Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I must say, you look refreshed,” Dr. Mondal congratulated.

Shane smiled with his fingers laced over his abdomen. “Not bad for two panic attacks on vacation.”

“You handled them, though, and Ilya is in the family now. I see nothing but successes. Bravo.” He clapped his hands and Shane chuckled quietly. He might’ve disagreed with his therapist about all of it being a success, but he let Dr. Mondal have the win. “Do you feel refreshed despite splitting your summer between locations? I remember that was one of your concerns.”

“I do, actually. I mean…” he glanced out the windows. “I wanted more time with Ilya, just the two of us. But I think I’m always going to want more time. As for Japan, it didn’t weigh me down in the long run, like I thought it would.”

Dr. Mondal hummed a receptive sound. “Why do you think that is?”

Shane rolled his eyes, surrendering, “Because I had fun.”

Dr. Mondal made a fist in a victorious Yes! gesture. “I’m glad you had fun. Fun enough to give it another go next year? Or is it too soon to tell?”

Shane took a deep breath. “I miss it…and I’m happy I miss it. I think we are aiming to return next year, but it’s too soon to say. If we do go, I know I’m going to be nervous all over again.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because by then, it’s all going to feel like a stranger again. And I’m committing to learning Russian, which means my Japanese is going to be crap.”

“We’ve talked about qualifying.”

Shane sighed with a weary nod. “I don’t have to qualify for my culture. But it is practical when you’re in the place where they speak it.”

“Sure, but the headspace you occupy matters. The same applies to Russian. It’s good of you to learn for Ilya, but you’re not less of a partner if it doesn’t go the way you expect.”

“I want to learn it,” Shane said confidently. “I’ve wanted to for a while, and now between Ilya and Svetlana, I have two incentives. Three, if I ever get to meet his niece. I don’t want her to feel like she only has Ilya if she leaves Russia.”

Dr. Mondal looked over his notes. “From one mountain to another. You seem to always have a long list of goals for yourself. You climbed the last one, though. What’s your first base camp, so to speak, for this one? What’s next for you?”

Shane smiled. “I’m actually flying to Boston tonight. Ilya has a big meeting in New York, so I’m leaving early to go with him. But, uh…I’m seeing one of my friends and teammates before I go, and I was thinking of coming out to him.”

Dr. Mondal’s features opened, excited for him. “You certainly have practice in doing so. I hope it goes marvelously for you.”

“Thanks,” Shane laughed nervously. “Any advice?”

“Do you need it?” they both uplifted and challenged congenially.

Shane shrugged. “I have five people in my life who know I’m gay. I’m statistically due for a bad reaction, right?”

Dr. Mondal tipped his head, not quite a nod of agreement, but acquiescing, “I do have advice, then: try not to take their first reaction to heart. Everyone deserves the grace of processing time. You might face indifference or confusion or even an accusation of some kind. Use the law of first impressions. The book has to be read to understand the cover.”

Shane wrote this into his shorthand notes but asked, “What do you mean by accusation?”

“Some people react with surprise over not knowing sooner. Some have more of an ‘I knew it!’ reaction. No matter what you receive, you’re still deserving of your peace, safety, and boundaries. If you need to draw out some new boundaries, that is allowed.”

Shane wrote this down and took time to contemplate before sharing, “He has four kids. I should hope he’s figured out how to not swing wide when met with a surprise.”

“Do you like his children?”

Shane shrugged. “They’re good kids. Mostly, I enjoy watching them torture their dad.”

Dr. Mondal laughed. “You know him better than I, and so far, you’ve proven a good judge of character. I’m sure those children will benefit from having a gay uncle in their lives.”

Shane’s eyes clamped shut in an anxious laugh. “I don’t know if I want to be known as the ‘gay uncle.’ Just Uncle Shane suits me.”

“And that’s all you need to be,” his therapist supported. “I hope he takes it well, and I wish you and Ilya safe travels.”

“Thank you,” Shane said as he closed his materials. He packed his bag and shook Dr. Mondal’s hand on his way out.

It was a hot and sunny day in Montreal. Shane had left morning practice with the arrangement to meet Hayden after therapy for Italian ice. The place used real fruit for their in-house sorbets, so Shane enjoyed a lemon scoop while Hayden talked about his and Jackie’s excitement for the school year starting soon. They walked through the nearby park, Shane with his lemon and Hayden with his cola and lime scoops as he said, “The twins do well in school environments, and that’s two kids off Jackie’s plate while I’m away.”

Shane wondered what flavor of Italian ice Ilya would like. Probably mango, but he usually surprised Shane with what he went for. Shane would like to go on a date to an Italian restaurant. A nice long dinner with dessert. Not during the season, of course, and it would need to be a place that gave a shit about customer privacy. Or he and Ilya could cook at home. Shane liked cooking with Ilya.

“Poor Arthur’s gonna be shy when it’s his turn, I think. We thought he’d be more outgoing with headstrong girls around him, but the poor guy seems to simmer down instead of meet their level. What do you think?”

Shane recentered his focus and said, “School changes people. The twins will grow up a lot and be better sisters to him. Not that they’re not right now. You know what I mean.”

Hayden nodded. “Yeah, I do. They’re chaotic. School will trim out their personalities.”

“I guess that’s a way of putting it,” Shane dismissed. He squinted through the sun at the kids playing on the jungle gym and the teenagers having picnics.

Hayden put forward, “You should come over for dinner this weekend. The twins are having a sleepover with Jackie’s folks, so you won’t have as many monkeys hanging off you.”

“Nah, I can’t,” Shane replied around a spoon of sorbet. “I’m going out of town tonight.”

“Really? For work or pleasure?”

Both, his heart earnestly declared. He inhaled through his nose and did the crazy thing and trusted himself. He said aloud. “Both. I, uh. I wanted to talk to you a little bit about that.”

Hayden looked at him. He tried to tease lightly, “About work? Or pleasure?”

“They’re kind of tangled up for me.”

Hayden’s brows shot up. “Oh? Okay…I think I kinda know where you’re going, but walk me through it.”

