Chapter Text
DECEMBER 2008
Regina, Saskatchewan
International Prospect Cup
This year, the IPC Final is showcasing two of the most talked about prospects of the year. Canada’s Shane Hollander and Russia’s Ilya Rozanov.
First, you’ve got Ottawa's own Shane Hollander. From everything we’ve seen and heard, he may not be the most sociable, but this is the kid with the highest hockey IQ out there.
Incredibly dedicated to the game, and incredibly fast.
Then you’ve got Russia’s Ilya Rozanov. Strong on the puck and a strong skater.
And from everything we heard, he really gets under other players' skin.
Good in his own room, not exactly liked in his opponent’s room…
Ilya flicked his lighter. Damn thing, he just wanted a moment to relax in all the madness of this week, but his stupid lighter wouldn't catch. He needed a cigarette. The tournament was only one week, and it was Ilya's responsibility to make sure the Russian hockey team left with gold. After that it was back to Russia. He was playing well, the best in his division, and if he kept it up, by next year he would be playing in the MLH. Then he’d get to spend most of the year on the other side of the world, away from Russia, away from his family. Away from his leech of a brother. Away from his tyrant of a father.
He was exhausted. His father left him a voicemail during practice and he had yet to listen to it. Even when Ilya’s father is in a different country, he can’t fully escape him. His father’s expectation built like a pressure throughout his chest, like he was filling with hot air, choking on it. If he could only release the pressure, maybe he would stop feeling like he was drowning. Tension built behind his eye as he felt himself being pushed down by the hot air. It was like he was disappearing into himself. He flicked his lighter again.
Ilya felt so alone. He got like this sometimes. The darkness clouded his mind, like he had a concussion, and he was on the verge of falling in deep. If he just stayed vigilante enough, maybe it wouldn’t catch him, it wouldn’t paralyze him. He worked well with his team, smiled and joked, but he couldn’t let them see this dark part of him. They would never respect him if they knew. If they saw past the mask. Sometimes it felt like hockey was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He flicked his lighter once more-
“Ilya Rozanov?” Ilya braced himself, raised his eyes, and froze. He held his breath, taking in the boy in front of him. Those eyes, so deep where they caught on the sunlight. And were those freckles? He had to stop himself from leaning in for a closer look, when the other boy continued, “I’m Shane Hollander, I wanted to introduce myself.”
And that was the moment his lighter caught. He gasped, almost choking in surprise on the smoke. Oh, of course. He knew who Hollander was. Ilya had been watching him practice on the ice just a few hours ago. Had been hearing his name all year, in tandem with his own. And now here he is, offering Ilya his hand.
“Oh, I’m not sure you’re supposed to smoke here,” Hollander said as Ilya grabbed his hand. He had forgotten he was even smoking.
“Okay,” replied Ilya. With his other hand, he quickly pulled the cigarette from his mouth and let it hang between his fingers. He didn’t let go of Hollander.
“You’re an awesome player to watch,” Hollander’s eyes shifted to their hands.
“Yes,” Ilya said.
There was a silence then, and Hollander withdrew his hand slowly. Ilya’s eyes didn’t leave his cheeks, admiring how his freckles look with a rose tint.
“Anyways, I should-”
“Have you eaten?” Ilya interrupted. He didn’t want the conversation to end. Hollander had distracted him from his thoughts. Ilya felt the pressure in his chest release just that little bit, just enough that he could breathe again. For just a moment, the darkness was forgotten.
“Uh, what?” Hollander responded, confused.
“Food. You eat, yes? I am hungry. You will show me where to get good food, Canada Boy.” Ilya shot him a shit-eating grin, trying to wind him up.
Hollander looked away, but when he looked back he had a smile on his face. A real one. This could be fun, Ilya thought. This could be dangerous.
Hollander was taking him to a pizza parlor a few blocks from the rink. Ilya was freezing as they walked over, but he wasn’t about to let him know that. Russians don’t get cold. Of course, Russians also wear gloves if they are going outside for longer than it takes to smoke a cigarette.
