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Chapter Text

Shane and Ilya just held a press conference confessing their relationship and love on live television. They got tired of hiding it. 

The Commissioner released a statement following the press conference by Ilya and Shane. Rather, the Commissioner’s office did. The official statement read:

We are currently under discussions in reviewing the situation between the two NHL players, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander in light of their relationship. We understand their sentiments and support them to carry on their personal lives, however given the circumstances of their careers, the league must take seriously the potential for illegal or intentional manipulation of gameplay. After a thorough investigation is completed, we will announce our decision regarding their status as NHL hockey players. The investigation will take one week and until then, they are to be on suspension. This is not a punishment to their sexuality, as the NHL is a proud supporter of the LGBT and will remain so. This is an unprecedented situation and we thank you for allowing us to conduct and relay our findings with proper protocol.

Shane’s stomach sunk. Possibly the worst email of his life, but he knew it was coming. They had been sent this statement in their emails nearly two hours after the press conference, along with their coaches. The crazy part is the Commissioner no longer wanted to meet with them. They would just be given the official report when it was done. Yuna let everyone know this was basically because it’s being handled by lawyers and third-party auditors, to keep the investigation fair. The statement however was then posted everywhere a few hours after that.

Shane and Ilya were back in their house in Ottawa together. Ilya was making dinner for them. Shane’s parents had been over all afternoon, but Shane needed alone time. Well, just with Ilya time.

Suspension. One week. Decision regarding their status as NHL hockey players.

All of that made Shane want to hurl. He sat on the couch and kept rereading it and then kept reading the reactions on twitter. They are kind of split. A mix of “Let them play” and “Kick them out”. Shane was spiraling. It was a nightmare hiding, but it’s a bit of a nightmare being so open.

“You need to eat.” Ilya said as he prepped plates of the dinner he made.

“I’m not very hungry.” Shane said from over the couch.

Ilya bit the inside of his cheeks. “It was long day, eat something. I made this whole dinner!”

Shane looked back at the kitchen and sees a giant mess and a lovely looking plate of hot food. It does look good and his stomach, though queasy, might need to eat. He stomach is also a bit queasy at the mess. He gets up and smiles but kind of defeatedly. Ilya clocks that. Nerves still. Ilya brings the plates over to the island stools and places them next to each other and takes his seat. Shane takes his. As Shane stares down at the food and takes a large inhale, Ilya rubs his lower back gently and then kisses his cheek.

“We will be okay. They can’t kick us out.”

“They can.”

“They won’t”

“They might!”

Ilya turns his body to face Shane more and grabs his cheek, forcing him to look at him directly.

“I won’t let them. Okay?”

Shane looks lovesick, a glassy eyed sadness with a sheepish smile looking at Ilya. He wishes he was right. But Ilya has no power or control over this. Then Ilya slips in, “Worse comes to worse, I quit. You play.”

“That’s not happening.” Shane is extremely bothered by that statement. His tired sappy face turned red and taunt, like he just snapped into a brand-new set of emotions. “You’re not quitting! Are you insane? What are you even saying right now?”

“I won’t have to, I’m just saying, is option.” Ilya said this so calmly.

“No the fuck it’s not! What’s wrong with you?” Shane is actually getting mad. “I’m not playing hockey without you in the league. That’s not an option Ilya!”

Ilya stayed with Shane’s face for a bit, reading it, taking in his outburst with real focus.

“Okay. Okay. Okay” Ilya said this and squeezed Shane’s cheek, touching his freckles then smiled. “I won’t quit. Is not option then.”

Shane stared at Ilya like he was still in shock by the concept. He looked back down at his plate of food. 

This is going to be the longest week of his life.

***

Shane and Ilya spent most the week stewing in domestic life together, very similar to their cottage spent days except with a lot more tension in the air; it made every motion palpable. It made for great sex too. Always on the verge of concern, like every touch was a cliff they could fall off, the tenderness and rawness of knowing everyone knows now, makes it almost feel the most real it’s ever felt. They are a couple, everyone knows they fuck, everyone knows they love each other. It’s as if a new vibration frequency has been turned on; it made them extra sensitive, to everything.

They expect to get the results of the investigation over the weekend, and whether they’d be returning to their team practices as early as Monday. Shane was dreading returning to Montreal. He was dreading the idea of continued suspension. Dreading the idea of being released by the NHL. He wasn’t even sure what to feel or think. Everything sounds bad, except for Ilya’s voice, everything feels bad, except for Ilya’s touch, everything looks bad, except for Ilya looking over at him, disgustingly in love. Shane feels lost, even moreso once the email comes in:

After our thorough third-party review, the conclusion is both Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov had no involvement in manipulation or illegal activity regarding their respective gameplay throughout their careers in the NHL. No paper trails, messages, or outside parties seem involved in the knowledge of their relationship and nothing was found to imply professional collusion regarding it on their part. This is the official findings, report summary, and conclusion.

NHL decision: Based on these findings, we will not be releasing either Shane Hollander or Ilya Rozanov from the league. They are both qualified to play in the NHL starting immediately.

Ilya Rozanov is to return to The Ottawa Centaurs with a lifted suspension starting Monday Janurary, 8^th.

However, until further notice, Shane Hollander is still on suspension with the Montreal Voyageurs as per the Team and Coaches request as they conduct an internal investigation.

That was it. Ilya is back on his team and Shane…isn’t? But the NHL didn’t kick him out, and yet, he’s still suspended? He needed more information, what did this mean? Both Ilya and Shane were reading this email and the same time and both looked up around the same time after finishing it.

“What is Montreal doing?” Ilya asked but not really towards Shane. “Are they insane? They do not want you playing?”

“I expected this. I guess. I mean-” Shane had to collect himself from a near panic attack and being on the verge of tears. He did expect this, but it hurt. Ilya was fine, he wasn’t, he thought whatever the decision was, it would be the same for both of them, but he also expected The Voyageurs to handle it different than the Centaurs. Shane’s phone started to ring and it was his Mom, Ilya looked over and saw that she was calling,

“Talk to her. This is outrageous. I am calling Wiebe.” Ilya immediately got up to call his coach while Shane answered the phone.

“You got the email?” She jumped right in to it.

“Yes. Not good.”

“Oh, I’ve already spoken to Coach Theriault. 5 minutes ago. He got an ear full.”

“Mom, that probably makes it worse.”

“Honey, I’m your manager, I needed to know all the proper paperwork and investigation he’s running. The lawyers are now involved. Don’t worry.”

Shane was silent on the either end.

“I don’t even want to go back to Montreal.” He finally said it out loud. Now she was silent.

“I know the plan is to trade you to Ottawa, but realistically, its mid-season, you likely have to finish out this year, and we can’t have them bench you. It’s illegal! It’s discrimination!”

“It’s not though.” He said this defeated. “They didn’t bench me when I was gay, so this is about Rozanov. It’s ‘conflict of interest’, I can already hear it, I know what Theriault is doing. It’s going to work, watch.” Shane swallowed hard and he could hear his mother take a deep breath over the phone.

“We’ll see what happens, stay positive. I’ll call back shortly with any new…news. Do you need me to come over?”

“No!” Shane folded his head into his hands, “I have Ilya, just call me or him honestly.” Shane was forming tears and he wanted to hang up before crying could be heard by his mother. She’d be over at their house in 20 minutes if she did. “Alright? love you, bye.”

“Bye honey. I love you.” Click.

Shane can hear Ilya expressively talking to Coach Wiebe in the other room. He hears phrases like ‘how soon can we?’ and ‘he is not safe at Montreal then!’. Shane keeps his head folded into his hands. His phone goes off with a message, and Shane assumes it’s his mother. He glances down to see a text from Coach Theriault.

Coach: Be in my office before practice on Monday.

We need to discuss your suspension with Montreal.     

Shane thinks about answering, but instead lays on the couch in fetal position and cries.

When Ilya hangs up, Shane doesn’t even notice, he’s practically comatose on the couch, deep in his own thoughts.

