Chapter Text
June 2009
Jaakko’s phone chimed to let him know he had a text, and he already knew who it would be from. The draft was airing, but not in Jaakko’s house. The twins had commandeered the TV to play the MLH XBox game. He was in the kitchen helping Christine with the week’s meal prep. If Ilmo was texting him, the first picks must have already been made. He checked his messages.
Ilmo: You owe me $100
So Boston had grabbed Rozanov. Jaakko had known they would. It didn’t matter if Hollander was a better player, the Russian would jive more with Boston’s style. Both of their teams needed some rebuilding to have a chance at the Stanley Cup again, and Jaakko was not deluded enough to think Boston would invest in Hollander over Rozanov.
Jaakko: I agreed to nothing
Ilmo: Pay up
Jaakko rolled his eyes and sighed, opening up Paypal. The only way to end it was to accept defeat; his brother was relentless. Jaakko tapped away until the transaction was confirmed and then switched back to the text thread. It only took a few seconds for Ilmo to start typing. Jaakko smirked as the message came in.
Ilmo: perkele what is this?? u owe $100 USD asshole
Jaakko: 🖕🇨🇦🖕
The typing bubble appeared again, but Jaakko set his phone down, chuckling to himself. He’d let his brother work through his bullshit and finish portioning out teriyaki chicken bowls into fancy little tupperwares.
“Something funny?” Christine asked, setting the clean sauce pan in the drying rack.
Jaakko shook his head. “Sounds like Hollander will be joining the Metros.”
“Oh? That should be fun,” his wife replied, smiling. “You guys could use his kind of drive, I think.”
Jaakko gave her a look. “Ah, I see. You are like every talking head on TSN.”
“Maybe,” Christine giggled.
Jaakko crossed the couple of steps between them and put his hands on his wife’s waist, smiling down at her from behind his thick off-season beard. “So every vet on the Metros has lost his groove, yes? Out of touch, aging faster than promised, unable to find their rhythm on the ice?”
Christine’s smug smile barely contained her laughter. “Took the words right out of my mouth,” she claimed.
“Perkele!” Jaakko cried with exaggerated offense.
He bent down and kissed his wife with overblown passion, playfully aggressive. She laughed into it, squeezing his waist as he pressed kisses across one cheek and then the other.
“Stop it! Stop,” she giggled, not at all trying to shove him away.
Jaakko buried his smile in Christine’s dimple, holding her close.
“Stop being gross!” Charline shouted from the couch.
“Yeah, get a room!” Charlie agreed.
Neither of them took their eyes off their virtual hockey game. Jaakko released Christine and twisted around to stare at their kids. They were nearly teenagers, and yet still just tiny things who thought they were all grown up. Still grossed out to see their parents kiss. Jaakko wanted to freeze time and keep them that way forever.
“You uncle told me which rookies we got,” he called over to them. “Do you want to know?”
“Dad, shut up, I’m about t’ win!” Charlie chided.
“Don’t talk to your father like that!” Christine warned, still resisting the onset of the rebellious phase.
“Did Uncle Ilmo get the one who likes to chirp?” Charline asked while deftly keeping the virtual puck away from her brother’s Metros skaters.
“You know it,” Jaakko confirmed, smiling proudly—and a little smugly.
Even his kid had known that Boston was going to draft Rozanov. Ilmo could take his Canadian dollar winnings and be grateful for them. It wasn’t like he earned so little that the conversion rate was more than a drop in the bucket anyway.
“Ha! Penalty! You’re going down!” Charlie shouted as one of his sister’s players got escorted to the sin bin.
“Nuh-uh, your power play is weak,” Charline chirped back.
Jaakko shook his head fondly and returned to the kitchen to help Christine with the rest of the dishes.
September 2011
The first day of training camp was exciting. For the first time in a few years, Ilmo felt like Boston might actually have something worth playing for. He wasn’t that close to retirement, and he had high hopes the new rookie was going to make the Raiders worth sticking with a little longer.
Ilya Rozanov was exactly what Ilmo expected he would be and also a total surprise. Barely nineteen years old, cocky but with the talent to back it up, and absolutely ruthless against whoever the coaches put opposite him. Ilmo would be happy to play alongside the kid if that were all he had going for him, and he was braced for the guy to be obnoxious. He was prepared for some sort of arrogant chirp that would be typical of some young Russian dirtbag, but it didn’t come. Not in the locker room and not on the ice.
Plus, the rookie shut up whenever one of the coaches started speaking, often quicker than the others. He took direction without complaint, and he worked hard. Ilmo knew that turning thirty meant his body would be slowing down somewhat, but skating alongside Rozanov made him feel ancient. He knew already that he’d be pushing hard this season to keep up with the kid, in a good way.
