Chapter Text
Ilya hated Montreal.
He didn’t hate Montreal. Not really. He actually liked Montreal, hockey aside. But hockey was never an aside in Ilya’s life and Montreal hated him. They hated him for winning the league with Boston. They hated him for every goal he scored against them and every time the team he led won a game against their precious Voyageurs. Hell, they probably hated him for disturbingly personally specific things, like his accent and his taste in cars. They hated him because he wasn’t theirs, most of all, though most of them must have wanted him to be, at some point before his NHL draft.
Would his life have looked very different if Boston selected Shane first in the draft? Ilya would have gone to Montreal then, no questions asked. Shane would have been captaining the Bears and Ilya would have been captaining the Voyageurs. Ilya couldn’t imagine that the rivalry between him and Shane would have played out very differently.
Would he have been best friends with Hayden Pike, like Shane? No. God no. Absolutely not.
Would Shane have been closest to Cliff Marlow, like Ilya? Right now, Ilya found that very hard to imagine.
Would Marley have hit him into the boards the way he hit Shane into the boards? He should have. It was a clean hit. Marley did nothing wrong. The refs couldn’t penalise him for it. It was just unfortunate. Bad luck. Shane landed wrong. Maybe the angle hadn’t been right. Maybe he was just turning when Marley hit him.
Maybe, maybe -
Maybe Ilya shouldn’t hate Montreal. But seeing Shane on the ice like that, unmoving and undoubtedly disoriented, Ilya really hated Montreal.
He was spiraling.
He’d been standing there the entire time as the medical team got onto the ice and took care of Shane. He’d been the first one with Shane. The first one that realised that something was wrong. He’d called on the medics to come over and he’d been pulled aside so they could reach Shane. He’d never moved any further than that.
Shane needed to know he wasn’t alone. He needed to be aware that Ilya was there and was present, even if there was nothing he could do now. He needed to know that - what?
That Ilya loved him?
That Ilya was terrified of loving him but also terrified of losing him? And that right now the latter was winning but not in the way that he expected?
That Ilya actually planned to put an end to whatever they were tonight, because they were both in way too deep and it was starting to be a serious problem for both of them?
The medics were taking Shane away on a stretcher. Ilya had no idea if he was conscious. If he could move. If he’d seen Ilya at all. If he was going to be okay.
He was still spiraling. He needed to snap out of it.
An arm around him and someone pulling him back from where they were taking Shane off the ice was what made Ilya wake up at last. He made his legs cooperate so he would move alongside Cliff Marlow, rather than letting Marlow pull him along on the ice until they arrived at the bench.
“Are you okay?” Marlow asked in his ear, clearly weirded out by Ilya’s response.
No, he wasn’t okay. He wanted to go with Shane. He wanted to get in the ambulance with him and hold his hand and demand to know if he was okay. He wanted to be there in the emergency room and hear what the doctors had to say. He wanted to sit in Shane’s hotel room and hold his hand.
He really needed to snap out of this.
“I’m fine,” Ilya told Marlow. “Was just shocking. Was very close. And Hollander is -” He paused, searching for the words. He didn’t think he could get the word ‘rival’ out right now. “Hollander is -”
“You’ve known him for a long time,” Marlow said as they arrived at the bench. “Everyone was shocked by the impact of the hit. I didn’t think it was a bad hit. I thought he’d be after me to steal the puck back within a second.”
Marlow’s slightly distressed undertone made Ilya realise that he wasn’t the only one affected by this. He watched the man of his life get carried off the ice on a stretcher, but his friend delivered a hit that they all thought was normal that actually did a lot of damage. Marlow should be freaking out more than Ilya right now, probably.
Ilya desperately tried to gather himself and be a better captain and friend. The fact that Marlow was the one to come over and get him back to the bench spoke volumes of how good of a friend he was to Ilya. “Marley,” he said, clearing his throat. “It was a clean hit. It was a good hit. I saw it. You did nothing wrong.”
At least half of Ilya had a mind to deck Marlow into the boards himself and call it a day. It was a part of him that didn’t care about ice hockey right now and just cared about Shane. He was in way too deep. How had he ever planned to call off this thing with Shane?
