Preface
Look, I Know You've Got This Thing For Rozanov
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at https://archiveofourown.org/works/61223419.
- Rating:
- Mature
- Archive Warning:
- Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
- Category:
- M/M
- Fandoms:
- Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
- Relationship:
- Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
- Characters:
- Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, J.J. Boiziau, Hayden Pike, Rose Landry, Yuna Hollander, Ryan Price (Game Changers), Jackie Pike, Wyatt Hayes, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Theriault (Game Changers), Gilbert Comeau, Patrice Drapeau, Mitty (Heated Rivalry), Ruby Pike, Jade Pike, Arthur Pike
- Additional Tags:
- Canon Compliant, POV Outsider, Fluff and humor and angst and the barest hint of smut if you squint, Watching Ilya melt down when Shane gets injured, Shane coming out to his boys, WHOOOOSH compilation, Camp Rozanov, Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Homophobia, implied/referenced eating disorder, Canon - Book
- Language:
- English
- Stats:
- Published: 2024-12-10 Updated: 2026-04-23 Words: 47,312 Chapters: 46/?
Look, I Know You've Got This Thing For Rozanov
Summary
“Look, I know you’ve got this...thing...for Rozanov.”
Shane’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”
J.J. smiled sadly at him. “Why do you think I keep trying to set you up? Having a crush on a straight man is no good, buddy."----
The events of Heated Rivalry + The Long Game through the eyes of J.J. Boiziau.
aka
All of the times J.J. was pretty oblivious / all of the times Shane wasn't as careful as he thought he was.
December 2013 - Montreal
Ilya Rozanov was annoying the shit out of J.J. Boiziau. He deserved the effigy the Voyageurs fans had made of him, as far as J.J. was concerned. On more than one occasion tonight, he’d shoved Hollander up against the boards in what looked like dirty moves to J.J., but he hadn’t been called out by the ref.
“It’s bullshit! He shouldn’t be able to get that close to you!” J.J. complained from the bench while the second line took off. “If he does it again, I swear, I’m going after him.”
“Don’t. It was clean.” Shane groaned. “And seriously, we don’t need you out for two games because you picked a fight with Ryan Price.”
“He’s a fucking asshole! What did he say to you out there?!”
“Nothing worth repeating.” Shane looked away, nostrils flared.
Chapter End Notes
December 2013 reality:
Cliff Marlow: “So she wants to meet up after the game tomorrow night. She’s hot for hockey players, and she said she could bring her friend. You want in?”
Ilya, internally: “Oh, no thanks. I will be busy fucking Shane Hollander in a hotel room.”
January 2014 - Flight to Boston
J.J. had a habit of starting up games for his teammates to kill time on the road, and wasn’t surprised that Shane was, per usual, sitting this one out. While the rest of the team played a rousing game of “Name That Song!”, Shane curled up in his seat and connected to the plane’s Wi-Fi. Again, not surprising. But… Right now, he was grinning at his phone like a teenage girl.
J.J. plopped down in the seat next to him. “What are you smiling at?”
“Nothing.” Shane quickly locked his screen, but not before J.J.’s eye caught on the name at the top of his text thread.
“Lily! Who is Lily?” J.J. waggled his eyebrows.
Shane lowered his voice, casting a look over his shoulder at the rest of the guys, and switched to French. “Stop it.”
Oh, now J.J. knew it was good. “Are you seeing someone?”
“No. Stop. It’s nothing, really.”
“I saw a kissing face, Shane.” J.J. raised his eyebrows. “You can’t lie to me.”
Shane sighed, eyes darting to the back of the plane, where he had only recognized Tiny Dancer in the last twenty minutes.
“It’s not serious. Just… Forget about it.”
“If you say so… I’m just glad you’re finally getting laid, man!”
Shane blushed as he tried to fight a grin. “Shut up.”
Chapter End Notes
January 2014 reality:
(Excerpt is from June)“The last time they had really spoken had been almost six months ago, before the Olympics, and Shane hadn’t actually done all that much talking. What he had done was let Rozanov push him to his knees in the middle of his hotel room and fuck his mouth until Shane’s eyes watered.”
Chapter 3: Too bad about your loss tonight, Hollander!
Chapter Notes
June 2014 - Las Vegas
J.J. knew this year’s NHL Awards would be a little dull since they’d been eliminated in the playoffs, but he could at least say that he looked pretty fucking good tonight. So many of the guys chose simply black and white suits for these kinds of things, but J.J. took pride in being the most fashionable Voyageur.
Still, the afterparty was much better than the awards show. A few drinks had loosened everyone up almost enough to ignore all of the fanfare the Bears were getting. Almost.
Hollander was in a piss-poor mood, and couldn’t seem to settle down the way the rest of the Voyageurs had.
Hayden Pike threw his arms around both of them, drunkenly slurring. “Next year, that’s going to be us. I’ll be damned if that Cup goes back to Boston.”
“That’s fucking right!” J.J. held up his own beer bottle. “We’re getting Shane a Conn Smythe!”
“Come on.” Shane chuckled. “Even if we do get the Cup, that doesn’t mean I’d get the Conn Smythe.”
“Fuck yeah it does!” Hayden protested. “Don’t be stupid, Shane.”
J.J. laughed at Shane’s aw-shucks humility. The man was a god on the ice. There was no use pretending he wasn’t.
The moment was interrupted by the laughter of three Boston players re-entering the room from the patio, Ilya Rozanov roguishly centered and clearly fresh off of smoking a cigarette. At the sight of the three of them, Rozanov’s grin widened, his eyes taking on a wolfish gleam.
“Is too bad about your loss tonight, Hollander!” Rozanov called out, smirking across the room as chuckles rang out from the NHL crowd and their wives. J.J. felt anger rise in his face. This fucking guy.
Shane just rolled his eyes, responding with a sarcastic, “Yeah, yeah,” to the party’s delight.
“Maybe next year, you last longer in the playoffs, and we beat you there!” Rozanov’s smile passed over the rest of the Voyageurs, giving Shane one last condescending pat on the back, and J.J. yelled after his retreating frame, “Fuck off, Rozanov!”
Hayden scowled. “Man, I don’t know how you stand it, dude. I’d have jumped his ass by now. Or slashed his tires or something. Hell, I want to do it right now.”
“We could probably go ask the valet for whatever’s orange and just steal his car.” Shane replied flatly.
“Ha!” J.J. barked out a laugh. “Now there’s an idea.”
Shane's phone buzzed, and he checked a text. He set his beer down on the closest available table, running an anxious hand through his hair. “I think I’m going to get out of here.”
“What! No! We’ve barely started! Come party with us!” J.J. balked, checking the time.
“Party with Hayden.” Shane pulled Hayden’s slumped form off of his own shoulder and grumbled. “I’ll celebrate with you next year, when we get that fucking Cup.”
Chapter End Notes
June 2014 reality:
“Aw,” Rozanov cooed with mock sympathy. “I will make a deal: if you win MVP tonight, I will blow you, fuck you...whatever you want.”
“And if you win?”
“I will let you know.”
December 2015 - Boston
“Everybody! We’re going out tonight! We’ve got a win to celebrate and we’re going to rub it in Boston’s fucking faces!” J.J.’s rousing speech ended to a roaring locker room.
There was always one final boss though: one of his favorite people, the permanently antisocial captain Shane Hollander. Tonight, at least he was laughing too, so that was a good start.
“Hollander! You coming?” J.J. pointed a cheery finger in his direction.
Shane laughed, good-natured as always. “Not this one, J.J. Maybe next time.”
“Come on, Hollander! A night like tonight deserves to be celebrated!”
“Oh trust me, I’m celebrating.” Shane grinned.
“Fuck yes, you are! Come clubbing with us. Have a drink, have a dance. Make out with someone. Let’s go!”
Shane’s smile dipped slightly, but there was warmth in his voice when he replied, “Too tired. But hey, won’t be the last time we beat Boston.”
“You’re goddamn right it won’t!”
Chapter End Notes
December 2015 reality:
(Excerpt from 2016)“They had moved their Boston hookups from hotel rooms to Rozanov’s penthouse last season. Shane had been against the idea at the time, arguing that he didn’t want to risk being spotted entering Rozanov’s building. He had legitimately been concerned about that, and still was, but his real objection—the one that he didn’t voice—was that he didn’t want to make what they were doing seem more...personal.”
October 2016 - Montreal
It had been an absolute trouncing. The 4-1 loss had left both the arena of hometown fans and the Montreal Voyageurs' dressing room miserable, eerily quiet places to be.
J.J. didn’t like silence.
One person seemed to be taking the beating harder than anyone — his captain, and one of his best friends, Shane Hollander. As alternate captain, J.J. had learned a certain rhythm they shared. Where Shane offered focus, drive, and calm, J.J. rallied the team’s spirits and brought in the inspiration. They made a solid duo. A Stanley Cup duo.
Which was why it was unusual to see Shane this degree of pissed off. He rarely let a single defeat get to him like this, and if J.J. didn’t know his tells so well, he wouldn’t have taken notice. Shane didn’t yell or throw hockey sticks, but his tone was sharper, and there was practically steam coming out of his nose as he packed up his stall. He checked his phone, read something, and angrily threw it into his bag.
“Whoa, buddy!” J.J. swung an arm around Shane. “It is not your phone’s fault, and it is not yours either. Come on, we don’t play for two days. Let’s go get a beer.”
Shane sighed and shook his head, eyes toward his stall and head bowed low. “Thanks, J.J., but honestly I just want to go home right now.”
J.J. clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t take it too hard. We will get them back next time. Fuck Rozanov!”
A rueful look passed over Shane’s face and he exhaled heavily. “Yeah. Fuck Rozanov.”
Chapter End Notes
October 2016 reality:
“Don’t worry, Hollander,” Rozanov said, his lips brushing Shane’s ear, “I am going to fuck you like you want, yes?”
November 2016 - Boston
The team was licking their wounds. It wasn’t their worst game ever, a 2-1 win for Boston, but it wasn’t their best either. In any case, Ilya Rozanov’s post-goal fist pump never failed to piss J.J. off, and he’d had the misfortune of seeing it twice tonight.
The bus ride from the arena back to the hotel had been sullen, and J.J. thought it might be nice to rally the guys to watch a movie in his room before bed. He’d already found five people to watch Zootopia with him before he knocked on Shane and Hayden’s door.
Hayden answered, looking somewhat sweaty when he asked plainly, “What?”
“Everyone’s coming to my room to watch a movie. You in?”
“Oh. Uh, no, I think I’m in for the night.” Hayden sounded a little out of breath.
“Hollander!” J.J. peeked around Hayden’s shoulder into the room. “You coming?”
“Oh, he went out. Probably back in a bit.”
J.J. cocked an eyebrow conspiratorially. “Out? Hollander went out?”
Hayden’s face gave way to a little grin and he leaned in. “Out.”
J.J. whistled and started to laugh. “Damn, Hollander. About fucking time.”
“He said he was just meeting a friend.” Hayden put the words in air quotes.
“Is he finally dating someone then? Not in fucking Boston, right?”
Hayden rolled his eyes. “I think he’s just finally horny enough to do something about it.”
“Hollander on the prowl… We’ve got to find him a Montreal girl then.”
J.J. winked, pocketing this information. So Shane was finally taking some action in his love life. Almost immediately, two women came to mind that he wanted to introduce him to. He’d just have to keep jostling Shane into meeting people until he found the right one.
Chapter End Notes
November 2016 reality:
“Do you like tuna melts?”
“You want to make me a tuna melt?”
Rozanov shrugged. “I’m making one for me. I can make two. Ginger ale is in fridge.”
December 2016 — Montreal
It’s not that he and Hayden were gossiping. But, J.J. liked to consider himself an observant friend, and it couldn’t have been more obvious that Shane’s hookup in Boston had ended badly. Maybe it had been an incompatible first date, or maybe he’d shown up only to get dumped, but whatever had happened in November clearly set Shane on edge because he’d been a fucking dick ever since. J.J. had never met a man who needed to get laid more in his life.
So, when the text came in from his friend Francois, he knew it was time to finally browbeat Shane into coming out. The two of them had spent too many long flights watching X-Squad movies for him to pass it up.
The food was amazing. The women were stunning. If Shane gave him a single excuse, he would put a hockey puck in a mousetrap and kidnap him.
Right when he started to fear that Shane wasn’t coming, J.J. spotted him — dressed nicely, nervous eyes darting around.
“Hollander! Yes, bitch! Get over here!”
Shane’s expression relaxed as he made his way through the crowd, but he paused on his way, gesturing his head towards the bar. J.J. sent him a thumbs up and continued his story. When THE Rose Landry was listening to you, you didn’t pass up that opportunity.
So, he was surprised when she pulled him aside from the circle, tapping his arm. Her eyes sparkled as though the two of them were already in on a secret, and she glanced towards the bar. “Was that Shane Hollander?”
Fucking bingo.
J.J. grinned as he nodded, dropping his head down a full foot to hear her. “Do you want to meet him? He’s a tough nut to crack, but he’s one of the best people I know. Really nice guy, hardworking as fuck, loyal, polite, super down-to-earth.”
Rose batted his arm playfully. “Are you trying to set me up, Mr. Boiziau?”
J.J. shrugged, a boyish smile crossing his face. “Only looking out for my boy.”
“J.J.! Rose! You have to try these. Haitian salt cod fritters.” Francois threw a hand onto J.J.’s shoulder, interrupting their conversation.
“Francois! You’re too good to me! Can we take the tray?”
“Of course!” The chef beamed. “Pass them around. New menu item. You must tell me what you think!”
When the small talk ended, J.J. smirked, handing Rose the tray. “Go. Offer him one. He’ll freak out.”
“You are Trouble with a capital T.” Rose tutted, amusement shining in her eyes.
J.J. laughed. “Go easy on him. He’s a good guy.”
Chapter End Notes
December 2016 reality:
“It wasn’t like Shane had anything better to do. Nothing besides watching the end of a Boston hockey game on television and quietly panicking about the freshly unearthed feelings he was harboring for Ilya Rozanov. He could definitely use a distraction.”
January 2017 - Montreal
Alright, so maybe J.J. was being a little bit of a shit-stirrer, but he couldn’t resist.
When François sent him the paparazzi pictures of Shane and Rose getting sushi — “Tell your boy to bring his movie star girlfriend back to my place when we open 😉”— he really had no choice but to forward the article to the team group chat. After years of Shane playing the eternal role of Montreal’s Most Eligible Bachelor, he deserved some roasting.
And honestly? J.J. was happy for him. He looked happy in the photos, smiling and blushing as Rose kissed his cheek, walking down a cobblestone street hand in hand. It bummed J.J. out to think about how rarely he’d seen Shane like that. He’d joke around in the dressing room, sure, but he’d never seemed comfortable on their nights out, always making excuses to leave early while his teammates indulged in sloppy club make-outs across the continent.
All he’d ever wanted for Shane was for him to find this. That wonderful, giddy feeling of being with someone who made his eyes crinkle. He deserved to be in love.
Leave it to Hollander to have such high standards that only a superstar could crack his radar.
He also, however, deserved to finally know what it was like to be on the other end of the teasing. So when the florist asked who to address the sixty roses to, J.J. grinned.
“Write, ‘Oh Captain, My Captain. Love, Rose.’”
Chapter End Notes
January 2017 reality:
“When Shane’s phone buzzed, an hour after the game against Boston ended, he had expected it to be Ilya.
It was Rose.”
February 2017 - Montreal
Captains and Some Guy
12:04 pm
J.J.: *gif of Ilya kissing Shane on the cheek at the All Stars game while Shane laughs*
J.J.: Why am I finding out you’re cheating on Rose on TWITTER? 😂
Hayden: Lol. Better wrap that shit up
Hayden: Can you get an STD from a kiss on the cheek?
J.J.: If anyone could do it, it’d be Rozanov 🤣
Hayden Pike has changed the name of this chat to “Shane’s STD”.
Shane’s STD
7:12 pm
Shane: Haha. Not getting an STD from Rozanov anytime soon
Shane: Btw we actually broke up. Turns out we’re better as friends
J.J.: Oh no! I’m sorry, that sucks
Hayden: Duuuuuude
Hayden: Brutal fumble
Shane: 🙄
J.J.: You ok? Let’s go out when you’re back
Hayden: Yeah I’m sorry man that really sucks
Shane: I’m fine
Shane: It’s about to be playoffs anyways so we wouldn’t have had much time for each other
Hayden Pike replied to “Btw we actually broke up…”
Hayden: I know this is serious but the kids kept me up all night and in my stupid tired brain I read this like you and Rozanov broke up for a second 😂
Shane: Haha
Shane: Yeah no
J.J.: 🤣🤣🤣
Shane: He’s not that bad btw
Hayden Pike replied to “He’s not that…”
Hayden: Me when I lie
J.J.: Alright man if you wanna talk you know where to find us
Hayden: I cant relate because I married my dream girl but I’ll try
Shane disliked “I cant relate because…”
Shane: Appreciate it. I just wanna focus on hockey right now though
J.J.: Answer me one last thing
J.J.: Is this the reason for the glow up
Shane: 🙄
J.J.: Don’t think I didn’t notice the new look 😜
Hayden Pike has changed the name of this chat to “Shane’s Glow Up”.
Shane: Fuck you guys
Shane: I’ve gotta go
Shane Hollander has changed the name of this chat to “Shane’s The Only One At All Stars”.
Hayden: Mean 😢
Chat with Hayden Pike
7:53pm
J.J.: He seems too fine about this
Hayden: It’s Shane 🤷
J.J.: ?
Hayden: He probably wouldn’t tell us if he was feeling shitty about it. He’s like stupid private
Hayden: You know he gets weird about girls
J.J.: Yeah true
J.J.: His main emotion is hockey
Hayden: Let’s be honest Rose could not compete with the bears for his attention even if they were still together lol
J.J.: This absolute roast💀
J.J.: Why would you say something so bold and yet so true
Hayden: They hated Jesus because he told the truth ☝️
Hayden: They hated the bears bc they’re fucking assholes 🙅♂️
J.J. loved “They hated the bears…”
Chapter End Notes
February 2017 reality:
“I can’t keep pretending I don’t like you,” he said finally.
“You don’t like me,” Ilya argued.
“I do. I...I maybe like you too much.”
March 2017 — Boston
Shane was acting weird. Normally, before games, he was laser focused. Showed up a half hour early. Had his game face on until the game ended, and sometimes even after that.
Today, he’d only shown up five minutes early, honest-to-god whistling, with his hair sticking in a few different directions. If J.J. didn’t know better, he’d think he was fresh off of getting laid.
Sometimes, a good mood guaranteed a good game, and Shane had played well, but something must have been in the water, because Rozanov was on fucking fire tonight. He’d made sure they knew it too, infuriatingly. J.J. had seen him wink at Shane more than once after a goal or a steal, which was so classic Rozanov that you could almost dismiss it, the cocky bastard.
And yet. Shane still seemed… Chipper after the loss. He was currently bouncing on the balls of his feet as he retrieved his phone from his stall. It didn’t make sense.
“Hollander.” J.J. called out curiously. “Dinner tonight?”
“Oh, uh, I can’t.” He smiled. What the fuck was up with him?
“You can’t? It’s 9:30.”
“Yeah, sorry, it’s just, I’ve got plans. Or I think I do. Sorry it’s like… I don’t know. No big deal.” Was he… blushing?
“You have plans?” J.J. raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “We leave for the airport at 7 am.”
“Oh— well, yeah.” Shane stuttered. “It’s not like— not like plans plans. I just, um, I have to call my parents, and you know, they’re old, so. They’ll probably go to bed soon.”
J.J. frowned. Everything about this story seemed off, but it wasn’t like Shane to lie, so he let him get away with it.
“Alright, man. Next time. Pike! Dinner?”
***
Detroit — the next day
J.J. tried to remember if Rozanov had gotten hit the night before, but nothing came to mind. Comeau’s theory was that he was sick, but most players would rather give everyone on the ice the flu than miss a game.
The whole thing seemed strange, and the way Shane’s eyes had bugged out when he mentioned that Rozanov hadn’t flown to Nashville with his team made him wonder if he knew something. Maybe Shane had seen a limp or something at their post game press conference. If he had, he wasn’t letting on.
It didn’t exactly matter right now though. The Voyageurs weren’t poised to play the Bears again for at least a month, so even if Rozanov was out with an injury, he’d probably heal in time for their next matchup. Lucky Nashville.
Whatever was happening with Rozanov, something was definitely going on with Shane. The moodiness was bizarre. Yesterday he’d practically floated through the locker room fresh off of a loss, but this morning’s flight had been silent and sulky.
Maybe he was back to hooking up that girl Lily. It had been forever since J.J. caught Shane texting her, but it wasn’t impossible. The only thing that ever made him this moody was a woman.
Well, if that was it, J.J. could provide a distraction, easy.
***
Buffalo — two days later
Hayden is a Buffalo Wild (Left) Wing
10:14 pm
J.J.: Shane come back
J.J.: We’re going to watch Guardians of the Galaxy
Hayden: If you don’t reply in the next five minutes we’re starting without you
J.J.: We’re ordering room service do you want anything
Hayden Pike has changed the name of this chat to “Where is Shane?”.
J.J.: Final call
J.J.: Too late
J.J. Boiziau has changed the name of this chat to “No Fries For Shane”.
Hayden Pike has changed the name of this chat to “Shane is Groot”.
Shane is Groot
11:02 pm
Shane: Were you guys starved for attention as children or something
Shane Hollander has changed the name of this chat to “Shane Was On The Phone”.
J.J. Boiziau has changed the name of this chat to “Shane is Still Groot”.
Shane is Still Groot
11:04 pm
Shane: Wtf is groot
Hayden: Groot is groot
Chapter End Notes
March 2017 reality:
“Tell me everything you want to say,” he said. “In Russian. I won’t understand but… maybe it will help?”
April 2017 - Montreal
J.J. never felt cold in hockey arenas, but he did now as he strained to see the crumpled form of his best friend on the ice.
“Get up… Get up…” Hayden muttered beside him.
“Allez-y, Hollander! You’re okay!” J.J. shouted across the rink, as though saying the words would make them true.
“Can you see? I can’t see.” Hayden strained his neck, panic evident in his voice as emergency medics swarmed towards their friend’s unmoving body.
“No, Rozanov’s in the way.” J.J. heard how clipped his voice sounded, but he really needed Shane to get the fuck up.
“Why is he not getting up?”
“Why is Rozanov not getting out of the fucking way?” J.J. scowled.
“Look.” Hayden swatted his arm. “Up there.”
Close footage was projected onto the massive arena screens, surely being broadcast on ESPN at that very moment. Shane blinked slowly, too slowly, as he was hoisted onto the spinal boards. He looked close to tears as he mumbled something, but J.J. couldn’t make it out.
Unfortunately, their view was once again blocked by an antsy Rozanov, who seemed to be yelling something at the medical team…? Or possibly the refs? Dude, now is not the fucking time, J.J. thought angrily.
“Rozanov needs to stop blocking the camera and get back to his side of the fucking ice.” Hayden growled.
The man really did look frantic though. With Shane’s body facing away from the arena, there was nothing else to look at except Ilya Rozanov and his flared nostrils. He was glancing around wildly, eyes darting from Shane to the EMTs, even going so far as to trail behind them slightly.
“What’s his problem? Do you think he feels guilty or something?”
“No, it was Marlow’s hit.” Hayden murmured, barely paying attention to J.J. as his eyes remained glued to the massive screens.
“What’s with the theatrics?” Rozanov had skated right up to the wall of separation the refs were forming, yelling incomprehensibly at the EMTs. “Didn’t think he was one of those goody two shoes captains that takes the blame for their team’s mistakes.”
“Yeah….” Hayden trailed off.
The only word J.J. could lip-read on screen was Rozanov’s repeated Shane. Shane. J.J. hadn’t assumed they were on a first name basis — Lord knows J.J. himself would never call the man Ilya— but maybe they’d bonded more at that All Stars Game than he realized. Or maybe he was just scared of their team catching a penalty. Fuck, was his lip wobbling? What the hell?
Thoughts of Rozanov disappeared as EMTs placed a neck brace on Shane, eyes shining even in the grainy arena projection. J.J. felt his heartbeat in his face as terror sank in. Injuries were common, but this looked pretty fucking bad.
Rozanov’s body was shoved out of the way, and as the EMTs rolled Shane’s body into the hallway, sad applause rang through the crowd, and J.J. realized someone was yelling in his ear.
“Boiziau!” Coach called out, clapping his hands in tandem. “Care to join us?”
J.J. nodded in a daze.
“Time to regroup.”
***
J.J. played like shit for the rest of the game. Most of the team did. They were off center without their captain and star player. Their coach seemed to be the only person in the organization still focused on the outcome of the game.
And yet, despite everything, the game wasn’t the crushing defeat that they probably deserved. The Bears seemed almost as rattled by the incident. Marlow sat an extra period out with a thousand yard stare, and Rozanov appeared to be going through the motions.
J.J. mentally braced himself for Rozanov to chirp something about how they stood no chance without Hollander, but it never came. The famous loudmouth remained tight lipped and somber for the duration of the game, and he didn’t score again.
Without Shane there, management selected J.J. for the night’s press conference, and he found himself bitterly sitting at a table next to Ilya fucking Rozanov, when all he wanted to do was drive to the hospital and see his friend. The only saving grace was that no one in the room seemed to be in a jovial mood.
“That was a tough hit out there today with Marlow and Hollander. Rozanov, you weren’t able to score another goal after Hollander was pulled off the ice. Could you give us some insights into your teams’ headspaces in those later periods?” A reporter in the front row piped up.
Rozanov glanced sideways at J.J., dipping his head slightly so he could field this, and under the bright lights, J.J. couldn’t help but notice the purple bags under his eyes. The fifth hottest man in the NHL kinda looked like shit.
“Injuries are never easy with any player, but I think this one hit us especially hard because Shane is our capitaine. No one gives more out on the ice than he does, and I don’t think any of us are going to feel good about going out there without him. That doesn’t mean we’re not going to give it our all, but we’re definitely going to have to work harder to cover our gaps. I don’t think I’m alone in thinking that Shane is the beating heart of this team, and all we’re thinking about right now is his recovery.”
Rozanov nodded, heaving a sigh. “Hockey is… Can be a violent sport. Is very scary to see any player go down like that. And Hollander is… Very tough competitor. Bears… We would not ever take him out of the game on purpose. Cliff— Marlow, is very upset with how this game went. We are rooting for Hollander to recover and be in good health too. Is hard to be proud of a game when best player is not there to beat.” Rozanov gave a tense smile to the crowd, getting an easy laugh, but it looked forced given how tightly his shoulders were pulled.
The mood of the room was too somber. J.J. leaned forward into his mic and tried to ease some of the tension.
“Best player? C’mon man, I’m right here.”
“Eh.” Rozanov looked him up and down, shrugging a shoulder.
***
J.J. left the press room defeated, emotionally exhausted from their fake little banter. A tap on his shoulder brought him back to reality, and he was surprised to see Rozanov still standing there.
“Hi,” his clipped Russian accent spoke through a flat line of a mouth.
“Hi?”
“I, um.” Color filled Rozanov’s cheeks, though J.J. couldn’t say why. “Do you know what hospital they took Hollander to?”
“No, not yet. Why?”
Rozanov rubbed the back of his neck, and muttered something in Russian.
“Why?” J.J. repeated. Rozanov looked shifty and he didn’t trust it.
“I, um. Marlow.” He cleared his throat. “Marlow wants to visit. Apologize.”
J.J.’s forehead smoothed. “Oh. That’s nice of him.”
“Yes. Well.” Rozanov eyed him intently, waiting for more information, but J.J. really couldn’t give less of a fuck about Cliff Marlow and his guilt right now.
“When do you guys leave?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“If I find out before then, I’ll get our coach to pass on the info to yours.”
“No.” Rozanov spoke too quickly.
“No?” J.J. raised an eyebrow.
“We are roommates.” A little cough. “Will be faster to reach out to me. There is not so much time before we leave, yes?”
J.J. gave him a suspicious look. He just wanted to leave. “Sure, man. Whatever.”
“I will give you my number. You can text when you know, okay?”
J.J. was more than tired of this conversation. He needed to learn where Shane was himself. He needed to text Yuna. This really wasn’t his problem.
“Fine. Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Um, thank you, Boiziau. Marlow will be very thankful.”
“Sure.”
***
The next day
“You know painkillers are dangerous, man. Make sure you take it easy.” J.J. was, frankly, concerned by how well Shane was taking being knocked out of the rest of the season.
“I knowww.” Shane rolled his eyes with dramatic exaggeration, and a loopy smile. “I’m fine, really!”
“Aren’t you supposed to be like, foggy and afraid of bright lights and annoyed by everything?” Hayden shot over a confused look, but Shane just giggled.
“I’m good! Seriously!” Shane laughed and took a bite of hospital Jello.
“Dude. You’re concussed.”
“Yeah but like… My friends are here! And my, um… parents.” He looked towards the door and smiled into the hallway, though J.J. knew his parents had actually gone home to shower and grab a few things. “And I have Jello, so!”
“Right…”
“And Roz—“ Hiccup. “Rose texted me!”
“Oh, right on man!” Hayden fist-bumped him.
“Yeah…” Shane grinned down at his Jello, a dreamy blush coloring his cheeks.
“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling okay. We’ll try to do you proud in the playoffs.”
Chapter End Notes
April 2017 reality:
“How could they not know?” Shane said. “How could anyone have seen this—seen you—and not known about us?” Ilya had displayed his heart so openly, smashed against the ice as unmistakably as Shane’s broken body.
“I don’t know.”
May 2017 — Ottawa
J.J. was not going to let Yuna down. He'd been given extremely specific instructions on Shane's post concussion care, and he was not about to let him get away with anything, no matter how much his friend was craving his freedom.
Montreal had been freshly knocked out of the playoffs, and J.J. thought it might be a good distraction to come visit Shane at his parents' house in Ottawa, but go figure, the only thing Hollander wanted to do was watch hockey anyways.
“You're only getting two hours.”
“I know.” Shane groaned.
“I'm serious.” J.J. shot him a look. “Even if this goes into overtime, no excuses.”
Shane rolled his eyes. ”I know.”
“All right, set a timer on your phone. Two hours. And get those sunglasses on.”
Shane did as he was told, put his phone on the table, and raised his hands in mock obedience.
J.J. shot him a near parental look. “Don't fuck with me, Hollander. No cheating. I don't want you sneaking onto Twitter or anything.”
“You're worse than my mom,” Shane grumbled.
“Don’t care. Start the timer. I'm turning on the game.”
They sat back to watch Boston versus New York begin the second round of the playoffs, and J.J. chuckled as he looked over to see his friend staring intently at the TV. Shane studied the game as though he would be playing the winner next week, rather than next season. They both knew it would be months before Shane saw ice time again, and yet his eyes remained glued to each team’s star players, as though he was documenting strengths and weaknesses he’d go up against.
“You look so fucking stupid in those sunglasses, man.” J.J. laughed.
“Shut up.” Shane shoved his shoulder.
The next stretch of time passed with only mild commentary. Shane wasn't much for chatting. The thing about watching hockey with Shane was that he treated it more like homework than relaxation. Even in the off season, Shane watched with a clinical eye, paying special attention to the teams’ respective centers.
“Ouch,” J.J. muttered, watching Rozanov get his shit rocked against the boards by a particularly large defenseman.
When Shane didn't respond, he looked over and found that he'd leaned forward on his knees, already reaching for his phone. J.J. swatted at his hand and used a voice like he was talking to a dog.
“No, bad Shane.” He scolded.
Shane huffed. “I’m just checking how much is left on the timer. It looks like they're gonna go into overtime.”
It was a bold faced lie.
J.J. watched his fingers move, clearly typing something, but… Well. Yuna wasn't here, and maybe he could just play cool babysitter for now.
“All right, seriously, phone down. If they go into overtime, we can pause and take a break and maybe come back to it.”
Shane seems sated by that, though he looked put out as he returned his phone to the coffee table.
“You know, I think my mom would make allowances for the playoffs.”
“That's because Yuna is a crazy person, just like you.”
The game didn't go into overtime. To J.J.’s chagrin, the Bears kept their early lead up, and by the time the game began to wrap up, it was clear there was no way for the Admirals to make a comeback. Still, it was only the first game. J.J. stood to stretch his legs.
“I’m gonna grab another drink. You want anything?”
“Can you get me a ginger ale?”
“Sure thing, man.”
