BrookeSHodges

Two days. Two days he had been poked and prodded- he took a physical every year to be able to play hockey. He just wanted to fucking play. This afternoon- he’d been cleared, but the doctor that cleared him, he swore that the prostate exam bordered on assault. And as he waited for his ride back to the hotel- the doctor approached him and he gritted his teeth. The man was the new doctor for the U.S. junior’s team and as his hand ran up and down his back he forced a smile. He’d play this game. And he would fucking win. 

They climbed into the car together- Dr. Rosa gave an address that he knew wasn’t his hotel, but that was fine. He knew they were likely going to this man’s home or his rental for the week. He doubted that they put the doctor up in the same hotel as the athletes. He let the man rub his thigh, allowed him to let his guard down. If this was just a gay encounter- he’d go with it- hell, he might even enjoy it. He enjoyed sex with men far more than women- had stopped having sex with women over the last year as he realized that it felt wrong. It felt like a chore and that was not fair to the women or to himself.  

But that was not this- no- he had heard the rumors before he got here. A couple of his friends that were still on the junior’s team had made remarks about how they didn’t like being in his care. How they wished that they’d hire someone else. And he’d decided he’d help them with that when the MLH sent out the list of what healthcare providers would be available at the combine. He wasn’t sure he’d sold it well enough with Dr. Rosa, until his hand grazed his dick and he ground his teeth together. No consent. Just something the man took. 

He followed Dr. Rosa up to the door. He’d seen the signs for Standley Lake on their way in. He loved to be near a body of water. The door swang open and he let Dr. Rosa settle. Place his things in their places, lock the door behind them. He placed his backpack safely on top of the dining room table. A quick glance around the room and he knew it was definitely a rental- not this man’s home. 

“You are the prettiest prospect I’ve seen in ages. I was hard as soon as you showed up- man I wish I’d gotten this job a few years ago- taking your virginity would have been so sweet.” 

“And you’ve done that? You’ve forced the junior team–” 

“No, no. Never forced. They always liked it. The boys get hard just like you did in the cab, just like you are now. Give in to it, Hunter. You know you want to.” 

He smiled and then he struck. Dr. Rosa didn’t stand a chance. Quick and efficient. Punch to the side of the head, aggressive crack of the neck. The man fell to the floor like a ragdoll and he waited for a few minutes, checked the man’s pulse and it slowly disappeared. Good. It was clean and quick. He didn’t enjoy torture- he did enjoy knowing that the world was rid of one more mother fucker that shouldn’t exist. Dr. Rosa had made the list. 

He went through his post kill ritual, pulling on the well worn gloves. There was a rental car in the garage- a surprise that Dr. Rosa had decided a better way to pick a victim was by not having a vehicle. He supposed that somewhere in the man’s conscience- he thought that it was more acceptable to give the illusion of a decision. Scott knew that there was no fucking decision for most of the juniors- that Dr. Rosa could stop their hockey careers in its tracks. 

He picked up the body and placed it in the trunk. Folding the man, breaking more bones as it was necessary for him to fit. If breaking his neck hadn’t finished him, the fractures to his spine were finishing the job. He found the keys to the rental and settled. Standley Lake- preferably close to the damn. And as the sun set- he smiled at the timing. He’d have plenty of time to do what he wanted and get back to the hotel. It would be a bit of a walk back into town, back towards where it would be acceptable for a cab to pick him up- but this was perfect. This was just what he needed to start the combine. 

*****************

“Hunter! Fucking hell man. We’re fucking here. You ready to get on the ice tomorrow?” 

Ryan Price gave him a bear hug and he smiled at the twenty year old Canadian prospect. They’d run into each other a lot over the years and while he’d seen Ryan’s anxiety from time to time- their friendship was different. There was something in Ryan that called to his soul. Something that was similar to him that he could not exactly place. 

“You’re cleared?” 

“Yeah. But listen, the fucking creep doctor didn’t show today. I heard them talking about how he didn’t even call out and his rental is empty.” 

“I guess it’s a good thing we all got cleared yesterday.” 

“Fuck yeah it is. See you on the ice man. And Hunter…go kill it.” 

He smiled to himself as he pulled on his socks and then his skates. Each deliberate move was soothing. Ryan had clocked the man as a creep as well and he had more evidence that hadn’t seen the light of day. He slowly retaped his stick and then loosened his shoulders. It was just hockey now. It was just fucking hockey. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Current Day- New York 2018

“After his disappearance- a half dozen members of the junior team came forward with what he had done. They felt safe to say something then- when their future careers were safe. When he couldn’t do anything to them. I wish I had spotted him earlier. Wish I could have done more.” 

“You…you feel no remorse for what you did?” 

“Not a fucking bit. He had two young sons- I guess a tiny part of me felt bad that they wouldn’t have a father. Then again- they were probably in line to be his victims at some point. So no. No remorse. The man deserved to die.” 

Kip let out a deep breath, the earnestness in Scott’s voice. He knew he wasn’t lying. He knew that he had just listened to what had happened, even if Scott glossed over the more gruesome details. They’d never found Dr. Rosa’s body and he was sure that after all the years that it was gone. Broken into pieces and scattered in the waterways near Standley Lake. He swirled what was left of his smoothie and reminded himself that being professional was the only thing that kept him in this room. 

He still wasn’t sure why Scott was talking- why he was telling him anything. He had been sure that he would lawyer up- refuse to talk at all when he saw the stack of folders. He almost told him to do that, but each time their eyes met- his stomach coiled. He wanted to come clean with him, truly clean and this might be the last chance that he got to do that. And he’d be damned if he didn’t listen to every moment. If he judged him before he knew what led to each murder, although the look on Scott’s face at this file told him that they were woefully wrong about the number of murders he’d committed. 

How- the fuck- had he wound up in love with a prolific serial killer? And one of the kindest souls he had ever known. It didn’t make sense. But hearing about his first victim, what the man had done. He could guess a pattern in all of Scott’s victims. A pattern that was in such a morally gray area that he didn’t know how he was supposed to react. How he was supposed to walk away from this man and pretend that he didn’t know his soul outside of these walls. 

“Grady- a word.” 

Scott settled back in the chair, offering his hands up to be secured back to the table. He fucking hated this, but he did it. He secured the handcuffs and walked out of the interrogation room. He was met with a cacophony of faces- federal agents, federal prosecutors, detectives, city prosecutors- the full gambit and his supervisor had a smile on his face. 

“He’s warmed up to you quite quickly. I think we stick with you until he clams up.” 

“Did you check the information about Rosa?” 

“Yeah. Yeah- he wasn’t lying.”

“Okay. So he’s telling me the truth- which means that this…this wasn’t his first kill.” 

The room went silent and he let that hang there. The investigators needed to truly go to work. He doubted that Scott was going to offer him a list. Not here. Not when it had ramifications. If he had figured this out in the privacy of Scott’s apartment- that would be one thing. But it was here. On the record- where each confirmed kill would add to what they were willing to put in a plea deal.  

