Chapter Text
Shane would have preferred to celebrate his birthday on the ice, facing off against Philly in the third round of the playoffs, but he had played in this league long enough to take his losses in stride. They were building something in Ottawa, and taking the Admirals to seven games wasn’t nothing. Beating the Voyageurs in the first round had been a small silver lining, too.
So, yes, he would have liked to be playing hockey tonight, but this– laying in bed, tucked perfectly into the arms of his husband– wasn’t so bad, either. Their guests had all left an hour ago. Tomorrow, Shane and Ilya would have a lot of tidying up to do. Nearly every plate and drinking glass had been dirtied, empty cans of beer still sat out by the fire pit, and their own hastily removed clothes were strewn all the way from the kitchen to the foot of the bed. Shane sighed happily.
“What did you wish for?” Ilya asked, his hand lazily brushing Shane’s hair from his forehead. Ilya had picked out a carrot cake, because it was ‘delicious but also vegetables’, and Shane hadn’t argued. Even now, at his age, Shane was one of the best, if not the best player in the league. He could have a slice of cake on his birthday. His father and Ilya had stuck thirty-one candles into the cake. A ridiculous sight, but a happy one. When he’d blown them out, Shane hadn’t even thought of what to wish for. He had everything he wanted. Ilya, his parents, his teammates and even some former teammates, Anya at his heels waiting patiently for some crumbs to fall to her. Shane didn’t have to wish for a Stanley Cup next year; he could make that happen without asking the universe for help. “More goals than me next season?”
“Fuck off,” Shane scoffed. “I had seven more points than you.”
“So many secondary assists, though,” Ilya teased. “Goals should count for double.” Shane rolled his eyes and Ilya brought a hand to his chin, tilting him upwards and into a soft, lingering kiss. “Happy birthday, moya lyubov.”
“I love you, Ilya,” Shane lay his head on Ilya’s shoulder and breathed.
“I love you, Shane,” Ilya echoed. “You are the best bad decision I ever made. Favourite complication in my life.”
Shane nuzzled into Ilya and brought a finger to the crucifix that lay on Ilya’s chest. Ilya’s wedding ring had spun around to the back of the chain, safely tucked into his curls, no doubt. Shane was so lucky. So lucky Ilya was his husband, so lucky Ilya was his teammate. So, so lucky they had made it all work, that they had weathered last summer’s storm, that Ilya had come up to the cottage that first summer. So lucky that one of them had opened the door each time the other had knocked. Every bad choice and good choice they had ever made had led them here. “Would you change any of it?”
Shane said it quietly, barely louder than a whisper. He felt Ilya shift to look at him. Shane’s hand didn’t leave the metal cross on Ilya’s warm, still-sweaty chest. “No.”
“Me neither,” Shane breathed, but he wasn’t sure he meant it. Ilya had given up more than Shane. A team he loved, his country, any chance of visiting his mother’s grave again. He’d spent seasons at the bottom of the standings while Shane competed for championships in Montreal. A lazy kiss landed on his head and Ilya’s breathing slowed as Shane thought and thought and thought. “Sometimes I wish you could have had it all easier,” he said, too quiet to wake Ilya. “No complications.” Shane knew that he was lucky, but it never felt even. Ilya had given up too much. Shane ran a thumb along Ilya’s mother’s crucifix again and fell asleep on his husband’s chest.
For about five seconds, Ilya was happy. Yesterday had been perfect. Shane seemed genuinely happy and relaxed the whole time. He’d even eaten an entire slice of cake, icing included. Ilya had barely been able to take his eyes off of him all night. Shane’s smile– the real one, the one Ilya saw more than anyone else on the planet– was on display, his cheeks flushed from the attention. And after everyone had left, Ilya had spent a good hour worshipping Shane from every angle, making sure his husband ended his birthday very, very happily.
Shane was no longer tangled up with Ilya this morning. Ilya reached a hand out to the other side of the bed and groaned dramatically. “Shane,” he called, blinking his eyes open. Shane had no doubt completed a full workout and was now starting on the clean-up without him. Ilya was about to call out again to demand that Shane wait for him, but the words stuck in his throat.
This wasn’t his bedroom.
Well, it sort of was. It had been his bedroom, once. Ilya shook his head as he stood and stumbled out of bed. Why was he in Boston? He didn’t own this house anymore. He didn’t live here. “Shane?” He called again. He sped through events of last night: party, photographs, beer, a hug from Yuna, cake, Anya lifted up onto the countertop, a hug from David, a kiss from Shane in front of everyone, a polite handshake from JJ, champagne, a debate about whether or not Philly had a chance this season, more beer, goodbyes, hugs, a kiss in the kitchen that deepened and deepened, Ilya on his knees, Shane in his arms, tripping into bed, shutting his eyes with Shane at his side… No, there was definitely no spontaneous, drunken flight to Boston in there.
