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Montreal, June 2015
It had been a difficult run, exhausting, bruising. By the last two games Shane had ran out of grand locker room speeches and would just stand in the middle of the room, look every one of his teammates in the eye, one by one, nod and say quietly but with absolute determination, clear conviction, "We got this, let's get on the ice and fucking take what's ours". And on the ice the whole team worked as one, never played better. And with Ilya always at his side, the puck kept hitting the net, again and again.
And they did take it. Their names were on the cup. It was everything he'd dreamed of since he'd been a kid at hockey camp. Holding it up on the ice for the whole world to see, feeling its weight in his hands, the noise from the fans pure thunder. Later he saw photographs of himself lifting the cup as team captain, his face and hair sweaty, tears in his eyes, and probably the biggest smile he'd ever worn in any photo he'd ever taken.
He'd even enjoyed the public events, the parties and drinking. Well, he didn't drink much but watching Ilya lead the team in raucous celebrations drenched in champagne spray and endless bottles of "this not too bad vodka... for Canada, in Russia better on corner kiosk", all of it made him insanely happy. And within days he'd gotten the hang of shifting 200 pounds of drunk muscle into a waiting car and, after more or less private celebrating down the hallway, into their bed. There was a lot of lazy hangover morning sex.
Finally, during a lull in promotional activities before most of the team flew to Vegas to give out and receive awards before the summer break, the two of them had a chance to rest, sleep, talk. And they agreed how this might be the right moment to finally come out to the team, while everyone was in good spirits, high on winning the cup. It was a first, the team captain and one of the players in a committed relationship. They weren't sure what the management, the league, or the public would make of it. That was another day. But right now, they just wanted their teammates, their extended family, to finally hear the truth, from them.
So, a bunch of hockey players filled their home for what Ilya had stressed to all was to be an evening of "tv highlights and snacks, not wild drunk party that bring problems with Mounties, this they do next time, promise".
Players all over the sofas, on the rug, beers all around, a full spread in the kitchen to satisfy healthy athletes' appetites, bowls of peanuts and popcorn, and a never ending stream of supercuts of Montreal's goals on the tv. On rare occasions an opposing team's goal would appear the guys would boo and throw popcorn at the tv and at each other. But there was no real vitriol, they all had that happy tired look, still riding a high, knowing the cup was theirs, knowing they were now part of hockey history forever. Even the rookie, Ryan, who Shane liked because he kind of reminded him of himself his first season, hopeful, uncertain, willing to give it his all.
Shane was more relaxed than he expected to be and after the initial revelry settled into a conversation on summer plans, kids, travel, he looked at the man sitting to his right and smiled. Ilya smiled back, and winked.
"So..." Shane cleared his throat, "Ilya and I wanted to have you guys over to celebrate, but also... to..."
J.J. Boiziau threw his hands up and whined, "Captain, if you start on the practice plan for September already, and speaking about", hands still in the air making air quotes, "session efficiency, I am going home! Please!", he drawled.
Ilya laughed loudly and Shane continued, "No, no, this is more personal, not about next season. Ilya and I wanted to share with you..." he looked at their faces, and his gaze stayed on Hayden Pike, the player he felt was his closest friend in the team, playing together since their rookie year, "we are, we are in a relationship. There."
Ilya just beamed at him and reached over to hold his hand and Shane felt himself blush but also felt good, felt right.
Then he looked at the guys and... puzzled faces, Hayden softly laughing, no one saying fucking anything. He felt panic rising. Were Ilya and him mistaken about... the team, their friends?
Hayden spoke first, "Cap, it's been, what, two years since you've been sharing the same home? We know you're together, how could we not?"
Ilya squeezed his hand, "Two years only if you don't count first nine years, which I do count." And he leaned over and kissed Shane on the lips, just briefly. Which Shane was sure they'd never done in front of their teammates but no one looked surprised. At all.
Couillard drank his beer and shrugged, "Oh, thought it started around the time Ilya joined the team. Didn't know you guys were, what, high school sweethearts? Cute."
Shane had always suspected he was obvious around Ilya. OK, so the team knew, so a big announcement was redundant. He shook his head, looked at friendly, unconcerned faces, looked at Ilya, all was good.
Ilya was getting up, "Okay, everyone officially knows we are lovers, now round of good Russian vodka!"
Hayden slapped Shane on his shoulder, "What, you didn't notice that Jackie finally gave up trying to set you up with her pilates friends? Shane, we have the two of you over for family dinner all the time. As a couple. You babysit our kids. And it was obvious from the start."
Mitty joined in as Ilya returned and started pouring everyone, unfortunately Shane too, a shot of vodka, lining the glasses up on the coffee table, "Captain, every time you fall asleep on a flight you practically curl into his lap. If I wasn't afraid of the Russian I'd open an Insta account just to post that. It'd break the internet! But, yeah, we figured you didn't want to go public."
"To the love of my life and the captain of the team that won the fucking cup!" Ilya raised his glass and they all downed the shots, young Ryan coughing.
J.J. slammed his glass on the table and smacked his lips, "And the reason for the strict policy of wearing an undershirt during any contact with the press!"
"What?!" Shane was confused. And they all started laughing their heads off.
"You are aware Ilya's back frequently looks as if a feral animal attacked him?" J.J continued, "Several times after seeing him in the showers I wanted to call the team medic!"
Shane felt his cheeks warming up and it wasn't the vodka.
"Yeah, I am sure that first season together the media relations staff discussed plausible hockey practice injuries that could explain all the hickeys and love bites." Hayden said grinning and pulling at the edge of his shirt collar as if to demonstrate.
