Work Text:
Carlos
Hola Ilyaaaaa, I’ll be in Montreal next August!! I’m playing the Canadian Master 1000! We should meet up
Ilya
Hi Carlos, sure. You want to join me and Shane to the cottage?
Carlos
Yessss sure! It will be fun!!! You should come and see me play, I’ll get you two tickets!!
Don’t want to bother but can I come with a person??
Ilya
A person uh?
Yeah, me and Shane will be there, thank you for the tickets
Carlos
Uhm yes a friend… sort of. Don’t make fun of me!! I’ll explain to you. Can’t wait to see you!!!
***
Shane looks helplessly at the casserole on the counter of his kitchen, its content a strange shade of dark brown - far from the goldenish nuance that the mozzarella was supposed to have in the gnocchi alla sorrentina recipe he was following. What was he thinking when he thought it was a good idea to cook an italian recipe when he couldn’t even cook a standard meal?
He scowls at the mess one more time before trashing it, mumbling something that resembles much like a “I cannot believe I fucked this up”. He goes up and opens the windows of the cottage, the light summer breeze caressing his skin and the lake gently stretching its waves beneath his gaze. The sun is starting to lazily fall beneath the horizon, painting the few clouds with a canvas of golden that somehow reminds Shane of Ilya's curls.
He does not want that dinner to be a disaster. He is about to meet one of Ilya's relatives (half-relative) for the first time and he could not be more stressed. He wants everything to go perfectly and he can feel the burden of failure already weighing on his shoulder, more a certainty than a possibility. Truth to be told, he already met Carlos before, but it was a very weird occasion and they did not have a chance to properly introduce themselves, let alone talk.
***
Ilya’s brother had married Carlos’ sister five months earlier, in a small ceremony in Murcia - the Spanish region from which Carlos and all his family came from.
Ilya and his brother had not spoken for years following the death of their father. So, when Alexei reached out to tell Ilya that he was going to remarry, both Ilya and Shane were stunned. The first call had been tense, fast Russian words flowing out like bullet from Ilya's mouth, voice so pitched that Shane thought he was having a stroke. He still wasn’t fluent in Russian but Shane was sure that the sounds Ilya was making were not actual Russian words, looking more like howls of a wounded animal. Those sounds told stories of anger and embitterment, of pain and anguish hidden for years. Feelings that Ilya fought hard to heal and accept piece by piece. It did not feel fair that his brother had called out of the blue after all those years, years in which Ilya and Shane had tried to build an happiness of their own.
But Alexei was still family and Ilya was on a healing journey so, when he called again, Shane saw cracks in the armor his husband had spent years building. He saw the pain resurfacing in waves so high that felt like a tsunami at times, but he also saw a flicker of hope in Ilya's eyes. Hope that for the first time in his life, he could actually connect with his brother.
Alexei told Ilya that he was trying to be better. He told him he had met a Spanish woman he had fell in love with and he wanted his brother to be at the ceremony they were having in Spain. A fresh start for everyone. He explicitly extended the invitation to Shane and, although they had been married for three years by the time Alexei called for the first time, Shane saw how much that plus one meant for Ilya. He had accepted the invitation eventually and they had flown all the way to Spain for a well-deserved vacation after the regular season ended. That year the Ottawa Centaurs hadn’t made the playoffs and, although Shane had been really pissed (the two defeats against the Metros still stung - after all these years, Shane still couldn’t forgive his first team for how they treated him when his and Ilya's relationship had been outed), he could tell that his body was relieved. After winning their first and only Stanley cup together, Ilya had decided to retire last season and was now a full-time wag and a part-time ambassador of their foundation. The thought had caressed Shane's mind for a bit but he simply was not ready. He felt like he still had some good - hell no, great hockey in him. But not having to play the high-intensity game the playoff required was a relief . Not that he would ever admit it out loud to anyone anyway.
The ceremony was held in May, in a minuscule ranch perched on the top a hill in the Murcian countryside, with an outlandish view across the surrounding mountains. Shane and Ilya were flabbergasted by the view: the hundreds of different shades of green around them, the blossoming of oleanders and lemons that looked like precious stones glinting under the gentle spring breeze. It felt like the mansion had been drawn straight out of a Disney movie.
It was a small celebration, with around 50 people. Ilya was one of the very few people from Alexei's side, all the other guests a mixed of Mediterranean accents that Shane could not properly put on a map. The wedding was held on the side of a ranch facing the mountains, in a small gazebo under an elm tree, whose branches created a play of light reflected on the faces of the bride and groom, infinitely expanding the happiness and tenderness of that moment. The guests, seated on white chairs on either side of the gazebo, waved small fans against the unusual heat of that May day. It was nothing like the Canadian temperatures Shane and Ilya were used to. All in all, the ceremony somehow reminded Shane of his own wedding. It was private, with only the people that truly mattered and pretty much informal. At the end, Alexei and Ilya had something in common.
After the exchange of rings, the party started. A lot of people came to greet Ilya, thrilled to finally meet Alexei's brother, the famous hockey star. There were handshakes (few) and hugs (many), in perfect harmony with the cliché of Spanish culture.
Shane, who would have preferred being caught having sex with Ilya by his parents (perhaps because it had already happened more than once) rather than having all that physical contact, had taken refuge in a corner of the lawn away from everyone else, a beer in his hand, his gaze fixed on Ilya.
Ilya who was busy talking to his new family, smiling so broadly that his jaw almost hurt.
Ilya that was charming all the guests, telling stories of his life in Canada, glancing over to Shane every right and then.
Shane rarely saw his husband so loose and lighthearted. He was sparkling from joy and Shane was glad that all these new people could see that side of Ilya, after everything he had been through and was still experiencing. There were still tough days, days in which Ilya wouldn’t talk to him and couldn’t even get up from the bed, his eyes drifting away from reality, a hole inaccessible to anyone, Shane included. There were days when Ilya's eyes simply were lost, days in which he was more irritable than others, where he had to withdraw from social activities. His depression had a million different shades and Shane had started to recognize every single one of them. He had learnt everything about High-functioning depression, after Ilya was diagnosed: he had read every article, book, documentary on the subject. He had changed his approach, trying to avoid any behaviour that could trigger Ilya. He had started giving Ilya practical support and assistance with daily tasks on bad days, abandoning the need to fix everything right away and accepting that the only thing he could do was being there, making clear that it was okay to not feel well, that Ilya didn’t have to hide. Ilya still didn’t talk about it. But he now let Shane see that side of himself, he allowed him to see the cosmic void that occasionally assailed him. It was something. It was everything.
