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“You’re an idiot.”
“And you are just mad you’re too boring to have thought of this.”
Ilya adjusted the blanket over his face, sliding his black sunglasses over his eyes. “How do I look?” he asked, twirling in front of Shane.
“Like an idiot. How are you going to drive to the game like that?” Shane pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’m not!” The front door opened and Yuna called out. “Parents are taking me.” Through the holes in the blanket Ilya spotted David rounding the corner, Yuna just behind him, and gave them a wave.
Shane whirled on his parents, “Did you give him this idea?”
“Who do you think sewed the Montreal patches on and cut the eye holes?” Yuna said. “I think it turned out nice, right David?”
“Mhmm, it’s very…”
“Snazzy!” Ilya finished, grinning at Shane’s exasperation.
“Who taught you—” Shane threw his hands up and stalked away. “He’s not riding with me!” he shouted over his shoulder.
“It was word in The New Yorker, not as boring as I thought,” Ilya said, chasing after him. Shane slipped on his Reeboks and Montreal team jacket before turning to look at Ilya again. “It’s a good disguise, admit it.”
“Ilya, a disguise is supposed to be subtle. Let you blend in with the crowd. You’re a six foot three professional hockey player dressed in a blanket.”
“A snazzy blanket.”
“Stop saying snazzy!” Shane’s face was flushed, his lips twitching. All Ilya could think was how much he wanted to kiss him. How he wanted to drag Shane to their bedroom and kiss every inch of him. For hours. But he’d settle for one. Ilya flipped the blanket up to expose his mouth.
“Gimme kiss.”
“I’m not kissing you while you’re wearing that.”
Ilya pouted. Unable to see from the blanket covering his eyes, he waited until Shane finally sighed and gave him a peck on the lips.
“Okay, I do really have to go. I’ll see you at the game, love you.” Shane bolted from the house, smiling and red-faced.
“Do you think he noticed that we put his name and number on the back too?” Yuna asked as the front door slammed.
“We should make you two your own blankets for next game. I think Shane would appreciate it,” Ilya said. Yuna and David laughed while they tugged on their own shoes.
David clapped him on the back, “Okay kid, we should get going too.” They shuffled out of the door and into the streets of Montreal. It was an unusually warm day for June, sweat already gathering on Ilya’s forehead.
“Keeping that on the whole time?” Yuna asked while buckling her seatbelt. The car rumbled to life and David threw it in reverse. The radio station already set on the sports broadcast, announcers buzzing about the final game for the cup—Admirals versus Voyagers.
“Best to…how do you say? Stay in character,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses.
The streets were flooded with blue and red jerseys, fans filing towards the arena shouting and cheering the whole way. It was the type of chaos Ilya thrived on each time he stepped on the ice. The energy of the crowd, whether it was in Boston or otherwise, revitalized him. It was already humming under his skin, nervous excitement bubbling deep in his stomach.
They dropped him around the corner, all agreeing that it would be best if he wasn’t seen entering with the Hollander parents. It would all be a coincidence. He just happened to get the seat right next to the very polite Canadian parents of the second best player in the league.
Coincidence was another word Ilya learned from The New Yorker and it had come in handy while trying to convince Shane to let him come watch his final game. He had watched all other six games in the apartment, listening to fans scream in the streets all while caged to a couch and TV.
He argued that it would be a coincidence that a very enthusiastic fan in a great disguise would be sat next to the Hollander parents. Because why would the best player in the league be at the Voyagers Admirals final? Shane just groaned and Ilya took that as a win. (And may have immediately texted the Hollanders for help with his disguise.)
Belligerent fans knocked into Ilya as he weaved through the crowd towards the entrance. Passersby commented on his blanket, laughing and shouting compliments at him. One Montreal fan even asked Ilya for a photo and who was he to deny that request. Smiling under his blanket and sunglasses, he wondered if one day—when the secrets didn’t matter anymore—this fan would put together that they actually took a photo with Ilya Rozanov.
It was smooth sailing until he spotted the news crew. Or rather, the news crew spotted him. As Shane had pointed out, he was a six foot three professional hockey player in a blanket. The commentator was laughing as he walked up to him, a large camera with a bright light following him, already cracking a joke about his disguise to the audience.
Good thing he wore sunglasses.
Ilya recognized him from the press room. Always asking long and detailed questions that made his mind spin from the leaps between topics.
“You can’t say that Montreal fans aren’t dedicated! The craftsmanship and care it takes to sew all these patches. Why the blanket specifically? How long have you been a fan of the Voyagers? And I’m assuming you’re a fan of Shane Hollander?” the man asked in one breath, shoving a microphone in his face.
Good to know he was just as irritating out of the press room as he is in it. At least Yuna and David’s handiwork was being appreciated. “I am only fan of Hollander, the second best player in the league. Thought it would be fun to make blanket for him.”
