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Buffalo, NY
2019-2020 All-Star Weekend
Shane might have hated All-Star Weekend but he never turned down the invitation to play in the game when it came. He knew it meant a lot to the Montreal fans to have their star players here and he was the face of the Voyageurs organization. He took that responsibility seriously. But he didn’t want to be here. Especially in such a cold and miserable city as Buffalo was in the dead of winter. Earlier in his career he had always looked forward to the all-star game with a mix of excitement and anticipation - both for the competition and at the prospect of seeing Ilya Rozanov. But it turned into an emotional minefield once Rozanov ended their…whatever. It didn’t seem to bother Rozanov, though. Nothing ever did.
The first year after Rozanov ended things, Shane was a total wreck, and he played like it all season. At least that meant he avoided this shitstorm of a weekend. The end of their thing didn't affect Rozanov on the ice at all. That year he took his team to the Stanley Cup finals (where he lost, to Shane's delight) and won his second MVP award. After that, Shane got angry. He decided Rozanov had taken enough from him and he wasn’t going to let hockey be another thing that he lost. He channeled that anger into his game. Last year he led his team to his third Stanley Cup win. He won the MVP and the Conn Smyth trophy. Fuck you, Rozanov.
So now he was back to being the perennial all-star he was meant to be. All he wanted was to make it through the weekend without falling apart. Shane gave himself a stern talking to to hold it together as he walked into the welcome reception. A quick scan of the hotel bar told him Rozanov wasn't there yet. Good. He could get himself a beer and talk to some of the guys before he had to plaster the smile on his face when he definitely wouldn't feel like smiling.
***
Ilya liked Jessica. She was beautiful and sexy. When he gave her shit, she laughed and gave it right back to him. She was fun. He thought maybe he could love her. Maybe she could finally be the one to settle down with. They had been seeing each other for six months. It wasn't the first time he had been exclusive with someone but it was the longest he had been with just one person. She had been hanging out with the other Boston wives and girlfriends for a couple of months so it felt like the right move to invite her to come to the All-Star Weekend with him. He wished it was somewhere better than fucking Buffalo. Somewhere where he could see her in a skimpy bathing suit and maybe convince her to go swimming without it. But she agreed to come to this gross snowy place so Ilya thought, yes, she might really like him too. He was currently waiting outside the bathroom for her in the hotel lobby while she went to “freshen up’” whatever that meant. She came out looking as beautiful as she did walking in.
“Ready for the onslaught?” he asked her.
“Of a room full of hockey players you're gonna spend the weekend annoying,” she grinned. “Bring it.”
Yes, Ilya liked her. He put his arm around her and walked into the hotel bar.
“I could have been on a tropical beach with Gloria this weekend,” Carter Vaughn complained to Shane and his Admirals teammate, Eric Bennett. “Instead I’m in fucking Buffalo with you assholes.”
“You could have said no to the invitation,” Bennett reminded Vaughn.
“Some captain that’d make me. I’m supposed to be a fucking role model or something. I wish they asked Bodnar instead, is all I’m saying,” Carter said.
Shane and Eric shared a look. Tom Bodnar was a fine player, but he wasn’t an all-star.
“I’m happy to be here,” Eric said. “I didn’t think I’d get another chance before-” Eric cut himself off and took a sip of his water.
Shane had his back to the door but somehow he felt the energy in the room shift and could almost feel Rozanov’s eyes on the back of his neck. He tried to concentrate on the conversation but he lost the thread while his heart beat out of his chest with anxiety. It felt so different from the anticipation he used to feel when he could tell Ilya Rozanov was close by. This was not at all pleasant. He kept his back to the door. He didn’t want to have to look at the man, and he didn’t know what his face would give away if Rozanov spotted him.
“Hollander,” Vaughn said, hitting him on the arm with the back of his hand. Apparently he had been asking Shane something.
“Sorry, what?”
“Was the scheduling thing the reason you and Rose Landry broke up? I love Gloria, man. I want to marry her. Are we doomed?” Carter asked.
“No! Rose and I - we just realized we were better as friends than a couple. You and Gloria are solid. We’ll all be dancing at your wedding soon,” Shane assured him. “Well, I won’t actually be dancing at your wedding. I’m a terrible dancer,” he laughed.
