THE NEW SHADOW
THE NEW SHADOW
4. AN UNEXPECTED VISIT
The city had reached that point where night had already fallen... but not completely. The streets were still alive. Just slower. Quieter.
Ilya drove without music. One hand on the wheel. The other resting against the window. Eyes on the road. Calm on the outside. But something uncomfortable kept moving around in the back of his mind.
The airport was busy. Svetlana spotted him first.
—Наконец-то.
She smiled as she walked toward him.
—I thought you were gonna disappear.
—Скучала? Ilya asked, unable to stop the small smile.
—Не начинай.
They hugged. Easy. Familiar. Like no time had passed at all.
Sasha appeared a moment later.
—I was fully prepared to take an Uber.
—Looks like it, Ilya replied.
—You didn't put much effort into it.
The drive back was light. Quick conversations in Russian. Jumping from topic to topic. Svetlana talked the most. Sasha lounged in the back seat, listening. Ilya joined in when he felt like it, but every now and then he'd drift quiet for longer than usual. Svetlana noticed. Not just the quiet. The way he checked his phone every few minutes too. Like he was waiting for something that wasn't coming. She didn't mention it. Not yet.
The building was quiet. No noise. No movement. They took the elevator upstairs with their luggage. Svetlana and Sasha looked tired. The flight had been long, even if it had gone smoothly.
—I'm starving, Sasha said.
—I hope you've got something decent.
—There's food.
Ilya shrugged.
—I wouldn't call it gourmet.
He pulled out his keys. Unlocked the door. The apartment was mostly dark. He flipped on the lights. Then stopped.
—What the fuck are you doing here?
Shane.
Standing there.
Waiting.
The air changed instantly.
Svetlana froze. Her eyes went straight to Shane. Then to Ilya. Then back to Shane. It wasn't just surprise. It felt more like walking into the middle of a conversation that had already started. Sasha tilted his head slightly.
—Okay...
—that definitely wasn't part of the plan.
Ilya didn't move.
—How did you get in?
Shane held his gaze.
—You're not the only one who knows magic tricks.
Then he let out a breath.
—You asked me to come.
—You said you'd need help.
—And you wanted us to start figuring out the charity foundation.
—That's why I'm here.
Svetlana frowned slightly.
—Charity foundation?
She looked at Ilya.
—I didn't know about that either.
Ilya breathed out through his nose.
—It's just an idea.
—We only talked about it recently.
—Interesting...
She didn't sound accusing.
Just confused.
—Because I hadn't heard anything about it.
Sasha looked toward Shane.
—So, you're Shane Hollander.
—Yeah.
Svetlana stepped forward.
—Wow...
Now she was really looking at him.
Trying to connect the public image to the person standing in front of her.
—I've heard a lot about you.
Shane wasn't sure what to say.
—Actually...
She smiled.
—I'm kind of a fan.
He blinked.
—I've watched you play a lot.
She exhaled softly.
—And honestly...
—I like you.
Shane looked completely caught off guard.
—As a player, she added quickly.
Then another small smile.
—And... well... as a man too.
Nothing inappropriate.
Nothing over the top.
Still way too direct for the atmosphere inside the apartment.
Sasha smirked.
—You've got good taste, Svetlana.
He looked at Shane.
—Very handsome Asian guy.
Those eyes.
The height.
The style.
—Shut up, she replied without even looking at him.
But she kept studying Shane.
Not flirting.
Analyzing.
—Seriously, she continued.
—I've always been curious about you.
—Ilya knows that.
—I told him plenty of times.
Shane felt heat rise into his face.
—Curious about me?
Honestly, Rozanov hasn't told me much about either of you.
—Just the basics.
Svetlana glanced at Ilya.
That answer seemed to confirm something she hadn't quite figured out yet.
—That doesn't surprise me.
She looked back at Shane.
—What's the secret?
—Your discipline.
—Your focus. The way you play. It's not normal.
Across the kitchen, Ilya watched. Clearly uncomfortable. Shane hesitated.
—There isn't one secret.
—It's consistency.
—Doing things over and over.
—Learning not to switch off.
The answer came out slightly awkward.
Svetlana nodded thoughtfully.
—That level has to be difficult to maintain.
—Not just physically.
She stepped a little closer.
—Makes sense.
Then she looked at Ilya again. And this time there was something different in her eyes. A question. Small. But definitely there.
—If I'd known you and Ilya were this close...
