Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova, David Hollander & Shane Hollander & Yuna Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Svetlana Vetrova, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander

Additional Tags:

Captain/ Rookie AU, Age Difference, Rookie Shane Hollander, Hockey Captain Ilya Rozanov, Adorable Shane Hollander, Morally Conflicted Ilya Rozanov, Kind of a slow burn, Whales, some multimedia elements, another attempt at fancy formatting, Ilya Rozanov billets Shane Hollander, Fluff and Humor, And a small amount of angst, Found Family, Everyone is a little more chill about the gay thing, Canon-Typical Racism, See notes for more warnings, Homophobic Language, Mutual Pining, and they were ROOMMATES

Language:

English

Series:

Part 12 of Hollanov fics

Collections:

Hollanov Summer Exchange 2026

Stats:

Published: 2026-08-23 Completed: 2026-09-01 Words: 37,396 Chapters: 18/18

Ilya Rozanov on Shane Hollander and the Critically Endangered North Atlantic Right Whale

Summary

The morning after the draft, Ilya stared at the headline for far too long. At Hollander’s beaming smile, at his young, innocent happiness, at the terrible hair and big brown eyes and the way he looked in the Bear jersey. Ilya’s colors. Ilya felt a rush of possessiveness that wasn’t at all appropriate. Hollander was so… edible. Ilya wanted to unhinge his jaw like a python and swallow him down.

He closed his eyes. That wasn’t appropriate. That wasn’t at all appropriate. Hollander was Ilya’s rookie and he was soon to be billeting him. There will be no eating. No nibbling, no gnawing, no gobbling, no swallowing.

He switched to his texts and tapped the number Keppler had sent him.

“Hello?” asked Hollander’s tentative voice. Oh, Ilya would not survive this.

“Hi,” Ilya said, brightly. “Shane Hollander?”

“Oh,” Hollander said. “Are you… Ilya Rozanov?”

What about just a tiny nibble? One little nibble on one of those cute cheeks?

—

A rookie/ captain fic where captain Ilya billets rookie Shane, Shane is too adorable for words, Ilya finds himself mired in moral quandary, and also there are whales.

Notes

Quills asked for a rookie/captain AU and this fic poured out of me at light speed which was a good thing because I then found myself completely unable to write anything in the month of August.

Anyway, there are too many too short chapters, maybe they're a little OOC maybe people just behave differently when they have different environments and different histories. I'm going to be posting two or three a day during the posting period for the fest.

Special thanks to Malls for the beta!

Content warnings:
Shane is 18, Ilya is 26 and there's an obvious power imbalance, where Ilya is Shane's captain and has a lot more social capital than Shane does.

Other warnings:
-Shane complains to Ilya about racism- it's pretty similar to what he encounters in show canon.
-There's mention of a child dying and the impact it has on the family of an OC
-There's some hints about a coach getting fired because of a sexual assault scandal but no details
-There's a recounting of a major character experiencing a major concussion and post-concussion syndrome

Chapter 1: Draft order released: Boston goes first

“Buckle up, folks, it’s finally here; the 2015 NHL draft order was released just this morning and wow, wow.”

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense? Who won the Shane Hollander Sweepstakes?”

“I’m pretty sure you already know. And so do our listeners— unless they live under a rock.”

“Well, for that one listener who’s a worm...”

“Fine, fine. The 2015 first draw— and presumably Hollander— will go to… drum-roll please… The Boston Bears!”

“Mark, if you’d told me a year ago the Bears had the slightest chance of getting first draw I’d have said you were off your rocker.”

“I still have trouble believing it. In the cup finals one year and first draw the next?”

“But what a year. First Rozanov goes out with a head injury in, what? The second game of the season?”

“The first five minutes of the second game.”

“And the team just falls apart without him. His alternates tried their best, but Rozanov is the heart of that team. And then to see him down like that. He was unconscious, what? Five minutes?”

“Something like that. I remember when they wheeled him off and there was that slash of blood on the ice. Shocking image.”

“So Rozanov’s out. They don’t even try a game to game, just straight to LTR. And the team’s a mess. The next two, three games were an absolute shambles. I don’t think Boston’s played that badly since… before Rozanov, definitely.”

“Then they start getting feet back under them and, boom! That scandal.”

“We all know the NHL sweeps a lot of things under the rug, so it’s telling that they didn’t even try.”

“There was video. All over the internet.”

“So bad. The Bears just dropped Fein like a hot potato. He’d been with the team, what? Fifteen years? Player, scout, assistant coach, head coach.”

“More like twenty, probably, but they didn’t have a chance. You can’t support someone who’s done something like that and try to retain any semblance integrity. And that’s saying a lot considering what the NHL is willing to ignore.”

“So there we are, early in the seasons, the Bears already at the bottom of their conference because of Rozanov’s injury and they lose their head coach just as suddenly. And the rest of the season’s like that. That god awful trade— getting rid of Marsh is gotta be in the top ten worst trades in Bears history.”

“Especially with Rozanov down! When the team needs all the core players to be pulling together.”

“Marlow out for a, what, good month with a lower body injury, Lemarre’s daughter dying, every fucking thing that could go wrong with a team.”

“…a string of interim coaches who couldn’t find their own ass, Bears management just shitting the bed.”

“Just the perfect storm of bad luck. All season.”

“Like who cursed them? What horrible thing they do to bring this on themselves? Top of the league one year, bottom the next.”

“Third from the bottom.”

“Fine. Top of the league one year, third from the bottom the next. What’s next year going to look like?”

“Rozanov is, according to the team, recovered. We saw him play the last two games of the season and there’s a rumor that he’s going to be going to Worlds.”

“Representing the US for the first time, too.”

“He’s going to have to be careful if he is because I bet most of the Russian players are gonna try to give him another concussion.”

“Well, I don’t know. He’s got a reputation for being really close to the other Russian players. We’ve heard from a lot of them— on lots of different teams— that he’s made an effort to reach out to Russian rookies and offer his support over the years. Is that going to change now that he’s playing for the US instead?”

“There’s a lot of political pressure on those Russian players to toe the party line, though, which is rumored to be one of the reasons for his defection— do we still call it a defection?”

“I have no idea. But there’s reason to think Rozanov will be solid next season. And while Keppler is still untested as a head coach— if you don’t count those last few games he coached at the end of the last season— he’s had a very solid record as an assistant coach in Seattle and what we’re hearing is that the players really like and respect him so far. So we could be seeing a real comeback for Boston. I’m sure the team would like to treat the 2014-15 season like it never happened.”

“Except that they’ve got the first pick at the draft.”

“Every cloud has a silver lining, right?”

“So we’re pretty sure that the Bears are going to be drafting Hollander?”

“Teams have done inexplicably stupid things in the past, which is what the Bears not drafting Hollander would be. It’s just such a no-brainer. He’s head and shoulders above all of the other prospects.”

“I always feel bad for those kids. Imagine it’s your draft year and you’re completely overshadowed by someone like Hollander.”

“I don’t have to imagine! I was drafted the same year as Provencher.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”

“But by all accounts Hollander is an extraordinary player. Both talented and, we’ve heard, incredible hardworking. The kind of player who gets there early, stays late, gives it 100% every single day.”

“That’s kind of dedication is always so important in top picks. You wanna see a kid who doesn’t just rely on raw talent.”

“He’s got a reputation for being a little anti-social in the locker room; quiet, shy.”

“You know, you hear things like that, but then you look at his record; he’s captained most of the teams he’s been on and most of them have go on to either win or come up second. His Juniors team, the Rosby Herons, went to the championships for the first time under his leadership, he led the Canadian World Juniors team to the gold medal twice— the first time when he was sixteen, captaining players up to four years older than him. I just don’t know how that kind of evidence squares with this reputation for being anti-social.”

“That’s a good point, Bob.”

“Not to get all political—”

“You?”

“Shut up. But I hear things like that and I think about what happens in the junior locker rooms. We like to believe it’s all camaraderie and good natured teasing, but we know what teenage boys are like and how the adults that are supposed to be supervising them turn a blind eye. From what I’ve seen Hollander is smart, well-spoken, confident and he’s proven himself repeatedly, so I just have to take that kind of reputation with a grain of salt.”

“An ocean of salt, it sounds like, but I think you’ve definitely got a good point there. Hollander’s also got great hockey IQ— he’s a proven play maker, really working hard to get chances to his teammates, really quick to jump on opportunities and convert them into points. He’s incredibly fast, beautiful edges. He trained with a figure skating coach— Misa Jakesch, who also coaches Jeff Vaida, one of Canada’s most promising young figure skaters— and that really shows. His stick-handling is incredible, just insanely precise. You couldn’t ask for a better forward.”

“Of course, I agree with you one hundred percent. I don’t think there’s anyone who’d argue that Hollander isn’t far and away the most promising draftee in his draft class, but do you think his playing style fits Boston? They’re aggressive, I might even say chaotic and Hollander’s got a real straight and narrow, sportsmen like vibe to him.”

“I’m sure the Boston management are asking the same thing—”

“—I wouldn’t be so sure anyone in the Boston management is capable of thinking—”

“—but I wouldn’t let a reservation like that stop me from drafting a player of that skill. He’s young, he’s moldable and I know he’s hungry to make his mark. I’m sure he’ll be able to adjust to Boston’s playing style. If you look at his game with the Herons versus the World Juniors team you can see that’s he’s definitely adaptable.”

“Not to play the devil’s advocate here—”

“— that’s your favorite thing to do.”

“Fair enough. Mentioning how Hollander captained his OHL and World Juniors teams reminded me that we’ve never really seen him not be captain— with the exception of him his first year in World Juniors. He’s always been the center of the team, the star player, the player the team gets built around. You usually expect to see a player like Hollander go to a team that’s rebuilding, but Boston already has a star forward. Rozanov’s one of the best players in the NHL, arguably one of the best players of all time. How’s Hollander going to handle going from being the star player to being in Rozanov’s shadow?”

“Yeah, it’s probably going to take adjustment, but I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing for him. Kids like him; overall first picks, star forwards teams are building franchises around— that’s so much pressure to put on an eighteen-year-old. They’re still growing, still developing as players, and suddenly they have the expectations of an entire major league franchise resting on their shoulders.

“Instead, if Boston does the sane thing and drafts him, Hollander is going to get the benefit of being mentored by one of the best players and captains in the league. Rozanov has an incredible reputation as a captain. We’ve heard it time and time again— the work he puts in to leading his team. Always available for rookies, always there for teammates, leading the team culture, encouraging them, pushing them to do their best. And Hollander will the benefit of that. Will he have to handle a little jealousy and have to learn how to deal with sharing the spotlight? Yeah. But I think that’s a good lesson for anyone.”

“You could certainly do to learn that lesson more.”

“Shut up. You also have to keep in mind that Rozanov is eight years older than Hollander. By the time Hollander’s at the top of his game Rozanov’s gonna be a veteran player. If the Bears take Hollander and train him up right he could solidify Boston’s legacy. Think of it not as competition but as continuation.”

“Rozanov training up his replacement?”

“Hopefully, for Rozanov’s sake, he’ll be playing a good fourteen more years, but yeah, at some point he’ll be moving aside for younger players and Hollander will already be there.”

“Excellent point. Well, we’ve spent, uh, most of the episode talking about Hollander and the Bears and none of it talking about the other prospects. Mark, it looks like Calgary is going second; who do you think they’ve got their eye on?”

“They’re probably hoping that the Bears shit the bed and pass on Hollander.”

“Well assuming they pull their heads out of their asses in time…”

Chapter 2: Development

Chapter Notes

IRL development camp happens right after the draft IIRC but not here! I do what I want!

Ilya was in downtown Vienna, enjoying a tiny cup of espresso in the warm sunlight of the Austrian afternoon when he was rudely interrupted by his phone. Keppler. Could have been worse.

“What’s up, Coach?” he asked, watching a flock of pigeons garbling to each other around the stained marble fountain.

“Great goal last night,” Keppler said.

“Thanks.”

“I’ve got good news. Management has accepted my recommendation to draft Hollander.”

So they’re not total idiots, Ilya thought, but did not say. Keppler and he were on the same side on this one, but Keppler was still the coach.

“But they have reservations.”

How? Ilya wondered. How you could have reservations about a player like Hollander? It was like having reservations about winning a million dollars.

“So they’d like to request he be billeted,” Keppler continued.

Ilya was a little surprised. Boston didn’t require all of the rookies be billeted, only those who didn’t seem very responsible. Like Ilya. But Hollander, if anything, had the opposite reputation. Newty, one of the rookie call-ups from the last season had played with Hollander at Worlds and had said the kid was a straight-laced as they came. Didn’t even drink with them when they won.

“I know,” Keppler said, interpreting Ilya’s silence correctly. “I’m a big fan of billeting rookies in general. Saves them the stress of trying to figure out how to live on their own while trying to play a full season.” But this is nonsense went unsaid.

“Also,” he added, “they want you to billet him.”

“Me?” Ilya asked, surprised. Usually in Boston players were billeted with families, unless they didn’t speak English well and there was another player from their home country on the team.

“Yes,” Keppler said, in a tired voice. “Well, they first suggested Lemarre, but…”

He didn’t have to finish the statement. Lemarre had been devestated when his daughter had died right before Christmas the year before and asking his family to billet a rookie would just be cruel.

Ilya tried to think of another, better choice, but the team was made up of mostly younger guys and, in defiance of NHL norms, most of them hadn’t married or started families yet.

Well, Ilya had space. He’d upgraded since deciding to move to Boston permanently. He’d gone for a converted warehouse space near the training rink, overlooking the Charles, with a open main floor and rooftop terrace large enough for parties and enough guest rooms that his friends from Russia could come a stay for a little while without things growing cramped. He could certainly house Hollander without much difficulty besides a slight damper on his sex life, maybe.

He’d agree. He knew he would, and so did Keppler. But there was still something about the request that sat with him wrong.

“It is fine,” Ilya said. “I will do it.”

“I wanted to give you the heads up,” Keppler said. “I’ll keep you abreast of the situation.”

“Thanks,” Ilya said. “Appreciate it.”

“Good luck in the semifinals.”

“Thanks,” Ilya said again.

.

The morning after the draft, Ilya stared at the headline for far too long. At Hollander’s beaming smile, at his young, innocent happiness, at the terrible hair and big brown eyes and the way he looked in the Bear jersey. Ilya’s colors. Ilya felt a rush of possessiveness that wasn’t at all appropriate. Hollander was so… edible. Ilya wanted to unhinge his jaw like a python and swallow him down.

He closed his eyes. That wasn’t appropriate. That wasn’t at all appropriate. Hollander was Ilya’s rookie and he was soon to be billeting him. There will be no eating. No nibbling, no gnawing, no gobbling, no swallowing.

He switched to his texts and tapped the number Keppler had sent him.

“Hello?” asked Hollander’s tentative voice. Oh, Ilya would not survive this.

“Hi,” Ilya said, brightly. “Shane Hollander?”

“Oh,” Hollander said. “Are you… Ilya Rozanov?”

He heard someone say something in the background. Then: “Ilya Rozanov is calling me!”

What about just a tiny nibble? One little nibble on one of those cute cheeks?

“Hi, yes, this is Shane Hollander,” Hollander said into the phone.

“I am calling to welcome you to the team,” Rozanov said. This should have been a set speech. Rozanov had called up every promising rookie and trade since he’d become captain.

“Thank you, Mr. Rozanov!” Hollander exclaimed.

“You can call me Roz— all teammates do.”

“Wow,” Hollander said, a little breathless. “Thanks, Roz. I’m so excited to play with you. I’ve got— I watched you in Worlds.”

“We did not win.”

“But that goal you made? In the second period against Sweden? I’ve been practicing it with my buddies. It was so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Hollander,” Ilya said.

“Uh,” Hollander paused. “I guess you can call me Shan or my teammates usually call me ‘Holly’”

“Okay, Holly. You have question about the team? Boston?”

“Oh, uh, yeah; Mr. Gill said that they were recommending that I, uh, billet with you?”

Right. “Yes, I volunteer.” It wouldn’t do to let the kid know Ilya had been basically strong-armed into it. Better for him to think that Ilya had made the offer freely. “I have very nice place. Easy walk to training arena, nice view of river, roof garden. You can come see if you like? I am in town all summer.”

“Oh,” Holly said, and then Ilya heard him talking to someone. “Yeah, maybe. Can I get back to you? I need to check my schedule and everything. I’ve got like development camp and rookie showcase and the player orientation program and my mom’s arranging sponsorship deals for me…”

“Of course. You find out, let me know.”

“Great,” Holly said, sounding relieved and happy. “I really am so excited to play with you.”

.

Holly and his mother showed up midsummer, flying into Logan and taking a car to Allston. Ilya stealed himself before he opened the door, watching the camera footage of Holly bouncing excitedly on Ilya's doorstep before finally opening it and greeted them confidently and not at all like a lecherous old man.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hollander," he said, shaking Holly's mother's hand.

"Please, call me Yuna," she replied warmly, her grip surprisingly firm. "You're going to be taking care of my Shane, after all."

Ilya took Yuna's suitcase and ushered them into the condo.

Holly’s eyes were wide as he took in the living room/ dining room/ kitchen; the original brickwork and poured concrete floor covered in luxurious rugs, the massive abstract paintings on the walls lending splashes of colors to the place, the worn leather sofas topped with chenille pillows, the floor-to-ceiling windows, green with hanging plants, the decorative fireplace set in a frame of black marble.

“It’s like something out of a magazine," he said, a little breathlessly.

“It was featured in a magazine,” Yuna pointed out, clearly appreciative but not nearly as awed.

“Wow,” Holly said, stepping into the kitchen. It was open to the rest of the living space, although there were foldable panels if Ilya needed to close it off for caterers to work in. It was large enough that Sara, his chef, could make dinner for the team, with a eight range stove and double oven and enough counter-space for her to bring a sou chef or two if necessary. She’d left shortly before the Hollanders had arrived and the trays of food he’d requested were waiting on the counters, covered.

“I have chef to make dinner or lunch when I am in town," he told them. "About one meal a day— the rest is usually provided by the team. And she makes more food for other meals or snacks. All consistent with nutrition plan.” He opened the refrigerator to show the neat stacks of containers, each with careful labels and instructions.

“Wow,” Holly exclaimed. “You have a private chef?”

Ilya smiled and nodded. “There is also housekeeper who come twice a week during season, deep clean once a month, usually during travel. Pet sitter when travel. Gardener takes care of plants.”

“Wow,” Holly said. “You’ve like a whole staff.”

Ilya shrugged. “Only part-time. Erika is manage the whole thing, also summer house on the Cape.”

“Wow,” Holly said again.

“Let me show you your bedroom,” Ilya suggested.

The condo had been built with the expectation of hosting gatherings, with the result that the main living area was on the top floor so guests could have easy access to the rooftop terrace, which could be warmed with heaters even in the winter. The bedrooms were on the floor below, with a private entrance. Ilya’s took up a third of the space, the rest divided between the three guest bedrooms, the whole thing laid out so the master didn’t share any walls with the guests, there being a hallway and bathrooms between them.

This, the realtor had suggested, was so that the owners could have total privacy even when guests were coming over. Most people, she had added, with a small laugh, didn’t want to share a wall with their parents when they were visiting.

Ilya’s own parents were not a risk of visiting (at least Ilya hoped not), but he still appreciated the fact that he didn't have to worry about what guests might hear (and what he might hear from them), doubly so now that he would have a rookie living with him.

The room Erika had had prepared for Holly was nicest of the three; the one from which you could get a glimpse of the river. It was a little small for the king bed Erika had outfitted it with, but Holly still seemed blown away, touching the closet and the desk and the large windows.

“Would you mind if I laid down on the bed?” Holly asked.

Ilya looked at Holly’s mother and then back at Holly. “It is your bed.”

“Wow,” Holly said for the millionth time. He dropped down onto the bed and starfished, sprawling his lean limbs across the white duvet. Ilya wished he’d worn looser pants.

“He’s never had a king-sized bed,” Holly’s mother said, amused.

“Look, mom,” Holly said, “my feet don’t hang off the end.” He wiggled his toes and grinned.

“That’s nice,” Holly’s mom told him. “You’re going to have tons of time later to roll around on your bed, but Mr. Rozanov had lunch prepared for us.”

“Oh, right,” Holly said, rolling off the bed and onto his feet. “Sorry!”

“It is no problem,” Ilya assured them, hoping he was hiding how cute he found the whole thing. “It is so hot I ask Sara to make cold foods.”

“Oh,” Holly said, opening the door to his en suite. “Wow, do I get my own bathroom?”

“Yes,” Ilya said.

“Wow, it has one of those rain showers! And look, the tiles are painted with fish! That’s so cute. I mean, uh, it’s cool.”He corrected, suddenly, pitching his voice lower. “It’s a nice bathroom, uh, feature. Lot of, uh, cabinet space.”

Ilya had to bite his lip to keep from laughing he looked over to see Holly’s mom covering her mouth.

“I forgot to tell you to call me Rozy,” he told her.

“For sure.” She smiled at him. "Thank you for welcoming Shane in.”

“Of course,” Ilya said. “I will take care of him.”

“It really means a lot to David and I,” she said, smiling and sincere. "He's such a sensitive boy— it's good to know we won't have to worry about him."

Holly finally came out of the bathroom, his hair freshly smoothed down. Ilya resisted the urge to ruffle it back up.

“Do you mind to help carry food to the terrace?” he asked as they walked back up the stairs.

“Of course,” Yuna said and Ilya showed her and Holly which platters to bring up, grabbing the pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge himself.

Sara had already set the table on the terrace and extended the awning to over the table, so all they had to do was to set down the platters and serve themselves. She’d outdone herself as always, with antipasti, cold pasta salad, melon salad with prosciutto, gazpacho, and lemon iced tea sweetened with white grape juice.

“This is so delightful,” Yuna gushed. “And it’s all on the nutrition plan?”

“Lentil pasta and low-fat mozzarella,” Ilya explained, with a small wince. “I was in Italy this summer so it is a little sad. But Sara is very good cook. There are also good cooks with team so meals at arena are always good.”

Holly was stuffing his face and Yuna looked at him fondly. “You said it’s an easy walk to the training arena?”

.

Hollander’s mother left early the next morning and Ilya took Holly to the arena in his gold 2011 Porsche 911 Turbo S with the black racing stripes.

“I thought you said we could walk,” Holly said, clearly just as impressed with the car as he was with everything else.

Ilya shrugged. “Could walk, but car is fun. You have license?”

Holly nodded.

“Need to get you car,” Ilya said. “Is good your mom is gone so she not talk you into sensible car.”

“I’m not going to get a sports car!” Holly protested. “Anyway, I’d have to talk to my parents about it anyway since they’re handing my investments.”

“Investments?” Ilya repeated, impressed despite himself. He hadn’t had any investments until his third or forth year, when Sveta sat him down and demanded to know what he would do with his life if he got a career ending injury. Ilya hadn't had the nerve to tell her he'd never thought he'd live that long, so he let her set him up with a financial planner and portfolio manager.

“Yeah,” Holly said. “My mom wants me to, like, bank as much money as possible in case, you know, I get injured or something. So I’ve got, like, three sponsorship deals already? Uh, CCM and Reebok and this orange soda.”

“You have sponsorship deals and you not played a game in the NHL yet?” Ilya asked, incredulous.

“Uh, yeah,” Holly admitted, seeming a little embarrassed. “My mom’s like really into it. Getting contacts and things.” He brightened. “Hey, do you have sponsorships?”

Rozanov shrugged. "Under Armour and Dunkin’ Donuts.”

“Wow,” Holly said. “You could be doing way better than that. You’re kinda the best player in the league. Look, what if I ask my mom to find you some deals? Like casually, you know? It’s not like she’d charge money or anything. She probably can’t legally, anyway.”

Rozanov parked the car in the player lot and looked at Holly. “You serious?”

