Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Less depressing than the title makes it sound I promise, Frankencanon - started with show canon but now we're with the Cens!!, Canon Divergence, POV Multiple, POV Outsider, Characters taken from The Long Game but no actual plot spoilers for The Long Game, Technically some spoilers for Tough Guy but not very significant ones, This is a Cens love fic and a Metros hate fic, Shane definitely needs more therapy than he's had, Low plot high vibes, everybody wants Shane hollander, They're already together but this is still a slow-burn tbh, Tension and angst (realistic to media scrutiny and having to deal with the Metros), Also fluff and lighthearted stuff, Mixed Media

Language:

English

Series:

Part 7 of It starts in an elevator

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-28 Completed: 2026-05-27 Words: 126,030 Chapters: 38/38

glass closets and thrown stones

Summary

Shane and Ilya sign with Ottawa on July 1st 2018. It goes startlingly well (apart from all the bits that don't).

Chapter 1: News from July 1st

Chapter Notes

I'm back!!

This took far longer and spiralled WAY more than I thought it would. People in the comments said they were fine with 'low plot high vibes', and I have taken you at your word and written absolutely everything I wanted to, regardless of how much it advances the overall story.
The result is that this fic is more or less structured like a very long season of a TV show - there is an overall arc, but not every chapter will advance that arc, and there will be some mini-arcs that take up a few chapters.

The other result is that I had intended this story to cover the first two seasons with Ottawa... but after the chapter count hit 30 with no signs of stopping I re-evaluated that. So what you get is 37 chapters about the first season with Ottawa, and a pinky promise of another sequel in future (if you all still want one by the end, and after I have spent some time on a fainting couch recovering).

Quick note on structure - there isn't one. I am going to bounce exuberently through different outsider POVs for the majority of the fic, and I am going to insert social media chapters at frequent and largely random intervals.

The whole thing is done, so provided I can keep up with edits I will be uploading daily chapters (a couple of snack-sized chapters might be given as extras).

I promise that although the fic title is accurate it is much less dark than it might sound. Definitely less angsty and harrowing than Best Laid Plans. Hopefully it will even be funny at times!

I think that's everything! I'm excited for you to see where I take things, and I hope you enjoy it.

Early July 2018

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
The Ottawa Centaurs have signed forwards Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.
Shane and Ilya - welcome to Ottawa!
We’re looking forward to hearing from the players themselves in our upcoming press conference – in the meantime, here’s our official statement [link]

@RaiderFaithful
NO
WHAT
NOT OUR CAPTAIN

@RaidersRiot
THIS CAN’T BE TRUE 😭

@PuckInsider
This is the biggest July 1 swing Ottawa has ever taken—and they landed both. Massive win for the Cens.

@NHLRumourLog
I’ll admit this one took me by surprise! Though Hollander was widely rumoured to be looking to move on, most of the rumours said Boston, Tampa Bay, Vancouver, or the New York Admirals.

@NHLRumourLog
I have heard unconfirmed reports that the Metros offered Hollander 13M to stay – which he turned down for a (confirmed) 10M with Ottawa.
Also hearing rumours that the Raiders offered Rozanov 12M to stay.

@saypuckit
Turning down more money AND leaving a contender?
Yeah I’d love to know what actually went on in Montreal

@CensLoyalist
Holy shit?? Holy. Shit. HOLY SHIT.
We are SO BACK.
Now THIS is what I call a rebuild!!

@HollanderHive
This is amazing news actually?? I’m gonna buy Cens season tickets before the price rockets up.

@RozanderWatch
OH?? 👀 👀 👀

@NHLTea
The statement presents both contracts separately, but – these are identical. Both 10M, both 4 years, both full no move / no trade. Identical performance bonuses.

@ChaosGoalie
Important question: what the fuck??

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Just a theory – but 4 years seems like the org and the players have decided to really commit to a timeline for a rebuild. If it works, great – if it doesn’t, no one’s been burned too badly.

@ChaosGoalie
Yes but the ‘what the fuck’ was about more than that one point

Montreal Metros @MTLMetros
The Montreal Metros thank Shane Hollander for his contributions to the organization and wish him the best in Ottawa.

@MontrealStandard
Saw this coming but it still hurts. The team will struggle to fill the hole, honestly.

@MTLForever
Hell of a player but we’re better off without him tbh. No one’s above the room.

@MetroTrue
Good riddance. He burned the room.

@ChaosGoalie
Great statement @MTLMetros! Just a couple of colour notes. How about – “Shane has been a leader in the room for four years, bringing us back-to-back Stanley Cups. We fumbled him catastrophically and now our org is destined to never make playoffs again.”

Boston Raiders @Boston_Raiders
Thank you, Roz.
An incredible chapter with our organization comes to a close.
We’re grateful for your leadership, your passion, and everything you brought to this team and this city. Wishing you all the best in Ottawa.

@RaiderFaithful
End of an era… The team isn’t going to be the same.

@RaidersRiot
The CITY isn’t going to be the same

@RozanovApologist
Screw you Roz for moving to a team with such a stupid logo because OBVIOUSLY I will have to be a Cens fan now

@PuckInsider
Comparing the tone of the farewell statements from the Metros and the Raiders is… telling. 👀

@HockeyMediaClips
Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander’s signing press conference for the Ottawa Centaurs!

Transcript:

“This question’s for both of you. Ottawa isn’t usually a destination that lands the two biggest free agents on the market. What convinced you that this was the place you wanted to come?”

Rozanov: “I felt like it was time for a new challenge. I like Ottawa as a city, and I liked what I was hearing about the team.”

Hollander: “Ottawa is home, of course, but for me team culture was my highest priority in choosing where to sign. When I spoke with the org I was really impressed by their vision for the team, I wanted to be a part of that.”

“Shane, what does it mean to play in your hometown?”

Hollander: “It’s great to be coming home. Growing up, Mom was a Montreal Metros fan and Dad was an Ottawa Centaurs fan – I grew up supporting both, and we held Centaurs season tickets. It feels really special to be part of the rebuild.”

“Did you discuss the possibility of signing in Ottawa together before free agency?”

Hollander: “We knew we were both going into our UFA seasons. By the end of the season, we were both considering moving teams. Obviously that was something we talked about. We had similar things we were looking for in terms of team culture, and so we compared notes on that. It happened that Ottawa had a number of qualities that looked good to both of us.”

“Was Ottawa attractive in part because you’d be playing together?”

Rozanov: “Best and second best player in the league on the same team? That is a big bonus.”

“Shane, I want to follow up on that a little bit. You two have played together at the All-Star Game and people remember the chemistry you showed there. Did the idea of playing together full-time factor into your decision at all?”

Hollander: “As I said, team culture was my highest priority in choosing where to sign. Who my teammates were going to be was a major factor in that.”

Rozanov: “Hollander, so boring. You can admit that you are looking forward to playing with the best player in the league.”

Hollander: [grin] “I can't clone myself, Rozanov. But I admit that I’m looking forward to playing with the second best player in the league.”

“Shane, there were reports that the Metros offered you a larger contract to stay. Can you talk about why you ultimately decided not to return to Montreal?”

Hollander [controlled and careful]: “I'm proud of all the things I achieved in my eight years with the Montreal Metros. But I was ready for something different. As I said, Ottawa impressed me with their vision around team culture – I want to build a team that shows valuing player safety and wellbeing can absolutely go alongside championship level hockey.”

“Ilya, a similar question to you – why did you decide not to return to the Raiders? Seriously - was it the chance to play alongside Shane that brought you to Ottawa?”

Rozanov: [warmly] “Boston is a great city, great team. I loved playing for them. But I was ready for something new. I had already been thinking about options with my agent early in the season, including Ottawa – I did not know at that point that Hollander would end up moving as well.”

“Shane – since Rozanov was thinking about Ottawa first, did he influence your decision to sign here?”

Hollander: [dry and very specific] “My knowledge that Rozanov had a lot of respect for the Ottawa org was a significant factor in me deciding to talk with them. The decision to sign was based on those talks, among a number of other factors.”

“Ilya, the contracts you and Shane signed are identical — same term, same salary, same clauses. That’s pretty unusual. Was that something the two of you discussed ahead of time, wanting to come in here on equal footing?”

Rozanov: “We are very competitive. If Ottawa had offered one of us even a dollar more we would never stop arguing about it.”

“You were presented as rivals for most of your careers. What does it feel like to finally be on the same team?”

Rozanov: “Looking forward to it.”

Hollander: “Hugely. We’ve played on the same side at All Stars, but I’m looking forward to it as a daily thing.”

“For either of you — you’re both natural centers and both have been franchise number-one centers your entire careers. Have you and the coaching staff talked yet about how you’ll be used here? Is the expectation that you’ll play together on the same line, or drive separate lines?”

Hollander: “That's a question for us to work through properly with the coaches in training camp, really. But we're thinking probably separate lines.”

Rozanov: “Together on the power play, for sure.”

“Shane, you were a captain for many years in Montreal and you’ve obviously been one of the league’s leaders for a long time. How do you feel about the decision for Ilya to wear the ‘C’ here and for you to serve as alternate captain?”

Hollander [easily]: “I feel really comfortable with it. It's always been clear that Rozanov is a great captain. I don’t feel like I need the C in order to be able to contribute as a leader in a locker room where he’s the captain - I'm looking forward to getting to work with him as part of the leadership group.”

“Ilya, you’ve been known as a very vocal, emotional captain in Boston, while Shane has often been described as more quiet and analytical as a leader. How do you see the two of you working together in the leadership group here?”

Rozanov: “Hollander's hockey IQ is incredible. When it comes to game analysis, I will make him do all the work. I will focus on locker room speeches.”

“Shane, Ilya just mentioned your hockey IQ. Over the years a lot of people around the league have talked about how analytical you are about the game. What have you noticed about Ilya’s game when you’ve played against him that makes you excited to finally be on the same side?”

Hollander: “Don't let Rozanov fool you - he's an incredibly tactical player. I have the edge on figuring out pucks and angles, but he's well ahead of me in analysing the players themselves. I can look at a game play situation and tell you where a player should shoot. He can look at a game play situation and tell you where the player will shoot.”

“For two players who’ve had a well-documented eight year rivalry, you seem to have a lot of mutual respect! Did the rivalry narrative ever reflect the reality of your relationship?”

Rozanov: “Mm, maybe 90% of it.

Hollander: “More like 98%. You were even more of an asshole when we were eighteen.”

Rozanov: [shrugs] “You only say that because I was the first pick for the draft.”

Hollander: “I only say that because you were first pick for the draft and then you were an asshole about it.”

Rozanov: “Such a sore loser, Hollander.”

Hollander: “Suck my silver Olympic medal, Rozanov.”

Rozanov: “So, maybe 50% of the rivalry narrative is still true.”

Hollander: [glares, but with a small smile] “Up to 80%, depending on the day.”

“At what point did the rivalry stop feeling personal and start feeling more like professional competition?”

Rozanov: “The rivalry was always personal. Still is personal.”

Hollander: “And also was always professional. If what you’re trying to ask is, did you hate each other? Sure, I hated him a bit. He was very hateable. But even before I met him I respected him and admired him.”

Rozanov: “I hated Hollander a lot at times. Annoyingly perfect. Made me want to hit him.”

Hollander: [laughs]

“You played together at All-Star Weekend, in 2017. It was in the next season that people first noticed you two spending more time together off the ice. Is that when your relationship actually became a friendship?”

[the two look at each other]

Rozanov: [teasingly] “Are we friends, Hollander?”

Hollander: [deadpan] “You're tolerable, on a good day.”

Rozanov: “I do not know why people think you are the nice one.”

Hollander: “Playing together at All Stars was amazing, though.”

Rozanov: “Yes. The best.”

“Did the long history between you influence how comfortable you felt signing with the same team?”

Hollander: “Definitely. Outside of the Metros, there’s no player in the league I know as well as Rozanov. It makes a big difference to know the team’s going to have someone with his principles and leadership values wearing the C.”

Rozanov: “Hollander is an incredible player, and I’ve never met anyone who works harder or gives more to a team. I was very pleased to sign with the same team as him.”

“Is All Stars 2017 when you started thinking about playing on the same team in future?”

Hollander: [much more controlled tone] “I didn’t envisage leaving the Metros at that stage.”

Rozanov: [deliberately casual] “I thought about it, a little. Was just a fun daydream, though. Not a plan. It was only at the end of last season when it even seemed like a possibility to play together.”

“Shane, when you talk about the ‘end of last season’ being when you decided to test the market, are you suggesting that difficulties with the Montreal Metros locker room and org are what led you to leave?”

Hollander [quiet, controlled]: “There were a lot of factors I was weighing up, personal and professional. Ultimately I felt that the Metros was no longer the right fit for me.”

“Is this about the NHLPA grievance you filed? Did you not feel able to return after that?”

Hollander: [polite but firm] “The grievance has been settled now, and I’m not going to be commenting on it publicly.”

“Shane, earlier this year you spoke publicly about your experience coming out to your team and the challenges that came with that. Now that you’re starting a new chapter here, what kind of environment are you hoping to help build in Ottawa’s locker room?”

Hollander: “Honestly, what I'm hoping for most is an environment that I - as an individual - don't have to build. I don't think one person can change a system without a lot of help. So I'm hoping for a system where the players and the org are all working together. From everything I've heard so far, Ottawa already have a supportive room and a structure that's built around transparency, accountability, and respect. That's huge. I'm looking forward to being a part of that.”

“Ilya, during the season you spoke publicly a few times defending Shane when there was criticism around his captaincy in Montreal. What are your thoughts about building a positive team culture?”

Rozanov: “Hollander and have similar principles. He has probably thought about it in more detail than I have, though. Probably has checklists.”

Hollander: [smiling] “Not all of us just go on vibes.”

“This team’s been in a rebuild for a while, and the fanbase has been waiting for a turning point. With the two of you coming in now, how quickly do you think this group can become competitive?”

Rozanov: [confidently] “Two years.”

Hollander: “Jesus, Rozanov. Don't jinx us.”

Rozanov: [confidingly] “I bet Hollander. Playoffs in two years.”

“What exactly are the stakes of that bet?”

Hollander: [shaking his head, but smiling] “I didn’t agree to the bet. I don’t bet on hockey.”

Rozanov: “He didn't agree because he also thinks we can do it in two years.”

Hollander: “Stop jinxing us!”

“What needs to happen roster-wise to make a two year timeline happen?”

Rozanov: “First step was signing us, obviously. Second step -”

Hollander: [cutting in] “I’m sure Rozanov and I each have ideas, but I’m not going to try to do the job of hockey ops – my focus is playing.”

Rozanov: [unrepentant grin] “Sure. Yes.”

“You’ve talked a lot about being competitive as well as getting along. Now that you’re teammates, do you think that competitive edge will show up in practice?”

Hollander: “I can’t imagine it not.”

Rozanov: “Would be so boring without it.”

[both grin]

@CensLoyalist
“team culture was my highest priority”
WE HAVE BEEN CHOSEN 😭😭😭

@OttawaFan
Hometown star comes home AND brings another Stanley Cup winning captain with him. This is a movie.

@CentaurBaby
They’re arguing about who’s the best player IN THE PRESS CONFERENCE
I love them already

@NHLTea
Hollander repeatedly emphasising “team culture” when discussing leaving Montreal is… notable.

@HollanderHive
He wants to build a team that values player safety and wellbeing 😭

@RozanovApologist
Hollander: measured, thoughtful
Rozanov: vibes, violence, and manifesting playoffs
That’s my baby 😭

@GuardianGuardian
Ottawa fans acting like they just won the Cup in July
Let’s check back in in two years, shall we?

@MetroTrue
All this talk about culture. Just say you lost the room.

@RozanderWatch
“who my teammates were going to be was a major factor” HELLO

@RaidersRiot
I hate that I’m going to enjoy watching them together

@RealHockeyOnly
“player safety and wellbeing” it’s hockey not therapy 🙄

@TumblrRefugee
They keep looking at each other before answering certain questions and I would like to know EVERYTHING

Chapter 2: Bood's Barbecue

Early July 2018

After the press conference is over, Bood files out alongside Hollander and Rozanov. He half-expects the GM or Coach Wiebe to try to scoop them up for a conversation, but they’re busy talking to Lind - even though they’re no doubt itching to talk to their new superstars, this isn’t the kind of team where people blow off a retiring captain.

So instead Bood drifts closer to them, and sees Hollander unobtrusively rolling out his shoulders and neck. Bood sympathises; he thinks he maybe answered one question all press conference - something bland about looking forward to working with both of them – and still the press conference felt like a lot.

“You did good,” Rozanov tells Hollander.

“Your idea of a good media availability is no lawsuits,” Hollander shoots back.

Rozanov shrugs. “Yes. And no lawsuits from today.”

Bood can’t tell if Hollander’s huff is him laughing or scoffing, but either way he doesn’t sound particularly hostile. Neither of them does, in fact, which is… weird.

You can’t be in the league and not know about Rozanov and Hollander. As soon as you hear of one, the comparison between them follows in the next breath. And sure, Bood’s not naïve about the role of marketing in the league, and the media coverage on Hollander’s last season (including, of course, Rozanov’s pointed commentary) has made it clear that Rozanov’s willing to stand up for Hollander any time, any place… but, still. It’s hard for Bood to wrap his head around the fact that they seem to genuinely get along – let alone that they’re the kind of friends who would decide together to rebuild one of the league’s biggest joke teams.

“I think you both did good,” Bood says easily, rather than saying any of that. “Really, I still can’t believe you’ve signed with us.”

Rozanov smirks. “Even after the press conference? Do we need to do another round of questions?”

“God, no,” Hollander grimaces.

“Hopefully it will sink in before the games start,” Bood says. “Hey - I don’t know what your plans are for the next few days but I’m hosting a bunch of the team for a barbecue on Saturday. It’s an informal thing – partners, kids. But if either of you can come we’d be glad to have you.” A little intimidated, probably, Bood admits to himself privately. But definitely glad.

There’s another one of those odd little moments that kept happening all through the press conference, where Rozanov and Hollander look at each other for a beat longer than feels entirely usual. Then Hollander shrugs, a little tensely, and pulls out his phone. “We’re both sticking around Ottawa for a bit,” he says. “We’ve got various meetings and stuff but I think I’m free Saturday. Rozanov?”

“Why ask me?” Rozanov asks, leaning idly against the wall. “You know my schedule better than I do, probably.”

Hollander rolls his eyes, but doesn’t disagree with this assessment. “Yeah, alright,” he says. “Saturday should work fine.”

“Will be good to meet the team,” Rozanov says. He’s got a light in his eyes and a smile like he’s pleased to have been asked; to Bood's surprise, it looks real, as if superstar Ilya Rozanov is genuinely looking forward to socialising with players who’ve found themselves in one of the league’s cul-de-sacs. “Right, Hollander?”

“Sure,” says Hollander. By contrast, his expression looks closer to someone thinking about a dentist appointment - anticipating pain, but determined to get it over with with a minimum of fuss. Bood doesn't quite know how to react to that - amusement? Insult? - but before he can decide, Rozanov meets his eyes and smirks. Hollander seems to catch the moment, and tries hastily to correct himself. “I mean, yes, it will be good to get to know people, for sure.”

“Hollander is very awkward,” Rozanov explains easily. “It is not about the Centaurs. He is awkward all the time.”

“Fuck off, Rozanov, I am not,” Hollander says.

“Very confident. Very assertive. Good work,” Rozanov says in a congratulatory tone. Hollander scowls, and Bood starts to wonder if maybe he was too quick earlier to assume they got along.

“Alright, well, let me add you to the group chat,” Bood says diplomatically before the situation can escalate, and notices Hollander’s polite, attentive expression fight its way back past the scowl again.

This whole situation hasn’t started to feel any more real yet.

Cassie isn’t sure what to expect of Ilya Rozanov.

She isn't nervous, exactly. She's not new to hosting hockey events; since becoming engaged to Zane it's been a regular feature of her life. And even before that, she participated in plenty of them as Zane’s girlfriend, too. So no - not nervous.

But she can’t deny that she’s curious.

She started combing back through Rozanov and Hollander’s press on the day the announcement came through about them both coming to Ottawa. Hollander's media seems to paint a pretty consistent picture: quiet, polite, respectful. She's not worried about him.

Rozanov, though, seems like a wild card. He has quite the TMZ back catalogue – leaving clubs with a variety pack of women, mostly – as well as being regularly featured in sports news for outrageous chirps, flashy goals, or hockey fights. She can’t help wondering what someone like him is wanting with Ottawa… and how he’ll possibly be able to fit in with the laid-back guys she knows.

And yet, then there's the other stuff as well. Him speaking up for Hollander, talking about ‘crossed lines’. Even the photos of him standing next to Rose Landry, talking about them having mutual friends. If he can have friends who are women, maybe it's not such a bad sign…?

Or, of course, there’s a slim possibility that she’s overthinking it.

She was expecting Rozanov to pull up in a sports car – something impractical and flashy – but when she peeks out the window at the sound of the engine, she’s surprised to see him step out of a perfectly ordinary SUV. Then she’s surprised all over again when Hollander steps out of the passenger side. There’s a brief conversation between them, ending with Rozanov tossing the car key to Hollander before they both head to the door and Cassie has to scramble to pretend she wasn’t snooping.

It shouldn’t surprise her, she supposes, that someone with a playboy reputation would be charming. But nonetheless when she opens the door and gets an easy smile from Rozanov, it’s one that draws a smile back from her as well.

“Hi! Welcome!” Cassie greets them both. Hollander, a step behind, smiles too, but it’s smaller and somehow deliberate. Zane told her about Rozanov’s comment that Hollander is awkward, and she wonders if that’s global, or if it’s hockey spaces – a legacy from his last, storied season with the Metros. Cassie warms and softens her smile in response to the thought. “You’re Rozanov and Hollander, right? I’m Cassie, Zane’s – Bood’s – fiancee.”

“Thank you,” Rozanov says. “Roz is fine. Or Ilya. And this is your home too, yes? Thank you for having us.”

“Shane,” Hollander – Shane – says briefly. “Thank you. Uh, we brought beers –“

“Oh, you didn’t have to –” Cassie waves them to follow her through the house. “Mostly everyone will be on the back deck. Zane has a serious grill set up out there. We can add those beers to the coolers and get you each a cold one...”

She grabs them each a beer, and then sees that as well as the beers they’ve brought a pack of ginger ale and has a brief spike of anxiety – should she not have assumed about the beer –

“Hollander’s favourite,” Roz? Ilya? says easily. “No one ever has it, is very sad for him.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Ignore him,” he advises her. “At all times, if you can manage it.”

She adds the ginger ale to the cooler, and feels relieved to see Shane take a sip of his beer.

She settles them with Zane – smiling to see how pleased he is to show off the deck they’ve only just finished setting up – and circulates a bit, watching from the outside as the players size up their new captain and alternate.

It looks – alright.

She’d been half-expecting Rozanov to sweep in like he was demanding tribute – well, if he came at all. But instead Ilya’s being warm - gripping hands, clasping shoulders. She watches, too, the way he brings Shane in – warm hand on his shoulder, inviting him to step forward, introduce himself, shake hands – while still subtly holding space so no one can go in for a bro-hug.

“Huh,” she murmurs to herself.

As things settle in, she sees how they each are with the women, too. Shane – well, no surprise to see him as earnestly polite with the WAGs as he is with the players. Ilya, though… She’s had hockey players treat her as a plus-one in her own home before this – or had players frankly appraise her as if she’s being placed on a scale – and Ilya is doing neither. In fact he seems genuinely interested in the conversation he's having with Caitlyn, rather than trying to ditch her to head back to the guys.

Shane has taken a half step back from that particular conversational huddle, and Cassie wonders if he’s just lost his social bridge. “Getting on alright?” she asks him.

“I’m admiring this set-up,” Shane says, gesturing at the covered deck.

“Tell Zane that, he’ll be thrilled,” Cassie says warmly. “He’s got plans to trick it out even more, with heaters for winter.”

“Makes sense, with Ottawa winters,” Shane comments. “I might steal that idea.”

“Oh, of course – are you already looking at houses locally? We just moved in here ourselves a couple of months ago, so if you need recommendations…”

House buys and moving is something a lot of the players and WAGs have opinions on, so Shane gets promptly pulled back into the main conversation group – slotting back in at Ilya’s side, Cassie notes. Shane’s doing alright, mostly listening, and Ilya gives the conversation an unobtrusive nudge every now and then. They’ve both been talking to realtors, apparently. There’s something a bit odd about the way they’re framing it – lots of ‘we’ – but if they’re both looking for similar kinds of places maybe it makes sense that they’re talking to the same people…?

“You two seem really organised,” Selena comments from where she’s tucked under Nick’s arm. “How long were you both thinking about Ottawa before signing?”

It’s a question that has all the players in earshot going quiet to listen in. “I was thinking about it for a while,” Ilya says – which brings up more questions than it answers, Cassie can’t help thinking. “Hollander, less time. I recruited him when things went to shit in Montreal.”

A couple of players go a bit still at the reference to Montreal, but Shane is shooting back before anyone can frame a delicate enough question. “Jesus, Rozanov,” Shane complains. “You’re going to get us investigated for collusion.”

Ilya gives an exaggerated eyeroll. “Fine. On the advice of my legal counsel, I never once said a word to Hollander about Ottawa, and this is a big magical coincidence.”

A couple of players chuckle at that, and the potentially dangerous moment moves on.

“But – really, why Ottawa?” Dillon asks. “I mean, not to knock your hometown, Hollander, but you could have gone anywhere.”

There’s a beat where Ilya and Shane glance at each other, and a micro shrug from Ilya. “I know it’s my media answer,” Shane says ruefully. “But it really was the org culture. I put together a list of teams that could offer things I wanted, and Ottawa ended up at the top.”

“I guess a rocking night life wasn’t on your list,” Dillon grouses mildly, and Ilya smirks.

“It wasn’t one of my top priorities, no,” says Shane dryly.

“Yeah. It sounded like last season was… intense,” Dykstra offers. “I can see why you’d want to choose a relaxed team this time.”

Shane’s lips pull a bit, as if he might grimace, and Cassie notices his hand gripping tighter for a moment on his beer. Before she can step in to divert the conversation into safer waters, though, Ilya already is. “Relaxed in the room, sure. Not relaxed on the ice,” he warns them. It’s light, but there’s a hint of steel in it, too. Cassie can see postures straighten a bit – sees Dillon looking like he wants to wince or frown - and Shane’s face relaxes into an eager look. “I want to win.”

The conversation breaks up into smaller groups again after that. Cassie tracks some of the conversations as she circulates.

Zane, of course, is happily explaining his grill set-up and the spice level of the meat he’s been putting out. Fortunately for Cassie, she loves spicy food, but she knows that most people tend to rate Zane’s jerk sauce as ‘catastrophic’ rather than merely ‘hot’, so she’s momentarily worried when a couple of the team seem to be trying to egg Ilya and Shane into a competition about who can tolerate the spiciest food. Given their reputation for not being able to let a competition go, she worries it will end with someone throwing up in her garden – which she’s prepared for from the kids in attendance, but not prepared for from the adults. Fortunately, before she has to get Zane to intervene Ilya surprises her by saying mildly “I think is better if we just eat the food that we want to eat,” and Cassie circulates on with a sense of relief.

The WAGs are of the shared opinion that both Ilya and Shane are hotter in person than on the screen. Ilya in particular is making an impression.

“Less winking than I expected,” says Caitlyn.

“He seems nice,” Selena says. “Surprisingly good with children.” Selena is about to pop with number two, and Ilya had seemed entirely charmed by number one toddling over and shyly looking at him from the other side of Selena’s knee - even managing to successfully coax her closer and listening to her babble with apparently sincere interest.

When she circulates next time, Boyle is talking about golf again.

“Too slow for me,” Ilya says.

“He likes a sport where he can hit people,” Shane says.

“Oh, and you famously dislike sports where you can hit people?” Ilya shoots back, and Shane grins at him.

“When did you two start getting along?” Zane asks, shaking his head in wonderment.

Shane shrugs, seeming easier now than he did when he first came in. “Put us on the ice in opposite jerseys and we still won’t get along,” he says.

“We have got on okay off the ice for a while,” Ilya says casually. “A lot of it was marketing.”

Cassie does a round of picking up empties. Ilya is deep in an involved conversation with Nick and Dillon, but catches her eye and smiles at her, picking up bottles and handing them to her before she can reach. Shane stacks discarded plates and carries them through to the kitchen for her.

“You don’t have to do that,” she protests, but Shane brushes off her concern.

“It gives me a break,” he says lightly.

“Not one of nature’s extroverts?” she teases gently.

Shane shrugs, a little awkwardly, and Cassie mentally increases her bar for how much familiarity he needs in order to be comfortable with light poking. He’s clearly able to get there, based on his interactions with Ilya… but she can give it more time.

“Well,” she tells him, deliberately matter-of-fact,  “You’re always welcome to duck into the kitchen if you want when we’re hosting. I won’t even make you bus plates as payment.”

He gives her a little smile – half-hesitant, half-pleased. "Noted," he tells her. “Thanks.”

But it seems like the moment for confidential sharing is over, and Shane only a little reluctantly turns his attention back to the deck.

As she follows him back out, Cassie gets to witness another little beat of eye contact between Shane and Ilya before Shane wordlessly veers and plucks a fresh beer from the crate along with his ginger ale, handing it to Ilya without fanfare as he rejoins the conversation.

It seems that while they were inside, the conversation has moved on yet again, and Selena is asking questions about Ilya's move from Boston. "Are you bringing anyone with you?" she asks, cheerfully nosy.

"I'm bringing Hollander," says Ilya lightly, and Shane rolls his eyes.

"I'm bringing myself," he retorts. "I swear, Rozanov, it's like you want the league to come down on us." Ilya just smirks.

Then there’s a moment where the next natural step would be to ask Shane the same question, with a long beat of poised and awkward silence where everyone waits to see if anyone else is going to speak up first. Cassie mentally chews her lip over it; Shane’s been unfailingly polite and attentive, but she’s not missed how he approaches any conversation not about hockey as if he's going to be graded and isn’t sure if he’s studied enough. She can’t imagine he’d feel comfortable fielding questions about his personal life. And yet… just reading Hollander’s press gave her an impression of Shane’s experience in Montreal that makes her want to slap someone, and this is a situation where it might be worse to let any doubts remain.

Cassie grabs her conviction in both hands, and takes a breath. "What about you, Shane?" she asks boldly. "If you have a boyfriend or someone special, we'd be happy to meet him, add him to the WAGs group...”

