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Cliff Marleau was many things. He knew exactly who he was and what everyone in the league, the fans, and the sports commenters said about him. But contrary to popular belief he was, in fact, not an idiot. Sure, he wasn’t a rocket scientist or even necessarily the smartest guy in any given room. He might take a few extra minutes to reach a conclusion, but he could reach it, eventually.
Marleau was insanely tall, broad, and strong. He played forward despite his size because he would rather be on offense than defense. That pretty much explained the rest of his personality.
He didn’t like to go slow. He wanted to go out dancing, find hot women, and have sex with them. It was simple. A pro-athlete’s career was often short. He knew he was raking in the money now, but an injury could take him out of the game at a moment's notice, and then what? A 9-to-5 job? No thank you. Marleau was going to live it up while the living was good. Which was what drew him to Ilya Rozanov in the beginning.
Rozanov had just finished an insane rookie year when Cliff was drafted to the Bears. He was excited about the new energy the team had with the young star and was looking forward to learning from him. When they first met, Rozanov took one look at Cliff, raised his eyebrows and asked if the team could afford to feed him and ‘was he sure he was not defensemen?’ Then he had smacked Cliff’s stomach in that “bro I’m just fucking with you” way and called him “Marley” and said, “Drinks tonight after practice? Rookie buys.”
The name Marley grew on him. He tried to call him Rozy, but it was hit or miss if Rozanov was in the mood to be messed with or not. He tended to do that Russian, stoic-staring thing. The ability to look into someone's soul with a perfectly blank expression that also communicated that not only was Rozanov judging you, whatever it was you just said, but all your ancestors, too. It had to have been a special software package installed at birth along with the “Russians do not blush” trait. Cliff was still convinced that was utter bullshit because Rozanov blushed all the time, especially because of Montreal Jane.
Which is how Marleau knew he wasn’t actually an idiot. He knew who Montreal Jane really was.
He has known for some time. The fact that the rest of the league and world seemed to be oblivious was actually a point of pride for Marley. Because it proved once and for all that despite what he was told most of his life, he was not stupid.
****
“What do you mean you think I should be Captain next season?” Marley was early in the locker room because Rozanov had texted and demanded he show up to the first practice early. He figured it was just to run through the plan with the Coaches and Rozanov;he never thought his best friend would be telling him whatever it was he is trying to tell him now.
“You are alternate. My contract expires this year.” Ilya shrugged like this wasn’t a big deal as he started unloading his duffel into his cubby. The cubby right next to Marley’s. Where they had been for years.
“Yeah, but you’re just gonna re-sign right? I mean, they’d give you whatever you want. You won them their first Stanley Cup in decades. We make the playoffs every year, have you ever *not* been to an All Star Weekend?”
Rozanov was shoving his empty bag into the back of his cubby as he shrugged one shoulder again. “I think maybe is time for something new.”
Marleau was having a hard time not giving into his absolute panic that this conversation was causing. He knew Rozanov’s contract would expire eventually, but short of some better team coming in and throwing heaps of money at him, Cliff never thought Rozanov would actually leave Boston.
Marley put his hand on Ilya’s shoulder and tried to get him to look at him. “Hey, woah. I think we need to back up here. I thought you said you had a good summer, for once not in Russia. Now you’re back and saying you’re gonna leave? What happened? When did this all happen?” Marley’s eyebrows came together in bewilderment. “Where exactly did you spend the summer again?”
Ilya wasn’t looking at Marley, which was sending all sorts of alarm bells off in his head because Rozanov only ever got like this over two things—his family in Russia and Montreal Jane. They had texted over the summer, but barely. Which is why he had sent a text asking if he was hooking up with a nice Russian girl. Most summers, Cliff could expect random rants about brothers and parents, requests for Marleau’s latest conquests, and memes. Anything to help distract Rozanov from everything he didn’t want to talk about in Russia. Not this time. Rozanov had responded to the chirp two days later saying he never went to Russia and was spending the summer with a friend and then refused to go into any more detail. Cliff had assumed Ilya and Svetlana were finally making things more official in Tahiti or something. Except, now that he’s looking at him, Ilya wasn’t quite tan enough to have spent the summer in the tropics.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ilya said with another shrug.
“I think it clearly does. You’re talking about leaving the team!” Ilya turned on him then, shushing him and glancing at the open locker room door. Marleau looked too, worried someone was going to come in and interrupt them.
