Chapter Text
Playing for Ottawa was nothing like what Ilya had remembered all those years ago in Boston. This team was dead set on always spending time together and being a true team. Ilya found himself constantly invited to team days outside of practice and games. At first he refused, preferring his solitude, but after the team caught wind that he’d gone over to the Boodram’s for dinner, there was no stopping them.
When Ilya’s bid on a house on the outskirts of Ottawa was accepted, Bood had gathered the team and they invited themselves over for a team/get Roz moved in day. Ilya wanted to protest, but his words fell on deaf ears so he gave up quickly. He put a smile on his face and welcomed his team into the confines of his home. For the next 8 hours he hosted them like the gracious person his father had drilled into him to be and never once let his thoughts reflect in his face.
But, the thoughts were there, just under the surface. Thoughts that reminded him that he was asking for too much. That these people would soon realize that he was worthless and lazy and a waste of their time and affection. Thoughts that told Ilya he was weak, that he needed to get himself a wife soon or people would suspect the worst of him. He looked out at his teammates, many of whom had young wives or long-term girlfriends. His heart panged with fear, did they think Ilya was a disgrace because he didn’t have someone?
About midday, as the team finished building a bookshelf that would go into Ilya’s entertainment room, Dykstra and Bood approached him with thoughtful expressions on their faces. They looked at each other, gave a quick glance toward their wives in the kitchen creating snacks, and then settled on Ilya.
“So, Roz. You leave a woman behind in Russia?” Dykstra asked, a coy look on his face and a beer held loosely in his hand.
Ilya looked between his teammates, his face a stoic mask, “Net.” When they both looked at him confused, he sighed, “No. I am single.”
Without warning, Ilya’s thoughts travelled back to early 2015. He’d just come back to Moscow after a week-long run of games in a European showcase. His father had called him before he’d left Spain to let him know that his first night back would be a big dinner with some important guests.
“Ilyusha, my son. I am so glad you are home. The Petrovs and the Kuznetsovs are here to celebrate Russia’s dominance in the showcase. Sergei is very impressed with your performance. You know he has important contacts that could be good for you.” Ilya’s father met him at the door with whispered Russian words.
“Hello, papa. I will drop off my bag and get washed up. Wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting.” Ilya was tired and didn’t want to entertain anyone, but he knew it would be worse for him if he didn’t.
Ilya’s father had nodded with stony eyes that bore into him as he passed. Then, under his breath his father hissed, “Don’t you dare make a mockery of me in front of Ivan Kuznetsov. He is wary about wanting you to be associated with his daughter, but I convinced him the match would be good for both families.”
That’s when it hit Ilya. This wasn’t just a celebratory dinner for himself. No, this was an opportunity for his father to push a marriage upon him. Ilya wasn’t interested in anything of the sort, but he didn’t want to risk his father’s anger if he argued. So, Ilya nodded stiffly and then replied, “I will do my best father.”
Katarina Kuznetsova was beautiful and delicate. She reminded Ilya of his mother and how fragile she had always seemed. Though Ilya often found himself taking women to his bed, he wasn’t interested in being married. His whole life he had seen what marriage does to Rozanov men. First with his parents, then with his papa and Polina, and now in the past year he’d watched his own brother turn into an abusive asshole with his wife, Sofya. Ilya had no desire to sink into that kind of life.
Katarina though, was different. When she smiled it reached all the way up to her eyes. She listened raptly when Ilya would talk, mostly about hockey, but on occasion about the books he enjoyed reading. She wouldn’t talk freely when around her father, or Ilya’s for that matter, but when it was just the two of them on a walk through downtown Moscow or in the gardens of his father’s estate, Ilya watched her bloom like a flower. She talked of all the things she knew and all the places she wanted to travel to.
Over the next few months, Ilya spent as much time with her as he could spare. Not because he was falling in love with her, but because she was a wonderful distraction from the coldness that pervaded his father’s home. She would come to his games if they were close enough to travel to. They spent many hours talking of a life where they didn’t have the shadows of Russia or their fathers hanging over them. The more time he spent with her, the more settled and pleased his father seemed to be.
So much so, that within six months Ilya was handed a family ring by his father and told to make things official with the young woman. Ilya wasn’t interested in being tied to her, she deserved someone who could actually love her. But again he acquiesced because if he hadn’t he knew his father would punish him severely. The cloud of what he’d done at the Sochi Olympics always hung over him, an idle threat of what could happen to him if he didn’t go along with everything his father wanted.
Ilya and Katarina were married two months before his father died suddenly of a heart attack. Once he was buried, Ilya had made moves to get himself out of Russia. He thought about divorcing Katarina, but he knew she wanted to escape Russia just as much as he did. So, instead, he had made the necessary arrangements for them to move to Canada together, then they went their separate ways, only seeing each other for official passport/residency related paperwork or meetings.
Ilya shook his head and looked at his teammates. “I had a woman, Katarina, once, but we were more friends in the end.”
