Chapter Text
June 5th
I fucking love my new job.
Leaving Loons Publishing for Man in the Crease was a very good decision. Everyone at MitC is so laid-back. The office is a small space downtown and it’s decorated with all sorts of hockey memorabilia. They even have an air hockey table. My new co-workers are really nice. I don’t feel the urge to staple things to their heads!
Cliff - or Marly as I call him - is seated next to me and we’re having a blast working together. We make a great team. He’s a goofball, but knows everything about hockey. Now that I’m thinking about it, he would be a good match for Sveta. Hmm, maybe I should introduce them?
We’ve been working on the first few episodes of the new podcast. It feels good to be writing again. It’s like I’m discovering a part of myself that I forgot about. And yesterday I got to interview Eric Bennett, the goalie for the New York Admirals. Honestly, it’s been great.
The only thing that’s still lacking is a love life. Now that I stopped fucking around, I’ve been a bit lonely lately. I mean, work’s great. Hanging out with my friends is great.
I just miss having someone to come home to.
June 15th, 00.05 pm
Happy birthday to me. Another year older.
Another year without mama.
4.10 pm
I got a lot of texts wishing me happy birthday. From Sveta, Troy and Harris, of course. From my teammates. Even Cliff and some of my new co-workers messaged me. And yet I don’t really feel like celebrating. My birthday is not my favourite day of the year.
Sveta knows this, so she offered to take me to a nice restaurant tonight. “Just the two of us,” she said. “Like old times.”
I don’t deserve her.
7.00 pm
Getting ready to go out. I just took a really long, hot shower and now I’m trying to figure out what to wear. Sveta told me the restaurant is really fancy, so I should dress up nicely. Help, I can’t decide.
7.45 pm
Mmm, maybe wide, black slacks and my white, silky shirt with pinstripes?
Okay, yes, this works. I look kinda hot.
7.50 pm
Fuck. Took too long getting dressed and now my hair is a fucking mess. It’s been really hot and humid for the last few days and my curls don't do well with humidity. I look like a fucking poodle—
Fuck, Sveta is here already.
11.23 pm
When I opened the door, Sveta took one look at me, snorted and then laughed for about five minutes.
“Fuck you,” I murmured, self-consciously touching my hair.
“No, no, I love it,” Sveta said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “You look soft. It’s cute.”
“I don’t want to look soft,” I said, a slight whine in my voice.
“Want me to fix it for you?” she offered gently.
“Is okay,” I said. “Damage is done. I will look like an exploded poodle forever. Let’s go.”
We left my apartment and got into Sveta’s sleek car. “You okay?” she asked, as we waited for a red stop light.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
She raised a single, perfect eyebrow.
I let out a heavy sigh. “Could’ve been better.” She knows about mama. Of course she does, she was at the funeral. She’s always been there for me.
“Which is why we’re going to gorge ourselves on delicious food and get drunk on fancy champagne,” Sveta said. She brushed a lock of hair out of her face. She looked gorgeous in the dim light of the passing street lamps.
We’ve talked about it before. If we’re not married by 35, we will marry each other. I can see myself with Svetlana. She’s my best friend, it’s not that hard. But I don’t know, am I someone she wants to marry?
To be honest, I’m not sure what the fuck I even want.
“Sounds good,” I replied. I grabbed her slim hand, which rested on the gearstick between us and I felt some of the sadness that had haunted me today leave my body.
Svetlana wasn’t kidding when she said the place was fancy. It was Michelin star fancy. “Svetka,” I said, while we waited to be seated. “This is too much.”
“It isn’t.” she said. “You know I make a shit ton of money and I want to spend it on my dearest friend. So that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Thank you,” I muttered. She grabbed my hand this time and squeezed it.
When we arrived at the front desk, Sveta gave her name to the maître d’. “I’m really sorry, ma’am, I don’t have a reservation for a Svetlana Vetrova,” the woman said apologetically, looking at her tablet.
“What?” Sveta said sharply. “No, I made the reservation ages ago. Check it again.” She leaned over to look at the tablet.
“Ma’am–” the maître d’ began, slightly terrified at the sight of a pissed-off Sveta, but then I heard a familiar voice behind me. Bozhe moi.
“Rozanov. Is there a problem?”
I turned around to see Hollander standing there. With Rose Landry on his arm, of course.
“Hollander,” I said coldly. “No, no problem. Leave us alone, please.”
“Oh, so this is the famous Shane Hollander,” Sveta purred. Hollander frowned slightly at that statement.
“Um yes, and you are?”
I muttered, “Don’t you fucking dare,” to her in Russian, but she ignored me. “My name is Svetlana Vetrova, Ilya’s date.” I noticed that she said date and not best friend. What was she trying to do here?
“And yes, there is a problem. This lady here says our reservation didn’t come through, which is bullshit, because I’ve got the confirmation on my phone.” The maître d’ cringed at Sveta’s tone. She can be very scary if she wants to. “And it’s Ilyushka’s birthday, so it would be very sad if we didn’t get to dine here.”
“It’s your birthday?” Hollander asked surprised, looking at me. I nodded.
“Why not join us?” Rose Landry offered with a smile. “Can you check if there’s a reservation for Hollander?” she said to the maître d’, who confirmed within seconds.
Fuck, why was I always ending up with Hollander and Rose Landry? Is this some cosmic torture specifically designed for me? They were the last people on earth I wanted to have dinner with right now.
