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November 2016 – Boston Bear Locker Room
“Where the fuck is Rozanov?”
Cliff Marlow, in the middle of lacing up his skates, looks up at the coach, who seems genuinely pissed off. He glances at the locker beside him, still empty.
He doesn’t understand why the coach is so upset. Rozanov is probably about to walk in any second now. It’s not like him to be late. Okay, sure, he’s usually one of the last guys to arrive, but Cliff knows his captain won’t be long.
“Maybe he’s still in bed, with a girl... or two!”
A few players laugh at Marlow’s joke, but the coach doesn’t seem to appreciate his sense of humor.
“Relax, Coach. He’ll probably be here any minute. Rozanov would never miss a game against the Montreal Voyageurs.”
And it’s true. If Rozanov is known for being aggressive on the ice and mouthy toward his opponents, something about playing against Montreal has always seemed to crank his competitive streak up even further.
Rozanov versus Hollander. The famous rivalry between two of the most talented players of their generation, playing for teams that have hated each other for over a hundred years.
Early in his career, Marlow thought the NHL put way too much emphasis on the Hollander-Rozanov rivalry. But he has to admit, the league’s strategy has paid off. Every time the Bears play in Montreal, or the Voyageurs come to Boston, the crowd goes absolutely wild. Everyone wants to see the two golden boys go head-to-head.
Marlow knows Roz would rather die than admit it, but GOD, Ilya Rozanov absolutely LOVES playing against Shane Hollander!
Rozanov is always more excited before games against Montreal. He has a huge grin on his face every time he skates up for a face-off against Hollander. He seems to love hearing the crowd boo when he strips the puck from the Voyageurs’ star player or scores against them.
During the game, he never misses an opportunity to slam Hollander into the boards or mutter some comment designed to get a reaction.
Marlow is usually too far away to hear what Rozanov says, but given Rozanov’s style of trash talk—and Hollander’s notoriously prudish personality—Cliff assumes it’s probably something obscene.
But the man who walks into the locker room at that moment, pulling Marlow from his thoughts, looks nothing like the arrogant, mocking captain of the Bears.
Rozanov is pale and looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
Marlow watches him get dressed. “Rough night, Roz?”
Rozanov doesn’t answer, which is deeply unlike him. Marlow waits for the sarcastic comeback that never comes.
“Ready to destroy Montreal?”
Rozanov keeps dressing in silence.
Marlow stares at him, waiting. No jab about Montreal? Nothing?
Okay... there is definitely something wrong with Roz.
When he finishes getting dressed, Rozanov stands up. Every player in the room, including Marlow, looks at him, waiting to hear what their captain has to say before the game.
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
What? That’s it? No fiery speech? Just those four words?
Marlow tries to question him with a look, but his captain simply stares straight ahead and walks out of the locker room.
This game was awful. Maybe the worst game Marlow had ever played.
No, definitely the worst.
Rozanov looked completely checked out all game, missing nearly every pass Marlow sent his way. Even the Voyageurs were terrible. With how sloppy Rozanov was playing, Marlow expected Montreal to take advantage, but they seemed completely off too.
Hollander looked like he was suffering from the exact same disease as Rozanov. Both captains were so slow it was like watching a car crash in slow motion.
The game ended 1–0 in Boston’s favor.
Back in the locker room, Marlow watches Rozanov head straight to his stall and start stripping off his gear as quickly as possible.
Roz had been acting strange all night.
Marlow had tried talking to him on the bench and during intermissions, but he seemed distant and completely lost in his thoughts, answering only in monosyllables.
The two men aren’t exactly in the habit of discussing their feelings, but after all these years playing together, Cliff considers Ilya a friend. And seeing that friend so obviously not okay, he awkwardly tries to figure out what’s wrong.
“Hey, Roz. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why won’t you talk to me?”
“I thought we were paid to play hockey, not to talk.”
“You’ve been in a bad mood all day, so I thought maybe—”
Rozanov cuts him off sharply. “What do you want, Marlow?”
Rozanov is standing right beside him, and Marlow can’t help noticing how exhausted he looks.
No, maybe exhausted isn’t the right word. Broken? Or maybe... Sad?
Marlow searches for the right thing to say to his friend. But what exactly is he trying to say? That he wants to know what bothered him so much he played like shit tonight? That he’s clearly not himself? That he has no idea how to interpret his weird behavior?
So instead he says flatly, “Nothing. Jeez, you’re so weird.”
Without a word, Rozanov turns back to his locker and finishes taking off his equipment. He grabs his things and heads for the showers.
The locker room is nearly empty now, and Marlow makes one last attempt. If he can’t figure out what’s bothering Rozanov, maybe he can at least cheer him up a little.
“Wanna go out tonight?”
“I’m going home.”
“Come on, Roz. Let’s celebrate our victory!”
The moment he says it, Marlow realizes it’s a terrible argument. Winning 1–0 after a game that painful is hardly cause for celebration.
From the look Roz gives him, Marlow gets the distinct impression he’s thinking exactly the same thing.
Rozanov slings his bag over his shoulder and walks out of the locker room.
An hour later, Marlow is back home. The entire drive, he couldn’t stop thinking about Rozanov’s behavior. He’s seen his friend have bad days before—every player does at some point during the season—but never like this.
Something serious must have happened.