At one point, while he and Ilya were staring at the mountains slowly turning pink, lazily kissing as they laid in the middle of the meadow, they had been interrupted by a young boy Shane had previously tagged as one of the bride's brother, judging not only by the resemblance but also by the tireless and chaotic energy both of them radiated. Shane had seen them dancing together, muscular arms and hips moving to the rhythm of Latin music that Shane couldn't recognize, loud laughs filling the moments between songs.
He laid down near them, his shirt all wrinkled and hanging out of his pants, the composure of the beginning of the day completely abandoned.
“We were in the middle of something”, Ilya said.
“Uh? Oh, hi guys. Are you having a good time?” the boy asked, with a very strong Spanish accent, acknowledging their presence with a frown, his hand running over the stubble on his chin. He was very young, Shane thought. He was probably no older than 20 years old. And yet he had a lot more beard than him. Shane was jealous. At 35, he still hadn't managed to grow a beard that could be called as such. God really did have favorites.
“We were, until you interrupted us” Ilya answered coldly, annoyed by the intrusion, as he continued to draw small circles on the inside of Shane's wrist.
“Eh? Sorry to interrupt, I just need five minutes. I think I’m going to throw up. Tomorrow is going to be a shitshow” answered the boy, more to himself than to them or anyone around him.
“Ilya, he is drunk” Shane whispered to Ilya, trying not to be heard by the young boy.
“No shit Hollander, I can see that” his husband said.
“Then stop being a dickhead”
“I thought you loved the head of my dick” Ilya affirmed with his signature crooked smile Shane could go to war for. He rolled his eyes, but was unable to hide the smile that was forming on his lips.
“Noooo guys no worriesssss, I just need to lay down a little more and…. Joder no me salen las palabras.. sorry I’m a little bit tired. Please continue, I will not disturb you, I swear”.
“Ok champ, it’s time to go to bed” Ilya said, breaking free from Shane's embrace and slowly getting up to help the boy.
“I’m not drunk! I’m just really tired and tomorrow I have to go to Rome to play and I’m… I’m…” muttered the boy as he laid down, his hands all over his face, covering what Shane thought was a sigh but was actually more of a strangled grunt. “I’m Carlos by the way, nice to meet you. I don’t think we introduced ourselves earlier”.
“Hi Carlos, I’m Ilya and this is my husband Shane” Ilya replied, getting closer to the boy to help him stand.
“OH! YOU'RE ILYA ROZANOV??????” Carlos shouted, his entire upper body abruptly pulling up to glaze at Ilya.
Ilya lifted an eyebrow “yes”
“O DIOS MIO, IT'S AN HONOR TO FINALLY GET TO MEET YOU. I’m one of the bride's brothers, I ehm… I read all about you. I’m so glad we can finally meet. I've never watched hockey… you know not very a Spanish sport. Too hot, as you can see. But your story… ehm yours and your husband story… very nice… inspiring YES YES” Carlos said like an overflowing river, words tumbling over each other, his accent becoming increasingly pronounced until his words were almost indistinguishable.
Shane saw that little hamster wheel turning in Ilya's head, looking enigmatically at Carlos, eventually clicking something into place in his mind. He managed to say “Oh thank you. Yes, me and my husband are very handsome and both pretty great. You're the tennis player, right? Alexei told me you're very talented. I watched a few matches, and you actually seem pretty good.”
“I'm… yes yes I play tennis. You should come and see me play. Tomorrow I… I leave for Rome if you don’t have to ehm.. if you don’t have to go back home? You could join me!”
“Yeah, why not? Now let’s go to bed. Otherwise, you will not be playing tomorrow”.
Ilya helped him get back on his feet, wrapped an arm around Carlos back, supporting him only to allow him to stabilize himself. He then freed Carlos, sticking at his side while the young boy looked around to see if any of his relatives were around before mumbling “I ehm probably am a little drunk”.
Shane had seen Ilya's smirk backlit “No worries, we've all been there. You are more graceful than I was at your age. Besides, Russian Vodka is very good. It only hits you after a while” Ilya comforted him, then turned to Shane “I’ll walk him to his room and come back. Wait for me, my amazing husband” Ilya blew a kiss to him.
“Bye Shane!!!!!! Come see me in Rome, I’ll get you tickets if you want!” shouted - like, literally shouted - Carlos.
When Ilya came back, his eyes sparkled with mischief, a crooked smile stable on his face. Shane could tell from a million miles away that something had happened during the walk to Carlos’ room. Similar to what happened when they adopted Anya, Ilya had got irremediably attached to the young Spaniard.
Eventually, they flew to Rome to watch Carlos playing.
And saying he was good was an understatement: watching him play had been electrifying.
***
Shane taps his fingers on the counter, trying to find a solution. Burgers! He has them in the freezer… he could defrost them in the microwave he has recently installed and barbecue them since he already learnt the recipe. He just needs a minute… and shit that was the bell ringing. Carlos is already there. Where the fuck is Ilya?
“Ilya, he’s here!”
“I’m coming ljubimyj. Remember, wonderful things take time and that is why my shower usually lasts long!”
Shane curses his husband for the umpteenth time that evening and goes to open the door. He is surprised to see two pair of eyes staring back at him. Is he going mad and having visions?
He is pretty sure Ilya told him Carlos was joining them. Who the fuck is the other guy? He surely is not one of Carlos' relatives, since the two couldn't be more different. While Carlos is short, all muscular athleticism and sun-kissed skin, the other boy looks around Carlos' age, but he is taller and thinner. His porcelain skin is peppered with freckles that vaguely match Shane's ones, giving him an almost-ethereal presence. Is Shane seeing ghosts?
The only element from which he can tell the person is real is the crown of red hair that stand out like a bloodstain on ice. The sun, that has sunk further below the horizon and has turned the sky into a palette of soft oranges and reds, make those curls almost a vivid presence, a fire lit in the middle of the Canadian countryside. He has something vaguely familiar, Shane is sure he already saw him somewhere, but he can’t remember where so he keeps staring, until it occurs to him that he has not said a word to the two guests and is acting very weird. Where the fuck is Ilya? He clears his throat and finally welcomes his guests.
