Work Text:
November 2022
Somewhere between almost dying in a plane crash and being accidentally outed by Hayden fucking Pike on a FanMail video of all things, Ilya Rozanov decided that he was done with fate. Life came at you fast; there wasn’t time for regrets. The universe was going to hand you shit if it wanted to give you shit. A dead mother, a homophobic country, a terrible brother. But the universe could also turn right around and hand you magic to make up for it. Generational hockey talent, a killer smile, effortless charm.
It could also give you Shane Hollander, eager-eyed and freckle-cheeked, extending a nervous hand behind a rink in fucking Saskatchewan. It could send you everything you’d ever need at 17 if you’d just open your eyes wide enough to see it.
So when the universe decided it was time to drop a dumpster cat at Ilya’s feet, he wasn’t going to question it.
Fuck that shit. The universe had decided.
Ilya did the only thing that made sense. He picked up the cat.
***
Before Ivan the cat, Ilya had maybe under-appreciated just how neurotic Shane was. It wasn’t like he wasn’t aware because there was nothing Ilya took greater joy in than calling Shane boring. But now that Ilya understood the boring to be a cover for ignore my weird, he forgot sometimes the way Shane’s chaotic brain worked—or more importantly, the way it worked against him.
And now that chaos apparently made Shane jealous of their cat.
Honestly, it was a tad offensive how adorable Ilya found the whole thing, but he could also empathize. He knew from experience that a skittish cat (or Shane) just needed time. But when he came home to Shane having a one-sided pissing contest with their cat about who Ilya loved more, Ilya accepted that it was his duty to set Shane to rights.
Speed up the process a bit, as it were.
He had no regrets.
***
Hockey time was different from normal time. Two minutes on the ice could feel like twenty. A game could feel like a year. The final buzzer could reset the world and fast forward everything back into double speed, hurtling you onward to the next practice, the next flight, the next game until it all went into slow motion again as soon as the puck hit the ice.
It was a breakneck way to live your life, feeling like you couldn’t catch your breath for nine months of the year.
And every season began with the complicated calculus of what injuries you expected, the hits you could take, the recovery times that would fit in between those 82 games a season and still come out alive. Hockey players bragged about the constellations painted on their bodies from all the bruises, backchecks, and busted lips, but never talked about the pain. No one would admit that sometimes it took every ounce of your willpower to strap on your pads and lace up your skates without dying just a little on the inside.
“You need to ice that,” Shane said as they returned home after their evening game. It had been another bruising battle to victory; most of the teams seemed to meet the reality of facing both Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov on the same team with relentless brute force. Ilya had taken another puck to an unfortunately delicate piece of his anatomy.
“Is fine,” Ilya said, but he sank to the couch with a grimace all the same. At least it was a home game so he could be miserable in the comfort of his own home and not some generic hotel room.
“I’m getting you ice,” Shane called as he headed into the kitchen. “And some ibuprofen.”
Ilya would have protested, but he knew it was no use. And anyway, Ivan had jumped onto the couch next to Ilya and distracted him. Ivan head butted Ilya’s shoulder in a clear demand for head scratches.
“Hello, moya milaya,” Ilya said. He had just enough energy to give Ivan three perfunctory scratches before his hand fell back into his lap, exhausted. It was going to be a long night with very little sleep, he could tell. “Don’t worry, kot. I will be alright soon.”
Ivan circled Ilya’s lap three times before settling down, kneading at Ilya’s thigh as he purred contentedly. Ivan’s claws were clipped but still sharp enough to be felt through his thin pants. But Ilya welcomed the sting of the cat’s nails because it made him focus on the pain there and not elsewhere.
“Here’s the ice pack,” Shane said, handing it over. He set down a glass of water on the coffee table and dropped two pain killers into Ilya’s hand. “These too.”
Ilya attempted to reach for the water, but the combination of a tired body and a sleeping cat in his lap prevented him from moving far. Ivan’s head popped up, though, and he made immediate eye contact with Shane and gave him an irritated meow for disrupting his peace. Ilya shrugged apologetically and Shane shook his head with a sigh. Shane picked up the water and was about to hand it over to Ilya when he glanced into the glass and grimaced.
“Ugh. There’s already cat hair in here. How does it get everywhere so fast? Let me get you a new one.”
Ilya was about to insist that he could handle a few cat hairs, he’d swallowed worse things, but Shane was already gone. “I’m going to subscribe to lint rollers on Amazon,” Shane called from the kitchen. “I can’t go anywhere anymore without being covered in fur.”
Ilya smiled to himself and gave Ivan another long pet. Ivan curled his head back into his body, and was asleep again in seconds. If there was one thing Ilya felt jealous about when it came to Ivan, it was his ability to fall asleep in thirty seconds or less.
“He never does that with me,” Shane said, almost glumly, as reappeared to hand Ilya a new glass of water.
“If you sat still for more than twelve seconds he would maybe do the same,” Ilya said before washing down his pain killers with the whole glass of water.
Shane crossed his arms over his chest. “I can sit still longer than you.”
“Yes, but you also need to relax more, Hollander. Then Ivan will pick you to cuddle.” The cat was so warm and Ilya was so comfortable on this couch despite how much his body hurt everywhere. Hockey time was different than normal time, but the pain transcended time. It was infinite. “It worked with me, no?”
Shane harrumphed, but reached out a cautious hand to pet Ivan who released a rumble of pleasure and burrowed his head deeper into Ilya’s lap.
“I’m going to take Anya out for a minute,” Shane said in a low voice. “Don’t fall asleep on the couch, okay? It’ll mess up your neck.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Ilya said, but his eyes were already closed.
