Work Text:
November 2013 Boston
Ilya thinks he is handling himself very well, all things considered. He hasn’t cursed and he hasn’t run away. Granted, he hasn’t spoken in over a minute which is quite a long time to sit in silence with your lawyer and the woman who has provided the requested proof that the child she is currently 9 weeks pregnant with is, with 99.9% certainty, yours.
Her name is Shara and she’s a pretty thing, tall and slender in a fashion model kind of way but she's dressed more like a librarian. She has big smart brown eyes, freckles, a pixie cut that comes off as boyish despite trying to look chic and French, and chewed off fingernails. He thinks he remembers her telling him that she does some kind of corporate marketing.
He’d only hooked up with her once. He'd been at bar with his team celebrating a particularly successful home game against New York; she’d been dragged out by friends to celebrate her landing a job so soon after her early graduation from Northeastern. He hadn’t even been trying to hook up, they'd just knocked into each other trying to order drinks and struck up a conversation. There had been something about the way her perceptive eyes flitted around the packed room that compelled him to flirt, and then something like a challenge in her blush and sarcastic rebuff that had him double down on the pursuit. The sex was good, a bit rough, and almost competitive; they'd been safe. Ilya was always safe with hookups, but it looks like that doesn’t matter now.
He and Shara lock eyes across the low coffee table in his lawyer’s office. They'd taken seats at either end of the table; opposing forces. It reminds him a bit of being at center ice in a faceoff with Hollander. He’s realizing that a lot of things about her remind him of Shane fucking Hollander. Isn’t that the cherry on top of this fucked sundae.
His lawyer is speaking, probably saying something worth all the money Ilya is spending on this consultation but Ilya can’t bring himself to listen. This man’s job, as far as Ilya is concerned, is to listen to what Ilya asks him to do and make it happen not to give him advice. This is actually Ilya’s mindset when it comes to everyone that he pays a ridiculous sum of money to care about his life. One long gone agent called him a diva.
The Lawyer, Brian or Barny or something, notices that nobody gives a shit about him after his words go unacknowledged by both Ilya and Shara. The man sighs and leans back in his chair muttering something about what he’s getting paid for. He makes an excellent point; Ilya will find a new lawyer after this.
“Do you want it?” Ilya asks interrupting his soon to be ex lawyers muttering. Shara's eyebrows raise at the question.
She shakes her head firmly with a defiant little tilt to her chin like she’s expecting push back “I can’t afford a baby, I can’t afford the damage it would do to my carer to have one now, and my family won’t help… mom is already furious and embarrassed that I’m pregnant and not married.”
An image of what his father’s reaction will be comes to mind and he winces. Fuck this is going to be shit. “Child support and child care I can arrange if that would change things for you.” He offers then adds “Fuck it marriage too if that’s what you want, would smooth things over with my family as well… help me get rid of Russian passport too.”
She scowls tapping her fingers on her leg “21 isn’t exactly the age someone wants to be tied down like that” she snaps an angry blush raising to her face her freckles stand out the same way Hollanders do when blushing “and sorry I want to get married for love one day not for your convenience.”
Ilya thinks he should probably be offended. What a strange woman she is that she’d feel tied down to a hot, millionaire, Hockey legend who’s offering to marry her and take care of their child. They could go long stretches of time without even having to see each other. Fuck they could see other people too if that’s the issue.
Marriage and a baby would throw off any suspicions about his preferences, add pre-arranged legal protections to keep everything above board and this could be an ideal situation for Ilya honestly. Then again, maybe he swallows the idea easier because love was never much of a fantasy Ilya could indulge in when thinking about his future. He has only every let himself dream of deserving something a little kinder than his mother got. Great now he’s sprinting pass offended and straight into anger.
Ilya leans forward, his elbows on his knees and chin propped in his hands “So you don’t want baby, don’t want money… the fuck are we here then just don’t have baby.” he says trying to stay as civil as possible with this stupid naïve American girl.
“It’s complicated.” she says. Her dark eyes flash to the ceiling and stay there as if that’s where she’s going to find the words of her explanation. Ilya looks up too just in case she sees something he doesn't; there’s a water stain up there shaped a little like a flower. Fuck he’s getting a better lawyer and a better manager who won’t recommend shitty lawyers in the first place.
“My family is Catholic," She continues. "and well I can’t afford to raise a kid and I also can’t afford to get disowned. Even if I could afford to, I have younger siblings. I need to be a part of their lives even if my parents are shitty, you know…” her words choke off and she takes a deep breath tears in her eyes that she’s not letting spill over.
Ilya hasn't been stupid enough to think there is anyone who actually follows all of the teachings of their religion in years so he doesn’t really get what she's on about but the shitty family bit he can sympathize with. He elbows Barny the Lawyer and gestures for him to give her a box of tissues from his desk, Barny obliges it seems he is resigned to Ilya’s running this.
Shara takes the box with a mummer of thanks and, once she has composed herself, she squares her shoulders and looks him in the eye. “I just felt that since I am going to have it you should get some kind of say in where it ends up.”
The suggestion behind her words dawns on him slowly and after he’s already begun drafting out how he’s going to explain this to the people in his life. He hadn't even considered not raising his own kid.
“So, your plan right now is- I can’t remember the word- have other people to raise baby?”
“Adoption yes, that’s what I’ve been thinking.”
“You would have baby and what, send to orphanage not see it again?” His voice comes out harder than he means it to.
“Um lots of families want babies, I’ve found a few organizations who could introduce us to couples so we could have an agreement in place before its born.” She bites down on her left thumbnail thinking for a few seconds before continuing “I don’t know if I want to be around after. I haven’t thought much about it, this is all so new, I only found out a week and a half ago I’m sure we could find a family that would be happy for you to be around if that’s what you want.”
