Chapter Text
Ilya constantly lost track of the days when Jade wasn't there. With her, his routine was intense and disciplined, but when the little girl was at her daddy's house, Ilya would go back to sinking into vodka and chips on the couch, watching something that would make him laugh at least a little.
He had been discharged from his depression medication for almost a year, and Galina (his therapist for years) said she didn't think he was having a relapse, but rather an episode caused by the recent separation. She had advised him to establish a routine, as it would bring stability, but there was no routine possible that could make Ilya stop missing his husband.
Shane had said they needed some space seven months ago. They had been doing poorly for a while; Ilya had stepped away from hockey entirely, managing only the Irina Foundation, but Shane was still in the game as an assistant coach for Ottawa. Because of that, it was obvious Ilya would spend more time with Jade, and alone.
The first fight happened when the playoffs were almost over. Shane was never home. Ilya even managed to follow him around with little Jade sometimes, but it wasn't possible to do it always since Jade was five years old and in kindergarten—even one missed class would be enough to delay her development, especially since she attended a bilingual French school, not to mention she frequently spoke Russian with her papa. It was too much for her little childhood brain.
It was Sunday when the Centaurs won the penultimate game of the playoffs at home. Ilya watched on television, feeling his heart grow warm seeing his former teammates and his husband so happy. He was looking forward to celebrating with Shane; the agreement was that by 1:00 AM the Canadian would be home so they could have some celebration time together.
Delays were normal, Ilya really didn't mind that, and Shane was never late, so it was fine, it was nothing. Just an isolated situation. The problem was when the clock struck 2:15 AM and Shane simply hadn't answered his phone.
Ilya was getting tense, so he decided to try contacting Luca instead. He answered promptly, as if Ilya were still his captain and his calls were always urgent.
"Hey, Roz! To what do I owe the honor?" The music was low, but it was still there. It showed he was far away, but he was probably at the bar where Shane was.
"How is the future four-time Stanley Cup champion doing!?" Ilya joked, happy to have practically seen that boy start out and now see him winning trophies with his husband as a coach.
"Good, good. Missing you, cap."
"Well, you're the captain now." Ilya bit his lip. "Is your coach around? I mean Shane, in this case."
"Oh, Mr. Hollander. One minute, I'll pass it to him." And then Ilya heard the volume increase and some laughter in the background. "Ilya? Is everything okay?"
That was Shane. He sounded fine, which left Ilya relieved, but slightly confused by the calmness in his voice—the realization hit him a few moments later: Shane had forgotten about their agreement.
"It's 2:00 AM." Ilya was a bit sharp, unnecessarily so. It wasn't his intention, but he was starting to get upset.
"Oh, fuck—I'm so sorry, my love! Damn it—Thomas, have you seen my keys?"
And then the call cut off.
Ilya was upset, but he couldn't stay upset with Shane for very long, so when he saw his husband walk through the door with a pizza box and puppy-dog eyes, everything became fine.
The following month, Ottawa won the Stanley Cup. Everyone was at the Hollander-Rozanov house; Yuna, David, and even the Pikes, Svetlana, and Rose. It was a celebratory dinner, and Ilya was getting dressed when Shane came upstairs with Jade wrapped in a towel and a sour expression on his face.
"What?" Ilya looked at his husband through the mirror. Shane was messy and covered in flour, since he had been helping his parents in the kitchen.
"I cooked, I bathed our daughter, and you're just standing there?" He placed Jade on the bed.
"Papa, can I wear the little bee outfit?" Jade asked in a childish tone, oblivious to the tension building between her parents.
"Jade, it's not the right occasion, solnyshko," Shane told the little girl, his voice softening quickly to speak to his daughter. "Can you please dress her so I can at least take a shower?"
"I take care of her every time you're away. I don't understand your stress over a few hours of looking after her," the Russian accused, stepping in front of Shane and starting to dry the girl, who was now quiet, her curious little eyes darting between both of her fathers.
"I'm not saying you don't, but I spent the day busy with the dinner and taking turns looking after Jade. Now it's already 7:30 PM and I haven't even taken a shower!"
The volume of his voice was rising, and Jade began to pout, on the verge of crying. That broke Shane's heart into a million little pieces, so he just walked out of the room and slammed the door.
Fights like that became frequent, even with the arrival of summer, which was when Shane and Ilya usually spent the most time together. The frequency of sex had also dropped drastically until the breaking point.
Jade was with her grandparents while her parents had some quality time together at the cottage.
Shane was lying next to Ilya, naked and breathless. The sex was very good, even if it wasn't as frequent anymore. The problem was when it ended. When Ilya turned to one side and Shane to the other, just like now.
It was a bit humiliating for Shane that his husband wouldn't hold him after sex, after saying dirty and beautiful things to him, after telling him he loved him while reaching his peak.
Shane didn't want to, but he cried. He didn't want Ilya to hear him either, but he did.
"Shane?" Ilya spoke, soft and careful, sounding exactly like the man Shane had chosen to spend his life with. "Shane, what's wrong? Are you crying?"
"No, just—everything is fine."
Ilya turned him around, getting a painful view of the brunette's red, tear-stained face. Shane tried to avoid the blue eyes that seemed to read him completely, dissecting him like a book he could read with his eyes closed. Shane knew he needed to talk to his husband; he knew he needed to verbalize how unsatisfied he was feeling within the marriage, so he sat up, followed by the Russian.
