Chapter Text
Ilya ignored the request from the NHL twice. The first time they asked through his agent, the second time the director of marketing called his personal number directly. He never got along with them as a player, and he certainly didn't need to make the league happy now.
It was stupid. Pandering to a media sensation that hadn't been relevant for years. Ilya had his own reasons to ignore the calls. But the easy answer, the one he gave his agent, was that he didn't feel like being trotted out as a relic, and absolutely not for somebody else's ego and benefit.
The next attempt to reach him was harder to ignore. A phone call from an unknown number. A voicemail that made his blood run cold.
"Hi Ilya. This is Rose Landry. We've never met, but Shane speaks so highly of you. I think the NHL has been trying to get in touch. Shane said you probably wouldn't talk to them. But...think about it, ok? I know it would mean a lot to him."
Ilya played the voicemail at least twenty times. He tried to make sense of the tone in her voice, his stomach churned every time she said Hollander's name. He didn't even know how to process that Hollander had talked to Rose about Ilya.
Ilya typed out draft after draft of a reply to Rose.
Sorry, I'd rather get run over by a Zamboni.
I don't know what you think you heard, but I know he doesn't want me there.
Please tell me what he told you. I didn't know he had anything nice to say about me.
In the end, Ilya ignored Rose. He thought about it constantly, but it was for the best. He suspected if he responded she would have found some way to grind him down, to twist his arm. Her tenacity to call him, a virtual stranger, with a bizarre favor to ask, spoke volumes. Ilya wasn't sure he had the willpower to hold firm against her.
The final request crumbled his resolve. He had gotten home from a run, throwing his keys and phone on the counter in the kitchen. He was about to step into the shower when his phone started ringing. He had a wild thought that it might be Rose again, but when he looked at the phone the caller was far worse.
The caller ID blinked "Jane," and Ilya stared at it. His brain completely shut off for a moment. By the time he started to reach for his phone, still unsure if he would answer or decline the call, the call had gone to voicemail. He paced back and forth for a while before pressing play.
"Hey."
Ilya's throat tightened. It was Hollander, the way Ilya used to hear him. Not the chirps from the ice, not the canned interview responses. Soft, gentle. He sounded apologetic.
"Uh, this is Shane. I don't know if you still have my number anymore."
Of course he had Shane's number.
"Anyway. I know people have tried getting in touch with you, but...I never really expected you to respond to them."
Ilya could feel his eyebrows furrow as he listened to the voicemail. Why was Hollander letting the NHL and Rose Landry harass him, when Shane knew Ilya wouldn't even pick up the phone?
"It’s ok if you don't want to come. I get it, it's probably going to be weird for you. But...I would really like you to be there. Please. I want you there."
Ilya sank, resting his forehead on the countertop of his kitchen island. It was all too easy. Ilya had held out for weeks, ignored attempts from the league and Rose Landry. Hollander just needed to utter a simple "please," and "I want you there," and all rationale went out the window.
Ilya: ok, I'll come
Rose: THANK YOU. I'll send you all the details
***
It was surreal to enter the Bell Centre again. Ilya had never pictured returning to Montreal, let alone this rink. He used the player's entrance, security guiding him through the tunnel to an elevator. It felt theatrical and stupid, and he resisted the urge to turn tail and run. In fact, he thought about turning around no less than five times, but his feet carried him to the already rowdy box. When he entered, it was like he was enveloped in a sick riptide of nostalgia.
"No way, Rozanov!" JJ was closest to the door, and judging by his breath when he pulled Ilya in for a hug, he was already several drinks deep.
Hayden Pike gave him a half-hug and a weird look. That should have been expected. Other teammates of Hollander's throughout the years greeted Ilya, slapping him on the back like an old friend. Nobody accused him of being out of place, and Ilya supposed it made sense. If the league had tried multiple times to get him there, it was probably a natural idea. Get Hollander's rival in the building for his final game. Doesn't matter that they don't speak off the ice, cue up the hits for one final run.