He imagines just being Uncle Ilya like he is for his niece. He could show up a few times a year with presents and games and trips to the toy store and playground. He could leave at the end of the day go home to his empty house and clubbing and casual sex. He would not be around to tend wounds and soothe nightmare and read bedtime stories. He thinks of this and thinks it sounds worse than hell.
Next, he thinks of wiping his hands of the whole thing he thinks of helping Shara find a family who can do right by the child and walking away trusting the goodness of strangers that they would raise the child to be kind. He thinks about a child that looks a little bit like him growing up. One day they are watching a hockey game for the first time. They feel drawn to the ice but no one can teach them how to play. Maybe the game they watch is his and he would be a stranger to them.
In his imaginings the child has his eyes (his mother’s eyes), dark brown curls, and freckles. It makes his heart squeeze for too many tangled up reasons for him to unpack.
Fuck what if without him, in some other family, his kid becomes a Voyageurs fan? Cheers for Shane fucking Hollander’s goals and boos his? This thought makes him sure of his decision.
“No,” he says his voice firmer than he expected “if you do not want baby, you do not have to raise baby, but it will not go to strangers it will stay with me.” Barny the Lawyer starts talking again faster. Ilya continues to ignore him in favor of continuing his faceoff with Shara. She sizes him up looking confused and a little bit like she thinks he’s talking shit. She’s no Hollander but the challenge of convincing her he knows what he’s signing up for will do for now.
“Seriously, by yourself?” she asks.
“Da, I’ll figure it out I can afford it.”
“Tests said it’s a girl, and I expect you to handle the medical expenses.”
“I can get you better Doctors than whatever these other families you were thinking of could dream, and daughters are a blessing I’ll spoil her.”
Shara shrugs clearly accepting that she’s not going to talk him out of this easily or not caring that much he can’t tell.
He turns to the lawyer “Hey Barny you know any good law firms where we can handle all the legal stuff at?”
“Um my name is Brad?”
Yeah, fuck this guy.
So that’s that then. Ilya is 23 years old, a notorious playboy, by far his father’s biggest disappointment, and now a single father-to-be by the end of the season if his math is correct.
February 2014 Sochi
Ilya won’t be coming back to Russia this summer because he won’t take a newborn on an international flight. The emotions that causes are to fucking complicated for Ilya to look at.
More of his money is going to practical cars, education funds, trusts, and Shara’s prenatal care than to his brother’s black hole pockets these days so Alexei is being horrible; Ilya has little choice but to be horrible right back. His father is also having more forgetful episodes between his normal lectures, critiques, and rants. Ilya is the only one who seems to worry. No one here was happy about the news of his impending fatherhood and would rather tell him over and over and over again how stupid and careless and embarrassing he is.
Sveta is of course the exception. He’s been dodging her pointed advice and her princess nursery Pinterest board all week. Maybe later, back in the safety of his home in Boston, she can peck at Ilya’s psyche like a bird until Ilyushka spills out and he can do more than just exist minute by minute. He really, absolutely, cannot let her try to make him feel better right now God forbid his father catch a glimpse of the soft little boy everyone pretends died with his mother.
Trapped in Sochi under the watchful eyes of the world and the Russian government three things are true. 1) Ilya is pissed, 2) his brother is pissed, and 3) his father is pissed until he’s confused and blank behind the eyes. Ilya can’t decide which is worse, and he doesn’t even have the familiarity of hockey to fall back on to clear his mind because his team went and lost to fucking Latvia.
Of course, Shane fucking Hollander and his pretty face would corner him during one of the few free moments he’s had since landing in Sochi to wallow in his fear, anger, and misery.
Hollander is always so pale in the dead of winter the soft tan that graces the bridge of his nose and the tops of his shoulders fades as the days march through December and into January; he has less freckles now than when they saw each other last but the ones that stick around all year stand out more stunning than ever. He hates the parts of himself that adore Shane fucking Hollander. He wants to kill the parts of him the purr and long to roll over and present his vulnerable underbelly in response to the gentle way Hollander tries to check on him. He’s been avoiding all thoughts of Hollander and their childish fling. That’s all it was, now that the world has tilted on its axis and Ilya has to set it right, it’s over. Here the man is anyway, despite it all, pressing him on why he hasn’t responded to a stupid text. Hollander acts like the sky isn't falling down around them, but then the sky is not what falls for perfect men like Hollander.
Ilya is tired and pissed and he wants to lash out so he does. He doesn’t regret it until later when he’s hiding from a party with Sveta and Sasha like the teenagers they used to be.
“You know our Ilyukha is going to be a dad soon.” Sveta is Saying to Sasha with that knowing grin she gets when she’s working a crowd or playing a customer. Ilya is used to seeing Sveta use that grin on Sasha. He has always been easily influenced, always the first to jump into sex, drugs, or random acts of stupidity. Ilya wanders if she’s finally trying to put an end to Sasha’s repeated attempts to get back into Ilya’s pants instead of continuing to encourage him. Maybe she’s just laying the groundwork to convince him in a few years to lay of the coke and consider settling down himself one day. Ilya can never keep up with what angle Sveta is working.
“Don’t fuck with me like that Sveta!” Sasha says laughing a little too loud, he is boyish and care free where he’s lounging in a tub.
Ilya doesn’t even have the energy to be pissed at how unbelievable then news is to people anymore. “She’s not fucking with you it wasn't intentional but it’s happening.” Ilya says trying to act like he is in fact very calm and confident about the whole thing.
Sasha gapes at him in shock but recovers quickly “Well my condolences.” He says raising his liquor bottle in a mock cheers gesture.
