Chapter Text
There’s a tingling sensation against his hand. He tries to reach for it, but then everything fades out again.
***
He can hear voices. It’s muffled, and he only grabs bits and pieces of what’s being said.
“-out for a while-”
“-might not be the same if he-”
“-heard from Il-”
***
The sunlight streaming in from the window hurts. He blinks a few times, his head foggy and unclear.
“Shane?” The voice is rough and has a thick accent.
He tries to focus his vision on the figure sitting next to him. The first thing he can make out clearly is a fluffy mop of curls on this person’s head. He wants to run his fingers through it. It looks like it would be soft.
“Can you hear me?”
Shane tries to nod, but a sharp spike of pain stops him in his tracks. A loud whine makes its way out of his throat involuntarily.
“Don’t move, моя любовь.”
Shane’s head spins at that last word. What did he call him?
Before he can try to piece together what language that even was, a handful of people all make their way into the room, the guy with the curly hair shrinking into the corner.
“Shane, honey, you’re awake.” Finally a voice he knows.
“Hi mom.”
A nurse starts checking the monitor next to him, and a doctor appears. “How are you feeling, Mr. Hollander?”
“Hurts to move, and the lights are too bright. What happened?”
A little light is waved in front of his face, causing him to shrink away from it.
“Do you know where you are?”
Obviously. He’s in the hospital. “The hospital. Did I fall on the ice?”
“Something like that. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”
Shane goes quiet, trying to bring up any clear memory. He gets flashes of things. Hands on his waist, speeding down the ice with a smile on his face, lips trailing down his neck, cheers and screams from the crowd, his parents sitting across from him at their kitchen table, falling asleep listening to the sound of a heart beating.
“Shane?”
“Sorry, I can’t- There’s lots of little pieces. But I can’t think clearly through this headache.”
A look crosses the faces of the doctor and nurse. “Okay. We’ll need to do some more imaging.” The doctor turns to his parents. He can’t fully comprehend the words he’s hearing. “It’s not surprising there’s some memory trauma. He went down hard, and it’s common for the swelling in his brain to effect certain functions. Once we run some more tests, we should know more about his condition and projected recovery.”
The accented voice comes back, but it’s far away. “But he will recover, yes?”
“It’s hard to tell with brain injuries. We will come back in a little bit to take him for more tests. You can tell him things, but if he starts exhibiting signs of stress, call for a nurse.” The doctor and nurse leave, the door clicking shut behind them.
His parents and the other man remain in the room, all with different expressions on his face.
“How bad was it? How long have I been out?” The pain behind his eyes eases a little. The nurse must have messed with whatever pain meds he’s hooked up to.
His mom pulls a chair close to sit next to him while his dad hovers just behind her. The man with the curly hair stays in the corner of the room, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.
“Almost as bad as it can get. You’ve been asleep for 3 weeks, hon. It was not a clean hit, I can’t believe-”
“Yuna.” His dad lays a hand on her shoulder, stopping a rant.
She takes a deep breath. “We’re lucky you’re okay.” The words sound clipped coming out of her mouth.
“But I'm not lucky, am I?” He knows something is wrong. Things are too fuzzy, and the doctors are too concerned. “What am I missing? What don’t I remember?”
“Shane, do you know what year it is?” It’s the first thing his father has been able to say to him.
Shane tries to think. What does he remember? What year is it? “I don’t know, 2014? I kind of remember… Did I go to the Olympics?” Again, it’s all blurry. Just bits and pieces come to him: holding a medal, shitty beds, watching the figure skaters glide beautifully across the ice. That feels recent.
His mom takes a shaky breath. “Shane, honey. It’s 2026. It’s May. May 2nd.”
That day feels important. “Is it my birthday?”
“Almost. It’s on the 10th. Your team has sent lots of things. A few gifts. A mix of birthday and get well soon cards.”
“But it’s been 3 weeks? And it’s May. Did we make the playoffs? Shit, did we get knocked out because of me?” Shane brings his hands up to his face, wanting to hide from everything.
But his right arm is stiff. He can’t twist it the way he wants to.
