Chapter Text
But when we run, we run together
When we’re apart, we fall apart
~Run Together, Mumford and Sons
Sochi, Russia, 2:53 AM, 8°C
Shane’s cash on hand: $500 (USD) and ₽14,530 (RUB)
Shane stumbled down the hallway toward their room, JJ shuffling along just ahead him, bouncing off the doorframe with a thunk. “Esti de câlice de tabarnak d’osti de ciboire —”
Not overly loud, but certainly loud for 3am.
The TV static in his head kept buzzing. Buzz. Buzz. Shane tried to cover his ears, but his hands… His hands were disconnected from his body.
Go away, Hollander.
Team Canada had advanced to the semi finals that afternoon and the celebration had spilled out into the evening. Shane had let himself have one drink but only because the next game was in three days. Was that next week?
He should be fucking elated over winning the game; it should be the only thing running through his body. And it was there, fucking happy-exhaustion from the win, and pride for his teammates and his country. But underneath that, in the part of him that was strangely drunker than he thought he should be after only one beer was a tight, coiled nausea that had been there for two days.
No, I did not answer your boring text.
More TV static.
Shane stripped off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor as he flopped on the bed. He itched to hang it up, itched so bad that the feeling crawled from the base of his skull all the way down to his shoulders, like there were tiny little ants crawling all over his body. He wanted to scratch them, peel off his skin, anything to get rid of them. He needed to find a way to turn down the TV static in his head.
We are not anything. Now go.
He wanted the heavy feeling of Rozanov’s lips on neck, of his hands on his body, of his dick buried in his ass. He wanted the feeling of Rozanov breathing into his mouth, anchoring him down, making him feel alive his own body.
Russia isn’t safe for folks like that.
They weren’t anything. This thing between them didn’t exist. It couldn’t exist. Rozanov had made that abundantly clear.
“Tabarnak, this fucking bed. Who the fuck fits in these fucking beds.” JJ’s words were punctuated by something smacking against the wall, followed by more swearing that got quieter as the bed squeaked in protest.
He should pick up his jacket.
He should get up and shower. Brush his teeth.
The bitter taste in the back of his throat made him want to vomit, but his body might as well have belonged to someone else.
Finally, Shane managed to throw his right arm out from under him, used it to pat around his pockets for his phone, but his jeans were too tight, and the pockets were empty anyway and his jacket too far away to go fetch his phone so he could plug it in. It took everything in him to shimmy out of his jeans and toss them on the floor as well as the static in his head increased in volume.
We are not anything.
Go away, Hollander.
Maybe he could just float away.
***
6:33 AM
Ilya’s cash on hand: $235 (USD) and ₽5,780 (RUB)
Ilya ripped his hands out from under the thin blanket, slapping it around to his side, desperate to find and silence the awful ringing in his ears. No one who liked him would call this early. He finally found his phone and brought it up to his ear.
“What?”
“You need to get out! Get up! Get dressed!”
It took him a moment recognize Svetlana’s voice and another longer moment to process her words that were rushing out of the phone in Russian. He bolted up from his bed, sweat running down his back and immediately thought of his father.
“Is it my father? What happened?”
“Your father is fine. This is for you. The police were just here at the hotel. They knocked on your dad’s door then came to ours. They’re looking for you and Shane Hollander. His phone was stolen last night. They know about you two. Everything is online.”
It took a moment for Ilya’s brain to catch up.
“My father knows about me and Shane?”
“The whole world knows about you and Shane! Did you not hear me?”
Ilya’s body was already moving. He had started packing last night to go back to Moscow now that his Olympics were over, his luggage lying open under his bed. After the gala last night, he’d come back to the Olympic Village to escape his dad’s presence for one more precious night under the guise of packing.
He thew his luggage on the bed, shoving some of the essentials into his smaller backpack. Clothes, wallet, passport.
He’d always known it could end like this. Maybe that’s what had drawn him to Sasha years ago. The risk was part of the thrill. It made him feel alive when nothing really mattered. His father's expectations didn’t matter. His father’s influence and authority didn't really matter. Part of him had always known that if he self destructed, the world wouldn’t be losing anything in him, but it would be entertaining to get revenge on his father.
He moved the call over to speaker phone as Svetlana kept talking. “Jane is Shane? It doesn’t matter. I heard our fathers talking. The police are monitoring your phone and bank account. You need to get Hollander and get away. Find a way to get out of Russia.”
The air left Ilya’s lungs and he sat down on the bed with his pants half done up. “Hollander is Canadian. He should be safe.”
“No Ilyushka. Something is going on. I don’t know what, but I think the government wants a distraction, and what better than an international incident. My father has been getting calls all morning. Believe me, they are looking for Hollander as well. The way things are playing out, I wouldn't be surprised if our government purposefully went out stealing athletes cell phones just so that they could find scandals to broadcast to the world.”
Fuck.
Ilya slipped his shoes on and stood, his legs feeling weak. He could self destruct. That was always part of the old plan, though it wasn’t something he had thought about in a while. Being in Boston, leading his team, this thing he had going on with Hollander, they had all been slowly making things better.
But now he had imploded Hollander’s life as well.
He turned and looked out the window. His room faced the road, and he could see a police cruiser pulling up. God they were fast. “Fuck, Sveta they’re already here. How am I supposed to contact Hollander?”
“I don’t know. Do you want me to call my contacts? Maybe I can track down someone in his building?”
“No,” Ilya grabbed his bag and quickly exited his room. There was no time to explain anything more to her. Not that she couldn’t do it, but she couldn’t do it as fast as him. “I will figure it out.”
He left his room and moved through the stairwell, then down a floor. Thankfully athletes were already moving about. He picked an open door on the opposite side of the hallway than his room where a young man was putting on some socks. Ilya placed a finger over his mouth, hoping he would keep his secret as he walked through his room and opened the window.
“What the fuck, man!”
So much for the secret. Ilya climbed out onto a fire escape as more English words were thrown at him, taking the stairs two or three at a time. When he landed on the ground floor, Ilya put his phone into airplane mode and turned it off, pulled up the hoodie of his black sweatshirt and joined a group of people walking toward the cafeteria as his heart hammered in his throat.
The police were nowhere to be seen.
The morning was a grey one again, but the group around him was excited, different languages filling the air. Maybe he’d been a bit premature in cutting off Sveta and turning down her help. He really had no idea how he was going to get a message to Hollander. He couldn’t call; Hollander didn’t have his phone anymore. Ilya didn’t even have the number of any other MLH players here.
He peeled off from the group heading to the cafeteria, close to where the American and Canadian athletes were staying. He could break into the building and go door-to-door, but that would take too much time and attract attention, but he was running out of options.
Then he saw two familiar faces coming down the path: Scott Hunter and Carter Vaughn jogging and laughing. Ilya didn’t really believe in God anymore, or maybe he did and it was just complicated, but he offered up a thank you anyway as he took off toward them. He grabbed Vaughn’s arm and dragged him into the entrance of the closest building.
“What the fuck—” Vaughn yelled, pulling his arm back as he got his footing. The door slammed behind them and suddenly, Ilya found himself pushed up against the wall, a forearm hard against his throat. He had no air and Scott Hunter was glaring at him, two centimetres from his face.
Hunter’s eyes got big as recognition dawned. “Rozanov?”
Ilya stared at him, because he still couldn’t speak and it took the few brain cells Hunter still possessed a second to realize he was choking him. Hunter backed away and let the air flow again.
“Fuck,” Ilya said, when the coughing paused. “Do you need to get any closer to see my face? I can get you some fucking reading glasses.”
Hunter shoved him hard against the wall. “Have you seen the fucking news? Is it true? You and Shane?”
“How long has this been going on!”
Vaughn and Hunter’s voices overlapped in a jumbled mess of too much English and too little time. Ilya spat on the floor, his throat still burning. At least no one was within earshot, but if they kept this up, they could host a talk show. “Yes, I’ve seen the news. I don’t have time to answer your stupid questions. We are in Russia. Police have been to my father’s hotel, and they’ve been to my room here. They’re trying to arrest me. They’re also going to try and arrest Hollander too. I need your help.”
Hunter stood frozen, staring at him.
