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After their relationship was revealed to the public, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov didn’t partake in many interviews or public appearances. If they did, they strictly only accepted questions about their hockey careers or charity efforts.
Needless to say, it was the shock of the century when the two of them appeared on the thumbnail of a ‘truth or drink’ video on YouTube, marketed specifically as ‘Hockey Husbands Play Truth or Drink.’
The set-up was comfortable. Shane and Ilya sat across from each other at a small, round table. At the end of the table, farthest away from the camera, three bottles of alcohol were lined up, accompanied by two shot glasses and quartered limes. The table also held a pile of cards and the hands of the hockey players. Ilya was holding onto one of Shane’s hands with both of his. Shane was leaning against the table with his free arm.
Ilya, well-known for his heart eyes, had his sights set on Shane from the moment the video started. Shane, at least, was looking past the camera, waiting for the team to provide instruction.
The first person to speak was behind the camera. “For anyone who doesn’t know, can you introduce yourselves? And tell our viewers how you know each other?”
“Of course. I’m Shane Hollander. I play hockey for the Ottawa Centaurs.” Shane gestured to Ilya with his free hand. “This is Ilya Rozanov. He’s the Centaurs’ captain.”
“His husband,” Ilya said, finally looking at the camera.
“My husband,” Shane echoed.
“Great, thank you. Do you two want to start with a shot?”
“Yes,” Ilya said. He let go of Shane to bring both of their shot glasses to the middle of the table. He reached for the vodka, and he smiled at the team behind the camera. “Good choice.”
It was Russian vodka, of course. Ilya poured two shots, and the couple took them in sync.
“Shane, would you like to start?”
“Sure.” Shane picked up the first card from the pile as soon as he recovered from the shot. “What is something I do that annoys you?”
Ilya had to think for a moment, tilting his head back and forth until he came up with something. “The way you eat, I do not like it.”
“Oh. Do I chew too loud?”
“No, sweetheart. Your diet is like psychopath diet,” Ilya said. Shane nodded, laughing along with Ilya.
“Is there a name for your diet?”
“Yeah, it’s a macrobiotic diet. It’s designed to avoid toxins and keep the body healthy.”
“Is boring diet. He eats nothing,” Ilya said.
“I eat lots of foods,” Shane countered. “I can have brown rice, oats, fruits and veggies, nuts, seeds—”
“He eats like caveman,” Ilya said. Shane rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue—perhaps because Ilya reached out and brushed his fingers along Shane’s face, with a sweet compliment, “But you are much prettier than caveman.”
Shane pushed the next card into Ilya’s hand, “It’s your turn.”
“Okay.” Ilya read the card, “What is the one thing you would change about me?”
Shane didn’t have to think for long, but he did lean across the table to whisper something to Ilya. Ilya nodded, with a barely-audible whisper, “Is okay.”
“I would change your struggles,” Shane said. “I can’t imagine how hard it is to have depression. I see what you go through, and I know actually feeling that way is a lot worse.”
“Have you ever talked about your depression publicly?”
“I have not,” Ilya said. “But I am not ashamed of it, not anymore. I go to therapy to deal with it. I have beautiful husband, and days are great because he is with me. So, is okay. Not fun, but okay.”
“Thank you for sharing that.”
Ilya nodded once. Shane moved on, reading out the next card. “If I decided to transition, would you stay with me?”
“Transition to . . . what? New team?” Ilya asked. “As long as you do not go back to shitty Metros, is okay.”
Shane snorted. He looked at the crew. “Is this talking about trans people?”
“Trans? Oh, like man to woman?” Ilya asked. When the crew confirmed, he nodded. “I would still love you, yes. I like women, too. Does not matter to me.”
“Do you get many questions about your support for the LGBTQ+ community?”
“We don’t talk about our relationship or our sexualities much. We try not to mix it all up with hockey, at least not yet. But we love the community, of course,” Shane said. “We wouldn’t be anywhere today without the people who fought for our rights.”
“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “We all belong to same community.”