—I'd have asked him to introduce us a long time ago.
Ilya avoided her eyes.
More than anything else, that was what made her uneasy.
—Actually...
She spoke almost casually.
—You and I are gonna have a private conversation later.
A soft laugh.
Shane raised an eyebrow.
—Oh yeah?
—Yeah.
She smiled.
—I want to know what you did to become better than Rozanov on the ice.
Sasha laughed.
—That sounds dangerous.
Svetlana ignored him.
—Это становится интереснее.
—Очень, she replied immediately.
Ilya added quietly:
—Потом.
Shane raised a hand.
—Okay...
—Can you guys speak English?
His laugh was nervous.
—Because I have no idea what the hell you're saying.
Svetlana looked at him.
And for the first time since she'd walked into the apartment...
she realized Shane looked just as lost as she felt.
—Nothing serious.
She smiled.
—We're just trying to figure out what's going on here.
Sasha lowered his eyes.
—Because we're clearly missing part of the story.
Ilya opened the fridge.
—There's beer.
That helped.
A little.
Sasha immediately perked up.
—Now that's useful.
Svetlana sat down and crossed her legs.
—Okay.
Now tell me.
She looked directly at Ilya.
—Since when are you two this close?
Neither Ilya nor Shane answered right away.
Which somehow made everything stranger.
Sasha cracked open a beer.
—This is getting good.
Ilya closed the refrigerator door.
—For a while.
Svetlana held his gaze.
Waiting.
Expecting more.
Nothing came.
—Uh-huh...
She let it go.
For now.
—Well, Sasha said eventually.
—How are we sleeping?
Ilya looked around.
—The couch is big.
—Perfect.
Sasha nodded.
—I don't need luxury.
—I'll take it.
Ilya looked at Svetlana.
—You can have my room.
The answer came too quickly.
Too automatic.
—I'll sleep on an air mattress.
Svetlana studied him for a second longer than necessary.
—Really?
Then she smiled.
—Come on.
—Since when do we sleep separately?
The words landed gently. The effect wasn't. Shane didn't say anything. His face did it for him. He stiffened. The color drained from it.
And for the first time since arriving... Svetlana understood exactly what she was looking at. She didn't ask. Didn't comment. But the pieces finally clicked together. Ilya knew the moment she figured it out. Because he knew that expression too well. And somehow that made him more uncomfortable than any question could.
—Well...
Sasha broke the moment.
—Nobody's sleeping anytime soon anyway.
He lifted his beer.
—Let's eat first.
Ilya started serving pasta.
He handed a beer to Shane too.
That helped.
A little.
Only a little.
Ilya glanced at him.
—We'll talk later.
Not a question. Shane understood.
He lowered his head slightly.
Looking at him with a tenderness that was becoming impossible to hide.
The apartment suddenly felt much smaller. And whatever this was... it was only beginning.
Ilya remained standing for another moment. Then set his beer down.
—I'm taking a shower before bed.
He picked up Svetlana's luggage and carried it into the bedroom. Set it down carefully. Like he was trying to organize more than just the room. He took a breath.
When he came back out, his eyes went straight to Shane.
—Hollander.
Can I borrow you for a minute?
—Yeah. Of course.
Shane set his unfinished beer on the table. Didn't look at anyone else. Just got up and followed him.
They stepped into the bedroom.
The door closed behind them.
Outside, the distant television kept playing in the living room. Russian voices mixed with a hockey commentator. A bottle tapped softly against the table. Probably Sasha opening another beer.
The bedside lamp flickered once. Just enough to notice. Just enough to break the tension. Ilya turned toward him.
—What the hell are you doing?
He wasn't yelling. Just asking straight.
Shane rubbed a hand across his face.
Took a deep breath.
—I know I was stupid.
—I know I screwed this up.
—I should've texted you.
—I know.
—I should've said something.
Ilya stepped closer.
—I spent days waiting for a fucking message from you.
His voice lowered.
—And you never answered.
Shane dropped his gaze.
No argument.
No excuses.
—I'm not gonna lie to you.
—I got jealous.
—Really jealous.
His voice was quiet.
—That's why I lost it.
—I didn't know what to say.
Ilya stood still. That wasn't what he'd expected. Or maybe it was. Just not like this.
He stepped closer.
Took Shane's chin gently and lifted it.
In Russian, barely above a whisper:
—Я тебя люблю за это… ты даже не представляешь.
