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Ilya’s alarm went off, blaring an annoying tune at the criminally early time of 6:45am. He didn’t move to turn it off, just pressed himself closer against Shane in hopes he’ll develop telekinetic powers to silence the alarm.
That, of course, did not work.
“Ilya,” Shane grumbled and the Russian sighed, releasing his grasp on his boyfriend and rolling over. He grabbed his phone, silenced the alarm and sat up. He stretched his arms up high, yawning, before turning back towards Shane, who was still half-asleep.
“What if I miss team bus? I can stay the whole morning, rent a car and go back later…” Ilya murmured, rubbling slow circles into his back.
That got his attention. Shane shifted so he could face Ilya, but kept his head resting on the pillow. The game last night had wiped him out; he needed his sleep. “Baby,” Shane sighed, his hand reaching out blindly for Ilya’s. Ilya took it and gave it a good squeeze. “As much as I’d love that, you know you can’t. There’s no reasonable excuse for you to stay in Montreal.” He finally opened his eyes, blinking up at Ilya with regret.
“Yes, I know,” Ilya agreed, sighing.
“You want me to drop you off?” Shane asked.
“No, no. You need sleep, моя любовь.” Ilya would take Shane’s car to the hotel where the team was staying and leave it in the parking lot; Shane would take an Uber there later to pick it up. They couldn’t have a driver picking Ilya up at Shane’s apartment—it was too risky. This was, while more complicated, the safer way.
Ilya leaned down to kiss Shane, who craned his neck up off the bed to meet him halfway. “I will see you on Thursday. I love you.”
“Love you,” Shane echoed, stealing one more kiss before collapsing back against the bed. Ilya grabbed the pile of hastily discarded clothes from the floor and got dressed, shrugging his sore arms into the sleeves of a black hoodie. He walked around the bed to press one more kiss to Shane’s cheek, grabbed his duffle, and slipped out of the bedroom. He opened the garage and got into Shane’s car, adjusting the seat slightly to accommodate for his size. “Fuck,” Ilya said to himself.
Leaving Shane never got easier, despite being over a year into their relationship together. It was just as difficult every single time, and Ilya wasn’t sure how long he could keep doing this.He pulled out and made the brief drive to the Centaur’s hotel. He parked in the back lot, a few rows deep, just in case, then circled the building till he reached the hotel’s main entrance. He still had about fifteen minutes before the Centaurs were supposed to be ready to leave, so he figured he’d grab breakfast. He went to the second floor dining room and found most of the team already there, along with a handful of early-risers who seemed unbothered but the team of hockey players descending on the buffet.
“Yo, Cap!” Bood called from his table, noticing him standing in the entrance. The other guys looked up and greeted him, mouths full of eggs and mediocre bacon. “Didn’t this you’d make it in time. I tried knocking on your door earlier but you must have been dead asleep.”
Ilya laughed. Or not in the hotel at all, he thought grimly. He dropped his duffle down by the table and moved to make himself a plate. Most of the guys had seemingly already eaten, or were finishing up, but Ilya was nothing if not a fast eater. When he sat back down, he drizzled maple syrup all over his stack of pancakes, a sight that would probably make Shane break up with him. He set the bottle down and noticed the table had gone quiet. “What? Something on my face?” Ilya said, patting his cheeks.
“Roz, why are you wearing a Metros sweatshirt?” Wyatt asked, eyebrows raised.
“What? No, I—“ Ilya started but looked down. Blyat! He was wearing a Metros sweatshirt, one of Shane’s. They had both been wearing black hoodies last night, and he hadn’t thought to check which one he grabbed this morning.
He fumbled for an excuse. The sweatshirt was nothing flashy or overtly Metros-y from afar: just a simple black crewneck with the logo on the top right of the chest. He could make something up for this. “Oh, it is . . . I lost a bet. With . . . Pike.”
“You lost a bet with Hayden Pike, who you hate, to wear Shane Hollander’s personal sweatshirt?” Dykstra wondered in disbelief.
Now Ilya was confused. This was just regular merch, right? Anyone could buy it. “What? No, to—“
“Dude, 24 is literally on the back,” Young added.
“And that’s exclusive team merch, I’ve only seen Metros wearing this.” Chounaird pointed out. “What kind of bet was this?”
"It is none of your business! Private bet!" Ilya protested, though he knew he was not fooling anyone.
