Chapter Text
“I think Roadie is feeling much more comfortable now.” Shane said.
“Not Tsetsov again!” Ilya rolled his eyes. “Now you are concerned for his happiness? What is next, you will buy him flowers and take him to dinner?”
“Ha ha. No. I just noticed he doesn’t worry so much anymore, when he’s talking in Russian.”
“Oh, no! Is Captain Nice not able to do special favors for his Russian boyfriend anymore? Oh, wait. I am your Russian boyfriend, Shane!”
“No, Captain Asshole, I just noticed it’s more that he’s not worrying about missing things, or doing things wrong. And he’s telling jokes to himself now, so he must be following the conversation pretty accurately. I think he knows a lot more English than I suspected, because he’s even saying some jokes in English, and that takes more vocabulary.”
“Hmmf” Ilya clearly did not want to talk about Roadie any more. But given his reaction, now Shane definitely did. He smiled.
“Like, Gags threatened us all with curry poutine, and Roadie’s all—this was a Russian one—‘what did we ever do to you?’”
Ilya raised an eyebrow, not willing to smile.
“And there was, oh what is this one. Hayden was talking about Chompy getting left in the car again, and Roadie says, ‘Vovochka plachet vmeste s toboy.’ Who is Vovochka and why is he weeping with Hayden?”
Ilya did smile at that one. Fondly. “Ha, he is not weeping with Hayden. He is weeping with Arthur. Vovochka is the little boy who is always getting into trouble or doing things wrong. He says things that embarrass others. That is funny, I would love for Hayden to have a Vovochka. Tsetsov is perceptive. I think I will start telling Vovochka stories to Arthur. When are we babysitting next?”
Shane rolled his eyes. But then snorted with laughter.
“Wait, wait, then there was this one. I lost it. Boudreau got a bloody nose in the Dallas game,” Shane started.
“Boudreau is an asshole who deserves a bloody nose, or worse.” Ilya snarled.
“Well apparently Roadie agrees with you on the ‘or worse’ part.”
“Maybe he is not so bad, then.”
“Of course Theriault was praising Boudreau on his fight. And when Boudreau gets into the locker room, he’s telling everyone, ‘I’m giving my blood for the team drop by drop.’ I thought there were going to be multiple detached retinas in the room, everyone was rolling their eyes so hard. But here comes Roadie with ‘Zachem zhdat? Pozhaluysta, otdayte vse eto seychas.’” Why wait? Please give it all now. “Right when I’d taken a drink. I think I hit J.J. clear across the room, spitting it out. I had to pretend I drank it wrong—I covered that up okay though. Holy shit, that was funny. Evil hex, Russian style.”
Ilya did laugh at that. Loudly. “Maybe I like this kid.” It took them both a while to recover.
“Boudreau is such a dick.” Shane shook his head at how much of a dick he was.
“I am glad he is not on my team. But he wouldn’t be, Harris would chase him away. I am sure of it.” Ilya paused. “He would use rainbow stickers to ward him off like garlic and sunlight.”
Shane laughed. He couldn’t wait to meet Harris.
…
Their press conference announcing the Irina foundation took up more space in Shane’s head than he expected, with managing news and media questions. His mom, as director of the foundation, heroically bore the brunt of it through the following weeks of November. He was grateful for her energy and her expertise in managing this.
As captain, Shane talked with the coaches about getting ready for Lucas Kuhn’s return and the plan to check out his playing fitness during practices in the next week when he was first back. Theriault told him that Tsetsov would keep playing in that overlap week, in case Kuhn had not been able to maintain physicality in the rehab gym.
Since Kuhn’s clearance for practice was public knowledge, he was able to talk with Ilya about it when they had their video call.
“Yeah, Kuhn is just attending practice.” Shane confirmed. “Roadie is still dressing for games this week. I bet he’s sad about the end of his time in the NHL for now. But he’s done well. He’ll be back, or someone will pick him up, I expect, after this.”
“Oh yes!” Ilya said “I forgot about your Russian boy with all the action around our announcement. He is doing well. That assist he gave you in Vancouver was pretty. He was obviously so tired, left on the ice at the end of a shift. I assumed he’d leave you there alone and head for the bench. I was impressed he was even able to talk, let alone talk in English to tell you he was there for a drop pass. And then when you passed to him, he moved the puck up and got it back to you for the goal. It was sweet. Maybe he is okay after all. A funny Russian who can play hockey well. Not sexy like me, but he could have two of three.”