“Holy fuck,” Vaughn said under his breath, looking around as if finally realizing that they should all keep their fucking voices down. “Can’t you just tell them the truth? Or…maybe tell them it was a joke?”
Ilya shot him a withering glare. “It is the truth. And even if it weren’t, sometimes truth doesn’t matter. A joke is even worse, I think.”
Hunter was still staring at him with a blank face and Ilya felt his fear start to rise. Maybe he’d screwed up. He’d been pretty sure Hunter and Vaughn were safe. Vaughn had worn a rainbow t-shirt last year during the first Pride night. And while Hunter had never indicated his support, Ilya had also never heard him use a homophobic slur. Deep down, he knew that wasn’t enough. He knew that not being complicit in homophobic behaviour didn’t mean anything but he’d hoped…
Loud footsteps echoed in the hall and they all froze as a group of athletes with bags of equipment came shuffling toward the door. Without saying a word, Vaughn and Hunter huddled together, blocking Ilya from view and it was only once the door closed that Hunter grabbed Ilya’s arm. “What can we do to help?”
Ilya released the breath he’d been holding. “We need to get out of here, away from Olympic Village. Get out of Russia. I need help finding Shane. He doesn’t have his phone…”
“I know where he is,” Vaughn replied. “We stopped by his room yesterday before the skating competition.”
“Please get him. He needs to get to the train station. The airport will have too much security. I can go ahead and buy tickets. We need to leave as soon as possible.”
Hunter grabbed his shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. “Go. We will get Shane and make sure he gets to the train station.
“Tell him to meet me by the ticket desk at the main entrance. Make sure he’s wearing dark clothes so he can hide. Nothing Team Canada.”
“We got it, man. Go,” Vaughn said giving Ilya’s arm a squeeze as well. “Stay safe.”
Though Ilya hadn’t known either of them very well, certainly not off the ice and nothing beyond a few chirps, their reactions loosened something inside him, even as he tried to ignore it. There was no time.
“Thank you.” Ilya’s voice was dry and cracked. Before giving them a chance to speak and before Ilya’s eyes could speak for him, he gave them a nod and slipped out the door.
If luck was on their side, if God didn’t hate him too much, maybe he could thank them properly when this was all over.
***
7:06 AM
Shane was throwing back two extra strength Tylenol when he heard loud pounding at his door. His head was throbbing. He had no fucking clue what he drank, but it couldn’t have just been the one beer. Unless Russian beer was stronger than the ones in North America. Maybe it was the new food. Maybe it was the black mold in the rooms. He felt like he had cotton balls in his head. Maybe it served him right for breaking his diet. He felt like fucking shit and desperately needed a shower.
JJ was still sleeping, snoring loudly, hardly bothered at all by the noise. The banging got louder.
“What?” Shane replied, ripping the door open. Scott and Carter barged in, almost knocking him over.
“Have you heard the news?” Scott started as Carter made a beeline for the little dresser at the foot of Shane’s bed.
Shane rubbed his temples and took a deep breath to swallow his words. These guys were sort of his friends. It would be rude to swear at them and tell them to get the fuck out of his room.
“Quessé ça, tabarnak,” JJ said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Carter was slamming drawers and making enough noise to wake the dead. “What news?”
Scott grabbed Shane’s arm, bringing him toward the bed and making him sit. It was only when Shane finally looked up and saw Scott’s blue eyes, large and serious, that suddenly, cold fear bloomed in his chest. “Did sometime happen to my parents? What’s going on?”
“Your parents are fine, Shane. We don’t have a lot of time. Your phone was stolen last night.”
His shoulders sagged. That wasn’t so bad. He could live without his phone. It suddenly occurred to him how far away he was from home. If something had happened to his parents—
“I think you had tried to hide your relationship with Rozanov, but someone figured it out. Now it’s all over the news and online.”
Buzzing started to fill his ears. What did this have to do with his phone? He didn’t have anything strange in his phone other than his texts with—Rozanov.
“What?” His voice seemed to have trouble making sounds so he stood up closer to Scott, closer so he could make sure he heard him correctly.
Scott’s voice didn’t waver. “Someone stole your phone. They went through it and posted your texts with Rozanov. It didn’t take long for people to figure out your relationship. It was on ESPN.”
Shane started shaking as the words slowly made sense in his head. This had to be a joke. But the panic in Scott’s blue eyes, looked real. The words he had spoken sounded real. But they were so careful. Nobody knew what they did. It was a secret. “What relationship? We don’t have a relationship.”
Scott’s grip tightened and Shane could feel the imprint of his fingers in his arm, sharp and bordering on painful, keeping him from floating away. “Shane, it’s all out there. The sexting. The fact that you hooked up with him. I only saw a short article on my phone when I got up, but they managed to piece things together from what was on your phone.”
“My cell phone is in my jacket pocket,” Shane’s voice breaking as he pointed to his Team Canada fleece on the floor where he’d dropped it last night.
Scott grabbed it, quickly rummaging through the pockets, turning them inside out and still Shane didn’t believe him. Not until he grabbed the fleece himself and felt the empty pockets.
His world started to bottom out as he finally understood the words Scott had said. “Oh my God.”
“Shane! Stay with us. I need you to focus. We don’t have a lot of time. We ran into Rozanov just now. He said the police are already after him and that you’re at risk too. He told us to tell you to meet him at the train station by the ticket agent. You need to get out of here.”
It was too much. Carter was throwing some of Shane’s clothing in his backpack and Scott was looking around, picking up things from his bedside table and passing them to Carter. The room had gotten dark around the edges, narrowed until all Shane could see was Scott in front of him at eye level. Even then Shane didn’t want to meet his eyes. Didn’t want to see the hate there. Didn’t want to see the disappointment.
There wasn’t enough air in the room and at the same time, it felt like it was crushing him under the pressure.
“Breathe, Shane.” Scott’s voice was underwater. “You need to get dressed. There’s already a cop in the village. Do you hear me?”
“Shane!” Now Carter and JJ were yelling too.
Shane’s eyes snapped to each of their faces, holding his breath as he braced himself for their accusations. Instead, Scott enveloped him into a tight hug. “You can do this. You’re ok. We got your back.”
JJ handed him a pair of sweatpants when Scott pulled back, and the world slowly started to take shape. His friends didn’t hate him. Thank God, his friends didn’t hate him.
“Your passport and wallet are in the front pocket,” Carter said, handing him a shirt that he had in his hands.
Shane stared down at it in confusion.
“And take this too, Rozanov said they’re tracking his.” Carter handed over his cell phone.
Scott patted his pockets and then shook his head.
Carter added money to Shane’s hands as well. “It’s not much. I only have 200 rubles on me, was going to grab some McDonalds for breakfast.”
“I have 500,” JJ added in French, adding to the pile of rubles in Shane’s hand.
Shane gave them a tight nod. He couldn’t have spoken right now if he wanted to. He didn’t understand why his friends were giving him money when he had plenty of his own. He didn’t understand why the police wanted to speak to him. Why was he holding all these things in his hands?
Scott grabbed his face and forced Shane to look at him. “You need to hurry and get dressed. The police are after you and Rozanov.”
Fucking brave for a dude to show up to a place like this. Russia is not safe for folks like that.
Not here, Hollander. Ilya’s voice echoed in his head.
It was like the world was in slow motion and suddenly jumped to twice the normal speed. Understanding dawned. Russia wasn’t safe for Ilya. A beat later he realized that Russia probably wasn’t safe for him either. He dropped everything down on the bed and quickly started to get changed, throwing on the clothes that his friends had given him.
When Shane was done, he stood to sort out the cellphone and money and Scott shrugged out of his Team USA jacket and put it over Shane’s shoulders. “Take this until you get to the train station. Once you’re away from Sochi you’ll have to get rid of it, but maybe it can help until then.”
“I packed your black sweater,” Carter said, handing him the backpack, and taking off his red Admirals hat and putting it on Shane’s head. “You remember how to get to the train station?”
