Hold

July

Even though Canadians do not fear the winter, Shane still loves the summer more. It is not the same as holding the Stanley Cup. Nothing is. But skating on summer ice feels different. It is lighter. It is more free.

Shane is ready for the summer hockey camp as usual, and he has decided to enjoy it as much as he can. Right now, he is watching Ilya get into his gear. This afternoon, they have a game with the kids. It is the part Ilya silently loves the most.

“You sure you don’t want to get on the ice?” Ilya notices his gaze. He always does. He looks back at Shane.

Shane shakes his head slightly. “I cannot.”

“Kids cannot hit you that hard,” Ilya shrugs. “And we are not going to hit you. We know your condition.”

Shane pauses for only a fraction of a second. “Hm. You really want to beat me that bad? Do you miss when we were on different teams?”

“Mm.” Ilya doesn’t seem to buy it. He finishes putting on his gear and moves closer to Shane. “I mean, it’s up to you.”

Shane swallows hard. He was on the ice by himself yesterday. He had rejected Ilya’s proposal to warm up together and told Ilya he was worried about getting hit by his strong body. It had pissed Ilya off.

If he were honest with himself, he simply cannot skate or handle the puck like before. It is not even close to his form before recovering from his last concussion. He hasn’t skipped his recovery exercises after he feels better. He has done cycling and the ground training. But the ice feels like a stranger. The thirty-year relationship he had with the game now means nothing. He cannot hide this much longer. The team physician and Ilya will find out soon. Shane has made up his mind to give himself a few more weeks until the end of summer camp. He will tell them the truth if the feeling doesn’t return. It has been months since the hit, and Ilya is very perceptive. Maybe he already knows the truth.

Right now, Ilya is almost covering him with his body. He stops Shane’s train of thought by leaning over. “What are you thinking?”

Shane tips up his heels and kisses Ilya with tenderness. He really hopes he can get back on the ice in the next few weeks. He wants to skate by Ilya’s side for a few more years, just like they have for the last few years.

Ilya is sure that Shane is hiding something. It is probably about recovery. Ilya knows it could be bad, but he has no idea how bad. Is it enough to make Shane stop practicing with him just to hide the truth? Ilya has been the full-time asshole in the past years, but he still has no clue how to start this conversation. He lacks the confidence to break the silence.

Beyond that, it is hard to focus on the game when your husband is sitting beautifully on the bench.

Ilya passes smoothly through a boy who feels only a half of his height. He casts a shot toward the net. He is checking on Shane during the release, and that is his excuse for missing. He half-pretends to be mad. He throws his stick against the post to look annoyed.

“Behave, Ilya! You’re an adult!” Scott Hunter shouts. He is gladly leading the other team of kids.

“You’re actually a hundred thousand years old, aren’t you?” Ilya shouts back. He realizes too late that his stick is broken. He didn’t control the angle or the force. He skates toward the bench, still talking to Scott. “Actually, you must be a hundred thousand and ten years old.”

“F—” Scott stops himself. He remembers he is surrounded by the future of hockey. “Fine.”

Ilya sticks his tongue out at him. He stops at the bench, ready to head to the locker room for a spare stick.

“Use this one.” Shane blocks his path by handing over a stick. As he takes it, their fingers brush, a familiar spark of contact.

“Huh. Why?” Ilya is confused. He takes the stick. It isn’t his. It’s Shane’s.

“Too nice of a stick to stay on the bench.” Shane shoots him a wink. It is the most beautiful smile Ilya has seen in months, which is enough to make Ilya stop thinking about the feasibility of using a curve he has almost never touched.

Not scoring a single goal in the next period is only slightly Ilya’s fault. It is mostly the stick. Shane is gesturing wildly from the bench, giving directions with his hands. Ilya cannot use the tool as well as its owner.

“Stop cheating, you sweet little couple!” Scott shouts from across the ice.

