Work Text:
Lily: Cant wait to rock your world tonight
Lily: Maybe I fuck you twice before going back to hotel.
Lily: Think we have time?
Jane: You could spend the night.
Jane: If you want.
Jane: Make up for November, maybe? We could go more than twice, probably.
Lily: You are still very bad at sexting
Jane: What time is your flight?
Lily: 10
Jane: Well then maybe between the game ending and you leaving in the morning you could rock my world maybe three times?
Lily: 5
Jane: What?? I don’t think we can manage 5
Lily: You have no faith in me
Lily: Or my dick
Lily: for that, I’m making it 6 times
Jane: Yeah right, you won’t be able to go 6 times in one night
Lily: afraid you cant take me 6 times?
Jane: Fuck you
Jane: I can take it
Jane: But I do have another game tomorrow. Back to back this week
Jane: I still need to be able to walk in the morning
Lily: Is against Ottawa tomorrow, you don’t need to walk
Lily: Shane Hollander will still be able to skate circles around Ottawa after I fuck him 6 times.
Jane: Delete that
Jane: Fuck
Jane: Ok
Jane: Lets try it
Jane: 6 times. That’s the goal
Jane: 1919
Jane: Thats the code to the front door.
Lily: Oh, I get front door privileges now?
Jane: Fuck you
Lily: Later. 6 times
Jane: Ok, we need to stop. Warmups in 5 min
Lily: Oh, you are hard.
Lily: You will skate crooked all night
Jane: Fuck off
Lily: never
Shane eyed Ilya across the ice. It had been a hard road to get there, but he was Ilya now, no longer Rozanov. He wasn’t sure when exactly that shift had happened in his mind, somewhere between making up at all stars and listening to Ilya’s heartfelt Russian phone call after his fathers funeral. Shane didn’t know where they stood now, exactly, but he knew he wanted more than they had given each other in the past. Ilya had said they couldn’t be anything, but Shane still wanted to try. He would take any moments he could with the man, including this opportunity to have Ilya in his bed all night. Shane had morning skate, and Ilya had a flight. They could make it work.
Well, they could make it work if everything was okay with Ilya. Something seemed off. He was a little more droopy than normal as he skated laps for warmups on the Raiders side of the ice. Shane didn’t know how else to describe it. He was a little hunched and a little slower than normal. Eventually he dropped to the ice, near the center line, as if to stretch, but he didn’t move directly into any pose, instead kneeling for a long moment as if catching his breath.
Shane skated up to the line.
Up close, it was worse. He hadn’t done much in the way of warmups, but Ilya was sweaty, his face pale, and his jaw clenched tight, as if in pain.
“Hey, are you okay?” Shane asked just low enough that it wouldn’t carry more than the few feet to Ilya.
Ilya looked like he tried to school his expression to something cool and collected. He failed. “Hollander, I am perfect. Ready to send your team home crying.”
“Are you sure? We can skip tonight,” Shane suggested.
“No backing out now, Hollander. You agreed to six.”
“Yeah, but like, if you’re not feeling up to it—”
“I am very up to it, Shane” Ilya said, his eyes sharp in his pale face.
“Okay,” Shane said, sliding back a few inches. “Okay, later then.”
Ilya nodded, and moved into a stretch, slowly, as if he was stiff.
Shane forced his eyes away and skated to the boards, scooping up a water bottle and squirting it into his mouth.
“What was that about?” Hayden asked.
Shane blinked, his mind still on the Russian, moving slowly through his stretches, wincing occasionally. Was it his ribs? “Oh, I just offered my condolences,” Shane said.
“Oh, yeah. That’s nice,” Hayden said. “Fuck, I should have done that. What did he say?”
“Told me to fuck off.”
Hayden laughed. “Jesus, what a dick.”
“He’s not that bad,” Shane said, his heart hurting a little. How could they ever make something work when even his closest friend hated the man he was pretty sure he was in love with? “It’s mostly an act.”
“A pretty convincing one.”
“Yeah, well, let’s make sure we win this one, right?”
“Fucking right!” Hayden said, tapping Shane’s helmet with his own and skating off.
“Right,” Shane said under his breath. He finished his warm ups, fighting hard to keep his eyes not glued to Ilya. He wasn’t super successful.
The first period was a shit show. Ilya was slow and sloppy, and maybe a bit more aggressive than normal. Overcompensating if Shane had to guess. He was so pale, and sweat dripped down his face. Shane tried to catch his eye several times, but he ignored him.
Toward the end of the first, Ilya snatched the puck from JJ and was trying for a breakaway when Hayden slammed him into the boards, and stole the puck, something Hayden normally wouldn’t have managed. Hayden tried for a shot, but the Raiders goalie froze the puck.
While they reset play, Shane skated over to Ilya, still standing near the boards, hunched over and breathing heavily.
“How exactly are you going to rock my world when you can barely stand?” Shane asked. Sympathy hadn’t worked before, so he tried for a joke. Ilya scoffed, but didn’t reply, his jaw still tight. “Are you okay? Seriously, Ilya?”
“I am fine, Shane.” He forced out a breath that might have been an attempt at a laugh but sounded more pained. Marlow, as if spotting Shane hassling his captain, skated up. “I will still fuck your ass tonight,” Ilya said, with forced bravo.
Marlow let out a laugh, and slapped Ilya on the back, making Ilya stagger under the blow. “I think you mean fuck him up, or kick his ass, Roz.”
“Ah, thank you, Marley,” Ilya said, and skated for the bench before his coach could even flag him over.
“He’s not well,” Shane hissed at Marlow.
“Fuck off, Hollander. He’s fine.” Marlow tried to skate away, but Shane grabbed his arm.
“Take care of him, Marlow.”
“Whatever, man. He’s my captain. We’ve got him.” Marlow shook him off.
Shane bit back any number of things he wanted to say. Ilya was very clearly not well. His team had to notice. Maybe they would pull him over intermission.
Ilya sat the bench for the last few minutes of the period, and Shane didn’t get a good look at him again, his head mostly down, before he had to head back down the tunnel for intermission.
Jane: Seriously, are you ok?
Jane: Talk to me
Jane: Don’t come over if your dying.
Jane: go see your trainer or I won’t let you fuck me
Lily: 🫡
When they returned for the second period, Ilya had not been pulled from the game. In fact, he met Shane for the first faceoff, eyes bright in his flushed sweaty face.
“What did they give you?” Shane hissed, as he crouched for the faceoff.
“Just some electrolytes,” Ilya said with a grin. “Come on, Hollander, focus.”
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Shane started, but the puck dropped, and Ilya won the faceoff.