“Uhm hi Carlos, nice to have you. Please come in. Ilya will be here in a minute” he stops briefly then continues “Hi, I'm Shane, I don’t think we had the chance to meet before” says Shane reaching out to the other guest (hopefully not a ghost!)
“Hi Shane!” Carlos encapsulates him with a tight hug, completely ignoring the hand Shane is offering him. Shane freezes, his muscles tensed in the face of the young Spaniard's exuberance. He forces himself to pat Carlos back, overwhelmed by the unrequested physical touch. He feels Carlos slipping away from the embrace, oblivious to Shane's stiffness.
“Joder, this house is huge! Sorry I mean. this is ehm, he is uhm….” Carlos bubbles with his marked accent that reminds Shane of Ilya during their first years together.
The other boy takes a step forward and extends his hand to Shane, introducing himself “I'm Jannik, nice to meet you. Thank you for having us” with a slight accent that Shane can not quite position in his mind, especially because the boy's name sounds even more familiar than his appearance. Something clicks in Shane's memory. He has already seen the guy and he is there with Carlos. Of course! That was where he has seen Jannik. He is Jannik Sinner - the famous tennis player. Shane hasn’t recognised him without the unmissable hat.
Shane has been to a few tennis matches before meeting Carlos thanks to his partnership with Rolex. But since he has met Carlos for the first time, he has started following it a little bit more closely, aided by Ilya going into full fangirling mode after meeting his recently acquired relative. But what is Jannik doing here?
“Oh my god Jannik have you seen the lake?????” whispers Carlos to the other one, interrupting Shane's train of thoughts. Although whispering is not quite the correct verb. Shane does not think that Carlos can do anything quietly. Probably he has said that quote with a normal tone but compared to his usual one, that feels like a murmur.
Jannik peeks at the other one, trying to look annoyed but very much incapable of hiding a sincere smile surfacing on his lips “Yes Carlos, I have eyes and God offered me with the gift of sight”.
Carlos snorts, giving him a gentle nudge and looking at him like a prize ready to be lifted after a long battle.
Uhm. Interesting.
Jannik turns to Shane, his cheeks slightly red “This place is gorgeous. Oh and we brought wine, I hope you like red wine. It’s a typical Italian wine, we found it in an Italian store in Montreal” blushes Jannik, almost embarrassed by all the words coming out from his mouth. He handles Shane a bag.
“Uhm thank you. You didn’t have to. I’m sure Ilya will like it”. Then he falls silent. The two boys are 15 years younger than him, Jesus Christ and yet Shane doesn’t know how to talk to them. Especially because he was expecting only one of them!
“How was the trip? I know it's quite a long ride from Montreal… you were both playing there, right?” Shane tries to keep the conversation going.
Carlos is vibrating at Jannik's side, his glaze completely absorbed by the sunset on the lake. He starts rattling on, completely filling the silence “Yes we both played in Montreal! We played together in the final, but Jannik was sick and had to retire. The trip was amazing! Jannik and I listened to a lot of music. We created a playlist before the ride, one song each, you know, we don’t have the same taste in music. I tried to pick some songs that could match the vibe of Canada's lakes but I don’t think Bad Bunny or Travis Scott really matches it. At least we tried. Oh, did I mention that it was our first time in this part of Canada? After staying in Montreal for two weeks, seeing all this nature is amazing. There are a lot of lakes in this region and it’s very peaceful, although I kind of miss Ibiza. I usually go there after a tough tournament to rest a bit. Have you ever been to Ibiza Shane?”
Shane waits to see if Carlos was done, then quickly answers “Yes, me and Ilya went there for our honeymoon” then completely goes blank. He is trying really hard to think of something else to ask when he finally hears Ilya footsteps behind him, before even hearing his voice. Thank God.
“Hi guys, welcome to the cottage. Sorry for the delay but, as a wise woman once said, a queen is never late - everyone else is simply early”
“Who the fuck says something like that?” Shane snaps back.
“Oh my God you've never seen The princess diaries???” Carlos asks.
“Why would I see the diary of a princess?” Shane bluntly answers. “A diary is supposed to be read, not seen”.
“My husband's level of pop culture is practically the one of Scott Hunter - a dinosaur” and proceeds to wrap Shane with his arms, pulling him closer and giving him a loud kiss on the cheek “so I’m volunteering to educate him and make him younger - or at least his age”
Carlos laughs so hard that Shane almost doesn’t hear Jannik softly whispering “I haven’t seen that movie either” before turning very red. After noticing Ilya's eyes on him, he goes on “I mean I know it’s a movie and Anne Hathaway is in it but I haven’t seen it”.
“Well, looks like we have a plan for later. I’m Ilya by the way, nice to meet you. You must be Jannik, yes? Carlos told me a lot about you. Great win at Wimbledon. Although I was obviously not rooting for you”
Shane notices Carlos’ eyes slightly drifting away, looking again at the sunset. He looks upset somehow, like reminding Wimbledon is something that embarrasses him.
“Yeah, well, Carlos won Roland Garros, so now we’re even” says Jannik dryly, his green eyes shifting to Carlos to look out for signs that everything is okay between them, even though he was the one who lost that match and came out of it devastated, Shane remembers.
“That match was incredible” Shane says matter of factly, as if he were analysing a hockey stat “I don’t really know much about tennis, but I can tell you, that match will be generational. It was brutal. I don’t even know how you two managed to pull that off. I read that it was the longest Roland-Garros final ever.” Shane was amazed by the loneliness of that play, the constant feeling of total insecurity, where every point contained a microcosm, a life of its own.
You could be on the brink of defeat and then win the match, in such an intense physical battle that Shane has completely reevaluated his concept of athleticism. If he were Jannik, he would have probably retired from the sport right away, stinging disappointment all over his mind. And yet Jannik is there, with the man that has beaten him in such an awfully astonishing battle. Shane asks to himself how could he do it. How could he be there with Carlos and not constantly think about failure. He could not quite understand the feeling.