He dragged his spoon over the green lime and brown cola sorbets, popping the spoon into his mouth as Shane confided, “I’m gay.”

Hayden looked at him with the spoon hanging out of his mouth. He confessed, “I don’t know where this is going.”

Shane moved his tongue over the roof of his mouth, giving Hayden a second before he clarified, “Do you need time with the gay part?”

“No, I’m fine with that. Holy shit, by the way. No wonder you’re sick of me bringing up Rose. Fuck, I must’ve sounded like such a dumbass.”

A voice that sounded distinctly Russian said, Yes, in Shane’s head. He shoved it away and said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Hayden knocked the back of his hand against Shane’s arm. “Wait a minute, Rose totally knows, doesn’t she?”

Shane nodded, scraping more lemon into his mouth. “Yeah. She was a big part in me coming to terms with it, actually.”

Hayden’s face relaxed, blinking through his contemplation. “Fuck, man, I…I’m sorry if I made that harder for you.”

You make nobody hard, Pike, the Ilya voice said in Shane’s head. He really needed to get to Boston to cleanse that out of his system. Aloud, Shane assured, “You didn’t. You’re the only person on our team that I feel like I can tell.”

“Yeah…not exactly paragons of gentle masculinity, that group.”

Shane looked at him. “Wow. Paragons?”

“I read to my kids, asshole.”

Shane laughed and took another scoop of sorbet into his mouth. Hayden asked, “Do your parents know?”

He nodded. “I told them in Japan.”

“How’d it go?”

“Good,” he glanced at him, nodding. “Really good. I had a panic attack in the middle of it, but it went fine.”

“Oh no,” Hayden covered his mouth to laugh and not spew lime spittle. “I’m sorry, man. Obviously, I know jack shit about coming out, but I hear it’s tough. Your parents never struck me as the bigoted type, though. Jackie and I have talked about it.”

Shane almost lurched toward him. “About me?”

“No, about our kids. There’s a chance one of them will be gay, right? Maybe that’s why Arthur’s on the softer side.”

“Being gay doesn’t make a person soft. I’m a hockey player.”

“I know, I know, but a lot of little boys are like Looney Tunes. Arthur’s chill in comparison. But god, I hope Ruby’s a lesbian. That would take a world of stress off my back.”

“What about Jade?” Shane taunted.

“Jade is the sensible one of the two. Ruby’s a runaway train.”

“You don’t say shit like this when they’re around, do you?”

“No,” he promised, but Shane wasn’t too sure he bought it. “Just in case, what’s an appropriate age to put your kid into kick boxing?”

Shane huffed, “To help her connect with lesbians or fight off boys?”

Hayden went quiet as he thought about it. “I didn’t even think about that. Is that where lesbians meet up?”

“How would I know?”

“Do gay men and women not talk to each other?”

“No, we move to separate islands,” Shane sassed.

“Well, you’re no help to me.”

“For a guy who goes on dates with his wife to gay bars, you’re clueless.”

“Hey, the trivia nights are fun. The ladies hit on Jackie and I buy the drinks. I’m cool as long as I’m the one taking my wife home. We both love the onion rings.”

Shane shook his head, finishing his Italian ice. “I think your kids will be fine.”

“I think so too. But what were you saying about work and pleasure—Wait. Lily.”

Shane didn’t have anything left on his spoon but he slowly moved it through his mouth as if he did whilst he glanced around, making sure they were out of earshot of anyone. Hayden continued, “I thought you were about to say that you were going to Boston to see Lily, who works for a brand you’re shooting a commercial for or something.”

Shane slid the spoon out of his mouth and cleared his throat. “I am going to Boston, and I am going to see Lily—”

“Is she like Rose? She knows about you?”

Shane took a breath, deciding this next part would have to be like ripping off a bandage. He measured out each word, “Lily is a he. And he. Is. Ilya…Rozanov.”

He felt his heartbeat in his throat as he watched Hayden recalibrate years of teasing Shane about the mysterious ID in his phone. “I need you to say that again but differently.”

Shane clenched his jaw, looking around again. “Ilya’s my boyfriend.”

Hayden recoiled, “Since when? ”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Since fucking when? ” Hayden hissed, barely quieter.

Shane rubbed his brow. He really should have had this conversation in one of their cars. “We’ve been a thing for a long time. But we’re official now. Official to the people who know about us, which isn’t many, so don’t fuck this up.”

“I don’t want to tell anyone, but fuck me, man. Rozanov? Of all the Raiders, why can’t you have a crush on Eric?”

“Eric’s married. And I don’t think he’s gay or bi.”

Hayden looked like he meant to respond to that but an epiphany eclipsed it. “Wait.”

Shane didn’t know what he was waiting for this time, but he warily watched the cogs turn behind Hayden’s eyes. “Lily—when you went to Boston—the medical stuff you were so worked up about. Was that real?”

Shane nodded somberly. “Yeah, it was.”

“What was going on?”

“That’s not for me to say.”

“Come on. If you’ve been with him for so long, it sort of is.”

“He just needed a precautionary brain scan. It’s all good.”

“Good,” Hayden almost left alone. Almost. “You know, a brain scan joke about Ilya Rozanov would be really easy.”

“Don’t.”

“Just because he’s your boyfriend doesn’t mean I have to be nice to him.”

“Don’t.”

“Okay, okay,” Hayden surrendered.

Ilya picked him up from the airport in his black sports car. As soon as Shane folded himself into the car and shut the door, Ilya gave him his hand and checked his mirrors as he pulled away from the curb. It hadn’t been long at all since they were together at the Cottage, and they’d been in a video call with their accountants and lawyers to discuss the beginning process of the charity. Still, Shane laced his fingers with Ilya’s and sandwiched it in both hands.

Once they were on steady streets, Ilya glanced at him. “Good day?”

Shane nodded before he vocalized, “Yeah, you?”

“I am out of shape and sore.”

Shane smiled. “Yeah, practice kicked my ass a little bit this morning too.”