When he came back, Shane quickly dropped his phone, sliding it across the table with his hands up. Unfortunately, he overshot it and the phone landed on the carpet.
“I wasn't doing anything!”
“You sound like my nephew when I caught him drinking beer in my sister's basement."
“I’m fine,” Shane, once again insisted.
“You’re concussed.”
At that moment, the timer on Shane's phone went off with a bright, loud ring, and J.J., already standing, reached for it to turn it off.
“All right, time's up.”
Shane sighed, petulant as ever, and J.J. smiled. He'd never seen his friend act like such a brat. Go figure it's because he was being denied hockey. He couldn't imagine what Yuna and David had put up with on sick days when Shane was young.
“Hang on, one last thing.” J.J. raised Shane's phone to his face to unlock it with face ID, and Shane jerked forward.
“What are you doing?” A surprising note of panic filled his voice.
"Relax, man. I'm taking a picture of you in these sunglasses before you take them off. Like, I love you, but you look so fucking dumb. We need this for posterity.”
“You’re such a dick.” Shane settled back on the couch, massive sunglasses covering his glare as J.J. took a few pictures.
Right at that moment, a text came in from Lily.
Lily: Bruised two ribs.
J.J. scrunched his face in confusion as Shane slapped his hand towards the phone, instantly wrestling it from his hand. J.J. handed it over, surprised by the speed at which Shane had moved.
“You got a text.” A note of confusion rang out in his voice. "Who's Lily? Is that the girl you used to hook up with in Boston? You still in touch?”
Shane was flustered as he shove his phone into the pocket of his shorts. “Yeah, sort of.”
“Why does she have bruised ribs?”
“Probably, uh, a skiing accident. She’s, um, a skiier.”
“Want me to type a response? You really are out of phone time.”
“No. No. No, that's fine. I'll text back later. Thanks, though.”
J.J. gave him a weird look and settled back on the couch. “All right, man. Just didn't know you were still talking to her.”
“We're not, really.” Shane's words came out in a rush. “It’s just... I don't know. Someone I used to see. So we kind of became friends. Heard I was hurt, so. Yeah. That's it.”
J.J. opened his can to avert his eyes, unsure why this interaction had gotten so awkward. “Well.. take it easy. You should turn up the font size in your settings. Easier on the brain, you know?”
“Yeah.” Shane exhaled. “I’ll do that.”
J.J. took a sip of his beer to summon some courage for his next question. Shane was so cagey about his love life that it felt a bit like a now-or-never situation, so he switched to speaking French. “Do you... I mean, she was in Boston, right? Or was it New York? Did you like… want to start something up with her again? Because you have to tell me if you're dating someone. I'm not saying you have to go full Sex and the City on me, but I think it's bro code that I should know if you have a girlfriend.”
“No, I mean, we're not... It's not like that. She... moves around a lot with her job, so... It wouldn't really make sense anyways.” Shane turned red, fidgeting with the tab of his drink as a wave of sadness radiated off of him.
Something clicked in J.J.’s brain.
This had to be why it never worked with Rose, right? Shane was a private guy, sure. He'd almost never mentioned this girl in years past, but clearly, J.J. had missed something along the way, because he'd never seen his friend's face twist like this when he asked about his breakup with Rose. It made his heart clench. He continued on in French, hoping that might make it easier for Shane to let him in for once.
“Well, if you ever want to talk about it, you know where to find me—.”
“I don’t.” Shane cut him off with a sudden firmness, face closed off from exhibiting any other emotion, before it twisted into something more apologetic. “Thanks, man, but we really are just friends.”
J.J. nodded, and for the rest of his time in Ottawa, whenever a vibration sounded in Shane’s pocket, both men ignored it.
Chapter End Notes
May 2017 reality:
“Rozanov is hurt.”
Shane turned his head from where he was lying on the couch to look at his mother. “What makes you say that?” he asked.
“He’s protecting his ribs. You can tell by the way he was angled. Look,” she said, pointing at a slo-mo replay on their television. “Right there. He turns away from the hit. He could have taken Hunter off the puck there, but he chickened out.”
Mom was right, of course. Shane already knew that Ilya was secretly playing the second round of the playoffs with bruised ribs.
August 2017 — Montreal
Usually Shane was back by now. But, when J.J. called to make plans for the week leading up to training, Shane was still at his cottage. This summer felt longer than usual, given their early elimination in the playoffs, and J.J. was itching to get back to the ice and back to his friends.
“When do you think you're gonna get here then?”
“Probably Friday.”
“The Friday before camp starts? The Friday before training? Are you telling me that the most anal person I know is only showing up three days early?”
“Why? Do you think I should come now?” Shane's voice grew panicked. “Is something going on? Am I being a bad captain? Shit, you're right. I didn't think about it that way. I’ll head down tomorrow. I—”
“Hollander. Calm down.” J.J. cut him off. He heard a snort on the other side of the phone, which was deeply uncharacteristic of Shane, but he kept going. “It is totally fine. I’m glad you’re taking some time for yourself. There's nothing that says you even have to be three days early. I was thinking we could take the rookies out over the weekend though if you’ll be here then. Maybe Friday night? Or Saturday, so you have time to unwind from the drive.”
There was a long stretch of silence before Shane responded.
“Hollander? Hollander?”
Eventually, a frantic voice came through. “Hey, sorry. Bad service out here sometimes, you know? Middle of nowhere.”
“Oh, sure, man.” He thought he heard Shane suck in a painful breath. “So, Saturday?”
“What?” Hollander sounded winded when his voice returned.
J.J. chuckled. “You keep going on mute. If you can hear this, I’m just going to text you. This connection is no good, buddy, so I’m just going to hang up, but—“
“Saturday’s good!” Shane sputtered, all of the sound coming back at once.
“Alright, we’ll talk next week. Text me man.”
As he went to hang up the call, he could have sworn he heard a laugh and the sound of a cannonball.
Chapter End Notes
August 2017 reality:
“For two weeks?”
Ilya shrugged. “I could maybe extend my stay.”
Shane plunked the vodka bottle on the kitchen counter. “You can?”
“A little. Yes. If you will have me.”
October 2017 — Montreal
J.J. yawned as he walked into the Voyageurs dressing room. In his opinion, captain meetings shouldn't be starting at 6 AM the day a roadie began, but what the fuck did he know?
When he entered the dressing room, he expected silence. Typically, Hollander beat him to anything hockey-related, but he wasn't the type for music or podcasts, especially not in the morning. The team must be getting a new trainer or physio, though, because he could swear he was hearing someone speak… Russian?
J.J. paused in the in the doorway, listening to a garbled foreign language, followed by a loud celebratory checkmark of a notification.
He slowly made his entrance, only to find Shane Hollander jumping like he was in a horror movie. Shane clutched his chest and practically shouted, "Holy fucking shit, you scared me."
“Is that Russian? Are you learning Russian?” J.J. couldn’t conceal his amusement as Shane turned beet red.
“I, um, kind of.”
“You just had to show off, right? Couldn't just be bilingual. Had to one-up me.”
Shane rolled in his eyes, and J.J. gave him a funny look as he tossed his bag on the bench.
“Seriously, why the fuck are you learning Russian?”
“I’m not.” Shane closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I mean, I barely know anything. It was for, you know, the you know…” Shane trailed off, and J.J. just stared at him.
“No… I don't know.”
“The Olympics.” Shane snapped, finding the words. “I tried learning some things for Sochi, and then I just got in the habit of doing my Duolingo every morning.”
J.J. raised his eyebrows. “Huh. I didn't know that.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, I haven't learned much.”
“No.” J.J smiled. “You were very unhelpful in Russia.”
Shane scowled.
J.J. leaned over, glancing at the screen. “I think if you are still learning… ‘My cousin's house is red,’ then you are probably not very good at Russian.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead, make fun.”
“Don’t stop on my account. You know, I have been wanting to learn Spanish. We could become Duolingo friends.”
“Sure, man. Just add me if you get the app.”
“Go on. Finish before Theriault shows up.”
J.J. smirked and continued unpacking, though Shane must have turned off vocal practicing because he didn't speak again. By the time the most celebratory notification yet went off, it was almost time for their captain's meeting. Still, J.J. couldn't resist one last tease.
“How long is your streak then?”
“Oh, it's, uh, not that good.”
“Tell me. Come on, Hollander, it's you. You can brag.”
“It's, um, 213 days.”
“Wow. Is it bad that I'm disappointed?”
“What? That's pretty good! That’s like seven months, no skips!”
“You said you've been doing this since Sochi. 2014! You've fallen off, man.” J.J. shook his head, a teasing grin on his face. “And the only thing you know how to talk about is your neighbor's house.”
“Yeah, well. It's a totally different alphabet. I’d like to see you try to learn, like, Arabic or Mandarin or something.”
“Such a try hard.” J.J. chuckled.
Shane was grimacing through a smile when they heard a clap behind them, and Coach Theriault announced himself.
"Gentlemen, let's talk.”
***
It never occurred to J.J. to check how long Shane had been a member of Duolingo, despite the fact that it was public information, once he signed up for his own Spanish course.
If he had looked, he would have found that Shane hadn't been a member during preparation for the Sochi Olympics. In fact, his account blatantly stated that he’d only joined in March. But then, that really wasn't the kind of thing J.J. sought to fact check.
If he hadn’t lost his own Spanish streak within two weeks, he might’ve noticed that Shane’s would ultimately last for years.
Chapter End Notes
October 2017 reality:
“Ilya couldn’t hide behind his native tongue anymore when he wanted to be sweet and soft. It was something Shane had worked for; while Shane’s teammates were playing poker or games on their phones on the plane, Shane was studying Russian.”
December 2017 — Montreal
Montreal winter could be straight up disrespectful, and right now, she was taking out her wrath on J.J.’s car.
“Hollander, can you give me a ride home?” J.J. called out across the arena parking lot.
“Uh, sure.” Shane blinked in surprise. “What's going on?”
“Car's in the shop. I was supposed to get it back today, but they called me that there was a delay on a part, so now I'm stuck.”
“Oh wow, that sucks. Sure, man, I got you.”
“Dibs on the aux cord?”
“Sure. Whatever you want.” Shane’s face looked caught between a chuckle and a grimace as they headed for his car. He briefly fumbled with his keys, and the sheer volume of them caught J.J.’s eye.
“Dude, why do you have so many keys? Are you secretly a janitor?
“No.” Shane scoffed as he unlocked the car.
“Are you kidding? You have, like, ten keys on that thing.”
“It’s not that many.” His defensive tone said otherwise.
As the car warmed up, he thumbed through them, narrating as he pointed to each of them individually.
“My apartment building. My apartment. My parents' house. My place in Ottawa, deadbolt and the regular lock. That building I lease. This one’s for the arena—"
“Oh, you've got one for the arena?” J.J. raised his eyebrows, grinning. "Well, aren't you important?"
Shane smirked. “Captain's privileges.”
“Why don't I get one?”
“Not the captain.”
“Dick.” J.J. laughed. “What are the last two?”
“What?” Shane focused on the road, face going carefully blank.
“There's two more on there. Jesus, how do you keep track of them?”
“Oh… Um... I actually don't know.” Shane stared straight ahead at the nonexistent traffic. “Maybe, like, my parents' garage or something? I have no idea.”
“Mail key?” J.J. suggested.
“Yeah,” Shane coughed. “That's probably it. Fuck, dude. I'm so tired. I'm gonna crash the second I'm home.”
“Same.” J.J. sighed.
“What about you? You watching anything new on TV?”
“Not tonight. I'm crashing, too. Well, actually, I did start rewatching Game of Thrones…” J.J. lit up, beginning to ramble, clearly not noticing the conversation topic switch.
And certainly not giving a second thought to the last two keys on Shane’s carabiner.
***
A week later — Boston
The next time the Voyageurs played the Bears, Shane tried not one, not two, but three separate keys before he was swiftly pressed to the wall of a penthouse and attacked with kisses. He grinned through the mauling as he sighed, “I have too many keys.”
“What?” Ilya’s eyes crinkled. “Why are you talking about keys?”
Shane leaned forward, thunking his head on his boyfriend’s chest. “I drove J.J. home last week. He was right. I can't keep these apart. They’re—“
He didn't get to finish the thought, because Ilya was shaking his head in amusement, hands already running over every part of Shane he could touch, and occupying his mouth with something better.
“Shut up. Kiss me. Sex now, boring key talk later.”
Chapter End Notes
December 2017 reality:
“You know how you used to go meet up with your mystery man every time we played in Boston?”
---
Shane's keys:
1. His apartment building
2. His apartment
3. His parents' house
4. The cottage
5. The cottage deadbolt
6. The investment building
7. The arena
8. His mailbox
9. Ilya's apartment building
10. Ilya's apartment
July 2018 - Montreal/The cottage
Theriault’s Therapists and Hayden
4:34 pm
J.J.: [LINK] Ilya Rozanov Leaves Boston Bears; Signs with the Ottawa Centaurs in a Multimillion Dollar Five Year Contract
J.J.: What the fuck?
Hayden: Wait lol is this real? or the onion?
J.J.: It's real
J.J.: Why the fuck would he go to Ottawa?
J.J.: No offense Shane
Shane: Hey Ottawa is a great town
J.J.: Yeah but like… its Ottawa LOL
Hayden: Why would he leave Boston? Is this even a salary increase?
Shane: Looks like it
J.J.: [LINK] Ilya Rozanov Contract, Cap Hit, Salary, and Stats
Shane: Jesus you found that quickly
Shane: I guess they needed a star player
J.J. Boiziau replied to “I guess they needed…”
J.J.: Don’t make me call Rozanov a star player 🤮
J.J.: It’s true but you shouldn’t say it 🥴🤢
Hayden: Shane they have you on here too
Shane: Please stop
Hayden: I wish I could burn my eyes out
Hayden: Your contract just called me poor
Shane: You have an NHL salary. You’re fine 👍
Hayden: I hope you have 8 kids
Shane: Get fucked
J.J.: Good news for us though
J.J.: Boston's got no chance now
Hayden: Yeah there's no way they can get their shit together and rebuild in the next year
Shane: Probably not, no
Shane: I wonder who their new captain will be
J.J.: 🤷🏾♂️
J.J.: Well that's two teams out of the way for next year 😂
Shane: ?
J.J.: Doesn’t matter how good Rozanov is, one person can’t carry a team
J.J.: Especially not Ottawa lol
Hayden: Seriously wtf? It's like he doesn't even want another cup
Shane Hollander replied to “Well that’s two teams…”
Shane: We can’t get cocky though
Hayden: 🙄
Shane: I don't want to jinx anything!
J.J.: I still can't get over it
J.J.: What the fuck is there to do in Ottawa?
J.J.: No offense Shane
Shane: Alright no more shittalking Ottawa
Shane: Ottawa rules
Hayden: Sure, Shane, sure…
Hayden Pike has changed the name of this chat to “Otta Move Somewhere Else Amiright”.
Shane Hollander has changed the name of this chat to “Ottawa: Where Champions Are Born”.
J.J. Boiziau has changed the name of this chat to “OttaWHY??”.
Shane Hollander has changed the name of this chat to “Ottawa Is An Amazing Place To Live”.
Hayden Pike has changed the name of this chat to “Shane Hollander: Ottawa’s Only PR Agent”.
J.J. Boiziau has changed the name of this chat to “RIP Bears 🪦”.
Shane Hollander has changed the name of this chat to “I’m Going To Bury Your Bodies in Ottawa”.
Hayden Pike has changed the name of this chat to “Ottawa: Home of Shane Hollander and the Worst Team in the NHL”.
Shane Hollander has changed the name of this chat to “Buffalo is the Worst Team in the NHL”.
Buffalo is the Worst Team in the NHL
5:08 pm
Hayden: Ok you got me there
Chapter End Notes
July 2018 reality:
“When Ilya’s contract had ended with Boston, Ottawa had been all too happy to sign him. Ilya had bought a large, private house on the edge of the Ottawa River with a four-car garage. The garage currently held two sports cars and a very sensible Mercedes SUV. (“Is good in snow,” Ilya had explained sheepishly when he’d first shown it to Shane. “For driving between Ottawa and Montreal.”)”
September 2018 - Montreal
Theriault’s Angels
7:38 pm
Shane: Hey are you guys free for lunch around tomorrow afternoon?
Hayden: I have to take Ruby to dance at 12:30, what’s up
Shane: Ok coffee before practice Monday?
J.J.: Fuck no
J.J.: I'm not waking up that early to get coffee with you two
J.J.: What's up?
Shane: I've got something I want to say to the team on Monday and wanted to run it by you guys first
Hayden: OoOoOo captain announcement
J.J.: Hold up am I forgetting something?
Shane: Probably better to talk about it in person
Hayden: Ok now you're scaring me what the fuck is going on?
Hayden: Do we need to ft like right now bc I have to put the kids to bed so give me like 45
Shane: No it's really not a big deal
Shane: Or at least I hope it's not
J.J.: Is this something I need to know about?
J.J.: Hollander you’re being ominous as fuck
Incoming call from J.J.
***
“Hey.” Shane answered, sounding somewhat surprised.
“What the fuck, Hollander?” J.J. skipped a greeting. "You're freaking me out, man. What's going on?"
“Nothing.” Shane said defensively. “Seriously, it's not a big deal. I just wanted to talk to you guys about it before I, like, bring it to the whole team or whatever.”
“You're being weird.”
“Look, it's seriously not important.”
“Then why do you need to talk to us before you talk to the team?”
“I don't know. I just want to like, do a practice run or whatever. Are you free or not?”
“Yeah, I'm free tomorrow. Whatever you want, man.” J.J. backed off, hearing the agitation in his friend's voice.
“Okay.”
His phone buzzed.
“Hold on. Hayden just texted.”
Hayden: Ok Jackie's taking Ruby to dance so I'm free now. This better be good
“Alright man, I'm hanging up. I'm just gonna text you guys.”
“What? Hollander!“ J.J. protested, but the call had already dropped.
Theriault’s Angels
8:12 pm
Hayden: Can we get Kettlemans
Shane: Dude the season's about to start
Hayden: Exactly
Hayden: About to start
Hayden: It’s our last day of freedom and you're making me listen to captain announcements
Hayden: You’re buying me a bagel
J.J.: I want lox on everything
J.J.: Scallion cc
Hayden: Sesame with cream cheese and jam
Hayden Pike has changed the name of this chat to “Bagel Boyz”.
Bagel Boyz
8:16 pm
Shane: Fine 🙄 Kettlemans 12pm
***
When J.J. arrived at the team’s favorite, unassuming bagel shop the next day, Shane was already sitting at a four top looking antsy.
“Hollander, what the hell is going on?” He cut to the chase.
“Oh, hello, Shane. Thank you for my bagel, Shane. How was your summer, Shane—”
“Fuck off. Give me that.” J.J. grabbed his bagel from the table. “And talk.”
“Look, can we just wait for Hayden to get here? How are you, man? How was your summer?”
“Fuck my summer. What is this?”
Shane's sighed, exasperated as his eyes darted around the restaurant, ball cap slung low. “Please don't make this a big deal.”
J.J. glanced over his shoulder at the small line behind them, switched to French and lowered his voice. "Is everything okay?"
“Yes, it's nothing.”
“Is it about the team, or is it about you? Is it your family? Is your family okay?”
“Yes, my family is fine.”
“Everyone is in good health?”
“Yes, I promise. I just want you to hear this from me now, instead of with the whole team.”
They both startled as Hayden flopped onto the seat next to J.J.
“Alright, no more French. I'm here. What the fuck is going on? Shane, what are we doing here?”
Shane opened and closed his mouth, suddenly very focused on the paper straw wrapper he was shredding on the table.
“Shane. Buddy. Come on.”
J.J. sent Hayden a concerned look, adding, "Whatever it is, it's okay.”
Shane looked up then, squaring his shoulders with new resolve. “Alright. You know how we always do start of the season announcements?”
“Yeah?”
“There's just something I wanted to add. And I thought you guys should know first.” Shane swallowed and fixated on the remains of the straw wrapper. “You're my best friends, and you've always had my back. But this is just something more personal so I really hope you'll have my back again.”
Hayden shot a confused glance over at J.J. “Yeah, man, of course. Obviously. Now will you tell us what the fuck is going on? Because you're really freaking me out. Do you have cancer or something?”
“No. God, no.” Shane took off his hat and ran a stressed hand through his hair. “Nothing like that. I just…” He trailed off, then leaned in, staring straight down at the table.
“I'm gonna come out to the team.” He looked up, meeting their eyes. “And I thought I should come out to you guys first.”
J.J. and Hayden wore twin expressions of shock — eyebrows raised and mouths dropped open.
Shane let out a heavy exhale. “Jesus. This is going well.”
And they both snapped out of it.
“What? I mean—”
“That’s great! That’s totally fine!” J.J. spluttered.
“Or— sorry,” Hayden rushed the words out. “Just…Didn't see that one coming.” He shrugged.
J.J. leaned back in his seat letting out a relieved breath. “Jesus, Hollander, never do that again.”
“What?” Shane’s eyes sharpened.
“You had me thinking you were dying or getting traded or something.”
“Okay…? Well, I'm not.”
“That's— I mean, that's cool, man.” Hayden shrugged, face still obviously processing the shock.
“Good for you, dude. Good for you.” J.J. squeezed Shane’s arm, shoving it around playfully.
Shane wrinkled his nose, a sly smile forming on his lips. "Good for me?"
“Yeah, I mean, like... Congratulations. Right?” Hayden looked around nervously, as though J.J. had the right had the answers to what his response should be right now.
“Uh, sure, thanks.”
J.J. shook his head and leaned in, putting a hand on Shane's shoulder as he spoke in French again. “Hollander. Whatever makes you happy makes me happy. I don't give a fuck who you date.”
“Hey, stop.” Hayden pointed a finger. “No French when I'm at the table.”
J.J. shot him a look. “You've lived in this city too long to not speak French.”
“For what it's worth, I agree.” Shane chimed in.
“Fuck you guys.” Hayden quipped. “I was about to be all supportive, but you two can go to hell.”
Shane chuckled at his friend's annoyance.
J.J. started to smile, realization dawning on his face. “This does make more sense for why you broke up with Rose Landry.”
Shane scoffed.
“In retrospect, no straight man would have done that.”
“Yeah, yeah. Make your jokes.” Shane rolled his eyes.
Hayden laughed. “Wait, that's actually so true. God, even when you're gay, you land a movie star.”
“Keep your voice down,” Shane hissed.
“Oh, right. Shit. Sorry, man…” Hayden grimaced, looking around the shop.
“You said you want to tell the team though.” J.J. crossed his arms thoughtfully. “So is this a secret or no?”
Shane let out a heavy exhale, and his eyes returned to the table. “I don't really know. I mean, I'm gonna tell the team, but I'm not gonna do, like, a big Scott Hunter coming out or anything. I don't want to make a big thing out of it.”
“No! Hollander!” J.J. exclaimed. “It would be so fun! We could throw you a coming out party!”
“No way.” Shane shook his head laughing.
“Oh, come on. Picture this: barbecue buffet, rainbow flags everywhere, every eligible bachelor in Montreal—”
“NOPE! Not my style. Not trying to meet eligible bachelors.”
“Oh shit. We should go to the, um, what's it called? The big gay party next year or whatever.” Hayden snapped his fingers looking for the word. “Like the street party, you know?“
Shane crinkled his brow. “You want to go to the Pride Parade with me?"
"Yeah! It'd be fun."
“Oh, fuck yeah.” J.J. slapped a hand on the table. “We could dance to Lady Gaga. Don’t worry Shane, I will teach you about Lady Gaga—”
Shane laughed. “Seriously, guys, I'm glad you're supportive, but you really don't need to be that supportive.”
Hayden's eyes were already dancing with ideas. “Oh, man, the girls would love that.”
Shane winced. “I don’t think you’re supposed to bring your three small children to the Pride Parade. Arthur’s like, zero years old.”
“Why not?” Hayden asked innocently. “We’ll leave Arthur at home. It's like glitter and dancing and Lady Gaga, right? Ruby and Jade love that shit.”
“Sure,” Shane huffed.
“Hang on.” Hayden’s eyes narrowed. “Do you love that shit? Have you been hiding from us that you love that shit?”
“No!” Shane exclaimed. “I'm not, like, that kind of gay person. I'm the same person that I have been the entire time you've known me. The same person that I was yesterday. Just, you know... Yeah.” Shane finished with resignation.
“You are not having any fun with this.” J.J. looked wildly unimpressed. “We could make you a gay icon, easy.”
“Yeah! You could be like, a celebrity!” Hayden squinted. “Or, I guess more of a celebrity than you are already are. You could be a gay celebrity,” he amended.
“Lower your fucking voice.” Shane’s eyes shot daggers.
Hayden threw his hands in the air. “Alright, I still can't tell if this is a secret or not.”
“Look, I just want to do my job, play hockey, and live my life, and I thought you should know. I'm not, like, ashamed, so you can tell people. But I'm also not trying to do interviews about it or anything.”
Hayden nodded solemnly, taking this in. “But I can tell Jackie, right?”
“Yeah, sure. You can tell Jackie.”
“And I can tell my parents?” J.J. asked.
Shane looked up at him, smiling in confusion. “Yeah? I guess? But I don't really know why they would want to know.”
J.J. shrugged. “They ask about you. And I want to get to tell someone, too.”
“You guys are weird.” Shane’s upturned lips betrayed him. “Anyways, that’s really it. So thanks, I guess.”
All three of them looked around, vaguely confused and unsure of where to go from here.
“So… How was everyone’s summer?”
***
Bagel Boyz
4:23 pm
Hayden: Thanks for telling us, man. Jackie told me I should say that
Hayden: She also wants me to tell you she loves you and is proud of you
J.J.: Love you bro
J.J.: My mom says her best friend from college’s son is gay
J.J.: Graphic designer, 32, lives in Toronto
J.J.: Wanna meet him?
Shane: Absolutely not
Shane: Love you too
Hayden Pike has changed the name of this chat to “Shane and Two Allies”.
Shane and Two Allies
4:34 pm
Shane: I take it back
Chapter End Notes
September 2018 reality:
“Although Shane had come out to his teammates at the start of the season, he hadn’t told any of them about Ilya.”
November 2018 - Montreal
“I can't believe you got a house without telling me. Do you know how much I love House Hunters?”
“It happened pretty fast. Sorry I didn't get your honorable permission to buy a house. You know, with my money. For myself.” Shane paused. “And my future cat.”
“Future cat?” J.J. scoffed. “Well, you have to let me come over. We'll have dinner this week, okay? Christen it. It's bad luck to live in a house that has not been touched by friendship and laughter. Friendship, food, and laughter. Or not laughter… There is a third F… What is it?”
Shane rolled his eyes. “I had Hayden and Jackie over last week, so. Consider it christened.”
J.J. clutched his chest with mock despair. “Without me? You break my heart, Hollander. What did you serve them?”
“Coq au vin.” Hayden piped up from where he was lacing his skates, and J.J. shot Shane a look of betrayal.
“Coq au vin? You made them coq au vin? When you know how much I love coq au vin?”
“Coq au vin has too many mushrooms.”
“Pike, you are uncultured. We love the coq.”
Hayden waggled his eyebrows at Shane, earning himself a scowl.
“I need you both to stop saying coq au vin.” Shane grimaced.
“Traitor. J’accuse!” J.J. let the dramatics fly. “When did you even learn to cook, Brutus?”
“I don't know. I cook more in the summer.” Shane shrugged. “You know I used to lease that building to a kitchen supply store. They gave me discounts, so I got some nice cookware. And well. Yeah.”
“Hey, do you think I could use that discount? Jackie wants a new Le Creuset.” Hayden peered up from the floor of the dressing room.
“Pike, you are a millionaire.” J.J. laughed.
“So I should have to pay full price? Millionaires don't get friendship discounts?”
“You think your wife wants a clearance Le Creuset?”
“I think my wife wants us to be able to afford four college funds.”
“You’re on your own, buddy.” Shane grinned. “I sold the building.”
***
J.J. meant it when he said they needed to christen the place.
Hollander was a single man whose parents lived in another town, and he didn't exactly have many, if any, friends who weren't on the team. In an emergency, J.J. needed to know how to get to him. Or, that was what he told himself as he insisted on dinner with Shane.
The reality was that he worried about him. He'd barely heard from him all summer, and yet he'd come back this season sharper than ever. It made J.J. wonder if he ever gave himself a real break.
Hollander was exactly the kind of nerd to practice in the off season, but J.J. had a sneaking suspicion that he'd hired a new trainer or something. His backhand had become razor sharp. He could practically visualize Shane skating laps around an invisible Ilya Rozanov at that rink of his at the cabin.
Without people like J.J. and Hayden in his life, he'd probably compact himself so hard into a stress ball that he'd end up creating a diamond in his ass.
Was J.J. being a bit of a pest? Sure.
Did he care? No.
Maybe he was curious about what kind of house his wealthiest friend would buy without telling anyone. Maybe he was a little miffed that Hayden got to see it first. Maybe he’d make them both eat coq au vin for the second time in a month.
***
The house was stunning. Of course it was. A bit sparse, which was so classic Hollander. There was practically nothing on the walls. No photos, no art. But the whole place was bright and beautiful and huge, with modern appliances, marble countertops, and everything else that came up with a standard rich person house. Not that J.J. himself was excluded from the label of being a rich person. But… Shane was rich rich.
J.J. was NHL rich, but Shane? Shane was endorsement rich. Olympic rich. MVP rich.
So he wanted to poke around. It wasn’t a crime. Take it up with the law.
After dinner, Shane led them to the second floor, where they began setting up his new XBox, and J.J. excused himself, yelling out, “I'm just gonna go to the bathroom real quick,” to no response.
The closest bathroom turned out to be the master — an enormous room complete with a California king bed, way too large for Shane’s 5’10” frame, and a view of the river.
The bathroom, too, was impressive — two sinks, a cologne on one side, and… a second toothbrush.
Why would Shane need a second toothbrush?
J.J. was starting to feel like a conspiracy theorist. He didn't know why he cared so much about this. If Shane wanted to keep his life private, fine… But the pieces just seemed to come together.
Shane’s absence in the summer. The way he always seemed to be smiling at his phone lately. And now this.... randomly buying a house.
And, really, what was that about? As far as J.J. knew, NHL players either bought houses when they wanted to throw house parties, like Dallas Kent, which Shane definitely didn't, or when they wanted to start a family, which Shane.… How did Shane feel about starting a family?
This was the problem with being a (mostly) respectful friend. If you let your friends get away with too much privacy, you could look around and realize you have no idea if they even want children.
A second toothbrush.
J.J. stared at it as he washed his hands, debating whether or not he'd bring it up. He could make it casual, turn it into playful teasing. The longer he looked at it, the more it itched at him.
And fuck it, he was stealing the spritz of this cologne. It really did smell good. Far too sexy for Hollander, but an awkward clock was right twice a day.
When he came back, he found the two of them muttering threats at each other as they set up their profiles.
Hayden looked over his shoulder and caught his eye, tossing him a controller. "Dude, you took forever. Come on.”
They chatted mindlessly about the game for a while, briefly mocking Shane for the fact that he’d never made the cover, but at a certain point, J.J. hit his limit and had to ask.
“So Hollander. Have you christened this place with any overnight guests yet?”
“Uh, what?” Shane shot him a weird look.
“I told you, you have to break in the house with the three Fs. But I may have left one off.”
Shane looked suspicious. “Uh, okay…?”
“Friends, family, food. And fucking.”
Hayden laughed. “Sounds like my place is safe then. Pretty sure Jackie and I christened it the first night we got it.”
“Gross.” Shane grumbled. He seemed ready to let that be the end of the conversation, but J.J. couldn't resist pushing it.
“I saw a second toothbrush in your bathroom. I really wasn't trying to snoop, man. It was just there.”
At that moment, Shane sniffed the air. “Hang on. Did you put on… Is that cologne?”
J.J. merely shrugged with a boyish grin. “I was curious. It's new, right?”
“What? Yes, but dude.”
“It's a good cologne.” J.J. waggled his eyebrows. “Very sexy. Shane's glow up continues.”
“It's not even…” Shane muttered, before stopping himself. “Whatever. I barely use it.”
“Really? Hmm. Maybe I'll get a bottle.”
Shane glared. “I mean, I use it sometimes.”
“Of course. For when the person you have a second toothbrush for stays over.”
“Would you shut up about that? It’s my dad's. He helped me with some moving stuff.”
“Sure, Hollander.” J.J. winked.