Cassie hates it as she watches Shane go still in place, hand tightening on his can and eyes widening for a moment. Ilya glances at him, tensing himself in response to the suppressed flinch, then his eyes sweep the circle as if monitoring reactions. 

The moment only has a chance to be awkward rather than agonising before Shane seems to get a hold of himself, ducking his head briefly and rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow,” he says, tone just slightly strangled. “It feels very weird to just be asked that.”

“You could just stick with your media training,” Ilya suggests teasingly. “Refuse to confirm or deny, ask for a question about hockey.”

“Fuck off, Rozanov.” It’s said almost reflexively, without particular heat; but Shane relaxes enough to glare at the other man and go back to making eye contact with the group again.

“No, no, you are much too boring to say that to the media,” Ilya says, and Shane shifts close enough to elbow him.

“Sorry,” Cassie says sincerely. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know that if there is someone, he’s welcome with the WAGs. We have a group chat, do socials and stuff.”

“We might need to find a more inclusive name for the group…” Caitlyn muses aloud.

“Um. Don’t hurry to change the name on my account,” Shane says, intensely awkward and colour high. Ilya seems to be smirking. “I’m not…  uh, there’s no one who needs to be added.”

“That ever changes, the events we host are basically an open house,” Zane says easily. “Anyone you want to bring is welcome.”

Shane just nods, and Ilya steps into the breach with a casual comment about who else in the team has family in the area, and the awkward moment passes.

Shane’s not graceless enough to bolt, but it’s clear that the tension took him down to a low ebb in his social battery. As soon as Selena provides permission by announcing that she needs to go home and put her feet up before they swell any further, Ilya drains the last of his beer and says that they’ll head off as well.

“Captain’s skates in August,” he promises them all. “To give you a last chance to re-condition before training camp.” Ilya’s smirk is a playfully malevolent, and more than one player looks visibly worried.

“I thought he was going to be the fun one, and Hollander was going to be the hard-ass,” Dillon complains once the pair have left together with a last collection of compliments to Cassie and Zane.

Zane claps him sympathetically on the shoulder. “I think they are both going to be the hard-asses,” he says sympathetically.

“Yeah, better stay in condition, kid,” Dykstra grins, and Dillon grimaces visibly.

The party tails off slowly, and Cassie sighs a bit with relief as she shoves the last plates in the dishwasher and the last of the food in the fridge. Zane is meticulously cleaning the grill and restoring it to rights; as he finishes with that she stows away the remaining drinks for next time – absently taking note of the brand of ginger ale that Shane apparently likes. Finally, it’s all done and they collapse together with a last beer each.

“Thank you, sweetness,” Zane says to her warmly.

“You know I like your team,” Cassie tells him warmly back. “The two new guys, too.”

“What did you make of them?” he asks her curiously, and Cassie gets comfortable as she shifts into one of her favourite parts of any social event; the post-game analysis.

“Shane… awkward, but sweet. Ilya…” She hesitates, wondering how to put it into words. “Not like I expected. Not like his reputation.” She muses on it. “Charming as hell, and I think smarter than he likes people to think. I don’t think there’s much he doesn’t see. What did you make of them?”

“They’re a lot,” Zane says immediately. “Did you hear Hollander? I thought Rozanov was kidding about him studying us – but he mentioned how my shooting percentage had changed after Wiebe came in as coach.” Cassie nods, as if she is entiely invested in Zane's shooting percentages. “He would have gone on, I think, if Rozanov hadn’t started teasing him about it. And then at the end, Rozanov talking about conditioning… It’s going to be amazing. If they don’t kill us first.” He takes a reflective pull from his beer. “I just still can’t believe they chose to come here.”

Cassie chews on her lip. “Zane, do you know what happened to Shane in Montreal?”

Zane half-shrugs. “No one told me anything special. I only know what everyone knows.”

Cassie shakes her head firmly. “There’s no way that sweet guy up and punched his teammate over one slur.”

“A lot of people in the league agree with you,” Zane says.

“You included?” Cassie presses.

“Yes, sweetness, me included. Hollander will have heard all sorts of shit over his career.” Zane shakes his head. “Well, Montreal’s fuck-up is our blessing, I guess.”

“Whatever happened, Ilya knows about it,” Cassie says thoughtfully. She’d bet on it. “And it looks to me like he’s willing to throw hands if it happens in Ottawa.”

“It won’t,” Zane says firmly. “Having the two of them here is game changing. I’m not going to let anyone blow it for us.”

Chapter 3: Social Media

Chapter Notes

I'm so glad everyone's enjoying it so far! Thanks for all your comments, I am so happy and excited to get to share this with you.

Early July, 2018

Harris truly loves his job.

He’d loved the Centaurs from childhood; had been pleased when the new owners announced a culture-forward rebuild; had been delighted six months ago to get a job with them; and had been incandescent with joy to hear they’d signed possibly the two most outrageously good players in the league.

He’d briefly seen Rozanov and Hollander at the press conference, but he knows he must have been just one face in the crowd of staff who were all there frantically smoothing things behind the scenes or trying to capitalise on the stars’ arrival. Given that it’s the off season, he wouldn’t have been at all surprised if that was all he got for months… but apparently the two are both staying local for a couple of weeks, and in between their various press junkets they agreed to meet with him for an afternoon.

The Cens post on their signing was the biggest engagement bump the team has had all year. He’s determined to take advantage.

He’d combed through each of their socials in preparation. Hollander’s looks like it's run by an extremely conscientious intern, and paints a picture of a man who is very good at hockey and probably drinks a lot of green smoothies. He follows hockey players, physiotherapists, a couple of sports scientists, yoga instructors, charities (sports and queer youth featuring heavily, Harris is pleased to note), and his brands. He also follows Rose Landry, but essentially no other celebrities.

He posts dutifully about brand work, about hockey events, occasional pictures of interesting scenery. No thirst traps. Occasionally there's a photo from some kind of high-profile event with Hollander in formal wear, smiling like the photographer's just pulled out a gun, or an awkward-but-pleased looking shot of him where a friend has clearly dragged him in close, taken a selfie, and told him to post it after. 

The spiciest is a photo from a month prior, where Hollander sits in a hockey arena between Rose Landry and someone who Harris thinks is Rozanov's ex-girlfriend. Both of the women are in Boston jerseys, with the caption "Here to see Boston win the cup!" With a morbid sense of curiosity, Harris clicks through to see how people engaged with it, and winces. Boston fans loved it, of course, but as far as a substantial group of Montreal fans were concerned Hollander might as well have set his old jersey on fire in the middle of the Bell Centre. "Traitor" is about the nicest response from that crowd.

Rozanov’s is more of a mix – gym thirst traps and hockey posts interspersed with photos of him in clubs or playing video games. Lots of insults towards other players. Lots and lots of photos recently of him wildly drunk and being sprayed down with champagne after the Stanley cup win, but that’s standard enough that Harris isn’t worried about it.

Who he follows seems completely random to Harris - hockey players, celebrities, influencers, a dog rescue charity (valid), accounts focused around extremely fancy cars, an account that only seems to post pictures of baby goats (inexplicable, but adorable), the New Yorker magazine, some mental health charities (surprising), a fitness influencer whose main approach seems to be flipping tractor tyres while shouting aggressively, cafés and restaurants across the US that seem to range from dives to fine dining, and oddly enough, Shane Hollander's mother. 

Scrolling back through, Harris is pleasantly surprised - the trash talk he posts is aggressive, but mostly weird or absurd rather than actionable. Remarkably few late-night videos showing drunken shenanigans - at least over the last year or so. Way fewer interactions with bikini models than he'd expected, based on Rozanov's reputation - again, at least over the last year or so. It looks as if at some point someone forcibly sat Rozanov down and made him clean up his online act somewhat, and Harris quietly blesses that unknown person.

Overall, it looks pretty good, Harris concludes optimistically. Both have posted about joining the Centaurs and have engaged with the Centaurs' posts. Both have followed each other for a bit less than a year. They don't appear very much in each other's feeds until the last couple of months - but then there are Rozanov's posts resolutely sticking up for Hollander after he was suspended, and - if he's not mistaken - one of the posts of Rozanov playing video games features an un-tagged Shane Hollander in an intense battle with two Boston players.

So. They presumably actually like each other at least a little, which means his afternoon isn't going to be spent trying to get them to pretend to be friendly on camera. Presumably Hollander - or his conscientious intern - will be willing to add 'engage with team content' to his social media to-do list, and it seems like Rozanov might be teachable. Mostly, he thinks, Hollander is badly in need of a personality injection and Rozanov needs to be taught not to feed the trolls.

Though, Harris notices idly, continuing to scroll through Rozanov rage-baiting his haters online, he doesn't seem to feed Hollander's trolls. Rozanov catches plenty of strays over putting Comeau and the Montreal org on blast after the punch - but he seems to be following a blanket block-and-ignore policy for those.

Harris spares a moment to be grateful that Hollander seems to be doing the same. More than that, by the time he puts his phone down in time for the meeting, Harris has seen enough that he finds himself hoping that Hollander really is using a social media firm and not dealing with the trolls himself at all.

Hollander - "Shane is fine" - announces himself with a polite knock and a professional nod. Rozanov - "Roz, or Ilya" - comes in at his heels with an easy smile and a casual look around that lingers on the troll doll perched on the top of Harris's monitor, the miniature pride flag tucked into his pen holder, and the rainbow pin on his collar; his smile relaxes into a grin as he clasps Harris's hand and drops into a seat.

By contrast, when Shane clocks the pin during his own handshake his eyes visibly snag on it and there's a moment where he momentarily freezes in place as if some subroutine had to restart before he can move again. Harris finds himself seized with a strong desire to take Hollander to an independently-owned queer café/bookshop with low ambient noise, tuck him into a corner, and feed him a scone.

“Thank you for making the time to speak with me today,” he says warmly. “I can’t tell you how excited we all are that you’ve joined the team. And even though it’s the off season, there’s a lot we want to do to build up anticipation for the new season.”

Shane nods, politely attentive but not particularly revealing; Ilya twists the office chair he’s chosen lightly back and forth. “You want us to post stuff on social media?” he asks.

“Not much more than you already are,” Harris immediately says. “I want you to follow the team account, occasionally engage with the posts. I also want to create some content today, interviews with the two of you, that I can post over the coming weeks.” Shane looks even more polite; Ilya sighs. Harris smiles sympathetically. “Not anything heavy or controversial – just some light questions to help fans feel invested in the team. It should be fun, I promise.”

Ilya grins at Shane. “Hollander hates fun,” he declares.

Without changing his expression or particularly looking, Shane waits until Ilya has lifted his feet and kicks the chair to make it do a half-spin.

Harris can’t help but grin. “Your previous teams didn’t do much work with you on social media?” he asks.

“Boston comms used to tell me I was a nightmare and I should get out of their office,” Ilya puts in cheerfully, spinning back to face Harris again. “But I have grown as a person since then. I will be very well behaved.” Shane rolls his eyes, but doesn’t actually contradict him, so Harris mentally files that under ‘trust but verify’ rather than ‘yellow alert’.

“Montreal didn’t do anything special. They’d just clip what we were already doing, I guess,” Shane says. He’s a little tight, as he often seems to be in interviews at even passing mentions of Montreal.

Harris nods as if Montreal’s extremely dull social media strategy is news to him. “Small teams try harder, I guess,” Harris says easily. “Fans who get emotionally invested in players are more patient when things go wrong, and louder when things go right. When the fanbase is growing, that can make all the difference.” Shane nods, compliant rather than enthusiastic; Ilya shrugs. “I’d like to do the interviews as paired pieces, if that’s alright with you?”

Shane relaxes marginally. “Fine by me. We’re used to joint interviews.”

“Hollander is very boring on his own,” Ilya says, and then prudently scoots his chair back just far enough to avoid a second retaliatory kick.

The shooting goes well. Harris can immediately see why they do a lot of joint interviews, if other people have also noticed Shane’s media polish devolve into something both edgier and easier when Ilya pokes at him. Harris throws ridiculous softball questions at them, and there are only a couple that land awkwardly or flatly or that he thinks won’t make the final cut.

Still, it’s only after Harris switches off his camera that Shane almost relaxes for the first time since the start of the meeting.

“Great work, both of you,” he tells them warmly. “You’ve made my work easy. Now, when I get those cleaned up and edited, I do want you to engage with the videos – or, actually. I should ask. Do you run your own socials or do you have a manager?” Ilya opens his mouth, and Harris cuts him off. “Obviously, Ilya, you use a manager. No professional athlete would have time to so perfectly craft a ‘chaos menace’ brand.”

Ilya smirks at his teasing. “Very skilful team. Working all day, all night.”

“My mother – she’s my brand manager – has input into mine,” Shane says. “I do the day-to-day. She takes over if there’s an event, or…” He hesitates visibly.

“Or if people are being shit,” Ilya finishes for him bluntly.

Shane grimaces, and sort of shrugs. “They’re easing off,” he says. Either that’s a barefaced lie or things must have been really bad before; Ottawa’s social media announcement of the signing had been hit with a surge of spiteful Montreal fans (as well as less spiteful but still aggrieved Boston fans), and Harris can’t imagine no one took shots directly at Shane while they were at it. “I don’t engage.” 

Harris nods to cover the sympathetic wince. “You’re both high-profile players,” he says as calmly as he can. “You’re both going to get a lot of attention, positive and negative. Part of my job is to make sure that attention doesn’t become a problem.” Shane’s gone back to ‘polite listening face’, and Harris realises he’s not getting through. “I’ll be blunt – Shane, it sounds like you’ve dealt with online backlash before. We take that seriously. We especially take it seriously if it’s about your identity. We will monitor your account and flag things to you if it looks like something’s building, and if you ever want us to we can get more involved in moderating, blocking, and keeping the worst stuff away from you.”

Shane looks startled by the offer, and Harris’s already low opinion of the Montreal social media team drops further. “I’ll bear that in mind,” he says after a long moment. Then, “Thanks.”

Ilya gives Harris an acknowledging little nod, too, and Harris wonders very privately how much concern for Shane was involved in Ilya apparently ‘growing as a person’.

After the pair leave his office, Harris gets to work editing some of the videos he took. In the end, a couple of the questions get scratched for time, but there’s only one that the pair asked him not to use.

Harris watches the clip back.

“Who is more stubborn?” he asks in the video.

Shane points to himself, but he’s hesitant; even on the screen Harris can see his posture stiffening.

“We will pass that one,” Ilya says flatly.

“It’s fine,” Shane says, without conviction. “It’s me. We both know it’s me.”

“I will get more stubborn to match you, if I need to,” Ilya says warningly. “Pass.”

Harris rubs a hand over his mouth for a moment, thinking about stubbornness and control and the surprise in Shane’s face when offered help, and then he deletes the clip.

Chapter 4: News from the Off Season

Chapter Notes

I'm so glad you all enjoyed seeing Harris! He'll be back again in future, don't worry.
Hopefully this one is fun, too!

Mid July 2018

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Meet our two newest Centaurs! Former rivals, current teammates, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander sit down to answer all the most important questions…

[Title card: Introducing Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander]

Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander are sitting in front of a backdrop with the Centaurs logo on it. Both are wearing casual clothes.

Off camera voice: “Okay… Favourite food?”

Ilya: Pizza.

Shane: Um.

Ilya: His favourite food is a perfectly balanced nutrient brick. Eaten in silence. With lukewarm water.

Shane: [BLEEP] off, Rozanov.

Ilya: If I [BLEEP] off this interview will be so boring.”

 ~

Off camera voice: “Favourite movie?”

Shane: [glares at Ilya] “X-Squad.”

Ilya: [blows a raspberry] “If you are going to go with a Landry movie, pick the one where they painted her blue. Way funnier.”

 ~

Off camera voice: “Favourite music?”

Ilya: “Something I can move to.”

Shane: “He was singing along to Britney Spears in the car the other day.”

Ilya: [shrugs without shame] “Was fun.”

“What about you, Shane – favourite music?”

Ilya: “He is too boring to have favourite music.”

Shane: “Hey!”

Ilya: “Runs on a treadmill, no music, staring straight ahead like a serial killer.”

~

Off camera voice: “Dogs or cats?”

Ilya: “Dogs.”

Shane: “Cats.”

Ilya: [shakes head] “It is distressing, Hollander, how wrong you are.”

~

Off camera voice: “Morning or night person?”

Shane: “Morning. It’s my favourite time of day – peaceful.”

“Ilya, how about you?”

Ilya: “Night. Potentially not peaceful.”

Shane: “Gross.”

Ilya: “I like clubbing.”

Shane: “Right.”

Ilya: “Why, what were you thinking about?”

Shane: “Nothing.”

Ilya: “Tell the internet what you were thinking, Hollander. The fans want to know.”

Shane: [sighs]

~

Off camera voice: “Hobbies outside hockey?”

Ilya: “Hollander’s hobby is organising his sock drawer.”

Shane: “[BLEEP] you, Rozanov, it is not.”

Ilya: “Sorry, sorry. His sock drawer stays organised at all times. His hobby is looking respectfully at his perfect sock drawer.”

Shane: “And Rozanov’s is probably something like doing flaming shots inside a sports car while doing donuts in a parking lot.”

Ilya: [straight faced] “Sure. Is very common pastime in Russia.”

~

Off camera voice: “Favourite summer activity?”

Shane: “I like swimming, and kayaking.”

Ilya: [shrug, smile] “Those things are alright.”

Shane: “Really? You’re not going to make a joke about me being boring?”

Ilya: “Too easy.”

~

Off camera voice: “Who on the team is funniest?”

Ilya: [immediately] “Me.”

Shane: [rolls eyes] “I haven’t spent much time with the team yet. But I’m going to go with literally any of them over this guy.”

Ilya: “Hey!”

~

Off camera voice: “Thing you’re most looking forward to about playing with each other?”

Shane: “Competitively or cooperatively?”

Off camera voice: "If you're on the same team, aren't you cooperative by definition?"

Shane: [immediately] "My line is going to be better than his line."

Ilya: "Hollander will analyse them until they improve. It will be ruthless. But it won't matter. I am going to win the scoring race." [smirk] "Again."

Off camera voice: "Okay, so what about cooperatively?"

[both give matching predatory grins]

Shane: "I'm looking forward to testing out a power play unit."

Ilya: "The rest of the league won’t know what hit them.”

~

[End card: Our newest Centaurs are ready to hit the rest of the league – see you there.]

@NHLTea
Running on a treadmill with no music is serial killer behaviour, Rozanov is right.

@HollanderDefenseSquad
leave him alone some of us also enjoy silence and personal growth

@RozanovApologist
HE SINGS BRITNEY 😂😂😂 I love him

[Hidden reply]
@MetroTrue
Cute interview. Is Hollander going to screw over this team like the last one?

@HollanderHive
‘he will analyse them until they improve’ is the most Hollander line imaginable 😂

@CentaurBaby
I would like to personally thank management for whatever black magic they did to get them both.

@ChaosGoalie
Raise your glass / light your unholy candle to the Metros for being so fucking awful that they drove away the best player in a generation ig?

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
If they really are on the power play together that is going to be a BRUTAL line

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
Refreshing to encounter unflinching journalism, unafraid to ask the real questions.

@NHLTea
SHANE HOLLANDER MADE A JOKE THIS IS NOT A DRILL

@ChaosGoalie
Real talk do you seriously not have favorite music??

@MTLforever
joking about ‘real questions’ like he’s given an unbiased answer in the last year 🙄

@CensLoyalist
He hasn’t even played a game for us yet and I would still die for him

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
[A photo of a highly organised sock drawer. The socks are all in perfectly even folded pairs. They are arranged by style and by colour.] @shanehollander24’s hobby.

Cliff Marlow ✔ @hockeyslucky7
Where did you get that sock drawer? There is no way that’s a sock drawer you have ever owned or touched.

@TumblrRefugee
SIR is that Shane Hollander’s actual sock drawer?? What are you doing in Shane Hollander’s ACTUAL SOCK DRAWER?

@TumblrRefugee
I think I am having an attack of the vapours!

@HollanderDefenseSquad
organization is a virtue

@HockeyFan24
There’s no way this is real

@NHLRumourLog
Alright, let’s debate the rumours that actually matter. Was that, or was that not, Shane Hollander’s actual sock drawer?

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
Five worst Rose Landry movies:
5. Burying Summer (should have buried whole movie)
4. Neon Tears (even the lighting looked depressed to be there)
3. Savage Highway (still not sure there was a plot)
2. Under Dark (is being kidnapped plot point or habit now?)
1. Exit 13 (just keep driving)

Rose Landry 🌹 ✔ @roselandry
Only a true fan would sit through all five. You don’t need to be shy – you can ask for my autograph any time.

@CinemaDiscourse
An NHL player doing Rose Landry deep cuts was not on my bingo card

@FilmGirlLA
And Rose Landry is here with a comeback!
Landry 1 – Rozanov 0

@RozanovApologist
Come on @IlyaRozanov I believe you have it in you to win this!!

@HollanderHive
Hollander somewhere watching this regretting introducing those two

@PuckTalk
Ilya Rozanov spent his afternoon ranking Rose Landry movies and honestly we respect the commitment

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
[Photo of Hollander and Rozanov sitting together in suits. Rozanov is sipping an espresso. Hollander is intently studying some papers.] Hollander does homework even on set with @Rolex.

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
[Photo of Hollander and Rozanov in suits. Hollander is adjusting his cuffs, Rozanov is checking his appearance in a mirror.] A different kind of focus today. Thanks @Rolex and thanks to @patricia_styles for making us look good.

@Rolex ✔
A pleasure working with you both @shanehollander24 and @IlyaRozanov

@patricia_styles ✔
You both made my job easy.

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
[Photo of Hollander standing still with a very serious expression, while a crew member carefully uses a lint roller on his suit] You were very high maintenance.

@NHLTea
From sock drawer to lint roller, we stan an orderly king

@CensLoyalist
He’s going to save us, I believe it

@MTLforever
More comfortable playing dress up than playing hockey

@CentaurBaby
This looks like a spy movie

@GQSports
Hockey’s best-dressed duo?

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
[Photo of Rozanov in a club, with a group of people raising shot glasses. His arm is around Svetlana Vetrova. Boston players including Marlow, St-Simon, and Carmichael are also present.] Great night out in Boston! Last one for a while.

Cliff Marlow ✔ @hockeyslucky7
Don’t be a stranger!

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
Of course not. I have goals to score against you

Ryan Carmichael ✔ @ryancarmichael
Just don’t score a hat trick on us.

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
No promises

@RaidersRiot
Boston isn’t going to be the same without him…

@OttawaFan
Ottawa’s not going to be the same with him! 😆

Rose Landry 🌹 ✔ @roselandry
[Photo of Rose Landry and Shane Hollander at a café] Loved getting brunch with one of my favourite guys @shanehollander24. @IlyaRozanov So sad that I couldn’t also meet up with my biggest fan while you were in NYC! But don’t worry, I asked Shane to bring back a little token for you ❤️

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
[Photo of Ilya Rozanov, glaring at a framed poster for Exit 13 which has been signed by Rose Landry.] @IlyaRozanov loves it.

Rose Landry 🌹 ✔ @roselandry
😂 You framed it for him??

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
A thoughtful gift deserves careful presentation.

@NHLTea
ANOTHER Shane Hollander joke! Has this man been secretly funny this whole time and we just missed it??

@ChaosGoalie
I think maybe it's more that he's much funnier when he isn’t in Montreal? 👀

@CinemaDiscourse
Exit 13 getting more promotion from the NHL than it ever got from the studio…

@CensLoyalist
Hollander tweets like a 45 year old accountant stuck in the body of a 27 year old hockey player and I’m not sure I have ever loved a player more

Early August 2018

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Our favourite pair is back – this time, for a compatibility test! Rozanov and Hollander answer our very serious questions to determine on-ice chemistry…

[Title card: How well do you know your rival teammate?]

Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander are sitting in front of a backdrop with the Centaurs logo on it. Both are wearing casual clothes.

~

Prompt card: Who is more likely to start an argument?

[both point at Ilya]

Shane: [dryly] "The man, the mouth, the legend."

Ilya: [blows Shane a kiss]

~

Prompt card: Who is more likely to be late?

[Both immediately point at Ilya.]

Shane: "Who wrote these? Is there someone out there who doesn't already know this?"

Ilya: "Harsh. But fair."

~

Prompt card: Who is more competitive?

Ilya: "No."

Shane: "Yeah, definitely not."

Off camera voice: "You're passing the question? I mean, that's fine. But can I ask why?"

Ilya: [shrugs] "Never ends. We'll be here all day."

Shane: "Yeah. We've had this argument before."

Ilya: [suppressed smirk] "Hollander just can't admit that he's worse at letting things go."

Shane: [jerks upright in his seat] "You -!"

[Cut to black]

~

Prompt card: Who works out more?

[Both point at the other.]

Shane: "You definitely spend more time in the gym than I do."

Ilya: "Your yoga counts."

Shane: "No it doesn’t!"

Off camera voice: "Yoga definitely counts."

Ilya: “Also shooting practice counts."

Shane: "Shooting practice is fun, that's not working out!"

Off camera voice: "You’re professional hockey players. Shooting practice is work. Also, it's working out."

Ilya: [grins triumphantly]

Shane: [folds his arms grumpily]

~

[Cut back in]

Shane "- when was the last time you brought up coming first at the draft? Two days ago, Rozanov! Eight years and you still bring that one up."

Ilya: [helpfully] "I also beat you at the juniors ten years ago."

Shane: "I beat you the next year, asshole, that one doesn't count -"

[Cut to black]

~

Prompt card: Who watches more game tape?

[both Ilya and Shane point at Shane] 

Shane: “I want to point out that it is actually my job to watch game tape.”

Ilya: “Not like practising shots, which is just for fun?”

Shane: “You also find that fun!”

~

Prompt card: Who would survive longer on a desert island?

[Both point at Shane]

Off camera voice: "You both seem sure of that. How come?"

Shane: "Well, I'm better hydrated for a start."

Ilya: [laughs in surprise] "That is your reason?"

Shane: "It's important! You'd collapse from heatstroke before finding a fresh water source."

Ilya: "Not because you are smart or careful? Because you drink more water?"

Shane: "Staying hydrated is smart and careful."

~

[Cut back in]

Ilya: "- would not even let your goddaughters win Snakes and Ladders!"

Shane: "The rule is bounce-back! Rules are important."

Ilya: "They are five!"

[Cut to black]

~

Prompt card: Who would be a better coach?

[Both point at each other]

Ilya: "Hollander, no one can analyse a play like you."

Shane: "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I can teach them. You're a better communicator."

Off camera voice: “Ilya, do you agree?”

Ilya: [shrugs, nods] "Very expressive swearer."

~

Prompt card: Who is more organized?

[Both point at Shane]

Ilya: "Shane is more organised than anybody."

Shane: [suspiciously] "...Thanks?"

Ilya: "Part spreadsheet, I think."

Shane: [sigh]

~

[Cut back in]

Shane: “What was it you said to me once? That you wouldn’t let me win at cards if I was dying?”

Ilya: "You would hate it if I let you win!”

Shane: “You’d hate letting me!”

Off camera voice: “We do have more questions…”

Shane: “No. Now we have to settle this.”

[cut to black]

~

[End card: To be continued on the ice!]

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
@shanehollander24 Does this mean we are compatible? 😂

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
🙄

Zane Boodram ✔ @ZaneBood
Do we need to rearrange the locker room to separate you two?

Evan Dykstra ✔ @DykstraHockey
No, because we need to hang the Exit 13 poster between them

@HollanderDefenseSquad
‘staying hydrated is smart and careful’ he’s not wrong though

@HollanderHive
I want that on a water bottle. New Cens merch when??

@RozanovApologist
‘Very expressive swearer’ the bleeps are ROBBING US

@HockeyWatch
Cens leaning hard into a narrative already…

@RozanderWatch
The BLOWN. KISS. 😭

@RaiderFaithful
🙄 Next you’ll be shipping him with half the Raiders. That’s just Rozy.

@TumblrRefugee
You say ‘next we’ll be shipping him with half the Raiders’ like that hasn’t already happened

@CensLoyalist
He doesn’t listen to music, is committed to hydration, organises his sock drawer, and watches game tape. This man was built in a hockey lab.

@NHLTea
Enemies to teammates to whatever the hell this is

SportsNet @SportsNet
Rozanov and Hollander’s rivalry clearly hasn’t cooled off – even as teammates. The Centaurs may have found the most competitive duo in the league.

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
[Photo of a lake at sunrise] My favourite place in the world.

Hayden Pike ✔ @HaydenPike35
Glad you’ve been able to take a break in the end!

@HollanderDefenseSquad
you deserve some peace after everything. enjoy it!

@NHLTea
5am. Tall glass of water by the dock. Then back inside for the daily sock drawer inspection.

@ChaosGoalie
Scene opens on Hollander. The water laps against the dock. There are birds singing. He exhales quietly. SMASH CUT to a nightclub scene. Rozanov pounds back a flaming sambuca while a Britney remix plays at high volume.

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
[Selfie of Rozanov in a kayak; Shane Hollander is visible in a second kayak] Did not drop my phone in the water, even though @shanehollander24 said I would.

Evan Dykstra ✔ @DykstraHockey
Who wants to bet that Rozanov didn’t have a dry bag

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
I did have one!

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
He had one because I gave it to him.

@CensLoyalist
Hollander has the face of a man who has packed sunscreen, a first aid kit, and healthy snacks

@RozanovApologist
Rozanov has the face of a golden retriever who will hurl himself into any body of water with no plan but with a full heart

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
[Photo of Hollander on an incline treadmill, clearly moving at a near-sprint. He is wearing Reeboks. He is not wearing headphones.] Keeping busy.

Evan Dykstra ✔ @DykstraHockey
Good lord at least do your hill runs outside where you can look at the view

@TheStatsGuy
Wind resistance would affect the data

@NHLTea
Not beating the serial killer allegations.

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
[Ilya Rozanov stands in front of a bench press in a small but well equipped gym.  He is apparently post-workout, his Adidas shirt showing sweat and sticking to his torso. He is smirking at the camera.]
Unlike Hollander, I listen to music while working out. Check my latest workout playlist:
open.spotify.com/playlist/SeriousTrainingMusicDefinitely

Zane Boodram ✔ @ZaneBood
I refuse to believe you lift to One Direction

Cliff Marlow ✔ @hockeyslucky7
I’ve been in a car with him, can confirm this is all true

@ChaosGoalie
We need to ask the important questions about this playlist. Such as, is there a video out there of Rozanov declaring himself to be a Barbie girl, in the Barbie world? Can we see it?

