Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Shane Hollander & Yuna Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, Cassie Boodram/Zane Boodram, Zane Boodram & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Zane Boodram, Cassie Boodram, David Hollander, Yuna Hollander, Original Characters, Harris Drover, Luca Haas, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Evan Dykstra, Nick Chouinard, Svetlana Vetrova, Selena Chouinard, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Wyatt Hayes, Ryan Price (Game Changers), Dallas Kent, Lisa Hayes (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

POV Zane Boodram, POV Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Enemies to Friends, Angst with a Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Smut, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Calls Ilya Rozanov "Baby", My First Smut, Fluff

Language:

English

Series:

Part 4 of I'd Just Like To Say...

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-29 Completed: 2026-09-21 Words: 82,920 Chapters: 16/16

Chill Out, Zane Boodram

Summary

Ilya Rozanov has signed with the Ottawa Centaurs and the world is very confused.

Zane Boodram is probably the one person affected the most by this shocking turn of events and it couldn't come at a worse time. His mentors and fellow captains are gone, and he's been left to lead the worst team in the league by himself, which is bad enough, but now he has to deal with Ilya Rozanov joining the roster?
The Cents don't have a winning legacy to protect, but they do have a positive team culture built up over years by their previous captain. Bood is determined to make sure that all the work doesn't go to waste, so he's not letting the Russian Menace come in and change it.

Leaving Boston was supposed to be easy.
Ilya wasn't supposed to feel bad about. And he doesn't. Not really.
This is a good thing. A new team. The start of a new life with Shane.
But the Ottawa Centaurs are a mess and things would be a lot easier if Zane Boodram would stop being so weird about it all...

Notes

I've been excited to write this one. I hope everyone enjoys.

I'll add tags as they come up. I'm sorry, I know I'm terrible at them...

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Ilya fucking Rozanov.

Of all the players in the league, it had to be Ilya fucking Rozanov.

Zane Boodram hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and smacked his phone into his forehead.

Hard.

But it did nothing but hurt. It didn’t change anything. He was still forced to exist in the same reality. A reality where Ilya fucking Rozanov had joined his team.

This was probably the worst day of his life. Or maybe more accurately, the worst days of his life. Because it had been two mornings now that he’d woken up to see that Ilya fucking Rozanov was in fact coming to Ottawa next season.

And he really needed to call him.

Coach would be pissed if he found out that Bood hadn’t contacted Rozanov yet. He had told him to do it yesterday, sending the Russian’s number over in a text with nothing but his name, but Bood still knew what it meant. As the only captain left, it was his responsibility to reach out and welcome Rozanov to the team.

But that was hard.

Because Bood didn’t want to do it.

He sighed. It was just after seven-thirty on a Tuesday morning. Surely too early to call someone. But even if Rozanov didn’t answer, he could still tell Coach he had called him.

He took a deep breath in through his nose, exhaled loudly through his mouth, and hit the call button.

Every ring let a little more relief creep into Bood’s tense shoulders. Each one took him one step closer to the voicemail greeting he so desperately wanted to hear, but…

“Hello?” A crisp, clear Russian-accented voice and definitely not a recording answered him.

Bood’s disappointment kept him from forming words.

“Hello?” Came again from the receiver.

“Ilya Rozanov?” Bood asked, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“Yes. Hello. Who is this?”

“It’s Zane Boodram. From Ottawa.” He added pointlessly. Of course Rozanov would already know that.

“Ah. Yes, hello.” He repeated. “This is required phone call from my new captain, yes?”

Bood had to fight to not sigh. “Yeah, I’m just calling to welcome you to Ottawa and the team. We’re excited to have you join us this next season.” He lied.

“Thank you. I am excited to play with you.”

Sure. The statistically second-best player in the league was excited to play with Zane Boodram and the bottom of the league Ottawa Centaurs. That made sense.

“Look, man,” Bood pushed on, “if there’s anything you need, just—”

“I have to go.”

Bood was surprised into opening his eyes and sitting up. “What?”

“I have to go. My flight is boarding.”

“Your flight?”

“Yes. I have to go on plane now, but I will call you later, yes?”

“Uh, I…”

“Goodbye, Zane Boodram.”

When the call ended and the line went dead, Bood should have been relieved. He hadn’t even wanted to have to talk to Rozanov in the first place, but, hanging up on him? Just like that?

He flopped back on the couch and stared across his yard before standing and walking across the deck to the far rail, dialing his phone again on the way. This time he didn’t have to wait as long to get an answer.

“Morning.”

“Hey, Danny.” Bood leaned against the rail. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah, I haven’t been retired long enough to learn how to sleep in yet.”

“Yeah, but don’t old people always wake up early?”

“Ouch.” Danny chuckled. “And here I was, thinking you were calling me to tell me you missed me already.”

Bood chuckled, too. “Well, yeah, you know I miss you, man.”

“Yes, but you didn’t call me on a Tuesday morning just to tell me that. What’s up?”

Bood sighed. Danny always could read him. “I just got off the phone with Ilya Rozanov.”

“Oh.” Danny was silent for a moment. “So, is… this your new thing now? Calling people first thing in the morning?”

“Fuck you.”

“How did it go?”

“He hung up on me.”

“He what?”

“Hung up on me.”

“For like… no reason?”

“Well, no… Not for no reason. He said he was getting on a flight.”

Danny chuckled. “Zane, that’s not really the same as hanging up on someone.”

“I know…”

“Look, I know this is really fucking weird, okay? I’m just as shocked as everyone else in the world. Rozanov moving here makes no sense. Like, none. And I wish it made sense because I know this is extra hard on you. I get that, man. I feel guilty leaving you in this position—”

“No, Danny…” Bood interrupted with a sigh. “Don’t feel bad on my account. You announced this was your last year at the start of the season. That part was planned. You deserve this.”

“If my shoulder and my wife would let me, I’d be out on the ice beside you in October.”

“I know and… Look, man, I’m sorry, I’m not even sure why I called you.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You can call me whenever. It’s not like I quit caring about the team the second I retired. I’m proud of you, kid. You work hard. You’ve come so far. I’m sorry you’ve been thrown into this position by yourself, but I know you can handle it. You’re Zane Boodram for fucks sake! You’ve got this! So, what if Ilya Rozanov is on the team now? It should be a good thing, right?”

“Right.” Bood repeated with a frown. He told Danny he should let him go, they said goodbye and ended the call.

Ilya Rozanov coming to Ottawa didn’t feel like a good thing. Because first of all, it didn’t make sense. Why would Rozanov leave Boston in the first place? Yeah, it’d been a while since he won his last Cup there, but they were contenders basically every year. They had lost in the first round of the playoffs this year, but so had Montreal, and that had all been unexpected, but it happened sometimes.

Bood couldn’t even remember the last time that Ottawa had even been within sight of the playoffs, let alone made it to the first round. Definitely well over a decade ago. Not during his career and not during Rozanov’s either.

Danny had been on the team then, but now he was retired.

And Horn had been on the team then, but he was gone.

There had been three captains at the start of the season: Danielsson, Horn, and Boodram. And Bood hadn’t felt like he deserved to have been added in and given the honor of completing their little trio, but he had worn the A on his chest with pride.

And now Bood’s co-captains, his mentors, were gone and Bood was saddled with leading his team.

And Ilya fucking Rozanov.

Flights from Boston to Ottawa were short, and Ilya had flown this route enough times at this point to be familiar with it. It was strange to think that he’d still be flying it, but it was going to be reversed; Ottawa to Boston and then home again, instead of Boston to Ottawa and then home again.

It shouldn’t have felt as weird as it did, but Ilya was finding a lot of things had started to feel weird these last few days. Even though it was still his house, being at home in Boston didn’t feel right anymore. Knowing he’d be selling it, hopefully to someone on the team to keep things quick and easy, made it feel less important. Cooking in his kitchen felt weird, too, because he knew soon he’d have a new kitchen to find his way around. A different set up, a different layout of cabinets and drawers to commit to muscle memory so he could find what he needed quickly.

Even driving to the airport had felt oddly emotional. He wasn’t staying in Ottawa permanently after this trip, he’d go back to Boston for just a little longer, but soon he’d drive that route for the last time.

And that was really stupid.

Who got emotional over the route they drove to the airport?

Apparently, Ilya Rozanov for some reason.

He pulled his hat down a little lower on his head and leaned back against the headrest. He was pretty sure he had heard his name whispered a couple times, but no one had bothered him thankfully and it wasn’t a very full flight.

Leaving Boston wasn’t supposed to be this hard. It had never completely felt like home anyway. There wasn’t really a reason to miss it.

Ilya was recognized in the Ottawa airport. He knew he would be. He was, most likely, on the mind of basically every hockey fan in the world right now. Or at least North America. Maybe it was a little much to assume the world, but he knew he was especially on the minds of fans in Ottawa. He took a few pictures and signed a few autographs on his way to pick up his rental car.

Once he was safely inside it, he pulled out his phone and ignored the sixty-four texts that were waiting for him to respond and sent:

I landed. In my rental. On my way to you.

Jane😘: Don’t speed.

I won’t.

Jane😘: I’m tracking your location, I’ll know.

Ilya chuckled as he put David and Yuna’s address into the GPS on his phone.

Jane😘: But get here quick, please.

See you soon sweetheart ❤️

Ilya could imagine Shane sitting on the couch in his parents’ living room, hunched over his phone, watching a little blue dot navigate its way through the streets of Ottawa. His leg was probably bouncing up and down faster and faster as Ilya got closer and closer.

It was one of the cutest things Ilya had ever imagined, and it was very hard to keep his promise and not speed.

David and Yuna owned a very nice house in a very nice neighborhood. It was quiet and private and had a drive that was long enough that it felt safe to take his time getting out of the car and grabbing his bag from the backseat. Not that it was easy to take his time. He really wanted to rush inside but knowing that Shane was waiting impatiently for him made him want to be a bit contrary.

Before he could ring the bell, the door flew open and Shane was grabbing handfuls of his shirt and pulling him over the threshold.

“Ilya!” Shane clung to him and all of Ilya’s forced patience evaporated as he dropped his bag and clung to him back. One of Shane’s hands wandered into Ilya’s hair, knocking his hat off his head and to the floor and Ilya turned into him, kissing his hair, his temple, his cheek until Shane let him go enough to lean back and let him kiss his lips.

Ilya would have kissed him much longer and much harder, but the way Shane was blushing when he pulled away, he assumed he had remembered where they were standing. “Hi.” Shane said softly, smiling at him.

“Hi.” Ilya ran his thumb across Shane’s freckles. He’d missed them just as much as he’d missed the rest of Shane. “I love you.”

Ilya liked the way Shane still smiled shyly when he told him. “I love you, too.”

They embraced again, this time not so desperately as before and Ilya breathed him in deeply. He had been so mad at himself when they had lost in the first round of the playoffs. If they had made it to the second round, they would have had a week minimum of back and forth between Boston and Montreal, maybe two weeks if they could have forced all seven games. But then Montreal had lost a few nights later, and while it was nice that they weren’t missing out on anything, it meant even longer between getting to see each other. Because even with their seasons over, there were still a few obligations and things to wrap up in their own cities.

“Is Ilya here?” David called from somewhere further in the house.

“Yes. Is me. Hello.” He untangled himself from Shane to take his shoes off and pick up his bag and his hat.

“Ilya!” Yuna came to meet him with her arms open and Ilya stooped slightly to hug her as tight as he could with only one arm. “Oh, I missed you!”

“I missed you, too, Mama Yuna. And you, Papa David.” Ilya and David hugged briefly.

“Do you remember where your room is?” Yuna asked.

“Yes, I got it.” Ilya smiled on his way by. It wasn’t his first time here.

They’d been lucky with their schedules and managed to do Christmas at the cottage, but New Years had been a little trickier because Ilya needed to be back in Boston on the first, so they had stayed in Ottawa. They had taken a risk that had paid off and managed to get Ilya in and out of Ottawa both times without being seen. Shane had stressed for weeks that something was going to pop up on the internet about someone seeing Ilya Rozanov flying out of Ottawa International Airport, but nothing ever came of it. Ilya was glad that now he had a reason to be in Ottawa so Shane wouldn’t have to worry so much.

Shane followed Ilya to the room. Yuna had called it Ilya’s room, but it was really Shane’s childhood bedroom that they had shared when he was here before, and Ilya was glad to be back in a space that was just so very Shane.

Shane thought it was embarrassing, but Ilya loved it. Not that there was much to it. Shane had apparently been a minimalist as a child, too. There were some hockey books, a few smaller trophies and awards, and some sports memorabilia, including a framed Ottawa jersey he had managed to get signed by quite a few players when he was younger. Still, stepping into the room was like stepping into a little bubble of Shane, and Ilya had been looking forward to being back.

He opened the door, expecting everything to look the same as it had at New Years, but—

Ilya stopped in the doorway so suddenly that Shane walked into his back.

“Shane.”

“Yes?”

Ilya finally got his legs working again and walked in enough so Shane had room to get around him. The room was mostly the same. But there was one noticeable difference.

“Shane, the bed.” He said as Shane sat on the edge of the mattress and Ilya set his bag to the side. “It’s bigger.”

“Yep.” Shane smiled up at him.

“Is not your little bed anymore.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Don’t try to tell me that you would prefer sleeping in that tiny little twin bed over this one.”

Ilya sat down beside him. “Yes. It was your tiny little twin bed! I loved it!”

Shane gave him a pointed look. “We are two full grown adult athletes, Ilya. We can’t share a twin bed.”

“We did over New Years.”

“At your insistence. And it was awful. You barely slept. We could have slept in the guest room, which has a king-sized bed, by the way, but you wanted to sleep in here.”

“Yes, I like it in here.”

“Compromise on this one thing for me, please?”

“Okay, okay.” Ilya took Shane’s hand as he crawled up to lay against the pillows. “Did you ask your parents to buy this bed for us?” He tucked Shane in beside him, guiding his head down to rest against his chest.

“I offered to buy it. They insisted.”

“Hm. So you went to your parents and said, ‘Please, can I have bigger bed for my bedroom so I can sleep with my boyfriend?’”

Shane snorted. “No. I said, ‘My boyfriend is really fucking weird and only wants to sleep in my childhood room, can we fit a bigger bed in there?’”

“Ah, and their response was, ‘No, Ilya is not weird, he is very hot and best hockey player ever, we will do anything for him’?”

Shane lifted his head to look up at Ilya. He seemed to be fighting hard to keep a smile off his face. “Why do my parents think you’re hot in this scenario?”

“Everyone thinks I am hot. Do not think too hard about it.” Ilya petted Shane’s hair, coaxing him to lay back down again.

“Their actual response was, ‘Can’t you just convince him to use the big bed in the guest room?’ And I told them that it would be easier to just buy the damn bed.”

Ilya hummed. “You spoil me, Shane Hollander.” He kissed the top of his head. “A new bed that we will probably never use again after this? I will have my own house soon.”

“There could be other reasons we stay at my parents’ house in the future. Wouldn’t you rather be more comfortable?”

“I do not think you were uncomfortable in the little bed.”

“No?”

“No. Because it was so small I had to sleep on top of you and you like that.”

“Well, maybe…”

Ilya wrapped his arm tightly around Shane so he could roll them over until he was sprawled on top of him, with most of his weight pressing down on Shane. He was rewarded with a deep sigh and Shane’s fingers tangling in his curls. “See?” Ilya kissed him gently on the neck. “You like it.”

“Okay, yes, but I want you to be comfortable, too.”

“I like to be close to you. I am comfortable as long as I have you.”

“The little bed is not coming back, Ilya.”

“No…”

“They already donated it.”

“Someone else gets to sleep in your tiny little bed? That is not fair.”

“Why do you have to be so fucking weird all the time?” Shane asked but still kissed Ilya’s forehead gently. Ilya didn’t answer, just snuggled down closer. They laid in silence for a while before Shane asked. “What time do you have to meet the realtor?”

“One o’clock. You looked at the link and the pictures? You like the house?”

“Yeah, it looks great. I really wish I could see it in person, though.”

“Maybe I will ask the realtor if I can stay? I think she will let me when I say that I want it. Maybe I will say I want to take some measurements or something if she says no. I will try to be there alone so you can come and see it. Yuna is nosy, too, so you can both come.”

“You’ve really already decided you’re buying it?”

“As long as it looks like it does in the link, yes. Not all of us are as obsessed with real estate as you are.” Shane huffed. “But I know it is important to you, so I will find a way to get you there to see it.” He planted another kiss on his neck.

Even though he had told him he would call him back, Bood hadn’t really expected Rozanov to do it. So, when his phone had begun to ring and the Russian’s name had appeared on his screen. All he could do was stare at it for a long second. Then, he set aside the towel he was folding and picked up his phone.

“Hello?”

“Zane Boodram.” Rozanov’s voice had a strange echo to it, like he was standing in an empty auditorium. “I am not interrupting anything?”

Bood looked at the pile of laundry he’d rather not be folding. He weighed in his mind for a second which sounded more appealing, his least favorite chore or talking to Rozanov? Unfortunately, talking to Rozanov right now was the right thing to do. “No, I’m not busy.”

“Okay. Good.” Rozanov said in that weird echo-y voice and then the line was silent for a long moment. “Well?” He finally asked.

“Well, what? You called me, Rozanov. What do you want?”

“I want to give you the chance to finish your little captain’s welcome phone call. I cut you off in the middle earlier. It was bad timing, but I feel bad because it is your first one, yes? I want to give you chance to do it properly.”

Was Rozanov mocking him? He wanted to tell him to fuck off and hang up on him, but he knew he couldn’t. Not just because if Rozanov told Coach that was what happened Bood would be in deep shit, but because this wasn’t Bood, and he knew it. He was warm and welcoming to new players. And even though he thought he probably wouldn’t have been thrilled either way, he knew he was projecting some shit onto Rozanov. Last year was the worst year of his career, and that wasn’t Rozanov’s fault.

The problem was he couldn’t come up with a scenario where having Rozanov on his team could make it better. Since he’d talked to him that morning, he had come up with a worse scenario, though. He was a menace who liked to fuck with guys, but at least he wasn’t Dallas Kent. Bood had actually heard some things lately about comparing Kent and Rozanov and, his feeling for the former Boston captain aside, he thought that was pretty fucking insulting to Rozanov.

So, Bood bit back a sigh, “Okay. Um…”

“You were at the part about if I ever needed anything.”

The sigh couldn’t be contained after all. “Why are you doing this, Rozanov?”

“Because this is special moment for you. They had Danielsson call the rookies. I saw it on social media. No one else has signed with Ottawa yet, so this is the first time they have had you call someone to welcome them to the team. I wanted to give you the chance to do it. But is also my first time with new team, so this is a first for me, too.”

“Someone called you from Boston when you were drafted, though.”

“Yes, of course, but I was young and English was harder then and I don’t really remember it.”

Okay, that was a little… endearing. Goddammit. “Okay, well, welcome to Ottawa, and if you need anything, just let me know. I can show you around or help you find a place to stay, and introduce you to the other guys. Whatever you need.”

“Yes, thank you. I am looking forward to it.”

Uh-huh. Sure.

Stop it, Boodram. Don’t be a fucking dick. Do your damn job.

“Yeah, so anyway, I can get you the information for a few places that are good until you get yourself established. They’re furnished and all that, so you don’t have to worry about that stuff until you figure out what you want to do.”

“Thank you but is not necessary.”

“You already found a place to live?”

“Yes. I have a house.”

At first, Bood thought he misheard him. Ilya Rozanov had not even been in to sign his contract yet and he had a house? “I’m sorry… you have a house… in Ottawa?”

Rozanov laughed. It was a deep laugh and maybe a pleasant one if not for that damn echoing. “No, Zane Boodram, I plan to commute from Boston. It is only six hour drive, after all. Of course I mean in Ottawa.”

“You haven’t even signed your contract yet…”

“Well, no. And to be fair, I have not signed the papers for the house, either. But I just put in offer at full asking price, so I’m sure they will not say no. It is very nice house. I was excited to see it today. The view is better in person, and I will be very happy here, I think.”

Bood was still a little dumbfounded, but certain words in Rozanov’s explanation started to click into place, as well as why he sounded like he was standing in a big empty space… “Wait… today? You’re in Ottawa? Right now?”

“Yes. That is shocking?”

“Yes. Or, I mean, it’s unexpected.”

“Where did you think I was flying to?”

“How was I supposed to know that? I talked to you like… five or six hours ago. A flight to Ottawa and Boston is just like an hour and a half.”

“Oh, you thought that I was going to call you the moment I got off the plan? That is very adorable, Zane Boodram.”

“Fuck you.” Bood hadn’t meant to say it, but he was thankful that Rozanov just laughed again. “Look, I’m sorry, but this is just… weird. Most guys aren’t coming into their city and buying a new house right away after getting traded or signed so it’s just unexpected to hear you say that you’re here two days later putting in an offer on a house.”

“You think I did not have some kind of plan? That I just woke on the first day of free agency and thought, hm, maybe I will call Ottawa?”

“No, I thought of it as more like you drew a name out of a hat or threw a dart at a map. Why else would you pick Ottawa?”

The line was silent for a moment. “I am sorry, but I have to be the one to end our phone call again, Zane Boodram. The inspector is here, so I must go. I will talk to you soon, yes?”

“Yeah, I-I guess….”

“Goodbye.”

Bood had been standing at the window, staring outside without really seeing anything, but he trudged back over to the bed and sat down heavily. The conversation had been frustrating. But also…

Also, something about Rozanov was goddamn charming.

“Hey.” Cassie stuck her head in the room. “Who was on the phone?”

“Ilya Rozanov.”

“Ilya Rozanov?” She leaned against the door frame. “I thought you already called him?”

“He called me this time.”

“Really? Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because he’s a fucking weirdo?”

“Babe…”

“Do you know what he’s doing right now?”

“What?”

“Putting in an offer on a house.”

“He’s buying a hose?” Cassie’s eyebrows shot up. “Here? In Ottawa?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” She stared across the room, chewing on her bottom lip as she thought. “I mean… that is weird, but good for him. Being all prepared and ready to go. It’s a good sign, right? That he’s dedicated to the team?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Bood muttered, though he didn’t really agree. She started to walk away and he called her back. “Hey, uh… when we bought our house… you have the inspector come in after the buyer accepts the offer, right?”

“Yeah, why? Did Rozanov ask about finding a home inspector? I’m sure I can get him a name.”

“No, no. I was just… thinking about something else.” Bood gave his wife a smile as she left and then frowned down at his phone. There was no reason to think that Rozanov was lying, but Bood had never heard of anyone coming into their new city and putting an offer on a house before they even signed their contract. Rozanov said he had a plan but… why?

What the fuck did Ilya Rozanov even want with the Ottawa Centaurs?

Chapter End Notes

No thanks, Cassie, Ilya doesn't need the name of an inspector.
He has Mr. Real Estate himself to look things over...

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Marly: Hey, Roz, look! It’s you! 🤩

Marly: Already??: Ilya Rozanov Seen Interacting with Fans in Ottawa Airport Just Days After Signing with New Team

I technically haven’t signed anything yet.

Why are the titles to those things always so long?

Marly: I dunno. Maybe to get your attention.

It doesn’t get my attention. I’m asleep before I finish reading 😴

Marly: Well, English isn’t your strongest language.

Yeah, well, it’s not your strongest language either and it’s your only one.

Marly: Damn, that’s cold 🤣 Go fuck yourself, Rozy!

Dykstra: Hey, you called and talked to Rozanov, right?

yeah

why?

Dykstra: Caitlin said she saw something about him being seen at the airport today.

yeah, he’s here

Dykstra: What? Really? Why?

I guess he’s buying a house

Dykstra: Buying a house? Already? Damn. As if this all wasn’t confusing enough…

tell me about it

Dykstra: How long is he in town?

don’t know

Dykstra: Did you make plans to meet up with him?

no

Dykstra: You know, I’m starting to understand why Cait always gets mad at me when I can’t give her more information…

sorry

Dykstra: It’s okay, man.

Dykstra: You doing alright, though?

I don’t want to talk about it

Dykstra: Oh, shit, man…

Dykstra: Whatever’s up, I’m here if you need me. Just let me know if I can help.

thanks

Ilya heard the door open and a moment later Shane leaned over him. Ilya smiled up at his flush cheeks and the smudge of dirt across his forehead. A small yellow leaf had gotten tangled in his dark hair. He looked so beautiful.

“Having a nice morning?” Shane asked, leaning on the arm of the couch.

“Yes, it has been nice. I did not get up at dawn to clean the gutters, so…” he shrugged, “relaxing.”

Shane snorted. “They're eavestroughs, not gutters." Ilya rolled his eyes. "I didn’t get up at dawn. But I wanted to get it done because I hate doing it. I’m going to buy Dad those cover things that go over them, so I don’t have to clean them anymore.”

“You could pay someone else to do it for them.”

“How do I know someone else is going to do it right?”

Ilya laughed. “It is their job. You read reviews and pick best one. You think I mean find some guy on the street to do it?”

“Well, no…” Shane seemed to think for a minute. “I think I’ll just buy the cover things.”

“Okay.” Ilya sat up. “You have a leaf in your hair.”

“Well, get it out.”

“It looks pretty, though.”

“Ilya…”

“Fine. Come here and I will get it.” Shane stepped around so he was standing in front of Ilya. He leaned forward slightly and Ilya reached up with one hand and plucked the leaf from his hair at the same time he grabbed Shane’s wrist and pulled him down on top of him.

“Ilya!” Shane protested between kisses, “Stop! I’m gross!”

“No, never.” Ilya muttered, trying to keep his boyfriend in his arms as he desperately tried to get away. “You are always perfect.”

“I’ve been cleaning the eavestroughs! I need a shower!” Shane managed to wriggle away and take a few steps back. “That was gross, Ilya.”

“I do not think you are gross.”

“Well, that doesn’t change the fact that I am.” He frowned.

“Fine, go take your shower.”

“When I’m done, maybe we’ll tackle some of the inside jobs so you can help me.”

“Oh, I would love to, but I am busy.”

Shane had started to walk out of the room but stopped and gave him a hard look. “Busy?”

“Yes. I am going to go to the development camp.”

Shane’s annoyance melted away. “Really?”

“Yes. I called Coach while you were outside and asked him if he could get me number of Director of Player Development because I wanted to go. He said he would just meet me there.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s… really nice of you, Ilya. The rookies will be excited to see you show up.”

“Eh, maybe.”

“Maybe?” Shane frowned. “Ilya, you’re, like, the best player in the league.”

Ilya raised his eyebrows at him. “No. I like the best player in the league because you are the best player in the league, Shane.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Okay, whatever. The rookies will still be excited to see you.”

Ilya sighed. “Either way… I am going to text Zane Boodram.”

“Boodram? Why?”

“Because Coach is probably going to make big deal out of me being there, and that is not fair to Boodram. He should come too.”

“Why?”

“Because he is their captain, Shane.”

“Yeah, but he’s an alternate.”

“He is all we have right now.”

Shane laughed. “And you don’t think they’re going to make you their captain?”

Ilya wasn’t quick enough to stop his frown.

Shane’s smile evaporated. “Hey.” He came back farther into the room. “What’s wrong?”

“It is nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Ilya.” Shane sat down beside him on the couch. “What’s wrong?”

Ilya sighed. “I do not want to be a villain here, Shane.”

“A villain?” Shane took his hand and held it between both of his. “Why would you be a villain?”

“Ottawa is a broken team, Shane. They lost two very loved veteran captains in one year.”

“Yeah, but now you’re here, and you’re a veteran player, and you’re good at hockey.”

Ilya sighed again. He didn’t think he quite had the English words to explain to Shane right now how he felt. He wasn’t completely convinced he had the words in Russian either.

He had been following the Centaurs closely this year. Alfred Danielsson had announced before the season had even begun that he would be retiring at the end of the year. Ilya had been disappointed because he had really been looking forward to playing with him. He always seemed like a nice guy. Quiet but smart and strong and extremely loyal to a team that hadn’t been good in over a decade. And it must have been hard enough as a team to deal with knowing Danielsson was leaving. But then the bullshit with Jarl Horn?

Coming to Ottawa wasn’t supposed to be complicated, just like leaving Boston wasn’t supposed to be. They had made their plan over a year ago, so there’s no way that they could have accounted for everything that had happened. And Ilya’s plan was simply to join the team so he could keep playing hockey and see his boyfriend more than just a handful of times each year. They’d start the charity, change the narrative, and count down to the days until they could retire and be together.

But now he suddenly found himself joining a team that lacked a strong veteran presence. And he was what many would consider a strong veteran presence.

Ilya hadn’t met anyone on the team yet. Not officially or since he had agreed to move to Ottawa at least, and he didn’t know how they felt about any of it.

Well, he knew how Zane Boodram felt.

Zane Boodram wasn’t happy.

Ilya had spent a lot of time growing up learning how to gauge how others felt, both in person or over the phone. Not that his father had ever really made him guess anything about what he thought, but it had been safer to always be prepared. To figure it out in public so he was ready for what was coming in private. It was such a deeply ingrained habit that he couldn’t break it or turn it off.

And as if Zane Boodram waiting an extra day to call him hadn’t been enough of a tell, Ilya could hear it in his voice. Oh, Zane Boodram had a very good customer service voice. He could make you think he cared, but Ilya was good at finding the little things. The places where his voice got a little tighter, the places where he paused, even slightly… there were tells.

Ilya wanted to be wrong, and that’s why he had called Boodram back. He had also genuinely wanted to give him the chance to try the phone call again, because it was a big deal to get to make your first phone call to a guy joining the team, and Ilya’s flight and Boodram’s timing had messed that up. But the call had confirmed that Ilya wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t an all-hope-is-lost situation, though. Not like Ilya’s father or Alexei. Boodram had let his guard down slightly, so he didn’t hate him that much.

Ilya would still have to be careful. He needed the team and the fans and management to like him. He needed to stay relevant and useful and keep his stats up. Because if he came into Ottawa and things didn’t work out, he was excellent leverage in basically any trade that Ottawa would want to make, and they had proven last season that loyalty wasn’t enough to keep you around.

He wanted Shane’s plan—their plan—to work, and it didn’t if he couldn’t stay in Ottawa. And he thought maybe the first thing he needed to do was win over Zane Boodram, or at least not come in and immediately have the guy hate him because he was stepping on toes.

“Ilya?” Shane pulled him out of his head and back to the moment. Shane wouldn’t understand all of it, not right in that moment, without all that context that just thinking about made Ilya exhausted. They’d talk about it someday, but not now.

Ilya forced a smile and squeezed Shane’s hand. “Yeah. You are right. It will be okay.” Shane didn’t seem convinced, so Ilya added. “I am okay, Shane. Go take your shower. I need to text Boodram.”

Shane thought for a second longer, gave Ilya a soft kiss that made him want more, and then headed toward the bathroom.

Ilya sighed, made sure his mother’s crucifix was straight on the chain, and picked up his phone.

Bood had made an important decision.

He wasn’t going to let Ilya Rozanov ruin his summer.

He had earned his time off this offseason. It had been a taxing, shitty year and he deserved to enjoy some time off. He’d engage with Rozanov when management told him to, but otherwise, he wasn’t going to let it bother him. There was nothing he could do about it, anyway. They’d make it work. But later. Now, he’d relax.

Ilya Rozanov: Good morning, Zane Boodram.

Goddammit.

good morning

Ilya Rozanov: Are you busy?

why?

Ilya Rozanov: I am going to the development camp. You should come, too.

Bood stared down at his phone for a long moment. Was… Ilya Rozanov really trying to tell him what to do? He was surprised at how sudden his anger flared and how acidic it felt at the back of his throat.

I already met the rookies so why would I go with you?

It was a childish response, but he was afraid what would come out if he tried to type more.

Ilya Rozanov: I wanted to go so I messaged Coach to ask for Smithfield’s number. Coach said he’d just meet me there. I just wanted to go and see the rookies. I wouldn’t have even let anyone know I was there, but I’m sure it’s going to be a big deal now.

so then why should I go to?

Ilya Rozanov: Because you’re the captain, and if you are with me, it makes it look like you’re showing me around and less like I’m some asshole who just showed up at the camp.

Ilya Rozanov: It’s a better look for both of us.

Bood was pretty sure that Rozanov was just some asshole, but… dammit. That was smart. Even if he was probably more concerned about his own image than Bood’s, it was hard to say no.

Because Bood had done a lot of thinking—yesterday, before he had decided the whole, don’t-let-Rozanov-ruin-your-summer thing—about how it didn’t matter if Rozanov came into Ottawa with his asshole-ish, superior attitude and his confusing conversational skills, Bood wasn’t going to stand for it. Danny and Horn had spent years before Bood had even arrived building up the culture of their locker room. Even having never played for any other pro team, Bood knew how rare it was to have a respectful, safe space the way they did. They didn’t win many games in Ottawa, but they had respect for each other, and they were a true family in every sense of the definition. They took care of each other, they helped each other grow, and that wasn’t going to stop or change because they suddenly found themselves with a superstar on their roster.

you make a good point

I’ll meet you there

Ilya Rozanov: Send me your address. I will pick you up.

why would you be the one to pick me up?

Ilya Rozanov: It would be good practice. I want to get used to driving in Ottawa. Plus, it was my idea to go and will give us more time to talk.

Bood took a deep breath. He’d be cool about this. He’d play the game Rozanov’s way for now. He owed him that grace, he supposed. Plus, maybe if he could get Rozanov to like him before the season started, it’d make things easier for him once he needed to lay down the law. Plus, this could be the perfect opportunity to find out why Rozanov wanted to come to Ottawa in the first place.

So, he took one more deep breath, sent his address, and went to explain what was happening to Cassie.

Twenty-five minutes later, Bood was climbing into an SUV that had pulled up in front of his house. It hadn’t been what he had expected. Everyone knew that Rozanov liked fast cars, so he had expected something flashy. Which was dumb. Obviously, he would have a rental car.

“Hello, Zane Boodram!” Rozanov greeted him as he shut the door. “Nice to meet face to face.”

“Yeah. Nice to meet you.” He muttered as he clipped his seatbelt. Rozanov looked very normal. Bood didn’t know why he had expected him to not be. He supposed it came from only really ever seeing Rozanov out in Boston partying or on the ice. But he was dressed like he was some guy going to the gym. Which, even if Ilya Rozanov was probably one of the least conspicuous guys in the city right now, it was probably a safe outfit choice to not stand out too much. Except…

“Where did you get that hat?”

Rozanov smirked as he reached up and adjusted the bill, “Is nice, yes?”

“It’s an antique is what it is.” Bood said as Ilya pulled the car back onto the road. “I don’t think I’ve seen that logo design since I was a kid. We definitely don’t sell them anymore.”

“It is not antique, it is… what is the word?” Rozanov tilted his head slightly as he thought, “Is old but not antique because it is cool…”

“Are you thinking of the word ‘retro?’” Bood asked.

“Yes, thank you. The hat is retro. It is cool.”

“Alright. Where did you even find it? You don’t look like a guy who does his shopping on eBay.”

“It was a gift from a friend.”

“A friend?” Bood repeated. “You have a friend who is a Centaur’s fan?”

“No. Not my friend.” He chuckled and shook his head as if Bood had any idea who he was talking about and the idea of him suggesting he was a fan was supposed to be funny. “His dad was. When my friend was young. When this hat was just cool and not retro-cool.”

“Alright, man. Whatever you say.” After a few tense seconds, Bood asked, “So, how are you liking Ottawa?”

“It is nice.” Rozanov said with a shrug. “A little boring, maybe, compared to some cities, but it is pretty in some places. I read about your tulip festival online. I am sad that I missed it this year. I bet it is very beautiful in person. I am excited for the next one.”

Bood just nodded.

Okay. So… Ilya Rozanov signed to Ottawa… for the tulips? How did anyone ever communicate with this man?

“Have you talked with the rest of the team about me?” Rozanov asked unexpectedly.

“Well… yeah. I mean, of course.” He shrugged. “Do you think we’d get the news that you’re willingly coming to join our team and not talk about it?”

“What is everyone saying?” he asked. Bood hesitated and Rozanov said, “Is okay. You can be honest.”

“Well… mostly, we just want to know what the fuck you’re thinking signing with us.”

“You think I shouldn’t have? It is okay if you do. A lot of people I do not even know think I am too good for your team, and they are not afraid to tell me.”

“Hey, fuck you, you’re not too good for us!” Bood hadn’t meant to snap, but Rozanov was smiling before he could even process that he needed to apologize.

“Good. We are on the same page then.”

“What… what are you doing here, though?”

“I am going to play hockey for the Ottawa Centaurs.”

“Yeah, no shit, but why? What makes Ilya Rozanov want to come and play for the team that’s always at the bottom of the standings?”

“Not always at the bottom. Vancouver was worse a couple years ago.”

“That’s not the point.” Bood sighed. “The point is you have the entire hockey world losing their minds because you made this crazy random jump from one of the best teams in the league to the worst.”

“Is not random.”

“What?”

“I have a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yes. A plan, I did not… what did you say yesterday? Pull name out of hat? No, there is very much a plan, Zane Boodram.”

“A plan to do what?”

“Play hockey.”

Bood couldn’t stop a scoff. “No shit, but you were doing that in Boston. Why come to Ottawa?”

“This is the exit right?” Rozanov asked, gesturing toward the sign.

Rozanov knew it was the right exit. His GPS was telling him so, but Bood wasn’t dumb. The question meant the conversation about why Rozanov had come to Ottawa was over.

For now.

Ilya was pretty sure he could have handled this whole thing by himself, but it was nice to have Bood there. He had instructed him to park in the back, so they could go in a side door. Ilya would have just walked in the front door, which would have caused a lot of commotion and that’s what he had been trying to avoid.

The security guy that was waiting for them right inside the door they entered seemed pretty awestruck to see him. But he had recovered quickly and apparently already knew Boodram because the two of them chatted as they walked down the hallway. He led them to a very small office packed full of men.

This is what Ilya had been afraid of. He had only called the coach, but the coach had called everyone else, including the GM, who straightened from where he had been leaning against the desk and walked over to greet Ilya as if they were old friends. Ilya smiled through the handshake as well as the introductions and the handshakes with the other coaches.

“Boodram.” Once everyone had been introduced to Ilya, Coach finally acknowledged the other newcomer. “I didn’t know you were tagging along.”

“I asked him to.” Ilya explained. “He said anything I need and I don’t know my way around the city, so I asked him to come with me.”

“Ah, you’re a good man, Boodram.” The GM clapped him on the upper arm. “Thanks for making sure that Mr. Rozanov feels welcome.”

“Please, Ilya is fine.”

“Of course, anything you want, Ilya.” The GM smiled widely at him. “As I said when we spoke on the phone, we’re all very excited to have you here.”

“I am excited to be here, too.”

“It looks like we’ll have to get you some new merch. Yours looks a little outdated.” He said, nodding to his hat. “We’ll get you something from the new line. That stuff looks sharp!”

“Ah, well,” Ilya put a hand protectively on the bill, “this hat is, uh, special to me.”

David had dug it out from the back of his closet the night before to show Ilya. Shane and Yuna had laughed at how he had kept it all these years, but Ilya had immediately fallen in love with it.

David had laughed as well. “Well, I wasn’t sure why I kept it either. I guess maybe I just knew back then that I’d have a son on the team someday.” Then he had put the hat on Ilya’s head. “Look at that. It suits you.”

Ilya was not ashamed of how hard he had sobbed. The GM could throw as many new hats at him as he wanted. Ilya would wear David’s hat until it fell apart.

“I have to say it was surprising to hear you were here in Ottawa already.” The GM went on. “It was a bit unexpected. How much longer are you staying?”

“Just a few more days. I have to go back to Boston and tend to some things, but I will be back very soon.”

“Oh, well, perhaps we can grab some dinner before you head back south?”

Ilya forced a smile and a soft laugh. “I am sorry, but I am pretty busy the rest of my time here. But I will take raincheck, yes? When I am back, I will let you know.”

The GM laughed. “You’d better!”

“Alright, well,” Coach clapped his hands together, “should we go see what the prospects are up to?”

They left the GM behind as Coach led the way out of the room, the assistant coaches following him. There had been one man in the room that they hadn’t introduced him to yet. He was a little shorter and stockier than the others. “Hello, Mr. Rozanov. Or, you said you prefer Ilya, right?” The man put himself between Ilya and Boodram and extended his hand to shake. “I’m Harris Drover, Social Media Manager.”

“Yes, please call me Ilya. It is nice to meet you, Harris Drover.” Ilya shook his hand.

“We are going to get to know each other really well. You’re getting here at a great time. I haven’t been doing this for a very long, and we’re getting ready to start a social media makeover for the coming season. I’m talking about a full rebrand. The Cents are going to be a social media presence. I’m actually really excited to have you joining us. I see that you’re really active on social media, which is a huge step ahead of some of the guys who have nothing. We'll be pulling you in to do all sorts of introduction things. You’ll kind of help us really kick off the big launch.”

“Harris.” Boodram interrupted with a soft chuckle. “Maybe give him a little bit of time to get settled in before you start overwhelming him with social media plans.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry, Ilya.” Harris grinned up at him. It was a pretty cute grin. “Sometimes I get a little excited about my job and I ramble on. But I’m really excited to be here and doing this, so…” he shrugged. “And we can go at your pace. It’s not like I’m expecting you to come in tomorrow for headshots or anything. But I would like to toss some ideas around with you. I have some fun things I think we could try.”

“Yes, I would love to.” They had reached the ice, and the gaggle of coaches were chatting quietly, if not a little impatiently near the door to the bench, waiting.

“Would you mind if we exchange numbers? I’m trying to make sure I can get in contact with all the players.”

“Sure.”

Harris unlocked his phone and handed it over. “How’s Cassie doing?” He asked Bood as Ilya entered his information.

“She’s fine. Her sister is coming to visit in a couple weeks, so she’s getting excited for that.”

“Oh, that will be fun for her.”

Ilya sent himself a quick text before he handed the phone back to Harris. That would make eighty-two unopened texts if he hadn’t received any more since he left the Hollander house. He would have to start responding to them soon, but he really didn’t want to have to answer the question of what the fuck are you doing? eight-one times. He was making it harder on himself by ignoring them. If he’d just answered them when they came in, he wouldn’t be in this mess, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Thank you very much, Ilya.” Harris gave a nod of his head as he took his phone back. And that’s when Ilya had noticed his hat. It was just a knit hat, or a toque, he supposed since they were in Canada, but the hat had buttons and pins on it. Queer-themed buttons and pins.

Ilya was aware he was staring, but he was also aware he was smiling. A strange sensation tightened as his chest as it filled with both anxiety and hope that swirled together but refused to mix as if one was oil and one was water.

Ilya was afraid he had been staring too long, so he forced himself to speak. “I, uh… I like your hat.”

Harris smiled back warmly. “Thank you! I like your hat, too.”

This was interesting. It was good. It was… overwhelming and a lot to think about, but definitely a positive thing. He wanted to tell Shane. He needed to tell Shane, but as he was pulling his phone out of his pocket, Coach called back to them.

“You boys good?” He asked. “Ready to see what the prospects have been up to?”

“Yes, coming.” Boodram answered for them and then gave Ilya a questioning glance, “You, uh, good, Rozanov?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Ilya let his phone slide back into his pocket and looked away from Boodram’s scrutinizing expression. He should calm down. He’d come here to meet the prospects and he didn’t want to suddenly get weird in the middle of it all. Yeah, he was curious to know the young guys, but he also wanted to make a good impression on the coaches.

Plus, he could talk to Shane anytime. The thought brought a smile back to his face. They could talk at dinner, or on the couch, or cuddled in bed… Yeah, the move to Ottawa so far wasn’t going as Ilya had planned, but it was going okay. Eventually things would mellow out and the texts and questions would stop and the city of Ottawa would forget he was a superstar and he could just play hockey and love his boyfriend. He’d just have to be patient.

More patient than Coach, who had progressed to waving them over with one hand because they weren’t moving fast enough. Ilya took what he hoped was a subtle deep breath on the way over and gathered all his confidence.

Time to meet the rookies.

Rozanov was acting strange, which, okay, maybe he was just strange. Bood was willing to accept that maybe the Russian superstar was just some kind of weirdo. That was unexpected because Rozanov didn’t give off those kinds of vibes, but it happened.

It had taken Rozanov a while to notice the pins on Harris’s hat, and he had smiled while complementing it, but after that was when he had gotten weird. And that wasn’t going to happen. Bood was going to get to the bottom of that immediately. Not right there immediately, not in front of everyone else, but as soon as they were in the car again. He would have said something if Rozanov had said anything bad about Harris, but Harris had seemed okay with it, and throwing a fit and making a big deal out of nothing would probably embarrass him, so Bood would wait to bring it up.

But they were going to talk about it.

The rookies were the first ones to notice them all stepping out onto the bench. Their work slowed and they began to whisper to each other. Smithfield and the other player development staff made their way over to them as the public, who were there to watch the rookies, began to collectively lose their minds.

It wasn’t a mystery who they were all excited to see, and Bood couldn’t really blame them. This was a very unexpected circumstance.

Smithfield and his crew chatted with Rozanov, who smiled through the whole thing, nodding along and agreeing with whatever they were saying. The smile was the same one Rozanov had worn while meeting the other coaches. It was polite, but tight and it didn’t reach his eyes or brighten his face the same way as it had when he had greeted Bood in the car or noticed the pins on Harris’s hat.

That was interesting.

Rozanov stepped out on the ice, and then turned and asked Bood if he was coming with a little tilt of his head. Bood had already met them all, and he was sure none of them were as excited to see him again as they were to meet Ilya Rozanov, but Harris was gently pushing him forward to follow Rozanov out on the ice.

By the time he and Harris reached them, they were already crowded around Rozanov, excitedly shaking his hand and staring at him in various stages of awe.

“It is so nice to meet you all.” His big smile was back again as he looked them all over. “This is very exciting, yes? To be invited to work out with pro team. You should all be very proud.” There was a mumbling of agreement. “It is big deal. Even if you do not see time on the ice past this, you have gotten farther than most ever will. It is incredible experience.”

Damn. That sounded like captain talk… Bood didn’t remember what he had said to them when he had met them, but he was sure it wasn’t that good.

“Harris, you will take our pictures, yes?” Rozanov asked and the prospects began to buzz with excitement. “Yes, we will capture this moment.”

Harris grinned as they began to arrange themselves for a photo. This would be great for him and the team.

It would also be great for Ilya Rozanov.

It was going to make him look really good to the fans and the sports writers were going to eat it up. They were already all constantly talking about Rozanov and his baffling move. But a superstar signing with a new team and then being in town quick enough to go visit the prospects? They’d devour it. It even had the potential to be big enough to start to pull some of the attention away from them all questioning why Ottawa. And after the way that Rozanov had deflected in the car, that was probably what he wanted.

But why?

Bood smiled as Harris took some shots, one arm around Rozanov, the other around one of the kids, and hoped it would look genuine in the photos because he was back to thinking about what the fuck was going on. Why was Rozanov lying and deflecting, and trying to project an image? What was he hiding from?

“Ah, Luca Haas.” Rozanov caught the rookie as the group began to reluctantly break apart. Haas blushed and, unlike the other prospects, looked as if he would rather be anywhere else than have Rozanov’s attention on him. “Is nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, M-Mr. Rozanov.” Haas mumbled.

“No ‘mister,’ please. Just Rozanov.”

“Okay. Rozanov…”

“I watched all your interviews at the draft.”

“Oh, my God.” Luca’s face turned an even darker red and he covered his face with one of his gloved hands.

“No, no, is great. I am flattered you talked so much about me. You should not be embarrassed. You are great hockey player. I saw lots of highlights of your skills. Very impressive. You are very talented, and you went second over-all. It is very exciting! You are very happy, yes?”

Haas kept his head down as he spoke. “Well, I mean… yes, but…”

“But?” Rozanov goaded.

He did look up then. His face was a little scrunched, almost as if it was painful for him to look at Rozanov straight on, but after a moment, he admitted, “But… I’m not ungrateful or anything, but… it wasn’t… I wasn’t… first.”

“Ah. I see.” Rozanov nodded. “Everyone always thinks that the best player is the one who is chosen first, but that is not always true. Shane Hollander was drafted number two, and he is the best player in the league.” Rozanov punctuated the sentence with a wink.

Bood and Haas were both so shocked by the statement that they each took a jolted step backwards. Surely that wasn’t a jab, was it? Rozanov wouldn’t put all that effort into flattering Haas just to insult him, right? Statistically it was true that Hollander was better than Rozanov, but why would Rozanov admit that? The two of them hated each other.

“Hey, Harris!” Rozanov called before anyone had a chance to say anything else. “Can you take more pictures? I want my picture with the number two over-all pick this year! This guy is famous! He is going to be legend someday.”

Chapter End Notes

So, because I, like Yuna, care a little too much about hockey, I've always wondered about the history of the Ottawa Centaurs before we actually meet them. Who were the captains before Ilya and Bood? Why was Bood not already the captain before Ilya got there? Why is he just alternate? So you're going to see me getting a little more into my (obviously made up) lore of the Cents going forward around the main focus of the story. Also, just to make sure it's clear, Coach is not Wiebe. He's not the head coach yet at this point. So, yeah, I'm sure no one cares about it as much as I do, but oh, well.