“Slightly different struggles. Some harder than others,” Shane acknowledged. “But, like Ilya said, we’re all in this together.”
It was Ilya’s turn to read out a question. “What is the worst thing you have ever said about me to your friends?”
“I . . . don’t know,” Shane said honestly. “When people saw us interact, before we were outed, I used to tell them you were being a dick to me, even if you weren’t. Just so no one suspected anything.”
“Ouch,” Ilya said playfully. “I was never dick to you.”
Shane gave Ilya a blank stare. Ilya relented immediately, “Okay, okay, yes, I was asshole.”
“You’re still an asshole.”
“Yes, but you married me. So you accept it,” Ilya said. He passed Shane the next question card.
“How many kids do you want?”
“We have plan for this,” Ilya said. “We are going to adopt three kids. We will have girl first, then twins, boy and girl.”
“And they’ll all know how to play hockey, right?” Shane presented the suggestion like an inside joke. Ilya was very serious with his answer, “Yes. And martial arts. They will all know English and Russian and French.”
“Sounds like you’ll have really talented and knowledgeable kids.”
“Very much so,” Ilya confirmed, while Shane laughed behind his hand.
Ilya grabbed the next question. “Ah, this is dare card. Call someone and tell them we broke up.”
Shane stared at Ilya for a moment. “Who are you gonna call?”
“Is dare for you, sweetheart.” Ilya put the card down. Shane hesitated. He reached for the alcohol after a moment, but Ilya intercepted. He pressed their tangled fingers against the table.
“Come on, Shane,” Ilya said gently. “Have fun. I want to hear how your loved ones care for you. But do not call your mother, please, she will kill me even if you say you are joking.”
“She’d kill me too,” Shane chuckled. He scrolled through his contact list, and he considered for a while before he finally clicked someone’s name. He turned up his volume and put the phone on speaker.
“I’m calling Hayden Pike,” Shane said. An editor’s note popped up at the bottom of the screen: *Hayden Pike plays for the Montreal Metros, Shane’s former team. They are best friends.
After a few more rings, Hayden picked up, “Hey, Ottawa. Mr. Canadian Rozanov. What’s up?”
“Um,” Shane frowned. He stuttered over a few sounds, clearly not doing well in the acting department. His voice was stiff and awkward as he told his lie, “I just wanted to, uh. I wanted to tell you that something . . . happened. Between Ilya and I.”
Hayden was quiet for a moment, only the faint chatter of his wife and kids in the background. He shuffled around, and he sounded closer to the phone, in a quieter environment, the next time he spoke. “Okay. What happened?”
“We fought,” Shane said. He looked up at Ilya, who was biting the inside of his cheek so he didn’t make a noise. “We decided to, uh, to break things off.”
Ilya turned away from Shane, slapping a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from laughing out loud. Shane looked at the crew behind the camera, as if they could help him.
“You broke it off with Rozanov,” Hayden repeated. “What—what? What was this fight about?”
Shane looked wildly around the room. He tapped Ilya’s arm, but Ilya was no help. All he did was point at the phone and silently tell Shane to keep lying.
“He cheated on me,” Shane blurted. Ilya’s jaw dropped open, a wildly offended look taking over his entire expression. Shane made a few frantic gestures in Ilya’s direction, mouthing something to him that the camera didn’t pick up on.
“He fucking what?” The pitch and volume of Hayden’s voice skyrocketed. “Dude, when the hell—are you kidding?”
Shane dropped his forehead against his hand and went as far as to close his eyes as he struggled through the lie, “I don’t know. It’s been happening for a long time, I think. I just saw a bunch of texts. It was fucking rough. There were, like, three other people, at least.”
Ilya’s expression turned even more animated when Hayden scoffed, “I knew he was a piece of shit.”
Shane pulled the collar of his shirt over his mouth as Hayden started cussing Ilya out. With the chatter of his family in the background gone, it was apparent Hayden walked into another room to express his colorful feelings about Ilya, with the consistent promise, “I’ll kick his fucking ass.”