***
Besides being capital cities, you wouldn’t think that Ottawa had much in common with Moscow. But there were moments when Ilya felt a certain sense of déjà vu walking down Rideau Street where he could swear he was sixteen old again, prowling the byways and alleys of Tverskaya Street. Or sometimes driving around Parliament Hill when the sun hit the Peace Tower just right, his breath would catch thinking he was back in Moscow staring at the unblinking clock face of Spasskaya Tower.
He was never sure if it meant he was homesick for the country he had left or had found his place in a new homeland.
There was a quiet dignity to Ottawa. He liked the old brick government buildings and the magnificent museums. It wasn’t as cosmopolitan as Montreal or as diverse as Toronto, but it had something those places didn’t: his favorite people. The Centaurs were on fire, his husband was by his side, and he had a family who cared about him. These were not things Ilya took for granted.
“You want us to take Ivan and Anya now or will you drop them by later?” Yuna asked.
It was a marvelously beautiful day, which was a blessing since they had to eat outside the cafe where Yuna and David had met Shane and Ilya. They’d also brought along Anya and Ivan in his cat stroller. Ivan, it turned out, loved to be carted around in his rolling throne, especially if it meant Ilya hand fed him morsels of fish or chicken through the mesh opening.
“We’ll drop them by later,” Shane said.
“Yes, I need more time if we are to be apart for so long,” Ilya said. They left tomorrow for a two week road trip, one of their longest of the season. Yuna and David had agreed to petsit Anya and Ivan rather than leave them at the pet hotel for such a long time. “I have therapy appointment after this, and then Shane wants to have quiet night in, all four of us.”
“That was you, not me,” Shane reminded him, fondly.
“We will drop them off tomorrow morning, first thing.”
David nodded his head and asked, “How are you feeling about the upcoming games?”
They’d played the Voyageurs in Ottawa already, and it had been an awkward reunion but manageable since Ottawa had shown up in a big way for their hometown hero. But Ilya could tell Shane was worried about returning to his former team’s arena and facing the fans who felt Shane had betrayed them.
“They will boo you,” Ilya said conversationally.
“Montreal boos everyone they consider a threat, those fuckers,” Yuna said. For a lifelong Voyageurs fan, Yuna had let her old allegiances fester and die with relative ease. Ilya fucking loved it.
Shane grimaced but didn’t deny it. “I know.”
“You know but you don’t know,” Ilya said, not unkindly. He remembered how it had hurt when Boston fans would boo him every time he played the Bears even though he had tried to play it off with his trademark bravado. Even now, four years later, he still heard the slurs and felt the churning in his gut. “It may hurt more than you expect. But the Centaurs have your back.”
Shane looked down at his empty plate and nodded. He wouldn’t meet Ilya’s eyes. “Okay.”
“We love you, son,” David said as he squeezed Shane’s forearm.
“Just remember who the fuck you are,” Ilya said insistently. “And what you mean to Ottawa now.”
“Look at this,” Yuna said, bringing up her phone to show Shane. “I just noticed this, on Ottawa’s Twitter bio. Look what it says.”
Shane took his mother’s phone and read the screen. “‘Ottawa, Canada. Birthplace of Shane Hollander.’ That’s nice.”
“More than nice,” Yuna insisted, taking her phone back and sliding it back into her purse.
“Why am I not mentioned?” Ilya asked. “I am better hockey player than Shane. And more fun.”
“Hey! I am plenty fun!” Shane protested.
“Ah. So you admit that I am better hockey player?”
Shane spluttered, but Yuna merely tsked lightly at Ilya. “Maybe they will update it once you are truly a Canadian. We can’t claim you until then.”
“Speaking which,” David said, tapping a finger on the manila folder sitting next to him on the table. “I’ve brought the citizenship documents to sign. By this time next year, you’ll be a true Canadian.”
“Gimme pen,” Ilya said, making grabby fingers for the folder and pen. “I sign right now. I want to be boring Canadian.”
The Hollanders gave Ilya matching bemused grins, but he did not care as he signed each signature line with a flourish. He was too excited. It was the culmination of a plan that had begun five years ago, spoken into existence in secret and now about to become a reality. The universe finally righting itself after so many years adrift. Ilya reached over and took Shane’s hand. Because he could now, whenever he wanted, in the bright sunshine. Anya was a comforting weight against his foot, and Ivan was cleaning his whiskers with an elegant paw, and his husband’s hand was in his own.
He would never again see Russia. But what did it matter? Russia had never once felt like this.
***
“Welcome, Ilya. Good to see you.”
During the season, his therapy sessions with Galina Molchalina were more sporadic, but he fit them in as often as he could. With medication and a good routine, Ilya felt he had a better handle on his mental health, and his appointments with Galina had become more like friendly check-ins than gut-wrenching confessionals. Still, it was nice to talk to someone who wasn’t so enmeshed in the hockey world. He’d spent enough time in Galina’s windowless office that it felt safe, a space where his breaths could be as deep as he needed them to be. He took his usual spot on the couch.
“How are you feeling about the season so far?”
Ilya knew this wasn’t a question about hockey so much as a question about his work-life balance or whatever it was called these days. Ilya had never known balance, but now that he and Shane weren’t trying to conduct a long-distance relationship in secret, he might just have a chance to achieve something like that. The universe didn’t feel like it was spinning out of control so much anymore.
“I am feeling old,” Ilya said in Russian. “My knees pop every time I stand up and my neck hurts when I sleep without my own pillow now which makes road trips a nightmare. It is taking longer to heal from injuries. Shane is anxious about playing Montreal next week and is jealous of our cat.”
Galina raised an eyebrow.
“It’s a long story.”
“That does sound like a lot,” Galina said with a barely concealed smile. “Where would you like to start?”