ALSO! I have a crazy story that does but also doesn't have anything to do with this chapter that I really need to tell you about!
First of all, I am not Canadian, okay? I live in the US Midwest. My knowledge of Canada comes mostly from hockey related things. So, I finished this chapter and I sent it off to my beta reader and I go about my day. An hour later, I'm on social media, and I come across a video of a Canadian and an American arguing over the different names that we have for things. I decide to watch it because I write about gay hockey players in Canada, this could be good to know. AND YOU GUYS why was one of the things gutters?? I almost died. I had no idea there was a Canadian word for them and what do you mean I learned about it right after finishing a chapter where Shane cleans gutters? I was shook. I messaged my beta reader (also a Midwesterner) like, You're not going to believe this...
It was like... the stupidest instance of divine intervention I have ever heard.
Anyway, I changed it so Shane says eavestroughs and Ilya says gutters, because he lived in Boston for so long.
And sorry to get a little unhinged on you there, but it really was about the most exciting part of my day. 🤣

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Real quick:
I don't know why I thought that Ottawa's GM didn't need a name. I'll hopefully go back and drop his name in the last chapter eventually, but for now and those of you reading the chapters as they post, his name is Stern.

Ilya thought that the whole thing at the prospect camp had gone pretty well. The coaches and rookies and fans had all been excited, but Boodram was quiet as they climbed into the rental. He hadn’t seemed very much like himself. Or at least not the way that Ilya had heard him described before. People said he was cheerful and fun and got along with everyone, and even though he had been great while chatting with the rookies, he seemed very reserved now.

“We need to talk about something.” Boodram said as Ilya started the car and he was relieved that he was, hopefully, about to tell him what had made him so serious. “We have to make sure right now that we are on the same page about it.”

“Okay.”

“Harris is gay.”

“Ah, yes. I noticed that.”

“He’s out and he’s proud and he doesn’t mind that anyone knows or that I’m telling you.”

“Okay.”

“And there’s no problem with Harris being gay. He’s part of our team. He’s good at his job and he’s a great guy and we want him to stick around.”

Ilya nodded, slowly. “You are worried I am homophobic.”

“You’re a hockey player, aren’t you?”

“So are you.”

“Well, I’m not homophobic. And neither is anyone else on the team.”

“I am not homophobic, either, Zane Boodram.”

“Good. It won’t be tolerated in our locker room.”

“I am glad to hear that.” Boodram stared at him hard, and Ilya stared back. “I am happy for Harris. He does seem like a great guy. Very friendly. It is good for him that he can be out and be safe.” Ilya shifted into gear and broke their eye contact so he could pull out of the spot. “You will have no problems from me about it.”

“Good.”

That same strange mix of fear and hope had risen up in his chest again. Was the team really this supportive of homosexuality? Or was Harris a special case? Knowing that his team could potentially be supportive if Ilya ever came out felt like an immense relief.

But Ilya didn’t have any plans to tell them he was bisexual either way. Shane seemed to be on a quest to let people know about him, and that was great for Shane, Ilya was extremely proud of him, but that wasn’t for Ilya. Not now. He wanted to be out, and he wanted to love Shane loudly, in front of the whole world, but not yet, because they had to follow the plan.

He didn’t know how he felt about the only person outside of their family knowing how much he loved Shane was Rose Landry. He didn’t regret telling her, but it was also strange to think of everyone in the world, she was the person trusted with such a deep secret. Though he did trust her to keep it safe. She loved Shane very much. He couldn’t imagine her betraying him.

And Ilya supposed that technically, even if Rose was the only one who had all the details, she wasn’t exactly the only one to know. Marly knew he was in love with someone named Jane, and Hayden Pike and his wife knew that Shane was in love with a man they knew only as Lily. So, some of it was out there to their best friends.

Either way, it was just exciting to know they weren’t completely hidden. And Ilya had taken the first step in their plan to make them gradually even less hidden and eventually out.

“You really embarrassed Haas back there.” They had been driving in silence for a while, so it was a little shocking to hear Boodram speak.

Ilya took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at him. “Yes, but he will be okay. He will be very okay when Harris puts photos on social media, and he can show everyone that he met Ilya Rozanov.”

Boodram chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that kid was the president of your fan club. I can’t believe he was even able to look at you without passing out.”

“He was very nervous.”

“I bet he cried when he heard you were signing with us. Though he’s not quite ready to play with us yet. I bet Coach keeps him up for the preseason to see how he does, but he’s already decided to send him down to the AHL for a year or two.”

“Good idea. He is a very good player, but he does not have the confidence for the league quite yet, though he will get there.”

“That’s what Danny said, too.” Boodram said, his voice growing softer.

“Danny is Danielsson?” Ilya asked and glanced away from the road long enough to see him nod. “Is too bad that he retired. I would have loved to play with him.”

“You’ll still see him around, I’m sure he wants to meet you. He wants to still play but he’s about to have his third shoulder surgery, and his wife said that’s enough.”

Ilya nodded. He wanted to keep the conversation going. “You have a wife, too. Harris called her Cassie?”

“Yeah.”

“She is good?”

“She’s great. She’s wonderful. She’s smart and beautiful. An incredible woman.”

“Ah, very lucky for you. I would love to meet her.”

“I’d have to ask her. She is pretty intrigued by you.”

“Yes, I am a very interesting person.” That statement got Ilya one of those scrutinizing looks, but he kept his eyes on the road this time. “I go back to Boston Friday morning, but maybe tomorrow night we could all get dinner if you do not have plans? You can show me you and your wife’s favorite restaurant.”

“You told the GM you were busy.”

“I lied.”

Boodram stared wide eyed at him. They had made it back to his house, and Ilya put the car in park and let his hands fall into his lap. “You lied to the GM?”

Ilya shrugged. “Is an innocent little lie. I would much rather go to dinner with you and your wife than with him.”

“What if he finds out you lied?”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Well, no…”

Ilya shrugged again. “Then he will not know. And I will call him when I am back in Ottawa for good and I will go out to dinner with him then. Right now, I do not want to.”

“Oh…”

“So, will you and your wife go to dinner with me tomorrow night?” Ilya asked again.

“Well, I-I have to ask her. I’m not going to make plans without her.”

“Okay, so you will call me. Or text me. I will not be offended if the answer is no. We will just go another time then.”

“Alright.” Boodram looked a little stunned as he unbuckled his seat belt. He put his hand on the doorhandle. “Thank you. For driving.”

“Thank you for going with me. It was easier with you there.”

Boodram looked over at him. His nose wrinkled up as he opened his mouth but then must have thought better of it and closed it. He just nodded and opened the door. “See you around, Rozanov.”

“Goodbye, Boodram.”

“He really said all that?” Shane asked.

Ilya nodded against Shane’s chest. He had made it back to the Hollander house to find Shane in the exact same place where Shane had found Ilya that morning, laying on the couch. Ilya hadn’t even asked if he could join him, just crawled right on top of Shane and started telling him about the prospect camp. How the coach had gotten everyone there, including the GM, about meeting the rookies, especially Luca Haas, and how embarrassed he had been. And then he had told him about Harris Drover and his pins and what Boodram had said in the car.

“Yes. He was very… passionate about it. I think he would have hit me if I had said anything mean to Harris.”

“Wow.” Shane’s fingers moved lazily though Ilya’s curls. “That’s… amazing.”

“I know.”

“It’s just… wow.” He repeated. “That’s so great for Harris, and great for you, too.”

“Well, yes, great for Harris. But I am not coming out to my team, Shane.”

“Why not?”

“I do not even know them yet. You think I should walk in first day and say, ‘Yes, it is me, Ilya Rozanov. I am happy to be here and, oh, also, I am bisexual and have very hot boyfriend.’?”

“No, I want you to tell them however you want to whenever you’re ready to.”

Ilya sighed. “Shane, I am glad you support me but… is too soon. I do not know the Centaurs yet. Telling that many people… it would not feel safe. I am still Russian citizen. It feels too dangerous.”

Ilya felt Shane’s entire body tense beneath him. “You don’t have to go back there. You never have to go back if you don’t want to, okay?”

Ilya knew Shane couldn’t actually make that promise, but Ilya let the words wrap around him and soothe him. “Okay.” He said softly and Shane kissed the top of his head.

“Hey, boys.” Ilya didn’t look up when Yuna walked in, but he felt Shane crane his neck up to look at her. “Well, don’t you two look cozy?”

“Very cozy.” Ilya confirmed.

“The eavestroughs look great, Shane. Thank you.”

“Gutters.” Ilya said.

Shane snorted. “I also fixed the doorknob on the door to the hallway closet. The one that didn’t like to open? It’s much better now. I started to work on the window in the guest bathroom, but I realized we didn’t have the right caulk—” Ilya interrupted with a snicker and Shane pulled his hair, “so I didn’t get to it. I think maybe that was the problem in the first place. We need to make sure that it’s waterproof, or I’m just going to have to caulk it again next summer.” Ilya broke out into giggles this time and Shane fisted his hand in his hair to pull harder. “Knock it off, Ilya!”

“Caulking it at your parents’ house does not sound like a very wholesome activity, Shane.” He teased.

“Why can’t you be mature about this?”

“Because it is a funny word!”

Yuna sighed. “Thank you for all your help.” She leaned down to kiss Shane’s forehead. “I know you work hard all year, so it’s really appreciated that you take time out of your offseason to help us. And we appreciate you, too, Ilya.” She kissed his temple and his heart felt like it had exploded. “Even if you’re only offering Shane moral support.”

“Ilya went to the prospect camp today.” Shane explained.

“You did?” Yuna asked, sitting down in the chair beside the couch.

“Yes. I picked up Zane Boodram and we went together. The coaches and the GM showed up, but I got to meet the rookies and prospects, so it was nice.”

“Was Luca Haas there?”

“Yeah, Ilya embarrassed him.” Shane said.

“He blushed a lot. It was very cute.”

“Well, we all saw how much he talked about you at the draft. He’s a Rozanov fanboy for sure. Did you sign something for him?”

“No, but Harris took some photos of us together.” Ilya quickly added, “Harris is our social media manager.”

“Their gay social media manager.” Shane elaborated.

“Gay? Like… openly gay?” Yuna asked.

“Yes. And Boodram threatened me and told me I could not be homophobic toward him.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for you. But wow. That’s amazing.” Yuna echoed the same thing her son had said earlier, and Ilya couldn’t stop smiling over how cute it all was.

“I have not met the rest of the team. I do not know if everyone feels the same as Boodram. He said they do, but I cannot be sure until I meet them.”

“Still… wow. Just… wow. It’s just so unusual. In a good way, of course, but… it sounds like Ottawa was a good choice for a lot of reasons.”

Ilya nodded. It definitely seemed like it at the moment. He really hoped it stayed that way.

Bood didn’t know why he was hesitating to ask Cassie about going to dinner with Ilya Rozanov. Because he definitely didn’t want to go. Of course he didn’t. Rozanov was turning out to be a weird guy and he had told himself he didn’t have to deal with him this summer, and that included going out to dinner with him. He should just take it into his own hands and text him and turn him down.

But…

Rozanov had also invited Cassie, and Bood would feel bad making the decision for both of them. He never made the decision for his wife. They were in this together, after all, and she always deserved a say.

Maybe she’d say no anyway. Maybe they had something to do that Bood had forgotten about.

“So…” He said over their own dinner that evening, “Rozanov invited us both to dinner tomorrow night.”

Cassie paused with her fork halfway to her mouth and then set it back down on her plate. “Really? Both of us?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“He said we could show him our favorite restaurant.”

“Aw.” She grinned. “That was really nice of him! And maybe we can get some more information from him about his move to Ottawa. You should call and make reservations tonight though, just to make sure we get a table.” She picked her fork back up and went back to eating.

Well… that was that then.

But she was right. Dinner did seem like a nice time to try to get him to open up. And maybe Cassie could help. She was good at talking to people. She was beautiful and fun and people liked talking to her.

Bood was feeling a little more excited. He didn’t actually want to have dinner with Rozanov. Of course not, Rozanov was weird. But finding out more about why he had come to Ottawa and what his intentions were? That would make it worth it.

“Shane?”

“Hm?”

“Are you still awake?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Will you be mad if I tell you that I am going to dinner with Boodram and his wife tomorrow?”

“No. I want you to settle in with your new team. Why would I be mad about it?”

“Because I leave on Friday. It is our last night together.”

“Just for now.” Shane said and Ilya wrapped his arms tighter around him and pulled him closer against his chest before kissing the back of his neck. “You’ll be back in a couple weeks and then we’ll go to the cottage and when we’re back from that, we can start moving you in.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds like it will go by so fast.”

“It will go by fast. You’ll be an Ottawa resident before you know it.”

“That is good, but I do not want my time with you to go by fast.” He kissed his neck again and then his shoulder.

“Well, I can’t control time, Ilya.”

“Why not?”

He laughed. “Because no one can?”

“Mm, I think you probably could if you tried. You are good at many things. You are best hockey player and best boyfriend…” He peppered his shoulder with more kisses. “I think you probably can do it if you really try.”

“Best I can do is cramming as many brand obligations as possible into the next two weeks, so I have basically the rest of the summer with you.”

“Not as good as controlling time but,” Ilya paused as Shane laughed again, “I will take it.”

“You seem nervous.”

They couldn’t see the door from where they were sitting, but Bood had been watching for Rozanov anyway. He hadn’t insisted on driving to the restaurant together, just asked for the address, and Bood had a wild idea in his head that he was going to stand them up. He couldn’t place where it came from, and he could admit it was a ridiculous thing to think, but… the thought was still there.

“I’m not nervous.” He lied.

“It’s okay. I think it’s cute.”

Cassie was smiling smugly when he turned to her. “I’m really starting to think that all this suspicion and animosity toward Rozanov is because you’re hiding a fanboy crush.”

Bood could feel heat flood over his face, and that was bullshit that his body would betray him like that and make it look like she was right because she wasn’t. She was definitely wrong. “What? No. No way, Cassie! I’ve told you, Rozanov has been a complete weirdo these last two days!”

“So? Weirdo or not, he’s still really good at hockey. I’ve heard you talk about him in the past, Zane, and, yeah, you complained about the chirping part, but you’ve also had some really flattering things to say about him.”

“I just… respect him as a fellow hockey player.”

“Uh-huh.” Cassie nodded, that cute little smug smile still on her face. “You respect his skills, huh?”

“Look, Cassie, this whole thing is complicated, okay? I get it, everyone is excited to have a guy like Rozanov join our team, but it’s just not that simple. We have a culture to be proud of here in Ottawa…”

“I agree.”

“And throwing a guy like Rozanov into the mix… it’s impossible to know what’s going to happen. We don’t have much else, so I’m not going to let anyone mess that up. I have a duty to this team, so I can’t get excited about this all until I know what he’s going to be like in the room. I’m not throwing away all of Danny’s hard work.”

Cassie looked ready to say something comforting, but then her eyes widened and her jaw fell slightly. “Oh. Wow.”

Bood turned quickly and saw Rozanov being led to their table. He half turned back to his wife and hissed through his teeth, “Don’t thirst so hard over Ilya Rozanov in front of your husband!”

“I can’t help it.” She whispered back. “I’ve never seen him this close in real life.”

Rozanov ordered a drink as he sat. He gave a short sigh and then nodded with a smile. One of the big smiles that seemed genuine. “Hello, Zane Boodram.”

Bood nodded back, “Rozanov.”

Rozanov just sat there staring at him for a second. Bood’s brain wasn’t quite working correctly. It’d been through a lot of emotions in a short time and it was still trying to regulate itself when Rozanov motioned to Cassie with his eyes and then a soft tilt of his head.

Oh. Yeah.

“Uh, Cassie,” Bood put his arm around her shoulders, “this is Ilya Rozanov. Rozanov, this is my wife, Cassie.”

Cassie seemed a little too eager to reach across the table and shake his hand. “Is nice to meet you.” Rozanov greeted with that same wide smile. “Call me Ilya, please.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, too, Ilya.” She was blushing slightly as she settled back in her seat. Bood couldn’t believe his wife was such a traitor. He never thought that Cassie would leave him or cheat or anything that extreme. But she could be wooed by strong arms and handsome smiles and tight shirts, which was all you can see of Rozanov as he crossed his arms and leaned back slightly in his chair, so he couldn’t blame her. But he needed her to focus.

“This is nice restaurant.” Rozanov broke the slight silence they had settled into.

“Well, Zane said you asked for our favorite one.” Cassie said. Maybe she realized she had been staring a little too much, because she picked up her menu and began to look it over. “And we really like this one. But there are lots of other great restaurants that you’ll have to check out.”

Rozanov picked up his menu as well. “I am looking forward to it. I cannot wait to know the city a little better.”

“How are you finding it so far?”

“Is nice. A little boring, but it is pretty here.” He gave a little shrug and echoed the same thing he had told Bood yesterday.

“Zane says you put in an offer on a house the other day?”

“Yes. They accepted actually. Is my house now.” Rozanov’s drink arrived and he nodded a thank you.

“Oh, wow! Congratulations!” Cassie set her menu down. “That’s wonderful!”

“Yes, thank you. I was sure they would. I offered to buy at full asking price. I wanted to buy it outright, but I was advised to invest in this one.”

Of course Ilya Rozanov could have bought what was definitely a multi-million dollar house out of pocket. With the offer he had just received to sign with them combined with his time in Boston and his brand endorsements… He didn’t have as many as some other guys, and certainly not as many as Shane Hollander, but brands were still throwing themselves at a guy like Rozanov. And what could he even have to spend all that money on anyway other than those fancy cars he always drove?

Stop it, Zane. It’s not like you wouldn’t take the money if you suddenly were offered a huge new contract.

“That’s really exciting for you.” Cassie went on. “I have to say though, most guys who come here don’t really jump into buying a house right away. Most of them find a place something a little less permanent for the first year. Until they get settled.”

Rozanov shrugged. “Yes, was the same in Boston. But I did not want to do that. Many people seem to think that just because they do not understand why I am coming to Ottawa that it is all random and I just picked to come here. I knew that I was coming here since last year. I had a plan.”

“Oh.” It must have all been as shocking for Cassie as it was for Bood, because for a moment they just sat there staring at Rozanov, who seemed to be patiently waiting for them to go on. Cassie took a sip from her drink. “But, um, aren’t you worried it’s a little too… permanent? I mean, there’s always the chance that you won’t like it here or you get traded.” There was a quick flicker of something across Rozanov’s face. Bood wasn’t sure if it was fear or panic, and he squashed it quickly, but Cassie must have seen it, too. “I’m sorry. That was rude. Of course, you’re so welcome here, and we want you to stay. I just mean there’s never a guarantee, right? But I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it is okay. You are not wrong. But…” Rozanov began to nod softly and then slowly the nodding got a little quicker. Bood thought maybe the nodding was for himself, like Rozanov was giving himself a pep talk inside his own head, which was wild. Why would Ilya Rozanov need a pep talk? “But Ottawa will work out. I am certain. I do not want to go anywhere else. I chose Ottawa and I will stay.”

Bood opened his mouth to say something about just how crazy that whole claim was. Even if Rozanov had a no-trade clause, and he likely would, he wouldn’t be completely safe. No one ever was. It was probably a good thing, though, that the waiter chose that moment to step up and ask if they were ready to order. It probably would have ruined all the work Cassie had done to open Rozanov up and get him talking.

Once their plates were cleared and their drinks refreshed, Cassie sat back slightly in her chair. Ilya liked her. She was beautiful and smart and nice to talk to. He was very aware that she had just been making polite conversation through dinner, but it wasn’t the kind of small talk that usually annoyed him. He was genuinely enjoying himself, even if he could tell that Zane Boodram was using his wife to try to get more information out of him. It was fine. He didn’t mind that either. He had learned a lot about Boodram as well.

He had been hesitant to join the conversation, but Cassie had got him talking about BBQing, and he had talked about it at length. Ilya hadn’t understood everything he had said, but Boodram was obviously passionate about it, so he didn't mind letting him be the focus of the conversation and take over the talking. Then, when their food had arrived, the talk had shifted to hockey. Not the Centaurs, that was work and it would come later, just hockey. Stats and players and memorable things from the last season.

And now from the way that Cassie was looking at him, Ilya was ready for a new shift in the conversation.

“So, Ilya,” Cassie began, “do you have any big plans over the summer?”

“Mm, no. Not really. I mean, I will go back to Boston tomorrow to finish some things up. Then I will come back. I have a few weeks off, so maybe I will find a cottage to visit, since I technically live in Canada now.”

Cassie laughed softly. “Not every Canadian has a cottage.”

“Well, no, but many do, yes? So maybe I find one to visit. It would be nice to go somewhere quiet for a while before the season starts and I have to be famous again. But after that I will move into my house and get all settled so that I am ready to meet and play with my new team.”

“So, you’re not going to Russia at all?”

It was an innocent question, and one that probably anyone would ask, so Ilya did his best not to react too hard. He had apparently let too much show earlier when she had mentioned being traded and they had both immediately looked like they had pitied him, and he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. “No. I, uh… I have not been back to Russia since my father died. It is only my brother now and I do not have a reason to go back there.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

“Do not worry, is not a big deal.” He added a shrug to hopefully help convince her.

She smiled and then cleared her throat softly. “And… is there anyone you’re spending your summer with?” Ah. There it was. Ilya had been expecting this question from the beginning. Cassie had a lot more restraint than most of the other WAGs he had met. “No one I could maybe add to the group chat?”

Ilya laughed softly. “No. No one like that. Not now.”

“Well, if something ever changes, just know that we’d love to have her. We’re a really close group, and I’m sure everyone says this, but we’re like a big family here.”

Ilya couldn’t help but smile thinking about what would happen if he had said yes and “Jane” had been added to the WAG group. Shane probably wouldn’t think it was as funny as he did, though. “I’m sure you are. Thank you. If I ever have someone, I will let you know.”

“I thought you were dating someone.” Boodram said and Ilya’s heart slammed into a brick wall that suddenly appeared in his chest. “What about that woman you’re always photographed with? The gorgeous one with the curly hair?”

Ilya exhaled a nervous laugh. Of course that’s who he meant. “Oh. Svetlana. She is only friend from Russia. I have known her my whole life. We go out but is not WAG situation. Just friends.”

“You think she’s gorgeous?” Cassie asked.

Bood smirked at her. “Don’t start. You think she is, too.”

“Well, yes, but you don’t have to be thirsting over Russian models in front of your wife.”

“Svetlana is not a model, but I will tell her you think she should be.”

“What?” Cassie turned her attention back to him. “She’s not a model?”

“No, she sells fancy cars.”

“Well, I’m sure that works out well for her. I’d buy anything from her.”

“Cassie!” Boodram said with a chuckle.

“What? It’s true!” She took a sip of her drink. “And don’t even lie, you would, too.”

Cassie stopped right in the doorway to take her shoes off with a loud sigh and Bood waited patiently for her to toss them aside so he could actually follow her into the house. “You were very quiet on the drive home, Zane.” She pointed out as he shut the door. “What’s on your mind? Because I thought it went really well. I can see maybe where you think Rozanov is a little weird, but he’s also very charming.”

“Yeah, but,” he paused to take off his own shoes, “he said some… things that have me thinking.”

“Okay.” Cassie took his hand, led him into the living room, and pulled him down on the couch beside her. “What did he say that’s got you overthinking?”

“First of all, you saw the way he reacted to you saying he could be traded or not fit in. That didn’t seem like the reaction a guy would have when he’s brand new on a team. They aren’t signing him just to trade him; they’ve already been encouraging the city to get excited about him being here. And I can’t help but think that it’s related to the way that he panicked when I said I thought he was dating someone.”

“Okay,” Cassie shook her head, “you’re going to have to spell it out to me, babe, because I have no idea where this is going.”

“What if he’s here because of some kind of scandal in Boston?”

“A scandal? You mean like… an affair?”

“You said yourself he was charming, and he has a reputation of being a lady’s man.”

“So you think he’s running away from Boston because he, what? Slept with another player’s wife?”

“I don’t know. Maybe even higher than a player’s wife, like a coach’s or someone with management. Maybe not even someone who has anything to do with hockey. I think it’s possible. Maybe something has happened that hasn’t been blown open yet. Maybe he got out before he was found out.”

“Babe, that’s a lot of ‘maybes’ and a huge accusation to make based on just a gut feeling.”

“I know. And I mean, I’m not going to actually accuse him of it. I just… I don’t know, I want to go on record saying I called it if it happens, I guess.”

“Okay, it’s noted then.”

“There was one other thing…”

“Alright.”

“And I really don’t like it…”

“Just tell me, Zane.”

“He said he knew he was going to come here last year.”

“Well, that’s not anything crazy. I mean, he knows his own contract. He knew he was going to be an unrestricted free agent.”

“Yes, but we’re back to why Ottawa? Why did he decide a year out that he was going to come here? What if…” Bood had brought this up. He had started the conversation but now he was regretting it, because thinking something and saying it out loud was very different. And Cassie had been right when she had said that it had all gone very well. Bood was beginning to think maybe he did like Rozanov, except… “What if it was planned?”

“Well, yes, Rozanov said it was.”

“No, I don’t mean just by Rozanov. I mean… what if the club planned it?”

“Walk me through your thoughts, again, babe.”

“Horn got traded away for nothing, right? Just some draft picks, which was a huge slap in the face to him. None of us understood it, all of us were pissed, he was worth way more than we got for him, and no one wanted him to leave anyway. The GM said that it was all part of bigger things that were coming. And yeah, we used those picks to trade to get up to get Haas, but what if he meant more than that. What if Stern and Rozanov have been talking to each other since last year and getting rid of Horn got Rozanov here?”

Cassie looked at him for a long moment. “Okay, let me see if I have this straight. You think that Stern, the General Manager of the Ottawa Centaurs has been talking to Ilya Rozanov in secret for at least a year, plotting to get him here? And part of trying to get him here was getting rid of Jarl Horn, and that’s why he was traded at a lower value than he’s worth?”

“It makes sense, Cassie!”

“Yes, I agree. It makes a shocking amount of sense. Honestly, it’s a very convincing argument. But I want you to be careful making accusations, Zane. I think you could be on to something, but you don’t have any proof. And anything can make sense if you just keep shoving pieces together.” She took his hands in her own and kissed his forehead. “I love you, very, very much. And I know that you’re under a lot of stress about the upcoming season, even though you’re trying really hard to pretend you’re not. I know that things are rough because Danny retired and Horn has been traded and you suddenly have Ilya Rozanov to replace them and that’s got to be hard to process, because who could have ever expected that?

“Until something comes to light, good or bad, Rozanov is here, whether or not you like it, and this has never been you, Zane. You’re the welcoming committee. You’re the guy who makes sure everyone feels safe and at home here. I’m not going to tell you that you have to like Rozanov. If you don’t, you don’t, and you can’t change that, but you can be the better person. Okay?” She took his face in her hands, and he covered them with his own.

“Okay.” He exhaled the word.

“Rozanov goes back to Boston tomorrow, so for now, give yourself a break from thinking about it, okay? Just… let those crazy ideas about him go for now and focus on the future. Let’s be honest, you and me like a little gossip, yeah?” He laughed softly. “But we don’t start it and we don’t encourage it. We speak the truth, right?”

“Right…”

“Now. Stop all this thinking and take me to bed.”

Bood chuckled as he stood. “Oh. Is that a sexy invitation?”

He extended his hand and pulled her up to her feet. “Probably not, but I’m a little drunk and my feet hurt and I have a big strong husband who could easily carry me to my bedroom.”

“Well, if you insist.” He picked her up, throwing her over her his shoulder, making her shriek with surprise that dissolved into laughter.

“I meant carry me like a princess, not a sack of potatoes!”

“Sorry, you weren’t specific enough.”

Chapter End Notes

Cassie Boodram meeting Ilya Rozanov for the first time is all of us. 🫠

I thought I'd share a quick conversation about this chapter I had with my beta reader:
We were chatting about it after he had read through it and he said something about how they're making Shane do all the work around the house. If it's not clear, Shane wants to do the work. It's a little way that he pays his parents back for everything they do. And honestly, though I think Ilya is a bit of a princess and would be perfectly fine with letting Shane do all the work, he would also love the chance to help him if he was asked to, especially around the Hollander family home. If he hadn't already had plans, he would have been right there helping with the stuck closet door, and giggling in real time at every mention of the world "caulk."

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Three things:

1. I love you.

2. There is plenty of story left.

3. There is going to be a happy ending.

The very last thing that Ilya wanted to do was go back to Boston. He told himself he had to and reminded himself that Shane wouldn’t even be in Ottawa for most of the next two weeks, but that didn’t make him feel any better.

The one thing that did make him feel not so bad was that Cliff Marlow was still there, but that came with mixed feelings. Because when he went back to Ottawa in a couple weeks, it was going to be really hard for Marlow to say goodbye. Ilya was pretty sure he’d be fine, but Marly? That was going to be rough.

But there was nothing to be done about any of it.

So, Ilya had hugged David and Yuna, kissed Shane, and smiled through the goodbyes. He’d driven far enough out of the neighborhood to not be suspicious, pulled over, and cried silently. He’d only given himself a few minutes. Just enough to get it out of his system. Then he’d put his sunglasses back on and headed to the airport.

The flight to Boston was fuller than the flight from Boston, which oddly meant that this time no one seemed to notice him. He didn’t hear his name whispered once, nor did anyone stop him in the airport. Everything went as normal and as boring as it could have and that felt… wrong. Because this was the last trip he was making from the airport to his Boston home, and it shouldn’t have felt normal and boring.

And he was back to this again. Feeling sentimental about the stupidest shit.

He made it to his house, which felt much too big and way too empty and dumped his bag in his bedroom before he went to the living room and threw himself down on the couch.

I made it back to the Boston house.

Flight was good.

Mama Yuna: Good! Miss you already, but glad you landed safe 😘

Papa David: Traffic was okay from the airport?

It was fine.

Mama Yuna: We’ll see you in a few weeks, but if you need anything before that, just let us know, okay?

I will.

Mama Yuna: And don’t wait until the last second to pack, okay?

I won’t.

Mama Yuna: You need to have everything ready to go when the movers get there.

I’m not bringing that much. I really don’t think the movers are necessary.

Jane😘: You need a moving van just for all the clothes in your closet you never wear.

Mama Yuna: Honey, just let the movers do their thing. Unless you want to drive all the way to Ottawa. And you can’t really fit anything into any of your cars even if that’s what you wanted to do. They aren’t meant for transporting things.

Papa David: How are you getting the cars here anyway?

Jane😘: And where do you plan on putting them?

I will have them transported later.

There’s only two left now, so it should be easy.

Jane😘: Only two left?

Mama Yuna: What do you mean only two left? What did you do with the rest of them?

I sold them.

Svetlana helped me before she left for Russia.

Canada is more boring than Boston, so I do not need as many. So, I just decided to keep my two favorites. I’ll have to buy something for your Canadian winters because they aren’t good for my sports cars, but I’ll do that when I get everything else figured out.

I thought we could put the money from selling them toward the foundation.

Jane😘: Ilya 🥺

Mama Yuna: Why didn’t you tell us?

I was going to, but I just… hadn’t yet.

Jane😘: I love you so much!

I love you, too.

I love all of you.

Papa David: Love you, too, kiddo.

Mama Yuna: We love you, too. Be good and we’ll see you in a couple of weeks.

Ilya tossed his phone to the other end of the couch and covered his face with his hands. He groaned into his palms and then dropped them back to his lap. After a moment, he retrieved his phone, stretching to reach it and staying sprawled on his stomach.

Hey, I’m back in Boston.

Marly: Awesome! How was Canada?

Boring.

Marly: You chose to go there, man. I think that makes you boring.

I am not boring.

I am bored.

Marly: Oh, yeah? What am I supposed to do about it?

Come to the house.

Marly: What if I’m busy?

Are you?

Marly: No.

Then come over.

Bring alcohol. I will Venmo you.

We can even drink your shitty beer if you want.

Marly: It’s not shitty.

Marly: I’ll be there in an hour.

Marlow sat back on the couch with a deep sigh and then took a drink from his beer. “So, did you meet any of your new teammates while you were in Ottawa?”

“Zane Boodram.” Ilya took a drink as well. “The rookies, too.” He still did think it was a little shitty, but the taste had grown on him over the years. And he wouldn’t be able to get it outside of Boston, at least not easily, so he’d drink it. For Marlow.

“Oh, yeah? Boodram’s your only captain, right?”

Ilya nodded.

“Is he cool?”

Ilya took another drink, staring at the television but not really seeing what was happening. “I do not think he likes me.”

“What?” Marlow sounded genuinely offended and Ilya felt the corners of his mouth turn up a bit. “He doesn’t like you? Why not?”

“I do not know exactly, but I do not blame him. He is the only captain of a struggling team. If I were him, I think I would not like to have a superstar join my team for no reason. Is very suspicious.”

“You could just tell him the reason.”

Ilya gave him an annoyed look. “No.”

“Look, it’s your choice, but I think it would just be easier if you tell people why you moved teams. People are losing their fucking minds, dude. They’re calling and emailing me to ask about it.”

Ilya sat up quickly. “They’re what?”

“Calm down, Rozy, I haven’t told them anything. I just say it’s not my business and I have no comment.”

“I am sorry they are calling you.”

“What are you sorry for?” Marlow shook his head. “You can’t help it if people can’t mind their own business. It’s not your fault.”

Ilya frowned as he lounged back against the couch again. The now ninety-six unanswered messages and the uncounted silenced phone calls meant it probably was actually his fault. He supposed it was time to start replying to them, even if some of the replies would be no comment or, if necessary, fuck off.

“Anyway, Boodram will come around, unless he’s just an asshole.” Marlow shrugged.

“They actually say he is really nice guy.”

“Well, that can’t be true if he doesn’t like you.”

Ilya chuckled. “Not everyone likes me, Marly.”

“What are you talking about? Of course they do!”

“Oh, yeah, okay.” Ilya took another drink. “Whatever you say.”

“Okay, so like Montreal doesn’t like you, and neither does Toronto or New York… but that’s conference shit, right? No one likes each other within the conference, so it’s fine.”

“And what conference is Ottawa in, Marly?”

“That’s beside the point, okay? You’re on their team now. They should like you.”

“You don’t have to like someone just because they are good at hockey.”

“You’re not ‘good at hockey,’ you’re fucking great at hockey. And yeah, sure, you don’t have to like someone just because they’re good, but they should like you because you’re a great guy, Roz.”

Ilya didn’t know what to do with the sudden surge of emotion that made his eyes ache, so he just downed the rest of his beer so he wouldn’t have to talk.

Okay.

So maybe it wasn’t just Marly that was going to have a hard time saying goodbye.

Rozanov had been gone for a week now and Bood hadn’t been able to go a single damn day without thinking about him.

He had tried.

But Harris had posted the photos with the rookies on social media, and so everyone on the team now knew that Bood had met Rozanov and they all had questions. Questions that he couldn’t really answer because he hadn’t really gotten any answers himself, but they kept coming.

The younger guys were excited of course. They all wanted to meet the Russian superstar. The older guys were a little excited, too, but they were also a little skeptical of the why. The younger guys were willing to let the big question slide, the why Ottawa? question, in favor of having someone so famous join the roster, but at least guys like Dykstra and Chounard could be a little more reserved about it.

“When did Rozanov say he was going to be back?” Chounard asked, and Bood missed the shot he had been carefully lining up for a good minute. He chose to blame it on the fact that they had been drinking for a while and he was definitely starting to feel not so sure on his feet, and not that any mention of Rozanov seemed to throw off his whole everything.

He tried not to sigh too loudly as he straightened from the pool table. “He didn’t.” He said, stepping back and grabbing his cider so Dykstra could take his turn. “Kinda acted like it would be a couple weeks, but he wasn’t clear.”

“You should text him and see when he’s back for sure.” Chounard went on.

“Why?” Bood asked, watching Dykstra easily pocket his next ball. Dykstra, annoyingly, seemed to get better at pool the drunker he was.

“So… we can meet him?” Chounard’s voice was confused, like he thought that maybe his answer was obvious. “Not all of us were important enough to get a dinner invitation the first time he was here.”

“We don’t have to go get dinner with him or anything.” Dykstra said, circling the table, trying to figure out his next shot. “We can meet him here. Find out if he’s any good at pool.”

Bood looked back toward the bar. Monk’s was slow tonight, which none of them minded, but there were a few other patrons hanging around. They had all become such a staple in the tavern that most other regulars or at least frequent customers didn’t even notice when they were there, except on the rare nights they were celebrating a win.

Would that change if they brought Ilya Rozanov there for a couple drinks and a game of pool? Of course, people would be excited to see him and meet him, but beyond that… since he and Cassie had talked after the dinner, he couldn’t stop worrying that it wasn’t going to be Rozanov’s personality that hurt the club, but his reputation, or maybe even the choices he had made. And a bad reputation and poor choices could hurt things beyond the team.

“Bood?” Dykstra asked.

He turned back around and Dykstra motioned toward the pool table. “Your turn.”

“What’s going on with you, man?” Chounard asked. “Every time we bring up Rozanov, you get weird about it.”

“No, I don’t.” He muttered, squatting beside the table for a better angle.

“You totally do.” Chounard said.

“You do.” Dykstra agreed, “You get all wistful, like Rozanov fucking… broke your heart or some shit.”

“Fuck you, D.” He straightened, took his shot, and somehow, miraculously, the right ball went into the pocket. “Rozanov didn’t do shit to me.”

“Then why don’t you want to talk about him?” Dykstra asked. “Yeah, I know it’s weird, and we’re all a little worried about what it’s going to be like having him here, but it’s not that bad, man.”

“Unless it is.” Chounard said at the exact second Bood took his next shot. The cue ball flew off course, scattering the balls still on the table, and dropped right into a side pocket. A scratch.

“What?” Bood turned to him.

“What do you know about Rozanov that we don’t?” Chounard crossed his arms over his chest.

“I don’t know anything. I just…” He sighed. “I don’t know anything, okay? But he said some… things at dinner that got me thinking about something and I just can’t get it out of my head. But it’s just… me grasping at straws, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s really upset you, man.” Dykstra said softly. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Cassie and I talked, and she told me I shouldn’t say anything about it. Because if it’s true at all, it’s bad for all of us.”

“Oh.” Chounard and Dykstra exchanged a look. “Like… illegal shit?” Chounard dropped his voice.

Bood looked at both of them. He could trust them. He knew he could. And maybe if he told them, it would stop feeling so heavy on his chest.

He set his pool stick on the table and then picked up his cider and motioned to the nearest empty booth with a nod of his head. Bood was confident no one was close enough to hear them at the pool table, but he wanted more privacy.

Dykstra and Chounard slid in across from him, sitting shoulder to shoulder, staring at him with matching grim expressions on their faces.

“Okay, first of all, I’m gonna say some things that you guys need to be real fucking cool about, okay? If either of you repeat any of this, you’re both in deep shit, got it?” They both nodded. “And I’m really going to stress that these aren’t facts. These are things that I put together by listening to the things Rozanov said. And let me tell you, that guy is a fucking weirdo. He’s impossible to read. But he very much does not want to talk about why he came to Ottawa, which is very suspicious. I think we’ve all kind of thought maybe he’s coming here for some not very moral reasons.”

“Yeah, the affair thing.” Chounard said and Dykstra nodded.

Bood nodded back. He hadn’t been the first one to bring up that there could be an affair. At this point, he couldn’t remember who had said it first, but it had been the first place that all of their minds had gone. Bood hadn’t been completely convinced, though. Before the dinner, he had thought Rozanov wasn’t the kind of guy to run away from something like that. But now…

“That reason’s actually not off the table, I don’t think. But, um… he said some other things that were very suspicious.”

Dykstra folded his arms on the table and leaned in as Chounard asked, “Suspicious how?”

“So, Rozanov has mentioned several times that he had a plan. That Ottawa wasn’t just some random choice, that he wanted to come here, and one of the times he was talking about it, he said he’s had the plan for a year.”

“A year?” Dykstra sat back. “So, like… this was a long-term plan?”

“Apparently.”

“But like… what even is the plan? Why the fuck is Ilya Rozanov in Ottawa?” Chounard asked slowly.

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. He says he just wants to play hockey.”

“He was already fucking doing that in Boston.” Dykstra pointed out.

“That’s what I said.”

“And winning games there.” Chounard added.

“He deflects when you try to ask any kind of questions about it and so…” Bood sighed. “This is the part that’s really shitty. Remember what Stern said after he traded Horn? All that bullshit about bigger and better things coming? How there was a vision and we all just needed to trust the process and basically shut the fuck up and be patient? Well, before this, we thought it was the trading up to get Haas… what if that wasn’t the bigger and better things?”

“You think… he meant Rozanov?” Chounard’s eyes had gone wide.

“I don’t know… I guess. I know it’s kind of a wild theory…”

“Kind of?” Dykstra repeated. “So, in your scenario… Stern traded Horn so we could bring in Rozanov? Why? How exactly are the two things connected?”
“I don’t know.” Bood sat back against the booth with a sigh. “I never said any of it was logical or completely flushed out, but it’s an idea that won’t leave my head.”

“Wait a second,” Chounard held up a hand, “back up a couple steps. To say that Horn was traded because of Rozanov… Bood, are you implying that Stern and Rozanov planned this together?”

“Well, I don’t have any proof…”

“Jesus Christ, Bood.” Dykstra buried his face in his hands.

“That’s fucking tampering, Boodram!” Chounard whisper screamed.
Bood waved his hands through the air, desperately shushing him. He had purposely avoided saying that word aloud. It felt too real to say it aloud. Like it could manifest something.

“Tampering affects the whole fucking organization!” Chounard continued to whisper very loudly. “You can’t just fucking accuse someone of that!”

“I’m not! Okay? It’s just a thought that’s in my head!”

“I don’t like how much sense it makes.” Dykstra said, coming out from behind his hands.

“No, it doesn’t.” Chounard said very matter-of-factly. “It just… makes sense because we’re all a little drunk.”

“I think it would make sense if I wasn’t, though…” Dykstra admitted reluctantly.

“And getting Horn out of the way… just… why? Everything keeps coming back to why? Horn wasn’t any kind of threat to Rozanov.” Chounard sighed. “I get it, Bood, I do, but I just don’t think it’s true. I think Rozanov is just bullshitting you. I don’t think that guy’s got a plan at all. I don’t think he plans anything. I think he just said that to get you to stop asking questions.”

Bood didn’t have a response to that. He just waved his hand weakly through the air and then let it fall back to his lap and slap against his thigh.

“I did not sign up for this shit tonight.” Dykstra sighed.

“Me neither. So, we’re fucking getting drunk and forgetting about it.” Chounard slid out of the booth.

“I’m already basically drunk, I think.” Dykstra said.

“Well, then more drunk. We didn’t drive. We’ll be okay.”

Bood finished the cider he had in front of him as he waited for Chounard to come back with more drinks. Cassie wouldn’t be happy, but maybe he did need to get drunk. Maybe that would finally let him forget about Rozanov.

Chounard had said that they needed to drink to forget about the sketchy shit that Rozanov could have been up to, but by the time that Bood was dropped off at his home, Rozanov was all he could think about.

The whole thing was really stupid when you got down to the base of it. Because Bood was a good guy. He was trustworthy. You could give him your secrets and he’d keep them. Well, he’d tell Cassie, but that was okay. You could tell your wife secrets because she was your wife and that didn’t break any kind of trust. And anyway, he and Cassie only gossiped with each other, so who else would they tell?

It was rather shitty of Rozanov that Bood had been trying really hard while he was here to be nice to him when Rozanov was the one who was acting like a weird asshole. Bood was his captain now, after all, so if Bood wanted to know why Rozanov had decided to come to Ottawa, then Rozanov ought to tell him, and he ought to tell him now.

Even though he was very drunk, Bood did have enough sense to sneak through the house to the back deck. Cassie would be asleep and he didn’t want to wake her up. This was between him and Rozanov anyway.

He crossed all the way to the opposite side of the deck, held the rail to keep the world from swaying too much, and called Ilya Rozanov.

It rang several times before Rozanov answered. “Zane Boodram?” He asked, his voice even deeper with sleep and slightly slurred. “What is it? Why are you calling?”

“Rozanov, we need to talk.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment and then a sound that sounded like a cross between a sigh and groan. “Boodram, it is two-thirty in the fucking morning. This cannot wait?”

“No.”

He muttered something angrily in Russian under his breath.

“Hey, don’t be an asshole about it. You answered the phone, Rozanov.”

“Yes, because usually when someone calls you in the middle of the night it’s an emergency.”

Bood scoffed. “Why would I call you if I had an emergency?”

“Why are you fucking calling me at all?” Rozanov snapped.

“Because we need to talk.”

Rozanov groaned. “You are fucking drunk, Boodram.”

“No.”

“You are. You are somewhere safe? Do you need a ride?”

“You’re in Boston. You can’t give me a ride.”

“No, but I can call someone.”

“I don’t need a ride.”

“No?”

“No! I don’t need a ride.”

“Then what do you need?”

“I need to talk to you!”

“Then fucking talk!” More angry Russian. “Fuck, Boodram!”

“You’re lying to me.”

He sighed heavily. “About what?”

“About why you’re coming to Ottawa.”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Boodram! We are doing this now? In the middle of the night?”

“I want to know why you’re lying.”

“I told you, I just want to play hockey.”

“You could do that in thirty-one other cities!” Bood’s hand tightened on the railing, and he stared down at the knuckles as they turned white. “There isn’t a reason for Ilya Rozanov to choose Ottawa! There’s nothing for you here, unless there is!”

“Boodram… you are too drunk, you are not making sense.”

“Did you plan this with Stern?” The question seemed to hang in the air, heavy and thick as if it was a real, physical thing.

“What?” The word was hardly more than a wheeze.

“You said you’ve had this planned for a year. Even knowing your contract was up, that’s really weird to decide to come here that far out, unless there was something special in this all for you. The Horn trade never made any sense. There was no reason to do it. He was traded for way under his worth, and there would have been different ways for us to trade up to get Haas that didn’t cost the team so much. Everyone was pissed because the Horn trade never should have happened and Stern just kept telling us to trust him, that bigger things were coming, and it just doesn’t feel like he only meant Haas.”

“Boodram, stop. I do not… I cannot follow…”

“Did you or did you not plan with Stern to get rid of Horn?”

A long moment of silence stretched between them, just as heavy as the question Bood had asked before. He was about to pull his phone away from his ear and check to see if maybe they had lost each other, or Rozanov had hung up when Rozanov spoke again.

“Fuck. You.” The words were slow and vicious, and they made Bood’s stomach toss painfully. “Fuck you. How dare you!”

Part of Bood’s brain had started to realize that maybe things had started to take a very bad turn. A very, very bad turn. But that part of his brain wasn’t quite quick enough to stop him from saying, “It’s the only thing that makes sense, Rozanov.”

“No, it fucking isn’t, because it is not fucking true! The fuck are you going to call me at two-thirty in the morning and fucking accuse me of tampering?” He switched to Russian then, and there was a long stream of words that Bood wouldn’t have understood sober, but even drunk he got the context. “I never talked to Stern before free agency started! And why would I want to get rid of Horn? He was the best player on the team with Daniellsson retiring! Why would I want to hurt the team I wanted to join?”

That rational part of Bood’s brain warned him again to be quiet, but he still didn’t listen. “But why do you want to join this team! And why are you being so secretive if you have nothing to hide?”

“I told you I just want to play hockey!”

“You can play hockey in Boston!”

“I am not fucking happy when I am in Boston!”

Bood lost whatever he was ready to say next. Whatever it was completely dried up on his tongue to hear the waver in Rozanov’s voice and sniffled that followed.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” He went on, his voice softer, but the tremble still obvious. “Does it make you happy now?”

“Rozanov, I’m—”

“Don’t fucking call me anymore, Zane Boodram.”

Boodram let the hand holding his phone fall to his side. He had been gripping the railing with the other hand so hard it ached when he loosened his hold. He turned slowly back toward the house but made no move to actually go inside.

He had fucked up.

He had majorly fucked up.

He had made Ilya Rozanov cry.

He sat down slowly so he was leaning with his back against the railing. This was so bad. Rozanov hadn’t signed his contract yet. What if Bood had made it so he wouldn’t sign? Or worse… what if Rozanov went to their coach and management and told him what Bood had said and then Bood was the one who…?

“Fuck!” He whispered into the darkness. “Fuck!” He repeated, dropping his phone to the deck and covering his face with his hands.

How the fuck was he supposed to fix this?

Chapter End Notes

Poor Ilya and Bood... each going through their own thing with neither of them having any idea what the other is dealing with 🥺

I get live reactions from my beta reader as he reads.
Because I love it (and maybe you can relate) here's his reaction to the ending of this chapter:
HOW CAN YOU JUST END IT THERE!?!

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

Hey, you guys were asking for blood after the last chapter but can I interest you in some phone calls instead? 🫣
The boys have some important people to talk to, okay? Next chapter we'll have some actual hockey and some action, I promise!

Please imagine that Ilya's phone call is in Russian!

Bood woke up the next morning with a headache and an upset stomach, but he knew it wasn’t all because of his hangover.

His memory of the night wasn’t super clear except for the parts that he would have much rather forgotten. He knew he had just sat there on the deck for a while until Cassie had eventually found him. She had woken up to him not in bed and had gotten up to look for him. She had been a little frantic and then angry to find him outside and very drunk, until she had realized that something wasn’t right. She had demanded to know what was going on and if he was alright and had accepted the simple answer that he had argued with Rozanov on the phone. He could tell there were things she wanted to say about it, but instead she had just sighed and helped him to bed.

She had tried for more answers once he had finally woken up late in the morning, but Bood had been vague and insisted it wasn’t that bad and they could talk about it after she got back from her brunch with some of the other WAGs.

