From the moment Ilya had found out that Boston was trading for Shane Hollander, he decided that it was his punishment from God. Punishment for all of the unmentionable things he had done. Punishment for being a relentless, insufferable asshole. Punishment for having no self control.
God was taking every single bad decision Ilya had ever made and shoving it sadistically back into his face. It made Ilya want to rip the cross right off his chain. Instead, he pressed his palm flat against it through the thin fabric of his undershirt.
He had tried desperately to let Svetlana quell his anger last night. But as soon as their clothes were off, all Ilya's mind could produce was images of brown eyes staring at him through dark lashes, freckles scattered over flushed cheeks, and a smooth, hard body with solid thighs and strong hands.
When Ilya had thrown his clothes back on in a frustrated rush, Svetlana did her best to assure him that he was just wound up over having to see Shane again.
He appreciated that she didn't bring up the multiple other times this exact scene played out over the past 10 months.
He stood now with his back pressed to the metal of his locker, as if the coolness would do something to de-escalate his emotions.
Ilya knew he had become a shell of himself. A sad, bitter shadow of the charismatic man he was known to be. He was a terror on the ice, strong and loud and never letting anyone ignore his presence. Off of it, he was a charmer, as bold and confident as they come. Now he wasn't sure of the last time he had been any of those things.
He decided that pursuing Shane Hollander was the worst bad decision he had ever made. A bad decision that just kept growing, morphing into falling dominoes that led him straight into a downward spiral. And now he was sitting at the bottom of a pit, hopeless and lost.
The only solace was that his team still loved him. They still followed him fiercely. The fans still screamed his name like he was the greatest thing to walk this earth. But Hollander had come to complicate that, too.
Seeing Hollander in his locker room, on his ice, had caused a surge of icy anger that he didn't care to hide. He was angry at his team for bringing the league's golden boy in to save the day. He was angry that the league's golden boy was Shane Hollander. He was angry at Shane Hollander for breaking his heart. He was angry at Shane Hollander for showing him that he even had a heart to break.
But after a few days of practice had passed, and the shock of seeing Shane had started to settle in, his anger dropped away and morphed back into the quiet despair he had been lugging around since the day Shane left.
It was now offering him a strange sense of clarity. He was definitely angry about all those things. But he was mostly angry at himself. He was angry that he still cared so much, that he couldn't bring himself to get over it. He was angry that he wasn't good enough. Not for his team. And not for Shane.
Not only was he not good enough for Shane, he just wasn't good for Shane at all. Shane was a good person. He was fair and honest and determined. Ilya felt that he was none of those things. He felt that maybe he would have ruined Shane.
That was enough thinking for today.
Ilya took a breath, yanked his compression shirt off, and let his eyes scan the room. Marlow was chatting with Hollander again. It was like he had taken in a stray puppy. As Ilya turned his attention to them, he caught the end of what Marlow was saying.
Something about 'Cap' and 'always standing around brooding.'
Ilya clenched his jaw, balled his shirt in his fist, and strode over. "Maybe standing around brooding is better than always running your mouth, Marly."
Marlow barked out a laugh and grabbed Ilya by the bare shoulder, squeezing. "I'm telling you, Hollzy. He's not always so intense. But lately all this guy does is brood and work out. They need to put him on the cover of GQ or some shit!" He slapped a hand over Ilya's abs, then used it to tousle his sweat soaked curls. Ilya flashed him an annoyed look.
"Mm. Yes. I will make sure you get special edition so you can jerk off to me every night." He elbowed Marlow away.
Marlow laughed again, clapping Ilya on the back. "We're going out tonight, man. No excuses. It's been a hell practice week. I think you need to get laid."
Ilya turned to him sharply. "I think you need to shut your idiot face and stop thinking so much about my dick. I will think about going out." He waved a hand dismissively.
It then occurred to him that Shane had just been sitting silently on the bench, inches away, watching the interaction. Ilya looked down at him. He felt his stomach twist, seeing Shane's flushed face, glistening with sweat. His mind flashed an image of Shane's head laying on his chest, both of them breathless. His fingers trailing through dampened hair. The feeling of Shane's warm skin against his.
Shane quickly looked away. Ilya bit the inside of his cheek and stalked off to the showers.
Ilya wasn't even sure what the hell Marlow was getting at with the whole 'getting laid' part, because they ended up meeting in a private room at their typical bar.
He walked in quietly, perching himself on the side of the bar to order a drink before anyone could notice him. He needed vodka if he was going to act somewhat normal tonight. As soon as the glass hit his lips, Marlow's hulking frame was crowding him.
"There he is! The Prince of Russia has graced us with his presence." Marlow made a show of bowing, getting some hoots from the guys scattered around the room. Ilya rolled his eyes, but threw an arm around Marlow's broad shoulders.
"I thought you were on a mission to get me laid tonight, Marly. Unless you expect me to fuck one of you?" Ilya leaned his back to the bar, gesturing out to his team. That got another show of laughing and whistling from the guys.
