Chapter Text
Shane had been pacing all afternoon. He was on edge throughout this whole ordeal.
Two days after calling Ilya, he called his Agent, Farah, first. She didn’t ask questions, just wrote down where he wanted to go and where he didn’t. His mom - his manager - however, did ask questions. It ended up turning into a long conversation and a messy coming out that Shane really didn’t wish happened.
Nevertheless, it all came down to this moment.
Social Media was going crazy about a potential trade deal so close to the All Star Game, which didn’t help his nerves.
What did help, however, was that his mom had crafted and shared with him short potential statements that could be put out on his behalf about the trade once it goes through. None of them explained the real, homophobic, reason why the trade was happening, only that there was a change in culture and that Shane was looking forward to a new chapter in his career. He got to choose which version he liked best.
His phone had been buzzing all day, but the only person he wanted to hear from right now was Farah.
Finally, at 5:28 pm, she called to tell him the news.
“You- you’re kidding,” Shane replied, mouth hanging open. He pulled the chair at the kitchen table harder than necessary. The scrap against the floor scratched against his ear, but he sat down anyway.
His foot tapped against the floor.
“I know it’s not quite what you expected,” Farah said. “But you’re still on the Northeastern part of the continent, like you wanted.”
Shane sighed, relieved, at the silver lining.
“It was almost a three-way trade,” she continued. “One of their players stepped away, which freed up the space. Their management practically jumped at the chance to get you, and then Montreal acquired someone from Minneapolis.”
“… huh.” Shane attempted to do mental math and figure out who the other players could be, but that soon felt like too much thinking.
“Anyway, mission accomplished, right?”
“Y-yeah, yeah.” Shane moved to stand and turned to look out the windows. “Mission accomplished.”
He stared at his reflection in the glass, trying to decide whether he had just won something or lost it.
“Your mom will share the statement any minute now,” his agent told him.
Hollander nodded. “Good. Uhm.” He swallowed. “Great.”
“Congratulations, Shane.”
“Thanks.” A small smile escaped his lips. “Bye Farah.”
“Bye.”
The hockey player moved to the couch, laid down, and stared at the ceiling. He left his phone on the coffee table.
Oh, god.
He was a man who had just been traded to his former team’s division rival. That was a lot to sink in.
He would need to find a Boston apartment and move into it. He would need to get introduced to his new teammates. He would probably need to learn a new position. He would need to do media interviews. He would have to get used to being around Ilya more.
Yet, somehow, waiting to officially be traded was both the most and least stressful part in all of this. Waiting had meant possibilities. This meant reality.
He deserved to just lay here and treat himself to something. A feel-good movie, maybe?
Unfortunately, Shane only had a few minutes before his phone really started blowing up. He ignored it at first. Then, the vibrations of his cellular device against the wood began to annoy him.
Notification after notification popped up. Social media. News article alerts. Texts and calls from Hayden, J.J., Rose… and Scott… which made his stomach tighten for reasons he didn’t have the space to think about.
After putting the phone down again, the former Metro player took in a breath, exhaling slowly as he rubbed his temples in an attempt to mentally prepare himself for any kind of conversation here on out.
Then, he sat up and called Ilya.
The Russian picked up on the first ring.
“Hollander?” He greeted, sounding a little out of breath. “What is it?”
Shane tried to keep an even tone. “Have you heard the news yet?”
“No.” The sound of a water bottle opening and then being drunk could be heard. “I have been working out for the past two hours. What news?”
“Well, I took your advice…” he huffed and stood, only to then move around the couch to brace an arm against the sofa’s back. “And as of twenty minutes ago, I have officially been traded.”
“To where?”
Whether it was excitement or just intrigue in Ilya’s voice, Shane couldn’t discern. Maybe it was anticipatory. Regardless, he bit the bullet and answered.
“To Boston.”
“To- to Boston?” He sounded surprised. “You’re going to be a Raider?”
“Yep. In three days, I will be entering the All Stars Game as a newly minted Boston Raider.”
“Are you joking?”
“No, Ilya, I’m being completely serious.”
“You will be in my city.” Rozanov spoke quickly.
“Yeah.”
“We will see each other. Every. Day.”