Now who was deflecting?

Bood couldn’t remember exactly everything he said to Rozanov on the phone, but he could remember the accusations he had made and what Rozanov had said back. And how Rozanov had said it, which was awful, because he felt like he was never going to forget how miserable the crack in Rozanov’s voice had sounded when he said he wasn’t happy in Boston.

It was just… a disaster. A huge fucking disaster. And Bood didn’t even know where to start to fix it. So, he did the only thing he could think of.

“Good morning.” Danny greeted him after only a few rings.

“I fucked up, Danny.” Bood didn’t see the point in prolonging it. Might as well get it out there.

Danny was silent for a beat. “Okay, yeah. You did.”

“Wait.” Bood froze in front of the open refrigerator. “What do you mean ‘you did’? What did you hear?”

“That you called Rozanov in the middle of the night, ranting about tampering.”

Bood had to grab the door to keep from collapsing. Even if he wasn’t hung over, he was pretty sure he’d still be fighting back the urge to vomit. “Who—How do you know about that?”

“I just got off the phone with Rozanov not too long ago.”

“Rozanov? How the fuck did Rozanov get your number?”

“He asked Scott Hunter. The two of them have this weird frenemies thing going on. Hunter complains about him all the time, but I think they’re actually friends, they just won’t admit it to themselves or each other.”

Danny seemed very normal about this whole thing, which was a good sign, but still, this was… “How did he know Scott Hunter would have your number?” Bood asked, finally grabbing a Gatorade and closing the fridge.

“He said, and I quote, ‘You are both old enough to have been playing hockey since the league was founded, so I figured you keep in touch.’”

“Hunter isn’t that much older than Rozanov.”

“Yeah, but I guess that’s their thing.” Danny sighed. “Okay. So, you called. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I mean, no. Because I’m really fucking embarrassed it happened.”

“But it happened.”

“I know.” Bood groaned and put his head down on the counter. The stone was cool against his forehead. “What did Rozanov say?”

“He wanted to know if I taught you to call the new guys and accuse them of violating league bylaws or if this was a new thing you were trying out.”

Bood groaned again.

“That was very stupid, Zane.”

“I know.”

“You could have gotten yourself and the team in a lot of trouble.”

“I know.”

“You’re lucky Rozanov isn’t going to the coach about it.”

The relief that washed over Bood nearly knocked him off his feet. “He’s not?”

“No. He’s fucking livid at you, but he said he doesn’t think it needs to go that far. Said despite what you think, he doesn’t want to bring a bunch of drama to the team. He just wants to play hockey.”

“He keeps saying that…”

“What? You don’t believe him?”

“No, I believe him. I believe he wants to play hockey, but just…” He sighed. “I feel like I’m losing my mind, Danny. There has to be more to it. He just… a guy like Ilya Rozanov doesn’t just leave a place like Boston to sign with the bottom of the league.”

"How do you know?”

“What?”

“How do you know what a guy like Rozanov does?” Danny’s tone was soft and the question was unaccusatory, but Bood still took it like a stab between the ribs. “Are you friends?”

“Well, no… Obviously not.”

“I get that you want to know what’s going on. I want to know what’s going on, too, but the only one who really knows is Rozanov. The entire sports world has been asking him why. Has he answered anyone?”

“No.”

“So then why do you think you’re so special? Why is he going to decide you get the truth?” Again, the questions were soft and simple, just asking, but it also felt like he was twisting the knife. “Especially if you’re calling him in the middle of the night being an asshole to him.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry, it’s true.”

“I know. What do I do, Danny? How do I fix it?”

“Well, you can start by apologizing to Rozanov.”

“Alright, yeah, I can do that.”

“And then maybe address what it is that’s making you so resistant to him being here in the first place? Because I think if you really take the time to look, you’ll find Rozanov isn’t the real reason you’re mad.”

“Oh. Fuck.” That one kind of hurt. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really emotionally mature for a dumb hockey player?”

Bood could picture his warm smile and that little half shrug he always did. “I guess my mama just raised me right.”

Bood remembered the Gatorade in his hand and cracked the lid. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this without you, Danny. I can’t lead the team by myself. I’m gonna fuck it up.” He took a long drink.

“Well, the good news is you’re on a team, and even if no one else has a C or an A on their jersey, you’re still in this together. Come on, Zane, you’ve got to be hungover, but try to use your head. Extra obligations aside, did Horn and I just keep to ourselves?”

“No, you included me.”

“We included the whole team, Zane. A good captain isn’t someone who takes the whole weight of the team on his shoulders. He figures out a way to make sure that the team runs smoothly, even if he’s not there, and that includes playing to the strengths of his teammates and letting them do their things. Right now, you aren’t even letting yourself do your own thing.”

“You’re right…”

“I’m always right.” Danny chuckled. “And you know, once he calmed down and stopped yelling at me, I really liked talking to Rozanov. I think you’ve got to step back and get to know him. I think he’s nicer than people think.”

“Yeah, but… he’s weird, right?”

“Sure, but some of the best people are. Some people think I’m weird, and I think I’m pretty okay.”

“I’m sorry for not, like… just calling you to chat or anything.”

“Don’t feel bad about it. I did the same thing when my mentor retired. I still had guys I was calling for help and advice last year. I just think maybe you should open yourself up to getting a little help from the team, and that includes Rozanov. The guy’s had experience at captain, and he is good at it.”

Bood thought back to the way he had been with the rookies. “Yeah, I see that. I’ll apologize to him. And see where to go from there.”

“Good luck, buddy.”

Rozanov, I want to apologize for my actions last night. They were uncalled for and unprofessional and I am deeply embarrassed by the way I acted. What I said was unfair and I never should have allowed myself to think that it was okay to do that.

I was drunk and I am dealing with some personal things that I’m projecting onto you. That’s not an excuse for my behavior, but I want to share so you have context to understand that it was not me. I shouldn’t have called in the middle of the night, and I shouldn’t have pushed you for private information. It was unprofessional.

I hope that we can move past this and potentially start over so that we can have a successful year on the ice as teammates.

Ilya Rozanov: I spoke with Danielsson and he also told me you are never like that, and I will choose to believe him. He is a good guy.

so we’re good?

Ilya Rozanov: No. 🖕🏻

Ilya Rozanov: I still do not want to talk to you.

Ilya Rozanov: I’m back in Ottawa in a few days to sign paperwork for the team and for my house. Then I’ll be gone at the cottage.

Ilya Rozanov: Maybe when I am back after that I will call you. But in the meantime, do not call me.

you were serious about the cottage thing?

Ilya Rozanov: Goodbye for now, Zane Boodram.

“Hey, I’m back.” Shane announced as the door opened. A second later, he appeared in the kitchen and Ilya watched from the couch as he put away the few things he had brought in. Technically, Shane had already placed a grocery order and had it delivered, but when they had put it away, they had found a few things that were missing. It was more likely it had been the store’s fault and things had just been left off the order then Shane forgetting it in the first place, but Shane had just insisted on going to get what was missing right away so they wouldn’t have to worry or make a trip later once they had settled in.

He had left Ilya behind with nothing to do but finish unpacking. He had taken his time, and when Shane still wasn’t back yet, he had eventually found his way to the couch where he had just sat and stared at the lake. He wanted to go down to it, not get in quite yet, but just be close because he liked the water. It didn’t feel right to do anything else without Shane, though. Not because it was Shane’s cottage, but because, selfishly, he had started to think of it as theirs.

Shane finished putting away the few groceries and then came down to sit by Ilya. He snuggled into his side, resting his head against his shoulder and stretching an arm across Ilya’s stomach to pull himself even closer. Ilya responded by kissing the top of his head.

“Are you feeling better?” Shane asked.

“I feel fine.”

“But… you don’t. You’re off. Something’s not right.”

Ilya wrapped his arm tightly around Shane’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head again. Sometimes, it blew his mind to know that his sweet Shane, who sometimes struggled to pick up social cues, was the only person in the entire world who could read him. And he was always right. “I am okay.” He lied anyway.

“Are you still mad at Boodram?”

Ilya sighed. “Yes.” And he was, though time and Danielsson had done a lot to fade some of the heat he had initially felt. It was a shitty situation. Not only had it been incredibly insulting to his character, but also, it showed that Boodram didn’t trust him. Which was disappointing. Because Ilya needed him to trust him for a lot of reasons, including that they would likely be playing together on the same line. It was definitely salvageable, though Ilya wasn’t going to make it easy just for the sake of moving on. He had boundaries and he wasn’t going to be walked all over. However, Boodram seemed to be good at following the one rule he’d set so far. He hadn’t bothered him at all since their last text. “Yes, but… it is not bothering me.” He clarified.

“Are you… missing Marlow?”

That was also a yes. Ilya had been very hesitant to tell Shane that Marlow had insisted on being his ride to the airport and that when he had shown up to pick him up, they had cried together in the driveway. Not like… sobbing. Ilya had done that later, when he was safe in Ottawa, but they had held each other and cried. It had taken Ilya way too long to understand that the only time that Boston had felt like home was when Shane was visiting, or Marlow was around. Shane hadn’t laughed at him to learn that he and Marly had cried together, and he had just held him when he cried after making it back to his parents’ house. But even with Shane’s support, it was still a very raw wound, and it was going to hurt for a while. Still…

“I am happy to be here with you, Shane.” He deflected.

“I know you are. But if you’re upset about something, that’s okay, too. I want to help you with it, if I can.”

Ilya sighed. Even though both situations with Boodram and Marlow were still bothering him, there was another secret third thing that he hadn’t told Shane about yet that was making him feel the worst.

During his time in Boston, he had very slowly been going through the unread text messages on his phone. He hadn’t had to worry about the emails, though he was sure there were a lot of them, because his agent had been responding to them on his behalf, but the texts were more personal. Sure, some of them had been people who his number had been leaked to and there was a random girl or two he had given his number to in his past life, and he could delete and block them without any thought, but most had been from teammates or others in the league or people he had gotten to know in the Boston area. And most of them deserved something. Even if it was just a simple, Sorry for not telling you.

But some needed more. Like guys like St. Simon and Connors, who had been playing with him for years. And his response to Scott Hunter had ended in a lengthy conversation, especially after he had asked him for Alfred Danielsson’s phone number. But he had painstakingly made his way through each and every message between spending as much time with Marlow as possible and packing for his move.

Except for one.

One of the first ones that he had received.

Svetlana: So, I have to find out from ESPN that Ilya Rozanov is moving to Ottawa? I’m not worth the phone call?

“I did not want to tell you about it.” He finally admitted.

“Why?” Shane asked. “Is it… bad?”

“It is… Svetlana.”

Ilya felt Shane tense against him. “Svetlana?” He repeated. “What about Svetlana? Is she okay?”

“Yes. Nothing like that. But… I never told her about Ottawa.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t tell anyone about Ottawa except Marly.”

“Well, yeah, but… I guess I just thought you’d tell her. Why didn’t you? She’s your friend.”

“Maybe. Maybe we are still friends. I think she is probably mad at me.”

“Was she one of the people who sent you a message?” Ilya nodded. “What did she say?”

Ilya picked up his phone and opened the chat for him.

Shane was silent for a moment. “Ilya, it’s Cyrillic.”

“Oh, you have not just taken a day and learned it, Mr. Fluent in Everything?”

He sighed. “What does it say?”

“She is mad that she learned I was moving from ESPN and not a phone call.”

“I’d be mad, too. Have you called her?”

“No. I am… scared. I do not want her to be mad at me.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure the longer you wait, the madder she’s going to be.” He tilted his head so he could kiss his neck. “But you can do it. You’re brave.”

“You really want me to call Svetlana? Shane Hollander, who usually looks like he’s going to cry when I bring her up?”

“Ilya.” Shane sat up. “I’m trying to help you. I know this is hard and you’re just pretending it’s not.” He cupped Ilya’s cheek in his hand. “If you want some private time to call Svetlana, I will give it to you, but, if you want me there, for, like, support… if you speak Russian, I won’t understand you anyway.”

“You know Russian now.”

“I know Russian words. I can’t keep up with you when you talk, though, Ilya. You talk too fast.”

“I do want you with me. Can we go down to the lake?”

“Of course.”

“And sit on the dock and put our feet in the water?”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

He nodded. “I think it will make it easier. I will be more comfortable.”

“Okay.”

“And you will hold my hand?”

Shane laughed. “Yes, I can hold your hand.”

“And give me sweet kisses?”

“While you’re on the phone with Svetlana? No. Absolutely not. Ew. That’s too fucking weird, Ilya.”

“Oh, but Shane…” Ilya put on his best pouting face.

“No. I’ll hold your hand, take it or leave it.”

Shane had gone to grab a towel, because he was the practical one, and then they had walked down to the dock together. Ilya kicked off his shoes before he sat down. The water was cold, but it was soothing the way his feet glided through it as he slowly kicked his legs back and forth. Once Shane was sitting beside him, Ilya pulled out his phone, opened to Svetlana’s contact, and then… just sat there.

Shane took his hand, gently linked their fingers together before scooting closer and pulling their hands into his lap. Even though he said no sweet kisses, he planted one, softly on Ilya’s shoulder, and they sat there, the only sound the water and the breeze in the trees and a boat motor from somewhere on the other side of the lake.

“I, uh…” Ilya started and then had to pause to collect his nerves. “I think there is something that you should know. About Svetlana.” Shane didn’t say anything, just ran his thumb across Ilya’s knuckles. “She knows about… me. We were friends growing up, and she knows that I am bisexual. She knows me very well and she is very smart and very observant. And so… she knows that Jane is a man. I did not tell her. She figured it out. And I do not know if she knows who Jane is, but sometimes… sometimes I think that she does and she just does not say. But I do not know because we do not talk about it.”

Shane brought their hands to his lips so he could kiss the back of Ilya’s hand. “It’s okay.”

“She would never say. Never tell. She is also Russian, so… she will always keep my secret, because we love each other very much as friends. I think even if she were mad at me she would not tell, because she knows how dangerous it is in Russia to be like me. So she might know, but I did not tell her, and even if she does, she will keep the secret.”

“Ilya,” Shane interrupted his rambling softly, “you can take all the time you need, but…”

“But what?”

“I can press the call button if you want me to. If it would be easier…?”

Ilya wet his lips and nodded. Shane reached over, pressed the button, and Ilya brought the phone up to his ear. He knew it was just in his head that the rings always sounded farther away, as if they really had to stretch the long distance between him and Moscow, because it was never lost on him how truly far away Russia was. And now it was even farther, since he wasn’t in Boston.

He was beginning to think maybe she wasn’t going to pick up, and the idea filled him with both relief and apprehension at the thought of having to try again later when she finally answered.

“Took you long enough to call.”

Ilya exhaled shakily. “Sveta…”

“Ah, so you didn’t forget who I was.”

“No. Of course not. I could never forget you.”

“You’re just trying to butter me up.”

“Yes, of course. Is it working?”

Svetlana laughed softly and Ilya felt himself relax as Shane squeezed his hand tightly. “You have always been such a charmer, Ilya.”

“Mm, yes. It covers up for all the times I’m an asshole.”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Look, I am so sorry that I didn’t tell you.”

“That hurt, Ilyushka. It hurt a lot.”

“I know.” Ilya closed his eyes and focused on the way the water felt as it moved against his ankles.

“I don’t understand why you picked Ottawa of all places, but I also know that you aren’t the kind of man who’s going to just pick somewhere without putting a lot of thought into it. The sportswriters are very stupid for even suggesting such a thing. And if you were putting a lot of thought into it, it means you knew you were going, and you didn’t tell me.”

“No one else knew, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does.”

“Except for Marlow.”

“Ah, well, that ruins it a bit. Cliff is a nice guy, and he’s always been a good friend to you, but he outranks me?”

“No, of course not.”

“You say that, but obviously he does.”

“He figured it out on his own.”

“Did he?” She paused. “Well, then he’s smarter than I gave him credit for.”

“You would have figured it out, too, if we saw each other as much as Marlow and I did. You are much smarter than him.”

“Of course. But if I had, I would have tried to stop you. Because, seriously, Ilyushka? Ottawa? Of all places?”

Ilya nodded, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “Yes, Ottawa of all places.”

Svetlana went quiet on her end of the line and Ilya waited. He could tell she was thinking, and he pictured the way her eyes narrowed, and her head tilted slightly to the side when she was trying to figure something out. “Ottawa is special?” She finally asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?” The question wasn’t directed at Ilya; it was being projected out into space. She was still working at it. “Because someone in Ottawa is special?”

“No. Not in Ottawa.”

“But… Canada.” Her voice was slow and soft as she went on, as if she thought maybe Ilya could be frightened away if she spoke too quickly, “So, Jane is in Canada, but not in Ottawa?”

“No. Not in Ottawa. But there is no room for me in Montreal.”

“Oh.” She went silent again. “Oh. I see.”

Even though she was on the other side of the world and there was an entire ocean between them, Ilya felt something. An understanding. He knew it was just as ridiculous as thinking the rings sounded farther away, but still… he didn’t know if it was simply a confirmation Svetlana had been waiting for, or the last piece of the puzzle she needed to actually let everything click into place, but he still felt it. “Would you still try to talk me out of Ottawa, Sveta?” He asked softly.

“Probably.” But there was a little bit of humor in her voice, “I mean, is any man worth giving up your life and your chance at more Cups?”

“Yes.” Ilya didn’t hesitate to answer. He squeezed Shane’s hand and got a squeeze in return. Shane didn’t speak Russian, but he knew words if Ilya didn’t say them too quickly. He went on slowly, “He is.”

“Wow, Ilyushka...”

“I am not giving up the chance to win more Cups, though. I will win them.”

Svetlana laughed. “Oh, yes. You and who? Zane Boodram? Are the two of you going to lead the worst team all the way to the top?”

Ilya frowned. Well, certainly not at the moment. But that was a mess for when he was back in Ottawa. “Maybe.” He said instead.

She sighed. “Oh, Ilyushka…”

“Do you still hate me?”

“I never hated you in the first place.”

“No?”

“No. I was hurt and disappointed, but I could never hate you. You know I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“And you will be happy in Ottawa?”

“Yes. I think so. It is…” He paused to get his thoughts in order. “It’s not a simple yes or no right now. It’s hard to make the change, but I’m excited about the future.”

“Well… You will be visiting me in Boston.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you won’t take a month to respond to my messages.”

“No, ma’am.”

“And you will not forget about me?”

“Never.” Ilya shook his head.

“I love you so very, very much. I am here for you if you ever need me, okay?”

“Okay. I love you, too. Goodbye, Sveta.”

“Goodbye, Ilyushka. Take care of yourself.”

Ilya opened his eyes as he took his phone from his ear. For a moment, the world was too bright, and the colors too vivid but the water gently lapping at his ankles and Shane’s hand in his kept him grounded. He sucked in a deep breath as Shane leaned in and kissed his shoulder.

“Was everything… good?” He asked softly, resting his chin on Ilya’s shoulder.

“Yes. It was good.”

“Good. I mean, it sounded like it. You said ‘I love you’ a couple times, but I didn’t want to assume…”

Ilya turned to look at him, trying his best to look annoyed. “Shane Hollander, you lied to me. You said you do not speak Russian.”

Shane snorted. “I don’t.”

“No, obviously you speak Russian.” He untangled their hands so he could wrap his arm around him and lay them both back against the dock. “You have been learning in secret, obviously. How else would you know such a phrase as ‘I love you’?”

“Yeah, how in the world would I learn something that silly?” Shane propped himself up on his elbow, so he was leaning over Ilya. For a moment they just stared at each other, and then Shane brushed Ilya’s hair back from his forehead. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes. Not… not all the way, but better.”

Shane’s response was a soft forehead kiss, before Ilya pulled him down for a proper one. Then, he gently rolled Shane off of him, so he was the one on his back and Ilya could curl into his side and rest his head on Shane’s chest.

He felt lighter. That was probably the best word. Because Boston felt, well, not done. Done wasn’t the right word because he couldn’t just be done with Boston. How could he? Boston had Marlow and it had Svetlana. It had been where he had grown up and it had been where he had fallen in love with Shane. None of that was something he could just leave behind.

He had been thinking this whole time that for Ottawa to work he had to move on from Boston, but he now realized that wasn’t possible. He couldn’t just take Boston out of his life or go on and forget that Boston mattered to him. But Boston could feel complete. Like he had finished that chapter and was ready to move onto the next one.

He craned his neck to look up at Shane, and Shane looked down at him, a sweet, loving smile on his face as he raked his fingers through Ilya’s curls.

Yeah. He was definitely ready for the next chapter.

Every time his phone rang or buzzed unexpectedly, Bood jumped.

Yes, it had been a while since he had drunk called Rozanov in what was one of the biggest mistakes of his life. But he thought that mostly everyone but him and Rozanov had probably gotten over it.

Maybe.

Cassie had been pissed. She had yelled at him once he had filled her in on the details and he had taken it, because he knew he deserved it. Especially since he felt like he had gotten off easy from Rozanov. Sure, he had obviously been furious enough to find the number of Bood’s former captain, and when Bood had apologized, he had never actually accepted it, but that was okay, because Bood had really fucked that up.

But he was doing his very best to fix it. Even though the only instruction he had been given to do that was to not call Rozanov, he had been on his best behavior. And he had tried to stay off his phone, just in case.

Was it stupid to think that he needed to not pick up his phone at all on the off chance he would accidentally call Rozanov? Yeah. It was. Technically. Because there probably wasn’t an actual scenario where he was going to put in a call to Rozanov just by having his phone in his hands, but well…

Better safe than sorry.

Even if he knew he was being unreasonable. Luckily, Cassie’s sister was in town, and they had kept each other busy and distracted, so there was no one to call him on this slightly manic behavior. Because he didn’t know how he would explain it without sounding like he was losing his mind.

His phone was currently dancing across the counter as it rang, and he picked it up delicately as he checked who was calling.

“Hey, Danny.” He sighed as he answered.

“Hey, Zane.” Danny answered in his normally cheerful voice. “How’s it going?”

“Great.” He lied.

“Good, good. Hey, are you busy on Sunday afternoon?”

“I don’t think so. What’s up?”

“You want to come over and have some drinks?”

“With you and Kori?”

“No, Kori’s busy, but Jarl will be in town.”

“Horn?” Bood had been leaning against his counter but straightened. “Horn’s going to be here?” He felt giddy, almost tearful. Jarl was in town? This close to the start of the season? This was the best news he’d heard all summer. A chance to be with both of his mentors again? All three of them together?

Danny chuckled. “Is that a yes?”

“Yeah, absolutely! I’ll be there.”

Bood set his phone with a sigh. For the first time since he had been told that they were signing Ilya Rozanov, he felt like he had some control over his life again. It would probably be fleeting, but that was something he could deal with later. For now, he could ride the high of getting to once again spend some time with the two guys who had had the biggest impact on his professional career, who had both grown into father figures in his life.

This was going to set things back on track for Bood, he was sure. This was going to be healing. A good reset before they really started to get back into the season. He knew he wouldn’t escape talking about the Russian superstar, but it wouldn’t be too bad with Danny and Horn. They were reasonable guys.

There was no way this thing would end up being all about Ilya Rozanov.

Chapter End Notes

Can I admit that I kinda forgot to include Sveta in this series up until this point? I'm very ashamed of myself. I do love her very much! HOWEVER, I'm very much in the camp of (show) Svetlana knows what's up. Or at least to the point where all she needs is a little validation, or maybe permission to think it, so I thought this was a nice little place to include her. Her acceptance is that last piece that really helps Ilya feel okay about his move to Ottawa so he can focus on the plan and getting to know the Cents!

My beta reader went through and read all of the comments so far and was definitely flattered that you guys mentioned him so many times. He doesn't have an account, so he doesn't usually lurk here, but he also couldn't believe how nice you all are, so sweet kisses to all of you for being lovely people! 😚

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

Okay, so we've been getting a little sad around here, me included, so I threw some of my favorite Ilya into this chapter to make me feel better. Hopefully it makes you smile, too!

I promised you hockey in this chapter so you do technically get hockey in this chapter... Just maybe not the hockey you expected. 😉

Alfred Danielsson lived in a very nice house. A very big house with a very large, very private yard. Bood thought that his and Cassie’s house was perfect. They had both fallen in love with it right away and had paid a lot of money to get it, but they both felt like it was their dream home, so it had felt worth it. But Danny’s house always made Bood feel like he lived in a hovel. Which was a little crazy, because Danny was one of the humblest guys he ever met. But he had spent years in the league, and even if most of them were in Ottawa, he had been paid very well, and it only added to his charm that he used that money to spoil his wife and boys with nice things.

Bood rang the doorbell and then put his hands in his pockets to keep them from fidgeting. He had felt like a little kid, buzzing with excitement since Danny had called. He had to keep that weird energy from bursting out of him the way it wanted to. He told himself he couldn’t hug him too tight, couldn’t be too rough with his greeting, because the man had just had shoulder surgery.

Turns out he didn’t need to be so worried.

Jarl Horn was a terrifying presence on the ice. At six foot, six inches tall with broad shoulders and giant arms, he was an absolute mountain who laid guys out on the ice without any effort. He wasn’t an enforcer, because he didn’t want to be, and you couldn’t tell Jarl Horn what to do, but his size combined with his fiercely loyal nature made guys think twice before hitting anyone on his team.

Off the ice, however…

“Zaney Boodram!” Horn hugged Bood so tightly he was picked up off the ground. “It is so good to see you!”

“Horn!” Bood managed to wheeze with the little bit of air not yet squeezed out of his lungs.

Horn laughed and repeated, “It is so good to see you!”

“Oh, man, you, too!” Horn set him back on the ground and Bood was able to actually hug him back. “It’s been so long!”

They’d been in the middle of a road trip when they had found out that Horn had been traded. He was sent back to Ottawa and then shipped out without any chance to really say goodbye. His wife and kids had stayed, just for a bit, until they could get things sorted, but Jarl had been gone before the team had even made it back to Ottawa, and that part had really hurt, because they hadn’t even had a game against Texas left in their schedule to see him again.

“Come, we’re downstairs.” Horn slung a heavy arm around Bood’s shoulders and led him toward the stairs to the basement, as if Bood hadn’t already been there countless times. He had to let him go to make his way down the stairwell, and Horn went down first, big and broad enough that all Bood could see was his back. “Hey, Zaney is here!” He announced stepping out into the room.

“Hey, Zane!” Danny stood, a warm smile on his face. Bood had seen him a lot more recently than Horn, but Danny had the start of a beard on his face that he didn’t have last time they had met up. If Bood had to guess it was there because his right arm was still tucked securely in a sling. “Good to see you man!” Danny was also tall, though not as tall or broad as Horn, and blonde and handsome. Cassie liked to joke that now that Danny was retired, he could seek out his true calling, which would be filling the male lead in those cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies. Bood had to agree that Danny definitely had the look for it. He had escaped hockey with just a slight curve to his nose but otherwise was pretty dashingly handsome.

Danny had been sitting on the other side of the basement, in what the family called their home theater, complete with a sectional couch, beanbags for the boys, and a projector that they had commandeered more than a few times to watch games on.

As Bood came to meet Danny, he was vaguely aware there was another person in the room, but he didn’t turn and see and take in who it actually was until after he and Danny had shared a brief side hug to accommodate the older man’s sling.

Bood didn’t want to be surprised.

He had thought there was a chance this was going to happen, so he didn’t want to feel disappointed or betrayed, either.

But he did anyway.

Ilya Rozanov just gazed up at him from one of the beanbags that Danny’s boys usually sat in. He shouldn’t have looked intimidating, sizing up at him while he was practically on the floor and twirling a mini stick in his hands, but he did. “Zane Boodram.” He finally said with a very slight nod of his head.

“Rozanov.” Bood nodded back.

“Have a seat, Zane.” Danny motioned to the couch beside him and Bood sat as Horn handed him a beer and then joined Rozanov on the floor, flopping on his stomach on one of the beanbags, and rearranging the inside so he could prop his chin on it.

“Jarl, if you bust that open—” Danny warned.

“I know, I know.” Horn rolled his eyes. “I will buy a new one.”

“And you’re the one cleaning up all the little Styrofoam balls inside.”

Horn shrugged. “It will be fine. I won’t break it.”
The room grew quiet. If it was just the three of them, Bood wouldn’t have minded the silence. But with Rozanov just sitting there, fidgeting with that mini stick as if he had always belonged in the room, Bood couldn’t stand it. Not that he couldn’t stand Rozanov being there. He didn’t mean that exactly. Danny could invite anyone to his home he wanted, and Bood wouldn’t say anything, but it was just that they weren’t addressing that he was there. They were just… letting it be a thing and that felt off.

“So, Jarl, what are you doing here?” Bood asked, both out of curiosity and to break the silence.

“Oof.” Horn said. “What a welcome back!”

Bood smiled as he shook his head. “You know exactly what I mean, asshole. I’m glad to see you, but don’t try to pretend it’s not weird you’re here so close to the start of the season.”

“Yeah, well the wives planned it, so Kori wanted to make sure that the old man had time to at least partially heal from his surgery before we came. It was mostly for the kids. Yes, we wanted to visit, but Finn had a hard time with the move, so we wanted to let him see the other boys one more time before school and the season and all that.”

“How’s it going down there in Texas? Are you settling in?”

“With the team, yes. But Texas is hot! Jesus!” Horn dropped his forehead to the beanbag chair, earning a chuckle from both Danny and Rozanov. “All the time there are warnings about excessive heat! Temperatures that feel over 38 degrees? What the fuck? I am from Norway; I was not made for this! You made a good choice, coming to Ottawa, Rozanov. You won’t sweat your balls off like I am doing.”

Rozanov chuckled again. “Well, Boston and Ottawa are maybe about the same in the summer. I think. Probably Boston is hotter, usually, but I never spent a summer in Boston. I am used to summers in Moscow, so…” he shrugged. “Now I guess I get used to Ottawa summers instead.”

“No more trips to Russia?” Horn asked.

“Mm, no. I have not been since my father died. I have a brother and a stepmother, but… we are not close. Now that my father is gone, I have no reason to visit.”

Danny nodded. “Understandable.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” Horn added.

Rozanov shrugged. “I do not really miss it. I have… complicated relationship with Russia.”

“Well, at least you can get to choose to not go there. Some of us were not so lucky and got shipped off to Texas.” Horn had been running his finger along one of the seams on the beanbag chair but stopped and looked up at him. “Sorry. It’s not… it’s probably not fair to compare them. It’s not the same thing.”

“No, it is fine. You never should have ended up in Texas. That was a very fucking stupid trade. It never should have happened.”

Bood felt his stomach tighten slightly. Everyone in Ottawa agreed with Rozanov, but no one in Ottawa would say it like that. Being on the inside of the organization meant you kept your mouth shut and played hockey. Yeah, there were other guys who commented on things like that around the league, but it wasn’t a good look to have players challenging your GM, even if everyone else was agreeing. Rozanov had a special vantage point of being both an outsider and not quite yet an insider, though.

“What did you hear about it? When the trade dropped?” Danny asked.

“Probably the same things you did. That it was stupid. A terrible trade. Horn is worth way more than that. All true things. And not surprising. Stern is trying to get out. He doesn’t want to be in Ottawa anymore.”

A knowing look passed between Danny and Horn, but Bood didn’t understand it. “What?” He asked. “How do you know that?”

“Well, I did not ask him about it,” Rozanov snapped, and, okay, Bood definitely deserved that one, “but I think it is obvious. Ottawa is not winning games. Stern obviously is trying to get someone else’s attention. I mean, the way he would not stop talking about the “big moves” he was making while sending Horn away? He is trying to get noticed. Trying to prove that he takes risks so someone else will pick him up. Haas was the right move. He will be next face of the franchise I am sure, but there were easier ways to get him. Cheaper ways. But not more dramatic ways.”

Horn and Danny exchanged that look again before Danny said, “That was… what we were thinking as well.”

“I think that probably he will be out of Ottawa at the end of the season.”

Bood looked around at the other three men. He hadn’t thought of things this way, hadn’t processed it the same. He felt very young in that moment, and very exposed. Was this something he was supposed to be paying attention to? “Really?”

“Yes.” Rozanov didn’t hesitate to answer. “This will be big year with big moves, I think. Lots of teams that are struggling and stalling out and will want to try something new. I do not think Stern is necessarily bad guy, and I do not think he will tank team because that does not make him look good, but my guess is he is trying to get someone to noticed that he is willing to take a risk to make a change, because GMs of losing teams don’t usually get much attention on the market.”

“He doesn’t necessarily have to win this season either.” Danny said.

“You are officially in a rebuild, my friends.” Horn agreed.

“If someone is desperate enough to want to make a big change, and they see that Stern is willing to make big moves, they’d consider him.” Danny went on.

“And obviously he’s doing something right if Ilya Rozanov is willing to sign here.” Horn said.

“That was unintentional coincidence.” Rozanov waved a dismissive hand through the air.

“Yeah, but people aren’t going to necessarily know that.”

Rozanov spun the mini stick in his hands. “I think that Ottawa is good. I think that what we lack in winning games is made up for in culture, and that is big positive, because most clubs do not have that. We are good here, all the way from the top, so I do not think that if we get new GM it will be end of the world. We are also team who is struggling. Maybe someone new in the front office will help. And like I said, I do not think Stern is a bad guy. I think he just wants something bigger.”

Bood nodded along with the other guys. There had always been whispers that Rozanov was smart. Not that people necessarily thought he was dumb, but some definitely thought he played dumb. Bood could remember Danny bringing it up one time, saying he had heard it from Scott Hunter. He said Hunter had been warning him how smart Rozanov was, and how some people should be more careful around him. It wasn’t the same kind of smart as a guy like Shane Hollander. Shane Hollander knew hockey, but Ilya Rozanov knew people.

The conversation shifted away from Ottawa’s own front office, and Ilya was glad to talk about other happenings around the league. His insight into the GM situation was the biggest reason he was here, though Danielsson was way too nice to admit that.

They had been texting on and off since the morning he had called Danielsson, irate and still feeling way too exposed and hurt after Boodram’s drunk phone call. Danielsson had stayed calm the whole time, listening and talking softly, the way you’d handle a child who was throwing a fit, but he never actually made Ilya feel like a child. And once the phone call had ended, Ilya had been overwhelmed with disappointment that he wasn’t going to get to play with the man. He had sent him a text apologizing for his behavior and thanking him for helping him with the situation, and Danielsson had politely dismissed both, saying neither was needed.

And so they had exchanged messages back and forth, consistently, but not in a great number, and when the subject of Horn’s trade had come up, Danielsson had understood Ilya’s resistance to discussing it over text. He had told them that Horn was actually coming to visit and invited Ilya to join both of them, so they could meet and talk in person.

Ilya had agreed only if Boodram was there, too.

He thought maybe Danielsson hadn’t told Boodram that Ilya was going to be there the way that he had looked so shocked to see him when he had walked in, but he had relaxed. Eventually. And now he was part of the conversation, and Ilya watched the easy smile and listened to the big laugh and felt like he was finally seeing the Zane Boodram that everyone talked about.

They had been sitting around talking for long enough that Danielsson had offered them another round of drinks. Boodram had hesitated before saying yes, trying to make it obvious that he didn’t glance at Ilya before taking it. Ilya’s drink was almost empty again when they heard a door above their heads, followed by a muffled, but obviously screamed, “Dad!”

“Oh, no.” Danielsson had chuckled.

“Here they come.” Horn added with a smile as little feet began to thunder down the stairs.

Five children burst into the basement, four boys and a girl, who was a bit smaller and a bit slower down the stairs. It was easy to tell which child belonged to who. Three of the boys were smaller versions of Danielsson, with the same blond hair, though the middle one had blue eyes to his brothers’ darker ones. They were perfect stair-step children, each just slightly bigger than the last. The fourth boy had more of Horn’s features, but he wasn’t nearly a perfect copy as his father as Danielsson’s children were, and his dark hair had a slight red tint to it. The last one, the little girl, had the kind of blond hair that also took on a red tint once she stepped out of the stairway and into the light.

The room descended into chaos as each child set about doing their own thing. The two biggest boys ran up to Danielsson. “Dad! Mom said we can have pizza for supper if you say it’s okay!”

Horn’s oldest, Ilya was pretty sure he had called him Finn, nodded along enthusiastically, “Can we, Danny? Can we have pizza?”

Meanwhile, Danielsson’s youngest threw himself at Boodram, the two of them laughing as they shared a tight hug and Boodram ruffled his hair. Horn’s daughter hurried over and threw herself down onto Horn’s back, drawing a pained, but laughed, “Oof!” from him as she sat up and began to jump on him, as if she were riding a horse.

The last child, the one that must have been Danielsson’s middle son, just stared at Ilya. Ilya stared back. Then he winked.

Danielsson must have told the boys that pizza was fine, because they were very excitedly celebrating something. Danielsson laughed. “Sorry, Ilya, we must have lost track of the time. We should have warned you.”

“Is okay.”

The room went quiet as the other children finally noticed the fourth adult in the room. The two oldest boys’ eyes widened as they stared, and Danielsson’s son quickly spun around to his father, “Dad, that’s Ilya Rozanov!” He whisper shouted, his voice slightly cracking near the end.

Danielsson chuckled. “Yes, I am aware.”

“Ilya Rozanov?” Ilya set aside his beer and then sat forward. “Ilya Rozanov?” He repeated, making his eyes go wide as well. “You have seen Ilya Rozanov? He is here? In Ottawa?”

The older boys continued to stare, but the little one who was sitting on Boodram’s lap giggled and the boy who had first noticed him took a couple steps forward. “I’ve seen him.” He said, trying really hard to keep the smile from forming on his face.

“You have? Where? I want to meet him.”

That got Ilya a giggle and the boy pointed at him. “He’s right there.”

“Where?” Ilya made a show of looking behind him and the smallest boy giggled even harder.

“No, it’s you!” The little one announced.

“Me?” Ilya pointed to his own chest. “I am Ilya Rozanov? No. This is cannot be true. Wait one second.” Ilya took his phone from his pocket and pulled up his own profile on the ESPN app. He could see the older boys finally catching onto the fun, exchanging a look and trying not to laugh themselves. He zoomed in on his own headshot and held the phone up pressed beside his cheek so they could compare. “You think this is me?”

“Yes!” The boys answered in chorus.

“It is you!” The little girl declared and Ilya turned to her.

“It is?”

“Yes, that’s you!” She hopped up and down in her excitement, and Horn made those pained laughing sounds again.

“Okay, fine. You win. I am Ilya Rozanov. Best player in the whole league.”

This got him more laughs that made Ilya’s heart swell because small children laughing was one of the cutest sounds in the world, but Danielsson’s oldest son wasn’t amused.

“You aren’t the best in the league.” He said, very matter-of-factly.

“Your dad is retired now, it is okay for you to say I am better.” Ilya said and this time Danielsson laughed.

“No, he means Shane Hollander.” The middle boy said.

“Shane Hollander?” Ilya repeated.

“Elias is a big Shane Hollander fan.” Finn said.

“Hm.” Ilya pretended to think for a moment and then shrugged. “Never heard of him.”

That sent the room spiraling into chaos again as all the children disagreed with him and he held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Is just joke. I know Shane Hollander, yes. I am big fan, too. He is my best friend in the whole world.”

“No, he’s not.” Elias said, crossing his arms and being very offended on Shane’s behalf. “You guys are rivals. You don’t like each other.”

“You have met Hollander and asked him this?”

“Well, no. I’ve never actually met him, but everyone knows you guys don’t like each other.”

“Okay.” Ilya shrugged and leaned back in the beanbag chair. “Then I will not ask him if he can come hang out and see you after the first Montreal game.” Elias’s eyes widened and he paled slightly as Ilya causally spun the mini stick he had been fidgeting with in his hand. “Would probably be very embarrassing for your dad for everyone to see you are a Montreal fan anyway.”

“You can…” Elias took a step closer. “You can let me meet Shane Hollander?”

Ilya shook his head. “Ah, well, if we were friends, yes. But you said we are not, so I guess you do not get to meet him.”

“Mr. Rozanov, you can’t joke about this.” Elias stepped up right in front of him. Tears were starting to rim his eyes. “You can’t.”

“Okay.” Ilya nodded softly. “So, I will see what I can do. But you can call me Ilya, and you have to play me in mini sticks.” He tapped him on the shoulder with the stick.

The change in Elias’s demeanor was instant. “You want to play mini sticks with me?”

“Yes. All of you. I will beat you.”

“No, you won’t!”

“Okay.” Ilya grabbed his beer and finished the last drink. “Put your money where your mouth is, Little Danielsson.”

The four boys ran off to the other end of the room where a mini rink was already set up, and Ilya climbed up out of the beanbag and motioned to Horn’s daughter. “Come. You want to play, too? You can be on my team.” He held his hand out and she quickly climbed off her father’s back to grab it and his heart fluttered at how small it felt inside his own.

“Go easy on them, Rozanov!” Horn called.

“Ah, they should go easy on me!”

Rozanov interacting with the children was an amazing thing to watch. Bood couldn’t believe how they had all been immediately drawn to him and he had managed to corral them all and keep all five of them entertained and happy. They were good kids, but they had a lot of energy.

Before the game could begin, Kori and Vivian had come down and Rozanov had been able to quickly introduce himself before the kids had demanded his attention again. Not that Rozanov seemed to mind.

“Okay, I think we need a referee, because I think there are maybe some cheaters who want to play.” Rozanov explained, sitting on the floor with the kids crowded around him.

“I want to! I want to be the ref!” Alexander raised his hand and jumped up in his excitement.

“Okay, perfect, you are hired.” Rozanov turned back the others. “Okay, so teams. Me and Lene already decided we are on the same team, so the other team has to be Elias, Finn, and Mats, okay?” For a moment, Elias and Finn looked a little disappointed to have the smallest boy on their team, but Lene was smaller and Rozanov’s only teammate, so they must have thought better than to complain. “Now, rules.” Rozanov went on. “Rules are do not hurt the little ones, and do not hurt me, okay? I have to start season soon and I will be in a lot of trouble if I cannot play because I got hurt during mini sticks. Now, let me make plan with my team and then we start.”

Rozanov leaned down to talk softly to Lene. Bood couldn’t really hear what they were saying, but Lene was listening very solemnly. Mats wandered over to them, a little too close, and Rozanov placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away. It happened twice more, Mats laughing harder every time it happened, until Rozanov finally paused and said, “Hey, I found the one that is the cheater! I knew there was one! Ref, come get this guy!”

Alexander picked his brother up under the arms and carried him off, the both of them laughing the whole time.

“Okay.” Rozanov finally finished, straightening back up. “You got it?”

Lene nodded and Rozanov patted her on the head, the same way that he would pat a teammate on the helmet before a game. “Alright let’s go. We are ready!” He announced, shuffling toward the mini rink on his knees. “Try not to cry too hard when we beat you!”

Rozanov was given a couple outs, but he just kept playing with the kids. Even though he had made the rule not to hurt him, when the little ones weren’t around, he roughhoused with the older boys, even Alexander, who tried, many times, to tell Rozanov he had to go to the penalty box and Rozanov refused. At one point, the argument ended with Rozanov trying to keep playing while Alexander hung off his back with his arms looped around his neck.

And the whole time, Rozanov didn’t stop smiling unless whatever bit he was pulling required him to be straight faced.

Their game was finally interrupted when Kori called down that the pizza was there, and even though they had been the ones begging for it, Elias and Finn groaned.

“Just a few more minutes, yes?” Rozanov asked, turning to Danny and Horn.

They and Bood had pulled up chairs to watch the game. Danny chuckled and Bood was sure he was thinking the exact same thing that he was; Ilya Rozanov was nothing but a big kid. “A few more minutes.” He agreed with a nod.

“Okay!” Rozanov turned back to the kids. “Next goal scored is the winner, yes?” The boys agreed and Rozanov quickly moved Lene with a gentle hand on her chest, positioning her near their net, and asking her to stay there with a nod of his head and a wink.

Alexander dropped the ball into a faceoff between Rozanov and Elias, and they battled for it, Rozanov actually putting his arm around the boy and pulling him out of the way. Elias laughed and Finn declared him the cheater, but Rozanov simply sent the ball toward Lene with a soft pass. “Shoot it!” He encouraged and she pulled the ball closer and then whipped it around into the net. The adults cheered, and while the boys looked a little annoyed at first, they joined in when Rozanov boosted Lene up onto his shoulder and paraded her around still on his knees.

“Alright, let’s go eat.” Danny and Horn both stood, and Horn took Lene from Rozanov’s shoulder. The boys all dropped their sticks and rushed toward the steps.

“Come on, Ilya!” Mats called back as he disappeared up the stairs.

Rozanov waved a hand weakly toward them. “Give me a second to catch my breath.” He said, even though they were gone and wouldn’t hear him.

Horn and Danny followed the kids upstairs, chatting quietly, but Bood hung back. He wasn’t sure why, he didn’t really have a plan, it just felt like something he should do. He watched Rozanov take a deep breath and brush his damp, sweaty curls back off of his forehead.

“You’re really good with them.” Bood said, and Rozanov looked up at him. “The kids, I mean. They really like you.”

“I really like them, too.” Rozanov said, slowly getting to his feet with a little grunt of discomfort. “Kids are fun.”

“You’re a natural. Do you… you don’t have your own, right?”

Rozanov chuckled, maybe a little nervously and shook his head. “Oh, no. No kids. I, uh, I have a niece, but she’s in Russia, so I don’t…” He shrugged. “My brother and I are not close.”

Bood nodded. “I see…”

“But sometimes I played with the kids in Boston. Sometimes the kids are more fun than the parents.” He shrugged and then shook his head. “But that is not here, though. Danielsson and Horn are great. I am glad I got to meet them, even if I cannot play with them.”

Bood nodded again and licked his lips. “Look, Rozanov…” the sentence dried up, but Rozanov just stood there, waiting patiently, his expression neutral until Bood could try again. “Look, I haven’t said it in person yet, but I really am so fucking sorry for what I said to you on the phone. I’m still so embarrassed and disgusted with myself that I did that, I’m just… if I’m honest, I’m scared about this season. I feel very alone knowing that Danny and Horn won’t be there, even though there are some great guys on the team, and I just… it’s making me do and think some stupid things.”

Rozanov seemed to think for a moment, and then he bit his bottom lip and tilted his head just slightly. “I, uh… I know what that is like. To have… different thoughts when you feel alone. But you are not alone, Zane Boodram. You have whole team behind you. I have not met them yet, but Danielsson and Horn tell me they are very good guys. I think that this year will not be easy for either of us, but we are in this together, right?”

“So… are we… good?” Bood asked.

Rozanov dropped his eyes and Bood’s stomach did a lazy flip in anticipation of what the answer was going to be. “No. I do not think we are good, but I think maybe we are okay. You also embarrassed me and made me feel disgusted. Obviously, I do not want to feel those things, either. It was a line that you should not have crossed, and I also feel like you do not trust me, and that is a problem.

“I am not here to do anything bad to you or this team, Zane Boodram. I have told you so many times and I still do not think that you believe me, but I just want to play hockey. I am not trying to step on toes or start any fights or anything like that. I will come here and I will play hockey for you, and I will do a good job and play well, but you have to accept that I deserve my privacy. I think you owe me that. I cannot ask the rest of the world to leave me alone and have them listen, but I think it is reasonable for my team to.”

Bood nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s very reasonable. I’ll talk to the other guys. I’ll let them know they can’t bug you about it.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Do you think… it can get better? Like, so we can be good?”

“Yes. I think so. But I need some time.”

“Okay.” Bood couldn’t force the word to be much more than a whisper, but there was some relief in hearing Rozanov say that.

“I would like to be happy here in Ottawa. I want to try to let myself be. Just know that this has been a harder decision than people think it is, so it… it is just hard for me.”

“Yeah. I get it. I don’t know what’s going on, obviously, but I’ve only played here, in Ottawa, so I can imagine… maybe…” He shrugged.

Rozanov took a deep breath and then sighed loudly. “Okay. Well, let’s go see if there is any pizza left for us, Zane Boodram.”

“You know, you can just call me Bood.” He explained, following Rozanov toward the stairs. “You don’t have to call me by my first and last name all the time.”

“Eh, we will see about that, Zane Boodram.”

Bood rolled his eyes, but felt a slight smile pull up the corners of his lips. This was good. This was progress. At least they were starting the season without Rozanov completely hating him.

Hopefully they were finally getting somewhere.

Chapter End Notes

*Gasp* They did it! They had a meaningful adult conversation! So proud! 🥰

So, I think that some of you were expecting the reveal of Horn's trade to be something big and scandalous, so I'm sorry if it's a little bit of a let down. It was actually never really meant to be something that was really explored deeply in the text, except maybe a passing mention to drive home the "Ilya Rozanov knows people" part. Horn leaving was originally just a piece that I needed for Bood's character arc, but there was so much interest in it that I threw it in there.

Ilya playing with kids is one of my favorite things in the whole world (the amount of times I vocal stim "There's a shark in the water!" when there is, in fact, no water near me...) and videos of NHL players playing mini sticks with their kids and their teammate's kids is also one of my favorite things in the world, so I decided to make myself happy and write about it. I think it actually ended up making the chapter way better than I initially planned, because Bood learning that Ilya isn't the way he's perceived is a lot more fun through silly games with children instead of boing adult conversations.

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

Welcome to the Ottawa Centaurs 2018-2019 season home opener at Canadian Tire Centre! The Centaurs return home after a disappointing 2-0 loss in Florida's home opener earlier in the week. Now they will face an always hot Montreal team, led by Shane Hollander, who managed to start the year off strong, scoring the team's only goal in their recent win against Philadelphia.