@RozanovApologist
@IlyaRozanov I will forgive you almost anything but please don't tell me you're a Belieber

@CentaurBaby
Sorry is a bop!

@NHLTea
Everyone talking about the sheer level of Carly Rae Jepsen, but the true revelations come from analysing not the songs, but the spaces between them. Anyways, apparently Rozanov is not a Swiftie?

@HockeyWatch
Is this what hockey discourse has come to? Which pop princess is a current NHL favourite?

@puck18
makes you wonder about that guy, huh?

@ChaosGoalie
😂 Are you seriously trying to masculinity police ILYA ROZANOV because he likes pop music?

@BostonBro
If half the stories from Boston are true, maybe I should start listening to Carly Rae Jepsen and see if that ups my game

@CensLoyalist
Rozanov bench pressing to Call Me Maybe. Hollander running uphill in silence thinking about defensive zone coverage. The saviours of our team.

Mid August 2018

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
[Photo of an empty ice rink] Getting ready for summer skating! @shanehollander24 is in charge of the schedule, because he doesn’t trust me.

Cliff Marlow ✔ @hockeyslucky7
Good choice @shanehollander24. Take it from a man who’s worn the A for Roz before.

@NHLTea
Marlow saying this to Hollander is like when a teacher warns the next teacher about a student 😂

@CensLoyalist
Rozanov in charge of music. Hollander in charge of literally everything else.

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Our Captain and new Alternate were early on the ice for the first summer skate! 👀
[Video clip showing Rozanov and Hollander both in Centaurs practise jerseys, on the ice, playing one-on-one at high speed. A few players stand to one side, in partial kit, watching. “They’re going to kill us,” one mutters. On the ice, there is a particularly vicious puck battle, a bleeped swear word, and a delighted laugh.]

@thisrozfan
That laugh after the board battle. That’s my favourite menace.

@CensLoyalist
The best part is seeing the terrifying smiles on their little faces

@NHLTea
Is it possible to like hockey a little too much?

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
[Photo of a group of sweaty and rumpled hockey players in a locker room, wearing Centaurs practise jerseys, in various stages of kitting down. Most look tired, but pleased.] Don’t worry – everyone survived.

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
Two more skates this week to fix that!

Tanner Dillon @TanDillon
Oh please no

Evan Dykstra ✔ @DykstraHockey
I think I am suddenly injured

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
Attendance is mandatory

@OttawaFan
I don’t know whether I should feel concerned for the Cens, or more concerned for the teams they’ll be playing this season.

@ChaosGoalie
It probably builds character or something

SportsNet @Sportsnet
Rozanov and Hollander setting the bar high for the Centaurs rebuild as they push the pace at captain’s skates this week.

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Special guest at the rink today! 🐶 Thanks @michaelboyle for bringing him by (though we’re not sure Hollander agrees with us there)
[Video of Rozanov enthusiastically petting a half-grown black and white dog. The dog is wearing a bright red ascot and is interfering with the petting by licking Rozanov’s hands enthusiastically. From off camera, an exasperated voice shouts “Get on the ice, Rozanov!”]

Evan Dykstra ✔ @DykstraHockey
Spot’s so good at listening to instructions! Rozanov… not so much.

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
He is a very good boy and it was important I tell him so

@RozanovApologist
In Rozanov’s defence, whomst among us would not skip work to pet a dog if we could?

@ChaosGoalie
The Centaurs better hope no one figures out that all the rest of the league need to do to win is throw a puppy at Roz…

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Summer skates recap:
Schedule: organized
Music: debated
Battles: intense
Dog: promoted to assistant coach
Now it’s time to get serious. Next stop: training camp.

Chapter 5: Training Camp

Chapter Notes

I'm so glad everyone enjoyed the social media!
We're going a bit more serious today because training camp is Serious Business.

In this chapter I also very slightly start laying groundwork for the fact that I am going slightly accelerated with the external timeline in a way that will pay off in a future story (it will not pay off in this one, sorry to anyone who gets immediately excited). Gold star for anyone who picks up on it!

September 2018

After three runs through, the continuous drill is starting to leave the players tired, Wiebe notes. Passes are sloppier, checks a step later, and the board battles are getting meaner. Even Hollander and Rozanov are starting to show signs of wear at last – not that that’s stopping them. When it’s time for his next rotation out Hollander just waves the wheezing rookie who’d been on his wing back to the bench instead, and keeps going without a pause. Rozanov wasn’t due back on yet, but when the assistant coach looks at the sagging players and waves to him he doesn’t hesitate, immediately joining the drill and going straight into a board battle against Hollander.

The two of them don’t seem to have an easy gear. Wiebe hadn’t known what to make of them at first. Cooperating on logistics like long-time colleagues, bickering about anything and everything like an old married couple on the brink of a divorce, and trying to run each other through the boards the moment you gave them a puck… Some days he wondered if he was trying to rebuild a team on the side of a volcano.

Yesterday, their three-on-three drill turned mean, with Rozanov dealing Hollander a hard check, sending him staggering and stealing the puck. Usually Hollander’s all glares and half-suppressed grins with Rozanov, but that one was different. His eyes had gone bright with anger and he’d flushed with what looked like real rage. Wiebe had wondered if the cracks in the partnership were starting to show. But then Rozanov had skated over to him during the water break, leaned in and murmured something quiet to him, and Hollander had looked even more furious even as he couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“Fuck off, Rozanov,” he’d retorted, shoving the other man hard to back him off. “Best of three.”

Rozanov knows how to drive the pace, Wiebe notes, watching the sagging line wake up around him in response to his jokes and energy. As soon as the intensity starts to drop he always does something to kick it up a notch – a joke, a chirp, a hit. Plays a little risky and takes hits rather than passing a little more than Wiebe might like, but it seems to work for him.

Pushed to show his skills, Hollander’s speed increases again; no wasted motion, precision like he’s going to be graded on it. Hollander plays like a mistake is a personal moral failing, and Rozanov plays like if he slows down something might catch up. Both of them play like they need hockey as much as they need to breathe.

Frankly, it’s a little disturbing.

Hollander transitions out of the drill, drains half a bottle of water, and then goes straight back in on the next change. “Pull him,” Wiebe says to one of the assistants. “Sit Rozanov, too.” As soon as he’s seen Hollander off the ice – not happy, but without argument - Wiebe’s moving on to watching the other players.

No one else is strong enough to match his two new stars, and that’s a problem. Rozanov’s working well enough with Bood and Dillon to form a line – though Wiebe hopes Roz can work his magic on Dillon and get him pushing all the way to the end of the play a bit more. Hollander can match Rozanov in any face off, but by halfway through a scrimmage he’s run the legs off his own wingers and he’s on his own on the ice. Hollander can bring the pace down to save his wingers, but as soon as he slows down enough to catch Rozanov checks him mercilessly, and encourages others on his line to do the same.

“Best way to stop a player like Hollander,” he says unrepentantly when Wiebe asks him about it. “Hit fast, hit hard. His stick work and feet are too good for anything else.”

The Swiss kid they drafted this year had great hands and a motor – he might be a good match for Hollander if he holds steady through his farm year, but that doesn’t solve the problem of this season. Young works well with Hollander, but when he tries shifting them together too many times in a row the rookie pushes himself too hard to match and then is gassed out or vomiting into a bin by the end of practice.

He’s already told hockey ops to find him a wing player with speed and stamina, and in the meantime it looks as if he’ll be double-shifting Hollander with two lines until they can build something around him.

And then triple-shifting him into the power play unit and onto Rozanov’s line when they need a goal, because even only one scrimmage in he can see that the two of them on the same line worked. Jesus, did it work.

Wiebe had rolled his eyes a little at Rozanov saying in interviews that they’d be on the power play together. Of course they would be – they’re his strongest two, and he’s seen their All Stars clips – but the cockiness of Roz saying it like a certainty had left Wiebe planning how to push the new captain firmly back into his own lane. The first time he put them on the same line together, he’d stopped worrying about Rozanov’s attitude – if Wiebe had had someone he skated with like those two skate together, he’d never shut up about it either.

They move together like they’re telepathic, but it’s more than that. Rozanov ducks around hits rather than taking them, so he can keep up with Hollander. Hollander passes without looking, completely trusting that Rozanov will be where he needs him to be. Rozanov’s aggression steadies out, and Hollander looks as purely happy as Wiebe can imagine seeing him.

And they play with a speed and force that has anyone set up against them looking like rabbits in front of an oncoming truck.

Tremblay is another problem, or at least he’s hovering on the brink of becoming one. As starting goalies go, he’s average at best – and being up against a Rozanov-Hollander line demoralises him rather than sharpening him. Rozanov jokes him out of his sulks before they can set in, and Hollander lingers after practice running shots with him, but Wiebe’s already added ‘better goalie’ to his wish list with hockey ops.

LaPointe – one of the rooks – staggers off the ice looking green, and Hollander guides him onto the bench before he can fall, hands him a water bottle. “Small sips,” Wiebe hears Hollander saying. Sees him putting one hand on the rookie’s back, one on his shoulder. “Uncurl – you can’t breathe that way. That’s it.”

“You good, LaPointe?” Wiebe asks as he approaches. The rookie startles, looking at Wiebe like he wants to apologise for sitting.

“He got caught on a long shift,” Hollander answers first. His voice is steady, and his gaze as he looks at Wiebe is calm rather than challenging, but he doesn’t move his hand from LaPointe’s shoulder.

“Lots of skating for a defenseman, too,” Wiebe agrees easily, giving LaPointe a nod. “Good hustle.”

LaPointe manages a smile. “Thanks, coach,” he says after he’s taken another breath. “I’m good now.”

“Sit for another minute,” Wiebe says. “Hollander, walk with me?”

Hollander nods, gives the rookie a last pat to his shoulder, and follows Wiebe.

“You’re good with the rookies,” Wiebe comments. He is; doesn’t call for the trainers when the rookies hit a wall, just stays cool and calm and hands over a water bottle or a wet towel or has them match his breathing until they’re steady again.

Hollander just shrugs. “They’re still learning their limits,” he says without judgement.

And you’ve seen a lot of over-stretched rooks, Wiebe thinks privately to himself. He’s not had much to do with the Metros coach, but he does know Theriault’s reputation. Old school, perfectionist, impatient. Hard-ass, with emphasis on the ‘ass’. “I’d prefer the rookies learn their limits sooner rather than later,” he says instead. “The point is to build their fitness, not to break them.”

Hollander always carries himself carefully, but at that a hint of the tightness Wiebe had thought was habitual eases off. “Yes, coach,” he agrees.

“The same holds true with your line,” Wiebe says. Hollander’s expression stays attentive, but Wiebe notices the tension back again in his shoulders, as if he’s bracing for a hit. “Anyone I’m matching you with can keep up until second period, then they’re going to be tapped out.” Hollander nods, still cautious but not denying the obvious. “Anyone you think can grow into it?”

Hollander thinks about it. “Young, maybe,” he says. “But I don’t know. He starts to lose his cool even before he loses steam. Needs some practise there. Otherwise… Greenaway is good with the puck but he’s not up to my pace – he’d be good with a depth centre. Or maybe put him with Rozanov a couple of times, see if he can learn to roll with Rozanov’s chaos. Abel has fast feet but he’s too impatient. Doesn’t keep his lane, can’t read the game well enough to line himself up for a pass.”

Abel is a cocky little shit who doesn’t seem to have the skills to back it up, in Wiebe’s opinion. He’s already on Wiebe’s list for the next round of cuts unless he shows something special. “Alright. Pretty much my take, too,” Wiebe says. “I’m going to try doubling you up. Give you second and third line, so you’ve got more alternation with your wingers. Short shifts with both.” Hollander’s braced body language hasn’t softened yet, but his gaze goes a little distant as he scans over the benches, taking in the tired and sweaty players. After a moment, he nods again. “I want you pushing your wingers fast, but I want them still skating in the third.”

Less bracing again now, and it takes another moment before Hollander nods. Wiebe wonders how many times Hollander’s been told to slow down and take the hits, or seen his wingers be raked over the coals for not keeping up, or both. “And the power play?”

“I’ll work on a few stacked options,” Wiebe confirms, and smiles a humourless smile. “You’ll be on the ice so often even you might get tired.” Hollander looks quietly satisfied by this, more than alarmed. Wiebe keeps his frown internal.  “That means short shifts,” he says again, more firmly. “Changing on time, every time. Managing your own pace, as well as your wingers.”

Hollander just nods again, and Wiebe studies him for a long moment. “I saw some of your games from last season,” he says abruptly. Hollander doesn’t quite manage to control the flinch. “I don’t want you out there alone, and I don’t want you crawling off the ice at the end. If you’re on the ice for twenty four minutes a night here it will be because we’ve got you lines that can keep up.”

Hollander finally looks as if he’s taking it in, and not just following instructions. “Yes, coach,” he says. “Understood.”

Wiebe’s already seen how Hollander responds to casual touch – a slight stiffness, as if he’s not quite sure what to do with it – so rather than clap him on the shoulder Wiebe just nods. “Head on back,” he tells Hollander, and as Hollander skates away he returns to check in on the drill.

The next day Wiebe’s in early as usual, finalising line tweaks for today’s scrimmage. He passes Rozanov and Hollander on their own way in – Rozanov still clutching a gigantic Starbucks cup – and fights a smile. “Early again, Roz?” he asks.

“Hollander is a bully,” Rozanov complains.

“I bought you coffee,” Hollander says, unmoved. He looks like he’s been up for hours already, and moves as if he’s spent at least one of those hours stretching.

“You told me coffee does not replace sleep,” Rozanov tells him, and Wiebe waves them away and heads into his office before he can get pulled into another of their endless arguments.

When they signed him, Wiebe had half expected Rozanov to be tumbling onto the ice a bare second before the start of practice every time, but the more he sees of him the more he realises that Rozanov’s reputation doesn’t match the reality. Rozanov consistently says it’s Hollander dragging him here early – but he doesn’t seem to put up a fight about it. The vets have already started coming in earlier, too – that hadn’t happened at last year’s training camp.

Hollander is the first on the ice (of course), but Roz is on right after him, well before the start time. When the other players join them and start forming little clumps, Rozanov surveys them and then declares that everyone who arrived on the ice after him is late and therefore everyone needs to run laps. The players groan, but when Rozanov gestures Boodram sets off immediately, and no one lags for more than a moment. When Hollander shrugs and joins them Rozanov makes a disgusted face and joins in too, quickly pushing through to the front and picking up the pace. After two laps Rozanov brings them to a halt just as Wiebe and the coaches join them, woken up and ready to pay attention.

Wiebe doesn’t waste time – a brisk warmup, and he sends them off into drills. He’s cycling players through the battle drills next to Hollander – one last check of line potentials before scrimmage – but he finds time to watch Rozanov, too. Roz is working his group hard, as usual – chirping constantly, grinning viciously, once the drill gets too predictable trying weird angled passes just to keep them guessing. When Wiebe circles back, Rozanov’s between rotations, but seems to be commentating on the ongoing drill to a knot of eager rookies.

Wiebe mixes the drill groups, and sends Rozanov’s cluster up against Hollander’s. “Sweating already, moy kukhonnyy kran?” Rozanov asks teasingly as he sets up next to Hollander. “Do you need to work on your conditioning?”

“About as much as you need to work on your chirps,” Hollander shoots back.

“Do artists ever stop working to improve?” Rozanov says, mock-thoughtfully, and then grabs the puck as the drill starts.

Rozanov pushes Hollander just as hard as Hollander pushes himself, but slows himself enough to feed the puck to a nervous rookie and set him up for a shot on the goal. “Sit one,” Rozanov advises Hollander at the end. “Or you will be no fun to scrimmage against later.”

Wiebe sees Hollander’s eyes briefly narrow, as if trying to decide if that’s another chirp, but before he can second Rozanov’s instruction Hollander nods and waves the next three on. “Kitchen sink?” he hears Hollander say.

“You lose again,” Rozanov says smugly.

Wiebe shakes his head and keeps moving before he can be distracted by whatever chirping game they’ve decided to assign a scoring system to.

The scrimmage gets set up well. Wiebe would feel a qualm about double-shifting Hollander in the drills and again in the lines, but the shifts are short and he seems to be rolling with it fine, and he’s keeping his pace at ‘intense’ rather than ‘deadly’.

Abel’s shifts with Hollander aren’t quite working. The kid’s good at hustle but can’t line himself up right - Hollander has to stall and talk Abel into position before he can make the pass. The second shift, Abel skates like he’s trying to prove something. Willing to test it out, Hollander passes him the puck when he calls for it, but he fumbles and has to lunge awkwardly to retrieve it. The defender closes on him before Abel can pick up speed again – Hollander manages to swoop in and steal the puck back before the defender can send it flying, and neatly shoots the goal. When Abel slams his stick against the ice in frustration, Hollander catches Wiebe’s eye with a minute headshake, and he nods. The next line Abel’s on, Hollander passes to the other wing instead, and the game moves on.

Greenaway’s working on picking up his feet next to Hollander and he’s managing it for the short shifts, but he seems to be blowing after, so Wiebe tells him to switch jerseys and sends him in next to Rozanov. He holds his own with the physical game that Rozanov drives but he can’t seem to figure out how to see the gaps and not just the chaos when Rozanov ricochets from hit to hit on his way through the zone.

At least Rozanov’s line with Bood and Dillon is coming through as consistent and solid, if not brilliant. Rozanov’s combination of chirping and jokes seems to be keeping Dillon pushing the play rather than peeling off, though Wiebe hopes Dillon can figure out how to manage without a cheer squad before Roz’s voice gives out.

After he’s run through all his standard line combinations, Wiebe has Hollander switch jerseys and sends him in with Rozanov and Bood to run a power play. Dykstra, Chouinard, Boyle, and Weber are all veterans and strong on the defence, so  he sets them up with Tremblay in a penalty kill, and watches with carefully hidden delight as his power play leaves them scrambling.

Hollander and Rozanov skate like they’re predicting each other, not reading each other - switching places on the fly, with Bood a calm anchor in the middle. The defenders amp up the intensity; Hollander gets pinned into the boards but kicks the puck loose to Rozanov. Rozanov shoots and Tremblay rebounds it, but before any of the defenders can clear the puck Bood calmly collects it and sends it back to Hollander, who has a bare moment to pass to Rozanov before Dykstra finishes a check on him that takes him down. Hollander hasn’t even stopped moving from the hit before he’s rolling out of it and back onto his feet to put the pressure right back on, even as Rozanov shoulders his way past Chouinard and shoots again.

Three reps and three power play goals later and the defenders are groaning, Tremblay is glowering, Bood is sweating and Rozanov and Hollander look like they’ve just come off of the world’s most exciting roller coaster.

The benches had been buzzing through all three reps, so Wiebe gives them a moment to finish their cheers and jokes before trying to read out the next line.

“Let’s go again,” suggests Rozanov brightly.

“Not until after I have a nap, a meal, and another nap,” Bood says firmly. Roz laughs and buffets him on the back; Hollander just grins.

“That line should be illegal,” Dillon says fervently from the bench.

“That was great! Better than the pretty hockey,” Abel says a little too loudly.

Wiebe happens to be looking at Hollander at just the right moment to see the grin wiped off his face in an instant, replaced by a cold blankness. A half step ahead of him, Rozanov’s own delighted smile turns into clenched anger, and the bench noise squeezes off into an uneasy shuffling.

“You do not say that again,” Rozanov says flatly.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Abel says defensively. Wiebe turns to look at him; he looks anxious, but not anxious enough or he’d just shut his mouth rather than trying to jam his second foot in there too.

“Jesus, kid, quit digging,” Bood says, and climbs over the boards. Rozanov glares for a moment further before deliberately turning away from Abel to look at Hollander; Hollander meets his eyes for a moment, gives a small, sharp shake of his head once, and goes back to his original spot on the bench.

“Alright, next line!” Wiebe calls, as Rozanov goes back to his own bench.

The second half of the scrimmage goes well enough, but by the end the rookies have got sloppy – it’s not just Abel who’s drifting out of his lane and fumbling passes that were set up clean. Wiebe sighs a bit, but it’s day six of the camp and he’s pushed them hard – the day off might reset them.

Or not, and that will be useful information, too.

He catches Rozanov’s eye and the captain nods, gliding over. “Abel,” Wiebe says.

Rozanov’s jaw tightens a bit. “Mouthy. Can’t read the game, can’t read the room. Bood told him to stop saying stupid shit twice already before today.” He considers it. “Good shot, good speed,” he adds grudgingly.

“But not worth it,” Wiebe concludes. When Rozanov nods, he mentally confirms Abel's place on the next 'cut' list and just says, “I’ll deal with it.”

Wiebe scans the players; Hollander’s already looking over at them, and when Wiebe nods he cuffs Bood on the arm and they both skate over together. Hollander absently hands over Rozanov’s water bottle, his focus already on Wiebe. He gestures them to follow him over to the boards and sit, which they all do with relief.

He starts running through some of the other rookies, some of the lines. It’s a sense check, rather than anything formal, but still he’s surprised when partway through its clear that he’s lost Hollander’s attention.

Wiebe follows Hollander’s gaze back to the ice. Some veterans have called the rookies back on and are having them run suicides.

“Keep your feet moving, no gliding.”

“Keep the pace up, you’re lagging, rookie!”

“Earn your day off!”

“You want opinions? Make the team first.”

“You want real hockey? Finish your shifts.”

Wiebe winces at the last calls, instinctively looking for Abel amongst the rookies to see if he’s drawing fire. Next to him, Hollander’s mouth thins, and he pulls his gloves back on. “Excuse me,” he says politely to Wiebe, and then he’s hopping the boards, snapping his helmet back in place, and going to touch the goal line next to the rookies for the next run.

“Hollander, you’ve already done your shifts!” Boyle calls to him.

Hollander shrugs. “Teams skate together,” he says.

“Blyat,” mutters Rozanov, but there’s a fond smile tugging at his mouth as he nods to Wiebe as well and jumps the boards, finds a spot on the line. “Alright! Fastest rookie gets free lunch. Let’s go!”

Some of the rookies grin weakly and the energy picks up as they try to match Rozanov’s speed. Hollander matches his own pace to the slowest rookie, with enough breath left to keep talking to him through it.

Bood watches for a moment in resignation. “They’re going to kill us,” he mutters, and then he’s snapping on his own helmet and climbing the boards to join in.

Wiebe leans on the boards and watches, listening to snatches of phrases – Hollander’s quiet “Short strides, keep breathing,” Rozanov yelling to not cheat the line, the chirps from the watching veterans turning into encouragement.

When he’d first heard about their interest, Wiebe had wondered what would happen in the room with Rozanov and Hollander. He knows they’d both sought out a ‘culture team’, but there’s a difference between wanting to benefit from it and being willing to put the work in. A difference, too, to being able to put the right work in, rather than try to set the tone without the groundwork - or rather than being too much of a unit of two to draw on the rest of the team.

Wiebe leans into the boards a little more comfortably as he watches a couple more vets hesitantly join the skate, and decides he can safely let that particular worry go.

“Three more and done!” Hollander calls out, without waiting for the veterans to signal it, and Rozanov pushes the pace even harder.

Young is the rookie who wins lunch, Wiebe notes with approval, and Rozanov lags behind for just a moment congratulating him, before following Bood and Hollander back to Wiebe.

“You’re insane,” Bood tells Hollander as they come back to where Wiebe’s still leaning and clamber over the boards. “I can’t believe you voluntarily joined a rookie bag skate.”

Hollander shrugs, takes a long drink from his water bottle and pours more over his neck. He looks done in at this point, too – hair plastered down with sweat and his posture turned into a slump. Wiebe’s almost relieved to know he does have a limit somewhere. “You came, too.”

“I can’t believe that either.” Bood takes a drink himself, and eyes him appraisingly. “Rookie bag skates are a tradition.”

“Sure,” Hollander acknowledges non-committally. “I was bag skated as a rookie.”

Bood snorts. “Given your whole everything, I’m guessing you were fine?”

“Yeah,” Hollander says, very dry. “So fine that the vets decided I needed to run some more alone.”

Wiebe winces. He can picture it uncomfortably easily; Hollander guilelessly good, 1C in his rookie year, and too awkward to joke it off with the veterans when he came out of bag skates barely blowing. Can picture the combination of ‘push him harder’ and ‘make him earn his place’ and ‘make the kid show some respect’…

“How long did they keep you going?” Rozanov asks. His voice sounds casual, but there’s a tension in his jaw.

Hollander shrugs again. “A while,” he says. Rozanov keeps looking at him, and he shakes his head. “Eight years ago, Ilya. None of them still with the Metros.”

Rozanov nods, and rolls his shoulders to release the tension. “Shame,” he says lightly, and Hollander rolls his eyes. “My rookie group, the Raiders just made us drink stupid amounts of alcohol,” he reminisces.

“I think I’d prefer the bag skates,” Hollander mutters, and Roz grins.

“Probably similar levels of puking.”

“I’d like to avoid either, here,” Wiebe says firmly. “Let’s keep the conditioning drills proportionate and the alcohol poisoning rates low.”

They all nod, and Wiebe returns to going through the lines.

Chapter End Notes

Russian translations
moy kukhonnyy kran - my kitchen tap
blyat - fuck

As per usual, it's all google translate - if you can suggest better translations/better phrasing, please do let me know!

Chapter 6: News from Training Camp

Chapter Notes

This one's a short chapter so you get it early!
Next chapter is a longer one, should be up only slightly later than the usual time.

September 2018

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Power play looking sharp, and we’re feeling excited! #CensCamp
[Clip: Hollander pinned against the boards, does a kick pass to Rozanov, Rozanov makes a shot on goal]

Cliff Marlow ✔ @hockeyslucky7
I no longer want to do PK against Ottawa

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
Coward

Evan Dykstra ✔ @DykstraHockey
I would like it on record that Hollander is extremely annoying. Won’t stay still.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Rozanov already moving before Hollander gets the puck out. Bood already holding space for the shot. This season is going to be fun to watch.

@ChaosGoalie
HOW are they doing this after playing together for approximately 3.5 minutes?

@TumblrRefugee
The power of love?

@RaidersRiot
😭 When I think back to that glorious 6 weeks when we were all convinced Hollzy was going to sign with Boston…

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
No one skates alone. #CensCamp #TeamFirst
[Video: rookies skating suicides. Camera pans to show Hollander and Boodram in line with them, and Rozanov racing a rookie to the line. In the background is laughter, and someone yelling, “Keep moving!”]

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
I won.

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
You were racing a 19-year-old.

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
I still won.

@ChaosGoalie
Rookie: trying not to die
Roz: THIS IS FUN YES?

@HockeyForAll
“No one skates alone” is a LOUD message if you know hockey culture.

@CensLoyalist
Hollander pacing the slowest rookie 😭

@RealHockeyOnly
Hockey team or group therapy session? 🙄

@NHLTea
If I saw Hollander get on the line with me I would skate until my lungs exploded out of respect.

@MTLforever
Soft teams love talking about culture. Culture doesn’t win games.

Montreal Metros @MTLMetros
Over the off-season, the Montreal Metros undertook an independent review of a number of internal policies and player programs.
As part of our commitment to continuous improvement, the organisation has implemented new initiatives including enhanced training, improved reporting procedures, and updated security measures.
We are confident these steps will help ensure a strong, professional environment for our players and staff moving forward, and position our organization well for the future, both on and off the ice.

@NHLRumourLog
Translation: something happened and lawyers got involved

@OttawaFan
Take care of your players and this doesn’t happen.

@PuckTalk
That’s a lot of words for ‘we got in trouble.’

@NHLTea
Updated security measures?? 👀

@ChaosGoalie
Yeah, like the ‘reporting procedures’ and ‘training’ stuff is kinda expected but the security stuff sounds… interesting 😬

@HollanderHive
Funny coincidence how this review happened right after Hollander filed a grievance and left the org 🤔

@HockeyFan24
Good for Hollander for forcing change.

@MetrosDefense
Time to move on and focus on hockey.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Respect to the league for making this happen.

@saypuckit
Hope this makes things better for future players.

@MontrealStandard
Org handled it, league handled it, move on.

@BringBack1987
So one guy cries and now everyone has to sit through sensitivity training??

@RealHockeyOnly
Hockey’s getting soft

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Rozanov — took the rookies out to lunch 🍔
Hollander — doing extra shot practice “for fun” 🏒
Boodram — having a nap 😴
Pick your leader!

Louis LaPointe @LouLaPointe
🍔 🏒 😴
I include Hollander out of loyalty, but please no to extra shot practice 💀

Chris Young @YoungPlayer
I pick 🍔! Lunch was great, thanks @IlyaRozanov

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
@shanehollander24 Votes are in and I am winning!

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
You are literally already the captain, this is not a competition 🙄

@MTLforever
Which one teaches you how to make the playoffs?

[Hidden reply]
@bringback1987
We picking captains or making a diversity brochure?

@HollanderHive
Hollander I am on your side for life but for the love of god let Bood teach you his ways. You need a nap.

@HollanderDefenseSquad
maybe shooting pucks is something he finds soothing

[Hidden reply]
@StickToTheSix
Hollander is a great player but maybe he should stick to shooting pucks rather than trying to steer the room?

@BoodAppreciation
Would follow Bood to the end of the earth. He seems like he would bring a sleeping bag and ingredients for s’mores.

@CensLoyalist
I think that if Hollander was going to the end of the earth he would bring not only a sleeping bag but also a backpack full of emergency supplies.
Roz would probably bring the s’mores and nothing else.

@TumblrRefugee
On the positive side if either Hollander or Rozanov was going to the ends of the earth the other would definitely follow. So you’d get the smores AND the practical supplies.

@CentaurBaby
The team collecting leader types like pokemon

[Hidden reply]
@MetroTrue
Pick the one that won’t cry to the league

Montreal Metros @MTLMetros
As part of our ongoing player development programming, the team took part in a workshop this week focused on communication, professionalism, and maintaining a positive team environment.

[Photo of Metros players sitting in a large meeting room. A presenter stands at the front, by a large screen. The words ‘professional communication’ are visible in large type on the screen. Those players whose faces can be seen have neutral expressions.]

