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The rink was finally starting to quieten down, the game long since over and the last of the patrons finally filing out of the arena to head home.
Down by the boards, only one person still sat.
The area itself hadn’t been open to the general public. No, the seating the person sat in was the designated ‘WAG’ area, for the wives and girlfriends of the players. And of course, this person.
Kip had not been expecting this, when he had decided for once to follow Scott to an away game.
His dissertation was finally finished and with it, his journey through College. His dad had been so proud, as had his friends which now included several prominent hockey players, although probably the person who had been most excited had been Scott, Kip’s boyfriend.
The Hockey player had even been the one to organise the celebration when Kip had received his final results, at the Kingfisher, no less.
Scott had come a long way from not wanting to be seen in public with Kip, let alone at a Gay Bar and Kip was so proud of him.
Of course, once the education was done, Kip had the slightly more daunting task of finding some sort of employment relevant to his field.
Yes, he had a part time job but it wasn’t what he had studied for. Nor was it enough to pay off his student loans.
Scott had urged him to take a break before going job hunting. He was rich enough for the both of them, he had said when Kip had raised the subject of fixing up his resume.
Kip hadn’t wanted to live off Scott's money, but he was exhausted from the long years of study and stress and for once, it was an argument the hockey player had actually won.
Not that Kip had stopped his sparse shifts at the Kingfisher. But he was a lot less academically active, which meant he could return to one of his other great passions.
Unfortunately, any good hobby, if taken seriously enough, could be detrimental to one's health. Which was why Kip was fighting back a wince as he sat on the hard chair, waiting for Scott to leave the locker room and come collect him.
He didn’t want to just walk around. Not here.
Given his sudden abundance of free time, Kip had finally made good on a promise he had made to Scott after their relationship had become public knowledge. He had followed his boyfriend on the road.
It was only for one game, but it had been an interesting one.
Kip had never been to Boston before. The home town of the Raiders.
Surprisingly, he could see a lot of similarities to New York and hadn’t found it uncomfortable at all.
The Boston WAGs had welcomed him to their group with surprising enthusiasm and Kip could tell from the faint buzzing in his pocket, he now had a few people to add as friends on his social media accounts (Maybe it had been a mistake to give Laura, the self proclaimed ‘Head WAG’ his phone number. He was fairly sure he had just been added to at least one group chat already). The ladies had practically coo’d over him, offering up advice on the best places to visit, the best food to try and the people to avoid (That last one had confused Kip to no end)
Of course, they had been just as passionate in their love of hockey as their talk with Kip, screaming and trash talking throughout the game. Although Kip couldn’t help but notice, in the sea of Boston jerseys, he had been the only one wearing an Admiral’s hoodie and yet, they hadn’t singled him out. The players, yes but not him.
The game itself had been particularly fierce, the Boston players known for their rough style of play and although the Admirals had lost in the end, it had been a hard fought battle with no clear winner until the last moments and Kip only hoped that the Admirals were proud of their efforts instead of disappointed in the results.
There had been several fights during the game too, multiple penalties issued and one of the Boston players, Cliff Marlow, had ended up with a bloodied nose that had earned Carter Vaughn some time off the ice. Scott too had to get involved in a fight, almost putting one of the Admiral’s rookies into a headlock to stop him throwing a swing at Ilya Rozanov during a particularly heated exchange. And the girls had screamed and shouted, hurling abuse at just about everyone, including Marlow and Ilya, much to Kip’s surprise.
Kip had actually asked Laura why, during the mid-game show, they had singled out their own players. Laura had just grinned and said something about Marlow being a ‘Little bitch’ and Rozanov being a ‘Traitor’. Thankfully, she had then clarified to Kip that it was their way and there was no actual anger in it, even if Ilya was apparently still under a dark cloud with the fans.
Kip wasn’t surprised, since Ilya had finally publicly announced this was his last season with Boston before his trade to Ottawa and Boston was replying to the news. They would always love Ilya but there was hurt there, that he was leaving.
Kip had to admit, now that he had sat through a Boston home game, Ilya was brave as fuck to be able to face the level of abuse he was receiving from the crowd, even if it was a performance.
Then again, that was Ilya Rozanov all over.
