Archive of Our Own

Montreal.  

He’d done everything but actually circle the date on the calendar in the locker room as he waited for the days and weeks to pass to finally get time with Shane again.  

He hadn’t seen him since the day of their last game in Boston.

Before his dad died.

Before he had to travel back to Russia.

Before he had said goodbye to a place that had been home for so long, but hadn’t felt like it since he was twelve.

Before he had confessed to loving Shane over the phone.  Even if it was in Russian.  He’d said the words because he’d needed to say them out loud, to believe in something good while he was back in the place that seemed to constantly pull at the darkness inside him.  He’d said them because it was true.  It was real.  And he needed something real.  Loving Shane was so real, it scared him.

Shane had texted him earlier that week, asking when got in, but there hadn't been enough time to see him before the game.  So they’d planned for their usual meet up after.

But Ilya knew there was nothing usual about their interactions anymore.  Something had shifted in that hotel room in Tampa, and then even more on their video calls while he’d been in Russia.  Truths had been spoken into reality and they couldn’t and wouldn’t be taken back.

His thoughts of Shane were almost distracting during his waking hours.  Even now, as he stood in front of his stall, game in only a few hours, he was thinking of later.

His mind was so firmly on Shane that he had tuned out most of the locker room conversations as everyone suited up around him.  

Until he heard his name.  The one he’d just been thinking about.

“Hey, you hear the news?” Connors said, looking down at his phone.  “Hollander is out tonight!  Should be an easy game!”

“Hollander is what?" Ilya asked abruptly, turning around and frowning at his teammate.

Cliff Marleau stood in the stall next to him, staring at his phone as well.

“He’s out, Roz,” his friend said after a minute.  “Look for yourself.”

He tried to hand Ilya his phone, but there was a sudden wave of panic flooding through Ilya that made him turn back to his own stall.

“What? No, that cannot…” he said, blindly reaching a hand up to search through the top shelf of his locker for his phone.

A pit of unease was settling in his stomach.  Shane wouldn’t miss a game, especially not one against him unless something was very, very wrong. 

“He’s not playing tonight, man,” Cliff said, shoving his phone in Ilya’s direction so he could see the headline at the top of the screen.

Montreal Star Center listed as “Out” for tonight’s rivalry game against the Boston Raiders.  A team statement is said to be released shortly.

“That is not possible,” he muttered, finally finding his own phone and swiping open the screen.  

Nothing.  There were no texts from Jane.  No missed phone calls.  Nothing at all.

Something was wrong.  Ilya could feel it.  An uneasy feeling coiled deep in his chest, tightening the longer he stood there looking at his phone willing a message or call to come through, making it harder to breathe.

“Well, it’s happening,” Cliff replied, eyeing him for a long moment, before adding.  “You okay, Roz?”

Ilya just shook his head, immediately opening their message thread again and began to type.

LIly: you are not playing?

Lily: are you ok?

He waited a moment, staring at the screen, willing those three dots to appear to show Shane was okay and texting him back.  

When neither message had been read after a minute, he sent one more.  Normally, he wouldn’t use his name, but he didn’t care.  Not now.  He’d tell him to delete it later.

Later.  Yes, he would see him later.  Right?

Lily: Hollander?

A minute passed and then another as he stared at his phone silently begging for some kind of sign that Shane had seen them.  That he was ok.

He slowly became aware of the way his hands were almost shaking.  That familiar feeling he’d had when his brother had called and told him father died swirling in the back of his mind.

Ilya swallowed, taking a deep breath to try to quell his rising fears, the bitter taste of death and loss still sitting at the back of his throat after the past two weeks.

Desperation fueled his last text.  

Please be okay.  Please answer.  Do not do this to me.  I can not lose someone else.  I cannot lose you.

He didn’t type any of those thoughts.  Instead, he settled on a simple plea.

Lily: Shane, please.

Hitting send, he closed his eyes, and brought the phone to his forehead.

“They released a statement,” someone else called from across the room.  “Holy shit, he’s in the hospital?”

Ilya’s vision darkened at the corners, and he felt himself begin to sway.  He flung his arm out and braced himself against his stall, the panic and dread from earlier intensifying as it began spiraling through his entire frame, sweat breaking out as his hands became clammy and his breath ground to a halt.

Every single muscle in his body seemed to tense.  He fought the tightening in his chest, trying to pull in a deep enough breath to keep the dark edges from creeping further into his vision.  It felt as if someone was slicing into his heart with a serrated blade, the pain so acute and jarring he wondered if he hadn’t physically reacted to it.

Shane had just texted him this morning.  Four hours to be exact.  Why was he in the hospital now?  What had happened?  What the fuck had happened?

Fuck.  Visions of unmoving arms and eyes that no longer saw flashed through his mind and couldn’t stop the halting gasp he let out.

He felt Cliff react next to him, could feel the way his gaze hovered over him, probably with concern flooding those big puppy dog eyes.   He knew he was giving too much away.  He needed to pull himself together before people started asking questions he couldn’t answer.

No, he needed to go to him.  He needed…

The vibrating sensation in his hand halted his spiraling thoughts.  Opening his eyes, he looked down to see the screen lit up with the one name he wanted to see the most.

“Jane”

Shane was calling.

His feet moved before his brain had completely caught up, taking him towards the doors to the visitor’s locker room before anyone could stop him.  He heard Cliff shouting his name but didn’t look back, just shook his head.

“I have to take this, Marly,” he replied, hating the way his voice wavered, before he pushed through the doors and into the quieter hall.  

It was early enough that the media hadn’t shown up yet, most still in the pre-game press room.  

His fingers shook as he swiped over the screen to answer it, his feet continuing to take him  towards the door marked with a “Sortie” sign.  It might have been the first French word besides bonjour that he had learned when he came to North America.

But right now, it was all he needed.

“Shane? Hollander?” he gasped as soon as he broke through the door into the cooler Montreal air.

He knew his voice sounded desperate and thick with emotion but he didn’t care.  He needed to hear Shane’s voice, needed to know he was okay.

“Yeah, hey, it’s me.”  Shane’s soft voice traveled through the phone and into his ear, and hearing it was a balm to his aching heart, allowing a bit of the tension to slip from his frame.

Ilya felt his knees buckle and leaned back against the side of the building, ignoring the way the rough brick scraped across his compression shirt as he closed his eyes in relief.

“Fuck.  You are okay?  They said you are at hospital?” Ilya didn’t open his eyes as he spoke, instead, pressing the phone closer to his ear as if he could pretend Shane was actually standing right in front of him and not across the city.

“Uh, yeah, I’m sorry,” Shane said quietly, “When I saw they released the statement, I knew you would be worried.  And then I saw your texts.  I’m ok.”

Ilya released a gasping breath, letting himself sink down against the wall, the coldness biting into his skin.

“That is good, but it does not explain why you are at the hospital,” he said, frowning as his mind came up with various scenarios, none of which were good or acceptable.

“Um, yeah, my dad and I were in a car accident,” Shane said before Ilya’s thoughts could continue to churn.

Ilya was glad he was already leaning against the wall because knew his legs would have given out with those words

“What?! You said you were ok?” Ilya’s voice was harsher than he meant, but the fear that spiked through him made staying calm impossible as visions of mangled cars and a lifeless Shane filled head.

He heard the hitch in Shane’s breath, the carefully controlled façade slipping, and Ilya wished, not for the first time, that he was there with him.  Wished he could hold him, like Shane had held him when he’d talked about his father being sick in Tampa.  The comfort of that simple, steady embrace had done more for Ilya than anything else ever could.

“My dad…” Shane began to explain but stopped as his voice broke, taking a breath before pushing forward, “He was driving. A car ran a red light and he took the worst of the hit.  Ilya…I couldn’t, he wasn’t awake and I could move or get to him. It was…horrible.  Fuck, I couldn’t do anything.”

The panic and fear in Shane’s voice brought tears to his eyes.  His heart ached for the man he couldn’t hold right now; the man who was always so steady and resolved, sounding so broken and lost.  

Ilya was seconds from pulling up his ride share app and going to him. He didn’t care about the damn game or the rivalry or anything else at that moment but being with Shane.

He swallowed, hearing Shane’s quiet sobs through the phone and instantly began to comfort him.

“Is ok, Shane,” he whispered, feeling helpless this far away.  “He is a strong man. Is where you get it from, yes? How bad is it?”

He heard Shane take a shaky breath, could picture him closing his eyes, brows furrowed as he tried to gather his composure before answering.  “They said his leg is probably broken in at least two places.  He hit his head and was unconscious so he probably has a concussion.  He was confused when they first got him out of the car - God, Ilya, they had to cut him out because the door was crushed.  I thought…”

Ilya hushed him, the Russian words flowing out of him coming easier in his heightened emotional state.

"Дыши, малыш, дыши. С ним всё в порядке. Он сильный — как ты. И упрямый тоже, да?"Breathe, baby, breathe. He’s going to be fine. He’s strong—just like you. And stubborn, too, right?

When he heard Shane’s breathing even, he switched to English, repeating the words slowly, hoping somehow it was helping.  

“Breathe, malysh, breathe.  He is ok. He is strong, like you.  Stubborn too, yes?”

That got a small chuckle out of Shane, along with a sniffle. 

“My mom is the most stubborn, but yes, he is,” Shane admitted, and then released a long slow breath before murmuring, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Ilya whispered, his eyes darting around to make sure he was still alone. 

“I will come to you.  Where are you?”  

The words surprised even himself.  It wasn’t a question of if he wanted to be there, he needed to be there with Shane.  Needed to hold him and comfort him and verify with his own eyes that he was, indeed, safe.

“What?” Shane replied, “No, you don’t…Ilya, you have a game. You can’t skip it to come here.”

Ilya knew he was right. He knew all the reasons that he couldn’t go to the hospital, that he couldn’t be there for Shane like he desperately wanted to be.  And he hated all of them.

“Yes, but if you are not playing, is not a fair fight.  We will win,” he said, trying for his normal banter, but his voice was strained, even to his own ears.  

The short chuckle that he got in reply helped to ease some of his worry, glad he could at least take Shane’s mind off things for a moment.  

“You still have to play,” he said, “But go easy on Hayden.  He was a bit of a mess when he learned I was in an accident.  He’s been trying to call me. I need to call him next.”

Ilya tried to ignore the bit of happiness he got knowing that Shane had called him first.  

“I know the feeling,” he murmured softly, hating that he might actually have something in common with Pike.

“Hey, I’m okay,” Shane reassured. “Really.  I’m…I’ll be ok.”

“Shane, it’s okay if you are not,” Ilya replied, and closed his eyes when he heard the soft hitch in Shane’s breathing.

“You have to play,” Shane said instead, and Ilya knew he was trying to change the subject.  Pivoting to hockey was something more familiar and normal.  “It would raise too many questions if you didn’t.  You know it would.”

Ilya clucked his tongue, but knew he was right.  “You will call if you need me.  Even if it’s just to talk and not think, yes?”

There was a soft hum and then a stronger, “Yeah, yes. I will.”

Ilya waited, not wanting to hang up, his entire body rebelling at the idea of not going straight to Shane and instead going back into that locker room and lacing his skates on to play in a game where he would feel Shane’s absence in every minute, every puck drop, every goal scored.

“I should go,” Shane finally said, but Ilya heard the hesitation in his voice.  “My dad’s about to go into surgery.  I’ll be ok, Ilya.  My mom…she’s not doing great.  I have to be here with her.”

Ilya heard what he didn’t say.  I have to be strong for her.

“Yes, I know. Take care of your mom, Hollander,” he said, “She is strong, but she is stronger with you.”

Ilya stood, turning to lay his head against the cold brick of the building, and he heard the shaky breath Shane let out.

The silence stretched but Ilya refused to be the one who hung up first.  

“Ilya?” The emotion in his voice brought fresh tears to Ilya’s eyes. 

“Yes, I am here,” he replied softly.

“Thank you,” Shane said.  “Talking to you helped.”

Ilya pressed his lips together, swallowing thickly and he hoped his voice sounded stronger than he felt when he answered him.  “Of course, Shane.  I am always here if you need me.”

Ilya thought that might be the end of their conversation, the next thing he would hear was “goodbye” and the end of the call.

Instead, he heard Shane release another shaky exhale.  

“I think I’m starting to always need you.”

The words were barely audible but Ilya heard them as if they’d been shouted at the top of his lungs.  And he immediately knew exactly what Shane meant because he felt the same thing.

A life without Shane Hollander in it seemed more and more bleak and impossible each passing day.

“I am…Me too, Shane. Я понимаю, что вы имеете в виду. I know what you mean.”  

He let the words hang there, let Shane hear them, even the Russian words he hadn’t translated, and he felt the rest of the words crawling up his throat - the confessions of everything he was feeling, all his deepest hopes and dreams and that they all somehow started and ended with Shane in them.  

Before he could say anything else, there was a voice calling Shane in the background.

“Uh, I gotta go,” Shane said, and Ilya could hear the uncertainty in his voice.  “The doctor wants to talk to us before the surgery and I…”

“Go, Hollander,” Ilya interrupted, slipping back into his last name to bring them back from the brink of too much.  “Is ok.  I will check in later, yes?  Text me if you need during the game.”

“Yeah, okay.  That would be great,” Shane said.  “Thank you.  Good luck tonight.  But don’t tell my team I said that.”

Ilya barked out a laugh. “Oh, is first thing I am telling Pike.”

“Ilya,” he hissed, sounding slightly panicked and Ilya couldn’t have that.

“Is fine, Shane.  I will be on best behavior for you,” he reassured, ”Now, go, I will talk to you after.”

Shane sighed, “Thank you.  Really.  Bye, Ilya.”

“Bye, Shane.”  

When the call disconnected, he lowered his hand to his side and pressed his eyes shut, letting one lone tear fall.

Ilya stayed with his forehead pressed against the cool brick for a few more minutes, gathering himself back together to be ready to be Captain Ilya Rozanov of the Boston Raiders.  To act as if it were a treat that his biggest rival wasn’t playing tonight instead of it being one of the things that he hated the most.

Playing against Shane used to be his favorite way to play hockey.   Then he got to play on the same team as him in Tampa and, now, that would always secretly be his favorite thing.  

There was nothing like playing with Shane, on the same line.  Playing with someone who could match or best you at every skill.  Someone who could keep up with you and always knew where you were on the ice.  It was scary how well they played together, how intuitive it was to know where Shane was and be able to tell what he wanted before he wanted it.  

Then again, he’d become very good at reading Shane’s wants and needs over the years.  It made sense that it translated to hockey as well.

The idea of never playing against or with Shane ever again took the literal breath from his lungs. He gasped as the thought filtered through his still-reeling brain.  

It would fundamentally change the way he played the game because hockey had become linked to Shane Hollander in his mind and heart.  He'd always known he would be able to give up hockey for a good reason.  But having to give up Shane would be impossible, and the world taking that choice away from him was unthinkable.

His phone buzzed in his hand and he immediately straightened to look at it, wondering if Shane had already texted him.

It wasn’t Shane.  

Marly: You okay, man?  Coach asked where you went and I told him you had a family call, but you better get back in here.

Ilya: Come let me inside the door.  Had to take phone call.  Door locked behind me.

Ilya sighed, taking one more deep breath, and by the time the side door swung open, he somehow had his game face back on, clapping Marly on the back as he passed by.

“Ready to fucking destroy Montreal tonight?” he asked, a wild grin on his face, hoping it was doing enough to hide the heartache and apprehension from his eyes.

Cliff looked at him for a moment as if trying to decide something before returning his grin and following him down the hallway.  “Yeah, Cap, let’s fucking go!”

They won.  3-1.  

Ilya somehow managed to score once, but anyone could tell his head was not completely in the game. Including Cliff, whose eyes met his in concern more than once. But he couldn't find it in himself to care. 

All he cared about was the man not there with them.  

Every time his gaze swept across the ice, he looked for the number that wasn’t there.  He made the mistake of looking up at the second face-off of the game, expecting to see Hollander’s grin staring back at him, but, instead, found some unknown face, and his heart stopped, remembering.  He’d lost that puck drop.

Despite what he told Shane, he didn’t say a word to Pike.  The man looked lost enough as it was and he didn’t want to let anyone know that he’d talked to Shane.  As much as he still inwardly preened that Shane had called him first.

He high-fived all his teammates as he headed into the locker room and then grabbed for his phone as he dropped heavily onto the bench in front of his stall.  

Unlocking his screen, he froze when he saw six new unread messages from Jane.

Jane: That was a good goal.

Jane: They’re taking him to surgery now.  Doctor said it could be a few hours depending on how bad the breaks are and how many pins they need to place.

Jane: I hate this.

Jane: What if it’s worse than they thought?  My mom is pacing.  But I can’t tell her to stop.  This is how she copes.  

Jane: God, I wish you were here.

Jane: Fuck, I shouldn’t have sent that.  I’m sorry.  I’m okay.

Ilya’s heart broke, the vice around it tightening until it was almost impossible to pull in a full breath.  His vision and hearing tunneled until all he could hear was his own heartbeat and all he could see were those six words on his screen.

God, I wish you were here.

Ilya opened his ride-share app.  He typed in the Metro’s arena address and the address of the hospital.  

He fired off three response texts and then put his phone away and quickly began to get undressed.

Lily: Do not apologize for being honest.

Lily: It is ok to be scared.

Lily: The goal was for you.  Just don’t tell your team.

The next ten minutes were a blur.  Coach came in and talked to them, then he stood up and said a few words he didn’t remember.  Thankfully, he was able to beg out of doing media tonight since Shane hadn’t played, and begin to undress.   

Ilya had his jersey, pads, and compression shirt off before Marly made it back over to his stall, sighing heavily as he pulled his jersey off over his head.

“Hot date?” he asked, and then shook his head.  “Never mind, we’re in Montreal.  That who you had to rush out to talk to earlier? Jane?”

Ilya hoped Marly didn’t notice his fingers fumble briefly when he said the name, and continued to unlace his skates, only glancing briefly up at his friend, “Shut your face, Marly.  You know the answer to that.”

His friend surprised him by turning to face him completely, leaning against the thin barrier that separated their stalls.  “Actually, I really don’t, man.  You didn’t tell me who you rushed out of here to talk to but you looked upset. Are you ok?  You seemed…distracted out there.”

A moment of shame washed over him, the cracks in his heart multiplying.  Cliff was his friend.  He paused, closing his eyes, hating that once again he had to lie to one of his best friends. 