It was definitely his old house though. The art in the living room was the same. That was his Boston Bears crewneck with the sleeves cut off, hanging from the back of a barstool. Ilya slapped his cheek lightly and shook his head. “Shane!” He yelled. A door opened in the hallway and Ilya turned, almost tripping over his feet. “Shane?”
“Who’s Shane?” A woman was leaving the bathroom, her purse in hand. She tied her hair back and frowned at him. “It’s Shauna…” She raised an eyebrow. Ilya stared at her. He blinked. He was frozen. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. No, no, no. No. This couldn’t be happening. He had never seen this woman in his life. She was pretty. Long dark hair, big brown eyes. She wore a little black dress and a dark hickey on her neck.
“What are you doing here?” He managed to croak out. Her eyes went wide as she side stepped him.
“Um,” she frowned, blushing. “You told me it was fine if I slept over afterwards… but I have to get to work, so I’ll get out of your hair, I guess.” She was clearly offended. Ilya just nodded. His arm involuntarily motioned towards the front door.
“Okay,” he said flatly. He couldn’t look at her. He felt like his chest was collapsing in on itself.
Shauna paused as she reached the door. “You were a lot more fun last night,” she said with a grimace.
The door slammed. Ilya stepped backwards into the wall and sank to the ground. He didn’t realize he was crying until the tears started running along his jaw. This wasn’t happening. He would never, never, cheat on Shane. No. The thought of it made him feel like– Ilya jumped to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom just in time to vomit into the sink. He clutched the edge of the counter and rasped desperately, wanting more to come out. He deserved the raw, acidic feeling in his throat. He wanted to puke every piece of himself up. Looking up, he met his reflection and froze.
He looked awful. The skin under his eyes was purple and tired. His hair had been longer yesterday. His cheeks looked sallower. There was no ring on his necklace. Where the fuck was his wedding ring? Ilya splashed his face with water, desperate to wake up from whatever nightmare he was stuck in. He pinched himself. He prayed. He kicked at the bathroom cabinet hard, waiting for the pain to jolt him awake and return him to his bed, to Shane’s arms. Nothing worked.
“What the fuck?” he demanded. Ilya realized then that he wanted a cigarette. Not in the normal way, the way he sometimes indulged after a late night out with the team, or during a quiet, contemplative sunrise at the cottage. He needed to smoke. He could hardly remember the last time he’d felt like that.
Before he smoked anything, before he would allow himself any sort of reprieve, he had to talk to Shane. He didn’t know what he would say. None of this made sense. This wasn’t even his house anymore! He returned to his bedroom and found his phone. He nearly dropped it when he saw that his lockscreen– a photograph Yuna had taken of himself, Shane, and Anya on the dock at the cottage last year– was now a generic photo of a hockey rink. The Bears’ rink, if he wasn’t mistaken. The date on the homescreen, at least, was correct: May 11th, 2022.
He opened up his recent messages and frowned.
A group chat called ‘Bears 21/22’. Cliff Marleau. Elisa. Lilly from Bar. Ryan Carmichael. Katie Waitress. Mandy. Alexei!?
Ilya searched Shane’s name in his contacts and for the first time all day, he felt a wave of relief. He hit ‘call’ and stood up, pacing. Nerves ran through him. He had no recollection of how he had ended up in Boston with a strange woman, but he still felt the guilt in every corner of his being. No apology would be enough. The call was answered and then the line went dead. Ilya sat back onto the bed, his head falling between his knees. Did Shane know? Had Shane heard, or– God– had Shane seen something? His phone buzzed.
Shane Hollander: Assuming that was a pocket dial…?
Ilya frantically opened the message, aching to reply and beg Shane to call him back. But the chat history stopped his fingers in their tracks.
[March-02-2017] Ilya Rozanov: glad to hear you are okay, hollander. the whole bears team sends their best. marleau has sent separate text but he feels very bad. hope you make a full recovery for next season. playoffs are less fun if you are not there to beat!
[March-03-2017] Shane Hollander: Who is this?
[March-03-2017] Ilya Rozanov: Rozanov
[March-03-2017] Shane Hollander: Should have guessed that. How did you get this number??
[March-03-2017] Shane Hollander: Thanks for reaching out though. Should be fine for training camp.[March-03-2017] Ilya Rozanov: brooksy got it from one of your guys. as team captain I had to send the official get well text.
[March-03-2017] Shane Hollander: Wow, you might take home the Lord Talon if you keep this up.