“An accent! Doesn’t sound like a normal Quebecois accent, did you travel far to come watch the game?”
“No,” Ilya coughed, attempting to mask it. “I have…toad in throat.” He gave a few fake coughs to sell it.
“Ah… Well, you think Shane Hollander is the second best player? Who’s the first? Ilya Rozanov?”
He was grateful the blanket hid the enormous smile that broke out. Of course, is what he wanted to say. But he didn’t. Shane will be proud of his restraint when he sees this interview. “No,” he blew a raspberry, “Rozanov couldn’t make it to finals—he’s a lazy player. Scott Hunter is obviously best, too bad he’s a thousand years old and should retire after this game.”
“So…you’re only a fan of Shane Hollander, not the Voyagers. But he’s only the second best player in the league in your opinion, next to Scott Hunter? And Rozanov is lazy? Do you watch much hockey?” the commentator smirked.
“Watch? No.”
“Is this the first game you’ve gone to?”
Ilya paused, “...yes. Am excited to see sport in person. Go sports!” He tried to shuffle away, sweat beading down his back but the reporter stopped him.
“Just one more question. How did you decide which team to cheer for? Pick a name from a hat?”
“Why would teams’ names be in a hat? And where do I get such an opinionated hat?”
“It’s just an expression.”
“Your face did not change when you said it.” God, he wished he could rile the reporter up like this in the press room. With his cheeks turning a ruddy red and giving Ilya a professional smile that definitely wasn’t meant to be friendly.
“I just mean was it random. Your choice.”
“Ah! Why didn’t you say that? No. Not random. I picked Voyagers because the captain—Hollander—is hotter. Beautiful freckles. But weak backhand. And terrible Pike as a teammate.” he chuckled as the reporter’s eyes widened in surprise and coughed to mask his laugh.
“Not a fan of Pike?”
“He should stick to parenting his million children. Maybe a vasectomy.” Ilya glanced at the giant screen on the front of the arena, spotting himself and his ridiculous blanket before it switched to Shane beginning his stretches.
“You don’t watch hockey, but you know—”
“Goodbye, I’ll see you another time!” Ilya scurried away without another word, ignoring the man’s shout and followup question.
It was a relief to step into the chilled arena and out of the balmy air. Shivering from the sweat stuck to him, Ilya shoved through the crowd. It would’ve been easier to get to his seat unspotted without any disguise. Cellphones pointed at him, intoxicated fans cheering and insisting on high-fives, the occasional boo from an Admiral fan. It’s not Ilya’s fault they picked a bad team to cheer for with a dinosaur for a captain.
The buzz and energy was almost indescribable. The smell of the arena—rubber, sweat, and that sting of refrigerated air—added to the euphoria and unhinged excitement from the fans around him. Chants started from the sea of blue jerseys, dotted with red Admiral fans who aggressively booed the pro-Voyagers sentiments.
Yuna and David spotted him before he saw them, how could they not. Yuna’s arm twitched briefly before she seemed to remember that they were supposed to not know him. Taking his seat next to them, he murmured a hello and stuck his hand out to shake their hands. Meeting the Hollander parents is a dream for any Voyagers fan after all.
“Find your way in fine?” David asked while shaking Ilya’s hand.
“Got spotted by that irritating press person who always asks millions of questions at once,” he huffed, leaning back in his seat.
“Jeremy Bowden?” Yuna said while glancing up from her phone, a smile tugging at her mouth.
“The twitchy little one with too close eyes.”
She hummed and nodded sagely, “Shane doesn’t like him either. But that doesn’t say much, he hates all press.”
“He complimented your sewing, so he is at least able to spot good work.”
She let out a laugh, giving his shoulder a pat as the crowd began to scream. Shoulders tense and lazily skating to centre ice was Shane Hollander. His hands low on his stick, the left almost at the blade as he gave Hunter a nod. Pike to his left, JJ bent by the blue line, the crowd heaved with the puck drop.
His fingers twitched as he focused on Shane’s masterful stick handling. Flinching each time he got slammed into the boards, and roared with Yuna and David as Shane finally launched the puck into the top left corner of the net. One nothing Voyagers, five minutes left in the second period. His sunglasses almost flew off his face as Yuna engulfs him in a bear hug, screeching into his ear.
Catching a glimpse of himself on the jumbotron, Ilya spun and displayed Shane’s name and number on his back—doing a little dance as he did. The announcers cackling in the booth.
“There are the Hollander parents. The nerves they must be feeling watching Shane Hollander go for another cup. And sitting right beside our new favourite bizarre fan, decked out in a custom Hollander blanket. I think he told Jeremy during their pre-game interview that he’s only a fan of Hollander not the Voyagers and that this was his first in person game he’s been to. Hopefully Hollander can keep up his breakneck pace.”