“Send your condolences to the women of Boston.” Sveta says and the two dissolve into laughter. They've never been better than a couple of hyenas when they get together, and their favorite pass time since they were children has always been making fun if Ilya.
"I don't know why I put up with you two." he says taking a gulp of his drink.
"You don't deserve us Ilya!' they sing back at the same time. Some things never change.
Childishly, Ilya can’t help but think that Hollander would have asked if he was excited or ready. Hollander would have been shocked but offered congratulations anyway.
The conversation moves back to hockey and Sveta’s outline of his post season chances. Ilya’s phone weighs down his pocket the whole time. He thinks about it but doesn’t text Hollander back.
Jane
Oct. 3 12:05AM
Tell me when you get back to your hotel please.
Oct. 3 12:32AM
back now
Glad you made it back safely. Goodnight.
goodnight
Feb. 10 9:16AM
Hey, are you doing ok?
Feb. 12 7:06PM
Hi, I just wanted to apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier?
June 2014 Montreal
Shane is in the Pike’s kitchen after watching Boston win the final. He’s successfully maintaining a light mood in spite of his complicated emotions about Rozanov's win. Hayden is telling a story to J.J., Comeau, and Shane about how he got the girls mixed up at daycare drop off their first day, and the recent fallout in the Pike household when Jackie realized that the daycare had been calling them by the wrong names for over a year.
“So yeah, she’s like really embarrassed I think she’s going to end up moving them to a different place.” Hayden says. He has hand on the back of his neck projecting shame but looking more amused than repentant.
Comeau laughs, slapping Hayden on the back “Well what did she expect asking you to be all Mr. Mom like that?” He asks.
Hayden’s eyes widen and flick toward the living room where Jackie is still watching the after-game coverage with J.J.'s girlfriend and Comeau's wife. Knowing the Pike’s parenting philosophy and Jackie's history with calling out bullshit Shane thinks Hayden is probably checking to see if he’ll need to diffuse another confrontation between his teammate and his wife.
Shane and J.J. lock eyes while Comeau is distracted getting a beer. J.J. makes a face that Shane interprets to mean ‘this guy’s such an ass sometimes but that’s how it goes’. Luckly they are rescued from the conversation by Jackie herself who calls them back to the living room.
“Oh my God, did you guys know about this?” she says gesturing to the paused TV and rewinding a few minutes as the four of them gather.
Hayden stands behind Jackie resting his chin on the top of her head and winding his arms around her waist, J.J. perches on the arm of the chair his girlfriend is resting in, Comeau sits on the couch next to his wife. Shane lingers behind the couch leaning to rest his forearms on the back.
Jackie hits play and they see Boston’s second alternate captain Victor St. Simon look dazed as he talks about the season, the final, and how excited they are to bring the cup home to Boston. Raucous celebrating is happening all around him.
“Why don’t they have Rozanov doing this interview.” Shane wanders out loud.
Any speculation is paused as the celebrating on the TV suddenly hits a new fever pitch as in the background Rozanov is suddenly being hoisted into the air as team cheers around him. Rozanov himself is an anomaly as he looks surprising sober for the captain of the team that just won the final, he’s also already in street clothes, and his hair is wet like he went straight from the ice to the showers not because he’s covered in sweat, tears, and champagne. He is yelling demanding to be put down which is what distracts St. Simon from his rambling.
“Shit,” he says to himself then calling to Rozanov “hey Rozy did it happen?”
Rozanov seems to have given up his complaining and nods at St. Simon from his perch on his teammate’s shoulders. He has had a hand covering his mouth trying hard to hide his massive grin as but seems to give up as his team jostles him around.
“6 pounds 8 ounces, born five minutes before the end of the third period.” Rozanov yells back the men lifting him cheer again louder at his words and almost drop him in their excitement.
Eventually Rozanov is released and then shuffled to the door by Clifford Marlow, also in street clothes, carrying his own and Rozanov’s bags. The two men make their way toward the exit. Rozanov is back to hiding his grin behind his hand; Shane doesn’t know why he would do that when it transforms his face so completely; seeing that smile makes you feel like you are watching the sun peaking over the horizon on a winter morning.
The cameras in the locker-room pick-up Marlow talking to Rozanov as they leave “Now I gotta get Cap to the hospital on the biggest night in hockey, only your kid man, already crashing parties, you got your work cut out for ya.”
Shane thought he had complicated emotions watching Rozanov hoist the cup; he's a bit ashamed of the way he feels a bit like throwing up now. He and Rozanov are casual. Rozanov only does casual. These two facts don’t necessarily impact each other but they have built the delicate scaffolding Shane has constructed around this thing they do. He can’t pine away for something impossible if Rozanov wouldn’t be an option even if it was possible. Becoming a dad is decidedly not casual and that throws Shane more than he’s willing to acknowledge even in the privacy of his own mind.
So maybe Rozanov has never done commitment before, but a baby and presumably said baby's mother offer a security net that Shane actively contributes to the need for. He can admit looking at it all logically that it’s perfect. Who would accuse a man of liking to suck dick when he has a whole kid to prove that he likes pussy. It’s so perfect that Shane is a little jealous that he’s not the one celebrating the birth of a child right now. Maybe after Shane finally brings the cup back to Montreal, he should actually get serious about settling down. He’ll meet a woman who can make him laugh, get married, have a few kids, and put this experimenting with Rozanov phase behind him.
He feels sick because he has been excusing Rozanov's pissy behavior and radio silence for months, blaming the stress of the Olympics that lead right into this playoff series. They never text during the playoffs not until Boston or Montreal is out so he’s spent five long months thinking that of course they haven’t been texting they’ll pick back up in the summer like they always do. Shane has been oblivious while Rozanov has been sitting on the perfect reason to end this thing between them for good and has chosen at every step not to make that clear. He was probably picking names while laughing at how pathetic Shane is. Now he has to recontextualize and try and pick up on the hints he’s been missing; it’s something he’s had a lot of practice in at least.
