Chapter Text
Cliff Marlow had a problem. His captain, the number one overall draft pick, MVP his rookie year, had lost his game.
It started around December. They were playing an away game and before, Roz had barely given the team a pep talk. Cliff had approached him as they rolled out, a quick, “All good?” met with a disgruntled sound he could barely class as a response. The game was fine, but Roz played like shit. One goal, maybe two assists, and his chemistry felt horrible. No one could seem to catch where he was, and he never seemed open.
After the game, Cliff lingered until it was Roz and some rookies, and he huffed. Roz didn’t even lift his head.
“So,” Cliff drew out, “You good, man?”
Roz lifted his head, “Fine.”
“You sure?” He lifted a brow, he didn’t believe it but honestly didn’t want to press. He’d never seen Roz act like this, on or off the ice and it honestly rattled him. Roz nodded and Cliff took that as his cue to walk away. Maybe it would get better by the next game.
It didn’t. Their next game, against Scott Hunter who Rozanov hated, who he should’ve been passionate and willing to fight against, was a disaster. It was as if Roz wasn’t on the ice, at all. Cliff got off the ice knowing he had to take matters into his own hands.
“Let’s go out,” Cliff called out, clapping his hands in the locker room. A few disgruntled agreements were voiced, with most players avoiding him. “Cmon guys, we’re playing like shit. Let’s bond!” He stares at Roz, who is avoiding everyone’s eyes.
St Simon stood and clapped Cliff’s back, “Let’s do it guys, it’s New York.”
Finally, most were in agreement and some plans were made. Roz was still silent, avoiding everyone. He shuffled over and snapped in front of him, “Coming, Roz?”
He shook his head, “Of course.”
But even at the club, Roz was off his game. He barely talked to the girls draping themselves over him, he barely drank, and kept staring at his phone. Cliff was tempted to slap it out of his hands, but he wasn’t sure how that would go. Soon enough, Roz disappeared and the rest of the team had no idea where he was.
It wasn’t until January, when they were in the gym, when Cliff started getting confused. The gym TV was playing some filler piece about Rose Landry and Hollander, who Cliff was starting to lowkey love. They were a good looking couple, not that he’d admit that to Roz, but Hollander was a pretty guy and Rose Landry was easily the hottest actress right now. Cliff was a sucker for celebrity drama, and to be honest he found himself wishing he’d meet a hot actress while she was shooting in Boston. Did no one film in Boston anymore?
His fantasizing was interrupted by Roz clicking the TV off, and he threw up his hands from the bike, “Hey, I was watching that!”
Roz grumbled, maybe in Russian maybe in angry English, before loudly swearing as he started walking strangely. Cliff straightened, “You good, Roz?”
“Stubbed my toe,” Roz responded bitingly as he stumbled out of the gym, leaving Cliff to watch. When he was sure Roz was gone, Cliff turned the TV back on. They were still talking about Rose Landry and Hollander.
Why was Roz so upset? What was going on? Dude had been off his game for a month now, and had honestly shown no signs of improvement. He had been hopeless at best in the locker room, depressing at worst. But no one was saying anything. Carmichael and St Simon had come to Cliff, separately, and asked if he knew what was going on. When he said no, they asked, almost begged, him to talk to Roz because no one could take it anymore. Even the media was starting to question what was going on with Rozanov, who seemed to have lost chemistry with his team. Any little comment at practice set off suicides. Any weird glance at the gym made Roz angrily start bench pressing to prove a point.
Cliff sighed, slowing the exercise bike down. His team was crumbling, his captain had lost control, and they were playing Montreal in a week. They needed to get their shit together.
He decided to ask something when they were on the plane. Roz couldn’t kill him there, but he also couldn’t run away. He plopped into the seat next to Roz, who didn’t want to look up from his ipad, probably playing a Fast and Furious movie.
He coughed, and no movement from his captain. So he went balls to the wall. He pulled out Roz’s earbud. He looked over as if he wanted to kill Cliff with his stare. “What.” Roz didn’t ask the word, he said it with the hidden meaning of If you don’t say something meaningful I will kill you. Cliff swallowed.
“Dude, we gotta talk,” Cliff plowed through, not wanting to face more tense Russian stares, “What’s been going on with you?”
“Nothing,” Roz replied, his leg starting to bounce. Cliff snorted.
“You haven’t been playing like yourself for months now, Roz,” he glanced around before lowering his tone, “The guys are scared of you.”
“They’re always scared,” Roz replied, deadpan.
“Well they’re not scared of disappointing you, they’re scared of you yourself, dude,” Cliff explained and now Rozanov looked back up.
“Of me?”
“You’ve been off your game, angry, never wanna go out, don’t wanna talk anymore, I think our rookies are sleeping with an eye open,” Cliff said honestly, “You good, Roz?”