“Will you shut it, Marley! I haven’t talked to anyone yet. I just am saying, we start training camp now, you are alternate Captain, maybe start to think about you being Captain next year. That’s all. No big deal. You want to be Captain some day, yes?”
“Ok. Ok. But Roz, yeah man. I mean, Captain would be cool but I don’t need you to leave just so I can be a Captain.”
“I would never leave to make you Captain. I do not love you that much. I am leaving because…” Ilya trailed off as he tangled his fingers into his curls and looked at the ground.
Cliff wanted to be supportive. He wanted to give Ilya time. But this may actually kill him. “Because what?”
“Maybe I need to make change! Maybe I don’t like cold Boston anymore! Maybe I go to Canada! Who wants to be American? Huh? No one. Father is dead, Brother is garbage, maybe I go to Canada and become citizen, meet nice Canadian, have lots of babies.” Rozanov was doing the ranting thing he does. Lots of hand movements and his shoulders going up and down. Marleau always thought he looked like he was moving things across a desk the way his hands would swipe through the air but not quite flat, like he was gripping an invisible object and moving it from one place to another as he explained something to you. Like he could physically move your brain from Point A to Point B by sheer will alone.
But Marley was confused right up until the last thing Rozanov had said. Then it all made sense. Of course. Montreal Jane. Scott Hunter and him coming out. The summer with a “friend.” This was about Shane Hollander.
“First of all, pretty sure Canada is colder than Boston.” Marley said as he considered if he was willing to drop this bombshell on his friend or if he should wait. The rest of the team was going to be coming any second, he could already hear more movement in the hall.
“Secondly, I know what this is really about and we are not done talking about this,” he shot a glance at the door where loud voices and laughing could be heard. “Tonight. Your place. We need to finish this talk.”
“Fine. Yes. Talk.” Ilya said as he forcibly started slapping his gear and pads on.
Marley turned to greet the rest of the team as they all came in pitching each other shit, talking about summer conquests, and how they were going to have the best season ever. He tried to join in, he really did. But a part of him knew that tonight was going to suck. Ilya was probably gonna punch him and he was a tiny bit afraid he was going to lose his best friend. Even more than he already had.
****
Ilya Rozanov lived in a big, sleek modern house. Cliff remembered when he lived in a little loft apartment in the early years, but sometime after a trip to Montreal Ilya came back to Boston with this sudden need to buy property. It was like one day Ilya couldn’t care less about investments or property portfolios, and then the next he was casually asking teammates for their portfolio management tips. He stopped randomly buying a new sports car whenever the mood hit and was actually considering his options. It had been one of many clues to the truth Cliff had noticed and filed away deep into his brain.
Cliff rotated his shoulders and let out a deep breath as he rang the door bell. It was time to come clean.
Ilya opened the door a few min later in Adidas slides, shorts, and a plain black t-shirt. “Marley.” He said with a nod as he stepped aside to let him in.
“Hey Roz, I think we need to talk.” He slipped off his sneakers before letting himself into the living room with the oversized couch. The lights were on low, just a few lamps on dim and the tv was on some hockey recap ESPN channel with the volume barely on.
“Fine. Beer? Vodka?” Ilya ruffled his curls as he diverted to the kitchen behind Cliff.
“Yeah, beer is good.”
Ilya handed Marley a glass bottle perfectly chilled and flopped onto the couch after grabbing his glass of vodka. The bottle was open and on the coffee table, he had clearly already started drinking without Marley but in typical Ilya fashion it would take a lot of vodka before it started to impair him in any way.
“Look man, I don’t know how to do this…” Cliff cleared his throat and was angled toward Ilya but picking at the label on his beer.
Ilya raised his eyebrows and smirked. “You open mouth and words come out Marley, what is problem?”
Marley scrubbed at his face before rubbing the back of his neck. He had 2 choices, keep dancing around this or just come out and confess, Rozanov was either going to freak out about his secret not actually being a secret or not.
“Ok. Look man, we have been, like, best friends for a long time now. I know people think I’m dumb or whatever, but I’m not blind. I know you hook up with guys and chicks at clubs. I’ve seen you and it’s not a big deal to me…” Cliff was waving his bottle around as he quickly tried to get all his thoughts out but Ilya had already put his vodka down the coffee table and was sitting forward elbows on knees.
“So what? You figure out I like dick and you what? Want tips? What is point of this, Marley?” Ilya’s voice was clipped and his jaw set.
