Chapter Sixteen
January 2017—Tampa Bay Shane was nervous. After six and a half seasons, he was used to his fucked-up arrangement with Rozanov, but something felt different now.
Maybe it was because he had finally spoken aloud to someone about his…possible preference. Or maybe it was because of the weird way things were left the last time he and Rozanov had been together, in Ilya’s apartment. Or maybe Shane just felt surer of what he wanted now, after walking away from a relationship that had been almost perfect.
Almost.
He wanted to see Rozanov this weekend. He wanted to be with him, alone, behind closed doors; he was tired of lying to himself about it.
This year, finally, Shane would know what it felt like to play with Ilya Rozanov. Six All-Star Games and this was the first time they had been placed on the same team. Injuries and weird, gimmicky team arrangements that the league kept coming up with had prevented it from happening before.
He wasn’t the only one who was excited about him being Ilya’s teammate. The press was having a field day writing about this monumental event where Shane and Ilya would have to put aside their supposed animosity and learn to work together. Was it even possible, they wondered?
Shane smiled to himself as he hung up his suit in the hotel room closet.
If they only knew.
But, truthfully, if he only knew what Ilya was thinking these days. He wasn’t sure if Ilya wanted to end things, or if he wanted to push things further. He really had no idea what to expect from his temporary teammate this weekend.
He glanced at his watch. The team meet-up downstairs was starting in a few minutes.
Shane blew out a breath, then checked himself in the mirror.
Let’s do this.
Ilya hadn’t texted Hollander in over two months.
Not that they had ever regularly contacted each other before, but this silence had been particularly deafening. The past few weeks had been the first time that Ilya felt sure that, if he texted him, Shane wouldn’t reply.
Shane would probably show the text to his movie star girlfriend, and they would laugh at how pathetic Ilya was.
No. That wouldn’t happen. Of course Shane wouldn’t do that.
Maybe.
Ilya fumbled his package of nicotine gum out of his pocket and popped a piece in his mouth. Had Shane brought his girlfriend to All-Star weekend? Would he introduce her to Ilya?
God.
Ilya ran out of time to fret, because at that moment, Hollander walked into the bar. Every head turned. Some guys actually stood up, for fuck’s sake.
Ilya leaned against the bar and watched Shane shake hands and clap guys on the back. He watched him smile and laugh with everyone. He looked relaxed and confident, like a man who had gotten his life together.
Like a man who didn’t question himself anymore. He looked…
Christ, he looks so fucking good.
Maybe Rose had taken him shopping or something. Suddenly he was dressing like the millionaire he was. He had on a white, button-up linen shirt, open at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up. They were in Florida, after all. It was tucked into slate blue pants that fit him perfectly. The outfit was finished with a woven belt and some stylish gray sneakers with no socks.
Ilya was wearing shorts, and a shirt that was covered in palm trees because he’d thought it would be funny. Now he felt like a fucking idiot.
He ordered another drink just so he’d stop staring at Shane.
He cursed himself for feeling so gloomy. It should be a fun weekend; the hotel was a fucking beach resort.
Someone moved into the space next to him at the bar. Without looking,
Ilya knew it was Hollander.
“Hey, teammate,” Shane said.
“Hello, Captain,” Ilya said, because Shane had been selected as the captain of their All-Star team. Of course.
Shane flagged the bartender down and Ilya noticed the expensive watch on his wrist. A gift from Rose, maybe?
“So this should be fun, huh?” Shane said. “Always wondered what it would be like to play on the same team.”
“Have you?”
“Nice that it’s in Florida this year, eh?”
“Mm.”
Shane’s beer arrived and Ilya watched him take a long haul off the bottle. He watched his throat work as he swallowed.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
“Did you…bring anyone? With you?” Ilya asked.
Shane shook his head. “No. I mean…my parents thought about it, but they’ve been to so many of these things and they’re already going to Mexico next month, so…”
“Ah.” Rose Landry must be busy filming somewhere.
Shane’s tongue darted out to lick his upper lip. Ilya could have sworn it
happened in slow motion.
“Nice shirt,” Shane said with a grin.
“Thought I’d get in the spirit. You know.”
“You can pull it off.” He raked his eyes over Ilya’s body, and Ilya’s heart sped up. “Looks good.”
Ilya probably could have said something similar in return, but he was too busy staring at the hollow of Shane’s throat.
“Jesus, look at this! Fucking beautiful!” A pair of giant arms landed heavily across the shoulders of Ilya and Shane. The intruder, Mike Brophy —a huge defenseman for New Jersey—pulled Ilya’s and Shane’s heads together. “This is what it’s all about! Fucking Hollander and Rozanov working together! Love it!”
Shane had managed to pull his head from Brophy’s bicep, and gave the big man a wary smile. “Should be fun, yeah,” he said.
