Work Text:
Shane wasn’t meant to find out what Ilya did at All-Stars, but an over-eager left winger from Philadelphia gave it away when at the breakfast buffet when he asked Shane where Ilya was. “Sleeping off last night,” Shane said curtly, not wanting to be dragged into a pre-breakfast conversation with a player he didn’t know well, who was only being nosy about his husband.
The winger chuckled and mumbled, “Ya, he mentioned he hadn’t been skiing in a while, but he’s still a fucking legend. Tell him next time he’s in Philly we should hang.” He piled pork sausage onto his plate as Shane’s stomach roiled.
Shane of course didn’t do drugs but was aware of them. He was surrounded by a lot of overgrown teenagers with too much money and a very specific kind of fame, so even though he was far from the party scene, players didn’t really hide recreational drug use amongst themselves. It also explained why Ilya came in so late last night, knocking into the nightstand and trying to climb into bed in his clothes.
He instantly felt his anxiety rise – Ilya was out all night doing drugs. It was also top of mind because of the MHL’s outreach program; before the All-Star break, players were recently put through mandatory training to warn them about a fentanyl problem ripping across various cities. Callously, Shane recognized the MHL did this type of education to avoid a scandal – they did not want a player OD’ing on their watch. There was a testing kit, he remembered that part. And an OD kit. But he didn’t have a kit because he didn’t need one. And he didn’t think his husband needed one either.
His husband, who had depression and doctor-sanctioned meds, was out doing coke with their colleagues at an event crawling with MHL staff and media. An event where all eyes were on them, all the time. Where anyone with a phone could ruin Ilya’s career, get him kicked out of the league, destroy his reputation with a 5-second clip. Sure drug use was an open secret amongst players but Ilya wasn’t just any player. He and Shane were a target, they had broken containment and Crowell would love nothing more than a reason to banish one of them.
On paper, the league had a zero tolerance policy for street drugs and it would give them all the reason they needed to expel Ilya. Shane knew he should think about his next steps carefully. He could confront Ilya about it but needed to be ready for a fight because these days, everything was a fight.
Something was very wrong with Ilya over the last three months. His mood swings were unbearable, his filter nonexistent. He constantly snapped at Shane, stalked around the house, refused to do basic tasks they had always shared at home like cooking and laundry. And it was getting worse every week. At home, Ilya slept. And slept. And slept. He could easily knock out 12 hours a day plus lengthy naps and then would grouse at Shane for letting him sleep, complaining about soreness and headaches.
His very limited social battery was reserved for Captain duties. He was not overly boisterous at work but he was much better than he was at home – he was present, he listened to his teammates, he managed his schedule just fine. But as soon as he walked in the door, he soured. He hated the meal prep company Shane preferred and would instead order pizza or fast food. He complained about the draft in the house but refused to turn the heat on. He smoked constantly, oftentimes forgetting to close the patio door behind him so the house constantly smelled like stale smoke, making Shane's throat itch.
He would go from bed to the couch without a glance in Shane’s direction, answered with impatience when Shane asked to take a walk with Anya or watch a movie. Shane had educated himself on the symptoms of depression and wondered if Ilya’s meds were no longer doing the trick. He suggested Ilya talk to Galina about his moods and his meds, earning him the silent treatment for two days.
They still maintained a kind of steely stubbornness when it came to work though – after three seasons together on the Centaurs and nearly 15 in the MHL, their bodies were built for hockey. If they were slightly more subdued in the locker room, they could chalk it up to exhaustion. Shane had always drawn pretty hard boundaries with the Centaurs, friendly but professional, and while everyone liked each other and there was the occasional BBQ or after-work beer, the inner workings of their relationship were not a topic of conversation.
When it came to Ilya, Shane knew he had to be consistent and persistent when his depression spiked. But sometime around Orthodox Christmas, when Shane had driven two hours to a Russian bakery in Montreal to get Ilya jam-stuffed pryaniki and Ilya ate two, complained they were dry, and threw them in the garbage, a switch flicked in Shane’s brain.
Ilya didn’t care. He didn’t care if Shane made him tea, or folded his laundry, or turned the towel warmer on for him before his shower. Maybe he noticed or maybe he didn’t, but judging by the derisive tone Ilya used with him, Shane wondered if his hovering was making Ilya worse. So he stopped. He didn’t remind Ilya of his car insurance expiration, he didn’t restock his travel-size toiletries, he didn’t reach out for goodnight kisses. It didn’t make Ilya better, but it didn’t make him worse. It made no difference at all. And Shane felt some reprieve from the constant rejection.
Shane abandoned his plate at the breakfast buffet, walking past an assortment of danishes and muffins he could grab for Ilya, who was running late. Fuck him, he thought.
When he got back up to their room, Ilya was in the shower. He came out looking as bad as Shane had ever seen him. Dark circles around his red-rimmed eyes, hair greasy despite just having had a shower, skin dull. Shane walked past him to gather a few things from his nightstand, while Ilya haphazardly packed his carry-on.
“What time is our flight?” Ilya asked, voice raspy.
“Check your email, it’s there.” Ilya huffed,
“My phone is dead so can you just fucking tell me. What are you already starting this morning.”
Shane wrapped his phone cord and added it to the front pocket of his backpack, then checked to make sure he had his passport. “Car is picking us up at 10,” he said as he brushed past Ilya.
“Was that so fucking-“ Shane didn’t hear the end of that sentence. He was already out the door.
In the lobby, Shane pulled up his text messages. He responded to a message from Ryan Fisk, an elite performance trainer he had been working with over the last few months. He gave him a brief rundown of his workouts for the weekend (not great) and his nutrition (actually pretty decent). Ryan was drafted in the MHL five years before Shane but had never seen professional play, waylaid by Long QT Syndrome, a genetic heart condition that made continuing at a professional level impossible.
Shane was introduced to Ryan by Ryan’s uncle Nick, who happened to be one of Shane’s childhood coaches. Coach Nick came to nearly all the Centaurs home games and had kept in touch with Yuna and David. He was the first coach to recognize Shane’s extraordinary talent and suggest he move to center, and Yuna never forgot it. When he told Shane about Ryan, Shane had been looking for a new challenge, aware that he needed to mix up his regimen to fight against plateauing with age.
Shane appreciated Ryan’s analytical approach to training and found himself pouring through the charts and graphics Ryan made him. Ryan was smart and most crucial to Shane’s life as a professional athlete, he was flexible. Sometimes personal trainers clashed with team trainers, each trying to mark their territory, but Ryan was a professional. He developed an easy rapport with the Centaurs strength and conditioning team, which made Shane’s life easier.
Shane had asked Ilya, multiple times, to join him in these session. Ilya had scoffed at the suggestion of more training and when Ryan came over to the house to check out the home gym set up, Ilya was been dismissive to the point of rudeness. Shane was embarrassed and they fought about it afterwards.
Shane and Ryan’s in-person sessions were intermittent because of the full-on MHL season, but they were in constant contact. It started as workouts but evolved quickly - they had a running commentary on post-game recovery, drills, nutrition, sleep scores. Shane sometimes felt self-conscious about how self-absorbed it all was and would ask Ryan about his workouts or favourite protein shake.
And look, Shane wasn’t a monk, he could see that Ryan was by all metrics a good-looking guy. He was tall, taller than Shane and Ilya, and ripped. He had deep green eyes and a shaved head, and often let the dark blonde scruff on his hair grow out for a few weeks. The first time Shane saw him in a tank top, he couldn’t help but notice that Ryan didn’t have any tattoos. Ilya sidled up to Shane in the lobby, rolling his suitcase towards Shane without a word and stalking off to find coffee.
By the time Ilya came back with a huge coffee for himself and a water for Shane, their car was pulling up, which was a relief. Shane didn’t want to be sitting in the lobby with his hungover husband while half the MHL milled about. They didn’t speak in the car, or in the first class lounge, or on the flight, Shane taking the window seat wordlessly. Ilya slept for the entire flight, Shane nudging him awake with a sharp elbow when they landed.