They walked in silence for the first few minutes, Hollander tense beside him. Ilya wanted to change that, and figured he needed to be the one to break the silence.
“Where are we going, Hollander? You trying to kill me, hum? Know that is only way Canada will win gold?” He bumped his shoulder against Hollander’s, shooting him another smirk.
“Oh, fuck off!” He sassed on instinct, then blanched, turning his big eyes on Ilya. Oh, god, Hollander was so awkward. It was adorable. Ilya could only keep a straight face for two seconds before bursting into laughter.
“I like you Hollander. You are not so sweet as they say,” Ilya said, with a cheeky smile.
Hollander blushed. “You’re not so mean.”
“Do not say this, I am very mean. Meanest hockey player in the world!” Ilya puffed up his chest and smacked it.
“Nah, I bet you’re secretly a sweetie. I bet parents love you. All yes sir, thank you ma’am,” Hollander bumped into Ilya, disrupting his posturing.
“What is this, sweetie?”
“Oh, uhm, it means you’re nice. Sweet like sugar.”
“You think I am sweet like sugar. Not such a good idea, Hollander. You are wrong, parents do not like me,” He kept his smile facing Hollander, but the hot air in his chest seemed to bubble up.
“What?” Hollander responded, throwing Ilya a confused look.
“I am flattered, but we have not had pizza yet. Would be too soon to meet Mr. and Mrs. Hollander,” Ilya said, holding his hands to his heart.
“Fuck off!” Hollander repeated with a laugh. He darted ahead to round the last corner. The pink was still on his freckled cheeks. Ilya couldn’t help the elation that filled his chest at the sight, smothering the hot air that had built up at the thought of his father. He followed Shane in.
The pizza shop was small. Hollander guided him to a small booth in the back, away from all the windows, where it was noticeably warmer. Shane pulled off his jacket and threw it on one side of the booth, then stood there awkwardly, facing away from Ilya.
Maybe Ilya didn’t think this through. He had been feeling the pressure of this week, from his father, hanging over him. Ilya knew Hollander must be feeling some of that same pressure. Ilya would never admit it aloud, but in many ways Hollander was his equal. And maybe that meant he could understand. Things had been nice on the walk over, and Ilya thought he had gotten Hollander to loosen up. Ilya didn’t mind taking charge, he actually liked having control in that way, but this was a pizza shop in Canada. Nobody spoke Russian here. Ilya didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the other boy.
He shouldn’t have worried, though, because Hollander interrupted his spiral.
“So, what kind of pizza do you like? I’ll go put an order in.” Shane said and motioned for Ilya to climb into the booth.
“Oh…meat. Pepperoni?” Ilya responded, relaxing into the booth.
Shane just nodded and pulled his hat off, heading to the counter. His cheeks were flushed from the cold. Ilya couldn’t look away.
By the time Hollander was sliding into the booth, table number in hand, Ilya had shed off his coat. He kept his hat on, not because his ears were cold, but he just knew his curls would be messed up if he took his hat off. Maybe he wanted to look nice. The wind whistled outside.
Maybe he was a little cold.
“Did your parents travel with you for the tournament? It’s just, I didn’t see anyone sitting with you during practice.”
Ilya shot him a questioning look.
“I noticed you watching me- well, my team while we were practicing. Not that I was paying that much attention. I’ve just been hearing your name a lot for the past few months, and I sat in on your practice earlier, and I just happened to notice you while I was practicing.”
“No.” Ilya interrupted. He lost track of what Shane was saying when he started to ramble. He could answer his question though.
“What?”
“No. My family is not here.”
“Oh, I guess it is a longer trip for them than it is for my parents. I live in Ottawa, that’s still in Canada, but it’s like a 6 hour flight.”
“This I know. You are on Canadian team. This means you are from Canada, yes? Unless they cheat to get second best player on team.”
“Second best,” Hollander scoffed, “I’m second best, who is first best then? Lemaire?”