They leaned against the boards together. Ilya glanced aside to see the Montreal Voyageurs all sitting together and talking softly amongst themselves. He felt the insane urge to skate up to them. They were worried about Shane in a way that Ilya was too. They would at least get an update about how Shane was.
But Hayden Pike would probably punch him in the face and then Ilya would have to punch him back and then they’d both have to visit Shane in the hospital with bruises in their faces.
Plus, Ilya would much rather not interact with anyone from the Montreal Voyageurs right now. He didn’t want anyone asking questions. He didn’t have any answers right now.
“Was Hollander conscious?” Marlow asked Ilya.
Ilya shrugged, a lot more nonchalant than he was feeling. “I do not know, Marlow,” he said. “I did not see.”
Marlow breathed out deeply and said a word that Ilya felt deep in his bones. “Fuck.”
The game started again, because of course it did. There was no reason not to. Ilya’s world was falling apart, but no one knew that and Ilya assumed that no one would have cared. Injuries were very commonplace in ice hockey. Half of the time the players that got injured actually came back on the ice before the game was over. The league was serious about checking injuries, but it was also serious about hockey.
In case of injuries like the one that happened to Shane, though, Ilya believed it changed the game. The game was paused for minutes as the medics dealt with the situation, for a start. The crowd and the teams all saw it happen, so the atmosphere changed. Ilya didn’t think any player was notably more careful for it, but it seeped into the style of play regardless.
Then there was the fact that the Montreal Voyageurs were playing without their captain. Shane was easily their best player. That was not to say that Montreal was a bad team without Shane. They were still very good. But Shane was the difference maker. He was their golden boy. He was the star center that scored most of the goals. He was always skating where he was supposed to be and he always knew what corner to aim for to throw off the goalie of the opposing team. Ilya would know. He’d seen him play a lot.
The Boston Bears might have less depth onto the bench, especially so far into the season. But Boston still had Ilya playing, so a match-up that was fair enough going into the game quickly turned into a game where Boston had a large advantage. Shane was as irreplaceable for this Voyageurs team as Ilya was for this Bears team. That Ilya wasn’t playing at his best, not even close, was beside the point. They didn’t need to slot in another player that they weren’t used to very much.
In the end, the Bears won the game by two points. Ilya already knew that no one was going to talk about it. He sure wasn’t. The coach held his usual speech about what they did well and what could be improved. Ilya, as the captain, wasn’t known for his speeches and he absolutely wasn’t going to say anything now. According to a few side-eyes he got in the locker room some of his teammates expected him to, but no one said anything about it.
Ilya guessed that maybe they could sense he was in a weird mood after Marlow hit Shane. They knew him well enough to leave it alone, though.
He felt like he’d been useless during the game. He played his shifts and genuinely tried his best, but his focus was nowhere near where it should have been. The only reason he assumed he got away with it was because he’d become very good at playing with something else on his mind. His father had been unwell to a concerning point for most of the season. Ilya mostly managed to block that out too.
The press after the game was expectedly awful. If anyone from his team had known him better they probably would have told him to sit this one out, but Ilya knew that would stand out. They’d been so careful keeping one another a secret for years. He couldn’t blow it now that Shane wasn’t around to fix it for him. So he talked to the journalists with the bravado he wasn’t feeling and talked about the game and talked about Shane and the hit as if Shane was just his rival.
“We do not wish injuries on anyone,” Ilya told them, as ever feeling like his English was completely insufficient. “Marlow feels very bad. We hope Hollander feels better soon.”
“What does this mean for the Bears’ playoffs chances, Rozanov?” one of the journalists asked. “It looks like Hollander is out for the season.”
Ilya was so very done. “Are you doctor?” he asked the journalist.
“No,” the journalist said. “But we all saw-”
“Are you Hollander’s doctor? Were you at hospital with him?” Ilya interrupted him.
“No, but -”
“The Bears will do well in the playoffs. We are very good team. We will try to win the cup. We won the cup while Hollander played for the Voyageurs. We can do it again now. It does not matter to us if Hollander plays.”