But of course Svetlana saw an opportunity and said, “Yes, sounds lovely!” She gave me a pointed look as if to say, suck it up, Rozanov and grabbed Rose by the arm. As she led her into the restaurant, Hollander and I trailed behind them in silence.
I was so astonished by the whole ordeal, that I only got a good look at Hollander when we were all seated in a velvet booth in the back of the restaurant. Of course he was sitting across from me, so I got to stare at his beautiful face all evening. He was wearing all black - black suit, black shirt, black tie - and he looked so handsome, it made me want to cry.
“You look nice,” Hollander said to me, when we had ordered starters.
“Doesn’t he?” Sveta said with a devilish grin. “The hair is really good.”
It was barely noticeable, but Hollander smirked for a second, before his face smoothed over again. “Yeah, it is,” he said. Asshole.
The champagne and starters arrived and Sveta turned to me. She pulled a small, velvet box out of her clutch.
“Ilyushka,” she said, “I got you a gift. Happy Birthday, I love you.” She kissed me on the cheek and pushed the box in my hands.
I could see Hollander’s eyes flick between us, obviously confused at our relationship. Oh. Was she trying to make him jealous?
Carefully, I opened the box. Nestled in it were two small, white-golden ear hoops. They were minimalistic and classy. Fuck, I was not going burst out into tears here. As a student, I used to wear earrings all the time. But then I started working and well, I don’t know why I stopped wearing them. I guess I felt self-conscious about them.
“Thank you, Sveta,” I muttered, as I pulled one out of the box to study it. “They’re beautiful.”
“You like them?”
“Yes. I love them. And I love you, too.” I gave her a hug, hoping it would convey how I felt about the earrings - and about her.
“They’re very nice,” Rose said. “Where’d you get them, Svetlana?”
Sveta and Rose started talking about jewelry. They seemed to really hit it off. But Hollander was looking at me, or well, at the box in my hands.
“Are you–” he began. “I mean, it’s none of my business, but… where is Blake?”
“Yes, is none of your business,” I said, setting the box down in favor of picking up my champagne glass. “We broke up, if you must know.”
“Oh.” Hollander’s face softened. He somehow looked pleased? “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No,” he said, that small smirk appearing on his face again. The fucker. “I’m glad to hear it, actually. He’s an asshole.” He started buttering a piece of bread and tore off a chunk with his teeth.
“We can agree on that then,” I said through gritted teeth. I took a large gulp from my champagne.
“So… Is Svetlana…?” Hollander trailed off, glancing at Svetlana.
“Best friend,” I clarified. “We’ve known each other since we were children.”
Maybe I was imagining things, but it looked like his shoulders relaxed at my words. Why would he care about who I was dating? He was with Rose Landry, he’s made that clear plenty of times.
I started fumbling with the hoops, because I couldn’t bear looking at him. I couldn’t bear sitting across from him, knowing he was so close and yet so far away. I gritted my teeth as I pushed the pin through the near-closed up hole in my ear - it stung a little, but at last I got the pin through. I did the other one as well.
I heard someone’s breath hitch and when I looked up, Hollander stared at me. His lips were parted and his big, brown eyes were fixated on me.
“Wow,” he said softly. “You look - I mean - t-they suit you,” he murmured.
I felt myself flush under his gaze.
“Ooh, those look gorgeous on you!” Rose squealed, as she took me in.
“You look very hot, Ilyushka,” Sveta said approvingly.
Hollander kept staring at me. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. His pink tongue poked out to wet his plush, bottom lip. I felt my own breath hitch. Fuck.
“I need some air,” I said quickly. I stumbled out of the booth as fast as I could and made a beeline for the door. Fuck, I needed a cigarette. I didn’t care that I hadn’t smoked in a month, that I was doing well with quitting. I needed nicotine, stat. I turned into the alley next to the restaurant, leaned against the wall and searched my pockets for my cigarettes.
My hammering heart slowed a little as I brought a trembling hand to my lips, taking a long drag. Fuck. Why did Hollander have to look at me like that?
“Ilya,” I heard him say behind me. I felt a shiver running down my spine at his voice saying my name. He was standing so close I could smell his scent, a mix of a warm, spicy cologne and something that was just purely him. It made me feel dizzy.
“Hollander,” I said. “What do you want?”
He turned to me, looked me straight in the eyes. I wanted to avert my gaze, but those huge, shiny eyes of his didn’t let me. He took a deep breath and then said,
“Ilya, I want you to know… I like you.”
“You don’t like me,” I instantly countered.
“Yeah, I do,” he insisted. “Maybe a little too much.”
“Sure, but without the smoking and the drinking and the constant fucking-up. Oh, and this.” I gestured vaguely at myself.
“Well, yes, it would be nice if you stopped smoking like a fucking steam train,” Hollander said, his eyes flicking to the ciggie in my hand. “You are a bit of a drama queen and you’re definitely the most annoying man I’ve ever met.”
I snorted. “Does not sound like–”
“Shut up and listen. I like you. All of you. Just as you are.”
He just stood there, with his thumbs awkwardly hooked into the pockets of his pants. God, I wanted him, too.
“Hollander,” I said, because I am an idiot, “you are with Rose.”
“Yes.” He frowned, scrunching up his nose in that adorable way that makes my stomach swoop. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “I would like it if you called me Shane. Please.”