“Yeah,” Holly said in what sounded like a pleading tone. “It would be great because she’d like addicted to finding sponsorships now and my summer is so packed and she’s always on me about wearing my Reeboks.”

Ilya looked down at Holly’s feet. Ilya didn’t recognize the brand but they were definitely not Reeboks.

“Reeboks aren't comfortable,” Holly defended, with what was arguably a pout. “But look, if she could find sponsorships for you instead then that would be like a win-win-win, right? Because it would get her off my back and you could get money and she’d totally do it because she’s really grateful that you’re taking care of me.” Holly stuttered to a stop.

"Uh—" He went a little red and looked away. “I mean, like, letting me stay with you or whatever.”

Ilya shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess if there is a good possibility…”

“Why don’t I call her and you can talk about it?” Holly suggested. He was way too eager for his mom to help Ilya. Ilya wondered what it would be like to have a parent parent him like that— with so much affection that you were looked for ways to deflect it. He carefully tamped down his jealousy as he did every time he saw his teammate’s parents at their games, wearing their jerseys, going to team events. He pushed the jealousy down, down, down, and tried to be happy for Holly instead.

“Okay,” Ilya told him. “Now we must go— you will be late for camp.”

Holly immediately looked horrified and jumped out of the car, running around to grab his duffel from the trunk.

“Okay, slow down,” Ilya said. “I was exaggerating. We are early.”

Holly looked at him with wide Bambi eyes. “You gave me a heart attack!” he exclaimed. “I can’t be late for my first day! They’d send me back to the O!”

Ilya smiled. “Its not even first day. Just orientation, get key card, take photo, tour.”

“I’ve got to make a good impression,” Holly insisted and Ilya had to smile. Had he ever been this young and eager? No— Ilya had been jaded long before he came to Boston.

.

Ilya left Holly in the capable hands of Carly, the office manager (the only capable person in the whole office, in Ilya’s opinion) and headed to the training room to get his workout in. He was just moving through his cool downs when Carla appeared, Holly just behind her, studying the training room with a serious expression, as if deciding what machines he might use, noting the positioning of the fridge and the area cushioned for floor exercises and the weight benches.

“Giving Holly here his tour,” Carly told Ilya, “got a few more things to show him, then he’s gonna see the locker room for the first time in about fifteen. You wanna clean up and I can make a recording of you showing him? That would be awesome for our socials.”

“Yeah,” Ilya agreed and headed back into the dressing room to shower and change into clean clothes.

He was standing by the entrance to the dressing room when Carla and Holly arrived.

“Okay,” Carla said, playing with her phone for a moment before holding it up. “Go for it.”

Ilya didn’t have to fake the grin he gave Holly. “Ready to see your new locker room?” he asked.

“Hell yeah,” Holly said, as Ilya opened the door to the dressing room.

“Here is dressing room.” Ilya gestured to the rows of stalls.

“Wow,” Holly said, appreciatively. “There’s a rug on the floor and everything.”

Ilya and Carla laughed.

“Look, here’s me!” Holly exclaimed, sounding giddy, pointing to where his name had been chalked in.

“Okay, now get naked,” Ilya teased.

“Rozy,” Carla chided, but she was laughing.

“Here is way to locker room,” Ilya said, remembering he was supposed to be playing the tour guide. “Showers, over here, this hallway to trainers and massage. And here is the locker room.”

Holly audibly gasped as they stepped inside.

“I know, the smell is very bad,” Ilya teased even though the usual locker room stench was gone— or muted at least— for the summer.

Holly was already over where his practice jersey was hung up, ready for the next day’s development camp. “Look!”

“You already have Bears jersey with your name on it,” Carly teased.

“Yeah,” Holly said, “but this one’s in a locker room. And there’s a helmet… I should have brought the rest of my gear. Could we go out on the ice?”

He looked so pleading, like a sad puppy.

“Sorry,” Carla said, sounding actually apologetic, “but the ice is booked right now. But tomorrow you’ll get out there. How do you feel?”

“So excited,” Holly gushed. “It finally feels real. I’m going to play for the Bears!”

He looked so thrilled Ilya couldn’t help going over and hugging him.

“Well, that was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Carla said, and Ilya suddenly remembered her and her video. But when he looked over her phone was gone. “Holly, you are going to take Boston by storm. Everyone is going to love you.”

“Really?” Holly asked, so brightly it made Ilya’s heart hurt.

.

The week Holly was in town for development camp flew by. Ilya wasn’t much involved in the camp, beyond being there the day it officially opened to greet all the potential rookies and then showing up a little later when the prospects were on the ice to check them out.

“He’s a gorgeous skater,” Keppler mentioned of Holly, who was running drills. “Look at those edges. I wish more players trained with figure skaters at a young age. It makes such a difference.”

Ilya himself had studied with Zyomin, before his mother had died. He’d wanted to be a figure skater but he'd gotten teased for his blonde curls and pink cheeks so much that he'd decided to focus on hockey instead.

“Look at those curves,” Keppler added.

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Beautiful.”

Holly was beautiful. That had been apparent from the first moment Ilya had first seen video of him playing in the OHL. He'd been beautiful back then, even as a gawky 16 year old. Reebok and CCM and orange soda and all the others didn’t want him just because he was the most promising player in the last five years.

Holly's beauty was quickly becoming a problem for as Holly grew more comfortable in Ilya’s house, as he took to doing his yoga on Ilya’s terrace and playing chel sprawled out on Ilya’s couch, as he grew comfortable enough to start opening up.

Mostly Holly talked about hockey, which didn’t help matters. It should have been laughable, a rookie who hadn’t even started his first season telling Ilya, veteran of eight years, winner of two cups, four Prince of Wales, two Art Ross, two Conn Smythe, one Hart, and one Rocket Richard trophy, his opinions on hockey.

But. It wasn’t. Holly knew more about hockey than a lot of veterans Ilya knew. More than all of Ilya’s other teammates, probably. Holly meticulously memorized statistics, could break down the performance of every NHL team in the last season with a level of insight that often surpassed Ilya’s own— and he had played those teams. He had watched, analyzed game tape and yet Holly would give some off-the -cuff insight Holly hadn't considered.

(Of course, Ilya hadn’t had the chance to play many of those teams that last season. He’d spent half of the year lying in the dark.)

Holly was beautiful and Ilya wasn’t sure how he was going to survive.

Chapter 3: Whales

Chapter Notes

There were a few days before the end of development camp and Holly’s next engagement, a CCM shoot in Toronto and Holly asked, tentatively, if he could stay until then.

Ilya had looked at him blankly for a moment. “You live here,” he said. “This is your house.”

“Oh,” Holly had replied, embarrassed. “I mean I’m not paying rent yet. Not until September…”

“I do not care about rent,” Ilya said.

“You should,” Holly returned. “Even if you’re a multi-millionare you should be careful with your money.”

Ilya successfully avoided rolling his eyes. Better for a rookie to have that mindset. Back Ilya had been a rookie he’d spent money like it was water, although mostly that was because it had been the only way to keep his brother’s hands off of it. Better to buy a stable of sports cars than to stuff more coke into Alexi’s nose.

“You are not even getting paid yet,” Ilya pointed out.

“I got my signing bonus,” Holly argued.

“You still need to buy car,” Ilya reminded him.

Holly laughed. “I’m not going to spend ninety-eight thousand on a car,” he said.

Ilya shrugged. ‘Cheap car. Maybe you need loan?”

Holly’s eyes widened. “Are your cars really worth more than that?”

“Some,” Ilya admitted.

“I don’t think I would want to drive something that cost that much,” Holly admitted. “I scraped up my mom’s car like two months ago and that was bad enough.”

“Holly,” Ilya said. “Yes, you should be careful with your money. This is very good advice. You know lots of athletes do not and soon after they retire they run out. Especially because hockey is very bad for your body and career ending injuries are so common. But, also, you can afford to fix a scratch on a car. Or, more sensible, have insurance.”

“Fuck,” Holly breathed. “Insurance on all those cars must be insane.”

Ilya shrugged. Holly wasn’t wrong about that.

“You are welcome to stay here,” Ilya said, getting back to their earlier conversation, “but I was thinking to go to my beach house.”

“You have a beach house?” Holly asked.

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “It is across the bay on Cape Cod. We can take my boat.”

“You have a boat?” Holly’s eyes went wide.

“I am very rich,” Ilya reminded him and Holly laughed.

“Yeah, right. Do you like, uh, fishing?”

“No,” Ilya said. “Fishing is too boring. Always sitting around. And then you have a fish and fish are so messy. Scales get everywhere, there is fish blood, hooks in mouth, terrible smell. And then you have to clean it! My boat is too nice for all this mess. I like to buy fish. Have professional do it, professional cook it, it is very delicious and I do not have to get fish blood on hands. Or touch worms.”

“Huh,” Holly said, like he'd never considered the many, many advantages to not going fishing.

“Do you like fishing?”

“My dad does. We’ve got a summer cottage up in Montreal and it’s on a big lake, so sometimes I would go and we’d row out to a deeper part. Or I’d go fly fishing with him. You put on waders and go stand in a shallow river and cast your line out. It’s actually kind of nice. Really peaceful. Like you’re sitting there or standing there, but you’re also doing something so it doesn’t feel like a waste of time.”

Ilya shook his head. “Maybe. I do not like, but it is okay for other people."

"Generous," Holly teased.

"Even if there is no fishing, do you want to come?”

“Come?” Holly repeated.

“To my beach house,” Ilya said. “Only have time for two days. One day drive out in boat, next day come back.”

“I need to do some training,” Holly said. He’d been fretting about the lack of training he was getting done in the summer, although he’d worked out every day of the development camp and skated most of those days as well.

“Can do cross training on beach,” Ilya pointed out. “Running in sand is very good. Swimming. You swim?”

“Yeah, I can swim. I’ve never done laps in the ocean before.”

“Swimming in ocean is better,” Ilya opined. "Smell better, taste better, it is nice to be outside."

Holly considered for a moment. “Okay,” he said finally. “Why not?”

Ilya couldn’t help smiling at him. “I will tell Sara to pack meal for two, then.”

“Oh,” Holly said. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “You have money,” he reminded Holly.

.

The next day, after development camp, Ilya took Holly to one of the shopping centers near the center of Boston, teased him into buying shorts and t-shirts, sandals and sunglasses, so he wouldn’t end up on the beach in the horrible polos and khakis his mother had packed or the athletic wear he otherwise lived in.

They headed out early the next morning, got out to the marina while it was still cool and the traffic wasn't too bad. Holly gushed over Ilya’s boat, the Irina, which was very nice, of course, sleek and red while still having room for a small enclosed cabin, a tiny galley, bathroom, and bench seat that folded out into a bed.

“Wow,” Holly exclaimed. “You can sleep here?”

Ilya had never slept on the boat, though he had done other bed-related activities, something he wasn’t about to mention to Shane.

“Yes, if you want to make small trip,” Ilya said. “You can go to Maine or Rhode Island maybe. I think it is better to stay in hotel, but in emergency it is possible."

“That’s so cool,” Holly gushed.

Ilya showed him how to cast off and steered them out of the marina, through the boat traffic until they got to the clearer water of Cape Cod bay and he could finally open up, Holly’s astonishment renewed as the boat began speeding across the water.

He asked a million questions about how the boat worked and what were the landmarks they were speeding past and Ilya showed him how to pilot the boat, standing too close to him so he could show him the different controls, breathing in the coconut scent of his sunscreen and the lavender of his hair.

“Look,” Ilya said, when they were halfway across the bay, slowing the boat down.

“What is it?” Holly asked.

Ilya pointed to a much larger boat that had just come into view. “Whale watchers.”

“Wow!” Holly exclaimed. “Are there whales around here?”

“Sometimes you see,” Ilya said. He’d been hoping for this. He steered closer to the whale watch boat and then cut the engine, smiled as Holly stared hopefully out at the water, until he spotted the jet of an erupting blowhole and then a tail rising above the water.

“Oh my god!” Holly shouted. “There’s a whale! Look! Wow! It’s so huge.” He grabbed onto Ilya’s arm in his excitement, so tightly Ilya thought he’d leave bruises. “Holy shit! Look, there’s another.”

The second whale was even closer, close enough they could see the head breaching the water and the dorsal fin and finally the tail.

“Shit, it’s so big!” Holly exclaimed, laughing. “I know they’re big, but holy shit, they’re big!”

The whale disappeared under the waves and Holly turned to him, shining with excitement. “This is so amazing! Did you know this was going to happen?”

“I hope,” Ilya admitted. “I see a few times. I think you will like.”

“I like!” Holly said. “It’s so cool! But it’s also a little scary, like they’re bigger than this boat. They could just knock us over so easily!”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. He’s been surprised by a whale once, breaching so close it had make the boat rock an unsettling amount. “But they do not want to.”

“It’s amazing.” Holly turned back to the water. “People have almost killed them completely and still they don’t want to hurt us. If I were them I would be so angry I’d knock every boat over. And eat the people.”

“They cannot eat people,” Ilya said.

“Really?” Holly asked. “Why?”

“They are baleen whales. That mean that instead of teeth they have a big filter. They eat small things in ocean, like krill and small fish by scooping it up like net and filtering out water. It is not for big animals.”

“Wow,” Holly said. “How do you know that?”

“When I see whale first time I am very interested so I read a lot about them,” Ilya said. “There is whaling museum in New Bedford I got to too. It is very sad because of people killing so many whale, but there is big whale skeleton, is so amazing. Big whale skeleton, I think humpback whale maybe, and inside is little skeleton of baby.”

“Wow,” Holly breathed. “Oh look, there’s another!”

The head of the whale breached the surface, emerging far enough that the fins were visible before it crashed down into the water.

“It is a right whale,” Ilya said, mostly guessing.

“Wow! How do you know that?”

“Very big head with these big white things on top and small flipper,” Ilya explained. “Humpback has very very big flipper. Science name means ‘big wing’.”

“Did you see humpbacks here?”

“Yes, few times.”

“This is so cool. This is like the coolest thing,” Holly gushed, staring out where they’d seen the whale, hoping it would emerge again, but there was nothing.

“We can eat lunch,” Ilya suggested, “while waiting for whale.”

“Okay,” Holly agreed, and so Ilya brought out the cooler Sara had packed for their lunch, pulling out sandwiches and a vegetable tray with a hummus dip and iced tea she’d made and bottled for them.

Ilya told Holly more whale facts as they ate and they saw a few more whales breach, although they were clearly moving further away. By the time they were done the whales seemed to have left and Ilya suggested they continue on to Truro.

The harbor in Truro was night and day compared to the marina where Ilya kept his boat in Boston. Nothing but a small inlet with maybe a dozen moorings and a narrow floating dock. Most of the boats were small, sailboats or boats with outboard motors. Ilya put the Irina into reverse enough to stop their forward momentum and reached out with the boat hook, snagging the mooring rope and tying the boat onto it.

“There’s already a boat attached here,” Holly observed.

“That’s the tender,” Ilya said. He used the boat hook to pull the tender alongside the Irina and made it fast to the side of the larger boat so they could easy move the bags over, then helped Holly step down into it. Holly surprised Ilya by sitting between the oars.

“We’ve got a rowboat at my parent’s cottage,” Holly explained, putting the oars out of the bottom of the tender and fitting them into the oarlocks.

Ilya untied the tender from the mooring and cast off, pointing Holly to the dock, impressed as he skillfully turned the tender around and navigated around the moored boats, following Ilya’s directions.

They unloaded the tender onto the dock and then Ilya pulled it around to lock it up with the others.

“You just leave it here when you’re in Boston?” Holly asked as he followed Ilya along the long boardwalk that led through the salt-marsh to his house.

“My neighbor looks after it,” Ilya explained. “Also checks on house.”

“So you don’t have a whole team of servants here?” Holly asked.

“Only a cleaner come before and after I visit.” The path led through a small stand of windswept trees to Ilya’s beach house.

“It’s smaller than I expected,” Holly said, pausing to look at it.

It was a small house, the footprint smaller than just the living room in Ilya’s Boston condo. It was sided with unstained shingles, gone gray in the salt wind, and the only hint of luxury were the large plate glass windows facing the water. A low porch extended off the front with a hammock and chaise lounge and a narrow path wound down a steep slope and then through beach roses and beach grass down to the beach.

Ilya had been planning on buying something large and luxurious but then he had seen this little house and fallen in love.

“Where should I put my bag?” Holly asked, as Ilya brought the freezer bags to the small kitchen.

“Just beside couch,” Ilya said. “Sorry only one bed here, but couch is… how you say, turn into a bed?”

“I don’t know,” Holly admitted. “Convertible?”

“That is type of car,” Ilya argued.

Holly laughed. “Oh, I think you call it a sleeper?”

Ilya shrugged. “Whatever name, it is okay for you? You are young, not aches and pains yet.”

“Yes, because you are so old,” Holly teased him.

“Too old for couch,” Ilya said, with a sigh. He finished putting the food away and straightened up to see Holly examining one of the paintings on the wall.

“Are these, like colonial mermaids?” he asked.

“Famous local artist,” Ilya explained, stepping over so he could admire the bright image of a group of mermaids brushing their hair on the back of a whale.

“It’s… different,” Holly said, turning to look at a sun-catcher made of sea glass hung in the window. “This is all very different from your condo in Boston.”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “I have house on Cape, you know, I want it to look like house on Cape.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Holly said. He turned and looked out the window.

“What you want to do?” Ilya asked. “Go swimming, go for run on beach, lie in hammock, read book, go to P-town and see drag show?”

“Drag show?” Holly asked, clearly shocked. "Like gay people dressed as women?"

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Very close to here is famous summer place for gay people. Gay club, drag show. We can take boat or motorcycle.”

“You’d go to a drag show?” Holly repeated. “Isn’t that… gay?”

Ilya shrugged. “Maybe it is gay to be in a drag show, but it is very funny, I think straight people can also like it.”

Holly had turned bright red. Interesting, Ilya thought. He’d already caught the kid checking him out a few times, his eyes skittering over Ilya’s naked chest or quickly looking away Ilya's ass when he’d been leaning over.

He wondered if Holly had any experience with men— if he’d participated in some of the mutual masturbation sessions or ‘no homo’ hand-jobs some kids got up to in juniors. Did he even know he was attracted to men, or had it not clicked yet?

Ilya wanted to know, wanted to introduce him to all the fun things two men could get up to together. He was struck by the almost overwhelming impulse to cross the room and grab Holly by the shoulders, kiss him until he was drowning in it, but there were reasons on top of reasons why that couldn’t, wouldn’t happen.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for a drag show,” Holly said, breaking the awkward silence. “Maybe a swim?”

Yes. A shock of cold water was definitely what Ilya needed.

.

Ilya changed into his swimsuit in the loft, then headed down the steep narrow stairs to where Holly was rooting through his duffel. “Roz, do you—” he began.

Ilya frowned and turned to look at him only to find Holly staring at him, mouth gaping open.

Ilya looked down at himself and realized he was only wearing his Speedo, the small one he wore when he wanted to be comfortable and there weren't many people around to shock. It was bright red and fit nicely around his ass and package.

Holly’s eyes seemed glued to it.

Ilya resisted the urge to gyrate his hips to see if Holly’s eyes would follow the path of his dick-print like a dog with his eyes locked on a treat. Really, Holly shouldn’t be too shocked— he saw men in their underwear and naked all of the time.

“You have not seen Speedo before?” he asked.

Holly jumped and blushed almost as red as Ilya’s swimsuit. “I have,” he said, quickly, staring intently at the blank white wall.

“It is more popular in Europe,” Ilya commented. “Not so— what do they say? Puritanical?”

“Didn’t the Puritans come from Europe?”

Ilya shrugged. He already knew more Boston history than he wanted to.

“I have been to Europe before,” Holly said, still staring at the wall. It was a very nice wall, Ilya had to admit. He’d painted it himself. Well, he’d hired people to paint it. “I just, uh, wasn’t expecting—”

“It is okay,” Ilya said, feeling a little bad for teasing the kid. “I have other swimsuits. If you want I will change.”

“No!” Holly exclaimed. “I mean, I don’t want you to have to change just for my benefit.” He glanced over at Ilya. “If you’re comfortable. Is that comfortable?” he added, doubtfully.

“Yes,” Ilya said. “I would not wear if were not.”

This was not true. Ilya was no stranger for enduring discomfort for the sake of aesthetics.

“It just looks…” Holly swallowed. “Restricting?”

“Only cozy,” Ilya assured him. “You are ready to go to beach?”

“No,” Holly admitted. “I forgot the sunscreen.”

“I have,” Ilya said, and grabbed a bottle and tossed it to him. Holly nodded and then, shyly, stripped off his shirt so he could apply the sunscreen to himself. Ilya bit his lip to keep from offering to lotion up Holly’s back, turned away to pack a beach bag so he would not stare.

They headed down to the beach and spent a while swimming back and forth until they were tired and then dropped onto the beach towels to share the snacks and drinks Sara had packed.

“It’s so peaceful here,” Holly observed. “Why aren’t there other people?”

“It is private beach,” Ilya explained.

Holly’s eyebrows shot up. “You own the beach?”

Ilya shrugged. “I own beach access. It is too hard to get to otherwise."

“Wow,” Holly said, looking out at the sea. He was quiet for a while. Ilya just laid down and drifted for a while on the smell of salt and coconut scented sunscreen and the sound of the waves and cawing birds.

“Doesn’t it bother you,” Holly said finally. “You said there’s a town of gay people close by.”

“Why would it bother me?” Ilya asked cracking one eye open to look at him.

“Maybe… maybe people would think you were gay because you live near a gay town. And you said sometimes you go to a drag show.”

“Let me tell you a secret,” Ilya said. “It called ‘heteronormativity’. It means people always think you are not gay. Whatever you do they make excuse for you. Maybe you spend all your time with close friend. This is called a ‘bromance’. Maybe you jerk off with team mate. This is called ‘helping a bro out’. Maybe there is picture of you kiss man on mouth. Then they will say ‘cannot men be close friends?’

“It does not matter if you have sex with all men every day of the week or you are pure virgin. Someone will always say ‘you can not assume sexuality’ and ‘it is taken out of content’. Someone else will write porn of you fucking teammate and put this on internet.”

“They what?” Shane exclaimed, but Ilya spoke over him.

“We play this game. Game is: if you are person who fits what they want you to be. If you are good at game it does not matter what you do. Always there will be excuse for you, people will sweep under the rug. If you are bad at game it do not matter what you do, they will invent reason to be upset by you.”

“I’m not good at playing that kind of game,” Holly admitted, voice tinged with worry. “And I’m already starting off at a disadvantage.”

“It is okay,” Ilya reassured him. “I am your captain, yes? I am very good at this game. I help you.”

“What does that mean?” Holly pressed. “Like the person everyone thinks you are is just a front?”

Ilya carefully did not laugh. “All celebrity do this,” he said. “You have media training?”

“Of course.”

“In media training they tell you how to talk and what to say. I see you do this in interview. You speak different, your face look different. Is it fake? Are you lying to everyone?”

“I hate it,” Holly admitted. “I feel like a robot or a parrot, just saying what people tell me to.”

“So you find some middle ground. You need to be interesting but you cannot be too interesting. Have a little interesting hobby, habit, you know? But not too interesting. Not so much they say 'this hockey player thinks he is too good for us' or 'this hockey player always wants attention'.”

“I hate it,” Holly said again, whining a little. "I just want to play hockey."

“I will help you,” Ilya promised him again, putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore how warm Holly's skin was from the sun.

Ilya considered for a moment, then added. “But this does not mean you should do stupid thing, yes? Nothing in public, always still be careful, no video or picture, yes? If you do not know if something is stupid you will call me.”

“I’m not going to do anything!” Holly exclaimed, turning his head to looked, horrified, at Ilya. Suddenly his face was too close. His eyes widened. He stared at Ilya’s eyes, then his eyes flickered down to Ilya’s mouth, red lips parted.