When Shane was young, sometime during that three-year stretch where hockey evolved from being the thing he loved to do most in the world into the thing that defined his world Shane went to the park. He came home with tears in his eyes, a lump in his throat, and a brand-new wound on his soul. He told his parents that he had spent an hour happily playing with other kids thinking he was making friends only to realize that they were making fun of him the whole time. His dad had held him while he cried.
Once he was out of tears and had drunk the glass of water and eaten the orange his mom had set in front of him, she took him by the shoulders and said just one thing "Shane sweetheart in this family we’re direct, the only game we play is hockey, and we always play clean. Some people respect us for that and some people don’t but we don’t ever waste our light on the people who don’t."
Her words that day hadn’t exactly helped him make friends but he stopped agonizing as much over every unspoken little thing he was slow to pick up on, and learned quickly that having a reputation as an unsociable, straightforward robot means sometimes all he has to do is ask a bland ‘what do you mean by that?’ to shut someone up. Still, he carries a scar on his soul from that day, right next to the first time someone called him a faggot and the day him mom explained that he’d have to work twice as hard to prove himself on a hockey team just because he’s not white.
He gives himself five seconds to feel frustrated and embarrassed that Rozanov would rather ghost him than just tell him they were ending their thing and explain why, then he gives himself three more seconds because he realizes that he'd thought of the hookups as ‘their thing’. He has nothing to be embarrassed about he decides after. Shane’s inability to take a hint is the worst kept secret of the MLH if Rozanov wants to play games he should have picked someone who knows how to play more than hockey, and if he wanted to be left alone Rozanov should have told him to fuck off.
He hears Jackie murmuring to Hayden “Poor girl I can’t imagine doing it by myself, but hell I can’t imagine asking you to sit out the final either.”
“I would have.” Hayden whispers back.
“Well, you wouldn't have been the captain.” she says glancing at Shane.
He hears J.J. talking to Comeau next. “Fuck what kind of woman do you think it takes to lock down that asshole?” They both wear matching looks of disbelief.
“What you think he’s with his baby mama? No way Rozanov is not the settling down type I'd put money on that.” Comeau says.
“I don’t know Rozanov seemed pretty happy I didn’t even know the man could look that happy, and we watched him win the cup like an hour ago.”
“Shit imagine the child support.”
“Imagine the wedding.”
Shane thinks about October, racing upstairs and a kiss in the stairwell after, as an ugly pit of jealousy settles in his stomach. He debates texting Rozanov one last olive branch, decides not to, then does it anyway in the bathroom thirty minutes later.
Jane
Oct. 3 12:33AM
Glad you made it back safely. Goodnight.
goodnight
Feb. 10 9:16AM
Hey, are you doing ok?
Feb. 12 7:06PM
Hi, I just wanted to apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier?
May 15 7:30AM
Now that Montreal is officially out, I wanted to wish you luck in the playoffs.
Not that I’m rooting for you I just think you’ll need luck.
June 17 11:35PM
Fuck I just saw. What a big night congratulations!
AnnaBananna@Anna_Lester94
Can you imagine skipping the birth of your child to play a dumb game 🤮 Ladies, men aint shit.
MayaRozanova@AmayaSaidSo
@Anna_Lester94 For real! I’m low key so disappointed in Ilya💔 like congratulations I guess but think of how scared his partner must have been by herself
IlyaRozanovCertifiedDILF@hockey_gay81
@Anna_Lester94 @AmayaSaidSo Maybe we shouldn’t make assumptions about the lives of celebrities we don’t know?? Just a thought guys.
The_inherent_eroticism_of_the_faceoff@Rozalow_girl
I’m I the only one who doesn’t buy Ilya having a girlfriend? Where is this woman who just had his child?? Dare I suspect Surrogacy??? Rozalow went to the hospital together???
Liam_thach@LiamThatcher86
@Rozalow_girl Literally shut up. The dudes a player. He probably just knocked a girl up on a one-night stand. She’d better hope she can afford a good lawyer to sue for support. Absent father in the making.
The_inherent_eroticism_of_the_faceoff@Rozalow_girl
@LiamThatcher86 And how do you know anything about what kind of father he is?
HockeyVStheGayAgenda@Shayden_Pikander
@Rozalow_girl I mean Rozanov has a reputation and he did miss the birth of his kid. Just to be fair.
Yo_Marry_Me_Ilya_Rozanov@Emmaline2015
😻 I’m In Love! He looks so happy in the locker room video. I bet he’s already spoiling his daughter rotten! 💕💕💕💕
AnnaBananna@Anna_Lester94
@Emmaline2015 Lol girl this is not it! This man was fucking around with his buddies instead of supporting his wife while she pushes a baby out of her vag 🤡
IlyaRozanovCertifiedDILF@hockey_gay81
@Anna_Lester94“Fucking around with his buddies” while the man is at WORK winning THE MLH CUP and skipping all of the celebrations and the parade to go straight to the hospital after. Girl fuck you just say you’re a hater 🙄
June 2014 Boston
Ilya is 24 years old, a reformed playboy, by far his father’s biggest disappointment, an MLH Cup winning champion and a single father to in his opinion the most perfect baby to have ever been a baby.
Viktoriya Rozanov, Vikulya to Ilya and Sveta and Tori to his English-speaking teammates, was born with a head of dark blond hair that doesn’t curl so much as stick up in every direction like gosling down. He’s been assured by Victor’s wife Lottie that it’s too early to know what it will do when she’s older so he manages it for now by putting her in a rotation of their growing collection of baby hats with bear ears. She has chubby pink cheeks and a cute little nose; he has again been told that, if she gets them, freckles will probably not develop until she is older. For now, her eyes are the blue gray that apparently all babies have at first but Cliff’s wife Jess says the shade they are now means she’ll probably have light eyes. She has all ten fingers and toes; he knows this because he counts them for her in Russian every morning.