“Don’t listen to a word this fucker says, though,” Brophy said, elbowing Ilya roughly. “Can’t trust this asshole. Whatever he tells you, he’s
probably fucking with you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shane said.
Brophy left, with departing arm punches to both of them.
“I think we can expect a lot of that kind of thing this weekend,” Shane said. He turned so he was leaning back against the bar on his elbows.
“They should give us a chance to get to know each other,” Ilya said. He leaned in and dropped his voice. “We might even have something in common.”
Shane smiled at the floor, the color rising in his cheeks.
“You look good too,” Ilya said. “Someone take you shopping?”
Shane looked at him. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone? Or make fun of me?”
Ilya felt an icy stab of dread in his stomach. He braced himself, and said, “Sure.”
“I, uh…” Ilya waited for the words. I’m seeing someone. I’m engaged. I don’t need you anymore. “I hired a personal stylist.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then Ilya burst out laughing. “Fuck
off!” he said, delighted.
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No! I love it! Got tired of looking like shit?”
“I didn’t—” Shane was trying to look angry, but Ilya could tell he was fighting a smile. “I just mostly wore, you know, athletic stuff. I guess.
Track pants and T-shirts and stuff. Some guys in the league are so fashionable and I just thought… I could use some help.”
“This has nothing to do with Rose Landry?”
“What? No. I mean…yeah, her friends were all really well dressed all the time. I guess maybe I felt like a slob when we went out together. I’ve never really cared about clothes and I thought… I don’t know. I just want to present myself better. Not always dress like I’m heading to the gym.”
Ilya didn’t miss the past tense of what Shane was saying about going out with Rose, even with his imperfect English. “Are you and her not…”
Shane shook his head. “We’re not. No. It was just a short thing. She’s great. We just weren’t, um…compatible.”
He looked seriously at Ilya then. Ilya wanted to kiss him.
“Anyway,” Shane said, gesturing toward the room with his beer bottle, “I should say hi to everyone.” He stepped away from the bar.
“Right.”
Ilya put his hand over his mouth to hide his ridiculous smile.
It was a fun weekend. Everyone had a lot of free time on Saturday, before the Skills Competition that night. A lot of the guys lounged around the pool, soaking up the Florida sun, or headed to the beach. Shane spent some of the afternoon by the pool.
The league had asked the fans to vote for the All-Star team captains this year, and they had chosen him. Shane felt a little embarrassed about it because, even though he had been the captain of the Voyageurs for two and a half seasons now and this was his sixth All-Star Game, the honor of being named All-Star team captain normally went to one of the most senior players on the team. Shane was only twenty-five.
But being named captain over Rozanov had felt pretty sweet.
Rozanov was in the pool with a couple of other players and their kids, being loud and goofing around. Shane was sitting on a deck chair with a bottle of water, shaking his head and smiling as he watched him challenge the kids to a swimming race. He would “lose” every time, and then he would act outraged and accuse the kids of cheating. The kids were laughing so hard Shane was worried they might drown.
“Last race!” Ilya announced. “Championship match. Winner takes all!
No other races count!”
“No way!” one of the kids yelled at him.
“Come on. One more race. If I lose… I will buy you candy bars from the machine.”
That was enough to get the kids to line up across one end of the pool.
“Hey! Hollander!” Ilya called suddenly. Shane nodded at him.
“You gotta watch, okay?” Ilya said. “Make sure none of these cheaters
cheats.”
“Okay.”
“You kids know who that guy is?” Ilya asked.
“Shane Hollander!” most of them said at once.
“Really?” Ilya said, feigning shock. “You’ve heard of that guy?”
They laughed. One of the braver ones said, “He’s the best player in the league!”
“Okay, you’re out of the race. Out of the pool. Out of Florida. Goodbye.
Where’s your dad?”
The kids laughed more. Shane laughed too. He wondered if Ilya ever thought about having kids. He was good with them.
Finally the race began. Ilya took an early lead, then pretended to have been attacked by a shark.
“You gotta buy us candy bars!” one of the kids said.
“Aw, damn. Hey, Hollander! I need, like, ten bucks!”
Shane almost flipped him off, but then remembered the kids. “Did Boston stop paying you or something?” He grinned.
“I forgot my wallet!”
“Of course you did.”
Ilya hoisted himself out of the pool. Shane’s breath caught a little as he watched him make his way over to his chair. His wet swimsuit clung to his thighs and his crotch, and water ran in little rivulets down his chest. When he reached Shane’s chair, he shook his head violently so water flew all over Shane’s dry clothing.
“Ah! Fu—” Shane stopped himself. “Knock it off!”
Instead, Ilya swooped down and wrapped his arms around him. Shane’s eyes went wide.
“Get off! What the—” He was shocked that Ilya would do something this…public. Shocked and a little thrilled.
But to everyone watching, this was just typical Rozanov being a playful asshole. Everyone was laughing as Shane squirmed in a halfhearted attempt to free himself.