It was a good session. Productive. Ilya felt after therapy the way he felt after a shower: pink and bare but scrubbed clean. He wore his damage like a second skin. It was nice to take it off once in a while.
“I want to circle back to what you said at the very beginning,” Galina said. He knew they only had five minutes left in their session and Ilya never liked running long. Another person was already sitting in the waiting room, anxious for their turn with Galina. Ilya wasn’t ashamed to see a therapist, but he also didn’t want to be recognized. Not when there were so many Brads out there waiting for an opportunity to get five minutes of fame publicizing a sports stars’ private life.
“You said you were feeling old,” Galina prompted.
“Hockey old,” Ilya corrected in English. “Not, like, old old.”
“Best case scenario, how many more years do you see yourself playing for?”
Every hockey player had a number in their head, but no hockey player would admit to it. Even he and Shane hadn’t gotten into specifics when they talked about the future. They didn’t want to jinx it. “I do not like to do math,” Ilya said instead.
“Have you considered what life after hockey will look like?” Galina asked. “The transition into retirement from such a competitive sport can be quite difficult.”
Ilya scoffed, “And how many professional athletes have you worked with?”
Galina didn’t respond to that. Ilya hadn’t expected her to. She was, after all, a consummate professional who safeguarded the personal details of all of her patients. Ilya appreciated that about her. Trust was not a thing to be trifled with.
“Sorry. It’s just…I have time,” Ilya said when it was clear that Galina was not going to let him leave without giving an answer. “And I will have my Canadian citizenship soon. That will make things much easier.”
“I am very glad to hear that. But I will remind you that time moves in ways we don’t expect,” Galina said. “Give it some thought. Your homework until our next session.”
They ended right on time.
***
In the tunnel on the way out to the ice for morning practice before their flight out to Montreal, Ilya approached Harris’ whiteboard and camera with glee. He loved the social media videos Harris put together. He always got the best edits and appeared so effortlessly cocky and charming, a rare breed among all the other boring hockey personalities. Next to him, Ilya felt Shane stiffen slightly. Shane always over-thought his answers and came across as a hockey robot.
Somehow this still endeared Shane to a lot of hockey fans.
Ridiculous.
Ilya pasted on his smile and lined himself up in the eye of the camera, Shane just off screen, waiting his turn. This was going to be a good one, Ilya knew it.
ottawacentaursofficial
[Video Caption] Well, we might have complicated feelings about planes in this organization, but we also know the importance of picking the right seatmate. Here’s what the players and coaches say about who their favorite (current or former) teammate to sit next to is.
[Transcript]
[Camera zooms in on a question written on the whiteboard: Who is your favorite teammate (current or former) to sit next to on the plane?]
Zane Boodram: I like to make the rounds, mix it up every time. Everyone has something different to offer. Hazy keeps it simple; he shares his comics with me. Luca likes to get advice, and I love to offer it. Ilya brings the fun. Just not Dykstra because his taste in movies is just as bad as his taste in music.
Wyatt Hayes: I mostly just read my comics or nap, so anyone who doesn't mind a chiller vibe. We only played a year together in Toronto, but I liked sitting next to Ryan Price. Guys like to play pranks, especially if you fall asleep in a public place. But if I fell asleep next to him, I knew no one would ever mess with me because Price wouldn't let ‘em. He always had my back. Miss you, Ryan!
Luca Haas: Oh, um. Well, everyone is so nice. I like sitting next to anyone.
[Harris off screen: But if you got to pick?]
Luca: It only happened once or twice, but it was an honor to sit next to Ilya. I still can't believe he's my teammate.
[Harris off screen: It won't happen again?]
Luca: Well, um, you know. Now he always sits next to his… [blushes]...Shane.
Shane Hollander: Oh. Good question. Um. Well, in Montreal it was usually JJ or Hayden Bike. I mean, Pike. I know my best friend's name. Obviously. Sorry. Yeah.
[Harris off screen: And in Ottawa?]
Shane: Well, Ilya gets a little…territorial if I don’t sit with him.
Coach Weibe: If it’s a short flight, it’s Barczy so we can go over the plays and strategy. On a longer flight where I can relax a little more, I tend to pick Dale. He brings the good snacks.
Ilya Rozanov: Everyone said I am most favorite, yes? I am best to sit next to.
[Harris off screen: Your name did come up a few times.]
Ilya: Yes, am very popular.
[Harris off screen: But now everyone says you only sit next to Shane Hollander.]
Ilya: Who? No, that guy is boring.
Evan Dykstra: Tanner Dillon is a good hang. He brings his portable Switch so we can play video games together and he doesn’t make fun of my music like some other people I could name.
Troy Barrett: [smiles shyly] You know who I sit next to.
[Harris off screen: Well, who do you sit next to when I’m not there?]
Troy: Hazy or Bood. They always ask about you.
[Harris off screen: Aww. Just for that I’m going to bring them both cases of Drover Family Cider.]
Nick Chouinard: I always like to sit with the new guys, really make sure they feel welcome, ya know?
[Harris off screen: You ever sit with Hollander? He’s technically the newest guy on the team.]
Nick: [looks straight at the camera] I do not have a death wish.
***
There were signs in the Montreal stands that said not very nice things about Shane. Ilya too, but that didn’t matter as much to him as what they said about Shane. For maybe the first time ever, Ilya was glad Shane wasn’t wearing his glasses so he couldn’t read the messages. How quickly the Voyageur fans forgot how terrible they used to be before Shane, how little they respected everything Shane had given to the organization in his decade of playing for them. Ilya secretly hoped he and Shane could play another dozen years for the Centaurs so the memory of Shane as a Voyageur could be wiped clean from memory, that both of them would go down in the Hall of Fame as Centaurs first.
It would help tremendously if they finally won Ottawa a cup. Maybe two. Okay, three would be best.
