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Over the time of his career, Ilya spoke to the press many times. After wins, after losses, in English and in Russian, still in his gear fresh off the ice or nice and dolled up in a press room. And they were always happy to see him, because, well, he was Ilya Rozanov. Ottawa had just won their first game of the season, surely putting the journalists in a good mood. Yet, maybe for the first time in his life, they looked disappointed to see him emerge from the dressing room.
“Hi, guys! Hope you had a good time in the off-season,” he greeted. “What, you didn’t miss me?! I am heartbroken.”
Angela from Ottawa Citizen bit down a smile. Usually, they loved talking to Ilya. He remembered their names, joked around and always made sure to give them a few good soundbites.
“Yes, yes, he will come out as well, relax. Give him a minute,” he let up. A couple faces smoothed. He imagined everyone’s editor sent them here with one task – talk to the Ottawa sweetheart Shane Hollander.
He was pretty sure Ottawa could have been renamed Shane Hollander-land and nobody would have noticed. Sure, the city had always loved its golden boy, putting him on the biggest billboards, organizing watch parties for Voyageurs games when Ottawa inevitably never made it to the play-offs. But now, every corner café seemed to have a Shane Hollander special. They sold little Shane figurines for 24 Canadian goddamn dollars, and people were willing to buy them for that much. The only people who loved Shane more than the city of Ottawa were his parents and his husband.
“Now, can you please pretend that you have questions for the captain, yes?”
“Congratulations on your wedding!”
“What’s it like playing with Hollander, Ilya?”
“You’ve played on the same line before at All-Stars in the past, do you think we will see more of that this season?”
“Analysts believe that you’ll be a serious Cup contender this year, how do you feel about your chances?”
Usually, they asked a question and waited for the answer, you know, like a normal interview. This time, nobody seemed to wait their turn. So they did miss him.
“First of all, thank you. I am so happy,” he started. “This is like a dream come true for me.” It was odd, getting personal with the press. On the other hand, he had asked the communications department to keep him updated on any changes in the press list, he congratulated them on their weddings and children and career anniversaries, why not? He fell back into the usual hockey speak. “We are still playing around with the lines for now, trying to find what works, what doesn’t.”
He remembered, vaguely, in the back of his mind, Shane and Ilya’s first press conference at their first All-Star game. The journalist had asked if they would be open to playing together at an All-Star game instead of against each other, and Ilya had told him that he wouldn’t mind, but only if Shane let him be starting center. He had said it to get a laugh, mostly, but there had probably been a hint of truth in his words. Back then, he had spent a lot of his time proving to the voices in his head and in his phone that he was the best.
“Maybe Coach will tell you more. You will see during the season. I am just as good as scoring from the wing, you know.”
“Yeah, we saw today. What a goal, right?”
He could see the dressing room door open out of the corner of his eye. Shane was freshly showered, dressed in a new team-branded crewneck – he wanted to make a good first impression. If Ilya had let him spiral, he probably would have showed up in a three-piece suit.
“Be nice to him, okay?” Ilya felt like he was introducing a puppy to a bunch of kids. Don’t make any sudden movements. Let him sniff you first before you try to pet him. He is just as afraid of you as you are of him. “Shane, my love!” He pressed his husband to his side a rested his hand on the small of his back. Because he could.
“Hi, guys. Nice to see you all again,” Shane smiled. His mind flashed back to last season’s play-offs, when the only thing everyone wanted to know was how he felt about playing against Ilya. Then, in front of the visiting team’s dressing room, he gritted his teeth and begged to keep the questions hockey related. This time, he was ready. Ottawa was very excited to have its star back. It was only expected they would have a lot of questions.
“Shane, how are you adapting to the new team?”
“What is it like to play at home?”
“How are you feeling about facing the Voyageurs next month?”
“We’ve spent some time together in the pre-season, I feel really good about the team, the atmosphere in the room is great. I mean, it’s a big change for sure. I haven’t been to a new dressing room in almost thirteen years… It’s nice to be at home, I think my middle school math teacher came to practice the other day, thank you, Missis Bouchard, if you’re listening, feel free to come say hi next time. As for the other teams, I am excited to play against all of them with the Cens, there were some exciting trades and changes in the off-season, as I’m sure you know, we will see how the season plays out…”
Shane was in his element now, listing off some games he was excited to play or to watch, reassured that he didn’t want to get overly confident but that he felt good about their chances. He waved his hands around, and the gold band on his finger glistened as it caught the harsh lights of the corridor.