“Shane!” Ilya comes over and sees he’s frozen in position. Ilya gently rubs him, unfolds him and sits him up. “Shane?” Shane looks over at Ilya with blotchy eyes and flushed cheeks, “It is okay, I am working on it. I promise.”

Shane hands Ilya his phone to the opened message and as Ilya reads it, he takes a big breath. “Do you want me to come along?”

“Definitely not.” Shane gets out, “I mean, if this was a better situation, sure, but no. You have practice on Monday too.”

“Wiebe would give me off.”

“No! We can’t let this…” Shane motions between the two of them, “Get in the way of hockey, we just told the world we don’t do that. I’ll be okay, he just wants to tell me about the internal investigation and that I’m still suspended, it’s not going to be anything shocking. I’m not kicked out of the league, worst he can do keep me suspended or trade me.” Shane has been thinking about this the entire time on the couch, he was running every potential and this seems most likely.

“Okay.” Ilya gives a gentle smile, he grabs Shane’s face and holds it, “You call me immediately after the meeting, okay?” Shane nods his head yes.

“Promise!”

***

Shane drove back to his Montreal apartment on Sunday night, wanting to get a full nights rest before the Monday morning meeting. He wanted to eat breakfast but he couldn’t even stomach it. He just had coffee and waited until it was time to arrive to the arena. He didn’t suppose he needed his gear or warm up clothes on since he was suspended, but out of hope or routine, he grabbed everything as if he might play again or fit a practice in, he could use it. He really wanted to play again, even though he really didn’t. It was a very confusing headache to have.

Shane arrived way earlier than the rest of the team would, he just wanted to be there and avoid all of them. He dressed in athletic clothes, again in case, and went to Theriault’s’ office, expecting him to not be there yet, but he was. When Theriault saw Shane, he beamed the coldest meanest stare at him, and waved him in the office, with no change in expression on his face. It was psychotic looking.

“Why do you have all your gear? You’re not playing, you’re suspended indefinitely.”

Shane dropped his bag down, and sat in the seat across coach’s desk.

“I know Coach. I just…” He looked down at the bag, “habit.”

“I don’t know what kind of fucking stunt you think you’re allowed to pull. That just because you’re Shane Hollander you can pull the wool over my eyes! You know how fucking embarrassing this is? Dating Ilya Rozanov? Do you know how fucking disgusting that is?”

Shane cuts him off, “Because we’re gay?”

“Well, that is bad enough and you know that, don’t you?”

Shane just stared off, trying to focus his eyes on the filing cabinet and not cry. He can’t cry in front of his coach.  “Bad enough you’re a fucking pansy but we ignored it, right? But fucking your hockey rival? You have to be fucking joking. We’re the laughing stock of the whole NHL.”

Shane turned his head back to his coach, “That’s not true.”

“Well, you haven’t been paying attention then!” Theriault slapped his hand down on the desk so hard it made Shane jump. Theriault yelled after seeing Shane’s reaction. “Oh my god, you fucking faggot!” He stood up and leaned over his desk, trying to loom over Shane sitting, “We are conducting a thorough, far more thorough investigation into your gameplay. If we find one moment where you let Rozanov have the puck, maybe not slam him into the boards when you should have, in even ONE game, you’re off this fucking team by breach of contract.” Theriault fixed the cap on his head and sat back down, “The NHL may not have kicked you out, but good luck finding a team that wants some fag fucking Rozanov. Oh!  Wait, let me guess, he’s the one that fucks you. Get the fuck out of my office. We’ll call you when the investigation is done. You’re banned from the premises until then.”

Shane opened his mouth to say something, anything. Defend himself, defend Ilya, defend his career, honor, himself, his relationship, but he couldn’t muster a single word. He didn’t have it in him. The lump in his throat felt like it was getting bigger and stuck. If he hung around a second longer, he’d be gasping for air and choking on tears. He grabbed his bag, and walked out of the office. Leaving the arena, he felt out of focus, the world felt fuzzy, the welling of his eyes made everything blurry looking as he left. He grabbed his phone to call Ilya. To tell him, as promised, that the meeting went…horrible? He wasn’t sure what to tell him. If he told him the truth, Ilya would probably be here in two hours punching Theriault. If he lied, well then he’s not being a good boyfriend. As he walked out to the parking lot about to press call, he saw two players approaching as they were coming in for practice. He just kept his head down but upon passing him, they checked his shoulder so hard his bag fell off. Shane looks up to see Cromber and Grange, fucking pricks. His phone went flying out of his hand.

“Guys, I’m leaving.” Shane said as he went to pick up his bag. But Grange pushed him as he was reaching for it, hard enough that it shoved him to the ground, eating shit on the asphalt.

“What the fuck Grange!” Shane rolled over to meet him in the eyes, then he checked his palms for rash burns.

“Fucking pussy traitor bitch” Cromber spit on him, then kicked him in the ribs. Grange followed and kicked him on the other side. Shane tried to get up quickly to end this bullshit fight, but then Cromber lowered himself and took a full punch to Shane’s jaw and with Shane being so close to the ground still, the punch made his head hit the pavement. That knocked him out and he doesn’t remember what happened after.

*

Shane woke up in a car, driving him, his head was splitting, he felt like he was going to throw up. His vision was blurry, he heard from the driver a familiar voice,

“Shane, buddy, I’m taking you to the hospital, JJ he’s awake. Talk to him.” That’s Hayden’s voice.

JJ’s voice came from the backseat. “Hey man, we’re one minute away, glad you’re awake, try to stay awake, can you remember what happened?”

Shane couldn’t think to say anything. His jaw hurt, his head, his ribs, his eye hurt too, why did his eye hurt?

“My eye” is all he managed to get out. It was the only thing he didn’t quite remember. He remembers he got jumped by teammates. JJ speaks up,

“Yeah, you got a bit of a black eye. You got beat up, by…teammates we’re guessing? We don’t know who, we just found you lying there. Okay, we’re at the hospital, thank god. Hayden go get a nurse to get a wheelchair.”

Shane doesn’t remember much after that, he started fading out. He recalls people putting him in a wheelchair and taking him into the ER. It can’t be that bad if he’s not on a gurney, right?

Chapter Text

Ilya was in the locker room with the rest of the Centaur team getting ready for practice. They all took turns telling him how proud they were, how happy they were for him. Some even started a Hollander chant, which made Ilya beam with joy. Wyatt mentioned how lucky Ilya was to get the empirically hottest man in the NHL.

“How’d you pull him anyway, Roz?” Bood had to ask.

“What do you mean, Bood. I am very charming, no?”

“No.” Bood said deadpan.

“Shut up. You all know I’m charming!”

“Shane’s charming” Troy said under his breath, and Ilya shot him a quick glance of ‘how dare you’.

The locker room erupted in laughter. It was good to be back, Ilya felt so happy to have this team. To get on the ice again. To not be suspended. It was all coming together. His stomach was in knots for Shane though, but he had plans to get him traded by next year anyways. Fuck Montreal. He grabbed his phone to see if there was a text from Shane, but nothing yet. He knew he was meeting with his Coach before practice, and Shane promised he’d call or text after the meeting, which should be any minute. Ilya really wanted to talk before he headed out for his own practice. Coach Wiebe appeared to the team,

“Alright guys, settle in, settle in! We’re very happy to have our Ilya Rozanov back in action!”

They all cheered and hooted. “Very brave thing you did Roz. We’re happy you’re happy. We’re thrilled you are back too! This season has been the best so far and we have no intention of letting up, do we boys?! I want to keep up this winning streak! So let’s cut the chit-chat, and let’s get to work. Roz? You ready Captain?”

Ilya looked dangerous and spirited. “Fuck yes, let’s go!”

They all took off from the locker rooms, with Ilya leaving himself last with Coach. As they tapped each other’s shoulders, Ilya’s cell phone was ringing from inside his locker. He looked over at Coach, then dashed for his phone. When he saw who was calling, he was confused.

“It’s Hayden Pike?” Ilya said to Coach Wiebe.

“Why is Pike calling you?”

