Chapter Text
shanehollander24 
Ottawa, Ontario
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shanehollander24 When I was 17, I met a boy.
We met behind an arena in the middle of Saskatchewan. He was smoking a cigarette, which I thought was dumb. I introduced myself, and he was rude. I told my mom as much when she asked how our meeting went.
It was only a decade later, under our covers, that he apologized for it, reminding me that he spoke very little English at the time and that his brain was too focused on my freckles to match my Canadian politeness.
His words, not mine.
Nonetheless, if you asked me, I'd probably say I fell in love with him right there in the freezing cold of Saskatchewan.
There is even an argument to be made that I fell in love with him days before that when I watched him play hockey for the first time, which is not surprising when I think about it now because he played hockey the same way he lived: unapologetically, creatively, and authentically. And I couldn't help but be attracted to him.
Unfortunately, we were so young and dumb and scared and felt like we had the weight of the world on our shoulders, so for many years we pretended it was just that: attraction.
We gave in to that attraction on a night a few weeks before our NHL debut in a hotel room. It should have felt like a big fucking mistake, but it never felt like that with him. Instead, it felt right. It felt so right that we left that hotel room wanting more.
However, we told ourselves we couldn't have more. For many years, we only allowed ourselves what we both could afford: secrets, hotel rooms, quick texts, hockey chirps, a few hours here in Montreal, a few minutes there in Boston.
It went on for many years, a lot more than you'd think, and I lived for the moments here and there. I lived for the next time I could feel his presence next to me and allow myself to stare into his blue ocean eyes for more than a quick second. I lived for his texts before games that made me want to kill him and kiss him at the same time. I lived for the rare moments when he let me see him fully, without the mask he sometimes put on, just the real version of him.
It went well for many years, and it worked for us until one year, the "more" we had ignored for so many years exploded in our faces, especially mine. I was scared, so scared, terrified of what it meant for our future, for our careers, for me, for him, for us. So I tried to ignore the explosion and the feelings. I hurt myself, and I hurt him, but on a lovely night in Montreal, someone told me it was okay, okay to feel the way I did for him, okay to want more, okay to be gay.
So I found my way back to him, because how could I not? With us, it always felt like it was written in the stars.
I told him I was gay, he lovingly made fun of me, then told me he was scared, too.
Suddenly, quick texts and hotel rooms became phone calls that made me want to learn Russian and feelings, big feelings we couldn't ignore. Despite all, we were still both so petrified of more.
We could have burned out after that. Still, there was a light in the darkness we were starting to construct around ourselves. That light was a fellow hockey player being way braver than I could have been, and for that light, I'll forever be thankful.
We spent that summer in my cottage in Ottawa. I wish I could put into words how that felt, but I don't think I can, so I'll say this instead.
We met at the airport. He looked devastatingly good. We fell asleep. We woke up together. I made too many burgers. He made fun of me. He let me make fun of him. He told me about his mom. I told him about my parents. We watched a fire. He was scared of loons. We watched the sunrise. We worked out. We kissed because we could. We played hockey. We said 'I love you' for the first time in the middle of the night. We cried in each other's arms. I told my parents I was gay. I had a panic attack. He was there for me. I was there for him.
And we came up with a plan.
Him in Ottawa. Me in Montreal. A charity. Don't tell anyone. Then, once we retire, maybe we can finally be.
We told ourselves it was enough: love, stolen moments, surprises, texts, phone calls, our summers at the cottage, the charity.
And it was enough for a while, but last year we started talking about wanting something different. About coming out and telling everybody because we were simply tired of it all. Tired of hiding. Tired of deleting pictures. Tired of the rivalry. Tired of carrying so much love and having to repress it all.
We were supposed to come out at the end of that season.
We hadn't figured out all the details yet, but we sought our agents' opinions. To my surprise, they were supportive of it. So we started to tell our friends, we stopped deleting texts, we started taking pictures, and made a few plans.
Then the accident happened. The season was cancelled. It all went to shit.
Suddenly, I was alone in our cottage, calling my parents at 2 in the morning because it fucking hurt that he was not there. He was not there, and he was everything.
Suddenly, Anya, our dog, spent days waiting by the door for her dad to come home, and I didn't know how to tell her he wasn't. He was not coming home, and he was gone.
Suddenly, I was angry. I cursed him for leaving me like that. Leaving us like that. Leaving the world like that.
Selfishly, I wanted to be gone too.
But I couldn't do that. He'd hate me if I did so; instead, I poured myself into the one thing we always shared before we even knew of each other: hockey.
To say that this Cup was won with blood, sweat, and tears would be an understatement.
I poured everything of whatever he left me with into this season.
And everything, every single assist, every single point, every single play, every single goal was dedicated to him.
This Stanley Cup is way more important than any other awards or cups I'll ever get, because I want to dedicate this one to you, moya lyubov'.
Maybe you saw. Perhaps you didn't. I like to believe you did, but it was a tough one.
It ended in OT in Game 7, and when the puck finally went into the net, I felt numb.
I don't know what I thought would happen. Maybe I thought you'd appear in thin air and tell me with one of your smiles, your real ones, "Not bad, Hollander".
Instead, nothing happened. My team jumped, smiled, laughed, and congratulated me.
The Cup arrived, and I started to cry, softly at first.
As the ceremony went on, my crying got worse until Hayden and JJ got a hold of me and brought me back to the locker, where I cried in their arms some more. Desperately wishing they were yours.
Because the Cup was there, but you weren't.
I've seen countless think pieces in the last week about people throwing theories about why the Montreal Captain cried a fountain when he received his fourth Cup.
None of them even thought of mentioning you, and I wanted to burn down the house for that.
I asked you once on a quiet night when we were watching that documentary: "How could they not know? How could anyone see this, see you, and not know about us?"
I've been asking myself the same question.
I don't know how, baby.
But I'm tired of them not seeing it.
I hope you'll forgive me for doing this without you. But when future generations write about this Cup, because yes, not to brag, this was a generational run. I don't want them to forget to write about your impact on me.
Because I will never forget you.
I miss you, Ilya.
Most of our relationship was lived in stolen moments, so you'd think I would have learned to miss you by now. Still, I never thought, even in our worst times, I'd have to miss you like this. It hurts.
I found the ring you hid in your nightstand. I had a matching one tucked away in one of my cabinets for months. All we were missing were the candles.
I've been wearing them around my neck with your mom's chain.
I'm sorry that we never got our fairytale ending.
You are and forever will be the love of my life.
Tvoy navsegda,
Shane
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hayden_pike35 I love you, dude. You’re the strongest person I know, but you shouldn't have to be right now. Honestly, I always thought it was crazy that the world didn't notice, because once you saw the way ... more
svetlana.vetrovaa i am sobbing. he adored you, not quietly, not carefully, but with his whole chest. you were his safe place in a world that demanded he be 'hard' all the time. he would have been so proud of you ... more
June 25, 2022