at Ilya anymore.

“Maybe you should talk with a doctor.” Shane said diplomatically.

Ilya’s throat collapsed painfully into a knot, but he forced out, “Ok.”

~*~

‘Landslide – Fleetwood Mac’

The night before Ilya was officially diagnosed with stage three dementia, Shane went all out. He made a large pot of borscht, almost babysitting the soup nonstop as the beets simmered and a hearty smell of garlic mixed with tangy lemon and vinegar filled the house. He also filled and boiled a batch of pelmeni, losing himself in kneading them out by hand instead of using the special press. Yuna arrived early with fresh loaves of warm bread and Oksana arrived late carrying two bottles of vodka.

The girls all squealed in delight once they realized what was for dinner and hovered around the kitchen like hungry sharks looking for chum. Shane had to ward off several thieving hands hoping to poach individual dumplings as he cooked them in small batches. He thought they had finally given up snitching until he realized his mother had pilfered several from the plate when he wasn’t looking and distributed the illicit goods to her granddaughters behind Shane’s back. She’d even tossed one to Rookie. Oksana hooted in laughter, a significant amount of vodka having already vanished from the bottle in her hand.

When Ilya finally joined them, fresh from an evening nap because he struggled with a steady sleep schedule even more than his appetite these days, he stared wide eyed at the Russian comfort foods before hugging Shane softly. His voice ghosted over Shane’s skin, tender and so damn desperate as he whispered “I love you, I love you,” over and over again into Shane’s neck.

Once dinner was served, they filled their large dining room table, talking as time floated away, irrelevant in the face of their laughter and so much love. Hana and Oksana ribbed L.J. relentlessly over her Juniors Division Competition, where she placed second due to an incomplete triple-axel, while Davi insisted on replacing a set of gel pens because her favorite colors were almost gone. Yuna approved. Ilya gorged himself on their mini feast and Shane had never been happier to see his large, goofy Russian scoop large spoonfuls of his native food into his mouth, only halfway chewing the first bite before shoving more past his lips. His husband’s thinning frame had worried him for months now. Ilya often had no appetite; or he just forgot to eat.

Later that night as they settled down to sleep, Shane barely had time to slip between the sheets of their bed before Ilya began pawing at him, big hands warm and demanding. There was so much care and utter devotion in the way he prepared Shane’s body with lubed fingers, even when he flipped Shane easily onto his stomach and kneed Shane’s thighs apart. It felt like the old Ilya. In that moment, blanketed underneath his strong husband, being utterly dominated and fracturing apart in the best possible way, Shane could almost let go. His husband’s bare dick pressed so achingly deep as Ilya’s devious hips rocked with all the confidence of the sex god he was. Moments like these told Shane not to worry. Everything would be okay.

Ilya stayed inside him for a long time after they were finished, cooling sweat sticking them together like glue.

“I am scared.” Ilya finally whispered in Russian, clutching Shane so close, so tightly, as if it would somehow ward off the inevitable.

“Me too.”

~*~

The stack of papers looked intimidating as fuck. Not to mention the graphs littering the computer screen when the doctor turned it to face them. He pointed out patterns and spoke about neuro-somethings. Unfortunately, anatomy and medicine was an entirely foreign beast of vocabulary Ilya was woefully unprepared for. Even after thirty years of primarily communicating in English, he had no idea how to even begin translating half the jargon being hurled his direction like rapid-fire artillery. After weeks of various labs and evaluations, the information now presented to Ilya might as well have been in German or Swahili for all the good it did him.

Ilya understood the words test and exam when it came to memory, language, reflexes, and problem solving, but he had no idea what the hell cognitive meant. What the fuck kind of word was that? He’d tangentially knew MRI and CT scan, but had not fully understood what all those entailed until after they stuffed him into the bright tube of doom, scared to move because it was apparently super important to be as still as possible while blinding lights whirled around him. There were blood and urine tests, as well as an in-depth psychological evaluation.

Which led to the stack of papers now being carefully sifted through as the specialist explained the prognoses.

“Not only does dementia run in your paternal family, but you played a high contact sport since childhood. I see here you have suffered four concussions over a fifteen year professional career, and those are just the stressors on your brain that we know about. How many fights did you get into, how many times did you take a hit and immediately just ‘skate it off?’ TBIs, or traumatic brain injuries, caused by sports can greatly increase the chances of mental decline, even without the inherited likelihood of developing it naturally-“

Ilya didn’t need to listen anymore, he knew. A haunting sort of déjà vu took over him as he recalled the years of his father’s slow decay. Grigori Rozanov was an asshole, but he was strong and insanely sharp. Until he wasn't. Personally witnessing him turn into a shell of his former self, barely aware enough to string together a sentence sometimes, was a seemingly endless torture almost worse than death itself. How had Ilya never noticed those same exact characteristics creeping inward, turning him into his own worst nightmare?

Dementia.

He had dementia.

Ilya somehow managed to keep it together all the way home. Scheduling multiple follow up appointments had been a quiet, pointless ordeal, followed by an elevator ride full of detached nothingness. Neither Shane nor Ilya could even look at each other. Or really look at anything. The world simply did not register, nothing more than outside sounds and gibberish words swirling together in a vortex of color. The only way Ilya realized they were finally in the parking garage was some idiot whizzing by too fast around a curve, nearly taking both he and Shane out at the knees. A Russian curse had Shane glancing at him for the first time in nearly an hour. Once they were situated in the Jeep, Shane didn’t start the engine, instead choosing to quietly stare out the windshield as he fidgeted with the keys.

“Ilya- “

“Does this mean I get away with whatever I want now?” Ilya interrupted loudly. Shane froze, completely caught off guard, so Ilya grinned crookedly at him, waggling his eye brows. “Oh nooo, what did I do? I have no memory of that. Whoops.”

Shane’s face was blank. Numb of emotion. And Ilya was all emotion right now; a live wire, a twisting tornado of unmanageable sensation.  

Ilya’s bottom lip trembled uncontrollably, even as his smile widened. He could feel his nose prickling and his chest tightening as he fought the oncoming meltdown. Before Shane could answer, Ilya turned away.

~*~

‘X – The Retuses’

The night after Ilya received his diagnosis was one of the worst of Shane’s life. Ilya crumpled into their bed without even removing his shoes and immediately began sobbing. Not the quiet stoic groaning Ilya normally felt appropriate for Slavic men, but great chest heaving wails. It was ugly, all red cheeks, snot and spit and tears.

Shane held him, wrapping his arms and legs around Ilya’s trembling frame like an octopus. Not even the snot made him hesitate or let go. His grip was a vice.

They’ll have to bury me with you.

Ilya remained in bed for most of the next ten days. So, Shane did too.  

~*~

“What the fuck are these?” Shane had never been more pissed in his entire life.

The old Ilya would have smirked and asked, ‘What, you don’t have eyes?’ or ‘Oh, you can’t read now too, Hollander?’

“Divorce papers.” Was all he got instead. Ilya looked calm, but his eyes were miserable. After almost eighteen years of marriage, Shane saw through the aloof facade so quickly Ilya might as well have not even tried. He let the silence speak for him and it was loud.

After almost a full minute of staring with no response, Ilya huffed and spread the papers out flat on the counter.

“No prenup, but that is ok. I agreed everything goes to you.” He said bluntly, pointing. Shane didn’t look. “I only ask for the condo downtown with enough money to hire a, how is it called – a nurse that takes care of you in your home? I do not know. Also, I will need money for a facility once I need extra care. Here says I am to see the girls when it is okay, when I am not too bad-”

“No.” Shane had never punched anyone in his life and he was about to start with his husband. The only reason he hadn’t laid Ilya out flat was he knew this was all a defense mechanism. And Ilya’s way of protecting Shane.

This selfless, insufferable martyr of a man.

“No?” Ilya’s eyebrows bunched. Had he truly expected Shane to agree? A punch looked increasingly likely.

“No.”

“Shane- “

“Shut up. We are not getting a divorce and you are not going anywhere.”

Ilya studied him carefully.

“You have not met anyone with dementia before, have you?” Ilya’s voice was so small, but also direct.

“Well, no.” Shane hesitated. He knew enough about Ilya’s father to understand the defeated look marring Ilya’s insufferable, beautiful face.

“It is not pretty. It is bad. In many ways, is worse than death.” He reached out to take Shane’s shoulder, as if to shake him, imploring Shane to understand that Ilya was being the reasonable one here.

He wasn’t. Shane’s resolve hardened.

“Did you not hear me? I said no. I refuse to divorce you. Period.” On pure reflex, Shane grabbed the stack of papers and with a deliberate twist, he ripped the entire packet into two. He laid the halves over themselves and ripped again. Then he walked over to the trash can and threw that shit away.

“I cannot put you through this.” Ilya wept. “I cannot- “

“You are mine, Ilya Rozanov. Until I decide otherwise.” Shane stared straight into Ilya’s eyes. Direct eye contact had always made Shane queasy, but he held Ilya’s gaze now with a furious passion. “If you ever bring anything like that to me again, I’ll rip it up and throw it away too. As many times as I need to.”  

~*~

‘Little Talks – Of Monsters and Men’

The list in front of Ilya made no sense, but he followed what it said anyway. That was his handwriting, accompanied by a small collection of photos also sporting his boxy Cyrillic scrawl explaining everything on the back. He had started taking the photos only a few weeks ago, Shane printing them out directly from Ilya’s phone. They helped.

It had taken three months of wallowing after confirming his dementia before Ilya decided he was done being pathetic and feeling sorry for himself. The pity that sometimes crept into Shane’s gaze told Ilya he needed to nut up and fight.

He was Ilya mutha-fuckin Rozanov! If there was one thing he knew, it was how to not just weather the punches, but to punch back harder.

So now he had his routine, carefully spelled out on his phone, handwritten in his new journal and a printed version taped above his nightstand. There were lists displayed in nearly every room, some constantly being amended and rewritten, while the more concrete ones had been printed out. Instructions of how to live his life. He started struggling a little with English, so a second round had gone up, translating everything into Ilya’s native tongue.

A huge family calendar hung in the entry hallway and a second next to the garage door exit. There were calendar apps on Ilya’s phone, and he maintained those too with Shane’s help, but it just wasn’t the same. Everything was listed out, color coded by person. Shane was blue, Ilya was red, Hana had claimed dark green, Davi light purple, and L.J. looked willing to go to war for the hot pink. Nobody fought her for it. Random things were written in various other colors, though Yuna consistently plucked out the orange to write down stuff. They’d told Yuna the news only a few days after their lives had been rocked by a nuclear bomb. She’d cried, and once that was over and done with, she’d researched. Thus, the lists.

Ilya had resisted, but now he felt immensely grateful. Over a year later, Ilya managed to keep functioning as he always had.

Oksana had been the next person told; she had shut down in a dissociative way Ilya recognized intimately. The news probably hit her harder due to their shared genetics. It took months for her to finally accept the inescapable truth. Now her schedule and various information shone a bright canary yellow on the calendar. It worked, and it kept their ambushed ship sailing with surprising stability and endurance. There were still slip-ups, spidering cracks that slowly grew wider as they crept further into Ilya’s brain, but mostly his life remained his.

So he stared at the instructions informing him it was time for his daily shower and decided to do what he was told. Personal hygiene has become… an issue. Apparently, it was normal for bodily care to be one of the first things that most people with dementia struggled to maintain.

Ilya brought up his hand and huffed into it, followed by a quick sniff. Did his breath stink, had he brushed his teeth?

Yes, he should have. There it was, listed out right after breakfast and rinsing out his dishes.

What should he be doing now?

He glanced at the watch on his wrist.

10:30 am.

He consulted the list.

Shower. Now?

Fine, Ilya grumped, he’d take a damn shower.

~*~

Troy Barrett found out the hard way. He’d known something was off already, even brought one or two concerns to Shane while also respecting their privacy and not prying for answers. Nothing could have prepared him for finding Ilya panicked and drowning in the pool one poker night. Shane had an away game and worried about Ilya being alone, so he told Ilya to invite Troy over for dinner and cards.   

Apparently, Ilya wandered off in the middle of a game. Troy thought it odd and thankfully only waited a handful of minutes before he went searching.

Troy saved Ilya’s life.

~*~

Shane painfully reached out to everyone that mattered and broke the news, one by one. They vowed unconditional help whenever asked and to keep Ilya’s decline private. Having their village supporting them was invaluable, but the situation suddenly seemed too real, too overwhelming.

Shane screamed into a pillow till his throat burned raw.

~*~

“Where is the stroller?” Ilya asked for the fourth time. After multiple patient reminders informing him what he searched for, Shane watched Ilya triumphantly locate his target and pull it free of the closet.

The proud look Ilya wore as he tried unlatching the safety lock allowing the stroller to expand for use became increasingly discouraged with each failed attempt. Creative insults about the stroller, its brand company, and consumerism in general as well as the gradually rising intensity with which Ilya shook said stroller were both heartbreaking and just a little bit funny.

Ilya had bought the stroller himself years ago. He was the only one who ever used it.

Shane waited while Ilya pressed every possible button – he’d learned to let Ilya try himself instead of immediately stepping in to help – before moving forward to show him how to pop the stroller up and forward.

Ilya gave the rear wheel a displeased nudge-kick with his foot. “Now, where is the baby?”

Shane froze. “Baby?”

Ilya looked at him like he was stupid. “Yes, baby. Hana. Our daughter.” Ilya’s eyes widened at Shane’s hesitation. “Shane, where is Hana?”

Shane could see the absolute panic exploding Ilya’s body into action, so he reached out to grasp Ilya’s shoulder. The pale look on Ilya’s face morphed into such confused horror that Shane’s hidden amusement dissolved like a vacuum into space.

“The stroller is for Rookie!” He nearly shouted. “It’s for our dog, Rookie. She has three legs and is getting old. Remember? You bought this stroller for Anya when she started struggling to go for walks.”

“Oh.” Ilya paused, the tightness in his limbs barely releasing. “Are you sure?”