“I don’t know?”

“Pick it up, then meet us on the ice, alright?” Coach said and left.

“Hello?” Ilya said with a bit of a disdain. “Hayden?”

“Ilya, hey, it’s JJ, using Hayden’s phone because Hayden’s driving. Listen, Shane was beat up in the parking lot. You need to come.”

Ilya froze. “What do you mean? Beat up? He was beat up? Why isn’t he calling me?”

“We found him unconscious outside the stadium.” That made Ilya drop down to sit on the bench.  “We don’t know who did it or even when. We’re taking him to Montreal General. It’s going to take you like 2 hours to get here, you need to leave now.”

“He’s not awake?! He’s not okay?” Ilya started dry heaving, choking on air.  “JJ is he okay?”

“I don’t know man. He’s unconscious still, we’re trying to wake him up!”

Ilya launched off the bench and punched a locker, with a loud exasperated

“Fuck!” then smaller, in almost whispers inbetween hitched breaths, “No, no, no, fuck fuck, no.” He leaned against the locker, heaving. “Does he have pulse, JJ, pulse?” Ilya was shaking in his voice.

“Yes, he has a pulse, he has a split to his dome, he’s bleeding a little, not a lot. Look he got laid out, we-” JJ stops talking to start talking to Hayden about something but Ilya can’t make it out.

“What?” Ilya says but at whisper level almost. “Is he awake?” Ilya can’t hear anything and JJ stopped talking to him. Then he comes back up to the speaker of the phone,

“He kind of came to, we’re right at the hospital Ilya. Just get here. Call Hayden back if you want more information in just a bit, I got to get him out of the car.” And JJ hung up.

Ilya stood for a second, his eyes darting back and forth trying to comprehend what was just said as tears were just falling out in succession. What just happened? No, seriously, what the fuck just happened? Shane was beaten up by somebody. Ilya wanted to crumble to the floor and cry but he had to get in his car and leave now. But he can’t even imagine driving, his hands are shaking so badly, his eyes are blurry. It was as if, Coach Wiebe knew something was wrong, because he returned to the locker room to find Ilya, wondering why he hadn’t been on the ice within 5 minutes time. The immediate look of Ilya’s ghost pale teary face gave Wiebe indication of something terribly wrong.

“Ilya, what did Pike want?” Coach said coolly but with a slight wear of concern and weary,

“Shane’s been taken to the hospital. I have to go.” Ilya said this like he was drunk.

“Hospital? Ilya, what happened?”

Coach saw Ilya was visibly shaking, he was rubbing his face over and over, wiping tears, his eyes were wide and wild.

“He was uhh” Even his voice was shaking, “assaulted.” Ilya lost it at saying that word. He felt like his skin was ice, but his veins were on fire.

“I’ll drive you.” Wiebe said. “Team can practice without me. Let’s go.”

Ilya didn’t have time to process anything, he just went along with it. He shook his head yes, grabbed his keys, phone, wallet, stripped his skates and put on shoes quickly, leaving the rest of his gear out. Wiebe grabbed his keys from his office and they left together. Coach Wiebe had to put his arm around Ilya’s waist to help him walk.

Ilya called back Hayden just 15 minutes later from the road.

“Hayden!” Ilya said when the call went through.

“Ilya, hey.” There was a slight pause, then Hayden continued, knowing what Ilya needed, “They took him back already. He’s mildly awake, coming back a bit, he spoke, but then he kind of passed out again. Definitely has a concussion.”

“What happened?” Ilya said this extremely desperately but firmly, like he had to know, right now.

“I truly don’t know. JJ and I carpooled and we were walking into the stadium and we saw Shane lying on the asphalt at the parking lot. Not moving.” The ‘not moving’ part of that sentence made even Hayden shake in his voice. “He was obviously beaten up by what looks like several guys, I’d think. He probably got jumped.”

“Who?” Ilya sounded mad, hot, enraged. Hayden could picture the Russian stare.

“How would I know?” Hayden said this a bit desperately himself.

“Who hates him on the team?” Ilya requested.

Hayden paused, he didn’t want to answer this.

“Ilya, it could have been almost anyone. Everyone hates him except JJ and I.”

“What?” Ilya shudders, “Everyone hates him? Your whole team hates him? Their Captain? Why?”

“He never told you that?” Hayden felt this wasn’t the time to have this conversation.

“No. He said they aren’t very good about him being gay, but-” Ilya trailed off. He’s recalling all the times Shane comes to Ottawa and seems sad, how Montreal hasn’t been playing that well this year, or even last. How Shane changes the subject when Ilya mentions team hangouts. That time Hayden did bring it up at dinner and Shane cut him off from talking.

“Look, we shouldn’t get into all this right now. Are you on your way? Are you driving and calling me?” Hayden had a tinge of disappointment in his voice at the thought of that. He can tell Ilya is extremely emotional right now. I mean hell Hayden was driving too and it was hard enough, he’s only just letting the adrenaline wane off him.

“No. Coach is driving me.” Hayden was surprised. How nice of his coach to do that. Ilya continued, “Hayden, how bad is he?”

“Like I said, I’m sure it’s a concussion, but nothing seemed broken. His face is fucked.”

Ilya whimpered at the last line. “What you mean, fucked?”

“Huge black eye, his jaw looks bruised. His nose was bleeding a bit, they definitely got his ribs too. He’ll probably need stitches on his head from hitting the pavement.”

Ilya just started sobbing uncontrollably. Hayden stayed on the line, just in case, but he could tell Ilya was just holding the phone away and crying. Then a voice came up on the speaker,

“Hey Pike, it’s Coach Wiebe. I’m going to hang up, we’ll be there in an hour and a half.”

“Okay Coach Wiebe, thanks for…driving him.”

“Of course, he is my captain and Shane is…” Wiebe found himself a bit emotional. Not only had he gotten to know Shane from Ilya’s charity and friendship with him, he got to know him this past week when he planned a whole trade operation for him. He liked Shane very much. “-a good person.” Wiebe hung up the phone and looked over at Ilya, who was still sobbing, head in his hands. Wiebe focused on the road and getting there as fast as possible.

**

Shane finally came out of the daze in his hospital room. He slowly opened his eyes as a nurse was checking his vitals.

“Hey.” She said sweetly, “Mr. Hollander, good timing. You have visitors who just arrived outside your door. How do you feel now?”

He felt like he had dried tears in his eyes, he felt sore, he felt a weird sense of morose. He remembered everything that happened. It was Grange and Cromber. The parking lot. They pushed him, kicked his ribs, punched him. He winces at the recollection.

“Sore.” He managed. He looked around his room, but no one was there. The nurse noticed this,

“Oh, they’re just receiving the report outside from the doctor, I’ll tell them you’re awake.” She went to leave, but Shane stopped her,

“Who is here exactly?”

“Your parents, Ilya Rozanov, and a teammate, I believe?”

Shane nodded slowly, “Can you send just Ilya, please. First.”

He had a slight concussion, bruised ribs, a black eye, no broken jaw, just sore. He faired okay. The worst of it being the concussion. He actually didn’t need stitches for his head, just a butterfly bandage. This was the report the doctor was giving the lot of them just outside the room. When the nurse walked out, she approached them,

“He’s awake now. He wants to see Mr. Rozanov, alone. First.” Ilya took off for the door. She looked at the parents sorrowfully, “Then you guys next.” She walked off and before anyone could exchange glances or words, Ilya had already dashed into the room.

When Ilya walked in, he had déjà vu. Felt like that time Marleau laid Shane out on the ice, except this time, it wasn’t sports related. It was an assault. When Shane saw Ilya, his heart shattered. He looked beyond upset. Almost beyond recognition. His face was blotchy and red. Shane wondered how bad he looked just based on his reaction alone. Ilya immediately ran to Shane’s side of the bed and grabbed his hand. Ilya was already crying, he’d already been crying, you could see it all over his face. His eyes were swollen, he had bags under them too, but he rubbed Shane’s hand and tried to smile but no smile came. Neither Shane or him said anything for a moment. Shane swallowed and looked adrift, not meeting Ilya’s eyes, who so desperately wanted them met, both of their eyes were bubbled with tears.