Shane could feel the smile fall off his face and suddenly his blood felt like it had filled with bubbles. Rozanov had moved into his eyeline and he wasn’t fucking alone. He had his arm around a beautiful woman. He was smiling at her while he twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers. Shane felt frozen, like a deer in headlights. Right until the moment that Rozanov caught his eye. Shane thought he saw something flash in them but Rozanov’s mask of cool indifference snapped into place and Shane figured he imagined it. He looked away, muttered a “I gotta-” and walked directly out of the bar.
If he had been thinking clearly he might have gone all the way to the elevators and up to his room but he just took the closer option and ducked into the bathroom in the lobby. Luckily it was empty because Shane completely lost his shit the minute the door closed. He couldn’t catch his breath. He didn’t know if he was crying or screaming or both. He moved around the bathroom, just to be in motion, but he also wanted to curl up in a ball and lie on the floor. He slumped against the wall and the door opened. Shit. He tried to rub his face and maybe make it into one of the stalls before whoever came in saw him but he wasn’t fast enough.
“Shane.” It was Eric Bennett who sounded worried and sympathetic. Shane looked up at him and Eric crossed the room.
“C’mere,” he said, wrapping Shane in a hug. He rubbed Shane’s back while Shane totally cried snot balls all over Eric’s really nice shirt. “Rozanov, right?” Eric asked, quietly. Shane didn’t have the energy to wonder how Eric knew, he just nodded against his shoulder.
“Yeah, I always thought there was something going on with the two of you,” Eric said. That got Shane to look up.
“Really? I thought we were so careful,” Shane said.
“Goalie eyes,” Eric said, simply.
Eric seemed to be doing some deep breathing that Shane was copying without realizing it. He could feel himself calming down. As his body relaxed, it also realized it was being embraced by six plus feet of muscley man, something it hadn’t felt in far too long. He could feel himself starting to get hard and when he shifted to try to hide that from Eric, he felt that maybe he wasn’t entirely alone in this situation. Eric cleared his throat and stepped away.
“You ok?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Shane sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. At least he wasn’t crying anymore.
“You want to go back in there?” Eric asked.
“Fuck, no,” Shane said. He swallowed and rubbed his face. Eric was quiet for a long time and Shane finally opened his eyes to see Eric looking at him with heat in his eyes.
“Want to go upstairs?” Eric asked, his voice huskier than it had been a minute ago. Shane looked at him for a long time before he decided, yeah, he fucking did.
***
“I've never done that before,” Eric said while they laid in bed a while later. “With a man, I mean.”
“Oh,” Shane said, a little surprised. “Was it…ok? That we did that?” he asked. Eric smiled.
“It was kind of my idea, remember?” he said.
“Yeah… but.... did you like it?” Shane asked quietly, looking at the space on the bed between them instead of at Eric. Eric put a finger under his chin and raised his head.
“It was great, Shane,” he said, seriously. When he seemed sure Shane wasn’t going to look away, he took his finger off Shane’s chin but only to start running it up and down Shane’s arm. It was nice to be here with Eric, someone he liked, and felt comfortable with.
“Up until now, my bisexuality was real, but it was also kind of theoretical. Since the divorce, it’s something I’ve wanted to explore.”
“Is that why you and Holly split up?” Shane asked.
“No, we just grew apart,” Eric said.
“It is weird to say I’m glad you decided to explore this with me?” Shane asked
“I’d kind of be insulted if you weren’t,” Eric laughed. Shane smiled too.
“Why not before now, though?” he asked,curious now.
“Holly and I were together for 20 years and before that… hockey, you know? It felt easier to ignore that side of myself,” Eric said.
“It’s the only side of me there is,” Shane admitted. “Sometimes I wish I could ignore it.”
“You and Rose?” Eric asked. Shane gave a little laugh.
“Rose was the one who kindly sat me down and suggested I might consider the fact that I was gay,” Shane said with a smile. “She really is one of my best friends. She's the only person in my life, besides my parents, who knows I'm gay. I don't know what I'd do without her.” Shane was quiet for a minute. “I guess you know now. And Ilya.” Shane didn't know why he said it. He shouldn't have brought Rozanov into this bed.
“You wanna talk about it?” Eric asked.
“You can’t want to hear about it,” Shane said, skeptically.
“When Holly and I split up, it was amicable but I still needed to talk to my friends about it. I get the impression you've been dealing with it on your own,” Eric said.
“Yeah,” Shane said quietly.
“So, let me be a friend,” Eric said. And Shane believed him.