@RealHockeyOnly
Nothing says hockey like a corporate seminar room 🙄

@NHLTea
Wonder how many guys were on their phones under the table

@CanadianPuck
Glad the organization is taking this seriously and moving forward.

@PuckTalk
“Professional communication” seminar, can’t imagine the chirps in that room after this 😂

@saypuckit
We all know why this is happening

@MontrealStandard
Every team does this stuff now, people need to stop acting like this is a big deal

@StickToTheSix
If you need ‘professional communication’ to not get your feelings hurt maybe hockey isn’t for you

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Split squad today!
Team White in Buffalo with Hollander
Team Red in Ottawa with Rozanov
Lots of new faces in the lines – show our new players some support!

@PuckInsider
Hollander looked like he was playing with four different wingers – Cens coaching is clearly still working on finding the right fit for him.

@ProspectHopeful
Imagine being a rookie and your options are:
*Keep up with Hollander
*Keep up with Rozanov
Good luck boys.

@ChaosGoalie
Rookies clustered around Hollander like ducklings.
Rookies clustered around Rozanov like somewhat more intimidated yet hyperactive ducklings. 😂

@NHLTea
Centaurs developing rookies through fear and cardio.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Hollander preseason minutes are insane. Does this man ever sit down?

@saypuckit
I sure hope his wingers stretched because they are going to be feeling it tomorrow

@TheStatsGuy
The Rozanov-Boodram-Dillon line is looking solid.

@HockeyWatch
One line and one player playing 25 minutes is not a rebuild plan but ok.

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Rozanov’s squad gets the win.
Hollander’s squad wants a rematch.
Camp continues tomorrow. #CensCamp

Chapter 7: Team Dinner

Chapter Notes

Domestic chapter! I hope you all enjoy.

Late September 2018

“Alright, listen up!” Rozanov calls loudly, and LaPointe fumbles his stick taping. “The house Hollander and I bought has furniture now. This means you are all invited to team dinner on Sunday. There will be food and beer. Bring nothing. Attendance mandatory. Talk to Hollander about details.”

Hollander looks up from where he is meticulously checking his gear. LaPointe isn’t completely sure, but he’s betting he rolls his eyes. “I’ll put details on the team chat,” he says.

LaPointe’s stomach churns. Sunday means, after the final round of cuts. Sunday means, if he is on the team he’s invited to dinner, and if he doesn’t he will clean out his stall and walk away with no real idea of what his future holds.

There’s laughter – some a little baffled, as if people are waiting for a punchline. A couple of whoops. “Is there a hot tub?” someone calls.

“No hot tub. But Hollander insisted on a full shooting lane in the living room,” Rozanov says.

“Sounds like Hollander,” Dykstra says.

“Don’t listen to him,” Hollander says. “That would be ridiculous.” Gear checks apparently complete, he stands. Absolutely straight-faced, he says, “The shooting lane is in the basement,” and then heads for the tunnel.

A shout of laughter follows him. “Was he serious?” Young mutters.

LaPointe doesn’t know, but he does know he has no intention of asking. Shooting lane, hot tub, bowling alley – or no furniture and an empty room where he has to sit on the floor – this is Rozanov and Hollander’s house so if he makes it he is going to be polite and grateful and make no mess and cause no trouble and hope they never have cause to regret it…

He takes a breath – uncurl, you can’t breathe that way – he remembers, and carefully fixes his stick tape as if that will make everything else more likely to go right, too.

“You two really living together?” he hears Dillon ask Rozanov, a little incredulous, a little snide. “You get bunk beds or what?”

LaPointe just manages to not fumble his tape a second time. Was that a joke? Well, obviously it was a joke. But was it an… okay joke? Is he meant to smile or is he meant to look disapproving? Dillon’s a veteran and on Rozanov’s line, so he’s on the roster for sure, but that doesn’t mean it was okay…

LaPointe remembers the smile wiping off Hollander’s face when Abel chirped at him about pretty hockey, and feels relieved that Hollander wasn’t in the room for this one.

“No need,” Rozanov responds casually. “Hollander sleeps in the gym. Easier for a quick morning start.”

There’s laughter at Rozanov’s comment, at least, and when  he looks up Bood looks relaxed rather than annoyed, so LaPointe lets himself relax and smile too.

“First on the treadmill, first on the ice,” Boodram says, looking at the door Hollander left through, and raises his voice. “Which is where we all should be. Pick up the pace, boys!”

“He means me,” Rozanov remarks to the air, and follows Hollander out of the room.

When LaPointe makes it onto the ice, the conversations are continuing.

“So who picked the paint colours?” Chouinard says teasingly.

“I hired an interior designer,” Hollander says calmly.

“He just bought everything she said to buy,” Rozanov says. “Saved all his planning for the gym.”

“I didn’t see you interested in picking out curtains,” Hollander retorts, and Rozanov grins.

“Roommates is… a lot of togetherness,” Boyle says, with a hint of a side-eye.

“It’s a big house,” Hollander says dryly.

LaPointe feels like he’s trying to track a high speed puck volley, unsure whether the words or the tone or the facial expressions are going to be more revealing. Hollander looks composed, Rozanov amused, so this is… fine? Probably?

“So what cool shit do two NHL superstars have in their house?” Weber asks.

 Hollander looks at them all, looks at the clock – showing three minutes before practise time - and sighs. “If you want to ask questions, you need to earn them,” he says. “Laps.”

 “I already know what cool shit we have,” Rozanov complains. “I do not need to do laps.” But even as he says it he’s leading the players out into a loop of the ice.

Laps are fine. Laps are great, actually; much better than the conversation that keeps swinging between joking and chirping. LaPointe pushes himself to match Young’s pace, and tries to focus on his stride.

“So - swimming pool?” someone calls out.

“In Ottawa? They’d only use it three weeks a year,” Boyle replies.

“Canadians are weak,” Rozanov says, and ups the pace.

“No swimming pool,” Hollander says, matching him. “Next.”

“Home theatre?”

“Media room. Very big TV,” Rozanov says.

“All game tape, all the time?” Dillon says.

“You can talk that much, you’re not pushing enough,” Hollander says, and ups the pace again. Rozanov laughs and moves with him.

LaPointe has drifted towards the back of the pack now, and pushes harder.

“Sauna?” someone calls out.

Two syllables, LaPointe thinks. Good choice. Hollander and Roz won’t up the pace for two syllables, surely.

“Yes,” Hollander confirms.

“Pool table?”

“Yes,” Rozanov says.

The pace climbs a little higher. Is three too many?

“Fire pit?” someone asks.

“Yes.” Hollander.

“Bar?”

Short, thinks LaPointe. Solid choice.

“Yes.” Rozanov. “Of course.”

“Finish strong!” Hollander calls out, and just like that he and Rozanov are racing the last third of the lap and skidding to a halt by the coaches, while LaPointe staggers to keep up.

As he catches his breath (uncurl), he looks at Rozanov and Hollander and thinks - he doesn’t care about the shooting lane, or the pool table, or the sauna. But he refuses to slow down even one half inch if it might cost him this room.

Hollander’s instructions on the group chat were unambiguous:

Rozanov had added only one extra instruction:

The instructions are definitely clear. And yet… “What if it’s a test, and we’re meant to bring something anyway?” LaPointe asks Young.

It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but the question has been jangling around in his mind ever since he first saw the list of instructions – along with ‘what even are casual clothes’ and ‘do I have socks without holes in’.

 “You think they’d do that?” Young asks dubiously.

“No.” LaPointe’s response is instinctive and immediate, and he breathes a little easier. There had been no pranks, no bait-and-switches. The evaluation had been constant but it hadn’t been involved trickery. And he’s on the team, he’s been told he’s on the team. It seeming terrifyingly unbelievable is not actually evidence that someone’s going to realise they’ve made a mistake.

“You’re overthinking, bro,” Young tells him bracingly. “Think of it like a drill. Do what Hollander tells you and you won’t fuck it up.”

LaPointe nods. That’s certainly true as far as it goes, but there are possibilities Hollander’s instructions don’t cover. Like, what do you actually do in a sauna? When should he leave? Should he call them Rozanov and Hollander still or should he call them something else if he’s in their home? Or perhaps he should never actually have called them Rozanov and Hollander and that was overfamiliar?

…he’s starting to suspect that perhaps Young was right, and he’s overthinking it.

He feels a brief flush of success when he makes his way to the specified address at exactly 6:09 – surely the perfect time to convey enthusiasm without being overly keen; followed by a quick spike of anxiety to be met with a closed gate; followed by the immediate relief when it opens immediately.

It dawns on LaPointe that the thirty minute arrival window was probably so Hollander and Roz could just set the gate to automatic open. He wonders if they just… keep it locked all the rest of the time. He wonders what would happen if they didn’t, and then decides that’s too unsettling to think about and instead focuses on parking as perfectly as he can on the long drive next to someone’s SUV, so he doesn’t block anyone in later.

Young immediately gets out, checking his phone. “Boyle says on the group chat that the door’s open, ring the bell but go straight in and – report to Hollander for orientation?” Young looks over at LaPointe, looking as if he can’t decide between laughing and screwing up his face in confusion.

LaPointe shrugs back helplessly. It’s a joke, right? Almost definitely a joke, but maybe there’s context he’s meant to have but doesn’t? “I guess we just go in, then,” he says, determined not to panic and look like an idiot.

The moment he opens the door he sees other members of the team, and so his horrible mental image of walking into Rozanov and Hollander’s pristine and empty living room and realising this was a prank only has a split second to form before it dies again. “Hey,” calls Bood easily from the couch, where he’s working on a beer and chatting with Boyle. “Come on in, take your shoes off, Hollander will be back any second to get you settled.”

Hollander comes back almost immediately, looking as composed as he almost always seems to. LaPointe takes comfort in his new socks – bought for the occasion - but it’s not enough to completely overcome his anxiety and he instantly blurts, “Thank you for having me. Us.”

Hollander’s composed expression shifts into a small but genuine-looking smile, and LaPointe just hopes it’s Hollander being friendly and not him laughing at how awkward he his. “Glad to have you here,” he says. “Let me talk you through what’s in the house.”

LaPointe soon realises why Boyle referred to this as ‘orientation’. He suspects Boyle meant it with an eyeroll but for himself he focuses hard on every word, trying to memorise it like he would a military briefing.

Point 1: “Stack your shoes by the door or you can put them in the mud room. Anything else you want to leave, too.” A quick scan confirms that there’s a little shelf for shoes that already has a couple of other pairs on it, so LaPointe shoves his own there too, pleased to have needed zero clarifying questions or digressions so far.

Point 2: “The basement is the media room, gym, recovery space, and Rozanov's bar. You're fine to use whatever, just don't hurt yourselves. You can use the shooting lane – sticks are there, but don’t mess with the radar gun.” Young perks up at this one; LaPointe mentally vows to keep a one metre distance from the radar gun at all times.  

Point 2b: “Sauna's off limits until after dinner. No food in the gym or the recovery space, water and sports drinks only.” Noted. He’d rather run bag skates than drop a single chip in Hollander’s gym.

Point 3: “This floor is living room, kitchen, dining room, patio out back. Food will be set up here in a bit but it's not going to be formal - you can take plates and go wherever.”

Point 4: “That's our home office - nothing private, so if you need a breather feel free to go in and chill. Just don't take the party in with you. Water and sports drinks only in there too.” That one takes LaPointe by surprise enough that he almost breaks out of his careful logging of information. It’s said so steadily, but it’s also not something he’s ever been told at any party before, and not something he ever would have expected hearing at a hockey party.

Point 5: “There's a bathroom in the basement and another on this floor.” Mission critical intel: LaPointe scrambles to pull himself back to the orientation so he can fully log Hollander’s guiding gestures as he leads them through the space.

Point 6: “Upstairs is just the bedrooms. No one is getting drunk enough to sleep here, so that's not on the tour.” There’s a faint warning undertone now in Hollander’s voice, the first time he’s been anything other than warm or easily brisk, and LaPointe thinks he’d rather be cut from the team than step one foot on the stairs up. Which is good, since he probably would be cut from the team if he invaded Rozanov and Hollander’s privacy like hat.

Point 7: “If you break anything, tell me, don't hide it. Telling Rozanov doesn't count.” Hollander’s tone back to brisk and dry again. So breaking something is a lesser offense than going upstairs. Except possibly breaking the radar gun.

Point 8: “Help yourself to drinks, and I mean that - anything that's not in a locked cabinet is all yours. Don't try to break into the locked bar fridge - Rozanov only shares his fancy vodka if he really likes you.” The idea of Rozanov liking him enough to share his fancy vodka is somehow almost as intimidating as the idea of being caught by Rozanov trying to steal the fancy vodka.

Point 9: “Rozanov ordered twice as much food as any sane person would think we needed, so eat all you like.” LaPointe brightens at this, and beside him he can see Young doing the same.

Point 10. “I'll cut off any rookies I think are drinking too much. If you get drunk without a designated driver I'm taking your keys and sending you home in an Uber.” Said bluntly and briskly; LaPointe feels horribly embarrassed even at the idea of it, and internally vows to stop drinking early enough that he’s not going to cause Hollander any kind of inconvenience.

“Alright, so that’s the quick guide to the house,” Hollander finishes. “A lot of people are already downstairs. Rozanov is trying to start a pool tournament, if you want to check that out.” They’ve finished by the stairs down, with the sound of music coming up; even if LaPointe hadn’t been interested in seeing the basement he knows a stage direction when he receives one, so with one more awkward ‘thanks’, he and Young hurry to the stairs.

“Mom says we can go play, so let’s go find Dad,” Young jokes to LaPointe affectionately once they’re out of earshot of Hollander. LaPointe is torn between appalled horror and a helpless snicker. Much as he immediately goes into wait is that joke an okay joke and feeling fervently grateful that Young didn’t speak any louder, there really had been a ‘be good, have fun, don’t break anything’ vibe from Hollander’s whole speech; he’s definitely reminded of being dropped off at hockey camp when he was twelve.

Before he can overthink it any further, they step from the stairs through into music and the sound of a group of people half-laughing and half-arguing, and Rozanov’s loud welcome pulls them in.

It’s only moments before LaPointe finds himself with a beer in his hand, invited to join in the cheering/chirping section for the pool tournament. Young quickly drifts off to the shooting lane – a popular destination, from the sounds of it – LaPointe lingers, and when Rozanov bans bets for money in what he says is an attempt to make them more creative, LaPointe finds himself caught up in the debate over what would be the best thing to bet on instead. Ultimately ‘press-ups’ wins over ‘strip pool’, to LaPointe’s profound relief. By the time they’ve collectively established an exchange rate for pull-ups, sit-ups, press-ups, and using the squat rack in the gym, LaPointe has finished his beer and somehow accepted a challenge to play Mario Kart against Rozanov.

Rozanov trash talks him mercilessly when LaPointe loses the first race; enough that in the second he’s forgotten his nerves in his absolute determination to hit Rozanov with as many shells as he possibly can. LaPointe squeaks a narrow win, and when Rozanov immediately starts complaining about dirty play the audience they’ve gathered roundly boos him for it.

“You have no loyalty,” Rozanov accuses them.  For a moment LaPointe hovers on the brink of worrying that he’s caused some kind of problem, but then - “Re-match later, after we eat,” Rozanov orders LaPointe, and then starts prising people out of the shooting lane and sending them upstairs to get food.

The dining room is full of catering trays, the kitchen is full of plates and cutlery, and the living area is now fully stocked with hockey players looking for places to sit. LaPointe and Young load up plates and end up on the covered patio, where someone (Hollander) has set up a little cluster of folding tables and stackable chairs.

Rozanov sits at another table, chatting with Bood and Chouinard. Hollander is making his second pass through, gathering empties and checking on people, when Rozanov snags his sleeve. LaPointe isn’t meaning to listen in, but he’s focused on eating and not talking, and it’s not like they’re that far away. And when Rozanov says softly but pointedly, “You are telling rookies to get a third serving before you have one,” LaPointe’s stomach prickles guiltily.

Hollander rolls his eyes. “We have a mountain of food, Rozanov. I’m not going to miss out. I’ll eat when everyone’s settled.”

“Everyone is settled. Except you.” Rozanov stands and takes the stacked plates from Hollander; there’s a beat where Hollander looks like he’s considering fighting over it, before he releases his grip with a sigh and a frown. “Sit, moye komnatnoye rasteniye.”

Hollander sits in the chair Rozanov’s vacated between Chouinard and Bood, looking half-embarrassed and half-mutinous, as Rozanov continues Hollander’s job of collecting abandoned plates.

“What does that mean? Moy something – I didn’t catch it,” Chouinard asks Rozanov curiously.

Rozanov grins and waves at Hollander, who eyes him and says “House plant?”

“Point to Hollander,” Rozanov says.

“What the fuck? Why are you a house plant?”

“Very particular about hydration,” Rozanov replies, disappearing inside with the plates.

Hollander shakes his head. “Rozanov being Rozanov,” he says, like that’s enough of an explanation.

“Yeah, true,” Bood replies teasingly. “And you get it every day. I mean, I know you got more square footage to fill with a fancy gym, but does it make up for the constant chaos?”

“Don’t forget the shooting lane,” Hollander says, deadpan.

“And your radar gun,” Bood agrees. “As alternate, I should get to play with that, too, by the way.”

“Do not hold your breath,” Rozanov says, re-emerging. “He barely lets me use it.” Rozanov’s balancing a precarious stack of a full plate, a half full plate, cutlery, and a can of soda; he pauses by Hollander, who quickly rescues the soda and the cutlery before it can tumble, and lets Rozanov deposit the full plate in front of him.

Hollander’s expression is the softest LaPointe has ever seen it, and he immediately thinks he’s looking at something he shouldn’t, so he turns hastily to Young and asks him if he wants to join in the Mario Kart tournament later.

After dinner, they do indeed go play more rounds of Mario Kart. He can’t quite bring himself to try the sauna, even when Hollander gives a kind, calm, and detailed explanation of sauna operation and etiquette, but he does let himself be drawn into the shooting lane.

LaPointe is unsurprised to find that his aim is as mediocre as ever, but he enjoys watching the others take down targets, and as a non-combatant he’s trusted to man the stopwatch as they compete. When Hollander stops by, they clamour at him to join in; he’d previously resisted being baited into video games or pool, but apparently this is too much to withstand, and he lines up his pucks, nods to LaPointe, and takes out all four targets with such blinding efficiency that LaPointe fumbles to slam the stop button fast enough. “Keep practising,” he encourages mildly, hands the stick back to Weber, and walks out with a little grin.

When Roz comes by shortly afterwards, they invite him to play as well; he agrees on the condition that no one tells him and Hollander each other’s times. “Is the only way,” he says, in that half-serious, half-teasing way that LaPointe can’t tell whether to take at face value. “We are meant to be hosting. Not in here for two hours with the radar gun because Hollander will not admit that I am better.”

Rozanov says the last part loudly, leaning so his words will carry out the open door. “Stop trying to bait me!” Hollander calls back. “Also, All Stars 2018, asshole!”

“I was robbed,” Rozanov informs his audience. He hits his pucks through the targets in an explosive blur before LaPointe can fully decide whether to laugh, and he almost misses the stop button again.

Weber whistles and Dillon swears, and Rozanov grins at the reactions. “You should all tell Hollander how impressed you were by me,” he suggests, and laughs when they all instantly baulk. He lingers for a few minutes, alternating chirping, advice, and sincere congratulations to the next few shooters, before someone calls him away to go settle a bet in the gym.

When LaPointe eventually hands off his stopwatch duties, people have apparently digested enough of the dinner that they’ve gone back for more; after seeing someone with a piece of cake in one hand and a pool cue in the other he decides to investigate the dessert situation for himself. Someone’s increased the volume of the music in the living room a bit now, too, but LaPointe is more interested in cake than conversation, so he finds himself a spot on the couch rather than slipping out to the patio. Bood gives him a friendly nod as he passes by, but goes to help Hollander wrangling the crowd around the trays of cake and brownie.

LaPointe’s noticing that Hollander is looking increasingly tight around the eyes, and wondering anxiously if there’s anything at all useful he can do, when Rozanov comes upstairs. Roz instantly looks towards Hollander, and moves through the scrum easily – sidesteps, shoulder grips, backslaps and grins – to arrive by Hollander’s side. He takes Hollander’s arm and squeezes once, says a few words - and then Hollander is nodding and slipping out, taking the darkened stairs up without stopping to turn on the lights.

Bood looks up, clocking his exit, and looks to Rozanov; Rozanov gives him a thumbs up and then holds up both hands in a ten. Bood nods acknowledgement, and Roz turns and starts a conversation with Young who has come up for a second brownie.

When Young takes his plate back downstairs to the Super Smash Bros tournament, LaPointe follows him and manages a decent showing. He stays in for a few rounds before finally being kicked out and leaving Young and Dillon battling it out for supremacy while he goes in search of another drink.

Rozanov is back downstairs and holding court at the bar. LaPointe hovers over another beer before grabbing a soda, and nearly blushes when Rozanov catches his eye and gives him a nod for it.

“Doing okay?” Rozanov asks him.

“Y-yeah, good,” LaPointe says, just barely biting back a yes, sir. “Your place is great. Thanks so much for inviting me.”

“We are a team,” Rozanov says easily.

LaPointe still can’t quite believe that he’s on a team with Rozanov and Hollander, but they both act like they believe it, at least. “It’s cool of you to invite the whole team, then. It’s really fun.”

Rozanov grins. “Smoothest team party I have ever hosted,” he says, turning to bring the wider group back into the conversation. “No one passed out in a bathtub. No one puking in a hall closet. No one breaking every plate in the house because someone made a bet they could fit inside a kitchen cupboard if they took the shelves out.”

“So Hollander’s the reason nothing is on fire except the firepit?” Dykstra asks teasingly.

“He probably has a fire extinguisher and a fire blanket ready, just in case,” Boyle quips.

“Am I being chirped or complimented?” Hollander asks suspiciously from the base of the stairs.

“Both,” says Rozanov promptly.

“Compliment!” Dykstra overrules him. “We like your house not being on fire.”

Hollander shakes his head, but doesn’t hide the smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. “I prefer it that way, too,” he says dryly.

The bowl of coated peanuts on the bar had been almost empty, and Hollander steps over and swaps it out for a full one. “They were saying you were boring,” Rozanov tells him. He grins at the immediate chorus of protests, and reaches for the snack bowl; Hollander tugs it out of his reach. “Perfect amount of boring,” he corrects himself; Hollander gives him a dubious look, but pushes the snack bowl closer again.

“We were saying you’re a great host,” Boyle says.

“Oh,” Hollander looks genuinely taken aback by that. “Thanks?”

“You’ve not heard that before?” Boyle asks curiously.

Hollander shrugs, that careful composure is back on his face again. “I didn’t really want to do much hosting before,” he says.

“Too worried about crumbs in the carpet,” Rozanov quips to the group.

Hollander rolls his eyes. “I knew that was a lost cause when you suggested living together,” he says wryly.

“I am helping him grow as a person,” Rozanov tells the players.

“Grow more annoyed, mostly,” Hollander shoots back. He nods at everyone and goes to check on the media room. Probably assessing their snack situation, LaPointe thinks. He thinks about Hollander all evening, circling and checking in and explaining and making sure everyone has food and a drink and knows what to do and isn’t overwhelmed, barely making time to sit down or take a break until Rozanov made him. Quietly, LaPointe thinks that if anyone ever implies to him that Hollander isn’t a good host he might check them through a wall.

In the last hour of the party LaPointe feels relieved at his own restraint when Hollander cuts off Young ("you're on my line, I don't want you hungover in practise") and gives Dillon a long look but lets him go unhindered when Weber says he'll drive Dillon home. Rozanov shoos a couple of people out of the sauna and shuts it down, tells everyone that he's proud of them all for avoiding heat exhaustion or cold shock response, and announces last orders at his bar. 

LaPointe carries a stack of bowls and plates upstairs to the kitchen. Hollander nods at him so appreciatively that LaPointe does another round on the main floor too, until Rozanov comes back upstairs and tells him he's done his shift.

"That place is awesome," Young says to him appreciatively as they buckle into the car. "I always thought Rozanov was meant to be terrifying. But he's so cool."

LaPointe nods. “Hollander, too,” he says. “You’re lucky to be on a line with him.”

“Yeah,” Young says. “It’s crazy. Like, I still don’t get why they even came here.”

LaPointe thinks about Hollander running bag skates with them, and Rozanov saying “We’re a team” and battling him at Mario Kart, and he thinks of all the articles he’s read online and he thinks of Hollander saying “I didn’t really want to do much hosting before,” and the moment where Hollander’s face went from composed to soft.

“Yeah,” he replies. “I guess we’re just lucky.”

Chapter End Notes

Russian translation
moye komnatnoye rasteniye - my houseplant

Thank you to those kind commenters who gave me helpful insight into gendering the Russian nouns in a way that makes sense!

Chapter 8: Monk's Bar

Chapter Notes

We're into the actual season at last! This is just another light little chapter, I hope you enjoy it.

October 2018

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
New season.
New leadership.
New roster.
Same goal.
Let’s go. #GoCens

@Puck18
Hollander’s great on the ice. Off the ice… complicated.

@CensLoyalist
I AM SO EXCITED. Years of being a Cens fan have all built me up to this moment.

@MetroTrue
Let’s see how long the “new leadership” thing lasts when things get tough.

@StickToTheSix
Agreed. Leadership is more than PR videos and preseason tweets.

[Hidden reply]
@Hockey1234
Can’t imagine trusting a leader who would turn on his room like that

@TheStatsGuy
If the Rozanov–Boodram–Dillon line controls play like they did in preseason – and if the PP lives up to its reputation - Ottawa might surprise some people this season.

@Ice1999
Ottawa really building around that ‘culture’ guy huh

SportsNet @Sportsnet
As the season starts, a big question remains for Ottawa this year: who ends up as the long-term winger solution for Hollander?

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
You’ve waited all summer.
So have we.
Home opener vs Detroit. #GoCens

@CentaurBaby
I am STRESSED I am going through this popcorn like a conveyer belt and next it’s going to be my fingernails

@OttawaOutAndAbout
Okay so I am New To Hockey and maybe I should pay more attention to the ice but there’s a couple sitting behind the Ottawa bench, wearing Rozanov and Hollander jerseys, both cheering when either of their faves are on the ice. They are so thrilled and it is just so wholesome 😭

@OttawaFan
I know exactly who you mean! They were at every pre-season game, too.

@HollanderHive
Hollander just took a huge hit and was back on the puck 2 seconds later the man is a machine

[Hidden reply]
@Hockey1234
Wonder if he files a report when he gets chirped on the ice too

@CensLoyalist
Roz and Hollander not even playing on the same line and Detroit still can’t match both.

@saypuckit
Detroit and Ottawa goalies fighting for their lives tonight. 💀

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Rozanov line going strong
Hollander is playing like a machine but still cycling through his wingers
Defense mostly solid
Goaltending was… an adventure

@TheStatsGuy
Rozanov - 2G 1A
Boodram – 1G (from Rozanov)
Hollander – 2G

@ChaosGoalie
The rivalry continues??

@OttawaCentaurs
FINAL SCORE
Ottawa 5
Detroit 4
#GoCens

Rozanov is mid-conversation and – for once – not tracking Hollander’s every move. Instead it’s Chouinard who elbows Bood and says, with quiet amusement, “Someone’s making a friend.”

Bood follows his gaze to the bar, where the server is nowhere in sight and Hollander is now embroiled in a conversation. Or, if Bood is reading the body language correctly, a flirtation – there’s a lot of leaning in and very targeted smiling happening from the other party.

“I didn’t know Hollander had game,” Dykstra says with interest, a little more audibly, looking towards the bar somewhat less discreetly and scanning over the flirter. “Looks like he’s doing alright for himself.”

Fortunately for Hollzy’s likely embarrassment, the bar is comfortably out of earshot and he doesn’t seem to clock that he now has an interested audience appraising the relative merits of his game and of his new gentleman friend’s attributes.

Or… maybe he’d be glad of a little more input from them? Hollander isn’t the easiest man to read – too polite and controlled by half – but Bood knows him pretty well by now. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, but he also doesn’t look relaxed or eager. Not in ‘talking to a pushy reporter’ mode, but not in ‘talking to a rookie who has professed interest in detailed hockey stats’ mode, and definitely not at a ‘talking with Rozanov’ level.

“What are you saying about Hollander?” Rozanov asks, attention captured – of course – by hearing the other player’s name.

“Your boy’s popular,” Bood says, tilting his chin at the bar. He’s still not quite sure what to make of Rozanov and Hollander beyond the surface level of ‘obsessive hockey bromance’, but he knows there’s something there; he finds himself unable to resist poking a little, and watching with interest to see Rozanov’s reaction.

For a moment, there’s a flash of something – Rozanov’s jaw tightens, his shoulders start to rise – but it’s only a moment before it loosens off. There’s a line between his brows that lasts a fraction longer, and Bood hopes it’s not too obvious that he’s looking as he sees Rozanov deliberately smooth his face and turn his attention back to their table. “I did think his drink was taking a while,” Roz says neutrally, and Dykstra laughs.

“Good for him,” Boyle says firmly, and Bood suppresses a wry grin. Boyle still hasn’t yet quite gotten to the level of comfort with Hollander being gay that he can stop professing being comfortable with Hollander being gay, but has at least learned not to be too weird about it. “About time he relaxed a little.”

Roz takes a long swallow of his own beer, almost draining the glass, and angles himself so he can talk to the table and still keep Hollander in his field of vision.

“Guy’s working hard for Hollzy’s number,” Dykstra says, a little too amused. “Do you think we should send a rescue?”

“Maybe send an assist for the other guy,” Dillon jokes. “Hollander could stand to have more fun.”

Bood’s about to tease Roz for being silent for more than thirty seconds at a stretch when three things happen simultaneously – the flirter puts his hand on Hollander’s arm, Hollander leans away, and Rozanov stands and arrows towards the bar.

Bood was relieved earlier when the bar was far enough away that Dykstra’s voice didn’t carry, but now he’s regretting it. “Oh, scary Roz to the rescue?” Chouinard comments with interest, leaning to look as if that will help him hear what’s said.

All Bood has to go on are the visual cues; Hollander turning at Roz’s approach, a small instinctive smile deepening as Roz says something to him and places himself between Hollander and the other man. And then the completely casual way Hollander turns to the flirter, says perhaps four words, and walks back over to the table, leaving Rozanov at the bar without glancing back.

“Still talking about the game, then?” he asks guilelessly.

