Chapter Text
Svetlana Vetrova
“You are very rude,” Svetlana said as Ilya pulled open the car door and climbed in. She’d been sitting in the airport parking lot for going on an hour and was very over it.
“‘Hello, Ilya.’ Hi, Sveta. ‘How are you?’ I am good.”
She reached over and slapped his arm, most of her focus on backing out of the space. “You summoned me from Russia with no reasonable explanation and then asked me to pick you up from the airport. If you do not explain this nonsense now, I think I will actually explode.”
“When we get to my house. I will explain, I promise.” He was looking out the window, a strange expression on his face.
“Fine,” she muttered. She was willing to wait until they reached his house, but not a second longer.
He turned to her. “Can we get Dunkin’?”
Never mind; she would kill him.
One Week Earlier
Ilya was calling. He never called. They had an endless text chain that was active at least every other day or so, if not more, but they never called… so Ilya was either dead or dying. She picked up the phone quickly. “Ilyusha?”
“Sveta.” He paused, then asked, “How has your summer been?”
She felt her eyebrows furrow. “...Okay? Why are you calling me?”
“I cannot call my oldest friend to ask how she is?”
She snorted. “Don’t play games. What happened?”
He sighed. “I need to tell you in person. Could you come back to Boston? I’ll be in the city from the 13th to the 16th.”
“I wasn’t planning to come back until next month,” she said, already pulling her phone away from her ear and putting it on speaker. She opened her calendar and created an unnamed event from the 13th to the 16th.
“This is important.”
Ilya never asked for things, especially not things he needed, the important things. Her stomach did a flip. “I will be there on the 13th, and you will tell me everything.”
“Of course.”
He was asking for her to be in Boston, so she would be there. He would do the same for her. She still had to check, “You are okay, though?”
“I am okay,” he said simply. “Goodbye, Sveta.”
Present
They did not get Dunkin’, and Ilya pouted the whole rest of the drive. He was fidgeting with his cross, a nervous habit he’d never quite managed to break. The second the door clicked shut behind them, she turned to him. “Tell me.”
“Christ, Sveta.”
“Ilyusha.”
“Okay, okay. Sit,” he gestured at the couch. She sat, looking at him expectantly, and he took a seat across from her. “You will want to kill me, but maybe please don’t?” He sighed. “You know, my Jane.”
Her curiosity was even more piqued. “I Know of Jane.” She knew Ilya had been staying with Jane these past few weeks, not that he’d admit to it, and that he wasn’t planning on returning to Russia. What could have happened to have him summon her back to Boston on such short notice and with such urgency?
“You know Jane is a man.”
“Yes.”
“But… you do not know that Jane is Shane Hollander.”
Her jaw dropped. “Shane Hollander?”
“Yes.”
“Holy shit.” He sat with the information for a few seconds. “His hands, Ilyusha.”
“Yes.” Ilya let out a laugh. “In more ways than one.”
“The video you would watch, about his cottage…”
“Yes. The yoga is very nice to look at.”
“Fuck, you’re obsessed.”
“Mhmm.”
She cocked her head at him. “There is something else.”
He shrugged.
“You would not have dragged me all the way back from Russia just for this.”
“Yes. There is maybe more.”
She stared him down.
“We are getting married. Before next season.”
For the second time that day, she found herself speechless.
“I would like you to be there.”
“When is this happening?”
“End of the month. Will only be us and Shane’s parents. Very small.”
“I would not miss it,” she said, then hit his shoulder hard, and he grimaced. “You deserve worse than that.”
He smirked.
Farah Jalali
Farah hated meetings where she didn’t know what she was walking into. The only information she’d been given ahead of time was that another player would be involved and that both Shane’s lawyer and the other player’s lawyer would be present for the proceedings as well. Strike one; not a good sign.
She logged into the meeting approximately five minutes before the start time. The only other people on the call were Shane and his mother, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Shane was staring down at his phone and looked… well, she’d never say it out loud, but he looked terrible, kind of like he was going to hurl at any moment or maybe just have an anxiety attack. That was a second strike.
“Good morning,” Yuna greeted her pleasantly, ignoring her hyperventilating son.