Ilya looked at him again. “Did you talk to Hayden?”

“I did. He, uh…took it as well as I could’ve hoped.”

Ilya’s thumb moved a little, petting his hand. “Was he a dick to you?”

“No, he’s fine with me. He was less receptive to the fact that I’m dating you.”

Ilya chuckled, “I’ve lost no friendship there.”

“Maybe, but…I don’t know. I like the idea of people around me knowing you the way I know you.”

Ilya drew Shane’s hand across the car to his lips. “Hayden Pike can kiss my ass.”

Shane scoffed, “That’s my job. Take me home.”

Ilya smirked knowingly at him, and did exactly that. He’d left his home all lit up, so after Shane managed the keypad and Ilya unlocked the door, they met the homecoming of the lights and television on. Shane asked, “Is anyone here?”

“Nope,” Ilya said, putting his keys on the end of the counter.

Shane removed his shoes at the door and walked all the way across the house with his bag to Ilya’s bedroom. Ilya followed him, his body loose and observant as he came to lean against the doorframe. Shane set his bag against the wall on the side of the bed he wanted, and rotated to find Ilya. “What?”

Ilya shook his head, a slight smile warming his face before it faded. “Come here.”

Shane almost batted that back to him, but he was too horny and he missed Ilya too much. He crossed the distance and Ilya caught him around the waist as Shane’s hands went around his ears, into his hair. He sucked Ilya’s bottom lip into his mouth, earning a sighed moan from him.

Shane pulled and Ilya went. They fell onto the bed together and adjusted up to the pillows, where they made out with their arms around one another. Hands lazily wandered, taking their time physically reassuring their psyches that the other person was here. Pelvis to pelvis, they felt each other’s erections but didn’t rush to handle them. Ilya’s hand went under Shane’s shirt, which hit the floor soon enough. Ilya’s mouth worked over Shane’s neck, but got as far down as his chest before Shane kicked off his pants. Ilya’s eyes drank him all in, making him look inebriated as he removed his own cloths. When he was naked, Shane asked, “Can I ride you?”

Ilya nodded, “Yes,” and Shane rolled over him to straddle his lap. Ilya watched in awe, happily the audience and prop of the show above him. His hands moved up Shane’s thighs, helping where he could to hold Shane’s cheeks apart or squeezing his chest while Shane lubed himself open. Ilya pumped lube over his cock before Shane slid down over him, making Ilya’s expression pucker with lust and focus.

Shane’s moan shuddered out of him as he tried to take his time. A difficult thing, with Ilya’s lashes sweeping up to look at him, devouring him whole. Shane anchored one hand on the headboard and cupped the other underneath Ilya’s nape, pulling so his head fell back and his mouth opened for Shane’s tongue.

The spit string that tried to hold them together fell onto Ilya’s chin. Neither thought to wipe it as Shane’s pace began to speed up. Ilya’s body moved, meeting Shane thrust for thrust. Shane decided he couldn’t wait any longer. They could fuck in New York, even though he couldn’t be as loud there. He let go of the headboard and sat upright, riding Ilya to the point that Ilya’s outbursts rivaled his own.

“Ahh! Mm…oh, Hollander. Fuck. Are you cumming?”

Shane nodded frantically. “I’m there. Fuck, Ilya, I’m there. Come on.”

Ilya’s voice fell out of him. Shane’s jaw dropped watching Ilya utterly unravel beneath him. A gorgeous, slutty sight. It didn’t matter that Ilya came first, because Shane tumbled right after him.

Ilya lay with their cum splattered on his torso as Shane collapsed beside him. He peeked down at himself before laughing. Shane looked at him, his chest rising and falling with his breathing coming down to normal. “What?”

He hovered a finger over himself. “You killed me in a snowstorm.”

Shane looked at the mess they made and scoffed a laugh at Ilya’s odd humor. “It was hot today.”

“Yes, here too. Which is why I must take yet another shower.”

He started to ease himself up to standing. Shane said, “Leave the water on. I’ll get in right after you.”

“Okay,” Ilya crooned, his ass jiggling just a little as he walked. After another week of practice, that jiggle would be gone, so Shane stared while he could.

After their showers, Shane dressed in a soft t-shirt and boxers before he went and found Ilya in his kitchen. Everything was still on, including the television. “No fear of an electricity bill?” Shane asked on his way to the breakfast bar. He sat next to Ilya’s sakura card, now a permanent decoration in his house.

Ilya tinkered behind the counter, shirtless in sweatpants, and replied, “I like the noise when I’m alone. Hungry?”

Shane inhaled deeply through his nose as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I could eat. It’s still early.”

“Don’t want to push your bedtime too far,” Ilya taunted.

“Fuck you,” he hushed, endeared. “What are you making?”

“Eggs in hell,” Ilya said, and turned his tablet around for Shane to see. The page was a blog post discussing the differences between eggs in purgatory and shakshuka, but Ilya looked like he was taking a shortcut and using store bought tomato sauce. “It’s served with bread but I have your rice.”

Shane’s gaze flicked up to the rice cooker behind Ilya. With the season underway, he knew Shane liked his rice with a dash of quinoa or other nutritional benefit involved. “Thank you. Can I help?”

“You can keep me company. It’s easy, I’m almost done.”

He tossed onions and tomatoes into the sauce to freshen up the taste. Once it bubbled, he cracked eggs into it and sprinkled in spinach and chopped sugar snap peas. Putting a lid over the skillet cooked everything fast. Shane spooned out rice into their bowls, only pausing to ask, “Why is the rice purple?”

“I went over to the Parks to give them Jae-Hwan’s souvenirs. Mina made me lunch and showed me how mixing wild or black rice into it bleeds purple. I think it’s pretty.”

“It is,” Shane agreed quickly, not wanting to ruin a superfluous thing for him. “Did he like his stuff you bought him?”

Ilya topped the rice with a poached egg, sauce, and veggies as he answered, “Yes, I think so. He seemed unhappy he couldn’t read the cards, but he opened sparkly ones, and liked those very much.”