Bood can’t resist. “What did Roz say?” he asks.

“He’s getting another beer,” Hollander says easily. “He said he’d wait for my ginger ale, too, since they apparently had to go search for it.”

“Smooth,” Dillon says, laughing. “Does he have to use that line a lot, then?”

Hollander gives him a questioning look, then turns to look at the others as if looking for context. Bood takes pity on him. “Roz breaking up your fanclub meeting,” he says.

Hollander’s brow creases – not in discomfort, but in apparently genuine confusion. “What are you talking about?” he asks.

Dillon stares at him incredulously, and Dykstra looks too amused to be at all tactful, so fortunately it’s Chouinard who says, “You, man, getting hit on just now.”

Hollander looks at Chouinard as he’s waiting for the punchline, then looks back over to the bar – where Rozanov has apparently managed to dismiss the flirter and summon back the bar server – and then finally looks back at Bood as if wanting a deciding vote.

“Definitely looked like the guy was flirting,” Bood confirms.

Hollander’s mild suspicion that he’s being pranked is rapidly morphing into embarrassment. “He said he was a hockey fan,” he says, a little aggrieved.

Dykstra laughs. “A fan of one particular hockey player, maybe.”

“You really didn’t notice he was into you?” Chouinard asks, grinning openly.

“I just thought he was being weird,” Hollander says, starting to flush a bit, and flushing more at the outbreak of mirth at that.

“This happens all the time,” Rozanov says matter-of-factly, returning in time to catch the last exchange as he puts Hollander’s ginger ale and his own beer on the table, and dropping into his own empty seat next to Hollander’s.

“Oh, come on, that’s not true,” Hollander protests.

Rozanov shakes his head in mock sorrow. “So hot. So oblivious. Leaves a trail of broken hearts.”

Bood grins as the table erupts into laughter again – as much at Hollander’s expression of mingled exasperation, suspicion, and embarrassment as at Rozanov’s joke. “You’re exaggerating. You always say everyone is hitting on me,” Hollander complains, colour still high.

Rozanov just sighs at him, though there’s a smirk on his face underneath it. “Moy pomidor. You model for Calvin Klein. Everyone is always hitting on you.”

Bood laughs along with the rest as Hollander glares at Rozanov half-heartedly. He’s about to ask what the word means when Chouinard breaks in. “Well, now you know that the guy was into you, are you going to go find him?” he teases. “Unless Roz has scared him off for good.”

“I said nothing rude,” Rozanov defends himself, though the shit-eating grin tugging at his mouth suggests otherwise.

The dubious look Hollander gives Roz suggests he thinks the same. Hollander hesitates a beat, as if thinking it over. Dillon laughs and says “Yeah, Hollzy, go get his number.”

Bood’s fascinated to see Rozanov’s jaw work for a moment before he deliberately takes a drink of his beer, leans back in his seat. “Do not let me stop you,” he says. His voice is deliberately smooth, but there’s an undercurrent to it – something like a challenge.

“Cap’s given permission,” Dykstra says teasingly.

Hollander watches Roz sidelong as he deliberately draws the moment out. “I just don’t think he was that interested in talking about hockey,” he eventually concludes dismissively.

"That's your top priority?" Dillon asks, unable to keep the hilarity out of his voice. "Hockey talk?"

"On brand," Chouinard says.

Convenient, Bood thinks very privately, and makes a point of not looking over at Rozanov.

"We'll make a note for screening candidates," Dykstra promises evilly.

Hollander looks pained. "Please don't," he says.

"Oh, no, we definitely will," Dillon confirms, and Hollander sighs, taking refuge behind a sip of his ginger ale.

"Ah, leave him alone," Boyle says.

"Yes - let poor Hollander talk about hockey with us, since the man at the bar was not able to satisfy," Rozanov says mildly.

Dillon chokes on his beer. "Did you mean -" he begins to say, then cuts himself off in confusion.

"Did I mean what?" Rozanov asks innocently, but with a smirk back on his face.

"Fuck off, Rozanov, you know what you said," Hollander retorts, turning red again, then turns to the table.  "He always means it," he tells them sufferingly. "If you ever find yourself thinking, is that weird phrasing a dirty joke or is it just that Rozanov isn't a native speaker, don't fall for it."

"English is difficult language," Rozanov says, his accent slightly heavier than usual.

"You are so full of shit," Hollander tells him, and deliberately turns away from him as Rozanov laughs. "Right. We're talking about the game. Chouinard, you and Dykstra were doing great work clearing the front of the net..."

Bood leans back, takes a drink of his own beer, and prepares to pick up the thread of the conversation.

Later, when Chouinard finishes his beer and says he needs to get back home to Selena and the kids, Hollander glances over at Rozanov. Bood's not surprised when Roz immediately nods and drains the last mouthful of beer in his bottle. 

"Time for us to head out as well," Rozanov says easily. "Hollander needs his beauty sleep."

Hollander rolls his eyes, but smiles at Rozanov nonetheless as he grabs his jacket off the back of his chair. "See you all at practice," he says politely.

Bood waves a genial goodbye and watches as the two of them head for the door together - the way Rozanov angles in to say something to Hollander, Hollander's laugh and elbow jab in response.

"They're a riot," Dykstra says, leaning back in his own chair and shaking his head.

"They're definitely quite a pair," Bood agrees, and then deliberately turns away from the door and back to his teammates.

Chapter End Notes

Russian translations
Moy pomidor - my tomato

Next chapter will be a long one!

Chapter 9: Homecoming Game

Chapter Notes

To make up for the cliffhanger yesterday... today you get an extra long chapter, rather than me breaking into more cliffhangers!
I hope you enjoy it, and I hope I make the hockey readable / a useful vehicle for the story 😅 (this is probably the most hockey I have ever written in my life and it was NOT easy)

Early October 2018

Wiebe wins a mental bet with himself when Rozanov knocks on the open door of the GM's office right on time. Normally if Hollander's not with him it's good odds that Rozanov will be five minutes late to anything, but the tone of his email had been uncharacteristically serious. 

"Come in, Roz," he says. "Marks will be back any minute."

Rozanov nods, and sits. Wiebe studies him for a moment; definitely serious. None of his usual playful sprawl or fidgeting, not taking advantage of the moment to quiz Wiebe on rosters or trade requests, not inspecting the desk toys or making jokes about the books or photos on the shelf.

It is indeed only a minute before Marks comes back in, tailed by his assistant with a tray containing mugs and a carafe of coffee. Apparently when the star player you miraculously sign as Captain asks for a mysterious meeting, the GM takes it seriously enough to lay on extra caffeine.

"Rozanov, hello," Marks says, taking a seat at his desk. "Thanks, Anna, we'll serve ourselves," he adds, and after setting up the tray on his desk she smiles at them all - especially Rozanov, who still manages an echo of his usual winning smile despite his tension - and slips out again. "Coffee, Brandon? Roz?"

Wiebe lets Marks pour him a cup; Rozanov shakes his head but with controlled impatience accepts Marks’s offer of a water bottle from the tiny drinks fridge.

"So what is it you wanted to speak to the two of us about?" Marks asks smoothly - hiding the tension Wiebe knows he must be feeling rather better than Rozanov is. "Nothing wrong, I hope?"

Rozanov puts out a hand, wobbles it uncertainly. "Nothing wrong in our room," he clarifies. "The team is good. I want to talk about the Montreal game."

Wiebe straightens a little in his seat. The first Montreal game of the season is three weeks away. He'd known there would need to be some kind of discussion - but he'd been more focused on getting through the season opener and into the rhythm of the regular season games first. It seems that Rozanov sees it as a higher priority than he does.

Marks looks surprised, then intent. "Should Hollander be here for this?" he asks cautiously.

Rozanov shrugs. "If you want him to be really fucking uncomfortable and watch him talk around it for a half hour, sure," he says bluntly. "Or we save time and I just talk to you now, you can talk to Hollander later if you need to."

Marks and Wiebe look at each other. "Not just a tactics talk, if you wanted ops involved," Wiebe comments.

"No. Hollander will be able to talk to you about that, no problem," Rozanov says, brushing that aside. He hesitates for just a moment, as if framing his thoughts. "Okay. You have probably guessed some of this, but the Montreal Metros room was very fucked up last year. I talked recently with a contact in the Metros - he says there is still a lot of bad feeling towards Hollander. And to me for taking his side. I think the game will be… rough."

Marks looks almost taut with attention. Wiebe feels the same – this is Rozanov intense and serious like he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him. “Alright. Walk us through what you’re worried about,” Marks says evenly.

“They will be saying a lot of homophobic shit,” Rozanov says bluntly. “Hollander can play through that if he needs to. He has before. I am more worried about aggressive play. They will go for Hollander hard whenever they think they can get away with it.”

Marks takes it in, and then meets Rozanov’s eyes squarely. “I have to ask. Last year Hollander lost control and broke his teammate’s jaw during a game. Any chance of something like that happening again?”

“No.” Rozanov’s answer is instant and firm. “That was not about one slur or one game. Comeau had been fucking with him for months. I am not worried about Hollander losing his temper. I am worried about him being targeted.”

“And what about you?” Wiebe puts in shrewdly. “Do we need to worry about you losing your temper?”

Rozanov shoulders shift slightly, and there’s a moment where Rozanov’s eyes go distant, his jaw goes tight, before he loosens it with a bitter grimace. “I know where the line is,” he says flatly.

Wiebe rubs his mouth. He believes that Rozanov does; and he also believes that he’d cross that line in a heartbeat if he was concerned for Hollander’s safety.

Marks seems to be thinking on the same lines. “You’re worried about targeting. Are we talking cheap shot territory?” he asks.

Rozanov doesn’t answer immediately, and Wiebe feels grim. “Last season, when it got bad, Hollander's friends started walking him to his car after practise,” Rozanov says eventually.

“You're serious?” Marks asks. It’s not quite a question. “Was there ever an actual incident?”

“No violence, no outright threats,” Rozanov says. “DOPS investigated, could not prove anything specific. But… enough worry that two players spent four weeks making sure Hollander was never alone. Right to the end of the season.”

Something solid settles in Wiebe’s gut as he takes that in. Marks looks just as strained as he feels.

“Do you think they’re still carrying that kind of hostility?” Marks asks sharply.

Rozanov rocks a hand uncertainly again. “Like I said, one of Hollander's friends called me. He was... concerned. Said they were talking about our season opener in the room, and talking about the grievance.”

“Hollander’s friend called you? Not him?” Wiebe clarifies, that point snagging at him.

Rozanov shrugs. “He knew I would do something.”

And Hollander wouldn’t, Wiebe mentally finishes, feeling edgy with the mingling of tension and relief.

“And what is it you actually want to be done?” Marks asks intently.

Some of the coiled energy Rozanov’s carrying eases a notch. “Security in and out,” he says. “Fans might be bad, too. Coming back to Ottawa after, not staying in Montreal. Talking to the refs.”

Marks nods seriously. “I’ll talk to our security. It’s not a back to back game?” He glances at the game sheet on his wall before Wiebe can answer. “In-and-out should be fine. And I’ll make sure the refs know to keep a lid on it.” Rozanov nods, his tension uncoiling another degree.

“And the fans?” Rozanov presses. “If they start saying shit, what is our plan?”

Marks grimaces. “It’s not our arena,” he hedges a little. “It’s on Montreal to enforce standards.”

Rozanov folds his arms. “So if twenty thousand people start chanting slurs, the plan is he ignores it and keeps playing?” he asks flatly.

Marks absorbs that, winces, and nods only a little reluctantly. “I’ll flag it with the league ahead of time,” he says. “If there are slur chants directed at him, we ask the officials to stop play.”

Marks looks over at Wiebe to confirm, and Wiebe nods immediately. He won’t have a repeat of the Philadelphia game at a game he’s coaching. “He’s ours, and he’ll have our support.”

Rozanov looks satisfied at that, and uncrosses his arms. “On the ice…” He hesitates again, as if thinking it through. “Warn the team it might get heavy, have them keep their cool. Think about match ups.” He grimaces. “Pull Hollander if it gets bad. Though he will be fucking furious with me.”

“Player safety comes first,” Wiebe says immediately. “And if I pull him, that will be on me, not you.” Rozanov nods, accepting that position, and Wiebe continues. “Matchups we can work on. You have names you can give me?”

“Yes,” Rozanov confirms. “Hollander should be part of that talk, too. He knows their play.”

Wiebe nods. “You aren’t going to ask for an enforcer with him?” he asks wryly. Ottawa's rebuild plan hasn't featured enforcers.

“If Comeau needs his face broken again I can do it myself,” Rozanov says flatly.

 “I’m not interested in losing my captain to a suspension,” Marks says firmly.

Roz gives another little shrug. “I know where the line is,” he repeats.

Wiebe takes that in a second time, and nods slowly. Marks is thinking of the org, but Wiebe is thinking of the team – and he thinks the team’s line might be a little closer to Roz’s than Marks might prefer. “And what about Hollander?” he asks. “How does he want this handled?”

“Not with me fighting, if that is your question,” Rozanov says evenly. Not that that will necessarily stop him, either, Wiebe thinks to himself, but he nods acknowledgement of the point. “Hollander wants to act like this is an ordinary game. He will be tactical, he will plan, but on the day – he will want no special attention. No special favours. He just wants to play.”

“Then we will do what we can to manage the rest and help him just play,” Marks says crisply.

After Rozanov leaves the office, a loaded silence falls. Wiebe waits for Marks to break it.

“He always did have a rep for being good in the room,” Marks says in the end, half rueful and half admiring, then shakes himself loose. “Jesus, though. Did you have a sense of how bad Montreal was?”

“Not in so many words,” Wiebe says. “But what Roz said – that Hollander will play it like a normal game – that tracks. He doesn’t give himself an inch.”

“Is that a problem?” Marks asks bluntly.

“I think if it was, Roz would be the first to know. And I think he’d say,” Wiebe says. “If he says Hollander can hold it together, I believe him.”

“And what about Rozanov? Is he going to be a problem?” Marks asked.

Wiebe considers it. “I think for this game, Bood would be the best choice for the C if Roz gets ejected,” he says.

“Jesus, Brandon!” Marks exhales. “I thought you’d tell me that he knows where the line is.”

“He knows,” Wiebe says. “I don’t think he’s going out there planning on getting suspended. But I think if Hollander gets cheap-shotted it’s going to happen.”

Marks sighs. “I’ll talk to PR, have them do some contingency planning,” he says fatalistically.

“Tell them, be ready with ‘righteous rage’,” Wiebe warns him. “Roz is more controlled than he seems. If he loses it, it’s earned, and the org better be ready to back him.”

“He’s ours,” Marks says. “I’ll tell them.”

Late October 2018

Montreal Metros @MTLMetros
The Montreal Metros are committed to providing a respectful environment for all players and fans. We remind fans that abusive or discriminatory language will not be tolerated in the Bell Centre.

@PuckTalk
100% about Hollander whether they say his name or not

@NHLTea
League definitely made Montreal say this

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Taking a business trip. See you tonight, Montreal! #GoCens
[Photo of the team bus, with players grinning at the camera]

@CentaurBaby
“Business trip” = we are not here for your drama

@BoodAppreciation
Bood sighting!

Montreal Metros @MTLMetros
Big division matchup tonight - we need you loud!
#GoMetros

@MTLForever
Oh it’ll be loud alright

@MetrosDefense
Loud, not stupid. Let’s go.

@NHLTea
“Respectful environment” tweet an hour before “we need you loud” is wild

@MetroTrue
Maybe if certain people could handle locker room talk we wouldn’t need reminder tweets

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
You can feel the tension and the puck hasn’t even dropped yet

@CensLoyalist
😬 😬 Protect Hollander at all costs

Harris is worried for Shane.

If he didn’t know the context, he’s not sure he’d notice anything was wrong. Even knowing the context, it would be easy to look at Shane and think he was handling this weirdly well. But… he can tell that Ilya is worried, too.

This is Harris’s second road trip with the team this season – not that he thinks an out and back to Montreal is much of a trip. So it’s not like he has a huge sample size, but on the last trip Ilya started out in the seat next to Shane, sure – but then he got restless and started roaming. Played a game of cards, talked to a nervous rookie, told a couple of outrageous road trip stories, before settling back down again and annoying Shane about the movie he was watching on his tablet until Shane rolled his eyes and pulled out a headphone splitter. Shane had been more social on that trip, too – having a huddle with Bood, chatting a bit before his headphones went on.

This trip was different from the start. Shane was even more quiet than usual, and Ilya hadn’t twitched from the seat next to him. When Harris walked up the aisle earlier, they hadn’t been watching a movie this time – they’d both been bent studiously over a tablet showing game tape. Not even Montreal game tape – that looked like Pittsburgh, and the Cens weren’t due to play them for another week.

And, possibly most telling, when Harris called for the team to look up and smile at the camera for social media, Shane had instead pulled his hood up and scrunched down in his seat so his face wouldn’t be seen.

Not that Harris blames him in the slightest – in fact, if Shane hadn’t done it voluntarily he might even have suggested it. He’s spent an unusually large amount of his working hours lately hiding replies and muting users, and most of it’s been about Shane.  Oh, there’s still the usual creepy shit that any of the players might get – Ilya gets a lot of intensely sexual comments that border on the stalkerish – and the outright slurs get banned or blocked quickly enough to not be an issue, but there’s lots of coded nastiness showing up on the Centaurs feed.

Harris carefully checks the photos and picks one in which no part of Shane is visible before he posts it.

He sits down again next to Robyn, the comms director, and starts scrolling through the replies to his photo as they come in. They’ve already done what they can do – agreed to keep the focus off Hollander as much as possible, pre-written tweets and statements for every outcome they can think of ranging from player injuries (he’d winced when putting those together) to player suspensions.

He should feel ready for anything, but there’s a tension filling the whole bus that’s hard to shake off. The rookies are alternating between being overly loud and being guiltily silent. Veterans are talking more quietly, without the usual road trip games – although at least part of that might be because Ilya isn’t there starting them. Bood – thank goodness for him – has shifted seats three times already, sharing snacks and jokes and having easy conversations and acting as if the thrumming anxiety of the team doesn’t affect him in the least.

When the bus pulls up by the player entrance, it’s hours before puck drop but there are still fans waiting. As the engine turns off, even through the bus walls they can hear the noise. Harris sees Shane look out the window towards them and recoil, a controlled flinch; sees Ilya put a hand on his back until Shane nods and deliberately turns away from the window, his face very still as he picks up his water and takes a slow swallow.

Harris stands and leans over the aisle to looks out of the window on Shane’s side, and winces as he sees the signs.

SNITCHES GET ????

WELCOME BACK 24!

A mutilated Hollander Metros jersey.

NOT BUILT FOR THE PLAYOFFS

DON’T CRY TONIGHT

A Pride flag.

Robyn looks, too, then nods and strides quickly up to the front of the bus to confer with security. “Alright,” she calls, drawing attention. “Equipment handlers out first, and then we’ll head straight in, no stopping. It’ll be noisy – keep your eyes on the doors and don’t talk to the fans.”

The veterans nod matter-of-factly – faking it if they don’t feel it – but Harris can see the rookies looking wide-eyed. LaPointe in particular worships Shane and looks like he’s readying himself to tackle someone. Harris grips LaPointe’s shoulder gently. “Straight in, Louis,” Harris says to him quietly. “You’re a big guy – walk with me behind Hollander and we’ll block their cameras, okay?”

LaPointe nods, looking relieved to have a job.

Shane’s movements are meticulous but his jaw is hard as he gathers up his tablet and water bottle and heads for the door of the bus. Without direction, Bood falls in right before him, and at Harris’s nod LaPointe falls in behind, Roz flanking Shane and staying between him and the fans.

The fans redouble their efforts when they see Shane, and the echoes in the concrete loading bay aren’t quite enough to obscure the words. Harris can see cameras, too, pointed at the bus doors, and he keeps his face impassive with an effort.

“SOFT!”

“WE STILL LOVE YOU, HOLLZY!”

“SNITCH!”

“YOU SHOULD HAVE KEPT YOUR MOUTH SHUT!”   

“WE GOT YOUR BACK!”

Shane keeps his eyes on Bood’s back and keeps his stride even, as if he’s in a pacing drill and not listening to people scream at him. Walking behind, Harris can see the muscles working in Ilya’s shoulders, can see his fingers flexing, but he doesn’t stop or turn aside until they’re through the doors and the quiet closes around them.

“Holy shit,” mutters Dillon, the words loud in the sudden quiet.

“Let’s keep moving,” Wiebe says, taking charge. “Straight to the locker room. No side trips or exploring today.”

Harris follows the quiet, tense team into the bowels of the Bell Centre.

@MontrealHockeyBeat
Centaurs arrive in Montreal.
[Video description: Hollander walking through the Montreal player entrance, flanked on all sides by teammates. His face is neutral. He at no point looks towards the camera. Yelling voices can be heard in the background; the voices are overlapping but some words can be heard including ‘snitch’, ‘traitor’, ‘love you’]

@RaiderFaithful
You can say whatever you want about Ottawa but that room looks tight.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Hollander keeping it professional. Love to see it.

@saypuckit
Ottawa forming a Secret Service detail 💀

@MTLForever
More like the whole team babysitting him lol.

@RozanovApologist
Rozanov looks like he’s two seconds from committing a felony.

@Ice1999
Not even a glance over at the fans. Thinks he’s above it.

@MetroTrue
He wanted attention, now he’s got it.

@Hockey1234
Let’s show him some REAL attention from the crowd tonight

By the time the team is settled in the locker room, their arrival has already made it online and Harris and Robyn tacitly agree to set up camp in a corner of the guest coach’s office. They’re crowding Wiebe, no doubt, but neither of them want to go mingle with the Metros staff or face the gauntlet of the press before they have to. A bunker mentality, Harris thinks tightly, but it’s hard not to feel his shoulders going up as he remembers the yells of the fans, and sees it all replicated on his screen. It’s still three hours to puck drop, and the Bell Centre is managing to be loud even through Twitter.

Harris adds accounts to his block and mute lists at a steady clip, but he can’t do anything to curate who Montreal or the beat reporters are talking to, and mostly he just feels like he’s doomscrolling rather than working as he pans through various online platforms.

“How’s the weather?” Robyn asks him.

“Thundery showers,” Harris asesses, and gratefully accepts the distraction as Wiebe comes back in with Richardson, one of the assistant coaches, each pulling up their own folding chairs.  He knows he shouldn’t interrupt, but he can’t help himself. “How’s Shane holding up?” he asks.

“Holding steady, I think. Pretty locked down.” Wiebe shrugs a bit.

“And Roz?” Robyn asks. Harris suspects that unlike his, it’s a professional inquiry. As well as the prepared statements for tonight, Robyn once joked that when they signed Ilya an old colleague of hers from the Raiders sent her a condolence card and a packet of draft statements ranging from ‘Rozanov sex scandal’ through to ‘Rozanov steals rare animal from a zoo’.

“Handling himself. Making sure the team gives Hollander space.”

“I wish we could keep the team off their phones, though,” Richardson grimaces.

“They’re not posting, are they?” Harris says, almost shoving to his feet in alarm.

“You told them to leave it to you. They’ll listen,” Wiebe says confidently, and Harris subsides again.

“Just reading and stewing,” Richardson adds more sourly. “Normally Roz would get them into a different mode, but…”

“Ask him,” Wiebe suggests. “Hollander wants space anyway, and it might help Roz, too, to have something else to think about.”

Harris turns his attention back to his screen and resumes scrolling as the pair start talking through game readiness suggestions. He absently registers Richardson heading for the door, starts to wave when his attention is snagged on a post. “Fuck. Wait,” he blurts, stopping his scroll. He can feel his body clenching up, a jittery twist in his stomach as he reads the post again. He stares at the attached photo like it might bite him through the screen.

When Harris looks up, Richardson has paused by the door, and Robyn is poised and waiting. “Tornado warning,” Harris says grimly.

@canthide
@ShaneHollander24 – Blast from the past?
[Photo of an equipment stall in a locker room, partly emptied. Blue and white accents match the Metros colours. A nameplate above reads ‘Shane Hollander’. A piece of white tape is stuck to the back of the stall. The word ‘FAGGOT’ is written across it in black marker.]

@ChaosGoalie
What the fuck???

@HollanderDefenseSquad
is this real?

@CensLoyalist
And people were calling him soft???

@NHLRumourLog
If this is real Montreal has a serious problem.

@KaytlaTweets
Hockey culture everyone 🙄🤮

@saypuckit
If you’re booing him tonight after seeing this you need to take a look at yourself.

@HollanderHive
Imagine being called a snitch when this is what you were dealing with.

@HockeyFan24
Anyone still want to say “keep it in the room”?

@OttawaFan
League should have come down way harder on Montreal.

@PuckTalk
Alright… but there’s no date, no proof, convenient timing… 👀

Harris keeps moving on autopilot as Wiebe and Robyn quickly start talking. Screenshot, save. Check the profile – obvious burner, no other posts. Screenshot that too. Back to scrolling, watching the responses mounting up.

“Should we tell him?” Richardson is asking.

“It will be in the room in ten minutes whether you tell him or not,” Harris says bluntly. “Don’t let Shane find out in front of his team. Bring him in here first.” The next thought isn’t about comms, but Harris remembers Ilya putting his hand on Shane’s back in the bus and says firmly, “Ilya, too.”

Harris is relieved when Robyn immediately confirms his suggestions. “Yes. We’ll need a statement, and I’m not cutting Hollander out of that.”

Wiebe nods, and turns to Richardson. “Bring them. Quietly.”

Harris takes a breath, and pulls up the post on his phone. Robyn quietly shuffles their coffee mugs to a side table, and Harris carefully turns his laptop screen away from the extra chair Wiebe is pulling over. Then, too edgy to keep still, he taps his finger rapidly on the table and watches the responses mounting up. And up.

When Richardson shows Shane and Ilya in, they take one look at the set up and both visibly brace for impact. Shane stalls for a moment on the threshold – just a split second – before he continues over and takes one of the seats clearly set out for him. He’s brought his water bottle with him; he twists it in his hands for a moment, then deliberately lifts it and drinks. When he lowers it he looks carefully composed once again.

Ilya settles into the seat next to him, all bunched energy held under tight control.

“Is there a problem?” Shane asks, voice very level.

Robyn, thank god, knows the benefit of ripping a band-aid off quickly. “Shane, we wanted you to see something before it gets to you another way.” She nods to Harris.

“This was posted online a few minutes ago,” Harris says, and extends out his phone, open to the photo.

Shane raises a hand automatically towards the phone, but then looks and goes very, very still.  His hand freezes in mid-air. After a long moment, he slowly draws it back to his lap.

“…Okay,” he says. His breathing is very slow.

Ilya leans over to look at the phone, too, and his jaw tightens, as if to stop himself speaking. He sits back in his chair again, eyes on Shane.

“It’s circulating on social media,” Robyn says evenly. “It tagged your account, so Harris caught it quickly.”

“It’s from a burner account,” Harris takes up in turn. “We don’t know where the image came from originally.”

“It’s from… an incident in early April,” Shane says, voice utterly flat. “I don’t know where the photo is from, though.” A controlled breath. “It doesn’t look like the photos I have.”

A tense little pause as Harris and Robyn process that. “You took a photo of it at the time?” Robyn asks, professionally calm.

“Yes,” Shane confirms. “I shared it with the Metros HR department. And later, with the NHLPA.” He glances at the phone in Harris’s hand again. “May I?”

The distant politeness of it appals Harris – as if he’s asking for a mild favour, not asking to see a photo of someone harassing him. He forces himself to swallow it down – much as Shane is no doubt doing – and turns his screen back on. This time Shane leans in more, studies it. “It’s definitely not the one I have.” He turns away, fixes his eyes to the wall between Harris and Robyn. “The equipment wasn’t pulled out like that. When I… came to the stall the equipment was in place, the tape not visible until I was mostly kitted up.”

“Blyat,” Ilya says, like the word is jerked out between his teeth. Harris looks at the spike of rage in his face and realises that the photo they’re looking at was probably taken by the person who set up that scene for Shane. His fingers are tingling, and he carefully sets his phone to the side.

“Alright. Thank you for giving us that background,” Robyn says steadily.

“Is it spreading?” Ilya asks.

Unfortunately, Harris sees no benefit in lying. “It’s picking up speed,” he says, as kindly as he can. The muscles in Shane’s jaw jump. He takes another controlled breath before he nods. “I’ve already reported the original account – we’ll get the post taken down. But…”

“Once it’s out, it’s out,” Shane says, a little bitterly.

“Yes,” Harris says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Shane closes his eyes for a moment, then resolutely opens them and turns to Robyn. “You need something for the media,” he says, tone very blank.

“Fuck that!” Ilya snarls. “Shane –”

Wiebe starts to lean forward, as if wondering whether to pull his player under control, but before he can Shane extends out a flat hand. “Not yet. Please,” he says, without looking at llya, and Ilya’s mouth thins as he visibly pulls himself back under a rein.

“You will not be doing media today,” Robyn tells Shane with absolute finality, once it’s clear that the dangerous moment has passed.

Some of the simmering fury in Ilya banks a little further. After a moment, Shane nods, and some of the horrible rigid blankness seems to ease off in his face.

“With your permission, I’d like the team to release a brief statement,” Robyn continues

Shane hesitates for a long moment. “The… incident was included in the grievance I settled,” he says. He half turns his water bottle in his hands again. “There’s a mutual non-disparagement clause.”

Robyn takes that in. “Alright,” she says, with a look on her face like she’s mentally re-writing drafts. “That’s helpful to know.” She drums her fingers on the edge of the table. “We can keep the statement extremely narrow – confirm it’s historical, confirm it’s already been addressed through the proper channels, and no further comment. We don’t name Montreal or include specifics.” She looks at Shane with compassion in her face. “We can keep it professional. Not emotional, not dramatic.”

Shane nods, only a little stiffly.

“Alright,” she says again. “I’ll start work now, and we can have it ready before the doors open. I’ll bring it to you before we release it.”

“One more thing, before that,” Wiebe says firmly. “Hollander. You don’t need to play tonight if this changes things.”

Shane jerks his attention to Wiebe as if he’s been stabbed with a pin. “I want to play,” he says instantly. Wiebe gives him a long, steady look, and Shane deliberately slows his breathing again. “I want to play,” he says again, more evenly.

“If you didn’t – if this was affecting your focus – that would be understandable,” Wiebe says steadily.