Ilya was skating better, if not a little frantic. His moves were rushed, and he seemed to shy away from physical blows, as if protecting his ribs. Shane was pretty sure he hadn’t taken a bad hit in his last game, but he had watched it on his return flight from a roadie, so maybe he missed something. It had been Ilya’s first game back after his trip to Russia for his fathers funeral. Could he have hurt his ribs in Russia? He mentioned something with his brother, but if that was the case, Shane should have noticed it in his last game.
Shane was distracted through the second period, but the Raiders were playing worse. It didn’t seem to matter that Shane had only scored once. In the third, Ilya managed to score after stripping the puck from Hayden, but the Metros still won, 2-1. In the handshake line Ilya said nothing, but gave Shane a big wide grin, his eyes intense, and his face drenched with sweat.
Jane: I think you should get some sleep
Lily: dont chicken out on me now
Jane: I mean it. I want you to get rest.
Shane glanced down at his phone for the hundredth time since getting home. Ilya still hadn’t responded, and he was hoping the man had gotten back to his hotel and passed out. He was sad for the missed opportunity, for the night they almost got to spend in each other’s arms, but Ilya wasn’t in any shape to be sneaking around and staying up late. Once the booster his team trainer gave him wore off, he would be out cold. Shane was very familiar with the type of concoctions they gave players to help them through a flu. Shane had played plenty of games over his career amped up on the weird mix of legal drugs, pain killers, and stimulants.
Shane took his after game meal out of the microwave, and popped the top on a ginger ale, just as his front door beeped. He stood and moved into the hall as the door swung open, showing Ilya standing in the doorway, grinning dopily and looking great in a pair of tight jeans and a leather jacket. Well, he looked great at first, but as Shane moved closer he couldn’t help but see he was still pale, a little sweaty, and the lines around his eyes were squinty.
“Ready for the promised world rocking?” Ilya said.
Shane pulled him inside and closed the door behind him. “Ilya, you should be in bed.” Shane pulled at his shirt, trying to get a look at his ribs, but Ilya shied away from his fingers, leaning in for a kiss, which Shane returned in a quick peck. “Is it your ribs? I can get ice.”
Shane moved to his kitchen, and pulled out an icepack from his freezer. He turned and froze, as Ilya pulled his shirt over his head, and threw it at Shane, his jacket and shoes discarded somewhere in the hall.
“Ice is not what I need right now, Shane.”
There was heat in his eyes, but something else, too. Something a little dazed and out of it. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled them and his underwear down in one go, kicking them off. It wasn’t the sexiest strip Shane had ever seen Ilya do, but it still made his heart race. Shane ignored his body’s reaction and eyed Ilya’s ribs closely. He wasn’t bruised.
Ilya leaned against the counter. It was almost a sexy move, except he wobbled. “Should we do the first round in the kitchen? I would think you would not like this, would say is unsanitary.” Ilya shivered just a little, his chest a little dewy. Shane glanced down. He wasn’t even hard.
Shane gave him what he hoped was a sexy smile and stepped forward. “I think I wanna be in my bed for this.” He grabbed Ilya’s hand, and laced their fingers together, pulling him down the hall. “Come on.”
Ilya grinned and followed without complaint. His free hand came up and rubbed against his shoulder, as if chilled.
“Why don’t you get into bed and I’ll kiss you all over?” Shane suggested, pulling the blanket back, and giving Ilya a little push. He went down without a complaint, but maybe a little gasp of pain. Shane leaned in and kissed Ilya once, gently. He pulled away slowly. “I’ll be right back.”
Shane tugged up the corner of the blanket, covering him.
Ilya whined. “No, less clothes. Not more,” he complained, but snuggled into the blanket.
“Just a minute,” Shane said. “I will unwrap you when I get back.”
Ilya’s smile was sweet and sappy, his eyes closing gently before Shane darted into the bathroom and rummaged in the cabinet.
Shane found his thermometer and clicked it on as he returned to the bed, and stuck it gently into Ilya’s mouth. He thought he aimed right to get it under his tongue.
“Mnf. Shane,” Ilya began to complain.
“Shush. Don’t talk. Keep your mouth closed, please,” Shane said, and kissed Ilya’s forehead, and then his cheek.
Ilya grumbled something that sounded like ‘sexy doctor’ before tipping his head back to provide better access to his neck. Shane obliged, and kissed Ilya’s sweaty neck, giving little kisses and licks, distracting him for the few seconds it took for the thermometer to start beeping. Ilya cracked one eye open, but Shane ignored him as he pulled the reader from Ilya’s mouth and read it.
39.2°C
“Fuck! I knew it. You have a fucking fever. I’m getting you some Tylenol.”
Shane stormed out of the room, ignoring Ilya’s feeble protests. No way was that man going to pick himself up out of bed at this point and follow him. He returned to the bedroom in a huff, and shook Ilya awake. “Here take these,” Shane said, holding the pills to his lips.
Ilya moaned and shook his head, avoiding the pills. “No. No pills, Shane. No pills.”
“It’s just Tylenol. It won’t hurt you and will help take your fever down.”
“I don’t like pills,” Ilya grumbled. “They are hard sometimes.”
Shane frowned. Pills were usually hard. Or did he mean he preferred capsules? He might have some liquid jells somewhere. “Like you have a hard time swallowing?” he asked.
“No. I am a great swallower. You know this.” And there was that grin again, his eyes just barely open, but a little glassy. He was definitely still amped on whatever the team had given him, but he was crashing hard.
“Shut up, asshole,” Shane said fondly, and sat on the bed, he put his hand on Ilya, but he pulled away with a little groan. That was okay. Shane also didn’t like being touched sometimes when he wasn’t feeling good. He didn’t take it personally. “Help me understand what the problem is so I can fix it.”
Ilya was quiet for a long time, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft and low. “My mama. She used pills.” He cleared his throat. “I— is not always problem, but. Sometimes.”
Oh. Did he mean what Shane thought he meant? Shane knew his mom had died when he was young, but he had never told him how. Shane rubbed Ilya’s shoulder gently.
“Just close your eyes for a little bit. I’ll be back, okay?”
“No, come get in bed with me, Shane. Keep me warm.”
“In a little bit. Let me get something first.”
Shane wandered into the kitchen and tried to think what all he had that Ilya would like. He had a sweet tooth, but Shane didn’t really keep sweets. He sighed and pulled out a bowl and a spoon and crushed up the Tylenol.
He returned to Ilya, spoon in hand, and gently shook him awake. His forehead was damp, and he was shivering gently. He groaned again, but opened his eyes. “Open up please.”
“That better be your dick.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Shane said with a grin.
Ilya peered at the spoon with suspicion. “What is it?”
“It’s a spoonful of jam.”
“Shane Hollander brings me spoons of jam now as night time snack?”
“Just open.”
He did, and grimaced when Shane scraped the spoon against his top teeth, making him take it all like Jackie taught him when feeding one of the Pike babies.