Being the rookie definitely didn’t stop Rozanov from chirping his elders entirely, but his words were never aimed where they would actually sink deep enough to hurt. He was bold and brazen, but he didn’t take cheap shots. In fact, he was funny. Rozanov’s reputation had said he was well liked in his own room, and Ilmo thought he lived up to it surprisingly well. By the time they were all stripping off their gear and filing into the showers, Rozy seemed to have charmed half the team.
Jaakko: Hows your rookie?
Ilmo: Fantastic! Generational talent!
Ilmo: We are gonna crush you
Ilmo smirked at his phone in his empty apartment while he drank his post-post-practice-happy-hour beer. Rozanov and the players who got traded onto the Raiders this season were a good bunch, and they’d all had a round more than they should have, given that they were going to hit the ice all too early again in the morning for an even harder day of work. Skating through a hangover was a problem for future Ilmo. His bigger priority was boasting to his twin, getting ahead on the season’s chirping.
Jaakko: Fat chance
Jaakko: Hollander is lethal
Jaakko: Never seen a rookie skate so clean
Ilmo: Too bad Montreal has you then
Ilmo: Otherwise they might have a shot in the playoffs this season
Jaakko didn’t reply right away, and the typing bubbles didn’t make an appearance. Ilmo sighed, accepting victory by way of the last word. It wasn’t a very satisfying win, but he’d take it. Jaakko usually liked to let his hockey do the talking for him, so Ilmo would just have to down some water and get some sleep to put in the hours at training camp tomorrow. They had lines to arrange.
All Star Weekend 2011
It was funny how obvious the theme of the All Star Weekend was. The league was clearly just finding reasons to put Rozanov and Hollander up against each other in more faceoffs. Ilmo didn’t really care—after all, they were only going to be young, hot-headed rookies for so long—it was just amusing. Plus, it gave him a chance to play on the same team with his brother.
Ilmo had gotten to know Rozy a bit over the first half of the season and was looking forward to the opportunity for Jaakko to get to know him too. He had tried to tell his brother that the kid was worth looking out for, despite the cocky Russian shtick he led most of the time.
It was inevitable that between the two of them, the chirping would come back to Suomi and Rossiya eventually. Ilmo hadn’t been sure what shape those would take, but Rozy leaned into a rather typical boastful masculinity that lacked any real teeth, so he hadn’t been too worried about it. Rozanov talked himself up rather than put Ilmo down. Mostly it was about who could handle their drink better, which was perfectly to Ilmo’s taste.
Each of them was eager to show well for the country of their birth, but something about Rozy felt different from a lot of the Russian-born people Ilmo knew. There was something underneath that bravado that felt softer, like he was wearing the armor of his people to protect a secret that he kept from them, too. Ilmo didn’t hazard any guesses as to what that could be; there were too many options, and it was none of his business. Knowing that Rozy likely wasn’t too fond of his nation’s government was enough for him.
However, it was hard to put that sort of thing into words. Ilmo didn’t know how to explain his friendship with the rookie to Jaakko. His brother had always been more the type to mentor younger players than Ilmo, and so far he seemed to think that Ilmo was hanging around Rozy just to get under Jaakko’s skin when they faced each other on the ice. The rivalry between Montreal and Boston hadn’t felt this palpable in years.
Team Europe was the perfect setting to show him that Rozy was a decent guy underneath it all. Ilmo wanted Jaakko to join him in taking the rookie under their wing. After all, nobody knew how to navigate a Montreal-Boston rivalry off ice as well as the Koskela brothers.
Someone must have thought it would be funny to put Ilmo and Jaakko’s stalls next to each other in the locker room. The other guys chirped them as they all settled in, asking whether the notorious rival Kozy twins would be able to change without putting each other in a headlock. No one really believed they’d do something like that. Everyone in the league knew that Ilmo and Jaakko had remained close even after Jaakko getting drafted to different teams; the real butt of the joke was the League’s desperate attempts to fabricate drama.
“Old news, boys,” Jaakko replied smoothly. “It’s all Hollzy and Rozy now.”
The room filled with laughter, and a few guys baited Rozanov into chirping Hollander. Rozy grinned as he looked around the room, not at all shy under the attention from a bunch of All Star players he only just met.
“Hollander is no threat,” he claimed confidently. “We show North Americans how their own silly game is played, da?”
Some of the guys laughed, others nodded or cheered. A few didn’t bother with much response; a lot of guys were phoning it in, saving their best hockey for when it counted. Not Ilmo. He was energized by this new rivalry, no matter how much of it was for the cameras. It made Rozy skate and score like crazy, and Ilmo loved crushing his brother. This weekend was perhaps his only opportunity to play with both Jaakko and Rozy. The Metros rookie didn’t know what was coming for him.
Jaakko was starting to see why his brother liked Ilya Rozanov. He had gotten under Jaakko’s skin every time they shared ice, constantly chirping and gloating. But after sharing a locker room with him, Jaakko could admit there was a whole different side to the rookie.
