Chapter Text
Friday, April 7, 2017
[6:21pm] Jane: The code to my place is 1919.
[6:22 pm] Ilya: Is that because we were both 19 when we first fucked?
[6:22 pm] Jane: Shut up, asshole.
[6:22 pm] Ilya: Make me.
[6:22 pm] Jane: I will tonight.
[6:24 pm] Ilya: Can't wait. 😘
Ilya can't keep the smile off his face as he sets his phone into his locker and reaches for his shoulder pads. Cliff Marleau glances over at him with a knowing smirk, "When am I going to meet this Montreal chick who has you still blushing?" Ilya drops his silly smile and turns to glare at him, "I told you. Russians, we do not blush!" Marleau just laughs and goes back to getting dressed while Ilya looks at him with disbelief.
How could he think Ilya was blushing? He was, but it's rude of him to call him out on it. Besides, it would be Marleau blushing if he knew who Ilya was actually texting and making plans with. Ilya laughs to himself thinking of how Marleau would react if he knew, it would certainly be a shit show. Ilya turns back to his locker and grabs his jersey just as his coach walks into the locker room, heading in his direction.
"Rozanov! I need to talk to you privately. Follow me." He grunts in Ilya's direction as he nods in agreement, setting his jersey back into his locker before turning to follow his coach into a small office made for visiting coaches. His coach points to a chair sitting across from his, but Ilya doesn't sit. His coach sighs and looks to Ilya with a serious expression. Ilya assumes it's because he's about to give his condolences about his father. He braces for it.
"You have been a huge reason why Boston has been so successful the last 7 years. You've helped get us into the playoffs each year and have gotten us a cup. You've been an amazing leader, and even better player and we have loved having you on this team." His coach announces. Ilya furrows his brows in confusion, and all he can do is nod. Why is his coach saying this? It's very odd.
"Unfortunately, higher management think that it's time to rebuild." His coach continues and Ilya's stomach drops. "And as you know the trade deadline is today..." His coach trails off, looking away from Ilya.
"Where am I going?" Ilya asks thickly, trying to keep his emotions at bay. His coaches gaze meets his again, surprise in his eyes. Does he think Ilya can't connect the dots to what he is saying? He may not understand some English words, but he understands how hockey works and what trade deadlines are.
All he can hope for now is that the team they traded him to is in the same division. Maybe he'll be sent to Canada. Maybe he can be closer to Shane. Hope flutters briefly in his stomach. "The Los Angeles Rush." His coach rushes out and Ilya's hope disappears. His chest tightens at the realization that this is the worst case scenario. His coach is still talking, but Ilya isn't hearing his words. All he can think about is Shane.
They won't be in the same division anymore. They won't play each other more than 2 times a year, at least until playoffs. They will be almost 5,000 kilometers apart. Fuck.
"The Rush expect you to be at their afternoon practice tomorrow before their evening game. They have a plane waiting to take you back to Boston so you can get some of your things, before it will take you to LA." Ilya's coaches words filter into his head. There is already a plane waiting for him? He's expected to play for a new team by tomorrow? He won't get to see Shane. Won't get to tell him goodbye. Ilya glances down at his feet to hide the moisture pooling in his eyes.
"It's been a pleasure being your coach. I'm sorry Rozanov. If it was my decision, you wouldn't be going anywhere." His coach misunderstands Ilya's lack of response. Ilya takes a deep breath and looks up again at his coach who looks genuinely upset about this. He gives him his trademark Rozanov smirk, "I will see you in the playoffs. Try to remember this conversation when your team loses."
With that last word, Ilya walks out of the office as his coach laughs. "Never change, Rozanov. Good luck in LA!" His coach shouts as he walks out. Ilya waves over his shoulder but doesn't look back otherwise his coach will see the moisture that's threatening to fall as Ilya walks back into the locker room.
It's empty. Thankfully. Which means that his team is on the ice for warm-ups. Shane is probably wondering where he is. Ilya wishes he could go out there and tell him the news, but he can't. Instead he'll have to text him and let him know what's going on. First though, Ilya needs to change back into his clothes and get his gear packed up. He has a flight to catch apparently.