They picked up their car from long-term parking, Ilya cursing when the kiosk kept spitting out his payment ticket. He drove home too fast, but Shane ignored the speedometer, knowing that any comment would just goad Ilya into going faster. By the time, they got home, Shane had considered his options: if he approached Ilya with concern, Ilya would mock him. If he approached him with anger, he’d be met with that ten times over. He seriously considered ignoring it but that was too unsettling – Ilya could have really hurt himself, in more ways than one.
“Did you do coke last night?” It wasn’t very tactful, but it was to the point.
Ilya turned on his heels, facing Shane with his coat still on. “Who told you this?”
“Doesn’t matter really who told me. Yes or no.”
“It matters who told you.”
“I’m not going to tell you. And can you just fucking answer me for once.”
Ilya narrowed his eyes at Shane. “Yes. OK? Yes, I did.”
“Taking random shit in a bathroom, you know there could be fentanyl in it. Are you fucking serious Ilya?”
Ilya rolled his eyes, “Stop reading the fucking MHL drug pamphlets and relax.”
“Well maybe you should do a bit more reading, considering you’re a professional athlete at a high profile event and you're doing blow in the bathroom with people on other teams, who are now going to go back to their locker room and tell everyone.”
“Ah so that’s what it is, you are worried about your sparkling reputation? Of course.” Ilya said derisively.
“There’s a million fucking eyes on us, you know that. Someone could tell. Or someone could have filmed you.”
Ilya rolled his eyes again, even more dramatically. “I don’t think Reebok will drop you Shane, don’t worry.”
“Well it would be a great excuse to bounce you out of the league.”
“Who fucking cares. I retire. I don’t actually give a fuck. I’m almost done with it anyways.”
“So you’d rather do drugs than play in the MHL. Jesus Christ, Ilya how fucking far gone are you?”
Ilya mumbled something in Russian that Shane couldn’t catch.
“Is this a self-control issue? Or like, a problem? Could you not say no?”
Ilya scoffed, “Are you a fucking child? I’m fine, it was one time. First time in many years, since Boston.”
“Well addiction runs in your family, so.”
“I am not a fucking addict for doing coke at All-Stars. Half of the fucking team did it.”
“Ya I’m sure your brother would say the same.”
“Fuck you. What the fuck do you know, comparing me to him? You know nothing. You are so fucking uptight about every fucking thing. I am adult, what I do is my business,” Ilya shouted.
Shane pushed his shoulders back, feeling a small crack. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to, but I’m not some fucking third-line winger who you can intimidate. Don’t fucking speak to me like that.”
“Or what?” Ilya said childishly, lowering his voice.
“Ilya, figure your shit out. You are fucking unbearable, you know that? You have been this whole season. I have done nothing to you. I don’t fucking deserve to be treated like this. You are so fucking mean Ilya.” Shane hated how childish that sounded, but it was true.
Ilya scoffed loudly.
“You have a month. Work with Galina, change your meds, do something.”
“Or. What.” Iya pressed on, rabid with the fight.
Shane set his jaw. “I won’t be married to someone who does drugs, who sleeps 14 hours a day and refuses to do anything about it, who talks to me worse than he would a dog.”
“I don’t-“
“Yes you do. You don’t speak to anyone else the way you speak to me. You don’t fucking yell and curse and ignore anyone but me. You wouldn’t speak to Anya the way you speak to me. And I’m sick of it. Figure your shit out.”
“Hollander are you making too much of this.” Ilya to sound flippant but the lift in his voice betrayed him.
“I can’t do this for much longer. I won’t. Sort your shit out or I’m leaving.”
“You are leaving me? Ah so this is what it is,” Ilya said with a mocking clap of his hands, “Why wait the month Hollander?”
“I’m going to give you a month,” Shane said calmly. “And if things have not changed, if you have not done any work on fixing whatever the fuck is going on with you, then I’m leaving Ottawa.”
“What the fuck do you mean leaving Ottawa?”
“I’ll waive my no-trade clause and ask for a trade at the end of the season. To the Western Conference. Finish out my last few seasons there.”
Ilya’s eyes hardened with a sick triumph. “Ah you have thought about this. So you want a divorce?”
“That’s up to you.” Shane said, turning towards the stairs.
Ilya stalked out of the room, muttering curse words to himself in Russian. He headed straight out to the deck, lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers. He smoked it down to the filter, then lit another one. He could feel the rage and shame in his gut as his mind raced. Let him do it. Let him leave me, Ilya thought. What was there to salvage? Most days they didn’t even speak, Shane treated him like a child made of glass.
The problem was clear to Ilya; he had gotten too soft in marriage. Too into therapy, which was doing shit for him in the long run. Too dependent on medication. Too used to being taken care of and it had made him dependent on Shane. And now Shane was disgusted by Ilya’s helplessness and wanted out. Leaving Ottawa. The hometown hero. Ottawa loved Ilya because of what he had brought with him – Shane. Once Shane was gone, Ilya would be useless. The team would fall apart, that he knew.
But fine, if this is what Shane wanted, then who was Ilya to stop him. He wasn’t going to beg, the same way he had to beg Shane to come out (which, in the end, hadn’t been necessary). Shane was done with him. And that was just fine.
The next three days passed in total silence. Without discussing it, Shane had moved to the large guest room on the main floor and Ilya stayed in their bedroom; the slightly extra footage wasn’t worth the fight to Shane. They functioned in shifts; when Ilya used the home gym, Shane took Anya for a walk or showered or ate; when Shane did yoga or watched tape in the living room, Ilya headed upstairs and shut the door.
It was a game that broke the détente - they travelled to practices separately because it was easy to make excuses about media or extra PT or errands to run afterwards. But games were different and everyone would notice if they didn’t arrive together, so he asked Ilya if he wanted to drive, to which Ilya gave an affirmative grunt. They were lucky to be in a relatively light stretch with 3 games and 2 practices spread out over 7 days. They squeaked out a win at home against Columbus and Ilya went for a beer with the team while Shane said his knee felt a little off, the perfect excuse to beg off for the night.
If the Centaurs noticed something was wrong, they were tactful enough not to say it. The next morning, Shane headed to a new yoga studio with Ryan to try out the sunrise class at 7 am. Afterwards, they stopped at a new smoothie bar Shane wanted to try and Shane mentioned he needed to go to Canadian Tire to get more salt and maybe a new shovel and Ryan mentioned the handheld blender that he’d been carting around since university had finally died so he tagged along. They walked around the store for half an hour and Ryan said he needed a new BBQ this summer and so they went to look for the model Shane had at the cottage, with Shane pointing out all of the features while Ryan listened intently. They said goodbye in the parking lot and Shane drove home feeling lighter than he had in weeks
His mood was instantly soured when he nearly tripped on Anya’s leash next to the front door because Ilya forgot to hang it. Ilya was on the couch scrolling TikTok at full volume and Shane noted salty paw prints all over the floor in the entryway. They didn’t have practice until late afternoon but the smoothie wasn’t holding Shane over, so he headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. He debated asking Ilya if he wanted some scrambled eggs. A part of him worried that if he didn’t offer, Ilya wouldn’t eat. Another part of him knew Ilya would reject his peace offering and he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. His practicality won out – he didn’t want to have to clean the kitchen twice – so he went into the living room. Ilya hadn’t moved or looked up.
“Do you want some eggs?”
“No” Ilya responded, not looking up. Well, he tried. An hour later Shane was watching tape in his room when Ilya knocked lightly. Shane got off the bed and opened the door and Ilya looked surprised for a second, before his face shuttered into coldness.
“Where did you go this morning?”
“I went to yoga.”
“You were gone for three hours. Not even you do yoga that long.”
“Oh, we went for a smoothie and to Canadian Tire after."
“Did you go with Barrett?” Ilya asked.
Shane scrunched his face in confusion. “No, why would I go with Barrett? Does he even do yoga?”
“You both work out a lot and eat carrots. Who did you go with then?”
“Ryan” Shane said with a sigh as he leaned against the door.
“Ryan.”
“Yup.” Shane said, popping the p.
“And how is Ryan?” Ilya said disdainfully.
“He’s great,” Shane said back, meeting Ilya’s attitude with sarcasm, as he closed the door in Ilya’s face.
As he turned back to bed, the door swung open hard, banging against the wall. “Don’t shut the fucking door in my fucking face!” Ilya shouted.