“Katarina?” Bood’s eyes lit up. “She sounds hot.”
Ilya gave Bood a quizzical look, “Hot? You have no idea what she looks like. You can’t tell if a woman is hot just by her name.”
Bood laughed, “Yes I can. Katarina, sexy. Jane, boring. Mildred, old and gross. A name tells the whole story.”
Ilya choked on his sip of beer that he’d taken just as Bood said the name Jane. His mind flashed to a text message thread from years ago. He quietly wondered whether or not Shane was happy with his life. He had a boyfriend now, that had to count for something, right?
“So, you gonna ask Katarina to be your plus one for Wexler’s wedding in two weeks?” Dykstra pulled Ilya back into the conversation.
Ilya looked at his teammates. He decided to go for coy, “Perhaps. It depends on if she is able to fly here from Russia.”
He wasn’t sure why he lied to his teammates about the fact that she lived in Ottawa too, working for a local bank, but he did. Once Dykstra brought up the possibility he actually considered it. Sure, Sveta was often his plus one, but she wasn’t available that weekend. She had a date with her boyfriend, Andre in Cancun that had been on the books since before Ilya had moved back.
Ilya moved away from Bood and Dykstra after that. He slipped his coat on before stepping into his backyard and pulled out his phone to shoot off a text to Katarina. They hadn’t spoken since their immigration meeting at the end of November.
Ilya
Hey. Are you free on January 14th by chance? I have a wedding I need to attend and would love a plus one.
Katya
Surprised you didn’t ask Sveta. Or did you and she’s not available?
Ilya
Not available. That doesn’t mean you are second choice.
Katya
Okay. I should be free. What is the story?
Ilya
A version of the truth. In Russia we were together, but ended up more as friends. Oh and you live in Russia.
Katya
So, not the truth except that we are friends. Why don’t you want people to think you are married?
Ilya
Because when we divorce next year it would cause too many questions. Easier just to say we are friends.
Katya
I am fine with us staying married but living separate lives, Ilyusha. Neither of us want marriage. This keeps my father happy.
Ilya
We’ve talked about this. You deserve better. I will give you more information later about the wedding. Thank you, Katya.
Katya
Always, Ilyusha. )))
—
Living alone had never been a problem for Ilya, in fact, for the several years that he resided in Boston he had revelled in it. But, ever since being forced to live in his father’s home, Ilya had hated the silence that pervaded every inch of an empty home. The first days after he had his teammates over for a housewarming, Ilya called Katya almost every night. A couple of times she was even persuaded to stay over so that Ilya wasn’t alone.
Being alone meant the demons of his father’s home could come out of the shadows. Memories he preferred to keep locked up and hidden away would come crashing out unbidden. Silence was no longer a comfort to him. On one such night in early January, about a week before Coach Wexler’s wedding, Ilya couldn’t convince Sveta to stay on the phone with him nor could he get Katya to come over. So, he was left alone to his thoughts.
It was as the darkness circled around him that he thought of Shane Hollander. The way the man used to always fill silences with his awkward words. How Shane Hollander’s presence never made Ilya feel dirty or shameful. Yet, as his father’s voice clouded his thoughts, those once wonderful feelings from Shane Hollander turned sour in an instant. He had been a child, an impulsive, immature child. Feelings were for women and those types of people. Ilya was a strong, sturdy Russian. He had a wife and soon he would wise up and let her live with him permanently. They would be a family, with Katya giving him the children needed to extend the Rozanov bloodline.
Ilyusha, you are such a disgrace. Always weak. Never the son I was promised when you were born. Your mother coddled you and made you weak. She couldn’t even toughen herself up to handle being a Russian. You want to be like her? You want everyone to know your shame? That BOY messed with your head. He weakened you so that he could be the hero. Look at him, he has won an Olympic silver medal and many championships. What have you won, Ilyusha? Nothing. You are a disgrace. I am ashamed to even look at you.
Ilya felt the tears well up in his eyes as the words of his father echoed around the silent room. He slammed the heel of his hand against the side of his head. His father was dead. He couldn’t hurt Ilya anymore. Yet, his words still stung like the slap he’d deposited to Ilya’s face after speaking them almost a year ago. Ilya could feel the ghost of his father’s hands, cruel and unyielding in his anger, choking him as he tried to stop the coldness from caving in.
He scrambled for the remote to his TV, hoping the sounds of a random TV show might drown out the worst of his memories. Ilya needed to get a handle on himself. He was 25 years old, he shouldn’t be reduced to this blubbering mess by the mere thought of his father. He should be able to look at Katya, his wife for all intents and purposes, and feel something for her. He should not be picturing Shane Hollander’s soft, warm hands comforting him right now.
Ilya was a Rozanov. He was a hockey god who was built up to bring honor to his family, not shame. It was time he stopped hiding Katya away like she was some secret. He needed to tell his teammates that he was married and then remind her that they had an obligation to each other. Even if their marriage had been born from their fathers’ desire to cast a wider net of influence by combining their families.