“It started before our rookie season. We would hook up whenever we were in the same city, mostly when we played each other but also things like this. For a long time, that's all it was but at some point it changed. I can't even say what point, it was so gradual.” Shane paused, remembering. Eric waited patiently, still running his finger up and down Shane’s arm. It was somehow intimate but friendly.
“I used to love the All-Star game,” Shane continued. “It was riskier, with all the other players around, but we also had more time than usual. We didn’t have to pretend to hate each other as much, since the weekend is supposed to be friendly. It was at an All-Star game that I thought things might change between us. That maybe we could be more. And for a few months, we kind of were. We only saw each other twice after that weekend but we started texting and talking in between.” And having really hot video sex, but Eric didn’t need to know that.
“When his dad died, he turned to me and I thought-” Shane took a deep breath. “I knew by then that I was in love with him and I really thought he felt the same. I invited him to spend the summer with me. I have a lake cottage. Somewhere private, where we could finally have time. Not a stolen hour or two but a solid week or two. I thought he wanted what I wanted but I was wrong. He didn't come.”
“Did he say why?” Eric asked. Shane shook his head.
“Nope. He ghosted me. He just, pfft,” Shane made a slashing motion with his hand, “cut me off. The next season, the first time the Bears came to Montreal, I went to this building I owned where we used to meet up. I thought maybe he’d want to continue the way we had been before things changed. But he never showed. I didn't really expect him to.” Shane had actually gone to the building after every game Montreal played against Boston that year. Where it had previously been the one place where Shane could be his full self with Rozanov, it became the place where he let himself mourn the loss.
“God, I played like shit that year,” Shane said.
“I remember,” Eric said. “We thought you were injured or maybe you didn’t fully recover after that hit the spring before. I played with a guy about 10 years ago who took a hit like that and was never the same. I thought you might be heading that way.”
“Nope. I healed fine from the hit. I was only injured if you count a broken heart as an injury,” Shane said, ruefully. “The only good thing about it was that I wasn’t selected to the all-star team. Seeing him on the ice in game was hard enough. Having to be around him like this, socially or whatever. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.” Shane was quiet again. It was kind of weird how something that loomed so large in his mind could be explained in less than 20 minutes. Letting it all out now - Eric was right, it was good to talk about it. He felt a little lighter, and also surprised that he had been able to share it at all. It was like once he let some of it out, the dam broke.
“It’s been almost three years now. I really thought I was over it,” Shane said. It was kind of a lie but he liked to tell himself he was over it. “I was prepared to see him and be fine. I was not prepared for him to be here with someone.”
“I don’t think there is a timeline on these things. Even if him being here alone would have been hard for you, that’s ok. It takes time and not talking about it with anyone else, that makes it fester. It’s ok to be a little bit of a mess. I know keeping things to myself messes me up,” Eric said.
“Are you keeping things to yourself?” Shane asked.
“You mean besides this?” Eric said, waving his hand between the two of them. He took a beat and looked like he might have something he needed to talk about. “I’m retiring at the end of this season.”
“Really?” Shane said, surprised.
“Yeah, it’s time.”
“I don’t know. You seem like you’re at the top of your game to me,” Shane said.
“Shane, you scored a hat trick on me last month. You’ve never been able to do that before. It’s time,” Eric repeated. “I just can’t seem to bring myself to tell anyone. My teammates, the organization. I know it’s the right call but it’s also messing me up.”
“Well at least you get this last all-star game,” Shane said.
“Yeah, seems like the league has either figured it out or is trying to send me a message. My all-star years are far behind me,” Eric said with a laugh.
“Come on,” Shane said, pushing Eric’s shoulder. “You’re a fucking legend. You deserve this.” Shane realized if this was Eric’s last all-star game, he should be downstairs experiencing it, not up here listening to Shane moan about Rozanov. “You should go back to the party. This is your last chance to enjoy this, I don’t want to keep you from that.”
“Do you want to go back down?” Eric asked.
“No. But I’m ok. I think I’m about to crash, actually,” Shane said.
“If you’re sure,” Eric said. He sat up and moved to get out of the bed. He stopped, looked back at Shane and leaned down for a short kiss. The kiss was nice. The sex had been nice, too. But like every other man Shane has slept with in the last three years, he didn’t feel the heat, the urgency, the burning desire he had felt with Rozanov. With Eric, at least, it didn’t feel as flat and meaningless as it had with other men. It seemed like a weird way to start a friendship but Shane thought that after this, he and Eric might become actual friends, not just hockey buds.
“Text me if you need anything,” Eric said after he got dressed and was at the door.