Ilya wasn’t greedy. And he wasn’t trying to get ahead of himself. But they’d had a good run at the playoffs last year and they were even stronger this year. They would have been even without Shane. But with Shane?
Ilya felt fucking invincible.
Hayden and JJ were the only ones who greeted Shane during warm-ups. The rest of the team largely ignored Shane. Ilya’s heart was sore for Shane, but could grudgingly admit that JJ and Hayden were good people. Good friends. He hung back to let Shane have time alone with them.
“It’s gonna be a real shitshow tonight, eh?” Troy said, tapping his stick against Ilya’s where they stood near the boards.
Ilya pretended to inspect his stick so Troy couldn’t see him sneaking glances of Shane at center ice out of the corner of his helmet. “What fun would it be if it wasn’t?”
“You taking the second line again?”
Their first game against Montreal, Ilya had relinquished his spot on the first line so Shane could face Montreal at the top. Shane hadn’t mentioned it going into this game, and Coach Wiebe had told Ilya he’d respect whatever decision he came to. But it had been a successful strategy. They’d won their first game against Montreal.
“What do you think?” Ilya asked Troy. Bood was still his A, but Troy had become his sounding board more and more, for things even beyond hockey.
“I think we do whatever makes Montreal angriest.”
Ilya grinned at Troy devilishly just as Shane rocketed toward them, spraying them with a bit of snow as he ripped his way into their circle.
“Good chat?” Ilya asked.
Shane shrugged one shoulder as he reached for his water bottle.
“Hayden have another child since we last saw him?”
“We saw them yesterday and you know they’re not having more.”
“With Hayden, there is still always danger,” Ilya deadpanned. “Have a few more, and the Pikes could make better hockey team than what the Voyageurs have right now.”
Ilya would have expected Shane to defend both Hayden and the Voyageurs but he said nothing. But Ilya could see how much effort he was making not to smile at that.
“You are first line tonight,” Ilya said instead. “First one to score a goal owes the other a blow job.”
“And that’s my cue to leave,” Troy said with a clip to Ilya’s helmet and a squeeze of Shane’s shoulder before he skated away.
Ilya considered Shane. “Two goals, and I will blow you then fuck you.”
Shane smirked. “And if I get a hat trick?”
Ilya leaned in closer, lips close to Shane’s ear. The roar of the crowd was immense, filling the entire space from rink to rafters but Ilya didn’t need to raise his voice for Shane to hear him.
“You once put on a show for me. You get a hat trick tonight, I think it is time for me to return the favor.”
Shane gulped and looked Ilya in the eye. “You’re on.”
Shane got the fucking hat trick.
***
December 2022
It was the stupidest way to get an injury. And Ilya hadn’t even done it playing hockey. That was the worst part. He’d tripped over his own house shoes getting out of bed to take Anya outside in the morning.
His toe was fucked. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him that. Toes were bastards anyway because there wasn’t anything to be done for them except tape them up and move on with your life. Ilya still needed to take two deep breaths before he worked up the nerve to shove his foot into his right skate for morning practice. On the ice, it was like his toe didn’t exist. Off the ice, he was in agony.
“You shouldn’t have skated this morning,” Shane said.
“I am captain,” Ilya said, collapsing once again on the couch. “Besides, you would do the same.” At least they had another day before their next game. Ilya was looking forward to a quiet night in.
Shane looked away. “This isn’t about me.”
“That means yes,” Ilya laughed. He might be in pain, but never too much to take the piss out of Shane.
“Do you want me to help you or not?” Shane asked, prissily.
By this point, Ivan and Anya had come to see Ilya. It never took long before both animals were jockeying for position on the couch to snuggle with Ilya. Shane, as usual, looked a little unhappy about this.
“Come sit with me,” Ilya cajoled, reaching out a hand for Shane who just looked grumpily on.
“There’s no room for me,” Shane pouted. It was disgusting how much Ilya loved him.
“We make room. Don’t worry about them.” Ilya patted the very small space next to him as he tried to wiggle into a position that would not disturb Ivan or Anya.
“Is he going to allow it?” Shane asked, looking mulishly at Ivan who had taken advantage of the extra space next to Ilya to spread out further. Ilya looked at Ivan, silently communicating his need for Ivan to be cool about this and then back at Shane.
“He’ll allow it.”
So Shane gingerly fit himself into the space on the couch, tucking himself into Ilya’s arms as both Ivan and Anya adjusted themselves to Shane’s presence. Ivan, true to his cat’s code, accepted Shane’s presence with only one condemnatory meow. Ilya turned on the TV and drew Shane closer to him. He was warm all over, pressed in on all sides by his husband and his pets and this perfect couch and this perfect moment. He barely felt his throbbing toe at all.
The pain transcended time; it was infinite. But so, too, was this joy.
***
ottawacentaursofficial
[Image of a Whiteboard]: What is your most essential item to pack for a roadie? Can’t be hockey related.
[Transcript]
Tanner Dillon: Definitely my Switch.
Zane Boodrum: Photos of my family. You want to see the newest one of Milo? He just learned to roll over. Here, look.
Troy Barrett: Most essential item? My phone so I can text you.
Coach Wiebe: A book.
Shane Hollander: Noise cancelling headphones. They help me focus before the game and also block out distractions when things get a bit too loud for me. Not that the guys are too loud, or anything. They’re great. But I like the quiet sometimes too.
Wyatt Hayes: Always gotta have several comic books. I like to visit comic book shops in the different cities we play in because they often have stuff I can’t find in Ottawa or just a different selection. I always come back with more than I left with.
Ilya Rozanov: Most essential? My husband. He is so short, he basically counts as carry-on.
