Chapter Text
“I know,” Shane says to Anya as she whines at his feet, “We’ll go in a second.”
Shane is miserably sitting on Ilya’s couch watching last night’s game on mute. He can’t help but replay every moment in his head over and over again - the turnover, the missed pass, the way the crowd had groaned.
He glances at the clock.
10 a.m.
Ilya would be at morning skate by now. He sighs and Anya paws at his leg.
“Sorry, girl. Let’s go.” Shane says, getting up.
Across the room, some of Ilya’s laundry is draped over a dining room chair. Shane had tossed the clothes there last night after the game, when he was too tired to fold them.
He runs his thumb over the soft fabric of Ilya’s hoodie.
He pulls it over his head and buries his face in the fabric for a moment. It smells like the Russian detergent Ilya insists on importing from Moscow - the kind his mother always used - and still has notes of his cologne. Tears prick at Shane’s eyes and his swallows his sadness. Ilya being on the road for away games never got easier.
Anya whines again, louder this time.
“Okay, okay.” Shane says clipping her leash to her collar.
He pulls the oversized sleeves of the hoodie over his hands, the ROZANOV stitched along the cuff disappearing into the fabric. Shane grabs his thermos of coffee off the kitchen counter and steps outside, Anya excitedly yipping and leading him steadily out the door.
The cold morning air hits Shane’s face and he relaxes a little.
Ilya’s neighborhood wasn’t a secret anymore - press and fans had figured it out months ago - but the gated community kept paparazzi and the especially rabid fans at bay.
Shane walks absentmindedly down the sidewalk, letting Anya stop and sniff as much as she wants. He smiles at her, thinking about his boyfriend and his love for dogs. For all animals, really. Ilya was, as Shane always put it, a big softie underneath all that Russian rage.
Anya pauses at the base of a mailbox and sniffs intensely, tail wagging ferociously. Shane takes a sip from his coffee and admires the quiet street.
“You are spoiled, you know that?” Shane murmurs.
Her ears flick around at the sound of his voice.
“I blame your father.”
She looks up at him, tongue lolling, completely clueless about the stress of the world. Shane laughs softly and crouches down to scratch behind her ear.
Suddenly, Anya stiffens. A low bark rumbles in her little chest. Shane looks up in surprise.
“Hey,” He says softly, “What that all about?”
Across the street, a black SUV idles at the curb.
Anya barks again, sharper this time. Shane squints at the car’s tinted windows, trying to get a sense of what Anya was seeing.
“That’s not very nice. You’re supposed to be the friendly one,” Shane says, ruffling her fur, “It’s just someone parked, baby.”
Shane scratches behind her ear until she relaxes.
“See?” He says softly, “Nothing to worry about.”
Across the street, the driver’s side door opens slightly, just enough for a large camera lense to poke out. It pointed right at them and before Shane can process anything, he hears the click of the shutter. It echoes loudly through the quiet street.
“Shit.” He says under his breath. He pulls the hood on and dips his head down away from the camera.
“Shane!” The paparazzi yells.
The shutter snaps again and again. Shane picks up Anya and walks swiftly back towards the house.
“Shane! Are you staying at Rozanov’s house?”
Shane’s stomach drops to his feet. He keeps his head down, Anya wiggling in his arms. He walks faster now, as fast as he can without running.
“Are you two living together?” The man calls from the car.
Shane’s brain short circuits and suddenly he can’t breathe. He glances down at himself. Ilya’s oversized hoodie, the sleeve pulled over his hand, ROZANOV embroidered clearly on the cuff.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Shane says under his breath.
The shutter clicks wildly behind him.
“Shane! Is Rozanov inside?”
Shane speeds up, lightly jogging now, pulling the hood down lower over his face. They finally round the corner to the house, Shane’s heart pounding out of his chest. He races inside, slamming the door behind him, pressing his back against the door.
He closes his eyes and slides down to the floor.
“Fuck.” He says, slamming his fists on the ground.