“Shane,” I repeated. His name felt both strange and familiar on my tongue. “Why are you telling me this?”
Shane didn’t reply. “You can have our table. I’ll take Rose somewhere else,” he said. “Have fun with Svetlana, okay?”
Fuck, why is he so nice to me all the time? I didn’t want him to go and at the same time, I just wanted to be with Sveta. So I muttered a “Thanks”, then took another drag.
“Happy Birthday, Ilya,” Shane told me, before turning around on his heels and disappearing around the corner. I watched him go, as my heart once again sunk into my stomach.
It took me another two cigarettes to pull myself together and return to the restaurant and Svetlana.
June 18th
“Just the way you are?” Harris asked.
Me, Troy and Harris were back at our usual bar to celebrate my birthday with beer and nibbles. Sveta couldn’t join us, since she was on a date with Marly. She was really excited when I showed her his photo. Well, excited in her way, anyway. She just smirked and nodded, when I asked if she wanted his phone number.
I nodded. “First he insulted me and then he said he likes me.”
Troy frowned at that. “And he doesn’t want you to be beefier? More successful? Or you know, less slutty?”
“No, no, nothing like that.”
“But you don’t like this guy, right?” Harris said. “You always complain about him.”
“Nope,” I shook my head. “Well, sure, he’s hot. But he’s also the most boring person on earth. So no, I do not like him.”
Troy and Harris glanced at each other, as if they didn’t believe a word that came out of my mouth. I wasn’t even sure I believed a word that came out of my mouth.
“I wonder why he’s still with that Rose chick,” Troy said, as he tossed some pretzels into his mouth and started chewing on them. “If he likes you that much.”
I had wondered about that, too. A lot. I haven't been able to sleep properly since that evening. I just can’t wrap my head around it. But then again, Shane Hollander remains a big mystery to me. Maybe he always will.
“Let’s not talk about Shane Hollander right now, okay?” I said. “So tell me, what’s up with you two?”
They glanced at each other for a second. Harris flushed red in record time and Troy started chugging his beer. Oh, those two are definitely fucking.
August 17th
Fuck, just found this diary in Anya’s doggie bed. Was already wondering where I left it. But it wasn’t my fault I lost it! It seems she just loves cuddling up with a ratty, old journal? She actually growled when I tried to retrieve it from her pile of blankets. She’s so weird. Cute, but weird.
Have been really busy with work. The weekly podcast is a big success. Initially, I was only supposed to be the writer, but in one of the episodes, Marly asked me to give my opinion on the new Metro’s and Raiders rookies and their rivalry. Then, because apparently listeners liked hearing me yap, he invited me to join again in the next episode.
Listeners keep asking for me in the comments. They think I am funny (they’re not wrong, I am hilarious) and they like my accent (this is nice to hear, I do not like my accent very much. Sometimes I think it makes me sound like a stupid foreigner, who does not speak English very well. Even though I got a fucking English degree).
Today our producer, Carter Vaughn, asked if I want to have my own returning section, a bit called Rozanov’s Ramblings. Of course I said yes! The fans have spoken, he said. Does that mean I am a local celebrity now?
October 2nd
Am very, very proud of myself. Made sports history today. Okay, that’s maybe stretching it a bit. But it was still very good, I think.
Scott Hunter, the captain of the New York Admirals, came to our studio for an interview today. And get this, he asked to be interviewed by me. I was really surprised to hear he wanted to speak to me, of all people. But he said he liked my bits on diversity and inclusivity in hockey.
It’s been a few months since he kissed his boyfriend on center ice after winning the Stanley Cup. It was very courageous of him to do this. I think it meant a lot to many people. Maybe if I had pursued a hockey career and was an NHL-player, it would mean a lot to me, too.
Scott Hunter is a very nice guy, and not the fossil I thought he’d be. We had a good talk about being queer in the hockey community. I got Scott to open up and tell me the story of how he met his boyfriend, who made him brave enough to come out. I may have teared up a little at some point.
The interview, which is just a long episode of Rozanov’s Ramblings, will be released in a few weeks. Am excited, but also nervous about the feedback. Marly says I did great, but it is still nerve-wrecking.
October 24th, 3.45 pm
The interview was released yesterday and the positive comments have been overwhelming. Not just from my friends, who have all texted me, and listeners, but from all over the internet. It’s even been talked about on ESPN! I could not have imagined this happening when I quit at Loons Publishing.
My friends (and Marly, because he is one of my best friends now as well) are coming over tonight to celebrate. Will cook them a wonderful, Russian meal and rub my success into their faces.
I have decided on pelmeni and borscht, and blini for dessert. I have seen mama make these dishes so many times. How hard can it be?
4.45 pm
Gonna start with the pelmeni. Those are quick and easy to make.
5.00 pm
What’s next? Oh yes, borscht.
5.24 pm
Didn’t realize there was so much fucking peeling involved. Am admiring mama’s cooking even more now.
6.15 pm
Where the fuck is the fucking sour cream?
You’re listening to Ilya Rozanov and this is Rozanov’s Ramblings. This week we will be discussing the disappearance of the fucking sour cream, last seen in Ilya’s fridge.
6.33 pm
Okay, back from the corner store with sour cream.
7.32 pm
Fuuuuck. Spilled borscht all over myself. Kitchen now looks like a fucking murder scene and I look like the victim.
I guess that’s why aprons were invented.
7.45 pm
Fuck, the bell just rang.
