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1
It was a fucking duck’s fault.
Not that Ilya could say that. He had thought it was hilarious, but Shane had been terrified, then stressed, then mortified. They'd wasted nearly a whole day of their short summer break arguing about it, never really reaching an agreement on what the story would be. Shane told Ilya to tell as much of the truth as he could manage, but that was boring. And not the good, comforting, sexy kind of boring.
“What happened?” Svetlana asked, looking at him with wide eyes, gingerly running her thumb over the healing gash running from the inside of his elbow down to the middle of his forearm.
If there was anyone he could tell the truth to, it was Svetlana. She had already hinted that she knew about Shane months ago at his father’s funeral. But he and Shane needed everything to go perfectly smooth this year; it was their last year apart. Ilya’s last year in Boston. He couldn’t afford for Svetlana to accidentally let something slip that could jeopardise his move to Ottawa – not that she ever would, Ilya knew that. But he didn’t think he would be a good friend to her if he put her in a position to have to lie for him.
“Scratched it on the squat rack downstairs,” Ilya shrugged off, reaching for the takeout bag in her hand.
“It’s deep,” Svetlana tutted.
“Looks worse than it is,” he said, taking his arm back from her.
He was glad the little holes that had punctured his skin for the stitches had healed already. Svetlana would probably have a lot more questions if she knew about the seventeen stitches.
“How did you do it?” she pushed.
Ilya tried not to sigh, turning to grab plates from the cabinet behind him. “I wanted to move stuff around. Cut myself on a piece of the metal at the back.”
“What are you moving things around for?” Svetlana ask, her tone shifting from suspicious to mildly curious. Finally.
“Just wanted to change the gym around,” Ilya shrugged.
He wasn’t going to tell her that he was already beginning to go through all his belongings room by room and getting rid of whatever he didn’t plan to take to Ottawa. He would manage to offload a bunch of stuff onto the rookies and younger guys that still weren’t making enough yet to fully furnish their apartments and donate the rest. And if he started now, before the preseason even kicked off, he wouldn’t have to rush and panic once the season was over.
“You wanted to switch it up?” Svetlana asked. “After seven years?”
Ilya shrugged as he reached for the spicy rice, tipping half the container onto his plate. “I was bored.”
Svetlana rolled her eyes at him. That was good – it was always better when she didn’t take him seriously.
2
St-Simon was the first one to notice it. Ilya didn’t realise the hissing sound was directed at him until St-Simon caught his eye and looked down at the scar on his forearm.
“What happened, bro?”
“You never brought a knife into the bedroom?” Ilya smirked and winked.
The boys erupted into laughter and dissenting shouts.
“No you didn’t!”
“He’s lying. He finally get busted by a puck bunny’s angry boyfriend.”
“Nah, I bet he pissed off one of his girls.”
“Oh, shit Rozy, did Montreal Jane get ya?”
“Nah, that girl with the huge tits that stalked him for like six months last year finally cornered him.”
“Bro, did you get mugged?”
Ilya whistled to shut them up, shaking his head and looking as grim as he could manage. “Yes, it’s true,” he said mournfully. “Montreal Jane cut me. You heard of knife play?”
The room was blissfully silent for a solid five seconds before the boys all started talking over each other.
“That’s not a thing.”
“Some fifty shades shit.”
“I went to a club once and they were doing things with knives, it’s a thing.”
“The fuck kind of clubs are you going to?”
“I was invited!”
“By who? Dallas Kent?”
“Hey, Rozy’s into that apparently, don’t be a cunt about it.”
“Is this a blood thing?”
“Okay that is not a real thing.”
“There are definitely people who are into blood, I've seen it online.”
“You need to be banned from the fucking internet.”
“Rozy, are you serious?”
“Who knows,” Ilya dismissed, finally shrugging his jersey on. “First practise of the season, let’s see how slow you fuckers are.”
Everybody was too distracted at being back on the ice together as a team that that they seemed to forget about Ilya’s scar. Everyone except Connors, who sidled up to him on the bench later and asked about it under his breath.
