Chapter Text
It was mid-October, and the summer had only just begun to withdraw. In New York’s Riverside Park, the leaves that fell before Ilya’s feet were still green around the edges. He kept running, trying to not think too hard about the weather. Global warming means ice melting, he once drunkenly panicked to Svetlana, and ice melting means I am out of a job. She always said he was cuter when he wasn’t thinking.
But he wasn’t being paid to be cute. The Admirals’ season was already off to a rough start. Ilya needed strategies and solutions, and fast. His light jog had turned into a frustration-fueled sprint up and out of the park. He continued two blocks down 110th street. At the corner of Broadway, he finally stopped to catch his breath. Crowds of tourists and nannies pushing strollers and Columbia students rushed around him, treating him as if a mere roadblock in their quest to be anywhere else. This was the one blessing of New York. Here, nobody cared who he was. He could brood and muse in relative obscurity, completely absorbed into the city’s critical mass. He spotted a new smoothie shop through a break in the crowd. It was completely empty, both a boon and a rarity in these parts. On a whim, Ilya entered.
“Hello, welcome to Smoothie King,” a man droned, “for our grand opening please enjoy a drink at 10% off, 15% if you can show a valid student ID.”
Ilya looked up. The barista was, with jet-black hair, lightly tanned, with freckles spread beneath equally dark, intense eyes, possibly the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.
“Wow.” He accidentally exhaled.
The barista looked startled. “What?”
Ilya cleared his throat. “Wow, you seem very enthusiastic about your job. Mister…” He leaned on the counter, making sure to take a long, slow look up to the barista’s name tag, “…Shane? Is there anything here that is good, Shane?”
Shane returned his gaze and flushed. Ilya stopped himself from biting his own lip. “Honestly? No. Everything here is pretty bad.”
Ilya couldn’t help but laugh. Shane grimaced.“Oh, really? Then what’re you drinking?” He gestured to the half empty cup on the counter next to Shane.
“That’s the uh, blueberry smoothie. But I add a banana to bring it up from inedible to tolerable?”
“A banana, huh?” Ilya stopped himself from adding anymore innuendo. “I’d like some of that, please.”
“Just a banana? Or…”
Ilya chuckled. “The smoothie, Shane, with the banana.”
Shane flushed, again. “Right. Yeah, coming right up.”
Shane turned towards the smoothie bar. Ilya stayed leaning over the counter, admiring the view. Worn plaid sleeves were rolled up, exposing surprisingly nimble hands. Shane’s back muscles flexed through the seemingly loose shirt. Ilya’s gaze drifted further down to Shane’s aged, blue Levi jeans. He definitely works out, Ilya thought. The blender shut off, and two loud bangs on the counter snapped Ilya out of his trance.
Shane turned around and handed over the finished drink. “Thanks for that, by the way. For ordering something. I know I’m not the best salesman.”
Ilya smirked and took a long sip, making sure to keep eye contact. “Yes, you are a horrible salesman. But, you are much better at making smoothies.” He took another sip. “And, you are funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
“Even better.” He handed over his credit card. Shane must’ve read his name, but casually continued with the transaction until handing the card back over.
“Here you go, Mr. Rozanov.”
“Please, just Ilya.”
“Okay, Ilya. Hope you’re not having a rough day, after last night’s game?”
“Oh no, please don’t tell me you’re an Admirals fan.”
“I-I mean, I like hockey. I used to play some myself. I just happened to see the Admirals game last night. But I’m, uh, more of a Metros fan.”
“Ouch.”
“I-I didn’t mean it that way, I’m not from around here. I’m from Canada.”
Ilya smiled again, this time more gently. “I am just messing with you, Shane from Canada. It is okay, I am not from around here either.”
“Okay.” Shane blushed a deeper, proper rose. Ilya wished he could photograph it, but opted to simply remember it forever. “You probably don’t need advice from anyone, but if I could just say...” Ilya nodded,“…the new guy, your left flank. He’s good, but he’s still green. Usually guys like him aren’t fast enough, but he’s going too fast. You gotta slow him down, keep him closer to you. You can practice plays with slow figure skating counts. That way, he gets a better feel for how you move, then he starts to anticipate your actions, and then you’re no longer chasing after him on the ice.”
Ilya paused, eyes widened. The socially acceptable moment for a witty retort came and passed. Shane opened his mouth as if to apologize, and Ilya held up a hand to stop him. “You talk more like a coach than a fan. Which team did you say you played for?”
“Oh. I didn’t. I wasn’t on some big NHL team. And I left pretty early in my career. Medical condition.”