It’s way too early! I am not ready for guests yet. Maybe it’s Harris? He’s always way too early.
00.20 am
It wasn’t Harris. Or Troy. Or Sveta. It wasn’t even my annoying nosy neighbour who always asks when ‘that nice man is coming to visit again’. Never, Mrs. Campbell.
It was Shane Hollander.
I opened the door, my shirt completely covered in borscht, only to see Shane leaning against the doorway. This time he was dressed casually. Jeans, a navy Montreal Metro’s sweatshirt, sneakers. His hair was messy, as if he’d run his hands through it several times.
He looked even better than all the other times I’d seen him.
‘Hi,” he said, a shy smile on his face.
“Ho- Shane, hello,” I said, a little stunned. What was Shane Hollander doing at my apartment?
Anya was wagging her tail and pushing enthusiastically past my legs, wanting to see who was paying us a visit. She was instantly on Shane. “Anya, calm down!” I said to her, but Shane just laughed and sank to his knees.
“Who’s this good girl?” he smiled, as Anya set her front paws on his chest. He actually giggled when her little tongue licked his freckles. There were more now, probably because of the summer sun. God, I want to lick his freckles.
“This is Anya,” I said.
“Anya! Hello, Anya,” Shane cooed, as he gave her belly rubs. Anya was having the time of her life.
“You like dogs?” I asked.
“Love them,” he said, grinning up at me. Of course he likes dogs. This man is made just for me. And I can’t have him.
“What are you doing here?” I said, as he got to his feet.
“I heard your interview with Scott Hunter,” Shane said, “and I wanted to congratulate you.”
“You listened to that?” I blinked at him.
“Yeah.” Shane’s cheeks flushed, making his countless freckles stand out even more. “I listen to all your stuff.”
“Oh.” For a second, I didn’t know what to say. Shane Hollander listens to the podcast, to my voice. Wow.
“But I think I caught you at a bad time?” His eyes landed on my t-shirt, which was once white and now forever stained pink. I only now noticed my nipples were very much on show.
“No, is okay. I was just cooking,” I said, turning as pink as my shirt. “I had a little accident with the borscht. Come in.”
I led him to the crime scene, aka the kitchen. The entire counter and stove were covered in blood-red beet juice.
“Fuck, what happened here?” Shane bursted out in laughter, a lovely, full sound that filled the entire kitchen. “Who did you murder?”
“Beets,” I said, also grinning a little. “They had it coming.”
“It does smell really good,” Shane said, looking approvingly at the borscht. “Like, really fucking good. This is Russian food?”
I nodded. “Borscht. It’s my mama’s recipe. And these are pelmeni.” I showed him the cooked pelmeni.
“Didn’t know you were such a kitchen princess,” Shane teased, his eyes twinkling.
“Well,” I gestured at myself, “not so much right now.”
“You’re having people over?”
“No, I make mountains of delicious Russian food all for myself.”
“Shut up,” Shane chuckled. “Why don’t you take a shower, while I clean up the murder scene?” he offered. “Got to hide the evidence.”
“Oh no, you do not have to–”
“It’s nothing,” Shane said with a wave of his hand. “Go. Take a shower.” He bumped his shoulder against mine, pushing me towards the hall. That tiny bit of contact shot through me like electricity.
So I took a shower and changed into something a little less pink. I was totally not freaking out, standing in front of my closet and wondering what the fuck to wear while Shane Hollander was in my apartment. I landed on jeans and my black henley shirt. I could be casual, too. Before I left my bedroom, I hastily put in the earrings Svetlana had gotten me, because I wanted to see Shane’s reaction to them again.
When I returned to the kitchen, my hair still damp, the counter and stove were beet-juice free and Shane was setting up the dinner table. He looked up, his eyes flicking to the earrings. To my delight, he flushed pink again.
“Thank you,” I said. “You really did not have to do that.”
Shane shrugged. “I barged in here unannounced, so I figured I could at least help you a little.”
“I don’t mind.” Seeing Shane standing here in my kitchen was something out of my wildest fantasies. “You want a beer?” I said to distract myself from getting hard right there and then.
“Sure,” he smiled. He slid into one of the kitchen island chairs. I handed him a beer and sat down next to him. It felt nice to just sit here and drink beer together, but I was still a little confused as to why he was here.
“Your interview,” Shane began carefully. “It was really good. Important. It meant a lot to me.”
“It did?” I looked at him, but he was staring at the label on his beer bottle, peeling it with his nails.
“Yes.” He was silent for a moment, seemingly searching for the right words. “I think - I think–”
I pressed my thigh against his. To urge him on, to give him courage, I don’t know. He looked up. His eyes were all shiny and big. I couldn’t resist it anymore. All I wanted was to feel those lips on mine. I grabbed the back of his chair and leaned in just as he did–
And then the fucking bell rang again.
Anya started yapping immediately. I groaned. “Fuck, sorry,” I said. “Those are my friends.”
This really couldn’t have been a better timing. I was about to kiss Shane Hollander! And it looked like he wanted to kiss me, too. Fuck my life.
Reluctantly, I walked to the front door to open it. My friends all filed into the tiny hallway, hugging me, clapping me on the back, congratulating me with my very impressive interview skills.
“Thank you,” I said, a grin appearing on my face. “Come in, come in. Delightful food awaits you.”
They followed me to the kitchen, where Shane was still sitting at the kitchen island. He watched with an amused expression as everyone bulldozed into the space.
