ManyPathsToTread81



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  1. Public Bookmark 9

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    But then someone had opened their stupid fat mouth and asked: “Where do you think you’ll be in thirty years?”

    And Ilya, drunk and grinning, had barely stopped himself from saying: Dead, hopefully.


    Ilya Rozanov. The boy. The man. The performance.

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    20 Feb 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    “Go away,” Ilya said, his voice muffled by something. Shane would bend space and time to give Ilya anything, but he would not grant him this.

    Instead, he pushed the door open, his heart breaking at the sight of Ilya in his massive bed, somehow looking tiny beneath the covers.

    “Ilya,” he said, the name escaping like an exhale. He had so much to say. So many things that needed fixing. So many apologies he owed him.

    “Shane, please-“

    “I’ll go.”

    “Yes. Thank you.”

    “No - not… not to Montreal. To the party. If you’ll still have me.“

    OR

    Shane attends Boodram’s Boxing Day Party. This is how it goes.

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    18 Feb 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Sometimes life came at you with a clenched fist and Ilya had never figured out how to duck.

    So here he was, twenty-eight years old, single, dealing with the fallout from injuries given to him by the game he loved, and the second youngest assistant coach in the league to one of the worst teams. Stability was hard to come by, but he was managing.

    Then along came Shane Hollander to knock him on his ass, one more time.

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    17 Feb 2026

  4. Public Bookmark 94

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    Ilya Rozanov has never had a drink that didn’t mean something, or didn’t make him think of someone. He’s had a lot of drinks.

    A history, told in cocktails.

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    15 Feb 2026

  5. Public Bookmark 67

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    They were always Rozanov and Hollander.

    Last names like armor, like the numbers on their backs, 81 and 24, nothing more.

    Then: tuna melts, ginger ale, and Shane.

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    15 Feb 2026