Again, Kip shifted in his seat. His shoulder was aching terribly, a reminder of the day before, back home in New York.
Kip hadn’t been kidding about the new hobby. For years while in High School, Kip had been proud to play in the local Rugby tournament and that the love of the game had rolled over when he had started college.
He hadn’t made it anywhere close to Scott’s level but he was proud of the games he had played for NYU, only taking a break when he had started applying for his Post Grad, when Scott had walked into his life.
Once he had finalised his education, he had wanted to get back to the sport he loved. Scott had actually been surprised that his boyfriend was a little bit sporty when he first discovered Kip looking into a few local clubs but once he got over the shock, he had been all about helping Kip look for a new team.
Finally, Kip had settled on a club close to Scott’s apartment, who had been happy to have an extra player join them mid season and already had several gay players.
Kip had tried to keep his sport as a secondary priority. After all, it was Scott’s sport which paid the bills, not Kip’s. The first two games Kip had played, Scott had either been at training or on the road and Kip had made sure that it wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t want to pressure Scott in any way.. But that wasn’t Scott’s style at all.
By the third game, Scott had been desperate to see Kip play.
And so, the day before they had to leave for Boston, Scott had rugged up and, with Carter and Eric trailing along for morale support, had attended a game.
While Kip had professed, he knew very little about Hockey, it was miles ahead of what Scott knew of Rugby. The man had been shocked when he realised the players didn’t even wear padding. He had been even more horrified to learn just how hands-on rugby was.
Hockey players crashed into each other all the time while trying to steal the puck. But that was a result of their momentum, not an actual part of the game play.
The thought that players actually had to deliberately crash into each other to stop the progression of the ball towards the try line had almost blown Scott's mind. His fear for Kip's wellbeing had been obvious, much to his friends amusement, since Carter and Eric both trusted Kip to know his limits.
And of course, Olympic athlete Scott Hunter turning up at a local rugby game had made the news. Kip had laughed when he had seen a picture, sneakily taken by a fan in the crowd, of Scott looking absolutely horrified which had appeared in the sports section of the newspaper that morning. Carter Vaughn, who actually knew how the game was played, had even filmed Scott’s reaction to Kip getting tackled on the field for the first time.
Even though it was a friendly match (and Scott had looked like he was going to have a heart attack when Kip had mentioned that fact when they were driving home after the game) Kip was still a little rusty. During a break away towards the line, one of the opposing team had tried to tackle Kip from the side, taking him off balance.
Kip had managed to offload the ball before the tackle landed but the motion had sent him toppling over and his shoulder had paid the price. It wasn’t bad, some deep tissue bruising. Still, Kip was committed to not letting Scott know how much his shoulder was now bothering him. Kip knew Scott has deliberately mislead him about some of his own injuries on the ice and Kip was not going to let Scott mother him when the man wouldn't be honest himself.
Rolling his shoulder one more time, Kip glanced around. His eyes fell on someone walking on the ice, out of the way of the Zamboni. He must have walked there while Kip was lost in thought.
The man was wearing a dark coloured suit, his damp hair pushed back from his face.
Immediately, Kip knew who it was.
Rising from his seat, Kip waved before slowly making his way down to the edge of the tunnel where the man must have emerged.
Seeing Kip approach, the man turned back to the tunnel to meet him.
“Hey Ilya.” Kip greeted, as he took the last step down to the edge of the rink where the screens ended.
“Hello Kip.” The Russian greeted with a smile.
“Great game.” Kip commented. “I am surprised you aren’t celebrating.”
Ilya waved a hand.
“Soon.” He said. “I heard from Marlow one of the New York WAGs was here and I guessed it was you.”
“Ha.” Kip muttered. People still kept insisting on calling him a WAG. Ilya just grinned.
“How are you liking Boston?” Ilya asked, leaning against the edge
“It's an …interesting city.” Kip finally said. “And I say that as a New Yorker.”
Ilya’s grin widened at that.
“Did Laura give you advice on places to see?” He asked.
Kip nodded.
“Word of advice. Don’t ignore Laura’s suggestions. That woman is a beast.” Ilya stated in a dry tone.