He was not, of course, answering the question the journalists were really asking.
“What he is trying to say,” Ilya interjected, “Is that we will crush Montreal, yes? They will not know what hit them.”
“Ilya!” Shane really tried to keep this diplomatic. He had said he didn’t want to seem petty. But Ilya loved a bit of drama, so he decided to let Shane keep his good boy image and set the record straight himself.
“What, it’s the truth, no?” Shane just shook his head. “Okay, okay, I will let you do your thing. Don’t gossip too much about me.” He pecked Shane on the cheek, patted him on the shoulder, and waved the cameras goodbye.
“It’s tragic,” he announced while walking back into the dressing room. “The press doesn’t want to talk to me, now that I’m married. I have never seen so many people disappointed to see the best player in the league.”
“Christ, you are not jealous of the media, are you, Roz?”
“Jealous, me? Nonsense.” He wasn’t jealous. He was a normal amount of protective.
“Barbecue this Saturday,” Bood announced. “No excuses, we have to celebrate the start of the season. Rookies, attendance is mandatory. Feel free to bring a plus one. Friends, girlfriends, boyfriends, whoever.”
“He’s not joking. Captain’s orders,” Ilya confirmed, pointing at the two 19-year-olds huddled in the corner. “Also, don’t make any plans for Halloween. Party at my house. Will be better than last year.”
Of course it will be better than last year. Last year, he watched all of his teammates dance with their partners, locked himself in his bedroom and would have probably cried himself to sleep if Shane hadn’t showed up. This year, it wasn’t his party, but Shane’s as well. Troy will bring Harris. Nobody will bat an eye. He still needed to pinch himself sometimes to make himself believe it.
“Shane, why is Harris texting me?” Ilya shouted from the couch, craning his neck to look at Shane in the kitchen, making them tea. He looked amazing even upside down. “He says he will have to hire a special social media manager just for us. What did you tell them?”
“What? Nothing.” Shane put the mugs onto the coffee table and returned to his reading spot against Ilya’s broad chest. “They kept asking what it felt like to play on the same line with you when we were on power play, so I told them.”
Ilya was already pressing play on the video.
“I mean, it helps when you know the person you are playing with well. But even then, you track where the other skaters are, plan out a play based on that. Today, I didn’t really have to do that. I know I can just shoot and trust Ilya to be there and finish the job.” There was a murmur of voices, some ‘aww’s and ‘aah’s. “We just mesh really well. It’s really fun.”
The video cut to a compilation of various passes Shane made to Ilya, some of them from practice, with a pink heart overlay and Careless Whisper playing in the background. It became increasingly clear that Harris had made the video as a joke specifically for this occasion, really going all in. The short ended with the Centaurs logo with a rainbow overlay. Ilya huffed out a laugh and dropped the phone to his side.
“Tell me more about how you like playing with me.”
“We played one game!”
“There’s practice, All-Stars, pre-season… Come on, you tell journalists and not me?”
Shane inhaled sharply, and put his book to the side.
“I’ve never clicked with any player as much as you… I don’t have to watch you know where you are, I just know. It’s like you can read my mind.” Shane felt Ilya’s fingers in his hair, playing softly with the strands. “You challenge me in a way no other player does, push me to try creative things. It’s like I’ve spent years playing on autopilot and now I can finally drive.” Ilya didn’t react. Shane looked up at him. “Happy?”
“Very.”
The corners of Ilya’s mouth climbed up slowly, stretching across his face. He looked like a big content orange cat, eyes closed and ready to purr. Shane felt the sudden urge to eat him.
So he turned around, sat up in Ilya’s lap and brought their faces close.
“Are you not going to compliment me, then?”
Ilya opened an eye, as if to check that Shane was still there, and closed it again. “I think I could play hockey every day for eighty-two more years if it meant I could play with you. You would still be the best player in the league. I would have no teeth, my eyes wouldn’t work and someone would have to tie my skates for me, and I would still show up to the rink, just so I could assist you on a goal.” Well, that’s what Shane gets for asking for praise. He felt his insides melt into a puddle. “I would be very old and very happy.”
“Like Scott Hunter.”
“Fuck you.” Ilya laughed and pressed their lips together sweetly. “I am much better than Scott Hunter. Better at hockey. Hotter husband.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”