“He did.” Shane insisted.
“Hey, your secret's safe with us.” Hayden jostled his arm, and Shane shot him a particularly withering look before grumbling, “Fuck you both. I'm pressing start.”
Chapter End Notes
November 2018 reality:
“Does this mean I get to see your apartment in Montreal? Your real one?”
“You can even keep a toothbrush there. I’m going to sell that other place.”
+
“They had agreed that it would be easier to continue in secret if they weren’t both living in apartment buildings, so Shane had bought a house in Brossard that was still close to the team’s practice facility.”
+
Take this as your excuse to reread My Dinner With Hayden:
https://www.rachelreidwrites.com/news/2019/10/1
November 2018 - Montreal
J.J. hadn’t been near the fight when it broke out, so he didn’t hear what provoked it. All he’d seen was Hayden’s fist coming down onto Ilya Rozanov’s cheek.
“Jesus, I fucking hate that guy.” Hayden held an ice pack to his right hand.
“Was that worth the penalty?” Shane shot over a disapproving look from his stall, but there was no heat behind it.
“Fifteenth best player? Fifteenth?! I’m at least the fourth. At least!”
“Stop letting him get to you. You know he thrives on it.”
“Why does it have to be him?” Hayden whined. “I mean— why do we have to play him four fucking times this year?”
“You shouldn’t have done that.” J.J. clapped his shoulder and laughed. “But I’m glad you did.”
“He’s gonna look like shit tomorrow.” Shane sighed.
“What’s this press conference about, anyways?” J.J. watched as his captain ducked his head back into a stall. “CCM thing?”
“Oh, no, it’s uh…”
“Big announcement.” Hayden grinned. “Huge.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Shane’s eyes narrowed in Hayden’s direction, before turning to J.J. “Watch and find out, alright? I’m too tired to get into it now.”
“Mysterious, Hollander.” J.J. whistled, ignoring the feeling that he was being left out of a big secret. “Are you pregnant?”
“Fuck off.” Shane laughed, throwing a sweaty towel over J.J.’s head.
***
J.J. was not invited to the press conference, which made sense, because it was for the press, and definitely did not hurt his feelings at all. So, he was alone on his couch when he learned via ESPN that his best friend greatly respected Ilya Rozanov.
That he thought Ilya Rozanov was a great leader and a fierce competitor and one of the best players in the NHL.
That they were starting a charity together.
That he considered him a friend.
The worst part was how clearly he could see it was true. When Rozanov began talking about his mother’s battle with depression, the look on Shane’s face said it all. Hell, he put his hand on his arm, like he was comforting Rozanov. When the fuck had this happened?
He felt like he’d woken up in an alternate reality. Was it not yesterday that Hayden had said he fucking hated the guy? Shane hadn’t said anything. Hayden had fucking punched him and Hollander’s reaction had been little more than quiet disapproval. Was that how a person treated a friend? Would Shane care that little if someone punched him and said they fucking hated him?
No. Shane would stand up for him. He knew that.
But it didn’t make sense. None of it. When would this have even happened? This year’s All-Stars game? Last year’s? Not for the first time, J.J. felt a slight tinge of bitterness that he’d never been invited.
Had this been in the works for that long? A charity didn’t happen overnight.
And why not start a charity with someone he actually liked? For example, his two best friends?
It could be the Ottawa thing. Shane did love his hometown. But really, he’d rather work with fucking Rozanov than his best friends?
And why the fuck hadn’t Hollander said anything?
He told Shane everything about his life. Well, he was an open book to pretty much anyone who showed an interest in getting to know him, but Shane was one of his best friends. He knew J.J. inside and out, and J.J. had thought that was a two-way street.
He’d been wrong.
He looked back at the TV to see Shane smiling at Rozanov like he was God’s gift to humanity.
Yeah. He’d been wrong.
***
“So Hollander,” J.J. kept his voice neutral as he sauntered across the dressing room the next day, “Were you ever going to tell us about your new best friend?”
Laughs sprung up from the rest of the team.
“Yeah, yeah,” Shane rolled his eyes. “Get your jokes out now.”
“Seriously, man, fucking Rozanov?” Gilbert Comeau chuckled. “You couldn’t have found a nicer guy to team up with? Like, I don’t know, Dallas Kent?”
“Come on. Rozanov’s an asshole, but he’s not an asshole. Kent is a fucking asshole.”
“Could’ve fooled me!” Hayden chimed in.
“Seriously?” Shane gave him a flat stare, but Hayden only shrugged.
”Fifteenth.”
“Oh my God, drop it already.”
“Really though, are you actually friends with the guy?” J.J. questioned. “Because if it’s about the charity, I could’ve made you a list of better people to do it with.”
“Dude.” Shane’s face turned serious, and he zeroed in on J.J. specifically. “He moved to my hometown. I wanted to start a charity. It made sense. Are you really giving me shit for starting a fucking charity?”
Well, that was humbling.
“No!” J.J. protested. “No, Hollander, I think it’s great that you’re starting a charity. I know you’ve been wanting to do that. It’s just, Rozanov…”
Shane rubbed a hand over his face, heaving a sigh.
“Come on, man. You had to know this would be weird for us, right?”
Now, Hollander actually looked pissed. “It’s weird for you that I’m doing hockey camps for kids like, once a year?”
“With Rozanov. I didn’t even know you were friends!”
“Well, I think it’s cool.” Hayden popped up and slung an arm around Shane’s shoulder. “It’s like, the stuff you see in Disney movies. Rivals setting aside their differences for the greater good.”
“Thanks, Hayd,” Shane muttered, still irate.
“What? It’s like, inspiring.”
“Uh huh,” Shane shoved Hayden’s arm off of him. “Thanks.”
“Anyways.” Hayden raised his voice to the dressing room. “Stop giving Shane shit! He’s teaching the future hockey players of tomorrow! If he can tolerate Rozanov for a good cause, so can you.”
“Booo!” Comeau called out, getting a couple stray laughs from the team.
“Christ, I need to watch a movie made for adults.” Hayden returned to his stall. Shane followed, a storm cloud practically drizzling above his head.
After a moment of watching him angstily put on his gear, J.J. swore under his breath and approached him, lowering his voice and switching to French so the others couldn’t eavesdrop.
“I’m sorry, Hollander. But you didn’t tell me. I thought you hated the guy.”
“Yeah, well,” Shane huffed, “I don’t. We’ve been playing together for eight seasons. He can be a dick, and he’s a fucking ruthless player, but he’s not a bad guy off the ice.”
“How do you know?”
Shane blinked. “What do you mean, how do I know?”
“How do you know?” J.J. repeated, meaningfully. “I don’t want him to fuck you over with this.”
“Look, I don’t know. I just do. We see each other all the time. Games, media, awards, CCM things, All-Stars. I got to know him.”
“And were you ever going to tell us that?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”
J.J. made a disbelieving face.
“Fine, I knew it would be a big deal. I didn’t think it would matter this much to you guys though.” Shane sighed. “It’s a charity.”
“It’s not about the charity. You know I’ll help with the charity. Come on, Hollander. You surprised me. You know I’ve got your back.”
Shane made eye contact now, a somewhat hopeful look in his eyes. “Yeah? You want to help?”
“Sure, whatever you need. I can throw you a sexy fundraiser. We could do a gala. Montreal’s finest.”
“I was thinking more like coaching one of the camps,” Shane huffed a laugh, “but sure, a sexy gala works too.”
“Then I’ll do that too.” J.J. shrugged. “And next time you decide to play nice with someone we hate, you’ll tell me. Okay?”
“Okay.” Shane nodded, switching back to English. “I appreciate it, man.”
“Not Kent though. That’s a hard line, Hollander.”
“Gross.” He laughed. “Never.”
Chapter End Notes
November 2018 reality:
“Oh no!” Ilya mocked him. “How can I impress Montreal’s fifteenth best player?”
“Shane, I’m gonna punch him.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m gonna punch him.”+
“It’s like, powerful, right? Rivals coming together for a greater cause. I mean, no one in that room knows you guys are all in love and shit.” He finished at the urinal and went to wash his hands. “But the way you were looking at Ilya, Shane, I thought people were gonna figure it out. Hell, I thought you were gonna start sucking face in front of the whole world.”
+
“J.J., one of Shane’s alternate captains and closest friends, had not been impressed when he’d first learned that Shane and Ilya were friends. He’d mostly gotten over it but, like Hayden, had never quite warmed to Ilya.”
-------
Emo chapter but it had to happen :((
Part of why I started this fic was that I wanted to write out a bunch of cute insider Hollanov moments, but I'm also lowkey a J.J. defender! He comes off as such a dick in The Long Game finale, but I think it would actually be so sad to learn that your best friend of eleven years had been hiding this from you, and also to think that you're part of a bestie trio when in reality you're constantly being left out.
Anyways next chapters will be back to fluff and dumbassery!
January 2019 — Dallas
Hollander was in a pissy mood.
With the way this year’s schedule had worked out, their Christmas break had been cut short and they’d spent the first week of January on a roadie playing in St. Louis, Tampa, Raleigh, and now Dallas. To make matters worse, they were ending the trip on a loss.
J.J. had suggested they watch a movie back at the hotel, but the one they’d chosen was pretty lackluster, and now everyone seemed to be mindlessly scrolling on their phones.
“Hollander.” J.J. leaned back on the hotel bed and tapped Shane’s foot, holding up his screen. “What do you think?”
“What?” He squinted, reaching for his glasses. “What am I looking at?”
“My friend Bradley.”
“Okay…? Looks like he’s having a fun time?”
“Come on, what do you think?”
Shane peered down at the paused Instagram story, showing a tall, brunette man standing outside in the thoroughly iced city streets of Montreal. “He looks cold?”
“Hollander.” J.J. gave a chastising look.
“He wants to know if you think he’s hot.” Hayden chimed in from the other bed, not looking up from his phone.
“What?! No, dude, stop.”
“Come on, look! He’s a nice guy! He’s a sous chef at a vegan restaurant. Went through a breakup last year. Speaks French, unlike some people in this room—”
“Fuck off.” Hayden quipped.
“He’s hot! Is he not hot?”
“Alright, let me see.” Hayden put his phone down, rolling over to take a look. “Not bad.”
“I hate you guys.” Shane took his glasses off.
“What? I’m trying to get you laid, man! You’ve shot down three different people I’ve shown you already.”
“Yeah, because I didn’t want to date them. And besides, I really don’t need your help for this.”
“You really do, man. When’s the last time you blew off some steam?”
“Is that supposed to be a euphemism?”
“If you want it to be.”
Shane let out the kind of sigh only a long-suffering mother was usually capable of.
“Come on, help me out here. What’s your type?”
“Yeah, Shane,” Hayden grinned, “What’s your type?”
The glare Shane sent him could’ve withered plants.
“Bears? Twinks? Otters?”
“Oh my God, who is teaching you these things?” Shane blushed furiously.
“What?” J.J. shrugged. “I’m not Pike. I’m cultured.”
“Why am I getting flamed here? Focus on Shane.”
“No, no focusing on Shane. I’m fine, seriously. I really don’t need your help with dating.”
“No? You’ve mastered Grindr, then?” J.J. raised an eyebrow.
“Jesus! No! Fuck you!”
“Help me out here, buddy. What kind of man should I be looking for?”
Shane groaned, shoving his face into a nearby pillow.
“You know,” Hayden mused, “I’ve always thought one of us had to be your sexual awakening.”
“What?! You’ve always thought that?! You cannot be serious right now. You literally know—” Shane stopped himself just in time for Hayden to send him a shit-eating grin.
“We are very attractive. It’s okay if it’s true.” J.J. fake-pondered.
“Let me be 100% clear: I do not, and have never wanted to fuck either of you.”
“Yeah but like, if you had to choose…?” Hayden teased.
“Oh fuck you.”
“Tall or short?”
“What?”
“I’m going to make a list,” J.J. supplied. “Taller than you or shorter than you?”
“I— taller? Fuck, no, I’m not playing this game.” Shane immediately started hiding his blush behind a scowl.
“That’s a point for me, then. Blonde? Brown hair? Ginger?”
“I really don’t care.”
“Yeah, but if you had to pick.” Hayden smirked knowingly. “I’ve got this one in the bag, right?”
Shane’s jaw tightened. “If I had to pick, I guess somewhere in between. Light brown. Dark blonde. Whatever you call that color.”
“That’s a point for me. Suck it, Boiziau.”
“Let me reiterate: I have never, ever wanted to fuck either of you.”
“You wound me, Hollander.” J.J. clutched his chest dramatically. “We are very fuckable.”
“And yet here I am, not wanting to fuck you.”
“Alright, body type. What are we looking for here?”
“Would you—? There is no we. We are not on a group scavenger hunt for me to find a boyfriend.”
“Probably should be,” Hayden muttered.
“That’s the spirit, Pike.” J.J. pointed a finger in his direction. “So? Muscles? Skinny? Hairy? Chubby?”
“God, this is so…” Shane ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Athletic, okay? Are you happy? We’re professional athletes. Obviously I like athletic guys.”
The guys exchanged smirks.
“I think that’s a point for both of us.” Hayden winked.
“Me more than you, probably.”
“I think this is borderline offensive.”
“What about hair? I’ve heard this is a big thing in your community.” At this point, J.J. had started a note on his phone to tally points.
“Who is teaching you this? Can we drop this?”
“Hair, Hollander!”
“When you say hair, are we talking about like, body hair or facial hair?” Hayden sounded genuinely curious. “Or, shit, are we talking pubes? Because I don’t know if I want to know how Shane likes his pubes.”
“I can’t tell if I want to kill you guys or myself right now.”
“Hollander!” J.J. snapped his fingers. “Focus! Hair!”
Shane stared into space, at a loss.
“Help me help you. Don’t let me keep suggesting the wrong kind of man.”
“Jesus fucking Christ. Yes, hair is good. Not hairless. Not into twinks. Definitely into grown, adult men.”
“Ha! Another point for me!”
“Hey!” Hayden protested. “I’m a grown man! I’m hairy enough!”
“Not with the playoffs beards I’ve seen on you. I’m taking this one.” J.J. added to his note.
“Fine…” Hayden grumbled. “This one, I know I’ve got: eyes.”
Shane stared at his phone longingly.
“Come on, let me win one! Light eyes or brown eyes?”
Shane continued to frown at his phone, a wistful look crossing his face, before softly adding, “Green. Green eyes. Like, hazel.”
J.J. eyed him for a moment. It was the first question Shane had given a clear answer to, and hazel eyes were pretty rare. He wondered if there was a story there.
“Point for me.” Hayden slapped his pillow in triumph.
“You have blue eyes.” J.J. easily dismissed him. “Point for no one.”
“What?!” Hayden’s jaw dropped like a child losing at Monopoly. “I asked light or brown! Light includes blue! I win that one fair and square!”
At that point, Shane’s phone vibrated with a notification, and the miserable look on his face turned fond. “You know what, guys, as fun and awesome as this has been, I’ve gotta take this, so I’m going to go for a walk.”
He stood to put on his shoes and grabbed a room key.
“What?!” J.J. objected. “Hollander! We’re just getting started!”
“Tell him I win! Come on Shane, you and I both know I’m closer to your type than he is.”
“I’m going to say this one last time: I have zero desire to fuck either of you, or anyone else you try to set me up with. Zero.”
“You didn’t even get a call!”
“It’s an outgoing call!” Shane called over his shoulder as he exited the room.
“You’re no fun!” J.J. shouted after him.
As the door swung shut, they heard Shane’s voice soften, all traces of exasperation gone as a quiet “Hey,” slipped out of him.
Chapter End Notes
January 2019 reality:
“The point was that Shane had a perfectly good secret boyfriend, so obviously it was rude of J.J. to try to set Shane up with other men. Even if J.J. didn’t know Shane was with anyone, and probably assumed Shane hadn’t had sex in years. Or ever.”
March 2019 — Los Angeles
In all of their years of friendship, J.J. had never seen Shane do karaoke.
But, a hard won victory against the L.A. Emperors had brought them to a Koreatown dive bar, where the Voyageurs had successfully taken over a private room and promptly filled it with an appalling mixture of sake bombs, Mumford and Sons, and Eminem.
They didn't fly until mid afternoon, and they had a couple days off before their next game, so, J.J.'s campaign to let off a little steam had worked.
Now, his mouth flopped open like a fish at the sight of Shane Hollander seated in the the shadows of a corner bench, completely sober, ginger ale in hand, quietly singing along to Gilbert Comeau’s rendition of Post Malone's “Sunflowers.”
A better man wouldn't have called him out for it, but J.J. was not that man.
“Hollander!” He shouted above the noise of the team, rushing across the room. “Who taught you this song?!”
“What?!” Shane blushed. “I know songs!”
“No, you don’t.” Hayden slurred next to him.
“I know this song,” Shane amended.
“I invited you to the Post Malone concert two years ago, and you asked me what kind of music they played!” J.J. balked. “It's one guy! Everyone knows it's one guy!”
“Well, he should pick a name that sounds like an actual name!”
“Fucking hopeless.” J.J. shook his head, grinning in exasperation. “I’m making you another playlist, and you better listen when I put it on during workouts.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Shane rolled his eyes. “God, you guys are the worst. Between you and Il—Hayden... You guys need to leave me alone.”
“Never, buddy.” Hayden patted his shoulder, rising from his seat. “I’m up. Fifty bucks says he doesn’t know this one.”
“I’m not taking that bet.” J.J. grimaced.
At that moment, Shane's phone buzzed face in his pocket and he lifted it to his face, smiling at the sight.
“I’ve actually got to step out.”
“What?!” Hayden exclaimed. “I’ve been waiting my turn for forty minutes. You can wait four to piss and call Ro— your parents.”
Shane shot him a warning look, and J.J. agreed.
"Hey, not too much on Yuna and David there."
“Sorry,” Hayden grumbled. “My apologies to the Hollanders.”
“Whatever.” Shane rolled his eyes. “Let this Hollander go to the bathroom. You already know I'm not gonna know what it is.”
And that, at least, was true. After all, Ilya wasn’t an Imagine Dragons fan.
Chapter End Notes
Reality:
[November 2018, My Dinner With Hayden]:
Ilya decided to put on some background music so it didn’t feel like they were in a hospital waiting area. After another fifteen minutes of stiff conversation to a backdrop of Post Malone, he went to the kitchen to get more wine.
https://www.rachelreidwrites.com/news/2019/10/1
Chapter 22: Suck my dick, Rozanov
April 2019 - Montreal
J.J. was not happy.
Montreal's rookie defenseman was proving to be a weak link, and as a consequence, they were now watching Ilya Rozanov skate the perimeter of Montreal’s arena raising his hands up and down, soaking up the crowd's jeers as though it were praise.
He finished by circling around Shane like a shark, calling out, “This is fun, huh, Hollander?”
J.J. gritted his teeth at the sight.
Only Ilya fucking Rozanov could score against them while playing for a team as shitty as Ottawa. It shouldn't happen. It shouldn't be allowed to happen. They shouldn't have let it happen.
“Enjoy it while it lasts.” Shane yelled across the ice. “You've probably got about three minutes, max.”
“Three minutes?” Ilya lifted a comical hand to his ear. “Is that how long you usually last?”
Shane bit down on his lip, blushing angrily.
“Would not want to be one of your bed partners!”
“Suck my dick, Rozanov.” Hollander called out, and J.J. expected Rozanov to quip something back, but he merely raised his eyebrow and returned to the face-off line, mumbling something that made Shane snap his head up.
This dynamic was too fucking weird for J.J., so he got in position and focused on the game.
It took longer than three minutes for Shane to score again, but he got there, and ultimately they finished the game with a 2–1 win for Montreal.
Afterwards, Coach Theriault railed into them. The man was never satisfied. He spent at least ten minutes of grilling them about how Ottawa should always be an easy win, Ilya Rozanov or not.
“If this is how it's going against Ottawa, how the hell do you boys think you're gonna survive against Tampa or Pittsburgh? If we're letting goals in from fucking Ottawa, how the hell do you expect to beat Toronto next week?”
They’d won the game, and yet, that single goal left enough of a bruise against Coach Theriault’s ego that the entire team left the dressing room feeling defeated.
J.J. clapped Hollander on the shoulder as he walked out to do press, knowing full well he'd be paired with the man himself.
“Want me to stick around?”
“No,” Shane sighed. “I’m good, but thanks, man.”
“Don't let him get to you. It's one game. Ottawa is a different beast this year now that they have Rozanov, but we didn't lose. And we're not gonna lose next week either.”
“Thanks, man. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”
As Shane opened the door to Montreal's press room, J.J. caught sight of Rozanov, already seated among the reporters. A predatory smile slid across the man's face as Shane entered the room.
Fucking asshole.
June 2019 - Montreal/Ottawa
J.J. couldn't stand the off season.
The relaxation time was nice for about three weeks, and then all he wanted to do was get back to being around his team. He was an extroverted guy by nature, and though he had tons of friends and family in Montreal, he craved the regularity of being surrounded by dozens of people in the team facilities.
To make matters worse, his two closest friends were pretty much useless in the summers, given that one had to tap in on being a full time father for his obligatory three months of the year, and one fucked off to the middle of nowhere to do yoga by himself.
J.J. was lonely. So, he was FaceTiming Hollander at his parents' house, not really talking about anything.
“What are you wearing to the awards this year?”
“Ahh, I don’t know. Just a suit. Black and white. The usual.”
“Hollander,” J.J. tsked. “You can do better than that!”
Their meaningless chatter was interrupted when he heard the distant voice of Yuna Hollander through his screen.
"Shane, honey, have you picked up the cake yet?"
“One second,” Shane sent a pointed look over his shoulder. “Mom, I'm FaceTiming J.J. right now.”
And then there was Yuna leaning into the camera.
“Oh, hi, J.J. How are you doing?”
“Hi Yuna!” J.J. smiled and did a little wave. “I’m, you know, bored, but doing well. Getting excited for camps. How are you doing?”
“Oh, gosh. Us, too. Just finalizing all the details, crossing our t’s and dotting our i's. It's kept us very busy, I'll tell you that much.” Yuna sighed. “Although you wouldn't know it to look at this one.”
J.J. grinned. “What's this I hear about a cake? Are you actually getting Shane to eat cake in the off season?”
Yuna sent her son a look then turned back to the camera.
“I’m throwing a very special friend of mine a little birthday party, and Shane's supposed to be helping, but he's sitting here talking to you!”
Shane exhaled, properly cowed, and for a moment, he looked like a child again.
“All right, all right. I'm going.”
“Thank you,” Yuna ruffled Shane's hair. “Bye now, J.J. We'll see you in a few weeks, okay?”
“Bye, Yuna!
“Sorry about that, man. I've gotta head out.”
J.J. grinned. “It's no problem. You've gotta get to work. These ladies aren't going to get their cake themselves, are they?”
Shane rolled his eyes with a sardonic smile. “Uh huh. Yeah. I'll see you later, man.”
***
J.J. spent the rest of the afternoon running through his contact list, calling his teammates to check in and ask about their summers. By the time he was done, he was ready to put away his phone.
So, he didn't see the official NHL Instagram account’s post dedicated to wishing one Ilya Rozanov a very happy 28th birthday.
Chapter End Notes
June 2019 reality:
Ilya's official birthday is June 15th, 1991!
July 2019 - Montreal
The Boyz Are Back in Town
8:04 pm
J.J.: Coffee tomorrow before camp?
Hayden: Fuck no dude I’m a father
J.J.: ☹️
Shane: Can’t, I’ve gotta get to the arena early for prep
Shane: Gonna get a couple boxes from Tim Hortons though so we’ll have that
Hayden: Can you get me timbits while you’re there
Shane: Sure 🙄
Hayden Pike has changed the name of this chat to “The Boyz Are Getting Timbits”.
***
J.J. was excited for Shane’s first charity camp.
He liked working with kids. He liked group activities. He liked being on the ice. And he liked feeling useful. It was kind of a perfect storm.
As he walked into the suburban rink they'd rented for the occasion, he followed the sound of laughter, leading him to an office space, just in time to see Yuna Hollander leaning over Ilya Rozanov with one hand on his shoulder.
"You are too much."
All three faces in the room were grinning. Well, there was a sight he thought he'd never see.
Shane immediately snapped to attention, jumping to his feet at the sound of his entrance, and pulled him in for a bro hug.
“Hey, man, I'm so glad you could make it.”
Rozanov got to his feet more slowly, face going a bit stoic as he extended his hand in a firm shake.
“J.J., it is good to see you.”
J.J. wanted to hold off his opinion to find if that would be true.
***
The first day went well, all things considered, though he could see that Hollander and Rozanov were getting a bit snippy with each other by the end of the day.
As much as he was rooting for his friend, he couldn't help that the sight eased something in him. It's not that he wanted to add to any stress in Shane's life, but it still felt disorienting to see them joke around.
When it was time to leave, he stopped by Shane's office to say goodbye, and the man looked completely drained.
“I can't believe we have another week of this left. Kids are fucking exhausting.”
“I know,” J.J. smiled. “I can't believe this is what Pike goes home to every night.”
“Basically the same amount of kids,” Shane laughed.
“See you in the morning?”
“Yeah, if you run into Rozanov on the way out, tell him I'm looking for him.”
***
J.J. didn't know it was possible to grunt in Russian until he heard it with his own ears. He spotted Rozanov in the hallway, shaking a vending machine.
“Everything okay?”
Rozanov shot him a slightly annoyed look, aggravation still lingering from his fight with the candy dispenser.
“Could be better.”
J.J. leaned in to inspect the problem, and found that the last Snickers bar was stuck on its rings, refusing to descend.
“Trying to steal the last one from Shane?”
Ilya raised an eyebrow, lip quirking. “Something like that.”
J.J. shook his head, huffing a laugh.
“You two are unbelievable.”
“Yes, well, it's not coming out yet, is it?” Ilya redirected his attention on the Snickers bar.
“Here.” J.J. dropped his bag, circling around the back and grabbing the other side to help him shake the machine. Eventually, it fell, and the relief on Rozanov’s face conveyed so much exhaustion, it took J.J. aback for a second.
“Split it with him, okay? He's a good guy. I don't know why you decided to do this with him, but it's going well. Better than either of you can probably see right now.”
Rozanov looked at him seriously for a moment.
“Thank you, J.J. That is… nice of you to say.”
J.J. nodded, uncomfortable with the sincerity of the moment.
“They're looking for you. In the office. I’m gonna head out.”
“Good work today.” Rozanov extended a hand.
“Sure. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Chapter End Notes
July 2019 reality:
(Ryan’s POV on their first day of camp from Tough Guy)
“He heard Rozanov’s unmistakable voice—a heavily accented teasing drawl—coming from a room down the hall. He headed toward the sound, and then stopped when he heard a second, angrier voice. It sounded like Hollander.
He moved a little closer and could confirm that it was Shane Hollander, and he seemed to be arguing with Rozanov. Well, that wasn’t really a surprise. Ryan still wasn’t over the fact that they liked each other at all.
The arguing stopped, so Ryan went to the door. He should have knocked before nudging it open because the next thing he saw was Ilya pinning Shane against the wall.
With his mouth on Shane’s.”
July 2019 - Montreal
It took longer than it should have for J.J. to catch on. But once he saw it, he couldn't stop seeing it.
There was a look Shane got in his eyes sometimes. A look that seemed to bring all of the pieces together.
The first time he saw it, he’d thought Shane was just staring into space, which was already very out of character for Hollander, whose eyes were more likely to be darting around a room at any given moment.
He’d been about to ask him what he was thinking about when he'd realized where Shane's eyeline was directed, and found Ilya Rozanov crouching to help a seven-year-old girl lace up her skates.
The girl was giggling in the way in the way that only children can at whatever Rozanov was saying, and Shane… God, it didn’t make sense. The look in his eyes was so… It didn't compute.
“Everything okay?” J.J. asked when he skated up to join him.
“Oh, yeah.” Shane’s head snapped to attention. “Just, um, just thinking about. God, I don't even know. Too many things. There's too many things to track, running this damn thing.”
“Sure. Let me know if you need help, buddy.”
***
The next time the look appeared, they were starting off a drill.
“Okay! Kids!” Rozanov clapped, and the small hoard of children already following him like ducklings on ice circled up.
“Goalies will be here with my good friend Wyatt, your favorite goalie for the Ottawa Centaurs. He will help give you tips and show you how it’s done.” He gestured to the net. “The rest of you, make two lines. Hollander, come here.”
Shane raised his eyebrows momentarily, then joined him.
“For the rest of you, this is going to be a passing drill. My friend Shane and I here are going to show you how to do it.” Rozanov smirked, dropping a puck.
“Right. So.” Shane took over. “You’re going to pass to each other two times before one of you takes a shot. Or, I mean, two times each. Basically the person in the right line will start it,” he said as he tapped the puck, “and then the other, I mean the person on the left will return it, and then one more time each, and then the person on the right will take the shot. Does that make sense?”
The kids’ reactions ranged from the future Shanes of Canada eagerly nodding, to blank stares from six-year-olds.
“Do not worry about Shane’s bad explanation. We will show you.” Rozanov played with the puck a bit, showing off moves that no longer impressed J.J., but had the kids’ eyes glued.
“For the goalies,” Wyatt chimed in, making sure his voice was loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room, “this is an exercise is keeping yourself alert. A big part of being a goalie is paying attention, so you’ve gotta keep your eyes open for those last minute passes that are you going to hit you where it hurts.”
“Yes.” Rozanov skated further out, turning to face the group of kids who had decided that becoming goalies was their passion. “Sometimes you will want to watch the better player — in this case, me — because you think that they're going to take the shot.”
The kids giggled as Shane narrowed his eyes, fighting back a grin.
“Or, maybe you want to keep an eye on Hollander,” Ilya slapped the puck — too hard — in Shane’s direction, but he stopped it easily. “We could be going for the fake-out, as he is not as likely to score. You see?”
J.J. watched as Shane stared straight down at the puck, trying not to laugh.
“Makes more sense to be scared of me, but sometimes a team knows that you are over there with your goalie eyes, watching the better player more, and they will pass it to someone like Hollander to sneak it into the net. So, you have to be ready.”
“Dick,” Shane said under his breath so only fellow coaches could hear, but J.J. caught it. He gave him a curious look; in Shane’s mouth, the word sounded like a pet name.
“Hollander.” Ilya said sternly, a glint in his eye. “We do not use those words. Now come on, let’s show them how it’s done.”
Shane started off the drill extremely gently, given what he could do with a puck, and Rozanov returned it. But when it came time for Rozanov to pass back the second time, he instead shot it into the net, whipping past Wyatt's defenses.
“Hey, come on, man.“ Wyatt lifted up his mask, laughing.
Rozanov appeared completely unrepentant, a boyish grin on his face. “Could not resist.”
“Okay, don't listen to him. That was a bad example.” Shane huffed through a smile. “We’re going to do it again. Just to be clear, whoever starts the passing is the one who takes the shot.”
Shane did his best to seem exasperated, but as he retrieved another puck, J.J. saw it again — that look. That shimmer of fondness.
He seemed so determined to stamp it out.
***
Rozanov wasn’t even there the next time J.J. saw it.
He and Hayden had come to Shane’s place after camp to help bring back some boxes and play video games, when they saw that Ilya Rozanov already had a user profile set up on Shane’s Xbox.
“Rozanov gets to save a profile and I don’t?” Hayden whined, incredulous.
“You had Rozanov in your home?!” J.J. said, sounding just as indignant.
“Shut up.” Shane threw a cushion at Hayden. “It probably just auto saved. And yeah, we had to do a lot of preparation for camp, so he was here.”
“Damn. I still do not get this friendship.” J.J. got started building his own character.
“It’s just video games,” Shane said defensively. “Usually we just play NHL.”
“Of course you do.” Hayden muttered.
Shane’s annoyance turned into a small smile. “He’s a nightmare, actually. He always tries to play as me, so if he wins, he can say he’s better at being me than I am, and if he loses, then he can say it would’ve been impossible to win playing as me.”
Hayden rolled his eyes, and J.J. glanced over to find Shane staring into space, coming off a bit dazed, having completely given up on getting to his own start page. That was it. The look.
“Hollander. Come on. Hurry up.”
“Right. Sorry.”
***
The final piece slotted into place at camp pickup time.
J.J. had been tasked to stay with the kids while parents checked in with himself and Rozanov to sign out for the day.