They took their meals to the couch, where neither paid attention to the television. Shane peppered Ilya with questions in between bites. Is it good to be back in Boston? With the Raiders? Do practices start hot or do they build up intensity? Did setting up his house after months away go okay? No issues with the utility companies?

Ilya flapped a hand in the air, waving him away. He gulped his water and said, “Enough.”

“Enough what?”

“Questions. You have too many of them. We’re only halfway through dinner.”

A little smile twitched the corners of his mouth up. “I’m sorry. The Metros hit the ground running, so it feels longer than it’s been since we talked.”

Ilya angled a look at him. “It’s okay. I probably should have warned you.”

Shane looked sideways at him, but Ilya paused whatever he was saying to wipe his mouth. “Warned me about what?”

Ilya washed down more water and confessed, “I’m all talked out. I had my first therapy appointment today.”

Shane’s eyes shot wide. “We both had therapy today! You started? You didn’t tell me you were thinking about it.”

Ilya held up a hand, shielding against such vibrant curiosity. “I know, I know. It was a fast decision.”

“Really? Why?”

Because I didn’t want to leave the Cottage, Ilya’s mind answered. Because I walked into this house alone and felt like choking.

“Is hypocritical to push therapy in a charity but have none for myself, yes?”

“I suppose,” Shane navigated. “How’d it go?”

Ilya sighed through his nose, chewing while his hands hung between his thighs. “I don’t know. I’m exhausted. How do you know?”

Shane smiled and commiserated, “Usually like that. Important sessions wipe me out. Do you like your therapist, at least?”

“Is too soon to tell.”

“Are they a man?”

“No, a woman.”

“Oh,” Shane chimed. “What made you choose her?”

“She speaks Russian. I thought that would be easier for me.”

Shane nodded earnestly. “Good. That’s good. And is it? Easier?”

He washed down his food with water as Ilya tipped his head from side to side, considering. “Pros and cons. I like hearing Russian outside of Russia. But there are things I’ve never spoken of in Russian. It feels like…a line is being crossed… Is that silly?”

Shane’s eyes softened with his thoughts, all of them culminating into a head shake. “It’s not silly. You weren’t allowed to talk about certain things in Russia. But that’s what therapy is for. You find those lines in a safe place, with certified help… Do you feel okay to talk to her about…whatever you need to talk about? That’s the important thing, that you feel safe and respected.”

Ilya’s brows quirked up. “The NDA is very safe and respectful.”

Shane’s eyes arched and he insisted, “I’m serious. If you don’t like your therapist, you can change.”

“Have you changed yours?”

“No, I got lucky my first try. But I also vetted through a lot of options before I finally took a chance.”

Ilya scraped his bowl to gather the last few bites. “I’m comfortable enough to go back. Slavic women are not to be played with. I think an American therapist wouldn’t be able to handle me.”

Shane shrugged. “I wouldn’t really know anything about that. I think my guy is Indian-Canadian. At the start, I thought that might help me with my mixed-race stuff. I don’t know if that was an amateurish way of going about it, but so far, so good.”

Their attention alighted on the sound of Ilya’s phone in the house. He had to get up to find it—his pocket in the clothes he’d worn to pick Shane up—and read a text from Svetlana: Are you home?

He typed, Yes. Don’t come over.

“Is everything okay?” Shane asked.

“It’s only Sveta,” he replied, placing his phone on the coffee table. It lit up again, eliciting a sigh from Ilya as he picked it up and read, Tell Jane to put clothes on. I’m on my way. It’s important.

“She’s coming over.”

Shane frowned at him, because he couldn’t tell if Ilya said that like a question or a statement. “Why?”

“I don’t know. She says it’s important. She knows you’re here.”

“Is it about me?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” Ilya said, taking his dishes to the sink. Shane put on proper shorts and finished the dishes just in time for the doorbell to ring. Ilya answered it, speaking in Russian. By the time Shane went to the door, he found Ilya had left it open and gone with Svetlana out into the driveway. Shane joined them as Ilya switched to English, “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s a truck!” Svetlana sang next to her pick-up. The big, American kind that made sense on a ranch and nowhere else, certainly not Boston. “More importantly, my pallet finally arrived!”

“Your what?” Ilya scrutinized the thing tied up on the truck bed. “A pallet of what?”

Shane squinted in the taillights as he approached Svetlana. She gave him a quick, one-armed hug along with, “Privyet, krasavitsa.” Hello, gorgeous.

“Dobryy vecher,” he returned. Good evening. “What’s going on?”

Ilya’s jaw slid to the side over his crossed arms, stuck between an annoyed and infatuated place. Svetlana looked at him and ordered, “Well? Bring me some scissors or a box cutter, would you?”

Ilya made a snoring sound on his way back inside. While they waited, Shane asked, “What is all this?”

“You told me to bring Ilya back from Russia. I did you one better.”

Shane didn’t know what that meant, and Ilya soon returned with scissors and a box cutter. They climbed up into the truck bed and undid the ropes holding the pallet down. Next came the plastic sheeting wrapped around the entire pallet and cargo. A black layer around a clear layer, but as it all tore away, Ilya figured out quickly what Svetlana delivered.

“Sveta.”

Shane paused on his side of the pallet, uncertain what Ilya’s tone carried. Then, he pulled away his side of sheeting and found…paintings. Some were more carefully wrapped in fabric, but there hadn’t been enough for all of it.

Svetlana directed, “Don’t break your backs trying to lift all of it at once. Let’s get these inside.”

They each carried as many canvases as they could into the house. Some paintings were on wood panels or other flat materials, and in a variety of sizes. After multiple trips, they made fast work emptying the truck, and scattering Irina Rozanova’s studio portfolio around Ilya’s living room and kitchen. Shane bound up the rope and plastic and tossed it all into the cabin of the truck before shutting the tailgate and going into the house. “I thought you said you’d left your mom’s studio for your brother?”

“I did,” Ilya said flatly.

“I didn’t,” Svetlana countered, hands on her hips as she surveyed her success.

