Chapter Text
1. Ilya makes a Plan
[October 2017. Boston, MA]
It’s two months after they’d come home from the cottage and Ilya knew it was too early to propose to Shane, he knew that. His beautiful, boring boyfriend might’ve planned out the next ten years and beyond retirement, but Ilya also knew that Shane was not great with unexpected changes. His big brown doe eyes were not the only thing he had in common with deer; if Ilya moved too quickly with this, he would spook Shane and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Still – Ilya felt ready for this. Having already given up Russia, planning to leave Boston to be closer to Shane, he felt ready to go all in, cross that bridge and get there – or something like that. He always struggled to remember the exact wording of that particular idiom. It didn’t matter, he knew Shane was the one for him, his forever.
As he sat there, in front of the Boston Children's Museum, Dunkin iced coffee in his hand, watching the people cross the Seaport Blvd bridge, he dared to dream. He set his coffee down on the picnic table in front of him and reached for the comforting weight of his mother’s necklace. Had he been able to keep his mother’s ring, he could’ve had it resized to fit Shane… no use wondering about that now, Ilya thought. His father had given the ring to Alexei; Ilya wasn’t sure whether he had actually given the ring to his wife or whether he had sold it for the money.
He shook his head to get rid if the train of thought, turning towards the other bridge, his glance finding the people lining up to enter the Tea Party Museum.
There was this neat little antique shop on Beacon Hill, on the corner of Charles Street, and one of those small, steep Beacon Hill streets with all the nice brick stone buildings. Ilya had seen some beautiful rings through one of the windows when he had taken a walk there on one of those rare game-free nights he spent in the city, and he had thought about getting Shane one of those. That was until he had realized that he didn’t know Shane’s ring size, what kind of style he wanted, or if he preferred a new ring rather than an antique one…
A car honked next to him, stopping with the windows down, as Ilya startled slightly, shaken from his daydream.
It was Wally, one of the older firefighters from the Boston Fire Museum two blocks down, just a short walk from his place, too. Out of the backseat window, the head of a small-ish dalmatian with a heart-shaped nose yapped excitedly and tried to move towards Ilya. He pulled himself together, straightened his spine as he got up, pushed his sunglasses up his nose and took a few purposeful steps towards the car double-parked half in the fire exit and half on the bike lane before he bowed down to the dog in the car window.
“Hey big guy!” Wally said loudly, holding his hand out for a friendly slap to Ilya’s shoulder. “We missed you over the summer! You should come by and take Sparky for a run, now that you’re back in town!” Wally laughed good-naturedly; the friendly, almost fatherly way only older men with laugh lines and bright eyes know how to.
Ilya couldn’t help but laugh, too, as he leaned down to shake Wally’s hand, before he gave Sparky a kiss on her little nose.
“Wally, my friend!” Ilya said, a genuine smile on his lips at seeing the two of them. Sparky licked Ilya’s face excitedly by the time he got to answer, her tail whacking rhythmically against the leather seats of the car. “I missed you too, girl!” Ilya cooed, laughing as the dog jumped to put her front paws on his shoulders. He continued to pet Sparky behind her ears as he said: “I will come by firehouse, maybe next week? Will you be there? Then I can introduce Sparky to my friend, he will be here for game.”
“Sure! I’m sure she would love that! Wouldn’t you girl?” Will laughed, his face scrunching up as he does, showing all the hard-earned wrinkles and laugh lines of a well-lived life. Ilya often wondered whether he would be lucky enough to get there, too. One day. Preferably with Shane by his side.
“Look man, I gotta go-,“ Wally shrugged and looked around with a smile, “even I shouldn’t double park in front of the fire exit for too long. But you really should come by, bring your friend- You know my little girl misses you.” Sparky yapped as if to agree, and licked Ilya’s nose.
As Ilya said his goodbyes to Wally and smacked one last big kiss right on Sparky’s snoot, a plan began to form in his mind.
-------------------------------------------------------
A few days later, the first step of his plan was already set in motion.
Ilya couldn’t really risk walking around Boston in the bright of day, especially around game days, so he had looked up the owner of the antique shop and made an appointment to meet him there after hours. The day after the season opener against Nashville, where Ilya had explained to a bunch of very surprised journalists that he and Hollander were friends, didn’t you know?, he got into his car and made his way over to Beacon Hill. Ilya was still riding the high and the rush that followed both their win against Nashville, and the incredulous looks that followed his declaration in the press room.
He parked his car in one of the few free on-street parking spaces on Charles Street, a few yards down from the antique shop, and took quick strides to get to the only lit door on the block. The owner was waiting for him, opening the door quickly to let him in.
