Crowell looked slightly thrown by this. “Of course we support Hunter. We support his entire community. Hockey is for everyone.”
Ilya managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “But you would like Hunter to shut up now, yes?”
“I never said that. I only think there’s a time and place where advocating for personal things is appropriate. Hunter often crosses the line.”
“And you do not want others to cross the line,” Ilya said. “One gay player is enough?”
Crowell’s glanced at Shane, and then back to Ilya. “We’ve had other players come out.”
“You mean Baldwin and Lundin,” Shane said, naming the Vancouver and Los Angeles players who had come out shortly after Scott Hunter had. “Baldwin was never offered another contract, and Lundin ended up moving back to Sweden.”
Crowell scoffed. “Baldwin was at the end of his career anyway, and as for Lundin, lots of Europeans choose to cut their careers short to return to their home countries.”
Ilya didn’t personally know either of the players in question, but he’d certainly suspected that their decisions to leave the NHL had more to do with the way they’d been treated by their teams than their ability or desire to play hockey. The only other queer players he knew of—Ryan Price and Eric Bennett—were both retired and hadn’t advertised their sexuality when they’d played. Troy Barrett was the only other active queer NHL player that Ilya knew besides Hunter. And Shane.
It was a pretty small group.
“Anyone who feels the need to come out is welcome to do so,” Crowell said. “But I don’t see why it has to be such a big deal.” He laughed without humor. “It hardly matters these days, does it?” His gaze landed on Shane again.
“It matters,” Shane said firmly. His jaw was clenched. Ilya wanted to hold his hand.
Crowell looked between them for a silent moment and said, “Well. I have a very full schedule today, so I’m afraid I have to end this unexpected conversation now.” He straightened his suit jacket, and gave them both one last cold glare before turning and walking away.
“That was probably a terrible idea,” Shane said, once Crowell was out of earshot.
“Probably,” Ilya agreed. “But I would do it again.”
“Me too.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
February
“Where have I seen you before?” Ilya asked.
The Detroit defenseman, Kerr, looked confused. “The fuck are you talking about, Rozanov?”
Ilya pointed a gloved finger at him. “Oh! I know. From that gif. I see it all the time. From last season when I deked around you like you were a fucking statue and scored.”
Kerr shoved him. They were behind the Detroit net, after a stoppage in play. “I wouldn’t be fucking bragging if I played for Ottawa.”
Ilya leaned back against the glass, still smiling. “Weird because it’s like 3–1 for us right now.”
“Whatever.” Kerr skated away.
“Rozanov,” an exhausted-sounding ref said, “could you give it a rest for once?”
“Anything for you.”
Bood joined Ilya as he skated toward the bench. “Are we sure we’re in the right building?” he said over the roar of the crowd. “This can’t be Ottawa.”
It was midway through the second period of the first home game since the All-Star break and the arena was packed. And loud. Even now, when nothing was happening on the ice, the crowd was fired up.
“I guess we just had to start winning,” Ilya said.
“Damn, we should have tried that sooner,” Bood joked.
Ilya laughed, because he was in a great fucking mood. Hockey was fun again, and he was happy for Bood, who had been with Ottawa for his entire career and had never known how it felt to be on a good NHL team. He was happy for Wyatt, who was way too good to be the goalie for a losing team. He was happy for the rookies, and Coach Wiebe, and for Troy, who had been smiling a lot lately, though that probably had more to do with Harris.
Ottawa ended up winning the game 5–2 after Troy scored an empty net goal with less than a minute to go. A great effort all around. And definitely worthy of a team outing to Monk’s to celebrate.
Ilya was sitting at a table with Troy Barrett, Evan Dykstra, and three pitchers of beer. He was already most of the way through one of the pitchers. “Do you know why I think we are winning so much?” he said, his words a bit sluggish as he drunkenly stumbled through the English language. “Because Dykstra has not been the DJ. In the locker room.”
“Hey!” Evan said. “My music is totally fucking good.”
“No,” Ilya groaned. “Is terrible.”
“Where’s Hazy?” Evan said, looking around. “He’ll back me up.”
“Does not count. Hazy likes everything.”
Bood approached the table, holding a beer in one hand and a pool cue in the other. “Who wants to get destroyed at pool?”
“Sure,” Evan said. “Ilya’s being a dick.”
“No!” Bood said, feigning shock. “Ilya Rozanov?”
“Isn’t your wife having a baby right now?” Ilya asked.
“Not yet, but I’m leaving after I kick Dykstra’s ass. Y’know. Just in case.”
Evan left with Bood, and Troy, who’d been quiet all evening, said, “Dykstra’s music really is awful.”
“Right?” Ilya took a long sip of beer. “Are you okay?”
Troy frowned at the table. “Yeah. I’m just…thinking about something.”
“Harris?” Ilya guessed.
Troy’s lips curved up a bit. “No. I mean, yeah. Kind of.” He glanced up at Ilya. “We’re together now, by the way.”
Ilya beamed and put a hand on Troy’s shoulder. “This is great! Where is he now?”
“Still working. But he’ll be here soon he said.” He fiddled with a paper coaster on the table. “So, I’m thinking about coming out. Like, all the way out. Publicly. Maybe the day of the Pride Night game.”
Holy shit. For a moment Ilya was speechless as a confusing swirl of excitement, shock, and jealousy rose inside him. The Pride Night game was at the end of February, only a couple of weeks away. “Oh yes?” was what he finally managed to say.
“Yeah. I’m tired of hiding. And now that I’m with Harris, I don’t think I can hide, y’know?”
It was true. Ilya was sure the whole team would notice how Harris and Troy looked at each other soon, if they hadn’t noticed already. “I am very happy for you. And for Harris. And of course I will support you. The whole team will.”
“You think so?”
“Troy! Yes. Of course. This team is the best.”
A silent question hung in the air: Then why wasn’t Ilya out? Ilya let it hang.
“The Pride Night game,” Troy said. “It’s against Toronto. So. That sucks.”
Ugh. That did suck. It was hard enough for Troy to face his former team without anything else added to it.
“The Pride Night game is just a league thing, you know? Is not, like…it does not have to be when you come out.” Ilya was doing a terrible job of explaining what he meant. “Like, is for show, kind of. Do not feel pressure to have to come out.”