[March-03-2017] Ilya Rozanov: haha
That was it. Nothing before, nothing after. There was no Jane in his phone, no additional Shanes or Hollanders to try. He stared at the most recent text again. A pocket dial? He ran a hand down his face and opened up his recent messages again.
Svetlana Vetrova had last texted him in January, wishing him a merry Christmas. The message was accompanied by a selfie of Svetlana, pregnant, beside a handsome man with a toothy, friendly smile. Ilya scrolled up through their chat history. She was in Chicago now, and married. There was a message from last summer thanking him for the wedding gift. Peter loved it! Who was Peter?!
Ilya lay back on his bed. For a long time, he stared at the ceiling and let tears fall from his eyes. He shut his eyes tight and forced himself to pick up his phone again and open up the browser.
Shane Hollander (born May 10, 1991) is a Canadian professional ice hockey player and the captain of the Montreal Voyageurs of the MLH. He is a four-time Stanley Cup winner with the Voyageurs and won the 2015 MLH MVP award [1][2]. Hollander is Japanese-Canadian [3].
The Ottawa Centaurs were mentioned once, in passing, in a description of one of Shane’s record-setting 8-point performances. The personal life section only mentioned his parents, that he grew up in Ottawa, and the fact that he was an only child. Ilya swallowed and started typing again.
Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov (born June 15, 1991) is a Russian professional ice hockey player and the captain of the Boston Bears of the MLH. Rozanov plays center and holds the Bears records for playoff points and points in a single regular season [1][2]. Rozanov is a 2-time winner of the MLH MVP award and has won three Stanley Cups with the Bears. He is nicknamed The Gr8-1 in Boston, a reference to his legendary status in Boston sports and his jersey number, 81.
No Centaurs here, either. His own personal life was even thinner than Shane’s. His father died in 2017 and he had one brother.
Ilya then did something he had never actually done before, and searched the phrase “ilya rozanov gay”. He would have gone with “bisexual”, but he knew what the internet was like. The only results were posts from forums and social media of men proclaiming that they were ‘not gay but if Ilya Rozanov asked…’ and one article about him using rainbow tape on pride night. He scrolled through the article, almost laughing at his polite, corporate wording: “We’re happy to participate in anything that promotes inclusivity. It’s an easy thing for guys like us to do, and if it makes anyone feel more welcome, we’ve done our job.”
“Done your job?” Ilya scowled at the little photo of himself. Who was he? Who, exactly, had he woken up as?
He typed in “scott hunter”, then, and immediately the results auto-populated with “kiss” and “stanley cup kiss” and “and kip”. He couldn’t make it all the way through the footage. He searched “mlh lgbtq players” and found article after article about Scott Hunter and Scott Hunter only. One made note of Ryan Price, who had come out after retirement. Ilya felt a brief, bizarre wave of indignant jealousy. He was very much an MLH player who was a member of the LGBTQ+ community! This had been loudly shared without his permission a year prior.
He opened up Shane’s message again.
Shane Hollander: Assuming that was a pocket dial…?
Ilya held a finger down on the message and sent a thumbs-up reaction. Every cell in his body wanted to call Shane and tell him that no, it wasn’t a pocket dial. It was a cry for help, a desperate attempt to find the one person he needed right now, the one person he needed ever. He exhaled.
It was May 11th, 2022. Ilya Rozanov was a Boston Bear. There was no wedding ring on his hand or around his neck. He was in the closet again. He had slept with someone last night who was definitively not his husband. His husband, the love of his life, the best hockey player in the world and the best person Ilya knew, had answered his call just to hang his phone up faster. Ilya needed a cigarette.
Ilya smoked half a pack that day. He sat alone in the big, empty, house that he thought he had sold years ago. He showered for thirty minutes and still felt unclean. He tried to fall asleep, hoping that he would wake up from this dream to Shane teasing him about sleeping in. Nothing worked.
He sat on his couch and remembered the way his heart had broken in this very spot. A tuna melt, a ginger ale, a lot of kissing, a lot of words unsaid, one too many words said. Hollander and Rozanov before they were ready to be Shane and Ilya. He’d take that heartbreak a thousand times over if it meant having Shane again.
It was dark when he looked them up together. “shane hollander and ilya rozanov”. It was everything he expected it to be. Rivals. Opponents. Face-offs and brushing-offs in interviews. A stiff awards show presentation. The 2017 All-Star game highlight reel, which Ilya watched six times in a row. Even in this horrible dimension Ilya had found himself in, they were magical together. He stayed up all night studying Shane Hollander.
When he woke up the following morning, he had a plan. The Bears were mercifully out of the playoffs, which meant Ilya could go anywhere. He’d be in Montreal by mid-afternoon, where the Voyageurs were playing a playoff game. He was going to find Shane and he was going to find a way to make his husband fall in love with him again.