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Marlow likes Hollander fine enough.
To be honest, he was a little surprised. Hollander startled him.
He won’t lie: Marlow had no clue his boy was into dudes. Ilya had been Marlow’s partner in getting laid since their very first rookie season in their favorite pose: elbows locked with sharp vodka shots in hand. Early season, before the playoff beards hit and their daily schedules became grunting through ten grueling meals and back-to-back practices with packing injuries, Ilya and Marlow would go out every week, sometimes multiple times a week. And every single time, without fail, Ilya would don a charming smile, flamboyant shirt (maybe that should have been Marlow’s tell? All the flowers and shit. Marlow just chalked that up to Ilya being European), and leave the club with a gorgeous chick sucking on his neck.
That’s not to say Ilya was a bad guy.
The girls loved Ilya. He’s heard (a little too much when he’s trying to sleep), girls scream his name from next-door hotel rooms. He’s caught rumors that Ilya’s a muncher (a big compliment for a hockey guy), that all of his hook-ups are waiting for another taste of his dick.
He would trust Ilya with his own sister (well, if he had a sister). Marlow has seen other hockey guys take home girls a little too dazed for his comfort, and, to his shame, he’s ignored it before, but he’s seen Ilya intervene. Ilya would never be obvious about it—it would ruin his aura of nonchalance. Instead, Ilya pretends to hit on the girl himself in a manner so overt that letting Ilya walk out of the club without a black eye would hurt any man’s ego. By the time the night ended, Ilya’s been banned from another club (added to a laundry list). The girl is usually forced to explain the situation to the bouncer, who easily recognizes her inebriated state, and she’s placed back neatly with her friends. All done and dusted. So, Marlow knew, with a confidence more complete than he had in himself, that Ilya would never take advantage of a girl like that. For an asshole with a sharp uppercut for when people took the bait from his sharp taunts and someone who grew up in macho Russia, Ilya was a surprisingly well adjusted guy.
So he’s not bad about it, but Ilya was a smoking hot athlete who perpetually took advantage of his charm to get some play with a hot girl. And a lot of the time, Marlow was there. Hell, he’s even been in the same room as Ilya. On the other side of a midwestern Brunette on a hot Chicago night. And Marlow could swear Ilya’s never taken a second look at his cock (not that all gay people are creeps! That’s not what he’s saying at all. He’s just noting his surprise. There should be SOME indication, right? Marlow would never just leer at a girl when the situation didn’t call for it, but there are tells, you know?) And there was just no way Ilya was into dudes.
Except he was. And he was into Shane Hollander.
When Marlow found out, he bent over and laughed until tears came out of his eyes. Of course Ilya couldn’t just get a puck bunny blonde to join the group of WAGs. Ilya talked so big; of course, he had to catch the only person who could one-up him. He had to catch Shane motherfucking Hollander.
Hollander whose fame escaped the bounds of hockey and sport entirely, whose face was plastered on every fucking billboard of Montreal. (Seriously, did the guy take breaks? Marlow is just trying to catch a breather from the practice and the gym. How’s Hollander got so many deals? It just sounds like such a big headache. Well, that’s why he’s the greatest, right?) Marlow could have easily thought Hollander thought he was better than everyone. He hardly ever takes the bait on ice. Instead, he pulls plays so efficient, calculated in milliseconds when it sometimes takes Marlow twenty minutes and a few runovers to understand, that it makes you wonder if he’s even human. The only person who can go play-for-play is Ilya, who randomly curses in strews of Russian every time they play playbacks before explaining to the rest of the team. Anyway, you see that Hollander is always ignoring everyone and he’s super smart. Then you see Hollander’s face in every corner, super attractive and no obviously broken bits like every other hockey player, and you might think, does he think he’s too good to fight us?
Marlow never thought that, though. He’s seen a breakdown of his diet and gym routine on ESPN. It’s calculated to the fucking calorie for “scientific optimization.” Hollander poured every ounce of himself into hockey. All those brand deals could have been a side hobby or whatever, but his non-engagement on the ice was a dedication to winning far supreme to the average man’s ego. Marlow’s not a bitter loser. He’s also in the NHL, and he knows when to respect greatness. Besides, one twenty-second clip of the determination in his eyes and speech before a game will seal the deal. Hollander is a hockey guy. Hollander is the hockey guy.
