Chapter Text
Maybe it was a bad idea. But Elena Rozanova had planned this. The moment she turned eighteen, she was getting on the first trip to Canada, finding her older brother and… she didn’t know what then. All she knew that the moment she was out of Alexei’s custody—control—she was taking that chance.
She had never flown before. And Moscow to Ottawa wasn’t exactly the shortest trip ever.
Luckily, she had been sat next to a kind woman and her daughter, both of whom let her squeeze their hands whenever she felt nervous in the takeoff. She’s surprised they still had hands after that. Elena learned that she wasn’t a good flyer.
During the flight she was looking up all she could about her brother. Her internet access was pretty limited. She only knew that he was married to Shane Hollander and that he moved from Boston to Ottawa, not much else.
Ilya Rozanov hockey
Nearest ice rink?
She’s surprised there was a result straight away.
The woman beside her had looked over her shoulder at that last search. “Hockey fan? Or figure skater
“Da. Yes.” She needed to practice her English, and luckily this woman sounded Canadian herself. “You are from Ottawa?”
“We are.”
“Never been before,” she admits, not even knowing if the words she uses are correct. “What it is like?”
“Cold,” the woman’s daughter replied bluntly. “But the hockey team is good now, if you do like it. Especially since Rozanov and Hollander joined.”
“Yes,” she said. “Good. Thank you.”
***
After showing a taxi driver a screenshot of the location she needed to be and handing him a lump sum of money she’d saved, she found herself in the parking lot of the ice rink. The taxi driver drove off as soon as she exited the car door with a single backpack on her back.
This was a bad idea, she realised. Why did she think this was a good idea?
She had not seen Ilya since before her fathers death. She couldn’t even remember what he was like. What if he was like Alexei? What if he sent her back to Russia?
“Uh, hey?” The voice that interrupted her wasn’t Canadian. Swiss, maybe, or German. She didn’t know. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” she replies in English, the Russian accent drowning out some key syllables. “Это была глупая идея.” She kicked a rock, which was apparently harder than it looked. “Ебать!” It was a stupid idea. Fuck!
“That word I understood.” A small, bashful smile falls onto his face. “I’m Luca.”
“Elena,” she replies. “Sorry. Never been Canada before. Overwhelming. A lot of English.”
“That’s okay,” he says. “Honestly I found it overwhelming when I got here too, probably would have for a long time if it weren’t for my teammates.”
“Teammates?”
“Yeah. I play hockey.” He gestures to the rink behind them.
“Nearest hotel?” she decides to ask him. This was a bad idea. She couldn’t face her brother. Not today. She had enough money to spend some time in a hotel. That would give her time until she was ready.
“Haasy!” yelled another man, running over to them. He hooks an arm around Luca. “Who’s your friend?”
“Elena,” Luca replies. “We just met.”
“Cool. I’m Wyatt Hayes,” Wyatt introduces himself.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, and feels proud that she said it without much struggle in English. “Could you help? Hotel?”
“You don’t have anywhere else to stay?”
“Это моя вина,” she blurts. “но я не знала, куда еще пойти.”
It’s my fault. I didn’t know where else to go.
Both Luca and Wyatt stare at her blankly for a moment. She barely even registered that she’d just spoken Russian, it was natural to her.
“I will find,” she decides. “Thank you.”
“Wait!” Wyatt stops her from walking away. “We can help. Our teammate — he’s Russian too, so he can understand and help you. That sound okay?”
She shrugs, and a few men who briefly speak to Luca and Wyatt walk past. She assumes they’re the teammates Luca had spoken about.
“Hey, Hollzy!” Wyatt shouts at a man walking in their direction. “Where’s Roz?”
The man finally reaches them. He has freckles and a kind face. “He’s going to be late today,” he says, not explaining much. “I thought Bood would have told you already.”
“Nope,” Wyatt says. “But you can speak a bit of Russian, right? We’re trying to help…”
“Elena,” Luca provides.
“We’re trying to help Elena, but I think she’s more confident in Russian than English.”
“Yes,” she confirms. Then she inspects the man in front of her. “Вы говорите по-русски?” You speak Russian?
“не бегло, но достаточно.” Not fluently, but enough.
That makes sense, she thinks. He doesn’t look Russian.
“Я приехала из Москвы. Думаю, это была ошибка. Мне просто нужно найти отель на ночь. Вы знаете какой-нибудь?
I came from Moscow. It was a mistake, I think. I just want to find a hotel for the night. Do you know one?
“Я могу тебя туда отвезти. После тренировки, если не возражаешь? Сразу после. Обещаю.”
I can take you to one. After practice, if that's okay? Straight after. I promise.
She has no reason to trust the older man. Any of the men in front of her, actually. But it was this or spend the night on a bench, so she figured it was her only choice.
“Okay,” she says in English. “That’s ok.”
“Great.” He grins and turns to the other two men. “She’s coming to practice with us, then we’ll take her to a hotel and make sure she’s safe.”
***
She should have put two and two together. That of course the only person who could speak to her in Russian was her brother's husband. That made sense. Of course he’d learn for him.
Luca kept sending her comforting smiles during practice. She liked it. Elena didn’t really have friends her age back in Moscow. At all, really. Not anymore.
The last person she’d gotten close with, Alexei had threatened. She never saw her again. So she never tried again.
While the sound of skating hit her ears, she opened up her phone. Not one birthday message. Just one from Alexei that translated nearly to Don’t even think of coming back.