“Well, maybe not every day, but-“
Rozanov huffed. Then he laughed. After that, he whooped and shouted about a lot of things in Russian, and then in English about winning the Stanley Cup together and rubbing it in Montreal’s face.
Shane’s brows scrunched. “Ilya, what-“
“This is the greatest outcome!” That was said louder than expected.
“Ilya-“
“What? Is good news!”
“Y-yeah,” Shane bobbed his head in agreement and shifted his weight. This ache in his chest returned. “Yeah, it is.”
“And why do you sound so… what is word? Unsure?”
Hollander blinked and stood straighter. “It’s just that-“ his hand waved, expelling nervous energy. “Uh…”
“You sound like you lost something.”
“Gee, Rozanov, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I have.” He outstretched an arm. “I mean, Montreal has been my home for several years now.”
“Shane,” he said in a serious tone. “Yes, Montreal was home. Now, is not. Their loss.”
The Canadian faltered. “How can you just simplify it like that?”
“This trade, when did it open?”
He began to pace again. “Uh, yesterday-“
“There you go. See? If they can let you go so quickly, then they were not fighting for you.”
Shane huffed and rolled his eyes. “Way to rub salt in the wound.”
There was silence on the other line for a few seconds before Ilya spoke.
“Hollander.” His voice sounded strained. “No, that was not… intention.”
“Then what was?”
Ilya took a few seconds to formulate his words, “If they could not see your worth, is not your failure. Is theirs. You are amazing player. Them uncomfortable because of who you are is… is red flag.”
Shane laughed, despite himself, into his question. “Who taught you what a red flag is?”
“Unimportant, really.”
They let silence hang around for a moment. Perhaps he could have responded to Ilya’s words, maybe even chirped. Yet, the adrenaline he had at the start of the call was washing away, and some of his earlier thoughts were returning to him.
“Hollander. Are you okay?”
“…This all just happened really fast,” Shane replied, sitting at the kitchen table again. “Faster than I ever thought could happen.”
“Is alright, Shane. You have me, never forget this.”
“Ilya-“
“I could still fly to Montreal if you wanted.”
“Lucky me.” He winced and pinched the bridge of his nose at the tone of his voice as soon as that left his lips.
“Do not do that,” Ilya said softly.
“Do what?” Hollander started to panic again.
“Pretend like I am consolation prize.”
The Canadian blinked a few times. “I- I’m not.”
“Then what?” Rozanov’s voice was gentler then.
His heart twinged. “…It’s just different now. Riskier.”
“You forget, we get to see each other more often. Have believable reasons to be seen together.”
Shane sighed. “We’re also more… exposed. And, I just don’t want to ruin-“
“You think I did not consider this?” Ilya’s voice raised again. “Any of it?” He paused.
Shane found himself wishing this was a video call.
“I am not careless about you,” Rozanov continued in a more even tone. “I have never been.”
Hollander shifted in his seat.
“We finally have this chance.” Why did it sound like his voice was breaking? “I would like to see where it goes… with you.”
“You make it sound easy.” Shane hated how small his voice was in that moment.
“Is not easy. Is worth it.”
The Canadian’s mouth hung open for the second time that day. After a moment, he closed it and swallowed.
All the while, it dawned on him that Ilya must have been hurting the same way he had been.
So, he asked, “Has it been killing you too?”
Rozanov’s answer arrived with a shaky “…yes.”
“Then… I’m willing to try.”
Ilya sighed. “Good. I am tired of pretending this is temporary.”
Shane sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. His throat felt tight.
“I will see you in Florida.”
“Yeah. See you soon.”
When the call ended, the silence in his apartment was louder than it had been before. Except, it was a good silence. Peaceful, like something had settled.
He laughed once, disbelievingly, under his breath and found his way back to the couch. Then he pressed the heel of his palm to his eye.
He wasn’t sure if this was the bravest thing he’d ever done or the stupidest.
But for the first time all day, the ache in his chest didn’t feel like dread.
He let his hand fall from his face and stared at the ceiling again.
Boston didn’t feel like a threat anymore.
It felt like a beginning.
He was excited to see what it would be like, not having to leave and fly away.