Suddenly, it didn’t seem to matter if he knew what to do because his body did. He flung the backpack onto his shoulder as Scott pulled him into another tight hug. “We will go out first and go finish our jog. If you hear us making a commotion, it’s because we are making a distraction, so go the opposite direction. If they come here, Dagenais can tell them you went for a jog with us. Carter and I will hit up the US team and Dagenais can go see the Canadian one. If the police come around asking about you, we can have them spinning in circles. Not sure how much time it will buy you, but hopefully that’s enough.”
“Thank you,” Shane finally managed to force out, blinking rapidly to keep tears from falling as he met Scott’s eyes and then Carters. JJ didn’t meet his gaze. They knew he was gay. They knew he had been fucking Rozanov. They were still helping him.
He had to hurry.
***
8:02 AM
Ilya’s cash on hand: $235 (USD) and ₽5,120 (RUB)
Ilya pulled his hood up tighter across his chin, scanning the crowd, looking carefully for familiar black hair and freckles. The crowd was thick this morning, with athletes leaving for Krasnaya Polyana or visitors coming to see the events over here. It was great for fitting in, but easy to miss someone.
Hey! U doing ok?
The text message was burned into his eyes, even as their last conversation in the arena was playing over and over again in his head. He’d been a dick. Now their relationship had blown up his life. Hollander probably wanted nothing to do with him. Probably fucking hated him.
The last whistle for the train blared overhead and Ilya’s heart sank. Two tickets sat in his pocket, but it was unlikely they’d make the train even if Hollander showed up right this second.
Ilya’s stomach had settled into a tense ball of fear but every second that ticked by the fear switched from worry over being caught, to imagining what would happen if he couldn’t find Shane. Maybe Hunter and Vaughn couldn’t find his room. Maybe the police had already found Shane before they got there. Maybe Hollander didn’t want to trust his safety to someone who kept pushing him away. Sweat broke out across his forehead.
He could leave. If he ran, maybe he could still catch the train. He tried to will his legs to move but they refused. If there was any chance that Hollander got out of the Olympic Village, Ilya would not leave him to run through this country by himself.
Suddenly, Hollander was standing by the departure board just a few meters to his right. Ilya had almost missed him because he was wearing a Team USA jacket and a red hat that Ilya now recognized as Vaughn’s. Making his way through the crowd, Ilya reached for Shane’s arm the moment he was close enough. He quickly stepped in behind him and whispered in his ear. “About time. Let’s go.”
Dragging Hollander by the arm, Ilya pushed through the crowd. Maybe. Maybe if the stars aligned and they ran as fast as they could, they could still make the train. They popped through the gate and were almost at the last car when Ilya saw a uniform out of the corner of his vision. Pivoting, Ilya pulled Hollander close to him, circling so that their faces were hidden against each other and for a brief flash his heart soared at the proximity, happiness mixed with hope touched by unspeakable relief that he was ok. Then like two moons leaving orbit, they swung apart. He angled them back into the crowd just a two police officers came by, hopping into the last car of the train just as the doors closed.
“Fuck!” Ilya tucked them behind a pillar and surveyed the platform, Hollander tight against his side. Ilya couldn’t tell if it was Hollander’s heart beating against him, or if his heart was beating through his ears. There, just beside the exit was another officer, this one with a dog.
“I think we need to find a different way,” Hollander whispered.
Ilya threw him a glare. “Ah. That’s why I waited for you. To tell me the obvious.”
“Sorry.”
It was too easy to chirp at him. Ilya tightened his grip on Hollander’s sleeve and led them through a side exit, joining a large group of tourists heading back toward the village, peeling off before they crossed the street. Making a beeline for an idle taxi, Ilya dragged Hollander into the back seat with him.
“Cathedral of the Archangel Michael.” It was the name of the first landmark in Sochi proper that he remembered.
The taxi driver grunted in reply, paying them little attention, as he merged into traffic. For the first time since being woken up this morning, Ilya slumped back and let himself breathe.
You’re just like your mother, always causing trouble.
Why can’t you be more like your brother.
Hollander’s mouth was formed in a tight line, and Ilya could practically read the questions on his face. He gave Hollander a small shake of his head. He didn’t know how to answer them anyway. He had no idea where they were going after the church. It was likely the farthest he could convince the taxi driver to take them. Maybe they could board the train from downtown. If the driver didn’t drive them to the police station instead.
Beyond that, Ilya had no idea how they were going to get out of Russia, or what they were going to do after that.
Regardless, none of these questions were ones that he wanted the taxi driver to hear.
“Sochi is resort town,” Ilya started, falling back again to the few things he knew of the place, letting his accent thicken. Thankfully he had visited a few times with his family for tournaments when he was younger. Not that he had been terribly interested in sightseeing or learning about the area back then. “The Black Sea is to our left. Very nice weather. Lots of rain too. Many Russians come to the city during the summer to vacation. Has lots of clubs and a great nightlife. Also known for its tea.”
Ilya realized he was still holding Hollander’s sleeve. He quickly let go and scooted over to his side of the taxi, pointing out where the Black Sea could be seen through the trees.
Shane bit his lip but otherwise didn’t react. “Tea?”
“Da, Krasnodarsky Tea. I do not really know more. It’s just tea. Very boring.”
Shane made a show of looking out the window, pretending to be interested in the scenery.
Ilya caught the taxi driver’s eye in the rear-view mirror and forced himself to smirk and mutter under his breath in Russian, “Fucking American tourists.”
***
Cathedral of the Archangel Michael, Sochi, 8:45 AM, 11°C
Shane’s cash on hand: $500 (USD) and ₽15,230 (RUB)
Ilya’s cash on hand: $235 (USD) and ₽4320 (RUB)
The white church in front of them was nice enough. Nothing overly grand but it had tall gold tip towers and arches decorating the entrances and the small buildings around it. There were tourists milling about, maybe waiting for the church to open for mass. Shane had no idea why Rozanov had brought them here.
The feeling of suffocation had subsided, leaving behind a knot of fear cold and hard in his stomach. He’d been replaying the look on Scott and Carter and JJ’s faces before he left, reanalyzing them for anything he might have missed. The thing he kept coming back to the fact that JJ hadn’t met his eyes. JJ had helped him leave, so it meant he didn’t want him arrested by the Russian police, but it also didn’t mean JJ supported him. If one of his best friends was angry with him, then Shane wasn’t sure who he could count on.
It had taken everything inside of him not to ask Rozanov anything while they were in the cab. Where were they going? What would happen if they were caught? But then Rozanov had moved away, hardened his face against Shane’s gaze and the hollow feeling inside of him got worse.
“Where are we going?” Shane said finally, keeping his voice low. He needed something to do. Something to think about that wasn’t this ache inside of him. Rozanov was right there beside him but he felt a million miles away.
Rozanov didn’t answer, just looked around like they had all the time in the world before casually grabbing Shane’s sleeve again and leading him down a path lined with trees. Weaving around people, Rozanov steered them to a quieter area just on the other side of the parvis. “You need to ditch that jacket. Taxi driver could have radioed police. Will take dogs 30 mins to come to sniff us out. We need to hurry.”
Guilt flooded Shane’s cheeks. Should he have thought of that? Was he slowing them down again? He vaguely remembered Carter saying something about packing a sweater maybe. There was a small seating area up ahead, so Shane started making his way there. Maybe if he had made it to the train station earlier, they could have…still been arrested by the police? Maybe they could have taken a different train?
There was a family on the path in front of them; a dad walking with a younger boy who was lagging behind and a woman with an older son up ahead. Shane started to pass the dad when the boy who looked about 9 or 10, turned and glanced at them, and then broke out into a grin.
“Hey! Are you an Olympic athlete?” the boy said, pointing at Shane’s jacket.
Shane gave the boy a quick nod as he glanced around. No one else was paying them much attention. Rozanov pulled him along, keeping the pace fast to discourage anymore questions but the young boy didn’t seem to catch on.
“Are you a skier? Or a snowboarder? That’s so cool. What event are you in?”
At this point, the dad turned to look at them as well and the mom who had been walking ahead with the taller boy slowed down to look as well.
Shane gave Rozanov a quick shake of his head. It was better to just talk to the boy for a quick minute than to have him calling after them. This was, after all, the disguise he was going for. “I’m on the hockey team. It is very cool. I’m very excited to be here. They don’t give us much time off, so my friend is just bringing me to see some cool things in the area.”