Shara exited his life as quickly as she’d entered. After being discharged from the hospital and signing all the paperwork to relinquish her rights she was gone just like she planned. She’d left him an email address and phone number ‘in case Viktoriya ever needs bone marrow or a kidney or something’. She left Vikulya a folder of medical history, some family pictures, a few letters, and a promise to be available when the girl was older ‘in case she ever has questions and wants to talk’. Ilya doesn’t think he will ever understand the woman who gave him his daughter, but he doesn’t think it matters all that much at this point. He respects her commitment to her choices at the very least even if he thinks the worst choice in the world is not seeing this little girl every day.
Ilya has learned in his daughters first week of life that his days parenting a newborn are going to consist of checking Google every day to see if something is normal, debating going to the pediatrician every time she makes a noise that sounds like she is dying even though Google tells you its normal, and cleaning up a lot of shit.
He sends pictures of her to Sveta, his team, and the small group chat made up of some of the wives of the more veteran players that took pity on him when he started asking around for baby care books about 6 months before his lapochka was due; he always gets complements in response.
Ilya is doing good. He has replaced his Porsche Boxster with a Porsche Cayenne. Replaced his old school middle aged Russian Manager who gave stupid advice with a cool millennial American manager who writes his important social media posts for him and talks to him about things like personal branding, sponsorship opportunities, and immigration lawyers like she trusts him to keep up.
He’s perfect, his kid is more than perfect, everything is perfect. It doesn’t matter that his father forgets to ask about Vikulya when he calls because he is too busy, asking where Ilya's mother is, yelling about a game he lost nearly five years ago, or telling him that he shouldn't have let San Francisco score at all during the final.
Opinion
Guest Essay
Dedication or Negligence? Ilya Rozanov's Controversial Participation in the 2014 MLH Finals.
Written by Natalia White
Lisa Roberts 6/19 2:45PM
Subject: Baby announcements and statements
Hi Ilya,
Don’t worry about replying to this I know you’re busy right now. Attached are some statements and captions we talked about this morning. I went ahead and sent several for you to pick between. Hopefully we’re hitting this at the right time to quiet some of the speculation about your personal life. Feel free to edit the wording or combine some of these to make it sound like you as long as you are sticking mostly to this. I trust you. Re: Personal branding, don’t worry!!!!! It’ll be a process to move you away from the party boy image you've been going with but I know we can make it happen. Best to get you and your friends posting before the end of the week.
I’ll schedule a meeting next week to talk awards night/plan MVP speech w/you.
Rest up,
Lisa
Attachment: RozbbStatdoc
Sveta visits the day after he brings Vikulya home offering him a plush pink teddy bear and a pair of tiny Adidas sneakers that Ilya coos at grinning. Sveta does her due diligence of holding, kissing and feeding Vikulya a bottle before passing her back to Ilya as soon as she starts fussing. While Ilya changes a diaper and gets his daughter settled on her play mat for tummy time Sveta empties and fills his dishwasher, empties his trash bins, and moves his wet clothes from the washer to the dryer. He gives her a look from his spot on the floor when she sits back down.
“You don’t like kids?” He asks letting Vikulya’s little baby noises soothe him.
“I like kids, I don’t like babies, I’m making an exception for yours.” She replies.
He hums in acknowledgment “I’m resting my eyes wake me in five minutes so she can go down for a nap.”
She wakes him in thirty Vikulya asleep in her arms.
Svetlana Vetrova @Sveta_Than_U
June 20th
[image description: a shirtless Ilya sleeps on his back on a play mat next to a baby on her tummy in a pink onesie and a purple hat with little bear ears. Her face is not visible to the camera]
Feels like yesterday you’d talk me into skipping study hall so that we could smoke on the playground. Today I watched you sing your daughter to sleep with your mother’s favorite lullaby. Both then and now I have never been happier to call you my best friend. Love you Ilyukha.
He’s about three weeks into fatherhood when he calls Cliff at 3:00AM in tears demanding to be put on speaker because Vikulya started crying at noon the day before and hasn’t stopped since.
“I think I am horrible father, probably she is dying.” He says to the phone as he desperately bounces his distraught baby.
Cliff’s wife Jess responds “Now that is very dramatic baby, have you checked all of her fingers and toes to make sure she doesn’t have a hair wrapped around any?”
Jessica Parks is a retired beauty queen, was raised somewhere in the southern United States and has a thick accent that Ilya hadn't fully understood when he met her as a rookie. Jess is also a pediatric nurse and has become Ilya's impulse control since his daughter was born when it comes to matters of taking her to the doctor every day over one fear or another.
“Yes” he snaps petulantly “I remember when that happened to Riley.”
“Might just be colic then.” Cliff offers sounding sympathetic but ultimately like he wants to go back to bed.
“The fuck is a colic and how do I make it stop?” Ilya asks desperate.
Theres a long, loaded pause then Jess speaks “We’re going to come over and help, baby, give us about fifteen minutes to load up Riley.”
The Marlow-Parks family arrives 20 minutes later all still in pajamas and slippers. Cliff has their sleeping three-year-old slung over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes and moves to settle him on the couch while Jess approaches where Ilya is sitting on the floor with the still crying Vikulya. His back is pressed against the coffee table and his neck is arched so that the top of his head rests on the glass surface. Jess scoops the baby from his arms without asking and presses a kiss to his forehead before walking towards the stairs.