“Svetlana,” Ilya said darkly—

She held up a hand, stopping him in Russian, “Don’t you fucking dare. You were too busy mourning and starting hockey to remember that I mourned right beside you. This is for me. Your brother doesn’t get to have her.”

Shane wasn’t far enough in his studies to understand any of what she said, but he understood defeat in the set of Ilya’s shoulders well enough. He understood the way Ilya turned his head to hide, before he realized he couldn’t. Not from the two people who knew him best. Who loved him the most. His face crumpled, and he pulled Svetlana into a tight embrace.

Shane stood by awkwardly, unsure what to do. Receding to the bedroom seemed odd or inconsiderate, but doing nothing felt just the same. He settled for putting a hand on Ilya’s back—

Ilya’s arm swept around him, drawing Shane into the hug. He stumbled a little, but righted himself to hold Ilya and Svetlana. Ilya, who turned his head into Shane’s neck, sniffling. At the sound of Ilya’s pain, Shane’s eyes filled with tears, but he didn’t let them fall. He held onto them both, until they were ready to separate.

“What’s that smell?” Svetlana asked.

“Dinner,” Ilya answered, his voice low in his chest from getting his emotions under control.

“No shit,” she sassed. “Can I have some?”

It was the least they could do. They had left over sauce and rice, so Shane cooked an egg quickly and handed her a bowl. Then he made a slow lap around the room, taking it all in. He asked Ilya, “Has your brother reached out to you about this? Or at all?”

He sat on the arm of his couch, likewise processing this left turn to their night. “No.”

Shane pivoted to Svetlana. “When you said you were looking forward to packages, why didn’t you tell us you had all of these?”

“Two reasons,” she said before she finished chewing. “First, is legal. I didn’t want Ilya associated with it until I had it. Two, is the chance it never arrived. If Ilya was expecting the shipment and it went missing or came to us damaged, I’d never forgive myself.”

Ilya intercepted, “Losing my mama’s paintings to a thief or the ocean is better, huh?”

“You wouldn’t have agreed to this, so I didn’t ask,” she finished, returning to her food.

Shane asked him, “Did you leave the studio to your brother on paper or just in words?”

Ilya shook his head minutely, one of his brows flicking as he confessed. “Just in words, and then I left. Foolish of me to leave while Sveta was still there.”

She shoveled the last of her food into her mouth and retorted on her way to the sink. “Love you.”

The side of his mouth pinched before he grumbled like a brat in Russian, “Love you.”

She gave her things a rinse and slotted them into the dishwasher. On her way out, she said, “Let me know what you decide to do with it all. Or if you need help putting nails in your walls. Bye, boys.”

“Drive safe,” Shane said. They listened to the rumble of her truck outside, and the fade of it in the distance.

Shane rubbed the back of his head, his cheeks inflating with his sigh while Ilya watched him. “What are you thinking?”

Shane glanced at him and admitted, “It’s just…a lot. Your mom was busy.”

Ilya inhaled through his nose. “On her good days, yes.”

The quiet hum of the television filled the quiet of a house that certainly did not feel empty tonight. Shane knew Ilya was tired of questions and talking, but he had to venture, “Do you know what you want to do with all of it?”

Ilya decided on not deciding anything and stood up from the couch as he handled the remote. “I want to go to bed.”

“Okay,” Shane conceded, and turned off the lights on their way to the bedroom.

Shane’s eyes opened, waking up for practice even though he had the day off. In the periwinkle beginning of sunrise, he could see Ilya’s eyes open beside him. For a fleeting moment, Shane simply had the tranquility of being in the same bed as Ilya. Then the past few hours caught up with him and he reached an arm over Ilya’s stomach. He mumbled, “Morning.”

Ilya’s head turned toward him, just enough to see him. “Dobreye utro.”

“Dobreye utro,” Shane repeated. Good morning. He couldn’t really commit anything to memory this early, but letting the Russian syllables sink into his morning brain was probably a good thing. “Are you okay?”

He let Ilya have a moment; listened to the sound of his breathing before Ilya said, “I don’t know… Probably not.”

Shane didn’t know what to do with that. His thumb moved on Ilya’s abdomen, rubbing a little since he didn’t know how much comfort Ilya wanted, or any at all.

He wanted. He grasped Shane’s wrist and moved his hand up to his face. Shane’s hand unfurled, cradling his cheek. His thumb lightly dimpled Ilya’s cheekbone as he slid his body alongside Ilya’s. He pressed his nose bridge into Ilya’s other cheek, holding him and breathing in the scent of his skin until fragments of sunlight crawled across the bed. Then, he asked what might be a difficult question; or a what might carry a difficult answer. “Do you want the paintings?”

Shane’s hand had since drifted to Ilya’s chest, but Ilya held his forearm as he said, “I thought I did, but I said goodbye to them in Russia. Now, I don’t know.”

Shane propped himself up on an elbow. “I have an idea, but it’s totally okay if you don’t like it.”

Ilya’s gaze, so far away, receded back to this room, focusing on Shane. “What is it?”

Ilya opened the door and greeted, “Mama Hollander.”

“Hi, honey,” she smiled as he kissed the air beside her cheek. Right behind him, Shane stepped around and took the weekender bag off her shoulder. “It’s nice how many direct flights are between Canada and Boston. Wow.”

She properly took in the impromptu art gallery amidst Ilya’s house. “When you said it was a lot, this is a lot.”

“Sorry for the mess,” Ilya said quietly.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” she rerouted. “You boys need to be getting to New York, so run me through this again.”

Shane said, “We wanted to name our foundation Irina, so we were thinking that the announcement event could also be an art gallery opening? We could find a place to host it for a month, or make our own pop-up even if we need to. Something accessible. Admission would only be a dollar or two, and all of it would go into the charity.”

She leaned against the dining table while she listened. She pivoted to Ilya, “And you’re all right with this?”

He nodded. “My house is big, but not big enough for all this. My mother liked making art for people. She liked galleries. I think she would be okay with this.”