“That is worst jam I have ever had. Is not sweet, very bitter.”
“It’s because there's no sugar added and because I laced it with Tylenol,” Shane said. “Lick, please.” He held out the spoon.
“You will poison me,” Ilya complained, but he licked the spoon with another grimace.
“I’m trying to keep you alive, dumbass. Drink this.”
He helped Ilya sit up long enough to sip electrolyte water, before falling back into bed with a groan.
“Okey, you have tortured me,” Ilya whined. “Will you climb in bed now and keep me warm?”
“Yeah but what time is your flight so I can set an alarm? I have morning skate, but you can stay later.”
Shane peeled off his clothes, and pulled on a loose sleep shirt and sweat pants. When he glanced at Ilya, he wasn’t even watching him change. He must really feel horrible.
“Mmm. Flight is a little after ten,” Ilya said. Shane did some quick airport math in his head, and set his alarm for himself, another for Ilya to leave for his hotel in the morning, and a third for four hours from now, so he could take Ilya’s temperature again, and give him more Tylenol.
They didn’t make it that far before Shane was being jolted awake. Ilya had wrapped him in his arms as they slept, but now was shoving him away as he flailed, crying out in pain.
There was a loud thump as Shane jumped out of bed, but when he turned to Ilya, he didn’t see him. He could hear him however.
Shane darted around the foot of the bed to find Ilya, still naked, curled on his side puking up his guts.
“Fuck, Ilya, are you okay?”
But Ilya didn’t respond as he heaved and heaved, nothing new coming out.
Shane got a wet washcloth and brought it to him, crouching down by his head.
“No, Shane,” Ilya groaned, trying to push him away.
“Hey, sh sh shhhh. It’s no big deal, I can clean it up. Let me see.” Shane ran the washcloth over Ilya’s sweaty forehead and down his neck before wiping the puke off his face. “Tell me what’s wrong. Is it just your stomach?”
“Uzhasnaya bol,” Ilya said.
“Try again please,” Shane said, running a hand down his face. “English, please.”
Ilya let out a pained breath, and screwed up his face. “Stabbing, in stomach.”
“Here?” Shane asked, before reaching down and touching him, but Ilya cried out, curling up at the touch.
“Yebat!” Ilya cursed.
“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” Shane said. Fuck. He wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe a bath? That sometimes helped him when he felt bad. Or it made him feel worse. Fuck. He wished he could call his mom. “Do you think you can get back in bed?”
Ilya just whined. Shane tried to lift him, but he flailed and cried out. Instead Shane moved him away from the vomit pile and brought him his pillow and draped the blanket over him while he panicked. He googled stabbing stomach pain fever, and then he kept panicking after reading the results. Finally, he called 911. The lady who answered was kind, calm, and walked him through everything he needed to do while he waited for paramedics. She stayed on the line while he wrestled Ilya into a hoodie and sweatpants, and asked him easy questions while he found Ilya’s jacket and retrieved his wallet and phone.
She eventually hung up and wished him a good night when the ambulance pulled up outside his building and two medics climbed out, an older woman who looked serious and smart, Kelly, she said, and a younger guy whose wide eyes told Shane he knew exactly who he was, Miller.
Shane tried not to panic further.
“Where’s the patient?” Kelly asked, giving him a once over.
“He’s upstairs, I couldn’t bring him down without hurting him worse.”
They retrieved a gurney and followed him inside and into the elevator.
The young guy bounced on his heels as they went up, his eyes darting back to Shane, and then his partner a few times. “Got a sick teammate up there?” he asked in between one of a dozen questions Kelly was throwing at him.
The elevator opened with a ping, and Shane stepped out, and paused. He glanced at Miller. “Look, I know privacy laws don’t always mean everything, but I need you to be like, really cool about this. Okay?” Shane’s pulse was racing, and he really really wanted to find a quiet corner and chill for like eight years, but Ilya needed him. He needed these two medics.
Kelly shot a look at Miller who shrugged. “He’s a professional athlete. One of the biggest names in Monstreal.”
Kelly eyed him closer, as if recognizing him, then shrugged. “If it’s an overdose or something we need to stop wasting time. NARCAN needs to be given quickly.”
“No, it’s—” Shane didn’t have words, he just unlocked his apartment and led them into the bedroom.
“Fuck, is that—?”
Kelly glared at Miller and dropped to her knees beside Ilya, pulling back the blanket. Ilya was asleep again, but curled up, pain clear on his face. “What’s his name?”
“Ilya Rozanov,” Miller supplied, and Shane sighed.
“Ilya, can you hear me?” Kelly asked, and put a hand on his shoulder.
Ilya jerked awake, alarmed at the new faces. “Shane,” he started, reaching for him.
Shane knelt down on his other side, taking his hand. “It’s okay, Ilya. They are here to help.” He tried to ignore the pained gasp coming from Miller as Kelly began her examination, asking permission before touching him, taking his pulse and temperature. When she touched his stomach, Ilya cried out, and Shane tried to hold him.
“Rebound tenderness and rigidity,” Kelly said to Miller.
“What does that mean?” Shane asked.
“Best guess it’s his appendix, we need to take him in immediately.”
“You didn’t attack him or anything?” Miller asked Shane, a knowing tone to his voice. Kelly shot him a look. “What? They are rivals, it’s a valid question. They famously hate each other.” When Kelly continued to glare, he threw up his hands. “Could also be an on ice injury. He played tonight but I didn’t see it. Did he hit the boards?”
“He didn’t get hurt in this or the last game that would explain this,” Shane said through gritted teeth. “He has no bruises in the area, and was visibly sick at the start of the game. And the rivalry is just media. We’re friends.”
“The kind of friends who go over to each other’s houses when they’re sick?” Miller asked, and Kelly rounded on him.
“Miller, that’s inappropriate. Be professional or this is the last time you’re on my shift.”
Miller threw up his hands. “It’s important background.”
Ilya groaned from the floor. “You would prefer to be at hotel sick than at good friends house?” he asked, and Shane gripped his hand. He didn’t realize he was following the conversation so well, letting Shane answer his medical questions.
“Sir, is it alright if we let your friend here know your medical details?” Kelly asked.
“Yes, please. Sign everything over to him. He is proximate?”
“Proxy,” Shane supplied.
“Da. Proxy. My life in his hands and all that.” He tried to make a flippant gesture, but his hand was shaking. They eventually got him onto the gurney and into the ambulance, the questions never seeming to end as Kelly hooked Ilya up to an IV, and Miller drove, lights and sirens going.
“When did the pain start?” Kelly asked.
“Uh, I know he was not looking good at 7 when the game started, but he didn’t tell me he was feeling bad before then.”
“Would he have?” Miller asked from the front. Kelly opened her mouth, maybe to tell him off, but Shane answered.