Ottawa looks to come back after a rough last season that saw the loss of two of their captains with Alfred Danielsson's retirement, and Jarl Horn going to Dallas in a shocking midseason trade. Even more shocking than Horn's exit was the unexpected signing of Ilya Rozanov in free agency. The hockey world is still reeling over Ottawa's acquisition of the Stanley Cup winner and Hart Memorial Trophy recipient, with Rozanov seemingly unwilling to discuss details of the move.

However, the second biggest question on everyone's minds is: What does this mean for Ottawa? Does the signing of the Russian Menace mean things are finally going to start turning around for the Centaurs? After a decade of disappointing seasons, is Ilya Rozanov the boost the Ottawa Centaurs need to start winning?

The fact that Ottawa had to play Montreal for their home opener was both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing of course because Shane.

A curse because they were certainly going to lose.

And also maybe a little bit of a curse because Shane, too.

Because Ilya was having a really hard time ignoring him during warmups. He always had a problem ignoring Shane in any situation, but that was beside the point. During the games it was always easier because things moved so fast but before they got to that, he had the audacity to always be doing those slutty little hip stretches like he was humping the ice and how was Ilya supposed to just not watch?

“Rozy?”

Ilya looked up from his own stretches at Evan Dykstra, who was looking down at him with confusion. Shit. Had he been watching Shane a little too obviously?

“What?” Ilya asked.

“I asked If you’re ready to go, man. You getting fucking excited about this?”

Ilya cast a quick glance out at the crowd. The stands were full of more Montreal jerseys than Ottawa ones. The guys had explained that this was going to happen, that their home games against Montreal were going to be the fullest home games they would see, but not full of their fans. Boston never had any problems with ticket sales, so it was going to be a new experience.

But it wasn’t Ilya’s only new experience. Somewhere out there with the other fans were Yuna and David, and Ilya had never had that before. Sure, they’d come to some of the Montreal and Boston games, but never in Boston. And now, Ilya had his family at his home opener.

So, yeah, he was pretty fucking excited about it.

Ilya looked back at Dykstra. He had gotten to know him pretty well over the last month. He was the strongest defenseman they had and a good guy, even if he had shit taste in music. Dykstra loved this team just as much as everyone else on the roster, so of course he was excited. A new season meant a brand-new start and this team needed it.

So, Ilya straightened and put a hand on Dykstra’s shoulder with a wide grin. “Let’s fucking go, huh?”

They didn’t have much time left before they’d have to clear the ice for game start, so Ilya left Dykstra talking to Dillion and skated over closer to Shane.

“Hollander!”

“What do you want this time, Rozanov?” Hayden Pike asked, his annoyance obvious. Ilya always got more of a response from Pike, who was always hanging around Shane. What Ilya wouldn’t give for just one game without Pike around.

“I want nothing from you.” He snapped back. “If I wanted to talk to you, I would say your name instead of Hollander’s, but that would require me to even remember who you are.”

“Hey, fuck you, man!” Pike straightened, like he would actually do something, but Shane shut him down with a glare.

“What?” Shane asked with a sigh. Shane didn’t like to be bothered before games, so it was a very safe place for them to talk in public. Shane didn’t have to pretend to be annoyed, he just was annoyed. But not just at Ilya. He got that way with anyone who wanted to talk to him and break his focus before the game started. Probably even Pike. Ilya didn’t take it personally. He did, however, constantly poke that bear.

“I wanted to ask you a favor.”

Shane stared at him for a long moment. He already knew what it was that Ilya was going to ask. They’d already had this conversation. A few hours earlier. In Ilya’s bed. “What?” Shane finally asked.

“I have this new friend here in Ottawa. He is a big fan of yours. Is a bit questionable choice, but still. Very big fan. Do you think you would have some time after the game to meet him? Maybe take a picture, maybe sign something?”

“Your friend is going to want to meet me after we destroy you in your first home game of the season?”

Ilya had to fight his smile. Shane was such a little shit sometimes. “You are backwards, because we will be the ones doing the destroying.”

“Okay. Whatever you say, Rozanov.”

“But also, my friend is nine, and you are his favorite player so I do not think he will care much.”

Shane did a pretty convincing job of looking like he was considering it, but there was still a slight sparkle in his eyes. He had been surprisingly thrilled to learn that it was Alfred Danielsson’s son that wanted to meet him. Ilya didn’t know that Shane was a secret Danielsson fan, but David had obviously followed Ottawa when Shane was younger and seemed to have only stopped outwardly being a fan because his son was on a different team, so it did make sense. “I’ll see what I can do.” He finally said.

“I will tell everyone that Shane Hollander is good guy, then. That you will do anything for the fans.”

“Shane doesn’t need your help with his reputation, Rozanov.” Pike rolled his eyes.

“Oh, you are still here?” Ilya asked, turning to him.

“Fuck you, Rozanov!”

“Hayden.” Shane sighed. “It’s not worth it.”

Pike glanced down at Shane for a moment and then turned his attention back to Ilya. “What the fuck are you even doing, Rozanov?”

“I am trying to have a conversation with Hollander, but you will not leave us the fuck alone.”

“You know what I mean, asshole.”

“No. I obviously do not. I cannot read your fucking mind, Pike, and I would not want to anyway.”

“I’m talking about Ottawa. What are you fucking doing in Ottawa?”

“Playing hockey.”

“No, shit. Why?”

“Because I am good at it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Better than you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You really think that I am going to deny interview with everyone who contacts me, and then sit down and have a heart to heart with the guy who is fifteenth best player on Montreal?”

“Look, here—”

“Enough.” Shane interrupted. “Rozanov, fucking go.”

“Fine. See you after the game, Hollander!”

“Maybe.” Shane said as Ilya skated off.

What a brat.

Bood watched Rozanov skate away from center ice where it looked like he had definitely been told off by Hayden Pike, but also maybe he talked to Shane Hollander, though Montreal’s captain had looked way less interested in the conversation than the alternate.

“Hey,” he called when Rozanov was within earshot, “were you just talking to Hollander?”

“I was trying.” Rozanov took one of the pucks that were scattered around his feet and began lazily moving it around with his stick. “But Pike is so fucking annoying.”

“Why?”

“I do not know. It is just his personality, I guess.”

“No, not…” Bood shook his head, “not Pike. Why were you talking to Hollander?”

“Oh. He’s going to meet Elias after the game.” Bood just stared at him. “What?”

“You just… went up to him and asked and he said yes?”

“Well, he said, maybe,” Ilya shrugged, “but he will do it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because he is my best friend. I told you this.”

Bood stared at him again. “You just said that to bullshit the kids.”

“Oh, I did? You are expert on my life now, Zane Boodram?” Rozanov raised his eyebrows.

Bood snorted. He did know Rozanov quite a bit better now. He had been very carefully observing Rozanov, watching the way he got along with the players and the way he acted on the ice versus off. He knew he cared more about his hair than he let on, that he didn’t like country music, he was okay at pool but didn’t seem to love it, he was refusing to call Bood by his nickname but had no problem using anyone else’s, and, finally, he thought he was starting to understand his sense of humor.

But none of that could prove one way or another if he and Hollander were actually friends. He couldn’t decide if the way he and Pike—who was Hollander’s actual best friend—didn’t seem to get along meant anything either. Because it sounded ridiculous, but Bood was trying to keep an open mind. A couple months ago, he would have said that it sounded ridiculous to say Rozanov would leave Boston to sign with Ottawa and well… here they were on the same side of the ice in the same red and black uniforms.

Bood decided to let it go. “You ready for your first official game in Ottawa as a Centaur?”

Rozanov nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

“Look, I know we already told you, but the Montreal games are a little rough. They’ll, um… the Montreal fans will probably be pretty loud and boo you when we take the ice.”

Rozanov shrugged again. “Is nothing new between me and Montreal fans. And anyway, they boo me lots of places. It is okay.”

Bood thought it wasn’t, but he kept his mouth shut. “Other games won’t be like this, but I’m sorry that this has to be your first experience here. The city is excited that you’re here. We’re excited that you’re here. The team, I mean.”

“I know.”

It was intimidating and a little embarrassing to try to think of what to say to a guy like Rozanov. It felt wrong, but Bood was the captain, so he scrambled for the right words. “Just… don’t let it get to you, okay? You’re finding your place here, and things are working out okay. We’re going to have a good season. I can feel it.”

Rozanov chuckled. Something about the way he looked at Bood made him think he didn’t believe him, but he got a crooked smile for the effort. “Thank you for the pep talk, Zane Boodram.”

Bood blushed, but he wasn’t sure why it was happening. He also didn’t know why he felt like he couldn’t take the gratitude. It just felt… too impossibly large, which was a stupid thing to feel, but he was feeling it anyway. “Well, honestly it wasn’t a very good one…”

“No, it was pretty shit.”

“Okay, you know what? Fuck you.”

“But I appreciate the effort. I am used to having to give the pep talks, so it is nice to hear someone say nice things to me.”

That lessened some of the suffocating pressure on his chest. Bood was good at talking to people. He had always been good at talking to people. He was the welcoming one, the one who made everyone feel like they belonged, but he had never had to be the one who talked. There had always been Danny or Horn to do it. But, still, Bood had sometimes given the locker room speeches, and it had been fine, so why did it now feel like too much when he was only talking to one guy?

Yeah, it was Rozanov, but still… maybe it was just nerves. Maybe he just had the jitters for the beginning of the season. That had to be it. It would pass. Eventually. He’d be fine.

But he was happy to head back to the room knowing that Coach was going to be the one hyping everyone up for the game and the new season. If he tried to talk, he wasn’t sure what would have come out, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t anything that would have made the team play better.

Ottawa was a team with some problems.

Ilya had started to figure that out from their first practice. But the hard part was nailing down exactly what some of those problems were and how to fix them. Because their team wasn’t inherently bad. They had a lot of talent that ran throughout their roster, but it was finding the right set up that was throwing them off.

They had some great centers and wingers, but there didn’t seem to be a combination that anyone could find that really seemed to work together smoothly. Ilya had been right and he and Bood had ended up on the same line, but they couldn’t find a good fit for their right wing. And the fact that it wasn’t a lack of talent just made the whole thing more frustrating because there was no obvious fix.

The defense was decent, but Ilya thought that the stats were heavily skewed by Dykstra and Nick Chouinard, who he thought were honestly probably two of the top defensemen in the league. They were both powerhouses and Ilya had been greatly impressed by them from the beginning. Dykstra had ended last year with just under sixty points, which had almost gotten him into the top ten. But they were only two of six and they couldn’t do it all.

Especially with the goalie situation.

Ottawa needed a new goalie, and they needed one desperately. That was the most obvious fix they would find. Chambers was fine. But he only had a couple decent games in a row in him before he started to fall apart. He’d make an alright backup, but he wasn’t a player who was meant to take the net every game. And Ryba held his own well enough, but he was young. He should still be in the AHL, getting more practice, building up his stamina.

Montreal was not a team you wanted to face with weak goalies. The number of shots that they put up was insane and they never slowed down. Most of the game was spent in front of Ottawa’s net with everyone just desperately trying to clear the puck so they could breathe a bit.

Ilya was so busy blocking shots and trying to move the play to the opposite end of the ice that he had very little time to even interact with him when Shane’s line was out there with his.

It was halfway through the third period during one of the few times they had managed to get the puck down to Montreal’s end when Ilya saw Shane heading toward Boodram. The hit was clean. A legal check into the boards as Boodram tried to corral the puck, but it was hard enough to make the crowd groan, and Ilya saw an opportunity.

He grabbed Shane by the collar and pulled him close as he skated him away from Boodram. “Hey,” he said as the ref blew the whistle, “that was my captain.”

“Well, I heard he was an asshole to my boyfriend a while ago and that he might deserve a hit.” Shane said with a little smirk. Then he fucking winked.

“Fuck…” Ilya instantly started to get hard. What the fuck? Jesus Christ, why was it so hot to have Shane standing up for him on the ice? He wanted to bite that smirk right off his face. Holy fucking shit–

“Stop making that fucking face. You have about five seconds before JJ gets here.”

Ilya leaned in even closer. “He is going to have to pull me off of you.”

Sure enough, someone grabbed Ilya by the back of his collar and he released Shane, holding his hands up as he was ripped away from him.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off my capitaine, Rozanov!” Boiziau snapped.

“He touched my captain first.” Rozanov let himself be shoved back toward where Dykstra was standing close by Boodram, and D looped an arm around Ilya’s chest. He didn’t need to be held back, but it certainly added to the show, so he surged against the hold slightly. “Is not enough that you are beating us, Hollander? You have to take cheap shots at our captain?”

“It was a clean hit, Rozanov.” Shane called back.

“Bullshit!”

“Enough!” The ref appeared between them. “Tell your guy to chill out, Boodram!”

Bood heard the ref, but he couldn’t form any words. Hollander was right and the hit was completely legal, but he was a bit winded. Though that wasn’t what was making words so hard.

Ilya Rozanov had… just stood up for him? Had called him his captain? Yeah, technically he was, but it was surreal to hear him say it. The two of them had been getting along fine, but Rozanov still kept his distance most days. Plus, he was the second-best player in the league. Bood was just… Bood.

“Boodram, you are good?” Rozanov asked him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Bood gave his head a little shake to clear it. “Yeah, I’m good. Thank you… for… that.”

“Thank me by helping me score a fucking goal.” Rozanov grumbled. “If we are going to lose this game, we can at least not make it a fucking shutout. Find a way to get the fucking puck in net!”

They might have lost 4-1, but at least they had managed to score. It had been in the last couple minutes, and they had gotten past Montreal’s defenses with what Ilya was pretty sure was ninety-seven percent luck.

He had won the faceoff, and they had been able to set up and keep the puck on Montreal’s end by some miracle. Boodram had been sitting in a perfect spot in front of the goal when Dillion had sent him a pass. Ilya had called for the puck immediately but had sent it back to Boodram the second it had reached his stick, and Boodram had sent the shot right between Miitka’s legs.

It was still a shitty loss, but Ilya was quickly coming to understand that when you played for the Centaurs, you took whatever positives you could.

And he didn’t have time to worry about the loss anyway, or to sulk because Shane had scored two of Montreal’s goals and so he now already had three on the year while all Ilya had was two assists.

They had made him available for the media, so he had been asked a bunch of stupid questions that had nothing to do with the game and just wanted him to talk about comparisons between Boston and Ottawa. Ilya didn’t want to talk about that, so he just did what he always did when he was tired of the media. He pretended the language barrier was worse than it was, gave vague not-quite answers, and waited for them to be done bugging him.

But it was fine.

Because when the media moved on, there was Danielsson and his kids, chatting with Boodram and a couple other players as well as Harris.

Harris beamed as Ilya got closer. “Hey, Ilya! Danny was telling me that you’re taking his boys to meet Shane Hollander? That’s great! Do you think he would be willing to do a video or photos? It would be great to do, like, a whole sportsmanship type thing with it.”

Ilya, personally, thought it was a great fucking idea. If Harris took pictures they would go on the Centaur’s Instagram and if they were on the team page, Ilya could actually like them. He could double tap a picture of his boyfriend, and the little heart would appear and fill in and people would see “liked by Rozanov81” below it and no one would overreact or even care. But… he played it cool. “I think so, maybe, but you would have to ask him.”

“Oh, of course. I didn’t know you two were close, though.”

“We are friends.” Ilya shrugged.

“Yeah, but you have that whole rivalry thing—”

“Ilya!” Danielsson’s two youngest ran over at that moment and saved him from having to explain anything further to Harris, and he rewarded Alexander with a high five and Mats with ruffled hair. Elias was standing motionless next to his father, looking like he’d crumble in on himself at any moment if even a slight breeze blew his way. Still, Ilya stepped over and patted him on the shoulder.

“You are excited?” Ilya asked, ignoring the fact that Elias nearly jumped out of his skin at Ilya’s touch.

“Alright, Lias.” Danielsson put his arm around him, and the boy jumped again. “You ready?”

Elias nodded solemnly and Danielsson called for the other two boys, who had managed to wander off in just the few seconds since Ilya had interacted with them. “You coming with, Zane?” Danielsson asked, ushering the boys back out into the hallway.

Boodram had a slight look of panic on his face as he glanced at Ilya, but Ilya only shrugged and followed the Danielssons out into the hallway. Boodram could follow or not. It didn’t matter to him.

It was really hard to keep his pace casual when Ilya turned the corner and saw Shane at the end of the hallway. He kept his hands in his pockets and his face as neutral as possible as excited chatter picked up behind him.

Shane was talking politely with a security officer. He had changed back into his suit, but his jersey was draped casually over his arm. He didn’t look at the group approaching, but he did straighten from where he had been leaning against the wall.

“Rozanov.” He finally greeted him when the group reached him. He stuck his hand out and Ilya stared down at it a moment before he shook it.

“Hollander.”

“Nice hat.” Shane motioned toward David’s hat with a little nod of his chin.

Ilya had almost forgotten he’d put it on before he’d sat down with the press. He lifted a hand to adjust the bill. “Thank you. It was a gift. It is lucky, I think.”

Shane nodded slowly, and Ilya was pretty sure he was biting his cheek to keep from smiling. “I think my dad had the same hat.”

“Oh. Sounds like your dad is pretty cool. I always figured he was boring or something.”

Shane was definitely fighting not to smile now, so Ilya turned back to the group. Danielsson gently pushed Elias forward and he took a couple shuffling steps toward Shane and Ilya. “Shane Hollander, this is my friend Elias Danielsson. His dad is a little famous, so maybe you know him.”

“Hi, Elias.” Shane smiled down at him. “It’s nice to meet you.” He extended his hand and Elias shook it as if in a trance. “Mr. Danielsson.” Shane looked up at him. “It’s great to meet you, since we never really have before, like, formally off the ice. It was an honor to play against you all those years. I used to watch you play a lot when I was younger.”

“Really?” Danielsson asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah, well, my mom is pretty famously a Montreal fan, but Ottawa is my hometown and my dad was an Ottawa fan when I was growing up, so… we cheered for you a lot.”

“Well, it’s an honor to know that the great Shane Hollander was a fan.”

“Still is.” A slight blush had appeared under Shane’s freckles. “I still am. I just… I really admire your skill and your sportsmanship on and off the ice.”

“Thank you. That’s quite the compliment coming from someone as talented as you.”

Ilya knew that they were in danger of getting stuck in a compliment loop, so he motioned for Harris to step closer. “Hollander, this is Harris Drover. He is social media manager.”

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you, Shane Hollander!” Harris extended his hand confidently and Ilya watched Shane take in the pins on his hat and jacket as he smiled through their handshake. “Would you be okay if I took a couple pictures for our social media page? It’s totally okay if you say no. Please don’t feel bad, I’d understand, but it would just be a neat experience to capture!”

Shane seemed to need a moment to process what Harris was saying. Ilya thought that Harris maybe just had that effect on people. Not in a bad way. He was such a happy ball of sunshine that sometimes you just needed a second to take him in. A second to be dazzled by his light before you could focus. “Yeah.” Shane finally said, still smiling. “Sure. A few pictures would be fine.”

Bood was still a little wary to believe that Rozanov and Hollander were actually friends. They certainly weren’t acting like they hated each other, though their interactions were a little awkward, like they maybe didn’t know what to do in the other’s presence. Still, Hollander had shown up, just like Rozanov said he would.

He was currently down on one knee, his jersey draped over his thigh, talking softly to Elias, who had burst into tears when he realized that the reason that Shane Hollander had brought the sweater with to meet him was because he was going to give it to him. Hollander was rubbing his arm gently and asking him softly if he was okay. Bood knew that Pike had kids, so it wasn’t surprising that Hollander was good with them, but now having seen both Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov in these softer situations was throwing him a bit.

Before this summer when Ilya Rozanov had quietly and unexpectedly struck a deal that had put him smack in the center of Bood’s life, he had watched Rozanov—and Hollander—like he was some kind of unstoppable force. They were older than him and already well established in the league before he had been drafted, and even then, guys were still talking about them. Other guys came in and fizzled out, most without much noise, but every year, it just came right back to Hollander was the best in the league and Rozanov was right on his heels.

And that had made them both seem untouchable. They were the best, and they had been the best for years and maybe that had made Bood unfairly put them on a pedestal. Not that they didn’t deserve it. That wasn’t the unfair part because they were extremely talented. They were two of the best to ever fucking play the game, but also… they were just a couple of guys.

Hollander signed his name on the jersey and then held it up for Elias, but instead of taking it, the boy leapt onto Hollander, hugging him tightly around the neck and almost knocking them to the ground. Hollander laughed and hugged him back before setting him back on his feet.

Elias turned to Danny, clutching the jersey to his chest and still crying, and Danny hugged him tightly. Hollander chatted with Alexander and Mats and they each got fist bumps before Hollander straightened.

When Elias was calm again, Harris took his photos. It started with Hollander and Elias, and then the rest of the Danielssons and somehow, there were a couple with Rozanov as well. Hollander rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything when Rozanov stood in what would have been a little too close for Bood’s comfort.

“Well, again, it was nice to meet you, Hollander. I really appreciate you doing this for my boy.” Danny said as Elias once again hugged Hollander and this time, Alexander and Mats joined him.

Hollander chuckled. “Oh, it was nothing. I really enjoyed getting to meet you, too.”

“Your parents still live here, right? If you’re ever around with some free time next summer, let me know. Maybe we can pick up a round of golf. My shoulder should be back in top shape by then.”

Hollander’s eyes lit up and Bood was once again hit with a weird overwhelming feeling that made his chest feel a little too tight. Hollander was having his own fanboy moment with Danny because Hollander and Rozanov were just a couple of guys.

“Wow, that would be great. Thank you!”

Danny managed to wrangle the other two boys and they all said goodnight and goodbye after Mats had to hug everyone again, including Hollander and Harris, and then there was just awkward silence until Hollander stepped forward and extended his hand toward Bood.

“Hi. We’ve never met outside of a game, so…” Hollander dropped his eyes for a moment and wet his lips. “Good goal tonight.”

Bood hesitantly shook his head. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“I helped.” Rozanov said.

Hollander rolled his eyes as he turned to him. “You need a compliment for your assist?”

“I mean, would be nice.” Rozanov shrugged. “To feel appreciated. Because he would not have had the goal if not for me.”

“Wow. You always have to have everything be about you, huh?”

“I just think I deserve the credit that’s due to me, Hollander.”

“How about the next time we play each other, you actually score a goal and then maybe I’ll compliment you?”

“There are more important things to hockey than just scoring goals, Hollander.”

“Oh, really?”

“You have three goals, but you have no assists.” Rozanov shook his head. “You are not being a very good team player.”

“Oh, fuck you. You’re just upset that you’re starting off the year losing the scoring race.”

“Race has just started. I will catch up.”

“Yeah, sure you will. Already down three. How many shots on goal did you have tonight? Like two? That’s not going to get you caught up.”

“If I did not have to spend all my time keeping an eye on you so you do not do dirty hits against my teammates, maybe I could focus on trying to score goal.”

“It was a clean fucking hit, Rozanov!”

“To you and the blind refs, maybe!”

“Fuck you, Rozanov!”

“Fuck you, Hollander!”

Bood could only watch for a moment. This was… something. He had just been starting to think that maybe they were friends, but now they were yelling at each other in the hallway over something very trivial. It didn’t look like they’d start swinging on each other or anything, but Bood was pretty sure no one from the front office would be very happy if anyone saw Rozanov getting into it with Hollander here. Especially after they had just provided content that Harris planned to post to show how sportsmanlike they were. He exchanged a quick panicked look with Harris and then stepped forward to grab Rozanov’s arm.

“Hey, come on, Rozonov.” Bood pulled him back and he came surprisingly easily. “I’m sure Hollander has to get to their bus.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Hollander for indulging me!” Harris planted a hand firmly on Rozanov’s back and then took him by the elbow like he was helping an old woman cross the street and steered him back down the hall toward their locker room. “I’ll post the photos on Instagram later!”

“Bye, Hollander!” Rozanov called over his shoulder, willingly letting Harris guide him down the hallway.

“Bye, Rozanov.” Hollander sighed and shook his head before turning and walking in the opposite direction.

“What the fuck?” Bood muttered, staring after Hollander for a moment before moving to catch up with Rozanov and Harris. “Rozanov, what the fuck was that?”

Rozanov was walking on his own now and his brow drew together as he looked at Bood. “What do you mean?”

“You said you two were friends.”

“Yes. Best friends.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, of course.”

“That’s how you act with your best friend?”

“Is not how you act with your best friend?”

“Cassie is my best friend.”

Rozanov frowned. “And you never argue?”

“Well, I…” Bood frowned. This night just needed to be over. There were too many things swirling in his tired brain and his body was aching from the beating they had taken during their game. He decided that probably the best thing to do was just agree with Rozanov and move on.

He was finally feeling like they were getting their footing back, or maybe in the first place, honestly, and Bood wasn’t going to mess that up by arguing over something so stupid. He just needed to remember to keep an open mind. Maybe he would never understand Rozanov and that was okay. He didn’t need to. If Rozanov thought that he and Hollander were best friends, fine. Hollander seemed to tolerate him, so what was the harm? Rozanov was a weird guy, so it only made sense that his friendships were weird, too.

Chapter End Notes

In my canon, Yuna and David have Rozanov jerseys that they wear at home when they watch Ottawa games, and of course have Hollander jerseys to wear at Montreal games, but they also have Centaur shirts that say "Best Mom Ever" and "Best Dad Ever" that they wear under Shane's jerseys when they go to Montreal/Ottawa games. 🥹

Hey, so again, I think that you guys really wanted blood when Bood and Shane met. BUT Shane isn't the kind of guy who is going fight someone unprovoked on the ice. First, because he's not a guy who likes to fight, and it would be wildly out of character for him. Since their relationship is still a secret, so it would be extremely odd for him to fight a guy like Zane Boodram for absolutely no reason, because it's not going to prove a point anyway. Second, Montreal knew they had won that game before they stepped on the ice. It would be even MORE odd to have Shane Hollander drop gloves in a game they're winning 4-0 at the time.

Hey, um... did you guys know it was Chouinard? Because I didn't. I've been spelling it Chounard this whole time. In every fic, including this one up to this chapter. 🫠 That's a problem for me to fix another day....

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

I actually had a hard time starting on this chapter, because I really just wanted to skip ahead and write the second half. But the first half has plot and context and stuff that's important so that the angst second half makes sense....

“Hey, Cass?” Bood asked, walking into the living room. “Are you busy?”

“Not really.” She sat her phone down and drew in her legs so there was room for him to join her on the couch, then stretched them back across his lap. “What’s up? You need to talk about Rozanov again?”

He gave her smirk a cross look. “Cassie…”

“Sorry, it’s just that we talk about Rozanov more than anything else.” She sat up and grabbed his arm when he made a move to leave. “Stop. I’m sorry. I’ll stop teasing. What do you need?”

Bood sighed and let his head fall over the back of the couch. “It is about Rozanov.”

“The GM thing?”

“Yeah. Rozanov wants to make sure we’re on the same page for when we go in to meet with him. So he invited me, Evan, and Nick over tomorrow so we could talk about it.”

“Oh. That sounds like a great idea actually.”

“It is.”

“Okay.” Cassie nodded her head slowly. “Then…?”

“Should I have been the one to do it? I’m the only captain left, and doesn’t that seem like a captain thing to do?”

Cassie sighed and took his hand, “Probably, yes.”

Bood groaned. “I’m so shit at this, Cassie!”

“You’re not shit at it. You’re not.” She insisted when he groaned again. “Look, this last year was really hard for the whole team, okay? I’m going to break the sanctity of the WAG group chat this one time to tell you that you aren’t the only one who is having a hard time coming back from last season.”

“I’m not?”

“No. And hey, things can’t be all bad, because you’re better now then you were at this point in the season last year, right? Your record is better so far!”

“It wasn’t a hard thing to do.”

“But you still did it. Babe, I love how much you care about his team. I really do. And I’m so proud of the work you do, so when I see you get this upset about it, it hurts. You’re a good captain. Everyone loves you!” She squeezed his arm.

Everyone except maybe Rozanov. They were a month into the season now, and things seemed okay, but they hadn’t talked about it since that night at Danny’s house, so Bood wasn’t sure. He was smart enough to know that professionalism wasn’t the same as friendship, so he wasn’t going to act like he and Rozanov were friends until Rozanov was the one who said so. But he didn’t need to explain all of that to Cassie, so he just said, “You’re right.”

“You’re doing a great job. I think that you need to maybe take a step back and try looking at it from a different angle when you feel overwhelmed. Maybe just try telling yourself to chill out when you get too in your own head.”

“And that will work?”

“I don’t know. It’s worth a try. Try it now.”

“No.”

“Come on, just say to yourself, ‘Chill out, Zane Boodram.’” She started giggling before she could finish his name.

“It’s hard to believe you’re not just teasing me you when you can’t even say it with a straight face.”

“No! Zane! It will help!” She continued to laugh through her words, and Bood shook his head but started laughing, too.

“Every man should have a wife like you.”

“Mm, I know, I’m perfect.” She laid her head against his shoulder. “And I made you laugh.” Bood snorted but kissed the top of her head. “Do you feel better?”

Not really. He had barely felt like a captain when Danny had been on the team to guide him. He was supposed to still have Horn here to help him be able to step more into the role this season, earn his spot, but now he had no one. Sure, everyone kept reminding him that Rozanov had lots of experience as a captain, but no one seemed to realize that Rozanov had no interest in showing Bood what to do. And now Bood and Rozanov had to go meet with Stern together to give him feedback on how the team was doing? That felt like a slap in the face. People were already whispering—loudly—about how Ottawa needed to name Rozanov their captain because they were lacking leadership. If they were going to do it, Bood just wished they would. Just get the humiliation over with.

“Yes, I feel a little better.” He lied. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, but I mean… who’s even available?” Shane’s voice over speaker phone sounded even more distant, echoing slightly in the kitchen.

“I do not know.” Ilya sighed, putting away the last plate and then kicking the dishwasher closed with his foot. “We do not have much to work with so there is no point in a trade that is not worthwild.”

“Worthwhile, Ilya.”

“Whatever.” He picked up his phone and took it off of the speaker. “There is just so much we need to work on and if we could find a good goalie, it would help a lot.”

“Your best bet would be to find a backup who’s riding the bench but shouldn’t be.”

“Do you know of one?”

“No one comes to mind. At least not anyone affordable.”

Ilya groaned into the receiver as he sat down on the couch.

“Hey, don’t be an asshole. I am trying to help you.”

“How is Wentz doing?”

“Fuck you,” Shane snapped, but Ilya could tell that he was smiling when he said it, “I’m not letting you have our backup goalie!”

“Oh, you are GM now? I did not hear of your promotion. Congratulations.”

“Shut up.”

Ilya smiled to himself and slouched a little more on the couch. “You play in Boston in a few days?”

“Yeah. It’s going to be weird going there and you not being there.”

“It will be easy win for you. They do not know what to do without me.”

“They’re kind of starting a find a groove, I think. We’re only like a month into the season, so they can turn it around.”

“Stop saying nice things about Boston. You never said nice things about them when I was there.”

“That’s not true.”

“Will you go through withdrawals?”

“Withdrawals?”

“Mm, yes, you are used to getting my dick in Boston. Your body will crave it.”

“Jesus Christ, Ilya.”

“You will be missing me so bad I bet you do not even play well.”

“Well, maybe I’ll find a new dick in Boston.”

“You will not.”

“You know the team better than me, who would be a good side piece for Boston games?”

“No one. Stop this right now.”

“You say a lot of good things about Marlow—”

Ilya sat up. “Shane Hollander, you get Marlow’s name out of your mouth right now or so help me I will get on a flight to Calgary—”

“And do what?” Shane laughed. “Ilya, Marlow’s straight. Very straight from the sound of it. Why would he even want me?”

“You are very hot and I think Marlow is probably a try-anything-once kind of guy. He is also nice person, so he would treat you right.”

“Wait… are you or are you not telling me to sleep with him?”

“Well, it would be weird, because he is my best friend.”

“That’s the part of it you’re hung up on?”

“But if I had to pick someone on the team for you, it would be him.”

“This conversation went wildly off the rails.” Shane laughed again. “You’re so fucking weird sometimes.”

“Yes, but you like it.”

“No, I love it.”

Ilya’s heart gave a happy little jump, and he smiled up at the ceiling for a moment.

“I’m not going to sleep with anyone else, Ilya. I don’t want to. I only want you.”

This time, Ilya’s dick did a happy little jump, and he couldn’t have that, not now, so he changed the subject. “What will you tell Hayden? When you do not go to see Lily in Boston?”

“Well, since we’re in our own rooms, I’m hoping he doesn’t notice or ask. But if he does, I’ll tell him Lily got a different job and has to travel now, so we can’t meet up at every game.”

“You had a year to come up with something that is what you picked?”

“Shut up, it’s a believable excuse.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. He’ll believe me.”

“Okay.” Ilya nodded as the doorbell rang. “I have to go.” He stood. “The guys are here.”

“Okay, good luck.”

“Thank you. Call me tonight? After your game?”

“Ilya, it’s going to be so late for you.”

“I do not care. Call me anyway. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Ilya hung up a little reluctantly and headed toward the door.

“Hey, Rozy!” Dykstra said when Rozanov answered the door.

“Yes, hello.” Rozanov greeted them, his smile looking a bit tight. “You can come in.” He stepped to the side and motioned them in with a sweep of his arm. Bood followed both Dykstra and Chouinard inside. “Uh, shoes off. Please.”

“You seem to have a really nice place here, Roz.” Chouinard said as the three of them removed their shoes.

“Thank you.” Rozanov glanced around, almost as if he was taking the place in for the first time himself. “I could… give you a tour if you want.”

“That’d be great.” Dykstra straightened. “Caitlin has been dying to know what your place looks like.”

“Oh, yeah, Selena, too.” Chouinard nodded.

“This is… normal thing for them?” Rozanov asked.

“Well, Cait’s just nosey.”

“You’re an enigma to the WAGs chat.” Chouinard added. “They’re all always scrambling for any scrap of information on you they can find.”

“Ah, what is… What does that word mean? Enigma?”

“It means like… a mystery.” Dykstra explained. “The WAGs really want to know more about you since you didn’t have anyone for them to add to their group.”

“Well, they are not the only ones who think I am a mystery. Just ask ESPN about it.” Rozanov’s eyebrows shot up for a moment, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “But unfortunately, there will be no photographs on today’s tour.”

Dykstra made an exaggerated groaning sound and Chouinard chuckled. As Rozanov started walking, Bood followed, feeling very disconnected from the whole thing.

“I maybe waited too long to start moving in over the summer,” Rozanov explained as he led them into the kitchen. “So, I am moved in, but I have not really had time to make it… homey? Is slow process. But I am happy. I like the house. It is perfect for me.”

Bood just watched and listened as they made their way through the house. It was much larger than he had expected, even though he and Cassie had done a bit of snooping the night before on the internet. The photos hadn’t quite shown the scale of it all. It was a lot of house for a single man to say that it was perfect for him.

But it was Rozanov’s house and Rozanov’s money and Bood wasn’t going to judge how he wanted to spend it.

And Rozanov wasn’t lying when he said that he hadn’t had time to make it homey. The only room with any personal touches was his trophy room. The rest of the house looked staged for the house to be sold. Which, Bood could admit, had a lot to do with how new everything was. But still. There were no photographs, no trinkets, or mementos of any kind. Yeah, he said he hadn’t had time to do things since the season started, but if his trophy room was set up, you’d think that he’d have at least hung a couple photos on the walls.

He doesn’t have any.

The thought was a rogue one, but Bood still felt bad for thinking it. He and Cassie had pictures of their engagement and their wedding, pictures of nieces and nephews and past family trips, but Rozanov… He had told Bood twice now that he didn’t have any family that he associated with. The fact that it had taken him this long to process exactly what that meant made him feel even worse as the tour ended in the living room.

“Sit, please.” Rozanov motioned toward the couch. “I will get drinks.”

“You doing okay, Bood?” Chouinard asked as the three of them sat.

“I’m fine.” He lied. “Just been… thinking about a lot of stuff lately.”

Rozanov came back with beers and handed them out before sitting in the chair off to the side. The TV had been playing ESPN at low volume, but Rozanov muted it completely before gently tossing the remote back onto the coffee table.

“Okay.” Rozanov licked his lips and huffed a breath. “I have things that I want to say that I have not been able to talk about. I want to make it very clear that I do not think bad of the team. I think that there are many great guys, good players, but I wanted to talk to the three of you because I think you are the strongest on the team right now. And I think you all have enough sense to know that things are not working.”

Chouinard nodded solemnly beside Bood, but Dykstra just took a drink.

“We have problems at each position, but I think we can all agree that goalie is the worst.” Bood knew it was true. He wouldn’t deny it and didn’t need anyone from outside to come in and tell him the facts for him to see it. But it still hurt to hear. “What is the story? Why is Chambers our starter?”

“Because we don’t have another option.” Dykstra shrugged.

Rozanov nodded but waited so Bood continued the explanation. “Three years ago, we had Klein who was doing really well with us. And no one’s really sure exactly what happened, but he got into it with the coach and requested a trade. We managed to trade him for Segers, which was a pretty fair trade, but… Segers just tanked. Had a terrible season with us, wouldn’t resign. Chambers was the backup through that whole ordeal, and he got quite a bit of playing time in the last half of the season, so we just stuck with him when Segers left. We pulled Ryba up from the minors to take the backup spot.”

Rozanov was nodding along.

“They’re both good guys.” Chouinard added. “They work hard. Ryba is still a kid, really. He’s figuring it out.”

“He should be able to figure it out back in the minors. It is not fair for him to be here having to do so much.” Rozanov said.

“I think we all agree.” Dykstra said, looking at Chouinard and Bood for confirmation. “Nothing against Chambers, but he’s just not…” he sighed, “he’s not starter material.”

“I agree with what you said before, about how we’ve got problems at all positions,” Chouinard said, “and I think you’re right that we need to start with finding someone who’s strong at goal, so we can start fixing those other problems. The whole game just turns into a damn circus out there so quickly. You can’t rely on your goalie to do all the blocking of course, you have to help him, but when we’re putting all our energy into protecting the net, it makes it hard to score goals on the other end of the ice.”

“We aren’t the strongest team right now, but we play hard.” Bood added. “And a lot of our energy is going into keeping the puck out of our own goal, so that makes it hard to find the flow on the ice that we need to win games. Getting a new goalie wouldn’t magically fix our problems but it would help a lot. But… who’s even available?” He sighed. “Who could we even afford?”

“Our best bet is to find a goalie who is riding the bench but should not be, but that is not our job to figure out.” Rozanov said. “That is Stern’s job. We play hockey, he gets us what we need so we can do it better.”

Ilya wasn’t exactly sure what had been wrong with Washington the night before, but he would take any win they could get. Credit did have to go to Ryba who had worked his ass off in the net, but the four goals that Ottawa had managed to get by Washington’s netminder? It had them all riding the high that Ilya was missing from Boston.

Not that Boston was on that high right now. Montreal had beaten them last night, even if Shane hadn’t managed to score a goal.

The important part of it all, though, was that they were all feeling good. Everyone was happy and upbeat, which made for a good BBQ. Ilya sat there and watched Boodram bustle around his grill, greeting people, stepping away to explain the food to them, laughing and joking. This was the Zane Boodram that Ilya had been told about. The one that Danielsson had insisted that Ilya wait for and meet before passing too harsh of judgment.

This wasn’t the first Boodram BBQ that Ilya had been invited to. There had been one last month, too, near the start of the season and Ilya was shocked to learn that they were a common occurrence, even through the winter months.

Ilya’s phone buzzed.

Jane😘: Are you busy?

I’m at a team party at Zane Boodram’s.

Everything good?

Jane😘: Yeah. I’m fine.

Ilya was sitting off by himself. He had hoped that he could fade more into the background at this party. He had been very popular at the first one, but he thought that maybe they had all gotten used to him at this point. He wanted to just sit and watch and learn things about his teammates that he wasn’t going to learn during games or at practices. Especially Zane Boodram, who seemed very lost as captain on the ice, but looked just fine everywhere else.

It was becoming a problem. Because ESPN had started getting louder about how they thought that part of Ottawa's problem was a lack of leadership from their captain. Ilya didn’t see that at all. He thought there was plenty of leadership, he just needed Boodram to show it more on the ice. But the problem was it definitely seemed like it was his fault. Boodram got so reserved whenever he was around, and Ilya didn’t know how to fix that, because he was pretty sure just telling him to stop would only make things worse. And it’s not like he could avoid Boodram in the middle of a game. They were on the same line. He’d have to talk to Danielsson about it. Get a little more insight on it all.

His phone buzzed again.

Jane😘: Can we call later?

Absolutely 🥰😘

I will let you know when I get home, okay?

Jane😘: Okay.

😚😍❤️❤️

Despite his want to stay invisible, Ilya was perceived the moment he took out his phone, and by the time he was locking it and tucking it away as he folded his arms across his chest, someone was coming to sit on the arm of his chair. And another someone was sitting in the chair beside him.

“Hello, Ilya.” Cassie said sweetly.

“Hello, Cassie.” He smiled back just as sweetly and then turned to the other woman. “Hello, Selena.”

“What are you doing over here all by yourself away from the party?” Selena asked. She had an accent like Boiziau, but she spoke slower so it was easier for Ilya to understand her. He didn’t know if it was for his benefit or just the way she talked, but he appreciated it.

“Just watching.”

“Ilya Rozanov likes to just watch?” Cassie asked.

“Ilya Rozanov likes many things.” He winked at her and she giggled.

Ilya was used to teammate’s wives flirting with him, so the extra attention he got from Cassie was nothing new. She was oddly respectful in her flirtations, so he didn’t mind. She never got handsy or overly inappropriate. Also, Boodram didn’t seem to have a problem with it and Ilya just liked her. She was fun.

“Talking to anyone special on your phone?” She asked, trying to sound casual.

Ilya shook his head. He could feel the look that the two women exchanged over him. They had never believed him that he didn’t have someone. And of course they were completely right calling him on the lie, but he had learned his lesson in Boston. Word had got around about his Jane, and the WAGs had been insufferable about it. Things felt different here, but he didn’t want to deal with that again, so there’d be no mention of Jane. If he didn’t give his relationship a name, he thought it would be more manageable. Easier to deny. Plus, it was hard to talk about Jane. He didn’t know why. Both Svetlana and Marlow knew about Jane, but they had figured it out first and then Ilya had been able to talk about it. He loved Shane. He wanted everyone to know about Shane, but Jane? He just… couldn’t.

“I think you might be lying to us, Ilya.” Selena said. “You had quite the smile on your face.”

“If I told you who I was talking to, you would not believe me anyway.” Ilya shook his head again.

“Try us.” Cassie bumped his shoulder.

“It was just my best friend, Shane Hollander.”

“Oh, of course.” Ilya really liked the way that Cassie laughed through so many of her words when she spoke. “Naturally. Who else would it be?”

“You say that like it is a joke, but it must be somewhat true, yes?” Selena asked. “If you could get him to stay after a game and meet with Alfred’s boys?”

“I do not say it like a joke at all. We are friends.”

“Is he really as intense as he looks?” Cassie asked. “He’s almost frightening during games.”

“Oh, he is. He cares very much about hockey. But he is nice guy deep down.”

“And how did the two of you become friends?” Selena pulled her feet up into her chair.

Ilya shrugged. “Just look at me. Who does not want to be friends with me?”

Both women laughed. “Just look at Hollander!” Cassie said. “Who wouldn’t want to get to know him better?”

“He is very handsome!”

Ilya hoped his shrug was nonchalant enough. “If that is your type, I suppose.”

His phone began to ring, then stopped. It started to ring again right away, but both women were sitting too close for Ilya to safely check it. He stood. “Excuse me.” Hopefully it was nothing and he could come right back. But when he felt safe enough to check the screen, he saw “Jane😘” at the top.

“Hello?” He answered as he stepped off the deck and into the grass. For a moment there was nothing but some muffled voices, and he thought maybe the call had been an accident. He walked a little bit farther away to make sure no one would overhear him before he asked. “Shane?”

There were a couple more seconds of muffled sound. “Hey, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you.” Shane finally spoke. His voice was off. Hollow.

“No, it is fine.”

“It’s not. You’re at a party with your team.”

“No, really, it is fine.” His heart had started to beat quicker, and he glanced over his shoulder back toward the deck to make sure no one had followed him. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. It can wait.”

“It doesn’t sound fine, Shane. What’s happening?”

“It is, I—hey!” His voice sounded farther away and then there were more muffled sounds that made Ilya’s panic quickly rise in his chest to the point that he felt he was suffocating. He opened his mouth to speak again, and it was probably going to be too loud and draw too much attention, but he didn’t care. He needed to know what was going on and—

“Shane is not fine.” A new voice spoke.

Except it wasn’t a new voice.

Ilya knew it from years of Montreal games.

Usually that voice was telling him to fuck off.

The world was tilting. Ilya felt like he was going to slide right off the lawn and float off into space. What was happening? What was—Even though the panic was definitely going to suffocate him, he used the last of the air in his lungs to wheeze out, “What the fuck?”

“Hayden!” The call must be on speakerphone because now he could hear Shane, too, confirming exactly what Ilya had feared. But… Pike didn’t know about them. He and Shane had just had a conversation a few days ago about how Shane was going to lie to him to make sure he didn’t know about them.

Had Shane changed his mind? Had he told him instead? But why did Pike sound so calm while Shane sounded like he was freaking out? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

“Ilya, I’m sorry.” Shane was saying. “I wanted to wait. I wanted you to enjoy your team party. Hayden insisted—”

“He’s had, like, three panic attacks, Rozanov.”

“I—I haven’t…” But Shane’s voice was much less convincing than Pike’s.

“Shane, what happened? What is going on? Why am I talking to Hayden fucking Pike?”

“Oh, so you do remember my name, asshole?”

“Hayden!” Another voice, a woman’s, scolded. For fuck’s sake, how many people were there? “Now is not the time!”

“Someone please just tell me what is happening!”

It was quiet on the other end of the line. “Hayden knows.” Shane finally said softly.

“Okay, yes.” Ilya closed his eyes. He was losing it. He couldn’t lose it. Shane was upset. He had to keep calm. Chill out. “I figured that part out.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t tell him—”

“I guessed.” Pike broke in.

“I’m sorry, Ilya. I didn’t mean—”

“Shane, I am not upset. I am not mad, okay? I am just… very confused about how…” He paused to take a deep breath. “How did it happen?”

“Well, actually, I was—” Pike began.

“Rozanov!” Ilya jumped and turned back toward the desk. Cassie, Selena, and Chouinard, who had called to him, were standing at the railing, looking across the yard at him. “Everything okay?” He asked.

Ilya nodded, held a hand up, and then turned back to his phone call.

“You are at home?” Ilya asked, interrupting Pike in the middle of the story he was telling.

“Yes.” Shane said.

“Then I am coming to you.”

“No, Ilya, you can’t!”

“I can and I will.”

“Please, don’t. Stay at your party. I’m fine.”

“Shane,” Pike’s voice was soft, “buddy, you’ve had three panic attacks.”

Okay, so Ilya wasn’t a fan of Pike overall, but he did appreciate how he seemed to actually be on his side in this. “I will be there soon.”

“Ilya…”

“I will be there as soon as I can.”

“Be careful.” Shane’s voice was small. “And don’t speed.”

“I will be careful. Be there soon. I love you.”

Pike made a weird, gagging sound and the woman’s voice once again scolded him. Okay, maybe he didn’t like Pike that much.

“I love you, too.” Shane said, his voice a little stronger.

Bood was talking with a couple of the younger guys, one of which was trying a little too hard to prove that he didn’t find the chicken he had eaten too spicy, but tears were leaking from his eyes and his nose was starting to run and every now and then he would make a pained face. Bood was trying to not react; he knew his buddy was going to give him a hard enough time, and he didn’t need to hear it from Bood, even though he did warn him.

“Zane?”

Cassie’s voice wasn’t panicked, but there was enough of something in it to immediately get his attention and send him to meet her halfway. “What?” He took her arm as he reached her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know.” She looked back across the deck to where Chouinard and Selena were standing at the railing. “It’s Rozanov.”

“Rozanov?” He looked again and saw that the Chouinards were looking down into the yard and, yes, there was Rozanov, on the phone, his back to them.

“He got a phone call and he seems upset.”

“Like mad?” Bood asked, watching Rozanov put his phone in his pocket and shake out his hands.

“No, just upset.”

Rozanov hustled up the couple stairs to the deck and Bood watched him cut off whatever Chouinard was saying to him with a tight smile and a few words. He looked, well… Bood couldn’t quite read his expression. It wasn’t one he’d seen before. But Cassie was right and something was definitely wrong.

He mostly looked sad.

“Hey, Rozanov!” He called as Rozanov paused to grab his jacket from the chair he had been sitting in. “Rozanov!” Bood handed his beer to Cassie when Rozanov didn’t stop. “Hey!” He beelined across the deck and managed to reach him right before he got to the door to the house. “Rozanov, is everything okay?”

“Yes, is fine.” But that tight smile made it look like nothing was fine.

“You’re sure? Because—”

“I have to go. I am sorry.” He stepped past Bood and ducked into the house.

“If you have to leave in the middle of the party, I feel like maybe things aren’t fine.” Bood followed him toward the front door. “You got a phone call, right? Did something happen?”

