Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble, Shane Hollander & Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike, J. J. Boiziau & Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Zane Boodram, Troy Barrett, Luca Haas, Wyatt Hayes, LaPointe (Game Changers), J. J. Boiziau

Additional Tags:

Fluff and Angst, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros (Game Changers), Supportive Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Montreal Voyageurs Are Trying, Team as Family, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Shane hollander is so done, Good Friend Troy Barrett, Harris deserves a vacation

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of When We Play Montreal

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-04 Words: 5,513 Chapters: 1/1

(do all the things that I should have done) when I was your man

Summary

Someone left Hayden Pike in charge of the music for Shane Hollander's Tribute his first time back in Montreal.

It goes about as well as you can expect

“Want to tell me why someone is sending fucking lilies to the Montreal Voyageurs?”

 

That’s what Ilya’s morning started with. 

 

Busted.

 

“For their great loss,” Ilya blinks, innocently. “I assume, of course.”

 

“Their great loss?” Shane asks, flatly. 

 

“Losing you!” Ilya reminds, petulantly. “Is a great loss! Tragedy!”

 

Hayden the Snitch had been unamused when he’d called Shane to tell him that apparently, all the Voyageurs management, coaching staff and players had been receiving a single damn lily with various condolence messages sprawled on the card for months. 

 

At first, no one noticed anything. But then it became a pattern. 

 

The first time it happened was the day Shane signed with the Centaurs. 

 

Then on Ilya and Shane’s wedding day. 

 

After that, it was right after that very first Montreal vs Ottawa game with Shane in black and red. 

 

And finally, it was this morning. Hours before Ottawa is set to face Montreal again. The card this time read ‘May the Stanley Cup continue to pass you by.’

 

There was no sign but after that one interview where Shane and Ilya shared being saved as Lily and Jane of each other’s phones went viral, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who was sending a fucking Lily to the Voyageurs.

 

“Ilya,” Shane runs his hand up his face and into his hair. “Why?”

 

Ilya places a hand on his heart. “T’is defamation. I confess to nothing! I am innocent man!”

 

“If this wasn’t you, then I’ll eat my own shoe,” Shane tells him, unimpressed. “I’m gonna ask  again; why?!”

 

Ilya pouts. He justifies, “Chirping!”

 

“A hundred points for creativity,” Shane gives him, “But minus, like, a thousand for the headache you’re giving me right now. Why the fuck would you not stick to insulting them on the ice?”

 

“They don’t deserve to sleep so easy,” Ilya snaps. “Not when you do not.”

 

Ah. Shane gets what this is about. He asks, upset. “You sent the entire Voyageurs team petty flowers to mess with their heads because I’m a little stressed about the game?”

 

Ilya sniffs but doesn't respond.

 

“We’ve beaten them before.” Shane reminds softly. 

 

Whether he’s saying it for Ilya’s benefit or his own is unclear.

 

Ilya says what Shane doesn’t. “Not in Montreal, we have not.”

 

Shane hasn’t even been fucking back to Montreal since he signed with the Centaurs. 

 

There’s a tense silence in the air. 

 

Shane breaks it, admitting, “It’s weird.”

 

“I don’t doubt it,” Ilya says, softly. An encouragement for Shane to continue

 

Shane swallows.

 

“It’s weird.” Shane repeats, the word feeling safe. “I keep thinking about how I learned to be— good there. I learned how to read plays, learned to push myself, hell, it was the first time I felt like I was playing with a team, as a part of a team.”

 

Ilya doesn’t interrupt. 

 

“I had friends,” Shane keeps going, staring at the carpet like it might split open and swallow him. “Or, at least I thought they were. 

 

Shane laughs, sudden, ugly, and bitter. “I stood at Comeau’s fucking wedding,” Shane says. “Drapeau always made sure wherever we went had something I could eat. And JJ! Fuck— JJ never let me be alone at bars, even when I was being a total buzzkill. Never made it a thing. ” His jaw tightens. “I held Mitty’s kid! In the damn hospital. She was so small. Mitty cried.”

 

Ilya huffs. He hums, “Goalies cry easy.”