“No. We talk, but we usually aren’t very honest about pain and things.” And didn’t that suck? They were starting to be more open with each other, was this just a lack of feeling comfortable opening up, or was it some desire to show strength to your partner? And how could Shane fix it so Ilya always told him exactly what was wrong with him at any time.
Shane leaned forward. “Ilya,” he said, stroking his face. Ilya opened one eye. “When did you start feeling bad? Like when did you notice it?”
Ilya groaned and closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Day or two ago.”
Shane sighed. That sounded about right. Why would he tell anyone he’d been having stabbing pains for two days. When he glanced up at the medic her expression was blank. That didn’t seem like a good thing.
“Mr. Rozanov, have you consumed any alcohol or drugs tonight?”
Ilya shook his head, and Kelly glanced at Shane.
Shane rattled off the Tylenol doses he’d given him. “I don’t think he drank tonight, and he’s not big on drugs, but I think the team trainer gave him a booster during the first intermission.”
“What’s a booster?” Kelly asked. When Shane frowned she crossed her arms. “This is so we don’t harm him by giving him something that will conflict. We aren’t the cops and we aren’t going to get anyone drug tested for doping.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s not illegal or against the rules. The trainers give them to us when we need something to get us through the game, but I don’t know what’s in it. I think it’s different depending on what’s wrong, but like painkillers and stuff.”
“Stimulants?”
“Yeah, when I get them I’m usually shaky for a good twelve hours after, but I don’t drink much coffee day to day though, so that could just be me.”
The medic nodded. “We need to know what all was in it and how much, to make sure nothing they give him at the hospital interacts badly. If they don’t know they need to wait till it’s out of his system before they put him under to be safe. With an appendix, that’s a big risk, especially when we don’t know when symptoms started or if he’s septic yet.”
“I can try and find out,” Shane said, and pulled Ilya’s phone out of his pocket. It only took him a few tries to guess the code while he answered more of the medic’s questions. 8124. Of course. Ilya was always on top.
The contacts in Ilya’s phones were a mess, no first and last names, just names or maybe nicknames and emojis Shane had to guess the meaning too. Like a weird middle school project learning about ancient Egypt. He poked around a few, reading some of the recent messages until he was confident who he would be messaging.
He tried not to notice there weren’t any women’s names except for Sveta👑anywhere near the top of his recent message list, when he clicked Clifford 📏🔴🐶.
Ilya: Can you find out for me what the concoction of meds was the trainer gave Ilya after the first period? Specifics. Exact dosage and things.
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Wow what the fuck Roz
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Are you drunk?
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: I tucked you into bed after the game
Ilya: I’m a friend of his. Please Marlow, can you get the combination?
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Why do you need it?
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: That shits propriotery
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Who is this???????
Ilya: I’m just a friend of Ilya’s. He came over to my place tonight and was still sick. We are on the way to the ER now and I need to give a list to the doctors so they don’t give him something that will react
Ilya: They think it’s his appendix.
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Wait, is this Jane?
Ilya: How do you know that?
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Fuck
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: I mean I knew Roz was planning on meeting up with you but why did he still go over when he was so sick????
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: I told that fucker to stay in bed
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: none of this russians dont do sick marlow bullshitt
Ilya: He said he didn’t want to cancel. Honestly, I think he was still a little high from whatever the fuck your trainer gave him to keep him on his feet while his appendix was attempting to burst or whatever
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Fuck
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Ok
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: I’ll get the list
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Where are you taking him?
Ilya: Don’t worry about it. I have him
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Don’t fuck with me girl
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: That’s my boy
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: I need to make sure he’s good and not being held hostage by some puckbunny
Ilya: He may be your boy but he’s my man and he’s in better hands with me than he was with you all night at the game. Was he your boy when you were letting him stagger across the ice? How about when you let him get slammed into the boards with an organ ready to burst? Fuck you for not protecting him.
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: If you think Roz would have let me take him out of the game then you don’t know him very well
Ilya: I know him well enough to know that sometimes he needs to be bullied into taking care of himself
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Well if he actually lets you do that then maybe he is in the right hands
Ilya: he is
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: ok let me make some calls
When they pulled up outside of the hospital, not packed, but not dead for the middle of the night, Shane got antsy.
“Do we have a blanket we can put over his face?”
The two medics shared a look and Kelly pulled out a folded sheet and draped it over the top half of Ilya.
They rolled Ilya into the ER, and through a set of doors, listing off medical details Shane could barely interpret. A nurse, an older woman with dark brown skin and pretty brown eyes, heavily lined with wrinkles, put a hand on his arm and tried to steer him toward the packed waiting room while Ilya disappeared down a hall. Shane looked at it uneasily. “Uh, is there maybe somewhere I can go that’s a little more private?”
The nurse frowned, but Miller nodded at Shane. “If you put him in there it will be a circus of photos and signatures, and then the press will show up.” The nurse shot him a skeptical look. “No, really, these two are high flyers. Need to keep it hushed.”
Shane took a deep breath before he met the nurses eyes. “If this gets out it will ruin both our careers, which, I don’t care. Whatever we need for him to get help is fine, but if some things get out about me and him, he could be in trouble with his home country. He would be in danger. I can’t have that, but I also really really don’t want to leave him here alone if I don’t have to.”
Shane wasn’t sure if it was her experience, intuition, or the desperate look he was sure was on his face, but she nodded once, and whispered to another nurse. He met Miller’s eyes for a moment, and the guy seemed to have sobered up, his expression firm when he nodded at Shane. “We’re good. Neither me or Kelly will say anything.”
Shane thanked him, and followed the nurse to another waiting room on another floor, this one empty.
It was about another forty five minutes of Shane bouncing his leg and googling worse and worse medical conditions before a nurse came and brought him to Ilya’s room. The blinds were drawn, and Ilya was inside, hooked up to monitors and IVs.
Shane spent his time googling everything he could find about the appendix, studying Ilya’s monitors, and wishing Ilya would just get better and laugh with him.
A doctor, a tall man with stern eyes, but a really impressive jaw line came in a short time later. Dr. Roberts told him a lot of things he barely understood even after reading several articles on the appendix while he waited. Shane opened a note on his phone and tried to write down the important things, asking questions where he was confused.
New Note
Appendix
Not good but oculd be worse tests say probably not septic but waiting to confirm
Not yet perferated (hasnt burst)
Waiting to see how he responds to antibiotics and waiting for tests to come back before they operate
Why haven’t they operated yet???
- they need to know what hes on
- they need tests to say if its really bad or if it can come back to life with antibiotics
Depending on tests he could need a big incision where they clean out his guts or a small incision where they do it fast
If big: he will be in hospital several days, out for the season maybe
If small: he will go home soon but will be out a few weeks
“We need that list of meds he’s on before we safely proceed,” Dr. Roberts said, his eyes firm and likely used to getting their way. “Do we need to find someone to make a call to his team?”