***
Ilya had gotten used to western Christmas. In his first years in the NHL, it was just another day to pass until he could get back on the ice. It generally consisted of drinking, sex, and a late night movie in a dark theatre with a crowd of strangers just so he didn’t have to feel so alone. With the Hollanders, it had become a day to look forward to, a reprieve from the rest of the world. It was cozy and warm and full of love. And also maybe Ilya teaming up with Shane’s parents to tease Shane mercilessly.
That was his favorite part.
“Did we grab everything?” Shane asked. They were packing up Ilya’s Mercedes to head over to the Hollanders’ house for their annual Christmas lunch and gift exchange.
Buying gifts still baffled Ilya a bit. Shane had plenty of money and could buy himself whatever he wanted, which was honestly a relief. Spending large sums of money on people still felt transactional to Ilya; his family had taught him that. Ilya preferred to show his love through his words and his actions, in the quiet moments in between. It’s why Ilya favored sentimental gifts.
“Yes, yes, it is all here,” Ilya replied. “Did you get Ivan’s favorite blanket?”
Ilya saw Shane’s sigh rather than heard it from the other side of the car. “Yes, I got our neurotic cat his emotional support blanket.”
They would only spend a few hours at David and Yuna’s for Christmas, but Ilya had insisted they bring both Ivan and Anya anyway. Mostly to annoy Shane but also because—as expected—Yuna and Ivan got along famously. And David and Anya always ended up napping together at any family get-together they had.
“I could get you an emotional support butt plug if it would make you feel better,” Ilya said. It was only half a joke.
Shane glared at him from over the roof of the car. “You are the worst.”
“I know,” Ilya smirked. “But that is why you love me.”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” Shane grumbled.
The animals were loaded into the car, each with their own special pet bed on the back bench. Ivan surprisingly enjoyed car rides though he did not sit still, unlike Anya. Ivan liked to roam throughout the car, sit on the driver’s lap or play with the turn signal or even wedge himself in the dashboard to watch the road. This stressed out Shane, but Ilya found it delightful and so he was the one who drove when they brought both animals in the car.
Once at David and Yuna’s, Ivan allowed himself to be carried into the house by Ilya while Anya followed behind. Shane grabbed the bags of gifts and knocked on the door.
“You spoil that cat,” Shane said just as his mother opened the front door to welcome Shane and Ilya.
“He spoils everyone he loves,” Yuna said in clear defense of Ilya. Ilya grinned at Shane as Yuna opened up her arms to welcome Ivan. “Come here, pretty boy.”
“This whole family has been seduced by a cat,” Shane grumbled.
“Yes,” drawled Ilya. “All Hollanders are susceptible to our Russian charm.”
“The cat isn’t even Russian,” Shane protested. “And you’re barely Russian now either.”
Ilya wanted to fight back on that point but maybe it was the truth. He didn’t feel very Russian anymore.
After lunch, Yuna slid a large box between Shane and Ilya. “This is a family gift.”
Inside were four matching Christmas sweaters, two adult sized ones and two for pets. Ilya did not know how Yuna had managed this, but he did not care. He was too excited. He would have loved super ugly ones or ones with inappropriate sayings, but Yuna had gone for something tasteful, because she knew it would be the only way to get Shane to wear it.
“We must put these on right now,” Ilya said, shoving the other adult one into Shane’s chest, “and take family photo right now. Come here, Anya. Don’t you want to match your daddies?”
Anya, as expected, was patient as Ilya gently put the sweater over her head and threaded her front legs through the armholes. Ivan was less enamoured by the process and required both Ilya and Shane to get the job done. But at least he did not scratch either of them which Ilya counted as a major win. They arranged themselves in front of the fireplace and Yuna snapped several photographs of all of them, smiling from ear to ear and cooing at Anya and Ivan like a proud grandmother before stuffing them full of treats.
After the pictures and other family gifts had been exchanged, Shane handed Ilya a manila envelope with a barely there blush. “This is for you.”
“What is this?” Ilya took the envelope gingerly. Shane was clearly feeling a little embarrassed about whatever was inside the envelope. “Is this NSFP?”
“What is NSFP?”
“Not Safe For Parents,” Ilya said with a half glance at Yuna and David who were wearing slightly embarrassed looks of their own. You’d think all three Hollanders would have gotten used to this by now. “It is common internet language, yes?”
“Well, it’s normally NSFW. Who taught you that?” Shane asked.
“Harris, of course,” Ilya said. “But more importantly, who taught you?”
“Anyway,” Shane drawled. “It’s perfectly safe for all ages. Open it.”
The paper inside was of high quality, a good weight. Ilya thought it might be something simple like a gift certificate. He really had no idea what Shane would have given him that required a secretive envelope like this was some top secret mission. Maybe he was being sent on a scavenger hunt. Ilya secretly loved that idea, but thought that might have been a bit too creative for Shane.
What it was was a drawing. Of a tree? A stand? A something? It was hand drawn but with precision by someone who used a ruler and, like, math and stuff. There were dimensions. Ilya blinked up at Shane who was rocking back and forth on his feet. Ilya knew he was excited about this gift because his hands were shoved in his pockets.
“It is spaceship?” Ilya asked, just to be a dick.
“No,” Shane’s hands were out, taking the paper out of Ilya’s hands. “It’s a cat tree. Or it will be once it’s built. I had my architect—the one who designed the cottage—draw up some schematics for building a custom entertainment center for Ivan. She has a workshop where they can make one for us.”
“This is gift for Ivan?” Ilya asked. “The cat you claim I love more than you?”
“Well…” and now Shane was really blushing. “Maybe you don’t love him more than me.”
“You know what else this means?” Ilya asked with glee.
“Do I want to know?”
“You love Ivan too.”
Shane groaned.