Ilya made his way to the front of the box to take in the sight of the ice, the players were warming up now. There was a fluttering sensation in his stomach as he watched #24 swooping slow circles on the rink below. Rose was sitting with Shane's parents, and she stood as soon as she recognized Ilya.
"I'm so glad you came. I told him you'd come if he asked himself." She gave him a gentle hug. Rose smelled like expensive perfume, and her hug lasted a moment longer than Ilya expected.
When they pulled apart, Ilya could feel himself staring. So far everything she had said to him-over the phone, just now to his face, it all demanded further explanation.
"Is that Ilya Rozanov?"
Ilya had been waiting for a reaction like this. Yuna Hollander's tone was incredulous as she craned her neck around Rose.
"Hello," Ilya shuffled around Rose to shake Yuna, then David's hands. Rose moved down a seat and patted for Ilya to sit, to sandwich himself between Hollander's parents and Rose. Ilya considered jumping over the railing of their box to avoid sitting there.
"So, what have you gotten up to in retirement?" David asked.
Ilya shrugged. "Travel, enjoy all my free time," he could see Yuna squinting at him with disapproval. "And I rebuild cars."
"That sounds fun!" Rose chimed in. She gave Ilya a nod that felt overly encouraging.
"What did you do when you retired, Mr. Hollander?" Ilya asked. He knew Yuna hadn't retired yet. Maybe she would when Shane hung up his skates.
"Lots of puzzles," David chuckled.
Ilya nodded. He felt like rebuilding vintage cars was a form of puzzling. Before he could say anything else, find some pathetic small talk to say to the Hollanders, the arena was booing. He looked up to find his own face blown up on the screen above the ice.
The rivalry between Shane and Ilya might have lost its luster years ago, but Montreal fans had bottomless hatred for a former Boston Raider. Ilya felt muscle memory kick in, smirking for the camera and waving. He glanced at the ice and his heart stuttered for a moment. Hollander was frozen, staring at the screen. He wheeled his body around as if he was trying to look for Ilya in the box, but Ilya knew between the lights and the distance, there was no chance.
The camera panned up to the rest of the box, Hayden and JJ receiving loud cheers from the crowd. Ilya wondered, ruefully, what the fans thought about his presence. Maybe that Ilya had gotten soft since retirement. With a stinging sensation, Ilya wondered if the fans would have cared if they'd done this sooner. Show respect off the ice, coexist. It had felt impossible when they were both playing, but nobody seemed to give it a second thought tonight.
Ilya tried his best to not feel sorry for himself. The retirement game reminded him of his, which was bittersweet. Ilya was ready for retirement two years ago, he couldn't really imagine Shane being ready for it. Shane wasn't as fast as he once was, not as nimble. But his accuracy was still uncanny, and he scored a goal. The place went crazy, as if he just secured a hat trick. Ilya leapt to his feet with Shane's parents and Rose, and for a moment it felt sweet and right. He was only ever able to celebrate Shane when they were on the same All-Star team. He'd never admit it to Shane, but it was a privilege to watch him when he was in his prime. It felt like a privilege tonight, that Shane wanted him there, that he got one opportunity to cheer for him.
The Metros won, Shane skated out for a curtain call and some words for the fans. At the very end, he said something that tipped Ilya off center.
"Most of all, I want to thank my family and friends for coming tonight. It means the world to me that you all came out one last time. That means you too, Ilya."
Ilya felt his ears burning with embarrassment at being called out, for Shane teasing him. Something even deeper inside him stirred, Shane had almost never used his first name. Rose nudged him, Yuna and David laughed. Nothing about it felt funny to Ilya.
Shane skated off to face a gauntlet of press for his final post-game. Ilya knew what was coming next. Rose had given him all the details when they had first texted, and Ilya had known he would ignore it, go back to his hotel and get on his flight tomorrow.
As if she could read his mind, Rose grabbed Ilya's arm. "Ilya, can you drive me to Shane's? I think I had too much to drink."