 

Shane rants, abruptly, “I miss Hayden. I miss how he and Jackie kept Ginger Ale stocked in the fridge. I miss how Jackie learned to tweak recipes for my diet. I miss dropping by randomly and it being cool because it wasn’t a fucking two hour drive so me being there was just Tuesday—” Shane cuts himself off, choking. He mumbles, “Sorry.”

 

That’s when Ilya reaches out.

 

He cups Shane’s face like it’s something holy, thumbs warm against his cheekbones. Forehead pressed to Shane’s.

 

Ilya breathes, “You apologize too much.”

 

“Shut up,” Shane closes his eyes, breathing in Ilya’s scent.

 

“They did lose you because you were bad,” Ilya’s voice is fierce with clarity. “They did not have the— mind? Or Sky, I think, for you?”

 

Shane squeezes his eyes shut and gives Ilya the word he’s looking for. “Open mind.

 

“You gave them everything,” Ilya continues, voice gaining that soft edge that would happily burn a city down. “Your body. Your heart. Your loyalty. And when they asked you to cut pieces of yourself off to make them comfortable, you said no. That is not a flaw. That is— inconvenient bravery.”

 

Shane shrugs, shaky. “That’s one way to put it.”

 

“You did not imagine years of devotion.” Ilya’s nose bumps Shane’s. “But love that only exists if you stay silent is not love worth keeping.”

 

Shane opens his eyes. Ilya’s gaze is incandescent.

 

“You are allowed to miss them,” Ilya says softly. “Even when they failed you. Even the city. Even the boy you were.” He smiles, sharp and tender all at once. “But you do not owe Montreal guilt.”

 

Shane exhales, forehead dropping to Ilya’s shoulder.

 

“I’m scared,” he admits. “The fans were— hell when I left. What if they riot? What if they mob us?”

 

“They will not,” Ilya wraps himself around Shane, enveloping him.

 

“You don’t know Montreal pride,” Shane accuses. “They absolutely will.”

 

“Then we deal with it,” Ilya murmurs into his hair. “And today? You skate onto their ice as someone brave.” A pause. Then, wickedly fond, “Also, if they boo you, I will score just to spite them.”

 

Shane laughs— wet, real, wrecked. “I love you,” he says.

 

“I know,” Ilya replies, smug and reverent all at once. “This is why I send flowers.”

 

 

---

 

They’re crushing it. 

 

And Shane can’t stop bracing for the moment it all goes wrong.

 

Shane’s welcome back into Montreal was surprisingly undramatic. They got no mobs or riots or even (that many) dirty looks.

 

 Ilya was very smug about that.

 

Shane had received a standing ovation from the fans when he stepped onto the ice. That had been a shock. 

 

With how downright vile the public’s response to Ilya and his relationship had been, Shane had been expecting, well, way worse. 

 

Quite frankly, if this is all the tribute Shane’s gonna get, he’s eternally grateful. 

 

The Voyageurs themselves had been pleasant. Not friendly— polite.

 

Borderline giddy, at moments. 

 

If Shane has learned anything in his decade with the Voyageurs, this was the prelude to a bad fucking idea.

 

They hadn’t even played a rough enough game to be smirking like that! No hard checks, no illegal moves, gentle chirping, the works. 

 

Ilya, on the other hand, is best described as sulking at the lack of opportunity to beat someone’s face in. 

 

The second period has just ended. Ottawa is up 3–1. Shane has one goal and two assists.

 

He’s on the bench during intermission.

 

He looks over at the Voyageurs bench and catches at least six guys staring back at him. He looks away and tries to catch Hayden’s eye. 

 

Hayden looks back at him and— winks? 

 

And then the lights dim. 

 

Oh no.

 

The jumbotron splits in two panels. One is black with ‘A tribute to Shane Hollander’ written in Comic Sans. The other is trained on Shane’s live reaction. 

 

Oh no.

 

There is a low murmur of fans that rises, then dies just as quickly. Ilya is looking at their surroundings, then at him, then at the screen, then at their surroundings again, alert. 

 

Sad piano music plays. Shane recognizes the song instantly and cringes. 

 

Somewhere across the ice, Hayden Pike beams, feeling incredibly proud of himself. 

 

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

 

The black screen and writing fades to show an overhead shot of the empty Bell Centre rink. Bruno Mars’s voice fills the stadium. The screen changes clips.

