Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Fandoms:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Hayden Pike, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Wyatt Hayes, Brandon Wiebe

Additional Tags:

Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Coming Out, Airplane Crashes, Wyatt Hayes is a Good Friend, Supportive Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Minor Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Minor Troy Barrett/Harris Drover, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Being Assholes (Game Changers), Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros (Game Changers)

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of love is loud, messy, and complicated

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-24 Words: 10,936 Chapters: 1/1

the stupid plan doesn't work anymore

Summary

When Shane learns that Ilya's plane has crashed and he doesn't even know who Ilya's emergency contact is or if Ilya's alive, he has a stunning realization that Ilya dying without anyone knowing what they are to one another would be a torment.

Ilya is injured in the plane crash, Shane does a lot of coming out.

“I love you,” says Shane, “I love you so fucking much, Ilya. And when you’re less loopy, I think we need to talk about how the stupid plan doesn’t work anymore.”
Ilya’s mostly out of it by now, but he snorts, “Hollander wants to deviate from plan? Must be very serious for me, yes?”
“You’re going to be fine.” Shane can’t even entertain the possibility of anything else, “Go to sleep.”

Shane is disappointed Ilya hadn’t texted him. Yes, they’d made up from their fight and when they’d done that, they’d agreed that space would be good for them both. But still, Ilya usually texted Shane when the plane was about to take off, and when it landed. They’d taken off just before Shane’s game in Washington had started, so Ilya should’ve landed by now. The Centaurs had won, so Shane tries to brush off the uneasy slightly hurt feelings and tells himself that they’d probably celebrated the entire flight and then kept the party going in Tampa. 

“Whoa,” JJ’s voice carried from the next row up, “Shut up! Everyone shut up!”

The bus quieted down, at least in the nearest seats. Shane stops staring at his non-existent texts. “The Cens’ plane went down. Tabernak, look at that shit.”

Shane goes numb.

He’s imagining things. JJ hadn’t just said that, had he? 

He feels Hayden’s hand land on his knee. And that small touch, that small comfort, breaks Shane’s world wide open. He launches himself up to look over the back of the seat, “What the fuck did you just say?”

JJ’s face is grim, “Ottawa’s plane. Look.” He points a tablet in Shane’s direction, and in the dark of the team bus, the light is near-blinding. Shane sees photos, grainy and from a distance, but definitely a plane in a field, on fire. Ambulances and firetrucks. And somewhere in there is… Ilya. 

Shane can’t speak, he looks at Hayden, sees Hayden looking at him like Shane is the one who will have answers. He seems to decide Shane won’t or can’t ask, because Hayden looks back at JJ, “Are people… okay?”

JJ, stupid oblivious fucking JJ, loudly and with zero sugar-coating or tact shakes his head, “No, fucking hell, uh… they’re not saying who is injured just that several team members and staff have been taken to hospital.”

Shane finds his tongue, “Does it say which hospital?”

JJ looks up at that, “No man, when do they ever say what hospital?”

Right.

Hayden’s hands pull Shane back into his seat, one hand sticking back on his knee, squeezing. The only person on this entire bus who knows Shane’s dying. Hayden hisses in his ear, “You haven’t heard from him?”

Shane shakes his head, nausea bubbling up. 

In his hand, his phone starts ringing. It’s not Ilya. It’s not the parent he would expect to hear from right now either. He holds his phone limply as the name Dad lights up the space between him and Hayden. 

On the third ring, Hayden answers and presses the phone to Shane’s ear. Shane can’t speak. Dad doesn’t wait, “Shane? Hey, it’s Dad. I don’t know if you’ve seen –?”

Shane swallows hard, “I saw.”

“Okay,” Dad sounds tense, but maybe also relieved not to be the one breaking this news to Shane, “Have you heard from him?”

“No,” Shane’s voice wobbles dangerously, “No, I haven’t –”

Hayden’s hand squeezes hard on his knee, it’s not just solidarity, it’s a reminder, a warning. Shane swallows, “Dad, I just got out of the arena, we’re not at the hotel –”

And thank god, Dad understands immediately what he’s not saying, “Right. Okay. Mom’s on the phone, we’ll call you the second we hear anything, okay?”

“Okay,” says Shane, “Thank you. Love you.”

Hayden is waiting for an update. Shane shakes his head. The bus is pulling up at the hotel. Shane launches himself back to his feet. He hears people muttering as he passes, at first about the crash, then about him. 

“What the hell’s up with Hollzy?” 

“Looks like he’s seen a god damn ghost.”

Shane ignores them and bolts for his and Hayden’s room. He leaves all his stuff on the bus, and he only remembers that when Hayden dumps it all on the bed for him. Shane’s already listened to Ilya’s voicemail tell him his message will go unlistened to three times. 

“Hayd…”

“Hey, no,” Hayden says, “Shane, hey. We don’t have time to fall apart right now, okay? What did David say?”

“They haven’t heard either,” Shane said, “Mom was calling… I don’t know who the hell she was calling. Fuck. Fuck! 

“I don’t know who his fucking emergency contact is,” Shane says, after he’s reached Ilya’s voicemail for the eighth time, “I – I’m nothing, Hayden. Even if I knew where he was, they aren’t going to tell me anything. Oh my God, Ilya’s dead and I’m – I’m nothing.”

Hayden gets right down in Shane’s face, “Shane, buddy, we don’t know anything right now. We don’t know that anything happened to Ilya. Maybe his phone is dead. Or lost. Or fucking broken, it’s a fucking plane crash.”

Shane feels the panic settling over him though. It’s already so clear. Ilya’s dead, Shane’s a shell of himself, the world never knowing that they were anything more than rivals and kind of maybe casually friendly. They’ll never know that they were in love. And that’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid that he’s lonely and dying and scared and no one knows but Hayden because no one else knows about Ilya. If Ilya’s dead, he won’t stop dying. He’ll be dying every day for the rest of his life. 

Shane checks his texts again. His last text to Lily is unread: tell me you’re okay please

His phone lights up again. Dad. He answers on his own this time, “Did you –?”

“We don’t know anything for sure. But Farah says they’ll call her when there’s an update.” Shane feels like an idiot. Of course Ilya would’ve made his emergency contact. Their agent, the one other person they both know who knows about them. The one person who knows who wouldn’t be suspiciously connected to Shane. “Mom’s sending you a ticket to Jacksonville, that’s the closest airport as far as we can tell. We’re leaving now too, there’s going to be a rental car waiting for you. Are you okay?”

“No,” Shane says honestly, “I’m not.”

“We’ll see you in Florida,” says Dad. 

Shane gets an email ten minutes later as promised, with a plane ticket – and the thought of getting on a plane makes Shane want to throw up – and the rental car info. He needs to leave in three hours for the airport. 

Hayden promises to field things with Coach and the team. He doesn’t say what the lie will be, Shane just assumes there will be one. All in all, he’s deep in the throes of gut wrenching fear and anxiety, but he’s functional. 

And then he finds the messages. 

4 new messages from ilyarozanov☑️

Shane.

I love you. Always. Maybe from the first time I saw you.

I am thinking only about you right now. A million memories. Thank you for those.

Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.

Shane breaks. He throws his phone aside and bolts to the bathroom and he throws up everything he ate for lunch. 

