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“Shane Hollander?”
Shane turns around, hoisting his bag further up on his shoulder. He’s immediately med with a woman who would, in his unprofessional opinion, seem more at home on a runway than in the halls of a hockey rink. She’s in head-to-toe Raiders gear, though, so. “Yes?”
There’s a light smile on her lips, shiny with gloss but so subtle he’d have assumed she was bare-faced if not for Rose’s many, many reprimands. She looks relaxed and self-assured as she stretches out her hand.
“Svetlana Vetrova,” she introduces herself. Her voice has a slight lilt to it, familiar in a way that very few things are. Just the one thing, actually. Ilya. She’s Russian.
Shit. Shane tries not to let the recognition show on his face as he shakes her hand. She knows who he is by virtue of him being a public figure. He knows who she is by virtue of her being best friends with his very, very secret boyfriend.
He still hasn’t really gotten the hang of how to greet someone when they obviously already know who you are, so he smiles politely and says, “Shane.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Shane,” she says. There’s something sharp and perceptive in her gaze that makes Shane feel a little bit like a bug under a magnifying glass. “I’ve always loved watching you play.”
“Ah. Thank you,” Shane says haltingly. “You’re, um, with the Raiders?”
Her polite smile widens into a brilliant grin, and Shane is at once struck by the vision of a smaller version of Ilya seeing the same smile and deciding to keep it for himself. “Working for one team does not prevent me from seeing talent on others. Would make for a very poor analyst.”
Her English is just a touch more refined than Ilya’s. Less immediately traceable. He recalls her father is goalie, Sergei Vetrov, and then he recalls practicing his own interview voice and making sure there wasn’t a single chink in the armor he built himself. He thinks of Rose’s perfect Instagram Story posts, no-makeup makeup, and the sour taste left in his mouth whenever he watches her doing an interview together with one of her male costars.
He huffs a laugh. “You’re right,” he concedes. “Thank you,” he repeats, feeling it more this time.
Shane knows that Ilya hasn’t spoken about him to Svetlana, apart from discussing him as a player. Ilya asked over the phone whether Rose knew anything about them when Shane brought her up, and Shane had returned the question. They determined quickly that they remain insulated in their bubble, just the two of them and Shane’s parents, regardless of both Rose and Svetlana’s prying questions.
“You’re welcome.” She waves her hand. “I won’t keep you. I am sure you have places to be, I just wanted to tell you I admire your playing in person when I could.”
The places that Shane has to be happens to be Ilya’s place. A place that Svetlana has definitely visited before, and that he hopes she won’t get any ideas of stopping by tonight. Shane wonders briefly if that sharpness in her eyes is knowing, if Ilya told her not to stop by, and she put two and two together. “Thanks,” he says, again, “it was nice meeting you.”
“Likewise,” Svetlana nods her head, the smallest movement, and then she’s off down the hall. Shane blinks at her, and then hoists his bag up again. He goes back to his phone to order a ride service to Ilya’s.
“Shane.”
“Don’t. I swear to God, it’s fine.” Shane huffs a deep breath. “It’s just… she’s your friend.”
Ilya’s mouth quirks in a smile and he takes a step closer, hands in front of him with the palms open like he’s approaching a spooked horse. Shane scowls at him, and Ilya’s smile widens. “Lyubimyy, it is very sweet you want her to have fun, but it will be okay, yes?”
He finally puts his hands on Shane’s shoulders and rubs up and down his delts. Shane sighs, deflating under his touch. “It’s just… she’s good. I know she’s good, and she cares about you. There’s a part of my brain that thinks it’s gonna go catastrophically wrong somehow. I know that’s not fair to her, and—”
“Shane,” Ilya interrupts gently, “sweetheart, you are panicking.”
Two pet names in such a short time probably means Shane is panicking way more than is warranted. He’d love to stop, but that isn’t always his choice. He lets Ilya’s touch ground him and lays his forehead on Ilya’s chest. Ilya’s chin immediately finds its place on top of his head after Ilya’s craned his neck to place a kiss there. “Sorry,” Shane mutters. Ilya’s hands squeeze at his arms.
