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There’s little Shane wants to do less than think about their Olympic Silver. They’d played well enough—been excellent representatives of Canada as he keeps being told—but he’s still firmly in the anger stage of processing their loss. Thinking about it mostly makes him want to bang his head against the wall.
But here he is anyway: not even a week back from Italy and instead of licking his wounds in private, he’s stuck in a function room at Rideau Hall while a parade of geriatric strangers pat him on the back and try to commiserate with him.
“I swear to God, Ilya,” mutters Shane as his husband approaches with lemonade top-ups in hand. “If one more person who hasn’t held a hockey stick since they were 18 tries to tell me that they know how we feel…”
Ilya smiles but does not immediately propose an exit strategy as hoped, so Shane just accepts one of the glasses with a sigh. He takes a sip and grimaces. Too sweet.
A boy dashes by with a Tina toy in one hand and a dripping, chocolate-covered strawberry in the other. He must not know how coveted those plushies are to be letting it get so close to a chocolate fountain. Shane’s not immediately sure if it’s a teammate’s kid, who he probably should be able to recognise, or a child of some Liberal Party staffer, and the boy has already joined back up with the excited throng of kids before Shane can figure it out.
And look, he’s happy it’s a family affair. Knows it means a lot to his teammates that they could bring their kids, and usually he loves meeting young hockey fans. But, when he’s already irritated and his gracious competitor face is close to melting off, he doesn’t really want to talk to any more kids or spouses and worry about whether, if he fails to please them, they’ll get their politician connection to strip his newly-Canadian husband of his citizenship. It’s a lot to think about on top of having just lost the Olympics, really.
“Ilya Rozanov! It is so amazing to see you after all these years,” an energetic—American?—voice calls out from Shane’s left and he turns to see a beautiful, beaming woman approaching them, “must have been LA 2016? The last time we hung out?”
Great. He knows what it means when a woman has 'hung out' with Ilya.
So on top of government officials he doesn’t want to offend and kids he doesn’t want to disappoint, he now has to make small talk with a woman who has fucked his husband.
“Wow, Katy, long time,” replies Ilya, politely. Stilted, even. “I have seen you are in Canada a lot now but did not think to see you here.”
Shane assesses him. Perhaps the stiffness is down to it being an unexpected setting to meet a former conquest, Shane supposes. Still, Ilya’s not one to tamp down his charm, especially when this Katy seems to bear him no hard feelings, rather genuine excitement at platonically meeting again. And it’s not like Shane’s never met women that Ilya’s slept with before—one of them even stays at their house on the regular. So why is Ilya being so cagey? And— fuck, is he blushing?
The woman laughs, oblivious to any oddness in Ilya’s demeanour. “I know, they won’t leave us alone when I’m here! But Montreal is so great, I am loving it there.”
Yes, he’s definitely blushing. Shane can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Ilya blush in public, and now, apparently, one of those times is when seeing an ex. Is that what this is? Did they have an actual thing one summer? He’d always assumed Ilya would have told him about any other semi-serious hookups he’d had, but perhaps not. Shane purses his lips.
“You know, I had no idea who you were until, like, last fall.” She’s still talking. Shane’s trying to get to the bottom of this, and she’s still talking. “It was so funny, because Justin put on a game one night and then they zoomed in on you after a goal and I was like, oh my god I’ve met him! but back then I didn’t know you were, like, a big deal. Honestly, so great to run into you again.”
Seriously, who the fuck was this woman? Shane’s not sure how this defining aspect of Ilya hadn’t come up while they 'hung out'— Ilya had never needed to wield his hockey prowess to get laid, but he’s also never exactly been quiet about it either. They must have talked about other things. Or not talked much at all.
“And you!” Her smile is somehow even brighter aimed at him, and Shane wants to close the blinds. “Oh my god, Justin is such a big fan. Has he come over yet?”
“Umm, I’m not sure.”