Shane chewed on his lip. He was 90% sure this doctor wouldn’t be able to track down
Ilya’s team anytime soon.
“I’m talking to someone on the team who can get it.”
The Doctor nodded once, sharply. “Get it to me as soon as you can.”
Shane agreed and pulled out Ilya’s phone.
Ilya: Any luck??? The doctors say he needs surgery but are wanting to know what he’s on before they put him under. He could die if he doesn’t get surgery before it bursts, and he could die if they give him something that conflicts with the booster
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: tracking down the dudes room number as we speak
Shane sighed, and started pacing the room. Eventually Ilya’s phone buzzed in his hand.
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: [List]
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: The trainer said he’d kill me if this got out but he owes me a favor
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: now Roz owes me one because i kinda blackmailed him
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: I didnt tell them about Roz yet how is he?
Shane glanced down at his phone and went to find the doctor who was hanging around the nurses station. Really, what were they all waiting for? If they knew it was his appendix, why not just take it out already?
The doctor read over the list, grimacing. “They gave him all this while he was sick on the ice?”
Shane nodded. “It’s a booster. A shot they give you to get you through the game.” Shane shrugged. He knew it was fucked up, but he’d done his duty more than once, sticking out a rough game for the team.
“They probably didn’t even examine him,” Dr. Roberts grumbled, tapping into his tablet as he checked Shane’s screen. “A standard physical check would have spotted the tenderness. Appendicitis is stupid easy to diagnose.”
“He probably lied and said there was no pain, just played it off like a bug. Or said it was tender from a hit to the boards.”
“Athleats.” The doctor said it like a curse, and walked away without a word. Shane sighed and returned to Ilya’s side, pulling out his phone. He was weirdly relieved to have one person he could talk to about all this.
Ilya: Thank you
Ilya: It’s his appendix for sure. They think it needs to be removed, but have stupid tests they insist on before getting to it. It hasn’t burst yet, which would apparently be incredibly bad if it had. They said likely only a matter of hours.
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: FUCK
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Is he ok?
Ilya: if they remove it before it bursts, they say he will be totally fine. Can probably leave the hospital sometime tomorrow. Or today. IDK what time it is.
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: I’ll tell coach and stay behind until hes good
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: We can hotel it up until hes down to fly home
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: What hospital?
Ilya: Marlow.
Ilya: I have him
Ilya: He’s coming home with me and he’s staying with me in my house until he is better. He’ll need a few weeks before he can even lift anything heavy.
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: I would argue but i know he would probably prefer that to my ugly mug
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: Hes crazy about you
Ilya: He talks about me?
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: No but its obvious
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: smiles at his phone like an idiot then gets pissy if we mention his Jane
Ilya: Well, I love him, so there’s nothing to worry about from me. I only care about what’s best for him right now. Fuck hockey.
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: I mean thats basically blasfamus but ya fuck hockey until Roz is better
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: y r u not official if you luv him?
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: he not worth it to you?
Ilya: Fuck off. It’s family and work and personal. And he’ll probably kick your ass just for asking
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: fuck
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: ya
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: u do know him
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: ok u need anything before i crash?
Ilya: No, I’ll text when I have updates, but please cover with him with the coaches in the morning.
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: will do
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: thank you Jane
Shane clicked off Ilya’s phone, and picked his hand up carefully off the bed, lacing their fingers together. There were worse ways to spend the night. Hadn’t he thought all he wanted was just to be able to touch him all night long? This might not be the context he wanted, but at least he was here, and Ilya wasn’t alone.
The thought of Ilya alone in his hotel room, curled up in a pile of his own puke, slowly going septic until someone found him when he didn’t meet the team made Shane feel suddenly sick. He squeezed his eyes shut and brought Ilya’s hand to his lips.
He felt Ilya’s fingers flex and opened his eyes. Ilya slowly petted his cheek, his eyes cracked open, not quite as filled with pain as he had been before the fun IV the nurse brought.
“Shane,” he said softly.
“Hi,” Shane whispered. “How are you feeling?”
“Floaty.”
Shane smiled. He was so cute.
“Good. I’m glad you aren’t in pain anymore.”
Ilya frowned, a little bit of that light hearted joy disappearing. “We’re at hospital. Shane, why did we come? I would have been fine.”
“Shh, just rest, Ilya. Everything will be okay.”
He squeezed Shane’s hand. “I sorry,”
“Don’t apologize, this isn’t your fault.”
“No, but you did not ask for this.” Ilya groaned. “I puked all over your floor and wasn’t even drunk.”
“Ilya, I am so thankful you were with me tonight and puked on my floor.”
That got his attention. “Why?”
“Because it means you weren’t alone.” Shane brought his hand back to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “And I keep thinking about what would have happened if you were alone. Ilya, you could have died if this went untreated.”
Ilya’s face screwed up in confusion. Oh, maybe he hadn’t been tracking as well as Shane thought. “What is wrong? Stomach pain but what?”
Shane pulled out his phone, and looked up the Russian word. “Cherveobrazny otrostok,” he tried, then saw the more coming phrasing was basically the same in English. “Appendix,” he said again. “Do you know what that is?”
“Yes is kid sickness?”
Shane, recently the Google expert, grinned. “Most common between the ages of 10 and 30, so not just kids. We’re still in the window.” He tried to keep his words simple, knowing Ilya sometimes had a harder time with English when drunk or sleepy. High on pain meds in the middle of the night probably qualified. “It’s by your stomach. Gets sick and inflamed, and if it bursts it can kill you. But yours hasn’t yet. They need to cut it out before it gets worse.”
“How long?” Ilya asked, and Shane didn’t need to ask to know he meant recovery and hockey.
“If the surgery goes well, then only like two weeks before returning to normal person activity, a bit longer for hockey and our level of activity, probably.”
Ilya nodded, but didn’t look overly concerned. Then his face pinched. “When do they do it?”
“Any time now,” Shane said, squeezing his hand. “Tonight. They are just waiting on more tests I think.”
“You will be here?” he asked, his voice nervous.
“Yeah, Ilya. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thank you, Shane.” He sighed, as if letting out the weight of the world. “In the morning team doctor gets here and you can go.”
“No, Ilya. I’m staying. I already told Marlow you’re coming home with me.”
Ilya frowned. “You talked to Marlow?”
“He thinks I’m Jane.”
They shared a sweet smile.
“You are my Jane.”
“I had to get the cocktail the team trainer gave you so the doctors didn’t give you something bad. Marlow tracked down the trainer’s hotel room and woke him up, said he blackmailed him and now you owe him a favor.”
Ilya snorted. “Marley is good people.”
