Chapter Text
Shane sat next to his parents and watched Rozanov make a pretty impressive slapshot on the TV. His head still throbbed in intervals and he found himself rubbing at his sore clavicle, before realizing it always made things worse and forcing himself to stop.
“You have to admit, he's a good player,” Shane’s dad said, giving his mom a sidelong glance.
His mom shrugged non-committally, “he’s okay.”
“Wow,” his dad laughed, “I never thought I’d hear you concede even that much.”
Shane laughed too as he watched the buzzers announce the end of the game, and another win for the Boston Raiders. “Rozanov visited me in the hospital. That’s why she’s being so nice.”
His mom just shrugged again. “It was very sportsmanlike,” she explained as she cleared the pigs in a blanket they were eating from the coffee table. “I can respect that.”
Shane smirked. Very sportsmanlike was one way to put it. While he was high enough that he didn’t remember most of the encounter, he hoped he would never forget the way Rozanov brushed his thumb to Shane’s freckles, almost reverent. The touch feather light, like any more pressure would shatter Shane. The way he looked at Shane like Shane mattered.
He settled further into the leather couch, the cushions behind his back finally warm enough for the seat to feel cozy.
Good game, he texted Lily.
Yes. Better than yours came the reply, and Shane rolled his eyes, looking back up at the screen. Rozanov was probably in the locker room. Shane imagined him, sweaty and on the high of a strong win, and the first thing he did was pull out his phone to reply to Shane. The idea of it was heady.
Shane: You wish
Lily: I wish my cock was in your—
Shane locked his phone and pushed it face down into the couch beside him. Nope. Not next to his parents. Definitely not.
Another buzz, and he let out a long, silent breath.
Lily: How is your head?
Shane: Oh, yeah, it’s better. I’m finally allowed screens again
Lily: This means video sex is back on table?
Shane: I’m living with MY PARENTS right now
Lily: So, yes?
Shane laughed softly to himself. He wondered if Rozanov would respond to his doped-up-on-hospital-strength-drugs proposal to come stay with him at his cottage. He wanted that. Lately, he wanted a lot of things he couldn’t have. His brain supplied him with images of Rozanov at his cottage, lounging on his dock, eating food Shane made him on the patio. He shook his head. Impossible.
———————————————————————
Shane sat on the bench in the same black and white suit he usually wore to hockey-related events and tried not to squirm as he watched his team play Ottawa. He hated that he wasn’t on the ice, watching plays shake out in ways he knew he could have changed the outcome of if he had been on the ice. But the game was in his parents' hometown, where he happened to be staying, and his coach wanted him here; it was his duty as a captain.
“You look miserable, Hollander,” J.J. Said, out of breath as he pushed up next to Shane, leaning forward on his stick.
“You would too if your team was losing 2-1 and you couldn’t do anything but watch,” Shane chirped back.
J.J. Laughed. “Yeah, fuck I would be.”
They ended up losing the game in overtime, and that was the end of the Metros' time in the playoffs. The locker room was filled with the expected disappointed silence, and Shane tried to give a brief, rousing speech, but could tell no one was interested, and ended it early with some stupid joke about getting stupid drunk that managed to get a few laughs.
“You coming to the bar, captain?” Hayden asked, clapping a hand on Shane’s good shoulder.
He grimaced. “Nah, my mom’s waiting in the car. Can’t drive, so she’s taking me home.”
“Come on, Hollander. Thats too lame, even for you. Come out with us. You don’t even have to drink. Then go back home or whatever. Catch a cab.”
Hayden wasn’t the only one, and Shane’s teammates joined in until Shane acquiesced. Rozanov was headed to his next game in Florida, which meant Shane had no other plans. He sent a text to his mom to let her know.
The team bus was quiet, that same dejected silence settling back over the team as they were ferried back to the hotel. Shane was in his head, going over the plays of the game, picturing how he could have done them better, changed the outcome.
“Holy fuck,” J.J. piped up from the back, “did you guys see this?”
“See what?” Hayden asked from beside Shane, and reached over the seat to grab J.J.’s phone from him. Shane watched him scan the phone and then he visibly paled.
