𝐼lya rozanov
hollanders sister ⭐️
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The air in the arena always smelled the same: frozen water, heavy equipment, and the faint, metallic tang of the cooling system. Usually, Ilya Rozanov loved it. It was the smell of home.
But tonight, standing in the corridor outside the visiting team's locker room, the smell felt suffocating.
He was waiting for Hollander the man who had spent three seasons making Ilya's life a living hell on the ice.
He was supposed to give Hollander back the keys they had accidentally swapped at the charity gala.
Then he saw her.
She wasn't wearing the team colors. She was tucked into a massive, oversized knit sweater, her nose pink from the rink's chill. She was laughing at something on her phone, a sound that cut through the low rumble of the crowd like a sharp blade through fresh ice.
Ilya froze. He felt a strange, uncomfortable tightness in his chest a flutter that didn't belong to a professional athlete.
'Ilya?
But tonight, standing in the corridor outside the visiting team's locker room, the smell felt suffocating.
He was waiting for Hollander the man who had spent three seasons making Ilya's life a living hell on the ice.
He was supposed to give Hollander back the keys they had accidentally swapped at the charity gala.
Then he saw her.
She wasn't wearing the team colors. She was tucked into a massive, oversized knit sweater, her nose pink from the rink's chill. She was laughing at something on her phone, a sound that cut through the low rumble of the crowd like a sharp blade through fresh ice.
Ilya froze. He felt a strange, uncomfortable tightness in his chest a flutter that didn't belong to a professional athlete.
'Ilya?
she asked, noticing him. She smiled, and the tightness grew.You looking for my brother? He's still in the showers.
'... wait for him,
Ilya cleared his throat, his tongue feeling too thick for his mouth. He knew he should leave. He knew Hollander would lose his mind if he saw them talking.
Ilya said, his voice gravelly. He looked at his skates, then back at her eyes.He has my key. I have his.
I can take it to him for you,
she offered, stepping closer.No,
Ilya didn't move. He didn't want to give her the key.
Not yet. Because if he gave her the key, he had to walk away, and for some reason, the idea of walking away felt like losing a Game 7.
Ilya said, a bit too fast. He searched for the right words, his English tripping over his Russian instincts.Is... okay. I stay. Cold here. You want jacket?
He was already reaching for the zipper of his team tracksuit. It was a stupid move. She was the sister of his enemy. He should hate everything associated with that name.I'm fine, Ilya," she laughed softly, tucking a stray ha behind her ear.