“No! No. God, no. I’m just saying like. I know you probably have to be careful, I know how NHL is, how a lot of guys are. But I’m not like that man. I don’t care who you fuck. But what I’m trying to say is that I may have noticed things more than you think I have and —“
“Ok, good job. You notice things I wasn’t hiding from you. You think I hook up with people in clubs in front of you and think you don’t notice. You said you wanted to talk about Captaincy, why are you going on about me and fucking?” Ilya had stood up by this point and was waving his hand around as he spoke and paced, clearly agitated by the discussion.
Cliff jumped to his feet, too.
“Because I think you’re leaving Boston, leaving us for your boyfriend and since he’s not exactly ‘out’—” Cliff made quotation marks with his fingers as he said that because he had no idea if that was even something a straight dude could talk about; he was so far out of his depth, he was starting to wonder if the world was ever going to make sense again, “—maybe you should pump the breaks here! What if you transfer to be closer to him and you guys break up? Huh? What then?!”
Ilya stood frozen, staring at Marley with his mouth open. He was perfectly still and his eyes were a little too wide. Marley had done the one thing neither of them ever thought would happen. He had shocked Ilya quiet.
“Boyfriend? What boyfriend? Who says I have boyfriend? Who is talking about this?” Ilya started to crowd Marley; his voice was deceptively level and calm but Marley had seen Ilya throw down on the ice enough times to know he needed to be very careful or he was going to get hit.
“No one! No one is talking! But, look—I know about Hollander, ok? I have known for a while. So you can stop pretending and lying to me.”
The next thing Marley knew the world tilted and he was flat on his back with a very irate Russian on top of him, one fist in his shirt and the other cocked back ready to land a punch. He put his hands up on instinct. “Woah! Roz! Stop! No one knows, I swear!”
Ilya froze, face red and chest going in and out too quickly as he stared into Marley with absolute panic.
“I swear, Roz, no one knows. Ok? I only know because I figured it out a few years ago because I room with you and we hang out all the time ok? That’s all, I promise! Your secret is safe!” He tentatively put one flat hand on Ilya’s chest and gave him the tiniest shove. Ilya fell off him and buried his face in his hands, breathing heavily.
Marley sat up slowly and braced an arm against a bent knee and just let his friend process everything that had been put out in the open.
Marley grabbed his beer and chugged half of it down. Ilya’s phone dinged from its spot on the coffee table between them, the name “Jane” popped up briefly with a text: “how’d practice go?”
Ilya lunged to snatch the phone from the table with a glare at Marley, who had the sense to keep drinking his beer and not say anything while Ilya frantically began to type a response back. He turned off the screen and put the phone face down next to him on the couch.
“How long?” Ilya asked quietly without making eye contact. “When did you know?”
“Uh. I’m not really sure to be honest. It wasn’t any one thing. It's just—” Marley put his beer down again and started ruffling his hair at the back of his neck.
“I dunno man, you would always be on your phone with “Montreal Jane” and never wanted to go out to clubs in Montreal. Then, after a few times of that happening, I noticed that the only other time you didn’t want to go out was when the Metros played Boston at home. Like, at first, I figured Jane had to work for the team you know? Like a physical therapist, or a social media person, or something.”
“But I got bored one night when you ditched me for Jane and looked it up. There weren’t any staff members that would travel with the team named Jane. So, I knew something was off. I just figured, if I knew who it was, I could figure out why you weren’t just being honest about her; I wasn’t, like, trying to be nosy.”
Marley was embarrassed to confess that part. He really wasn’t trying to get into Ilya’s business; he just figured that if his best friend was gonna be so head-over-heels in love with a girl, maybe they could meet. Double date or something. He may have also been slightly drunk and pissed off at being ditched again and wanted to track this Jane on social media to see just how hot she was that Ilya was constantly running after her.
“Every time we played Montreal, every time Montreal played here in Boston. All Star Weekends, your mood was different. You were happier. More intense about your phone and Jane’s name would be lighting it up even more than normal. It just didn’t make sense man. Then I realized one day, I dunno when—I think I saw you making out with this dark-haired guy in Detroit—that you were subtle but never exactly shy about being into guys, too, so it just kinda clicked. Jane had to be a guy.” Ilya was nodding to every point Marley was making, alternating between staring at his phone and pinching the bridge of his nose like he was getting a headache.