It wasn’t that Rozy was a different person off the ice, or even that he chirped less, but the kid had a surprising knack for staying just within the boundary of what would be acceptable. Jaakko found himself downright jealous. He knew how hard it was to be as funny as Rozy in a second language. When their family moved to Bright Falls, he had struggled to fit in a lot more than Ilmo, who had the confidence to play off the new Finnish kid energy and get the others laughing at his jokes instead of at him. Of course Ilmo and Rozy had become friends.
Jaakko bought the first round that night for Team Europe, and Rozy bitched about being below the American drinking age. He couldn’t buy a round for the team and seemed to take it as a personal slight.
However, from Jaakko’s seat at a booth in the middle of the bar next to Ilmo and Olsson from the Metros, it was easy to see that Rozy was smart on top of everything else he had going for him. He was chatting up all the guys who didn’t play for Boston, chirping in that way he had that made you like him instead of punch him in the face. It was clever, strategic even. Gaining friends on other teams was one thing, but Jaakko also spotted the rookie stealing sips off a few of the others’ beers. He wondered if there was anyone in Rozanov’s ear looking out for his long-term career reputation.
“What is wrong, Koko? You are allergic to smiling?” Rozy said, appearing at Jaakko’s elbow and planting a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Some of us are enjoying a low-key weekend away from the kids,” he replied. “Go away. I’m not babysitting tonight.”
Rozy laughed, tossing his head back. “Do not worry, old man. I drink since I am your children’s age. Russians handle this even better than Finns.”
Jaakko raised an eyebrow at him. He didn’t know Ilmo had mentioned the twins to the rookie already. Or maybe it was just a guess, but the claim felt honest.
He raised his beer in offering. “One day I’ll make you prove it.”
Rozy laughed and knocked his glass of ginger ale against Jaakko’s pint. They tossed back a drink together, each of them finishing the last of what they had.
Ilmo was buzzing after the skills competition. He shouted in Finnish, hurriedly dropping his gear to the ground in his eagerness to hit the bar. “Coming out tonight, Rozy?” he asked the kid next to him. “We can celebrate the record you held for 30 seconds!”
“Ha ha, very clever,” Rozy replied dryly over the chorus of laughter. “You will have sad beers without me tonight. I go sleep early.”
“Aww, c’mon!” Ilmo pleaded. “Since when does Rozanov not party?”
“There is game tomorrow! They do not serve me in stupid country!” he argued back.
“No one gives a shit who wins this game but you, Rozy,” Jaakko told him from the stall next to Ilmo.
“Lies. You are liar. Both of you,” Rozy denied, turning to face the rest of the locker room. “All of you want to lose tomorrow?”
“The fuck you talkin’ about, Roz?”
“Kozy brothers say no one care if we lose,” he tattled. “This true?”
At the chorus of ‘no’s ranging from confused to emphatic, the rookie turned back around and gave Ilmo a smug look. He was stupidly cute. If Ilmo was a couple years younger, maybe he wouldn’t be so put off by the risk of chasing after another player. Maybe he’d keep goading until Rozy came out tonight and set his mind to the puzzle of finding the right opening to shoot his shot. Unfortunately, Ilmo had grown up a little too much for all that, and the idea of hitting on another player made him feel exhausted instead of exhilarated. Rozy probably wasn’t into men anyway; it was just wishful thinking.
So Ilmo rolled his eyes and replied, “Have it your way, rook. Jaakko will buy a round next time we play in Montreal.”
“I will?” his brother balked, too slow to get the chirp back on him.
Ilmo headed into the showers with a laugh.
Jaakko was slow getting changed back into civvies after the skills competition. A few of the guys were going out tonight, but like Rozanov, he was looking to take advantage of the quiet of a solo hotel room. He was going to order room service, call Christine, and then maybe jerk off before bed. Or maybe he’d get lucky and his lovely wife would even talk him off.
So he had nowhere to be and took his time getting in and out of the showers. Rozy was still in the locker room when Jaakko returned wrapped in a towel. Two of the other guys were still there too, but they were packed up and wrapping up their conversation with the rookie. Jaakko set his shower caddy in his stall and stretched his arms over his head, pulling his bag of street clothes down from the top shelf.
“You think I am boring for stay in tonight?” Roz’s voice asked, just over Jaakko’s shoulder.
He looked up and saw that they were alone now. “No. I’ll be doin’ the same.”
Roz nodded. Some of his usual bravado had faded away, and Jaakko remembered just how young he was. There was something in his face that Jaakko couldn’t place, and before he could wonder at it for long, Rozanov spit out the real reason he’d hung back, fully dressed except for his shoes, to talk to some old vet.
“Hollander. You talk much? In Montreal?” he asked with a little more force than the casual question warranted.
“Some,” Jaakko confirmed. “He is like me, not big on chit chat.”
Rozanov smiled. It seemed affectionate yet didn't reach his eyes, and there was no mischief in it. “He say something weird. Earlier, on the bench.”