Troy laughed, shaking his head. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you—wait—” Troy stopped himself mid sentence, his eyes going wide. "Holy fucking shit!"
Ilya echoed his shocked expression, realizing this was it, the moment everything blew up in his face. Years of secrecy and planning, all ruined because Ilya hadn’t bothered to look in the fucking mirror this morning. Shit, Ilya thought. Shane is going to kill me.
“What?” Luca asked, looking at Troy.
Wyatt must have caught on, clocking both Troy’s teasing expression and Ilya’s pained one. “No way, Cap! Did you bang Shane Hollander last night?”
The table erupted in chaos at that, some of the guys applauding Ilya and the other half seemingly shellshocked. Luca had his hands covering his mouth and Holmberg’s eyes were practically out of their sockets.
“Let’s GOOOO!”
“That is legendary!”
“Damn, what a fucking pull!”
“I’m honestly more impressed than anything.”
“Seriously, Roz, I’m impressed. He does not seem like the kind of guy to sleep around, let alone with another player. ” Bood said, clapping him on the back.
“No, no, stop this! You have it wrong.” Ilya protested, trying to calm the chaos. Though a part of him was delighted by their reactions; he knew Montreal would have reacted completely differently than this if Shane had made the same mistake.
“Oh, shit,” Troy said. “Sorry, Cap. I just thought . . . since we all know Hollzy’s gay . . . and you’re wearing his sweatshirt, and—”
“Quiet! I did not . . I did not bang Hollander!” Ilya practically yelled, interrupting Troy. The guys instantly deflated, looking at each other with embarrassment A few started to apologize and Ilya groaned. “I mean, I did but . . .” Ilya sighed, running a hand down his face. Now his teammates were really confused. “Yes, I did sleep with Hollander,” he admitted, and the boys cheered.
“Seriously, man, how did that happen?” Dillon prodded.
“I didn’t even know you like guys," Holmberg started, then quickly added, "but that’s obviously okay, man! Love is love!" LaPointe laughed beside him.
“Was it weird since we won the game? Or was that like…. part of it?” Young pondered.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Ilya repeated, shushing everyone. He looked around at the hotel guests, who couldn’t seem to care less that Ilya’s world was crashing in on itself. Still, it was risky talking about this in public;.. He looked back at his teammates’ expectant faces, not a single one with a look of disgust or judgement on it. Just pure, unadulterated curiosity and even . . . excitement? The Cens were excited by the idea of Ilya hooking up with Shane. That did something funny to Ilya’s insides, making them twist in a delightful way. “I will explain, okay. Just. Not here. Finish breakfast and we can talk on the bus.”
He scarfed down the rest of his food, even though he wasn’t particularly hungry anymore. Some of the guys pushed away their plates and headed towards the lobby immediately. Others matched Ilya, shoveling food down their throats before shouldering their bags and leaving.
Ilya followed last, meeting the team in the lobby before they all went outside. Weibe was outside already, standing in front of the team bus. He greeted the guys ‘good morning’ as they filed in. “You do not tell anyone what you hear on bus, yes?” Ilya told him, casually, stepping inside before his coach could ask a follow up question. He took a spot in the middle of the bus so everyone could listen. Once everyone was accounted for, they pulled out of the hotel and made their way back towards Ottawa.
The guys looked at him expectantly, but with patience. No one was forcing him to do this.
Fuck it, yes? Ilya thought to himself. The damage was done; he might as well be honest. Shane would forgive him, he hoped.
“I did not just hook up with Hollander, or whatever. It is not like that.”
Weibe’s eyebrows shot up, confused without the context of breakfast.
“Ohhhh, I get it,” LaPointe said, like he had it all figured out. “It’s a ‘friends with a benefits’ situation. Or like, ‘rivals that have a charity together with benefits’ situation.” Some of the other guys nodded in understanding at that, as if that made sense.
“No, LP. What are you even saying?” Ilya laughed, then steadied himself. Deep breath in, deep breath out. “Shane and I are together.”
Young’s jaw dropped. Boyle scoffed. Troy raised his eyebrows. “Like, together together?”
“Yes. We have been for many years.”
“YEARS?” Dysktra echoed.
“You what?” Weibe gasped, though there was no malice in it.