“I don’t think she will know if I don’t do everything she said.” Kip said.
Ilya gave him a look like he was insane.
“Oh, she will find out. She has spies everywhere.” The Russian said with a finality that suggested he knew what he was talking about.
“She seems to like you.” Kip tried.
Ilya snorted.
“And hates me too, I suspect.”
“Well….” Kip tapered off. He knew now, after knowing Ilya for a while, that the man would not take offence but still, it was against his nature to say anything mean.
“Is Boston way.” Ilya said with a shrug. “The love is strong and so is the trash talk.”
“Is that why you have done so well here?” Kip asked. He didn’t want to touch on the comments from the crowd about Ilya. He got that the fans were hurt by his decision but still. Ilya nodded but didn’t say anything.
“I see where you get it now, when you go after Scott.” Kip said.
Ilya rolled his eyes.
“Scott Hunter needs to take a fucking hint.” He grumbled.
“What? That you actually like him?” Kip asked.
Ilya rolled his eyes again.
“No. That he is old and robbing cradles.” The Russian stated. Clearly it wasn’t a term he was familiar with because, what the hell?
“What?” Kip asked, the giggles slipping out at the absurd comment.
“Robbing cradles.” Ilya said again, as if it was obvious and Kip was being deliberately annoying. “You are baby compared to him.”
“Are you saying, the age gap between me and Scott is inappropriate?” Kip finally asked.
Scott was in his mid 30’s, nowhere near the old age Ilya kept insisting of and Kip was in his late 20s. Not even close to a scandalous age gap.
“Da.” Ilay said. His face was completely blank.
“Oh fuck you.” Kip muttered.
Ilya, still completely stone faced, shrugged.
“If it gets you out of old man's clutches, then ok.” He said.
That was it. That was the moment that broke Kip. The only thing keeping him on his feet was his grip on the railing as he doubled over, laughing.
“Oh my god!” He finally managed to choke out as the laughter finally subsided. “What the hell, Ilya!?”
The hockey star, for his part, was grinning as he leant against the railing Kip was holding onto for dear life.
After a few moments, Kip pushed himself back to his feet. Unfortunately, he misjudged the angle, his injured shoulder scraping the railing as he rose. The deep ache raced through his torso, ripping a small groan out of his throat. Releasing the railing, Kip rubbed gently at his shoulder, hoping the motion would ease the ache. Before him, Ilya’s eyes narrowed, his expression turning into something Kip couldn’t read.
“You are hurt!” The other man stated, watching the motion of Kip’s hand.
“Just a bruise.” The dark haired man stated.
Ilya’s face was twisted into a scowl now.
“Did he…?” He trailed off, voice full of meaning.
Suddenly, Kip understood exactly what Ilya was thinking. When they had first met, Ilya had made a promise to Kip that the Russian would look out for him and protect him from anyone who would hurt him. Even protect him from Scott.
Shit. Ilya thought Scott had hurt him.
“No!” Kip spluttered. “Fuck no! Scott would never hurt me! It’s a rugby injury.”
Ilya blinked. The scowl left his face but Kip could still see the look in his blue eyes. Ilya was trying to tell if the explanation was a lie.
“I’m fine. Promise.” Kip added to reassure the man.
Ilya finally nodded.
“A…rugby injury?” He finally asked.
“I’ve been playing for a new team. Yesterday I got tackled by one of the other players and landed wrong.” Kip explained.
Ilya seemed to consider this for a moment.
“And that is normal with that sport?” He finally asked.
“Yep. It’s how you play.”
Ilya’s eyes narrowed.
“And the other player. Did he get a penalty or some punishment?” He asked.
“No. Why would he?” Kip asked.
Ilya made a little noise, as if irritated.
“He hurt you!” He spat out. “And no punishment.”
“I’m fine.” Kip protested.
“What’s his name? Give.” Ilya demanded.
Kip rolled his eyes at that.
“You are not going to fight an amateur rugby player for tackling me during a game.” He stated.
Ilya said something in Russian, quiet enough that Kip knew he wasn’t being spoken to but loud enough that Kip could guess it wasn’t complementary.