 

Hayden rouses him from the full on panic attack that follows to bundle him into an Uber to the airport. Shane moves through the security process with all the finesse of someone who has travelled multiple times a week for their entire adult life. His usual text to his parents that he’s boarding feels more ominous than usual. 

He pulls up his texts to Ilya. 

I’m coming to find you. Please text back.

He doesn’t breathe until he lands in Jacksonville and there’s nothing from Ilya. 

Mom has texted

Mom: Love you. We’ll land around eleven. 

Mom: No status update but he was taken to hospital.

Mom: [Maps directions to a hospital]

Mom: At the airport. See you in a few hours. 

It’s a couple hours away so Shane collects his rental car and he drives.

He is almost there when a call comes in. Shane risks his life pulling over to answer. It’s Farah. “Hello?”

“Shane,” she doesn’t sound relieved. “Where are you?”

Shane checks the map, “About forty minutes away. Is he –?”

“Ilya’s just getting out of surgery,” she says. Shane isn’t sure why she sounds like that. Surgery means he’s alive. Alive!

“Shane,” Farah’s serious tone demands his attention, “I know you’re only thinking about him right now. That’s okay, that’s your job. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t tell you, you shouldn’t be in Florida. You definitely should not be at the hospital.”

That doesn’t make any sense, “Ilya’s hurt, of course I should be there –”

“Shane, I know,” she says gently, “But there’s hundreds of eyes on this. This is a major news story. You are supposed to be in Montreal tonight. If you are photographed anywhere near Ilya Rozanov – are you sure that’s going to help him?”

Shane stares at his phone. Because no, he’s not sure. In fact, he’s pretty fucking sure that there’s a million year plan in place that very much includes not being seen together anywhere public but at Irina Foundation events. And he doubts very much that whatever is wrong with Ilya will be made better by the entire world finding out The Big Secret.

Shane knows she’s right. “But – what do I do?”

“You book a hotel for yourself and your parents,” she suggests, “I will call you back when the doctor calls me. When he’s awake, you will talk to him on the phone and the two of you will decide together what you should do. And you will talk to me and your mother before you do it, so we can make sure it’s safe for you both, okay?”

“Okay,” Shane whispers, “Surgery?”

Farah’s voice catches just slightly, “He’s doing okay. It could have been worse. Are you okay?”

“No,” says Shane, “I’m really fucking not.”

“Drive safely,” she intones sternly, “You need to get there in one piece too, okay?”

“Okay,” says Shane.

 

Shane waits at the hotel for what feels like an absolute eternity. Hayden calls to check on him. Mom and Dad confirm they landed. Farah calls and tells him that Ilya is awake but too groggy to talk yet and he’s with his team.

He’s not expecting a call from Wyatt Hayes.

Shane stares down at his phone in astonishment. Not once in his desperation in the last twelve or so hours has he thought to call Wyatt Hayes. The only member of Ilya’s team who directly volunteered at the hockey camps consistently enough to know Shane.

Shane answers a little hesitantly, “Hello?”

“Hollander,” Hayes sounds exhausted.

Shane wants to ask about Ilya first. But he forces himself to be polite and casual, like the love of his life wasn’t on the plane, “Are you okay? How’s your team? M –”

He’s really really glad that Hayes interrupts before Shane has to pretend to be Shane Hollander, Captain of the Montreal Voyageurs, offering support in an official perfunctory capacity. “Hollander, I have to tell you something important.”

Shane’s stomach sinks. It’s Ilya. Something went wrong, some post-surgical complication. They’re calling Farah now to tell her, and she’s waiting until Mom and Dad are here to tell him. “What is it?”

“Roz is asking for you,” Hayes still sounds tired, but maybe also a bit… amused. 

Shane’s brain short circuits, “He what?”

“Er, yeah,” Hayes sounds… weird. “Roz keeps asking for you… and calling you something in Russian that makes him giggle when we ask what it means.” Shane has a pretty good list of ideas for what that could be. “And anyways, we tried telling him to rest and that you have a game tonight but he’s… he’s really a bit agitated. Sorry, man, shit, I don’t even know what time it is. You’re in Montreal, right?”

“Uh, no,” Shane says quietly, “I’m not in Montreal. I’m at a hotel near the hospital. I’m here.”

“Here?” Shane hears the million questions Wyatt doesn’t ask. What he does ask is, “Can I tell Rozy?”

Shane isn’t sure. He wants Ilya to rest. He knows if Ilya knows Shane’s here, Ilya will make life hell for anyone near him until Shane shows his face at the hospital. Shane thinks back to that terrible, awful look on Ilya’s face in the video of Cliff Marlow wrecking Shane. This feels like that, only this time, Shane is the one who is left standing behind. It’s terrible.

He goes too long without answering. “Hollander?”

Shane lets out a long breath, “I cannot be seen coming in.”

“Heard,” says Hayes, “There’s a side entrance, I can come let you in…” Shane listens as Hayes gives him very clear directions.

He texts his mom first. Then he texts Farah.

His teammate called. He’s asking for me. I’m going. Please just handle whatever happens.

 

Shane pulls his hat down low and adjusts his sunglasses. Ordinarily, in Florida, as long as hockey isn’t in season, Shane’s chances of being recognized aren’t so high. When an entire NHL team is hospitalized following a plane crash… Shane just hopes for the best.

Hayes is waiting at the side door as promised, “Hollander!”

Shane shakes his hand, “Thank you. For calling. I was…”

Hayes gives him a cautious sideways glance, “So you must be Jane.”

Shane flushes. “I –”

Hayes claps him on the shoulder, “Hey, Hollander, breathe. I have questions, obviously, but looking at you right now tells me all I need to know. You look like shit, and I’m the one who was on the fucking plane.”

Shane gives Hayes a quick once-over, “You’re –?”

“Just some cuts and bruises,” says Hayes, “I’ve had worse on the ice in Montreal.”

Shane follows Hayes up some stairs and through a unit. Hayes suddenly stops and motions for Shane to stay, “Wait here.”

Shane watches as Hayes rounds the corner, goes into a room. Shane’s knees nearly give out as he hears Ilya’s voice boom, “Hazy!” 

Shane shrinks back as two of Ilya’s other teammates slink out. One has an arm in a sling, the other looks relatively okay. Hayes sticks his head out of the room and hisses, “Hollander!”

Shane practically sprints the rest of the way. Ilya is lying on the bed. His forehead has a cut on it that’s been stitched. His eyes have that glassy pain medication and concussion sheen to them that Shane’s used to seeing in hockey players. His mouth immediately spreads wide into a smile as he spots Shane, “Shane!”

One of Ilya’s legs is in a cast, and Shane is careful to move around it as he rushes to get his hands on Ilya. As he does though, he stops, sees the bandages on Ilya’s chest and arms. Ilya frowns at his hesitation, “Moya lyubov?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Shane whispers, as he traces a clear patch of skin by Ilya’s collarbone, “Does it hurt?”

Ilya shakes his head, “No, lyubimyy, nothing hurts now, now that you’re here.”

Shane sees Wyatt Hayes smirking behind his hand as he warns, “Pain meds are gonna wear off, Cap, whether Hollzy’s here holding your hand or not.” He reaches over to awkwardly pat Shane again, “Text me when you need food or a way out or anything.”