“Shane…” Ilya said almost in a whisper. Shane’s eyes were welling up, and it hurt, especially the left eye. Why did the left eye hurt so bad?

“How do I look?” Shane asked, he finally met Ilya’s eyes, and maybe the question was supposed to be funny, but Ilya looked scared to answer it. His mouth turned down and Ilya covered it with his hand as he rubbed his frown that formed from that question. Not good then, Shane thought. “Why does my eye hurt?” Shane asked more pointedly, monotone. This is the part of the story he doesn’t understand.

“You got punched.” Ilya said. “You have black eye.”

“But Cromber punched me in the jaw.”

“Cromber did this? You know who did it?” Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand tighter.

“Yes, Cromber and Grange…. but he only punched me in the jaw. Ow” It hurt to talk.

“Well someone punched you in the eye Shane.”

“After?” Shane was saying this all very monotone still.

“After what?”

“After I hit the pavement, they… kept beating me? That’s …” Shane’s tears were falling to the side from his eyes which made Ilya irrationally crazy. They beat him even after he went unconscious. They could have killed him. It should be a murder attempt. Ilya was breathing very heavily out of his nose, trying not to lose his cool.

“Cromber and Grange?” Ilya says their names deep and low as he asked for confirmation. Shane nodded. Ilya was about to leave and take that information but Shane squeezed his hand, sensing what Ilya wanted to do; to storm out of there and go kill them.

“Stay with me please.” Shane didn’t say this monotone, he begged this, almost in a high-pitch voice, his mouth formed a frown as it twitched. Ilya squeezed his hand back, leaned over to Shane’s face, touched his freckles gently and brushed through his hair.

“Of course, of course.” He placed a kiss on his cheek, “I love you. I won’t go anywhere. I’m going to kill them.” He was full of contradictions. He kissed him again, that made Shane smirk, which made Ilya breath for what felt like the first time in this room actually. “You’re never stepping foot in there again.”

Shane hitched his breath, “Yeah, I know.” That didn’t mean the same thing to him.

Chapter Text

Ilya had Coach Wiebe dropped him off at Shane’s apartment. When Ilya got into Shane’s apartment, all the lights were off. The apartment was sterile and clean. Like he never lived here, like he doesn’t live here. It’s just where he sleeps sometimes. Where they go after Montreal games, but in all honesty, it’s embarrassingly plain. Shane spent years in this apartment, playing for Montreal and it’s so devoid of anything Shane. Everything that is Shane is set up in the Ottawa house. Their house. Ilya throws the keys on the kitchen counter and walks around, pacing this dark windowed apartment. He was told to go back and shower and get some sleep. Shane is being released from the hospital tomorrow morning. He wanted to spend the night in Shane’s room, but no one is allowed overnight. He’s taking Shane back to Ottawa tomorrow. Fuck all of Montreal.

Ilya had told Hayden and JJ, David, and Yuna who did it, asked them to get the security footage from outside the arena without making any waves. Who knows what will come of it, but Shane is never going back to Montreal for safety reasons, and Cromber and Grange could face charges if Shane presses. Ilya hopes he wants to, but he already knows Shane’s afraid of retaliation even more, from the league, Theriault, or Montreal themselves. But this was beyond a hockey tussle or little fistfight, this was genuine assault; assault and battery actually. Ilya can’t shake that, he didn’t even know what battery meant until Hayden explained in the halls of the hospital.

Ilya doesn’t know what to do with his fists, he was carrying them around like he had on boxing gloves all day. He’s irate, irrational, and he feels like he could easily get irresponsible. He wants so badly to find out where those two dickheads live, grab a baseball bat, and clobber them to death. He knows he can’t. He knows he could. He knows it wouldn’t help Shane. So, he’s just pacing Shane’s apartment. Shane’s stupid fucking shitty apartment. He’s had plenty of good memories in this apartment, but it feels stained. Stained with knowing all of Shane’s teammates hate him. That Shane schlepped himself day in and day out after practice back to this place, and sat alone, ate alone, knowing his whole team hated his guts. It made this place feel rancid.

He carries himself to Shane’s bed, the bed with a zillion pillows, but as he folds himself under the sheets, he cries softly. He stretches his arms out to Shane’s side and it’s cold. God, they could have killed him. Had they hit him harder. They hit him, over and over and why? He moves over to Shane’s side so it’s not cold and stares at the nightstand. There’s a small 2x4 framed photo on it he’s never seen before. He reaches for it and turns on the nightlamp, it’s the photo Ilya got Shane for Christmas last year, the one of them from that pre-rookie season photo-shoot. The one Shane put at the cottage, but this is a copy, a smaller version. Ilya didn’t give him this. Did Shane make a 2x4 copy, buy a frame, and place it here to have when he’s alone? Alone in this shitty fucking apartment? Ilya grabs the photo, it’s so small, but it’s them, smiling at each other, and it’s right by his bedside. He pulls it to his chest and sobs. Sobs and holds it until he falls asleep.

***

“I promise Ilya, that’s enough pillows!” Shane is sprawled out on the couch, lounging with pillows propping him towards looking out at the window at the river behind the house in Ottawa.
“You love pillows. Plus, you need to be upright still! And no TV yet, screens are bad!” Ilya comes walking up to the couch and takes the seat right next to him, using the pillow mound he created to lean close to Shane’s face and lounge next to him. Shane laughs,
“It’s been a few days now, I’m better. I could watch TV now if I wanted. This isn’t my first concussion.”
“Ah, no, no TV yet, you need to rest, heal.” Ilya looked over at Shane’s face. The black eye was purplish yellow and the swelling is way down, thanks to his ice on, ice off method he’s been meticulous about having Shane follow. Shane reported his jaw doesn’t feel sore much anymore. Headache is fading. The ribs still hurt a bit. Ilya throws his arm on Shane’s chest and nuzzles his face into his neck.
“You’re being so cuddly.” Shane says, Ilya lifts his head up to meet his face.
“You say that like is bad? I am good boyfriend. Probably best. You don’t like this?” He looks genuinely offended. Shane smirks,
“No, I love it so much. Just-” Shane takes a pause to phrase this as best he can, “I’m okay Ilya, I’m really fine now. They didn’t hurt me that bad.”
“The fuck they didn’t! They knocked you unconscious then kept beating you.” Ilya can barely get that sentence out. Every time it hurts. Ilya is known to cause fights on the ice, to not let up, go hard, but never in his entire career, did he lay someone out who looked hurt or gave up, and then keep beating them. That concept was unimaginable to him. Rage is one thing on the ice, but hate? Well, he understands hate now, but he doesn’t understand how they could hate Shane, just for loving him.

“I know. I’m just saying I…love you and I’m fine. You don’t have to treat me like a…baby.” It went silent for a second. Wrong word maybe, Shane thinks.
Ilya spoke up quietly, in a subtle defense, “I’m not. I’m treating you like my partner. Who is injured.” Ilya laid back into Shane’s neck. He got the sense Ilya might have gotten teary from saying that. Shane felt bad now, and here he was trying to make Ilya feel less worried.

“You’re right. No, you’re right. I love everything you do. I just didn’t want you to feel overwhelmed taking care of me. I don’t want to be a bother.” Shane doesn’t even know where this is exactly coming from. But he’s annoyed, no, beyond pissed, that two teammates jumped him and made Ilya have to come to his aid. They just did a press conference saying this relationship doesn’t affect their hockey lives and now it feels like that’s all it’s doing. It makes Shane feel like a liar.