He was definitely saying that all wrong, but he was hoping that the message came across. The Bears’ playoff run had nothing to do with whether or not Shane was going to play. If they played against the Voyageurs as all they would beat them, regardless of whether Shane played or not.
“We do not know how Hollander is doing. We hope Hollander gets well soon. We will send flowers to his hospital room. No more questions.”
With that, Ilya beelined out of the mixed zone and went right back into the dressing room, where he sat down and put his head in his hands.
“Roz?” Marlow’s voice sounded next to him. He at least didn’t ask if Ilya was okay again. “Do you want to go into the Voyageurs’ dressing room with me?”
The question was so bizarre, even for Marlow, that Ilya raised his head from his hands and turned to look at him. “Marley, what the fuck? Do you want to get into another fight?”
The fact that Marlow had gotten a bruise from Hayden Pike out of all people was something that they needed to discuss soon, because that was humiliating. It was a conversation for another time, though.
Marlow had the audacity to roll his eyes at him. “No, you asshole. I wanted to go in and see if they heard how Hollander was doing. You’re the captain and I landed the hit, so we’re probably the right people to ask.”
“Also the two people they hate the most, Marls,” Ilya reminded him.
Marlow, for some reason that Ilya didn’t understand, was as done with the situation as Ilya was. “I don’t care,” he said as he stood up from the dressing room bench. “Their fans can burn Rozanov effigies outside of the arena for all I care, but inside of the arena we need to show some goddamn sportsmanlike conduct. You and I will go over there and we will ask.”
“Good man, Marlow!” their coach called from across the room, clearly having followed along.
Ilya, for one, really didn’t need the reminder of the ritual Rozanov effigies burning right now. He knew that their fans did the same with Hollander effigies, truly a testament to how seriously some fans took hockey. They took it more seriously than Ilya himself ever had. He also knew that at least some players on the Voyageurs probably shared the sentiment. They hated him here.
Well, he hated Montreal too.
“Fuck,” Ilya cursed under his breath. He knew Marlow was right.
He grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and drained most of it before putting it onto his bench. He beckoned for Marlow to follow him and exited the dressing room again, this time making his way to the Voyageurs dressing room like a man on a mission. His entire body language was probably spelling out how much he didn’t want to do this and wasn’t in the mood for this. He hoped it counted for something that he was doing it out of good sportsmanship, even if he didn’t want to.
The Voyageurs dressing room was recognisably chaotic. It was like every team’s dressing room ever, but also distinctly Voyageurs for the moment. It was a bit more subdued, understandably, and a lot more French.
“Did you come to gloat?” one of the defensemen sitting near the door asked.
“No,” Ilya replied for both Marlow and him. “We were wondering about Hollander. If he is okay.”
“Of course he’s not okay, you asshole,” one of the other defensemen replied, as if Ilya was personally responsible for the hit and the consequences.
As if Ilya hadn’t been the only one there with Shane while the rest of them were keeping their distance. As if Ilya hadn’t personally wanted to murder Cliff Marlow himself and had to work to keep that under wraps, since Marlow was his friend too.
So maybe Ilya should have taken a moment for himself before doing this, but they were already here.
Thankfully, Marlow at that point took over. “Did you hear anything from the hospital?” he asked. “Have there been any updates?”
Much to Ilya’s chagrin, it was Hayden Pike who appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He’d already showered (unsurprisingly, none of the media wanted to talk to him so he got a headstart on Cliff and Ilya) and was halfway putting on his gameday suit again. He stood in front of Marlow and Ilya, seemingly just to glare at them at first.
“He’s concussed,” Pike said. “They were still looking him over when the game ended, but I’ve heard he’s probably sprained a part of his arm too. At least that. He’s out for the season.”
Beside Ilya, Cliff winced. “I really did not mean to -” he started.
“It was a clean hit, Marlow,” Pike said, sounding tired but also surprisingly reasonable. “Coach watched it back. The refs were right on it.”
Cliff nodded. “What hospital did they take him to?”
Pike narrowed his eyes at the two of them. “Why?”
