Chapter Text
To Shane’s dismay, even though the playoffs had started, the media was still focused on their relationship instead of hockey.
Ilya didn’t mind that much. After everything they’d been through, he could finally brag about it—after all these years. As long as they didn’t ask any stupid questions.
Their first playoff opponent—as if some director of their movie wanted a more dramatic effect—Toronto.
“Fuck yes,” Ilya cheered loudly when he saw the schedule.
“Why?” Shane asked in confusion. “You want to play Toronto?”
Ilya turned to him. “You don’t?”
Shane made a face. “Not really. I don’t want to see Dallas Kent ever again. He disgusts me.”
Ilya grinned. “Well, I agree with you on that. But I’m also glad we have a chance to fight that bastard legally. He hasn’t paid enough for what he did last time, and he’ll be in jail after the trial. So this is our only chance.”
Apparently, Ilya was not the only one thinking that.
Kent was checked into the boards hard every ten seconds during the game. And the Centaurs fans cheered every time. There were also at least a dozen fights. The Centaurs’ penalty minutes were way higher than their season average—but well worth it, seeing Kent spit out blood, along with two teeth.
They didn’t win that game, though.
Apparently, everybody had been more interested in beating Kent than in actually winning the game. Well, everybody except Shane, probably. After the game, Shane stood in front of the room, still half in his gear, and tore into them with a calmness that was somehow worse than yelling. By the end of it, even the loudest guys were staring at the floor like guilty children. They all agreed to focus more on the game next time.
Since Ilya had spent half the game collecting penalties, he should probably have felt at least a little ashamed. Instead, little Ilya was too interested in Shane’s captain face and commanding voice.
And they didn’t even make it home.
They drove somewhere secluded instead, and Ilya pinned Shane down in the backseat of the car.
The next game was at Toronto’s home arena. They were booed loudly—almost as loudly as the Centaurs fans cheered them in Ottawa.
As the Kent case went on, it became more and more clear to the public that Kent had indeed done something. But Toronto fans didn’t believe it. Or maybe they did, but they didn’t care, judging by the slurs they shouted at the Centaurs—especially at Shane, Ilya, and Barrett.
The Centaurs won a satisfying 5–2. And then they won another three games in a row, leading the series four to one against Toronto. It seemed Kent was distracted. Very much so. So were a lot of Toronto players. They made the playoff series not look like playoffs at all.
Crowell had said Shane and Ilya’s relationship might distract them, Ilya thought as he smirked at the score, but look at it now.
After that, they had two games against California, and then the news broke:
Former NHL Star Dallas Kent Sentenced to Five Years in Prison; Commissioner Roger Crowell Removed After Conviction for False Statements and Cover-Up
Crowell had said Shane and Ilya’s relationship could harm the NHL’s reputation, Ilya thought as he smirked at the news, but look at it now.
Ironically, in the need to restore its image, the league pushed Shane, Ilya, and Barrett as representatives of the game so they could trot them out for the cameras.
See? Look. Our league is progressive after all. A nice gay hockey couple. A brave supportive teammate. Women protected. Justice served. Crowell gone, Kent gone, problem solved. Paradise restored. Everyone smile for the campaign photo.
“I don’t think so,” Shane said, lying on Ilya’s lap as they watched the news.
They were in a hotel in California. One room. Apparently, the Centaurs didn’t bother booking them separate rooms anymore.
“More like a cultural problem than just a couple of bad people,” Shane said. “They are accepting us because of political needs—not because they truly believe it. There’s still a lot of homophobes out there.”
“I know,” Ilya said half-heartedly.
The other half of his mind was focused on his hand, slowly sneaking under Shane’s T-shirt, toward his chest.
“But this is the best we could get,” Shane said thoughtfully. “Much better than I initially thought this case would turn out.”
“Yes,” Ilya agreed, satisfied with the sensation under his palm.
Shane didn’t stop him. Instead, he said, “We’re getting the Cup this year.”
“Of course,” Ilya answered.
“You know, in my last timeline, Scott Hunter was the first one to come out,” Shane said. “He did it by kissing his boyfriend on the ice after he won the Cup.”
Ilya raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t know dinosaur Hunter had it in him.”
“He was very brave, a true role model,” Shane admitted. “Actually, me and the other Ilya owed him for encouraging us to get together. We were officially together a month after he came out, then got married two months after. ‘Greatest romantic gesture in hockey history,’ they called it. By some magazine—I forgot which.”
“No, our coming out is way better,” Ilya said firmly. “He came out like a cliché romance novel. Maybe very creative a hundred years ago when he was still slightly younger. Not now. Our coming out is way better. It’s for a noble cause. And it’s certified by the court. Big difference. Almost like we’re married.”
“Yeah. Almost.” Shane laughed.
“Speaking of marriage, how did you get married so fast?” Ilya asked. “Getting married two months after getting together? That sounds rushed.”
Shane’s smile faded. He sat up.
“Yeah. It was.” He took a deep breath, looking annoyed. “Well, if we didn’t, some asshole would’ve married Svetlana for U.S. citizenship.”
Ilya blinked. He himself didn’t need to marry for citizenship. He already got a Canadian Permanent Residence card. But he still couldn’t imagine marrying Sveta. They were just friends.
“He probably didn’t mean it?” Ilya suggested. “You know I—I mean him—shit talking all the time.”
“Yes, I know, he said that as well,” Shane didn’t seem any happier. “But that asshole should never suggest it. I didn’t fully believe him until, like, a whole year into our marriage.”
“Did you regret it?” Ilya asked carefully. “Getting married in a rush?”
Shane went silent for a while.
“No. Not for a moment.” He said slowly. “I loved our married life. I loved settling down with him. And I will be with you.”
The words hit Ilya all at once. Something caught in his throat, his chest suddenly too full.
“You will?” he asked gently. “I mean, with me.”
“Yes, I will—with you, even if I never met him,” Shane said, suddenly looking shy. “I’ve never thought of anything else, or with anyone else. I would be honored. You never give yourself enough credit, Ilya. I love you as you are now. Don’t change—well, even if you change, I would still love you.”
Unconditional love. Galina’s voice rang in his head like a bell—loud, clear. Very rare. Very lucky.
Yes, he was.
Ilya said it quietly to himself. He had never thought he would receive love like this from anyone but Irina. Not since he was thirteen.
Not even his father, who was supposed to love him no matter what. But his father didn’t. He never did. He loved the son who could bring victory to Russia, who could add glory to the family name Rozanov—but not when he failed. Not when he rebelled. Not when he let the world know he was a faggot.
He briefly closed his eyes, not quite sure how to respond to Shane with such honesty and earnestness. He had to swallow several times before opening up his eyes again.
“I love you too, moya lyubov.” Ilya said instead. “Lie down. I want my squishy toy back.”
Shane rolled his eyes, but happily complied.