There was a break and though she saw some hesitation, Luca skated up to her. “Hey.”
“You were good.” She wished she could use more complex English, but it’s all that she could provide.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Thanks. It’s only my second year here. But there’s some good players here, they give really good advice.” He pauses. “Have you ever skated?”
“I used to figure skate,” she reveals. “My brother made me quit.”
“Why?”
She just shrugged, not wanting to explain.
“What about your parents?”
“Dead,” she says indifferently. She doesn’t remember much of either of them anyway.
“Oh.” Luca scratches his neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“It’s okay.”
***
Across the rink, Ilya had finally entered, greeting most of his team, specifically his husband. Then his eyes flickered to the other side of the room.
“I am late one day and Haas suddenly has a girlfriend?”
“They only met today,” Shane answers him.
“He is flirting! Look.” Both he and Shane look across the room where Luca has a lopsided smile as he leans across the boards to speak to the girl. Though, it’s clear he is nervous from the constant moving of his hair and his itching under his ear. “Well, he is trying.”
Shane doubts it. “I promised we’d help her find a hotel after. She just flew in and doesn’t understand much English.”
“She seems to understand Haas just fine,” Ilya says, where he can see the girl break into a small smile. “How did you promise then? If she doesn’t speak much English?”
“She’s Russian,” Shane replies. “She said she flew in from Moscow. Wyatt said she seemed pretty anxious when they first met her, but I think Luca seems to be doing an okay job at calming any nerves.”
Ilya nods, deciding to speak to the girl by the stands. He was the only Russian here, after all, and would be able to have a much more fluent conversation than the one Shane did, even if his husband has become better at the language.
He skates over to the pair, where he hears her voice ask Luca. “You miss your language?”
“Sometimes yes,” Luca admits. “But I call my family all the time, so I get to speak it then.”
“That’s good. I d—”
“Hello,” Ilya interrupts. “I hear you make Russian friend, Haas. Good taste.”
The girl's eyes widen. Then her breaths seem to get a little shorter and shallower. Shane said Hayes had mentioned she seemed nervous, but he didn’t think it was going to be like this. Just a second ago, she was smiling with Haas!
“Я не могу дышать,” she whispers in Russian, pulling on the drawstring of her hoodie. I can’t breathe.
“Okay,” Ilya prepares. He lives with Shane Hollander, who is practically the king of anxiety attacks. He sees that her hands are shaking and suddenly, tears streaming down her eyes. “Haas, take off your jersey. She needs to follow someone’s breathing.”
Luca would usually argue (or grumble) at such a request, but it seems to work. The moment he does and Elena’s eyes meet his chest and tries to copy, the shakiness dulls down a little.
“ты делаешь потрясающе,” Ilya says. You are doing amazing. “Da. Like that.”
“What are you crying for?” She remembers Alexei snapping the first time she ever experienced something like that. “I’ll give you something to cry about.”
Her tears become a bit more frantic again, which only panics both the men in front of her. “Всё в порядке. Ты в безопасности.” It’s okay. You’re safe.
After a few moments, her eyes snap back to Luca’s chest and follow again. Eventually, it becomes stable enough that she can breathe again.
And then once she can, she feels immediately embarrassed, her face shooting red.
“Sorry,” she tries in English. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s not your fault,” Ilya says, and her eyes snap to his, and he’s struck by the resemblance to his mother, Irina. “It was an anxiety attack. My husband gets them too. Me a few times too. Normal.”
“Sorry,” she says again.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitates. It’s not exactly the circumstance she’d planned on meeting her brother, but it seems that’s out of her control. “Elena.”
Ilya pauses, a brief flash of something on his face. “My sister’s called Elena.”
Anxiously, she averts her gaze from him and to Luca, who is also looking quizzical.
“Elena,” Ilya asks. “What’s your surname?”
“Rozanova.” Her face crumbles. “Sorry. I knew—” she switches to Russian because it’s easier. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here without much of a plan, but I hate Russia. I saved to leave the moment I turned eighteen, and I didn’t know where else I could go.”
“Haas,” Ilya instructs. “Give us a minute.”
“Yep. Right.” His face blushes as he skates away and back to Wyatt.
Ilya doesn’t hesitate on skipping the boards to sit next to his sister. He makes sure to speak in Russian for her. “Hello.”
“You already said that.”
“I know, but it feels different,” he says. “I’m sorry for leaving you there. I never forgave myself.”
She looked confused. “It’s not your fault. You wouldn’t have been safe there.” She pauses. “I didn’t mean to panic. I just— I don’t think I was ready to meet you. I was scared. It’s been a long day of a lot of English, and I’d never flown on a plane before and I was really scared of that too. Then I realised I had basically no plan and I didn’t even know if you were going to be nice or if you’d be just like Alexei. I just knew I had to get out of Russia and I—”
“There’s a spare room at home,” Ilya interrupts. “You take it tonight. And as long as you need. I want to make up for the time I lost not being your brother. Get to know you.”
“Would Shane be okay with that?”
“Absolutely yes,” Ilya says without a doubt. “Better than cheap hotel, yes?”
“I don’t want to burden you either,” Elena replies. “I’m eighteen now. I should be able to look after myself.”
“You have just flown to a country with a language you hardly speak. I think it is okay for you to accept help, yes?”
Reluctantly, she agreed.
“And as first duty as brother, I should tell you that Luca used to have pictures of me on his walls as a kid.” He jumps back over the boards to begin his skate. “You’re welcome!”