Ilya narrowed his eyes. Rose had one beer, two hours ago. She smiled at him brightly, betraying no subterfuge.
"I am tired. Early flight tomorrow." Ilya lied. His flight was in the late afternoon. He wasn't sure why he booked it that way. He was desperate to get out of Montreal right now. He had come, he had done what Hollander had asked, and he could leave now.
"You can't get out of this, sorry," Rose whispered, her sugary tone evaporating. "Shane's my best friend, and if he wants Ilya Rozanov at his retirement party, I'm dragging you kicking and screaming."
***
It was like there was an electrical current running under Shane's skin. Years ago, he had pictured this night and only imagined sadness. A deep melancholy at his career ending. But tonight had been perfect. One last good game to go out on. Everyone he loved, together, here for him. Hayden and Jackie, with the kids. JJ, ebullient as ever. Ilya between his parents and Rose, looking nervous, but still there.
Shane wanted the post-game to go quickly. He had an objective, and he wanted to exit as soon as possible so he could go to his home. He worried that the longer he took, the more time Ilya would have to reconsider and leave. Maybe Rose had been unsuccessful in wrangling him to begin with.
Shane sat down after his shower, answering all the expected questions reflecting on his career. He answered a few about Ilya, and he was careful with his words. Neutral terms like "appreciation," "competitive edge." Because eventually, he needed to get to the final note.
The questions were drawing to a close, and Shane cleared his throat.
"I have one last thing to say. I wanted to end my career on my own terms. But I hid part of myself from the public for the past twenty years. At the time, I worried it would impact how people saw me as a player. Maybe how the league would treat me. But I'm finished now, that's behind me. So I want to say... I'm gay."
The room erupted, but Shane just stood and left.
***
Shane pulled up to his house, staying in the car for a moment to collect himself. He felt lighter. He felt off-kilter. Retirement was finally here. He had come out. Two permanent changes that he had dwelled on for years.
Shane got out of his car at the same moment that his front door opened. The sounds of laughter and music floated out for a moment before Ilya slipped out, closing the door behind him. Shane's stomach sank.
"Leaving already?" He called.
Ilya jumped. Shane was surprised that Ilya startled easily. He shook his head vigorously.
"Cigarette," he waved a pack that had been in his hand. As Shane neared him, he took stock of the changes. Faint creases on either side of Ilya's mouth. Some silver streaking his golden curls. He looked as beautiful as ever.
Ilya slipped a cigarette in his mouth and grinned at Shane like he was taunting him to say something about his smoking habit. The smile faltered when no retort arrived.
"How was the last game?" Ilya asked, blowing a curl of smoke out of the side of his mouth.
Shane settled against the railing on his front steps, a few steps down from Ilya. "It felt like a good note to end it on."
Ilya's eyes were flicking across Shane's face, like he was looking for a deeper answer.
"Thank you. For being there. It was important to me." Shane knew he had said something to that effect twice already, but he needed Ilya to hear it.
Ilya shrugged as if it was nothing.
"I came out during the post-game," Shane told him. He doubted anyone inside was watching their phones. His friends and family knew he had planned this tonight, Ilya was the only one who would be surprised.
And Ilya looked stunned. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened.
"What for?" Ilya's question was not one that Shane had anticipated.
"Because it feels stupid to keep that a secret now," this was the truth. Shane bit his lip. "I feel stupid keeping it a secret this long, honestly. But by the time I felt ready...I don't know. I didn't have a...it felt like the end was in sight with hockey, and I could just take the easy out."
Something crossed Ilya's face. It looked like a flash of hurt or disappointment, but it settled into something soft.
"I am happy for you," Ilya said quietly.
Shane and Ilya stood there, silence stretching between them. There was so much that Shane wanted to say. Explanations, apologies, questions. He had invited Ilya without knowing anything about his current life, just that he was retired and lived in New York.
Ilya was staring at him with that piercing gaze that had haunted Shane for twenty-one years. There was a heat behind his eyes that made Shane feel urgent.