Yuna nodded solemnly. “We need to make an inventory sheet so we can keep up with each art piece on paper. Is Svetlana back at work? We might as well loop her into the charity roster since her smuggling antics are so useful.”

Ilya smirked and sent Svetlana a text. He and Shane did need to be on the move, however, so he quickly ran through, “She’ll be over later to help you. Use anything in the house you want. The couch is also a bed. Bed things are in that closet. The mattress stain is chocolate ice cream, I promise. Shane.”

“I’m coming,” he said, otherwise giving his mother his copy of Ilya’s house key and texting the code to her phone. She already sat at the table with her laptop open, the background of which was a picture of Ilya’s finished painting at the Cottage: a painterly rendition of Shane sitting on the stones around the Akita lake. Shane had wanted Ilya to add himself to the piece, but Ilya had disagreed. Shane resigned himself from the argument, since Ilya varnished the piece the same time he applied a fresh coat of varnish to his mother’s portrait of himself. Protected from UV rays, both paintings now hung in the Cottage. And with Yuna’s finished collection of Rozanov trading cards framed and delivered, Shane supposed he had a good amount of Ilya in the place to make up for the lack thereof in the painting.

“Thanks, baby,” she said to Shane before she remembered, “Ilya! Before you go, I brought you these.”

From the weekender bag on the couch, she pulled out a small pile of garments. Ilya approached to see the linen shirts and pants. “Since you like wearing Shane’s shirts, I thought you might enjoy your own linens. If not, just leave them in a drawer for Shane when he’s here.”

Ilya set his bag down and looked through the white and beige shirts; the canyon red and orange pants. Plus one blue matching set. Without further ado, he unzipped his bag and stuffed them right inside. Yuna piped a laugh, “You don’t have to travel with them for my benefit.”

“I want to look nice and New York is disgusting this time of year. Thank you,” he finished, mindful of his size and strength as he encompassed her in a hug.

Shane followed him for a hug and called on their way out, “Bye, mom!”

“Be safe, you two!”

“We will,” Shane said, the same time Ilya chimed, “Poka poka.”

A month later.

Ilya sat in a tall folding chair like an actor, headphones on while he listened to the crew communicate during the film shoot. Kaori skated beautifully, her body clad in the sponsored material she’d spoken of during their lunch in Tokyo.

The director yelled cut, and for everyone to take a five minute break. Kaori was given water while her MUA dabbed sweat from her face, and Ilya heard through his headphones, “Rozanov, visitors here to see you.”

“Okay,” he acknowledged, knowing who it would be. He put his headphones around his neck as Shane and Peter strolled in.

“Hey,” Shane said, handing him a drink. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Ilya responded and made sure to touch Shane’s hand in the process of taking the delivery. “What is this?”

“A green tea lemonade. I thought you’d be coffeed out of your mind.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said, appreciating the change. “Privyet, Peter.”

Peter smiled, greeting him in Russian before saying in English, “This place is jumping. Our shows, Kaori’s brand shoot, and then you guys have a game, right?”

“Ilya does tonight, and then I do tomorrow,” Shane said. “This weekend venn-diagramed our schedules.”

Peter laughed. “I like it. Am I allowed to talk to you guys about the foundation, or is that still hush hush?”

They both looked at him, Shane replying, “Of course you can.”

Ilya countered, “Depends on what it is.”

Peter put forward, “I just wanted to know how it was going. Shane mentioned you had a fragrance deal thing, but you guys wanted to open the foundation with an art gallery opening. I assume the fragrance is going to have a launch party? I want to be there for both but my schedule might get squirrely.”

“Mm, we don’t want squirrels,” Ilya crooned.

Shane smiled at him and replied, “The gallery opening will come first. Hinoki received the news of Ilya doing Kaori’s project and the plans for the fine art event really well. He’ll be their first scent collaborator, but it turns out, perfumes take a long time to make.”

Peter directed to Ilya, “Are you enjoying it? What’s that like?”

He shrugged in his seat. “Laboratory is fun. Making the fragrance is fast but testing it with people is slow.”

“Really? I would imagine nailing down the fragrance would have been the hard part.”

“I just mix ingredients until the smell is right. The lab does the rest, but apparently it has to be tested by a million fucking sample groups.”

Shane concurred, “You’re in our tester list, so make sure your manager is checking your mail.”

Peter exclaimed, “Oh, I will. Is it a masculine fragrance or are you marketing for unisex?”

Ilya and Shane exchanged looks before the latter said, “I’d say it’s unisex. The dipshits who try and reek like whiskey and leather will think it’s feminine, though.”

Peter commiserated, “One of the most used fragrance notes in men’s fragrances is lavender, but heaven forbid they learn they’re wearing a flower.”

Ilya smiled. “That’s why you’re on the list.”

Peter and Shane laughed before they used the last minute of the break to say hello to Kaori.  

Irina Foundation Launch & Gallery Exhibition

“I’m gonna throw up.”

“No bowtie, then,” Ilya decided, throwing the silk over his shoulder instead of his original task: tying the bow around his boyfriend’s throat in their hotel room.

Shane sighed, his eyes sweeping the floor for the tie. “No, we made it black tie. I’ll wear it.”

“It’s our event. Who gives a fuck?” Ilya mediated. “You’re wearing a tux and your silly Rolex anyway.”

“It’s not silly. It’s one of my brand deals.”

“It can be both.”

“My mom and your manager are working on getting you one of these silly watch deals.”

“Maybe, but until then,” Ilya narrated as he adjusted his own bowtie in the mirror, “I am just a penguin. A very sexy penguin.”

Shane exhaled heavily. Ilya wasn’t wrong. It had long since been a habit of Shane’s—pointed out to him by his therapist—that he tended to be especially self-conscious whenever Ilya was at the top of his game.

Number one rookie.

First to win a Stanley Cup.

Generally better dressed at any function.

They both knew most of the focus tonight was likely going to be on Ilya, and Shane wanted to be his equal. He didn’t want to bring tonight down in any way for Ilya.

“I thought the launch would be classy but lowkey. Not bigger than the fucking NHL Awards.”