He thinks back to a particularly brutal day of his own. The first time he made the playoffs, the year after his rookie season. He’d been dating a girl for a few months, and the night before his first playoff game, she dumped him. Said she couldn’t handle his constant absences anymore and that he seemed to care more about hockey than he did about her.
Well, of course he cared more about hockey at that moment. He was about to play in the playoffs for the first time in his career!
That didn’t stop him from playing like absolute shit the next day and swearing to himself that he would never let a woman interfere with his game again.
Thinking back on that distant memory, Marlow starts to wonder if there might be a woman behind Rozanov’s behavior today.
Of all the hockey players he knows, if someone had asked him which one was least likely to be devastated by heartbreak, he would have answered “Ilya Rozanov” without hesitation.
But the more he thinks about it, the more convinced he becomes that only a woman could destroy a man this thoroughly. Even a six-foot-three, gloriously mouthy man who is an absolute menace on the ice.
Marlow knows Rozanov sleeps with A LOT of women, but as far as Cliff knows, he doesn’t have serious relationships with any of them.
There is, however, one exception.
Marlow knows that Roz has been involved with a girl from Montreal for years.
He can’t quite remember when he first learned about her, mostly because Roz has always been secretive when it comes to this particular woman, but Marlow knows they’ve been texting for years. No matter how many women Rozanov sleeps with, he always seems to come back to this girl from Montreal.
You’d have to be blind not to notice that whenever the team went out for drinks after games in Montreal, Roz was constantly checking his phone. The second he got a text, he would come up with some excuse to leave the bar. And the only times he ever skipped optional practices were when they were in Montreal.
Which, by Rozanov standards, is practically a committed relationship.
The kind of relationship that could knock a man flat if it ended.
Rozanov has never spoken openly about this girl. And Marlow has never tried to pry. All he knows is that Rozanov is always excited to play in Montreal.
Sure, he knows that facing the Voyageurs—and especially Shane Hollander—is thrilling for Rozanov. But more than that, he knows Roz is always eager to reunite with his mysterious Montreal girl.
Marlow has also noticed that Roz is always calmer and noticeably happier in the days after their trips to Montreal. If this mysterious woman makes his captain happy, why dig any deeper?
Except this time, something happened.
And Marlow has to admit he’s starting to wonder what kind of woman could have enough power to reduce Ilya Rozanov to this.
Marlow doesn’t give a fuck if they want to keep their relationship secret. Unless it starts affecting the team’s performance on the ice.
Okay, Roz is also his friend, and Cliff hates seeing him like this. It’s just that he’s never been very good at talking about feelings. Women, on the other hand? That’s his area of expertise.
He grabs his car keys and heads for Rozanov’s apartment. He absolutely has to find out who this Montreal girl is—the one who has his friend in such a state.
When he arrives at Rozanov’s apartment, Marlow pounds on the door several times.
“Roz, it’s me. Open the door.”
Ilya finally answers, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a bottle of vodka in his hand.
When he sees Marlow, he lets out a long sigh and rolls his eyes. Without saying a word, he turns around and walks back inside, leaving the door open behind him.
Marlow takes that as an invitation. He steps inside and follows Roz into the kitchen.
“I thought you quit smoking.”
Roz turns to look at him but says nothing. He takes a glass from the cupboard and hands it to Marlow. “Have a drink,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the assortment of liquor bottles scattered across the counter.
He raises the vodka bottle in a mock toast before taking a long swig straight from it. Judging by the advanced state of his friend’s drunkenness, Marlow decides to get straight to the point.
“So... what’s her name?”
Roz gives him a look that clearly says, What the hell are you talking about? Marlow gestures up and down at him as if to say, Have you seen what you look like?
“It’s a girl, right?”
Rozanov answers slowly. “Oh. Yes. A girl.”
The last word rolls off his tongue as though it’s unusually difficult to pronounce with his Russian accent, and Marlow realizes his friend is even drunker than he thought.
Rozanov takes a long drag from his cigarette and exhales slowly, eyes closed. He seems lost in thought. Just as Marlow is starting to think he won’t get an answer at all, Roz finally says softly:
“Jane.”
“Jane,” Marlow repeats. “From Montreal, right?”
Rozanov whips his head toward him so fast that Marlow immediately knows he was right. This is definitely more than just sex.
“How do you know she’s from Montreal? I have never talked to you about this.”
“Listen, I know you think nobody has noticed, but I know you’ve been texting each other for years.”
Roz studies him as if trying to read his mind. “What else do you know?”
“I know that whenever we’re in Montreal, you rush off to see her the second she texts you. It’s actually kind of cute, but not very subtle.”
Rozanov, who had been leaning against the kitchen island, straightens and braces himself against the cabinets behind him. Then he slowly slides down to the floor, still clutching the vodka bottle like a life preserver.
“Well, I guess I don’t have to worry about being subtle anymore.” He stares at the floor. “It’s probably over.”
What? She texted him to break up? Ending a relationship by text is brutal. Okay, Cliff admits he’s done it before when a girl started getting too attached and he didn’t want things to go any further. But Roz and this girl have been seeing each other for YEARS.
Even Cliff knows that getting dumped by text after all that time is harsh. Especially since Roz has never seemed remotely interested in ending whatever this is. The way he constantly checks his phone and fires back replies the second she texts him, that has to mean something serious.
Marlow waits for more details, but of course Roz offers none.
Then something occurs to him. “But wait—did you see her? Your Montreal girl, Jane? She was in Boston?”