“I will. Goodnight Eric.”
***
Ilya had meant to avoid looking at Hollander that night, but the man was like a magnet and Ilya couldn’t help himself. For the past year and a half, every time he saw Hollander, Ilya saw hatred, disdain, and anger in his eyes. Tonight, though, he only saw pain. It was the pain that Hollander had on his face for the entire first year after Ilya ended things. Ilya hated it more than the anger. At least when Hollander was angry, Ilya could convince himself that he hadn’t made an enormous mistake.
He’d watched Hollander rush out of the room after they locked eyes, and watched Eric Bennett follow him. Now it was two hours later and Bennett walked back into the party, alone and looking more rumpled than he had before.
Ilya wasn’t trying to overhear. It was just that Carter Vaughn had a very loud voice. And if Ilya happened to move closer to the Admirals players, it was totally an accident. He just wanted to talk to Brophy, who happened to be standing near them.
“Bennnnnnyyyyyy!” Carter yelled. Ilya thought maybe he had too many beers but it could also have just been Vaughn being Vaughn. “Where’ve ya been?”
“Just taking a break,” Bennett said.
“For two hours?” Carter shouted. Bennett maybe did not say anything or maybe said something too softly for Ilya to hear.
“Hoooooly shit, did you get some?” Carter asked. Ilya worked very hard to not turn his head to see the answer but Carter provided it anyway.
“Thank fuck, man. The divorce was months ago. I was starting to worry about you.” Ilya suddenly didn’t want to hear anymore. He went to find Jessica who was talking to Ottawa’s goalie and his wife.
“Hey babe,” she said, putting her arm around his waist. “Who’s your favorite superhero?” That was a weird question, except…
“Hayes, what kind of nerd shit are you putting in my girlfriend’s head?” he asked the Ottawa player. He liked Wyatt Hayes. Sometimes he wished they were teammates.
“Come on, Roz,” Hayes said cheerfully. “Everyone has a favorite superhero.”
“Black Widow,” Ilya admitted. “Good Russian hero.”
“Rock on. Want me to send you some Black Widow comics? I have a few good ones,” Hayes said.
“No, you fucking nerd. I will watch her in the next movie,” Ilya said.
“Your loss, man,” Hayes said with a smile. It seemed like he always had a smile.
“Why did you marry this dork?” Ilya asked Hayes’s wife.
“Don’t you know how flexible goalies are?” she said with a wink. Ilya threw his head back and laughed. He and Jessica spent twenty more minutes talking to Wyatt and his delightfully snarky wife (Lisa, he learned). The entire time Ilya kept his eye on the door. He didn’t know if he wanted Hollander to come back or not but he wanted to know if he did. Hollander never showed, though, and Ilya decided he needed a distraction so he whispered a sexy suggestion in Jessica’s ear and let her drag him up to their hotel room. He chose not to think about the fact that he was using his actual girlfriend to distract himself from a man who was supposed to be nothing to him.
***
Ilya sat by himself in the locker room the next day. He kept turning the previous night over in his head. He could admit to himself now what he was hoping would happen when he brought Jessica this weekend. He had hoped that when he put her in the same room as Shane Hollander, it would be clear that Hollander was not as special as Ilya made him out to be in his mind. Ilya hoped that he would see that Jessica was just as good, that he liked her just as much, and then he could let go of this old thing in his heart and start to build a new life. Ilya was very good at not thinking about Hollander when they weren’t around each other so he had convinced himself this is what would happen. He forgot what it felt like to be near Hollander. When face to face with the man, Ilya could never lie to himself about how deeply he still loved him. He didn’t know where this left him, other than feeling very unhappy.
On top of that, Ilya had to listen to Dallas Kent being gross while Troy Barrett laughed in the stall next to him. He hated the way Kent spoke about women and how every other sentence used another homophobic slur. Ilya knew that it was people like Kent who had made him too scared to try to be with Hollander in the first place. Listening to it now, it grated on him. Not just what Kent was saying but that he had allowed people like this to have so much power in his life. He looked toward Hollander a few stalls down, sitting next to Bennett, and knew that he heard Kent’s garbage too. Hollander’s jaw was tight and his eyes were angry, for once, Ilya thought, not at him. When Kent used a particularly terrible word, he decided he had enough.
“Nobody here is going to want to fuck you if you use these gross words to describe them,” Ilya said. He forced his tone to be playful and made sure he was loud enough to get the attention of the people around him.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Rozanov?” Kent asked.
