Chapter Text
You awake?
Shane slipped from his boyfriend’s arms quietly, careful not to disturb the warm, sleeping form molded to his side.
They’d gone to bed early, the weight of the day hanging over the joy the pair felt as Yuna and David Hollander openly and lovingly accepted the reveal of not only their son’s sexuality but the newly official relationship with Ilya. It wasn’t something he’d prepared for, as he’d prepared for Ilya’s arrival. He couldn’t make a bed or clean a sink, he couldn’t brace for impact with a prepared speech and rebuttal—he couldn’t prepare for any outcome at all, but it hadn’t been hostile or hateful. What Ilya and Shane had experienced was nothing short of messy, but it was perfect.
His mother and father seemed happy. Shocked? Yes, sort of. They had every reason to be stunned by the revelation that their son was in love with his on-ice rival, but they were happy for him.
It was everything he and Ilya had ever wanted: the acceptance and celebration of their relationship. The home-cooked meal and the open conversations were icing on the cake. But it highlighted something terribly and permanently painful; the fact that they didn’t come out on their terms, and that they couldn’t come out to the world without risking their careers and Ilya’s ability to return to Russia.
As Shane padded through the cottage, his heart was pounding, and his hands were trembling as he clutched his phone like it held the key to the universe while he stared at the screen. He didn’t expect a text back at this hour for two reasons. One, it was nearing 2:00 a.m., and he was certain that the recipient would be sleeping or enjoying the life that New York City offers, and two, he hadn’t spoken much to Scott Hunter since throwing a punch on the ice and calling him 45 years old as an insult.
He stared down at his phone again before unlocking the back door, waiting for a text to appear like a modern miracle. Before Shane could lose it completely, he needed air. He needed to separate himself from Ilya so he didn’t wake his boyfriend, and he needed quiet to think and brace for potential impact.
For all he knew, Scott Hunter was going to tell him to fuck off. And, after his behavior on the ice, it was well within Hunter’s right to tell him exactly where to shove it.
Shane’s heart rate increased, and he stepped barefoot onto the cold surface of the back patio. He realized how isolated he’d become. The only sounds were the Loons in the distance, the rippling of the lake, and the soft breeze through the trees. He clutched the phone tighter, his fingers flexing around the sides as he sank onto the outdoor sofa, his hands starting to tremble.
Shane didn’t have many people he could speak to about what happened that day, and all of them were sleeping. His parents are at home, Ilya is inside, and Scott Hunter is in New York.
Three of those people would love him regardless and offer nothing but unwavering support. The fourth would be honest with him, he hoped. Scott Hunter never outwardly said anyone could reach out to him; that added a layer of extra anxiety to Shane’s already buzzing brain.
“Please,” Shane whispered into the darkness, his eyes stinging with unshed tears and his thoughts racing. “I don’t know what to do.”
The phone buzzed in his hand like a gift from the universe, and he nearly dropped it. The message was fuzzy, and Shane swiped at his eyes to clear the fresh tears.
That’s not how you’re supposed to text someone in a relationship, Hollander.
Shane’s vision blurred further, and his hands shook while he read the text from Hunter, and he felt his chest tighten uncomfortably under his pullover. He wasn’t expecting a joke, but it was better than no response. His brain just hadn’t caught up to the fact that this was Hunter’s way of opening the door for a conversation.
That’s not what I meant, he typed, and then deleted.
Fuck off, Hunter. Deleted.
With every attempted response, the pain behind his sternum increased, and the shakier he felt. He left like he was on the verge of throwing up, or even having a heart attack, but he knew he needed to respond if he was going to bother someone this late at night. He felt the guilt swirling in his stomach again, something that had started going away as he made room for other emotions, but it was back with a vengeance. There were so many things he wanted to ask the man, but none of them felt fair, or even honest, as he struggled to formulate a response.
Nothing was happening the way he needed it to, and everything felt out of control. Shane Hollander thrived on being in control—on the ice, with his diet, in his life, and most of the time in his relationship—but this was something so far out of his control he felt like he might float away trying to grasp it.
He didn’t want it to happen like this. He didn’t want it to happen at all.
He didn’t want his father to see him and Ilya in a compromising position from the window, and he didn’t want to come out without words. He just wanted privacy at the cottage—something he usually had—to be present with Ilya Rozanov after the groundbreaking televised kiss by Scott Hunter ignited a fire in their relationship and broke their hearts wide open. He hadn’t wanted his mom to find out about the secret romance, or for her to grill Ilya over a shared meal about his loyalty to Boston when Ilya mentioned signing with Ottawa to be closer to Shane.