“Are you like, actually into that knife stuff?” Connors asked in a whisper.
Ilya made a show of looking around before he leaned in. “A gentleman doesn’t tell, Connie.”
Connors blanched as he looked Ilya over. He couldn’t wait to tell Shane what the boys thought.
3
“Hm.”
Ilya looked up from his phone to see Nella frowning at his arm. She looked across to Ria, grabbing Ilya’s wrist and forcing his arm up. Ilya followed the movement, staying silent.
“Do we cover this?” Nella asked.
Ria came over to them, running her finger across the scar, pulling back quickly when Ilya twitched, trying not to recoil from her. It was still bright red, but no longer raised or painful, but it wasn’t hers to touch. The scar was healing well, as much as he hated that.
He liked it better when it was raised and bright and still looked a little bloody. He liked the evidence of his summer with Shane so obviously displayed on his body, prominent and irrefutable proof of their time at the cottage. A reminder of the morning after they had said I love you for the first time.
Ilya didn’t want the scar to fade away. He had half a mind to find that goth girl he’d fucked four years ago with the split tongue and the beautiful patterns carved into her shoulders. She had said it was a whole process that had taken months, that the skin was surgically removed and that she had to pour peroxide into it to make sure it scarred. Maybe she could give him the name of whoever did her scars and he could keep this one forever.
“It’s just a print campaign, right?” Ria asked, looking to Ilya for confirmation.
Ilya nodded, watching Ria chew on her lip.
“Let me check with the AD,” she said. “Maybe it’ll be easier for them to just photoshop it.”
Nella thanked Ria as she left, moving back to press powder into his forehead. “What happened?” she asked.
“Got bit by a bear,” he lied.
Nella pulled back to look at him sceptically. “Do I look stupid to you?”
Ilya raised his eyebrow in challenge. “You don’t know much about Russia, do you?” he tutted. “We have bears in the streets. One tried to take my food. I had to fight him.”
Nella laughed, shaking her head and she grabbed a comb and did something by his temple that he couldn’t see. She had been on a few of his photoshoots over the years; she was sharp and erudite and funny and always read in between takes when she wasn’t needed. The last time he’d seen her nearly a year and a half ago, she was reading Nabokov. They had talked about Дар for nearly fifteen minutes before they had to get back to work.
“You are so full of shit,” she dismissed him, sounding soft and sweet with her accent.
“It was so dangerous,” Ilya said dramatically. “I was eating, and I hear this noise behind me.”
Nella sighed loudly, but she didn’t tell him to shut up, which was a good sign. She usually indulged him in his bullshit and shared her spiced chickpeas with him in between camera set ups.
“I turn around, and it’s this giant bear,” Ilya said, telling the story like he would relay it to his niece. “He must have been ten feet tall.”
“Oh, I'm sure,” Nella deadpanned flatly.
“But, you know, I am the best athlete in the world, so it stood no chance,” Ilya said solemnly. “The bear tried to attack me, and it scratched me, but I got away.”
“I thought you said it bit you,” Nella challenged.
“No, you mishear me,” he waved off. “So I punched the bear and told it to leave, and he listened, because he knows I am the boss. He was so scared of me.”
“Oh, yeah, because you’re terrifying,” she rolled her eyes.
“Exactly.”
“Okay, they’re just gonna photoshop it out,” Zoya said, coming up behind them.
Ilya stood, winking at Nella before he followed Zoya across to the plain white backdrop, standing where the purple x marked the ground and facing the camera.
4
“Incredible showing tonight,” someone called from the small crowd in front of him.
Ilya nodded in agreement. Boston had done a great job tonight. It was always a treat to beat Scott Hunter on his home ice, even if Ilya was mildly disappointed that Hunter was still losing games. Not a good look for the only openly gay player in the league. Hunter was currently Ilya’s only representation; he needed to step it up, especially after last year.
“The Raiders won three to two tonight,” someone said to his left. “Do you think Scott Hunter’s game has changed since last season? That maybe he’s distracted?”