This image that Marlow had of Hollander as this perfect, untouchable God kind of collapsed when Ilya introduced them for the first time. In fact, Hollander seemed pretty normal. Like normal-people normal, not hockey normal. For a hockey guy, Hollander was a little neurotic. The first time they met, Hollander kept slapping Ilya for every innuendo and out-of-pocket statement, kind of like a WAG (Marlow was severely disappointed to have ever compared Shane Hollander to a WAG). But it was even more bewildering than a WAG, because usually, WAG’s would only pretend to bluster while drinking up the attention. Hollander seemed genuinely flustered. Flustered! Shane Hollander! Honestly, Marlow’s a little honored to say he knows this firsthand.
Over subsequent meetings, Marlow learned that Hollander can be a little high-strung. He’s super quick to get onto things, has a mental schedule of when they’re supposed to eat, when they’re supposed to wrap up, when they’re supposed to leave to go home. Marlow would be a little annoyed if it was his life, personally, but the moment he looks at Ilya, he finds his heart melting.
His boy is Whipped with a capital W. Ilya’s been domesticated. His eyes light up when Shane walks into the room, and when they’re alone, Ilya’s shoulder relaxes. His gaze, usually sharp and restless, settles on Shane, tracking him without shame or boredom. As if he could never drink enough of him.
And Shane’s in love with Ilya too. Ilya’s the only one he’s seen who can crack into Shane’s shell. He’s seen Shane quietly pull chairs for Ilya, give Ilya the better cut of meat, slide Ilya’s phone closer when it buzzes. They deserve each other.
...
Or so Marlow thought.
Ilya and Shane are staying the night at Marlow’s guest room for their weekend in Boston. It’s been so long since the two of them got to hang out properly, so Marlow proposed they spend the night out.
They were talking about something routine. Ilya’s goalie got a new girlfriend or something. Shane thinks they won’t last a week, and Ilya’s pouting at his disbelief in “real love.” Marlow can see the domesticity between the two of them, shoulders rubbing as they shove each other through bouts of teasing. Shane has finally relaxed from when he first got here, a little smile settling on his face. They look so in love.
“Hey, do you guys wanna go to Empire? Just like old times,” he cuts through.
The Empire was the first club he and Ilya ever step foot in (Marlow’s first ever club at seventeen), and it was objectively the best club in all of town. It was Boston’s premiere club, bursting in city pride.
Ilya leaps out of the couch. “Marlow! Best ideas. Boston girls miss me. Americans only drink boring vodka.” Ilya looks so excited.
The Boston girls really did miss Ilya. That’s what they called the baristas at Empire. They had the thickest accent (probably hired just for that, if Marlow were to guess). Ilya used to insist that nobody else could make his drinks like them.
It must have been hard for him, leaving Boston for a losing team, Marlow thinks not for the first time. In his ten years, Ilya built a lifelong legacy. So many friends and networks, and so many people behind his back. Everyone in Boston praised Ilya’s name. He was kind of a king around here. His jersey would hang by the Raider’s rafters forever. Ilya might pretend like he doesn’t like the attention, but anyone with two brain cells can tell he does. He loves when crowds scream his name or urge him to fight. He loves girls fighting over him, and friends praising his kindness. To go from all that to a losing team in a boring city… Ilya must really love Shane very much. They’re so adorable.
Thinking of Shane, Marlow takes a glance at his best friend's boyfriend. The smile that had quietly settled on Shane’s face seems to be gone. In fact, Shane looks a little uncomfortable. Did Marlow miss something? He swears he’s seen Shane at Empire before.
“Don’t you want to spend some more time with Marlow?” Shane asks. “We’re not going to be here for very long and you haven’t seen him in such a long time.”
Jokes on Shane. Ilya’s probably seen Marlow drunk off the ice just as much as he’s seen him sober.
Ilya repeats just as much.
“Are you sure?” Shane asks, and now, Marlow is on edge.
Is this what Ilya has to deal with? Shane is making him a little uneasy with this line of questioning. It seems a little controlling. Shane might be more regimented than Ilya, but he can’t just hold him back because he feels like it.