A nervous laugh escaped Shane.
—I'm definitely gonna have to learn Russian.
He smiled weakly.
—I have no idea whether you just insulted me or said something nice.
A small smile tugged at Ilya's mouth. He didn't answer. Just kissed him. Slowly. Without urgency. Without needing to prove anything. Then pulled him close. Holding him firmly. Like he needed to anchor him there. For a moment, time simply stopped.
Shane didn't say anything. He just leaned into him. Like this was exactly where he belonged.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads remained together.
—Promise me something.
Ilya's voice was low.
—Don't do this again.
Shane nodded immediately.
Never looking away.
—Talk to me.
—Don't leave me waiting.
—I'm sorry.
The words came out quietly.
—I really am.
—I fucked up.
A breath escaped Ilya that sounded almost like a laugh.
—I know.
The tension was gone now.
—How the hell did you know they were coming today?
Shane hesitated.
—Don't judge me.
—I saw one of Svetlana's stories.
—They were at the airport.
—I wasn't sure where they were going...
—but I guessed.
Ilya stared at him.
—You drove all the way here because of an Instagram story?
Shane shrugged.
—I didn't really think about it.
Then more softly:
—I just couldn't stay there.
His eyes locked onto Ilya's.
—I couldn't spend another night without seeing you.
—Without being with you.
That hit hard.
Ilya shook his head.
A small smile escaping despite himself.
Then he pulled him closer again.
—You're insane.
—About you.
The answer came automatically.
Ilya closed his eyes for a second.
When he opened them again, he held Shane's gaze.
—Do you realize what you caused?
Shane blinked.
—What?
—Now Svetlana and Sasha know everything.
Shane immediately tensed.
—I'm sorry.
—I didn't mean—
Ilya shook his head.
—That's not what I mean.
His voice softened.
—That was always going to happen eventually.
No hesitation.
—They're the closest people I have.
—After you.
Shane lowered his eyes.
The weight of that landed immediately.
—I'm sorry.
Again.
—I really am.
Ilya watched him for another second.
Then leaned in.
—Stop talking.
Their eyes stayed locked.
—Just kiss me.
Shane didn't think.
Not for a second.
He kissed him.
Immediately.
Like he'd been waiting to do it all night.
The bedroom door opened a little later. The shower started almost immediately afterward. Shane remained in the hallway for a second. Motionless. Breathing. Still trying to process everything that had just happened.
When he stepped into the living room, the first thing he heard was Sasha's voice. Loud. Sharp. He was on the phone, speaking Russian, pacing back and forth with a frown on his face. It didn't sound like a casual conversation. Shane watched him for a second without understanding a word. He didn't ask. This wasn't the moment. His attention drifted elsewhere. Then he saw her. The balcony door was slightly open. City lights spilled softly inside. Svetlana stood outside with her back to him, leaning lightly against the railing, a glass of wine in her hand. The breeze moved her hair just enough to notice. Calm. But not distracted. Shane hesitated for a moment. Then walked toward her. He pushed the door open carefully. The sound made her turn. She saw him. And smiled.
—Well... that's a surprise.
Her tone was easy.
Natural.
—You know you're always welcome here.
A nervous laugh escaped him.
—Yeah... thanks.
He stopped a few feet away, not entirely sure how to begin.
—Svetlana...
He finally forced the words out.
—I need to talk to you.
She tilted her head curiously.
—Talk?
A small sip of wine.
—That sounds serious.
Shane swallowed.
—I wanted to... apologize.
Something softened in her expression.
She really looked at him now.
—Apologize?
She repeated it slowly.
—For what?
His eyes dropped briefly.
—You haven't done anything wrong.
Shane didn't answer.
Svetlana glanced toward the city.
Thinking.
—Actually...
Her gaze returned to him.
—I think you've done something very right.
Her eyes looked different now.
Warmer.
More honest.
—I can see it in him.
Shane tensed slightly.
—In Ilya?
—Yeah.
A small smile appeared.
Not superficial.
Not polite.
Real.
—I've never seen him like this before.
She looked out over the city again, fitting the pieces together.
—Now everything makes sense.
Shane stayed quiet.
—Jane...
She almost laughed.
—That name never made sense to me.
She looked back at him.
—Jane... Shane...
A short laugh slipped out.
—How did I not see it sooner?
Shane laughed too, embarrassed.
—Honestly...
He shook his head.
—I didn't think about it either.
