Chapter Text
April 2025
“I think, maybe, I retire,” Ilya mused aloud, loading the dishwasher on a spring night that followed an unseasonably warm day.
Why did he always wait until they were doing something actually boring to announce major life changes?
“Like, at the end of the season?” Shane asked, panic seeping into his voice. His hands stuttered to a stop as he wiped down the kitchen counters. They were on top of the world, together, finally. This was not the moment to let go!
Ilya shrugged in his nonchalant way. “Probably, yes. Maybe end of next season.”
“Are you…hurt?” Shane winced a little to brace for impact.
“No, no. Not hurt. I am fine. Perfect for fucking you and for winning hockey games.” Ilya turned to grab Shane by the waist and nip playfully at his neck.
“Okay, so…” Shane put his hands on Ilya’s chest and frowned up at him.
“I think I am done playing hockey. I would like a chance to relax,” came the simple answer.
“Oh, is that what we’re going to do?” Shane rolled his eyes with an affectionate smile.
“Yes, I would like to relax with you. For once.”
And Shane felt the low hum of anxiety in his chest dissipate immediately. They were on top of the world. Together.
“Then…let’s retire.”
***
June 2025
Yuna was absolutely going to take the news the worst out of anyone on Planet Earth. Which is why they decided to tell her last.
The Centaurs had collectively let out a sigh of relief and then a cheer. It annoyed Ilya that LaPointe, of all people, won the bet on when they would actually announce it and commit to it. It annoyed Shane that Bood declared he had sent his thousand dollars to LaPointe’s Venmo.
Coach Wiebe looked a little proud and a little misty-eyed. He understood, giving Ilya a knowing smile and Shane a warm handshake. He agreed that LP was the closest in the pool, but Wiebe had won the bet on who would tell the team (Shane, of course).
Farah was ready with her contingency plan, also subtly suggesting that she reach out to ESPN, NBC, and several other outlets for “other opportunities.” She also had their brand portfolio ready to be reworked now that they were on the way out.
Scott had a very colorful response to Shane’s text, citing that, for once, he wasn’t the old man here. Ilya had grabbed Shane’s phone to fire off his own scathing reply. He spent the better part of two hours hanging his head off the arm of the couch and phone dangling in the air to trade insults with their friend. “Friend?” Frenemy? Shane wasn’t sure what the hell Scott and Ilya’s relationship was and he wasn’t sure if they knew it, either.
Harris had an absolute breakdown, both in elation and in devastation. “I’m going to go blind from all the tribute posts I need to make this season,” he griped through tears. Shane knew that, well, yeah, it was a lot of work, but Harris was the man for the job. He would treat them right.
Rose and Svetlana were overjoyed for them. Svetlana, so Ilya could let some of the “younger, sexier boys” try to beat his records. Or Shane’s. She didn’t care which. Rose, so she could actually spend more time with them. She loved Ilya instantly and Ilya had taken quite a bit to her, too.
Hayden groaned over the phone, the din of the kids in the background. “Thank fuck,” he sighed. “I can finally have reliable babysitters who know how to handle these demons.”
“And you can pretend like you are special feature in Shane’s highlight reels,” Ilya agreed merrily.
“Okay, asshole—ow! Okay, Ruby, fine! Here’s a five for the swear jar. Let me get some more swears in before you tell your mom.”
Cliff Marlow had retired the year before following a torn ACL and surgery and offered Ilya advice for how to stay active in retirement. Shane blushed forty kinds of red after that conversation. He hadn’t even known a body could move like that, and he and Ilya had done…a lot.
The camp staff were delighted, of course, and they received a sweet bouquet from Max and Leah a week after sending the text in their group chat. Ryan sent a brief video of Fabian writing a new song about growing old with the one you love.
Then, two months and two weeks after everyone else on the planet knew, after the Centaurs won their second Cup under the Hollanov dynasty, after they had been at the cottage for three weeks already, Shane asked his mom to go on a hike.
David frowned as he watched mother and son, both alike in dignity, head off for a trail that was more rigorous than normal.
“Ilya?” David asked as he came back into the kids’ cottage. Ilya handed him a refreshed cup of coffee and smiled, eyebrows raised in invitation to continue. “What’s he up to today?”
Ilya froze, like a deer in headlights. Busted.
“Ilya,” David said again, a little fatherly warning seeping into his tone.
“Maybe we take coffee outside, yes?” Ilya asked in response, coming around the island and heading to the patio. Anya followed, immediately scampering to the lawn to attack a rope bone.