“Is not the best way to go about this, you see. Is it so hard for you to find someone who wants to fuck you? This is very sad, Kent,” Ilya said with mock sympathy. “If you want to know which players would be willing to suck your dick, there are better ways to find out than calling them a cocksucker like it is some big insult,” Ilya said in an instructive tone of voice, even louder than before. Kent was the worst but he had heard many of the players in the room say things like this on the ice. He wanted them to hear him now, too. Kent seemed to be momentarily stunned into silence so Ilya continued. “I think, maybe, you hide behind these words so people don't know the truth about you.” He noticed that while Kent went red with anger, Barrett turned white with what looked like fear. That was interesting.
“It is ok to be queer, Kent,” Ilya looked around the room as he said it. He landed on Kent but then looked over Kent’s shoulder, directly at Barrett. “I would accept you. You do not need to hide like this.” Ilya opened his arms, as if to invite a hug. Barrett gave Ilya the barest nod. Maybe not even a nod, maybe he was just putting his head down to look away.
“I think you're the one who likes to suck dick, Rozanov,” Kent spat. Ilya had forgotten for a moment that Kent was there and that Ilya was trying to teach him a lesson.
“Maybe I do. Maybe I don't,” Ilya said thoughtfully. “But either way, I would not, what is the expression? Touch your dick with a ten foot pole.” Ilya turned away, done with Kent. He caught Hollander’s eye and for a moment, he thought he saw desire in it. But he must have imagined it because the next moment, the usual disdain he held for Ilya was back.
***
Shane had been so excited the first time he played on the same all-star team as Rozanov. It was the year he thought everything was changing for them and when they got onto the ice together - he’d never experienced anything like it. They were so in sync, each knowing exactly where the other would be to get the right pass, the right shot, the right play. There had been a moment after Shane scored his fourth goal of that game when Rozanov had hugged him and kissed him on the cheek and they smiled into each other’s eyes in a way that felt so intimate, right there in view of everyone. Shane hadn’t even cared, or been scared they were giving themselves away. Shane thought that their chemistry on the ice had as much to do with their feelings for each other as it did with their skill. It turned out he was wrong about that.
Last year the league had put them back on opposing teams - the way it had been for so many years before - but this year they had to play together again. He thought that their on-ice chemistry would be as absent as their off-ice relationship now. Instead it seemed like it was even better than it had been three years ago.
Between them, they scored seven goals and each one Shane scored came off of a pass from Rozanov. Each one Rozanov scored came off a pass from Shane. They skated circles around the Western Conference team and left their third linemate in the dust. Every single goal was more horrible than the last. Shane didn’t feel like throwing his arms up in celebration. He felt like throwing his stick at Rozanov’s head in frustration. After each time the goal siren sounded Shane turned his back and skated down to the other end of the ice. He didn’t acknowledge that the puck had gone into the net to any of his temporary teammates, especially not Rozanov.
“Did Rozanov steal your girl or something,” Mike Brophy, a defenseman from New Jersey asked Shane at one point on the bench between shifts.
“What?” Shane asked.
“I mean, guy’s an asshole, no question but it seems like you’re legitimately pissed at him,” Brophy said. “Did he sleep with your sister?”
“I don’t have a sister,” Shane said. He knew he was being rude but he couldn’t help it. He went back onto the ice without answering Brophy’s question. Maybe he should have given Rozanov a high five so people wouldn’t gossip. He told himself that’s what he would do if one of them scored another goal. But when he sent Rozanov a tricky pass around a huge defenseman thirty seconds later and Rozanov shot it into the top corner of the net, Shane just glared at him and skated away.
***
After the game, Ilya was sitting alone in the hotel bar. Jessica was out with some other wives and girlfriends which was fine because Ilya wanted to be alone. He would have to break up with her when they got back to Boston. She had already been hinting that she wanted more and he knew now that he wouldn’t be able to give it to her. She deserved better. He kept replaying in his mind the pain in Hollander’s eyes on Friday night, the heat in them in the locker room yesterday, and the way he turned his back on Ilya after every goal one of them scored off the pass of the other during the game tonight. Playing together tonight…it woke up a yearning inside him. He had built a wall around the part of himself that loved Hollander and now that wall was showing cracks. He had forgotten how exhilarating it had been to play with Hollander - the only person he had ever known to be able to keep up with him on the ice. He did not have to slow down, or rein himself in. Passes he never would have attempted with his Boston teammates found their way perfectly to Hollander’s stick. He remembered now that feeling from being with Hollander off the ice - perfectly connected, keeping up with each other, reading each other’s minds. This whole weekend was a reckoning with what he had thrown away. Ilya had not felt this torn up about Hollander in so long.