“Is nothing. I just have to go take care of something.” Rozanov paused on the front steps to shrug on his jacket and dig his keys out of his pocket. “I will handle it and be back tomorrow.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Bood kept following him on the way to his car.

“No, Zane Boodram, I can handle my own shit.”

“Okay, but, like, you don’t have to. If you need help with something, the team is here for you. We’re a big family here. You can trust us.”

They reached Rozanov’s SUV, which still threw Bood to see a guy like Rozanov driving, and Rozanov turned with a heavy sigh. “I see what you are doing, Zane Boodram. And I appreciate it, but I have to go deal with this. It is mine to deal with, no one else’s.” He pressed the button to unlock the doors. “I will be back tomorrow night in time for the game. Don’t worry. I will not miss it.”

“Whoa, wait.” Rozanov tried to open the door, but Bood put out a hand, pushing it closed again. “Tomorrow night? What do you mean tomorrow night? We have the meeting with Stern tomorrow morning. Are you going to bail on me?”

“Stern will still have the meeting with you.”

“Yeah, but he asked you first, so he wants you there.”

“He only asked me first because I am not captain. I am not expected to be there. Was a curtesy to ask me. You are the one who is important.”

“But we planned to go together!”

“Fine! I will try to make it back for the meeting. Maybe. Maybe I will be there.”

“Maybe? That’s all you can give me? A maybe?”

“Oh, so fucking sorry!” Rozanov shouted as he turned on him, “So fucking sorry that I had an emergency come up at this time! You want me to schedule my next one? Fuck!” He sighed and adjusted his jacket before he touched his necklace, centering the cross on his chain.

“If something is wrong, Rozanov, let me help you.”

Rozanov sighed again. “You cannot help. It is… personal.”

“Personal?”

“Yes. Is family emergency.”

Bood knew that when someone told you they were having a family emergency, the correct response was to feel sympathy. To offer condolences or give them privacy. But most people weren’t Ilya Rozanov, who had no photographs on the walls of his home. Who had told Bood multiple times that he wasn’t speaking to his brother, the only family he had left, anymore. He had given Rozanov plenty of chances to tell him if he had other loved ones in his life, and every time Rozanov had very plainly told him no.

Which meant Rozanov was lying.

“I really thought we were making progress.” Bood managed to keep his voice level.

“What?”

“I know you said we had to work through things before we could be good and that’s okay, because I fucked it up. And I’ve been trying to fix things. I’ve been staying in my lane and giving you space. But you were the one who said that me not trusting you was a problem.” He shook his head. “How am I supposed to trust you, Rozanov, when you stand there and lie to my face?”

“I am not lying to you.”

“Oh, bullshit!” He snapped. “I’ve given you plenty of chances to tell me if you had a family or even someone special, and every time it comes up, you just tell me that it's just your brother in Russia and you aren’t in contact with him anymore. So, if you’re going to tell me that you have a family emergency, you’re either lying about having a family, or you’re lying about where you’re going.”

Rozanov looked away, his lips pressed together into a harsh line. “I have to go.” He said softly after a moment.

Bood pulled his hand away from the door and stepped back. “You don’t have to tell me your secrets, Rozanov, but I’m trying to make things right between us and I’d at least appreciate a little honesty on your part. Because obviously you don’t trust me either.”

Rozanov didn’t say anything else, just got into his SUV. He met Bood’s eyes one last time before he backed out, and drove away.

Chapter End Notes

Oops, here we go again.... 😬
Hello! This is Haze coming in from after posting to share a couple thoughts because I'm seeing some comments are really missing the mark. I'm not going to sit here and say that you have to like a character, but I want to remind you that just because you, the reader, know what's going on in Ilya's life, the other characters do not. Ilya is not telling them. The team isn't being invasive on purpose, they're trying to get to know him. Ilya even tells you he likes Cassie and Selena.
Yes, Bood could have reacted better, but he's coming from a good place trying to talk to Ilya even after he tries to leave. He wants to make sure that he is going to be alright. He's being a good captain and person. And he is trying very hard to write the wrongs that he did, that he owns up to, that he understands was damaging, and now suddenly the very thing he was called out for (Bood not trusting Ilya) is being thrown back at him (Ilya not trusting Bood). No one is quite right in this situation, but Bood is not the villain. There is misunderstanding and miscommunication. Yes, Bood should do better, but Ilya could as well.

------
So, I know a lot of people have already come here from Threads now, but I've never actually mentioned that I'm over there. I'm am_hazeswrites if you want to find me. I mostly post about fic updates and things and lurk around and like posts, but I'm getting a little bolder and trying to be a little more active. We actually ran a poll over there about what we wanted David's hat to look like the other day, so you could check that out.
I love talking about my writing (I'm very much an introvert who embarrasses and gets overwhelmed easily, but I'm also a Leo, so I like attention 😅) or really anything else that makes people excited. Come say hi! 🥰

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

Look.
I don't know what meetings between players and GMs actually look like, but we're gonna pretend it's like this, okay?

Ilya thought he would have plenty of time to think on the way to Shane’s house. He had left Boodram’s thinking that the drive would let him get his thoughts in order, but that hadn’t happened. Apparently, he had done no thinking at all. Because he remembered backing out under Boodram’s hard glare and then it was as if he had blinked and it was nearly two hours later and he was pulling into Shane’s driveway.

Probably better not tell Shane. That seemed like pretty unsafe driving.

He didn’t need to knock or ring the doorbell, just let himself in with the code. “Shane?” He called the second he was inside, shrugging off his jacket and dropping it in the entry way as he hurried out of his shoes.

“Ilya!”

Shane was in the living room with Pike and the woman he had heard on the phone. He practically crashed into Ilya the second he entered the room, pulling him close, burying his face against his neck. “It is alright. I am here.” Ilya said softly, petting his hair.

“I’m sorry.” Shane said, his voice muffled against the crook of Ilya’s neck. “I didn’t want to call you. I wanted to wait. Hayden made me call.”

Ilya looked over at Pike, who was standing there awkwardly, looking as if he wished he could be anywhere else. Now that Ilya was there, and apparently his brain was working again, he realized that the woman must be Pike’s wife. She was very beautiful. Why did the mediocre looking players always end up with such beautiful wives?

“I am glad he did.” Ilya said. Shane had started to sway slightly, and Ilya moved along with him. “You are very upset.”

“Yeah, but it’s stupid.”

“Is not stupid to be upset.”

“It is, because I’m freaking out for no reason.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” The slight swaying stopped and Shane took a shuttering breath. He thought back to the phone call, which felt as if it had happened two minutes ago and two years ago both at the same time. “Or… Pike can tell me? Yes?” Shane’s head moved against his shoulder. “Okay. So, we sit down, and Pike tells me about it.”

They sat down on the couch and Ilya pulled Shane back to lay his head against his chest, wrapping his arm around him and kissing the top of his head. Pike made a face like Ilya had kicked his dog, but he was going to choose to ignore it. For now. For Shane.

Pike’s wife sat down on the other end of the couch, and Pike looked over at her. She nodded her head with a little smile and Pike cleared his throat.

“Okay, so, uh… I knew Shane was gay. He came out to me last year—”

“Pike, I know this. I do not need full backstory.”

Pike frowned. “I’m trying to be thorough, asshole!”

“Hayden.” His wife scolded.

“I do not need thorough; I just need to know what happened today.”

He sighed. “Okay. So. I knew that Shane had some guy in Boston he called Lily, and yes, Rozanov, I’m sure you knew that I knew that, too, but it’s important to explain what happened today.” Ilya rolled his eyes but just waited for him to continue. “Shane always went to see Lily, almost every time we were in Boston, especially last year. So, we’re getting on the plane this morning and I just asked him, ‘Hey, how’s Lily?’ And I guess he wasn’t expecting me to ask him, because he kinda did that panic face—”

“The deer in headlights face.” Ilya nodded and Shane made a little grumbling noise.

“Yeah, exactly, he just sort of stares at you in a panic.” Pike nodded back. “That’s exactly it. Anyway, he looked all panicked, so I was like, ‘Everything okay?’ and he was just like, ‘Yeah, but Lily and I broke up.’ And I thought that was weird, because he was kinda chill about it and, like, that felt really wrong because he told me he was in love with him, so I thought there would be some kind of reaction at some point. I didn’t think he’d be as okay with it as he seemed to be.

“And on the plane, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, because, you know, it’s weird. And I was like, well, maybe they broke up because Shane met someone new and that was why he never freaked out about breaking up with Lily, and that’s fine, it happens, so whatever. So, we got back to town and I was like, ‘Hey buddy, since you and Lily broke up, is there someone new then? Is that why you’re going to Ottawa so much?’ And I got that look again, and so I was like, ‘Hey man, it’s okay. I get it. As long as you aren’t dating Ilya Rozanov, I’m cool with it, man.’” Pike winced, as if saying it now hurt him.

Pike had said way too many words, and he had said them way too fast, but Ilya was pretty sure he understood.

“It was supposed to be a joke.” Pike explained. “I said it to try to make Shane relax. I never thought it could be true, but then… Shane didn’t deny it. I didn’t know and I never would have…” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to.” He looked like a child who had to confess to breaking a window, and he seemed so miserable that Ilya completely believed he was being sincere. “And I didn’t even freak out. Not really.”

“He didn’t. He was good. That’s why it’s stupid.” Shane muttered.

“It’s not stupid, buddy.” Pike said.

“I just got so overwhelmed for no reason and I ruined everyone’s day.”

“You didn’t.” Pike’s wife said, and she put a gentle hand on Shane’s thigh. “Shane, we love you. We’re here for you.”

Ilya turned his head into Shane, pressing his lips against his forehead for a long moment before he actually kissed him. “Did you eat?”

“No.”

“You need to eat. You will feel better if you do. I will make you pasta.”

Shane laughed softly. “I can’t have pasta, Ilya.”

“Yes, your diet, I know. But it was worth a try. Come on.” Ilya slipped out from under him and stood up, “I will make you one of your fancy, already made dinners.” He held out both his hands and when Shane took them, he pulled him to his feet, planting a soft kiss to the tip of his nose once he was straightened that made Shane smile softly. The Pikes followed as Ilya led him into the kitchen, still holding his hand. He opened the fridge. “Okay. Chicken or salmon?”

Shane slipped both arms around Ilya’s waist. “Chicken.” He said against his shoulder.

“Coming right up.” But Shane’s hold didn’t loosen so Ilya shut the fridge door and set the container on the counter.

“I’m sorry.” Shane said.

“You do not have to be sorry.”

“I was stupid.”

“No.”

“I was. Because I was fine and Hayden was fine, and then he was driving me home and I just… I don’t know. It wasn’t Hayden’s fault; I just freaked out.”

“It is okay, moya lyubov'.”

“And then I got home and I couldn’t even do anything, and Hayden stayed with me, and Jackie got a babysitter to come, too, and I ruined their day.”

“They care about you, Shane. They want to help you.”

“And you left your party to be here.”

“It is okay. I do not mind.” He sighed loudly, “I was just surrounded by these beautiful women… They are all so obsessed with me but it’s fine.”

“Shut up.”

“Actually, they are all obsessed with you.”

“Shut up.” Ilya could hear the smile in Shane’s voice.

“No, really, they are. They are all convinced the great Ilya Rozanov has someone beautiful to add to their group chat. Maybe I should give them your number?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Might be fun for you.”

“I’m not a wife or a girlfriend.”

“Mm, close enough.”

“What if I added you to the Montreal WAGs group?”

“I would love it.” Ilya smiled to hear Shane laugh. “And everyone would love me.”

“I’m sure they would.”

“Are you feeling better?” Ilya asked softly, rubbing a palm across Shane’s arm.

“A little.”

“The food will help.”

“I need a shower, too.”

“You have not showered after hotel and then flight?”

“I told you I’ve been useless today.”

“No, you have been having a hard time, and that is not the same. But no wonder you are still not good. Why don’t you shower first, and then you can eat.”

“Okay.” But Shane’s arms tightened around him.

“You will feel better, I promise.” He gently took Shane’s wrists and loosened Shane’s grip so he could turn around in his arms to face him. “And I will be right here when you get back, okay?”

Shane took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.” He leaned in and kissed him for the first time since he’d gotten there, and it was way too chaste for Ilya’s liking, but he wasn’t going to force Shane into anything. Or risk Pike puking onto the floor, which it looked like he would do at any moment.

Ilya ignored him to run a thumb across Shane’s freckles. “Go.” He said softly with a tilt of his head. “I will be here.”

Shane nodded. He let go of Ilya slowly, and on the way by, he paused next to Pike’s wife—Jackie, he had said—and she gave him a warm smile.

Ilya turned on the oven, then waited until he was sure that Shane was out of earshot. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “Pike, you have to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“You keep making faces every time that Shane and I touch. You need to get over it.”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Hayden!” Jackie hissed. “Stop it! Shane might hear you.”

“Look, Rozanov, I have kept myself together a lot better than I thought I would be able to through this whole thing, okay? This has been a lot for me to process, and I’ve been doing it quietly to keep Shane from freaking out any worse. Try to look at this from my point of view. I just found out that my best friend is in love with Ilya fucking Rozanov, the guy who has been nothing but an asshole to me for his entire career and I’m just supposed to be okay with it? You two are supposed to be rivals! The league says you hate each other and then I find out that the complete opposite is true? That’s a really hard thing to process, man.

“Shane doesn’t need someone to protect him, but he’s my friend and he deserves to have someone looking out for him, and you have been, very willingly, by choice, making yourself out to be a menace. And if anyone I care about tells me they’re in love with someone like that, I’m not going to be too fucking happy about it. Because whatever you two have going on privately behind closed doors doesn’t mean shit to me because all I’ve ever seen is the way you treat people in the ice, and that’s painted a very clear picture.

“I might not be in love with Shane, but I do love him, and I’m not going to let anyone hurt him or fuck with him. I’m going to do what I can in this situation to be supportive and keep my mouth shut, but it’s not fair of you to tell me that I have to just accept your relationship when you have been treating me like shit for the last eight years. And you have been doing it with full knowledge that I’m Shane’s friend. We’ve got a long way to go, buddy, before I’m okay with any of this.”

Ilya let the silence stretch out once Pike finished talking. Partly because he needed time to absorb so many angry words, but also because he was exhausted. Not that he didn’t begrudgingly accept that Pike made some good points, but he was just too tired to argue. The panic that he had been riding on the whole drive there had subsided, and it was going to end in a crash, eventually. Finally, Ilya sighed. “Thank you. For being here for Shane.”

“I did it for him, not for you.” Pike said, lifting his chin slightly.

“Yes. I know. And that is okay with me. I do not have the energy to get into this with you tonight, Hayden Pike, but… I appreciate all that you do for Shane.”

There was another long silence. This time, Pike’s wife broke it. “Hi.” She stepped forward with her hand extended. “I’m Jackie.”

“I am Ilya.” He said as they shook.

She smiled softly. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry that my husband is so worked up, but it’s been a stressful day for us.”

Ilya nodded. “Is okay. I understand. And… he is not… not everything he said is unfair. He does not need to like me right now.”

Her smile grew a little sadder. “Well, you coming here has made a huge difference for Shane. Thank you.”

“Thank you for being here when I was not. And for convincing Shane to call.”

She nodded. “We’ve seen him… well, we’ve been around for panic attacks before and it’s not usually like this. We thought about calling Yuna or David, but when we suggested it, he just kept saying that he’d call you later.”

Ilya nodded again. “I am sorry you had to get a babysitter.”

“Oh, no, don’t be.” Jackie shook her head. “It gets me out of the house, and the kids love her! I think the only person they probably love more is Uncle Shane.”

“Uncle Shane?” Ilya asked. He felt a pulling at his heart and, surprisingly, a small ache at the back of his eyes.

Jackie shrugged. “Shane’s part of the family.”

Ilya tried to hold onto the slight smile on his face, but he felt a tugging at the corners, trying to pull it down. He was thankful when the oven beeped and he could turn away to put Shane’s meal in.

He didn’t want to think about Zane Boodram while he was there, but… he did have a right to be mad at Ilya. They were doing much better, Boodram was trying very hard to fix things, and Ilya had fucked it up this time. He couldn’t tell him he had no family and then say he had to leave for a family emergency. Boodram had been absolutely right that Ilya was being contradictive. But…

Family had a lot of different meanings to a lot of different people. Bood kept asking if Ilya had family and he had taken it literally. He had only thought of his family back in Russia, which he wanted to forget, and his new family, the Hollanders, who he wanted to keep secret. But there were other definitions of family. Boodram had even said so himself: If you need help with something, the team is here for you. We’re a big family here. If the team could be a family, and Shane could be family to the Pikes… Ilya could fix this. He had to fix it, because it was part of the plan.

And because Boodram was a nice guy and he didn’t deserve Ilya treating him like shit.

Shane came back into the kitchen then and saved him from having to think more about Boodram and the awful mess that was waiting for him back in Ottawa. That wasn’t his focus now. Shane was what was most important.

His face was slightly flushed from his shower, and his hair was still damp as he stood in the doorway. “Hey, um, I know I’ve said it a lot now, but I just want to say it again, because my head is a little clearer. I’m sorry.”

It was Jackie that went over to him. “You are forgiven.” She hugged him tightly and Shane hugged her back. “We love you, and we aren’t mad at you.”

“Yeah, okay.” Shane closed his eyes as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “You guys probably need to eat, too.”

“Well, yes.” Jackie shrugged as Shane straightened. “I’m actually very hungry, but we have a babysitter all night. So, thank you, Shane, for this unexpected date night.”

“Date night?” Pike asked. “You really want to go out tonight?”

“I think going out after the day we had is a fantastic idea. But if you don’t want to, maybe I’ll ask Ilya.”

Pike stared at her in horror. “What?”

“If you don’t want to go with me.” She shrugged. “Shane, can I borrow your boyfriend?”

Shane laughed softly. “You’d have to ask him.”

“Now, hold on! Why would you pick Rozanov?” Pike demanded.

“Well, Shane has food, and if you don’t want to…” She turned to Ilya. “How about it, Ilya?”

Ilya smiled. He remembered Shane saying that he would like Pike’s wife. He had been right. “Ah, thank you so much for the invitation, but I ate before I got here.”

“Another time, then?”

Ilya nodded. “Yes. Another time.”

“What? No! Not another time!” Pike frowned. “She’s my wife!”

“Then take your wife to go get food without her kids.” Jackie said. “Even if it’s just to McDonald’s.”

“Shane, you’re sure you’re good now?” Pike asked as Shane walked over and put an arm around Ilya’s waist.

“Yeah, I’m good, Hayd. Go get something to eat. We’re fine.”

Pike nodded, and Ilya was pretty sure he was trying very hard to not look at him when he said, “If you need us, don’t be afraid to call, alright?”

“I’m good. I promise. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Bood paced in the hallway.

He hadn’t stopped feeling antsy from the night before. He had managed to go back in and smooth things out, telling everyone that had seen Rozanov leave that everything was fine. And then he had made sure the rest of the BBQ actually was fine.

He hadn’t been able to sit down and talk to Cassie about it until hours later, when everyone else had left. She had been more concerned about what could have happened–and to who–than with Rozanov potentially missing a meeting. And he could admit when it was put that way that he had probably overreacted. She had understood why Bood was upset about it. But had just reminded him that this was probably one of those moments that he needed to chill out, because he was mad about something that hadn’t even happened yet. But now…

He pulled his phone from his pocket for the thousandth time—to check the time, not if there were any messages—and then put it back. The meeting was supposed to start in two minutes.

And there were no messages.

Not that he was checking.

He couldn’t wait anymore. He didn’t want to be late, so he adjusted his jacket and opened the door.

The GM’s secretary smiled up at him from her desk. “Good morning, Mr. Boodram. Mr. Stern is ready for you.” She gestured toward the inner office.

He thanked her with a nod and walked over to open the door. The wall of Stern’s office that faced the waiting room was made of frosted glass, so Bood could see his outline sitting at his desk before he even got into the room.

“Boodram.” Stern closed his laptop slowly and moved aside a couple papers that were in front of him. “Good morning. Come on in and have a seat.”

“Good morning.” Bood did his best to smile as he lowered himself into one of the two chairs that faced the desk.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

Stern nodded once. “I understand that Rozanov had something come up that’s keeping him from joining us. I guess we’ll try again with him next month.”

Bood wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say anything to that. It felt off. To have Stern so casually just dismiss that Rozanov wasn’t there… Bood wished he would be mad about it, because he was. There had been no response from Rozanov. Bood had sent him a text the night before, just asking if everything was okay, and, yeah, he hadn’t exactly been expecting a reply, but he had thought he would maybe get something this morning. He thought it was too much to hope for a sorry, I can’t make it but it felt more realistic than his hope for the text that said Rozanov was on his way.

He did need to admit to Rozanov that he had overreacted a bit. They were both adults, and they needed to figure out how to communicate better and Bood was pretty sure that should start with a sorry. But in person this time. Not over text.

“Okay.” Stern leaned back in his chair, tenting his hands together. “So, we’re a little more than a month into the season. We’re off to a bit of a better start than last year… how’s everyone feeling about that?”

“Good.” Bood nodded. “I mean, we’re cautiously hopeful. We’ve been through this before, and I think everyone wants to stay optimistic while also not getting crushed later.”

“So moral is good?”

“For the most part. I mean, it dipped pretty hard when we lost Horn last season. We didn’t end on a very strong note, but the start of the season has been much better.” He paused briefly, to make sure his tone and expression stayed neutral. “Rozanov signing really helped get the guys excited to play.”

Stern huffed out a loud breath. “Yeah, thank Christ for Rozanov! I still can’t believe we inked that deal! I still wake up and pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming! I don’t know what he was thinking, but…” He sat forward. “Has he said anything to you? Let you know what made him what to sign with us?”

“He just wants to play hockey.” Bood thought his annoyance was obvious in his voice as he repeated the sentence he had heard Rozanov say constantly since he had first met him.

If Stern noticed that Bood was annoyed, he didn’t care. “I don’t think any team could get luckier… I mean, I think the only way you could is if Shane Hollander decided to sign with you.”

Bood fought to not roll his eyes. If Rozanov were here, he’d probably say he could convince Hollander to come play with them since he was his best friend.

Stern picked up one of the papers that he had set aside before. “With the addition of Rozanov, we gained some added strength at center.”

“Well, yeah, but we aren’t perfect. I mean, we can’t expect to be perfect, but even with Rozanov’s stats, we’re still struggling. We’re having a hard time finding the right lines. And we’re not consistent. What works one game doesn’t always work the next. We’ve got great guys with lots of talent, but we’re not exactly fitting together as a whole unit.”

“And defense?”

“The defense is fighting for their lives out there. They’re getting run ragged. We all are when we’re up against a team that puts up a lot of shots.”

“What can I do to help?”

Bood sat forward slightly. “I think it’s time to accept that Chambers isn’t our goalie. Not our starter at least.”

“There aren’t many affordable goalies on the market right now.”

Bood’s heart jumped slightly. His words might have been disappointing, but the fact that Stern was able to comment on the market meant that he had been looking. That was a good sign.

“There’s got to be something right? Some team who has a guy on the bench they wouldn’t mind parting with.”

Stern’s eyebrows rose skeptically. “You think bringing in another backup goalie would solve our problem?”

“No. Well, yes. Technically.”

“You’re gonna have to be a little clearer, here, Boodram.”

“Rozanov said ‘someone riding the bench who shouldn’t be.’”

“Rozanov? You and Rozanov had a chance to talk before this?”

Bood didn’t know why his cheeks heated slightly at the question. “Y-yes. We met with Dykstra and Chouinard earlier in the week. It was… Rozanov’s idea.”

Stern nodded. “You two make quite the team.”

Bood hadn’t been able to lie about Rozanov arranging the meet up, but he couldn’t bring himself to correct the GM now. Admitting that he and Rozanov weren’t actually getting along felt like too much of a failure. If Stern wanted to think things were okay between them, well, Bood would let him.

“I will keep my eyes and ears open to the goalie market. I’ll talk to the owners and see maybe if there’s anything they know that I don’t.” Stern went on, making a note on his paper. “Anything else?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, at least, not for now. A fresh body in the net doesn’t turn it all around for us. Like, there are other things that need to be addressed and fixed, but I think everyone agrees this is the most serious, so it’s where we should start.”

Stern smiled as he stood. “It’s always a pleasure talking to you, Boodram. It’s easy to see why you were the one that Danielsson wanted to replace him.”

Bood did his best to smile back as he got to his feet. “Thank you, sir. It’s an honor to follow in his footsteps.”

“Let’s try this again next month, okay? Tell your buddy Rozanov to try not to have any more emergencies so he can join us, alright?”

Bood nodded as they shook, carefully swallowing the words he actually wanted to say before they could jump out of his throat. “I’ll pass the message along.”

Boodram had barely spoken an unnecessary word to Ilya since he had arrived at the arena earlier. Ilya had been ready to do what needed to be done to smooth things over so they could play, but Boodram had approached him first.

“I overreacted a bit last night. Sorry.” And that had been it. But not in an ‘it’s okay’ kind of way. Boodram wasn’t exactly ignoring Ilya, but he had done a good job of not having to be near him when it wasn’t necessary.

Ilya’s sorry needed to be bigger than that, and it needed to happen in private, not in a locker room full of a bunch of guys, most of whom didn’t even know there was a problem. So, that was how Ilya ended up sitting in his car in front of Boodram’s house after the game, waiting for them to get home.

He didn’t get out until their car was pulled in and parked in the driveway and then he leaned against his car and lit a cigarette as he watched Boodram kiss his wife and send her inside. His walk down to meet Ilya was purposely slow and Ilya just pulled his hat down lower over his ears against the cold as he waited.

When Boodram reached him, he leaned back against the car as well, his hands tucked into his coat pockets.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Boodram said, staring straight ahead.

“I have quit many times.”

Boodram made a noise at that that could have been a chuckle or a snort, or even both. “I don’t think you’re very good at quitting, then.”

“I have come to apologize.” Ilya said, ashing his cigarette.

“Have you?”

“I have not been honest with you. And it is not fair for me to accuse you of not trusting me when I have not been trustworthy.”

“Okay.”

“I have not been lying to you completely on purpose.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I am used to protecting myself and the people I care about. And I wanted privacy, so I only told you about my family in Russia, because I do not care about them anymore. I do have people here that I care about that are like family, but I do not want to be bothered about them, or them to be bothered because of me. I do not want to be asked questions about them.”

“You couldn’t just tell me that? From the beginning?”

“No.” Ilya crouched down to grind his cigarette out against the curb. “But that is more a reflection of me than of you, Zane Boodram.”

“Look, Rozanov,” Boodram shifted slightly as Ilya straightened again, “I know my actions haven’t been the best. I’m trying, I swear I am. I’m not trying to make this about me or anything, but I really mean it when I say that I’m trying to give it my all because I want us to get along. I care about this team a lot, like, a-fucking-lot and it genuinely means so much to me that you want to come in here and play with us and you’re coming up with ideas on how to make us better.

“But we don’t get better as a team if you and I are constantly falling into these… moments of mistrust. First of all, it’s way too fucking stressful. Second, the guys are looking to us to lead them, and if we can’t even get along, how are we supposed to help them? We don’t have to be best friends or anything, especially since you already have a best friend—” Ilya couldn’t hold in a chuckle, “but I want to at least be your teammate and get along with you.”

“Okay. Two conditions.” Ilya said it casually as if he hadn’t been thinking about them all day.

“Conditions?”

“Number one, you do not ask about my family and do not tell anyone else about them.”

“Can’t really tell anyone else if you don’t give me details.”

“I am being serious, Zane Boodram. I do not want guys or WAGs coming to me and saying that they heard I had family and pushing for more details. I need to know that you understand that this is important to me. I am choosing to trust you. And maybe you do not believe this part, but I am really fucking scared to do it.”

Boodram turned to Ilya. They were silent for a long moment as Boodram examined his face in the dim light, but Ilya couldn’t have guessed what it was he was looking for. He thought he probably couldn’t tell how close his nerves had him to puking right there in the gutter, but he knew he would see the tears that he was fighting back. “Okay.” He finally said. “I can agree to that condition. I won’t tell anyone. Not even Cassie.”

Ilya nodded, but he couldn’t make his voice very loud when he said, “Okay. Thank you.”

“What’s the second condition?”

This time, Ilya turned to Boodram. “You have to stop looking for permission to be captain around me.” Ilya was pretty sure that Boodram’s cheeks darkened as he turned away. “I am not the captain of the Ottawa Centaurs. I am not the one with the patch on my jersey. You are not still earning the position, you were already given it because you deserve it. You are the one who leads the team, Zane Boodram. I follow where you go, and so does everyone else. Our team does not lack leadership or skill, like everyone says, but we have to find a way to show everyone that it is true. I am here and I am part of this team, and that is not going to change, but I am already sick of losing. So, we need to turn things around. I do not think you need my help, you are very good at being captain when you do not try too hard, but I will help you if you ask. I will not do it for you.”

Now Ilya was almost completely certain he was blushing. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll… work on that.”

“Okay.” Ilya pushed himself up off the car and straightened. “Tell Cassie I said, ‘hello.’ Enjoy what is left of your night, and I will see you tomorrow for our road trip, yes?”

Boodram just stared at him again for a moment. He was probably wondering if it was really going to be this easy. Ilya hoped it was. Finally, Boodram nodded and straightened as well. “Okay. Good night, Rozanov.”

“Goodnight, Bood. Sleep well.”

Chapter End Notes

Guys, I think they finally made it... 🥹

Things:
In the last chapter, Shane said he was going to tell Hayden that Lily got a new job. He panicked and didn't go with that excuse, but I couldn't find a way to explain that? Like, there was no where I could put it that I thought made sense, so, sorry, I'm just telling you now.

Hayden said what he said and I stand by it. If my friend suddenly told me they were in love with some guy who I knew nothing about except that he was an asshole to me every time we saw each other, I wouldn't be happy either because I would be very worried about how they were being treated. Even though I love Ilya, I stand by Hayden and his initial dislike of him. (I do acknowledge that eventually, he does need to realize he's not so bad and see how good Ilya is for Shane and get over it. I have lots of thoughts/feelings on the Hayden/Ilya relationship that I won't get into in this author's note, lol.)

So, this should be it for big angst. Maybe a little bit sprinkled in still, but no more emotional cliffhangers, I promise. I'm not sure how many chapters we are going to end up with, though. I know how much story is left and where it ends, I'm just not sure how many I need to tell the rest of the story. We have two pretty significant canon events that are coming up still in this fic, and then we'll need to wind things down. I'm not updating the chapter count at this time, though, because I'm sure I'll guess wrong...

Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

I'm going to be honest and admit that I forgot that a certain disagreeable character had to make an appearance in this fic, so there is just very, very brief homophobia and one homophobic slur in this chapter. It's very, very short, but I do want to give proper warning!

If someone had told Bood ten months ago that he would be playing mini sticks in Dallas in the middle of November, he wouldn’t have believed them. If they had said he would be doing it with Ilya Rozanov, he would have called them a liar. But that’s exactly where he was.

Rozanov had picked Lene to be on his team again and that meant that Bood and Finn were against them as Horn and Vivian watched. Horn hadn’t quite gotten around to setting up anything as fancy as Danny’s boys had, so they had set up their rink in the hallway, with a reminder to not hit the baseboards, and Horn positioned in the doorway to the living room to keep the ball from being knocked out of play.

“Dad!” Finn threw his head back dramatically. “Rozanov keeps cheating!”

“What?” Rozanov turned around. He had Lene perched on one hip, and he hiked her up a little higher on his side. “Me? Cheating? Never! You are just jealous I am beating you with one hand!”

“You keep hooking me!”

“There is no whistle.”

“Mom doesn’t let us have whistles in the house!”

Horn chuckled. “You begged me to invite Rozanov, Finny.”

Finn’s cheeks were already flushed from the game, but Bood thought he’d be blushing if they weren’t. “Nuh uh! I didn’t beg you!”

“Is okay, Finn. I am a very cool guy.” Rozanov shrugged as he dribbled the ball a bit. “You can admit it.”

“I didn’t beg.” He repeated.

“No need to be embarrassed.” Rozanov teased. Lene dropped her stick and Rozanov squatted down to grab it for her.

Bood reached in and hooked the ball, pulling it away and sending it over to Finn. Finn was too surprised to do anything at first but managed to recover and shot the ball into the net.

“Hey!” Rozanov straightened, holding Lene tight to his side. “Now who is cheater?”

“That wasn’t cheating.” Finn said.

“Yes, it was! We were in timeout! You were arguing with ref!” He turned to Bood, “And you! My own captain! You betrayed me!”

“You didn’t want me on your team.” Bood shrugged.

“I think that’s probably enough sticks for today.” Vivian said and Finn groaned loudly. “Yes, I think we need to be done. Zane and Ilya need to go get ready for their actual game. And your dad, too.”

Finn groaned again and Lene threw her arms so suddenly around Rozanov’s neck that he was knocked slightly off balance. He steadied her with his other hand. “Yes, I think it is time to go.”

“I’ll call you a car.” Horn said, pulling out his phone and stepping away.

Vivian came over and tried to take Lene from Rozanov, but she clung to him tightly. “Hey, come on. It is time for me to go.” He helped Vivian transfer Lene to her arms. “You are coming to game, yes? You can watch me beat your dad.”

“You’re not gonna beat Dad!” Finn jumped in.

“Oh, we are not?”

“No! We’re best in our conference!”

“Well, we are not worst in our conference. At the moment.”

Bood chuckled. “Way to exude confidence, Roz.”

Rozanov narrowed his eyes. “I think you are insulting me, but I do not know that word.”

“It means to show. Way to show confidence.”

“Ah, yes, an insult. As I thought.”

“Alright, let’s say goodbye to Zane and Ilya.” Vivian said.

“Do they have to go?” Finn asked, even though he was already hugging Bood.

“Yeah, unfortunately, dude.” Bood ruffled his hair. “We kinda have a hockey game to play tonight.”

Finn let go of him to instead cling to Rozanov, who hugged him back tightly.

“When you come to visit in Ottawa, you come to my house and we will have a rematch with no cheaters, okay?”

Finn tilted his head back, resting his chin against Rozanov’s stomach as he stared up at him with wide eyes. “You have a sticks rink in your house?”

“No. Not now. But if I knew you were coming,” he shrugged, “I have the room.”

He turned quickly to his mother. “Mom! Can we go to Ottawa? To Ilya’s house?”

Vivian laughed and set down Lene. “I don’t think Ilya means right now, honey.”

“Right now, might be tricky. You have school, I have hockey… but summer, maybe. If you come when I am not on vacation.”

Bood bent down so that Lene could hug him. “You already have your vacation planned?” He chuckled as he straightened and Rozanov knelt.

“Yes, of course. I live in Canada now. My vacation is going to the cottage.” He opened his arms for Lene and she threw her arms around his neck.

Bood shook his head. “I told you, we don’t all have cottages.”

“Yes, but my be—” As Rozanov was speaking, Lene leaned away from their hug and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. It was as if Rozanov’s brain short circuited. He just stared into space for a moment before he turned to look at her with a smile that seemed more sad than anything. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He smoothed her hair and then stood. “Uh… anyway, um, yes. I am going to a cottage.”

Bood wasn’t sure what it was that Rozanov had been about to say, but when Horn came back and announced their car was going to be there in about fifteen minutes, he felt like the chance to ask was gone. Bood’s immediate thought was that the end of that sentence was “best friend, Shane Hollander, does.” First of all, because he had gotten so used to Rozanov only addressing Hollander that way that sometimes Bood was afraid he’d slip up and call him his best friend as well. And second, everyone knew that Hollander had a cottage because ESPN had made that documentary about it.

He wondered if Rozanov was ever going to get tired of the bit. Obviously, they were at least civil toward each other. He had gotten Hollander to come meet Elias, and they had started with a pleasant conversation, it had just gone very off the rails once the kids had left, which did show some restraint. Still, they couldn’t be close enough for Rozanov to actually be visiting Hollander’s cottage. That part had to be bullshit—if, of course, Bood’s assumption on what Rozanov was about to say was even correct—because there’s no way Hollander would want a guy like Rozanov around when he was trying to relax.

But he had learned over the few months they had known each other that Rozanov could be a more chill guy than he had ever imagined he would be. Bood had actually learned a lot about Rozanov that he found surprising. In the time that Bood had known him, he’d never seen Rozanov take anyone home. A couple nights ago they had even gone out after they had managed to beat Minnesota, and Bood had noticed that there were quite a few women who had approached Rozanov and he had shot each one down quickly. And that was unusual. There was lots of proof out there that Rozanov very much was a lady’s man. And sure, just because they never saw it, didn’t mean it didn’t happen. Maybe Rozanov was just more private about it now.

Or maybe it had to do with that secret family that Bood wasn’t supposed to ask about but had spent a lot of time over these last few days thinking about. It had been hard to keep it to himself, but he had managed to not say anything to Cassie. Of course it had helped that they had had to fly out so soon after Rozanov had disclosed the information, but he was committed to keeping the secret. Rozanov had genuinely looked scared when he had said the words and Bood wasn’t going to fuck this up. So, he wouldn’t tell anyone, but he couldn’t promise not to think about it.

They didn’t beat Dallas, nor did they beat Anaheim, though they had forced overtime in that game with a late Rozanov goal to at least earn a point.

And now their road trip was over, and they were back in Ottawa, and it was not likely they were going to beat Toronto, either. It was their first game against the Guardians that season, which meant it was the first time that Dallas Kent and Ilya Rozanov were going to face off in the Canadian Tire Centre.

Bood had always hated Kent. They had played together in Juniors, and he had hated him back then. He hated it more that Kent had made it into the league and had become such a favorite. As far as Bood was concerned, the guy was a piece of shit, so who the fuck cared if he was good at hockey? He was an annoying little fucker who wanted to be the next Shane Hollander and took it personally that he was always compared to Rozanov.

Bood took it personally, too.

Kent spent most of warmups near the center line, chirping the whole time. He talked shit on the team and any player he thought he could get a rise out of but was obviously trying desperately to get to Rozanov, who was doing an excellent job of both ignoring Kent and seeming unbothered. Rozanov was known for hanging around the line, talking to guys on the other team before the game started, and he was sure that it wasn’t lost on anyone that he was choosing to avoid it for this game. But still, Bood knew he was hearing every word Kent said. He had come to realize that about Rozanov; he was always paying attention and he remembered everything.

“Hey!” Dykstra was standing with Rozanov in the tunnel, waiting for Bood to be the last off the ice when they cleared it for game start. “Did you see they’re putting in their backup to play us?”

“Yes.” Bood grumbled. It wasn’t anything new. A lot of teams chose to give their starting goalies a break when they played the Centaurs. Even though it was a common occurrence, it still stung.

“They do not need their starting goalie to beat us.” Rozanov said lowly as they started walking. “They put up almost as many shots as Montreal. Unless Chambers can pull another game like Minnesota out of his ass, Toronto will just out score us.”

“Well, then I guess we’re putting up our own big numbers, guys.” Bood clapped Dykstra on the back as they walked into the locker room.

Bood had not expected to eat his own words so quickly.

“Holy fuck!” Rozanov groaned, struggling to catch his breath.

“This guy is their backup?” Chouinard asked on his way by.

Bood could only shrug and shake his head, glancing over his shoulder at the net, where Wyatt Hayes was currently chatting casually and laughing with a few guys, his helmet thrown back so he could spray water into his mouth. Bood was positive their line had just played the best couple minutes of hockey they’d played all year, creating shots and sending rebounds back toward the man who was apparently the second-best goalie on Toronto’s team, and the man hadn’t even broken a sweat.

What the fuck was he doing on their bench?

“Rozanov!” Kent had tried and failed to engage Rozanov at puck drop and he had continued to ignore him. Now, as Kent glided up to them, Rozanov didn’t try to hide his annoyed eyeroll or the sigh that turned into a groan. “Wow, you’re such a funny guy.” Kent smirked, stopping in front of him.

“What do you want, Kent?” He asked as Kent inched much too close to him.

“What the fuck are you doing in Ottawa, Rozanov?”

“Right now? Talking to a fucking idiot.”

Kent’s smile grew really tight. “Oh, you’ve got quite the fucking mouth on you, you know that?”

“I have heard that before.” Rozanov moved even closer. Their chests were nearly touching. “Is that why you have been so obsessed with me? Are you thinking you would like a demonstration of what else this mouth can do?”

Kent grimaced, and backed off slightly, but apparently, he was committed to holding his ground. “Don’t be fucking disgusting.” He groaned, “First Hollander, now you?”

A flicker of panic crossed Rozanov’s face before he was able to control it. “First Hollander, what?”

“Oh, have you guys not heard?” Kent asked smugly, probably proud he had finally gotten some kind of response out of Rozanov, “Ottawa always is a little behind. Rumor has it that Hollander’s gay. Are you a fucking fag, too?”

Rozanov shoved Kent backwards, which, Bood thought, was showing a lot of restraint, because he wanted to knock Kent’s teeth out for that comment, and Hollander wasn’t even his friend. The two of them started slinging insults at each other, and right as the thought that Bood should do something entered his head, someone in blue put their arm around Rozanov and, rather gently, pulled him away.

Rozanov turned to see who it was and immediately the tension seemed to melt from his body as his face lit up. “Price!” He grinned up at him. “Thank God you are here! This goblin is bothering me!” Rozanov pointed at Kent.

Ryan Price was one of the biggest, toughest enforcers in the league. No one wanted to fight him and that was, in fact, the reason that no one had yet knocked Kent’s teeth in this season. Toronto had picked him up for that very reason. He was traded constantly, had played for about every Eastern team except the Centaurs, but had been with Boston when they had won the Cup, which was maybe why he was being so easy with Rozanov.

And was actively trying not to smile at Roz’s comment.

With Price’s entrance, Kent was starting to make his exit. “Eat my nuts, Rozanov!” He snarled as he started to make his way to the bench.

“No fucking thank you!” Rozanov called back, and Bood actually heard Hayes laugh behind him.

Rozanov patted Price on the arm and the enforcer did smile then, just a small one, and shook his head as he skated over toward their netminder.

Bood didn’t know how to read the look that was on Rozanov’s face. That was one thing he hadn’t quite figured out in their time together. Rozanov was extremely good at hiding his feelings, but when they showed on his face, they were always too complicated to name. When he turned and headed back to the bench, Bood fell in beside him.

“Weird thing for Kent to say after that conversation.” Bood did his best to make sure his tone was casual, and he got a soft snort and a weak smile in return. “Look, uh, I’m sure Kent’s just talking shit, you know? About Hollander, I mean. We haven’t heard anything, so I’m sure he’s lying. Maybe he’s trying to start the rumor, since he’s a jealous piece of shit, you know?”

They had reached the bench and Rozanov reached for a water bottle, squirting a bit in his mouth before spraying more on the back of his neck. “Yeah. Sure.” He replaced the water bottle before skating over to take the faceoff.

Some fucker in Montreal had blabbed.

And now assholes like Dallas Kent were going to use Shane to fuel their homophobia. This had been the whole reason why he had not wanted Shane to tell his team. But Shane had wanted to, and that was Shane’s decision. Ilya wasn’t going to tell him no, even if he hadn’t liked the idea.

He couldn’t think about Shane right now—which was ridiculous because he was always thinking about Shane—because there was nothing to be done about it in that moment and he needed to focus on the game. But that was hard with fucking Dallas Kent chirping in his ear.

Ilya had wanted to ignore Kent. He hated him. And every time they played against each other, the little shit got a lot of attention for “being able to keep up with Rozanov” and Ilya hated being part of the reason that Kent stayed so popular.

But Kent just had to bring Shane into it. Ilya knew that Kent wanted to be Shane, because Kent wasn’t quiet about it. But Shane didn’t give a single shit, liked Kent maybe even less than Ilya did, and had gotten in what was only like his third fight ever to teach the little homophobic assclown a lesson last season. Ilya was pretty sure that one of the biggest reasons they had brought in Ryan Price was because Shane had been able to hand Kent his own ass so easily. Which meant that Shane didn’t need Ilya’s help at all to stand up to guys like that, but that didn’t stop Ilya from wanting to fight him.

The only thing that was keeping him from it was Ryan Price, though, ironically, not for the reason that Toronto had brought him on. Ilya was a little surprised to realize he missed him. He knew that if he started anything with Kent, Price would be forced to do something about it and Ilya didn’t want it to come to that. And, oddly enough, when Ilya stuck close to Price, Kent was more likely to keep his distance.

“How is Toronto?” Ilya found himself asking Price during a break.

Price looked a little confused when he answered, “Not bad.”

Ilya nodded. “Sucks that you have to play with Kent, though.”

He watched Price search until he found Kent, talking to Troy Barrett. He stared for a moment before he asked, “How’s Ottawa?”

“Not as bad as I thought it would be.” Ilya shrugged.

Price didn’t look like he believed him, but Ilya thought if they had had the time to sit down and explain it all, he would have understood him more than anyone else. Even though things were going well in Ottawa now, there was still a lingering ache when he thought about Boston, and it had been a while since they played together but Price reminded him of his old team. It was both surprising and disappointing that the league hadn’t scheduled a game between Ottawa and Boston earlier than the end of November. He wondered if Price also missed Boston. He’d been with a lot of different teams, and he didn’t really make friends, but Ilya had hoped his time in Boston hadn’t been so bad.

But it wasn’t the time or the place to ask that question. Ilya had just been standing there, staring into space, until a whistle told him to get back to the game. He glanced up at Price, gave him a smile, and headed toward his bench.

November was a very busy month for the Centaurs. Bood felt like they were running, trying to catch up all month long. It wasn’t bad though. They were playing a lot of games, but Harris had come up with a lot of things for them to do as well. Yes, it was PR stuff, but it was also fun. And they had been winning games. Not a lot, but they were doing slightly better than last year and had taken quite a few to overtime, so the points were adding up.

They were lucky enough to be one of the teams this year that didn’t have games crowded in around American Thanksgiving next week and they could take a breather after what was essentially a game every other night for two weeks straight. Bood wondered what Rozanov thought about missing the holiday. He might not be American, but he had played there for eight years.

He stood up in his seat and looked around the car. Montreal was close enough they had decided not to fly because the train was just as quick. But Bood didn’t see Rozanov anywhere. Maybe he was a little slow getting on. Or maybe he was off with someone from med, getting an ice pack. He’d taken a pretty good punch from Hayden Pike of all people, and Bood couldn’t wait to give him shit over it once he’d calmed down a bit.

“Hey, you seen Roz?” He leaned over his seat to ask Ryba in the seat behind him.

Ryba’s brows shot up. “He did not tell you?”

Bood frowned. “Tell me what?”

“He’s not coming back to Ottawa with us. Said he has to stay in Montreal, but he will be back tomorrow.”

“Why?”

Ryba just shrugged, putting in his earbuds.

Bood frowned harder. “Hey,” he called across the aisle to where Dillion and Chouinard were having a conversation. “Did Roz say anything to you guys?”

Dillion shrugged and shook his head, but Chouinard asked, “About staying in Montreal? He said he was, but not why.”

Bood frowned and pulled out his phone.

you okay?

Roz: Yes. Fine.

Rozanov answered right away.

why didn’t you tell me you were staying in Montreal?

The typing bubble bounced up and down a couple times.

Roz: Because you ask too many questions.

that’s not fair I’m trying

Roz: Yes, you are.

also, I’m your captain

Roz: Yes. I’m sorry. I should have told you. But Coach knows. I have permission.

Roz: I have business to deal with. I will be back in Ottawa tomorrow night.

well, if you need anything let me know

Roz: This isn’t like a family emergency this time. This time it was planned but thank you. You will see tomorrow.

Bood didn’t think that you will see tomorrow was supposed to sound ominous. He thought that most people probably wouldn’t take it that way at all, but something felt off to him. Even though Rozanov had told him everything was fine, he was going to worry.

“You’re worried?” Cassie asked when Bood was home and had explained all of it to her. “Okay. But why?”

“I don’t know. I’m just… worried. I hope Rozanov is okay.”

Cassie propped herself up on her elbow, and even in the dark, Bood could see the smug look on her face. “What?” He asked.

“I want you to think all the way back to July…”

“Cassie.”

“To when you first found out that Ilya had joined the team.”

Bood sighed. “Okay. Fine.”

“Do you remember what you said to me?”

He shook his head.

“You said, ‘Motherfucking Rozanov better not think he’s coming in here to take over this team, because I won’t stand for it!’” She did her best impression of him, which was a lot better than Bood wanted to admit, but he still rolled his eyes. “‘He’s got another thing coming if he thinks he can pull one over on us! This is my team now, and I’m not going to let him ruin it!’”

“Okay. What’s your point?”

“No point.” She laid back down and snuggled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. “I just wanted to remind you how far you two have come in your friendship.”

“We aren’t friends.”

“Really?” Her voice was dripping with skepticism.

“Yeah. Or, I mean, Roz hasn’t said we’re friends, so…”

“And two people can’t be friends unless one of you declares it? That sounds dumb.”

“We just… with everything that’s happened and those times we’ve both fucked everything up between us, I just… I don’t want to jinx it.” The words were a little painful to get out. He felt silly saying them.

Cassie didn’t laugh at him, though. She just kissed his shoulder.

In the back corner of his mind, Rozanov was already his friend, but what if Rozanov didn’t think Bood was his friend? He thought about it way too often. It made him feel childish, because he was pretty sure even though he could play it cool and say that it didn’t matter if he and Rozanov were friends, he’d be secretly devastated at the rejection.