He and Ilya watched the game together, Ilya incapable of staying still, constantly standing in front of the TV, screaming obscenities in Russian, especially when Carlos saved the three match points on the fourth set, his teeth torturing his lips and his breath short, almost in apnea. When Carlos won that game, Ilya shouted so hard that scared the shit out of Shane, who almost spilled the ginger ale he was drinking all over himself. It was an amazing match.
Sometimes Shane had caught Ilya watching the highlights of that match while cooking, the replay of the tie break on the fifth an endless loop on his phone.
“It was. It was actually the second longest final on grand slams ever, after the one at Australian Open in 2012 between Djokovic and Nadal. That match lasted almost 6 hours” Jannik replies.
“Oh shit, really? I can’t imagine standing on court for that much time, all eyes exclusively on you. I mean, in hockey you're covered from head to toe, so nobody can really see you. In tennis… you're practically naked, your emotions on display every time. It seems rough”.
“Ok, enough of sports conversation please. You're talking to a happy retired player here” Ilya exclaims. “My husband is kind of a nerd sporty guy, so he can keep rolling about sports for an enormous amount of time. Please don’t give him a free hand”.
“I’m not… stop making fun of me!”
“Does anyone want something to drink?” Ilya interrupts him then stops? “Wait… are you legally allowed to drink, right?”
Carlos scoffs. “I'm 22, of course I can drink!! Jannik is older but he doesn’t love to drink. I’ll have a beer if you have it. A little treat before heading to New York for the next tournament!”.
Jannik adds “I’ll have a beer too. Otherwise, water is fine”.
“Of course we have beers! Retired player, remember?”
Carlos snorts.
“Guys, I’m sorry but I made quite a mess with the food. I burnt the pasta I made so I’m going to defrost burgers, if that’s okay for you. It will take some time though, so if you want to hang around, Ilya can give you a tour of the cottage in the meantime”.
“Burgers are fine, thank you Shane” Jannik politely answers.
“My husband will tour you after helping me out with some stuff in the kitchen. Please take a seat outside, he will be there in a minute”
“Yes Mr Captain” Ilya mocked him. Shane didn’t even try to react and started dragging Ilya into the kitchen. “Ilya what is Jannik doing here?” Shane panicks, finally alone with his husband “Did you know?”
“Yes, I knew it, I wanted to see that exact look on your face. You’re very pretty when you’re upset”
“I’m going to ask for a divorce, I swear to God”
“Then who would suck your dick?”
“I bet I can still hit on someone, Ilya. Because I’m going to kill you right now”.
“Can’t divorce a dead man, my lovely chicken breast!”
“UGHHHHH, I bet Troy would help me hiding your corpse”
“He loves me, so I don’t think so”
“He prefers me, you know it. You are still mad because he chose me as his best man for his wedding”
“Not true” Ilya complains, not convincing at all. “He chose you because I would have been too pretty compared to him and Harris would have doubted his choice, as it would be clear he was picking the third best looking man in the centaurs”
“First, you're so jealous! Second, why would Harris not think the same thing about me? But still, not the point. Why didn’t you tell me we were having guests, in PLURAL FORM” Shane inquires, nervously touching his arm to lower his stress' level, the texture of his skin under his touch a way to calm his nerve. Ilya starts getting closer in an attempt to stabilize Shane's breath. Shane, as an automatic response, slightly tilts his head forwards until it meets Ilya's shoulder.
“Because you would have asked questions and started being paranoid. I didn’t know who the person was, although I had kind of figured it out since I’m very perceptive, as you know.” Ilya murmurs between Shane's hair, his breath moving it imperceptibly.
“What do you mean?” Shane mumbles while lifting his head to scrutinise the other man, missing pieces of a puzzle that he seems unable to solve on his own in his mind.
“The two of them are banging” Ilya simply says, like those words have the same meaning of “ the sun is shining”.
“WHAT??????” Shane’s jaw almost drops to the floor. “Are you sure?” He whispers again, as if to rebalance the shout that has just escaped his mouth.
“No Hollander, I didn’t ask them if they like to suck each other's dick. But have you seen how they look at each other??” Ilya wave his arms, giving Shane an annoyed look.
“Yeah, but they're rivals” Shane rebuts, his brain unable to consider that possibility.
“Ah yes, if only two rivals could fall in love with each other… “ Ilya mocks him, then takes his hand and starts planting small kisses on Shane's fingertips.
“I know, but we were on different teams and it’s a different sport. They’re basically killing each other on court every tournament. It’s not the same and you know it.”
“You care too much about sports Shane. Maybe they're just banging, maybe they're in love, maybe not. They are young, not everything needs to be figured out now. We don’t know how they feel about each other and we're not even sure that I’m right - although I always am”.
“Except when you are not. Like when you say that you like my healthy salads or when you tell my dad that you don’t cheat while playing cards - I see you hiding jokers all the time!” Shane says eventually, finally dropping the conversation. He is still not convinced though. He turns his back to Ilya and opens the freezer, determined to find the meat. He has to begin cooking for that damn dinner, which has become even more complicated due to the recent discovery. He can’t stop thinking. Is Ilya right? Are those two young men actually sleeping together?
Shane peeks at the profiles of the two on the deck. They are sitting side by side, facing the lake. They are chatting, distant echoes of their voices reaching the kitchen, too faint to understand what they are saying. There are no evident clues: no intertwined hands or heads resting on shoulders, but Shane can feel a frantic energy between their bodies, a sort of gravitational pull tying them together. Then, all of sudden, Jannik turns to look at Carlos and even from that distance, Shane can sense the fondness of that gaze, a faint smile blossoming on his lips and knows right away that Ilya is right. Shane recognises that feeling: it mirrors the same glaze he reserves to Ilya in a crowded room.
***
Shane is barbecuing, focused as if he was fighting on the ice to steal the puck from an opponent, while the guests and his husband are lazily chatting on the patio sofa near him, fire crackling. After the initial embarrassment, the evening is going quite well.
Ilya and Jannik are talking about some sport cars they like, exchanging pictures of the ones they owned, while Carlos is on the floor cuddling Anya, that has just woken up from her nap and is now basking in snuggles.
It turns out Jannik is as a cars nerd as Ilya: he loves cars and engines. He is glad to share some pictures of him in the F1 paddock and of his “baby” - as he calls his Ferrari 812 competizione.