Ilya mouthed dramatically to the camera, ‘He could not kick my ass. I would obliterate him.’
“Hayden. Hayden.” Shane tried to cut Hayden off. “It’s okay—”
“It’s not okay! You’re broken up, right? And you’re staying that way? You’ve forgiven him for a lot of bullshit, and I supported you through all of that, but this is something else. This is next level, dude. If I told Jackie, she’d be on her way to slash his tires.”
“Please don’t tell Jackie,” Shane said frantically.
“You can’t protect that asshole forever. Fuck, and you have to play on a team with him? He’s your captain! Oh, shit, Hollander, we gotta find you a new team, dude—”
“It’s a prank!” Shane desperately admitted. “It’s just a joke. Ilya didn’t actually cheat on me.”
Hayden was quiet for a second, then two, then three. Shane glanced between Ilya (who was having hell not bursting out into laughter) and the phone.
“Hayden?”
“Bro, I was ready to hit a famous athlete with my car,” Hayden said, exasperated. “I was gonna go to jail for you, Hollander.”
“You hate me that much, huh, Pike?” Ilya asked. Hayden made a strangled noise, “Rozanov?! Could he hear me?!”
“We’re filming something together,” Shane said.
“. . . This is going on the Internet.”
“Yeah.”
“Tell them to cut the part where I admitted to premeditating a murder.”
“Allegedy,” Shane said. Ilya leaned closer to Shane’s phone, “I survive plane, Hayden Pike, I would survive your shitty car.”
“If you cheated on Shane, you would not survive. Especially if Jackie was involved,” Hayden said. Ilya clicked his tongue, “Touché.”
“Sorry,” Shane said, pulling the phone toward him so Hayden and Ilya couldn’t antagonize each other anymore. “Thanks for defending me.”
“Yeah, dude. I mean, fuck, I just don’t want you hurt.”
“Ilya won’t hurt me.”
“He better not.”
“Why am I bad guy?” Ilya asked out loud, to no one in particular.
“We have to keep filming,” Shane told Hayden. “Sorry again.”
“No worries, man.”
“Fuck you, Hayden Pike!” Ilya called.
“Fuck you too, Rozanov!”
“We will win Stanley Cup and I will—!”
Shane hung up before Ilya and Hayden could start a full-blown argument on camera.
“Next, please,” Shane begged. With another snarky comment, “He would never beat me in fight or in hockey game,” Ilya passed Shane the next card.
Shane ignored his comment. “Do you have a secret you’ve never wanted or never had the opportunity to tell me?”
Ilya was quiet for a moment, shifting his eyes around the room as he considered whether or not to confess what he ultimately ended up admitting aloud, “I never actually quit smoking.”
Shane slapped the card against the table in shock. “Are you serious?”
“I smoke very little, and never when we are together,” Ilya said. “But I have at least one every time I lose game.”
“You asshole. You told me you quit!”
“Ah, ah, no, I told you I do not smoke like I used to.”
“That means you quit!”
“That means I smoke less than I did when we met. English is tricky language, ah?” Ilya tapped his temple. “I can play with words now.”
“Play with these words,” Shane said, grumpily handing Ilya the next card.
“Have you ever thought about cheating on me?”
“No,” Shane said immediately. “Even when you told me I could.”
“Sweetheart,” Ilya said, distressed. “Moya lyubov, it was stupid comment.”
“What happened?”
“It was years ago, when I still played for the Metros,” Shane said bitterly. “He told me I should try sleeping with other guys, while we were still in a relationship, because we were long distance most of the time.”
Ilya raised his hand in surrender against the shocked gasps in the room. “It was stupid! Very stupid, very insecure, and he never did cheat. And I did not cheat either! I know Hayden Pike thinks I was cheating but I never cheat. Not on beautiful husband, not in hockey game, not even when we play Uno drunk and you show me all your cards.”
Shane smiled, right back to being fond. “I know. I trust you.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Ilya said. He passed the next card to Shane, taking the opportunity to kiss his knuckles as his hand came close to Ilya.
