Missing Hours

“Why did you all act so much cooler about your hospital stays than I did?” Shane grumbles, carefully folding a shirt into his suitcase. “Maybe you just never noticed how uncool we were,” Ilya suggests from the bed, smiling. Shane was so wrapped up in his own head that he missed how much everyone else was struggling. Maybe Ilya should tell him — but not now. “Yeah. Maybe.” Shane sighs and unzips another suitcase. “So, I’ve been thinking…” “Ominous,” Ilya comments. He’s quite proud of recalling the word; usually, the English in his head sounds much better before he opens his mouth — not after. “I probably should… no, I definitely should see a therapist. I feel so stupid about how I handled everything. I couldn’t help you — you were stuck helping me instead. All of you — Mum and Dad included — needed me, and I was just… useless.” “Everything’s fine now,” Ilya says, his brow furrowing. “Why are you thinking about it again? I’m better. Yuna and David are better. Anya is doing better than all of us combined.” “I need to prepare if something like this happens again. I need plans,” Shane says, turning away from the suitcases and crouching — oh, no, it’s bad. “Okay. We’ll make plans. Come here. Just come here.” Shane exhales in a few sharp bursts, then stands. He joins Ilya on the bed and buries his face against his shoulder, breathing uneven and warm against his neck. Ilya wraps an arm around him, pulling him close. “And also,” Shane murmurs into his collarbone, “in case Rose and you are ever together near water… both of you should be wearing…” It takes Ilya a second, then he gets it. “Are you serious?” he laughs, the sound startled out of him. “It was a joke! A stupid joke — I wasn’t actually asking who you’d save!” He doesn’t get to be an asshole and add that if Rose Landry started drowning, he’d probably have something to do with it before Shane continues, voice muffled against his skin. “I know. But… I’ve ordered life jackets. I mean, I already had a couple. But I ordered more. We can take them when we travel.” Oh. Oh. He’s actually serious. It’s killing him — the sheer, overwhelming force of what he feels for this beautiful neurotic Canadian man. Damn. He’s married to him. They’re out. They live and work together… but does Ilya deserve any of it? Shane is absolutely gorgeous and caring beyond words. He’s serious and sexy, an obedient slut in bed, his cock is sweet, his chest and ass feel incredible under Ilya’s hands, and he’s a top-tier hockey player. He doesn’t seem overly irritated by Ilya’s antics; he’s considerate. His family is nice. Yuna and David treat Ilya like a son. Shane’s rich — richer than Ilya, if Google doesn’t lie — and he’s Ilya’s husband. But Ilya’s fucked in the head in more ways than one. His family is dead — the part of it that actually cared about him, at least sometimes. He’s an immigrant. He doesn’t know if his career is over because of some drunk asshole. He loves Shane, and he doesn’t deserve him. His mum would have loved him, too, no doubt, but his father would have crushed him with his words. And Ilya’s terrified he’ll lose himself to dementia, that he’ll become his father, or that he’ll end things like his mother did. Shane has folded every bit of his clothing so neatly — Ilya remembers that. When they first — first? really? — hooked up, Shane folded his clothes, too, and that’s when Ilya fell for him. So what does he do with that now? He selfishly wants this marriage.

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@ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer ❤️ [pic 1] @IlyaRozanov Husband is hot, but count the votes again. 4th place for me? Really? Look at me — 4th place? You all are blind, go see a doctor [pic 1] [pic 2] [pic 3] @IlyaRozanov Anya is ready for a walk [pic 1] [pic 2]