“Thank you,” says Shane, and it’s not enough to express the true depths of his gratitude. 

The door closes and Shane kisses Ilya, who is all too happy to respond. Shane pulls away, but not very far, just enough to breathe against Ilya’s mouth, “I thought you were dead.”

“Not dead,” Ilya assures him, “Just a little banged up. You got here so fast.”

Shane doubts Ilya’s concept of time is accurate at the moment, “I left Washington as soon as I could. I was so scared, I needed to be here.”

“Da,” agrees Ilya, eyes unfocused, “I was scared too.”

Shane’s not sure how long Ilya’s going to be awake, but he takes a chance to ask, “What happened?”

“Engine caught fire,” says Ilya, “Lots of screaming. Flight attendants looked scared, made me scared. But I thought of you, moya lyubov, and I was less scared. And plane fell from sky. Hurt very much. Fire everywhere. Very bad. More screaming. Then hospital.”

Shane is careful to avoid the cut on Ilya’s forehead as he smooths the hair back from his face. Ilya’s eyes close, a small smile on his lips, “Nice, thank you.”

“I love you,” says Shane, “I love you so fucking much, Ilya. And when you’re less loopy, I think we need to talk about how the stupid plan doesn’t work anymore.”

Ilya’s mostly out of it by now, but he snorts, “Hollander wants to deviate from plan? Must be very serious for me, yes?”

“You’re going to be fine.” Shane can’t even entertain the possibility of anything else, “Go to sleep.”

Shane’s exhausted, but he can’t stop staring at Ilya. Watching the rise and fall of his chest and making sure it was steady and even as the beeping of the heart monitor.

 

“Holy shit.”

Shane startles awake at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He picks his head off the blanket by Ilya’s hip and blinks until he can make sense of the person at the door. It’s Wyatt Hayes again. Shane pushes himself up, “What time is it?”

“It’s like seven,” Hayes says, “I figured you’d snuck yourself out. Jesus, Hollander.”

Shane runs his hands through his hair. He’s sure he looks like a mess. He glances down at Ilya, but he’s asleep. Hayes motions for Hollander to follow him out, “Come on, you look like you need coffee. And food.”

Shane doesn’t think that’s true at all, but he dons his baseball cap and follows anyway. Hayes says softly, “Can I ask how long?”

Shane hesitates. Hayes has been very kind so far, and clearly has worked out what he and Ilya are to one another. But guessing is different than talking about it. Confirming it. Finally he just says. “Years.”

Hayes nods, “Right. So that’s where Cap runs off to all the time then, huh? Montreal?”

Shane shrugs, “Yeah, or I meet him in Ottawa. My parents are there.”

He accepts a cup of coffee, “And you’ve just been hiding it? From everyone?”

“Pretty much,” says Shane.

Hayes sighs, “That’s sad, man. I know we don’t know each other super well, but everyone in the league knows you’re a great guy. And I do know Rozanov. And you deserve to be happy.”

“I am happy,” says Shane a little too sharply.

Hayes holds up the hand that’s not holding his own coffee cup, “Hey, no offense meant. Just meant –”

“I know what you meant,” says Shane, “I just – we can’t.” 

Unlike his parents, or Farah, he doesn’t need to explain why. Wyatt, like Hayden, knows exactly why. 

Instead, Wyatt asks, “So is the rivalry…?”

Shane hates that question. Every time someone finds out about them. He never knows what the right thing to say is. “I never hated him. I love playing against him. I play my best hockey against him.”

Hayes nods like this makes sense, “You push one another.”

“At everything,” says Shane, unable to help smiling, “Everything’s a competition, or a race, and we both want to win every time.”

Hayes chuckles tiredly, “God, this all makes so much sense. Trading to Ottawa, the charity, the hockey camps, the mysterious Jane who won’t come to the team parties or talk to the WAGs…”

“We’ve tried,” says Shane, “To be together wherever and however we can. He’s… he’s risked everything for me, given up so much. And I didn’t realize how much until recently.”

Hayes says softly, “Who else knows about this?”

“My parents,” Shane says, “Our agent, my best friend and his wife. Rose Landy and Ryan Price.”

Hayes looks shocked, and Shane first thinks it’s the Rose of it all, but that’s not the name that’s caught Hayes off-guard, “Ryan knows? I mean, he’s not a gossip, but…”

“He walked in on us,” says Shane, feeling hot around the collar of his shirt.

His phone chimes, his mother checking that he’s eaten. 

He lies that he has, and puts it away. “I should get back to him.”

Hayes nods, “Okay.”

 

Ilya wakes up when Shane shuts the door. “Hi.”

Shane pours some water and helps Ilya to drink it before he has to ask. Ilya’s still concussed, but his eyes track Shane’s movement with a little more sharpness. “I did not imagine you.”

“I’m here,” Shane says, squeezing Ilya’s hand, “I’m real.”

“Good,” says Ilya, “Is so nice to look at my pretty boyfriend.” 

Shane ducks his head. “Are you in pain?”

“A little,” says Ilya, which probably means a lot. Shane reaches for the button to call the nurse, but Ilya stops him. “Not yet. Need to… be good at English. So we can talk.”

Shane hesitates, then sits back. Ilya nods, “Good. You look pretty, but you look sad. Messy.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t know if you were alive for most of the night,” says Shane, “And then I had to get on a plane knowing you were in a plane crash. And then Farah told me it was too risky to come here, so I was just losing my mind. And then you basically outed us to Wyatt, thanks for that.”

Ilya’s eyes go wide, “I did what? No.”

“You did,” says Shane, “Asking for me until he called me.”

Ilya huffed adorably, “Sorry, I wish to see my boyfriend after almost dying.”

Shane laughed, “It’s okay, Ilya. I don’t care about that. I don’t care about anything except that you’re okay.”

“I am okay,” Ilya says, then regarding his leg, “Mostly.”

Shane kisses Ilya’s fingers softly, “I love you, you’re never allowed to scare me like this again.”

“Deal,” says Ilya immediately.

Shane moves his chair so they’re looking at one another more easily. Ilya already looks exhausted again, “Farah hasn’t blown up my phone, so I don’t think anyone’s realized I’m here yet. But I think… I think we’ve both known for a while, the hide until we retire plan is fucking stupid.”

Ilya nods, “Is not enough.”

“Not enough,” agrees Shane. “God, last night was… Making your emergency contact Farah was fucking genius, but I’m putting you on the list with my parents. I never want us to have another night like that.”

“Agreed,” Ilya says, “Farah was good? Told her she should call and tell you everything.”

“She was great.” says Shane, “When she couldn’t reach me, she called Mom and talked to her. Mom and Dad are at the hotel, they’re dying to see you.”

Ilya’s eyes go watery, “They worried about me? They are here too?”

“Yeah,” says Shane, “They love you. I love you.” He cannot say it enough.

Shane plays with Ilya’s hair, “I am so scared of what happens next. But I do not want to hide us anymore. I want the whole world to know that I love you.”

Ilya nods, “Good. Yes. Agreed.”

Ilya blinks like it’s an effort, then asks, “What happens next?”