“Wha-” He looks down, his vision still a bit blurry at times, and finds his arm wrapped up in a cast. He can wiggle his fingers, but that’s about it.
“Try not to move, sweety.”
“I broke my arm?”
“Broken wrist, dislocated shoulder, fractured skull, concussion and possible brain injury.” The guy with the fluffy hair steps forward. He stands at the end of the hospital bed, hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
His mom shoots a look at the guy.
“Is his body. Should know what happened to it.”
“Thank you… Wait who-?”
The guy tries to control his expressions, but Shane can see the pain there. “Ilya.”
“Thank you, Ilya.” The name feels familiar on his tongue, he just wishes he knew why.
“We were in the playoffs. Doing pretty good. Got knocked out the game after you got hit. Two best players were out, they did not know what to do without us.” Ilya tries to smile.
“Have any of the guys come to visit while I’ve been out? How’s Hayden? And JJ and Comeau?”
Shane’s mom takes his hand again, rubbing lightly over his knuckles. “Shane, you don’t play for the Metros anymore. It’s been a few years. Hayden has come by a few times though.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Can I be alone for a little while?”
“Of course, honey. The doctors should come back for your tests soon. If it’s too late to visit again after, we’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Shane nods as much as the pain lets him.
His parents leave the room, but Ilya stays, still just hovering at the end of the bed.
“Do you…” He starts. “Do you not remember me?” Ilya won’t look at him.
“Come here.” Shane doesn’t know why he asks.
Ilya steps closer.
“I don’t remember a lot of things. I just have these flashes? These small moments. I don’t remember who you are. But you feel familiar? If that makes sense.”
Shane watches as a single tear falls down Ilya’s cheek.
“Why- Why are you crying?”
Ilya hastily wipes away the wetness. “We have been here before. You in hospital bed. Me standing here like idiot. I felt helpless then, too.”
“Tell me about it?” He doesn't want to be alone anymore. He wants to sit here and listen to Ilya tell him about a life he doesn’t remember.
Ilya sits in the chair Yuna had pulled to the edge of the bed. “In 2017, you were still with Metros, and I played for Boston. You looked back at me and smiled, and you did not see Marlow. That one was clean hit. Just bad timing. I could not do anything but watch as they took you away. You broke your collarbone and had concussion.”
“We were friends even though you played for Boston?”
“Friends in secret. Not so secret anymore. Now we both play for Ottawa.”
“But Ottawa kind of sucks?” Shane tries not to let the pain stop him from laughing. Talking to Ilya feels… comfortable. They must be pretty good friends.
“Not anymore. Not with us.”
“Do we have any cups?”
“Two.”
“Nice. Who has more, me or you?”
“Ugh, you will never let me forget, even when you don’t remember. You have 5. I have 3.” Ilya rolls his eyes, finally a genuine smile on his face.
“Will I…” Shane stops himself from asking the one question that actually matters to him.
Ilya seems to know what that question is. “You should be able to play next season. Your brain just needs to heal first, мой кролик. You will be okay.”
“Did I forget the English language or are you speaking something else?”
“Russian. You know a little bit, maybe will remember later.”
Shane is about to ask why he started learning Russian, but then the doctor and a nurse return and need to take him for some tests and brain scans. They help transfer him to a different bed, and all the while, Ilya stays.
“Will you come back?” Shane asks before leaving the room. He doesn’t want Ilya to go yet. He’s the only person who has been telling Shane about his life he has no memory of. He doesn’t know why his parents felt so distant, or why they were so quick to leave.
“да, will be here when you get back from brain tests.”
Then Shane is being wheeled down hallways, the bright lights overhead and the fast movements making him wince.
The CT scan takes about 20 minutes. Shane lays in the machine, staying as still as he can. He lets his mind wander, trying to pick through his fractured memories. Based on the flashes of intimate moments, he can guess he has a partner. He’s not sure where they are though. If the roles were reversed and Shane was waiting 3 weeks for his partner to wake up, he’d be at the hospital everyday.
On the way back to his room, Shane asks the nurse, “Who all has visited me?”