“Whoa! Hockey! I watch the MLH back home. I’m Jay! Who are you?”
Shane swallowed his name and then scrambled to come up with a different one as Rozanov continued to try and pull him along, keeping his face away from the family. “Sorry I’m in a bit of rush. Scott Hunter though. Nice to meet you.”
Shane gave the small boy a wave as he moved to catch up with Rozanov, just in time to see the older boy whip his head around and come to a dead stop in front of them. This boy looked like he was 14 or 15— tall, skinny and awkward, like he’d just shot up a few inches in the last few months and didn’t really know what to do with his arms.
“You’re not Scott Hunter!” the teenager said, pulling his headphones off and eyeing him up and down. Shane flinched. Maybe he should have picked someone else, someone less famous than the captain of the US team. Maybe someone who wasn’t six inches taller than him.
“Sorry, man. Look we have to go.”
Shane’s heart sank the moment he saw the recognition on the teenage boy’s face. “You’re Shane Hollander!”
Shane watched in slow motion as the teenager’s eyes panned to the left, landing on Rozanov. Then his eyes almost bugged out of his face. “Holy shit. You’re Ilya Rozanov!”
“Jeremy!” the mom jumped in, admonishing the boy.
Rozanov stood there frozen, glancing at the family around them. Shane took the opportunity to reclaim his sleeve and move closer to Jeremy. “Shh, sorry. Uh, Jeremy? Sorry. We are just in a bit of a rush.”
“Do you know what people are saying about you? It was on YouTube this morning.” To Shane’s relief, the teenage boy didn’t snarl or look at them with disgust. He honestly just looked surprised to see them.
“Yes, that’s why we need to move fast. It’s not safe here. Russia…Russia isn’t safe for this.”
Rozanov moved closer to his side, stiff and tense as the dad, the mom and the younger boy also approached.
“Are you guys, ok?” the dad asked.
Again, Shane couldn’t detect any hate on any of their faces, but he also didn’t want to attract a crowd. “We’re ok. We are just trying to get away. We need to get back to Canada and the US as quickly as possible.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?”
Shane was shaking his head when Rozanov interrupted. “Wait. Can we trade a jacket? We need to lose the one Hollander is wearing, but it’s too cold to go without one.”
Jeremy quickly wiggled out of his black Columbia jacket that looked too new. It had been hanging off him like someone had bought it in the middle of his growth spurt and wasn’t quite sure how much bigger to go. Shane took off the jacket and handed it to him as they switched. “That’s actually Scott Hunter’s jacket. Probably has his name stitched into it somewhere.”
Rozanov took the hat off Shane’s head and handed it to the younger boy. “For you. That’s Carter Vaughn’s hat.”
The boys looked very impressed and Shane hoped that was enough.
“Thank you,” Shane said, holding the boy’s jacket tight. “I’m sorry we have to run. I hope you understand.”
“I guess I can’t get a selfie,” Jeremy said with a sad smile as he backed away to give them room to leave.
“Sorry,” Shane shook his head. Photos would definitely attract a crowd. “Maybe when we get home, we can visit you to thank you—”
“Here.” The dad gave Shane a business card with his name and phone number; Oliver Campbell. “Call if you need anything. If there’s anything we can do to help, we are happy to. There’s been a lot more security here than a few years ago.”
Shane took the business card as the mom handed them a small plastic bag.
“It’s not much. Just a few sandwiches and some water that we had packed for the day. You look like you’re going to need to move fast.”
With tears starting to brim in his eyes, Shane gave them all a quick nod as Rozanov grabbed hold of his sleeve again and started pulling.
“Thank you,” Rozanov called out. “And please don’t post about seeing us on social media.”
The group started reassuring them that they wouldn’t as Rozanov was successful in prying them away toward the back end of the cathedral.
Within minutes, they were in another cab, heading in a different direction.
***
9:06 AM
“Why you don’t put the jacket on?” Ilya asked as they sped through the city. Hollander hadn’t moved since he’d sat down in the cab, his face focused on the street outside the window.
Hollander clutched the jacket in his grip, rubbing his thumbs across the surface. “It’s not cold. I’m ok.”
Ilya knew that was a lie. Coming from a man who always wore layers, who always folded his clothes so carefully, who was meticulous about showering and washing, Ilya was sure Hollander would be carrying that jacket around until he froze to death.
It wasn’t especially cold at the moment, but the sky was threatening to break out in a shower. Ilya reached into his backpack and pulled out the dark rain shell he had, giving it to Shane. Then he wiggled out of his hoodie, took Jeremy’s jacket and slid it on instead. It was a little tight in the shoulders, but he could make do. At least it was insulated.
Shane finally looked at him, his face tense but composed. “What are you doing?”
“Putting the jacket on. I think it will fit me better than you. If you don’t mind wearing my sweater and jacket? It should be warm enough if you wear both together.”
Shane’s eyebrows quirked together and his mouth twisted into half a smile. “That makes no sense. If your jacket fits me, and this jacket fits you, then it should fit me too.”
“Psht, fine. Was trying to save your ego. But if you want to be like that, then it looks better on me. You don’t care how you look anyways, so wear my old one.”
Shane put on his hoodie though.
***
Bus from Sochi to Stavropol, 12:05 PM
Shane’s cash on hand: $500 (USD) and ₽15,230 (RUB)
Ilya’s cash on hand: ₽3440 (RUB)
Shane rested his head against the window of the bus taking them toward Stavropol, the drawstrings of Ilya’s hoodie dangling from his mouth. The whole morning felt surreal now that the adrenaline was gone. It was still a fucking horrifying situation; soon North America would be waking up to the news that not only were Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov into men, not only were the two biggest rivals in the MLH hooking up together, but that they were also wanted by the Russian police and causing an international incident in the middle of the Olympics.
What would his team say? They weren’t the most supportive…Coach would lose his shit…
Suddenly, he bolted upright. His parents would find out. They would know he lied. They would learn he was fucking Rozanov from a headline on their phone. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t hate him. But. But what if they did? What if his mom was disappointed? What if she was mad?
His chest felt heavy, like he was being crushed against the boards. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he could have tried harder to find a girlfriend.
He’d always imagined his worst nightmare was people finding out about him and Rozanov. He’d never prepared for the possibility that it could be worse. Would the MLH kick them out? Even if they didn’t but Montreal and Boston benched them until their contracts were up, then it was basically the same thing. Was the game he played yesterday the last one he would ever play professionally? He hadn’t memorized how it felt skating on the ice at home. He’d taken it for granted.
Rozanov was two rows in front and to his left, also leaning his head against the window, the hood of the jacket up, hiding away his curls. He’d insisted they sit apart, saying it would be less likely to draw attention in a half-filled bus.
Shane brought the hood of Rozanov’s hoodie tighter around his head, sinking into the soft material and the faint smell of shampoo and cigarettes. He hated that smell. He took deeper breaths, trying to stop the thoughts that were circling in his head. They still hadn’t had the chance to talk. Their worlds were falling apart, and the silence was killing him. He wished he had paid more attention to the feel of Rozanov’s hands on his face the last time they had kissed.
Pain pulsed behind his eyes.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to hide them away, trying to find something for them to do when he felt the cell phone Carter had given him.
The fear in his chest slowly morphed into relief. He could text his mom, he could talk to her. He could explain…if she was willing to listen.
Relief morphed back to fear. What would he say to her?
Fuck.
There weren’t many buildings now that they were outside of town, mostly it was just trees and farms passing them by. Shane eyed the connection status on the phone, biting his lip until he saw the connection switch to 3G, then punched in his mom’s number before he could change his mind.
The messages sent, but the chat sat empty and Shane tried not to panic. It was 5 am at home and his mom had no reason to get up early today. But then again, maybe she was mad and didn’t want to reply.
Shane shut down the message app, his hands shaking.
The phone buzzed and Shane quickly opened it up, hope rapidly turning to disappointment when he realized Scott Hunter had sent him a message, not his mom.
Shane’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, trying to decide if it would help if his mom talked to Scott? It felt like a cop-out, but his eyes were burning and he already felt like a coward for blind siding them like this. Blinking back tears, Shane typed out his mom’s phone number and hit send.