“What kind of weird?” Jaakko asked, frowning. There was no way any chirp from Shane Hollander could get under this kid’s skin. Hollzy just didn’t hit below the belt.
“About Finns,” Roz said, glancing away in something like embarrassment. “Wondered maybe... Maybe you do not get along? Or maybe Canada is bad place to be Finnish?”
Jaakko frowned deeper. There were plenty of guys in the league who got xenophobic, no matter how diverse a team was. The Metros were definitely a step down from the Admirals in that department, but the MLH wasn’t known for its inclusive culture overall. Still, Rozanov was right to be confused why Hollzy of all people would make a crack like that. His reputation—and part of their rivalry—cast Hollander as the golden angel child of the next generation of the MLH, and in large part, he lived up to that weighty expectation. If Rozanov was telling the truth, it definitely felt out of character for Hollzy.
“Canada is no better or worse than America,” Jaakko told the rookie, careful not to give him any personal ammo against his rival. “Some of the Metros are bigger dicks than you. Bad influences maybe.” He shrugged, not sure how else to explain it.
Rozanov nodded as if this made sense.
“What did he say?” Jaakko asked, curiosity fueled partly by the small pit in his stomach.
Rozy shrugged and didn’t meet his eye. “Stupid chirp that Team Europe is bad company. Said going out must be listening to Finns talk about fucking cousins.”
Jaakko wrinkled his nose. “Perkele. That is not like Hollzy. Sounds like other, older, Metros, vittu.”
The Russian’s sharp blue gaze was on him again, latching onto Jaakko’s reaction. “Is bad for you there?”
Jaakko shook his head slightly, keeping the rookie’s gaze. Rozy really was different than the way he showed up in front of the cameras. “Not really. No worse than you have it in Boston,” he explained.
Rozy understood that, nodding. Jaakko watched his jaw work and wondered why this rookie from his rival team had come to ask him about this. His concern seemed too genuine for it to be about getting dirt on Hollander, but Jaakko didn’t think Rozy’s friendship with Ilmo had gotten strong enough for the care to transfer to Jaakko. They’d known each other less than a year.
Before he could figure out what to say, Rozy beat him to the punch. “And Hollander? Is bad for him?”
Jaakko blinked. That wasn’t anywhere on his list of guesses for what the young Raider was concerned about. This kid really was more than met the eye.
“With the players? No. Same as me, maybe,” he told Roz, to his visible—if subtle—relief. “Media, coaches, the league? They work too hard telling him he isn’t different.”
Rozanov nodded like he understood and straightened up, looking more like himself.
“You worried about him?” Jaakko asked gently, trying to make it clear with his tone that this wasn’t a chirp.
But the look that spread over Rozy’s features was carefree and cocky again. “No fun beating someone put down by own team,” he claimed. “You look out for him, yes? No one fucks with Hollander but Boston.”
Jaakko smiled back, wondering if he was imagining the almost flirtatious lilt to Rozy’s unexpected protectiveness over his rival. “No one but you, you mean?”
The rookie’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “I said what I said.” He shrugged and headed back towards his stall to put his shoes on.
Jaakko nodded and unzipped his bag of clean clothes. He was entirely committed to making sure Hollander wasn't hanging out too much with the wrong crowd, so he appreciated the warning despite its unlikely source.
March 2011
Keeping that promise was an effort in a subtlety for Jaakko. He started by paying more attention to who Hollzy was spending time with. Pike and JJ were his closest friends to be sure, but Jaakko noticed a few of the others spending more time hovering around him. Some of the vets who hadn’t updated their sense of humor since the ‘90s—the ones Jaakko still wasn’t friendly with after a few seasons on the Metros. The chirping thrown in Hollzy’s direction at practice wasn’t the sort of thing Jaakko paid attention to ordinarily, but now that he was looking he could see the influence taking shape.
He sidled up to Hollander’s stall after practice, wrapped in his towel while the rookie was undressing, and pounding a friendly fist into Hollander’s shoulder. “Up for a sauna?”
The young star forward blinked at him, then darted his eyes around the room as if he wasn't sure he was the one being addressed. “Me?” Hollzy asked dumbly. “You want me to join you?”
Jaakko nodded, laughing jovially. “C’mon, Hollzy. Sauna is better with friends.” He beckoned and headed out of the locker room, going slow enough not to leave Hollander behind.
Hollzy stared vaguely after him, a barely noticeable smile shaping his cheeks. Then he hurriedly removed his underwear and grabbed a towel, chasing after Jaakko. Jaakko didn’t wait up, letting the short stroll past the showers pass without any forced socializing. The showers were loud with their teammates anyhow.
The sauna at the Metros’ practice facility was always on during normal business hours, so all Jaakko needed to do was pour a bit of water on the rocks to get the löyly just how he liked it. He was seated on his towel beside the rocks with the ladle in hand when Hollander crossed the threshold with a nod. He took a seat on the opposite bench and didn’t unwind his towel from his hips, keeping the small amount of modesty that it afforded him.
