Work Text:
The Kingfisher was quiet that afternoon, the usual crowds yet to come in since the game that night was yet to begin.
Behind the bar, Kip Grady was using the downtime to clean and prepare his station.
He had been working occasional shifts at his favourite bar for the better part of the last few months, simply to bring in extra income while he studied. Not that he needed the money (Even if his pride meant he didn’t want to let his superstar boyfriend pay for everything. He wasn’t a trophy boyfriend)
Kip was so close now, to completing his degree but the stress of studying while navigating the circus his life had become had been getting to him and the opportunity to be able to disassociate by working had been a godsend. Before, he had used his shifts at the Straw+Berry to help but after everything, it had become too difficult.
A part of Kip was annoyed that he had to leave his last job because of the public interest. It hadn’t been the best job, working at a Smoothy Bar. The pay had been lousy, the distance from home a nightmare and the hours terrible, but the managers had been good and he had friends there. Kip had seen himself continuing at the Straw+Berry until he finished his studies and only then, leaving for better things.
Sadly, the media had been savage in those early weeks as they uncovered more and more about his life, once he had been revealed as the partner of Scott Hunter, the Captain of the New York Admirals, a Stanley Cup Winner, Olympic Gold Medalist and the 2017 MVP, and it had all reached a tipping point when some nosy journalists had decided to harass him at work and his manager had politely suggested he take some time off.
Thankfully Scott, his dad and all his friends had been supportive and his friend Kyle had even offered him this part time job. Lucky for him, it seemed the media had finally gotten enough of this story in the two weeks he was unemployed and hiding in Scott’s apartment and either decided to pursue other stories or the regulars at the bar weren’t interested in selling him out to the press. Unfortunately, because he wasn’t an asshole friend, it did mean that occasionally he had to work when he didn’t want to.
Tonight was a game. The Admirals vs. the Metro’s. A widely reported grudge match.
It was Scott’s second game night in a row on the home rink and after his amazing first few games, it was looking good. Since the Stanley Cup, New York had been known as an almost impenetrable fortress for other teams. No one had beaten the Admirals in their home city since the season before and it wasn’t looking like that would change any time soon.
Exactly like the night before, when the Admirals had beaten the Boston Raiders. Kip had been at that game, sitting on the sideline and watching Scott and his team on the ice. Occasionally, Scott had waved when he had a moment to breathe, leaving Kip smiling.
But Kip had also had someone else trying to gain his attention. Ilya Rozanov, the Captain of the Raiders, had made several passes by Kip’s seat, nodding and once even winking at Kip.
Kip knew it was all a show, to try and get a rise out of Scott. And it worked. Scott had been particularly aggressive on the ice, scoring a hat trick and throwing a triumphant glance at Ilya as soon as the siren rang.
But that hadn’t stopped Ilya texting Kip after.
Scott had been dismayed to learn that Kip and Ilya had become friends, back at the MLH awards, and even more annoyed when he learnt that they were texting each other.
Not that it was anything bad. Ilya was a funny guy and his snarky personality translated well across text, occasionally leaving Kip in fits of laughter.
Yes, he did occasionally use the texts to chip at Scott but mainly, it was just banter like those of two friends living in different cities.
He had even texted Kip when his team had arrived before the game, wanting to know of a good restaurant near the rink after the Raiders Win that night. Kip had enjoyed the shit talk. It was so similar to how the rest of Scott’s team treated him, like a brother of sorts. Not like an outsider.
Of course, that game was over and Ilya was probably already back in Boston, his team earning a few days off the ice to rest and recover. Kip had been a little sad he hadn’t been able to catch up with his friend in person but after being riled by Ilya all game, Scott had been in a mood and well, Kip was half tempted to text Ilya, just to thank him for the night of mind blowing sex. He just knew the Russian would get a kick out of that, despite the loss.
Not that Ilya was just a funny guy. No, the Russian had kept his word about protecting Kip. Although Kip had no evidence of such, he was very aware of the occasional homophobic rhetoric thrown at him and Scott. A few podcast bros in particular, had taken to slamming Scott, claiming that he was going to have a terrible year and he was sex drunk over some ugly barista. Claiming that Scott and Kip were actors for the ‘woke’ agenda.
Kip didn’t have concrete evidence but he was almost certain the review bombing of the show, the pulling of the sponsors and the deplatforming of the hosts was Ilya’s work. He had almost said as much when he had sent Kip the link of the hosts, tails between their legs, making a public apology for their comments on their show.
