Chapter Text
Boston
January, 2018
Ilya knows it's over before he hits the ground. It's an odd feeling, disconnecting his mind from his body. He knows Shane gets this way sometimes, lost somewhere between living and the experience of it. But Ilya? Ilya resides in every tissue, hyperaware of his own existence. Which is why as his knee lurches backwards and something snaps, he feels the agony of losing his career before any physical pain registers.
Shane. Where is Shane? Somewhere out West, he thinks. Vancouver or Edmonton, but he can't remember which game comes first. Is this the early or late one? It's hard to keep track of the road trips, of what time is safe to call once Shane lands and is safely ensconced in his solo hotel room. No more roommates. Thank fuck.
He hopes it's an early game. Hopes Shane is playing, taking a pre-game nap, reviewing tape, anything but watching Ilya's future implode. It's been less than a year since Shane's own injury… Ilya had been present for that: saw him laid out on the ice, visited him in the hospital the next day, crawled out of his skin waiting for updates, wore tracks in the thin hotel carpet.
Maybe this will be easier. Better. Less traumatic. Ilya won't be rendered unconscious on the ice (or maybe he will be once he lands, but the contact was knee to knee and unless he lands wrong.. Is he landing wrong? He should protect his head. He doesn't have time. He's already falling).
He'll walk away from this. Metaphorically speaking.
Fuck. He didn't even make it to free agency. He's still in Boston, the Garden frozen in a silent gasp as they watch their captain, their first line center, their beloved star, collide with the Vegas defenseman. Once they realize he's injured, the sound will become deafening. Jesus. Some of these fans have watched him play every home game for almost a decade. They'll be feral after this. He doesn't envy any Vegas fans in the crowd.
He wonders if they'd feel the same way knowing he planned to defect to a division rival. It's only January, but the discontented rumbling has picked up as his contract negotiations drag on. It's looking likely he'll be traded after the All-Star Break. Or before. That's always a mindfuck when a player who was voted on from one team shows up playing for another.
How far away is the goddamn ice? Ilya knows where it should be. It's always been reliable, steady under his feet. The only constant he's had his entire life. Not even his relationship with Hollander is as certain. One hot and heavy summer, colored by fraught confessions and a promising glimpse of future domesticity, does not a relationship make. While he's certain Shane is who he wants, it's still so new. It's the first step onto a frozen pond after a week of freezing temperatures — praying for solid ice, wary of cracks. Ilya is unused to wanting something to the point of recklessness. To the point of signing with bottom-feeder Ottawa.
Management is going to be pissed. Their most valuable trading piece, something that could set them up with a reasonable replacement (no, not replacement. There is no replacing Ilya Rozanov) will be wiped off the board.
He will come back from this. He's only 26, at the top of his game, can negotiate a new contract built on hopes and dreams. He pays people a shit-ton of money to make sure he gets what he's worth, but this is a new challenge. What team will risk it for the off chance he'll ever skate again?
Shane calls it catastrophizing. How is this not katastrofa? He's been injured before, but the sinew stretching and bursting beneath his skin can only mean one thing: months of grueling physical therapy and no guarantees. Certainly not before the trade deadline. Not before his contract expires in June.
Maybe Boston will extend him. He hasn't said he's leaving outright. He hasn’t burned any bridges. Maybe they'll offer him one year on a joke salary just to keep him around. His career isn't over. It's not. People have skated again after worse.
More likely, this is it. Katastrofa.
He'll get surgery. Do rehab. No one will offer him a new contract until he can prove he'll be ready to return. It won't be enough time to keep his visa. He'll have sixty days post-expiration to pack up his life and return to Russia.
No more hockey. No more Ottawa. No more Shane Hollander.
Ilya hits the ice.