Ilya tilted his head, keeping his face blank. “Distracted by what?”
The reporter squirmed as Ilya stared at him, not blinking. Ilya had always hated when his father did this to him, but he had to admit, it always worked when he stared down other people.
“Well, you know, by being gay,” the reporter said, his voice less firm than it was before.
“Maybe check with Hunter, but I think he had been gay longer than one season,” Ilya shrugged.
“Ilya, Cliff Marleau scored two assists tonight,” a reporter to his right cut in. “Are the Raiders making a push for the cup this year?”
It was a softball question, but Ilya took it, grateful for the excuse to deflect from talking about Hunter.
“Of course,” he said, pushing his hair out of his face. He could feel sweat drip down his temples. “Every year, every team pushes for the cup. Only the best wins.”
“Ilya, what happened to your arm?” another reporter cut in.
Ilya froze, realising his arm was still up, his fresh scar on display. He smirked and winked at the camera, leaning close to the nearest microphone.
“I would tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
A ripple of laughs sounded as Ilya was pulled away from the media room, but as he stepped into the hallway, he heard one of the reporters ask did he mean the KGB?
Ilya laughed. If his father were still alive, he probably would have seen that and laughed. Privately, of course.
5
Ilya was fucking drunk.
The regular season would be coming to an end soon. Ilya had pretty much packed up his house, ready to run to Montreal to be with Shane the second his season was over. Boston would make the playoffs, but Ilya wouldn’t be winning another cup, he could feel it.
That was okay, he had decided. He made peace with it; he’d win a cup in Ottawa. Two cups, even. He had his whole future ahead of him – a future with Shane. Or maybe he’d win no cups, and Ilya would still be okay.
Ilya downed his shot, tapping his empty glass on the table, signalling for Marleau to refill his beer. Marleau and Connors had found a group of girls to join them in the VIP, and a very pretty redhead kept trying to catch his eye. Ilya could see Marleau sulking – the man loved redheads almost as much as Ilya loved Shane.
He had only gone out tonight because Shane had a late game and was in a time zone two hours behind him, and Ilya didn’t want to just sit at home and wait for Shane’s call. But now, with Lisa or Laura or Larissa eyeing him off, Ilya realised he would have been better not coming out at all.
“You guys play a pretty intense sport,” she said.
Ilya shrugged. “Sure. I guess.”
“Is hockey how you got that?” she pointed at his arm.
Ilya huffed out a laugh before he could stop himself. “No,” he shook his head. “See Marleau?” he pointed.
The girl nodded.
“We got jumped by angry hockey fans in Montreal,” he said. “Marleau pushed me away so I only got this from the knife. But he got stabbed for me.”
The redhead gasped, wide eyed, as she looked back at Marleau. Marleau caught his eye and Ilya nodded for him to come over. Marleau took his cue, making his way over to join them.
“He saved my life,” Ilya said loudly, pulling Marleau into his side by the shoulders.
Marleau went easily, even as confused as he was.
“Show her,” Ilya demanded.
Marleau looked confused and the club was loud, so Ilya yanked the bottom of Marleau’s shirt up and pointed to the scar between his hip and his bellybutton. The girl gasped and actually crouched down to get a closer look, her head close to his crotch. Marleau looked at Ilya, bewildered, as the redhead stood back up.
“Oh my god, you poor thing,” she yelled over the music. “How did that happen?”
“Hernia -”
“The guy stabbed him,” Ilya shouted loudly over Marleau.
“Wow,” she said dreamily, staring up at Marleau.
He nodded solemnly as he clapped Ilya on the back. “That’s just what a good AC does.”
“Wow,” Lisa – Ilya was pretty sure it was Lisa – said. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Marleau nodded, and Ilya smirked as they left him behind without a second thought. He checked his phone and sighed. He'd give it forty minutes, then go home and wait for Shanen to call him from his shitty hotel room.
+1
Ilya sat next to Shane, trying his best to sit and wait. He was normally good at staying silent and not feeling like he needed to fill the silence, but waiting for Yuna and David Hollander to speak was more nerve wracking than he would have liked to admit.