Same bed but it feels just a little bit bigger now

Our song on the radio but it don't sound the same

 

It’s an old clip. Shane’s rookie year. He’s entering the rink for the first time in his red and blue Voyageur jersey. He gives a shy smile, looking nervously at his teammates. Someone playfully cuffs his helmet and 18-year-old Shane grins, nerves melting. 

 

An audio from that very first game plays; “And here comes Shane Hollander making his grand debut! I’m telling you, Randy, there’s something in the air about him. I don’t know what it is but I think Montreal is in for a grand few years.”

 

A second voice picks up. “Well folks, you heard it here from Ted himself first! Shane Hollander is gonna take the NHL by a storm! Either way, welcome Shane Hollander! We know you’ll make us proud!”

 

On screen, 18-year-old Shane looks like he’s afraid to blink. Like if he does, then this might all disappear.

 

More than a decade later, Shane doesn’t blink at all. His throat works once. Then again.

 

Ilya comes to stand by Shane’s side, his face unreadable but his hand interlocks with Shane’s, warm, rough and grounding.  

 

LaPointe balks. “Bruno Mars. This is Bruno Mars.”

 

“They are making a tribute to you based on a break up song,” Luca repeats in awe, “By. Bruno. Mars.”

 

Holmberg blinks up at the screen. “I’d normally tell Haas to cut the fan boy shit but this feels—” a pause “—warranted, somehow.”

When our friends talk about you

All it does is just tear me down

'Cause my heart breaks a little

When I hear your name

 

A montage of clips flash. They show his first ever goal as a Voyageur. And the celebration after when an old teammate Shane barely even remembers fully lifts him up and spins while Shane protests, half-glee, half-triumph.

 

It switches to a selfie of Shane and Hayden from the day Hayden adopted Shane as his token introvert friend. They’d come a long way from the shy, anxious rookie Shane had been and the over-friendly just-happy-to-be-here player Hayden started out as.

 

Then comes a blurry video. Shane’s surrounded by teammates, staring down his first shot. With a grimace, he throws his head back only to immediately spit the vile liquid out and come up coughing and cursing. 

 

Another video plays. This time, it’s him sitting awkwardly in a club, clearly out of place. JJ, clearly drunk, is draped on him and twerking, causing Shane to look mildly alarmed. When Shane notices the camera, he smiles awkwardly and waves. Mumbles a cute little, “Go Voyageurs!” 

 

He looks adorable.

In real life, Ilya turns to him, face petulant and demands, “What are these videos and why do I not have possession of them?”

 

Shane, dazed but never one to let an opportunity to harass Ilya go, quips. “Well, if you were nicer to JJ or Hayden or, well, anyone on my old team who could have these…”

 

Ilya scoffs, “I am peach!”

 

“You’re a treat!,” Shane corrects. Then, “Wait–”

 

Ilya smirks, smug. Shane throws his hands up. “Fuck off!”

 

“Shut up, Roz!” Hayes throws his arm around Ilya, “We’re trying to look at baby Shane!”

 

Shane objects “I’m a legal adult in all of these!”

 

“No, you were baby,” Ilya confirms, “Very cute baby. Like Haas.”

 

“Hey!” That’s Luca.

 

Shane forgoes words in favor of smacking Ilya’s shoulder.

It all just sounds like ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

 

Now, it’s a clip of him scoring a goal. Another old audio blares; “And that’s a hat trick from Hollander! His first one!”

 

The focus shifts to a ‘C’ printed out on a Voyageurs jersey. It zooms out to show Shane is the one wearing the jersey, looking appropriately satisfied for someone who’s just been promoted. 

 

The video fades to a picture of him posing at a school. He has his face to the camera, blushing. Around him are a group of kids with their backs to the camera to display the HOLLANDER #24 jerseys all 20 of them are wearing.

 

The camera shifts to a group of teens with a sign: “THANKS CAP!”

Troy notes, “This has— oddly romantic undertones.”

 

“They do know you were just their captain, right?” Hayes asks, eyes darting suspiciously. 

 

“They do know you’re married, right?” Luca Haas asks Shane, nervously. 

 

Chouinard whispers, “You were just their captain, right?”

 

Shane stares at them like he’s rethinking all his life choices.

 

Ilya gives a dark look to the camera. Then, he kisses Shane (on the cheek) before smirking smugly. 