But he had woken up the next morning feeling a little better about it and by the time the text from Rozanov had popped up on his phone that afternoon, he had managed to forget why he was even worried in the first place.

Now, he was just confused. Because Rozanov had sent him a link to a website with no other context. Something called the Irina Foundation? That didn’t sound like anything bad, so he opened it and was taken to what appeared to be some sort of livestream. The visual apologized for the technical difficulties but assured him they would be starting soon.

Weird.

“Cass?” He shouted. “Where are you?”

“Kitchen!”

“Come here!”

“Here where?”

Bood sighed. “Living room!”

Cassie plopped down next to him a few moments later. “What is it?” She asked.

“Rozanov sent me this link.” He explained, turning the phone slightly so she could see better.

She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes and wrinkling her nose slightly. “What is it?”

“A livestream, I guess. Something for the Irina Foundation.”

“What’s that?”

“No clue. I’ve never heard of it.”

“Has Rozanov ever mentioned it?”

“I don’t think so.” At that moment, the technical difficulties screen disappeared and was immediately replaced by the familiar layout of a press conference.

Cassie gasped.

Because sitting at the table, waiting for the noise from the very packed crowd to die down, were Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. The camera slowly zoomed in on the table, cutting most of the crowd out of the shot as Rozanov adjusted his tie. They looked at someone or something off screen, and then Hollander leaned in closer to his microphone.

“Ilya and I have been competing against each other for over eight seasons. A lot has been said, and written, about our rivalry. About what makes us different as players, and as people. But I don't say enough how much I respect Ilya, not only as one of the best players in the NHL, but as a person.” A soft smile crept onto Rozanov’s stoic expression. “He is a great leader, a fierce competitor, and an amazing goal scorer. But over the years I have also gotten to know him off the ice, and I consider him a friend.”

The crowd murmured slightly as Hollander repeated himself, this time in French. Cassie leaned in close, resting her hand on Bood’s knee, and he covered it with his own as Hollander continued. “When Ilya signed with Ottawa, we began talking about creating a charity together. Today that dream is a reality. The Irina Foundation will raise money and awareness for organizations that provide support, counseling, and assistance for people who are suffering from depression and other mental illnesses that can lead to suicide. It’s a cause that is important to both of us, and I am very happy and proud to be working with Ilya to create something that can hopefully help a lot of people.”

Hollander paused again before he started translating into French.

“Did you have any idea this was happening?” Cassie asked, whispering as if they were in the room and needed to keep their voices down.

“No clue.” Bood whispered back.

Rozanov leaned more into his microphone as Hollander finished and cleared his throat. “Ah, I can only say my part in English.” He smiled, and even though the audience laughed, it was one of those sad smiles, the tight ones that didn’t brighten his face or reach his eyes. “This is not in the notes, but I want to say that the Irina Foundation is named for my mother. She battled depression without help for many years. She had no support, no medical treatment. When she—” The words seemed to catch in his throat and Bood watched as Hollander, who looked close to tears, reached over and laid a hand on Rozanov’s arm. Rozanov took a shaky breath. “My mother died when I was twelve years old. She lost her battle. This foundation is for her. It is to help people like her, so they do not have to fight alone.” Rozanov dropped his eyes to the table and sniffled as Hollander patted his arm.

There was no sound from the phone for a long time, as if the broadcast had been muted. Then, Hollander said softly, “Thank you, Ilya.”

Bood stood up. He couldn’t sit still anymore. He had to move. Hollander was still talking from the phone in his hand, going on about their hockey camps and the organizations they planned to make donations to, but Bood wasn’t processing any of it. It was just washing over him as he paced.

“Zane. Zane.”

Bood hadn’t even realized Cassie had stood up as well until he turned and they nearly collided. “Hey.” She ran her palms up and down his biceps.

“I’m sorry.” He lifted his empty hand up to his forehead. “I, uh, I don’t know…”

“It’s okay.” She said softly.

“I just… Fuck. Jesus, twelve? He was twelve when his mom died?” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be this upset about this, I don’t know why—”

“Hey.” Her hands tightened around his arms. “This is okay. You can be upset.”

Bood drug in a deep breath and then wrapped his arms around his wife. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on her head as she embraced him back, and Hollander’s tiny voice was answering questions from the reporters from his phone speakers.

Shane Hollander, who really was Ilya Rozanov’s friend. His best friend. Because Rozanov had just announced to the world that his mother had died from suicide when he was twelve and everyone had been shocked to hear it except for Hollander. Fuck. Rozanov hadn’t been lying. It hadn’t been a bit or a joke or just a way to fuck with people.

Rozanov had been telling the truth the whole time.

Ilya hadn’t wanted to leave Montreal, but with Shane flying out to Chicago that night he hadn’t had a reason to stay. He had really hoped that Shane would decide not to go, because he mostly had just wanted to not be alone. But he had known Shane would never do that.

Since the press conference had ended, he had started receiving text messages again. It was like back when he was trying to leave Boston, and even if most of them had been positive or condolences, it was dredging up those lonely feelings again.

He had responded to three of those messages before he silenced the notifications so he didn’t have to hear when others came through. One was from Marlow, one was from Svetlana, and one was from Bood.

Marlow had told him to reach out if he needed anything, Sveta had told him she couldn’t believe he had done that—which made two of them—but she was proud of him, and Bood…

Bood had asked him to let him know when he was getting back to Ottawa.

Ilya felt like it probably shouldn’t have hurt so much to receive that text from Bood but it was just such a curt message asking for a curt reply. He was probably worried again about Ilya not being back in the morning and didn’t want him missing practice, which was valid. Ilya hadn’t told him he was staying in Montreal beforehand because he had been afraid of all the questions. He hadn’t wanted confrontation because he had been nervous enough and so now Bood was probably mad at him for flaking again.

And he probably hadn’t even watched the press conference.

Ilya couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t really explained what it was. He had just sent the link. He hadn’t told him that he needed to open it then. Maybe Bood had waited too long to open it and the stream was over, or maybe he hadn’t opened it at all. So, Ilya had just told him when he was leaving Montreal and tried to forget about it, but it didn’t work.

He was still spiraling through thoughts of how he had likely fucked everything up again when he got home and his headlights washed over a familiar car sitting in the road near his gate. And then a familiar man stepped out.

Ilya could only stare while his gate rumbled open. Then he rolled down his window to stick an arm out and motioned for him to follow. Bood hopped back in his car and a moment later, Ilya was ducking under his closing garage door to meet his captain in the driveway.

“Hi.” Bood’s voice was as whispy as the mist that accompanied it before disappearing into the night sky as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

“Why are you here?” Ilya asked.

“I, uh… wow, shit. This sounds stupid to say out loud… to you but…” He shook his head and exhaled heavily. “I just wanted to see you and make sure you were okay.”

Ilya was back to not being able to do anything but stare. He wasn’t even breathing.

“That press conference was… hearing you talk about your mom just really got to me man, and, I don’t know, I guess I kinda freaked out thinking about how you were… um, anyway, I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone after that.”

It wasn’t a conscious thing. Ilya hadn’t told himself to move in anyway. Just one second, he was standing there, and the next he was hugging Bood. It took his brain a second to catch up and then he released him and stepped back. “Sorry.” He muttered.

But Ilya had barely even gotten the word out before Bood pulled him back in again. Ilya’s chest was feeling too tight and his eyes were aching, but he clung to Bood, dropping his head to shoulder and grabbing fistfuls of his coat. “I thought you did not watch.” He admitted, his voice muffled.

“Why wouldn’t I watch it?” Bood released him and Ilya stepped back, a little reluctantly.

“I do not know…” He gave a half shrug, trying to play it cool, but… “I thought maybe you did not care enough.”

“Don’t care? Roz, that’s ridiculous. Of course I care.”

“It’s just… sometimes, there are…” He didn’t know how to explain it with words, so he touched his temple and then waved his hand through the air, “the thoughts are not nice.”

Bood winced slightly, but then nodded, “Well… if it makes you feel any better, I was scared to come here.”

“Why?”

“I guess I just thought maybe you wouldn’t actually show up alone and then you’d be mad at me for, you know… finding things out. But I just really didn’t want you to be alone, so I drove over here to wait for you, and I actually almost left a couple times, because I was scared I’d get in trouble again.”

Ilya chuckled. “In trouble?”

“I just really don’t want you to hate me.” Bood’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t actually meant to say the words and he quickly stammered, “I mean, uh… I just… Anyway, sorry to make this awkward.” Bood shook his head. “Wow. It’s very awkward. I should go. I’m sorry—”

“I do not hate you, Bood.” Ilya cut him off and it was Bood’s turn to just stare. “I… do not have many people who would do this for me. It means a lot. You are a great guy. A great friend.” Bood’s face lit up. “So… if you want, you could come in.” Ilya shrugged, once again trying to play it cool. “You made the trip. And I have beer. Plus, it is freezing out here. Your stupid Canadian winters... I swear it is colder than Moscow.”

Bood chuckled. “Well… a beer would be nice.”

Chapter End Notes

Wyatt Hayes, everyone's favorite goalie, has finally joined the chat! 🥳
I know it was just the tiniest mention, but just hang in there!

Obviously, some of the dialogue from the game against Toronto as well as Shane and Ilya's speeches during the press conference are from the books. I'm not claiming those words as my own. I wanted to give a nod to TG, since I'm chugging right along through that timeline, and I also wanted to keep the Irina Foundation announcement true to the source.

Chapter 11

Chapter Notes

For those of you worried about the accuracies of the events that parallel our own timeline (it's me, I'm the only one who cares), I am very aware that the actual Ottawa hockey team's foundation was not founded until August 2020, but I really needed it to exist earlier, okay?

Roz groaned as he fell into the seat next to Bood dramatically, managing to land partway on top of him, even with the armrest in the way. Bood just shoved him off. “Hey. I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

“Yes, it was kind of looking that way.” Roz agreed, shifting around in his seat, getting more comfortable. “But that would not have been my fault. I would not get in trouble.”

Bood chuckled. “True. If you miss the flight because of the owners, I’m pretty sure you get a free pass.”

“Maybe I should have been late. Maybe they would have chartered me my own flight.”

“Nah, probably driven you there.”

“Ew.”

Bood laughed. “Everything go good?”

“Oh, yes. Is great. Fantastic actually. They want to show that they have… um, solid?” Roz’s brow wrinkled as he searched for the word. “That we are solid? In it together?”

“Solidarity?”

“Ah, yes, thank you. They want to show that there is solidarity between Irina Foundation and the club. The gala? The one that is in January?” Roz asked the question as if it were something new and Bood hadn’t been going for years, but he just nodded to show he understood. “They want me to be special guest. Shane, too. They will announce that the Ottawa Centaur Community Foundation will be supporting the Irina Foundation and they will make donation to announce our partnership.”

“Wow, that’s incredible, man! Congratulations!”

“Thank you. I was a little worried. I did not tell them that I was going to start a charity. I did not know how they would react.”

“Look, anyone who isn’t okay with someone starting a charity that not only donates to mental health organizations but also wants to make hockey safe and welcoming for everyone is someone you don’t want to be around. But the owners are awesome. Great people, great family…”

“Yes, I am seeing that.”

“So, Hollander’s okay with going to a rival team’s fundraising gala?”

Roz shrugged. “I did not tell him yet. I will call him after his game tonight. He will not want me to bother him before. But I think probably yes he will want to go. It will be good for the foundation.” Roz dropped his voice before he continued, “Also, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I do not think that Montreal considers us actual rivals.”

“Hey, fuck you.” Bood laughed.

“At this point, I think the only team who even cares we exist is Tampa Bay because they are floundering at the bottom with us.”

“Pretty sure Boston cares, because we stole you away.”

Roz winced. “Yes. Maybe Boston cares…”

“What do you think it’s going to be like playing there tomorrow afternoon?”

“I do not know. I have been trying to not think about it.”

“Are you worried about it?” Bood asked gently, “Like… how the fans will react?”

Roz shrugged. He was trying very hard to pretend he didn’t care, so Bood chose to ignore how nervous he seemed. “I mean, they will probably boo me, but that is okay. I am used to being booed.”

“But… not in Boston.”

“No. Not in Boston.”

Ilya had felt like he had come to terms with leaving Boston. He had thought he was at peace with it, but when they arrived at TD Garden, made their way inside, and then went to the visitors’ locker room, that felt bad.

Really bad.

Like, the entire arena had collapsed on top of him and he couldn’t breathe bad.

He dressed slowly, hearing and seeing what was going on around him without processing. He wished they were playing at home. Shane was in Pittsburgh tonight, but if the game was in Ottawa, at least Ilya would have been close to home, and David and Yuna. With it being an afternoon game, they’d fly out for Seattle immediately afterwards, and that would be good. Because he knew Cliff Marlow well enough to know that he’d want to go out tonight and Ilya just didn’t have the heart or the stomach for that.

Because seeing Marlow was going to be hard enough.

So hard that Ilya almost didn’t go to center ice during warmups. He had been avoiding the boards, keeping away from the crowd, doing everything he could to not notice the signs with his name on them. They didn’t look negative, but he didn’t want to risk it.

When there were only a few minutes left, he slowly made his way up to the red line. His head was down, and that’s why the first thing he saw were Marlow’s skates, gliding into view.

“I thought maybe you were ignoring me.”

Ilya shrugged, still not being able to bring himself to look up. Looking up and seeing Marlow’s face, meeting his eyes, just felt like too much. It must be how Shane felt all the time. “There is not much to miss about you, so…”

“Aw, fuck you, man!” Marlow chuckled. “You miss me like crazy, I’m sure!”

“Well, Ottawa is very boring.”

“Too bad you guys have to leave right after. We’d go out and have some fun tonight.”

“I am not so sure you will want that after we beat you.”

Marlow laughed. “Okay, Rozy, whatever you say.”

Ilya smiled softly and found the courage to raise his eyes slightly, so he was looking at Marlow’s knees. “We are due for a win, yes? Let me come in here and really make Boston hate me.”

“Boston doesn’t hate you, Roz.” He said it as if it was the most common knowledge and a ridiculous thing for Ilya to say. He probably was rolling his eyes if Ilya had been looking at his face. Then, in true Cliff Marlow fashion, he changed the subject immediately. “Mom really missed you at Thanksgiving, by the way.”

“I miss your mom, too.”

“Oh, come on, fuck you, I’m being sincere.”

Ilya’s eyes had made it up to Marlow’s shoulders and he swallowed against the lump in his throat. “It was really different, not celebrating it this year.”

“I guess now that you’re Canadian, you have a different Thanksgiving, right?”

Ilya laughed and that’s what finally brought his eyes all the way up to Marlow’s face. Marlow’s stupid, handsome, familiar, smiling face. “I am not Canadian, you dumb motherfucker. I just live there. I am still Russian.”

“Ah, you know what I mean!” He shook his head, his grin never failing. “Anyway, how’s Jane?” He asked, dropping his voice.

Ilya’s chest felt too tight again, but this time, maybe it wasn’t a bad way. For a moment all he could do was nod. “Jane is… good.”

“It’s nice, right? Being so close to her now? It still fucking sucks that I can’t play with you anymore, but I bet it makes you happy to see her more, right?”

Ilya nodded slowly. “Yes, but it does not mean I do not miss you playing with you, too.”

“Maybe we’ll get to play together at the All-Star Game.”

“You are planning on making the All-Star team?”

Marlow laughed again. Ilya realized he really missed the sound of it. “Hey, now that you aren’t in my way, I’ve been off to a pretty wicked start to the season.”

“Oh, I was what was holding you back this whole time?”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to make you look bad.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Hey! Roz!” Dillion called at the same time someone else shouted for Marlow and they both turned to see their teams clearing the ice.

“Good luck tonight, Rozy.” Marlow said, starting to slowly back away.

“I will not go easy on you.” Ilya responded.

Marlow smirked. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

Roz had been in a really good mood when he got on the plane. It had held for a while, but as they drew closer and closer to Boston, the quieter he had gotten. And by the time they had stepped off the bus at TD Garden, he looked like he was simply going to cave in on himself or crumble into dust.

Bood had kept a close eye on him in the locker room as they got ready for warmups. Many guys had tried to approach Roz, probably ask him how he felt about being back in Boston, but Bood had redirected them with a look and a jerk of his head. Eventually they had all ended up on the same page and left him alone.

And then they had made it out on the ice, and Bood watched Roz stick to the center, his head down. He must have been so in his own head that he hadn’t seen the signs—not a lot of them, but enough to notice—that welcomed him back to Boston. And if he did see them, he was choosing to ignore them. Actually, he had seemed like he was choosing to ignore everything and everyone, until there was only a few minutes left in warmup, and then he had gone up to center ice, the way that Bood had already watched him do a couple dozen times now this season. But this time was different.

Usually, Roz went up to the center ice to talk shit, even in the games that they were almost certain to lose. But as Cliff Marlow skated up to stand across from him, there was no confidence in Roz’s stance. Even as Bood watched the Boston winger’s face light up as they started talking, Roz kept his head down. They had talked for a couple minutes until Roz had laughed, one of his full, carefree laughs and Bood had felt tension he didn’t know he was holding melt away. He owed Marlow a thank you for bringing Roz out of that funk, even if it was temporary.

Bood had always assumed that Marlow was Roz’s best friend. They’d played together nearly their whole careers, they were often seen with each other, and they had gotten into a little trouble together as well. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why he had had such a hard time believing when Roz said it was Hollander. And sure, you could have more than one best friend. That was allowed. Sometimes you need different people to meet different needs in your life, and Cliff Marlow and Shane Hollander definitely seemed like very different people.

But Roz was a weird guy.

And whatever he and Marlow had talked about seemed to have done the trick. Because Roz was still quiet as they went back in and he was stone faced when they came back out, but he was definitely better. The crowd was so deafening it was impossible to tell if they were cheering or booing, and Bood couldn’t speak for Roz, but he thought he probably preferred it that way.

Boston had gone from a top team to a good team without Ilya Rozanov. They were still doing better than Ottawa but were now floating comfortably in the middle of the conference instead of fighting for the top spot like they had almost consistently been doing for the last decade. Still, Bood felt like the Cents had started the game off strong. They blasted through the first five minutes, putting up decent shots and Chambers seemed on tonight.

Bood skated over to the bench during a break, sliding up next to Roz and reaching over the boards for a water bottle as gentle music began to play. Next to him, Roz took a weepy breath as the crowd began to cheer and he turned and looked up just in time to see Ilya Rozanov’s solemn face on the screen.

It was media day footage; Roz staring at the camera, both his expression and his eyes intense before the footage showed his name, standing out in stark white lettering on the back of Boston’s classic black jersey. Then the music swelled, accompanied by supercuts of highlights, including footage of his first goal and the announcer’s excited proclamation as the celebration following played out.

It was hard for Bood to drag his attention away from the video, which commemorated Roz’s time in Boston not just with his performance on the ice—goals and hits and assists and celebrations—but with clips of him at charity events, smiling as he took pictures with fans and absolutely beaming as he posed with patients at Boston Children’s Hospital. But beside him, Roz took another one of those weepy breaths and he turned and managed to pull his eyes back down to look over at his friend.

Roz wasn’t trying to hide anything. His eyes were softer than Bood had ever seen them, absolutely glistening with tears. He sniffled and his low lip trembled as he wiped at his nose repeatedly with his glove. He looked both nothing like and every bit the player that was currently on the screen in TD Garden, beating the shit out of some guy from Washington and then celebrating with his teammates after scoring a goal off his signature move.

As the footage slipped into highlights from their Cup run, the crowd rose to their feet and the Boston team began to tap their sticks, and Bood quickly joined them. The music swelled again over a few more quick cuts of Roz and the announcement that Boston was the Stanley Cup champions and the team rushed the ice and then faded as it shifted back to another of those media day shots, this one with Roz’s cocky little smirk

Then, a still photo: Roz with the cup held over his head, a grin on his face, and the words Welcome back, Rozy.

Roz wiped his nose one more time, and skated out to do a quick little circle, a gloved hand over his heart as the crowd continued to shout and cheer for him. That one little pass didn’t seem to be enough as the people continued to scream, and he did one more circle, still not trying to hide a thing as tears streamed down his cheeks.

When he made it back to the boards, Bood reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder. The crowd was still so loud that he read Roz’s lips more than he heard him say, “I am alright,” as Ryba opened the door and let him off the ice. Once he was seated, he took off his gloves, wiped his eyes and waved once again.

Bood looked from his friend up to the screen one more time. When they had just freshly met each other back in July, Roz had told him that he wasn’t happy in Boston. Bood had never asked why. That still felt too personal to ask, even now. But now, the way that Roz was so willing to sit there as one of the best hockey players to ever play the game and let tears of gratitude stream down his face… Ilya Rozanov wasn’t used to being booed in Boston. But the good news was, he didn’t have to get used to it. Because Boston still loved him.

Mama Yuna: Oh, Ilya! What a beautiful tribute! It was amazing!

Papa David: She cried.

Mama Yuna: Quiet you. Don’t try to pretend like you weren’t also tearing up.

Papa David: She also said she respects Boston now.

Mama Yuna: I said I had a NEW respect for Boston now. That doesn’t mean the same thing.

Papa David: Whatever you say, dear.

Mama Yuna: How are you doing, hon? You looked really emotional out there.

It was unexpected. Really caught me off guard.

Papa David: I bet.

I still feel not quite right?

I mean, I’m happy. I’m really fucking happy because I honestly thought that I was going to get booed. I never expected a tribute like that. It was amazing and it made me feel so appreciated, but also really sad.

Mama Yuna: I think that’s a perfectly normal way to feel. A lot of history in Boston, a lot of emotions wrapped up in leaving… it’s okay to be a little confused about it.

Papa David: You going to be okay tonight? I know it’s hard on you boys when you have to deal with these crazy time zone changes, and going to Seattle is quite the shift.

I will be okay, I think.

Bood said he will watch the Montreal/Pittsburgh game with me tonight. We will take it easy.

Mama Yuna: I’m so glad the two of you worked it out!

Me, too.

I have to go. We’re boarding.

Mama Yuna: Safe flight! We love you!

Papa David: We’re here if you need us.

Thank you.

I love you, too.

Ilya had been trying really hard not to think about how close he was to four full days off with Shane. Montreal had a game in Columbus tomorrow night, but they’d fly home immediately after, and Shane was already talking about driving straight to Ilya as soon as they landed. Shane had to be back for a game on Boxing Day, but still. Four days off. It was hard to focus on anything else.

But when Harris had asked if he’d be willing to make a last minute Christmas present delivery to children at the hospital, that had seemed like a good distraction. Even though Bood got to wear the Santa hat and he had to be an elf. At least he didn’t have to be the reindeer. Dykstra had that silly light up red nose on his face, and while Ilya would have worn it for the kids, he wouldn’t have been happy in the spaces they couldn’t see.

“Thank you again for doing this last minute, Ilya.” Harris said for about the thousandth time as they stepped out into the hallway.

“Of course. I was not busy and it is for the kids.”

“We usually are more organized than this, but December is always crazy. Lots of things to get in around all the hockey you guys have to play. But as a general rule, we never turn down anything with the children’s hospital if we can avoid it. If no one was available, we would have tried to get some of the AHL guys here instead.”

Ilya nodded. He had come to know Harris really well over these last few months. Harris was a talker, so if you stayed around long enough, you would learn his whole life story. Not that it was a bad thing. He was a great guy. Warm and friendly and funny and kind, and even though he didn’t know it, a queer friend that Ilya desperately needed some days. And he had told Ilya all about the heart condition he had been born with and all his time in and out of the hospital as a child, so Ilya imagined the hospital visits held extra meaning for Harris.

They had always been a little extra special for Ilya, too. He hadn’t gone through what Harris or the children whose bedsides they visited had gone through, but he had known what it was like to feel isolated. To carry something that was never meant for a child to carry and to feel alone, like you were the only one in the world who ever had to hold that thing. But Ilya couldn’t admit that to anyone. Not when so many of the children they saw were younger than he was when his mother had died. Not when so many of those children would never make it to the age he was when his mother died—

He wasn’t going to think about that now. He couldn’t think about that now. It was too close to Christmas. Five sleeps until Santa, as one of the girls had told him a couple rooms ago. They were here to deliver presents and spread joy, and that’s what he was going to do.

“I will always say yes to coming here.” He told Harris. “If I can.”

Harris beamed. “You really are a great guy, Ilya. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Mm, no, not that I recall. Usually they call me asshole.”

“Hey.” Bood said, as he and Dykstra joined them in the hallway.

“We asked you to please keep your language family friendly, Mr. Rozanov.” Hailey said as she stepped around Dykstra, but her tone was gentle. A reminder instead of a warning. Harris had explained she was the Centaur’s long-time contact for setting up these visits, so Ilya thought she was probably used to slips up and non-family friendly language.

“I know. I am sorry.”

“Alright!” Harris announced, grabbing the cart that now contained significantly less bags than when they had arrived. “Next room.”

“Harris, you really should make Dykstra push the cart.”

Harris wrinkled his nose as he looked up at him. “Why?”

“Because he is reindeer. Reindeer pull the sled.”

Harris laughed loudly.

“Fu—I mean, screw you, Roz.” Dykstra said.

They reached the next room and Hailey knocked softly on the open door. “Knock, knock! Hello!” She announced them the same way at every room, but there was something so gentle in her voice that Ilya found it endearing. “We have some visitors, can we come in?”

“Zane Boodram!” Came an excited greeting and Bood chuckled as Hailey stepped aside to let him in.

“What’s up, my man?” Bood asked, holding out his fist so a very excited boy of about ten or eleven could give him a fist bump.

“Dad, the Centaurs are here!” The boy announced as the three of them stepped into the room.

“Well, some of us.” Dykstra chuckled as the man the boy was talking to stood up.

“I see that, bud.” The man said, smiling as he came forward to shake hands.

Ilya needed a moment, so he was glad he was at the back of their small group. The excited boy was not the patient. The patient was much smaller than him, sitting in the middle of a hospital bed that made him look even tinier. He was hooked up to a lot of different things that Ilya was thankful he didn’t have any experience with. The smaller they were the harder it was to process that this was happening to them.

But as the man reached Ilya and extended his hand to shake, and Dykstra grabbed a gift bag and he and Bood stepped closer to the small boy in the big bed, Ilya noticed something else. There was another man sitting in the chair next to the child.

“Mr. Rozanov.” The man shaking his hand pulled his attention back. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Yes, of course.”

“As you can see, our son is a pretty big fan of the Centaurs. But, um, obviously Boodram is his favorite. He wasn’t quite as interested in you signing with the team as most were.” The man seemed very tired, but he smiled kindly and gave a warm chuckle.

“Ah. Well, is maybe better for me. Keep my ego in check, yes?”

The man chuckled again. “We’ve been hockey fans for about a year now, but we went hard. Kingston’s been obsessed since they came in last year.”

“Last year?” Ilya asked, feeling bile burn the back of his throat as he looked over at the rest of the family. “You have been here since last year?”

“No.” The man quickly shook his head. “No, no, we’ve been in and out. Just… the winter is harder, you know. All the germs going around and…” He waved his hand through the air and then seemed to give up on his explanation, which was fine. He didn’t owe Ilya one.

“It must be hard.” Ilya said. He knew it was a stupid thing to say to a parent of a chronically ill child, because of course it was fucking hard. But he needed to say something and that had been the only thing that came out.

“Well… we get by. And we don’t regret it. Even with all of this, we think we’re where we’re meant to be. We adopted them both, Kingston and Mateo, and even knowing we have to go through this with Mateo, my husband and I would do it again. In a heartbeat.”

Ilya nodded. This was also way more than he was owed from this man, but he thought maybe it was nice for him to have someone to talk about it, and Ilya was willing to listen, even if it was eating him up inside. Because he respected every parent that went through anything like this with their children. He couldn’t imagine. But seeing a queer couple who was going through it? He didn’t want to be biased, but that still hit a little closer to his heart than others.

Even though he had to fight a bit to get his smile on his face, Ilya was sincere when he said, “You and your husband are good men. You’re setting good examples for others. Thank you.”

The man seemed so taken aback that he actually stepped back. “Thank you, Mr. Rozanov. I, uh… I don’t know what to say to that.” He chuckled, but there were tears in his eyes.

He just shrugged. “You do not have to say anything, but you can call me Ilya.”

Bood didn’t have to experience a hospital visit with Roz to know he was great with kids. He had, of course, already swayed both Danny’s and Horn’s kids, and really, any child that Bood had seen him interact with, including the kids they were meeting today.

But as Mateo pulled his gift from the bag—a teddy bear wearing a Centaurs jersey, identical to the others that they had already given out about a dozen times today—Bood cast a glance at Roz. He was standing and talking softly to one of Mateo’s fathers while the other and the older brother both oohed and awed over the bear.

Roz hadn’t been avoiding the parents exactly, but he hadn’t been the one really engaging with them first. He’d usually beeline right to the kids and start there. The two of them didn’t give off the vibes that they knew each other and really, even though they seemed to be having a nice conversation, their body language still very much showed they were acquaintances at best. But the conversation was interrupted when Harris called them over for a photo and Roz leaned over the bed and grinned widely as he had every time before, and then shook hands with the other father before they left.

“Hey,” Bood said when they were in the hallway, “did you know that guy?”

“Hm?” Roz looked at him. “The father? No. Why?”

“I don’t know. I just thought maybe you knew him the way you were talking to him.”

Roz shook his head as they got close to the elevator. “No. We were just talking. He was telling me about how they adopted their sons, so I asked him what it was like. I wanted to know about the process.”

“Why were you asking him about it?”

For half a second, Roz looked like he had been caught in something. Just the slightest little stutter, that really could have been anything but then quickly reverted back to calm, smooth Ilya, as if nothing had happened. Almost enough to convince Bood that it hadn’t happened in the first place.

Roz shrugged. “I have never adopted a child, Bood. I was wondering what the process is like.”

“Are you thinking about adopting?”

“I do not know. Maybe someday, yes.”

Bood hadn’t been expecting that answer, so a startled, “Wow,” escaped his lips before he could stop it. “I mean, that would be great for you. And for the kid. You know, to have Ilya Rozanov as their dad.”

“Papa.”

“What?”

“My child would call me Papa. I would not be Dad.”

“Oh.” They reach the elevator, where Hailey and Harris were talking lively about something.

“You want them?” Roz asked.

“Want what?”

“Kids.”

“Oh. Yeah. I mean, yes, definitely. Cassie and I have talked about it.”

“You two will make very cute kids, I think.” Roz nodded to himself. “And I will spoil them.”

Bood snorted. “Thank you for the cute part. No thank you for the spoiling part.”

“You have no say. I will do it with or without your permission.”

“Oh, come on, I don’t want my kid to be a brat.”

“They will not be a brat. They will be confident in themselves, like their Uncle Ilya.”

“Uncle?” Bood laughed out the word.

“Yes, but they will call me дядя.”

“No, they will not!”

“It is Russian for uncle!”

“It sounds too much like Dada.”

“That is because you have untrained Russian ear.”

“Yeah, and my kid will also have an untrained Russian ear because they will be Canadian.”

“I will teach them Russian.”

“Why would you do that?”

“So, they can tell me all the things that you tell them no and I can say yes.”

“You two have the weirdest conversations…” Dykstra chuckled as they stepped onto the elevator together.

They were on their way out of the building when Bood’s phone began to ring.

“Hello?” He answered. “Yes, sir, I’m doing well. We actually got just done doing a thing with Harris. We delivered a bunch of toys to some kids in the hospital.” He listened for a moment and then said, “Rozanov and Dykstra.” He stopped then, reaching out and grabbing Ilya’s shoulder and forcing him to stop as well. “Yeah, he’s right here.”

Ilya raised his eyebrows at him and Bood mouthed the name Stern. Ilya felt a slight drop in his stomach. It was probably nothing, but Horn had also probably thought it was nothing when he got the call he was going to Dallas.

Bood was nodding. “Okay. Well, yeah, I can, but we’re in the hospital lobby, so, um… just give us a second to find somewhere a little more private.”

Ilya was already looking around when Bood muted the call. He wanted to ask what was going on, but he figured Bood likely didn’t have much more to tell him anyway, and if it was bad news… he’d rather just hear it from the source. He noted a restroom sign and began to stride toward it without waiting to see if Bood would follow. He peeked under the stalls, saw no one, and by the time he was turning back to Bood, he was unmuting the call.

“Okay, sir, you’re on speakerphone.”

“Ilya?” The GM’s voice came through the speaker.

“Yes. Hello.”

“Ah, prefect! I’m glad to have caught both of you together! This makes it so much easier!”

Ilya stared at Bood over the phone he was holding out between them and Bood stared straight back. Nothing in Stern’s voice made it sound like he was about to deliver bad news, but Ilya knew that they had both been in the league long enough to know that guys like Stern were masters of putting positive spins on any situation.

“Makes what so much easier?” Bood finally asked, though there was some hesitation in the question.

“I wanted to be the first one to tell you both. Christmas is coming early, boys! The trade went through! Wyatt Hayes is officially an Ottawa Centaur!”

Chapter End Notes

The biggest inspiration for the scene with Ilya in Boston is from the video that the Bruins made for Marchand. You can watch it here if you'd like. I asked my brother if he had seen the video, and he said, "You mean the one we watched together last year and sobbed over?" So apparently I was so emotionally overwhelmed the first time I saw it, I blocked it out 🙃
I'm not a Boston fan and I hate Florida, but dammit if Marchy hasn't grown on me, and this is actually the second thing about his exit from Boston that's inspired me in this series, which isn't a lot, but you know... two nickels and all that.

So, I think there are two chapters left of this fic. I'm not changing the chapter count from ? quite yet, because I'm not completely sure, but I wanted to give you a heads up. I am sad that we're getting close to the end, but I have other ideas that I'm excited to work on once this is finished!

Chapter 12

Chapter Notes

It is so satisfying to get to finally write a character that you've been teasing since almost the first chapter...

The last time they had talked to Stern had been brief. He had caught them after a video session, and they had hung around while everyone else filtered out of the room.

“I just wanted to give you an update on the goalie search.” Stern said, his hands in his coat pockets as he rocked a bit on the balls of his feet. “It’s not going all that well to be honest. We’ve sent out a couple offers, but we aren’t seeing much interest.”

“Did you talk to Toronto?” Bood had asked and both Stern and Roz had turned to him.

“Toronto?” Stern repeated.

“Yeah. Wyatt Hayes. The backup they put in against us. He didn’t even break a sweat against us that game. I’ve been watching footage of him, and he plays like that all the time. It makes no sense for him to be on the bench.”

Roz nodded along. “Also, Toronto blew through most of their picks for next year’s draft. They probably want to start getting some back. We might be able to get him pretty cheap.”

Stern had looked back and forth between them for a moment and then chuckled. “Well, it sounds like I’ve got to start looking into Toronto then. Unless the two of you prefer to do it. Honestly, you seem to have it all figured out.”

They had both politely laughed and then politely declined and then went on with their day. And then a few days later, Roz and Hollander had announced the Irina Foundation and Bood had completely forgotten about Stern and their search for a goalie.

The way Roz’s face had gone slack as he stared down at the phone in Bood’s hand made him think that maybe he had forgotten as well. “He’s flying in tonight. He says he’s all set up and good to go. Sounds like a guy who’s really got himself together, which we like to see. Still, I’d like you two to reach out and make sure he feels welcomed.”

“Yeah, of course. Absolutely.”

“Congratulations, boys. I can’t wait to see how this changes things moving forward.”

“Thank you.” Roz said.

“I’ll send you his number right away. And Merry Christmas to you both.”

Stern hung up and they both just stood there as the phone darkened and then lit up again when the number came through. “Um.” Bood was having a hard time getting his brain to process anything. “Should we, uh… call Hayes?”

“Yes, but… maybe from the car? Not the bathroom.”

“Oh.” Bood had forgotten they were currently standing in a hospital bathroom. “Yeah, that’s probably a better idea.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the parking ramp and once they were inside Roz’s SUV with the heat running against the December cold outside, Roz sighed. “Okay. Now?”

Bood just nodded, called, and hit speaker. He was nervous. Very nervous. And even though Roz was doing a good job of playing it cool, Bood thought maybe he was nervous, too.

The phone rang a couple times before a pleasant voice answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Wyatt Hayes?”

“Yeah, sure is. Can I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Zane Boodram.” He held the phone out a little closer to Roz, who still leaned in.

“And Ilya Rozanov.”

“Oh. Wow. Holy shit.” Hayes’s end of the line went silent.

“Is this a bad time?” Roz asked.

“Oh, uh, no. No, it’s fine. We’re just trying to get some things wrapped up over here really quick. Sorry, I guess I was expecting a phone call, but I didn’t think it’d be the two of you.”

“Well, we won’t keep you too long.” Bood said, “We just really wanted to tell you we’re excited to play with you in Ottawa, man.”

“Yeah, thanks, absolutely! I’m excited to come play with you! I’m really looking forward to the opportunity to get out there and really give it my all.

“We really need that.” Roz said. “And we know you can do it. That is why we asked for you.”

There was another of those silences on the other end of the line. “Wait. What? Holy shit, you asked for me? Like… the two of you? Personally? Together?”

“You completely blocked us out of the net and did not even break a sweat. Of course we asked for you.”

“Oh. I think I’m going to need a while to process this…”

“So, Stern said you’ve got everything all figured out? You have a place to stay?” Bood asked.

“Yeah. Lisa—that’s my wife—she’s got some connections to some people through the hospital, and we’ve got an apartment, fully furnished and all that where we can stay at least until we can get our stuff all moved over. I mean, tonight we’re in a hotel room, but tomorrow we’ll be able to go over there.”

“If you do not want to stay in a hotel—" Roz began.

“Nope, it’s fine. We’re good. I know what you’re about to offer and I appreciate it, but one night in a hotel room isn’t going to bother us.”

“Well, we just kind of found out on our end, so let me get home and talk to my wife before we make any kind of solid plans, but maybe tomorrow the two of you can come over for dinner? We can meet up, nice and casual, give you a nice welcome to Ottawa.”

“That sounds great. I’ll run it by Lisa, see what she thinks.”

“Okay, I’ll text you later after Cassie and I have a chance to talk, alright?”

Roz leaned in too close to the phone again. “I will text, too.”

Hayes laughed. “Okay, Rozanov. You do that. Hey, thanks for the phone call, guys, I really appreciate it. I’m genuinely excited about Ottawa. Genuinely.”

“Ottawa’s excited about you, too, man. If you need anything else, don’t be afraid to call, alright?”

“Alright. Thanks, guys!”

Bood hung up. Beside him, Roz took a deep breath and as he exhaled, it dissolved into a laugh. Bood began to laugh, too, and Roz reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “Wyatt fucking Hayes!” He said around his grin.

“Wyatt fucking Hayes.” Bood agreed. “Holy shit. We did it, huh? We got our goalie.”

“You did it.” Roz reached for his seatbelt. “You got us our goalie.”

“Oh, come on.” Bood said, also buckling his seatbelt. “You can’t be that way. You can’t push all the credit off onto me.”

“You were the one who said go after Hayes.”

“Yeah, but you can’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it, too.”

“Not at that moment.”

“Be real.”

“I am.” Roz said, backing out of the spot. “I honestly did not remember until you brought him up first.”

“Yeah, but you said find someone riding the bench.”

“Yes, but you remembered Hayes when it really counted.”

“Fine.” Bood rolled his eyes. “You going to come in and help me break the news to Cassie that we need to host a last-minute dinner just a few nights before Christmas?”

“That sounds like it is your problem.”

“I think we’re in this together, right?” Bood looked over at him. “I mean, I assumed you would be there, too.”

Roz seemed to be thinking. “I guess I can be there. As long as it is not too late.”

“Too late? What do you mean too late? Too late for what?”

“Like… too late.” Roz shrugged as if they weren’t talking in circles. “In the evening. I cannot be too late.”

“Why? You worried about your bedtime? Or you have a hot date?”

Roz didn’t answer, just kept his eyes on the road.

“Wait. Holy shit. Do you?”

“It is none of your business, Zane Boodram.”

“Holy shit, you do, don’t you?”

“Boodram.”

“Sorry, but fuck, man, can you blame me for getting a little excited? This is the first time I’ve heard of you going out since you moved to Ottawa. Is it so bad that I’m happy for you?”

“You are not supposed to be prying.”

“Okay, yes, fair, but I was joking so maybe you should have made it not so obvious I was right.”

They rode on in silence for a minute. “It is… not that big of a deal.”

“What’s not that big of a deal?” Bood asked.

“That I am seeing someone. There is no reason for you freak out about it.”

Bood thought maybe that comment right there was plenty of reason to freak out. Because he had been ready to drop it and Roz had decided to keep the conversation going? That was pretty fucking huge. He did his best to keep his cool as he asked, “No reason to freak out because… it’s not serious?”

“Mm, no. Opposite.”

For a second, he could only stare. “Wait, what?”

“Has been a thing for a while now.” He shrugged. Something about his voice made it seem like he was also maybe trying to keep his cool. “So, we are going to spend Christmas together. Is why I said I would host Christmas party but not until Boxing Day.”

“Oh. Like… okay.” Bood had a lot of questions. A lot of questions that he had to physically clench his jaw against so they wouldn’t spill out. But this moment was something special and he had to cool out. Stay calm. Chill out, Zane Boodram. Take it nice and easy. “Well, that’s… good for you.”

“Thank you. But they are coming late tomorrow night, and I want to make sure I am there before. We have been too busy lately to see each other much, so I want to be all settled in and all that.”

They?

“Yeah, of course. That makes sense.” Bood tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t budge. “Look, uh… thanks. For sharing this with me, I mean.”

Roz gave another one of those shrugs that was meant to make it look like he didn’t care, but somehow made it look like he cared very much. “You have been good about it, so far. I think that it is okay to trust you.”

Bood nodded. “Yeah, I’ve kept quiet, man. I promise. I haven’t even told Cassie.”

“Oh, I know. She still tries to ask me all the time if I have someone for the group chat and I do not believe she is that good of an actress.”

Bood laughed. “No. I promise I haven’t told her anything and I won’t tell her this either.”

“I appreciate it.” He bit his bottom lip for just a second. “It is nice to have someone to trust.”

They could mean a lot of things.

It could just mean Roz was trying to keep things gender neutral. It could mean that Roz meant there was more than one person coming, which also could mean a lot of different things. Maybe the person coming had a kid. Or that Roz was in a relationship with more than one person, which, good for him if that was the case, it wasn’t what Bood was expecting, but who was he to judge? Hell, it could even mean that Roz had just fucked up the pronouns because English was his second language, and it had to be a hard thing to always communicate in a language as tricky as English when you didn’t grow up with it.

It certainly didn’t have to mean any-fucking-thing at all, but Bood’s thoughts were still spiraling. Because in the past, Roz had never shied away from being seen with women in public, and even though the Roz that had come to Ottawa wasn’t like that at all, it still didn’t make sense to Bood why he wouldn’t have just said “she” because that’s what people expected. What Bood expected. Unless–

No. Stop. Get out of your head.

The important thing to take away from it all anyway was that Roz was trusting Bood with something big.

It was not lost on Bood how significant it was to go from “Do not ask about my family and do not tell anyone about them,” to “I’ve been seeing someone for a while now and I trust you enough to let you know.” And he couldn’t fuck that up now because he was stuck on a word that Roz had either said very deliberately or had not meant anything by at all.

Roz had come in with him to talk to Cassie, though it didn’t seem to matter, because Cassie was thrilled. “I can’t believe you actually did it!” She had hugged Bood tightly and then planted an exaggerated kiss right on his lips. “Oh, I’m so happy for you! You’ve been working so hard trying to find a new goalie!”

“I mean, thank you, but we really didn’t do anything.”

“He is refusing to take credit for anything.” Roz said.

“Of course he is.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I’m very excited to welcome a new player and a new wife to the team.”

“Mm, yes, good for you. You have been dreaming of adding new member to your group chat for months. Is like Christmas present for you.”

She narrowed her eyes at Roz. “I’m gonna figure you out, Ilya Rozanov, just you wait.”

“There is nothing to figure out.”

“Oh, there’s something. I can tell.”

Bood wished he could tell her that he was quickly starting to think that there was a possibly that the something was maybe that it was someone who didn’t quite fit into the category of “wives and girlfriends.” He wished he could talk it out with her because more than anything, she was good at getting him to calm down and understand what was going on when he was overreacting, and he was pretty sure he was overreacting.

But he had made a promise to Roz first, and he was going to respect that promise. He was pretty sure that eventually Roz would tell him more anyway. But that wasn’t going to happen if he couldn’t keep calm and give Roz time to get there.

“You’re really okay with hosting a last-minute dinner tomorrow?” Bood attempted to change the subject.

“Yeah, of course. It’s just a little thing, right? Just us? I think it’s the least we can do. I mean, we’re the reason that they’re relocating five days before Christmas.”

Even though they had just been handing out Christmas presents, Bood hadn’t quite processed that part yet.

Cassie’s eyebrows shot up as she, apparently, read his mind or maybe just his face. “What? You didn’t realize that was the case? Did you forget Christmas is this week?”

“No, but I guess I didn’t really get it until you said it that way.”

“Do not worry, I am sure it will be his best Christmas ever. Hayes gets away from Kent, he has a starting position… I think will end up being very good Christmas for him, yes?”

Jane😘: Ilya

Yes, Shane?

Jane😘: Why is JJ saying that you guys traded for Wyatt Hayes?

Well, Shane, that would be because we traded for Wyatt Hayes.

Jane😘: And you weren’t going to tell me?

You have your game. I didn’t want to distract you.

Jane😘: 😑

What?

Jane😘: Nothing.

Jane😘: I can’t wait to see you tonight.

Yes, me too 😘😍

You are still coming right from your flight?

Jane😘: Yes. That’s the plan.

That is too long, Shane! 😭

Jane😘: I literally can’t get there any quicker 🙄

Jane😘: I think you will survive.

I will not.

Jane😘: You just have to make it to tonight, baby, and then we’ll be together for four whole days.

Jane😘: Do you think you can find something to do to keep yourself busy until I get there?

I think so, yes. But I will not stop thinking about you the whole time.

Jane😘: I’ll be thinking about you, too 😊

<❤️❤️❤️

Have a good game and don’t score any more goals tonight.

Jane😘: I’m gonna score a hat trick.

Don’t you dare.

Jane😘: And then I will look at the camera and say, “That was for my best friend, Ilya Rozanov.” And wink.

😳

Shane, you would kill me 💀 I would die.

Jane😘: Oh, bad idea then. I guess I shouldn’t do that.

Wait, no!

Jane😘: I wouldn’t want you to die so close to Christmas…

I would get better!

Jane😘: I don’t want to risk it.

Jane😘: I guess I will just have to score a hat trick and not dedicate it to you.

You are so mean to me 😭

Ilya thought it was a little weird to be so nervous to meet Wyatt Hayes and his wife. He seemed like the most chill guy in the world. Ilya had been watching highlights of the guy all afternoon trying to take his mind off of Shane, and while there hadn’t been a lot of footage, there was enough to realize that Hayes always played the way that he had against them. Winning or losing, he had a cool demeanor and stayed consistent, even after spending long periods of time on the bench.

Not that he would do that in Ottawa.

Ilya wondered if Chambers had been told that he was was being bumped down, or that Ryba knew that he was going to be going down to the AHL. Ilya would miss that kid. He was good, just young and he needed somewhere to develop that wasn’t the Centaurs who were trying to rebuild themselves. The minor league team would give him a little more space to figure things out, and he would still be available if they needed to call him up for backup, so at least he wasn’t going too far.

That was one of the things that Ilya disliked about the league. There were always guys that were in and out. You get to know a guy, and he gets traded or he’s bumped down to make room for someone else. It was just part of the game, it happened, but it also sucked sometimes.

And it sucked a little extra because it was Christmas.

Which was weird. Because it wasn’t even Ilya’s Christmas. Yeah, he’d been in the United States long enough to adopt it, and it was the Hollander’s Christmas, so that made it his, too. But he wasn’t used to feeling so sentimental about it. That usually came around for the Russian Christmas, the Christmas that belonged to him and Mama.

He didn’t have time to reflect on what that meant. The doorbell rang and he straightened from where he was watching Bood and Cassie bicker softly in the kitchen. Ilya had never actually seen them fight, and he really didn’t think they did, even behind closed doors, but they weren’t afraid to pick at each other. Especially in the kitchen.

Bood tossed the towel he had over his shoulder onto the counter and Cassie straightened her sweater as they walked by Ilya toward the door. He fell in behind them silently.

“Hey!” Cassie and Bood both said at the same time as they opened the door to the Hayeses. “Welcome!” Cassie continued, beckoning them inside. “Come in!”

Ilya always thought it was a bit of a shock to see a goalie out of his pads for the first time. Fifty pounds of gear can make a guy look drastically different on the ice, so even though Hayes was just as big as Ilya was, he looked scrawny as he pulled off his tuque and shook Bood’s hand. “Hey. Nice to officially meet you! Thanks for having us!”

“Of course, man! It’s great to meet you, too.”

“Rozanov.” Hayes extended his hand toward Ilya, who smiled as he shook it.

“Hi.”

“This is my wife, Lisa.” Wyatt put an arm around her and there was more hand shaking.

“Thank you so much for inviting us.” Lisa beamed. She was beautiful, and Hayes wasn’t so bad himself, so maybe it was really just all hockey players who ended up with beautiful wives, not just the mediocre looking ones. “This is already more than we would have expected in Toronto!”