“Yes, we did meet Justin, after the official pictures,” Ilya says quickly, and then directly to Shane, “It was good to be introduced to the former Prime Minister.”
Oh. That Justin.
“Great! He’s been psyched to meet you—I think it’s the main reason we came today. But also, you know, he was so bummed about you leaving Montreal. But when I learned about you guys it seemed great, I just think you two are the cutest.”
He’s not sure what twisted psychological game she’s trying to play, but he’s had enough. First, she sleeps with his husband—years ago but that’s beside the point—and seems to be more over it than Ilya. And now, she’s speaking about them in a way that makes Shane’s skin crawl. It must be on purpose to assert dominance and, though he wishes it weren't, it’s working. Also, she’s American and it’s just too soon after their loss for Shane to be having a long conversation with one of them.
“Thanks, I think Wyatt wants to talk to us.” He grabs Ilya’s hand and starts to pull him to the other side of the room. “Nice to meet you— Katy, was it? Bye.”
He deposits them behind Wyatt and Lisa, and gulps down some more of the gross lemonade. There is definitely a scowl on his face that he’ll need to iron out before they have to speak to anyone again.
“So, you were really not a fan of Woman’s World, or what?” asks Ilya, eyebrows raised.
“What?” Shane snaps.
“Is that why you were harsh? Or maybe even Swish Swish. Maybe you are long-time hater.”
“I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.” He does not have the energy to decode anymore riddles about Ilya and that woman.
“You do know Katy Perry, yes? I Kissed a Girl and I Liked It?”
“Yes, famously. I know you’re bisexual, Ilya.”
“No, no, the song. That was Katy Perry, 2010s pop superstar. Firework, Teenage Dream, California Gurls…”
Shane looks at him blankly.
“Hollander, songs are playing in hockey arenas all the time. Listen to one sometime.”
He bristles. It’s been a long fucking day and the last thing he needs is Ilya talking more about this Katy. Maybe she’s the one that got away for Ilya. He wouldn’t know because Ilya’s kept her close to his chest. “I’m sorry that I didn’t recognise your popstar ex.”
Ilya’s mouth curls into a delighted grin. “No, I did not ever sleep with Katy Perry, never even tried. We just were in same places a lot when I did summers in California, saw each other in clubs a few times, stuff like that.”
“Well. I just assumed you’d fucked. More often than not that’s how you know women.” There’s less bite in his voice now, relief soaking through him. He should probably go find her again, clear the air, maybe give her some Montreal recommendations if she’s spending a lot of time there. He really was quite short with her. “But you were being weird. Why were you so shy?”
“Because I was big fan! She is why I went to the Superbowl.”
“But she said you were, like, friends.” Shane’s having to recalibrate the whole interaction. He’s never even considered that starstruck was something Ilya could be.
“But I was fan first! Secret for you, I met Katy first at Meet and Greet in Prismatic World Tour. Svetlana got me tickets for my birthday and we went September 2014. Not Svetlana’s type of music, but she respects a good show. Then, next summer, I run into Katy with Diplo but I don’t think she remembers me. We hang out and keep in touch when I come through LA.”
“September 2014? Is that why you missed some of your training camp that season? Ilya, you were fined! That could’ve affected your visa,” he says, now stressed about a decision from over a decade ago and how it might affect Ilya's immigration status in a country he no longer lives in.
“It was worth it, excellent show. I would have paid millions in fines to hear Roar live,” says Ilya seriously, “it was me and that song that got Boston the Stanley Cup.”
It’s a lot for Shane to process. He nods slowly and almost takes another sip of the lemonade, realising the error when it’s at his lips and swapping his glass with Ilya’s empty one.
“Maybe we should catch some more of the team before we have to leave,” he says.
Nodding, Ilya turns to scan the room, but then must decide they’re not quite done, “You know she went to space last year?”
Shane scoffs, “I may not know much about pop culture but I’m not fucking falling for that, Ilya.”