 

Shane hides behind his hands. “This is ridiculous.”

Mmm, too young, too dumb to realize

That I should've bought you flowers

 

The clips change. There’s now a blurry phone-taken video playing. Shane is at a hospital. He’s holding bags of chocolate, toys, coloring books and sitting with a boy. Shane’s own voice is heard: “I heard somebody here is my biggest fan…”

Shane’s chest tightens as he remembers this day. 

 

Make a wish. 

 

The kid’s name was William. He liked DC comics, chocolate and snow days. He also had terminal cancer and his only ask from Make-a-wish was to meet Shane Hollander. Shane hadn’t known that day was recorded or, well, the mom had been recording but he didn’t think anyone but William’s family had the video.

 

Twenty-something year old Shane in the video had shiny eyes and a kind smile. 

 

30-year-old Shane had tears running down his face. 

 

Boyle asks, hesitantly, “The kid— did he— was he…”

 

Vision blurry and defeat in his bones, Shane just says, dejectedly, “Make a wish.”

 

William passed away three weeks later. 

 

Shane still remembers the cold hotel room bathroom tile pressing into his knees when he got the call.

 

“Jesus, Hollander,” Bood mutters softly.

 

Ilya wraps his arm around Shane, pulling him tighter, closer, safer. Shane leans into the contact. 

And held your hand

 

Another phone camera video comes on. Shane is crouched down now in the middle of a crowd all trying to get his attention. He’s ignoring them though, focused on being eye-level with a little girl. He can’t make out what he’s saying but there are subtitles. He’s asking; “Are you here alone? Is someone with you?”

 

The girl answers, shyly, “My mommy.”

 

Tribute Shane smiles bright. “That sounds wonderful. Where is your mommy? Did you lose track of her?”

 

The girl looks scared “I— don’t know,”

 

Shane makes a comedic petulant face, “Not even her number? I want to tell her what a brave, smart daughter she has.”

 

The girl mumbles, “I know her phone number—”

 

The clip cuts to a small woman barralling through the crowd. The little girl runs into her arms, yelling ‘mommy!’ The mother thanks Shane profusely in between kissing her daughter and Shane just waves it off, flushing.

In the present time, Ilya informs him, “You will make good dad.” 

 

Shane quirks an eyebrow. ”Says you.”

 

Barret calls from behind them, “Dibs on being the Godfather!”

 

Ilya agrees, seemingly to himself. “I will be good papa.” Shane watches the gleam of a wicked idea strikes Ilya. “You will be good daddy.” 

 

Groans, shouts and creative threats echo from behind them. 

 

Because they're on the bench. 

 

With their teammates. 

 

Who can very audibly hear what they are saying. 

 

“Add daddy to the list of words you’re never allowed to call me!” Shane glares, “Right next to fucking ‘lovers.’ ”

 

Now Shane is two different kinds of red. 

 

Fucker.

Should've gave you all my hours

When I had the chance

 

The clip switches again. Another shaky phone video.

 

Shane is helping an old man cross the street, swearing in polite Canadian at drivers laying on their horns.

“Well, fuck me.” Chouinard says. “Hollander is the politest translation of pissed I’ve seen.”

 

“You were just out in the streets of Montreal being the friendly neighborhood hockey player, weren’t you Hollzy?” LaPointe teases.

 

“Shut up! What was I supposed to do?” Shane argues, pink. “Let the man fall?”

Take you to every party

'Cause all you wanted to do was dance

 

The video switches to a clearer frame. It’s the same old man with his wife and they are in their living room with a sign that says “THANK YOU, SHANE HOLLANDER!”

“No. I’m serious! This is creepily romantic,” Troy announces, looking around in a frenzy. “Is Ilya being homewrecked? It feels like he is.”

 

“No one’s being homewrecked,” Shane snaps, “That is not how this works.”

 

“They can try,” Ilya scoffs. Then turns to Shane, worried “We are in happy marriage, yes?”

 

Shane facepalms.

Now my baby's dancing

 

The beat picks up. Short clips rotate in a flash. Shane lifts his first Stanley Cup. 

 

Then his second.

 

Then his third.

Present Shane holds his breath, heart stuttering.

But she's dancing with another man

 

It’s a close up of a Hollander-Rozanov face off now. 