“I just love the thrill of racing! I love watching F1, karting with my friends, or just racing in a simulator, anything that involves high speed cars. Have you ever tried it, Ilya?” the red-haired boy is now asking.
“A simulator? Oh no, never. I sold most of my cars collection a few years ago, when I moved to Ottawa and since then I kind of lost the habit of going fast, even if I really enjoyed the feeling. I kind of miss it sometimes” Ilya answers, his hands fiddling with the beer label. Shane knows how much Ilya truly misses driving different fast cars but decides it is not the right time to bring that conversation up.
“If you want, you can come with me to Formula 1 races sometimes. I don’t have many friends who share this passion, so it would be nice to have someone who at least understand the rules” Jannik boldly asks, his confidence fading shortly after, when he realises that he is actually inviting a total stranger to watch a race together. He flushes and Carlos immediately rises his head up, as if he can sense the other boy's embarrassment.
But Ilya's gaze softens and his eyes are almost teary. Jannik can not know how much that invitation means to the former NHL star. He clears his throat before answering “Yeah why not? I tried to go with Shane once, but he was so disturbed by the engine’s sounds that he left 30 minutes after the start”.
“I left because it was boring” Shane intervenes “and also, I don’t understand why you find amusing a sport where your ears are constantly under attack. What do you have against a peaceful activity that doesn’t involve becoming deaf?”
“I agree with Shane on this” Carlos participates “You can’t basically talk with anyone because the noises are too loud and the headphones are also huge!”
“Ah yes, Formula 1 is boring while reading the New Yorker, Hollander, that is very fun activity” Ilya mocks him “Besides, not talking to other people is the interesting part. Why talk when you see such beautiful cars competing?”
“Carlos always needs to talk” Jannik grins. Shane doesn’t miss the tender glimpse he gives to the Spaniard. Oh God, their dynamics is killing him.
“I don't always need to talk, I can be quiet.” Carlos replies, his hands fiddling with one of Anya's toy.
“That's bullshit” Jannik and Ilya exclaim together, then look at each other and start laughing at the same time. Jannik’s laughter is composed like him - almost a hiccup. It makes his face change its features, softening the severe look he usually wears and revealing his true age. Shane sees Carlos blushing “Sorry Jannik, no need for that Zendaya laugh. It was not that funny”.
“It's not a Zendaya laugh, we both know you can’t shut up for more than 5 seconds. Maybe five is an exaggeration, 2 seconds may be your limit”.
But Shane doesn’t hear what the Spaniard is saying, completely disconnected from the conversation. What the fuck is a Zendaya Laugh? Is it something bad? Like a disease? Maybe it is an illness that caused your laugh to resemble a hyena? Maybe a Zendaya is a specific species of hyena. That makes sense. He needs to check on the internet. But his phone is nowhere to be found, the burgers are on the grill and he needs an answer immediately, so he decides that it is more important to know than to be mocked. He simply asks “Sorry… what is a Zendaya Laugh?”
And that causes not only Jannik but also Carlos to burst in even more laughing. Unlike Jannik's one, Carlos’ laugh is loud and uncontrollable, the perfect reflect of his joyful demeanour.
Shane looks over to Ilya, searching for an ally but his husband is as amused as the young boys. He simply shrugs his shoulders and says “Told you, a 92-year-old woman has more pop references than my husband”
“Oh, because you know what a Zendaya Laugh is, Ilya?”
“Of course, Hollander, everyone with a phone knows it!”
“I have a phone and I don’t know it, so not everyone” Shane retorts.
Jannik comes to the rescue, finally explaining the meaning behind that expression “It’s a term that indicates when someone laughs excessively at a partner, even if they are not doing or saying anything funny”
Shane is relieved but he doesn’t miss the implication of that quote. There it is, the simple admission of them being something more than just two young talented tennis players who get along. Ilya was right, they are something more. And again, Shane can not help but have a ton of questions on how that is possible.
The same realization probably gets into Jannik's head, because his cheeks blush and his teeth start torturing his lower lip. Shane notices Ilya looking at him, silent conversation going on between him and his husband. Ilya’s message is clear: let this go. Shane knows how important this is for the man he has taken forever so he decides to indulge and - instead of pepper them with questions - he simply says “Oh, Ilya always laughs like that when I say serious stuff. I will use that expression from now on”, then continues grilling, as if nothing happened.
He can totally sense everyone's relief.
They stay quiet for a little while - well, Carlos (Jannik was right, two seconds were his span of tolerance when it came to silence) begins to hum a song that Shane assumes is a Spanish one. Not that he wants to ask anything after the recent incident. He doesn’t want to give them any more reasons to mock him. But still. Shane also assumes this is his way of staying silent.
Shane can perceive the urge of the young Spaniard to move, his legs bumping against the deck, his fingers tapping Anya's tummy.
Ilya finally asks “And what about hockey? Have you ever played it?”
“In Spain it’s too hot to play, especially where I come from. So, it was never a sport I considered… I never went skating when I was little, not even in Winters. Not so many skating….ehm, how do you say… the…”
“Skating rinks”
“Yes, exactly, no skating rinks either”.
“Since I grew up in the Dolomites, in the north of Italy, I know how to skate pretty well. But I’ve never played hockey” Jannik says instead.
“Jannik was an up-and-coming ski star before he turned to tennis!” Carlos exclaims, starting to get up, with Anya immediately on the lookout for some games.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah… I mean, I was an okay skier, I just happened to like tennis more, eventually.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself Jannik, you were one of the most talented young skiers, you showed me pictures” Carlos grins, now bouncing a little toy in front of Anya's face. He tosses the ball into the grass and starts running together with the dog.
It is incredible how Jannik's cheeks turn to red so easily. He admits “Ok, I was a good skier. But when I was around 13, I dropped ski to focus on my tennis career”.
“Did you ever regret choosing tennis over skiing?” Shane asks, genuinely curious, while Ilya runs to reach Carlos.
“No. I mean, it turned out well, so it's easier to say it now, even if I’m at the beginning of my career. But I don’t know, I just didn’t like the idea of never seeing your opponent, of not knowing if I was winning, going faster or slower than the others. I know tennis is a lonely sport, maybe the loneliest. But at least you can see your opponent, you have the perception of what he's doing”.