He knew he should turn off the phone, knew it would be better because there wasn’t anything he could do about what people were saying online, but at the same time, he had to know. The phone showed most of its battery– Shane risked it and opened the internet browser, quickly googling their names.
HOLLANDER AND ROZANOV EXPOSED IN RUSSIA – IN SECRET RELATIONSHIP FOR YEARS
BIGGEST RIVARY OR BIGGEST SCAM? HOLLANDER AND ROZANOV LINKED TOGETHER
RUSSIAN POLICE SEARCHING FOR HOCKEY PLAYERS IN SAME SEX SECRET RELATIONSHIP
THEY HAD US ALL FOOLED! WAITING TO HEAR STATEMENTS FROM MLH
Most of the words slid past his eyes except for words like disappointed, lied to, fans shocked, hockey scandal, wanted for questioning, illegal. The comments underneath them were worse, at least the ones that were in English. So much shock. So much vitriol. Some small pockets of support. His finger found the power button, and he held it down as the trees raced by outside.
Shane closed his eyes and went back to his breathing. It felt like he was hurdling through the world, unable to stop, unable to catch his breath. They needed to escape, but there was nowhere to escape to. The bus felt too small, the seat in front of him was too close.
After a few minutes, Shane couldn’t take it anymore. He bolted up, picking up his backpack and went toward Rozanov, hesitating for a second beside the empty seat before dropping down next to him.
“What are you doing?” Rozanov said quietly under his breath.
Freaking out, Shane wanted to reply, but he was sure if he spoke, it would come out too loud and he might start to cry. He didn’t know why he came up here when it was obvious Rozanov wanted to keep space between them. Maybe Rozanov hated him too.
A small laugh bubbled up in his throat. They were always hiding. They’d been hiding for years, and even now that the world knew their secret, they still had to hide. The laughter kept climbing, shaking his shoulders as he tried to swallow it down. His chest burned as he struggled to breathe.
Rozanov grabbed his arm. “Shhh, shhh.”
Shane tried to focus on the quiet shushing, tried to slow down his breathing by counting to four as he breathed in, and then releasing it for another four. It was only when he felt Rozanov’s thumb on the back of his hand, gently rubbing it back and forth that he was able to quiet down the screaming in his head.
“You’re ok.”
Shane was pretty sure he wasn’t. He took a few more breaths before he was able to unclench his free hand and bring it up to his face to rub the wet from his eyes.
“You’re having another panic attack.”
“I’m ok,” Shane replied, his voice still shakier than he would have liked, but the restless energy was slowly leaving his body. He kept his eyes down, concentrating on the warm pressure of Rozanov’s thumb, and the quiet timber of his voice until the words in his head were back at a normal speed.
They still couldn’t talk, but it felt like he would explode if he didn’t let some of his thoughts leave his head. He passed the cell phone to Rozanov. “This is Carter’s. He gave it to me before we left. He knew I didn’t have my phone anymore. I texted Scott and my mom. Scott says they’ve been questioning the teams. You should use this phone to contact your family, don’t use yours.”
Rozanov kept his voice low but at least he replied. “It’s ok. Svetlana told me this morning when she called that they could track my phone. That’s how I found out what had happened. I’ve turned it off. We shouldn’t use any cards either. Stick to the cash we have.”
Rozanov let go of Shane’s hand and pulled out his wallet, suddenly giving all the money to Shane. “You should hold it all. Make sure we don’t run out. I don’t have very much left. Not enough for two train tickets out but maybe doesn’t matter. I think they will be monitoring the large stations.”
Shane looked at the money in his hands and remembered the rubles his friends had given him, no idea why everyone was always giving him money. “Where were you thinking we should go?”
Rozanov looked around then shook his head, scooting closer to the window.
Shane was left staring at the space between their legs. It was only a few centimeters, but Shane would swallow all his stupid questions if it meant Rozanov would come even one millimeter closer. Again, because he was stupid, he’d forgotten to appreciate what it felt like when he had it. Now his hand rested on the seat between them, cold in the spots where Rozanov had been holding it.
Shane closed his eyes and leaned his head back, immobile.
This is my fault.
I shouldn’t have let this happen.
I should have just found a girlfriend.
I shouldn’t have had that beer.
I should have been paying attention at the bar. How could I let someone steal my cell phone.
Maybe if I hadn’t had that beer, none of this would have happened.
He’d blown up their lives for the entire world to see because he’d indulged in a fucking beer. It would make sense if Rozanov never wanted anything to do with him again.
Praying Rozanov wouldn’t notice, Shane turned his hand until his fingers could skim the hem of Rozanov’s sleeve, sliding the tip of his fingers along it, careful not to touch any skin.
It didn’t really help, but it was the only thing he could do to keep from screaming.
***
2:05 PM
Ilya noticed. Of course he noticed. Hollander’s thumb had touched his sleeve, tugging lightly on the fabric, so close to his hand but never touching it. It had taken every ounce of self-restraint not to turn his hand and take Shane’s fingers in his own and hold them tight. But the small amount of self preservation he had wouldn’t let him. He knew that maybe, if they were lucky and could get out of here, they might still be able to salvage their careers if they came out united that it was just a stupid hook up. They were just two young, stupid hockey players fucking around. A stupid mistake. Tension on the ice that had spilled over because they had more lust than common sense. Maybe Carter was right and they could just say it was a joke. He could find a way to take the blame.
He was a bad influence – a menace. They liked that word. If he was out of Russia, being labelled as gay or bi wouldn’t be the end of the world. His father would never forgive him, but if he could still play hockey, or maybe coach somewhere, if he could live in the US, then life would be ok. He could make sure that Hollander got to keep his career.
In the end though, it would only work if they kept their fucking distance from each other, even better if they never saw each other again. But to do that, Ilya needed to stop indulging in whatever this was between them now. It already hurt too fucking much. He had realized that when Hollander had sent him that message the other day.
Hey! U doing ok?
He wanted to touch Hollander a little too much. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold him close, feel Hollander’s hair against his lips. If he did though – if he kept going, it would be that much harder to stop.
Eventually he could hear Hollander’s breathing become slow and even. Risking a quick glance, Ilya saw that Shane had managed to drift off, his head leaning to the side, mouth hanging slightly open and it took everything inside him not to cradle Hollander’s head and bring it to rest on his shoulder.
Without disturbing Shane’s hand, Ilya reached for the cell phone Hollander had given him and powered it up. Quickly scanning the notifications and messages, he saw the messages Hollander sent to Hunter and his mom. He owed Hunter and Vaughn a debt that would be very difficult to repay.
His thumb hovered over the message that appeared to be from Hollander’s mother. She’d replied, the bold words screaming for attention. He just wasn’t sure she wanted to hear from him
Something gripped Ilya’s chest, and he let himself feel the cold knot of fear inside amidst the shame and guilt. They’d been lucky so far. That police man in the Olympic Village and the police on the train platform had been close. If Sveta was right, and there was no reason to think she wasn’t, the police were very interested in catching them. They had government resources and him and Shane had next to nothing. There was a very real threat of being caught. And if they caught them…Ilya didn’t want to think too much about that. Jail certainly. If they didn’t get killed at the side of a road somewhere in rural Russia, photos of their bodies distributed to media as a warning or a distraction from whatever the government was planning currently.
Ilya wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Starting a new message, he punched in Svetlana’s number which was one of the few that he had memorized.
Ilya’s mouth twisted into half a smile at friend’s caution. She was always the smarter of the two of them. It probably wasn’t a good idea to be contacting her to begin with, but he had no idea who else to turn to.
His mother had cried the whole time she was cutting his shoulder length hair short. Before that, Svetlana had teased him mercilessly, laughing that he had prettier hair than hers, but after that day, she never said anything about it again. Ever since then, he had made sure to keep it short, keep the curls manageable.
Ilya wondered how he was supposed to feel about that. There were parts of him that hated his father. As much as he tried to be a good son, it would never be enough. It would be nice not to have to try so fucking hard anymore.
It also meant that he was alone in this world. Alone except for Sveta, and maybe whatever the hell this was with Shane until Shane hated him too. Ilya leaned against Hollander and closed his eyes.
He had to just focus on the present and make sure they didn’t get caught. If they did, nothing would matter.