David sat beside Ilya on the loveseat and sipped his coffee calmly, blue eyes scanning the lake in the morning sun. He relished being this close to his son-in-law. In fact, in quiet moments, he realized that he had watched his son Shane grow up into what a man should be: reliable, strong of body and spirit, patient, loving, protective, so damn kind, welcoming. He never really thought too hard about the kind of person his kid would wind up marrying, as long as they loved all of him. Jesus, didn’t he find that? Ilya worshipped this kid. They literally grew up together, though very early on, Ilya had to become a definition of “man” that he didn’t fit and he didn’t want to fit. But he was the kind of person–man–that Shane needed, deserved. After all, David didn’t mind being Dad to this boy, as well, this sweet, sensitive boy who was learning that he did deserve the love he was given and so freely offered in return. Hell, he even changed his legal last name to Hollander so he could forget his shitty past and be part of this family.
David had learned over the last eight years that if he waited long enough, if he held stable and gave Ilya room to grow into his thoughts, his feelings would come pouring out.
And they did.
“Shane and I are retiring after next season,” Ilya began, thumb absently rubbing over the handle of the ancient Centaurs mug that used to be David’s back in college. “My knee is bothering me more now.” Both of them glanced at the white-pink scars on Ilya’s knee from his surgery two years ago. “I am fine, but I don’t want to get hurt even worse. I don’t want to become old man so soon. I like what I can do now and I do not want to have anyone decide this end but me.” David hitched a breath; a lot had been decided for Ilya, and he could understand the need to be the one to dictate his future. “We are thirty-five. We will retire at thirty-six. We have won together twice now.”
David tracked Ilya’s hazel eyes staring off across the lake. He waited some more. Ilya continued, “I am tired, Dad. I do not love it like Shane does. Maybe I never have, probably. But I think he is tired, too. Is hard to recover from a hit these days. He has now won five Stanley Cups on two teams. The discrimination we still face gets under his skin. He will show me comments that make him angry and he is so hurt by them. He has done so much for the sport and no one can give him grace.
“Maybe deep down, it bothers me, too. I left Russia because I wanted a future with him and it seems like people here are still so angry about something that does not concern them. But, you know Shane. He likes things in order, perfect.” David knew that all too well. Shane had always been particular about things in his life and nothing could disrupt it. “We want to enjoy our life while we have time to live it. New chapter for us.”
Ilya finally dragged his eyes back to look at David. David smiled softly, raising his coffee mug. Ilya clinked his mug against David’s. They both took long swallows of coffee, made exactly the same way with cream and lots of sugar, and watched Anya wrestle her rope.
Ilya was the definition of “still waters run deep,” as David’s grandmother would have said. Both of them knew there was no answer needed. The support was there from David, and support and love were the two things Ilya needed most from his parents.
“Who do you think is going to push the other off the cliff when he tells her?” David asked, watching a loon take off from the lake. Ilya, to his credit, no longer flinched at the call.
“Yuna,” they both said.
***
Shane was sweating buckets already. It was cool and damp in the woods, the pine trees providing shade along the well-worn path. He had chosen this particular hike because he knew Mom would enjoy the challenge…and maybe because he wanted to tire her out a little so she wouldn’t murder him and get away with it. He didn’t trust that she wouldn’t try.
They came out to a clearing about two kilometers up. The sun was still rising over the trees nestled in the valley below, and the lake glittered in the morning sun.
Yuna was taking pictures with her phone, back to Shane. His heart pounded; this was it. He could tell her. He could do it. He had to. Ilya had offered to say it to her, merely because she was less likely to strangle him. Shane knew that it had to come from his own mouth instead.
Mom looked back at him with one of her brilliant smiles and Shane felt so unbearably happy to be with her, the woman who protected him and loved him and understood him. Her smile faltered and she stepped back to cross over to him.
“Shane? Honey, what’s wrong?” She put her phone in the side pocket of her leggings. “Are you okay?”
Shane forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking about how nice this is.”
Yuna squinted at him in suspicion. She knew. Oh god she knew and she was going to hurl him off the ledge. Bears would eat him. A moose was going to trample him.
“It‘s a lovely morning for a hike,” she said slowly, taking a step further along the trail.
Shane watched her inch along, sensing that the competition had begun. “Are you trying to get an edge on me?” he asked, following her slowly.
Mom grinned, shrugged, and turned to walk briskly up the path and into the trees. Shane laughed loudly as he followed her, chided by the tittering of birds.
They continued to hike another two kilometers to the next natural clearing. They were higher up now, which meant a longer fall. Bones cracked and splintered, body flattened like a pancake. Great.
Shane checked his watch and balked at the time: almost noon. He had promised Ilya that morning that he would be back for lunch and he would have told his mom the news.
Yuna sat on a log to rest and to drink some water. Shane hovered near her, trying and failing to lean casually against the tree.
“Shane, whatever is on your mind, just tell me,” Yuna said neutrally. She glanced sidelong at him.