Rozanov takes a deep breath and looks him straight in the eye, speaking slowly, as if explaining something to a child. “People can travel, you know.”
“Yeah, but you’ve never told me she’s visited you in Boston before.”
Ilya shrugs.
“Does she come often?”
“Sometimes, yes,” Roz says with a sigh.
“How come you’ve never introduced me to her?”
“She’s very busy. We don’t have much time when we’re together.” He takes another drink straight from the bottle. “We mostly just fuck when we see each other. That’s it. Nothing more.”
Marlow doesn’t believe a word of it. You don’t drink yourself into oblivion over someone who means nothing. The two of them have never had long conversations about personal stuff, but maybe if he keeps pushing, he can learn a little more about the mysterious Jane.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. It’s probably better this way anyway.”
Marlow tries a different approach. “What does she look like?”
“Why do you care? Can we stop talking about this, yes?” Roz hands him the vodka bottle. “Now drink.”
The next morning, Cliff wakes up with a pounding headache. Drinking that much alcohol—vodka!—with a Russian had been a terrible idea.
Still, he’s glad he was able to show, in his own way, that he could be there for his friend. He hopes Ilya will feel a little more comfortable opening up to him in the future.
And, ideally, that Cliff might learn a bit more about the mysterious Jane in the process.
Or maybe he just needs to find a girl of his own so he can stop obsessing over Ilya’s Montreal girl.
Who is she? Why won’t Roz ever talk about her—or even show him a picture?
Rozanov is a total chick magnet, always surrounded by beautiful women. Of course, Cliff considers himself pretty good-looking too, and his long list of conquests tends to confirm it. But whenever they go out together, women practically throw themselves at Roz.
So if this Jane has occupied Rozanov’s thoughts for years, she must be something truly special.
Roz could have any woman he wants. So why is he so determined to keep this relationship secret? Maybe she isn’t attractive, Marlow thinks. No, that seems unlikely. And even if she weren’t, why hide her?
Marlow tries to imagine what kind of woman Rozanov might sleep with but not want to be seen with. A much older woman? A trans woman? A drag queen? LOL. Ilya Rozanov, legendary ladies’ man, secretly dating a man.
Okay. Be serious.
Cliff knows Jane from Montreal came to Boston two days ago—right when the Voyageurs were in town. Could she be the wife of one of the Montreal players? Wow. That would definitely be a good reason to keep their relationship secret.
Or... Could she actually be one of the Montreal players?
Okay, the vodka was really strong last night.
Cliff heads to the bathroom, swallows two aspirin with a large glass of water, and tries to start his day.
And tries very hard to think about anything other than Jane from Montreal.
December 2016
Over the past few weeks, Marlow hadn’t had the chance to talk to Rozanov again or learn more about what had happened with Jane, but Roz seemed to be doing better. He was back to being the same arrogant, chirping guy on the ice he always was.
Marlow had seen him check his phone a few times, but he didn’t seem to be texting nearly as often as before. So he apparently hadn’t gotten back in touch with Jane.
The day after a game against Detroit, Marlow is sitting in the hotel café with one of his teammates, Victor St-Simon.
Victor is scrolling through his phone when he suddenly exclaims, “Oh shit! You won’t believe this!”
He turns his phone toward Marlow and points to an article from a gossip website. On the screen is a picture of Shane Hollander with Rose Landry.
Wow. Rose Landry is a huge movie star. And she was now dating Shane Hollander?
Marlow couldn’t help but wonder how they had met. As he looks through the pictures on Victor’s phone, Victor says, “I always thought Hollander might be gay.”
Marlow is surprised—he’s never heard that rumor before. “What? How do you know that?”
St-Simon explains, “My old friend Drapeau, who plays for Montreal, once told me the guy is so boring. He barely ever parties or goes out to clubs with his team. I just figured he might be... well... you know.”
Marlow isn’t sure he agrees with his friend’s theory. Shane Hollander, gay?
Well, maybe he was. It’s not like Marlow had ever really thought about it before.
There were no openly gay players in the NHL, and even if there had been, Marlow figured it wasn’t any of his business what other guys did in private.
At that moment, he sees Rozanov walk into the café and calls out to him. “Roz! Come over, you gotta see this!”
Rozanov makes his way through the tables, walking slowly with his usual laid-back stride, probably wondering what could be so interesting. Victor hands him the phone so he can read the article headline.
Rozanov frowns, then gives the phone back. St-Simon continues. “There’s more pictures, look.”
Rozanov almost snatches the phone back and scrolls through the photos before abruptly handing it back.
“Probably nothing serious.” Then he turns around and leaves the café at a quick pace.
Marlow hesitates for a moment, wondering if he should call him back and remind him that he never even got his coffee, but he changes his mind when he sees how fast Roz is getting out of there.
On the flight back to Boston, Marlow decides to sit next to Rozanov. He has been silent the entire trip to the airport and throughout boarding. His strange behavior reminds Cliff of that disastrous game against Montreal three weeks ago. And yet, Cliff is almost certain that Ilya hasn’t gotten back in touch with Jane.
When he sits down next to him, Rozanov is looking at his phone. He quickly turns it off, but Marlow catches a glimpse of the same gossip site Victor showed them earlier.
Roz is still stuck on that?
“Oh, are you jealous, Rozanov? Maybe you wish YOU were banging Rose Landry?”
“I’m not jealous of anyone.”
