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Shane didn't ask Ilya about PyeongChang. Things were good. Really good. Ridiculously good.
They were in a committed, albeit secret, relationship and had been for more than seven months. It was difficult being apart now, knowing that Ilya wanted him and he wanted Ilya. But they made it work in the few hours they met before and/or after games. (Many times both.) A few times, they even managed to meet when close, like when the Voyageurs were playing the Islanders and the Bears were playing the Admirals.
Shane didn’t want to fuck it up by bringing up the Olympics. The last time the games were held, Ilya ignored him for months after, and Shane didn’t want to go through that again. Things were different now, of course, but it didn’t stop the fear from creeping up on him ever since they were selected to play for their countries.
(Technically, Ilya wasn’t playing for Russia. The country had been banned from competing in the 2018 Olympics due to a doping scandal, so Ilya would be captaining the ice hockey team for the “Olympic Athletes from Russia.”)
Shane was literally packing for the trip when Ilya brought it up.
“When does your plane get in?”
“A little after noon on the 10th. The team has a few practices before our first match on the 15th versus Switzerland.”
“Your group is easy. We have America and Slovakia.”
“Bullshit. We have the Czech Republic.”
“Their captain is old enough to be a grandpa. You could break his hip if you hit him hard enough.”
Shane had been taking a sip of ginger ale when Ilya said that and spat it halfway across the room. “Ilya!”
“What? Is true.”
“Well, good luck with Slovakia. …I actually don’t know anything about them.”
“We will crush them. That is all you need to know.”
“On your way to a silver.”
“You won back-to-back cups. You will not win back-to-back gold medals.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.”
“Too many concussions. Now you are delusional.” Before Shane could retort, Illya asked, “See you on the 10th?”
Shane tried not to read into it. “Sure. You know how to find me.”
The Canadian Men’s Ice Hockey Team didn’t fly together since players were chosen from across the NHL, but Shane made the long-haul flight with J.J., who had also been selected to represent Canada.
Shane expected there to be photographers and reporters the moment he stepped off the plane, but apparently, the media were set up in the airport’s concourse. That allowed the players to enter the terminals in peace.
What he didn’t expect was to hear J.J.’s wondering voice, “Hey. Isn’t that Rozanov?”
Shane turned from where he had stopped to resituate his duffle to see Ilya, dressed in a black leather jacket, a non-descript dark undershirt, and a pair of jeans. His baseball cap did little to hide his brown-golden curls, which peaked out the back, and those sunglasses were sexier than they had any right to be.
Oh. Now Shane understood Ilya’s thing with his glasses. Would it be weird if he asked Ilya to wear those to bed the next time they were together? Probably. Was he still going to ask? Totally.
Ilya held a cup holder with sodas – a ginger ale, no doubt, and a coke – in one hand. In the other, he had a bag with food containers. If Shane remembered correctly, Icheon was known to have incredible Korean cuisine, which fit right up his alley with tofu and other high-protein foods.
“He’s probably waiting for family. Russia’s pretty close.” Shane made a production of riffling through his duffle. “Shit. I think I left my headphones on the plane.”
“No worries. I’ll wait for you.”
“I don’t want a repeat of Sochi with those shitty rooms. Can you grab our room? Please?”
J.J. glanced back at Rozanov and then back to Shane. “All right but try to avoid Rozanov, okay? I don’t want to bail you out of a South Korean jail.”
“I hear they serve great bibimbap.”
J.J. shook his head and headed down the corridor. Shane made sure to count to thirty before crossing the aisle and walking up to Ilya.
“Sir, you appear to be lost. Do you need help finding your way to the nearest silver medal platform?”
Ilya’s crooked smile was welcoming and even baiting. “Why don’t you show me the way, Hollander?”
Shane wanted to hit him. Or kiss him. Maybe both. Instead, he just tapped the toe of his sneaker against Ilya’s and pointed to the drinks and food. “These for us?”
“Yes.” Ilya’s smile grew more tender. “What time do you have to be at Olympic Village?”
“I have to meet up with the team sometime today, but what do you have in mind?”
Ilya held up a single keycard. “The Grand Hyatt Icheon is three minutes away. There’s a free shuttle.”
Shane had the best boyfriend ever.
Their time together helped to soothe Shane’s nerves, especially when Ilya kissed him tenderly at the door and said he’d find Shane later in the tournament.
They texted constantly, but their teams never met. Due to their different groups and standings, their only chance to meet was in the gold medal game.