“Super sure.”

“What happened to Hana? Is she ok?”

“Ilya, everything is ok. She’s fine.” And she’s eighteen! Shane wanted to say, but he knew that wouldn’t be helpful right now.

~*~

‘Zombie – The Cranberries’

An artful line of small hooks lined the hallway next to the back door, a handful sporting various rings of keys, and Ilya was experiencing quite the dilemma. Shane was very particular when it came to everybody hanging their keys at the door. As an active family of five with Yuna and Oksana constantly visiting, there were a lot of moving parts and the last thing anyone wanted was a missing set of keys or to be boxed into the driveway by the multitude of vehicles with no way to move a car blocking someone’s way. That wasn't the current conundrum though. Ilya’s issue was that there were several keys missing.

Ilya scratched at his neck. Where in the hell could five sets of keys gone?

Maybe he left them in the car? He’d done that before. A lot.

So, he moseyed his way into the garage, whistling. His whistle cut off midbreath when he halted in place, spine tensing as the bottom fell out of his stomach.

His car was gone.

His beloved Audi Spyder had disappeared.

Ilya swore he’d parked it in the garage last night, making sure the automatic door closed and that the security system had been set. He absolutely had done that, because he loved those cars and he would never jeopardize losing them.

Maybe Shane had borrowed it? No. It had to be one of his kids. Hana would absolutely try to take off with his car, the little shit. He should just ask instead of freaking out. Ilya’s slippered feet thudded against hardwood floors as he nearly jogged as fast as he could towards Shane’s office.

Only to trip over a fucking chair in the living room. One second he was beelining it down the hallway, knowing the living room was around the next bend with the office entrance nestled in the far corner, and the next second he was sailing ass over kettle into the couch while his shin spiked with enough pain Ilya prayed for salvation. All because someone had put a chair in his way.

No. Someone had changed the whole damn living room. He and Shane had designed this room together years ago, choosing deep rich colors that caught sunlight from the floor to ceiling wall of windows. He’d loved the design, it had felt so modern and sleek, but still functional.

Now everything was yellow.

And that wasn’t his damn couch. His couch with the one sunken cushion shaped into an exact dent of Ilya’s ass because he’d claimed the spot as his the first day it arrived. Ilya hissed, rubbing at his shin as he stared at the chair before him, then the rest of the furniture.

The entire room was wrong. It had no flow. Why would there be a chair there right in Ilya’s direct pathway?

 What was going on?

 Shane must have heard Ilya hitting the chair and any subsequent cursing, because he came out of his office looking startled.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

His glasses. His glasses were different. Had he recently cut his hair without Ilya noticing? Fear began to bloom like a cold poison, starting in Ilya’s chest and radiating outward. Goosepimples broke out along both arms. Ilya could feel his breathing shorten as he began to hyperventilate.

What in the fuck was going on? Was this even his house, was that even Shane?

“Did someone take my car?” He tried to sound normal, as if he wasn’t experiencing the most heinous mushroom trip of all time.

“No.” Shane-but-also-maybe-not-Shane shook his head.

“None of the kids?” Ilya tried not to focus too much on all the yellow.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then someone might have stolen it.”

Schrodinger’s Shane immediately stood taller, eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

“Yeah, my Spyder is gone.”

Shane froze, but then he softened, tense shoulders rounding out as he exhaled loudly. He suddenly looked so sad.

“You sold that car a while back, so no one stole it, I promise.” He paused, taking in Ilya’s despair. “You drive a Mercedes now.”

Seriously, a Mercedes? There was no way he’d willingly touch the wheel of a Mercedes.

“No. This is all wrong.” Ilya blurted out. “Is wrong. Why is everything different? Why is this stupid room fucking yellow? I hate yellow.”

“Ilya, it’s ok. Please breathe.” Shane’s potential doppelganger stepped forward slowly, as if Ilya was some wild animal that would bolt or injure itself if he moved too fast. Ilya retreated. “You love yellow. You picked this out when we remodeled last year.”  

“No. No, no, no.” Ilya glared at the person in front of him suspiciously. “Your glasses. They are all wrong too.”

“I bought a new pair.”

“I do not understand? Is this real?” Would this Shane even tell him the truth if it wasn’t? Could someone fake the level of love directed towards Ilya by those dark eyes? Ilya wanted to believe, he wanted this to all be genuine. He was so fucking terrified.

“Is what real? Oh fuck, Ilya. It’s ok, you’re ok.” Ilya slumped towards the floors, barely able to catch himself on all fours. Shane gave a distressed noise as Ilya collapsed, calling out as he darted forward.

“This is a nightmare.” Ilya gasped, no longer able to translate, “I am trapped in a horror movie. Like with a devil haunting me and making me go crazy.”

“I’m here.” Shane said, rubbing at Ilya’s back, “You are not trapped.”

~*~

“That loop there. Yes, put it here and lace the back.” Ilya instructed, reaching around Rookie’s hovering frame to point. Hana deftly maneuvered her new goalie pads into place, excitement making her eyes all wide and her mouth stretch into an uncontrollable grin. She had wanted this particular brand and set of pads for a while, it was just a matter of getting them through customs since the company primarily operated in Europe. Ilya had managed to locate the direct number of the company’s COO a few months ago because they were a former teammate of his when he played for the Raiders.

Finally, he’d managed to do something right. 

Today was a good day. Ilya was himself. Like actually himself.

The dementia still lurked in the far corners of his world, a dark blur swallowing him inch by inch, but he was completely here now, in the present where he belonged. Being aware of the issue allowed him to focus on containing it. L.J. sat propped against his shoulder, leaning heavily into him, twirling a lollipop in her mouth as she examined her freshly manicured nails. His baby girl had become very physically affectionate lately, clinging to him. Ilya let her. Because secretly he was clinging back.

“Papa, I don’t think this is right.” Hana said, adjusting. “See here?”

She pointed to a flap Ilya had never seen on a goalie pad before.

“It’s the new design that came out a season or two ago. This helps me attach-,” She demonstrated and soon stood up, examining her lower half gleefully. They were pretty sick looking pads, black with a purple and green design, and they fit her perfectly. Ilya had been worried they would arrive and she’d be unable to use them because he’d fucked up yet again.

You did good. You are a good dad.

He couldn’t help but frown contemplatively at the mysterious flap while he pet Rookie’s fur in an attempt to self soothe. Hana had been right and Ilya had no idea what transpired in the hockey world these days. Constantly changing trends had officially left Ilya behind and he no longer possessed the capacity to catch up.

How much have I fucking missed? How much am I missing right now, and have no idea?

It was a good day. And good days only showed him just how far he’d fallen.

~*~

‘Caramel – Sleep Token’

“Hello. This is Hollander.” Shane answered into the phone, rubbing at his eyes as he stared at the slowly blurring screen of his work computer. Thankfully, the team would break for lunch soon because coaching had been kicking his ass lately. Ilya just could not keep to a sleep schedule, napping in erratic bursts and always getting either too much sleep or way too little. That left little energy for Shane to hold in his reserve as the Centaurs pushed through the gauntlet that was playoff season.

“Hollander?” An unknown voice asked. “Shane Hollander?”

Shane's scalp tingled and he froze in place. “Yes.”  

“Your husband is Ilya Rozanov.” This time a statement, not a question.

Shane had to suck in air, almost like a hiccup. “Yes.”

“This is Officer Kingston. We are going to need you to come to –,” Blood rushed through Shane’s eardrums with a thumping roar as he listened to the officer, barely registering the location. All the information just muddled together and Shane had to stop and ask for the officer to repeat himself.

“What happened?” He finally managed to squeak out. His mind raced, going through a million different scenarios. “Please tell me Ilya is okay.”

“Oh, he’s fine, but there’s been a situation.”

Shane's hands twisted in his jacket, searching for his keys and checking that he already had his wallet. “On my way.”

As he ran from his office out into the parking lot, he pulled up the security system app on his phone. When he had first installed the high-tech sensors and cameras years ago, it had been to protect his home. Recently, he used them to check on his husband throughout the day to make sure he was okay. Leaving Ilya alone was becoming less and less of a feasible option. Shane had even bought several new cameras and set them up inside their home. Every room, every angle, was no longer somewhere Ilya could discreetly cause mayhem or hurt himself.

Shane clicked on the garage camera history and pulled up the newest video. Ilya, the keys to their daughter’s new car in hand, driving off, a clueless smile on his face.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Shane pulled up behind three police cars, two personal vehicles, and …. Holy shit. That was a fucking Lamborghini. A Lamborghini?! The beast glistened neon green and still sported dealer plates. Shane gaped at it as he pulled over and parked.

“We don’t want to press charges; we just want the car back please.” Was the first thing Shane heard when he stepped out of his Jeep. A very high strung man stood sweating in an immaculately pressed three piece suit, talking to several officers.

The man’s eyes widened as Shane walked up. “Mr. Hollander. It is an honor to meet you.” He had the awed tone of a fan. Without warning, he dove for Shane’s hand so Shane, to make the whole situation less awkward, shook this stranger’s very clammy palm.

“What happened? Where’s Ilya?”

“Under arrest. Mr. Rozanov stole a car.” One officer said plainly, while another shook her head. Under arrest? Stole? The concept sent Shane reeling. His head buzzed as he eyed the line of flashing lights. Was Ilya in the back of one of these cars? Oh shit, was he handcuffed? “A brand new, top of the line Lamborghini, straight off the lot.”

Shane eyed the neon beast as it sat in the emergency lane. It looked like it was very, very fast.

The sweaty man in the suit gave a placating giggle, attempting to laugh off the whole situation. “No, I wouldn’t say that. It was a misunderstanding.”

“What misunderstanding?”

“Oh well, Mr. Rozanov came in looking to add something new and fun to his collection. I never knew he owned so many! He had purchased from us before, though that was a while ago,” Another nervous laugh, “So we decided to take a look at our dealer stock and see if we had something he liked.”

Shane could see it now. Minor celebrity and local legend walks into a place, looking to spend lots and lots of money. He wondered how many had tripped over themselves to sell Ilya whatever he wanted.

“Well, we test drove a few and were in the process of completing the sale and title transfer over to Mr. Rozanov- “

“He bought a supercar?” Shane couldn’t help but screech.

“Well, he wanted two, couldn’t decide between them, but I suggested he settle for one today and come back if he still felt like acquiring the other at a later date. As I said, we were trying to confirm the transfer of the title. I had stepped out of my office, when Mr. Rozanov took the keys from my desk and um… drove off. He also grabbed the wrong pair, since this is not the car he bought.”

“This isn’t the car?” Shane couldn’t bring himself to say ‘his car.’ What the hell would they even do with a brand new Lamborghini?

“He bought a blue one, this was his second option.”  

One of the officers huffed, clearly done waiting for Shane to catch up. “He was driving so erratically that dispatch received twenty-nine calls about him. Twenty. Nine.”  Shane couldn’t even register which one was talking right now. “This is not a game of rich man plays Fast and Furious!”

“No, of course not.” Shane was beyond mortified. All he wanted was to envelop Ilya in his arms, feel his warm skin and rumbly voice. The fact Shane couldn’t physically see him caused his internal panic to magnify everything exponentially, creating so much stimuli his body had no choice but to shut down.

“Where is he?” Shane whispered.

“Back of my squad car.” A familiar voice answered. Shane zeroed in on him, overwhelmed. Kingston. Kingston.

Shane’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, but nothing came out; he had no idea what to say. Thankfully, Kingston took pity on him, motioning for Shane to join him privately with a small nod. Once they’d stepped away from the group, the officer firmly, but tactfully, pressed forward.

“So, here’s the deal. The dealership doesn’t want to press charges against the great Ilya Rozanov, PR image nonsense or something like that. The story is he made a mistake by grabbing the wrong keys. Honestly, my guys also don’t want to drag him into the precinct, handcuffed and high.”

“He’s not high.” Shane couldn’t help but say.

“Well, he’s sure acting like he’s hopped up on enough coke to fry a horse. This is very serious, Mr. Hollander. Stealing a vehicle is an indictable offense, meaning this situation could have led to some serious jail time. Then there’s also his impromptu F1 race through downtown during rush hour.”

“He has dementia.” Shane blurted. He’d worked so hard to protect Ilya, to keep his condition private, and now there it was. For the second time in Shane’s life, their most earth shattering secret had been exposed, thrown out into the open before he was ready, and Shane had no control over what happened next.

Kingston paused, his shoulders slumped. Instead of disbelief or judgement, a very sad, very knowing look crept like a shadow over his face. As if he understood because he’d dealt with this exact situation before. Like he knew exactly how it would all end. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“I know that’s not an excuse, but he honestly did not mean to steal anything. And Ilya would never, ever hurt anyone or put another person in danger.”

Kingston glanced around and leaned forward. “Listen, get this whole thing sorted out with the dealer and my department will forget this happened at all. If he really has dementia, then you can void the sale contract because he is considered incapacitated. My advice, look into a guardianship so you can prevent him from being able to do stuff like this in the future.”

“A guardianship? You mean as in- “

“I know it sounds bad, like he is two years old or crazy or something, but I think that’s your best option right now. Also, I’ll help you get started on getting his driver’s license revoked. It might seem harsh and I’m sorry for that, but he won’t be able to pull a stunt like this twice.”

~*~

On the car ride home, Ilya was still not quite lucid, but thankfully he was calm. The skin of his wrists flamed red and irritated from the handcuffs.

“Why are you here?” Ilya asked Shane suddenly. He cocked a playful eyebrow. “Why are you helping me with police?” With each passing day, Ilya’s accent became stronger and stronger, like he was racing backwards in time. He often lost words in English and resorted to Russian in frustration.

“Well, I’m your husband.” Shane answered simply.

Ilya’s smile vanished. “You are not my husband.”

Shane tried to not let it hurt, but fuck if that simple statement didn’t make his chest seize to the point he felt like his ribs would crack and crumble if he tried to breath too deeply.