“Seems like it. In the morning he’s going to tell the team you’re staying with Jane for your recovery. You’ll stay with me right? Maybe the next two weeks?”
“Two?” Something bright entered Ilya’s eyes, and then they seemed a bit glassy before he closed them. A drop leaked out and Shane brushed it away.
“I want you with me,” Shane admitted. “I want you with me as long as I can keep you, but especially until I know you’re better and safe.”
“Yes, please,” Ilya said softly.
Shane leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Ilya’s lips, then to his forehead. When he pulled away, there was another drop to wipe away. Shane’s heart was so full. The fear that had followed him all the way from Ilya sagging on the ice and waking up sick, to how he looked now, about to go into surgery, bloomed in his chest, only overwhelmed by a more powerful feeling. “I— Ilya, I wish I could keep you forever.”
“Da. I would like this.”
Shane kissed his knuckles and closed his eyes tight.
“I love you,” he said at last. Letting the words escape with the last bit of his strength.
When he opened his eyes, Ilya’s were bright and filled with something Shane couldn’t name.
“Ya tebya lyublyu. I love you so much, Shane,” Ilya said at last, and Shane’s heart melted and his eyes burned.
He’d needed to say it before Ilya went into surgery, but he didn't really believe he would hear it back. He draped himself very gently over Ilya, peppering his face with kisses, until Ilya said something.
“What was that?”
“I said it first,” Ilya said, grinning.
“No you didn’t. I did, asshole.”
“I said it in Russia. On phone.”
“No you didn’t,” Shane said, whining a little.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya repeated, and the words didn’t sound particularly familiar, but Shane didn’t think Ilya would lie about this.
“You love me? Truly?”
“Yes, Shane.”
“Fuck.” Shane dropped his head. “We’re stupid.”
“Yes.”
“Well, we have two weeks to be stupid together,” Shane said, meeting his eyes again.
“Will be wonderful.”
“You’ll probably hate me by the end. I’m going to smother you.”
“Smother? You will kill me?” Ilya asked, sticking out his bottom lip.
“No, like, overwhelm you with my love until it’s annoying. Baby you, take care of you and not let you do anything.”
“Hmmm. I think I would like this. I will make you carry me from room to room.”
“The recovery says light walking after surgery is important to keep up bloodflow.”
Ilya frowned at him. “You already know after care steps?”
“I mean they haven’t given me anything official yet, but I’ve been googling.”
“Of course. I think I understand smother now.”
“Sorry,” Shane said with a sigh. He knew he could be too much. He would try to dial it back.
“No. Shane, please don’t apologize for loving me. I— is nice to be loved. Has been long time.”
Oh. Maybe Shane didn’t need to dial it back. Maybe somehow his too much would be just enough for Ilya. “I wish I could hold you right now.”
“I will scooch. You can climb in,” Ilya said, holding up the blanket.
Shane snorted. “Not a chance. You’re in too much pain for that.”
“I feel fine.”
“It’s the drugs. Wiggle a little.”
Ilya did, and groaned. “Okey, maybe you hold me later.”
“Go to sleep. We’ll wake you when it’s time.”
“You won’t leave?”
“No. I’ll be here the whole time.”
“Good. Ye tebla lubov, Shane.”
“I love you to, Ilya.
It was a few hours before they took Ilya into surgery, which wasn’t long, maybe a little over an hour. It was the small incision type, they said. When they wheeled Ilya back in after, Shane was so glad, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. They said they would observe him for the day, and he could probably go home that evening if Shane would take responsibility for him. Shane nodded agreement, willing to sign anything they asked.
Shane: Hey coach, bad news. My parents got in an accident last night, I’m on my way to the hospital in Ottawa. I’m gonna have to miss tonight’s game. I’ll keep you updated on a timeline.
Shane clicked off his phone. He would text his parents later in the day and let them know he wasn’t feeling good and would be skipping the game. They would see the news he was out and worry if he didn’t, but they would never believe him calling out for being sick this early in the day. If he timed it right he could blame it on food poisoning and explosive diarrhea, and no more questions would be asked.
He didn’t get a response from coach until about six am.
Coach Theriault: Fucking hell Hollander. Can’t someone else deal with that?
Shane: Respectfully, I’ve never taken a sick day in 6 years, and my family needs me.
Coach Theriault: fine
Coach Theriault: keep me updated
Seven AM rolled around, Shane having just dozed off after the most recent check in from the nurse, jerked awake when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out but didn’t see a notification. It buzzed again in his pocket. He pulled out Ilya’s phone this time and unlocked it.
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: update?
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: he alive?
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: can i come see him before flight?
Ilya: sorry, they just took him back to surgery. Said it should be minor, just a few weeks recovery. Surgery will take about three hours. What time is your flight?
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: fuck
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: ill be gone by then
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: i have his suitcase
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: can i drop it off there?
Ilya: We’re trying to keep media away. Can you drop it at my building and leave it with the doorman? Tell him its for apartment 316
Ilya: [address]
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: 👍
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: disappointed I cant tell the guys i met jane
Ilya: you could lie
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: na, they would know
Clifford 📏🔴🐶: next time
Shane sighed and locked the phone, he stared down at Ilya, and laced their fingers together again. He didn’t feel bad lying to Marlow. Protecting this thing between him and Ilya was the second most important thing in Shane’s life, the first being protecting Ilya himself. The nurses said he looked good post surgery and that he should be able to be discharged by the end of the day. Shane did some googling on his phone, and put in a grocery order.
Ilya woke a while later, groggy and a little silly, and absolutely delighted to see Shane still with him. When eventually he was discharged, Shane threw his hoodie on Ilya, pulling the hood low, and nearly tied the strings closed, before having the nurses sneak him out a side entrance. At his building he parked in the underground garage, and braced Ilya across the lot into the elevator and up to his floor. He deposited him on the couch, before going down to the lobby to retrieve his grocery order and Ilya’s suitcase from the doorman.
He checked on Ilya, who was passed out on the couch, then got to work cleaning the puke off his hardwood floors, and then cooking.
Shane: Hey mom and dad. I know you were planning on making the game tonight, and we had dinner plans, but I’m benched. I think it’s food poisoning. I can’t get far from the bathroom and coach doesn’t want me fucking up the ice in the middle of the game.
Yuna Hollander: Oh honey, I’m so sorry! What did you eat? We’ll swing by later and bring you some soup.
David Hollander: Which end?
David Hollander: Sorry. Your mom smacked me. Love you kiddo, hope you feel better. Drink lots of fluids, even if they come right back out.
David Hollander: We’ll bring miso!
Shane: no guys, really. I’m fine.
Shane: DONT COME OVER
Shane: I’m a mess and feel like trash
Shane: I ordered soup and I have lots of electrolytes and don’t want visitors to hear me shitting my brains out.