Jaakko sighed contentedly as he set the ladle down and lounged back against the planks on the sauna’s wall. He could feel the sweat beginning to bead on his lower back and under his chin.
“Impressive rookie season,” he praised by way of opening.
“It isn’t over yet,” Hollzy demurred. “Plenty of time to fuck it up.”
Jaakko shook his head. “Don’t be an idiot. You only have one rival for the Calder, even if you get put on IR tomorrow.”
Hollzy hung his head and said nothing, avoiding eye contact and anything that might force him to acknowledge the truth. Canadian to the end, but Jaakko could see a tiny self-satisfied tilt to the set of his mouth. Then Hollander looked up again, squaring his gaze on Jaakko.
“You played with him at the All Star Game, right?”
“Mm-hm.”
“What’d you think?”
“Of Roz?”
Hollander nodded.
“Decent kid. Not so different from you under all that… bravado.”
Hollzy made a sound halfway between a snort and a scoff, shaking his head with what must have been disbelief.
“My brother plays for Boston,” Jaakko reminded the rookie. “We talk.”
“Oh?” Hollzy blinked, expression clearing. “You two...what, trade gossip about the rookies?”
Jaakko chuckled, “Do not worry, Hollzy. I am not shit-talking you behind your back. Ilmo is the same.”
“You tryin’ to tell me Rozanov isn’t an asshole?” he asked, eyes narrowed as sweat dripped down his brow. “That why you called me in here?”
Jaakko worked his jaw, worrying he might have gone about this wrong. He didn’t want Hollander in his head thinking he was in trouble or that this was anything more than a way to bond as teammates. Sure he wanted to look out for the kid, but that wasn’t an ulterior motive.
“He is obnoxious, sure. So is Ilmo. So is JJ! Anyone on the opposing team can get on your nerves,” he tried to explain. “People are complicated.”
Hollzy narrowed his eyes at Jaakko. “Our rivalry… it isn’t personal,” he said like it was something to confess. “I mean, yeah, of course I hate him, but I don’t, like, hate him hate him.”
Jaakko raised a hand to stop him, smirking a little. He wiped the sweat away from his eyes and said, “I get it. This is my fourth season with the Metros while Ilmo has been a Raider. You think I don't get it?”
“Right. Sorry,” Hollander muttered, hanging his head with the appropriate dose of shame. “That… makes a lot of sense.”
“Nothing is more fun than destroying my brother on the ice. Same for him. I have dropped gloves to defend another Metro from him. I would do it again. I still think he’s a good man.”
Hollzy nodded again. “Yeah. It’s… a bit like that,” he concluded.
“For him too, I think,” Jaakko suggested.
The rookie’s eyes flicked up to him as he frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Koskelas are always classy, but Roz didn’t shit-talk you behind your back either,” Jaakko told him.
Something curiously vulnerable passed over Hollander’s face. “He didn't?”
Jaakko shook his head. “Think he may be looking out for you, even.”
“What?!” Hollzy laughed, sitting forward in shock. His face was full of disbelief and flushed red from the sauna.
“I think because he thinks you are his to mess with? Or he wants you at top of your game for best challenge?” Jaakko shrugged.
Hollander frowned, his brow setting. Jaakko could see his mind working overtime. It looked totally out of place in a sauna. Now that he was thirty, Jaakko found it easier to be patient—although it was more like not giving a fuck than patience. However, Hollzy had a knack for brooding, and he remained silent for a few full minutes while Jaakko added more water to the rocks and breathed the löyly into his lungs.
“You don’t believe?” he finally pressed.
“No. No, it’s not that,” Hollzy said, shaking his head fervently and following up with a deep breath. He leaned forward, rubbing his hands down and up his thighs enough to dislodge his towel somewhat. “What– What did he... I mean, what makes you say that?”
Jaakko took a second to gather together his words. It had been well over a decade since he truly struggled with his English, but he’d never been a very confident speaker in any language. “Roz took me aside after the game. He was concerned whether the Metros was a… safe place to be different.”
“What, because I’m Asian?” Hollzy balked, defensive anger creeping into his tone of voice.
“No. I think he was worried about that, but that wasn’t why he did it.”
Hollander waited, brow furrowed.
Jaakko drew a deep breath, stealing himself. He really hoped he was right about this. “He said you made some chirp about Finnish guys during the skills competition?”
Hollzy blanched at that. “I... I’m sorry. That wasn’t about you. Or your brother. I just... I dunno why I said that,” he murmured, hanging his head. “I’m sorry.”
“You are forgiven,” Jaakko told him easily.
A wave of tension left Hollander’s shoulders, and he swayed forward, leaning his weight into his knees. When he sat up again, he still didn’t quite look relaxed enough for the sauna, but the panic was gone.