“Yes, I am.” Shane glanced over at Ilya, barely holding back his own mental breakdown. He hoped seeing his face and maybe some eye contact would jumpstart Ilya’s fragmenting brain. It had worked before and Ilya did seem to recognize Shane at least. There had been a few times he hadn’t. Those were the really bad days.

“There is no way you would ever marry me.” Ilya’s tone sounded so resigned as all the energy, all the vibrant life, slowly drained out of him.

“Well I did. Almost twenty years ago.” Shane tapped at his wedding ring where it rested against the steering wheel.

“No, is lie. You are saying lies, Hollander.” Ilya’s morose demeanor flipped to anger so quickly Shane had to do a double take. Indeed, Ilya looked pissed at the prospect of Shane lying to him. His initial thoughts were that Ilya did not want to be married, that the mere thought of spending a life with Shane was somehow a truly awful possibility. It was the shaking, a very specific rhythm of the shoulders and chest, that made him realize.

Tears began to form from Ilya’s furious eyes. He thought Shane was taunting him, dangling the precious thing he wanted most in front of him and laughing.

“Ilya, I would never lie about this.” He reassured.  

“But why? Why would you marry me?” The strong Russian accent made the words barely audible. Ilya shook his head, hands fidgeting in his lap, alternating between writhing together in a nervous ball to grasping at anything close; his thighs, the door, a tug on his seatbelt. “I am not good for you.”

Shane came to a stop at a red light, took his hands from the steering wheel and turned his entire upper body towards the passenger seat. He gently reached to take Ilya’s hands in his while giving Ilya a moment to blink the moisture from his eyes so he could see.

“You are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Ilya let out a choked exhale with a groan. His body seemed completely outside of his control as he rocked with sob after sob. Of relief or of devastation, Shane could not immediately tell.

“Is truth?” Ilya asked between deep huffing breaths.

“It’s the truth.”

~*~

Ilya was declared officially incapacitated only a month later. He could no longer legally make decisions when it came to his own healthcare, property, or finances, at least not without Shane’s approval as his court appointed guardian.

The worst part was that Ilya remained aware the entire time they sat in the courtroom, going over the paperwork.

He knew exactly what was happening to him.

~*~

‘In the End (Russian Cover)– Linkin Park - Radio Tapok’

“Shane.” Rose called. “It’s happened.”

Shane looked over to where she sat on a luxurious chaise, staring at her phone. The worry in her eyes made him pause, his stomach falling. His close friend had invited his family to stay at her home in L.A. while they were in town. Had insisted, refused to take no for an answer.

Maybe it was irony, maybe it was fate, but the year Hana became eligible for the PWHL draft it was held in L.A., where both Shane and Ilya’s professional careers had been born. The symbolism was nice.

Hana was ecstatic.

“What happened?” Shane asked, making his way over. Rose’s living area, one of three in the gigantic home she shared with her husband, somehow still felt cozy. He plopped down next to her and attempted to prepare himself for whatever resided on Rose’s screen as she handed over her phone.

Her Twitter app was open, focusing on a very popular tweet with a paparazzi news article link in it.

Former NHL Hall of Famer Diagnosed With Dementia

Shane swallowed heavily as he scrolled through the replies, eyeing the hashtags #Rozanov and #WeWillRememberYou that were trending. While many lamented his husband’s condition, wishing him to get better even though they knew it was in vain, their condolences only went so far. Ilya was almost an object, a legend to these people, not some normal guy that sang early 2000’s rap in the shower and hated olives.

He slammed the phone down.

This was supposed to be his daughter’s big moment. Instead, the draft for both the NHL and the PWHL would be overshadowed as news of Ilya’s Rozanov’s mental decline rocked the hockey world.

~*~

“You stupid piece of shit.” Ilya cussed at the phone in his hands. He and Shane had upgraded to the latest models last week and everything had subsequently melted into pandemonium. That might have been a slight exaggeration, but Ilya was so restlessly irritated. By seemingly everything these days. New phones were already annoying to relearn, but these latest fads and updated software were all so absurdly pointless.

What good was the phone if he couldn’t fucking operate it?!

Which is why Ilya’s phone rested on the table in front of him, screen shattered after he’d thrown it at the wall in a split-second rage. As he stared at the device lying broken on the ground, he instantly regretted his tantrum, because now he needed a new phone. Well, another new phone.

That left him trying to call Shane and inform him Ilya’s phone was broken and Shane wouldn’t be able to contact him until he got home and they could address the topic of replacing it.

Shane’s phone, however, would not fucking unlock!

Ilya needed to contact his husband, and a six digit passcode stood between him and completing the simplest of tasks. It was maddening. If he could just remember where he’d written down Shane’s passcode, he would finally be able to call him. He’d checked the kitchen and both calendars. Knowing Ilya’s luck, it would be in the Notes app on his phone. His broken phone. Ilya still felt childish and immature at his outburst.

He typed in another code.

The phone screen bounced angrily, telling him he’d guessed wrong. Again.

He blinked at the new message that popped up on the screen.

Phone is disabled. Try again in one minute.

He scoffed, but took the chance to think of possible passcodes.

Phone is disabled. Try again in five minutes.

“I hate you…” Ilya spat at the phone as he slammed it down to wait.

Phone is disabled. Try again in ten minutes.

Nothing. Shane would have no idea why Ilya wasn’t answering him if he chose to call. Ilya had seen enough of the flustered panic that overtook Shane due to similar situations exactly like this, leading to an anxious, exhausting day that left both of them needing space to decompress. His amazing, thoughtful husband had become very protective of him. On the one hand, it was nice to be cared for and safe, on the other hand Ilya felt like an imbecile being relentlessly babied.

He guessed again.

Phone is disabled. Try again in one hour.

Ilya exploded from the chair at his latest failure, wandering into the next room and flipping on the TV. An episode of reality TV had always helped turn his brain off when the paralyzing doubt and fear set in. Ilya kept both phones laying on the table in front of him so he would not forget about trying to contact Shane ASAP.

He watched the idiots on the TV and laughed. At least he wasn’t as ridiculous and incompetent as these buffoons. His hour of timeout went by quickly.

Phone is disabled. Try again in three hours.

Wasn’t there some fantasy movie that was obscenely long? There were very small people, and something about a ring? Ilya looked them up. Not only did he find the movie he was looking for, but there were apparently three of them! Oooo, and what was an ‘Extended Version?’ Perfect.

Phone is disabled. Try again in 24 hours.

 Ilya wound up, about to break a second phone, when Shane walked in. His wild hair appeared sleep rumpled and he only wore his pajamas.

“Hey. How long have you been up?” Shane eyed his phone in Ilya’s hand. Had he been sleeping? It was time for him to be returning home from work, exhausted and satisfied and ready to sit and talk with Ilya about his day. Not sleeping.

Ilya lowered his arm, setting the phone down. “I was trying to call you. My phone is broken, so I had to use yours.”

“Call me?” Shane’s adorable face squished in confusion. He looked between his phone and Ilya pointedly. Ilya was missing something here.

“My phone jumped from my hand and smashed itself into the ground.” Ilya said petulantly.

“Did it now.”

“Yes. Was awful and not at all my fault.”

“I believe you.”

They watched each other for a moment. It was Shane who broke the silence. “Have you been up all night?” He asked carefully.

“Is only 6! I plan to make dinner soon.” Ilya protested, looking at his watch.

“Yea. 6am. As in 6 in the morning.”

Ilya’s reality did that flipping thing that it liked to randomly do every once in a while, when his reality and everyone else’s reality didn’t match. It felt like throwing up mixed with dizziness and a sense of infantile worthlessness.

“Then yes. I was up all night.” He groused, feeling his face heat while he reevaluated his surroundings for an exit strategy.

Said exit strategy took the shape of abandoning both phones in a mad dash for their bedroom. He was suddenly very, very tired.

As he closed the door to their room, he heard an outraged screech and, “24 hours?! 

ILYYAAAA!!!”

~*~

Ilya babbled in Russian and Shane had no hope of translating any of the words pouring out of his mouth. A suitcase rested near Ilya’s feet, not even fully zipped. Shane had already inspected its contents – a single shirt, two buttplugs, about thirty pairs of socks, and Shane’s body wash from their shower – but when he’d tried to take the suitcase, Ilya had yanked it away from him.

Ilya also seemed completely unwilling or unable to engage in English. So Russian it was.

“What? Your passport? I can’t understand you.”

“I need my passport.” Ilya garbled. “I need to go home.”

Shane’s heart sank. “Ilya, this is your home.”

“No. Russia. Russia is home.”

“You can’t go back there. You are very publicly married to another man. Russia is still ass-backwards when it comes to people like us.” He was rather proud of the vocabulary ‘ass-backwards.’ Oksana had taught it to him.

Ilya shook. There was a frenetic anguish to his voice, a desperation, and Shane knew he wouldn’t like the next words out of Ilya’s mouth.

“I want to visit my mother’s grave.” Ilya whispered, and he sounded so childlike. “Please, Shane, I want to see my mom.”

Shane had no idea what to say. How could he tell Ilya he begged for the impossible? Eventually, he reached forward to gently tug on the cross hanging around Ilya’s throat.

“Your mother is here, Ilya.” Shane placed a hand on Ilya’s chest, over the strong beat of his heart. “And here.”

At first that seemed to work but Ilya’s brain had honed in on the concept of Irina Rozanova and refused to move on. He stayed slumped in the hallway for almost six hours, a near continuous string of Russian pleas leaving him until his voice gave out, throat raw.

“I need to go home, I need to go home, I need to go home. Pleasepleaseplease pleeeeaase. I want my mom, I want my mom, IwantmymomIwantmymomIwantmymomIwantmym-,”

~*~

‘I Feel It All – Feist’

The cake before him said “49 Years Young.” Shane chuckled as he blew out the candles, a chorus of Happy Birthday making him want to shudder as it grated on his eardrums. Summer was fast approaching, evident by the bright sun in the clear blue sky.

Rose clapped and hugged him, giving his back a small rub.

Even as he sat surrounded by the people he loved most, Shane’s chest remained hollow. Ilya was not among the crowd, and the space his absence created resembled a black hole, sucking in all light. His husband had a really, really bad day. So bad that Shane almost called off the party, both Rose and Yuna telling him it’d be okay if he did. Thankfully, Ilya passed out in their bed after screaming obscenities at Yuna for nearly an hour.

Shane told everyone as they arrived the party would be exclusively outdoors to keep the house quiet. No one could enter unless they needed to use the bathroom. Everyone had nodded in agreement, all with varying degrees of sadness and curiosity.

~*~

Later that night, after everyone had left, Ilya found Shane scraping leftovers into the trash. Shane tried to not be bitter. Ilya babbled about a book he was reading, feet swinging from where he sat on a barstool, when he abruptly stopped. He stared at a clump of abandoned cake covered in frosting.

“Your birthday!” Ilya clapped his hands, shooting to his feet. “Your birthday! Yes! Wait, I have two gifts for you!”

Shane stood there, dumbfounded as Ilya ran off. Ilya appeared completely oblivious to Shane’s dour mood, of the way he had treated Shane’s mother only hours before, and the fact the remnants being thrown into the trash meant Shane’s party had already ended. Over an hour ago.  

Ilya returned carrying a present bag, patterned with brightly colored party balloons like Shane was five, his face downright sinister. Whatever awaited him in that bag had Ilya excited. A thoughtful look made Ilya pause before holding out the bag for Shane to take.

“Maybe is a good thing I am giving this to you while we are alone.” He mused.

“Should I be worried?” Shane asked lightly, setting the last plate in the sink to be washed.

Ilya only shook the bag at him.

“I thought you said there were two.” Shane said, setting the present on the counter so he could pull packing tissue from the top and reach inside. Ilya’s smile grew, but it was no longer mischievous. Pain lurked under his smile now. Shane looked away, glad to examine the tube-like box he pulled from the bag.

He froze.

And promptly burst out laughing.

“You fucking didn’t!” Shane yelled.

“I diiiii-iiiiiiiiid.” Ilya sang back, chaotic glee making him shimmy in place.

Clone-A-Willy was printed down the side, a smaller label proclaiming the contents to be “Glow in the Dark Blue.”

Shane shook his head in disbelief as he popped the tube open and shook out a blue dildo. In exactly the same size, length, and girth as Ilya. There was no mistaking the dildo for anyone else's dick, this one was all his husband. Ilya laughed and Shane joined him, the stress and disappointment of the day releasing, like a storm cloud dispersing.

“I cannot believe you! How did you even manage to buy this?”

“Oksana.” Ilya shrugged easily. 

“Of course. Should have known.” Shane grumbled. 

“Well, you will need it. That ass and my dick belong together forever.” Ilya said gravely, tone way too serious for the situation. With an eyeroll, Shane fit the dildo back into its tube. It took him a moment to get the cap back on.

When he looked up, he froze for the second time in under five minutes.

Ilya had removed the golden cross from around his neck. The necklace swayed slightly as Ilya proffered the beloved heirloom in Shane’s direction, just like the party balloon bag with a dildo inside only moments before.

 “My second gift.”

Shane mutely shook his head. Not in amused disbelief this time, but of grief-stricken horror. The cross glinted in the kitchen lights. Shane had trouble looking at it. After several moments, their standoff came to an end when Ilya sighed, smiling.

“Sweetheart.” He said gently. “I want it to be yours.”

Shane tried not to pull away when Ilya stepped up behind him and looped the chain around his neck, long nimble fingers closing the clasp in the back. The weight of the necklace was both infinitesimal and backbreaking. Ilya’s hand rested on Shane’s nape, big and warm, before sliding down, down, down.

Ilya suddenly snorted loudly, like he was the funniest person in the world. Then he grabbed Shane’s ass, making Shane release an undignified squawk.

“My cross and my dick. Is all you need. Is perfect!”