“We’ll dig. You keep him talking.” 

“Order lunch. Just copy whatever you get for me, for him. I think being kind is going to go a long way here. He wants the guilt off his conscience.” 

He didn’t elaborate, but the room moved. He should walk away from this case, recuse himself and let Scott rot. It is what all of his training told him to do. But his heart. His heart told him that he couldn’t do that- that they were in this together. That there was only one person Scott Hunter trusted enough to be this vulnerable with and it was the man that he’d loved for the last three years. The secret that they had both kept and held so tightly was why they would get a full confession. 

“Do not interrupt until he’s done with this next one. Then bring in lunch. Bathroom break- the whole nine.” 

“You think he’ll keep talking?” 

Kip let out a sigh. Scott was going to talk. Scott could never lie to him. Once he knew something, the words just flooded out. It was one of the things that he loved most about him. And one of the things that scared him at this moment. He had to dig just the right amount, apply just the right pressure- but he also knew that doing that was going to tear the both of them apart. This final secret of Scott Hunter. 

“We’ll see.”

Tag List (open for this fic only):

“Marly, man. She’s off limits.” 

“I know. Just. Fuck. I’m heading out.” 

And he walked out of another club. Another night where Svetlana danced with Roz and he fought with himself to not watch. To not wonder what the fuck had happened. He hadn’t told her what he’d started to feel. He hadn’t done anything that night that was out of the norm for them and yet- she’d walked away. And he took the clue and let her. It didn’t make it any fucking easier to watch her with one of their mutual best friends several times a year. Never a glance his way, eyes only on a man that he was fairly sure was in a steady relationship. 

He nearly made it to the elevator before he heard Roz yelling his name. Damn it. He was wasted, he could hear it Roz’s voice and he knew where this was headed. He just wasn’t sure that Svetlana knew where this was going. He had a feeling that Roz had never confronted Svetlana about what had happened that week. 

“Marly! Wait! This is Sveta. You’d like her and she’d like you- if she’d ever let herself like anyone but me.” 

He caught the shock as it rippled across Svetlana’s features, but he just looped Roz’s arm over his shoulder and walked the two of them into the elevator. It was time for Roz to crash in his hotel room and sleep this off. He glanced back at Svetlana and held the door open- sure that she was staying with him. There was no point to pretend otherwise and maybe a petty part of him wanted her to see this. Wanted her to see the conversations that Roz had with him every time he got drunk for the last two and a half years. How Svetlana would be good for him. How he’d support it. How he wished they would just work it out. There was nothing to work out and there never had been, but not in Roz’s drunk mind. 

“Sveta. Sveta, lyubimaya…give him a chance. I know you got scared but Cliff is a good guy. The best. Like my Jane.” 

“We switching to Russian, now Roz? How much did he fucking drink?” 

“Don’t look at me. He started before I got here. I can get him to the room, Marly.” 

“Like hell. This is what he’s done every time he gets black out wasted since…I’ll help you get him settled and then I’ll go.”  

She nodded and settled on the other side of Roz. He kept his eyes forward- not seeking hers. Just focused on what he had promised. Get Roz back to his hotel room, tuck him in, set him up with some tylenol and water for tomorrow morning, and then head back to his own room a few doors down. He’d push from his mind how many times Roz had taken out his cell phone and shown him Svetlana. Shown him, his best friend and said that she would be good for him. Said that he should go after her. It was something he never told Roz about when he was sober- he knew how bad he’d feel if he knew how many times he’d try to set the two of them up when he was drunk. 

“You…you need to see newest Sveta pictures. She’s so good for you, Marly. So good.” 

“I know. I know, Roz. I don’t need more pictures to know that.” 

“Why don’t you trust me? Why don’t you call her? I gave you number.” 

“She…she made it clear where she stands, Roz. I’m respecting that man and sober you knows that. Drunk you is so mad that your grand plan fell through.” 

“He…he do this often?” 

“Only every time he gets this drunk, Lana. It’s fine. Really. He just wants you to be happy- he hasn't even gotten to the part where he guilt trips me yet.” 

The elevator doors slid open and he got Roz moving, Svetlana trailing behind them. He didn’t risk another look at her. He’d fucked his way through half of Boston trying to forget her, trying to forget whatever had started between them and then short circuited. The only way he survived these nights was not interacting with her and leaving so early that Roz asked him what happened to him the next morning. Staying this long had been a mistake, but he fucking wanted more than a few minutes out with his friends for once when she was here. 

“Sveta- whatever he did- we can fix. Marly is good man- whatever he did–”

“Roz- stop fucking talking. Just stop.” 

“It wasn’t him who did something, Ilyusha. Cl…Marly wasn’t the one who did anything wrong.” 

He froze. They were still a half dozen doors down from Roz’s room and he stared around him at the woman on his other side. He hadn’t done anything? Then what the fuck had happened? She was currently studying her hands- while avoiding both of their stares. And that…yup…that was Roz’s bitchiest glare on full display. The one he wore when someone had done something so astronomically stupid that words failed him. He couldn’t believe that Roz judged this as one of those times. 

He forced himself to start walking as Roz began rambling again. This time at Svetlana. In Russian. In a tone that he could only judge as condescending. Fucking hell. He was just supposed to be getting Roz back to his room so he could sleep this off- not causing a rift in one of his oldest friendships. 

Svetlana opened the door in front of them- Roz not pausing in his torrent of Russian opinions. If looks could kill, Roz would be dead at this moment. And as he deposited him in the bed- Cliff realized what the layout was and he felt the smallest bit of anger spike. He knew about Jane. He knew that Roz was head over heels for that woman and that woman alone- how the fuck was she okay with this? 

He made quick work of stripping Roz down to his boxer briefs. The man was a fucking furnace and he’d learned over the years that if he went to sleep in anything more than this- that he’d wake up still drunk and definitely break every lamp in this room. Or worse if his shirt got caught. He felt Svetlana’s eyes on him, but he kept his focus. Get Roz tucked in- get out of the room. Tucked in, out of the room. Tucked. In. Out. Of. The. Room. 

“Cliff- I…” 

“Don’t, Lana. You don’t owe me an explanation.” 

He turned and made his way towards the door. He was not having this conversation with her- not now, not ever. He might still want her more than anyone in th world, but it was a little late for an explanation after two and a half years. 

“I got fucking scared. I realized that I actually liked you and I…bolting was easier. Or I thought it was. I’ve been running ever since.” 

Ottawa had rolled into town a couple of hours ago and Dima had texted him a little over a half hour ago that he was on his way over. They’d thought about meeting for dinner somewhere to build their friendship off the ice, but it had been two months. He didn’t trust that he wouldn’t kiss Dima the moment he saw him. So, his apartment was it for tonight. 

A knock at the door and he took a deep breath before opening it. On Dima’s last visit he’d given him a key to get up to his apartment and a parking pass for the garage- it was far easier than going down to get him each time and it protected Dima in the event that anyone recognized him. He opened the door to find Dima clad in grey sweatpants and a Centaur pullover. He pulled him into the apartment and pinned him to the door. They tangled together, before Dima went to his knees and he stared down at him. How was this real life? How did he get to have this with the guy he’d fantasized about since he was fifteen on his knees in front of him, his hands pushing his sweats down greedily? 