He echoed the phrase he had said a few weeks ago, in the gym. At the time it was met with grumbles and rumblings, but now it looked like his captain was upset. And shit, Cliff didn’t know if he was ready for this conversation. Obviously he knew something was wrong, but he wasn’t expecting Rozanov to actually open up. He was a little scared.
Roz dropped his eyes, and when he looked back up, he looked younger, softer, and slightly upset, “Am fine, Marly.”
Selfishly, Cliff was kind of relieved Roz wasn’t gonna unload too much right now. But he was glad that Roz seemed a little more open and a little more relaxed. He clapped Roz’s shoulder, “Always here for you, man,” and he watched Roz smile before popping his earbud back in. They settled back into their seats, and Cliff felt better about the game.
He shouldn’t have felt better. Montreal was playing like shit. Which didn’t matter, because they were equally lost. Honestly, Hollander seemed like he wasn’t focused. When Cliff sat down for a second, he looked at the ice. Glanced around. It seemed like neither captain was even trying tonight. What the fuck was going on.
Montreal won 1-0, if you can even call it a win. The locker room was dejected, quiet, and tense. Rozanov wasn’t even grinning at his phone, texting the girl he always did in Montreal. Instead, he was furiously getting dressed and avoiding everyone.
Cliff just shook his head. Hopefully something would change soon.
When Carmichael asked him to come out with Roz, Cliff was out the door before he realized the question. Victor was behind him, both of them ready to show up for their captain. It was probably the first time that Roz was willingly going out, and no one was going to lack on their captain.
They ended up at some random Montreal club, the music was fine, girls were fine, drinks were fine. Cliff and Carmichael were talking to some girls, St Simon dancing with some girl nearby. Roz had eventually made their way over, and Cliff noticed him messily making out nearby. Finally, he thought.
Instead of focusing on his captain making out and finally moving on from his Montreal girl, Cliff turned back to face the girl he was talking to. They were talking and laughing, and Cliff was losing track of time. At some point, he glanced over, and saw Rose Landry dancing with one of her X Squad co-stars. He almost let out a low whistle, before remembering he was with another girl. Rose looked hot. But if she was in Montreal, where was Hollander?
Cliff was still keeping up with their relationship, and hadn’t heard anything about their breakup, and became very curious. The Montreal captain in a club with Boston’s best could be very fun for them, Cliff grinned to himself. He almost called Carmichael over, before he realized what was happening nearby.
Shane Hollander was staring at Ilya Rozanov kissing up a girl. Cliff blinked hard, and tapped the girl he was with, asking if she wanted a drink or a break or something, he wasn’t sure. Cliff was more focused on his captain’s rival standing a meter away from him, staring at him. They were both watching each other, he realized, Roz somehow spurred on by his audience. He was sloppy and kissing on this girl, oblivious to the fact he was staring at a man while he did it. The intensity in Roz’s eyes almost stopped Cliff in his tracks.
He briefly registered that he was walking away from the girl he was dancing with, and gravitating towards whatever the fuck this was. After a painfully long moment, Roz went back in to kiss the girl and Hollander seemed to finally move. He headed to the bar, then turned and brushed past Cliff, not even recognizing him as he mumbled a sorry, and headed back in Rose Landry’s direction.
Cliff couldn’t process what was going on. The girl pulled away from Roz and whispered something to him, his face dropping and looking around, before she scattered away. Roz glanced back at where Hollander had disappeared, before shaking his head. He finally glanced over at Cliff, who had been frozen nearby, and tried to look normal. Roz stomped up, and growled, “I’m leaving.”
“With that girl? Right on, man,” Cliff managed, watching Roz walk away alone.
What the fuck.
In his hotel room, Cliff sat up in bed, thinking, while Victor snored in the next bed. Roz had started being strange in December. He was especially pissed that one time when Cliff was watching the special on Hollander and Rose Landry. The whole club scene… Cliff still didn’t know what to think about that.
Maybe Roz had been talking to Rose Landry in the meantime, and was pissed when she hooked up with Hollander instead? And maybe, maybe Hollander knew they were talking and that’s why he got with Rose, to get under Roz’s skin. Then, tonight, Roz proved it didn’t mean anything to him. Hollander could never get to him.
Cliff exhaled, dragging his hands over his face, “Jesus Christ.” He didn’t even think their rivalry was that serious, he knew that they didn’t like each other, but this was some serious psychopathic shit by Hollander. Who does some shit like that? No wonder Roz had been off his game, Hollander was treating him like an evil Russian incapable of genuine romantic feelings.
Hollander ruined Roz’s chance with a fucking movie star.
Cliff knew next time they played again, he’d make Hollander regret this stupid shit. He had his captain’s back.