“Admit it. You love our cat. It’s true. Maybe it is you who will leave me for Ivan.”
The cat in question chose that moment to reappear from whatever corner of the house he had disappeared to after the family photographs. He stood at Ilya’s feet and meowed up at him, wiggled his back hunches, and then leaped into Ilya’s arms and climbed the rest of the way up Ilya’s chest and onto his shoulder. Ivan liked to be on the highest point in any room and often that was Ilya. Hence Shoulder Cat.
“Anyway,” Shane said. “I had Julia draw a prototype but they haven’t begun building anything yet. I thought you might have some suggestions to incorporate. But it has areas for play, sleep, even storage.”
This was truly the best news. Ilya grabbed the paper from Shane once more and held the sketch up so Ivan could look at it too. “Look, moy korolevskiy prints, what do you think?” Ivan looked for all the world like he was actually studying the paper.
“This here,” Ilya said, pointing to the base of the structure, “this will be storage for toys?”
“Yes.”
“Good, good. And these compartments? They are for sleeping?”
“Yes. There are several platforms at different heights he can jump around on and then these little nooks are for sleeping.”
“Have you given this Julia Ivan’s measurements?”
“What? No, I just said he’s a normal sized cat.”
“This means nothing! The nooks could be too big!” Ilya said. Honestly, how had Shane managed to achieve anything in his life so far? “Ivan likes to be hugged on all sides, like cocoon. Where is your phone? I must call this Julia.”
“What? Right now?” Shane asked. “You can’t call her on Christmas!”
“We can go to workshop? And talk to her in person? I also want to select best fabrics for Ivan’s throne.”
“It is not a throne. It is a cat tree. And yes, she has an office in both Ottawa and Montreal.”
“Good. I must be sure she gets best rope for the scratching posts. And here—” Ilya pointed at the bottom of the tree to the first of many platforms that scaled the entire structure. “—we should have little ramp. Ivan will not always be so agile. He must have ladder for when he cannot jump.”
Shane smiled, a soft, small thing. “So you like it?”
“What is this question?” Ilya scoffed. “I love it. Thank you, Shane. Ivan says thank you too. Don’t you, Ivan?”
From his perch on Ilya’s shoulders, Ivan meowed and then leapt gracefully from Ilya’s shoulders and went to go bug Anya. Within minutes, they were fast asleep together on Anya’s dog bed.
In a softer voice, Ilya said to Shane, “It is very nice to see you love our cat as much as me.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Shane said. “I love him the normal amount.”
“I do not think we know what the normal amount of love is,” said Ilya. “I feel bad my gift is nowhere near this.”
“You know that doesn’t really…I’m not really a gifts person.”
“I know, moy golub.” Ilya said, but picked up the box he’d brought with them all the same and handed it over to Shane. “But I will still keep trying even if they are just…how you say? Syrup?”
“Sappy?” Shane said. He unwrapped the box and looked inside. “It’s a puck.”
“Yes,” said Ilya. “But this one is from your first goal as a Centaur.”
“I have that one.”
“You didn’t let me finish. The first goal you made as a Centaur with an assist from me,” Ilya said. “When we were on the power play together against Detroit.”
“You pay attention to stuff like that?”
“Shane, when will you realize I pay attention to everything that concerns you?”
“I really love you,” Shane said. “You see that too, right?”
“Yes, moya lyubov.” Ilya smiled. “But even better, now the whole world can see it too.”
***
ilyarozanovofficial
[Photograph showing Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, and their pet cat and dog wearing matching Christmas sweaters in Centaurs colors]
[Photo Caption] Thank you @yunahollander for making all of Shane’s holiday wishes come true.
[Comments]
wasabiwrapper: YAAAAASSSS, bless yuna, the momager for doing us right
Roz81anov: making this photo my whole personality for 2023
YunaHollanderゆうな: Maybe someday I’ll have grandkids to dress up too.
squashmagoo: Remember when we thought Ilya Rozanov was the bad boy of hockey? This is what marrying a Canadian does to a person.
HorseMan8124: relieved to see roz still alive after that brutal hit from bergener last week
HaydenPike: So what did you get the cat for Christmas? Inquiring minds want to know.
HEdoublehockeysticks: seriously what happened to you, rozanov? you used to be my favorite player and now you’re so lame
BearsBaddies: #softboys i am unwell
HollanderGirl: not shane with the same angry kitten face as his actual cat LMAO
***
January 2023
“It is even worse than I thought,” Ilya said with no preamble at his next therapist appointment. “I am old and boring.”
Galina’s lips formed a thin smile as she waved Ilya toward the couch and settled into her own chair. “I see Christmas went well.”
“Yes, Christmas is fine. The hockey is fine. What is not fine is that hockey fans think I am lame now.”
“Why do you think they think that?”
“Well, there was a comment on an Instagram post…” Ilya trailed off. He was embarrassed by how much this had been bothering him. And he couldn’t very well complain about it to Shane who thought being boring was the benchmark of professionalism in their sport. He’d probably congratulate Ilya about it.
“We’ve talked about not reading online comments,” Galina said evenly. Nothing fazed her. Not even when, as Ilya suspected, she was taking a subtle jab at him.
“We have,” Ilya agreed mulishly.
“And that what one person says anonymously online is not what the whole world thinks.”
Ilya stopped himself just short of crossing his arms and pouting. “I know.”
“So why does this comment bother you so much?”
There was a long, brutal silence before Ilya said, “Next year I will be the same age as my mother when she died.” He didn’t even know he was going to say these words until they were out of his mouth. And his mouth was apparently not done. “And sometimes I think that once I am older than my mother ever was, the only fate left for me is my father’s.”