No, of course not. After all these years of the Rozanov versus Hollander rivalry, with everyone constantly trying to decide which of them is the better player, Marlow wonders if he may have finally found Rozanov’s weak spot.
No one doubts that Hollander is one of the most respected players in the league. He’s a polite guy who knows how to speak to the media, and probably every mother’s dream son-in-law. But off the ice, his social game is completely overshadowed by Rozanov’s personality. Everyone knows Shane Hollander is — by far — the least funny guy in the league.
Could it be that, for the first time ever, Hollander is outshining Rozanov because he’s dating a Hollywood star?
Clearly, this news is affecting Roz more than he wants to admit. Marlow decides to tease him a bit. It is so rare to catch him off guard, there is no way he is going to miss this opportunity.
“Wanna watch a movie?”
Marlow scrolls through the titles on the screen. After a few minutes—while Roz remains silent—he finally finds the title he was looking for.
“Ah, there it is: Under Dark. I heard it’s great. It’s an FBI movie.”
Rozanov glances at the screen. Marlow points to the cover, where Rose Landry is clearly featured in the foreground.
“Seems boring.”
Then Roz takes out his headphones, puts them in, starts a playlist on his phone, and turns back toward the window.
With a satisfied little smile, Cliff starts the movie.
Okay, the movie was really bad.
But Cliff forced himself to watch it until the end. Just to see the amount of effort Roz put into trying, for ninety straight minutes, to absolutely NOT look at the screen, he feels like every minute was worth it.
January 2017
If Marlow thought Roz was doing better, he quickly changed his mind after the holiday break. His attitude wasn’t just strange anymore—it was increasingly unpleasant.
Last week, in the team gym, Rozanov threw his water bottle against the wall, shouting curses in Russian. At least, that is what Cliff assumed. He obviously didn’t understand Russian, but judging by the look on his friend’s face, those definitely were not terms of endearment.
Roz then stormed out of the gym, claiming he had stubbed his toe.
Of course, he was still as cocky as ever toward his opponents, but it was as if he no longer enjoyed it as much. He seemed to be doing it on autopilot, simply because that was what people expected from him.
Or maybe Cliff was imagining things because he still couldn’t figure out what was going on with his friend.
He had invited him out a few times, and Roz still got plenty of attention from women, but it was as if he wasn’t really into it anymore. At the bar, it was always the same routine: a few drinks, a girl chosen, a dance or two, then leaving with her.
And yet, God knew Ilya Rozanov had always loved to flirt.
Women were naturally drawn to him, but he didn’t always go for the easiest ones. He clearly enjoyed seducing women, touching them on the dance floor, and building anticipation before moving on to more serious things. He had always preferred the chase over being chased. That was probably part of the thrill.
In their early years playing together with the Bears, Marlow had even seen him flirt with men.
Most women seemed naturally attracted to hockey players, but Marlow had learned that men could be too. It was rare, not the usual crowd at bars NHL players went to. But on the few occasions when a waiter, or sometimes a busboy, tried to flirt with Rozanov, instead of shutting them down, Roz would occasionally play along and flirt back.
Marlow had always thought that was peak Ilya Rozanov. It wasn’t enough for him to be adored by women, he clearly took pleasure in knowing that men wanted him too.
Marlow had once been hit on by a man himself, and unlike Roz, he shut it down pretty quickly. He wasn’t sure he was as flattered by it as Roz seemed to be. But if Roz wanted to make guys think they had a chance with him, that was his business. Marlow figured he must have disappointed more than one guy when they eventually realized he wasn’t serious and ended the night with a woman on his arm.
Tonight, they are playing in Montreal for the first time since that disastrous game in November. On the bench, Marlow watches Rozanov from the corner of his eye.
Does being in Montreal remind him of Jane? Marlow wonders if she has ever come to a game—maybe he’s already seen her without knowing it.
The game is especially intense. Playing against Montreal means not only facing Boston’s century-old rival, but also witnessing the famous Hollander versus Rozanov showdown.
Tonight, Roz is ruthless. He has never passed up an opportunity to slam Hollander into the boards, but tonight he is absolutely unleashed.
Hollander fights back, but the louder the crowd boos Rozanov, the more he escalates. As if he needs to prove something. To whom? The Montreal fans? To Jane from Montreal?
By the end of the second period, Roz already has five penalties. The coach is furious, but Roz doesn’t care, and the Voyageurs end up winning the game 4–3.
In the locker room, Marlow watches Rozanov angrily strip off his gear.
“You ok, Roz?”
“Everything is perfect.”
“You were pretty intense tonight.”
Roz doesn’t answer and keeps undressing as if his clothes are on fire.
“Nothing to do with Jane, I suppose?”
Rozanov freezes for a moment, then seems to remember he already had this conversation with Marlow.
He shrugs. “I already forgot about her.”
Yeah, right. Roz can bullshit all he wants, but if this isn’t about Jane, then what is it? Who is it? Hollander? The captain of the Voyageurs had been his constant target tonight.
Hollander again. Why does it always come back to him? As if some invisible thread connects the two of them.
Maybe Hollander has a sister. Could that be Jane? Is that why Roz kept her secret?
Of course. I should have thought of that sooner!
She lives in Montreal, and the only time they can see each other is when the Bears play there. If fans found out Ilya Rozanov was dating his archrival’s sister, it would cause a scandal in both fanbases.
Feverishly, Marlow grabs his phone and searches online.