“Jesus Christ Ilya what the fuck is wrong with you?” Shane yelled, startled by the bang.
Ilya was breathing heavily, his jaw clenched. “You left the house at 6:15 in the fucking morning and didn’t get home until after 9. You know when I take a piss. I’m allowed to ask you where the fuck you were.”
“Oh really? Where were you last night? I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I went to Monks with Bood, Haasy, Chouy and Wyatt. I had one fucking beer and played darts. I was there for an hour and then came home. You were asleep.”
“How the fuck would you know?” Shane spit out, “We don’t sleep in the same room anymore!” “
"Who made that decision Shane? Who moved their shit to the guest room. Is this your way of getting me ready for the divorce you asked for?”
Shane let out a shaky laugh. “My god Ilya. You are so fucking self-absorbed. I don’t know if you are blind or if you just don’t care but I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. For months!”
“I am here Shane! Talk to me!” slapping a hand over his heart.
“You don’t want to hear anything I say!” Shane roared.
“I don’t want to hear that I fucking left a towel on the bed, or I didn’t wipe Anya’s paws properly, or I forgot to run the dishwasher! That’s not talking!”
“I tried to talk to you after All-Stars,” Shane grit out “And you did what you always do, you made me feel like shit. For caring that my husband is doing drugs. I’m not allowed to say anything to you, ever. Do you know how hard you are to live with? Do you have any idea?”
“I know I am… difficult” Ilya said, backing off.
“Difficult?” Shane huffed. “You were difficult when we were just fucking. You are fucking impossible now.”
Shane could feel the hurt and rage pulsing, there was no way he was going to stop now. He couldn’t. “You ignore me most of the time. Or you roll your eyes. When you do talk to me it’s to tell me I’m boring, or stupid or paranoid. You never want to spend time with me, you won’t watch a movie with me or take Anya for a walk. You never talk to me, about anything, unless we are at work. I can’t remember the last time, before you fucking barged in here, you asked me a question about myself. You don’t eat with me, you don’t touch me, you don’t want to fuck, you don’t even watch tape with me. You sleep constantly, you eat like shit, you are smoking half a pack a day, you are always on your phone.” Shane was panting, tripping over his words.
“Well in a month you will be rid of me, right? Three weeks left. Then you and Ryan can do yoga and make each other smoothies and take turns topping.”
“Fuck you!” Shane screamed, spittle flying out of his mouth. “This is another bullshit excuse you are making so you don’t have to try. Because you don’t want to try. You don’t like me Ilya. You haven’t for a long time. Maybe you never did.”
Ilya stood there, blinking hard. “This is not true. I think you know this is not true. It is just hard, right now. I told you it would get bad sometimes. You said you understood.” He felt his bottom lip quiver and bit down, hard.
“I am trying to understand,” Shane said despondently. “But what I don’t understand is why you won’t see Galina? Or talk to the team doctor. Anything Ilya I’m literally fucking begging you.”
“It will pass Shane. It always does.” Ilya said stubbornly.
“This is not like other times” Shane said, sounding more desperate with each word. “This is different Ilya.”
“Stop this Shane!” Ilya snapped. “You are not in my brain. You do not know.”
Shane nodded his head once. “You’re right I don’t know. But there is something wrong. Sadness I can understand. But you are acting differently, Ilya, you are purposefully trying to hurt me.”
“I am not Shane.”
“On New Year’s, your New Year’s, why did you throw those cookies away?”
Ilya swallowed hard. “What cookies?” he said, pulling his nose.
“The cookies I drove to Montreal to get you. And you said they were dry and you threw them in the garbage. Is this depression? Or is this just you being such an asshole that you didn’t stop to think that your husband drove four hours to get you something he thought you’d like, and you threw them in the trash.”
“I don’t remember why,” Ilya lied.
“Does that sound like someone who likes their spouse?”
“OK I was being an asshole. I couldn’t eat them.”
“Right,” Shane said with defeat. “Whatever.”
“Is there even a point to this? Big emotional conversation, for what? You already made your mind up. Maybe it’s you that doesn’t like me, hmm? You are healthy and I am fuck up and thank god perfect Shane Hollander puts up with me.” Ilya said, turning away.
Shane huffed out a wet laugh. “I can’t believe we used to risk our careers to meet up a few times a year and now we can’t even have a conversation in our own house without you running away.”
“What the fuck do you want from me Shane?” Ilya snapped. “What good is this. I need space to breathe and you are always on me, on me, on me. About what I eat and the laundry and the fucking way I hang my clothes and the dog hair. It’s constant, I just want some fucking peace in my own house!”
“And I want you to be a fucking adult about this! I want you to admit it,” Shane said, stepping towards Ilya. “I want you to admit you’ve been treating me badly. And I want you to fucking admit what you did at All-Stars was fucking stupid and put us both at risk.”
“Yes I am an asshole. You already knew this. Happy?”
“If it’s not depression, then tell me,” Shane stuttered, “if it’s not that, then it’s us. Tell me it’s because you don’t love me anymore. Tell me that’s why you’ve been so…. so fucking mean. And I’ll let you go. I won’t make it hard for you.”
Shane flicked his eyes up to meet Ilya’s, which were heavy with exhaustion and what Shane thought might be sadness, but he couldn’t be sure anymore.
“You do not understand anything.” Ilya turned away, and walked out of the room.
“Ilya, it’s nice to see you,” Galina said warmly. Ilya hummed in response.
“Sit, sit.” She gestured to the armchair in front of her, waiting for Ilya to get settled. “How have things been?”
“Not good,” llya said with a sniff. “Shane is leaving me.”
Galina sat back, her eyebrows quirked. “Ok, that’s a big development. Can you tell me a little more?”
“I don’t know. He said my moods are too much, too strong. And he will ask for a trade to a Western Conference team and we will never see each other again. He said I sleep too much and am mean. We had a big fight at All-Stars because I did something stupid with my teammates and he got upset.”
“OK let’s slow down a second. Can you maybe start with the incident at All-Stars and we can work backwards from there.”
“I did a bit of cocaine.”
“OK,” she noted, “And how did that come about?”
“I got caught up with my teammates and drank too much, it was just one stupid line because the young guys were teasing me a bit. I felt like shit in the morning. And he got upset and we had a big fight and he said he wants to separate.”
“When did he tell you this?”
“When we got home from the airport, we fought about it. Someone told him what I did and he was upset with me and said that I had a month to fix things or he would leave.”
“So you get home from this big event and there was a blow-up fight. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“How were things before this incident?”
“Bad.”
“In what way?”
“I have been feeling not myself, or maybe this is myself. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know anymore. I’ve been agitated. Angry. Not easy to live with.”
“And how long have you been having these feelings?”
“A few months.”
“And then you went to All-Stars after a few months of tension and had this blow-up.”
“Yes,” Ilya nodded.
“And how are you feeling about it?”
Ilya shrugged. “If he wants to go, he should go.”
Galina considered that for a second. She gestured towards Ilya. “You are telling me what you think. I want you to tell me a feeling.”
“I don’t feel anything. I just want to get it over with. If he’s going to go, he should go instead of giving me ridiculous ultimatums.”
“Ultimatum?”
“Yes he said if I didn’t get help he would leave.”
“So when he asked you to fix it, did he give you specifics?”
“Yes, he said maybe it was my medication and I needed to see you or the team doctor.”
“I see. Let’s leave Shane for a second. What is happening inside you right now?”
Ilya clenched his jaw. “I don’t’ know. I feel bad. Tired all the fucking time. I don’t’ know why, I am taking my meds. I’m fucking tired Galina. I am tired of this. Of feeling like this. And acting like this. Fuck!”
“This deep exhaustion, when did you start to feel it?”
“Around Thanksgiving it got bad. We had a hard road trip and I got into bed. And I didn’t want to get up.”
“Can tell me a little more about what that looks like for you, day to day.”
“It looks the same, every day is the same. I play, I work out, I am doing my job. At home I want to rest and be left alone. Not questions all the fucking time.”
“So how does that look when you are living with another person, and you need that space. How is that being communicated?”
Ilya looked at Dr. Galina with a deadpan expression, “It is very obvious when I want to be left alone.”