"I missed you," Shane cleared his throat. Ilya frowned, which was not the response Shane had dreamed of.
"I mean, I've missed you this whole time," Shane continued. He was nervous, frankly terrified, but he'd rehearsed these words for hours. "All these years. I hope you stay tonight. I want to talk more, later."
Ilya was staring at him like he had grown a second head, but he nodded slowly and then stepped to the side, sweeping his arm out to encourage Shane to go inside.
***
Ilya felt foggy for the next few hours. He knew Hollander would do something like this. All it took was one look, one unguarded statement, and Ilya felt like Shane had speared a fish hook through him, reeling him in.
Former players milled through the party talking about retirement, kids, and wives. David Hollander tried to talk to Ilya about cars but he was endearingly ignorant about the topic.
Rose found Ilya at one point when he was slipping out for another cigarette.
"You're not leaving, are you?" Rose's eyes flashed, and Ilya knew even if he was, she probably could have scared him into staying.
"No. Hollander asked me to stay," Ilya hoped that would be enough, but Rose followed him outside. She stared pointedly at his cigarettes until he offered her one.
"Surprised Hollander is friends with someone who smokes," Ilya said.
Rose shrugged as she lit hers. "He's never complained about it."
That didn't make much sense to Ilya. Shane had harped on it constantly when they were hooking up.
Rose was looking at him with an expression that made Ilya squirm.
"I didn't know if I'd ever get to meet you," Rose finally told him.
Ilya wasn't sure why she would ever want to. Maybe she had dreamed of yelling at him, telling him off like Hollander had at one point, years ago.
Rose charged ahead, as if reading his mind. "Shane's thought a lot about this," she waved her hand towards the house. "Retirement, what comes after. What he wants his life to look like now."
Ilya had to look away. He didn't like the emotions rising in him as Rose's words sunk in, heavy with meaning.
"Thanks for coming." Rose stubbed out her cigarette.
"Did I have a choice?" Ilya asked. She smiled.
"No, I don't think you did."
***
The party was winding down. Shane hugged everyone goodbye. He had noticed Ilya slip into his backyard when the farewells started, as if he wanted to avoid being seen as the last to leave. Something about that felt shameful and familiar.
Hayden and Jackie squeezed Shane with a group hug, and left to relieve their babysitter. The house was quiet, and after a moment Ilya slid the door open from the backyard.
"JJ is still here," he said quietly. Shane looked over Ilya's shoulder, searching for him.
"He is not in the yard," Ilya shook his head. "But I did not see him leave."
Shane wondered for a moment how intently Ilya had been lurking, counting everyone who left. But he scanned his memory and realized Ilya was correct. He started to wander through his house, Ilya following a few paces behind him. Shane could hear him slow as Shane approached his bedroom, and then Shane's own steps jerked to a halt.
JJ was passed out in Shane's bed, all six feet of him sprawled out like a starfish. Ilya snorted behind Shane.
"He cannot hold his liquor, hm?"
"No, he never could," Shane tried to shove down the irritation he felt for his friend. He turned around, and tried to muster a casual expression.
"Can I get you something to drink? My dad gave me some nice vodka a while ago." Shane started towards the kitchen and Ilya followed.
The mess in the kitchen was stressing Shane out immediately, and he had to take a deep breath as he surveyed the counter with half-drank beers and dirty glasses. He reached into a cabinet for fresh cups, and when he turned around Ilya was...cleaning.
"You don't have to do that," Shane said, watching Ilya pour beer down the sink and toss bottles into the recycling.
Ilya shrugged. "Would annoy me if this was my house."
There was a moment where the statement ached. Years ago, for a fleeting moment, Shane had allowed himself to fantasize about exactly that. A shared home with Ilya. Shane blinked the thought away, refocusing on the vodka he was pouring now.
He set the glass next to Ilya. "Please, stop."
Ilya locked eyes with him, something flaring in his hazel irises. He nodded and grabbed the glass, looking around awkwardly. Shane walked to his living room, sitting on the couch, Ilya trailing behind him. He sat on the opposite couch, avoiding eye contact.