Ah, there was the Hayden Pike that Ilya found so annoying. Ilya knew he’d still be in there somewhere.
“Because it is customary for the captain from the other team to visit an injured player,” Cliff said with emphasis, gesturing at Ilya as if to remind Pike that Ilya was that captain. “Our teams might be historical rivals and Hollander and Roz might be rivals, but that doesn’t mean he won’t show up.”
Pike looked like he swallowed something sour that he wasn’t expecting. “I’ll make sure that someone lets your team know,” he said. Then he turned to Ilya specifically and said: “My condolences for the loss of your father.”
“Thank you,” Ilya said stiffly.
It was time to go, thankfully. They got everything they showed up for and another thing that they definitely didn’t show up for.
In the hallway, Marlow said: “It was nice of Pike to offer his condolences.”
“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “Too bad he’s such an asshole.”
That startled a laugh out of Marlow as they walked back into their own dressing room.
Ilya spent his shower and the drive back to the hotel in the team bus agonising about Shane. Sure, Pike told them what he knew about Shane’s state, but what did Pike really know? Did they just tell the team the two most obvious things about Shane’s injuries to get them off their backs? Maybe Pike had just lied to Ilya and Cliff to get them out of the dressing room. Ilya knew he would have lied to get Hayden Pike out of his dressing room, so he had to assume the sentiment was shared.
Were Shane’s parents at the match? Ilya knew almost nothing about them, which he guessed made sense. It wasn’t something that Shane and he talked about until very recently. He knew Shane’s parents were both still alive and cared about his career. They cared about his game. Ilya assumed they were there and would be in the hospital with him. Shane wouldn’t be alone. Shane had people around him that cared about him.
Once he got ready for bed in the hotel room that Ilya shared with Marlow, he sat down on his bed and tried looking for more information as Marlow moved around him to get ready for bed as well. All the hockey and general sports websites he checked told him the same thing. Shane collided with Marlow, fell into the boards and was taken off the ice and into an ambulance. It was the same information over and over again in different words, pretending like this was brand new information to Ilya rather than an event he’d watched with his own two eyes.
Beside him Marlow wasn’t sleeping either even as time passed. Ilya knew he was angry at himself for the hit, although everyone kept telling him that it was a clean hit, that it could have happened to anyone and that it was just an incident. This was hockey. Incidents happened. But Ilya knew how it worked. He knew it wouldn’t get through to Marlow right now. Marlow needed time and space and the best way Ilya knew how to give that to him was by not acknowledging any of it.
He stood up from the bed, headed for the window and stared through the window, thinking back to the last time they played Montreal. It’d been back in January and Ilya had been in a horrible mood because Shane wasn’t acknowledging him. So they went out. Him and Marlow, Carmichael and St-Simon. And they somehow managed to stumble into the club that Shane was with Rose Landry. He hated Montreal then and he hated Montreal now. Maybe he should just never come back here.
“Roz,” he heard Marlow say behind him. He apparently did not have the same radar as Ilya for when his roommate needed space. “We need to talk.”
What in the world did Marlow need now? “No, we do not,” Ilya replied. “We can do it later, yes? I am not in the mood, Marley.”
“Well, neither am I, but this is time sensitive!” Marlow half-snapped at him.
Ilya turned around to face him, scowling and raising his hands as if he was ready to fight. “What do you mean, time sensitive?” he asked.
“I mean we need to talk about this tonight,” Marlow replied with emphasis. “This can’t wait, Rozanov.”
Ilya sighed deeply, wondering how he could convey that he was not in the mood and that they were not going to talk about anything. “Is someone dying, Marley?”
Marlow glared at him. “Are you doing that thing where you’re listing possibilities that you know aren’t true to get people off your back? Because that doesn’t work on me.”
Ilya did do that. He wouldn’t put it the way Marlow just did because the English language did not work the same for him as it did for Marlow, but Marlow was right. Marlow had undoubtedly heard him do it multiple times to their teammates at this point and once or twice to Marlow himself too. It usually worked like a charm.