Shane knew Ilya was waiting for a reply. None came out. He was frozen in shocked realization of what had happened back in Vancouver.
“Shane?”
Shane saw Ilya on the video call, looking hard at his screen, concerned. He couldn’t find his voice.
“Shane?” Ilya repeated.
“He didn’t.” Shane could only produce a monotone. He was barely able to hold his phone up.
“He didn’t what.” Ilya prompted.
“He didn’t say it in English. Oh my god. How could I not have noticed that. I just remembered. He said it in Russian. He knew I’d understand somehow. He’s known this whole time.”
“Shane.” Ilya’s voice was suddenly soothing, and somehow holding him. Somehow recognizing his panic through the phone. “It does not mean he knows. He could have assumed you would just target his voice. He could have been too tired to think at all.”
“What if he knows? What if he has known this whole time?”
“If he knows, and if he was going to say something, he would have. He has not.”
“What if…”
“Shane. Zhyvy budem ni pamryom.” We will be alive, we won’t die. “He has said nothing. Did he act like anything was wrong that night? You all went out after the game, yes? You said you bought him a beer?”
“No, he didn’t act weird at all. Yes, we went out. He acted normal.”
“All right, then it is nothing. Either he knows and he respects your silence, or he doesn’t know. Both of those are okay.”
“Do I say something to him?”
“Why would you want to do that, Shane? So that you can bring it back up if he hasn’t thought of it? No, there is no need now. We have made our announcement that we are friends. It will no longer be strange for you to know some words in Russian.”
Shane was not reassured. He knew he would be thinking of this every time he looked at Roadie. Wondering if he knew. If he was going to say something.
…
Roadie’s last day came and Ilya had a late travel return. He drove up to Montreal in the morning to spend the day with Shane before his home game that night. Shane was in the kitchen when he arrived.
“He knew.” Shane said, as soon as Ilya walked through the door.
“Who knew? And what did he know?”
“Roadie. Tsetsov. He knew the whole time.” He handed Ilya a cup of coffee.
“Shane. What happened?”
Shane laughed, stunned. Ilya’s eyebrows raised and he looked completely ready to smile, awaiting confirmation that it was a smiling sort of update.
“Yesterday was his last day. He stopped me outside the trainer’s room and asked to speak in private. He thanked me for the lime drinks, and the staff list, and the card games. Probably every one of those jokes was for me. All of it. The whole time.” Shane shook his head and looked even more bewildered.
“Then he started speaking in Russian and told me he was gay and knew how to keep secrets and he’d keep mine. Ours! He knows about us! He said he would keep my secret and good luck with the foundation. He knows about you. He acted like it was obvious that he’d keep the secret. And then he thanked me again and left to go back to Laval. Just like that.”
Shane sat down hard on the counter stool. His face was completely slack like he no longer controlled it.
“He said, Zhyvy budem ni pamryom.” Now Shane smiled weakly as he shook his head. “Now I feel like I know what that really means. Holy shit. Like a promise, you know? We will be alive, we won’t die from this.”
Ilya laughed until Shane hit him.
“But what does he mean by it? What’s he going to do with this? He knows about us, Ilya.”
“It means you don’t have to worry, Shane. If he is gay, and he is Russian, he will never talk.
“And also, I told you a month ago that he was onto you.” Ilya’s smile was a study in smug satisfaction. “I told you this, and you did not believe me.”
Shane hit him again.
“Are you sure he won’t say anything?”
“Yes, Shane, I am very sure.” Ilya was serious now. “He has too much to lose. You can trust him on this. He has told you that you can trust him, and that he trusts you, by revealing to you that he is gay. You are likely the only one who knows. He knows that you know how important his secret is.”
Ilya pulled Shane into his arms and kissed him. “Zhyvy budem ni pamryom, Moya Podushka.”
“Twoja lyubimaya podushka”
“Da.”
“Well, at least you don’t have to be jealous of the Russian on my team any more.”
“I think we will see him again.” Ilya’s smile looked oddly indulgent. Shane wasn’t sure what to make of that. He dropped his head onto Ilya’s shoulder. It had knocked the feet out from under him when Rodion had made it clear that he knew Shane spoke Russian—and then brought up the Foundation, connecting him with Ilya.
“He knew the whole time.” Shane shook his head against Ilya’s shoulder. “How did he know?”
“I told you he was perceptive.” Ilya’s mouth turned up in a crooked grin.