“When did you know it was Hollander?” Ilya finally asked after sitting in silence for several minutes.
“I didn’t for a long time. I mean, Shane — Jane, I get the joke now. But at first I thought it was someone else on the team, but then I was talking to some guys at All Stars one year. I think this was like 3? 4 years ago? They were talking about different cities we like to play in. There were a bunch of us at the bar, we were talking about what places had the best parties and stuff. Hayden Pike—” Ilya’s head snapped up at the sound of Pike’s name and his hands formed fists again. He stood up and started pacing in front of the tv. “—was pretty smashed and he mentioned he hated Boston because Hollander always went MIA to see some girl of his. That Hollander rarely went out with the team as it was but they always knew if they were in Boston they were getting ditched for his ‘Boston Lily.’ It just clicked.”
Marley finished his beer and sat back on the couch. That was all he had. All the clues he’d put together over the years, laid to rest at his friend’s feet. He knew he wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t going to remind Ilya of last season. When he had knocked Shane Hollander out in a perfectly legal hit during their first game in Montreal after All Stars and took him right out of the playoffs.
Rozanov’s reaction had caused any lingering doubts to exit Marley’s mind. Roz had refused to leave the ice. That night at the hotel he barely spoke, barely acknowledged Marley, was just constantly on his phone. Marley didn’t think he had even slept, then he disappeared early the next morning and came back still quiet but solid. The phone had disappeared. Like he knew whatever answers he had been hunting for he wouldn’t find there.
Ilya’s phone kept vibrating next to Ilya on the couch and he kept gripping it with his hand but refusing to look at the screen.
Marley nodded towards it and said, “You go ahead, I’m gonna get another beer, ok?”
When Ilya nodded, he stood up and took his empty bottle to the kitchen.
Marley had been to Ilya’s house a couple hundred times over the years. Lots of parties and sometimes just to hang out with the two of them. Sometimes they even got together before training camp started and worked out together. He was very familiar with where the glasses were kept, the trash bags, all of the little things that didn’t matter but somehow seemed big in this moment.
Did Shane Hollander know Ilya recycled? Did Shane Hollander know that Ilya rinsed his recycling? When he realized that Hollander and Rozanov were more than rivals, he never really let himself think too hard on it. Yet, here he was rinsing the glass bottle of beer and pulling out the hidden drawer that looked just like a normal piece of the cabinetry but housed the trash and recycling bins. He wondered how easy it had been for Roz and Hollander to find time to be together like this. Quietly, at home. Was it just hotel hookups? It couldn’t be. Not if Roz was really thinking of leaving Boston.
He was lingering. He knew that. He knew he could have left the bottle next to the sink for later and grabbed a fresh one but he also knew that it was very likely still Hollander that had been texting Roz and he wanted him to have time to talk to him. He rubbed his shoulders and let out a deep sigh as he wandered across the large space, navigating the extra-large island with its barstools and opened the fridge.
Roz rarely had much in the way of food, a few meal prepped things some chef or meal service did for him, random snacks, and a whole shelf dedicated to drinks lined up from the front of the fridge all the way to the back. There was a row of ginger ale, 2 rows of Coca-Cola cans, a row of bottled water, a row of sparkling water, 2 rows of various sports drinks, and the rest of the shelf was bottles of beer. He grabbed a bottle from one of the rows and used the bottle opener magnet hidden on the side of the fridge to open it.
Marley stood staring at the magnet. It was the Boston Bears logo. Some keyring magnet they sold at the gift shops in the arena by the check outs. He wondered if Ilya went there himself to purchase it or if he pilfered it from some storage room in the basement. Would Roz trade it in for a different team's logo? Or would he wear a different jersey but still use the Boston team’s bottle opener?
Marley grimaced at himself as he put it back on the side of the fridge and threw the cap in the trash on his way back to the living room. He was starting to sound pathetic and pouty even to himself. He just didn’t understand why things needed to change so suddenly, not if Hollander and Rozanov had been together as long as he thought they may have been. He was missing something. Despite all the clues he’s put together over the years, there were still some things that just didn’t add up. He’s not sure he wanted to know the details; after all Roz was his best friend and while they definitely shared girls over the years and Marley had witnessed Roz with men, he didn’t really want to picture Hollander with Roz. It seemed like a line he shouldn’t cross. He had his own relationship with Hollander, as superficial as it was, and thinking of the awkward, quiet guy from the league who kicked everyone’s ass on the ice with Roz, knowing how Roz liked to fuck was just too…weird.