But what else was Ilya supposed to do? Tell Marlow to fuck off because Ilya wanted to spiral in silence? Go downstairs to the hotel lobby to ask for another room because his mandatory roommate wouldn’t leave him alone? Maybe bother Carmichael and St-Simon and force them to swap? The two of them should be asleep by now.
He groaned and sank back down on the bed, where he put his hands in his head again. “Fine. Marley. Talk.” Those were the three words he got out in between gritted teeth.
The mattress dipped when Marlow sat down next to him. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk,” he started.
“Then why are we talking?” Ilya interrupted him.
He couldn’t see it, but he could hear in Marlow’s voice that he was glaring at him. “I know you don’t want to talk,” he repeated, pointedly ignoring the fact that Ilya interrupted him, “but I need to ask you this question and I think you want to answer me honestly. Because whatever the answer is, I’m fine with it.”
Okay, what in the world was Marlow even getting at right now?
Ilya lowered his hands. He leaned back against the headboard of the bed and turned to look at Marlow directly. Marlow was already looking at him. He looked tired. He looked like the game had taken it out of him too. The part of Ilya that wanted to smash Marlow into the boards was getting smaller by the minute simply because Marlow so obviously felt terrible about it.
“Ask,” Ilya said flatly, trying not to admit to himself that he probably knew what he was about to be asked.
“What is your relationship with Shane Hollander?” Marlow asked.
He didn’t ask ‘are you and Shane Hollander in a relationship?’. If he asked that, Ilya might have laughed and told him everything. As it was, he considered lying. He was pretty sure that at this point, Marlow would believe whatever Ilya told him. It was apparently clear to Marlow that something was different about Shane and Ilya, so if Ilya told him they were friends and that Shane had been reaching out to him about his father, Marlow would believe him. It technically wasn’t untrue.
It also wasn’t covering the part where they’d been fucking since they were nineteen years old.
“I can see in your face you’re about to lie to me,” Marlow said when Ilya was still considering his words. “And if you don’t want to tell me that’s fine, but it worries me that it’s something to lie about, Roz.”
God, where was the overly macho and somewhat idiotic version of Cliff Marlow that showed up often, but apparently not when Ilya needed him present?
“You can recognise my lying face?” Ilya asked.
“Yes, I’ve done interviews right beside you for years,” Marlow said like it was obvious.
Ilya considered this. He guessed he knew out of Marlow’s tells too. He knew in the way Marlow moved his stick if he was going to shoot or pass. He knew in the way Marlow moved his eyebrows that he either agreed or disagreed with the speech their coach was giving. He knew that if Marlow said ‘Let’s go!’ he was generally ready to win a game, but if he said ‘Let’s fucking do this!’ he was especially eager to get on the ice.
“What do you think my relationship with Hollander is?” Ilya asked, testing the waters.
“You two are far closer than the charade of two men the entire NHL calls rivals, I know that,” Marlow replied, humouring him for once. “And you’ve been weird about Hollander and Rose Landry.”
“What’s ‘charade’, Marlow?” Ilya asked. “I only know of the game.”
“It’s the idea that the two of you are putting on some kind of play together,” Marlow said. “Like the two of you are only pretending to be rivals, but you really aren’t.”
Since the moment they met, Marlow had never dumbed down his use of English for Ilya. He had that in common with Shane. Neither one of them ever changed how they talked, but always explained whenever Ilya asked when they used a word he didn’t understand. In this instance it looked like Marlow didn’t quite know how right he was in describing the word ‘charade’ and Ilya didn’t know how to tell him.
“We are rivals, Marlow,” Ilya said. “This is all the NHL talks about every time Boston plays Montreal.”
“Not all,” Marlow protested mildly. “But you can be rivals in public without being actual rivals, Ilya.”
Marlow was using his first name. They didn’t do that. Alas, they didn’t talk like this either and Ilya guessed that Cliff felt like the situation called for it. Fine, then.
Ilya pulled up his legs and wrapped his arms around them before just asking what he wanted to. “Do you think me and Shane are in a relationship?”
“If you’re calling him Shane, I am thinking that,” Marlow replied.