“I think you need better friends,” Jaakko told him plainly. “Pike and JJ are fine. The others hanging around you at practice?” He shook his head. “These are not men to be like when you grow up.”
There was a nervous quiver of Hollzy lips, like he wanted to smile but couldn't stomach it. They sat in silence for a few breaths, Hollander looking everywhere but back at the veteran player. Jaakko waited, happy to let Hollzy find his words.
“You steppin’ in in their stead?” he asked.
Jaakko nodded once, giving the rookie an easy grin.
“Fuck, but I was such a dick!” the kid cried, knocking his head back against the cedar planks.
“Enough. You are young,” Jaakko waved off. “Some of us who are a little different have to stick together. Russia and Finland do not get along, but even Ilya Rozanov knows how to find solidarity, mm?”
Hollzy swallowed and nodded back. “Right.” His eyes were moving again, his mind clearly working overtime. “You said he wasn't shit-talking? So what, he came to you in confidence?”
“Yup.” Jaakko shrugged. “I dunno why he figured the chirp wasn’t like you, besides that you’re different too. He seemed concerned.”
The corners of Hollzy’s mouth twitched. “He’s an asshole, but he isn’t a total piece of shit.”
Jaakko chuckled and nodded in agreement.
They sat in a comfortable silence for a few more minutes, sweating and breathing in the steam. Hollzy was good company that way. Jaakko could tell their conversation was still on Hollander’s mind, but he didn’t look overly troubled. Hopefully his words were having their intended effect.
When Jaakko stood and wrapped his towel around his waist, he gave Hollander a look and said, “I take sauna after every practice. Not every city has good one like this, but we get by.”
The rookie gave him an earnest, nervous smile and a tiny nod. “Maybe I’ll join you for a few of those.”
Jaakko lifted his chin proudly and smiled back at his teammate. “Saunassa kaikki ovat tasa-arvoisia.”
Hollzy gave him a bemused smile, but Jaakko left before he could ask what it meant.
April 2011
End of the season always meant a shift in everyone’s moods, and it was never uniform. During the playoffs, some guys got paranoid and superstitious while others hardened their focus so much that they became no fun. Ilmo had his own traditions he was certain to uphold, but he saw it as his job to keep everyone’s moods up during the hard push for the cup. He hosted the guys at his apartment to watch other teams’ games and down a few beers between their second and third game of the first round. Even though he didn’t wear the C nor the A, Ilmo took team morale very seriously. He hated nothing more than having to play with a bunch of bitchy assholes.
By the end of the second period in the Detroit vs Tampa game everyone was reasonably loose. Ilmo got up, belched, and began gathering empty beer bottles from various surfaces.
“Who needs more? Marly? Rozy?”
Marleau and a couple of the others raised their hands to request another round, and a few of the younger guys started begging for more pizza bites. Ilmo rolled his eyes but set the oven to preheat once he’d dumped his armload of bottles into the recycling bin.
“Vitun paskiaiset, eating me out of house and home!” he cursed, returning to the living room and casting his eyes around for more things that needed doing.
Most of the guys were relaxed, which meant loud and sprawling across the apartment. Cadyn and St. Simon were throwing darts at the back of the room. Marly and Carmichael had started arm wrestling while the talking heads analyzed the game during intermission. No one seemed to care enough about this match to be paying attention to what anyone on TV was saying. Ostensibly they’d be facing one of these teams later in the run, but no one really expected to make it through the first round after losing their first two games.
Rozanov caught Ilmo’s eye because of his stillness. Or, not truly still. Rozy’s knee was bouncing like he was itching to get onto the ice, but he was sat at the end of the sofa, leaning into the armrest and staring at his phone like he was waiting on bad news. Then the locked screen lit up with some notification, and Rozy smiled. Some of Ilmo’s concern lifted as he realized what had the rookie tied up in knots. There must be some girl on his mind, someone worth seeing a second or third time, which seemed rare for Roz.
He approached the young firebrand casually, leaning against the back corner of the armrest and looming over him. “What’s her name?” he asked, trying not to actually snoop on the text thread.
Rozy locked his phone immediately, dropping it face down in his lap. “Mrs. Koskela,” he chirped, surprisingly quick on the draw. “Who else?”
Ilmo grinned. “Joke’s on you. My mother would love you to take her home.”
He earned a twitch of amusement in Rozanov’s face, but the rookie’s eyes remained sharp. “I show her excellent time,” he claimed boastfully, an undercurrent of evaluative caution in his tone.
“Seriously, rook,” Ilmo tried again, lowering his volume a bit, “who’s got you grinning at your phone like that?”
“Is no one. Fuck off, Kozy.”
Ilmo saw light peeking out from the screen-down iPhone. Rozy’s eyes darted down to it, but he resisted checking his notifications. The oven beeped, indicating it was time to throw the pizza bites in. Curious as he was, Ilmo was going to have to let this go.
“Good luck with that,” Ilmo smirked, turning away. The rookie could have his secret for now.