“It’s just how it goes with contact sports, Ilya. This stuff happens and it’s no one’s fault. After all, you didn’t punch Cliff Marlow when he knocked out Shane Hollander last season.” He stated. Then he threw a hand over his mouth. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that.
Kip had reassessed a lot of things in the last few months since the night he and Ilya had watched the New York/Montreal game in the Kingfisher. After Kip had become convinced Ilya had a crush on the Montreal Captain, it had been remarkably easy to backtrack and see the signs. Not that Kip would struggle with research. After all, he had just finished grad school. He knew how to study and at least this topic was one he was invested in.
Thankfully, Kip had been able to see some old footage, courtesy of Scott’s collection of recorded games and the YouTube rabbit hole. His recommendations were now a weird mixture of Hockey’s greatest moments and history essay videos, but it was worth it. The sheer number of videos out there, trying to analyse the supposed ‘rivalry’ between Ilya and Hollander was impressive and yet, looking at it with this new perspective, it seemed that something else was going on. Something which seemed to have slipped past everyone.
Kip had watched everything he could find, in those quiet moments when Scott was away and he was bored. He had watched joint interviews the two had conducted, where Hollander had jumped in to help Ilya when his English failed him, their presenting gig at the MLH Awards a few years prior and of course, the commercial they had shot together years ago. He had watched the interviews the two had conducted separately, when they were asked about each other. But the most damning piece of footage, had to be the 2017 All Stars Game.
The way Ilya and Hollander moved across the ice together, working together, had been impressive even by Kip’s inexperience standards and when Hollander had scored a goal…..well. The official footage had cut away from the players too early to catch anything but Kip had managed to locate some poorly shot footage from a fan of the same goal and couldn’t help but notice, in the far corner, while the team celebrated the shot, Ilya rush forward and place a kiss on Hollander’s cheek. And Hollander hadn’t pulled away.
And of course, there was the hit. The Montreal/Boston game had turned into a bloodbath after Hollander had gone down, most of the players taking swings at each other. Except for Ilya, who had hovered over Hollander, seemingly ignoring the calls from the refs and the medics to back away. The look on his face, as far as Kip could see, was tragic.
But Kip hadn’t meant to bring it up. If Ilya did have a crush, as Kip suspected, then Kip was ready to support him to the best of his abilities. But he wasn’t such an asshole that he would push the fact.
Ilya’s reaction was equally as startled as Kip’s as he registered the words, his head shooting up from where his eyes were boring into the ice in silent fury. A flash of terror crossed his face. Suddenly, he didn’t look like an angry man but a frightened child.
“You know then?” He finally asked in a flat tone. His voice was low, as if saying the words any louder would make everything around Ilya explode.
Kip tried to find the words. Because Ilya was all but confessing to him.
“I know you have a crush on Shane Hollander.” He finally said. “I noticed it last time we caught up.”
Ilya ducked his head again. His grip tightened on the railing, knuckles white with tension.
“It’s ok Ilya.” Kip muttered. For a moment, he debated if he should touch Ilya, try to reassure him before he decided to throw caution to the wind. Releasing his own shoulder where he was still massaging the tender muscles, he reached over and placed his hand on one of Ilya’s.
“It's not a crush.” Ilya finally muttered, head still bowed.
“I’m sorry?” Kip asked.
Ilya finally looked up again.
“I am not ‘crushing’ on Hollander. I’m in love with him.”
Kip let a breath out through his nose. Shit. This was huge. Fighting back the urge to reach over and pull Ilya into a hug, he gazed into Ilya’s eyes.
“Does he know?” He finally asked.
The sudden bark of laughter from Ilya startled him.
“Yes. He knows.” Ilya replied.
Kip felt his heart sink. He had many friends in the gay community. He knew how devastating unrequited love could be, but how much worse it was when the object of the person's affection knew and brushed it off. Fuck, Kip should not be talking about this. Ilya didn’t deserve to have these wounds dragged out into the open like this.
“I’m sorry.” Kip finally muttered.
“We are together.” Ilya muttered, at the exact same time.
And that was….wow!
“....Together?” Kip finally asked.
Ilya nodded. The mixed emotions on his face made it difficult to read him but Kip thought, under the apprehension, there was a bit of …relief.