~*~

Shane arched his back, trying to swivel his hips in time with Ilya’s thrusts. His feet flew in the air above him, rocking back and forth as Ilya kept Shane’s thighs pinned damn near to his chest. It was a difficult position to move in, so Shane just had to lay there, pinned, and take whatever Ilya felt like giving him.

Ilya was in a mood and it felt divine.

The fullness and closeness had him gasping out, grappling with the sheets and pillows and whatever else happened to be in reach. Sex had been hit or miss for obvious reasons over the past couple years, so Shane cherished these moments when he could have his husband.

Ilya’s hips jerked suddenly and not in a thrusting way. Shane peered up at him searchingly, checking in. A blankness shuttered over Ilya’s face, first his mouth, then his eyes and finally his brows, smoothing him out until no emotion remained. His hips came to a complete stop.

“Hey, you okay?” Shane asked.

“I feel… weird.” Ilya admitted.

Shane was immediately yanked from that last hazy mist of lust. “What? What’s wrong?”

Ilya swung his hips back and Shane thought he was about to pull out, but Ilya pressed back in deep. The sudden intensity as well not being prepared had Shane twisting and crying out as pleasure sparked everywhere, making stars dance behind his eyelids.

Ilya gave a few more experimental thrusts, but he seemed distant. Lost. He pulled out and sat back on his haunches, giving Shane a cryptic look that Shane had no idea how to decipher. As Ilya retreated, Shane brought his legs down. He felt like he should close them completely, remove any notion of sex from their vicinity.

“Ilya, talk to me.”

“I...” Ilya rubbed at his thighs. “I do not want to do this anymore.”

“Oh, ok. That’s ok.”

What?

What did he mean by ‘this?’

Overanalyzing had always been one of Shane’s most frustrating traits and boy did it rear its ugly head in spectacular fashion. Did Ilya just mean right now, or sex in general? Did he maybe mean more? Their marriage? His life? Shane’s mind spun in overwhelmed bursts of emotion and sensation as he stared up at Ilya, trying to figure out just what Ilya was talking about. He wanted clothes. Or a blanket. Something.

Even the ‘anymore’ was ambiguous, potentially pertaining to either tonight or forever.

“Just for now or like… ever again?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

Shane forced out a nod of agreement, signaling to Ilya that he understood and wasn’t upset or angry or even disappointed. Shane didn’t really know what he felt.

Ilya nodded back and flopped back down on his side of the bed, leaving Shane confused and alone.

Shane laid there, processing, before rolling out of bed and making his way into the bathroom. He barely managed to close the door before a pained hiccup escaped him. He ran to the shower, turning it as hot as it could go. He had no intention of getting in, he just slid down the wall opposite the toilet and finally let the tears fall.

He wept for Ilya but also for himself. Was their sex life over now? Just like that? Their relationship had started physically, sex the easiest way they could communicate, one of the few languages they could both speak fluently to each other in. It’s what had started this whole thing, back when two eighteen year olds were just horny and curious.

And Shane needed that physicality, that intimacy. He knew he was not the best communicator and that he missed so many clues, especially from someone that communicated nonverbally as much as Ilya did. Touch and connection provided security and were essential to helping him understand.

The loss of that foundational part of both his life and their relationship sent Shane spiraling, lost in a black abyss with no light to swim towards.

He’d kept this family together in the face of overwhelming odds, and he’d never broken.

He broke now.

~*~

‘How to Save A Life – The Fray’

Ilya blinked awake, feeling like he was rising from the dead. He must have had a hell of a night last night.

The room was nice, simple and masculine, and a cute guy slept shirtless next to him. He appeared Asian, black hair messy and his skin so incredibly soft looking. Adorable freckles dotted his face. Ilya hadn’t caught his name, not essential with your mouth otherwise occupied, but maybe he’d let Ilya fuck him one last time before he left. Then he remembered it was a game day, so he’d have morning practice. Fuck, he needed to get home and try to mitigate this hangover before Coach tore him a new asshole.

He rolled out of the bed, grabbing clothes as he went. They were in a neat stack, folded on the dresser and ready for him. There was something significant about the fact that they were folded, but Ilya must still be a little drunk because he couldn’t think of anything besides the fact that he didn’t fold clothes. All tops and bottoms were hung and anything else just got thrown into the drawer.

Whatever.

After getting dressed he made his way out of the room. Cutie in the bed hadn’t stirred, poor thing must be exhausted after a night of heavy fucking. Ilya would not let something so beautiful go to waste without thoroughly enjoying it first, so he could only imagine what they’d gotten up to last night. That nervous prickle of primitive intuition grew, warning. Warning.

He padded out and began picking his way towards the front door. Or would his hookup prefer he go through the garage? Where had Ilya parked his car? No, he’d drank last night so he would have called his chauffeur. Whose house had he partied at and how did he get back there?

After a moment of deliberation, the disquiet sensation inside him making him queasy, he settled on the front door. He really had to get out of this house. Calling his driver, or even just an Uber, back to his place, freshening up, and dealing with the car situation after practice when he could think straight sounded like a reasonable plan.

Or at least it would have if a shrill alarm didn’t go off the second Ilya swung the front door open. He nearly pissed himself, jumping a foot in the air. It was so loud. Then a subsequent mad scramble ensued as he tried to find the pad for the alarm. Maybe he could turn the person’s home security off?

No harm, no foul.

No such luck. The alarm continued blaring and Ilya was getting more and more pissed.

“I got it.” A voice said and Ilya turned to see his four course meal from last night striding into the room, tapping away on his phone. The alarm cut off as suddenly as it had started. He looked up, and fastened Ilya with the most tired look imaginable. Hottie must have gotten pretty shitfaced too.

“Come on, back to bed.” His voice was deep from sleep. Ilya watched him as he stepped forward and nudged the front door closed, locking it while staring up into Ilya’s eyes. Maybe Ilya wasn’t the only one up for another round. But alas, it was game day.

“Sorry sweetheart, but I have to leave. Last night was fun though, your freckles really get me going. Next time?”

Next time? Ilya only ever did casual hookups and here he was already planning to come back. He almost slapped himself.

The man muttered, and Ilya barely caught a whispered, “…can’tdothisrightnow….”

“Look, is no problem,” Ilya said, “I can call an Uber, sorry I tripped your cat burglar alarm.”

“It’s a you alarm.” The handsome man snapped back before spinning around and trudging away.

“I am cat burglar?” Ilya pointed to himself in mock outrage. He turned back towards the door and flipped the lock open.

“Stop. Ilya, come back to bed. I really, really need to get some more sleep before my work alarm goes off.” This stranger – Ilya really needed to remember his name – tried reaching for the door again. Ilya stepped between him and his target, preventing the lock from being engaged.

“I am leaving.”

That beautiful, tired face tightened. The pit in Ilya’s stomach grew, churning like a simmering pot before a boil. “No. You are not.”

“Yes. I am.” Ilya growled. How dare this stranger try to keep him hostage. Who the hell did he think he was?

“I’m not arguing with you right now.” The other man brought up one hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. Ilya was getting the vibe that his defiance was merely an inconvenience and the man thought it was only a matter of time until Ilya ended up doing whatever the stranger demanded. Like Ilya’s desires no longer mattered, his freedom obsolete.

“You cannot keep me here,” Ilya yelled, his voice a dangerous mix of frantic and angry. Warnings blared like air raid sirens in his ears. He needed to escape because he wasn’t safe here. Something about this house made Ilya paranoid and afraid. Without even pausing to realize how he knew so much, he hissed with all the wrath he could muster, “I know you have cameras all over, always watching. I know.”

The look he received was scathing. “The cameras are for your protection, just like the alarm system.”

Ilya shook his head so hard his brain rattled. “You trap me here.” He accused.

“Papa?” A feminine voice called out. Ilya turned to see a young woman walking down one hallway towards them. Her frame screamed athlete, strong and lean. She had messy blonde hair and used a sports jersey as pajamas. “Dad? Everything ok?”

More movement. More female figures, younger, and more terrified. They watched the two facing off at the front door as one would observe a public execution. The man changed tactics, his shoulders slumping as if he had the weight of the world crushing him down into the earth. In his eyes, the tired, hopeless gleam intensified.

“Ilya, this is your home, our home. Please, please remember,” He pleaded. “I’m your husband, you live here with me, with our girls.”

Unfortunately, the damage was already done.

“You are not a good person.” Ilya shook his head. He needed to get out of here, his brain repeated like a mantra, he wasn’t safe. The door opened with a rough tug, crisp morning air rushing in to send even more shivers down Ilya’s spine.

The man lunged. Ilya jumped and hissed.

Then, they were both grappling over the door, closing and opening it, turning the doorknob and fighting to prevent the other from reaching the lock. The aggressive wrenching of arms and shoving against each other using their entire body weight winded both of them quickly, but neither man seemed willing to retreat. Ilya was bigger and nearer the door though and he used that advantage to wedge himself sideways, cutting off the person’s ability to manipulate their combined momentum and pin the door closed.   

The created gap allowed Ilya to gradually pry the door open. He could hear the girls on the other side of the room shrieking and he hated the sound. I’m sorry, but I’m not supposed to be here. I have to get out. The thought repeated brokenly as he deliberately widened the opening until he could slip his body through.

“Ilya! Ilya, stop!” The man begged. He seemed distraught, like he genuinely was trying to do something good by keeping Ilya trapped here. First Ilya’s shoulder popped free, followed by his hand, which grasped at the outside of the door in an effort to pull the rest of him out.

He could taste freedom, but suddenly his arm, the one still inside wrestling with his assaulter, was twisted up and sideways by strong, clever hands. Ilya cried out as this stranger pinned Ilya’s trapped arm behind his back, putting insane pressure on Ilya’s shoulder. The tendons burned. Something felt on the verge of popping. “Ilya, let go of the door, please!”

Ilya arched into the wrestling pin holding him captive, gasping as pain radiated through him. Piercing stabs lit his entire upper body on fire and he felt himself being maneuvered back into the house. Everywhere there was screaming and yelling and crying. Ilya was screaming.

The man’s voice broke through the melee, strained and gaspy, but firm. “Hana, when I get him inside, close the door and lock it.”

No. Nonono. Ilya would be trapped if they managed to force him back inside, he would never get out again. The cameras and the alarms, always watching. Freedom and safety were so close and all he had to do was fight for it. Ilya didn’t want to hurt anyone, but when the man began to ease his weight off the arm wrenched behind Ilya’s back, giving him the barest amount of slack, Ilya struck.

He turned and, with his free arm, punched the man as hard as he could in the face.

Ilya’s attacker flew back into the wall, grunting. One of the girls, the oldest, shrieked and launched forwards, no longer willing to keep her distance.

There was a moment. Fleeting and also caught forever in slow motion. Hazel eyes captured Ilya and held him, their depth and rawness sending Ilya’s stomach into a flying freefall. His expectation had been anger; Ilya would be livid if someone he apparently cared for had just been punched in the face. Instead, that youthful gaze was full of shock, fear, and absolute heartbreak.

Behind him, an open door led to his freedom and Ilya saw no reason to stay. He bolted through it just as the ringleader of the trio reached them. Ilya was thankful when she wrapped her arms around the Asian man kneeling on the floor, protectively cradling his face, instead of chasing after him.

~*~

‘Hurt – Johnny Cash’

The medicine bottles were all empty. He’d done it. Every single one he could find, chugged in under two minutes flat courtesy of Ilya’s favorite vodka. None of this shit should be mixed with alcohol, but that wouldn’t matter for much longer.

Soon this nightmare would finally end.

Who knew that waking up meant going to sleep forever?

Already he could feel himself spinning. His body felt weird, limbs impossibly heavy, breathing sluggish, but decreasing gravity left him suspended in this floaty, disembodied limbo. Instead of focusing on the fear or regret, or on the frantic animal urge to save himself, Ilya focused on the reasons why he finally decided to just go through with what he’d been considering for months now.

There was no denying that he was ruining his family. Destroying the lives of those he loved most.

Davi avoided him while Oksana sidestepped acknowledging the situation like the avoidant attachment queen she was. Hana was forced to grow up so quickly as she stepped into the role of supporting parent almost and L.J. was just too young for this to not have a huge impact on her mentally.

And Shane.

Shane had quit his job, given up everything he’d worked years to achieve as well as his chance at coaching the Centaurs. All to stay home and babysit a man-shaped migraine that was Ilya Rozanov. Ilya had demanded the cameras be removed, and they were. His request had been respected.

At the cost of Shane having to constantly attend him instead.

To make matters truly tragic, imploding Shane’s career and their family paled in comparison to what Ilya had done only days prior. The unspeakable. The unforgiveable. Simply put, Ilya was a painful inconvenience and marrying him was undoubtedly the biggest mistake of Shane’s life. Everyone would just be better off without him.

Banging. There was a harsh, feral banging on the bathroom door, hard enough that Ilya wondered if it would hold long enough. Strange. No one was supposed to be home; he’d checked multiple times. Ilya had planned his final act to occur uninterrupted while Shane visited the arena one last time to complete any forgotten paperwork as well as say his goodbyes.

There was supposed to be no one home to stand between Ilya and success.

 Someone was here though, beating on that door like the world was ending. Ringing in Ilya’s ears and the way he couldn’t keep himself upright made it hard to understand the voice demanding he unlock the door.

Was that Shane?        

No, Ilya wasn’t finished. He needed more time. The drugs needed more time.

The door exploded from the wall, resembling a scene from an action movie, swinging on squealing hinges with enough force to ricochet off the wall after hitting it. The frame around the door splintered and bowed. Ilya couldn’t feel most of his body, but he could see the cracks in the wood with startling clarity. Shane raced towards him so fast he almost seemed to teleport. One moment he was recovering from his wild kick to break down the door, the next kneeling over Ilya, cradling Ilya’s face.

His left eye was a mottled, swollen bruise. Even two days later, Shane was unable to open it fully.

Please, let me go.