Ilya lifted his head back up yet again from Shane’s side and looked him square in the eyes, with his lovesick face, “You are not a bother. This is not overwhelming. I mean yes, the fact they did this to you pisses me off, but getting you better is not.” Shane just smiled, then said,
“Okay, but you’re going to practice today.”
Ilya wanted to protest, but Shane put his finger to Ilya’s mouth before he could speak,
“Seriously, Ilya, it’s just three hours. I need a nap anyway; you’ve got to go back to work. I’m unemployed, I need your money.” Shane let out a real laugh and it felt really good. Felt really good to tease again. Ilya also laughed,
“Oh, so you are my WAG now?” Ilya teased back.
“Yes, but you make dinner still.”
“I see, so I am money maker and housewife and you are…What then exactly?”
“Injured!” Shane whined, “Umm, and a pretty face.” He left a lingering smile after saying that. Ilya blushed.
“That’s …fair.” He kissed Shane on the lips then looked at his face, his bruised face, “But you’re not that pretty right now.”
“Wow. Really?” Shane was still smiling, his eyes glazing over at Ilya’s loving face,
Ilya nodded no slowly, “Pretty as ever.”

***

In the following two-ish weeks and aftermath of Shane’s suspension and subsequent beating, there was an insane amount of coverage online. So much happened in such a swift amount of time. Shane did not want to press charges himself, much to Ilya’s disappointment, but Ilya held his tongue about it. Shane seemed a bit on edge and fragile. He wanted to forget this, put it behind him, he found it all embarrassing and he thought the quicker he healed, the quicker he could forget. No one wanted to step on his choice, but at the same time, no one who loved him could stand idly by and let him just let this go. Ilya figured out his own plan.

The security footage was copied (Thank you JJ and Hayden and Security man Jake) and then leaked to the public (Thank you Ilya) just a week after the beating. It made international news. Cromber and Grange were released from the league promptly after the completely jarring evidence was widespread. If they thought the internet was crazy for the story before, once they got the attackers and video footage, it was mayhem. There was no one who could try to excuse the behavior.

The footage was awful to watch. Worse than Shane remembers, well because he only remembered half. Once Shane hits the pavement and is immediately knocked out, they proceed to keep punching him in the face and continue to kick him, as his lifeless body takes the beating. He looked like a ragdoll shifting back and forth between the two assailants. Then he is left just lying there as they run off. It’s amazing they didn’t do more damage.

It also didn’t matter that Shane didn’t press charges himself, the police did once the video went viral. It was so disgusting to watch, no one could defend it. Cromber and Grange both face several accounts of assault & battery, and it’s currently being discussed if a hate crime charge will be added. Shane and Ilya mostly ignore the updates, Shane more. It doesn’t do good for either of them to stew in the hatred of the whole ordeal and Shane doesn’t have to be involved since it was all on tape.

The only small shimmer of good that came out of it is that almost anyone who was mad or upset about the Ilya Rozanov/Shane Hollander relationship has a hard time not coming off like a disgusting freak if they didn’t stand up against this attack. It basically made reruns of the press conference take off and made near everyone come to defend and stand up for Shane Hollander. Even people who were shouting “Kick them out!” seemed to be backpedaling to the stance of “Shane Hollander is a hockey legend.” No one thought he deserved that kind of low level of treatment.

The lawyers, Farrah, Coach Wiebe, The Voyageurs, and Yuna handled everything from this fallout very swiftly. Montreal was deemed unsafe and unfit for Shane Hollander. In lieu of suing the team, the lawyers fixed a deal where Shane is still with salary pay for the rest of the season and a hefty portion payout for Shane for the rest of his contract, but he doesn’t have to step foot back into the stadium. It wasn’t just a safety issue, but a liability one, filled with a blatant distrust and disrespect that even the Montreal owners didn’t want to touch. The lawyers even brokered a deal that the entire team has to undergo sensitive and hate speech training, and they’ll be getting audits. It might be the most unusual deal a professional sports team has ever dealt with but this was an extremely unusual circumstance. Montreal needed to appear as accommodating as possible. Montreal needed the good PR.

Shane kept to himself what Coach Theriault said to him at the meeting. He just couldn’t tell anyone, not after getting assaulted that day too. Luckily no one seems to ask, and it was all too much for him to even think about that entire day. He thought if he told Ilya or even his parents one more bad thing, they might combust. He was just going to hold it in, then let it go. He’s done with Montreal, it’s over. He wants this all to be over.

He also already has a contract lined up with Ottawa for the following year. And here he thought, he’d have to wait until the summer to be sure. He’s going to officially join the Ottawa Centaurs come next year. In just the last two weeks of this entire ordeal, he had a real estate agent quickly sell off his apartment in Montreal and had moved in with his boyfriend, Ilya Rozanov. It took no time, there was quite literally nothing at the apartment Shane needed besides his clothes and a 2x4 picture basically.

There’s a lot to look forward to for Shane, so he’s focusing on that. And what is Ilya Rozanov focusing on (besides Shane)?

Montreal plays against Ottawa, in Ottawa, in two weeks. That’s what Ilya is focusing on.

Chapter Text

Shane was working out in the home gym typically when Ilya got home from practice. He tries to finish before he gets home, but sometimes he gets lost in the workout. He’s allowed to do light exercise and he wants to obviously stay fit; he can’t let himself get out of shape over this bullshit fight he got in to. He can’t wait to get back on the ice. Once he has his last check up with the doctor and he’s cleared, he’s going to start hitting the rink.

Until then he has the home gym and yoga routines and he prefers to do it when Ilya is at practice, so that he can’t be monitored. Or else, he’s just going to hear ‘No sweetheart, that’s too much!’ ‘don’t do that, it’ll hurt your sides!’ ‘I’m just looking out for you!’ blah blah blah. Shane needs Ilya to stop babying him, he’s a top athlete for god’s sake, just like him. Shane must have gotten lost in this particular workout because he didn’t hear Ilya come home. He had soothing ambient lo-fi music playing as he was in the cool down stage of his yoga routine. After this, he wanted to quick do some weights for his arms, since he can’t quite do his ab routine like he’d like just yet. His ribs seem to be taking a long time to heal.

Ilya comes storming into the gym, looking frantic then slightly annoyed to find Shane in there. Shane spots him but doesn’t relinquish the yoga position he’s in, he calmly says,

“Hey Ilya, I’m almost done.”

“You do too much! How long have you been at this? You need rest.”

“Holy shit, it’s been over two weeks, I’m literally fine now.” Shane slowly changes position to another. Ilya walks into the gym, still in his athletic clothes from leaving practice. He walks over to the gym weights and sets his leg press up. Great, he’s going to “work out” with me, monitor me, Shane thinks to himself.

“You just finished like a three hour practice, why would you need to work out more?”

Ilya looked over at Shane, with a bit of a sneaky grin. He responded,

“Because we are going to beat Montreal.” He got on the machine and started his reps.

“Of course you are. They don’t have me.” Shane got into a plank position.

“Fucking right they don’t, fucking pieces of shit…” Ilya kind of started mumbling under his breath. He stopped his reps from the machine, “Hey can I switch the music?” Ilya got up without getting an answer to go change it.

“Let me guess?” Shane said as he watched Ilya search for his music, “D.N.A.?”

Ilya looked back and winked.

Shane held the plank til it hurt his ribs. Screw the arm workout, he’s not going to let me even if I try. He folded and got up. “I’m actually done, going to go take a shower.” Shane walked over to Ilya, looked at the amount of weight he put on the leg press, then gave an unimpressed glance at Ilya. Ilya frowned at that. Then Shane bent down and gave him a kiss. “Have a good workout.” Ilya smiled at the kiss and watched him walk away, then rechecked his weight. He could do more, Shane was right. He adjusted it a bit heavier and turned on the song. With Kendrick Lamar blasting, Ilya started doing his leg press.

As Shane walked out of the room, shaking his head in dismay and whispering to himself,

“Would not want to be Montreal next Thursday.”

**

“I’m not kidding Roz, you’re kind of scaring us.” Wyatt looks around the locker room to everyone else after their practice. Eyes are shifting from Wyatt to Ilya. Ilya has been on a hellbent rager these past two weeks at practice. They are running plays and sets and drills until they are all near passing out. Luca has been trying to keep up with Troy and Ilya and he had to quietly hurl after last wednesday’s practice.

Ilya is packing up his stuff and taking off his sweaty clothes, smiling. Like the devil, though?