“Okay, okay, come here,” Ilya soothed, sliding a hand over Shane’s nape to pull him into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Shane collapsed there gratefully, the solid presence of Ilya’s body taking his weight and stress.

When they made their announcement for the foundation and its launch event, their website for tickets crashed. The website of the New York gallery they were using for it also crashed. Regular site traffic for two weeks made it astoundingly clear they needed to extend the dates of Irina Rozanova’s exhibition. They needed a goddamn itinerary for more than one opening night. Tonight was the family and team evening, thanks to not only the Metros and Raiders showing up for their captains, but also the Admirals buying out tickets to represent their city and league clout. Or just because Scott Hunter and Carter Vaughn weren’t going to let Ilya and Shane make history without them.

Tomorrow would be the press night, and everyone had heard a rumor that an additional announcement was going to be made. A tactical spillage of information from Ilya’s own Instagram: a glimpse from a photoshoot for some kind of brand or product launch. After tonight, the secret would be out, since samples of the Hinoki x Irina Foundation fragrance were in the goodie bags at the end of the gallery. The proper launch for Ilya’s fragrance wouldn’t be until next year.

Ilya twisted slightly in place, rocking Shane as he murmured Russian into his ear. Shane understood enough for his chest to settle from the sweet nothings Ilya said to him. The natural depth of his voice and the rhythm of his language did the rest.

“None of these people matter to me, except you…Tonight is our night…we’ll make our speeches, and we can leave early… We come back here and shower together. We order room service. We watch a bad movie and then wake up tomorrow for breakfast with Rose and Sveta. Mm? Sound good? ”

Shane nodded against him. “Sounds good.”

“In Russian, my love.”

“Sounds good,” he obeyed, pleased that it came out of him without having to scour his mental dictionary the way he usually needed to. Progress.

“Good,” he soothed, but a hard pat on Shane’s back dispelled the lull in his brain and made his voice blurt out of him. “I have something for you.”

“What is it?” Shane asked, even though Ilya went into his suitcase to get it. He revealed a black velvet box, too large to hold a ring but too small for much else.

Shane opened it and looked at cufflinks. Square, blue opals set in gold cufflinks. The stones captured the light and glowed like a summer swimming pool. A smile curved on Shane’s face as he looked up and found Ilya with his mouth parted, looking nervous. His eyes flashed wide briefly as he sassed, “You like rocks, so.”

Shane laughed though his nose. “Ilya.”

“And I knew you wouldn’t settle for silver, so gold.”

“Ilya.”

“And you’re a square. Square rocks.”

Shane’s smile broke into a grin. “Why blue ones?”

“Because it’s the only color you wear.”

Shane looked down at them again. “That’s interesting, coming from the guy who almost only wears black.”

“Yes, well,” he brushed his palms over the front of his tuxedo, “I’m in my element today…a little bit of blue to help you find yours.”

Shane’s smile fell off his face, too overcome with more than amusement and fondness. He loved Ilya, and he kissed him with every ounce of it. Ilya held onto his hips, one hand wandering over Shane’s ass. Their kisses waned to a stop, but Shane held him close, fingers in Ilya’s hair. “Thank you,” he panted.

“Stay close to me tonight,” Ilya said, his tone firm. It was not a request for Shane, but for himself.

Shane nodded, taking his hands back and removing the cufflinks from their box. “If, for some reason, I have to be interviewed somewhere, find my mom. She knows how to talk and fill a space so you don’t have to.”

He installed his cufflinks and pushed his arms into the jacket Ilya held up for him. He looked over himself and took a reassuring breath. “I can do the tie. Where is it?”

Ilya blinked and looked behind him, in the general direction he thought he had thrown it. Shane warned, “Ilya…”

Ilya pointed a keen glare at him and unfurled the silk bundle in his hand. Shane stared at him in the mirror’s reflection, unamused. “Dick.”

“No, you’ll get some later,” Ilya promised, and twirled a finger for Shane to turn around so he could tie the damn thing.

Svetlana and Rose, ever their heroes, stayed in the same hotel, so pictures taken of them leaving the hotel together were not suspicious. David and Yuna were already at the gallery, and all too soon, the bar and lounge room filled with three teams and their families. Shane and Ilya largely kept to the previous season’s All Star team—Scott, Hayden, Eric, and Vaughn—and their accompanying families, but when Yuna manifested between them, Shane knew it was time to start.

“We’re reaching max capacity, gentlemen. Let’s get this going so people can start meandering through the gallery.”

“Okay,” Shane blurted before he looked down into the ginger ale in his hand, dressed up to look fancier in his rocks glass.

On his other side, Rose hugged an arm around his waist. “Break a leg. Knock ‘em dead.”

Shane didn’t pray, but he sent his eyes heavenward and exhaled for strength. He asked, “May I borrow this?” and took her wine glass before stepping into the middle of the room. He tapped the foot of the glass against his own, the chime alerting everyone to his announcement.

“Hi, everyone, and, uh, thank you for coming. I know we’re all dolled up, but I’ll keep this short and sweet. We’re here to kick off a fundraising exhibit for the Irina Foundation. It’s a passion project between myself and Rozanov, because we’ve been at this job long enough to notice the metaphorical cracks in the figurative ice and we want to try and fix problems that don’t need to be there.

“The purpose of the Irina Foundation is to raise money for organizations raising awareness and education on mental illness, but also providing resources such as counseling and assistance to those who need it. Mental illness should be as easy to talk about as allergies or having a cold, but it’s not. Especially among those of us whose entire job it is to shut up and play the game. The Irina Foundation will be a special hub for people like us, who need resources but might not be all that good at asking for them.

“Also…it’s not only about us. It’s about everyone who comes after us. Commentators, coaches, and the people signing our paychecks always talk about how athletes are only getting better and better. Well, maybe we ought to leave the league and sports culture better than when we arrived to it.”