As they waited in the parking lot, Rozanov started an impromptu soccer game with the kids. It was a hot July day, and Rozanov almost immediately took off his shirt, displaying an admittedly impressive chest and set of abs. J.J. probably would’ve found it more annoying if he wasn’t already doing the same thing.
They played with the kids a bit, letting them get rambunctious and talking family-friendly shit to make them laugh, and it was only when J.J. decided to go find his water bottle that he saw Hollander — standing in the doorway to the arena, one arm propping it open, face trained on their little game. His jaw was slack, and J.J. glanced over his shoulder to see if something had gone wrong or a kid was hurt, only to find Rozanov, sweaty and shirtless, running in small circles with an eight-year-old boy hanging off his shoulders.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh.
And then it clicked, and J.J.’s heart dropped as one thought took over: Poor Shane.
Chapter End Notes
July 2019 reality:
(Ryan’s POV)“Ilya rolled his eyes and took the paper from Ryan. “He’s not going to tell anyone, Shane. Fucking relax.” He shot Ryan a questioning look that said you’re not going to tell anyone, are you?
“No. I won’t tell anyone. That you’re, um...”
“Making out at work? Yes. That would be bad,” Ilya said with an amused grin. Shane looked like he would never smile again.”
July 2019 — Ottawa
By the time the second Game Changers hockey camp wrapped up, J.J. was spotting Shane’s look left and right.
All things considered, Shane was pretty good at hiding his crush. It didn’t look like Rozanov had picked up on it, at least. His behavior hadn’t changed at all from the moment J.J. had met him; he just continued teasing and antagonizing Hollander like he would on any other day.
His claws weren’t out in the same way as they had been in past games or interviews, so maybe he was trying to play nice(r) in front of the kids. J.J. noted that his mocking had seemed more good-natured lately, but generally speaking, Rozanov really wasn’t treating Shane much differently than he ever had before.
He’d always pulled Shane’s metaphorical pigtails. He’d always showboated, sending him smug looks and patronizing winks any time he did something tricky on the ice — which he was doing pretty frequently at camp given the kids’ requests. Rozanov taunting Hollander was nothing new.
No, the change was in Shane, who had always been a bad liar, and who J.J. realized he’d never really seen with a crush before. Whatever this was blew the early days with Rose out of the water.
To start, there was the simple fact of his name.
Sure, maybe it had been slightly surprising to hear Shane say “Ilya,” the first time it happened, but what was more painful was seeing him correct himself.
“Oh yeah, I think Ilya— I mean, Rozanov — is going to check.”
“Ily— Rozanov’s just going to swing by my parents’ place to pick it up. He lives close to them, so. Yeah. No big deal.”
“I thought Il— Rozanov was doing that?”
For two weeks straight, Shane treated saying the man’s first name like touching a hot stove.
And then there was the way Shane always seemed to be watching Rozanov. J.J. kept catching him staring, especially when Rozanov was having a one-on-one moment with a kid.
By the time the Ottawa camp began, J.J. could admit that the man was good with children. They visibly idolized him, eating up all of his jokes and playful cockiness. But there was another side to it; Rozanov excelled in the quiet moments, too. When a kid fell down, or got hurt, or missed their parents, or got frustrated because they didn’t know how to do something, Rozanov was patient. Kind. He distracted them and lifted them back into good spirits.
It was bizarre to see. Part of J.J. wondered if there was an age barrier to when Rozanov deemed someone mature enough to be a dick to.
In those private moments, J.J. caught Shane, on multiple occasions, just… watching. Eyes soft. Something wistful on his face.
He’d frown at the sight, taking to calling Shane over to help with random tasks, just to snap him out of it.
And then there was the touching.
Rozanov was clearly a physical guy. He’d ruffle the kids’ hair, and make up bro-y secret handshakes with the campers and the coaches alike. J.J. had even seen him hug Yuna a couple times, once lifting her into the air when she entered the office with particularly good news.
It blatantly rattled Hollander.
Rozanov would bump him on the arm as he made a joke at his expense, and Shane would do his best to hide a smile, then catch himself and take two steps away.
During lunch one afternoon, all of the coaches sat around a table, and Rozanov joined late. He leaned over Shane’s chair, squeezing his shoulders and getting in his face. “Did not save me a seat, huh, Hollander? This is what I get for starting a charity with you?”
Shane looked at him like he hung the moon, just for a moment, then stiffened and scooted away, letting out a little cough. “Um, I think there are extra chairs over there.”
At the end of one day, J.J. stopped by the office to say goodbye, and found Rozanov leaning over Hollander as he looked at a stack of papers, head above his shoulder. When J.J. entered the room, Rozanov looked up lazily, completely unbothered, but Shane… Shane’s whole body went rigid as he flushed bright red.
The man was down bad. J.J. couldn’t help but wince. Here was Rozanov, clearly not giving a second thought to the proximity, and meanwhile Shane looked about three seconds away from a heart attack just because the man’s hand was on the back of his chair.
All of the awkwardness, the blushing, the way Rozanov’s (Ilya’s) name would come up unprompted… Shane couldn’t have seemed more on edge if he tried.
In some ways, it was kind of cute to see him so rattled. Hollander, his fearless, two-time-Stanley-Cup-winning captain, had been reduced to a bundle of nerves because he was getting teased by an attractive man. (And J.J. considered himself progressive enough to acknowledge that Ilya Rozanov was an extremely attractive man.) Sometimes he had to stop himself from laughing at how frazzled Shane would get when Rozanov did something like throw a casual arm around him in front of the campers, almost never saying anything positive.
What did not make him laugh was going home and googling, “My friend has a crush on a straight guy.”
Reddit quickly informed him that being in such a position involved a lot of “crying and masturbating.”
“Yearning, pain, and a difficult road to acceptance.”
“A recipe for disaster.”
“I’d rather be miserable than lose the friendship.”
“Do not recommend. Tequila is your friend.”
One person said, “How is it any different from having a crush on any person who doesn’t want you back?” and for some reason, that phrasing hit J.J. the hardest. The longing in the replies made the whole thing feel so much more visceral.
His boy was swimming in deep waters.
Chapter End Notes
July 2019 reality:
(Ryan's POV)
“I don’t know what I see in you,” Shane grumbled.
“Yes. You say that every day.”
Ryan couldn’t help but smile at them. Suddenly things made a lot more sense. “Your secret is safe with me,” he promised.
November 2019 — New York
Chat with Shane Hollander
3:53pm
J.J.: What do you think about Pilates
Shane: Are you seriously texting me from the row behind me
J.J.: [Picture of a hot guy in a Pilates gym-branded t-shirt]
J.J.: His name is Gabriel
***
Shane turned around in his seat on the bus and pulled an AirPod out of Hayden’s ear.
“What the fuck, man?”
“Hey, Hayden? Can you tell J.J. to fuck off for me?”
“What? Sure.” Hayden grabbed the AirPod, popping it back in. “Fuck off, J.J.”
***
Chat with Shane Hollander
3:56pm
J.J.: [Picture of Gabriel shirtless on the beach]
J.J.: [Picture of Gabriel baking cookies with an older woman]
J.J.: Nice, athletic, good with moms
Shane Hollander has notifications silenced.
***
Shane’s grumpy mood carried over into the game, though it probably wouldn’t have mattered either way, because tonight, Scott Hunter couldn’t have been stopped on their best day. The whole team remained sulky and silent from the clobbering as they stalled at the airport, waiting to board their flight home.
“Huh. Check it out.” J.J. leaned over to show Hayden and Shane his Twitter feed, where PopCrave had freshly reported “🚨 NHL star Scott Hunter is engaged to longtime boyfriend Kip Grady.”
The photos attached showed two photos of the couple celebrating at a bar, a ring visible on Kip’s hand as it rested on Scott’s face.
“Oh shit. Well, that explains that.” Hayden raised his eyebrows. “Good for him. I mean, fuck him, but good for him.”
“Yeah,” J.J. blew out a breath. “Wonder when it happened. Had to be before the game, right? Maybe this weekend or something?”
“Low-key insane of him to do it during the season. Isn’t he, like, crazy superstitious? Like, what if he said no? Hunter would probably think the whole season was cursed.”
“Probably knew he wasn’t going to get a no.” J.J. sent a disapproving look at Hayden, only noticing then that Shane hadn’t said anything.
His face was blank, eyes still glued to the screen, mute and tight-lipped.
J.J. thought this would be good news, that it might raise Shane’s spirits to see another gay player getting a happy ending to his love story, but he seemed upset.
“Hollander? You good?”
J.J. raised an eyebrow, Hayden shot over a worried look, and it broke the spell.
“Yeah.” Shane sounded exhausted. “Sorry. Just tired. That’s awesome. Good for him.”
He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m just gonna…” He trailed off, walking in the direction of the bathroom.
“The fuck?” J.J. couldn’t hold back his confusion, but all Hayden did was shrug.
“Long day, I guess.”
***
When Shane returned, J.J. swore he smelled something familiar, but he couldn’t place it until they took their seats on the plane.
Hollander had put on that sexy cologne he almost never wore. In sweatpants. Boarding a miserable team flight. After a loss.
What the hell?
Chapter End Notes
November 2019 reality:
(Kyle's POV, Common Goal)
“Tonight the Kingfisher was celebrating the engagement of two gay men, yet was packed with straight dudes. Hockey players, mostly. Extremely attractive hockey players. And their wives.There was a time when meeting even one NHL star would have been exciting, but since Scott Hunter had become a regular at the Kingfisher, and since Kyle had become friends with Kip, New York Admirals players had become commonplace in Kyle’s life. Boring, even.”
+
“Ilya had been snarky about Scott Hunter’s lack of self-control, but sometimes he was dying to do the same thing. He would fantasize about grabbing Shane at the end of a game and kissing him, right there on the ice in front of everyone. Just get it over with and out there and anyone who had a problem with it could fuck off. Baby steps, Ilya reminded himself.”
December 2019 — Winnipeg
Winnipeg winter was a frozen hellscape. It was so fucking cold outside that even J.J., extroverted as he was, had no desire to go out and celebrate their win. So instead, he was lying in his hotel bed, scrolling mindlessly to wind down, when something caught his eye: Scott Hunter’s Instagram story.
He’d shared a photo his now-fiancé had tagged him in of the two of them, faces smushed together and beaming in a booth at a bar, which was honestly pretty standard Hunter fare at this point.
The background was much more interesting. Behind the happy couple, he spotted Ilya Rozanov, arms on top of the table, clearly talking to New York’s veteran goalie, Eric Bennett.
He screenshotted it and sent it to the group chat. Hollander had probably tucked in by now, but it was worth a shot.
Fuck Off Hayden
11:31 pm
J.J.: [screenshot]
J.J.: Does Roz have friends now or something?
Hayden: Lol what the hell
Hayden: Ask Shane
Shane Hollander has changed the name of this chat to “Shane Is Asleep”.
J.J. Boiziau has changed the name of this chat to “Why is Rozanov hanging out with the admirals”.
Shane Hollander has changed the name of this chat to “Fuck Off J.J.”.
It didn’t make sense. Why would Rozanov of all people hang out with Hunter and Bennett? He talked shit about Scott like it was a part-time job, and Bennett had never left a strong impression any of the times J.J. had met him, though they’d been brief encounters.
Rozanov was friends with people like Cliff Marlow and Victor St-Simon, fucking brutes who liked clubbing and getting shitfaced. And, J.J. supposed, Shane. But that was an anomaly.
He looked at the picture again. Bennett looked caught between annoyance and amusement, which seemed to be most people’s reaction to Ilya Rozanov, but Rozanov had his eyes trained on a TV playing a hockey game in the background. J.J. zoomed. It was their game.
Good. Rozanov should be paying attention. He should be fucking scared for their next matchup.
His zooming also revealed a pride flag in the window, which… Again, Scott Hunter. Fiancé in his lap. That tracked.
But why would Rozanov meet them at a gay bar? Maybe when you had such a notorious reputation as a womanizer, you didn’t worry about how that looked. J.J. didn’t, really. Lots of bars and coffee shops put up pride flags in their windows and he’d never seen one and thought, Oh no, better not get my latte here. Someone might think I’m gay.
He couldn’t say why this was nagging at him. He was probably just bored. The team was doing really well, but it had been a long road trip, with almost no one in the mood for socializing, and now he felt like he was just trudging through the last few games before the holidays. He needed a distraction. So, he gave in to tonight’s rabbit hole: the mysterious asshole that his best friend seemed to be hopelessly crushing on.
He googled “Ilya Rozanov love life,” and Jesus, he’d never felt for Shane more. He didn’t seem to have any conclusive girlfriend or exes, but the paparazzi madness spoke for itself.
Yeah, there were definitely more than enough photos of him looking sweaty with random beautiful women at clubs for him to feel secure walking into a gay bar. One woman popped up a few times in grainy, sneaky fan photos — an absolute stunner in Boston. Did Rozanov have a girlfriend?
J.J. was embarrassed to find himself reading at least a dozen women’s accounts comparing stories that honestly made him jealous. Someone had posed the question, “Have you ever hooked up with a celebrity?” and the Rozanov thread was… plentiful.
***
“Ilya Rozanov. Kinda dom daddy vibes. Hung.”
“Fucked Ilya Rozanov once in Berlin at Berghain. Damn, that was a memorable night. Like, I'm married now, but he's still my cheat card.”
“Used to hook up with Ilya Rozanov in like 2013-2014ish whenever he played in New York. He ghosted me but unfortunately… still would”
“Literally made an anon acct to say this bc I would die if this ever got out but my brother is an NHL player and one time I fucked Ilya Rozanov in the bathroom of the arena after a game 💀 will take it to my grave but it was worth it”
“Tbh he’s kind of a dick. I hooked up with him in 2015 and it was GOOOOOOD but then he never texted me again so fuck him”
“I hate him dick game was bomb but I hate that man ugh”
“I'm so confused by these replies lol we were FWBs when I lived in Dallas and he was a perfect gentleman, he would literally never fuck me until he'd already made me c*m at least once”
“God I feel so unspecial adding to this thread like this is killing my special snowflake syndrome to say this but my answer is ALSO Ilya Rozanov 😭 This was like right when he moved here so his English was a lot worse than it is now but let me tell you I did not give a FUCK that man’s TONGUE is alskjdfdkjhfasdjkl”
"Ok this was years ago and it turns out I'm actually a lesbian LOL but I think Rozanov might be one too because GODDAMN that man knows how to eat pussy 😩”
***
Yeah, J.J. had to stop reading this.
And probably get laid.
And definitely make sure Shane never learned how to use Reddit.
Chapter End Notes
December 2019 reality:
(Kyle's POV, Common Goal)
“Ilya Rozanov.” Kip blew out a breath. “This night just got a lot more interesting.”
“Why? Is he your third or something?”
“Hell no. Rozanov is definitely into women. And he kind of hates Scott.”
“Is he in a committed relationship?”
“Not that I know of.”+
(Shane's POV, The Long Game)
“All NHL players had a few days off at Christmas, and he and Ilya had spent it in Ottawa the past few years, sharing the holiday with Shane’s parents. Christmas didn’t mean much to Ilya, but he generally loved food and presents, so he always seemed to enjoy it.”
January 2020 — Montreal
Was there a part of J.J. that had always wanted to be invited to the All Stars game? Of course. But the time off was nice, and though he didn't have any kids of his own, he liked hanging out with Hayden’s. So now, they were spending the afternoon giving Ruby and Jade a tutorial in the art of prank calling.
Hayden held the phone up for Ruby, given that it was about twice the size of her hand, and J.J. sent her sister a conspiratorial wink while they waited for Shane to answer.
“Hey, man. What’s up?”
Ruby was silent, staring at her father, suddenly nervous.
“You there?”
Hayden gave her an encouraging nod, and her wobbly little voice came out.
“Hi, Uncle Shane. Is your refrigerator running?”
“What? Ruby? Is that you?”
“Well, you better go catch it.”
Ruby threw the phone at her father, immediately bursting into giggles, and Hayden picked it up as Shane's incredulous chuckle rang through the tinny speaker.
“That was a good one, Ruby, you got me.”
“Thanks, Uncle Shane!” Ruby beamed with pride.
“Hey, man.” Hayden lifted the microphone to his own mouth. “How’s St. Louis?”
“It's good. Are you teaching them how to prank call?”
“Yeah, I think they're nailing it.”
“Maybe tell her not to start with ‘Hi, Shane’ next time.”
“I’ll pass that on.” Hayden smiled down at the offended look on Ruby’s face. “Saw you beat Rozanov in the obstacles.”
“Yeah, I'm not gonna lie. That one felt pretty good.” The smirk was audible in Shane's voice. “You want to say hi? We're about to head to the hot tub. It’s snowing here.”
“Hi, girls!” A Russian accent called through the phone, and the kids responded with a bewildering chorus of excited hellos.
“Yeah, you should say hi to J.J. too.” Hayden kept his eyes trained on the phone. “He's here, too. Sorry, man, you're on speaker. Had to show ’em the prank call ropes, you know.”
“Oh,” Shane sounded surprised. “Hey, dude, what's going on? You guys just hanging at the house today?”
“What's up, Hollander?” J.J. piped up. “We’re actually about to take them to see Frozen 2. I'm coming for your spot as favorite uncle.”
A scoff came through the phone, but J.J. heard the smile in Shane's voice when he quipped back, “You can try. Alright, I've got to go, but thanks for calling. Great work, Rubes. Love you guys.”
They said their goodbyes, and J.J. waited until the call ended to look at Hayden and mouth, “Rozanov?”
Hayden shook his head as he rose from the couch, a flat look in his eyes. “Alright kiddos, we've got a movie to make. Time to get dressed and put your shoes on.”
The girls scrambled out of the room to find their princess dresses, and J.J. took the moment to confront Hayden in the kitchen.
“So we're just not gonna talk about it.”
“What?” Hayden started pouring himself a glass of water.
“The whole thing with Rozanov.” It came out more exasperated than J.J. meant it to, but he was sick of holding onto this thing alone. “You see it too, right?”
Hayden shot over a warning look.
“Come on. The hot tub?”
“Look, it’s just All Stars. If we were there, he’d be tubbing with us.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” J.J. scowled.
Hayden heaved a long sigh, searching for the words, then raised his shoulder. “It’s Shane’s business. He’s a big boy.”
“He’s fucking pining over a straight guy, is what he is. And not even a good one! Like, are we really just not supposed to say anything about that?!”
“Jesus Christ,” Hayden muttered, smushing a hand over his face.
"Come on, J.J., you're telling me you've never ogled a pretty girl?” Jackie entered the kitchen, tapping him with her elbow. “Let him have his fun.”
J.J. laughed. "You calling Rozanov pretty?”
“You telling me he's not?” Jackie waggled her eyebrows.
“I don't like this.” Hayden pointed a finger between the two of them.
“What's the big deal? Ilya’s nice. He's hot. I don't see what the issue is.”
“Ilya’s nice?" Hayden scoffed.
“What? He is.” Jackie shrugged. “The girls love him.”
"Alright, so that’s a tally of three people who love him."
“Three?” J.J. asked. “Are you hiding another daughter?”
“No,” Hayden stammered. “I meant Jackie.”
“But I always love you the most.” Jackie smushed Hayden's cheeks together in a patronizing way, but he smiled anyway. She smacked a kiss on his lips and patted his face. “Alright. Enough gossip. You two are worse than the PTA moms. Come on, we’ve got a movie to catch. I can already tell this soundtrack is going to go platinum in my car.”
Chapter End Notes
January 2020 reality:
(Eric's POV, Common Goal)
At that moment, Shane Hollander approached their table. “Hi, Eric.” Shane was basically the opposite of Rozanov: serious, polite, and quiet.“Shane. Nice work in the obstacle course.”
Shane smirked at Rozanov, who had not done nearly as well in the same event. “Thanks. It was pretty easy, honestly.”
Rozanov glared back at him with eyes that burned with annoyance and something else. Before Eric could figure out what it was, Rozanov looked away.
...
“I’m going to head up to my room,” Shane said. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Shane,” Eric said.
“I will probably head up soon too,” Rozanov said.
Shane nodded, then turned quickly and left. Rozanov stayed at the table for about another minute, then told Eric he was going to the bathroom. He went, Eric noticed, in the direction of the elevators instead.
May 2020 — Philadelphia
“Do you think I should get a tattoo?”
J.J. thought those words would never come out of Shane Hollander’s mouth, and he reacted accordingly. With his eyebrows raised and jaw dropped, he looked like a caricature of surprise. He blinked.
"Do you want a tattoo?"
“I don't know.” Shane raised a shoulder. “Maybe.”
“Give it a month and maybe you could get one for the cup.”
“Come on, don't say that shit.” Shane shoved his arm playfully, making a face.
“I think we're getting it this year, man.” J.J. grinned. “I have a good feeling.”
“I’m serious, dude. Don't fucking jinx us.”
J.J. rolled his eyes and went back to eating his lunch.
“I just think they're cool.” Shane sounded like a child talking about their interesting rock collection.
J.J. tried to hold back a laugh and instead indulge this rare display of rebelliousness coming from his most straitlaced friend. “Well, mine are.”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
"If things go according to plan, you can come with me to my next appointment.” He nodded down at his wrist, where he had Roman numerals of the years 2015 and 2016 in commemoration of their previous wins.
“I think if I got one, I’d want it to be meaningful, you know?”
“You saying mine aren't meaningful?”
“Do you even know what that means?” Shane raised an eyebrow at the string of characters that wrapped around J.J.’s bicep.
"Do you?"
“Fuck off, I can speak some, I just can’t read it. What does it mean?”
“Family.” J.J. said solemnly.
"Shut up. No, it doesn't."
“Fine, it says ‘Sake boys forever’.”
“Uh huh. Yeah, you're a real family oriented man.”
“I got it on a boys trip!” J.J. exclaimed. “That time we went to Tokyo a couple summers ago. I think 2018? We invited you, but…”
Shane sent over a mocking look at J.J.’s faux-scolding.
“Look, it means family to me. I might not have gotten this specific tattoo again, but like, it's a moment in time. It's friendship. It's food. It's wine. It's all of the good things in life. At least, I hope it is. Fuck knows I can't read it.”
“We can have my mom check next time you see her.”
“Hurt like a bitch, though. They're really not supposed to give you tattoos when you're drunk. Most artists won't do it. But I think I just kept giving them money until they decided they didn't care. How's your pain tolerance?"
Shane frowned. "I mean, it can't be that bad playing this sport.”
“Different kind of pain, Hollander.” J.J. shook his head. “You should only do it for the things you love.”
“Right. Like sake.”
“And the boys.”
***
“Honey, I'm so sorry to have to tell you this.” Yuna Hollander squinted at J.J.’s tattoo. “That definitely does not say ‘sake boys forever’.”
“What?! What does it say?” J.J. exclaimed in shock while Shane burst into laughter.
“I knew it!”
Yuna gave her most motherly, pitying look. “Well, it's a Japanese word, so there's not a direct translation. But I'd say the closest thing is probably ‘American dumbass’.”
“American?!”
Chapter End Notes
May 2020 reality:
(TLG, excerpt from July)
“Ilya was wearing a teal tank top with a faded floral print that showed off his muscular arms, as well as the loon tattoo near his left shoulder that Shane still couldn’t believe Ilya had gotten. He’d surprised Shane with it a couple of months ago and had blamed being bored while Shane was in the playoffs, but Shane knew it wasn’t something Ilya had gotten out of boredom. The tattoo meant something, to both of them. It represented their time together in the summers, at their home on the lake.”
June 2020 — Las Vegas
“And the Conn Smythe Trophy goes to… Shane Hollander!”
“Fuck yeah!” J.J. leapt out of his seat, immediately raising his fingers to his lips in a wolf whistle, and dutifully waited his turn to crush Shane in a hug as his parents, Hayden, and Jackie ruffled his hair, pride shining on all of their faces.
Shane laughed as he moved from the aisle to the stage, taking the trophy with the humility he was known for and approaching the microphone.
“Wow, hi.” He huffed through a smile.
“We love you Shane!” J.J. couldn’t resist shouting, garnering some more whoops from the Voyageurs around him.
“Love you guys too.” Shane tipped the trophy in their direction, cheeks pink as he tried to rein in his smile. “First of all, I just want to acknowledge my fellow nominees. It’s been an incredible season and this award could’ve gone to either one of you just as easily. I feel really honored to get to play against you guys, against everyone in this room, and I don’t take that lightly.”
J.J. shook his head. Already, this speech was so classic Hollander. He’d earned that trophy and everyone there knew it.
“I wouldn’t be up here without my amazing team and everyone on staff at the Voyageurs. This is a team sport, and I wouldn’t be anywhere without you guys, so, thank you for that.” He chuckled nervously.
J.J. didn’t notice until later that a camera had settled onto his and Hayden’s beaming faces.
“There are a lot of people on the Voyageurs team. My teammates, of course, but also our coaches, Theriault, our trainers, staff, physio, analysts, our owners… I can’t imagine playing anywhere else. Montreal fans are the best fans in the world, and I feel really lucky, so this is for you guys, too.”
“I also want to thank my friends and my family.” He looked around the auditorium, trying to find David and Yuna under the blinding lights, but his gaze seemed to hover on the other side of the room momentarily.
Hayden shot over a smug look and mouthed, “He’s talking about us.”
J.J. mouthed back, “Oh yeah. We’re the best,” and they exchanged jokey, self-satisfied nods until Jackie playfully hit both of them on the arm.
“Your support means the world to me,” Shane continued, “and I couldn’t have done this without you. I love you so much.”
***
The Voyageurs took full advantage of the open bar at the afterparty. They were the Stanley Cup fucking champions. Their captain had won MVP. They’d earned the right to get a little sloshed.
Rookies aside, Hayden was probably the tipsiest of them all, though J.J. wasn’t far behind himself, and right now he was leaning most of his weight onto his best friends, exhaling in the dramatic way that only drunk people can. He shook his head, stage-whispering into their ears, “My dudes. I’m gonna get whiskey dick tonight. I just know it.”
Shane grimaced, very clearly the most sober of them all. “We really don’t need to know that.”
Hayden sighed heavily. “We get like two nights a year to ourselves without the kids, man. Have a heart.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Uh huh. Sounds like a real hardship.”
J.J. giggled. “Hardship.”
“Whatever,” Hayden closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “At least I can’t get her pregnant anymore. You’ll get it when you and—” Hiccup. “When you have kids.”
Shane shook Hayden off of his shoulder, almost letting him fall, before he clung to J.J. like his life depended on it.
“Yeah, not going to happen anytime soon.” J.J. laughed. “You enjoy your brood of children. Hollander and I will enjoy not having whiskey dick.”
“Who has whiskey dick?” A Russian accent sounded from behind them, and J.J. turned to see Ilya Rozanov, dressed in a fine tuxedo and holding a crystal tumbler of something clear.
“Can’t be Hollander.” He looked down at Shane’s empty hand. “Not even celebrating on his big night. Such a good boy.”
Shane’s nostrils flared. “I’m celebrating just fine, thanks. Did you want to say congratulations?”
“Yes.” An amused little smile appeared on Rozanov’s face. “Congratulations.”
“Why are you even here? Your team didn’t even make the playoffs.” The words were out of J.J.’s mouth before he had time to think them through. He had maybe had a little too much to drink, too.
Which, he immediately regretted when Rozanov’s eyes shifted from Shane’s to his own.
“They invite me every year, shitty team or not. Is one of the perks of being good and interesting. How many times have you been?”
“Fuck off.” J.J. muttered, refusing to answer. He was right, of course. J.J. only really got invited when the Voyageurs made it particularly far in the season. To be fair, they were on their third Cup, so that wasn’t exactly infrequent. Still, he didn’t want to play that numbers game with Ilya Rozanov.
Rozanov only smiled, completely unfazed, but Hayden must have taken umbrage at his appearance too, because he started loudly slur-singing Queen’s “We Are the Champions,” directly into his face — a display that seemed to get on Rozanov’s nerves more than it probably should have, given the state Hayden was in.
“Oh, good grief, Hayden.” Jackie stropped over, returning from the bathroom, and straightened her husband to a standing position. She exchanged a glance with Rozanov. “Hi, Ilya.”
“Hello, Jackie.” Rozanov pulled her into a quick embrace, kissing her on the cheek. The fucking nerve of this man. “How are you tonight? I hear your husband has whiskey dick.”
Hayden halted his singing, and started blustering, “What? That’s not— Oh, fuck you.”
Rozanov cocked an eyebrow, as if to say, “Checkmate,” as Jackie sent a fondly annoyed look her husband’s way.
“Well, we’ll find out, won’t we?”
A goofy grin replaced Hayden’s irritation. “We will?”
“Come on.” Jackie laughed and tugged on his hand. “Time to get you some water.”
That left J.J. standing around, slightly swaying in a trio with his best friend and one of the most annoying men he’d ever met. He could think of better conversation partners, but his reflexes were dulled by the absurd amount of rum in his system, so he didn’t stop himself from staring.
“So how is the great Shane Hollander going to celebrate his big MVP award?” Rozanov looked down, taking a sip of his vodka. “Will you skip your morning 10k? Have a big glass of sparkling apple juice?”
Shane looked uncharacteristically unruffled as his mouth pulled into a somewhat mocking smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yes.” Rozanov nodded, somehow even more patronizing. “Is why I asked. Is called a question, Hollander. You do know what a question is, yes?”
“Believe it or not, I think I’ll find a way.”
J.J. felt certain that he’d been forgotten as the third party of this conversation. For the life of him, he could not wrap his head around this dynamic. He felt like he was watching a game of ping pong, but his head was moving too slowly to track the points.
“Think it is time for me to leave. Too many happy Voyageurs in this room for my taste.” Rozanov’s eyes didn’t leave Shane’s. “Enjoy your little party, Hollander. Will see you soon.”
Shane narrowed his eyes as Rozanov clapped him on the back twice. In J.J.’s opinion, a man on one of the worst teams in their division, who had been nominated for nothing tonight, shouldn’t be capable of conveying so much condescension with so few words.
“J.J.” Rozanov tipped his head and parted.
“Of all the people to start a charity with…” J.J. mumbled.
“Drop it.”
“Two weeks of summer, Hollander. Two weeks of our precious off time, and this is who we have to spend it with.”
“No one’s making you come to the camps, J.J.”
J.J. rolled his eyes at that. “Like I would leave you alone with that guy.”
“I can manage him just fine on my own,” Shane muttered. “He’s just being a dick because his team sucks this year.”
“His team sucks every year. It’s not your fault he chose to move to fucking Ottawa.”
A frown twisted on Shane’s face at that.
“Come on. Let’s get you a drink.” J.J. threw an arm over his shoulder. “He’s right about one thing. You’re not partying enough for a guy who just won the Stanley Cup and the fucking MVP award.”
“I’ve had, like, three glasses of champagne.” Shane protested, a smile pulling at his lips. “That’s like doing shots for me.”
“Yeah, over the course of like, five hours! That’s nothing! Live a little, Hollander!”
“Maybe I don’t want to catch Hayden’s whiskey dick.” Shane smirked, and J.J. raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, I see how it is. Gonna go have a threesome with Hunter and his fiancé?”
“Gross! No! I’m kidding, Jesus.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world.” J.J. finished his cocktail. “You could stand to get laid.”
“Yeah.” Shane’s eyes darted around the room. “You’re probably right. Not with this crowd, though. Think I’m gonna hit the bathroom. I’ll see you, man, okay?”
“Sure thing, buddy.”
J.J. quickly pivoted to another conversation with his other teammates, and didn’t give a second thought to the fact that Hollander never came back.
Chapter End Notes
June 2020 reality:
“Shane had just led his team to his third Stanley Cup victory, and while Ilya was the captain of a much worse team, he was still putting up big numbers in Ottawa. They were both superstars, and they both had a lot of hockey left in them.”
+
“He’d started this diet in February and he didn’t care what Ilya said—Shane felt better. And he’d just won the Stanley Cup and the Conn Smythe Trophy. So there.”
July 2020 — Montreal
“For defense players, the coaches will be Ryan Price, who is the very tall and handsome man over there...”
“Uh, hi,” Ryan said quietly as he shuffled his skates.
“...and J.J. Boiziau, the tall and sort of handsome man next to him.”
“Watch it, Rozanov,” J.J. called out, only partially kidding.
Ilya Rozanov seemed determined to start off the first Game Changers hockey camp of the year on an antagonistic note. He was lucky J.J. already knew he was hotter than Ryan Price. Hotter than pretty much everyone at the camp. Although, when you got into the S tier of himself, Shane, and Ilya, J.J. could admit that it became a matter of taste.