He was also sure Ilya was behind the bad blood between the Admirals and the Metro’s.
Scott had mentioned that the Metro’s captain, Shane Hollander, was a great kid but really needed to get his house in order this year. That had been made very apparent when one of their rookie players had been revealed at the start of the season as being the author behind a facebook account attacking the LGBT+ community and Scott in particular.
The Metro’s were still reeling from the fallout of that incident, especially from angry fans on social media and had put out a statement, announcing that the player involved had been disciplined and they did not stand behind the account but the Admirals were not willing to be so forgiving of the attack on their Captain by an untested rookie. The game was shaping up to be a bloodbath because of it.
Kip just hoped that Scott wouldn’t get into any fights over it. He was definitely on edge since that morning when he could really focus on the game and even Hollander’s polite chipping could set him off, if he wasn’t careful.
No, Kip couldn’t focus on that. Scott was a seasoned player who knew his craft. And more to the point, he was an adult. He could control himself and thinking about it would only make Kip spiral at work which was not helpful. Kyle was the only other person on shift and Kip couldn’t leave his friend alone when the crowds came.
He needed to focus on something else.
But it was hard when his station was already prepared, everything was clean and there were no customers at the bar yet. The few patrons present were already seated, talking to each other and working through their current drinks. Kip didn’t need to do anything right now.
Almost absentmindedly, Kip reached for his phone and pulled it out.
There was one new message, sent approximately 20 minutes prior, from Scott.
Kip quickly opened it, revealing a photo. Not of Scott but of Carter Vaughn, half dressed in the locker room, holding up a small cake and smiling. It was Vaughn’s birthday and Kip had made the small birthday cake for him that morning, sending it to the rink with Scott, along with his apologies to the whole team for missing the game.
Vaughn was an amazing friend to both Scott and Kip and Kip was glad to have the man in their corner. It was the least he could do, to make a small cake, even if Scott's coach would probably grumble at the distraction.
Not that it was a huge distraction. The Admirals had a few days off after this game and Kip knew there were already plans for him and Scott to go on a double date with Vaughn and his girlfriend the following night for his birthday.
‘Carter says Thanks :)’ Scott had texted to him, along with the photo.
Kip smiled before hearting the message.
‘Glad he likes it.’ He sent back quickly.
“Hey Kip. What time is the game?” A voice asked.
Kip glanced over at Kyle who was cleaning his hands on a towel at the other end of the bar, close to the televisions.
Kyle had been his friend for a long time and in that whole time, the other man had never expressed any interest in Hockey. That was, until a few weeks back, when Scott had brought his friends to the bar to see Kip and celebrate the beginning of the new season.
Kip wasn’t sure how it had happened, as the boy’s had gotten progressively more drunk but at one point, he and Scott had been running interference between a few star struck patrons and Huff when he had glanced over to see the normally more reserved Hockey Goalie Eric Bennett, leaning over the bar before Kyle, talking animatedly.
Kyle, far from looking annoyed like he usually did when patrons got too loud, had a look on his face that Kip had never seen before. Not exactly star struck but almost ….wistful. Fond.
Of course, Kip could recognise a crush when he saw one and the next day, once the chaos had settled, had offered to ask a few questions, to see if Bennett was bi and possibly interested but Kyle had shut him down. He knew a bit about Bennett from Scott, including the fact that the man was in the middle of a divorce, which would usually be a no go, but given the looks on both their faces, Kip thought maybe they could at least be friends.
Well, if Kyle said no, then Kip wasn’t going to push. He would let Kyle figure it out. Still, he had noticed that since that encounter, Kyle had made sure the Hockey was on the tv every time the Admirals played and didn’t even grumble once. And Bennett had casually mentioned to Kip when they had seen each other the night before after the game, that he wouldn’t mind coming back to the bar some time when Kip wasn’t working. Kip wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Bennett would know if Kip wasn’t working, that meant that Kyle would most likely be on shift.
Kip had already checked the roster and was planning to make sure of that.
“In half an hour.” Kip replied. He knew that was why Scott hadn’t returned his text. His boyfriend would already be on the ice, going through his warmups with the rest of the team. God, Kip wished he was there to watch. There was nothing hotter than seeing Scott go through his stretches. Well, almost nothing.
Realising what he was doing, Kip immediately tried to shut down that thought. He still had several hours on the clock and couldn’t be hard the whole time.
Lucky for him, his attention immediately turned to his phone as it buzzed in his hand. Kip frowned.