“D…Dimochka…I want to fuck you- not just a blow job.” 

“And if I want give blow job first and then fucking?” 

“Holy hell, D. I…I don’t know if I can…are you able to stay tonight?” 

“Da. Night game tomorrow. Just have to be at morning practice.” 

He grabbed the back of Dima’s head and rocked his hips forward. Their mutual groans had his head tilted back, hitting the door. As much as he wanted to try to find a pace, there was no pace. There was no rhythm. There was just Dima and him and his body giving in to everything that Dima did to him. He loved giving in to him. He loved being able to turn off and just be and this was the only person he’d ever experienced this with. His previous flings were nothing- NOTHING- compared to this. 

“Fuck, Dima. Fuuuuck.” 

He lasted only a handful more seconds and as he tried to pull away- Dima held him firm. He felt him swallowing around him and he felt Dima holding him upright as even his legs started to go weak. He’d never experienced this before- didn’t know that this was something he could experience. Dima licked him shaft to tip and then gently tucked him back into his pants, before he stood, wrapping Jake’s legs around him as he picked him up. 

“Holy hell that was hot. Dima- I’m sorry that I…” 

“Why be sorry? Was good for you, yes? Was good for me too.” 

Dima pressed another kiss to his lips as they walked through his apartment. He’d been here a few times, but he was surprised at how deftly he moved through the space. Jake found himself being placed on the counter and they continued to make out. Four months. It had been four months since the draft and he didn’t know what to do with being able to do this regularly. He may have told the world he was gay- but it had never been like this. He had never been with someone so freely. 

“Get out of upstairs head, Jakey.” 

“How…I…give me a second. This- us- I dreamed that we could be this and now…it’s so fast and so real and I’m fucking terrified- for…for you, Dimochka. What if we’re not careful enough? What if something happens to…what if someone in Russia finds out and…” 

“I know. Scared too- but not scared here. Not scared with you. Kova- if I let fear live here…I will not ruin this, us, with that fear.” 

Those clear brown eyes settled him and he nodded. He understood and he agreed. They could not be scared with each other. They couldn’t act like this was anything other than the goodness that it was for the both of them- even if that idea also terrified him. He expected Dima to hold back, to not give fully, to just mess with him and he was alright with that. What he didn’t think would happen is the softness and fondness he saw in his eyes. It wasn’t just him that was pushing against what his heart was feeling but he was so scared to show it. So scared to fully show it. 

“I thought we said we’d go slow.” 

“Not sure how. Not with you.” 

“Oh thank fuck, Dima. What…what was…Kova?” 

“Nickname. Russian nickname.” 

“Like Dimochka?” 

“Yeah, but for Jacob or Yakov. Are…are you okay…” 

“Please fucking call me that again.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dima walked into team breakfast- he’d arrived back at the hotel a half hour ago- looking like he’d just returned from a run for his teammate’s benefit. His roommate had only given him a shake of his head and an approving smile. He wondered for a moment if it would be this approving if he knew who he had been with, who he had spent the last twelve hours with. His linemates motioned him over to the table they were already settled at, both Bood and Haas chatting about the scouting reports. He felt bad for a moment about not reviewing film, about not taking a better look at what they were up against. But it was Jake. And while he expected that he would not necessarily play against him, he knew enough about his playing style and how well it fit in with Toronto. 

“Morning run went well?” 

“Da. Very good.” 

He felt his cheeks blush a bit. His morning run being where he fucked Jake senseless, his body still vibrating from it, from being with him. He placed his plate down and slid into a chair- the glances he got from the older players ran down his spine. Fuck. They’d noticed. 

“Jackie? Is Jackie in Toronto?” 

“Maybe.” 

Hollander plopped down at their table and he gave him a confused look, but his smile was easy and then he remembered. This had been his line until this year. In years past he had played with both of them and he was sure that these were two of the people he was most comfortable with. He did not want extra attention from Hollander- one of the few people that could likely figure him out in only a few moments. 

“You’re gonna have to learn how to balance it, Savchenko. She go to college here?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Everybody feel good about the plan for tonight? Gagnon has a nasty forehand- you went up against it plenty in juniors.” 

“Da. Is good player.” 

“He’s your fucking rival.” 

“Luca–”

“Haas- he is friend- when we don’t play against each other. We went to same camps year after year. Little hard to hate someone that pushes you to be better for long.” 

“So you know how to negate his forehand?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Good- you’ll show me at morning practice. Ilya, too.” 

He looked down at his oatmeal and just nodded, a smile lit up his face. Jake might not like it when he found out that he told them his tell, but he was sure that Toronto was asking him similar questions about him. They knew how to deal with most of their teams- but they were the rookies and they were the ones that knew each other best. Tonight was going to be a great game. 

****************

‘Kova. Good game- great to see you. See you in eight days.’

‘You had our number tonight. Pay back is a bitch.’

‘Like to see you try.’

He loaded onto the bus, tucked his phone into his pocket. They started a roadie tonight- with a flight to Nashville- where they would arrive in the wee hours of the morning. He plopped down in an empty seat- he wanted space and he would take it for a few moments. Rozanov dropped into the seat next to him, a laugh and a joke tossed to someone else on the bus. For once, he would have preferred the quieter of the Hollander-Rozanov pairing. 

“Natushka doing well?” 

“Da. She mentioned going to trivia night with friends. Sounds like she is good at university.” 

“She’s great at trivia. World history knowledge is clutch.” 

“Shto takoy?” 

“Came to staff trivia night. Not sure who invited her. Seemed to have good time, looked like had real fun.” 

He stared at Rozanov. What did this mean? Why was his mother hanging out with Centaurs’ staff and not people from the university? She was an academic- it made sense she would be great at trivia. It did not make sense to him that she would just go without an invite. And if it wasn’t Rozanov or Hollander…who was his mom friends with? It was dangerous for her to make friends that were not directly related to her work- especially friends that his father might view as a threat.

“My father…he…” 

“I know. She’s in Canada and we’re discreet. She’s safe to have real friends here, Dima.” 

“You don’t know my father- his reach- what he can do to her–” 

“Ya znayu. And I’ll make sure anyone that gets close to her knows as well. But I need to make sure that you’re not feeding information back to your father about her.” 

“The bastard can rot in hell.” 

“Good. Glad we’re on the same page.” 

“Rozy! First hat trick of the season- first round on you when we fly out?” 

“No. No. On Hollander’s tab. He lost bet.”  

“I told him yesterday. Ilya stays.” 

“You…you want him here while I read the journal?”

“Yes. Ilya is safe. I am safe with him. I don’t know you, but I trust Galina that you can help me- I just know I want to go back to normal. So I am here to go back to normal. And that means you have to know everything I know.” 