The first year was the worst. Every time the Bears were in Montreal that year, Ilya would take a taxi to Hollander’s weird hideout building and stand outside, looking at the light in the window of the third floor. He would stay there until he had to be back for curfew. Not once all year did he see that light go out. What was Hollander doing up there? Had he moved there? Was he hoping Ilya would come? Was he throwing darts at a picture of Ilya’s face? Ilya spent hours looking at the light and asking himself these questions. Those hours that in years past would be spent inside that building, enjoying Hollander’s body, Ilya spent torturing himself, pressing on this bruise, imagining Hollander writhing on that bed, using every bit of willpower he had not to knock on that door.
All that summer, he told himself that he would not go back there the following season but after the first game - a hard loss for Boston where Hollander played angrily and spectacularly - Ilya found himself leaving his hotel room and getting in a taxi. When he pulled up to the building, Ilya saw the third floor window was dark. He still got out of the car. When he walked up to the building, there was a For Sale sign up in front of it. He sat down on the curb of the empty parking lot and cried harder than he had since the night in Moscow when he realized that he had no choice but to end the thing between himself and Hollander. That night in Montreal was the moment Ilya realized he actually succeeded in doing so, and it was so much worse than he ever imagined it would be.
Now, sitting here, replaying this weekend in his head, the pain came back to him as fresh and raw as it had ever been. He had thought the harder path would be having to love Shane in secret while hiding their relationship from the world, but he now realized that being apart was so much worse. He knew for certain that he had made a mistake when he ended things with Shane, but he couldn’t think of any way to correct it.
He was wrapped up in these thoughts when Troy Barrett sat down at his table. Barrett didn't say anything, just sat there, peeling the label off his beer nervously. Ilya let the silence linger. Barrett didn’t seem inclined to talk and Ilya’s mind wandered back to Hollander.
He considered whether he should try to fix it. Maybe that is what he had been trying to do when he called Kent out the day before. Maybe he would see if he could find Hollander before the weekend was over and just try to talk to him. As if he summoned the man with his thoughts, Hollander came into view in the hotel lobby. But he wasn’t alone. Bennett was walking with him, standing close, their arms brushing sometimes as they walked by. Ilya knew it would be no use. He needed to patch the holes in the wall around his heart and shut himself off to all thoughts of Hollander again. He had burned the thing to the ground and it would take a miracle to rebuild it. When Hollander and Bennett entered the elevator, Ilya turned his attention back to the man sitting across from him. Barrett looked as miserable as Ilya felt. Ilya thought about Barrett’s face the day before and thought Barrett maybe wanted to tell him something. He could think of no other reason for Barrett to be sitting here looking like a dog who had been kicked too many times. Why did he attach himself to such an asshole as Kent, Ilya wondered.
“You need better friends, Barrett,” he said. Barrett just nodded and continued to fiddle with his bottle. Ilya kept staring at him until he finally looked up.
“I'm starting to see that,” Barrett said, quietly.
Ilya nodded. He took the bar napkin and wrote his number on it.
“Text me if you need to talk,” he said. Then he tossed back the last of his drink and left the bar. Maybe he couldn’t fix the thing with Hollander but he could try to connect with other players in the league who might be like him. Maybe they were all dealing with this alone and they didn’t need to be.
Ilya didn’t hear from Barrett for more than a year, long after all that shit went down with Kent in Toronto, months after Kent was arrested. Ilya was surprised because he figured Barrett never even kept his number.
Barrett: Hey, Rozanov, it’s Troy Barrett.
Barrett: I wanted to let you know I plan on coming out after the season is over.
Barrett: Mostly it’s because I fell in love and my boyfriend is a blabbermouth goofball who doesn’t have it in him to hide and I don’t want to ask him to.
Barrett: But I want you to know that what you said at the All-Star game last year helped me and I don’t know if I would have gotten here without hearing it. So, thank you.
Ilya: I am very happy for you, Barrett. Let me know if you need anything, whenever.
Ilya didn’t hear from Barrett again after that but he watched the video that Barrett posted on Instagram that summer many times and started to feel like things might start to change. Now all he needed to fix his own life was a miracle.
A year later, he got one.