Shane: please stay home
David Hollander: hear you loud and clear, son 😂
Yuna Hollander: Oh honey, we’re your parents. I changed your diapers. We won’t be embarrassed over that. We’ll just swing by and drop off soup, and be out of your hair.
Shane: mom its a 2 hr drive and I already have sopu
Shane: please, no
Shane: just stay home
Yuna Hollander: Well let me call one of those IV services that come to your house. You’ll get dehydrated
Shane: send me the number and I’ll call them once I’m not running to the bathroom every 10 min
Shane: an IV would be inconvenient right now
David Hollander: 🏃💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩
Yuna Hollander: Call us if you need ANYTHING!
Yuna Hollander: I mean it Shane!
Yuna Hollander: [mobile IV nurse contact]
Shane: thank you
Yuna
“He’s going to be mad,” David said as he pressed the button for the elevator. The door opened and he held his hand in front of the sensor while Yuna walked in.
“He’s never missed a game before, David. He’s probably on death’s door.”
“Or he just doesn’t wanna leave brown streaks on the ice like a leaky sharpie.”
“Gross,” Yuna said, but she was smiling. “Look, we’ll pop in, leave the soup and pop out. If we hear weird noises from the bathroom we’ll leave without saying anything. Really, that boy is so shy about some things.”
“He just wants his personal space,” David said with a knowing grin.
“Well he’s our only child so he’s just gonna have to keep dealing with the overbearing parents.”
“Maybe we should get a cat,” David suggested, not for the first time. The elevator opened and Yuna stepped out, crossing to Shane’s apartment door. David pulled the spare key out of his pocket, and stuck it in the lock.
The apartment smelled surprisingly good for how sick Shane said he was. He must have actually ordered soup, not just lied and choked down a protein smoothie like Yuna had assumed. Oh well, she wouldn’t apologize for caring for her child. She slipped off her shoes, David doing the same before closing the door, and they quietly moved down the hall. There was a lump on the couch, nothing more than a hoodie clad figure swaddled in a blanket. Oh, Shane must be feeling so poorly.
Yuna moved to his side, and put her hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. “Shane, honey,” she started, but her voice died in her throat when the pale blond man turned to her, his soft blue eyes finding hers before opening wide.
Well, that wasn’t her son.
Ilya Rozanov, on her son’s couch, while he was pooping his brains out.
Yep. Not what Yuna was expecting at all.
Shouldn’t he be in Toronto?
Rozanov’s lips parted, and he blinked a few times quickly. “Uh. Shane?” he called.
A clang came from the kitchen. “Yeah, Ilya. What do you need? Just a second!”
There was another bang, and a curse, and then their son appeared. Wearing a tshirt, sweatpants, and looking very healthy, carrying a bowl.
He stopped in the doorway.
“Fuck,” he said.
Normally Yuna would scold him, but she had no words.
“I told you not to come,” he said, his face growing furious.
“We brought you soup. Miso,” Yuna said, holding up the bag.
Shane scowled and crossed to the couch. “I made soup,” Shane growled. “Just, sit, I guess,” he ordered before dropping onto the ottoman by Ilya Rozanov’s head. “He hasn’t eaten anything in like over 24 hours and he needs to get this down before he can have his pain pills, so please hold your questions. Or leave. I don’t care right now,” he said, in probably the rudest tone Yuna had ever heard.
Quietly David pulled her back to sit next to him on the love seat.
“Shane, your parents were checking on you,” Rozanov said in a weirdly gentle voice.
“I told them very clearly that I was sick and did not want them to come.” Shane dipped a deep bowled soup spoon into the bowl and brought up a spoon full, blowing on it gently.
“They love you, Shane.”
Shane sighed. “I know. Stop talking and open your mouth.”
“I can feed myself,” Rozanov said with a smirk.
“Let me see your hands then?”
Rozanov held up a hand which was a bit shaky. He scowled and tucked it back into the blanket, and opened his mouth.
Shane held the spoon for him to sip from. The Russians eyes grew big, a gentle smile growing over his face.
“Rassolnik?” Rozanov asked.
“Yes, does it taste okay?”
He took another sip and closed his eyes. “Da.”
“Good,” Shane said, a soft smile on his face.
“How did you know?” Rozanov asked.
“I remember hearing you chirp about pickle soup after a game. It was weird enough to stick with me.”
Rozanov made a soft face which looked so strange on him. “My mama used to make it when I lost games when I was small,” he said.
“Well you did lose last night,” Shane said with a grin. He held up another spoonful, and blew on it.
“Hmm, did I?” Rozanov opened his mouth and let himself be fed.
It was so tender and absolutely baffling. What was this? Why was it happening? Yuna squeezed David’s thigh, and he wrapped his arm around her and held her tight.
After a few more spoonfuls and a number of soft looks between the two, Rozanov’s eyes wandered back over to Yuna and David. Yuna was feeling just a bit voyeuristic, but she had so many questions. The memory of that sharp tone Shane had used, the only thing making her hold back.
“Shane, are you just going to ignore your parents?” Rozanov asked.
Shane shot them another frown. “I did tell them not to come over. I said I had explosive diarrhea and wanted to be alone.”
He held the spoon away while Rozanov laughed, wincing in pain and grabbing his stomach. Shane shot a glare at his parents, as if it was their fault.
“What happened?” David asked, concern clear in his voice.
Shane sighed, and made Rozanov eat another spoonful. “His appendix almost burst. I called an ambulance last night.” He shot another look at his mom, this one less mean, more worried. “I haven’t seen anything about it online yet. The medical team all seemed cool, but . . .”
He didn’t have to explain. Yuna knew the risks.
She pulled out her phone and did a few searches while Rozanov finished eating. There was news about Rozanov having an undisclosed upper body injury, not flying home with the team, and being in the care of family in Montreal, but nothing about Shane. She sighed and put her phone away, as Shane put the nearly empty bowl on the table. There was a small basket on the coffee table, and he dug around in it, pulling out a pill bottle and a large syringe. He pulled the plunger out of the syringe, dropped in a large pill, then after replacing the plunger, sucked up some water from a glass.
Next he grabbed . . . was that a MiO flavored water thing? Since when did Shane let that much artificial dye and sweetener into his house?
Shane stuck the end of the syringe into the bottle opening and pulled a shot of flavored food coloring into the syringe. He put his thumb over the syringe opening, pulled the plunger back a few times, and let it snap, pulverizing the pill after a few goes. He turned back to Rozanov, who still wore a little grin.
“Open,” Shane ordered, and Rozanov obeyed. Shane squirted the syringe into his mouth, then handed him the cup of water. Rozanov drank the water, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Not bad.”
Shane snorted. “You’ll eat anything with enough sugar. Rest now, okay?”
“Ah. No. I stay awake while you talk to your parents.”
