Chapter Text
Sochi Olympics 2014
Ilya stood in the shadows watching the Men’s Figure Skating events on the rink below. He’d only come to this event to avoid running into his father or brother. Ever since Russia lost to Latvia, he’d been fielding all the negative talk his family had perfected over the years. He glanced around, the stands were barely occupied, which didn’t surprise him. This wasn’t a well attended event even when the Olympics were hosted by a more accepting country. As it were, no one in Russia wanted to risk supporting, potentially gay athletes. Ilya hated the implication that a man had to be gay to have a passion for figure skating.
His phone buzzed with a message from his brother. He was reminding Ilya that their father was irate about losing Russia’s chances at an Olympic medal. He rolled his eyes and ignored it. He continued to stare down at the current contestant on the ice. The guy moved with a grace and skill Ilya had seen in some of the world’s best hockey players, just in a different context. With hockey players body movements were more direct and aggressive, but still required a dedication to grace and balance on your feet. It’s why he secretly enjoyed watching figure skaters. They had a level of competition within them that Ilya understood, even if the end results were vastly different from his own ice experiences.
He didn’t even recognize that Shane Hollander had approached him at first. Ilya was so caught up in his own head and the dread he felt knowing he couldn’t avoid his father forever. If his brother’s constant, incessant texts were anything to go by he couldn’t avoid Alexei either. One sideways glance as soon as Hollander said hello let Ilya know he was no longer safe standing here in this arena, not even in the shadows. Why the fuck didn’t Shane understand that?
“Go away.” Ilya tried his best to keep his tone flat, unaffected. But, something must’ve betrayed the comfort he felt having Hollander there in his presence.
“I just wanted to see if you were okay. You didn’t answer my text.” Hollander replied nervously, still refusing to leave.
Ilya hated to do it, but he was already on thin ice as it were thanks to the pitiful performance from Team Russia.
“No, I didn’t answer your boring text, Hollander. We are nothing, just go.” The minute the words leave his lips, Ilya regrets them.
He doesn’t have anyone, not like Hollander. The Canadian is in Russia and surrounded by other hockey players who are his friends. He can move through the world with no fear of being criticized or harshly treated for things out of his control. Shane Hollander has parents who love him. Ilya wished he knew what that felt like. He used to, but it had been years since anything close to love from his family had touched his heart.
“I just thought…” Hollander’s voice comes out strained, and breaks at the end. He’s so hurt that he can’t even tell Ilya what he thought by coming over to talk.
Ilya closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. He held his breath as he quickly moved through all the possible scenarios of what could happen to him if he did what he really wanted to do. He opened his eyes once more and scanned the arena. No one was looking toward the top where he and Hollander stood. Everyone was focused on the figure skaters below. Ilya could risk it. He could quickly reassure the dark-haired man and then force them to go their separate ways until they were both safely back in North America.
So, despite the insane risk, Ilya did what he desired to do, not what he was expected to do. He stepped closer to Hollander and slowly reached out to him, pulling the Canadian against his chest in a warm embrace. He held his breath once more as he felt him relax into his touch. Then, he turned his head and breathed in the scent of Hollander’s hair. He needed this smell to keep him sane as he spent the next week being belittled and criticized by his father, brother, and entire country for failing so spectacularly as Team Russia’s captain.
As much as he wanted to cling to Shane Hollander for all time, their position was still in a very public place, despite being hidden in the shadows behind a pillar. He regretfully pulled completely out of the man’s embrace and stepped back toward where he’d been when Hollander found him.
“Go away, Hollander.” He stated again, only this time there was a little less coldness behind his words.
“See you in a few weeks.” Hollander said softly before he disappeared without another sound.
Ilya let his breath out in a deep sigh. He ran his hands through his hair and anxiously scanned the arena once more. He needed to be sure no one saw him hug another man. He thought he was home free, but then he turned around to look at the exit behind him and found his father standing in the doorframe, glaring angrily at Ilya. There was a malice to the way he sneered and then spit on the ground. Ilya’s heart sank.
“You disappoint Russia with your mediocre performance and I find you here with your faggot boyfriend?!” His father spat each Russian word out like they each individually offended him.
Ilya took a deep swallow. His mind raced with all the possibilities of how his father could react. The thing about the Colonel was you couldn’t predict when he’d let his famous maliciousness out to play. There were times when he wasn’t entirely awful, despite not approving of what Ilya did with his life. However, the disdain, he covered each of his words with, hit Ilya deep and he knew the life he’d worked so hard to have, and protect, would soon disappear.
“He’s a fellow NHL friend. We were saying hello.” Ilya knew his words weren’t nearly enough to push his father’s ire away, but he knew he had to try.
“Men don’t hug like that unless they’re taking it up the ass. So is he the bitch or is that you?” His father’s face was red with anger as he leaned close enough to Ilya’s face that he could smell the mix of cigars and vodka on his breath.
“Papa, I swear, we are just colleagues. We don’t get to see each other outside of the rink but a couple times a year.” Ilya knew even before the words left his mouth his father wouldn’t believe him.