“Good,” Ilya whispered and teetered for a minute on the edge of a cliff. Holly’s eyes were so very wide. His lips were so red. His breath was hot on Ilya’s cheek, his skin so warm and soft under Ilya’s hand.

He is your rookie, Ilya chastised himself. He is innocent. And it was this last thought that made Ilya pull away. He tried to ignore the hurt look in Holly’s eye.

“Maybe time for dinner, yes?” he said, turning to grab the random things that had been spread out on the sand, the food and drink containers, the sunscreen and his hat. In his periphery he saw Holly swallow and then look out at sea.

“Yeah,” he agreed and his voice was a little rough.

.

Dinner was steaks Sara had sent in some kind of marinade and tinfoil packets of vegetables. Ilya fired up the grill and cooked it while Holly showered and changed into the shorts and shirt Ilya had convinced him to buy.

(So what if Ilya had bought him those clothes? So what if he was wearing Ilya’s clothes? So what if Ilya had staked Holly out as his territory? Fuck, you need to get a fucking handle on yourself.)

Instead, Ilya asked Holly about the most boring thing he could think of to kill his boner. This turned out to be the history of Ottawa which was, in fact, extremely boring. It did not turn Ilya off at all.

They stayed up late talking. The sun set and the stars came out, the bright curl of the Milky Way.

“It’s even brighter at my parent’s summer cottage,” Holly said, face turned up to look at the stars. “You can hardly see any stars in Boston.”

“Not in Moscow either,” Ilya agreed. “I did not see this until I was twelve. Sent to country to stay with cousin for a while. Did not even know the sky look like this.”

“It must have been strange getting out of the city for the first time,” Holly said.

Ilya closed his eyes. It had been just after his mom had died and his father hadn’t known what to do with him. Ilya had hardly spoken after he’d found her, cold, slumped over the couch. He hadn’t even cried. Fed up with his silence his father had sent him to a distant cousin who’d had a dacha and a few kids Ilya’s age and who hadn’t known what to do with him either.

“Yes,” he agreed.

Fortunately, Holly didn’t notice the change in Ilya’s mood and instead started talking about the one time he’d been sent to a non-hockey sleep away camp.

They stayed up too late, sitting too close, looking out at the night sky hanging heavy over the black ocean, listening to the waves lap the shore, the insects singing, the distant sounds of music, of traffic, of a motorboat cutting through the water.

And Holly was so close Ilya could hear his breath, could feel the warmth of him, knew all he would have do to would be to turn toward him and Holly would open up like a flower, would give him anything.

“Time for bed,” Ilya said, too suddenly, too loudly and then winced at the way it sounded. He stood and stretched and headed into the house. “There are sheets and blanket for the couch bed in chest,” he told Holly, indicating the chest that also served as a coffee table. He pushed it aside so he could open up the couch, pinching his finger on the mechanism in his haste.

“Are you okay?” Holly asked, when Ilya swore. He sounded confused and maybe a little hurt. Ilya wasn’t going to think about that.

“Fine,” he brushed it off and unfolded the bed, grabbing the sheets from Holly and making the bed up while Holly stood there, holding the pillows.

Then the bed was made and Holly was still standing there, still looking confused and maybe a little fragile and maybe Ilya should have said something, something about how he was not rejecting him, just the situation, how if he could he would take him, would kiss every inch of him, would touch him as gently and reverently as he deserved.

But, of course, saying that would be almost as worse as doing it, so Ilya instead went into the bathroom to piss and brush his teeth and left Holly in the living room alone.

Chapter End Notes

The referenced paintings is by Ralph Cahoon, a Cape Cod based artist whose topless mermaid paintings titillated many a young Cape Cod child.

I amuse myself by Ilya Rozanov going into a Christmas Tree Shop to buy beach inspired tchotchkes to decorate his Cape house with.

North Atlantic Right Whales aren't very often seen by whale tours, so this is a little unrealistic, but they do have feeding grounds in Cape Cod bay.

Chapter 4: Selected texts from Shane Hollander

Chapter Notes

Content warnings: references to canon-typical racism, some homophobia/ homophobic language. References to suicide, depression, and addiction and people being really stupid about it

Holly: I would not have agreed to this orange soda sponsorship if I knew they were going to make me so wet

Holly: I asked them why my shirt is wet but they couldn’t give a good reason

Holly: I think they’re objectifying me

Holly: for some reason my face has to be wet too

Holly: apparently my smile when my shirt and face are dripping is ‘inauthentic’ I wonder why

.

Holly: I have heard the word determined so many times today it has lost all meaning

Holly: the director kept telling me to look determined and then said I looked too focused?

Holly: also: ‘look like you want to win but don’t be too aggressive’

Holly: they put on my pads wrong bc they said it would look better?

Holly: this is for a CCM commercial btw

Holly: when I said the pads were on wrong they said it was about the image not about the authenticity?

Holly: I would not buy pads if they were being worn wrong in a commercial

.

Holly: I understand why the rookie showcase exists I just wish it didn’t

Holly: I guess its cool I’m going to be on trading cards but they’re asking me to look determined again

Holly: apparently I’m not relaxed enough when I’m looking determined

Holly: I still don’t know what it means

.

Holly: this girl wanted me to sign her boobs

Holly: she said she was going to get it tattooed?

Holly: I haven’t even played in the nhl yet

Holly: like what if I got injured preseaon and it like ended my career now she has to explain to everyone why she has the tattoo of a guy who didn’t even play in the nhl

Holly: like people will ask who I am and she’ll have to be like ‘he starred in a mediocre orange soda commercial once. he was really wet.'

.

Holly: they’re making us film a skit for youtube where we spent all our money on stupid things and now we’re poor

Holly: one guy supposedly spent all his money at a bar and another one spent all his money on room service and I spent it all on legos

Holly: I don’t know what the point of this is

Holly: I guess I’m the wholesome one tho?

.

Holly: there is a japanese reporter here

Holly: He is trying to ask me questions in japanese

Holly: I know like ten words in japanese?

Holly: like I can kind of understand my grandfather when he tries to share his conspiracy theories?

Holly: but I can’t like hold an interview in japanese

Holly: oh great he speaks english now I can try to explain what its like to be the face of japanese people in hockey when I can’t even speak japanese

.

Holly: I understand why the player orientation program exists I just wish it didn’t

Holly: everyone here is an idiot

Holly: someone asked if other people could see your twitter account

Holly: this guy said his phone couldn’t be hacked because he’d bought a protective case for it

.

Holly: the kid sitting next to me asked why we should save for retirement

Holly: this idiot didn’t realize you have to pay off credit cards??

Holly: there’s a kid here who has already spent his entire signing bonus?

.

Holly: someone was surprised that the word ‘fag’ was considered hate speech

Holly: “but what if ‘cocksucker’ is used as like a compliment?”

Holly: the speaker brought up racism and everyone looked at me

.

Holly: oh no this kid is surprised you can catch STIs from blowjobs

Holly: ‘but im not giving the blowjob so I don’t have to worry about it, right?’

Holly: yikes you do not want to know about the misconceptions about birth control that are flying around

Holly: no wonder so many hockey players get married young

Holly: don’t their parents teach them anything?

.

Holly: the next session is on mental health I wonder what gems I’m going to hear

Holly: ‘but like suicide is stupid so just don’t be stupid’

Holly: oh no this kid asked if concussions were really so bad

Holly: he asked why you’re not supposed to look at screens when you have a concussion

Holly: ‘your eyes are part of your brain?!?’

.

Holly: Now the rookies are just listing every possible drug and asking if its a drug

Holly: this guy is asking where you can get drugs

Holly: bud the NHLPA rep is not going to help you source drugs

Holly: now there’s a kid saying that alcoholism isn’t real?

Holly: oh I guess its because if you have jesus in your heart there won’t be any space for substance abuse

.

Holly: oh a lot of these kids don’t know who their agents are

Holly: or what agents do

Holly: bud why do you think you don’t have an agent

Holly: oh no this one apparently has never read his contract

Holly: most of them haven’t read their contracts!

Holly: the presenter looks appalled but resigned

Holly: my mother would seriously get hives if she heard this

Holly: seriously, didn’t their parents teach them anything?

.

Holly: I know my education wasnt the best but

Holly: I know that pasta isn’t a vegetable?

Holly: and that fruit has sugar in it

Holly: like there’s literally a kind of sugar called ‘fruit sugar’

Holly: oh no this guy just found out that veal is from baby cows and now he looks actually heart broken

Holly: oh no all the guys who think of themselves as rednecks are just arguing about hunting now

Holly: this is a workshop on nutrition?

Holly: not on the most manly way to kill a deer

Holly: oh no the guy who found out about veal looks really horrified now

Holly: he’s from LA

Holly: this guy just said that he thought only girls could eat salad

Holly: im so excited to hear that tofu turns you into a girl

Holly: several people looked at me when that asshole said that

Holly: so…

Holly: oh this guy just found out that cheese comes from milk?

Holly: apparently you can just power through allergies, good to know

Holly: im actually alarmed at how many antivaxxers there are here

Holly: have to reassess my chances of getting the measeles in the nhl

.

Holly: oh no I hope you’re not an anti-vaxxer

Holly: or think jesus prevents alcoholism

Holly: or haven’t read your contract

Holly: 😇

Chapter End Notes

I really head-canon Shane as someone who's perpetually annoyed by other people's stupidity.

Fun fact: there have been several measles outbreaks in the nhl

These are only selections from Ilya's and Shane's text thread which is why Ilya doesn't seem to respond. He is responding; the responses just aren't included.

So the Rookie Showcase (which Shane attends) is this thing where the NHL gets the most promising rookies and has them do promo things and get photographs for trading cards and for the graphics they show during NHL games. Sometimes they do silly skits and put them on youtube.

The Player Orientation program is something put on by the NHL Player's Association to teach rookies about NHLPA programs and personal financing and how not to be stupid on social media and mental health issues and things like that.

I learned a lot of this from A Guide to the NHL/MLH: Everything But the Hockey which I studied intently to figure out what Shane would be doing the summer before his rookie year.

Chapter 5: Preseason

Chapter Notes

Assume that when Svetlana and Ilya are talking they're speaking Russian.

Sveta came to stay for a couple of days a few weeks before the pre-season started. She made Ilya go out and buy her a whole lobster and then they sat and drank at a rooftop bar while she complained about how boring he was.

“You own a business now,” Ilya reminded her. “You are a responsible business owner going to a business meeting in gray skirt suits.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a once over that conveyed exactly how much she disdained his outfit.

“You spend all your weekends alone in a tiny beach house,” she pointed out.

Ilya couldn’t help thinking about Holly visiting his beach house, about coming downstairs to see Holly curled up on Ilya’s sofa bed, face half turned into the mattress, hugging a pillow tightly against his body. How much he’d wanted to brush Holly’s hair back across his forehead, to kiss him there, gently, the way Ilya’s mother had woken him up when she was little.

Maybe some of that showed on his face or maybe Sveta was just psychic because she narrowed her eyes and tilted her head.

“Are you going to bring Hollander to your beach house?” she asked, then she raised her eyebrows. “Oh, you already have?”

“I hate you,” Ilya muttered, sitting back in his chair. His fingers itched for a cigarette like they did every time someone pried into his feelings. It made therapy hell.

“Shane Hollander,” Sveta mused. “He is a pretty boy.”

“Shut up,” Ilya said.

“Such a good player. Beautiful hands.”

“I hate you.”

“He looks sweet. Is he sweet? Those big brown eyes. Just your type.”

Ilya finished his drink and then stole hers.

“Living in your house all year, looking up to you. Idolizing you, maybe? I bet he had your poster when he was a kid.”

Ilya tried to make eye contact with the waitress.

“Sweet, innocent, but that ass.”

“Stop objectifying my rookie.”

“He’d probably be—”

“Svetlana,” Ilya interrupted. “Please stop.”

Sveta stole her drink back and then looked down at the empty cup, sadly.

“Seriously,” she said. “Are you going to be able to handle it?”

“Living with a beautiful boy who keeps ogling me?” Ilya answered honestly, mouth dry. “I don’t know.”

“Fuck,” she muttered. “I meant having another star player on the team.”

“What do you mean?” Ilya asked.

“The Bears are the Ilya Rozanov show. Everyone knows this. But Hollander is going to be even bigger than you. ‘The Next Great One’. ‘Hockey Jesus’. Even if it’s all dramatics, he can play. Not as good as you, but he’s still developing. He’ll be your equal, maybe better. Can you handle that? Being overshadowed on your own team?”

“It is not going to be a problem,” Ilya insisted. “We’re on the same team. There have been two stars on teams before.”

She gave him a skeptical look and then, thankfully, dropped it.

.

There was absolutely no reason for Ilya to pick Holly up at Logan. No one in their right mind went to Logan unnecessarily. He could have sent a car. Instead he got his Mercedes G Wagon from the garag, braved the airport traffic and parked in the most expensive parking zone so he could head inside and meet Holly at the baggage claim.

He signed a few hats and shirts and scraps of papers while he was waiting, shook a few hands, accepted several people’s sympathy for his injury the year before, a few people asking what the hell happened to the Bears last season.

He was starting to really wonder why the hell he had come all the way to Logan, this shitty ass airport with the most stupidly designed roads full of rude, demanding Massholes, when Holly’s flight arrived and there he was, head tucked down and hair in front of his face like he was hoping no one would notice him.

He didn’t even look up to see with Ilya. Just stood near the baggage claim and fiddled with his phone. Ilya had to go up to him, say “Holly.”

But that was worth it too, when Holly jumped in surprise and then turned and lit up to see Ilya there, wrapped his arms around him like they were long-separated friends not two people who’d spent a week around each other a month and a half earlier.

There were definitely people watching. Ilya pounded Holly’s back to make it more manly.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Holly exclaimed.

That was because Ilya had waffled about going up until the very last minute.

“It is surprise,” Ilya covered. “You have luggage?”

Most of Holly’s things had been shipped to Ilya’s house the week before; Shane's room was full of boxes. (Ilya had arrived in Boston with a suitcase and a gearbag and had to buy everything else).

“Yeah, my gear bag and suitcasea,” Holly said, so they waited around, taking selfies and signing things for fans who approached them, until finally Holly spotted his luggage, hauling it off the conveyor belt and smiling up at Ilya.

“Let’s go home.”

Ilya’s stomach lurched a little inside of him, like he was on a rollercoaster that had taken a sudden turn.

He took one of the suitcases from Holly and began to lead the way towards where he had parked hoping his face didn’t give anything away.

.

Training camp went much as Ilya had expected; almost everyone who'd been on LTR was back, fighting fit, Lemarre seemed much better, although occasionally he’d pause for a moment, like a video with a lagging connection, but it never happened on the ice.

Holly was tested with different wingers, both call-ups and vets. Keppler even stole Marly from Ilya for a hot minute, and yeah Marly was good with Holly, although not as good as he was with Ilya, of course.

The best part was when Ilya got to play with Holly on the powerplay, with Marly and Sim and Consy, obliterating the PK team until Kov looked like he was about to cry.

.

Holly was clearly nervous the night before the first pre-season game. He kept pushing his tofu noodles around his plate.

“You need to eat,” Ilya reminded him.

Holly rolled his eyes. “Thanks, mom,” he said.

It was nice that he was getting comfortable with Ilya, Ilya supposed.

“You are nervous,” Ilya said, expecting to get another eye roll, but Holly just sighed.

“I know it’s stupid; it’s just an exhibition game.”

“Not stupid,” Ilya told him. “First game in NHL, even if pre-season. Everyone watching you see how you fit into team.”

Holly raised his eyebrows. “Are you trying to make me more nervous?”

“Just to…” Ilya searched his vocabulary. “Affirm your feelings. Being nervous is normal. But I am not nervous.”

“Because you’re not playing?”

“Because I know you will play well.”

Holly went a little pink underneath his freckles.

“I am excited to see you play,” Ilya added.

Holly went even more pink.

“The line with you and Sim and Portland look very good,” Ilya continued, helping himself to more salad. “It is interesting to see it in action.”

Holly smiled a little.

“But will not happen if you don’t eat!” Ilya added, nudging Holly's bowl closer to him and Holly tried to scowl but ended up laughing instead. He took a bite of his noodles.

“These are good,” he said.

“Your mother say you like them, so I ask Sara to make.”

Holly gaped at him. “You asked my mom?”

“Yes, of course,” Ilya said. “I ask her for all your favorite meals.” He’d asked Yuna for a lot of information about Holly; what made him nervous and what made him happy and what he might dislike but wouldn’t admit to. “I want you to be happy here,” he added, mostly just to see Holly go a deeper red.

“I am,” Holly muttered to his noodles.

“Good,” Ilya said. “Sara made mochi for dessert.”

“Real mochi?” Holly repeated, surprised.

“Is there fake mochi? I do not know,” Ilya said. “But Sara was very excited. She did not make it before and she wanted to try. Perhaps she made too much of it and we bring it to team.”

“If she made too much I’ll just eat it all,” Holly decided and Ilya laughed.

“But first you eat all your noodles,” Ilya reminded him and Holly smiled and took another bite.

.

Ilya wasn’t playing but he still drove Holly to the game and did the rounds while the guys were warming up, giving a few more pep-talks to call-ups and rookies who looked like they needed it, joining in on a pregame soccer match until they were called to the locker room, then got back into his game day suit while the guys suited up.

“It is only a pre-season game,” Ilya shouted to the room. “But everyone is watching, want to know what will happen this season. Are we going to be winners or are we going to be losers? I tell you what: we have new coach who is winning coach. We have new teammates who are winning teammates. We have Shane Fucking Hollander!”

Everyone except for Holly cheered. Holly looked a little seasick.

“You are going to go out there and you are going to show them: Boston is back!”

“Boston is back!” they all repeated and grabbed their helmets and began to file out.

Ilya caught Holly and tapped his forehead gently on Holly’s helmet. “You are going to kill it,” he told him, softly.

Holly didn’t respond, just glowed at him with those beautiful brown eyes.

Ilya tapped their foreheads together again and then let Holly go.

.

“Do you have a few minutes for the media?” Shelly, one of the PR reps asked Ilya as the team filed out of the locker room.

“For you? Of course,” Ilya said, with his most charming smile.

Shelly rolled her eyes, but she still smiled. She escorted Ilya to the press box where he turned the smile on the reporters who were already there.

“It is so nice to see you,” he told them. “You have a good summer?”

“What about you?” one of them, Niko Carter, one of the sports beat reporters with the Globe turned the question back on Ilya. “We heard you spent time with Hollander?”

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Holly is billet with me this year. I take him out to bay to see whales.”

“How’s it going?” Dora Wilkins, who wrote for Masslive, asked.

“He is excellent house guest. You know, Canadian so very polite. But also smart and funny. He is knowing everything about hockey.”

“More than you?” Carter joked.

“I am very impressed with his knowledge,” Ilya told them. “And I am very excited to play with Holly this season. He is very good player, very good guest, will be very good teammate, I think.”

“Reports from juniors paint him as shy and standoffish,” Tom McCrae from the Herald noted.

“I do not think so,” Ilya said and couldn’t help smiling. “Maybe at first he is quiet but then he does not stop talking!”

They all laughed.

“Holly is an asset to team,” Ilya added. “We all know this! Every team want him! But Boston got him and Boston is keep him.”

“Did he like the whales?” Wilikins asked.

The others laughed again.

“He love the whales,” Ilya said. “I tell him all about endangered North Atlantic right whale making come back and we even see them in Cape Cod Bay! It was very exciting moment. It is like how Boston made comeback and won cup again!”

“Two years ago?” Carter asked, confused.

“No, this year,” Ilya said and then grinned. “Oh no I get tenses messed up. English is so confusing. I mean ‘just like how Boston will make a comeback and win the cup again’.”

They laughed again.

.

It was gratifying to Ilya how the crowd roared for Holly as he came out of the tunnel, and Ilya was enthralled watching him play. Holly was beautiful in practice but he was glorious in a game, in Ilya’s colors, with Ilya's teammates, scoring goals for Boston.

There was room for improvement, of course; the lines needed work. Holly was used to being the best player on the ice, that was clear, and he still was, but now he had a pair of wingers who could keep up with him and he needed to learn how to use them. He also needed to adjust his play for how skilled the other team was; Detroit had gotten to the second round of playoffs the year before and they were coming in hot.

Ilya should have been taking notes, like a good captain, but every time Holly went over the boards Ilya’s eyes were fixed on him. The aggressive way he took face-offs, his confidence, the ease with which he got the puck straight over the goalie’s shoulder and into the back of the next.

The horn blew and the teams headed back to the locker room for the first intermission.

“Your boy is looking good,” Wilikins commented. The other reporters had headed down to the locker room to interview the players.

“He is doing well,” Ilya agreed.

“Scored a goal in his first period of his first game; that’snot bad. Do you think he has staying power?”

“I think he can do anything he want to do. He is very…” Ilya searched for the word. “Determined,” he said, with a smile.

“Determined?” Wilikins repeated. “Is there a story behind that?”

“Holly have a commercial come out soon, tell me the director kept telling him to look determined so much he forgot what the word mean. I think it is funny because it is best word to describe him. Also maybe persistent, maybe driven, maybe stubborn? Holly is all these things. Is best character for NHL player, I think. Never stop, never give up, always working hard. This is exactly person Holly is.”

“That’s a glowing review,” Wilikins noted.

Ilya shrugged. “There is a reason all teams want him, I think.”

Wilikins considered this. “Can you tell me more about the whales?” she asked.

Ilya smiled and started telling her everything he knew about the critically endangered North Atlantic right whale.

.

When Holly was through media, showered, changed, Ilya took him home and up onto the roof.

“We celebrate win,” he told Holly and dug two containers out of the cooler Sara had left there.

“Ice cream?” Holly asked, doubtfully. “You know I’m lactose intolerant?”

“This ice cream is made of bananas,” Ilya told him.

Holly looked down at the ice cream skeptically, then back up at Ilya. “Bananas?”

Ilya nodded. “Try it. Is it surprisingly good. This one is peanut butter chocolate because I know you like. Mine is raspberry chocolate.”

Holly took a suspicious bite and then his eyebrows flew up. “There is no way this is made of bananas.”

Ilya nodded. “Sara is witch I think,” he said.

“I hope you’re paying her well.”

“I pay her so well,” Ilya replied. “She is best paid person in whole city.”

“Besides you,” Holly said, smiling.

“Besides me,” Ilya agreed.

“How did I do tonight?” Holly asked, when the banana ice cream was gone.

“You scored two games,” Ilya reminded him.

“I know,” Holly said.

“You want more?” Ilya asked. “You think you should get hat trick first game in NHL?”

“Cole Burnett got four his first game,” Holly reminded him.

“That was regular season game. You still have time to beat record. You will get five goals in opener? Holly always have to be best ever?”

“Shut up,” Holly said and shoved him.

“You were good,” Ilya told him and Holly beamed at him, brighter then even the moon.

Chapter End Notes

Auston Matthews got four goals his first regular season NHL game- scoring four goals at all during a game is extremely rare, so that was amazing. The Leafs still lost, which I understand is very typical of them.

Banana ice cream is real and very amazing and I encourage everyone to try it; just freeze a banana and stick it in a blender. Maybe add something for flavor, like peanut butter.

Chapter 6: Ilya Rozanov on Shane Hollander and the Critically Endangered North Atlantic Right Whale

Chapter Notes

Ilya Rozanov on Shane Hollander and the Critically Endangered North Atlantic Right Whale

Dora Wilkins for MassLive, September 27, 2015

Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander at Bears training camp @2015 Bears Hockey

I had the pleasure of getting to chat with Boston Bears Captain Ilya Rozanov at the Bears’ first pre-season game yesterday, played at TD Garden against the Detroit Wreckers. Rozanov, who was not playing, sat in the press box with us, his eyes fixed on the action on the ice, but I was able to coax him into a conversation during the first intermission.