Ilya settled next to Shane on the couch and he caught the knowing look in his eyes. He knew that there was no going back, he knew that the only way to move was forward. He also knew that Shane was not ready to hear that- they both did. But it was a huge step for him to bring the journal with him today, for him to have told Ilya the details of what happened. For that- Ilya could stay. 

He hadn’t been sure that Shane would have made this amount of progress, but he’d learned something about him today- Shane took his word seriously. If he said he would do something, he would do it. Even if he was emotionally wrecked. Even if he needed his partner with him to survive the idea of placing a notebook in front of him with the truth. Even if he was incredibly uncomfortable with being this vulnerable. Shane Hollander didn’t realize how fucking brave all of this was. 

“You’re brave to do this, Shane. I’m going to take a few minutes to read what you wrote. Can you handle questions?” 

“Yeah…I…yeah- I guess.” 

“See, Shanechka. No judgment.” 

“He hasn’t fucking read it yet, Ilya.” 

He glanced at them to see that Shane had all of his defenses up- which he was sure was where his infamous resting bitch face came from- except he was with Ilya. And with Ilya- he could see how terrified Shane Hollander was. Ilya’s hand traced patterns along Shane’s back as he propped himself up on his elbows, head hanging, and he then turned his attention to what Shane had written. 

It was not the first time in his career that he had white knuckled his way through a truly heartbreaking story, but it was the first time in his career that anger also rode him hard. How the hell was Ilya Rozanov not in jail right now? From everything that he knew about the man- he expected that he would have lost his shit on all of them. His mind worked overtime as he pulled together the time line and glanced at the still angry scar on Ilya’s neck. He’d been injured, injured enough that he knew he couldn’t enact his revenge. That was probably the only reason these men were still above ground and breathing. 

“See- he’s looking at me with pity. I don’t want everyone…I want people to still respect me.” 

“Shane- this isn’t pity. At least not in the way you think. You went through something that most people wouldn’t walk away from. You walked out of the practice facility, drove yourself home, made it to your bedroom before anyone figured out that something was wrong. How many people did you go by on the way out?” 

“A dozen or so? Between cleaning crew and security, team docs- you know, normal people at the facility.” 

“I’ve read up on the medical details that your doctors provided. You should not have been able to do hide this from anyone and you did. If anything- it is a wonder that the worst injury you have are lingering bruises.” 

“But they should have never–” 

“I am going to cut you off. There is one place that I need you to agree to work from. This is not your fault. You telling the world that your partner was injured and that you needed to be with him does not make this your fault. Can you start from that place?” 

“I…I…I can try.” 

“Okay- can Ilya step out? Can we start building trust?” 

“I…”

“I’ll be in waiting room. Just text if need me.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

David Hollander worked in content silence as he made a large pot of chili. Sure- it might April and a little out of season- but it was one of Shane’s favorites- especially as chili cheese fries. And right now- his son needed his favorites. He knew if it was up to Ilya- Shane would get whatever he wanted right now that brought him even the slightest bit of joy. The only reason he made this was because the season was over and Shane would enjoy his non-season treats. 

He expected family dinner would be hard this week. Shane had started therapy last week and when he’d heard from Yuna that Ilya was going along this week- he knew that Shane was struggling. Shane did things like this all the time by himself- he leaned into the discomfort to make his life better. From his diet, to his endless training, to some more questionable things he’d seen in Shane’s life- he was comfortable with being uncomfortable. But if he knew his son at all, he was not comfortable with being out of control. His life must feel out of control at the moment to ask Ilya to go with him for something like this.

The news had finally revealed which players were being charged- Comeau, Drapeau, Andropov, Couillard, and Jarvinen, as well as, Desjardins. It was odd to find out that detail from a newscaster instead of his son, but he knew better than to push Shane for details. He also knew that Yuna was about at her breaking point with Shane’s silence about what really happened. He suspected that Shane refused to tell them for many reasons- one of them being that he wanted to protect them, another one being that he could not bring himself to say this more times than necessary. 

He pulled the fries up from the fryer as he heard the gravel crunch outside. A glance out the window and he recognized one of Ilya’s cars- the blonde haired man emerging from the driver’s seat; his son taking a few extra moments before he got out of the passenger’s side. He caught bruises that still peaked out from under his button down and gritted his teeth. He was not a violent man, but if he knew that Shane and Yuna would not lose their minds- he would join Ilya in whatever plan he had. And he knew that Ilya had a plan. Anyone who knew the Russian knew that he had a plan for retribution- one that he had likely already recruited Boston and Ottawa to participate in. 

He heard Ilya greet Yuna, heard footsteps from Shane- but he was quiet. When he heard the footsteps behind him, he turned around to see Shane with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes were swollen and red- therapy had obviously been brutal today. Before he could say anything- Shane walked over to him and stepped into his arms- into the kind of hug he hadn’t sought out in years. It wasn’t a panic attack. He realized that he was another safe place for Shane and so many of those had disappeared in the last couple of months. 

“I wrote down what happened. I want you and Mom to read it.” 

“Yeah- of course we will. You know your mom will have questions.”

“I know. I promised I’d try to let other people in about what happened- not just be in my head. And…and more than Ilya.” 

“If you’re not ready…” 

“I’ll never be ready. I just want it to be over- to get through the questions and the looks and…” 

“Shane- this is not on you. This happened to you.” 

He heard other footsteps and Shane pulled away, but pressed a notebook into his chest. He gave him a questioning look and Shane just nodded. Now. Before dinner. He could see that Shane had worked himself up to this on the car ride over and if it did not happen now- his brittle control on his emotions might break- again. So he made himself a plate of chili fries, took it to the kitchen table, and started reading. 

Yuna quickly settled next to him- Ilya must have mentioned to her what Shane wanted and he placed the plate between them. He was vaguely aware that Ilya made a plate for Shane and then a plate for himself. He read carefully, he kept his expression as neutral as possible- even as anger bubbled to the surface. He thought he’d be able to stay composed- until he read about what Desjardins suggested and he felt his stomach clench. He forced himself to finish what Shane had written, even as his hands shook. 

His boy. This was his precious boy and they’d threatened him with unthinkable acts. With things that he’d never even thought might happen in a hockey locker room. He knew things could be rough, knew there were issues- but maybe he was too naive to realize that it could be this bad. And that his son had been in an organization that only used him- that never respected him for all of the things he had brought to that team. They’d taught him to be a good man and the world had used that against him. 

“I need some air.” 

He never- EVER- needed a break. It was usually Yuna that had to walk it off or didn’t want to show her emotions in front of someone. He was the level-headed one. And at the moment the level-headed thing seemed to be to track down the five players and beat the ever loving shit out of them. While they had all been charged- they were not in jail. It would be easy- far too easy- to take matters into his own hands.

His son- that loved hockey more than almost anything- now seemed to dread the idea of being in an arena. His son- who had come out to the world to care for the man he loved- now was the person who needed care. His son- the man who led Montreal to two cups and was there for all of his teammates- through marriages, divorces, babies, deaths- had been utterly betrayed. He knew all of this before reading what happened- but reading what happened made him angry in ways he was not sure he should contemplate for too long. 