Shane looked up in the stands to find Ilya and his countrymen at every game their schedule allowed. It seemed like Russia cheered for Canada, probably because they wanted to crush their hardest opponent in the tournament. Unfortunately, Canada lost to Germany but beat the Czech Republic to secure a bronze medal.
After losing to Slovakia, the Olympic Athletes from Russian went on a tear. They defeated Slovenia 8-2 and the United States 4-0 before destroying Norway and the Czech Republic in the playoffs.
Like Russia, Shane attended as many games as he could – “Just scouting the enemy, J.J.” – and sat close to the ice for the gold medal game. It was a nailbiter with Ilya tying to the score with less than a minute in regulation to force overtime. Eventually, Russia scored on the power play to win the gold.
As Shane stood on the ice, bronze medal around his neck, he looked up at Ilya, who looked ecstatic with his team upon the highest platform. No anthem played and the Russian flag wasn’t raised, but by Ilya’s soft smile and glistening eyes, Shane could tell his boyfriend reclaimed the piece of himself that he lost in Sochi.
Shane was incredibly grateful he got to witness it.
Once the medal ceremony was done, Ilya’s team celebrated once more before heading to the locker room. Just before he left the ice, Ilya caught Shane’s eye and made lines down his face like he was crying.
Shane flipped him the bird.
Ilya mouthed, “Later,” and winked.
The moment went viral. Apparently, their rivalry transcended international borders and competitions.
The men’s ice hockey gold medal game was on the last day of the Olympics, allowing the NHL players to stay for the closing ceremonies. Olympians from all countries began to blend, and Shane ended up next to Carter Vaughen, Scott Hunter, J.J., and a few of the NHLers from other countries. Ilya sat with a few of his teammates and some Eastern European players, and even in his gray jacket and white toque, he stuck out like a beacon with the shimmering gold medal upon his chest.
After the various closing events, a mega party raged at the PyeongChang Olympic Stadium with DJs and K-pop performances and fireworks. It was like one big club, filled to the brim with the most fit people of the world dancing, making out, and exploring each other’s bodies.
As he left the bathroom, Shane found himself tugged into a nearby stairwell and pressed up against the door.
Ilya crowded Shane’s space as he was known to do, but he didn’t kiss him. ”So how does it feel?”
“How does what feel?”
“To finally achieve your dream of winning a bronze medal.”
“Oh, fuck you. You almost lost to Germany.”
“You actually lost to Germany.”
Yeah, that wasn’t Shane’s best comeback or his best game.
Ilya’s lips and cheeks were red and flush from the cold South Korean air. “You should get back to your team.”
“I would much rather celebrate with you.”
Shane’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest. “I want to celebrate with you, too. So much. But you deserve to enjoy the night. Ilya, you won the gold medal!”
For emphasis, he gripped the medal’s strap around Ilya’s throat.
“Go. Show this off. We’ll meet up when we get back home.”
Of course, it wouldn’t be as easy as he made it sound. The Voyageurs were headed out on a West Coast road trip, and Boston had a homestand. But that was all right. They’d make it work like they made this work.
Shane finally released the fear he’d carried. Ilya never missed a text throughout the tournament. He watched Shane’s games, and he even engaged Shane on the ice after the medal ceremony. He came for Shane, here, at the closing ceremonies, when he should have been with his team, touting his medal.
They both denied their feelings at different times, but over the last decade, they’d grown together, matured, and now they stood on the world stage – together – even if the world didn’t know that.
Ilya made a thoughtful noise and took a step back. He kept the toe of his boot touching Shane’s. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What?” Shane laughed. “Come on. You need to get back in there.”
Ilya shrugged one shoulder. “Why? I don’t want to be with those people. I want to be with you.”
“But – ”
“Do you really want to go back in there and dance with Scott Hunter?”
Shane couldn’t help himself. “He is hot.”
“And married.”
Shane glanced down their boots. “So how do you want to celebrate your night?”
Shane texted J.J. that he’d hooked up with one of the Nordic curlers and would meet him at Icheon in the morning while Ilya made another reservation at the Grand Hyatt. After room service, a few rounds of celebratory sex, and then a relaxing albeit invigorating shower – Shane found himself lying next to Ilya, both in robes, as they rewatched the gold medal game.
Ilya lost one of their usual competitions and had to kiss Shane every time Germany registered a shot on goal. Of course, they hadn’t specified where, which Ilya had fun exploiting.
After the final goal was scored, Shane smiled toward Ilya. “I still have one more Stanley Cup than you.”
Ilya scoffed, “So far.”
And well, Shane didn’t have a retort for that.
Fin