“That is a shame. May I have your phone?” Shane reluctantly handed it over. “What do you do now? Aside from selling bad smoothies?”
“I’m doing a PhD in English at Columbia.”
Ilya whistled. “An Ivy League PhD? Why are you working here?”
“They don’t exactly pay us enough to make rent.”
“Ah.” Ilya handed the phone back. “My number is saved as Lily. I can save your number under a nickname too, for your privacy. How about, Jane?”
“Are there any other options?”
“Okay, fine, you will not be a woman.”
He didn’t understand why Shane laughed at that. “I certainly won’t.”
“How about, Mr. King? Short for Smoothie King.”
“It’s better than Jane.”
“Okay, Shane From Canada. If you feel like coming back to hockey, or just get tired of being poor, text me.”
“Thanks, maybe I will.”
“I hope so.”
That Shane was either a miracle worker or an angel. The Admirals’ performance improved drastically over the next two weeks. Ilya’s rough start as captain was nearly forgotten, with the team finally starting to mesh together. At this rate, ESPN was saying, this was the Admirals team bound to win the cup. All Ilya wanted to do was see Shane again, to thank him for his advice. But aside from a, Hey, it’s Shane From Canada! that Ilya sent himself, Shane did not in fact, text.
So, Ilya did what he should’ve done two weeks ago: he told Svetlana everything.
“If you get tired of being poor,” Svetlana mocked him, “text me.” Laying on his couch, Ilya let his phone drop onto his chest. “And you’re seriously surprised he never texted you back?”
Ilya groaned.
Svetlana rolled her eyes. “Fine! Give me your phone.” Ilya grabbed at his phone, and Svetlana only responded with an outstretched hand. Ilya pouted, but acquiesced. He heard the swoosh of a sent text.
“What did you do? Give me my phone!” He swiped it back.
“I texted him.”
“What? Oh no.” Immediately, three little dots popped up. “Oh my god, he’s typing.”
Ilya’s phone pinged. Hey there Ilya. Sorry for not texting earlier, I wasn’t sure I had the right number! Pretty busy, how about you?
Svetlana leaned over Ilya’s shoulder as he eagerly typed away. “You’re welcome,” she sang into his ear, and he waved her off him. After a few minutes, Ilya finally sat up and put away his phone. “So?”
“I’ll go see him at work again, next Wednesday.”
“At work? At the smoothie shop? You’re not going to, I don’t know, take him out or something?”
Ilya hissed. “Svetlana, what do you think of me? I’m a gentleman. I just met the man, let me get to know him a little better. And find out if he even likes men.”
“You’re obsessing over a guy you’re not even sure is gay? Or bi? Okay, I need to see him. Do you have a pic?”
“No, why would I?”
Svetlana rolled her eyes again. “Men. Never had to learn the fine art of Google search.” She pulled out her laptop. “Okay, what do you know about this guy?”
“Uh, his name is Shane.” Svetlana slowly blinked at him. “He’s doing a PhD at Columbia, in English literature.” Ilya quickly added.
Svetlana whistled. “Oh, an intellectual. Not your usual type.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh hey! Is this him?” She turned her laptop towards Ilya, and there was Shane’s profile on his department’s website. Ilya vigorously nodded.“Shit, he’s cute.”
“Yeah, he is.” Svetlana turned her laptop back around. “Hey! I was looking at that!”
“Wait, wait. His last name…Hollander? And you said he’s from Canada?” Their eyes met and widened at the same time.
“Like…Jane Hollander?”
Svetlana nodded. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
“Maybe they’re related?”
“You said Shane used to play hockey, and left because of a medical condition?” Ilya nodded. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out. What if…Shane is Jane?”
“What do you mean? Like, Jane became Shane?”
Svetlana nodded again. “Yeah, Jane Hollander retired after that public breakdown, remember? I’d heard rumors she’d been hospitalized and moved out of Montreal. But to New York, of all places.”
Ilya grew quiet. After a moment, he softly replied, “If that’s true, that’s Shane’s business. He probably came to New York to have some semblance of privacy, some kind of life outside of hockey. All of this,” he gestured around him, “the spotlight, the pressure, is enough to drive anyone crazy. It’s even worse when you have to constantly hide who you are. Whatever’s going on, he can tell me when he’s ready. It wouldn’t change a thing for me, anyway.”
Ilya felt Svetlana’s arms reach around his neck. “Oh, dear Ilya,” She rested her head on his. “America has changed you.”
“I know, I’ve become soft.”