“Shit, Roz,” Bood said. “That is . . . Great. Surprising, but great. Right, guys?” The guys echoed their approval, though it was clear some of them were still not fully clear what was going on.
“We’re happy if you’re happy!” Luca said sweetly.
“It is okay, yes?” Ilya asked Weibe, his heart beating a little faster. If Coach disapproved of this, or thought he needed to report it . . .
“Of course, Ilya. I don't care who you're sleeping with.” Weibe said, offhandedly. “And if you can steal Hollander’s phone and get some intel on their Power Play, even better,” he teased.
"He would actually murder me if I tried," Ilya joked.
“Thanks for telling us, Cap,” Wyatt said, clapping Ilya on the shoulder.
“Did not have choice. I was idiot who did not look at the sweatshirt I was wearing,” Ilya grumbled, but he was smiling. “You cannot tell anyone. It could ruin our careers, I could never go back to Russia, and—“
“Roz, we got you,” Bood assured him. “We’d never say a word.”
“Yeah, you can trust us,” Boyle agreed, and Ilya felt a surge of warmth for his team.
“Sorry, you did say ‘years’, right? Like I heard that correctly?” Bergy asked.
Ilya laughed. “Yes.”
“So that means you came to Ottawa for him?” Dykstra assumed.
Ilya nodded. “Yes. We could not do the distance anymore.”
“Well that answers one thing,” Dillon huffed, looking disappointed.
“You guys all owe me 50,” Chounaird smirked, smug. The guys groaned, reaching for their phones or wallets. “Obviously I didn’t specify you were moving for Shane Hollander, but my guess about 'moving for love' was close enough,” Chounaird clarified, not that anyone was fighting him.
“You bet on why I came to Ottawa?” Ilya asked, shocked.
“Of course. It made absolutely no sense, man,” Bood laughed. “My guess was you’d pissed off someone in the Bears Management with your shenanigans.”
“Well, I did that too, but not enough to kick me out,” Ilya shrugged, a smirk on his face.
“And you’re telling me golden-boy, rule-follower Shane Hollander willingly puts up with your annoying ass?” Barrett teased.
“He is not as pure and innocent as you all think. He is also an asshole!” Ilya revealed.
“An asshole who’s, like, unanimously the hottest guy in the NHL!” Wyatt pointed out.
“Dude!” Young scolded, as if Wyatt had said something wrong.
“What? I’m straight and happily married, but I have eyes. Shane Hollander is a certified babe!” Wyatt reiterated.
“Do not talk about my boyfriend that way, Hazy, or you will be doing bag skates rest of your life,” Ilya said, faking jealousy.
“And he managed to, like, tame womanizer Ilya Rozanov? Legend shit,” LaPointe said..
“I have not been tamed—“ Ilya protested.
“Yes, you have. Back in Boston, you slept with so many woman they started a Discord to swap stories,” Bood laughed.
“I’d assumed it was the same in Ottawa and you were just being more discreet about it,” Dykstra added.
Ilya had a warm smile on his face, suddenly. “No, I have not been like that for many years. There’s no one else for me but my Shane.”
Troy fake gagged and Ilya shot him a glare. "Homophobic!" he accused.
"I'm literally gay!" Troy said, holding his hands up.
“I thought it was really sweet,” Luca said, before the two continue bickering.
"Yeah, you're down bad, Rozy," Young smirked.
“This reminds me,” Ilya started, reaching for his phone. “I should probably update him.”
“Will he be mad?” Bergy asked, seeming genuinely worried.
“No, no. He . . . He has whole big plan for how we come out. After retirement. That is . . . very far away and has gotten hard to live with, this secret. I think having you all know is a good thing. Even if I did not plan on telling you . . . I am happy - it is a relief to be able to say his name and not lie.”
“I’m sorry, Ilya. I can’t even imagine what that’s like,” Bood comforted.
“Yeah, I mention Caitlin, like, every 30 minutes,” Dykstra agreed. “You guys are really fucking strong.”
Ilya smiled. “Well, yes, that is obvious, we are best players in league.” A few guys laughed and rolled their eyes. “Now go — do whatever you do on bus rides! I am calling Shane.”
The guys dispersed, settling into their seats and Ilya picked up his phone. He curled against the window to have some semblance of privacy.
“Hi, baby,” Shane answered, sounding slightly out of breath. He was probably working on right now. “Aren’t you still on the road?”