Galina did not say anything, but waited for Ilya to take his time to gather his thoughts, compose his next words. He was glad to have this conversation in Russian; he’d never manage it in English.
“I do not want to lose my mind like he did. Because then all that will be left for me will be to become old and mean like him. And then I will have no one. Like him.”
Galina did not have a clock in her room, but Ilya would swear that he could hear the phantom ticking of an old clock. Ilya could see the way Galina’s brain was working out what to say to him, like the gears of a clock clicking all the intricate bits into place. Perhaps he had finally stumped her. Perhaps she was finally going to say, “Nevermind. You are clearly too mentally unwell for my services. Best to just lock you up.”
But Galina did not say that. Instead she said, “Do you think you are alone and unloved?”
Ilya could say no and it would be the truth. He had more love than he’d ever thought possible. Shane and Yuna and David. The entire Centaurs team. Svetlana. Even Anya and Ivan, in their way. He had so much love. He wondered how his mother’s life could have been different if she had received half so much love. “No.”
“Thinking and feeling are two different things. Do you feel alone and unloved?”
Ilya took a moment to truly consider the question. And to finally answer honestly. “No. I think I am very lucky to be so loved.”
“Good,” Galina smiled. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward a little. “Your life is your life. Your fate is not your mother’s any more than it will be your father’s. You are the master of your own universe.”
Ilya nodded and then kneaded his hands together. Well, he was already in it, might as well make the full leap.
“Last time you asked me to think about retirement, what that would look like.” Ilya paused, choosing his words carefully. “I find this difficult to do. Me, without hockey? I cannot see it. To be old and boring…what will be left for me then?”
There were moments during therapy when Ilya felt like an idiot, but knew he had to say the idiot thing so that it would not stay and rot in his brain. He needed to release it and be set free. There were also moments during therapy when he felt like Galina was his guide, gently showing him the way to go. And there were times when it felt like he and Galina were on the journey together, walking side-by-side. He couldn’t explain it better than this.
Now Galina was looking at him like they were about to go on a journey together.
“I do not share personal things here. That is a rule all therapists live by.”
Ilya nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“But today I am going to break that rule. I will only do this once.” Galina tucked a non-existent stray hair behind her ear. She was always so put together, but Ilya could see this made her nervous. Ilya softened his face so she would not feel like he was a threat.
“Okay,” he said in English.
“You know me by my married name, Molchalina”
Even that morsel would have been more than Ilya knew about Galina. She did not wear a wedding ring and he had never even thought to wonder about her romantic or personal life. To Ilya, she existed only in the confines of these four walls.
“Once I was known by a very different name. Galenka Orlova.”
Ilya felt like he knew that name. How did he know that name? His brow furrowed as Galina (Galenka?) gave him a small smile.
“I was once a Russian ice dancer.”
“A good one?” Ilya asked.
Galina did not blink. “Yes. Just missed out on making the Olympic team in 2002.”
“Ah. So you understand the ice.”
At that, Galina smiled wistfully. “More than you could ever know.”
Ilya looked at his therapist anew. He had always thought she moved with a peculiar grace but he had let his erratic longing for his homeland color his perception. All Russians moved like ballerinas, Ilya had thought, not like Americans who just stomped around. And Canadians?
As delicate as moose.
“We have more in common than you know. I, too, came here as a young girl to train. First to Lake Placid in New York and then to Canada. My world was much expanded by my time outside of Russia.”
“Yes, for me as well.”
There was a long pause as Ilya waited for Galina to say more. He would not push. He could wait until she was ready.
“There are the scandals that make the news. A pair of skaters sabotaging each other. Countries buying votes from others for Olympic gold. And then there are the ones they bury even deeper that no one ever knows,” Galina sighed, the first true sign of how her past still lingered in her now. “It is not a long story. My first ice dance partner was gay. To me, it did not matter. I loved him. He was my best friend. He knew he could not say this out loud and I did all I could to protect him.” Galina swallowed and paused before she finally said, “But it was not enough.”
“What happened?” Ilya prompted.
“Russia. Russia happened to him. I was given a new partner. And my friend was erased, like he had never existed at all. Like I had been loving a ghost for all those years.”
“And now you don’t go back to Russia,” Ilya said.
“And now I don’t go back to Russia,” Galina confirmed.
“We also have that in common,” Ilya said quietly.
Galina nodded. “Yes, we do.”
Ilya nudged the box of tissues closer to Galina. She wasn’t crying, but it felt like it was because of Galina’s superhuman control and not because she was not feeling something very deeply. Ilya thought you must earn a gold therapy badge or something if you made your own therapist cry.
“After Viktor’s death, I knew I could no longer stay in Russia. And here I have been, ever since. I met my husband. Went to school. Became a Canadian citizen. There was a life for me after ice dance. There will be a life for you after hockey too.”
Ilya cleared his throat.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because you need to know that it is a gift.”
“A gift to escape Russia?”
“No. A gift that you will get to grow old and boring.”
Ilya felt like the air had been punched right out of his chest.
“There is nothing I want more for you than you should live long enough to become an old and boring man, Ilya Rozanov.”
***
The worst injuries were the ones you didn’t feel until the game was over. Shane got rocked into the boards by a defensemen from Houston, but popped right back up and went for two more periods. It was only as he was peeling off his pads that Ilya noticed the bruise blooming across the back of his ribcage.
“Hollander, go get that checked out with Terry,” Ilya called, using his best captain voice. His husband voice might have sounded a bit more panicked.
“I’m good.” Shane gave Ilya a quizzical look, clearly not understanding. The pain hadn’t even set in yet. Shit.
Ilya prodded the center of the fresh bruise and watched the grimace overtake Shane’s face at the same time as understanding dawned in his eyes. “Go, Shane. See the doctor. Is not request.”
