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Ilya felt like he was going to vibrate out of his own skin. 

Haphazardly dressed and fully derailing from the events that occurred less than 20 minutes ago, he pushed his way out of the Centaurs' locker room and into the cool, damp hallway without saying a word to his teammates or celebrating their victory. 

He knew he should have given a post-game speech or spoken with the media at his stall, but he couldn’t. Not with everything that had happened.

Shane was hurt, and Pike was already waiting. 

“We’re leaving. Ambulance is already gone,” Hayden grabbed Ilya by the wrist as soon as he spotted the opposing captain, his hands trembling. “His mom’s meeting us there after she talks to your Doc. She texted me. You’ve got one too. God, fucking Comeau.” 

Ilya was too shocked to speak; the trauma of watching his husband being carted off the ice, unmoving and in a neck brace, was fresh in the forefront of his mind. He let Pike drag him through the halls, a firm grip on his arm, and his mind focused on a singular mission—seeing Shane.

It reminded him too much of the Montreal Boston Incident, and he didn’t have time to be combative or chirp at Hayden like he usually would post-game.

Ilya knew, logically, that Shane was Hayden’s best friend. And that Hayden didn’t exactly love Ilya without Shane present, but the urgency in his tone sent Ilya’s mind into overdrive as his not-best friend pulled him through the corridors.

“Did he wake up?” Ilya tried to stop and get his thoughts in order as he breathed heavily, winded from anxiety and pace. “You were on ice. Did he?”

Hayden tried to keep walking, but was met by resistance he wasn’t expecting. Narrowing his eyes, he yanked on Ilya’s arm to keep them moving. 

The Russian was immovable. 

“We’re going to the hospital,” He snapped, motioning toward the doors. “Maybe they’ll tell you more, because they wouldn’t tell me shit.”

Ilya kept his feet planted firmly on the ground.

“Is he okay?” Ilya’s accent was thick with anger, and Hayden was refusing to have a very critical conversation. “Fucking tell me! You saw him!” 

Hayden stepped away from the Russian, jerked open the side exit of the arena, and forced Ilya through from the back, "I don't know! He’s not good! But we don’t have time to fight, Rozanov. He wasn’t awake when they carted him off. It was bad.”

Walking at a quickened pace alongside his husband’s best friend, Ilya fished the keys from his pocket and thrust them at Hayden’s chest as they approached Shane’s SUV, “You drive, I will call.” 

Hayden pushed the keys forcefully back to Ilya, “I don’t live here, asshole. You drive.”

“Get in the car,” Ilya growled, throwing open the door and scrambling inside. “You call Yuna.” 

He didn’t wait for Hayden to fasten the seatbelt before he started the car and peeled out of the parking lot in a way that would have caused Shane to call him reckless.

He didn’t care how reckless he was being; he needed to see his husband.

“Jesus Christ,” Hayden’s hands here grasping his phone like a lifeline. “Don’t kill us both.”

Ilya narrowed his eyes and glared at Hayden before turning onto the main road. 

“You asked me to drive,” Ilya snapped. “I need to get there.”

“Whatever,” Hayden pressed on Yuna’s contact, and Ilya tunneled his vision and focused. “Just call her. See if she knows.” 

She picked up on the third ring and let Hayden handle the details. 

He was talking fast, and even though Ilya was seemingly paying attention as a third party, his mind and his heart were elsewhere—probably splitting time between the ice and the hospital.

He could see the pinched look on Hayden’s face out of the corner of his eye.

What happened that night was easily one of the scariest things Ilya had ever witnessed, and he’d nearly been in a plane crash. It felt like his soul had broken free from his body as Shane lay unmoving, face down on the ice, and Luca Haas dropped to his knees next to him.

Fuck, Luca, Ilya thought, his mind leaving Shane for a fleeting second as he thought about the young teammate-turned-friend who had been within feet of the brutal collision that took Shane out at the knees.

He would need to check on him later. 

He knew from experience that seeing someone you loved, or in Luca’s case, deeply admired, injured in that way was haunting. It wasn’t something you could easily forget, especially when you were the one to wave the trainers onto the ice for your friend.

Thankfully, Ilya hadn’t experienced anything like this to that degree until that night. 

The hit from Gilbert Comeau was violent and intentional, and Ilya filed it away in a mental folder titled “Revenge”. 

Ilya’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Hayden snapped him back to reality with his gentle apology after hanging up the phone. “I’m really fucking scared right now, and I’m confused by Yuna not beating us to the hospital.” 

“Me too,” Ilya white-knuckled the steering wheel as he drove toward The Ottawa Hospital. “Sorry am scared. Yuna stayed because I am emergency contact now. After wedding. And before I guess.”

Hayden nodded.

“She gave me talk about how she is not primary caregiver now when he is hurt,” Ilya swallowed thickly. “Not in bad way. Not like he is a child. But we are married, and I am his husband. It is me now. To love him forever.”

“Jackie’s dad said the same thing to me,” Hayden sighed. “Yuna said Terry didn’t tell her much, just that he was unconscious and had a concussion. The hospital will tell us more.” 

“What did you see? Coach did not let me get close,” Ilya sighed, the left hand turning shaky as he navigated. “I am thinking worst right now.” 

“Blood coming his mouth,” Hayden whispered. “Couldn’t tell why or where it was coming from.” 

Ilya nodded.

“We are almost there,” he announced dryly. “I will go to nurse or someone to see if they say much.”

Hayden fidgeted with his phone and furrowed his brow.

“I gotta call Jacks,” He sighed. “Tell the girls that Uncle Shane is okay when we know. Tell her that her “little brother” is fine.” 

“Da, good,” Ilya nodded. “When Yuna gets here you should go to hotel. I will call.” 

“I should stay,” Hayden’s voice was smaller than Ilya had ever heard it. “If I see Comeau, I might kill him.”

“Better reason to go,” Ilya nearly growled the words out instead of speaking evenly. “Put him in ground for what he did.” 

“I might,” The Metro, wearing a nondescript sweatshirt, leaned heavily into the passenger door. “This is fucked. But you’re right. Too many people would overwhelm him anyway.” 

“He might not even be up,” Ilya’s heart broke as he said the silent part out loud for the first time. “Was bad hit.”

It could end his career, Hayden thought bitterly. Shane could be hurt so bad he may never see the ice again.

Ilya pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, but as he put the boring practical car in park, he didn’t move to open the door. Hayden, on the other hand, had scrambled from his seat as soon as they stopped and was out the door in an instant.

“C’mon, don’t shut down now,” He encouraged Ilya quietly. “Let’s go get the information we can before we spiral.”

Ilya felt tears prick the corners of his eyes as he sat, both hands still on the steering wheel.

He felt paralyzed. 

“Rozanov,” Hayden’s voice was closer than Ilya remembered, and a cool breeze forced him to realize his door had been opened. “We have to go inside.”

Ilya felt Hayden’s hands on his arms, and he was guided out of the car and into a warm embrace. He and Hayden never hugged, and they probably wouldn’t again for a long time, but Ilya assumed quietly that Hayden needed it just as much as he did.

“You gotta pull it together before we go in there,” Hayden released him and gestured toward the Emergency Department. “They won’t tell you anything if you’re panicked and halfway speaking Russian.” 

Ilya nodded frantically and wiped at his eyes, tears still threatening to fall with each rapid blink. He doesn’t think he’s cried this much since his mother died.

“Okay,” Ilya took quick steps toward the door with Hayden hot on his heels.

Inside, he nearly collapsed into the desk as he asked about Shane, and was gently instructed to take a seat in the waiting room for an update from the doctor. No amount of begging was going to make the updates come any sooner, so Hayden and Ilya found themselves in hard, plastic chairs in the far corner of the Ottawa Hospital Emergency Department.

Hayden felt as sick as Ilya looked.

“Your team will be upset you are here,” Ilya stated, the words more fact than question. “Do not want to make it worse for you.” 

Hayden shrugged.

“And you have team curfew,” Ilya noted. “Do not want you to miss.”

“If you want me to go, just tell me to fuck off,” Hayden snapped, scrubbing his hands over his face. “He’s my best friend.” 

Ilya stared at him with wide, sad eyes and a frown.

“Not trying to make you leave,” Ilya admitted quietly. “Just do not want them to do what they did to Shane to you.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Ilya almost laughed. “Was hard. Do not need 15th best Metro to come to Ottawa like stray. Jackie and better Pikes can move here, though. Would like that.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Hayden sniffled. “I don’t know how much longer I can play in Montreal. Tonight was the line, and it was crossed.”

Ilya almost felt angry hearing Hayden say that; he had hoped the line was several instances before severe injury.

“Oh? Line was not crossed before?” Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Just now that Shane is hurt?” 

“I didn’t mean-mean it like that,” Hayden stammered. “This is just one that can’t be brushed off by Shane, and he won’t talk me down from it. He talked me down from a lot before he ended up here. More than he should have.” 

Ilya pondered that, thinking about the times Shane dismissed the hate speech as locker-room talk. Ilya would never allow that in his room, but Shane had lost the room the moment that Brad leaked the video. 

He never had a chance to regain it.

“I’m sorry,” Hayden whispered. “If I had been more careful, we wouldn’t be here.” 

“Is okay,” Ilya sniffed, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “Ended up 90% okay. We are in love and married. Cannot complain.” 

Hayden swallowed thickly and leaned back in his chair, his head thumping lightly against the wall, “I need to go.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to,” he squeezed his eyes closed. “But I have to. I gotta call Jackie, and I have to save face with the team.”

Ilya nodded.

“I’ll, um, text you if I hear anything about this. Like if it was planned,” Hayden’s voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it together.” 

“Do not have to,” Hayden’s phone buzzed in his hands, and he saw a text from Yuna to him and Ilya.

“Yuna’s here,” Hayden said, sitting up quickly, looking toward the door. “I’ll meet her outside and head out. Keep me updated?”

“I will,” Ilya squeezed Hayden’s hand before he could stand. “Thank you for coming with me.”

Stretching and standing, Hayden offered a curt nod, and Ilya watched as he stepped outside the Emergency Department and pulled Yuna into a hug. 

Yuna slipped into Manager mode long before her appearance, and it was difficult for everyone in her path. When Ilya assumed that she would run into the hospital a crying mess, he was swiftly proven wrong.

She looked more put together than he’d ever seen her, and her words were calm and collected as she asked for a status update on her son.

It infuriated him, in a way, but he still sat hand-in-hand with his mother-in-law as she fired off texts to everyone who needed a short, curt “no update yet” touch-base.

He hated it.

And he regretted telling Hayden to leave and call his wife and children because he didn’t always love Yuna’s Manager Mode. 

He listened as she used the voice-to-text feature and watched her press send on the same message over and over.

“Is David coming?” Ilya tried to ease the tension between them. “Shane mentioned travel.”

“He won’t be able to get back for at least two days,” She sighed, her eyes filled with unspoken sadness. “He’s in Vancouver; a work conference. He’s expected to be there. He’s trying to get that changed.”

“Even with Shane…” Ilya cut himself off before he said something he’d be unable to take back. “Is not fair.”

Yuna shrugged, “Unfortunately, you can’t plan for your son’s serious injury. Otherwise, we would schedule them for July.”

Ilya knew she was trying to make a joke, but the weight of her words settled heavily in his stomach, and he closed his eyes. He hated this—the way she easily slipped from mom to manager when David wasn’t there, but he knew that Shane was cut from a very similar cloth, and in a way, so was he.

Like David, Shane grounded Ilya through moments of uncertainty. And in return, Ilya would stop Shane’s panic and control spirals at their root—his overworked brain and heart. 

“He’s going to be okay,” Yuna pocketed her phone. “We should know something soon.”

Soon came faster than he anticipated as the voice broke through his thoughts. 

“Family of Shane Hollander?” Ilya snapped up, his eyes wildly scanning the room before landing on the doctor.

She was middle-aged, dressed in deep burgundy scrubs, and her hair was pulled neatly back. Ilya, trying to center himself and regulate his rapid heartbeat, clutched Yuna’s hand tightly as she ran a thumb along his knuckles.

“Da, that’s us,” Ilya sat straighter as Yuna’s other soft, warm hand ran up and down his forearm. “I am his husband, Ilya. This is his mother, Yuna.” 

“I’m Dr. Lang. I’ve been treating Mr. Hollander since his arrival,” the woman’s voice was gentle as she stood before Ilya and his mother-in-law. “Do you mind coming with me down the hall?”

Ilya felt like someone had dumped gallons of ice water over him, and his heart clenched in his chest. 

Yuna nudged him upward and out of his seat, her hand never leaving his. 

“He is okay?” Ilya asked quietly as they entered a small, private room. “Or is bad?”

Ilya, Yuna, and the doctor all sat.

“It’s a little complicated,” Doctor Lang explained gently. “Shane sustained a very serious concussion when his head struck two different surfaces—the boards and the ice. He was briefly conscious in the ambulance and told paramedics his neck hurt, as well as his lower left leg.”

“What did you find?” Yuna’s leg was bouncing, scared for her son. “Was it a fracture?”

“Shane has no brain bleeding or swelling, and no spinal cord or vertebrae damage. He’s been through a series of tests and imaging. That’s the good news,” Lang continued. “He does, however, have severe whiplash alongside the concussion, and his left ankle sustained moderate ligament damage as well as a Malleolar fracture.”

“What is Mall-olar?” Ilya could feel his hands shaking as he tried to keep his voice steady. “Is bad?”

“It’s a break of the knobby part of the bone in his ankle. Likely caused by the impact with the boards,” the doctor explained. “It can take six weeks to a month to heal, but full healing is always expected. He’ll be non-weight bearing for six weeks and will need some physical therapy.”

“And his head? The whipped lash?” Ilya was nervous; hearing Shane’s injuries explained in detail made his stomach roll.

“We want to keep him overnight for observation, but he’ll likely be able to go home tomorrow. The concussion and whiplash will resolve themselves,” she took a steady breath. “But he needs considerable rest. Right now, we have him on a heavy dose of pain medication and anti-nausea medication, but as he wakes, we can expect nausea, vomiting, headaches, confusion or memory gaps, light and sound sensitivities, and fatigue.”

“Has he been awake?” Yuna squeezed Ilya’s hand, sensing his overwhelm. “He hasn’t been unconscious this entire time, has he?”

“He woke briefly in the ambulance and long enough in the ER to answer a few questions,” the doctor half-smiled. “The vomiting he experienced caused quite a bit of pain, especially as we kept his head and neck immobilized. He’s not unconscious, but he is resting as he’s settled in a room.” 

Ilya took a deep, shaky breath as relief, overwhelm, and fear blanketed him, and he fidgeted with his wedding ring.

He needed to see his husband. 

“Can we go see him?” Ilya asked, voice sharper than anticipated. “Please?”

“Of course,” The doctor smiled warmly at Ilya and Yuna, unaware of the distress coursing through the man in front of her. “Once he’s in his room, I’ll have a nurse take you back. It should be any time now.” 

Ilya nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets and hoping it would stop them from shaking. 

“Thank you,” Yuna said graciously, her hand on the small of Ilya’s back. “Should we wait here?”

“You can wait back where we were,” Dr. Lang explained. “I’m sorry there hasn’t been a more private space. We’ve been unusually busy tonight.”

“Is okay,” Ilya whispered. “Has not been bad. Thank you.” 

Dr. Lang nodded, “I need to get back to the floor. There’s a nurse waiting just outside, and she can lead you back. Someone else will come get you when Shane is settled.” 

She stood and held open the door for Yuna and Ilya to follow. They were met by an older woman with greying hair who spoke softly. Ilya didn’t quite understand what she was saying; his emotions were making it increasingly difficult to navigate the English language, and he was relying heavily on Yuna’s comprehension. 

“C’mon, honey,” Yuna’s hand was warm as she led him to their chairs by the hand. “Let’s sit down.”

Ilya felt numb as he was plopped onto the hard plastic, his hand still in Yuna’s. He hated the information they were given; Shane wouldn’t play the rest of the season. He knew it would be hard for his husband to hear, and he wasn’t sure how or when he could break the news to an emotionally overwhelmed Shane.

“You have been talking to everyone,” Ilya spoke, even and calm, as he watched Yuna answer another text. “Did Farah or Harris say much?” 

Yuna shook her head, “I told them I would send a statement to them tonight; something short. I’ll work on it tonight.”

He nodded, not expecting her to even consider leaving the hospital before Shane was released to go home. His night had been full of surprises—from Hayden’s confession to her nonchalance—and he didn’t know what to think.

“Okay.”

“Are you doing okay?” Yuna shifted in her chair. “I know that seeing him hurt is difficult.”

He shrugged. 

“Did not like doctor report,” Ilya admitted. “Better knowing he is not brain dead. Worse because have not seen him yet.” 

She nodded, squeezing his hand tightly, “he’s a tough kid.”

“I know, but did not know what most of it meant.” Ilya averted his eyes and tried to hide from his mother-in-law, embarrassment burning low in his belly. “Can you…”

“Yeah,” she squeezed his hand. “Do you remember when Shane was hurt a few years ago, and you visited him?”

Ilya nodded.

“Was he loopy and giggly?” She asked gently, not sure what Ilya saw that day. “Or was he tired?”

“First one,” Ilya smiled weakly, recalling how young and blissed out his boyfriend had looked. “Loose mouth.”

“This is going to be different,” Yuna tried to gently break the news to Ilya that Shane would probably not be awake much or remember things. “He broke his ankle, and that’s going to be very painful. And his concussion is worse. His neck and his muscles are mad because of the hit so he’s going to hurt a lot for a few days, maybe even a week. And he needs lots of rest to heal. He might be sick, maybe even dizzy and confused.”

“Ah,” Ilya nodded again. “So not cute and high.” 

Yuna shook her head, “I think that’s probably our nurse.”

“This way,” The brunette in scrubs waved Yuna and Ilya toward a hallway and ushered them onto the elevator. In the stuffy silence, Ilya nodded along as the nurse relayed more information. 

Shane would be sleepy. 

He might be confused. 

He was hooked to an IV drip of pain medications and anti-nausea medications. 

Yuna absorbed the information like a sponge, and it rolled off of Ilya like he was a duck in water. He just wanted to see Shane, and by the time they reached the door of his room, he was nearly in tears. 

Inside the room, he felt his heart shatter as he and Yuna stood next to Shane’s bed. Brown eyes fluttered open under their watch, and Shane mumbled something as Ilya took his hand and tenderly kissed his knuckles. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Yuna brushed the unruly hair from Shane’s forehead. “You gave us quite the scare tonight.”

“M’m,” he groaned. “Hur’s.”

Ilya felt sick, and instead of joining the conversation with Yuna, he let her continue explaining and took his place next to the bed. He felt dizzy as he watched Shane attempt to open his eyes, only to hiss at the brightness of the dim, nearly dark room.

“You had an accident on the ice tonight,” She continued, speaking clearly and professionally to her son. “You’re in the hospital.”

“M’not hurt,” he fussed, clearly confused. “Game’s t’m’row.” 

Ilya sucked in a sharp, anxious breath. He knew the doctor said confusion was common, but he wasn’t expecting Shane to be missing a large chunk of his memory leading up to the game. It meant he didn’t know Comeau hit him out of nowhere, and that he didn’t remember the hostility and violent nature of his former team.

“No, honey, the game ended about three hours ago. Ilya’s here with me,” She stepped aside so Shane could see Ilya the next time he tried to open his eyes. “Hayden was here for a bit, but he needed to get back to his hotel.”

Slivers of brown peeked out from behind fluttering eyelids and dark eyelashes.

“Il’a,” Shane grimaced. “Cryin’.”

Ilya nodded, his brave facade crumbling as his husband looked at him with clouded, unfocused eyes and a lopsided frown.

“We were worried,” Ilya sniffled. “I was worried.” 

Shane tried to nod, but as his chin dipped, the heart monitor spiked, and he screwed his eyes closed in pain.

“Breathe,” Yuna encouraged, rubbing soothing circles on her son’s shoulder. “Don’t move your head too much. Keep breathing.” 

Ilya followed her movements and traced similar patterns with his thumb across the back of Shane’s hand.

He hated how helpless he felt; his husband was hooked to machines and monitors, and his mother was soothing him like a small child. There wasn’t much Ilya could do as the two of them sat and stood with Shane, who was quickly drifting back to sleep under the cloak of hospital-grade pain medication and crashing adrenaline. 

“Sleep,” Ilya whispered, missing the way Yuna stepped back as Shane’s eyes closed. “We will be here.” 

He sensed a shift in the room as he spoke, but he didn’t want to cause any disruptions by asking Yuna why she pulled away so quickly, and why her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. 

“Are you okay to be here with him by yourself?” Yuna asked anxiously, her phone clasped tightly in her hand. “I need to call Farah, maybe touch base with some of his sponsors and brands. And let Harris know what to post if he can. There’s a lot to do. You probably need to talk to your team, too.” 

Ilya was shocked by her words; he never expected Yuna to leave her son alone in the hospital, let alone when he was in this state. It felt out of character. 

“I need to update David, too,” She added quickly, seeing the change in Ilya’s demeanor. “Let him know that he was awake, even if it was just a little while.” 

“Yes,” Ilya whispered, his heart thrumming against his ribs as he held back his frustration. “Will call if it changes, I promise.”

Yuna nodded, smoothing her sweatshirt and wiping her hands on her jeans. Ilya could tell she was anxious—Shane shared many qualities with his mother and anxiety was one of them—and he watched carefully, and she approached Shane’s bed and brushed his hair back before she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“I love you, sweetheart,” She whispered. “I’ll stop by when you’re home.” 

Stepping away, she leaned down and hugged Ilya, kissing the top of his head.

“I love you too, Ilya,” Her voice shook, and her words were soft. “He’s going to be okay. Text me when he wakes up again?”

Ilya felt fresh tears prick the corners of his eyes, and he swallowed thickly, taking her hand as he nodded.

“We love you, too,” he croaked. “Text me when you are home.”

Ilya watched Yuna leave as he sat rigid in the chair next to Shane’s hospital bed, his hand loosely holding his husband’s. 

He was back asleep after a brief, confused moment of consciousness. 

Shane’s hand was unusually cold; he wasn’t usually warm by any means, running hot was Ilya’s thing, but the cool skin was still shocking to Ilya. He hated how still Shane was, too. He was always fidgety, even in his sleep, and the lack of movement coming from the man in the bed sent a shiver down Ilya’s spine.

“Mama,” Ilya whispered as the fingers of his free hand brushed the cross around his neck. “Please look after him.”

Ilya’s phone was buzzing in his pocket, and as he sat and silently prayed to anyone who would listen, he felt almost guilty for not updating anyone with information about Shane. It had been hours since he was carted off the ice and shuttled away in the ambulance, and it hadn’t crossed Ilya’s mind to say anything to anyone. 

He knew it was unfair to keep an update from his team, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t want to open the door for more questions he didn’t have the capacity to answer, and as he watched Shane’s deep, even breathing and saw the wrinkle between his brows that he desperately wanted to smooth away with a kiss, he felt selfish.

There were messages from almost everyone: Coach Wiebe, Harris, the Centaurs team chat, and Hayden. He didn’t know where to start, and Hayden would be the easiest to update, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Shane’s hand. 

As his husband slept, if a pain-medication-induced unconsciousness could count as sleep, the guilt of keeping Shane’s medical status gnawed at Ilya from the inside. It was just a text. 

He could send a text.

Hayden
Any update?

Ilya
Am in his room. Woke up some.
Confused, lot of pain. Will send more.
Hard to get my brain working.

Hayden
Tell him the kids love him.
Me and Jackie too. 

One down, Ilya thought to himself as he considered who he should answer next. He knew Yuna would handle getting news to Harris and Farah. And that Harris, even if he shouldn’t say anything, would update Troy. 

As their captain, he felt like it was his responsibility to update the entire team. As Shane’s husband, he knew it was his responsibility to update someone who could relay the information to everyone else. 

Their team's group chat was flooding his home screen with messages. It was nights like tonight that he regretted not letting Shane show him how to silence the thread, allowing space and peace when he needed it. 

Centaurs Chat (Official Business Only - Harris)

Hazy
Has anyone heard from Roz?

Bood
No, Troy?

Barrett
Not shit from Roz or anyone else

Dykstra
Nope, he and Pike booked it
probably to the hospital. I saw Yuna with
Terry after the game.

Hazy
Luca they’re your dads
Have you heard anything

Dykstra
Not the time

Harris
Yuna is supposed to call me soon. I might
know more. But it could also be a 
vague statement.

Ilya almost laughed at that message. Nothing about Yuna was ever vague when it came to her son, but he couldn’t help but think she wasn't going to release all of the information until the league determined the hit from Comeau was dirty and targeted.

If they ever did, because he forgot to bring that up to her when she was there, and she hadn’t mentioned it.

Coach
I’ll give Haas a call. That’s tough to
witness for anyone. Is he with one of you?

Dykstra
He’s at mine. 

Young 
Thank god because Holms and I
can’t get a hold of him 

Dykstra
Cait and I have him. 

The guilt swirling in Ilya’s stomach was back, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He didn’t have the energy to text anyone back, but he needed someone to call Luca to provide an update and someone to relay messages to the team. 

He didn’t want to bother Troy because he knew deep down that while Troy was his best friend, he wasn’t the level-headed presence he needed. Troy would encourage Ilya to act on the feelings of anger, and those feelings needed to wait until the next time the Centaurs met the Metros on the ice, and not be confronted in his husband’s hospital room. 

“Oh, malysh,” Ilya brought Shane’s hand to his lips. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Taking a deep breath, Ilya opened a new message to Coach Wiebe and pondered what to say. He wasn’t sure he could talk, but he also wasn’t sure he would be able to convey everything he needed to in a text—not when it came to Shane. 

Can I call?

Brandon Wiebe
Anytime, kid. 

Ilya took a deep breath and pressed the call button, his hands trembling as it rang through.

His coach answered on the first ring. 

“How’re you doing, Ilya?” The words made Ilya feel like he was going to melt out of his chair. “You at the hospital?”

“Da, am with Shane,” Ilya’s voice was raspy, and he knew his coach could tell. “Is not good.”

“And how are you?” Wiebe asked again gently. “How are you doing?”

“Also bad,” Ilya admitted. “Cannot bring myself to text team. Is hard to say in English.”

Wiebe hummed.

“He is hurt bad. Broken ankle, muscles angry, and bad concussion. Yuna knows all the hospital words,” Ilya continued. “Can you tell them he is okay? And I will say more tomorrow if I can?”

“I can do that,” Wiebe’s voice was oddly calming in the midst of Ilya’s emotional storm. “Concussion, broken ankle, and probably whiplash?”

“Da, how did you know word?” Ilya raised an eyebrow, even though no one would see his confusion.

“I made a guess, and I was right,” Wiebe laughed dryly, worried about his athletes. “Haas is pretty torn up. Do you mind if I call him and tell him more?” 

“Please,” Ilya half-begged. “Let him know Shane will be okay.” 

“I’m on it,” Ilya left the weight of the world lifted ever so slightly from his shoulders as his Coach agreed to be his messenger. “Get some sleep, kid. Okay? If you can?”

“I will try,” Ilya sniffled. “Shane is sleeping.”

“He needs his rest.” 

“I do not like,” Ilya admitted cautiously. “But I will update more tomorrow. Or Yuna.”

“Thank you for calling me, Roz. Give Shane my love,” Wiebe sounded almost sad. “And get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” Ilya whispered.

Ilya hung up quickly, before he broke down under the waves of anxiety and emotion and fixed his gaze on Shane. He was exhausted, and Shane’s nurse had promised the corner chair was a fold-out, but she had yet to return to show him how to maneuver it. 

Coach
Spoke with Roz. Hollander’s okay.
He’ll have more of an update tomorrow.

Bood
Roz, if you see this, call if you need anything. 

Ilya didn’t sleep much that night, not with Shane’s nurses popping in for hourly checks and Shane waking in fits of pain and nausea. The hours dragged on and on, and by shift-change, the staff and doctors had decided to keep Shane for more observation as it related to his concussion.

He was pumped full of anti-nausea medications, and a small patch slipped behind his ear, but nothing seemed to take the edge off. Shane was waking hourly, either in pain or to get sick, and it broke his husband’s heart to see the man reduced to something so small and fragile in the bed in front of him. 

Ilya was worried, and Yuna was busy handling statements and media, and updating David, who was still trying to get home from Vancouver. 

He pondered his next move with Shane back asleep in the hospital bed—a blue emesis bag lying next to his hand—and glanced at his phone, seeing new messages and calls flashing across the screen. 

Brandon Wiebe
iMessage (4) 

There were several missed texts from teammates, Dr. Terry, Hayden, and other staff after last night's updates, and his coach had made him promise that he’d call if he needed anything.

Ilya felt selfish calling someone before 8 a.m., but he felt out of his element and entirely anxious with the thought of staying in the hospital even longer. He just wanted to get Shane back to their house and tuck him into bed where he would be safe with Anya and unhooked from the machines that beeped and blared at every wrong beat and breath. 

The more he thought about it, the more he needed the additional support. Yuna wouldn’t be back by until later, and Hayden was going to squeeze in a visit before the team bus left--if it was possible for him to sneak away without raising suspicions. Ilya didn't want this to cause more turmoil than necessary, but another warm, conscious body in the room would do for his psyche than anything else. 

He also hated asking for help. Shane is his husband, and he should be able to manage this part of his recovery alone. After all, they would be going back to the house together--just the two of them--after discharge. 

Still, his eyes wandered to the messages from Coach Wiebe, and something inside of Ilya snapped. 

He felt like his world was caving in, and with shaking hands, he opened their messages and pressed call. 

“Roz?” Coach Wiebe’s voice sliced away the fog in Ilya’s anxious mind. “You doing okay?” 

“No,” Ilya half-cried into the phone. “He is not improving. Keeping him longer. I feel like I am crazy.” 

There was a rustling on the other end of the phone, and what Ilya guessed was a door closing behind his coach. His stomach churned as he thought about interrupting Wiebe’s slow morning with his family. 

“Have they given you any sort of update?” Wiebe asked carefully. “Is there more imaging? Tests?” 

“Da,” Ilya croaked. “Doing more tests later. Medicine now to see if it helps. They have to keep changing it. I hate this.” 

“I know,” Wiebe was still the same gentle man who signed Ilya, even over the phone. “Do you want me to stop in or wait until you’re home? I was planning to come by later and check in, bring Shane’s stuff from the locker room. But if you want me to. I can be there in an hour."

“You can come if you want,” Ilya did his best to stay grounded, counting the ceiling tiles as he spoke. “Will not be good company.” 

Wiebe laughed, and Ilya’s heart sank.

“No one expects you to be good company,” Wiebe chuckled, and Ilya felt the ache in his chest lessen slightly. “Shane’s hurt, and you’re exhausted. And regardless of what the league says, it was a dirty fucking hit. I’d expect you to be bad company, if I’m being honest.” 

Ilya let a tear trickle down his flushed cheeks. He knew his coach was right—it was a dirty hit. A dirty hit that could have seriously injured his husband.

“The league?” Ilya didn’t know if he wanted the answer, but he asked anyway. “Did you ask?”

“I did,” Wiebe sighed. “And you’re not going to like what they said.” 

After their call ended and Ilya processed the news he received, it felt like the day passed in slow motion. 

Shane was woken at various intervals for vitals checks, concussion checks, and more imaging as it became abundantly clear that the nausea and vomiting weren’t going to stop. He was poked and prodded, lights were shone in his eyes, and with each invasive test, Ilya wanted to bundle him in blankets and hide Shane away from the world that was causing him discomfort. 

“We’re almost finished, Shane,” his nurse soothed as she injected a new medication into his IV line. “This is the best we’ve got. If it doesn’t work, we’ll go back to the drawing board and see what we can add.” 

“‘Kay,” Shane muttered as his nurse taped the IV line back down. “Wanna go home.” 

“Soon,” She whispered. “Once we get some of this under control, your husband will be allowed to take you home. I promise.” 

“Today?” Shane’s eyes fluttered open as he tried to focus on the person speaking to him. 

“Probably today,” She confirmed, shooting a gentle look in Ilya’s direction as she wrapped up her tasks. “We don’t want you to be here any longer than you have to. How’s the pain?” 

“Five,” the brunette exhaled. “Maybe four if I don’t move.” 

“We’ll try to get that down to manageable before we let you go,” She indicated, looking directly at Ilya. “We’ve added a bridge dose of the pain medication. If it doesn’t kick in, you can hit the call button.” 

Ilya nodded, tears threatening to fall as he looked at Shane. He hated this more than he hated most things in life — being unable to help Shane feel better was at the top of his list of Things To Never Experience Again. 

Ilya was nearly silent when Hayden visited, bringing well-wishes from Jackie and the kids. 

He sat in his chair, shoulders straight and eyes burning, when Yuna stopped by to confirm what Wiebe had said—the league would not be investigating Comeau or the hit because there wasn’t enough visual evidence that it was illegal or targeted.

He breathed through rounds as nurses spoke, and Shane asked for his mom.

He nodded along when the nurses upped the medication dosages and when the new doctor on call made his final rounds before discharge. 

And when the evening rolled around, Ilya was allowed to leave the hospital with Shane slowly and quietly. When it was finally time to return home—and to Anya, who was being doted on by her loving grandmother most of the day—Ilya was on his own.

He was terrified. 

Shane had spent the day in and out of sleep, drifting off in the middle of conversations and sentences as the pain medication or concussion-related fatigue took hold. He was dizzy, bleary-eyed, and nauseous as he tried to hold small, meaningful moments in time with his husband, and Ilya always found a way to coax him back to sleep.

“We’ll wheel him out to your car,” Shane’s nurse, a young redhead named Maddie, spoke softly as she disconnected Shane’s IV lines. “Now that the discharge papers are signed, I’ll walk you through his medication. There are two for pain, and one for nausea. I’m going to place a new anti-nausea patch behind your ear in just a second, Shane. Is that okay?”

Ilya held his breath as Shane furrowed his brow, looking deep in thought; the Russian focused on the bag of prescriptions instead of his husband. 

“Hmmm?” Shane’s eyes almost appeared cloudy as he sat up in bed, dressed in soft joggers and an old sweatshirt. “Yeah. ‘m dizzy.” 

Maddie brushed a stray strand of hair from Shane’s forehead with gentle fingers while Ilya stood, almost paralyzed, with his hands in his pockets. 

“That’s to be expected,” The redhead soothed as Shane leaned back and closed his eyes, fighting another wave of nausea. “It will go away in a few days. Your husband is going to take very good care of you.”

“Yeah,” Shane didn’t open his eyes, but a lazy smile spread across his face, and his cheeks flushed. “Always does.” 

“We’re going to send you home with crutches and a knee scooter,” Maddie added, her smile wavering as she saw the pain Shane was in radiating through him. “It will help with mobility.”

Shane made the mistake of blinking, trying to find his husband in a sea of slightly blurred objects and people. His head ached, and he needed Ilya’s grounding presence more than anything. 

He reached out blindly, and Ilya captured his hand on instinct,

“Are you okay?” Ilya asked, voice quiet. 

Shane didn’t move.

“Feel sick,” Shane muttered, his eyes squeezed tight and his brow furrowed, tightly grasping Ilya’s hand as he spoke. “‘s bright in here.” 

“Yuna brought sunglasses this morning.” Ilya reached into his pocket and slipped the black Ray-Bans onto Shane’s face. “Should help with light.” 

Shane hummed as the dark lenses blocked out the harsh fluorescent light and held out his hand. Wordlessly, Ilya took it and held on as tight as he could without causing more discomfort. 

“Are you ready?” The nurse asked as she stood next to Shane. 

Shane nodded weakly as he gripped Ilya’s hand tighter. He was eased into a sitting position, and his legs were dangled over the edge of the bed. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” His nurse smiled. “No weight on the leg, but your chariot awaits.”

Getting to the car was a process Ilya never wanted to repeat. Shane was nauseous, it was clear to everyone that he was fighting against the urge to throw up as the beads of sweat collected along his temples. By the time they made it outside and the nurses helped Shane into the car, he was pale and nearly panting. 

“Okay,” Ilya took a deep, grounding breath as he sat behind the wheel. “We will go home, okay?” 

“Drive safe,” Shane’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned against the passenger door. “Don’t want both of us banged up.”

Chapter Text

As the pavement crunched beneath the tires of the Range Rover, Ilya felt his hands begin to tremble against the steering wheel through his white-knuckle grip. 

The drive back had been difficult; Shane was mostly out of it, mumbling incoherent thoughts or warnings to slow down, but when he wasn't, he was fighting against the dizziness and nausea that plagued him, or the deep ache in his now-cast ankle.

His face was pale, and he was sweating—two signs that he was Definitely Not Doing Okay. 

It broke Ilya's heart as he watched Shane shift in pain at each bump or ripple in the road, and he took a deep, centering breath as he thought about how he would get Shane inside along with their bags, the small bag of medication, and Shane's crutches. It wasn't something he'd asked about before they left the hospital, and he probably should have, but the mere thought of causing Shane any additional pain made Ilya's stomach roll. 

The crutch trial had gone semi-okay in the hospital. Still, with the dizziness and nausea, and the raging pain in Shane's neck and shoulders, Ilya knew they would be used sparingly—even if it meant he was helping Shane around the house as a human crutch or gently guiding the knee scooter through the halls of their home. At the same time, Shane clung to any semblance of support and pain relief. 

"'s my mom still 'ere?" Shane's eyes squinted open as he noticed the car come to a complete stop. "She w's at the h'spital." 

Ilya frowned; he wished Yuna were waiting right inside the door like she had many times before this one, when she knew her boys were on their way home from the rink or a promotional shoot. This time, they were left to face the night alone, and Ilya was frustrated. 

"She went home last night," Ilya reached across the console and took Shane's hand in his, his thumb instinctively brushing over the back of his husband's hand. "She was here today and left us dinner, and she took care of Anya. She even sent pictures you can look at later." 

"Anya," Shane's dopey smile spread quickly. "Missed her." 

"I'm sure she missed you too, dorogoy," Ilya lifted their intertwined hands and kissed Shane's knuckles softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Bad," Shane rasped, his eyes squeezing shut and his smile faltering as he sank into the passenger seat. "Hur's and I wanna sleep." 

Ilya stared down the steps to the front door from where he sat with an unbridled hatred for architecture and the Montreal Metros. He didn't know how he was supposed to get Shane inside, let alone to their bedroom, without carrying him. He didn't know how he was supposed to do anything but panic.

He needed help, but he didn't want to bother Yuna when she was in manager mode and still trying to communicate with David, who was, allegedly, still stuck in Vancouver on his trip. He didn't understand how his father-in-law hadn't taken the first available flight out and why his mother-in-law wasn't still at the house, and he was too frustrated to ask. 

He was frustrated about everything. 

In that moment, with a heart full of anger at their current circumstances and a burning dislike of hockey, Ilya decided their game day bags with their dress clothes, shoes, and other items Shane would insist needed to come in on a normal day, could stay in the car to ensure Shane could get inside safely and settled into bed. 

"I will help you in," Ilya swiftly opened the door and made it to the passenger side before his stubborn, loopy husband could take matters into his own hands. "Good leg out first to help stand."

Shane choked back a wave of nausea, barely nodding as he was wrapped in a tight hold of pain and anxiety, and Ilya reached across him to unbuckle the seatbelt. 

"Steps," he mumbled, eyes lazily wandering toward the porch. "Can't do 'em."

Ilya frowned, gently removing the seatbelt from across his husband's waist. It was quietly intimate--something you never thought of doing for your spouse until they were in need--and Ilya hoped he never needed to do something this gentle and mindful because of a debilitating injury ever again.  

"I will help," Ilya reiterated, guiding Shane's tender body from the passenger seat and helping the good leg find its footing. "Easy." 

If Shane had been remotely coherent, he would have swatted Ilya's hands away and blushed, insisting he could do this simple task by himself. But Shane wasn't coherent, and as his "good" foot found the pavement of the driveway, his knee buckled, and Ilya caught him under the arms with ease. 

"Gentle," Ilya whispered. "Don't try to move too fast." 

"Everything else's movin'," Shane whined, everything in his line of sight swimming, including Ilya. "Hold still." 

"Of course," Ilya was already standing firmly in place, but he did his best to limit extramovement as Shane balanced against his shoulder. "Scooter is here for your leg." 

"Hate it," Shane continued to complain, his brain grasping for semblances of normalcy. 

"I know," Ilya was tired, his patience was thin, and he was trying very hard not to snap at his husband. "Just to the steps." 

"Fine," Shane huffed and let Ilya help maneuver his leg as he held tight to the handlebars. "You'll have'ta help." 

"I know," Ilya sighed, wrapping an arm around Shane's waist as he was situated. "Push with good leg." 

Once Shane got himself moving, Ilya stayed glued to his side. It was a slow, unsteady journey to the steps--Ilya clinging to Shane's waist to keep him from falling over--and Shane's foot was barely propelling them forward. Ilya was doing most of the work, and he didn't mind. When they finally reached their few short steps to the front door, Shane stopped with a sharp inhale. 

"Can't get up 'em," Shane looked up at Ilya with unfocused, watery eyes. "'m sorry." 

"Do not apologize," Ilya kissed Shane's forehead and helped them to a complete stop. "I will get you to bed." 

It turns out, getting up their front steps was the least of their worries. As Ilya opened the front door and gently ushered Shane inside, he heard the faint clicking of Anya's nails against the hardwood floor.

As she saw Ilya, her tail began to wag, and she started to bark. 

"Shhhh, Anya," Ilya whispered as she started toward them in a playful run. "Careful."

She was not careful; as part of her Welcoming My Papa And Shane Home routine, she jumped, her paws landing firmly against Shane's thighs as he leaned against Ilya, who was acting as a crutch.

The sound that slipped past his lips as he reached down to say hello sent Ilya's mind into a spiral as he tried to balance keeping Shane conscious and upright and keeping Anya calm.

"Anya, down," Ilya commanded, and she stopped in her tracks with her ears back and tail tucked. 

She looked sad, and Ilya's heart broke.

"Breathe," Ilya whispered, gently leaning Shane closer. "Breathe through pain. Like Nurse Maddie showed you." 

Black danced across Shane's vision as he focused on his breath work; his head felt like it was being split open, and every muscle in his upper body seized with the slight movements.

"Bed," Shane croaked. "Need to be flat."

"Okay," Ilya wrapped an arm around his waist. "We do that. Lean there and wait for me to get scooter."

Anya stood staring at Shane when Ilya left him balanced against the kitchen island. He wasn't gone long, but by the time he returned, Shane was pale and sweating. 

"Back on scooter," Ilya guided him toward the new mobility device. "Let me help."

Shane nodded and let Ilya maneuver his injured leg and half-functioning limbs for the second time that day. He hated it, but he was too tired and medicated to be argumentative. 

"Almost there," Ilya's warm hand was on Shane's back as he almost caught his foot. "Then bed."

Shane took a shaky breath before Ilya guided him into the bedroom and gently moved him from the scooter to the bed after they came to a stop.

If Shane had been more lucid, he likely would have been embarrassed; Ilya knew that. 

"I know you are still in car clothes. Will help you change later," Ilya lifted Shane's legs onto the bed and helped him lean into the stack of pillows. 

"Don' care," Shane's eyes were unfocused, and Ilya's hand on his cheek was the only grounding presence in the room. "Love you."

"I love you too. I will be with Anya," Ilya was gentle as he ran his fingers through Shane's slightly greasy and sweat-damp hair. "Will come and check after playtime. Do you want food?"

Even the mention of eating made Shane's stomach churn. He had tried a smoothie in the hospital and ended up seeing the deep green liquid mere moments after it landed in his stomach.

"Not really," His eyes were fluttering closed. "'m tired. Meds are workin'." 

"Good. Sleep," Ilya whispered as he sat on the edge of the bed, Anya standing at his feet. "We will be back." 

He sat there until Shane, who was propped against pillows and leaned back into the slight angle the doctor had recommended, drifted off into what Ilya hoped was a peaceful sleep.

"Do you need outside?" Ilya looked down at their dog, who was lying patiently beside the bed. "Potty?"

She jumped to her feet and rushed to the door, full of excitement. He laughed to himself, slipping on his slides that lived beside the door, and followed her excited, wiggling form down the hallway.

"Slow," He reminded her as they reached the living room, nearly sliding on the rug. "I will get ball."

She chirped at the suggestion of her favorite toy and bounded toward the back of the house. 

"Give me second," He shook his head. "Will be one second."

She sat by the door watching him, something she usually did, but by the time Ilya reached her and opened the door, her demeanor had changed, and he was thoroughly confused by Anya's behavior. 

When he mentioned outside in the bedroom, she jumped in place and darted toward the door, the excitement of her big backyard bringing his dog joy. Now, the moment the wide, sliding glass opened to the patio and the vast green space, she turned and looked behind her like she was waiting for something.

Shane. 

Ilya realized she was waiting for Shane.

More often than not, they both spent time outside with Anya in the evenings. They'd light a fire in the fire pit, drink a beer—or in Shane's case a Ginger Ale—and talk about nothing while she sniffed around the perimeter of the fence. They'd take turns throwing her tennis ball, playing tug-of-war with her rope, and sneaking her treats when the other wasn't looking.

Now, Shane was asleep in their bed, and Anya was confused.

"Is okay," Ilya encouraged, leaning her outside with a pat of his thigh. "We will be fast."

Anya tentatively stepped outside, still looking behind her. 

"Shane cannot come," Ilya's voice cracked. "You need to go potty." 

She stepped further onto the patio and sat down next to the door. From the edge of the grass, Ilya watched her, waiting for her Shane, who wouldn't be joining. 

"Shane cannot come, printsessa," He sat down next to her and leaned against the house. "He is hurt. I know you do not understand." 

Crawling on her belly toward her Papa, Anya rested her head in Ilya's lap, and his hand fell heavy against her soft, freshly groomed fur.

"I know," Ilya sniffled. "I wish he was outside too. I know you do not know what I say, but Shane got hurt. By big mean asshole Comeau. And he is sleeping to feel better."

Anya sighed, snuggling closer to Ilya.

"Is not going to be fun time," he almost laughed. "But we will take care, right? Make Shane feel better so he can fetch with you. For now, is just me. Just Papa."

She looked up at Ilya with sad brown eyes, and he nearly started crying. He knew that she was his brilliant, perfect dog child, and seeing her react to the emotional turmoil he was experiencing felt unfair.

It took Shane a long time to come around to Anya. He was a creature of habit and kept his home clean and neat. Anya added a small element of chaos into his carefully curated world, but over time, they bonded.

Shane fed her breakfast every morning and took her on a long walk before Ilya got out of bed. Ilya would catch Shane sneaking her bits of chicken or blueberries, depending on the time of day, and he would carry treats with him wherever they went together and tell her she was a good girl.

Ilya loved them both, and he wanted Shane to feel better.

"If you go potty, we can have treats," Ilya tried to encourage her, but she remained stuck to his side.

His head thumped against the house as he leaned back, trying to figure out what to do. 

"Okay, treat is not motivating," Ilya said to no one in particular. "We go see Shane if you go potty." 

She perked up at the name and, before Ilya could scratch her behind the ears, trotted into the yard to take care of business. When she was finished, she wandered back and past Ilya into the house.

He watched her carefully walk down the hall and nudge open the bedroom door. Shane was picky about Anya sharing their bed, and as Ilya followed her, he watched her observe the room and gently jump onto his side of the bed.

Shane didn't flinch.

Looking back toward Ilya, she circled twice before curling into Shane's side and resting her head against his thigh—exactly like she had done with him outside. 

"Oh," Ilya felt the tears start to fall as he watched them both in bed. "Okay. Yes. This is fine."

Ilya walked closer to the bed, removed his shoes, and eased himself down next to Shane on top of the blankets. Anya and Shane didn't move. 

Silently, Ilya watched Shane sleep. He took stock of each breath and flutter of his eyelids, making sure he was resting.

"Will be long night, Anya," Ilya scratched the dog's head. "We can do it." 

It was four hours later—nearly 1:00 AM—when Ilya was at a loss. Shane wasn't allowed more pain medication, and he had started throwing up again after a weak attempt at Gatorade and sitting up just a bit more to have a brief conversation with Ilya about his pain levels and how itchy his cast was getting. 

"'ya," Shane groaned from over the plastic bin. "Think'm done."

Ilya took the bin quietly and rinsed it out in the en suite for the third time. He returned with it, placing it on the large end table because he didn't trust Shane's stomach, and sat down next to his partner, who was leaning back against the pillows, eyes closed and crying.

"Hurts," Shane cried. "Everything. Head's spinning and my eyes don't work."

"It will get better," Ilya soothed, taking Shane's hand in his. "Can have more medicine soon." 

Shane shook his head, and before he could even speak, the bin was shoved under his chin, and he dry heaved.

"Do not move like that," Ilya reminded. "Head does not like." 