“Is complicated,” He finally answered, looking up and silently begging Marly to let it go.

Cliff studied him and nodded slowly.  “Okay man, at least it was an easy game, right?  No Hollander makes it almost boring.  You definitely didn’t seem to have as much fun as you usually do out there when we play Montreal.”

The fractures in Ilya’s chest deepened because Cliff didn’t know how true that was, and he couldn’t tell him.  “Yes, is bad kind of boring without Hollander.”

Cliff frowned then, “Is there a good kind of boring?”

That made Ilya smile as he turned his head back to his laces, finally getting one skate undone and starting on the other.  “Yes, Marly.  There is.”

Cliff didn’t say anything else, but he could feel his eyes on him every now and then as he finished the other skate and quickly removed his shorts and lower pads.

He took one of the fastest showers of the night, making it in there before most of the team who were still talking about the game and what to do after.  

Instead of slipping back into his arrival suit, he threw on a pair of track pants and a black v-neck shirt he had in the bottom of his bag.  Grabbing his black sweatshirt and black baseball hat, he shoved everything else inside before zipping it up.

“I take it you’ll be out all night like usual,” Cliff said, as he appeared, towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower. 

Ilya nodded, and handed him his bag.  

“Thank you, Marly,” he said softly, and Cliff grabbed the bag from his outstretched hand.

He started to turn away, to head through the loud locker room and out the doors when Cliff stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” He asked and Ilya stilled, his eyes darting to Cliff’s and hoping he wasn’t giving away everything.  

Exhaustion creeped hit him full force at those words.  Because he did know, but he also knew this wasn’t only his secret to tell.  And, for that reason, he would guard it and hold it close, no matter how much he felt like he was slowly sinking. 

For weeks, everything had felt so fucking heavy.  Ever since Shane had walked out of his home in Boston all those months ago, he’d felt like he was falling.  Fading into a version of himself he didn’t like or know because somehow Shane had slipped in and filled the cracks of his broken mind and heart, fusing them together in reasons to live and reminders that he could possibly be loved.

Losing him had broken him wide open, and he’d tried so hard to move on, to find the peace he’d felt during those few fleeting moments on his couch.  But he couldn’t.  He hadn't been able to find that feeling again until Shane had crawled into his lap and wrapped him in his arms in that hotel room in Tampa.  He’d held him and suffused those cracks back together, this time filling them with a love that Ilya was scared to look too closely at because it felt precious, like gold.

And now, after losing his father, and his childhood home, for a moment, he thought he’d also lost his new one; he thought he’d lost Shane for good.

How did he tell all of this to someone who didn’t even know who Jane really was?  How did he tell Cliff that the man he loved so completely was the man everyone assumed he hated?  How did he explain that all he wanted was for Shane to be his?  For him to be Shane’s?  That all he desperately dreamed of when he went to sleep each night was a future, any future that meant they could be together?

And because he couldn’t tell Cliff any of that, Ilya simply gave him a short nod, silently begging him to understand. 

Cliff looked like he wanted to ask more but once again decided against it as he clapped him on the back, squeezing his shoulder and then moving back into the center of the room, yelling at a few of the rookies to get dressed because they were going to the bar.

He managed to slip out the side door from earlier, effectively managing to avoid the media, and wind his way along the building to where he told the ride-share car to pick him up.

Relief filled him when he saw the black car waiting alone and quickly slid into the back seat.

“Ottawa Hospital?” the driver asked, thankfully not sparing him too much of a glance.

He nodded, managing a quiet but polite, “Yes, please.”

The older man tipped his head and put on his blinker as he pulled out of the lot, leaving the bustle of the arena behind.

Once they were on their way, he swiped over to Shane’s message thread.

They’d all been delivered but not read, and something twisted inside of Ilya’s chest.  Why hadn’t he responded?  Had something else happened?  Was his father out of surgery?  Did his phone die?

Fuck.  

He closed the screen and let it slip into his lap as he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and just held it, knowing he couldn’t and wouldn’t smoke in the car.  He rolled it between his fingers, allowing the familiar feel of it to try to calm his racing thoughts.

It took fifteen long minutes to get from the arena to the main hospital entrance thanks to traffic, but his driver maneuvered them through the throngs of cars and red lights quietly and with a determined purpose that Ilya appreciated.

“Here we are,” the driver said, turning to look back at him with a kind smile.  “Take care, sir.”

Ilya nodded and tipped the driver generously.  “Thank you.”

Staring up at the building, he took a deep breath and shoved his hands into his pockets.  He checked his phone once more, frustration and fear mounting when he saw Shane still hadn’t read his messages.

Pulling the cap further down on his head, he turned towards the large sliding glass doors, hoping that finding Hollander wouldn’t be hard and that he wouldn’t hate him for coming.

The winter sun had long set, but the hospital illuminated the white painted hallways with a brightness that was almost overwhelming.  

He walked straight to the reception desk and tried to use his best English.  He found he usually got less questioning looks if his accent wasn’t as easily detected.

“I am looking for the Hollander family,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and calm.

The older lady behind the desk looked at him and then frowned.  “Are you family?”

He shook his head.  “No, just a friend and…co-worker.”

The lady looked at him again, “Right.  Well, there is a note for only family visitors at this time, Mr. Rozanov.”

Ilya froze when he heard his name, his eyes widening as they darted up to meet hers.  He swallowed around the rising fear in his throat, before taking a deep breath.  

“I just want to offer my support.  I know…it may seem odd, but I am not here to cause trouble.”

Her expression changed, softening under the bright lights as she took in his appearance.  

“You’ve played against each other for a long time,” she said, not unkindly.

He nodded, his heart beating too fast in his chest.  “Yes.”

He didn't offer more.  Couldn’t.  All he wanted was for this woman to tell him where Shane was so he could go to him.  

He couldn’t explain why.  

He couldn’t explain that his heart had almost stopped beating earlier that day when he’d heard that Shane was in the hospital, or that he’d almost collapsed when he told him about the car accident.  He couldn’t tell her that he was falling in love with him and it scared him because so many people who he loved or thought loved him have left him.  And he’s not sure he would survive that if Shane decided to leave him as well, but he also can’t let him go because he loves him so fucking much.

“Well, this is very nice of you to do,” she said after a long pause.  “As long as you promise me I’m not going to have security called in the next five minutes for letting you up there, I suppose seeing a friend might do them well.”

“No, I promise,” he said with a small smile to match the one she was giving him.  

“Okay, then.  They should be in the post-op waiting room.  Take the elevator to the second floor and follow the hallway all the way to the end. It will be the room on the right.”

Ilya let out a long, relieved breath and nodded.  

“Thank you, Alice,” he said gratefully, noting the name on her ID tag.

Her smile grew at hearing her name and then she waved him towards the bank of elevators.  “Let me know if you need anything else, honey.  I’ll be here for another hour.”

When he exited the elevator, he walked down the long hallway until he reached the last door on the right.  Pausing, he took a deep breath and lifted his eyes to glance through the small window in the door.

Most of the room was cast in a dim, calming light, but he immediately spotted Shane.  The familiar brown mop of hair peaking out from beneath a blue Montreal Metros hoodie.  His head was down, resting against his folded arms and Ilya could see the uneven rise and fall of his breathing.  

In the chair next to him was his mother, her worried gaze settled on something in the corner of the room, her fingers rubbing across the arm of Shane’s sweatshirt, and Ilya wasn’t sure if she was trying to soothe Shane, herself, or both of them.

A flash of doubt crept into Ilya’s mind as he watched the two Hollanders sitting quietly together.  Why did he think he belonged here with them?  Maybe this was a mistake.

But Shane had called him.  He’d sent him the text message that said he wished Ilya was there and, if Ilya was honest with himself, there was nowhere else that Ilya wanted to be.

Pushing away the apprehension, he reached for the door handle, and, taking one more deep breath, he turned the handle.

Both Hollanders reacted the moment he pushed open the door and stepped inside.  Shane’s head snapped up as the door closed with a loud click.  His skin was pale, and there were tiny scrapes littering one side of his face.  Ilya watched nervously for a moment until recognition finally dawned in Shane’s tired eyes.  He blinked, once, twice, and then Ilya saw them widened in surprise.

The next second, Shane was standing, crossing the distance between them, his brow furrowed, but his eyes wet, unshed tears clinging to the edges of his eyelashes.

He stopped in front of him and a small soft sob escaped his lips.

“Holy shit,” Shane whispered, and then he collapsed into Ilya.  

Ilya caught him, his arms immediately winding around Shane’s waist as he pressed himself into Ilya as much as he could.  Ilya buried his face into Shane’s hair and breathed him in, the familiar scent of him surrounding him and easing the tension that had lingered in his body from the moment he’d heard that he was in the hospital.  

But the relief of having Shane in his arms again was quickly interrupted when he felt Shane’s body shaking, the silent sobs running through his sturdy frame caused Ilya’s composure to break completely.

Tears gathered in his own eyes and he pulled Shane closer into him, wishing he could somehow take all of his pain into himself.  Ilya would gladly bear it for him.  

A soft hiccup, and what he almost thought was a gasp, escaped Shane’s lips and Ilya pressed his face against Shane’s cheek whispering words in Russian to him.

"С тобой всё в порядке. Всё хорошо. Я здесь. Я не уйду. You are ok.  It is ok.  I am here.  I will not leave.”

Slowly, Shane’s breathing steadied, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to pull in deeper breaths against Ilya’s shoulder.

“Shh,” Ilya hushed, switching to English.  “Is ok.”

“Fuck, you’re really here?” Shane asked, his voice breaking on the last word, sounding so unsure and small.

Ilya pressed a kiss to his hair, his fingers sliding into the hood of his sweatshirt and scratching gently along his scalp.  Shane turned his face into Ilya’s neck and Ilya felt the wetness of his tears against his skin as he inhaled sharply.

“Yes, I am here, Shane.”

There was a long pause, one where he could feel Shane’s fingers tighten in their grip of his hoodie, and the way he pressed his forehead harder against Ilya’s skin as if he could crawl inside him and stay there.

“Thank you,” Shane finally replied, shakily.  “Thank you.”

Ilya let out a long, ragged breath and gripped the back of his neck, letting his lips linger at Shane’s ear as he spoke words only for them.

“You wanted me here.  There is nowhere else I would be.”

Shane released a sudden breath, the puff of air ghosting against Ilya’s neck, and shook his head.  “God, I lo…”

“What the hell is going on?” Yuna’s voice cut across the room, and Ilya felt Shane’s entire body tense as his breath hitched.

Ilya stiffened too, but refused to let go of Shane until he was ready to leave the safety of his arms.  He gave his neck a gentle, reassuring squeeze silently communicating that he was here with him and would not leave until Shane wanted him gone.

Reluctantly, Shane separated from Ilya, stepping out from the circle of his arms with a long exhale.

Ilya watched him carefully, his eyes catching his watery gaze before Shane turned to look at his mom.

It was only then that Ilya glanced up at the other Hollander in the room, her dark eyes boring into him, confusion and something colder settling on her face.

“Mom…” Shane began, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “This is Ilya…Rozanov.”

Shane glanced back at him and Ilya nodded, trying to let him know that whatever he decided, it would be okay.  

“Honey, I know who this is,” she began, her voice softening as her gaze bounced back and forth between her son and Ilya, perceptive eyes tracking their every move. “What I don’t know is why he’s here or why you just hugged him like…”

Her voice trailed off, her back straightening as something shifted in her features, and Ilya saw the moment understanding filtered across her face.

“Oh…” She said, shaking her head as if trying to come to terms with everything her eyes and head were telling her.

Shane cleared his throat.  “Mom, he’s my friend. Well, more than that, really, but we don’t have to talk about it all right now.”

He took a deep breath and said, “I just…I want him here. Please?”

“All these years, I thought you hated him,” she said, looking sadly at her son, a raw, heartbreaking sadness shifting over her face.  “You never…”

“I don’t hate him,” he said softly, stepping towards her.  “I really, really don’t.  He’s…he’s my best friend and…more, and this isn’t how I wanted to tell you any of this.  Not now, not without dad.  I just…”

Ilya could hear the rising emotions in Shane’s voice, the way his shoulders rose and fell rapidly as he tried to keep from becoming overwhelmed.  

He almost grabbed Shane’s hand, but Yuna stepped forward before he could, her arms reaching for Shane as she pulled him into a hug.  

“Oh, honey, it can wait.  You don’t have to say anything more now.  We will have time.  When your father is better, then you can tell us anything you want.  I promise.”

Shane nodded, his face buried in her shoulder, and Ilya stood silently watching them, a lump in his throat at the love and acceptance he’d never have the chance to receive.

“I’m sorry,” Shane murmured, when he pulled back and Yuna brought her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks as she shook her head.

“No, no,” she told him, making sure he was looking at her when she said her next words, “You have nothing to apologize for.  Not for this.  Not ever for this.”

Shane simply nodded his head as his mother wiped the tears from his cheeks.  “Oh, honey.  I love you so much.”

Ilya didn’t realize a tear was rolling down his cheek until he felt it reach his chin and quickly lifted his hand to wipe the evidence of it away.

Yuna caught his movement and turned her gaze to him.

Her eyes softened and she moved towards him.

“Hi Ilya,” she said, reaching out her hand.  “It’s nice to finally, actually, meet you.”

Ilya’s eyes widened in surprise and he stared at her hand for a moment before quickly slipping his own into it.  She raised her other hand to cradle his hand between hers and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“Is nice to finally meet you too,” he replied, and smiled down at her. 

Then, she released his hand and turned back to Shane.

“Okay, then,” she said, taking a deep breath and nodding her head, “Your father should be out of surgery any minute and then maybe we can all get some rest.”

“Mom,” Shane said when passed him and she looked at him expectantly.  “Thank you.”

Yuna smiled softly at him, placing a hand to his cheek and brushing her thumb under his eye.   He lifted his hand to his mom’s arm and they stayed like that, a lifetime of knowing that some situations didn’t need words.

Ilya began to turn away, wanting them to have this moment privately, when he saw the black brace on Shane’s wrist for the first time.  His hoodie had been covering it until then and he must have made a sound because suddenly Shane was looking at him worriedly.

“Ilya?” he asked, but before he could continue, Ilya crossed to where he stood and took his wrist gently in his hand.

“You said you were not hurt?” he muttered, peeling back his fingers to look at each one as if he could find more evidence of a bigger injury.

“Ilya, I’m fine,” he insisted, reaching up and covering Ilya’s hand with his good one.

“You said a few scrapes.  This is not a scrape, Shane.  It is broken?” he asked, heart beginning to race as his eyes flew over the rest of Shane’s body, looking for signs of more injuries Shane had kept from him.

“Hey,” Shane said, lowering his voice while squeezing Ilya’s hand to bring his gaze back to him. “It’s a hairline fracture.  It will heal quickly.  Besides a few scrapes and bruises, I’m fine.  I promise.”

Ilya’s eyes traveled over Shane’s face then, logging the cuts from what he assumed was glass and the slight discoloration under one of his eyes.

He reached out with hesitant fingers and ran his thumb over the bruised skin, exhaling shakily.

“Okey,” he finally said, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Shane’s, letting the truth of his words sink in.  

When he pulled back, he saw Yuna watching them with tears in her eyes, but she quickly looked away when the door to the waiting room opened again.

They broke apart quickly, as the woman in scrubs entered and smiled at them.

Ilya stood next to Shane as the surgeon explained that everything had gone well.  

David had two rods placed in his left leg to help hold it steady while it healed properly but eventually they would be able to be removed.  He would need to stay in the hospital for a few days for monitoring both his concussion and surgical incisions, but then he would be able to go home.  After a few months of physical therapy, he should make a full recovery.

Both Yuna and Shane sagged in relief and thanked the doctor as he exited the room.  A nurse came in a few minutes later saying that they were getting David settled in a room, and then they could go see him.

Ilya sat with them in the waiting room, Shane’s head resting comfortably on his shoulder as they waited, fingers tangled together. 

Thirty minutes later the nurse came back for them and Ilya nodded at Shane to go, insisting that he would wait there for him.

He hesitated only briefly before slipping out the door with his mother.

Ilya sank back into the chair behind him and put his head in his hands.  The emotions of the day suddenly caught up to him and he bit back a sob before taking a long, deep breath and letting it out.

Pulling out his phone, he sent a quick text to Cliff.

Ilya: I need to stay here an extra day.  I will explain things when I am back.

Ilya: I’ll call coach as well.

Marly: Ok, Roz.  I got your back.  Just take care of Jane.  I’m sure she needs you right now.

Ilya read the last text twice, trying to decide if he knew more than Ilya thought he did.  Finally, he gave up, knowing it didn’t matter if he did or not.  Cliff would not say anything.  

Ilya: You are a good friend, Marly.  Thank you.

Marly: Always, brother.

The door to the waiting room opened and Ilya quickly shoved his phone back into his pocket as he stood.

He frowned when Yuna walked into the room alone.  Ilya watched her quietly wondering as she crossed the room and silently sank into the chair beside where he was sitting.  

She’d been nice and welcoming with Shane there, but he also knew Yuna Hollander’s reputation.  She was protective of her son and family, someone many officials in the league did not want to cross on her best days.  And, today was definitely not one of her best days.

She patted the seat next to her, indicating for him to sit back down.  

He did, slowly, placing his hands on his knees, bracing for whatever came next.  

Silence settled around them and Ilya waited for her to speak.

“You care about my son,” she finally said.

It wasn’t a question.  It was a statement.  Something she knew to be true.

He didn’t speak, not yet.

“For so many years I’ve looked at you and only seen someone I thought hated my son; someone who wanted to beat him at every turn, in every competition on and off the ice,” she continued softly.

He chuckled at that, finally speaking up.  “Is true.  I do want to beat him at everything.  We are very…competitive,” he shrugged, “but I do not hate him.  I have never hated him.”

He heard Yuna laugh and looked at her.  “Well, that makes sense.  Shane has always been competitive.  He gets that from me.”

Ilya nodded, giving her a small smile.  “We never let each other win, if you were worried about that.  We always compete hard against each other.  Is like…we bring out the best in each other.”

Yuna smiled at him and pats his arm gently.  “Thank you for being someone safe for him.”

Her voice broke, and she shook her head, clearing throat to continue.  “He trusts you.  He wouldn’t talk to anyone all day, including me.  He shut down and held it all inside.  Until you showed up.”

Ilya stilled at her confession, his eyes flying up to meet hers as his brow furrowed. 