“And don’t you miss skiing?” Shane asks. At 35, he is terrified of the idea of letting go of hockey. Who is him without it? How could a 13-year-old boy know that he could be something else apart from his sport? How can Jannik be so confident of his decision? Maybe he is the most mature of them all.
“Yeah, sometimes. I mean I still ski, I have a special relationship with it and when I'm home in the Winter, I really love going to the slopes. I just need to be very, very cautious as it's very dangerous and injuries can happen very quickly. But if the question is if I regret choosing tennis, then no. Never”. His eyes drift to Carlos and Ilya, that are now wrestling on the grass with Anya to steal her the little ball, the sound of their laughter filling the quiet atmosphere around them.
“You're very mature for your age, I have to say” Shane honestly admits “I was not so confident about my choices when I was that young”. He looks over to Ilya, thinking about their time together when they were Jannik’s and Carlos’ age. He remembers the sense of guilt and regret in his throat every time he hooked up with Ilya, their first time together in the condo he bought, all the mixed up and bottled feelings he tried to repress. This boy, on the other side, is so calm and seems so sure of himself and his decisions.
Jannik laughs but, unlike the first one, this time it doesn’t reach his eyes, cloudy emerald glimpsing at Shane “I don’t think I’m mature, I just think that tennis helps you to grow up fast” he simply says “I mean, it's not just the constant flying around, the endless tournaments, the time spent apart from your family. As I said, tennis is the loneliest sport. You're constantly faced with your worst fear: yourself. You are alone on court and you need to act fast, to constantly hit great forehands, backhands, shots every damn second. And unlike other sports – like hockey, I guess - you can only count on yourself and you have to do it for a long period of time”. He stops for a brief second and Shane can tell there is something more.
“There are days when you feel like shit and you don’t know for how long you will be on court, so you have to rely on your mental toughness. You're alone on the verge of failure, because every point can be the turning one. So you keep hitting and sometimes the ball does not pass the net and you get angry to yourself but again, what can you do? It's time for another serve, another pass, another winner. So you just keep going, even if you feel guilty about your last mistake. You cannot start thinking about all the things you've done wrong, they are already in the past and you have to keep moving forward. You need to believe in yourself when no one else does. It’s not always easy.” He blushes again. “Sorry, I tend to get very poetical about tennis. It's just… been a rough year for me, with the ban first and the Roland Garros final, and being here after losing again even if I was sick I’m just… sorry, I don’t know why I’m saying all these things to you, I’m not usually very chatty”
Something in Shane melts.
He can’t help but project a little bit of himself on that boy. He recognises the same urge to wear a perfect mask in front of anyone, the need to be always diplomatic, always posed, fully aware of his surroundings. He senses the need to never let that mask slip away, too afraid of letting other people see his true self. He knows that laughter, the blushing, the embarrassment of being the centre of attention, the need to never stumble on his own insecurities, to never have doubts. It has always been hard for Shane to understand people: Ilya is the empathetic one, who notices small details in people and validates their emotions. Ilya has a stunning emotional intelligence, he is the insightful one. But somehow, Shane is sure he can understand Jannik's drive to achieve perfection, the hyper focus on certain aspects of his life that clouds the rest of the world, much better than his husband. He senses their likeliness on some level. He misjudged him at the very beginning of that evening. Jannik has been disrupted by Roland Garros.
So it's easy for Shane to say “I really get what you're saying. I’m… not good with these things but I’m happy you told me. I guess it's not easy”.
“Not at all” and again, his gaze drifts to his boyfriend (nope, Shane still is not sure) Carlos, as if the younger boy laying on the grass is the answer to some silent prayer in a language Shane can not understand.
“They don’t understand how difficult it can be” Shane murmurs “I mean, I know Ilya loved hockey, but he never had the need I have to achieve perfection. He's always been a natural leader, his personality popping out and tying everyone together. Everyone who was not on his team disliked him because he was very good at getting under your skin but somehow everyone respected him. He never had to do anything to reach his status. He has this cocky personality that matched the image of a star and that was it. Everyone in the locker room followed him and his buzzing ego. Me… on the other hand, I was the calm one. I probably was better at hockey, but being a leader was not something that came natural to me. I had to work very hard to never be attacked. To always be perfect. I lost parts of myself to give this perfect image of Shane Hollander The Hockey Legend. Everything I did that cost me blood and sweats, Ilya did it with half the effort. And I love him, I'd choose him over everything and everyone, hockey included. Hell, I already did. But while I was growing up, this difference almost killed me”.
Jannik nods. “Carlos is the opposite. I mean, he is not cocky at all. He has this way about him that makes people feel drawn to him without even realising it. Every person entering his orbit does not know what’s going to hit him. Carlos is like a puppy and everyone instantly wants to cuddle him. He makes everything feel simple and natural. I mean you hear him talking once and you're done, forever tied to him. Me, on the other side, I’m like you. I’m not a natural. Social occasions freak me out and I never give the perfect first impression. Everyone thinks I’m boring because I mostly mind my own business. At the beginning of my claim for the number one spot in the ATP, I kept looking up to Carlos. He was the player that kept me inspired and focused to get to the top. I needed to reach him and beat him, to prove I was the better player. Because it felt like he was a natural, that reaching goals, winning matches and trophies was effortless. While I had to lock in and being perceived as this machine that cannot have feelings. I had to fit this narrative where he's the fire and I’m the ice”.
Shane laughs. “You know how they called mine and Ilya's rivalry when we were younger?”
Jannik shakes his head, curly hair falling slightly on his eyes at the movement.
“Heated rivalry. Because you know, we played on the ice but Ilya's personality was so flamboyant compared to mine that it was a great pun in their mind. He was the fire and I was the ice. In hindsight, they were right. It was a heated rivalry, just not the one everyone believed in” Shane smirks.
“It's a type of rivalry that always attracts a lot of attention. Although for Carlos and me it’s just on the court. Because off the court it is obvious that we get along pretty well. I think that is where we differ.”
Shane doesn’t have anything to add to that, not if he wants to avoid the topic that has been dancing around his mind all evening.