Shane groaned, a second dry heave bringing up nothing and triggering even more pain in his head and neck. He hated it. He wished that he were still unconscious, because at least he wouldn't be subjected to his broken body's protests against even the slightest movements. 

"'m gonna close my eyes a bit," Shane admitted when the dry heaving stopped. "Maybe it'll make my brain stop melting."

Ilya's heart sank, thinking about the invisible aspect of Shane's injury—the concussion. Shane's hand was resting on Anya's back flank, and she was back against his side in an instant. 

Ilya nodded and moved to shut off the en suite light, leaving Shane in total darkness with Anya before he settled into bed next to them, scrolling mindlessly on his phone.

Shane eventually settled into a deep sleep, leaning into Ilya as he slumped to his left and sighed. 

Ilya quickly pulled him closer and began reading through his missed messages from the last two days. There were messages of support—so many that it overwhelmed him—and information from management, publicists, and attorneys that made his skin crawl.

There was also a message from Yuna delivered about two hours ago.

Looking down at Shane, he sighed. He needed something to help, and his mother-in-law might be his best resource. Thankfully, for now, Shane was at ease and sleeping through the pain.

He knew that could change in an instant. 

Ilya pressed Yuna's contact information and ran a gentle hand through Shane's hair as he waited for the call to ring through. 

"Ilya, is everything okay? I was just working on a draft statement to go out from the Foundation," Yuna said quickly as she answered the phone. "Did you get home okay?"

"Da," Ilya cleared his throat. "Shane is still hurting, and I don't know how to help."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and Ilya's anxiety ticked up a notch. 

"Has he had his medication? For pain and for nausea?" Ilya noticed that her voice still sounded more "manager" than mom, and while that usually didn't bother him, it wasn't what he needed.

"He cannot have for another hour," Ilya spoke quietly. "Think it is ankle more than head."

"Has he had plenty of water? The doctor said he needs to stay hydrated," She reminded him firmly. 

"He is throwing it up," He recalled the painful and tear-filled vomiting episode Shane experienced after he attempted bone broth for dinner and again with the Gatorade. "Makes him hurt more." 

Yuna hummed to herself, and Ilya felt his frustration growing. He knows what she's doing; her son is as well-versed in crisis distractions as she is. She had spent the afternoon speaking softly to Shane when he was awake about postponing brand content and brand deals, speaking to Farah about media inquiries, and the Foundation, until Shane told her he was dizzy and everything was too loud.

Ilya also knew how concerned she was in the hospital waiting room as they awaited news about Shane and his injuries.

The manager side was winning at the moment, and Ilya really wished the mom side would take back over as it had in the late-night hours after he'd arrived following the game.

He didn't know what to do to help Shane as the tears trickled down his husband's flushed, freckled cheeks in his half-asleep state. 

"There's really not much more you can do, honey," Yuna finally spoke, her voice breaking through Ilya's anxiety fog. "If he's not due for more medicine, you can try ice for the ankle and warm heat packs for the muscles in his neck and shoulders. Maybe ice for his head. This is the hardest part."

"Okay," Ilya sighed, defeated. "He is mostly asleep right now. I will keep him sitting up and watch." 

"That's what we had to do after his last injury," Yuna said, more to herself than anyone else. "I can stop by tomorrow evening if he's still not feeling better."

"No, is okay," Ilya pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will keep you updated."

"Do you want me to send you the draft statement for Shane's accounts and the Foundation for you to review? I've already spoken with Harris about a joint statement with the Centaurs after what he published last night," Yuna continued, and Ilya nearly groaned in frustration. "This one has more information."

He carefully and cautiously shifted Shane off his chest and back onto the mountain of pillows after he was confident the brunette was asleep and slipped out of their bed quietly. 

Unsurprisingly, Anya did not leave Shane's side as her Papa walked away, but instead curled further into him and rested her head protectively on his thigh. She had been clinging to her Shane since they'd gotten him settled in bed hours earlier, and the sight made Ilya's eyes flood with tears. 

"No, it will be fine whatever you put together," Ilya conceded, not interested in anything other than Shane's well-being.

He wished she sounded as scared as he felt. 

"I've also spoken with Coach Wiebe about the hit," Yuna's tone shifted to something angrier. "He said the league will not be investigating Comeau. But I've spoken to your managers and attorneys about it, too. There's nothing we can really do. They're calling it an unfortunate incident between two players." 

"Of course," Ilya knew this would be the case, and he flopped on the couch with a huff. "Are you surprised?"

"No, but I want to make sure you are in contact with Farah about any potential media outreach. Harris knows as well," Yuna continued, voice tight and professional. "We want to remain professional."

"I do not plan to speak to media while Shane can barely stay awake," Ilya felt rude; his tone was snippier than he intended. "It is late. I am sorry I bothered you."

"You're never a bother, sweetheart," Yuna soothed, voice finally back in the mom-mode Ilya so deeply craved. "You'll call tomorrow with an update?" 

"Da," Ilya sighed as he sank further into the plush cushions. 

"Good night, honey. Please try to get some rest," Her voice was soft, and Ilya relished the comfort. "You need some sleep." 

"I will try. Good night," He whispered as he hung up the phone. "Mama pomogi min." 

No sooner than Ilya relaxed into the couch with his eyes closed, cocooned in a pile of blankets that Shane insisted were mostly for decoration, he felt a cold, wet nose nudging against his hand.

Anya.

"Hi, my sweet baby girl," Ilya scratched behind her ears, her tail wagging lazily. "What is wrong?"

She nudged at his hand again, and her paws pattered against the hardwood floor.

He saw her eyes dart toward the bedroom.

"Does Shane need me?" At the mention of Shane's name, she trotted down the hall, slowing only to look back and make sure that her Papa was following. "I'm coming, Anya. Is okay." 

Usually, the only time that Ilya made quick work of walking down the hall was related to sex. He would wrap Shane's legs around his middle and carry his husband to their bed, kissing along his jaw and collar bone while he squirmed in his arms and playfully swatted at Ilya to put him down.

This time was different because Shane spent almost all day asleep, and had been sick and achy since they'd returned home. Even further, Anya had not left Shane's side since he had been bundled into bed, except for now.

"Shane?" Ilya asked into the dark room, the only light visible from under the en suite door. "Are you okay?"

"Need up," Shane struggled against the blankets that were once again pinned down by Anya. "Gotta pee."

"Let me help," Ilya rushed to his side just as Shane swung his legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand. "You cannot…"

An anguished cry rang out through the bedroom as Ilya caught Shane under the armpits. 

Behind Shane's closed eyes, fireworks exploded as white-hot pain burned through his leg, neck, shoulders, and head. The room spun, even when he couldn't see it, and he felt like he had been thrown in the washing machine mid-spin cycle.

The nausea crept up his throat, and his stomach rolled. Ilya forced him down on the bed and shoved the plastic bin under his chin as he dry heaved, and finally brought up a weak mouthful of bile.

"Breathe," Ilya's hand was firm on his shoulder, the other holding the bin. "Deep breath. Breathe through it. The sick will pass." 

Shane didn't move or acknowledge Ilya's comfort, but he took in a deep, pained breath and blew it out weakly as the white faded and his eyes fluttered.

"Gotta pee," Shane spoke, voice weak and words slurred. "Hur's s' b'd." 

"I know," Ilya carefully took the bin and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of Shane's head. "It's okay. You're okay. I will help. We will get crutches." 

"Hur's to us'm," Shane confessed, the fuzzy memory of getting inside the house resurfacing. 

"I'll help you," Ilya kissed his husband's temple, breathing in the sour scent of sweat, sickness, and anguish. "I will lift. Do not put cast on ground." 

Shane nodded, wincing as he angled his head too far, and pain radiated through the base of his skull.

"On three," Ilya gently wrapped an arm around Shane's waist, sitting on his injured side. "One, two, three."

They slowly rose from the bed, Shane swaying as he tried to balance on one leg with a heavy cast on the other. Ilya hadn't thought about how they'd move, and instead swept his other arm under Shane's leg and lifted him.

It was a good idea, in theory, but the sudden change in direction and position left Shane violently nauseous in the arms of his husband.

"Stop," Shane grimaced. "Don't." 

Ilya didn't move them any further. He stood still, waiting for Shane to give him the go-ahead to keep moving toward the bathroom, even though moving was a generous description.

Ilya felt like he was dragging Shane's dead weight. 

"I can do it," Shane muttered by the time they reached the en suite, and Ilya gently sat him on the toilet seat. "Go 'way."

Ilya furrowed his brow and stared at Shane.

"I's fine," Shane's cognitive abilities were limited at best, and Ilya did not trust him to make a solid decision. "I promise." 

Ilya refused to let Shane win, and after helping him in the bathroom, much to Shane's displeasure, they were settled back in bed, and Anya was curled up at Shane's feet. Any other night, this is Ilya's idea of perfection. His husband and dog were comfortable in their bed, and he witnessed their ever-evolving bond.

Ilya had everything he ever wanted, but right now that perfection was fragmented by Gilbert Fucking Comeau and the Shit Ass Montreal Metros. 

He knew he wasn't going to sleep; his mind was on high alert even as Shane slept pulled into his side. Ilya was restless, and he needed to talk to someone—anyone, really—before he lost his mind and self-sabotaged any progress he'd made with Galina about being a worthy and loving husband who deserved the good things he'd worked toward in life.

Mentally, he ran through the list of people he could call. He knew any of them would answer, except maybe Luca, all things considered.

He couldn't call Troy, he decided, because if anyone would end up in jail alongside Ilya for a hit on Comeau, it would be Troy Barrett.

The Rookies were also out of the question. He loved them, but he needed advice. And Dykstra was with Luca, thankfully, providing the support the young player needed after what he saw happen right in front of him during the game.

That left Wyatt Hayes and Zane Boodram—two people Ilya would consider close friends and confidants. 

More than likely, both of them would answer because they'd both reached out separately that afternoon when Coach Wiebe delivered the news that Shane would be staying in the hospital longer. 

Hayes had volunteered to drive Shane's car home from the rink, and Bood helped. They were why Shane's sleek, practical Range Rover sat in the driveway next to Ilya's Mercedes. They were also why Ilya hadn't quite had time to crash out—he wanted his team to see his resilience even when he knew they wouldn't cast judgment. 

When Shane moved slightly in his sleep, Anya curled closer to his side and let out an anxious, low whine, breaking Ilya free from the impending anxiety spiral. 

"I know," He scratched her back lightly as he leaned against the padded headboard. "Will be okay soon. Keep protecting. I will too." 

Sleep continued to evade Ilya even though he was exhausted, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw Shane's limp body on the ice. Instead of the breathing techniques he'd learned during his therapy sessions to calm his racing mind, he picked up his phone, dimmed the brightness, and with his free arm around Shane, he scrolled through his messages. 

It was overwhelming, to say the least, but it was nice to feel loved and supported by their teammates because he knew Shane still carried the fear that someday the Ottawa Centaurs would turn on him, just like the Metros had done when their relationship was unfairly revealed. 

Ilya knew they wouldn't, but Shane was still struggling. 

He continued to scroll, flicking back and forth between messages, when he landed on a thread with a simple, meaningful message from around 10:00 that evening. 

It nearly brought tears to Ilya's eyes. 

Bood
You can call if you need anything.
Time doesn't matter.
Just call. 

And the thing was, Ilya knew his friend meant it and demonstrated his care earlier that day. Zane Boodram was as reliable as they come; he opened his home to Ilya before they even really knew each other, and he was always a voice of reason and a symbol of found family. It was nice—even when it was unexpected. But Ilya also knew he had a young child at home, and that a late-night call could potentially throw their family routine into disarray. 

Gently easing Shane from where he rested, Ilya situated his husband against the pillows and slipped from their bed. He needed room to breathe, even if it wasn't Shane's fault in the slightest. 

He was down the hall in a beat and finally collapsed into their couch for the second time that evening, praying to every God he wasn't sure he believed in that Shane would stay asleep and wouldn't wake up in pain or vomiting. 

His phone was still heavy in his hand, and his brain was anything but silent. 

Ilya hesitated to call anyone, but as his heart continued to hammer in his chest and the feelings of overwhelm from his conversation with Yuna grew heavier and heavier, Bood was his lifeline because his other lifeline—and voice of reason when it came to Yuna Hollander—was concussed, sleeping in their bed with his ankle in a cast. 

Taking a beat, he pulled up the contact information and pressed call. 

It wasn't long before someone answered. 

"Roz, hey," Ilya heard the rustling of blankets over the phone as he took a shallow, shaky breath. "How's Hollzy? You guys get home?"

Ilya leaned his forearms against his thighs as he sat on the edge of the couch with his phone in his hands.

"Is not good," Ilya laughed wetly, another round of tears threatening to fall as his throat burned and his chest tightened. "He is hurt bad. I want to end Comeau." 

"Get in line," Bood laughed dryly as Ilya heard him whisper something quietly to who he assumed was Zane's wife. "What's the damage? What did the doctor say? You didn't tell us anything last night. We got the minimum from Wiebe, and Harris wouldn't tell Troy anything, either."

Ilya mentally cursed Harris for his strict confidentiality. 

"Bad concussion, bad whiplash, and broken ankle. And bit his cheek and tongue," Ilya bowed his head as Bood inhaled sharply. "Is sleeping or throwing up. Or in bad pain. I cannot help. I do not know what to do." 

"Ilya?" It was Cassie, and the concern lacing her voice nearly brought Ilya to his knees. "What do you need us to do? How can we help?"

"I do not know," Ilya half-laughed. "I cannot do this very well. I am bad husband. Anya is stuck like glue to him. He is hurting." 

"You're not a bad husband, honey." Cassie's soft, sweet voice shattered Ilya's remaining resolve. "You're overwhelmed and tired. But you're not a bad husband."

"I cannot make it better," Ilya's voice cracked, and a single tear slipped down his cheek. "I want to, but I cannot fix." 

"You can't fix it, Ilya," Cassie, in a maternal way, was offering everything Ilya needed at that moment. "We just have to let him heal." 

"I know that," Ilya sniffled as he fought back the sting of tears and anguish. "I called Yuna and she was manager mode. Did not help me feel better. David is out of town. I know she spirals like Shane." 

"What do you mean?" Bood asked, not familiar with the Hollander family dynamic but suddenly very interested. 

"Said to follow doctor instructions, but then talked about media and statements and Foundation," Ilya croaked, his throat burning with unreleased emotions. "I needed her to be Mom and not Yuna." 

He heard Boodram inhale sharply as Cassie whispered something he couldn't quite understand, and Ilya almost started to cry.

"I can be there in 30 minutes. 20 if I drive like you, but I don't think the Tahoe will move like that," He said firmly. "What do you need from me? What can I do? Can I bring anything?"

Ilya sobbed weakly as his friend asked for the bare minimum responses from him. It was hard to even think about what he needed, or what Shane needed. 

"No, no, you do not need to leave Cassie home with baby," Ilya wiped at his eyes and straightened himself as if Bood could see him through the phone. "Is late anyway."

Bood laughed, and Ilya felt his demeanor shift into something defensive and protective of their privacy. 

"I'm not arguing with you, Roz." His voice was warm, but nonnegotiable as he spoke to his captain. "I'm gonna be there soon. Cass is going to coordinate with some of the other… what is it now? Spouses and partners? We're gonna get something going."

"You do not have to come," Ilya laugh-cried. "I just needed to vent. To be upset."

"You can be upset with me on your couch, Roz," Bood chuckled. "Cass will be okay for one night." 

"I parent by myself quite a bit, Ilya," Cassie's sweet voice soothed his nerves. "I'll be okay with him for a little while. I promise." 

Ilya waited and thought about how difficult their first night at home had been. With Shane as sick and in as much pain as he is, Ilya was in over his head and beyond his element. Yuna seemed distracted, David was in Vancouver, and Troy would convince him to commit crimes that would land him in jail in several countries besides Canada. 

If he didn't have someone with him soon, he worried he would drive to Montreal and kick Comeau's ass himself. 

"Okay," Ilya sighed. "I need friends right now. Or friend. Everything is hard in English. We do not need anything else. Just presence of teammate."

"I can do that," Bood said with a matter-of-fact tone. "I'll be there in less than an hour. Anything I need to know?"

"Am not sure how Shane will be," Ilya whispered sadly. "Anya is guarding him. Will not move. He might throw up."

There was more rustling on the other end of the phone and what sounded like the zipper of a bag or jacket. 

"I can handle that," Bood was very nonchalant, and that was something Ilya appreciated about him. "I have a kid. Can't be too much worse than that."

Ilya sank further into the couch, "Was kind of bad earlier. Is mostly the concussion. And pain. I think pain medicine makes him sick. Internet says that is possible." 

"Don't tell him I told you, but Dykstra is the same way," Bood chuckled as he moved around his room. "Yacks everything up for days. Try some Ginger Ale and some crackers."

Ilya scrubbed at his face. They had already tried something similar, and it was not ideal. He hated the idea of introducing even more to Shane's sensitive stomach.

"I will try later. Was not good earlier," Ilya admitted. "Bood?"

"Yeah, Cap?"

"Thank you for coming," Ilya choked out with a soft cry. "Appreciate it." 

"Want me to stay on the phone?"

"I need to check on Shane," Ilya sniffled again, tears falling freely down his cheeks. "Will see you soon." 

"See you in a bit, Roz." 

Hanging up the call, Ilya felt more at peace than he had most of the day. Without asking a single question about why or how, Bood had single-handedly decided to change the course of Ilya's late night. 

It felt nice to be cared for, and Ilya let himself become one with the couch. He knew he needed to go check on Shane—he was due for more medication soon—but the blankets were warm and Ilya felt his nervous system start to regulate.

He had to go check, though, because Shane might need him, and he doesn't want to miss something that could be seriously wrong. 

Forcing himself off the couch, his movements were sluggish as he reached the bedroom. Peeking inside, he saw a sleeping Shane and Anya and stepped back quietly.

As much as he wanted to be curled up with Shane, he didn't want to hurt him. Giving him a little space until he was needed was important to Ilya because Shane values his independence. He was walking a fine line between a supportive, helpful husband and a panicked, overbearing partner. 

It was hard to switch one off in favor of the other. 

Making his way back to the couch, he pulled Shane's favorite blanket off the end armrest and wrapped it around himself before flipping on the TV and relaxing against the throw pillows he never wanted to buy.

They smelled like Shane.

Closing his eyes and pulling the blanket tighter around him, Ilya finally let himself relax. Even if it was a few moments away, someone was going to be there to help, and the thought lifted the weight of the world from his shoulders.

Thank God for Bood.

Chapter Text

“You did not have to come,” Ilya opened the door to the tired face of Zane Boodram. “He is sleeping mostly. Did not throw up again yet.”

Bood was silent as he stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and sliding them neatly next to the door. He wasn’t usually this neat, Ilya knew that, but the Boodrams had visited enough to become accustomed to Shane’s particular need for household order. 

He took in his friend’s appearance—Ilya looked exhausted. His eyes were rimmed red, there were deep purple bags under his eyes, and his shoulders were slumped. He was nothing like the Ilya Rozanov who commanded locker rooms, ice time, and team dinners. 

He looked defeated, and that alone was enough to send Bood’s concern into overdrive. 

“And what about you?” Bood’s bag dropped heavily in the entryway, unsure of where to start and what to do. “Have you even closed your eyes?” 

“No, I mean maybe, at hospital,” Ilya bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet, his hands shoved in the pockets of his joggers. “Has been a terrible.” 

“Yeah,” Bood frowned, looking at the general disarray of the living room and glaring lack of Anya. “Anya still stuck at his side?”

Ilya nodded weakly. 

To Bood, he looked small and almost fragile. 

“I brought a bag,” He motioned toward the Centaurs-branded duffle and large reusable shopping bag that was stuffed to the brim with other bags and boxes. “I’m gonna stay on the couch tonight. Maybe even tomorrow. And Cass sent a bunch of stuff for you. She’s even putting together a meal train. We’ve got you, Cap.” 

Ilya felt like all of the strings keeping him upright had been cut. His knees wobbled, and before he could collapse on himself like a dying star, his teammate was guiding him toward the couch where blankets were strewn about, and an empty glass and a protein bar wrapper littered the table.

He felt himself break, and a warm hand between his shoulder blades as he sat and cried.

“We’ve got you guys,” Bood soothed, his hand rubbing small circles on his friend’s back as they sat shoulder-to-shoulder. “Let me know how I can help. Let it out. We can talk later.” 

Ilya pressed the palms of his hands harshly into his eyes, his head aching as his adrenaline started to crash. His hands were shaking, the tremors running up and down his arms as he tried to control his breathing.

He desperately wanted to stop crying, but now that it had started, he didn't think there was a world in which the tears would stop and the emotional flood would end. 

“Take a deep breath,” Bood coached, his hand still moving slowly. “Nice and slow.” 

Ilya tried his best to breathe, his heart slamming into his ribs as he sat with his head in his hands, tears spilling from his eyes.

It felt like there were flat pallets of bricks sitting on his chest. Briefly, he wondered if this was how Shane felt every day as he dealt with anxiety and panic in all forms. 

The thought made him cry even harder; he was gasping for breath and struggling to pull in the air his lungs so desperately craved. His body felt weak and numb, and his vision blurred. He’d never experienced the sheer panic he was feeling now, and he hoped that the world would swallow him whole before he ever had to feel like this again. 

“I’ve gotcha,” The other man’s voice was an anchor in Ilya’s personal storm. “Breathe.” 

Ilya shook his head, unable to speak through the all-consuming anxiety. 

“They hurt him,” Ilya rasped, tears spilling down his cheeks in rapid waves. “Not accident. Not like Boston. Marley felt bad. Comeau did not care. Only Pike checked on him. And baby Pikes are sending card.”

“I know,” Bood closed his eyes, frustration ripping through his calm demeanor. “We knew it would be bad. We expected bad.” 

They had talked at length about what could happen in this game against Montreal; Shane had walked them through scenarios, the words thrown around in locker rooms they might hear, and who their biggest adversaries would be. 

He hadn’t considered that there would be a target on his back. 

He hadn’t prepared the team for the option that Montreal would be out for revenge against him, not just against their team. 

“Did not think this bad,” Ilya huffed, scrubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “Could have ended career.”  

Bood nodded. 

“I am angry,” Ilya confessed, leaning into the back of the couch with a sigh. “And scared. But mostly angry.” 

“What are you most angry about?” Bood followed Ilya’s lead, leaning back and taking a deep, centering breath. “What happened during the game or what happened after?” 

Ilya furrowed his brow. 

“All of it, I think,” Ilya admitted quietly. “Montreal is asshole. Everyone but Pike. JJ is on thin ice, but right now also asshole.” 

“Yeah,” the other man sighed. “That’s pretty well-known.” 

“Did not expect Yuna to make me angry, though,” Ilya blushed, and Zane did not comment on his friend’s demeanor. “She did not stay at hospital. Or here. Left me with Shane who needs help.” 

Bood nodded again, waiting for Ilya to continue before he offered his thoughts and opinions. It would do them no good if he cut the frustrated Russian off before he could fully verbalize his innermost thoughts. 

“David is in Vancouver,” Ilya closed his eyes and did not speak for a beat. “Am angry about that too. He did not come home either.” 

A warm hand landed on Ilya’s shoulder and squeezed, encouraging him to continue. 

“And Pike went back to hotel. So he did not get brunt of Montreal’s anger,” a tear trickled down Ilya’s cheek. “Has to go home to Jackie and little Pikes.” 

Another shoulder squeeze. 

“When Shane left Montreal, was very bad,” Ilya said the words out loud for the first time to someone other than Troy and those who already knew. “Were horrible to him. Accused him of throwing games. Hated him for being him. This wasn’t accident, or because he left. It was because he is Shane. My Shane.” 

Bood continued his silent encouragement, guiding Ilya toward more conversation as he workshopped what to say, how to say it, and when to interject. He was a listener — it was something he valued about himself. 

Cassie, more times than not, wanted a person to be angry near. It didn't always warrant advice, he learned, and the cathartic release of anger was best done in the silence of your companion. 

“But Yuna did manager work and it helped. But now she is not here and left me alone with Shane. Her son,” Ilya sniffled. “Did not offer help.” 

Bood nodded. 

“And that made me angry again, and not at Montreal. At her. Have never been mad at her before,” he hiccuped. “I do not like this. She is his mom. I should not be angry.” 

“There’s no wrong way to feel right now, Roz,” Bood spoke softly and maintained contact with Ilya’s shoulder. “It’s okay to be frustrated with her. And it’s okay to be super fucking mad at everyone in Montreal. I’m pissed as shit at them too.” 

“I should not be mad at her,” Ilya started to cry once more. “She is worried too.” 

“And everyone worries and copes differently,” Bood continued with his, hopefully good, advice. “Do you know what part is making you most angry?” 

Ilya nodded. 

“Would you like to tell me about it?” 

“She acted like manager, not mom,” Ilya croaked. “Did not act like mom at all. I do not know why.” 

“Do you think this is maybe her way of letting you know she trusts you to take care of her son?” Bood was treading lightly, feeling like he was walking on very thin ice. “Or that maybe she’s struggling to understand why Shane’s old team turned so violently on him?” 

“Maybe. Maybe,” Ilya nodded. “At hospital she seemed very worried. But also wanted to be in front of any news. Make sure it was nothing bad or wrong.” 

“Have you tried talking to her?” Bood asked gently, encouraging Ilya to consider more angles. “Or asking her why she isn’t here?” 

“I called earlier but was panicking,” Ilya admitted bashfully. “Did not have time to ask questions unless about Shane.” 

“When he’s feeling better, do you think you could talk to her about this?” Bood nudged toward an answer. “Or is she stopping by today?” 

“Da,” Ilya nodded. “Both. Stopping by today. Could talk to her about this then. Do not like being mad at her. English is hard now, though. Might not make sense.” 

“I think she’d be happy if you talked to her,” Bood encouraged. “I don’t think she wants you to be upset. Or be upset with her. I think she’d like to talk to you about what you’re feeling.” 

“Do not like it when you are smart like this,” Ilya deflected with a laugh. “Why are you not laughing and making jokes?” 

“Would you want me to make jokes right now?” Bood raised an eyebrow. “It would be a little uncouth.” 

“Un-what?” Ilya narrowed his eyes. “You are making joke now.” 

“No, uh, uncouth,” Bood rolled his shoulders and stretched. “Like bad manners. Something I shouldn’t do or that you wouldn’t like.” 

“Ah,” Ilya nodded. “You will not tell anyone I cried?” 

“Whatever we talk about in your home is private,” Bood shrugged, response casual and poignant. “No one will know what was said or who said it unless you run your mouth or someone set up a hidden camera.” 

“We do have camera for Anya,” Ilya pointed toward the fireplace mantle. “Shane likes to watch her during day.” 

“Just Shane?” Bood laughed. “You’re sure you’re not the one who put that camera up there?” 

Ilya smiled, “No, was my idea. I like to see our princess while we are at practice. Camera at Doggy Hotel is fun too.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Bood grinned. “Anything else you want to talk about? You’ve had… a really shitty past two days.” 

Ilya frowned, nodding subtly as he rested his head on the back of the couch. 

“Will be secret? You won’t say anything? Not even to Shane?” The blonde almost looked nervous as he spoke, his hands twisting in his lap. 

“I’m a vault,” Bood confirmed. 

“I miss my Mama,” Ilya’s voice was filled with a fond sadness. “Have been alive without her longer than I was alive with her. She was so good with helping. Would know what to do right now. Would love Shane. Would be her favorite son, maybe, like I am with Yuna.” 

“Yuna calls you her favorite son?” If Bood had been drinking anything, he would have spat it out across the coffee table. “Out loud?” 

“Da,” Ilya half-smiled as he recalled fond conversations between them before Shane had moved to Ottawa. “In front of Shane.” 

“Classic Rozanov stealing her affection,” Bood smiled half-heartedly. “I’m sorry about your mom, Ilya. I hope you know I mean that.” 

“I am sorry about her, too.” Ilya’s words landed like a lead weight in Bood’s stomach. “I miss her. Every day, I want to tell her about my life now with Shane. I always want to tell her about Shane. Sometimes I do outside in the morning.” 

Bood swallowed thickly and wrapped an arm around Ilya’s shoulders, holding him close to his side. He’d never experienced life in the way his teammate—his captain—had. All things considered, Zane Boodram’s life had been devastatingly boring. Watching Ilya fall apart and put himself back together made Bood appreciate everything he had even more than he already did, and he vowed to call his parents and in-laws to tell them how much he appreciated them and everything they do to help him keep living the life he loves. 

“Yuna is good mom,” Ilya admitted. “I do not like feeling like this about her.” 

“She seems great,” Bood dropped his arm as Ilya turned to face him. “Good manager too. Your husband’s face is all over the internet.” 

“Da, do not like that part,” Ilya grinned. “Want to keep some of those things private. Cannot do that when she puts him on billboards in underwear.” 

“Yeah, that happens,” Bood laughed. “Thanks for letting me be here with you, Roz. For trusting me.” 

“Troy would tell me to beat Comeau to pulp. This is self-preservation.” 

As they sat on the couch in mostly silence following Ilya’s emotional and heartfelt confessional, the house felt almost peaceful. A hockey game played in the background as they scrolled through their phones in the comfortable silence. 

However, the door down the hall was open, so Ilya could hear if Shane needed anything, and Ilya’s thoughts began to spiral the longer they sat side-by-side on the couch. 

What if Shane had a seizure?

What if he dies in his sleep?

How could he survive losing someone just like he lost his mama?

What would he tell Yuna? God, what would he tell David?

He was pulled from his thoughts swiftly as he heard deep, agonized retching from down the hallway. He was quickly on his feet, nearly colliding with Anya as she anxiously ran out of the bedroom in search of him, and barked.

Bood was on his heels, a half-step behind, as they reached the open door of the darkened room.  

“Shane?” Ilya’s raspy voice was steady, but Shane was already curled around the plastic bin, dry heaving. “Hey, shhh, it’s okay, breathe.”

Bood watched as Ilya climbed into the bed next to Shane, Anya on his left and his husband on his right. Shane retched again, and what little liquid he had consumed was finally splashing against the plastic as his abdominal muscles constricted and tears flowed freely down his face. 

“Hur’s s’much,” Shane cried as he leaned back against his pillows, sweat beading along his hairline and his skin pale. “L’g. H’d.” 

Bood watched the scene from the doorway, the light from the bathroom barely enough to illuminate any part of the space. Ilya, a large man with an even bigger personality, looked lost. And Shane? Zane had never seen Shane Hollander look so small. Even on his first day in the locker room, clearly riddled with anxiety and panic, he carried himself like a professional. 

This was different; he looked ill. And, in theory, he was. He was hurt badly during a dirty hit from his former teammates, and Bood felt his soul fill with a rage he had never experienced. Ilya’s confession about what happened in Montreal hit hard, but this hit even harder. 

He wanted to go after that team himself. 

Shane had given the Montreal Metros everything, and in return, they treated him like he was nothing—like he hadn’t led their team to three Cups and poured his soul into their success. He bled for Montreal, and Comeau had hit him hard enough that it could have ended Shane’s career.  

They’re lucky it only ended his season. 

“Bood, can you help?” Ilya asked, voice strained as he worked to get a half-awake Shane into a seated position on the side of the bed. “Leg cannot touch floor. Happened earlier, was bad.” 

“Sure, man,” Bood walked slowly toward Shane, and in a rare second, Anya growled.

“Anya,” Ilya scolded, running a hand through Anya’s fur while he supported Shane with the other across his chest. “Is your friend, Bood. Is not danger.”

Bood looked down, and the dog whose hackles were up and her ears were alert. She was never overly protective of either Shane or Ilya, but in the moment, she was protecting her “pack's” most vulnerable member.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bood eased himself at Shane’s opposite side. “I’m just gonna help your dad, sweet girl.”

She hunkered slightly at his words, looking ready to intervene if anything she deemed bad or dangerous happened. Bood watched her intently as he slowly approached Shane, showing his hands to let her know that he didn't mean harm and wasn’t a threat.

“Needs bathroom. I need help getting him there,” Ilya sighed, panic radiating off of him in waves. “Is heavy.”

“No’m not,” Shane slurred, his eyes unfocused and his breathing sharp and painful. “H’ry up. Hurts. My head’s spinnin’.” 

Bood was nearly taken aback by how weak Shane sounded. The effects of the concussion and pain medication had taken hold of his usually polished appearance and replaced it with something else entirely. 

He was pale and sweating, and did not look like he would remain upright much longer. It was hard to watch, and even harder to be in close proximity to. He was rattled, but he settled onto the 

“I gotcha, buddy. Ilya does too. Ready?” Bood had one arm around Shane’s waist and another on his forearm. “Easy.” 

Ilya did the same as they gently lifted him into a standing position, the casted leg hovering just above the floor. They slowly and carefully made their way to the bathroom, and that’s when Bood saw it in full, dimmed light. 

Shane’s lips were cracked and dry, blood flaking the corners from the night prior, and the oozing cuts inside his mouth, and he had dark bruises under both eyes from the impact with Comeau and the ice. They know he didn’t break his nose, but the impact with the ice had blackened his eyes, and Bood’s heart broke for him. 

He had given Montreal the best years of his life, and they gave him nothing in return when he was no longer Picture-Perfect Canadian Golden Boy Shane Hollander. 

“We have it from here,” Ilya whispered, easing Shane onto the side of the bathtub and sitting next to him. “Will need help back.” 

“I’ll be right outside.” 

As the door closed quietly behind him, Bood scrubbed a hand over his face and pulled his phone from his pocket. There weren’t many messages at that time of night, but he knew their teammates were awake and waiting for his report. He’d texted a few of them separately when he left for the Hollander-Rozanov house, and they asked for any update he could provide. 

Centaurs Adults Only (No Hollanov)

Bood
Currently at Roz and Hollzy’s. 

Hayes
How’s he doing?

Bood
Which one?

Dykstra
Start with Hollz. Haas is at mine
right now and I need some good news
for him.

Bood
Wouldn’t call it good news.

Hayes
That bad?

Bood
Watched Hollz throw his guts up
and had to help Roz drag him to the
bathroom. He’s all the way out of it.
And Anya growled at me for getting to
close to him. 

Hayes
She’s on the bed?
Roz always bitches that she’s not
allowed up there by his husband.

Bood
Curled right into his side. Won’t leave
Hollander for anything. Shane looks like shit.

Dykstra
What’s the damage?

Bood
Broken ankle, nasty concussion
whiplash. Running the gauntlet with
barfing his insides out and sleeping all
the time. 

Dykstra
Haas said he was bleeding
from the mouth. Really freaked him out.

Bood
Surface level cuts. Bit his cheek
and his lip. Black eyes. Looks real
rough. 

Before he could read the replies, Bood heard Ilya ask for his help, and he swiftly pocketed the device. Walking into the bathroom was just as jarring as it was earlier. Shane somehow looked worse as he leaned against Ilya and whimpered. 

“Hey, bud,” Bood whispered. “Let’s get ya back in bed. Sound good?” 

Shane nodded weakly, barely moving his head. He groaned at the motion, his skin turning a sickly shade of green. 

“Breathe,” Ilya whispered. “We will be back in bed soon. It will pass.” 

If he didn't feel like it would cross several lines and blow through all of Shane’s boundaries, Bood would have picked him up and carried him back to bed. But he knew Shane valued his independence and his personal space and wasn’t the biggest fan of unexpected physical contact. It was one of the many things that made Shane, Shane. 

Resisting the urge to scoop the smaller man into his arms and let Ilya have a slight reprieve from caretaking, he slipped under Shane’s arm and took on more of his weight than expected. 

“Heyyyyy,” Shane smiled lazily. “Bood, y’re ‘ere.” 

“I am,” Bood was anxious. Shane had seen him earlier and clearly didn’t remember the interaction. “Take it slow.” 

They got Shane back to bed, and Bood felt more anxious than he had when he first set foot in the room. It was one thing to hear Ilya describing how Shane was feeling, but to experience it first-hand was enough to knock the wind out of him. 

He understood Ilya’s reaction now, and he empathized with the anger his friend was feeling toward everyone who wasn’t Shane. 

“Lean back,” Ilya whispered to Shane as he adjusted the pillows. “Doctor said upright, remember?” 

“Yeah,” Shane whined weakly. “It really hurts. Everything.” 

“I know,” Ilya smoothed his hair back, and Bood looked away from the intimate moment. “Will get better. Ya tebya lyublyu.” 

“Love you too,” Shane muttered, his eyes fluttering closed. 

As Shane fell asleep and Anya settled back into his side, Ilya leaned heavily against the wall with his head in his hands. Bood, still shaken by what he witnessed, silently stood next to him with a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“Am okay,” Ilya wiped his eyes. “We can go back to couch.” 

“Yeah, let’s do that. Let him rest,” Bood followed him out of the room and quietly closed the door halfway, leaving just enough space for Anya to leave or for them to hear Shane. 

Ilya beat him to the couch and collapsed into the corner in a defeated heap. His hands were shaking again, and Bood wished he knew what to do to help his friend more than he already was. He was out of his element, and Ilya was too, and that much was very clear, but it felt like he should be doing more. 

“Have you eaten?” Bood asked suddenly, gesturing toward the reusable bag on the floor. “Cassie sent some food. Something we can reheat. Shouldn’t have gone bad between home and here—she put it in some refrigerated bag.” 

“Some refrigerated bag?” Ilya chuckled. “Is lunch box, Bood. You have baby. Will need to know that eventually.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Bood laughed. “It’s nothing fancy. Leftovers from tonight. But it’s comfort food. I’ll heat it up.” 

“Am not very hungry,” Ilya sighed. “But will try. For Cassie.” 

“Do I mean nothing to you?” Bood smirked. “Don’t answer that. We know you like the wives better than all of us.” 

Ilya was too stunned to speak, the words catching him off guard. 

“Do not like the wives better,” he whispered. “Is just easier to talk to people who are not always around.” 

“I didn't mean anything by it, Roz,” Bood was taken aback by his friend’s shift in demeanor. “I’m sorry if it made you feel shitty.” 

Ilya nodded, his composure slowly unraveling again as the adrenaline from Shane’s most recent wake window started to crash. He hated the way his body was betraying him in small moments, especially when he was usually quick with a witty response or a return joke. 

“I do not know what is wrong with me,” Ilya followed his friend to the kitchen, his hands trembling at his side for the third time that night. “I feel better, Shane has trouble, then hands and arms feel like they are not on my body.” 

Bood popped the lid on Cassie’s microwavable dish and placed it in the microwave, following the written directions she had taped to the top. 

“Adrenaline crash,” Bood shrugged. “Your body is all over the place right now. It doesn’t know the difference between helping Shane and being chased by a bear.” 

“Feels like bear all the time,” Ilya slid onto a barstool and dropped his head in his hands. “Thank you for help. I did not want to bother, but am glad I did.” 

“I’m glad you did too.” 

While Bood reheated dinner, Ilya focused on breathing. It wasn’t as easy as it usually was—if Shane felt better, he’d joke that it was because of the cigarettes—but his heart was gradually slowing and no longer felt like it was going to crawl up his throat and out of his mouth. His hands weren’t shaking, but he felt cold. 

He felt off, more than anything. Shane was his North Star, someone who kept him grounded, guided, and focused. And now that his North Star was in bed, severely injured, he felt lost and alone. 

“When is he due for more meds?” Bood eyed the prescription bottles on the counter. 

“Few hours I think,” Ilya looked up with the saddest expression Bood had ever seen. “I do not know what time it is. Note says when I gave him pill last.” 

“It’s almost 3,” Bood sighed. “Eat and then bed. Them’s the rules.” 

Ilya nodded. 

“Cass will be disappointed if you don’t eat her food.” On cue, the microwave beeped, and with careful hands, Bood removed the dish. “Should be enough for both of us. When I’m havin’ a bad day, I eat it out of the pan.” 

Ilya didn't argue, picked up the fork presented to him, and ate the lasagna directly from the warm dish alongside his friend. It was something Shane would hate; he liked order and never even ate takeout from styrofoam or plastic containers. This was different, and they both knew it, and each of them longed for Shane to tell them off for making a mess. 

Ilya couldn’t even be bothered by the sauce dripping onto the counter—he would clean it up later. 

As they finished eating, Ilya was looking back toward the bedroom in short glances. He would pause their conversation, listen for Shane, and then return his focus to whatever topic they had landed on. 

It reminded Bood of their first few months with Milo, listening for his cries through the baby monitor as he and Cassie attempted to eat a warm meal or drink their coffee before it was cold. 

“Do you want to go check on him?” Bood asked gently, his words landing like permission for Ilya to be human. “We can go. Or you can go, and I’ll stay here.” 

“I need you to go too,” Ilya admitted quietly. “Do not want to be there with no help.” 

Bood nodded and followed his friend down the hall. Inside the room, the scene was much different than earlier. Shane was half asleep, propped where they had left him. Anya had moved from curled at his side to lying with her head in Shane’s lap. He was lazily stroking a single finger over her snout, and she was sleeping peacefully in her spot. 

Fully conscious and coherent, Shane would hate the dog hair in the bed, but this version of Shane was sinking warmly into the comfort of their dog. 

“Ilya,” Shane half-smiled, his eyes fluttering as he noticed the motion around him more than the person. “Hi.” 

“Hey,” Ilya brushed the damp, sweaty hair from Shane’s forehead as he sat on the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?” 

Shane furrowed his brow at the complexity of such a simple question. His head was spinning, and he still wasn’t sure how he ended up in bed with a cast on his leg and his stomach in knots, even though someone had likely told him what happened. 

He was confused. 

“Bad,” He rasped, looking for Ilya, his neck screaming at the slight motion as he finally answered. “Hurts.” 

“You got hit pretty hard,” Bood was leaning against the doorframe as he watched diligently, his eyes not leaving Shane. “Comeau took you out.”

“Don’ rem’ber,” Shane couldn’t recall anything after the faceoff for the third period. “Head?”

“Concussion,” Ilya kissed Shane’s knuckles as he gripped his hand tightly. “Bad muscles in your neck and shoulders. Broken bone in ankle. Your body is angry.”

Bood hated this part of Shane’s injury more than anything else, but he admired Ilya for his grace in reexplaining the injuries without overwhelming his husband or falling apart in front of him. There would be time for Ilya to break in front of Shane when he was feeling better, and they’d both likely need several sessions with individual therapists, but right now it was about maintaining a semblance of control. 

“Season?” Shane’s eyes watered as he started to comprehend the gravity of the situation. “Done?” 

“Over for you,” Ilya ripped the band-aid off. “And when I see Comeau next, I will kill him.” 

Shane whined as his head started to ache. He didn’t remember the hit, but the repercussions were taking him out at the knees.

“We win?” Shane needed something positive to cling to, even if his brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders. “Game?” 

“Yeah,” Ilya soothed. “We won. 4-1.” 

Shane swallowed thickly. 

“Luca?” 

And if that didn't break the hearts of everyone in the room, Bood wasn’t sure what could. Shane didn't remember his injury, but he had the wherewithal to recall that Luca had been beside him at the time of the violent impact. 

“With Dykstra,” Bood’s voice startled Shane as it rang throughout the room. “He’s doing okay.” 

Shane perked up, clearly not remembering there was another presence in the room, even though he had spoken earlier. 

“Bood?” Shane felt like his stomach was turning itself inside out as he tried to look around the room. “What’re you doin’ here?” 

Bood walked closer and perched at the end of the bed, leaving plenty of space to breathe and for privacy. 

“I was worried about everyone in this house,” He shrugged, not sure what else to say. “Thought I’d come help out.” 

Shane furrowed his brow. 

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Bood patted Shane’s good shin. “Got yourself in a bit of a pickle.” 

Ilya’s hand was on the side of Shane’s neck before he could nod, holding him still. It was intimate and private, and for the second time that evening, Bood felt guilty being in their space. He hated that this was an invasion of fully aware Shane’s privacy, but Ilya needed him, and he didn't want to let him down. 

“Don’t move head,” Ilya cocked his head to the side, hoping to make eye contact and hold Shane’s attention. “You have whiplash.” 

“Mm, makes sense,” Shane muttered. “Everything hurts.” 

“Can have more medicine soon,” Ilya explained, sad that there wasn’t more they could do to help ease Shane’s radiating pain. “We have heating pad for my back. Do you want?” 

“I want,” Shane closed his eyes. “Not too hot.” 

“I know,” Ilya kissed his forehead gently. “I will get. Bood will keep you company.” 

“Bood’s here?” 

“Yeah,” Ilya looked up anxiously. “End of the bed.” 

“Why’re you movin’?” Shane squinted, hoping that the figure before him would hold still as Ilya slipped from the room. “‘S like a boat.” 

“That’s just the concussion,” Bood reminded him. 

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing while he waited for Rozanov to return. It was awkward, being in someone else’s private space, and he had the paternal urge to sit next to Shane and comfort him just like he would were they anywhere else in the house. 

“Are they mad?” Shane slurred, eyes not focused on the room. “The team?” 

“No,” Bood’s words caught in his throat, unable to fully verbalize just how not mad the Centaurs were. “Just worried.” 

“Oh,” Shane’s lips twitched at the corner. “Y’r not?” 

“Nope,” Bood gently rubbed his thumb over Shane’s shin. “No one’s mad at you at all. But Troy might beat Comeau into a coma next time we play them.” 

Shane squeezed his eyes closed quickly.

“You okay?” Bood asked, hand still as it rested on Shane’s leg. “Feeling sick?”

Shane weakly shook his head.

“They’d be mad,” He confessed in a whisper. “They’d blame me.” 

Oh, the Metros would be mad. And that thought and confession alone filled Bood with a silent, fiery rage. Before he could formulate a response, Ilya slipped back in the room quietly with the heating pad. 

“You’re back,” Shane grinned lazily. “Hi.”

“I am back,” Ilya plugged in the weighted heating pad and situated it across Shane's shoulders. “This will help soon. Have alarm set for more medicine. Sleep.”

“‘kay,” As the heating pad warmed, Shane slipped into a light sleep, Anya still by his side.

Watching closely for his breathing to even out, Ilya reached out and scratched Anya behind the ears, and Bood stood quietly against the wall like a sentinel. 

“Is asleep,” Ilya noted, looking up to his friend. “We go back to movie.”

By the time they reached the couch, Ilya felt like his limbs were made of lead. His joints ached, his shoulders hurt, and he knew he needed sleep.

But sleep was going to evade him regardless.

“You aren’t speaking Russian to him,” Bood flipped through the Netflix profile. “You usually do. Granted, we all assume it’s something dirty.”

“Do not want to confuse his brain right now,” Ilya lounged across the couch with his arm thrown across his eyes. “Is hard enough for him to understand right now.” 

Bood watched his friend quietly. 

Ilya was fighting sleep like a toddler fighting nap time. He was visibly exhausted and shaken, but wouldn’t stop moving or talking.

“Cass said Hayes and Lisa are gonna bring some food by tomorrow,” he noted, glancing at his phone. “Told her you might not be up for visitors much, but that you’d appreciate it.”

“Will have to see how Shane is but will not say no to food,” Ilya sighed. “Might not be good company.” 

“I’m staying as long as you need me to be here,” Bood reminded him. “I can run interference.” 

“Da,” Ilya looked up with a smile. “Thank you.” 

Bood nodded, landing on a nature documentary he hoped would lull Ilya to sleep. Before he could press play, he glanced over and saw that Ilya’s arm had dropped limply to his side and his breathing had evened out.

He watched, ensuring that his friend was fully asleep, before he stood, draped a blanket over his still form, and flipped off the lamp. 

It was a long night, and even longer early morning, but it had all been worth it—Bood knew his friend needed the support he was able to provide.

Centaurs Adults Only (No Hollanov)

Bood
Roz is finally asleep. I know it’s
late but it’s been a rough night. 
Both aren’t doing great.

Barrett
Thanks for the update Bood.
Tell him we’re thinking of him (and
murder but mostly murder)

Harris
We aren’t murdering.

Barrett
We could do a light murder.

Hayes
Lis and I are bringing food
tomorrow for everyone there.
How’s Hollz?

Bood
Confused, in pain, sick, but
mostly confused. Hate seeing him like this.
I’m taking night shift. Roz has an alarm set
for meds.
Dykstra, how’s Haasy?

Dykstra
Also finally asleep. Took some
coaxing to get him to the guest room.
Shaken up.

Hayes
I think we all are 

Bood
I’ll call Wiebe in the morning with
an update because I don’t think Roz
will be able to.

Dykstra
Thanks for being that guy tonight

Bood
We all know we’d do anything for them

Barrett
Like felonies against other players 

Harris
No. 

Bood
Not that. But the intention is there.
There’s a reason Roz didn’t call you

Barrett
Because he knows I’d collude 

Bood
On that note
Night fellas
I’ll send updates as I have some

Chapter Text

Fucking hostile.