“What is it?” Shane asked, reaching for the phone, feeling strange.
”The Raiders’ plane…”
Shane’s whole world stopped. His chest was stone, he couldn’t draw a breath. Rozanov’s team, Rozanov was on that plane.
“The Raiders’ plane what, Hayden?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady. It could be anything.
Hayden shook his head looking shell shocked, the whole bus was looking at them now. Shane repeated himself louder, annoyed and aware that he was getting strange looks from his teammates.
“It went down.”
“What, like it crashed?” someone said.
“Yeah, like it crashed,” Hayden didn’t look away from Shane.
Shane laughed then, something manic bubbling out of him. His breath shook, and Hayden frowned at him.
Fuck,” Patrice whispered in his French accent from somewhere behind Shane, “it says here the plane veered off course on a flight to Florida, the airline control centre got a mayday from the pilot, and the plane looked like it went down somewhere in the Appalachians.”
Shane laughed again. What a cosmic fucking joke. Just as Shane had felt excited, happy even with where his life was headed. Just as he had felt he was on the precipice of something he had only ever dreamed of with Rozanov. A life of being desired, being understood. They barely needed anymore time before Shane was sure they would push each other off the edge; he saw it in Rozanov’s eyes in the hospital, the way he touched Shane’s face, searched his eyes like what was behind them mattered. But they still needed it. More time. Shane needed more time. There were too many things unsaid.
“Hollander?” Someone said. Maybe Hayden. Shane didn’t know anymore.
“Do they know if everyone’s okay?” J.J. asked, trying to take his phone back from Hayden, who pulled it out of his reach.
“How would they know that information, dipshit?” Patrice said, “All it says is they think the plane went down in the Appalachians, and there’s search and rescue crews in the air now.”
“Fuuuuuck,” J.J. said, his face completely sober, “I know we hate them or whatever, but nobody wants shit like that to happen.”
There was something wrong with Shane. He couldn’t tell where anyone’s voices were coming from anymore. Everything was distorted, and all he could hear was his heartbeat in his ears. He pulled out his own phone and automatically dialled in Rozanov’s number, vaguely aware it wasn’t something he should be doing in public, let alone a bus full of his teammates.
He held the phone to his ear with a shaking hand. Voicemail.
“Shane?” A hand on his shoulder.
Shane stood, his body moving of its own accord.
“Stop the bus,” he was saying, shouldering past Hayden, ignoring the bus driver who was yelling at him to sit down. “Stop the bus.”
The bus must have pulled over because soon Shane was stumbling onto the side of the road, one hand on his knee, the other still stuck in its blasted sling, retching up the protein smoothie he had drunk before the game.
Shane flinched when he felt a hand on his upper back.
“Easy, buddy,” Hayden said, “You okay?”
“Oh fuck,” Shane moaned through clenched teeth, then spat onto the bush he had just puked in. He didn’t have it in him right now to try and make up some excuse about food poisoning or motion sickness. He was free-falling, head aching with a hit he never saw coming.
He looked up at Hayden with wide, frightened eyes. He was sure everything he felt was plastered all over his face like an open wound.
“Ilya is on that plane,” he said, hating how wobbly his voice sounded.
“Ilya Rozanov?” Hayden said, sounding genuinely confused, “yeah probably. I mean it's his team.”
Shane retched again.
“Geez, Shane, I know you’re an empathetic guy or whatever, but you can’t be telling me you’re having this reaction because you’re worried Ilya Rozanov might have died in a plane crash.” Hayden laughed nervously.
Might have died. Shane held desperately onto those words. Might have. It wasn’t a forgone conclusion. He needed to pull his shit together, call someone, find more information, maybe help somehow. The article could be fake. He took a deep breath.
“I would have thought you’d be happy,” Hayden joked, clearly trying to lighten the mood, and Shane’s heart lurched, “no more arch rival keeping you from the cup and all that.”
Shane gripped his hair, pulling harshly until he felt some strands come loose. The pain was somewhat sobering. “Fuck Hayden, can you just shut the fuck up for a second and let me think?” And then, pathetically, because he couldn’t help it, “Do you think he’s dead?”