When he finally let go, Shane shoved him and tried to look annoyed, but he knew his face was flushed and he couldn’t help grinning. Ilya straightened up to full height, looming over Shane with the sun behind him. Every inch of him was glistening gold.
It took every ounce of Shane’s willpower to stop himself from reaching out for him. He looked magnificent.
He was looking right back at Shane with his wet hair falling into his eyes, and Shane followed his gaze down to his own chest. His shirt was wet and clinging to him. It was a white and blue gingham checked shirt,
and parts of it were transparent now.
“You wrecked my shirt,” Shane said.
“Sorry,” Ilya said. He didn’t sound sorry.
Shane licked his bottom lip.
Ilya quickly turned away from him. “Hey! Brophy! I need ten bucks!
Hollander’s a cheapskate.”
Ilya moved from center to right wing for the All-Star Game so he could play on a line with Hollander. He was happy to do it; he’d been waiting a long time for an opportunity to play with Shane.
And playing with him was everything he had imagined it would be.
He actually felt bad for their left wing linemate, Carson, because as far as Ilya was concerned there was no one else on the ice. Hollander could actually keep up with Ilya, and it was like they were reading each other’s minds when they passed the puck. They had barely had any time to practice together; they just clicked in a way Ilya never had with any other player. It was exhilarating.
Ilya took a pass from one of the defensemen and he took off. When he glanced to his left, he saw that Shane was right there with him. He crossed the blue line, fired the puck over to Shane, Shane knocked it back to him, and Ilya returned it at the last second. Shane shot it cleanly into the top corner of the net for his fourth goal of the game.
Shane raised his arms in celebration and he just looked so happy. He was beaming and his eyes were crinkled and his cheeks were flushed. Ilya embraced him, and Shane wrapped both of his arms tight around him. Ilya felt a puff of Shane’s hot breath on his neck, and he could see the glisten of sweat on his skin and Ilya kissed him, hard, on the cheek. He was sure, to the crowd, that it looked like Ilya’s usual obnoxious shenanigans, that the kiss was just another way of annoying Hollander. But the truth was he simply couldn’t help himself. He had seen an opportunity, and he had
taken it.
“What the fuck?” Shane laughed.
Ilya felt his own cheeks flush, which was a rare and uncomfortable
feeling.
“Nice goal,” he said.
“Nice assist,” Shane said, shooting him a weird look.
Ilya grinned and shrugged. He thumped Shane on the back in an overly macho way and skated toward the bench.
On Sunday night, after the game, a bunch of the guys went to a Mexican restaurant that one of the Tampa Bay players claimed had the best food in
town. A few others just drank at the hotel bar. There were several room parties happening too.
Shane was sitting on the beach, alone. It was dark, but there were still quite a few people out walking in the moonlight. He supposed that was exactly what you came to Florida for.
He just needed an hour or so to himself. The weekend had been challenging for a lot of reasons. He had tried to keep some distance between himself and Ilya, both because he couldn’t trust himself not to touch him in some telling way, and also because the media was so obsessed with the two of them playing together despite “hating” each other that he didn’t want to give them any fuel. And, he supposed, he didn’t want to change the narrative either. The rivalry was good for the league, good for their careers, and, most importantly, it was a very good cover for the truth.
He dug his toes into the cool sand. He listened to the waves that he could just barely see in the darkness. This was nice. So much of his life was spent indoors. Arenas and gyms and hotel rooms and airports and planes.
Someone sat beside him, a few inches away. He didn’t even need to
look.
“Found you,” said Ilya.
“You were looking for me?”
“Of course not.”
They sat in silence for a while. Ilya planted his hands behind him, next to Shane’s in the sand, and stretched his long legs out. His feet were bare, like Shane’s. “I looked up the word,” Ilya said. “Compatible.”
“What?”
“I thought I knew what it meant. But I wanted to check.”
Shane thought for a moment, then realized what Ilya was referring to.
“Oh.”
“You and Rose Landry…”
“Yeah. Not compatible. Not in that way, anyway.”
Ilya was quiet. Shane looked around to see if anyone was close enough
to hear them. They seemed to be alone.
It was very dark.
“When do you fly out?”
“Early,” Ilya said.
“Me too. Columbus.”
“Toronto.” When Ilya said it, he rolled the “r” slightly and pronounced the second “t.” Shane smiled.
Without warning, Ilya moved his hand until it was right next to Shane’s, and then he hooked their thumbs together. Shane’s first instinct was to pull away, but he resisted. Instead he closed his eyes, and tried not to hope for impossible things. He also resisted the urge to rest his head on Ilya’s shoulder.
“What room are you in?” Shane whispered.
“Twelve seventeen.”
“I’d like to talk. Somewhere private.”
Ilya pulled his thumb away. Shane wanted to grab it back.
Ilya stood and said, “See you soon,” before walking back toward the hotel.