“He called me to tell me why he wasn’t playing,” he admitted softly.  “Then he texted me during the game that he wished I was here.  And so I came.”

Yuna smiled, a tear slipping down her cheek that she quickly wiped away.  “Thank you.  He does not let many people in, but I’m glad he has you.”

Ilya swallowed around the lump in his throat.  “I am glad I have him too,” he confessed.

She let out another deep breath and turned her body to face him, “I assume you have a team flight in the morning, and I know it is not fair of me to ask this, but I think he will listen to you more than me right now.”

“I have covered things with the team,” he reassured her quickly.  “I will call my coach and tell him I will fly back separately."

The look of surprise on her face reminded him so much like Shane.  “You would do that?”

“Of course,” he answered easily.  “Ah, one of my teammates knows I have a…someone here who I have been talking to for many years.  They will just think I am with her.”

Yuna frowned, her shoulders falling, “Years?”

Her voice caught on the word, and Ilya quickly tried to backtrack.

“I mean, well, yes,” he said quietly, “But Shane should be here for the rest of that conversation, yes?”

Pressing her lips together, she nodded and he watched her square her shoulders again, letting that conversation wait for her son.

“I will help in whatever way I can,” he said, letting the words settle between them.  “What do you need from me?”

“I need you to get him to go home and rest,” Yuna said, looking at him with tears in her eyes.

A sliver of concern shifted through him before Yuna continued.  

“I know he says he’s ok, but he was in that car too, Ilya.  I almost…” she stopped and swallowed after taking a breath, “I could have lost both of them today.”

The weight of her words slammed into him, the truth he hadn’t been willing to face spoken into existence.  

He had almost lost Shane as well.

Yuna’s gentle voice pulled him back and he blinked as he tried to follow her words as best as he could.  The emotions swirling inside of him had twisted into a knot where the lingering fear and terror from earlier combined with the relief of knowing Shane was okay.  

It all settled heavily in his chest making it harder and harder to focus on anything else.  Seeing Shane and having him in his arms had staved off most of his overwhelming emotions, but he could feel them creeping back in the longer he was out of sight.

He blinked, desperately trying push all of those thoughts out of his head and focus on Yuna as she sat beside him, her unbidden grief overflowing in this quiet, desperate moment.

“He has been checked out,” she said, assuring him, “The doctors cleared him, but he needs to rest, Ilya.  And I need someone who will take him home and watch over him while I stay here with David, at least for tonight. Just for a few hours so we can all rest. And I know it’s not fair to ask this of you, but…”

Ilya shook his head, interrupting her,  “I can do it.  He will be stubborn…”

Yuna chuckled, “Oh, I know.  But somehow, I think he will listen to you.”

Ilya felt his heart twist, the trust Shane’s mother was placing in him almost more than he could bear.

“Okay, yes, I will do this for him, for all of you,” he reassured her, and she gave his arm a gentle, appreciative squeeze.

“Thank you, Ilya.”

Her tone let him know her gratitude was for more than just tonight, and her honesty prompted a confession of his own.

“I think I would do anything for your son,” he told her quietly, needing someone to know, to understand just how much he cared for Shane.

He no longer had a mother here to tell, and she was now the only other person who knew they existed together as something more than rivals.  That they were bound by something deeper, truer, something that was both the most beautiful thing in his life, yet the most terrifying.

Her gaze softened and she nodded, “Yes, I can see that.”

Ilya inhaled sharply.  “You can?”

Yuna laughed gently.  “Call it a mother’s intuition.  The ability to recognize those who care about her son.”

Intuition. He’d heard this word before and thought he knew the meaning, something innate that mothers had.  Внутреннее чутьё, as it better translated to Russian.  His mother said he always knew when something was troubling him because of it.

Tears flooded Ilya’s eyes as he wondered if his own mother would have been able to see his struggle with his feelings for Shane from the start.  If she had been here, would he have fought these feelings for so long, or would she have somehow helped him acknowledge the truth he’d hidden for so long?

“Everything okay in here?” Shane’s hesitant voice interrupted Ilya’s thoughts.

He stepped quietly through the door, his eyes darting from Ilya to his mother and back.

Yuna stood swiftly, walking over to him.

“Of course,” she said, almost too brightly.  “I was just thanking Ilya for being here.”

Shane studied her for a moment as if gauging the truth to her words, and then nodded with a small upturn of his lips.  

“Ok, well, the nurse said Dad probably wouldn’t wake up for another hour, and said I needed to rest too.”

“Actually, I think that is a good idea, sweetie,” Yuna said, glancing back at Ilya as she touched Shane’s arm.  “Your father will be sleeping most of the night and you, my dear, have also been through a lot today.”

Shane shook his head, his chin jutting forward in that familiar stubborn war. “I’m fine, mom.  I told you they cleared me.  I know minor concussion protocols.”

“Which is why you need to rest,” she countered, her voice holding an edge to it.  “The faster you take care of yourself, the faster you are on your way back to the ice.”

“Mom…”

“Honey, please,” Yuna said, her voice catching on the word.  “I need you to be okay too.”

Ilya stepped forward then, seeing the crack in Shane’s resolve at the plea from his mother. 

“We can go to your apartment.  Is less than 10 minutes away, yes?  I can stay with you, and you can rest.”

Shane’s eyes darted to meet his in confusion.  “Don’t you have an early flight?”

“I made other arrangements,” he replied, shrugging.  “Told them I had family things to take care of. Is already done.”

He watched as Shane’s chin wobbled, his eyes turning glassy as he swallowed.  “You’re staying?”

The unexpected hope in his voice cut through any remaining doubts Ilya had about his choice.  

“Yes, Shane, of course, I am staying.”

Shane’s eyes slipped shut and his shoulders sagged as if everything was suddenly too much to carry.

Ilya reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together and tugged gently.  He came easily, his body fitting into the curve of Ilya’s, finding his place in his arms.

“Let me take you home, yes?” he murmured against his hair.  “You can come back in the morning after you’ve rested.”

At Shane’s silence, he placed a soft kiss to his hair and whispered, “Let me take care of you, please?”

Ilya felt the moment the rest of the fight left Shane’s body.  His arms came up around his waist, clutching at his back before he heard his muffled reply,  “Okay.”

Ilya smiled and released the breath he’d been holding.  He lingered there, with Shane warm and safe in his arms for a minute longer before pulling away.  Yuna was watching them with a look that was filled with both sadness and relief.

“Thank you,” she mouthed and Ilya nodded.

Yuna insisted on having them take her car.  It was safer and less conspicuous for them than using a service.  

When they finally found the black SUV in the parking lot, Shane’s exhaustion was evident.  His body listed to the side as he walked, and Ilya wished he could put an arm around him to keep him upright, but there were too many eyes and cameras here.  

Silently, Shane opened the passenger door and climbed in, a little slower than normal.  

After Ilya slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind him in the driver’s seat, he noticed Shane was frozen next to him.  His eyes were wide, and his breathing labored.

“Shane?” Ilya asked cautiously, reaching a hand towards him but not touching, not wanting to startle him.

Dark brown eyes flew to him and the fear he saw there sliced straight through Ilya’s heart.

“Oh, malysh, Shane, is ok,” he breathed, “You are safe.”

Shane blinked, releasing a shaky breath and then grabbed Ilya’s outstretched hand as if it were the only thing keeping him afloat.

“I…I didn’t think about how hard it would be…getting back into a car,” he whispered roughly. “I…fuck.”

Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand, bringing it to his chest to rest over his heart.  

“Breathe, Shane.  Deep breath.  Is ok.  You are with me. Would the back seat be better?”

Shane looked up at him and the look in his eyes was so sad and scared, Ilya wanted to pull him into his body and, somehow, take away all the bad things that had happened that day.  

“I don’t…I don’t know,” he whispered, and Ilya could see the truth and devastation in his words.

Finally, after a few seconds, he shook his head. 

“No, no, I want to be up here with you.  I want to be where I can touch you,” Shane said, some of the stubbornness returning to his voice.  “I can do this.  I want to do this with you here.”

“Is okay if you need me to stop,” Ilya replied, bringing Shane’s hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.  “I have you.”

Shane nodded, and then Ilya turned on the car, the soft purr of the engine the only sound in the quiet cabin.

Ilya drove carefully, thankful for sparse traffic and easily navigable this late at night.

Shane’s hand never left Ilya’s body the entire time.  It was either intertwined with his or gripping tightly to his leg when Ilya needed both hands.

When they finally pulled into Shane’s parking spot in the garage beneath his building, Shane let out a long, gasping breath.

Ilya squeezed his hand and placed a soft kiss on his lips before getting out of the car.  He noticed the careful way Shane once again moved his body as he exited the car, but said nothing.  As they walked towards the stairs, Shane slipped his hand into Ilya’s, lacing their fingers together and Ilya held on tightly.

It took him three times to get the key in the lock, but Shane finally led them silently into the dark apartment.  The soft glow of city lights held it in a state of quiet ease.  

Ilya watched as Shane reached for the light switch and then let his hand fall back to his side.

“Is it okay if we leave the lights off?” he asked hesitantly, “It’s just a lot right now and this…it helps.”

“Of course,” Ilya replied, stepping up behind Shane, wanting to wrap his hands around him but knowing if he was overstimulated, Ilya wanted him to make the choices right now.  “What do you need?”

The words were whispered in the dark between them, but he saw Shane’s reaction to them immediately.

His shoulders fell, his body loosened as he released all the tension and emotions from the day.  He swayed backwards, and Ilya planted himself firmly behind him, an immovable object in Shane's storm.

The sharp gasp that tore from Shane’s throat shredded what was left of his heart.  And when Shane’s body swayed back into him, staying there, Ilya wrapped his arms around his chest and held on tight.

As the sobs cascaded like waves through Shane’s frame, Ilya held him steady, rocking him gently back and forth, pressing kisses to the back of his head and then down his neck to his shoulder. 

“I’ve got you, malysh,” he breathed, voice thick with tears, “You can let go.  You are safe.”

English became harder, his words getting lost in the emotions sweeping through him as this man he loved so much fell apart in his arms.

"Я тебя не оставлю. Ты был таким сильным. Теперь я понесу тебя. Я держу тебя. Я так сильно тебя люблю."I won't leave you. You were so strong. Now I will carry you. I am holding you. I love you so much." 

Shane leaned his head back against Ilya’s shoulder, turning his face into the crook of his neck.  

As his breathing calmed, Ilya felt him begin to nose at his jaw, placing soft kisses along his skin wherever he could reach at the awkward angle.

The rawness of his emotions switched in a second from anger and sadness to desperate need.  Ilya felt the shift as Shane turned in his arms, his breath hitching with a hiss, but before Ilya could react to it, Shane was pressed against him again.  His body molded to his, hands clawing at his shoulders and chest, then traveling to the hem of his sweatshirt, trying to shove it up and off.

His lips found Ilya’s in a messy kiss of tongues and teeth.  It was sloppy and disjointed, but Shane’s fingers reached into his hair with a groan and pulled him down harder into him.

Another soft grunt fell from Shane’s lips, this time in what sounded like pain, and it caused Ilya to freeze.  

He needed to slow them down.  He needed Shane back in his own body, his own right mind before they could do any of this.  Not to mention, he needed to make sure he was physically okay.  

Yuna had said he’d been checked out, but something told him Shane was trying to play through his injuries as he would on the ice.

Lifting one of his hands, Ilya laid it firmly against the back of Shane’s neck, grasping tightly until Shane whined under the touch.

“Shane,” he said, his voice hoarse but sharp.  “Shane, moya lyubov', I need you to look at me.”

His breathing was ragged as he shook his head, eyes squeezed shut.  Ilya brought his other hand up to his chin, careful of the small scrapes and bruises lining his jaw.  He used his thumb and fingers to angle Shane’s head up and back.

“Shane,” he said, this time with more sternness, “Look at me.”

The sharpness in his voice got through and Shane blinked open glassy eyes, pupils blown wide, something heady and needy swimming in their depths. But he also saw the distant look in them that Ilya did not like.

He was running, Ilya realized.  Running from the realities of the day, trying to outrun them in any way he could.

“Shane, I want to help you, but you have to stay with me.  You are hurt.  You are tired.  You need rest.”

Shane shook his head with a plea, “I need you, Ilya.  Please. I need to forget.”

His words shattered something deep inside Ilya and he nodded as tears gathered in his own eyes.  

“I know, malysh, I know.  But first, please, let me take care of you.  I will help you, but I need you to let me. Yes?”

Ilya spoke slowly, gently, pulling him back to him with the knowledge that he didn’t have to face any of this alone.  

Shane blinked, his eyes becoming more focused, pupils narrowing as he came back from the edge.  

Ilya leaned his forehead against Shane’s, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.  “I have you, Shane.  You will let me help?”

A long shudder ran through Shane’s frame and then he nodded. 

“Good,” Ilya told him softly.  “You want to eat or shower first?”

He watched closely as Shane took stock of his body and bit back a fond chuckle when he saw the wrinkle in his brow.  “Shower.  Need the hospital smell off me.”

Ilya smiled.  “Then we will go shower, yes?”

Shane nodded, and Ilya laced his hand through Shane’s good one and led him back to the bedroom and ensuite bathroom.  Shane was silent as Ilya dimmed the lights, and then let his fingers toy with the hem of his sweatshirt.

Shane nodded at the silent request and slowly raised his arms above his head.  Ilya heard his soft grunt and brief pause when his hands got above his head, and frowned. Carefully, Ilya worked the sleeve over his wrist brace and then gently pulled the rest of it up and over his head.

The sweatshirt dropped to the floor.  Ilya’s breath hitched when he glanced down at Shane’s torso.  His body held a map of his injuries, his skin littered with bruises and scrapes, especially on his right side where he’d hit the door on impact.  

An angry red band of mottled bruising ran diagonal down across his chest where the seatbelt had held him, doing its job.  Another large bruise peaked out from the waist of the sweatpants they’d given him to wear.

Slowly, Shane lowered his arms, and Ilya watched him try to take a deep breath but fail.  His ribs were probably bruised.  The ache in his chest intensified when he glanced at Shane’s face and saw a shadow of shame shift through his eyes.

“I know I look…” he began, but Ilya stopped him, his thumb over his lips as his hand cupped Shane’s jaw tenderly.  

“Do not,” Ilya started to say, his voice rough and threaded with sadness.  “You are hockey player.  We have both had bruises before.  They are normal, yes?  You survived something worse than a hit into the boards today. I do not care that you have bruises, Shane.  You are beautiful.”

Shane huffed, shaking his head.  “Now you call me beautiful.”

The small smile that played at his lips lifted some of the weight from Ilya’s heart.  His Shane was so strong, even now, especially now.

“You have always been beautiful to me, moya lyubov',” he murmured, shifting forward and placing a soft kiss against his lips. 

Shane hummed and kissed him back, letting his head fall forward when Ilya pulled back, chasing his contact until he leaned too far and grunted in pain.

“Ribs?” Ilya asked softly, fingertips grazing the side of his chest.

Shane took a slower breath before nodding.  “Yeah, they said they were just bruised from the seatbelt.”

“You did not tell me that,” Ilya whispered.  “Where else?”

Brown eyes locked with his, “I’m okay, Ilya.  I promise.”

“You also told me you were not hurt over the phone,” he replied, trying not to sound too annoyed.  “You said you were fine.  This is not fine, Hollander.”

The hand not on Shane’s side, motioned down his body. “Please, I need to know what to watch out for.  I need to know how to keep you okay.”

The plea in his voice must have worked because Shane swallowed, his shoulders lowering as he began to speak.  “Mild concussion from hitting my head but I didn’t lose consciousness, bruised ribs, fractured wrist, and a lot of fucking bruises.  That’s it.  I promise.”

“How bad is pain?” he asked, silently repeating what Shane had told him in his head so he would remember.  

Shane shifted, grimaced and then frowned, “Getting worse.  I think my adrenaline is finally wearing off. That and whatever they gave me at the hospital.”

“Did they not send you with anything to take?” Ilya asked, brows furrowed in concern as his eyes trailed over his body, cataloguing everything he could see.

Shane reached the pocket of his sweatpants and handed Ilya a folded up piece of paper.  Unfolding it, Ilya skimmed it, able to decipher and understand most of the words, but he would look a few of them up later.

“I didn’t want the hard pain meds,” Shane continued, “I don’t like the way they make me feel.”

Ilya nodded, not liking to take them himself.  The way his mother died made him uncomfortable around any kind of strong medication.

“You have the extra strength Tylenol they say you can take?” Ilya asked, raising an eyebrow before placing the piece of paper on the counter behind them.

At Shane’s nod, Ilya said, “I get them for you after the shower.  Or you want them now?”

“After is fine,” Shane replied, “Just wanna be clean.”

Ilya smiled softly at the soft annoyance that laced Shane’s voice and used that reminder to step over and turn on the shower, letting it begin to warm up.  

When he returned to Shane, he sank down to his knees so he could help Shane out of his sweatpants. Gently, he tucked his fingers beneath the hem, making sure to avoid the large, angry bruise on his right side.

Once Shane’s pants and underwear had joined the pile on the floor, Ilya paused, his gaze traveling over the newly revealed bruises that dotted his shins and tiny scrapes that lined the outer side of his right leg.

“From the shattered window,” Shane said softly, when he noticed Ilya staring.

He let his gaze slowly track all the way up Shane’s battered body, each bruise and injury filling him with more dread and sadness.  By the time he met Shane’s eyes, tears threatened to fall, turning the world around him blurry.

“You scared me,” he bit out, his voice breaking as a small sob caught on the last word. 

Shane’s face crumpled as he reached a hand out and laid it against IIya’s cheek.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I was scared too.”

Ilya’s eyes slipped shut and he felt one lone tear escape, slipping down the slope of his nose.

He felt the soft touch of Shane’s fingers in his hair and let out a gasping breath.  Shane gently guided his head to his stomach, and Ilya allowed his forehead to rest there lightly, not wanting to put pressure on any of his bruises.

When he finally lifted his head and opened his eyes, he found Shane staring down at him with a soft, open expression.  A look so unguarded with need and something deeper that Ilya had to look away before he said words he couldn’t take back, words that he didn’t want said in this emotionally charged moment.  He didn’t want any doubt in Shane’s mind when he said those words.  Because he knew they were true.  In fact, he’s not sure those words truly encompassed everything he actually felt for this man.