Ilya watched him, eyelids heavy and blinking his swimming vision into focus for only a glimpse before everything started spinning again. A shoulder pressed a cellphone into Shane’s ear as he used both hands to sift through the empty bottles scattered around the bathroom. Someone on the other end asked questions. Shane answered them. An address, that sounded like an address.

“…Please send someone quickly…. How long?”

The person on the other end of the call must have asked something specific, because Shane brought his face directly into Ilya’s line of sight, holding his gaze.  

“Ilya, can you hear me?” His voice rang savage with determination, but his eyes looked terrified. Desperate. “How many did you take?”

Ilya felt like being honest. “All of them.”

“Fuck.” Shane threw the phone away from himself with a shove and it hit the ground, clunking oddly. Everything sounded so far away. Strange sensations, flipping pressure as Ilya was grabbed, and then he was spinning.

The world tilted sideways.

Silly, stupid Ilya. He was just laying on his side. And those were just Shane’s fingers shoving down Ilya’s throat, making Ilya convulse with how hard he gagged. Burning and dizziness and the awful fucking sounds of someone throwing up.

Useless, pathetic Ilya. That was him throwing up. Pills and vodka and then more pills coated in filmy stomach bile. It went everywhere, exploding from his mouth like a fountain.

When he stopped hacking long enough to catch his breath, the fingers were back. Ilya didn’t fight them this time as they forced his body to vacate his entire stomach out onto the bathroom floor. The putrid sour smell of projectile vomit filled Ilya’s nose as he gasped for air between painful heaves.

“What were you trying to do?” Shane cried. He was crying and he had a black eye and Ilya had never wanted to die more. Ilya shivered, finally sinking fully into the floor, body collapsing under the stress. Wailing sounded far in the distance. Sirens?

“You know exactly what I was trying to do.” Russian had previously been a way to hide, a safety blanket for Ilya’s truths. However, it didn’t work now because of course Shane had made it his mission to be fluent in Ilya’s mother tongue.

They stared at each other, silent. There was nothing more to say.

Except that one pivotal question. The most important.

“Why?”

Ilya hoped Shane had failed. He hoped there were still dozens of pills inside, hoped enough curing poison coursed through his system that it would save him from having to face himself ever again.

“I hit you.” He rasped, teeth chattering as drool spilled out. The words were hard to articulate. His body was crashing, eyelids so damn heavy, but he had to get this out. Shane deserved that much. “I hurt you. In front of our girls. That is too painful to live with.”

Ilya fought to open his eyes one last time and failed. Shane clutched Ilya to him, pressing their foreheads together.

The last thing Ilya heard as he embraced darkness was Shane whispering.

“Then forget it.”

~*~

Oksana decided she was done keeping her distance; there was no longer any way to plausibly deny Ilya’s decline. She announced that she would be staying the entire summer in Ottawa and politely asked Shane if she could take over Ilya’s care for just a little while. Shane hesitated at first, but he saw the earnest pleading in those eyes, damn near identical to her uncle’s, and caved. 

In Oksana’s defense, she stepped up with a sense of compassion and conviction only rivaled by the very uncle she helped care for. Shane was beyond grateful for the reprieve. Oksana also possessed a greater reserve of energy due to her youth and her athleticism made her more physically capable to handle Ilya. 

She took Ilya to plays, the movies, they went antiquing, and she even took him for a hike. The original plan had been an overnight camping trip, but both she and Shane agreed Ilya would not adjust well to the change. There was also the risk of him wandering off into the woods. 

The issue was he often mistook Oksana for someone else. 

“Mama, I have been looking for you!” Ilya exclaimed when he saw her, fresh from the grocery store and carrying several bags in each hand. He rushed forward and grabbed the sleeve of her shirt like a child. 

Her body jolted. The same way it always did when Ilya called her Mom. 

“I had to run errands, but I’m back now.” She said. 

“You left me!” His accusatory tone sent Oksana’s jaw muscle into a frenzy as her teeth ground together. 

“Do you want these strawberries and marshmallow cream or not?” She griped, but there was no bite to her tone. Shane marveled at her ability to keep the admonishment out of her voice and how she did not immediately correct Ilya’s mistake. They were strategies he still struggled to implement when dealing with Ilya. 

“But you left me behind!” Ilya yelled, furious. The utter betrayal had both Oksana and Shane pausing. There was no way to know for sure, Ilya’s thought process often failed to make sense anymore, but this level of hurt and anger couldn’t be caused by an hour long grocery run. 

It clicked. Oksana dropped the bags. 

“Ilya-,” 

“No. No, I don’t want to hear it!” Ilya snapped, then crumpled into a tumultuous heap. “You left me behind. I was so alone and I missed you so much.” 

Oksana followed him to the floor, looking at Shane in wide eyed bewilderment even as she wrapped her arms around his trembling form. Being suddenly enveloped in Oksana’s arms made Ilya pause, his anger a vicious unpredictable thing, but eventually he tightly hugged her back. 

The two sat in the entry way hall, surrounded by a scattering of groceries, clutching each other. 

“I’m sorry.” Oksana whispered. “I never should have left you.” 

Ilya pushed upward, still holding onto Oksana’s shirt with a white knuckle ferocity. “It’s ok.” 

Oksana grabbed Ilya’s free hand with both of hers. “It’s not ok.” 

“I mean I understand why.” Ilya grumbled, all his pent up emotions deflating just as quickly as they had flared to life. “I know why you did what you did. Papa was so awful and you were so tired and alone. You just wanted freedom. And peace. I get that, I do. It took me a long time, but I finally understand.” 

“I still never should have done that to you.” Oksana said firmly. She leaned forward, cupping Ilya’s face. “I am so sorry, Ilyushenka. Please forgive me.” 

They hugged again, Ilya sniffling and Oksana tearing up for the first time since Shane had met her over a decade ago. The Slavic woman had the emotional control of a monk, but she let everything out now. 

“I forgive you, Mama.” Ilya wailed. “I forgive you.” 

~*~

‘7 Years – Lukas Graham’

“What are you doing in my house, Hollander?” It was the fifth time Ilya had asked Shane that question today. He just kept wandering in a loop, ending up right back in their living room where Shane watched TV on the couch. The fact he’d asked in Russian seemed to escape his notice.

“I live here.” Shane replied with a shrug. He knew Ilya grew bored of staying in the house, but the last time they’d gone out, Ilya had a meltdown right at the cash register. Over a bag of Sour Patch Kids. Thankfully Ilya had quieted quickly. That time.

Ilya’s eyes narrowed. “We are roommates?”

“Try husbands.” Shane said as he brought up his hand to flash his wedding ring in Ilya’s direction.

Ilya’s eyes went round and wide as he brought up his own hand and discovered an identical band resting there, seemingly for the first time. But also for the thousandth time.

A moment.

Then that shit-eating grin was back, all confident and smugly pleased.

“Davai!” Was all he said before wandering off again.

~*~

A huge balloon shaped into a ‘50’ floated over Ilya and it kind of freaked him out. While he was able to force himself to tolerate most things, a looming constant motion orbiting above his head was stretching his limit, but Ilya tried hard to behave. His family was here. His friends. So many people.

“Hey there, Roz!” a cheerful voice singsonged. Suddenly none other than Zane Boodram appeared in front of Ilya, old, grey, and still sporting that easy-going smile. Ilya chided himself. Nothing to be scared or confused about. Everything was awesome.  

“I know you!” Ilya cried, though it took him a moment to find the English words. “Why have you come to see me?”

“No way I’d miss you turning the big five-oh. You are now officially an old man like the rest of us.”

Ilya muddled through the words, then shook his head. “Never.”

Bood laughed and swooped down to pull Ilya into a tight hug. It had been a long time since Ilya and Bood had talked. Too long. The hug lasted too long as well, as if Bood wanted to embrace Ilya and never let go. Ilya cleared his throat and Bood finally gave him back his space.

A man nearby began talking; his name was Dyke-something and Ilya had never met him before in his life. He’d been trying to chat with Ilya and Ilya had politely answered his questions while hoping he would go away.

“Hazey is here, along with Barrett. Luca has been following Wiebe around trying to talk coaching tactics.”

Bood snorted in response, instantly understanding everything being said. Ilya cringed at his inability to follow along. English gibberish aside, he’d managed to remember Bood, but even that accomplishment felt so shallow when he looked around and saw mostly strangers. Voices upon voices.

“Did you hear L.J. made the Olympics Women’s Figure Skating Team?”

“Well I told Shane he should try-,”

“Davi was accepted into McGill! She plans to major in pre-med since she wants to be a doctor-,”

“-Hana crushed her rookie season, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Kestrels make her starting goalie next year-,”

“-Oksana got caught in a public bathroom with some celebrity-,”

“Congrats, Roz, that’s amazing. You must be so proud of those two!”

The birthday balloon floated closer to him. Ilya flailed at it, trying to bat the evil shiny plastic away.   

A hand reached out and picked the balloon loose from Ilya’s chair. He watched as Davi silently grabbed the balloon’s string, walked it about ten feet away and let the unwieldy monstrosity float up into the corner of the room, far away from Ilya and no longer able to haunt his periphery like a ghost.

Davi wandered off, having completed her desired task. When a loud laugh and sharp clap of hands erupted suddenly, she flinched and brought up one hand to rub at her ear. The realization that Davi was might be struggling with this party as much as Ilya was, just in a different way, but had still taken the time to move the cursed balloon filled Ilya with a bloom of affectionate warmth. She not only noticed, she removed the problem. All so Ilya could enjoy his birthday in peace.

Her love was a subtle but powerful thing.

Done trying to pretend his skin didn’t itch like he’d been stuffed into a wool sweater without an undershirt, Ilya stood and tried to press his way through the crowd. His legs were so unsteady, the ground a ball forever rolling that Ilya struggled to balance upon.  

He found Davi hiding in Shane’s office, the calm and dark of the room infinitely more appealing when compared to the birthday mayhem outside. Ilya’s awkward shuffle was far from discreet, so she heard him coming and stared as he entered the room.

“Just wanted a break.” She said preemptively, like Ilya was about to demand an explanation and immediately dismiss anything she said as an excuse.

“Me too.” He said agreeably. She fidgeted with some of the items littering Shane’s desk. Ilya smiled when he thought how Shane would be so confused as Davi organized his pens by size, not color.  

“I just get so frustrated when I cannot be like everyone else.” She finally admitted. Ilya had no idea why today was the day she wanted to open up to him, but life never followed a schedule. It was moment to moment, breath by breath. “I want to be like you guys.”

“Like who?” Now eighteen and on the threshold of adulthood, Ilya carefully looked at the woman she was becoming. Really looked. He saw no shortcomings, only someone on the cusp of beginning the rest of her life. The possibilities were endless. Davi felt differently.  

“The rest of the family. Hana has hockey and L.J. is going to the Olympics along with Oksana. Dad is the best at whatever he tries, and you are you, the great Ilya Rozanov.” Davi stared down at her hands, picking and picking. Her cuticles were raw and jagged.

“Is this about sports? You wish you were an athlete?”

“Yes. No. Not really, but kind of?” She scoffed at her own confusion, flipping a thick black braid over one shoulder to get it out of the way. Her mannerisms were so much like Shane’s but with their own unique flavor. A large shuddering breath and visible gulp had Ilya’s full attention.

“I just want to make you proud.”

Ilya reached, covering the hand she used to destroy her nailbeds. It stilled.

“I had a father that was not proud of me. He took every chance to tear me down and for years I let his voice into my head, telling me all the ways I was worthless and nothing I did was good enough. I need you to know, here, now, I am so proud of you and I am sorry I made you feel like I wasn’t.”  

Davi shook her head vehemently. “No, you never- you are the best papa I could have asked for!”

 Ilya’s chest swelled as he clung to this long sought connection with his middle child.

“I have no favorites, I love all three of you equally, just in different ways.” Ilya began. Davi gave him a rueful look, asking him to be serious and tell her the truth. A squeeze to her hand had the skepticism filling her brown eyes morphing into hope.

“But, when I think about my legacy, all I have accomplished and will leave behind me, I think you may be my greatest triumph.” Ilya smiled at the way her eyes turned so round. When she began to shake her head in shocked confusion, Ilya stopped her by pressing forward.

“You will be a fantastic, talented doctor someday. You will save lives.” He said with the sense of miraculous wonder and awe it deserved. “Maybe you will cure something or figure out how to get rid of dementia, I don’t know, but you will do something great. You are a gift to this world and I am so honored to have been your papa.”

Davi’s stoic face crumbled and she leaned forward to bury her face in Ilya’s chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, so tight he thought she might protest, but she didn’t. Instead, she squeezed back just as hard.

“I love you, papa.” She whispered.

“I love you too, Dashenka.” The pet name he hadn’t said in years rolled from his tongue before he could stop it. Davi let a small chuckle escape before letting Ilya go and wiping at watery eyes.

Ilya brought up one hand, cupping it around his mouth. Since he had spent so much time in the hospital lately, it was easy for him to imitate the exact tone and English wording when he spoke. “Paging Doctor Davi. Paging Doctor Davi.”

Davi rolled her eyes. “Yes. One day, Papa. I promise.”

Together, they sat with the silence and for the first time it didn’t feel painful.

~*~

‘All of Me – John Legend’

“So, Mom heard a rumor.” Shane’s voice broke Ilya out of his stare down with the game of War they were playing on the back deck. The old bar they had custom built when they first bought the house years ago had, between Ilya’s declining situation and a certain teenager whose name started with an H and ended with an -ana, long been cleared out of alcohol. Next to them the pool glistened in the late autumn sun. Rookie lay at their feet, fast asleep. Dropping temperatures made it too cold for a swim, but sitting outside and soaking up the last sunlight of the day was nice.

Ilya wasn’t allowed out here without supervision, so he soaked everything in while he could.

Ilya remembered choosing out this very bar with the designer, but he couldn’t think of what he was supposed to do next. He’d just gone right? Or had Shane laid down the five of spades staring up at him?

