Chapter Text
May 2021, 36 Hours After the Incident, Montreal
Shane's phone was vibrating again, quite insistently. This shouldn't exactly come as a shock to him considering it had been ringing non-stop for the last 24+ hours. Shane was genuinely concerned it was going to catch on fire. He was starting to think that wouldn't be such a bad thing in the grand scheme of things. With a groan, he rolls out of his very comfortable duvet cocoon to see if it's anyone worth talking to. Unfortunately for Shane, it's his mother.
Yuna immediately bursts, "good morning baby, sorry for calling you so early but I wanted you to hear it from me. I can't even really wrap my brain around this but the Metros… the Metros..."
Shane sighed, his voice gravelly from crying and not speaking yet today, "spit it out mom, what happened now?" She takes a breath so deep, Shane feels it in his chest hours away.
"They put you on waivers Shane. You're on waivers right now." A hot anvil lands somewhere between Shane's throat and navel. He's speechless, genuinely stunned, but this is somehow the second most shocking thing to happen this week… so…
"Okay. Well. That's not great." Shane knows he sounds like some sort of stunted robot.
Yuna lets out a harrumph. "I know honey. I know. I didn't even think the team would consider this with possible backlash, but it's clear where their fucking priorities are. Whatever happens you WILL get through this Shane. You WILL play hockey. I'll just have to burn all my Metros gear regardless, which is feeling quite doable at the moment."
Shane knew this was a big leap for his mother who practically raised him from infancy in Metros blue. "Thanks mom. I guess just let me know if Farah hears from anyone. I feel like the odds of movement right now are slim." He hopes they’re slim. He needs time to process the last 36 hours of blow up without worrying about a whole new group of guys to disappoint and disgust.
Yuna sighs, "I guess we'll see about that."
After finding out his life was imploding even more than it was yesterday, Shane decides to roll over and go back to sleep. Not even deeming a glance at his other notifications. It's only 7:00 after all, if his career is going up in flames it's basically the perfect time to take it easy. He still feels like his head is a bowling ball that could fall off at any moment, his limbs concrete filled, and not really working for him like they should. Shane burrows back into his duvet cocoon, rubbing the smooth sheets with his feet while he re-assumes his position from the last twelve or so hours.
He's out of the playoffs, with or without the Metros. They clearly decided to cut him loose as soon as he wasn't needed for the cup this year, because really, isn’t that all he’s good for? Hockey IQ robot, take the hockey out of the equation and he’s just… nothing. There’s nothing to be done now.
When he wakes again it's well past 10:00 according to his (still quite overheated) phone. No texts from the guys, the team chat suspiciously quiet. Out of morbid curiosity he clicks into the Metros chat and sees he's been removed. Figures. He never quite loved the group chat like the other guys, his jokes usually ignored or falling flat. It still gave him a sense of friendship with his team, his guys since rookie year. This week had felt like a limb being slowly sawed off; Shane just deems today the total amputation. He has several missed calls and texts from Hayden and JJ and none from any other… players… he may have been hoping to hear from. Figures. Hayden and JJ can wait.
Shane works out in a daze, going through yoga poses completely unfocused. He guesses he needs to just move his body as it’s been nearly two days sans physical exertion. No point in trying to find his zen, that shit went out the window a while ago. Shane knows it's a waiting game now. Waivers are really the only way the Metros could be rid of him at this stage, but a seriously hail mary move to make. Holding onto hope that any other team would want him considering the circumstances, he opts to check out as much as he can mentally until the phone rings with a call from Farah.
He doesn't even consider turning the TV on, that's just asking for trouble. Its round two of playoffs tonight and he hasn't missed watching (or playing in!) a cup game since he was a toddler, but he can't risk hearing about himself on the pre-game broadcast. Not today. If anyone asked Shane what he did the rest of the day, he wouldn't be able to say. Moving through the apartment like a ghost trying not to actively be waiting for news occupied his time.
When darkness falls, it goes against every bone in Shane's body to not turn on the TV. He doesn't. He goes to bed early and actually silences his phone this time, turning it off all the way. No point in waiting up for the call he's sure isn't coming.
60 Hours After the Incident, Montreal
Shane wakes up on his own at 6:00AM the following day. He forces himself to go through his entire morning routine before checking his phone. Tongue scraping included, even though he feels so nauseous he could throw up at any moment. After that enormous show of restraint, he rushes to turn his phone back on. His notifications take about 2 seconds to completely fill up his screen, but he's only searching for one name. Farah's catches his eye instead, a litany of messages, emails, and calls.
On instinct, he dials. "Shane. Thank god. Have you seen what I've sent you? Have you been looking on Twitter? I know I told you to stay off that shit but today may be a GOOD day to check the cesspool-"
Shane interrupts, "Farah. I just woke up. What's going on?"
She starts warmly, "Shane. You've been picked up. Ottawa. You're going to Ottawa to help them win the fucking cup." Shane feels the floor open under his feet. Swallow him whole. All the way from the penthouse to the basement. He can't breathe. Where did all the oxygen go?
"What? Ottawa? Are you serious? Farah. I-I can't go to Ottawa. No one else wants me?"
Farah bursts, "Shane. You're playing hockey for your hometown team, you still get a go at the cup this year. You get to show those fuckers in Montreal what you're worth. You have friends on the Centaurs, Wyatt, Ilya, what exactly is the problem?"
Shane can't tell Farah what the problem is. That's why he's having the week he's having. That's why he's having the year he's having. He needs to go throw up.
