blackwiring



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    Shane’s eyes snap open. Wait a second.

    “Ilya,” Shane says, propping himself up on his elbows. “Ilya, wake up.”

    Ilya makes a pained nose, eyes still shut. “I shut curtains already.”

    “It’s not that. Ilya, hey. Don’t go back to sleep.” Ilya tries to bury back into Shane’s chest, but adrenaline knifes through Shane’s hangover long enough for him to peel Ilya off and roll him into his back. Ilya blinks blearily up at him, starfished in the sheets. Beautiful and naked and missing his mother’s cross.

     

    OR: When Ilya’s cross goes missing after the Centaurs celebrate their first Stanley Cup win, Shane is determined to get it back. And so are the Centaurs. And the rest of Ottawa.

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    23 Feb 2026

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    “Come on,” Comeau says. “Are we all just supposed to pretend it's normal that you’re still playing house with Ilya Rozanov?”

    “Gil—” J.J. says, but Shane doesn’t want him to finish that sentence, to pull Comeau gently off the ledge he’s steering himself toward. Shane wants to push him, kicking and screaming, to make them say it to his fucking face. That after all this time, they still hate him for the heinous crime of falling in love.

    “We’ve been married for two years,” Shane says. “I’m not sure that qualifies as playing house. I mean, it’s longer than you were with your first wife, isn’t it?”

    Or: Shane reunites with his former teammates at J.J.'s bachelor party. He's finally ready to say (and maybe punch) his piece.

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    23 Feb 2026

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    Shane lifts one eyelid again to look at Rozanov. His eyes are red-rimmed. Like he’s been crying. “Why…why aren’t you in Boston?”

    Rozanov’s brow furrows. “Why would I be in Boston?”

    “You, you’re captain. Raiders. Boston.”

    The room is silent except for the beeping of monitors.

    In 2023, Shane takes a bad hit on the ice. When he wakes up, the last thing he remembers is a tuna melt.

    There’s a lot to get used to.

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    20 Feb 2026

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    Then Rozanov turns, his side profile on full display, and Shane can see now that it’s not his phone he’s cradling in his hands but an unlit cigarette and a flickering lighter.

    Shane is suddenly unsure of his next move. If he announces himself, he can perhaps get this introduction over with before the stick ever gets lit. And then, of course, there’s always the option of turning around completely, heading back inside like he was never even here. But when else will he get the chance to meet Rozanov alone, privately, without a crowd of hungry journalists eager to hear their first exchange and weigh in on their microexpressions and tones and the unspoken messages in their words?

    What he absolutely cannot do is be within three metres of Ilya Rozanov smoking a cigarette because there are some embarrassments you never come back from, and suffering a spontaneous nosebleed while introducing himself to the Russian opponent he’s never met before is unequivocally one of them.

    Or:

    Shane Hollander has a strange affliction: cigarette smoke gives him nosebleeds. Needless to say, this makes interacting with Ilya Rozanov more difficult than he'd previously imagined.

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    20 Feb 2026

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    20 Feb 2026