“Oooh, who’s this?” Harris said with a grin.
“Hi,” Shane said, giving an awkward wave. “I’m Shane. Hollander.”
Sveta mouthed hot at me. I rolled my eyes back at her. “Are you joining us, Shane Hollander?” she asked.
“Of course he is. Right, Shane?” I said, trying to beg him with my eyes to stay.
I sighed inwardly when he said, “Sure. I have to try Ilya’s delicious-looking borscht.”
“Yep, certainly delicious-looking,” Troy smirked.
I smacked him on the back of the head. “No innuendos,” I hissed. I didn’t want my friends to scare Shane off.
But I didn’t need to worry about that. We all sat around the dining table, eating (if I may say so) delicious food, drinking beer, talking and laughing, getting increasingly louder with every drink. Shane fitted right into the group, which warmed my heart to see. He talked hockey with Sveta and Marly, making bitchy comments about the new left-winger for the Toronto Guardians. He joked around with Harris and Troy and was way funnier than I remembered.
And the entire time, he kept stealing glances at me. His eyes dropped to my lips more than once. I was so going to kiss him, once my friends had left for the night. I’d find a way to keep him here a little longer.
“Well,” Harris said, once we’d devoured the last of the blini’s. “That was fucking delicous, Ilya.”
“Best food I’d had in a long time,” Marly agreed. “Didn’t know you could cook that well, Roz.”
“Hey, another thing you didn’t fuck up!” Troy said.
“Shut up, Barrettt.”
“Ilyushka,” Sveta said, holding up her half-empty beer glass. “I am so proud of you. You really turned shit around this year and you did the best sports interview in years.”
“Hear, hear,” Marly said, joining in. “And you look fucking fantastic, too.”
“We love you, Ilya,” Harris said.
“Fuck you guys, you’re making me cry,” I mumbled, ducking my head and wiping at my eyes.
“Yeah, we love you, Ilya. Just as you are,” Troy added with a shit-eating grin on his face, his eyes flicking to Shane. “To Ilya!”
Shane shot a fond look my way, a soft smile on his face. “To Ilya,” he said in unison with the rest, raising his glass at me.
I gulped down the rest of my beer, when the bell rang for the third time that evening.
“You expecting someone else, Roz?” Marly said.
“No.” I frowned as Marly got up to open the door. But when I saw who walked into my apartment, I guess I could’ve known.
“Oh fuck, I thought you’d be alone tonight,” Blake said, carrying a bottle of vodka. It was of the shitty Canadian variety, the one that tastes like garbage and leaves you with a headache from hell in the morning.
“What are you doing here?” I said, feeling my stomach drop.
“I uh, saw that interview you did with Hunter. I wanted to congratulate you, but —” Blake’s eyes fell on Shane. “Hollander.”
“Smith.” Shane said. If looks could kill, Blake would’ve dropped dead on the ground right then.
“Really? You’re with him now?” Blake said, disgust audible in his voice. “I should’ve guessed.”
“Fucking hell,” I muttered. “Blake, follow me.”
“Why the fuck are you really here?” I said, when we were back in the tiny hallway.
Blake set down the bottle on the console and reached out to touch my cheek. “I missed you, Rozy. Can’t I just miss you?”
“The fuck you can,” I said through gritted teeth, moving away from his touch.
“Come on, Rozy. I know I fucked up that day, but it was all going so fast. Going away together, meeting your friends… I just panicked.”
I groaned, rubbing my eyes. “Blake…” I began, but he interrupted me.
“Can’t you give me another chance?”
“What about Chad?” I said.
“Brad. He fucking dumped me. Dumped me when he realized I was still thinking about you.” He moved closer again. “Ilya, I want you.”
I made the mistake of not backing away, when he leaned in to kiss me. Then the door flew open. “Ilya, I think I’m going to–” Shane began, but halted when he saw us.
“Fuck,” he spat out. “Okay, Smith. You want me to punch you here or out on the street?”
Blake scoffed. “What?”
“I should’ve done this ages ago,” Shane growled, before he grabbed Blake by the collar and took a blow at him.
Blake fell down against the wall, cradling his jaw. “Fuck, that hurts,” he groaned.
Harris, Troy, Sveta and Marly came to see what the commotion was about. “Hooooly fuck,” Troy said.
Blake had gotten up and punched Shane right back. And suddenly, I had two grown men fighting in my tiny entryway, kicking and punching at each other.
“Are we supporting Shane?” Harris asked.
“Well, he never cheated on Ilyushka,” Sveta said.
“Yeah, but Shane ended Blake’s hockey career,” I pointed out.
“Fuck, he did?” Marly frowned.
“I’ve got no fucking idea then,” Troy shrugged.
Blake took another swing, splitting Shane’s lip in the process. Shane stumbled back and grabbed at something to keep him upright. He knocked down a picture frame, the glass shattering with a crash. We all cringed at the sound.
Shane had hit Blake again, seemingly for the last time, because Blake wasn’t getting up. He just laid there, groaning. Shane was standing over Blake, breathing heavily and staring daggers. His mouth was bloody and his frown was so deep, I was worried it would never smooth over again.
That’s when I snapped out of my stupor. “What the fuck,” I said to both of them. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?” I crouched down to get Blake back to his feet. That’s when I saw that the picture Shane broke was one of me and mama. She had a two-year-old me on her hip, her smile bright and happy. My heart fucking broke.