“Tori and I are going to go have some girl time in her room you take a breather baby.” She says without looking at him.
Cliff sits next to him on the floor and together they listen to the quiet muffled sounds of Vikulya’s crying and Jess’s cooing filtering from above.
“You alright man?” Cliff asks eventually, concern evident in his voice.
“Da Marly, I’m fine.” Ilya says flatly.
“Cool.” He lets them sit in silence for another minute before he starts talking again “You know when me a Jess first decided to try and have a kid her only condition was that I go to therapy first.”
“Oh really, why is that.” Ilya asks thankful that at least Cliff is trying to hide whatever well-meaning advice he’s trying to give here in the veneer of a normal conversation.
“Well, I don’t like talking about it but my home life growing up was rough and Jess was on some shit about like becoming a parent forces you to face things about your childhood and parents and stuff I’m not entirely sure man. At the time I thought I was a lode of crap so I wasn't paying much attention, but I went because she was also doing it and I wanted her to be comfortable starting a family.” He laughs “I actually ended up going way longer than she did like a full year and a half before Riley was born then for about 6 months after.”
“I didn’t know that.” Ilya says quietly.
“Yeah, nobody on the team really talks about that kind of thing it’s a little embarrassing to just bring it up.” Cliff says with a casual shrug that doesn’t seem all that casual to Ilya.
“It helped you?” Ilya asks
“Yeah, at least I think it did like the talking about my family stuff was fine but I actually got a lot of help with like how to handle how goddamn scary it is to have a kid and then how guilty you feel when you miss stuff.” Cliff says his tone getting progressively awkward the longer he talks.
“Marly?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s stop talking now okay.”
“Thank fuck.” Cliff laughs shoulders slumping as he says it.
“Jess put you up to that?” Ilya asks.
“Of course she did.” He sighs lovesick look on his face then “Hey can I say the other thing without doing the whole talking around it bit?” he asks.
“Say whatever never stopped you before.”
“Dude, you look like a corpse and you’re stating to smell like one, you need to like look into a night nurse or a nanny or something so you can sleep and like bathe and stuff.”
“Fuck you, Marly!”
Cliff Marlow @CliffordMarlow_BostonBears
June 25th
[image description: Cliff is holding a baby that is swaddled in a green blanket his wife Jess sits next to him both look at the baby with big smiles on their faces. The image is taken from a few feet away and the babies face is obscured]
Godparents reporting for duty!
Jess hosts a monthly ‘WAGs and SADs’ brunch on the third Tuesday of every month. Personally, Ilya thinks the event has kind of a stupid name.
The first time he’d heard about these brunches he was a rookie and he’d asked Jess what WAGs and SADs meant. “Wives and Girlfriends and Sons and Daughters,” Jess had said in one breath then looked around conspiratorially “between you and me I’m hoping I can pressure Cliff into putting off retirement long enough that maybe a gay player will come out on the team so I can start calling them WAGs, SADs, and HABs brunches. I love an acronym.”
Personally, Ilya also thinks his best friend’s wife is a little crazy.
For years Ilya had wandered what magical things take place at the brunches that make them exclusive to the romantic partners and offspring of the Boston Bears hockey team but before Ilya's time the mystery had gotten wrapped up into some superstition or another so it’s ‘bad luck’ for the players to know. He can’t wait for Vikulya to start speaking so that she can be his little spy. This morning though he refrains from needling Jess for details and simply passes Vikulya and her diaper bag over to Jess on the Marlow-Parks front porch. He gives his daughter a quick kiss on the head, and tells Jess that he’ll be back in about three hours.
Forty-five minutes later he’s being led back to a warmly lit office and sitting across from a woman who looks to be in her mid-forties she shakes his hand a small smile already on her face and says in Russian “It’s good to meet you Ilya my name is Sofia today we’re mostly going to be getting to know each other.”
Ilya nods talking a breath.
Ilya Rozanov @Rozanov_81
June 28th
[image description: a shot of a tiny hand holding one of Ilya’s fingers. What little of the babies face that can be seen in the image is out of focus but you can see that she’s wrapped in a fluffy pink baby blanket]
Little Viktoriya surprised us all by arriving early and very fast on June 17th. She got to watch her father’s team win the MLH Cup the first minutes of her life. An exciting Birthday week for me!
I am seeing some talk online so I will make a small statement in response. The decision for me to not be in the delivery room was made 8 months ago by Viktoriya’s mother. I am just lucky to have fun important job to distract me from the stress. The specifics my family structure and dynamics are private, while I may be a public figure my daughter is not so I hope her privacy can be respected.
Okay, I’ll be going back to perfecting being boring dad now. See you next season!
July 2014 Las Vegas
Backstage at the MLH awards watching Hollander fall to pieces under sickly fluorescent bathroom lighting is when Ilya suspects he may have a problem. He’s exhausted after the grueling marathon of the playoffs straight into the sleep deprived state of life with a newborn. He has never spent more than a few hours away from his lapochka and now she’s with her nanny for a whole weekend.
The full day of flights and layovers just to get from Boston to Las Vegas was bad enough. He has been checking his phone every 5 minutes since the second he was out of his driveway just in case. Then he had to get on stage make nice with Hollander for the cameras all the while acting like he is not painfully aware that even the drastic changes in his life this year haven’t been enough to do what he’d hoped and shake him of this bone deep longing for something he can never ask for and Hollander can never offer.
Ilya is a weak, weak man though, no matter the hopelessness of his affection, his recent commitment in therapy to make decisions that 'serve his mental health', or the distance he has so painstakingly enforced between them this winter couldn't keep him from following, and can’t prevent him from pushing now.