 

Shane is focused on the puck. Ilya’s attention is trained on Shane though. Ilya, smirks and says something. Shane quips back but doesn’t take his eyes off the puck. Ilya looks three shades of baffled by whatever Shane had so nonchalantly dropped as a chirp.

 

The video intentionally drags on until Shane wins the face off, leaving Ilya still looking baffled. 

In the stadium, cheers rise both from the crowd and the Montreal Voyageurs bench. Even the Centaurs are whooping.

 

Hayes comments, “Not cutting it off until after Hollzy won the face off and Roz looked like an idiot was—” he pauses, smirking for effect, “—a choice.”

 

Ilya grumbles, “I blame Pike.”

 

Luca offers, “At least they know he’s got you.”

 

Shane sighs, feeling like a broken record. “They knew that already. They’re not my ex. They don't want me back.”

 

“Happily taken,” Ilya affirms to Luca, ignoring Shane’s interjection. He eyes Shane, and checks again, “Da?”

 

“The happiest,” Shane confirms with a fond huff, and kisses him on the cheek.

 

“This is very gay,” Troy observes, again.

 

“It is not,” Shane argues.

 

Holmberg asks Troy, ignoring Shane completely “The gays or the video?”

 

“Yes.” 

My pride, my ego, my needs, and my selfish ways

Caused a good strong woman like you

To walk out my life

 

The fanmail video plays on screen. The voice is muted and it’s zoomed in on Shane and Ilya.

Dread crawls up Shane’s spine and he’s back to when he first watched it.

 

Luca whispers to Troy urgently, “Um, Ilya doesn’t look too happy? Should we— I don’t know? He looks like he’s gonna jump somebody.”

 

Troy snorts. “We can hope.”

Now I never, never get to clean up the mess I made

And it haunts me every time I close my eyes

 

Then, comes a clip from ‘the game.’ The thrice damned Montreal-Ottawa game. 

 

The game Shane tripped, to be more specific.

 

Headlines slam onto the screen. “Voyageurs Captain caught in Gay Scandal.” “Hollander, The Cheat?” “Hollander Rozanov Steamy Kiss Betrayal.” “Falling in Love…Literally?”

 

An audio plays: “This is a conflict of interest, plain and simple…”

 

Another: "...conveniently slips at the exact right moment…”

 

A third: “They should both be suspended for this blatant misconduct…”

Shane’s blinking back tears aggressively. His team looks murderous. Ilya, particularly, is looking at the screen like he’s Matilda and the screen is his personal Trunchbull. 

 

“It’s giving—” Luca mumbles, conspiratorially.

 

 LaPointe completes it. "—toxic ex.” 

 

Troy nods in vigorous agreement. Ilya looks murderous.

 

Shane glares at them through wet eyes, “Stop.”

It all just sounds like ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

 

Hayden’s on screen now. He looks wrecked. 

 

“Hey, Shane. This um, is the fourth take because apparently I cried through the first three.”

 

He exhales. “I just wanted to say that I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t protect you when I should have. I should have done more — and I didn’t.” A beat. “Montreal isn’t the same without you. I miss you. Jackie misses you. The kids miss you.”

 

His voice softens. “You’re still family. You always will be.”

 

A pause, then a crooked smile. “Ilya too… I guess.”

 

He clears his throat abruptly, as if remembering something urgent. “Don’t think being in another city gets you out of babysitting, by the way. Godfather up, Hollander. And tell your Russian that Jade and Ruby have a curl routine they want to try on his hair, so—” Hayden shudders, “Good luck.”

Ilya grabs at his helmet protected hair. “No!”

 

Dykstra says mournfully, “A moment of silence, in mourning for Roz’s hair.”

 

The silence does not last. The Centaurs are cackling before Dykstra completes his sentence.

 

Ilya claims, mournfully, “I have no friends.”

 

Shane rolls his eyes and catches Hayden’s eye. He mouths, ‘Thank you.’ A moment of thought later, he mouths, ‘Fuck you.’

 

Hayden shakes it off and makes a heart with his hands. 

Although it hurts

I'll be the first to say that I was WROOOONG 

 

JJ is next. He’s smiling sadly. “Hey, brother. I just wanted to say that I will never stop regretting how I reacted at first.”

