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NHL All-Stars Weekend, 2019
Kenny North had expected the hotel gym to be full of hockey stars. That was inevitable at the NHL All Stars weekend. Doesn’t mean he wasn’t nervous. It was only his second year as a player. And while he might have been confident on the ice, it still felt unreal to the 20 year old to be surrounded by his heroes. To be playing on a team with them. He felt so much pressure to not look stupid in front of them. To show he had earned his spot here.
He had done okay in the skills portion. Nothing to write home about, but nothing to be embarrassed about. Scott Hunter had even told him he had done a good job. Scott Hunter! And now here he was, in the gym, working out next to Tommy Anderson. Surreal. Tommy had given him a friendly nod, even though they were on opposite teams. And to Kenny’s left..
It was ridiculous for him to feel so nervous. He had faced both of them on the ice, he had been beaten both of them on the ice. But on the ice felt very different to just casually working out in the same room as Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander. So he kept his eyes down, and focused on his workout. He might have added more weight to the machine than necessary.
“Hey, Holzy,” he suddenly heard Anderson say. He glanced up to see Hollander passing them, and tried not to drop the strap.
"Hey Anderson. Feeling good for tomorrow?”
“Are you kidding? Tomorrow’s going to be a breeze. You and Rozanov in line together means no one else has to do anything. Already heard Kleinman say he’s just going to take a nap on the ice. And I’ll spend a boring two hours watching you two never give up the puck.”
Hollander laughed at that. “Don’t know about that. I’ve played North—” Kenny looked up, and Hollander was looking at him. At him. “-and he embarrassed us. Could be some competition this year.”
Holy shit. Kenny felt himself flush, ridiculously pleased at the compliment- he had posters of Hollander, Jesus Christ, but Hollander just gave him a smile and was already walking away. People were right. Hollander was really nice.
Kenny knew he was still staring at him as Hollander stepped onto a treadmill and started jogging at a leisurely pace. When he finally looked away, Anderson gave him a knowing smile.
“You’ll get used to it,” Anderson told him quietly. He was only a couple years older than Kenny.
“When?”
“I’m not sure.”
Kenny finished his reps, and stood to wipe down the machine. When he looked up, he saw Rozanov step onto the treadmill next to Hollander. And he saw the big Russian very obviously look at the display on Hollander’s treadmill before starting his own.
Kenny hadn’t really meant to, but the only leg extender open put him almost directly behind Hollander and Rozanov. Which meant it was easy to see Hollander glance at Rozanov’s machine and punch up the speed on his own. After about 30 seconds, Rozanov did the same.
“Oh, fuck you Rozanov,” he heard Hollander say. And then Hollander increased the speed again.
“I am just working out, Hollander. Is too bad you can’t keep up,” Rozanov responded. He increased the speed, and Hollander quickly did too. They were no longer going at a leisurely pace. Kenny tried to focus on his own work out, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the competition happening at the treadmills. When he glanced around the gym, he saw he wasn’t the only one. More and more eyes were going to Rozanov and Hollander as they ran faster and faster, looking at the other’s machine more than their own.
Kenny wasn’t even pretending to work out anymore. Neither was anyone else. Hollander and Rozanov didn’t seem to notice they had an audience, their focus was entirely on what the other man was doing. Within five minutes, both were at a dead sprint. The gym was silent besides the pounding of their feet. Both were panting. Neither were giving up. Kenny couldn’t understand how they were still going. His legs were burning just watching them.
Hollander broke first. He grabbed the arm holds and literally lifted himself off the speeding track, swinging his legs out to the side to balance on the edges, before hitting the stop button. Rozanov didn’t even bother to stop the machine, just half jumped/half stumbled off. Both were wheezing. Hollander was bent over, bracing on the machine. Rozanov just collapsed ungracefully to the ground, laying on his back, his eyes closed. He raised both his fists in the air in victory and let out a whoop. And then he started laughing.