She matched his Slavic stare. “Let’s play it out – you are home with Shane, how do you express that you need space.”
Ilya shrugged. “Shane says I do not like him. I am mean.”
Galina nodded. “And what is the interaction that happens before this? Between when you feel like you need space and Shane says you are being mean.”
“I don’t know” Ilya huffed. “I sleep, I eat something I want. I don’t like him fussing about with my food and my smoking and using my phone too late.”
“Is this new, these feelings of being under his thumb a bit?”
“Yes.”
“And you said he fusses – what does it feel like for you when he fusses?”
Ilya shook his head. “That he is babying me.”
“That’s still what he’s doing. I’m asking how you feel about it.”
“Helpless. Like I am needing pity.”
"What happens when you feel helpless? What does that look like at home.”
“I tell him to stop, to leave me alone. I can get my own dinner and don’t need a fucking bedtime. I do things I know he won’t like. Like smoking.”
“Would you say you are being a little rebellious against what he wants?”
“Yes.”
“How does it feel when you do something Shane doesn’t like, like smoking or drugs?”
“Satisfying,” Ilya says with a grim smile. "Like pushing a bruise."
Galina sat back, considering. There was a long pause. “Tell me more about this satisfaction you get.”
Ilya looks over her shoulder, out the window behind her desk, as his throat grows tight. “I have been not good to him. I thought I was doing a good job of leaving him alone but I’ve been cruel. I do things… I don’t know. I do things I know will hurt him or provoke him. I’m just not good. I’m so fucking angry and sad all the time. He should leave.”
Galina sighs softly. “I don’t treat Shane, Ilya. I’m not a couples counsellor. But I have been working with you for five years now and you’ve made incredible progress. The fact that you reached out when things have come to a head like this shows that. But your instinct to white-knuckle it through every problem is still quite present.”
Ilya grunted softly. “So what do I do now? I’m tired of this Galina. Of this feeling. Nothing is ever fixed. It’s just talking talking talking and nothing changes. I needed to change and now it’s too late.”
“We will start with adjusting your medication. And we will work through untangling some of this anger and sadness.”
Ilya exhaled loudly. “You spoke about feeling helpless when Shane offers to help you with things. Can you talk more about that?”
“It’s.. it’s very frustrating because he is trying so hard and for what? He is making dinner for what? I can order a pizza. And he doesn’t want me to have pizza because he knows I won’t sleep very good but who is he to tell me I can’t have pizza.”
“Are there other situations this happens in?”
“Yes, with smoking. Fuck he hates the smoking, I know. I should quit, I know. I’m sick of hearing it. He is always just there to tell me what I can’t do.”
“In your profession you must have coaches and trainers who make comments about your diet or smoking. Would you say that’s true?”
“Yes, of course.”
“So when a coach or a nutritionist makes a comment, are you feeling these same kind of frustrations?”
“No.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“They are paid to care what I eat.”
“Do you feel comfortable with people you are work with being concerned about your health?”
“Yes because it is their job. And my job.”
“Who else in your life has worried about you this way, about what you were eating or how much you were smoking or sleeping? Not someone who is on the team staff.”
“Just Shane. And his parents like to feed me.”
“No one else in your entire life has ever shown concern for you?”
“My mother I think I remember, she always fussed over my meals. Was always worried I didn’t eat enough, because I was actually quite underweight as a child, until I was around 10 I was always the smallest in my class. She wasn’t alive when I started smoking but my father hated it. Because of hockey. He thought it would make me slower.”
“Do you remember your mother saying anything to you, when you didn’t eat as much as she liked?”
“She would keep trying to feed me. She would hide my plate so my father didn’t know I hadn’t touched it and then sometimes let me have sweets anyways. Jam cookies,” Ilya said softly.
“And your father, how would he react when he knew you were smoking?”
“He would get angry of course.”
“And how does Shane react if you don’t eat, or if you smoke?” Ilya tilted his head back. “He does a bit of both, I think.”
“In what way?” “He makes me a plate even when he knows I went to McDonald’s. And he always hides my lighter.”
“At one point does the conflict come in?”
Ilya rubbed his thumb across his lips. “I think it depends? On what he says and what I say. My moods have not been good so mostly I try to ignore him. If not I get frustrated, I snap. He gets upset and then will usually leave me alone for a few hours. Until I cooled down.”
“What are you doing in those moments? After he retreats?”
“Nothing, I sleep or watch a movie or play games on my phone.”
“Do you feel better, in that time apart?”
“No. I feel worse.”
“Worse in what way?”
“I feel guilty. And a little bit sad. Frustrated, too. Because I know I’ve made him feel bad. And I know I did the same thing the day before and I will do it the next day. I feel out of control, like I can’t stop it.”
“What do you want to stop?”
“I want him to stop worrying.”
“Do you think can control what happens in Shane’s mind?”
“No of course not.”
Galina sat back. “Ilya I want you to consider something that we’ve talked about, with regards to your hyper-independence and how that can facilitate isolation. It is very human to colour your current experience with your partner with previous trauma. But Shane is not your mother. And Shane is not your father. He is your partner and he’s watching you struggle.”
Ilya felt tears prick the corner of his eyes.
She continued. “This moodiness you describe, have you felt like this before, this anger?”
“Yes but not very bad since Boston, and it usually passed in a few weeks.”
“And we’ve had conversations about some vices you can would turn to, like drinking and sex. Now that you don’t have those particular vices, what do you reach for?”
“Hawaiian pizza and cigarettes. Nowhere to buy a Ferrari in Ottawa on short notice.”
“Do your current vices give you any relief?’
Ilya shook his head. “For a few minutes. Then it feels worse.”
“What do you want to happen, Ilya?”
“Right now?”
“Yes, let’s start with right now. Today. And then the next few weeks.”
“Maybe something is wrong, I don’t know. I feel like the medication is not working.”
“That is absolutely something we will review before we leave today and there may be a need for an adjustment. It seems like you are experiencing a breakthrough in your depression, which happens and is manageable.”
Galina and Ilya continued with their session, circling back to Ilya’s feelings of comfort from his mother and his father’s stern control over what he put in his body, and how booze and cigarettes and drugs and sex, which they had spoken about at length over the years, were a way of reclaiming himself from the expectations of hockey, his father and his country. He could have kept talking for hours, but settled on the first follow-up appointment he could book and a higher Zoloft prescription.
Ilya stopped at the pharmacy to have his prescription filled and was drained after therapy, but determined to do something to lift the dark cloud hanging over their house. They had a rare night off, so he was thinking of asking Shane to make their meal prep together and watch the New York-Boston game or if Shane was up for it, going to their favourite sushi spot. He slipped into the house and heard Shane on the phone in the kitchen, his laughter bubbling through the house. Anya ran over to Ilya, causing Shane to look over. Shane’s happy expression hardened. He turned away and slipped out to the back patio to finish his phone call.
When he came back in, he didn’t ask Ilya where he had been all afternoon, or what was in the paper bag. Ilya cleared his throat, feeling shy in the face of Shane’s coldness.
“Do we have meal prep tonight? If we do, I can make it. The New York-Boston game is on.”
“Ya I think it’s that Thai chicken bowl you like, you can have both. I have to go by my parents.”
“You are going to your parents for dinner?”
“My mom has paperwork for the foundation that needs some signature but she doesn’t need both of us.”
“Are you having dinner there?”
Shane shrugged. “I’ll figure it out when I get there.”
“Shane – “
“What?” Shane responded tersely.
Ilya blanked, unsure of what he wanted to say. “It’s snowing again, so drive carefully.”
That night, Ilya made one chicken bowl and saved the other in case Shane came home hungry. He scrolled Twitter while he watched the game - it was a boring, low-energy game - and came up in a tweet he was tagged in. It was Shane at Canadian Tire. The photo was blurry but Ilya recognized Ryan standing beside Shane as they looked at the barbecue display. He stared at it until his eyes watered. Eventually, he fell asleep on the couch with his phone in his hand. He woke up hours later with the TV still on, neck kinked and shivering. He shut the TV off and took his bowl to the kitchen. The clock on the stove read 1:23 am, so he went to find Anya for her last pee of the night but noticed the leash was now hanging over top of Shane’s coat and his shoes were at the door.