The moment that followed wasn't awkward. Just different. Comfortable.
Svetlana studied him for another second before setting her glass aside.
—I want to ask you something.
Her tone turned more direct.
—and I want an honest answer.
Shane nodded.
—Do you love him with the same intensity he loves you?
The answer came immediately.
—I love him more than anything in this world.
His voice never wavered.
—I don't even know how to explain it... but I don't think he loves me more than I love him.
Svetlana stared at him.
Something shifted in her eyes.
Tiny. Almost invisible. But there.
Then she smiled. Softly.
—Come here.
Shane didn't hesitate.
He stepped forward. She wrapped her arms around him. A real hug. Not out of politeness. Not out of obligation. A genuine one. Shane hugged her back just as tightly. They stayed like that a little longer than expected.
—Okay...
She almost whispered it to herself. When they pulled apart, she kept her hands on his arms.
—I want to tell you something.
Shane looked at her.
—What is it?
She smiled again. This time there was something else behind it.
—Because from now on... we're going to be family.
Then she raised her hand.
The ring caught the city lights.
—I'm getting married.
Shane blinked.
—Seriously?
She nodded.
—Yeah.
A quiet laugh escaped her.
—Ilya is so completely disconnected from reality sometimes that he hasn't even noticed what's been happening.
Shane smiled.
—That sounds like him.
—I haven't told him yet.
She glanced down at the ring.
—but I will.
Her thumb brushed against the band.
—When I realized he'd already made his choice...
She looked back at Shane.
—I knew I had to make mine too.
There was no resentment.
No bitterness.
Only clarity.
—and that's okay.
Shane didn't know what to say.
He didn't have to.
—It's going to be a good thing.
He smiled.
—Really.
—I hope so.
She picked up her wine again but didn't drink.
—Take care of him.
The words carried weight.
—It's not easy for him to feel this deeply.
Shane nodded.
—I know.
—and don't let him go.
This time she held his eyes.
—Not many people get lucky enough to find something like that.
—I won't.
Svetlana smiled.
Completely genuine now.
—Good.
She adjusted the collar of his shirt, an automatic little gesture.
Surprisingly intimate.
—I think we're going to get along just fine, Hollander.
Shane laughed softly.
—I hope so.
—Don't hope.
She winked.
—It's going to happen.
Ilya never found out what was said on that balcony. Neither of them ever brought it up again. But that moment, suspended between the city lights and the night sky, became one of the most personal memories they would ever share.
The next morning, Svetlana and Sasha left early. Very early. Jet lag was still calling the shots, and neither of them planned on staying inside.
—I want to check out a gallery near the canal, Sasha said while putting on his jacket.
—They've got some European pieces and a few contemporary exhibits that look interesting.
Svetlana turned her ring slowly around her finger.
—I need to stop by a jewelry store.
—I want to find something special.
Sasha raised an eyebrow.
—For him?
She smiled.
—Yeah.
—for him.
They didn't wake anyone. The door closed quietly behind them.
Morning light filled the apartment when Ilya opened his eyes. He didn't move right away. He felt the warmth beside him. A presence. Shane. He turned his head slightly and looked at him. Unhurried.
—Did they leave already? —Shane murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep.
Ilya didn't answer. He just kept looking at him. With that quiet intensity of his... the kind that never announced itself, but somehow consumed everything. He moved a little closer. Started running his hand over him. A little closer still. He hesitated for barely a second. Then touched him. Slowly. His hand traced across Shane's torso. Down his leg. Then along his foot.
—They could see us, Shane said softly.
Ilya didn't stop.
—They've seen me naked before.
A nervous laugh slipped from Shane.
—That doesn't help.
But he didn't move away.
Ilya leaned in closer.
Still teasing him.
It had been a long time since he'd had him like this.
And he'd felt every day of it.
—Don't you think this is dangerous?
Shane held his gaze.
—A little.
A nervous smile touched his mouth.
—and that doesn't stop you, does it?
Ilya barely shook his head.
—No.
A faint smile.
—I like danger.
They kissed as if it were the first time. Deeply. With intention. Without rushing. As if everything they'd kept buried for days had finally found a way out.
Ilya slid a hand into Shane's hair, holding him firmly, tipping his head back just slightly. It wasn't rough. But it was confident. Certain. Shane felt the reaction instantly. A rush that spread through his entire body, forcing his eyes shut for a moment. Forcing him to surrender.