It couldn’t be Scott. Scott would already be on the ice. Elena knew he was working and preferred to come to the Kingfisher to annoy him in person rather than text. It could be Maria, his best friend from the Straw+Berry but he was fairly sure she had said she had a date and even Shawn was busy. Kip’s dad didn’t text him, preferring to call, so who was texting?
Opening the screen, Kip glanced down at the screen. He frowned.
It was Ilya.
Not that he was upset at seeing a message from his friend but why was the Russian texting him? They had already texted the day before and he was sure the man would be sulking about the loss to the Admirals. Kip hadn’t expected to hear from the Russian Hockey Star for a few days at least.
Opening up the message, he glanced down at it.
‘Your work is a sports bar, right?’ It read.
Kip blinked before pulling up the keyboard.
‘Yes. It is.’ He replied. Ilya had been one of the people Kip had told when he had left the Straw+Berry when it had first happened. Ilya’s response when Kip had mentioned he was going to work behind a bar was simply to tell him the bar must stock the best vodka and he would recommend brands if Kip needed.
‘What’s the address?’ Was the reply, almost instantly appearing on the screen.
Kip frowned.
‘Why?’ He typed.
‘I’m bored and want to watch the game.’ Ilya replied.
Kip blinked. He could have sworn that Ilya was back in Boston already.
‘I thought you had already left New York.’ He replied after a moment.
‘Not yet. Have plans for later. Now stop being an asshole and send me the address.’
Still surprised, Kip sent him the address for the Kingfisher.
‘You know it's a Gay Bar, right?’ He texted, once he got the thumbs up reply.
‘Noooo. I thought it was a straight bar.’ Was the reply, followed by a winky face emoji.
Kip rolled his eyes, trying to think of some sort of reply to the Russian’s snark but Ilya beat him to it.
‘Be there in ten.’
Kip bit his lip, trying to think of anything to say when he heard someone shout his name.
The door to the bar had opened and several patrons had streamed in.
“Kip, can you get that?” Kyle called from the other end of the bar. The other man’s eyes were now glued to the tv screen where the broadcast had just begun, showing several hockey players going through their stretches on the ice. One of them was Eric Bennett, skating around his goal posts.
Kip rolled his eyes before grabbing his towel and throwing it over his shoulder, turning to greet the customers.
For the next 15 minutes, he was busy, serving drinks and taking orders. He even stepped out from behind the bar to bus a table. Most of the patrons knew him now and no one batted an eye or stopped him to ask about Scott or tell him about their prediction for the year.
It was peaceful. Far more peaceful than the Straw+Berry had been towards the end, with all the journalists and MILFs hanging around, hoping to snag an impromptu interview or win Scott away.
Finally, he returned to the bar.
A patron had arrived and seated themselves at the bar, a dark coat covering their body and a dark woolen beanie covering their hair. And yet Kip immediately recognised them.
“Hi Ilya.” He said, smiling at his friend as he dropped off the empty glasses to be washed.
“Hello Kip.” The Russian greeted.
“Let me guess. A straight Vodka?” Kip asked as he turned to the man, pulling the towel off his shoulder. He remembered so well, the night they had met how Ilya had taken his drinks.
Ilya glanced over his shoulder at the display of spirits on the shelves. He pulled a face at the minimal selection of vodka on display.
“God no!” He grumbled. “I told you, no cheap crap.”
Kip shrugged helplessly. He had raised the request already.
“I know. But my manager has the final say in our selection and says this is good enough.” He replied, waving his hand towards the shelves.
Ilya grumbled something quietly in Russian, placing his elbows on the counter and threading his fingers together.
“A beer then. Anything will do.”
Kip nodded and turned to get his friend his drink. He could hear from the other end of the bar, the game had begun but stopped himself from glancing over in the hopes of seeing Scott on the screen. He knew from experience that the first few minutes of the game would be hectic at the bar as people tried to get their drinks and get settled before anything interesting happened. But once all the patrons were served, Kip would have a chance to watch the rest and hopefully see the Admirals victory.
And if worse came to worse, he could easily get a recap of the game from Scott later.
Once he had Ilya’s drink, he passed it over, throwing down a beer mat and smiling at the Russian's nod of thanks, taking his cash before continuing with his job as more patrons approached.