When Bood sat in his stall and described the atmosphere of the arena, Luca didn’t think twice. They’d played Montréal dozens of times with Shane already on their team, and he had experienced it all.

The slurs hurled in Shane’s direction.

The malicious and hateful “chirps” thrown at Ilya.

The hits from behind, tripping, and slashing. 

He’d watched as almost all of his veteran teammates, aside from Shane, had dropped gloves, throwing a punch at the closest player in blue or being on the receiving end of a right hook when the game went from competitive to malicious.

He’d also watched as Shane handled the adversity with grace. 

He didn’t cave to the chirping; his head was always held high until he could collapse in on himself in the privacy of the locker room after the media left. 

It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.

Luca hated hearing Shane say that, especially when they were in the tunnel getting ready to take the ice.

Shane had prepped them all week during practice—reminding them that even though he had been gone for years, the Metros never forgave him. He coached them alongside Wiebe and Ilya, focusing on all the ways they’d take advantage of missteps and mistakes.

He even mentioned that Hayden had relayed a message that the Metros locker room was a war zone. They were still fixated on Shane’s trip; still not ready to forgive and forget, and the slurs were getting more creative as the game drew near.

They hated Shane, and Luca—quite literally—did not understand why. 

“Ready for this?” Shane nudged Luca with his elbow, smiling. “It’s gonna get rough.” 

“Yeah,” Luca sighed. “Are you?” 

“I guess we’ll find out,” Shane laughed dryly. “Make sure Roz doesn’t kill someone for me, will you? He’s taken it harder than I have since the beginning.”

Luca nodded, “I can’t promise I’ll be successful.” 

“I don’t think anyone will be able to stop him if Drapeau runs his mouth,” Shane smirked. “I certainly won’t try. They’ve had beef long before anything else happened.”

“What about Pike?”

“Off limits,” Shane shrugged as he rocked side to side on his skates, waiting for their entrance. “He knows that.” 

“Do the others?”

“Hayd was my best man at our wedding,” Shane smiled. “They’ll leave him alone.” 

The team moved as the lights went down and the crowd roared, signaling the start of warmups and the impending periods of intense physical and emotional exertion. Luca wasn’t sure if he was ready—this felt different than any other time they’d “welcomed” Montreal to their ice.

As his skates hit the ice, it felt as if something were different.

There seemed to be more red and blue in the stands than there usually was; it was an even split between the black and deep red of the Ottawa jerseys he’d noticed as he skated.

His first shot in warmups was wide right, and he hoped it didn’t set the tone for the game. 

He hoped none of it did—the glares toward his team, especially Shane and Ilya, burned into his back, and he felt the anxieties he’d choked back earlier threaten to resurface. 

“Hollander!” Someone yelled from behind him as they lined up for drills. “Hope you’ve got your head on a swivel!”

He didn’t know who it was, but Shane tensed beside him. 

“Shake it off,” Dykstra skated to Shane’s side as they regrouped. “Ignore it. Play your game. The one they let walk away.”

Shane nodded curtly.

“If something happens, you let it happen,” Dykstra also whispered to Luca. “I’m not saying abandon him, but keep the damage under control. He won’t fight. But they will.”

Luca nodded weakly.

“We’ve seen it before,” Luca glanced nervously over his shoulder. 

“Not like this,” Dykstra iced the puck in front of him. “Not like they are now. Something happened between seasons, and no one knows what it is. But it’s going to get fuckin’ ugly, Rook.” 

“Not a Rook,” Luca huffed. 

Fifteen minutes later, the puck dropped, and Rozanov easily won the faceoff. The smirk he wore the entire time he was in control of the puck grated on the nerves of every Metros player, not just the six on the ice.

Their bench chirped.

Their fans were worse.

Luca's skin crawled as Shane took a rough hit into the boards and got in the face of Comeau, and Barrett pulled him away by the back of his jersey.

There was a—in Luca’s opinion—bullshit slashing call against Ilya near the end of the first period that gave Montreal their first power play, and as soon as he was out of the penalty box, he was out for blood.

Comeau was called for tripping with two minutes left, and with the Ottawa power play, the Centaurs ended the period up 1-0 on Shane’s first goal of the night with just six seconds left. 

Their bench went wild, and the Metros looked ravenous. 

In their locker room, Ilya Rozanov was a captain possessed, and Luca wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him that passionate about a pep talk between periods.

It almost frightened him.

Almost. 

“We do not fucking let up!” Roz yelled, and sticks tapped against the cement floor. “Foot on neck all night long!” 

As his caption talked through strategy and Coach Wiebe commended them on their professionalism and performance, Luca noticed Shane’s leg bouncing anxiously to his left.

He looked uneasy.

“Breathe,” Bood mouthed in his direction. “Two left. You’ve got this.” 

Shane nodded, stood, and before he could blink, Luca was back on the ice for an intense and somewhat unsettling second period. He heard the boos woven throughout the home crowd as the Centaurs took the ice, and the escalated boos from their fans at the Metros returned.

He saw Shane crane his neck toward his former team and recoil as if he had been slapped when Hayden Pike locked eyes with him and shook his head.

It wasn’t a threat, Luca noted; it was a warning to his friend to be careful.

He didn’t like how that sat deep in the pit of his stomach. 

The second period started with a bang—literally—as Montreal won the face off and Rozanov immediately put one of their players into the boards, nearly starting a fight less than fifteen seconds in.

Thank god for Hayden Pike, Luca thought, seeing the neutral party push in before either of the other players could drop their gloves or start hurling insults.

“It’s gonna get worse,” Young commented, leaning close to Luca. “I can see it in their eyes.”

“I’m a little concerned,” Holmberg leaned in from the opposite direction, the three younger players having a meeting of the minds. “Hollzy looks like he’s ready to crawl out of his own skin.”

The line change went smoothly, but Rozanov’s tense posture said everything anyone needed to know.

He was worried about Shane being on the ice, and the worry was warranted. 

By the middle of the second period, both teams were gassed, but only one team was making careless, selfish mistakes. Montreal had been called for two penalties back-to-back, leaving the Centaurs on the power play for four full minutes.

It was almost unheard of for Shane and Ilya to get that much critical ice time together, and it was beautiful.

Shane’s drop pass to Ilya resulted in their first goal of the power play, putting them up 2-0, and the Montreal bench looked pissed.

Ilya’s quick give-and-go resulted in their third.

This time, Montreal was out for blood, and that sent a shiver down Luca’s spine. 

The next two hits sent Shane into the board with sickening thuds, and he bounced back quickly and recovered his composure before anyone noticed he was shaken up.

Ilya was fuming, his hands clenched in his lap as Coach Wiebe called for a line change and Ilya flew across the glassy surface and directly into Patrice Drapeau. 

Shane cringed, seated on the opposite end of the bench.

Montreal’s bench erupted into fury as no penalty was called, and Drapeau grabbed Rozanov by the collar and slammed him into the boards.

A whistle blew.

A five-minute major was called for game misconduct, and Drapeau disappeared down the visitors' tunnel. 

The Centaurs cheered as they finished the period on the power play, again, and more recorded penalty minutes between both teams than Shane had ever seen.

He disappeared down the tunnel ahead of everyone, and as Rozanov exited the ice, he furrowed his brow but still threw an arm around Luca’s shoulders.

“One left,” Luca half-smiled at his captain, hoping to ease some of his tension.

“Hope we survive it,” Ilya said sardonically. “Fifteen minutes is long time, da?”

“Too long,” Luca muttered as they entered the locker room.

Unlike the first intermission, the locker room was tense. Rozanov’s speech wasn’t as loud, but it was filled with an intensity that fell over the room like a wet blanket.

They weren’t done yet.

It was still a hostile environment, and no one—not even the Montreal Metros—would turn their ice into something it wasn’t.

Flagrant and dangerous wasn’t synonymous with Centaur gameplay. It was Montreal’s. And Ilya would be damned if they walked into their home and turned it toxic.

“We do not let them score,” Ilya’s voice was thick with an unnamed emotion. “They leave here mad. They leave here crying. They do not leave here winners.”

Luca cheered alongside his teammates, glancing over at Shane, who looked just a little pale.

He’d been the subject of several hard, unwarranted, and almost illegal hits that evening, and he was taking each with grace.

Eventually, Luca knew that his composure would snap. And no one wanted to be on the receiving end of Shane Hollander’s anger. 

They were back on the ice before Luca could blink, and the noise in the arena was deafening. Even though he knew the sounds had roots in team pride and enthusiasm, it felt more like they were entering the eye of the storm.

The puck dropped, and the energy shifted.

Gilbert Comeau didn’t even make a play for the puck, but instead took Rozanov into the boards with his shoulders.

Ilya was in the face of the referee, demanding a whistle, and slammed his stick into the ice as he was told to settle down.

Another line change, more aggression from Montreal.

Shane was composed because that’s how he played the game. He was sharp, with crisp passes and quick feet as he cut across the ice and skillfully avoided anyone in blue like it was something he had been doing his entire career.

Luca knew that, in a way, he had.

Mentally and physically, Shane had been avoiding Montreal Metros players for years in the locker room, in practice, and most recently, in games. 

And for some reason, they still harbored resentment when all Shane had ever done was give them his all while loving another man. 

It made Luca sick to his stomach. 

He was skating just as hard, contributing everything he could to the game. Still, something felt off.

And four minutes into the third period, the game exploded into chaos around him with one singular hit. 

It was so hard he felt it in his teeth, and no one even made contact with him.

When Shane went down, Luca’s heart fell into his stomach, and the sound of the collision was enough to stop both teams in their tracks.

One team stopped with cheers, the other stopped in shock, as Shane’s body dropped first into the boards and then onto the ice with sickening, hollow thuds. 

Someone to the left of him gasped.

There was motion to his right.

And Luca stood frozen as a streak of white flew past him, and Nick Chouinard slammed Gilbert Comeau into the boards by the collar of his jersey and landed a solid punch to the other man’s jaw. 

Luca dropped to his knees, snapping back to reality, and waved for the trainers and anyone else who would follow.

Paramedics, definitely.

Ilya, probably. 

As he stared at Shane’s unmoving body, he took stock of everything in front of him and cataloged it in case he was asked questions when he returned to the bench.

Breathing, yes.

Conscious, no.

Blood, yes. 

It was pooling in the corners of his mouth, and the idea that he was bleeding internally sent Luca into a spiral.

He wasn’t moving, and Luca knew better than to try to move him even if his pale, freckled cheek was resting against the frigid ice.

“Haas, back to the bench,” Someone gripped his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. “Let them take it from here.”

It was Dykstra.

Looking up with unfocused eyes, he regained his senses and locked eyes with Ilya, who was being held back in the box by Boodram and Holmberg. 

He looked like he was going to throw up.

Skating backward, Luca watched as the trainers and paramedics rolled Shane slowly onto the bright orange board, bracing his neck and talking to him.

He wasn’t responsive. 

And the chaos around Luca was the difference between the acceptance of the Centaurs and the bigotry of the Metros. 

Never in his life had Luca seen or heard anyone cheer about a severe injury, let alone chirp about it. 

He passed Chouinard as he glided toward the bench. 

There were still eleven minutes left in the period, and he was scared for what was to come.

Chouinard was pissed; a five-minute major with game misconduct was called. 

“Fuck you!” Chouinard yelled as he was escorted off the ice. “Ejection? He hit him from behind, and you’re giving us a penalty! Fuck off!” 

“He had it coming!” Comeau yelled back from his bench, where his split eyebrow was being treated. “Fuckin’ traitor!”

“It was two fuckin’ years ago, asshole!” Chouinard spat back, stepping off the ice. “Miserable prick!”

“That’s enough!” The referee yelled as Luca stepped into the box. “We finish the game. Montreal has a five-minute power play. Ottawa, decide who serves the penalty.” 

Wiebe nodded toward LaPointe, who skated shakily toward the penalty box.

Tanner Dillon replaced Luca. 

Ilya stayed seated, eyes glazed over, and Troy Barrett to his left.

“Haas,” Coach Shore asked from behind him, a worried look on his face. “You good?”

Luca inhaled sharply, “Yeah, just need a second. Get me back in there fast.” 

“Kid,” Shore looked genuinely concerned. “We can pull you.”

“I’m playing,” Luca huffed. “Line change, whatever we need. Get me back out there, and I’ll finish the game.”

He doesn’t know how he did it, but he finished the game. 

Ilya, who looked like he would put someone through the glass if they looked at him wrong, also did. And did so without a penalty of any type.

The whole team finished the game clean, sharp, and focused, even though Shane had been loaded into an ambulance and shipped away to the hospital. 

The walk down the funnel felt like it took hours, and Luca collapsed in his stall with a sigh. 

The locker room following the win was quiet, except Ilya’s frantic movements to change and throw his belongings in Shane’s infamous, somewhat mysterious, game day bag. 

Luca always wondered why he carried such a one; all of their equipment was left at the arena for the equipment managers after every game, but as Ilya shoved his personal belongings into the duffel bag and none of Shane’s, he understood.

Shane had a bag for both of their belongings.

And Ilya never carried one. 

It was sweet, and would be even sweeter if Ilya’s hands weren’t shaking and he didn’t look like he was about to cry.

Scratch that, he was crying.

And he looked absolutely devastated.

Luca looked away, like he was intruding on something incredibly private, and he saw Troy place a large hand on Ilya’s forearm.

“I need to go,” Ilya announced to the room, voice shaking. “Bood will give talk. Will call, or text, when I know.” 

Raking a hand through his hair, he changed quickly. He didn’t put his suit back on; instead, he threw on sweatpants, sneakers, and a Reebok hoodie that everyone knew belonged to Shane and would upset his Adidas sponsors. 

But, he didn’t care. 

He needed the comfort, and no one dared bring it up.

“Roz,” Chouinard’s voice broke through the silence. 

Ilya shook his head, damp curls falling across his forehead as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

“I will text,” Ilya swallowed thickly, looking at Luca with sad, panicked eyes. “Pike is going with me. Waiting on me.”

With those words, he almost bolted from the locker room and left the team sitting in silence behind him until Wiebe stepped into the middle of the room.

“Great game tonight,” Wiebe’s voice was gentle, almost nervous, as he stood before the team. “It was physical and hostile, but you all stayed true to your game. Tonight, we go home, and we rest. We wait for an update. We help them where we can, and do what we can for our family.” 

Luca felt his hands and arms start to tingle, signaling a sudden and harsh adrenaline crash.

“Bood, any words?” Wiebe stepped back and motioned toward the assistant captain. 

“Great job,” Bood cleared his throat. “Hollzy will be proud of all of ya, and so am I. I know Roz is. Go home, rest. We’ve got a big roadie ahead, and might be down a couple. Be ready.”

Everyone was quiet, somber even, as they showered, dressed, and exited the locker room.

Hayes and Chouinard were talking about how ready they were to go home and hug their wives and kids.

Boodram was picking up late-night takeout for his wife, who was “crushing” being a semi-single parent.

Holmberg and Young were considering going to The Glebe until they got an update on Hollander.

Barrett, who was standing near his stall, hugging Harris, looked like he would be on a one-way flight to Montreal to welcome the Metros back with his fists. 

And Luca, he sat quietly, the gravity of the game swallowing him whole. 

“Haasy,” Evan Dykstra’s voice broke through the fog as Luca sat with his head bowed on the bench, still in full gear. “Hit the shower.”

Luca shook his head; he wanted to erase the memory of Shane’s body hitting the ice from his mind forever. Instead, every time he closed his eyes, he saw his captain’s husband hitting the ice—limp and unmoving—and the sound of his head hitting the ice reverberated in his ears.

It was the worst thing he’d ever seen. 

“Hey,” Dykstra dropped to the bench next to his young teammate. “What’s goin’ on in that head?”

“I can’t unsee it,” Luca whispered, accent thick and voice shaky. “There was so much blood in his mouth.” 

Evan inhaled deeply, steadying himself to offer the support his friend needed. It had been difficult for all of them to see Shane taken from the ice on a stretcher, unconscious and unmoving. 

“He probably bit his tongue or his cheek,” He attempted to calm Luca’s nerves, unsure if he was telling the truth. “He’s tough. He’s gonna be okay.” 

Luca shook his head, his hands trembling as he clenched his fists and willed himself to stop crying.

“It sounded bad. Comeau didn’t even try to stop.” Luca’s voice cracked as he saw the hit flash behind his eyes. “I heard his head hit the boards. And the ice.” 

Dykstra bowed his head, his shoulders slumped. He had two choices: he could briefly console Luca and send him on his way home to deal with the trauma himself, or he could step in as a friend and help him navigate something he’d only ever experienced once in the AHL. 

He made his decision quickly. 

He needed to call Caitlin as soon as he got Luca moving.

“He’s going to be okay.” Evan’s hand landed on Luca’s shoulder, squeezing gently twice. “You gotta shower, Haas.” 

Luca nodded weakly, reaching to untie his skates with shaking hands.

Usually, he’d feel self-conscious having someone watch him, but as he changed and hit the showers, having Evan Dykstra’s watchful eyes on him was comforting.

He wasn’t entirely convinced he wouldn’t pass out, but as he stood under the hot spray, his body loosened, and he eavesdropped on the conversation being had just outside the door.

Dykstra was on the phone with his wife. 

And Luca could hear most of it, because Dykstra never talked with her unless it was on speaker. After all, he was arguably bad at multitasking off the ice. 

He was too panicked to listen closely, but he had a general indication that it wasn’t a fluffy, lovey phone call.

“…yeah, they took him to the hospital…”

Luca let the spray of the shower pelt him in the face as he regulated his breathing.

“…Roz, Pike, and Yuna went…”

He didn’t want to think about Ilya’s frantic drive to the hospital; he didn’t want to think about his captain sitting in a cold, sterile waiting room.

“…I’m worried about Haas…”

And that, Luca thought as he scrubbed his hair clean, was the nail in his own coffin. It’s why Evan Dykstra had stayed behind in the locker room.

“…guest room… yeah… I’ll bring it up…”

Shit, he thought. He wasn’t going back to the apartment he shared with Holmberg and Young. He wasn’t leaving the arena without a friend.

“Love you. See you soon.” 

He finished his shower quickly and wrapped a towel around his waist, quickly dressing so he didn’t have to brave a longer conversation than necessary. As he exited in street clothes and slides, he took a deep breath and prepared to face his teammate. 

“Hey,” Dykstra was still sitting in the locker room when Luca exited the shower, towel drying his hair. “Better?”

“I guess,” Luca muttered. “Heard you talking to Caitlin.”

Dykstra shrugged.

“I’ll be okay,” Luca closed his eyes and leaned against his stall. “I promise.” 

“You don’t need to go home by yourself tonight,” The veteran said, locking eyes with the younger man. “Cait’s got dinner leftover, and we have a guest room. As long as you’re okay with a three-year-old tornado in the morning, we want you to come back to the house.”

“I don’t want to bother you," Luca rasped, pulling on a sweatshirt and carefully folding his dress clothes. 

“We’re offering,” Evan sat next to Luca in a folding chair. “We can get your car tomorrow.”

Luca nodded.

“C’mon, kid,” Dykstra nodded toward the door. “I’m starving, and I want to see my kid. And my wife. And you need to rest.” 

“I don’t know if I can,” Luca sighed. “I feel like I might vibrate out of my skin.” 

“It’ll ease,” Dykstra clapped his teammate on the shoulder. “Got everything?”

“No other clothes, but yeah,” Luca chuckled. “Might have to steal somethin’ to sleep in.” 

“That can be arranged,” Dykstra laughed.

The pair rode to the Dykstra home in almost silence, except for the country music playing softly through the speakers. Luca wasn’t sure why everyone gave Evan such a hard time about it—most of the songs were easy listening—and as he rested his head against the passenger window, he felt the tension seeping from his body.

He almost felt relaxed, and just as soon as he closed his eyes, he was shaken awake.

“We’re here.” 

He grabbed his duffel from the back, just as Dykstra reached for his own, and shuffled behind his host to the front door. 

“Thanks for letting me come over,” Luca slipped his shoes off as he stepped into the dimly lit entryway. “I don’t think I could have been home by myself. You were right.” 

“You’re always welcome here,” Evan guided the younger man toward the large, plush couch. “I don’t think any of us are going to get much sleep.” 

Luca nodded, timidly sinking into the cushions and staring at the nearly dead phone in his trembling hand. “No one has said anything.”

Sitting comfortably next to his young teammate, Evan checked his phone. 

No messages either.

“No, they haven’t,” He confirmed honestly, his heart aching. “It might be a little while before we hear anything. Stay off social media. There will be a lot of speculation.”

“I don’t want to see a video of it,” Luca confessed, his hands trembling harder. “It was bad enough being there.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I didn’t react fast enough,” Luca sniffled, wiping his eyes hastily before the tears could fall. “It happened too fast.”

“Nope, we’re not doing that,” Evan slid closer on the couch, an arm wrapping around Luca’s shoulders. “You waved over the trainers immediately. That’s all you could do.”

“I wish I could have done more,” the blonde sighed. “I didn’t even fight Comeau.”

“Nick got him good for us,” Evan glanced down at his phone. “You up for a Susie hug? Cait just texted that they’re both awake, but she didn’t want to interrupt.”

Luca nodded enthusiastically. He loved Susie Dykstra and her beautiful, childlike wonder that she shared with the world. At just three, she filled him with joy during every encounter and stole his heart with every “Wuca” she giggled.

As soon as Evan confirmed they could come say hi, little feet pattered down the hallway.

“Daddy! Wuca!” She screeched, clad in her pink princess pajamas. “I missed you!” 

She launched into her father’s arms for a quick hug and crawled to Luca immediately after.

“You sad,” She frowned, poking at Luca’s cheek. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Luca hugged Susie tight. “We had a big game. I’m just sleepy.” 

“Momma said Unca Shane is hurt,” Susie furrowed her brow. “Is you hurt, too?”

“No, I’m just here to visit,” Luca forced a smile. “I have to go home tomorrow so my roommates don’t trash the apartment.”

Susie leaned her head against his shoulder and grabbed a fistful of his sweatshirt. It was almost as if the tiny toddler in his arms understood his anxiety and was doing what she knew in order to alleviate it.

In a way, she definitely was.

“Any news on Shane?” Caitlin leaned into Evan’s side and snuggled close. “We were reading our bedtime book when it happened, but the chat started blowing up about it. It looked… not so good.”

“Nothing yet,” Luca sighed, letting Susie snuggle into his hold. “Roz left right after the game. Said he’d give updates.”

“Man, he was rattled,” Evan frowned. “I don’t think he was even that bad after the plane. He wasn’t okay.” 

Caitlin rested her head against her husband’s bicep, giving it a slight squeeze. 

“I wouldn’t have been okay if it were you, either,” She half-frowned, watching Luca intently. “But he couldn’t go with him. That had to be worse.”

Luca’s stomach churned, and he looked away.

“It was really bad,” he whispered. “I was right by him when it happened.” 

Caitlin’s eyes instantly filled with unshed tears, “Oh, honey.” 

Luca blinked away tears of his own and stared at the wall just above the TV. He wasn’t sure what else to say, and he let the rhythmic beating of Susie’s heart ground him. 

“It got ugly. It’s never been like that before,” he decided that was enough to describe the game. “Shane was their target the whole game.” 

“It was blatantly obvious, even on TV,” She sniffled in response. “God, what a mess.” 

Luca held Susie in his arms while Caitlin and Evan spoke softly amongst themselves, and the television played softly. His eyes felt heavy, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep. It was hard enough to focus on his breathing. 

And the more that he thought about it, the tighter his chest felt. 

“Luca?” Caitlin looked across at him as his chest rose and fell rapidly. “Do you need me to take her?”

Luca nodded quickly as the air felt thicker and his ears started to ring. His skin felt prickly, his palms were sweating, and by the time Caitlin Dykstra reached his side, he felt cold.

He shivered.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Caitlin lifted a half-asleep Susie into her arms as Luca’s hands trembled. “Let's go to bed. We will see Luca and Daddy in the morning.” 

Susie clung to Luca, who whispered something gently to her that loosened her grip and made Caitlin smile as Evan watched intently, worried about Luca Haas’s emotional state.

“Goodnight, Luca,” Caitlin ruffled his still-damp hair as she walked away, leaving only him and Evan in the living room.

They sat in silence for a beat. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Evan asked carefully. 

“No.” 

“You look like you’re going to throw up.”

“I feel like it.”

“Don’t throw up on my couch,” Evan half-joked, sliding down the couch to sit near Luca. “What’s going on upstairs?” 

“I can’t stop seeing it when I close my eyes,” Luca sniffled. “It’s like that Groundhog Day movie but with Shane getting flattened.”  

Evan sighed and leaned into the couch. He wasn’t sure what he could say or do to help Luca, because he was equally as rattled by the hit.

It was brutal, and it was intentional. But he also knew that even if Wiebe pushed for a review, the league wouldn’t do anything about it—Chouinard would be in more trouble than Comeau, unfortunately.

He also knew, logically, it was unfair to expect an update from Rozanov so quickly. Emergency Rooms, even for elite hockey players, took significantly longer than expected. Hollander was still probably being poked, prodded, and evaluated.

“There hasn’t been an update yet,” Luca commented, as if he were reading Evan’s mind. “I don’t like that.”

Evan nodded.

“I’m worried something bad happened,” Luca continued, his voice shaking. “He didn’t even open his eyes.”

“Concussions like that might keep him out for a while,” Evan tried to reassure his young teammate. “Roz will let us know what he can when he can.”

“Pike went with him.”

“He’s Hollander’s best friend,” Evan reminded him with a half-smile. “Does that bother you?”

“No, but it makes me nervous.” 

Luca’s hands were trembling in his lap as he thought about the hatred and hostility. 

“They’ll go after Roz next, won’t they?”

Evan frowned, sitting up and turning to his left to face Luca, who had tears welling in his bright blue eyes.

“They might,” Evan sighed. “But I don’t expect them to. It’s Shane they have bad blood with. They got what they wanted.” 

“Yeah, almost killing him.” 

“Coach is gonna give you a call,” Evan glanced at his phone, noticing that Luca was completely ignoring his. “Not an update, but he wants to check in.”

Luca swallowed thickly and nodded.

“You don’t need to be on your phone,” Evan noted. “Social media will be a hellscape. Everyone’s blowin’ up the group chat. You need to let your brain calm down.”

Luca nodded again, feeling his phone buzz against his thigh.

“That’s probably coach,” Evan nodded. “You can take it in the guest room if you want. Or outside for some air. Or I can leave.”

“I’ll take it outside,” Luca fished the phone from his pocket and slipped out the back door while answering, leaving Evan alone on the couch.

He had time to sit and think about the gravity of the situation as he watched Luca pace the patio. It was going to be a lot for the young athlete to handle in the days and weeks to come, especially if Shane was hurt worse than anyone expected.

Evan didn’t expect Luca to bounce back mentally anytime soon, and he hoped Luca didn't expect that of himself.

It was a complicated situation; most times, athletes could shake the injuries of their teammates off unless it was something as awful as you saw on TV, like violent broken bones and heart-stopping football hits. It wasn’t something anyone on the Centaurs roster had seen before in their professional careers.

And, as patchwork as they came, they are also a family. 

One made from adversity, misunderstanding, shared life experience, and survival instincts.

Evan was pissed because no one messed with his family and got away with it. And you especially did not mess with Shane Hollander, one of the weirdest and kindest men he had ever known.

Because when you messed with Shane, you messed with Ilya, which meant Luca would be upset, since they had created a strange family unit and no one messed with their family, either.

Evan heard the door before anything else, signaling Luca’s return. 

“Thanks, Coach,” Luca’s voice carried as he stepped back inside, wiping his eyes. “I appreciate it. Yeah, I’ll watch for an update. Thank you again. Bye.” 

Evan busied himself with his own phone, firing off empty messages to the group chat with just the veterans, but no Shane or Ilya.

Sue them for wanting a little bit of peace most days, but tonight it was beyond beneficial as they wanted to talk without bothering Ilya.

“Good talk?”

“Yeah,” Luca sniffled as he eased back onto the couch. “Just wanted to see how I’m doing. Thanked me for finishing the game. Gave me tomorrow off from practice, but I told him no.”

“You need it.”

“I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts unless there’s an update,” Luca admitted quietly. “I’d make up the worst-case scenarios and start freaking out again.” 

Evan paused thoughtfully as he listened to Luca speak. He knew they were in for a long night, and sitting with their fears and worries wasn’t going to do either of them any good.

They had played a hard, physical, emotional game, and their bodies were exhausted even if their minds felt like live wires. 

If they were going to be down Hollander and, likely, Rozanov, for the foreseeable future, they both needed to be ready to step up and fill the gaps their teammates would leave. 

He hated to do it, and to him it sounded too dad, but they both needed sleep.

“Why don’t we turn in for the night?” Evan suggested gently. “I know we’re both worried, but sitting in this like it’s mud won’t do us any good.”

“I know.” 

“The guest room has clean sheets, and there’s a bathroom attached if you want another shower,” Evan continued mindfully. “Might help you sleep.”

“I don’t know if I’ll sleep at all.”

“You’re more than welcome to come back out here and watch shitty TV and lay on the couch if you can’t,” Evan patted Luca’s thigh. “But at least give it a try.” 

Luca nodded meekly, afraid to be alone in the dark of Dykstra's guest room. He worried about where his mind would take him. 

“Okay,” Luca whispered. “I’ll try.” 

“Great,” Dykstra stood. “Follow me, and I’ll take you there. Still need pajamas?”

“No, I’ll be okay.” 

He collapsed into the guest bed immediately after entering the room and stripping off his joggers. The bed was cool and comfortable, and the faint light from the hallway made it a little less dark and daunting. 

He closed his eyes and curled under the blankets, hoping sleep would swallow him whole. 

Instead, he tossed and turned and thought about all the ways Shane could be hurt, miserable, or half dead in the hospital. 

Paralysis.

Broken neck.

Skull fracture.

Coma.

The laundry list of severe injuries plagued him as he flipped his pillow, resituated his blankets, and contemplated scrolling mindlessly on social media. Heeding Dykstra’s advice, he avoided his phone until two rapid buzzes pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. 

He reached for it quickly and caught the message preview. 

Coach
Spoke with Roz. Hollander’s okay.
He’ll have more of an update tomorrow.

Luca felt himself exhale for the first time since Shane’s injury. Even if he didn’t know much, he knew Coach wouldn’t tell them Shane was okay if it was untrue. 

Tomorrow would be another day, and more waiting to hear about Shane officially, but for that night, it was enough to ease his mind and allow himself to sleep. 

Locking his phone and rolling onto his stomach, Luca inhaled deeply and let the tendrils of sleep pull him under, thankful for at least a few hours of rest. 

Hollander’s okay, he thought to himself as he drifted off. 

Chapter Text

The Montréal–Trudeau International Airport was one of Yuna Hollander’s least favorite places to be on a Wednesday morning. 

In fact, there were several hundred other places she would rather be—getting a root canal ranked higher, and so did stepping on a thousand tiny Legos that her son had played with as a child.

She hated the airport, but she also hated the feelings of unease and helplessness that she’d been experiencing since her son was carted off the ice and carried away to the hospital via ambulance less than two days ago. 

She felt out of control, and sitting in the airport pickup lane did nothing to calm her nerves, but her husband was finally flying home from Vancouver, and he was always better at being calm, cool, and collected than she was. 

It would be infuriating if she weren't so in love with him. 

She hated feeling like there was nothing she could do. Raising Shane, and Shane’s prior concussion and broken collarbone, taught her as much. There was very little she could do to protect her son from physical and emotional wounds, but she did what she could to protect him from the vultures that circled professional athletes.

She planned.

She managed.

She secured brand deals.

She wrote media statements.

She took the weight of the logistics off of Shane’s and now also Ilya’s shoulders, and hoped it was enough. She hoped her behind-the-scenes work would allow her son and his husband to enjoy the fruits of their tireless efforts and their marriage.

When she left Ilya with Shane in the hospital, she was relinquishing control of the situation. She trusted that Ilya—Shane’s primary emergency contact—would know what was best for her son because that’s what letting your child grow into their own person means.

As much as she wanted to hover, she knew her tendencies often felt like smothering. Shane had recently mentioned that sometimes he wanted her to shut off manager mode to be his mom, and that's what she convinced herself she was doing.  

She was stepping back so her adult son could be with his partner, and she didn't want to disrupt the routines and life they had built together. 

She hoped it was the right choice, because it was a very difficult decision to make.

Checking her phone, she was relieved to find no new updates on Shane and no requests for media comment. That means she had done her job to protect her boys from the press, and that Ilya had a quiet night with Shane.

She clicked through her emails, and just as she closed the inbox, she saw her husband walk through the sliding glass doors.

He looked exhausted. With his bag in hand and jacket slung over his shoulder, she took in his appearance—his face looked drawn and tired, his hair was messy, and his dress shirt was sloppily tucked in like he had dressed in a hurry and slept on the plane.

Both things were likely true. 

He approached the car, making swift work of an already semi-stressful pickup, and placed his bag gently in the back. They’ve learned the system, and David slipped into the front seat with a quiet exhale.

“I missed you,” He said quickly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back sooner. How’s Shane?”

“I missed you, too,” Yuna pulled slowly into the exit lane. “How was the flight?”

David noted her avoidance of his question and filed it away later, when he knew he’d have more wherewithal to push a little harder. 

“Too long and too loud,” David settled into the seat. “I’m starting to think I’m too old for work travel.”

“Flights are hard on everyone.”

The turn signal clicked like a metronome in the background. 

“It’s a little harder when your back and knees hurt immediately after takeoff,” David tried to joke. “Are you okay?”

Yuna gripped the steering wheel as she navigated the airport chaos. 

“I’m a little tired, but I’ll catch a second wind.” 

David nodded.

“The house has been quiet without you.”

“Hotel rooms get a little boring when there’s no one to talk to,” David frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Yuna stiffened in her seat, left arm twitching slightly as she adjusted her grip on the wheel.

“It’s just been a long couple of days,” She forced a smile as she pulled onto the road home. “I’m happy you’re back.” 

David nodded and laced their fingers together across the center console. Physical touch, he learned through the years, seemed to ease his wife’s anxieties when she wasn’t forthcoming about her feelings.

Oddly enough, the same thing seemed to work for Shane, and he’d seen Ilya execute it flawlessly through hugs, brushes of their hands, and bumping their feet together in high-stress situations.

“Have you heard from the boys at all?” He was treading lightly, hoping she would give him a small answer or inkling that his son was doing as well as he could be. “They get home okay yesterday?” 

“Yes.”

“And they had a quiet night?” David took another mental half-step forward. “No issues?”

“Shane was in some pain, but he has a prescription.”

“What time did—“ David was cut off when she squeezed his hand, asking him quietly to stop. “Okay.”

“I just need to focus until we’re out of traffic,” She lied cleanly. “We can talk more once we’re closer to home.” 

“Okay,” David nodded. “Okay.” 

Yuna swallowed, blinking slowly to refocus, “How was the trip?”

David chuckled.

“Uneventful, which is always good in our world,” He smiled. “A lot of spreadsheets and numbers. Even more social time.”

“Your worst nightmare,” she teased. “Who went with you?” 

“Kevin, Peter, and our newest analyst, Colin,” David recounted. “Colin’s going to be a really nice fit. Reminds me a lot of Shane.”

“David,” she sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I had to try at least one more time. I’m worried about him.” 

“I know.”

“I really am sorry,” David said sincerely, watching for any sign of a reaction. “We went to that Thai place we ordered takeout from during the Montreal and Vancouver game a few years ago. It was still good.” 

“It’s one of my favorite places we’ve ever gone on a road trip,” She squeezed her husband’s hand again. “Anything else interesting?” 

“No, not really. Did you get up to anything fun?” It was his turn to hear about his wife’s week. “Finish your book?”

“I did,” She caught a glimpse of David’s smile. “I didn’t like the ending. That woman on Goodreads was right. 95% of the book was great, but the ending was bad.”

“That’s disappointing. I was going to ask to borrow it,” David watched the world fly past the car. “What about your puzzle?”

“I saved the second half for you.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” David grinned. “But you have always known the way to my heart.”

“You’re an easy man to please. Speaking of,” she smiled. “Ilya and Shane brought a new bottle of that vodka you like. The one I think is awful. And a bottle of chardonnay. Said we ran out last time they were over for dinner.” 

“We did,” David recalled. “Did you tell them I appreciate it?”

“Ilya insisted on a glass in your honor.” Her laugh was emotionless, as if she were supplementing what he wanted to know with superficial anecdotes. “I told him one would be okay. Shane still won’t touch the stuff.” 

“He’s better for it. He’d hate it.”

“Yeah,” David thought fondly of his son. “He would.”

They rode in a slightly less uncomfortable silence after the brief conversation, but David watched his wife drive with a deeply-rooted sadness. He didn’t want to push her to talk before she was ready, but he wanted to make sure his son was okay.

He also didn’t want to overwhelm Ilya.

He knew it was well within his rights as Shane’s father to check in, but if his suspicions were correct, Ilya was likely exhausted, overwhelmed, and missing his mother.

There were many nights that David’s heart ached for his son-in-law, who had lost so much, so young. He’d seen glimpses of a sad little boy in Ilya’s bold demeanor, and he wished life had been kinder to the man who loved his only child. 

Selfishly, though, he was glad the world had been a little unfair to Ilya, because that brought him to Shane and led the Russian to them.

There was a world in which Ilya never joined their small, close-knit family, and David never wanted to picture Shane without his husband. Shane finally could live and love freely, and he would stand between anything and anyone who tried to take that away.

There had even been a period of time where David, who was quiet and reserved in comparison to his wife, was ready to burn the MHL institution to the ground for their treatment of his sons. 

So no, he didn’t want to think of their lives without his favorite Russian menace and cherished bonus son.

From the day he walked in on their private moment, he knew that anyone Shane existed with who was worth his love, even if it took his learned thoughts a little longer to catch up with his rational brain. 

“You’re quiet,” Yuna—blunt and bold as always—commented. “Something’s wrong.” 

“I’m just tired from a long morning of travel.”

“You’re acting like you’re ready to call Shane’s doctor yourself,” she was curt, but called him out clearly and precisely. 

He paused for several beats, unsure if she was baiting him into another heated exchange or opening the door for conversation. 

It was like playing tic-tac-toe with buried landmines. There was a 50-50 chance that, no matter where he stepped, something would blow up. 

“I wish you’d tell me a little bit more,” David finally spoke. “I know you said they got home okay, but it seems like you haven’t checked in.”

“I got their home ready for them to be there,” Yuna snapped. “Ilya has it under control. You could ask him, too.”

David frowned deeply, his heart aching.

Something was wrong.

“I thought maybe you’d know what’s happening,” David remained levelheaded. “You always seem to have information.”

“He broke his ankle and has a concussion.”

“You told me that on the phone last night,” David reminded her softly. “That’s all you know?”

“Nothing changed.”

“I didn’t think a bone could heal overnight, honey.” His hands were sweating. 

“Then there’s nothing to update!” She snapped. “We’ll check on them when we get home. They probably need to rest.”

After her brief and poignant update, Yuna was oddly quiet. Much like their son, she was fidgety when she drove. She would adjust the radio, change the air conditioner settings, and tap her fingers against the wheel.

She hated sitting still as much as Shane, too, which is why she usually elected to drive.

“Yuna,” David sighed. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It felt accusatory,” her voice was clipped. “I care about our children.” 

“I know you do,” David frowned. “I just don’t have a full picture of what happened.”

“Shane got hurt.”

David took a deep breath, steadying himself as he prepared for their inevitable semi-argument that was sure to follow. As kind and compassionate as she was, Yuna also never backed down when she thought she was right.

Most days, he loved that about her. But there were times when it was hard to reach her when she’d already decided how the conversation should go. 

“I think we should talk when we get home,” David said. His hand rested on his wife’s forearm. “It’s been a really hard few days for everyone. I need you to catch me up—tell me how Shane’s doing, how he’s really doing. Not press-statement information.” 

Yuna paused, her hands gripping the wheel tightly because she didn’t really know how Shane was beyond the brief call with Ilya and a short text.

“You know how he’s doing, right? I assumed you came from there,” David commented, trying to ease the tension.

Instead, he accidentally made it worse.

“Ilya has been with him since the hospital,” Yuna furrowed her brow. “He called last night and said Shane was having a rough time.”

David inhaled deeply, confused by the lack of information from his wife. She was usually very on top of all aspects of Shane’s life, from appointments to workouts and everything in between; she always knew how Shane was.

This raised red flags in David more than anything else. Shane was Yuna’s pride and joy, and for her not to know meant something was wrong or there was a disconnect.

“Did you stay with them at the hospital? I know last time—“ David was cut off by a sharp exhale. 

“There were things I needed to do to help them out,” Yuna’s voice was sharp. “I handled all of the statements and the media. Ilya stayed with Shane. Hayden and I stopped by the day he was released.”

David furrowed his brow, “How was he?”

“Out of it,” Yuna’s grip tightened. “It was… difficult to see. But Ilya was there with him. So I started the process with everything else. Statements were sent out by the Foundation, the Centaurs, and Farah. Harris stemmed the media comments as best he could. I spoke with Wiebe and the attorney.”

“The attorney?”

Yuna nodded as she took the exit toward their home, “It was a dangerous hit. But the league isn’t going to investigate it further.”

David scrubbed his hand over his face, “Of course not.” 

“Were you watching the game?”

“We were out at dinner,” David sighed. “I didn’t know anything happened until you called me from the car.” 

“It’s probably best you didn’t see it.”

David didn’t know how to feel about that statement. As blunt as it was, his wife was probably correct, but it didn’t loosen the tightness in his chest that he felt.

He hadn’t been able to be there for his son. 

Shane was always his buddy growing up. While many assumed it was Yuna who had encouraged their son to pursue hockey, it was David who taught him the ice. From skating lessons to hockey practice, it was always Shane and David, until Shane needed a manager and someone who knew the business side of his sport.

David was content to take the back seat and let go of the wheel when it came to Shane’s career, but he prided himself on his unwavering support of his son.

And with Shane came Ilya; he gained a son because of his son, and learned more about the world through Ilya. Their wedding had been perfect, and his conversation with his son-in-law in the small room before the ceremony had cemented Ilya amongst David’s Favorite People. 

He was a better person because of his boys, and it hurt that he hadn’t been there when Shane was injured.

He had been there for everything else, and the way Yuna steeled herself spoke more about how stressful the event was than his wife did. 

“You’re thinking pretty hard,” Yuna’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Care to share?”

“I’m just worried about Shane, and Ilya, for that matter,” David sighed. “You really haven’t been over there?”

“Ilya seemed like he had it all under control when I saw him last,” Yuna doubled down on her previous comment. “He called about Shane last night, and I told him what the doctor told us during the last concussion.”

“And that helped?”

“He sounded a little rattled, but he seemed to understand,” she looked over at David when they paused at a stoplight. “I think he was tired, more than anything. He sounded tired.”

“Did you talk about anything else?”

“Just the statement from the Foundation, and when you’d be home,” She focused on the road in front of her, her gaze fixed on the car ahead. “That was really it. I didn’t want to keep him too long or bother either of them. The last thing Shane needs is his mom hovering when his husband is already there.”

“Did you let him know I was coming home today?”

“I did,” Yuna shifted in the driver’s seat. “And told him that one or both of us would be by the house today, depending on how tired you were from travel.”

“I’m never too tired to see my sons.” David’s voice was a little sharper than intended. “I don’t think I’ll feel at ease until I see Shane with my own eyes.” 

“We can do that after lunch.”

David was still entirely confused by his wife’s attitude and shocked that she hadn’t stayed with Shane and Ilya until she was forced to leave.

She knew, at a much deeper than surface level, Ilya’s history. They’d seen Ilya come apart and put himself back together time and time again, and seen him gently touch the cross at his neck when he was missing his mother. 

She knew that his mother was gone and that Ilya had been young when it happened. They both knew that he struggled, deeply, with his mental health and that there were times when he just needed mom and dad.  

He also knew that no good would come of bringing up his concerns in the car, even though he feared the late-night phone call was Ilya asking for a mom. 

“What are you thinking for lunch?” He changed the subject swiftly as he saw the uncomfortable look on his wife’s face. 

“I know what you’re doing.” Yuna’s shoulders slumped. “You’re changing the subject.”

“I’m hungry, and I’m asking about lunch.”

“I have stuff for sandwiches, but I was thinking of taking something light over for Ilya,” she noted. “I’m not sure if Shane will feel like eating.”

“Is he not feeling well on top of it?”

“It’s a bad concussion. Ilya said he was throwing up,” Yuna recalled. “Maybe some Gatorade to restock them, something like that.” 

“He only likes the blue,” David smiled fondly. “The light…”

“Not the dark blue,” Yuna chuckled. “I know. He’s very specific about it.” 

“You said he’s been sick?”

“It’s either the pain medication or the concussion,” Yuna frowned, focused on the GPS. “It was very ugly. Broken ankle on top of it all.”

“He’s going to hate that once he remembers he’s a human.”

“He was pretty out of it when he was awake,” Yuna looked uneasy. “I was hoping that Ilya would call this morning with an update, or at least text.” 

“Did you try texting him?”

“I didn’t want to bother him, and by the time I realized I hadn’t heard, I had to leave for the airport,” She bristled. “We can check in before we head over. I wouldn’t want to show up unannounced if they’re resting.” 

“I guess that makes some sense.”

“You guess?” David was surprised that Yuna didn’t slam on the brakes in the middle of the highway. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything, Yuna,” David sighed. “It just makes sense that we’d check in before we went over.”

“I watched Anya the day they were coming home from the hospital and left them dinner,” Yuna was on the defensive, and David took a mental step back. “I finished their laundry and cleaned.”

“Did you stay until they got home?”

“I left before they got back, I didn’t want to be in the way, and I had a few statements to finish for Harris,” Yuna spoke, voice meek. “It was going to be late.”

“I see.” 

David had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he wished he could take back their entire conversation and let her come to him instead of pressing on clear pain points. He was tired, upset with himself for not being home, and he needed more clarity, but based on Yuna’s reactions, he hadn’t gone about it correctly.

“Sandwiches for lunch?” He tried to lighten the mood. “Do you want any help?”

“I can do it.”

As he watched the road and the scenery pass in colorful blurs, David mentally noted the similarities between mother and son. It went far beyond their outward appearances; Shane had always favored his mother with his dark hair, chocolate brown eyes, and the way his lips twitched when he smiled mischievously.

More so, even though Shane was reluctant to admit it, he shared his mother’s disposition to anxiety. He was sure they’d never witnessed the absolute worst of it, but he recalled days when Shane was too anxious to eat, or snapped easily when asked simple questions about complex situations.

It was as endearing as it was frustrating, because reaching either of them in their deep states of internalized anxieties was nearly impossible. 

The rest of the drive was an uncomfortable silence—something that was unusual between the two—and as the SUV pulled into the driveway, David was certain that Yuna would have jumped out before it was in park if she hadn’t been driving.

And even though the atmosphere around them was tense, she still unloaded his bag and pulled him into a tight, wordless hug—one that said I’m happy you’re home but didn’t require words.

“I’ll take this to our room,” David commented as she beelined for the kitchen. “Call if you need help?”

“I will.” 

By the time David had returned from semi-unpacking his suitcase, Yuna had pulled plates down to the counter, and all of the sandwich ingredients were neatly arranged.

Another trait she shared with Shane, David thought with a smile. 

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“If you wanted to fix a drink for us, that would be nice,” She smiled, but it didn’t meet her eyes.

He settled on two glasses of water, because this wasn’t a conversation that would be made better with alcohol, even though he could have gone for vodka neat to calm his own nerves. 

Plates were handed off, and they ate quietly at the table while David pondered the conversation, which was ultimately paused when Yuna began preparing their meal. However, he knew his wife, and he knew based on her fiery eyes alone that she wasn’t going to table the subject alone. 

He needed to know where the emotional landmines were, but because he hadn’t been there for the worst of it, he was going in blind.

“You look like you want to say something,” Yuna observed. “You’re doing that thing with your hands.” 

“What thing with my hands?”

“You flex your hands into fists when you’re not sure what you want to say,” Yuna cocked her head to the side. “Is it about what we talked about in the car?”

“I’m just confused,” David said, taking a deep breath. “I thought for sure you’d be at Shane and Ilya’s, come get me, and then we’d go back over there and stay to help.” 

“Ilya has it under control. He’d call if he didn’t,” she reminded him.

“He did call.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Yuna remembered, even if her late-night memory was serving her wrong. “He was updating me and asking for advice.”

“Maybe that isn’t all it was.” 

“You’re acting like I did something wrong,” Yuna said, straightening her shoulders. “I did what I knew how to do, and I took care of business affairs. I gave advice from medical professionals.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t know why you’re treating me like the bad guy,” Yuna’s voice cracked. “They needed someone to step in and help.”

“I know that too,” David picked at the crust of his sandwich. “But I think it’s a little deeper than that. I know you think that, too.” 