Shane looked straight at Ilya’s eyes. “Yes, captain.”
Ilya was distracted through all the media, his shower, making small talk with his teammates. Shane had not returned yet. Ilya was just about to go hunt him down when Shane emerged from the showers. He must have snuck past Ilya when his back was turned.
The bruise was even more livid now, a snarling purple with an angry knob of red at the center.
“What did Terry say?”
Shane reached into his locker for his shirt, keeping his voice low, but his measured movements gave his pain away. “Nothing broken. Standard RICE protocol. We wait and see.”
“Let’s get you home then,” Ilya said and reached into his cubby for his jacket, ignoring the way his hands were trembling as the adrenaline drained out of him and the worry set in.
Ilya couldn’t help flashing back to that moment of watching Shane crumple to the ice after Cliff’s hit all those years ago. At least Ilya didn’t have to visit Shane in the hospital, didn’t have to play a whole hockey game imagining the absolute worst. But he lived with the constant dread that it could happen again. It could happen to either of them. Ilya had seen some bad shit on the ice.
All hockey players had a strange relationship to the ice. They communed with it on a daily basis, nothing felt more like home than the smell of ice, nothing sounded better than the hiss of sharp blades on cut glass ice. But the ice could take it all away too. Careers ended by a bad fall, lives crushed by the same ice you gave your life to.
And while he lived with the joy of playing with Shane every game, he also knew that he would be witness to every hit, every fall, every injury Shane received.
Somehow that was worse.
Shane insisted he was fine, not his first rodeo, but Ilya noticed the way he was limiting his motions, sparse in the way he moved his body, the gentleness of his movements as he shucked off his coat once they were home. Ilya guided him to the couch and Shane barely mocked him for it at all.
That’s how Ilya knew it was bad.
Ilya helped Shane sit on the couch, propped up on pillows, and then went in search of the ice pack and ibuprofen. By the time he made it back with the medication, Anya’s head was in Shane’s lap, staring at him lovingly with her big puppy dog eyes and Ivan was sitting on the back of the couch, watching the proceedings. Maybe the cat had a soft spot for Shane after all.
“I see I am too late to be your nursemaid. You have all the help you need,” Ilya said.
“You still can be my nurse,” Shane said. He was smiling but it quickly turned into a grimace as he shifted his position. “My hot, sexy nurse.”
“I would look good in scrubs,” mused Ilya, sitting on the other side of Shane. He couldn’t help but brush his hand across his cheek. Those freckles. That smile that was only for Ilya. Shane gave in to gravity and leaned right into Ilya, tucking himself into Ilya’s side with a soft sigh. From behind them, Ilya could hear Ivan begin to purr, a rumbling that always seemed too big for his compact little body.
“Do you need me to carry you to bed like a maiden?”
“I’m perfectly capable of walking up a flight of stairs to our bedroom,” Shane muttered. His eyes were closed.
Ilya waited for Shane to move. The only movement he made was to gently scratch Anya’s ears.
“Were we going to do that sooner or later?”
“Asshole,” Shane said. “Give me ten more minutes.”
Ilya took Shane’s hand, the one not tangled in Anya’s fur. “Okay, moya prekrasnaya devushka.” It was how he had always imagined it would be, to live with Shane. Calm and peaceful. Restful.
It was nice just to sit here and be boring. Together.
***
It wasn’t even a bad hit, just a little tweak to Ilya’s ribs that had been a little sensitive to hard hits since 2017. Shane had followed that up with a twisted knee after getting caught up in a scrum inside the crease. It was just more things to add to the list; Ilya also had a strained hamstring and his toe was still giving him a bit of grief. The bruise on Shane’s back was mostly healed, just a phantom tinge of green barely visible under the skin, but he’d still been moving more gingerly when he thought no one was looking.
The other guys were going out to Monks to celebrate their latest win—they had been on a hot streak since Christmas. They were making the playoffs for sure this year. Ilya was certain they were going to win the Cup too. But all Ilya cared about right at this minute was getting himself and Shane home. They needed to catalogue their broken bodies and rest. Relax.
Shane expressed some guilt for not going out with the team but obviously didn’t complain about going home instead. He did complain about the way Ilya flitted around him, helping him out of his jacket and pushing him toward the couch while he grabbed them some Gatorades and a post-game snack.
“I really am fine!” Shane called after him.
“You say that every time,” Ilya called back. “So I know you are liar.”
Sure enough, Shane was grimacing his way through some leg stretches when Ilya returned with the drinks. He was glad he’d also grabbed the Costco-sized bottle of pain relievers.
“Do you think it’s going to be this hard,” Shane asked, “after every game now?”
“Maybe,” Ilya said. “Probably.”
Shane groaned as he leaned over in slow motion until he was laying on the couch. His feet were still on the ground. He looked adorable. Grumpy, but adorable.
“Do you need me to bring you your emotional support cat?”
Shane closed his eyes, but he smiled. “As long as my emotional support Russian comes too.”
Ilya moved Shane’s legs out of the way so he could sit next to him, repositioning Shane's legs into his lap. Ivan appeared out of nowhere, sniffed at Shane’s hands before jumping on the couch. Shane’s nose twitched as Ivan’s whiskers brushed against his skin. Ivan make a few circles before laying down right in front of Shane. Without opening his eyes, Shane’s hand found its way into Ivan’s fur, gently stroking him down his back. Ivan’s carburetor purr filled the room.
“I guess he likes you now.”
“I guess he does.”
“Our teammates are having fun at a bar right now,” Ilya said. “We are very boring.”
Shane opened his eyes, mirth and love and promise mixed into his brown eyes. “Yeah, but you like it.”
God help him but Ilya did. He really did.
Fuck you, universe.
Boring was a gift.