“Dad?” 

He looked over his shoulder and stopped his stalking. Shane stood there- timid- quiet- things he’d seen less of with Ilya in his life. He looked like the little boy that just needed a hug- so he walked over and pulled him into one. 

“I’m furious Shane- but not at you. I need you to know that this is not your fault.” 

“But if I had been even a bit…” 

“It was 6 against 1 and you’re alive. You get to live your life in ways that they’ll never get to because of their decisions. Other than jail time- the best revenge you can have is to continue to be the person and player that you are.” 

“What if they don’t go to jail? What if…what if I look up in two years and they’re across from me like nothing ever happened?”

“Hello commissioner.” 

He froze. That voice. He closed his eyes and considered his options. A hockey player in his physical prime- a man that he knew could kill him. He slowly turned around and let out a shaky breath. Ilya Rozanov stood in the doorway, a cold stare leveled on him, back lit by the full moon. An angel of death and his time had come. 

“You fucking faggot- you think that you can do this to me?” 

“Da. And you- I will enjoy.” 

He moved so swiftly he barely had time to bring his hand up to protect himself. It didn't matter. He crumbled to the floor, his last thought being that maybe he had underestimated Rozanov. 

********

Drip, drip, drip. He tried to move his hands, then his feet- nothing. He opened his eyes and was met with that icy blue stare. Right. Ilya Rozanov had come for him. He thought that this was only Montreal- he never related it back to Hollander. Never would have placed it as something that might be because of what HE DID. 

“You know why now? You realize it?”

“What we did to you.” 

“Not me. Shane. The joy you took away from him. He was given this league everything and you tried to take it away. I will not try. I will take.” 

“They’ll find me. You won’t get away–” 

Rozanov slammed a fist into the side of his face and then he saw the knife. A long slice against his side and let out a scream. No pleasure showed on Rozanov’s face– only a look that he recognized as a plan coming together. He had been part of his plan all along and he’d played into it. 

He refused security. He kept himself on a schedule. He made himself the perfect victim and he’d never thought of himself that way. He had always been the hunter and now he was very clearly the prey. 

“Just make it quick.” 

“You’ve tortured Shane for years. You deserve more than what I can do. Hell will be too kind.” 

His screams filled the air and he took in Rozanov’s calm demeanor. No one would find him. No one was coming for him and he was fully at the mercy of a man that he knew would fulfill his promise. So he could scream all he wanted- his life would end in this dank storage facility. And he wondered for a moment if this would be it. If he was the end of Rozanov’s list. 

*************

“How…how did they…” 

“It was quick. Not like you. Not like this. You make system- you own success and failure. You. Failed. Shane. You made world where team could turn on the best in league. Because of love. Because of love you think is wrong. They can fuck every woman in the world- rape, assault- that is fine. But real love? Only because mean in love. Be glad that I do not show you the evils you approve.” 

Raw fear. The thought that Rozanove might…but no. He had been true to his word. Torture was fine, but Rozanov seemed to have lines he would not cross. Even in his anger. Even with everything he had done to them- he would not stoop to what other MLH players had done. 

“My family…my children…” 

“Safe. Only you. And you are end. This is end.” 

“I…okay.” 

“For that- I stop torture.” 

And with that- Ilya Rozanov slit his wrists and throat. His vision slowly faded- his last sight being Ilya Rozanov quietly cleaning his tools. No panic. Just business as usual- an unremarkable thing as Rozanov completed his plan. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d lied to Shane tonight- something that he hated to do, but was necessary. Shane was the one he must protect. If this came back on anyone- it would be only him. This was his plan. His actions. HIs alone and he would do everything he could to keep Shane safe. 

He stood in the truck stop shower, he’d gotten most of the blood off of him after he’d bagged the pieces of Crowell up. But he needed to thoroughly wash himself. This was worth the risk and it was in the direction that he’d told Shane he was going. The long way to Ottawa- a non-existent sponsorship meeting and enough waterways to dump parts of Crowell’s body in. 

His work was done. He felt relief. No one that could hurt Shane. No one to take away the joy he found in hockey. They were gone from the league. They could ride out their last few years with just hockey. The shake up gave them a chance to make permanent changes. A commissioner that could see that the league was changing. Gay players. A world where aggression should only be on the ice. Accountability. It was a pipe dream, but one he hoped he’d opened the door for with his actions.

***********

The cottage. He parked next to Shane’s car and let out a sigh. The sun was peaking out on the easter horizon. Shane would be waking up soon to settle on the porch with Anya. He promised to be next to him and he was here. These were the important promises.  The ones that they’d built their life and love on. 

He quietly opened the door and heard the pitter patter of Anya’s paws. He scooped her up, his body fully relaxed. The news hadn’t broke about Crowell. He’d made it back to Shane and even if this broke bad- he’d made it to him. 

“Ilyusha? Baby?” 

“Da. Dobroye utro, Shanechka. Was hoping to make tea before you woke up.” 

“I always sleep like shit without you. I’ll make tea- take Anya out and get the blanket?” 

“Yeah. Gimme kiss.” 

Christopher Grady thumbed through the evidence files on his desk. He’d been called in late last night- it was an all hands on deck situation. Scott Hunter, MLH superstar and gay icon, had been arrested for murder. Not just murder- multiple murders across this country and likely several others based on his known travels. He thought that this was a mistake- it had to be, but the calmness in Hunter’s demeanor caught him off guard. He wasn’t scared. He was settled. Like he had always known this day might come. 

“Grady- we want you to interview him. Disarm him with your charms or whatever.” 

“Being gay does not mean he will be disarmed by me. It’s not how it works.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Do you want this chance to break open your career or not?” 

“Fine. But we do this my way- if we want the truth. If we want him to talk- this is about trust and keeping a lawyer out of that room.” 

“You got it. What do you need?” 

“Blueberry banana smoothie- extra banana- from the place down the street.” 

“That- absolutely not.” 

“Get two smoothies and come back. Then I’ll begin.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He heard the door open and close, but he kept his eyes on the table- on the feeling of the handcuffs that attached him to it. He’d had a great run. He was honestly shocked that he’d never garnered suspicion and when he saw what they were arresting him for, he almost laughed. That bastard had raped over a dozen women. He’d done the world a favor by ridding it of him. 

A smoothie appeared in front of him, the handcuffs were released. He looked up and he felt his heart thundering in his chest. Fuck. Why was he here? Why was he the one interviewing him? Wouldn’t he recuse himself from this case? He schooled his features to neutral as his mind caught up with what was in front of him. The world might know he was gay, but no one knew about them. They’d both thought it was best while he was in the MLH to keep things quiet. He never thought that it would allow them to intersect this way. 

“Blueberry, extra banana- hope you don’t have any allergies.”

“Are…are you supposed to be the good cop?” 