3:25 pm
Armavir, Russia, 4°C
Combined cash on hand: $500 (USD) and ₽18,670 (RUB)
The door to the bus opened, depositing them on the side of the road along with another passenger, 118 km east of Stavropol. As the doors clanged shut, the metal creaking and engine misfiring, Shane shivered and looked around. It was at least a few degrees colder here, even though they weren’t more than a few hundred kilometers from where they’d started.
The older man who had gotten off with them started walking toward the town, so they followed. Rozanov hadn’t said anything for the rest of the ride, except tapping Shane’s shoulder when he’d dozed off, to indicate that they’d be getting off early. Just in case.
There was a gas station up ahead and it looked like a small smattering of houses down the road. Shane’s stomach grumbled. Aside from the sandwiches that nice lady had given them, which they’d scarfed down a few hours ago along with the water, they hadn’t had anything else. The road wasn’t terribly busy, but then behind them came the sound of large trucks rumbling along.
Shane caught Rozanov’s eyes as they realized they were military transport trucks.
“Calling in the military for us seems a bit excessive, doesn’t it?” Shane whispered.
Rozanov’s eyes were wide, but he gave Shane a curt not. “You would think. Follow me.”
Moving closer to the older man, they followed him into the gas station which was connected to a decent size convenience store.
“Keep your head down and don’t say anything except da.”
Shane followed Rozanov around the store as he grabbed a couple of sandwiches from the refrigerated section, holding one up that looked like tuna, so Shane gave him a quick nod. At this point he would probably agree to a salami sandwich, but he was glad he didn’t have to test that hypothesis. The shelves were full of a random assortment of canned fish and sauces next to cleaners and detergents. Shane grabbed two large bottles of water and put them on the counter as Rozanov deposited the sandwiches and grabbed two drinks of what looked like milk. Shane wasn’t sure why he had become the comptroller as he was trying to fish the money out from his wallet, and he almost missed Rozanov’s quick glance behind the counter and then his hesitation.
Shane followed his eyes to the cigarettes, anger flaring. Of course, Rozanov wanted a cigarette on the run. They had limited funds and he was going to waste them on smokes. But then his brain processed the hesitation. Rozanov wanted them but also knew he was going to be angry and so stopped himself. The anger ebbed just as quickly as it had appeared. Rozanov had told him he was trying to quit. Shane had no idea what the consequences of nicotine withdrawal were, but he was pretty sure Rozanov didn’t need to deal with that now, on top of everything. He relaxed his face and gave him another nod, this one toward the back counter. “Da.”
Once they were back outside, Rozanov lit one of the cigarettes and started walking them toward the city proper. “Are you good to walk? We can cross the river and keep walking north toward Grigoropolisskaya. We can find a smaller town to sleep in. Maybe we can find someone to drive us toward Salsk.”
The rain that had been threatening all day finally started falling, muting the sounds of the city, and cutting Rozanov’s smoke break short. This city wasn’t large, looked like a typical small European town with low rise apartments lining the road as they walked toward the city center. They ate their sandwiches in silence, the few people that were out in the rain, paying them little attention.
Rozanov handed him one of the milk drinks. “Have you tried Kefir? Like yogurt.”
Shane shook his head, hesitating to take the drink. Rozanov shook the bottle at him, reminding Shane of their encounter in the hotel fitness room years ago. Shane took it and looked it over.
“If you do not like it, I will drink it,” Rozanov said. “But we will need to keep up our strength these next few days. Is a good drink, easy to find. Has some protein and nutrients.”
“You’re really selling it.”
“Yes, will make your dick bigger and is cure for hangover too.”
With a sigh, Shane opened the bottle and took a careful sip. Right away the tart and sour taste covered his tongue. “Ugh, It’s carbonated milk!”
Rozanov rolled his eyes. “Drink it. Is good for you.”
Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Shane held it back out for him. “No, thank you.”
Rozanov took it from him with an amused expression on his face, drinking the rest with a loud smack of his lips followed by an excessively loud burp.
“You ok?” Rozanov asked a few minutes later when they were crossing a bridge.
A gust of wind suddenly ripped the napkin out of Shane’s hand and Shane stopped and watched it fly over the railing and down into the fast-moving river. The river water was brown from how fast it was moving, crashing against rocks near the bank. The napkin quickly got soaked and absorbed by the water and then washed away by the current.
“You should call your mother,” Rozanov said quietly, handing the cell phone back to him. “I was texting Sveta when you fell asleep on the bus. I saw she had replied to your texts. I told her we were ok, but that you would call her.”
Shane turned the phone around in his hands and then spared a glance back at the river and then at the rain falling on their heads. It seemed like everyone had talked with his mom except him. Everyone knew if she hated him or was disappointed or upset, except him.
“She loves you.”
Just hearing the words was enough to make tears collect in his eyes. Blinking rapidly, Shane hoped the rain would hide them as he gripped the phone, weighing it in his hands before putting it in his pocket. His mom. His dad. Hunter and Vaughn. Maybe JJ. Probably Hayden. Maybe if his family still loved him and if some of his friends supported him that would enough. Maybe if his mom still wanted to be his manager, she could help them navigate the fallout of this as well. It was a lot of maybe’s, but maybe, they just had to get out of this country and things would be ok in the end.
“I’ll call her later, when it’s not raining,” Shane said, his voice cracking, but started walking again toward the other end of the bridge. Rozanov eventually followed and Shane hung back until they were walking side by side.
“How about you? Are you ok?” Shane asked.
Rozanov pointed that the sky. “Is raining and cold, but we are still free to enjoy the rain and the cold, so there’s that.”
Rozanov bumped his shoulder and gave him a small smile, so Shane bumped him back and said, “Could be worse, I guess.”
“Could be worse,” Rozanov agreed.
***
5:25 pm
Prochnookopskaya, 9.7 km North of Armavir
Combined cash on hand: $500 (USD) and ₽18,160 (RUB)
Outside of Armavir, the sidewalk disappeared, giving way to open stretches of grassy countryside with sparse trees that clustered in patches. The rain had let up but now the sun was starting to hang low on the horizon.
“We should find some place to sleep while there’s still light,” Shane said as the water squished in his running shoes and he shivered. It was starting to get colder and now that their clothes were wet, they would lose heat fast. There was a scattering of small houses on the periphery of this town. "Do you think someone will mind if we borrow their shed?”
Rozanov led them away from the main road, toward a path that led down by the river. A small farmhouse looked like a good candidate, it had a well-worn barn to its left, but as they approached, a dog started barking.
“Maybe not, but dog will mind, I think,” Rozanov said as they changed direction and kept moving along the bank. “I think we need to sleep in the trees tonight.”
They found a clearing in a wooded area half a kilometer up the path. The sunlight was fading, so Shane dropped his backpack against a tree and started looking over the area for kindling. There wasn’t much that was dry, but at least the winter had deposited lots of leaves, twigs and branches on the ground. He cleared an area in the middle with his foot until it was just dirt, circled it with some rocks and then started to build his log cabin, placing two larger sticks on the ground in parallel and then two smaller sticks on the side, a layer above. He continued building the walls of the cabin with the sticks he’d managed to collect and then dropped some of the drier leaves and bark in the middle.
He stood up to look at his work when he caught Rozanov’s eyes on him, with a small smile. “Mr. Boy Scout.”
“Shut up,” Shane said without any heat. Things had been quiet between them these last two hours as they’d walked along the countryside. Shane felt wrung out and empty. “Give me your lighter. I’m not sure this is going to work, everything is so damp, but we should try and dry our shoes if we can.”
Rozanov took out a cigarette and lit it, handing the lighter over to Shane when he was done. Shane tried to ignite the kindling in a few spots; it would take, then extinguish, then he’d try somewhere else and it would take again.
“Give me, I’ll keep trying,” Rozanov said, taking the lighter back. “You know what wood to look for. Go find more if you can. Would be nice not to freeze to death tonight.”
Shane found a few more dead branches that had fallen on the ground. Nothing big that would last them the entire night, but it would do. When he returned, Rozanov had managed to get a small flame going in the center. Shane put any of the wet branches around the periphery in hopes they would dry and in a few minutes, they had a small fire going.