“If I was in a coma, how long would you wait for me?”
Ilya shivered. “Oh my God, terrible thought. Uh, long time. Probably forever.” He shivered again. “I do not like that. Do not go into coma, please. I do not know what I would do. Hospital is terrible and terrifying, I do not want to see you there again, yes?”
“I will try not to fall into a coma,” Shane promised. He gave Ilya the next card. Ilya was silent for a moment, then he put the card down, “I do not like this either. I will pour shot for you.”
“Hey,” Shane said. He picked up the card, and he read it out. “If we ever broke up, would we still be friends?”
Shane put the card back down. “That’s not a bad question.”
“I do not want my feelings hurt today,” Ilya said. “Weather is beautiful, I am in good mood. It has been a while since we drank anyway.”
“I think we would,” Shane said softly. “Be friends, I mean, if we broke up.”
Ilya sighed. “I do not want to break up.”
“I don’t either,” Shane promised. “But if something tore us apart, I’d still want you in my life.”
Ilya huffed. He had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but his brows were still furrowed. “You will not leave me. Please.”
“I won’t leave you,” Shane said. He picked up the next card, and, like Ilya, he tossed it right into the discard pile. “Okay. You can pour that shot now.”
“Ohhh, is sexy card, huh?” Ilya asked. He reached for it. Shane trapped his hand against the table.
“Ilya.”
“Shhh, moya lyubov, I will be good,” Ilya said. His free hand crept past Shane’s and grabbed the thrown-away card. “What have you always wanted to try in bed but haven’t told me?”
Ilya hummed, thinking. Shane dropped his head into his hands, avoiding the camera at all costs.
“I know he does not want to, but, if he ever changed his mind, I would be happy to be on the bottom,” Ilya said. Shane released a long, low groan.
“Now you know our dynamic,” Ilya said, in a tone that said you’re welcome. He picked up the next card, “When was the last time you masturbated?”
“This sucks,” Shane muttered.
“You can have shot, sweetheart. I will let you.”
“This can’t get any more embarrassing anyway,” Shane sighed. He dropped his arms against the table and admitted, “I don’t masturbate anymore. I have Ilya.”
Ilya smiled, smug, at the camera. Shane picked up the next card.
“Oh, geez.”
“More sex?”
“Yeah,” Shane muttered. “If our sex life was a porno, what genre would it be?”
“Hm. ‘Gay’ is a genre, no?” Ilya asked. Shane and Ilya looked around the room, but they didn’t come to any helpful conclusions that way.
“Romantic,” Ilya decided. “And maybe, ah, messy?”
“Oh my God,” Shane mumbled.
“How about ‘Beautiful Asian Bottom Takes Thick, Russian Cock’—”
“Ilya!” Shane practically slammed the next card against Ilya’s chest. “Move on, I beg.”
Ilya plucked the question out of its spot between Shane’s palm and his pecs.
“What is your body cou — body count?” Ilya looked at Shane, then at the crew behind the camera. “There is question about murder here?”
“No,” Shane laughed. “That means how many people have you slept with?”
“Oh. Okay. Body count,” Ilya repeated. He set the card aside. “Please drink. I do not want to know.”
Ilya poured the shot for him, and he pulled apart two slices of lime while Shane drank it.
“Do you know your body count?” Shane asked, his voice strained as he swallowed the lime juice. His cheeks were flushed, perhaps because of the alcohol, perhaps due to the sexual nature of the last batch of questions.
“Ah, no.”
“Too many to count?”
Ilya sighed. “I was young, famous athlete on party scene. Yes, I had lots of sex.”
“He was sleeping with me the whole time, too,” Shane said, with his face twisted thanks to the sourness of his second lime slice. It all faded away in a split second. “Why did I say that?”
“Is true,” Ilya said. “He was always my favorite. Listens very well—”
Shane snatched up and read the last card in a rush. “What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done sexually with an ex? Jesus.”