Shane had told them that he was gay right after Montreal had been knocked out of the playoffs. He had said that it had gone really well and that they had been supportive, and that they had guessed that Shane had a boyfriend. He had confirmed it and invited Ilya over for dinner, but Ilya didn’t know until they were in the driveway that Shane hadn’t told them that Ilya was the boyfriend.
Ilya sat in the silence, probably the only one that wasn’t squirming in it. He'd had too much practise being stared down like this to even begin to feel uncomfortable; he could see it in David and Yuna’s faces that they weren’t angry or upset. Just confused. And clearly curious. Yuna Hollander was practically bursting with questions. Ilya bet that she would be the first one to break.
“Well,” Yuna said, leaning forward.
Ilya snuck a look at Shane, who was bracing himself. Ilya reached for his hand, interlocking their fingers and resting their arms on the table between them. Yuna looked at their hands and nodded.
“So, how long have you two been together?” Yuna asked.
“All Stars, right?” David asked. “Last year? You guys had this chemistry.”
Ilya looked to Shane to answer, unsure of how honest he wanted to be.
“Pretty much,” Shane said, glancing at Ilya. Ilya nodded encouragingly, and Shane looked back at his parents. “Last summer, officially. But unofficially...”
“Unofficially?” Yuna pressed.
"The whole time,” Shane said.
Ilya watched their reaction closely, relieved to see only shock. He had to get used to this, he supposed. Everybody but Svetlana would probably look at them like this.
“Wow,” David said, sitting back.
“What is that?” Yuna asked.
Ilya followed her eyes down to their arms, pressed together on the tabletop, and how they were locked on the scar that started on the inside of Ilya’s left elbow and carried down his forearm onto Shane’s right forearm, ending at the jut of his wrist.
“Ah, shit,” Shane muttered under his breath.
“You told me you cut yourself on a loose skate,” Yuna said, her voice testy.
Ilya couldn’t help it; he huffed out a laugh. Shane let go of his hand and turned his wrist down to face the table. Ilya followed his lead, folding his arms into his chest.
“I didn’t think of that,” Ilya said.
Shane looked at him. “Wait, how did you say you got yours?”
“You know,” Ilya shrugged. “Tried to steal a crocodile from the zoo and got bit, cat scratch, swooped by a bald eagle, knife fight. KGB. Stuff like that.”
Shane snorted.
“And how did it actually happen?” Yuna pressed.
“There were these fucking loons in the middle of the road,” Shane started. “They were just kind of there, and I swerved and hit a tree. The windscreen popped out and landed on the dash and the plastic on the dash shattered and this chunk of plastic got us.”
“How?” David asked, perplexed.
“We were holding hands,” Ilya admitted. “That was very romantic to explain to the doctor why we were bleeding all over each other.”
Shane huffed. “Those fucking hepatitis needles.”
Yuna blinked, looking between the two of them. “That’s why you bought a new car? You crashed yours?”
“It was the fucking ducks fault!” Shane exclaimed. He looked embarrassed, the poor thing. Ilya couldn’t resist.
“Did you know I have never crashed a car?” he shared. “Only Shane.”
Shane shot him a murderous look that made Ilya laugh. He reached for Shane’s hand again, smiling at their matching scars.
“You were in a car accident and you didn’t tell us?” Yuna said.
“We weren’t hurt,” Ilya shrugged. “Only Shane’s pride.”
Shane rolled his eyes as Ilya smirked at him, pulling him a little closer. Shane went easily, shaking his head as if Ilya were annoying. Lucky Ilya always knew when Shane was lying.
“Unbelievable,” Yuna muttered. “David, get the wine.”
“I brought vodka,” Ilya offered.
David and Yuna both perked up at that.
“Both of you get your alcohol, Shane, get glasses,” Yuna directed, tipping her head back against her chair and sighing.
Ilya grabbed the keys from Shane’s pocket as they all went their separate ways. All things considered, Ilya thought that meeting the parents was going pretty well.