Ilya was frantically typing as Marley came into the doorway and glanced up quickly before finishing whatever it was he was typing and turning the screen off again and putting it on the coffee table.
“You cannot tell anyone. No one can know. Please. It is important, Shane is not ready…” Ilya pleaded as he sat on the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees. His hands kept going back to the side of his head to tug on some curls by his ear before trailing down his neck like he couldn’t decide between ripping out his hair and trying to massage a kink out.
“Look man. I haven’t told anyone all this time. I’m not going to start now. But you can’t just leave Boston for Hollander, man. I mean you have a life here! A legacy! Where are you even going to go?” Marley was sitting on the couch again, one leg pulled up and tucked under the other as leaned against the back of the cushions facing Ilya.
Ilya scrunched his face at the word “legacy” and waved his hand dismissing it. “I’m going to go to Ottawa, I think. I haven’t talked to them. But they will take me. They would be stupid not to.”
“OTTAWA?!?! Roz. No. You can’t do that. They are the worst team in the league! Why would you go there of all places? I figured you were gonna try and switch to a West Coast team, so you wouldn’t have to be rivals anymore. Not fucking Ottawa!” Marley couldn’t even say the name without scoffing. Ilya was nodding along and way too calm, it was like they were discussing the weather not career suicide.
“Yes, not rivals. We need to be, not rivals. But Ottawa is closer to Montreal. We cannot be on the same team. Too obvious. So I go to Ottawa. We can see each other more. Show people we are friendly. Maybe then, someday…” He spread his hands apart and shrugged again.
“Wait, so you have to move to the worst team of the league, leave all your friends, your home, and Hollander gets to just… what? Stay exactly the same as he always has? What is he giving up for this? Why now? Why the sudden need to be closer?” Cliff didn’t like the sound of this at all. Roz was giving up everything and Hollander got to just coast on with his life; same old, same old.
Rozanov shook his head and muttered something in Russian. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling before sighing and rubbing his face with a little more force than necessary.
“You are right. Montreal Jane is Shane Hollander, ok? We are…ugh.” Ilya sat forward again and then leaped to his feet and started pacing, unable to finish his sentence.
“I would say you don’t owe me an explanation, I don’t need detail-detail, but you’re talking about me being Captain next year and you leaving Boston dude. I deserve some sort of answer because from where I’m sitting you guys have been,” Cliff waved his hand up and down Ilya’s body in an all encompassing gesture “whatever it is you are for a while now. Years even. Then you show up to camp talking about leaving while Hollander gets to keep his life exactly the same. I’m worried man. What if you guys broke up and you’ve tanked your career! Can you even just switch teams like that? What about Russia? I thought you hated that place, if you go to Canada don’t you start the process of residency and all that over again? I just think maybe you guys should slow down a bit here. Why doesn’t Hollander transfer to New Jersey or something? Why does it have to be you going closer to him?”
Ilya had been pacing during Marley’s speech, snorting and shaking his head at different points as if Cliff was trying to be difficult on purpose and didn’t know what he was talking about. But Marley knew something. Something was off this year and he wasn’t going to let his best friend end up alone in a second different country than his homeland, all heartbroken and alone, with his entire career in shambles. No matter how attractive Hollander was, or how good the sex must be.
“Shane is Canadian so we need to stay in Canada. Because of Russia. If Russia finds out that I am bisexual, I would be criminal. I won’t be able to go home. We are careful, but we want to be together. This is how we can be together. If Shane comes to America, we have no protection. Both of us would be immigrants. It is too risky.” Ilya’s hands were getting animated again, his eyebrows were raised and his shoulders kept going up and down as he emphasized various words as he ranted.
“Ok. That makes sense I guess. But what about your legacy? How can you just walk away?” Marley asked softly.
Ilya flopped back onto the couch and stared at the ceiling again as he let out a large puff of air from his lungs. “There is no me without him. I do not care about legacy. I only care about Shane. I cannot be without him anymore.”
Marley’s breath caught in his chest. Like he had taken a hard hit against the boards. Time seemed to freeze and the entire world shifted on its axis. Ilya Rozanov, playboy, legend on and off the ice, sounded like he was in love. With Shane Mother-Fucking Hollander.