“Yes,” Ilya said, swallowing hard, suddenly nervous to tell Shane. “I might have accidentally worn your sweatshirt to the hotel, котенок.”
“Oh,” Shane breathed and Ilya wished he was there, to tell him in person, to assure him it was okay. He could heard the sound of the treadmill rolling to a stop.
“It is okay, моя любовь. Do not panic. They were, uh, excited. They thought we hooked up,” Ilya told him, laughter in his voice.
“What?” Shane said, incredulous. “Just from a sweatshirt?”
“It is pretty incriminating, Hollander. It is player merch, not available to public.”
“How did anyone even know that.”
“Maybe you have some fanboys on the Centaurs,” he shrugged, smiling. He could picture Shane rolling his eyes at that.
“So, what did you say?”
“I told them the truth, солнышко. I assumed that was better than saying we had one night stand, yes?” Shane huffed out a laugh on the other end of the line. “They took it well. They were excited for us. Happy for me, to know this. It explains a lot to them, I think.”
Ilya listened as Shane took a few deep breaths. Ilya did not rush him — he let him process this in his own time. Moments later, Shane spoke again. “That’s good. That’s . . . really good, Ilya. I’m happy for you.”
“They will not say anything, either. They know how important it is to keep quiet,” Ilya added, knowing that’s where Shane’s mind will immediately go to.
“I know. If you trust them, I trust them,” Shane said. “I’m proud of you, baby. For telling them.”
“You’re not at all mad?” Ilya asked, worried Shane was just putting on a brave face for him.
“No, honey, no. The sweatshirt was an accident, and you did what you thought was best. They’re good guys and it makes me feel better knowing you have people you can talk to about this, about us, with in Ottawa. I have Hayden and Rose and my parents and . . . you have them too, and Sveta, but I worry you don’t have enough people in your every day life to be honest with. This is a good thing.”
Ilya smiled, tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked them away, refusing to cry on the team bus where everyone was surely eavesdropping at least a little bit. “It is a good thing. I am happy.”
“Me too. I love you, Ilya.
“I love you, дорогой. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. Tell the team hi for me?” Shane asked.
“You can tell them yourself, Hollander,” Ilya grinned, pulling the phone away from his ear and switching it to speaker. “Cens! Listen up. My boyfriend wants to say hi!” Shane laughed warmly on the other side, delighted by Ilya’s antics.
The guys all stopped who they were doing to lean into the aisle, as close to Ilya’s phone as possible. They called out his name and various greetings before Ilya shushed them so Shane could speak. “Uhhh, hey guys, it’s Shane. Um. Thanks for being so supportive and wonderful to Ilya. Not just today, but these past few years. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.” Ilya felt a runaway tear trickle down his cheek, but he didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I’ve met all of you on the ice before, obviously, but uh, maybe sometime soon I can properly meet you all?”
“As my HAB?” Ilya suggested, unable to stop himself from being a meance, even with tear tracks on his face.
The guys, and Shane, laughed at that. “Yeah, I guess that is technically what I am.”
"Harris will be thrilled to have another HAB amongst the WAGs," Troy remarked.
“We’ll see you soon, Hollzy,” Bood promised.
“Sorry for beating you last night,” Luca said, unable to help himself. Winning against Shane Hollander felt like something to apologize for, in the rookie’s eyes.
Shane laughed. “You guys played a great game. I look forward to the next one. Have a safe drive back, yeah?”
The guys said their brief goodbyes before Ilya took the phone off speaker and held it against his ear again. “I love you. I am so lucky to have you,” he told Shane.
“I know,” Shane teased. “I’ll call you tonight after my game?”
“Mmm,” Ilya agreed. “Have a good game. я тебя люблю.”
“я тебя люблю,” Shane echoed in his clumsy accent before hanging up.
There was a brief moment of silence before Bood leaned over Ilya’s seat to look down at him. “You're about to be 100 times more insufferable, aren't you?"
Ilya just smiled tilting his head back to meet Bood's eyes. "Oh, Zane. You do not know the half of it." Bood laughed and shook his head, mentally preparing for what was to come. Ilya could talk about Shane to the Centaurs now! He could brag about Shane! Make jokes about what he does in the bedroom with Shane!
Oh, yes. He was going to be insufferable and he was going to enjoy it.