“He fucking deserved it,” Shane spat.
I cursed in Russian. “Get the fuck out of here,” I said, rage surging through me. I got to my feet. “You come here to act all nice and normal and helpful in the kitchen. But you’re a fucking asshole, Shane Hollander.”
Shane swallowed, his own anger melting away like snow in the sun. “Fuck… Ilya, I–”
“I don’t want to fucking hear it,” I snapped. “There’s the goddamn door.”
“Ilya.” Shane gave me a last look, his eyes suddenly shiny with tears. “I’m so–”
“Bye, Hollander,” Sveta said, pushing Shane out of the door.
“I knew you’d choose me, Rozy,” Blake said from the floor. He grinned, showing a mouth filled with blood.
Gospodi.
“You can go too,” I said to him. “I am so fucking done with you.”
I trusted Sveta to point Blake to the door and turned around to go back to the kitchen. The rest followed me back inside. Troy was already going to my freezer to get me a glass of vodka.
But I had a sinking feeling that vodka wasn’t going to soothe me now. Not when Shane’s Metro’s sweater was still draped over the back of his chair.
December 20th
I can’t believe the end of the year is already almost here. In less than two weeks, it will be 2024 and I will still be alone. It’s probably for the best, though. Because every time a nice man appears in my life, I manage to fuck things up completely.
Shane hasn’t contacted me once since that awful evening. Okay, I know I literally told him to fuck off, but I didn’t mean for like - forever.
God, I miss him and his beautiful freckles and his gorgeous smile and his stupid, boring everything. His sweater doesn’t even really smell like him anymore. But it’s not like I sleep with it or anything weird like that.
Bood’s hosting a barbecue party on Christmas eve (I told you Canadians are fucking weird). But I don’t feel like celebrating. I want to stay at home with Anya and watch Die Hard and get drunk alone.
What has happened to me?
December 24st, I don’t fucking care anymore
My life. It’s over.
Bood called me this afternoon to ask if I really, really wouldn’t want to come to his party. “Hollzy’s going to be there, you know,” he said.
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” I said sourly. “
“You guys still not talking?”
“Nope.”
“Well, I think good company and food would be good for both of you.”
I knew why I was feeling miserable, but I was curious as to why Shane needed cheering up.“Oh, why’s that?” I asked, too nosy to keep my mouth shut.
“Oh, you don’t know?” Bood said conversationally. “He also doesn’t really like Christmas, says it’s because of all the obligations. But Shane told Luca once it’s because he got injured around the holidays. It was so bad, he had to give up on his dream to go pro.”
“What?”
“Yeah, apparently it happened in university? Some shitty teammate tripped him on the ice. Tore something in his knee. He even had to get surgery for it.”
“What the fuck,” I said slowly. I thought back to what Blake had told me. How he was the one to get his knee fucked up. He didn’t have any scars, but I just assumed he hadn’t needed any surgery.
Jesus, I’ve been stupid.
Suddenly it made sense why Shane wanted to tear Blake’s face off. And rightfully so.
“I know, right?” Bood said, not sensing the change in my voice. “Anyway–”
“Yeah, fuck, I’m coming,” I said quickly.
“You are? Great, dude! See you around six?
“See you later, man,” I said, before ending the call. I looked at the time on my phone. It was just past four. That gave me enough time to take a shower, make sure my hair was as flat as possible and pick an outfit that would make Shane instantly forgive me for being the biggest idiot in all of Canada.
Two hours later, I pulled into Bood’s street. My curls were carefully styled, not a floof in sight, I was wearing my favourite jeans for luck and a soft knitted sweater for warmth. I looked both sexy and cozy. Shane would be unable to resist me like this. I hoped.
But when I rang the bell, I felt my stomach swoop. I’d been able to suppress the nerves until now, but I was about to see Shane again. Fuck, what was I going to say to him?
I didn’t have enough time to think about it, because Cassie, Bood’s wife, opened the door. “Ilya!” she said with a warm smile on her face. “So nice to see you again!” I gave her a hug and she ushered me into the warm hallway.
“Thank you for having me, Cassie,” I said, as I shrugged off my coat, toque and scarf.
“I’m glad you could make it after all,” Cassie said. “The boys are all in the living room.” She gave me a suspicious grin, as if Bood had maybe told her something. I didn’t really care, I needed to find Shane as quickly as possible.
As I rounded the corner and stepped into the living room, I spotted him immediately. He was standing with his back to me, talking to Wyatt. His dark grey trousers hugged his excellent ass. But as enticing as his ass was, I wanted to see his freckled face.
When I greeted everyone present with a wave and a “Hi guys!”, Shane turned around. And I couldn’t help but show him my biggest grin.
He was wearing another Christmas sweater, and it was even more hideous than the last one. This time, it was a bright red number with a large Santa playing hockey on the front.
Shane looked beautiful.
“Ilya,” he said, when he saw me standing in the doorway. “You came.” He gave me one of his fond looks. He looked so soft and awkward, with his thumbs in his pockets again
“Yes,” I said, feeling just as awkward. “Nice sweater.”
“Thanks,” Shane said, running a hand through his hair, making his bangs stick up.
“Uh, can we talk?” I gestured to another part of the house.
“Sure,” Shane said, following me to the empty kitchen.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” he said, before I had the chance to open my mouth. “I was way out of line and I ruined your evening. I had a great time before - y’know.”