Unfortunately, Wikipedia informs him that Shane Hollander, born May 10th, 1991 in Ottawa, Ontario, is the only son of David and Yuna Hollander.
No luck.
But then again, who would name their children Shane and Jane? That was just too weird.
Later that night, back at the hotel, Cliff isn’t surprised to get a text from Ryan Carmichael, Rozanov’s roommate, inviting him and St-Simon to go out with them.
They end up at Ultraviolet, where the music is so loud that Cliff can barely hear what the guys are trying to say to him. But that’s fine, because they didn’t come here to talk to each other.
Unsurprisingly, Rozanov heads straight for the dance floor.
Cliff makes his way toward the bar, but he is quickly distracted by a beautiful brunette in a very short skirt that shows off her long legs.
Too bad. He’ll go to the bar later. For the moment, he has more interesting things to do.
Whenever a group of hockey players walks into a club, it always makes an impression. Even in Montreal, where women don’t always recognize them, they can still spot handsome, fit guys from across the room.
That is something Marlow has learned over the years, and he knows how to take advantage of it. He dances for a while with the brunette, whose name is Jessica-or maybe Jennifer?
He didn’t quite catch her name, but that doesn’t really matter, he tells himself. What matters is making her feel like she is the most interesting person—and the prettiest girl—on the dance floor.
He glances around and notices that Carmichael and St-Simon are also in very good company. He looks for Rozanov, but he can’t find him.
Roz already left? He must have set some kind of record tonight. Cliff has never seen him seal the deal that quickly.
A group of people on the other side of the dance floor catches his attention. He recognizes a few faces before realizing they are actors.
And Rose Landry is there.
Of course he recognizes her. He watched her terrible FBI movie just last month. And right now she is dancing with Shane Hollander.
So it’s true, they really are dating.
If Roz were still here, Cliff would definitely go tease him about it. It’s not only the great Ilya Rozanov who has success with women, Shane Hollander does too!
At that moment, Jenna—or maybe Jenny—signals that she is thirsty. Cliff motions for her to wait and heads toward the bar.
The music is so loud that he has trouble getting the bartender’s attention. He glances around. Maybe he can flag down a waitress if one passes by.
Something farther down the bar catches his eye, and he realizes that Rozanov is still here.
He was wrong. Roz hasn’t already left, and he is dancing with a woman. Judging by the way they are moving together, in a manner that leaves very little to the imagination, Cliff figures they are probably about to leave for somewhere more private.
He would love to go over there and tell them to get a room, just for the pleasure of hearing Roz tell him to fuck off. But they are too far away, and the music is too loud.
Suddenly, Rozanov seems distracted by something farther out on the dance floor.
Marlow tells himself he should stop spying on his friend. But he can’t help it. He wants to know what could possibly be more interesting than the woman currently grinding against him.
A quick thought flashes through Cliff’s mind.
Jane?
He follows Roz’s gaze, trying to see what could have distracted him so completely. But it isn’t Jane. It isn’t another woman. It’s... Shane Hollander?
Shane, who is no longer dancing with Rose.
Shane, standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.
Shane, staring at Ilya.
And Ilya, staring right back at Shane.
What the fuck?
The woman dancing with Roz doesn’t seem to notice and keeps moving against him.
But Cliff can see it clearly : it is Shane that Ilya is looking at.
What the fuck is going on?
A waitress interrupts his thoughts by stopping in front of him to take his order. He rattles off the drinks as quickly as he can before turning his attention back to the dance floor.
But Shane is gone.
And Ilya has turned his attention back to the woman dancing with him.
What the hell just happened? Did he imagine it? He hasn’t had a single drink yet.
He hurries back to Julia—Jasmine?—who seems delighted to accept the drink he hands her. He tries to focus on whatever she is telling him, but he can’t stop thinking about what he just saw.
It wasn’t his imagination. Something really happened between Roz and Hollander on that dance floor.
Something strange. Something he cannot explain yet. But something he definitely saw.
Something just happened between Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. Right in front of his eyes.
Eventually, Marlow asks Jessica—yes, that is probably her name—if she wants to continue the night somewhere quieter.
Partly because he really does want to spend the rest of the evening with her. But also because he wants to get out of this place, where he is fairly certain he just witnessed something he was never supposed to see.
Two weeks later
It is All-Star Weekend in Tampa Bay. Cliff has never participated in the event as a player, but he has always enjoyed watching it on TV.
Maybe his interest is even greater this year because, for the first time, Rozanov and Hollander are playing on the same team.
He has not spoken to Roz about their night out in Montreal. Well, obviously they have spoken, they play on the same team and practice together almost every day.
But Marlow has not talked to him about Jane.
Or Shane.
Or whatever it was he saw on the dance floor that night.
A few players have gathered at Victor St-Simon’s house to watch the game. Before it starts, everyone makes their predictions. Unsurprisingly, almost all of them are cheering for the Atlantic Division team, which their captain is representing this year.
The atmosphere is festive. And, naturally, the Shane-and-Ilya duo fuels a good portion of the discussion throughout the game. Rozanov has moved from center to right wing, which means he is playing on the same line as Hollander.
“There we go! Wow, Roz is so fast.”
“Well, I hate to say it but Hollander is pretty much just as fast as he is.”
“If not faster.”
“Don’t let Rozy hear you say that!”
“Well, the two of them are pretty impressive right now. Can’t argue with that.”