He watch Kip over his smoothie and noticed that he held his own in his hand. Together. They were in this together. If it was anyone else, he would think that they were a fan and had read up on him- clutching to his daily smoothies and hoping the routine would set him free. It was different with Kip. It was a way to tell him that he’d do his job, but he was not going to leave him alone. He was in this with him. 

“No. But I know it’s been a long night for you and it’s going to be a long day. This will probably get old- but every time I come in here and we talk- I’ve got to remind you of this. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney and if you cannot afford an attorney one will be provided for you. You have the right to request an attorney at any time during our conversation. Do you understand your rights?”

“Yes. And I waive my right to an attorney at this time.” 

Kip placed a file on the table and he chewed on his bottom lip. His most recent kill. Boston- a mafioso that had trafficked no less than a dozen women. He’d been aware of him for years and had taken his time to confirm what he suspected. After his last acquittal, he’d decided it was time to act. 

“Lorenzo Belmonte.” 

“So, you know who he is, Mr. Hunter?” 

“I’m aware. He was a mafioso in Boston- ran the Boston chapter of the De Fiore crime family. Acquitted for human trafficking last month.” 

“And he conveniently disappeared the day the Admirals played the Raiders in Boston a couple days after his acquittal. No witnesses. His body was found in the river a few days later, nearly unrecognizable.” 

He sipped on the smoothie, his eyes drifting over to Kip. What did he want? What was he trying to get out of him? If he wasn’t in an interrogation room- he’d explain it all. Kip placed a stack of folders on the corner of the table, angling it so that he could read the tabs. Names. Across a dozen states. People he knew, people he had killed. A subtle shift in Kip’s body language, a nod towards the pile and he let out a ragged breath. He could have this conversation with him or he could wait for the federal attorneys to arrive. Him. He’d rather choose him. 

“What can you offer if I tell you everything?” 

“That your story will not be embellished. That I’ll listen. Maybe you’ll get to request the prison of your choice.” 

“Fine, but I’m at a bit of a disadvantage- Mister?” 

“Grady, Detective Christopher Grady. Most people call me Kip.” 

“Well, Kip. I think we should go in chronological order. What’s the oldest file you have?” 

“2007- Denver, Colorado.” 

“Close enough.” 

Kip’s eyes flickered up to him- the question soundly in his gaze. That wasn’t his first kill? He’d killed before he was 18 and been good enough to cover it up? He wasn’t sure how he’d explain to him that he’d learned how to cover his tracks at a very early age- from his sexuality to his need to kill. He was a master at locking off and hiding parts of himself, but coming out as gay had been a turning point. 

He let the world see more of him and, apparently, had gotten sloppy in one of his most recent kills. But as he looked at Kip, he chuckled to himself. He may have gotten sloppy, but the man across from him just wanted to hear why. And if that saved what was between them- he’d tell him everything. He would bare his soul to save their love. 

“It was the week of the MLH draft combine…”

AN: I'm going to be offline for a week...sooooo...every story is getting a chapter today to hopefully tide folks over. I'm so sorry if that feels like spam but...happy 'writer is guilty that she won't put anything out for over a week' day?

“Svetlana- this Cliff Marleau. Cliff- Svetlana Vetrova. I know…I know…you see each other- but never formally introduced. Davai. I’ll get us more drinks.”

“Hey, Lana.” 

“If you call me that he’ll fucking know.” 

“Do you really care if he knows? Last I checked- there was some girl named Jane.” 

“Jane?” 

She studied Ilya carefully. She knew something had changed, knew there was something that Ilya was keeping from her. She never thought it would be a woman. Ilya often brought his conquests in front of her for a vibe check when they were back in Moscow. But as he brushed past a woman he’d normally stop and flirt with- she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Holy fuck. Ilya Rozanov had someone he was actually interested in and while Ilya didn’t seem to be ready to tell the world about it- she knew him. And she was so glad he’d found someone he cared about this deeply, even if he hadn’t admitted it yet. 

“It’s been like that since…February? March? Last year.” 

“Bozhe moy.” 

“Yeah. I mean he still goes out and fucks around but…I don’t know…it only seems to be when he’s on the rocks with Jane.” 

“You look like seen ghost, Sveta. Marly do his patented pick up line?” 

“No. Nyet. Jane?” 

“Gossip like old woman- Marly. Jane is no one, Sveta. Nothing like you.” 

Ilya moved past her and she followed behind, Cliff’s hand found the small of her back for a moment as he guided her through the crowd. What the fuck was that? What the fuck was Ilya doing? And why was he denying someone that he obviously liked to her of all people? 

**************

She laid next to Ilya at the rooftop pool and she let out a sigh. She wanted to spend more time with Cliff. If she’d known he was going to be on this trip, they would have talked about this before they got here. How to sneak away. How to get Ilya just drunk enough that he wouldn’t notice his two friends going off to be together. Now- with her on a chair between the two of them- she wasn’t sure exactly what to do, to get that wish. 

“Marly just got new contract…I’m surprised haven’t tried to sell him car already.” 

“Ilyusha- seriously? You do not meet someone and just ask them to drop 300K on a luxury car. Have to know them first…this is your problem.” 

She caught the laugh from Cliff- barely concealed by a cough. No, she had never tried to sell him a car- but she did meet him and immediately decide within five minutes that fucking him was the best thing she could possibly do. She still was not completely sure how her younger self had ever thought that was a good idea, but she was glad it had happened. She was glad it had been him. 

“I am looking for something better than my old beater to drive around. Now that I’m off my rookie contract…there’s got to be something else to explore.” 

“See? When back in Boston- I bring him by. You two go have lunch, talk cars, maybe decide that your friend Ilya is genius to set this up.”

A smile and a wink from Cliff as she just nodded along- Ilya’s attention fully on if he had persuaded her. If she didn’t know better- she’d think that Ilya was trying to do more than get her a car sale commission. That he was trying to actually set them up, but that wasn’t Ilya. At least not with her and she was fairly sure not with Cliff- he would be her wingman when it came to finding a guy in a club- but he had one rule. No fucking his teammates. Which she had been soundly ignoring for a little under two years. And as Cliff dove into the pool, she had to stop the groan that wanted to escape her. Yeah, yeah she planned to ignore that rule for as long as possible. 

*******************

She felt him before he touched her, already half turning to greet him as he pulled her into his arms. It was quieter at this time of night- Ilya had long disappeared with some woman that looked eerily like someone. She just couldn’t place a finger on who. Normally, it would bother her, but as she settled against Cliff’s familiar chest- she was glad for Ilya’s distraction. 

“Fuck. Do you know how hard today was? To see you and not be able to do this? Not be able to hold you and…fucking hell, Lana.” 

“He’d never let me see you again.” 

“Roz doesn’t fucking care. Did you even listen to that car buying date he pitched?” 

“One rule. Don’t fuck his teammates.” 

“How’s that working out for you?” 

“Oh fuck you.” 