Slowly, he turned his head back to Shane’s stomach, his gaze catching on the large bruise on his hip seemingly becoming darker by the minute, and he pressed a soft kiss to the too-warm skin.  Then, he moved to the angry red mark running across his chest, edges brighter where the seatbelt had chafed the skin.  He opened his mouth and ran his lips up the path, his warm breath ghosting across Shane’s skin as if he could heal it, somehow take all the pain on himself.

Shane gasped above him and Ilya immediately looked up, making sure he hadn’t hurt him.  When he only saw the dark pools of desire staring back at him, he returned to his task.  He laved his tongue over the unbruised skin of his pec, flattening it against his left nipple.

Shane’s hips bucked forward, and he let out a soft curse, his hands tightening in Ilya’s hair.

He smiled as he stood, fingertips moving gently up Shane’s body to his head. One hand carded through his hair while the other settled against his neck, his thumb grazing over the hinge of his jaw and then up to the thin skin beneath his eyes.

Leaning forward, he met Shane’s forehead, and stayed there as the warmth from the shower filled the room.  He felt Shane’s uninjured hand come to rest over his heart and Ilya trailed his own hand down Shane’s arm to cover it, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m really fucking glad you’re here,” Shane finally whispered, trying to smile but Ilya could see and hear the way his voice caught and the tears that lined his lashes.

“Me too,” Ilya murmured as steam wound its way through the small room, softening the edges of his vision.

Remembering something he’d read on the paper Shane had given him, he pointed to the brace.  “This can come off for shower, yes?”

“Yeah,” Shane agreed, “They said I had to put it right back on and be careful but that I could take it off for ‘hygiene purposes.’

His unfamiliarity with the word must have shown on his face because Shane added, “For cleaning, basically.”

“Okay, give,” he said, holding out a hand to help undo the Velcro straps that wrapped around the brace, and then carefully slipped it off his wrist.

The skin underneath was a deep reddish purple and slightly swollen.

“It actually doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks,” Shane told him as Ilya eased his hand back down to his side.

With one hand, Ilya pushed down his own track pants and boxer briefs, leaving them in a pile on the floor, before guiding them both into the shower.

Ilya entered first, turning to make sure the water hit his back first so he could check the temperature, then moved to the side to allow Shane to stand under the spray.

Shane let out a small hiss when the harsh stream of water met some of the scrapes on his body and Ilya glanced at the shower head choices and switched it to “rain.”  The spray instantly became more gentle against their skin and he heard Shane hum in appreciation.

“Can I?” Ilya asked quietly and Shane just nodded, the weariness in his eyes sharpening as time passed.

The bathroom was quiet, the sound of cascading water lulling them both into a soft daze.  

“Hair first,” Ilya murmured, nudging Shane to turn.

Complying without a word, Ilya quickly worked the shampoo through Shane’s hair, letting his blunt nails scrape across his scalp and down to the nape of his neck, kneading the tense muscles there.

Shane’s head slumped forward with a soft groan, his uninjured hand shooting out to steady himself against the wall of the shower as he swayed forward.

Ilya reacted quickly, one of his hands slipping down to around Shane’s left hip, hand landing low on his stomach, just below his navel, and hauling him gently back into his body to steady him. 

“M okay,” Shane mumbled, “Just felt good.”

Ilya hummed, placing a kiss to the back of his neck.   He let Shane have another moment before he slowly walked them backwards into the stream of the shower head.  He kept his one arm braced low on his stomach, just above his groin and let Shane lean his head back on his shoulder, running his hand through the soft, wet strands of his hair until all the shampoo was washed out.  

“Up,” he nudged quietly, Shane listening with a grunt as he lifted his head and Ilya made sure the backside was rinsed clean as well.

Kissing his shoulder, Ilya stepped away to grab the body wash and moved around him to start soaping up his torso.  The bruises looked harsher in the dim light of the bathroom and his fingers trailed over them lightly, watching Shane’s face carefully for any sign of discomfort.

After washing his chest and back, Ilya knelt down to work on his legs, pressing a soft kiss above the angry bruise on his right hip.  He felt Shane’s good hand land in his hair, not pulling or tugging, but a comforting weight for both of them as finished soaping up his calves and feet and letting the water wash the suds away.

Swallowing, Ilya gently cleaned around Shane’s now erect cock, ignoring his own body's response to seeing him hard.  That was not what this was about despite their earlier kiss at the door.  He was hurt, exhausted, and needed Ilya’s care and sleep, first and foremost.

Shane began to sway on his feet, and Ilya looked up, noticing his closed eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Hollander,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding, kissing his thigh.

Shane hummed above him and Ilya noticed his dick twitch when his breath ghosted over it.  He leaned forward, and Shane’s hand’s tightened in his hair, muscle memory kicking in at their position.

Ilya smiled and placed a light kiss against the leaking head of his cock and murmured, “волнуйся. Я позабочусь о тебе позже.Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you later.

The grunt from above him caused him to look up.  Shane’s brow was furrowed, his nose scrunched up in one of Ilya’s favorite expressions.

“Did you just talk to my dick in Russian?” he asked, sleepily.

Ilya grinned up at him, “Yes. I had to let it know I appreciate it and that I will take care of it later.”

Shane made the cutest choked giggle that made Ilya’s grin widened, happy to see him smiling again after the toll of the day.

“And you think my dick understands Russian?” he replied, his cheeks turning a rosy color as gazed down at Ilya, blinking slowly.

Licking his lips, he watched as Shane’s tired eyes followed the action, ignoring the twitch of his own cock.

He shrugged, looking down at the aforementioned cock that was still hard and bobbing slightly as Shane shifted his feet then trailed his eyes back up to his face.

“Yes,” he said, as if it was obvious, “Is always responding to me.”

Shane’s stomach flexed with his huff of indignant laughter, “Oh, fuck off.”

But Ilya’s heart fluttered when he saw the affectionate grin on Shane’s face and so he decided to continue, “It always uh…perks up when I am around so I figure it must like Russian, da?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Shane replied softly, but didn’t contradict him.

Standing, Ilya leaned in and Shane instantly swayed towards him, melting into his kiss.  Ilya noticed the way Shane put more of his weight against him as the kiss deepened.  Their tongues met briefly but Ilya pulled back before it could get too heated, gently rubbing his nose over Shane’s.   Then, he silently walked Shane back to the small ledge at the back of the shower, kissing him once more.  Despite his soft whine, Ilya ended the kiss, and Shane sank down on the ledge without complaint.

The water had cooled, but Ilya made quick work of washing himself.  He turned and was surprised to find Shane’s half-lidded gaze on him as he finished rinsing his hair.  The look in his eyes was both distant and pained, and he knew the wetness he saw there wasn’t from the shower.  He swallowed around the lump in his throat as that twisting feeling in his chest returned and tightened.

Wanting to get Shane to bed and out of his own thoughts, he turned off the water and walked over to him, placing a hand on his cheek.

The distant look disappeared as those beautiful brown eyes focused back on him.  

“Can you stand?” he asked softly.

Shane nodded, but took the hand that Ilya held out for him, helping him ease to his feet.  There was a slight hesitation before he took his first step a little too fast, his face twisting in discomfort.

Ilya squeezed his fingers but said nothing, knowing Shane’s stubbornness would want to do this on his own.

Once they were both out of the shower, Ilya dried them both off.  He tied his towel around his waist, but wrapped Shane’s over his shoulders to keep it away from most of his bruises.  

Before Shane could reach for his toothbrush, Ilya grabbed the brace from the counter and carefully placed it back on his wrist.

“There’s extra toothbrushes under the sink,” he said as he picked his up to use.

Ilya easily found the extras, and Shane handed him the toothpaste.  They brushed their teeth together with a familiarity that eased the ache in his chest, and Ilya couldn’t help the way something in him loved the idea of doing this every night with him.  He wanted this - a lifetime of doing boring, everyday things together.

When they were done, he followed Shane to the bed, helping him sit, before going to find them clothes. 

“Top drawer,” Shane directed sleepily.

Ilya grabbed two pairs of underwear from the drawer, slipping one on first before taking the other over to Shane.  He knelt down on one knee to help slip them over his feet and then up his legs.  Shane stood to pull them the rest of the way up, Ilya steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“You want a shirt?” he asked, knowing that Shane usually slept in one when they weren’t together.

He shook his head and Ilya nodded, pulling back the covers.

“Where is Tylenol?” Ilya asked, heading towards the door as Shane sat back down carefully, his arm coming up to curve around his ribs, and Ilya knew the pain was getting worse. 

“Bathroom,” he answered, his eyes closed, pulling in a deep controlled breath.  “Top drawer on the right.”

Finding the bottle exactly where he said, Ilya returned to the bedroom.  He set the bottle on the bedside table and then walked to the kitchen to find water and an ice pack.

The quiet of the apartment wrapped around him as he padded into the kitchen area, opening the freezer and finding a few ice packs neatly stacked to the side.  Thankful for Shane’s organization, he grabbed one and set it by the sink while he searched for a glass.  He found them in the nearest cabinet, took one out and quickly filled it with water.  

He tossed the icepack over his arm and began to walk back towards the bedroom.  As he passed by the counter, he saw Shane’s phone and picked it up, taking it with him into the bedroom.  

Shane was still sitting where he’d left him, his hand cradling his ribs, staring at the wall across from him when Ilya reappeared.  

Handing Shane the water, he deposited three of the extra strength Tylenol into his hands, and watched him swallow them.  Ilya silently urged him to drink the rest of it and smiled when he didn’t fight him on it. 

“I brought you ice pack for your ribs,” he said, handing it to him after he’d finished the water. 

Shane took it with a nod of appreciation, lifting his arm as he placed it against the worst of his bruises.  He flinched, hissing as the frigid pack pressed against his warm skin.

“You have something to put over it?” Ilya asked, knowing it would help to have something between the ice and skin.

“There should be some hand towels in the bathroom,” Shane said through gritted teeth, “Lefthand side, under the sink.”

Ilya nodded and quickly crossed the room to the bathroom again.  He easily found the hand towels, and then spotted his hoodie laying in the pile on the ground.  

Fishing out his phone from the large pocket, he checked it and then tapped out a short text to Cliff.

Ilya: I will be staying here an extra day.  I’ll text coach in the morning.

The reply was almost instant.

Marly: Ok.  You need me to leave your bag?

Ilya: No, I will be ok.

Marly: 👍 Everything ok?

Ilya: No, but it will be.  I cannot explain now.

Marly: Got it.  I’m here if you need anything.

Ilya sighed heavily, once again thankful for Cliff Marleau’s friendship.  He would have a longer talk with his friend when he got back to Boston, and hopefully be able to be more honest with him.

Ilya: Thank you, Marly.  You are a good friend.

Marly: You are too, Roz.

He smiled and turned the screen off before heading back into the bedroom.

Shane was still on the bed, holding the ice pack gingerly against his ribs, forehead scrunched in obvious discomfort.  Ilya held out the towel so Shane could place the pack into it before he wrapped it up and handed it back to him.

“You need anything else?” he asked softly as Shane sighed in relief.

He began to shake his head, then paused, glancing around, “Where’s my phone?”

Ilya smiled and held it up.  When Shane went to reach for it, he tisked. “No screens for at least 24 hours. Is in doctor’s notes.”

Shane frowned, rolling his eyes. “I’ve already looked at it to call you earlier.  It was a mild concussion, and I was cleared.”

Ilya’s eyes narrowed, and Shane held his gaze stubbornly.  They stared at one another for a long moment, and then Ilya finally grunted and handed it to him.  “Fine. Two minutes.”

Shane glared at him, but Ilya just raised his eyebrows and mimed looking at his watch.  

With a sigh, Shane unlocked his phone and checked his messages.   Although he tried not to look, Ilya did see at least two unread message notifications.  

Shane frowned and squinted as he looked at the screen and tried to tap out a reply to someone.

Ilya held out his hand, “Give. I will type.”

Shane sighed, but Ilya was surprised when he easily gave him the phone.  “The first one is Hayden, just tell him I’m okay and I’ll call him tomorrow.”

As Ilya began to type, Shane reached out his hand and covered the screen, narrowing his eyes.  “Just what I said.  Be nice.”

Ilya rolled his eyes, “You think I would not be nice to Pike?”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Shane replied instantly, and Ilya smirked.

He typed out the message exactly as Shane had relayed and held it up, “You want to check it over?”

To his surprise Shane shook his head, “No, I trust you.”

The grin faded from his face as the sincerity of Shane’s words washed over him.  Affection bloomed warmly in his chest and he swallowed around the rush of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him at those simple words.

He hit send and then sniffed, brushing a finger against his nose as if he had an itch trying to play it off.  

But Shane was looking at him with a knowing look in his warm, brown eyes, and one side of his mouth curved up at the end, telling Ilya he saw right through his attempt at non-chalance.

“Is sent,” Ilya rasped, his voice hoarse to his chagrin.

“Thank you,” Shane replied, and blinked, eyelids taking longer to open and Ilya saw the exhaustion slip through.

“The other one is my mom,” he shifted the ice pack against his ribs and winced as he moved, trying to find a more comfortable position.  “Just tell her I’m home safe and ask how my dad is, please.”

Ilya nodded and typed the message to Yuna, wanting to get Shane laying down and settled as soon as possible so he could rest.

Shane: This is Ilya.  Shane wanted me to tell you he is at home and about to sleep.  He also wants to know how David is doing.

The dots appear almost instantly, a message appearing seconds later.

Yuna: Hi Ilya.  David is doing fine.  He is sleeping.  Thank you for taking care of Shane.  Tell him to get some rest and that I love him.

He relayed the message, and Shane nodded slowly.  “Thank you.”

Just as he was about to plug the phone into the charger on Shane’s nightstand, another text came through.

Yuna: You get some rest too, Ilya.

He paused, the message catching him off-guard.  He wasn’t used to other people caring about him outside of hockey and, of course, Svetlana, especially not a woman, who up until three hours ago thought he was her son’s biggest rival.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he tapped out a quick reply.

Shane: Thank you. I will try.

Then, he shut the screen off and plugged it into the charger.

When he turned back to the bed, Shane had eased himself under the covers.  His eyes were closed, but his brow was furrowed in discomfort.

“What do you need?” Ilya asked softly, taking the ice-pack from Shane when he handed it to him without opening his eyes.

Shane blew out a long breath, “For you to get in bed and stop hovering.”

“Am not hovering,” Ilya objected, scoffing, but padded to the other side of the bed.

Ilya slid his own phone onto the bedside table and then slipped under the covers.

Shane immediately tried to turn towards him as he normally would when they were in the same bed, but jerked back, inhaling sharply and stilled.  

“Fuck,” he hissed between this teeth, trying to breathe through the obvious pain his sudden movement had caused.

Ilya immediately moved towards him across the king-size bed.  Once he was next to him, he noticed the tears in the corner of Shane’s eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, “Just breathe. Is okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Shane bit out, his frustration and exhaustion bubbling to the surface and spilling over.  “Everything fucking hurts right now.  And I just want to…”

His voice broke off as he fought back a sob.  Ilya’s heart ached to see him so upset, not knowing how to help, simply wishing he could take all his pain and bear it himself.

“Just want to what?” Ilya asked in a voice barely more than a whisper.

He reached out his hand and gently angled Shane’s face towards him so that when he blinked open his tear-filled eyes he couldn’t hide from him.

Another tear spilled down his cheek and Ilya’s thumb instantly swiped it away, giving him the time and space to work through his emotions and give voice to them.

“I just want to be close to you,” he finally whispered, his voice broken and raw with sadness.  “But I can’t.  Fuck, it hurts to lay like that.  I just want you to hold me, but I don’t know how to do that without making it worse.”

His honest confession shattered Ilya’s heart.  “Oh, sweetheart, I can do that.  I will hold you.”

“How?” Shane whispered hoarsely.  “I can’t turn on my side, I can’t lay on top of you.  Everything hurts right now.  Even laying on my back hurts.”

Ilya immediately shifted, easing the pillows behind him until he was reclining against the headboard at a slight angle.  Once he was settled, he turned back to Shane.

“Come here,” he said softly, gently tapping Shane’s shoulder before opening his arms to him.

Shane’s eyes blinked open, gazing up at him in confusion that instantly turned to relief when he realized what Ilya wanted him to do.  

Ilya kept one arm braced along his back as he moved, slowly shifting over until he was laying propped up against Ilya’s left side, his back to Ilya’s chest.  The angle would take the pressure off his chest cavity and allow him to breathe easier - a trick Ilya had learned after more than one occasion of bruised ribs from a game.

When Shane was finally settled, Ilya wrapped one arm around his left hip, laying his hand low on his stomach.  The other went to Shane’s hair, brushing it back so he could place a soft kiss against the shell of his ear.

“See, I have you,” he whispered, “Now, sleep, malysh.”

Shane released a long sigh, his weight growing heavier against Ilya’s chest as he began to relax.  

A few silent minutes later, Ilya thought he’d fallen asleep, but Shane surprised him by reaching up his left arm, finding Ilya’s hand that still rested against his head.  Lacing their fingers together, he brought it down to rest over his heart.

Ilya’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the comfortingly steady beat of Shane’s heart beneath his palm.  He let his arm rest lightly against the front of Shane’s chest, so it wouldn’t irritate the bruise from the seatbelt.

“Is ok?” Ilya murmured as he let the weight settle, wanting to make sure he wasn’t causing Shane more pain.

Shane simply nodded, and then whispered, “Is perfect.”

Ilya smiled and turned his face into Shane’s hair, pressing a kiss there as he let his own muscles loosen and relax.

It wasn’t until he felt Shane’s breathing even out, the tension bleeding out of his frame as sleep pulled him under, that Ilya whispered the words he could no longer hold in his heart.

“Я люблю тебя. Я так сильно тебя люблю.I love you. I love you so much.

Despite being tired, Ilya didn’t fall asleep.  

He stayed awake watching Shane, the steady rise and fall of his chest and beat of his heart.  He kept his promise, making sure that there were no signs of complications or worsening injuries.  His gaze traced the beautiful lines of his face, over the small scrapes and bruises, and noted the soft hitches in his breathing when he muttered in his sleep.

Shane barely moved in those first few hours.  At one point, he turned his head into Ilya’s chest and released a contented sigh.  

Tears filled Ilya’s eyes as he thought back over the events of the day - those first few moments when all he knew was that Shane was in the hospital and not answering his text messages.  He remembered the fear that had gripped his heart and hadn’t let go until he’d had Shane in his arms again.  He remembered the way Shane had melted into his embrace despite his mother watching them and the way that Ilya hadn’t cared, not in that moment and not now.  He remembered it all and he held him even tighter, mindful of his injuries, but never wanting to let go.