He didn’t want anyone to know, and now their secret felt like it was out in the open, and Shane’s nerves were fried.
His chest hurt, and he didn’t know what to do. He stared at the screen through his tears, the words blurring, as liquid dripped onto it.
Hollander, you have a reason for texting me at ass o’clock in the morning and not responding? Or is this some fucked up Montreal version of post-season chirping?
Shane choked out a sob and held his phone to his chest, wracking his brain for a response. After a moment, he pulled it away, took a shallow, shaky breath, and pressed call.
He hadn’t wanted to call, and he hadn’t wanted to make Scott’s monumental coming-out story about himself in any way.
“Hello?” Scott’s voice felt like a beacon in the night. “Hollander? You there?”
“Yeah,” Shane whispered weakly. “‘m here. Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“You need something?”
Shane heard a rustling in the background and the faint sounds of a television as his ears started to ring and his mouth went dry.
Scott was with someone, probably his partner, but if Shane wanted his advice, he was going to have to accept the fact that someone else might hear.
That someone else might know.
“I—I,” Shane’s voice cracked, and he gasped for air, his free hand grasping at the front of the pullover. “I—fuck—I fucked up. So bad.”
“Hey, what?” More rustling, more movement on Scott’s end of the call, and suddenly Shane’s brain felt like it was on fire. “What happened? Did someone die?”
There was a hint of humor in Hunter’s voice that shattered Shane further, and his face felt warm. He hiccuped, sobbed, and felt like his chest was going to explode as he tried to find the right words to say to someone who wasn’t exactly his friend.
“Me, I think I’m dying,” Shane sobbed, pulling at his collar weakly. “I think I’m dying.”
“Shane,” Scott’s voice was firm, almost sharp, as he spoke. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”
“I-I fucked,” Shane felt like he couldn’t breathe, and his hand was still pulling the soft material away from his neck. “It wasn’t, I can’t.”
“Hollander, listen to me,” Scott commanded, standing up and dropping Kip’s warm hand. “I think you’re having a panic attack. Listen, right now, to me.”
Shane felt numb and shaky, as if his lungs weren’t working and his hands weren’t attached to his body. It felt like he was floating outside his body, watching his reality unfold on a screen. He felt like he was going to die, and that Scott Hunter might be the last person on Earth who spoke to him before it happened.
“Kip’s here,” Scott continued. “I’m going to put you on speaker. Is that okay?”
“Yes,” Shane wheezed weakly. “I messed-messed up. My ch-chest hurts.”
“Keep talking,” Scott instructed, trying to recall anything that might help the younger man on the phone. “Keep breathing. Is anyone with you right now? Where are you?”
“Cottage,” Shane struggled out. “Ilya’s inside.”
“Ilya?” Kip said in the background, having heard some of the conversation. “Shane, can you go get him? Is it a medical emergency?”
“No!” Shane choked out. “I-I fucked up. I messed up so bad. It wasn’t-wasn’t supposed to-to happen. Not m-medical but I feel like I’m dying.”
“Rook, I need a little more context,” Scott encouraged gently as he felt Kip’s hand slide into his and pull him back to the sofa. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on. I need to know what’s going on, okay?”
Shane took a shallow, pained breath and choked out a sob. Scott squeezed Kip’s hand and held it like a lifeline as his heart ached for the man on the other end of the line. Shane had no idea what to say, and Scott and Kip had no idea what they were about to hear. He just knew his chest hurt, he couldn’t feel his hands, and the next words out of his mouth needed to be the truth.
“I’m gay,” Shane whispered weakly, almost inaudible through the phone. “And I’m in love with Ilya. Have been for a long time. And I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh,” Scott breathed, suddenly at a loss for words. “Shane.”
“Shane, that was so brave,” Kip jumped in when he heard Shane’s panicked breathing, as if he could feel the weight of the fragile words now resting in his hand. “Thank you for telling us.”
“I didn’t want anyone to know,” Shane cried. “No one was supposed to know, and now everything is ruined. It was supposed to stay a secret.”
“How?” Scott cleared his throat and asked, his own heart beating just a little faster than normal. “Did someone see you? Did someone say something?”
“My dad saw,” Shane rasped, and Scott felt his stomach drop. “I wasn’t-wasn’t… I didn’t want anyone to see us. We weren’t…”
Shane stopped talking and took a shallow, shaky breath that both of the men on the phone could hear.
“Ready?” Kip whispered.
“I didn’t want to be out yet,” Shane heard his words strain with a hiccup. “It was just supposed to be us. He wasn’t, I didn’t mean to out him. I didn’t mean to out myself, either.”