But as soon as the words left his lips, his eyes landed on Shane Hollander. He could not believe the timing of it. As the rest of the guys reacted to Ilya's jest, Shane locked eyes with him, and Ilya almost let out an incredulous laugh.
Half because he couldn't believe Shane would actually agree to come out, and half because of course, out of everyone in this god damn room, he would lock eyes with Shane Hollander as soon as he made a comment about fucking someone.
The universe loved its cruel jokes. Ilya felt too sober for this. He tossed back half the glass of vodka in one go.
"We would be so lucky, right? We all know you're a fucking legend, Roz." Marlow elbowed him.
Ilya only hummed in response, fingers tapping at his glass. This conversation was doing nothing to improve his mood, because all Ilya could think about was the fact that there was indeed a person in the room who had gotten the full experience. Many times.
He was trying now to ignore the way his stomach felt as he became overly aware of Shane's presence, though he was halfway across the room. He needed to not be thinking about this. But his brain decided to replay their first real time together, when Ilya had taken Shane in his bed in Montreal.
Fucking Shane Hollander had been incredible. Maybe better than incredible. The best, probably.
Why wouldn't it be? The thrill of taking the league's golden boy to bed after challenging him on the ice was enough to leave Ilya breathless.
And of course, knowing that Hollander had never done it before should have made Ilya dizzy with self satisfaction. Like he was marking a territory. Setting a precedent. Any other man who ever touched him would have to measure up to Ilya Rozanov. Ilya was a conqueror, taking Shane Hollander for a prize.
That's what he maybe should have felt, anyway.
But somehow, it hadn't felt like that at all.
What Ilya had really felt was their body heat mixing together, their heavy breathing falling into rhythm. Soft skin and firm muscle yielding under the pressure of his fingertips. His own heart pounding so loudly, he could hear it in his ears. An intoxicating heat flooding his veins, pushing him to the brink of ecstasy. And an inexplicable bliss when he felt Shane Hollander's pleasure light up the room, filling him up like its own form of oxygen.
He had felt it all. Every breath, every movement, every sound. He could still taste sweat and skin on his tongue. He could still feel the way both of their bodies had shuddered with release, trembling and uncontrolled. He could still feel the way he had come to the terrifying realization that this was not just a hookup. It was something far more. More than Ilya had been prepared to understand.
Ilya gripped the edge of the bar so hard now that his knuckles turned white. If he had known Hollander would be here, he definitely would not have come. An overwhelming, empty sadness clawed at him from the inside, cold and unrelenting.
Even in this room full of teammates that adored him, he felt so incredibly lonely.This day was turning out to feel like it existed solely to test Shane. Or to fuck with his mind until he couldn't think anymore. Maybe both.
On the ice, he felt relief in that he and Ilya had not been forced to practice together at all. They were on different lines, running different drills. The distance made it feel more possible.
But the moment they got back to the locker room, he could feel it all coming undone. As Shane was taking off his pads, he caught himself watching Ilya from across the room.
He had that look on his face again. The icy cold eyes, paired with a hint of a pout. He had heard so much from the rest of the team all week about how the Russian was the life of the locker room. But it seemed to Shane that he was nothing more than a looming figure, observing.
Marlow must have caught Shane's line of sight.
"I know, all you've seen of Cap this week is just him standing around brooding. You probably don't believe any of the shit we say about the Russian menace."
Brooding was a great word for it, Shane thought. Just as he was about to respond, Ilya appeared in close proximity, his compression shirt balled up in his hand.
Shane felt like the wind had gotten knocked out of him. Incredibly, he had avoided seeing Ilya Rozanov in any state of undress so far this week. He made sure to hang back at the showers, and to keep his back pointedly turned toward Ilya's locker.
No matter what he felt, Shane still was, unfortunately, very attracted to this man. It was awful.
Shane got a face full of hard abs, a trail of dark hair running suggestively down to the waist band of Ilya's pants, and the deeply outlined V of his pelvis. Ilya's skin was slick with sweat, and it still had the light bronze glow of summer.
He slowly raised his eyes, swallowing hard as they landed on the glinting gold chain nestled between his pecs.
Suddenly, Marlow was saying something about Ilya needing to be on a GQ cover and smacking him on the abs. It sent a jolt through Shane, but he couldn't look away as Marlow tousled Ilya's damp curls. He could feel his heart rate quickening, feel his own fingers twisted up in those same curls on countless nights.
Ilya and Marlow exchanged a few more words that Shane didn't exactly hear. He felt paralyzed, staring at that face.
And when Ilya's eyes met his, there was a flash of something there. An uncomfortable familiarity. A pulse so quick that Shane could almost pretend it wasn't real. Almost.
Shane wasn't quite sure why he had let himself be convinced to come out tonight. When he called Hayden looking for a good excuse not to go, he was instead met with his best friend encouraging him to go out and bond with his team. He knew Hayden was right, but it didn't make it any less annoying.
Some of the guys had, thankfully, started to warm up to Shane. He was particularly thankful for Marlow taking him under his wing, even if Marlow was Rozanov's best friend on the team.
