Chapter Text
"Hey man, glad you could make it," Carmichael slaps Ilya on the back, hard.
Ilya wouldn't be here if he hadn't agreed to it two months in advance.
"Glad I can finally meet your girlfriend. I'm starting to think she's not real," Ilya replies.
Last Ilya heard, Carmy was dating some model from LA after they instantly hit it off at a club. He'd messaged the Raiders group chat with her Instagram handle exactly one day after they met, and look - Ilya thinks that Carmy has a great personality, and is exceptionally skilled on the ice, but come on. The man is balding at 23.
"You and everyone else," Carmy grumbles, "anyway, you know the drill. You can dump your drinks in the fridge, pizzas arrive in an hour, and please don't throw up in the pool."
"No promises," Ilya grins, and Carmy just huffs as he makes his way back into his house.
Ilya trails in behind him and looks around. For the most part Carmy keeps consistent company - guys who've had one too many concussions. Mostly of the hockey variety, but a few friends from his gym and high school baseball team usually show up to his parties too - which is why Ilya is caught off-guard momentarily when he spots a group of people actually dressed nicely.
He might've been able to handle it if Carmy had decided to go out to a club tonight. He's familiar with getting lost in the heat and the sweat of a sticky dancefloor. He's well-equipped to flirt shamelessly and to hoot and holler when he notices a teammate leaving the club with a hookup. But tonight, Carmy walks up behind one of the girls in the group and wraps his arms around her waist. He perches his head on her shoulder and gives her a quick, tender kiss to the cheek. Ilya's stomach sours at the sweetness of the gesture.
The rest of the group fuss over them, gushing about how cute they are together. Ilya is far enough away from them that he can pretend that he didn't see the display of affection. They're blocking his path to the fridge, but he can hang onto his drinks until they move.
"Hey! Roz! I wanna introduce you to someone," Carmy calls, and now Ilya has no choice but to make his way over to them.
"Roz - this is Ashley and her friends. Ashley and friends - meet Roz."
Ilya smiles politely at Ashley and then looks around at the rest of the group and-
"Why the fuck is Rose Landry here?"
The question tumbles out before he can put a filter on his mouth. Standing there is the woman herself. She blinks back at him. Ilya feels like he's been put under a microscope under the ugly cool kitchen lights.
"Roz, don't be fucking rude, bro. I told Ashley to invite some of her friends so she wouldn't be surrounded by assholes all night," Carmy sounds genuinely offended, "not that it's helping."
Worst of all, Ilya wasn't trying to be intentionally mean. It was just the first thing that came to mind. But now that he's been accused of being rude, he's going to follow through.
"Sorry. Nice to meet you all. Nice to see you again, Rose Landry," he says, angling for sarcastic.
"The pleasure's all mine," she replies smoothly.
"Anyway," Carmy says, "you can put your drinks in the fridge Roz."
The group shuffles to the side, and Ilya finds a spot to dump his six pack and bottle of vodka. He very slightly slams the fridge door shut. Carmy glares at him.
"I'll talk to you guys soon - just gotta do the rounds again for a bit," Carmy grabs Ilya's sleeve and drags him away from the group. Looking over Carmy's shoulder, he sees Rose staring at him as if he mildly stinks. Whatever. He doesn't need her to like him. He doesn't even like her, so it shouldn't matter what she thinks.
"What are you doing?" Carmy demands.
"I don't know what you mean," Ilya says.
"'Why the fuck is Rose Landry here?'" Carmy mimics Ilya in a terrible Russian accent.
"It was a logical question."
"She's one of Ashley's best friends. I know that you hate Hollander or whatever, but can you forget about it for one night?"
"You're letting the enemy into your home Carmy!"
"I'm trying hard with Ashley here. Really hard. And I'd appreciate it if you could stop being a dick for a few hours."
Ilya throws his head back and groans.
"Look, Roz," Carmy's tone is softer now, in a way that Ilya has barely ever heard it, "I know that something happened between you and your Montreal girl. You don't want to talk about it? Fine. But I'm here if you do want to."
"I don't want to," Ilya says.
"Alright. But please don't mess this up for me? I don't think I've ever liked anyone as much as I like Ashley."
Carmy looks up at Ilya with his ugly puppy dog eyes.
"Ok," Ilya caves in, "I'll try to be nice."
"Good man," Carmy says, "and stick around for more than half an hour. The guys won't say it but they miss you - especially the rooks."
"They see me nearly every day," Ilya counters, but he knows what Carmy means. Truth be told, his plan actually was to leave after half an hour or so. Ever since the day Hollander left Ilya's place in Boston, Ilya found himself blowing off his team whenever they wanted to go out. Well, apart from that disastrous night at that Montreal club where he saw Hollander and Rose. And now apparently tonight, where Rose is terrorizing him again. It could be a sign from the universe that Ilya should avoid going out into public until this wound is well and truly healed.