The day started off strong with everyone in high spirits. But it soon seemed obvious to all of the coaches that something was off between Rozanov and Hollander. He hoped the kids didn't notice, but it was hard not to when Rozanov took a lap around the group J.J. was instructing at center ice, and fired a slap shot into the side of the rink, scaring the shit out of Shane and his poor interviewer.
In all honesty, it had been pretty funny. J.J. might have done something similar if they had been at practice, and not trying to wrangle dozens of children. The kids had certainly laughed.
Hollander did not.
Maybe it had something to do with the fact that their truce was already tenuous at best, but Rozanov just brought out a certain antsiness in Shane. It was a tense irritability J.J. almost never saw anywhere else. He thought back on times when he or Hayden had pulled comparable pranks, and Shane hadn't given them the murderous look in his eye now.
The rest of the day ran relatively smoothly, but the chill between Shane and Rozanov was palpable. Their interactions seemed frosty enough that J.J. started to hope that maybe last year’s crush was the sort of schoolyard infatuation a person got from spending too much time in the same room as someone.
They clearly weren't getting along now. In some ways, there was a comfort to watching them snipe at each other. It reminded him of the early years before Shane had ever announced this cursed friendship. But he didn't like seeing Shane so on edge. This was supposed to be fun.
Last year's camp had been an exercise in ignoring Shane looking blatantly moony. This year's felt decidedly more hostile.
About halfway through the day, while he and Ryan were running defense drills with the kids, he overheard the two camp founders interact. The conversation was quiet, but, well, J.J. was standing right in front of them.
“Take a break,” Rozanov murmured.
“I’m fine.” Shane spit out through gritted teeth.
“Hollander... You haven't left the rink since we started this morning. Max has this. He is more than capable of showing some kids how to hit a puck by himself.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“He is a better shot than you, probably.”
“Would you fuck off?” Shane hissed.
Rozanov heaved a sigh, mumbling something in Russian as he hit the ice.
J.J. couldn't help but be nosy. He'd come into this wondering if all of the camp prep would throw his friend right back into the brutal crush he'd suffered last year. But it seemed like he was witnessing the opposite, and now he was worried if they’d make it through the week without shoving each other against a wall.
“Yo.” He leaned over to his fellow defense coach and lowered his voice. “What the fuck is going on with those two?”
Ryan Price startled at the question, caught off guard. The look he sent J.J. almost seemed… Scared?
“Uh, I don’t know. Isn't that kind of just how they normally are?”
“I guess.” The confusion was audible in J.J.'s voice. “It's not usually this bad, though. Did I miss something this morning? Did Rozanov piss in Shane's quinoa or something? What’s with the dick swinging contest?”
Price started coughing, and J.J. watched with some amusement as his pale skin shifted into a bright shade of pink.
“Probably shouldn't be saying things like that in front of the kids. Not really our business anyway.”
“Seems like they're making it our business. Hollander's walking around like a dark cloud.” J.J. glanced over at Shane, still leaning against the boards with an intense gaze trained on Rozanov’s back. “I don't want the kids getting flashbacks to their parents' divorces.”
“Right.” Ryan focused his head directly towards the ice. “I think I'm gonna…” He skated away towards the kids, not even bothering to think of an excuse.
Weird guy. But maybe that was a lesson learned. Price was awful at gossip.
As the day went on, J.J. was reminded just how bad Shane, the three time Stanley Cup champion, was at explaining hockey. For all of his leadership skills on the Voyageurs, he was kind of terrible with kids.
J.J. did his best to intercede, but he kept getting distracted by movement in the corner of his eye, which turned out to be a frustrated Shane jabbing Rozanov with his stick.
Later in the afternoon, there was an exercise where even he didn't know what the fuck Hollander was trying to say. He was trying to make sense of what Shane wanted them all to do, when Rozanov boomed, “Hollander, you are even confusing me, and I have been playing this game since I was their age.”
J.J. had been thinking the same thing, but it still grated.
On another day, Shane might have taken the teasing on the chin, but the look he gave Rozanov could’ve withered plants.
Hayden proved to be a much better gossiping partner than Ryan Price did, though. As they said their goodbyes for the day, the tension seemed to have reached a boiling point.
“Great work for today, guys.” Shane nodded, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
“Yes,” Rozanov added. “Even you, Pike.”
Hayden made a face and threw him a lighthearted middle finger, but Shane seemed genuinely annoyed.
“You did a great job, Hayden. The kids love you. You, too, J.J.”
“Eh. A good job.”
“An amazing job.”
“They were okay.”
“I think they were fan-fucking-tastic.”
“They were fine. Ottawa camp will probably be better, but we appreciate your help.”
J.J. knew exactly how awesome he was, so he wasn't sure what this was about, except that it had gone far beyond having anything to do with him or Hayden. As they walked to their cars, J.J. pointed his thumb over his shoulder.
“What the fuck was that about?”
Hayden sighed. “Sounds like Mommy and Daddy had a fight.”
“Ugh, don't even joke about that. I thought Hollander was gonna throw his little clipboard at him.”
“Yeah, well, we'll probably see it on the news segment.”
“Hopefully tomorrow will be better.” J.J. tried to stay positive.
“Yeah,” Hayden blew out a breath. “He's not my favorite person in the world, but there's something wrong with a pouty Ilya Rozanov. Christ, he looked like a kicked puppy all day.”
J.J. considered this. He hadn't seen that between the fumes radiating off of Shane. “You think?”
“Yeah, dude. You didn't notice?” Hayden shot him a weird look. “If he doesn't have Shane's full attention, he practically throws a fit.”
“Really?”
“He makes the same face Arthur does when I interrupt him to talk to Jackie.”
J.J. snorted. “I don't think Arthur's trying to bully Jackie.”
Hayden grimaced. “I don't know about that. You haven't seen him in a couple months. Kid’s getting bold.”
Chapter End Notes
July 2020 reality:
“Shane exhaled loudly, his exasperation clear. “I have spent the whole day trying not to—” His eyes darted to the door, which was ajar, likely realizing how loudly he was talking. He dropped his voice to a near whisper. “Trying not to be obvious about how fucking in love with you I am.”
“Shane—”
“No. Shut up. If you really don’t get that I’m not going to leave you for the first cute guy who smiles at me, then I don’t know what we’re even doing, Ilya.”
“I’m sorry,” Ilya said, because suddenly he really was. “Was a weird day. I was maybe just...” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Shane rested a hand on Ilya’s chest. “I’m yours. You know that.”
“I know.” Ilya found himself leaning in for a kiss, completely forgetting where they were. He remembered slightly too late.
“Oh god,” said a voice from the doorway. “Not again.”
----
WOO WE MADE IT TO THE LONG GAME ERA
July 2020 — Montreal
Yuna Hollander had to be some kind of human relations jedi, because whatever argument had brought down the vibes of the first day of camp didn’t come up again. Instead, J.J. found that the equilibrium had tilted on the opposite direction.
Now that they’d buried the hatchet, J.J. winced with secondhand embarrassment to see just how quickly a little kindness from Rozanov sucked Shane back in.
“Be right back. Need to grab something from the office.” Rozanov said gruffly around 11:30, leaving J.J. to direct an exercise on his own. The sound of a soda can popping open announced his return, and J.J. turned around to find Rozanov slurping a Coke in one hand and holding a sweatshirt in the other.
“This is why you left? We’re breaking for lunch in, like, twenty minutes, man.”
Rozanov shrugged, unrepentant. “Is my camp. I want a Coke.”
J.J. frowned and started to turn back to the kids, but before he did, he caught Rozanov shoving the hoodie into Shane’s chest. It happened so quickly that Shane had to unfold his arms to catch it before it hit the ice. J.J. supposed it was cold in the rink, and Shane was only wearing his camp polo, but everyone in the room had grown up in this environment. Shane looked just as surprised at the — and it disturbed J.J. to realize this — thoughtfulness of Rozanov grabbing it while he was back there.
And there it was. The look had resurfaced. Rozanov had already moved on, shouting something at Wyatt Hayes, but J.J. caught the soft way Shane stared after him, and after that, the floodgates were open.
***
It happened again during their daily after-hours debriefing in the office.
“No way. The new Detroit captain is going to be Hawkins.” Shane insisted. “They’d be crazy to pick to someone else.”
“I’m telling you,” Yuna pointed a finger. “It will be D’Angelo. Just you wait and see.”
“Hawkins has been AC way longer than him though. They wouldn’t fuck him over like that.”
“As usual, Yuna is right.” Rozanov shook his head, leaning back in his chair dismissively. “You need to start listening to your mother on these things, Hollander. She knows much more about hockey than you do.”
“Exactly.” Yuna nodded, satisfied. “See, Ilya gets it.”
She patted Rozanov’s head, and Shane didn’t even bother to argue. He looked far too happy to watch his mother team up with his decade-long rival in teasing him.
The look.
***
Wednesday was Rozanov’s day to get the coaches lunch, so in the morning, he passed around a menu, and J.J. picked out a club sandwich and chips combo.
He didn’t really think twice about it until he saw Rozanov returning from the parking lot at noon carrying a cardboard box of lunches from the local sandwich shop, a plastic bag swinging from one arm denoting a significantly higher end nearby cafe. Nothing crazy, but definitely two dollar signs on Yelp.
“Got something special for yourself, then?” J.J. asked.
“Of course.” Rozanov lifted a shoulder. “I’m paying.”
“Dick.”
He stuck his tongue out, childish as ever, and almost got a grin out of J.J. with that. Almost.
But, when they sat down for lunch, Rozanov wolfed down a Philly cheesesteak, the bag nowhere in sight, and he’d forgotten about it by the time Shane showed up — late, because he’d put in extra time with one of the older forwards, like the try-hard he was.
If J.J. hadn’t clocked the bag earlier, he probably wouldn’t have noticed Rozanov wordlessly sliding a salmon grain bowl his way, or the relieved little smile on Shane’s face that no one else at the table seemed to catch.
The look.
***
As far as J.J. could tell, Rozanov himself didn’t know how Shane felt about him. He was never looking when Shane made doe eyes at him, or when Shane got — and this was painful to witness — visibly irritated by Rozanov’s offhanded comments about other people’s looks.
J.J. supposed when there were entire Reddit threads devoted to how skilled you were at eating pussy, you didn’t feel weird complimenting other men’s appearances. Rozanov certainly didn’t, as he nodded his agreement at Leah’s comment that the Centaurs’ new coach was cute, and remarked that Ryan’s boyfriend was hot.
But, God, Shane. The way he huffed at the commentary, stabbing at his arugula like it had personally wronged him, made it all too obvious.
***
He’d been thinking about Hayden’s comment, that Rozanov harbored some kind of need for Shane’s attention, and found himself looking out for it. It brought up a flare of resentment to think that Rozanov did know, did see it, and was using Shane for some kind of ego boost. It’s not like he didn’t know Shane was gay.
If the rumors from J.J.’s horrific Reddit deep dive and the gossip of the NHL were to be believed, Rozanov was kind of… insatiable. So maybe that was it. He couldn’t exactly go off and fuck some random women when he was spending this much time at camp. And it’s not like he had other options when the only other women around were Leah and Shane’s mom, whose marriages J.J. hoped Rozanov would respect. Even still, he seemed to take a special pleasure out of making Yuna smile too, so maybe nothing was off limits for the man.
That theory, however, cast Rozanov in the worst light yet.
He teased Hollander mercilessly, but there was no bite to it, and most of the time it resulted in blushing, not snapping. If anything, Shane seemed to like the special attention, despite the words leaving Rozanov’s mouth. Hayden was easily in second place for Rozanov’s mockery, though his response typically looked more like someone flicking a mosquito.
With what Hayden said in mind, it felt like Rozanov was downright toying with Shane.
One afternoon, Shane stood on the first step of the bleachers to make an announcement, the rest of the counselors below him, and Rozanov jostled his arm.
“Are you having fun?”
“What? Yes?”
“Being my height. You can see so much more, yes? We are finally eye-level. Is fun, nice.”
J.J. had to stifle a laugh at that one. At 6’6”, he couldn’t help it.
“See? J.J. understands.” Rozanov waggled his eyebrows.
“You should get up there too, Rozanov.” He laughed. “Maybe then you and I can be eye level.”
“No,” Rozanov chuckled, taking the comment in stride. The man was allergic to insecurity. “I think it is Shane’s turn to be the big boy, yes?”
“I hate you guys.” Shane glared.
“Price, stay back there.” Rozanov called over his shoulder. “We are letting Hollander enjoy this.”
He started to pinch Shane’s nose, and got swatted away.
***
Whatever playful amicability had settled between them clearly hadn’t changed their respective competitive streaks.
There were two players at camp who had brought some kind of personal vendetta to the table — Ben and Jordan. They were on the older side, and obviously the two most promising players there.
After a particularly heated speed drill ended with a victory for Ben, J.J. overheard Rozanov say, “I told you. They are like a little us.”
“No, they’re not.” Shane replied, rather pettily. “Ben’s faster than Jordan.”
“Exactly. Just like I am faster than you.”
“Do we need to race right now?”
“If you want.”
“You know, I would happily time that.” J.J. turned around, chiming in. “Wouldn’t mind seeing Shane beat you.”
“Oh, did you want to join in and lose to both of us?” Rozanov immediately quipped back.
J.J. scowled, but the inadvertent compliment had Shane smiling down at his skates.
***
“Is cute, how you think you will beat me in this.” Rozanov called across the ice as he and Hollander lined up for a shootout to entertain the kids. “I love it. Like playing with a chihuahua who does not know he is small.”
Shane rolled his eyes, but he looked a little pink, and J.J. bristled at the comment, starting to see the truth behind Hayden’s words. Calling him cute, pinching his nose, always looking for a reaction…
Maybe Rozanov did know.
Maybe he was bored.
Maybe he enjoyed the effect he had on Shane.
Maybe J.J. would kill him.
Chapter End Notes
July 2020 reality:
“This isn’t Camp Ben and Jordan.”
“Not yet,” Ilya said, nudging Shane. “But maybe they will be the new us, one day.”
“Then I’d better warn Jordan not to fall for Ben.”
“Oh, are you Jordan?”
“Obviously. He made the A team.”
They smiled at each other, and Ilya leaned in a bit. He couldn’t help it. They hadn’t had sex all week because Shane didn’t want his mom to hear, and Ilya was crawling out of his skin.
Shane dodged him. “No way. We’re not making that mistake again.”
“I like making mistakes with you.”
“You can make mistakes on the ice. As usual.”
July 2020 — Montreal
It never got old, having his day with the Stanley Cup.
This year, he’d taken it with him for the last day of camp so the kids could see it, and it had been a smash hit. The awe on their faces was already one of the highlights of his year. Even Rozanov had held back his snark, seeing the smiles on the kids’ faces.
Being one of the only Black NHL players wasn't easy, but on days like today? He felt untouchable. He felt like every cliche of an inspirational speaker telling the kids, “If you can dream it, you can do it,” as he showed them the proof of his, Shane’s, and Hayden's victory. Hell, he kind of felt like a god.
He celebrated like one, too. Most specifically, probably Dionysus.
He’d considered doing something else this year, but he liked the idea of marking time with his street parties. It felt especially celebratory to do the same thing every time he had the cup, like marking rings around a tree. And, it made him feel a little bit smug, as if to say, “Oh, this? It's just what we do when we get the cup.” The regularity itself was a bragging point.
Still, there was no malice in J.J.'s mood today. Pride, definitely. Arrogance? Maybe a splash. But more than anything was the sense of accomplishment.
They'd done it. All of their hard work had culminated into this.
Every early morning, every late night. Every birthday party missed because they were on a flight across the continent. Every day he’d felt too tired to work out, and still did. Every fling that didn’t turn into the relationship it could’ve because his schedule was too hard. Every time a teammate pissed him off, and he'd forced himself to let it go, because the team’s cohesion was more important than his own pettiness.
All of that effort had been rewarded in sparkling, glittering proof, and no matter what happened, no one could take it from him. Even if his life after this point completely went to shit — and how could it? He was a three time Stanley Cup champion! — then he would always be on the banners, the Wikipedia pages.
He'd gone all out for the party. It got bigger every time they won, (which was saying something, because the first one had been pretty fucking big) and now, most of the street outside his house was completely shut down with thumping DJ sets, the smell of jerk chicken, and every friend, family member, and neighbor he knew invited.
On year two, he’d added a cotton candy machine, not because he was particularly wild about cotton candy, but because his youngest nephew was, and he figured, what the hell? May as well have something for the kids since half the Voyageurs were parents.
Now that he'd entered year three, he was pretty fucking excited about the petting zoo. He'd never seen an alpaca up close, and he wasn't even going to pretend that this was exclusively for the kids. Maybe for their fourth cup, he'd add a dunk tank. He was on such a high right now that he felt more than sure that he and Hollander would get one.
He always hired a couple babysitters for the kids, but they seemed to have lost a straggler in the chaos, because all three feet of Jade Pike was tugging on the bottom of his shirt right now.
“What's up, Little J?”
“Hi, Big J. Where's Uncle Shane?” She asked urgently, with much more gravitas than someone with a blue stained tongue should be capable of.
J.J. hadn't had a second alone since the festivities started, cycling from congratulations to congratulations, so he honestly wasn't sure.
“Oh. You know what, I don’t actually know. What's going on, buddy? You need me to find your parents?”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. I wanted to show Shane the donkey. He was supposed to come with us to the zoo last time, but he went to stupid Ottawa instead.”
“I’m sure he's around here somewhere, bud.” He glanced around the party, a sea of beautiful, happy faces, but he couldn't even find her own parents in the crowd, so it was probably hopeless to find Shane. There were well over a hundred people here. If anything, he was probably hiding in J.J.'s basement with a rerun of a hockey game on.
“Tell you what, little J, if I see him, I'll let you know, okay?”
She huffed as she ran off into the crowd, a girl on a mission, and J.J. laughed. The Pike girls were turning out to be just as badass as their mom. If anyone could wrangle the antisocial Shane Hollander into socializing, it would probably be them.
Chapter End Notes
July 2020 reality:
“How often do you get invited to a Haitian street party with the Stanley Cup?”
“Every time J.J. wins one.”
“Are you going to be there?”
“Um.” Shane glanced to his left and saw Ilya approaching. “Maybe. I have other plans but I’m going to try to do both,” he lied.
“Are you talking about J.J.’s party?” Ilya asked.
“Yeah. You wanna go?” Shane hoped not.
“And celebrate Montreal’s cup win? Yuck. No.”
Shane made a show of rolling his eyes, which made Max laugh.
“You guys are kind of adorable,” Max said.
Ilya waggled his eyebrows at Shane. “Adorable.”
July 2020 — Ottawa
J.J. decided not to go to the Ottawa camp this year, unsure of where he'd stay and slightly burnt out from spending so much time with kids already. But that didn't stop him from seeing the Irina Foundation's posts about it.
Most of them were extremely cute. Some gave him FOMO. But then there was another category that, well, made him wince.
He was sure to anyone who didn't know Shane that the photos were harmless. Unfortunately for Hollander, J.J. had known him for more than a decade, and it didn’t look like Shane's infatuation with Rozanov was anywhere close to being done.
There was something in Shane's smile in the photos with Rozanov. He just looked so happy, and J.J. wanted him to be happy. He really did. Just not at the expense of his heart.
***
The week began with a very bro-y picture of the two of them next to each other, arms folded, wearing their matching camp polos.
There were two shots; in the first one, they both had wide grins on their faces, and Rozanov looked way too much like he could pass for a role model for J.J.’s comfort. In the second one, Rozanov held up bunny ears behind an unaware Shane, and that felt more in character.
They'd taken the same photos at the beginning of the Montreal camp, and Rozanov had pulled a similar stunt — smiling first, then putting Shane into a headlock, and briefly giving him a noogie. He'd reveled in Shane’s squirming, stuck in his armpit, until eventually Shane shoved him off, looking far too fond as he complained, “You fucked up my hair! I mean, you messed up my hair.”
“Your hair is fine.” Rozanov had snorted. “Don't worry, Hollander. You are picture perfect, as always. What do they say you are? Hottest man in the NHL?”
Shane scowled at that, but J.J. had chuckled. He remembered that magazine article. He’d taped it to Shane's stall. Still, it was kind of a deep cut for Rozanov to pull.
J.J. wondered if he kept a bank of memories to pull from just to get under Shane’s skin. If he did, it was working.
***
Like J.J., Shane shared his cup day with the kids, and the foundation posted videos of it.
In one, Shane seemed to be educating the kids on the lore of not touching the cup before you've earned it, which J.J. had to admit, was an extremely boring thing to say to children. Surely that curse only kicked in when you were eighteen or entered the NHL or something. But the kids watched with rapt attention.
At least, until Rozanov grabbed it out of his hands and held it in the air.
“Yes. Is very important that you don't touch the cup until you've won it. Did you know there was a whole year when Shane could not touch it, and I could?”
“Uh huh, sure.” Shane crossed his arms as the kids ate it up.
“Is okay now, because he has caught up with me—”
“More like passed you.”
“So, he has earned it.”
In the video, Shane rolled his eyes, but his expression betrayed him as he chuckled right along with the kids at Rozanov’s teasing.
They seem to have established a rhythm, at least around the campers. Rozanov made them laugh, and Shane gave them something to laugh at, always the good sport.
J.J. only worried that he was being too good of a sport, that smitten look once again on his face as he let Rozanov get his kicks.
***
Later in the week, a parent shared a clip that the foundation reposted. In it, Rozanov was clearly talking shit to his fellow coaches.
“Loser of this next game has to give me a piggyback ride!”
“Stop it.” Shane called across the arena.
“Fine, has to give the winner a piggyback ride! Which will of course be me, because my team is the best. Right, Team Rozanov?”
The kids next to him cheered their agreement.
“No way. Safety hazard.” Shane shook his head, standing with the rest of the counselors, some of which were 5'4" (Leah), and some of which were 6'7" (Ryan). “Not a chance, Rozanov.”
“You do not think you'll win, Hollander? You need to have more faith in your team!”
“I didn't say that.”
“Or maybe you are worried you are not strong enough? Would make sense. You are probably very light. Very easy to carry.”
“Didn’t say that either.”
Inexplicably, Hayden took his hat off and smothered his face into his hands, groaning — possibly because it was so hard to get anything done when Shane and Ilya got into their bickering, or possibly at the potential embarrassment of not being able to carry Ryan Price on his back.
Either way, the next video cut to Rozanov skating around the rink, a beaming smile on his face, Shane clinging to him like a sloth.
“I told you, you are very light!”
“I’m 200 pounds!”
“Is like carrying a child!”
“Slow down!”
“Scared, Hollander?” Rozanov only skated faster.
“Of putting my life in your hands? Yes.”
“Aww.”
And yet, Shane didn't seem scared at all. He wore the same expression that the kids did — like he was having the time of his life. And now J.J. had seen the look in motion.
***
He wondered if Rozanov would see this later. If he would see how Shane always looked at him when his back was turned. And if he did, would it make a difference?
He still couldn't put a finger on whether or not Rozanov knew about Shane's feelings for him. They seemed plain as day to J.J., and though he wouldn't admit it, he knew Hayden was aware of the problem, too.
But they knew Shane intimately. They knew that these smiles weren't normal for him.
Did Rozanov know that? Or did he think that this was what Shane was like with all of his friends?
He didn’t know if Shane even knew that any of this was getting posted. The man was extremely inactive on Instagram, and it wouldn't surprise J.J. to find out that he didn't even pay attention to his own foundation's account.
Didn't Yuna say they'd hired some intern from McGill for the summer to deal with social media and the website?
Part of J.J. wanted to tell him to look. He would probably hate to see that all of those gooey eyed stares and little smiles were getting plastered on the internet.
But, J.J. had no idea how he would even begin that conversation.
“Hey, Shane. Might want to check in with the social media intern. They're making it look like you're practically in love with Rozanov.”
Yeah. That probably wouldn't go over well.
He resolved to double his efforts to find Shane a man in Montreal — one who could actually love him back.
Chapter End Notes
July 2020 reality:
“He knew, once the summer was over, he’d have to go far longer without sex. But those weeks wouldn’t be full of being close enough to Ilya to smell him. Wouldn’t be full of hearing Ilya’s unguarded laughter when he was playing with kids, or of seeing the way Ilya’s eyes smoldered sometimes when he looked at Shane. When Ilya thought no one would notice. When he couldn’t help it.
Those weeks he wouldn’t be sharing a bed with Ilya, listening to him breathe in the dark, and sometimes hearing him whimper. He wouldn’t be able to press himself against Ilya and kiss the back of his neck and whisper that he loved him. When he thought Ilya wouldn’t notice. When he couldn’t help it.”
October 2020 — Montreal
J.J. wasn't expecting much from his Monday night dinner plans. It was rare to get nights off, and a lot of his teammates spent the time resting, or relaxing with their families, but J.J. was a single guy. A cultured guy. When he thought about it, he was probably one of the only people on his team with a social life outside of hockey.
He loved his team, and he loved his sport. But he also loved his city, and Montreal was a cultural epicenter. He didn't want to take that for granted. He felt bad for the guys who played in places like Buffalo and Winnipeg.
Now, he found himself at an Argentinian wine bar being charmed by his friend Christiana's tagalong coworker from the personal training facility where J.J. had met her to begin with.
His name was David, and so far, he was making a great first impression. He was nice. Kind of funny. Impeccably dressed. Plus, he spoke French, and J.J. was always trying to recruit more Francophones into his circle, if only to piss off Hayden.
“J.J. is a hockey player. A very good one.” Christiana said when she introduced them. “Lucky for me, he doesn't care that I don't give a shit. Lucky for him, he's interesting enough that we became friends anyway.”
He laughed at the teasing. This was exactly why it was important to him to have friends outside of hockey.
“Chris,” David smiled. “I’m from Montreal. Of course I know who he is. You're on the Voyageurs, right?”
“You’re a hockey fan?” J.J.'s eyebrows raised in surprise. He didn't like to think of himself as someone who stereotyped other people, but there was something so polished and refined about David that, well… He'd made a few assumptions. Maybe it was the smooth tenor of his voice, or the designer belt, but nothing about this man said sports fanatic.
It turned out he hadn't been that far off though, because David replied, “Sometimes,” with a deferential raise of the shoulder.
“My brother was a hockey player in school. I’ve been to a million hockey games in my life. So I know it, but I can't say I keep up with it much these days. Still, I enjoy it. If a game is playing at a bar, I'll tune in for the cute ones.”
“Ahh, the cute ones, eh?” J.J. grinned. “Who are the cute ones?”
“Oh, like you don't know.” Christiana laughed.
“Am I one of the cute ones?” He smirked at her.
“You wish.”
“You are so mean to me.” J.J. shook his head, eyes crinkling.
“Please. You know you're hot. But Hollander's the cute one.”
David tilted his head towards her in agreement. “I do know that name.”
“Oh, do you?” J.J. leaned in, an idea sparking in his head.
“Doesn't everyone?”
“Do you think he's one of the cute ones?”
“Well, obviously.” David started listing on his fingers. “Him... Scott Hunter… The one in New York that's dating that movie star, whatever his name is... Oh, Ilya Rozanov. He's hot.”
“He's fine.” J.J. held up a hand.
“Oh, shut up.” Christiana narrowed her eyes. “You know he's hot.”
“Psh.” J.J. quipped. “Ça suffit!”
She was right, of course. J.J. knew Rozanov was hot — he was straight; he wasn't stupid. Just because he'd never wanted to fuck a man didn't mean that he couldn't tell the difference between a normal one and an especially handsome one. Unfortunately, for both himself and Shane, Rozanov was one of the especially handsome ones. He couldn't even lie about it. It was objective, the way Chris Evans was hot, or Michael B. Jordan. Not exactly groundbreaking stuff.
But he didn't want to think about Ilya Rozanov tonight. In fact, that was a problem he was trying to solve. A problem he was currently thinking David might help him solve.
Being on an NHL team meant close quarters. It meant constantly sitting next to his boys on planes and buses and hotel beds. It meant knowing which ones snored, and accidentally walking in on your roommate jacking off, then trying to burn your eyes out.
It meant that he couldn't not notice Shane texting Rozanov, a lovesick grin on his face.
He couldn't avoid overhearing phone calls in the hallway, in which Shane would say, “Asshole!” with so much delight in his voice that he couldn’t be talking to anyone else.
And he definitely couldn’t ignore Shane’s latest stunt, in which he had literally done the guy’s signature move in their most recent game. Sure, Hollander was competitive, but J.J. knew better; it was a bid for attention.
“When did he even learn that?” He’d asked Hayden in disbelief after the game. It really was a hard move.
“Don’t ask.” Hayden had grumbled. “I’m not helping you learn it too.”
This thing was lingering past summer.
He did a quick mental check of the team’s upcoming calendar, thinking on dates he could casually trick Shane into seeing that the world had more to offer him than celibately pining over a straight guy.
“Hey, what are you guys doing next Thursday?”
***
“You free tonight?” J.J. asked Hayden in the dressing room, a week later.
“Nah, I’ve gotta watch the kids. Jackie’s got her book club.”
“Damn, I was hoping you could help me trap Hollander.”
“Trap Hollander?” Hayden looked amused. “What do you need to trap Shane for?”
“There’s a guy I want him to meet. You know my friend Christiana?”
“Christiana? Is that the girl who—”
“Ancient history. We’re friends.”
“Uh huh.” Hayden clearly wasn’t buying it.
“Listen, that’s not the point. She’s got this friend, David, and I really think Shane might like him. He’s a personal trainer too, so, you know, athletic. I don’t know, he seems like a good guy.”
Hayden whistled, eyebrows raised. “Personal trainer, eh?”
“Come on, you know Hollander would eat that shit up. They could do yoga together or whatever.”
“Can’t argue that. I’m sure as shit not doing it with him.”
“Right?” J.J. lowered his voice. “And he’s nice, which I think he could use right now.”
“What do you mean?” Hayden held a straight face.
“You know what I mean.” Exasperation crept into his voice.
Hayden looked away, blowing out a breath. “Sure, what the hell. I’m not going to stop you. But don’t be surprised if he bolts the second you bring it up.”
“Just you wait. I’m good at this. A year from now, we’re going to be at their wedding!”
Chapter End Notes
October 2020 reality:
“David?” Shane decided to play this up as an end to the conversation. “My dad’s name is David. I can’t date a David!”
J.J. took Shane’s objection seriously. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t even think of that. You’re right.” He stood, looking dejected.
“Hey,” Shane said, “I do appreciate it. Really.”
J.J. brightened at that. “So if I meet any nice single gay guys who aren’t named David...”
“Introduce them to David,” Shane said. “Really. I’ll let you know if I’m ever looking, okay?” Which would hopefully be never.---
“Did he try to set you up with that guy?”
“He told you?” Shane did not like the idea of his love life being a team concern.
“Yeah, he told me.”
“Why didn’t you, like, discourage him?”
“Because the dude sounded perfect for you.” Hayden held his arms out when Shane’s mouth dropped open. “What? I think you can do better!”
“For fuck’s sake. Thanks, Hayden.”
Hayden sat next to him, and nudged his arm with his elbow. “I’m kidding. Mostly. Besides.” He leaned in. “I know you and Ilya are married now, so...”
Shane closed his eyes. “Oh my god.”
“Jade told me it was a beautiful ceremony. I’m a little hurt that I wasn’t invited but, y’know. I’m happy for you kids.”
“Shut up.”
October 2020 — Montreal
J.J. had a few ideas for how to celebrate tonight. After all, it was Halloween, a Saturday, and they'd won their game. They had practice in the morning, but J.J. sure as hell wasn’t going to rat anyone out. They’d earned it.
He had just started rallying the guys, and though he knew it was probably futile to ask, he hoped that the holiday might coax Hollander into a rare night out. He'd already gotten four people to agree to come with him to a friend's party by the time he approached his captain.
“Hollander. You coming out with us tonight?”
“Fuck no.” Shane breathed, eyes not lifting from his phone.
“Okay, ouch.” The speed and firmness of his response was startling. “What did Halloween do to you?”
Hollander blinked, looking up from his texts as though he was had been snapped from a trance.
“Sorry. Um... uh…” He stammered, shaking his head. “Sorry. Can't tonight. I've gotta... Yeah, can’t.”
“Okay...?” J.J. shot him a weird look. “Whatever the hell that means.”
“Yeah. Next time.” Shane gave a quick nod, even though they both knew he was lying, and turned to face the other side of the locker room. “Hey, Comeau. What does your tattoo say again? The Gladiator one?”