“It’s my job,” Yuna defended weakly. “I couldn’t leave Ilya to navigate that by himself. He was already so distressed.”

“Did it help you feel better?”

“Help me feel better? David, what are you talking about?” Yuna’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. “Our son was in the hospital! Of course, I didn’t feel better.”

David took a bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly, thinking about the trajectory of their conversation and how his wife’s voice rose an octave when she felt cornered. 

“You and Shane are so alike it scares me sometimes,” David half-grinned. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just curious.”

“What do you mean by that?” She gritted her teeth. 

“You like to be in control when a situation feels out of control,” David wiped his mouth with his crumpled napkin. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s one of the many things I love about both of you. But it also causes you immense stress.” 

“There was work that needed to be done, and I knew I could do something,” She reiterated. “I wasn’t pawning Shane off on his husband and then running away. We trust Ilya with Shane.”

“Does Ilya know that?” 

Yuna stared at David like he’d grown a second head, a look of pure offense flashing across her face.

“Of course he does!” She squeaked. “He’s our son-in-law. We've loved him for so long. From the day Shane told us, we saw them together. Of course, we trust him.” 

“Him knowing and us doing are two different things,” David gently reminded his wife. “When things are good, he knows. But have you thought about what he might be thinking now when he sees Shane so hurt?” 

“I hope he thinks we’re trusting him to do what’s right for our son.” 

David sighed, closing his eyes for a beat to gather his thoughts. The last thing he wanted to do was escalate Yuna’s obvious anxiety. 

“Do you think not staying with Shane had something to do with being scared?” 

“Of course, I was scared,” Yuna fought the tears welling in her eyes. “He was unconscious and broken in that bed. I’ve never seen him look like that.”

“Neither has Ilya,” David’s voice was quiet. “No one has.”

“Was I supposed to sit there and fidget while Ilya held his hand? Or kick Ilya out so I could be there?” Yuna stiffened. “I needed to control what I could control.” 

David wanted to capitalize on the confession of needing to control the situation, but instead, he looked at his wife and took in her outward appearance. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her shoulders were slumped, like she had come to several realizations in rapid succession.

“David…” She sniffled. “What are you getting at?” 

“Honey,” David reached across the table and took his wife’s hands in his. “This is the first time Shane has ever been hurt like this. And the first time Ilya has ever experienced Shane being hurt like this. Last time, he came home with us.”

Yuna felt the tears she had been holding back trickle slowly down her cheeks as the weight of her husband’s words washed over her.

“We love Ilya,” David continued, squeezing Yuna’s hands gently. “And I’m not blaming you, because it was a high-stress situation, but he probably feels a little abandoned right now. In sickness and in health, is one thing. But I think when he called you last night, he might have needed a mom. Not Shane’s mom, but a mom.” 

“I thought,” Yuna’s voice broke entirely as the steady stream of tears began to fall rapidly. “I thought I was doing the right thing. They’re so independent. They’ve built their lives around each other. I wanted to help with the things they didn’t need to worry about. The work that couldn’t wait but didn’t need to be focused on while Shane was recovering. The media.”

David locked eyes with his wife as the words spilled from her lips; she looked devastated.

“I know, honey,” He whispered. “We’ve said from the day Shane was born that parenting means making mistakes, though.”

“I didn’t realize it was a mistake,” David hated how broken his wife sounded. “It didn’t feel like one.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t.” 

“I thought I was helping,” Yuna cried. “Ilya looked so overwhelmed, and I wanted to protect him from the outside noise. Everyone was going to want something, and I tried to stop it.”

David nodded as she continued to speak.

“I made sure everyone who needed to know knew,” Yuna picked up a tissue and dabbed at her cheeks. “He didn’t have to worry about anything with the Foundation, or the Centaurs, or the conversations about Montreal. He could focus on Shane.” 

“I know,” He squeezed again. “But Ilya didn’t grow up the same way we raised Shane. I think we both forget that sometimes.” 

“I left them both,” Yuna gasped, weeping openly. “David, what did I do?”

“You did what you thought was right, because you were stressed, scared, and needed something to control,” David spoke honestly, but his voice was laced with a gentleness Yuna needed. “I think there was a little miscommunication.”

“I didn’t ask Ilya what he needed,” She cried, pulling her hands away from her husband and burying her face in them. “I guessed, and I guessed wrong.”

David stood quietly and moved around the table, crouching next to his wife with one hand on her shoulder and the other on her thigh.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here and couldn’t get here faster,” He rubbed gentle circles on her shoulder with his calloused thumb. “But I’m here now. What do you need?”

Yuna shook her head, unable to speak.

“Honey,” David encouraged. “How can I help? What can we do now to make this better for you and our boys?” 

“I need to go see them,” Yuna croaked, her eyes puffy and bloodshot as she looked up. “I need to see my son, and I need to apologize to my other son.” 

“We can do that,” David smiled softly. “But what else do you need? Just you, right now?”

“A hug  from my husband.” 

Standing with cracking knees, David took Yuna’s hand and pulled her into a warm, tight hug. Shane and his mother had more in common than either of them would admit—drive, ambition, courage, and anxiety, to name a few—and David learned quickly how to stop an anxiety spiral in its tracks.

Give them options.

Let them lead.

A hug will usually fix everything. 

It had been a long time since David needed to deploy that tactic with either of them, but he considered himself a veteran. Now, standing in their modest-sized dining room with his wife in his arms, he could compare this to the night following Shane’s coming out.

How Yuna had cried for not letting her son know he was safe with them. How she felt like she failed him as his mother because she was too focused on being his manager.

The situations paralleled one another, and David was happy to hold her through them all. 

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair like he’d done their entire relationship. “So much.” 

“I love you, too,” She pulled away with a weak smile. “Can we go see our boys now? I need to see them both.”

“I’ll grab my keys.” 

Chapter Text

By the time Hayden’s Uber dropped him off in front of the hotel, he was finally coming down from the adrenaline-fueled night he’d had, and his hands were shaking. He’d warned JJ that he was on his way back and that he needed a clean getaway to their room, so when he saw the Haitian defensemen waiting in front of the hotel doors, he was both relieved and terrified that he was about to be interrogated. 

Sighing, he braved the uncertainty and stepped out of the car, offering the driver pleasantries and a thank you for the ride. It was the least he could do for the way he fidgeted in the back seat the entire drive, failing to make conversation even when he was asked the mundane, typical questions about his day. 

“Hey,” JJ bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet. “Everyone’s either at the hotel bar or in their rooms. Haven’t seen anyone in an hour.” 

“Good,” Hayden pulled his hood over his head. “I just want to go to bed, man. It’s been a long night.” 

“Yeah,” JJ stepped through the door with Hayden close behind, waving to the night desk auditor and walking through the lobby to the elevators. “I can imagine.” 

They waited for the elevator in silence, Hayden in no mood to talk, and JJ reading the room with ease. He could sense that Hayden was less than conversational, and even though his default was to make jokes and ease the tension, JJ acknowledged silently that it wasn’t the time or the place. 

“Floor 12,” JJ commented, and Hayden pressed the button with more force than intended as they stepped inside. “Higher than we usually are.” 

“I’m surprised we stayed,” Hayden laughed half-heartedly. “It’s what, a two-hour bus ride?” 

“Or less,” JJ leaned against the mirrored wall. “Guess it was a good thing tonight.” 

“I guess it was,” Hayden nodded, mirroring JJ’s actions, and closed his eyes. “Probably would have found a way to stay anyway.” 

“Wouldn’t blame you.” Small talk was not their strong suit, and it was painful as the elevator rose to the 12th floor to drop them off. “I’d do the same.” 

“Yeah,” Hayden nodded. “Yeah, dude.” 

The elevator dinged, signaling their stop, and Hayden was begging the doors to open faster so he could get out of the small elevator cube. 

He wasn’t in the mood to talk to JJ; he just wanted to lie down. 

As the pair stepped off the elevator and into the small hallway, Hayden felt like his world was off-kilter. Between the post-game exhaustion settling in his bones and the worry he was feeling about Shane, he wanted nothing more than to lie down on his bed, put on a shitty movie, and fall asleep. 

But sleep would evade him, he was sure of it, because until he received a report that Shane was safe, as okay as he could be, and still alive, he would toss and turn worrying about him. It was a common occurrence for Hayden; worrying about Shane was second nature, and it ranked right there with worry about Jackie, his parents, and his children. 

Shane was his brother, and there wasn’t much that was going to ease his mind until he had spoken to Yuna or Ilya about his best friend. 

“Room’s pretty nice,” JJ attempted small talk once again, matching Hayden’s stride as they turned the corner toward their rooms. “I picked the bed by the—” 

When JJ’s words stopped, Hayden stopped walking. He was promised the hallway would be empty and that the others had been down at the hotel bar, but standing just outside his hotel room door was Gilbert Comeau, with a bruised face and a look of pure elation. 

“Hey, Pike!” He smiled, goading Hayden into an argument in front of darkened hotel doors and a grumbling ice machine. “How’s your boy?” 

Before JJ could stop him, Hayden stormed down the hallway and pinned Comeau against the wall by his thin, worn t-shirt with a dense thud. 

“You son of a bitch,” Hayden was face-to-face with his teammate, hot breath fanning across their cheeks as Hayden held him in place, and Comeau’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “You don’t get to fucking ask that.” 

Comeau laughed, struggling against Hayden’s strong arms until he forced himself free and took a step toward the center of the hall. 

“I’m just curious!” Comeau lied with a huff. “Hate to see shit like that happen when it’s this close to the playoffs. You two have a nice catch-up? How’s Rozanov?” 

Hayden pushed him back against the wall and pinned him there once more, Comeau playing a short-term cat and mouse game with the exhausted, angry Alternate Captain. 

“He was unconscious, no thanks to you,” Hayden spat, feeling JJ’s hand on his elbow and shaking him off. “So no, it wasn’t a nice catch-up. He couldn’t even respond.” 

“It was a clean hit,” Comeau pushed Hayden’s hands off of his broad shoulders and stepped around the pair. “You and I both know it was.” 

“Bullshit!” Hayden exclaimed, following Comeau as he tried to walk back toward his room. “Nothing about that hit was clean.” 

“No penalty, no review,” Comeau shrugged. “Say what you want to say, Pike, your little boyfriend is in the hospital either way. It was an accident.” 

Seeing red, Hayden lunged for Comeau’s throat and was caught by JJ before he could land a solid punch squarely to his teammate’s already bruised jaw. Gilbert Comeau was a known instigator, and Hayden knew—logically, somewhere deep in a part of his brain that was not currently activated—that this was all to get a rise out of him in a monitored hallway. But this version of Hayden—tired, scared, and pissed off—wasn’t ready to acknowledge that fact. 

“Both of you knock it off,” JJ stepped between them forcefully, separating them with his size alone. “It’s late. People are sleeping.” 

“He came after me,” Comeau defended himself against the silent accusation that he’d started anything. “I was just heading back to my room. Gotta tend to my pride after Chouinard’s weak ass hit.” 

“He should have laid your ass out,” Hayden grumbled. “You woulda deserved it.” 

“Oh, really?” Comeau raised an eyebrow. “How so?” 

“You really want to go there?” Hayden pushed JJ’s hand out of the way and off his arm. “You really want to start that right now? Right here?” 

“Go to the room,” JJ nudged Hayden away from the impending altercation. “Comeau, you too.” 

“No need to play referee, Jayj,” Comeau laughed, eyes almost sparkling in the low lighting. “Let Pike finish what he started. 

“Let’s go then.” 

“Go to the room,” JJ snapped at Hayden, firm hand pushing him in the shoulder toward their door. “Now.” 

Hayden stumbled, but quickly recovered when he realized that Comeau wasn’t going anywhere either. 

“Tell Shaney we said hi,” Comeau smirked in Hayden’s direction, and the other man lunged directly into JJ’s waiting forearm. “Doesn’t have to be a touchy subject, Pike.” 

“You motherfucker,” Hayden forced out between his clenched teeth, fighting against JJ’s arm as he tried his best to swing at an already bruised face. “You motherfucker!” 

JJ forced Hayden back with all his strength, muscles in his bicep and tricep straining with the effort of containing a pissed, scorned, and fuming Hayden Pike. He might be bigger and stronger, but JJ learned a long time ago not to come between Hayden and the people he cares about. 

“Go,” JJ barked at Comeau, who was already halfway toward his room. “Leave each other alone. This is ridiculous.” 

Through his fury, Hayden felt himself being pushed toward their door by strong hands, and when the door was unlocked, he all but stumbled inside as JJ ensured that he was not reentering the hallway to hunt Comeau for sport.

He was shaking, and his vision was nearly blurry. 

“Hayden.”

Hayden turned on his heels away from JJ, and hopefully away from their conversation, but was grabbed roughly by the shoulders. 

“Hayden,” JJ’s voice commanded attention as Hayden was pulled from a blind rage just inside the door. “What the fuck was that? Trying to fight Comeau in the hallway? Where there are cameras? Our other teammates?” 

Hayden’s ears were ringing, and he struggled to regulate his angy, ragged breathing. He was furious; for Comeau to have the audacity to approach him, it took more than balls. It took malice and hate and all the things Hayden had tried to keep in check in himself. 

“He hurt Shane,” Hayden huffed. “You shoulda let me hit him.” 

“And what? Cop a suspension or worse?” JJ stood before him, arms crossed over his chest and an irritated look on his face. “You can be pissed, but you aren’t violent.” 

“Clearly you weren’t watching the same game I was!” Hayden almost yelled, his face flushed in anger and his hands clenched at his sides. “You must not have seen what he did to our friend.”

“I did!” JJ threw his hands in the air. “And I heard them talking about it at the bar. I thought they were still down there, or I wouldn’t have brought you up here. But fighting him isn’t going to fix the problem!” 

“No, but it would have felt fucking great to crack him in the face.” Hayden was still seeing red. “Just one hit, JJ. That’s all I needed.” 

“I can’t let you do that.” JJ’s firm hand landed on Hayden’s shoulder, and he flinched away. “You’re better than that. We don’t need to sink to their level, even if we want to.” 

“Easy for you to say when you’ve already done it once,” Hayden bit back harshly, recalling the accusations thrown around in the locker room after Shane’s trip. “Don’t do it again by defending him.” 

“I’m not,” JJ’s voice fell flat. “And I regret what happened that day more than anyone.” 

“Sure you do,” Hayden wiped at his eyes, angry tears forming along his waterline. “Does Shane know you do? Have you ever said that to him?” 

“What we talk about in private conversations is between me and Shane,” JJ stood his ground. “But if it will keep you from going postal in a hotel, yes, I have apologized. And we’ve talked about it.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh,” JJ inhaled, his eyes closed as he worked to diffuse the anger filling the space between them. “So what the fuck, Pike?” 

JJ watched as his friend’s face changed from fury to hurt to fear. The storm of emotion in his eyes settled, and what was left of its wake was pure devastation. 

Hayden looked wrecked, and for a fleeting moment, JJ wondered if he would be blamed for any part of this. Selfishly, he hoped not, even though his relationship with Shane and Hayden was still healing after the catastrophic fallout of Shane revealing his sexuality and subsequently, his relationship, to the Metros years before.

How he reacted wasn’t one of JJ’s finer moments, and he harbored his own guilt just like Hayden did. 

“I-I need to call Jackie,” Hayden’s voice shook with frustration and sadness as his teammate’s hand dropped from his shoulder. “Can I have 30 minutes? Alone?”

“Sure, man,” JJ conceded, understanding Hayden’s need to speak with his wife and decompress the situation he’d found himself in that evening. “I’ll be outside, just in case.” 

JJ didn’t need to elaborate on what “just in case” meant, because they both knew the hot-headed nature of their teammates. 

It was better for JJ to plant his ass on questionable hallway carpet than it was for him to wander the stairwells of their accommodations. 

“Thanks,” Hayden fished in his jacket pocket for his phone. “I’ll be done in a bit. I just, yeah, I told her I called and stuff.” 

JJ nodded and stepped out of the door, letting it latch quietly behind him. Hayden was left standing in stuffy silence, his heart still hammering in his chest as the adrenaline of the night slowly wore off. 

Pulling up Jackie’s contact, he stared at the picture of their family they’d taken last fall. Jade was missing her front teeth, and Ruby’s left arm was in a blue cast from a fall out of a tree. Their babies, now much bigger, were on his hip and in Jackie’s arms as they stood in front of trees on the Drover Family Orchard.

Shane had invited them to come apple picking with him and Ilya, and Arthur told him on the drive home that it was the best day ever.

It had been, because they didn't have a care in the world. 

Taking a shaky breath and flopping on the bed, Hayden pressed call and waited for it to ring through. 

“Hayden?” Jackie sounded like she’d been waiting for his call as she answered. “Any news? I just got the kids to bed. We were watching. Poor Shane. And Ilya looked just awful. How are they?”

“Ilya had me leave,” Hayden’s voice broke instantaneously. “I didn’t get any news before I came back.” 

“He asked you to leave?” Jackie asked, confusion and exasperation lacing every word. “Why would he do that?”

Hayden let the tears fill his eyes and did nothing to force them away.

“It was a dirty hit, Jacks, you saw it,” Hayden cried. “Rozanov knew I’d be up shit’s creek if I missed curfew. Said it was safer for me to get back. Said he’d call.”

“Oh, Hayd,” She sniffled. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” He lied. “God, it was so bad. He wasn’t conscious when they carted him off. Roz and I got into a fight on the way to the car. He’s a mess. I’m a fuckin’ mess too.”

“I’m sure that was just stress,” she whispered. “But you made it back okay?”

“Not without almost beating Comeau’s face in outside my room,” Hayden admitted shamefully. “I-I don’t know who does something like that.”

“Did you at least get a good hit in?”

“Jesus Christ,” Hayden wanted to laugh so that he wouldn’t cry. “JJ broke us up. Chouinard kicked his ass pretty good on the ice. He looks like shit. It would have made it worse if I’d hit him.” 

“Thank God for JJ, I guess,” she laughed. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is there anything I can do? Or do you just need me to listen?”

“Listen, I think,” he admitted softly. “I think I just need to talk. Maybe. My head’s weird.” 

“I’m right here,” she reminded him. “It’s been a hard day, but just like we tell the kids, you can do hard things.”

“I hate when our parenting advice is used on me,” he smiled to himself. “I don’t know what to do, Jackie.” 

“What do you want to do?”

That question alone threw Hayden for a loop. In the Uber ride over, he’d contemplated what he’d say if she asked several other questions, but that one never crossed his mind. Instead, it cracked open something deep inside Hayden, and the words started tumbling out.

“Fuck. I can’t keep doing this shit. I hate what this place is now without Shane,” Hayden sniffled as his wife sat silently on the other end of the phone, his heart pounding. “I think I’m gonna be done. I can’t keep playing with these guys. I-I can be home more, stay with the kids. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep choosing Montreal over my best friend.” 

Jackie took a deep breath, and Hayden attempted to match her steady, strong demeanor. He was panicking; they both knew it, and he was doing everything in his power to stay in control.

It wasn’t working as well as he’d hoped, but it was better than pacing around the room. 

“You’ve been saying this since Shane left, Hayd,” She sighed, frown evident in her voice. “You might change your mind in the morning. I know this is different, and that it’s bad, but the kids…” 

“I need to be selfish,” Hayden felt tears prick his eyes, and his breath quickened as he flexed his hand at his side. “That bastard could have ended his career or killed him, Jackie. I can’t play with guys like that. It’s my fault their-their secret got out anyway. And I know Shane forgave me immediately, and so did Ilya, but I didn't do enough when he was here, and I can do something now, even if that means quitting or leaving or whatever. I love hockey, but that’s my brother, our brother, and it could have been worse.” 

“Hayd.” 

“I should have defended him more in the locker room. Talked to him more one-on-one. I should have done something to get it to stop before it got so bad,” Hayden panted, his words strung together and rushed. “But I can do something-something now, right? I can hang it up?” 

“Hayden.” 

“I know it sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but I can be home to help with the kids; you wouldn’t have to do it alone anymore. And we could visit Shane and Rozanov more, and we could travel. We’ve always wanted to travel. We could do it all while the kids are young and we’re still young. We wouldn’t have to move.” 

“Hayden Pike.” 

The tone of Jackie’s voice snapped Hayden from his spiral, and he took a shaky, painful breath as he collapsed against his pillows. 

“We aren’t making any decisions tonight,” Jackie grounded him. “But if tomorrow, or next week, it’s still what you want to do, you’ll call your agent and get it taken care of. I will support you in whatever you do. We love Shane; he’s important to us. And if this is how you want to do it, we’ll make a decision when it’s less emotionally charged.” 

God bless his wife. 

“Okay,” He nodded, knowing she can’t see him but doing it anyway. “Okay, okay, we can do that. I can do that. God, Jackie, I almost killed Comeau when I saw him in the hallway with Drapes. His face is fucked, Chouinard did a number on him, but he was still acting like he did everyone a favor and that he ‘won’ whatever the fuck this is.”

His wife’s pained laugh at the other end of the line triggered his own; his hysterical, pained laughter filled the hotel room he was supposed to be sharing with JJ on this trip due to a booking issue. 

“This is so fucked up,” Hayden continued to laugh. “Jackie, this is so fucked up! What’s even going on here?”

“I know. And I have no idea.”

“Shane gave us everything, and they threw him out like garbage,” Hayden felt the tears he’d kept at bay trickle down his cheeks as he continued to laugh. “It was bad, Jacks. The whole thing was horrible. I thought he was dead. I didn't-didn't even get to see him before I came back.” 

“I know, babe. I saw the hit.” 

“Rozanov had to tell me to come back,” He croaked, wiping his eyes, finally half-calm and fully hysterical. “And at the time I was so fucking mad, because that’s my best friend, but when he said it out loud, that staying would make it worse for me here, he was right, and it made sense, and I’m pissed.” 

“You did the right thing, honey,” She soothed. “I know it wasn’t what you wanted to do, and that it’s complicated, but you needed to.” 

“I shouldn’t have to choose!” Hayden exclaimed, hand tugging at his chestnut locks. “I shouldn’t have to choose between becoming a team outcast and being there for my friend, because one of those things should never happen! It never should have happened!” 

“You’re right,” She said gently, trying to calm her husband’s nerves. “It shouldn’t have happened. Our babies shouldn’t have to see Uncle Shane get hurt like that, and you shouldn’t have to choose. But it’s the world we live in right now.” 

“I don’t like this version of the world,” Hayden half-laughed, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “I miss it when it was like before. When Shane was here, things felt normal.” 

Jackie took a deep breath, and Hayden unconsciously mirrored it.

“Hayden,” Her voice was calm and gentle, bringing him down from his emotional high. “Do you remember what my mom told us when Jade got hurt for the first time, and we were a wreck in the Emergency Room?” 

“I don’t think I remember anything other than losing my ever-loving shit.”

“She said we can’t protect her from everything forever,” Jackie said firmly. “We can’t protect Shane from everything, love. We can do our best, but the world really sucks.”

“Yeah,” Hayden sniffled. “But I haven’t done a very good job of protecting him at all.” 

“You were there after,” Jackie reminded him. “You got his husband to the hospital, and you stayed as long as you could. It’s a really, really crappy situation.”

“Understatement of the century.” 

In the background, Hayden heard a small, sweet voice suddenly grow closer to the phone. God, he missed his kids. Road trips were always awful, and even if he’d be home tomorrow, he’d give anything for their small arms to wrap him in a hug.

For Jackie to hug him.

“Someone wants to say hi,” Jackie pulled him from his thoughts as there was a rustling across the call. “We’re all having some trouble sleeping tonight.” 

Hayden smiled to himself as he waited for one of his children to talk. It was one of the best parts of his day, even when his day had been horrible. 

“Daddy?” Amber’s voice rang through the phone. “I love you.” 

“Hi, baby girl,” He croaked. “I love you, too. Are you being good for your Mama?”

“Yeah,” She whispered. “Is Unca Shane ‘kay? Mommy said he had owies.” 

“Yeah, sweetheart, he’s okay. He’s gonna come visit us really soon,” Hayden fibbed; it would be a while before either of their ‘uncles’ could visit. 

“And Unca ‘lya?” 

“He’ll visit, too. They’ll even bring Anya,” He felt his eyes start to water. “It’s past your bedtime, kiddo. One more sleep and I’ll be home.” 

“‘kay,” She yawned. “Night, daddy. I love you.”

“Night, Amber. I love you,” He willed himself not to cry as he said his goodnight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

There was more movement on Jackie’s end of the phone, and he used the brief lull to scrub a hand over his face.

“Hayd? I gotta get her back to bed,” Jackie sighed. “I’m sorry, I have to cut our call short.”

“I wish I was there.”

“We wish you were here, too,” She admitted quietly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jacks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The call ended, and Hayden’s shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch as the stress started to leave his body. His chest still ached, but as he let Jackie’s words sink in, he felt marginally better. 

Placing his phone face down on the bed, he dried his eyes and sauntered to the bathroom, stripping from his post-game clothes and into his pajamas, foregoing a shower entirely. He knew it was disgusting, and any other time he’d silently reprimand himself for it, but tonight wasn’t the night. 

He didn’t have the energy to do much more than breathe. 

“Get it together,” He whispered at his reflection, seeing his puffy eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and pained expression looking back at him. “It’s going to be fine.” 

He splashed a handful of cold water on his face and patted it dry with a soft, white washcloth, hoping for the best. 

“Good enough,” He laughed dryly. 

Almost as quickly as he settled back on his bed, there was a soft knock on the door, followed by the mechanical sound of the lock. He’d told JJ 30 minutes, and after glancing at the clock on the bedside table, it was exactly 32 minutes since he’d asked him to step out of the room. 

JJ, who was a good sport about being kicked out of their room after pulling Hayden away from an inevitable hallway fistfight and talking him down from a full self-destructive spiral, agreed to step out and “stand guard” in the hallway, as if Gilbert Comeau would come drunkenly looking for a fight. 

It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, albeit very unlikely, so Hayden was thankful for JJ’s proactivity in this particular moment, even if he knew he could handle himself.

Fucking Comeau. 

“How was Jackie?” JJ asked gently as he slipped back in the hotel room door. “Everything all good?”

“Talked me down like normal. That woman is a saint,” Hayden closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headboard. “Thanks for giving me a little time to lose it without anyone around. Appreciate it.” 

“No problem, man,” JJ shed his sweatshirt and tossed it over the chair. “Happy to give you the space.” 

Hayden, even in his still-stressed state, noticed something was wrong with the defenseman after a quick once-over.

He looked tense, almost angry. 

As Hayden pondered his teammate’s appearance, JJ settled onto his bed with a sigh, sitting on the edge with his head in his hands and an unfamiliar slump in his shoulders. Hayden wasn’t sure what was wrong; he had an idea, maybe, but he wanted JJ to bring it up on his own. In his mind, JJ was just as complicit in Shane’s prior treatment and inevitable departure as he was. 

“This is fucked up,” JJ whispered, clearly distraught with the entire situation. “I didn't, you have to believe me, I didn't know. I don’t talk to them about that shit. They don’t talk to me about it either.” 

“I know,” Hayden picked at the bed’s duvet. 

“I told Comeau to fuck off after you left the rink,” JJ confessed weakly. “He was bragging. Called Chouinard weak for the hit. Said Shane… said he deserved it for being a traitor. Said some other shit not worth repeating.” 

“Shocker.”

Hayden didn't know what he could say to JJ that wouldn’t start an argument, even if it was a feeble attempt to make his teammate feel better. He didn't have the energy to comfort JJ when his best friend was likely still unconscious in a hospital bed. 

He was angry at everyone in their organization from the top down, but even more angry at himself for letting it get this bad and not stepping in. 

Hayden felt defeated. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw JJ kick off his shoes and flop backward onto the mattress with a heavy, anxious sigh. 

“You can ask,” Hayden said, voice laced with frustration. “I know you want to know.” 

JJ took a deep breath and steadied himself. 

“How’s Shane?” JJ asked, looking over with red-rimmed eyes and a pleading look on his face. “Any news you can share? What did his doctor say?” 

“I left before we heard anything,” Hayden’s monotone response shocked JJ, who looked at him with genuine confusion. “Don’t know anything more than you do.” 

JJ wasn’t sure what was going on; this wasn’t like Hayden. Hayden, who had booked it to the hospital after the incident against Boston years ago and stayed until he was forced home to sleep, would have stayed. 

“You didn't stay until you got the doctor’s report? Why?” JJ asked, worried. “I thought you’d, you know, stay until they at least talked to Rozanov. Eavesdropped or something.”

The tension in the room was palpable as JJ waited for an answer. 

“Rozanov told me to leave,” Hayden raked a hand through his hair and tugged lightly. “Said it would make it harder on me with you guys if I stuck around too long. He was right. You saw it earlier in the hallway. If I’d stayed past curfew, everyone would have my head on a spike. I’d be ousted just like Shane was.” 

“We wouldn’t do—” Hayden cut JJ off. 

“Yeah, they would. I’m not saying you would, but Comeau, Theriault, the Front Office, yeah, they’d be out for blood,” Hayden sighed, frustration evident on his tired face. “Ilya didn't want me making problems for myself. I fought him on it, but he was right. I needed to think professionally even though it pissed me off.”

JJ was speechless, his heart aching for everyone involved, and guilt sinking heavily in his stomach. He was curious, though, how everything was playing out in the hospital, and Hayden wasn’t being entirely forthcoming with his answers, even if he didn’t know anything. 

It felt weird. 

“How was Rozanov?” JJ was treading lightly; he knew this would be a wildly sensitive topic. “He didn't look great, after, I guess.”

“He wasn’t,” Hayden snapped. “I’d be pretty fucking sick if something happened to Jackie in front of me. Intentionally.” 

JJ swallowed thickly, not sure where the conversation was heading emotionally. 

“I’m surprised he didn't jump the boards and take Gil’s head off,” JJ admitted, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “Probably would have killed him if he had the chance.”

I would have too, Hayden thought. If I lacked self-preservation skills. 

“Smarter than that,” Hayden shrugged. “He knew he’d cop a fine and a suspension, maybe more. He and Shane get enough heat from the league without adding to it.” 

“I guess that’s true.” 

“I told Jackie I think I’m going to retire,” Hayden admitted, afraid of how JJ would react to the news but needing to be honest anyway. “I did enough damage while Shane was here, while he was our captain, I can’t stay and send him a message I don’t mean to send.” 

“Pike,” JJ sat up straight with a panicked look on his face. “You don’t mean that.” 

Hayden shifted awkwardly, hand fisting the duvet below him. 

“I mean, it’s your choice,” JJ floundered, clearly in shock from the news. “But you’d just leave in the middle of the season? Let him think he won? Drop the team because of this?” 

Hayden felt anger burning deep in his belly as JJ said exactly the wrong thing every time he opened his mouth. Of course, he’d drop the team; they’d dropped Shane like he was nothing. 

“I’d rather let Shane know he has me than stay here and let Comeau think he can walk all over me next,” Hayden admitted, swallowing down the anger and frustration. “Jacks won’t let me make a decision tonight. But I don’t think there’s another option. I don’t want to move the family, but I can’t stay here with this culture and this bullshit and no one doing anything about it.” 

“Shit like this happens on the ice, dude,” JJ scrambled for something to say, but Hayden quickly and firmly cut him off. 

“Think really hard about what you’re going to say next,” Hayden seethed, something in him snapping as he listened to JJ’s weak defense of his team. “You know good and goddamn well that wasn’t an accident. And it didn't just happen. This doesn’t just happen.”

JJ snapped his mouth shut, clasping his hands together in his lap and looking away with shame written across his face as he realized what he had said. 

“If that had gone any other way, Shane could be done for good,” Hayden continued, eyes burning into JJ as he spoke. “So no, things like this don’t just happen. And if you want to tell yourself that, that’s your call. But we both know the truth, and I’m not sitting back and letting it happen again.” 

JJ nodded, head bobbing as he thought about how he needed to respond to his friend and stop the argument before it escalated into something more distressing for either of them. 

“Hayden—” JJ was cut off before he could even begin. 

“Shane bled for this team,” Hayden reminded him, fury evident in the way his eyes shone. “We wouldn’t have half of what we do if it weren’t for him. And he did it for us and for the city without asking for anything in return. And when he needed our support, we threw him away like garbage. And I’m going to fix what I can with him. You can do whatever you want.” 

“I can’t leave Montreal,” JJ quietly admitted, face flushed with shame. “I won’t have any other options. Defensemen are easy to find. I don’t like this any more than you do. Shane’s my friend, too.” 

Hayden took a deep, almost ragged, breath. 

“I’m not asking you to leave. I’m asking you to support Shane, and support me if I decide to be done,” Hayden sighed, feeling stuck in hell with no escape plan. “I know you need people to like you, JJ, I’ve seen it. But don’t give in to their shit. If you do, I don’t think I’d ever forgive you.”

“I can be Switzerland,” JJ looked up at the ceiling as if it held the answers. “Or just be a mute. That might be in my best interest anyway. Might save me a lot of trouble.”

“Don’t be mute to Shane,” Hayden warned. “If you’re his friend, be his friend.”

“I can do that,” JJ agreed. “But I can’t put a target on my back by being anything other than neutral in the room. I’m-I’m different, too.” 

Hayden nodded in understanding. 

“I don’t know how we got into this bullshit, but it’s exhausting,” Hayden slid further down on his bed until he was nearly horizontal. “Shit’s so fucked up.” 

“Yeah,” JJ mirrored his actions, sinking into his mattress. “I wish it was different. It should have been.” 

The weight of his words hung over the room, blanketing the men in what-ifs and anxieties. 

“I wish it wasn’t my fault,” Hayden sniffled, his heart aching as he struggled with his words. “All I had to do was play that video back, do it over. And then they wouldn’t be in this whole mess. Shane might still be here.” 

JJ rolled onto his side, facing Hayden’s bed, his back cracking as he resituated and hoped to find a more comfortable position for an inevitably emotional conversation. 

“We can’t change the past,” JJ acknowledged quietly. “He never blamed you, from what little you’ve said.” 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t blame myself,” Hayden wiped at his eyes. “I know he says that this is great, that they have everything they want, and I see that every time I see them, but it still hurts to think that I forced them into the deep end.” 

“I can see that,” JJ spoke with uncertain understanding. “But you have to forgive yourself if he’s going to forgive you, or you’ll blame yourself for this, too.” 

“I already do,” Hayden laughed dryly. “That fucking video set all of this shit in motion, you know?” 

JJ was silent for a moment, and Hayden fidgeted on the bed, his mind already drawing conclusions he didn't ever want to reach. 

“If you hadn’t outed them, the way Rozanov looks at him would have,” JJ half-laughed, his eyes closed. “He’s not exactly subtle. I don’t think he ever was.” 

“They’ve been together since before their Rookie season, in case you forgot,” Hayden reminded him, unsure if JJ remembered the long lore of the relationship. “They’d kept it under lock and key, and one stupid mistake…” 

“That anyone could have made at any time,” JJ stopped him. “You were the safest person who could have done it. They know it wasn’t on purpose. Someone else might have done it to hurt them. You did not.” 

“And I hurt them anyway.” 

“And yet, you were still invited to the wedding, just like I was,” JJ teased gently, hoping to calm Hayden’s nerves. “It’s gonna be fine, Pike. Shane’s tough.” 

“He shouldn’t have to be,” Hayden let the words settle over them. “He never needed to be this strong, but he had to be anyway.” 

“Yeah,” JJ yawned. “Think you’re going to get any sleep tonight?”

Hayden shrugged, “Probably not until I get an update from someone about Shane.” 

“Alright,” JJ nodded toward the TV. “What do you want to put on that isn’t going to retraumatize us?”

“Not hockey,” Hayden laughed. “Just something in the background is fine. I’ll distract myself on my phone.”

“No, you won’t, you’ll doom scroll social media and end up watching it at least ten times,” JJ was joking, but the statement landed hard. 

“You’re right,” Hayden inhaled deeply. “I should probably try to sleep. I want to try to sneak over to the hospital in the morning before we head out.”

“Think you’ll be able to make it?” JJ’s question was genuine, but it panicked Hayden. “Bus is at 10.” 

“I hope so,” Hayden whispered. “I can’t leave without checking on him.” 

JJ didn’t know what to say, so instead he reached up, switched off the bedside light, and turned on the TV. The two men lay on their beds in silence, the low hum of the fan and the soft sounds of the television filling the room, and Hayden begged his anxiety to go away.

It was fading, yes, but as he stole glances at his very quiet phone, he began to worry.

Surely Ilya knew something by now.

Hopefully, Yuna had made it to the hospital to be with them.

Had anyone updated their coach for them?

He knew it wasn’t his responsibility to contact anyone who played for the Centaurs, and he only had Zane Boodram’s number because of Shane, but he desperately wanted to cling to something like a lifeline.

He decided against it, in the end, but his fingers twitched toward the phone on instinct.

He needed to know how Shane was, but he didn’t want to bother Ilya, Yuna, or anyone else who now held the position of teammate or friend in Shane’s life.

The worst part of Shane's leaving was Hayden losing the ability to be in his inner circle. He knew they were still best friends, but he missed the mundane, day-to-day existence with Shane Hollander. 

As he dozed, Hayden’s mind wandered to the scene on the ice and in the Emergency Room, the devastation on Ilya’s face as he was carted off and waited for news.

He hated it, and he wished it wasn’t burned into his retinas because it was making it impossible to sleep. 

Just as he’d allowed himself to sink further into the darkness of the room and the warm embrace of exhaustion, his phone buzzed four times in rapid succession. 

Rozanov
Is bad, but not horrible.
Broken ankle, concussion.
Thank you for coming. 
Yuna is here with us now. 

Hayden felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly as he squinted at the message that came in the early hours of the morning. He was grateful that Ilya, even in terrifying moments, thought of him when it came to relaying information about Shane. 

Hayden
I’ll be by in the morning
if I can make it before the bus.
Tell him I love him, will you?

Rozanov
Is my husband, Pike.
But yes, will do that when he
wakes up next time.
Kiss Jackie for me, I steal her next. 

Smiling and with watery eyes, Hayden locked his phone and thanked his lucky stars for his friends and that Shane would eventually be okay, even if it meant tolerating Ilya Rozanov to know that.

Chapter Text

“Anya,” Ilya muttered, hand moving her cold nose away from his face as he woke against his will. “Is early.”

Ever persistent and demanding, she continued to nudge at his cheek, whining as he moved her away each time she made contact with his sleep-flushed skin. 

“Sleep time, not outside time,” Ilya considered, momentarily, burying his head under the mountain of throw pillows to escape her dramatics. “Just little longer.”

Another persistent bark echoed in his ear. 

“Go bother friend Bood,” Ilya attempted to reason with the pup. “Is over there. You like Bood. He needs wake-up call.” 

She barked again, louder that time, and Ilya gave in and forced open his sleep-dried eyes. 

“Okay, am awake, what is wrong?” 

Anya nudged his thigh and brought a paw up to swat at his arm. 

“One minute,” Ilya rubbed the sleep from his eyes and fished his phone out from under his pillow. “Will be up soon. Am still asleep, I think.” 

Looking at his phone, Ilya felt a spectrum of emotions wash over him when he saw the time. It was 7 AM—one hour after the recommended time to administer the next dose of Shane’s pain medication. 

“Fuck,” Ilya shot up from where he was lying on the couch. “Slept through alarm.” 

Bood rolled over onto his back and scrubbed a hand over his face, hearing the commotion. He wasn’t sure where he was, but he knew whoever was awake was distressed. 

“Roz?” He muttered, seeing the blanket that was previously covering the other man fly to the end of the couch. “Wha’s wrong?”

“Slept through medicine alarm for Shane,” Ilya panicked, still blanketed by sleep. “Need to go check. Anya woke me up.” 

Bood groaned and sat up, reaching for his sweatshirt and pulling it over his head as Ilya attempted to get his bearings straight and wake up enough to check on his husband. 

“I’ll make breakfast,” Bood mumbled, stretching and standing while Ilya looked through the notifications on his phone in a panic. “Roz, don’t beat yourself up. It happens.” 

“Do not know how I slept through alarm,” Ilya tugged at the ends of his hair. “What is wrong, Anya? Is he awake?” 

Anya chirped at him and nudged at his knee. 

“I am coming,” Ilya stood fast, making himself dizzy, and took a step forward. “Motherfucker!” 

“What?” Bood turned on his heel to see the look of pain and panic on his friend’s face after hearing a loud bang. “What was that?” 

“My fucking toe, Bood!” Ilya snapped. “Fucking table. Hell, shit, that hurt!” 

“Damn, dude,” Bood tried not to laugh at his friend’s anguish, but turned away to avoid breaking completely. “You’re having a rough morning.” 

“No shit,” Ilya grumbled, taking a tentative step forward. “Go make breakfast. Use whatever. I will be back.” 

“You might need these,” Bood stopped Ilya and held up the prescription bottle. “Think it’s gonna fall off?” 

“Give,” Ilya demanded, holding out a hand and cursing softly under his breath. “You laugh at this.” 

“It is kind of funny,” Bood chuckled. “I’m sorry.” 

“You are not sorry. Will be sorry next time I am at practice.” 

Leaving Boodram to his own devices in the kitchen with free will to make whatever he desired for breakfast, Ilya hobbled down the hallway as his pinky toe throbbed and he held the small orange bottle in his hand. 

Cracking the door open, Anya trotted ahead of him and jumped onto the bed while Ilya watched momentarily from the door. He loved seeing Anya with Shane; it was one of his favorite things.

He just wished it were under different circumstances, and that Shane was more coherent and aware enough to enjoy Anya’s company. 

He closed the distance and took in Shane’s appearance as if his husband was going to disappear. 

“Shane,” Ilya sat gently on the edge of the bed and brushed a thumb over Shane’s cheekbone. “Malysh.” 

Shane stirred briefly, eyes pinched closed in pain. He was a bit pale, Ilya noted, but otherwise okay. He hadn’t been vomiting—the bin by the bed has been empty since the last bout with his stomach—and his eyes looked a bit clearer when they finally fluttered open.

His thumb still feathered over Shane’s cheek, slowly waking his partner enough to give him his much-needed pain medication.

“Ilya,” Shane grinned lazily, lacing his fingers with his husband’s. “Hey.”

“Hi to you too,” Ilya bent forward and kissed Shane’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

Shane furrowed his brow, thinking harder than he should have needed to about his answer while searching for Anya with his free hand. 

“Dizzy,” Shane replied weakly. “Nauseous, kinda. Ankle hurts a lot.” 

“I know,” Ilya’s thumb traced a circle around the back of Shane’s hand. “Do you think you can take your medicine?” 

Shane nodded and barely winced, a dramatic improvement from the day before.

“Let’s sit up,” Ilya slid an arm behind Shane’s shoulders and slowly lifted, watching for any signs of discomfort. “Slow. Do not move too much.”

“Neck feels betterish,” Shane mumbled. “Leg feels like shit.” 

Ilya kissed his temple.

“I am sure it does,” Ilya affirmed Shane’s statement. “Is broken. Not too bad, but enough to feel bad.”

Shane took a shaky breath as Ilya propped him up with an extra pillow and brushed a kiss to his jaw.

“I hate this,” tears filled Shane’s eyes as he looked up at his husband with discomfort and distress. “Want it to stop.” 

“I know,” Ilya crawled into the bed next to Shane and wrapped an arm loosely around his shoulders, mindful of any pain he might unintentionally cause. “Doctor said first few days will be bad. But then will get better. You are already little better today.” 

“Feels worse,” Shane leaned his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “You look sad.” 

“Da,” Ilya was sad, and it hurt that Shane was coherent enough to see the waves of sadness that were washing over him. “I do not like seeing you hurt, solnyshko.”

Shane hummed in response, eyes fluttering closed.  

“Do not fall asleep until you take medicine,” Ilya rattled the pill bottle he still held in his hand. “Can you take one for me?” 

Shane nodded, eyes still closed, as Ilya opened the cap and tipped a small white pill into his palm. He hated strong medications, and each time he held one, he thought of his Mama, but Shane needed them to heal. 

“Open,” Ilya tapped Shane’s bottom lip. 

Dropping the pill into his husband’s mouth and bringing the cup with the straw to his lips, Shane swallowed back the pill effortlessly and went back to resting against Ilya’s broad shoulder. 

“Sleep,” Ilya soothed, his large hand resting on Shane’s thigh. “Just rest. Your brain needs it to heal and work better. Your body needs it so you can get back to team soon.” 

“Soon,” Shane muttered. “Yeah. Hockey.” 

“Yes. I will be back in a bit to check on you,” Ilya whispered into Shane’s messy and somewhat greasy hair. “I love you so much.” 

Shane breathed deeply, nearly back asleep under the heavy haze of the medication, as Ilya gently eased him back into the mountain of pillows, left the room, and returned to their friend. 

He did not stop thinking about Shane after he stepped foot outside of the bedroom. 

Easing himself onto a barstool, Ilya was eternally grateful to be greeted by a plate of food that smelled even better than it looked. Zane had even made coffee—something Ilya needed desperately. 

Bood caught on to the anxiety instantly. 

“Everything look okay?”

Ilya nodded.

“How was Shane?" 

“Is a little better this morning,” Ilya smiled to himself. “Took medicine. Fell back asleep. Let Anya lick his cheek and did not complain.”

“Does he usually?” Bood raised an eyebrow, filing the new information away in a folder labeled “Shane”. 

“Da, complains about germs,” Ilya laughed, taking a bite of his food and closing his eyes. “Is so good. Thank you.”

“I can make a mean breakfast, but that’s about it,” Bood laughed. “Cass does most of the cooking.” 

The Russian stilled at the mention of Cassie. 

“I am sorry for last night,” Ilya poked at the eggs on his plate. “I know was late when I called.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Bood asked honestly, confused by Ilya’s shift in mood. “I told you to call whenever, and you did. I don’t see the problem.” 

Ilya pushed more food around, avoiding Boodram’s eyes while he attempted to lighten the mood through apology. It wasn’t like him to call someone so late—unless it was Shane, anyway—and he felt bad for interrupting his friend’s quiet evening at home.

“Is just making me feel bad,” Ilya took another small bite. “You were with wife. Baby was asleep.”

“Bold of you to assume that Milo ever actually sleeps,” Bood joked. “It was no problem, Roz. I wanted you to call me if you needed anything. I’m glad you did.” 

“Really?” Ilya perked up at his friend's sentiment. “Was just hard night. I think. Was nice having help.”

“It was a very hard night,” Bood confirmed, clearing the rest of his plate with ease. “You didn’t need to handle that by yourself.”

“I would manage.”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should,” the other man reminded Ilya with a soft, gentle smile. “You carry a lot when you’re struggling. It’s okay to need some support from us. From me.”

Ilya nodded, eyes downcast and hands trembling ever so slightly. 

“Cassie sends her love,” Bood flashed his phone at Ilya. “Wants to know what you might like for dinner tomorrow.”

“Anything is fine,” Ilya replied quietly. “I am not picky. Shane will not be up for food, I don’t think.”

Bood nodded, letting the conversation settle briefly before he expertly changed the subject to something lighter and less intimidating for Ilya.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Until Anya stuck nose in my eye,” Ilya half-laughed, hoping she would trot down the hall and joined them. “Was not expected.”

“I heard you tell her to wake me up, you asshole,” Zane teased with a grin. “Super unfair if you ask me.”

“Did not want wet nose in my eye!” Ilya exclaimed. “She usually does not wake me up before alarm. But we slept through alarm.” 

“We needed the rest.” 

“I love sleep, Bood, you know this,” Ilya rolled his eyes. “Shane had bad habit of waking up early and waking me up early. Everyone wakes up early here.”

“Sounds like a good routine, Cap.” 

“Is not good for my brain to wake up before birds and sun,” Ilya defended himself. “Sleep is not enemy. Shane thinks is enemy.” 

“And what time does he go to bed?”

“Early, like Grandpa,” Ilya huffed. “Maybe by 10. I usually am up later playing video games with Haas or watching TV.” 

“I didn’t know you gamed with Haasy. He any good?”

“Is terrible at everything but improving. Helps with his chirps mostly,” Ilya smiled. “He is bad at chirps too but will learn from best.”

“Yeah, Holmberg is pretty good at it,” Bood winked in Ilya’s direction. “Probably teaching his roommates to talk shit.”

“I meant me, not Holmberg! I am best at chirps!” Ilya exclaimed, folding his arms across his chest. “I invite you to my home, and you insult me.” 

“You know me better than that.”

“I thought you were friend. You are enemy,” Ilya continued his dramatics as he ate the rest of his eggs. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“It’s no problem.”

And it wasn’t; Zane Boodram knew that when he left his house in the early hours of the morning, he would do whatever was needed. If Ilya wasn’t feeling up to making breakfast after the night they had, he could easily make scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. 

“Was no McGriddle,” Ilya shrugged. “We should do that before practice next week. McDonald's.”