Ilya realized that at some point Shane had come home, taken Anya out and went straight to bed without waking him. It was what Ilya had told Galina he wanted for months, for Shane to stop fussing over him. It was what he had said to Shane over and over through his words and actions – leave me alone. And now Shane had done it and felt like plunging into a whole new kind of misery.
The next morning, Ilya sets his alarm for 6 am. He joins Shane in the gym for stretching, ignoring the look of surprise on his face. Afterwards, he filled two to-go mugs with coffee and asks Shane to join take Anya around the nearby dog park. Shane agreed and they set out in the snow, fussing over Anya and stopping to help push a neighbour’s car that was buried in a snowbank.
They got home in time with plenty of time to eat and relax before 1 pm practice, so Ilya made protein pancakes while Shane took the snowblower out in the driveway. The day feels almost normal, both being a little more polite to the other than they usually would, a little more guarded. But it’s something.
They drive to practice together, Shane carefully guiding them through the slippery streets. Practice is fun, energetic, the team feels rested and ready for the upcoming trip to Florida. Afterwards, Coach Wiebe popped his head into the dressing room to grab Ilya, so Shane uses the time to get in a PT exercise for his shoulder.
“Have a seat Ilya and close the door please,” Coach Wiebe said, uncharacteristically stiff. “I brought you in today for something a little touchy and it’s totally and completely off the record. Do you understand?”
Ilya nodded seriously. “I had an assistant coach I played with reach out to me about All-Stars. He said there’s been some rumours in his locker room regarding players at the All-Stars game, about things getting out of hand. Some guys aren’t being very discreet about it talking about what they did and who they did it with. Would you know anything about that?”
Ilya knew better than to confirm anything. “No.”
Wiebe sighed deeply. “I thought you might say that. Look, I was a player and I was never an All-Star but I can imagine how those weekends get. But your name has come up specifically as someone who broke MHL protocol on drug use.”
“My name?” Ilya said aggressively. “Just my name? Of fucking course.”
“It’s not just your name, but you’re the biggest names. You’re a superstar, even to other players. I don’t think I need to tell you that.”
“These are just rumours, this league is full of fucking gossips.”
“That’s true Ilya. But there’s some very specific things being directed at you. And I’m obligated to report this to your union reps, there’s a protocol.”
“Report what? You see me every day, I play 24 minutes a game, I do not have a fucking problem! It was one stupid night. You can test me every week, take my hair out.” Ilya could feel the panic rising in his chest. A union report would get leaked, it would be the end of him in the MHL. The end of him and Shane.
Wiebe leaned back in his chair. “I’m supposed to. I could get in serious fucking trouble here, I could lose my job. There is zero tolerance for even a hint of this stuff. And I don’t think I need to tell you how much Crowell would love an excuse to get back at you. And Shane.” “Fuck me. I’m so fucking fucked” Ilya muttered.
“I don’t want to report you, but I am concerned. If this is a problem, or if this was more than a wild weekend, I am not going to be the reason you don’t’ seek help. I’m not going to cover it up for you, no matter how many goals you score.”
“Is not a problem,” Ilya insisted. “It was a stupid mean-nothing game with stupid players. It was 5 minutes in the bathroom, I left right after and went to my room. You can ask Shane.”
“Do you want me to ask Shane?” Wiebe said plainly.
“No, please don’t.”
“Does he know? I assumed he wasn’t with you.”
“Of course he wasn’t with me,” Ilya said quickly, mortified that Shane’s name was so close Ilya’s recklessness. “He knows what I did. He was very upset with me. This is not a thing I do ever, it was one stupid time.”
“I’ll be honest with you Ilya I’m really unsure of what to do with this information. I understand you’re an adult, but I’m not just responsible for what happens on the ice. Knowing what I know now, if something were to happen to you, god forbid, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
“I am taking care of it. I spoke to my therapist and just was having a bad time so I’m fixing it. It is fixed. It won’t happen again.”
“I really hope not. Not because you’ll get in trouble. This is a really stupid way to fuck your entire life up. This isn’t you.”
Ilya wants to tell Wiebe that he doesn’t know the first thing about who Ilya is. Who Ilya really is. He doesn’t know a thing about his life. Only a handful of people in the world know who Ilya really is and Shane is one of the few who can stand him for more than one night. Probably not for much longer. He wants to scream in Wiebe’s face and push all his papers onto the ground and throw his laptop at the wall and punch a hole through the drywall. Instead he mumbles an embarrassed thank you and stumbles out of the office, back to the parking lot where Shane is waiting to take him home.
Ilya’s mood takes a sharp turn after the conversation, which Shane doesn’t question. He just retreats back to the guest room for the rest of the day. Wiebe was a best-case-scenario situation because Ilya had built years of trust with him. There’s no trust he had with a handful of players and MHL staff in a Marriott bathroom, which is why the All-Stars story grew into epic lore, ripping through dressing rooms, until just two days later it reached the ear of a “hockey insider” who posted in a very popular MHL subreddit, not even trying to disguise Ilya's identity.
By the time Shane saw it, it had16k upvotes. Ilya had thought the first fight they had after All-Stars was the worst fight of their marriage, considering it included a divorce ultimatum. The fight after Shane was sent that subreddit thread (again, he refused to say who tipped him off)…. (it was Harris)… had been apocalyptic.
An hour-long, knock-down, drag-out screaming match so aggressive that Ilya wondered for a brief second if they might actually come to blows. Ilya was all over the place emotionally, meeting Shane’s rage with his own list of grievances at being controlled.
Eventually, Shane had screamed himself hoarse, his hands shaking when he looked at Ilya and said, “You’re a miserable asshole who won’t be happy until you ruin both of us.”
Shane retreated to the guest room and Ilya to bed, tossing and turning. He noticed a new calendar notification for a meeting between Shane and their agent Farah before drifting off into a shallow sleep.
There was never a good time for a marriage to fall apart but for two professional hockey players, mid-season was particularly tricky. The strain between Ilya and Shane was very obvious, but years of experience playing through depression, anxiety, secrecy – with zero support – had hardened them. They showed up, they did their job and if Barrett tried to voice his concern so many times Ilya bit his head off or if Shane only attended mandatory team events, everyone was tactful enough not to mention it.
Ilya saw Galina weekly and he could feel the medication taking root, his mornings less foggy and his mind a little quieter, the pressuring easing in his chest. Aside from the crushing heartbreak that was killing him, he was doing better.
He observed Shane carefully but his husband was a wall, as inscrutable to Ilya as he was when they faced each other on the ice. They lived like roommates, trading off the kitchen and gym and rotating Anya’s walks in unspoken agreement. Ilya tried to at least be a good roommate. He kept his spaces tidy, he ate the meal prep, he stopped smoking at the house and almost altogether.
He said good morning and goodnight and made Shane tea when he was watching tape, which Shane accepted with a quiet thank you. Sometimes Shane went out, but Ilya didn’t feel like he had the right to ask where. They didn’t see David and Yuna together because Ilya told them he was having a hard time, which they understood immediately and didn’t push.
March came with a schedule reprieve in the format of a “bye week” the MHL was trying out after years of late-season injuries waylaying their star players. They had a blessed six days off, their longest stretch in the season. Way back in September they had talked about it, deciding that they wouldn’t use that time to take a trip out of Canada because they would be sick of flying. They floated the idea of splitting their time between a Nordic spa in Quebec City and the cottage but never got around to booking it. Maybe that should have been a sign, Ilya thought now, that things were about to fall apart.
Their bye week didn’t overlap with other teams but Ilya wasn’t surprised when Shane made lunch plans with JJ and Hayden – in Montreal, which Shane told Ilya about as he was walking out the door. That meant Shane would be out of the house for hours and hours. Ilya took Anya on a long trail walk, took his SUV through car wash, and salted the driveway. After a shower, he settled on the sofa to watch a movie but for some reason, the streaming service was locked out. Ilya groaned to himself and went to find the iPad, which they specifically set up to manage their multiple accounts.