The Boston captain is doing great, you’ll be happy to hear, although I wouldn’t expect anything less, especially considering the way he played at the World Hockey Championships this May, dressed in Team USA colors for the first time. (Team USA got a silver, with Rozanov scoring one of the two goals in the Championship final against Sweden. Russia went down in the semifinals without facing Team USA, which is probably a contributing factor to our captain's continued good health).

When I asked about Hollander, Rozanov immediate broke into a wide grin. “I think he can do anything he wants to do,” he told me about the rookie, who got two goals in last night’s game. “He is very determined.” He went on to say that Hollander is persistent, driven, and stubborn. “Is best character for NHL player, I think. Never stop, never give up, always working hard. This is exactly the person Holly is.”

Boston has chosen to billet the rookie with the captain, which surprised me until I realized I was still thinking of the Ilya Rozanov of six to eight years ago, when he was notorious for partying (while still collecting more metal than a metal-detector). Nowadays the Bears Captain deserves a new reputation. By all accounts he takes his role as captain seriously and is widely considered to be the heart of the team— a team which literally fell apart without him last year, when he was out for the majority of the season with a concussion.

But it’s a new season and Rozanov is as energetic as ever, excited about their chances, especially with Hollander on board. Last night he cockily declared they were going to win the Cup again this year. “Holly is an asset to team,” he told us before the game. “We all know this! Every team want him! But Boston got him and Boston is keep him.”

Hollander is also excited and optimistic about the season, grinning wide when he spoke about his new team and especially his new Captain. “He picked me up at Logan,” he recounted in a post-game interview. “I’m told that’s an act of love. Seriously, though, I don’t Roz could have been more welcoming."

The Boston Captain didn’t just introduce Hollander to the team and the city, but also to the whales that migrate through Cape Cod Bay.

“He took me out to his beach house on the Cape,” Hollander told us, “and on the way we stopped when we saw a whale watching tour and it was so incredible— this whale came up so close to us it rocked the boat, and it was so enormous, like, yeah, everyone knows whales are large, but until it’s right there, this actual living thing that could eat you and maybe not even notice, I don’t think you really understand. At least I didn’t. It was just the most amazing experience, so incredible.”

A North Atlantic Right Whale @ New England Aquarium

“I see the whales a lot,” Rozanov told me. “I like to go out on bay and the first time was accident— I did not know they were there, but then I look on internet to see where is good spot. I start reading a little about different whales so I can try to identify.”

Rozanov didn’t just start reading a little; after I asked him to tell me a little about them, he gave me a lecture about the history of the whaling industry and the conservation efforts that have brought the North Atlantic Right Whale back from the brink of extinction, although they're still critically endangered."

I think we’re all excited about the addition of Hollander to Boston hockey. From what I saw last night, the rookie deserves the hype around the draft. But it’s pretty clear to me that no one is as excited as Rozanov.

In honor of Hollander joining the team and Rozanov’s love of the North Atlantic right whale, I am excited to make a wager: if Hollander makes 20 goals for Boston this season, I will adopt a North Atlantic right whale in his name, with money going to the Right Whale Research Program.

You are welcome to join me in endeavor to support both the Bears and the whales.

Chapter End Notes

The journalist promising to sponsor a whale if a player reaches 20 goals is inspired by Meghan Angley of Guerilla Sports, who made a similar promise after Parker Kelly of the Aves came back from a vacation in Hawaii 'addicted to whales'.

Chapter 7: Home opener

Chapter Notes

They lost their first game of the regular season. Ilya didn’t take it too hard; it was the Cougars’ home opener, so they were playing hard and the Bears hadn’t fully come together; there had been a lot of changeover since the year before, Keppler was still trying to find his feet as a coach, etc, etc.

Holly, though was devastated, in a quiet, subdued way. Angry, Ilya could tell. He had nothing to be embarrassed about; he’d gotten a goal and an assist. Nothing near Cole Burnett’s four puck record, but hardly embarrassing.

Ilya usually liked to sit by himself on the bus and play cards for the first hour or two of the flight, his adrenaline winding down enough for him to sleep, if the flight was longer than that, but this time he dropped into the seat beside Holly, who didn’t even look at him.

“You played well,” Ilya said.

“We still lost,” Holly sighed, but he shifted so their arms were touching.

“There is 82 games,” Ilya reminded him. “We will lose. We are playing NHL teams and NHL players. We are best in world but they are also. We are try to win but they are also. Expect to win every time is lead to lots of disappointment.”

“But it was my first game!” Holly exclaimed.

“There are rookies on the Cougars too.”

“But they weren’t me,” Holly persisted, more quietly.

Ilya laughed. “You think if we win or lose is up to you? I am not on team?”

“No,” Holly said. “You are.”

“And Marly and Consy and Kov?”

“You all are.”

“So winning is all of us and all of them, yes? Losing is all of us and all of them. This is forty people playing. Not just you. Feel bad after game is normal, yes? But feel guilt? Blame like you are only cause of loss? This is lie. You are special.”

At this Holly finally turned to look at him, mouth parted a little.

“Yes, you are very special,” Ilya said again, unable to help smiling. “But you are not that special.”

Holly laughed a tiny laugh.

“You’re not sad,” he observed.

Ilya tilted his hand back and forth. “Am not happy. I also want to win every game. But I am excited about season, about team. I know we are going to win. We fly to Boston now, yes, and we will win there. You will see what it is like with Boston crowd. Boston people are terrible, always too honest, but they are full of passion.

“You know once I threw ball at Red Sox game,” Ilya added.

Holly made a face. “I saw the meme.”

“Yes,” Ilya said. “I never threw baseball before. I thought it must be easy. It is such a boring sport. So I pick up baseball and I don’t expect it is heavy. Start to throw it but it fall out of my fingers. Roll a little. I am very embarrassed. Now all Boston fans call me ‘buttafinga’, you know.”

“Butta— what?”

“Butter, like you know from milk. Fingers.” Ilya wiggled his fingers. “But you know they do not like ‘r’ in Boston, so: ‘buttafinga’.”

“They call you ‘butterfingers’?” Holly repeated.

“Yes,” Ilya said. “I go to the store and everyone say ‘good game, buttafinga!’ ‘Good luck in playoffs, buttafinga!’ You know they give me baby to hold for photo and they say ‘don’t drop her, buttafinga!’ This is love in Boston. Never let you forget your mistakes but they throw parade for you.”

Holly laughed. “You really think we’ll win the next game?” he asked.

“I think we win cup this year,” Ilya said, seriously. “Team with two best player in world. Best captain and best rookie. We going win it all.” He put his hand out and Holly shook it, grinning. And then didn’t let go. They sat there for far too long, hands joined, staring into each other’s eyes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Ilya thought, but he didn’t stop smiling.

.

Holly was still asleep when Ilya got up late in the morning. He played with Lulu for a while and then went to poke around the refrigerator and was just in the middle of considering the list Sara had left for them when the doorbell rang.

“Hello!” he greeted Holly’s parents, stepping forward to take Yuna’s suitcase and then leading them in. “Hi, Mr. Hollander, I’m Roz.”

“Roz,” Mr. Hollander said, warmly. “Please call me David. Thank you for taking such good care of Shane.”

Ilya determinedly didn’t think of all the ways he’d like to be taking care of Holly. “Holly is still sleeping. I can wake him—”

“No, don’t wake him up,” Yuna cut in. “I’m sure he’s tired. You got in at, what? Four?”

“Four-thirty. Would you like to, uh, freshen up after plane? I can show you to your room.”

“What service,” David joked.

“I wouldn’t mind washing my face,” Yuna said, so Ilya led them down the stairs to one of the guest bedrooms.

“Holly is in there,” he indicated. “And this is where you were before.”

“Thanks,” David said, as Ilya put Yuna’s suitcase down in the guest room. “I feel like I should be slipping you a tip.”

Ilya smiled at the terrible joke. “If you are hungry there is lunch, just come up stairs.”

“Thank you,” Yuna said warmly, as Ilya headed back into the hallway.

.

They came up the stairs a quarter of an hour later, just as Ilya was heating the oven.

“We have eggplant casserole or quesadilla casserole,” he said, “or there is a black bean soup, very good.”

“This is from your chef?” Yuna asked, coming to look at the list Ilya offered her.

“Yes,” Ilya said.

“Oh, I’m excited,” David said, enthusiastically. “Shane told us all about some banana ice cream?”

“Yes,” Ilya said again. “There is some in freezer if you want to try.”

“Maybe later,” Yuna said. “We’re happy with whatever you were going to have.”

“Eggplant casserole,” Ilya said. “Like lasagna but made with eggplant. It is very good.”

“And all this is on your nutrition plan?” Yuna asked.

“Yes, Sara, the chef, is also a nutritionist. Everything is low fat, whole grain, lot of protein and fiber.”

“That’s great,” David said. “I was afraid Shane was going to be subsisting off of baked chicken breasts. Again.”

Ilya uncovered the casserole dish and slid it in the oven, then poured Yuna and David iced tea from one of the pitchers Sara had left in the fridge.

“Shane tells us you don’t have many sponsorships,” Yuna said, when they’d settled around the table.

“No,” Ilya agreed. “Just Under Armour and Dunkin’ Donuts.”

“Do you want more?” Yuna asked. “Two can be a lot when you’re busy.”

“I don’t know,” Ilya said. “If it was good match, maybe.”

“And, I hope you don’t think I’m nosy, but your agent isn’t doing anything on that front?”

“I do not think so.”

“If your agent isn’t working hard for you then that’s kind a waste of your money,” Yuna said, frankly. “If they’re just accepting a percentage and not giving you anything back.”

“It is true,” Ilya agreed.

“I’ve gotten to know a few agents, if you were happening to think of changing. Shane’s agent, Farah is wonderful.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ve actually had some short conversations with different companies interested in sponsoring athletes, some of whom I think you’d be a much better fit for than Shane, and I’d be happy to pass that along, get a conversation going,” she said, “but your agent would have to do some of the work.”

“You would?” Ilya asked, shocked. “Not just get all sponsorships for Shane?”

“He would be mortified to be in a Speedo commercial,” Yuna said. “The orange soda one was bad enough. But, yes, I’d be happy to help you. You welcomed Shane into your house, you’ve gone above and beyond making sure he’s happy and safe. He talks about you all the time.”

“He idolizes you,” David added and, boy, did that twist something inside of Ilya.

“You’re family now,” Yuna said, with a soft smile. “I’m sorry, but we’ve adopted you.”

Ilya felt a pressure behind his eyes. “I check on food,” he said, quickly and stood to cross to the kitchen area even though the timer hadn’t gone off yet.

.

By the time Holly emerged Ilya was placing the casserole and a chopped salad Sara had left in the fridge on the table.

“Oh,” he said, surprised at seeing his parents. “I’m sorry I forgot you were coming in so early. You should have woken me up.”

“We got an earlier flight,” David said. “We wanted to let you sleep. You need your rest.”

“Thanks,” Holly said and sat down at the table, yawning. “Oh, eggplant casserole!”

Ilya smiled at him and passed it over.

.

After lunch, Ilya and Holly left for the arena for training and a strategy meeting and David and Yuna went out to ‘explore the city’.

“David will probably drag me over to the Harvard Natural History museum,” Yuna said. “He’s obsessed with the glass flower exhibit.”

“It’s just so interesting,” David said.

“I have gone there,” Ilya said. “They have whale skeleton there.”

David smiled. “I love the article about the whale adoption.”

“What?” Holly asked.

“Roz told a reporter about your whale watching,” David explained. “And she’s made a bet that if you get 20 goals this season she’ll adopt a whale in your name.”

“20 goals isn’t very much,” Holly said, with a frown, and everyone else laughed.

“It’s pretty good for a rookie year,” Yuna said.

“Not if you’re Shane Hollander,” Ilya said. “Shane Hollander going to get 50 goals?”

“It’s doable,” Holly defended. “People have done it.”

“You will do it,” Ilya agreed.

.

There was nothing like being in TD Garden before a game, feeling the excitement and the anticipation of the stadium building as Ilya went through his pre-game routine, getting his knee looked over by Adam, the head trainer, going through his exercises, his warm-ups, his pre-game snack, playing a little soccer, checking in with all the new guys on the team, putting on his gear.

“Opening night,” he said, when everyone was suited up. “How do you feel?” they all cheered. “This is Boston’s year. I feel it. They can feel it! Can you feel it? Boston is back! We will show them what we are made of tonight!”

“Boston is back!” they all echoed and they headed out onto the ice, Holly right in front of Ilya.

“Look at signs,” Ilya said, catching Holly’s attention during warm-ups. Along with the usual supportive signs (‘Go Bears’, ‘Tear the Up’, ‘Fucking Get It’, etc), there were a smattering of signs with Holly’s name and number on them, and a big banner some fans were holding that said ‘do it for the whales’.

“Wow,” Holly said and waved at them, getting a cheer and excited waving.

“Everyone believes in you,” Ilya told him. “I do too.” He knocked their helmets together before going to do a lap before he did something really stupid, like kiss Holly in front of eighteen thousand fans.

.

The Cougars weren’t going to go down without a fight, but that was okay, because Ilya was going to give them one. He hit the ground running, stealing the face-off and sprinting down the ice, getting the puck back from Marly, deking around the defense, a faking out the goalie, back to Marly, who passed to Cads, who got it back to Ilya who sent it straight into the net.

Less than a minute into the game and the horn sounded, long and low like the horn of a ship, ‘I’m Shipping Up to Boston’ starting on top of it, Ilya’s favorite sound in the world. He blew a kiss to the crowd and they, impossibly, got louder, before Marly and Cads slammed into him, followed by Consy and Lemarre.

“Boston is back!” Ilya yelled.

.

Holly’s first goal was during the power play, after Burke finally snapped at Ilya’s taunting and tried to high stick him. Holly, Sim, and Consy jumped the board to join Ilya and Marly and they took it straight to the Cougars’ net, evading the defense, Ilya getting the puck to Holly who got it in the back of the net with a beautiful one-timer.

That beautiful horn, the accordion music staring up, the crowd chanting ‘hey, hey, hey’ in time with it, Holly pumping his fist and shouting ‘let’s go’— possibly the most adorable thing Ilya had ever seen. He slammed into Holly, arms going around him, then everyone else was there too, and the crowd was going wild and it was so fucking beautiful.

.

They arrived at Ilya’s condo still bubbling from the victory, even after media and cool downs and the drive through the city. Holly couldn’t stop talking about it, saying things like ‘you were right about the Boston crowd’ and ‘that was so amazing— is it always so amazing?’ And he was so radiant with his joy, his black hair in his eyes and his cheeks red under his freckles and a smile so big it seemed like it would split his face in half and he followed Ilya into the kitchen, to the fridge— Ilya didn’t even know what he was getting from the fridge, but didn’t even know what he was doing. He went to open the door of it and then turned back, excited and restless and Holly was right there, his face tipped up a little towards Ilya and his lips were so pink and it took all of Ilya’s willpower not to close the gap between them.

Chapter End Notes

Ilya: I'm super chill, I'm the most chill person to chill
Also Ilya: help if I don't kiss Holly soon im going to die

The bit about Ilya fumbling the pitch at Fenway is owed entirely to my discord channel. I can't remember who came up with 'buttafingas' but they're a genious

The Bear’s goal song is Shipping Up to Boston by the Dropkick Murphys

Chapter 8: The Bears Podcast

“I know it’s a little early in the season to start predicting playoff spots…”

“Never stopped you before.”

“I’m usually right, too.”

“Last year you predicted the Admirals would get to the final.”

“They should have. I’m still mystified as to what happened with them. They’re a significantly better team than the Wrens. Someday Scott Hunter is going to play a consistent season.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I will, thanks. For this year, I’m really think the Bears are going to go all the way again.”

“Of course, it’s early in the season—”

“Of course, it’s early in the season, and a lot can change between now and April.”

“A lot will change.”

“But unless the Bears management decides to trade half the team—”

“— I wouldn’t put anything past them—”

“— They’re one of the most well-rounded teams in the league right now. The one-two punch of Rozanov and Hollander centering the first two lines— and I gotta say, Hollander is really living up to the hype.”

“How much of that do you think is Rozanov’s mentorship?”

“The kid was good before the Bears picked him up, of course, but he's definitely stepping up. And you gotta hand it to him, Rozanov could have seen Holly as a threat but instead he’s taken him under his wing.”

“What with Hollander billeting with Rozanov and all.”

“I was surprised and confused when I heard that, but it seems to be working out for them.”

“Did you read that blog about Rozanov and the whales?”

“Of all the NHL players I’d expect to champion an endangered species…”

“Let me guess, none of them?”

“The billeting seemed like an odd move. From what I understood, the Bears management were reluctant to sign Hollander unless Rozanov agreed to it.”

“Truly bizarre what is going on in their brains. Imagine being reluctant to sign a player like Hollander.”

“We’re all baffled by Bears management. I think the real shock is that it turned out to be a smart move.”

“Even a stopped clock…”

“Besides Rozanov and Hollander—”

“Ah, yes; it’s important to remember that a team consists of more than just two players.”

“The team really lucked out with line-mates for the two centers. Cliff Marlow, of course, has been Rozanov’s left wing since he joined the team, and there’s always been a lot of synergy there, and then Eric Cadyn is a fairly new addition to the team, a call-up from Providence last year they decided to promote to the team this year, and it seems like he’s been working out really well with Rozanov.”

“A real trial by fire.”

“And then Victor St-Simon, who was previously Rozanov’s right wing has been really bringing the experience to Hollander’s line, while Dennis Oregan has the speed to keep up with him.”

“He was a rookie with the Bears last year, is that right? What a time to join a team, huh? But are we planning on going through the Bear’s entire lineup?”

“I was going to skip straight to discussing the defense, but if you like I can go into the breakdown of the third and fourth lines.”

“I’m fine if you don’t.”

“On defense, of course Connor Connors with the other A.”

“Unusually small for a defender, but very skilled, I’d say one of the most tactical defenders out there.”

“The other starting defender being, of course Lemarre. He had a really tough year last year— his daughter’s death was a terrible tragedy for his family and you’d have to be pretty cold-hearted to be upset about how it affected his play. I don’t think that’s something you ever recover from, exactly, but he’s back on the ice, showing us why he’s on the starting line-up.”

“We’ve got a few more exciting players on the defense—”

“But you didn’t want to discuss the Bear’s entire line-up.”

“You know, technically, this isn’t a Bears podcast—”

“We keep telling ourselves that.”

“We have to mention Kovalev, though.”

“Incredible goalie. The save he made in the game against the Geese last night? A real beauty.”

“You know, as much as we like to rag on Boston Management—”

“For good reason.”

“They’ve managed to put together a pretty incredible team. And, yeah, a lot of the shit that went down last year was their fault— protecting Fein despite numerous complaints against him until there was finally evidence they couldn’t brush aside, trading Marsh, they did put this team together and they did hire Keppler, who’s working out incredibly well.”

“… A stopped clock is right 24 times a day?”

Chapter 9: Holidays

They won games and lost games, but won more than they lost, which was the way they wanted it to be. Ilya settled into his stride, the toil of the season almost a relief after the year before, the almost six months of nausea and dizziness and headaches and not knowing if he’d ever get to play again.

Holly had a harder time adjusting. Major juniors had been strenuous— Ilya had played a similar league himself, of course, years ago, but it was nothing compared to the NHL. Holly was hungry all of the time— Ilya doubled what he was paying Sara to keep them fed and still ended up ordering takeout every now and then when he discovered that Holly had eaten through the contents of the fridge.

Ilya remembered it from his own rookie year. He’d billeted with Tima Barinov, and older vet Boston had traded for, Ilya was certain, just to look after him. His wife, Tina (yes, Tima and Tina), had cooked almost non-stop for him, laughing that he ate more than the rest of the family (Tima and Tina and their four elementary-school-aged children) together.

He’d always been hungry and tired, back then, falling asleep everywhere, eating his way, methodically, through enormous bowls of pasta and rice and beans, hardly even tasting what he was eating, sometimes.

Holly fell asleep everywhere too; he fell asleep in the middle of playing chel, his controller falling out of his hand, and he fell asleep in the middle of sentences. Once, when he was changing in his stall after a practice, sock on half on. In hotel lobbies and in the hot tub and in the middle of dinner, narrowly missing drowning himself in pasta sauce.

It wasn’t anything new; rookies were always like that, especially the really young ones, their bodies trying to cope with playing professionally for the first time while still growing, but Ilya had never found it adorable before. He'd never snapped so harshly at teammates who wanted to play pranks on sleeping rookies or gently tucked a folded hoodie in beneath a rookie’s head so he wouldn’t wake up with a crook in his neck before.

.

They went on a seven day California roadie at the beginning of November. Holly slept for most of the flight to Anaheim (not that Ilya was checking in on him) waking up only as they were beginning to descend, peering out the window at the sunset over the city in a way none of the vets did anymore.

“I went to Disneyland once,” Holly said, absently, as they were waiting for the chartered bus in the private terminal. The walls were plastered with images of Disneyland. “Or, no, I guess. Not Disneyland? The one in Florida?”

“Disney World?” Consy asked.

“Yeah,” Holly said, and yawned. “I hated it.”

“You hated Disney World?” Consy asked, laughing.

“Shut up,” Holly said. “There were these, like, people dressed up as, like, giant animals and it was terrifying. I was only, like, I don’t know, four or five? They kept trying to hug me and I’d start screaming, apparently.”

“Oh my god,” Sim exclaimed. “That is the cutest thing. Do you have a picture?”

“Of four year old me being terrified by people in animal costumes?” Holly asked. “Surprisingly, I don’t keep one around, no.”

“Rozy knows your mom, right? Roz, can you ask her for a picture?” Consy asked.

Ilya considered. It did sound adorable, but Holly also looked ready to kill him if he tried. “Do not have number,” he lied.

“We could go to Disneyland and recreate it!” Sim suggested.

“Hey, is that why you don’t like Blade?” Cade asked.

“I don’t dislike Blade,” Holly lied.

“You’re always skating away from him,” Cade said.

“Oh, yeah, Holly does avoid him.”

“I just think mascots in general are weird,” Holly said. “Blade and all of the other ones.”

“You’re scared of the mascots!” Consy exclaimed.

“Oh god,” Holly said. “Why do I ever tell anyone anything?”

Ilya stepped sideways a little so Holly could hide behind him. “Do not bribe Gritty to terrify Holly,” he ordered.

Consy gave Ilya the most fake-innocent expression ever.

“Or any other mascot,” Ilya added. “Or adult person dressed as animal.”

“I don’t have a problem with mascots I just don’t…” he shivered a little. “It’s just like why are their eyes so big?”

“So many pranking opportunities here, cap,” Consy moaned. “And you won’t let us pull one of them?”

Ilya put an arm over Holly’s shoulders protectively. “No,” he said, decisively.

“Oh, I think the bus is here,” Holly said, a little desperately.

“So you’d be more okay with it, if the eyes were smaller?” Sim asked. “But, like, which of the mascots do you think is the most creepy?” he added, as they lined up to board the charter.

Holly didn’t even have to consider it. “Fin,” he said, decisively.

“Not Gritty?”

Holly shook his head. “The whale head on the human body is the worst part. Gritty is like a weird muppet, like you don’t expect him to make sense, so that’s okay, but it’s like how does the neck work? Why does a whale have legs? There’s just a lot there that kind of freaks me out.”

“So Sharkie too?”

“I don’t know why Fin is more disturbing than Sharkie, but he is.”

“This is all a very fascinating insight into your brain,” Consy said. “Guess I’ll help keep Mick away from you.”

“Thanks,” Holly said, clearly not meaning it at all.

.

Thankfully they won even with everyone on the team watching Holly’s reaction whenever Mick The Mouse skated close to the Bears’ bench.