“Not soft, kind. Good. Neither of those are bad things. And you were before. You’re just, a little more free to be yourself now.” She stroked his hair. “Don’t go back to Russia, Ilya. Sit this Olympics out.”
Ilya sighed and leaned back against her. “If it wasn’t for Father, you know I would.”
“You try too hard to please him. You don’t have to do that anymore.”
“It won’t be for much longer, so I might as well.”
Ilya and Shane kept texting, leading up to their meeting. In the meanwhile, the Admirals lost their next three games, all at home. Team morale fell. The following Wednesday, the door chimed as Ilya entered Smoothie King. His slouching made him seem much shorter than his 6’ 3” frame, and his oversized sunglasses couldn’t hide a visible frown.
“Hey!” Shane called from the counter. “Wait there.” Startled, Ilya stayed just outside the door. He watched Shane make a smoothie and place it on the counter. “Here, it’s on the house.”
“What? No, Shane, you did not have to.”
“But I do. You look like shit. Rough week, huh?”
Ilya couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you.” He picked up the drink. “Though I look great. I always do.” Shane rolled his eyes, smiling. “But yes, rough week. How are you?”
Shane sighed. “Tired, but pushing through. I’ve been watching the Admirals games, by the way.”
“Oh?” Ilya smirked. “Are you a fan now?”
Shane scoffed. “Don’t push your luck. Montreal forever, baby.”
“I am not a baby, and never say never.”
Shane chuckled. “I just wanted to see if you took my advice, and if it was helpful at all.”
“It was, for a time. I was going to thank you for that, then last three games happened. Still, thank you for your help, Shane.”
“It was nothing, and trust me, I saw. If I may? Again?” Ilya nodded. “Your goalie, Cameron. If he’s saying he’s not hurt, he’s lying. Rewatch the footage, he’s putting all his weight on his right side. Slow to respond on the left.”
Ilya hissed. “I knew it.” Cameron had taken a pretty rough fall last week after practice. He insisted he was okay and was cleared by the team doctor, but he’d been a little slow since. “But thank you for your advice,” he picked up his cup, “and for this.”
“Sure thing.” Shane replied. “You had a bad enough week, I couldn’t make it worse by making you pay for that.”
Ilya chuckled. “Now you are trying to be funny.” He took a sip. “It is actually not so bad. I will come back for another. But, I will pay next time, and give you a big tip. When are you working again?”
Shane smiled gently. “Same time, same place next week.”
“Great, it is a date.” Ilya winked, and he swore he saw Shane blush again.
For the next three months, Ilya came in every week except when team was away. He’d arrive exactly ten minutes after the start of Shane’s shift. Shane would hand over an already prepared smoothie, and Ilya would eagerly sip it as he and the barista talked about hockey. Usually, they’d focus on the Admirals. They discuss errors, strategies, and the occasional team drama. Sometimes, they’d talk about other professional teams and players.
“So, is Scott Hunter and Kip Grady’s rivalry even real, or is it just for the cameras?” Shane asked. “Grady seems like such a nice guy, I can’t imagine him actually fighting with anyone.”
“It is for the cameras.” Ilya stated calmly, a stark contrast to his usual animated enthusiasm when sharing gossip. Shane raised an eyebrow. “During one of the All-Star games I was in a hotel room next to Scott Hunter. The walls were very thin. I overheard him, uh, talking to Grady after the game. It was very…affectionate, like they were old friends.”
“Ah. Wow, that’s fascinating. They really pull it off the whole rivalry thing for the public. Maybe, they had to do so many events, and photoshoots, and other things as rivals for so long, they somehow became friends?”
Ilya shrugged. “It is possible. But I try to respect their privacy in this matter. I also do not think much about the 2nd and 3rd best players in the NHL.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Of course, why would you when you could see the number one in the mirror?”
“Exactly!” Ilya smiled, mouth open. “You get me. I care more about him, the number one.” He pointed at his own chest. Ilya quickly calmed down, again out of character. Glancing around somewhat nervously, he quietly asked, “And maybe you want to meet with him outside of here? Get dinner sometime?”
“Oh, like hang out? Like…friends?” Shane asked.
Ilya’s face just barely flashed with disappointment. “Yes, sure. Friends. Are you free this weekend?”
“No, sorry. I got a part-time catering gig for a big event this Saturday. We’ll need to prep the night and morning before, and I’ll need Sunday to catch up on work. I’m pretty free next weekend, will you be in town?”
“Oh, I also have an event on Saturday. Fine, we can meet next weekend,” another customer came in and Ilya knew it was his time to go, “but I will talk to you later.”
“Okay, I’ll text you. Bye.” Shane waived as Ilya walked out.