 

JJ pauses, as if thinking. “You’re the guy who got UNO banned from road trips because you were so uptight about the fucking rules. 

 

“You gave this team your all and we fucked you over. That’s on us.” JJ gives a bittersweet smile. “I miss you. Good luck in Ottawa. I’ll kill Rozanov if he doesn’t treat you right. Just give me the call.”

 

The clips change and now it’s a photo of a group of people of all ages, race and color holding up a sign. “WE’RE SORRY KING!”

“Fucking JJ,” Shane mutters. He’s crying. There’s no point of hiding it anymore. 

 

JJ, on the other side of the ice, is holding his ears and mouthing, ‘I’m sorry.’

 

Shane laughs and sticks his tongue out playfully, a clear indication that JJ has been long since forgiven. 

 

Ilya gives JJ the middle finger. JJ grins and makes finger guns like that’s his biggest accomplishment.

Oh, I know I'm probably much too late

To try and apologize for my mistakes

But I just want you to know

 

There’s another news headline: “Shane Hollander traded to Ottawa in multi-million dollar deal. The start of a new era?”

Wiebe, behind Shane, declares softly, “It definitely is.”

 

Shane looks at him, eyes bright. “Thank you. I’m honoured to be a part of it.”

I hope he buys you flowers

 

It’s now flashed to the aftermath of Shane’s first game (and win) as a Centaur. They’re still on the ice. Ilya suddenly stops. He motions for someone to toss him something. It’s a bouquet. Ilya hands it to a flustered and sputtering Shane. 

 

The Shane on the screen is red and hits Ilya on the shoulder. 

 

He still accepts the flowers though, albeit muttering angrily. 

“You’re such an asshole,” Shane tells Ilya of the present. 

 

Ilya pins him with a grin, “You love it.”

 

Shane sticks out his tongue.

I hope he holds your hand

 

It’s another blurry paparazzi clip. Shane remembers this. They’re in New York and the team had dragged a very willing him out for drinks at Kingfisher. The entire Ottawa roster was featured. 

 

Ilya was pulling Shane forward. Troy was behind Shane, pushing him. Bood was yelling. Luca was talking excitedly with overuse of hand gestures. Someone had their arm around Shane. 

 

The most prominent detail, though, was the grip Ilya had on Shane’s hand, laced, interlocked and unwilling to let go. 

Ilya of the present had Shane’s hand in a similar grip. 

 

Luca gasps, “It’s us!”

 

“Hi!” Hayes waves as the other side of the camera expands. He enunciates his words “Hollander. Is. Ours!”

 

Troy, similarly, looks into the camera and says, exaggeratedly moving his lips, “VERY taken both team and husbandwise.”

 

“They don’t want me back!”

 

“Especially husbandwise,” Ilya waves around the finger his ring would have been on had he not taken it off for risk of injury.

 

“Ilya!” 

 

Troy gives Shane an incredulous look. “They’ve pulled out the Bruno Mars.”

 

“This is homewreckage. They are homewrecking me.” Ilya grabs Shane’s shoulders and shakes. “Shane, I am being homewrecked”

 

Shane can only stare, aghast.

Give you all his hours

When he has the chance

 

It’s a clip of them at an interview now. Shane is focused and talking about something. 

 

Ilya is also focused… on Shane. He’s completely ignoring the interview actually.

 

This becomes apparent when the interviewer asks Ilya to “answer the same question.” Ilya says, “huh?”

There is a variation of chuckles, snorts and outright laughter. A stray “WHIPPED!”

 

Ilya defends himself. “Interview boring. Shane hot. I pay attention to hot Shane and not boring interview. Is simple math. What is so difficult to understand?”

 

“Roz—” Wiebe stares at him, “sometimes, I think you forget you are in fact employed and thirsting on company time.”

 

Ilya is too busy staring at the ‘murder kitten’ face Shane’s making at him to listen to a word Wiebe said. He goes, as he did in the video, “Huh?”

 

Coach Wiebe throws his hands. “I give up!”

Take to every party

'Cause I remember how much you loved to dance

 

It’s a beautiful clip of them dancing at their wedding. It’d been on Rose’s instagram. 

Ilya turns to him, “I will dance with you wherever, whenever for the rest of my life if it means keeping you in my arms.”