"Yeah, they see you at work. You never have any fun with us anymore."
"You're saying hockey isn't fun?"
"You know what I mean. It's my birthday, cap. You wouldn't want to disappoint me on my birthday, would you?" Carmy says.
"You are manipulating me."
"I would never. C'mon, I just want to hang out with my friend."
"Fine."
"Thank you. I'm putting together a draw for the beer pong comp, you want in?"
Ilya knows he'd probably find himself sulking in the corner if he says no. Plus, he's really good at beer pong and recently his talents have been going to waste.
"Ok," he agrees instead.
"You don't need to be supervised while I'm setting up, do you?"
"Shut up, Carmy."
"Alright, alright," Carmy raises his hands in surrender, "see you later."
Ilya watches his friend walk back into the kitchen and loudly greet a few people who filtered inside after he arrived. He makes his way into the kitchen too and slots himself into a group of Raiders, pointedly ignoring Rose Landry's side of the room. Maybe luck will be on his side tonight and he'll get the chance to sweep the floor with her in beer pong.
Carmy plucks the final two slips out of his baseball cap.
"And that leaves… Rose and Rozanov."
Fuck.
The draw was definitely rigged - Carmy got paired up with Ashley. Ilya hears muffled laughter around him.
He looks over at Rose and she doesn't look too thrilled either, so at least they're both in the same boat.
"You know the rules - you lose, you're out. Last team standing wins," Carmy says, and there's movement as people rearrange themselves to find their partners. Ilya sees Rose Landry walking towards him and he's tempted to turn around and walk in the opposite direction.
"Hey, teammate. Guess we're stuck together," she greets him.
"Hooray." Ilya deadpans.
"Are you any good at beer pong?"
"Obviously."
Rose gives him a once-over and nods.
"Are you?" Ilya asks.
"I'm good enough," she says, sly.
"Good."
He could say many things in this moment, none of them pleasant. So he elects to remove himself from the situation.
"I have beer in the fridge. I'll go get it for us to play with."
He's planning on taking a detour and only making it back in time for them to start their game.
"Wait!" She blocks his path before he can take more than a couple of steps, "I don't like beer. I brought some cider that we can use instead."
His eyebrows scrunch together.
"The game is called beer pong."
"Yeah, well, beer's gross," she defends herself.
"Is against the rules to not use beer."
"No it's not. Come on."
"What if I don't like cider?"
"Do you?"
"…it's okay."
"Alright, so we use cider."
Rose Landry is a monster.
"Fine. We use cider, but if we lose it's your fault."
"Don't worry, I intend to win," she says.
"Almost as competitive as your boyfriend," Ilya taunts, "hope you aren't as terrible at holding your alcohol as him too."
For the first time tonight, Rose looks like she's been caught on the wrong foot.
"Didn't Carmichael tell you not to be an asshole tonight?" she asks.
"Sorry Rose Landry, I didn't mean to insult you. I'm sure Carmy has some ginger ale here somewhere that you could drink instead."
"Are you usually this grouchy, or is it because I'm here?" Rose asks.
"What is grouchy?" Ilya says, but he knows exactly what it means.
"Angry, sulking, acting like a kid?"
"I'm not grouchy," Ilya complains.
"Alright, so you are usually like this."
Rose Landry is more direct than Ilya expected, in a way that makes him squirm, as if she sees right through him. He can see why Hollander would be drawn to her - compared to all the ways Ilya means one thing while saying another. He doesn't even know if he wanted Hollander to decipher the real meaning of his words or if that would've left him too vulnerable, as if he was holding up a mirror to his own desires. I never hear about you with girls translated to is this thing between us something convenient for you to fill your time with before you find a girl you love? He'd been pretty sure that Hollander wasn't interested in girls, but he wanted to confirm it. He thought Hollander was joining him in this strange dance of saying one thing but meaning another when he replied it's private, but there's pretty clear evidence of the contrary in front of him.
"I'm sorry, no. I'm not usually like this, I've had a bad day," he apologizes.
"It's okay. Well, not okay - but I get it. I'm gonna go get the cider, and then we can pretend to start the night again?"
She's much more gracious than Ilya would've been if the roles had been reversed.
"I would like that."
Ilya watches her turn around in her pretty blue dress. He resents her for her directness, for her forgiveness, for how gorgeous she is. He imagines her as Hollander's plus-one at a Metros' party - he'd come up behind her and wrap his arms around her like Carmy did to Ashley. Everyone would think it's perfectly normal and cute. They'd go back home after the party to have perfectly normal sex, then wake up in the morning to get papped at a perfectly normal brunch spot. And then-
Ilya needs to stop. This is getting sad and pathetic.
He looks at the table being set up in front of him; the red cups being arranged in triangles on opposite ends. He needs to stop thinking about Hollander and focus on the task at hand - winning.