“And he managed to snag the seats right next to his parents. A lucky fan indeed.”
The jumbotron switched from Ilya celebrating to Shane’s red face but he didn’t need it to see how Shane was shaking his head as he lined up at centre ice. The grimace was clear as day on his boyfriend’s face, one that appeared each time the cameras pointed at Ilya in the stands.
“I should embarrass him publicly more often,” Ilya said, accepting the beer David had gotten for him which he slipped under his blanket.
“Mhm, you’ve seemed to capture the hearts of the Voyager fanbase,” Yuna replied, waving her phone at him. “People are already speculating about who could be under the blanket. Dubbed it #blanketgate.”
“Any good guesses?”
“I really like the guess that you’re some British prince,” David chuckled, giving the jumbotron a wave as it focused on them again.
“I could’ve been a Russian…what’s the English word?”
“Oligarch.”
“Yes! Nobody’s saying that?” he asked, groaning at Yuna’s head shake. “Boring Canadians,” Ilya said with a grin. The clock ticked down to the final minutes of the third period and the crowd’s cheers amped up from the Voyagers’ three-goal lead. The bench vibrated with excitement, counting down from ten with the clock. A deafening roar filling the stadium as the seconds slipped closer to zero.
Tears sprang in his eyes at the final buzzer sound—Shane throwing his gloves up in the air before he got mobbed by the rest of his team. His Shane had won another cup. Yuna and David squeezed his shoulders on their way to the ice to join Shane, their own eyes glistening as they left him alone in his seat surrounded by other fans.
His heart followed the Hollander parents onto the ice as they enveloped their son into a crushing hug. The unbearable ache to pull Shane to him under the arena lights—to truly be able to celebrate this life changing moment—pushed tears down his face.
The news crew jumped on Shane the moment his parents let him go, shoving the microphone into his red face. “Another cup under your belt, how does it feel to win it on home ice surrounded by all this support? Does it change the way you play?”
Shane panted into the microphone, still trying to catch his breath. “Uh, it’s indescribable. Winning another with my team. Couldn’t have a better group of guys backing me,” he rasped. “The fans definitely help with the mind games, the support they bring with their signs, cheers…and even personalized snazzy blankets,” Shane chuckled. “It influences my game for the better, for sure.”
The cameras cut from Shane back to where Ilya was sitting in the crowd at the mention of the blanket, and all he could do was stand and clap. His mind fixated on the beautiful man he never thought he’d be allowed to love.
His arms ached to hold Shane, and later he got to.
Basking in the warmth of the early morning glow, Shane’s steady weight soothed that ache. The blanket hung over the door of their closet.
“People are already guessing it’s you,” Shane croaked, his phone glowing in the dim room.
“Because my charm is unmistakable?” Ilya ran his fingers through Shane’s hair, pressing a sleepy kiss into his hairline.
“No, because you’re incapable of being nonchalant or selling the coincidental angle you promised,” Shane sat up, leaning on his elbow. “This guy tweeted: ‘we’re just going to believe that this is his first game ever, is only a fan of Hollander because he’s hot,’” Shane glared at Ilya, who just shrugged. “‘And he managed to get seats next to Hollander’s parents? Please, that’s for sure Rozanov.’”
“His name is HollonovisReal,” Ilya pointed out. “People are calling him crazy.”
“They’re posting that photo of you kissing me at the all-star game to gather more evidence that we’re together.”
“I would’ve blown you on the ice instead, but I was told that would be illegal.”
Shane groaned, and flopped back against the mattress. “This person tagged that guy who checks whether guys are lying about their height online! And he responded! He confirmed that blanket man and you are the same height.”
Ilya snatched the phone from him and gave him a slow kiss, “Of course we’re the same height. I am blanket man, moya dukhovka,” he murmured against Shane’s mouth. The other man frowned against Ilya, pulling away slightly.
“Oven?” Shane asked, brushing his mouth back over Ilya’s.
“Da,” Ilya rolled to straddle Shane’s hips, pressing his lips against Shane’s fervently. “I can think of a better way to spend our morning than worrying about crazies, no?” he asked with a wicked grin.
At least he finally got to kiss Shane for hours.
~~~~
Years Later
Breaking News: Hollander and Rozanov in a Relationship?
Hayden Pike’s, a winger for the Montreal Voyagers, fanmail is going viral for all the wrong reasons. A fan, Brad, had received a video from the alternate captain for his birthday. However, he got more than what he paid. In the background Hollander and Rozanov were caught in an intimate embrace.
How long has the pair been together? And what of their so-called rivalry? We’ve reached out to both managers but have yet to receive any comments.
@Rozander2481: Remember when you guys called me crazy for saying that’s definitely Rozanov under the blanket? #blanketgate
@Bears_Boss81: @IlyaRozanov do you still have the blanket?
@IlyaRozanov: yes. Go sports