The next day was a day off and they gotten together and rented out a private beach. It was a much nicer beach than the thin, rocky strip in front of Ilya’s beach house, and there was a bar and loungers set out on the beach with sunbrellas perched over top of them, but Ilya still couldn’t help wishing he was on his beach, a continent away, just him and Holly, towels on the rocky sand, looking out over the gray water.

They lounged around, played volleyball, splashed in the water, lounged around. Holly slept for most of the morning, woke up long enough to play volleyball and eat lunch and then fell asleep again.

Later, as the sun was setting, he and Holly walked down the beach, in the water line, the waves slipping across their feet like caresses.

“I really messed up,” Holly said, after they’d walked in silence for a while. They passed in front of fancy beachfront houses and passed into a public beach, children laughing and playing and begging their parents not to have to go home.

“Hm?” Ilya asked.

“Telling the guys about my—” he laughed “— fear of people in animal costumes. It’s not really an actual, like current fear. It makes me uncomfortable, you know, but I’m not actually, like, afraid of them. I didn’t think when I was talking; I thought I was just talking to you.”

Well, that was flattering. Ilya tried not to preen.

“I think it is okay,” Ilya said. “It is a small thing, yes? But they will like have something to tease you about. They will pull some prank, there will be a fun story to tell, everyone will laugh. ‘The Bears have good locker room’ people will say. ‘Holly fits in well with Bears’.”

“Oh,” Holly said, clearly thinking this over. “But you said you’d stop pranks.”

“I stop bad prank,” Ilya clarified. “You know. Hazing. Making rookies do something embarrassing or stupid. Little pranks is okay.”

“Yeah,” Holly said. “Hazing is pretty bad.” The way he said it makes Ilya think that there’s a story there. Ilya had a sudden flare of murderous rage that he carefully hid.

The sun had gone done, the last remaining bars of color leeching from the sky. On the horizon the lights of ships were growing visible.

“We should turn back,” Ilya suggested.

Holly nodded and stopped but didn’t turn, looking out at the water. “I like your beach better,” he finally said and Ilya was struck speechless for a moment, something happening inside his chest he couldn’t describe, a rubber band suddenly being pulled tight and then snapping, a pain and a wonder all at the same time.

Holly looked up at him and smiled and Ilya smiled back and they turned and headed back up the beach.

.

Ilya was out for a week at the end of November with a reoccurrence of his old knee pain the trainers wanted him to rest. Instead of being on the ice he stayed at home and moped around his condo while the team flew to Ohio and back, trying to enjoy the luxury of a few days free, then moped around the press box for a string of home games leading up to American Thanksgiving.

Holly was promoted to the first line while Ilya was out— a big achievement for a rookie. Ilya wished he could have been there, on the ice beside him the first time Holly was announced in the starting line-up, close enough to knock their shoulders together and give him an encouraging grin .

But Holly didn’t need Ilya’s encouragement. He tore it up all four games Ilya had to sit out, got his first hat trick against the fucking Voyageurs and beamed at Ilya when he came into the locker room, hair plastered back against his scalp with sweat, fresh out of a media scrum and beaming so brightly Ilya thought, ridiculously, that he should have worn sunglasses.

He almost hugged Ilya and then backed off. “You’re wearing a suit,” he said. “I don’t want you to get all dirty.”

“Fuck that,” Ilya said and pulled Holly into his arms, rested his cheek against his sweat-damp hair. “That was fucking amazing,” he said, letting go well before he wanted to. He knocked their foreheads gently together and the feeling of Holly’s sweat on his forehead made him think, ridiculously, of a kiss.

.

Svetlana blew into town a few weeks later, let him know ahead of time, even, ‘like a proper guest’, as if there was anything proper about her. Ilya couldn’t tell her ‘no’; he owed her too much and anyway, she’d never have stood for it.

Instead he watched, helpless, as she won over Holly, complimenting him until he blushed and then drawing him into a conversation about the ongoing season in such detail and technicality even Ilya had trouble following.

He’d known letting them meet would a bad idea.

“Well,” she said, later, when Holly had drifted off on the couch enough times for Ilya to convince him to go to bed. “You’re in trouble.”

“Fuck off,” Ilya said and flopped down on the couch.

“I was worried about you,” she said, “and your new… domestic and responsible ways, and now I find you’re perving on you rookie.”

“I am not perving on my rookie,” Ilya protested.

“Oh,” she said. “So those hearts in your eyes are purely platonic?”

“I haven’t done anything to— with him,” Ilya pointed out.

“You’re going to,” Sveta predicted. “He’s going to jump your bones.”

“Fuck off,” Ilya said again.

“And when he does, when he looks up at you with his big brown eyes and his long lashes and his pouting mouth you’re not going to be able to resist.”

She leaned back on the couch and crossed her legs dramatically and took a sip of her drink. “And then you’re going to settle down in a little white house with a dozen children.”

“So in this version of reality we’re not hockey players?” Ilya asked.

Sveta shrugged.

“Where do the children some from?”

“You’re rich. Rich people have lots of ways of getting children,” she said with another shrug.

“Sometimes I’m very concerned for you,” Ilya said.

“I meant surrogacy. Obviously.” She rolled her eyes and grinned.

She wasn’t wrong. Or— she was about the dozen children. Maybe two. Four maximum. But if Holly did try to jump Ilya’s bones he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to say no.

Ilya was a master of self-control, of course, but Holly was a fucking… he was the most beautiful thing Ilya had ever seen.

“Stop making that fucking face. Where the fuck is the vodka?”

“I don’t keep alcohol in the house any more,” Ilya said.

Sveta gave him a moue of disappointment. “Since when did you get so boring?”

“Since my brain was almost permanently turned to mush,” he replied dryly. “After that I figured I should probably stop poisoning myself so much.”

Sveta scoffed. “You think quinoa pasta and no alcohol is going to keep you from getting your skull knocked in the next time a three-hundred pound man lands on you?”

“I think it can’t hurt,” he said. “Why are you so upset? You want vodka go out and buy vodka.” He grabbed his card from his wallet and tossed it at her. “Look, I’ll even pay.”

She threw it back. “I can afford my own vodka.” She reached up to rub her eyes and then clearly remembered she was wearing makeup. “Sorry. You’re right. I also don’t want you to get brain-damage.”

“I should have gotten vodka when I knew you were coming,” Ilya told her.

“No,” she said. “Did you really strop drinking only because of the concussion?”

Ilya looked down at his hands. “My therapist,” he admitted. “He said I use it as a tool to stop myself from experiencing my life.” He flung himself down into her lap. “It’s so terrible!” he complained, as she stroked his hair. “He just keeps calling me out! I had to do homework! You know how much I always hated homework.”

“That does sound terrible,” she cooed.

“Shut up,” he said.

“Do you still go?” she asked.

“Yes,” he complained, feeling affronted by the whole thing. “Childhood trauma doesn’t fix itself, it turns out. Ugh, it’s so American, going to a therapist.”

“Surely it’s French or something? Wasn’t Freud French?”

“Well, that explains it,” Ilya muttered. “The French are terrible.”

“No— his first name is… Sigmund? So he’s German?”

Ilya sighed. “The Germans are even worse. Remember how they kept trying to invade Russia?”

“I wasn’t around back then.”

“The point is that it’s not what Russians are supposed to do! Russians are supposed to have a stiff upper lip—”

“I think that’s actually the British.”

“— grin and bear it! Don’t talk about your troubles! Be a man!”

“Your father was like that,” Sveta reminded him. “And he died so miserable. My father too— although he is not dead, yet. So you make the choice to not be miserable and you’re berating yourself because being miserable is what Russians are supposed to do?”

“Yes!” Ilya exclaimed.

“I don’t think it is,” Sveta said. “I think Russians are supposed to be happy, but it suited the people in power to tell us we should be miserable. Your father certainly didn’t want you to be happy, but your mother did, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Ilya said, and turned his face into her belly, which was soft despite all her efforts.

“Was she not Russian?”

Ilya smiled against Sveta’s skin. “She was very Russian.”

“The Americans can be very dumb,” Sveta said, “but maybe sometimes they have good ideas.”

Ilya made a doubting sound.

“They invented hockey didn’t they?” she teased.

He shot up. “They did not! Russians invented hockey!”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s the Americans. Canadians. People from North America. Whatever.”

“This is a bald-faced lie! It’s slander!” Ilya exclaimed.

Sveta laughed. “No, it’s true.”

Ilya grabbed her and pulled her into a noogie. “You’re such a liar! Americans could never invent hockey!”

“You’re so stupid,” Sveta laughed.

.

They had three days for the winter break following two home games, so the Hollanders decided to come for the week, at Ilya’s invitation. Ilya and Holly arrived at the condo in the early hours of the morning following a six day trip to Nashville, Minnesota and Winnipeg.

"I'm so tired," Holly complained in the elevator up to the condo. "But I'm also so hungry. I wish I could eat in my sleep— that would solve all of my problems."

"Sure," Ilya agreed, pulling out his keys and unlocking the apartment and heading inside, sitting down on the bench beside the door to unlace his dress shoes and put them on the shoe rack.

"What the fuck?" Holly gasped.

What?" Ilya asked, looking around, and then he realized that Holly was looking past him, into the living room which had been decorated for Christmas, with garlands and twinkling lights, ribbons and electric candles and an enormous tree that almost reached up to the ceiling. Just as he'd requested from Erika, his home manager.

“It’s like Santa Claus vomited in here,” Holly said with an air of wonder, putting his shoes on the rack and then wandering over to examine the Christmas tree. Ilya dropped his bag on the floor and went to the fridge and pulled out a snack.

“I ask Erika to decorate,” Ilya explained, between bites of the chocolate date bars he’d pulled out.

Holly dropped his bag and went over to join him, leaning over Ilya so he could choose a bar for himself. “Why,” he asked, voice muffled by the bar he’d shoved into his mouth.

“Your family is celebrating holiday here,” Ilya said, as casually as he could, “so I thought it should be decorated for holiday.”

Holly turned to look at him, wide-eyed, his cheeks bulging out like a chipmunk, chocolate smeared on his lips. It was all Ilya could do not to reach up and brush it off with his thumb.

“You did this for us?” Holly finally managed.

Ilya shrugged. “It was nothing. Only ask Erika for to do it. No effort.”

“You’re…” Holly began, but clearly didn’t know how to finish it. He swallowed down the last of the bar. “You’re always doing so much for me.” He said this like he was worried about it.

“You don’t like?” Ilya asked. He was too tired for whatever this is.

“No!” Holly exclaimed. “No! I just mean…” He blinked. He was clearly too tired for whatever this was too. “Thanks. For everything.” He touched Ilya’s arm. “You— you do so much I feel like I can never make it up to you.”

“You do not have to,” Ilya told him. “I want your family to have happy Christmas.”

“You too,” Holly said. “I mean, you’re celebrating Christmas with us too, right? You didn’t just ask Erika to decorate and Sara to make a big meal and my parents to come and then you’re going to leave? You’ll be there?”

He seemed actually anxious about it. And Ilya… hadn’t been sure. It was important to Americans, he knew, a time for families. He’d heard enough of his teammates talking about it, about scheduling problems and in-laws wanting them to come to visit or wives wanting to celebrate the holiday with only their small immediate families.

“If you want,” Ilya hedged.

Holly frowned. Ilya wanted to smooth out the wrinkles that appeared between his eyebrows, but of course he didn’t.

“Of course I want you there,” he said. “And mom and dad do too. They love you, you know?”

They’d probably love Ilya less if they knew how he felt about their eighteen year old son.

“Okay,” Ilya said and tried not to smile at how much Holly brightened up at this.

“Awesome!” he exclaimed. “It’s going to be so much fun!”

.

Me: I need Christmas presents for Yuna and David Hollander

Erika: Already got you covered, boss

.

The Hollanders arrived the next day, blowing in just in front of a storm which Ilya hoped wouldn’t result in the cancellation of the following day’s game against the Wings. They arrived shortly after Ilya and Holly got home from the training arena.

“We got in just in time,” Yuna exclaimed, dusting snow from her winter hat while David pulled off his boots.

“Took half an hour to go less than a mile,” he complained. “If we hadn’t had all this baggage I’d have suggested we walk.”

“That is a lot of stuff,” Holly agreed, looking dubiously at the mountain of luggage they’d dropped. “You are only staying a week, right? Ilya hasn’t invited you to in permanently?”

Yuna laughed. “No,” she said. “It’s Christmas.”

This did not seem to relieve Holly’s worry. “That’s a lot of presents. You know I’m like a millionaire now? I can buy stuff for myself?”

“Of course we know,” Yuna said. “It’s not just presents.” She hung up her coat and scarf and then padded into the living room on stocking feet, wrapping Holly up in a tight hug and the turning to hug Ilya as well. “Thank you so much for inviting us,” she said. “Again. And the decorations!”

“I have my home manager do it,” Ilya explained.

“Well, it looks great. I hope you don’t mind, but I brought some of our family ornaments to add to the tree—”

“Oh my god,” Holly exclaimed. “Mom, you can’t.”

“Of course,” Ilya interrupted. “If I knew I would tell home manager to leave tree blank.”

“It’s fine— we can just move some of these—”

“Mom,” Holly protested. “I told you that some guys from the team were coming over on Christmas eve.”

Yuna looked at him, puzzled.

“We can't have the tree decorated with our family ornaments when the team is here!”

“Why not?” Yuna asked.

“It’s so embarrassing.”

She clucked her tongue at him. “You’re so dramatic. It’s not like there are any naked baby photos or anything.” She stopped and considered. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“Baby photos?” Ilya asked.

“Yes,” Yuna said, excitedly. She bent down to one of the suitcases and opened it, carefully taking out a cardboard box and pushing aside layers of tissue paper to reveal a set of round ornaments, each inset with an old picture of Holly. Holly as a tiny baby, his face red and angry, dressed in a onesie patterned with Christmas trees.

“That’s Shane’s first Christmas,” she said, fondly. “And look, here is at — five, I think.” Five year old Shane was grinning widely at the camera, gap-toothed and surrounded by discarded wrapping paper, showing off a toddler-sized Voyageurs jersey. His cheeks were so big Ilya wanted to travel back in time just so he could pinch them.

“So cute,” he heard himself cooing. "Even if Voyageurs supporter."

“Oh my god,” Holly moaned in a tone of utter mortification.

“Why is this problem?” Ilya asked. “Such cute pictures.”

“Guess you haven’t gotten to the ones where I have braces and pimples,” Holly said.

“Those are cute too,” Yuna protested. She fished one out and there teenage Holly was, awkward and smiling with his mouth closed and a strained expression around his eyes.

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “So cute.”

“Why don’t we put your baby pictures on the tree too then?” Holly suggested, arms crossed over his chest.

Ilya sat back.

“I…” he looked up at the ceiling. “I do not have baby picture,” he admitted.

The Hollanders all looked at him, matching horrified expressions that made him want to laugh.

“After my father died I did not want anything from his house. I did not think then that this was also including memories. And now I do not talk to my brother, so. Only have a few picture.”

Holly looked mortified, his parents pitying. Ilya heaved himself up to his feet and went into the kitchen.

“Roz,” Holly called after him. “Rozy!”

Ilya turned because even roiling with turmoil he couldn’t refuse Holly anything.

“I’m sorry,” Holly said. “I didn’t know.”

“How could you know?” Ilya asked.

“I should have thought— I knew your parents were d— gone. I was just being. You know. A whiny kid. My mom brought those all the way from Ottawa to make it really feel like Christmas and all I could do was complain…”

“You are eighteen,” Ilya said. “You have to act like teenager sometimes.”

For some reason this made Holly’s face fall. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“It is okay,” Ilya said. “I am sorry for ruin the mood.”

“You didn’t,” Holly said. “You were just… honest.”

This was what happened when you went to therapy. You became a person who said honest things and made people look at you like they wanted to hug you and never let you go.

Would that be so bad?

“We should have dinner,” Ilya said, opening the fridge for the meal Sara had left. Holly stood there for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said, finally.

Yuna and David were still looking at the ornaments, glancing over at the two of them every once in a while.

“You’re right, we should put the ornaments on the tree,” Holly said.

“Maybe we do it after team party,” Ilya suggested and Holly sagged with relief.

“Yeah.” He grabbed a stack of plates from the cupboard and brought them over to the table. “You said you have a few pictures, though?”

Ilya nodded, sliding the casserole dish into the oven. “Yes, of my mother. I took them from her memorial service and I have them for a long time. They are very broken now.”

“I’m sorry,” Holly said, so sincerely it made Ilya’s heart squeeze horribly.

“It is okay,” Ilya replied.

Holly put his hand over Ilya’s where it was still resting on the counter and smiled up at him. “Thank you for telling me,” he said.

If Holly’s parents hadn’t been watching— well, they were. Ilya cleared his throat and moved away to get the glasses.

.

They won the game against the Wings easily the next evening, and Holly and Ilya met Holly’s parents in the arena's family room. It was more packed than usual, with other out of town families having come to spend Christmas in Boston. Ilya was introduced to and reintroduced to parents and grandparents and siblings and nieces and nephews and by the time he’d done the rounds and autographed jerseys and taken selfies with everyone Holly looked like he was about to fall asleep where he was standing.

“Mom and dad went back to the condo already,” Holly explained, when Ilya finally reached him. “They said they could meet the other parents at family skate tomorrow.”

Ilya nodded and they headed out into the night air.

“Is it true you agreed to be Santa Claus?” Holly asked, as they climbed into Ilya’s car.

“No,” Ilya said, feeling a little resentful at whoever was spreading the rumor. “I do not look good with a beard.”

Holly eyed him. “I saw pictures of you from playoffs,” he said. “Your beard wasn’t bad.”

Ilya scoffed. “You think it looks better than my beautiful face?” he asked. Holly blushed, looked away, and muttered something Ilya didn't ask him to repeat.

.

Ilya and Holly went into the arena for training session the next morning, then back to Ilya’s condo to join the Hollanders for lunch. The Hollanders had had a productive morning, apparently, visiting some art museum or garden, maybe? Ilya wasn’t entirely sure. David had really enjoyed it, raving about a painting about some dancer or something.

Lunch was tacos, made fresh by Sara, who enjoyed the Hollander’s rave reviews of her cooking and promised to send recipes to David, then they were hurrying off to the arena for the family skate, leaving Sara behind to do prep for the party the following day.

“She really is a genius,” Yuna said. “I never knew you could do that to chickpeas.”

“Oh the things you can do with chickpeas,” David sighed, patting his belly.

They got out of Shane’s stupidly sensible SUV, the only car that could comfortably hold all four of them, and Ilya grabbed the bag with David and Yuna’s skates.

They didn’t have to suit up for the skate, only threw on some jerseys and headed into the rink, which was full of children at various stages of sugar/ excitement overdose, some tiny tiny toddlers being pulled around, still wobbly on their skates, a group of kids playing shinny with a few players pretending to keep missing the puck, adults in clusters on and off the ice, WAGs gossiping, players chirping each other, a few guys without any local family or significant others standing together a little awkwardly near the food table.

That had been Ilya, once. Still was Ilya, really, except he was captain now and all the WAGs had decided, mysteriously, that he was good with kids and kept handing him babies, and all the fathers kept approaching him to ‘talk shop’ while their sons looked like they were double-guessing every choice they’d ever made, and this year he arrived with a family and they weren’t his family but they still, kind of, felt like it.

“Cap!” Sim called, skating over with his wife and baby in tow. “And Holly’s parents?” He added something in French and Yuna replied in the same language and then Sim and his wife Lynette and Yuna were all talking rapid fire while Ilya found himself holding the baby.

“Who’s this, then?” David cooed, prodding at the baby, who gurgled.

“Lea,” Ilya answered, bouncing her a little.

“Aren’t you the cutest thing ever?” David cooed, while Holly went a little red beside him.

“Dad,” he complained.

“Don't you think?” David asked, looking at Lea’s parents, who were now having a rather heated discussion with Yuna. “Oh, they’re talking about how messed up Voyageurs management is, they’ll be wrapped up in that for a while,” he said, and accepted the baby from Ilya.

“Yes, you are,” David said, and bounced her a little, “you’re the best little baby ever.”

“I think he wants grandchildren,” Consy observed, presumably having skated over just to tease Holly.

“I’m eighteen!” Holly protested, getting a little redder.

Ilya was rescued by Lemarre and his wife, Kathy, and their two boys, skating up, Aiden ready to join the kids’ game and Jack still a little wobbly.

The rest of the afternoon passed like that, Ilya talking to one family or another, the Hollanders easily inserting themselves into the social life of the team, Holly never far away.

Ilya watched players drape their arms around their wives and their girlfriends' shoulders and felt a pang of jealousy he’d never felt before. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Holly awkwardly stooping to talk to one of the PR reps’ kids and he wanted.

Time to go, he thought, but of course he couldn’t go. He was the captain. He accepted a drink from someone and made more small talk and there were Christmas carols and small gifts and more sugar for the children and Ilya felt the hollowness he always felt around families, but now there was something inside of it, an ache that hadn’t been there before, a wanting he didn't know what to do with.

.

The party Ilya threw the next day was just a small thing after the matinee game for the players who weren’t going home; Ilya was happy to use the presence of the Hollanders as an excuse for the party being tame, but they had a good time; a few guys brought their girlfriends or wives and they played chel and lounged about on the terrace, warmed by the heaters and Yuna was somewhere explaining what agents do to one of the call-ups and why they should play more attention to their contracts and David was discussing historical Canadian parks or something with one of the vets and Holly was boring a group of guys with a discussion of the history of the zamboni, it sounded like, and Ilya felt that ache again, like something trying to find root.

.

On Christmas morning there were stockings hanging from one of the floating shelves that usually held a variety of knick-knacks Ilya had picked up on various vacations. Ilya was vaguely aware of stockings through Christmas movies and commercials but he’d never seen them in use. They were larger than usual socks, made of Christmas-themed fabrics. Custom-made, Ilya realized inspecting them more closely. He didn’t think Yuna was the type to embroider names on Christmas stockings, and each had a name sewn on. She must have ordered them from somewhere. Yuna, David, Shane… Ilya. Ilya’s breath caught. There was his name on the fourth stocking, with awkwardly shaped packages sticking out of the top.

“Come on,” Holly said, grabbing his own stocking like it was nothing that Yuna or David had gotten a stocking made for him with his name embroidered on it, had bought little presents and wrapped them up for him and filled a stocking. Holly flopped down onto the sofa, dumping his out onto the cushion, then looked up to see Ilya still staring at his.

“We can open them before breakfast,” Holly told him. He sounded like a child just then. Ilya imagined him running down the stairs early Christmas morning and grabbing his stocking and gleefully opening it.

“It is for me?” Ilya asked, stupidly.

Holly looked at him, confused. “Your name’s on it, right? Mom asked if I thought she should get ‘Roz’ or ‘Ilya’ and I thought ‘Ilya’ because it’s Christmas, you know?”

Ilya wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Yuna and David haven’t taken theirs yet,” Ilya said.

Holly shrugged and unwrapped one of the awkwardly shaped packages. A pair of socks fell out, yellow, embroidered with tiny bears.  “Cool,” Holly said and grabbed for the next package.

“You can go ahead and open it,” Yuna said, breezing in from the kitchen with mugs of coffee. She handed one to Ilya and put the other down on the end-table nearest Holly. “Don’t wait on ceremony,” she added, breezing out again.

Ilya took the stocking down carefully, attempted to keep the packages from falling out the top, and brought it to the couch, sitting it down gently and then sat beside it.

“Are you one of those people who opens presents nearly?” Holly asked, curious.

Ilya didn’t get many presents. Occasionally from team mates, sometimes fans tried to send him things. But not the way Holly did, he suspected. Not regularly enough that they were something he expected. Not often enough that he had habits around how he opened them.

