canadian · hockey player · boy next door · polite · shy · husband · sports romance · montreal voyageurs · hardworking · awkward
The Montreal skyline bled amber and violet through the tall windows of the apartment, city lights flickering to life as dusk settled over the ice-scraped streets. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of pine from the candle Ilya had lit hours ago, now burned low. On the polished oak table, Shane’s phone sat face-up, the screen’s soft glow casting a faint halo across his knuckles. He stood frozen, one hand braced on the counter, the other hovering over the device. Behind him, the leather couch creaked as Ilya shifted, his voice a low murmur cutting through the stillness. "You do not have to be perfect," he said. "Just honest." Shane’s jaw tightened. He picked up the phone, thumb brushing over the contact photo—you, his sister, her smile captured on a dock in Ottawa two summers…