“Anything you want,” Bood shrugged. “We won’t tell Shane?”

“Shane will not be at practice for months, probably, maybe,” Ilya frowned. “Will be able to get greasy breakfast without him knowing.” 

“Yeah,” Bood sighed, disappointed that Shane’s injury would disrupt more than just the team. “I’m sorry he got hurt, Roz. And that it happened because of who he is.”

Ilya swallowed thickly, choking back his emotions.

“Is not fair,” Ilya leaned back in his chair with a borderline devastated look on his face. “But was expected. Did not feel like last night would be good. Gut felt bad.”

“Really?” Bood relaxed back as well. “Something told you it was going to be a bad game?”

Ilya nodded.

“Comeau needs his ass kicked. You should let Troy at him in a few weeks,” Bood winked. “No one will know a thing.”

“Referees will be watching close. Wiebe, too,” Ilya picked at his cuticles anxiously. “We are better than them. On and off ice. Shane would not want revenge.”

“He’s a better person than I am.”

“Da, is better than me, too,” Ilya smiled warmly. “I will maybe get one good punch. To his nose.

“Chouinard got him good. I don’t know if you saw that,” Bood recalled with a fond feeling of brotherhood filling his chest. “Don’t know if you wanna remember that part.”

“Oh, yes, beautiful punch. Stupid penalty called,” Ilya noted bitterly. “Did not need to eject him and not Comeau.”

“I agree. Nicky was pissed. I’m just glad he got a good hit in.”

“Da. How is Haas?” Ilya looked up with sad eyes. “I do not know what to say yet. But he did good. Played hard after.”

“Dykstra says he’s okay. Isn’t ready to come by. Probably shouldn’t until Shane’s coherent and upright,” Bood was worried, but didn’t want to add to Ilya’s stress. “He took it pretty hard after.”

“And Wiebe checked on him?”

“Yeah. Dykstra took him to their house the night it happened,” Bood tried to ease a few of Ilya’s worries. “Hung out with him, Cait, and Susie. Slept quite a bit. He’s still there, according to the chat. No one’s gonna make him go home until he’s okay.” 

“Is good, yes?”

“Definitely good. He was pretty shaken up. We all were,” Bood’s eyes stung. “I’m glad it wasn’t worse.” 

“Me too,” Ilya whispered. “We have a while until next round of medicine for Shane. Do you want to play Mario Kart?” 

“Do you even have to ask?”

“Am being good host,” Ilya picked up their plates and rinsed them before loading the dishwasher. “Do not want to kick ass without permission.”

“Kick my ass? You’re crazy,” Bood laughed heartily. “If I remember, Shane said you’re shit at Mario Kart.”

“Shane is freak of nature at that game,” Ilya wiped his hands on his joggers. “Makes everyone look bad. I am actually good.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” 

By their fourth game, they had found out, and Ilya was a sore loser. He’d lost every round and was making it everyone’s problem. 

“You’re so bad at this,” Bood laughed as he threw another blue shell. “How are you so bad?”

“I am emotionally distracted!” Ilya attempted to regain control of the game. “Am worrying about Shane.” 

“You’re still so bad.”

By the eighth game, Ilya rage-quit and powered down the game before Bood could cross the finish line.

“We will play Call of Duty instead,” Ilya announced. “Much better for two people.”

“You’re just mad that I beat you.”

“I am distracted!”

“I beat you, Roz, own up to it before I tell the group chat.”

“Fine, yes, okay, you beat me! So what!” Ilya glanced down at his phone, seeing the time read nearly noon. “We have been playing for long time.”

“Yes, but it’s been a good break from reality.”

“Shane has not thrown up,” Ilya also noted. “Anya has not left bedroom to find us.”

“He’s okay, Roz,” Bood reminded his friend. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hold on so tight right now.” 

Ilya nodded, and his phone buzzed in his hand. 

“Yuna and David are coming,” Ilya looked up with wide eyes. “Are back from the airport already. Will be here in 30 minutes.”

Bood nodded, reclining into the couch cushions and motioning for Ilya to continue talking. 

“Was not expecting, at all,” Ilya raked a hand through his messy hair and sighed. “I do not know if is good idea.” 

“Why would it be a bad idea?” Bood asked cautiously. “Is it because you’re upset with her?” 

Ilya nodded. 

“What do you think will happen when they get here?” The other man continued to press on Ilya’s emotional pain point. “Are you expecting something bad?” 

“Do not want Manager Yuna,” Ilya’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Am too tired for business. Want Mom, not manager. And dad. Dad will be fine.” 

“I think you should tell her that,” Bood encouraged. “You’re allowed to set boundaries with your mother-in-law for your own well-being. She’s not special just because you married her son. She still needs to know what’s okay and what isn’t.” 

“Is not that easy,” Ilya blinked quickly. “Is only Mama I have, Bood.” 

Bood nodded, carefully and quietly exploring his next move. He knew that Ilya carried a lot of trauma when it came to parental figures, but he needed to advocate for his friend’s well-being, even if it was uncomfortable for everyone involved. 

“You need to tell her,” Bood scooted closer to his friend and squeezed his knee. “She won’t know she did anything that upset you if you don’t tell her.” 

Ilya shook his head, curls falling dramatically across his forehead. 

“Do not want to start a fight when they are here to visit Shane,” Ilya admitted. “Will maybe try to talk to her before they leave. Do not think they will stay long.” 

“Why not?” 

“David is back, she has not seen him in a while,” Ilya shrugged, begging his tears not to fall as he wiped his nose. “Would not be fair to ask.” 

“You should ask them to stay as long as you need them to be here,” Bood countered, hoping that Ilya would get the hint to ask for what he needs. 

“Will you stay?” Ilya asked, voice breaking on the final word. “For a while?” 

“Cass took Milo for a play date at Dykstra’s,” Bood smiled warmly. “I can be here as long as you need me to be.” 

“Okay.” 

“I still think you should ask David and Yuna to stay, too,” Bood prodded at the subject just a bit more. “You can use all the help you can get. And you need to rest. It will be easier with his parents here.” 

“I will think about it.” 

“My parents flew in for almost 3 months after Milo was born,” Bood recalled tenderly the first months after the birth of their child. “It’s okay to need people to lean on.” 

“Da, I know,” Ilya yawned. “Is hard to ask though.” 

“It can be difficult, but just say ‘I need help, can you stay?’ and see what happens,” Bood encouraged with a gentle smile. “I’m sure they’d say yes.” 

“I am not so sure,” Ilya hesitated. “Yuna did not stay.”

“I’m sure she had her reasons,” Bood acknowledged. “I’m not defending her because I was confused by it. But I think that’s why you need to talk to her.” 

“I will try.” 

“That’s all I can ask,” Bood nodded. “Want to throw on something and watch a movie until they get here?” 

“Can we just sit in quiet?” Ilya asked vulnerably. “Is too loud in my head.” 

“We can do whatever you need. All you have to do is ask, Roz,” Bood closed his eyes and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. 

“Shane would be mad for feet on table,” Ilya laughed. “I will never argue again about it. I miss him being boring.” 

“I do too. It’s been weird.” 

As the minutes passed, Ilya started to relax. He was scrolling mindlessly on his phone, catching up on his social media and texts, but not responding to any of the messages. He had too much on his mind to craft replies, and Bood was doing a majority of the monitoring for their group chats. He fired off a quick “doing better” to Hayden when asked about Shane, but as the text was sent, he silenced notifications and locked his phone. 

He missed Shane being beside him. 

He missed Anya lying across his lap, irritating Shane when she got fur on the dark material. 

He missed everything as if it were before, and grieved the small moments as if he would never experience them again. 

He just wanted their day to be normal, and he wasn’t sure if it would be. 

“Knock, knock,” David’s voice thrust Ilya back to reality, and he scrambled to straighten his shirt before his in-laws entered their home. “We’re here, and we brought something for lunch.” 

As David and Yuna stepped into the home, Ilya was on his feet, and Zane Boodram was leaning back into the couch, attempting to quell his own anxieties about the visit. Less than twelve hours ago, Ilya had poured his heart out to him, verbalizing his frustration with Yuna, and now they were standing in the entryway. 

Bood wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t takeout in an insulated bag and warm smiles. 

“Hi,” Ilya waved, jaw tense and eyes stormy. “Bood is here. Did not want to go home yet.”

“Hi, Zane,” Yuna waved past her son-in-law, acknowledging the other visitor. “It’s nice to see you.” 

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Hollander,” Zane waved back, watching Ilya carefully. 

After the pleasantries were exchanged, Ilya still stood stiffly, unsure of how to proceed in his exhausted and emotional state. He was worried that this visit would cause more concern than comfort, so he stood in place waiting for someone else to make the next move. 

Thankfully, it was David. 

“Hi, Ilya,” He stepped forward, placing the insulated bag on the floor. “It’s good to see you.” 

Ilya was wrapped in a warm hug before he could respond, and he melted into the arms of his father-in-law, who held him close. 

David knew something, but Ilya didn't have the nerve to ask what had been said.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get here sooner,” David whispered, still holding Ilya tightly. “But I’m here now. We’ve got you.” 

Ilya nodded against his shoulder, successfully keeping his tears at bay while he exchanged the hug and reluctantly pulled away. 

“You brought food?” Ilya raised an eyebrow. “You said visit, not feed us.” 

“We can do both,” Yuna stepped close and reached for Ilya, who considered pulling away before she could make contact. 

He didn't, and part of him was glad that he put their differences aside for a moment so he could receive the hug he so desperately craved. It was brief and slightly less warm than David’s, but Yuna hugged him quickly before picking up the bag and heading to the kitchen. 

“Do you mind if I go check on Shane?” David asked anxiously. “I’d like to see my kid in person before we do anything else today.” 

“He was sleeping when we came back out to couch,” Ilya warned him, hoping to help David manage his expectations. “Is okay with you?” 

“I’d just like to see him,” David nodded, and Ilya gestured toward the hall. “I’ll be back in just a minute. I promise. We’ll let him sleep until after we eat, and we’ll let Yuna check on him, too.” 

“Okay,” Ilya nodded. “Is fine with me if is okay with mom.” 

“I’ll take my turn just like everyone else,” Yuna smiled sadly. “I was able to see him after we got to the hospital. David hasn’t seen him yet.” 

“Okay.” 

Yuna watched her husband leave the room, and she fought against every urge to follow him. At her core, she felt like she didn't deserve to see her son until she had remedied the situation with Ilya. While neither of them was at fault, Shane was in good hands with his dad, and she needed to focus on her other son—he needed her. She had dropped the ball, and she needed to make a point of apologizing. 

“This would not be Shane-approved,” Ilya commented, and he heard Zane laugh from the couch. “Would complain about fried food.” 

“Good thing this is for us then,” Yuna transferred the chicken to a baking dish. “If Shane feels up for food, I’ll make him something easy on his stomach.” 

As Ilya half-smiled, Yuna’s heart dropped. 

It was the bare minimum, and Ilya was acting like she was moving mountains for them. She realized—in that moment—that he was expecting her to be cold and business-like, not warm and motherly. 

“That would be nice,” Ilya finally spoke. “He would like.” 

They were both startled out of their brief, comfortable conversation by footsteps coming down the hallway. 

“He’s asleep,” David returned after a few moments alone with his son. “I left the TV on for him, but put it on something other than TNS. Figured he could do without them reporting on his injury.” 

“Probably good,” Ilya agreed. “Is still all over TV.”  

Yuna was busying herself in the kitchen, itching to do something helpful while the men spoke and Bood scrolled mindlessly on his phone—clearly making a point to remain uninvolved in whatever family matters were taking place. 

“How about we get lunch going?” Yuna asked as she rifled through the refrigerator. “You have something for a nice salad to go with the chicken we picked up on the way here.”

“Is fine with me,” Ilya sat heavily on a barstool at the island. “Did not have time for groceries like we thought.”

“It’s okay, honey,” She reached across the island and rested a hand on Ilya’s forearm. “Would you like to try to take a nap on the couch for a little while? I can prepare everything, and Zane and David can help me get it ready. You can take Anya and relax.” 

“Anya is with Shane,” Ilya frowned, his eyes crinkling as he processed more emotions. “She will not budge.” 

“I see,” Yuna squeezed his arm. “You can still lie down. We’re all here, Ilya, you’re not by yourself anymore.” 

He nodded, a little taken aback by how seamlessly she slipped back into the mother figure he had been craving for days. She was acting normal, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up because he was still frustrated—almost angry—with her for not being here until now. 

“I do not know if I will sleep,” Ilya confessed awkwardly. “But could close my eyes. Would be nice to breath a little.” 

“I’ll wake you when it’s time to eat,” She smiled warmly. 

Ilya sauntered toward the couch and, with a groan, lowered himself onto the longer end and buried his head in a throw pillow. While David and Bood washed their hands and pulled plates and bowls from the cabinets, Yuna watched him as his body slowly relaxed and gave in to the exhaustion. 

The world was still moving around Ilya as his breathing deepened and he drifted off into a light slumber, soft snores escaping his lips as he rested. 

“He needed that,” Bood admitted. 

“I’m sure,” Yuna frowned, the guilt from earlier rearing its ugly head as she chopped the fresh heads of lettuce. “Would you like to help?” 

“I’m not great in the kitchen unless it’s getting ready to go on the grill,” Bood blushed, afraid of admitting one of his bigger shortcomings as an adult. “But if you tell me what to do, I can probably figure it out.” 

Yuna smiled. 

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” She whispered, looking toward David, who was setting the table. “When I met David, he could barely boil water for pasta. I like to think I taught him and Shane everything they know.” 

“Shane’s pretty good when he isn’t making salmon and asparagus,” Bood teased, smiling at the woman who handed him a large mixing bowl. “What’s this for?” 

“I’m going to add the lettuce, and you’ll add everything else. Shane won’t eat with us, so we’ll get creative,” she grinned. “Start with the cheese.” 

While they prepared the meal, Yuna stole glances at Ilya’s sleeping form. Even as he rested, the worry lines on his forehead never softened, and Yuna worried about him as she looked on. It was easy to love Ilya Rozanov, even if it took her a few moments years ago to get there. Now, she cared about him more than she could ever imagine, and it hurt that she had caused him so much pain over the course of the last few days. 

She knew she needed to talk to him—preferably alone—but she wasn’t sure how to approach the topic. If there was anything she did well, it was planning, and if she had a moment with just David and Bood, she’d ask them to give her a little privacy with her son-in-law. 

They just had to get there first. 

“It looks like we’re done,” She commented, seeing Bood anxiously mixing the salad. “David, is everything else ready?” 

“It is,” He pulled the baking dish from the oven after the timer sounded. “Reheated just like you planned or it to be. It smells wonderful.” 

“It’s just takeout chicken,” She laughed, looking at the food before them. “Want to wake up Ilya?” 

After David placed the warm dish on the table, he rounded the end of the sofa and crouched next to Ilya and placed a warm, calloused hand on the man’s forearm. 

“Ilya,” he whispered while Yuna and Bood busied themselves with the table. “Kiddo, lunch is ready.” 

“Sorry,” Ilya forced his tired eyes open. “Did not mean to sleep for real.” 

“An afternoon nap is one of the best things in the world,” David patted his arm and stood with cracking knees and a groan. “I’m too old for that.” 

“Shane’s knees do same thing,” Ilya lazily sat and looked around the room. “Smells very good.” 

“It should be great,” David said as he walked toward the table and took his place. “C’mon, kid, come get a plate and eat. You need something warm in you.” 

They ate in semi-silence, something that would usually be comforting to Yuna and Ilya. There was no small talk, but they were awkwardly sitting next to one another while Bood and David ate their meals in comfortable silence. 

“How was Shane this morning?” Yuna asked, softening the blow of asking what she should have already known with a warm smile. “Any more nausea?” 

“Was okay,” Ilya shrugged, shoveling salad into his mouth. “Did not throw up again. Just in pain.” 

“That’s good,” Yuna nodded, sensing that Ilya would prefer to end the conversation. “How was your nap?” 

“Was okay,” Ilya shrugged again, unsure of how to speak to his mother-in-law. “Could have slept more if Dad did not wake me up.” 

“Boss’s orders, kiddo,” David smiled. “You looked pretty comfortable.” 

“Da,” Ilya smiled, and as he was cleaning his plate, the alarm on his phone sounded and cut through the noise in his head. “Is time for Shane’s medicine. I will be back.” 

Ilya stood, excusing himself quietly as Yuna, David, and Bood sat around the dining table. It was easy to sense his unease, especially after his lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion surfaced, and he started to succumb to his feelings and personal pain.

“Is he okay?” David asked cautiously, an uneasy feeling settling over him. “He seems unsettled.” 

“It was a long night,” Bood bowed his head and stared at his hands. “Shane had a hard night, so Ilya had a harder one. I’ve never seen either of them like this.” 

Yuna was silently picking at the salad she’d prepared that was still largely uneaten. He hated this feeling, almost self-imposed because of her actions, but she remained quiet as the two men across from her spoke. 

“Did he get much sleep last night?” David continued to ask the small questions, unaware that they were cracking his wife’s heart open as he talked, even after their prior conversation. “He looks like he’s slept in days other than that 45-minute nap.”  

Boodram shrugged, continuing to avoid eye contact as his discomfort increased. He hadn’t spent much time with the Hollanders—it was only at the wedding when he’d really gotten to talk with David—and he wasn’t sure if these questions were going to be used as ammunition against Ilya’s abilities. He was almost certain they wouldn’t be, but after experiences with Cassie’s parents, he could never be entirely sure. 

“Not really,” Zane confessed, thinking about their night with great unease. “I think we fell asleep a little after three. Anya woke us up before seven.”

“Oh,” Yuna quietly gasped. “We should try to get him to lie with Shane. He needs to sleep, not just rest. You do too, honey.” 

“I have a toddler,” Bood almost laughed. “We’ll get caught up on sleep when he’s in middle school.” 

Yuna smiled softly and took a small bite of her salad, noticing that all the plates around hers were empty and ready to be cleared from the table. Instead of jumping into a small task, she continued to eat while listening, pondering on how she could bring up her need to speak with Ilya alone. 

“I remember those nights,” David chuckled. “Shane hated sleep and always needed to be busy. He never slowed down. Still doesn’t. This might be the second time in his life that he’s been forced to stop.” 

“It’s shit that it always happens like this,” Bood acknowledged. “And that this time it was on purpose, I guess.” 

David nodded sadly, looking toward his wife, who had frozen in place. 

“Yuna,” David spoke softly, like he was approaching a startled animal. “Are you okay?” 

“Would you two mind if I had a little bit of time with Ilya?” She asked hastily, watching to see if he was returning from his quick check-in with Shane. “Just stepping out for a moment or going to sit with Shane?” 

“I don’t mind,” Bood responded quickly, hoping to stem the emotional bleeding. “I can try to take Anya for a w-a-l-k.” 

“I can go sit with our kid,” David grinned. “I want a little bit of time with my son; I wasn’t able to see him for long earlier, and I haven’t seen him since before my trip.” 

“That would be really wonderful of both of you,” She took a sharp breath, trying not to cry. “I have some things I need to say, and I think it would be harder if there were other people listening.” 

“I understand,” Bood nodded. “Between me and you, I think it’s a good time for you both to talk. I don’t think either of you has been on the same page since it happened.” 

“No, we haven’t.” 

Looking toward the hall as she heard a door start to close, she steadied herself and went back to eating, finishing what remained of her lunch before Ilya returned with a frown and tense shoulders. 

He returned with Anya at his heels, slipping back into his chair with a sigh. 

“Is awake, but just had medicine,” Ilya wasn’t sure who he was speaking to. “Keeps forgetting you are all here. Might be good to see him on and off until you go home if he is not sleeping.” 

“We’re staying as long as you need us,” David said as he placed his silverware on his plate and started stacking the rest underneath. “Would you mind if I went to sit with him for a while? I can clear the table before I go in.” 

“Is fine,” Ilya nodded in rapid succession. “I think he would like.” 

“I think you should tell him about your trip,” Yuna smiled warmly. “It might help him sleep.” 

“Ah, is boring time?” Ilya asked, tension in his shoulders easing just a bit as he returned to his chair. “Does not seem boring to me.” 

“It’s painfully average,” David teased. “Finance isn’t inherently fun or boring, just something we all have to deal with.” 

After his comment, David stood, taking plates from everyone and placing them quietly in the sink. He was quiet by nature, but as he sensed a shift in the room's atmosphere, he worried that any noise would cause a disruption from which no one would bounce back. 

Ilya watched him curiously. 

“Is now an okay time?” He asked as he washed his hands. “Or should I wait a bit?” 

“Was mostly awake,” Ilya noted, hands twitching. “Has on TV but is not watching, just listening to boring renovation show.” 

“I’m going to go see him, then. I’ll stay until he falls asleep.” 

“Let us know how he is?” Yuna asked as David made his way down the hallway. “Tell him we love him.” 

“I will.” 

Following David’s subtle lead, Bood walked to the hooks by the door and picked up Anya’s walk bag without speaking to Ilya. He was anxious about this part of Yuna’s attempt at a private conversation, and he never wanted to overstep, but he knew this conversation was important, and he needed to play his part if Anya would cooperate. 

Ilya could sense that something was amiss, but instead of speaking up, he watched his friend move about the room with ease, and his hands clenched into fists in his lap. 

“Can I take Anya for a walk?” He asked casually, hoping that Ilya would agree. “I kind of want to get some air and call Cass.” 

Ilya furrowed his brow and stared at his friend suspiciously. 

The silence made Bood’s hands sweat. 

“Da, sure,” Ilya gestured toward Anya, who was sitting at his feet. “Is fine. Maybe. She might be stubborn.” 

Bood stood with a leash in his hand, and his heart was hammering in his chest. This would be a standoff; he was afraid of that anyway, and as Ilya twitched, he was unsure it would work now that David had already gone to Shane’s side. 

“It’ll be okay, Roz,” Bood raised an eyebrow as Ilya looked increasingly uncomfortable. “We won’t be gone very long. Quick walk. I’ll send pictures.”

Ilya still looked rattled by the thought.   

“Does not like to leave Shane right now,” Ilya rambled, anxiety flooding his system as he internally panicked about being alone with Yuna. “Was very clingy. You saw this, da?” 

“Yes,” Bood nodded. “But she hasn’t been on a nice walk in a while. We’ve barely gotten her to the yard. It’ll just be around the block. I promise I won’t let anything happen to her, and you and Yuna can talk more about Shane’s treatment when he starts to heal.”

Yuna was standing in the kitchen, pretending to ignore the pair, even as it became increasingly evident that her plan was to get David and Bood to leave. 

Ilya wasn’t sure if he should be mad, concerned, or relieved that she wanted time alone with him.  

“I can go with you?” Ilya half-asked, trying to escape his feelings. “She might go better with Papa.” 

“I’ll be okay with her, Roz,” Bood smiled, looking to close the distance with the dog Ilya would lay down his life for. “Won’t we, baby? We’ll be just fine.” 

Anya took hesitant steps toward Bood, who crouched down and extended his large hand, holding one of her favorite treats and encouraging her to leave her Papa’s side ever so briefly to give everyone space to talk. 

She approached, sniffed, and nudged his hand with her snout while she sought out the treat. 

“Good girl,” Bood cooed, letting her take the treat while clipping her leash. “Do you want to go for a walk?” 

Her stubby tail wagged a little faster at the mention of a walk, but she looked back over her shoulder at Ilya, and her excitement waned slightly. She was hesitant to leave, and Ilya was hesitant to let her go, for fear of losing his one remaining anchor to normalcy. 

“Papa is gonna stay here with your Grandma,” Bood spoke, like he was speaking to his child. “You know me, sweetheart. We’re going to have so much fun.” 

She cocked her head to the side and stared intently as Bood spoke to her. 

“See? We’ll go for a little trip,” He continued to encourage as Ilya stood statue-stiff next to the kitchen island. “Papa will be okay. You’ll be okay.” 

“Is okay, printsessa,” Ilya waved goodbye to his dog, his eyes sad and heart aching. “Bood will be nice. I promise. We do not let mean people in our house.” 

Anya whined as Bood gently tugged on the leash, guiding her toward the door. 

“Papa will be here when you get back,” Ilya smiled sadly, his eyes damp with unshed tears. “Go have good walk.” 

Bood hated seeing his friend and captain so emotional, but he understood. Ilya had been surviving on caffeine and adrenaline since Shane’s injury, and as he started to come down from the emotional high, he began to feel everything.

Which is why he knew that Ilya and Yuna needed to talk, especially after Ilya’s late-night confessional about his anger and frustration regarding his mother-in-law. 

“We’ll be back in a little while,” Bood rested his hand on the doorknob before leading the dog outside. “I promise.” 

It was awkward for Ilya after Bood, and David left; he wasn’t sure why they both conveniently exited the fragile space, but as he waited for his impending scolding, he wished someone who was on his team and in his corner was still in the room. 

Yuna, however, seemed unfazed. 

As she straightened the chairs at the table, she felt Ilya watching her anxiously from the corner of the kitchen. He was leaning back against the countertops, picking at his cuticles, and she knew there would never be a good time for this conversation. 

“Ilya,” Yuna looked up, pushing in the final chair. “Can we go outside for a moment? Get some air?” 

Ilya’s head snapped up, and his eyes were wide. 

“It’s nothing bad,” She noted, sensing his unease. “It’s a beautiful day, and I think we could both use a little bit of sunshine.”

“Okay,” Ilya shoved his phone in his pocket, walking toward the large glass doors and sliding them open. “Bood walking Anya and David going to Shane was your idea?” 

“Guilty,” Yuna admitted, stepping outside behind him. “I wanted some time to talk to you about the last few days. I don’t think we’ve done a very good job of that.” 

Ilya looked startled and stood silently for a few moments just observing. Yuna’s shoulders were slightly slumped, and she had dark circles under her eyes. It was in stark contrast to her usually well put-together appearance, and he sensed she wasn’t handling Shane’s injury any better than he was, even though she was an immovable force. 

“Can I talk?” Ilya asked shyly, afraid that Yuna might jump into smoothing over their unspoken conflict. “Is hard. But I need to say what is in my brain before I change mind.” 

“Of course,” Yuna fought against the urge to spill apologies from her lips and fix what she had damaged in favor of letting Ilya speak. “You can always talk, honey.” 

“Okay,” Ilya looked around the patio with tense shoulders and a clenched jaw. 

He looked distraught. 

Yuna closed the door tightly behind them before stepping marginally closer. 

“I am not good at this,” Ilya ran a shaky hand through his breeze-blown hair. “Shane says I am bad communicator about feelings.” 

Yuna stood, hands wrapped around her middle, while Ilya paced the expansive patio with tears in his eyes. It hurt her heart seeing him in such distress, and guilt flooded her body as she recalled every moment after she left the hospital and how it contributed to Ilya’s dysregulation. 

“He tells me I am bad at it, too,” Yuna half-laughed, hoping to break the ice. “He tells me I run away from hard conversations. I did it the first time you came to our home.” 

“Da,” Ilya sniffled. “I remember. Shane said is normal when we were driving back to cottage. Said planning is normal, too.” 

Yuna felt a stab in her chest; she hated that Shane needed to warn Ilya that his mother sometimes removed herself from the hard talks and start strategizing instead of sitting in her discomfort. 

“It is,” She flushed a deep red. “I see now that it isn’t always helpful or wanted.” 

Ilya stopped pacing and turned swiftly to look at her with stormy pain in his usually bright eyes. 

“Was harder this time,” Ilya admitted, a tear trickling down his flushed cheek. “You did not stay and did business first. You did not go see him when you came inside.” 

“I know.” 

“And did not-not stay here after,” Ilya’s voice cracked. “But stopped by when we were still at hospital.” 

Yuna froze. She knew that Ilya was hurting, and in her conversation that morning with David, she recognized that what she had done based on her assumption was incorrect, but hearing her son-in-law distressed and hurting because of her was entirely new. 

“Ilya,” She started, but as he wiped at his eyes and looked like there was more to say, she stopped. 

“I needed mom,” Ilya cried, tears breaking free from his eyes and running down his cheeks. “And got manager. Was hard to deal with that and Shane being hurt.” 

She nodded, listening intently without making eye contact. She knew if she met his sad, tear-filled eyes, she would break. And it wasn’t her turn to be upset; it was her turn to listen, acknowledge, and apologize, rather than trying to fix or divert. 

“We had bad night,” Ilya fidgeted with the sleeves of his shirt. “Was sick a lot. I called because I did not know how to help. And needed help. But I did not say it right because English was hard. I was panicking.” 

“And I didn't help,” She whispered, feeling the hurt Ilya had experienced slapping her in the face. 

“So called Bood, he came hours ago. Stayed on couch,” Ilya was crying openly, tears dripping from his chin onto his shirt, and he was doing nothing to stop them. “

“Honey,” She felt her own tears threatening to spill. “Let’s sit.” 

“I need to stand,” Ilya admitted weakly. “Too much energy right now. I am sorry.” 

“We can stand,” Yuna confirmed, blinking rapidly to keep her tears at bay. “No need to apologize.” 

Ilya nodded. 

“Is hard sometimes for me that you are Shane’s manager and handle Foundation,” Ilya’s voice broke for a second time, this time more ragged and harsh. “Cannot always separate mom from business. And I need Mom more times than Shane, I think.” 

Yuna watched him continue to pace in circles, worried that he would work himself into an anxiety attack. Still, she gave him the space to speak and move about the patio without interfering. 

“I lost Mama long time ago,” Ilya looked up at the sky, tears still streaming down his now-pink cheeks. “Shane has always had you. Was weird to not have you when we needed it.” 

Yuna felt frozen in place, unable to grapple with the fact that she hurt someone she loved deeply because she was struggling to deal with her own anxieties. 

“Shane asked for you,” Ilya finally admitted, voice raw and raspy. “Did not know what to tell him.” 

Yuna took two steps toward Ilya, and his pacing stopped. 

“But you came today so now I am not so mad,” Ilya sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Is hard to be mad when you are here.” 

“I am here,” Yuna’s voice sounded fragile. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t here the whole time. I was wrong.” 

She reached for Ilya’s hand and guided him toward the patio furniture. 

Ilya sat first, and when Yuna joined him, she reached for his hand and held it like a lifeline. 

“When Shane was little,” She started, unsure of what to say. “It was easy to see that he was someone special. He’s always been different—I think we both know this—so I always wanted to do what I could to protect my little boy. And that looked like managing.” 

“He tells me this, yes,” Ilya squeezed her hand back. 

“And when he got older, he felt so distant when anything was wrong. Even when everything happened in Montreal, he felt so far away from me. So, being his manager, falling back on tasks and work was easy. But it wasn’t what you needed these last two days.” 

Ilya sat stone-still while she spoke, his hand still in hers.

“You’re both so different, and sometimes in the middle of my own worry, I forget that. I forget that you didn't experience life the same way Shane did,” Yuna’s tears threatened to fall. “That is no excuse for how I acted.” 

Ilya didn't speak. He was barely breathing; hearing an apology from a parental figure was nothing he had ever experienced, and he didn't know what to do with the emotions he was feeling. 

“I can’t excuse away what I did because I was scared for my son,” The first tear fell while Yuna continued. “It’s easier for me to work, sometimes, when I don’t know what to do with my own fear. And I accidentally hurt you in the process. And I promise, next time—if there’s a next time—I will do better.” 

Ilya nodded. 

“I’m sorry that I didn't show up the way you needed,” Yuna spoke softly. “I thought that I was doing the right thing by stepping back and letting you care for Shane as his partner. I see now that I was very wrong. I’m sorry, Ilya, for leaving all of this for you to deal with alone.” 

Neither of them moved, but Ilya’s hold on her hand grew tighter as she let her tears fall freely. 

“I should have listened to you last night on the phone. I never should have left the hospital until you asked me to,” She cried, eyes burning as the words she had held the entire drive spilled out. “It wasn’t fair of me to make you carry all of this when you’ve already carried so much.” 

Ilya’s eyes burned, too, but he didn't want to interrupt the first deeply and painfully emotional conversation he’d had with Yuna in private. Even though the moment was difficult, it felt special and important to him. 

“Is okay,” He rasped, turning to face his mother-in-law. “Was scary. But we were brave.” 

“I wasn’t brave,” Yuna wiped her eyes. “I ran away from both of you and tried to manage the situation. Honey, that was me being very, very afraid.” 

“Is brave, apologizing,” Ilya continued, holding her hand. “Is hard.” 

“It’s never hard to apologize to my children. I’m just not very good at it,” She half-laughed. “Ilya?” 

He cocked his head to the side, an indicator for Yuna to continue. 

“Can I give you a hug?” Opening her arms, Yuna felt the air being knocked out of her as Ilya collapsed into her chest with heavy, heaving sobs. 

Holding her son-in-law, Yuna pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of his head and wrapped her arms tightly around him. He was broad, but as she held him and gently rocked side to side, it was hard to imagine him as anything other than a boy who had been dealt a terrible hand and had been forced to grow up too fast. 

And yet, she was thankful that his path to adulthood led him to her Shane, because their love was something beautiful. 

“I’m here,” She soothed, a hand rubbing up and down Ilya’s spine. “I’m here, sweetheart.” 

Ilya nodded against her shoulder and held her tighter, tears soaking the fabric of her sweatshirt. His emotional release was quiet, but as she let him cry, she felt her own tears dripping into his messy curls. 

“You okay?” Yuna asked, breaking the long, much-needed hug. “We can sit for a little longer, just me and you.” 

“Would like to sit,” Ilya wiped hastily at his eyes with the back of his hand, the tears still flowing freely. “I just need mom, for just a little longer.” 

“Sweetheart,” Yuna reached up slowly and gently rested her hand on Ilya’s cheek. “I am always here to be mom. And I’m so sorry I didn't recognize that you needed me sooner. I’m here now, okay?” 

“Okay,” Ilya nodded briskly. “Okay.” 

They sat side by side on the outdoor couch for what felt like hours, even though it was only a few moments more. Ilya rested his head against Yuna’s shoulder—eyes closed and breathing a little uneven—and let himself release the emotions he had locked away from the moment Shane was hit. 

Yuna did the same; she held her son-in-law’s hand loosely, squeezing as she felt tears dripping onto her shoulder again. Her heart ached as she watched Ilya process, but being there with him—and apologizing to him—reset their relationship and steered them toward better, more open communication. 

Something Shane, oddly enough, had been encouraging for months when either of them had an issue or concern they were scared to verbalize for fear of disrupting their family unit. 

“I think I am ready to go in now,” Ilya sniffled, tears drying up. “Make sure David and Bood did not destroy house. Or Anya.” 

“Okay,” Yuna smiled, standing and extending her hand. “I love you, Ilya.” 

“I love you, too, Mom,” He smiled, eyes shiny and red, but filled with a renewed hope that everything would be okay. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Always,” She opened the door for them and stepped inside. “I promise.” 

The room shifted when Ilya and Yuna returned with red-rimmed eyes and sad smiles. 

Bood had been nervous taking Anya for a short walk and then staying in the house while the pair spoke outside and David sat with Shane, but he needed to help in whatever way he could. It was second nature for him to step in—something that his wife repeatedly told him she admired about her selfless husband—but he was out of his element. 

When they’d returned from the lap around the block, he had folded blankets, fluffed pillows, and taken out the trash. While Anya paced anxiously looking for Ilya, he attempted to play a gentle version of inside-the-house fetch with her and rewarded her with treats and head scratches before she flopped on the couch in a dog-sized loaf. 

He even organized the entryway and other open spaces, hoping to make room for Shane’s knee scooter when he was feeling well enough to be mobile and move about their home. 

David had returned after a while in Shane’s room, mentioning that his son had started to drift off to sleep, and he didn't need his dad staring at him. 

Now, as he watched Yuna and Ilya clear the counter from their lunch, he hated to disturb the fragile atmosphere. However, their teammates were curious and had been blowing up his phone with questions and well-wishes since his last update about Shane and the relay of the information about Yuna and David’s arrival. 

Hayes and Lisa had thrown him into a group chat with Troy and Harris about the likelihood of a short visit, complete with dinner, and he felt guilty for not asking for answers to their questions. 

“Um, I have a question,” Bood looked up from his phone, face painted with concern and apprehension. “I don’t want to overstep and tell Hazy the wrong thing.” 

“Is everything okay?” Yuna looked up from where she was stacking plates in the sink. “You look a little unsettled. Did something happen?” 

Ilya stepped to his mother-in-law’s side and she brushed a warm hand on his arm. He was, in every way possible, protecting himself and inadvertently her, from something difficult to process after an emotional afternoon conversation. 

“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine,” Bood forced a smile and reviewed whatever he had seen on his phone. “Hazy, Lisa, Troy and him want to come see Shane if he’s feeling up to it. And if he’s not, they’d still like to stop by and say hello. Everyone’s pretty worried.” 

“I don’t think—” Ilya stopped Yuna before she could finish saying no. 

“We ask,” Ilya nodded in the direction of the bedroom. “Let him make choice. Was a good day, I think. He might do okay.” 

“You’re right,” Yuna sighed. “I don’t want him to be overwhelmed. He’s been feeling better, and I’d hate for him to backslide or for something to happen.” 

“I know,” Ilya nodded in agreement. “But might need a new face to see that is not us. Might be sick of me already.”

“He’ll never be sick of you, sweetheart.” Yuna squeezed Ilya’s hand, which had finally stopped trembling. “He loves you.”  

“Do you want to ask him before I say anything back?” Bood’s hand twitched against his phone. “Or should we say yes, and if Shane isn’t up to it, they can still hang out for a little bit? We could go to the fire pit?” 

“Say yes,” Ilya said quickly. “Would like to see friends, even if Shane wants sleep. Would like to let them know no one is dead.” 

“I think that’s a good idea,” David said as he looked up from his book at the end of the couch. “I can sit with him again if he isn’t up for company, I don’t mind.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Ilya nodded. “See, is good idea, Mom. Dad agrees.” 

“I will go in and ask him,” Yuna wiped her hands on the dish towel and looked toward the hallway. “Was he asleep when you came back out, David?” 

“No, but dozing off,” David noted. “I think telling him about my work trip was boring him to tears, but he listened anyway.” 

“Is boring, yes,” Ilya grinned. “But wanted to see you. I would like to hear later, too. About Vancouver. We never go out there after game.” 

David smiled softly at his son-in-law before wordlessly returning a nod and picking his book back up. Bood, who was typing quickly on his phone, also looked in Ilya’s direction. He still seemed a bit apprehensive, saying yes before Shane had the chance to answer for himself.

“They said they’ll be here around dinnertime and they’re bringing food,” Bood smiled. “Lisa made a full spread, I guess. He said it’ll feed us for a week. Harris’s mom is sending something for the freezer.” 

“Is it Shane food or real food?” Ilya raised an eyebrow.

“It’s Lisa and Mrs. Drover,” Bood cocked his head in Ilya’s direction. “Do you think they’d feed us anything other than a hearty meal with all the sides?” 

“You are right,” Ilya laughed. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” Bood stood, walking toward Yuna and Ilya in the kitchen. 

“Coordinating,” Yuna followed up with a warm smile. “You’re a good friend to my boys, Zane Boodram. You deserve the world for that.” 

Before he could respond, Yuna wrapped his tall, broad frame in a hug and squeezed him tightly around the middle. She was eternally grateful to the team that had welcomed her sons into their world after all the hardship they’d endured, and for how they all came together even in the hardest times. 

“You’re welcome,” Bood let her hug him just a little longer, missing his own mother, and when they broke, he grinned. “I’m always here to help. Or supervise.” 

“I’m going to go check on Shane and see if he’s feeling like guests,” She announced to the room. “I’ll be right back.” 

As she walked down the hall, Yuna felt a weight lift from her shoulders, knowing that her boys are taken care of by their friends and teammates. Thinking on the conversation she’d had with Ilya just moments before, she took this support for granted and she was going to work harder to make sure that she was there with her sons in the difficult moments, not just the good ones. 

To be more than just Shane’s manager, even when her instincts told her to handle business affairs before anything else. 

Shane had built a life for himself, yes, but there were moments when she needed to be reminded that he would need his mom, too. Even as he’s grown into an adult with his own small, beautiful family. 

Stepping inside the room, she looked around at the usually neat and organized space and felt a deep desire to “do”. Instead, she slid the chair previously occupied by David closer to the bed and lowered herself into the dark, plush material. 

Shane’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t breathing deeply enough to be asleep. She’d learned from years of watching her son that he had typical tells when he was asleep, and this was one of them. 

He was resting, at best, or fighting back the urge to give in to the pain. Lifting her hand, she hovered for a moment, hoping that her touch wouldn’t disturb him. 

She just needed to be closer to her son. 

“Do you think you’d feel up to some visitors this evening?” Yuna asked quietly, brushing the stray hairs from Shane’s forehead with a gentle touch. “You have a few teammates who would like to stop by.” 

“Maybe,” Shane mumbled, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Who?” 

“Wyatt and Lisa Hayes, Troy, and Harris,” she whispered, hand resting on his cheek. “We can stay as long as you both need and run interference. Zane is still here, too. He plans on staying for a while.” 

“Prob’ly,” Shane grinned lazily. “They c’n come. I’ll be okay.” 

Yuna smiled down, returning to running hand lazily through her son’s hair as he relaxed into his pillows. She hates that her anxieties came between them, and now she sees firsthand that it impacted not only Ilya, but Shane, too.

Her heart ached. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here, kiddo,” She said, voice barely loud enough to be heard. “I should have come straight here after they let you come home. Or stayed after I checked on Anya.” 

“S’okay, mom,” He leaned into her touch with a small sigh. “You’re here now.” 

“I am,” She sniffled. “And I can be here as long as you need me. Okay?” 

Shane gazed up and tried to focus on his mother’s face. If he could see her more clearly—without the haze of the concussion and pain medication—he would see that she’s crying and clearly overcome by emotion. 

“I’ll always need you,” Shane’s loopy smile warmed her heart. “You’re my mom.” 

“I love you,” Yuna whispered as Shane drifted back to sleep under the heavy weight of narcotics and exhaustion. “I’m so proud of you.” 

A soft snore escaped Shane’s lips as he fell into an easy slumber, and Yuna sat and watched her son—her little boy, now a married man—as his injured body recovered. She had a lot of regrets about raising Shane; she was learning as he was growing, and she often suspected she was too “manager” and not enough “mom,” but separating those roles felt impossible until now. 

Soft, quiet moments like these, even under the weight of an injury or illness, centered her back in her role as Shane’s first caregiver. She was full of love for her son and heartbreak for his situation. 

Loving Shane was as easy as breathing, and from the moment her small, crying baby boy was placed on her chest, she was filled with love and a desire to protect him from the world. As he grew, she watched him develop into a dedicated, driven athlete and become the best at what he does. 

Still, she remembered the first time he was hurt; he broke his arm sledding and barely made a peep when she and David rushed him to the hospital. She thought about the hit in Boston and how Ilya’s reaction on the ice made sense now that she knew the full story and watched their love bloom.  

Tears welled in her eyes as she watched Shane sleep, because she should have been there and done more, but she was doing what she could now. 

“Yuna,” David’s voice pulled her from her thoughts as she reminisced. “Zane and Ilya are taking Anya for another walk before everyone else gets here. She seems better now that we’re here and less anxious. Do you want to come help me finish the dishes for them?” 

“I’ll be right there.” 

Pressing a kiss to Shane’s forehead, she pulled the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders. 

“I love you,” she whispered. “So much.” 

Shane slept on, and she followed her husband down the hall, leaving the door cracked in case her son needed her. 

“We did good,” David smiled at his wife. “With him, we did good.” 

“Yeah, we did. He did good, too.”

Chapter Text

Shane woke slowly, and then all at once. 

This time, he wasn’t plagued by excruciating pain in his neck and shoulders or crippling waves of nausea, but instead the warm body of his husband pressed gently into his side. Ilya had come in sometime after his mother—the click of the door lock pulled Shane to the surface of consciousness just enough to feel the bed shift—and had curled into his side with a soft kiss to Shane’s shoulder.

Now, as his eyes fluttered open, Ilya was still there. 

The night of the injury was coming back to Shane in bits and pieces; the hard impact, the way his vision blurred and went black, and the excruciating pain he’d felt in fleeting moments in the ambulance and emergency room.

No one needed to tell him more—he was decidedly okay not knowing—but, as he watched Ilya sleep with his head on his thigh and Anya curled up beside his knees, he knew it was bad enough to worry his husband deeply.

Sensing that Shane was awake, Anya crawled on her belly toward the head of the bed, circling once before resting between his legs.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Shane’s voice was rough, and his shoulders ached as he reached for the dog.

He lazily scratched behind her ears as Ilya slept on. Shane knew he had a concussion—it was apparent in the way his vision swam, and his head hurt—but he felt better than he did yesterday, and significantly better than the day before. He also knew, from prior experience, that even when he felt better for a moment, he could feel worse within an hour.

He hated being injured, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like the end of the world.

He also knew his season was over; the heavy cast on his ankle was enough of an indication, and his stomach sank as he thought of the Centaurs and being on the brink of the playoffs as May rolled around. 

He pinched his eyes closed as a ripple of pain swept through the base of his skull, and shifted slightly so as not to wake Ilya.

His attempt was clumsy, and before he could resettle, Ilya’s bright eyes stared up at him with a sleepy gaze.

“Hi,” Shane ran a hand through Ilya’s messy curls. “Sleep okay?”

“Da,” Ilya yawned. “Hurting? Need anything?”

“No,” Shane smiled lazily. “‘m okay. Feeling better, actually. Less… everything from before.”

Ilya nuzzled into his thigh with a soft sigh as Shane continued to play with his hair. It was comforting—Shane knew this was something Ilya enjoyed—and as the slowly setting sun cast warm light through the bedroom, he felt at peace.

“Hey,” Shane whispered. “I love you.” 

Ilya buried his face further in the blankets and let out a shaky exhale. It had been a long few days, and Shane wasn’t coherent for most of it, but seeing Ilya’s shoulders relax let him know that it must have been worse than his concussion-rocked brain could comprehend.

“I love you, too,” Ilya muttered, pressing a kiss to Shane’s blanket-covered thigh. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do not say sorry, was not your fault,” Ilya sniffled, rolling onto his back to look up at Shane. “Is Comeau’s fault. Is on my list now.”

“Your list?”

“My list,” Ilya reached for Anya and ran a hand through her soft fur. “Next time we play, he is dead man.”

“I don’t like how that sounds.” 

“I did not like seeing you not moving on ice,” Ilya continued to pet Anya. “Was hard for everyone.” 

Shane inhaled sharply, and Ilya shot up with a panicked look and outstretched hands.

“Is your head?” He asked anxiously. “Ankle?”

“No,” Shane leaned against his pillows with his eyes closed. “Nothing hurts too bad. It’s just everything else, I guess.” 

“Okay,” Ilya crossed his legs, his hand resting on Shane’s thigh. “Feel sick?”

“No.”

“Is your neck?” Ilya was confused and watched worriedly as a tear rolled down Shane’s cheek. “Shane.”

“I’m just angry, Ilya,” Shane sighed, reaching blindly for his husband’s hand. “I thought I left all this back in Montreal. But I didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Shane frowned. “I know they hate me. But I hoped by now they’d have gotten over it. It’s been two years.”

Ilya climbed up the bed and sat side-by-side with Shane, who immediately leaned his head against his husband’s shoulder. 

“And they’re going to say it was a clean hit.”

“They already did,” Ilya laced their fingers together. “Mama told me while you were in the hospital. And again, when you got home.”

“We play them again in four weeks.”

“Ah, even with mush brain you still know schedule,” Ilya kissed the top of the brunette’s head. “So smart even with concussion.” 

Shane let the silence wash over him as Ilya brushed his thumb over the back of his hand. It was a hard pill for them to swallow—the hatred from Shane’s former team coming in waves—but they were together, in their home, and would figure out a way to move forward.

“Luca okay?” Shane asked carefully. “I think—he was there, right?”

“Is okay,” Ilya confirmed quickly. “At Dykstra’s with Baby Dykstra and Caitlin.” 

“Okay,” Shane breathed. “Everyone else?”

“We are okay.”

Shane nodded and felt himself start to drift off, the remnants of the pain medication making him drowsy. With Ilya by his side, he felt safe, but his body didn’t feel like his own.

Before he could fully succumb to another short nap, a light knock on the door had Anya’s ears perked up and Ilya’s full attention.

“Hey,” Bood peeked his head in the door, taking in the sight with a soft smile. “Barrett said they’re on the way. They’ll be here in about 20 minutes. Still feeling up for visitors, Hollz?”

Shane’s eyes took a minute to focus on someone as far away as Boodram was, but as soon as he regained his mental footing, he smiled.

“Yeah,” Shane nodded weakly. “For a while. Who’s coming again?”

Ilya furrowed his brow. 