Hours had passed by the time Ilya’s eyelids grew heavy, and he was just starting to drift off when he felt Shane begin to stir in his sleep.  His arm twitched, then his whole body flinched as if bracing for an impact.

“Dad…Wait…Dad…Watch out!” His voice got progressively louder, until he was yelling.

Ilya locked his arms around Shane’s torso, knowing if he moved too much, he might hurt himself further.

“No! No! Dad! Wake up! I can’t…DAD!” Shane gasped and jerked up, a cry tearing out of him at the sudden movement.

“Fuck!” 

His entire body tensed, and Ilya watched in worry as he squeezed his eyes shut, tears slipping down his cheeks and his face crumpled in pain.

“Shhh,” Ilya hushed him, speaking softly into the shell of his ear. “You are ok.  Your dad is ok.  You are both safe.”

“Ilya?” Shane gasped, his chest still heaving as he tried to take a deep breath, each one causing him to wince, the harsh movement irritating his ribs and other injuries.

“Yes, yes, I am here, malysh.  You need to slow your breathing.  You are hurting yourself.  Breathe with me,” he told him, beginning to rub soft calming circles against his lower abdomen, fingers tracing around his navel, trying to soothe him without pressing into any of his bruises.

Ilya laid a soft kiss against his neck and then took a slow but shallow breath, pressing his face into the side of Shane’s head to help him feel his breathing pattern.

Thankfully, Shane began to listen, his ragged, sharp inhales settling into smaller breaths that allowed the pressure on his chest to ease.  His muscles slowly relaxed, and Ilya continued to trace slow patterns into the soft skin of his stomach as he kissed the side of his head and neck.  

“Good,” he murmured when the last of the tension left Shane’s body.  “Good job, Shane.”

“Fuck,” Shane choked out, his voice wet and rough with his overflowing emotions. “I was in the car again.  I tried to warn him, I saw the car coming.  But it was too late and then he wouldn’t wake, and I couldn’t get to him, Ilya.  I couldn’t…”

The words tumbled out of him and Ilya pressed his hand firmly over his heart, holding him with gentle pressure, silently telling him he wasn’t alone.  That he was safe and alive and here with him.  

He continued laying soft kisses over his cheek and beneath his ear, anywhere he could reach, trying to soothe him, reassuring him he was okay.

“I was so scared, Ilya,” he gasped in barely a whisper.  “I just felt so helpless.”

A full shiver ran through his body and he turned his face as much as he could into Ilya’s neck.

“Yes, is scary, but you were brave,” Ilya told him softly.  “You survived and so did he.  You are both so strong.  He will be ok.”

Shane nodded, and then released a long breath.  “I’m so glad you’re here.  I don’t know…I don’t know how I’d do this without you.  I mean…I would do it, but I wouldn’t…I probably would have just shut down like I was doing at the hospital.”

Ilya hummed, remembering the shuttered expression Shane had worn when he’d first glanced up at him from the chair in that waiting room.  He looked as if he was far away, refusing to let himself feel anything.  He’d decided feeling nothing was better than the pain of everything.  

Ilya had no doubt that Shane would have been okay without him, he was stronger than even he realized.  But he also knew that, eventually, it would have all caught up to him and he would have fallen apart at some point, possibly even made his injuries worse because he would have refused to take care of himself.

Closing his eyes, Ilya nosed into Shane’s hair and swallowed, hoping his voice would work around the emotion clogging his throat. 

“I am glad I could be here too.  I want to be here with you.”

Shane lifted his head then, and Ilya realized he was trying to move.  

“Woah, what…” he began to say as Shane shifted, putting pressure on his right side before wincing.

“Hey, hey, don’t,” Ilya said more urgently.

Shane gritted his teeth then, pushing out a loud breath through his nose. “No, I want to see you.  I’m okay.”

Ilya banded his arms tighter around Shane, using his strength to stop his movements, knowing with his injuries, he wouldn’t be able to overpower him like he normally could.

“Wait, I will fix,” he said, tapping his left hip.  “Sit up, slowly.”

Shane did as he was told, easing himself into an upright position.  “I’m going to move to the other side of you so you can lean on your left,” he explained, folding up his legs and sliding behind Shane so his entire body was on the other side of him.

Then, he moved the pillows, leaning back against them once more and putting gentle pressure on Shane’s shoulders to guide him back down.

He helped Shane angle himself so more of his weight was on his left hip which meant he could face Ilya as he was tucked into Ilya’s right side.  The pillow provided the rest of the support he needed.

When they were finally settled once more, Shane laid his head on Ilya’s shoulder and looked up at him.

“Better?” Ilya asked, his lips twitching upward.

“Yes, bet-ter,” Shane smiled sleepily, lifting his hand and laying it on Ilya’s chest. 

Even though it was late, Shane’s eyes opened, watching him carefully. 

“Did you even sleep?” he finally asked.

Ilya scoffed, “I am not the one who is injured and has mild concussion.”

Shane only lifted an eyebrow, undeterred, “Did you?”

Rolling his eyes, Ilya shook his head.  “Needed to make sure you were ok, not hurting yourself more.”

“Ilya,” Shane breathed, his hand trailing up his chest so his thumb and pointer finger could grasp his chin.  “I’m okay.  You need to rest too.”

“He says he is ok and he looks like a bruised potato,” Ilya replied, trying for playful, but not quite managing to mask his worry.

“A bruised potato?” Shane asked, chuckling and then wincing at the pain it caused.  “Oh, shit, don’t make me laugh.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow, “Was not trying to.  You are making fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun,” Shane groaned, his thumb beginning to brush back and forth the skin just below his lip.

Ilya squinted his eyes and then moved his head to lightly nip at Shane’s thumb before running his thumb soothingly over it.

“Shit,” Shane grunted, and Ilya felt and saw the way his body reacted to the action. “You can’t do that right now.”

The black of Shane’s eyes widened and his breath stuttered, and there was a growing presence near Ilya’s hip.  

His eyes traveled over Shane’s face, the discolored skin beneath his right eye reminding him of exactly why they couldn’t take this any further right now, despite what both of their bodies might want.

Ilya released a long breath, and gently kissed the tip of Shane’s thumb.  “I know.  I will behave.”

“I really wish you didn’t have to,” Shane whined softly, shutting his eyes and burying his face into Ilya’s armpit.

He nuzzled there, inhaling, as if seeking comfort from the familiar scent of him.  When Ilya felt his lips slide open and his tongue press down, tasting him, Ilya moaned.

“ебня Fuck,” Ilya swore, looking down at a grinning Shane as he trailed his mouth up his pec and then bit down just below his nipple.

Blood pounded in his ears and then it all rushed south, his cock throbbing, very much ready and awake, bobbing against his stomach.  

Ilya’s fingers slid into the soft strands of Shane’s hair and tightened, pulling another deep groan from Shane, who shifted his hips against Ilya, trying to find friction.

Ilya saw the moment Shane moved wrong, the pleasure turning to pain and he immediately loosened his hold on his hair.

“Fuck,” Shane bit out and Ilya could hear the clear frustration.

“Hey, is ok,” Ilya told him, pressing a kiss to his temple.  “You need to rest.  Is not a good idea right now anyway.”

Shane relaxed back against him, gingerly shifting his body until he was once again comfortable.  “Tell that to my dick.”

Ilya suppressed his laugh, but not the grin that covered his face.  “Oh, so now you want me to talk to your dick? You did not want me to in the shower earlier…”

“Fuck off,” Shane said, but Ilya heard the smile in his voice.  “And I never said he didn’t like it.  I just asked why you think he speaks Russian.”

“Ah,” Ilya said, letting his fingers resume a gentler glide though the strands of his hair.

Silence settled around them as their bodies cooled and their breathing returned to normal.

“Maybe in the morning?” Shane asked, his voice already slurred with sleep.

Ilya frowned, glancing down at him, even though his eyes were closed, almost asleep.  His brain caught up a second later as what Shane was asking filtered through his tired mind.

“Oh, you think you will magically heal overnight?” Ilya asked softly, his breath stirring a few strands of Shane’s hair on his forehead.

“Hmm, didn’t say that,” Shane murmured, “But we can figure something out.  Just…need you.”

The last two words crumbled his defenses.  “Da, we will see how you feel in the morning, moya lyubov'.  Sleep now.”

Shane’s reply was incoherent, and Ilya tried to stay awake to watch him, but this time, his exhaustion won and he fell asleep, holding the man who held his heart.

***

It was too bright.  That was Ilya’s first thought as consciousness returned to him.  

He always closed the black out curtains in hotel rooms, for privacy and for this exact reason. Most of the time, he never paid attention to which side of the hotel his room was on and where the sun would be in the morning.  Black out curtains made it so it didn’t matter either way.

He groaned softly as opened his eyes, squinting against the light.  As the room around him came into focus, he realized that he wasn’t in a hotel.  It all came back to him in a rush, memories of the night before scrolling through his head.  The texts.  The accident.  Shane. Driving him home.  Falling asleep with Shane in his arms.

Glancing down, he saw Shane was still curled up against his chest, his steady even breaths telling Ilya he was still asleep.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of morning sun.  As Ilya had already learned, they’d forgotten to close any blinds and a column of sunlight stretched across the hardwood floors, onto the bed, and directly across both of their faces.

He took the quiet moments before Shane woke up to map out the freckles that dotted his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.  A few were temporarily hidden by the bruises on the right side of his face and underneath his right eye, but Ilya knew where they were, long ago having memorized most of their locations when he couldn’t sleep.  

Ilya followed the freckles down the slope of his nose, to the perfect cupid’s bow of his lips which were parted slightly as he slept.  

The enormity of what had happened yesterday lingered in his mind.  The outcome could have been so different and so much worse.  

Yuna’s words echoed in his mind.  “I could have lost both of them today.”

He could have lost Shane.  He could have lost Shane and no one would have known that he was anyone to him.  He would have had to act as if he hadn’t lost a part of himself, the part that reminded him what it felt like want to live, to try, to love.

Ilya had been prepared to lose Shane to someone else some day.  That day when Shane realized Ilya couldn’t give him what he wanted or deserved. When he’d been with Rose Landry, he’d thought that he’d finally found someone easier to be with than him.  But, even if he was with someone else, Shane would still be alive, playing hockey, living, breathing, happy.

Having him gone forever…

Ilya’s heart immediately rejected that thought.  Losing Shane was not an option.  He wasn’t sure how to live in a world without him.

And, for some reason, that thought that made him realize that losing him in any way was unacceptable. He wanted a future with Shane.  How that would work, he didn’t know.  But he knew he was willing to fight for it, now more than ever.

The soft groan from the man in his arms pulled him away from those thoughts as Shane let out a heavy sigh, blinking his eyes open against the early morning light. 

“Morning,” Shane’s sleepy voice said as he began to twist his body to stretch only to freeze as he tried to lift one arm above his head, and let out a soft hiss of discomfort instead.

Ilya immediately tightened his hold on Shane, allowing him to relax back against him without any extra strain.

“How do you feel?” Ilya asked softly, after Shane had opened his eyes again.

“Like I got hit by a car,” Shane replied through gritted teeth.

Ilya leveled him with an unimpressed stare, “Yes, well, you did.”

Shane gave up trying to move and, instead, twisted his head back into Ilya’s shoulder and let out a frustrated groan.

“That bad?” Ilya asked, bringing a hand up to slide through his messy hair.

“Probably just stiff from sleeping” Shane answered honestly.  “But I don’t want to move yet to find out.”

Ilya huffed out a laugh and reached for Shane’s phone on the bedside table where they’d left it last night.  Glancing at the time, he saw it was still early, but that there was a text from Yuna.

“Your mom texted,” he told Shane, holding out his phone.

“Can you read it?” he asked, still not lifting his head.

Ilya hummed, swiping open Shane’s phone with the passcode he’d long ago learned, and opening the text thread.

Mom:  Dad is doing great.  They will be around this morning at nine for an update on his condition and recovery.  I hope you and Ilya got some sleep.  Call me when you wake up.  I love you.

Shane let out a relieved sigh.  “I should get over there.  What time is it?”

“Is only 7,” Ilya told him, glancing at the time on the screen.  “We can get to the hospital before then.”

Shane nodded, but didn’t try to move, and Ilya pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.  

“It will be okay,” he whispered, and noted the way Shane’s body sank back into him, as if Ilya’s words gave him permission to let himself be honest.

He could feel Shane’s thoughts churning in his head, the way he was silent but there was a tension to his frame that belied his ease.

Ilya let him work through his thoughts, processing them, and patiently waiting until he was ready to speak them aloud.

They stayed like that, Ilya’s fingers trailing through Shane’s hair as he leaned into him, pressing his face further against his chest.

He was surprised when Shane finally broke the silence with a question, his voice hesitant, as if bracing for the bad news.  “When do you have to leave?”

“We do not have a game until tomorrow night,” Ilya replied, “So tomorrow morning at the latest. Probably.”

Shane looked up at him then, soft brown eyes searching his face, “Your coach is okay with that?”

There was a note of disbelief in his voice, and Ilya briefly wondered why that seemed like such an imaginable thing.

“I have not called them yet, but yes, should be fine,” he said with a slight shrug, trying not to jostle Shane too much with the movement. “Especially if I am there for game.”

Shane was silent, his body relaxing back against his, and Ilya turned his face to look at him, eyes searching, “Your team would not be ok with this?”

Shane bit down on his lip and then looked away from Ilya.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.”

But he didn’t sound convinced, and that bothered Ilya more than he cared to admit.

“You are Shane fucking Hollander.  You would be fine.  They should be able to handle practice without you,” he scoffed.

Shane chuckled ruefully, “Well, now they have to handle a lot more without me.”

“Ah,” Ilya said, “So they were not happy yesterday when you talked to them?”

“That’s an understatement,” Shane bit out, and Ilya heard the frustration evident in his voice.  ‘They didn’t even ask how my dad was doing.  Just that they would be in touch regarding my recovery and physical therapy.” 

Anger rose swiftly inside Ilya’s chest.  Losing your best player during a run to make the playoffs was not good, but being so callous and uncaring about his family’s well-being during a difficult time was not something he would expect out of Hollander’s team.  They should be doing everything they could to make sure Hollander’s family was taken care of so he could be back on the ice as soon as possible.  

When his father had died, the Raiders hadn’t been thrilled to lose him for a week of games, but he was their captain and his name drew crowds and fans so he had some leverage.  They honored his wish to keep the reason for his leave private until a certain time, and helped make sure he had the support he needed to make a flight and leave town after the game.  They’d even offered him more time if he needed, but staying in Russia any longer than he had to was not something Ilya had wanted or needed.

He’d expected the same level of support or even more from the Metros with Shane.  He was their franchise player who had helped bring them three Stanley Cups.  The fans and league adored him.  Ilya could not wrap his mind around the lack of support they were showing him now.

“That is ridiculous,” he said, “Do they think you got into accident on purpose?”

Shane shrugged his shoulders with a small wince.  “I think they are just disappointed at the timingThey’re a great organization to play for and I’m not trying to complain, or anything..”

His answer was a textbook media answer and Ilya rolled his eyes.

“Well, I think you should if this is how they treat their star player,” he shot back, raising an eyebrow and wondering if Yuna Hollander knew any of this.  

He doubted it.

“Ilya, it’s fine, really,” Shane huffed and began to try to sit up. “I’m sure it’ll be better when I talk to them today.”

“Лучше бы так и было,” he grunted.  (It better be.)

“You can’t threaten my team,” Shane rolled his eyes, and Ilya’s widened.

“Oh, so you do speak Russian?” he asked, his hands braced on Shane’s back.

His smile was brighter than any he’d seen since yesterday when he looked at him.  “No, but I guessed. And I was right, apparently.”

Ilya scoffed, “Apparently.”

Shane’s smile widened as he leaned back and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to his lips.  “Thank you for wanting to defend me though.”

Ilya’s heart fluttered, his defenses falling as he opened his eyes and stared into Shane’s, letting himself get lost in them.  

“Is very inconvenient when we play against each other,” he teased with a smile.

Leaning forward, he cut off any other reply from Shane, using his hand to tilt his head to the side as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into Shane’s mouth, earning a moan as he pulled away slowly.

“Fuck,” Shane bit out, “We have to get to the hospital.  Or I do…”

Ilya’s eyes narrowed as he looked at him, the way he chewed on his bottom lip before glancing back up at Ilya.

“You want me to come with you?”  The question sat between them, Ilya needing Shane to make this choice. 

It was one thing to show up at the hospital late yesterday unannounced, it was another to show up during the day, where they would be more visible. There was little chance that he wouldn’t be spotted in some way, but he would do his best to make sure that didn’t happen.  

However, he would only do it if Shane wanted him to do.  Ilya decided that had to be what he was comfortable with and chose, right now.

Shane’s answer came almost instantly, “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” Ilya replied, the hand still on his face trailing over the apple of his cheek.

A small smile slowly spread across Shane’s face as he nodded, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Then I am coming with you,” Ilya stated, shrugging his shoulders.  “But first, you need to eat something.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Shane began to say, but Ilya shot him an annoyed look, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Fine, I’ll eat something after I need to use the bathroom and get changed,” he sighed.

Ilya nodded, grinning, as he began to slide out from under the covers.  He quickly walked around to Shane’s side and reached out a hand.   Placing his good hand in his, Shane slowly pulled himself over.  A wince and soft groan fell from his lips as he began to use his core muscles to stand, and Ilya’s other hand shot out to his side, steadying him.

Shane gave him a small nod and smile.  “I can do the rest on my own for now.”

There was a stubborn look in his eyes and Ilya knew he wasn’t going to persuade him differently at this moment so he let him go.  

“I will be in the kitchen if you need,” he told him, and watched Shane gingerly walk towards the bathroom.

Despite the stiffness in his walk, Ilya noted that Shane was moving better than he had been last night and he hoped he wasn’t trying to hide too much of his pain.  

Once the door to the bathroom closed behind him, Ilya turned towards Shane’s closet and quickly found a pair of track pants he pulled on before grabbing the bottle of Tylenol and heading to the kitchen.

He filled another glass with water and set out three more pills after looking at the recommended directions on the back of the bottle.  If he was going to go sit in uncomfortable hospital chairs, Shane would need those.  