He picked up one of the packages. It was soft— probably also socks. Maybe Yuna and David got Ilya and Holly matching socks. The idea made him feel a little hysterical. He took a sip of the coffee and then opened the package. His socks were black, embroidered with yellow bears. The complete inverse of Holly's. He huffed and tried to hide his smile, but Holly looked up and caught it anyway, returned it, eyes wide and bright.

Yuna and David wandered into the living room, took their own stockings and sat down, David on the recliner, Yuna on the love seat and for a few minutes it was just them opening up the little presents and sorting through the contents of the stockings. Ilya got a tiny magnetic checkers set and a compass key-chain and a little set of wooden bears, one small and one large.

“You and your rookie,” David explained, a twinkle in his eye.

Ilya carefully put them on the side table. The rest of the stocking was filled with candy— the type that was disguised as high-performance athletic snacks; electrolyte gummies and stroopwaffles made specifically for athletes somehow and post-workout bars, but which were also very clearly candy, in Ilya’s mind.

“Thank you,” he said, swirling the compass around.

“I thought that would be useful on your boat,” David pointed out.

Ilya’s boat had a compass built into the dashboard, but he appreciated the thought anyway.

Yuna fetched a trash bag and held it out so they could stuff the discarded wrappers into it. Holly was, Ilya wasn’t surprised to see, the kind of person who opened presents neatly; the wrapping paper had been folded into tidy little squares.

Ilya lined up his presents;— the bears and socks and compass— on the end table and tried not to feel something.

“We’ll have breakfast in a little bit,” David said. “The cinnamon buns are in the oven and I’ll start the eggs in a minute.”

The wooden bears were stained black, the wood smooth and cool to the touch. Ilya ran a finger tip over the backs of them. The big bear, the little bear.

“Are you okay?” Holly asked and Ilya nodded, not looking at him. Ilya was fine. He was going to be fine.

.

Holly’s parents stayed through New Years. They had a home game that year on New Years Eve. In previous years Ilya would have gone out partying. He knew enough Russians, through Sveta, that there was always somewhere to go celebrate properly, parties well supplied with enough booze and drugs and pussy (and the occasional cock) to help him forget he wouldn’t be getting a call from home.

And then he had gotten his concussion. He’d been in Boston for New Years, but had been in no condition to party. Sveta, who’d stayed with him for several weeks, had had to go back to California, and of his teammates, only Kov had known the significance of the holiday and he had stopped by for a while before going home to celebrate with his family, leaving Ilya in the quiet darkness alone with just Lulu for company.

After the game, an overtime loss to the Geese, of all stupid fucking teams, his teammates wanted to drag him out to a club where they’d reserved the VIP lounge, but he saw the anxious look on Holly’s face and made some stupid, unbelievable excuse.

“New Years is the most important family holiday in Japan,” Holly had told them on their way to the rink. “And Russia too, right?”

Ilya had nodded.

“Mom thought you wouldn’t mind celebrating with us,” he’d continued. “Unless… if you have other plans?”

None of Ilya’s other plans were remotely healthy, according to his therapist, and going home to spend another family holiday with the Hollanders sounded nice.

“I am not in the way?” he had asked.

“What?” Holly had said, confused.

“I am there for Hollander Christmas, Hollander family meal, Hollander New Year…? It is not too much?”

Holly had frowned. “It’s your home,” he reminded Ilya. “And mom and dad love you. And I— I want you there too,” he had added. Ilya had glanced over to see the blush spreading across his beautiful face.

Now Holly leaned close to him. “You can go out if you want. Mom and dad won’t be offended.”

Ilya shook his head. “No, I will come home,” and had to look away from Holly’s smile at that.

Chapter 10: Shane Hollander Reaches 20 Goals— and Gets a Whale

Chapter Notes

Is mid February a reasonable time for Shane to have gotten 20 goals by? I have no idea. Imagine it is.

Edit: apparently it should have been sooner, which is convenient because I got my timeline confused and this should have been early January anyway.

Shane Hollander Reaches 20 Goals— and Gets a Whale

Dora Wilkins for MassLive, January 08, 2016

There's always something thrilling about heading into the locker room after a winning game. Of course the smell is overpowering; eau de hockey player is an acquired taste. But the energy is intense; when I arrived in the locker room yesterday evening, after an outstanding win against the Wings the atmosphere was almost giddy. The speakers were blaring Lady Gaga's Applause and the players were dancing a little as they undressed.

But I wasn't there to gawk— instead I found Roz and Holly seated in neighboring stalls, stripped to their underlayers, the Burger King crown the Bears use to celebrate their first star perched crookedly on Holly's damp head. He'd had an outstanding game; two goals and two assists.

"Dora!" Roz called when he saw me, grinning widely. "I hear you bring presents."

Holly perked up at that. "Presents?" he asked.

I handed them each one of the gift bags I got. "As you know," I said, "I made a promise that if Holly reached 20 goals I would sponsor a whale in his name, and I asked your fans to help and the response was so overwhelming I ended up sponsoring two whales."

"Two?" Roz asked, pulling out a certificate and scanning it. "Whale adoption of… Rozy the whale?" his voice was brimming with humor. "Look, Holly, there is whale named for me."

Holly took out his own certificate and scanned it. "Holly the whale!" he exclaimed. "Do you think they're friends?" he asked Roz.

"The person I spoke to said they were in the same pod," I explained.

"Look," Roz said, taking out the framed photograph of Rozy the whale. "Oh he is so cute. Is Rozy or Holly cuter?" He took the photograph from Holly to compare.

"Holly is cuter," Holly defended.

(Neither of the whales is cute; they are 50 feet long and covered in giant white warts.)

"This is so great," Rozy exclaimed. "I will put these pictures on the wall. Maybe we can go see Rozy and Holly? Do you know where they are?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "You'd have to ask the researchers."

Rozy smiled down at his picture again. "This is very good," he said. "These whales are very endangered, they need lot of money for research and legislation. You know you are doing such a good thing, make sure people hear about the whales and raising money."

"Only because you told me about it," I told him.

"But you did all this," Roz said. "Thank you."

You hear a lot about what a good captain Ilya Rozanov is but I never really understood until that moment. As Roz held my gaze I felt like I could do anything— would do anything to make him proud of me again.

He packed the certificate and photograph back into the gift bag, ending the moment, then tucked it into his locker. "What are you going to do when Holly gets forty goals?" he asked, clearly teasing.

"You're so sure he will?"

He nodded and slung an arm over Holly's shoulders. "He will get fifty goals," he claimed.

"Well," I found myself saying. "When he gets fifty goals I'll have to do something big."

Chapter End Notes

Yet again the whale adoption for hockey player by journalist storyline is inspired by Parker Kelly's whale addiction. Meghan Angley was able to raise enough money to adopt two whales, so they were able to name one after Kelly's wife as well. The video was posted on insta it appears but I only use tumblr because I'm That Person, so here's a tumblr post of the instagram post. It's very cute.

Chapter 11: Vancouver

Chapter Notes

Content notes: there's some rationalization happening here which might be a little questionable. More in the end notes.

Mid-January they took a roadie. Ottawa, Calgary, Edmonton, Vancouver. Kov had gotten injured in the game before they left, an accidental collision with two Wreckers who'd gotten tangled up in front of the net resulting in a wrist sprain that put him out for a good two weeks.

Kracht was his replacement, a good guy but no Kov, and they’d lost to Calgary and Ottawa, though, thankfully, not to Edmonton.

Ilya arrived in Vancouver feeling the season in all of his muscles and bones. Bye week couldn’t come soon enough, although he’d only get two days off because of the All-Star Game. Maybe they’d pick Holly in his place, he fantasized and then he could have the full week and could fuck off to somewhere warm with the rest of the team.

Sveta flew up from whatever she was doing in Seattle to meet him for dinner; they went to a small Chinese place where they handmade the noodles in front of the customers.

“What is wrong with you?” Sveta asked when they’d finished their meal.

Ilya shook his head.

Sveta rolled her eyes. “I didn’t jump on a plane and fly up here just for you to sulk.”

Ilya took a deep breath. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“It’s raining,” Sveta pointed out, flatly. “You know what rain does to my hair.”

“I don’t want to talk about this in public,” Ilya hissed.

“Fine, fine,” Sveta said. “We’ll go to my air bnb.” She took out her phone and ordered a ride.

The air bnb was excessive, of course, a luxury condo overlooking the bay. Sveta pulled a bottle of vodka out and poured them each a glass.

“Spill,” she said, sitting down.

Ilya stared out at the water.

“The Hollanders came for Christmas and New Years,” Ilya said, finally.

“Perfect happy family?” Sveta asked.

“Yes, but it’s not that,” Ilya said. He took a sip of the vodka, just enough to make his lips and tongue tingle.

“I asked Erika to decorate for Christmas. It was very easy for me.”

“Of course, it’s just money,” she said.

“You know about Christmas stockings?”

She shook her head.

“They’re like really big socks. You fill them with presents and candy.”

“Oh,” Sveta said. “I’ve seen them in movies.”

Ilya nodded. “Christmas morning I went into the living room and they were hanging from a shelf. All, like patchwork, but with people’s names embroidered on. ‘Yuna’, ‘David,’ ‘Shane,’ ‘Ilya.’”

“Holly’s mom made you one?”

“Maybe she ordered it. I don’t know. But, yes. It had lots of little things inside it. Socks with bears on them, a compass so I don’t get lost at sea, a pair of carved wooden figurines; two bears, one big one and one small.”

“You and your rookie.”

“They kept thanking me, trying to make me feel included. For New Years— did you know New Years is also an important holiday in Japan?”

She shook her head.

“There was Japanese food but there was also Russian food. I never— not since my mom—”

“Felt like you were celebrating with a family?” Sveta finished.

Ilya swallowed and nodded. “Yuna has been helping me with sponsorships and finding a new agent and David offered to go over my investments with me. They said they thought of me as family. They thanked me for taking such good care of Holly.”

Sveta raised her eyebrows. “And you feel guilty,” she said.

Ilya closed his eyes. “Yes,” he admitted.

“But you haven’t done anything with Holly,” Sveta said, leaning forward.

“No,” Ilya agreed.

“So what do you feel guilty about?”

“I want to,” Ilya said. “I… sometimes it’s all I can do to stop myself.”

“And why do you?” Sveta asked. “Stop yourself?”

“I’m his captain,” Ilya said. “I’m eight years older than him, he’s living in my house, take your pick.”

Sveta nodded. “The other two aside, what does the age difference matter?”

“He’s eighteen!” Ilya exclaimed. “I’m twenty-six. When I joined the NHL he was ten.”

“Okay,” she said. “But what difference does that make?”

“I’m…” Ilya floundered for a minute. “I’m more experienced than him.”

“Sure,” she agreed, “but you’d have been more experienced than him if he’d been born in the same year as you. I’m assuming. Unless he’s also a slut like you were.”

“He dated a few girls in high school but I don’t think he got very far with them.”

“If you were both eighteen, would it be wrong?” Sveta asked, “even if you were more experienced?”

Ilya hesitated. “I don’t think so.”

“So it’s not about the experience, then.”

“Not just sexual experience, life experience,” Ilya added.

Sveta nodded. “Who took care of you after your mother died?”

“No one,” Ilya said, trying not to sound bitter. "I did everything for myself."

“And you'd already been playing professionally for a year and living alone by the time you were drafted. So when you were eighteen you also had more life experience than he did.”

Ilya couldn’t deny that.

“But it wouldn’t have been wrong for you to get together if you were both eighteen?”

“No,” Ilya said. “It would have been a disaster though.”

“Yes,” Sveta agreed. “Even a few years ago you wouldn’t have hesitated to hook up with him, like you’re doing now,” she added. “You’ve changed a lot.”

Ilya shrugged. “So you don’t think there’s anything wrong with him being so much younger?”

“I think that the details are what matters,” she said. “If you only dated eighteen year olds and kept ditching them when they got older or you only dated people a lot younger because they’re easily influenced or you dated people a lot younger because they’re financially vulnerable, yes, I think it would be wrong. But you respect him and like him for more than just his body right?”

“Of course,” Ilya said.

“It seems to me like that’s different. I don’t want to say something is right or wrong, but I think it’s different." She paused. "Eighteen is very young though."

"Yes," Ilya agreed.

"But there are immature eighteen year olds and mature ones. He seems pretty responsible."

"Sometimes I forget how young he is," Ilya admitted. "And then he does something— pouts if he doesn't get something he wants or is surprised when he has to do something for himself. His mother still takes care of all his paperwork and bills."

"While you hire someone to do it for you," Sveta said.

"Exactly," Ilya agreed.

She sighed. "In regards to the other things—you’re worried about getting together with him because you have power over him, right?”

Ilya considered. “Partially, maybe.”

“If it were someone like Marly it wouldn’t matter because you know Marly knows how to say ‘fuck you’ to you.”

“The problem is,” Ilya said, “that I could ruin his career. I could talk management into trading him, I could spread the word that he’s trouble in the locker room. I’m his billet; I could make him feel unsafe in the locker room and at home.”

“Would you?” Sveta asked.

“Never!” Ilya exclaimed. “Not intentionally,” he added, a little more uncertainly. “But if things didn’t go right, then maybe he could feel uncomfortable even unintentionally. I do my best not to abuse my position, but I can’t ensure things would work out. People break up all the time for reasons that aren’t any of their faults. That would make it pretty miserable to also be living and working in the same space.”

“Yes,” Sveta agreed, with a sigh. “Well, you can solve one of your problems. If you think it’s wrong to do anything with him while his billeting, wait until the season’s over and he is free to get his own place. He’ll have plenty of money if he hits his performance goals— and unless he gets injured he will. And maybe it will help to have a deadline. Then you’ll know it’s more than fleeting fancy, if it lasts and he’ll have more standing once he’s won the Calder.”

“And I’ll still be eight years old than him and his captain.”

“You could quit,” she said. “You could wait forever— or just until you retire. You could invite a girl over and fuck her on the couch and break his heart. There are so many options available to you.”

“I don’t like any of them,” Ilya complained and Sveta laughed.

“Sarte says that you choose who to go for advice based on the advice you want to get,” Sveta said.

“Who is Sarte?” Ilya asked, plaintively. “I go to you for advice because you’re the only one I trust.”

She put a hand on his bicep and squeezed it. “I love you too,” she said.

.

Ilya walked back to the hotel the team was staying in, his mind running in circles. What Sveta had said about the age difference seemed like just justifying it. But… he couldn’t pinpoint where in her argument she was wrong. He didn’t want to take advantage of Holly or manipulate him— that was the whole point! He could have fucked him in the summer, he knew that. He could have been fucking him all along. So was that proof that Ilya was a good guy, a green card to go ahead and do whatever he wanted? No.

He thought about her suggestion of a deadline. To have some point in time to wait for, instead of deciding that he just had to indefinitely wait out the temptation. There was merit to it. Maybe Holly’s interest in him was just a childish crush, something that would go away if Ilya waited long enough. Maybe it was just proximity, opportunity. If it lasted the season, the summer after, Holly getting his own place… that would mean that it was actually something real, right?

Ilya’s gut clenched at the idea of Holly getting his own place, at him being separated by more than a few walls. Not driving into practice together, not making sure he had delicious, satisfying, food for every meal, not having him splayed out on Ilya’s couch, watching games and making surprisingly cutting comments about the players, not having him wander up from a nap, sleep rumpled and still a little fuzzy.

Surely it was worth doing something a little wrong to get that. Why was Ilya resisting seducing Holly when the result wouldn’t just be the taste of his red lips and the feel of his smooth skin under Ilya’s fingers but getting to have him there, with Ilya, beside Ilya, wearing Ilya’s colors, eating Ilya’s food, napping on Ilya’s couch, for as long as Ilya could possibly manage?

Ilya could seduce him, manipulate him into being there forever, maybe. That seemed like a price worth selling his soul for.

But not worth hurting Holly over. Because that was the catch, wasn’t it? The reason Ilya was worried it was wrong. Not because he was concerned about doing the right thing, but because he didn’t want Holly to get hurt. Because he’d rather live a life without him then harm him.

Fuck, Ilya thought, hunching his shoulders against the rainy chill. What a fucking time to discover he was a good person.

.

He didn’t sleep very well that night and was up early the next day, heading down to the hotel gym to spin for a while despite how much he needed the rest.

“Damn, Cap,” Marly said at team breakfast. “You get some last night? Don’t look like you got much sleep.”

Holly jerked his head up at that, his cheeks going pink.

Ilya sighed to him self. “No,” he said. “Just trouble sleeping, worried about your bad game.”

Marly scoffed. “My game has never been better and you know it, bro.”

“How is Sveta?” Holly asked, later, on the bus to morning skate.

“Good,” Ilya said. Holly swallowed and looked away, jealous, Ilya thought. Jealous because he thought Ilya had hooked up with Sveta, maybe that Ilya had something with Sveta.

“She have new boyfriend,” Ilya lied, because it was easier than telling the truth.

“Really?” Holly asked, jerking his head up. “And she still flew up here to meet you?”

Ilya shrugged. “She is family, you know.”

Holly nodded and looked relived. Ilya wanted to put an arm around him, to promise that Holly was all he wanted, but he held back. He was waiting, he reminded himself.

Chapter End Notes

I often enjoy stories about age gaps but if I heard a 26 yo captain was sleeping with his 18 yo rookie I would probably find it questionable, at minimum. Do I agree with Sveta's rationalizations? I do think every such situation should be treated on an individual basis, but I'm not sure. It's important to note that in fictional stories the views of the characters often do not align with the views of the author. I feel like people forget that with alarming frequency.

Chapter 12: Reasons to ship shilya

Chapter Notes

The formatting for this took me soooo long, which is ridiculous because I've used this kind of formatting before.

If you have 'hide creator's style' on it's gonna look kind of funny. If you're using a screen reader, the text is repeated in the end notes.

Chapter End Notes

For those using screen readers or if the formatting is difficult to read, the above chapter text is as follows:

shilya_lives reblogged a post from user ilyabillyafeefifofillya
the original post was posted by hockey_shipping_goggles
The post reads: Move over, Marlanov! There’s a new Rozy ship in town!
j k l o l I know we’ve all been thinking about shiliya since the draft order was published because we’re just Like That, but our two Bears have given us So Much and I just wanted to accumulate it all in one place.
So: Reasons to ship shilya:
1. The look of utter adoration on Holly’s face when he was interviewed right after the draft. The interviewer asks if he’s heard from anyone on the team and Holly says, so giddy and excited, “Ilya Rozanov just called me! He said I could billet with him.” The interviewer goes on to ask if Ilya is one of his heroes and he says, “For sure, I’ve always looked up to Rozanov. Of course, my mom wouldn’t let me put his poster on my wall because she’s such a diehard Voyageurs fan, but he’s definitely been a huge influence.” She asks if he’s excited to play with Roz and he says, “I still can’t believe it. Sharing the ice with him. It’s… wow.”
2. According to rumor, Rozy invited Holly to billet with him because of pressure from team management, but he didn’t have to invite him to his super private beach house and take him whale watching This article is so cute, honestly.
3. This interview after their home opener where Holly talks about how down he was after losing his first game and how Rozy gave him a pep talk “Roz just really believes in me so much it feels like I can do anything, you know?”
4. Consy talking about Holly falling asleep everywhere “at dinner, breakfast, on the bus, on couch in the player’s lounge, on floor, in ice baths, leaning against board in middle of practice, in the locker room. I feel like every day it’s just ‘where is Holly sleeping now?’ and probably either he’s asleep on Roz’s shoulder or he’s running around trying to find him and wake him up."
5. Their cellies are the cutest thing ever
6. This social media spot where everyone on the team says who’s their favorite player on the team and everyone says ‘Roz’ except Roz who says ‘Holly’
7. This shot from the Bear’s Holiday Christmas Skate with Holly holding Portland’s baby daughter and looking terrified and Roz giving him the hearteyes
8. Holly’s mom posting holiday pics on her insta and Roz being in every single one of them
ilyabillyafeefifofillya added the following comment to the post: Fellas is it normal to invite your rookie to your super private beach house and show him the wonders of the underwater world?
The post was marked with the following tags: And they were roommates!, shilya, Boston Bears,
The post recieved 204 notes

Chapter 13: The best laid plans

It was no surprise to Ilya when Holly was voted one of the rookies chosen for the All-Star Game, but Holly, when he got the e-mail, was over the moon.

Ilya, personally, was always torn. It would have been a massive slight to not get chosen (he'd only ever not been chosen when he'd been laid up with his concussion) but it would still have been amazing to get time off for the entire break, flying somewhere warm and relaxing, instead of having to fly somewhere probably as cold or colder than Boston and smile for the NHL’s favorite media circus, making small talk with guys he regularly got into fights with and pretending that they were all one big happy family underneath it all.

Some years the All-Star Game was somewhere warm, but most years it wasn’t. This year it was in Detroit, which Marly once described as ‘colder than a witch's tits’, (which was apparently a common phrase in English, because no one else found it bizarre).

“Sucks to be you, man,” Marly said, blithely, as they got dressed after their last game before the break. He was off with half the roster to Tijuana— Sim and Portland had been practicing Spanish all month for it, with Consy, who had family from Argentina, constantly correcting their pronunciation. Ilya was pretty sure they were staying in a resort where everyone would speak English, but he hadn't wanted to burst their bubble.

Ilya was going to be staying in Boston for the three days before he flew out to Detroit. Three days just wasn't enough to make traveling worth it.

“Try not to be too jealous of us,” Marly added, finishing tying his shoes and grabbing his bag. "I'm gonna be banging all the chicas picante." He thrust his hips out a few times for emphasis.

“Fuck you,” Ilya said, looking around for Holly, who had already finished dressing and was talking to Cads on the other side of the dressing room. “Ready to go?” he called, and Holly turned and smiled at him.

“I was waiting for you,” Holly said, pulling his coat— a beautiful dark blue peacoat his parents had gotten for him for Christmas— on over his suit jacket. “You talked to the press for a while.”

"It was so boring," Ilya complained. "They have so many stupid questions. When is your flight?”

Holly bit his lip and looked down. “I decided not to go.”

“Why not?” Ilya asked, buttoning up his own coat and pulling on his gloves.

Holly shrugged, pulling on his winter hat and heading for the door. “I’m just so tired of flying,” he said. “And yeah, I know the flight to Ottawa is short and the flight to Detroit is short from there, but that’s still an hour of waiting in the airport and the airplane and then my mom…”

He sighed. It was late enough that the hallway was empty, just a few staff members trickling out.

“Sometimes it just seems like it’s non-stop with her, you know?” he said. “Like she’s got to squeeze hockey into every conversation and, you know, obviously, I love talking about hockey but then it becomes about me and what I should be doing differently and how people are looking up to me and my sponsorships and how I should be wearing my Reeboks more and drinking orange soda more or whatever and I love her but it’s not…” he struggled for a moment. “It’s not very restful, you know?”

Ilya didn’t really know. Ilya couldn’t imagine. His father had been demanding, yes, but in a completely different way from Yuna. His father had been the type of person who wouldn’t even talk to you unless it was to demand to know why his expectations— never previously voiced or explained— hadn’t been met.

But he’d spent enough time around Holly and Yuna to know what Holly was talking about, how Yuna seemed to twist every conversation not just back around to hockey but back around to Holly’s hockey. Holly’s performance, Holly’s actions, how Holly was expected to be this guiding light to every single Asian kid who ever stepped onto the ice.

So Ilya nodded and said, “okay.”

“That’s okay, right?” Holly asked, turning an anxious expression on Ilya. They’d reached the parking garage and the dim lighting soaked the color out of Holly’s face but Ilya could still see where his brows were anxiously pinched together.

“Of course,” Ilya said. “Your house too.”

“Yeah,” Holly said. “But I’m not cramping your style or anything?”

“What?” Ilya asked.