Games like this were supposed to help combat the loss of his sanity, not point out that it’d already left the building. On fire.

“Oh?” He asked. Not wanting to annoy or worry Shane, he took a chance it was his turn and tossed down a card. Queen of hearts.

A half eaten tub of cherry chocolate ice cream sat a foot away, two spoons jabbed into the slowly melting dessert. They had snuck it out after dinner, careful to not let their two youngest see it because then they’d have to fight for a single sniff of the carton.

Shane bit at his lip. Ilya wanted to tug it from beneath his teeth, maybe suck on it himself, but he worried more and more about Shane rejecting his touch. If his husband pulled away, Ilya would not be able to cope. So, it was easier to just not reach out. Not hope.

“Hana has a boyfriend and it’s serious.” Shane sighed out.

Ilya froze. Images of a toddler Hana running around this very pool deck in a swim diaper and arm floaties and nothing else filled his mind’s eye. Her nose was covered in sunscreen because she had run away before Shane could apply it to her whole face. There was no equating that image with someone capable of dating; Shane must have botched his Russian. Or had Ilya’s ability with both languages deteriorated enough he was misunderstanding?

“She is not allowed to have a boyfriend.” It didn’t matter how old she claimed to be, Ilya was certain she was still not allowed.

“Stop.” Shane laughed easily, happy. Ilya loved seeing him happy; he wanted more.

“Stop our daughter from ruining her life by associating with men.” He clipped.

Shane’s head tipped back as he gave a loud shout of laughter. He plucked out the top card in his hand and threw it down, grin wide and peaceful. Ilya had no idea if they were actually playing War or if he and Shane were just throwing pieces of cardstock into a pile while hoping Ilya could follow a single conversation.

“She’s almost twenty and a millionaire herself now. Doubt we have much say in the matter.” Shane said with a sigh. Their eldest baby girl had completed her first season as the backup goalie for the Detroit Kestrels and was slated to be their starting goalie when the season kicked off next week, but boyfriends were not fucking allowed. Ilya refused to budge on the matter.

Instead of voicing that however, he paused when he caught Shane’s face falling slightly.

“What?”

Shane glanced up at him and shook his head. Ilya waited.

“Well, it’s just-,” He grimaced, doubt clouding his features. “I don’t know about this guy.”

Dread shot through Ilya like a dose of adrenaline. What? Who was this interloper and why was Shane worried? Ilya flexed his free hand into a fist and released it. When he spoke his voice was surprisingly even, but maybe that just made what he said all the more sinister.

“Do I need to murder somebody? I can claim insanity and get away with it.”

Shane’s red bitten lips quirked into a smirk as he recognized the joke for what it was. Well, mostly a joke. Ilya had nothing else to do and he might as well take advantage of this shitty disease while he could.

“No.” Shane finally answered. “Apparently, he’s super sweet and respectful, full princess treatment-,” At Ilya’s raised eyebrow, he shrugged, “Yeah, I know. Our Hana a princess? Craziness. But he’s somehow managed to tame the beast. And do you honestly think Hana would put up with any dudebro’s macho bullshit?”

There was still a looming uncertainty hanging in the air. “So what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Well, there’s a bit of… an age gap.”

“Age gap?” Ilya repeated.

“Yeah.”

Several seconds of silence hung like suffocating humidity.

“If he is the same age as us, it is her I will murder next.” Ilya was actually joking this time. He’d just kill the new boyfriend twice. Completely reasonable.

“No, not that bad.” Shane winced. “He’s twenty-five. That would be a five year, almost six year, age gap.”

“That is…. not bad…. But not good.” Ilya was trying to play out how he should handle the situation from Shane’s judgement. Shane was trustworthy, he was the one thing Ilya could depend upon. The fact his husband was skeptical put Ilya on edge because how could Ilya react appropriately without Shane there to guide him?

“Right. I don’t know how I feel about it.” Shane shook his hand and tossed down another card. Ten of spades. For him, he was simply having a conversation with his best friend, his other half. This was a completely normal late evening conversation between two people that tackled all life’s problems together. It had been so long since Ilya could contribute to that fight. He wanted to be Shane’s lodestone just as much as Shane was his, and he needed to be that right now.

“If we tell her we are worried, she will only cling to him harder. Date him out of spite.”

“True.” Shane nodded. He suddenly leaned over from his chair, placing his head on Ilya’s shoulder. Just sharing touch and warmth. Ilya tentatively wrapped an arm around him.

“So, we say nothing.”

“You think?” Shane moved his head from Ilya’s shoulder to look up, searching.  They were so close. Ilya leaned in.

Please, please please. I need you so badly right now.

Shane was leaning in too, eyes bouncing between Ilya’s lips and eyes. The longing in his face convinced Ilya to experimentally press their lips together. A full body shudder rattled through him. Shane peaked his tongue out, begging for more and Ilya was all too happy to give it to him. The taste of the cherry chocolate ice cream filled his mouth all over again, mixed with a deliciousness that was completely Shane.

The kiss was short, but seemingly exactly what they both needed.

Ilya smiled down at the most captivating face he had ever seen.

“Yes, she will get bored and dump him. No problem.”

~*~

The bad days began to outnumber the good ones. With each passing month, each new medical hurdle they ran into, the bright spots in between became few and precious.

~*~

'Other Me - Biting Elbows'

The house smelled divine, full of hearty spices and sugar. Michael Buble sang over the speaker about how it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Well, it very much looked like Christmas. There were decorations everywhere, streamers of lights, and a huge tree set up in the den.

Ilya was trying hard to not lose his shit, but every time something magically changed around him, he panicked a little inside. Rooms morphed and items moved without his knowledge or memory so he was forced to play a constant game of not knowing anything about anything. His family acted as if the holiday chaos was normal, so he did too. An obvious air of caution loomed  around him and he could tell that it was not very well hidden. But everyone tried.

Whenever he jumped, became frustrated, or asked a question that their answer indicated he’d probably asked a dozen times before, they never once seemed to hate him. Ilya tried not to hate himself either.  

The man before him though was absolutely new, that fact Ilya knew for certain. And there was no fucking way he was hearing this bullshit correctly.

Hayden Pike was an essential part of the Shane Hollander package. Even after nearly thirty years, the two were inseparable. Thankfully, despite Hayden being a cretinous muppet that stole all of Shane’s attention, he brought with him a fantastic wife and awesome kids. Well, kids that had at one point been awesome. It’d been a while since Ilya had seen any of them, and not just because of the dementia. They were all adults with their own lives now.

The man currently standing in front of Ilya had been a quiet brooding little thing, full of careful observation and possessing a gentle, creative soul. He’d been to their wedding, both of them.

“You are marrying Arthur Pike?” Ilya echoed.

Arthur was no longer the lanky teenager Ilya had last seen years ago, all arms and legs and pimples. He was brunette like his mother, blue-eyed like his father, and taller than both of them. He was still quiet, perceptive, and he stood perfectly motionless in front of Ilya as if presenting himself for military inspection.

“Da.” Hana stepped in front of Arthur, putting herself between Ilya and his target. Not that Ilya would be able to do much. Arthur had turned into a very solid young man and Ilya walked using a cane these days. Hmm, maybe the cane could help him in more ways than he originally thought.

“I’ve been trying to tell you all morning, old man.” Hana’s eyes were narrowed and indicated she was rearing for a fight. If Ilya’s memory served – it often didn’t – this was Arthur’s first time entering the family dynamic as Hana’s significant other. She had chosen, of all holidays, Christmas to reintroduce him.

As her fiancé.

He’d popped the question Christmas Eve and she had said yes.

Ilya scowled. There were a million things he wanted to say, so he deflected in the most Ilya way possible. Voice flat, he asked, “What name will be on your jersey?”

Hana grinned in feral delight. “I’m taking Arthur’s last name, Papa.”

Ilya was going to use the cane on both of the stupid kids in front of him. “No! You cannot, I forbid it. I cannot have a daughter called Pike. That would be a catastrophe!”

Hana’s face reddened and Ilya knew in that moment she’d marry that boy even if the world was burning down around her.

“Wait! I will find you someone else to marry. Not Dykstra, terrible music. Bood. Boodrum has a son!”

“Oh my god, papa, stop!”

“Is everything okay…” Arthur whispered loudly to Shane.

“Everything is great. He’s so happy for you to join the family. Well, you’ve always been family, it’s just nice to finally make it official.”

“I will never recover from this betrayal.”

~*~

A nurse visited their home daily. Shane was losing him so quickly. Ilya was there, right in front of him, but he had never seemed further away.

~*~

‘Ordinary – Alex Warren’

“Ok everybody. Bundle up and follow me.” Shane called out to the room. Ilya blinked at him, the words were a struggle to translate. His husband noticed and switched into Russian.

“I have a surprise for everyone.”

A surprise? Ilya pressed up and out of his chair. Today was a good day, minimal pain and he didn’t even need the cane to walk. Only two hours till dinner, Ilya predicted, but things were a little spotty for him most days.

L.J. bounced happily. “I love surprises.”

When had she gotten so tall? This was not the little girl he knew, this was a young woman.

“We’re going outside, so make sure you are nice and warm. Layers!” He reiterated, glaring at Hana specifically. Arthur stood like a deer caught in the headlights next to her.

“What’s happening?” he whisper-asked.

“Oh, Dad has a surprise.” She translated. “Wear layers, it’s cold as fuck outside.”

Ilya eyed the kid critically. He loved Hana but there was no accounting for taste. As they put on layer after layer of winter gear, Troy came over to help Ilya when he got caught up in his jacket. Ilya nodded at him and patted his shoulder. For once, he knew everyone in the room. His family, including Oksana and Yuna, joined by Hayden, Jackie, and Arthur Pike as well as Troy and Harris. Shane had been excited when Ilya woke up feeling refreshed and like he wasn’t completely losing his mind. His husband had immediately made a few calls, telling everyone it was a ‘good day,’ whatever that meant.

A small dinner was planned at the cottage, and Ilya found himself stuffed into the car as they all drove up to spend the night. Between Shane’s childhood home and the cottage’s two spare bedrooms, they should be able to sleep everyone.

Ilya followed the crowd as they all piled out onto the back deck and Shane began making his way slowly down the slope towards the water. Well it wasn’t water anymore, a gleaming coat of ice reflected the light of the setting sun instead, stretching out in all directions. The lake had frozen over.

Ilya was slow on the stairs, making it down by himself proving to be a challenge. The small wins mattered to him now though. These little victories. The crisp winter air energized him and Ilya found himself looking forward to whatever waited at the frozen edge of the lake. Anticipation was a foreign feeling he thought he’d lost years ago.

Down near the dock, a small storage tub awaited them.

Shane popped the lid open and began pulling out strange looking contraptions that took Ilya several moments to recognize. He gasped. They were ice-skate attachments you could wear over your shoes. Next to the tub of skates rested a bag of hockey sticks. And was that a pop up goalie net?

Harris laughed. “Yes! I always wanted to play hockey with the pros.”  

Yuna gave a disbelieving shake of her head, smiling, and said she’d act as referee instead of playing. Ilya caught Shane’s eye and grinned as everyone agreed. It’d been so long since Ilya had been out on the ice and here was this magnificent man going out of his way to make Ilya’s few ‘good days’ memorable.

They all quickly donned their skates and took to the ice, laughing and racing. Troy carried the bag of hockey sticks and Shane stayed close to Ilya’s side just in case. Once far from the bank, they stopped and began setting up boundaries. Troy and Hayden argued over blue lines and where to appropriately place both goals. Hana, being a goalie, broke up the debate by decreeing a final verdict.

Ilya stood there, his heart racing, his face flushed. He felt so alive. Then he looked up. The lake extended out, vast and open and free. Ilya felt so small under the endless orange and pink sky. Stars were starting to wink into existence.

“You ready to lose, Rozanov?” A voice chirped and Ilya turned to see his husband skate up to him, now holding two hockey sticks. He handed one over, his grin devilish. “You versus me, let’s go.”

Ilya turned and pointed to Barrett. The English grated on him, but he managed. “You. With me.”

“I come with a tag along.” Barrett nodded to Harris.

Shane narrowed his eyes, “Fine, I claim Hayden.”

“Yes.” The buffoon in question pumped one arm, “Jackie, let’s roll, baby!”

“Hana.” A collective groan went up as Hana posted outside Ilya’s goal. No one on Shane’s team was scoring shit tonight. Perfect. Arthur wobbled after her. Less perfect.

“Oksana.” Ok, so maybe Shane’s team had a chance.

“Davi.” Ilya warmed at the pleased flush that colored Davi’s face when he picked her.

“And saving best for last, L.J.” Shane kissed his youngest child’s head as she skated over.

“That’s ok, I’m probably the best skater among everyone here.” She chirped the entire crowd in Russian, sticking out her tongue. Ilya acknowledged that she might be right. His team might have one extra player over Shane’s team, but Shane had both L.J. and Oksana. The scales were relatively even.

And then they played hockey, Yuna dropping the puck. It was the worst, most ridiculous game Ilya had ever seen. No strategy, they were all so slow save for one or two people, and the naturally formed ice was uneven.

Ilya had never played a better game in his life.

When Oksana managed to launch a puck straight into the net because useless Arthur didn’t know the first thing about defense, Ilya shook his head. His skin lathered with sweat and the way forgotten muscles burned felt good. Arthur listened intently as Hana pointed out little tips to better hold Oksana off, and Ilya snorted at the look of pure worship shining in the boy’s eyes.

Someone skated up next to him. “He’ll take care of her, Rozanov.”

Ilya squinted at Hayden, taking in that golden retriever vibe not even old age and grey hair could steal from the other man. Letting Hayden hang there in silence was fun, but just as Hayden went to skate away, Ilya searched for the words and forced them out, haltingly.

Ilya hated his accent and his never ending battle with the English language.

“I know. He is like you.”

Hayden blinked, stunned. “I-,”

Ilya smirked. “A more handsome, more likeable, you.”

