Chapter Text
Shane does not volunteer for the Ballybunion Bachelor Festival. This distinction matters to him. Unfortunately, nobody else seems especially interested in it.
“Look at you,” Hayden Pike says cheerfully, holding up his phone.
Shane groans. The photo shows him standing beneath the festival banner earlier that afternoon, wearing the sash they handed him at registration: CANADA.
“You look like you’re running for office,” Hayden says.
They are sitting outside a café on Ballybunion’s extremely short main street. The Atlantic wind pushes at the umbrellas overhead and carries the smell of salt and fried food through the air. Across the road, two older men appear to be arguing beside a tractor.
Jackie leans across the table to inspect Hayden’s screen.
“Oh my god,” she says. “The sash.”
“I didn’t know about the sash,” Shane says.
“That’s the best part.”
A few days earlier, Yuna had called and asked, in a tone of dangerous casualness, “How would you feel about representing Canada in Ireland’s most famous bachelor festival?”
Shane had blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s a cultural collaboration,” she said brightly. “The Canadian and Irish tourism boards are doing a campaign together.”
“And they need - ”
“A charming, internationally recognised Canadian bachelor.”
Shane had closed his eyes. “No.”
“Too late,” Yuna said. “I already told them yes.”
“You what?”
“You’ll love it.”
Shane does not, in fact, love it. He is sitting in a seaside town in the west of Ireland with a sash in his pocket, trying very hard not to think about the phrase Bachelor of the Year. He had been grateful when Hayden and Jackie agreed to come. Then Hayden discovered his passion for videography.
Hayden nudges him. “So what events do you have to do?”
Shane unfolds the brochure in front of him.
“Apparently there’s a mock wedding tomorrow.”
Jackie nearly spits out her drink. “A what?”
“A mock wedding.”
“With who?”
Shane turns the brochure around. “I think with the other contestants.”
Hayden stares at him.
“You’re going to marry a bunch of Irish bachelors? But then you won’t be bachelors anymore?”
“I don’t know,” Shane says. “I guess it’s promotional.”
Jackie leans back in her chair, delighted. “Oh, this is going to be incredible.”
Ilya takes a sip of vodka and scrolls through his phone.
He is not thinking about Shane.
He is absolutely not thinking about the exact way Shane scrambled to leave, or the twenty ginger ales still in his fridge, or how Ilya Rozanov, captain of the Boston Bears, cried alone for much too long afterward.
Instead, he scrolls through Instagram: hockey clips, a teammate posting pictures from their wedding anniversary, an advertisement for curly girl shampoo.
Then something catches his eye.
Hayden Pike has posted a video.
Ilya frowns. Pike rarely posts anything that does not involve either golf or an alarming number of children. Curious despite himself, he taps the video.
Wind fills the audio immediately. The camera swings across a small seaside street lined with colourful shop fronts. A banner stretches across the road.
WELCOME TO THE BALLYBUNION
HARP LAGER
INTERNATIONAL BACHELOR FESTIVAL
Pike’s voice narrates from behind the camera.
“Ladies and gentlemen, representing Canada-”
The camera zooms in.
Shane Hollander stands in the middle of the street, posture stiff and expression pinched with awkwardness.
Ilya’s thumb goes still against the screen.
For a long moment he only stares.
Pike’s voice keeps rambling happily.
“-international hockey superstar, soon to be Ireland’s most eligible bachelor-”
“Hayden,” Shane warns.
The video ends.
Ilya watches it again.
Then once more.
Shane looks exactly the same as he did three weeks ago. Like nothing happened.
Ilya sets the phone down. He pours another drink. Then he picks the phone back up and types: ballybunion bachelor festival.
A website loads. He scrolls through it, leaning back in his chair.
He imagines Shane Hollander standing onstage at this ridiculous pageant.
He imagines interrupting it.
A slow smile spreads across his face.
He opens his contacts and presses call.
Cliff Marleau answers on the third ring.
“Yes.”
“You have passport?”
A pause.
“I do,” Cliff says carefully. “Why?”
Ilya looks again at the photo on his screen.
Shane Hollander, standing in the wind with that same tight, brittle expression.
Ilya grins.
“We are going to Ireland.”