Shane doesn’t know. Ilya’s teammates in Ottawa seem great. Most of them have helped with Irina Foundation events in some way or another, and Shane knows that their social media manager is gay, and so is their newest trade, Troy Barrett. And likely they will be fine with the news that Ilya is bisexual. While Shane’s teammates all know by now that he’s gay, he wouldn’t say any of them are very thrilled about it. They definitely are not going to be okay with the Ilya Rozanov factor in Montreal, and even if Ilya’s teammates are happy for him to be out, Shane can’t imagine they’ll really love the idea of him and Ilya either.

After a long time, Shane finally answers Ilya’s question, “We get married.”

Ilya’s eyebrows shoot up, “Are you really real? Because I don’t know if my Shane –”

Shane wants him to stop, “Yes I’m real. Look, I don’t have a plan, or answers, or a fucking ring. But I know that I love you and I’m done waiting and I want you to be my husband.”

“Yes,” says Ilya, “I will be the best husband. And you will be second best husband.”

Shane laughed at that, and he could see Ilya relax at the sound. He kissed Ilya quickly, “I’m going to call Farah. And if we aren’t caught before you’re out of here, I think I should tell my team first, before anyone else. And I think we should be prepared for Crowell trying to fuck up our lives.”

Ilya’s face scrunches up adorably with worry, “Yes. This is probably a very bad idea.”

Shane nods. Ilya asks hesitantly, “My team can know? Now maybe? Are they okay?”

“I… I guess?” Shane’s stomach twists anxiously at the thought, “Some of them have been in to see you. I think some others got hurt, but… yeah. It would be easier around here if someone besides Wyatt was on our side.”

Ilya gestures to Shane’s phone, “Tell Wyatt to text the team and get them to come here.”

Shane nods, “Should I go? While you tell them?”

Ilya’s eyes widen, “Hollander, no! You will stay, please?”

Shane sinks deeply into the chair, “Okay. I’ll stay.” He sends the text to Wyatt and tries not to have a full on panic attack while they wait. 

Wyatt’s the first one to arrive, and he takes in the sight of Ilya and Shane’s entwined fingers on the bed with a skeptical eyebrow, “You’re sure you want to do this, Roz?”

Ilya nods, “Yes. Should have been done a long time ago. What is word?”

“Overdue,” supplies Shane as Ilya kisses their fingertips. 

The door opens and more people spill into the room only to stop. “What the fuck?”

Shane glances at Ilya, who has on a very aggravating smile, “Come in. Meet my boyfriend, yes? Shane, this is Holmsey and Dykstra.”

Shane holds out his free hand to shake, “Hi. I’ve heard so much about you guys.” He has no idea how Ilya is acting so calm. He knows this isn’t any less scary for Ilya, and these are his teammates, the men he will have to keep playing with whether they like Shane or not. But Ilya’s good at pretending he’s fine. 

“Come in,” he commands, “Make room. Where is Luca? Troy?” Someone else comes in and Ilya’s face twists, “Harris, now is maybe time to put the phone down, yes?”

The newest addition to the room hastily lowers his phone, only then does he seem to notice Shane, “Oh shit. Yeah. Consider that deleted.”

Shane looks to Ilya, not sure what’s happening. Ilya says warmly, “Shane, this is Harris Drover. Harris is one who makes sexy videos of me playing good hockey for you.”

Shane’s face gets hot as the room erupts into whistles and cheering. Two other players are wheeled in in wheelchairs and Shane notices that Harris puts a hand on one of their shoulders. He’s vaguely familiar with Troy Barrett, and still having a hard time un-labelling him as a homophobe and re-labelling him as not just an ally, but a fellow gay man. 

Shane tries to blend into the chair as Ilya introduces him as his boyfriend several more times. 

A man with a burnt arm comes in and the whole team starts whooping again. Ilya joins in and shouts, “Make room for Bood! Hero of Ottawa!”

Shane waits for things to die down. Zane Boodram, as far as Shane knows him, is a decent left wing, loyal to Ottawa since he was signed as a rookie, and host of most of the team parties that Ilya skips. Ilya gestures for the man to come closer, “Bood, come here! Come tell my boyfriend how you saved my life!”

Boodram turns, clearly taken aback by the words ‘my boyfriend’ and his jaw drops at the sight of Shane. “What the actual fuck, bro?”

Shane braces for more, but then Boodram crosses the room and shakes Shane’s hand, “You’re the last person I expected to see here.”

Shane’s blushing, he knows it. He says softly, “Sorry I’ve been keeping Ilya from so many team gatherings. I hear you’re the guy for barbecue.”

“I am,” Boodram grins, “I am the guy.”

Ilya shifts with what looks like way too much effort, “Hollander, come here, make room. Bood, sit, tell the story of saving my life.”

Shane glances around at Ilya’s teammates hesitantly, then kicks off his shoes and crawls in against Ilya’s least-burnt side. There’s some sarcastic jeering but nothing hostile or actually disgusted. Boodram takes Shane's seat. “I really didn’t do anything that crazy.”

“Nonsense.” says Ilya, “Leg was hurt. Could not move. Fire was hot everywhere.”

Boodram rolls his eyes, “Okay, okay. Yes. I carried you out of there, Cap. Anyone on this team would’ve done it. Troy and Harris were trying.”

Shane glances at Harris, who doesn’t look hurt, but Shane sees he’s definitely got a patient bracelet on and there’s something attached under his shirt, some sort of monitor maybe. Troy’s definitely looking worse for wear. 

“Thank you,” Shane says, and again it does not feel like enough.

Ilya calls the room back to attention, “Everyone! Is everyone listening? This thing that happened is terrible, yes? But there is some good news. My Shane is so in love with me, that he has decided we can tell people we are in love –” Shane hides his face as Ilya pauses at the right time for the team to cheer. “–and also he has asked me to be very sexy husband forever.” More cheering.

That does apparently open the floor for questions.

The questions are becoming predictable. What about the rivalry? How long? What happens now? Shane and Ilya keep deflecting the second one and tripping up on that third one.

Shane glances at Ilya then around the room. He sits up a little and the Ottawa players notice. Shane says carefully, “For a long time… I’ve been very scared that someone would find out I was in love with Ilya. But last night, I was scared no one would ever find out I was in love with Ilya.” He has to fight not to start crying about that. “And I don’t really know most of you except for trying to beat each other at hockey –” He has to stop for his own set of cheers, “– yeah, and as Ilya can tell you, that’s not going to change. I would do anything to make him happy, except lose a hockey game – or any other game – against him.” That earns him some laughs and Shane makes a note that he wants that in the statement. “But I hope, off the ice, that I’ll get to know you all. So, uh, thanks for listening.”

Wyatt pipes up, “Wait, you guys, you have to hear how stupid in love they are. Last night, Rozy’s threatening nurses to find his phone so he can call his Shane, and I know Roz isn’t settling down until someone does it. So I call Hollzy, thinking this fucker’s in Montreal and that he’s gonna tell me to tell Roxanov to go fuck himself. But then he turns around and says he’s here, he just needs help sneaking in.”

Ilya laughs delightedly as Wyatt continues, “He shows up, looking like absolute dog shit. Seriously, worse than Lisa when I called her, just straight up distraught. And what does Rozy say to him? He says ‘Nothing hurts now that you’re here’.”