Much to Kip’s surprise, Ilya remained seated at the edge of the bar, away from the screens and the small crowd of supporters. Kip was sure the man could easily get a spot closer, where he could see better. Hell, knowing Ilya, he could probably commandeer a table to himself, despite the growing crowd. But he didn’t move. Instead, he sipped the beer, eyes flickering between watching the tv from afar and watching Kip work, fidgeting with the beer mat.
Once the main rush of customers had died down, Kip returned to the end of the bar where his friend sat. Kyle was lost to the game and it looked like Kip was on his own. Not that he really minded if it let Kyle indulge in his crush for a little bit. Kyle was a good person and would help out if Kip really needed it.
“You know, you can see better if you move closer to the tvs.” Kip said as he approached, leaning on the bar again. Ilya glanced at him before shrugging.
“Is boring game anyway. It’s sad only one team can lose.” He replied.
Kip snorted at the bland comment.
“Are you going for the Metro’s because the Admirals beat you? If so, it's kinda dangerous being in a bar full of New Yorkers.” He asked. He knew that Ilya liked to tease. And he definitely had the guts to go into an Admirals stronghold and cause drama.
“New York hates me, even if I go for their terrible team. Besides, I am only going for whoever trips Hunter over on the ice.” Ilya replied.
“Don’t be rude.” Kip snapped. Ilya had a dry sense of humor most of the time thanks to English being his second language but sometimes he missed the mark. Kip would allow the man to prod and poke at Scott but wishing physical harm was a step too far.
Ilya dropped the beer mat and raised his beer in a mock salute, clearly understanding the silent message before taking another sip of his drink.
“So what kept you here?” Kip asked, running a cloth along the wood of the bar to appear busy as he changed the subject. “I would have thought your whole team would be back in Boston by now, relaxing at home.”
“They are. Left this morning.”
“And you didn’t go with them because….?” Kip trailed off, hoping Ilya would enlighten him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy to see his friend. It just seemed odd that the man would prefer to stay another night in a hotel then be back in his own home.
“Nanya.” Ilya replied. Kip frowned.
“Nanya?” He asked, wondering if this was some strange Russian word.
“Yes. Nanya business.” Ilya smirked at his own joke and Kip rolled his eyes and let out a small groan. He had walked right into the trap.
“Where did you hear that one?” He asked.
Ilya shrugged.
“I heard it around.”
“Of course you did.”
Ilya took another drink before placing his beer down.
“Anyway, whose to say I didn’t stay to see my friend Kip?” He asked, blue eyes glancing at the bar tender. Kip snorted.
“If you had just wanted to hang out, you wouldn’t have waited until I was at work and unable to give you my full attention.”
“I don’t need full attention.” Ilya argued.
“Ilya, you are the biggest attention whore in Hockey.” Kip replied, fighting down a smile.
“Who says that?” The Russian asked, faking offence.
“I do. And so does everyone else. Don’t act like you don’t love it.” the other man said.
Ilya smirked, his trademark smirk that had infuriated approximately 80% of all Hockey fans at some point or another. Rising to stand on the edge of his stool, he leant close, into Kip’s personal space.
“Is true. You know me well.” He said in a loud whisper in Kip’s ear. Slowly, he retreated back to his seat, a grin spread across his face.
“So…?” Kip tried again. He knew Ilya wasn't trying anything, simply wanting to rattle him and Kip was determined not to let the Russian know he had succeeded.
This time, it was Ilya who rolled his eyes.
“If you must know, I have a meeting.” He said.
“With who?” Kip asked. He knew that Hockey Players had brand deals. Scott’s own deal with Under Armour was a secret dream for Kip because he got to see his boyfriend in very tight workout gear all the time. But this felt different than Ilya just meeting a brand for some sponsorship. And besides, Kip was sure the man wouldn’t be so damn secretive about it if he was just getting money and agreeing to wear something. And who held those sorts of meetings so late at night? He glanced expectantly at the Russian but Ilya just shook his head.
“You are a very nosy man. I regret coming here.” Ilya replied, dryly.
Kip opened his mouth to reply when a loud groan echoed through the bar. He glanced up to see that the Metro’s had scored on the screen, the camera fixing on the teams Captain who must have been the one to take the shot.
Slowly, he let the air out through his nose. It was alright. The game had just started and the Admirals still had time to come back and completely trounce the Metro’s. Turning his attention back to his friend, he noticed that Ilya’s blue eyes were glued to the screen. Kip glanced at the screen where Captain Hollander was still being filmed and then toward Ilya. He knew that look.