“Come on man, it’ll be fun!” Marlow advocates for his friend.
Shane looks uncertain. “Yeah, but…”
Marlow keeps his voice light, slapping a hand on Shane’s shoulder “Let my boy have some fun, Hollander! Don’t ruin the mood, bro.”
Shane’s features drop for a second before flattening into something neutral. It’s not exactly the reaction Marlow was going for. He wanted Hollander to have fun too.
“No, you’re right.” Shane shakes his head. “I’m sorry. You guys go on and have fun.” Shane leans back into the couch, a practiced smile stretching his face. It’s completely different to the one he had just moments ago. Jeez, why’s he so strung up over one night out? “I’m a little tired from the flight so I’m just gonna spend the night here.”
Marlow does not point out that Shane is a hockey player who takes flights and then barrels into two-hundred pound dudes with a puck in hand on the regular. A little club action is nothing. But he won’t call Shane out on it because he probably just didn't want to come. Ilya, though, does.
“Come on! You take flight all the time! Is just one night, no big deal.” Ilya urged.
Marlow could tell Ilya wanted Shane to come, but the prospect of drinking in the Boston city glamor was already so electrifying he had already moved on from an argument he knew he was going to lose. Is this something that happens frequently?
Shane shakes his head. “No, I’m really not feeling it. Go on, please, Ilya, okay? I want you to have fun.” Shane pauses for a second, swallowing. “You’ll come back to me anyway, right?”
Shane looks at Ilya with a gaze that feels too private for Marlow to witness. So he looks away, studying the mosaic pattern on his counter. Did he choose that or did Maya? Was it Juniper?
“Where else could I be?”
He hears the smooch of a kiss pass from his side. Jesus, their regular kisses really were something. Marlow finds his hackles against Hollander untangling. They’re so in love. His boy is soft and adorable. He’s so happy for him. Hopefully, Marlow can find love that one day too. Maybe his girl is waiting for him at the Empire.
They get ready quickly. Ilya runs some product through his hair and they both throw on a jacket. It’s not Ottawa or Moscow, Marlow surmises, but Boston’s still pretty fucking cold.
Right before they head out, Ilya leans down to the couch where Shane is on his phone and gives him a kiss. Usually, Ilya’s the more physically over one one, but this time, Shane takes a hand to Ilya’s face to hold him close. It shocks Marlow a bit, seeing Shane more open in his affection than Ilya.
Marlow looks away again. They’re adorable, but why’re they acting like it’s an airport goodbye? They’re going to be back in five hours max.
“Be safe, okay?” Shane whispers with urgency, as if Ilya’s doing something seriously dangerous instead of a casual night out with friends.
Geez, what’s up with that guy?
Ilya doesn’t question it. A light peck. “Of course, sweetheart.”
“Have fun!”
And they’re off.
….
The line outside the Empire wraps around the block, a sea of shivering people in expensive wool coats, but Ilya doesn't even break stride.
Big Mike, Empire’s bouncer who has been looking thirty-five ever since his very first visit, is scanning the crowd with a bored, predatory precision. Then he sees Ilya and breaks into a grin.
He steps forward, meeting Ilya halfway with a heavy, one-armed bear hug, thumping Ilya’s back with enough force to make someone wince.
"Thought you forgot about us, Rozanov. Took you five years to come visit, huh?"
Ilya laughs. “Please, you miss me so much? Is only five months.”
"A damn long time, boy. Your usual booth is open, but I'll tell the floor to keep the vultures off you for at least twenty minutes."
Damn, Marlow is still a regular but he doesn’t get that type of treatment…
The club was everything Marlow hoped for and more. Ilya gets just about fifteen slaps on the back and kisses on the cheek. He’s beaming, jumping from one conversation to the next, hand wrapped around his nth shot of vodka. It feels like the music is turned up two notches just with his presence.
Marlow was honestly a little worried that people might be weird about him, because of the whole secretly-attracted-to-dudes thing, but Boston doesn’t seem to give a shit. It puts a smile on Marlow’s face. This really is the best place in the world.
The night is off to a great start.