Hayden’s pleased shock morphed into a scowl so fast, Ilya had to laugh. He laughed and laughed until it hurt.

“Aaaaand it’s gone.” Hayden griped and moved to skate away.

“Plays better hockey than you, too.” Ilya called after him. To their left, Arthur tried to pivot like Hana showed him and fell flat onto his ass, his stick skittering away over the ice.

“I fucking hate you.” Hayden threw over one shoulder, but an undeniable curl to his lips gave him away.

Hana raced off to retrieve Arthur’s stick as Davi skated up to him, and Ilya delighted to see she managed a controlled stop all on her own. He wrapped an arm around her, hugging her. His knee was beginning to hurt, but he never wanted this to end.

The sun would soon set and  Yuna shouted she was ready with the puck. Troy posted to face off against Hayden. Hana patted Arthur's shoulder, doting on him, making Ilya roll his eyes. If Arthur  were anyone else, Hana would be flame roasting him over a pit herself.

“Do not fall in love.” Ilya provided sagely, “Makes you stupid.”

“Don’t plan to, Papa.” Davi replied.  

Ilya grunted in contented approval. L.J. chose that exact moment to skate by like a rocket, spraying them with ice. Ilya grumbled, dusting himself off as L.J. grinned, skating in circles around him.

“So, now’s not a good time to tell you I have a boyfriend?”

~*~

Hana decided she wanted to bump up one of the most important days of her life. Shane understood. There was only so much time left.

~*~

‘Young and Beautiful – Lana Del Ray’

Ilya was going to walk today. He’d decided.

A man stood at the end of a lush velvet aisle, accompanied by someone who looked to be some sort of officiant, with an array of men in tuxes on one side and women in floor length gowns on the other. People lined both sides of the aisle. There were flowers everywhere. Bouquets of them, twisting wreaths of them, petals thrown everywhere.

Music. Ilya knew the familiar music.

He should be walking.

“Come on, Papa.” A gorgeous young woman stood next to him, looping her arm with his. He did not recognize her at first, but then…

Those eyes. That fiendish, lopsided grin. You could put Hana Hollander-Rozanov in a wedding dress, but she was still a hockey player at heart.

Ilya was supposed to walk with her. They’d practiced this, he thought. Well, they’d practiced with the wheelchair, but Ilya had decided he wanted to walk his daughter down the wedding aisle.

Yes! Wedding. Right.

His cane supporting him on one side and Hana holding tightly to his other, they made their way down the central divide of the crowd. Hana had been surprised when he’d stood up from his chair, cane in hand, but she’d instantly rolled with it. Nothing could ruin this day for her. The walk wasn’t long, but Ilya’s body had become a fragile, birdlike thing. At least he’d kept all his hair. Wait, he still had hair right? He reached up to touch the top of his head. His curls were messy, but there.

Hana laughed and relooped their arms, clasping his hand tightly in hers.

“I want more time with you.” He whispered. Her face trembled. Her eyes filled almost instantly. They were both walking; soon they would both be crying.

“You said you wouldn’t make me cry.”

“Did I?” Ilya quirked his brow at her.

They were almost to the end of the aisle. Good, because Ilya’s legs were giving out fast. His body just did not move when he asked it to, like it wasn’t his anymore. Who did it belong to?

While Ilya mused this, the man he didn’t know stepped forward.

Ilya squinted at him.

Damn, the man was crying too, but a huge dopey grin split his face in two and Ilya knew that dumbass smile anywhere.  

A Pike.

A Pike was looking at his daughter like she was his whole world and couldn’t believe he had been gifted something so precious. So strong and fierce and loving.  

Huffing, Ilya let go of Hana, reached over and motioned for Hana’s soon-to-be husband to come in for a handshake. After a moment of surprise, the invite was taken and their hands clasping gave Ilya a handle on the kid so he could jerk him forward into a hug. There was a pause filled with rapid blinking and confusion, then the tall brunette allowed himself to be embraced, and finally hugged Ilya back. With a grunt and hard pat, Ilya held him, even though he couldn’t remember his name no matter how hard he tried.

There was no faking that look though.

It was the way Shane looked at him, and the way he imagined he looked at Shane.

When they broke apart, Ilya tried to make sense of what he was supposed to do next. Hana stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. Oh, well that was nice.

As one, the two turned to face the officiant.

Motion to his right had him jumping, as Ilya trusted very few things anymore. Shane standing there with his wheelchair was one of those few things. Settling, Ilya gracelessly lowered himself into the chair with a relieved sigh and surrendered himself to wherever they went next, which turned out to not be very far. Ilya was parked almost in the aisle right off the front row. Prime viewing. Shane sat in a chair next to him, all proud smiles and red brimmed eyes.

“You’re such an asshole.” Shane whispered to him. “Scared poor Arthur to death.”

“Everyone still loves me though.”

The music tapered off and a litany of words Ilya couldn’t hope to translate filled the room. He knew it was probably romantic. He hoped for Hana’s sake it swept her off her feet. Watching the two people so young and happy express their love and commitment to each other had Ilya turning to stare at the man sitting next to him. Shane smiled his cute little smile. When he noticed Ilya staring he gave a confused bob of his head.  

“I love you.” Ilya said.

“I love you too.” Shane answered 

Ilya grabbed Shane’s hand and just held it. His eyes slowly closed.

~*~

Ilya declined quickly, losing the ability to walk, to swallow on his own, and to talk beyond the increasingly rare grunted word, exclusively in Russian now, all within the same month. Their couch was pushed aside and a reclining hospital bed was set up in the living room. It was easier than attempting the stairs up to their bedroom.

~*~

‘Tiny Dancer – Elton John’

Shane pushed the wheelchair over the uneven strips at the entrance of the elevator as he navigated to the VIP viewing box. Opening night of the season for the Centaurs had arrived and through very careful planning and a lot of calling friends to pull strings, Shane had the main viewing box reserved for the entire family plus a few friends. The game could set Ilya off and be a disaster and the notion that Ilya’s last game could end that way had Shane jittery.

Ilya was silent, but he looked around, small flickers of interest in his distant eyes. Shane smiled.

He knew this would be a good idea.

Davi walked with him, carrying his medical equipment. She had been Shane’s number one support these last few months.

It was only a matter of time.

Shane hated to think of it, but that would just be denying the inescapable truth.

Both Oksana and Hana had somehow managed to fly in, though Hana had to leave the rink straight for the airport afterwards. She had that pesky little ‘C’ on her jersey that made her have to be all responsible and stuff. Shane was so proud.

The VIP room bustled with people by the time Shane rolled Ilya through the door. The room was large and rectangular with the far side being floor to ceiling windows. Honestly, Shane had no idea how tonight would go. Ilya had been in a good mood all morning, but that meant little anymore. Things could change so quickly and without even a meaningful trigger. He perked up at his first glimpse of the ice and that more than anything gave Shane hope. Somewhere in there, Ilya knew he’d returned home.

“Shane, it’s so good to see you. Been a while.” Coach Matty rounded a table and held out a hand towards Shane. Shane could see the desire to pull Shane into a hug, but George Matthias was a good man and knew Shane well enough to know better. He had been the Centaur’s other Assistant Coach, Shane handling the offensive line and Matty hounding defense. Now Matty was Head Coach. Shane found he was far from jealous. He regretted nothing.

Shane greeted the other man and shook his hand, all while scanning the room. Hana and Arthur stood at the minibar with Hayden and Jackie. Svetlana was being doted on by her real estate mogul husband, and his mom rose to help Shane as soon as she spotted him. Oksana stood alone facing the glass and staring down at the rink. There were several other faces, but Ilya was the priority, so he focused on rolling him right up to the glass and engaging the wheelchair brakes. Ilya had a way of rolling off if you didn’t bolt him down properly.

Davi silently started setting up the oxygen tank and checking the ever growing assortment of medical supplies needed to keep Ilya here with them just a little bit longer. The man in question paid little attention, bobbing his head as he examined the view. Outside thousands of fans cheered as both teams warmed up on the ice. Lights danced and the jumbotron alternated between advertisements and scanning the crowd.

“Wow, the mythical Shane Hollander, here in the flesh.” Shane grinned at the voice. There was no mistaking the man approaching him now, a man who had changed Shane and Ilya’s lives forever.

“Fuck you, Hunter.” Shane chirped back, embracing the taller man. Scott had a rounded torso now and his hair streaked silvery grey, but he had the same smile.

“Kip couldn’t make it-,”

“Nah, it’s okay. Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.” Scott said, his tone falling as he looked past Shane to Ilya. The despair did not last long; Scott visibly pressed it down and moved forward.

“Careful.” Shane said quietly. “Don’t approach too fast and make sure he sees you before you try to touch him, ok.”

Scott swallowed tightly and nodded. “Hey Roz, looks like quite the party.”

Ilya turned from the glass at Scott’s voice and graced Scott with an unimpressed look. That was a lot these days, considering Ilya didn’t interact with most people anymore.

An announcer called out the night’s roster while L.J. showed off her new haircut. She’d finally committed to a pixie cut. Ilya was fine in Davi’s hands so Shane allowed himself to mingle and it didn’t even feel perfunctory. Everyone was family and they understood why they were here.

It was only a matter of time.

They took turns throughout the first period approaching Ilya and talking to him. Teammates, colleagues, family friends. They stood or knelt next to his chair, watching the game and cheering for the Centaurs. Barrett told Ilya about the latest apple ciders the Drover family was concocting and Wyatt analyzed the style of the current Centaur’s goalie, pointing out its strengths and weaknesses, only to be ambushed by Hana with counterpoints. Ilya would watch some people, but he mostly stared out at the rink. He did clap once when the Centaurs made a goal.

During a breakaway play in the second period, Shane felt someone shake his arm. He jumped a little and turned to see his mom pointing. Joy and pure wonder reflected in her eyes.

At first Shane couldn’t tell what she was pointing at. Ilya’s chair, his tank, or was it Scott, who had rejoined Ilya at the glass. Then he saw it.

Ilya was holding Scott’s hand.

Scott must have had his hands at his side, and Ilya had reached up to tightly clasp it inside his own, grip firm and deliberate. Every once in a while, he’d give the captive appendage a little shake. The former Captain of the Admirals tried to remain unaffected, barely pausing in explaining how the new hockey sticks were so light they felt like air in your hands. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Ice.” Ilya said suddenly.

Shane stood and moved closer so he could hear better if Ilya spoke again. He did.

“Ice.”

Scott turned towards Shane. “Does he want like, ice chips, or-,”

Ilya sighed and shook Scott’s hand in irritation while he pointed down towards the rink. Understanding came slowly and Shane laughed. “He wants to go out on the ice. I think he wants a rematch, Hunter.”

Scott laughed. “Oh please, I’ve had double knee replacements. I’d crush you, Rozanov.”

“Ice.” Ilya said, nodding approvingly as if the cosmos had validated him as champion. He let go of Scott’s hand and turned back towards the game.

~*~

The Centaurs won. With Matty’s permission, Ilya was brought down through the locker room and set to one side of the player’s tunnel, allowing each victorious player a chance to fist bump Ilya on their way toward the locker room. Thankfully there were no stairs. Once the ice cleared and the players no longer needed use of the bench, Shane pushed the wheelchair forward, leaving the player’s tunnel behind as they approached the closed half door opening into the rink.  

Tonight’s crowd filtered out slowly, buzzing from the high of the game. Carefully monitoring Ilya to ensure he didn’t become overwhelmed proved to be unnecessary. Ilya sat there happy as could be, staring up at nothing while his feet tapped to a rhythm only he could hear. Honestly it was shocking they hadn’t experienced even a small meltdown all night.

And he wasn’t staring at nothing. 

There in the rafters hung five Stanley Cup banners. Shane’s chest tightened at the sight of them. He’d done that, those were his. With his team, his found family, he’d accomplished the incredible. WIth Ilya, he’d overcome so much to become one of the greatest hockey players of all time. 

That was why two player banners hung nearby, decorated in Centaur colors, but each having their own number and name. 

24, Hollander. 

81, Rozanov. 

The roaring lull of thousands of people shouting and laughing had always been Shane’s favorite noise. Music played, lights danced, and game highlights played on the jumbotron. Shane found the roar soothing.

He hadn’t realized he’d zone out until Ilya dropped out of his periphery, his torso tilting forward from the wheelchair. Ilya had somehow gotten his seat belt off again. Shane tried, but he wasn’t fast enough as Ilya sank down onto the floor.

Panic flared before Shane realized that Ilya hadn’t fallen per se. Well, he had but he had deliberately scooted off his chair and dropped down onto his hands and knees.

The doorway to the ice rested barely inches away.  

“You can’t go out there, Ilya.” Shane reprimanded as he grabbed for Ilya’s shoulder. Something made him stop though. A gut instinct maybe, mixed with Ilya making no move to crawl forward.

Slowly, one hand came up off the ground and reached. Reached.

Ilya pressed at the door, cracking it open just enough for his hand to float out over the ice, palm down, fingers flared. Both Ilya and Shane watched it lower and flatten completely once coming into contact with the arena’s glistening battleground.

Ilya gave a single, huffing laugh. “Ice.”

His hand rested there, out on the ice for several long moments. Shane moved forward to kneel alongside him, his hand outstretched.

He placed his hand near Ilya’s, palm downward to rest along the cold surface. Not touching Ilya, but almost. It was only then that Shane realized they’d both reached out with their left hands. Two wedding bands glinted in the stadium lights. He scooted his hand over to blanket his husband’s.

The moment seemed to stretch on forever.

In reality, it all took place over maybe thirty seconds, a minute tops. Shane had to be the one to push himself upwards and tell Ilya time was up. The Zamboni had taken to the ice, smoothing out all of the night’s grooves and scratches. Ilya needed Shane’s help to get back into his wheelchair. It was a laborious process, and Shane was glad Ilya appeared cooperative.

He was happy, his whole face glowing.