****
Cliff Marleau was rarely so rattled. His life wasn’t that exciting, so he didn’t have much practice. Sure he was a professional athlete and got to travel the world playing his favorite sport. But as far as deep secrets, intense feelings, and friendship drama went, it was free of all that. He played hockey, worked out, and partied. That was it. He liked it like that. Today had been more intrigue and discussing emotions than he could really handle. To top it off, the guy he thought he was closest to in his entire life just dropped a huge emotional bomb at his feet and shook everything up. He was not prepared for this conversation. He thought this would go so differently.
When Cliff had demanded they talk tonight, he thought he would confess he knew about Jane, that Ilya would joke that is not a big deal, they would laugh at everyone who never figured it out. Cliff would get Ilya to see that jumping teams was a pretty dumb thing to do for a secret hook-up, and that would be that. He did not expect to be told that Ilya Rozanov was quite possibly in love. With Shane Hollander, a dude, and fellow hockey player. This was so much bigger than Marley was prepared to handle.
“Roz,” Marley’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “You gotta tell me the whole story now. Because I think we are speaking two different languages here.”
He kept his voice low, like he was speaking to a scared animal that had been backed into a corner and may lash out. Which wasn’t that far from the truth. Marley had seen Rozanov go after guys on the ice and did not want to face off with him.
Ilya hadn’t moved from his draped position on the couch, eyes were still closed and his head back, but he did shift to drape his arm across his face now. Like keeping his eyes closed wasn’t enough. He couldn’t even look at Marley as he muttered in Russian. Marley had picked up enough over the years to recognize that at least a few of them were curses.
“We always speak two languages, Marley.” Ilya’s voice was low. “But I will tell you.”
****
Ilya never moved his arm. Never looked at Marley. He couldn’t. He had never laid out the entire timeline to anyone before, not even Svetlana. It felt raw. He wasn’t just sharing his most sacred secret, he was sharing Shane’s. His Shane. Ilya was confessing that Shane was his Shane. His head was spinning and this was too much but Marley was right, he deserved to know. He needed to tell someone. He needed Marley to keep this secret but not telling anyone was killing him.
“When he ask me to the cottage, I could not break his heart. So I said ‘maybe’ but I never planned to go. He just was so sweet in that hospital, so happy. His freckles and his face bruised but the biggest smile on his face. He so rarely smiles big, you know? He is very…” Ilya winced as he hunted for the right words. “Not shy, but not animated? Yes, animated. Unless he gets angry or is about hockey. There are things, interests, he gets so animated and passionate about and I get so excited to see that part of Shane that I could not kill it. So I said ‘maybe’ and then a nurse came in and asked if I planned to smother him with a pillow. I had to leave.”
Ilya finally sat up and reached for his vodka with a shaking hand. The memories were too much.
****
Marley for his part, had been silent the entire time Ilya spoke. For one thing, he couldn’t believe it when Ilya had started by saying they had flirted way back when they were only 17. The wind had been knocked straight out of Marley’s lungs by that but he focused on every word Ilya said, reconciling the timeline that Ilya and Shane experienced against his own time in the league. What he remembers of being at the same games, same award shows, same hotels. It was a lot to process but he could tell Ilya needed this. Needed to tell someone. If Cliff Marleau was that someone, then he was going to show up and be the best friend he could. The best person he could be, that’s what he was known for, being solid.
Ilya took several sips of his vodka before grabbing the bottle and refilling the tumbler again. He placed the bottle down with a sigh staring at the Cyrillic label and rubbing his thumb along the familiar words.
“I was all packed for Russia. I don’t know why. Father is dead. Alexei is asshole. I guess my niece. She is 10 now, so pretty. I bring her presents, I like being rich uncle who brings presents and takes her places. We skate, I teach her things. I will miss her. Alexei has always known my tastes, but he is Police. If I am out, if people find out, I will not be able to go back to Russia and Alexei could face trouble. For not reporting. It is complicated. Stupid.” He let go of the vodka bottle and waved his hand as he shook his head.
“It is Russia” he continued with a shrug, as if that explained everything. Marley supposed it did.
Ilya took a big gulp of his refreshed drink and let out a sound of satisfaction. “Then Scott Hunter kissed his stupid smoothie-maker on tv. I watched it here, with you, remember? Svetlana and Connors and some of the others?”