She smiles, little dimples appearing on her cheeks. “Your parents have been here most days, but your mom has been taking care of all the publicity things surrounding your accident. Your team has visited once a week, leaving new gifts and keeping Ilya company. Your friend Rose was in town for a few days last week, and she stopped by a handful of times. Hayden has driven over from Montreal twice a week, one time with his wife Jackie.”
“What about Ilya?”
The nurse giggles. “He’s always here. He brings pastries and coffee for all the nurses in your section every morning. He’s not supposed to stay overnight, but he does anyway, and he stays out of trouble so we let him.”
“What does the media know? Do you know what people are saying about me?” It worries Shane, being part of a team he doesn’t remember. Are they good to him? Do they respect his privacy enough to not leak his medical information to the press?
“They know you got hit, obviously. There was one announcement made saying that you were being put on IR, and for fans to keep you in their thoughts and prayers as you recover. No one knows you were out for 3 weeks, or that you’re still here. It’s all been handled very privately. Your mom and Ilya are a force to be reckoned with.” They get back to Shane’s room just then, and sure enough, Ilya is laying on the couch by the window doing something on his phone.
His eyes light up a little bit when Shane meets his gaze.
“Alright, let's get you back into bed.”
Ilya comes over and helps the nice nurse situate Shane in his hospital bed.
Before she leaves, the nurse says, “The doctor will be back in an hour or so to go over the results of the scan. We should be able to give you a better recovery timeline. Try to get some sleep if you can. Your brain needs as much rest as possible.”
When the door shuts behind her, Shane looks around the room until he lands on the pile of cards and things that have been left by people.
“If it’s not too much to ask…” Shane starts.
“Anything.” Ilya is quick to answer.
“Will you read me some of the cards? I might not know who some of them are from, but maybe you can tell me?” Shane drops his head back against the pillow as Ilya retrieves a handful of cards and letters.
As Ilya reads the cards, Shane allows himself to be lulled back to sleep by the calming Russian accent.
“This one is from Wiebe. He is our coach. Shane, hope you feel better soon. We are all waiting patiently until you are back on the ice. Get lots of rest, drink lots of ginger ale, and don’t let Rozanov drive you crazy during recovery.
“Here is Bood’s card. Of course he found one with grill on the front. Holzy, always such a beast on the ice! We will miss you at these next few barbecues. For now just rest up and get those speedy legs ready for next season! Cup #3 has our names on it already.
“Aww this one is from Troy and Harris. Hollander, wishing you a speedy recovery. The Cens are missing you like crazy. Hope to see you back in action kicking ass and taking names soon. We will visit again soon, love you Shane! Harris must have wrote this, the.. what you say, почерк. Handwriting, is nice.”
***
When Shane wakes up, it’s a few hours later. He can at least read the clock on the wall. He can hear a faint noise, and when he turns to look, Ilya is passed out on the couch with his laptop on his lap. It’s showing a hockey game.
Shane listens to the commentary.
“-might be the first time since Hollander left that Montreal has a shot at the cup. Speaking of, fans are still spreading the love and sending well-wishes to Hollander and his family. It’s been three weeks since his hit, still with no word on his status. At least last time, we got an almost immediate response from his team, reassuring that he was on the road to recovery. This is just radio silence.”
“This hit was a lot worse than his first one though. I’ll be interested to see if the Centaurs release any more statements about him. Both Hollander and Rozanov have been absent from social media, the team has been quiet. I hate to say it but-”
“I’ve seen players not come back after less serious hits.”
Shane watches the screen in horror, ignoring the sharp spike of pain in the back of his head, as a video is shown from a day he has no memory of.
He sees himself skating, the number 24 on his back, stealing the puck from the other team, swerving in and out of other players. He passes to 81, they both fly down the ice. The puck gets passed back to Shane, and then another player is there, as if from nowhere. An elbow hits to the face, his helmet is knocked off, the other player slams into the boards, Shane crumples to the ice, and then the whole arena goes quiet when a pool of blood flows from under his head. The screen cuts off, back to the announcers, but Shane doesn’t hear a word they say after.
He just sees the image of himself, lifeless against the cold ice, a pool of red underneath him.