Ilya's shoulders heaved as he took a deep breath. "You were right," Shane's mind raced, trying to pinpoint what he meant. "Was weird, being there. But I am glad I went."
Those words made Shane happier than they had right to.
"I wanted to go to your last game. So badly." Shane's confession finally snapped Ilya out of his intent stare at the carpet.
"You were in the playoff hunt," Ilya shook his head. "Metros couldn't have spared you, even though you were so slow."
Shane felt a smile creeping across his face. A tiny one played at the corner of Ilya's mouth.
"Do you like retirement?" Shane genuinely didn't know.
Ilya looked at his drink and took a sip. "Mostly, yes. Some things I miss," his eyes shot furtively to Shane for a brief moment. "But I do not miss the league."
Shane nodded. The commissioner, the shitty side of the fanbase, the machine of it all. He had known for years the parts he wouldn't miss.
"What will Shane Hollander do in retirement?" Ilya settled back in the sofa, a determined look on his face. As he needed to force himself to relax into Shane's furniture.
"I have some ideas. Charities, maybe commentating eventually. But we'll see. Maybe nobody will want to work with me because I'm gay."
Ilya frowned at that. The question was clear on his face, the one Shane had kind of answered earlier. Shane's stomach was twisting now, and he took a steadying sip of vodka. Ilya's eyes followed the bob of Shane's throat as he swallowed.
"I've thought about you a lot." Shane said. His voice was hoarse, he wasn't sure if it was the sting of vodka or if his emotions were already betraying him.
Ilya was running his fingers through his curls, something Shane had seen him do before to soothe himself. Shane waited for him to say something, but it seemed like no response would come.
"I never stopped thinking about you. I tried, I really did," Shane was horrified to feel tears welling in his eyes.
"Hollander..." Ilya squeezed his eyes shut.
"Do you...would you ever want to...?" Shane had rehearsed this, but all of his planned words were escaping him now that Ilya was actually in front of him.
"Hollander, I cannot do this." Ilya whispered. He looked so tired, and Shane felt shame curling inside of his stomach.
He'd harassed Ilya into coming here, asked him to stay, and he couldn't even get words out now. Anything he had planned or rehearsed slipped through his fingers as he locked eyes with Ilya.
Ilya was clenching his glass, and then he slammed it down on Shane's coffee table and crossed the room, grasping Shane's chin roughly as he leaned down to kiss him.
Shane had spent years imagining this moment. It felt familiar and exhilarating, catching Ilya's bottom lip between his teeth. Ilya groaned, slipping his tongue between Shane's parted lips. Shane's hands grasped at Ilya's curls, and he tugged, prompting Ilya to stagger on top of him. They tumbled back on the couch, Ilya pinning Shane beneath him as Shane arched his back, trying to press every inch of himself to Ilya.
Ilya's breath was ragged as he began kissing Shane's neck, scraping teeth against sensitive skin and drawing a gasp from Shane's lips. Shane could feel Ilya getting hard as he ground against him.
For the briefest moment, Shane allowed himself to imagine it. Years of distance, longing, fuck ups, and avoidance finally erased. Nothing separating them, just Ilya fitting his body against Shane's, the way they had before, like two pieces of a puzzle.
The moment was wrenched away from them by the horrifying sound of JJ retching down the hallway. Ilya froze for a moment and then leapt off the couch. Shane felt like his insides turned to ice at the absence of Ilya's touch. He reached his hand out to Ilya, who looked as white as a sheet.
"Please, stay. Just...fuck, hang on."
He raced down the hallway to find JJ, thankfully, with his head in the toilet in Shane's ensuite. Shane had feared for his bedding or his rug.
"Hey man, went a little too hard, huh?" Shane rubbed a circle in JJ's back while his friend nodded weakly.
Shane retraced his steps quickly to get water, but when he got to his living room his heart plummeted. Ilya was gone.