“...Wow!” Kip muttered aloud. Then he realised what he was doing. “I’m really happy for you.” He added quickly, giving the man a smile. He only hoped that Ilya read it as what it was, shocked but pleased, and not condescending.
Ilya was smiling now. It was his fake smile but under it, Kip could see a little bit of the warmth that was the real man. Kip realised Ilya had probably not told anyone this before. Kip only hoped that Ilya wasn’t regretting coming out now.
“You are just happy I am having hot sex with someone who can keep up rather than a geriatric like you.” Ilya shot back, quick as a whip with his insults.
Kip snorted.
“Funny.” He said dryly but Ilya was warming up to his new topic.
“Now I think about it, I am disappointed. A rugby accident? A smart man would have claimed sex injury.”
“Shut up.” Kip replied, shaking his head at Ilya’s antics.
“No, no, no, no, no!!!” Ilya said as Kip released his hand, the Russian grabbing Kip’s wrist as he tried to step away. “Hear me. You claim sex injury. Hunter gets unwarranted ego boost. Performs better. You get better sex. It’s perfect plan.”
“I hate you.” Kip spluttered, even if he was amused by Ilya’s wild comments.
“You don’t!” Ilya said in a sing-song voice.
Kip couldn’t help but laugh again. This was why he was friends with Ilya. The good heart and dry humour that so many people tended to miss. Ilya also let out a laugh.
The two chuckled for a while before regaining their composure.
“So, how long then?” Kip finally asked. He could tell now that Ilya wanted someone to talk to about this.
“Officially. Since just after the Stanley Cup.” Ilya stated. “But we were having sex long before that.”
Just after the Stanley Cup. Ok.
Kip glanced at Ilya again.
“Did you guys get together because of…” He didn’t want to say, ‘Because of us.’ but it was a logical question. He and Scott had known their actions could be life changing for many but to know his friend had found his own happiness because of a few minutes on the ice, that was mind blowing.
Ilya gave a little half shrug.
“Something like that.” He said. “But Hunter does not need to know that.”
Kip smiled. His lips were sealed.
“I won’t say anything.” He offered. He knew Ilya knew that, but he just had to say it aloud. Although this was a great turn of events for his friend, Kip could remember the thoughts he had, ages ago when he had first started to suspect that Ilya may not be straight. About Russia and the dangers Ilya would be in if anyone in his home country learnt of his lifestyle.
Kip didn’t know what kind of visa Ilya was on, but he hoped for his friend's sake, he was planning ahead. Then again, Kip may not know much about Shane Hollander apart from what he had seen on TV and the passing comments from Scott and now Ilya, but the man seemed level-headed and the sort of person to think three steps ahead. If this relationship was as serious as Ilya suggested, then Kip doubted there wasn’t a plan in place.
Then another thought struck him. Shane Hollander was a proud Canadian. Had been the Captain of the Canadian Men’s Hockey team at the Olympics. And Kip should know. He had gotten up at the ungodly hour of 4am to watch the finals, even though he hadn’t been with Scott at the time. And now Ilya was about to transfer to a Canadian team….
“So, I guess there is no need to ask about your transfer now. Ottawa is what? Two hours from Montreal?”
Ilya smirked and Kip knew he had reached the right conclusion.
“I’m really happy for you.” He said again to the Russian Hockey Star. “If you need anything. Advice, resources, even just to vent, I am here for you. And for Hollander.”
Ilya smiled again, a genuine smile this time.
“And I have advice for you.” The Russian said.
Kip raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?” He asked.
“Yes.” Ilya replied. He pointed at Kip’s shoulder. “Ice. Rest. I would say no sex, but I hardly think that is issue with Hunter.”
Kip wanted to hit the man.
“Ilya! I swear…” He said instead, knowing his shoulder wouldn’t thank him if he did try to smack the Russian.
“What?” Ilya replied in mock confusion.
Kip was thinking of something else to say when his concentration was shattered by a shout behind them.
“Rozanov! What the hell are you up to?”
Both men turned to look down the tunnel.