“How did you know how to do that?” Rozanov asked, sitting down with his back against a tree, holding his hands up to the fire.
Shane sat down beside him and started taking off his shoes and socks and rubbing his feet to get some circulation back. “Well, I mean…I’m Canadian. My dad took me camping pretty often. My mom didn’t like it much, but dad loved it. Was something fun to do during the off season. You should take your socks and shoes off too and dry them if we can.”
Rozanov did as he was told, taking off his shoes and socks and placing them by the fire, then wiggling his toes close to the flame. Shane held out two pairs of dry socks that he’d found in his bag, silently sending Carter another mental thank you. Rozanov took one pair, and Shane put on the second.
***
7:35 PM
“Are you going to call your mom?”
The sun had fully set, leaving them in darkness except for the glow from the fire. Shane swallowed hard. He’d been avoiding even touching the cell phone in his pocket. Justifying it because it was raining and they were on the move, but he couldn’t put it off anymore. He powered up the cell phone and punched in his mom’s number.
“Hi Mom,” he said, putting it on speaker phone when she picked up on the first ring. “I’m here with Rozanov.”
“Shane! Ilya! Thank God. You two, ok? Where are you?”
Shane gave the phone an odd look. When did Rozanov and his mom get on a first name basis? “We’re ok. We’re in um…”
“Prochnookopskaya. It’s a small village outside of Armavir,” Rozanov supplied.
His mom gave him a small laugh. “Proch-noo-kop-shaya – sorry I just want to write that down. Near Armavir. I know this has been a crazy day for you. I’m so sorry you’re both going through this. Know that me and your dad and your friends are working together to try and help.”
“Thanks, mom.”
“That goes for you too Ilya. I spoke with Svetlana, she’s lovely. She’s passing on any police intel she hears. We are trying to keep the policed focused on Sochi or the southern border.”
Shane’s heart dropped at the name – he assumed Svetlana was Sveta from Rozanov’s comment earlier. This girl must be important to Rozanov if even his mother knew her name.
“Does everyone hate us?” Shane asked carefully, not asking the real question on his mind but it was close enough. Did his mom and dad hate him?
“No! Of course not, sweetie,” him mom answered right away. “Your dad and I love you. We will always love you. Nothing is ever going to change that. And you both have a good group of friends that are trying to help both of you. Things will be ok. None of the MLH teams have said anything, neither has the league but it doesn’t matter. Just get home and we will figure everything out together.”
He didn’t think he had the energy to cry again, but tears started spilling down his face. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. It felt so good to hear her voice and he desperately wanted to believe that everything was going to be ok. “I love you too mom.”
“Oh Shane,” Yuna‘s voice cracked and then she coughed as if trying to clear her throat. “Listen, I want you to know that I spoke with the embassy in Moscow and an international lawyer. Both said the same thing. The police will try and arrest you on the anti-propaganda laws. There’s not a lot of transparency if you are arrested, which means I don’t know if you’ll get a phone call or lawyer. While the lawyer was not encouraging you guys to evade the police, they also said it would be very bad if you were caught. Do you guys have a plan?"
“I don’t know,” Shane replied, using his thumb to clear his eyes before looking at Rozanov. He had wanted an answer to that question all day. But Rozanov didn’t meet his eyes, fully focused on the fire.
“I’m not sure,” Rozanov finally responded. “We can try to cross the border in Ukraine or Latvia. There’s a lot of, what’s the word, chaos, in Ukraine. Latvia is better as it has large areas of border unguarded, but all main roads go through Moscow. Would be a lot of walking. Or we can try one of the check points. But maybe more Russian police watching those.”
“Could we go to the Canadian embassy? The one in Moscow?” Shane asked, thinking of what his mom said.
Rozanov turned back to the fire and started warming up his hand, then added some more kindling to the small flame. “We could. I could get you to Moscow. Your embassy would help you.”
Shane processed the careful wording. “You don’t think they’d help you?”
“Why would the Canadian embassy help a Russian citizen in their own country?”
It seemed obvious, once Rozanov said it out loud. Shane had no idea what it meant to try to enter Lativia illegally, but there was no way he was leaving Rozanov here by himself. “Then we go to Latvia.”
“Shane,” his mom started. “I think you should consider going to the embassy. Are you really going to risk it? What if you get lost? What if the police find you? The embassy is the safest option. I can hire a Russian lawyer. They can figure out how to get you both back home.”
“How mom?” Shane already knew the answer now that he was thinking about it. No lawyer was going to be able to get a Russian citizen out of Russia, especially if they were wanted by the police. His mom was worried about him. He got that. But it was very clear. If they went to the embassy, Shane would be safe and Rozanov would be on his own, on the streets of Moscow. And there was no way he was going to allow that.
“I can bring you there,” Rozanov said quietly. “I then go north by myself. Your mother is right. Is the smarter option.”
Shane turned his gaze to Rozanov. Most of his face was in shadow, except his eyes. They were unguarded and shining; Shane didn’t think he’d ever seen Rozanov so open and defenseless.
“We are staying together. That’s non-negotiable,” Shane said, the matter-of-factly, knowing he could out-stubborn his mom in this. He wasn’t sure if he could out-stubborn the look on Rozanov’s face, but he could try.
Go away Hollander.
“And I don’t care if you don’t want this anymore,” Shane said, the words rushing out of his mouth because he wasn’t sure if he had the courage to get them all out otherwise. “I don’t care if you have a girlfriend. We are in this together. That’s the best chance we have. And if you try and run off without me, I will run after you. I will run around every city street, calling your name until I find you or get arrested. You’re stuck with me until we get home, whether you like it or not.”
Rozanov had lit another cigarette and was looking away, but the glow of the fire caught a tear rolling down his face. Shane wanted more than anything in the world to wipe it away.
“Ok,” Yuna said, frustration obvious in her voice. “Keep making your way north. Let me talk to Svetlana and the lawyers about other possible options. We will figure something out.”
Shane’s eyes never left Rozanov. “Thanks mom. We should go. We have no way of charging this phone, yet. I’ll text you when I can tomorrow.”
“Ok, take care of each other. Ilya, Shane. I mean it. Ilya, call me if you need anything as well.”
“Thank you Yuna,” Rozanov said his voice thick as Shane said his goodbyes.
Rozanov laid his head back against the tree and closed his eyes, so Shane settled closer to the fire, lying down in the dirt. There was half a meter of space between them because that seemed to be what Rozanov wanted but it felt like a chasm to Shane.
It was definitely colder now; any part of him that wasn’t facing the fire felt cold. In the distance, howls filled the air.
“Are there coyotes in Russia?” Shane asked quietly in case Rozanov was already sleeping.
But Rozanov replied right away. “No, that’s a jackal. Smaller than your coyotes. They will probably leave us alone.”
“Probably?”
Rozanov peaked an eye open and gave him a small smile. “Probably.”
Shane was going to settle down again when he saw Rozanov shiver. While his feet were close to the fire, the tree he was leaning up against wasn’t. He was probably even colder than Shane.
Fuck it, Shane thought and got up and moved next to Rozanov, plopping down next to him, close enough that their sides were up against each other.
“Hollander—” Rozanov started.
“For heat.”
Shane pushed up against his side, closing his eyes at the feel of Rozanov beside him, letting himself have this moment of peace. There was this awful feeling in his stomach that this was going to be the last time Rozanov permitted it and if Shane were smart, he’d start to prepare mentally.
Unfortunately, Shane knew he wasn’t very smart, especially when it came to people. Instead of giving him space, Shane pressed into Rozanov until he felt him stiffen, confirming his fears.
“You’ve changed your mind about us,” Shane said almost under his breath, but the words felt like they’d been shouted into the nighttime sky. “Is it because of Svetlana?”
“What? No, Svetlana is old childhood friend.” Ilya’s voice trailed off. “Sometimes we fuck, but…she is really my only friend. Her father is Sergie Vetrov, former Soviet goal tender. Now he is Minister. She’s the one who woke me up this morning and warned me about your stolen phone.”
There was something sad in Rozanov’s voice when he said that she was his only friend.