“You know, like, if you had things you wanted to do or people you wanted to have over and I’d be like in the way.”

“Whole team flying to Mexico,” Ilya pointed out.

“It’s not. I mean like. Girls…?”

Ilya stopped and turned to look at him. Holly’s shoulders were hunched up around his ears. Ilya wanted to put a hand on him, to soothe him, but of course he didn’t.

“‘Cause you haven’t, like, had any girls over?” Holly added. “Or like picked up on the road at all? And I guess, well Marly and Consy said you always used to? And I thought maybe it was because I was around, like you thought that would be awkward? And then.” He looked away and swallowed.

“In Vancouver Marly said you must have gotten some, you know, and I realized you hadn’t been and then after that you’ve been…” Holly paused, so long Ilya thought maybe he wasn’t going to finish his sentence. “… I don’t know. Like I feel like I see you less maybe? So I thought maybe you wished I wasn’t around? Like I know you’re only billeting me because the team made you and so I can go to a hotel if you want, like if I’m cramping your style or whatever.”

Ilya did touch him then. He had to. He put a hand on the back of Holly’s neck, rubbed his thumb over the tight tendons there. “Holly,” he said, and Holly looked up at him, hurt and hopeful and Ilya probably would have broken all of his promises to himself if they hadn’t been in the fucking TD Garden parking garage. “You not ‘cramping my style’.” He took a breath. “Yes team ask me to billet you, but I am happy for this. Every day happy for you.”

Holly’s face soften at that, his body relaxed, and it was all Ilya could do not to run his hand down Holly’s back, to pull him closer, to press him against Ilya, to possess him completely.

Instead he gathered all of his will power and let go.

“It is very late,” he said. “And we went into overtime. Let’s go home?”

Holly blinked up at him sleepily and nodded and Ilya fought all his instincts and led the way to the car.

.

So. Three days alone. In Boston. With Holly. Holly who apparently thought Ilya was avoiding him because he didn’t want him there because Ilya was avoiding him because Ilya was trying to avoid jumping his bones. So.

The first day Holly mostly slept. Ilya also mostly slept, or lounged on the couch playing video games. Fallout, not chel, because sometimes Ilya wanted to think about something other than hockey for a while. He felt kind of lonely and sad so he found Lulu in her cat tree and carried to the living room and pinned her down in his lap until she stopped squirming. He didn’t think about why he wasn’t hanging out with her in his bedroom.

Holly emerged from his nap mid afternoon. He’d gotten up around ten, eaten an entire breakfast pizza Sara had left for them (presumably to share) and gone back to sleep.

Holly padded into the living room and stopped and stretched, his shirt from his major juniors team Herons! stretching across his chest and lifting up to show a few inches of skin. Ilya forced himself to look away.

“Hey,” Holly said, sleepily. “What’s that you’re playing?” He took a few steps towards Ilya and then froze. “Holy shit, is that a cat?!”

Ilya looked down at Lulu and then back up at Holly. “Yes? This is Lulu.”

“Is it yours?”

“Yes,” Ilya said. That was pretty obvious, right?

“When did you get it?”

“Her,” Ilya corrected. “Last year, when had the concussion.” Holly frowned at the cat, confused.

“I swear I’ve never seen her before,” he said.

“She likes to stay in my bedroom,” Ilya explained. "There is many things there for her to play with.

Holly approached cautiously and then sat down on the other end of the couch.

“You are scared of cats?” Ilya teased.

“No!” Holly exclaimed, in a whisper. “I just don’t want to scare her.”

“It is okay,” Ilya said, “you can come closer.”

Holly smiled and scooted closer, close enough that he could pet Lulu or kiss Ilya, maybe. “Can I touch her?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ilya said, and so Holly softly, tentatively, stroked Lulu’s back.

“She’s so soft,” Holly whispered. “And cute.”

Lulu was very cute, Ilya agreed. She was tiny and all white. She cracked one sleepy eye open and looked up at Holly.

“Hello,” Holly cooed. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?”

Lulu closed her eyes again, satisfied.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you had a cat,” Holly said.

Ilya couldn’t either. He must have mentioned her at some point? “Sorry,” he said. “She should be part of tour. Here is kitchen, terrace, bathroom, cat.”

Holly laughed. “You have a whole set up for her?” he asked.

“Half the room,” Ilya admitted. “You know I could not do anything when I had concussion. Just laid in darkness. Lamarre’s kids brought her here for me. Before, you know. She was so nice, so soft, lay on my stomach and purred. I got her cat toys so I could throw little ball and she chased it and light, what do you call it? Laser. Then I bought her cat tree and cat hammock and cat house and now it is half my room.”

Holly smiled up at him, amused and fond, scratching behind Lulu’s ear now, so close to Ilya he could feel Holly’s heat.

Fuck, Ilya loved him.

Ilya’s heart stopped. He felt the smile slip from his face.

“Roz,” Holly said. “Are you okay?”

Ilya gently picked up Lulu and set her carefully in Holly’s lap. “You hold her for a little,” he said. “I am go to…” He rushed out of the room, not down to his bedroom, like he had planned, but up onto the terrace. He was only wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, bare feet on the cold flagstones, but he hardly felt it. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, dialed Sveta without thinking about it.

“Why are you calling me?” she demanded as soon as she picked up.

“I love him,” Ilya told her, his breath clouding in the cold air in front of himself. “Holly, I love Holly.”

Sveta broke into laughter.

A sound behind Ilya made him turn. Holly, holding Ilya’s coat and a pair of shoes.

“I saw you come up here without anything,” Holly said. “I thought you’d probably be cold.”

Ilya shoved his feet into the shoes and pulled on the coat. “Thank you.”

“Who are you talking to?” Holly asked, sounding betrayed, somehow. “Sveta?”

Ilya nodded.

“You told me she had a boyfriend,” Holly said.

“She does.”

Holly looked away, cheeks pinking.

“What is matter?” Ilya asked. Against his ear, Sveta had gone quiet.

“You said you loved her,” Holly said. “I learned, uh, I thought I might learn, a little Russian and I remember that." He made several horrible attempts to say 'lyublyu' each worse than the last. "Well, I can’t say it, but I remember it.” His face was blazing red now.

“She’s my best friend,” Ilya said, annoyance sparking. “Of course I love her. But I was actually telling her I love you.” His heart stuttered when he realized what he'd said.

Oh fucking shit. In Ilya’s ear Sveta gasped. Ilya hung up on her and shoved his phone in his pocket.

“You…?” Holly asked, in a small voice, his eyes wide, scared and hopeful and what was Ilya supposed to do? He stepped forward and took Holly’s burning cheeks into his hands and kissed him. Gently, at first, just lips skimming, just a small swipe of his tongue so he could taste the tang of Holly’s chapstick.

Holly made a noise and then his arms were around Ilya pulling him closer, smooshing his lips into Ilya’s until Ilya pulled him back and gentled him, thumb skimming over Holly’s cheek, holding him back and teasing until Holly gasped out “Roz,” and Ilya broke the kiss so he could look him in the eye, then crush him against his chest.

“Holy shit,” Holly gasped. “Holy Shit, Roz, I love you too.”

Ilya hugged him tighter, rocked him a little, tried to keep the tears from leaking out of his eyes. It was Holly who finally pulled away, who looked at him with a face full of wonder, who wiped away the tear. His smile was bright, watery. He kissed Ilya again.

Chapter 14: October 13, 2014

Ilya had a well-earned reputation as a man-whore right up until October 13, 2014, when he was hit from behind by defender Josh Cooper of the Denver Summit, a shoulder into the back of his helmet. The blow made his head ring and he tripped and went down face-first into the ice and stayed there long enough that when the spots cleared from his eyes the head trainer was leaning over him, asking him if Ilya could hear him.

The next six months were the longest of Ilya’s life, lying in the darkness and the silence, nothing to do but think, his thoughts swimming around like fish stuck in a too-small tank, endless refrains of worry and fear that he’d never play again, rehashing everything in his life that he should have done differently, recounting everything he’d wanted that he’d never even tried.

A home. A family, a more stable life. He’d always put if off for some future date. Someday in the future he’d stop smoking and stop drinking so much and start eating better. He’d stop sleeping around so much. Maybe he’d find someone to date.

Someone who’d be there when he was sick or injured. Someone who’d kiss him on the forehead and tell him it would be okay, like his mother had used to do.

What had he been waiting for, exactly? To suddenly, one day, be good enough for all of that? Be good enough to love?

Some of the WAGs came to check on him, brought him food and sat with him for a while when the team was playing away games. Marly’s wife came the most often.

(It had shocked everyone, especially Ilya, when Marly had gotten engaged. Marly had met his wife at a Dunkin’ Donuts, of all places, on the off-season. He’d gone in for an iced coffee and sat down at one of the little tables with nothing better to do and been playing Candy Crush on his phone when Janine came in and asked if she could share the table and then she’d spread out her papers on it and he’d asked her about them and listened to her talk for half an hour about studying to be a special education teacher and then invited her out on a date.)

Janine had still been working on her degree when Ilya got injured. She’d come sometimes to keep him company, and do her homework while he lay on the couch in the dim silence, grateful to just not be alone, and, eventually, somehow, he started talking. It wasn’t therapy, but there was something about the quiet, dark room, and Janine’s patient acceptance that had allowed him to open up more and more.

He told her things he’d never even told Sveta; about how empty and sharp he felt some times, like a broken glass, about how worried he was he’d never play again, about how lonely he felt, how it ached like a rotten tooth, how he’d grown used to it, like a rotten tooth, until he bit down wrong and oh, there it was again.

And she’d said she didn’t think he was broken and she’d said that if he wanted to change his life he could, and she’d suggested he do some small, easy things, like hiring a private chef and some hard ones, like finding a therapist. “Change is incremental,” Janine had said and ‘you have to be kind to yourself’ and ‘I think you are actually a very easy person to love.’

By the time Ilya got back on the ice, Janine had helped him find both a personal chef and a therapist and graduated with her master’s degree. Her students would be very lucky, Ilya thought.

But he hadn’t really thought he had changed that much until he went out with the boys after their final game of the season (a win, finally), and drinking didn’t bring the kind of relief it used to, and making out with a girl in the back of the club didn’t smooth out the sharp edges because the edges weren’t as sharp any more and maybe he could file them down more and more and stop cutting himself so badly. Maybe that was actually something he could believe now.

Chapter 15: The rookie

Chapter Notes

Last day of posting 💪

When Holly started shivering, Ilya grabbed him by the wrist and led him down the two flights to where Lulu was crying and rubbing her head on the bedroom door.

“Poor girl,” Ilya cooed, and opened the door for her. Holly laughed at the sight of the cat paradise Ilya had made for Lulu; the completely screened-in balcony, the platforms and ramps that had been built into the wall so Lulu could climb up to her secret den above the wardrobe, the jungle of plants hanging in the window, the custom cat tree, then toys scattered on the floor.

Lulu darted in, jumped up to the wardrobe and hid in her cave, her little face poking out.

Holly tugged on Ilya’s arm. “Let’s go to my room,” he urged and suddenly Ilya was overcome by his need to touch Holly, so he turned and pulled Holly down the hallway by the wrist, Holly giggling behind him, then tugged him in his room and pressed him against the door.

Another kiss and then another and then Ilya was licking and biting and sucking on Holly’s neck, careful not to leave marks. Holly moaned and Ilya’s thigh was there between Holly’s legs, pressing against Holly’s cock and Holly's hard cock was rubbing against him and Ilya remembered, suddenly, that Holly hadn’t done this before.

He pulled back. “This is first time, yes?” he whispered. Holly opened his eyes, already a little glazed and stared at Ilya for a moment, mouth parted.

“Yes,” he said, finally, licking his lips, his eyes flicking down to where Ilya's dick was pressing against his joggers. Ilya couldn’t help himself; he kissed him again and again, feeling drunk on it. Holly forced a hand between them, grabbed at Ilya’s crotch, ran his hands along the outside of Ilya's cock and then, finally, shoved his hand into Ilya’s joggers.

“Holly,” Ilya murmured.

“I want,” Holly said. “Can I please…?” He explored Ilya’s cock with his fingers for a moment, fumbling, before getting his hand around it.

“It is easier if we are naked,” Ilya suggested and Holly groaned.

“Yes, please,” so Ilya tugged him over to the bed, pulled off his clothes and dropping onto the bed and then watched, entranced, while Holly pulled off his own, throwing them into the laundry basket until he stood naked before Ilya.

Holly didn’t pose. Ilya loved that about him. He didn’t suck in his stomach or flex his muscles. He just stood, naked and exposed, his big cock jutting out, a little browner then the surrounding skin, surrounded by a nest of curling black hair.

Ilya scooted up to the edge of the bed and grabbed Holly’s hip, his fingers testing the tight muscles of his ass, then with the other hand touched Holly’s length, lightly, holding it still so he could lick the tip, already salty.

“Roz,” Holly whined.

“Ilya,” Ilya corrected before licking again, and Holly’s eyes went wide.

“Ilya,” he said, and his hand sunk into Ilya’s hair, cupped the back of his head, the other resting on Ilya’s shoulder. “Don’t tease me— I won’t last.”

Ilya licked his lips and looked up at him. “You can go again?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Holly murmured. “Yeah, okay.”

Ilya took the whole head of Holly’s cock in his mouth, reached down to cup his balls, slid his mouth on Holly’s dick while Holly chanted “fuck, fuck, fuck,” and tightened his hand in Ilya’s hair until it hurt and bent over, hand digging into Ilya’s shoulder until he came, panting, hips jerking, red as a tomato.

Ilya scooted back and nudged him to fall on his bed beside him, then turned to face him, suddenly allowed to touch all that skin he’s been longing to run his hands over.

“Ilya,” Holly panted. “Ilya.” He’s staring down at Ilya’s dick. “Can I?”

“Of course, luchik, anything you want.” Ilya skimmed his hand down Holly’s side, gripped his ass, but Holly pulled away, squirmed down Ilya’s body.

“You do not have to,” Ilya told him, as Holly moved Ilya’s legs so he could fit between them.

Holly looked up, smiling brightly. “I want to,” he said, then he bent down to kiss Ilya’s thigh, to run his hand up the length of Ilya’s cock, to play with the foreskin, to mouth at the tip.

Holly was unpracticed, of course, but so enthusiastic, so beautiful it didn’t take long for Ilya to come. Ilya tried to pull him off, but he only took him deeper, sucking him into his mouth and then sputtering trying to swallow it.

Ilya laughed at him and then pulled him up, grabbing a tissue to dot at his face, kissing him.

“Sorry,” Holly said.

“No,” Ilya told him, licking a spot of cum off his cheek. “That was very good.”

“Really?” Holly brightened. “It was my first time.”

“I know,” Ilya said, pushing his hair off his forehead and kissing him again. “Did you like it?”

Holly blushed, suddenly shy. “I did,” he said.

Ilya kissed him again and again and soon Holly was pushing hard and ready against Ilya’s thigh and Ilya felt his cock stiffening in response. He rolled Holly until he was on his back and straddled him, slicking a hand from the bottle of lotion on Holly’s nightstand and coating both of them so they could slide together, Holly grabbing Ilya’s ass to pull him in tighter, moaning while Ilya sucked on his neck and bit at below his ear and jerking up into Ilya until he came.

Ilya sat up and jerk himself off onto Holly’s belly while Holly stared up at him with his eyes glazed and body twitching with aftershocks and spilled white all over his belly and only just resisted the impulse to rub it into his skin.

.

Well, Ilya fucked up waiting until Holly was no longer living with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, running his fingers along the planes of Holly’s muscles, thumbing at his full lower lip.

“You love me,” Holly said in a tone of wonder, blinking his brown eyes up at Ilya.

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “I try very hard not to.”

Holly pulled back a little, clearly hurt. “Why?” he asked.

“Because you are my rookie,” Ilya said. “Because you are my billet. Because you are too young. Take your pick.”

“I’m not too young,” Holly defended.

Ilya ran his hand over Holly’s cheek like he could soothe him. “Yes you are,” he said. “But I can not resist.”

“Oh,” Holly said, a little mollified. He licked his lips. “I thought you… maybe you weren’t interested.”

Ilya laughed. “I am so interested.” He pressed a little closer to Holly. “Interested in everything.”

“But you thought I am too young,” Holly said, with a pout.

“Yes, you are so young, I feel like a pervert. What do you call an old man who seduces pretty young thing. I make promise I will not touch you.”

Holly looked down at where their bodies were pressed together. “You failed.”

Ilya sighed. “Yes.”

“I was too attractive?”

“Yes, you are too beautiful for me.” He kissed Holly’s eyes, his nose, his cheeks. “Too sweet. Too funny. Too good at hockey.”

“I’m not sweet!” Holly protested and Ilya peppered him with even more kisses, holding him down when he squirmed.

“You are so sweet. I want to eat you up.” He bit, very lightly, on Holly’s cheek.

“It’s not like an age thing, though?” Holly asked, a little while later, when they’d wrestled until they’d flopped, sweaty, back on the bed again. “I’m going to get older, you know.”

Ilya ran a hand through Holly’s hair. He couldn’t stop touching him. Now that he was allowed to touch it was like he was making up for half a year’s missed time. “I do not think so. I have not been attracted to rookie before.”

“It’s just me?” Holly asked, preening.

“It’s just you,” Ilya agreed and Holly rolled over and kissed him and kissed him until they were frantically rutting against each other again.

Chapter 16: A phone call

“So you held out for, what? A week?”

“Six months!” Ilya protested. “Six months of Holly sprawling all over my living room with those thighs and looking up at me with those eyes and playing some of the best hockey I’ve ever seen! I’d like to see you do better.”

“Fortunately for you,” Sveta said in a tone of voice that had Ilya imagining she was inspecting her fingernails, “he’s not my type.”

“I don’t think you’re his type either,” Ilya said, dryly. Holly had admitted, safe in Ilya’s arms, that he’d tried to be attracted to women, had tried to have sex with his high school girlfriend, but it had never felt right. He hadn't really understood what that might mean until he'd begun having thoughts about Ilya and then realized he was jealous when he imagined Ilya with other people and sad at the thought of moving out of Ilya's condo at the end of the year. And then, at the family skate, where he'd seen all of his teammates with their families and suddenly realized he wanted to be there with Ilya, in that way.

"You're gay," Ilya had said, carding his fingers through Shane's hair and Shane had opened his mouth, stunned speechess for a moment, and then said 'oh, is that what that is?' and Ilya had to force himself not to laugh. He was so young; Ilya loved him so much.

Sveta hummed. “So what now?” she asked.

“What do you mean ‘what now?’”

“Is this it? You’ve broken the seal so you might as well keep fucking him?”

“If I break things off with him it will break his heart,” Ilya pointed out.

“And your own.”

Ilya didn’t gratify that with a response.

“All the things you were concerned about are still true,” she added, more gently.

“I was worried about fucking things up,” he said. “If I break up with him it will fuck things up, right?”

“So might as well keep going?”

“I don’t think it’s hurting anyone,” Ilya confessed. “I know maybe a lot of people would think it was wrong— well a lot of people would think it was wrong even if we were the same age and in the same position— but I don’t see how it’s hurting him, me loving him.”

“You have to be careful then. Keep everything in your condo. Watch how you act around him.”

“We could kiss on the ice and no one would think anything of it,” Ilya pointed out.

“Most people wouldn’t think anything of it,” she corrected. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be careful. You don’t want to fuck things up? Don’t fuck things up.”

Ilya closed his eyes and looked out the window at the late afternoon sun gleaming off of the Charles. “Yeah,” he said.

“Congratulations,” she told him.

“Congratulations?”

“I’m happy for you. You deserve someone who loves you like he loves you. And so does he.”

“I’ll try to be worthy of him,” Ilya said.

“Oh, Ilyusha,” Sveta sighed. “You already are.”

Chapter 17: All-Star Weekend

Chapter Notes

They had three days until they had to leave for Detroit and they spent most of them naked, in bed. Holly was insatiable and Ilya wasn’t much better. They fucked until they were tired, slept until they were hungry, ate until one of them started something. Shampoo, rinse, repeat.

Holly was insatiable and inventive. He’d clearly seen a lot of porn and was determined to try everything out. Ilya was only grateful he had a large supply of lube stashed away from his man-slut days so he didn’t have to order more.

Holly didn’t just want to try everything, he wanted to master everything. He demanded Ilya give tips while Holly was going down on him, like Ilya had the brain space to do that in English while watching Holly’s pink lips wrapped around his shaft. He convinced Ilya to talk him through fingering himself, made Ilya watch as he pressed his fingers into himself and went red and squirmed on his fingers.

When Holly had finally gotten Ilya to stop taking things slow and fuck him, he made Ilya teach him to ride him, how to pin Ilya between his thighs and go for it like Ilya’s cock was a fucking dildo, until Ilya couldn’t take it anymore and flipped him so he could drive up into him with everything he had.

“We could call in sick for the All-Star Weekend,” Holly suggested the night before they were due to fly out. They were sticky and lying in the second guest room bed having dirtied up the beds in both Holly’s and the first guest room. Ilya's housekeeper was going to get a massive tip. Thank goodness she already had an NDA.

“We’d both get benched for a game,” Ilya reminded him.

“It would probably be worth it.”

“Your parents are coming,” Ilya pointed out.

“Fuck,” Holy sighed. “My parents are gonna be such cock-blockers. The moment I even try sneaking off with you my mom’s gonna find me and make me talk to someone boring.”

“The pain of being a famous hockey player,” Ilya said, with feigned sympathy.

Holly laughed, then frowned. “Sorry I’m complaining about my mom when your is…”

“Dead?” Ilya supplied.

Holly looked away.

“It is okay,” Ilya said. “Your mom can frustrate you even if mine is dead. I want you to share your feelings.”

Holly huffed a laugh. “Aren’t men not supposed to have feelings?”

“I am a modern man,” Ilya declared. “I go to my therapist and everything.”

“Very progressive,” Holly said, then paused. “You never talk about her, or your dad.”

Ilya sighed and nuzzled into Holly’s neck. “My mom died when I was twelve. It was long time ago. My father only a few years ago, but I do not want to talk about him.”

“Okay,” Holly said. “But you can if you want.”

“And you can complain about your parents if you want.”

“Touché.” Holly turned and nudged his cock into Ilya’s thigh.

“We already had sex all afternoon,” Ilya reminded him. Holly rubbed his cock harder against Ilya. “And we have a flight to catch soon.”

“I could go take care of it in the bathroom,” Holly teased, making like he was going to get up.

“Don’t you dare!” Ilya exclaimed, grabbing him and pulling him down. “You brat.”

Holly wiggled against Ilya and giggled and it turned into a wrestling match with a happy ending.

.

Did Ilya regret it when they barely made their flight, their hair disheveled, running through Logan with call of ‘sorry, we’re going to miss our flight!’ to fans who tried to stop them for an autograph? Not really.

The off-ice portions of the 2016 All-Star Weekend were held in a hotel-and-conference center near the General Motors Arena. The hotel lobby was full of players and their families; Ilya had met most of them before at events like these. He greeted them politely, shaking hands and introducing Holly as they waited in the line for the reception desk. Finally, they got their hotel key cards and headed up, parting in the elevator as Holly went to the eleventh floor and Ilya kept going up to the fourteenth.

Half-an-hour later, dressed in his nicest plum colored suit, Ilya headed into the player’s reception and began to make the rounds, exchanging niceties with players he didn’t know well and catching up with those he did. He had just started catching up with Hunter, who never passed up a chance to gloat about his Olympic gold medal, when he saw Holly venture into the room. Ilya felt something in his chest loosen and had to keep from smiling.

Holly was wearing a suit they’d picked out together, a subtle pin-stripe in a bluish-grey with a cream shirt and narrow tie in Bears gold.

“There’s your boy,” Hunter said, and then looked at Ilya too closely and frowned. He took Ilya by the elbow and dragged him into the bathroom, locking the door.