It’s the first time Ilya has felt anything like his old self in months, it’s addicting, and he is starting to think that maybe if he pushes just right Hollander can breathe that old life back into him just for a few hours. Maybe he can remember what it feels like to know what he’s doing. Maybe he left something behind of the Ilya from before fatherhood in Hollander. Maybe if he’s very lucky Hollander will give it back to him tonight.
Hollander is raging at him a bit but the fight is already morphing into frustration and Ilya can work with frustration “You won’t even acknowledge that I exist unless there’s a camera pointed at us then it’s for some stupid clown show, you have your fucking life with your girlfriend and your baby so yeah what the fuck do you want from me?” Hollander spits out.
Ilya takes a moment to appreciate the jealous little tears in Hollander’s eyes “I don’t have a girlfriend.” He says.
“Fuck you… your fiancée or wife or whatever she is.” Hollanders eyes have sharpened a bit as they talk tentatively slipping into their old antagonistic play. Good Ilya still makes him curious.
“Never had either of those,” he says easily flashing the teasing little smirk that always pisses Hollander off “I know you don’t have much experience but these days fathers don’t come knocking demanding dowry as soon as you put your dick in a woman, and baby does not come out with engagement ring attached you do know this yes?”
“What the fuck do you want Rozanov?”
“I want you to suck my dick.”
Jane
Feb. 10 9:16AM
Hey, are you doing ok?
Feb. 12 7:06PM
Hi, I just wanted to apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier?
May 15 7:30AM
Now that Montreal is officially out, I wanted to wish you luck in the playoffs.
Not that I’m rooting for you I just think you’ll need luck.
June 17 11:35PM
Fuck I just saw. What a big night congratulations!
July 20 10:45PM
Penthouse 1
The problem makes itself apparent much later.
Ilya realizes after ‘take off your clothes’, and ‘I want to watch you’. He realizes after ‘just a lot of windows’, and ‘you, I need you’.
Ya tebya lyublyu he thinks, when he and Hollander collapse sweaty and boneless onto the bed and he hides his face in the nape of the other man’s neck for just a moment he tells himself. Ya tebya lyublyu he thinks, when in that small private place, he lets himself enjoy the feel of every inch of Hollanders strong back pressed against his chest, and his slowing pulse where Ilya’s dick is still softening inside him. Ya tebya lyublyu he thinks, when Hollander’s gasps for air give way to a contented little hum as he settles deeper into Ilya’s arms and clinches around him like he wants to keep him there forever. Ya tebya lyublyu he thinks, and all of the carefully boxed up emotions he’s locked down and set aside since the last time they were together hit him in one wave.
Ilya is weak and pathetic, but he is very good at a few things. One of them is crying silently. So, when uncontrollable tears start pouring from his eyes he gets away with a few minutes of trying unsuccessfully to calm himself down before Shane becomes aware of the dampness on his neck.
“Hey, hey, what’s happening what’s wrong.” Hollander says twisting to try and look at Ilya.
The fear on his face is too much for Ilya’s heart and the peace that had descended on the room is broken.
Ilya pulls away from the bed with a choked. “Sorry.”
He finds himself in the bathroom between one blink and the next. He’d somehow tied off and disposed of the condom with his shaky hands, and is staring into his still crying face in the mirror. He feels a little bit outside of his body but also a little bit like his soul is wearing his body like a size too small sweater. Fuck he’s going to have to tell his therapist about this.
Ilya can hear Hollander calling for him and knocking on the door but it sounds distant like Ilya has cotton in his ears. “Rozanov, please I just need you to open the door so that I know that you're okay, please you’re really scaring me right now.”
Hollanders fear is once again what sends him moving as his body immediately whirls to open the door in response to the scared pleas.
Hollander is on him like a limpet before Ilya can even begin to try and soothe away the terror and tears on the other man’s face. Ilya blinks and then he’s back in the bedroom sitting on the edge of the bed naked, with an equally naked Shane fucking Hollander in his lap.
Hollander is rocking them back and forth while gentle gasps shake his body every few seconds. In between breaths he hums a series different extended notes in some nonsensical order Ilya can’t begin to think of as a melody. Eventually he seems to favor a pitch and lets out one continuous hum only broken up by his lessening gasps. The strange little ritual settles something frantic in Ilya’s chest, but makes the bone deep tightness there all the more unbearable.
Ya tebya lyublyu he thinks, and gasps out “Shane” into the crook of his lover’s neck as an honest to God sob tears its way out of his body, and the dam is broken.
He’s crying horrible ugly tears that somehow once fit better into Ilyushka’s scrawny twelve-year-old body than they do now in Ilya’s now twenty-three-year-old body.
The tears dry up quickly considering all the emotions they carried and the room falls silent again except for Shane’s humming. He’s not doing the single note now or the incoherent nonsense the humming almost circles from higher to lower over and over.
“What is that you’re doing?” Ilya asks wincing at how creaky his voice sounds.
“The Humming?” Shane asks then answers before Ilya can confirm. “Just this thing my mom taught me to do as a kid to help me calm down from big emotions. I can stop if you want.”
“Is okay, I like.”
They stay like that for a time until Ilya feels his legs begin to smart from the weight of Shane in his lap. He pulls away from the embrace a bit so that he can look at Shane’s face. They end up staring at each other for longer than is probably normal.
Ya tebya lyublyu he thinks, and puts on a small smile.
“You can let me go I won’t go hide again I’m okay.” He says clearing his throat.
At the same time Shane knocks the wind out of him by breathing in softest voice “Ilya…”
“Yes Shane?” He responds testing the feel of the name in his mouth.
“Um, before- or earlier I guess well we…” Shane starts then trails off embarrassment clouding his face.
“We what?” Ilya asks desperate for Shane’s voice, his words, he wants nothing in this world more than he wants a legend that will tell him how to read every thought in this beautiful man’s head.