“We are -” Ilya started and then paused. What were they? He didn’t think he knew it. He didn’t think Shane knew it. Then what was he supposed to say to Marlow? “I don’t know, Marley. It’s late. I’m tired. He’s in the hospital.”
“Are you in a romantic relationship with Shane Hollander?”
Ilya hated that he specified ‘romantic’. He didn’t need to do that, but he did. “We were trying to figure it out,” he said softly. “After Rose Landry. During the All-Stars weekend. But my father was dying and everything was so fucked.”
If Marlow was surprised by that, he didn’t show it. He merely took it as an invitation to scoot closer on Ilya’s bed. He nudged Ilya in the side and, when he moved, sat down with his back against the headboard next to Ilya.
“Were you supposed to go see him after the game so you could figure it out together?” Marlow asked.
Ilya nodded. “I was going to break up with him, actually.”
Marlow frowned at him. “Why? You clearly care about him. You’re here frantically googling if there are any updates, you’re moping and agonising about him and I kind of expected you to leave the hotel room and go to the hospital the moment that I fell asleep.”
Ilya felt called out and didn’t hesitate to side-eye Marlow. “I was not moping. I also did not plan to go to the hospital tonight.” The latter, at least, was truthful.
“You don’t fool me, Roz, fuck off.” Marlow was unimpressed. “Why were you going to break up with him?”
“Are we talking about our feelings now? Is this what we do now? Do we need ice cream and alcohol for this? Should I order room service?”
“Stop talking around the subject, you asshole.”
Ilya sighed deeply. “It’s too complicated,” he said. “When we started, I thought Shane was interesting. I thought it was fun. He liked me. I like him. We make each other better on the ice. But then -”
But then.
Feelings started getting involved, Ilya guessed. That was the problem. As long as it stayed fun without any strings, he could have done this with Shane for years. He’d continued to do it as feelings got involved because he happily denied their existence. Then when he finally tried to gauge if Shane felt the same way with tuna melts, Shane fled from Ilya’s place without even putting all his clothes back on, making it all too clear how Shane felt.
Shane felt it too, but Shane at the time was more afraid of it than Ilya had been. It was a feat that Ilya hadn’t considered could be accomplished, but Shane very much did.
“I guess we got scared,” Ilya finished the sentence lamely.
“Did Hollander start dating Rose Landry to make you jealous?” Marlow asked. According to his expression, that was a question he’d wanted to ask for a bit already. He’d just been waiting for Ilya to work through his thoughts first.
“I don’t think so,” Ilya replied. He had been jealous, but he was never going to admit that. “I think Shane wanted to have girlfriend and Rose Landry was interested in him. But they were not - what is the word? - compatible.”
“Rose Landry, though,” Marlow said. “He’d rather have you than Rose Landry?”
Ilya shoved him. “Fuck off, Marls. I am far better than Rose Landry.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Marlow had the audacity to argue.
Did Marlow want to win a game on the ice with Rose Landry and then get back to Ilya?
To be fair, Ilya did understand what Marlow meant. Rose was objectively beautiful. According to Shane she was also very kind and she was fun. Rose was also a safe choice. Shane could date her in public and people would compliment him, as they had. If Shane was seen with Ilya in public, people would assume they both lost their minds.
“So if Hollander is not compatible, as you put it, with Rose Landry, and he wants you, then why were you planning to break up with him?” Marlow asked, unfortunately still very invested in Ilya’s relationship with Shane. “Were you leading him on, Roz?”
“No,” Ilya said immediately. “I just thought it would not get this far. And now I have other things to think about.”
“Like what? If he wants you and you want him, what other factors are there to consider? The league? They will get over it, Ilya. Maybe not easily, but they will get over it.”
“I mean Russia, Cliff.”
Those words caused Marlow to frown. He leaned forward as he seemingly considered it, leaning his elbows on his knees and his chin on the palm of his hands. It stayed silent between them until Marlow said: “I keep forgetting that you’re Russian.”
Ilya stared at Marlow for a couple of seconds, utterly speechless, before he broke into a surprised laugh. Marlow glared at him, trying to be mad at Ilya for laughing at him, but eventually started laughing as well. Marlow laughing was what made Ilya laugh harder in turn, doubling over with it.