 

Shane grins, wryly, “Your english is getting too good. Who’s been teaching you to be a sap?”

 

The chorus of his teammates, Ilya and even the coach rings out. “You.”

Do all the things I should have done

When I was your man

 

It’s now a clean, sweet photo of the Montreal Voyageurs team after their first Stanley win with Shane at the helm.

Shane smiles, grief, bittersweetness and regret stirring within him

Do all the things I should have done

When I was your man

 

The old Voyageurs picture fades and a brighter, looser picture of the Ottawa Centaurs takes its place. 

 

Bood is pulling Holmberg and Boyle in place. Hayes is making bunny ears on Dykstra’s head. Luca is not where he’s supposed to be and incredibly confused. Troy is flipping the bird. Harris is in the frame, yelling at Troy. In the middle of it all are Ilya and Shane. Ilya has his head thrown back in a laugh. Shane is looking at the camera smiling, happier than he has in a while.

There’s a standing ovation. 

 

The arena roars; ‘Hollan-der! Hollan-der! Hollan-der!’ 

 

Shane is breathless, cheeks damp and unashamed and drowning.

 

This lasts for only a few seconds though because the slide changes again.

 

The picture changes and now it’s the Montreal Voyageurs team, the coaching staff, the management and even the interns holding up a sign: “Good Luck in Ottawa… but if you wanna holla at us… on est faibles 😏”

 

Shane facepalms. Then lifts his face to blink slowly. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

 

This is all the ammunition Troy needs. He yells pointing accusatorily at the Voyageurs, “HOMEWRECKERS!” 

 

Half the Voyageurs roster falls over laughing. The other half makes lasso motions. 

 

Shane genuinely considers retirement.

 

Ilya yells at the Voyageurs. “He is not your holla! He will holla me! My Holla!”

 

Shane looks at him. “Your, pardon— you’re Holla?”

 

“Holla!” Ilya says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Holla-nder. They will not woo you away with sweet nicknames! I buy you flowers. Like song said. You are my Holla!”

 

“Not what that means, cap!” Hayes slaps Ilya on the shoulder.

 

Shane just rolls his eyes but agrees. “Your Holla, okay?”

 

Ilya nods, grinning, satisfied. 

 

With that beat, the intermission ends and the game is set to continue. Ilya leads the team. The Voyageurs assume their own positions.

 

Comeau meets Shane for the face off. 

 

Comeau grits out, “You’re alright, Hollander.”

 

Shane raises an eyebrow. “Don’t need your vote of approval to know that.”

 

Comeau looks at him, really looks at him. And curls his lips upwards into something sweet, sad and bitter.

 

Shane almost shows mercy. 

 

Almost. 

 

But then wins the face off. And scores a goal within the minute. Hayden gets one in too, with an assist from Comeau. 

 

Ottawa takes the game 2 - 4. Feels poetic.

 

Shane smiles, satisfied. It feels like closure.

 

Then, the banner drops. 

 

It reads—

 

Shane does a double take.

 

“We Miss You Hollzy! (We’re willing to whore Hayden Pike out if your thing with Rozanov doesn’t work out and you wanna come back : )”

 

Hayden, meanwhile, is on the Voyageurs side of the ice looking far too content for someone who was just offered as a team-issued incentive. 

 

Hayden smiles brightly at Shane. Shane looks at him, horrified. He looks back at Shane, then at his giggling teammates, then at JJ who’s mock-whistling in a picture of highly suspicious innocence. 

 

Ah. Shane realises what happened here.

 

Shane gestures towards the banner. Hayden cranes his head to look. He looks back at Shane, still confused until he finally processes— 

 

And the does a double take at what the fuck the banner actually says and blanches.  

 

Hayden, honest to God, shrieks. “No!” 

 

Shane would have possibly felt offended at the swiftness and sheer volume if he hadn’t felt the same bit of horror at the prospect.

 

“You see, you see!” Ilya exclaims, deranged, “You say ‘you are not being homewrecked’ and they do this?! I knew Pike was cheat. What will I tell Jackie!?”

 

Shane notes, “I feel like this will have consequences later.”

 

Troy moans, “My boyfriend is never leaving the PR office ever again.”

---

 

Apparently, the best was yet to come. 

 

Obviously, Shane is in high demand for post-game interviews.