“Maybe not here, but if you want to go back to one of our rooms…” 

She pounced. She wasn’t even sure her mind had fully agreed to what her body did as she pulled him down for a kiss. God, she just wanted to stay here. She just wanted to be this connected with him and…fuck…no. That thought was dangerous. She absolutely could not follow through on where that thought went. And as she pulled away from him, she saw that he recognized the change in her. That he recognized that something had clicked in her mind that scared the living shit out of her. 

“Lana–”

“This…this was a horrible idea.” 

“Lana–” 

“No, no. Just…we should stop while we’re ahead, before anyone else finds out.” 

“Lana. Sveta. Jesus, fuck. Ilya sent me to find you and told me to have a good time- take care of you. He. Doesn’t. Care. He all but gave me permission, but only if you’re interested. Are you still interested?” 

“Mr. Hollander- it’s great to meet you. I’m Melissa, the physical therapist on staff with the Centaurs. Let’s see what we can do to get your muscles…holy fucking shit.” 

Shane closed his eyes and then forced himself to look her in the eyes. He felt Ilya stiffen next to him, he was still heavily bruised, but he had to start doing something. It had been nearly a month and he was cleared to do whatever he wanted. He wanted to start with an evaluation and some sort of idea of what could loosen and strengthen his still healing muscles. 

“I am…so sorry. That’s wildly unprofessional of me. I knew about the injuries I just thought they would be–” 

“Well thank fuck you aren’t trying to hit on him. That would end poorly.” 

“Ilya–” 

“Shanechka- your body is still beautiful even with nasty bruises. Why you not listen to me about this, hmm?” 

He settled a glare towards Ilya before shaking his head. Ilya joking with him was something that he desperately needed. He needed normal with Ilya, even as everyone else was still tiptoeing around him. 

He heard Melissa let out a laugh and she moved. She grabbed various bands and balls and other normal PT torture devices, which she handed to him without a further glance at his bruises. She was here. She knew about hockey injuries. He knew that his injuries were some of the most extensive that anyone would ever see and it would be fine. This would be fine. As she started to talk about various exercises to figure out where he had scar tissue- he settled and Ilya moved to go about his PT regime. Comfortable. Normal. Rehabbing this hockey injury like he had a million before- the only difference was who inflicted it. 

He wiped his face and went about the exercises she gave him. It felt good to do something, anything, to get his body moving again. Even if it was slow. Even if he felt parts of his body stiffen in ways they never had before. Career changing. All of this was career changing in ways that no one could anticipate. One doctor had even advised him against trying to get ready for the next season- four months from now. He’d told Ilya he was never going back to that idiot and after Ilya heard the full story, he’d more than readily agreed. His body was healing, even if it was slower than normal. 

“Have you been doing any conditioning?” 

“No. I only just got cleared. It’s been yoga and light stretching for a month.”

“Okay- we’ll get you on the bulk program. The conditioning coaches will want to take a look at your normal regime- just to get an idea of where they can add in. I’ll send the updates to the team nutritionist and they’ll get you going there. Time to pack on some muscle, Mr. Hollander.” 

“Shane. There’s zero need–” 

“Told you, Mel. No Mr. Hollander- that is Papa Hollander- not Shane.” 

“Go through those exercises a couple times a day, if you’re still stiff in a few days- we’ll adjust. Nice to meet you, Shane. And welcome to Ottawa.” 

***********************

He stared at the couch- the fucking therapist couch that he was supposed to sit on and spill his life secrets. Spill his guts and hope that this- man- that he didn’t know would fix it. He came highly recommended by Galina, but that meant a lot less to him than it meant to Ilya. He just wanted to be fixed. Done. He wanted to not need to talk about what happened again and again and again. First with the police and now with a therapist and eventually with others- outsiders. Fuck. He hadn’t even really told Ilya about all of it yet- Ilya seemed to be waiting for him to decide it was time. He never wanted it to be time. He never wanted to see the pity on Ilya’s face about him not being able to stop this. 

He realized he had been standing there for far too long- just trying to convince himself to sit down and as he looked up at the therapist he realized he was waiting for an answer. What did he ask him? Did he really disappear so far inside of himself that he didn’t hear what the man had said? Why couldn’t Galine have suggested a female therapist for him? That would have been easier. Maybe he just needed to leave and go find someone else- someone that didn’t look like the men that had done this to him. 

“Mr. Hollander- I’m Brandon Davidson. Galina mentioned this might be difficult for you. How about you take a seat and I tell you a little about myself? Then you can decide if you want to talk today.” 

“They’ll be mad if I don’t talk.” 

“They?” 

“Ilya. My mom.” 

“Well- we can work on that too. A little about myself that you won’t find on my professional biography, but I think it matters for you. I played minor league baseball in the Toronto system for about ten years, moved up and down to the MLB for several stints. I left baseball because my boyfriend got very, very sick and I couldn’t be there for him- I went to management and asked for time to care for him. Their reaction let me know that leaving was my only option. You’ve done the hard part when it comes to leaving Montreal behind- choosing what is best for you and Ilya. What happened in that locker room should have never happened, but it’s still the world we live in as gay athletes- it’s a fear we all have. I will not make you talk about that day today, Mr. Hollander, that’s in your time. When you trust me enough to tell me about it.” 

“Shane. You can call me Shane.” 

“Shane. So what do you want to talk about today?” 

He stared out the window. They were 15 stories up. In a building that did not look like it would have any kind of medical facility within it. Private. Enough businesses in here that no one would question why Shane Hollander started coming here regularly when he was in town. Galina and Ilya had done a good job vetting this for what he needed in order to be able to even try it. He just thought it would be easier. That he could just sit down and say what happened- he’d get some homework and then he’d be fine. He’d be back to normal. He’d be back to Shane from before. And he felt a bit like an idiot even thinking that. 

“I don’t like to talk- not with people I don’t know. The only person I really like to talk with is Ilya, maybe my mom and dad. Hayden. J.J. But I haven’t talked with any of them about this. I can’t.” 

“I’ve seen some of your interviews, ads- you’re very articulate.” 

“That’s not me. That’s the job. There’s no vulnerability in saying that Montreal…that we…that the team did well or that we need to work on our defense or that it was a rough night. And I have to be vulnerable to talk about this- to tell anyone what really happened in there.” 

“You…you’ve not told Ilya?” 

A firm shake of his head. Ilya had seen the videos- at one point he’d stolen someone’s phone and watched everything. So that he’d know what to delete from Shane’s phone before he just started leaving certain group chats. From what he knew- there was a point at the cottage where someone had to delete the videos because Ilya was actively plotting their murder. Not that he would act on it- but in the days when he could barely function, could barely speak or even look at anyone- it had given Ilya something he could point his anger at. He still saw the anger in his eyes every time he took off his shirt- he needed to start saving money for the fucking fines Ilya was going to get next season. There was no way that he was going to let the remaining Montreal players off scot-free. 

“Homework assignment- tell Rozanov. If you’re up for it- write it down and bring it to your session next week.” 

“These…these sessions are an hour?” 

“You’ve been in your head a lot, Shane. And that’s okay. You’re processing it where it is safe for you and I have to earn the trust that this is a safe place to process it as well. Can you talk with Rozanov?”