“Was Rozanov angry?” Shane asked carefully, knowing his only understanding of Ilya Rozanov was his heated, cocky, and sometimes angry demeanor on and off the ice. “Did he say something?”
“He-he was perfect,” Shane started crying again. “He held me, he went with me to my parents, and he was perfect. He w-was surprised, but not angry. I took it away from him. He didn’t get to choose.”
“Hollander,” Scott attempted to ground the younger man over the phone, with some success. “We’re your parents okay with it?”
“Yeah,” Shane felt almost hysterical thinking about how perfect his coming out was. “My mom apol-apologized and it was fine. Made us dinner. M-mom’s trying to think about brand deals. Who to talk to when we’re ready to make a statement. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be out yet. He can’t ever-ever go back if we come out.”
“Russia,” Shane whispered, feeling Kip’s hand squeeze his thigh in encouragement. “Oh. That’s what... the Olympics.”
“Yeah,” Shane scrubbed at his eyes, tears still falling freely, but his chest aching less by the second. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“But it did,” Kip soothed, knowing that this was Scott’s worst nightmare mere weeks ago. “And it’s going to be okay. No one is going to force you to come out to anyone else. It was very brave of you to tell us.”
“I don’t feel brave,” Shane was crying openly again, his face cool and damp in the night air as the tears continued to flow. “I feel like I ruined his life and mine.”
“You didn’t,” Scott spoke gently, closing his eyes and remembering his own experiences. “It might feel this way right now, but it will get better. I promise. I promise you.”
“How can you be so sure? Kip was already out,” Shane hiccuped, his heart fluttering in his chest again. “He just-just needed you to catch up.”
“I spent a week in bed worried New York would cut me, Cup or not,” Scott admitted as Kip wrapped an arm around his waist, remembering the week following their very public kiss. “I was scared I’d destroyed my career. But I knew someone would be here to catch me if I fell.”
“Ilya,” Shane started to panic again, even as he rationalized the situation. “He can’t go home if this gets out. His family—his, his mother’s grave. His home country in the Olympics. His life there.”
“Ilya can make his own decisions about the rest of his story,” Kip spoke gently, the urge to hug Shane out of his panic strong even from hundreds of miles away. “He loves you, yes?”
“He said he does,” Shane hiccuped, a fresh wave of tears filling his eyes and his voice raw. “Said he’s my boyfriend.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Kip continued, reflecting on his own journey with Scott. “It’s going to be okay, Shane. It might not have happened the way you wanted, but it will be okay.”
“It doesn’t feel okay,” Shane sniffled, and Scott heard the sound of a door opening behind the man on the other end of the phone call. “It feels really fucked up, actually.”
Behind him, Shane could feel a quiet presence and hear the sliding door, which just hours ago had opened a portal into his very private love life.
He hated that damn door.
“Shane, the fuck are you doing out here? Is cold and dark. You do not have fire,” A deep voice with a thick Russian accent said, body moving swiftly in the dark. “Shane?”
“Yeah,” Shane sniffled again, and Scott and Kip both heard the movement of outdoor furniture as Ilya’s movements drew closer. “Hey.”
“Who are you on phone with this late?” Ilya’s voice grew louder as he settled onto the couch “You are crying. Something is wrong.”
“It’s Scott,” Shane leaned into his partner’s chest as Ilya’s warm body filled the space near him. “I’m, yeah, it’s Scott Hunter.”
“Hunter?” Ilya was confused. He didn’t know his boyfriend spoke to the other captain. “You are on phone with Scott Hunter?”
“It’s nothing,” Shane sighed. “You can go back to bed. I’ll come back in a minute.”
Kip pulled Scott closer on the other end of the call; the pair tangled with each other on their own couch.
“No, you are cold. I will stay,” Ilya insisted. “Hunter, are you on phone still?”
“Hey, Rozy,” Hunter chuckled through the phone with a new peace of mind knowing that Shane is no longer alone. “How are you?”
“I am okay. What did you do to Hollander?” Ilya grumbled. “Is crying. Looks sad. Like… kicked puppy.”
Shane curled into Ilya’s arms with a deep, painful wave of regret washing over him.
“I promise it’s nothing,” Shane’s eyes fluttered, his breathing still shaky. “I’m okay. We’re just talking.”
“It is late. Does not seem like a happy call. Let me talk to Hunter,” Ilya insisted, reaching for the phone. “Private.”