“Good morning, Yuna, Shane.”
For the first time, Shane seemed to realise she was there, and his head shot up, forcing a pained smile onto his face. “Uhm, hi.”
The call trilled, and the familiar face of Shane’s lawyer appeared. Márie-Eve Roy, an older woman with prominent laugh lines, but who never seemed to smile during billable hours. Farah had always liked her.
Before any of them had the chance to exchange greetings, the call trilled again, and a man appeared. The name at the bottom of his image was Christopher Volkov. Immediately, he looked confused. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure this is the right–”
Yuna cut him off. “You’re Ilya Rozanov’s lawyer?” He nodded. “Then this is the correct meeting. I’m sure your client will be joining us any second now.”
Ilya Rozanov.
Strike three. Volkov’s eyebrows shot up in unison with Farah’s, but he nodded. Márie-Eve looked as unruffled as ever. Well, this was bound to be interesting. Right as the clock struck 2 PM, another trill sounded out, and a familiar face joined the call. Ilya Rozanov, just as Yuna had said.
“Thank you all for squeezing in such a last-minute meeting.” Yuna’s expression was serene. “As I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, we’ll be talking about highly sensitive subjects that are not to be publicly disclosed. As for introductions, I’m Yuna Hollander, part of Shane’s management team, as is Mrs. Jalali.”
“Hello,” she greeted.
“Mrs. Roy is Shane’s legal representation.” Márie-Eve nodded, eyes sharp as Yuna said, “Ilya, your team?”
Ilya Rozanov looked startled at being addressed, but recovered quickly. “Yes, ah. I am between managers right now, but Chris is my lawyer.”
Mr. Volkov took that moment to speak up. “I apologise, but I was unaware this meeting would be between anyone but myself and my client.”
Rozanov pulled a face, and Yuna smoothly said, “I apologise for any deceit, but we were trying to avoid any questions before the meeting. Now I’m sure you’re all very curious what this is about, so… boys?”
Shane cleared his throat. “Uh, right. So. Probably better to just rip off the Band-Aid. Ah, Ilya and I…” he trailed off before looking at the screen with a somewhat pleading expression.
“We are getting married,” Rozanov said.
Farah felt her jaw drop. “I’m sorry, can you please–”
“We’re getting married.” It was Shane that time, voice steadier than Farah would’ve expected given the circumstances. “Hopefully before the start of pre-season.”
Ilya’s lawyer said something rapidly in Russian, and Ilya responded quickly. Whatever he said had his lawyer nodding thoughtfully before saying in English, “Congratulations. While I can’t say this was expected, I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you,” Shane said with a half-smile while Ilya just nodded.
“Congratulations,” Márie-Eve said halfheartedly. She was frowning. “First, I apologise, but this is… unprecedented, so I must ask, to the best of your knowledge, have either of you done anything that could be considered a breach of your contract? I’m asking you to really consider. Collusion, tampering, sports betting, letting one another win, not playing as hard against one another as other teams, discussing trades involving Boston or Montreal players, even an accidental mention of an undisclosed injury on your team,” she shook her head, “we need to know now. That worst thing would be to get caught off guard.”
Thankfully, Shane and Ilya were already shaking their heads. “We do not discuss our teams any more than with any other player. We have always been very strict about this. Not so much when talking about other teams, though.”
Shane cut in, “And definitely no cheating during games.” He shook his head. “You can check the stats, but we play better against one another. Both of our averages increase across every game, not just one or the other.”
“I believe you,” Farah said. “I’d like to offer my congratulations as well, but you have to be aware that if this leaks, that’ll be the first question people ask, and the league will investigate it. They shouldn’t, but they will.” Shane looked slightly queasy, which she couldn’t blame him for. Even if they hadn’t done anything wrong, this would still be labeled a scandal. “How public are you planning to be?”
“Not at all,” Shane said, shaking his head. “Right now there are only two people in the world who aren’t on this call who know anything about this, and they’re both family. We intend to keep this as close to the chest as possible.”
“And you’re planning for a Canadian marriage licence?” Volkov cut in.