“I’m better playing,“ Shane says. He hesitates, then gives a very tight twist of a smile. “I focused through worse last season.”

Ilya winces at that, and rubs a hand over his mouth. Wiebe looks at him for a beat, and Ilya lowers his hand. “I think Hollander could still focus on hockey even if you set him on fire,” he confirms, a little flatly. 

“Alright,” Wiebe says. “You can let us know if that changes.”

“Yes,” Shane says. “Thank you.”

Robyn nods, as if satisfied that there’s one less item to cover in her statements. She looks around at the room, brow already knitting with thought, and then closes her laptop and stands. “You’ll want the room,” she says forthrightly. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks, Robyn,” Wiebe says, and she gives them all a last nod before she steps out.

“Should I…?” Harris asks, looking at his laptop, and his two phones, wondering whether he needs to pack up as well.

“I want to brief the room,” Wiebe says to him. “You said there’s no keeping it from the team…”

Harris glances at his laptop. “I’d bet they already know,” he says apologetically.

“Then I don’t want them all over Hollander with questions when he walks back in,” Wiebe says firmly. “Harris – you may as well join me for that, stress the social media rules again.”

Harris glances at Shane and Ilya, both tight with tension and strain, and then looks back to Wiebe. “Makes sense,” he agrees, and grabs his work phone.

“Take a few,” Wiebe says to both of the players. “I’ll be back when I’m done talking with the room.”

As he follows Wiebe out, Harris makes a point of pulling the door closed without looking back.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
This is bigger than hockey.

@SticktotheSix
Anyone can write that on tape and take a picture, this proves nothing

@Puck18
Agreed. This feels staged.

@bringback1987
If this happened why didn’t he show it before? You guys will believe anything.

@NHLTea
So should he keep it in the room or should he leak it to the press?? Pick one!

@bringback1987
Take a midol and calm down

@RealHockeyOnly
Lot of guys get called worse and don’t run to the league.

@ChaosGoalie
You think writing slurs on a teammate’s stall is normal?

@RealHockeyOnly
There’s a reason the room didn’t want him.

@ChaosGoalie
The fact that you’re defending this is insane.

@MetroTrue
You don’t think his camp leaked this? Come on.

@MTLforever
Yeah, this was 100% saved for a PR moment.

@Ice1999
Perfect timing. Almost too perfect.

@HockeyWatch
Victim narrative going into the game, smart.

@Hockey1234
Yeah Ottawa media team working hard today lol

@MontrealStandard
I’m not saying it’s fake but the timing is suspicious.

@NHLTea
Are you saying he’s lying about being a victim or are you saying he’s leaking it for a game advantage? You can’t have it both ways!

Harris follows Wiebe back into a tense room, and watches him scan it like there’s a story it can tell him. Richardson looking over with relief; Bood standing beside Richardson, steady and contained; almost every player with a phone out (Harris feels a sting of alarm), but most of those phones with the screens off or face down (Harris wants to kiss whoever made that call).

Every player on the edge of confusion, anxiety, or fury.

All eyes instantly on Wiebe without him having to work for it.

“You’ve all clearly seen the photo,” Wiebe says. A couple of the younger players shift nervously. “Here’s what you need to know about it. It’s real. It’s not from our room.” A couple of players relax at that. “It’s already been dealt with. The org will handle media and questions.”

“Hollander?” Bood asks for the team.

“Is fine. He’ll play tonight.” There’s more relaxation at that. “He’ll be back in here in a bit. Now, you all know how much he loves being the centre of attention –“ There’s a few chuckles at that, and more visible relaxation. Wiebe grins wryly back. “Yeah. He knows it’s out there, but give him space, treat him like normal, and focus on the hockey.” Nods in response. “We already planned for a hard-hitting game,” Wiebe continues, more serious again. “And I doubt this will soften it any.”

“If they fucking try to come for Hollzy –“ Dykstra says ominously.

“Hollander is tough,” Wiebe cuts in. “We’ve all seen him roll out of hits and get straight back on the puck. You can leave it to him, to the refs, and to me. Got it?” Dykstra nods reluctantly, and Wiebe extends his hard look to cover all of the players. “The Metros are going to want retaliation penalties. They’ll want scrums. They want us off our game. We don’t give them that.” Wiebe pauses, waiting for nods. “We skate away, we let the refs handle it, and we make them pay on the scoreboard.” A more enthusiastic nod – especially from the veteran Centaurs who appreciate goals all the more for having experienced such a drought of them in previous seasons. “Let’s not be dragged down to their level. We’re not here for a fight, we’re here for a game.”

More nods at that, and Wiebe steps back and lets Harris step in.

He takes a breath. “Alright. I know you all want to stick up for Shane. But you need to know that trying to defend him online is going to backfire – not just on you, not just on the team, but on Shane too.” He pans his gaze around the room. They’re used to him being light, funny – the content creator, the joker. But he needs them to take him seriously now. “Anything you post can become a headline – yes, even if you delete it. Yes, even a joke. Even if you say the kindest, chilliest, least controversial thing ever – if fans jump all over it, that’s still going to end up as more pressure and attention on Shane, and this story getting more oxygen.”

The team are looking at him, paying attention, and Harris continues. “So. Don’t post about this. Not even vaguely. Leave it to me. I’m good at my job.” Weak smiles at that, and Harris smiles back winningly. “If you always post your tape, or your lucky socks, or a picture of your stall – post as normal. But exactly as normal. No dedicating your tape job to Shane.” More smiles at that.

Harris gets serious again in the next breath. “This next one’s important. Don’t vent about it in group chats, don’t text about it – not today. One over the shoulder snap of a phone screen and what you’ve said is the next top story.” Some nods in response – and a couple of guilty looks. Harris makes a note of those to check into later.

“This ties in – assume everything you do is public today. Even if you think it’s private. Especially if you think it’s private. Don’t vent on the bench or in the tunnel; don’t let reporters bait you into speaking off the record. Send them to PR – Robyn will sort them out.” A few chuckles greet that – deservedly so. Harris likes his boss, but she definitely has an edge.

“Last one – today is not the day for scrolling social media during intermission. Seriously.” There’s not going to be anything good on there today, and he doubts Wiebe wants someone in the box because they get so angry with a troll that they take it out on a Metro. “Social media is my job – your job is to play hockey. So do what you need to do, and then put your phones away until we’re all on the bus home. Okay?”

There’s a rumble of agreement, and Harris steps back to let the room try to return to some kind of normal.

@PuckTalk
You’re telling me a random burner just happened to have this photo on THIS day? Either Hollander leaked it or someone in Montreal did. No other options.

@enforcethis
Rule #1: what happens in the room stays in the room.

@SportsEthics
“Keep it in the room” is how abuse gets protected.

@MTLForever
Watch - the broadcasters will push the “brave Hollander” story all night. 🙄

@MediaWatchdog
Sports media will 100% protect their favourite narratives again.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Or maybe media just report what actually happened?

@HollanderDefender
@ShaneHollander24 why didn’t you show this last year?

@HockeyFan24
@ShaneHollander24 You don’t owe anyone an explanation. Play your game.

@MetrosDefense
@MTLMetros you going to name who did this or what?

Wiebe stays to check in with the team, but with his briefing done Harris needs to get back to work. He’s already scrolling on his phone as he exits the locker room, and it’s only when his outstretched hand is already pressed to the door that he checks himself. Are Ilya and Shane still talking? If Shane’s upset… Shane is such a private person that Harris hates to intrude where he’s not been invited.

He hesitates for only a moment, debating whether to knock or whether to just wait until they came out, when there’s a thud against the wall that rattles the door in its frame, the latch slips, and the door comes ajar.

Before he can retreat or call out, he sees Ilya stride away from the wall he’d just kicked, drop down heavily beside Shane’s chair like a puppet with cut strings, and rest his forehead against Shane’s knee. Hears the murmur of him saying something; sees Shane’s fingers card gently through Ilya’s hair. “No instigator penalties,” Shane says, quiet but clear. “I want you with me.”

He shouldn’t be seeing this.

Deliberately refusing the temptation to name it, and as silently as he can, Harris hooks his fingers around the door handle and guides the door back into the frame. Then he leans against the corridor wall and focuses on his phone; he’ll make do without his laptop for now.

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Statement from the Centaurs:

We are aware of an image circulating on social media today relating to an incident that occurred prior to Shane Hollander joining our organization. We understand that this situation has already been addressed through the appropriate channels.

We condemn harassment and discriminatory behaviour of any kind. The Ottawa Centaurs are  committed to providing a respectful and professional environment for all players and staff. Shane is a valued and respected member of our team. He has our full support.

Due to legal and privacy considerations, we will not comment further. We ask that the focus remain on tonight’s game.

@CensLoyalist
“Shane is a valued and respected member of our team. He has our full support.”
That’s how you back your players. Respect to Ottawa.

@HockeyFan24
If the team is putting out a statement like this you KNOW this was serious.

@PuckTalk
Statement ready within an hour? They knew this was coming.

@NHLRumourLog
“Addressed through appropriate channels” + “legal considerations” = grievance + settlement + lawyers.

@MetroTrue
If it was handled already why is it suddenly on the internet?

@MLTforever
Yeah it’s all ‘addressed’ and ‘settled’ until he’s facing a real team, then suddenly leaked? I don’t buy that ‘coincidence’

@Hockey1234
Last season: he goes soft on the Raiders. This season: he plays for sympathy before a tough game. Conclusion: Hollander’s too soft for real hockey.

@bringback1987
Not defending slurs but you don’t file grievances over locker room stuff. That’s why guys don’t trust management.

@SportsEthics
The culture that allowed this is the problem, not the player who reported it.

@saypuckit
If your response to that photo is “but the timing” you are telling on yourself.

@NHLNews
Ottawa releases statement supporting Shane Hollander after image circulates online showing alleged harassment incident from his time in Montreal.

Bood looks up when Hollander and Roz come back into the room, some of the tension he’s been carefully concealing easing off to see them both looking tight but in control. He looks over at Hollander and nods, and then wishes he hadn’t when Hollander nods back, then casts a glance over towards his stall and visibly hesitates rather than immediately following the siren song of his noise-cancelling headphones.

“You good, Hollzy?” Dykstra asks.

“I’m fine,” Hollander says.

“Glad you’re back with us – they kept you for a minute, huh?” says Boyle.

The music isn’t quite as loud as it sometimes is, but it’s loud enough; Hollander already looks a little tighter than he did when he came in. “PR shit,” says Roz easily. “Why? Did you miss us so badly?” As he steps into the conversation, he gives Hollander a pointed look; Hollander gives Boyle a nod and takes the exit, slipping away, putting his headphones on, and closing his eyes. Roz tracks him all the way there – a little too obviously dropping the energy of the conversation.

“He okay? Really?” Boyle says more quietly.

Roz grimaces. “Montreal being shit is not news to him,” he says, also quietly. “He is okay.” He then deliberately lifts his volume. “Will be better when we fucking beat them, yes?”

Boyle grins back at him. “You got it, Roz,” he says, and accepts a clap on the shoulder.

Roz sees Bood looking, and makes his way over. “Room okay?” he asks seriously.

“A little shaken,” Bood admits.

“Then we will settle them,” Roz says firmly. “Let’s go.” And with one more glance back at Hollander – still leaned back against his stall, breathing slow – Rozanov heads into the knots of players. Despite knowing how deliberate the act is, Bood finds his own spirits lifting as he follows him in.

By warmups, Roz has done a good job of teasing and chirping the team into a more steady state of mind, and when Hollander takes off his headphones his composure is once again more than a millimetre deep.

The bubble of almost-normality pops as soon as they get onto the ice and the noise and light slaps them like a wall. As they step out, nearer than the sound of the announcer Bood hears a fist hit the glass by the tunnel; someone yells Hollander’s name, then calls him a traitor and a snitch. Hollander doesn’t react, but Bood sees Roz’s hard glare towards the fan.

“Come on,” Roz calls to the team. “Focus on the ice.”

Bood does his best, but when the stadium erupts with boos when Hollander takes a pass, he grips his own stick too hard and misses the next pass back. By contrast, Rozanov looks pissed off but his movements are staying loose, and Hollander is acting like the glass is a perfectly soundproof barrier.

The rookies, Bood’s relieved to see, are trying to take their tone from them and not from him. With a moment of unaccustomed chagrin he realises that in this situation he is absolutely not a veteran.

He’s almost the same age as Rozanov and Hollander, but where they were drafted to original six teams, spending eight years in hyped up match-ups once a month, Bood was drafted to Ottawa and that’s where he stayed. He likes the city; he liked the team, even when it seemed like they would bounce along the bottom of the standings in an endless rebuild for the full length of his career. The Cens have been chirped at and jeered at – and he’s had his own experiences of racist players or racist fans – but it’s never been a whole team or a whole crowd.

Never, in the full time he’s been with the team have they been significant enough to be hated.

Bood tries to emulate Hollander’s focus, and succeeds at least a little. After a little while there’s a certain predictability to it - snitch – crybaby - traitor – we know what you did – soft - cry to the league – interspersed with bangs like the percussion in some avant garde jazz performance. He falls into the rhythm of the passing drill, and it’s only when he and Hollander take one set of passes closer to the glass that he hears the word faggot bitten out with the others. He looks instinctively to Hollander, and misses the pass again. Hollander’s face is terribly neutral, and without comment he starts to skate over to collect the puck.

“I’ve got it,” Bood says firmly. “Set up further in, let’s do some longer passes.” Hollander gives him a look, then a nod. Bood collects the puck without looking behind the glass, shoots it back towards Hollander, and the drill moves on.

After the passing drill, Hollander sets off on his usual slow, steady laps before coming to stretch. Learning the ice, he’d said once to the rookies. Learning the lights and the echoes.

Of all arenas in the league, he probably already has the Bell Centre memorised, Bood thinks sourly, but he can see their teammates tracking Hollander and settling a little to see him in routine.

He hopes it’s settling Hollander, too.

Roz’s own routine is to check on every member of the team – eye contact, a nod, a touch. Bood is half-aware of Roz’s rounds when his attention is pulled over by two Metros skaters, doing their own casual laps, carefully timed to intersect with Hollander’s. Bood stiffens, starts to move – and Roz catches his elbow gently.

“Wait,” Roz says, and then there’s a moment where each puts out a hand in turn and taps Hollander’s glove as they pass. Hollander doesn’t turn, doesn’t slow, but something about his stride smooths and lengthens as he finishes his lap.

When Hollander comes back to stretch with them – team clustered as far from the glass and the line as can be managed – his calm looks almost real.

Bood lets out a breath, and hopes it will last.

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Warmups underway in Montreal.
[photo of team huddle]

@BoiziausBabe
Boos raining down on Hollander in warmups 😬
[video]

@HollanderHive
Boos for a guy who had slurs written on his stall. Stay classy Montreal.

@MetroTrue
Bell Centre doing its job. Don’t want to get booed? Don’t rat on your teammates.

@MTLJoe
Guy behind the glass just yelled something WAY over the line at Hollander. Security talking to him now.

@MetrosDefense
Some people here are embarrassing us tonight.

@Hockey1234
Security acting on one edgy heckle? Tells you everything you need to know – league primed everyone to protect their little princess. Bet the refs will be doing the same.

Montreal Metros @MTLMetros
Statement from the Montreal Metros [link]

The Montreal Metros are aware of an image circulating on social media. The organization conducted an independent review earlier this year relating to internal policies and player programs, and implemented a number of updates and improvements at that time.

The Montreal Metros are committed to maintaining a professional environment for all players and staff.

Due to legal and privacy considerations, we will not comment further.

@OttawaFan
Corporate non apology. 🙄

@HollanderHive
Your own former captain and you can’t even use his name when you’re talking about him being openly harassed??

@MontrealStandard
It’s already been addressed – both teams said so. Time to focus on hockey.

@NHLTea
This statement dropping 5 minutes before the puck does feels like a Choice.

Wiebe does one quick scan of the bench, tucking his concern behind his teeth like a sour candy that he’s not allowed to spit out.

Even with a few wins under their belt this season, the Centaurs still haven’t learned to expect them. Losses aren’t the slap they might be for more established team. The attitude on the bench has reflected that – hopeful, engaged, but ready to carry the game lightly.

That’s changed today.

Wiebe wishes the change was just because they were invested in winning. They are – hungrier for it than they have been in other games, wanting to throw it in the Metros faces how much they lost by screwing with Hollander. Wanting to prove that the team Hollander’s building is better than the one he left. But the quiet tension that’s smothering talk on the bench is more about the electric atmosphere in the bowl and on the ice than it is about two points.

Hollander, at least, isn’t showing nerves – quiet, focused, eyes on the ice. Wiebe follows his example, and looks to where Roz is setting up against Jackson for the face-off.

Jackson’s from a West Coast team, and not someone any of the team had played much before the Metros did a desperate off-season trade for a new 1C and captain, but Roz and Hollander had joined Wiebe in running a meticulous, spite-fuelled video meeting.

Physical player. Not quite gelled with the Metros yet. Tends to run right more than left. Has a reputation for not rattling easily – not that that’s likely to stop Rozanov from trying to get under his skin, Wiebe notes, seeing Roz’s mouth already moving as they wait for puck drop.

Roz had confidently asserted he could outpace, outhit, and outscore Jackson, and as the puck drops he seems ready to prove it – handily winning the face off, unfazed by the storm of boos that hits from the stands.

The game is fast and physical right from the jump. As Roz’s line pushes possession, Wiebe looks to the Metros defenders. Comeau’s on – the true reason Roz is matched up against this line - and Wilson. Wiebe hadn’t been too worried about Wilson – “He’s a follower,” Hollander had coolly assessed his former teammate – but either Hollander had been wrong or Wilson’s found something to follow earlier than expected, because Wilson is just as quick as Comeau to land hits that are more ‘aggressive’ than ‘hard’.

Cycling through into Hollander’s line does nothing to ease off the tension. Trying to keep Hollander away from Comeau meant putting him on against Finley and Byrne on the offense, and Stedlund on defense – and all three seem more determined to finish checks on him than they are to reclaim the puck. The hits are within the lines – for now – but with the crowd noise and the way the Metros mouths keep moving after the whistle, he doesn’t like the way this is looking.

Young comes back to the bench looking startled and angry, and Hollander comes back with his expression controlled. “Problems?” Wiebe asks.

“They’ve got a lot to say,” Hollander says flatly. “Nothing I can’t handle.” That last is at least in part directed at Young; the rookie looks briefly mutinous, but then nods.

When Hollander scores midway through the first period, the crowd noise is an explosion of boos, and someone starts up a chant of ‘traitor’. Stedlund squares up to Hollander, shoving him, and when Hollander ignores him and skates away the crowd starts shouting ‘coward’ and ‘soft’ instead.

“Nice work, Hollander,” Wiebe tells him approvingly when he gets back to the bench. “Goal, skated away. No penalties, and we win on the scoreboard.” Hollander can tell that the praise is for the benefit of the bench rather than for him, Wiebe is sure, but he nods seriously as he sits again.

The game heats up. The refs call warnings on a few borderline hits, and on Hollander’s next shift a scrum forms near enough to the bench that Wiebe can hear scraps of chatter over the noise - gonna cry to the refs - cry to the league - take another photo - as Hollander has to shoulder his way out past Metros skaters blocking his path.

Roz hears it too; Wiebe sees the fury building in the set of his body, the grip on his stick. He deliberately catches Roz’s eye; Roz’s mouth tightens and his nostrils flare as he takes a breath, and then carefully loosens himself and drinks some water. Wiebe nods acknowledgement, and calls the next shift.

As the game gets more aggressive, Ottawa are rising to it, too – bigger hits, and angrier ones. Wiebe is frustrated but unsurprised when the refs start handing out matching minors when they break up the scrums. 

They’ve been pretty successful at keeping Hollander off of matchups with Comeau, but as the period winds on something snags in the Montreal lines and Comeau and Wilson are sent back on early.  Hollander clocks the change and still sets up for the face off without hesitation; Wiebe sees from the corner of his eye that Rozanov has leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the boards as if he’s ready to leap. “Short shift – next line, be ready,” Wiebe tells them, and after a moment Roz nods and half-turns to speak to Bood and Dillon.

Hollander wins the face off against Laine – when they’d set match ups, he’d been too polite to trash talk, but the tiny, incredulous smirk when told he’d be matched up mostly against Byrne and Laine had made rudeness redundant – and his line neatly evades the Metros forwards in the neutral zone and speeds towards the net. Comeau acts like this is a chance he’s been waiting for all game; Hollander passes the puck out, but Comeau finishes a check on him into the boards, and then stays, boxing Hollander in and tangling him up, until a ref orders him off. Wiebe sees Comeau’s mouth moving; when Hollander steps out, the Metros have regained possession and chipped the puck back to the neutral zone, and Wiebe calls for shift change.

When Hollander comes back to the bench, his mouth is a flat line and his eyes are very hard. “What did he say to you?” Wiebe hears Rozanov say in a tight undertone when Hollander settles next to him. He glances over in time to see Hollander just shake his head, eyes on the ice, and take a controlled swallow from his water bottle. “Blyat,” Rozanov bites out. “I will break his jaw a second time.”

“No instigator penalties,” Hollander says flatly.

Wiebe sets aside his own swell of anger, and tells himself that winning on the scoreboard will have to do. He turns back to the ice and the clock,  and runs the fourth line just long enough for the horn to blow before he needs to put either Rozanov or Hollander back on the ice again.

In the locker room, Wiebe keeps his team talk brief – just enough to reassure and check in, rather than keeping the players from their rest. Hollander’s attention is on him like he’ll be tested on it later and intends to pass, but Wiebe has the feeling Hollander could recite the words back verbatim and still not take them in. He’s just waiting for the talk to end, and the first polite moment where he can peel off back to his stall.

Wiebe looks after him, concerned, but Rozanov is already following him, settling into place beside him. Wiebe keeps them in his periphery as he checks in with other players, seeing the shape of their tension as they talk quietly  – one controlled, one coiled – loosening, perhaps, but never fully releasing. Finally Roz nods, reaches out, gently grips the back of Hollander’s neck, and gets a weak smile in response.

Roz stands and comes back to the rest of the group, and behind him Hollander slips his headphones on and closes his eyes.

“How is he doing?” Wiebe asks, deliberately keeping his voice matter-of-fact.

“Holding,” Roz says evenly. “Hard game for him. Not harder than he expected.”

“And you?”

“Also holding,” Roz says, with the flash of a humourless grin.

Wiebe gives him a jaded look, but realises he’s not going to get any better than that. “Let me know if that starts to change,” he says dryly, and lets Rozanov circulate.

When Wiebe comes back to talk more to the team, Hollander is still sitting with his eyes closed, sipping Gatorade, but when Rozanov taps him on the shoulder he immediately opens his eyes and takes off his headphones. This time he actually participates – focused but steady when asked for his observations – and Wiebe allows himself to feel relieved.

“They’re playing hard, but we’re playing smart,” Wiebe concludes. “Let’s keep it that way. No retaliation penalties. We win on the scoreboard.” He gives a pointed look around the room; Hollander, controlled expression but an immediate nod; the rookies, a little wide-eyed still but obedient; and finally landing on Roz, who gives him back an ironic lift of his eyebrows and a loaded pause before nodding as well.

They head back onto the ice, and Rozanov stands by the bench gate, somehow finding a word or a phrase for every player as they file through and find their spots. Wiebe leaves him to it and studies the opposing bench.

As soon as the period starts, Wiebe can guess that the Metros intermission speech was less ‘watch the penalties’ and more ‘don’t let a traitor and his joke team beat you in your own barn’. The Metros come back hard and fast, clearly gunning for an equalising goal early.

It’s on Hollander’s shift when it happens. Wiebe watches Hollander drive right up to the net again – and watches the blatant cross-check by Stedlund that takes him to the ice. Wiebe snaps his gaze to the ref – but in the next moment the puck is wobbling free, and the Metros pounce on it before Young can intercept, and fire a pass back up the ice. Hollander’s got Stedlund hovering over him as he tries to stand and can’t chase fast enough, and within moments the Metros have moved the puck all the way up to the net and scored before the Cens – or the refs - can quite catch up with the sudden change of play.

The crowd explodes with noise again, but before the cheers ease off – and before Wiebe can start calling out protests – the ref points at Stedlund and belatedly calls the penalty, and the crowd’s cheers transform back into jeers. A chant starts up, and spreads through the lower bowl like a virus.

“REF’S PET! REF’S PET! REF’S PET!”

Hollander swings back by the bench; his mouth is a flat line again – for the hit or the goal or the chant, Wiebe doesn’t know - but when Wiebe asks “You good for the power play?” he nods at once, and his controlled expression softens as Roz and Bood are already swinging over the boards to join him.

They don’t waste any time, Wiebe notes approvingly. Snatching the puck out of the face off immediately, then driving up the ice with fast, instinctive passes. Rozanov carries the puck in, and doesn’t quite manage to resist the impulse to engage Comeau, taking the hit like he plans to drive right through him - but what looks like anger reveals itself as strategy when Hollander switches in behind him and takes the drop pass like they’d planned it beforehand, moving in close and faking a pass to Bood before backhanding the puck across to Rozanov, who has spun free of Comeau just in time to tap the puck into the net before the goalie can recover.

The crowd explodes with boos, even more loud and vicious than before, but Hollander’s looking at Rozanov and not at them, matching Roz’s grin with a tiny, pleased smile.

The Centaurs bench are eager and focused after the power play goal, but the atmosphere on the ice and in the bowl is ugly and getting uglier. Hollander’s smile vanishes again by the next shift under the relentless pressure of finished checks and shoves and chirps, and he’s talking on the bench less and less – no longer giving even token responses to anything not about the game, and even his hockey comments increasingly short and sharp. By contrast, Rozanov’s still talking as normal, but whenever Wiebe looks at him on the bench while Hollander’s on shift, Roz is mapping the movement of players on the ice as if plotting murders.

Rozanov at least isn’t letting anger make him reckless – yet – but he is starting to linger in the scrums until the refs intervene, chirping back at the Metros. He’s not got anywhere with Comeau yet, but Wilson looks shamefaced, furious, and about to drop gloves by the time the refs make it through to the middle of one scrum and send Rozanov back to the bench.

“I want you scoring, not agitating,” Wiebe tells Roz in an undertone. “If there’s a power play, I want you on the ice, not nursing a broken nose.”

“I will dodge,” Rozanov replies flatly.

Another scrum in which Rozanov doesn’t succeed in provoking a fight; another shift where Hollander takes big checks and petty little shoves. Even when the period clock finally counts down to zero, the Metros stall on the ice, sliding into Hollander’s path and making him shoulder through once again on his way back to the bench. The last one is to block him is Dubois – a younger player, but otherwise not one who Wiebe had been particularly briefed on.

Unlike the others, Hollander looks directly at Dubois rather than looking coolly past him and skating around. “You said you cared about the team,” Wiebe hears Dubois tell him bitterly. “You think you made anything better?”

Hollander’s expression goes blank. He says nothing, and after a moment Dubois skates away and leaves Hollander to return to the bench.

Wiebe goes with the team into the locker room. The usual noise and chat is there, but tight and subdued; he wishes there was more he could do to defuse the building tension. Hollander barely waits through Wiebe’s brief team check in before he goes to his stall, and this time when Rozanov follows him and speaks to him Hollander shakes his head. Rozanov persists, but when Roz touches his shoulder Hollander tenses up under it rather than relaxing. Hollander shakes his head again, more firmly, and pointedly puts his headphones on.

Rozanov looks frustrated but drops his hand, then deliberately rolls his shoulders and stands. He sees Wiebe’s eyes on him and hesitates only a moment before heading towards him. “Needs a minute,” Rozanov says shortly.

“Is he good to play?” Wiebe asks.

Rozanov hesitates a moment. “He has another twenty minutes in him,” he says.

Wiebe nods, and doesn’t bother to ask the obvious follow up question; if Hollander has another twenty minutes in him, he’s betting that Rozanov’s control will last somewhere between nineteen and twenty-one.

Wiebe forcibly pushes back on his concern and goes to check in with the assistant coaches. Reminds himself that Rozanov and Hollander are both experienced players who managed rivalry games for years before they were on the same team and balancing each other. Tries not to think about Rozanov’s track record of major penalties, or some of the post-game media he’d seen from Hollander last season, where he was put out in front of the reporters looking like he was about to collapse.

He’s relieved to see that they’re sitting together when he comes back for the end of the intermission.

He keeps his game talk light – it’s not like there are new tactics to discuss. At this point it’s just about getting through twenty minutes without ceding penalties or ceding goals - and without fights or injuries or further headlines.

They head back onto the ice. A ref comes by the bench, tells them to keep it clean; Wiebe says “We intend to,” before Rozanov can say any of the things he’s no doubt desperate to, like ‘we will if they will’ or ‘if they target Hollander one more time they don’t deserve clean’.

Play resumes aggressive and sullenly grinding, with the Centaurs – even Rozanov – playing careful, trying to keep possession. Trying to keep a lid on the Metros. Montreal are frustrated at the pace – Wiebe can see that clearly enough at the chippy hits and the messy pushes to take advantage of the scraps of puck possession they have.

Another hard check on Hollander – he manages to pass out the puck but Byrne just intercepts before Young can get there, and the game turns. Hollander’s line chase the Metros up into their own zone and forces them wide. They take the bad angle shot before they can lose the puck –

And, to Wiebe’s consternation, the goal slides in just above Tremblay’s hand.

The arena explodes with celebratory noise as the score equalises; when the replay shows the goal again, the noise turns cruel and the bench goes quiet and tight. When he comes back to the bench for a line change Hollander manages to grip Young’s shoulder soothingly when Young tries to apologise for missing the pass, but otherwise looks like he’s replaying that shift over and over in his head and liking it less every time.

Wiebe puts other lines on to give them a chance to reset, but even when he puts Hollander back on it’s clear that he’s starting to struggle. His communication on the bench narrows and falls away, until he’s only responding to direct questions – and even on the ice his communication with his line is getting sparser even as the pressure to score increases. He starts shooting rather than passing, and - even more worrying to Wiebe - he’s stopped trying to evade checks and stopped reacting when he takes them.

Wiebe tries not to show his worry on his face, and tries to keep the lines moving and the shifts shorter than Rozanov’s temper.

Hollander gets caught on in a long grind of a double shift, pressing the net almost the whole time, making shot after shot - his wingers never quite managing to line up where he needs them for a clean pass, but never quite so misaligned to turn over the puck either. By the time Montreal finally manages to force Ottawa back into the neutral zone for long enough for Wiebe to throw on a shift change, the defenders are exhausted; Rozanov’s line storms in before the Metros can swap out, Rozanov engages with the defence with what looks like glee, passing clear to Dillon at the last second and letting him chip in a goal.