He knew memory issues were something Shane might deal with, but each time he forgot small details or something he’d been told, Ilya faced brief moments of panic.

“Harris and Barrett, Lisa and Hayes,” Bood smiled sadly. “They’re bringing dinner. Something for everyone—even you, Shane.”

Shane smiled softly, “Cool.”

“Do you want to move to couch?” Ilya’s voice was tender, bracing for whatever Shane’s answer was. “Will be able go get adjusted?”

“Sure,” Shane shifted, and Anya jumped down from her spot on the bed. “Help?”

Bood entered the room quietly, and Ilya was at Shane’s side just as quickly. By now, both of them had learned the drill, but this was the first time Shane was coherent enough to be more than 200 pounds of mostly dead weight. 

“Legs off bed first,” Ilya helped Shane turn, his legs dangling over the side, and the heavy cast clipping the bed frame.

Shane winced.

“Scooter?” Bood asked, rolling the mobility device closer. “Might be better than the crutches.” 

“Should work,” Shane grimaced. “Gonna need help.”

Ilya’s arm was around his waist instantly, a support that Shane leaned heavily into as he was helped onto his good foot, and his other leg was manipulated onto the scooter.

“This okay?” Ilya asked, not leaving Shane’s side. 

Shane was a little shaky; his eyes pinched shut as his body acclimated to its new position and his brain caught up with the sudden—albeit slow—movement.

“Gimme second,” He muttered, breathing through the wave of pain and slight nausea that snuck up on him. “Not awful.”

“Not awful is better than you throwing up on my feet,” Bood joked. “We’ll move at your pace, okay?”

“Da, very slow, like turtle,” Ilya kissed his husband’s temple. “We stop if you say.”

Shane nodded slowly. 

“C’mon, buddy,” Bood had a hand resting on the handlebars as Ilya stood behind Shane. “Let’s get you to the couch.”

It was a slow, almost tedious trip to the couch. Shane, who was still a bit shaky and unsteady, did his best to do some of the work with his good leg, pushing them forward as he navigated the hallway. Still, Ilya had a gentle hand on his back, steadying him as he slowed and eventually stopped to breathe through the dizziness.

“Just a little further, bud,” Bood softly encouraged. “You’re doing great.” 

“Yeah,” Shane laughed weakly. “This is pathetic.”

“Do not say mean things about my husband,” Ilya said, kissing him on the cheek. “He is hurt but is doing better.” 

Shane inhaled, and by the time they reached the couch and he was settled against the pillows, Yuna had swarmed him while David was reading at the table. 

“Hi, honey,” Yuna pulled a blanket over his legs as soon as he was positioned in a semi-comfortable manner. “How are you feeling?”

Shane, who had been enveloped by the plush corner of the large sectional, shrugged.

“Do you need medicine?” Ilya rattled the pill bottle he had procured from the kitchen. “Maybe will help?”

“I don’t wanna sleep the whole time they’re here,” Shane sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Maybe just Tylenol?”

“Tylenol it is,” Yuna brushed a stray hair from her son’s forehead. “But you still may need the other later.”

Shane nodded.

“I will get,” Ilya retreated to the kitchen and returned with a small bottle of water and two white pills. “Take now?”

“Yeah,” Shane reached for both, and with shaking hands, took the medication and did his best to relax. “I promise I’m feeling better.” 

“I don’t know, Shane,” His mother said worriedly. “I don’t want you to push too hard and feel worse tomorrow.”

“It was just the movement.” Shane looked for Ilya with pleading eyes. “It’ll be okay when I get comfortable again.” 

“You promise you’ll tell someone if you’re not feeling well?” Yuna looked over her shoulder at Ilya. “You know how concussions can be. Just because you feel…”

“I know, Mom,” Shane said, squeezing her hand. “I’ll tell Ilya if I start feeling bad again. I’ll go back to bed. I want to see my friends.”

“If you’re sure,” Yuna frowned. “Ilya, come see me in the kitchen?” 

With Bood and now Anya seated protectively near Shane, Ilya spared them one final glance before following his mother-in-law to the kitchen, where he saw a neatly written grocery list.

“She’s been busy,” David teased as he looked up from his book. “She audited your kitchen.”

“She did what?” Ilya asked, confused. “Audit?”

“She saw you didn’t have any groceries,” David chuckled. “Humor her, kiddo.”

“Oh,” Ilya looked at Yuna sheepishly. “Did not have time to order anything. Had plan to do it after game for next morning.” 

“I know,” Yuna smiled softly. “David and I are going to go grab some dinner while your friends are here, and we’ll pick up your groceries. Anything you want? As a treat?”

Ilya looked across the room at Shane who was wrapped in a conversation with Bood.

“Shane cannot know,” Ilya laughed. “Cereal. Lucky Charms, anything with sugar. Cookies & Cream ice cream. And Coke. Ginger Ale for Shane.”

“Anything else?” 

“Stash of cereal,” Ilya laughed. “I hide it from Shane. Eat breakfast while he works out.”

“I can do that,” Yuna laughed, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “I found the rest of your lists and rewrote them. Do you want to look it over?”

She slid the notepad to Ilya, who glanced at the categorized items and grinned.

“You and Shane are very alike,” He laughed. “He makes boxes around categories.”

“It’s efficient,” Yuna winked. “Any changes?”

“Is good list,” Ilya pushed it back toward her. “You are going soon?”

“I am,” She nodded. “David, too.”

“You will stay when you get back?” Ilya asked nervously, eyes darting around the room. “Not just drop off?”

“We will stay as long as you need, honey,” Yuna said, squeezing his bicep. “Zane probably needs to get home to his family, too. We’ll take the guest room for the next few days.”

“Okay,” Ilya nodded in rapid succession. “Okay.” 

In the comfortable silence, Yuna looked into the living room and saw her son—upright and more coherent—with his friend. Even though his eyes were closed and the lights were dim, she could tell that he looked better. The color had returned to his cheeks, and his shoulders looked a little more relaxed. He seemed more cognitively aware, but she was watching for any signs that he might take a turn.

She had spent hours the first night researching delayed brain bleeding, post-concussion syndrome, and a plethora of other complications.

Blood clots in his lungs from being in bed too long.

Seizures.

Losses of consciousness not associated with medication.

She had read page after page as she drafted statements and fielded phone calls following Shane’s injury, and she knew Ilya had likely done the same.

“He is okay,” Ilya said, squeezing her hand. “Woke up from nap like a new person.”

“I know,” She squeezed her son-in-law’s hand back. “I just worry about him. He should still be resting.”

“We had him make choices,” Ilya reminded her. “I will watch. So will Dr. Lisa.”

Yuna smiled.

“Will carry him back to bed if I need to,” Ilya half-smiled. “Thank you for being here. And groceries. And bringing dad.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” Yuna held his hand tightly. “But we’re here now. And I’m here to do whatever you boys need. David is, too.” 

Before Ilya could respond, they were interrupted by three sharp knocks on the front door. Yuna saw some of the color drain from Ilya’s face as he ran through every scenario possible. She didn’t know what he was thinking about exactly, but he was frozen in place as another knock echoed through the hall.

“I think your friends are here,” Yuna squeezed his hand again. “Take a deep breath, honey, it’ll be okay. Shane’s fine. You need to answer the door.” 

Ilya nodded and took a long, deep breath before wiping his hands on his joggers and sauntering toward the door.

Shane, as he spoke with Bood, even perked up at the sound of the soft hellos and tried to sit just a little bit taller while their guests piled in the door.

“Hey, buddy,” Hayes was the first to speak, carrying in a dish of something warm and hearty. “Heard you were feeling up to seeing some of us. We brought dinner.”

“Hey, Hayes,” Shane smiled, his eyes still a little unfocused as he tried to find the source of the voice. 

Lisa, Harris, and Troy followed behind, each carrying something clearly labeled and assigned by Lisa Hayes.

“We’re going to head out,” David said and stood, nodding toward Ilya. “You kids have fun and don’t cause too much trouble.”

“We won’t, Mr. Hollander,” Harris grinned. 

“Mr. Hollander,” Ilya snickered as the door closed behind his in-laws. “I never called him that.” 

“It’s polite,” Harris rolled his eyes. “But I guess you wouldn’t know much about manners, Rozanov.” 

Troy tried to stifle his laugh, but as Ilya narrowed his eyes and glared at Harris, it escaped anyway. 

“Hi, Lisa,” Ilya walked away from his friends who were rude to say hello to one of his favorite people. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thanks for having us,” She kissed Ilya quickly on the cheek after placing one of the dishes on the counter. “Boys, put everything in here, please.”

With quiet yes ma’am’s and quick movements, Ilya’s jaw dropped at the spread they’d brought with them. When he realized what it was, his mouth was watering.

“You’ve mentioned chicken parm as many times as I’ve seen you in the last month,” she laughed freely. “I figured it was worth bringing over when you needed someone to take care of you.” 

“Thank you,” he grinned. “You are my favorite person, Lisa Hayes. No one else. Shane, yes. But none of the others. They are very mean to me.” 

“We aren’t mean,” Barrett rolled his eyes and hip-checked Ilya lightly. “We just have to put you in your place sometime. I’m gonna go see Bood and Shane if that’s okay?”

“Da, no need to ask,” Ilya nodded toward the couch. “Anya is being a bit weird. Do not ask. She is Protector Anya this week.”

“Because of Shane?” Troy asked, a little anxious. “Chiron’s been like that before.”

“Probably, yes,” Ilya frowned. “Has been on him like glue since we got home. Is a little less clingy today.l 

“We’ll be careful,” Harris wrapped his arm around Troy’s waist and tugged him toward their friends. 

“Bood probably still bites, so watch for him,” Ilya smiled, and suddenly he was left in his kitchen with Wyatt and Lisa Hayes. 

He wasn’t exaggerating when he had said Lisa was one of his favorite people. When he’d first moved to Ottawa, aside from David and Yuna, Lisa was the first person to look at him as Ilya Rozanov the person, not Ilya Rozanov the hockey player. 

She couldn’t have cared less about his status in the MLH; instead, she offered him a warm hug and a quick hello, and told him to call her if he ever needed anything.

She also checked in on him after a brutal hit left him with bruised ribs, and lectured him more than Terry did about how favoring one side of your body will cause problems for the seemingly healthy side.

He loved his team, but their spouses and partners were special people—especially when they’d take time out of their evening to bring them dinner and show their love.

“How’s he doing?” Wyatt leaned against the counter as Lisa preheated the oven for a quick reheat. “He looks pretty good.”

“Is better today than yesterday,” Ilya shifted anxiously. “Was rough when we first got back. Lots of pain. Today is good. But could get bad again.”

“It could,” Lisa nodded, her profession taking over briefly. “But if he takes it easy, it might not.”

“I do not think he knows take it easy,” Ilya huffed, glancing over to where his husband was engaged in conversation. “First night, he was so out he tried to walk.”

“Ouch,” Wyatt winced. “What’s the official diagnosis?”

“Broken ankle, concussion, whiplash,” Ilya frowned, picking at his cuticles. “Bit his cheek, some bruises. Should make full recovery but is done for season and playoffs.” 

“How is he handling that?” Lisa asked cautiously. “We’ve known Shane long enough to… know.”

“Do not think it has hit him fully yet,” Ilya ran a hand through his hair, anticipating the emotions that would follow once Shane made the full realization that hockey was on the back burner to his recovery. “Was upset this morning but not about game.”

“About Montreal?”

Ilya nodded. 

“Did he say much?” Wyatt stepped around Lisa and leaned on the island next to his captain.

“Just mad it is not done,” Ilya shrugged. “Has not said much else. He will probably, maybe.”

“I hope so,” Wyatt whispered. “What are we doing about the next game with them? Or the next game in general? You out a while?”

“Just this week,” Ilya spoke softly, not wanting anyone else to hear. “I will be back for Sunday.” 

“We missed you at practice. Bood, too,” Wyatt looked toward the living room. “He’ll be back tomorrow?”

“Da,” Ilya smiled. “Big game against New Jersey.”

“Yeah,” Wyatt smiled. “Need any help, Lis?”

“You two wouldn’t be any help,” She teased. “It’ll be ready in about 15 minutes. Ilya, can you help me find your plates?”

Ilya pushed off the island and opened several cabinets, handing the stoneware to Lisa as Wyatt watched on. He was nervous about the visit and even more worried about how they’d find Shane, but seeing his friend upright and talking eased some of the tension in his body. 

Across the room, Shane was laughing at a story Barrett was telling about Chiron and a mud puddle, the ache in his shoulders numbed by the Tylenol. It was a comfortable conversation; he hadn’t expected to feel at ease when he’d agreed to company, but the three men—and one sassy dog—around him made it feel less like a task and more enjoyable than ever.

“How are you really feeling, Shane?” Harris asked earnestly. “We’ve fielded so many DMs on our socials, and we’ve had a lot of media inquiries.”

“Better today,” Shane’s honesty was one of his best qualities. “I feel less like I’m on a different planet.” 

“Yeah,” Bood nodded. “I can confirm that he’s at least 70% better than he has been.”

Troy was sitting on the edge of his seat on the couch, hands fisted in his lap as he watched the scene unfold. Before he’d officially met Shane, he’d been part of the problem. When they’d faced off in Toronto, he’d been aggressive and brutal to the Canadian, and now that they were on the same team, he’d hoped Shane would become part of the family.

He had; it had been a seamless transition into their rag-tag group of hockey players with Ilya at the helm, but seeing the brutality from Montreal, the saga with the Metros was far from over.

It might never end.

And Troy Barrett owed it to his best friend and his husband to be part of the solution rather than create more problems. It’s part of why Troy had stayed relatively quiet in their group texts and conversations surrounding the incident. He would commit several felonies if Ilya asked, and it wouldn’t be beneficial for anyone involved if he ended up on suspension for misconduct. 

The consensus in the locker room was the same. They weren’t going to retaliate unprovoked, and no one would commit any acts or incur penalties that could harm reputations, team cohesion, or others.

In other words, and in the beautiful sentiment of Coach Wiebe, they would not strike first, but they could strike back. 

“We’ve all been worried about you,” Troy stated, hand bouncing in his lap. “Practice was weird without you and Roz.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane frowned. “I know it’s a little inconvenient.”

“Stop that,” Bood nudged Shane’s good foot. “You’re acting like you did this on purpose.”

“More sorry that everyone’s getting drug into the shit between me and Montreal,” Shane tugged the blanket closer to him. “It shouldn’t need to involve anyone else. It shouldn’t even be happening.” 

“You’re right, it shouldn’t,” Harris squeezed Shane’s ankle. “But it is, so we’re all here to support you.” 

Shane nodded, his cheeks flushed a deep red as he let himself be surrounded by the unconditional love of his teammates and friends. 

He wasn’t used to this; he’d had close friends in Hayden and JJ, but Montreal had felt like business, and Ottawa felt like home. He’s consistently reminded how much everyone is happy he’s playing with them, and Ilya makes a point to express his love for him always.

It was perfect, to put it simply. But now, as the past reared its ugly head, he felt overwhelmed.

“Dinner,” Lisa yelled from the kitchen. “Come get a plate!”

“Want us to bring you something?” Troy asked, looking at Harris and Bood, who had already, somehow, made it to the kitchen. “Lisa brought Chicken Parm, but I know that might not be great for you.”

Shane smiled up, and before he could respond, Ilya stepped beside him and handed him a green drink in a reusable cup with a lid.

“Railroading my generosity, Roz,” Barrett laughed. “Smoothie?”

“Yeah,” Shane blushed. “Might be easier on my stomach. Lisa’s dinner smells amazing, though.”

“We will all eat in here with you,” Ilya winked. “I know is not ideal, but want you included.”

“Just tonight,” Shane smacked at Ilya’s thigh. “Go get your food, hotshot.” 

Shane let his eyes fall closed as the world came to life around him. His friends and husband were having quiet, enthusiastic conversations as the room filled with the aromas of their home-cooked dinner.

He would try leftovers; he was promising himself that he’d eat more than a smoothie once he wasn’t afraid of bouts of nausea and dizziness. Still, as the room filled with familiar voices, he took a few steadying breaths and let Ilya slip onto the couch beside him.

“Hey, Shane,” Lisa smiled. “Feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, lifting his smoothie. “Food smells great. Sorry, I don’t feel up to eating.” 

“It’s okay. I made plenty,” She squeezed into the couch between Bood and Wyatt, her glass of water clinking softly against the stone coaster.

“How was your skate today?” Shane asked the group, looking at Wyatt and Troy for answers. “Do anything extraordinary?"

“It was optional. A few of the guys besides you three weren’t there,” Wyatt shrugged. “Most of the second and third lines were, so we got some good work in. Felt like I was the lone target on the shooting range.”

“You were,” Troy kicked his friend's foot in jest. “You’re the one who wanted to be a goalie your whole childhood.”

“I deeply regret those childhood dreams,” Wyatt laughed. “We told Wiebe we were coming by tonight. He sends his best. Wants you to give him a call when you’re feeling up to it.”

“That’s never good,” Shane leaned his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “I hate putting you all in this position.” 

“You didn’t do anything,” Lisa frowned. “How’s Nick?”

“Suspended for a game per league misconduct rules,” Troy’s nostrils flared in anger. “But Comeau’s in their lineup for tonight.”

“That’s bullshit,” Bood huffed. “Nicky’s out because he laid one on Comeau, but Comeau’s out there skating his happy ass around like a martyr.” 

“Hey,” Ilya looked over at Shane, who was staring at the half-finished smoothie. “Is not your fault.”

“I didn’t do anything to help the matter, Ilya,” Shane squeezed his eyes shut.

“He’ll be back tomorrow, too,” Wyatt reminded everyone in hopes he’d relieve some tension. “He said it was worth beating Comeau’s face in.”

Shane tensed beside Ilya, and his husband’s free hand landed on Shane’s blanket-covered thigh.

“Please don’t beat anyone’s face in for me,” Shane sighed deeply, his hands a little shaky as he thought about the repercussions of on-ice violence that was more than just a punch or shove. “It’s really not worth the penalty minutes.” 

“Is worth it when you’re not moving on the ice,” Ilya huffed, and Shane did not want to start a fight with his husband in front of their friends. “He could have killed you.”

“I know.”

“So let us defend your honor, Hollz,” Bood laughed. “It’s great content for Harris!” 

“I don’t condone violence, and when I have to talk our interns through how to respond to the messages and comments, I tend to side with Shane,” Harris sighed, rubbing his temple. “The last few days have been brutal.” 

“Okay,” Lisa steered the conversation as far away from the topic as possible. “Aside from suspensions, who wasn’t there? How is everyone doing?”

“Luca and Dykstra were out,” Troy said nonchalantly. “Should both be back tomorrow, but they’ve had a rough few days.” 

Shane perked up at the mention of Luca, and Ilya could feel his husband’s heartbeat quicken.

“How’s Luca doing?” Shane asked softly. “He was the last person I remember until I woke back up in the hospital.” 

“Oh,” Lisa breathed. 

“He’s just processing,” Troy assured Shane. “It was tough for everyone, but he had a hard time after the game. Dykstra took him to their house. He’s been staying there. Young and Holmberg are checking in on him.”

“Alright,” Shane nodded. “I want to see him. I think we should talk.” 

Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand lightly and looked around at the worried and anxious expressions of his teammates and friends. Ilya wasn’t sure if he should agree; he knew that Shane needed to see Luca as much as Luca needed to see Shane, but the risk of a deeply emotional conversation setting Shane’s recovery back wasn’t something Ilya was too comfortable with. 

“I don’t know,” Ilya sighed. “Maybe later this week or next week would be better.”

“It’d be good to see him before the next game,” Shane countered.

“Which is tomorrow,” Ilya furrowed his brow. “Maybe Sunday night.”

“Or tomorrow morning,” Shane said stubbornly, his gaze set on his husband. “I think we need to talk before the next game.” 

“We will see, Ilya conceded, reaching for his plate and Shane’s empty cup. “I need to take Anya out. Will you be okay inside?”

“Yeah,” Shane squeezed his husband’s knee. “Go spend some time with everyone. I’ll be alright.”

“I’ll stay with Shane,” Wyatt handed Lisa his plate as she reached for the dish. “Is that okay?”

Ilya nodded, looking to Shane for his final confirmation. 

“You don’t have to,” Shane fisted the blanket in his lap. “But if you want to, I can’t really move well enough to drag you out with them.”

Wyatt shook his head, laughing at the semi-sarcastic comment from his friend. In the kitchen, voices echoed, and Ilya followed, working with Lisa to load the dishwasher. As they finished up, Harris and Troy had covered the leftovers and packaged them neatly for the refrigerator, and Shane and Wyatt sat in comfortable silence.

Even as Ilya had to all but pick Anya up to take her to the backyard with Lisa, Harris, and Troy for a little bit of exercise, they still didn’t speak.

It’s something Shane appreciated about Wyatt Hayes, and had since his first day in the locker room. 

Leaving Montreal in the wake of the disastrous last season, Shane had been out of sorts when he walked into the Centaurs’ locker room for the first day of pre-season. Even though Ilya had comforted him the night before, easing his mind and holding him close, the drive to the arena alone had sent him headfirst back into his spiral.

Ilya had promised it wouldn’t be bad, but the locker room was loud and rambunctious—the total opposite of Montreal—and he was overwhelmed from the start.

The room felt segmented, with the younger players and rookies congregated around Luca Haas’s locker, and the older players, sans their captains, gathered around Evan Dykstra, who was showing off the latest photos of his daughter.

As Shane tried to reach his locker inconspicuously, the man in the goalie pads had caught his eye.

Wyatt Hayes was sitting in front of his stall, and he looked up with a shy smile and a half-wave.

From that moment forward, Shane had found his closest friend on their team. Each of them a little weird in their own right—Shane with his habits and Hayes with his comics and movie references—were inseparable.

It even made Ilya a little jealous, briefly, but when he saw how Wyatt had welcomed Shane into his inner circle, he couldn’t help but smile. 

As the door closed behind the ensemble, Shane and Wyatt were left in a familiar silence. 

“Hey,” Shane looked up at his friend with tired eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m good, dude,” Hayes smiled weakly, his eyes stormy with unexpressed emotion. “I should be asking you that. Holy fuck, that was the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“I’m a little broken, but I’ll be back for pre-season if I listen to the doctor,” Shane half-smiled. “It wasn’t a great feeling for me either.” 

“I bet not.” 

Shane studied Wyatt Hayes intently, looking for any sign of distress or discomfort. He looked uneasy, picking at the edge of the plush blanket on the edge of the couch, and his eyes were watery. Shane can recall one time he’s ever seen Hayes look like this, and it was the night Shane had finally told the entire story about what happened in Montreal. 

His head hurt thinking about that day—whether that was from repressed memories or the concussion, he didn’t know—but he remembers Wyatt sitting on the floor of their trophy room with him while he reminisced, the ugly memories spilling from his lips before he could stop them.

He hugged him after they’d peeled themselves off the floor, and promised Shane he wouldn’t tell anyone about it, even Ilya, unless he was given permission.

“You know what it was like when I left,” Shane started, courage building behind his quivering voice. “It wasn’t good. I didn’t expect them to just forget because they sure as hell didn’t forgive.”

“Yeah,” Wyatt breathed, focusing on a tassel of the blanket. “I guess not.” 

“Comeau and Drapeau were the worst of them,” Shane sighed, looking down at his shaking hands. “I hoped they’d get over it, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Yeah.”

“But it doesn’t mean I was the only one who was impacted by it,” Shane looked at him intently. “So, how are you?” 

Wyatt reached up and wiped his eyes, looking at Shane with pain written across his features. He looked devastated, and Shane couldn’t stop his heart from aching. 

“Not great,” Wyatt shrugged. “I heard you hit the ice like a sack of potatoes, and I couldn’t do shit about it.”

“Sounds like Chou had it under control,” Shane tried to ease the tension with a light-hearted comment. “Got a few good hits in?”

“He did,” Wyatt chuckled. “Still, seeing Luca look the way he did and you out cold, that’s something I won’t forget very easily. I probably won’t at all.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Canadian apologies aren’t needed,” Hayes joked, shaking Shane’s good foot. “Wasn’t your fault, they’re pieces of shit.”

“Still,” Shane frowned, heart aching for his team. “I’m not really making playing the Metros any easier.” 

“I guess not, but we don’t blame you,” Wyatt smirked. “We ended up with you and Roz together on our team. We can’t be upset about that.” 

“It’s nice being here,” Shane blushed. “Finally feels like I belong somewhere, you know?”

“I get it.” 

And Wyatt did.

He’d always felt just a little on the outside with his team—goalies usually do. But paired with his unique interests and general dislike of clubbing or places that were louder than their usual post-game dive, he didn’t have much in common with the guys his age.

Enter Shane Hollander, and that changed for the better. He’d found a confidant—just like Ilya had with Troy Barrett—and they were borderline inseparable. Even to the point that Shane joked he wanted to be Wyatt’s roommate on road trips, much to Ilya’s distress.

“I feel bad,” Shane admitted shyly as he avoided eye contact. “We were on a hot streak.” 

“We still won.” 

“Yeah,” Shane frowned, tears pricking his eyes. “Still.”

“Still what?”

“If we get knocked from the playoffs, or bumped early if we do make it in, I’ll blame myself,” Shane sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

“It wouldn’t be your fault,” Wyatt’s voice was soft. “You don’t have to carry all of us. I’d like to think the whole team’s got it under control.”

“You do.”

“Then what’s the issue?” Wyatt questioned gently, not wanting to upset Shane. “And it’s we. You’re part of this, too.”

“Not till the fall,” Shane shrugged. “Me being out throws off the balance. People aren’t focused. Ilya will be a nervous wreck, too. That doesn’t help.”

“He’ll do better than you think. You’re making up impossible scenarios,” Wyatt said honestly. “Hollz, you can’t really think you messed everything up.”

“I’m trying not to,” Shane looked out the large window and watched Ilya throw the ball for their dog. “Maybe suffering in Montreal would have been better.”

“That’s concussion emotions talking,” Wyatt tried to end Shane’s shame spiral before it could start. “I promise it wouldn’t be better. No one would be happy. Except maybe Anya, she’s got it made.”

“I don’t know,” Shane tugged at his hair weakly. “I brought a lot of baggage with me.”

“So did Ilya. So did Troy,” Wyatt commented. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Shane.”

“It feels like I fucked it all up.”

Wyatt, unsure of what to say to ease Shane’s mind, saw quietly with his hand on his friend’s shin. It would be hard to get Shane’s concussion-riddled brain to be on the same page with his logical thinking, so instead, Wyatt traced the patterns on the blanket to offer silent comfort.

“Does Ilya know you feel like this?”

“I’ll tell him when thinking doesn’t send zaps through my brain,” Shane closed his eyes. “I don’t have a headache yet, but if I start crying, it’ll definitely happen.”

“We don’t want that,” Wyatt commented. “Hollz?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re on my team,” Wyatt sniffled. “When I saw you go down, it was the most scared I’ve ever been on the ice. It’s good to see you’re okay.”

“I’m glad you guys stopped by.”

“I kind of bugged Bood about it relentlessly," Wyatt laughed, picking at the blanket again. “I needed to see you and make sure you were good. A text doesn’t really chill anyone out when the last time they saw their friend was unconscious on a stretcher in a neck brace.” 

“I suppose not,” Shane smiled. “I’m glad we’re friends, Hazy. It’s nicer here than Montreal.” 

“You’re damn right.”

Before Wyatt could say anything else, the squeak of the back door brought the room back to its center. Shane eased himself back up and put on a brave—partially fake—smile, and when Ilya leaned over the couch, he pressed a sloppy kiss on his husband’s cheek. 

Anya was quick to reclaim her spot when she returned, eager to see Shane. 

“Hi, Anya,” Shane giggled as she crawled across the couch. “How was it outside?”

“We played a lot of fetch!” Harris laughed as he and Troy returned to their seats while Lisa eased into a spot next to Shane. “Ilya’s putting her stuff away, and he’ll be back.”

“That’s good,” Shane sighed. “Hi, Lis.” 

“Hey,” She leaned over and gave Shane a quick hug. “Still feeling okay?”

“Doing great,” He flashed a toothy smile. “How is Ilya?”

“He needed that chat with Troy,” she admitted, looking at Ilya as he flipped on the couch beside his friend. “How was Wy?”

“We both needed that.”

“I thought you might,” She pulled Shane's attention back to her. “He had a hard time when he got home. You may not believe me, but everyone’s been really worried about you.”

“I’m starting to figure it out,” Shane blushed. “I really want to see Luca.”

At the mention of their teammate, Troy, Bood, Wyatt, and Ilya looked up. Ilya’s face was sad, but he smiled at his husband anyway, and thought for a beat before he responded.

“If you feel okay in the morning, maybe for a little bit,” Ilya conceded. “How are you feeling now?”

“Good,” Shane shrugged. “I even have a doctor checking on me, Ilya. I’m okay. So can someone please either give me my phone—“

“No screens,” Lisa scolded. “We barely have the lights on, Shane Hollander. You will not be looking at your phone.”

“Someone needs to give me my phone,” He playfully glared at Lisa with a smirk. “Or someone needs to ask Luca if he’d be comfortable stopping by before pre-game skate.” 

“I can do it,” Bood relented to Shane’s endless pressure. “What time?”

“When is puck drop? And when is your arrival time?” Shane looked to Ilya for answers.

“Have him stop by for breakfast. 8 or 9 is fine,” Ilya chewed on his lip anxiously. “But if Shane is not good in morning we will text.”

“And you’ll tell the truth about how you’re feeling?” Harris asked, worried about his friend. “No lying?”

“I will be honest.”

“You swear?” Barrett offered his follow-up question. “No bullshit.”

“I promise,” Shane rolled his eyes, wincing.

Ilya was almost on his feet before Shane could wave him off. He hated worrying his husband, but as the Tylenol started to wear off ever so slightly, playful eye rolls were off the table.

“And you’re telling the truth now?” Bood took his turn grilling Shane.

“Enough,” Lisa stepped in as she sensed the questioning was about to go off the rails. “I am a licensed medical professional, and I don’t even ask this many questions. He’ll tell us if something is wrong.”

“Yes,” Shane confirmed. “If I even feel remotely off tonight or tomorrow before they get here, we can call it off.”

“Okay,” Ilya nodded. “New Jersey is going to expect us to be off our game. You will make sure we are not?”

Tory and Wyatt nodded enthusiastically.

“We worked on some line adjustments today,” Wyatt chimed in. “I think we’ve got it mostly figured out. Could be a lot worse than it is. With Bood back tomorrow—“

“Back tomorrow?” Bood raised an eyebrow. “Says who?”

“Me,” Shane smirked. “You need to play tomorrow.” 

“I—you’re right,” Bood caved easily. “I guess someone has to hold down the fort for Roz.” 

“Exactly,” Shane grinned. “Keep the building under control and kick their ass, alright?”

“Can do,” Bood smiled. “Doing okay over there, Cap?”

“Da,” Ilya looked up from his phone. “Luca asked if Bood was being serious. Wanted to check with me first.”

“Little shit,” Bood rolled his eyes. “He can trust me!” 

“He does,” Ilya smiled bashfully, looking back down at his messages. “Just wanted to double-check, make sure I thought was okay instead of just being ‘whipped by Shane’s puppy eyes’.”

“I do not have puppy eyes,” Shane complained loudly. “You have puppy eyes!”

“You both have puppy eyes,” Wyatt said, squeezing Shane’s shin. “It’s super annoying, and you’re both whipped. So let’s not argue.” 

Shane and Ilya both pouted, and Harris took the opportunity to snap a photo of the group sitting around the couch, Shane looking better than he had in days.

“You mind if we use this tomorrow? Like how athletes post from their hospital beds after surgery?” Harris teased. “I’m being mostly serious.”

“Go for it,” Shane’s warm smile made Ilya happier than he’d been in days. “Might be good to show proof of life.”

“That’s what I was going for,” Harris pocketed his phone. “What’s your plan for being off your feet? Since you can’t do screens for a while?”

“Someone on Reddit recommended listening to podcasts and audiobooks,” Wyatt chimed in, and sank further in his seat under skeptical gazes. “I looked it up.”

“I guess podcasts and audiobooks and making Ilya my nurse,” Shane looked over at his husband with yearning, wide eyes. “Hanging out with my parents. I’ve been told nothing strenuous for up to four weeks. Maybe longer because of the ankle.”

“Oh, that’s not going to go well, huh, Roz?” Barrett teased, and Ilya gave him a playful shove. “That’s a long time.”

“Da, yes, I know! Cannot touch beautiful husband. Comeau ruined sex life! Everyone laugh!” Ilya exclaimed, crossing his arms over his chest and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “I will start countdown.”

“You will not start a countdown,” Shane retorted. “At all. You have a hand.”

“Will you watch?” Ilya threw Shane a dangerously eager glare. 

“Probably not,” Shane blew him a kiss back. “We’ll figure it out.” 

The conversation shifted topics naturally, and as the subjects changed, Shane found himself folding further into the couch's push cushions. He wasn’t feeling unwell, not really, but he was exhausted. Somewhere along the conversational journey, his ankle and shoulders had started to ache, and the base of his skull suddenly had the faint whisperings of a headache.

He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, offering his own commentary as Ilya, Bood, and Barrett became engrossed in their own conversation about game strategy. Harris had joined Wyatt, where he was seated, to discuss a new graphic novel.

Lisa, steady beside him, was carding her soft, somewhat cold hands through his messy hair.

If he had been less exhausted, he would have been embarrassed by how greasy and tangled it likely was. But Lisa Hayes was a doctor, and she’d probably seen worse.

“That feels nice,” Shane muttered, his head falling on her shoulder.

Lisa stiffened just a tad as she heard the last word slur, and she kept her composure as she looked around the room, hoping no one else noticed. 

Thankfully, the guys were thoroughly invested in their own conversations—even Ilya, who had been on high alert all evening—and hadn’t noticed Shane start to fade. 

“Hey,” Lisa slowly reached for Shane’s left hand as she saw his dark lashes flutter against his suddenly pale cheeks. “You okay?” 

Shane nodded, discomfort clear as his shoulders tensed. 

Lisa, an expert in her own right, even though it wasn’t the field Shane was seeking care in, wrapped a warm hand against Shane’s wrist, her fingers landing firmly against his pulse point. She wasn’t satisfied with it; his heart rate was a little elevated, and that, paired with his suddenly somber and rigid disposition, was enough to warrant a visual once-over. 

She watched him carefully for a moment and mentally logged his appearance. Besides his clear signs of pain and discomfort, his eyes looked lost when they were open. He scanned the room but couldn't find a focal point, and he blinked rapidly. 

The pinched corners of his eyes were a dead giveaway that he wasn’t focusing. 

“Are you feeling dizzy?” She asked cautiously, not wanting to draw attention to their conversation. “Nausea?” 

“Little bit,” Shane inhaled shakily, eyes squeezing closed as he thought. “Not too nauseous.” 

“That’s good, babe,” She soothed softly. “Any pain?” 

“Head and ankle.” 

“That’s to be expected,” She reminded him, hand moving from his wrist to his forearm. “Scale of 1 to 10?” 

“‘Bout a 7,” Shane admitted weakly, not wanting her to worry more than she already was. “I’ll be alright.” 

She swallowed thickly and watched the scene across the small space unfolding in real time. Ilya, Wyatt, Troy, and Harris were deeply invested in a conversation about their next game about Montreal now—she was able to catch that much when Ilya’s voice rose passionately—and she hated to interrupt. Still, Shane was trending down as the night carried on in fractured conversations and heartfelt moments. 

She knew she was a friend first, but her physician’s training told her they needed to wrap up their visit before Shane declined further. 

“Shane?” She asked, her voice soft and her hand gentle as she brushed up and down his forearm. “How are you really feeling?” 

Shane lifted his hand and gave her a so-so motion; it was all he could muster as he was hit by a wave of dizziness that he couldn’t hide. 

He was pale, she noted earlier, but his eyes remained closed. 

“Okay,” She took a shaky breath. “I know I’m here as your friend, but I think we need to get you lying down before you pass out. I don’t like your heart rate or your complexion right now.” 

“‘Kay,” He breathed, leaning sideways into her shoulder. “Don’t tell Ilya.” 

She squeezed his arm in sympathy. 

“I have to, Shane,” She glanced across the room as she sensed a lull in the conversation. “Ilya?” 

Ilya’s head snapped up as Lisa caught his attention, and a brief panic flashed across his face as he stared anxiously at his husband. 

“Is okay? Or no?” Ilya’s words were rushed. “Does not look right.”

“I think he needs to lie down, just for a bit,” Lisa confirmed Ilya’s suspicions that Shane wasn’t feeling well. “Wyatt, can you go get some water and his medication?” 

Hayes stood quickly, leaving Bood, Troy, and Harris to pepper Lisa with questions about how they could help. As Ilya gently lifted Shane’s legs onto the couch, Troy gently eased Shane—who looked worse for wear—onto his back. It was a slow process, and Lisa supervised, watching for any signs that Shane was taking a turn she hadn’t accounted for. 

Harris and Bood were on standby, ready to grab a bin or a cool cloth if needed. 

“Easy,” Lisa took Shane’s hand as he groaned at the change of position. “Ilya, can you put a few pillows under his calves? Let’s get his legs above his heart; it’ll help with the dizziness.” 

“‘M gonna pass out,” Shane mumbled. “Dizzy.” 

“It’ll be better in a minute,” Lisa crouched down next to Shane and ran a gentle hand through his hair. “It’ll pass. Just breathe, Shane.” 

He took a shaky breath as Ilya lifted his legs, the movement of his broken ankle sending a shockwave of pain through his entire side. 

“Good, there you go,” Lisa praised Shane as the color started returning to his cheeks. “You’re already looking better.” 

Wyatt, standing behind his wife with water and a small bottle of pain pills, hesitated before handing them over her shoulder. 

“Here,” He said quickly. “What do I do?” 

“Start cleaning up the rest of the kitchen,” She looked over at Harris and Bood, knowing full well the kitchen was essentially spotless b,ut too many hands would make Shane panic. “Would you be able to help him?” 

They both nodded quickly, a little stunned by what they just witnessed, and followed their goalie out of the room while Troy and Ilya stepped slightly away from the couch. 

Ilya’s hand never left Shane’s shin. 

“Shane,” Lisa brushed her thumb over his cheek as he took another deep breath. “Do you think you can take your pain medication for me?” 

“Can try,” Shane mumbled. “Water?” 

Lisa held his cup, complete with a straw, to his lips, and once he filled his mouth, she dropped in a pain pill, and he swallowed with a wince. 

“It’ll kick in soon,” She kissed his forehead. “Are you feeling better?” 

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Not so dizzy.” 

“That’s good,” Standing, Lisa looked to Ilya and Troy with a soft smile. “I think it’s probably time for all of us to head out. Have you heard from David and Yuna?” 

“Yeah,” Ilya nodded, blinking away tears at the love and care of his friend’s wife. “Should be back soon. Went to dinner and got groceries.” 

Nodding, Lisa wrapped her arms around Ilya’s middle and pulled him into a silent, deep hug. He leaned into the embrace as Troy stepped away, giving the two a moment to themselves. Ilya, a little shaken and a lot frustrated, buried his face in her hair as she ran her hand slowly up and down his spine. 

“Text me if you need a doctor’s advice,” She whispered into the thin material of his shirt. “I mean it, honey.” 

“Da,” Ilya sniffled. “We will. Did not expect to need you.” 

“It’s what I’m here for,” She pulled away, a hand on each of Ilya’s damp cheeks. “He’s going to get better soon. You’re almost through the worst of it. Just let him rest, a little bit out here, and then help him to bed. If tomorrow is worse, you don’t have to accept visitors. Even if he insists, you are of a more sound mind.” 

Ilya nodded weakly. 

“Wanna see Luca,” Shane muttered from the couch, eyes still closed. “I’ll feel better.” 

Ilya huffed. 

“If you don’t, they can come back later this weekend or next week,” Lisa said firmly. “I don’t want you overexerting yourself when you feel better and then take a turn back to where you were. I’m not your doctor, but I am your friend giving you advice. Take it easy.” 

“Okay,” Shane grumbled, a clumsy hand reaching out for his friend. “Thanks for comin’.” 

“I wish you were feeling better,” Lisa smiled down at the dark-haired man. “I’d be able to give you a better hug.” 

“Still can,” Shane opened his arms, and Lisa leaned down to give him a gentle, short squeeze. “Thanks for comin’, guys.” 

“No problem, man.” Troy laughed. “Wish you weren’t half-dead on your couch.” 

“Troy,” Harris elbowed his boyfriend in the ribs. “It was good to see you, Shane. Feel better soon, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Hazey?” Shane’s eyes fluttered open as he lazily looked around the room. “Thanks for bein’ here.” 

“Thanks for the chat earlier, Holly,” Wyatt teased. “I’ll stop by again in a few days.”

While their visitors wrapped up their goodbyes, Bood hung back somberly with his hands shoved in his pockets. It ended earlier than they had anticipated, but Shane was in the driver’s seat, and they did not want to make him uncomfortable in any way. 

Still, Bood watched the four exit the home, and he was suddenly struck with a deep longing for his wife and son. He didn't regret coming to help—Zane Boodram was always going to step in when others needed him, no matter what—but he felt out of place now that Ilya and Yuna had spoken about their misunderstanding and Shane’s parents were both present and accounted for. 

“Hey,” Shane looked toward Bood as Ilya returned from seeing their guests out. “You don’t have to stay.” 

The color was back in Shane’s cheeks, and his eyes looked a little bright. All things considered, he looked relatively healthy. 

“I don’t want to ditch you two,” Bood admitted, looking sadly at Ilya. “I can stay until your parents get back.” 

“Will only be a few minutes,” Ilya glanced down at his phone. “Are almost back in the neighborhood. Go home. See Cassie and Milo. You have game tomorrow.”

“Are you—” Shane cut Bood off with a weak nod. 

“We’re sure. I’m sorry I wasn’t better company,” Shane joked quietly. “Thanks for being here to help us. It meant a lot.” 

“And for making me talk,” Ilya blushed faintly, though he’d never admit it. “Helped fix things.” 

“Fix?” Shane’s eyes shot open. “What did you break?” 

“Will tell you later,” Ilya half-laughed. “Is okay if you go. I promise. Is still early enough to make bedtime.” 

Bood nodded, looking around the room with an overwhelming feeling of anxiety and relief. He wasn’t sure he wanted to leave, because he didn’t want anything to happen to his friends, but he needed to see his family before he mentally imploded.

He missed his wife and his son.

“Okay,” Bood nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Okay, yeah. I should—you’re sure? I could stay here and then go to the rink tomorrow.”

“We’re sure,” Shar looked up with tired eyes. “Go see your kid. Sleep in your own bed.”

“And kiss beautiful wife,” Ilya smirked. 

“Shut up, Roz,” Bood blushed. “You’ll make sure to call if you need anything? Even in the morning?”

“Da, yes, we will call,” Ilya laughed. “You are like worried Mama.” 

“I am worried,” Bood admitted. “David and Yuna…”

“Will be back very soon. Might be their car now,” Ilya nodded toward the door. “Yuna packed your things this morning. Wanted to help keep space clean in case Shane was up. Dishes are done to take home.”

“She didn’t need to do that,” Bood shook his head, seeing two neatly packed bags by the door.

“Didn’t need to do what?” The door had opened without any of them noticing, and Yuna and David walked in with bags of groceries.

“Pack my things.”

“I like to have jobs,” Yuna smiled. “Feeling okay, Shane?”

“Had a rough few minutes, so the visit wrapped up early. But Roz said I’m okay to go home.” Bood smiled softly at Yuna and David. “Do you need me to stay longer? I can.”

“Go home and see your family, honey,” Yuna stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you for being here with them until we could be. Go rest.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bood laughed. “We’ll all be back in a few days. Let Milo and Cass come check on you.”

“Sounds good,” Shane smiled, watching Bood pick up his bags and wave a final goodbye.

“We got your groceries,” David called from the kitchen. “Where should I put the four boxes of cereal?”

“Four boxes? Of what?” Shane tried to push himself up, but Ilya stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. “Ilya.”

“What?” Ilya smirked. “I asked, and Mama said yes.” 

“Mom needs to learn not to cater to you.”

“She loves me,” Ilya said as he sat next to Shane and pulled his head gently into his lap. “She loves you, too.”

“I hope so.”

“Hush,” Ilya kissed Shane softly, careful of any sudden movements. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Thank you for making today better. I’m sorry I ended it early,” Shane closed his eyes, his lashes fluttering. “Was nice.”

“Yeah,” Ilya smoothed his hair. “We will get back to normal. I promise.” 

Chapter Text

When Ilya opened the door the following morning, the first thing he noticed was Luca’s face. 

The second was Luca’s slumped shoulders.

The usual confident, smiling hockey player looked worse for wear. Though blonde and pale, his face looked almost ashen as he stood on the porch of the large home with his hands shoved in his pockets and his hair swept under a hat.

He looked scared.

“Hey, Roz,” Dykstra broke the ice. “Thanks for letting us stop in. I know it’s early.”

“You have skate before game, is fine,” Ilya pushed the door open wider. “In, please, act like you have been to house before.” 

Luca almost laughed—almost—and Ilya would have missed it if his eyes hadn’t been locked on his “Rook”.

“Haasy, inside,” Ilya laughed, grabbing him by the elbow. “House will not bite. Anya will not bite—usually.”

When Luca finally stumbled inside behind his teammate and his captain, he was quiet—almost sullen—and not as prepared for the visit as he thought he would be.

He spent the entire drive talking to Dykstra and trying to clear his head of the what-ifs and anxieties. It had been a long few days for him; he’d spent most of it with Evan, Caitlin, and Susie, only returning to his shared apartment to get clean clothes or to breathe. It had been comforting to be surrounded by adults who were panicking less than his roommates, and by the time they’d received the all-clear to visit, he felt like he could handle it.

Until he couldn’t. 

When they’d pulled in the driveway moments ago, he had almost asked to turn around.

“Luca,” Ilya stepped in front of the young player. “He is okay.”

Luca nodded.

“Has had a good morning. Had good day yesterday,” Ilya looked toward the couch where Shane and Dykstra were exchanging pleasantries. “He wanted your visit.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Ilya confirmed. “Demanded it. Very persuasive.”

Luca stood stone-stiff and panicked as Ilya spoke to him. He had been able to stop visualizing Shane unconscious on the ice every time he closed his eyes, but now everything was flooding back to him. 

“There was blood in his mouth,” Luca whispered, staring almost through Ilya. “A lot of it.”

“Bit cheek.” 

“I, um, what do I even say?” The blonde panicked even more, his hands trembling. “Hey, Hollander, glad you didn’t die?”

Ilya couldn’t help but laugh as Luca tried to regulate his breathing and calm the storm of emotions he felt. He felt bad for the kid, but saying that to Shane would make him laugh.

“It’s not funny,” Luca huffed. “I thought he died.”

“Is very much alive,” Ilya teased. “He would laugh at that. Would be very funny.” 

Luca paled.

Ilya paused.

“Hey,” Ilya blocked Luca’s view of the couch entirely. “He is okay. Would not have visitors if he was not okay.” 

Luca felt tears prick his eyes as he nodded.

“He wants to talk to you. Without peanut gallery.”

Another nod.

“So Dykstra and I are going to walk Anya,” Ilya continued carefully, and saw Luca flinch. “Will be a short walk.”

“You’re leaving? What if something happens?” 

“David and Yuna are in extra living room watching a movie,” Ilya explained. “They are here for emergencies. But will be fine.” 

Luca swallowed thickly and peeked over Ilya’s shoulder to see Shane and Dykstra chatting. Shane looked good—all things considered—and Luca finally felt brave enough to take another step forward.

“Is one more visitor,” Ilya announced as the pair finally made it to the living room. 

“Luca, hey,” Shane smiled brightly, sitting a little taller. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Hey,” Luca waved shyly, still standing as if he needed permission to join Shane on the couch.

“We are going to walk Anya,” Ilya announced, looking pointedly at Dykstra. “Come, Anya.”

The dog, curled next to Shane, stared at her Papa.

“Anya,” Ilya whined. “Come with Papa. Is time for walk, you love walk.”

To Shane’s left, Dykstra laughed heartily. 

“Anya, I will give treat,” Ilya crouched next to his husband and dog. “Outside.”

With a sigh, Anya stood and stretched before looking toward Shane and nudging his hand. 

Shane’s heart ached.

“Go with Papa,” Shane frowned. “I can’t go today.”

She nudged his hand again.

“We can try sometime this weekend, honey,” Shane scratched her behind the ears. “Go for your walk.”

“She is dramatic,” Evan laughed, standing and putting on his discarded shoes that Shane hadn’t scolded him about.

“Just like Papa," Shane teased. “Text when you head back?”

“Da,” Ilya kissed Shane softly. “I love you. Behave.”