“Yes,” Ilya said, nodding. “I am hoping to get citizenship in Canada eventually. I know the process takes time, but I am in less danger if we are married.”
“There would be more protections,” Volkov said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I have to insist on bringing in another lawyer from a Canadian firm to help with the immigration process. I’m an American lawyer, so I’m not going to be much help here.”
Yuna nodded. “We assumed that may be the case, which is why right now we’re choosing to focus on the marriage aspect of this and worry about the immigration side of things after the wedding. Ilya will remain in the US for at least one more season, so it’s important he has an American lawyer involved.”
Farah made a mental note of that. Rozanov’s contract with the Raiders lasted one more season. It sounded like he wasn’t going to re-sign, not that anyone was stupid enough to say it out loud, especially not on this recorded call. That last thing they needed was actual provable collusion in this already messy situation.
Farah tapped her pen against the notebook in front of her, the page already filling up with notes, and asked, “What are your top concerns here? There’s a lot to figure out, so we need to prioritize.”
Yuna said, “First and foremost is keeping this quiet. I’ve done a bit of research, and it looks like there are ways to keep a marriage under wraps, but it sounds like it could be a messy process. I think we’ll need to argue in front of a judge for the boys’ safety if this were to get out, especially for Ilya. After that is dealing with immigration, then there's how to keep this under wraps in the long term. And of course there’s all the potential issues with the league, which I’m sure I don’t have to spell out for you. The boys have a few ideas that should help soften the eventual impact of this going public—which, as of now, will be once one or both of them retire—but they’re half-baked at best.”
“Right,” Márie-Eve said. “And it’s safe to assume this is a real marriage?” She leveled the screen with a careful look. “Immigration and marriage fraud is no small deal.”
Rozanov snorted. “If I wanted a fake marriage, it would not be with a man. Definitely not with my rival. It would be easy enough to find American woman for green card.”
“It’s real,” Shane said seriously.
Yuna was nodding. “It’s very real, though I understand your surprise and… concerns.”
“Even so, the Canadian government is going to want proof,” Volkov said, squinting at something off-screen. He’d probably already started researching Canadian immigration laws. “If Mr. Hollander is the spousal sponsor, they can deny the application if the relationship looks fake.”
“What kind of proof?” Rozanov looked concerned. “We, ah, have deleted many things over the years to, uh, keep private.”
Volkov pursed his lips. “They’ll want tax records, pictures, messages, call logs, personal accounts from family and friends. I’m sure that, given your situation, they’ll understand that the evidence would be limited, but it’ll look bad if there’s nothing. There are other routes to immigration if this is too difficult, but spousal sponsorship appears to be the most direct route. I imagine you could claim asylum easily given your circumstances. Again, I know very little about these laws, so please do not take my advice and consult a Canadian lawyer.”
“We have pictures,” Shane said. “And I’m sure some of our text messages would help, even if we’ve deleted identifying information.” He cringed at his own words, probably realizing how shady it all sounded.
“Pictures?” Farah questioned tiredly, already imagining potential leaks. She’d drilled into Shane the importance of not keeping anything on his phone that he would regret in a hack, but even if they’d deleted texts and nudes, who’s to say what they hadn’t deleted, especially Rozanov. She had no idea what kind of media guidance he’d been given by his previous agent.
“Polaroid pictures,” Ilya said. Thank god. “There are not many, but some.”
“I imagine that would probably help,” Volkov mused.
Farah chimed in, finally asking the question that had been on her mind since the start of the meeting: “How long exactly has this relationship been going on?”
Both the boys froze guiltily before Shane murmured, “Since 2010.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Márie-Eve said before her mouth clicked abruptly shut. “I apologise. That was highly unprofessional of me.”
Farah had never once seen a crack in Márie-Eve’s composure before, and it was… alarming. This whole meeting was a bit like watching a train wreck in slow motion. Volkov was rubbing the bridge of his nose again, and Farah felt a bit like she was negotiating with her toddler over whether dessert was appropriate before dinner. Shane and Ilya looked like they’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. In fact, the only one who looked unaffected by this whole meeting was Yuna.
Márie-Eve sighed and said. “Alright. We should talk pre-nups.”