Ilya punched in the password and the home screen lit up. Before he could click on the streaming service icon, there were multiple message notifications. Shane had set up the iPad and synced it with his iCloud, so these were Shane’s text messages. Ilya and Shane had never hidden their passwords; if Shane needed to check the weather he could pick up Ilya’s phone and if Ilya’s phone was dead he could answer the group chat from Shane’s phone. It had never been a thing, their phones, which is why Ilya was confused by his compulsion to press the iMessage icon.
The Centaurs group chat, Yuna, David, Hayden and JJ, Jackie, Rose, Svetlana, plenty of appointment reminders and automated messages crowded the inbox. Ilya scrolled to Shane’s messages with Ryan – the last was sent a few hours ago, just before Shane left. For one terrifying second, Ilya imagined opening the text and seeing a plan to meet. He pulled up the thread so it took up the entire screen and started scrolling. There were dozens of messages. Ilya scrolled through them frantically, reading the snippets of about personal best weights and sleep scores and soreness. Ryan checking on Shane after hard hits and Shane sending screenshots of his macros. There was nothing scandalous that Ilya could see but there was an intimacy to the mundaneness of it.
It was so hard to get Shane’s attention, to keep it, because of hockey. That was part of what made Ilya feel so special. For years Ilya had given his attention away freely, to whoever was in front of him. He was part of multiple loose social groups in America and Russia, his phone was constantly buzzing. Shane was much more selective with who he let in. And this Ryan had no problem infiltrating Shane’s inner circle. Ilya read and reread the texts and checked the timestamps.
Ilya noticed how Ryan’s style of texting seemed made for Shane – Ryan knew when to ask an open-ended question, when to let a conversation naturally end, when to not push because Shane’s focus was on hockey. He noted that Shane didn’t initiate, but he would always respond – he was too polite not to.
Ilya recognized the pattern because it was one he had mastered during their situationship era, pulling and pushing in equal measure. Because Shane wasn’t easy. He needed a challenge, he needed a goal. It wasn’t just attention Shane wanted, he could get that anywhere. You had to be worthy of his time. Ilya almost dropped the iPad when a new text came through, a response to the chia pudding recipe Ryan had sent this morning.
“Convinced Hayd and JJ to try the place you recommended, if it sucks I will never hear the end of it (and neither will you)” with a crying face emoji.
The three dots were immediate, “I stand behind my choices, Hollander.”
Ilya’s brain went into overdrive. He picked up his phone and text, “Let me know when you get to Montreal safe,” and watched as his name moved to the top of the text stream.
A few seconds later, the iPad lit up, “JJ said the falafel bowl looks promising and Hayden eats like a toddler. You are safe. For now.”
Ilya’s text went unanswered. The chatter with Ryan continued intermittently throughout the day until Shane got home, smiling to himself, and played with Anya for a few minutes before going into his room.
Ilya spent the rest of the week watching Shane carefully for a sign. Of what, he wasn’t sure. Ryan was suddenly everywhere; after the break, he had come to two home games with friends and Shane had not only gotten them tickets, but brought the group to Monks after the game. Having grown up in Ottawa, there was a network of social connections that Ilya was untangling - Ryan’s sister went to high school with Harris, and he played juniors with the Cens video coach Chris. On the nights when Shane had guests, Ilya knew he should go home and give Shane his space but he couldn’t help himself from sulking at the bar with a lukewarm beer until Shane was ready to go home.
The month deadline had passed and Shane didn’t mention it. Neither did Ilya. Home life went on: Anya, travel, meals at the kitchen island, separate bedrooms but also, a ceasefire. Since the blowup over Reddit, neither of them raised their voices or insulted the other. They both were touch-starved and sometimes reached for each other out of habit or brushed each other without thinking before one of them pulled back.
Therapy was like a riptide that pulled Ilya under and spit him out every week. He kept up with his weekly appointments and after a particularly brutal session in late March, where they spent an hour discussing Ilya’s origin wound of abandonment and how he was mirroring it in his relationship with Shane. He cried the entire way home and planned to go straight to his room, but Shane caught him in the entryway unexpectedly.
Shane coaxed him into the living room where he asked about Ilya’s therapy and medication, listening intently. After Ilya had said everything he could through tears, they hugged tightly. Ilya felt he had let Shane down in almost every way but the one place he refused to let him down was on the ice. He played hard and with discipline, focusing on a packed March schedule.
The practice rink was also a Ryan-free space; players didn’t bring their personal trainers to the work. Not only would that be considered unprofessional and a slap in the face to the large team of trainers, but the insurance wouldn’t cover it. Ilya was glad for the reprieve.
March flipped to April. Playoffs were brutal and not just because of the high expectations – the Rozanov/Hollander era pushed the Centaurs through three deep runs and one Cup win – but an unlucky streak of injuries. Bood suffered a separated shoulder from an unfortunate hit in the last week of regular season against Tampa, knocking him out for the rest of the season. Hayes tweaked his wrist and was considered “day-to-day,” and their backup goalie was enthusiastic but untested. Sore knees, sprained ankles, broken toes, mild concussions – it was like an ER room every night. They fell to Boston in six games of the second round. It just wasn’t their year.
Suddenly, there was a whole spring and summer ahead of them. On locker clean-out day, Troy reminded everyone of the weekend event Dover Farms cidery. Harris’s sister was launching a line of beeswax candles, made from the family’s own hive. Ilya had really neglected his friendship with Troy and Harris and loved the farm so he hesitantly asked Shane if he would be up for it.
“Ya we should go,” Shane said. “Harris gave me a sample and the candles are unscented, which is safest for dogs. And it will probably be the last chance to see the team before everyone goes home for summer.”
Ilya agreed enthusiastically and responded for both of them on the group chat. Come Saturday, they each got ready in their respective rooms and met in the entryway. Ilya shyly complimented Shane’s blue sweater and Shane told Ilya he smelled nice. As Shane drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on the center console, Ilya reached his hand over to brush fingers against Shane’s knuckles.
Ilya loved Dover Cidery – the fairy lights, the scuffed floors, the picnic tables full of customer engravings, especially the one where he had carved I hearts S into the soft wood.
The room was packed with various Centaurs players and their wives, plus a few of the head office staff who were close with Harris, everyone happily chatting and munching on passed canapés and drinking cider. Shane and Ilya stuck close together, greeting Harris’s parents and making the rounds with their teammates. Ilya felt so happy and relaxed that he didn’t notice when a new group entered the room until Shane turned and waved. To Ryan, who was looking at Shane with gooey eyes.
Ilya instantly stiffened, expecting Shane to dart off but he didn’t leave. Instead, he dove into a conversation with the assistant trainer, who was in the middle of a complex house renovation. Ilya nodded along contentedly until Wyatt and Lisa came over, and the conversation floated to summer vacation plans. Shane broke off to use the washroom and Ilya waited for a few minutes, tracking Shane as he came out of washroom and was pulled into conversation with a woman Ryan came in with.
Ilya waited a few minutes, watching Ryan make his way over with a fake nonchalance that Ilya recognized. Shane was happily laughing and chatting, his face relaxed. Ilya grabbed another cider and headed outside for fresh air and instead found Bood, Barret, LaPointe, Dykstra, Hayes, Chouinard and Haas indulging in cigars. They whooped when Ilya came out, even as he waved off an offer of a cigar because they always gave him a headache. They moved their chairs into a circle and chatted easily, Ilya’s attention split between the conversation and trying to catch a glimpse of Shane inside.
Hayes tapped his toe against Ilya’s shoe. “You good Cap?”
“Yes yes, fine.”
“Where’s Shane?”
“Inside, with friends.”
“We’re his friends!” Haas exclaimed, cheeks pink from his third cider.
“How you guys doing with the loss? Bad enough having one hockey player in the house, I can’t imagine two,” Bood said.
“You win, you lose. We understand this,” Ilya said a little quietly.
“OK what the fuck is going on,” Barrett said, a little more loudly than he meant. “Not to get in your business Rozy but you’ve been really quiet lately. Is everything OK?”
Ilya looked around at the group and realized everyone’s eyes were on him, wide-eyed with concerned. He could brush them off or he could lie but with the love of his life 30 feet away and completely unreachable. The intense stretch of therapy had made him an exposed nerve.