Scott was walking up the tunnel towards the ice, his kit bag slung over his shoulder. Kip couldn’t help but notice his boyfriend was looking unfairly attractive, his dark hair pushed back from his face and the top two buttons of his long-sleeved shirt left open, the sleeves rolled up over his forearms, showing off the muscles there. Kip’s mouth went dry at the thought and heat pooled in his lower body. God, he wanted to get Scott alone, preferably back in their hotel room.
He was sure his desires were clear on his face, given the look Ilya shot at him as Scott marched forward. The secret little smirk.
“You should come over to my house tonight.” Ilya said suddenly, ignoring Scott’s approach. “I can show you the place, we can have drinks. Celebrate Boston’s win….”
It was loud enough Scott could hear. And definitely aimed to antagonise the man.
“Fuck off Rozanov.” Scott all but snarled at the other man. Clearly, he was smarting from the loss. Kip would definitely have to cheer him up tonight.
“Hunter is not invited. Do not want the elderly bringing down the mood.” the Russian added, pretending he still couldn’t hear Scott.
Scott let out a low sound that could only be described as a growl. Dropping his bag onto the ice, the Admirals Captain reached over the rail for Kip’s hand. Kip decided to be kind and grab the offered hand before leaning forward to kiss Scott on the lips.
“Not tonight Ilya. But maybe tomorrow?” He said, once he had pulled away from his boyfriend.
Both Ilya and Scott were looking at him, Ilya in confusion and Scott in exasperation.
“We don’t head back to New York for two nights.” Kip explained. Scott had organised the next day off while the rest of the team traveled home so he could show Kip around a new city and make a proper holiday of it. They would return to New York the following morning which gave Scott more than enough time to prepare for his next game.
“Scott and I were planning to hit the museums and art galleries tomorrow, but we are free tomorrow night, if you did want to catch up. Maybe get dinner somewhere.”
Both men pulled a face at the idea of being in close proximity to each other, but Kip knew it was all for show. He knew both men well now and although they enjoyed antagonising each other, he knew that Ilya respected Scott greatly and that Scott, despite himself, got a laugh out of Ilya’s behaviour. Kip also knew if he got one on side, the other would match it. Big Dick energy at its finest.
“Ok.” Ilya finally said, meeting the challenge. “I show you the best place to eat in the city. None of this room service crap.”
Kip glanced over at Scott, waiting to see what the other hockey players' response would be. Finally, Scott gave a sharp nod.
“Sure. We’ll text you when we are done with the museums.” He said.
Ilya grinned.
‘I should go. Missing celebrations in the locker room.” He turned to Kip, a sparkle in his eye and Kip knew, with a sinking feeling, what the man was about to do but he couldn’t stop it.
“Remember. Ice. Rest. You want injury to get better soon.”
Then the Russian Star turned on his heels and stalked off through the tunnel, back towards the locker rooms. Kip could almost see the smug smile at the chaos he had just unleashed.
Kip groaned, already knowing that Scott was going to panic at him hiding an injury. But he also knew that an injury wouldn’t stop them from having hot hotel room sex as soon as they left the rink.
“What did Rozanov mean?” Scott asked, turning back to Kip. “Why was he giving you injury advice?”
“We’ll talk when we get to the hotel.” Kip replied. Grabbing the railing, he carefully climbed over the boards, onto the ice. Scott reached out to steady him, his strong hand grabbing Kip’s elbow.
“Kip.” He said in a voice that definitely got Kip hot under the collar.
“Let’s go.” Kip said, pulling his arm away, only to grab Scott’s hand.
He would drag his boyfriend back to the hotel, where hopefully, Scott could use this mood to rail him into the hotel bedsheets all night (After all, it wouldn’t put too much pressure on his shoulder. Scott was careful like that) and then tomorrow they would explore Boston. They would get dinner with Ilya after and maybe, Kip would get a few minutes of alone time where he could talk further with Ilya about Shane Hollander.
And of course, New York was facing off against Montreal in a few weeks' time, thankfully on home ice. Kip knew now, he would definitely be attending the game and maybe see if he could get a moment to speak to a certain Asian Canadian hockey player about a few things.
After all, Ilya was his friend and Kip needed to make sure this so-called Canadian good boy was worthy of a relationship with ‘the’ Ilya Rozanov. It was just what good friends did.