June 2011
Jaakko wasn’t sure why he kept coming to the MLH awards. He never won anything. This year he was nominated for sportsmanship again. The press kept telling him it was the 5th year he’d been in that position, and Jaakko kept telling them it was an honor just to be nominated. He didn’t win this year, and he hadn’t expected to. Thankfully his reputation for a flat affect made it not too difficult to hide how little he cared. He sort of wished they’d stop nominating him so he wouldn’t have to come to any of these boring parties anymore.
“Better luck next time.”
Jaakko turned towards the sound of Scott Hunter’s voice and gave him a frank look. His old teammate cracked a smile and knocked his shoulder into Jaakko’s. Jaakko shook his head and sipped his drink, unable to come up with a clever enough chirp.
“Where’s your brother?” Scott asked.
Jaakko shrugged, looking around the room. “Getting into trouble.”
“I’d be disappointed if he wasn’t,” Scott chuckled. “It’s good to see you, man. Wanna grab another round?”
Jaakko downed the last of his drink and nodded as he swallowed. Scanning the room for a server with a tray he could ditch the glass on, he spotted his twin. Ilmo was weaving his way through the crowd towards them, grinning from ear to ear.
“Hunter! They still letting you come to this?” Ilmo chirped as he approached.
“The Admirals won the President’s Trophy! What’s your excuse, asshole?” Scott shot back with a laugh.
“Ah, but where were you in the playoffs?” Ilmo rebutted, the Raiders having gotten a whopping one round further than the Admirals this year.
“Where is your rookie?” Jaakko asked his brother. “We’re going to do shots.”
“We are?” Scott laughed.
“I dunno,” Ilmo shrugged. “Where is yours?”
“Spending two much time in his mother’s shadow,” Jaakko said. “Help me get Hollzy to loosen up. Find the other rooks.”
“Ah, there’s Hollander,” Scott said, pointing in the direction of the bar. “I’ll grab him.”
“Rozy’s probably gone off to find trouble. Let me fetch him,” Ilmo offered.
“Meet back at the bar,” Scott decided.
And they all split up. There were only a couple of rookies in attendance tonight, and Jaakko wasn’t sure he remembered the others’ names. He had his work cut out for him.
It took a long time for Jaakko to track down the players celebrating the end of their rookie season. By the time he brought them back to Scott at the bar, the party was beginning to loosen up a little. Not that anyone was dancing or anything.
The two rookies Jaakko brought gravitated towards Hollander, exchanging shy smiles with him. It didn’t seem like they knew each other well.
“Where’s Rozanov?” Scott demanded.
“Hey, not my problem,” Jaakko shrugged, approaching the bar to order.
“He’s nowhere,” Ilmo’s voice cut in, shouting over the din. “We should drink without him. Teach him a lesson.”
“You sure?” Scott asked.
“If he has bad luck next season, is not my fault,” Ilmo shrugged. “We tried.”
Jaakko ordered vodka in the absentee’s honor, and they all lined up along the bar with their glasses, shoulder to shoulder. He found himself in the middle of the lineup, the rookies now scattered among the vets. Hollzy looked nervous. Jaakko knew he didn't usually drink and wondered briefly if it had been hard for Scott to talk him into it.
Rozanov still hadn’t shown his face by the time their drinks came. Hollander’s eyes danced around the room like he was considering bolting. Jaakko wasn’t sure what that was about—although he’d put good money it on it having to do with his missing rival—but he filed it away to possibly ask about later. Maybe he wanted to seize the opportunity to outdrink Rozy now that the season was over.
Jaakko smiled at his teammate, and loud enough for the whole group to hear he said, “To a great rookie season, gone and done!”
“Kippis!” Ilmo cried, lifting his shot glass.
“Cheers,” Scott echoed.
All down the line they raised their glasses as one and drank. Even Shane Hollander downed it his shot without coughing. Ilmo clapped the nearest rookie on the back and laughed. Jaakko circled around to Hollzy and gently shoulder-checked him.
“Congrats, kid,” he said with a small grin. “You deserve to let loose tonight.”
Hollzy smiled, still looking nervous but a little less so. “Thanks, but I kinda think this isn’t the right venue for getting too crazy.”
“What isn’t? Vegas?” Ilmo laughed, elbowing Hollzy, appearing out of nowhere.
“Go easy on him, Ilmo,” Jaakko chided. “It’s his first MLH awards.”
“Trust me, Hollander, they don’t get any more exciting than this,” Scott warned, leaning over the rookie’s other shoulder.
“You sure know how to sell it, Mr. Hunter,” the rookie of the year chirped back, rather pathetically.
“Maybe that’s where Rozanov went,” Jaakko wondered aloud.
“Where?” Hollander asked, frowning.
“To the strip!” Jaakko laughed. “Anywhere but here is a better party tonight.”
“Wise, brother,” Ilmo agreed with a solemn nod. “Maybe we should join him!”