Opening the door to the refrigerator, he saw some eggs and fresh fruit, ginger ale, and, to his surprise, a pack of Coke.  The realization that Shane had bought it for him made something in his chest flutter and he swallowed before turning to the rest of the contents.  After a quick search of the drawers, he’d found a lot of fresh greens portioned out, apples, and yogurt. 

Shutting the refrigerator, he looked around and spotted a protein mix on the counter as well as a mixer pushed out of the way behind it.

The sound of a small curse and then soft footsteps pulled his attention away from his thoughts of breakfast.  Worried, he began to move toward the bedroom.

He was halfway around the kitchen island when Shane appeared in the doorway.  His hair was still messy from sleep, but he looked more awake.  His face was a bit damp, Ilya assumed from whatever products he’d seen lined up by his sink in the bathroom.

Ilya’s eyes roamed down his body, pausing at his bare chest, noting the pants slung low on his waist.  What looked like a shirt hung over his injured wrist as he walked into the room.  His bruises were more colorful this morning, the purple and blues darkening overnight and somehow spreading out, now covering most of his right hip.

There was a slight hesitation in his step, not quite a limp, but enough that Ilya noticed and eyed him carefully as he approached.  The way he held his right arm across his chest let Ilya know his ribs were bothering him more than he would admit.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Shane grumbled, “I’m not going to break walking across the room.”

He stopped in front of the island, staring at the stool as if it had offended him, but Ilya knew he was weighing the effort it would take to haul himself up onto it in order to sit.

After a minute of Shane glaring annoyingly at the stool, Ilya had enough.  Without saying a word, he came around the edge of the island and walked up to Shane, placing his hands gently on his shoulders to get his attention.

“I know you can walk across a room,” Ilya said quietly, “but needing help when you are hurt does not make you weak.  I think I know very well what your body can do.  But right now, it needs to heal, da?  So how can I help?”

A groan escaped Shane’s lips as his shoulders fell in defeat.  He closed his eyes and let out a short, choppy breath before replying.  

“I couldn’t get my shirt on or my hair brushed because I couldn’t raise my arms over my head.”

Ilya brushed his thumb along the edge of his right collarbone, far away from the bruises that bloomed bright on his skin.  

“Ok,” Ilya answered simply, just acknowledging Shane’s frustrations and letting him voice them as his fingers pressed against the side of his neck and into the tense muscle there.

“Do you want to sit?” he asked as Shane tilted his head towards Ilya’s moving fingers.

Brown eyes fluttered open, the sun highlighting the golden flecks beautifully as he blinked at Ilya. 

“I want to but getting on a stool right now feels like a lot of work,” he admitted, shrugging one shoulder.  “I’ll be fine…”

Ilya stepped closer and trailed his hands down his back and over his ass to his thighs. Shane’s hands instinctively landed on Ilya’s waist, his fingers digging into the solid muscle.

“Deep breath,” Ilya instructed and Shane immediately listened, bracing himself as Ilya lifted gently and set him easily on the stool.

Ilya eased his hands out from beneath his legs as Shane looked up at him with wide, amused eyes.  

“Show off,” he muttered, but his smile showed his appreciation as he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss at the corner of Ilya’s mouth.

Ilya chased his kiss until their foreheads rested together.  “You like it when I pick you up.”

There was a teasing lilt to his voice and he was thrilled when Shane pressed another kiss to his lips before pushing him away.  “Whatever.”

“Ah, you did not deny it,” he smiled, walking back behind the counter before spreading his arms wide and leaning against it.

“So, what do you want for breakfast?” Ilya asked, looking over at Shane as he laid the shirt he’d brought out with him on the counter.

“I..uh…I usually just make a smoothie,” he replied, clearing his throat after fumbling over his words as if he was somehow embarrassed, “I can tell you how to make it, or I can do it too.”

Ilya leveled him with a glare, and pointed at him.  “Do not move. Tell me how to make gross breakfast smoothie.”

“Hey,” Shane frowned, “How do you know it’s gross?  It’s not gross.”

“It has all the green things in your refrigerator in it?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

Shane rolled his eyes, “Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s gross. It’s good for you, healthy.”

Ilya scoffed, clicking his tongue.  “Good for you usually means gross.”

“How are you an elite athlete with your diet?” Shane asked, shaking his head as he chuckled.

Ilya just waved his hand towards him, turning back to the refrigerator and opening the door.  

“Okay, Mr. Nutritionist,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder, something like contentment settingly low in his stomach at the ease of this morning routine, despite the lingering extenuating circumstances that got them here.  “How do I make this exceptionally good-tasting smoothie that is also so healthy for you?”

Shane ignored his teasing and began to list the ingredients that Ilya quickly began to retrieve from the refrigerator.  

It only took about five minutes to get everything put into the blender, Shane already having most of it portioned out for an easy morning routine.

By the time the blender spun to a stop, the result was a light green hue that did not look at all appetizing to Ilya, but it did have the perfect smoothie consistency.

He quickly pulled down a glass from the cabinet and poured the concoction into it, sliding it across the counter to Shane.

“You don’t want to try it?” Shane asked with a teasing grin.

Ilya pointed to the little that was left in the blender.  “If it will make you happy, I will drink this much.  But no more.”

To Ilya’s annoyance and surprise, it wasn’t the worst smoothie he’d ever had.  It wasn’t something he would choose to have for breakfast every morning, but it didn’t taste like drinking a garden and that was a win in his book.

“I think I have a few protein bars in the pantry,” Shane said as he watched Ilya slowly finish the little bit of smoothie in his glass, smiling.

Taking Shane’s empty glass, he quickly rinsed it and the blender out and put them in the dishwasher.   

As he worked, he noticed that Shane slowly slid off the stool, much to Ilya’s dismay, and headed toward a door on his left.  Opening it, he stepped inside and reappeared a few seconds later with two different flavors of protein bars.

Ilya closed the dishwasher and took one of them with a smile and a quiet, “Thank you.”

He ate it quickly, watching as Shane returned to the kitchen island and gratefully took the Tylenol pills Ilya had set out for him earlier.  Then, he grabbed the shirt he brought out and looked at it with a frown.

“Maybe I should try a button-up?” he asked, looking back at Ilya.

“Give,” Ilya said, crossing back over to him.  “How far can you raise your arms without hurting?”

Shane immediately began to lift his arms, elbows bent, he got them just above his head before letting out a soft grunt.

“It’s more than I could do earlier, but yeah, still fucking hurts,” he said around gritted teeth.

“Is okay,” Ilya assured him, finding the hem of the shirt and bunching it up so he could slip it over Shane’s hands and head.  

He gently trailed it down over his torso until it was all the way on, and Shane slowly dropped his arms.

“Thank you,” he said softly.  “This is really annoying.”

“You want to wrap your ribs?” Ilya asked, knowing he’d done this a few times when he’d had them bruised after hard hits into the boards.

Shane shook his head, “They tried yesterday, but the pressure on the bruises and scrapes bothered me.”

Ilya nodded, knowing in addition to his other injuries, Shane did not do well when things were uncomfortable against his skin.

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow that does not have ugly Metros logo on it?” he asked as he looked at Shane’s shirt with a scowl.

That earned him a laugh from the man in front of him, the corner of his eyes crinkling in the way that made Ilya’s heart twist happily in his chest.

“Yeah, come on,” Shane said, starting towards his room.  “Gonna need your help with my hair too.”

“Ok, but I do not do pigtails or braids,” he teased which only earned him a muttered “Fuck you” under his breath.

Twenty minutes later, they were almost ready to leave. Ilya had put on the plain black shirt that Shane handed him and helped Shane run a comb through his hair enough that he could slide on a baseball hat.

Shane sat on the bed, trying to bend down to put on his socks when Ilya exited the bathroom after fixing his hair and brushing his teeth.  At the obvious pain on Shane’s face, he immediately crossed to his side, slipping the socks out of Shane’s hands and then sliding both of them on his feet.

“I really hate feeling helpless,” Shane groaned, frustration bleeding through his voice.

“I know,” Ilya told him, “But is not forever.  The more you let people help you now, the sooner you will heal.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Shane retorted, his words sharp, but most of the venom was gone from his voice.

Ilya sat back on his heels, looking up at him. “I know it is not easy.  It would be same for me.  We are both very stubborn, yes?”

Shane’s mouth curved up, “Just a little. Probably.”

Ilya returned his smile and then stood, but did not offer a hand to Shane this time as he slowly eased himself up, knowing he would want to do it on his own if he could.

Ilya followed him out of the bedroom, towards the front door where he stopped to slip on his own shoes before turning to Shane.

He didn’t give Shane a chance to protest, simply grabbed his shoes and helped to slide them on his feet as Shane balanced against him with one hand on his shoulder.

By the time he was done tying them, Shane’s face was scrunched in worry again.

“Hey, you are ok?” Ilya asked, and his voice seemed to snap Shane’s attention back to the present.

“What am I going to tell them?” he asked, his eyes wet and wide as he gazed at Ilya, shaking his head.

Ilya frowned, feeling Shane’s anxiety shift the air around them, “Tell who?  What are you talking about?”

“My parents,” Shane explained, his voice trembling slightly.  “I mean, I know we told my mom that you were a friend last night, well more, but I have to tell them something today  They’re going to have questions and I…fuck…”

Ilya felt his stomach drop, and he took a deep breath to try to stave off the fear that Shane was about to tell him this was too much; that they were too much for him.  

Was the reality of telling his parents the truth about them - about him - that terrifying to Shane that it wasn’t worth keeping whatever they had?  Was this when the burden of what Ilya was - who he was - became too much for Shane?

Ilya swallowed and tried to push down the intrusive thoughts - the ones that constantly tried to tell him that he wasn’t worth choosing, wasn’t worth the trouble as his father so often put it.

“Shane,” he said softly, laying a hand against the base of his neck.  “Breathe.  Is okay.  You are having panic attack.  Breathe.”

Whether it was his words or his touch, Shane’s eyes seemed to slowly focus back on Ilya’s face.

Ilya watched, his heart beating fast and furious in his ears as he watched Shane take one breath and then another.

It wasn’t until the glaze was gone from Shane’s eyes that he spoke again, trying to keep his voice as gentle and even as possible, despite the fact that his heart shattering was dependent on Shane’s next words.

“You tell them whatever you want to tell them about us,” Ilya whispered softly.  “However much you want to tell them.”

The furrow in Shane’s brow returned, as he looked at Ilya in confusion. “No, no, don’t do that,” he almost begged, and Ilya froze. “I’m not the only one in this.  You have Russia and your family.  You have so much more to lose.”

Ilya’s heart did break then, but not because of the fears that had infiltrated his mind before, but because Shane was worried about him - about his needs more than his own.

There was only room left for the truth now.  

“I do not think I will be going back to Russia,” he told him quietly, staring straight into his beautiful warm eyes.  “Is not my home anymore, I think. It is here now.”

With you. 

The last two words went unspoken, but they hung there in the air between them, deafening in their silence.

Shane blinked, and then his entire face softened.  “Oh.”

Ilya tilted his head, watching him silently, pushing through his own fears and insecurities, knowing this conversation was long overdue.

“What do you want this to be, Shane?” 

His hand moved to cup the side of Shane’s neck, his thumb gently tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

He watched as Shane opened his mouth and then closed it, leaning into his touch, before trying again.

“I want…” he swallowed, “I just want you to be mine.  In whatever way I can have you.”

Ilya’s heart cracked open, Shane’s words breaking through every one of his long-held lies that whispered to him that he wasn’t enough to be wanted like this.

He pressed his lips together to keep in the sob that worked its way up his throat as Shane stared at him with so much honesty and sincerity in his warm gaze.

The overwhelming emotion clogged his throat, refusing to let anything past that wasn’t incoherent noises.

So, instead, he pulled Shane into him and kissed him hard, mouth bruising as he devoured the moan that slipped from his lips.  It was a claiming, from both of them, as Shane met Ilya’s desire and enthusiasm with his own.  Ilya’s tongue slipped into Shane’s mouth as his other hand rose to cup the other side of his face, angling his head to capture his upper lip, nipping it lightly.  After repeating the action to his lower lip, he finally pulled back, gasping for breath as he leaned his head against Shane’s, rubbing their noses together.

“I want that too…so much,” he confessed, his voice finally working, though it sounded as if it had been dragged across a field of rocks.

Shane smiled at him hopefully, “Yeah?”

“Yes,” he said, insistent and smiling.

“Okay, okay,” Shane said, leaning back.  “Then, I’ll tell them all of it.  Well…most of it.  But just them right now.  I’m not ready to…”

Ilya saw Shane’s panic start to rise again and pulled him close again.  “Yes, just your parents.  Is good, Shane.”

At his words, Shane melted against him, arms winding around his waist as he laid his head on Ilya’s shoulder, breathing him in.

Ilya held him until both of their heartbeats settled, a gentle lull settling between them as his fingers trailed over Shane’s back and gently into his hair.

“Okay,” Shane finally said after a few quiet minutes and a deep breath, “Let’s go.  I’m ready.”

Ilya leaned back, kissed his lips softly and then turned to open the door.

The drive to the hospital was quiet. Ilya had put his baseball hat and sunglasses back on to hide most of his face.  While Shane still hesitated when he sank into the passenger seat of the car, he’d managed to avoid anything like what had happened last night by taking a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath.  Ilya had reached for his hand as soon as slid into the driver’s seat, and waited for Shane to give him a nod, letting him know he was good to start driving.

As he drove them through the much busier morning traffic, he kept a close eye on Shane who’d fallen silent after directing them a faster way out of the parking garage. 

Halfway there, Ilya noticed Shane fisting and unfisting his hand as they came to stop at a stoplight. He kept one hand on the steering wheel while placing the other one over Shane’s, squeezing it gently until he relaxed it, allowing Ilya to lace their fingers together. 

When the light turned green, Shane lifted his other hand and covered Ilya’s, holding on tightly.  Ilya said nothing, allowing his thumb to run back and forth along the side of their joined hands watching as some of the tension slowly began to drain from Shane’s body.

Ilya stopped the car a few hundred feet from the main entrance to the hospital in what appeared to be a dropoff lane.

“You go,” he told Shane.  “I will park the car where your mom had it yesterday and join you.”

Shane’s brow creased in confusion, and Ilya quickly reassured him,  “Is better this way.  Less…obvious, yes?  Also, I need to call my coach.”

At his explanation, Shane’s worry disappeared.  “Okay, right. I forgot about that.  Just text me when you’re done with your call?”

Ilya wasn’t sure if it was a question or a demand, but he nodded, “I will be right behind you.  Promise.  Now, go so you do not miss the doctor being there.”

He gave Shane’s hands one more squeeze and watched as he opened the door and slowly unfolded himself from the car.  

Ilya waited until he’d disappeared into the sliding doors before putting the car back into Drive and making his way to the covered parking garage.

Once he had parked close to the same place they’d found the car yesterday, Ilya pulled out his phone, searching through his contacts.

He quickly rehearsed what he would say to his couch in his head and then hit the call button and waited as it rang.

The conversation lasted less than five minutes.   As he expected, Marly had already given Coach a heads up about the personal issue Ilya was dealing with in Montreal.  While Coach was concerned, he didn’t fight him on it, instead making sure that Ilya had what he needed to get back to Boston for their game.

“If you need help with flights or a ride, call the team managers,” he said gruffly.  “Take care, Rozanov.  See you tomorrow.”

After thanking him and telling him that he would be there, Ilya hung up with a relieved sigh.

Then, he called Cliff.

“Rozy,” Cliff answered after the second ring.  “I was wondering if I would hear from you. You ok?”

“Hello, Marly,” Ilya said with a smile at his friend’s voice.  That was one thing about Cliff Marleau, once you were his friend, he had your back at all times.

“I am ok.  I just talked to Coach.  Everything is good as long as I am back before the game tomorrow.”

“Good,” Cliff replied. “I gave him a heads up this morning at breakfast.  Told him you were really worried after the game yesterday about your girl and left to go to her.  Something about her family.”

Ilya inhaled sharply, realizing just how much Cliff had somehow gotten correct.  

“Marly, I…” he started, but Cliff interrupted him, his voice lowering as if he was stepping away to speak privately.

“Listen, man, I don’t care what or who it is that you are seeing. I just want you to be happy and get the support you deserve, ok?” he told him, his voice softening at the end.

Ilya swallowed thickly against the lump rising in his throat and sniffed, trying to push them back down so he could speak.

“Maybe we…ah….maybe we go for a drink after the game, da?” Ilya said quietly, leaning his head against the seat.

“Whatever you want, Cap,” he replied, easily, “If you want me there, I’m there.”

“Thank you, Marly.  Really,” he said and sighed.  “I need to go but please keep everyone in line for me while I’m gone.”

“On it,” he replied, and he could almost picture him giving him a wink and a mock salute as he so often did. “Bye, Roz.  See you tomorrow.”

“Yes. Bye, Marly.”

He sat in the car for a moment after the line went dead and tried to gather his thoughts.  He briefly wondered if Shane would mind if he told Cliff about them.  That is, if Cliff hadn’t already figured some of it out.  He would ask Shane later, if the time was right.

Finally, after checking through his messages to make sure he hadn’t missed anything else important, he slipped the phone back into his pants pocket and got out of the car.  

Locking it behind him, he pulled his hat down farther on his head and headed for the parking lot entrance to the hospital.

The fact that the hospital was busier during the day actually helped him stay inconspicuous.  No one really looked at him, everyone busy with their own work or tasks.  

People wandered throughout, and since he already knew where to go, he managed to get there without having to stop or ask for directions. 

As he approached David Hollander’s room, he pulled out his phone and stepped into a small alcove off the main hallway.  Quickly he typed out a text letting Shane know he was there, and where he was waiting.

It was read almost immediately and the reply came a few seconds later.

Jane: Coming.

Shane appeared before him a minute later, his hat still on his head, but the sunglasses were gone.  The stark lights of the hospital made the bruises beneath his eyes look darker somehow.

“You’re gonna get more looks if you don’t take those off,” Shane said, smiling as he glanced around them, pointing to his sunglasses.

Ilya just shrugged, but slipped them off and then followed Shane quietly back down the hallway. 

He didn’t hesitate before pushing open the door of his dad’s room, and tugging Ilya in after him.

There was an awkward pause as the door clicked shut behind him when Yuna and David Hollander both looked up from where they were quietly talking to each other.

Thankfully, Yuna’s face immediately softened with a smile when she saw him. 

“Ilya, honey,” she said, crossing the room to him and taking him by surprise when she pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his ear before letting go and stepping back.  “It’s good to see you again.”