…and early end.
Marlow’s ex is here. It was an awesome relationship, but Marlow didn’t feel like they were compatible. They never had the same things to talk about. Still, he knows she was genuinely heart broken, and seeing him out at the club probably wouldn’t move things along.
He takes a glance at Ilya. He must have sent out a few texts.
He has a group of the Boston team and even some staff surrounding him. He has his arm wrapped around the Svetlana girl, Ilya’s best friend, and he’s shaking with laughter at something Connor seems to be saying.
Marlow decides to shoot Ilya a text letting him know he’s going to be going home early without him. No need to disrupt his fun. He wonders a little off-handedly if Shane would have made the same call with the way he was acting earlier.
As he books his taxi back, he realizes Shane and Ilya must never have compatibility issues. Two dudes who play the best hockey ever—what could they possibly not talk about? (Going out on a Saturday night on the offseason, apparently)
When Marlow turns his key, he hears the TV playing. It’s a hockey tape recording.
Wow, Hollander really is something else. To be analyzing hockey this late on a vacation in the offseason when his boyfriend was out partying. They must have scraped a rink after a Stanley cup win to find the sperm that made him.
The comment is at the tip of his tongue when he turns the corner and actually spots Hollander. The smile drops from Marlow’s face.
Hollander doesn’t seem to have noticed anyone’s entered the apartment. He doesn’t even seem cognizant of what’s playing on the TV.
He’s leaning on the edge of the couch, hoodie pulled up, and hands clasped at his lap. One of his thumbs rubs at the back of his hand in repetitive soothing motions. His gaze is off at a distance.
Marlow frowns. He’s not the most perceptive of people, but can tell when something is majorly wrong.
Marlow sits at the end of the couch, watching as Hollander startles at his presence.
“Oh, hey, Marlow. You’re back pretty early.”
Marlow leans back, feigning indifference. He knows not to come off too strongly if he wants a dude to feel better.
“Yeah, I ran into someone I didn’t really wanna see, so I figured I’d come back. Ilya is still there.”
Shane’s face twists. So that wasn’t the right thing to say.
“What’s he doing?” Shane says sharply, as if it spilled out of him. He looks up at Marlow for the first time, studying his expression.
Jesus Christ. Is this actually because Ilya went out? Hollander seriously cannot be this upset. What’s his problem? Marlow is also a little hurt that Hollander glossed over him entirely, immediately jumping onto his boyfriend.
Marlow is careful to make sure none of his thoughts leak out. He’s here to try to make Hollander feel better, not worse. “A bunch of Raiders guys came over just for him. Svetlana is there too.” He adds on, the little hurt part of him coming out, “Just because you’re no fun doesn’t Rozzy can’t go out.”
Shane’s face drops, and he looks away instantly.
“Oh, okay. I hope he has fun” he says in a small voice. Marlow instantly feels like shit.
What a way to be sincere, huh?
“Hey man, I know I’m Ilya’s friend, but I’m here for you too. What’s wrong?”
Shane looks uncertain. “It’s not a big deal…” Except whatever it is has him staying up clutching his pearls.
“Not everything has to be for us to think about it, right?” Marlow prods gently. It’s a line he copied from a movie he watched with Rozzy years ago.
Shane hesitates again, and Marlow knows he got his hook. Shane is debating opening up.
“What’s got you up, man?
Shane swallows and the silence continues for a while.
“Ilya’s never gone out when I’m going to be spending the night with him before,” Shane whispers like it’s a secret.
Marlow is a little confused. He can’t find the same anger to direct at Shane anymore, seeing how upset this whole situation is making him. He feels like he’s missing something.
He doesn’t respond quick enough and Shane continues. “I mean, now I figure it’s Svetlana. He’s had her for so long—She must be so good.” Shane is muttering by the end.
Now, Marlow is monumentally confused.
“Good at what, partying?” Marlow asks.
Shane looks uncomfortable, squirming in his hoodie. “Well, you know.” When Marlow stays quiet, Shane spits out, “sex.”
The blurted admission seems to have drained all the bitterness out of him. Shane recedes back into his shell of a hoodie, leaning back into the edge of the couch and turning his face to the expensive leather.