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Ilya still can’t handle car rides. They have to stop every fifteen minutes so he can get out and breathe the nausea away. He’s pretty sure pills exist for this, but he didn’t expect it to be this hard. He’s fucking exhausted by the time they get inside. The cottage is peaceful. Ilya loves it immediately, though not as much as Anya — the dog is too excited to finally run without a leash. He feels leashless here, too: carefree and horny. His plan is to fuck Shane in every room, on every surface, trying to see if anything jogs a memory, and then fuck him again, just to be sure. He is relaxed and loose-limbed, he’s better. Shane’s muscled thighs bracket his hips — a perfect fit. Here, on Shane’s bed, over Shane, pressing his hands into the mattress on either side of that smiling face, this has to be the best place on earth. Shane, of course, has a small synthetic ice rink near the cottage. Of course he does — the man is obsessed with hockey. There’s a gym, too. No wonder he ended up married to Ilya: the more hockey in his life, the better. He has every single NHL video game — naturally. There’s a library of hockey books, a huge printed portrait of them hugging on the ice. Hockey is everywhere. And so is Ilya: his stuff on the shelves, his food in the pantry, his favorite drink in the fridge. “Did you jerk off to me before we started hooking up? I was the first draft pick, and good hockey makes you horny.” “No,” Shane says — like a liar. “You always wanted to fuck me because I’m a better player,” Ilya nods, absolutely sure. “You are not better than me!” No, he’s not. Ilya has already watched the highlights of literally all of Shane’s games, all his — and their shared — interviews, and the documentary shot in this cottage. He’s seen himself, lost on the ice, while Shane was lying unconscious. He’s compared the stats — Shane is a little better than him at hockey, a fact he is never, ever saying aloud. It feels like if he admits it, Shane will file for divorce — the man is so into hockey he wouldn’t want… It’s not a thought Ilya welcomes, but it won’t leave. “Will you divorce me if I stop playing hockey?” Shane shoots upright in panic. “You want to retire?” With everything that’s happened, hockey hasn’t been a priority, but if Ilya gets the chance to play with Shane again, he’ll take it — the thought triggers a spark of excitement and the cold dread that the chance might never come at all. “I don’t know yet. You know I haven’t been to a doctor, and all the MRI machines are booked. So I don’t know. Maybe I can’t skate anymore? Is that possible?” “Do you want to try?” Ilya doesn’t know. Or maybe he’s just afraid to find out what the answer will mean — for Shane, for them and for everything that could still fall apart. “What happens if I can’t skate?” he asks. “We’ll find the best doctor. There are rehab programs, we’ll-” “What if I never skate again?” “Shit. I don’t know. Fuck, that would be horrible.” Shane’s eyes glisten. Ilya is sure he’s imagining himself in his shoes, his existence hollowed out and meaningless without hockey because for Shane life is hockey. But for Ilya? What is life for Ilya? Is it Shane who he doesn’t deserve? “Will you divorce me if I can’t?” “What? No! What are you…?” Shane looks hurt. “I married you because I can’t live without you! I love you! Ilya, you know we’ll have to retire eventually. I just don’t want it to happen like this. Why would you even say that? Stop talking about divorce! Fuck!” Ilya doesn’t know if he believes him and whether he should be ashamed for doubting. He definitely should stop thinking about divorce — he doesn’t want it. “Let’s go then. Let’s skate,” he decides.

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@CentaursOttawa Your essential viewing for tonight: a compilation of the sexiest goals by the sexiest player of the year, Shane Hollander 🔥🔥🔥 You’re welcome. [vid] @Haasy Can’t wait to get back on the ice with @ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer …and the other guys, of course 😉 @EvanDykstra @Haasy Me too! @IlyaRozanov @Haasy me too [vid] @hollyandrozy @IlyaRozanov THE KING IS BACK! FUCK. FUCK. OMG. I LOVE YOU BOTH SO MUCH THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!!! THEY ARE SKATING TOGETHER 😭😭😭