“Oh?” Cassie asked, her eyes widening slightly. Ilya had come to know her well enough to know that Cassie loved gossip. He had never heard her sharing her own—aside from when she tried to speculate about whether or not he had someone to add to her group chat—but if someone had something to tell? She was all over it, even if she had no idea who they were talking about.

“Yeah.” Hayes sighed and looked down at his wife for a moment before he said, “It’s kind of hard to wrap our heads around, you know? It’s so nice to be out of Toronto. I mean, they were my team, and I played hard for them, but, just, you know—”

“Kent is an asshole.” Ilya shrugged. He thought the look that Bood was giving him was supposed to be some kind of warning look, but it definitely didn’t work.

“Well, yeah.” Hayes agreed. “Playing with him and Barrett was kind of unbearable. It’s just kind of a relief to be out of there, you know?”

Ilya nodded, and so did Bood. Though Ilya thought that Bood probably didn’t know. He’d never been off the Centaurs, and he was sure that there had never been anyone even a fraction like Kent in his whole career.

“Well, no one here is like Kent.” Cassie said, reiterating Ilya’s thoughts. “No way. We would never stand for that. Ottawa is a good team. And, in my opinion, we have a pretty great captain.” She put an arm around Bood’s waist and her other hand rested on his chest.

Hayes chuckled. “I’m looking forward to playing with him.”

“So, dinner should be about done. Can I get you some wine? What do you drink?” Cassie stepped away from Bood and gestured for Lisa and Hayes to follow her toward the kitchen.

Bood hung back with Ilya. “You good?” He asked.

Ilya shrugged. “Fine.”

“Thinking about that hot date?”

Ilya narrowed his eyes. “Zane Boodram...”

“I’m done, I’m done.” Bood held his hands up, palms out. “I won’t bring it up again. No need to use my government name.” He put one of his hands on Ilya’s shoulder and squeezed. “But come on. Let’s go get to know our goalie.”

Wyatt and Lisa Hayes were incredibly nice people. Just plan pleasant and easy to talk to and both so engaging. It made it hard for Bood to also keep an eye on Roz. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure why he thought he needed to keep an eye on Roz, but since yesterday he had been hearing the word “they” repeating in his head in a deep Russian accent, and it just wouldn’t go away.

He wasn’t going to pry. He wasn’t going to tell Cassie about it. But he also wasn’t going to just sit by and let that word smother him. Maybe if he paid attention, he could notice something else, now that he knew what he was looking for.

Well… kind of. He was still lost on what it all meant, and he was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to get any farther clues while Rozanov was sitting at his table, laughing along with Wyatt Hayes over a beer, but… Well.

Well.

“What’s the score, Ilya?” Cassie asked, a teasing lilt to her voice as she collected their plates.

Rozanov looked up from the phone he had been discreetly, but also obviously checking all evening. He stared at her, his expression staying stoic as Cassie’s quickly became more and more smug. “Three to two.” He finally said, flipping his phone screen side down. “Montreal.”

“Ah. Any of those goals from your best friend, Shane Hollander?”

“Two of them.” He finished his beer.

“Good for him.” Cassie plucked the now empty bottle out of his hand. “Maybe he’ll get a hat trick.”

Roz grumbled and rolled his eyes.

“I have to say,” Hayes handed his plate to Cassie, “if I had had a choice in where I got traded, I probably would have picked a West Coast team. You know, somewhere that didn’t have to play Shane Hollander four times a season. I know I haven’t played against him a lot, but he’s every goalie’s worst nightmare. Well, except for Miitka, of course.”

Roz sat up straighter. “And I am not also nightmare?”

Hayes laughed. “Oh, well, yes, of course, but now you’re not my nightmare. I don’t have to defend against you anymore.”

“Ah. Nice save.”

“I am a goalie after all.”

Bood laughed, but Roz just smirked.

“So, you and Shane Hollander really are friends?” Lisa asked.

“They’re best friends.” Cassie said, setting a fresh beer in front of Roz. “He’ll tell you all about it, just give him time.”

Roz didn’t say anything, just picked up the new bottle and took a drink.

“I watched your press conference with Hollander.” Hayes said.

“We both did,” Lisa added, “and we think it’s an amazing thing you’re doing. Mental health is such an important topic but it’s not something they talk about enough in the league.”

“And the thing about wanting to make hockey more inclusive…” Hayes shook his head, “after playing so long with Kent and Barrett and the guys who just go along with them, I love to hear it.”

“We’re good here in Ottawa.” Bood said. “We’re not perfect, but we aren’t those guys.”

“Give us more credit than that.” Roz picked slightly at the label on his bottle, “We are much better than Kent. I think that Boston was not so bad, but Ottawa is very good. We do not win a lot of games yet, but we will get there. We are still good team.”

“There’s more to hockey than just winning. At least I think that’s the way it should be.” Hayes said with a little shrug. “I mean, I like winning, but it was always tainted a bit knowing who I had to share it with. It won’t be like that here, I don’t think. Not if the team is…” he gave a little flip of his hand, motioning between Bood and Roz, “if the whole team is like this.”

“I am much cooler than the rest of the team.” Roz said, matter-of-factly, and Cassie laughed.

Hayes grinned as he reached for Lisa’s hand. “It’s going to be so exciting to finally have teammates I can introduce Isaac to someday.”

Lisa smiled warmly at him. Cassie asked, “Isaac?”

“Our nephew. He’s just the best little guy. My sister lives in Vancouver so we don’t see him all that often, but I take every chance to visit I can. He’s just awesome.” Hayes gushed. “Do you want to see a picture?”

“Absolutely.” Roz answered immediately and Hayes pulled out his phone.

Lisa laughed softly. “Now you’ve done it. You’re gonna get daily Isaac updates now.”

“Is fine.” Roz said, accepting Hayes’s phone. Bood leaned over Roz’s shoulder to see the picture on the phone screen. Isaac was a toddler, maybe two or three years old. He was caught mid laugh, held between two women who were also grinning at the camera.

“That’s my sister Kristy on the right.” Hayes explained. “And that’s Eve on the left. Her wife.”

Bood and Roz looked up at the same time. “Wife?” Bood asked. It wasn’t a bad thing, just unexpected, and Bood hoped that showed in his surprised expression.

Hayes nodded, a soft smile on his face. Roz looked back down at the phone in his hand. “So, you can see why I wouldn’t have wanted Isaac, or my sisters, around the guys in Toronto.”

“They’d be welcome here.” Bood said and nodded once. “They’d be safe here.”

“I know.”

“You have a beautiful family.” Roz said softly, handing the phone back.

“I know that, too.” Hayes took it with a warm smile.

Bood probably wouldn’t have thought much of the expression on Roz’s face any other night. He’d seen him get that melancholy look lots of times, and he tried to, for the most part, ignore it and let Roz be. He was getting past the walls Roz had put up, but too much pushing never ended well.

The problem was that Bood had just seen that exact same expression on Roz’s face yesterday. When they had walked into the hospital room with two dads.

Roz’s phone buzzed and when he turned it over, Bood’s eyes were drawn to the notification: Another Hatty for Hollander. Roz snorted but smiled as he turned it back over again.

“Hayes, can I get you another beer?” Bood really needed to move. So he stood before Hayes even answered and grabbed both his and his new teammate’s bottles before heading into the kitchen. His wasn’t even empty, but he stood over the sink and chugged what was left.

He really wished he could talk to Cassie.

Because when Kent had mentioned it back in November, Bood hadn’t heard the rumors about Shane Hollander being gay, but now he had. There had been a lot more talk about it recently, probably because of the announcement for their foundation. And having a best friend that was rumored to be gay could mean nothing, just like they could mean nothing, just like asking a queer man about adoption could mean nothing, and getting a bit emotional while seeing a picture of another queer couple happy with a child could mean nothing.

But Bood was really starting to think it meant something.

He just didn’t know what to do about it.

Chapter End Notes

Y'all....
I'm going to tell you the same thing I tell my students anytime numbers come up: I'm an English teacher, not a math teacher.
Why did I think I was only a couple chapters out from being done? I don't know. I really thought I was going to get all of what I wanted to write for the Christmas week in this chapter. We didn't even make it to Christmas yet. We made it through like a day and a half.
I really just wanted to give a heads up because I didn't want to blindside anyone with the ending, but that might just happen because I might be blindsided. Anyway, I'm sure none of you are mad that it's longer than intended, so... you're welcome.

Chapter 13

Chapter Notes

Please note the rating has changed and new tags have been added.

This chapter contains smut (the first time that's happened in one of my fics). I understand if you prefer to skip and not read. If that is the case, I suggest skipping from:

“Bed.” Shane breathed the word and Ilya grabbed his hand, a lot less gentle than before.

to the next break:

****

That being said, this is the special Christmas Episode of Chill Out, Zane Boodram. The chapter is a little longer than normal and mostly just cute and fluffy, aside from the scene mentioned above. I hope you enjoy!

Ilya had held off on tracking Shane’s location until he had got the message that he was back in Montreal and heading toward him. He had tried to gage when he thought the plane would land and had been off by a bit; he had gotten home from Bood’s about twenty minutes before he got the text.

It had been a little hard to leave. As much as he wanted to see Shane, even if Shane was currently just a little blue dot on his phone moving along Highway 417, the Hayeses had been difficult to say goodnight to. They were funny and kind and Ilya was really enjoying getting to know them. Before he had left, Hayes had started talking about how his wife was a doctor, which was something that Ilya would have led with, but by the way Dr. Lisa Hayes had tried to deflect, he thought maybe that she had told her husband to tone it down, and if that had been the case, Ilya had thought that he had probably done a pretty good job. But Hayes had gushed about Lisa the way that he had gushed about his nephew, and, yes, Ilya was feeling sad over the fact that he couldn’t do the same, but he was also happy for Hayes. The guy was so fucking charming, Ilya couldn’t wait for him to meet Harris. He thought that the sun would shine so brightly on that moment that anyone who witnessed it would go blind, but it would be worth it.

He wanted Shane to meet Hayes, too. That one would be a little harder to swing, but maybe Hayes would be at the gala in January. Ilya still wasn’t sure how many players were expected to attend or would choose to attend. He had only heard about it in passing before the owners had told him they had wanted him there as a special guest.

And Shane had said he would go, after talking with his own management and ownership team. They hadn’t quite been as supportive as the Centaurs Organization, but they seemed enthusiastic around backing Shane for the clout. Which Ilya would admit was better than nothing, because he was going to get to dress up nice and go on a very fancy, very public date with his boyfriend, where they could talk and laugh and touch and be photographed together and no one would care.

It would almost be as wonderful as four whole days together.

Almost.

When Shane’s little blue dot was only a few minutes away, Ilya couldn’t take it anymore and went to wait by the door. He watched it creep closer and closer, until it was turning down his driveway and then he was vibrating so hard with excitement that he nearly dropped his phone trying to put it into his pocket.

He heard a car door close—twice as Shane presumedly got his bag from the backseat—but made himself wait. Shane had the code. He could let himself in.

But as soon as the door cracked open, Ilya was grabbing it and opening it all the way, causing Shane to stumble and fall right into his arms.

“Ilya!” Shane protested as they almost toppled to the floor. Ilya managed to shift their momentum, so his shoulder awkwardly crashed into the wall instead and they stayed upright. He kicked the door closed against the cold air that had knocked into his bare chest almost as hard as Shane had. Then his mouth was immediately on Shane’s, swallowing whatever the rest of his complaint was going to be.

They kissed very sloppily, right there just inside the door. Shane still had his coat and his suit on, and Ilya’s hands clumsily made their way beneath the jacket, desperate to have fewer layers of clothes between them. He was unsuccessfully trying to get Shane to shrug off both the outer layers at the same time when he pulled away.

“Ilya, wait.” He put a hand on his chest to hold him back when Ilya tried to follow his mouth. “Slow down.”

“I missed you.” Ilya didn’t try to hide the whine in his voice.

“I missed you, too, but…” He cupped Ilya’s face in his hands. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

For a long moment, Shane just gazed at him with his beautiful brown eyes and a cute little gentle smile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“It’s been a long month. A busy month. I don’t want to be busy anymore. I want to slow down.”

Ilya groaned as Shane wrapped his arms tightly around him and dropped his head to his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I do not want to slow down, Shane, I want to fuck you right here in the entryway.”

“No, Ilya. I just played a game, was on a plane for almost two hours, and then drove for two hours. If you’re going to fuck me, you’re going to do it in the bed.”

“If?” Ilya grabbed an asscheek in each hand and squeezed. “There is no if, Shane. There is only when. And I do not know why you think you can just tell me what to do. Why should I listen to you when you did not listen to me?”

Shane turned his face into Ilya’s neck, and his breath was warm against his skin as he laughed. “The hattrick?”

“I asked you to not score more goals.”

“Yeah, and I told you I was going to anyway.”

“You are a brat.”

“Yeah, but you like it.” He muttered before he kissed and then sucked the skin right over the pulse point in his throat and Ilya had to fight not to throw his head back.

“Maybe I should punish you for not listening.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It is a promise.” Ilya pressed into Shane, moving his hips in a way that let Shane feel how hard he was. And let Ilya know Shane was just as hard.

Shane groaned against his neck and then released him and straightened to shrug off his coat. Ilya took his bag and waited impatiently for Shane to hang up the coat in the closet. He offered his hand, Shane took it, and he started to lead him toward the bedroom.

“Ilya, wait.” Shane stopped and Ilya bit back the complaint that followed. Shane dropped his hand and stepped into the living room. “You decorated for Christmas?”

Ilya leaned against the doorframe, watching Shane take in the lighted garland and golden bows that adored the windows as well as the mantle. “Your parents helped me.”

Shane turned to him, wide eyed. “They did?”

“Mm, yes. Mama Yuna found out that I will be having party for Centaurs and decided I need to have decorations.”

Shane stared at him for a moment longer as if he thought maybe Ilya would tell him he was joking. Then his eyes wandered to the Christmas tree, standing in the corner of the room. Ilya had wanted it closer to the fireplace, but they had compromised and it now sat at what was a safe enough distance to not be a fire hazard as declared by David. It was currently only decorated with white lights that matched the greenery around the room. “Your tree is a little boring.”

Ilya stepped farther into the room and Shane watched as he tossed the bag into the chair and closed the distance between them, until he could reach out and take him by the hips. “Is because it is not decorated yet. Your mama said that decorating the tree is your favorite part from when you were a boy, so I wanted to wait for you.”

Shane’s eyes shimmered in the twinkling light and the corners of his lips turned up in a small smile. “Really?”

Shane was beautiful all the time, but in that moment, in the room lit only by string lights, he was taking Ilya’s breath away. Ilya just nodded before he pressed their foreheads together. “I do not have cute ornaments from little Shane like your mama does, but we can still put decorations on together.”

“Maybe if you ask, she will let you have one.”

Ilya chuckled. “I do not know. She is very attached.” He slid his hands up Shane’s sides to his shoulders, and this time Shane let him slip his jacket off. Ilya caught it before it could hit the floor and tossed it into the chair with Shane’s bag. “Maybe you just make me my own.”

Shane laughed as Ilya kissed along his jaw. “You want me to make you a Christmas ornament for your tree?”

“Would be very cute.” Ilya began to unbutton Shane’s shirt. “I would be proud to put it on my tree.”

Shane laughed again and leaned in for another kiss. Ilya instead caught his lower lip between his teeth gently as he slipped his hands inside his shirt, running his palms over the hard muscles beneath. Shane made a little whining noise that made Ilya’s dick jump.

“Can we go to bed now?” Ilya asked as his fingers ran across Shane’s nipples, making him squirm. “Or have you changed your mind and you are going to let me fuck you under the Christmas tree?”

“Bed.” Shane breathed the word and Ilya grabbed his hand, a lot less gentle than before.

Ilya began to strip his clothes off immediately and he was naked before he reached the bed. He tossed both his sweatpants and his boxer briefs in the direction of the hamper and then lounged on the mattress, propping himself up on his elbows as he watched Shane carefully undress. He loved watching the way Shane took such care with his clothes, but one day, he wanted to rip those clothes right off him. Shirt buttons flying in all directions, clothes thrown around the room instead of folded neatly and set on the dresser-

Shane hesitated with his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his boxer briefs and Ilya forced himself to drag his eyes from the straining fabric up to his boyfriend’s face. Their eyes locked and Ilya took his dick in his hand, giving it one, long, slow stroke. Shane huffed a soft laugh and smirked. “Like what you see, Rozanov?”

“Always.”

Shane began to move again, and Ilya dropped his eyes just in time to watch Shane’s cock catch slightly and then spring free of the elastic waist band. Ilya tightening his own grip, feeling a wave of heat washing over his body.

Shane slid up the mattress between Ilya’s legs, slapping his hand away so he could dip his head and lick up his shaft before he planted a soft kiss on the tip.

“Fuck! Shane!” The words felt ripped from Ilya’s throat as his head fell back.

“Missed this.” Shane murmured, his palms stroking up and down Ilya’s thighs as he continued to pepper kisses along his dick. “Missed you.”

“Yes.” Ilya’s hand slid into Shane’s hair.

“I wanna ride you, and then I want you to fuck me.”

Ilya couldn’t stop the way that his hips bucked slightly as Shane took him in his mouth. That sounded great. That sounded really fucking great. But—

He hissed as Shane bobbed on his dick, his throat slowly opening up so he could take him deeper. Once Shane had swallowed him all the way, his nose pressed into his pubic bone, Ilya fisted his hand in his hair and pulled him up. His dick came free from Shane’s lips with a satisfying pop, and he stared up at him, tears in his eyes and his eyelids already heavy with need.

Ilya used the thumb on his free hand to wipe away a trail of spit that had dribbled down Shane’s chin from the corner of his mouth. “Who said you are in charge here?” He asked and Shane whimpered as he hauled him up by the hand in his hair so he could kiss him.

Shane continued to whimper as Ilya licked inside his mouth, his hips moving, looking for friction against Ilya’s thigh, hip, cock. His slick mixed with the spit on Ilya’s dick as he frotted against him and Ilya could hear the desperation in his little panting moans as he took him by the hips. “Stop.”

Shane groaned and dropped his head to Ilya’s shoulder as he stilled. “No…”

“You were the one who said you wanted to go slow.” Ilya teased, gliding his fingers up and down either side of Shane’s spine.

“Fuck you.”

Ilya chuckled and nibbled at the hinge of his jaw. “No, I will fuck you. But I cannot reach the drawer, so you either get off of me or get the lube yourself.”

Shane grumbled but crawled to the edge of the bed, and a moment later the bottle of lube landed on Ilya’s chest. Ilya chuckled. “Come.” He patted his thighs.

“I’m not a dog, Ilya.” Shane said, even though he was moving to sit on Ilya’s lap exactly as instructed.

“Hm, no, you are not.” Ilya opening the lube. “More like… angry kitten.” He poured lube over his fingers and then tossed the bottle aside. “Very cute even when you are mad at me.” Shane scoffed as Ilya pulled him down to lay against his chest with his clean hand. He kissed the tip of his nose at the same time he pressed a finger against Shane’s hole.

“Oh, fuck, Ilya!” Shane arched his back, and Ilya looped his free arm around his neck, keeping him close. He started to move his hips again and Ilya pulled his hand away. “What? No!”

“No. No humping, Shane.”

“Ilya! That’s not fair!”

“But I know you can do it. You can do it because you are my good boy.”

“Oh, fuck!” Shane’s mouth crashed into his, and Ilya’s fingers went back to work opening him up. By the time he got a finger inside, Shane was murmuring curses and panting against Ilya’s mouth. “Ilya, please!” He begged as Ilya added a second finger.

“Please what?”

“Please more!”

“Another finger?”

“No, your cock! Please! Need you to fuck me!” He panted out a string of repeated pleases.

Ilya removed his fingers gently, and Shane, who had been so good and so still, tried to follow them, sliding his dick alongside Ilya’s as his hips moved. “Fuck.” Ilya groaned, pushing against Shane’s shoulder to get him to sit up. He was panting right alongside Shane and had barely had time to squirt on the lube before Shane was over top of him, lining them up.

He was vaguely aware that he was letting Shane take charge when he had specifically told him that he wasn’t going to allow that to happen, but he found he no longer cared. Nothing mattered except getting inside Shane immediately and Shane was currently helping him do exactly that, so he could let Shane be the one taking the reins.

Literally.

“Is good?” Ilya panted as Shane began to move.

“Jesus Christ, Ilya! Oh, fuck!” Shane gritted out as he rode him.

Ilya could do nothing but hold Shane’s hips, his fingers digging into his skin as he watched Shane’s face and focused all his energy into not coming yet. He wasn’t going to last long no matter how hard he concentrated. Not with Shane completely coming apart on top of him.

“Shane. Do you still want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah… need you to.”

“I am close, so…”

“Yeah, okay, fuck.” Shane moaned as he slid off of Ilya and laid down beside him, face in the mattress and ass in the air. Ilya positioned himself behind him, kissing the dimples on Shane’s lower back before teasing Shane’s asshole with the tip of his dick and then sliding back inside him.

“Ilya!” Shane fisted his hand in the blankets. “Yeah! Fuck me!”

Ilya exhaled hard through his teeth. “Oh, yes, Shane! You take me so good!”

Shane moaned and writhed and cursed under him and Ilya moved faster, trying to find what it was Shane needed.

“Oh, shit, baby, I’m gonna—Fuck, Ilya! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Shane tensed around him and Ilya followed right behind, collapsing forward on top of him.

As Ilya came back to himself, he rolled off, rolling Shane over with him. “Hey, do not fall asleep.” He said, pinching Shane's cheek.

Shane groaned, trying to snuggle in closer.

“No, if we do not clean up you will be mad about it. And you have to wash face and brush teeth before bed.” Ilya kissed his forehead. “And I have to change the sheets now because of someone.”

“Your fault.” Shane muttered, forcing one eye open. “You did this.”

“Mm, I did not hear you complaining in the moment.”

Shane reached one hand up to cup Ilya’s cheek. After a long moment, he whispered, “I love you.”

Ilya smiled. “I love you, too.”

“Ilya? What is this?”

Ilya was pretty sure he knew what he was going to see when he turned around so the grin was already forming on his lips when he glanced over his shoulder at Shane. “What is what, Shane?”

Shane sighed. “I can already see you smiling, Ilya. Why do you have a Montreal Christmas sweater?”

“Oh. That.” He turned completely. “You know my party for the Centaurs on Boxing Day? Well, they wanted it to be ugly sweater theme so—”

“You fucking asshole!” Shane said, throwing the sweater into his face.

“It was the ugliest sweater I could find, Shane!” Ilya pulled the sweater off his face and tossed it over the arm of the couch. “I am just getting into the theme!” Shane rolled his eyes as he fell onto the couch next to Ilya and picked up his controller. “If you are going to be mean about my wardrobe, maybe I will not let you borrow my hoodie next time.”

“You wanted me to find that sweater. You had it laying out in your closet where you knew I would see it.”

“That is silly, Shane. How would I know that you would go into my closet unless every time you are here you go looking for the same hoodie to wear and try to steal?”

“I’m ready to start the game.” Shane said, his eyes on the TV.

“Do not pout, Shane.”

“I’m not.”

“You have to admit it is clever idea.”

“I don’t have to admit anything.”

“This is great opportunity for me.”

Shane gave him a dry look. “Opportunity?”

“Yes, I get to wear my super-hot, love-of-my-life boyfriend’s team colors around other people and no one will care or be suspicious.”

Shane’s eyes immediately softened. “Ilya…”

“And you have game during the party so it is like I will be cheering for you.”

Shane tossed his controller aside, climbed into Ilya’s lap, wrapped his arms around his neck, and kissed him. Hard.

“Aw!” Yuna held up another handmade ornament, this one a picture of a very young Shane in a popsicle stick frame. “Look at this one! Oh, I think this one is my favorite!”

“Mom, you’ve said that like four times now.” Shane said, pulling out a regular bauble to add to the tree.

“Well, yes, but… Look!” She held it out toward Ilya who was more than happy to look. “Little baby Shane! He was so precious! That was when he refused to take his Timbits jersey off and he would cry whenever we tried to make him wear something else so we could wash it!”

“Mom.” Shane’s cheeks were pink under his freckles.

“Wait.” Ilya looked up. “Timbits? The little doughnuts, yes?”

“Tim Hortons sponsors a league for kids under seven.” Shane explained.

“And the kids are named after the little doughnuts?”

“If you ever have the chance to see them play, you definitely got to watch them.” David offered Ilya the drink he’d left the room to get him. “Nothing cuter than a bunch of tiny kids chasing a puck around on the ice when half of them can’t even skate right yet.”

“Oh!” Yuna was pulling another ornament from the box.

“Mom, don’t say that one’s your favorite.” Shane sighed. “It’s literally just felt and cardboard with holes in it and then threaded through with ribbon.”

“But it’s a heart and it says, ‘I love you!’ You wrote it yourself, Shane!”

David chuckled as Shane sighed again. “Jesus Christ, Mom, do we have to do this with everything I’ve made?”

“But Shane!” Ilya gently took the ornament from Yuna’s hands and held it over his own heart. “You wrote it yourself!”

“You two should not be allowed to conspire together.”

“Joke is on you, Shane.” Ilya said, standing up to put the felt heart on the tree. “I do not know what that word means.”

Ilya wasn’t sure what it was that they were watching. It was definitely something Christmas themed, but neither him nor Shane had been paying attention. It was just noise in the background since Shane had just given up and started to read his book and run his fingers through Ilya’s curls while he laid in his lap and scrolled on his phone.

“Oh, Shane!” He sat up and Shane set his book aside, holding his page with a finger. “Look. Harris posted about the hospital visit.” He leaned back into Shane, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

There was a video, only a couple minutes long, that showed them walking into a couple different rooms, surprising and talking to patients and parents before Hailey talked about how important the relationship between the hospital and the club was and then Bood talked about how important it was the give back to the community and how it always felt extra special around Christmas.

“I like your hat.” Shane said as they watched Ilya adjust it before he grinned widely and posed for a photo with a patient.

“I wanted the Santa hat, but Bood got it first.”

“Too bad.”

Along with the video there were photographs, some posed and some candid, and Ilya swiped through them slowly. They had met quite a few people and Ilya had vague memories from each photo, or at least a recollection of meeting them.

He paused at one photo that stood out to him more than the others. “That’s Mateo and his brother Kingston.” He explained, holding the phone up so Shane would be able to see a little better as he pointed them out. “And this is Spencer and that is Carlos, their dads.”

Shane didn’t say anything but nodded softly.

“I talked to Spencer for a while. He is nice guy. I am sure that Carlos is nice, too. They adopted both of the boys, so I asked Spencer about it.”

“You… asked a gay dad about adopting kids?”

“I think he just thinks I was being nice, but… I never met a gay dad before, Shane. Not like that, so I wanted to know what it is like for them to adopt…” He shrugged, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

“And… what did he say?” Shane asked quietly.

“He said that it was not bad. It takes a while, but it does for everyone. Is not so different for queer parents, at least not in Ottawa. I do not know about Montreal and Quebec, but I think would probably be the same, too.” Ilya kept his eyes on the photo. He wanted to look at Shane, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

After a long moment, Shane said, “Well, that’s good to know.”

Ilya’s heart fluttered.

“I mean, not for right now, of course.” Shane went on. “But you know… good to know for… for someday.”

“Someday.” Ilya repeated. The fluttering had grown so big it was hard to fill his lungs, and his eyes were beginning to sting.

“Yeah. If you want, I mean.”

“Yeah.” Ilya nodded with a sniffle and Shane kissed his temple. “I think so, yes.”

They sat there in silence, both phone and book forgotten. Then Shane cleared his throat. “Here, sit up.” He gave Ilya a little push and then stood once his weight wasn’t on him anymore.

“Where are you going?”

“I have something for you. I’m going to go get it.”

“Shane.” Ilya called after him. “It is not Christmas yet. We said no presents until Christmas!”

“This is different!” Shane called back. When he reappeared, his hands were hidden in his—Ilya’s—hoodie pocket. “I think it’s silly to wait until Christmas to give you this because, well…” He was squirming a bit and even in the low light cast only by the fireplace and the Christmas lights, Ilya could see he was blushing. He glanced away briefly and then pulled his hands out of the pocket and held them out toward Ilya. “Here. For your tree.”

The tears were spilling down his cheeks before Ilya even fully understood what Shane was offering him.

“Ilya!” Shane sounded a little alarmed. “Please don’t! It’s not—I didn’t mean to—"

“Shane…” Ilya cut him off as he picked up the felt heart in his boyfriend’s hands. It wasn’t the same one that was on his parents’ tree. This one hadn’t yet faded with time, and the ribbon stitched through the holes poked along the perimeter laid flat while the original was slightly crinkled. “Shane, when did you do this?”

“When you and Dad were working on the puzzle. Mom doesn’t even remember why she had red felt, but we took it as a sign. It didn’t take long, or I just mean, it isn’t anything special. Just, you know, felt and ribbon and cardboard hot glue on it, but I just thought, because you said the thing about not having any handmade ornaments on your tree—” Ilya cut off Shane’s rambling when he leapt to his feet and threw his arms around him. “Ilya!”

“I love it, Shane.”

“Do you really?” Shane asked, his voice a little uncertain.

“Yes, I do really.” Ilya admired the ornament over Shane’s shoulder. “How could I not? It is my favorite one. You wrote ‘I love you, baby’ all by yourself.”

Shane laughed. “Well, I’m a little better at writing than when I was eight, so I don’t think it’s that impressive.”

Ilya smiled as he turned it over. Merry Christmas, 2018 —S.

“Aw, yes. Not so impressive. You forgot how to spell your name.”

Shane laughed. “Shut up. I just ran out of room, and I didn’t want to ruin it by trying to force my name in there. Besides, you know it’s from me.”

“Yes. And I love it.” He kissed along his jaw, pecked him once on the lips, and then released him. “I will put it right in the front of the tree where everyone will see. Maybe I will keep it up forever, even when the tree is gone.”

“Ilya, no. You can’t do that.”

“It’s my tree, Shane, I can put it anywhere I want.” He said, hanging it on a branch in the center of the tree. The ribbon slipped off and it fell to the ground.

“No, I mean, you can’t just leave it up. Definitely not forever.” Shane said as Ilya picked up the ornament again. “Your team is going to be here on Boxing Day. You can’t have my ornament on your tree when they’re here.”

“Why not?” Ilya let go of the heart and stood with his hands up, waiting to see if it would stay in place. “You did not even put your full name on it.”

“Ilya, please.”

“Okay. I am just joking, Shane. I will take it down. Do not panic.” Shane slipped his arm around Ilya’s waist and leaned into him. Ilya sighed as he admired the felt heart, right in the center of all the brand-new, store-bought baubles. “My tree is complete. Is perfect.” He paused and turned slightly so he could look at him. “Now will you let me fuck you under it?”

Shane shook his head. “First of all, we can’t actually fit under the tree…”

“You know what I mean.”

“Second, I don’t want to get covered in needles.”

“I sweep my floors, Shane.”

“It doesn’t matter how much you sweep, Ilya, the needles still get everywhere.”

“I will put down a blanket! Please! Is what I really want! You look so pretty in the lights!”

Shane seemed to consider for a moment. “The really soft one?”

“Shane, I will drag my mattress into my living room if that is what it takes.”

“Really? Because I kind of want to see that…”

“Shane.”

“Okay. Fine. Go get the blanket.”

Ilya took Shane’s chin in his hand and kissed him. “Do not go anywhere!” He instructed as he jogged for the bedroom.

“Where would I go?” Shane called after him with a laugh.

“I do not know! Just… do not!”

There was something very special about waking up on Christmas morning at the Hollander home, wrapped up with Shane in matching pajamas. Things had been different when Mama was alive, but Ilya had spent a lot of holidays with his father and Alexei waking up as if it was any other day. Not that they didn’t celebrate them at all. There were still presents and special meals because that’s what you were supposed to do, but there was no excitement. No whimsy.

So getting out of bed and finding Yuna and David already in the kitchen, also in matching pajamas, with pancakes already ready to eat, and presents still piled under the tree even though he and Shane were both almost thirty? It made his heart ache in a good way.

Most of the packages were practical; socks, underwear, a few things they could each use around the house. Neither he nor Shane needed to ever really think about money, so they usually just bought whatever they needed without much thought. But unwrapping anything, even a package of socks, still meant something. It showed that David and Yuna genuinely cared. That they loved him.

“Okay, hold on.” Yuna said as Shane crumpled up the last piece of wrapping paper and tossed it into the trash bag near David. “There’s one more thing for Ilya.”

“For me?” Ilya asked, staring up at her from the couch.

“Yes.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll go grab it.”

“Be careful.” David called.

“Oh.” Shane said from beside Ilya. “Is it…?” He looked to David who nodded, because apparently that very open ended question was enough for Shane to understand.

“Ilya, close your eyes.” Yuna said, and Ilya did as he was told as Shane chuckled beside him. There was a little bit of shuffling around in the room and then Yuna said, “Okay. You can look.”

Ilya opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see, but it wasn’t the framed, signed Ottawa jersey that he had literally seen on Shane’s bedroom wall that very morning. “What?”

“Well, we just figured that it’s been hanging in Shane’s room collecting dust for years and since you’re a Centaur now, it could maybe use a better home.” David shrugged.

“Danielsson’s name is on there.” Shane said, leaning forward to point it out.

“What?” Ilya asked again. “You did not tell me that! You are big fan of Danielsson, Shane! I cannot take it.”

“Ilya, if I was that attached to it, do you think I would have left it in my childhood room? Besides, it’s not like I’m never going to see it again.”

“You will see it a lot.” Ilya took it so Yuna didn’t have to keep holding it up. “I will put it in the living room.”

“Oh. The living room is a choice…” Shane muttered and Yuna laughed softly.

“Or I could put it in my bedroom. Right over the bed?”

“Never mind. Living room sounds great.”

Marly: Merry Christmas, Rozy! 🎁🎄🎅🏼

Marly: I fucking love ya, brother!

Merry Christmas, Marly.

Tell your family I said hi.

Marly: Will do!

Marly: Next time you’re in Boston, you’ll have to stop by. I have something for you.

You didn’t have to get me anything.

Marly: Too fucking late.

Marly: Have a great one, man!

You, too.

Love you, man.

It had been hard to say goodbye to Shane the next day. Ilya had known it would be, but that didn’t really help with things. The worst part of it all was that after having Shane in his home and getting to just be together, now he had to make all traces of Shane disappear.

Not that there were many things that would be obvious to his teammates, but Shane wanted him to be thorough. Shane did most of the work before he left, scouring the house as if he were getting ready to check out of a hotel room and didn’t want to leave anything behind in any forgotten drawer. And then Ilya was supposed to go through after Shane was gone and make sure he didn’t miss anything. Not that he ever did.

He had even taken down the heart shaped ornament off the tree.

Ilya had done a good job keeping it together, but when he had seen that his own special Shane ornament was no longer on the tree, he had had to wipe away a few tears. Not that he was planning to leave it up. He had promised Shane he wouldn’t after all, but he had hoped he could just keep it up until Bood and Cassie got there and then snatch it off the tree and hide it away. He wasn’t even sure where Shane would have put it. He’d have to ask him later.

He was excited, though, to have his team come over. He’d hosted a handful of parties in Boston, but this felt different. The team was different.

Boston was fun. Ottawa was cozy.

Boston had always been a night out with fancy drinks. Ottawa was a night in with good food. Ilya had liked his old team, and he missed those nights, but Ottawa had already grown on him.

“Roz.” Bood said and Ilya drug his eyes from the spot on the tree that wouldn’t look empty to anyone but himself. “This isn’t—I mean, you didn’t—”

“Did not what?” Ilya frowned. “Is not good present? The internet said they are very good.”

“No. I mean, yeah, this is… these are really good knives, Roz, but they’re also really fucking expensive.”

“Oh.” Ilya shrugged. “Maybe, I guess. I did not notice.”

“You guess.” Bood shook his head, pulling the rest of the wrapping paper off the box and wadding it up.

“Hi, maybe no one told you this, Bood, but I am millionaire.” Ilya explained and Cassie laughed.

“Oh, fuck you. It just makes me feel cheap, that’s all. I spent like nothing on your present compared to what you spent.”

Ilya smiled and looked over at the framed photograph he had already put on the mantle for now; the celebration after his first goal as a Centaur. He was grinning widely, one arm in the air as Bood hugged him and the fans through the glass cheered them on.

“Do not feel cheap. I like presents that are sentimental. Make me feel things. I am very happy with the photo. I will hang it on the wall very soon.”

“Sentimental.” Bood’s eyes tracked toward the Christmas tree, and for one crazy moment, Ilya thought he was going to comment on the missing ornament, which Bood didn’t even know was missing. But his eyes continued past it to the framed Ottawa jersey that now hung on the wall behind the tree. Bood had noticed it immediately of course, though he had yet to get close enough to really take it in. Ilya had mostly told the truth; it was a gift from a friend who had had it in his childhood bedroom for years and the friend had thought that Ilya’s house would be a better home for it.

Ilya turned back to Bood and Cassie. “Would you like drinks?”

“I would love a drink.” Cassie said, standing up.

“Bood?”

“Yeah, sure. Just… whatever.”

Ilya chuckled. “You can go look at the jersey closer. You do not have to try to see it from across the room. Danielsson is on there.” Bood was already up and moving before Ilya finished speaking.

Bood admired the jersey as Cassie and Ilya headed toward the kitchen, Cassie laughing as she said something teasingly. The sweater was from the mid-00s, which meant that Danny was probably the captain but maybe hadn’t been for long. He leaned in close to the glass, trying to make out other signatures. He knew who else would have been on the team at that time, but some guys had signatures that were nearly impossible to make out unless they also signed their numbers.

Bood smiled. For some reason, this jersey felt right at home in Rozanov’s living room. Just like the old hat that he continued to wear when he didn’t have a toque on against the cold, somehow these things that were older than Roz’s hockey career just seemed to fit him perfectly. There was something about the way that Roz respected the history of the team that made Bood feel proud. Proud of Roz or proud of the Centaurs, he didn’t know. He just… felt warm inside knowing that the guy who everyone said was throwing away his career was fully embracing his new team.

As Bood turned away to go join Roz and Cassie in the kitchen, something caught his eye. Roz’s Christmas decorations were beautiful, but very simple; white and gold. It was nothing fancy, but also looked very elegant and expensive, just like Roz.

Bood squatted down beside the tree, where something red was peeking out from under the tree skirt. He picked up a piece of felt that had been cut into the shape of a heart. It looked like an ornament that a kid would make in elementary school and then bring home to gift to their parents, but the handwriting was much too nice to have been writing by a child, and the fact that the message read, “I love you, baby,” also didn’t lend itself toward being made by someone in school. Bood’s heart began to beat faster as he turned it over.

Merry Christmas, 2018 —S.

Roz probably knew lots of people whose name started with “S.” A few came to mind immediately—Scott Hunter, Svetlana, his best friend, Shane Hollander—but S-names were probably popular enough for Ilya to know way more than Bood could imagine. There was no reason to jump to conclusions about which one of them would make him an ornament calling him baby and saying they loved him. Well… except Scott Hunter. He seemed pretty happy with his boyfriend and Roz was usually a jerk to him, so Bood was positive Hunter wouldn't be calling him baby.

Even though this definitely meant something, Bood felt remarkedly composed as he turned the piece of heart-shaped felt over in his hand again. He didn’t know why the bigger the something seemed to get, the calmer he felt. Over these last few days, every time something seemed to fall into place, it was like the secret was easier to carry. Which was a little ridiculous, because he didn’t even know what the secret was. Either way, whatever this ornament meant to Roz and whoever it was from, it didn’t matter. Bood had promised not to ask, and he had also promised not to tell, so he gently lifted the tree skirt, slid the ornament completely under it, and straightened.

There was no reason to think about it tonight. He wouldn’t get answers, anyway. All he’d get was anxious if he got too inside his own head trying to piece it all together. He wouldn’t do this to himself or to Roz on Christmas. This was a puzzle for a different day, so he stepped back and made sure that no one else would notice that there was something hidden beneath the tree skirt before he turned and went to join Roz and Cassie in the kitchen.

Chapter End Notes

I was so nervous about this chapter. I've never written smut like this before, so the idea of putting it up on the internet for you all to read, was kind of terrifying. I've wanted to try writing it for a while, but honestly, this series has offered very few instances when Ilya and Shane have been alone enough for the smut to happen. And also for it to fit into the story without feeling forced in there just for the sake of smut. No shame to writers who mostly produce smut (I read it), it's just not my style. However, I would like to write more in the future, unless your feedback tells me that's not a great idea 😬 (and I won't be offended AT ALL if that's the case).

Just... please be nice, okay? This was scary, but I was brave.

Also, I really hope you enjoyed the cute. I've been so excited to write all the cute little fluffy Christmas scenes. I know I make Ilya sad a lot, but I also love making him happy. ❤️

Chapter 14

Chapter Notes

This is officially a Wyatt Hayes appreciation chapter.

Please enjoy.

“Hazy, you’re a fuckin’ miracle worker!”

Hayes laughed and accepted a sweaty forehead-to-forehead touch from Dykstra. Bood could tell their new netminder was having a great time, but he was never going to get undressed at this rate. “Thanks, D!”

They were all riding the high of the win. And how could they not? Not only had they won their first home game after their Christmas break, but Hayes had shut out Vancouver his first time in red and black at Canadian Tire Centre. Never mind that Vancouver hadn’t managed to score for two games in a row and were on a three-game losing streak.

A win was a win.

From the moment that Hayes had stepped onto the ice— and even before that for Bood and Roz and the guys who had been at Roz’s party—he had been part of the team. There was no warming up to him, there was no letting him find his place; the few days that Wyatt Hayes had been on their roster felt like a lifetime. As if he had always been there, and every guy on the team was willing to go to war for their new goalie.

“Hey.” Roz called when Dillon stepped over to talk to Hayes. “Let Hayes get his gear off. I want to get to Monk’s before five a.m.”

Bood chuckled. “They’re just excited, Roz.”

“They can be excited at the bar.” Roz said, heading toward the showers.

Bood looked over at Hayes and they exchanged a shrug. Roz had been a little short over the last few days. Not in a bad way, or at least, not in a way that made him miserable to be around. Just in a “something is off” kind of way, and Bood thought maybe it was just the holidays. Sometimes he felt melancholy after the holidays ended, so maybe that was the case with Roz, too.

Especially if he was missing his person after spending basically the week with them.

S, his dumb brain reminded him, his person named S.

Bood had been doing everything he could to not think of the ornament. In the moment, he had felt calm, and he still thought he was relatively chill about it, at least compared to his embarrassing history surrounding the subject. Now he mostly felt anxious every time his mind decided to remind him of the ornament he had found, completely by accident, mostly hidden under Roz’s tree skirt, as if it had fallen off at some point and had been kicked there, also by accident.
It had been an invasion of privacy, even if he hadn’t intended to learn about them. And he couldn’t tell Roz that he knew and apologize because he hadn’t done it in the moment and now it felt too late. And that was his fault, too, even if he had done it with good intentions because he had wanted Roz’s Boxing Day party to go well.

So, he thought the best thing to do was just forget about it. If he just let it go and didn’t think about it, that was the best way to handle it. He thought. He couldn’t really ask for advice without making everything worse, so he had to trust his own judgement, and well… that didn’t always go to plan. But keeping his mouth shut had to be a good idea, right? Don’t talk about it, don’t think about it, let it all go.

Except, his brain wasn’t one hundred percent on board with the idea. It still wanted to obsess over S. It still wanted to remind him of the letter and if he wasn’t careful, it began to wander, looking for any scrap of clue Roz may have ever dropped about an S.

And it didn’t matter how many times Bood tried to convince himself that there were no clues to find because Roz probably hadn’t even ever said anything to him about the person who made the ornament.

Lots of people have names that start with an S. He began his own internal dialogue, which was something that had been happening more and more over the last week. He wasn’t sure if it was something to be concerned about, but since he had no one else to talk to, arguing with himself seemed to make him feel a little better about the whole thing, which he would admit was a little concerning. Our list of people we have come up with is not exclusive. Actually, it’s a very stupid list.

Yes, but if Roz is down bad—like we think he might be—his person is probably someone he’s at least mentioned before.

That is a ridiculous fallacy. Roz is incredibly private. There’s plenty we don’t know about him. And half the list doesn’t make sense anyway.

Well, okay… yes. Scott Hunter is a definite no, and there’s no way that Selena is cheating on Nick. St. Simon seems like he’s also a definite no, even though they played together for quite a while…

Exactly. We’re grasping at straws that aren’t even there. The list is bullshit.

But that’s not the whole list. The list still has Svetlana and Shane Hollander on it.

Roz told us that Svetlana is just a friend. He specifically said it wasn’t a WAG situation. And Roz doesn’t lie. He leaves out information, but he doesn’t lie. He’s never lied. It’s not Svetlana.

Then that means—

“Hey, Bood, you showering?”

Bood looked up from the spot he had been staring at on the floor at Hayes’s question. He had finally gotten out of all of his gear and Bood wondered how long he had been sitting there, thinking and staring at nothing.

Oh, uh, yeah.”

“Let’s go then. I want to see what all this fuss about Monk’s is.”

Monk’s was just as crazy as Ilya had expected it to be. He had actually been planning to say no at the last minute and bail on them, but then they had won and it had been a shutout for Hayes and he knew he needed to go.

He also knew he was just in a funk because it was almost Russian Christmas and that had been a hard day every year since he’d lost his mama and he missed Shane. And as much as he wanted to just go home and be alone, a part of his brain said he probably shouldn’t be by himself tonight. Not because it would be dangerous for him to be alone, he didn’t think, but just because he thought in the end, he’d feel better if he wasn’t.

So he put on a grin as they walked into the bar to the cheers and applause of the fans waiting inside and did his best to keep some kind of smile on his face as he was bounced around between fans and teammates who all were rightfully ecstatic for a shutout win at home.

Eventually things calmed down enough that he was able to find himself tucked away in a corner booth, away from the drunken fans who he knew wanted to interact with him but would settle for the guys who were more enthusiastic about it all. Not that Ilya didn’t love their fans. He did. They were wonderful and loved their team, but Ilya needed a little space tonight. He pulled his phone from his pocket, finally feeling safe enough to check his texts.

Jane😘: Great game tonight ❤️

Thank you 😘

It was just Vancouver, though.

Jane😘: Two points is two points.

True.

Jane😘: And you scored a goal and got an assist.

Yes. I will be catching up with you any day now in the scoring race.

Jane😘: Totally. All you need is a what? An eight goal game and we’ll be all tied up?

Fuck you.

Jane😘: Yes, please 🥵

Jane😘: But seriously, you guys looked really good out there tonight. You’re still weak in a couple spots, but you looked drastically different than you did before your Christmas break.

Signing Hayes was the boost we needed, I think.

Jane😘: Yeah, and he looked amazing. Like he’s always been in your net.

Jane😘: I know that Nilsson is good, too, but I can’t believe that Toronto has been sitting on Hayes this whole time. I watched some tape and that guy never should have been a backup. It’s a crime to keep someone with that much talent off the ice, and they should have asked for way more in your trade for him. He would have been worth it. His SV% is actually higher than Nilsson’s, but people are going to say it’s just because Hayes has less ice time. And Nilsson’s got a higher HDSV%, but I would argue it’s because Nilsson faces higher quality opponents, so he just sees more of those shots. It will be interesting to see how Hayes’s stats change as he becomes a starter.

Ilya smiled. It was so cute when Shane started talking hockey. He loved when he rambled over text just like he rambled in person.

“That’s a cute face, Rozy.” Chouinard said from the other side of the booth. He had been preoccupied with his own phone and Ilya hadn’t thought he had been paying attention.

“You chatting someone up?” Dykstra asked as he slid in beside his fellow defenseman, handing him a beer.

Ilya knew his smile had gone tight. “Ah, no. Nothing like that.” He accepted the glass Bood handed over as he sat down.

Bood realized he was holding his breath as Roz set his phone screen down on the table and he let it out slowly.

“Look, man, Selena wanted me to let you know that she has this friend she thinks you would like.”

Roz didn’t say anything, just took a long drink.

“She’s some kind of personal trainer, I think. Smart, hot, the whole package, man. I can show you her Instagram if you want to see.” He pulled out his phone and, assumedly, went looking for the profile.

Why did all of his teammates’ wives know so many personal trainers? Roz set his glass back down. “No thank you.”

“Look, man,” Dykstra leaned across the table, “come clean with us. Our wives are desperate. They want to find you someone so bad. I get it, it’s a lot, but they mean well. They really like you and they’re trying to help. Is there a reason you won’t meet any of the women that they want to introduce you to?”

“Guys, come on.” Bood sat back slightly, hoping he looked a little more relaxed than he felt. “Do you guys really think Roz needs your wives to help him find someone?”

“True.” Chouinard shrugged. “I mean, you could probably get with, like, half of Ottawa if you wanted to.”

“Half?” Dykstra asked. “I’d say more like… eighty percent.”

“Well, yeah, okay, but I was considering that Roz probably won’t be interested in everyone that’s interested in him. Especially if he’s turning down the hot personal trainer.”

“Oh, yeah, she is pretty hot.” Dykstra said, glancing over Chouinard’s shoulder at his phone screen.

“I know, right?”

“D! Chouinard! Bood! Anyone up for pool?”

Bood just shook his head, but Chouinard was already pushing Dykstra out of the booth.

“Thank you.” Roz said when they were alone again.

Bood shrugged. “I didn’t do much. They were still bothering you about it.”

“But not so bad. And you still said something and I appreciate it.”