“Is lie,” admits Ilya, “Hurts some.”

The others jump to ribbing Ilya for being a secret softie with gusto. Shane almost lets himself believe it will always be this easy coming out. 

Slowly the team filters out to go back to their own rooms, or the hotel. It’s only when they’re alone, that someone new comes in. “Hey, Rozanov.”

Ilya looks beyond exhausted, but his face lights up, “Coach!”

Shane tenses up. Players are one thing. Coaches and management are another. But Coach Wiebe comes in and regards Shane laying curled against Ilya’s side with cautious acceptance, “So I didn’t mishear.”

“No,” Ilya says, “I am in love with Shane Hollander.”

Shane can’t look Ilya’s coach in the face, but he does say softly, “And I’m in love with Ilya Rozanov.”

“Clearly,” says Wiebe, “Does Montreal know?”

“Not yet,” says Shane, “And they probably won’t be happy about it.”

“Understandably,” says Wiebe. And Shane feels Ilya starting to get tense. The silence stretches between them, before Wiebe says softly, “I saw three guys in the hall and they all gave me a different answer, but consensus was this has been going on for a long time.”

“Yes,” Shane confirms, “Whatever they said, probably longer than that.”

Wiebe nods, “Okay then. Throwing out my speech cautioning against moving too fast after a traumatic event. How can I help?”

“Keep the media from finding out I’m here,” Shane pleads, “Our management’s prepared to handle things if it leaks, but… I’d really like to tell my team before things leak.”

Wiebe lets out a long sigh, “This is… unprecedented. Even in the Scott Hunter era. Gay players, sure. Players dating each other… Crowell is going to do anything he can to stop you.”

Shane asks, “You think he can?”

“Not outright,” says Wiebe. “You’re lucky you’re you. Your record speaks for you. People love watching you play hockey. With maybe the exception of the period right after Scott Hunter, the two of you sell more jerseys than the next six biggest players combined. It would be very bad for business if there was even a suggestion that the league or Crowell was trying to tell players not to come out.”

“Oh he basically said that,” said Shane, “Called me into his office, said he’d heard rumors, and that he appreciated that I kept my private life private and that I should keep doing that, and if I were going to say anything, I should give the league a heads up first.”

“Fuck that,” says Ilya too loudly.

Wiebe smiles, “Fuck that.” He pulls up the chair, “Okay, listen. One secretly bisexual hockey player to another –” Ilya let out a delighted laugh at this apparently new information. “–there are no rules against it. Not yet. I’m sure the second the league hears about this, they’ll try to write some. They probably meant to after Scott Hunter, but everyone else who’s come after has been on their way out or already out of the league.” 

“Not us,” says Ilya, “I will play, when my leg is better. And Shane will play tomorrow.”

Shane lets out an involuntary squawk at the idea of leaving Ilya, getting on a plane, or playing hockey. But after a second, he realizes he's already missed a game, that’s a lot for a team captain. Especially when he is about to try to sell the team on his relationship with Ilya not affecting his hockey. 

Wiebe nods. “Okay, well, Crowell doesn’t exactly love me, but I’m going to do what I can to minimize the fallout. When you’re both ready, of course.”

Shane is kicked out that afternoon by a very kind nurse. He catches a ride to the hotel with Coach Wiebe and finds his parents waiting for him. Shane breaks down in his father’s arms for a few minutes, before tearfully informing them that Ilya’s going to be his husband. 

Yuna Hollander celebrates for exactly three minutes before she’s on the phone with Farah making plans. Shane’s so exhausted that he accepts the food his parents have ordered him, and he collapses into bed.

 

Mom and Dad promise to stay with Ilya and they join Shane at the hospital the next day. Shane is there to say goodbye, he’s got to get back to Montreal.

Mom brings Ilya a new phone. Ilya’s not supposed to be on a screen, but they all know that Shane and Ilya need the connection to one another. Ilya holds up the phone, “What do you think, lyubimyy? Do I put you in my phone as Jane? Or is engaged good enough I can put Shane?”

“Fuck you,” Shane says, but he’s already pulling out his phone. He leaves Lily and their old texts as is. He adds Ilya’s new phone number in his phone as Ilya ♥️

Shane calls Hayden and preps him for the shitstorm that’s coming when he lands. He advises Hayden that he should probably call out sick and avoid the whole thing, but he knows Hayden won’t. He’ll be right there, at Shanes’s back. 

And then he calls Rose.

She picks up on the third ring, “Shane? I have been calling you since yesterday what the fuck?”

Shane sighs into the phone, “Hey.”

Her voice softens, “Is it bad? What do you need?”

“He’s going to live,” Shane says, “It’ll be a long recovery. Their team is… it’ll be a rebuild.”

Rose is not as hockey-minded as him, “Why do you sound so fucking stressed, Shane? That sounds okay.”

“We’re telling people,” Shane says, “I’m at the airport, I’m on my way to tell my team –”

“That you’ve been fucking Ilya Rozanov for over a decade.”

“Yeah,” says Shane weakly, “Basically.”

“This is not what I meant by a backup plan,” says Rose, “But hell yes, okay. You want me to cause a scandal in a couple days to distract the non-hockey fans? Cause I can do that.”

Shane laughs despite himself, “No, nothing like that.”

Rose asks, “So if he’s fine, what’s the rush? He’s not going to be as good at sneaking, so you have to fess up?”

“Actually,” says Shane, “We’re going to announce we’re engaged.”

Rose screams so loud, Shane’s not sure he’s not hearing it from California instead of over the phone line. “You what? Shane! Tell me everything!”

“My flight’s boarding,” Shane says, which isn’t even a lie, though he’s not exactly itching to board early. “I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Love you, Rose.”

He boards the plane. He sends a very intentional text to both his parents and to Ilya. 

Hayden is waiting to pick him up at the airport, “Dude I am so sorry, but Coach is pissed, I did what I could without spilling the secret, but you’re in the doghouse.”

Shane would usually be eaten alive by the idea that his coaches were mad at him, but today he doesn’t give a shit. He’s going to be Ilya fucking Rozanov’s husband. “Well might as well get everything on the table then, huh?”

Hayden shakes his head, “You’re a fucking legend, Hollander. Seriously, they’re gonna write songs about your balls of fucking steel.”

“Shut the hell up,” Shane says as he tries not to throw up in Hayden’s van. 

Shane finds himself in a room with his team and senior management. Hayden gives him a thumbs up. “Hey, Uh, thanks for hearing me out. First of all, I’m sorry for my absence last night. I had a personal emergency and it was imperative that I be with my loved ones.”

Shane takes a deep breath, “I’m a pretty private person, personally. I have attended your weddings, kid’s birthdays, family barbecues, and I’ve never been able to invite any of you to my personal events. The truth is, that I’m so private, because I’ve been with someone, for a long time. Someone who I needed to keep secret, because we knew that people might… judge us.”

JJ calls, “Come on, Hollzy, we all know you’re gay! Get to the point!”

Shane swallows hard. “Yeah. I am. The truth is… I have been in a very committed relationship with Ilya Rozanov and last night I asked him to marry me.”