Ilya was a husband, he needed to start acting like it. They’d been in Ottawa together since the end of September. Three months of Ilya acting like being married to her was the worst thing in the world. Three months of practically ignoring her unless she was needed for an immigration meeting. Three months of showing her that he only needed her for convenience. She deserved better than that. Ilya was going to prove to her that he was a good man; that he could be a good husband to her.
—
The day of the wedding arrived much faster than Ilya could’ve ever expected. The whole team was excited to support their assistant coach marrying the love of his life. Ilya found himself leaving practice the Friday before and driving straight to Katya’s cousin's place where she was currently staying. His mind was starting to wander down a path he couldn’t so he needed Katya to distract him.
As they sat on the couch eating macaroni and cheese (one of Katya’s favorite North American comfort meals), Ilya broached the subject of their own marriage.
“Did you ever think when my father introduced me to you that a year later we’d be forced to marry?” Ilya still felt so much regret over this.
“Yes. I had only ever lived in Russia at that time. I had only ever known Russian culture. So when my father told me I was to attend a meal with him at your father’s place I knew his plans for me.” Katya didn’t look away from the trashy dating show they had on as she spoke.
“I knew my father had something up his sleeve. He couldn’t control me by beating me like he wanted to, because of the public optics. But he wanted to be sure I never embarrassed him again. So what better than to force me to get married, something I adamantly never wanted.” Ilya responded back. What he didn’t say, nor did he truly acknowledge, was that he would consider marriage under the right circumstances.
A silence fell between them as they continued to eat and watch pathetic white men travel to places like Russia to get a bride. Ilya scoffed.
“These men are no better than our father’s. They want women for image. Not because they actually care for them.” He bit the side of his mouth before turning his words back to their own lives. “Katya. I want to be a better husband to you. I think we should live together and tell my team we are married. It is what you deserve.”
Katya chewed her bite slowly. Then she paused the TV, turned to Ilya, and spoke carefully. “What brought this on? The other day you were begging for us to hide our marriage because you said I deserved better.”
”I realized that by being married to you I made a commitment. And Rozanov’s always honor their family and their commitments. You deserve to be respected that way.” Ilya knew he was only spouting his father’s words but he couldn’t bring himself not to believe them.
“My dear Ilyusha. I deserve a man who loves me and cherishes me. Our bond is built on bad things.” She sighed and then continued, “Besides you deserve the same. And as much as I treasure our friendship I don’t love you, not like that. And you don’t love me either. He’s dead, you can’t bring him back by letting his hatred continue to have a hold on you.”
Then Katya went back to her garbled English. “I go to wedding. But then, we far apart.”
Ilya looked at her with a longing that he never let others see. He knew he wasn’t being fair to her but being married to a woman would just make his life easier, both in his team locker room and his own mind. Katya telling him she wanted distance from him after this weekend broke something inside him.
“I failed you? Am I not a good enough husband?” Ilya tried to keep his insecurities from seeping into his words.
“Oh no, Ilyusha. It’s just, it’s not healthy. What our father’s forced us to do.”
Then, Katya squeezed up against him and wrapped him in her arms. “I know a woman isn’t actually what you want. Yes, you find women attractive, but you don’t want to marry one.”
The next afternoon, Ilya and Katya arrived at the wedding reception at the same time as Zane and Cassie.
“Bood! Surprised you can actually clean up nice.” Ilya winked at his teammate as they slapped each other on the back in a semi-hug.
“Yes, well, if it had been up to him he would’ve worn athletic wear with a blazer.” Cassie smirked and shook her head before extending her hand, “I’m Cassie Boodram.”
Katya smiled and grasped her hand in return. “Men, they think they know better than women. Katarina, but you can call me Katya.”
“Dude! You didn’t tell me you’d bagged such a hottie.” Bood clapped Ilya on the back once more.
Ilya forced a smile as they all travelled toward the hall where the reception was being held.
“She is wife from Russia. Where were you guys sitting at wedding we didn’t see you?”
Katya glared at Ilya and squeezed his hand so tight it felt like she might break his bones. Then she turned sweetly to Bood and Cassie to clarify.
“Ilya kids. We are old friends. Our dads knew each other.” Then she turned to Cassie, “You have to tell me where you got that dress.”
The two women then walked off together and Ilya swallowed thickly. He knew he shouldn’t have called her his wife, but after their conversation the day before he was determined to make it work for them. He wasn’t going to fail at marriage. As if summoned, the voice of his father filled his mind.
“You should be ashamed. Can’t even keep a woman happy for longer than a quick fuck. Not even your own wife wants to be tainted by your disgrace. You are no Russian. You are too weak. You let your focus falter, leaving your wife alone and unsatisfied.”
Ilya shook out his arms just as his gaze fell on Shane Hollander. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing here?