When Rozanov scores his first goal, with an assist from Hollander, everyone jumps to their feet and erupts in cheers.
And it really is incredible to watch Shane and Ilya skating side by side. The passes they make to each other are unbelievable. It is as if they have played together their entire lives and developed some kind of telepathy.
The league was quick to build its marketing around the rivalry between Hollander and Rozanov, using it to reignite fan interest and boost ticket sales.
But Marlow cannot help thinking that if these two had been on the same team from the beginning, the reaction from fans would have been on an entirely different level. People would have lost their minds. There would have been riots in every arena they played in.
Marlow has spent six seasons playing alongside Rozanov. Even though they have always worked well together on the ice and developed a certain chemistry over the years, what is happening with Hollander is something else entirely.
Cliff is not jealous. No. He is impressed. He is proud of his captain. And he is happy to see the huge smile on Rozanov’s face.
More than anything, he feels relieved.
He watched Roz slowly fall apart over the past two months. His game had improved, but Marlow could tell he still was not entirely back to his old self.
He also knows that Hollander’s performances have been disappointing in recent weeks. Not that he keeps track of the Voyageurs captain’s stats but... okay, maybe he has been paying a little more attention to them lately.
So yes, he knows Hollander seems to have been going through a rough patch as well. Though far less expressive than Rozanov on the ice, his low point totals over the last few games do not lie.
Hollander.
Again.
That invisible thread that keeps connecting him to Rozanov. As if each of them exerts a direct influence over the other’s mood.
Marlow has questions. A lot of questions. Questions he turns over and over in his mind, without ever finding a clear answer.
In fact, he has developed several theories. And one in particular is taking shape more and more in his head. But Marlow cannot quite bring himself to accept it.
Because the possibility seems too insane to be true.
March 2017
Since All-Star Weekend, Rozanov’s good mood had returned, much to Marlow’s relief.
Ilya Rozanov—the man, the Bears’ captain—had become his old self again, maybe even a slightly improved version. His renewed energy seemed to carry over onto the ice.
Games against Montreal had always fired him up, but now it was on another level entirely. He still played hard, but whenever he sent Hollander into the boards, it never felt reckless or overly aggressive.
If anything, he clearly took a certain pleasure in having Hollander as an opponent. Marlow realized Roz had probably always been like that but he had just never really paid attention before.
Those two clearly loved competing against each other.
Sure, there had always been that famous rivalry everyone talked about since the beginning of their careers, but Marlow understood now that the rivalry pushed both men to become even better—to outdo themselves and bring out the best in each other.
Marlow had also noticed, without much surprise, that Rozanov had started texting Jane from Montreal again.
He had teased him about it at first—about how quickly he replied, or how often he checked his phone with that small half-smile: during downtime, before games, between periods, at the airport.
Basically, all the time.
If Russians could blush, a careful observer might have noticed Rozanov turning red sometimes while reading his messages.
But everyone knows Russians don’t do that.
What Cliff noticed most, though, was that the last few times the guys had gone out, Roz had been unusually quiet. One night, he stayed for a while but left early. Another time, Cliff saw him dance with a few girls but, somehow, he left alone. And the last time, he hadn’t shown up at all.
But that had been after a home game against the Voyageurs. So Marlow had already known he wouldn’t be joining them.
All of this only reinforced his theory that the mysterious Jane from Montreal was, in fact, Shane Hollander.
It was a ridiculous idea. Or at least it sounded like one. But Marlow kept turning it over again and again, and the more he did, the more it seemed to fit.
Marlow knew that Jane lived in Montreal and sometimes came to Boston. Just like Shane, who lived in Montreal and also came to Boston for work.
Marlow had also noticed that Roz had flirted with men before. At first, he had assumed it was just for fun, but now he wondered if maybe it had been real all along.
Rozanov had been texting someone for years, but never called them, never FaceTimed, and had no photos of them. So texting was an easy and effective way for them to stay in touch without raising suspicion and to keep their relationship secret. Because even if the NHL claimed to be inclusive, everyone knew it wasn’t really. If Ilya and Shane ever came out, it would be a huge risk to both of their careers.
That was the part that made Marlow saddest. He knew it would come as a shock to many fans—not because they were all homophobic, but because no one would ever expect it. And he knew attitudes could be slow to change, especially in a macho environment like professional hockey.
Besides, the league itself had built this huge rivalry between them from the ground up. But Marlow now understood that being rivals didn’t mean they hated each other. In fact, keeping that perception alive was a perfect way to blur the truth.
And then there was Rose Landry. Looking back, Marlow realized that Roz hadn’t been jealous of Hollander. He had been jealous of Rose.
And, as a matter of fact, he hadn’t seen any new paparazzi photos of Shane and Rose in weeks. (Yes, he had checked every gossip site lately just to confirm this.)
Since the Bears had the day off and didn’t play their next game for another two days, Marlow invited Rozanov over to his place to play the new Resident Evil game that had just come out.
He had pretended he simply wanted to relax on their day off, thinking that if Roz felt like talking, he would probably be more comfortable doing it in somewhere private and quiet.
Marlow pulled two beers from the fridge and handed one to Roz.
“So... you and Jane, you’re back together?”
Rozanov took his time answering. He looked at Marlow as if weighing how much he was willing to reveal.
“We are seeing each other again, yes.” he said at last. Then after a pause : “But... we can’t really be together together. It’s complicated.”