Comeau lifted his arm, kissing his bicep dramatically as he read the quote. “What we do in life echoes in eternity.”
“What we do in life echoes in eternity... Right. Thanks, man.” Hollander put his phone back into his stall and got dressed faster than J.J. had ever seen.
Chapter End Notes
October 2020 reality:
“Ilya grinned at him. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” Shane smiled shyly. “Is that okay? You sent that photo and I’ve just been—fuck, I missed you so much.”
Ilya kissed him again, then said, “You want to get fucked by a gladiator, Hollander?”
---
tiniest drabble ever to jog myself back into this one whoops!
January 2021 — Washington, D.C.
“Whoa. The Centaurs’ plane had to make an emergency landing.”
J.J. was drained, just catching up on postgame notifications on the bus back to the hotel. The news had come across his feed, but the actual meaning of the words hadn't struck him until he’d already spoken them out loud, and Shane’s head snapped in his direction.
“What? Is everyone okay?”
The urgency in his voice surprised him. He glanced down at the news clipping, scrolling for more details.
“Sounds like it. Must have been scary, though.” He absentmindedly thumbed at the article, which really didn't say much, except to announce that their game would be delayed.
“But they're okay, right?” Shane repeated, and the note of panic made J.J. look up across the aisle.
What he found was an alert, bewildered expression on Hollander's face.
It was honestly a little funny, the way Hollander never seemed to take off that captain hat. Always the good boy, camp counselor looking out for everyone’s safety, whether or not it was his own team. He was probably the one only child J.J. knew that had Eldest Child Syndrome.
“Yeah, I said they're fine. Landed safely.”
Hollander nodded, but he looked dazed as he scrambled back to his own phone.
The longer J.J. stared, the more obvious it became that Shane was freaking the hell out, though it took a minute to understand why.
When he'd read the headline, there was something very depersonalizing about just seeing the team lumped together as the Centaurs. It felt like a human interest story. News they'd missed during their game. Breaking the team down into its parts, he understood.
The Centaurs. The Centaurs meant Ilya Rozanov. An emergency plane landing for the Centaurs meant an emergency plane landing for Ilya Rozanov.
Shane's business partner. And friend. And…
He thought about saying something to Hollander now to push the subject, but then, Shane pulled his hoodie up and folded his arms, angling his face to the window and pressing his mouth into a firm line. He rubbed a hand over his chest, and J.J. decided to drop it.
***
By the time they made it back to the hotel, it was obvious there was something wrong with Hollander. While they waited for Thériault to pass out room keys, J.J. decided to try again.
Hayden was already on the phone with Jackie to say goodnight to his kids, and Hollander looked like he was a million miles away, not responding to any of the team chatter.
J.J. bumped him on the elbow, and he practically jumped.
“Hey, man. Want to get a drink at the hotel bar?”
“I don’t drink.” Shane answered automatically, not taking his eyes off of Thériault.
“Then get a fucking ginger ale. I’m asking if you want to hang out.”
“No. I— Sorry. I just need to crash right now.” His tone was casual, maybe a little apologetic, but his eyes...
J.J. had never seen Shane cry, in all of their years of friendship. Not really. He’d seen tears of pride, lifting the Stanley Cup. He’d seen tears of pain, when Comeau bought the Hot Ones pack of hot sauces. He’d seen his eyes go glassy, the time Ruby gave him the flu.
Shane wasn't crying now either, but his eyes were bloodshot and red from where he'd been rubbing at them on the bus. His jaw was clenched into a frown, shoulders high and tight. J.J. had a strong hunch that when Hollander did cry for real, the aftermath might look something like this.
“Hey, are you sure you don’t wanna—?”
“Hollander!”
Shane took off immediately, snatching the key out of Thériault’s hand with a muttered thanks, and quickly strode towards the elevators. Halfway there, he turned and yelled over his shoulder, “I’ll text everyone details for tomorrow! Night!” Which, for Hollander, was practically rude.
“Oh Jesus,” Hayden sighed, joining him. “I know I’m not supposed to say this, but there really are too many of them.”
J.J. smiled at that. “Jackie okay?”
“Yeah, she’s managing. I don’t know how she does it. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love them and I would do literally anything for them, but goddamn, I need them to get a new favorite movie. Frozen 2 is taking over my life. I’m gonna have nightmares about that fucking snowman and I’m not even home.”
“Hey, maybe they’ll want to learn how to skate. That’s a thing in Frozen, right?”
“Yeah, no chance am I letting them put knives on their feet.”
“Hypocrite.”
“Give them a couple years and we’ll talk.”
J.J. chuckled, but he couldn’t get his mind off of how bizarrely Shane had been acting after game.
“Hey, did you talk to Hollander before you called Jackie?”
“Uh, yeah? Like all fucking day?” Hayden shot him a weird look. “You were there. We played a game, remember?”
“No, on the bus. Or back here.”
“Uh… Not really. Why?”
“I don’t know. He seemed a bit… I don’t know. Forget it, man.”
“Pike!” Thériault barked, and Hayden gave him one last confused look as he said his goodnight and grabbed his room key.
For whatever reason, J.J. couldn’t shake off the image of Shane’s face just now. It had been a shock to the system to see his friend so upset, especially since Shane was always so steady. Anxious, sure. Intensely competitive, sometimes. Emotional? Almost never.
And he’d looked… haunted. Fragile. His arms had been crossed, but it didn’t have the same mood as it usually did — authoritative and commanding. This felt like he was just barely holding himself together.
Over the Centaurs. Over Ilya Rozanov.
J.J. reviewed the last few times Shane had even talked about him. He almost never did. Usually, his name only came up in facts, not stories.
“I have to FaceTime Rozanov about a donor thing.”
“Apparently Barrett’s not that bad now that he’s away from Kent. Rozanov said he’s kind of weird, but not like, evil.”
“Gotta go. We’ve got a call with Farrah today about some press for this year’s camp.”
Still, every now and then, he couldn’t help but give off tells about their friendship.
Like at their Boston game earlier this season, when they’d ordered breakfast at the hotel. Shane had gotten an açaí bowl delivered from a local restaurant instead of going to the buffet with the rest of the guys. He’d given J.J. a bite, and when J.J. said, “Damn, that’s good. How’d you find this place? Just on Yelp?” Shane had mumbled, “Oh, uh, I think Rozanov told me about it at some point.”
Or the way he always knew which Centaurs would be out on an injury, whether or not the sports blogs announced it.
Or the way he’d sometimes smile at his texts, just to lock his screen immediately, as though J.J. hadn’t already seen the contact name.
Or the “Ilya” X-box profile that had still been saved from the summer the last time J.J. had been to Shane’s house.
Or the way J.J. and Hayden had overheard Shane’s laughing voice calling out, “Fuck you!” when they’d walked by his room last week.
He wondered if they ever hung out when Shane went home for Christmas, or if Rozanov went somewhere else during the holidays.
J.J. wasn’t dumb. He knew they were closer than Shane let on, and he knew why he chose not to talk about it. After all, what could he even say? This wasn’t exactly a talk-about-your-feelings sport, or team, and as much as it pained him to even think, he knew things hadn’t been perfect for Shane since coming out. It wasn’t bad; it just didn’t come up.
A lot of things just didn’t come up unless J.J. asked. Hell, they barely talked about the racism they’d both endured in the league, and J.J. had led all of those conversations too.
It was part of why J.J. tried to force the issue so often. He was well aware that his set-up attempts and party invitations got on Shane’s nerves, but he wanted him to know that he had friends who would listen to him. Allies. He’d rather be overly invested than just ignore his friend’s well-being. Shane needed obnoxiously caring people in his life to drag him outside and into conversations. Without himself and Hayden, Shane could turn into a hermit, only leaving his home to go to the gym and the arena.
He practically was at this point, but J.J. worried that he was doing the same thing internally, too. He’d been going out with the team less and less. He’d almost never gone to bars with them before, but now he wouldn’t go to restaurants with them either. He disappeared in the summers. He barely offered up personal information unless asked. He had no dating life to speak of, and his only family lived two hours away.
So, what? Shane had scheduled his feelings? He crushed on Rozanov because the summer was the only time he’d allow himself enough time away from hockey to even consider a personal life? And then came back to Montreal, focused on nothing but hockey, and hoped for a stray text while Rozanov fucked his way across Ottawa?
It had to hurt, living like that. Always wanting more from someone than they could ever give you.
The last time he’d tried to talk to Shane about it, about his social life and his mental health, he’d completely shut down and even gotten a little angry.
But the last time he’d tried, Shane hadn’t been crying.
He set an alarm, and made a mental note. Morning. He’d talk to him in the morning.
Chapter End Notes
January 2021 reality:
“What if Ilya had died? What if he had fucking died?
Shane would have died too. Alone, and secretly, and for the rest of his life.
He clutched his phone to his chest, and turned his head to face the window so his teammates didn’t see the way his lip was trembling.”
Chapter 39: Look, I Know You've Got This Thing For Rozanov
Chapter Notes
January 2021 — Washington, D.C.
J.J. yawned in line the in-hotel coffee shop as he considered how to approach Shane this morning. He could just start with a simple, “How are you?” and see where Shane took it from there, but he doubted Shane would respond, “Oh, I’m bad. Feeling weird because the guy I’m obsessed with was in a plane crash.”
He’d probably have to be more direct. He could take a bolder approach. “Good morning. Have a coffee. Are you in love with Ilya Rozanov?” That probably wouldn’t go over well either.
He landed on simply stating his observation, that Shane had seemed extremely Not Okay last night. He’d let him share as much or as little as he wanted to. Well, unless Shane swore he was fine, in which case he’d probably pivot to being a nuisance. A friendly nuisance. A reassuring nuisance.
***
Shane answered the door of his hotel room looking like he’d barely slept. Dark bags sunk underneath his eyes and he still had stubble on his face. There was something unusually… gray in the cast of his skin.
“That for me?” He stared at the coffee in J.J.’s hand, blinking in confusion.
“If you don’t want it, I can drink two.” He was a bit tired himself, having gotten up extra early to even have this conversation. The barista had to call his name twice to get his attention. But, Shane took the cup and let him inside.
“So.” J.J. considered his words, deciding to go for the sentence he’d settled on in the elevator. “You seemed kind of fucked up last night. About the Ottawa plane thing.”
Shane’s eyes widened, but only for a split second before he schooled his face into something more neutral, channeling his eyes onto his suitcase. He started re-folding a perfectly intact shirt before answering, far too casually, “No, I wasn’t. It was just, y’know, surprising.”
His refusal to make eye contact said otherwise.
“Uh huh. You want to tell me the truth now?”
Shane kept his gaze carefully trained on the suitcase and started re-folding the exact same shirt. With a forced nonchalance, he said to the shirt, “It’s nothing. I got some texts… from Ilya. Rozanov.”
J.J. almost laughed at that. There it was again, the way he avoided the man’s first name. Every time it slipped out, he acted like he’d been caught stealing from a candy jar. The attempt to walk it back was always more noticeable than if he’d just said the name.
“I know which Ilya.” He couldn’t stop the small smile pulling at his lips. There was something a little cute about the way Shane thought he was getting away with it every time.
“He sent them when the plane was… when he thought they were going to crash.”
Shane’s knuckles went white where he was gripping the still-totally-fine t-shirt, and when he tried to speak again, it came out a stammer.
“He, um— he’s…”
J.J. had told himself he would sit back and listen to whatever Shane wanted to say, but he was pretty sure he was witnessing the early signs of a panic attack. His friend was breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut, and his second re-fold of the t-shirt seemed to be the one thing anchoring him to the physical realm right now.
“He’s okay.”
“I know.” Shane said it as though he was trying to convince himself, but God, his face. He looked so sad, so shaken. J.J. couldn’t keep doing this dance. He took the shirt out of Shane’s hands.
“Look, I know you’ve got this… thing… for Rozanov.” There. Now it was out there.
Shane went pale, eyes snapping towards him instantly. “What do you mean?”
J.J. smiled sadly at his friend. He looked so caught-out, still unwilling to confess to what they both knew.
“Why do you think I keep trying to set you up? Having a crush on a straight man is no good, buddy.”
Shane swallowed, shock coloring his expression, but he was taking too long to answer, and that was answer enough. Eventually, painfully, he replied, “Is it obvious?” and J.J.’s heart ached for him.
Was it obvious? A series of images flashed through J.J.’s head: Shane watching Rozanov play with kids, eyes soft, incapable of looking away. Shane staring at Rozanov shirtless in the camp parking lot, eyes decidedly not soft. Shane flustered and anxious every time Rozanov touched him or got too close. Shane’s warm smile, the word asshole leaving his mouth like an endearment. Shane finding any excuse he could related to the camps to talk to Rozanov in the dead of winter. And last night, Shane’s cheeks, red and puffy, eyes glassy, arms folded so tightly around himself that his knuckles looked white with fear at the idea of losing the man.
He decided to go easy on him, and sat down gently beside him. If Hayden wanted to confront him on his own time, that was his business, but J.J. wasn’t trying to make him feel even worse.
“Sorry, buddy. I’m not saying everyone sees it, but not much gets past me, y’know?”
“Right.” Shane nodded too quickly, clearly embarrassed.
“The good news is, you can do way better than Rozanov. I get that he’s attractive, but come on. That guy is annoying as fuck.”
That pulled a laugh out of him. “You’re right. I should aim higher.”
“And it’s not like you guys could date or whatever anyway. Like, it would be impossible.”
“I know.”
“Can you imagine? Dating your rival? What a fucking scandal.”
J.J. only noticed then that Shane had stopped laughing. Now, he was staring at the floor, silent and gutted, and J.J. immediately regretted his words. His friend looked so crestfallen, so heartsick. The look on his face was exactly what J.J. had been trying to help him avoid since he’d started picking up on the signs of how Shane so clearly felt.
“Hey.” He sought out Shane’s eyes, sadder than he’d ever seen them, and pivoted to speaking French in the hopes that might make it easier to talk about. “I’m not making fun of you. It hurts to love someone who can’t love you back, and I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with that. You can always talk to me about it.”
“Thanks,” Shane muttered.
“And if you need someone to take you out, be your wingman or whatever…” He rubbed his shoulder for good measure and tried to lighten the mood.
“I’ll consider it,” Shane smiled, and J.J. took it as a win. He stood and pulled him into a bear hug.
“I’m glad Rozanov is all right. Seriously. He’s not entirely terrible.”
“Not always, no.”
“And Wyatt, geez. He woulda been on that plane too. I love that guy.” J.J. frowned, only now remembering the rest of the Centaurs. He and Wyatt had actually bonded a lot over the summer. “I’m going to go call him.”
“I’m sure he’s been waiting for your call.” Shane rolled his eyes, but J.J. was already sorting through his contacts as he made for the door.
“Stay strong, friend. We’ll get you through this and out the other side, okay?” He called over his shoulder as he left, immediately dialing Wyatt.
***
“Hey man! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Wyatt sounded just as cheery as he always did.
“Heard you had a little accident. I just wanted to check in, see if you were okay.”
“Oh,” Wyatt’s voice dropped. “Yeah, I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty shaken. You ever seen twenty grown men screaming and crying at the same time?”
“Only after winning the Stanley Cup, but that’s probably not what you mean.”
“Dick,” Wyatt chuckled.
“No, I’m serious, though. How are you?”
“Honestly, I think I’m still in shock. It was fucking scary, especially seeing everyone’s reactions, you know? Like, you could tell some guys were just totally out of their bodies. But I can’t help it, my body’s trained for it. When the adrenaline is high, I don’t know, maybe it’s the goalie thing, but I’m just so used to looking around for potential problems. So I was checking for the masks and the emergency exits and just trying to see everything all at once…” He exhaled heavily. “Sorry dude, you probably don’t want to hear about this.”
J.J. scoffed. “Did you already forget that I called you?”
“Good point.” Wyatt chuckled softly.
“What was it like?”
“Fucking terrifying. I used to love movies about plane crashes, you know? Snakes on a plane and shit. Now I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to watch one again without seeing my teammates’ faces like that.”
“God, that’s awful.”
“You’re telling me. I love Lost. And now I just… I don’t know, I’m trying to roll with the punches, but I don’t even know how I’m gonna look at the guys without seeing yesterday all over them, if you know what I mean.”
“Honestly, I don’t.” J.J. tried to imagine it and shuddered. “Sorry. Never been in an almost plane crash.”
“I guess it’s just weird, you know? Like, I had no idea Ilya was religious. I mean, he wears that cross I guess, but it’s one thing to see a guy wear a chain necklace every day, and it’s another to see him praying for his fucking life.”
“Hmm.” J.J. really couldn’t picture that.
“And the crying, man. This time yesterday, I think I probably knew what two of them sounded like crying, and it was only because we watched Coco together. And those were like, silent man tears. But God, Zane.” Wyatt sighed. “Ugh, maybe it’s not good to relive this.”
“Yeah,” J.J. nodded, suddenly feeling insensitive for even asking. “Maybe not. I just wanted to check on you. How’s Lisa doing?”
Wyatt huffed a laugh. “She’s on the warpath. She keeps threatening to fly down here herself. I think she might be a bigger wreck than I am right now. Wouldn’t be surprised if she’d already filed a lawsuit against the airline by the time I got home.”
“Sounds like her.” J.J. smiled.
“I don’t think she’s going to believe I’m not dead until I see her in person. I was talking to some of the married guys last night, and I’m starting to think it might have been harder on our wives than it was on us. Don’t get me wrong, it was fucking scary. But at least we know it’s over, right?”
“Huh.” It had been so long since he’d been in a relationship that this hadn’t even occurred to J.J.
“Like, we saw with our own eyes that the plane landed. But I’m pretty sure that article included a photo of the wing on fire. All I know is that if I saw that, and I knew Lisa was on that plane, I’d have a fucking heart attack.” He sighed. “I was talking to my sister last night — Lisa called her, totally freaking out, before my WiFi connected — and anyways, Kristy kinda gave me some perspective on it. My sister in law, Eve, got in a skiing accident a couple years back, and Kristy was just telling me that when it happened, she’d already gone down the slope. So the only thing she could see was the accident from the bottom of the mountain. She said she’s never been that scared in her life. And they got Eve out of there, she was totally fine, just a broken arm, but they don’t even go skiing anymore. And it’s not because of Eve, it’s because of Kristy. So… Yeah, I should probably call Lisa again.”
“Of course. Makes a lot of sense. Tell Lisa I say hi. I’m just glad you’re okay. Glad Eve was okay, too.”
“Thanks, man. Really not looking forward to getting back on a plane again.”
“Well, they call it a freak accident for a reason, no?”
“Yeah,” Wyatt laughed. “Too bad this team is made up of freaks.”
Chapter End Notes
January 2021 reality:
“Shane squeezed his eyes shut. He was so fucking tired of lying. He could be grieving right now. If that plane had crashed, J.J. would be sitting in Shane’s hotel room right now watching him fall apart completely. There would have been no way Shane could have hidden his agony.”
“Fucking hell. The other side. Shane wanted to haul the door back open and tell J.J. that the other side was a life together with Ilya. That there was no unrequited crush. That he was so fucking in love with Ilya it felt like his heart would burst sometimes, and that Ilya felt the same about Shane.”
----
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https://i.pinimg.com/736x/55/aa/e4/55aae4a11d17883f23d6b20fa5dee2cf.jpg
Most of this chapter is word for word from the book but whatever we made it fam
January 2021 — Montreal
J.J. probably should have figured out by now that hanging out with three rowdy children was not the most restful way to spend his off week. But, he loved Hayden's kids, and at this point, it was practically a tradition that they'd take the older kids out to see a movie during All Stars week to give Jackie and Amber a chance to rest.
For the most part, the Pike children were delightful. In this exact moment however, they were reaching the twenty minute mark for how long Arthur had been screaming and crying over the loss of his beloved Mr. Chompy.
“Hey, hey, hey. It's okay, buddy. It's gonna be okay. It's probably just at Uncle Shane's house. Okay? So we're gonna go up now, and we're gonna find it, all right?” Hayden spoke in a soothing tone as he unbuckled the kids and found his spare key.
“And if it’s not?” J.J. muttered.
“This is the last place we’re checking, and then I’m giving up and just buying a fourth one.” Hayden sighed, then directed his attention back to the kids.
He lined Ruby, Jade, and Arthur up at the front entrance to the house, speaking to them like he was addressing the troops.
“All right, guys, here's our plan.” He crouched, putting on a conspiratorial tone, so J.J. crouched with him.
“We are on a search and rescue mission. Somewhere in this house, we're gonna find Mr. Chompy, okay? So I want you to think about where you guys played the last time we were here, and those are gonna be the places that we go to look first. All right?”
The kids nodded.
“But... here's the thing,” Hayden continued seriously. “You can't touch anything until you see Mr. Chompy, all right?”
“Like I Spy?”
“Exactly like I Spy.” J.J. shot the twins a finger gun.
“We're gonna play I Spy for Mr. Chompy. But we're not gonna mess with Uncle Shane's things. Got it?”
The kids nodded, faces intense with understanding.
“What do I get if I find it first?” Ruby piped up, a glint of challenge in her eye.
“Nothing,” Hayden sighed, at the same time as J.J. said, “You get to pick what candy we get at the movie theater.”
Ruby's eyes widened as her mouth dropped open in a delighted gasp. “We get candy?”
Hayden shot J.J. a glare, but he just grinned and shrugged. “They need an incentive.”
“All right, fine.” Hayden grumbled. “Whoever finds Mr. Chompy gets to pick one candy that you're all gonna share, okay?”
With that in mind, they entered the house. Almost immediately, J.J. spotted it — a perk of eternally being the tallest person in the room — but he wanted to let the kids have a win, so he leaned down and whispered, “Hey, Little J. Wanna check by the fireplace?”
She frowned, determination all over her tiny face as she dropped to the floor.
“It’s under the couch. I know it.”
“Alriiiight… If you say so.” J.J. winked down at her. “I’m going to check the bathroom.”
***
It was probably a little embarrassing to finish the toilet roll, but J.J. wasn’t stressing about it. There were only so many places in this world that a person could feel comfortable enough to relieve themselves, and the movie theater definitely wasn’t one of them.
Still, he hadn’t expected much when he went to find a replacement. And yet.
The cabinet underneath Shane’s entryway bathroom sink contained six stacked rolls of toilet paper, a backup hand soap, a first aid kit (typical), an unopened pack of spare toothbrushes, and…
Condoms. A box of condoms. At least half empty. And lube.
Magnums, actually, which… Alright.
In the downstairs, entryway bathroom. Not the master. Which… Alright.
He tried to think on if Shane had mentioned anyone he’d been seeing in the last few months — or years, even — and came up with nothing. Which… Alright.
But then, on a closer look, he noticed the slight layer of dust on top of the box, and that made a lot more sense. Maybe he’d moved them out of his master bathroom because they were a reminder of a sore spot, i.e. his total lack of a romantic life. Or, maybe he’d had a couple one night stands and decided to keep them close to the door to make them easier to grab on the way out?
J.J. decided to push this information out of his head, as the sound of a victorious Jade yelling out her triumph rang through from the living room.
***
When J.J. got home that night after a riveting viewing of The Croods, he checked in on how All-Stars was going, and found himself pleased by the results.
J.J. Is Favorite Uncle
7:38 pm
J.J.: Attaboy Hollzy
J.J.: Way to rep MTL 🙌🏾 fastest skater in the biz 😛
Shane: Haha thanks
Hayden: Ask Rozanov how second place feels for me
J.J.: Winning the drip contest too 😂 you save all your best fits for all stars every year man
Shane Hollander replied to “Ask Rozanov how…”
Shane: How does 15th place feels for you? 🤔
Shane Hollander has changed the name of this chat to “J.J. is not favorite uncle and it is not even close 😈”
J.J. is not favorite uncle and it is not even close 😈
7:51 pm
Hayden: 😒
Shane: Sorry 😑 he took my phone
Hayden Pike disliked “Sorry 😑 he took my phone”
Shane: What’s a drip contest?
J.J. Boiziau has changed the name of this chat to “J.J. Best Uncle Award”
J.J. Best Uncle Award
7:52 pm
J.J.: Swagoo
J.J.: You’ve got Matheson beat by a mile
J.J.: He looks like a cardboard cutout
J.J.: Team East wins the cap vs cap drip contest
Shane: What are you talking about?
Hayden: Drip = fit
Shane: Like fitness?
Hayden: Outfit
Hayden: How are you more offline than me? I have four kids
Shane: 🙄
Hayden: Jesus Shane he’s saying he likes your outfit
J.J.: See Hayden gets it
Shane: How do you know my outfit?
J.J.: NHL ig posted pics 🤷🏽♂️
J.J.: Gotta check out my competition for drippiest player
J.J.: #none
Shane: Drippiest???
Hayden: jfc
Hayden: Gtg good job Shane
Shane: Okay?? Thanks!
Shane Hollander has changed the name of this chat to “Shane Best Uncle Fastest Skater”
J.J. Boiziau has changed the name of this chat to “J.J. Best Uncle / Shane Fastest Skater”
Shane Hollander has changed the name of this chat to “Shane Best Uncle Fastest Skater”
Shane: Okay night J.J.
Chapter End Notes
January 2021 reality:
Ilya grunted. “Condom?” They rarely used them anymore, but sometimes Shane preferred them for easy cleanup.
------
“Congrats on winning the skating thing, Shane.”
“Thanks.”
“It was a tie, basically,” Ilya said.
“That’s not what the clock said,” Shane argued.
“If we did it again right now, I would probably win.”
“Well, you should have won the first time, dickhead.”
Wyatt furrowed his brow at them. “You know, you two don’t have to sit together.”------
“Oh, sweetie,” Jackie said. “It’s okay. Mommy will be home soon and you’ll have so much fun with Uncle Ilya.”
“Uncle Ilya?” Hayden grumbled.
March 2021 — Montreal
The video leaked in the morning. It was the first thing on J.J.’s timeline.
He scrolled past the first one. He’d seen a hundred of Hayden’s FanMails by that point, and he didn’t need to see him wish another Montreal fan happy birthday.
He scrolled past the second one too.
It took a post from a sports news outlet featuring a cropped, zoomed-in photo of the most important part of the video for him to realize what the fuss was all about. Even then, he didn’t truly believe his eyes.
”Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov Caught Kissing In FanMail Shared By Hayden Pike!”
He watched then.
He still didn’t see it at first. The mirror reflection was tiny, but his feed had put in the work. The video was everywhere. Cropped. Looped. Turned into a gif.
His first reaction was pure shock. The first moment of an ice bath. The inability to comprehend how someone pulled off a magic trick when you’d been watching their hands the whole time.
The next was disbelief. Denial. They were so small in the frame. So grainy. It could’ve been superimposed in editing. AI was getting pretty advanced, wasn’t it? For a flash of a moment, he found himself angry at that. He wouldn’t put it past shitty hockey fans to try to prank one of the only openly gay players in the league.
He checked Shane’s socials. Ilya’s socials. Hayden’s socials. The Voyageurs’ socials. The Centaurs’ socials. Nothing.
He texted Hayden. No response.
It took longer than it should have for understanding to sink in; this was real.
Shane and Rozanov were real.
And Hayden had been in on it. Probably the whole time.
But what was the whole time? How long had this been going on?
It had only been two months since he’d outright confronted Shane about his feelings for Rozanov. But when did this happen? Was it new? Had he come back from that road trip, driven to Ottawa, and confessed his feelings? Learned they were requited? They were kissing like they’d die without each other, which could be new relationship energy.
Something in his gut told him that wasn’t the case. That reptilian, instinctual part of his brain knew it, the same way he’d been able to tell that Comeau had been cheating on his wife without any proof. His spidey senses had been going off for years. The question wasn’t if; it was how long?
How long had Shane kept him in the dark?
How long had Hayden known? That definitely meant that Jackie was in on it, too. Did they trust the kids with this before him? They had to. The video was recorded from the Pikes’ house. Did that mean they trusted a fucking five year old, and not him?
He’d never be able to name the emotion simmering in his chest right now. He’d never want to investigate it. It touched on a part of him that was too soft, too fleshy, too emotional of a response. He knew it was selfish, and knowing that made it all the more embarrassing. But ultimately, it boiled down to hurt. He’d done everything he could think of to support Shane, and he’d been left out.
And fucking Hayden got to know.
J.J. couldn’t think of a major event in his life that Shane hadn’t been privy to. Granted, J.J. was a loudmouth and far from the most private person in the world, but Shane had still breached a part of his inner circle that very few ever did.
When he got chlamydia from a one night stand, the only people he’d told were Shane and Hayden.
When he’d gone soft because of how nervous he was to hook up with one of the hottest women he’d ever seen in his life, the only people he’d shared that humiliation with were Shane and Hayden.
When Christiana had ended things, he’d told everyone else in his life that it was casual, mutual, no big deal. Except Shane and Hayden.
When his grandmother died, and he had no idea how to process it because hockey players don’t cry, he had cried in front of Shane and Hayden.
J.J. didn’t have brothers. He had a sister. He had his team. And he had Shane and Hayden.
He had Shane’s parents’ address in his phone. He’d been a groomsman at Hayden’s wedding. And they didn’t trust him with this.
But hurt was not a feeling that hockey players got to have. Instead, they got anger.
So J.J. got angry.
***
The Voyageurs’ team group chat was dead silent. What popped up in its place was a new one that included everyone but Shane and Hayden.
It started off pretty tame — mostly confusion. Questions of, “Is this real?” and “What the fuck??”
Then came the anger, the collective feeling of betrayal. The justifications for it. The refrained sentiment of he’s a rival captain, and a lot of contempt for ”Ilya fucking Rozanov,” which was unsurprising. He’d chirped, mocked, punched, or scored on every one of them.
When the crude jokes started, he felt gross, but still too dazed to respond, so he muted the chat. It wasn’t lost on J.J. that the loudest voices were always going to be the loudest voices.
He felt numb as he watched his unread messages hit one hundred, but he couldn’t bring himself to engage with it without answers, and Hayden still hadn’t texted him back.
***
When the numbness wore off, all that remained was bitterness and a question he couldn’t stop fixating on: how long?
How long was Shane going to let him keep trying to set him up on dates?
How long would Shane have waited to tell him? Would he have ever told him?
How long had that smitten look on Shane’s face been real?
How long had Hayden known?
How long had he been left out?
How long had he been fucking lied to?
Chapter End Notes
March 2021 reality:
“Jesus Christ, what are we going to do? Fuck, what does J.J. think? Oh god.”
“Yeah, you’re gonna have to talk to him,” Hayden said. “He’s, um, not into it.”
Shane met Ilya’s gaze for a moment, and saw concern there.
“He’ll come around,” Shane said, mostly trying to convince himself. “It’s a shock. I get it. I don’t expect everyone to understand, but J.J.’s one of my best friends.”
Hayden stood, then bent to scratch Anya’s ears. “He’s not too happy with me either right now. I think his feelings might be hurt for being left out, y’know?”
Shit. Shane should have told him sooner. “Well. That’s on me. I’ll talk to him.”---
let it be known i am fully aware that J.J.'s reactions in this chapter and the coming ones are shitty lol this is not an endorsement this is a character study
March 2021 — Montreal
The MontREALEST
8:32 am
J.J.: [LINK] NHL Stars Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov Spotted in Passionate Embrace in Leaked FanMail from Voyageurs’ Hayden Pike — Prank or Pair?!
J.J.: Wtf?
Chat with Hayden Pike
8:38 am
J.J.: Dude what the hell is going on
J.J.: Is this real??
Hayden: Yeah not a great time buddy
J.J.: You know I have your location right
J.J.: Are you going to Shane’s house??
Hayden: Ttyl
J.J.: Come on this is fucked
J.J.: Call me
J.J.: Fucking Rozanov are you shitting me??
J.J.: Is Rozanov THERE right now ??
9:14 am
J.J.: Comeau started a new gc
J.J.: The guys are fucking pissed
J.J.: It’s fucking bad dude why aren’t you picking up
11:09 am
J.J.: Alright fuck you both then
***
Hayden didn’t call or text back until past seven, so when J.J. picked up, he’d already been stewing for hours.
“Dude, what the fuck?!”
“Hey, man. Sorry. It's been a crazy day.”
“No shit.”
Hayden breathed a sigh. “Yeah. Guess you figured that out.”
“What the actual fuck, Hayd? This is real, right? They're together?”