Marley nodded; he remembered everyone freaking out over the kiss. It was like watching a car wreck. He was shocked at what his eyes were telling him at first, then worried. The MHL wasn’t a safe space; homophobia was real in locker rooms and on the ice. Marley had never cared if someone was gay, but he can’t say with a hundred percent certainty he never maybe said a chirp regarding someone's sex life. He was ashamed of that. But emotions run high on the ice, it's easy to get swept up. If someone started the chirping with that line of talk, Marley could easily see himself continuing it, throwing it back in their faces. He also remembers Ilya jumping up from the couch with his phone immediately after the kiss. He figured it was just coaches or other team members; he never realized it was Shane Hollander.
“I called him. Seconds after I saw. I didn’t even think, I just was watching Scott Hunter—of all players, it had to be Scott fucking Hunter. All American, perfect golden, grandpa, Scott Hunter—have my dream. Kissing the man he loved with no shame, no fear. It wasn’t fair but also, maybe…” Ilya shrugged one shoulder and tilted his head considering his next words, “maybe if he could be that brave, maybe I could be just a tiny bit brave, too. Not to come out, not to go public, but enough that I could let myself have Shane for a week, maybe two…”
Ilya had trailed off starting into some middle space, not looking away from Marley, not hiding, just not fully seeing the room they were in either. They sat like that for a few minutes, Marley processing and shifting everything around in his head as he considered his best friend's face.
Ilya was always so hot and so cold. He gave passionate, high energy locker room speeches but also pulled rookies aside and gave calm advice. He would insult you and call you stupid or tell you to go fuck yourself while at the same time helping a rookie with their backhand. He would ask if you were blind if you missed an obvious pass then have you run the drill again and again, with never ending patience. It was why he was such a good Captain. They may have only won one Stanley cup under Rozanov, but they’ve gotten to the playoffs more times than not. When they didn’t it wasn’t from lack of leadership but rather injury lists or situations no one saw coming. But, for all that, Ilya in private was quiet.
Ilya Rozanov may sport the ugliest Bear tattoo Marley had ever seen on his chest, but Rozanov was pure Lion. He had a heart of gold, big and all encompassing. He was also quiet and had that European aloofness that Americans never could quite understand. A lion reserving his energy laying around in the sun until they were forced to hunt. Then they did it quickly and without fan fare. That was Ilya. Calculated and protective.
Rozanov seemed to come back to himself slowly, lifting his eyes to meet Marley’s for the first time in what seemed like hours. “That was where I was this summer. With Hollander, at his cottage outside Ottawa. I met his parents. We were alone, together; for the first time we could just—” He swallowed thickly, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.
“Be,” Marley finished for him. Ilya nodded and took several more gulps of his vodka.
“So now you know everything. We were going to wait until retirement to be together, but after a few days at cottage we realized we could not wait that long. It has been too long already. So much wasted time. Because we were stubborn or stupid. Both probably. No more waiting.” He shrugged and settled more relaxed against the couch, a weight having left him now that the truth was in the open.
“But we cannot come out. Scott Hunter is with smoothie-maker. Not another hockey player. Is different. Shane is not ready yet. We have Russia to think about. It is complicated. So, together, but still secret. Shane came up with a plan. Is a good plan. It will work maybe, if we do it right. If we are careful and keep our secret for a little longer.”
Ilya was making direct eye contact with Marley now, his eyebrows raised in a challenge. Cliff knew that now it was his turn to bear some truths. It was only fair.
“Your secrets are safe, Roz, they always were. I never would have said anything to anyone. I didn’t say shit to Pike when he mentioned Boston Lily; I’m not going to start telling people now. It’s no one's business. I’m your friend. I’m going to do everything I can to protect you.” Marley held Rozanov’s stare as he made what he realized was more oath than promise.
After all, they were brothers, weren’t they? Isn’t that what brothers did? He couldn’t bring himself to say that part; things were still too raw. It felt like both of them had sliced themselves open tonight and dug around inside their chests. The wounds hadn’t healed quite yet and there was still something that was bothering Marley. A big neon sign of warning.
“This plan, you go to Ottawa, you become, what, friends? In public? And then maybe someday you can do what? Come out officially? That’s the plan?” Marley thought he’d tracked it all but so much had happened since he walked through the door, he was starting to doubt that he’d kept everything straight.
Ilya nodded as he sipped at his glass, “Mmm yes. We start charity, hockey camp. Together we announce it, that we have been friends long time. Rivals was just —” he scrunched his nose, “publicity. Silly. Then with charity we can show that we are friends. If we are seen together in public will be no big deal anymore. Also charity will be real, so maybe we help some people. Teach kids hockey. Will be good, yes?”