“I…I’ll try.”  

************************

Tuesday night. He had therapy again tomorrow afternoon and he had done one of the homework assignments. He wrote down what happened. Ilya had gone to get a massage to help with some of the lingering tenderness around his neck and he’d sequestered himself in his office- told Ilya he was reviewing some brand deal that might take him hours. The lie had hurt, but he didn’t want Ilya to ask about his homework. He didn’t even want to admit he was failing at therapy. This was the part of the homework that was optional. Talking to his boyfriend was the important part- or that was what Brandon thought. 

“Malysh? Shane? What’s wrong?” 

Shit. How long had he been sitting there- staring at that spot on the floor and hoping that it would open up and swallow him whole? How long had he been in his own head, trying to convince his mouth to work, to talk to Ilya? The one person in the world that he normally loved to talk to and he couldn’t make his mouth work. 

“Shanechka…” 

“I promised I’d tell you what happened. What really happened. What I remember. I don’t know that I can, Ilya. I…I don’t want you to look at me differently…like…like I’m weak.” 

Ilya stilled next to him and then nodded- more to himself than to Shane. Shane watched as he walked around the living room, grabbing various items, apparently on a mission. When he stopped in front of Shane again- he recognized his favorite blanket, a blindfold, and Ilya’s pillow- the one that kept his neck aligned to allow the muscles to fully relax when he laid down. Ilya laid down on one half of the couch, setting up the pillow and putting the blindfold on like a headband. When he patted his chest, Shane hesitated. His favorite pillow. His feet moved without his permission and he crawled onto Ilya, settling his body between his thighs, his head resting firmly on his chest. 

“Why the blindfold?” 

“So you cannot see my eyes and think I look at you different.” 

“And if I need to see them?” 

“You take it off. Not my choice when- yours, Shanechka.” 

He gulped and laid his head back flat against Ilya’s chest again. Arms wrapped around him, Ilya rubbing his back with slow, consistent pressure. He was safe here. He was safe with Ilya. It was why his body had let go as soon as he got home that day. It was why he’d sought out Ilya to hold him in the hospital. It was why he’d closed out the rest of the world for the last few weeks. He knew he was safe with Ilya, but it had never been like this. It had never been something that Ilya was not in- with him. 

“I’d just got out of the showers after practice. Coach had me do extra conditioning drills until I puked. After three hours- McCann realized that wouldn’t happen. Even with pushing me- it just- it’s not something I do. I had just pulled on my boxer briefs when I heard them. I knew everyone had left hours before, I thought that I could just get dressed and head out the back door- towards the players only entrance. Then I realized they were drunk.

“I managed to get shoes and shorts on before they rounded the corner. Comeau, Drapeau, Andropov, Couillard, and Jarvinen. Jarvinen looked scared. 

“The rookie?” 

“Yeah, yeah…I…I can’t. No questions please, Ilya. At least until I’ve got it out. Then…then you can…” 

“Okay.” 

Ilya pressed a kiss to the top of his head and he adjusted himself, higher up Ilya’s body, his face pressed into the side of Ilya’s neck. As Ilya’s arms settled around him again, he took a deep breath. He could get through this. It was Ilya and now that Ilya had promised to not ask questions- he could get through this. 

“Jarvinen looked scared. They were all trashed. I…I thought that if I just ignored them that everything would be fine, so I pulled on a t-shirt, threw my bag over my shoulder and tried to leave the locker room. They jumped me as soon as I got through them. I…I fought like hell. Tossed the duffel as soon as hands touched me. Landed I don’t know how many kicks- kept my feet under me for as long as possible. It was Comeau that tackled me to the ground. They each took an arm or a leg- I kept fighting…I knew that going somewhere else would be worse. Then they tossed me into the visitor’s locker room. I didn’t even realize they had zip-tied my hands behind my back. I kept kicking as hard as I could, they finally decided they needed to zip tie my legs together too. I got at least three of them in the ribs while they tried.

“When all I could do was squirm- I saw the sticks and the pucks. I thought for a moment that they might have just wanted to scare me- until Comeau gave a stick to Jarvinen. He told him that this was to prove himself…to prove himself to the real fucking Metros. I think he maybe did three shots. Then it was endurance to stay awake- to stay conscious. They lined up trick shots, treated me…it…they just kept saying this is what I deserved. This is what fags get. 

“Desjardins said…he said that back in his day they would…that if someone was gay and they found out- they’d make it so that they’d never sit properly again. He…he suggested that they- they use a hockey stick to ra…rape me. I broke the hand zip ties then…not sure how I did it. I- I was so scared, Ilya. And I just wanted to get home. I just wanted to get to you. When I got my hands free- they stopped. I don’t know…it scared them- I guess? By the time I got my feet free- they were gone. I…I made sure my clothes covered the bruises, grabbed my duffel and…I just needed to get to you. I knew I would be safe once I got to you and that you’d take care of this, of it, of me.” 

He felt dampness against his forehead and looked up to see tears streaming down Ilya’s face. His chest heaved under him as he gripped him tightly, he’d bitten his lip so hard that Shane could see a bit of blood.  But he’d been good to his word. He hadn’t asked any questions. He’d kept the blindfold in place and as Shane reached up to push it back, Ilya let out a sob. He kept his eyes down, even as he freed Ilya’s. Ilya’s hand found his chin and tilted his head up. Pain, raw pain was all he saw in Ilya’s eyes and under that an anger that he understood. But there was no pity. As emotions continued to flicker across Ilya’s face- it finally settled on one of the most familiar- love. 

“Can talk now?” 

“Yeah. Yeah…I don’t know if I can answer questions. Other than the police…I…you’re the only…I don’t want this to define who I am.” 

“Fucking hell, Shane. This…this…eto tebya ne opredelyayet. Eto ne opredelyayet tvoye naslediye i to, kem ty yavlyayesh'sya v mire khokkeya. Eti grebanyye ublyudki... eto tselikom na ikh sovesti. Eto kharakterizuyet ikh, Sheyn, a ne tebya. I uzh tochno ne tebya. Tyur'ma dlya nikh — eto slishkom myagkoye nakazaniye.” (1)

“Please, Ilya…please just stay with…” 

“Ya tebya lyublyu. I’m going no where, but do not be surprised when we have to pay exorbitant fines this year. If I cannot murder them in their homes after torturing them until they scream for mercy …yes, I will be in penalty box a lot.” 

“They won’t be playing.” 

He locked eyes with Ilya, his chest heaved, his own breaths coming short as the panic hit him. No. No they weren’t on the Metros anymore and the MLH had to have got the message out that they were done. Do not give them a contract. They’d be going to jail- it wasn’t worth their money. 

But all of them were good players. All of them had skills that other teams needed- would someone offer them a deal? Even if they were going to trial for what they did? Even if they were going to serve time for this? He felt more than heard himself screaming, Ilya holding his head against his chest and rocking him in his arms. How did he face them on the ice again? How did he even think about doing that?