“You’re a horrible role model, Kozy,” Scott laughed.
“Yeah, no wonder Rozanov didn’t show his face,” Jaakko chirped.
“Hey, it’s not my fault you got the most rule-following rookie of all time on the Metros,” Ilmo laughed back.
Hollzy laughed nervously and took a step backwards from the circle. “Maybe I will have another drink after all,” he muttered, glancing towards the bar.
“That’s it! Make it two, Hollzy,” Ilmo declared, slinging an arm around the rookie’s shoulders in a way that was probably too familiar for the poor kid.
Jaakko went with them and played interference like a good mentor should. He and Hollander had become something like friends during the playoffs, falling into a rhythm of sharing a sauna every time they practiced at their home arena. Hollzy was a low-key sort of guy when he wasn’t on the ice, and Ilmo could be a bit much. He steered Hollzy more towards Scott instead, knowing they were of a similar temperament.
Not an hour later, Jaakko suddenly realized he’d lost track of Hollander. He wasn’t with Scott, or Ilmo, or anywhere in sight. Jaakko had drunk enough to be tipsy, and he started wandering aimlessly in search of his teammate. Maybe he didn’t owe the kid anything, but he felt a vague responsibility to make sure he was still having an alright night.
First Jaakko spotted Hollander’s parents, chatting away to the Metros’ general manager. Hollzy wasn’t with him, which was the first relief. Maybe Jaakko would find the kid puking in the men’s room. Good for him. Tucking a drunk rookie in for the night was more the sort of veteran player service that Jaakko was used to providing. But when he made his way into the bathroom, Hollzy was nowhere to be found.
Jaakko ambled back towards the party, deciding to make one final loop of the place before giving up. Then maybe he’d find Ilmo and they’d hit the slots for a while. Unless Ilmo was planning to go cruising tonight, but he usually didn't risk it during league events.
A door flew open, making Jaakko almost lose his balance in surprise. Hollzy stood there, his cheeks flushed and a frowned shaping his face. The door he had come out of was a stairwell, and there was a sign that read ‘roof access’ on the landing behind him. Hollander saw Jaakko, and his face opened up a little as their eyes met.
“Oh. Hey, Koko,” he said bemusedly.
“Was wonderin’ where you go off to,” Jaakko replied, offering a friendly smile. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Hollzy replied, clearly lying. “Just getting some fresh air.”
Jaakko nodded back. That actually made perfect sense. He hated these sorts of things too, but he had more practice riding out the wave of stuffy elbow rubbing until he could escape with his brother into the off-season. And since Hollzy wasn’t even a regular drinker, he must have had it particularly rough. Even after catching a breather, it was reasonable that Hollander might still feel a little flustered and look a bit out of his depth.
“Final rounds, I think,” Jaakko told the kid. “Then I will go enjoy Vegas. You?”
“Oh. No, I um. I think I’ll just go pass out, order room service in the morning,” the kid told him, a little sheepishly.
“A man who likes to enjoy his luxuries,” Jaakko appraised. “I respect this.”
Hollzy’s smile grew more genuine, reaching his eyes. “If only the hotel had a decent sauna, right?”
“Yes!” Jaakko laughed, swaying in to clap his teammate on the shoulder. “Excellent for hangovers, you know. Good way to recap the night before with your buddies too, perkele.”
“Hey now! What happens in Vegas...”
Jaakko scoffed. “Don’t believe everything you see on TV, Hollzy,” he warned. “This room is full of gossips.”
The playful advice didn’t land the way he’d intended. Hollander’s face fell a little, and the nerves crept back in. His lips parted, jaw opening and closing uncertainly. Whatever he’d been up to on the roof, he clearly didn’t want anyone knowing about it. Curious, but Jaakko wasn’t going to pry.
“Do not worry. I do not see you,” he said, before Hollzy could blurt anything incriminating.
Hollander closed his mouth and offered a tight-lipped, forced smile. “Okay.”
Jaakko shook his shoulder affectionately. “Get outta here,” he urged. “Party of one‘s still a party. Better than this.”
Hollzy hung his head and let out a dry laugh. “You don’t think that’s lame?”
“In Finland we have a word for this. Kalsarikännit.”
Hollzy looked up, making brief eye contact. “What’s it mean?”
“It is when you sit at home in your underwear getting drunk,” he explained, grinning at his teammate. “Old Finnish tradition.”
Hollzy laughed, amusement lighting up his face for a brief moment. Something in Jaakko eased in relief to see joy return to his features. Whatever it was Hollzy was so anxious to keep private, he had a right to protect it. Even if it was just that he was the type of guy who hated these sorts of parties and needed a break.
“Yeah, guess I’ll go do that then,” the rookie confirmed with a nod. “G’night, Koko. And, uh...thanks.”
“Anytime,” he nodded back.
Jaakko wandered off in search of his brother, ready to say their goodbyes and make the most of their night in Vegas.