“We’re going to crush Montreal.” He says this coldly. It wasn’t a pep talk or a question. It was a mantra. His thick Russian accent felt heavy. Everyone is getting a PTSD from back when Rozanov wasn’t very…friendly. When he just moved to Ottawa.

“Of course we will Cap! We’re going to win.” This came from Troy. “But uh…” Troy leaned in, “Are you planning on killing them too?” Troy joked, but looked around the room to see if that’s what everyone else wondering. And it was. 

“I might.” Ilya said this grinding through his teeth. It was low and raspy. It made Troy actually uneasy, and he’d gotten so used to all of Ilya’s anger and outbursts, but this simmering flame felt worse. He looked around at Bood, Wyatt, Stephen, Luca, the whole team with a concerned eye.

“We won’t let them win Cap.” Bood says this, very seriously, trying to match Ilya’s intensity, but then he softens, “Is everything okay? Like, at home?”

Ilya slammed his locker shut, then turned to Bood, again the grin was devilish. “Home is perfect.” Then Ilya began to walk out the room. “See you all tomorrow for practice!” He yelled slightly happy, but they all sensed that just meant another grueling practice. There was collective “ughhs” from everyone as he left.

***

“How was practice today?” Shane opened the door to let Ilya come in with his bag. Ilya dropped the bag and wrapped his arms immediately around Shane, hugging him tightly, but not so tightly since his ribs were the last thing to seem to heal. His face was back to normal, his head cut closed, his headaches were gone. He was all but healed, just the slightest bruise on the left side of his ribs. Almost all the evidence of the awful assault on Shane’s body was gone. Ilya felt it wasn’t off Shane’s mind though, it wasn’t off his either. Shane just wouldn’t let them talk about it. Not for long anyway. Ilya was talking a lot of his frustration over the situation out on the ice and he planned to take the last of it, out on Montreal in a week.

Ilya pulled back and stroked Shane’s freckles and smiled. God, he loved Shane.

He hated that he couldn’t even fully appreciate their coming out press conference. They had only a week of being out that was alongside a looming suspension over their heads from it, then the assault happened. Ilya was starting to feel like he got everything he wanted and it didn’t work. It didn’t make him magically better. It kind of ruined things. He swallowed hard. Well, it didn’t ruin them, but it’s made this awfully hard. It was supposed to make it easier. Hiding was miserable, why is being out miserable too? Every time he looked at Shane’s bruised face, it made him want to cry and now that it’s finally healed, he still can’t shake it. “…Ilya” Shane said this sweetly, trying to bring him back from his wayward look. “Hey…” Shane made an attempt at pulling his chin towards him and holding his head steady as he kissed him. Ilya kissed back hard.

This was easy. This was always so easy. He grabbed Shane by the back of his head and kept kissing him, he went to lift him up, grabbing under his ass so Shane could straddle him and he could carry him to their bedroom. Ilya went to do it and Shane holstered himself up, but he made a soft “Ow” as he jumped into position. His ribs. Ilya held him and said,

“Fuck, did that hurt you? I can put you down.”

“No, don’t! It didn’t hurt.”

“You’re lying.”

“I swear Ilya. I’m fine.” Shane plants another kiss on him. Then another. He’s trying to distract Ilya. He sees the worry on his face. He’s always worried. It drives Shane nuts. “Take me to the bedroom. Right now.” Shane tries to say this all sexy and breathy, but it just sounds like Shane, nerdy and like he planned it. It makes Ilya grin.

“Okay.” Instead of kissing and being in a rush, Ilya holds Shane more like a fragile object, like a giant TV, and focuses on walking him to the bedroom, full concentration to not trip or stumble. He tries to make the walk to the bedroom steady and smooth. Ilya puts Shane gently on the bed and stares at him. He’s so pretty. Shane leans back and looks at Ilya standing over him. He’s so sexy.

“Take off…your shirt.” They both say this at the same time and huff out a laugh together. Then they both take off their shirts. Ilya does a tiny dry swallow at seeing the last remaining bruise on the side of his ribs. It doesn’t even look bad. Faded yellow. He tries not to stare, Shane hates it. Ilya approaches the bed, forcing Shane to scooched back. Ilya looms over him, feeling down his chest and carefully setting himself up against the fully healed side of Shane.

“I swear to god Hollander, you’re the hottest man alive.” When Ilya started that sentence, it was supposed to be a seductive compliment, by the time he reached the last word of it, he stuttered. Alive. You’ve got to accept he’s fine Ilya, he’s not even really injured anymore. He’s the #1 hockey player in the league. He’s tough. You can’t stop bad things from happening. Stop trying to control everything. That’s his neurosis, not yours.

Shane ignored the slight linger on the word alive and instead focused on Ilya’s curls. He grabbed them, whipped them between his fingers.

“That can’t be true if you exist.” That actually sounded sexy. It made Ilya melt.

“I can’t get over you’re mine.” Ilya kind of huffed a laugh at that. “Is that crazy, after 10 years, I still think it’s unbelievable I get you.” He felt Shane’s freckles. “I’ve loved these freckles for 10 years.”

“You have not loved my freckles for 10 years!” Shane retorted. But Ilya nodded his head,

“Yes, yes I have. When you tried to get me to not smoke, when you introduced yourself. I said this at press conference.” Ilya was focusing on this conversation.

“You said you admired me.”

“Yeah, that is code for freckles? You were wearing beanie and sweatshirt. I could only see freckles. I admired them obviously.”

“I thought you meant like, as a person.”

“I did not know you as person.” Ilya gave a big grin and studied Shane’s face, looked him up and down. Shane laughed and blushed.

“Ohh, so you only want me for my freckles, really?”

“Yes! I’d marry you for the freckles.” He laughed but then there was a silent air after that. Calm, soft. It felt tender. But it felt big. Ilya kept grazing his freckles. Ilya gulped. “I mean—”

“I’d marry you for your ass.” Shane cut the tension and gave a wide smile. Ilya laughed,

“My ass? Is perfect?” Shane nodded but his smile became less wide and more serious.

“I’d marry you for you, as person.” Shane mimicked Ilya’s phrasing but he felt like he was holding his breath when he said it. He focused on Ilya’s blue eyes. Ilya kept stroking Shane’s cheek then kissed him on the forehead and said,

“I’d marry you in heartbeat. Just say the word!” Ilya formed a closed mouth smile and Shane closed his eyes at hearing that. He grinned but his eyes filled with tears, when he reopened them, they were glassy and glowing. Ilya softened his face just seeing those big brown eyes stare back. He’s so perfect. He’s yours, Ilya.

“What word?” Shane asked a bit shaky, “What word would I have to say?”

Ilya just knew this as an expression, and Shane asking for a detailed answer didn’t make much sense to him, but maybe he didn’t understand the full expression, maybe there’s a word you’re supposed to create. He thought for a moment, “Счастье моё”

“What?” Shane asked, but not as a joke, “Say it slower.” Ilya smiled pathetically at that.

“Shchyastye moyo” Then Ilya slowed it down: “Shas tea Moy O”

Shane practiced it:

“Shasty MoyO” Ilya beamed at his pronunciation; it was pretty fucking clear.

“Yes, pretty much that.” Ilya kissed him on the lips and Shane kissed back. “What’s it mean?”

Ilya grazed his hand over Shane’s chest down his torso then all the way back up, slowly, taking him all in, then he looked back at his face, and he felt a bit teary,

“My Happiness.”

Chapter Text

When the game finally came, there was an onslaught of media covering it. This wasn’t unusual for a hockey game, but this level of coverage was near scandalous. Everyone knew Ilya and Shane were a couple, everyone knew Shane left Montreal and was out for the season, everyone knew Shane would be at the Centaur vs. Voyageur game, sitting on the Ottawa side, so naturally, everyone was tuned in. People who didn’t even care for hockey wanted to watch.

It was all anyone could talk about, even the Announcers for the game had a hard time keeping the topic to just ‘two nhl teams’ duking it out on the ice. Everyone knew this was more. Way more.