“I love you, too,” Shane grinned. “I’ll be on my best behavior. If I’m not, Luca has permission to get Mom involved.”

“Good. They are just downstairs.” 

Ilya and Dykstra left quickly—Anya finally showing interest in her leash and her walk—and the door clicked closed behind them, leaving Luca and Shane alone.

“You can sit,” Shane half-joked, nodding toward the spot previously occupied by Dykstra. “I don’t bite, and I don’t think I’m contagious.”

Luca quietly made his way to the couch, but it felt like he was wading through honey.

“I’m okay.”

Luca picked at the fraying edge of his sweatshirt, visibly uncomfortable and distressed. 

Shane didn’t force conversation; he just observed as Luca took deep breaths and continued to pick at the worn threads under his fingers. He knew this was going to be hard for both of them, but he hadn’t imagined the lively and friendly Luca Haas being this withdrawn. 

“I thought you were dead,” Luca whispered, not looking up. “I was right beside you when it happened.”

Shane inhaled sharply, and Luca looked up with tear-filled eyes.

“I heard your head hit the ice. And the boards. And then I waved the medics over,” the young man continued. “It sucked.”

Shane was speechless. 

Luca had been the one closest to him—he knew that and had pieced together the rest with information from Ilya—but he hadn’t known about waving the medics on. He had assumed it was a referee or a trainer.

“I stayed with you till someone drug me back to the bench,” Luca added weakly. “Coach tried to keep me from finishing the game.”

That was the moment Shane’s eyes started to burn. When he and Luca finally made eye contact, his dark brown eyes were red-rimmed, and his waterline was heavy with unshed tears. 

“Haas,” Shane whispered. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome?” Luca responded, confused. “I don’t know what I did.” 

Shane smiled warmly.

“You stayed with me,” Shane croaked, tears threatening to fall. “I’ve been hurt like this before. But when I saw the video it was just me in a pile on the ice. I feel like this will be different.”

Luca nodded.

“I’m not allowed to look at screens,” Shane shrugged. “The novelty will have worn off by then I’m sure.”

“It’s still on every sports show right now,” Luca sniffled. “I don’t like seeing it on repeat.”

“I wouldn’t like that either, not if it was any of you.”

“I’m glad you’re on my team,” Luca all but blurted out, cheeks flushing a deep red when he realized what he’d said. “I-I mean, we all are, but, yeah.”

“Luca.”

“It’s nice playing with you and Cap. It’s crazy that we’re all on the same team and stuff. I watched you guys your whole career and now we play together,” he rambled, clearly anxious. “It’s crazy.”

“Luca.”

“You teach me a lot—more than Roz,” Luca laughed uncomfortably. “It’s so easy to learn from you.”

“Luca,” Shane reached out and grabbed a shaking hand. “Breathe, kid.”

He followed Shane’s instructions and sucked in a large gulp of air.

“I’m glad we’re on the same team, too,” Shane smiled. “I like it. It was a tough change but I like it.”

“Oh,” Luca blushed. “Really?”

“Really,” Shane grimaced as he tried to turn to face Luca. “Montreal can’t hold a candle to how accepted and loved I feel here. Wiebe led with that when I signed. He said you would be nothing like them, and he was right.”

“Has he visited?” Luca asked quickly. “Coach.”

“He’ll be by in a few days. He and Ilya have been in touch since the hospital,” Shane smiled. “I’m sure he and his family will be here. I’m not worried.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“Yeah,” Shane sighed. “I don’t think it would be like this in Montreal. Hayden was the only person who came to the hospital the first time and that was before everything.”

“Did he come this time?”

“I think so,” Shane scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jawline. “It’s pretty foggy up until yesterday.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Shane nudged Luca’s knee. “You didn’t take me out for no reason.”

“I can’t believe Comeau did that,” Luca hissed. 

“I can,” Shane shrugged. “He’s probably been wanting to since I came out.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” Shane was far too nonchalant for Luca’s liking. “It didn’t go great over there. Ilya had a much better experience with his team.”

“His team? Us?”

“Yeah, his team was apparently wonderful,” Shane winked. “I’m happy he was safe, supported, and loved how he deserved to be when everything was chaos.”

“Were you?”

“In my own way, I was,” Shane let a tear trickle down his cheek. “In other ways, I wasn’t so lucky.”

“How?”

Shane swallowed, took a deep breath, and did something that—according to Luca’s inner monologue—was incredibly brave.

He told the truth. 

“Montreal was home for me, or at least I thought it was,” Shane wiped his eyes with his sleeve as he spoke. “It was intense, but we were good. I was captain, we lifted the cup twice. It was-was perfect.”

Luca nodded meekly.

“Guys are guys,” Shane half-laughed. “Locker room talk. All that. Ilya and I had been…together. For years. They only knew me as someone in love with another man. And there were jokes and stuff but it was fine.”

“Until the video?”

Shane nodded, tears flowing freely as he squeezed his eyes closed. Luca almost went to get Yuna, concerned that Shane was in pain, when the conversation resumed.

“After the video I was public enemy number one in the room,” Shane laughed wetly. “And then I tripped.”

“Accidentally.”

“Well, not according to them,” Shane almost hiccuped. “Apparently I’d been throwing games for Ilya for years, in their minds.”

“You would never.”

Shane shook his head. 

“At that point it didn’t matter. They were going to believe what they wanted to believe,” Shane sighed, eyes watery and red and his shoulders slumped. “We got married and Hayden and JJ were the only people from my team who showed up. Ilya had all of his.” 

“Yours, too.”

“His at the time,” Shane waved the formalities off. “It’s still been rough with JJ but Hayd is my best friend.”

“Oh.”

“And now I’m here, and I’m keeping Ilya off the ice just like I was worried about from the beginning.”

“He wants to be with you, though,” Luca cocked his head much like Anya does when she’s concerned. “He wouldn’t be if he didn’t want to be.”

“He should want to be with his team.”

“Your team.”

“His right now,” Shane gestured to his casted ankle. “I’m done until preseason.”

“We’re still your team,” Luca whispered sadly. “We aren’t like them.” 

“I know,” Shane breathed. “I know you’re not.”

“It seems like you don’t believe that,” Luca’s voice was laced with deep sadness and worry. “We won’t get rid of you.” 

“I know that, too.”

“I don’t want you to not be on our team,” Luca admitted. “It’s weird without you both.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Like, practice is weird without someone complaining about PDA or you telling Roz off for something,” Luca continued. “I know we’re not the same and you’re not the captain anymore but you’re still a leader. A letter doesn’t change that. You still teach us all the time.”

Shane’s heart ached.

Luca had found the wound and started stitching it up himself without even realizing it.

“That’s why it’s weird. You always just-just correct me and you’re nice and I fix the problem,” Luca leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. “The team isn’t right without you and Roz. But it still won’t be right without you.”

Shane nodded.

“I know your brain is probably like, half soup still,” Luca laughed, hoping the lighten the mood. “So don’t let it make you feel weird.”

“I thought I was supposed to be making you feel better?” Shane teased. “Now you’re making me cry.”

“I felt better when you said you were okay,” Luca shrugged. “I guess I just needed to see it myself.” 

“I’m glad you stopped by. I know it was hard.”

“I freaked myself out in the driveway,” Luca wiped away a stray tear. “It’s like seeing your mom in the hospital.”

“I’m mom?” Shane pouted. “I think big brother is more fitting.”

“Roz is dad and you’re mom,” Luca shrugged. “He does weird shit, and you tell him off. It’s like TV parents.”

“Touché,” Shane smiled. “You ready for the game?”

“I guess,” Luca was back to picking at his sleeve. “It’ll be hard without you guys. Bood being back today will help. Practice was worse without him. We lost a bunch of steam.” 

“Momentum?”

“That, yeah,” Luca smiled softly. “Don’t get hurt like that again.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“No, I mean it. Roz was trapped on the bench. If he could have found a gun he would have used it,” Luca was flustered by the memory.

“Thank God for Canadian gun regulations,” Shane chuckled. “Are you feeling better?”

“I am. Are you?”

“Bit tired,” Shane yawned. “I’ve got a tough rehab ahead but I’ll get there.”

Luca leaned back against the couch as the anxiety and adrenaline started to fade. As time passed and Shane started to doze off beside him, he considered texting Ilya b, but knew that Thkstra was having an equally important conversation with their captain.

So, Luca played a mindless game and kept an eye on Shane while waiting for the message that the other pair was returning with Anya.

He felt lighter than he had in days, and was grateful Shane had been feeling well enough to have visitors. It was easier now, seeing that his friend and mentor was going to be okay. He almost felt relaxed, even though he should be mentally preparing for that night’s matchup against New Jersey.

Hockey felt almost secondary to him at the moment; Shane’s injury had put life into perspective for him.

He saw what it means to have a family, nd how important found family is for your health and well-being, and specifically now, recovery. The Centaurs mean everything to Luca because of this, and that means Shane Hollander deserves to know that they’re his team forever—not just when he’s healthy. And now, after learning even more about Shane’s time in Montreal, it was more important to Luca than anything else that Shane felt accepted.

As he sat, careful of his phone volume, Luca felt at peace. So much so, that when his phone finally buzzed, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Captain Roz
Headed back to house.
How was talk?

Good. He’s asleep.
Should I get Yuna?

Captain Roz
Let him rest.
Brain needs it to heal.

When Ilya and Evan returned, Shane and Luca were sitting side-by-side—Shane’s casted leg propped on the coffee table—both half asleep with tear-stained cheeks. 

Shane was more asleep than Luca, and Ilya stopped when Dykstra’s hand landed firmly on his chest.

“Give them a minute,” Evan whispered, reaching down to unclip Anya’s leash.

Ilya nodded, standing with one hand anchoring him to the small table in the entryway. Most days, he hated the table. It was in the way and inconvenient—he regularly stubbed his toe when he was rushing out the door—but that day he was thankful for it.

It was the only thing keeping him upright. 

“You should talk to the kid,” Dykstra clapped Ilya firmly on the shoulder. “He needed to see Shane, but he needed you, too.”

Ilya nodded again.

He wasn’t usually at a loss for words. If you asked any of his teammates, friends, and especially his husband, they’d tell you that Ilya loved to talk.

He told stories, made jokes, and teased. 

He was never quiet, not even in sleep, often talking softly next to Shane as he dreamed. 

“They’re okay, Roz” Dykstra tugged him toward the kitchen as Anya trotted off toward the couch. “Let’s get some water.”

Ilya followed wordlessly, and Dykstra—who had been in their house enough times to feel perfectly at home—poured two glasses of water from a miraculously full Brita pitcher.

Ilya laughed, barely, because Yuna had filled it. It lived listlessly empty because he and Shane passively-aggressively refused to empty it. After all, it meant they’d have to refill it. 

“Thank you,” Ilya whispered, taking a sip. “For bringing him. And walking Anya with me. Company is nice.”

“Anytime, brother,” Dykstra looked toward Shane and Luca. “He seems like he’s doing alright.”

“Is better today. Harris and Troy were here last night. Hazy and Lisa, too,” Ilya smiled softly. “Bood stayed on first night. David and Yuna are watching movie in other room. Had small issue last night but isn’t needing pain pill.”

“That’s good.”

“Was scary, when it happened,” Ilya confessed tearfully. “Could not do anything. You know this.”

“Yeah, I was out there,” Dykstra didn’t laugh. “Beating his ass would have been worth the fine for jumping the boards.”

“Shane never would have forgiven me.” 

“Doesn’t mean you weren’t thinking about it,” His teammate joked. “I was. But Nicky beat me to it.”

“I know.” 

Before either of them could speak, Luca looked over the back of the couch and smiled. Shane was asleep leaning against the center cushion, and Luca looked better than he had when he arrived.

Ilya knew, though, that this would follow him for a while.

“Go talk to him,” Dykstra encouraged. “I’ll sit with Hollz.” 

Ilya looked wary of the suggestion, but with a firm push in the middle of his back, he led Dykstra to the couch where the other man flopped onto the end opposite of Shane with a contented sigh.

“Hey, Cap,” Luca saw Ilya still standing next to the TV. “What’s up?”

Ilya motioned for Luca to follow him down the hall. The blonde followed quietly, socked feet shuffling on the hardwood. Ilya stopped in front of a door that no one really used.

Shane’s office.

Luca had been in there once; when Shane gave everyone the tour of their new house, he’d popped open the door briefly and then continued to the guest rooms and other spaces. 

He could hear the TV in the bonus living room where David and Yuna were watching a movie to give everyone space, but he didn’t ask questions, he just stepped inside behind Ilya and closed the door behind them. 

“Sit?” Ilya gestured toward the pair of leather chairs. “I will be behind desk. Like coach’s meeting.”

“Please don’t,” Luca groaned. “Do anything else.”

“Would be funny!” Ilya exclaimed with a grin. “I will be very serious. No joke. No smile. Just like when Wiebe is mad.” 

Luca sunk further in the chair and buried his face in his hands.

“Is official business, Haas,” Ilya furrowed his brow and perched on the corner of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “Is about game soon.”

“New Jersey?”

“No,” Ilya shook his head. “Montreal, two weeks. I think. One of last games before playoffs.”

“Will you be back?” Luca’s eyes were wide and panicked. “You won’t be gone that long will you?”

“No, will be back.”

Ilya looked almost conspiratorial to Luca, who was still trying to calm his racing heart. 

“We will crush Montreal on their ice,” Ilya proclaimed, eyes sparkling. “Badly. Go home to wives crying.”

“We’ll still be down Shane,” Luca pointed out sadly. “It might be harder.”

“Da, or will make their guard down,” Ilya cocked his head to the side. “We will attack when they are not expecting.”

“You’re going to attack one of them?” Luca’s heart was racing. “I don’t know. I think they’ll all be watching for you. For any of us.” 

Luca looked up at his captain apprehensively. He wanted to beat Montreal as bad as the rest of them—except maybe Ilya—but he wanted to do it clean, and wanted to respect Shane’s wishes of no fighting on his behalf.

“Shane won’t like that,” Luca blushed. “He, um, told me he’d prefer if we didn’t fight them at all. Wants us to focus on the game tonight instead of ahead to Montreal. Says it will help.”

“Is concussed,” Ilya shrugged. “Does not always know. We think about tonight but also Montreal.”

Luca wasn’t sure how to respond. He respected the hell out of Ilya, just like everyone else, but he didn’t want to make matters worse.

“You have better suggestion?”

Luca didn’t have a better suggestion, and as Ilya stood and started to pace the room, he felt nervous. Coincidentally, back in the living room and unbeknownst to them, Shane and Dykstra were having a very similar conversation.

And Shane made sure to let Evan Dykstra know exactly how he feels about revenge. 

“Don’t let anyone make it worse,” Shane said firmly, turning to look at his teammate. “Especially not Ilya.”

“Dude, I can’t make that promise to you,” Evan turned sideways, tucking one leg under him. “Everyone’s pissed. No other game matters until we play them again.”

“Make those games matter, then,” Shane huffed. “We’re making the playoffs.”

“No one said we weren’t.”

“We can’t make the playoffs if everyone gets fined or suspended,” Shane narrowed his eyes. “Promise me you won’t let my husband get himself ejected from that game.”

“What about games before that?”

“Let me rephrase,” Shane pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do not let my husband get ejected from any game, at any time, while I am not playing.”

“You realize he does what he wants when you aren’t around, right?” Evan laughed. “You’re all of his impulse control.” 

“Unfortunately, I am aware.”

“So, you telling me to make sure he doesn’t kick someone’s ass isn’t going to be very efficient,” Dykstra continued. “He’s upset, Hollz.”

“I’m mad I can’t play, too, but I’m not silently concocting a multi-part revenge scheme.”

“Shane, he’s not upset that you can’t play,” Evan squeezed Shane’s shoulder. “He’s upset that they hurt you on purpose. He’s upset that it could have been worse.”

“But I’m fine.”

“We didn’t know that when they carted you off,” Dykstra’s face was sullen. “We saw you leave unconscious in a neck brace. He couldn’t go with you.” 

Shane’s face paled, and as Evan saw the change in demeanor, he started to panic.

“Shane?” He asked cautiously. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Shane swallowed thickly. “Sorry. I just, I didn’t really think of it that way. Not much time to think when my brain is mush.”

“I get it,” Evan relaxed slightly. “I was out there, too. But Roz was on the bench. It was almost time for a line change.” 

“It’s all kind of blank,” Shane admitted. “I remember getting hit, and a few bits and pieces from the hospital. I think it worries Ilya when I get confused.”

“It does.”

“Can I ask you something?” Shane looked up with teary eyes and Dykstra was caught off guard immediately.

“Sure, dude, what’s up?”

“Did I fuck everything up? Team wise? I know it’s not all about me, but, you know,” Shane stuttered, breathing deeply and evenly to keep from crying. “Bad timing.”

“It hasn’t been perfect. Especially when Roz is gone too,” Evan said gently, unaware that his last comment would start Shane’s anxiety spiral. “We’ll get it figured out.”

“Okay,” guilt started to creep into Shane’s psyche. “Okay, that’s good.”

“It’s hard without both of you. It’ll be tough when you’re still out,” The other man continued, somewhat aware of Shane’s change in demeanor. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Shane brushed him off with a smile. “Just worried about the team.”

“Please worry about healing,” Evan teased. “We’ll still be there when you get back for preseason.”

Preseason.

Right.

Shane’s chest ached when he thought about missing the rest of the regular season and the playoffs. It hurt him to think about his team advancing without him, especially when all he wanted to do was get back on the ice as soon as possible.

“You’re coming back, right?”

Shane’s head snapped up quickly enough it made his vision swim.

“Of course,” Shane’s words were short. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just wanted to make sure.”

“You’re all stuck with me for a few more years,” Shane half-smiled while his hands trembled in his lap. “If the front office still wants damaged goods.” 

“We aren’t stuck with you. We want you on our team,” Dykstra’s eyes looked stormy. “Montreal gave us the best gift ever.”

“Thanks,” Shane wiped his eyes. “I think.”

“It’s a compliment. And an honor to play with the best player in the league.”

“Ilya loves you guys, too,” Shane smiled. “You’re his family.”

“I wasn’t talking about Roz,” Dykstra frowned. “But you’re our family too. And I know you’re going to tell me to fuck off but I really need me to be honest about how you’re feeling because you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it,” Evan glared at Shane. “You look like my kid when she’s about to go down with a fever.”

“I’m just tired and my vision is a little,” Shane gestured vaguely around the room, unable to find the words.

“Swimmy?”

“Yeah, some,” Shane sighed, closing his eyes. “Being awake for longer periods of time and off the pain killer doesn’t mean my eyes are working.”

“Maybe you should lie down?”

Just as the question left Evan Dykstra’s mouth, as fate would have it, Ilya and Luca had returned to the living room and Ilya was standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

He looked unhappy.

“You said if you felt bad visit was over,” he said sternly, looking directly at Shane. “Swimming vision is bad.”

“I feel fine.”

“Doctor said not to push limits,” Ilya reminded him. “Rest is healing your head.”

“They can still stay, Ilya, they don’t have to be at the rink for a few more hours,” Shane pushed back—hard.

“And you need to rest, Shane,” Ilya was prepared for the standoff, and had no intention of backing down. “Here or bed?”

“I’ll go lie down when they leave.”

As the couple bantered—or really, argued—back and forth, Evan and Luca watched the verbal volleying like it was a professional tennis match.

“I’m fine, Ilya, drop it,” Shane snapped. “I promised I’d tell you if it’s too much and it’s not.”

“I am worried.”

“I know,” Shane sighed. “But I’m okay right now. No pain, no headaches, no nausea. My vision’s just a little off.”

“Are you lying?”

“No, I’m not,” Shane was offended by the question. “I sleep most of the day already. I’d like to stay awake until our teammates leave, if that’s okay?”

Ilya looked at Luca and Dykstra, begging them to interject—or leave—so that he could take care of Shane. Neither of them seemed to pick up on the hint, but Anya curled further into Shane’s side and rested her head on his leg. 

“Fine,” Ilya crossed the room in two steps and threw himself on the couch.

The four men sat there in an awkward, yet comfortable, silence. It wasn’t often that they saw Ilya and Shane argue with serious intent, but that morning felt different.

It felt personal.

Luca looked around the room where Ilya was decidedly not sitting next to Shane, scrolling on his phone, and Shane had his head tipped against the cushions, eyes closed.

Anya was almost in Shane’s lap.

Luca and Evan, who started to feel increasingly out of place, shared hesitant glances with one another as no one broke the silence. 

It was uncommon and uncomfortable, even if Luca dubbed himself the most socially awkward Centaur under age 30.

“We should head out,” Dykstra said suddenly, and Shane’s eyes snapped open. “I wanna get some grub before skate, and Luca needs to swing by Casa Rookies.” 

“No I don’t,” Luca looked up quietly. “Young said he’d bring my stuff to the rink.”

“You’re getting lunch with me, then,” Dykstra narrowed his eyes. “Your turn to choose, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Luca laughed nervously, eyes darting to Shane who looked almost offended. “I forgot about that.” 

“You’re welcome to stay for a while,” Shane looked up, yawning and stretching his neck. “You don’t have to rush out.”

“You look tired, Hollz,” Dykstra commented, noticing the way Shane’s cheeks had paled from his earlier flush. “You need a nap.”

“Da,” Ilya raised an eyebrow. “A nap would be good.”

“Thanks for letting us come by,” Luca stood and smiled at their hosts. “It was good to see you awake, Shane.”

“Thanks for being here,” Shane grabbed Luca’s hand with a tight squeeze. “We’ll see you guys soon?”

“Yeah,” Dykstra nodded. “When you’re good for it, we’ll have everyone over.”

“Sounds good, man,” Shane smiled, watching Ilya as he stood silently and walked their friends to the door.

He was gone significantly longer than he should have been—the room strangely quiet around Shane and Anya who was sleeping in his lap—and when Ilya returned, he took his seat on Shane’s right and leaned his head on his shoulder.

“Hi?” Shane’s hand fell onto Ilya’s thigh, his touch light and gentle. “Ilya?”

“Hm?” The blonde looked up, the dark circles a stark contrast to his usually tanned skin. “You okay?” 

“I was about to ask you that.”

“Am fine, moya lyubov,” Ilya sighed. “Am worried about you being up so much. Is not good for concussion.”

“I’m feeling better,” Shane bristled. “Thank you for telling me.”

“But could start feeling worse,” Ilya pointed out, no anger or fight behind the stern and direct words. “Like last night.”

“Ilya—“ Shane started, but the words died on his tongue as Ilya looked up with sad, shiny eyes. 

“I am worried about you always,” Ilya snuggled closer to his husband. “More now than before. Do not want you to push it to be okay. Is okay to need rest.”

“I just don’t want to let people down.”

“You are not,” Ilya glanced down at the phone in his hand. “We will not have more visitors for two days.”

“Why two?”

“Is amount of games we have in a row,” Ilya smiled. “I do not want to go back to practice.”

“My mom and dad will be here,” Shane kissed his husband’s forehead. “They’ll take good care of me.” 

“But is not same as me. And you stole dog,” Ilya whispered. “She is traitor.”

“She surprised me with how protective she’s been,” Shane attempted to stifle a yawn. “She doesn’t usually want me. She prefers you, always.”

“Is not true.”

“Definitely true,” Shane’s eyes fluttered shut. “Are Mom and Dad still here?”

“Da,” Ilya’s large palm was resting on Shane’s thigh. “Are watching movie in other room. Dad is asleep I think. Mom is maybe reading.”

“You should join them,” Shane forced his eyes back open, and a look of profound sadness flashed across his face. “You need to rest and not babysit me.”

“Is not babysitting,” Ilya sighed. “Is being married. Good and bad, remember?”

Shane nodded.

Ilya watched his husband carefully, seeing the fight leave his body as he was overcome with exhaustion. It had been a busy and emotional morning for both men—Shane specifically as he spoke to Luca—and it was catching up with him.

It was catching up with Ilya too. 

“Do you want to take a nap?” Ilya asked cautiously, not wanting to upset a physically and emotionally exhausted Shane. “We can take Anya to our room.”

Shane nodded.

“I will go tell mom we are going to room,” Ilya stood, kissing Shane on the forehead before quietly exiting the room. 

He returned to see Shane half asleep—dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks—his soft features calm and relaxed. He always looks younger when he was asleep, Ilya thought, and it hurt him to even consider waking up the recovering hockey player who was snuggled under a plush blanket and a napping dog. 

“Shane,” Ilya ran a hand through Shane’s dark locks. “Shane.”

Shane hummed in response.

“Let’s go to bed,” Ilya continued in a soothing motion. “Will be better for you to not sleep on couch.” 

“‘Kay,” Shane mumbled. “Help.”

Ilya was becoming a professional at helping Shane navigate their home. He helped him stand, position himself on the knee scooter, and, with Anya trailing behind them, open the bedroom door and help his husband to bed.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Shane looked up with wide, tired eyes. “I know it’s a lot.”

“Is exactly where I want to be.”

“Even more than being with your team?” Shane’s voice was sad and vulnerable as he asked, injury and exhaustion making him ask the hard questions in a small and timid voice.

“Our team,” Ilya crawled into bed next to Shane and curled into his side. “And yes.”

“Your team,” Shane yawned, clearly exhausted. “Ours eventually.”

Ilya’s heart ached as he held Shane closer, his husband starting to doze. Soon, they’d fall asleep; Shane blissfully unaware that Ilya could sense his lingering apprehensions about their team and he’d make a mental note to ask when Shane was better.

As he felt his eyes grow heavy, he thought about Montreal. Ottawa had accepted Ilya immediately, and were beyond supportive after the FanMail video.

Montreal had been different—hostile and hateful—toward Shane. It was the beginning of the end, and he knew Shane downplayed how much it had hurt him to experience such vitriol from his “friends” and teammates. 

As he fell asleep, Ilya replayed the days and weeks after their outing. He recalled all of Shane’s nervous reactions and unusual behaviors once it had gone public, and tried to see what he’d missed—where Montreal became violent.

His body gave into his own exhaustion, and he missed Shane’s shoulder lazily as he drifted off to sleep. 

Hours later, Ilya felt a warm hand in his hair.

“Hi,” He rasped, squinting up at his mother-in-law. “Time?”

“Almost dinner,” Yuna sat on the edge of the bed next to the Russian. “David is grilling something. Smoothie for Shane unless he feels like real food. You needed rest.”

“Thank you,” He whispered. “Game?”

“Puck drops in an hour. We can eat while we watch.”

Ilya nodded, untangling himself from Shane who was starting to wake.

“I want to watch,” Shane said, voice thick with sleep and insistence. “With everyone.” 

“Your doctor said no screens,” Yuna reminded him. “Why don’t we bring you something here and you can stay in bed?”

Shane shook his head.

“Honey, it could set back your healing.”

“I’ll keep my eyes closed,” Shane pushed back. “I’m sick of being in bed.”

“You’ve been out of bed quite a bit,” Yuna reminded him, still sitting next to. Ilya. “Your body needs rest.”

“I can rest on the couch.”

Ilya followed as much of the conversation as he could with sleep muddled thoughts, and he saw a new look of pain on Shane’s face as he turned his head toward his mother.

“You will take medicine then,” Ilya pressed.

“Tylenol will be fine.”

“Shane,” Yuna sighed. “Please, just listen to us and your doctor.” 

“I can’t stay in bed,” Shane’s voice cracked. “I can’t do anything else. Please, let me watch the game.”

“With eyes closed.”

In the end, they compromised. 

Shane was allowed to stay with Ilya, David, and Yuna as they watched the game against New Jersey if—and only if—the lights in the living room stayed off, and he complied with Ilya’s wishes and wore the thick, black sleep mask he traveled with on road trips.

He also had to try to eat something beyond a smoothie—Ilya insisting that he needed protein and carbs for quicker healing. 

Ilya and Yuna also had to compromise, and when Shane was due for the next dose of pain medication the narcotic was swapped for Tylenol. 

Yuna knew that Shane hated the fuzzy, foggy aftermath, and he wanted to stay awake as long as possible, but something about her mother’s intuition screamed at her. Shane had opted out of the prescription for most of the day, and he seemed to be managing, but she would feel better if he followed the doctor's guidance.

As his brain healed, there were triggers, and she didn’t want him to experience pain at all, let alone pain brought about by her son’s stubborn streak.

“Shane,” Yuna tucked a blanket around her son who was lying with his head in Ilya’s lap. “Are you sure you don’t want the pain pill?”

“I’m sure,” Shane fidgeted with the mask Ilya had slipped over his eyes. “I want to watch the game.”

“You can listen,” Ilya huffed. “We are taking no screens seriously.”

“Yes we are,” David’s voice startled Shane, his usually quiet father taking charge. “And we’ll know if you take the sleep mask off.”

“Fine,” Shane sighed. “Who’s taking the face off?”

“Bood and Hughes,” Ilya smoothed Shane’s hair. “Bood won it. Team looks good.”

“Good,” Shane rolled onto his good side carefully. “Exciting yet?”

“Is boring, will be boring game,” Ilya helped Shane get situated, his large hand resting on Shane’s bicep. “Should be something we can handle.”

Almost as soon as Ilya commented on the nature of the game, New Jersey scored. 

Two minutes later, another goal.

Shane could feel Ilya tense, even though he couldn't see him. His parents were equally as quiet, and for a moment he considered slipping off the mask to catch a glimpse of the game. 

Almost as if Ilya could read his mind, a large hand captured his and laced their fingers together with a tight squeeze, calming Shane’s frayed nerves. It was difficult, not being on the ice and not even being able to follow the game visually, because he could tell something wasn’t going right. 

“Shoot puck,” Ilya grumbled quietly. “Run the play.”

There was no fanfare—no goal horn or goal song to follow the intensity—and Ilya sighed deeply. 

New Jersey scored again.

Three goals in the first period against Wyatt Hayes was unheard of, and Shane wasn’t sure if the sinking feeling in his gut was from the aftermath of his injury or the guilt that had been eating away at him since the night prior.

By the time the first intermission started, the tension in the Rozanov-Hollander home was palpable. Yuna’s usual commentary was absent, and as Shane tried to regulate his emotions and slow his breathing, the sound of his father—or who he assumed was his father because the footfalls were too heavy to be his mother—in the kitchen was the only tangible noise. 

“Second period is starting soon,” Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand, which had been in his most of the game. “Wiebe probably corrected mistakes. Can get better.”

Shane swallowed thickly.

“Do not stress,” Ilya leaned down and kissed Shane’s temple. “Is not on you. Is not on me. We have bad game sometimes.”

“Not very often,” Shane muttered. “We’re getting close to the playoffs. Can’t afford it.”

Ilya wrapped the arm once holding Shane’s hand around his husband’s waist and pulled him closer.

“Stress is bad for concussion.”

Shane nodded lazily, letting Ilya hold him as the commentators began recapping the first period while the face off began.

Shane felt sick hearing his name.

He felt guilty hearing Ilya mentioned, and how the Centaurs were without their captain.

“Fuck,” Ilya whispered, careful of Shane’s vulnerable position. “What the hell?”

Shane felt his husband’s quads tense, and he knew Ilya was seemingly censoring himself and his usual enthusiastic responses to their games. 

Even when they were watching game tape, Ilya was bold, brash, and loud. Now, as Shane relaxed against his hold, he was quiet and contained—the exact opposite of who Ilya usually is.

Guilt gnawed at Shane’s stomach and he felt panicky.

Memories of the last few days came back to him in flashes, and as he was consumed by the overwhelming quiet of the living room, he ruminated.

Ilya had dropped everything to care for him.

Ilya wasn’t sleeping in their bed, unless they were napping, because he was scared of hurting Shane.

Ilya was missing practices and games to stay home with him, even when his parents weren’t there.

The commentators didn’t seem to care that Shane wasn’t on the ice, but every other mention of the game referenced Ilya’s absence.

Ilya had given up everything for Shane, and Shane couldn’t even walk to their room and give him space to watch the game.

Shane felt tears prick his eyes, and he was suddenly grateful for the mask he was wearing. He was great at reducing his body language to seemingly nothing, but his eyes always gave him away—especially to Ilya.

“New Jersey scored again,” Ilya spat through gritted teeth. “We are falling apart.”

Shane bit back an apology, the words lingering like a bitter taste and he felt poisonous.

It was his fault—and his fault alone—that Ilya wasn’t on the ice.

He could have stuck it out in Montreal instead of putting a target on his back. Even though the locker room's toxicity broke him, it was better than being targeted by the people he had once considered friends.

“You are thinking hard,” Ilya’s thumb brushed over Shane’s ribs. “Is just hockey game.”

Shane stayed silent, the words threatening to destroy him. He couldn’t do that to his husband, not after he was the reason for the game's trajectory. 

“Believe it or not we have been worse,” Ilya tried to joke, but it didn’t land with Shane who was all-consumed by his spiralling thoughts and internal anguish.

He wasn’t doing well, and it had nothing to do with his existing injuries.

Shane was silent, and he couldn’t tell if Ilya was tense because of the game, or because of the lack of reaction from Shane. 

“Second period is over,” Yuna commented, squeezing Shane’s good ankle. “Are you sure you don’t want the pain pill? It might help.”

“I’m sure,” Shane sighed. “Tylenol is fine.”

“I can bring it over anyway,” She pressed, worried about her son. 

“No, it’s fine.”

Shane would apologize later for being so short with everyone, but as a slight twinge in the back of his neck caught him off guard, he didn’t have the energy for empty pleasantries. 

“Is not bad to take it,” Ilya reminded him after his mother had left. “Sleep is good for your brain.”

Shane nodded. 

“We can go to bed after game,” Ilya started tracing small patterns along Shane’s ribs. “Get good sleep.”

Shane nodded again. 

“Are you okay?” Ilya asked, hoping for the honesty and openness they’d been working toward for years. “Head? Ankle?”

“Just wish I could see the game,” Shane half-lied. “It’s weird being in the dark.”

“Would not like watching,” Ilya admitted. “Lines are a mess. Off our game.”

“I figured,” Shane sighed. “You could’ve played.”

“I am where I need to be,” Ilya ended the argument before it could begin. “Hockey is game. You are husband. Husband always wins.”

Shane nodded, his eyes watering behind the dark mask.

He wished Ilya understood that their team needed him, probably more than he did. He would never force him to play—they’ve surpassed the petty arguments and picking major fights to get the other to do what they want portion of their relationship—but he wanted Ilya to understand the importance of his captaincy. 

Shane had his parents to help, but it was clear the Centaurs needed their captain in the room and on the ice.

Shane shifted uncomfortably as the base of his skull throbbed in time with his half-racing heart.

“Hey,” Ilya whispered, careful not to attract the attention of his in-laws. “We can go to bed.” 

“‘m okay,” Shane muttered. “One more period.”

It wasn’t even three minutes into the third when New Jersey scored their sixth, and hopefully final, goal. Ilya had stopped reacting to the atrocity they were witnessing, and Shane was thankful that he wasn’t moving as much. With each flinch from Ilya, his head throbbed and his stomach rolled.

He was in too deep now, and the Tylenol had stopped working somewhere midway through the second. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he wanted his family to at least have this time together before they had to drag his dead weight down the hallway to their bed.

His mom had been so excited to watch the game with them, and his dad looked relaxed and comfortable in their home.

He wasn’t going to take that away from them if he could help it. 

He had already taken so much from Ilya, and his parents were taking time off from their jobs to be with them. He needed to be as easy on them as possible. 

His stomach lurched when he turned his head too quickly, and his ears were ringing by the time he’d finally rolled onto his back.

Beneath the mask, his eyes were squeezed closed while he fought the dizziness that threatened to take him out right there in his husband’s lap.

“Shane,” Ilya’s hand was on his cheek in an instant. “Shane.”

He tried to respond, he really did, but his tongue felt too big for his mouth and Ilya’s voice sounded like it was at the end of a kilometers-long tunnel.

“Shane,” Ilya’s voice was sharper this time, and there was another set of hands on his body.

The mask had been pulled off and the TV was dark.

The entire room was dark—save for a small lamp in the corner—but as he opened his eyes slowly, his vision swam and white spots danced across his line of sight.

Ilya’s face looked distorted, but Shane knew he was anxious.

“Honey,” Yuna crouched next to the pair. “We’ve been trying to get your attention for a little while. What’s happening?”

Shane opened his mouth to speak, and his stomach rolled.

“D’zzy,” Shane slurred. “Hur’s.”

Ilya’s hand froze, and Yuna pressed on the pressure point between Shane’s thumb and forefinger.

He almost gagged.

“You are pale,” Ilya observed. “Worse than last night.”

“‘m okay,” Shane’s voice was small—smaller than Ilya had ever heard it—and his eyes were looking past everyone. “Did the game start?”

“Start?” Yuna’s voice was tight. “It’s almost over.”

“Oh.”

“Ilya,” Shane looked up with a furrowed brow. “Not playing?”

“No,” Ilya brushed his thumb over Shane’s cheek. “Have been here with you since hospital. Did not leave.”

“Shoulda played,” Shane sniffled. “‘m bad comp’ny. They need y’u.” 

Ilya stiffened, but his thumb never stilled. He wanted to do more—to help more—but the doctor had told him, while Shane was unconscious, that healing his injuries would not be linear.

He’d been warned of the setbacks, but he wasn’t prepared for this. He would never be prepared to see his husband in so much pain. 

“We should go to bed,” Ilya soothed. “Get medicine. Sleep."

“No,” Shane argued weakly. “Hur’s to move.” 

“Bed will be better,” Ilya countered. “Ice for ankle like doctor said. Pain medicine to make it stop.”

“‘ll jus’ throw it up,” Shane was starting to pale, and in the low light he looked almost green. “‘m dizzy.” 

Ilya’s stomach sank.

He had been so focused on the game—and on getting Shane to leave the mask alone—that he hadn’t watched closely enough to pick up on the cues that Shane’s body had likely been giving the entire evening.

“Buddy,” David’s voice is what brought Ilya back to the present. “Mom went to get your medicine. Let’s get you to bed. It’s been a busy day.”

Shane tried to shake his head, but the movement drained all remaining color from his cheeks.

“Don’t move too much,” David was sitting on the coffee table. “Ilya and I are going to sit you up.” 

“‘kay,” Shane closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Slow.”

“Da,” Ilya had his arm under Shane’s shoulders. “Very.” 

“Ready?” David looked up at Ilya whose eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “Let’s get him up.”

Together, they gently got Shane into an upright position, and he looked awful. Ilya was panicking—rightfully so—and his heart felt like it was going to crawl out of his throat. Shane swayed slightly, and he immediately threw an arm around him to keep him upright.

But his color was off, and a thin layer of sweat covered his forehead. His dark hair was sticking to it, and he knew Shane would hate it if he was more aware.

Before Ilya could think twice, Shane lurched forward gagging, and David thrust the empty bin under his son’s chin.

There wasn’t much for him to bring up other than the smoothie and a few bites of chicken he’d had for dinner, but as Shane dry heaved, Ilya braced him across the chest and kept him from pitching forward into the table.

When he was finished, Shane’s body collapsed against him like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

“Kiddo,” David’s hands were on Shane’s shoulders as his vision swam. “Deep breath. I know it sucks.” 

Shane nodded weakly while his husband and father supported his wavering body.

“Dad,” Shane’s eyes were watery. “Hurts. Mom?”

“I know,” David looked up at Ilya sadly. “Mom’s coming back right now. Can you take the medicine?”

“Yeah.”

Yuna was back before Shane knew she was gone, even though she had been out of the room for a while. She tapped his lips with the straw from a glass, and the cool liquid soothed his raw throat.

He swallowed the pill next.

“Good,” Ilya rubbed his back and pushed down his own panic. “Will work fast.”

Shane took two shaky breaths before he let himself relax, begging the water and the pain pill to stay down.

Ilya was kicking himself for not getting the medication in Shane’s system sooner.

He was—on one hand—thankful that Shane was apprehensive about narcotics. Ilya had witnessed the aftermath of his mother’s death and hated pills. He’d see. teammates and other athletes take mysterious leaves of absence months after their own injuries. He didn’t want Shane to become reliant on them.

So far, Shane has relied more on Tylenol and sleep than on the prescription.

Ilya hated it.

“Dad and I are taking you to room,” Ilya whispered. “Will go slow. Mom is going to call Nurse Line at hospital.”

It was a struggle getting Shane to the knee scooter, and probably wasn’t one of their best ideas, but David and Ilya managed to get Shane down the hall to the bedroom without incident. 

He had swayed some, Ilya tightening his grip on Shane’s waist, and by the time they reached the bed, the medicatio. had started to pull Shane under.

“Where’s m’m?” Shane’s eyes wandered as Anya, who had previously been sleeping in her bed, curled up at his feet. “W’s she here?”

“She’s still here,” Ilya lifted Shane’s legs onto the bed. “Did not leave.”

“Really?” 

“Da,” Ilya watched David leave the room briefly. “Has been here since Dad got home.”

“Gl’d she came,” Shane’s eyes fluttered closed. “Hurts.”

“I know. Dad went to get ice pack,” Ilya brushed Shane's sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. “Is coming right back. He is going to sit with you. I am going to talk to Mama when she is done.”

“Kay,” Shane sunk into the pillows. “Love you so much.”

“I love you too, moye solnyshko,” Ilya sniffled. “Sleep.”

Shane nodded.

When David returned, ice pack in hand, Ilya took it and placed it over Shane’s casted ankle and sat quietly at the foot of the bed scratching Anya behind the ears.

“Is that how it was the first night?” David asked gently, sitting next to Ilya.

The younger man nodded.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that alone.”

“Bood was here,” Ilya shrugged. “And you and Yuna are here now. Was not as bad with help.” 

“I’m glad you have each other. In sickness and in health is one of the hardest things about being married,” David half-smiled. “You’re doing a good job.”

Ilya nodded.

“I’ll sit with him,” David squeezed his son-in-law’s shoulder. “You can go talk to Yuna and take a minute for yourself.”

Ilya nodded again, eyes flooding rapidly with tears.

“It’ll be okay,” David encouraged Ilya to get up with a slight nudge. “I’ve been his dad for over 30 years. Go check on what the doctor said to do.”

Wiping his hands on his sweats, Ilya stood. His legs felt like jelly, his hands were shaking, and with one final glance at a now-sleeping Shane, he gave David a sad smile.

David returned the gesture. 

Once Ilya stepped outside of their bedroom—heart hammering against his ribs and threatening to chisel its way out of his chest—he hit the wall and slid to the floor.

He didn’t even make it half way to the guest room where he had intended to talk to Yuna.

He was terrified of what he’d just seen, and never, ever wanted to witness Shane take such a harsh left turn into injury or illness ever again. He hated it when his husband was in pain, and he was trying diligently not to be upset with Shane for ignoring his body for the sake of spending time with his family.

His health needed to come first, and Ilya missed all the signs that Shane was hiding something all because he was frustrated with the game.

Ilya pulled his phone from his pocket, hands trembling, with the intention of texting Lisa and asking what the hell he should do. 

Instead, he was met by missed messages from nearly everyone, including Hayden.

Hayden. 

Shit.

Ilya tugged at the ends of his hair, knowing he should have been updating him and Jackie about Shane. With the way their return home—and subsequently every other day—had gone, he hadn’t paid much attention to anyone other than Shane.

Hayden
How’s Shane doing? You’re
ignoring my texts dude. You promised 
you’d give me updates and I’m 
dying over here. The kids and 
Jacks are worried, too. 
We’re worried about both of you.  

As Ilya read the text over and over, sitting on the floor outside of the bedroom door, he felt a sudden pang of guilt deep in his chest. He had promised Hayden updates, but since they’d returned home, nothing in his phone had mattered.

It was a shitty thing to forget. No matter how confused Ilya was by Shane’s career-long friendship with Hayden Pike could be, he loved the Pike family all the same, and he should have given Hayden the promised updates while Shane’s recovery process started. He didn’t have an excuse—he would have wanted the same thing if, God forbid in some alternate universe, the roles were reversed—and his phone burned in his hand.

Can I call?

Hayden
Give me ten minutes to finish
bedtime with Amber. He okay?

Yes. Just easier to explain
over phone. Tough night but
is okay for most part.

Hayden
I’ll call as soon as my kid’s asleep.

Ilya leaned against the wall and waited for time to pass. He hated this—the waiting, the pain on Shane’s face, and not being able to fix it—and his stomach rolled as he recalled the information Shane’s doctor and Lisa had given him. 

Rest.

Don’t overdo it.

Sleep is essential for brain and body recovery.

Limit visitors.

Don’t rush back into normal activities.

He had been so careful with Shane’s recovery. Medications were administered on schedule, lights were dimmed, and screens were a hard no even when Shane tried to negotiate. He’d slipped a sleep mask over his husband’s eyes while they “watched” the hockey game that evening, and he had locked his phone away in the nightstand until Shane’s follow-up appointment the following week. He had done everything right—encouraged naps, kept Shane hydrated, and limited visitors—but still, Shane was in their bed, his dad by his side, in a type of pain Ilya had only witnessed on their first night back home.

It confused him, more than anything, that Shane had been so good for nearly 24 hours, and now he was wrapped in the fog and haze of pain medication and dizziness. 

It sucked, and Ilya felt like his world was a little less bright when Shane was this injured.

The ten minutes Hayden had promised felt like hours, but when the phone in Ilya’s hand buzzed and displayed a picture of his four favorite children, he answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” Hayden’s voice was soft as Ilya heard a door creak closed on the other end of the line. “How’s our boy?”

“Was okay for almost full day,” Ilya scrubbed a hand over his face, his chin stubbly and scruffy under his palm. “Tonight was not so good.”

“What happened?” Hayden pressed for a little more information. “Not so good how?”

“Just in pain,” Ilya felt a tear trickle down his cheek and land on the worn collar of his sweatshirt. “Was on couch with me and David and Yuna. Listened to hockey game. Game ended. Then was suddenly sick. Head mostly. Sort of ankle.” 

Hayden inhaled, and Ilya could almost hear him thinking through the phone.

“The kids made him cards,” Hayden’s voice cracked. “Arthur and Amber really don’t understand, you know, but Jade and Ruby do. They’re worried about their uncles. Jacks put together something for you. Both of you. I tried to help but she banished me.”

“Is smart woman,” Ilya half-joked. “I miss your kids.”

“They miss you, too,” Hayden voice was tender, like he was speaking to his toddler. “Is there anything we can do from here? Any way we can help?”

“I do not know,” Ilya confessed sadly. “I want to be mad at whole Metros organization but Shane is being voice of reason.”

“I got chewed out for going to the hospital with you. I almost beat the shit out of Comeau in the hallway,” Hayden laughed dryly. “JJ broke it up and yelled at me. Can I tell you something?” 

“Da,” Ilya whispered, wiping away another tear.

“I think if I can swing it, I’m retiring,” To Ilya, it sounded like this was the first time Hayden had said these words aloud when it wasn’t in the heat of the moment.

He froze.

“I didn’t do enough when Shane was here, and it’s not like retiring fixes that,” Hayden rambled. “But I can’t stay in this locker room and no one’s really looking to pick up a guy almost past his prime.”

“I see,” Ilya sighed heavily. “We will support decision. Even if you stay longer.”

“Thank you,” Hayden breathed a sigh of relief. “Jackie said the same thing. We’re in a good place.”

“Da,” Ilya confirmed. “I was worried we would have to tell Shane no more hockey. I do not think he realizes he will have very slow summer.

“We can keep you busy,” Hayden joked. “The kids love visiting.”

“Would they want to visit soon?” Ilya asked without giving it a second thought. “You have short break next week? Just like us?”

“I think we have two days off soon,” Hayden confirmed. “Weird for us.”

“Da, we are lucky to get one sometimes. Felt like everything was back to back last week.” 

“Are we getting old?” Hayden joked. “I don't remember being this tired.”

“You have fifteen children, Pike, you have always been tired,” Ilya teases. “But you and baby Pikes and Jackie will visit? I think Shane needs to see everyone.”

“I’ll have to see if our optional skate is actually optional,” Hayden sighed. “If it’s not, we will find some time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ilya said softly. “Is late for you, Pike. Past bed time.”

“Yeah,” Hayden chuckled, and Ilya could tell it was empty of all emotions. “Big game tomorrow. We’ve got New York. Gonna get our ass kicked.” 

“By ancient Scott Hunter? Pee wee team could beat him now,” Ilya laughed, also void of any serious emotion. “I am sorry I did not text.”

“It’s cool, dude,” Hayden acknowledged. “It was a lot for anyone. But you’ll text me tomorrow how he’s doing?”

“Yes, and you will let me know about visit?”

“Absolutely,” Hayden confirmed. “Night, Roz. Give our boy a hug for me.” 

As the phone call ended, Ilya curled around his knees and let himself cry. He cried for himself and for her perfect, gorgeous husband, who was injured in their bed. His heart hurt, and as he cried he failed to hear the door open quietly behind him.

Wordlessly, David Hollander slid to the floor next to his son-in-law—with aching knees and a back that sometimes locked up—and pulled him closed.