“I’m—” Hayden tilted his head, looking at Shane strangely, “I don’t know, Shane,” he said slowly, “but you’re acting like you… Like you love the guy or something?”
Shane met Hayden's eyes with a look that felt like pure pleading.
I can’t give up this secret. Please just understand. I can’t say it out loud.
Hayden’s eyes widened in understanding, and a part of Shane felt raw relief while another equal part of him descended into pure panic. His heart beat a painful tattoo in his chest.
“Holy fuck,” Hayden breathed, “You and Rozanov— you can’t be— you and Rozanov?”
“You can’t tell anyone,” Shane said suddenly, desperately. “Please, Hayd, you can’t tell anyone.”
”does he know?” Hayden asked, “that you’re in love with him?”
Shane laughed, the sound cracking out of him like broken glass. “Yeah, he knows.”
but that was a lie wasn’t it? Rozanov didn’t know, not really. He had no idea what Shane felt because Shane hadn’t told him. Had thought he’d have more time to work up to it. They were almost there. And now they were nowhere.
“You’re gay?” Hayden said dumbly, and Shane sent him a look of pure annoyance. This was, without competition, the worst day of his life.
“If you’re just going to be a dick and laugh about this to the rest of the team, you can fuck off, Hayden,” Shane snarled, “I have other fucking things to worry about right now.”
Hayden looked hurt, but he put his hands up in a pacifying gesture.
“Whoa, Shane. Slow down. I would never out you like that. You’re my friend, man, I’m not— I don’t care about that stuff. It’s not what I was expecting but…. Give me some time before you go all Terminator on me, it’s a lot for a guy to digest.”
Shane deflated, “Sorry. Fuck. Sorry. I’m freaking out. Obviously.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the bush that was now covered in his vomit.
“Okay,” Hayden said, firmly enough that Shane looked at him sharply, “You need to calm down. I know how fucked up this is, but there’s a bus full of men who are really confused right now, and unless you want to come out and tell them you’re in some fucked up relationship with Ilya Rozanov and thats why you’re having a meltdown on the side of the road in the middle of fucking downtown Ottawa then you need to pull it together until we can at least get to the hotel okay?”
Hayden's words dully registered, and Shane was blindly grateful to Hayden in this moment for taking charge and for taking everything in stride. Even as he wanted to protest. His relationship wasn’t fucked up.
Shane was aware of the men peering curiously, some of them looking concerned, out of the bus windows.
“Yeah, okay. Breakdown at the hotel sounds better,” Shane gave his teammates a weak smile and tried to wave them away.
Some privacy did sound like the better option. Plus, he could call Rozanov once he was there and—
“Oh fuck,” the breath was pushed out of him as it freshly dawned on him why he was freaking out in front of his entire team. “Hayd,” he looked up at his worried friend with wide eyes, “what if he’s—”
And then he was retching again, mumbling apologies in between spitting the awful taste from his mouth.
“Jesus, Shane. This is on a whole other level for you.” Hayden said, then swore under his breath, mumbling something to himself, “shit, no, that’s not— listen, let’s try to stay positive, yeah? Plane crashes are uncommon, and the pilots can usually do emergency landings and stuff. Besides, He’s probably out there fighting bears or something and going all Russia man on the fucking wilderness.”
Shane let out a dry laugh, thinking of bears and tattoos and Ilya. He sobbed once. A desolate sound that had Hayden bending over and fussing over him like he was injured.
Rozanov was alive. he had to be alive. Shane couldn’t live in a world where he hadn’t told Rozanov how he really felt. Where he would never know how Rozanov felt about him.
He swallowed down the nausea that still squirmed in the back of his throat and straightened.
“Okay,” he said, his voice croaky, “I’m not— let's go.”
“You sure?” Hayden asked, and Shane felt irrationally angry at him for caring so much. Hayden hated Rozanov.
He didn’t bother with a response. Shane steeled himself and walked back onto the bus. He got some strange looks, but he ignored them and stared at the ground.
“Sorry, guys!” Hayden said, close on Shane’s heels, “bit of motion sickness or something, I think!”
Shane got some sympathetic answers to that and slid back into his seat, and stared at nothing the whole ride home, feeling numb and empty.