Shane smiled. “Okay, but lean back. If your eyes stay open, they stay open.”
Rozanov leaned back with a small grimace, sinking into a nest of Shane’s throw pillows, and his eyes immediately drooped.
Shane stroked his cheek for a moment, and the Russian quickly drifted off. Shane sighed and turned back to his parents. “I didn’t want to tell you like this. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” David said quickly. “We invaded your privacy. We knew it was rude, but we love you and did it anyway, but you don’t have to tell us anything you don’t feel ready for, son.” Yuna wanted to agree on principle, but she also wanted to argue, out of deep curiosity.
Shane sighed, his fingers finding Rozanov’s tangled in the edge of the blanket. “I was going to tell you, it just never felt like the right time.” He sighed again, as if trying to force out the words. “I’m gay,” he said at last, and well, that wasn’t exactly surprising. “Ilya and I are together,” he continued. And okay, that part was a bit surprising.
“For how long?” Yuna asked, and David’s hand tightened on her waist.
Shane sighed. “We’ve been something for a long time, but got more serious at the start of the year.”
“When you and Rose broke up?” Yuna asked.
“Yeah, um,” Shane looked down at his and Rozanov’s joined hands. “Ilya and I kind of ended things right before I met Rose, and well, me and Rose weren’t compatible, which is why we’re still friends.”
Shane blushed a little, and that did clear up a few things for Yuna.
“So you’re together,” Yuna said, deciding immediately that this was fact, and she had to get on board. “What’s the plan?”
Shane let out a weak laugh. “We don’t really have one. I mean, I want to be with him, I love him, but it feels impossible.”
Oh, her baby was in love. She had always wanted this for him, but it had felt so far away. He’d rarely ever expressed the slightest interest in anything but hockey.
“Well, it doesn’t need to be impossible. You could come out. There might be some resistance, but we have the layers to back you both up if anything ever happens.”
“Mom,” Shane said in that tone that said she was doing too much. “Ilya is Russian. He has a Russian passport. It’s not safe for him if we come out.”
And yes, she remembered now. David had read her that article when Shane had gone to Russia for the Olympics and they had both been a little worried for their son who they weren’t totally sure was straight. And then a few times over the years, David mentioned a story or article he read about worsening sentiments and disappearances. It wasn’t safe as long as there was risk Rozanov would ever need to return to Russia.
Yuna nodded, decisively. “What is his immigration status? Has he applied for US residency?” She could figure this out for them. She would Yuna the fuck out of this problem until her son got his happily ever after with the man he loved.
Shane rubbed his forehead, but he was grinning a little. “I don’t know, mom, but maybe we can pick this up another night? I haven’t really slept. We had a rough night last night.”
“Of course, honey. Was that why Rozanov was off in last night’s game?”
“Yeah,” Shane’s jaw tightened. “He was clearly sick at the start. Pale and sweaty in warmups, barely standing straight, and they just let him play. Gave him a booster at the first intermission. He could have died.”
“He came over here?” David asked.
“Yeah,” Shane said, looking away from them as if uncomfortable. Oh her sweet private son. “We had plans, and I told him to stay in his hotel and sleep, but he was amped up on the booster still. He had a really high fever, and I made him take Tylenol and go to bed. He woke up puking and in a crazy amount of pain. He fell on the floor, and couldn’t get up. I was so worried.”
Yuna watched him stroke his fingers over Rozanov’s knuckles. Or maybe Ilya? She would have to try saying it.
“That must have been really scary,” Yuna said.
“Yeah, I called 911. It was my first time ever doing that.”
“Well, tell us more about him,” David said. “We only know what we see on tv, and something tells me that’s not the full picture. When was your first kiss?”
Leave it to David, always the romantic.
Shane blushed furiously.
“Uh, the CCM shoot, actually?”
“Wait, which one?” Yuna asked, trying to track them in her mind.
“The first one, before our rookie year.”
“Wow,” David said softly, and Yuna’s mind whirled.
She gasped. “I saw him in the elevator that night!”
Shane’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“Yes! He said he was going up, but I had clicked down, so it didn’t make sense it opened on our floor unless! OH!”
Shane put his free hand over his face. “Can we please never talk about this again?” he asked. When Yuna glanced at David he was grinning.
“So tell us about him,” David asked again. And he did. Shane gushed about Rozanov, Ilya, there was no other word to describe it. He told them how smart and funny he was, how well he got Shane, and knew how to calm him down or get him out of his head when he spiraled.
After about a half hour, Ilya woke with a start, Shane’s name first on his lips.
“I’m right here,” Shane said, squeezing his hand. “Are you okay? Any pain?”
“No, no I am fine. How are you?” he shot a nervous glance at Yuna and David.
“We’re good. Really.”
“Good,” Ilya said, with a soft grin at Shane, they looked like they were going to kiss, but neither moved forward. After a moment, Ilya pulled at his blankets.
“Getting hot?” Shane asked, pressing a hand to Ilya’s forehead.
“Ah, no. Need to go to bathroom.”
“Oh,” Shane said, and jumped into action. He helped free Ilya’s legs, helped him carefully twist to a sitting position, and then put his shoulder under his arm and slowly assisted him to standing. They walked slowly like that down the hall, Shane bracing Ilya’s every step while he winced carefully.
“In love,” David said sappily, knocking into Yuna’s shoulder.
“I can’t believe we didn’t know,” she said.
“We know now. We can be there for them now,” he said.
Yuna nodded and went to put the miso soup in the fridge. When Shane and Ilya returned, they sunk into the couch together, but instead of returning to his pillow nest, Ilya crawled into Shane’s lap. Shane didn’t hesitate, pulling him in, padding him with pillows, and tugging the blanket over him.
“Do we wanna watch the game?” Shane asked.
“Of course,” Yuna said.
“Which game?” Ilya asked.
Shane snorted. “Montreal vs Ottawa.”
Ilya twisted and glared at Shane. “Why are you not playing?”
“Ilya, I wasn’t going to leave you.”
“Shane, I would have been okey.”
“Absolutly not. It’s fine. I said I had a family emergency.”
“Well don’t skip another game for me. Is not worth it.”
“Yes it is,” Shane grumbled, turning on the TV and finding the game. “I have tomorrow off, so it’s fine.”
“And then another game the day after,” Yuna reminded him.
“Shane, you can’t miss it. I will be fine here.”
Shane shot a glance at his parents. “Maybe you could come back and watch him? Just for the game?”
“Shane, I am adult,” Ilya protested.
Shane leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I’ll worry all night if I leave you alone. My parents don’t mind.”
“He’s right, Ilya,” David said with a grin. “It would be good to get to know you better while you’re in town. You’re family now so you’re stuck with us.”
And based on the careful smile that grew over Ilya’s face, Yuna suspected he didn’t really mind.