“There might be some changes after this season,” he said tentatively. “I don’t want to speak for Shane but there’s been some problems, with us at home. I’ve had a bad year with my depression. It has pushed Shane to maybe look at other teams.”
Lucas Haas honest-to-goodness gasped as Dykstra muttered “fuck” under his breath, the rest of them shouting their protestations.
“Do not worry,” Ilya said quickly, “I will not allow that. I will retire before that happens. He should not leave his hometown team.”
“Wait wait wait,” Barrett said. “So how the hell would this work? You guys would go back to being long distance? What would that solve?”
Hayes groaned loudly, “Barrett man…”
Ilya shook his head. “No, not long distance.”
“I don’t get it,” said LaPointe. “If you play for different teams you’re long distance.”
“Not if we aren’t married,” Ilya said.
Chouinard choked on a sip of his cider as Haas gasped a second time, even more dramatically than the first.
“What that fuck Cap,” Hayes whispered, “are you guys getting a divorce?”
Ilya shrugged, taking a long pull from his can.
“This makes no fucking sense,” Barrett said bluntly. “Shane is not leaving you because you have depression, you’ve had it since before you were married. What really happened?”
Ilya had to give it to his dumbass best friend, who had shockingly astute moments. “We had an issue at All-Stars We had a big fight and it hasn’t really gotten better.”
“Oh cause you did blow at All-Stars,” LaPointe said as Bood leaned over and punched him in the arm causing him to yelp.
Ilya shrugged, “One of the reasons, yes.”
“OK well you did something stupid and you don’t do it again. Shane doesn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge” Hayes added. It’s been five months since All-Stars, is he still that mad about it?”
“It’s not Shane. I’ve been difficult, moody. Hard to live with every day.”
“What are you doing about it?” Barrett asked bluntly.
“Therapy, meds. It’s been better but too late, probably.
“I don’t know,” Chouinard added, “You guys came here tonight. He seems like he’s in a good mood.”
“Not because of me,” Ilya mumbled.
“What does that mean?” asked Bood.
Ilya pointed at the window, which perfectly framed Ryan and Shane, like they were two actors in a rom-com.
All the heads turned to look at what Ilya was pointing at. “Fuck,” Luca muttered under his breath.
“Ryan?” Barrett asked, confused.
“Hmmm yes, Ryan. He texts my husband about 100 times a day.”
Wyatt let out a sarcastic huff. “Oh right, Shane’s going to leave you for a rando.”
“Get real man,” Bood added, shaking his head.
“Ya Cap, Ryan’s a chud.” LaPoint added.
“A what?” Hayes asked.
“A chud!” LaPointe exclaimed, feeling the full effects of his fifth cider.
"Cap, I’m confused,” Lucas asked, “has something happened?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Have they kissed or something?”
“No,” Ilya said, “I mean, I don’t think so, but Shane would tell me.”
“So another guy wants your man. Get in line Ryan!” Hayes exclaimed.
“Seriously Rozy why are you sweating this guy. He has a crush on Shane, big deal.” Barrett added.
“He is from Ottawa, he is a health freak, he knows hockey, he is normal,” Ilya counted off on his fingers.
“BFD” Hayes scoffed. “You’re Ilya fucking Rozanov.”
“And he’s Hottie Hollander,” LaPointe added helpfully. “He must get hit on constantly. Do you ever check his DMs?”
The group collectively ignored LaPointe.
“What the fuck Roz?” Barrett added, “I can’t believe you are letting this guy step to your man.”
“Step to my man!” Ilya said incredulously. “I was in deep depression for months and he slithered in, like a snake.”
“So that’s it, you are just giving up?” Chouinard added. “Seems like kind of a pussy move, to be honest.”
Ilya’s mouth dropped open, “What the fuck.”
“Look I don’t agree with the language,” Hayes added, “But Chouy is right Roz. You’re kind of being a pussy.”
Barrett piled on, “You guys have been chasing each other since you were 18 years old. Living legend hall of famers, enemies of Roger Crowell. The first husbands of hockey. And you’re going to just give up? Because of that guy?” Barrett gestured towards the barn.
“I am respecting him and if he wants to leave I can’t stop him. I have no right to, after how I’ve acted this year.”
“If he really wants to leave, sure,” Bood added, “but you came here together tonight, and you are sitting outside pouting while your husband is getting hit on by a CrossFit rat.”
They all murmured in agreement.
“Dangers of being married to a hottie Roz. Other doctors hit on Lisa all the time. Actual brain surgeons,” Hayes added, “I never took you for a quitter.”
Ilya looked at his teammates, knowing full well they were hyping him up, and drained his drink. Then he got up, adjusted his collar and said, “I’m going to find my husband” while his idiot friends howled and catcalled.
As soon as Ilya walked through the door, Shane made eye contact and waved him over.
“Hey, I was wondering where you went,” Shane said, holding his hand out.
“Just saying hi to the team,” Ilya said softly, wrapping his arm around Shane’s waist. He turned and faced his competition.
“Hello Ryan,” he said with a smirk.
“Hello” Ryan said smoothly, his eyes tracking between Shane and Ilya. ‘I was just asking Shane about his summer plans.”
“We spend most of it at our cottage,” Shane said lightly, “Plus two weeks of foundation camps, one here and one in Montreal. And the last couple of summers we’ve done a week or so in Europe. I found a resort in Sardinia this year, but we don’t book anything until playoffs end.”
“Old superstition,” Ilya said fondly, looking at Shane.
“Oh where’s your cottage?” Ryan asked excitedly.
Ryan didn’t know about the cottage? Ilya perked up.
“Quebec,” Shane said politely.
“Oh my cousins have a place in Ladrelle I usually go to in the summers, are you near there?”
“That general area,” Shane hummed.
“I know some great hikes in that area, if you are there in August. Some are overnight though, do you camp?”
This guy has some fucking nerve, Ilya thought.
“Ilya’s a city boy, so we stick to the local trails.”
Ryan turned to Ilya, “Shane mentioned you're from Moscow. Do you still visit in the off season?”
This guys is fucking relentless. “Ah, no. I’m on a foreign agents registry for LGBT propaganda. I have been a Canadian citizen since last year, on Canada Day.”
“Oh was that through marriage?” Ryan asked with mock innocence.
“No, citizenship doesn’t really work that way in Canada. That’s a common misconception. He had Express Entry because of his job and went through the process, same as anyone else would,” Shane said, with a bit of defensiveness.
“Ah OK, I just assumed, you guys got married so fast,” Ryan said.
Shane looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“Oh I just assumed you started dating shortly before you were outed. Which was obviously horrible.”
“No, we were together for years before that. I just assumed everyone knew that?” Shane said turning to Ilya with his eyebrows scrunched, which made Ilya want to kiss him on the mouth.
“Since we were teenagers,” Ilya said affectionately.
Ryan couldn’t school his expression fast enough to hide his surprise. “Wow, crazy you guys managed to keep it hidden for so long.”
“We were off and on,” Shane added, “for years. But yes it was a big risk. More so for Ilya, obviously.”
“And to have that choice taken away like that and have to make a snap decision….”
“We were planning to come out a few months later,” Ilya said flatly. “We were already engaged.” Does this guy know Shane at all?
“I can’t imagine being with my high school girlfriend,” Ryan directed at Shane, “And not just because I’m gay.”
Shane shrugged, “It’s actually pretty common for hockey players. But I actually wish we had gotten serious sooner.”
“Yes me too,” Ilya said, squeezing Shane into him, “we were silly boys.”
He leaned in and pecked Shane on the lips, a very chaste kiss for them. But after so long in their self-imposed distance, Shane immediately flushed. Ilya turned back to Ryan and raised his eyebrows.
“Well, I should circulate,” Ryan said tightly.
The Centaurs filtered back in and crowded Shane and Ilya, making plans for one last team dinner before the end of the week. Dykstra took over the AUX cord but Ilya had to admit the country music suited the vibe. He got Bood and Hayes’s attention and asked them to keep Shane occupied as he slipped off.
He found Ryan near the bar and tapped him on the shoulder. “Come outside with me for a minute,” Ilya said, no hint of a question.