“We- we didn't kiss I was wander-” Shane makes a small alarmed noise when Ilya pulls him into a heated desperate kiss before Shane can finish the question.
Shane melts into his arms with a pleased whimper. Ya tebya lyublyu he thinks wishing Shane could read his mind. Fuck the distance, fuck safety, and fuck everything else in the world tonight. Shane Hollander just asked for a kiss, Ilya will shoulder the pain tomorrow if he can provide for the night.
They end up face to face on the bed legs tangled together and feet sort of half hanging off because they're lying in the wrong direction. Ilya has never felt so content to just kiss and be kissed. He’s going to be exhausted on his flight home tomorrow but he doesn’t care about anything except the press of Shane’s lips to his.
It’s embarrassing when it’s his own yawn that interrupts them. “Sorry I’m always so tired now.” He says as Shane’s lips press quick kisses to his forehead.
“I bet.” Shane says. The same fond smile is on his face that Ilya remembers kissing in a stairwell only a few months ago it fades just the smallest bit before he continues “Should we talk?”
Ilya in a bid to distract rolls away from Shane groaning dramatically “Hollander I don’t think English has enough words to answer all the questions I see buzzing around you.”
Shane rolls his eyes “I think I’ve earned like at least three maybe four.” He says.
Ilya glances out the widows watching the glittery city still in motion like the world didn’t end just 8 short months ago and then a second time earlier tonight when Ilya finally put a name to the feelings that have been growing since ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke here’. Damn now he wants a cigarette.
“Fuck it,” He says. “you’ve been a good boy tonight ask your three questions I’ll answer… probably.”
Shane mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “Fucking asshole.” before asking “Seriously, how are you- like all the time not just tonight?”
“You worried about me Hollander?” Ilya asks raising his eyebrows and turning his head to look at Shane again just so he can see the cute wrinkle between his eyebrows that he gets when he’s focused. One day Shane will get old and gray and that wrinkle will be there all the time.
Shane is glaring, a little fire returning to him “Fuck off man you’ve been radio silent for months you just had a kid and that earlier was scary.” He snaps before shaking his head, taking a breath, and starting again calmer “I thought you might like… I don’t know hurt yourself or something so yeah, I-I know were not like friends or whatever but I am worried about you and unless I leave this room believing that you're going to survive the summer I’m going to figure out some way to call in an anonymous wellness check on you or something.”
Ilya snorts. “You are only second man to suck my dick more than once Hollander, probably we can say we are friends when it is just us.” He says teasingly before groaning and rolling his eyes when Shane’s only response is a look that says ‘You’re not getting out of this, asshole’.
Giving up his attempts to distract Ilya rolls his head away from Shane to look as the ceiling before responding “I am, probably, bad right now has been difficult season, but is... work in progress is the phrase, yes?” he asks before continuing when Shane nods “I am getting help to stop… carrying so much alone so I will be, probably, good soon.”
Shane’s hand reaches out to trace swirls down Ilya’s his arm “That’s good,” he says to his fingers “and everything is okay with your- your daughter?” he stumbles over the words your daughter like Ilya and father are two ideas that don’t quite fit together. He’s not even that wrong the last time Ilya felt like his skin fit him he was hoisting The Cup over his head.
“Vikulya is perfect eats constantly, throws up all over me, refuses to sleep some nights unless we ride in expensive German car.” Ilya says hearing the pride in his own voice even through the exhaustion.
“Sounds like a baby,” Shane says then pauses that fond little smile audible in his voice “well except for the car bit but that just sounds like you.”
“Yes, is most wonderful thing I have ever done and worst thing I have ever done. I will show you pictures later.” Ilya says looking at Shane again.
They lapse into silence for a time until Ilya breaks it longing to keep Shane’s smile on him “You have one more question Shane.”
To Ilya’s dismay Shane’s smile drops they look into each other’s eyes silent for a long time until Shane’s eyes break away to roam Ilya’s face and settle on his chin.
“It’s not just me, right?” Shane breaths almost impossible to hear.
Ilya thinks that there must be a monster with teeth in in stomach. Something like that would explain the deep burning desire Ilya feels in this moment to unhinge his jaw and swallow Shane whole.
“Would it be a good thing or a bad thing if I said it’s not?” Ilya responds just a quiet.
Shane must read the truth in his non answer as something complex and painful crosses his face. He has tears in his eyes he’s refusing to let spill out.
“Answering my question with a question doesn’t count I want a redo.” Shane says.
A bitter snort escapes Ilya “Go on then.”
“Are you going back to Russia this summer?” Shane asks like that’s a logical segue and it probably is in his neurotic little head.
“No, I don’t want Vikulya on a plane until her immune system is stronger, next year probably.” Ilya says
“You’ll be in Boston.” Shane says the smile coming back to his face.
“I think we need to make rules about leading statements.”
“No wait,” Shane whines “just one more question then I’ll stop.”
“Hollander.”
Shane had a faux innocent expression on his face as a ignores Ilya’s warning “If I was going to be in the area for a week maybe even two and I sent you a text maybe asking if you knew a place a lonely girl in Boston could stay…”
“I might send you my address.” He says while ya tebya lyublyu repeats in his mind.
“I might text.”
Jane
July 21 5:30AM
Boarding. I’m so tired. 😴
Let me know when you get home please.
July 21 6:00AM
Who’s fault is that Mr. 20 Questions
Boarding
July 21 2:00PM
Fuck you😑
*Whose
Made it home. Going to sleep for the next week.
Let me know when you get home please.
July 21 7:30PM
Home❤️
[Image description: Viktoriya asleep in her bassinet. She is wearing a sleep sack with a purple cartoon bear pattern.]
July 22 5:30AM
❤️