“And about us?” Shane forced the words out of his mouth. Because he had to know, even though he was terrified of knowing. At the same time, the sadness in Rozanov’s voice made his stomach clench and he had to know if he was making things better or worse by forcing himself into Rozanov’s space.
“We will only get one chance to save our careers, I think,” Rozanov responded, his voice like gravel, low and broken. “If we get out of this country, then you should think about what we do.”
“At the moment, that’s looking like a big if.”
“Maybe,” Rozanov said, but his body loosened and then Shane felt the small shift of Rozanov sinking against him. “But if we do, then we can claim it was just a stupid thing we did. It meant nothing. It was just sex. Maybe that will be enough for it to eventually go away. Maybe your life can go back to normal.”
Again, Shane didn’t miss the exclusion. His life could go back to normal. Rozanov’s would be permanently altered no matter what – he would never be able to go home again. There was some ugly truth in what Rozanov was saying. Maybe they could wash it away, but the cost would be this thing fledging between them. This small weight that Rozanov had leaned against him.
“Was it just a stupid thing we did?”
“Was just sex. It should not ruin your life.”
“It’s ruined yours though. Russia could cancel your passport. You will have to claim asylum. You’ll never be able to come back.”
“Was my choice.” Rozanov looked away, trying to hide his face. But the gravel in his voice had turned thicker. Shane sat forward and leaned across him to catch his eyes but caught a glimpse of more tears in the faint moonlight.
Shane threw his leg over Rozanov’s so he was straddling him as he wrapped his arms around Ilya’s back, encircling him. “It was my choice too. Don’t get me wrong, the consequences fucking suck, but don’t push me away because you think it’s better for me. If you’re going to push me away, make it because you don’t want this anymore, because you’re bored, because you found someone else you would rather spend time with. Because I don’t want to give this up, if you don’t want to.”
Rozanov’s arms tightened around him, resting his head on Shane’s chest as they rocked slowly together. “You will hate me for what this does to your life.”
“You might already hate me for what this has done to yours.”
The jackal howled in the distance seemingly agreeing with them both. Shane broke out into a laugh, and he felt Rozanov laughing against him as well.
“I want to figure this out with you, not give it up just because we think it will be easier. Because it probably won’t be easier to do this alone and then we will have given it up for nothing.” Shane pressed a kiss against Rozanov’s forehead and Rozanov leaned forward into it. There was still more to say, more for Shane to figure out, but Rozanov’s fingers came up to his face, tracing his thumb against Shane’s chin, and the words fluttered away.
Then Rozanov threaded his fingers into Shane’s hair, pulling his face to him for a kiss and like all their kisses, there was this surrender that seemed to happen when their lips met. Shane felt like he was tumbling into a free-fall, his heart hammering as Rozanov’s tongue slipped into his mouth.
This. This is what he wanted to feel whole, this is what he needed to feel grounded and alive. To feel Rozanov’s control break, to feel him give in to what he wanted. Shane felt the blood rushing to his face, felt his cock harden as he pushed up against Rozanov’s hard body. Because they were still alive. Because they were still here together. Because this thing between them wasn’t just sex and it wasn’t just in his head.
Rozanov’s hands slipped underneath his shirt and pressed against his back, making Shane arch into him. The cool air hit his skin in sharp contrast to the trail of fire from Rozanov’s fingers and the pressure from his hands.
“Fuck, I want you,” Rozanov whispered into his mouth. “It’s not very clean here though…”
Shane leaned back just enough so he could open up Rozanov’s pants. Normally he would have objected. He didn’t even shower last night, and he could feel the weight of the day’s sweat on him and last night’s chaos. But more than feeling clean, he needed to chase this feeling; this heat that Rozanov ignited in him that had been missing for months. Rozanov’s hands were burning away the hollowness that had been growing and petrifying him until there was nothing but cold and emptiness inside. Rozanov’s lips found the side of his neck, kissing and sucking and spilling filthy words as he worked up to Shane’s ear overwhelming him with sensations and turning off his brain. Shane gave in completely, hand wrapping around Rozanov’s cock, rubbing against him, desperate to make Rozanov feel the same.
“That’s it, just take me. Take what you want from me.” Ilya groaned as Shane rocked against him.
Shane nodded whispered his own demands, single words not sentences, demanding Ilya take him harder and use him as Ilya tightened his hands on his head, kissing him so hard, that half of Shane’s words were eaten instead of spoken out loud.
And maybe the fire wasn’t even necessary. It wasn’t just the heat of his cock in Shane’s hands, the weight of it thick and heavy. But it was also Rozanov’s hands grabbing his hair and pulling him tight, God maybe a bit too tight but the sharp pain made Shane even harder until it hurt more just to be constrained in his pants. He undid them enough to get his own dick out, hard and already leaking. Then Rozanov brought his arms around Shane, pulled him in tight until their cocks were up against each other, and then Rozanov’s hand was encircling them both and Shane felt like the fire was in his lungs.
Rozanov spit in his hand, then brought it back around their dicks. The saliva making them slide against each other, as Shane started grinding against him and it felt like it had been years since he’d felt anything like. “I’m not going to last long.”
“Good. I want you to fucking come for me,” Rozanov whispered in his ear. “Cover me in your come. Pomechay menya, blyat', metkoy, ya tvoya.”
And then Shane was coming because there was nothing in the world that could stop it. He was panting into Rozanov’s mouth, breathing in his air as he could feel Rozanov fucking call out his name as he came too and then what’s when Shane realized it was his actual name, not Hollander or some variation, but his real name and he was fucking marking Shane as his own, and then Shane couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out his mouth as well because his heart had apparently overridden what little brain power he had left and it was screaming out Ilya’s name as well. “Ilya.”
They lay against each other, panting, Ilya’s breath against his cheek as Shane twisted Ilya’s name through his mind, layering it into this thing between them. The hook ups. The sex. Ilya’s voice soft and demanding when they’re together and then cold and hard when he was pushing them apart.
Shane didn’t know how to reconcile the two, especially now, when it was just the two of them against the world. If Ilya pushed him away it would be so much harder than if Rozanov did it and he couldn’t get used to having this and then have it ripped away. It would kill him.
He sat back to give them some air, even as he felt Ilya holding onto him tighter.
“I can’t –” Shane tried to form the thoughts into words as he looked up and saw the panic starting to form in Ilya’s eyes and fuck if that wasn’t Shane’s own fear staring back at him. And maybe that was what he needed to fuel his courage. “I can’t be on and off again. I can’t keep switching like that. I’m going to screw it up and it’s going to kill me in the process. But for the record, please know I really don’t want to stop. I just need to know if you want me to stay here beside you.”
“Stay,” Ilya whispered, using his shirt to wipe at the mess and then pulling Shane against him, wrapping his arms around him completely until Shane was resting his head in the crook of Ilya’s neck. “Shane.”
And maybe that was all that Shane needed to reprogram his brain, to settle the panic in his heart. Nothing was for certain; he got that. Certainly not in the situation they found themselves in. Not on the run from the fucking police, but he could deal with shit happening, that was nothing new. On the ice, the physical situation changed all the time. Shane could roll with those punches. He just didn’t think he could handle watching Ilya’s face harden against him again. He tightened his hands on Ilya’s sides, knowing he must be getting heavy but also, selfishly, not wanting to move an inch.
“Stay,” Ilya repeated again.
Jackals howled as the fire crackled and Shane melted against him, slowly saying Ilya’s name in his head, now that he was allowed to. As the events of the day settled, Shane remembered the earlier conversation with his mom and realized it wasn’t just a small reordering of his life going on. Their friends knew. His parents knew. Fuck the whole world knew. And as terrifying as it was, there was also something a bit freeing that he had never considered before.
Heck, his mom had called Ilya by his name before he had. Shane let out a small laugh against Ilya’s chest.
“What’s funny?”
“Maybe I have been worried about the wrong thing. Maybe we just need to find a way out of here and then the rest will be ok.”
“You are just catching onto plan now? We have been on the run since this morning.”
“Fuck off,” Shane said with a laugh, shaking his head against Ilya’s chest. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Come here,” Ilya said, grabbing Shane tighter around his waist. Shane was pretty sure he couldn’t actually get any closer without crawling into Ilya’s clothes, so he settled his head against the side of Ilya’s neck.