“It’s okay,” Ilya says. “Nothing will go wrong, Shane. Is the two people I love most in the world meeting. Is everything I dreamed of. Will be great.”
Shane’s heart squeezes in his chest. He brings his arms up to wind around Ilya’s waist. He’s leaning back and tilting his head up for a kiss when the doorbell rings. Ilya gives him a quick peck, which is entirely unsatisfactory and very cute, before rushing off to the hallway to invite Svetlana inside. Shane follows after him.
She looks the same as she did that one time at the rink. Without the Raiders gear on, her outfit is coherent with the rest of her and only intensifies her presence. She takes up space in a room, and seeing her next to Ilya makes something in Shane’s chest twist funny. She places a delicate kiss to Ilya’s cheek with a small privyet, Ilyusha, and then she turns to Shane.
Her grin is wide and genuine. “Shane,” she says, nodding.
“Hi, Svetlana,” Shane replies, rooted to the spot. Ilya, squinting, looks between them. His gaze lingers on Shane, flickering back and forth like it does when he’s processing something.
“I have missed something,” he states.
Svetlana raises a brow and looks to him. “Well, wouldn’t be the first time.” Shane appreciates them bickering in English for his benefit — it’s nice to see someone give as good as they get with Ilya, for once. “We met, briefly.”
“When?” Ilya says abruptly, switching to Russian. Shane catches the first word, and then it devolves to rapid muttering that has Svetlana rolling her eyes.
“No, Ilya, I did not flirt with your boyfriend,” she translates. She turns to Shane with a sigh. “Tell him,” she orders.
“Oh,” Shane blinks. “She didn’t. She just told me she likes my playing.”
Ilya huffs. “Same thing.”
Svetlana, standing closer, swats him on the arm before Shane has the chance to. “Let me meet your boyfriend.”
The word boyfriend still gives Shane a rush whenever he hears it said by someone else. Svetlana, impossibly, seems to notice and winks at Shane. Ilya, for his part, is pouting. “I thought you already had.”
“Jesus Christ, Ilya,” Shane mumbles. Svetlana swats at him again.
“No, Ilya. I have met Shane Hollander. I haven’t met your boyfriend.” Ilya sighs as if he’s being put through a great trial, but Shane can tell the phrasing makes him a little giddy, too. Svetlana makes a gesture toward the house. “Are you going to ever invite me inside? Or introduce us?”
Shane lets his head fall forwards and huffs a laugh. He expected to feel threatened by Svetlana, but her easy teasing just feels familiar. Ilya steps closer to Shane and throws an arm over his shoulder as he gestures lazily between him and Svetlana. “Sveta, this is Shane. Shane, this is Sveta. Svetlana. Come inside, sit. Not like you haven’t been here before.”
Svetlana winks. “Sveta is fine. You are a very bad host, Ilya.”
They manage to make it to the kitchen, where Svetlana plucks a glass from one of the cupboards and reaches for a bottle of wine from the cooler under the counter. She holds the bottle out to Shane, who shakes his head. Ilya plucks a Canada Dry out of the fridge for Shane and a Diet Coke for himself. Svetlana leans back against the kitchen counter and takes a sip of her wine.
She tilts her head, squinting just slightly. “Were you together when we met,” she directs toward Shane, “at the rink?”
Shane glances to Ilya, slightly panicked. They didn’t discuss beforehand whether or not they’d reveal the specifics. Ilya just comes to lean against the counter next to Shane, pushing the can of ginger ale across the marble. He looks completely relaxed, eyes sparkling when he glances up at Shane. Shane wants to kiss him so much it hurts. Ilya cocks his head toward Svetlana. Go ahead.
“Um, yeah,” Shane says, “we got together officially in… 2017?”
He says it like a question, like he doesn’t know the specific date. July 7th is the first time they said I love you, and July 8th is when Ilya first called them boyfriends.
“But you were something before that,” Svetlana says. It’s not a question. Shane notes to himself to never, ever let her meet Rose. “Ilya couldn’t even kiss Sasha during the Olympics. He was very offended.”
Ilya winces beside him, and without thinking, Shane puts a hand on the small of his back. Then, just as suddenly, he remembers Svetlana’s presence and takes it off. Svetlana’s brow furrows.