“Mister Rozanov-,” he said with a friendly tone, even though he couldn’t quite hide the astonishment on his face. He looks like a nice man, Ilya thought. Elderly, with grey, fluffy hair and a sweater vest over a checkered shirt.
“Ah, Yes, hello.” Ilya tried his best to look friendly, although he was admittedly very nervous; nervous about the man’s discretion, nervous about finding the right ring, nervous about his decision to do this at all. “I am looking for a ring, silver, I think.” Ilya said and nodded towards the display case he had seen from the window.
“Yes, of course, please.” The older man made a gesture of invitation. “Go ahead, please.” He smiled. “Are you looking for something particular?”
“I am... not certain. I hope I will know once I see.”
The man nodded again. Walking to the display case with Ilya, he unlocked the glass case and took a step back.
“Let me know if I can help you with anything, alright?” He smiled. “I’ll be over at the counter. Take your time, please.” With another friendly look he turned around.
Ilya smiled, too. Grateful to be alone without having someone breathe down the back of his neck, he turned his attention to the rings in the big display in front of him. Laying on red velvet were at least sixty rings of various sizes and shapes, some with stone inlays, some simpler bands. He had given a lot more thought to what style and shape Shane might prefer, coming to no conclusive answer at all. He hoped that the right one might wait for him.
Picking up one with a blue stone, he thought Shane might appreciate that the hue was similar to that of Ilya’s own eyes – but he put it back – too flashy.
Then he picked up a band with ridges and wells, some sort of ornaments. This wasn’t too flashy – but he was sure that it would catch on shirts and pants and in hair, a sensory nightmare, Shane would call it.
Finally, in the second row, in the top right corner, Ilya saw it. It was a silver band, simple, not flashy, no ornaments to snag, with a fine engraving. He picked it up and brought it closer to his face. Engraved on it were birds, he couldn’t quite make out whether they were loons or ducks – but he knew that it was perfect. This was it.
Ilya slipped the ring on his own ring finger and smiled when it was a little loose – perfect.
While Ilya’s fingers were longer and bonier, Shane’s were broader, a little stubbier. He loved teasing Shane about it.
Ilya’s face felt warm, thinking about the loons at the cottage and Shane’s wonderful fingers combing through Ilya’s curls as his head laid in Shane’s lap.
This was it. This was the ring.
When he headed back to the counter, the ring in his hand, he could feel a deep blush creeping up his neck to his ears. He had told Marly once that Russians did not blush – he would just have to hope that the old man would keep his secret.
“Oh, you’ve found something already? Let me see.” The owner said and held out his hand.
Ilya carefully dropped the ring in the middle of the other man’s palm, already feeling uneasy with parting from it. He felt like he was baring a piece of his soul. Stupid, he thought.
“What a nice piece! This one only came in a few weeks ago. Are you a hunter, Mr. Rozanov? You know, with the loons an all?”
“Ah, no. I am city boy,” Ilya smiled “this is a gift for a friend, yes? He loves nature. I think he will like the ring.”
The owner nodded. “I’m sure he will.”
After Ilya had paid and signed an autograph for the owner’s grandson (“He loved that goal you scored in the cup final, the thing you did with the puck, skipping it- he has your poster up on the back of his door, you know?”) he left with a new sense of determination.
Shane would get to Boston in two days, flying in for just a night from New York after his game against the Admirals. They would fuck, then he’d cook something that Shane could eat, he would ask Shane to marry him, and they would make sweet, sweet love as fiancés.
He smiled to himself. Yes, that’s how it would go.
– that was not how it went.
Shane collides with a rookie during practice following their win in the season opener and twists his knee awkwardly. Nothing bad, Shane assures Ilya, really. Just a few days of rest and some ice packs and Arnica cream at the team physician’s insistence.
Montreal loses all seven games without their captain, the longest loosing streak the Metros will see all season, getting their 2017/2018 season off to a great start.
And Ilya? Ilya hides the little velvet box containing the loon ring behind the cartons of his three favorite sugary cereals, right in his kitchen. A place Shane will never voluntarily check. He goes to visit Wally and Sparky at the fire museum a few days later, alone. But he tells Shane about it during a facetime call later that night. And finally, he puts away the candles and gives the flowers to one of the older cleaning ladies at the practice rink.
He feels a certain frustration at the turn of events, hates the loneliness that begins to creep in with missing Shane and not seeing him for so long. He feels even worse not being able to help Shane and be with him when he is hurt – but they’re both in the first few weeks of the season, both busy with road trips and away games – and so the only thing he can do is look forward to December, when Shane is due to spend a weekend in Boston, and to next year, when he’ll be in Ottawa – and so much closer to Shane.