“You think Ilya is cheating on you?” Marlow asks a little stupidly.
“What? No?” Shane says quietly. “I thought you knew. We have an open relationship.”
What?
Ilya and Shane, the two most in love people he’s ever met, have an open relationship? Maybe Marlow is a little close-minded, but he can’t imagine a relationship this committed to be anything but strictly monogamous. Besides, Shane doesn’t strike him as the type of person to have an open relationship. He’s so careful and proper. And if Shane’s demeanour is anything to go by now, Marlow is right.
He asks the obvious question.
“Do you want to close it back up?”
“What? No, like you said, Ilya should have fun. I just want him to be happy.”
Okay, well, that’s not exactly what Marlow meant. He feels like his words are being twisted against him a little.
“You don’t seem to be happy about it, though.”
“No, I am,” Shane says. He says it with no more energy than everything else, still looking at the couch. “He just doesn’t do it when I’m ready for him. But I guess it’s just Svetlana.”
Marlow frowns. He doesn't like something about the way that is phrased.
“Hey, why’s this all about what Ilya wants. Wait, you said something about Svetlana being good at sex? How the fuck would you know that? Did you have a night with her too?”
Shane seems a bit disgusted. It looks nicer on him than the sadness. Why would Ilya agree to an open relationship that makes his boyfriend feel like this? “No, I don’t want anyone but Ilya. That would be so weird.”
“Wait a second, so you’re Ilya-only while Rozzy plays around?” Marlow clarifies. There’s something heavy settling in his chest.
“Well… It’s not unfair like that. Ilya told me to go out and get a bit more experienced before.” Shane pauses before whispering, “I really didn’t want to.”
There’s silence before he continues. “He’s so good Marlow. I said I didn’t want to and he didn’t make me. And I’m here moping because he doesn’t want me.”
Marlow goes still. He feels like he’s close to unraveling something scary.
“Shane,” he begins with a little urgency. “Why would he ever ‘make’ you?”
“So I can be better at sex? Like Svetlana?” Shane answers like it’s obvious.
Marlow’s concept of his best friend is just about to collapse.
“Shane, did he say this?” Marlow asks carefully. He wants to give Ilya one last chance.
“Well, yeah, I guess. It’s kind of implied in our relationship.”
Marlow clenches his jaw.
‘Implied,’ holy shit. What has he done?
Ilya, this absolute motherfucker. He makes his star boyfriend wait on the couch miserable so he gets his cock wet for fifteen goddamn seconds.
His boyfriend. The apple to his eye. The light of his day. The love of his life.
Ilya’s love for Shane is undeniable. He abandoned his kingdom in Boston for him. He gave up his home country Russia for him. He could never see his mother’s grave again, because of Shane. Marlow remembers the strain on Ilya’s voice as he told him this over the phone a few months ago, one of the only moments of vulnerability Ilya has ever shown. But Marlow also knows of Ilya’s undeniable love from the telltale Jane smile, from the flush in Ilya’s neck that follows a ping from Montreal.
So, Ilya must have calculated, consciously or otherwise, that all of those sacrifices were necessary to have Shane, to complete his half. But, apparently, loyalty was not.
He must have recognized that Shane would stay no matter what. That a few misplaced words to take advantage of an insecure, inexperienced man, and Ilya would have him eating out of his palm. This actual fucking asshole.
Marlow thinks again to Shane’s casual reference of “make me.” In what world is that an acceptable dynamic to be at play? Why would Ilya ever have this power over Shane? How could Ilya ever have done something like this? How could Ilya ever take advantage of someone like this?
Ilya, who is most careful to never take a drunk girl home or lie to play with someone’s feelings.
Where did Marlow’s best friend go?
For now, Marlow settles a hand on Shane’s knee, heavy in its weight to convey his next words.
“Shane,” he starts slowly. He needs to be careful to not scare Shane away. “Ilya is not right for this. I’m disappointed in him and I hope you know you deserve more.”
“I don’t want more,” Shane refutes. “I just want Ilya,” he says. His voice cracks in the end.
Marlow’s heart breaks.
Shane looks away with tears in his eyes.
Ilya caught Shane motherfucking Hollander.