 

He’s sent out with Ilya, Troy, and Luca.

 

Someone’s idea of a joke, apparently.

 

Harris has texted the group chat one hundred and nine times. Then texted them individually. Then called all four of them. Each message more unhinged than the last, all containing bullet-pointed PR-approved responses.

 

All of it is ignored.

 

The reporter ventures carefully, “How did it feel returning to Montreal?”

 

Shane exhales. His eyes are still red, but his voice is steady.

 

“First of all,” he says, dryly, “Hayden Pike should be permanently banned from choosing music.”

 

Someone sounding suspiciously like Wyatt Hayes shouts from offscreen, “There was no coming back after the Bruno Fucking Mars!”

 

Shane nods once. “Fair.”

 

“And emotionally?” the reporter presses.

 

Shane pauses.

 

“Montreal had a special place in my heart,” he says quietly. “And in some ways, it always will.”

 

Then, dryly, “But whoever approved that banner should not be allowed near graphic design software without adult supervision.” He looks directly into the camera, threat in his eyes. “I'm looking at you, Boiziau.”

 

A few laughs ripple through the press line.

 

“The message at the end?” the reporter asks, wagging her eyebrows. “Are we feeling the red and blue?”

 

Shane winces. “I have… opinions about the winky face.”

 

He glances toward the Voyageurs bench, then back to the mic.

 

“J’ai des principes,” he says calmly. A beat. “Et c’est non. Pas une putain de chance.”

 

He then offers the signature polite, goldstar Shane Hollander smile.

---

 

Troy is next.

 

The reporter already looks tired.

 

“There were reports that you were heard shouting during the tribute— specifically accusing the Voyageurs of ‘homewrecking.’ Care to elaborate?”

 

Troy leans into the mic. “Gay.”

 

The reporter freezes. “Pardon?”

 

“Not derogatory,” Troy clarifies kindly. “Just observational.”

 

“…Observational.”

 

“Yes.”

 

A pause stretches. The air dies.

 

Troy adds, helpfully, “Also, to Montreal—desperate much?”

 

The reporter closes her eyes. “That’s your official comment?”

 

Troy nods. “Yes.”

---

 

Luca steps up next. He stands very straight and sincere.

 

“They can’t have him.”

 

The reporter asks, “You mean Hollander?”

 

Luca nods gravely. “Roz’ll be devastated.”

 

“That’s… understandable,” the reporter says, perking up at what may just turn out to be a normal interview. “They’re a strong partnership?”

 

“Hollander reminds me to hydrate and packs snacks,” Luca explains. “Rozanov punches people who are mean to me.”

 

Unhinged it is.

 

“What?” she asks, flatly.

 

“They’re basically my parents,” Luca continues, staring directly into the camera. “Children from broken homes don’t do well.”

 

“…Was that a threat,” the reporter asks faintly, “or a plea?”

 

Luca blinks. “Can’t it be both.”

 

The reporter looks done. 

 

The PR representative shouts, “Next question!”

---

 

Ilya is smiling.

 

This is concerning.

 

“Any notes on the tribute?” asks the reporter, expectations already in hell

 

Ilya says, politely. “I have small comment.”

 

The reporter braces. “Go ahead.”

 

“They used something called a Bruno Mars—” Ilya pauses for impact. “This is untrustworthy.”

 

The reporter asks, “You felt threatened?”

 

“I can fight!” Ilya scoffs. “I fight God for my Shane. Montreal is—” Ilya pauses, visibly looking for a worthy insult. “—Baby duck!”

 

The reporter looks at Shane. 

 

Shane shrugs. What can you do?

 

“I trust my husband,” Ilya continues. “What I do not trust is Hayden Pike and playlists.”

 

Shane opens his mouth to argue but stops. “Actually, fair.”

 

“Also—,” Ilya leans into the mic. “Banner was crime.”

 

Shane mutters, “Blame JJ.”

 

“In Russia—” Ilya pauses for the drama. “This would be parking lot duel.”

 

Shane clarifies. “That is a joke.”

 

“Is not.”

 

“Stop threatening my old teammates!”

 

“It is not threat,” Ilya insists. “It is promise.”

 

Someone yells “Cut!”

---

 

When all is said and done, Harris sends a single text; “You’re all dead to me.”