“I am requesting! No, I am demanding! That these Voyageurs leave here limping. Hurt! Injured!” He said injured with a sting of passion more than the others. “But most importantly—” He looked around the locker room of his teammates, they were laser-focused on Ilya, “LOSERS!” They all erupted in loud cheers, they all erupted in hollers and swear words. They all had the most grueling practices the last weeks because of this stupid pathetic fucking team and each one of them were going to do it for Ilya. For Ottawa. For fucking Shane Hollander.

Ilya took to the ice along with the team. The crowd was deafening when they came out. Ilya skated around and did arm pump ups to get them even louder.

Shane was wearing an Ottawa Centaur sweatshirt; Ilya’s actually. He was sitting with the hood up, with the Ottawa Centaur team, which would seem impossible, but for safety reasons, no one wanted him in the stands and accessible to any Montreal freaks (which is the nickname dubbed from the internet for people defending The Voyageurs). They considered it a safety concern to even have him in the arena as is, so it was either with the team, or in the Owners Box. Shane wanted to be closer to the action. No one can really tell Shane Hollander ‘No’. Plus, he already had a contract with the team next season, even if no one knew that. He was going to start practicing at their stadium with Ilya as soon as he was cleared, which is supposed to be next week. 

When Montreal stepped out on the ice, the Boo’s came in like a Dolby Atmos system. It was so loud and low, it felt like vibrations were stirring the entire arena. Ilya and the team were stretching and started laughing, looking around at his teammates, who started laughing. They all looked maniac.

Shane watched in horror. He knew this game wasn’t going to be pretty, but this was starting to seem like it might be a bloodbath. He started chewing on the strings of the hoodie. He hadn’t been watching much of the news, but he still knew this was a big deal. To Ilya especially, or mainly. But more cameras seem to be covering this event more than he’s ever seen, besides at the Cups. He keeps his hoodie up but he can see the cameras already see where he’s sitting. They plaster Shane’s face up on the screen. He drops the string out of his mouth and gives a sheepish smile and wave in his black Ottawa hoodie. The Boo’s immediately change to a resounding ‘HOLLANDER’ chant, which takes over and the whole place is stopping their foots and shouting his name. He gulps and almost gets emotional. They start clapping and cheering for him. He hopes the camera moves off his face soon. Ilya looks up and sees Shane’s face on the screen, then looks over to the bench. He flashes a smile and a wave. Shane waves back and then shrugs in disbelief, which only makes Ilya grin harder. He’s going to kill Montreal.

**

When Ilya steps to the face-off against Comeau, who has the plastered C on his jersey, Ilya says one thing in his low Russian accent, without looking up at him,

“Ready to die?”

Comeau didn’t chirp back.

Comeau did not get to play but 10 minutes before Ilya sent him so hard into the boards he needed medical attention. Needed to have a sweep done because Comeau smashed his face so hard, he lost teeth. Shane was turning pale. He just realized Ilya might try to kill them all. Shane tightened his hoodie around his head nervously. The refs called it fair play though and Ilya didn’t receive a penalty. Technically, and Ilya is very technically skilled, it was a fair hit. Ilya ended up scoring the first goal soon after and the stadium went crazy. Shane could not even begin to explain the response and noise level of everyone here. It was louder than Montreal had ever been. Playing for the Centaurs might be the most fun team he’ll have ever played for come next year. Ilya immediately looked to Shane after the goal, and stuck his stick out pointing to him, breathing heavy and smiling. With his team celebrating him, Ilya dropped into the player’s bench after that goal, went over to Shane and hugged him, then planted a kiss on his cheek. Shane smiled, turning red, and looked up to see it made it on the Jumbotron. Of course it did.

Troy ended up getting a penalty after getting into a fight late in the 1^st period. Wilson had definitely said something, because, sure, Troy was playing hard, but he didn’t drop his gloves and swing for no reason.

“Fucking losers!” Troy snapped at Wilson when pinned up against the boards,

“At least we’re not faggots!” Troy dropped his gloves and swung. Broke Wilson’s nose, lots of blood they had to do a second clean up. Penalty. Worth it. Wilson didn’t even get a touch on Troy. Ilya had the shittiest biggest grin on his face when Troy skated over to the penalty box. Troy flashed him an equally wide grin back.

“That my best friend!” Ilya shouted at him.

Troy sat in the box and under his breath whispered “She a real bad bitch.” Then smiled. But he’ll take it to his grave that he and Ilya listen to that song together in Ilyas Lotus Emira when they drive around town.  

Montreal did absolutely nothing with the powerplay. They couldn’t. They didn’t have Shane Hollander and Ilya was like two players himself.  Hayden Pike and J.J. would never admit it, but they were not playing that hard. They were skating fast, to avoid getting hit, but they were not even stick-handling well, and how could they? Ilya was all over the ice, on top of everyone and everything and without Shane on the line, they have no connection. Meanwhile, Ilya and Luca were passing the puck like it was a game just between them. Luca ended up scoring towards the end of the 1^st period with a minute left. The crowd went nuts. 1^st period ended 2-0.

When the 2^nd period started, Ilya scored in the first minute. Then he scored again in minute 4. That’s already a hat trick. The crowd was feverous. Every time Ilya scored he looked to Shane, he smiled from ear to ear, sweat dripping down his face. He blew a kiss at him, then he returned back into his devilish grin when the game would start again. Rogers from Montreal was so pissed he just decided to try and punch Ilya when they were both chasing the puck. Ilya laid him out so quickly, you’d think he does Ji-jitsu. Rogers had to be taken out of the game because Ilya punched him in the eye and it looked to swell pretty quick. Ilya skated away scotch free since he didn’t start the fight. The crowd went nuts, booing Rogers as he skated off. 2^ndperiod over, and  the score is 4-0. It was embarrassing.

Shane stared at him, but he didn’t see his coach, not the coach he used to know, years ago. He didn’t see his team playing right now either, at least, not the team he knew and won cups with. Everything felt different, a bit off kilter, like an uncanny valley. He reached for the sore side of ribs, but they weren’t sore. Everything was as it was supposed to be. He glanced over at this bench he’s sitting out. There’s Troy, and he looks to Wyatt in the goal, the man who puts his arms over his shoulders and says things like ‘Roz is so fucking in love with you’. He sees Ilya skate as fast as he can. He’s home. Over here. On this bench. In Ottawa. He accepted that now. He’s happy about that. He saw Hayden flash him a smile and he nodded back. He spoke to Hayden every day. At minimum a text. Hayden told him he’d look good in the Centaur colors, like he already knew. And Shane knows now too. Something in him healed. Maybe everything. This is how it’s supposed to feel.

Harris came up from behind the home bench to get Shane’s attention and waved him over to talk.

“Hey, so I’ve got it set up for when the game ends.” Harris says, Shane nods.

“Great, perfect, thank you Harris for doing that for me.”

“We’re going to get fined just so you know.”

“I’ll pay for it, I promise.”

“I literally don’t care. It’s worth it.” Harris winked at Shane and patted his shoulder and returned back to his seat. Shane sat back down in his spot at the end of the bench.

“What did Harris want, love?” Ilya asked taking a seat next to Shane for a moment, getting ready for the 3^rdperiod to start.

“Something about social media, lots of attention we’re getting.” Shane smiled, Ilya just stared at him lovingly, he always did this, get lost in Shane’s face. He took a second to look down at the floor then back up at Shane,

“Of course we are, we are hottest nhl couple.” He shook his wet hair and nuzzled into Shane’s hoodie and laughed. “Now watch me win it for you.” Ilya got up and took to the ice.

In the 3^rd period, right at the top of it, Bood made a goal. 5-0. Dillion was seen chirping it with some player on Montreal, who was shouting something no one could make out. They got into an altercation so the refs had to come over and break up. The Voyageur took a swing and accidentally hit the ref. Major Penalty. They’re fucking lucky it wasn’t a Match Penalty. Ottawa gets a powerplay now for 5 minutes. 