“You think I don’t recognize Shane Hollander. That fucking Canadian has been out performing you since you were a boy. Now I know why. You let him fuck you in exchange for wins on the ice. He takes all the glory and you get fucked.”
“It’s not like that at all. I fuck women. Tons of women. Hollander and I are friends.” Ilya looked desperately back toward the ice. He hoped that his father’s anger could be distracted away, but he knew if Hollander won a medal here, it would be worse for Ilya.
“Come with me. Now!” His father’s eyes stormed angrily, “I’ll be sure you never embarrass me or your motherland again. America has made you soft. I think it’s time you’re reminded of where you call home.”
Ilya swallowed hard and turned his emotionless state on as he followed his father out of the ice arena. His biggest fear was that his father’s words meant he wouldn’t be leaving Russia when the Olympics ended. The man had enough influence in the government he could fuck with Ilya’s visa privileges.
His phone buzzed in his pocket as they walked but he didn’t dare take it from his pocket. He had a feeling it was a text from Hollander, but he couldn’t risk looking. Not with his father right there. As they trudged toward the black car his father hired, Ilya’s mind flooded with thoughts of his own mistakes.
He should’ve never gotten involved with Hollander in the first place. His affair with Sasha all those years ago had been dangerous enough. There had been times he thought his father figured them out but then the relationship had continued until it fizzled out on its own. But Hollander, that was even more dangerous. His arrangement with the Canadian could cost him his freedom. In fact, it probably already had.
“Years ago I fixed your dalliance with the coach’s son by setting him up with a job in Paris. I was sure it was his fault. Because no son of mine would ever willingly be a deviant. Your mistakes are costing me all the favors I have, Ilyusha,” his father spoke softly, but scary just the same, as they rode across the city.
“I understand father. I will not slip up again. I plan to bring my team the Stanley Cup this year. Make up for my dishonor here,” Ilya sighed, obediently.
“No, starting next week you will join the KHL like you should have all along. You’ll stay here and remember your true family and country. No more giving honor to disgusting American team.”
Ilya didn’t respond. Instead he looked despondently out the window of the car. His father had just as swiftly ripped the rug out from under him as it had been given to him years ago. That glimmer of hope being in Boston and meeting up with Hollander over the years had given him was all but snuffed out. He fought back tears knowing that there was no escape. His father had probably already called the authorities about his American visa. When his NHL friends went back to the states and Canada next week, Ilya would not be going with them.
Hollander floated to the surface of his mind. He regretted most that the guy would excitedly wait for the next Montreal and Boston match up, thinking he’d get to see Ilya again. Only to find out that Ilya was never coming back. Then he’d reach out and ask Ilya for an explanation and Ilya would have to ignore him. There would be no goodbye or closure for them. Ilya would break Hollander’s heart and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
—
Days later, Ilya was confined to his father’s home. Many of his Boston teammates had either won Gold or Silver in the finals, but Ilya couldn’t even go to the game to support them. His father didn’t want him anywhere near Shane Hollander or the “American Influence” as he liked to spit out to anyone who would listen. Instead, he was forced to attend a party for the Russian Prime Minister that his father had poured some of Ilya’s NHL income into. His father was proudly declaring, to everyone, that he had pulled some strings and gotten his son traded back to the KHL to bring true honor to Russia. Ilya’s compensation package in the KHL was nothing compared to what he was offered in Boston, but he had no choice but to take it.
A day after the party, Ilya had received an email from his father detailing how he had pulled strings to get his American visa pulled. Ilya had fought back tears as he sat through dinner that night. He felt more trapped than ever before. For the first time ever he felt he finally understood his mother and why she did what she did. The only thing stopping him from swallowing a bunch of pills or slitting his wrists was the extremely faint hope that he’d see Hollander again someday.
His father might be cruel, abusive, and homophobic, but he wasn’t completely unreasonable. When Ilya was keeping his head down, staying quiet, and winning games his father was somewhat tolerable. If Ilya spent the next year or so doing exactly what his father wanted, maybe he would garner enough goodwill and his father would allow him to go back to North America. He’s not sure if he’d be able to go back to Boston, but any team would do. As long as he could get out of Russia someday soon.
It’s three weeks after the Sochi Olympics have ended that Ilya’s father hits him for the first time in years. Ilya’s team had lost in overtime despite Ilya scoring a hat trick. Regardless, his father saw that as a disappointment to the Rozanov name. So, he’d slapped Ilya across the face and told him he needed to harden up and play like a real man. Ilya had held it together, silently taking every word his father slew at him. He didn’t dare flinch or show any sign of weakness.
After his father went to bed, Ilya’s stepmother, Polina, came to his room with an ice pack for his cheek. She didn’t say anything, but her touch lingered on his shoulder. She couldn’t show any further care or favor to Ilya or risk her own punishments, but she could do him this one kindness in the dead of the night, in secret. Ilya appreciated it just the same. Polina had never taken the place of Ilya’s mother, she was too closed off and scared of his father to manage it, but she was the only person in Moscow who cared about Ilya. It was a very low rung to reach for, but it was enough to keep Ilya’s mind from spiralling too deep.