“Lemaire!?” Ilya said, throwing his hands over his heart, “Do not insult yourself like this. I am only one better than you. Not Lemaire.”
And Hollander giggled, making Ilya’s cocky smile turn into a full forced grin. “Ah! You think this is joke? What is so funny, you do not think you are better than Lemaire?”
“Shut up!” he laughed, throwing a wad of napkins at Ilya's face. “You are not better than me!”
“We will know at end of week maybe?”
“Oh you’re on!”
By the time they were on their way back to the rink, all the awkwardness from the walk to the pizza parlor had vanished. They raced each other back, pushing and shoving like they had known each other for years. Ilya was panting from laughter by the time they slammed through the doors. Of course, Hollander looked barely winded, it was unfair. And then he had the nerve to laugh, saying, “See, this is why you shouldn’t smoke. If you’re this out of breath from a short run.”
“Fuck you, Hollander. Is like I said, it will be easy to win gold. Is good sportsmanship, yes?”
“Hey! Canada doesn't need any help beating you! And I don’t want any handouts. When I beat you, I want it to be because of my skill, not because you ruined your lungs with cigarettes. You better start taking care of yourself.”
Ilya stopped walking for a moment. He didn’t Hollander want to see the way his grin softened. To his back, Ilya replied,
“Okay, Hollander. Maybe for you, I will do this.”
Hollander turned to look at him, but as he opened his mouth to respond, they were interrupted by a group of boys from the Canadian team.
“Hollander! There you are, conspiring with the enemy I see,” says a player with brown hair. Ilya hadn’t bothered to remember his name, so he mustn't be any good.
“Maybe he is bored of current friends, wants a friend who knows how to get puck in the net.”
The brunette kid frowned, and took a purposeful step towards Ilya. He didn’t make it much further than that before Hollander stepped between them, “He’s just trying to rile you up, Carson. Honestly, he’s harmless.”
“He is not! Hollander, do not ruin my reputation. I am very scary on skates!” Ilya retorts.
“Shut up.” hissed Hollander, pushing Ilya lightly on the shoulder.
“I know when I am not wanted,” Ilya said dramatically, pulling back “I should go to my team, I will see again soon?”
“Soon,” Shane replied softly, though his smile seemed to drop a bit.
2008 Canada-Russia Final
It seems that Canada’s Shane Hollander and Russia’s Ilya Rozanov have sparked a friendship this week.
It doesn’t seem to have gotten in the way of their playing, look at that check from Rozanov.
And Hollander keeps the puck. It seems the rivalry is still alive.
We’ll see how that friendship holds up after the MLH draft. These two generational talents are competing for number one.
And a goal from Hollander. But it’s still anyone's game…
The week was just as tiring as Ilya expected, but it was much more fun. Getting to see Hollander on the ice was exhilarating, but exchanging chirps over meals or in between training was even better.
But being on the ice with him, that was something else. Never has he felt so challenged. Never has a match been so charged. This is what hockey should feel like all the time. And playing against Hollander in the final made winning gold that much better. Ilya felt like he really earned it.
When it was all over, and he got to shake Hollander’s hand, he pulled him and clasped his free hand on the other boy’s back. Hollander mirrored his grasp, and for just a moment, they held each other on center ice. He could feel where their clasped hands pressed between them, and his heart rate picked up.
Hollander whispered, “Congratulations, you played a great game.”
“So did you, next time, bring a better team,” Ilya chirped. Hollander pulled back with a laugh.
“You’re such a little shit!”
And maybe this was Ilya's favorite moment of the week. Standing on the ice with Hollander, arms still on each other's shoulders, watching him grin despite losing the match. Ilya gave him a fond smile and said, “See you at the draft.”
Skype
December 18th, 2008
(Online) Shane
6:32PM
Hope you have a safe flight. It was nice to meet you. Enjoy the win, it’ll be your last one against Canada!
December 19th, 2008
Илья (Online)
7:18AM
Cute. You forget, I can not play for Team Canada. I am Russian. How will you win without me?