~*~

‘Chasing Cars – Snow Patrol’

As Shane wheeled Ilya in from the garage towards his bed, Ilya seemed to perk up suddenly, sitting taller than he had in a long time.

“I want to sleep …” He said “In our bed.”

Shane froze, not believing his own ears. Not only had Ilya vocalized nine-tenths of a sentence, but it had been in English. There were several long moments when all he could do was stare down at the back of his husband’s golden head.

“Ilya,” he said, moving around to stand in front of the chair. “What did you say?”

Silence.

“Where would you like to sleep tonight?”

Nothing.

“Ilya, please let me know. Please talk to me. Would you like to sleep in my be-our bed?” He corrected quickly. When had that switch happened in Shane’s brain?

Murky blue eyes stared into the distance. Ilya’s face remained slack. The game had exhausted him and his body had nothing else left to give.

Shane ran through the possibilities.

On the one hand, allowing Ilya to sleep in their bed would be a horrible idea. Not only would he have to find a way to get Ilya up the grand flight of stairs, it would be very hard to move all Ilya’s required medical gear for sleeping into their bedroom. The mattress was also not a good surface to lay him on. The blankets or a pillow could suffocate him.

On the other hand, there was no way Shane could not honor Ilya’s request.

It took almost an hour to move everything, leaving Shane sweaty and a little frustrated. His knee flared up again. He hadn’t willingly stayed up past midnight since quitting his job over two years ago.

Ilya slept on his side of the bed, an army of stands and machines lined the bed’s perimeter. Shane had left a foot wide gap near the head so he could easily reach Ilya’s face without having to crawl across the mattress from the opposite side. Long, blonde eyelashes fluttered in Ilya’s sleep; he had passed out not long after Shane had gotten him comfortable. He looked so peaceful. But also so worn, his cheeks sunken and his skin paper thin.

Shane stared and stared.

Ilya laid in their bed. He was there.

He wiped at his face and turned towards their bathroom. His nightly routine of skin and hair care went by on auto pilot and it wasn’t until he was brushing his teeth that he felt eyes upon him. Toothbrush in his mouth, he looked sideways out the open bathroom door, straight towards Ilya’s side of the bed.

It took Shane a moment to realize Ilya was awake because his eyes were barely open. They were open though, and staring straight at Shane.

His mouth opened and he gasped and then coughed.

Shane contemplated whether he should end brushing his teeth when he heard Ilya speak.

“Hey, Hollander.” Ilya called. His voice rasped, but there was a deep strength to it for the first time in months.  

Shane had never spit out his toothpaste so fast, throwing his toothbrush onto the counter without rinsing it out. He wiped the excess onto his forearm and the smear of spit and toothpaste didn’t even bother him. Within moments, he strode towards Ilya in quick, overwhelmed steps.

Calm down, nice and easy.

“What’s up, Rozanov?” Shane breathed out quietly as he walked, trying to compose himself.

Ilya laid there. His eyes blinked closed for long periods, but his hand flexed, fingers fidgeting in that charming, familiar way. Shane stopped to sit on the edge of the bed, next to a quietly beeping monitor. He leaned forward. Tears welled in Shane’s eyes; he couldn’t stop them.

Finally, a thin hand raised from the bed and slowly, so slowly, balled into a weak fist.

“Good game.”

Shane choked out a harsh gasp of air, caught halfway between a laugh and sob. In all honesty, he had no idea if Ilya meant the game they had just watched or if he was trapped in the past. A past where he was still Hollander, and Ilya was just Rozanov.

Something in Ilya’s eyes told Shane Ilya might mean more than that. They gleamed with an awareness, a depth, a raw yawning chasm of emotion and memories that was their life together.

“Good game.” Shane replied, and slowly bumped Ilya’s fist with his own.

Because it had been a good game. Their life had been a hard fought battle of offense and defense, wins and losses, full of triumph and of sacrifice. Of love. Most importantly, they’d done it together. Side by side.

They’d had a really, really good game.

Gentle fingers touched one of Shane’s cheeks. It poked, rose, moved a little, then poked Shane again. Shane felt his face scrunch into a confused frown. Maybe Ilya was trying to wipe away the tears? The finger poked a third time and Shane realized he was mapping out Shane’s freckles, lightly booping each one. Ilya nodded finally, satisfied, and let his hand slump back into the blankets.

Shane was careful when he finally joined Ilya in their bed. He wanted to scoot all the way over and attach himself to Ilya’s side like a barnacle. A deluge of wires and tubes as well as Ilya’s delicate situation had Shane laying sideways instead, facing Ilya, close enough to feel his heat, but not actually touching. He kissed Ilya’s shoulder and rested a hand over the beat of Ilya’s heart. He didn’t know if Ilya was still awake, but it didn’t matter.

Shane and Ilya were sleeping next to each other in their own bed. That was enough.  

~*~

If Shane had known that was the last time Ilya would ever speak, he would have pressed for more. There was so much he wanted to say, wanted to explain or laugh about. He would give anything to be able to just sit and talk with Ilya. To hear Ilya’s voice again. They were supposed to still have so many years ahead of them.

Shane realized quickly that no amount of time would ever be enough.

~*~

Ilya passed two weeks later.

~*~

‘Eternity – Alex Warren’

Just like Ilya and Shane had two weddings, Ilya got two funerals.

Because of course Ilya couldn’t do anything without adding his own flair.

The first one was very small and private, only attended by around twenty people. Ilya’s family. Shane spent almost the entirety of it staring at where Ilya’s finger was slightly discolored from his wedding ring. Ilya was so still and suddenly seeing him without all the medical gear encircling him felt alien. But his finger was discolored, a band of dark, strange bruising where Ilya’s promise to Shane was supposed to reside. Shane knew that the ring would be missing. He had agreed to allow the funeral home to remove it since Ilya would be cremated and Shane wanted to keep it. He had no idea what he was going to do with Ilya’s wedding ring; he just wanted it.

A second funeral the next day was more of a reception and attended by many, many more. There was no way to know for sure how many people arrived. A crowd of local fans amassed outside and within an hour a huge memorial of flowers, candles, hockey sticks, and number 81 jerseys had collected into a public display. Ilya’s casket had been closed. The tone was also very different from the previous day. Whereas the first was a quiet, solemn affair, a way to allow those that loved him most to say a final goodbye, this second one was a vibrant celebration of Ilya’s life.

Smiling felt painful, but Shane found himself strangely at peace as person after beloved person took the mic to talk about Roz. Tale after tale of life lessons hidden within Ilya’s outlandish, yet blunt, shenanigans. There was so much joy. A beautiful, thriving community.

A community Ilya built, step by step, in the hope of a better world.

~*~

They all stared at the three boxes on the dining room table. An air of confusion and nervousness hung in the air. Hana leaned heavily against the wall instead of joining them, arms crossed. She had refused to sit at the table since Ilya had died. Shane watched L.J. and Davi share a small, overwhelmed look. Great. Everybody was emotional today.

Shane had known this was coming, that didn’t stop the shake of his hands as he picked up one box, stood, and moved to gently press it into Hana’s hands. L.J. grabbed hers next and Davi followed.

Each blocky box was thick and luxurious, its shape instantly recognizable as a jewelry box. Specifically, for a ring.

Almost a year ago, Yuna had discovered a company online that turned the cremated remains of loved ones into diamonds. Shane had turned it down at first. There was no way he could wear his husband’s body. It had also felt like a slap in the face to discuss matters like this while Ilya still lived! Several days later, as he watched Davi gently pet Ilya’s hand, an idea struck him.

After a lengthy talk with a very sweet consultant confirming they could make three diamonds, the gemstones in question would just have to be very small, Shane began searching for a place to commission custom jewelry. Once he found a willing designer, the rest was easy. All he had to do was sneakily discover his daughters’ ring sizes.

Hana gasped when she finally opened the small box. Her knuckles were white from how tightly she clutched it.

Inside laid a thin, twisting golden band, a singular small diamond set into the center.

Davi and L.J. opened their boxes, revealing matching rings. Each had their own diamond.

Shane could not bear the pain of carrying around something made from Ilya’s flesh and bone, his beautiful tender heart.

But now, three young women who lost their father too early could carry him everywhere.

~*~

It was finally time. Months had passed, he could do this. 

Shane could not do this.

Ilya's belongings sprawled out around him, and Shane was on the verge of screaming by just looking at it all, much less sorting through his late husband's stuff. 

Everything smelled like him. It made Shane sick. He wanted more. 

On the outskirts of the mess were three shoe boxes, worn and tapped together in places. Shane hadn't looked inside, but they seemed like the easiest thing to tackle right now. He grabbed the first one and opened it. 

Pictures.

Hundreds, thousands, of photographs. The next box revealed the same, full to the brim with random items, small moments. They were neatly organized and Ilya's looping handwriting littered the back of every single one. Little notes, instructions, a smiley face. That was a crude drawing of a dick. 

The last years of Ilya's life were here, laid out in front of him. 

~*~

‘Standing Outside the Fire – Garth Brooks’

“Hello, and welcome everybody to this press announcement. I’m sure it hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice what today is, so let's get right down to it. One year ago, my husband passed away after a five year long fight with dementia. He was a remarkable, talented, funny person and I am lucky to have ever met him, let alone share a life with him.

Long ago – though not too long ago, come on guys – two hockey rivals started the Irina Foundation with the hope of helping those that felt like they had no way out. Our proceeds have funded countless research studies of depression, PTSD, and suicide prevention.

Then almost ten years later, my father passed away from cancer. Our family’s answer to this loss was the David Foundation, which focused on cancer prevention and treatment with hopes of one day discovering a cure.

Today I would like to announce the Ilya Foundation, a summer camp for hockey youth to hone their skills with all proceeds going towards researching and treating dementia along with related illnesses such as Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s Disease. We are also in contact with several studies looking at the effects sports related TBIs can have on the mental state of professional athletes.

Yes, thank you. It’s been quite the endeavor.

Now I’m sure you’re all now wondering why, with the announcement of the Ilya Foundation, I’m currently sitting next to this guy. Well, my mother still heads the Irina Foundation operating in Montreal and Ottawa, though I have been stepping in more and more as she prepares to retire. The David Foundation was placed into the care of a close friend and cancer survivor, Troy Barrett, who hosts camps in Chicago and Toronto. Well, I am pleased to announce that starting this summer, the Ilya Foundation will operate in both New York and Boston, all under the direction of the new Head Coach of the Boston Raiders, Luca Haas. Yea, everybody give him a round of applause. I hope Boston is treating him well. I truly could not think of a better person for this job. Coach Haas has picked up Ilya’s mantle before, continuing his work and legacy, and I have no doubt he will do a fantastic job once again.

When Ilya and I set out all those years ago with the Irina Foundation, it might have started out simple. But our camps quickly grew into something more, a way to change the sport we loved because we saw yet another sickness within it. We all know the issues; there’s no reason to give them mention here. But that sickness and toxicity left the two of us stranded. Alone. It is hard to love something that won’t love you back. When that happens, you must decide to either walk away or hold on. Hold on and fight for a better tomorrow than you had today. That’s what these camps are, rebuilding hockey culture into one we wish we could have had. But it’s not just about me anymore, I’m old, I had my moment and it was a good one. I do this now with the hope of a hockey world where no child has to be afraid. I think we have managed that. Slowly, but the change is there.

Ok, so now we’ll open up the floor to questions for both me and Coach Haas. Yes, you, second row-”

~*~

Two years later

Shane straightened his tie as he examined himself in the hallway mirror. A small smile cautiously curled his lips. Stanley barked at him and Shane reached down to pet the medium sized mutt. He was young, barely nine months old.

Shane breathed in, held, and let go.

Tonight was his first game as the Head Coach of the Ottawa Charge and he wanted to look good. His temples were grey and his gut grew a little more with each year. Yet, the young people on social media kept calling him ‘bee-keeping’ age, whatever that meant, with a very particular tone that indicated they still somehow found his appearance tempting.

Not that anyone would try anything.

A golden chain with a cross and ring on his finger, even years later, ensured Shane was allowed to live his life without dealing with that type of attention.

Glancing towards his living room, he caught sight of his husband’s memorial. Just a simple shelf decorated with memorabilia and an urn dominating its center. A small gallery of photos circled the shelf, ranging from pocket sized to portraits. Three wedding photos lined the right side, first one framing David and Yuna, next Ilya and Shane, and finally Hana and Arthur. The left was dominated by Ilya carrying all three of his young daughters in his arms at once, his face playfully snarling as he wrestled with them. A tiny one of Irina and a young Ilya rested next to it, right near the urn’s base. There were so many.

Shane’s favorite was the only one not artfully hung on the wall. Instead, an unframed 5”x7” printed on simple photo stock leaned up against the urn’s round belly. In the photo, two men barely over 20 and dressed in formal tuxes posed for a selfie, a mic stand jutting in front of them while lush curtains created a timeless backdrop. Ilya wore the most shit-eating grin possible as Shane glowered next to him. Vegas – 2014 was written in the corner.

“Hey there, Rozanov,” Shane began, voicing his thoughts in Russian only felt right when talking to Ilya. “So, tonight’s a big night.”

That was an understatement.

Not only was it Shane’s first game as Coach, but somehow through pure coincidence only three months prior, a certain Oksana Rozanova, star center of the Seattle Torrent, was traded to Ottawa. Then, because the PWHL had no chill, Ottawa’s first game of the season was against the Detroit Kestrels and their All-Star goalie, Hana Pike. Shane’s first gig as a coach was mentoring his record breaking niece as she fought to get past his own absolute goal-blocking menace of a daughter.  

Needless to say, a buzzing anticipation had the hockey world in a chokehold. Father against daughter. Cousin against cousin. Podcasts were eating it up while social media was having a full meltdown.  

Shane slowly balled one fist and tapped his knuckles against the front of Ilya’s urn.

“Wish us luck.”

After a silent moment, he straightened his already perfect tie once again and turned to head out the door, ready for anything.

Shane Hollander had a game to win.

~ fin ~