“What the fuck?” Ilya hissed. “You know I do not want you.”

“Ilya,” Hunter murmured, quiet and close to Ilya’s ear “are you seriously fucking your rookie?”

Ilya didn’t say anything but he clearly didn’t have to.

“What the fuck are you thinking?” Hunter demanded.

“That is your business now?” Ilya asked.

“As your friend…”

“Oh, we are friends?”

“Fuck you,” Hunter said. “Getting caught with a guy is one thing, but with your rookie…? You could ruin your career. And his.”

Ilya pulled away from him. “I know.”

Hunter gestured at him.

“I don’t know,” Ilya admitted. “It just… I can not stop it.”

“Just fell on his dick, huh?”

Ilya covered his face. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“It’s a terrible idea,” Hunter said.

“You think I do not know that?” Ilya asked. “So, what? I should never try, like you?”

“You’re not like me, though, are you?” Hunter asked. “You could find a woman…”

“This again?” Ilya scoffed. “Just because I am attracted to women does not mean I will find one to love.”

“You’re telling me you’re in love with Hollander?” Hunter asked, skeptically.

“Maybe,” Ilya said. He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hunter muttered, turning away from him. “You know that’s all kinds of wrong, right?”

“Love?” Ilya asked.

“This will end badly for you,” Hunter predicted.

“I think maybe tragic thing is to be miserable my whole life like you,” Ilya bit back. “What happen with Kit?”

“I don’t want to talk about Kit.”

“I hope he move on.”

“That’s cruel, even for you,” Hunter said, and at that Ilya really did feel bad. “So this is why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Ilya sighed. He hadn’t really been avoiding Hunter. Just not going out of his way to meet up with him.

“I have been busy,” Ilya said.

“Yeah, fucking your rookie.”

“No,” Ilya said. “That is new. Just…” he shrugged. He didn’t know how to explain it, just that Hunter made him sad. Whenever he spent a few hours with him he came away sadder. Like Ilya had just spent a few hours looking at a picture of all the things he hated the most about himself. “I am sorry,” he finished.

Hunter stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I, uh, probably shouldn’t have yelled at you? I don’t want you to get hurt. Or him.”

“Thank you,” Ilya said. “I did not…” He swallowed. “It isn’t a casual thing. You are not wrong, but…”

“You’re in love,” Hunter supplied. “People have done stupider things.”

“How did you know?” Ilya asked.

“I saw how you looked at him. And how you talk about each other when you’re doing press, and those stupid social media things the Bears put out. But… I don’t think anyone would clock it if they didn’t already know—”

“I sleep with men?”

“Yeah. I mean there are people shipping you, of course, but they ship everyone, don’t they?”

“There was a ship for us, before,” Ilya reminisced.

Hunter huffed. “There’s a lot of ships for you,” he reminded Ilya. “Probably because you keep licking people during fights.”

Ilya laughed at that. “It is good intimidation,” he said.

“You are such a brat,” Hunter said, fondly.

“We will catch up? This weekend?”

“Sure,” Hunter said. “You have my number.”

Ilya nodded and gestured to the door.

“No,” Hunter said. “You go first. Hollander’s probably wondering where you are.”

Holly was looking a little strained when Ilya emerged, though he was talking to a few of the younger guys, all Canadians, maybe guys he knew from the O or World Juniors, but he looked over at Ilya and his face lit up, like a ray of sunlight piercing the clouds.

Fuck, Ilya thought.

“See,” Hunter said. “Maybe tell him to tone it down a bit.

.

(Ilya had clocked Hunter the first time he encountered him off the ice, at the All-Star Weekend, his rookie, Hunter’s sophomore, year. Ilya’s always had great gaydar, always been able to pinpoint the men in the room who’d be receptive to an overture.

Hunter had been nervous, holding his drink too tightly, polite to everyone who stopped to talk to him, but clearly not really knowing anyone. Ilya had gone up to him and started talking to him about something— hockey obviously— and somehow had ended up drinking with him alone.

Ilya’s not sure what made him do it; he hadn’t wanted to pick Hunter up or intimidate him. If pressed, he’d say that he thought it would be nice to know another queer player in the league, but that also probably wasn’t true. It had probably been something self-destructive, probably looking for buttons to push.

Hunter was slurring his words by then, going off on some rant about how Colorado kept trading away their best players, and Ilya had leaned forward, slid his hand up Hunter’s thigh and whispered in his ear ‘I know your secret.’

Hunter had jerked back, almost comically, spilled his drink all over himself.

“What the fuck,” he’d exclaimed, hands up like he was expecting an attack, beer soaking into his shirt.

Ilya had tisked at him and wiped some of the beer off and wrapped an arm around Hunter’s shoulders and told everyone they passed that Hunter hadn’t been able to hold his alcohol, Hunter glaring at him harder with each iteration until he threw Ilya’s arm off and tried to stalk to the elevators alone.

But Ilya had followed him. God, Ilya had been such an asshole. He’d followed him into his room and watched Hunter strip off his shirt and fling it to the ground.

“What’s your fucking play?” Hunter demanded as Ilya dropped onto his bed, head on the headboard, arms folded behind his head.

“No play,” Ilya had drawled. “Just observation.”

“And they say your English is bad,” Hunter muttered, grabbing a clean shirt from his suitcase.

“They are xenophobic,” Ilya said with a shrug.

“So what?” Hunter asked. “What is this? What are you fucking doing here? Blackmail?”

“What I blackmail you for? I am get all my performance bonus, I am already famous, I am too good to need you to throw game.”

“Why’d you feel me up back there? If this is a seduction it’s terrible.”

Ilya pouted. “If I were trying to seduce you it would not be terrible. I am very good.”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Very full of yourself is what you are.” He dropped onto the armchair and looked at Ilya, eyebrows raised.

Ilya shrugged. “I am also,” he said.

“Also…? Gay?” Hunter choked on the word, turning red.

Ilya shrugged again. “Bisexual.”

“So what?” Hunter asked. “You think we’re gonna suddenly be friends because we both like dick? God, do you know how different that is? At least you don’t have to make excuses for why you’re not picking up. At least when your teammate thrusts a blonde at you you don’t have to pretend to be interested.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Bisexual does not mean I want to fuck everyone.”

“Everyone knows your reputation, Rozanov. I’ve seen the pictures in Failspin. The tell-alls.”

“Okay,” Ilya said. He leaned forward. “Okay, so I do less pretend with team. But we both have same danger if we suck dick, yes? We both live with big secret in closet, like monster. I think you need friend. Does anyone know?”

Hunter sagged back. “One of of my teammates from juniors. But it was all ‘no homo’ stuff, you know? He’s got a serious girlfriend now.”

“And you have broken heart?”

“No, fuck you, it wasn’t like that.”

“That is it? Your whole experience?”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “I’m not some virgin. I went on a trip to… why am I telling you this?”

“I have two friends, they know,” Ilya said. “My best friend, she know everything about me. My other friend, we hooked up. Nothing serious. Now I am in US and no one knows this about me. I cannot even talk to Sveta and Sasha— they are still in Russia, phones might be tapped, you know?”

“So,” Hunter said, finally relaxing a little. “You are the one who needs a friend.”

And Ilya had to smile at that. “Yeah, okay, maybe.”)

.

Ilya acted the responsible captain for a while, introducing Holly to various players, until Holly had stretched a little theatrically and said “I’m so tired— when does this thing end?” and Ilya had said. “You can leave now, if you want” and they were just on their way to the elevators when Holly’s phone chirped.

“Ugh,” he said. “It’s my mom. She’s at an event with sponsors and she wants me to come and meet with some people.” His phone chirped again. “Oh, she wants you there too.” He bit his lip. “Is that okay? You don’t have to go. It’s going to be pretty boring.”

Ilya wished he could kiss Holly right there in the hallway. Instead he smiled at him. “It is okay. I appreciate Yuna inviting me.”

Holly gave him a dubious look and led him out to the street where they caught a cab to where the reception was being held.

.

Yuna waved them over as soon as they came in. “I know you haven’t signed the final contract with Tomas yet,” she said, catching Ilya’s arm, “but I thought this was too good of an opportunity to pass up! I’ve been talking you up and there are a lot of sponsors excited to talk to you. They really love your story.”

“My story?” Ilya repeated.

“Russian to American, playboy to responsible captain, being out with a concussion for most of a season and now back stronger than ever. And they’re loving your dynamic with Shane. Taking him under your wing, the whale story, all of it. I think I’ve got some of them interested in doing a campaign with both of you.”

Holly perked up at that. “It would be more fun if you were there,” he said.

Ilya couldn’t help smiling back at him.

“Mike, Sandra,” Yuna said, bringing them to a table with a man and woman, both of them with alarmingly white teeth. “My son Shane and his teammate Ilya Rozanov. Shane and Ilya, Mike and Sandra are with Speedo and they’re interested in partnering with you both.”

“Excellent!” Mike exclaimed, reaching out to shake both of their hands.

“We’ve been following your season pretty closely,” Sandra said. “Of course, I’m from Montreal, so I’m not exactly a Bears fan—” everyone laughed perfunctorily “but you are the duo to watch right now.”

“And we’d love to get the opportunity to showcase that with Speedo,” Mike completed. “Something a lot of people get wrong about Speedo is thinking we only have one style of swimwear where we actually have a wide range of styles and products and we think the two of you would be the perfect spokesmen to show that off.”

“I’m imagining a campaign,” Sandra said, gesturing, “TV spots, print ads, a social media element. We’ll have Ilya in a more traditional brief-style Speedo and Shane in a more conventional swimsuit, playing around in a pool or on the beach—”

“Ohhh, the beach, and maybe pull in that fun whale story,” Mike added. “I wonder if we could do some kind of swimming with whales thing. The two of you can both swim, right?”

They nodded.

“The tagline could be something like Different Styles for Different Styles of Play,” Sandra finished.

Yuna frowned a little. “Maybe just Different Styles for Different Styles?”

“We’ll workshop it,” Sandra said, waving a hand.

Ilya received a card and a promise to follow up and then Yuna swept them away.

“Most of what you hear is brain-storming and daydreaming,” she said. “Treat anything they say with a buttload of salt. They’ll tell you they’re going to fly you to Hawaii for a week-long vacation and the next thing you know you’ll be in a warehouse in Toronto. But that also means that if you don’t like them or their ideas but you’re still interested in working with the brand, you can request a different rep. You have all the power here, you have to remember.”

They spoke to reps from Rolex, Powerade, Lululemon, Ferrari, Canadian Tyre, and a number of other companies before Yuna finally let them go.

“You look so tired,” she said, sympathetically. “And the skills competition is tomorrow. Why don’t we meet up for lunch tomorrow if you have the time? I know you’ll probably have team dinner tomorrow evening. Ilya, of course that includes you.”

They agreed and she let them go.

“Want to come to my room for a nightcap?” Holly asked in the elevator they were sharing with Buck and Bourne of the Florida Cougars (who Ilya was pretty sure were fucking, judging by how close they were standing and how they kept looking at each other).

“A nightcap?” Ilya repeated, amused. “Did you forget you are too young to drink in the US?”

“No,” Holly said, coloring a little, his eyes darting to Buck and Bourne who were trying not to listen.

“So you mean an actual nightcap? Like a hat?”

“Shut up,” Holly muttered, kicking at Ilya’s shin, while Buck did his best to contain a snicker and Bourne didn’t even try.

Ilya followed Holly off the elevator while Buck and Bourne continued up.

“I was just trying to throw them off the scent,” Holly said.

“And ‘a nightcap’ was best you could do? You think this is movie from the thirties?”

Holly rolled his eyes and slid his key card into the reader. The moment the door was closed he had Ilya pressed against the door, kissing him almost frantically.

“I don’t know how to live without kissing you every moment,” Holly murmured, trying to push Ilya’s coat off his shoulders. Ilya laughed and pulled out of his grasp, undressing and hanging up his suit coat, then pulling Holly’s off as well.

“I had to keep stopping myself from touching you, from staring at you too much,” Holly continued, tackling Ilya’s shirt buttons.

“Me too, luchik,” Ilya agreed, taking off his cufflinks before Holly could get to them, and tucking them into his pants pocket. “You standing there with your perfect lip and round cheek so good for biting.”

“My cheeks aren’t good for biting,” Holly protested, laughing, as Ilya bore him down onto the bed, undoing Holly’s cufflinks too so they could clink against each other in Ilya’s pocket as he dropped his pants onto the floor.

.

Holly had a meeting with his mother and some other people before lunch, so Ilya took the opportunity to meet with Hunter in a cafe near the conference center. Hunter got a smoothie that made him wince when he sipped at it and Ilya a terrible coffee and the first few minutes they sat in silence, watching people go past, wrapped up tightly against the wind and cold.

“The next time we renegotiate the CBA we should put in that all All-Star Events have to take place in locations with a minimum winter temperature above 50 degrees,” Hunter suggested. Ilya shivered at the thought of renegotiating another CBA. Last time there was a lockout he’d spent time in Moscow, playing with Dynamo. That wouldn’t be an option if he did it again. Maybe he could go to Europe. Consy claimed to have had a great time in Sweden. Maybe Holly would go with him.

“I’m glad you’ve recovered from your concussion,” Hunter said, interrupting Ilya’s musing.

“Thank you,” Ilya said.

“I was pretty concerned. That’s the nightmare, right? Forced to retire because of an injury.” He lowered his voice. “Or CTE. I have nightmares about that, you know? I’m pretty sure no one is talking about it because we all know it’s inevitable.”

“Now I remember why I do not spend time with you,” Ilya said and sipped his terrible coffee while Hunter laughed.

“How are things going?” Ilya added.

Hunter shrugged. “Nothing’s new or different.”

“Kip?”

Hunter waggled his hand back and forth. “Decided to do a PhD after finishing the master’s. Thinking about maybe leaving the city. Still won’t let me pay for the student loans. Thankfully the teaching assistantship is taking care of the current tuition, but with that and the thesis and other job, almost as busy as I am.”

“Oof,” Ilya said.

Hunter shrugged. “At least you and yours are on basically the same schedule. But don’t you get sick of each other?”

“You invited someone to move in with you after knowing them less than a month.” Ilya pointed out.

Hunter shrugged again.

“I don’t know. It is only four, five days ago we start fucking.”

Hunter goggled at him. “Wow.”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “But it was something we were feeling for a long time before that. I did not get sick of him.”

“A long time coming, huh?”

“Everything,” Ilya said. “Everything about… it is like my dream, you know. If God invented someone for me.”

“Wow,” Hunter said again.

“So beautiful! Well, you have seen pictures. So smart. So funny.” Ilya sighed and Hunter laughed at him.

“So sappy,” he said.

“Sappy?”

“Like sugar. Sticky, sweet.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “I remember when you meet Kip,” he said. “‘Oh Ilya, so handsome, so built, so smart… but too young for me’.”

“Speaking of age…”

“Shut up,” Ilya said. “Yes, I know.”

“So young,” Hunter said.

“I know,” Ilya said again.

Hunter leaned forward. “A teenager,” he whispered.

“Do not remind me,” Ilya said.

“At least you’re really immature,” Hunter added, sitting back.

Ilya rolled his eyes and sipped his terrible coffee and tried not to smile back at Hunter.

He'll go and have lunch with the Hollanders soon and try not to think about what they'd say if they knew he'd defiled their son. There'll be the skills competition and Holly would break Ilya's record and pump his fists into the air. There'll be the All-Star Game and Holly would face-off against Ilya, chewing his mouthguard and grinning at him across the circle. And Ilya will try not to brag about him too much, try not to smile too much or hold him too close, try not to talk about him in every single breath. They'll play and shmooze and complain about the weather.

And then they'll go home.

Chapter End Notes

Is there a cocktail party adjacent to All-Star Weekend filled with potential sponsors? I have no idea, but it seems unlikely.

Furthering my Scott & Ilya frenemies agenda

Chapter 18: Shane Hollander: 20 Years on the Boston Bears

Chapter Notes

Shane Hollander: 20 Years on the Boston Bears

Dora Wilkins for Shots On Goal, August 11, 2035

I first met Shane Hollander at the Bears' development camp shortly after he was drafted. Looking back he seems so young then, brimming with unbridled enthusiasm and excitement. There's a video posted by the Bears showing Ilya Rozanov showing Hollander the Bears dressing room and locker room at the Bears' practice arena for the first time and you can see when it clicks that he's actual there, in an NHL practice arena, getting ready to join his team.

A lot of things have happened since then; two NHL lockouts, COVID, Hurricane Ernie— the biggest natural disaster to ever impact Boston— but Hollander is still with us. Soon he'll be taking the ice for his twentieth and potentially last season.

"My instinct is to play until I can't skate any longer," he told me yesterday. "But as Ilya keeps reminding me, there is life after hockey, and I'd like to live that life with the ability to still bend my knees."

He's a little taller now, significantly more built than he'd been as a rookie. His black hair, now long enough to pull back into a ponytail is laced with gray, and there are smile lines around his mouth and eyes. He's got a few scars— one bisecting his eyebrow from a high-stick, one near his ear where he got hit in the face with a puck. A lot of the teeth in his wide grin are fake. But he's still bright and enthusiastic, staring out at the Charles from where we're sitting, drinking flavored seltzers, on the roof terrace of the condo he and Rozanov have shared since Hollander was a rookie.

When I ask Hollander what stands out most to him about his professional hockey career he cracks a smile. "I don't know," he says. "Three cups, an Olympic gold metal, all the awards I've gotten. That's what I'm supposed to say, right?"

When I tell him there's no right answer he shakes his head and says "Ilya, of course."

.

As soon as it was announced that the Bears had the first pick at the 2015 NHL draft we all began to speculate about how Hollander would fit into the team. The Bears played an aggressive game, fast, instinctual, while Hollander was known to be a more cerebral player. More interestingly, the Bears already had a star forward, Ilya Rozanov, at 26 widely considered the best player in the NHL. How would two star centers, both generational talents, fit onto one team?

In what was, perhaps, a brilliant move, the team convinced Rozanov to billet Hollander, to take him under his wing. Almost from the moment they met— only days before my own first meeting with Hollander— they were inseparable; after less than a week of Hollander staying with Rozanov, Rozanov was inviting Hollander out to his Cape Cod beach house, a place where not even Rozanov's best friends on the team had ever been invited.

They never spoke about each other in less than glowing terms; Hollander gushing about how kind and welcoming Rozanov had been, on how he'd helped him improve his game, on how he'd picked him up at Logan airport, asked his personal chef to cook him all his favorite meals, given him pep talks when he was feeling nervous or upset about losing a game. And Rozanov spoke about what a skilled player Hollander was, how much promise he had, about how he was going to help them win the cup, how he was going to make sure he stayed in Boston.

"When people call them the two headed monster they don't know how true it is," Connor Connors, then alternate captain and first line defenseman said in an interview in 2017. "They're like conjoined twins. Whenever you're trying to find one of them you go looking for the other, you know? Our powerplay is insane, you know, because they can practically read each other's minds."

Rozanov and Hollander didn't invent hockey bromance. Let's not forget Sean Busby and Matt McInnis building their summer homes beside each other (twice!) or Buster Morris and Peter Boyd trying to get married in Vegas (only to discover you couldn't get married when you were already married to other people), or Egorii Minkin saying 'Only in Providence, only with Sean'. But they certainly took it to the next level; Hollander moved into Rozanov's house in September 2015 and never moved out.

"Why would I?" Hollander asked, amused, when I asked him about it. "You know how expensive rent is in Boston. Anyway, I can't move out as long as Sara (Rozanov's private chef) is loyal to Ilya. What would I eat?"

"So you're just roommates?" I asked him and he smiled.

"Not just roommates, no," he said. "I'd like to think we're good friends. And even though he's not on the team any longer I think I'll probably always think of him as my captain."

"He hasn't been your captain for a long time," I pointed out, but Hollander just shrugged.

Rozanov left the team in 2026, after an on-ice collision with Houston Hellhounds center Alex Price ended with both of them in the hospital, Rozanov with a compound fracture in his right arm. His doctors told him he might regain the ability to play for a year or two longer after extensive rehab, but he decided it would be better to duck out gracefully.

But even before then, Rozanov and Hollander had acted as co-captains since 2019, alternating the role. "Roz gives the passionate pregame speeches and organizes team get-togethers, while Holly is better at arguing with the refs— he knows the rule-book better than anyone and he is good at being calm and pedantic until they give in— and giving pep talks to the rookies," former Bears defender Grady Mills told me in 2024.

I asked Hollander what Rozanov had been doing since his retirement and he was only too happy to share.

"For the first few months it was pretty miserable," Hollander told me. "I would go to practice or games or whatever and he would just be curled up on the couch watching shitty tv. But then my mom caught wind of it and she flew down and nagged at him until he came up with an action plan. So he actually ended up going to college. He's super smart, you know, always been good with math and enjoyed learning things. He took a few community college courses first through the Harvard Extension school and actually managed to get into MIT and graduated with a degree in Marine Biology, and he's been working with conservation non-profits since then to raise awareness and pass legislation to protect ocean animals and things."

"Like the whales," I said.

Hollander laughed. "He really owes that to you, you know. He was really interested in whales before you wrote that article, but never really considered that he could do something to help them. So, yeah, he pretty much owes his whole career to you."

"That's pretty amazing," I admitted. "But you also have your hockey camp, Sea Change."

"Yeah," Hollander agreed. "Our camp raises money for some of the marine conservation organizations Ilya works with, but we also have a lot of scholarships for kids who can't a afford it. It's a lot of fun working with the kids and with other players."

"Many of the hockey players who volunteer for Sea Change are LGBTQ+," I pointed out. "Alex Price, Jethro Hale, Chris Calabrese, Ryan Price, Dante Baltierra, Leah Campbell, Max Riley, Dev Asan. Is that a conscious choice you made, to include diverse players?"

"We don't just have diverse players in terms of gender and sexuality," Hollander pointed out. "We also have players from a lot of different backgrounds. We wanted our instructors to be diverse so that our students could see themselves in them. We take 'you can play' pretty seriously."

"You're also a huge advocate for the PWHL," I added.

"For sure," Hollander agreed. "It's the same thing— women can play incredible hockey and they've demonstrated that over and over again. The only good reason to exclude them is male fragility."

I asked him to explain what he meant by that.

"Men are afraid that if women could play in the NHL they'd be better than them," Hollander said. "They're afraid to be beaten by women. And they would be. I've had the opportunity to play with some of the Herons (the Boston PWHL team) and they're amazing players. For sure, I think it would be awesome for women be playing in the NHL. I love playing with and against really good players. But I don't see that happening any time soon, so supporting the PWHL is definitely the next best thing. I get to all the PWHL games I can manage— Ilya goes to far more, but then he's got more time."

When asked if he had plans for what was next when hockey was done, Hollander turned contemplative. "I don't think I want to do college and a different career like Ilya," he said, "but I'm still considering my options. My mom is not going to let me laze about, so if I don't have a plan in place she's going to make one for me if I like it or not, so I am going to have to figure it out pretty soon," he added fondly.

And do those plans include staying in Boston?

Hollander shrugged. "For sure, Boston is home, you know? I'll probably never get to point where I'm dropping my 'r's or not apologizing too much, but this is where my life is."

I for one am glad Hollander is planning on staying in Boston. After twenty years he's come to seem as much as part of the city as the Boston Common ducklings or Faneuil Hall.

"And you'll continue living with Rozanov?" I asked.

"It's been twenty years. I don't know what I would do without my captain. And he certainly wouldn't know what to do without me."

Chapter End Notes

It's overrrrrr! Hope you enjoyed the ride!

I love comments, but please refrain from asking me to continue the story; I find comments like that really stressful.

If you want more less angsty, softer, humorous, everyone being a little more chill about the gay thing, hollanov, check out my other hollanov fic, esp. Captain vs. Captain and Now You Can Start