Ilya takes a heavy breath. He holds it. He counts down from three in his head. Then he pushes all the air out of his lungs. He refocuses on the game. He cannot stop smiling.

It has been a long day. It has been two long weeks. Ilya finally drags Shane onto the ice after everyone else has left the summer camp. Shane had stayed away from the ice throughout the camp. There were enough coaches so it wasn’t an issue for the camp, but both of them knew this wasn’t about the camp schedule.

It takes Shane a long time to put on his skates. Ilya promised they were just going to skate around, so no gear was necessary. Still, Shane feels awkward that his skating will give out his condition. It isn’t that Ilya will judge him. He just feels unprepared.

Ilya is already out there. He looks effortless even though he has spent the past two weeks on the ice. He isn’t wearing pads either. His curls tremble against the wind he creates from skating fast. He closes his eyes and enjoys the movement. This is what normal looks like for someone who has skated since he was three.

Shane takes in the cold air and forces himself onto the ice. He has his balance, but it is fragile. When he starts to move, he has to gather all his attention to stay in his shape. He has no bandwidth left for his facial expressions or his body language. He knows he isn’t skating elegantly. He has no choice. A single distraction could make him trip on this stupid ice.

Ilya approaches him smoothly. “Why are you so slow?”

“I’m just too tired,” Shane claims loudly. He realizes too late that Ilya was talking about the time he took to change, not his skating.

Ilya snorts. “You didn’t even get on the ice for two weeks. How tired can you be?”

“I’ve been practicing observing everyone as an outsider,” Shane says. “Providing a different perspective. It’s called management.”

Ilya reaches out. Shane obediently puts his hands into Ilya’s. Ilya starts skating. He moves steadily, and Shane lets himself rely on that strength. He gives up some of his weight to Ilya. It feels like learning to skate for the first time. It is easier to balance with some help. Shane closes his eyes and sinks into the familiar sensations he has missed for months.

Ilya stops gently. Shane stops beside him. They are close. Ilya pulls him in until his breath is warm on Shane’s face.

“Hey,” Ilya says.

“Hey,” Shane smiles back. He expects a kiss. His eyes are half-shut.

Ilya doesn’t move. Shane opens his eyes, a doubt rising in his gaze. Ilya hesitates for a second before he speaks again. “You don’t have to skate if you don’t want to.”

Shane frowns. “I actually want to.”

“I mean, maybe the condition doesn’t allow it,” Ilya shrugs. “You know your body better than anyone.”

“It’s getting better.” Shane hates where this is going.

“Yes. Of course. I trust you on that. I’m just worried.”

“It is better.” Shane hates how defensive he sounds. But if he doesn’t push back now, he might never get back to where he was.

“Listen. I am not rushing you,” Ilya says, his voice full of concern. “I know this sport as well as you do. You can recover this time. But what about the next hit? Are you willing to stay in bed for–”

“I am not going to be like that!” Shane cuts him off.

“It’s likely, Shane. It is almost a certainty that you’ll get hurt again next time.”

Shane shakes his head. He has no words to defend himself. Not with the way his head still is not fully functioning like right now.

“Look. We can retire together. Now. We could have another dog. Maybe a kid. Or two. We can still hold hockey camps or play community games. You just wouldn’t be an NHL player. It is not a big deal. We will be in the hall of frame after 3 years. Together.”

It is a beautiful image. But at this moment, it feels like a trap. Shane’s fury takes over the control. “You really want me to retire that much? You’re offering to quit just to get me to stop? Sorry, I am a grown-up who can make my own decisions.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t know!” Shane blurts out. He sees the hurt on Ilya’s face immediately. He regrets it, but the words are out. “No, I mean. I know. I just…”

Ilya lets go of his hands. Shane tries to chase, but Ilya is already moving toward the exit. He steps off the ice and turns back, his eyes dark and sad.

“Shane, we should cool down a bit. You stay here tonight. I’ll go home.”

Shane can only nod.