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They work out together, but Shane insists on low-intensity training. Dr. Teller finally calls back: no MRI scans in the near future, but maybe in a month, and then they’ll talk about returning to professional training. They cook. They take Anya outside. They clean. They play games. Ilya finally joins team calls — the guys don’t know about his memory, but with the season on hold, they aren’t talking about anything serious anyway, and Ilya is relieved to be finally included — he doesn’t handle isolation well. They fuck — all the time, actually. And when Shane closes his eyes, lets go and just takes what Ilya gives him, the feeling is so overwhelming that Ilya wants to shout his love. But can he, when his own memories are full of holes? Is he allowed? “What do you remember?” Shane asks afterward, his voice soft. Ilya knows, with a sinking certainty, that the answer will disappoint him. “Little things. I think I actually remember your house. Where do we live now, by the way?” “With me. You sold your place and a few cars to fund the charity.” “I still can’t believe I’m here. In Canada. Married to you.” “Is it that hard to believe?” “Yeah.” “Is it… a bad thing?” “Oh, no. It’s very good. Amazing, actually. I’m ready to look at your freckles every day.” “Really?” Ilya smiles. “Really-really.” “I love being married to you, too.” “Ya teb’a abazhayu,” he says in Russian. Shane lifts his head from his shoulder. “I don’t know that one. I know I and you. What does it mean?” “Uh…” Ilya searches for the word in English, but there’s nothing. “Wait.” He grabs his phone and taps open the translator. “Adore. It means ‘I adore you’.” Shane’s face lights up. He kisses Ilya’s cheeks, his forehead, his mouth — soft, eager presses like an overexcited puppy. The warmth of it hurts, a dull ache spreading behind Ilya’s ribs, and he could cry from its weight. “I want to remember,” he says, voice low. “But it’s not working. Will you tell me about us?” “Yeah. Okay.” Shane tells him about Saskatchewan, the first time he walked up to Ilya while he was smoking somewhere he shouldn’t have been. He tells him about the hotel gym, the two of them cycling side by side. “I remember that! You sounded like porn. Did you want me then?” “Maybe?” Shane answers honestly. “Everything was so confusing back then, but… I felt something.” Ilya writes it down in his diary app. “I bet,” he says, a slow grin spreading, “that I looked at you in Saskatchewan and thought, ‘What a cute, polite Canadian boy. I hope he won’t cry when his team loses.’” “Fuck off,” Shane laughs, shoving him gently. “Want to watch something? I don’t feel like moving.” Shane hums in agreement and picks up his tablet. A hockey game is paused on the screen. “No. No hockey tonight. Something else.” They settle on something romantic with a fair amount of shooting. Ilya is endlessly amused that Shane doesn’t recognize Brad Pitt. Shane frowns every time Ilya remarks on the lead actress’s beauty, and Ilya just laughs and kisses his temple each time. Still, he feels a little off. The heroine’s name is Jane, and it’s a hook in his memory, pulling at something important. “Do I know any Jane?” he asks. “Huh?” Shane isn’t even trying to stay awake. His eyelids are heavy while Brad fucking Pitt runs around a house, shooting at his sexy wife. “Do I know a woman named Jane? It sounds really familiar.” Shane opens his eyes and looks at him carefully, his drowsiness gone. “Do you remember Lily?” he asks instead. Ilya frowns. Lily and Jane. “No,” he says, “but the names are familiar.” On screen, Brad Pitt shouts, “Jane!” — a raw, desperate sound. Very sexy of him. Jane is sexy, too. “Jane isn’t a woman,” Shane says carefully, his voice measured. “Shane–Jane. Lily–Eeliya.” It clicks. Ilya knows exactly when it happened. He grabs his phone, opens his diary app, and scrolls through notes, screenshots and photos until he finds it. 2011. “You got scared of fucking. We blew each other. I asked for your number. There was Scott Hunter!” “Not with us,” Shane clarifies, a flush creeping up his ears. “He was next door. And I wasn’t scared, I just… Scott Hunter was right next door! And now I know that he knew, so…” Ilya remembers typing his number into Shane’s phone. And when he wakes the next morning, he remembers even more. He hears the loons on the lake and remembers. He watches Shane studying a recipe for burger patties and remembers this exact moment, and doesn’t stop him from making far too many. It’s funny. They’ll be eating burgers tomorrow, and the next day, too. He still can’t remember the accident itself — the scream of tires, the moment his head hit the pavement. But maybe that’s for the best.

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OTTAWA CENTAURS’ TROY BARRETT ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO BOYFRIEND NHL’S HOLLANDER AND ROZANOV RENEW VOWS IN PRIVATE CEREMONY FOLLOWING ROZANOV’S ACCIDENT

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@hollanovwins All my years of tapping at the boy aquarium and telling the boys to kiss each other keep paying off! Congrats, Troy! ❤️ @HockeyTroyBarrett @hollanovwins Thanks! I’m not marrying another player though. Only Roz and Holls can handle this much hockey @IlyaRozanov @HockeyTroyBarrett Wishing you very happy marriage. Try not to get divorced! ❤️ @HockeyTroyBarrett @IlyaRozanov 😅 We’ll do our best, man @hollyandrozy feeling so single rn ngl

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