“Yeah, it's real.” It came out flat and resigned, like Hayden was just stating a fact. It’s warm outside. The sky is blue. Shane is dating Ilya Rozanov. Whatever. Something about his casual tone grated J.J.’s nerves even further.
“This is so fucked up.” He knew he was just repeating himself, but he’d been left on read all day, and left in the dark all year.
“It's not great timing, no.” Hayden sounded exhausted.
“Dude, they are our first round playoff matchup. Do you have any idea how pissed the guys are?!”
“Yeah, believe it or not, I think I figured that out when they started a group chat without me.” Hayden’s reply dripped with sarcasm.
“How long have you known?” J.J. knew he sounded like an interrogator, but this detail had been gnawing at him.
“Uhh… A while?”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Hayden exhaled hard. “Look, you should talk to Shane.”
And that was really rich, considering they’d both ignored his texts the entire day.
“Oh, like he talked to me?”
“Come on. You're not being fair. It was an accident.”
“Right. He accidentally started fucking Rozanov. My bad.”
“It's not like that! Seriously!” Hayden finally raised his voice.
“Tell me what it's like then. Since apparently you know everything.”
“Look, it’s… It's serious, okay?”
Under other circumstances, J.J. would’ve been happy to hear that his friend was in a relationship. But right now, he was seeing red. Every new piece of information was coming through the most antagonistic lens possible. He’d fucking pitied Shane, and Shane had let him.
“Of course. So serious he couldn't even tell his friends? Or I guess he told some of his friends.”
“He didn’t!” Hayden protested.
“What? What does that mean?”
“He didn't tell me either.” Hayden rushed the words, as though he could stop J.J.’s train of thought. “I guessed."
“You guessed. You guessed that Shane was fucking Rozanov? Oh. Okay.”
“Stop saying it like that.” Hayden sounded irritated now. “They're like, a real couple.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I must have missed that part. I must have forgotten the time where Shane filled me in on his serious relationship.” J.J. scoffed. “Fuck off, Hayden.”
“Hey! Come on. Look, I know it's fucking weird. It's Rozanov, alright? I get it. I flipped out first too. But he's not going anywhere. Believe me, I've tried.”
“Not funny.”
“Not really, no.” Hayden muttered. “Look, it brings me no pleasure at all to say this. Like, I actually hate that I have to say this. But he's a good guy, alright? Or, he’s a good boyfriend at least. He's good to Shane. So like, if you need to be pissed, then be pissed. I mean, fuck. Be pissed at me too. I don't care. But honestly, dude, you're just gonna have to get over it. Because they're not breaking up. And Shane's not leaving Montreal.”
J.J. grit his teeth, letting the words sink in. Serious. A good boyfriend. Not breaking up. None of this made him feel any better about the situation.
Serious. So it had been going on for a long time.
A good boyfriend. That Shane hadn’t stopped J.J. from trying to apparently replace.
Not breaking up. Playoffs were going to be a disaster.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long have they been together?”
Hayden let out a heavy sigh. “Talk to Shane.”
J.J. barked a humorless laugh. “Yeah, no. I’ve tried to talk to Shane. He can try to talk to me for once in his fucking life.”
Chapter End Notes
March 2021 reality:
“I know.” Ilya sighed. “I have to go back to Ottawa now. Our plane leaves in a few hours.”
“Right. Shit.”
“I am sorry to leave you now. Will you be okay?”
“I mean, no. I’ll be a fucking mess.” He blew out a breath. “I need to try to talk to J.J. before practice.”*There is no mention of him trying to actually do this. TLG skips to practice without a mention of Shane trying to call or text J.J.*
---
Also sry this is a repetitive and unflattering chapter for everyone involved but I'm trying to get back in the swing of things here so I reread this section of TLG and Shane really doesn't reach out before that awful practice so we are once again putting ourselves in J.J.'s shoes.
Also thank you for even reading this at all lol if I were you I’d be like omg get back to the cute part jfc
Chapter 43: Fuck Off and Go Home
Chapter Notes
TW: This chapter covers the fallout of Shane going to practice for the first time after he and Ilya are outed, so it includes a lot of canon-typical, NHL-typical homophobia. No slurs, but it gets icky. If you want to skip this chapter, the next one will be J.J. going to Shane's house for them to make up!
Tensions were high in the Voyageurs’ locker room before Shane even showed up, starting with the fact that, well, Shane had not yet shown up. And while Shane was not late to practice, since becoming captain, he had never not been the first person there. His absence in the twenty minutes leading up to start time could not have been more glaring, and the guys were taking full advantage of it as the whole room buzzed with gossip. And fury.
It seemed like every one of them had woken up that morning spoiling for a fight, and looking for an excuse. They started with J.J.
“Hey, did you fucking know about this?”
“Good morning to you, too, Drapeau.” J.J. scowled.
“It's a fair question,” Mitty called out. “You went radio silent yesterday. What the fuck, dude?”
“Fuck off, Mitty, and get dressed.”
“So you did know. Decided to protect your little captain over the good of the team?” Comeau snarled. And really, J.J. didn't have the patience for any of this.
“Hey, that's your captain, too. So how about you shut the fuck up? And no, our captain didn't tell me shit.“
“You really expect us to believe that? For Christ's sake. They were hooking up at Pike's fucking house, with his kids around. You really expect us to believe he didn't tell you at all of those cozy summer camps of yours?”
“No. He didn't.” J.J. threw his bag down, more forcefully than was necessary. “So in case you couldn't tell, I'm pretty fucking pissed at him too right now. Now get the fuck out of my stall.”
The minutes ticked by, and the room continued to buzz with discontent. The gossip didn't disappear; it just retreated into quieter corners.
A momentary silence fell when Hayden arrived, a hapless look on his face. His mouth curved into what looked like an upside down smile, and he chuckled an awkward, “Hey, guys. What did I miss?”
J.J. rolled his eyes, and the room mostly ignored him.
“Right.” He made his way to his stall, blowing out a soft yikes.
Then, finally, for perhaps the first time in his life, Shane Hollander, the man of the hour, was the last person to arrive at practice.
Every conversation dropped instantly. Every head turned. Shane hovered in the doorway, seemingly frozen to his spot, eyes darting around the room like a cornered animal.
Eventually, he gave a slight nod to the ground and said to no one in particular, “Hi.” Then, he made his way to his stall, as though nothing had happened. As though there was nothing worth addressing here and they could all just carry on their days. As though this wasn't eating the team from the inside out.
J.J. couldn't help it. He snorted. Coward. If that was all he had to say, then who was J.J. to stop the guys from forming their own opinions? It wasn't like he had an explanation for them.
His back was turned when he heard the sharp bark of Coach Theriault.
“Hollander!”
J.J.'s stomach muscles instinctively flexed at the tone, everyone around him standing up a little straighter as they watched Shane leave the room.
Mitty let out a long, low whistle and said in a sing-song voice, “Someone’s in trouble.” It was enough to break some of the tension. Some. But if the guys laughed, it was more like exhaling hard through your nose. Sniffs, really.
The chatter continued, but J.J. was not in a verbose mood. Around him, he heard snippets.
“What did he think would happen?”
“Ilya fucking Rozanov?”
“That fucking asshole couldn't just fuck Hollander; he had to fuck the whole team.”
“I can't believe he didn't say anything.”
“He's acting like such a little bitch.”
J.J. really wished they had a game instead of practice today. Everyone in the room was itching for a fight, and it would have been a hell of a lot more productive if they could have taken this energy out on another team instead of each other.
“Yes, you're fucking benched, Hollander! What did you think would happen?”
Everyone stopped talking at the sound of Coach Theriault’s voice booming through the wall. One by one, everyone stopped to look in its direction, like dogs who had just heard a whistle. On the bench, Hayden winced.
A moment later, Shane came ripping back into the room, eyes tight with anger. J.J. thought he was going to grab his coat and gun it without a word, but then he stopped, jaw locked, and spread his arms wide. Apparently, now was the time for speeches.
“Okay, now you know. It's been going on for years, and it's never stopped me from contributing to this team. We won the fucking cup last year.”
Years. The word hit J.J. like a sucker punch.
“It's fucked up!” Comeau yelled, and Shane pivoted hard to stare him down.
“You think I don't know that? That's why I've been hiding it for so long.”
“Not from everyone.” J.J. couldn't resist chirping. Below him, Hayden winced again.
Shane's anger softened momentarily as he zeroed in on J.J. He took a step forward, clearly about start off an excuse.
“I don't want to hear it. Is coach sending you home?”
“Yeah, but...”
“Then fuck off and go home.”
He heard approving sounds come from the guys around him, and it made him feel both righteous and further irritated. He'd seen that group chat, and he knew damn well that they were not all coming from the same place.
Shane swallowed hard, and J.J. looked away.
“Hey.” Hayden stood up, deciding that now was the time for his feedback. “I know that everyone is fucking weirded out right now, but try to remember who the fuck this is. Shane is our fucking captain. Our leader.”
“He's a fucking liar.”
“He’s our fucking friend.” Hayden gave J.J. a hard look, and he averted his gaze, a twinge of shame prickling at him at the look in Hayden’s eyes.
“So maybe everyone feels weird right now, or, like, totally grossed out. I get it. It's Rozanov.”
“Okay, thanks, Hayden.” Shane muttered.
“But that weirdness goes away.” Hayden continued. “And then you're going to have to live with how shitty you were to Shane when he needed his fucking boys the most. So think about that.”
J.J. couldn't help but glare as Hayden sat back down from his high horse. Bold words from the one guy in the room Shane had confided the truth in. The rest of the team seemed similarly unimpressed with his little speech.
“It's okay.” Shane found his captain voice. “I'm leaving. If anyone wants to talk to me, you have my number.”
He looked J.J. dead in the eyes as he said, “You know where I live.”
J.J. looked to the floor, feeling simultaneously ashamed and annoyed to be made to feel ashamed. He really didn't feel that he was in the wrong here. But he also really didn't feel like losing one of his best friends over this.
So he nodded back. They both knew it wasn't Gilbert Comeau's call Shane would be waiting for.
***
Immediately, the team resumed their discourse. The guys mostly concentrated their ire on “fucking Rozanov.”
”Remember that time he knocked out your teeth?”
“Remember that time he broke your nose?”
“Remember that time he gave Hayden a black eye last year?”
Shane's serious boyfriend had done serious damage to a lot of the guys on this team.
“I hit him first.” Hayden mumbled, short and terse.
“What was that?”
“I hit him first.” Hayden raised his head. “Last year.”
“Oh, right.” Mitty chimed in. “Was that before or after you let him feel up Shane in your backyard?”
Hayden seethed, but he’d clearly accepted that he wasn't going to find any allies now. “You guys have no idea what you're fucking talking about.”
“And whose fault is that?” J.J. couldn't help but chime in.
Hayden sent him a look of disgust.
The reminiscing only got worse from there.
”You know what I'm thinking about now? You know how Rozanov always winks at him after he scores? You think that's, like, some kind of fucked up foreplay to them?”
“Ugh, ew. Don't make me think about that, dude.”
“I mean, it's gotta be, right?”
“Fucking Rozanov.”
“Yeah, more like getting fucked by Rozanov.”
“Oh, gross, dude. Stop talking.”
“What? Am I wrong? There's no way Hollander's the one doing the fucking.”
“Shut the fuck up.” J.J. reached his limit. “I don't want to hear that shit.”
There were murmurs of assent, but J.J. could tell that they were not all agreeing for the same reasons. He bulldozed through.
“We have no idea how long Hollander is going to be benched. I mean, fuck, he might be out for the season. Which means we have to readjust our whole fucking game plan. And you already know coach is going to take all of this shit out on us today, so fucking get out there.”
***
The remainder of practice was fucking miserable. No one's head was in the game. Their skating was sloppy, their focus was scattered, and Theriault’s mood rivaled the day he signed his divorce papers. By the end of the afternoon, he had them doing bag skates. As though their loyalty was the one in question. As though they were the ones who deserved to be punished.
The worst part was that he missed Shane. His absence could be felt just as strongly as his presence. Guys missed their passes. Didn't make their shots. They were distracted, and J.J. was too in his own head to play the part Hollander usually did. The part where someone in the room said, “Hey, whatever's going on in your head in the outside world, you need to leave that shit off the ice and play some good fucking hockey. Do you want to win another cup or not?”
J.J.'s role as alternate caption had always been to provide the energy. Shane brought the drive. He didn't rise to his temper, and he set the standard for compartmentalization. Whatever was going on in his day, he left it out of the rink. He was the one single-minded freak who could get them back on track and focused on their goals with the snap of his fingers. It was annoying, watching practice fail so spectacularly, knowing Shane would have been running it like the navy.
J.J. couldn’t do that, so he helplessly watched the team spiral—their faith in leadership decimated, their star player gone, and their morale in disarray.
It's not like they didn't have a backup plan for Shane being out sick or injured, but they weren’t as sharp. His replacement didn’t have his speed or his hockey IQ, and the chemistry was lacking.
Plus, they were icing out Hayden, which was not helping their game. After a particularly abysmal play, he skated up to J.J.'s side, puffing out, “Well, this is going well.”
“It's a fucking train wreck.” J.J. bit out, not taking his eyes off of the rink.
“Yeah.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” J.J. huffed a furious breath. “We're out. That's it.”
“What do you mean?”
“We're not getting it this year.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Take a look around you, Pike. Why do you think? If Shane doesn't come back, we're fucked. And if Shane does come back, they might fucking kill him. We’re fucked.”
He finally turned to face Hayden, and found devastation all over his face. Clearly, he hadn’t considered this yet.
“And you know what? You fucked us too. How could you not watch that back, man? How? I know your FanMails are shitty, but Jesus Christ.”
“Okay, fuck you—”
“Yeah, fuck you, too. We had a shot. And this is... We're out. We're not coming back from this. At least not this year. We’ll beat Ottawa, sure, but there’s no way we make it to the third round.”
“You don't know that. Look, Shane has a meeting with the commissioner this week.”
J.J. scoffed.
“I'm serious. There are no rules against what he can or can't do with his personal life. Fucking Kent came back, didn’t he? He might be back in a couple days.”
“Yeah, or he might be kicked out of the fucking league.”
Hayden recoiled, horrified. “What? They can't do that.”
“Yeah? Watch them.”
“It's his private life! Why does it even matter?”
“How do you not get this? It's a rival captain. It's a career long rivalry. They made a fucking movie about it. He's humiliating the league right now. You really think they're gonna let that stand?”
“Okay, if it was about that, they would have done something when he started the charity.”
“That's different. That's a fucking charity. This changes everything.”
Hayden started to protest, but J.J. cut him off.
“How are they supposed to trust that these games are fair? You're really telling me that they go up against each other the same way that they would go up against someone else? You're telling me Rozanov would punch Shane in the face? Or that Shane throws his full weight into every check? Is that what this is? That he’s not even a little bit happy to see his boyfriend score? It's either collusion or a fucking domestic violence case.”
“Oh, that is way oversimplifying it, man—”
“Maybe. I guess we'll find out. But you know what we're not gonna find out? What it feels like to hold the 2021 cup.”
Hayden’s face was ashen, the reality of J.J.’s words sinking in. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m really fucking sorry. I don’t know what else I can say.”
J.J.'s shoulder slumped, no longer able to resist the pang of sympathy towards his friend when he looked so crestfallen. “You're a fucking terror, you know that?”
“A terror that you love and are totally going to forgive?”
“Yeah, asshole. Now, line up. Again.”
***
That one conversation with Hayden turned J.J. into just another pariah in the room. That muted group chat stopped updating.
J.J. would not say he was known for his intuition, but he cared about people. He needed them more, maybe, than his close friends did. Hayden had his family to prioritize. Shane kept his circle small. But J.J. was extroverted. He enjoyed spending time with the team, and up until recent events, his way of decompressing would have been going out with the guys.
But the team was disintegrating into cliques, intentions and reasoning becoming clearer by the hour. Conversations moved from the team chat to smaller circles, alliances being drawn. It seemed like everyone had a different angle on their problem with Shane.
Some guys questioned the ethics of his play. The truth of his impartiality playing against his… boyfriend?
Some guys felt betrayed on a more personal level, having always thought Shane was on their side when Ilya had chirped them about their small dicks, bad records, and ugly faces.
Rozanov had a way of hitting people where it hurt. It's not that he went for cheap shots or degrading comments. It was that he'd speak the truth in its most insulting form.
Sometimes guys were just ugly. Some guys couldn't score. Sometimes guys went through bad patches. Sometimes goalies just couldn't stop him. Sometimes the game did feel like your fault.
It didn't help that none of these things were ever true of Shane. Perfect, exceptional Shane. The hottest man in the NHL. The MVP. The captain. Rozanov’s chirps to Shane practically felt like sarcasm. One of his most recurring taunts was that Shane had a weak backhand, but anyone familiar with the game knew that his was one of the best in the league.
It put a layer of dirt over everything, and had the guys questioning if behind closed doors — behind the Pikes’ back gate — Shane was agreeing with Rozanov. To some extent, he probably was, but he was too polite to ever say it.
The fact that Shane was a shy guy to begin with made it easier to project. Suddenly, guys who had played with Shane for years were reconsidering everything they'd ever known about him. He was a generally quiet person, and that absence of loud opinions was easy to fill with one's own self doubt.
Was it awkwardness? Or was it resting bitch face?
Was it anxiety? Or was he too good for them?
Was he not going out with them because clubs just weren't his thing, or because he'd rather be at home mocking them with the only guy in the league who was actually skilled enough to do that with?
And that was just it, wasn't it? Not only was Rozanov frequently rude as hell, but he was also just downright better than them. Better than every fucking one of them but Shane. Of course they hated him.
Not a single one of them — J.J. included — would ever admit it, but a chirp from Rozanov felt like punching down.
A lot of the guys had more cups than he did, sure. They’d had a successful run. But not one of them had more individual awards. The only ones as hot as him were Shane and J.J. Half of them were shorter than him. And it was widespread knowledge that he’d fucked his way across North America, when some of these guys, despite being wealthy NHL players, had none of the same charm or success. No one on the team could match the rumors of his track record with women.
He outscored them, out chirped them, and out fucked him, and there was nothing they could do or say about it. And now, he was fucking their captain, too. Shane was the franchise player. He was the symbol of Montreal. So in a way, if Rozanov was fucking him, he was fucking every one of them.
A lot of the guys were wondering out loud how that even worked. If Rozanov was such a slut, had pulled so many women, then what the fuck was he doing with Shane? And if he was fooling Shane, then he was ridiculing them all in the process.
J.J. had no interest in that line of thinking. He was not so insecure in his masculinity or his skill that he was processing this information in that way. It didn't protect him from hearing it.
J.J. was 6’6”, knew he was hot as fuck, and he was a three time Stanley Cup champion. He was charismatic, a consistent defenseman, and he was an alternate captain to the best player in the league. If Shane wasn't here, he'd probably be the captain of the team with the best record in the last decade. Not every player could say the same.
If Rozanov chirped him, he chirped back. He didn't huff away in anger or let a stray dig fester. Really, when he was alone with his thoughts, the truth was that his reaction had nothing to do with Rozanov himself. He'd spent two summers getting to know the guy. Against his will, but still. He was well aware that there was more to Rozanov than what met the eye.
His problem was with Shane, the man he considered one of his best friends, who he had given countless opportunities to share his life with. Who he'd intentionally tried to show on multiple occasions that if there was something to tell, he'd listen. That he would be a safe space, that he would try to learn.
He couldn't know, truly, how he would have reacted if Shane had told him in that hotel room, two months ago. Maybe he was flattering himself, but he didn’t think he ever would have been as angry as he was now. After all, he'd asked. He'd noticed. He'd made his peace for months with the fact that Shane was harboring romantic feelings towards the guy. And while he didn't trust Rozanov, he trusted Shane. It's possible he was giving himself too much credit in the thick of his resentment. But J.J. knew he would have tried to understand. It might have taken a little time, but he wouldn't have blamed Shane. He would have questioned his taste in men, for sure. But he wouldn't have been angry. He would have heard him out. He'd tried to hear him out. And what a lot of good that had done.
In the quieter moments, alone at home, he couldn't think about how the day had gone. The look in Shane's eye when he’d told him to fuck off. He hadn't seen it before, that kind of hurt on his face. When he thought about it too long, he felt guilty, which only brought him back to irritation, because he didn't feel like he deserved to feel that way right now.
Still. What Hayden had said earlier stewed in his head. A meeting with Crowell. That was serious. And J.J. didn't want to think about a world where Shane wasn't in the league with him, so he pushed it from his mind, and he didn't.
***
He decided to get a drink with Christiana, which was really quite validating.
“Do you remember my friend Elaine? I think you met her at my housewarming party. Do you remember that? Short, brown hair.”
“Yes, I remember. Bangs?”
She nodded. “We've been friends since college, and there's a guy who was in our program, who we have referred to for almost a decade now as our fucking nemesis. His name's Anderson.”
“Fuck Anderson.”
“Exactly. Fuck Anderson. We hate Anderson.”
“Got it.”
“If she told me right now that she was dating Anderson, I think I would smack her upside the head.”
J.J. almost spit out his drink laughing.
“I'm serious. You're telling me I gave him the stink eye for you for seven years, and the whole time that was flirting? Fuck no! You talked me into hating him! And now I have a million reasons to hate him! I remember everything he did! I can't flip that switch in my brain! I fucking hate Anderson!”
“Yeah! Fuck that guy!”
“Like, now I've got my own catalog of all his indiscretions. When I see Anderson around the city, it's on sight!”
J.J. laughed. “On sight? Oh, yeah? Tough guy, are you?”
“Absolutely.” She nodded, indignant. “He should be afraid of me. He fucked with my best friend.”
“What did he even do?”
“He criticized her form. It was during a demonstration, in our first year. In front of the whole class and everything. We've hated him ever since. He's smug as fuck. Total know-it-all.”
“Wow. Criticized her form. Do I need to beat him up for you?”
“No, I can handle him. If anything, he's kind of scared of me.”
“As he should be.” J.J. tipped his glass in her direction.
“Point is: if I found out that they were secretly dating, I'd be furious.”
J.J. waved an arm extravagantly. “Thank you!”
Her face softened and she put her hand to his arm. “And... I'd be fucking hurt. You know it's okay to be hurt, right?”
J.J. bristled. “I'm not hurt. I'm pissed.”
“Ugh, men.” Christiana rolled her eyes. “What's the difference?”
J.J. shot her a look, and she shot him one right back.
“The real question,” she went on, “is what you're going to do about it.”
“I don't know.” J.J. sighed, taking a swig of his beer. “The team's a mess. Practice was tense as fuck. So, yeah, I don't know.”
“I'm not asking about the team. I'm asking about your friend.”
J.J. sniffed and looked away.
“What? It's a fair question.”
“Well, what would you do? With Elaine in this hypothetical.”
“Hmm. Probably bitch her out.”
J.J. snickered.
“Then, let her apologize. And then go back to being friends. And then keep side-eyeing Anderson every time I saw him because at this point, it's like I said, I’ve got my own beef with him too. But... I don’t with Elaine. Like, she's forgiven me for all kinds of shit over the years, so... she’s earned it. Honestly, we'd probably cry about how much we mean to each other. Then, I’d get the fuck over it, because that's what you do when you want someone in your life.”
“Ugh.” J.J. dropped his head into his hands and rubbed at his eyes. “Can you go back to telling me you'd be pissed?”
“Well, I would. Both things can be true. You don't have to get over it in twenty minutes. But if you want to stay friends, you do have to get over it eventually.” She took a sip of wine, then tilted her head. “Besides, hating your friends’ boyfriends is kind of part of having friends. Who doesn't hate their friends' boyfriends? Half the time, they're ugly, and they don't deserve your friend. At least Rozanov is hot.”
J.J. shot her a glare. “Stop it.”
“What? He is.” She shrugged. “Are they kicking them out of the league?”
“No. I don't think so. Probably be back this week. But I think some of the guys wish they were.”
“Are they being homophobic about it?”
“Come on.” J.J. leveled her with a look. “You know they are. It's not like they're calling him slurs or anything. Or if they are, they know better than to pull that shit in front of me. But you can read through the fucking lines.”
She stiffened. “Are you being homophobic about it?”
“No!” J.J. scoffed. “Of course not. I just wish he was dating your friend… What's his name?”
“David.”
“David.” He waved a hand. “I don't know why he can't be dating fucking David.”
“Well, David is probably too good for him anyways.” Christiana smirked.
J.J. rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t hate Shane if he was your friend’s boyfriend.”
“You never know.” She shrugged a shoulder.
***
A few days later, Shane announced his relationship on Instagram without fanfare. It was a straightforward statement, clearly filtered through his agent or something, and it mostly read as an emotionless presentation of the facts. The photos, however, told the different story.
For one thing, they were almost entirely from public events. The messaging was clear: See? We're the same people we've been on along.
It still made J.J. feel like he'd been played for a fool. It was as though Shane was trying to say, “Look. We ran a charity together and everything went fine. This doesn't have to change how you see me, because we were already doing it.” But J.J. still couldn't help but fill that sentence in with the addendum of under your nose.
Unlike the other 100,000 people liking the post, J.J. had actually been there. It seemed obvious in retrospect. Hindsight was 20/20. Of course it hadn't been a hopeless crush. Or, maybe it had been for some of the time, but not all of the time. He couldn't say what “several years,” really meant. Maybe it had started that way and escalated in those late hours of packing up cones. Maybe the days spent preparing forms turned into nights that resulted in an Ilya profile on Shane's Xbox. Maybe they'd been falling in love right in front of his eyes, and Shane hadn't felt like he could talk to anyone about it. Or, anyone besides Hayden.
Hayden said that he guessed. But how had he guessed? Had he watched the two of them together the way J.J. had, incapable of ignoring the smitten look that would sometimes cross Shane's face when Rozanov’s back was turned? Or had he been there from the start for the more painful conversations?
With all of the photos lined up back to back, it seemed so unmistakable. J.J. was there. How could he not have noticed?
Except that wasn't true. He did notice. In fact, he'd noticed to the point of being snoopy and annoying about it. At times, he’d felt like an overbearing mother trying to tell Shane not to spend his time with the neighborhood bad boy. What a wasted effort.
He wondered how it would have gone if he'd confronted Shane about it earlier, when he'd first started suspecting that there might be more to the story. But ultimately, he knew it wouldn’t have changed things. It had taken so long for Shane to even come out to them. He hadn't even told J.J. that they were together after Ilya had almost died. He wouldn't have embarrassed himself if it was only a crush. J.J. couldn't fault him for that.
One of the most frustrating things about the entire situation was that J.J. never would have cared about Rozanov if not for Shane. He doubted anyone on the team would have. He would have been a nuisance and a pain to play, but it never would’ve been personal. He would have been filed as just another dick in the league they had to deal with four times a year, like Troy Barrett or that guy Brad from Florida. An irritation, but not one they wasted their time thinking about. They'd hated Rozanov on Shane's behalf. Out of loyalty to Shane. And it was all for nothing.
And now, for reasons that ranged from somewhat justified to despicable, the team was in shambles. Because Shane had dug his own fucking grave.
There was only one more private photo. One reality check insight that smacked of intimacy and made the whole thing feel real. The world had seen them kissing, yes. The world had seen them working together. But the world had not seen them take a selfie.
The mundanity of it was what finally acclimated J.J. to the truth. Some part of him had still been thinking about Shane's relationship as a scandal. A team betrayal. A secret so strong that he was left feeling like he didn't even know his friend.
But it hadn't sunk in that Rozanov played a role in Shane's life. A day to day role. That he was just as much Shane's partner, as Jackie was Hayden's.
That they shared a camera roll, and schedules, and pots of coffee, and an Xbox, for reasons that had nothing to do with planning a summer camp. Hayden had called Rozanov Shane’s boyfriend, but it had been hard to wrap his head around the regularity of that, the constancy, when all he'd had to go on were his own memories and a video of the two of them sucking face.
The world was digesting their relationship as a passionate affair, not as mainstays of each other’s lives. Not as emergency contacts. Not as people who sat on a patio together. And when J.J. thought about it that way, it brought him back to that question of the timeline.
The entire hockey world had raised their eyebrows when Rozanov had signed with the Centaurs. It was a career move that launched a hundred thinkpieces and podcast segments. At the time, J.J. had thought that it must have been for the money. It had meant a raise. And, he figured Rozanov must have been looking for a challenge. Maybe he was bored, and his ego was strong enough that he thought he could rebuild the team. After all, he hadn't been wrong. He was only on year two, and he’d gotten them back in the playoffs.
And yet... It was Shane's hometown. So was it the chicken or the egg? Which idea came first? Did he move for his relationship? Or did the move spark the relationship?
It was impossible to know. Shane would tell him if he asked. He knew he would. He'd give him more than a PR-approved explanation now that the cat was out of the bag. The look in his eyes as he'd left the locker room made it obvious that he wanted J.J. to ask. That he didn't want to leave things as they had.
The last he'd glanced at the other group chat, the words, “He’s rubbing it in our faces,” had been the preview. That chat had been a lot quieter recently, though. The boys had obviously splintered into factions and smaller chats based on which part of the situation was pissing them off the most. J.J. couldn't blame them. It wasn't as though he didn't have a group chat with Shane and Hayden. Some guys were just closer than others.
It sucked. It sucked to not be in a faction. None of the other guys were close enough with Shane to understand where J.J. was coming from, and the two people he would usually talk to about something like this were at the center of it, which meant that J.J. found himself suddenly very alone.
He missed his faction.
He scrolled through Shane’s post one last time, Christiana’s and Hayden’s words echoing in his head. You’re just gonna have to get over it. Because that's what you do when you want someone in your life.
Then, he took a second to Find His Friend, and grabbed his keys.
Chapter End Notes
Reality:
“Don’t want to hear it,” J.J. said. “Is Coach sending you home?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Then fuck off and go home.”There were murmurs of agreement throughout the room. Shane’s eyes prickled with tears. He’d expected this, but he’d also...hoped for better from this group of guys that he loved so much.”
---
"I ate a Snickers bar."
---
“Although having the decision to disclose our relationship made for us isn’t ideal, we would like to announce, officially, that we are in a committed, romantic relationship, and have been for several years. We wish we could have told you in our own way, but we don’t hold this unfortunate accident against Hayden.
We know that our relationship will be difficult for a lot of people to accept and understand. We have never let our personal relationship interfere with our competitiveness on the ice, and we believe our career achievements show that very clearly. We’ve always kept personal and professional separate, and we hope our teams, our fans, and the league can do the same.”
Shane looked surprised when he answered the door, a flash of nerves passing over his face as he said in bewildered tone, “Hi.”
J.J. pushed through the door, and the tension of the moment lingered. He settled on the heart of it, defaulting to French.
“You didn't tell me.”
“I’m sorry.” Shane responded immediately and earnestly.
“Why the fuck didn't you tell me? You let me keep trying to find you dates, you—”
“To be fair,” Shane interrupted, “I kept telling you to stop doing that.”
J.J.'s head lolled back. “You fucking lied to me. After the Centaurs plane thing I said all that shit about you having one sided feelings for Rozanov, and you lied to me.”
“I—”
“You could have told me. You told Hayden!”
It felt important that Shane understand this. That this was the heart of why J.J. was mad. Not his boyfriend. Not any of the vile shit the rest of the team was saying. This.
Shane looked sheepish. “He… guessed.”
“I felt sorry for you! I thought you were carrying a broken heart around, but the whole time you've been fucking Ilya Rozanov!”
Shane's nostrils flared, and he stepped closer to J.J.
“Ilya is my boyfriend. I love him, and I have for years. Don't make it sound like… less.”
Maybe he could have chosen his words more carefully. Maybe he was being cavalier on purpose. But what the fuck else was he supposed to think?
“Oh, shit, I'm sorry.” J.J. replied sarcastically. “Obviously I should have known about your epic love affair with Ilya fucking Rozanov, because you've told me so much about it. You're one of my best friends, Shane. What the fuck?”
“Maybe,” Shane clenched his jaw, “I thought you wouldn't exactly be supportive.”
“Of what? Sneaking around with your fucking rival?”
Shane tipped a hand towards J.J. “See?”
J.J. had to walk away to cool off. It felt like he'd been set up in a lose-lose situation. He was pissed he hadn't been told. He hadn't been told because he would have been pissed. Either way, it was just downright annoying to be so caught out.
“Look, I don't think this is okay. It's fucked up that you're dating the captain of the team we're probably going to be facing in the playoffs.”