Ilya, Bood, and Troy are on a rampage. They’ve got five minutes and they want to crush Montreal. They look insane, passing the puck back and forth, running circles around the Montreal defenders, tiring them out. Ilya swings the puck out to the right and Troy slaps the puck hard and fast, it goes right between the goalie’s mitt and top corner post, score! 6-0. The whole crowd goes wild! That only took 2 minutes, they still have 3 left of this powerplay to try and score more. When Bood has possession, he passes it around to Troy, who swings across the back of the goal and passes it to Ilya, who’s on the left, at the touch of getting passed the puck, Ilya fakes a pass to Bood and quick shanks his stick to take a shot. The goalie didn’t even get a chance to comprehend it. The puck hits the back of the post and makes that beautiful loud ringing sound. Score!

7-0. The team gathers together in celebration. It’s a bloodbath, in both score and injury. The Centaurs hurt, in some fashion, about every starter and part of the 2nd line.  It’s everything Ilya wanted. He skates over to the bench to take a breather as they do a line change. He goes over to Shane and smothers him. He’s sweating and breathing so hard, his chest is huffing in and out in his bulky uniform, and he’s grinning at Shane like it’s all for him. He hugs him and wraps his sweaty arm around Shane’s shoulders. There’s only 3 minutes left in the game. They let fresh rookies rotate to finish out the game.

The giant buzzer goes off when the clock hits 0.0. seconds. Final score: 7-0

The team gathered on the ice outside the bench in celebration. Shane joins in, Ilya doesn’t leave his side. It would be time to lineup and shake hands, but they aren’t going to. Ilya has the rookies shooing the Voyageurs off, telling them to go home and get the fuck off the ice. Ilya had already discussed this with Wiebe before the game that under no condition are they shaking the Voyageurs fucking hands after, regardless of outcome. Coach didn’t argue, in fact, he agreed.

One player from Montreal tried to tussle over being shooed off by rookies, but Luca swung so fast, the guy ducked to dodge it but fell on his ass, leaving him and the rest of the Voyageurs embarrassed. Ilya came up beyond Luca with a scandalous glare, then he quickly met with Hayden on the ice and patted his shoulder. They were still on speaking terms, he wanted Hayden to not feel totally ostracized. But the Voyageurs, guided by Hayden's stern attitude to keep them in line, just started packing at the bench and leaving through the tunnel one by one. If ever there was a time to skip a post-game handshake, this would be it. The team celebrated together as the arena went nuts. Ilya went back over to the bench celebration and grabbed Shane’s hand, asking him to join him on the ice,

“I don’t have skates on!” Shane quipped. He wasn’t part of the game he didn’t really want to be out there. Bad enough the Jumbotron showed him as much as they did.

“It’s okay, I’ll carry you!”

“No you fucking aren’t. who are we? Scott and Kip? Celebrate with your teammates” Shane smiles and shoos him off, Ilya smiles sweetly and let’s go of Shane’s hand, he doesn’t force him on the ice. Ilya takes to the ice to continue celebrating, he hugs Wyatt Hayes who made his way over finally from the goal.

Then loudly over the speakers starts the celebration music, while the crowd is still going wild.

Song Lyrics:~* I got, I got, I got, I got Loyalty…~*

Ilya snaps his head at Shane and stares in disbelief that his song is playing. They share a moment where Shane shrugs and beams a smile, “You deserve it!” He shouts. Ilya motions and grabs his own heart, while being hugged and practically tackled by random teammates, he points to Shane and shakes his head and mouths, “No, you deserve it” then smiles.

Ilya skates off to do a lap around the ice, pumping his fists in the air. He starts pounding his chest over and over with one hand and pumping the other for the crowd to get loud as his song plays. Troy and Bood join him in pumping up the crowd; hands to ears, fist pumping. As he’s skating close to the visitor’s bench, most of the Voyageurs seem to be leaving through the tunnel, but he eyes Theriault just staring across the way at Shane. He takes a glance between the two, and stops dead in front of Theriault, blocking his view of Shane.  “Ah, ah, he’s mine, not yours. And pity, seems you needed him. Good game, I loved it.” Ilya flashed a devious stare and held it. Ilya didn’t flinch when Coach Theriault took a quick step forward from the bench to try and scare him, in fact, he slowly began a wide grin with his eyes widening, then began laughing manically in his face until he looked crazy, his eyebrows shot up,

“I would be careful, or whole arena will see crazy Russian hit ugly man and I will enjoy too much and they will cheer. Do you hear them? That’s for winners, which you won’t ever be again.” Ilya skated away and then continued his hand pumping motion to get the crowd roaring even louder as D.N.A. kept playing. He decided to skate backwards to pass Theriault once more and smiled, devilishly. 

**

Usually, this level of celebration cannot be contained. No one seems to be leaving the stadium besides Montreal. When Ilya gets back to the bench and sees Shane, sharing hugs with Wyatt and Troy, then Bood, he can’t help but feel the happiest he’s ever been. It was worth it. They are worth it. Everything that went wrong, everything they couldn’t control, it sucked, but it got them here. Shane lives with him, Shane loves him, chose him. It all feels right. It feels like everything he wanted and it worked. He gets to take Shane Hollander home, winners; both of them.

***

After the post-game celebrations commenced, it was late. Late, late. Shane and Ilya slumped into the house, slightly high from the excitement and completely exhausted. Ilya especially, he is beyond tired. All that extra work, hard practices, worth it to win 7-0, but he could use a week vacation, or two. Shane carried in his bag, even though Ilya protested, he actually loved not having to lug it and Shane was healed. Ilya felt he finally believed it now. Ilya had already showered after the game, he was already in sweats, as was Shane. All he wanted was to hold him in bed and sleep in tomorrow and wake up next to the man he loved. They gathered themselves to bed and slid under the covers. Shane looked over at Ilya, who looked exhausted and elated seemingly looking at the ceiling but replaying the game in his head, then, Ilya turned his head to look at Shane, now he looked in love.

“You had them play my song?” He said with a sleepy smile,

“I did, I had Harris set it up.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Ilya opened his arms to tell Shane to lay into him and cuddle. Shane folded himself in immediately and wrapped around Ilya. “Thank you, love. Was perfect night.”

“Can I make it more perfect?” Shane asked, a slight indication that Ilya wasn’t sure what he was getting at. A blowjob? Because Shane Hollander is out of his mind if he thinks Ilya can do any sort of physical performance right now.

“I don’t think I can do that right now” Ilya said, but Shane cut him off quick,

“No! That's not...” Shane traced his finger along Ilya’s chest then he nuzzled his nose into his neck and squeezed him tight, then Ilya held him tighter back. Yeah, this is perfect, Ilya thinks.

Then Shane quietly gets out

“Shchyastye moyo.”

It takes Ilya a second to process that Shane just spoke Russian, then of course, he knows what he said, which makes him smile, then..

Then he realizes why he just said it. He jumps out of position to look at Shane who looks scared almost at the movement this stirred,

“Did I say it wrong?” Shane asked, Ilya shook his head no slowly, but his eyes got wide.

“No, is right, but are you saying it because?” Ilya remembered, they had only just had this conversation last week. Shane gave the faintest smile,

“Say the word, you said.” Shane finished his train of thought.

“Really? You want?” Ilya took a breath, he felt more out of breath than during the whole game tonight. “Want to marry me?” Ilya tried to steady his exhale. Shane now gave a huge grin and laughed,

“Yes. Thanks for asking.” Shane let out a nervous breath and Ilya smiled and laughed. Then Shane said, “Really, Ilya... will you marry me… shchyastye moyo?” Shane seemed to be shaking slightly. Nerves. Ilya started to tear up. It probably didn’t help he was beyond exhaustion, but this was the greatest day of his life.

“Da, Shchyastye moyo! Ya lyublyu tyebya. Da!”

Shane lights up, “Hey, I understood the whole thing!” Shane kissed Ilya, soft and with smiles exchanging between them, both crying now. “I love you Ilya. You’re the greatest man I know.”

It’s supposed to feel like this.