The room erupts. Not the way the hospital had. In an angry way. Shane shrinks back under the force of it. Hayden has to yell over it to get the room back. Shane’s voice is getting too shaky almost to keep going, but it does. “The truth is, I love him. And I’ve loved him at the same time as I have loved this team. The same time as I have won with this team. Won three fucking cups with this team. The guy who showed up every day for this team? Same guy who was in love with Ilya Rozanov. And I spent a lot of time worrying that people wouldn’t understand. That all the work I put into this team was not enough. And the truth is, I don’t think it will ever be enough for you people. I just… care more about being honest. Because I almost lost him before I got to tell anyone.” Shane nods, feeling a little awkward, “Uh, that’s it. Let’s win another cup.”

That phrase usually earned some cheers. This time he’s met with silence. 

JJ is the only one to approach Shane, “You fucking hid this from us? For all this time?”

Shane winces, “I had to. I’m sorry.”

“Rozanov,” he says, “I tried to set you up so many times and the whole time you were…”

“I’m sorry,” Shane says, and he means it, “I get that it’s fucked. Trust me, it’s fucking awful. But you don’t get it. There’s a very real chance I just ended my career. The actual commissioner told me to my face that he did not want me to come out at all, and he didn’t even know about the Rozanov part. This league is fucking unsafe.”

Hayden smacks his arm, “Dude, Troy Barrett just came out on instagram. And he’s… fuck he’s calling out Kent in his bio.”

Shane turns away from JJ to look at Hayden’s phone. “Holy shit.”

Hayden asks, “Did you know?”

“Well, yeah,” says Shane, “He came out to Ilya a little while ago, and then I think he confessed his love to the team’s social media manager or something on the plane, all the guys seemed to know last night.”

“Last night,” JJ says flatly. “That’s where the fuck you went.”

Shane stares at JJ, not comprehending the accusation being thrown at him, “Yeah. My boyfriend was in a fucking plane crash, where did you think I was when I was giving that speech?”

“I don’t know,” says JJ, “I don’t fucking know you anymore, Hollander! Cause I thought we were best friends, but I guess not since I don’t know anything about you it turns out!”

Shane is about to argue with his friend, but as he turns, he sees a look on Coach Theriault’s face that makes his blood run cold. He reaches for his jacket, “I’m, uh… I’m about to get benched, I think. Or worse.”

Hayden follows the look to Theriault and back, “Jackie’s home, why don’t you let her feed you lunch? I’ll Uber home.” He hands Shane the keys to the van. 

Sure enough, Theriault’s only words for Shane are: “Go home until we sort out what to do about this mess.”

 

Ilya flies home with Shane’s parents five days after the accident. Shane definitely has a panic attack waiting for them to land. 

The internet is starting to notice Shane’s absence from Montreal. He hasn’t attended a game since the one in Washington the night of the crash, and he hasn’t been invited back to practice. The longer things go on, the worse Shane feels. It’s stupid. They don’t even know if Ilya can play again, so who cares if they’re on different teams.

Shane’s got the statement drafted with Farah, he’s just waiting for Ilya to get home so they can pick the photos that will go with it. There’s also a line in there about working things out with the league that Shane’s really thinking might have to come out.

Hayden calls while Shane’s waiting for his family to get there. “Hey dude, JJ’s coming around, but everyone else… it’s still bad.”

Shane’s surprised by Hayden’s assessment of JJ, since as far as Shane’s aware, JJ is still very mad at him. Hayden says, “And we’re going to lose this cup without you.”

“Good,” Shane says bitterly, “Maybe that’ll remind them that I won three cups while fucking Ilya Rozanov just fine.”

“Hey buddy,” Hayden says gently, “I know that, I’m on your side here, remember? You don’t need to convince me.”

“Sorry,” Shane says, “I’m losing my fucking mind a bit.”

“Rozanov’s home tonight, yeah?”

“Mhm,” says Shane, not sure if this is genuine concern for Ilya, a comment on Shane being a basketcase, or something else.

“Keep your weekend open,” says Hayden, “I’ve got the game in Vancouver, but Jackie could bring the kids up, yeah?”

And honestly, that sounds like the best news Shane has heard in days. “Yeah, maybe, if Ilya’s up for it. I’ll text Jackie.”

Hayden says softly, “Hey, I know you hate when anyone’s mad at you. But I want you to know, man, you’re so fucking brave. And they’re assholes if they don’t get that. I love you, buddy.”

“You too,” Shane says, tearing up, “Thank you, Hayden. Score for me tonight, okay?”

“Aye, aye capitaine.”

 

Shane shoots to his feet the second the front door opens. Ilya is refusing all help Mom and Dad offer him as he crutches to the front door. Shane wants to launch himself at Ilya and never let go, but he doesn’t want to hurt the burns on his chest.

He’s admittedly a bit impatient with his parents, because this is the first time he and Ilya have been actually alone in their own space since that stupid fucking fight. He urges Ilya onto the couch and his parents out the door and then he snuggles carefully against Ilya’s chest.

Ilya kisses his forehead, “I missed you, Shane.”

“Fuck, I missed you too,” Shane presses his face against Ilya’s neck.

“I am thinking,” says Ilya, “Post is big deal. Things are already very bad for you. Before we do something we cannot take back –”

Shane pulls away slightly, usually, if one of them is going to be overly cautious, it’s him. “Ilya, we’re doing this. The whole world is going to lose their minds, and I don’t give a flying fuck okay? Fuck the world, fuck hockey, we’re so good, they will have to figure it out.”

“Da,” agrees Ilya, “And I am saying, maybe, we should talk to someone who made the league figure it out already.”

Shane doesn’t know what he means until Ilya takes his phone from him and scrolls through his contacts. Scott Hunter answers affably, “Rook! Hey!”

Shane winces, he knows Ilya’s gonna give him hell for that nickname later, “Scott. I haven’t been a rookie for a long time.” 

Scott laughs, “Yeah, yeah. I’ve been meaning to call you, Hollander, where the fuck have you been? Your team’s dying without you, not a statement in sight, people are worried.”

Shane takes over holding the phone, “Yeah, about that. I probably should’ve talked to you before now. But, uh, I think we’re about to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

Scott assumes the wrong thing, “You’re not getting traded here? How could we afford you?”

“Uh no,” Shane ignores Ilya quietly laughing, because he knows his fiance is not trying to rush his very slow, very awkward coming out, “I’m gay.”

Scott stops wondering about the Admirals’ cap space. “Oh. Yeah.” After a second he says, “I mean, thank you for telling me. Sorry. I heard a rumor, but – shit, is this why you’re not playing? They can’t do that, Hollander –”

“I know,” Shane says, “It’s not the reason. Well, it kind of is. The problem isn’t that I like men. It’s the particular man –”

“Shane Hollander, full disclosure, Kip is here, if you’re about to tell us that you’ve been fucking Troy Barrett –”

Shane chokes. When he manages to breathe again he splutters, “No! Fuck, absolutely not. Uh, maybe, maybe you should just tell him?”

Ilya takes the phone back, “Hunter!”

Now it’s Scott’s turn to choke. “Holy shit. Oh fuck. I should’ve – Fuck, you’re always turning up at fucking queer spaces uninvited, I should’ve fucking guessed. Kip stop fucking laughing! Holy shit. No wonder you’re benched, what the actual fuck?!”