—Ilya...
His voice was barely more than a breath.
Just enough space to breathe.
No answer came.
Only another kiss.
Deeper this time.
Their hands began to move. Without hesitation. Rediscovering each other. As if both of them needed reassurance that the other was really there. Ilya pulled him closer, erasing what little space remained between them. Shane answered the same way. Without thinking. Without holding back.
The first wave hit like that. Fast. Heavy. Impulsive. Like they'd both been holding too much inside for far too long. There was no strategy. No careful plan. Just need. Just the overwhelming desire to find each other again all at once.
Shane's breathing had grown uneven now, his voice lower, rougher. And then he said it. In Russian.
—Ещё… пожалуйста… ещё… не останавливайся…
The accent wasn't perfect. But it was close. Too close.
Ilya froze for a second. Not because of what he'd said. Because of how he'd said it. That Russian. Unexpected. Almost precise. It hit him directly. Something deep inside him sparked to life. Stronger. Deeper. More instinctive. He looked at Shane in surprise. As if he'd suddenly discovered something entirely new about him.
—Since when...?
The words barely left his mouth. The question unfinished. But he didn't need an answer. Not anymore. Because whatever Shane had just done... it had taken him somewhere else entirely.
When things finally settled for a moment, neither of them pulled away. They didn't even try. Shane rested his forehead against Ilya's, still breathing hard.
—That was...
The sentence never came. Ilya smiled faintly. Still close.
—I know.
But it didn't end there. Because now there was no hurry. They began again. And this time it felt different. Slower. More deliberate. More theirs. Ilya lifted a hand to Shane's face, gentler now. Looking straight at him. No teasing. No sarcasm. Just presence.
—Come here.
Shane obeyed without hesitation. The rhythm shifted. No longer urgency. Connection. Every movement more measured. Every moment more meaningful. As if they were trying to stretch time itself. As if they both knew this wasn't only physical.
This time there were more looks than kisses. More shared breaths.
Quieter. The good kind. And when they finally lay still, there was no need for words. Shane absentmindedly traced a line across Ilya's chest with his fingertips. Ilya closed his eyes for a second.
—Whenever you see me, you never give me a break...
Shane's voice was barely above a whisper.
Ilya smiled.
—You're not complaining, are you?
Shane shook his head slightly.
—Not at all.
And they stayed there. Close. Motionless. As if, for that moment... it was enough.
The drive back to Montreal felt different. Shane drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting near the window. Every so often he'd catch himself smiling.
—Asshole...
he muttered to himself.
—but worth every second.
There was no regret. None. Just disbelief. At what he'd done. And how completely worth it it had been.
When he got home, he dropped his keys on the table and pulled out his phone.
Idiot, I made it home.
Enjoy your friends.
PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME DRIVE BACK.
He hit send and dropped onto the couch. Still smiling. Remembering everything. But mostly remembering how it felt.
Hours later, back in Ottawa—
—What's so funny?
Sasha set a few shopping bags on the kitchen counter.
Ilya locked his phone immediately.
—Nothing.
The smile was still there, though. Small. Almost impossible to hide. Svetlana noticed. She didn't say anything.
The atmosphere felt lighter when they gathered in the living room again. A hockey game played on television. The flickering light from the screen filled the apartment while they talked in Russian, mixing commentary about the game with their own conversations.
Then, almost casually, Ilya mentioned it.
—We got a new player.
A rookie.
Sasha looked up.
—And?
—He's really good.
Ilya took a sip of beer.
—but unbearable.
Svetlana turned toward him.
—What's his name?
Ilya narrowed his eyes.
—Why do you care?
—I don't care about people.
She smiled.
—I care about talent.
After a moment, Ilya unlocked his phone and pulled up a picture.
Svetlana studied it.
Then immediately recognized him.
—Oh.
The Brazilian.
Ilya looked surprised.
—You know him?
—I saw an interview a while ago.
—He was being recruited by several teams.
—I didn't know he'd end up here.
—He's good.
She handed the phone back.
Still thinking.
—Interesting.
Then:
—I want to meet him.
Ilya laughed.
—No.
—Ilya.
—No.
She tilted her head.
Amused.
—Come on.
—I'm not asking for much.
Ilya shook his head.
—You can't come to practice.
—It's closed.
—No visitors.
—Come on.
Her voice remained calm. But persistent.
Ilya didn't answer. And he didn't look away either.