The next day, Ilya was visited by Svetlana. His father looked at her gleefully as she wrapped Ilya up in a warm embrace and kissed his lips. She knew how to play Grigori Rozanov like a fiddle when it would benefit Ilya. Sure enough, the man was so happy a woman was wanting to be intimately familiar with Ilya that he let her cart him off on a walk around the neighborhood. Ilya was an almost 23 year-old man, but his father had him on such a short leash it rarely felt like it.
As they walked, Svetlana linked her arm through Ilya’s and leaned her head on his shoulder. She looked up at him sadly before she finally spoke.
“I’ve never seen your father act so controlling of you before.” She stuck to English walking through the streets of Moscow since that was less likely to be overheard and understood by strangers.
Ilya’s father’s influence was so great thanks to his military career that no one could be trusted. No one except Svetlana.
“He caught me with a man during Sochi. I tried telling him we were just friends, but he didn’t believe me. Told me that he’d handled Sasha years ago and he would handle me this time.” Ilya fought the tears as hard as he could.
“Fuck, Ilyusha. How could you have been so stupid?” Svetlana stopped them and pulled them off to sit on a bench in the middle of a local park.
Ilya shrugged and sadly watched two little boys gleefully play tag amongst the trees and grass. He took a deep breath, grabbed Svetlana’s hand, and decided it was time he confessed something to his oldest friend.
“I can’t help it. It’s like there is a magnet between us. Even now I have to stop myself from texting him for fear of my father seeing it and destroying my phone.” Ilya pulled his cell phone from his pocket.
“It is expensive to text to Canada from here, but I keep wanting to text him. I want him to know that I didn’t cut him out on purpose. That it isn’t his fault. But, I can’t. My father will surely catch me.”
Svetlana gently placed her hand on his arm. “Why don’t you share his contact with me. I will text him to let him know you are okay, and that you won’t be coming back to America. Then, you delete his contact from your phone.”
Ilya turned to look at her, “Sveta, I won’t be here forever. He can’t keep me here. I will want to be able to reach out to him when I leave this place.”
Sveta’s hand reached up and cupped his cheek instead, “Ilyusha. This is what will make this worse for you. You need to forget him. Your father will ease up if he thinks you are dedicated to hockey and women and nothing else. Win games and get married to a woman and he’ll get off your back.”
Ilya nodded despite the idea of settling down with a Russian woman to have children being an actual nightmare for him. He knew that Svetlana was right. He needed to forget about Shane Hollander, for his own good. So, with a sigh he sent the contact to Svetlana’s phone and then deleted it on his own.
—
Shane stared at his phone. It had been two months since Sochi and there hadn’t been a single word from Ilya. Shane had learned of Ilya’s transfer to the KHL from ESPN instead of the guy he’d been regularly fucking for 4 years. He knew that there was a reason Rozanov hadn’t texted him, but he still stared at his phone each day hoping he would. Despite Rozanov’s fears about Russia when they’d last seen each other, the man had wrapped him in a hug.
“Earth to Shane!” Hayden hollered from a few stalls down.
Shane looked up and stared at his best friend, “What’s that?”
“I said, Jackie was wondering if you wanted to come over to ours for dinner tonight. The twins are eating solid foods finally. Could be fun.”
Shane forced a smile and replied, “Sure, Hayd. Dinner with your wife and daughters sounds perfect. Should I bring something?”
Hayden shook his head with a fond look on his face, “Just yourself.”
Just then, Shane’s phone started to buzz. He looked at the screen and noticed it was an unknown international number. He unlocked his phone and looked it up. It was a Russian number. His heart leapt thinking maybe it was Rozanov on a burner phone or with a new number since he was no longer in the states.
Instead, the message was from someone Shane had never spoken to before.
Hello, Jane. This is Ilya’s friend Svetlana. I am contacting you to let you know Ilya is fine. His father used his influence to reverse his American visa so Ilya must stay here in Russia. Don’t reach out to him or it will only make things worse. The best thing for you is to forget you ever met him.
Shane’s throat swelled up as he read through the message for a third time. He could feel the burn of the tears he refused to shed. He’d held out hope all these months thinking Ilya would find a way to reach out once more. This message felt final. Ilya Rozanov wanted nothing to do with Shane anymore. He couldn’t not while stuck in Russia. Shane hoped that Svetlana’s assurance that Ilya was fine would continue to be true.
After that thought, he turned his phone off and slipped it back into his pocket, not bothering to respond. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t cause him to cry here in the middle of the Montreal locker room. Nope, it was best he just ignored it.
He’d always known this thing with Rozanov wasn’t built to last. In fact, it had continued on longer than he had ever expected it would. It might shatter his heart to lock those memories up in a box in his mind, but he had to focus on hockey. He couldn’t let Rozanov’s cold dismissal stop him from winning the Stanley Cup for Montreal this season. They were so close he could taste it.
So, instead of worrying about a man now stuck in Russia, Shane went to dinner at the Pikes’ house and focused on how to better his skills on the ice.
Or at least that’s what he told himself. But, late at night, when he was alone in his bed his heart ached for the man he missed more than he ever thought possible. Each night he sent up a prayer that Ilya was okay and that his father wasn’t hurting him.