“I want to get them to leave you alone, but I’m afraid if I say too much all at once they will get suspicious and that will make it all worse.”

“Probably.”

“But I am trying.”

“I know.”

“And it is because they care. I mean, they said that’s why their wives keep trying to set you up, but they also care about you, too. And it has probably been a little weird for them to think about how you don’t ever go out or take anyone home after everyone talking about how you did that so often in Boston.”

Roz was quiet for a moment. “Maybe… is because I am on new boring team in Canada. Maybe I am trying to fit in.”

Bood laughed. “Hey man, I’m pretty sure hockey players sleep around no matter where they’re from. You just ended up on a team where, like, eighty percent of us are married. So if you really want to fit in with your team, you’d have to get married.”

Bood thought maybe Roz winced at that, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Shit. He didn’t mean anything by it. He took a drink to make himself wait a moment before he said, his voice low, “Sorry. That was… I don’t know, probably out of line, but I really didn’t mean anything by it. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am fine.”

“Well, if you weren’t, you could talk to me. If you wanted to. I guess Monk’s probably isn’t the best place to talk, though…”

“I just…” Roz sighed. “I am just… a little off, I guess.”

“Did… something happen? Are you okay?”

He nodded but then tilted his head slightly as he stared down at his glass. “This time of year is just hard.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I will be okay.” Roz said, but his voice was still very soft and not completely convincing. “I am always okay.” He took off his hat to run his hand back through his smushed curls before placing it back on his head. It was cold outside, but Roz had chosen the old Ottawa hat over a toque and Bood stared at it for a moment, choosing to focus on the hat instead of the way his heart was aching for his friend. “What?” Roz asked.

“Did the same person who gave you that hat also give you the signed jersey?”

“Yes.”

“You said it was the father of a friend, right?” Bood paused long enough for Roz to nod. “And he used to be a fan? So why isn’t he a fan anymore? Especially if you’re on the team. I mean, you still get along with the friend, right? So, his dad doesn’t cheer for Ottawa even though you’re on the team?”

Roz froze for a moment. “I, uh… I am not sure. I… need out. Please.”

Bood slid out and Roz muttered something about being back as he headed toward the restroom.

Bood had done something wrong.

But he didn’t know what.

Roz was usually pretty quick to tell him when he messed up, so it was weird to see him running away from the situation instead. That was… interesting. Bood sat back down in the booth. What could it all mean? What could make those questions uncomfortable?

We know.

No, we don’t.

Yes, we do. We know exactly who fits into that scenario of being from Ottawa and having a dad who can’t be a fan anymore.

Bood chugged the last of his beer. Okay, but that doesn’t mean anything.

Doesn’t it?

Ilya was glad to see that Hayes had joined Bood in the booth when he came back from the restroom. He was pretty sure that Bood wouldn’t ask any questions in front of Hayes, and that was good because Ilya had had to go hide in a bathroom stall to keep himself from panicking.

He couldn’t be mad, not really. Bood’s questions had been warranted. It did seem a little strange when he had laid it all out like that, but Ilya had never really expected anyone to do that. And he really should have because Bood noticed everything.

Well, maybe not everything, but he was incredible at putting together clues and puzzle pieces. It was, first of all, one of the reasons he was such an incredible captain, and second, why Ilya was afraid to reveal too much about Shane. Somedays he worried he already had. He hadn’t realized at first that the whole tampering thing had come from such a deep place. He had thought it was a drunken accusation from someone who was hurting. And by the time they were on good footing again and Bood had explained how he came to that conclusion, Roz was already too far into the whole “my best friend, Shane Hollander” bit that he didn’t feel like he could stop. So, he was banking on the idea that he was putting out too much information and flooding Bood with talk about Shane to the point that Bood wouldn’t even consider the truth because it was too crazy of a possibility.

Not that Bood would be thinking about the truth anyway. Why would he? Asking about where David’s hat and where the jersey came from didn’t mean Bood was trying to connect him to Shane. It was just Ilya being paranoid.

Bood scooted over so Ilya could sit beside him. “You good?” He asked softly.

Ilya nodded. He liked to think that if he wasn’t tired and a little too emotional, he wouldn’t have had to—temporarily—run away. But his brain had gone blank and he couldn’t form a single thought and he had just needed to get away for a bit.

“Rozy!” Hayes greeted him. “My sister sent me pictures of Isaac. You want to see?”

“Yes. Absolutely." Ilya held his hand out across the table, glad for the distraction.

“There’s a video at the end, too.” Hayes said, laying his phone in Ilya’s palm.

Ilya swiped through the photos which showed Issac was dressed in a tiny Ottawa jersey, with Hayes across the back. There were a few different pictures of Isaac staring at the TV, watching their game and then, the video Hayes mentioned, where Wyatt’s sister, Kristy, held the toddler as he bounced happily in her arms. “Uncle Wyatt did it, Isaac!” She said, squeezing him tightly.

“Uncle Wyatt did it!” He repeated, Hayes’s name sounding a lot more like “white” than “Wyatt” in Isaac’s soft voice.

“We’re so proud of you!” Kristy went on. “And we love you!”

“Love you!” Isaac once again parroted his mother and then covered his mouth with his whole hand before throwing a kiss to the camera.

Ilya had to swallow against the lump in his throat. Isaac was so cute and Hayes’s sister looked so happy.

“Aw man, look at that!” Bood grinned as Ilya handed the phone back. “Your biggest little fan! And they’re in Vancouver, right? You’ve got him cheering against his hometown team!”

“Hey, family trumps all that right? And I mean, to be clear, he never cheered for Toronto. I never asked that of Kristy or Eve. So, I’m glad I can be here and they can cheer for me and my team out loud. Proudly. That means a lot. I’m so glad to be here.”

Fuck.

Hayes was great. Ilya loved him already. He had improved morale and given the team new confidence. And he didn’t know what his words were doing. He didn’t know they were making Ilya’s eyes burn and his throat tighten and stomach cramp. And it also wasn’t his fault. He deserved to have this, and he deserved to get to have a family finally cheer for him openly and proudly. But also… it just felt so un-fucking-fair.

“Oh, yeah, man, we’re so glad to have you! It already feels like you’re part of the team! It has since the beginning, right, Roz?”

“Of course.” Ilya knew his smile wasn’t quite right, and he knew it even before he offered it and got concerned looks back from his teammates. But mercifully, neither said anything.

Bood finished his drink and Hayes gently changed the subject. It didn’t matter he was telling himself he was overreacting. Because his brain was just stuck.

Hat. Jersey. Getting emotional hearing Hayes talk about his family proudly cheering for him…

Aw, fuck. Just… shit. Fuck.

Ready to admit we were right all along?

Okay, maybe we were, but… fuck. What do we do now?

hey, are you busy?

Hazy: Well, I just blocked what felt like 3,000 hockey pucks and still lost the game.

yeah, sorry about that…

Hazy: So, I think that the only fitting punishment is to be holed up in a STL hotel room and hope we don’t get snowed in.

Hazy: Which just happens to be exactly what I’m doing.

Hazy: Why? What’s up?

I wanted to talk to you about something

if that’s okay

Hazy: Yeah, sure of course. Is something wrong?

no, nothing’s wrong but it’s just better if we talk face to face

can you come to my room?

Hazy: Okay.👍🏼Give me a minute.

Bood set his phone down with a sigh. He still wasn’t sure this was a good idea. But he’d been struggling. Hard. And he was afraid that he was going to spiral soon if he didn’t talk to someone. And Hayes was obviously an ally, so he didn’t have to worry about that part. He also thought he was discreet.

Not that he planned to tell him they were about to talk about Roz. Bood wasn’t going to explain that part. He had no plan to tell him how one word had sent him into a tailspin of questioning the sexuality of a guy he was starting to consider his best friend. Or that he was leaning very heavily toward believing that the man his new best friend proclaimed to be his best friend was likely his lover.

He wouldn’t tell Hayes about all the other little things that had piled onto that one word to make him feel like he was getting closer and closer to a truth that he had promised not to know or think about. Like how Roz’s eyes always seemed to get a little soft when he saw a queer couple or queer representation, and lately Bood had seen flashes of the same look on his face when he watched Montreal play.

And he also wouldn’t say anything about how Roz had asked a queer couple about adoption or that he had found the heart shaped ornament from S under the tree. Or how Roz’s favorite hat and the signed jersey in his living room could have come from someone who was a hometown fan until his son was drafted to a rival team.

So, when the knock came at his hotel room door, he panicked because what the fuck was he going to tell him?

Bood took a couple deep breaths before he opened the door to Hayes’s warm smile. He wondered if he ever stopped smiling, but realized he didn’t really care, because Hayes’s smile was soothing.

“Hey.” Hayes greeted him as he stepped into the room. “Everything alright?”

“Yes. Well, I mean, no, but…” he sighed, “Can we sit down?”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” Hayes came farther into the room, sat on the edge of the mattress, and Bood sat beside him. He didn’t know how to start the conversation, so he was glad when Hayes broke the awkward silence.

“Look, I know I keep asking, but it’s kind of felt like things have been off since Monk’s last weekend, so is something wrong?”

Bood took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “I just need… I need to talk to someone about something and maybe this is a little too much because we haven’t known each other that long or anything, but I just feel like you’re the right guy.”

“Oh. Okay.” Hayes’s voice was a little unsure, but he managed to sound a little more confident when he went on. “Sure. We can talk. What’s on your mind?”

“So, I have to be really discreet, and that’s not because of you. I just… made a promise and I want to keep that promise, but also I’m afraid I’m going to spiral and do something stupid if I don’t talk about it. But I also kind of feel bad because… you know. I promised.”

“Okay.” Hayes repeated. “I mean, do whatever feels okay for you. I’d be happy to listen, but I understand if you change your mind.”

“Before anything else, I just want to be clear that the reason that I feel like I can talk to you is because of your sister.”

“Kristy?”

“Yeah. I just figure that you’re… a safe person, I guess. You’re an ally, so I figure that maybe you’ll understand why I’m trying to be so careful about what I say.”

Hayes’s eyes widened, but then he composed himself and said, “Well… thank you. For thinking I’m a safe person.”

“You don’t… it’s okay, right? You don’t feel like I’m using you since your sister is a lesbian?”

He laughed. “First of all, I mean no offense, but that’s one of the strangest questions anyone has ever asked me. Second, no, I don’t feel like you’re using me. My time with Ottawa has already been amazing. I can’t thank you enough. If I can help you by being someone for you to talk to, I’m more than happy to do so. Whenever you’re ready.”

Bood closed his eyes and did his best to gather his thoughts. He didn’t know why keeping his eyes shut helped so much, but if it was the only way to get out what he wanted to say, he’d risk looking a little silly. “Okay. First of all… this isn’t about me. It’s about someone else. A friend. And I know that people say that shit all the time. They say it’s their friend, but they really mean themselves, but that’s not what I’m doing. I’m really talking about a friend.”

“Alright. I believe you.”

“And lately I’ve noticed some… things that make me think that maybe my friend isn’t… completely straight.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t know what to do now.” Bood waited for some kind of little encouraging word or sound from Hayes, but when the silence stretched on, he finally opened his eyes and looked over at his goalie, who was just staring back at him. “So?”

“So?” Hayes repeated back.

“So, what do I do?”

“What do you mean, what do you do?”

“I just… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with the information.”

Hayes just continued to stare for a moment before his smile lit up his face and he started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Bood asked, feeling embarrassed and indignant all at the same time.

“It’s just… Boodram.” Hayes wiped at his eyes. “Why do you think that you have to do something with the information?”

Bood could feel his face getting hot. “Well, I just—I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to ask. I’ve never been in a situation like this before. I mean, obviously I know gay people—queer people. But I’ve never been around someone who I think is, you know, in the closet.”

“Okay.” Hayes took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for laughing. That was rude. But it was just kind of funny the way you looked so worried. I’m not an expert, and every situation and person is different, but I’ll give you the best advice I can.

“There isn’t anything you should do with the information. I get that it probably feels like a lot to hold onto. But saying something isn’t the best idea. Because first, you could be wrong, and that could be disastrous. And second, if you’re right, maybe they aren’t ready to tell anyone. And that’s not on you. Just because they haven’t told you doesn’t mean you’ve done anything wrong. In fact, I’m sure you’re going into this with the best of intentions, but we shouldn’t be opening the closet door and telling someone to come out. Even if we feel like we’re welcoming them to take the step, that’s not our job. Our job is to be waiting outside the door ready to show our support, so they feel safe and loved when they’re ready to tell us.”

Bood let out a long, heavy breath and with it went the weight that had been pressing against his chest since he and Roz had driven home after the hospital visit.

Wyatt Hayes had been the right person to talk to. Not only was he a phenomenal goalie, but the man was a fucking saint. Holy shit.

“Was that… do you feel better?” Hayes asked.

Bood nodded. “So much better. Jesus Christ, Hazy, how’d I ever get by without you?”

Hayes laughed again. “You seem to be doing alright. And for what it’s worth, I think that your friend is going to be really lucky to have you there when they do come out. You said it yourself that we don’t know each other that well yet, but I can already tell that you’re a great friend.”

“Thank you, Hazy. Truly. I’m glad you’re here. For a lot of reasons.”

“Same.” Hayes said, lifting a hand to Bood’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “But how about you show that appreciation by scoring more goals next game?”

Bood laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“And In all seriousness, you’ve built a great team, and you should be proud of the work you’ve done.”

“Thanks, but I inherited it. I didn’t build it. That was Danny with Horn’s help.”

“Well, yeah, but they aren’t here anymore. You are. You’re holding this team together. You’re the one who’s maintaining the environment they created. You’re an incredible leader and not all captains are. I would know. I kinda dealt with that for a while.”

Bood smiled softly, looking out at the snow swirling outside his window. “When we ended last season and it was just me, I didn’t think I could do it. I mean, I wanted to. I didn’t want to give up or throw the team away or anything. It’s just that the shoes just seemed too impossibly big to fill.”

“I’m really glad you didn’t give up.”

Bood turned back to him. “Yeah. So am I.”

The relief was so immense it was still washing over him, almost making him dizzy. Hayes had said he wasn’t an expert, but Bood wasn’t convinced. Everything he had had to say resonated so deep and made an almost impossible situation feel manageable.

Because Bood could wait outside the door for Roz. He could wait for a long time if he had to. Years even. And when Roz stepped out, he wouldn’t know what to do with all the love and support that was waiting for him. Bood would make sure of it.

Chapter End Notes

So, I had Bood putting together the pieces like three chapters ago, and my beta reader said, Nope. Too soon. And I'm very thankful he did, because this is waaay better than what I had planned before.
He also told me he read this imagining Bood talking to himself as Gollum/Smeagol and I'm not so sure I appreciate that part. 😂

And okay, the chapter count is for real. For real for real. I'm not changing my mind this time. Next chapter will be the gala and then an epilogue-type chapter to wrap up some loose ends!

Chapter 15

Chapter Notes

On behalf of the Ottawa Centaurs and the Centaurs Community Foundation, you are cordially invited to the annual Centaurs Red & Black Gala. The support and generosity of our guests allows the CCF the opportunity to give back to our incredible community.
Funds raised throughout the evening will go directly toward providing access to care, critical support services, and opening doors for youth in sports.
Additionally, the CCF and the Centaurs Organization are proud to partner for the first time with the Irina Foundation, which aims to provide critical mental health care as well as a push for inclusivity in sports.

“You seem nervous.”

Ilya looked up, meeting Shane’s eyes in the mirror. His boyfriend was smirking at him over his shoulder. Ilya did his best to meet it with a gentle scowl. “I am not.”

“Are you sure?” Shane’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve been fidgeting with your tie for like five minutes now.”

“I am not nervous.” Ilya smoothed his hand over his tie and then forced them to drop to his sides so he wouldn’t touch it again. “I am Russian. Russians do not get nervous.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. My bad.” Shane walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around Ilya from behind. He planted a couple kisses on Ilya’s neck, above the starched collar of his shirt, before resting his chin on Ilya’s shoulder and meeting his eyes in the mirror again. “It’s going to be fine, Ilya.”

“I know.” He ran his palms across Shane’s forearms. “I am happy that the gala will raise money for the foundation, and… I am glad that I will get to spend the night with you. Are you… also happy about it?”

“I’m happy anytime I get to be with you.” Shane planted a few more of those kisses against Ilya’s neck, this time letting them linger.

“We will be together. And in public.” Ilya felt the bite of tears at the back of his eyes.

“Yes.”

“And that is okay?”

Shane lifted his head again and then released Ilya and turned him around so they could actually look into each other’s eyes and not just a reflection. “This is what we’re working towards, right? The whole reason we’re doing this. Well, not the whole reason. We’re actually going to help people, but the whole plan was to ease people into seeing us together and making that normal. We still need to be on our best fucking behavior, but…” Shane put his hands on Ilya’s shoulders and then let them slide down his arms. “This is what we’re working for, Ilya.”

Ilya nodded and let his forehead drop to Shane’s shoulder. “I am scared.”

“Scared?”

“Yes. That I will not be able to behave.” He gripped Shane by the hips and pulled him closer.

Shane laughed and pulled away slightly. “Stop it.”

“It is your fault for being so sexy in your suit.”

“I wear a suit all the time.”

“Yes, and so you are sexy all the time. You make me crazy.”

“Yeah, well, you aren’t looking so bad yourself. But we have to keep it together.”

Ilya sighed obnoxiously. “Can’t we just stay home instead?”

“Ilya, this is your thing!” Shane laughed again. “We’re doing this with your team.”

He just gazed at him for a long time, taking in his freckles and his dark lashes and the curve of his lips. “What if…” he shrugged, “what if we tell them we forgot?”

“We forgot?” Shane asked, his own eyes drifting to Ilya’s mouth as he hummed in agreement. “And you think they will believe that?”

“I am very busy man, Shane. I have a lot on my mind.”

Shane’s eyes made it back up to Ilya’s and his cute lips curled into a smile as his tongue poked out to wet them. “Okay. You can tell Yuna Hollander then that you forgot to go to the first major event for the foundation.”

“I think she will be okay with it.”

Shane’s eyebrows shot up. “Are we thinking of the same Yuna Hollander?”

“Yes. But I am her favorite son, so I think she will be mad for a little while but then she will get over it.”

“You’re not her favorite son.”

“Yes, I am. She told me so.”

“She’s just saying that. I’m her favorite son.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t ‘okay’ me, asshole.” Shane said, mimicking his accent.

“It is so cute when you are jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“I think you are.” Ilya gently caught him by the jaw. “But it is okay. Because I would be jealous of me, too.”

“Fuck you.” Shane said, but his eyes had already gone all soft and were locked in on Ilya’s lips again.

“No, I will fuck you.”

Shane smiled. “Are you ever going to get tired of that joke?”

“Probably not.” Ilya leaned in and gave him the kiss he had been silently asking for and this time, Shane grabbed him by the waist and pulled him closer. The kiss didn’t feel very much like keeping it together, but Ilya wasn’t going to point that out. They had a little bit of time before they had to leave.

“Oh, well, hello, hot stuff.” Cassie said as Bood stepped out of their bathroom. “Do you come here often?”

He chuckled as he adjusted his sleeves. “Actually I do. But I think I should warn you, I have a wife and she fights.”

“Oh, I think I could take her.” Cassie said, her head tilted slightly to the side as she put in one of her earrings. “I fight, too.”

“I’m sure you could. But I’m very sorry to inform you that I am very happily married to her.”

“Well, that is unfortunate news.” She sighed dramatically. “But I suppose there will be other attractive singles at the gala. Like Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander.”

Bood snorted. “Oh, you think you can get them to take you home?”

“Them?” She repeated. “Together?” She had dipped her head the other way as she put in the other earring, so she didn’t see the slight panic that flashed across his face. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be greedy. I would settle for one.”

He let out a slow breath. She wasn’t thinking what he was thinking. Everything was fine. “Oh, yeah? Which one?” Bood asked as his heart rate settled again.

Cassie thought for a moment, staring off in the corner as a crease appeared between her brow. “Hollander, I think.”

“Really?”

“Well, I mean… he dated Rose Landry.” She shrugged. “Also his thighs… I love me a pair of hockey thighs.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know what I like.” She shrugged again. “Hockey thighs… and hockey butts.” She added as he walked past her to get his jacket.

He snorted, looking back at her over his shoulder. “You know, I think my wife is probably a pretty understanding woman…”

“Oh?” Cassie’s brows shot up. “Is she?”

“I think so. I mean, she’s pretty open to talking about what man she’d like to go home with based on his hockey thighs and butt, so maybe she would be okay if I found a hot woman at a hockey gala.”

“Is this your way of asking for a little… role play tonight?” She asked, dipping her head so she could look up at him through her eyelashes.
“What?” Bood laughed. “No. Is that that what you’re asking for?”

“I mean, it could be fun…”

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that at a gala with my teammates and admin and coaches and owners…”

“They’d understand.”

“Oh, would they?” He asked as she walked up and draped her arms over his shoulders.

“Yes, I think so. I mean, Ilya doesn’t mind when I flirt with him, so I’m sure he wouldn’t mind indulging us.”

“He might when I tell him you’d prefer to go home with his best friend, Shane Hollander.”

“He’s a pretty competitive guy. I think he would take it as a challenge.”

Bood pressed his lips together to keep from saying what he wanted to say: that it would be competitive, but not in the way she thought.

He sighed and took her by the hips. “I don’t know if I can do weird tonight.”

“I wouldn’t make it weird!” She pouted up at him, and he just stared back, “Okay, so maybe it would get a little weird, but not like… in a bad way. But I get it. You’re nervous.”

“I’m nervous?” Bood blurted.

“Yes. For your best friend, Ilya Rozanov. It’s a big night for him.”

Bood could feel his face getting hot. “Roz isn’t my best friend.”

“Oh, he’s not? Then why do you have such a big fat crush on him?”

“I don’t have a crush on him!”

“If you say so.” Cassie tried to turn and walk away, but Bood looped an arm around her waist and stopped her.

He brushed her hair aside and spoke against her neck. “I don’t have a crush on Roz.”

“Yes, dear, whatever you say…”

“Cassie…”

“As long as you and Ilya know that you’re coming home with me tonight.”

“Stop it.”

“Or maybe both of you could come home with me tonight…”

“Absolutely not.”

She laughed. “Fine. Do you think Ilya’s bringing a date?”

Yes.

“He told me he’s just coming with Hollander.”

“Well, that’s no fun. Maybe he’ll surprise us anyway.” She stepped away and Bood let his arms fall from around her. She picked up her necklace, handed it to him, and then gave him her back. “If he’s got someone, the gala would be the perfect place to introduce her.”

Bood said nothing, just helped her put on her necklace.

The theme of the gala was red and black, so it was to be expected that people would show up in those colors. Cassie had decided to go with a black dress, cut low in the back, with red flashing through her accessories: jewelry, shoes, and clutch. There were other women in flasher outfits—red dresses, fancier jewelry, more expensive shoes—but as far as Bood was concerned, his wife was the most attractive one there.

And he didn’t think he looked too bad himself, even though his choice of black suit and red tie was the most popular look among the men attending the gala. As they checked their coats, he thought he was pulling it off better than some of the other guys, especially with Cassie on his arm.

But his fantastical thoughts that he and Cassie were the best-looking hockey couple was squashed as soon as he heard a familiar Russian accent call his name.

“Oh.” Cassie breathed and her hand tightened on his arm.

Roz looked great as he shrugged off his coat. He always looked great, so it wasn’t a complete surprise. But Bood hadn’t been expecting the red coat with the black lapel. Or to see that Hollander was standing next to him with a Centaurs red dress shirt under his black suit.

Bood didn’t think he’d ever found another man attractive, at least not, like, in a way that made him stop and stare. But Roz and Hollander together was… something. And he was pretty sure that Cassie was thinking it was something, too.

“Bood, hello.” Roz greeted him again when they caught up.

“Hi.” He finally said after Cassie gave him an elbow to the ribs.

“Cassie. You look very nice.”

“Ilya.” She stepped up to him, and he gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He turned toward Hollander who was standing patiently beside Roz, his thumbs in his pockets as he waited. It was somehow both charming and awkward.

“Bood, you have met Shane.” Roz said, half turning toward Hollander, who extended his hand toward him anyway. “Shane, this is Cassie Boodram.”

Cassie’s hand was extended before Hollander had dropped Bood’s hand and Roz could even finish the introduction. “Hello, Shane Hollander. It's a pleasure to meet you. We have heard so much about you over these last few months.”

Hollander looked over at Roz who shook his head. “Is not true. Cassie exaggerates.”

“And Ilya is a liar.”

Hollander laughed softly. “I know how Ilya can be. And it’s nice to meet you, too. I’ve heard about you as well.”

“Oh?” Cassie touched a hand to her chest. “Ilya! You talk about me?”

“Shane is also liar, too.”

“Okay.” Shane rolled his eyes. “Anyway, he’s told me about the parties that you two throw. The barbecues? He says that the culture here is wonderful and that you two do so much to maintain it and your work toward that is commendable.”

Bood knew that Cassie had been ready to make jokes. It was her thing, and it had really become a big thing with Roz, because the two of them could go back and forth for hours if he let them alone together. But Hollander had completely silenced her. Bood watched as her face softened as the words sunk in.

“Ah, I did not use those words.” Roz pointed out as a silence grew around them. “Those are Shane’s big words, but… is what I said.”

“Well, we do our best.” Bood shrugged, putting an arm around Cassie. “The hockey world can be kind of a rough place and we’re just trying to do our part to make it… not rough.”

“You had such a good speech going there, Bood.” Roz shoved his hands in his pockets. “Then you lost it at the end.”

“Shut up.”

Roz smirked as he stepped slightly to the side to let someone else by. “Well, let us get inside, yes?” He said, slightly bumping into Hollander who gave him a look as he stepped by him. “I am excited to see what this is all about.”

Running into Bood and Cassie was a blessing as far as Ilya was concerned. Everything had been explained to him, but he still felt like he didn’t know what he was doing, and he knew that Shane was stepping out of his comfort zone to come to such a big event. Though Shane seemed to be handling it really well. Ilya was proud of him.

Harris had told Ilya that they set up a press line of kids that they would have to pass on their way inside, but Ilya hadn’t exactly realized what that had meant. So, he wasn’t quite prepared for the line of kids who were dressed in Cents gears, holding signs and getting excited to see him walk past.

He didn’t think it would matter how old he got or how long he played hockey, the kids would always get him. One of the personnel handed him a marker and he began to make his way down the line, signing everything that was handed to him, basically all of it already bearing Zane Boodram’s signature as he followed him down the line.

“Who do you like better?” Ilya asked a small boy he was currently signing a jersey for, motioning back and forth between him and Bood.

“Don’t make him answer that.” Bood said with a laugh.

“No, is very important to know. Who is your favorite player?”

The boy just giggled.

“You don’t have to answer.” Bood said softly, writing his name on a sign.

“It is me, right?” Ilya asked with a wink.

“Leave the kids alone, Roz.” Bood elbowed him.

“It is all in fun, Bood.” He rolled his eyes.

“I feel like by now you should know that Ilya wants to make everything a competition,” Shane said, stepping up next to Ilya. He hadn’t realized that he was also signing things until he saw the marker in Shane’s hand. Not everything was getting a Shane Hollander signature, he was mostly signing posters, not anything Centaurs related and only the things that the kids were actively holding out toward him, but it still brought that stinging sensation to the back of Ilya’s eyes again. He was going to cry before the night was over. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to avoid it.

“Oh, yes, I figured that out very quickly.” Bood said.

“He doesn’t know how to be normal about anything.” Shane went on, “And then he’s going to make you feel like you’re the one that’s weird.”

“I’m feeling very seen at this moment.”

“Hey, this is not happening.” Ilya said, frowning. “I did not bring you here so you could gang up on me with Bood.”

“You didn’t bring me at all.” Shane said, trying to hold back his little bratty smile, “I received my own invitation. The organization invited me.”

Ilya fought the urge to kiss that little smile off Shane’s face and accepted a hat to sign instead. “Yes, fine, but at least my team is the one willing to support us.”

“Montreal is supporting us as well.”

“Oh, yes? Then where is my invitation to their big fundraising event?”

“We don’t have a gala like this. We have a golf tournament. I’ll make sure you get an invitation. I know how much you love golf.”

Ilya frowned. Of course Montreal had to have a golf tournament. Hopefully, they wouldn’t invite him. “Great.” He lied. “I can’t wait to go and beat you.”

“You don’t even golf, Ilya.”

“I will take lessons.”

“You’ll get lessons in something you hate just so you can beat me?”

“Yes.”

“That is one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard.”

“Not as stupid as hosting a golf tournament to raise money for charity.”

“Ottawa has a tournament, too!”

“Yes, but it is not our only event!”

“Hey.” Bood’s voice cut in. “Please don’t in front of the kids. If you two need to argue, do it somewhere else.”

Lots of people Ilya had never met before wanted to talk to him as he and Shane wandered around with flutes of champagne. Most of them were prominent people within Ottawa and they were all likely to make considerable donations that night, so he smiled and nodded along, even when he struggled to understand. Sometimes he just got distracted and didn’t follow. A few of them had French or Québécois accents that were nearly impossible to follow, especially the ones who peppered in actual French words.

But the good thing was that people also wanted to talk to Shane. It was good not just because Shane could help with the conversations that Ilya didn’t necessarily want to be part of but also because Ottawa was being so welcoming. Sure, it was Shane’s hometown, but he was technically a rival to his city now, and no one seemed to care. Ilya could never imagine this happening in Boston. For a cause like this, he knew that Boston would pull it together and be civil, but he thought that it probably would have never felt this natural. It made Ilya proud of his new team.

They were in the middle of a conversation that Ilya had lost interest in when he spotted Hayes and Lisa talking to another couple. He waited impatiently until the conversation lulled into polite laughter and then took Shane by the elbow. “Excuse us.” He said with what he hoped was a pleasant smile and started leading Shane away.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“I want you to meet my goalie.”

Hayes had noticed them and was smiling widely as they approached. “Rozy!”

Ilya had quickly learned that Hayes was the kind of guy who preferred a hug over a handshake, and they embraced briefly before Lisa offered her hand and Ilya squeezed it gently. “It is good to see you.”

“You, too, man!” Hayes said, putting an arm around Lisa. “This sure is fancy! I feel so important being here!”

Ilya smiled. He wanted to tell Hayes that he was important and that every old hockey fan in the building was just as excited to have him in Ottawa as they had been when Ilya had signed, but he was sure he was going to hear it enough from all of them. Instead, he said, “I want to introduce my friend, Shane Hollander.”

“I mean, you really don’t have to introduce him.” Hayes said with a laugh and extended his hand toward Shane who stepped forward. “But it’s an honor to meet you, Hollander. I wish I could say I’m looking forward to our first game against each other, but I would be lying.”

Shane laughed. “Well, I am looking forward to it. I’ve watched some of your tape since Ilya mentioned you, and I’m honestly impressed with what I've seen so far. I’m excited to try my shot at getting a puck by you.”

“Respectfully, I will be doing my best to make that not happen.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to the challenge.”

Hayes turned to Lisa. “This is my wife, Lisa Hayes.”

“Dr. Lisa Hayes.” Ilya iterated as the two of them shook hands.

Lisa rolled her eyes, “Ilya…”

“She never wants me to brag on her, so I think I’ll just start bringing you everywhere with us, Ilya, so you can do it for me.” Hayes said.

“Anyway,” Lisa rolled her eyes, “even if my husband is afraid of you on the ice, we are both big fans of what you and Ilya are doing with your foundation.”

“Oh, yeah, for sure.” Hayes nodded. “Huge fans. Things are a little crazy for us right now with getting settled in, but if there’s ever any way that we can help or support you, let us know.”

Shane looked at Ilya and Ilya shrugged. “We have not talked about it, but we will need a goalie coach for the camps.”

“Kids camps?” Hayes asked.

“Yes, this summer.” Ilya explained. “One in Montreal and one here.”

Hayes’s face lit up. “That sounds amazing! I would love to help! I used to volunteer at this youth center in Toronto, and it was some of the most fun I ever had.”

“We wouldn’t need any confirmation right now,” Shane, always the practical one, insisted. “We’re still in the early stages of getting all the logistics figured out, but, genuinely, the more the merrier. Like, I’d rather have too many coaches than not enough, especially the first year when we don’t know what we’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Ilya cut in.

“You’ve never hosted a hockey camp before either, Ilya. You’re just as clueless as I am.”

“I am good at figuring things out and going with the flow.”

“I can handle going with the flow.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Spreadsheets. So good at just going along with things. Is why you spend so long making sure there is always backup plan.”

“It doesn't hurt to be prepared.”

“Okay.”

Hayes chuckled. “Well, if you won’t accept my yes tonight, know that Roz has my number, and I’ll be ready to say yes again when you’re ready to officially recruit coaches.”

Ilya wished they could go back to the dinner part of the evening.

The cocktail hour had been fine, but during dinner he had been sitting next to Shane, where they could bump knees and shoes under the table and he had more than once been able to brush his hand along Shane’s thigh while reaching for the napkin in his lap.

He had wanted to do so much more; hold his hand, kiss his cheek, put his arm around his waist, but he was willing to take what he could get. And now, as he and Shane stood side by side near the stage, waiting to be announced, he wanted to go back to those fleeting touches. Anything but standing here awkwardly only paying enough attention to make sure he could hear his name when it was called.

He had been nervous at their charity announcement. But he and Shane had managed to sneak off and get a quick moment alone beforehand and that had helped. Plus, Shane had been the one who was talking then. Ilya’s choice to talk about his mother had been spur of the moment. He had wanted to say it, but it hadn’t been part of the plan, so if he had chickened out, it wouldn’t have mattered. But having Shane there had been enough to make him brave.

His speech wasn’t long and he hadn't had to come up with the words he was going to say alone. Yuna had helped him, and then one of the representatives from the Centaurs Community Foundation had looked them over and approved them and put them onto the little card he was now holding in his hand. But English always got hard when he was nervous, even if they were written down.

At least Shane would be there with him. His job was to translate Ilya’s speech into French, so they would stand side by side and share the mic. And while they were talking, someone would record them, and other someones would be taking pictures. And there would be more photos out in the universe of Ilya and the love of his life, even if those photos didn’t show how they felt about each other. The important part was that those images would exist, and they were allowed to exist, by their choice, and eventually more would follow. And someday, they would be able to share the photos Ilya wanted.

And part of that, he owed to Ottawa. So he could get up there and give his little speech, even if he would rather do just about anything else in the world.

Even though he was trying his best to pay attention, he didn’t hear his name, only Shane’s and then the crowd began to clap as Ilya’s legs, thankfully, began climbing the stairs without further instruction from his brain.

The applause wasn’t as loud as the cheering at a hockey game, but when they reached the podium and the noise died down, it felt like the most intense silence he had ever heard. He set his note card down on the podium and after a moment, finally found the nerve to look out at the crowd.

“Hello. Thank you so much for allowing me to speak. It is probably not something that any of you expected to ever happen.” There was a spatter of laughter and he paused. “But I am very thankful to be here. My choice to come to Ottawa was a personal one and one I was glad to make, but I did not know what to expect when I got here. So, the love and the support I have received from the Ottawa-Gatineau region has been overwhelming. I will be forever grateful for being welcomed here. And in extension, I am very honored and humbled for the Irina Foundation to be just as lovingly welcomed and acknowledged by the Centaurs Community Foundation. The goal of the Irina Foundation is to provide support to those struggling with mental health as well as make hockey a safer place, and through your generous donations tonight to help the CCF, we will be able to work toward those goals.”

The lights were bright enough it was hard to make out much, but he knew where Bood was sitting because they had been sitting together during dinner, so he turned his attention that way as he listened to Shane translate his words into French. He couldn’t quite tell if they were making eye contact, but he felt like they were.

Shane had rested a hand on the podium in order to be able to more easily lean into the microphone, and Ilya carefully slid his hand closer so their pinkies were just touching. He left his hand there as he finished, and as the applause died down, Ilya went on, once again feeling brave enough to speak up with Shane beside him and Bood in the audience.

“I, uh, I just want to say that ever since I signed back in the summer, I have been told that I was throwing my career away by coming here. And maybe this is not the time to get into that, but I have been very silent on the matter, and I want to clear some things up for all of you. I do not feel like I threw anything away by coming here. I have gained a great team and a great captain and friend. I left Boston with no ill will, but Ottawa is already very special to me. I am proud to be an Ottawa Centaur.”

Bood had tried to stick close to Roz and Hollander most of the night. He had wanted to be close to them just in case something happened. He didn’t know what it was that he had thought would happen, he just felt a need to keep them safe. It was just one of the many complicated feelings he was feeling that night.

He was taking to heart everything that Hayes had told him, so he was trying very hard not to smoother Roz, which meant he had to settle for watching him from afar. Which was fine. Because the two of them handled themselves just fine. And of course they did. They were grown men, after all. But Bood had done some looking inward since the talk with Hayes, and one of the things he had discovered and was ready to admit was that all of this was coming from a place of love. He loved Roz. A lot.

And after Roz’s speech, when he had found Bood from the stage and made eye contact with him to say he was a great captain and a great friend, he was ready to admit to a lot more. Because Roz deserved to have him fess up to all the things he was holding inside. Not just because he owed him the truth, but because he needed Roz to feel safe, like he could talk and share, and he wasn’t going to feel that way if Bood wasn’t willing to do the same thing.

So, during the auction, when Roz whispered something to Hollander, who was busy talking hockey with one of the owners, before he ducked out of the room, Bood waited a moment before he followed.

Roz looked up from his phone when Bood stepped into the hallway. “Hey.” He said, his voice a little breathless as he slid the phone back into his pocket.

“Hey.” Bood let the door close behind him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I, uh…” he sighed, “I just needed a little space.”

“Oh. Is this okay, then, or—?”

“It is fine. You can stay.” He sighed as he tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned up against the wall. “I just cannot stop thinking about how I want a cigarette.

“I thought you quit.” Bood said, strolling over to lean against the wall next to him.

“Yes, well, you said yourself that I am bad at quitting.”

Bood chuckled. “Um, look… I, um…” he closed his eyes and shook his head to clear it, “I liked your speech.”

“Thank you.”

“That part you added at the end… thanks.”

“I was only telling the truth.” Roz shrugged in the way that was supposed to make him look indifferent but never actually worked.

Bood nodded and went for it. “Yeah. I know. Look… I know that we got off to a very rocky start and that was my fault. It was completely my fault. I was an ass to you. Even worse than that, really, and you didn’t deserve that. And I don’t want to make excuses, but I’ve come to realize now that I was in a really bad place, I just wasn’t admitting to anyone, including myself. I had lost basically all of my confidence and I also felt I had lost two of my best friends, and so I was pretty low. And I didn’t want you coming in here because I thought it would change things, and I didn’t want that to happen. And I was also kind of jealous, I guess. Not like, of you, exactly, but like… jealous of how other people were happy about it, because I didn’t feel that way and I didn’t want to feel that way, and I don’t know… I guess I selfishly wanted you to be miserable with me.

“And then when you admitted to me that you weren’t happy in Boston, I realized how terrible I was being to you and making it up to you became my main goal, but that was coming from a selfish place, too. I wanted to make myself feel better. But then I got to know you more and we started doing more things together, and that’s when I realized that I actually wanted to make it up to you because I actually liked you and I wanted to do it for you. I wanted to be your friend because you’re not what I thought. You’re so smart and you’re funny and just a genuinely kind person. And I feel like we’ve just come so far since we’ve met and I want you to know that I’m proud of you and… I love you, man. You’re so much more than the Ilya Rozanov that the league knows. You’ve helped me so much in the little time that we’ve known each other and I’m just so thankful for your friendship.”

Bood had known there were words, but he didn’t think there were that many. They were left in the not quite silence of the sounds of the auction going on in the other room.

Eventually, Roz straightened, wiped beneath his eye with a thumb and then held his arms open. Bood immediately pushed off the wall and embraced him, closing his eyes tightly as Roz’s head dropped to his shoulder. “Thank you.” Roz’s voice was mumbled. “I love you, too.” He clung to him, so Bood held him back, just as tight. He needed this, but he knew Roz needed it more, so they’d stay until he had enough.

“I want you to feel safe in Ottawa. I want you to think of it as your home. I want you to be happy here.” Bood went on.

“I am happy.” Roz sniffled. “I am happy here. But sometimes… I do not know… sometimes my mind maybe does not let me show it… Sometimes I think so much.”

“That’s okay. It’s not your fault, Roz.” Bood rubbed a hand up and down his back. “But I’m here. If you need me. We can talk anytime if it gets to be so much. If you need anything ever, I’m always going to be right here.”

“Thank you.” He lifted his head from Bood’s shoulder. They slowly released each other and Roz once again wiped his eyes. “I am going to win a Cup for this city. For you.”

Bood chuckled, wiping at his own eyes which had grown a little damp. “Love the optimism.”

“Is not optimism. It is the truth. The Ottawa Centaurs will win the Cup and we will hoist it together, and then we will win another, and no one will ever question us or underestimate us again.” Roz smiled one of those smiles that lit up his whole face. The smiles that not everyone got so Bood had started to count himself lucky to be on the other end of them.

And, coming from Roz, Bood could almost believe they could do it. No, actually, he could believe they could do it. Because Roz wouldn’t lie to him. So, Bood nodded as his eyes began to mist again. “Okay, yes. Let’s win some Cups.”

Chapter End Notes

Fun fact about me, I have aphantasia, so describing clothes has always been a weird thing for me, and I don't like to do it, but then Hudson showed up at the YAGA premiere in red and I had to.

Chapter 16: Epilogue

Chapter Notes

Four months later...

May had overall been a chilly one so far, and Bood adjusted his toque before stuffing his hands back into his pockets. It looked like it was threatening to rain again, with evidence of the earlier shower still clinging to the blooms they were strolling past. The rain was keeping away the bigger crowds at least, so they were left to walk around the park in relative peace.

Bood stopped when Roz did, following his gaze out across the bed of red tulips in front of them. Roz had had very little to say, also walking with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, and his retro hat pulled down over his curls.

“Is it everything you hoped it would be?” Bood asked, trying and failing to keep the teasing lilt out of his voice. Roz had been reminding Bood almost nonstop that the Canadian Tulip Festival was coming up for the last month and bugging him to commit to a day to go see it.

Roz didn’t answer at first. He just kept staring at the blooms for a few more moments before he started walking again. “It is pretty. A little boring.”

“To be fair, I did warn you.” Bood jogged a couple steps to catch up with him.

Roz gave a little hum in response.

Bood sighed. “Hey, how long are we going to do this?”

“Until I decide it is enough.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little childish?”

“No.”

“Roz.” Bood stopped but Roz didn’t. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Ilya.” Bood caught his arm and stopped him. “Look, I get that you’re upset. If it’s really still that big of a deal, can we at least talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about? You already talked about it behind my back.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not that serious.”

“Yes, it is!”

An older couple that was walking by gave them a bit of a wider berth, and Bood gave them an apologetic smile. “I didn’t realize it was going to be this big of a deal. I mean, I tried to do something for you. It was supposed to be positive. I never expected such a negative reaction.”

“This is your team, Zane!”

Roz turned away after his outburst and Bood stared at his profile—the sharp chin set in an even sharper line as he clenched his jaw. “Roz…” He tried.

Roz cut him off, his voice much softer as he spoke. “I did not come here to take it away from you. That was… I never wanted to come here and take over and be villain who steals the team.”

Bood swallowed against the lump in his throat. “That’s not what happened. I thought… when you first got here, that's what I thought you were going to try to do. I’ll admit that, but now I know that’s not the case. Everyone does. No one thinks you are a villain.”

Roz’s bottom lip trembled slightly and then he touched his necklace and adjusted his hat, two of the things he always did to try to calm himself down. “Is what I think.” He finally admitted.

“Look, if you’re that upset, and it means that much to you, you don’t have to accept. Coach told you to think about it anyway. If you want to tell him you don’t want to be captain, that’s fine, but if you turn down that C, I won’t take it either way.”

Roz finally turned back to look at him. “What?”

“I don’t need the C on my jersey to know what I am on this team. That’s why I told Coach I wanted you to have it. I’ve already got my A, and I’m very happy with it. I’m going to keep doing the same thing I’ve been doing. So, it’s up to you; does Ottawa have a captain and an alternate next season? Or two alternates?”

Roz shook his head with a sigh. “I do not know…”

“I know you’re mad at me and you don’t want to hear my opinion, but I think you should take the captaincy. Because I think you have more than earned it. You were a captain in Boston for years, so you know what you’re doing. Everyone on the team respects you, you’re phenomenal at hockey—”

“Best in the league.” Roz muttered with a little smile.

“And you might not have made me into a captain, that was Danny and Horn, but you made me believe in myself when I had basically given up.”

Roz sighed. “I will… keep thinking about it. Consider it.”

“That’s all I want you to do.”

They started walking again. Bood had never had a lot of interest in the Tulip Festival. He had taken Cassie when they had first started dating because he had thought it would be romantic. They had a good time but had gotten bored quickly and baled. So, even though he had been willing to go because Roz asked, he had expected to again be bored. But he actually found that he was almost enjoying himself. Maybe now he was older and wiser. Or maybe it was just enough to have Roz’s company.

Not that he didn’t enjoy Cassie’s company. He did. A lot. She was his wife and he loved her, but there was more to their relationship. And they had—

“It has been a long time since I have had so much free time in May.” Roz said, interrupting Bood’s thoughts.

“No need to brag about it.” Bood said, bumping his shoulder slightly into him.

“It was not a brag, it just… feels like something is missing.”

Bood had never had the chance to get used to playing in May. “Yeah, I bet. I mean, I’d love to make it to the playoffs, but I guess the plus side is that you get a jumpstart on the summer. You get to spend time with the people you love quicker.”

“That part is… complicated for me.”

Bood frowned. “Did… something happen?”

“No. Nothing like that. Just… our schedules do not line up this time of year.” Bood nodded. Montreal was still in the playoffs. “But is okay. I can help Yuna finalize the rest of the things for the camps.”

“Oh. Yeah. That’s good, I guess. I’m really sorry again that I can’t help you.”

“Is okay. I know where I stand.”

“Come on, don’t be that way. You know I’d be there to help you if I could. But Cassie and her sister planned this trip last year. She’d kill me if I backed out on it.”

“No, is okay, like I said. This just means that Hazy is my new favorite teammate.”

“Don’t be that way, Roz.”

“I would be there for you in your moment of need, Bood.”

“Moment of need,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, “You have plenty of forward coaches. And I already told you I’d help you next year.”

“Until your wife plans another vacation for you?”

“I’ll tell her we can’t go during the camps.”

“I would tell her not to plan anything at all. We will be pretty busy celebrating our Cup win all summer.”

Bood smiled softly. “You still think we are going to win the Cup?”

“Yes. I promised.”

“Yeah, but…” Bood sighed and looked out across the lake.

“Yeah, but what? No one else believes in us, so we have to believe in ourselves, yes?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. But I mean… it takes more than one guy to win a Cup, Roz.”

“That is good because I have whole team behind me.”

Bood chuckled. “Look, Roz, I know you don’t want to talk about why you came here or anything, but I’m just… really thankful you did.”

Roz smiled. “Yes. I am thankful, too.” For a moment they just looked at each other as they strolled down the sidewalk, then Roz cleared his throat. “Now, that’s enough pretty flowers. Let’s get out of here.”

“Just admit I was right and this is actually boring.” Bood laughed.

“No.”

“You’re such a dick sometimes!”

“You cannot talk to your captain like that.”

Bood stopped and Roz looked back over his shoulder at him from a few steps ahead. “You’re going to—”

“No, not if you are going to make a big deal out of it.”

“I won’t! I’m chill.”

“Ah, what is saying? First time for everything.”

Bood pressed his lips together to keep everything that threatened to spill out inside. It had been almost a year since Ilya Rozanov had joined the Ottawa Centaurs, and if someone had told the Zane Boodram from last July that one day he’d be holding back happy tears at the thought of the Russian Menace taking the position of captain over him… well, he probably would have knocked out teeth over that one. But this Zane Boodram, the Zane Boodram who could no longer imagine a team without Ilya Rozanov, who had come to think of the man as his best friend… he couldn’t wait until next season, when Roz would take the ice with the C on his chest and he’d be standing proudly beside him with his A, and they’d lead their team together. Because Ilya Rozanov joining the Ottawa Centaurs hadn’t been the end of the world.

It had actually been the start of something great.

Roz had helped Bood believe in himself when he had thought things were hopeless. Change had come all at once and had felt overwhelming, like Bood had been treading deep water and was just waiting to get exhausted and sink. But that hadn’t happened, because Roz had thrown him a life preserver and hauled him to shore. Roz had taken Bood from feeling helpless to feeling like they’d win the Cup. And it might not happen the next season, but Bood knew it would eventually, because Roz had said he wanted to win for Bood, but Bood now wanted to win one for Roz, too.

Chapter End Notes

I have so many thoughts right now that I don't even know how to talk about them yet.

Thank you so much for my WIP readers who trusted me and came along for the ride. Your encouragement meant so much to me and I hope you enjoyed. ❤️
Thank you, too, if you waited until it was no longer a WIP. I hope I made the wait worth it. ❤️

Once again, come find me on Threads at am_hazewrites.
I would love to chat and my DMs are always open. ❤️

Works inspired by this one

Who Wants to What Where?!? by Jmb451

ePub Cover inspired by "Chill Out Zane Boodram" by am_haze by sk_inspired (skargasm), skargasm