“You are allowed to touch him,” she says. “Not my place to say, really. But it’s not my place to say you can’t either. I will not tell. It has been very many years.”
Ilya’s exhale is shaky when Shane puts his hand back and rubs up and down his spine. Svetlana smiles, and Ilya scoffs. “She is too good at this, Shane. I tell her nothing, and she says I hope Jane knows he is lucky. Is always like this, since we were children. She is like witch.”
“Careful,” Svetlana warns, tipping her glass.
“You knew?” Shane asks, feeling his pulse tick in his throat. He swallows and focuses on the feeling of Ilya’s T-shirt under his thumb.
She shakes her head. “No, not exactly. But I knew Ilya had someone as soon as he started being glued to his phone. You know we used to fuck, yes?” Shane grits his teeth and nods. “I wore his jersey once. He got a message on his phone and looked at it instead of me. Was years ago.”
Shane tries very hard not to think about Svetlana, who he thought could be a model the first time he saw her, wearing Ilya’s jersey and having sex with him. Instead, he tries to conjure up the image of himself texting Ilya, and Ilya reaching for his phone as soon as the notification sounded. “When was this?”
Svetlana bites her lip, and laughs Ilya spits a curse in Russian. “You’re bullying me. I will report you to HR. Harrassment.” He turns to Shane. “Yes. Was you. Do not ask when.”
Shane feels almost giddy as he turns to Svetlana. She thinks for a moment, then says, “maybe his first or second season? Wow, Ilyusha.”
“But that’s—”
“Shane, don’t.”
“No, no. Ilya that was— was it?” He’s grinning now, wide and unrestrained as he watches Ilya’s cheeks flush a cute red. “Ilya, that was before we even—”
“Don’t say it.”
Shane feels a delirious laugh bubble out of him. His chest feels warm and full and wonderful. He loves this stupid man so much, and it’s in moments like these that he wonders if he hasn’t just loved Ilya since the beginning. He doesn’t know when it started, and by now the feeling is too big to be so young. He leans down and presses a kiss to Ilya’s lips, a quick one between giggles.
Ilya blinks at him, starry-eyed.
“Incredible,” Svetlana says, effectively breaking the spell. Shane’s eyes snap to her, but she’s smiling, relaxed as she sips from her glass of wine. “What, did the two of you fuck the night of the draft?”
Ilya snorts. “Something like that.”
“No,” Shane corrects firmly. Ilya pouts, and something about it seems a little too genuine. “It was the summer before rookie season, though.”
Svetlana’s eyebrows raise. “I was joking, but… wow. Of course you’re like an old married couple.”
“Mm, no. Something missing, still,” Ilya wiggles his left hand and Shane tries to tamp down on the butterflies that flutter in his stomach at the mere thought of marrying Ilya. He desperately wants to kiss him again. He wonders about the legitimacy about telepathy when Ilya turns his head to press their lips together.
Svetlana curses in Russian, and Shane feels his cheeks flush. “Ilya Rozanov,” she says quietly, “making me feel single.”
Ilya sticks his tongue out like a kid. “Because I win at everything, always,” he says. “Of course I win at relationships also.”
“Do not forget who has your childhood pictures,” Svetlana chides. “I could show your boyfriend what you looked like when you were six and fell on the ice so your Mama put a bandage on your nose.”
“Witch,” Ilya spits again, stepping closer to Shane so their sides are flush together. Shane gives in to the impulse of putting his arm over Ilya’s waist as he does. Ilya leans closer to Svetlana. “You are not supposed to embarrass me, Sveta. You are supposed to help me impress my Shane.”
Shane tightens his hold.
“Embarrassing you is exactly what I am supposed to do. Is tradition to show ugly baby pictures.” She turns her attention to Shane. “Ilyusha was very ugly baby. Frizzy hair, red like a strawberry.”
“Sveta,” Ilya says, tone warning. He switches to Russian again, and Shane’s resolve to learn Russian strenghtens a little bit further when he watches the flush return to Ilya’s face as he argues with Svetlana.
“I’d love to see the baby pictures,” Shane interrupts, and Ilya turns to him, scandalized. Shane grins crookedly at him. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you were a very cute baby.”