He had been trying to nonchalantly spectate on a game of pool when their captain entered the private room, and all attention seemed to turn his way.
Shane was determined to pay this no mind. He needed to learn to exist in the same space with Ilya Rozanov, one way or another.
"Unless you expect me to fuck one of you?"
The sentence had caught Shane entirely off guard. He hadn't meant to look up, or even react at all. But his eyes met Ilya's as soon as the words left his lips, and he felt dread grab a tight hold on him.
Suddenly, Shane felt like everyone had seen that glance. Had understood the meaning of it. It was an absurd thought, but his brain was buzzing with it.
"You're a fucking legend, Roz."
And god help him if he were to start to think too deeply about the truth of that statement sitting here in this bar.
Instead, he started to think about the countless times their eyes had found each other in a crowded room. It didn't seem to matter where they were or what was happening around them. There was something intrinsic that pulled their attention toward each other, some invisible force that Shane could never understand. He felt like in any life, in any timeline or universe, his eyes could find Ilya's.
He forced himself to pretend that it meant nothing.
After watching another round of pool, Shane sat at one of the high tables, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. His attention was broken by Marlow taking a seat across from him.
"Thanks for coming out, Hollzy." He gave him a rough pat on the shoulder.
"Yeah, for sure. Thanks for the invite." Shane slid his phone into his pocket, trying not to look in the direction he'd been avoiding all night.
But there he was, leaned against the bar, darkened eyes studying the floor.
Feeling a sudden surge of boldness, Shane decided that maybe he could pull some information out of Marlow.
"So. What's his deal, anyway?" Shane nodded toward Ilya, trying to be as casual as possible.
Marlow looked back over his shoulder at Ilya, sighing, before moving in closer to Shane. "I think he's really having a rough time, the poor guy. It all kind of started in the middle of last season. He just totally shut down. We had no idea what was going on. Then his father ended up passing. We found out he had been really sick, but Roz obviously wasn't able to get back to Russia to help. Then over the summer he had to go back home again and deal with a bunch of bullshit with the estate. Apparently his brother is a real piece of shit. It's just been a terrible year for him. I feel for him."
Shane swallowed thickly. Suddenly, he felt like an idiot. He had heard the news about Ilya's father passing, it had been reported on when he had to fly back to Russia and miss a few games. But for whatever reason, it didn't cross his mind that maybe it was part of the reason Ilya was acting so strangely. That it wasn't all about him, or about hockey.
He felt a sinking in his stomach, looking back across the room at Ilya. Something started to rise in him, unbidden and seemingly out of nowhere. A longing pang in his chest. An overwhelming feeling that he hated seeing Ilya look so sad and distant.
He remembered now, a moment on the day that he ended things with him. Ilya answering a phone call. Though Shane couldn't understand the conversation, he could hear the worry in Ilya's voice, paired with Papa.
When he had asked Ilya if everything was okay with his father, Ilya studied him so carefully. And then he had smiled at him. It wasn't a huge smile. But he could feel a brightness radiating off of him.
And now, sitting in this dark bar all these months later, it seemed to finally click in place. In that moment, Ilya had felt seen by Shane. And it had been important to him.
Seeing Ilya hurt was never what he wanted. But their feelings for each other felt like they had been on a collision course to something far more dangerous than Shane had ever imagined. What they were doing was impossible. What Shane was feeling was impossible.
To let them continue on that way, Shane knew it would only get worse. Ilya had pulled away so many times before, creating a maddening distance between what they were and what Shane felt in his heart.
But on that day, the walls had come crashing down, suddenly and without warning. Napping in Ilya's arms. Sitting on his couch, in his home, eating his food. His head on Ilya's chest as fingers ran soothingly through his hair.
He didn't want it to ever stop, and that thought was the most dangerous of them all. Like trying to catch a moonbeam in his hand. This intangible, beautiful thing that he wanted so desperately but knew he could never have.
So he had ended it, right then and there, before it could get worse for either of them.
And now he felt a burn at the back of his throat, harsh and unyielding. He wished that he could have somehow stopped this trade to Boston from ever happening.
"But, I'm sure once the season starts up, he'll get back to normal. No better distraction than hockey, right?" Marlow smiled at him, and Shane swallowed back the sickness in his stomach.
"Right. Definitely."
"Hey, you uh, you still date Rose Landry?" Marlow sipped his beer, elbows leaning on the table.
Shane felt his cheeks burn. "Oh. Uh. No. We broke up a while ago." He ran a hand over the back of his neck. "It just wasn't going to work out, with our, um. Our schedules." That part wasn't totally a lie. But he certainly wasn't going to admit to Cliff Marlow that his ex-girlfriend figured out that he was gay.
"Ahh, that makes sense man. But hey, legendary pull." He playfully shoved Shane, who thought he could not possibly feel more uncomfortable in this moment, until he realized Ilya had been watching them.
His eyes cut between looking down at the table, and up at Ilya, until Ilya downed the rest of his drink, threw a bill on the bar, and walked out without a word.