Knowing it was probably difficult for his friend to open up, Cliff hurried to fill the silence. “Yeah, with the distance, I guess it’s not easy. You only get to see each other when we play in Montreal. Or when she comes to Boston.”
“I wish we could see each other more often, yes. But it is not possible. Not for now.”
Cliff could tell there was much more Ilya wasn’t saying, but he didn’t want to push too hard and make him uncomfortable.
“Listen,” he said gently. “I know your relationship might be a little complicated, but I’m glad that you two worked things out. Really. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to meet this person who makes you smile like that, but they must be very special to you. And if it makes you happy, that’s all that matters.”
An awkward silence hung between them for a few moments. Both men seemed aware of everything left unsaid, but neither filled the silence.
To spare his friend any further embarrassment and end the conversation on a lighter note, Cliff grabbed the PlayStation controllers and challenged him.
“So, are we playing this game or what? I hope you’re ready to get absolutely destroyed.”
“No chance,” Rozanov replied. “Everyone knows I am faster than you. Faster on the ice, faster at killing zombies. Simple.”
“Well maybe I practiced before you got here, and maybe you’re about to be surprised.”
They kept bickering for a few more minutes and spent the afternoon gaming before ordering pizza for dinner.
Marlow knew Roz would probably never reveal Jane’s true identity to him, and that was fine. He only hoped he had shown his friend that he respected his privacy—and that he would always be there for him.
April 2017
The last month had gone by quickly. Roz still kept texting Jane, but Marlow had decided to stop teasing him about it.
Ilya had gone back to Russia a few days earlier for his father’s funeral, and tonight he was in Montreal for his first game since returning.
During warm-ups, Marlow watched Hollander talking to Rozanov on the ice. He would have loved to know what they were saying. Maybe they were discussing the upcoming game. Or maybe they were making plans for after the game.
Okay, maybe he didn’t actually need to know what they were talking about.
When Rozanov skated back toward the bench, St-Simon leaned in. “So you’re friends with Hollander now? Aren’t you supposed to be rivals?”
Marlow watched closely for his friend’s reaction.
“We are rivals, yes. But I have never said I hate him,” Rozanov explained before adding, “People are just assuming that. It is stupid.”
Marlow burst out laughing before he could stop himself. St-Simon looked between them like there was some inside joke he wasn’t part of.
“Did he just say I’m stupid?” he asked, turning to Marlow. “Oh, and you’re laughing too. Thanks, guys.”
“If you excuse me, I have a face-off to win,” Rozanov said simply, already heading toward the center ice.
As usual when they played Montreal, the game was intense. Hollander and Rozanov were battling for the puck in the corner. Ilya managed to get it free for a few seconds before Shane stole it back with a perfect stick lift.
Marlow skated in to catch up. At the last second, just as Hollander looked like he was about to drive toward the net, he turned his head to check behind him—and Cliff didn’t have time to stop.
The collision was brutal.
Everything happened so fast. One moment Shane was skating, and the next his body slammed into the boards and crumpled motionless onto the ice.
Shit.
Marlow tried to get closer to Hollander and see if he was okay, but Hayden Pike, Shane’s teammate, came barreling into him and started throwing punches.
“You fucking asshole!”
“It was an accident! I didn’t mean to hurt him!”
Once the referees managed to pull them apart, Marlow heard Rozanov’s voice, sharp with panic, questioning the medics who were already working on Shane.
“Is he all right?”
The medics secured Shane to a spinal board. They spoke quietly among themselves, but no one answered Rozanov.
“Is he okay? Just fucking tell me!”
Marlow could hear the fear in his voice. The fear that something truly awful had happened to Shane.
He skated over to his friend. “Hey, Roz. Let the medics do their job. Shane is in good hands. They’ll take him to the hospital.”
Then he gently tugged on his sleeve and guided him back toward the bench.
Marlow wanted to say something more, but he didn’t know how. He couldn’t apologize—no one would understand why Cliff was apologizing to Ilya for hurting Shane. And he couldn’t tell him to stay out for the rest of the game either. No one knew about Shane and Ilya. It wouldn’t make sense if Rozanov suddenly refused to keep playing when he wasn’t the one who had been hurt.
So Marlow spent the rest of the game watching Rozanov try to skate, pass, and function as if nothing had happened. As if Shane being carried off the ice meant nothing. As if he was forcing himself not to show anything at all.
Back in the locker room, Rozanov immediately pulled out his phone and started texting frantically. Marlow doubted he would get a reply anytime soon.
In the worst-case scenario, Shane was still in surgery. Best case, he only had a concussion, but screens would be off-limits for a while.
Rozanov seemed to reach the same conclusion. He sank heavily onto the bench and dragged both hands over his face.
When Marlow sat down beside him, Roz quickly composed himself and began untying his skates, avoiding Cliff’s gaze and focusing on his laces as if this task required extreme precision.
Cliff had had enough of it.
Enough of watching Ilya act like nothing could touch him. Like whatever had happened between him and Shane didn’t matter, even though it clearly did. Like seeing Shane with Rose hadn’t affected him at all. Like watching Shane leave the ice on a stretcher wasn’t something that was tearing him apart inside.
Cliff started unlacing his own skates, glancing around to make sure no one could hear them. Then he leaned toward Roz, lowering his voice.
“Go take your shower. I’m driving you to the hospital.”
“Why... why would I go there?”