Ilya blinked, trying to hide his surprise at the unexpected reception.  

His gaze darted to David Hollander, who was sitting up in the hospital bed, a warm smile on his face.  

One side of his face was covered in abrasions and bruises, his left arm in a sling and his left leg propped up with various rods holding it steady and in place.

“Mr. Rozanov,” David greeted him, “It’s nice to meet you.”

His voice was a little hoarse but his eyes were kind and Ilya immediately began to relax, that hint of trepidation rising in him dissipating.

“Ilya, please,” he replied, trying to keep his tone even despite the nervous flutter of his heart.  “Is nice to meet you too.  I am sorry it is like this.”

“Coulda been worse,” David said, and both Shane and Yuna looked at him with wide eyes as if the thought of worse was unacceptable.

“I am glad you are okay,” Ilya said, hoping to dispel some of the worry that had filtered into the room from his comment. 

“Me too, son,” he replied and Ilya felt his world tilt at the familial name, one he hadn’t even heard from his own father in so long.  “Both Yuna and Shane have filled me in a bit and I appreciate you being here for Shane.”

“Of course,” he nodded, taking a deep breath trying to calm the whiplash of emotions he was feeling from the last few minutes. “He said he wanted me here and so I am here.”

David studied him for a long moment before smiling kindly and asking, “So how exactly did you two meet because I fear I am missing a lot of the story here?”

There was a pause as Shane and Ilya looked at each other, and at Ilya’s nod, Shane began to explain what they’d discussed.  

“I didn’t really want this to be the way either of you found out, but I’m gay,” Shane confessed, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets.  

Ilya instinctively stepped closer to him, their shoulders brushing in silent support.

Despite the understanding and kindness the Hollanders had shown Ilya so far, he knew how quickly these moments could go sideways, and he was ready to protect and defend Shane if needed.

But neither David nor Yuna even flinched.  They simply nodded, both smiling tentatively as Yuna spoke up.

“Oh, honey, I think we always suspected you might be, but I’m so glad you told us.  We love you so much.”

There were tears in her eyes as she stepped forward and wrapped Shane in her arms, sharing a few whispered words before releasing him.  Cupping his cheeks in her hands, she wiped away the few tears that had trailed down his cheeks before returning to her spot next to David. 

“I love you son,” he said, lifting his hand which Shane immediately reached out to take.  “Nothing will change that.  Nothing at all.”

Shane nodded and Ilya saw the slight tremor in his shoulders.  He realized a moment later that there were tears in his own eyes, an errant one slipping down his cheek before he could stop it.

He quickly turned his head to the side to wipe it away but not before Yuna spotted it.  She didn’t say a word, but tilted her head to regard him and then her face fell as if she realized something.  And before he could say anything, she had crossed the room to stand in front of him. 

“Can I give you a hug, Ilya?” she asked softly, and Ilya’s eyes widened in surprise.  “You just…you look like you could use one.  That mother’s intuition again.”

Ilya didn’t trust his voice to work, all he could do was give a solitary nod, and then he was in her arms, being held like his mother used to so many years ago. 

She didn’t linger, but it meant more to Ilya than he could ever put into words.

When she leaned back, she patted his arm gently and he saw that Shane had returned to his side.  As she walked back to her chair near David’s bed, Shane slipped his hand into Ilya’s and gave it a tight squeeze.

Ilya found himself holding on tight as his world shifted in ways he hadn’t expected.

“So when did this start?” Yuna asked, one eyebrow watching them with an intrigued look.

The question broke the short silence that had settled between them after everyone had returned to their chairs around the room. Shane and Ilya sat on one side of the bed, hands still laced, and Yuna on the other.  

“Uh…rookie season,” Shane answered softly, and Yuna’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline in surprise.

“Rookie season?!”

“No, it was summer before,” Ilya interjected with a frown, remembering that photoshoot and the hotel room after.  He’d never forget it. 

“Ilya, not helping,” Shane mumbled under his breath and Ilya just shrugged, he wasn’t going to start off by lying to Shane’s parents.

“Okay…okay, so you’ve been in love since before…” Yuna began, but they both interrupted, shaking their heads furiously.

“No…no,” they said, Ilya waving his hand in the air.

“Oh, so then, when?” Yuna asked, confusion furrowing her brow, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

Ilya shrugged as Shane froze in the chair next to him, his arms crossed and head down.  

“Uh..lovers?” he offered, unsure of how else to tell someone’s mother they had simply been meeting up to fuck for years.  

It was never that simply though, if he was being completely honest with himself.  But Shane’s parents didn’t need to know those details.

“Ew, Ilya…no, that’s gross,” Shane said almost immediately and Ilya frowned, as he looked at him and then shrugged again.

Still, Yuna seemed to understand as she nodded her head and mouthed a silent, “oh.”

There was a pause where David opened his mouth to ask about it further but Yuna laid her hand over his and shook her head to Ilya’s relief.

After that, they hit the most important moments, noting that they’d never really been enemies like everyone assumed or wanted.  

Ilya filled in a few more bits and pieces, much to Shane’s chagrin, at times.  But, eventually, Shane’s parents knew enough to understand that this was more than casual.  That they wanted a future together, eventually.  But that for now, they were okay with whatever they could have, as long as they could be together, even if it meant staying in the shadows.

While Yuna didn’t seem to like that solution, they were interrupted from any further conversation about it by a knock on the door.

A young nurse with brown hair and kind eyes entered, noting that she needed to check David’s vitals. Ilya kept his head down, out of practice more than anything, not wanting to bring attention to himself.

Once they were alone again, Shane turned to his mother, “You should go get some rest.  Ilya and I will stay here for a few hours.  You can go to my apartment and shower and sleep for a bit.”

Yuna opened her mouth to argue, but David beat her to it.  

“Go, sweetie,” he said. “I am feeling much better and you’ve been sitting in that chair all night.  I’ll be fine with these two.”

It only took one more mention of a shower and she was agreeing with a promise that they would call immediately if anything happened.

Ilya slipped the key to her car out of his pocket and held it out to her.  “I parked it in the same place as last night.”

Closing her hands around his, she smiled.  “Thank you, Ilya.  Did everything go okay with your team?”

He nodded, “Ah, yes, I will take a flight home tomorrow so I will be there for the game against New York.”

“Oh, they will be happy to have you for that game.  The Admirals and Scott Hunter are on a winning streak right now,” she said, “It might honestly be his year, finally.”

Ilya scoffed, “We will see.  He has not played us yet.”

She chuckled and turned to Shane.  “You’re feeling ok, right? They said if you had any extra pain or issues that you should..”

Shane sighed heavily, and Ilya clocked his slight wince at the movement, but interrupted his mom before she could continue. “Yes, mom.  I’m okay.  I told you that last night too.”

Ilya shot him a look, knowing just how ‘not fine’ he truly was last night but said nothing.

After another round of goodbyes, Yuna left and they were left alone with David who was also starting to fall asleep thanks to the pain medication he was being given.

The remainder of the day passed quietly.  David was in and out of sleep, but when he was awake he would have short conversations with them, even asking Ilya about what he thought his teams chances were for the playoffs and his plans for the summer.

Ilya watched Shane carefully, making sure he stood and took walks every hour to keep his muscles and ribs from getting too stiff. 

By the time Yuna returned around four in the afternoon, he could tell Shane’s pain was getting steadily worse.  

He was relieved when she sent them off again, reminding Shane to ice his ribs and take his pain medicine and Ilya realized that she had noticed Shane’s discomfort as well.  

Ilya promised her he would make sure he took it easy, and she smiled at him in appreciation.

Once they were out of David's room, Ilya’s fingers itched to hold Shane’s hand, wanting to keep him close, but he refrained.  Instead, he kept stride with him, walking close enough that every once in a while their fingers brushed, a constant reminder that the other was there.  

They made their way silently out of the hospital, and by the time they were in the parking garage, Ilya could see Shane’s exhaustion in his hunched shoulders and the way he held his right arm over his stomach, bracing his injured side.

The drive to the apartment is quiet, Ilya only breaking the silence to ask if Shane wanted him to stop anywhere for food.   

But Shane shook his head with a quiet, “Just wanna be home with you.”

The tender honesty of his words sliced through Ilya and he immediately reached over and laced his fingers with Shane’s, keeping them there for the rest of the drive.  

Tension lined Shane’s shoulders as they pulled into his parking spot for the second night in a row.  Tonight, Shane let himself lean into Ilya as he guided them to the elevator, and Ilya wrapped his arm around his waist in the elevator and held on tight.

Once the apartment door latched behind them, Shane’s frame folded.  Ilya quickly helped him remove his shoes, as well as his own, and took his hand to lead him to the sofa, easing him down into the cushions.

Shane sank back into them with a long, tired sigh.  “Bed.”

Ilya squeezed his hand. “Soon, malysh. Do not move. I will be right back.”

Shane huffed, but nodded as Ilya quickly returned to the entry way, lining their shoes up  against the wall.  Detouring to the kitchen, he grabbed a glass of water, more Tylenol and a new ice pack from the freezer.

By the time he returned to Shane, his eyes were closed, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Here,” Ilya murmured, kneeling down in front of him, handing him first the water and then the pills.

Shane’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze heavy with exhaustion.  He hadn't been able to get comfortable enough to sleep at the hospital and he’d stubbornly shot down the idea of leaning on Ilya in case someone randomly came into the room.

Silently, he took the medicine, swallowing it down before setting the glass on the side table. Ilya handed him the ice pack next, helping him place it over his ribs.

When he tried settling back again, Shane winced and Ilya quickly grabbed one of the many pillows from the other side of the sofa.  He gently slid it behind Shane’s back, giving his ribs more support. 

“Is okay?” Ilya asked quietly, his fingers trailing over Shane’s forehead as he leaned back.

Brown eyes opened and found his, the rich, warm hues pulling him in as they always did.  

Shane smiled softly, “Yeah, thank you.”

When Ilya went to get up, Shane grabbed his wrist, “Where are you going?” 

“Not far,” Ilya answered, pressing a kiss to his pouting mouth.  “Just finding something for us to eat, da?  You need to eat.”

Shane’s eyes closed again, and nodded.  “Yeah, I could eat.”

Ilya watched him for a moment, until his fingers loosened from his wrist and he knew he’d fallen asleep.  His eyes trailed over his face, still amazed that, at least for this little bit of time, Shane was his.

The step they were taking should terrify him, but, as he mapped the freckles that dotted Shane’s cheeks, Ilya realized that for the first time in years, he felt a part of himself that had long ago stopped trying to survive underwater, take a deep, shuddering breath.  

And that part of himself was where his hope lived.

***

While Shane napped, Ilya managed to find some rice and chicken in the freezer, locating an easy recipe online that should satisfy Shane’s diet as well as his own taste buds. 

It felt good to be cooking for Shane again despite how the last time he’d done this had ended. He truly enjoyed it.  He’d always helped his mother in the kitchen when he was young, much to his father’s displeasure.  But it was relaxing to him, and brought him pride to be able to provide something for the people he loved.

It wasn’t until he was plating that last of the food that Shane woke.

Ilya watched him carefully stand from the sofa, and was happy to see some of the stiffness gone from his posture, as he shuffled towards the kitchen island.

“That smells good,” Shane said, surprising Ilya by rounding the island and stopping right next to him, staring down at the plates of food.

“It will taste good too,” Ilya assured and motioned for Shane to go have a seat at the counter.

Instead of following his direction, Shane slid his arms around Ilya’s waist from the side.  His fingers found the edge of the sweatshirt and he tucked the tips of them into the waistband of his pants. 

The embrace was gentle, as if Shane were holding something precious and valuable, yet something he desperately needed.  

When Shane laid his head against his shoulder, Ilya immediately let his rest against it, his chest tight with something too big and all-encompassing to name.

His hands let go of the plates, bringing them up to fold around Shane’s arm, trapped in the circle of his embrace.

Neither of them said a word and the only thing that filled the silence was the beating of two hearts finally on the same path together.

It was Ilya who eventually moved, turning his body and wriggling his arms free so he could wrap them fully around Shane.  He felt the way Shane’s brace caught against the fabric of his hoodie, and the way his fingers dug into his skin when Ilya leaned back to see his face.  

Both of them were smiling, soft, knowing, happy smiles.  Leaning forward, he kissed Shane, a brush of lips at first.  Then Shane’s hands pressed into his lower back, and Ilya's hips bucked forward as he exhaled hard.  Their next kiss was harder, deeper, Ilya licking into Shane’s mouth hungrily and Shane responding in kind, pulling him impossibly closer until Ilya was backed up against the counter.

Ilya’s fingers itched to feel Shane’s skin beneath them, to take him apart, to kiss every single point on his body that ached and make him feel pleasure instead of the pain.  His hand slid to Shane’s jaw, using gentle pressure to press down on his chin and open his mouth wider, Ilya’s tongue mapping his mouth, tangling with Shane’s as they fought for a dominance filled with need and more.  He heard Shane’s moan, swallowed it up with his own mouth as he tried to remind himself why picking Shane up, laying him on this counter and letting his mouth find his hard cock with his mouth was a bad idea.

It was Shane who reminded him of that reason when he began to sink to his knees only to hiss when he twisted his body the wrong way as he clambered for Ilya’s waistband.

His head fell to Ilya’s stomach and he groaned in frustration and anger. 

Ilya reached down, lacing his fingers through his dark strands of hair, holding him until the wave of intense pain had passed and Shane moved.

But instead of standing, Shane moved for his pants again, and Ilya stopped him with a hand over his.

“Shane,” he murmured, but Shane was shaking his head.  

“No, fuck, Ilya, I can do this,” he said, his face scrunched in adorable concentration.

Ilya placed his fingers under Shane’s chin and waited for his gaze to meet his again.  “Da, I know you can, moya lyubov'.  And, of course, I want it but I do not want you giving me pleasure when you are in pain.”

Ilya swiped his thumb over Shane’s lower lip and he immediately opened his mouth, sucking the fingertip in and swirling his tongue over it, his eyes glazing with even that small act.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his cock growing harder next to Shane’s face, where he’d rested his head to look up at him with those brown eyes that Ilya could never say no to.

Shane took Ilya's brief silence to nuzzle into the base of his clothed cock, breathing against it, the hot air and sensation making Ilya’s entire body tremble with need.

“Okay, okay, first we eat, then we can…we will do this, yes?” Ilya said, breathless.  “You cannot be on the floor like that.”

Shane suckled on his thumb while also mouthing against the tip of his cock, and Ilya closed his eyes against the sudden vision of Shane with both his thumb and cock in his mouth, lips stretched wide around him as he stared up at him with those beautiful adoring eyes.

Pulling in a deep breath, he slipped his thumb from Shane’s lips, much to Shane’s dismay, and put both hands under his arms, lifting him to stand.

Shane huffed and whined, and Ilya brushed a soft kiss against his mouth, his jaw and his chin. 

“Listen to me,” he said, dropping his voice with the command, and Shane’s gaze immediately met his.  “We will eat.  We will clean up.  Then, I might let you suck my dick.  Or maybe I suck yours, yes?”

“Both,” Shane answered, the word tumbling from his lips without hesitation.

Ilya smiled, kissing him softly once more.  “Yes, okay, both.”

Shane took a breath and leaned against him, and Ilya held him while he composed himself, stroking idly behind his ear.

“Food is getting cold,” Ilya said, smirking at the way Shane’s eyes were still full of desire when he glared playfully up at him.

Shane sighed, “Fine.”

Everything in him wanted to pull Shane back against him and get lost in each other.  But Shane was barely twenty four hours out from a serious car accident and still healing.  He would hate himself if he caused Shane any more pain so he would make sure whatever they did was as safe and careful as possible.

Instead of eating at the counter, Shane led them back to the couch.  Ilya settled next to him as Shane found the remote and flipped to the Detroit game, the familiar sound of skates carving into ice and commentary somehow comforting background noise while they ate.

“This is delicious,” Shane told him after taking a few bites.  

Ilya just smiled, “Yes, I am good cook.”

Shane rolled his eyes, “Is there anything you’re not cocky about?”

Ilya raised his eyebrows with a playful smile and Shane shook his head.  “Nevermind, don’t answer that.”

Comfortable silence settled around them again, both of them commenting every once in awhile on the game.

When Shane had finished all of his food, he placed the plate on the coffee table in front of him.

“Thank you for cooking and coming to the hospital and everything, honestly.  I know I've already said it but I’m just really glad you’re here.”

His gaze met Ilya’s as he looked over at him, swallowing hard.

Ilya gave him a gentle smile, “I am glad I am here too.”

Once Ilya was done, he insisted on cleaning up. Shane began to protest when Ilya grabbed their plates and started walking back to the kitchen wanting to help, but Ilya pinned him with a look that told him to stay and let him help.  Shane huffed and crossed his arms in annoyance, grumbling about bossy Russian assholes.

Ilya fought back the grin as he cleaned their plates and placed them in the dishwasher before returning to Shane.

After he had settled back on the couch, Shane shifted towards him until their shoulders were touching.  

Ilya moved his arm, allowing Shane to rest fully against him. He sighed happily when his head came to rest on Ilya’s shoulder, the warmth of his body pressed into him.

“Is good?" He asked quietly into his hair.

“Is very good," Shane replied, and Ilya smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple.

The game ended soon after, and neither of them moved to change the channel. 

After a few minutes, Shane turned his face and kissed Ilya’s chest over his t-shirt. He stayed there, his fingers reaching for the hem of his shirt to tug at it.  Understanding what Shane wanted, Ilya leaned forward and quickly helped Shane remove his shirt, dropping it ont he floor at his feet.  

Shane moved carefully and Ilya watched, looking for any sign of discomfort.  He didn’t want to hurt Shane.  But he wanted this.  He wanted to feel close to Shane, be with him before he had to leave and he didn’t know when he would see him again. 

Ilya's breath caught in his throat as Shane kissed his chest again, the heat of his mouth meeting the skin, his tongue darting out to swirl around his nipple.

His body responded instantly, and he felt his cock twich, rising again and pressing against the seam of his pants.

“Shane…” Ilya groaned, his tone both a warning and a plea.

But Shane didn’t stop, lifting his brace-wrapped wrist so he could trail his fingertips over the ridges of his abs, flatting his hand as much as he could as it trailed down toward the vee of his hips and his groin. When Shane’s fingers teased into the soft hair there, he bucked up, cursing softly. 