Shane shrugged, it was okay, it was all ok now, "Yeah, okay, so everyone knew. I, really guys, I'm grateful you knew and still gave us time to figure it out and... you know, didn't push us to... say anything... or go public, before we were ready." He turned to Ilya smiling, wanting to kiss him, properly.
Ryan, who had been quiet up until then, and who was still looking down the empty shot glass said, "I didn't really know until the pool."
And the room was instantly quieter.
"We never go to pool, what pool?" Ilya was stuffing his face, double fisting popcorn.
Hayden gave Shane a pleading look and mouthed "Sorry".
"Pool?", Shane was sure his voice pitched an octave too high.
Couillard turned towards Ryan, "I swear rookie, we will trade you for that Florida kid who keeps dropping his fucking stick!"
Ilya was still confused, he looked at Shane, then Hayden. And Hayden was now looking guilty and uncomfortable.
And Shane understood. "Tell me you didn't." And just the tone of his voice was enough for Ilya's expression to shift to something that transformed the relaxed atmosphere of the room into arctic silence. "Shane?", he said, scarily calm.
What Shane feared most was not being challenged for who he was, who he loved, not being ostracized, fuck, he'd meet any type of bigotry with pure rage. But he'd deeply dreaded their relationship, their love, becoming the butt of jokes. Ridiculed.
"A betting pool." Even Hayden now looked at the floor. Shane's mind conjured the worst. "Tell me it's not... about... sex."
And Hayden got up, hands in front of him in a placating gesture, "No!, No, guys, we're not like that, no! That'd be gross."
Now Ilya was on his feet and his voice was low and words gritted through teeth as he towered over Hayden, "Is two men having sex gross Pike?"
Ryan had shrunk behind a pillow with both Couillard and Wilson looking as if they were ready to hurt the kid, but bravely he spoke up, "The pool was on the wedding date."
Ilya turned to look at Ryan and blinked. And his expression shifted to one only Shane could easily read. Oh, my love.
And the rookie, probably boosted by a strong dose of liquid courage, "We set up a betting pool on your wedding date. Kind of how I found out you guys were together." He shrugged.
Ilya sat down and pointedly avoided looking at Shane, "Rookie, speak."
Ryan shifted slightly forward where he sat, "It was that game against Boston, we lost 3 - 4, and some of us went to a bar and drank, and I maybe drank too much? And I asked J.J. why you guys didn't join. And he said you had gone home. So I asked if you were...", here he glanced at J.J., "if you were a couple, because that's what you always looked like to me, but I wasn't sure. And it kind of... took off from there."
Shane had calmed down, took a sip of the beer he'd forgotten, still looking at Ilya.
Ilya took the vodka bottle and stated filling the shot glasses again, his voice sounded calmer, even amused, he finally looked at Shane, gave him a small smile, eyes on fire, and purposely skipped the glass in front of him, for which Shane was grateful, "You will all confess now. Who start?"
J.J. spoke, "I said you probably were already, but didn't want it public."
Ilya picked up his own glass and nodded towards their teammates. "Shane and I are not married. If we were Shane would have bigger ring than championship ring. I will not be cheap with my husband. Now drink." Glasses on the table, huffs, some grunts, and another round poured immediately.
"And I bet you weren't but would be if the playoffs..." Couillard joined in, "we'll, I didn't want to jinx it, I mean the cup, not you two, you were as well as married, but if it was me I'd, you know, do it on my day... with the cup."
Ilya grinned, "Not bad idea Couillard, we drink champagne from cup in wedding bed, but no. Drink!" And they did, and the mood was shifting toward relaxed joy again, and Shane was happy he wasn't doing the shots, because Ilya was pouring heavily from a very large bottle of his favorite brand of vodka.
Hayden raised his hand, "Called summer, on account of knowing you met in the summer. So, your... anniversary?" Wilson added, "July?"
Again, glasses up, Ilya was enjoying this, "For wedding with Shane I will have more fireworks than Canada Day in July Wilson, everyone drink!"
Sighs and groans and Shane was snickering into his beer.
"Mitty" Ilya boomed. But Mitty was obviously already too drunk and swaying where he sat and finding it hard to compose a sentence, "Vegas, you... like people get married in Vegas... my bet."
Ilya roared with laughter and poured another line of shots, "You think I want quick wedding with Shane who is most loved man on planet? Mitty, maybe I don't invite you, you have trouble with small glass of vodka, proper Russian wedding celebration kill you. Now drink!"
And as Ilya easily swallowed his own shot, licking his lips and seemingly stone cold sober, Shane knew it was just a practiced stance, the rest of their teammates were struggling. Hayden held the shot glass but did not drink, and Ryan just stared at his still untouched on the table.
"So, when are you getting married?", Ryan simply asked.
Ilya inhaled sharply and looked at Shane guiltily so Shane decided to spare his love from misery, reached out to hold him and kiss him, and simply and loudly said, "Soon". The room erupted in cheers and Ilya's eyes were slightly teary.
It took a while to get a bunch of drunk, celebratory, a few still slurring apologies for the pool, hockey superstars into hired cars, even longer because Ilya was hugging everyone, kissing their cheeks, with Ryan getting a smack on the mouth and praise in Russian.
Finally in bed, after a lot of water and some pre-emptive ibuprofen for Ilya, Shane held his man close to his chest and kissed his curls and traced the lines of his strong back. They always slept in an embrace, ever since that first night.
"Shane?", he rumbled softly, "You look most beautiful with gold crown, moy prekrasnyy muzh."
"Crown?"
"Don't want church wedding, it is impossible. But in Russian wedding you wear crown, be my king. I love you, my Shane, my husband."
Shane smiled and wondered how much of this Ilya had wanted to say for a while now, "I love you too, my husband."