It took a minute before they both got it together again. By that time Ilya finished a glass of water and Marlow had moved over to his own bed in their attempts to be serious or at least keep it down, because they were sharing a wall with two teammates that might have been woken up from their hysterical laughter. It would surprise Ilya if they didn’t hear about this tomorrow morning.
“I take it Russia is not cool with you being into men?” Marlow asked.
Ilya shook his head. “No,” he said. “It is not safe. I could not go back to Moscow if it came out.”
“That really sucks,” Marlow said. “That’s absolutely horrible. What about your family?” Ilya leveled him with a glare. “I don’t mean your father, obviously, and not your mother, but -” Ilya kept glaring at him, so Marlow gave up. “Do you have family in Russia?”
“None that I talk to,” Ilya said dismissively. “Or talk about.”
Marlow nodded. “And I guess staying here is not that simple either,” he concluded. Ilya assumed he meant ‘here’ as in the United States, though they were in Canada right now. “Unless you marry someone, maybe. You can marry Hollander. Or you can marry me.”
“You would marry me?” Ilya asked, finding himself grinning at Marlow.
“Oh, of course,” Marlow said. “If it meant you could stay and we could play more hockey? In a heartbeat, man! I don’t think Hollander would like that, though.”
“No, probably not,” Ilya agreed.
“You should talk to Hollander first, though,” Marlow said. “Maybe once the season ends. Are you going back to Russia after we win the cup?”
Ilya always went back home to keep up appearances. He mostly went back home for his father, who had been deteriorating for years at this point. He loved Moscow and he loved Russia, but it didn’t love him back. It was a painful reality to be faced with now more than ever. This year he didn’t have his father to go back for. When he was there for his father’s funeral it had been awful and he leaned on Shane heavily just to get him through it mostly in one piece.
“I don’t know,” Ilya said honestly. “Hollander wants me to come and stay with him. He has a cottage in God-Knows-Where, Ontario.”
“You should stay with Hollander,” Marlow said immediately. “And then you two can talk once Hollander is all healed up.”
“If he’s going to be okay by then,” Ilya said. They still didn’t know, after all, and the longer Ilya was left in doubt, the more he started doubting Hayden Pike too.
Marlow moved to sit beside Ilya again and placed his hand on Ilya’s leg. “Ilya, I’m really sorry about the hit,” he said. “I didn’t think -”
“No, Cliff,” Ilya said, interrupting him. “You didn’t know. I know you feel bad about it. I know my -” he waved his hands, “thing with Shane isn’t helping. It is not your fault.” He covered Marlow’s hand for a moment, then let go. “I just don’t know how he is. I don’t like it.”
“You need to see him for yourself tomorrow,” Marlow said, like it was a decision he just made instead of something that was expected of Ilya as the captain of the team that accidentally seriously injured a player. It would hardly be the first time Ilya showed up at a hospital to see a player from another team.
“Yes,” Ilya said.
“I will go with you,” Marlow said as he got back up from Ilya’s bed. “We’ll wake up early, have breakfast early and go see your man.”
“I do not need you to go see Hollander, Marlow,” Ilya told him.
“No, you don’t need me, but you get me,” Marlow explained. “I’ll be of use. You’ll see. Are you going to be able to sleep?”
Ilya doubted it. “Not much, I think,” he replied honestly. “But I will have to try.”
“If not, you can sleep on the way to Toronto,” Marlow offered. “The guys will leave you alone.”
He was probably right. The team had definitely been a bit more cautious around Ilya since he returned from Moscow. He appreciated it, but he also thought it was annoying. If Marlow already started to question Ilya’s behaviour surrounding last night’s game, the others might have noticed something too. None of them would be able to draw the correct conclusion, though. Marlow had the closest look at Ilya by far and even he didn’t quite get there.
“We will have to try and sleep now,” Ilya conceded regardless, turning around and falling face-first in his pillow. “A few hours would be nice.” They definitely talked far past their scheduled bedtime.
“Good night, Roz,” Marlow said from the other bed.
“Good night, Marley.”