Shane's eyebrows narrowed, anger evident from outer space. “Thanks for your fucking input. You think maybe that's exactly why I didn't tell you?”
And, God. J.J. had had enough of that as a justification when the only reason that he knew to begin with was Hayden fucking Pike.
“How did Hayden react at first? Thrilled for you, was he?”
That smacked the indignation off of Shane's face. His mouth dropped open, but he couldn't find a defense. J.J. didn't think he would. He knew Hayden. That conversation wouldn't have been sunshine and rainbows either.
“That's what I thought.”
“Look,” Shane's voice evened out. “The less people who knew, the better. It's nothing personal.”
“It fucking feels personal.”
J.J. couldn't help it. He was practically yelling. It might not have been personal to the rest of the world. It might not have been personal to the rest of the team. But it was personal to him, as someone who had Shane's texts pinned on his phone, and who really didn't think there were any significant secrets between them.
“God, would you stop? I've been hiding this thing for eleven fucking years. It sucked, okay? I'm sorry your feelings are hurt, but come on, man.”
The last part came out a plea, but J.J. was too shellshocked to hear it.
Eleven years. Eleven years. When he'd read that post, when he'd spoken to Hayden, he’d thought that several years meant two, maybe three, and he'd been pissed enough about that already.
Eleven years. J.J. hadn't even known Shane that long, and they'd been rookies together.
“Eleven years?”
Shane looked scared now, processing how much information he'd let out in his outburst. “Um. Give or take.”
J.J. had to sit down. He walked to the staircase and took a seat, letting the weight of those words sink in. It didn't compute.
How could he have so categorically missed this? How could Shane have hidden this for so long, and so completely? It felt like Shane had been leading a double life. How had this not come up in all that time? How? At this point, if Shane didn't try to play until he was fifty years old, he had a viable secondary career in spy work.
It hadn't felt this way at all when Shane came out, but it felt that way now. He could barely wrap his head around it. This concept, this reality, that he'd never known a version of Shane that wasn't with Rozanov in some capacity. He hadn't even known Shane himself for eleven years. He couldn’t grasp the idea that Rozanov had.
If asked to describe Shane, some of the words that would’ve come to mind were earnest. Honest. Straightforward. Gentle. It was staggering to realize he could so thoroughly conceal half of his life for more than a decade.
Their rookie season ran from 2010 to 2011. They'd only surpassed the ten year mark of their friendship last fall, which J.J. probably wouldn't have even noticed if Hayden hadn't said something about it at the beginning of the season.
“Man, can you believe we've been on this team for ten years?”
“Oh, my God.” J.J. startled at the number. “You’re making me feel so old.”
“Three cups in ten years? Not too shabby.” Shane had grinned, and they'd all taken a pause at that.
“Wow. Has it really been ten years?”
“Yeah, man.” Hayden pointed to the rafters. “And the team was kind of shitty when we joined, so, look at us now.”
Look at us now. Ten years later. Eleven for Rozanov.
“Eleven fucking years. The entire time I've known you.”
Shane's voice was quiet as he reasoned, “We haven't been, like, a couple that whole time.”
But Shane hadn't just known Rozanov. It wasn't a recent development. They’d started the foundation, what, three years ago? It took another year for J.J. to start noticing that gooey look on Shane's face? The mental math was flying too fast for him to handle.
A series of images flashed through his head. The first day, shaking hands with the kid keeping his head down as he walked into the locker room, massive reputation preceding him. How relieved Shane had been to have someone else introduce themselves first. The quiet excitement on his face when J.J. had slapped him on the back and said, “We are going to be great friends, mon ami.”
All those late night celebrations where J.J. had stupidly pushed him on the dance floor, pointing out women who'd been staring at him. Rose. God, Rose. He’d already reviewed all of these memories when Shane came out to him, so these were old grimaces, but it gave new context to why Shane had been so unenthusiastic. So resistant. Not only had he been gay, but he’d been carrying a torch for Ilya Rozanov. Maybe on some of those nights he’d left early, he’d been meeting Rozanov himself. Maybe Rose had known.
Every practice. Every cup. Every game against Boston. Every time Shane smiled at his texts in a hotel lobby, or turning on his phone as a plane landed.
The camps. God, the camps. Those would have been… seven years in? Seven years.
He and Shane yelling in each other's faces, soaked with sweat, after winning the cup the first time, and the second, and the third. The way they’d blasted music afterwards in their celebrations, and Shane had tried so hard to nod along to the beat despite not being able to sing along to a single song.
All of the morning runs when the two of them had bitched about Comeau and Drapeau being shitty players, and shittier friends.
The little comments they made that Shane had told him and Hayden about — rarely, and only ever late at night behind closed doors.
The little comments he only told J.J. about, because Hayden would never understand.
He thought they were confidantes. It had been a decade. Enough time had passed in their friendship that a different word had entered the lexicon. They hadn't been friends for years; they'd been friends for a decade. And now he couldn't comprehend that Rozanov had been there the whole time, too. For even longer, actually. It just didn't click.
He could track entire eras of their lives through wardrobe changes, and haircuts, and the births of Hayden's kids, and when Shane stopped drinking, and when Shane stopped eating.
They’d shared a third of their lives together. His entire twenties. J.J.'s time playing for Montreal, his entire NHL career, didn't exist without Shane. It was unfathomable. At this point, it felt impossible to think about who he would have been if Shane had not smiled back on that first day and said, “Sounds like a plan.”
He wouldn't be the same player, that's for sure. Not without Shane’s diligence motivating him every step of the way. He never would have spent as many Sundays going on 8 a.m. runs. His off days would have been lazier. All of those little changes added up to real ones. He’d read online once that you are the sum of the five people closest to you. He didn't think he would be a three time Stanley Cup champion if Shane had not been one of them.
And on a more personal level, he didn't think he would have been as empathetic, or as kind, or as observant. He wouldn't have done as many volunteer days. He wouldn't have spent his summers working at a charity. He wouldn't have paid as much attention to the nonverbal cues of the people around him if one of his best friends had been louder. More communicative. More boorish. He wouldn’t have had to.
They'd grown around each other during a highly formative part of their lives, the way tree roots sometimes break through pavement. J.J. had thought that all of that amounted to him knowing Shane, truly knowing Shane, inside and out.
“Fucking hell, Hollander. Who are you?”
Shane took the seat next to him and bumped his knee. “I’m your friend. And your teammate. And I fell in love with the most complicated person I could possibly fall in love with.”
And well... there was nothing to say to that. It was true.
“Ilya fucking Rozanov.” J.J. shook his head. “Jesus, Shane. Why?”
Why him? Why is this all worth it?
“Because…” Shane stared out into his living room. “He makes me happy. I know it doesn't make sense, but he's it for me. We're getting married.”
J.J.'s head jerked to his side, eyes flying open. “Married?”
“Uh, yeah.” Shane scratched the back of his head. “So, you know, watch for an invitation.”
J.J. gawped. He was just barely processing how long this had been going on, and now... this.
“Fuck Hollander. This is a lot.”
Shane nudged him. “I’m the same friend you've always had. And I'll still be the same when I'm Ilya's husband. I swear I'm normal.”
Ilya's husband. Jesus fucking Christ. He'd barely started thinking of Ilya as Shane's boyfriend. He hadn't even gotten to the idea of Shane as Ilya's boyfriend. He didn't know Ilya like that. And now Shane was, what? Ilya's fiancé? Fucking hell.
When you want someone in your life, you get over it. He's our fucking friend.
J.J. let out a long sigh. “No one who's never heard of Cardi B is normal.”
Shane's face lit up with surprise, and he laughed. “Fuck off. I'd heard the name. I just didn't know any of his songs.”
“Her, you fucking dipshit.” He elbowed Shane, and Shane leaned in, so he leaned back.
This was what he wanted to get back to. This was the person he'd grown up with. Shane wasn't wrong. Ilya's husband would never know a Cardi B song, and there was something comfortingly familiar about that.
“I don't want to be mad at you, Hollander.”
“I know. But you can be.” Shane smiled. “Until tomorrow. Then we've got to play hockey.”
J.J. smiled back. “Deal.”
They hugged it out, both relieved out of their minds to have the conversation over with. It was well past ten now, which was probably edging too close to Shane’s bedtime, but they were both obviously itching to unwind from the heaviness of the situation.
“So… Want a drink?” Shane awkwardly made his way to the fridge, and J.J. laughed at the hard pivot.
“Sure. Whatever you’ve got.” He grinned. “Except that fuckass kombucha.”
“Alright, alright! No kombucha. The ginger one is actually really good though!”
“Once again,” J.J. shook his head. “You are not normal.”
Chapter End Notes
Reality:
All of the dialogue in this is ripped straight from the book, but there’s just one moment of Shane’s interiority that J.J. doesn’t notice + Shane doesn’t clarify that makes me sad, so I’m including it. This is right after J.J. says he doesn’t think it’s okay —
“Shane immediately got angry. He couldn’t help it; he’d had enough of people being grossed out by his relationship for one day. ”
——
First of all, thank you guys so much for reading and engaging with this fic!! I’m not great at responding to comments but I do read and treasure every one so I wanted to address some things I saw:
- Yes it is intentional that a woman has to do the emotional labor of talking J.J. through his issues; no, she is not a hockey fan and doesn’t really understand the circumstances or full picture. That said, with this chapter, I would encourage anyone still hating on J.J. to think of your second closest friend, and try to put eleven years into context.
- It is also intentional that the team attacks and questions J.J. while simply ignoring Hayden and giving him dirty looks. It is intentional that J.J. ends up being left out of the groups that break off, for reasons that were beautifully dissected in the comments, and that I don’t think hockey players would work very hard to understand.
- I did not want to give J.J. some kind of white knight shining armor moment where he Stands Up To Homophobia for a few reasons: 1) I genuinely don’t think that these players have enough self awareness or emotional exploration to even realize the undertones of what they’re saying. 2) I don’t think J.J. would be in the mood to be Shane’s #1 protector at this moment in time based on what we know of his canon reaction. 3) I think that part of why homophobia and racism run so rampant in locker rooms is because they’re not so much explicitly said as they are implied under the veil of jokes. These guys don’t see themselves as bigots. They just think things are “weird” and you should be able to “take a joke.”
- Shane never explains the Russia danger of it all to J.J., and he doesn’t really have reason to care about Ilya when the thing he’s pissed about is his own friend and his own team. Short-sighted, sure. Realistic? Yes. I’ll probably add that in when they have to make up again after the trip comment, which is a conversation that’s missing from the book and I get to have more creative license over 😈Again, thank you so much for reading!!!
April 2021 — Montreal
Shane returned without fanfare or celebration. He didn't say much to address the nightmare that had been the last week, and Theriault’s silence on the matter didn't improve things.
On his first day back, Shane clapped his hands together and said, “All right, guys, listen up. I just want to say one thing.”
Blank stares replaced what had previously been uniform listening. Two weeks ago, every person in the room would have turned around and shut up like toy soldiers. Now, the response looked like a silent rebellion, stares ranging from apprehensive to icy. They were listening, but they weren't standing up straight.
J.J. folded his arms over his chest and barked out, “What is it, Capitaine?”
Shane gave him a short nod and continued.
“I know this has been a long week. I know it's been a long year. But I believe in this team, and I know I’m not alone in that. We’re in the final push, so all we can do now is play hard, play our game. I don't know about you guys, but I want to win another cup. I look around this room, and I see a lot of people I've won a cup with. Let’s make it another.”
Beyond that, he went… quiet. Spoke almost exclusively about hockey. Doubled his efforts. Showed up earlier and stayed even later. J.J. was by no means a therapist, but it was painfully transparent that Shane thought if he worked harder, gave more, he'd find his way back into the guys’ good graces. It scared him, watching someone who usually gave 110% try to give 150%.
The team ignored the elephant in the room, but tension seeped into every interaction. It was all too obvious that Shane had lost his hold over them. It didn't help that J.J. and Shane were supposed to be the team's authority figures. But in the weeks that followed, it was crystal clear that their command was slipping.
As captain and alternate captain, they were responsible for sending organizational texts to the group. But messages that typically ignited a chain reaction of jokes and memes now received thumbs up. Half the time Shane addressed the team with directives, Comeau didn’t bother to make eye contact. Their grip on the team had loosened, and it was affecting their play.
Hayden’s situation was only marginally better. If he joined a conversation, it dispersed. If he brought up Shane's name in a story, he could expect dirty looks. The difference was that Hayden only ever talked about his kids, and no one was going to take their frustrations out on them.
J.J. could still make small talk with most of the team, but now that he had made up with both of them, the conversations were shorter. Clipped.
More than anything, the locker room was just awkward. Hostility settled into silence. Aggression turned to avoidance. Their well-oiled machine was crumbling into its parts, rusted with resentment.
Finally, J.J. couldn't take it anymore. He snapped in the middle of a Toronto game — a game they should have been winning.
“The fuck was that? Hollander was wide open.”
Wilson shrugged, “No, he wasn’t,” in a bald-faced lie.
“Are you fucking kidding me? We've run this play a million times.”
“It's fine, J.J.” Shane skated past, his tone neutral. “He didn't see me.”
But it wasn't fine. This level of pettiness wasn’t only a pain in the ass; it was costing them. Not by much, given that they were top-ranked in their conference, and had spent years building a robotic level of precision. But the difference was noteworthy.
Games that should have been shutouts became battles. Teams they treated like locked wins started fighting back. It didn’t help that the bitter, unavoidable reality of the Centaurs’ hot streak loomed in the background of their failings. Helplessly, they watched their first round playoff match-up shift from an unlikely nightmare to a guarantee.
They didn't talk about it — not Shane's ostracization, or his boyfriend, or the way the team was falling to pieces. They didn't know how. They didn't do that. Never had. They lacked the vocabulary for it, and the bravery. The softest, most vulnerable parts of them were saved for their wives, their children, and Ilya Rozanov.
Not even Shane and Hayden could stomach it, even when the three of them were alone. Under normal circumstances, their little trio often lingered in the parking lot after practice, debriefing the day's events, or sometimes getting coffee to shoot the shit. These days, Shane spent that time on extra practices and wordless workouts, passing his off days two hours away in the company of their chief competitor. Those conversations quickly disappeared as they watched Shane overextend his body and time, powerless to stop him. He'd never shared much about his personal life anyway, though J.J. supposed they knew why now.
Hayden wasn't much better. It was the end of the school year, and lately, there was always a piano recital or a dance showcase to rush off to.
Instead, the three of them shared sympathetic looks. Half-assed back slaps as comfort. Eye rolls. Murmurs of ignore him and God, that guy's a dick under their breaths.
J.J. wasn’t friendless by any means. But God, he was fucking lonely.
Shane barely spoke about his fiancé. He found ways to code his words as the team built a playbook for their upcoming games. He'd say things like, “They're strong in the center, but, we have an opportunity here to—”, and “If you look at their game tape against Washington, you can see that we're going to need defense on our right side because they shoot from here more often.”
But there was no them. His future husband hadn't miraculously become nonbinary overnight.
Ilya Rozanov was strong in the center. Ilya Rozanov shot from the right.
In private, J.J. could pull more from him.
“Want to get dinner?”
“Uh, sorry, man. I would, but I think I want to beat traffic.”
“To Brossard?” J.J. snorted.
“No, um, I think I'm gonna head up to Ottawa for the night.”
“Ah, gonna see your man then?” He tried.
“Yeah.” Shane blushed, but he ducked his head.
J.J. pulled a tight smile, but it didn't meet his eyes. He couldn't help it. He was too worried, and though their friendship was tentatively back on track, Shane still wouldn't talk to him. Not about Rozanov. Not about any of it, really.
He slapped him on the shoulder. “Drive safe, mon ami.”
It wasn't all bad. At the end of the day, this wasn't a serious group. It was impossible to spend weeks upon weeks in somber silence with guys whose dicks you saw every day. The team spoke their own language, an etymology traced back to long hours and inside jokes, drunken nights and revelry.
There were bright spots. There were more wins than losses. The Cardi B still played when the arena emptied. J.J. still got whipped by towels, and Shane still got dogpiled for goals. Amends were made, if not spoken. He talked TV with Mitty, and music with Andropov. When they watched movies on the road, or played cards on a plane, things almost felt normal.
Shane had always been quiet. J.J. just had to keep reminding himself of that.
When the day finally arrived, it didn’t really matter anyway. Everyone had their game faces on — Hollander most of all. As a team, they took playoffs seriously, no matter how shitty their competitor was. They wouldn't be jockeying for their fourth cup if they didn't.
Still, J.J. was only a man. A silly man. And teasing Shane about his fashion sense had long been a favorite pastime. So when he spotted the glittering flash of gold beneath Shane's jersey, he couldn't resist.
“New drip Hollander?”
“What?” Shane looked up, confusion all over his face.
“Come on, man, we've taught you this one.”
“Shit. Can't remember.” He grimaced.
“Clothes, Shane. Clothes.” Hayden rolled his eyes. “But I gotta say, J.J., I think I've seen him in this outfit before.”
“Uh uh, not so fast, Pike.” J.J. pointed a finger. “You don't pay attention to these things. This is why I'm the most fashionable Voyageur.”
“Man, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“The chain.” J.J. nodded towards Shane, waggling his eyebrows at the barely visible necklace glinting beneath his Under Armour. “Cap’s blinged out.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Shane blushed.
“It's new, isn't it?” J.J. grinned.
“You like it?”
“Oh yeah. Looking good. Now usually I would say you need to consult me about these things but—”
“Fuck off.” Shane laughed, then glanced around them. “It's actually, uh, for this.”
He pulled the necklace out, and then it clicked.
A black ring, rimmed in gold, dangled from his neck as he tried to fight a grin, something hesitant and nervous in his eyes.
“Oh.” J.J. softened in recognition. “This is the ring?”
“Yeah,” Shane smiled wide, a note of disbelief in his laugh.
Hayden's eyes lingered on the chain and he smiled, too. “Congrats, man.”
“Hollander, you have the worst fucking timing.” J.J. sighed, filling his voice with fake exasperation.
“What do you mean?” Shane’s gaze darted back to the room.
J.J. squeezed his shoulder. “You're supposed to let us buy you shots when you show off the ring. We should be taking you to the club, not walking into fucking playoffs!”
Shane laughed, visibly relieved. “Maybe after we win this one.”
“Unbelievable.” J.J. shook his head. “Well, all right, then. Let's see it.”
He pinched the ring between his fingers, pulling it forward to inspect the black exterior and gold interior.
“Ooh. Very classy stuff here, Hollander. Rozanov’s got good taste.”
“Hey! I have good taste, thank you very much.”
“Uh huh. Sure.” J.J. grinned, dropping the ring. “Hey, you’ll have to tell me the story sometime, mon ami.”
“Yeah. For sure, man.” A little smile pulled at his lips, color in his cheeks as he tucked it away.
They were both trying, and it felt obvious. But still... trying.
“You know…” Shane's face went conspiratorial, and he lowered his voice, tilting his head towards the arena. “He hasn't seen it either.”
“Ha!” J.J. barked a surprised laugh. “You're playing mind games? At the fucking playoffs?”
Shane shrugged, the picture of smugness. “Can't hurt.”
J.J. practically cackled as he ruffled Shane's hair.
“Never change, Hollander.”
Chapter End Notes
April 2021 reality:
“As they bent for the face-off at the beginning of the third, Ilya noticed a glint of gold, on Shane’s neck.
“You have a chain now?” Ilya asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Shane said. “And a ring.”
Ilya smiled, and totally lost the face-off."
April 2021 — Ottawa
J.J. never got used to the brutality of playoffs games. The exhaustion. During the regular season, there was more time to rest and recuperate between games, but the playoffs schedule gave no such mercy.
They were only in the first round, but J.J. was a defenseman. Already, his body was bruised in more placesi than he could count. By game seven, he’d replaced his Advil twice.
Game seven. How the hell had the Centaurs, of all teams, taken them to game seven? It was grating, being pushed onto the back foot by a team that had started the year at the bottom of the rankings.
The whole team was irritated about it, but no one more so than Theriault.
“What the hell are you boys doing out there? These are the kinds of games we play against Edmonton, not Ottawa! I don't know what the fuck is going on with you. But I expect to see the team that won this city a cup last year out on that ice tonight. So no pussyfooting around.”
“Yes, sir.”
As a rule, they didn't talk back to him. But it was undeniable. Something was in the fucking water in Ottawa this year. The chemistry that had sparked between Troy Barrett and Ilya Rozanov in the last few months had become an inferno.
At this point, J.J. found it annoying listening to his teammates talk about this series like they were playing the same team they had in years past. The Centaurs just weren’t the same this year. Hell, the Voyageurs weren't the same team, either.
But they wouldn't go down without a fight. It was fucking Ottawa.
By the time the Centaurs pushed them to overtime, frustrations were high. He just wanted to go home, and hopefully try to get some sleep before New York. Evan Dykstra had done a number on the right side of his body, and he needed all of the rest he could get before they faced the Admirals.
His back was turned when it happened. He had Zane Boodram pressed to the boards, but his head whipped around at the sound of the goal buzzer just in time to see Shane skid across the ice. The next minute passed so quickly that when he thought about it later, he could only remember it in flashes of imagery.
Shane sprawled on the ground.
The sight of Rozanov’s hands raised up in victory.
The blur of players rushing past him to swarm their captain.
Eighteen thousand people on their feet, shrieking with hometown pride.
The deafening roar of the Centaurs’ home arena.
He'd look back on this moment later as a lesson in cockiness. But in all honesty, this outcome had never occurred to him. Ottawa was getting good, yes. But Montreal... They were the defending champs. This series was theirs to lose. And they lost it.
Every Voyageur’s shoulders slumped, the devastation of a hard fought game taking over. He leaned over, hands on his knees, as reality crashed in. It was over. Their season was over.
He was only dimly aware of his surroundings as the disappointed refrain of ”good game” echoed around him. But he didn't pay it any attention until Drapeau skated by, muttering, “Un-fucking-believable.”
“Hey.” He took a breath and gave him a sympathetic look. “It happens. It's not on you.”
Drapeau's glare was lethal as he spit out, “Yeah, no shit. I'm not the one who ate shit for his fucking boyfriend.”
J.J.'s eyebrows furrowed. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, are you gonna pretend you're not seeing this, too?”
Drapeau waved a hand across the rink and skated away.
He looked over to find Hayden lifting Shane to his feet, framed by a flurry of screaming black jerseys. He was ready to dismiss whatever Drapeau had been implying, but then... The handshake line happened.
One by one, he watched Centaur after Centaur shake Shane's hand. But they didn't follow the script. In fact, it looked like most of them were saying more than just “good game,” to him. They beamed at him. Told him how excited they were to spend next summer together. Troy Barrett even hugged him. What the fuck was going on?
Everyone in the arena watched carefully as Shane shook hands with his fiancée. Standing behind him, J.J. couldn't see Shane's face for any of it. But then, Luca Haas's grip pulled back his attention.
They moved through the rest of the line in a daze of self-pity, caught up in the misery of their defeat. But Drapeau's words nagged at him.
There was something too chummy about Hollander’s interactions with the winning team in comparison to how crushed everyone else was. J.J. considered Wyatt Hayes to be a good friend, but he couldn't summon the energy for a conversation with him right now.
The thought began to fester. He hadn't seen Shane fall. So what had everyone else seen?
As they dispersed, he heard grumblings behind him of “fucking Hollander,” and “Can you believe that shit? He had him. He literally had him. I saw it. And then what? He just falls? He just randomly trips on nothing?”
It wasn't like them to blame a loss on an individual player. Every one of them was perfectly capable of beating themselves up for their mistakes without their brothers adding to it. And if, for some reason, they failed to do that, their coach was more than happy to fill in. So what the fuck had everyone else seen?
Away from the arena, the hushed disappointment of the locker room was devastating. This time last year, they’d been cheering. Playing music. Dancing.
“I can't believe I fucking tripped.” Shane sighed as he threw his jersey into the bin.
“Did you?”
His head snapped towards J.J. instantly, eyes wide. “What’s that mean?”
J.J. looked at him carefully for a moment, taking in the horror on his face.
“I don’t know, Hollander. Just… fuck, tell me it was a mistake.”
He hoped it was a mistake. He believed it was a mistake. But the speculations around him were growing louder and ultimately, he hadn't seen. He just needed to hear it. If only to tell Drapeau to fuck off, he needed to hear it.
“What?” Shane was horrified. “You think I fell on purpose? That I let Ilya score?”
“I know what I saw.” Comeau stood, nostrils flared. “What everyone saw. It didn’t look like an accident.”
Comeau’s volume brought all of the room’s attention their way. More than one grumble supported him. More than two.
“Well, it was. What the fuck?” Shane's eyes flared with anger as he took in his teammates’ reactions. “You guys don’t actually think I fell on purpose, do you?”
Shane looked around the room, anger and disbelief coloring his already-red face.
Resignation set in. Of course he didn’t think that. Shane was the hardest working among them. It was stupid to even consider.
They were fucking tired. They were crushed. And they'd never expected this. A playoffs loss to Ottawa was nothing short of humiliating. It was easier to acknowledge their bitterness than the mortification of their fans leaving the arena, silent and disappointed.
J.J. exhaled a hard breath. “No, I don't think that.”
Hayden rushed past him, standing at Shane’s side like a guard dog. “Of course we don’t fucking think that. Come on, guys. Shane would never betray his team.”
But he and Hayden seemed to be the only ones willing to acknowledge that. The rest of the team wasn't convinced.
One look at Shane struck him with cold dread. He looked furious, giving the room one last incredulous look, but his eyes were shining by the time he started tearing at his gear.
“Fuck this.”
After he fumed away, Hayden gave J.J. a long, hard look. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
***
No one was ever in the mood to talk after a loss, and losers didn’t deserve music. They were fucking miserable, sulking in the sounds of shower sprays and low, muffled conversations. When Shane stormed out of the locker room without a word, J.J. didn’t blame him.
Theriault did. As they boarded the bus, he asked, “Where the fuck is Hollander?”
“He left.” Mitty replied.
Coach scoffed. “Of course he did.”
The ride home was sullen and quiet. Most everyone spent the next two and a half hours sleeping. Some guys’ families had come to the game, and they’d gone home with them. Hayden drove back with Jackie. But there was no absence more noticeable than Shane’s.
J.J. waited until he was home to watch the video. He’d foolishly thought that he could unwind from the day by watching TikToks, but the clip was unavoidable: Rozanov intercepting Shane’s pass to him. Himself getting locked in a battle with Boodram against the boards. Rozanov taking off on a breakaway. Shane darting after him, the two of them alone next to the net. Shane tripping right at the end, unprovoked. Rozanov’s goal. A swarm of Centaurs.
It was masochistic, how many times he watched it. Looking at the video now, it was so fucking obvious.
Of course he hadn’t tripped on purpose. This happened all the time. All the fucking time.
The fans didn’t agree. They were more than happy to blame Shane for their lost bets and crushed hopes. But J.J. had a decade of experience with tiresome, fair weather Montreal “supporters,” and that was nothing new.
What was worse was seeing sportscasters agree. Some vocally railed against Shane. A refrain ricocheted across the internet that J.J. had once let himself believe, that there was no way Shane could possibly play an impartial game against his boyfriend.
The more levelheaded ones presented both options in attempts to be neutral. Trips were common. Relationships were not.
The most vocal Hollander supporters were still there to bring up his track record. They made compilations, highlighting that four guys across the league had already tripped in the first round alone. J.J. liked those posts. But the negativity was drowning.
He tried to sleep. His body needed to sleep. But his freshest memories beat into his head like a drum.
Shane's eyes, shining and furious with betrayal.
Hayden's disgust.
A slammed door.
You don't really believe that I tripped, do you?
What the fuck is wrong with you?
Where's Hollander?
It had been a hard day. A hard month. A hard loss. His body ached. His spirit was broken. And as the rush of shame, disappointment, and regret spiraled within him, his own eyes grew wet. Alone in his bed, he broke the fuck down.
***
The next day wasn't better. Not for J.J., not for the Voyageurs, not for the news cycle, and especially not for Shane. Although, J.J. didn’t actually know how Shane was doing. They hadn't spoken.
It felt too fresh. Too soon. He needed to hash it out with a second opinion before he tried to talk to him, and he didn't think Shane would want to hear from him right now anyway.
As more sports anchors and online spectators poured in their opinions, the validity of Shane intentionally tripping grew. The more you heard something, the more likely you were to believe it. People who didn't watch the game were getting the idea filtered through their feeds as hearsay, and not bothering to fact check.
The sheer volume of the reaction buried J.J. in guilt. The louder the backlash grew, the more obvious it felt to him. The more people claimed it was true, the more J.J. believed it wasn't.
It wasn't a contrarian impulse. It was a decade of experience in sports media, and a decade of experience in Shane Hollander. He would never throw a game. He just wouldn't.
***
J.J. recalled a memory from a few years prior of Ruby and Jade throwing one of the most legendary tantrums he'd ever seen in his life.
“Alright guys,” Hayden had used his most placating tone, and sent Shane and J.J. pointed looks. “Tell you what. The three of us are gonna go look up the rules in the kitchen, alright?”
Once they were out of earshot, Hayden gave Shane a light punch to the arm.
“Hey!”
“Dude! They're kids. You have to let them win! That's, like, rule number one!”
“What?” Shane had balked, baffled beyond belief. “Why?”
“Because otherwise, they're gonna scream all fucking day!” Hayden hissed. “You get to leave here in, like, an hour. I'm gonna have to deal with their Uno trauma!”
J.J. had laughed at the sheer bewilderment on Shane's face. “Pike, it’s not our fault your kids suck at Uno!”
“Oh, thanks. Thanks a lot. They’re six, by the way.”
“So? Why would we let them win? That makes no sense!” Shane exclaimed. “How are they gonna learn if they're cheating?”
“Dude.” J.J. snorted. “They're not gonna remember cheating at Uno.”
“Okay. You guys are way off here. Stop looking at me like I'm the crazy one.” He pointed a finger. “It feels better to win when you earned it! It just does!”
“Earned Uno?”
“You think they give a fuck about that?” Hayden's eyes went wide with disbelief.
“Swear jar,” Shane muttered, totally put out.
***
It had been funny at the time, but it brought a sting to his eyes now. Shane was the most competitive person he knew. It was possibly his most defining trait, and one of the prime reasons they'd become friends to begin with.
J.J. didn't have very many friends who were so shy, so antisocial, so introverted. He liked loud stories, chic restaurants, and clinking glasses. For those reasons, it had taken a few weeks for them to truly click.
That is, until J.J. saw what set Shane apart from the more docile and superficially nice types of people he typically dismissed — that surprising, frequently hidden aspect of Shane's personality that had to be drawn out. It was a cockiness and ambition that went beyond the duller, more angelic kinds of people that couldn't hold J.J.'s attention for more than a friendly chat. Beneath that thick layer of politeness and media training lay a man who was hungry to succeed. Secretly a little bitchy. Someone with a burning fire to win, who bit back.
That was their shared trait. That was why they’d won three cups together.
Looking at the brutal media aftermath of their loss, he couldn’t understand how he’d let himself forget that.
Chapter End Notes
April 2021 reality:
“They think I fell on purpose,” he said.
“What?” Mom said. “Who said that? I want names.”
Shane shook his head. “I’ve given this team everything and...” His face crumpled.
Dad wrapped his arms around him. “I’m sorry, Shane. It’s been a rough couple of weeks for you.”
Shane sniffed. “It can only get better, right?” He glanced over Dad’s shoulder to see Mom frowning at her phone. “Oh god. What now?”
Mom forced her lips into the least convincing smile Shane had ever seen. “Nothing important. Let’s go home.”
“You were checking Twitter, weren’t you? What’s everyone saying?”
Mom slipped her phone into her pocket. “Like I said. Nothing important.”+
“The next morning, Ilya was disgusted to see that hockey media was full of opinion pieces that wondered aloud if Shane had intentionally let Ilya score.
“This is insulting to me as well,” Ilya complained on the phone to Shane. “They think I can’t beat you unless we cheat?”
“You wouldn’t have beaten me if I hadn’t tripped,” Shane pointed out for no reason at all.
“Shane,” Ilya sighed. “Not now. And of course I would have.”
“I’m so fucking angry,” Shane said. “I don’t deserve this.”
Ilya was glad to hear him say it. “You’re a free agent now. Get the fuck out of there. Go somewhere that will appreciate you.”---
bro i hated writing this why did i do this to myself all i wanted was to write cute outsider pov scenes 😭J.J. redemption arc incoming!!
Afterword
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