“Ah, I will die if I say truth,” Ilya said. He reached for the vodka. Shane intercepted this time, curling his fingers around Ilya’s hand, “What is it?”
“You do not want to know, moya lyubov.”
“Yes, I do,” Shane argued.
“Shane.”
“Ilya.”
Ilya dropped Shane’s hand and went for the vodka again. “I will tell you later, okay? You can murder me in private. No witnesses. You can blame it on Hayden Pike.”
Shane kept his narrowed, curious eyes on Ilya’s face as he took another shot of vodka.
“Next?” Ilya asked.
“That’s it,” Shane said. They both looked at the crew for more directions.
“Before we wrap up, do you mind if we ask you two a few quick-fire questions?”
Shane looked at Ilya, who nodded.
“Sure.”
“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”
“Me,” Ilya said.
“But I confessed first,” Shane said.
“I fell in love first.”
“Debatable.”
“I loved you first moment I saw you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is true. You were only person who talked to me kindly. You said I was great player.” He mimicked young Shane’s voice, “You’re an awesome player to watch!” Ilya chuckled, “Very sincere. Very cute.”
“I barely remember,” Shane admitted.
“I remember,” Ilya said. “You shook my hand twice. You wished me good luck. You told me not to smoke, too, very bold for first impression.”
“I said you weren’t supposed to smoke right there.”
“Ah, so you do remember.”
“Shut up,” Shane said fondly. His hand was back in Ilya’s, knuckles relaxed under the steady, back-and-forth of Ilya’s thumb. The couple looked to the producer for the next question.
“Who proposed?”
“I did,” Shane said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. It was after that mishap with the Centaurs’ plane, before I was on the team. It scared the shit out of me,” Shane said. He looked at Ilya.
“He learned my middle name for proposal. Was very sweet,” Ilya said.
“What is your middle name?”
“Grigoryevich.”
“Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov,” Shane said quietly. Ilya just smiled at him.
“How often do you two fight?”
Both of them hesitated to answer.
“We’ve gotten better,” Shane said. “We communicated poorly for the majority of our relationship. After our last big fight, we promised to communicate more.”
“Do you think you’ve done that successfully?”
“Well. Our last big fight was about a month ago,” Shane admitted. “We’ll see.”
“What was the fight about?”
Ilya snorted. Shane groaned. “I’d rather drink this whole bottle than talk about it.”
“You both owe us a shot, then.”
Ilya poured them both a shot of the Russian vodka, and they took them in sync again. Ilya didn’t react to the liquor, and he told the camera, “We are better. Promise.”
Shane, on the other hand, squeezed two quarters of a lime into his mouth to chase the vodka.
“How often do you two have sex?”
Shane groaned. He went right back to the vodka as he started to plead with Ilya, “Do not answer that.”
Too late.
“Every day,” Ilya said. Shane groaned, dropping his hand against the table. Ilya squeezed his fingers. “What? Is very healthy. You see, we are deeply in love, and we like to fuck a lot. Sometimes, we do it more than once—”
“Ilya,” Shane said. “Please stop.”
“We are setting healthy example, moya lyubov. Couples who fuck good stay together forever. Simple statistics.”
Shane closed his eyes and sighed for a long time. Ilya laughed, squeezing the back of Shane’s neck. He whispered something to Shane, a private moment, just the two of them.
The producer came to Shane’s rescue. “Speaking of which. Our final question here, do you two think you’ll be together for a long time?”
“Forever,” Ilya said, so quickly it almost sounded hostile. But he smiled, “Shane is my husband. I will keep him with me forever.”
“Shane?”
“Ditto,” Shane muttered, with his eyes still closed.
“That was really sweet, guys. Amazing job. Anything you want to say or promote as we wrap up here?”
“Centaurs will win Stanley Cup this year,” Ilya said. Shane finally opened his eyes again. His cheeks were still flushed. Ilya reached over to touch his knuckle to Shane’s freckles.
“Thank you for having us,” Shane said. The two of them waved at the camera, and their fingers slipped into each other once again, just in time to catch the gesture before the video faded to black.