With the lead restored, Wiebe hopes that Hollander will relax enough to start talking to his wingers again, but if that was going to happen it’s offset by his wingers’ growing fatigue – they’re not responding to his terse cues quickly enough, so he’s defaulting back to solo play. At least he’s playing it smart, focusing on possession more than goals, but that’s only laying him open to more hits…

“Put me on with him,” Roz says tensely in an undertone, watching it happen yet again. Wiebe’s eyes narrow on the ice as he works the lines through his head, but Rozanov clearly takes this as him needing more persuasion. “He doesn’t need to talk to me to pass to me, and I can stop him getting run. Put me on.”

Wiebe nods. “Possession. No stupid risks, no fights,” he tells Rozanov, and at the next available moment he calls for a change and sends Rozanov and Bood on to join Hollander.

The moment Hollander looks up and sees Rozanov, his play smooths out and speeds up in an instant, as if he’s shed a weight he was carrying. He passes faster rather than trying to ride out hits – and forces Rozanov to move faster to keep up with him, rather than getting too invested in bashing through the Metros. The doubts Wiebe had harboured about whether Hollander – for all his fitness – could hold up double-shifting for the last eight minutes ease away. Clearly if it’s with Roz, he can.

The game slows down. The crowd is like a constantly rumbling storm, but on the bench the Centaurs back off from the earlier tightness and back into watchfulness as they hold possession more and more. As Weibe rotates them for desperately needed shifts off, Hollander’s settling carries over into his usual wingers, too, at least a little - but mostly it’s clear to Wiebe that he’s holding his energy until Rozanov comes back on.

In the last minutes of the period, Wiebe watches with tense satisfaction as Rozanov and Hollander keep the pressure on and stop the Montreal goalie from swapping out, while the crowd screams even louder. The Metros eventually manage to swap on their sixth man with play in the neutral zone; Rozanov grapples the puck back, and Hollander takes it one step past the centre line before immediately shooting for the empty net, to panicked yells from the crowd. Earlier in the game he might have had the precision to get it all the way in – in the last ninety seconds, when it bounces off the post Wiebe’s fiercely glad to see the puck so far from their own net, and to see both Rozanov and Hollander chasing it back in. 

The last minute of the period is a desperate, messy scramble that Wiebe can’t find a moment to pull either Hollander or Rozanov out of. The crowd batters them with constant, desperate, angry noise; it’s good that Hollander and Rozanov don’t need to speak, and that Bood is staying calm enough to read the game even under pressure, because Wiebe’s not convinced they’d be able to hear each other.

When the game horn finally goes, Hollander is still pinned against the boards by Comeau and Wilson. When Rozanov immediately drops his stick and goes to pull Comeau off him, Wiebe braces for a fight, but the refs are clearly thinking the same and the linesmen are in in an instant. As soon as the pressure’s off him, Hollander visibly sags; Rozanov drops his grip on Comeau’s jersey and goes to him instead.

Bood joins them, and with Bood and Rozanov on either side Hollander finally gets to come back to where Wiebe is holding the gate for him, leaving the ice and the boos and cheers from the crowd.  

@MetroTrue
@MTLMetros finish every check on 24. Every single one.

@HockeyNightLive
First goal in the Montreal-Ottawa game scored by Hollander!

@NHLTea
“TRAITOR” chant loud enough to hear on TV 😬

@MTLforever
Bell Centre doing its job tonight lol. Don’t betray your team and come back in expecting to be friends.

 
@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Montreal clearly targeting Hollander. Refs letting a lot go.

@RealHockeyOnly
Are you kidding?? The refs are following him around warning people off when they barely touch him. Too soft to fight his own battles.

@HockeyNightLive
Laine scores for Montreal, bringing the score to 1-1!

@MetroTrue
Nice dive Hollander.

@NHLTea
That’s a cross-check all day what are you talking about.

@MTLforever
REF’S PET
REF’S PET
REF’S PET

@CensLoyalist
You cross-check a guy in front of the net and then cry about the call???

@saypuckit
Rozanov ties it on the PP after a beautiful setup from Hollander. That line is ridiculous.

@Puck18
Hollander useless unless Rozanov carries him.

@NHLTea
Hollander primary assist, entry carry, and drew the penalty but sure he’s useless. 🙄

@OttawaFan
Metros making Hollander run a gauntlet after every whistle…

@CensLoyalist
Yeah they’re obsessed with him. This is getting weird.

@MetroTrue
Maybe don’t snitch to the league and you don’t get treated like that.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
This feels less like a hockey game and more like a vendetta.

@HockeyNightLive
Byrne scores for Montreal, 2-2!

@MTLforever
SHOOT EVERYTHING on this goalie holy shit

@OttawaFan
Ugh that was embarrassing

@HockeyNightLive
Dillon puts Ottawa back up 3–2!

@Hockery1234
Hollander’s line turned it over -> Metros goal
Rozanov’s line takes it back -> Ottawa goal
@OttawaCentaurs you take in a traitor and don’t even get your money’s worth??

@NHLTea
You guys realize that entire goal is because they couldn’t get Hollander off the puck for a full shift right?

@HockeyNightLive
MONTREAL’S NET IS EMPTY

@HollanderHive
Hollander rings the empty net from center 😲

@ChaosGoalie
Have 24 and 81 been on the ice for like 3 straight minutes??

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
This last minute is chaos.

@NHLTea
Can’t believe they didn’t manage to sink another goal but HOLY SHIT that was one hell of a shift

@HockeyNightLive
Game ends with a board battle and a scrum after the horn. Ottawa wins 3–2.

@MetroTrue
REF’S PET wins again.

@CensLoyalist
Hollander nearly falling over when Roz pulled the defenders of him 😬 Hope he’s okay

@Hockey1234
Soft

@NHLTea
You booed him for 60 minutes and finished every check and then some and he was STILL on the ice the entire last minute protecting the lead.

@MetrosDefense
You can hate him all you want but that’s a hell of a hockey game from Hollander.

@TheStatsGuy
Hollander tonight:
Goal
Primary assist
Drew penalty
25+ minutes (low estimate)
Long shift leading to GWG
On ice last minute 6v5

@ChaosGoalie
But yeah, “soft”, “carried by Roz”. 🙄

@NHLTea
Montreal fans chanting “traitor” at a guy they forced out and then targeting him all night is certainly a look.

OttawaCentaurs @OttawaCentaurs
FINAL: Ottawa 3, Montreal 2.
Big effort. Big win. Back at it soon. #GoCens

The team know Hollander well enough by now to not try to bury him in hugs, but everyone wants to clap him on the shoulder or to tell him he’d played a hell of a game. Hollander starts out with a smile that’s pleased but wavering, but by the time they make it from bench to tunnel to locker room – Bood flanking him on one side, Roz on the other – the waver is stronger than the smile. After Hollander is safely slumped by his stall Bood heads to his own, leaving Rozanov to play guard dog.

Still, Bood – like most of the rest of the team – can’t resist taking peeks over at Hollander to see how he’s doing. The slow pace at which he’s peeling off his equipment doesn’t bode particularly well, and Bood isn’t surprised when one of the trainers bustles over and starts doing checks on Hollander.

Hollzy seems to be accepting it without a murmur – none of his usual politely controlled irritation at the hassle – and Bood can’t help another concerned look over. It’s only when the trainer crouches to help Hollander with his skates that he protests.

“Keep doing checks,” Roz interrupts the standoff. “I got it.” He abandons his own de-kitting and crouches before him. “Left first, I know,” he says before Hollzy can remind him, starting work on the lace.

“…Thanks,” Hollander tells him. He looks down for a moment, and has to struggle to pay attention to the trainer again.

When PR comes to ask Rozanov to do media, the trainers are just finishing their checks and Rozanov is just finishing with Hollander’s right skate. Rozanov ignores Robyn’s performative patience for long enough to finish taking Hollander’s skate off, and to grip his shoulder. “Go shower, so the trainers can stick ice packs to you,” Rozanov orders Hollander fondly, and then follows her back out.  

When Hollander slows down again, Bood steps into Roz’s shoes for a moment and prods him to finish de-kitting and head into the showers before he can stiffen into position on the bench. When Hollander comes out again, Rozanov has returned and appraises him critically. “You will be colourful tomorrow,” he says, and leaves a protein shake and sports drink next to Hollander before heading in for his own shower. 

Fortunately for Hollander’s dignity, he’s well enough that he doesn’t need the team to dress him back in his suit like a giant doll, but no one’s keen to linger in the arena any longer than they have to. By the time he’s had ice stuck to him and painfully eased back into an undershirt and suit trousers, and is slowly doing up the buttons of his shirt, it’s clear Hollander will be the last player dressed, and Bood walks over to check in.

Rozanov mutters something in Russian – something uncomplimentary about the suits, Bood guesses, though that’s mostly based on his own irritation with them – and chucks Hollzy’s tie at Bood. “Finish your shake,” Roz tells Hollzy firmly, and goes back into a crouch to tie his dress shoes for him while Bood loops Hollander’s tie around his own neck to knot it and then passes it back.

Hollander’s colour is high. “Sorry,” he mutters to Bood as he slips the tie over his head. “Thanks.”

Honestly, Bood’s relieved that he’s got the energy to flush. “Winning games is all the thanks I need,” he says easily.

“Less talk, more protein,” Rozanov says. Hollander’s too tired to kick him, but it’s again a relief to Bood that he can clearly see Hollander contemplate it before he gives up on the idea and takes another swallow.

When Robyn comes back to steer them all out of the room Rozanov takes Hollander’s arm to help him up and Bood grabs Hollander’s bag before he can reach for it. Hollander hesitates, but exhaustion clearly rises before even the token protest can form. Rozanov collects Hollander’s jacket, and the pair flank him once again on the way out.

It’s a short walk, but the warren-like corridors seem to be the last straw for Hollander; by the time they get to the loading dock Bood’s amused and a little concerned to realise that Rozanov’s given up on subtlety and is just keeping a hand cupped lightly around Hollander’s elbow to steer him.

Hollander flinches as the doors open and the shouting starts. “Eyes front, don’t engage,” Robyn reminds them firmly from her position by the door; Bood nods, positioning himself between Hollander and the loudest noise as they walk the blessedly short final distance onto the bus.

Someone’s already gone through and pulled every curtain on the bus closed; even with the shouts from the fans still coming through the walls it feels like a haven to finally be out of sight. Hollander’s steps falter for a moment, and Rozanov gently presses a hand to his back to keep him moving. The back rows have been left entirely empty, and Bood follows Roz and Hollander there with Hollander’s bag before retreating a row forward and across the aisle to give them some space.

When he glances back, Hollander has ditched the tie and is resolutely unbuttoning the shirt again. Bood assumes this is about Hollander’s desire to not be wearing a dress shirt when he’s already exhausted rather than for medical access, but the trainers take advantage of it to fuss at him one last time before Hollander is finally allowed to slip into an oversized hoodie and slump into the window seat.

The bus is quiet, filled with low murmurs more than spikes of excited conversation. Even over the rumble of the engine, as they pull away it’s quiet enough that the noise of a ragged breath catches Bood’s attention. When he glances back instinctively, it’s in time to see Hollander slumping slowly forward over his knees, hands over his face.

Bood tenses up, wondering if they need to grab the nearest trainer, before Rozanov gently grips the back of Hollander’s neck, looking sad, angry, and utterly unsurprised.

Roz catches Bood’s eye long enough to shake his head, before bending very close to Hollander. “Breathe,” Bood just barely hears Rozanov’s murmur over the bus noise. “We are out. I have you. Everything is okay.”

There’s a long moment where Bood goes still, not knowing what to say that wouldn’t push in where he wasn’t wanted or make it worse. The sound of the shouts from outside the bus are only just fading with distance and engine noise, and under the anger and the admiration from today he remembers, sudden and sharp, the way Hollander flinched at Bood’s barbecue when asked if he had a boyfriend.

Bood takes a breath, deliberately turns back to the front of the bus, and fishes his headphones out before he can hear more.

Chapter 10: Closed Door

Chapter Notes

I am so happy and overwhelmed by all the positive comments about the hockey writing! That was a big swing for me so I'm glad it worked out!
That one was probably the longest of my hockey scenes, but there will be some other hockey-intensive future chapters too.

This chapter and the next are both short so you get this one as an extra!

This is the scene in the office after Harris and Wiebe left. It's a little out of the flow of the rest of the story but seeing as I already had to work out the entire scene's dialogue in order to give you the Harris snippet, I thought I might as well write it up for you.

I hope you enjoy!

Harris closes the door behind him, and Ilya turns his full attention to Shane.

Shane stays where he is; eyes on the wall, breathing steady, his fingers working tight and then loose on his water bottle. Ilya tries to keep a grip on himself, too, on the fury and concern making it hard to stay still. Manages to give it a long moment for Shane to decide what he wants to say or do.

But waiting’s never been his strong suit. “Shane?” he prompts quietly.

Shane makes an acknowledging noise, but doesn’t look over at him, and his hands clench closed on the bottle without unclenching again.

Ilya feels his chest tighten. He wants to touch him – aches to. But the door isn’t locked and Shane won’t even look over at him. “Moy lyubimyy,” he says softly, and is unsurprised to see Shane’s eyes start to fill.

“Don’t,” Shane says sharply, shoulders hunching a little now, too.

Ilya pushes down the sting of it. “Don’t?” he repeats gently.

Shane takes a moment to answer, breathing with that metronome steadiness that means he’s counting in his head. “I need to keep a lid on it,” he says tightly.

“No, you don’t.” Ilya keeps his voice quiet with an effort, but he can’t soften the utter refusal in his tone.

Shane’s breathing catches and speeds up. “Yes, I do!” he snaps back. “I need to play. I can’t play if I’m breaking down, so I need to keep a lid on it.”

“You can let yourself feel things and still play after,” Ilya says. He has to fight down his own helplessness so it doesn’t spill into frustration; sometimes provoking Shane into a fight can feel like the best way to move him through a bad moment, but he doesn’t think that will work today. Not when Shane’s breathing is starting to hitch and his knuckles are turning white on the bottle.

“I need to be focused,” Shane is saying tightly. “I need to not have this in my head. I need to be – fuck.” Ilya has just a moment to see Shane’s eyes starting to spill over before he drops the bottle, bends forward over his knees, slides his hands into his hair, and grips hard.

“Blyat,” Ilya bites out, and instantly drags his chair closer to Shane’s, so he can fit a hand over the back of Shane’s neck. “Okay,” he says evenly, squeezing hard. “Okay. Breathe slow.” Shane’s breath is still catching, but Ilya can see him trying to smooth it out; can see him gripping harder at his hair when he struggles. After a long, watchful moment, he sees the balance tilt and puts his free hand over Shane’s. “Enough,” he says firmly. “Let go now.”

Shane is still willing to listen to him, at least; he releases his grip, and Ilya replaces Shane’s hands with his own, stroking gently, close to the roots to soothe the ache there. Keeps his other hand in a measured, repeated grip on Shane’s neck, to give him something to focus on that won’t risk lasting damage.

Slowly, slowly, Shane’s breathing evens out and goes soft again. “Sorry,” he says to his knees.

“Sorry for what?” Ilya asks, keeping his voice level with an effort.

Shane doesn’t answer the challenge, not directly; after a long moment he sits up very slowly, and just as reluctantly, Ilya lets his hand drop. “This is the only way I know how to play,” Shane says.

It’s still not an apology; not the one Ilya actually wants, for the little sting of rejection; or even a retraction of the second sting, as if needing Ilya’s help is something he’s expected to apologise for. “Learn a better fucking way,” he says flatly.

“I can’t break down and put myself back together in two hours. I can’t,” Shane says, his voice starting to crack again. “Not here. Not with Montreal.”

Ilya blows out a breath, and grudgingly allows the sting to fade. “Okay,” he says.

“I won’t - I won’t push you away after,” Shane tells him. “Not again.”

“I know,” Ilya says.

It helps; it helps to know that tonight he’s going to be going home with Shane, that no matter how angry he is or how upset Shane is or messed up things get that he doesn’t have to leave and get on a plane to another fucking city on his own, with no way back to fix it.

It helps to know that Shane isn’t having to stay in fucking Montreal without him.

It doesn’t help enough.

“Are you okay?” Shane asks quietly.

Ilya can feel acid in his throat and a tension buzzing in his hands and in his jaw. “I want to fucking kill them,” he says, keeping himself clenched tight.

“I don’t know who it was that wrote the slur,” Shane says, steady and reasonable. “You know that.”

“I don’t care!” The words erupt from Ilya, his clenched control snatched away by Shane’s steadiness. “Fuck!” He can’t hold himself in place; he’s out of his seat and pacing the four inadequate steps back and forth across the office before he’s decided to move. “I would kill any of them in one fucking second for the shit they put you through.”

Ilya can’t keep the viciousness out of his voice any more than he can keep his shoulders and fists from bunching, any more than he can make himself stay still and calm. It feels like a failure, like he’s broken loose from his own reins, but Shane doesn’t move or flinch – just stays sitting, watching Ilya pace back and forth, his eyes and shoulders soft.

“I’m out, now,” Shane reminds him. “I’m okay, now.”

True. But not enough; not when they have to come back to this place where Shane was hurt; not when Shane is being hurt again, and Ilya can’t do anything at all to stop it. Ilya paces the lengthy of the tiny office again, not able to get the restlessness out.

“I’m out because you told me to get out when I couldn’t see it,” Shane says, quiet and intense. “I’m okay because you made us a home.”

It’s too much, suddenly, and Ilya slams his foot into the wall before he can stop himself. The discharge of rage leaves him with nothing left but the love and desperate fear clawing through him, and in the next moment he pivots and drops, weak with it, to rest his forehead on the side of Shane’s knee.

Shane doesn’t pull back from the violence or the noise or from the sudden need; his hand goes to Ilya’s head, and Ilya presses closer. “If one of them takes a run at you I will take them down,” Ilya says, tight and fierce and utterly unable to care about the consequences to him if he did.

Shane’s hand cards carefully through Ilya’s hair. “No instigator penalties,” he says, quiet and firm. “I want you with me on the ice.”

Ilya closes his eyes and tries to ground himself in Shane’s judgement rather than his own; offers up to his rage the image of Shane alone on the ice as the only consequence that would actually matter.

It feels like enough.

Chapter 11: News from Montreal

Chapter Notes

Post game soc med chapter!
I hope you enjoy.

Late October 2018

@HockeyMediaClips
Full video of Rozanov’s media scrum after the Montreal-Ottawa game – with Rozanov answering questions about the slur photo leak as well as about the game.

Transcript:

“When did you first learn about the photo that circulated today?”

Rozanov: “The team were alerted a couple of hours before puck drop.”

“Did Hollander know before the game as well?”

Rozanov: “He is part of the team. Yes, he knew.”

“What was the team’s reaction when you saw it?”

Rozanov: “That using slurs is a shitty thing to do.”

“Does seeing that image change how you view what Hollander went through last season?”

Rozanov: “My view is that Hollander faced a lot of challenges last season, and still played great hockey. That view has not changed.”

“Are you suggesting the Montreal locker room tolerated behaviour like that?”

Rozanov: “I was not in the Montreal locker room last year. Is not my place to say what was or was not tolerated.”

“Do you believe Shane leaked that photo himself?”

Rozanov: [flash of visible anger] “No. I do not believe that, because he would not do that.”

“Why are you so confident he wouldn’t?”

Rozanov: “Anyone who knows him would be this confident.”

"Are you saying the Montreal Metros don't know Hollander well?"

Rozanov: “Which of the Metros have said Hollander is the source of the leak? Did they say that on the record?”

“Do you understand why people find the timing suspicious?”

Rozanov: “I think there are lots of different reasons to find the timing suspicious.”

“So if it wasn’t Hollander, who do you think would post it the day Montreal plays Ottawa?”

Rozanov: “I hope the team and the league will be looking into that. I will leave it to them.”

“How do you think Shane handled tonight’s environment?”

Rozanov: “Goal, an assist, and long minutes – he handled it fine.”

“What did you see from him emotionally on the bench tonight?”

Rozanov: “Hollander was focused on the game. His focus is slightly terrifying.”

“He scored tonight and played a big role late in the game — what does that say about him?”

Rozanov: “Says he’s a great hockey player.”

“Did the team feel protective of him tonight?”

Rozanov: “Good teams look out for each other. We wanted to have Hollander’s back tonight, like we want to have each other’s backs every night.”

“How difficult was the environment in this building tonight?”

Rozanov: “It’s hockey. Fans can get loud. This was a little louder than some, but we handled it.”

“Did you hear the chants directed at Hollander?”

Rozanov: [flatly] “They were hard to miss.”

“Did you think the chants crossed a line?”

Rozanov: [deliberately releases tension in his jaw] “I think that Hollander won two cups for Montreal and gave them eight years, and fans calling him ‘traitor’ should rethink their choices.”

“Do you understand why Montreal fans feel strongly?”

Rozanov: “Strong feelings I understand. Actions are still actions.”

“Did the crowd reaction affect the way the team approached the game?”

Rozanov: “Our plan was always to play calm. I think we managed that fairly well.”

“Did you feel Montreal was targeting Hollander physically tonight?”

Rozanov: “It was a heavy game. Hollander was taking a lot of hits. Whether he was targeted… is for refs to decide, not me.”

“There were several scrums around Hollander. What was being said out there?”

Rozanov: [flatly] “Montreal had a lot to say. We answered with the scoreboard.”

“There were a lot of attempts to get under your skin tonight. How did the team stay disciplined?”

Rozanov: “Is a good room. Wanting to work together. Looking out for each other, knowing that no one is alone on the ice, helps a team stay calm.”

“You and Hollander played together late in the third period — how did that come about?”

Rozanov: “Seemed like it would be fun. And we wanted to hold possession.”

“Did you feel he needed your support out there?”

Rozanov: “Hockey is a team game. Hollander and I play well together.”

“The two of you barely seemed to need to talk. What works about the two of you playing together in a situation like that?”

Rozanov: “We were speaking plenty. We are both fluent in hockey.”

“Ottawa’s record against Montreal doesn’t contain many wins. What do you think the key factor is in the win today?”

Rozanov: “Ottawa is serious about the rebuild, and I think that is starting to show on the ice.” [smirk] “Also, Montreal have lost a lot of offensive depth this season.”

“Did losing Hollander change their offense?”

Rozanov: “Hollander is one of the best centres in the league. Of course it changed their offense. Would be more surprising if it didn’t.”

“Do you think Montreal made a mistake letting him go?”

Rozanov: “I think Ottawa made a great decision signing him.”

“Do you believe the Montreal organization failed Hollander last season?”

Rozanov: “Big question, and not mine to answer. I am not going to speak for him.”

“Have you personally talked to Hollander about what happened in that locker room?”

Rozanov: [flatly] “If I had, those conversations would be private ones.”

“What did tonight mean for Shane personally?”

Rozanov: “It is always a big deal to come back to play an old team. After Hollander’s last season, even bigger deal. I think it meant a lot to him to have the win, and to have the support of the Ottawa team tonight.”

@CensLoyalist
“Anyone who knows him would be this confident.” That’s a teammate right there.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Rozanov walking an incredibly careful and clever line here. Sometimes people forget – he’s not a goon, he’s an agitator. Like him or hate him, he knows where the lines are.

@MTLForever
Funny how all this drama follows Hollander everywhere.

@Hockey1234
Rozanov doing PR for his boyfriend now as well as being his bodyguard?

@NHLTea
“Montreal have lost a lot of offensive depth this season.” 🔥 🔥 🔥

@saypuckit
He’s not wrong, Montreal fans chanting traitor at a guy who won them two cups is wild actually.

@MontrealStandard
Guy acts like Hollander is the first player ever to get booed in Montreal 🙄

@ZoneOfTruth
“I think there are lots of different reasons to find the timing suspicious” Roz KNOWS something

@ChaosGoalie
How to say “the Metros leaked it” without getting fined 👀

@snitchwatch
protect your snitch king 👑

@MontrealHockeyBeat
Hollander leaves the Bell Centre after a physical night and a one-goal win.
[Image description: Photo of Shane Hollander walking between Zane Boodram and Ilya Rozanov. All three are wearing suits. Rozanov is carrying Hollander’s suit jacket and has a hand on his elbow. Boodram is carrying two bags. Hollander looks visibly tired, and has an ice pack under one arm, held against his ribs.]

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
That’s what heavy minutes in a rivalry game looks like.

@CentaurBaby
Took a beating and still got the win

 @Hockey1234
So soft he needs help carrying his bag.

@HollanderHive
You can tell everything about a player by how his teammates treat him. That room loves him.

@RozanderWatch
Yes. The room. Loves him.

@MetroTrue
Who does he want the refs to give a penalty to this time??

@CensLoyalist
They tried to break him and couldn’t.

@RealHockeyOnly
Hockey is a physical game. If you can’t handle it - retire.

Hayden Pike ✔ @HaydenPike35
Having seen @IlyaRozanov’s post-game media, I can't believe I'm typing this, but he’s right. I've known Shane for 8 years and there is no way he would have leaked this (or wanted it leaked).
Great game yesterday @shanehollander24, hopefully see you off the ice sometime soon.

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
Thanks, Hayden. That means a lot.

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
I have known him longer.

Hayden Pike ✔ @HaydenPike35 
You know not everything is a competition, right?

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
That attitude is why I used to call you 15th best Metro

Hayden Pike ✔ @HaydenPike35 
🙄

@ChaosGoalie
Wait, @IlyaRozanov, what do you call @HaydenPike35 now?

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
[Screencap showing text conversation:]

Least Awful Metro

Least awful Metro: Why are you always such an asshole??
Least awful Metro: I am literally taking your side and you are still roasting me on twitter

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
Sorry Hayd. I think he’s probably past hope at this point.

JJ Boiziau ✔ @J_J_Boiziau
People say all sorts of shit. @IlyaRozanov especially. But one person who doesn't say shit is @shanehollander24. No way he is the source of the leak. Je t'aime, mon frère.

Shane Hollander ✔ @shanehollander24
Merci, JJ. Ça me touche beaucoup. À la prochaine!

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
Спасибо, Boiziau. Good that Hollander still has people who stand by him

Hayden Pike ✔ @HaydenPike35 
Wait why do I catch strays but JJ doesn't?

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
Pike, you make this too easy

@Hockey1234
Cool so all his friends say he didn’t do it. Are we supposed to be convinced by that?? 🙄

@RozanovApologist
The funniest part of this whole thing is that Rozanov is defending Hollander like a lawyer while also cyberbullying Pike at the same time.

@NHLRumourLog
Between Rozanov’s interview last night and this today, the question is shifting very quickly from “Did Hollander leak it?” to “Who DID leak it?”

@NHLTea
Interesting that no one from Montreal management has commented about Hollander being accused of the leak, but current players have.

@MontrealStandard
I still don’t like how Hollander left but yeah… he probably didn’t leak it.

@ZoneofTruth
Translation: The room knows who leaked it and it wasn’t Hollander.

@snitchwatch
oh does the snitch king have two new court jesters??

Chapter End Notes

French Translation notes
Je t'aime, mon frère - I love you, brother
Merci. Ça me touche beaucoup. À la prochaine! - Thank you. That means a lot to me. See you soon!

Russian Translation notes
Спасибо - Spasibo - thank you

Once again it's all Google Translate all the way - please feel free to point out anything I could do better with French or Russian translations!
(eta - thank you, kind commenters, for correcting my French!)

Chapter 12: Accidental Cocktails

Chapter Notes

I'm sorry to all of those who wanted to see Shane and Ilya recovering from the game - we're skipping right past that and back to external POVs!

Early November 2018

Cassie doesn’t dislike Emily; she just doesn’t think she’s going to be with the group long term and isn’t particularly cut up about that fact.

In the two years that she’s been with Zane, she’s seen Dillon cycle through two previous girlfriends. There’s something quite honest about it, in a very ‘hockey bro’ way. He dates for long enough to get comfortable, then realises that the girlfriend is interpreting comfort as commitment, and ‘it’s-not-you-it’s-mes’ his way out at about the time they start getting wistful about roadtrips and leaving shampoo in his shower. Emily’s been around for five and a half months and is getting comfortable enough to start inviting extra guests to team parties, which means Cassie is mentally scheduling time for a tearful goodbye from the WAGs chat within the next few weeks.

At least my-cousin-David seems like a perfectly nice guest. And, Cassie thinks fondly, at least Ammie is so laid back about hosting that she’s not going to mind extra people. Ammie has a ‘more the merrier’ attitude to life in general, and her approach to planning Boyle’s birthday party was more or less to book the room, put money behind the bar, buy a big fancy cake, and call it a day.

Although this is Ammie’s party for Boyle, Cassie is still the head WAG both through natural inclination and through Ilya and Shane not presenting her with any competition. So she spends some time circulating, making sure that everyone’s playing nice and has a drink and monitoring the pace at which the rookies – and, sometimes, their dates – are hitting the open bar.

Weber has shown rather unfortunate taste in his date – beautiful, but Cassie suspects he picked her up at the arena and she’s showing signs of wanting to social climb. Either she hadn’t read Shane’s coming out article or she thinks she’s the exception, but Shane’s starting to look baffled and uncomfortable under the onslaught of her hockey related innuendos. Cassie peels her off and walks her relentlessly back to Weber’s side, smilingly complimenting Weber’s hockey skills to her the whole time.

As soon as she’s dropped off Weber’s date, she hurries back to Zane, unable to hold back her delighted grin. He’s in the middle of a conversation with Ilya, but Ilya nods to her and Zane tucks her under his arm. “Running the room again, sweetness?” he asks her.

“I just rescued Shane from a girl who told him she loves guys with good hands and asked if he was good with his stick,” she says immediately, before she can rupture something from suppressed laughter.

Zane blinks at her, taken aback for just a moment, before he plays it through. “…And?” he asks, in the tone of one bracing in anticipation of the punchline.

“He told her stickhandling is more about edgework than hands,” Cassie says with quiet glee.

Zane laughs. “Oh my god,” he says incredulously.

Without needing to look for him, Ilya turns his head straight towards the bar, where Shane hasn’t made it far before being pulled into an enthusiastic conversation with Boyle and Ammie. “Simple but not wrong,” he says with a shrug. “Probably he was building up to the longer explanation.”