Shane nodded weakly, handing off the phone and letting Ilya take the call off speaker to talk to Scott and Kip. Shane filled Shane and his cheeks flushed, but he was focusing on the warmth of Ilya’s arms over the ache in his chest.
“Hunter,” Ilya’s voice was alert but still thick with sleep. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Scott sighed, thinking about the strange text and panicked phone call. “He called me, freaking out about what happened today. It was a big one, I hear?”
“Was nothing. David caught kiss, so what?” Ilya played it off, even though he had a strange feeling in the pit of his own stomach about what today meant. “Okay, was something. But nothing.”
“He seems to think he ruined your lives,” Scott recalled, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thinks he took your coming-out moment away.”
“Wasn’t a kiss on television Hunter, plenty of other times to come out just like you. Is not competition,” Ilya felt Shane’s breathing pick up again as he rested against his chest and he tightened the arm around his waist. “Was just Hollanders.”
“It wasn’t nothing,” Shane whimpered, tears trickling down his cheeks as his chest started to ache and tears dripped onto Ilya’s shirt. “You didn’t ask to be outed.”
“You did not out,” Ilya soothed, rubbing Shane’s arm softly. “Was my choice to be here.”
“Listen, Rozanov,” Scott’s voice was back in his ear, tone serious. “He thinks he ruined your chance to go home ever again.”
“Russia is not home now,” Ilya was somber, but meant every word as they tumbled from his mouth through his thick accent. “Home is Boston. Home is cottage.”
“Ilya, I took going back home away from you,” Shane sobbed, his words broken and strained. “If you’re out, you can’t go back.”
“We are not out to world, just parents,” Ilya reminded his boyfriend, his arm firmly around his waist again. “World does not know. Is okay. You are having panic attack. Nothing serious, you are okay. We are okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Shane sat up quickly, nearly knocking the phone from Ilya’s hands. “What happened c-can’t be taken back.”
“Roz put us back on speaker,” Scott insisted, hearing Shane’s broken rambling as Ilya followed directions quickly. “Shane, buddy, breathe.”
“You are okay here,” Ilya said softly, his hand moving in slow, small circles on Shane’s bicep. “We are okay. We are safe. Do not worry. It is okay.”
“I feel so, God, I took it away from you.” Shane was struggling to breathe again, his back to Ilya’s chest as the taller man wrapped around him from behind. “You didn’t get to choose.”
“Did not want to choose, but was easy,” Ilya soothed, his voice smooth and even. “Choose you and cottage.”
“See, it’s okay,” Kip's voice drifted through the speaker, another calm presence to help ground Shane. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Shane, you need to breathe. You are panicking,” Ilya whispered, breath fanning across his boyfriend’s cheek. “Breathe. Like this, da?”
“Shane, listen to us, listen to Rozanov,” Scott coached, finding his footing in semi-crisis response once again. “Breathe. It’s going to be okay.”
As the couple lay on the plush outdoor sofa, and Scott and Kip settled back in on their own hundreds of miles away, Kip started looking at flights from New York City to Ottawa. He knows that Scott understands; there was a time when Scott was scared of his own shadow. The art gallery, missing Kip’s birthday, and lying low just the two of them were things they remember vividly. Even now, Scott is still learning to love in the sunlight and without fear.
“I think he is sleep,” Ilya whispered, grip on Shane loosening as soft snores escaped the man in his embrace. “Holy shit.”
“Holy shit is right,” Ilya could almost hear Scott scrub his hand over his face as he decompressed. “We’re coming to visit.”
Ilya didn’t know what to say. He looked down at the face of his sleeping boyfriend, whose puffy eyes were finally closed, and the dark hair fell across his forehead. There were tear tracks on his reddened cheeks, and he looked small.
“Is not necessary,” Ilya insisted, pride stepping in to mask his own anxieties. “We are fine.”
“I’m not really asking, Rozanov,” Scott laughed dryly, his decision already made. “It sounds like both of you might need someone to talk to.”
“Are we not talking now? Is fine, Hunter,” Ilya sighed, pulling Shane back to his chest. “Do not want to stress him more.”
“I understand that, but I think you need someone to talk to, Rozy,” Scott emphasized. “It happened to you, too.”
“I am not worried about me,” Ilya sighed. “I am worried about him.”
“And I’m worried about both of you. We’ll be there tomorrow evening, Kip booked our flights,” Scott said plainly, with no room for arguments. “Text me the address.”
“We will see you tomorrow, Hunter,” Ilya wrapped his arms tightly around Shane to warm them both up. “Remember, it is cold at night. And there are very horrible birds. Very loud. Like wolf.”