Hollander bent over even further, and Kenny realized that he was laughing too. As much as he could while panting. He leaned over and slapped the stop button on Rozanov’s machine.
“I win!” Rozanov managed to wheeze out, and then started laughing again. Hollander grabbed his water bottle and towel from his machine and managed a couple steps before sitting down hard at the end of the track. He pressed the towel to his sweat soaked face. The room was still silent, watching them. Hollander’s shoulders were shaking with laughter. When he finally lowered the towel from his red face, he looked only at Rozanov. It was like the rest of the room didn’t even exist. Rozanov was grinning at the ceiling.
“Fuck,” Hollander panted. Rozanov chuckled again. “We are not 18 anymore.”
“Beat you at 18 too,” Rozanov said.
“Fuck you.”
“Is cute you keep trying.” Rozanov closed his eyes again. “Like puppy chasing car.”
“Oh, get fucked Rozanov.” He threw the towel at Rozanov’s face. The Russian just laughed again, unbothered. He used Hollander’s towel to wipe the sweat from his face. The gym was still silent, watching them recover. Kenny wondered if everyone else felt as confused as he did. Hollander and Rozanov’s rivalry was legendary. The competition at the treadmills- while impressive- didn’t seem strange. Them laughing about it after though...
The gym door opened, and Scott Hunter and Jeremy Vaughn walked in. Hunter immediately spotted Rozanov on the floor and Hollander slumped at the end of his treadmill.
“The fuck happened to you two?” he asked, and it’s like a spell was broken. People started laughing, work outs resumed.
“ESPN is going to be so pissed they didn’t get that on camera.”
“Fuck, I’m pissed I didn’t get that on camera. You good, Holzy?”
Hollander waved off concerns. They were both breathing more steadily now. Rozanov finally sat up.
“That was straight up childish,” someone on Kenny’s left said loudly.
“Beating Hollander is never childish. Child could not beat him. He is the second best hockey player in league,” Rozanov shot back. He almost sounded like he was bragging. And then he started laughing again. “And second best runner.”
“Fuck you, asshole.”
Rozanov just laughed harder, and rubbed the towel against his damp curls before tossing it back to Hollander. The rest of the room was now back to normal gym activities, no longer watching them. But Kenny was basically right next to them. He was trying to not make it obvious he was still paying attention, resuming his reps, but he saw Hollander pass his water bottle to Rozanov, who took it easily.
“How’s your knee?” Hollander asked Rozanov quietly as he took a gulp of water.
“Going to hate me tomorrow. How are your ribs?”
“Fine. Did you bring epsom salt?” Hollander asked. Rozanov shook his head slightly, drinking water again. “I did. You should soak your knee.” Rozanov just nodded. He lowered the water bottle, and offered it back to Hollander.
Kenny watched this conversation with some confusion. Just a minute ago, they were racing like it was life and death, and now they were checking up on each other? And Hollander had, what, insider information on Rozanov’s knee?
Were they friends?
He tried not to watch as Hollander finally stood, and reached his hand out to Rozanov. The other man grasped it without hesitation, and let Hollander pull him up to his feet.
“God, I need a shower,” he heard Hollander complain. “This was supposed to be a light work out.” Rozanov just laughed again as he gathered his own towel and water bottle from the treadmill.
“Thanks for the show, boys,” someone called as the two started to head towards the gym doors. They seemed to be opting to head back to their rooms instead of using the gym showers.
“Yes, always good show to see Hollander lose,” Rozanov called back. He stumbled slightly when Hollander shoved him. He was grinning as he shoved Hollander back. The two were still shoving at each other at the door, and then they disappeared around the corner.
“Jesus, those can never give it a rest,” Kenny heard someone say.
“Amazing they play together so well, considering how much they hate each other,” a voice agreed.
Kenny increased the weight on his machine, scowling to himself. That wasn’t hatred he saw. He didn’t know what it was, but he was pretty sure everyone was missing something when it came to Hollander and Rozanov.