They look at the other two boys playfully joking with Anya for a minute, before Shane shouts “It's ready!” then adds “Nope, you're not coming inside all covered in grass” pointing at his husband, their dog and probably their newly adopted puppy, considering Ilya's protective arm around Carlos' shoulder and their giggles.
Their clothes are slightly damp from the evening dew that has settled over the cottage, blades of grass stuck in their hair and huge smiles plastered on their faces to hide their guilt. Ilya's breath is short, his torso raising to grasp some fresh air, small beads of sweats on his forehead. Shane can not believe that gorgeous man is his husband.
The same husband who is not going to enter the living room dirty like that.
“How can we change clothes if you don’t let us in?”
“I don’t have any ehm spare clothes with me” Carlos notes.
“You should have thought about that before rolling in the grass like two crazy goats” Shane admonishes them.
“Oh c'mon my amazing husband, compass of my life, lover of my soul!” Ilya exclaims, getting dangerously close to Shane. He tries to embrace him but Shane wiggles out.
“Don't you dare, Ilya, go get changed and give some of your clothes to Carlos. Otherwise, you will not eat. Use the back door”.
“You're mean, Hollander, you're just mean” Ilya grumbles, stomping on his feet while he conducts Carlos to the second entrance of the cottage. The two of them start laughing like two teenagers getting caught in the middle of a misdeed.
***
They get back ten minutes later, some blades still on them but at least with freshly new clothes, much to Shane satisfaction. Carlos' charcoal t-shirt hangs loosely around his shoulders and the pants sag slightly, a subtle reminder that the clothes aren’t made for him but for someone taller and broader: he resembles a younger brother stepping into an older sibling’s shoes. The same thought must cross Ilya’s mind because he is staring dearly at Carlos.
A broad grin splits Carlos face when he sees Jannik leaning on the sofa “Jannik!!” he exclaims, twisting the delicate J into something gruff, a sound that seems entirely his own. “Did you see me playing with Anya? I want to take her home!! She's so sweet!”
“You can’t steal their dog Carlos”
“I know, I know, but she loves me!” Carlos says, bending down awkwardly to pet her again, trying to impress Jannik with his most efficient puppy eyes “Look at us, we're meant to be together!!”
“You won't get out of this house alive if you take Anya” Ilya interrupts, taking Shane from behind and resting his chin on his husband's shoulder “but you can take Shane if you want. I could use some free space”
“You would not survive one day without me, Ilya” Shane replies, turning his head slightly to look into his other half's eyes.
“I have already survived without you, Solnyško”
“Yes, you also almost lit the house on fire”
“Ah, that. That was mere inconvenience. And it was Troy’s fault. He wanted to prove he could light a fire without a lighter, only rubbing woods sticks. It was an experiment. Science. You should be proud of us.”
“You're like one of the kids of our summer camp but with the size of an average adult”.
“First, nothing in me is average. Second, that’s what happens when you stay young in your mind. Never lose the kid in yourself, right guys?”
But Jannik and Carlos are not listening to them, both curled up on the floor scratching Anya's ears, cooing over it. It is incredible the metamorphosis Jannik has whenever he is around Carlos, his true age softly coming out, a juvenile innocence creeping into his mask, Shane notes.
They finally sit down for dinner, the table laid with burgers and the red wine the two young boys brought. Carlos asks a few questions about everything that pops into his mind. He wants to know Shane’s and Ilya’s favourite food, favourite music, favourite hobby. He asks them which dish they identify themselves with (who would ask that? Shane thinks - Ilya simply answered “chicken noodles”) and then goes on rattling about some Spanish food he loves. He truly is a ball of fire. Shane’s head aches with all that information. Carlos then proceeds to ask some information about their foundation: how they started it, how they came up with the idea, how many kids play hockey during the summer camps, who the teachers are. Ilya happily answers to every question.
“You should come to our foundation! It would be good publicity for us. And we could teach Carlos how to skate” Ilya says.
“That would be amazing! Right Jannik?”
The Italian hums in response, not sounding convincing at all.
“I need to be careful when I'll learn to skate because it can be very dangerous for my game, but I would like to see the hockey camp. We should go before heading to New York!” Carlos enthusiastically blurts out.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Carlos, us going together, I mean” Jannik says.
“Why not??”
“Two rivals going together to a foundation of two former rivals who are now married, afar from match days. I don’t know, it sounds suspicious to me” Jannik logically reckons.
And again, the implication of that quote lingers between the four of them, settling in the gaps of the conversation. Shane tries again to let it go but he can not this time. He needs to know.
“I’m sorry, I have to ask. How can you do it? How can you like each other while competing to be the best in a sport that is as individual as tennis? I can’t figure that out” he finally lets the question that is killing him hover into the room.
The air shifts. Ilya freezes at his side, the burger in his hand as he was going to bite it. Carlos opens his chestnut eyes wide, evident terror in his eyes “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand how you can be together when you aim at the same goal. How can you not hate him when you think about Roland Garros for example, or when you think about a tough match against each other?” Shane asks, genuinely curious.
“What?” Carlos’ voice now betrays the rage surging in him, his raw emotion on display. He stands up, dropping the chair on the floor due to the sudden motion. There are frantic movements and Spanish curses, a complete tornado of emotions taking everything in. Jannik tries to put a hand on his arm, a mechanism that immediately results in some kind of relaxation that, unfortunately, does not last.
Carlos looks fondly at his boyfriend (this time Shane doesn’t correct himself in his mind) before starting to pace again into the room like a loose cannon. Shane turns to see Ilya, but his husband has gotten up, his brows furrowed in an unreadable expression. Shane can sense he is mad at him, but right now the urge to understand the situation is stronger than anything else in him. He will later apologise to his man.
“I know that I, of all people, should understand... but that's different from hockey!” Shane justifies himself. He feels there is something twisted about that relationship “It’s...” he pauses looking for the right word then chooses “weird, I guess”.
“How can you say something like that Shane?” Carlos brutally asks, a haunted look on his face that does not suit his exuberant personality nor the usual sweetness of his gaze. Shane hates to be the cause of that hurt expression.
Ilya tries to get closer to the young tennis player, to calm him down, but he is mumbling rapid Spanish words to himself, pacing around the room as if he wants to find a corner where to hide. Or something to hit Shane with. Luckily, Shane has never been a fan of knickknacks.