“Um, about that,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “It wasn’t great, but I understand now.”
Shane just stared at me, frowned his little frown. “Wha–”
“He told me you fucked up his knee and ended his hockey career. But I found out this morning that it was–”
“--the other way around,” Shane finished my sentence, grimacing. “Yeah, it was uh - my knee. My career.”
“I know that now. I’m sorry,” I said, looking up at him. “You totally deserved to punch him to mush.”
“Yeah. Turns out there’s a lot of unresolved anger there,” Shane said, looking uncomfortable.
A few guys from the team entered the kitchen, talking amongst each other, and I grabbed Shane’s hand. “I need to say something to you,” I said. “Let’s go here.” I led him to the front door and into the garden. It was snowing again and it was cold as fuck, but Shane’s hand kept me warm.
We sat down on a wooden bench on the porch, under the awning. He looked expectantly at me and I felt the nerves swoop around again. Fuck, I really did not think this through. But I had to say something.
“You uh - said you liked me. On my birthday. And the thing is– well, I like you, too.”
Shane’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but I wasn’t done talking. “I mean - you swear like a fucking sailor, you can be really awkward at times, and you are so boring. But I like you, Shane. So much.
“I like the way you stand with your thumbs in your pockets,” I continued, “and I like your freckles and I even like your boring.”
Shane was silent for a moment. “Fuck, Ilya,” he said then.
I didn’t know what I expected him to say. Maybe not “I love you, let’s get married and have lots of sex and babies”, but it also wasn’t this.
“Fuck,” he said again, before groaning and burying his face in his hands. “This is so fucked up.”
“Wow, thanks,” I said sarcastically, but he shook his head.
“No, sorry, that’s not what I meant.” He looked at me, his eyes turning big and wet. But then we were rudely disturbed by one of my teammates, who was leaning in the doorway.
“Roz, Hollzy! Get the fuck inside, it’s time for the speech!”
Speech? What speech? I frowned and gave Shane a questioning look, but he had already made a beeline for the front door. I stayed behind, a little dazed. I had told Shane how I felt, but he didn’t even seem happy about it. Did he not like me anymore? Did I fuck it all up?
I itched for a cigarette, but I was doing really well with quitting, so I resisted the desire to light one. Instead, I closed my eyes and breathed in and out several times. Then, I got up and went inside.
The living room was packed, everyone present was crammed into the room. Wyatt stood in front of the crowd, together with Shane. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. I wondered what the fuck was going on, when Wyatt started talking.
“Hollzy, you are a really good friend and an even better hockey player. We’re fucking proud of you to land that amazing job in Vancouver. We’re sad to see you go–”
Go?
No. No, no, no. Let this not be true.
It felt like my brain went offline. I wasn’t listening to Wyatt’s words anymore. I was just staring at Shane. He was moving to Vancouver? To the other side of the fucking country?
I stared at Shane, but he was just staring at the floor. I felt my eyes fill up with tears. Fuck, I was not going to cry in front of all my teammates.
Turning around, I made for the hallway. I didn’t even bother putting on my coat. I just grabbed it from its hook and left the house. Someone was calling my name - Luca maybe - but I didn’t react. I just got in my car, turned on the engine and drove away.
–
I am in bed now. I have cried so much, my tears have dried up and my head hurts. Anya’s here with me, but even her presence can’t comfort me.
I am so in love with him and I don’t know what to do about it.
December 26st
This was the worst Christmas of my fucking life. And I’m not counting that one time that Alexei convinced me to go onto the ice behind our house, even though it wasn’t thick enough, and I fell through the ice and nearly drowned.
I secretly hoped Shane would show up to tell me he made the biggest mistake by accepting that job. But he didn’t show. Of course he didn’t. He’s busy moving to fucking Vancouver with Rose Landry. I kept imagining him and Rose at their new place in Vancouver, playing house and being all happy together. I guess I like to torture myself.
Sveta came over to spend Christmas and boxing day with me. It’s not even real Christmas, that’s in January. But since we had the days off, we might as well make the most of it, she said. When I asked if she wouldn’t rather spend the days with Marly, she shrugged and said her best friend needed her right now. Sveta really is the bestest friend I could ask for.
Sveta ordered a ridiculous amount of sushi and we watched all the Die Hard films, while getting wasted on my good vodka. She tried her best to keep my mind off Shane, but everything reminds me of him. Even fucking Die Hard. The first one has a Christmas office party. Shane and I met at a Christmas office party. It made me sniffle again. Sveta rolled her eyes, then refilled my vodka glass and wrapped her arms around me.
December 27st, 23.30
“Don’t go anywhere,” Sveta said, when she finally left my house this morning.
“Where am I supposed to go?” I said with a sigh. “My life is over, remember?”
“You’re such a drama queen, Rozanov,” she said, but she gave me a hug, before she left my apartment.
Four hours later, Sveta was back, with Harris, Troy and Marly in tow. They were all bundled up in thick coats, toques and scarves.
“Roz, pack a bag!” Marly ordered, when they barged into my living room. “It’s time for you to forget about Shane Hollander and party your ass off!”
“What?” I said, dumbfounded.
“We’re going to the big apple, baby!” Harris sang.
“Pack your sluttiest fuckboy shirts,” Troy said, as he dragged me to the bedroom to pack my suitcase. “You’re going to get laid so hard, you won’t even remember Shane Hollander.”