"Come on, lyubov. You can talk to me." He held the brunette's hand, caressing it gently. Shane felt a little better at the touch.
"I don't know... I—I don't understand when it started, but this situation we're in is exhausting me, Ilya." He sniffled. "You don't even offer me any affection after sex anymore, or kisses, you don't even hold me."
Ilya remained quiet, listening. Nothing Shane was saying was a lie; they were irrefutable facts, so he felt there were no adequate excuses he could give his husband. Although he desperately wanted to say something, to get on his knees, to apologize for being a bad husband, he simply couldn't. His expression was full of dismay, Shane could see that, but everything had been so confusing lately that Ilya's silence just felt like... neglect.
And then everything spiraled out of control. Shane stood up, saying he didn't want to talk anymore. Ilya tried to go after him and push the conversation, but that only overwhelmed Shane, making him harsher than necessary, and within minutes they were back to square one, screaming hurtful things at each other.
"Well, then do that! Prioritize your perfect little hockey life while you miss your daughter's milestones!" Ilya hit below the belt, making Shane—who was stuffing some clothes into his backpack—stop and look at him with an incandescent fury. Ilya had messed up badly there, very badly.
"I carried Jade." He stepped closer, face to face. "Every bit of effort I make is for Jade. I never needed to mention the late nights I spent with her as a newborn while you played your glorious final year, because that was what you needed to do. So never, ever," he emphasized, poking his finger in the Russian's face, "never question me about Jade. Because you aren't even a third of the husband that I am as a father."
That was the final breaking point. Shane said he wouldn't come back, that he would stay with his parents, and he really didn't return for one, two, four, and now seven long months.
They talked again, obviously. They cried, they relapsed, but there was still too much hurt, so contact became less and less frequent—especially now that Shane had taken over Ottawa as the head coach. He was shining, appearing in various interviews, bringing visibility to the Irina Foundation, but everything they needed to handle professionally was mediated by their publicists. Thus, their conversations were mostly about Jade, who was with the Canadian this week.
Ilya hated being without Jade. He missed her terribly, and it gave him more time to think about Shane—which was, without a doubt, a very cruel part of it all. Even while sleeping, Ilya dreamed of his ex-husband. He dreamed they were back together; sometimes he dreamed Shane was pregnant again, and sometimes he had nightmares about Shane calling another man 'husband' and his little girl calling him 'Papa.'
He hated that he felt like he was living in Shane's orbit. He hated how much he talked about Shane to his friends. He hated thinking about Shane so much, and he hated being slumped on the couch, half-drunk, watching a recent interview of his husband on a show, dodging questions about their marriage.
"Ilya must certainly have been very proud of you," the interviewer's robotic voice echoed through the living room.
"Yes, he was." Shane smiled gently, his answer far too brief for an audience that was already speculating.
"Your husband is, even though retired, one of the biggest inspirations for the Centaurs today. Do you share that kind of confidence between you? Does Ilya advise you on what decisions to make?"
Ilya adjusted his posture, anxious to see how well Shane would lie.
"Um, no. Actually, I prefer to take advice from Weibe, who was our coach and is my mentor today. Ilya was a great captain, but coaching a team is different."
And then Ilya felt absurdly offended—to the point where his confused, drunk mind betrayed him. It was eight in the evening; he knew Shane might be in the middle of Jade's bedtime routine, but he called anyway, and the call was answered shockingly fast.
"Ilya? What happened?"
"You think I wouldn't be capable of advising you, Mr. Coach?" He was being childish and irrational.
"Ilya—"
"I would make a great coach, just like I was a great captain, Hollander! You—you can't mock me on national television like that."
"Ilya, I didn't mock you! Wait—no, my love, daddy just needs to take care of something. Yes, papa is fine. Just a minute, okay? I'll be right back." And then a soft click of a door closing. "Are you drunk?"
"Maybe."
"Heavens... Ilya, I respect you immensely and I admire you a lot too. You were an exceptional athlete."
"But I wasn't enough as your husband." Ilya sniffled.
"Rozanov, not now. Please," he groaned on the other side. Ilya could hear his footsteps until there was another door click.
"I am a Hollander. Ilya Hollander-Rozanov. We are not divorced."
"Yes, we aren't yet." Shane sighed. He didn't want to talk about divorce with a drunk Ilya, though perhaps he didn't want to talk about it at any moment.
Sometimes his mother pressured him a bit, telling him how miserable Ilya was. Hayden would ask if he was truly ready to file for divorce, and that if he was, he could count on him through the whole process (which would be just as painful as the breakup). Rose, during Shane's moments of crisis, would cry along with him because it hurt him so much that it sometimes even hurt her. It had been seven months of almost uninterrupted suffering.
Almost, because everything became fine when Jade came in with that childish voice, asking to play a little bit, asking to go to the park, asking for just a little kiss. Things also felt okay when Shane saw Ilya during Jade's custody handovers, or in rare moments like this, when Ilya called, speaking very poor English because of the vodka and saying he loved him.
"We are not getting a divorce. Please, let me try just—fuck. Just one more time, moya lyubov." He sobbed. Shane felt his heart soften, but then he remembered all the fights, how they were so blinded that they sometimes fought right in front of Jade, and all the awful things they had said to each other at the cottage.
"Go to sleep, Rozanov. We'll talk tomorrow."
And then he hung up, feeling tempted to copy his ex and get drunk. But instead, he just went to take a shower and lay down to sleep next to his daughter.