Shane leans up closer to where Ilya has the phone, “So, obviously, last week, some shit happened.”

Scott’s swearing shifts in tone slightly, “Fuck, yeah, Rozanov, how are you? How’s your team?”

“Some are good,” Ilya says, “Ready to play again and beat your dinosaur team. Some are not so good. I am not so good, they say. But I will get better. And I will have very hot hockey player husband to cheer for until I play again and be his much hotter much better at hockey player husband.”

“Shut up,” complains Shane.

Shane hears Scott’s husband practically scream, “Husbands?!”

Shane can’t help grinning, “Yeah, we’re engaged. Ilya’s team found out about us when I dropped that game against Minnesota the other night and showed up at Ilya’s bedside. I told my team when I got back. It is… bad. And we’re going fully public. Soon. So it’s going to get worse.”

Scott lets out a long breath. “Okay. Okay. Shane Hollander is gay. And he’s engaged to Ilya Rozanov. Hang on, I’m processing. Yeah. Okay. Rozanov, you’re…?”

“Bisexual,” says Ilya proudly, and Shane’s heart aches that Ilya’s had so few chances to do this. 

“Bisexual,” Scott repeats, “Great. Actually.”

Shane says quietly, “Listen, obviously, we wanted to give you a heads up that shit is about to hit the fan. Hockey shit, gay shit, it’s all going to be fucking insane. But I think, we – I –”

“We,” Ilya confirms, “We wanted to say thank you.”

Scott huffs, “For what? Kicking both your asses at hockey?”

Both of them chorus, “Fuck you!”

Shane makes himself steer them back into the sincere. They’re all hockey players, it’s not at all natural for any of them, even if they do in a way, share a weird bond of being queer team captains. “Thank you for being the first one. Maybe you’d be right in being a little pissed that we’ve been hiding since… well, since well before you came out –”

“I don’t know how you’ve been doing it,” Scott says, “But clearly you’ve got it figured out, this thing between you. It’s been working. It’s definitely never interfered with your hockey.”

“Almost never,” says Shane, face burning at the thought of that accusation that is sure to be coming. “I just meant, it made a world of difference, even if the league has been slow to change.”

“It made a big difference to me,” says Ilya, “Before that, I did not think… I did not think we had a chance at having a future. And then you kissed your boyfriend in on live TV. And I hoped… someday I might kiss my boyfriend somewhere someone sees. And would not be so bad.” He looks at Shane with a fondness that has Shane tearing up, “Will be bad, probably. But less bad, because of you.”

Scott doesn’t answer for a long moment, then his husband says quietly, “Sorry guys, uh, we need a minute here. That was… unexpectedly touching.”

Shane sniffs, “S’okay. There’s been a lot of crying over here.”

Kip laughs at that, “I mean, you guys are probably going to be fine, right? You’ve won so many cups between you. People love you.”

Scott clears his throat, “Well, I’ve got your back, whatever you decide to say, I’ll support, of course. I think this is fucking weird and crazy, but… I don’t know what else I could expect from Rozanov. So congratulations. When is the wedding?”

“We haven’t decided,” says Shane, “Depends on…” He trails off, because even if Montreal does make a run for the cup, which right now isn’t looking great, he’s not sure he’d be playing. And Ottawa’s almost certainly out of the playoffs, and Shane’s not sure Ilya will be playing again ever, let alone by April. “You know, hockey.”

“Aim for the summer,” advises Scott, “That’s what we did. And, uh, count me in for at least one of your camps this year. Benny too.”

“Thank you,” says Shane.

Scott clears his throat, “Sorry, I usually am better prepared, but I was planning to talk to you at the end of the season. In person, ideally. But I’ve been… there’s this idea I’ve had. That if the league can’t – won’t – address the ugly toxic parts of hockey culture… we should.”

“We,” Shane says, “Meaning?”

“I’ve been putting out feelers,” Scott said, “With other teams. And outside the league. Eric, obviously. Max Riley and Lead Campbell. You guys probably know most of the people I’ve been thinking. I, uh, obviously I didn’t know it was personal, but I really respect what you’ve been doing with the Foundation, with the hockey camps, how important it is that you’re inclusive. And I’m not just talking homophobia in hockey, the other stuff too. Transphobia, racism, sexism, rape culture, toxic masculinity. And I know that sounds like a lot and kind of impossible –”

“Like a club,” Ilya asks, “Of nice hockey players?”

“Basically,” Scott agrees, “I thought when I came out it would make a different, but… with Troy coming out, and now you guys… I don’t think it has? Queer players still don’t feel – no, not feel – you aren’t safe.”

They sit in that together for a moment. A harsh truth Shane had always known deeply, but had never been able to name when he and Ilya had been frustrated with one another about the impossible unsustainable circumstances of their relationship. Ilya will never see his homeland again. Shane’s team will never accept him. They are not safe existing as queer men.

Scott clears his throat, “Lately, it’s felt like… it’s too broken to be fixed. But I want to try. While I’m still an active player.”

“Better hurry,” Ilya deadpans, “Since soon you will be forced to retire. And be dead. Since you are so old already.”

“Fuck you,” Scott laughs, “Hollander does he ever stop? Are you sure he’s the one?”

Shane looks up at Ilya, who’s grinning back at him, “Yes. Unfortunately, I have fallen hopelessly in love with him and there’s no hope for me.”

Scott Hunter would not be out of line for gagging or something. Instead he just chuckles, “Had to check.”

Shane kisses Ilya, “I’m exactly where I want to be. More or less. Uh, tell us more about the nice hockey player club. I guess I’m a little… what would that look like? If someone in the league does something shitty, we speak about it as a united front? Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Something like that,” says Scott, “Right now, you know, speaking up is scary, one person. But if there’s an organized group releasing statements, it’s a lot less scary. It’s powerful. I have over fifty hockey players interested in joining already. I think… I think we could really do this.”

“I’m in,” says Ilya.

“Same,” says Shane, “And Hayden Pike will be too…” He hesitates about JJ. He swallows hard, “What if… the group doesn’t agree?”

Scott’s voice is less warm, “About what?”

“About doing the statements,” Shane says, “Like they agree with the shitty thing? Or… it’s not clear which person is shitty?”

Scott’s voice is kind, “Shane, the… people are going to understand. It might take time. It might take some explaining. I mean, fuck, Rozanov’s a real choice, but this happens in the women’s leagues all the time, in so many sports. If they can get over it, then men’s sports – men’s hockey – can get over it too.” He laughs a little, “I did not think the first, like, loyalty test to the the people I’d talked to would be this, but hey, it’s been a crazy week.”

“Thank you,” Shane says, getting choked up, “Uh, just thanks.”

“I’m sure you were right,” says Scott, “That we’ll be seeing more of you. And Barrett, I guess. Four out players, wow.”

“We must go plan internet-breaking post,” says Ilya suddenly, “Goodbye Hunter. Goodbye Kip.”

Ilya gives Shane his phone back. “Shane.”

Shane shudders at that tone, “I’m fine, Ilya. I want to do this.”

“Da,” agrees Ilya, “And you are freaking out about it anyway. It is scary, we are very brave to even think of doing this, yes?”

