Chapter Text
The rink smelled the same.
Cold air. Rubber. Metal. The faint, sharp bite of resurfaced ice.
Shane stood just inside the tunnel, helmet tucked under his arm, and let it settle into him. Twelve weeks. Twelve weeks of recovery, of headaches and frustration, of relearning patience. Twelve weeks of therapy sessions where he talked about memory like it was a person who had abandoned him.
Some things had come back in fragments. Faces. A few games. A fight with a reporter. A summer barbecue with Hayden’s kids running wild through the yard.
But not everything.
Not the wedding. Not the proposal. Not the exact moment when hiding stopped.
He still didn’t remember that.
And somehow, it didn’t hurt the way it used to.
“Hey.”
Ilya’s voice was steady beside him.
Shane glanced over. Blonde curls tucked under his helmet now. Blue eyes sharp and focused, but softer when they landed on him.
“You ready?” Ilya asked.
Shane nodded once. “Yeah.”
They stepped out onto the ice together.
The arena wasn’t full tonight. Just a practice scrimmage, nothing official. The team had insisted Shane ease back in slowly. Harris had already posted about it—Hollander returns to the ice. Wyatt had made some dramatic comment about destiny.
Shane rolled his shoulders. The ice felt like home under his skates.
But when he looked across the rink—Ilya was there. And that felt bigger.
Later, when practice ended, they stayed behind. The arena lights dimmed slightly, the rest of the team filtering out one by one, leaving just the two of them at center ice.
Shane stood there, breathing hard, helmet off now, chest rising and falling. “I remember this part,” he said suddenly.
Ilya tilted his head. “What part?”
“This feeling,” Shane said. “Being out here with you. Not as rivals. Not hiding. Just… this.”
Ilya was quiet for a moment. “You fought it,” he said softly.
“I know.”
“You almost ran.”
“I know.”
Shane skated a slow circle, stopping directly in front of him. “I don’t remember when I stopped being scared,” he admitted.
Ilya smiled faintly. “You did not stop being scared.”
“Great.”
“You just decided I was worth being scared for,” Ilya corrected.
That hit deeper than Shane expected.
“When we first got married,” Shane asked quietly, “did it feel real?”
“Yes.”
“Did it feel like we were allowed?”
“Yes.”
Shane swallowed. “I still don’t remember it.”
“I know.”
“But I remember wanting you,” Shane continued. “Even back then. Even when it felt impossible.”
“And now?” Ilya asked.
Shane didn’t look away. “Now I don’t care what I remember. Because I know what I want.”
The words hung there in the cold air.
“You are very dramatic,” Ilya murmured.
“Shut up.”
They stood there a second longer before Shane tugged lightly at Ilya’s jersey. “Let’s go home.”
The cottage greeted them in soft evening light. The glass walls reflected the trees like they always had. The same path Shane had built years ago. The same clearing where he used to sit alone and think about what he wasn’t brave enough to say.
Now it felt different.
They stepped inside. Anya barreled into them immediately, tail wagging.
“Hey, hey,” Shane laughed, crouching down. “Miss us?”
“She likes you more,” Ilya muttered.
“Of course she does.”
They moved around each other easily in the kitchen. No hesitation now. No careful distance. Shane reached for Ilya’s hand without thinking. Ilya intertwined their fingers like it was instinct.
They stood like that for a moment.
“I remember something,” Shane said suddenly.
Ilya stiffened slightly. “What?”
“Not a memory,” Shane clarified. “A realization.”
Ilya waited.
“I thought losing my memories meant losing us,” Shane said. “But it didn’t.”
Ilya’s thumb brushed over his knuckles. “You are still you.”
“And you’re still you,” Shane replied. “Which apparently means stubborn and possessive and dramatic.”
Ilya snorted softly.
Shane stepped closer. “I don’t need to remember the wedding. I don’t need to remember the proposal. I don’t even need to remember the first time we said I love you.”
Ilya’s breathing slowed.
“Because I can say it now,” Shane finished.
Silence—not fragile, not uncertain. Just full.
“I love you,” Shane said.
No panic. No fear of who might hear. Just truth.
Ilya blinked once. “You remember?”
“No,” Shane said honestly. “But I mean it.”
That was enough.
Ilya cupped his face gently. “I love you. Before. During. After. Always.”
Always.
The word didn’t feel heavy anymore. It felt steady.
Later, as the night deepened and the house settled around them, Shane stirred faintly against Ilya’s shoulder.
A flicker.
A flash of something warm and bright—gold light, laughter, a ring sliding onto his finger with hands that trembled just slightly.
He didn’t see the whole picture. Not yet.
But the feeling lingered.
Familiar. Certain.
He opened his eyes slowly.
“Ilya,” he murmured.
“Yes?”
“I think…” Shane frowned slightly, searching for it. “I think something’s coming back.”
Ilya didn’t tense. Didn’t push. He only pressed a quiet kiss to Shane’s hair.
“It will,” he said softly.
Outside, the forest stood steady and patient. Inside, something long buried had begun to thaw—not all at once, not dramatically, but surely.
Shane didn’t need to chase it anymore.
It was already finding its way back to him.
And this time—
He wasn’t afraid of remembering.