Shane twisted his wedding ring around and around his finger. “Well, it’s. It’s hard to say,” he murmured.
“Honey, it’s me. I promise to love you, no matter what. We’ve been through a lot, you and me. I can handle whatever it is you’re going to say.”
Shane puffed out a laugh, swiping at an eye to combat the hot tears that threatened to spill out.
“I wanted you—we wanted you—to hear from us first. It’s going to go public soon. We’re, um, we’re going to retire after this season.” A pause. “Me and Ilya.” Another pause. “Together.”
The whole forest grew still. Not even the animals dared to move as Shane watched his mom process the information. He had been in the Olympics. He had won five Stanley Cups. He had faced Ilya for a million years, nearly twenty, and that was scary. He had taken down the NHL commissioner in 2021, and he had braved the backlash from their love in the years since.
But nothing—absolutely nothing—scared him more than telling his mom this news.
In fact, Shane wasn’t even sure this wasn’t the most insane thing he’d ever done, and he’d hate-fucked his archrival for eight years before finally accepting they were, perhaps, boyfriends. And then he married the fucker. Retirement at his age, with so much hockey left in him, was absolutely fucking bonkers and Shane wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing, not totally. But he had made the choice of a real, genuine life with his husband and he wasn’t going to back down from this challenge, either.
Mom stared at him in silence for approximately fifteen hours, casually sipping her water like she hadn’t heard him say he and Ilya were going to retire and instead heard him say they he and Ilya were planning on moving to Mars next weekend. She finally closed the top of her Centaurs-colored Owala and put it back into the side pocket on her backpack. She stood and crossed the three steps to him.
“Then let’s retire, baby,” she whispered, pulling him into a hug. Shane sagged into her embrace, relief seeping out of his bones.
“I thought you’d be mad at me,” he mumbled into her backpack strap, snuggling in closer.
“Oh baby, no. Ilya’s knee has been bothering him since his surgery. It was only a matter of time,” she said, petting the back of his sweaty hair.
Shane frowned and didn’t let her go. “No it’s not, Mom. He said he feels fine.”
Mom let him go enough to hold his shoulders at arm’s length. She had that look on her face, her omnipotent hockey witch look. “His knee is bothering him. He’s been favoring his right side when he skates and he never lets anyone get on his left anymore. Not unless it’s you.”
Shane didn’t know what he was more upset by, Ilya hiding that his knee hurt or that his mother once again clocked something hockey-related before he did.
“Anyway,” Yuna said breezily, “I have a few drafts saved on our computer for statements to brands—“
“—Mom, Farah can do that—“
“—and the foundation will need some statements from you two about your plans for retirement—“
“—Mom, god, I’m not—“
“—and then we should ask Farah about commentator opportunities. I’m sure there will be a bidding war—“
“—Mom!” Shane threw his hands in the air. She paused and stared hard at him. “Sorry, it’s just. We know all this. We’ve done all the work.”
Yuna frowned as realization dawned on her. “Shane Hollander. Am I the last to know?”
Shane didn’t answer her. He couldn’t form words. This was how he ended. Now he’d never get to retire. He’d be dead. Deader than dead. Bear, moose, and loons would eat his body. Ilya would find him and he’d be a skeleton with half a face left after the animals finished with his corpse.
Shane watched as his mom nodded once and set her shoulders in determination. “Fine.” She marched off back down the trail. Shane followed helplessly, armpits of his long-sleeved tee completely soaked through.
Mom stopped abruptly and whipped around, salt-and-pepper ponytail swinging violently. “If I find out that Dad knows before me…”
Shane’s eyes widened, and he took out his phone to text an SOS to Ilya and Dad as he barreled after his angry mother.
When they got back to the cottage, Ilya and David were in the living room, working on a puzzle of dogs in a field.
David stood first when Yuna threw her backpack on the floor. “How was the h—“
“We’re officially in Retirement Mode,” she announced. “Did you know that, David?”
Ilya twisted to look at Shane with a what the fuck happened? look.
Shane mouthed, “Check your fucking texts.”
Ilya nodded with his chin to the bedroom, letting Shane know he had left his phone in there. Ilya sent up a silent prayer that Shane had given Dad an Apple Watch for Christmas and that Dad actually used it to read his texts. David was now in crisis mode.
Over a belated lunch, David talked Yuna off the metaphorical ledge, and Ilya acted as a buffer between Mom and Shane. As Yuna waved her fork viciously in the air, her wine glass threatening to topple, David and Ilya shared the look of long-suffering husbands.
By the time Mom and Dad left for their own cottage, both Ilya and Shane had been shared on a Google Drive folder titled ‘The Plan’ and a list of talking points for Farah when they next spoke with her.