“It’ll be okay,” David whispered. “We just have to get through the shitty part. Yuna’s making her call now. You can text Lisa. Mom will tell us what we do next. We’ve got you.” 

Ilya choked out a sob, and let himself be held.

“It’s okay,” David rocked them gently as Ilya cried into his t-shirt. “We’re all okay.” 

“I hate them,” Ilya cried, probably harder than he ever had before. “Is not fair. He was feeling better.”

“It’s not,” David continued to hold Ilya close, like he’d always done with Shane. “I hate them, too.”

“I just want to fix,” Ilya croaked, clinging to David like a lifeline. “Is not fair. Is Shane, is not supposed to be like this.”

“He’s tough,” David found himself a little choked up as he spoke. “We’ll all get through this. It’ll be okay.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” David squeezed his son-in-law, letting him take the lead. “We’ll get it figured out. Yuna won’t even be mad if you take a swing on one of them. She told me in the car.”

“Good.” 

Chapter Text

Shane handled his backslide better than Ilya, much to everyone's surprise. 

Yuna and David had expected heightened anxiety and tension from both their son and son-in-law, but were uncomfortably surprised when only Ilya doubled down on the strict guidelines shared by the doctor and reiterated by the 24/7 Nurses Line and Dr. Lisa Hayes. Shane was pushing boundaries, especially when he started to recover from the incident two days prior, and Ilya was not giving in to his husband's antics.

Shane showered, but only with supervision.

No visitors, even when Shane looked at him with watery, brown eyes.

Pain pills were no longer an option if they could get in front of the ankle and concussion.

No screens, at all, even if Shane promised it was just to check their standings and stats.

Yuna watched intently as Ilya became militant about Shane’s recovery, and she quietly worried—and sometimes privately discussed with David—that Ilya would forgo his return to the Centaurs in favor of staying home with Shane as he navigated recovery.

David knew Yuna would never let that happen, but privately assumed that Ilya would put up quite the fight when it came time to leave for his game. 

And he did.

Which is why, standing in the entryway of the large home, David made a point of leading by example and excused himself to run errands before returning to the home he shared with Yuna for the night.

“You’ll do great, kiddo,” David said as he squeezed Ilya’s shoulder and left. “I’ll make sure I’m following along.”

Ilya stood anxiously with his hands in his pockets as his father-in-law left, leaving him to face the potential wrath of his mother-in-law and husband if he decided, suddenly, to scratch himself from that afternoon’s lineup. 

He was already dressed in his gameday suit—his go-bag was sitting by the door—but his stomach churned when he thought about leaving. 

“You’ll call?” He asked timidly, looking over at Yuna. “If anything happens?”

“I’ll call if it’s anything serious.”

“And if something else happens?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“I’ll text you.”

There was no arguing with Yuna Hollander; he knew better, but something in Ilya’s stomach didn’t feel right as he squatted down to say goodbye to his dog.

Anya licked his cheek and trotted back to Shane after he kissed her forehead.

“He’s asleep on the couch, honey,” Yuna reminded Ilya when he stood, unbuttoning the top button of the navy blue dress shirt. “It’s going to be fine. He’s going to be fine.”

“But, he might not be,” Ilya looked over her shoulder at his sleeping husband. 

“I’ll make sure he follows all of the instructions,” Yuna reminded him. “It’s not my first rodeo.” 

“I know.”

Yuna stepped forward and placed her hands on Ilya’s shoulders, making eye contact with her anxious and frustrated son-in-law.

Ilya stood tensely.

“Go play,” She reassured him. “I raised Shane. I can handle it for an afternoon.” 

Tearfully, Ilya nodded and pulled Yuna into a tight hug that was as much for him as it was for her. As she rocked him gently back and forth, he watched Shane sleep through tear-blurred vision and sighed.

“I will go,” he reached for his keys that were abandoned on the counter days ago. “But you will call?”

“I’ll call.” 

Walking out the door was a feat, and Yuna watched as Ilya’s car pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the street. She always worried about her boys, but as he left, something in his body language made her nervous for him during the game, even though he’d play his best.

She just hoped he would play smart.

Taking advantage of the quiet, Yuna settled on the couch at Shane’s head and picked up her book. Careful not to disturb her son, she decided against watching anything on TV and dove back into the mystery.

She rarely had anything to distract her from her reading these days, but she found her eyes wandering to her son as she turned the page, watching for signs of discomfort.

Shane slept on.

As he slept, Yuna remembered sleepless nights with a colicky baby and hospital stays when Shane had been young and ill with a weak immune system.

She thought about times when he had been injured or sick and stubborn, much like he had been over the last several days.

Yuna also thought about what led them to this moment, and her heart broke for her family. Shane and Ilya deserved the best, and she was staunchly against anyone who tried to take that from them.

She continued reading, falling headfirst into the story, and when Shane finally woke, she had been watching the game for more than a period.

In fact, Shane had slept well into the second period and showed no signs of waking until she accidentally celebrated a big hit Ilya made against an opposing player.

From there, Shane listened, and Yuna added her own notes when necessary. 

“Sounds like we’re falling apart,” Shane muttered, trying to peel away the eye mask but being stopped by a warm hand. “Mom.”

“Leave it,” Yuna scolded. “You’re off screens until your follow-up.”

“I want to see what’s happening,” Shane argued weakly. “I don’t like the commentary.”

“You’re down 2-0,” She relayed. “Twelve left in the second period. Ilya’s playing well. His line is balanced. Yours is still out of whack, but they’re compensating.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Shane’s voice cracked. “I should be out there.”

“I’m not arguing that,” Yuna scratched Shane’s scalp, something that brought him comfort when he was a child. “But we can’t change what happened.”

“Can we be pissed off about it?”

“You’ll have to get in line,” She laughed, continuing the comforting motion. “I think Ilya’s pissed off enough for everyone.”

“Really?”

“Horribly angry,” Yuna confirmed. “So is the rest of your team. They’re playing like they have something to prove.”

The statement stilled Shane’s racing thoughts for a fleeting moment, and instead, he was filled with deep-seated guilt. He should have been more careful during their game. He knew he hadn’t been as attentive as he should have been, and now he’s facing the consequences.

“Don’t think like that,” Yuna reprimanded. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” She brushed stray hair from his forehead. “I’m your mom. I know you.” 

As Yuna watched and Shane listened to the game, guilt gnawed at his heart like a starved animal. He wanted to be on the ice with his team, and every time he heard the commentary mention his husband, his stomach sank.

Of course, they were excited that Ilya was back on the ice; he is the captain.

Still, he hoped that by the time preseason rolled around, they would be equally as excited for his return. He wasn’t sure how he would handle it if they weren’t, or if they were critical of his skills and abilities.

He’s a great hockey player—the best in the league despite his husband’s teasing—and he didn’t want the feeling around his return to be anything shy of excitement.

He wouldn’t know what to do if it were negative.

He definitely wouldn’t know what to do if it were reminiscent of his departure for Ottawa.

“Dykstra just got two minutes for hooking,” Yuna said, voice laced with frustration. “They’re getting sloppy.”

Shane hummed in response.

“You balance the team,” she said gently, not wanting to upset her son. “It will fix itself when you’re back, but they need to fix it before the playoffs.”

“If they make it.”

“You will,” She said confidently. “Even if you lose out, you’re still sneaking in over Carolina.” 

“If you say so.”

“Shane Hollander,” she scolded jokingly. “You don’t trust your mother now?”

“I don’t trust the league.”

“Oh,” Yuna almost gasped. “I guess that makes sense, given everything that’s going on.” 

Shane sighed heavily as the game continued, Yuna making sure to relay anything that the commentary was leaving out. 

By the end of the second period, the Centaurs had managed to score two goals, leaving the score tied as they entered the second intermission. 

“Seems like they’re playing better,” Shane acknowledged, fidgeting with the sleep mask. “At least from what you’re saying.”

“They cleaned it up,” Yuna’s voice was measured. “Your line looks better.”

“It’s not my line.”

“It’ll be yours when you get back,” She reminded him. “You don’t lose your line just because you break your ankle.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Yuna’s words were firm, definitive. “You’ll be welcomed back enthusiastically. You’re the missing piece.”

“I’m second line.”

“Is that what this is about?” Yuna sat up straighter, slipping the mask off Shane’s eyes. “Shane, look at me.”

Shane looked anywhere but at his mother, her warm hand on his cheek.

“Look at me.”

He refused.

“Shane Hollander,” She said firmly for a second time that afternoon. “Being on the second line and not being the captain of your team does not make you less-than.”

“It makes it seem like I have less to lose.”

“You don’t,” She reminded him. “We knew the move to Ottawa would come with changes. Is it bothering you?”

“No.”

“Then what is?” Yuna asked softly, holding her son's gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel out of place right now. Like I don’t know what any of it means anymore.”

She felt tears prick her eyes as she watched her son’s face contort with emotional distress. He was usually so stoic, so seeing him this emotional was hard for her, even when she’d witnessed it before.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered. “It means you care.”

“Maybe I care too much.”

“You might,” She reached for her son’s hand carefully, hoping not to startle away his openness. “But it’s okay to care too much. It means it matters.”

“I hate this,” Shane’s bottom lip began to tremble as his eyes filled with tears. “I wish I was there.”

“You’ll be able to join them soon if you want,” Yuna reminded him. “Once you’re cleared by the doctor, he said you can attend home games.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough.”

If that wasn’t a dagger to Yuna’s heart, she didn’t know what would be. Her son—her precious, perfect Shane—cared deeply about his team, hockey, and his presence. She wanted to gather him in her arms like she did when he was little and protect him from everything bad and painful, but she couldn’t.

She didn’t know what she could do to ease his pain.

“Do you want to finish the game?” She asked softly. “We can put on something else for you to listen to instead.”

Shane tensed next to her. 

“I want to finish it,” He sniffled, the mask pulled back over his eyes by his mother before he could fixate on the screen. “Mom.”

“You know the rules,” She reminded him lovingly. “No screens.”

“I can’t wait to watch TV again. And I hate watching TV.”

“Injuries put things into perspective,” she teased. “Ilya will be thrilled to have a movie night once you’re able.”

“He always wants a movie night.”

“With ice cream,” She ruffled Shane’s hair. “Maybe we can all join you.”

“I promise you, you don’t want to do that,” Shane smirked. “Ilya’s movie nights get a little…”

“That’s all you need to say,” Yuna kissed her son’s temple. “Third period is about to start.” 

“Think they can pull it off?”

“I know you can,” Yuna subtly redirected Shane’s attempt to separate himself from his team. “It’ll be tough.”

“They’ll figure it out.” 

In the end, Ottawa won 3-2 with a goal from Luca Haas with less than a minute left. Shane, who had held on for as long as he could, missed the fanfare as he dozed on the couch next to his mother. He was exhausted, and it broke Yuna’s heart to see her son so tired.

She gave him a few moments of rest, but as the post-game interviews and recaps flashed across the screen, she woke him just enough to use the mobility device and make it to bed with Anya in tow. The dog was a godsend, sleeping next to Shane during a majority of the game, and now lying with her head on his shin as Shane slept.

Yuna watched from the opposite side of the bed, staying close enough to watch for any signs that her son needed her before returning to the living room. 

She looked around the room, anxious and a little bit emotional from the conversation she had with Shane. She got to work cleaning. She straightened the couch and its respective blankets and pillows, ran the dishwasher, and wiped down any hard surfaces that needed attention.

She did laundry.

She organized the refrigerator full of leftovers and easy meals dropped off by friends and teammates.

She decided to forgo vacuuming so she wouldn’t disturb Shane’s sleep. 

She even watered the houseplants Ilya had accumulated over the last few years, many of which were beginning to look neglected.

Finally, she texted her son-in-law, giving him a short update on Shane as she promised.

She didn’t get anything back, thankfully, meaning that Ilya was paying attention to the road as he drove. 

And, when she heard a car pull into the driveway, she straightened her shirt and fixed her hair, hoping to give off an illusion of togetherness when Ilya saw her. 

“Hey,” Ilya walked in the door, suit bag in hand, falling in the entryway. “How is Shane?”

The house was startlingly quiet when Ilya stepped inside, and he wasn’t sure he had the energy to balance out his anxiety with conscious belief that everything was fine. 

“He’s good,” Yuna stepped forward and wrapped her son-in-law in a warm, loving hug. “Good game, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.” 

Yuna wasn’t worried, and that eased Ilya’s mind as he stepped forward into her embrace and let himself be held for a fleeting moment.

He had been terrified to leave for the game, but she had promised to look after Shane—and Ilya believed her wholeheartedly. Still, leaving for the rink was one of the most difficult decisions he had made in a very long time. 

He hadn’t even wanted to go. 

“Is really good or Shane pretend good?” Ilya pulled away slowly, looking for signs of his partner. “Was not a pretty game. But was a win.”

“Had some big feelings about the game,” Yuna admitted. “He didn’t watch, but he listened, just like the last one. I think he’s sad.”

Ilya’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Sad?” Ilya looked up slowly, his thoughts laced with worry. “Is bad?”

“No, honey,” Yuna squeezed his hand before they migrated to the kitchen. “Just missing the game. Feeling some things I tried to explain away. I don’t know if it worked. Is Hayden on his way?”

His heart ached, even as Yuna explained the situation at hand. Ilya was worried that too much time in his own head would make Shane feel like him, or worse, his Mama. And Ilya never wanted Shane to feel that way.

He would do everything he could to prevent it. 

“Yes, he called from car,” Ilya half-smiled. “Will be about two hours. Is excited to see Shane. No kids or Jackie, so is calmer.” 

“I’m going to get out of your hair today,” Yuna motioned to her packed bag. “Do you feel okay with me doing that? He’s napping right now, but he knows that’s my plan. He was okay with me going home as long as we come back if you need us to.”

Ilya paused, just for a moment, to consider what it would mean for David and Yuna to go home. Even though David had left earlier that morning to go take care of a few necessary errands, one of them had been at their home at almost all times since David had returned from Vancouver, and when they hadn’t been, there was a medical professional present. 

He was nervous, but Shane had been improving since the last bad night, and he felt that they were well-equipped to handle the day with the inclusion of Shane’s stipulation.

“You will come back if we call?” Ilya asked quietly. “Even if it is small?”

“We’ll come back whenever you need us,” Yuna nodded. “I promise. I won’t make the same mistake twice, Ilya.”

Looking around the cleaned, refreshed home, Ilya breathed a sigh of relief. As much as he wanted to cling to the comfort of his in-laws, he knew they needed to reintegrate into their routines, too.

Shane was doing well, and he could manage for a day.

“And this is not you going back forever?” Ilya questioned. “You will be back tomorrow?”

“We will,” Yuna smiled. “We’ll be back in time to make you all breakfast. Even Hayden, if he stays.”

“Okay,” Ilya nodded. “We will do okay. Shane is?”

“Napping,” She reminded him gently. “For about half an hour now. In your room.”

Ilya’s shoulders dropped from his ears; subtly, he had been looking for signs of his husband and found none. It was nice to be seen by Yuna, even if she didn’t explicitly state she’d watched him look for Shane.

“Was he okay?”

“Emotional, but the doctor told us that was to be expected with the concussion.” Yuna reached for Ilya’s hand. “It’s okay to go back to the team, honey. Shane understands. We would have let you know right away if something was wrong.”

“I know.”

“He’s always had such big feelings,” Yuna’s eyes started to water. “He never spoke about them, but I could always tell. Even when he wasn’t saying anything, his eyes always told me when my kid was sad or angry. Or hurt—especially when he was hurting.”

Ilya swallowed and squeezed his mother-in-law’s hand tight. 

He felt the same way—he could see what Shane felt before it was ever expressed—and it always left him deeply emotional. Shane didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, but instead kept it safe in his chest—sometimes at his own expense. 

“Do you need to talk?” She tilted her head to the side. “I can stay for a little while.” 

Ilya knew he looked tired; between his wake windows to check on Shane—even when they weren’t needed—and the physicality of the game against Carolina, he was exhausted. 

“I did not realize,” Ilya stopped to close his eyes and breathe for a moment. “How it would feel not playing with Shane. After playing together.”

“I know, Ilya,” she soothed. “He’ll be back out there before we know it.”

“I also do not like that he is sad,” Ilya confessed. “I try very hard to make him happy.”

“You make my son the happiest man in the world, Ilya Rozanov,” She scolded. “Please give yourself credit for that.”

He nodded again. 

“Is just hard. So much I want to say, but I need to wait until his brain is not tossed salad,” Ilya half-laughed, half-yawned. “I want to make sure he understands.” 

“He will,” She gently ran her hand up and down his arm, and memories of his mother raced through Ilya’s mind. “He’ll be better soon. It will feel normal again.”

“I do not like when he forgets,” Ilya whispered. “Is like Papa, except not sickness.”

Yuna’s heart ached for her son-in-law; he was a boy who became a man far too quickly, and was plagued with memories even her darkest thoughts couldn’t conjure in her mind.

“I love you,” She stepped forward and hugged him again. “I’m just a phone call away.”

He nodded against her shoulder and let Yuna hold him. He needed the comfort and the contact—though he would never admit it to anyone—to regulate his nervous system. 

“Thank you,” He whispered. “Have a nice day at home.”

“Oh,” Yuna pulled away and smiled. “Before you go worrying, Anya is in your bed with Shane. She went with him.” 

“Traitor. She always says hi to her Papa.” 

“I know,” Yuna gave his arm one more squeeze. “Go rest. We’ll be back tomorrow. You deserve a nap.”

Ilya watched his mother-in-law leave, and as the door closed gently behind her, he picked up his bag and went quietly to the bedroom. 

When he opened the door, Shane and Anya were asleep in the soft glow of the late-afternoon sun, and he did everything in his power not to disturb his family. Undressing quietly and pulling on a fresh t-shirt, he crawled into bed and held his breath as Shane twitched in his sleep.

Anya wasn’t phased.

“Hi,” Ilya whispered, in case Shane was awake enough to hear. “I am home. Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Snuggling closer and careful of his dog and his husband’s injuries, Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist and breathed deeply for the first time in hours.

It had been difficult; not going to the rink with Shane was one thing, but playing without him on the bench was another. 

He was grateful for his team and coaches, who were patient and understanding as he let Bood take the lead in the locker room while he checked his phone during intermissions and let his friend motivate the others through adversity. It’s why he had assistant captains, and why he loved them deeply. 

“Home,” Shane whispered, his hand brushing lazily through Ilya’s curls. “Love you.” 

As his eyes grew heavier, he knew he was safe to take a short nap with his husband. Hayden was instructed to text when he arrived and forego the doorbell for the sake of Shane’s concussion, and Ilya had set a silent alarm on his phone for roughly the same time.

He hated how meticulous he needed to be when it came to visitors, but he would move hell and Earth to ensure his husband was comfortable.

It was the least he could do for Shane.

Still, when the silent alarm vibrated, and Ilya woke slowly, it felt like he had only been asleep for minutes instead of nearly two full hours. His eyes were dry with sleep, and his limbs were heavy from exhaustion.

Looking over, Shane and Anya were sleeping peacefully—the dog’s head resting protectively on Shane’s shin. 

Peeling himself out of bed and nudging Anya awake, Ilya quietly slipped from the bedroom, let the dog outside, and when he finally made it to the front door, he was greeted by the slightly sullen face of Hayden Pike.

“Pike,” Ilya opened the door and ushered him inside. “Sorry about game. They are playing good. Beat us, too.” 

“No skin off my ass, I was benched,” Hayden huffed, dropping his overnight bag on the entry table. “Fucking Comeau. We got into it in the locker room and coach pulled me.” 

“Fuck,” Ilya raked a hand through his messy hair. “Is getting bad?”

“Fucking terrible,” Hayden walked into the living room and dropped onto the couch. “I’m glad Shane’s not there to see it crumble. It would break his heart.” 

“Yeah,” Ilya closed the door and joined Hayden. “Thank you for coming. I know it was long drive.”

“Yeah, man, no problem,” Hayden looked antsy, but kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “He asleep?”

“Da, we were napping,” Ilya confirmed sadly. “I will wake him up, if you want?”

“I kinda want to see him, but I know that’s selfish,” Hayden frowned. “Is that bad?”

“Is not bad,” Ilya shrugged. “Give me two minutes.”

Ilya jogged down the hall, and Hayden sat anxiously on the couch. He didn’t want to crowd Shane, but he needed eyes on his best friend before his anxiety could gnaw through his confidence.

As he waited, he pondered what he would say. Eventually, he would tell them about retirement. It would be easier for Hayden to tell Ilya than Shane; Shane would feel incredibly guilty, even though this has been a year or more in the making. 

His kids might take it hard, too, but if he promises to see Uncle Shane and Uncle Ilya more, it might ease their anxieties. 

“Oh,” Hayden looked up quickly and saw Shane balanced on the knee scooter with Ilya hovering closely behind. “Hey, Hayd!” 

“Hey, buddy,” Hayden smiled weakly. “It’s good to see you up. And conscious.”

“I feel a little more alive,” Shane rolled lazily over to the couch and had Ilya help him into a reclined seat with his foot propped. “You drove all the way up here today?”

“I did,” Hayden smiled. “Ilya asked if I had some free time. We have an off day tomorrow, and Jackie needed a full and official report.”

“Tell her I’m alive and breathing,” Shane leaned into Ilya’s side. “And I miss her and the kids.” 

Hayden was perplexed.

He hadn’t expected Shane’s cheerful demeanor and Ilya’s hospitality, especially after the injury. For all intents and purposes, Hayden was the enemy, and he had expected to be treated as such.

He hadn’t even been expecting Ilya’s phone call two nights ago, much less the invitation to visit. 

“I will,” Hayden half-smiled. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better than I have been,” Shane sighed, letting Ilya’s arm envelope his waist. “Up and down. Head’s a little clearer, but my ankle is killing me.”

“I’m sorry,” Hayden frowned. “It fucking sucks it happened.”

“Hard to prevent something like that,” Shane shrugged, and Hayden felt his blood boil. “I should have been more careful.”

Ilya, even keel and stone-faced, had fiery eyes as Hayden tried to tamp out the fire in his own. He couldn’t believe that Shane wasn’t blaming him—and how he wasn’t blaming Comeau was a different issue—and it made Hayden uncomfortable. 

“Shane.”

“I mean, I really made a whole mess of shit, didn’t I?” Shane half-laughed, a look of sadness engraved in his soft features. “Must’ve stopped the game for a hell of a long time.”

“Shane,” Hayden said firmly, not wanting this spiral to go any further. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” Shane smiled. “But I didn’t make anything better, either.”

“Comeau is only person to blame,” Ilya kissed the top of Shane’s head. “No one else. Him and shitty Metros.”  

Hayden’s stomach churned at Ilya’s words, knowing that he was arguably, logically, not included in that sentiment but still feeling guilty regardless.

“Hayden is one of those shitty Metros,” Shane winked. “Best friend trumps team affiliation, though, so I think he’s exempt.”

If Hayden had less control of his face, his jaw would be on the floor. Instead, his hands were sweating, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.

“You can keep me lumped in with them,” Hayden sighed, resigning himself to being a public enemy. “I was still there and didn’t stop it.” 

“You did try to fight Comeau in hallway,” Ilya laughed. “Seems like you are enemy of enemy. Makes you friend.”

“Glad we finally got here,” Shane rolled his eyes with a wince. “But a fight, Hayd? What?”

“Comeau was talking shit, JJ wouldn’t let me finish what he started,” Hayden shrugged. “Landing a punch would have been worth it.” 

“Absolutely not,” Shane argued.

“Absolutely yes,” Hayden countered, smirking. “He’s a piece of shit.”

“Next time, get video. Like World Star,” Ilya teased. “Will go viral on Twitter.” 

“Stop it,” Shane huffed. “We don’t fight. But I’m confused why you did.”

“Defending honor,” Ilya chuckled. “Your honor.”

“Something like that,” Hayden shot his friend a lopsided smile. “I don’t like how he talks about you. So I told him to fuck off.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Shane frowned. “You could have gotten suspended! Or worse!”

“Doesn’t really matter to me,” Hayden confessed. “I got benched anyway. He started shit in the locker room.”

“You cannot jeopardize your career,” Shane pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s hockey! Shit happens!”

Ilya tensed behind him, and Hayden couldn’t tell whether Shane was serious or delirious from his concussion. Of course, it mattered to Hayden to defend his friend, because this doesn’t just “happen”. 

“It was on purpose,” Hayden spat through gritted teeth. “He was bragging about it!”

“Because I caused a locker room problem,” Shane brushed off the malice in Hayden’s words. “Can we drop it?”

“Sure,” Hayden crossed his arms. “The kids miss their uncles.”

“You should have brought everyone along,” Shane frowned. “You know you’re always welcome here with the whole crew.”

“Not while you are recovering, Shane,” Ilya reminded him. “Would be too loud and too much energy. Next time.”

“Okay,” Shane leaned heavily into his husband’s side. “How is JJ?”

“Trying to keep his head down,” Hayden stated clearly. “I accidentally became an example, so he’s trying to avoid the same.”

“I hope it’s not too much of a mess,” Shane sighed heavily. “I knew leaving would be disruptive, but you all kind of fell off the deep end.”

“Is putting it lightly,” Ilya grinned. “Fell apart without you. But we are happy you are here.”

“If O’Connor retires, we’d have the cap space for you, Hayd,” Shane acted as if he’d already been doing the research. “You could join us.”

Hayden smiled at the compassion, but internally and silently, his mind was already made up. He didn’t want a new team; he needed a clean break from hockey culture, but he couldn’t tell Shane that right now. 

“I appreciate knowing that,” Hayden nudged Shane’s good leg with his foot. “But the kids are in school, and they’re pretty settled. I don’t think Jacks would be a fan of disrupting their routines when she’s in charge of them most of the time. I’ll be alright until my contract is up. It’s two more years.”

“That’s a long time,” Shane straightened up. “You sure?”

“Two years to keep my wife happy? I think I’ll manage. It’ll suck, but we can handle it,” Hayden looked over Shane’s head at Ilya, begging him to keep what he knew to himself. “I won’t resign.”

“You’ll retire? We’re still in our prime,” Shane whined. 

“You might be, but I’m falling apart,” Hayden masked his honesty with humor. “I want to be home more. Win-win.”

“I’ll miss seeing you on the ice.”

“I’d be around more with the family,” Hayden brushed off Shane’s concern. “Ilya Rozanov’s biggest hater, and Shane Hollander’s biggest fan.”

Shane froze.

“Please don’t fight today,” Shane closed his eyes with a sigh. “I know that was just a chirp, but I don’t think I can handle fighting.”

Ilya and Hayden stilled, looking at each other with wide eyes and bated breath. 

“We are on best behavior,” Ilya reassured his husband. “Have been since after game. We went to hospital together.”

Shane nodded, eyes still closed but mind reeling with concern. All he wanted was for Ilya and Hayden to get along—just like he gets along with Jackie—and the thought of them never putting their differences aside made him feel sick.

“We’re good, dude,” Hayden confirmed. “Really. You getting hurt, it, uh, put some things into perspective.”

As much as they hated to acknowledge it, Shane’s injury would be what bonded them forever. It took seeing him unconscious and brutally injured for a second time for the differences to be placed aside, but it worked.

And neither of them wanted it to happen again.

“For good this time?” Shane questioned, eyes open and bright. “Or just briefly?”

“For real,” Ilya squeezed Shane. “Like plane made you realize things.”

“I don’t want to talk about the plane,” Shane pinched the back of Ilya’s arm with a laugh. “Ever again, actually.”

“Is why we are married.”

“No, I think we have Hayd’s video to thank for that,” Shane teased. “We should probably say thank you.”

“Never,” Ilay wiggled himself out from under Shane. “I am making dinner. Solianka. Beef soup. We will eat.” 

“Sounds good, babe,” Shane let Ilya move him into a more favorable position. “How long?”

“Hour and half,” Ilya kissed the top of Shane’s head. “You two will talk. No screens, no loud.” 

“Yes, sir,” Hayden mock saluted his friend. “I will police screens, lights, and sounds.”

“Thank you.” 

As Ilya sauntered off, Hayden started to panic. Talking to Shane was easier when Ilya was a buffer—he could keep it lighter and more surface level—and he didn’t want to say the wrong thing and send Shane for a spiral. 

And, by the look on Shane’s face, Hayden didn’t think it would take much.

So, he sat silently while his best friend worked through personal breathing exercises. Hayden could see Shane’s chest rise, hold, and fall in measured breaths, and his fists clenched and unclenched in time with his breathing.

“Shane,” Hayden spoke softly as his friend finally opened his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”

That hit Hayden in the chest like a brick. 

“What’s going on up there, dude?” Hayden continued to needle his way into Shane’s inner monologue. “Anything specific?”

“No, my brain is mashed potatoes,” Shane joked. “I can’t remember anything from the day of the game. A few things before, maybe. I forget a lot. It worries Ilya.” 

“I understand,” Hayden frowned. “It was a pretty nasty head injury. How can I help?”

“Don’t pick fights with your team,” Shane deadpanned.

“Noted.”

“And just, be easy on him, I guess,” Shane blushed. “He’s doing everything for me, and it’s wearing him out. I’m trying not to be too much of a bother.”

“He wants to take care of you, bud,” Hayden’s voice was gentle, like he was speaking to his frightened children in the middle of a loud storm. “He married you for good and bad times.”

“I just don’t want to worry him too much with how I’m feeling up here,” Shane tapped at his temple. “He’s already worried about the physical stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m scared, Hayd,” Shane sniffled, forcing back tears. “What if this is what takes me out?”

Hayden’s heart pounded in his chest. He hadn’t considered that, while it wasn’t a career-ending injury, it could be what ended Shane’s career. He hated the thought that Shane Hollander could have hockey taken from him because of a senseless, shitty action by a homophobic prick.

“It won’t be,” Hayden reassured his friend. “Think about people who have bounced back from worse.”

“Like who?” Shane stared through Hayden. 

“You’re telling me you haven’t followed any hockey comeback stories? Seriously? You of all people?” Hayden hoped the joke would land. 

“Fuck off,” Shane kicked at Hayden with his good leg. 

“Landeskog is back in Colorado. He missed almost three full seasons,” Hayden reminded his friend. “Had a hell of a year.”

“He’s younger than I am,” Shane frowned. “And they’re all having a great season.”

“By a year,” Hayden rolled his eyes. “You cannot be this stubborn, Shane. You’ll be back on the ice in the fall.”

“Hopefully.”

“I never thought I’d hear Shane Hollander give up,” Hayden cast his bait. “This is something.”

“I’m not giving up.”

Hooked.

“Oh, really, because it seems like you are,” Hayden continued. “The Shane I know would be begging for recovery timelines.”

Shane’s nostrils flared.

“I know my recovery timeline,” Shane huffed. “I’m not giving up. I’m managing my expectations.”

“Expect more,” Hayden crossed his arms. “You’re going to be fine.”

“And if Comeau does it again?” Shane’s eyes watered. “Or someone else?”

Got him, Hayden thought. 

“He won’t,” Hayden stated firmly, leaving no room for argument. “I won’t let him.”

“And if you’re not there?”

“Someone else will put a stop to it,” Hayden insisted. “I know I haven’t been the greatest friend to you, Shane, but I won’t let anything happen to you ever again.”

“You’re a great friend,” Shane looked up with watery eyes. “What are you talking about? You’re my best friend.”

“I love you, dude, but I’ve let you down,” Hayden confessed weakly, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “I should’ve had your back more.”

“You did the best you could,” Shane sniffled. “You didn’t cause this. I need you to know that. His mind was made up well before gameday.”

“Shane,” Hayden whispered. “How are you not upset with me? With them? With everyone?”

Shane took a moment to respond. He was thinking, and Hayden watched closely for any signs of distress or discomfort. Instead of seeing either, Shane looked gentle.

“I am,” Shane croaked, taking a split second to choose his words. “Mad at them. But not at you.”

“You’re not?”

“Not at all,” Shane confirmed. “We’re in a shitty situation. But what Montreal has decided to do isn’t what you decided to do. Or JJ, I guess.”

“I was prepared for you to be really pissed off at me,” Hayden said, exhaling slowly. “And you’re not.”

Shane did his best to turn and face Hayden, avoiding any movements that would aggravate his injuries. 

“I’m upset at a lot of people and mad about a lot of things, but none of it is you,” He let a tear slip down his cheek. “You’re in a shit situation. That’s why I brought up Ottawa, even though I know you can’t do that to Jackie and the kids.” 

Shane and Hayden say in silence after the short confessional. Hayden felt ill-equipped and unprepared to help Shane’s concussion-rattled brain through what he would say next, but he would try his best to comfort his friend in whatever way he could.

“I’m just tired, Hayd,” Shane started to cry. “I thought they’d be over it by now. Over me-me, shit.”

Shane couldn’t finish his thought, and Hayden swiftly moved beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“I did too,” Hayden sighed. “I was wrong.”

“I get that they’re mad,” Shane cried softly, not wanting to worry Ilya as he cooked. “But this is a lot to deal with.”

“I know.”

“And mom said they’re not looking into it,” Shane swiped at the tears dripping from his chin. “What does that say to everyone else?

“Says more about them and the league than it does about you,” Hayden reminded him. “Comeau’s an ass. So are his buddies.” 

“We know that.”

“And Crowell can die whenever his crusty body is ready,” Hayden added with a laugh. “Everyone who matters is taking this seriously and cares about you. I promise your team won’t let it happen again—I can already smell retaliation.”

“That’s not what I want.”

Hayden sighed.

Of course, Shane would be levelheaded and even-keeled about this. He was never one for fighting or retaliation, even if it was warranted. His leadership was sorely missed in Montreal, even if no one cared to admit it. He kept them respectable and in line. 

He made most of them want to be better men off the ice, too. 

“I know it’s not what you want, but I think they’ve already made up their minds,” Hayden half-laughed. “I can feel your husband’s eyes on us. And I know when he’s plotting.”

“I told Dykstra to keep him out of trouble,” Shane’s voice cracked, and another round of tears started. “I doubt it works.” 

“He’ll try his best,” Hayden squeezed Shane’s shoulders again. “He’s scared, you know?”

“I guessed as much,” Shane sighed. “I don’t remember the hospital, but I remember him crying. I think.”

“We went together,” Hayden explained. “He made me leave before we could see you because he didn’t want to cause trouble with the Metros. He was worried I’d get in deep shit.”

“He did?”

“He did,” Hayden confirmed. “I was mad at first, but after getting ripped by coach and almost fighting Comeau in the hallway, it was probably a good idea.” 

“He’s intuitive,” Shane smiled lazily. “Almost scary. He always knows.”

“Is Russian upbringing,” Ilya startled both men sitting on the couch with his quiet return. “Are you okay if I let Anya inside? Had been out since Hayden got here. Did not want too much chaos, but she looks sad.”

Glancing over at the back door, they all saw the sad face of Anya staring inside with eagerness and anticipation. 

“Please?” Shane looked up with a wide smile. “She’s been the best companion while I’m stuck on the couch or in bed.” 

Hayden nodded, slightly surprised by the development. He knew Shane tolerated Anya on her best days and was apprehensive of her behavior on her worst. Seeing his best friend so excited for companionship—from a dog who regularly used his socks as toys, no less—was promising.

Ilya slid the back door open, and much to Hayden’s surprise, Anya calmly trotted inside, sniffed Shane’s casted leg, and jumped on the couch.

He watched as she circled twice, nudged Shane’s hand out of the way, and curled into his side with her chin on his thigh.

Shane’s hand found the soft fur immediately, and he scratched behind her ears.

“See, dog has betrayed me, her Papa,” Ilya sulked. “Is traitor in her own home.”

“She knows she needs him,” Hayden chirped back. “Once he’s healed, you know she’ll take back her loyalty.”

Shane didn’t say anything while his husband and friend spoke around him. He gently brushed over Anya’s coat, smiling to himself as she licked his wrist or pawed at his leg when he stopped momentarily to test his theories. She loved the attention Shane gave her, and probably, that he couldn’t run away from her incessant attempts at companionship.

“Started right when we got home,” Ilya returned with three bowls on a tray and drinks tucked under his arms. “Stuck to his side.”

“I would have helped,” Hayden quickly stood and took the tray from Ilya. “You can boss me around, you know. I’m not really a guest.”

“You can do dishes,” Ilya shrugged, handing Shane his water. “Is still hot, don’t be animals.”

“It’s usually me warning you,” Shane laughed. “Thank you.”

“Is husbandly duty,” Ilya kissed his cheek. “Hopefully is okay. Is not quite perfect but had most things. Hard when there is not Russian grocery store to send Yuna to.” 

Shane blew on a spoonful of soup and savored it quietly.

“Canadianized Russian beef soup?” Hayden laughed. “It smells great. Didn’t know you could cook?”

“Is team effort around here,” Ilya winked. “Shane makes rabbit food, I make meal for hockey players. Sometimes compromise.” 

“Just don’t fatten me up when I can’t work out,” Shane mumbled. “I need to kind of be in shape when I get back on my feet.” 

“Shane,” Ilya whined, rolling his eyes. “It will be fine. Soup will not add 50 pounds.” 

“Still,” Shane frowned, staring at his soup. “They said it’ll be a long recovery once I’m back on my feet. I want to make sure it goes well.

Sandwiched on one side of the couch, the room was suddenly blanketed in a heavy silence. Ilya didn’t want to press, and Hayden didn’t want to ask any questions that might set off a domino effect of emotions. Instead, they ate in silence as the weight of Shane’s words settled. 

He wasn’t just going to “bounce back” this time.

A broken ankle that was worse than the broken collarbone and a concussion worse than the last one would hinder any natural rehabilitation, and he was worried.

Hayden was worried, too.

Ilya just looked angry. 

He had every reason to be; his husband had been targeted, injured, and then mocked by his former team. If Ilya had opened social media, the commentary there would have been mixed. Mostly supportive, but the Montreal fan base harbored the same resentment as the team, and the loudest fans were the most hateful.

Shane deserved better and had sought better.

No one, not even Hayden, could fault him for that.

It had been an adjustment without Shane in the locker room with him, but he had survived. Mostly, though, keeping his head down and his mouth shut, but he had survived nonetheless. He was almost jealous of Shane’s ability to quietly move teams, but he was seeing now what it had cost him.

Captaincy.

Familiarity.

A team he’d always known.

But Hayden also saw what Shane was given when he arrived.

Living with his husband.

Acceptance.

Found family.

Even when his best friend was historically bad with change, he hadn’t seen that rear its ugly head when Shane departed Montreal. He saw more of the anxiety bubble to the surface when Shane had been subjected to slurs and vitriol than he did when Shane told everyone he was leaving. 

“I’m glad you like it in Ottawa,” Hayden broke the almost uncomfortable silence. “It’s been really good for you. I see how much happier you are.”

“Team loves Shane,” Ilya grinned. “Is hard not to love him. I tried for many years.”

“I’m happy they wanted me here. I’m just bummed I can’t finish the season,” Shane lamented, a deep blush covering the apples of his cheeks. “It’s been a nice change. Ilya and the guys made it easy to move.”

“Are your team too, pomidor,” Ilya teased. “They were ready to open champagne when you signed.”

“Yeah?” Shane raised an eyebrow, hoping to mask any signs of sleepiness. “My husband didn’t oversell me?”

“Never,” Ilya smiled. “Was perfect sale.” 

With a nod, Shane leaned into the back of the couch while Ilya stacked the tray neatly. 

Hayden thought for a moment about joking with them, but as he saw the silent, fond exchanges, he set his bowl back on the tray and simply observed the scene. 

His best friend was happy, and it made him happy.

Concerned, yes, because if this is what Comeau did on a whim, it could get worse. But mostly, Hayden was happy. If this is what his love for his wife and kids looked like from the outside, he was the luckiest man in the world.

If it wasn’t, he definitely had work to do.

“How you feeling, bud?” Hayden asked softly, watching Ilya take the tray back to the kitchen. “You okay?”

Shane nodded, eyes heavy.

“Any pain?” Hayden was concerned, but knew everything would be handled quickly. “Tired?”

“Everything kind of hurts all the time,” Shane confessed. “Ilya’s going to bring me a pain pill anyway.” 

“Good,” Hayden’s shoulder tension eased slightly. “And you’ll take it?”

“It’s the only way I get to have visitors,” Shane half-laughed. “I have to take the pill when my ankle starts to hurt. Or at least half.”  

As if on cue, Ilya returned with the orange bottle of medication and a smug look on his face. Shaking it twice and causing the little pills to rattle, he sat next to Shane’s elevated leg on the coffee table.

“Pill?” Ilya asked gently. “Or half?”

Shane pondered the question for a moment, taking stock of the sensations in his leg, head, and upper body. With a sigh, he stared tiredly at his husband.

“Full one, probably,” Shane’s shoulders slumped. “My ankle’s bothering me a lot.”

“One to ten?”

“Six, don’t want it to get worse,” Shane admitted. “It’s been annoying tonight.”

“Doctor said it could happen,” Ilya opened the bottle and handed Shane a pill. “Take, and then you can go to bed.”

“I want to stay up as long as it’ll let me,” Shane half-argued, swallowing the pill with water. “We haven’t seen Hayd in a while.”

“Will be here in the morning,” Ilya countered. 

“Really?” 

“Really,” Hayden smiled. “Jackie took the kids to her parents. She said I can stay as long as I’m needed, as long as I give her a full report.” 

Shane scoffed.

“She’s the boss, you know that,” Hayden raised his hands. “You can try telling my wife she doesn’t need to know everything. Let me know how it works out.” 

“I would not argue,” Ilya added. “Jackie is boss.”

“You’re right,” Shane curled back into Ilya’s side as his husband found his place between the two friends. “Tell her she’s welcome with the kids next time. Maybe after the season is over?”

“Yeah, man,” Hayden smiled. “The kids all made cards, but they wouldn’t let me bring them. They’re supposed to be hand-delivered, apparently.”

“Who are we to argue with little Pikes?” Ilya ran his hand up and down Shane’s arm. “Is important to them to bring?”

“Yeah,” Hayden nodded. “Jade and Ruby want to sign your cast.”

“I’ll have it for a few more weeks,” Shane yawned. “Lots of real estate.”

Looking at the casted limb, Hayden frowned. The white cast was void of any signatures—probably Shane’s request—and it ran to just under his knee.

It looked itchy.

“The girls will be upset that it isn’t a fun color,” Hayden remarked. “Jade wanted it to be pink.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Shane laughed. “I was pretty out of it when they casted me.”

“They did not ask me, or I would have said red,” Ilya teased, recalling the way Shane’s leg had already been cast by the time he saw his husband. “Maybe black. Team colors.”

“You would,” Hayden rolled his eyes in jest. “Surprised it’s not a mural.”

“It hurts when people jostle it right now,” Shane shrugged. “Haven’t really given anyone artistic freedom.” 

With his statement, Shane closed his eyes and rested his head against Ilya’s broad chest. It wasn’t the medication pulling him under, but rather the mental toll healing not only a broken bone but a concussed brain was taking on him. He had looked tired most of the day, something Hayden knew better than to comment on, but the overwhelming stress of existing had started to take its toll. 

“Tired?” Ilya asked quietly. “Or hurting?”

“Exhausted,” Shane whispered. “It’s been a long day.”

It hadn’t really, not in the grand scheme of things. He’d woken up, said goodbye to his husband, watched a hockey game, napped, and entertained Hayden. It was a typical Sunday for almost anyone, but for Shane and his recovery, it felt like he had run a marathon and polished off a personal best time with a three-hour, full-body workout. 

Anya looked equally as tired as she nuzzled further into his side and the plush blanket beneath her. 

“Don’t stay out here on my account,” Hayden conceded. “Go to bed. You need rest.”

“I’ve rested all week,” Shane issued his weak rebuttal. “But you don’t mind?”

“Nah,” Hayden patted Shane’s knee, reaching across Ilya. “It’ll give me some time to bond with Rozzy here.”

“You won’t kill each other?”

“Will be perfect angels,” Ilya confirmed. “Let’s go to room. I will help.” 

As he watched Rozanov lead Shane down the hall, Hayden sank into the couch and leaned his head back with a sigh. A myriad of emotions flooded his braid like someone had created a spillway, and he felt cold as he tried to name each of them through heightened senses. 

Guilt.

Anger.

Anxiety.

Confusion.

Heartbreak.

Resentment.

Sitting with his feelings—while new and uncomfortable—wasn’t uncommon for Hayden. Since Shane’s departure from Montreal, he’d come face-to-face with what he’d repressed. In the last week alone, he’d been under emotional water, and tonight it felt like everything was escaping the box he’d worked for years to keep a lid on. It had been the longest week of his life—one of complex thoughts, feelings, and considerations—and he was exhausted by his own mental gymnastics.

He had hopes that seeing Shane would stem some of the emotional bleeding, but seeing his best friend look so physically weak and sound so emotionally downtrodden—and his husband wound tighter than a spring—intensified the complex feelings, especially of guilt and anger. 

Hayden knew he hadn’t always been the greatest friend to Shane on occasion, and he had to sit with it. 

Their friendship had started with teasing, Hayden remembered that much, but Jackie had told him late at night, while Shane wasn’t seeing visitors, that sometimes being a good friend wasn’t the same as being a great friend, and there were always ways to be better. 

She had been gentle and kind, but Hayden knew what she was leaning toward. He hadn’t been a great friend to Shane because he was always, always, a shithead to Ilya Rozanov—the man his best friend loved. 

He even thought back on everything since the FanMail video—even before the video, if he was being honest with himself—and what he remembered in vivid detail made his stomach churn.

He owed Ilya the same apologies and courtesies that the other man had given him time and time again. He might’ve hated Rozanov, but he was growing to love Ilya as someone who loved and supported his best friend without question, and that spoke volumes for the man Ilya Rozanov is.

He needed to be better at showing that.

And, when he was feeling well enough to hold an emotionally complex conversation, he needed to apologize to Shane for years of shortcomings as a “supportive” best friend.  

As Hayden sat in a living room he’d grown to know almost as well as his own, his braid was loud. 

The blame for this instance of anger was placed solely on Gilbert Comeau, but the root of his anxiety about being alone with Ilya was his own. He could have prevented this—not the injury, of course—but the rest of the emotional reeling. 

As he took another steadying breath, he felt something cold tap his knuckles, and when he opened his eyes, he was face to face with Ilya Rozanov, who was holding two cold bottles of beer.

He accepted it wordlessly.

As Ilya eased himself onto the couch and took a long pull from the bottle, they were silent. Sitting with enough space between them—that on any other day, a healthy Shane would slip into the middle for a night of rewatching hockey highlights—the exhaustion was palpable. 

They were both stretched to their mental and emotional limits, and each knew it. 

As the minutes ticked by, neither of them spoke, but both of them savored the amber liquid and hoped the intoxicating effects of the alcohol would calm their nerves.

“How are Little Pikes?” Ilya finally asked, sneaking the half-empty bottle onto a coaster. “Is almost end of school?”

“Yeah,” Hayden nodded. “They’re good. I can’t believe how big they’re getting. And that there’s not going to be another one.”

“Ah,” Ilya almost smirked, and Hayden saw him kill the joke before it left his mouth. “Amber is two times as big as last time I saw her.”

“It was a month ago,” Hayden chuckled. “Maybe a little bigger, but she’s not growing that fast.”

“In my mind, she will always be tiny.”

“Mine too,” Hayden sighed. “I missed a lot while they were growing up. I can’t get that back.”

“No, you can’t.”

“But I can be there for the rest of it,” Hayden eased into what he wanted to say, scared of the raw honesty the words would extrude. “I’m done at the end of the season. Jackie and I, mostly Jackie, did the math. We’ll be fine.”

“This is not joking?”

“No, it’s not joking,” Hayden squeezed his eyes closed. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”

“I will not tell anyone.”

“Not even Shane?” Hayden looked back up at his friend. “He’s your husband.”

“Was your best friend first. Is not my job to tell him your news.”

“Thank you,” Hayden whispered. “Feels weird that all of this will be public as soon as the season ends. We aren’t making the playoffs.”

“Stranger things happen, da?”

Hayden could feel Ilya shift in his seat, and a foot made solid contact with his shin before he could respond. Ilya was a character, and Hayden needed optimism more than anything.

“Is not out of the picture. You are close enough,” Ilya nudged his leg again. “Where is team spirit?”

“Hasn’t been there in a while,” Hayden shrugged. “You think we’ll sneak in?”

“No, but you looked sad,” Ilya grinned. “We will make you go home crying soon.”

Hayden huffed.

“Is not my job to get revenge, but I do not police team on ice. They are all upset,” Ilya frowned, picking at the label of his bottle. “Is hard for everyone. Shane is family.”

Hayden nodded sadly.

“Was hard for him to leave you,” Ilya confessed, not looking up at the man next to him. “Was first time really that he picked himself. Left for me, yes, but for himself. After…”

“After he tripped.”