“Because you’re the captain of the Boston Bears and you want to make sure the captain of the Montreal Voyageurs—who your teammate took out by accident—is okay.”
“Oh. Yes. Sportsmanship. Is important.”
“Yes, it is. Now go shower.”
He pointed toward the showers with his chin, doing his best not to laugh. Sportsmanship, my ass.
Roz stood and headed for the showers, and Marlow was pretty sure it was the first time in his life he’d ever seen Ilya Rozanov obey an order so quickly.
Montreal was often considered the best hockey city in North America. And while Marlow had always found the Voyageurs fans a little too intense, he wasn’t complaining when the security guard at the hospital entrance immediately recognized them and let them in, even though visiting hours were long over.
They weren’t as lucky upstairs. At the nurse’s station, the young woman on duty looked surprised, and perhaps a little impressed, to see two tall hockey players in tailored suits showing up this late.
“I’m really sorry, but you can’t see Mr. Hollander right now. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”
She genuinely seemed sorry. And Rozanov genuinely looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Or bursting into tears. Or both.
Marlow motioned for him to stay calm and turned his attention back to the nurse. She looked young, and she was quite pretty. He decided to try a different approach.
“Marianne,” he said, reading her name tag. “That’s a beautiful name.”
If she had been impressed before, the faint blush on her cheeks told Cliff she was even more affected by the compliment.
“So, Marianne,” he continued smoothly, “We have an early flight back to Boston tomorrow. I’m afraid we won’t make it back in time if we have to come tomorrow morning. We really just want to show our support for Mr. Hollander, as a sign of respect between our two teams.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” she said with a warm smile.
“Yeah. As professional hockey players, we’re rivals on the ice, but in real life, we’re pretty much all friends.”
Rozanov cleared his throat behind him, clearly telling him not to overdo it, but Marlow kept going.
“So maybe Mr. Rozanov could visit Mr. Hollander? And I can stay here with you, if you don’t mind?”
Before she could answer, Marlow gestured for Roz to go. He took the opening immediately and slipped down the hallway toward Hollander’s room.
Back in the car, the two men sat in silence for a long moment before Ilya finally spoke.
“Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“You know. Bring me to the hospital. Talk to the nurse so I could see Hollander.”
“Because I’m your friend, and I care about you,” Marlow said. Then, after a pause: “And I know you care about Shane.”
Rozanov stiffened. “Oh. So... you know about us? Does anyone else know?”
Marlow could hear the panic rising in his voice and hurried to reassure him. “No, no. I haven’t told anyone. Listen, I’m your friend. When you told me it was over with Jane, I got… maybe a little too curious. I started noticing things. And eventually I connected the dots.”
“Nobody can know about us.”
“I won’t tell anyone.” Marlow said quickly.
He wished he could tell him more—that he was sorry they felt they had to hide, that he had his back no matter what. But he also knew it was up to Shane and Ilya to decide if and when they wanted to make their relationship public.
“You’re right,” Ilya said after a moment. “I care about Shane. A lot.”
He hesitated. “He asked me to come to his cottage this summer. To not go to Russia and stay with him.”
“That’s great!”
“No, it’s not,” Rozanov cut in sharply. “We can’t be together. Not now. Not ever.”
Marlow stayed quiet for a moment. He wasn’t an expert in relationships. He had never really been in anything serious—partly because he didn’t want it, and partly because he hadn’t met someone who made him want to try.
But he knew Ilya cared deeply about Shane. They had been seeing each other for years. Wasn’t that worth fighting for? Even if nothing would be easy for them, they deserved the chance to try to build a future together.
“You don’t have to decide everything right now,” he said carefully. “Maybe you could just go to his cottage this summer. See where it goes.”
Ilya didn’t answer right away. He looked out the window, thinking. He seemed to be turning over every possibility in his mind, weighing the consequences of the decisions that lay ahead and the impact they could have on his relationship with Shane.
“Thanks, Marly,” he said quietly. “For all of this. And for being my friend.”
Then, after a pause, a small grin tugged at his mouth. “And for distracting the nurse so I could see Shane.”
“It’s nothing,” Marlow said. “I’ll always be there if you need me.”
Sometimes the most important thing you can do for the people you love is simply let them know they don’t have to face everything alone.
And maybe Cliff was the one who should be thanking Ilya. Because now he had the phone number of a very cute nurse saved in his phone.
It looked like Ilya Rozanov would no longer be the only one texting someone in Montreal.
Four years later
Cliff Marlow was trying to assemble a storage cabinet. He wasn’t particularly good at it. Screws were scattered all over the floor, and he still couldn’t figure out how all the pieces were supposed to fit together.
But what wouldn’t he do to make his girlfriend happy?
At that moment, Marianne walked into the room. “Cliff! Have you been online today?”
“No, because I’ve been busy doing my wonderful girlfriend a favor by assembling the cabinet she so kindly asked me to build.” He got to his feet, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her forehead. “And I love keeping my girlfriend happy.”
“I love you too, honey, but did you see this?”
She held out her phone. On the screen was a photo of Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander, along with a post officially confirming their relationship.
“Did you know about this?”
When Cliff didn’t answer right away, Marianne’s eyes widened as realization dawned.
“Oh my God. That’s why you came to the hospital that night with Rozanov!” She stared at the photo again. “I can’t believe they’ve been in a secret relationship for all these years.”
Cliff smiled.
“Yes. But I’m glad they don’t have to hide anymore.”