Kip had never asked about Ilya’s relationships outside of Hockey. He had guessed, based on the crucifix the man wore everywhere that he was religious, probably Russian Orthodox. Not that he seemed to be heavily involved in his faith. Kip had always kept abreast of the news and knew that Russia was not a good place for the LGBT+ community and the Church seemed to be a driving force behind that. Even though they had been broken up at the time, he had worried for Scott during the Sochi games, hoping that the man didn’t fall foul of any strict Russian laws while there.
And yet, regardless of any religious views he may have, Ilya wasn’t homophobic. He definitely wouldn’t have approached Kip that night at the MVAs and offered his friendship if he was. He wouldn’t have offered to defend Kip from any bigoted Hockey players. And he certainly wouldn’t have come to the Kingfisher, a Gay bar.
And now, looking at the familiar look on Ilya’s face, something clicked in Kip's mind.
Holy shit! Did Ilya Rozanov like men? If so, that would explain everything. It would explain why the man, known throughout the Hockey world as being mean and standoffish, had been so warm and welcoming to Kip.
Holy shit, what if Ilya met someone? Was that his secret ‘meeting’? A gay liaison?
No, Kip was jumping ahead of himself here. Ilya was well known as a party boy, always at clubs and bars, hooking up with female fans. Besides, if what he suspected was true, Kip would be beyond hypocritical to take the man to task. He would just have to wait and hope that Ilya himself would be brave enough to open up.
Returning to his work, Kip left Ilya alone for the most part, only occasionally commenting on the game or gently teasing him about something. Slowly, the other patrons became aware that Ilya was there and a few brave fans approached him but no one was overbearing or hostile, even when it became apparent the man was going against the home team. Everyone here knew the value of peace and quiet.
The game continued, the Admirals turning it all around to trounce the Metro’s. Scott scored twice and there was a massive fight in the closing minutes which ended with one of the Metro’s nursing a bloodied nose and Huff going to the penalty box for the remainder of the game.
Kip was just glad to see Scott had stepped in to separate the players, along with Captain Hollander, the two working together to calm the raging men.
And Kip watched Ilya quietly. He couldn’t help but notice how the man’s behaviour shifted, depending on who was on the screen. When it was one of the Admirals or the less famous Metro’s, Ilya was bored, almost annoyed, but when the screen showed Captain Hollander, everything shifted. It was like the man's whole being became hyper focused, his eyes drilling into the screen.
It was like how Kyle looked whenever Bennett was on screen, except multiplied by a thousand.
Kip couldn’t question it anymore, Ilya Rozanov was crushing on Captain Shane Hollander. The absolutely tragic look of longing was almost a joke. Honestly, Kip was just surprised no one else had seen it yet.
Finally, the game ended, the Admirals bringing home the win. The screen showed the players shaking hands before leaving the ice and then the broadcast switched to the commentators to do their regular breakdown and the hype in the bar slowly died. People started draining their drinks before heading out into the cold to battle their way home.
And Ilya remained at the bar, his drink long since finished and his phone in hand.
Kip had noticed him pull it out, almost as soon as the game ended, his thumbs moving across the keyboard, typing something out to someone. Maybe whoever he was meeting.
Kip didn't bother trying to take him to task, but he couldn't help but notice when he caught a quick glimps of the screen, the name on the contact was ….’Jane’? For a brief second, he thought it read ‘Shane’. For a moment, Kip regretted not having his reading glasses before berating himself. He wasn't that kind of person.
“So….” He said, leaning on the bar across from the hockey player. “You heading out?”
Ilya almost dropped the phone, for once so invested in whatever he was doing that he was taking surprise.
“What?” He asked.
“Your meeting?” Kip prompted. He almost said ‘Your hookup’.
Ilya blinked and Kip was certain that it wasn't because he was translating the words in his head. No, it was because he was trying to remember a lie.
“Yes. That.” The man finally muttered. He glanced down at his phone. “Sorry. Business.”
Kip really, really didn't want to pry at someone clearly trying to make a story up on the fly but he couldn't help it.
“Business?” Kip asked.
“Real estate.” Ilya said quickly. “I am looking at a property in Ottawa.”
Kip frowned.
“Why Ottawa?” He asked. He got that some of these hockey stars had nothing better to do with their millions than buy property but he didn't know why a Russian sports star playing in Boston would be interested in a place in Canada.
“Da. Is still secret but I am being traded to Ottawa next season.”
Kip was momentarily speechless. From what he knew, Ilya’s entire career since coming to the US was in Boston.