Ilya’s hand trailed down Shane’s back tugging gently so he would sit up again.  When Shane complied, he carefully pulled his shirt up and over his head, leaning in a kissing him slowly, softly but with a desperation they both felt.

Shane’s movements were careful with his own body, but not with Ilya’s.  His lips left Ilya’s and skimmed down his neck, his teeth biting down gently on his nipple before flattening his tongue and licking a long stripe on over it.  His hips bucked up, hissing out a curse and his hand landed in Shane’s hair, pulling gently and Shane moaned.

Ilya felt his other hand slip beneath the waistband of his pants, not stopping until they reached his now fully erect cock.

“Shane,” he warned again, this time covering Shane’s hand with his own, halting his movement.  

Using the hand still in his hair, he gently guided Shane’s head up so he could see his face.  When Shane finally met his gaze, Ilya’s breath caught in his lungs at the desperate, pleading look on Shane’s face.

“Moya Lyubov',” he whispered, leaning forward, “You are sure you are ok?”

“Yes, I want this,” Shane insisted, his voice hoarse with desire and tears.  “Please, Ilya. I just...  You’re going to leave tomorrow and I…I’m out for the year and I won’t see you and, fuck…it could be months and I don’t know if I can…”

“Hey,” Ilya hushed him, “I am right here.  I’m not going anywhere yet.  You have me.”

“I need more,” Shane mumbled, “I need…”

“What do you need, malysh?” he asked, his voice soft and warm against Shane’s lips.  

“You, Ilya,” Shane said, his eyes staring up at him, pleading. “I need you.  I need to feel you close.  I need to feel…something besides the fear and pain of the last few days.  I need to feel alive. I want you to remind me that I’m not broken.  Whenever I’m with you, I feel strong and loved and so much better.  Please.”

“Oh, Shane,” Ilya sighed, his heart aching at the sadness and fear swirling in those deep brown eyes. 

Framing his face with his hands and wiping away the tears that clung to his lashes, he pressed a long, deep kiss to Shane’s mouth,  “Okay, I want you too.  But you have to let me do the work.  And if anything hurts, you have to tell me. Yes?”

Shane was nodding before Ilya even finished speaking.  “Yes, I will.  Promise.”

Ilya kissed again, this time softer, a tender brushing of lips, before asking, “What do you want?”

Shane knew what he was asking, and bit down on his lower lip making Ilya groan. 

“Want your cock in my mouth,” he whispered, his eyes looking down to his lap.

“Fuck, yes,” Ilya replied, “Okay.  Here.”

He grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and placed it on the floor in front of him.  Shane manuvered onto it, settling himself on his knees as Ilya quickly shucked off his pants.

“Good?” Ilya asked breathlessly as Shane stared at his cock, his eyes already glazing over with so much desire that Ilya had to remind himself to breath.

Shane retorted in a voice that was so desperate, it was laced with a frustration that Ilya hadn’t expected. “Yes, now fucking let me suck your dick.”

A laugh burst out of him and he opened his legs, Shane immediately leaning forward and licking a long, hot stripe up the underside.

Ilya’s head fell back, mouth open and he had to take a deep breath to keep from coming when Shane moved to the tip, licking over his slit, suckling the head.

“Ты станешь моей погибелью,” he muttered in Russian, groaning.  (You will be the ruin of me.)

Ilya watched amazed as Shane’s eyes darkened as he spoke, locking with his and then sinking down on him, taking him fully into his mouth until he pressed against the back of his throat.

The breath punched out of him and he had to keep from thrusting up as the heat of Shane’s mouth closed around him.

He stayed like that, cheeks hollowing as he sucked, pulling up and off and then sinking back down, over and over until finally he took him all.  Shane took a deep breath through his nose and Ilya felt the moment the head of his cock pushed into the back of his throat.

His eyes felt heavy, his body on fire as he gazed down at Shane, who was looking at him like he was the most beautiful and powerful thing he had ever seen.  Except, he was sure that was how he was looking at Shane as well.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his hand falling from Shane’s hair to his stretched jaw, tracing his lips where they curved around his cock.  “You are so strong and so beautiful and all mine.  How are you mine?”

The words fell out of him, landing honestly at his feet, all of his walls crumbling into ash as he looked down at this man who he loved so much holding him, pleasuring him, and loving him in ways he’d never expected or thought he deserved.

Shane’s fingers flexed against Ilya’s thigh and he reached down, lacing their fingers together as Shane swallowed around him, humming.

Ilya felt his balls draw up, his impending orgasm building to a level he wasn’t sure he could stop so he tugged gently on Shane’s hand.

“Malysh, you have to…up…” he squeezed tighter and Shane slowly pulled off, a dazed smile on his spit-covered lips.

“I want you to come,” he whispered hoarsely.  

Ilya shook his head, “Nyet, not yet. My turn.”

Without waiting for Shane to respond, he lifted him gently from the floor, placing him back against the stacked pillows he’d been resting against earlier.

Shane shifted backwards, and Ilya’s eyes flew to his obviously hard cock, tenting his pants. “You are comfortable like this, yes?”

“Yes,” Shane nodded, palming at his erection, but Ilya quickly pulled his hand away.  

“No…that is mine to take care of.”

Ilya hovered over Shane, braced on his arms and lowered his mouth to his, starting out with a hesitant, soft brush of lips before pulling back.  Shane chased his mouth but Ilya didn’t want him to strain his ribs so he quickly leaned back in, meeting him with tongue and teeth and a thread-bare grip on his control.  

Ilya kissed him like he was the only air he breathed, their tongues tangling together in a familiar dance.  Shane’s uninjured hand dove into his hair and tugged him closer, making Ilya lock his muscles so he didn’t end up falling on top of him.

He let Shane take control of the kiss, allowing him to move his head so that he could deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue past Ilya’s teeth and into his mouth.  Ilya playfully nipped at his lower lip and Shane groaned, his hips bucking up off the couch despite his promise to let Ilya do the work.  The only tell he felt anything other than pleasure was the slight furrow of his brow, but it was enough.

Ilya pulled away and Shane opened his eyes as Ilya braced himself on one arm and laid a hand on his unbruised hip.  

“No moving,” he warned, “Or we stop.”

“Fuck,” Shane groaned, and he nodded, “Yeah, ok, just touch me, please.”

Ilya grinned and placed one more kiss on Shane’s mouth before moving down to his neck, kissing softly at the sensitive spot just below his ear and then lower to the juncture of his neck.  He skimmed his teeth over the skin there before running his tongue over it to soothe the sting.

“Yes,” Shane gasped, his fingers pulling and pressing at Ilya’s hair simultaneously, lost in the sensations Ilya was causing in his body.

Gently, he ran his lips over a few of the still darkening bruises on his chest and down to his hips.  He avoided his injured left side and focused on the tender skin just below his navel where a trail of trimmed hair sad.

Rubbing his nose against it, he licked the skin just above it, and Shane whimpered.  HIs cock twitched where it stood between his legs, red and straining, pre-cum leaking from the tip.

Ilya blew a soft breath on the slit, making sure one hand held down his good hip as Shane shuddered.

“Ilya, fuck, please,” Shane begged, and Ilya looked up, Shane staring at him with glassy eyes, fully loosing himself to the endorphins racing through his body.

There was a spark back in them that he hadn’t seen since he’d found them in that hospital waiting room, a little ember of happiness and hope igniting from being with Ilya like this because he was safe here with him.  Safe and loved, just like he said.

And Ilya felt light-headed that he was the one that Shane trusted to do this for him, to pull him back, to remind him of what being alive felt like, what being desired and held and loved felt like.

Their eyes locked and the trust he found in Shane’s would have brought him to his knees if he wasn't already there.

"Ты — лучшее, что есть в моей жизни. You are the best thing in my life.", he breathed, and then he kissed the tip of Shane’s cock.

When he felt Shane beginning to tremble, he tapped the inside of his good hip. 

“No moving.  No hurting yourself.  You tell me if it does and we stop.”

“I know,” Shane replied breathlessly.  “I know, now please suck my dick, please.”

His plea sent a shot of pleasure straight to his own dick, and he groaned before leaning down and flattening his tongue on the underside of Shane’s cock and licking a stripe all the way up just like Shane had done to him.

Shane moaned, his hands fisting in the pillows at his sides, eyes closed, his face awash in pleasure.

Humming in contentment, Ilya swirled his tongue around the tip and then took him into his mouth, letting him hit the back of his throat before bobbing off and then sinking down again.

Shane’s good hand fisted in his hair, his body tense but Ilya saw no hint of pain.  He watched as he took him all the way down again, this time relaxing his throat so he could take all of him, hollowing his cheeks and breathing in the musk of him.

“Fuck, yes,” Shane moaned, his eyes flying open to lock with Ilya’s as he swallowed around him and then they widened.

“Ilya…shit…I…I can’t…I’m…wait…”

Shane's breath caught, and Ilya instantly pulled off of him, his brow furrowing in concern.

“I am hurting you?" 

“No, no…I just wanna come with you.  Please." 

Ilya sighed, relief running through him as he smiled and nodded in understanding. “Okay, yes, I've got you.”

Carefully, he sat back on the couch, and then motioned for Shane to sit on his lap.

With Ilya's help, he stood, turning and easing down over his lap until Ilya's arms were at his back and he was seated.  Their cocks brushed together and they both hissed at the sensation.

“You are ok?" 

Shane nodded, taking a deep breath as he moved his hips, making sure he was in the position to allow him the least amount of pressure on his ribs.

“If something hurts, you tell me.  We stop, yes?" 

Shane nodded, “Oh my god, Yes. Yes, I know" 

Ilya ignored his annoyance and held out his hand in front of Shane’s face.  “Spit.”

He immediately did, and Ilya used it to lube them up as he put a hand around both of them.

A long, loud hiss escaped Shane’s lips at the pressure of their cocks sliding together and Ilya’s hand holding them firmly.

“Yes,” he chanted, “Yes, Ilya, please. More.”

And Ilya did as he asked, moving his hand up and down in smooth, long strokes from base to tip, the friction making his own moans fall from his mouth.

Shane leaned towards him, his face pressing against his, their noses smashed together as their panting breaths mingled.  

Ilya leaned up, finding his lips and kissed him messily, stealing his gasps and moans.  

When Shane reached between them with his good hand and covered Ilya’s, he almost lost it.  The added pressure and intimacy of it all sent Ilya reeling.

“Shane, moya lyubov', yes, yes,” he murmured, grunting as he sped up their strokes.

“What does that mean?” Shane asked, breathlessly, their faces pressed together, their eyes so close, Ilya could see the ring of brown around his blown pupils.

“My love,” he panted, “Means my love.  You. Shane.  Moya lyubov'.”

The truth spilled out of him, his brain capacity to do anything by hurtle them towards their pleasure gone, and he found that he wanted Shane to know.  Wanted Shane to be sure of his love for him, even if they hadn’t said the actual words yet.  

“Oh,” Shane’s eyes widened, wetness gathering at the corners as he gasped, his body shuddering as Ilya felt his release against their joined hands and then splattering up onto their chests. 

His orgasm pushed Ilya over the edge, white noise filling his ears as he held Shane’s gaze, the look in his eyes pure adoration and love, and he let himself go and fall into it.

His hand kept working their cocks until the last of the aftershocks had worn through him, and their bodies trembled with each stroke.  Shane’s forehead lay against his own, their breaths mingling as they both came back down. 

He leaned back, and Shane came with him, curling into his chest, uncaring of the mess between them. 

Ilya reached for the first article of clothing he could find and wiped his hands off before easing Shane up to clean between their bodies.  The moment he finished, Shane sank back into him, his eyes closed as he hummed contentedly.

Shane’s other hand rested limply in Ilya's hair and his body was trembling softly.  He let his fingers run up and down Shane’s back, mindful of his bruises.  There was no where else in the world he wanted to be than right here, and he wondered how it was possible for someone to become this important to him after all the careful walls he'd built up around his heart.  His mother had always told him to leave his heart open to love, but that was before she’d left him, before he’d learned that if he left it open, it would be easier for him to be hurt.  So he’d built the walls and survived.  Until Shane.

Shane blinked open heavy eyes, a soft, satisfied expression on his face.  Lifting his arm, he trailed it over Ilya’s cheek, tugging his face to him gently.

Ilya went willingly, kissing him softly.

“How are you?” Ilya whispered against his forehead

“Amazing,” Shane replied, smiling, “You always make me feel amazing.”

“Good,” Ilya told him, and ran his fingers over the bright red bruise from the seatbelt.

“Shower?" He asked after a few more quiet moments, noticing Shane begin to sway on his arms.

He nodded and Ilya helped him stand, an arm wrapped gently around his shoulders before walking them back to the bedroom. 

For the second night in a row, they showered together, Ilya helping Shane remove his wrist brace and help with whatever he couldn’t do on his own.  He was so relieved to see Shane moving a bit more easily after just another 12 hours.

When they were finally in Shane's bed once more, Shane propped up against Ilya on his good side, Ilya broached the topic that had been on his mind since earlier that day.

“Thank you for calling me yesterday before the game," he said. “I would not have…It would have been hard not knowing if you were ok." 

The words got stuck in his throat as he spoke some of his biggest fears out loud.

Shane stared up at him, noting the emotion in his eyes. “Hey, I know.  I knew you would worry and no one would know to tell you." 

And then he stared at him thoughtfully as if working something out in his head.  Ilya could see his mind turning over an idea or plan in his head so he continued before Shane got too far into his thoughts.

"I actually wanted to ask you something I thought about today,” he said a little hesitantly, looking down at Shane’s chest, trying to gather his thoughts.

"What is it?” Shane asked, lifting a hand to his face, tilting his it back up to he had no choice but to meet his kind gaze.

"I do not…I mean, I want to you to be my emergency contact,” Ilya told him, trying to keep his voice calm despite the racing of his heart.

Shane froze, his eyes widening and then he let out a disbelieving breath as his lips curved upwards. 

“Me?”

Ilya nodded, clearing his throat, “I do not have anyone here besides Svetlana and she is not always even in the country. This way you would always know if something were to happen.  I wouldn’t want you to worry, and…you are the only person I would want with me.”

He blinked, pushing the sting of the tears threatening to fall away while he gazed down at Shane who was still watching him with an unreadable expression.  Ilya began to worry that he’d asked to much, that it was too much, too soon.  

“Yes, of course.”  The response burst out of him as if he suddenly realized he hadn’t spoken. “Ilya, yes.  Please.”

“Da?” Ilya croaked, English failing him as his head fell forward, his forehead landing to the side of his face and he breathed in Shane’s calming scent. 

“Yes,” Shane repeated, his fingers carding through his curls, and he felt Shane kiss his cheek.

Ilya swallowed, lifting his head and smiling.  “Thank you.”

“I’m going to add you to mine too,” he said, letting Shane cup his face and kiss him softly.  “I never want you to worry and not know.  You’re so important to me.”

Ilya could only nod, feeling a tear slip down my cheek.  “You are the best thing in my life.”

It was Shane’s turn for the tears to fall and Ilya leaned forward and kissed them away.  

“Ilya…” His name was barely a whisper, the faint sound of syllables along Shane’s tongue that wrapped around him and made him smile.

“Da, I know,” he replied, because he did.  

He knew the words they had both said hundreds of ways over the past few years.  The words that couldn’t encompass all of what and who they were to each other.  

But he said them anyway.

“Я тебя люблю.”

“Holy shit, I love you too.”

Shane’s reply was immediate, no hesitation and Ilya’s stared at him in shock.

“How did you…” he began, but Shane just smiled up at him.

“I took a chance and even if I was wrong, it would still be the truth,” Shane confessed and Ilya laughed in a chaotic mix of relief and disbelief.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, kissing him, his tongue slipping into Shane’s mouth and tangling together languidly, neither in a hurry to end it.

When they finally did, Shane laid his head back on Ilya’s chest and let out a long, contented sigh.

Ilya held him as tightly as he could, his hands running up and down his spine.  The warm skin beneath his fingertips reminding him Shane was here and alive and with him.  Choosing him.

“There’s something else I wanted to ask you,” Shane said a few minutes later, breaking the silence that had settled around him.

Ilya cocked an eyebrow and looked down at him, “You are proposing?”

Shane choked on his next breath and Ilya immediately regretted his joke when Shane coughed and then winced, one hand going to his ribs.

The teasing smile immediately faded from his face and he shifted to try to provide more support to Shane’s torso.

“Fuck,” he wheezed out after settling back down, and Ilya was thankful to hear his the laughter in his voice.  “Not funny…”

When Shane pretended to glare up at him, Ilya shrugged, his face half grimace, half smile. “A little funny?”

“Fuck off,” he batted his chest half-heartedly.

“Sorry,” Ilya said, tilting his head to the side to ask, “What is real question?”

“Not sure I want to ask you now,” he quipped, rolling his eyes.

Ilya raised both eyebrows, challenging his reply.  “Yes, you do.”

Shane shook his head in fond exasperation before taking a deep breath.  “Will you come to my cottage this summer?”

All of Ilya’s previous playfulness slipped away, replaced by two overwhelming emotions, surprise and happiness.

“I know you’re not going back to Russia, but don’t stay in Boston.  Come to my house. We'll have so much fun. It's so private. It will just be us. We can have as long as we want, completely alone. Together.” 

Ilya stared at him speechless, their quiet, hesitant breaths the only sound in the room.  

Completely alone.  Together.

He remembered the question he’d asked Shane in Tampa, in what felt like a lifetime ago.

“When will I have you for as long as I want?”

It had seemed like an unachievable dream back then, a month ago when things had been tentatively put back on solid ground with them.  But it was a dream he had wanted for years, maybe from the very beginning, if he was being honest with himself.

And now, he could have it.  At least for a summer.  For a few weeks, they could be together, alone.  They could eat and sleep and enjoy each other’s company - they could do things that couples did.  They could simply be.

Ilya couldn’t think of anything he wanted more in that moment.  Besides, maybe, for it to last a lifetime.

“If you don’t want to…” Shane’s voice brought him back to the present and he covered his mouth with one finger.

“Yes,” he said, and then repeated, “Yes, Shane.  I’m coming to the cottage. I mean, I would love to. Yes.”

One of the brightest smiles that he had ever seen broke out on Shane’s face at his words, brown eyes sparkling with joy.

Ilya cupped his face and kissed him, knowing his own face mirrored that same joy. Because, for the first time in ten years, they both finally felt that small flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, all those dreams that started in the dark of hotel rooms could find their way into the light of day.