To his surprise, it is Jannik who speaks up, eventually. He calmly says “We love each other enough to try and make this work. I know it seems twisted and it's true, it's different from hockey. We don’t play for a team, we're alone on court, so my opponent is not a team, is a person. I don’t think that changes the output, though. When I lose, I’m mad because I lost, not because he won. I want to be the best, but he's not taking anything away from me. On the contrary, he’s making me better. If the underlying question is if I've ever let him win, the answer is no. I would cut my arm before letting him take the trophy on purpose. If I have to choose another player to win, it’s always going to be him for me. This rivalry makes our tennis much more competitive. Because we push each other to the limit. Then again, tennis isn’t everything and we are mature” - he stresses that word, looking Shane deadly in the eyes - “at least enough to understand that our rivalry on court does not define our moments outside of it. We didn’t plan to fall for each other and yet we did it. I just think that we don’t want to waste our energies trying to find a reason for that. It’s damn exhausting like it is. That’s why, I think, we are making it work”.
Shane understands one thing in that exact moment. Exactly like him and Ilya years earlier, Carlos and Jannik’s relationship is also a secret. The fact that—unlike Shane and Ilya—they are friendly with each other in front of the cameras does not make the situation any easier to handle. Their relationship remains something that exists only in a tiny universe made up solely by the two of them. A world of two. That dinner, that moment suspended in time among the Canadian lakes, is probably the first time in which their relationship has begun to exist in a three-dimensional world, where they have allowed themselves to be two boys in love and not the two strongest tennis players of the tour. That dinner is their act of courage, their way of shouting to themselves that their relationship is real and not the product of their imagination.That it is something tangible, a seed planted in the most barren soil and, against all odds, ready to thrive.
Carlos, now calmer, as if Jannik's words were ointment for his wounds, has stopped circling around and is now standing behind Jannik, his hands on his shoulders. He simply adds “We're tired of feeling guilty for loving each other” then presses a soft kiss between Jannik's curls, a single tear cutting through his cheek.
Shane is struck by the dichotomy of their bond. Because if the relationship exists only in a universe unknown to most, the connection between them should be fragile and delicate. Instead it is wonderfully steady, a stage that he and Ilya reached after years of sailing, far from their homeland for decades. Shane and Ilya lived in exile, too lost out in the sea to try to find the right course again. Carlos and Jannik, on the other hand, seem to sail together, perfectly aware of the storm raging in the distance, yet so firmly anchored to each other that they do not care. They make do with the universe created only by that shared segment of life.
If Shane has spent years fighting the feelings he had for Ilya - hiding them even from the deepest parts of himself, feeling revolted at his own desires - Carlos and Jannik has embraced that side of themselves, too overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotion binding them together to try to escape them. Shane feels a stab of envy, as he thinks about all the lost opportunities with Ilya, years of his life wasted fighting the inevitable.
“I'm sorry” he whispers. He really is. He feels sorry for ruining the dinner, but he feels even sorrier for Carlos and Jannik. Because he knows better than anyone the burden that their relationship comes with: years of hiding and sneaking around, of telling mountains of secrets to anyone, even to the dearest ones. He knows what they signed up for when they decided to be together and the strength (maybe the naivety) it took to make that decision.
“I didn’t want to imply anything. I was just curious, maybe because I projected myself into you. Tennis somehow felt different in my mind. I guess I was mistaken”.
His husband has left the table, Shane notices. He feels the urge to fix things with him, now that his thirst for knowledge has been satisfied. “I will go talk to my husband one second and come back, please continue the dinner. And again, I’m sorry”.
This time it is Carlos who surprises him “No worries, Shane. I’m glad you understood that our relationship is special” and grins to him, stormy clouds lifted from his face. Shane is amazed by how easily Carlos’s mood can suddenly change, the all-consuming rage now a soft rumble.
He reaches Ilya outside. His husband is sitting on a rock, contemplating the lake in front of him.
“I'm sorry, Ilya”.
“You know what Carlos told me when we were in Spain, when I escorted him to his room?”
“No, you never said anything to me”.
“He told me that he was tired of pretending to be someone else. That he wanted to come out or at least not to hide anymore, because he didn’t want to live a life in the shadows. He told me he was figuring stuff out and that he was anxious because something was going to happen in the following days. He was going to meet someone. You know that the first tournament Jannik played after he returned from the ban was Rome? The same one to which Carlos invited us. I think you can do the math yourself. How do you think he's going to feel now, that one out of the two people in the world who he thought could understand him, understand what he's going through, reacted like that?”
“You never told me”.
“It was not my place to out him, Shane!” Ilya practically yells “He told me something while he was drunk and I did not think it was my right to tell you something like that. He ranted about us being an inspiration, because we didn’t kneel to the career pressure when we were practically blackmailed. Because we stood up for our relationship. Why could you not be supportive of his, knowing what we went through?”
“I was wrong Ilya, okay? I was wrong, I get that. I was so focused on understanding the possibility of their relationship that I forgot the only thing that matters. I already apologised to them”.
“I want to help them, Shane. They remind me of us” Ilya murmurs, the initial anger now completely dismantled, replaced by a sense of helplessness, an ancient wound that Shane knows all too well. A wound that tells the story of their years spent in the shadows, and of the determination to make sure it does not happen again to those two young boys embracing in their living room.
“Yeah, I have the same feeling. We've already helped them somehow, I think. I believe it's the first time they can be open about their relationship with someone”.
“They are very nice together”.
“Yeah, they clearly love each other, a thing we did not when we were their age” Shane agrees “it must be even more difficult for them. At least they see each other often, unlike us back in the days”.
“I wonder how often they have sex”.
“Ilya, they're infants!”
“Please, Shane. Do you remember us when we were 22?”
Shane blushes at the memory. Those two definitely have a very active sex life.
They look through the window at the young couple. Carlos is standing behind Jannik, fondly hugging him, his head bending just enough to press light kisses on Jannik’s right shoulder, through the fabric of his t-shirt. Jannik face is tilted back with a relaxed and serene expression painted across it. Their hands are intertwined, Jannik's thumb moving in small, unconscious circles over Carlos’ skin.
“We should head back” Ilya huskily murmurs.
“Just a little longer, let’s give them some space” Shane answers, taking his husband's hand in his.