“And do you want that?” He finally asked.
“Why not? Is nice place. Team is shit but maybe they get better if shown real hockey.”
Kip couldn't stop the bark of laughter at that.
“You are such an ass.” He muttered, shaking his head.
“You love it.” Ilya shot back, his trademark smirk back in place.
This time, Kip was ready with a catty quip. Unfortunately, he was beaten to the punch by the sound of the last bell ringing, signalling that the bar was closing.
Ilya smacked his hand down on the bar, quickly scooping up his phone and slipping it into his pocket with the sneakiness of a trained thief.
“I had better go. To the meeting.”
Kip nodded.
“Of course. It was great seeing you again Ilya.” he said.
Ilya nodded and again gave Kip one of those rare, real smiles.
“You too. Good night. Try not to break Hunter's hip with your celebrations.”
“Shut up.” Kip laughed.
Ilya winked before turning and pushing open the door. Kip watched as he stepped out onto the street, hands shoved in his pocket as he walked away. At the last second, he withdrew his hand, phone already lit up, before he disappeared from view.
Kip shook his head again and pushed it from his mind. Grabbing the towel, he began to clean up his area. Scott would be home soon and Kip wanted to be there, waiting for him.
—-
The air was biting cold but Ilya ignored it, as he strode through the cold streets of New York, towards his hotel room. The mediocre beer had been good to warm the blood and it was nice seeing his friend again but Ilya was longing now to be back in his hotel room and more importantly, in the arms of his boyfriend. He had already texted Shane his room number and fully planned to be there when his lover arrived.
Opening his phone screen, he glanced down at it. The first text message wasn’t from Shane. Nor was it from any of Ilya’s teammates.
No, the first text was from Yuna Hollander, asking him if he wanted her to send him some vodka. Apparently, she had been cleaning out her husband’s liquor collection of doubled up bottles and found a few bottles he had been gifted years ago and never drank.
Ilya had to force back the smile at that. After he and Shane had accidentally been found out by his dad at the Cottage, it was like he had gained a new family. One who didn’t berate him for every little mistake and demand his money as a guilt trip. One who seemed to like him for himself, not for what he could provide.
Both Yuna and David had taken to texting him. Sometimes to talk Hockey, sometimes to advise Ilya on a new brand deal which may be coming up (Yuna) and sometimes to ask his help on a crossword puzzle (David) Sometimes they messaged just to check in and let him know they were thinking of him. Ilya’s own father had never, ever texted him simply to see how he was.
The Hollanders had offered Ilya a kind of domestic bliss he had never had before and, although he wouldn’t tell anyone, he loved it. He loved how Shane’s parents had embraced him. How Shane too had relaxed now that they had confirmed their relationship.
He loved his boyfriend so much.
Of course, both Yuna and David had agreed to the secrecy. But they had also made it clear they would back both Shane and Ilya if they decided to come out to the press.
It was nice.
Ilya didn’t know if he was ready to let the world know. He knew it would be difficult. He would have to completely cut ties with his home country. But maybe it would be all worth it to have Shane in his arms, his acknowledged lover and partner. To have the Hollanders as his new family.
It was something to think about.
Until then, he would enjoy what he had. His relationship with Shane, his move to Ottawa. Their plan to form a charity about mental health.
Stepping into the foyer of the Hotel, Ilya pulled his beanie down low and his coat collar up around his face as he passed a few people milling around. For convenience, his room was in the same hotel as Shane and the Metro’s, but a few floors up. The Metro’s weren’t back from the game yet. Shane would still be fielding the press, but since they had lost, Ilya didn’t think they would be long and he didn’t want any possible fans who may have left the game early to recognise him.
The Metro’s were boring anyway and Ilya doubted, once they got to their rooms, any of them would want to leave again, They would all want to sleep off the sting of losing.
Well, Shane may have lost the game tonight but that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Ilya was there to cheer him up. Besides, there will be more games in the future.
More chances.
And between those games, they would be together.
Yes, after so much pain and struggle, Ilya Rozanov had Shane Hollander at his side. The two famous rivals had laid down their swords and forfeited their battle. Their battle to be the best. Their battle to get more awards, more cups, more fame. Their battle not to fall for each other, to try and remain aloof and alone. Finally, together, there would be peace.
(Well not complete peace. Ilya did make sure to send Kip a suggestive text message once he was safely back in his hotel room, confident that Hunter would inevitably see it. It would be boring if he didn’t.)