Marley nodded “Yeah, I mean lots of guys have their own foundations or, like, charity initiatives. I could see that working with the press for sure.” Marley’s brain was spinning. It was a good plan. The world, or at least the hockey world was going to have a hard enough time with the rivals being friendly, easing them into that before coming out made sense. It still broke Marley’s heart that this is what it came to. He didn’t have another solution, not one that kept Roz in Boston.
Marley started nodding. “Ok. Ok. Yeah, I get it man. It does make sense. I just—shit, man. I never thought you would leave Boston. Not without a better offer. I get all the reasons why you’re doing it and hey, I’m supportive as fuck, ok? I’m not questioning to be a dick.” Marley nervously took a sip of his beer again before letting out a groan of frustration and running his hand across the top of his head with a shrug.
“I just can’t help but feel like you’re risking an awful lot for a relationship that even you admit you thought about ending just a few months ago. What happens if you do this great plan and then you guys break up? You’re still stuck in Ottawa and your career will have taken a hit. Plus then you’re tangled up with him in this charity. Isn’t this a big risk?”
Roz stared into that middle space again but this time he didn’t stay silent. “I told you, there is no me without him. I cannot think of it not working. I need him. I love him. I have for many years. He makes me better. At hockey, at life. There is no choice anymore. Shane Hollander is my future, not hockey.”
Out of everything that had been shared, that was the sentence that killed Marley. Shane Hollander is my future, not hockey. That really said everything. There was no talking Roz out of this plan now. Marley didn’t even want to. Because if anyone deserved to be happy it was Ilya Rozanov. The lionhearted Russian menace may be rich and talented but Marley knew he also had too many scars. No money in the world would ever heal them completely.
“Ok. So. Ottawa.” He said with a smirk.
Ilya smiled wide now and nodded. “Ottawa.”
“We better get to work then, because we need another Cup before you leave us, ok? You can’t let Hollander beat you in Cups no matter how in love you are with him.”
Ilya laughed now, “Yes! Another cup would be good. Good way to leave Boston. I win Cup this year and you can mess it all up next year, yes?” Ilya reached over and smacked Marley’s knee as he stood. “Is late. We have practice again tomorrow. I am still Captain. If we are going to win Cup we will have to hit ice hard tomorrow.”
Marley chuckled as he stood and set his beer bottle on the coffee table. “Yeah yeah. I hear you, Captain.” He pulled Roz in close, wrapping him up in his big arms and squeezing him tight. “I love you, brother. Nothing could ever change that, ok?” he said seriously into Ilya’s ear.
“Yes, ok. Now get out of my house.” He shoved Marley away but still reached over to grip his shoulder. “You ok to drive? You need uber?”
Marley laughed. “I had 2 beers over the course of a few hours, Roz, I think I can hold that much alcohol. But thank you, for always looking out. I mean it. Nothing changes for you and I, ok man?” He slipped on his shoes and grabbed his keys before giving Roz a fist bump.
“See you tomorrow, Rozanov. You better be ready to share all your Captain secrets with me this season. We have a trophy to win!”
“We will see. Good night, brother!” Ilya said solemnly as he grasped Marley by the back of the neck and pressed their foreheads together as they stood in the doorway.
Marley clapped his shoulder before pulling away to head to his car. Ilya shook his head at Marley and watched him get into his car to drive off before he turned back to the house and shut the door.
Marleau pulled out of Rozanov’s gate and turned onto the quiet road. The future wasn’t certain, there was a lot that could go wrong with Hollander and their plan. But he felt better now that Roz knew that he could count on Marley. He would spend this last season knowing the truth, soaking in as much time with his brother before he left. It wasn’t goodbye forever, they would play against each other all the time with Rozanov in Ottawa, but things would be changing. He was just glad he had time to prepare for it.
They were growing up, he realized with a start. Maybe it was time for him to start looking around for a more serious partner himself. He wondered if Roz would give him Svetlana’s number. She was hot, smart, and liked hockey. They were already friendly, seemed like a good start to maybe something? Then again, Roz could also punch him in the throat, so maybe not.
Someday, Marley would have his special someone, too, and until he did he was going to make sure he kept living life his way. Having fun, playing hockey, and being the best friend to Ilya Rozanov that he could.