Ryan nodded and followed Ilya outside, to where the Centaurs had been smoking earlier, the noise from the party fading as the door clanged shut.
Ilya turned to face Ryan, who smiled and crossed his arms in front of his body. “I think I might have given you the wrong idea Ryan,” Ilya said. “And I want to clear something up.”
Ryan looked at Ilya curiously. “I’m all ears.”
“I have been unwell this season, for a few reasons, and maybe you think you have been a friend to Shane, or maybe you want to be more than a friend. Which I understand. Shane is very easy to want more of. It happens to people all the time.”
Ryan narrowed his eyes as Ilya continued. “But whatever chance you think you might have with Shane is in your head. I can guarantee you that. He is very loyal and we have deep roots. Don’t make this uncomfortable for Shane. OK?”
Ryan pursed his lips and frowned. “Shane doesn’t seem uncomfortable with me, at all. And until I hear otherwise, from Shane directly, I’ll continue to be the friend that I am. To tell you the truth, I had heard a lot about you from other people and expected you to hover more, or something?” Ryan bit back the start of a smile. “But he rarely mentions you and it doesn’t seem like you spend much time together, considering you are married and play on the same team. He’s a great guy. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know him.”
“Shane is a nice person, friendly. Professional. I am not.” Ilya said, taking a step forward.
“Look dude,” Ryan said with a huff, “I don’t know what you want me to say. You are never around, I assumed you had an open marriage or something. That’s all it was, OK? He said you didn’t and I backed off. He’s very trusting, so even if he caught you red-handed with a woman, I’m sure you could talk your way out of it.”
“There is nothing to catch,” Ilya said, teetering on anger.
“Ya I don’t know if you have access to the internet,” Ryan said condescendingly, “but either everyone in the world is wrong about you, or Shane is.” “
Shane is never wrong about anything,” Ilya said. “You don’t know Shane, really. And you don’t know me. Keep your nose out of my fucking house, do you understand? I will ask you nicely this one time. Next time it will not be nice.” Ilya brushed pass Ryan and headed back into the party, his eyes tracking Shane to the center of the room where he was still surrounded by their teammates, laughing into the night.
The ride home was quiet but not uncomfortable, Anya greeting them at the door when they got home. Ilya put on her LED leash to take her around the block while Shane headed to his guest room, saying he needed a shower after being in the humid barn. Ilya heard the water shut off when he got in and was surprised when Shane reemerged as he was filling Anya’s water bowl.
“What were you talking to Ryan about, outside?” Ilya groaned internally; Hayes and Bood were the worst decoys ever.
“We had some words,” Ilya said. “I think he has an idea about you and him.”
“He tried to kiss me,” Shane blurted out.
“Tonight?” Ilya asked with surprise. “When? I was with you most of the night.”
“Not tonight. A few months ago. In March.”
Ilya put both of his hands in front of him on the island and counted to five. He knew he needed to ask the question, even if he didn’t want the answer. “Did you kiss him back?”
“No of course not,” Shane said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I do not think this is a ridiculous thing Shane, you text each other night and day. He clearly has a big crush on you.”
“Well it doesn’t matter. I text him about my fitness and nutrition, that’s it. We are friendly obviously but not like that.”
“Are you attracted to him?”
“No,” Shane said without a hint of defensiveness.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” Shane answered like Ilya asked him the dumbest question in the world. “I’m just not, OK?”
“He would be easy for you.” Ilya said.
“Easier than you?” Shane asked snarkily.
“Yes.”
“Honestly Ilya, who wouldn’t be.”
Ilya couldn’t help but chuckle at Shane’s bitchiness. Touché.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ilya asked.
“Because you were in the middle of a very scary depressive episode. And we were in a bad place and I was fucking terrified about it and didn’t want it to like be the thing that pushed us over the edge.”
“That would never be the thing Shane, no one will ever come between us. Ever.”
“No one needs to Ilya. All of our problems are self-inflicted.”
Ilya swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay put. “It is the end of the season, have you made a decision.”
Shane rolled his eyes, “Well I haven’t asked for a trade, if that’s what you mean. Obviously.”
“It’s not obvious, Shane. We need to talk about it.”
“Fine,” Shane huffed, looking like he didn’t want to talk at all. “You seem to be doing better with the medication and therapy. Do you feel better?”
“Yes, I do feel much better. But it’s not only about me Shane.”
“I’ll get over it.”
Ilya considered that for a minute. “This isn’t good enough, I think. For you to just try to forget it.”
“It’s what we’ve always done,” Shane says tightly. “And eventually, I do get over it.”
“Maybe we try a new way,” Ilya said, “because I think that maybe you resent me for being depressed.”
Shane pushed his shoulders up and took a deep breath. “It’s not that you are depressed. It’s how you act when you are not treating your depression.”
“I was cruel to you.”
“You were.”
“I’m sorry. I’m very, very fucking sorry.”
“OK thanks. I know I was like, hard on you sometimes too. So I’m sorry for that.”
Ilya wanted to tell Shane everything, every detail of the tangle he’d been unraveling with Galina. He suddenly needed to. “I threw out the cookies because they reminded me of my mother and I didn’t want to be reminded that day. I didn’t want to think of her. I was angry. I woke up that way and it had nothing to do with you.”
Shane sucked in his breath and chewed his lip. “OK thank you for telling me. I wish you had told me then.”
“Me too.”
“I’m not a punching bag Ilya.”
“I know. You are my only family and, I don’t know, Galina thinks I never had the chance to be upset at my mother or sad with my father and I am doing it now. With you. It’s hard to understand. It is fucking complicated and it’s fucking embarrassing.”
“When that thing came out about you on the Internet, I hate that I yelled at you like that. I’ve never yelled like that in my life. I scared myself. And that was probably triggering for you. So I’m sorry for that.”
Ilya shook it off, “I deserved it Shane.”
“I don’t have feelings for Ryan, OK?” Shane burst out. “But I liked the attention, I think. I knew he liked me. And I didn’t try to stop until he tried to kiss me.”
Ilya nodded, feeling a heaviness in his chest.
“I was just so fucking upset. Ilya you can’t do drugs. I mean you can, it’s your body and whatever, but I can’t be married to someone who does that. We’re just… we’re just too fucking old, OK? We have less than 10 years if we stay healthy and if want kids when we retire I have to be able to trust you. I need to know that you aren’t going to drive us to the fucking edge of a cliff every time your depression breaks through.”
“I won’t do it again. I know you have no reason to trust me but this is the easy part for me. It wasn’t that the drugs, exactly, it’s more that when I feel low like I do reckless things for the rush. Galina said it’s emotional dysregulation,” he pronounced each syllable of it carefully, “and we are working on it.”
“Do you want me to stop working with Ryan?” Shane asked.
“No. I trust you.”
“Are you sure?”
Ilya thought about Ryan smirking at him and considered his options. “Maybe you can take the summer off, at least until training camp?”
“Ya that sounds fair,” Shane nodded. “And what do you want to do about this summer.”
“I want to go to the cottage and do the camps and go to Italy and eat fucking pasta and swim in the ocean. I know we are not there yet but we only get so much time off. I don’t want to waste it.”
“I don’t either. I feel like we wasted this whole season.”
“You didn’t waste anything, you played beautifully.”
“I’m not talking about hockey,” Shane replied sadly.
“I’m sorry I ruined it for you. I fucking love you Shane. And I like you. You are my favourite person in the world. I hate so much that I do this to us,” Ilya said, trying to hide the crack in his voice as Shane made his way around the island.
There would be a team dinner at Bood’s and 20 eager kids at camp each week and a stopover in London to see Svetlana and an ocean-front suite in Sardinia. There would Shane scared out of his mind when a camper fell and needed stitches that she proudly showed off the next day, there would be Ilya convincing the resort staff to let him into the kitchen so he could learn the chef’s exact technique for making a silky carbonara, there would be Svetlana hosting them at a members-only club where Shane got drunk off Pimm’s Cups, there would be Ilya almost losing his trunks in the waves while Shane laughed himself breathless on the shore. But at that moment, it was just them.
Shane’s doesn’t try to stop Ilya’s tears, or his own. They let them fall onto each other’s shoulders as they hold on tight in their quiet kitchen.