Summary:

“Shane Hollander’s having a big gay wedding.”
Ilya’s ball rocketed sideways into the woods with a crack like a rifle shot; somewhere in the trees, a goose honked in outrage.
“Jesus Christ,” Tyler said.
“Wow,” Marly said. “That was…what the fuck was that, Roz?”
Ilya was gripping the club so hard his knuckles had gone white. “Bad swing.”
“That wasn’t a bad swing, that was like a physics-defying swing. I didn’t know you could make a ball go in that direction. You okay?”
“Fine.” Hollander was getting married. Getting gay married. Who the fuck was Hollander marrying? He wasn’t even… Ilya cleared his throat, shoved his biggest club back in the bag, noted distantly that his hands were shaking. “Hollander is gay?”

OR: Ten years after the Tampa Bay All-Star Game, Ilya Rozanov crashes Shane Hollander's wedding