His pause cued the room to applause, and he took a gulp of ginger ale that burned his throat. Rose stood on the fringe of the circle, so he passed back her glass…as Ilya stepped forward to join him in the center ring. Shane stayed put. They had gone over this. They would both speak but they hadn’t actually gone over their speeches together. Mostly, because the press night tomorrow was the bigger ordeal to get all their words right.

So, Shane had no idea what Ilya would say as he cleared his throat. “Irina Foundation is named for my mother. She battled depression without help all the years I knew her. She had no support, no medical treatment. Twelve years, before she lost her battle. This foundation is for her. It is to help people like her, so they do not have to fight alone.

“Tonight, is proof that a person is not their illness. My mother was a painter, very much loved, in Moscow. Her best days were spent painting. Her second best days were in groups like this one; talking and listening to art, film, pictures, whatever. She believed you must have a soul to make art and to receive it. Art is food your soul eats. Artists have…compulsion to make art. To give to those around them. This is who my mother was. This is a different kind of dinner table. Your soul eats here.

“And if you will all stop being a fire hazard, you may start walking the gallery over there.”

Svetlana whistled on the other end of the room, where she opened the doors to the gallery. The crowd’s attention ricocheted between her and Ilya, their applause brief but loud as they petered into the wide halls of the showroom. Shane put a hand on his shoulder, a manly gesture of approval and camaraderie that he was allowed to do. Not the long hug he wanted to give him.

Ilya glanced at him and murmured, “You do all the talking tomorrow,” before he took a large gulp of his vodka.

Shane huffed a laugh, “All right,” and his hand slipped off as some people made a point to stop by Ilya before the gallery. Congratulations and well wishes and condolences for his mother.

Svetlana and Rose rescued the two of them to walk the gallery on their arms. The latter said in a hushed tone, “We have to make at least one lap before we can get out of here for pizza.”

“You got a place in mind?” came Scott’s voice behind them.

That’s how Shane, Ilya, Svetlana, Rose, Scott, and Kip went viral for their black tie attire in the middle of an NYC one dollar pizza joint.

Hinoki x Irina Foundation

Proudly present their collaborative fragrance titled

Irina

Russian black cherry. Cold musk. Summer forests. As complex as Russia’s western history, yet as simple as an embrace you never want to leave. Unforgettable. In collaboration with Ilya Rozanov, proceeds go to mental health awareness, resources, and suicide prevention.

Shane read over the PR pamphlets for what felt like the seven thousandth time. He was proud of Ilya beyond measure, and the pad of his thumb caressed the deep ink red, almost black bottle, feeling the texture of Irina’s name they had scanned from her painting signature for Hinoki’s graphic design team.

He flipped the expensive stationary over to read Hinoki Co.’s statement aloud to himself, “Working with Ilya was an unexpected joy. Unexpected, because it can be hard to find such a disciplined athlete carrying the heart of an artist. He knew exactly what he wanted out of the fragrance, and embraced our input, as well as many others’ guidance on accomplishing his goal. A wonderful team player and visionary, we’re honored to have Ilya Rozanov in Hinoki Co.’s family.”

“Visionary,” Ilya crooned over the speakers of his computer, much to Shane’s fond annoyance. “I like this word.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” he retorted.

“Why are you in a mood? Celebrate me.”

“I’ll celebrate you after I kick your ass on the ice this week. I just got off a plane to more packages and bullshit in the mail than I could drive home with. I have to make another trip tomorrow.”

Ilya rubbed his forehead and flapped that hand in the air. “My manager is sorting my mail. I can’t do it.”

He couldn’t because he didn’t want to, and because he was in Tennessee currently. Shane tried to put the package back together so he could neatly set it aside while he asked, “How’d Nashville go?”

Ilya took a large bite of a sub sandwich and pumped it into the air in victory. “Predators pussy pussy cats kitties lose. Again. Meow meow.”

Shane’s eyes crinkled with his cringe and laugh. “Yeah, well, say goodbye to your winning streak.”

“I won’t have to,” he retaliated, slapping cornmeal from his sandwich off his hands. “When do I kiss you? Before or after game?”

“When do you fly in?”

“Early.”

“You can let yourself into my place,” Shane said out of frame, but Ilya smirked warmly as he listened to the rips and tears of another box and parcel.

Shane came back into frame with a rigid spine landing in his chair. Ilya frowned. “What is wrong with you?”

He mutely held up a dossier file that Ilya recognized all too well. “Olympics official. They didn’t forget your visa, did they?”

“How could they—” Shane started before he went silent and rushed through the dossier. He found his passport he’d had to send in, and the page in the booklet carrying his special visa to participate in the biggest winter sporting event in the fucking world. He collapsed back in his chair while Ilya snickered. “You can’t fucking do this to me!”

“Is too easy. This is second time at Olympics, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s still a big deal!”

“Okay! Okay. Leave it out. I want to see it when I’m there.”

“I will,” Shane promised, fully breaking his NDA with the International Olympics Committee to let Ilya share in his second go-round with him. “Can I call you on my phone? I need to eat.”

“Of course,” Ilya chimed, and Shane hung up on his computer to switch devices. He walked out of his Montreal apartment office…and past the new painting he had inside it. He walked past his bedroom door, and the proper sized painting Ilya had hung above the bed after the Irina Rozanova exhibit ended. He passed another in his living room, his collection of three safe and sound while the rest of Irina’s work now lived across various homes:

Shane’s Montreal apartment.

Ilya’s Boston house.

Svetlana’s Boston apartment.

Yuna and David’s Ottawa house and cottage.

The guest rooms of Shane’s cottage.

The last one had been an interesting drive. He had seen his house at all times of the year, during its construction as well as to check on it after different weather or climate events. But to drive over with Ilya, the last of Irina’s portfolio in the backseat, for a fast two day and one night getaway, had been a different experience. Like a drug, a fast and heavy hit of everything they wanted all the time. And with the high came the low afterward, but they were well versed in microdosing each other all these years.

They had each other. Even when they were apart, they had one another in their hearts and close at hand with their devices. They had their friends and family. They didn’t have their mutual team yet, but Shane believed in them. They would get there. And in the meantime, they had Irina watching over them.