Christmas Day 2020, Five Months Before the Incident, Ottawa
Shane just wanted a nice Christmas with his parents and boyfriend. It was the only time off they had this month and he just wanted to make the most of it by relaxing as much as possible with Ilya. At present, it felt completely poisoned by the tension simmering between him and Ilya. Ilya wanted him to eat a fucking cookie and he didn't have the energy to fight about it. Ilya was sniping him about his diet, his nagging, and Shane was sniping Ilya about his losing hockey team. They weren't in their best form, that's for sure. When they finally got home after dinner and gifts with David and Yuna, Shane hoped they could reset and chill for the rest of their time together. Actually relax and enjoy the holiday.
They exchanged gifts that night and Ilya's gift of the CCM outtake made Shane's heart ache with love. God how he loved this man. No matter how physically close they were, Shane found it was never enough, He would crack his ribs open and tuck Ilya inside if possible. He couldn't wait to hang the CCM photo in the cottage, where he could stare at it all he wanted during the off season. He didn't understand why Ilya didn't seem to love the idea of keeping it in their safe space instead of his apartment where any one of his teammates could see it.
They went to sleep entangled per usual, but they didn’t fuck before. Ilya said he was tired, that should have been Shane’s first red flag.
Boxing Day started out fine enough. Some of the tension from the day before had eased and a hard morning fuck in the shower—with Shane plastered to the tiles begging for mercy— really started the day off right. Shit hit the fan as soon as Ilya asked Shane to go to Zane Boodram's party. Why the fuck would that be a good idea? Wouldn't people get the wrong idea? Shane thought they were on the same page. Clearly not.
Ilya was raging, "Hollander why the FUCK wouldn't I want my team to meet my boyfriend? Even if it’s just as a friend, a friend who happens to spend the holidays in Ottawa with his family and sees me, his FRIEND, because we run a fucking charity together! They know we are friends, that was the whole point of this plan of yours!"
Shane immediately felt stung. "Ilya you KNOW we can't come out. Spending the holidays together is way too suspicious. I don't understand why you haven't said anything about wanting things to be different if you’re so upset about this."
Ilya stares, his expression turning dark. "Shane. You and I both know you don't handle change well, god forbid I suggest a change to a plan you cooked up with your mother—after barely consulting me—24 hours after saying I love you for the first time." Shane feels like he's been slapped.
"Ilya. YOU said you liked the plan! You were fine moving to Ottawa, you told us all you wanted to do this. What changed? I don't understand what's happening." Shane feels his tears building up but didn't dare to let them fall.
"Fucking nothing Hollander. I just thought for once we could do something even semi-normal rather than hiding like criminals. I'm sick of hiding who I am. I'm sick of hiding my boyfriend," Ilya's pacing now, the anger rolling off of him in waves, "I want to go public, this year. I want to come out. With or without you." Shane feels the tears threatening to spill over at last.
"You know I want you Ilya, you know I love you more than anything. I can't come out right now, there's too much of my career left. I-I-If you come out our whole plan goes to shit. You know you can't do that, Ilya, it would destroy us." Ilya scoffs.
"Destroy you, maybe. It feels like my career has already been destroyed abandoning the cup winning team I built. I want to come out, I really do, but I know you'd run the second anyone in the MLH even suspected we were together. Don't deny it."
A sick feeling settles low in Shane's gut. "God forbid I want to actually win another cup. My career IS important to me, I'm nothing without hockey. Nothing. I can't come out yet Ilya, I'm not ready for the world to view me as another kind of outsider in this fucking sport."
Ilya just stares, a blank mask descending over his normally bright features. "You are everything to me Hollander. With or without hockey. But I think… I know…I'm not everything to you. Please leave." Shane had no rebuttal, simply felt the shock of rejection hit his system and got in his car.
Shane didn't call Ilya. Ilya didn't call Shane. Days of silence turned into weeks, weeks into months. Yuna and David still saw Ilya and continously updated Shane on how he seemed to be doing. They said he was clearly not taking it well. Shane's own investigation told another story.
The paparazzi were having a field day with Ilya's seemingly revamped playboy lifestyle. Every time Shane opened his phone another photo of Ilya at a club or a bar had dropped. Various bottles of vodka constantly in hand. People surrounding him. Ilya was often with his teammates, specifically younger rookies still sowing their oats, but occasionally Shane would see women clinging on to him. Blonde. Brunette. A few redheads. None of them really registered until he saw the same one twice: a petite Asian woman, with long dark hair. From certain angles, she looked like she could be Shane's sister. One photo of Ilya's arm draped around her slim waist, another photo from another night showing her hand on his lower back. Shane's worst fears had seemingly been confirmed: Ilya was fine without him. He could find a woman to replace him, with ease even. Shane was NOT fine without Ilya.
Present Day, 60 Hours After the Incident, Montreal
After a phone call with Yuna—where he felt like he was being flayed alive by her simultaneous joy at having her son close mixed with the obvious concern over the Ilya of it all— it was starting to truly sink in for Shane. He was going to play for Ottawa. The Ottawa Centaurs. The team who made it to the playoffs based off the sheer rabid determination Ilya had fueled them with this season. Ilya. He would have to see Ilya. Share a locker room with Ilya. A team.
All of this would justifiably be enough to send Shane spiraling. This whole situation was some circle of hell the universe cooked up just for him. All this, while he was already living the nightmare he hadn't known to fear all those months ago: Shane had been outed as a gay man 60 hours ago. But not with Ilya.