I pouted and told him I didn’t want to forget about Shane, but he was already raiding my closet. Ten minutes later I was packed and ready to go, whether I wanted to or not.
“Come the fuck on, Ilya!” Troy said impatiently from beside the elevator. “We haven’t got all day and it’s like a six hour drive.” The others shouted at me in agreement.
I was fumbling with my keys, trying to lock up my apartment, when the group behind me fell silent. I looked up to see what was going on.
It was Shane.
He was stepping out of the elevator, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold and his toque wet from the snow. He had a wrapped parcel under his arm.
“Hi,” he said shyly.
“Oh, it’s you again,” Sveta said, glaring at him. “Should we tell him to fuck off, Ilyushka?”
“No, is okay,” I said. I was so happy to see him again, even though I had no idea what the fuck he was actually doing here. Wasn’t he supposed to be in Vancouver by now?
“Gimme a moment,” I said to my friends, before turning to Shane. “What are you doing here?” It came out a little more harsh than I intended to.
“I uh, came to give you this,” Shane said, holding up the parcel. “I hope it’s the right size.” He handed it to me. It was rectangular and flat, like a book.
I didn’t really feel like opening it, but Shane and my friends were all looking at me expectantly, so I ripped off the wrapping. It was a simple black, wooden photo frame.
“For the one I broke,” Shane explained. “Again, I am so sorry.”
“Fuck,” I muttered, staring at the frame in my hands. Then Shane rested his hand lightly on mine clutching the frame.
“Can we talk?” he said quietly. “Properly, this time.”
I nodded, before I could think about it. His hand felt so right on mine. I wanted all of him on me.
“You’re not coming, are you?” Sveta asked when she saw me dithering.
“No,” I said. “But you guys go have fun. Now you can make a couples’ trip out of it.”
Harris and Troy gave each other shy grins, and Harris beamed happily when Troy entangled their fingers together. Told you they liked each other.
My friends all gave me hugs and kisses, while Shane just stood there, waiting for me to finish up. But finally, we were alone in the hallway.
“You uh, wanna come in?” I asked.
Shane nodded and we shuffled into the hallway. We both took off our large coats and kept brushing against each other in the process. Every touch felt like a spark.
When we sank down onto the couch, I was abuzz with nerves and curiosity. I needed to know why Shane Hollander was currently in my living room, while he was supposed to be in Vancouver. “Why the fuck are you here?” I finally asked, nearly shouting it at him.
Shane grinned shyly at me, his cheeks pink again. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot to explain, I guess.”
“Yes, start explaining,” I said.
He started pulling on his eyelashes, caught himself doing it and then clutched his hands between his knees. “I fucked up, Ilya.”
“I know that,” I said, making an impatient gesture that said, keep going.
Shane hesitated, trying to find the right words. Then he took a deep breath and said, “I’m gay.”
I stared at him. “You’re what?”
“I’m gay. Surprise!”
I blinked a few times. “But Rose Landry–”
“Yeah,” Shane said. “Rose was the one who made me realize it, actually. She figured it out after I–” He turned an adorable shade of red. “Let’s just say our sex life sucked. And she also guessed that I, uh - like someone else.”
“Oh,” I said dumbly. “So you and her are not—?”
“No, we’re not. Not compatible, I guess.”
A surge of relief so great washed through me that it took my breath away for a second. Thank fucking God he wasn’t with Rose anymore. But I was still confused as fuck. “But I thought you and her were moving to Vancouver?”
“No, we’ve not been together since September. Vancouver was my own stupid idea.”
Oh.
“After Blake and I trashed your hallway, I was convinced I’d totally blown it with you. You looked so angry, Ilya… I really thought you hated me. I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.
“And then I got that job offer and I took it, because I didn’t know what to do. Running away was cowardly, but at the time, it seemed like the best option. But then you said you like me, and fuck, Ilya. I realized I had been so stupid. Anyway, I came to say that I’m not going anywhere, I’m staying in Montreal. And I want to tell you that… “
He took a deep breath, looked straight into my eyes and said,
“I love you.”
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
“I mean…” Shane said, averting his gaze, but I had already seen the tears forming in his eyes.
“I love you, too.”
At my words, he looked up. And then I was grabbing him by his sweater and pressing my lips against his. Shane laughed wetly into my mouth and kissed me back. And it was the most wonderful feeling, like a puzzle piece slotting together in my heart. This is where I belong.
“I love you so much,” I murmured against his lips and I felt a tear slide down my cheek. But this time they were happy tears.
–
Shane is laying in bed beside me now, watching me write this. Thank fuck he can’t read this, since I am writing this in Cyrillic, but I can tell he’s trying, anyway.
“One day I’m going to learn Russian, so I can read all the things you’ve written about me,” Shane says.
“Hollander, you know you cannot read another person’s diary,” I say. “Is private.”
“Oh, so that doesn’t say I love you too?” Shane points at three words on the page I’ve just written. Я тоже тебя люблю.
“You already speak Russian!”
“Just those words,” Shane says. “Ya-loo-blue-tee-baa.”
“Almost,” I say, kissing him on the forehead. “But I love you, too.”
I think it’s time to retire this diary. I did what I set out to do. I improved myself. I quit smoking, I go to the gym regularly now, I have a job that I love and I stopped fucking around. And I think I found myself along the way, or something like that.
But most importantly, I am finally dating a nice man from Montreal.