“We’re not just thinking about it,” Shane insists, desperate for Ilya to know that he is not backing out, not for anything or anyone.

“We will post,” agrees Ilya, “When we are ready.”

“I’m ready,” Shane says. 

“I’m not,” says Ilya, and Shane almost misses it. Ilya shifts on the couch, hissing a little from the discomfort of it. “I am thinking, before you tell the world that we are together, and getting married, there is something I should tell you.”

Shane’s breath catches in his chest, “What’s wrong?”

“I am wrong,” says Ilya, and Shane’s not used to him being the one to look so small and vulnerable. Not that Ilya doesn’t get upset, or emotional, he does. But Shane’s usually the indisputable hot mess of panic and nervous bitchy energy. “My head is wrong. I am telling you I am okay, again and again. And I am liar, because I am like my mother.”

Shane’s blood goes cold, “Ilya?”

Ilya pets Shane’s long hair, “I tried to fix it. The depression. I tried very hard, Shane. Very good therapist named Galina, she speaks Russian so I do not have to try so hard to think of the words. But I am not fixed. I do not know if it will ever be fixed. And you should probably know that before we tell the whole world about us. And you cannot blame yourself if things… get bad.”

Shane searches Ilya’s face, desperate to be misunderstanding his fiance, “Ilya. Are you saying you think about, like –?”

“No,” says Ilya, brushing his fingers through Shane’s hair again, “Not really. I don’t know. I feel like I could think about it, okay?”

Not okay. Not at all okay. But Shane’s relied so much on Ilya holding him up, pulling him from the height of panic, that maybe, just this once, Shane can find the strength to do that himself. Take that weight from Ilya, and pull him back from the depths. He reaches for Ilya’s fingers and they tangle together in Shane’s bun, “Okay.”

“The therapy helps and we have been talking about trying some medications,” says Ilya, “And how that might be hard at first, with side effects. Is hard to find the right pills, the right amount. I need a doctor for the pills though. I think I will talk to Terry – he is the team doctor.”

“You’ll be seeing a lot of him for a while anyways,” says Shane softly, “He’ll be okay? Prescribing you anti-depressants?”

“Yes, of course,” Ilya says, “Is his job, yes?”

“Our team doctor would be… weird,” says Shane, thinking of the few times he’s considered seeing the team doctor about his panic attacks. 

“He is shit doctor,” says Ilya, “On shit team, except for you. And maybe Pike. Pike is bad at hockey, but is not shit.”

Ilya’s eyes are looking heavy, they’ve been through a lot today. A nap on the couch is long overdue. Shane shuffles them and gets Ilya’s leg elevated and comfortable. He runs his hands through Ilya’s hair and watches the fatigue spread. “I hate that you feel that way sometimes, Ilya. I hate that you have to fight yourself. But you’re never ever going to scare me off, okay? And I’m never giving up on you or on us. So whatever you need, I’m right here.”

Ilya’s eyes bore into his, suddenly alert, “What if there’s nothing you can do? What if you can’t help?” Shane hates how small and scared Ilya sounds by that idea. His heart aches yet again for not realizing how much Ilya has been suffering. How much energy he had devoted to fear and the plan, and missing the man he loves instead of really being with him and seeing the reality of him right now.

He kisses Ilya softly, tries to pour all his love into it, “Then I will be standing by, until I can help. I’m marrying you. And we’ll have kids – less than four – and I will be your date to our induction into the Hall of Fame when we’re old. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” says Ilya.

Shane asks, “What do you need right now?”

“I need you to tell me why you were uncertain about Scott Hunter Club not understanding us,” says Ilya, “Will be a big shock, yes. But we are not shitty. We play very very great hockey, on every team we ever play with since forever. And we are in love. We did not break hockey rules, we did not do anything wrong. We fell in love. How many of your teammates have fallen in love?”

Shane shrugs, “Uh, I don’t know, quite a few, I guess.”

“Is same? No. Is worse. So many guys in Boston fall in love and then play shit hockey. Distracted. Missing new love. New love does not like that hockey player is not around.” And Shane’s definitely seen that happen to the guys in Montreal. Even if things were going good, sometimes just preferring to be around her, thinking about her, was a distraction. Ilya nods along with his own scenario, “We are better. Because when I miss you, I am thinking about how to be better at hockey. Try to be so good, better than you. Makes me better than I am before. Winning all the time? Is too easy. Sometimes, with you, even though you are second best, you win.”

“Fuck you,” Shane says, with absolutely no heat. He crashes his lips against Ilya’s, “Fuck, I love you. And tomorrow we’re telling everyone.”

 

ilyarozanov☑️ and ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer☑️

[image: Shane and Ilya cooking together at the cottage, Ilya wrapping his arms around Shane from behind, face turned in towards Shane’s neck]

[image: Shane and Ilya posing under the Christmas tree at David and Yuna’s]

[image: photo of Shane and Ilya bent over the faceoff circle, Shane in his Voyageurs’ jersey, Ilya in his Centaurs’ jersey]

[image: the awkward MLH award selfie]

[image: Ilya and Shane shirtless and sleeping on a lounge chair curled around one another]

[image: selfie of Shane and Ilya in bed, Ilya’s plane crash injuries on his face and chest slightly visible]

[image: candid shot of Shane and Ilya sitting on a couch, holding hands, looking at Yuna intently]

[image: Ilya and Shane kissing in David and Yuna’s kitchen]

[image: Ilya and Shane coaching at a Game Changers Hockey Camp session in Ottawa]

Even before we were drafted to the MLH the story of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov pitted us against one another. We have spent our entire careers being told we must hate one another, but as anyone lucky enough to be at the top of their game probably knows, no one can understand what that feels like except those at the top with you. And we are lucky to have been at the top together, to respect one another’s game, and always be there pushing one another to play just a little bit harder. 

We both love hockey and we both hate losing more than anything. And we love each other. While our relationship has not followed a typical timeline, or been public, we have been privileged in the years we have spent cheering one another on off the ice (and trying to tear each other apart on the ice). 

We are private people, and we have kept this relationship private for many years knowing that some people may not understand the love and respect we have for one another. As life has unfolded around us, we have had to talk more and more often about the cost of that privacy. After Ilya’s accident this month, we needed to evaluate again. This time the answer was different. 

We have pledged to spend the rest of our lives together and get married. We hope that the world will be as happy with this development as we are. We look forward to sharing this moment with our loved ones, and we’d like to thank the small circle of people who have held our secret safe all this time. We also look forward to many more years of hockey, playing a great game for the fans, and what we’re sure will be an outpouring of support from our teams, the fans, and the league. 

We know there might be questions about our performance and our commitment to our teams with this new information, but the truth is, while we would do just about anything for one another, losing is not something either of us are good at. Between us we have four MLH Cups and more awards than we can count. And neither of us has any intention of doing anything but our best to bring that cup back to our respective barns.

Love is love, and ours is as loud and messy and beautifully complicated as anyone else's.

Ilya and Shane 🌈🏒

 

@ScottHunterOfficial: Congratulations on your wedding, I can’t wait to celebrate with you both (or at least with Hollander, who only calls me old every third time we talk 🫠). I’m always thrilled to learn that I am not alone in this league, and the two of you have shown me I was NEVER alone.