Cassie laughs helplessly, but can’t help noticing that the slightly soft cast of Ilya’s face when he was looking across the room at Shane hardens when he looks over to Weber’s date for a moment.

“How do you manage to take him anywhere?” she asks incredulously.

“Hockey spaces are okay,” Ilya says. “When people flirt they just end up with free coaching. Sometimes they appreciate it.”

Cassie laughs again. “But he needs chaperoning in bars?” she asks with amusement. “When were you going to step in?”

“Dangerous, sending Roz in to deal with her,” Zane says. “Roz is probably just her type. He might end up needing rescue himself.”

“I would be able to discourage her,” Ilya says, but the faint grimace on his face suggests he might not have enjoyed it.

Cassie thinks of how comfortable and aware he is of his body; the way he always seems to read comfort and make or close space as needed for the message he’s trying to send, and nods thoughtfully. And notes, too, that there’s no pretence that Ilya might end up enjoying her attention too much to be rescued.

“Not into the arena girls?” Cassie asks, unable to keep herself from poking at him.

“Bad for the room,” Ilya says succinctly. He glances back over to Shane again – not as if looking for an excuse to leave, more like a sheepdog checking in on a charge. Or – perhaps a man who’d narrowly missed an amputation looking at his own restored limb with something like delighted wonder. Cassie glances, too – poor Shane can’t seem to make it more than three steps away from the bar before being re-captured, but at least this time it’s Dillon, Emily, and my-cousin-David, not someone’s bored girlfriend looking for trouble.

“You know that firsthand?” Zane asks teasingly.

Ilya turns his attention back to Zane with a little smirk. “Mm. What is the saying? Misspent youth?”

Cassie knows, because she’s asked, that Shane isn’t the only superstar hockey player on the Ottawa team who gets flirted with on the regular. Apparently Ilya has a rhythm with women – give back two-to-three light compliments or jokes, then smoothly retarget the flirter onto whoever was nearest, single, and likely to appreciate it. Stay for another minute to make sure conversation was flowing, then find a smooth excuse and extract himself. So however misspent it was, the youth that gave rise to a hundred TMZ articles seems to have been left comfortably in the past.

At that point the noise of a playful argument breaks out in a corner – a game of foosball apparently requiring expert adjudication – and when they see Ilya the players instantly appeal for him to join.

“Do they want your captainly authority or your chaos, do you think?” Zane asks.

“Both, hopefully,” Ilya says with a grin, and strides off to join them.

Zane sighs. “You better go supervise,” Cassie suggests sympathetically. “I’ll handle the WAGs, but foosball is not my jurisdiction unless the betting gets really wild.”

Zane nods, kisses her lightly, and goes to supervise Ilya’s supervision of the game. Cassie smiles after him for a moment before getting back to work.

Fortunately, everything’s running smoothly. The cake is still safely in the kitchenette behind the bar and no one is trying to sneak in to poke their fingers into the icing. Food has arrived and now there are frankly ludicrous stacks of pizza boxes and bowls of salads stacked on a long table. The rookies all seem to have found plates of pizza alongside their drinks, which she notes with a sense of relief. Boyle is doing shots with different team members, but it’s his birthday and it’s an optional skate tomorrow – and besides, he’s Ammie’s problem, not hers. Weber’s date is staying on his arm – though Cassie, not unmerciful, smiles over as she joins a table with Caitlyn, Selena, and Jennifer. If she needs a retreat, they’ll give her one. 

It’s Selena’s first evening party since she had Gabe, so she’s on a ticking clock before she needs to collect Nick and head back for Gabe’s evening feed. Caitlyn’s drinking water, not wine, and taking a slightly sharper interest than usual in Selena’s rueful stories about managing both toddler and three-month-old - not that Cassie will admit to noticing either of those things even under torture.

When Emily joins them Cassie smiles, but a small alarm bell chimes internally at her air of suppressed and slightly smug excitement. “I’ve done my good deed for the day,” Emily announces as she finds a seat next to them.

“Sounds dangerous,” Caitlyn says lightly, but her eyes narrow slightly. Cassie loves Caitlyn.

“What did you do?” Cassie asks, trying to keep the foreboding out of her voice.

“Well, you know how Shane always gets sort of left off to one side at these events?”

Jennifer nods prompt agreement. Cassie, Caitlyn, and Selena share three-way eye-contact. Cassie reads it as ‘girl, learn to understand introversion’ from Caitlyn and ‘can I have popcorn’ from Selena, and hopes her own is adequately communicating ‘oh god how much cleanup will I need to do’.

“Go on,” Cassie says, a little guardedly.

“My cousin David’s back in town, so I brought him along tonight. And just like I thought, now Shane has someone to talk to.” She smiles proudly at this, and then falters a little at the expressions that greet her – amusement from Selena, a kind of analytical fascination from Caitlyn, and whatever the hell is currently showing on Cassie’s face.

“Emily…” Cassie sighs, trying to find a way to frame this.

 “What?” Emily says, defensiveness creeping into her tone. “I just thought it would be nice for Shane to meet someone. He’s always so polite, and he never flirts with anyone. David’s lovely, and he likes sports, and he’s single, and Shane’s single…”

“So you set them up?” Selena asks, as Cassie bites her tongue on I am really not so sure Shane is single.

“You set Shane up on a blind date at a hockey party?” Caitlyn presses, in the tone of one studying an intriguing anthropological phenomenon.

“You don’t need to make it sound so weird,” Emily says, on the edge of a sulk.

“Does Shane know this is a set up?” Cassie asks, already scanning the room to try to locate Shane. She reflects on what she’s just said, and tries again. “Did a version of the words ‘I think you two would be a lovely couple, you should talk’ come out of your mouth?”

Emily stares at her. “No? That would be a really pushy thing to say.”

Cassie exchanges another look with Caitlyn, who covers her mouth with a hand to hide her smirk. “So, he doesn’t know,” Caitlyn concludes.

Cassie gives up on looking for Shane and looks to the foosball table instead, where Ilya's locked in a game while looking watchfully into a particular corner.

“What’s the big deal?” Emily protests. “They were getting along great.”

“Had Shane started drawing diagrams yet?” Selena asks wickedly.

“I’m going to go on a rescue mission,” Cassie decides, and stands.

“David’s lovely,” Emily repeats again, looking offended.

“I’m sure he is,” Cassie tells her kindly. “And that’s why he deserves neither a detailed lecture on hockey stats nor an intervention by an extremely territorial six-foot-three Russian hockey player.” She steps away from the table and skirts a knot of people, using Ilya’s distracted glares as her compass.

When she sees Shane, it’s not quite in ‘social disaster’ territory, but getting there. My-cousin-David tries an arm touch and Shane switches his beer to that hand and sips to evade him; David lets it go (which is presumably the reason the foosball tournament has not been interrupted already) but still leans in to keep the conversation going.

“Shane!” Cassie says warmly, cutting right into David’s current sally without regret. Shane looks up immediately, and with immediate relief hastily concealed behind a polite smile. “Ilya was looking for more people for foosball. Do you want to join the tournament? Or – sorry – am I interrupting?”

David looks like he’s not sure if she’s interrupting, but is leaning towards yes. The way Shane’s slight stiffness relaxes tells a different story. Not to mention the way he glances towards the foosball table with a little smile stealing onto his face.

“If Ilya’s looking for me, I should go,” Shane says. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Oh, okay,” David says, a little thrown. “It was really nice talking to you.”

Shane looks as if he’s hesitating on a polite formula – invite him to play? Invite him to watch? Walk away? – so Cassie steps in again. “I think Emily is still at the table over there,” she says helpfully to  David with a final warm smile. As she escorts Shane towards the tournament, Ilya looks up from the table once, shoulders relaxing as he seems them on their way, and he returns his attention to the game with renewed rigour.

“Interesting conversation?” Cassie asks on their way over.

“We were talking about yoga,” Shane says with a shrug. “He wasn’t very experienced, though – he kept asking questions about my routine, but he’d need to build a lot of mobility first.”

Cassie bites her lower lip. “Mmhmm,” she says, inscribing this conversation on her heart so she can tell Zane or the girls later.

Cassie lingers to watch the foosball. The WAGs table has split up anyway - Nick and Selena are circling through to say their goodbyes, Jennifer has gone to rejoin her boyfriend by the pizza table, and Emily and Dillon appear to be having a tense conversation off to one side of the foosball tournament. David is lingering off to one side of the tournament, too, but since Shane has joined a team with LaPointe and seems utterly focused on the game – eyes on the table, beer forgotten apart from quick mouthfuls between goals - Cassie decides that’s not something she needs to worry about any further.

When Dillon comes back between games with a fancy copper mug and hands it to Shane in place of his emptying beer glass, Shane accepts it automatically. “Peace offering,” he says. “Emily meant well.”

“Um, thanks?” Shane says. He takes a cautious sip, then relaxes and takes another longer one. “But I don’t actually know what you mean.”

Dillon laughs. “Don’t worry about it, man,” he says, and then Shane is being called back into the next bracket of the tournament.

Cassie doesn’t think much of it until Boyle comes through after the next game with a tray of shots. “Hollzy! Have another shot with me?” he invites cheerfully, and Ilya turns from where he’s been involved in setting up a secondary darts tournament for those who’ve already washed out of foosball.

“No, thank you. One’s enough for me,” Shane says, very politely.

Cassie sees the beat in which Ilya takes that in; sees his eyes flick to the metal cup in Shane’s hand; sees the expression of unholy amusement enter his face; and then sees him very deliberately set down his own half-finished beer before walking over. Shane greets him with a bright, soft smile that brightens further when Ilya brushes his hand lightly over Shane’s shoulder.

“Where did you get the drink, moy zontik?” Ilya asks.

Shane’s forehead creases. “I don’t know that one,” he says.

“No points for Hollander. The drink?”

Shane looks at it, takes another sip, shrugs. “Dillon gave it to me. It’s alright.”

 Dillon has rejoined the conversation at this point. “It’s basically a fancy ginger beer, so I knew he’d like it,” he says, looking pleased with himself. “I really am sorry about Emily and her cousin. They’ve decided to call it a night.”

“I still don’t know what you mean,” Shane says directly, small frown on his face again.

Cassie takes pity on him. “David was flirting with you,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Oh.” The frown hovers. “Huh.” He takes another meditative sip of what Cassie’s now gathering is at least his third drink of the evening, if Boyle already got to him earlier with the birthday shots. “I was going to recommend he find a beginners yoga class,” he says after a moment of serious consideration, as if this is still a perfectly normal and relevant thought.

Dykstra, sensing hilarity, has drifted over with Caitlyn next to him. “Hollander, how many times do you think someone’s hit on you without you noticing?” he asks, amused.

Shane looks like he’s thinking about it hard. "I really don't think it happens that often."

"It has happened at least three times already tonight," Ilya contradicts him.

"It has not!” Shane protests immediately. “You're making that up. Aren't you?"

Dillon smirks. “Well, Emily’s cousin is one, bro.”

“The puck bunny Cassie ran off earlier,” Zane adds.

“The bartender who brought our shots,” Ammie finishes, coming up to lean affectionately on Boyle. “He said how interesting it was to bartend for a hockey party, and you tried to explain the power play.”

“He was making conversation!” Shane protests.

“We’re both hockey players, Hollzy,” Boyle disagrees. “He wasn’t making conversation with me.”

“He seemed willing to hear you out,” Ammie says teasingly. “Hot, too. Sure he didn’t slip you his number on a napkin?”

"Ehh,” Shane says dismissively. “He wasn't that hot."

Cassie can’t help laughing along with the rest, though she glances over at the bar to make sure they’re out of earshot. “High standards,” she notes, briefly eying up the bartender, who is definitely cute - if not built enough for her taste, and quite possibly for Shane’s.

“He’s selective,” Ilya says with deep amusement. Shane just shrugs and doesn’t deny it.

“Alright. So what is your type, then?” Dillon asks, half genuine curiosity and half stirring the pot. “Able to talk hockey – hot – but what else?”

“Yeah, what’s the ideal prospect profile?” Dykstra laughs.

“Uh.” Shane chews his lip for a moment, colour high from the teasing. He glances at Ilya, who shrugs unhelpfully. “I guess… they’d need to be competitive,” he says slowly. “Someone who doesn’t get bored by me. And someone who can keep up with me.”

The players laugh, aside from Ilya who has a tiny smirk hovering over his mouth. Shane looks one beat behind the joke, but not displeased by the reaction.

Caitlyn’s eyes flick from Shane to Ilya and then she meets Cassie’s gaze with her expression brimming over with amusement. “Shane, how many drinks have you had?” Caitlyn asks directly as Shane finishes the last mouthful of his cocktail and sets it down. 

Shane looks at the empty cup for a very long beat. “Oh,” he says.

Dillon’s face goes on a short journey that finishes in a wince. “Sorry, bro.”

“It’s fine,” Shane says immediately, with a shrug.

“Hollander is just a lightweight,” Ilya says easily, brushing a hand over Shane’s shoulder again. Shane’s dismissal turns into a more genuine relaxation, and he shifts closer into Ilya’s personal space.

“Just maybe don’t bring any more peace offerings?” Cassie mutters to Dillon, and he winces again and nods.

“Have you eaten?” Caitlyn asks practically.

Shane makes a face. “I don’t like pizza,” he says.

This, apparently, is even more outrageous a statement than Shane’s bartender hotness evaluation. A couple more players who’d been watching the foosball game turn around at this.

“You don’t like pizza?” Dillon asks incredulously.

“It’s greasy, and I don’t always know what’s in it,” Shane says as if this is self-evident.

There are protests about this, but Ilya turns to Caitlyn rather than joining in. “He ate before we came out,” he quietly reassures her. “He is fine.”

Shane gets pulled back into the foosball game when the next tier of the tournament is announced, and Ilya vanishes briefly and comes back with an actual ginger ale (no added vodka) and a coke for himself. Cassie’s amused to see that Shane being three drinks in doesn’t seem to affect his competitiveness or, particularly, his gameplay. Instead, he just gets more locked-in - watching the movement of the ball like it’s the puck in a playoff game, and more vicious – letting out a triumphant noise when he and LaPointe score the winning goal against Dillon and Dykstra.

“How are you better at this when you’re drunk?” Dillon asks in exasperation.

Shane blinks at him. “I’m better at it than you all the time, not just when I’m drunk,” he tells him with an air of polite correction.

Dykstra, never one to let competitiveness get in the way of a good joke, just laughs. “I love three-drink Hollzy,” he says warmly.

Cassie’s briefly called away from the foosball tournament to help Ammie serve the cake, which leads to a general intermission. Shane politely declines a piece, but Cassie’s attention is caught when Ilya casually snags a spare fork for him and silently offers it and his own plate. Shane hesitates only a moment before he takes a bite of Ilya’s piece, contemplating it seriously, and ultimately shakes his head.

Ilya smiles at Shane, soft and fond, but Dykstra makes a baffled and slightly outraged noise. “You are so weird,” he says. For a moment Cassie tenses, and Shane seems startled and on-edge to realise he’s been observed - but then Dykstra’s continuing. “First you don’t like pizza, now you don’t like cake?”

“Sometimes cake is too sweet,” Shane says.

“So weird, Hollzy,” Dykstra repeats, and takes a bite of his own.

The foosball semi-final calls them all back, with the team of Shane and LaPointe facing off against Ilya and Young. Cassie suspects whoever designed the brackets is now ruing that Shane’s commitment to process wouldn’t let them rig it to have the grand rivalry game as the final instead, but the audience fills up behind her as she takes her place in the front row.

“I’m betting on Roz,” Dykstra says. “Fuelled by pizza and cake. Playoff nutrition right there.”

Shane makes a faintly disgusted noise, and Ilya laughs.

“I’m betting on Hollzy,” Dillon says firmly. “The alcohol brings out his killer instinct.”

“Fuck off, Dillon,” Shane says absently, gaze locked on the table.

“See?” Dillon points out. “A swear.” 

“Do we give Roz a shot to equalise it?” Boyd asks teasingly.

“No,” says Zane firmly from the head of the table. “Game on.”

The rookies are both pretty good, and both by this stage of the tournament well-accustomed to the teams they’re on. Cassie rapidly concludes that the real decision-point in the game will come down to Shane and Ilya, and from pretty much the start she’s confident Ilya has the edge. Shane’s focused on the game, but she suspects it's past his bedtime even without the alcohol still working through his system. Killer instinct and looser muscles might count for something, but so do fuzzy eyes and fraying concentration.

The team have aligned themselves into cheering sections like any good sporting crowd, and Ilya’s second goal is greeted with cheers from his side and groans from Shane’s.

Mixed in with the chirps and encouragement, Weber – date no longer on his arm – says “Come on, Hollander, people are gonna start talking if you keep letting him win like that.”

Zane was about to drop the ball back in, but at that Shane jerks upright and his hands fall away from the table as he turns to stare at Weber. “I don’t throw games,” Shane says, flat and tight. His mouth is a thin line, and Cassie’s unnerved by the way his shoulders have suddenly set, hard and a little hunched – as if he thinks he’s cornered and might have to fight his way out.

The noise around the table dips for a moment, no one quite sure how to follow that up. Then, “It was a joke, Hollander,” Ilya says, very calmly. Shane doesn’t look at him, and Ilya steps around the end of the table, touches his shoulder. “Shane?” Shane turns his back on Weber reluctantly, looks at him instead. “Just a joke.”

“Yeah, Hollander, sorry,” Weber says, sounding a little off-balance.

“We all know Hollzy would fist-fight God over a boardgame,” Dykstra says easily, and the group chuckles.

“See?” Ilya says. “They all know that I win because I am better.”

The tension drains from Shane, and Cassie sighs in silent but earnest relief. “Fuck you, Rozanov,” Shane says like it’s a phrase he says every day, and goes back to the handles. “Let’s go.”

In the end Shane and LaPointe lose by a respectable one point, and Ilya stays on with Young for the final against Greenaway and Harris – Greenaway having been something of a ringer in the whole tournament. Without comment, Caitlyn goes to the bar and brings a water back for Shane, and when Zane cedes his position as referee to Dykstra, he, Cassie, and Caitlyn wordlessly group around Shane while he watches Ilya play.

“I can’t imagine anyone believing you’d throw anything,” Zane says after a moment. “You practically keep score during warmups.”

“Depends on the warmup,” Shane says, a little abstractedly. Then, “Some people think Ilya is an exception.”

Cassie nods, slowly. She can almost see why, she supposes– Ilya is clearly an exception to most of Shane’s rules. But whoever thought that clearly missed that every exception was about Shane giving up more of his masks, not more of his values. “Those people are idiots,” Cassie says firmly. “There’s no way either of you would stop competing when the other is there.”

In the midst of the team, Ilya glances up for just a moment, sees Shane watching, and spins the handles with extra panache as he focuses back on the game.

Chapter End Notes

Russian translation
Moy zontik – my little umbrella
(I think! Again, google translate but I am not convinced I managed the diminuitive correctly. I welcome feedback / corrections!)

Chapter 13: News from Boston

Chapter Notes

The hoped for Boston game!
There will be another Boston chapter tomorrow as well.

Mid November 2018

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
[Photo of Ilya Rozanov in a Centaurs jersey]
He’s heading back to Boston – and bringing along new friends.
Raiders, we’re ready! See you soon. #GoCens

Boston Raiders @Boston_Raiders
Familiar face.
Different colors.
Same intensity.
Raiders vs Centaurs - see you on the ice.

@RaiderFaithful
Love the guy, but hope we crush them.

@thisrozfan
Still weird seeing him in another jersey…

@RaidersRiot
Hollander and Roz is unfair.

@OttawaFan
81 and 24 masterclass incoming 😂

@CentaurBaby
Boston better treat him right. 😠

Cliff Marlow ✔ @hockeyslucky7
@IlyaRozanov If we don’t break your ribs with a hug we’ll break ’em sending you through the boards

Ilya Rozanov (number 1 hockey player) ✔ @IlyaRozanov
😂 You can try

@HockeyMediaClips
Full video of Ilya Rozanov’s pre-game media before the Boston-Ottawa game.

Transcript:

“What was it like walking back into this building?”

Rozanov: “Mixture. Good to see it, but sort of happy-sad.”

“Did it feel strange putting on the visitor jersey here?”

Rozanov: “Very strange. Mostly I am used to wearing black and red now, but here I still expect to be in black and gold.”

“What did this organization mean to you?”

Rozanov: [shrug] “You come to a team when you are nineteen, you stay for eight years, that team becomes like a family. Not all families are good, but the Raiders were.”

“What did it mean to be captain of this team?”

Rozanov: “It meant a lot, to be trusted by the team, by the org. Loyalty is important to me – I was glad to have the team’s loyalty, glad to give mine back during my time here.”

“Do you still keep in touch with guys from the room here?”

Rozanov: “Yes. If I tried to stop talking to them I think they would come find me.”

“How difficult was the decision to leave after winning?”

Rozanov: “Timing was about contracts, not about wins. But I was glad that I was able to give one more cup to the team first.”

“What did you learn from your time in Boston?”

Rozanov: “Not to mix more than two types of alcohol in one night.”

“Do you still see this team as yours in some way?”

Rozanov: “Shared history, shared memories, shared trust – those things are still mine. But Marlow is a great Captain – I know the team is in good hands.”

“Why was Ottawa the right fit?”

Rozanov: “I wanted a new kind of challenge. The Raiders were a franchise team before I joined them – I liked being part of that, but now I want to build something new.”

“What do you see in this Ottawa team?”

Rozanov: “We are still rebuilding. But we are a good team. We work hard, we want to win, and we look out for each other. Those are some of the good qualities from the Raiders team, I am glad to have them in the new team, too.”

“Do you see yourself finishing your career in Ottawa?”

Rozanov: “My contract is four years – I hope my career is longer than that! After that, we will see.”

“Is it strange playing against guys you won with?”

Rozanov: “Yes, it will be strange. Also, I know how hard they hit. So that will be fun.”

“Do you approach this game any differently emotionally?”

Rozanov: “I am looking forward to it. We have been doing a lot of planning. We know the Raiders play hard, we want to be ready for it. But that is my kind of game, too, and against people who want good hockey, not just the biggest hits – I think it will be fun.”

“Are you talking about your last game in Montreal?”

Rozanov: [slightly ironic expression, pause] “I am talking about the kind of game I like.”

“Do you expect a tribute video and how do you think you’ll handle that?”

Rozanov: “I hope it just says “Welcome back, asshole” on a big screen. Would feel right.

@RaidersRiot
“I know how hard they hit. So that will be fun.” Once a Raider always a Raider for sure.

@RozanovApologist
Welcome back, asshole is EXACTLY what the tribute should say 😂

@BostonBro
He’s getting a standing ovation and then we boo him every time he touches the puck. As is tradition.

@MetroTrue
Hollander sending out his bodyguard to trash talk us

@ChaosGoalie
He didn’t say anything about the Metros, you are all just weirdly obsessed

@HockeyMediaClips
Full video of Shane Hollander’s pre-game media before the Boston-Ottawa game.

Transcript:

“You played a lot of big games in this building when you were in Montreal. What’s it like coming back here as an Ottawa player?”

Hollander: “Strange. Do you think Boston fans still burn my jersey now that I’m with the Cens?”

“Do you still feel that Montreal–Boston rivalry when you play here?”

Hollander: “Honestly I always really enjoyed the Montreal-Boston games. Great hockey, great team.”

“What’s the challenge of playing a team like Boston?”

Hollander: “They hit as hard in the third period as they do in the first. Physical gameplay like that means you have to work for every inch. It’s a big test.”

“How do you handle the emotion of a night like this for Rozanov while still focusing on the game?”

Hollander: “Rozanov is genuinely looking forward to it – that makes it easier. He tends to set the tone for the room.”

“You were spotted at a few Boston games last season, including the playoff final — what was it like watching that run from the outside?”

Hollander: “The Boston team played really well. The Raiders have always been physical, with great stamina – that really shone in the playoff run last time. We’ve planned for a tough game today.”

“Did you talk to Rozanov during that playoff run?”

Hollander: “Sure. I wasn’t in the playoffs, so I spent a few days in Boston here and there. I beat Marlow and St-Simon at Mario Kart, too – I’m hoping they aren’t still holding it against me today.”

“When did you first get to know Rozanov?”

Hollander: “I’ve known him since we were on Juniors – not that I knew him well at that point. But you see someone six times a year at games and league stuff, it stacks up.”

“What makes you two work so well on the ice?”

Hollander: “We studied each other a lot when we were playing against each other. We know each other’s styles really well.”

“How quickly did the chemistry develop?”

Hollander: “We’d already played together twice at All Stars, so we knew we worked well together. When we got on the ice together in Ottawa, it came together fast.”

“Be honest — did you two plan ending up on the same team?”

Hollander: “We were both going to be UFA and planning to test the market, and we talked about that. So we knew we were both talking to Ottawa. But the contracts were separate contracts.”

“Separate contracts with completely identical terms?”

Hollander: [blandly] “I guess we had very similar things we were looking for.”

“How much did the chance to play together factor into your decision?”

Hollander: “When it sank in that it might be possible, that was a really exciting moment.”

“There were rumors Boston was interested in you at one point — was that ever a possibility?”

Hollander: “I don’t know how much it was being talked about in the office here – it certainly didn’t get to the point of contract talks or anything like that.”

“Would you have considered it if they had?”

Hollander: “I would have considered it – Boston’s a great team. But they had a cup team to keep together, so I don't know that it would have worked out. And in the end I liked the idea of building something new.”

“Does it feel at all like you’ve stolen Rozanov from Boston?”

Hollander: “I think he might say that he stole himself.”

“What’s the biggest difference between playing against Rozanov and playing with him?”

Hollander: “The chirping isn’t directed at me.” [pause] “Well, mostly it isn’t.”

“Is he as intense in practice as he is in games?”

Hollander: “Pretty much. But I’m intense, too, so it works out fine.”

“What surprised you most once you became teammates?”

Hollander: “He once interrupted practice so he could pet a dog. I can’t say I saw that one coming, though in hindsight I probably should have.”

“What makes him such an effective captain?”

Hollander: He’s incredibly perceptive. Great with people. He’s great knowing what people need - at settling a room down, amping them up, or getting them to focus.

“What’s he like in the room?”

Hollander: “Loyal. Clear. Fair. He sets a high standard, but it’s one he wants people to be able to reach.”

“Do you chirp Rozanov differently now that you’re on the same team?”

Hollander: “Definitely. When I played against him, I mostly just glared. Now, my stall is next to his, so mostly I say things like, ‘why does your stall look like it exploded and why am I always tripping over your stuff?’”

@CensLoyalist
“He sets the tone for the room.” You can tell how much Hollander respects Roz.

@TumblrRefugee
Hollander on them both signing with Ottawa – “the contracts were separate contracts.”
Sure, Jan.

@BostonBro
“Do you still burn my jersey?” okay that’s funny.
Will still boo him tonight, but respectfully

Cliff Marlow ✔ @hockeyslucky7
@ShaneHollander24 We definitely remember.

@CentaurBaby
Uh oh, headed into another rivalry game I guess…

Boston Raiders @Boston_Raiders
Eight seasons.
Four as Captain.
Two Cups.
Tonight we say thank you.

[Video: Tribute video for Ilya Rozanov]

@thisrozfan
I’m not crying you’re crying

@OttawaFan
Imagine being so good your old team makes a video like that and you still left to come build something new with us.

@CentaurBaby
I can still hardly believe it tbh

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Drafted at 18, captain, two Cups, tribute video, standing ovation. That’s a career.

@RaidersRiot
Alright, that was nice. Now hit him.

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
@Boston_Raiders We like him too.

@RaidersRiot
😂 Marlow starting up early with a big hit on Roz. That’s how you welcome a former captain back!

@HockeyNightLive
Raiders goal! St-Simon opens the scoring. 1-0

@OttawaFan
Our goalie is going to be a problem again, huh?

@CentaurBaby
All I can say in Tremblay’s defence is that I would also be intimidated if I had to be in goal against Boston and dealing with their chaos

@HockeyNightLive
Centaurs goal! Hollander scores on the power play, tying the score. 1-1.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Beautiful puck movement on that power play. Boston PK is strong but Ottawa PP is elite.

@HockeyNightLive
End of period 1, score still stands at 1–1. Boston controlling play but Ottawa capitalizes on the power play.

@CensBeat
You can see Hollander skating a lot more than usual to avoid the physical play. His line is working hard.

@HockeyNightLive
Raiders goal! Hammersmith makes it 2-1.

@TheStatsGuy
Boston forcing a lot of turnovers at the Ottawa blue line tonight.

@HockeyNightLive
Centaurs goal! Boodram ties it. 2-2.

@RaidersRiot
Rozanov’s line is a problem.

@HockeyNightLive
End of period 2, score is 2-2. Boston still controlling most of the play.

@HockeyNightLive
Raiders goal! Hammersmith scores again, with a distance shot. 3-2.

@OttawaFan
Ugggh that is a brutal goal to give up in a tie game.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Hollander’s line looks tired. Boston has been very physical and he’s been skating a lot to avoid contact.

@HockeyNightLive
OTTAWA NET EMPTY

@BostonBeat
Huge board battle win by Rozanov to keep the puck in.

@CensLoyalist
Roz has been a monster tonight

@HockeyNightLive
Empty net goal from Sebbin! Raiders now at 4-2.

@HockeyNightLive
FINAL: 4-2 to Boston.

@BostonBeat
Boston the better team most of the night. Heavy forecheck, strong defense, took advantage of their chances.

@CensBeat
Ottawa power play strong again, but Boston controlled most of the game at 5v5.

@TheStatsGuy
Hollander line very good first two periods but Boston wore them down.

@HollanderHive
You can tell that ‘stop Hollander’ is something they’ve been practising for years

@RaiderFaithful
Hollander is annoyingly good. You can see why Roz wanted to play with him.

@RaidersRiot
Cheered the tribute, cheered the win. Perfect night.

@SolelyGoalie
Hate to say it but two of those goals against Ottawa were totally saveable.

@OttawaFan
UGH I know, we are wasting our elite centres on this nonsense.

@HockeyClips
Lots of hugs for Rozanov after the final horn in Boston.
[Video of Rozanov hugging Marlow]

@BostonBro
Seeing all the Raiders hug Roz… man I really need to start dusting in here…

@RozanderWatch
The way he went through the whole team and then skated back to where Hollander was waiting at the end 😭

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Montreal-Ottawa game: emotional chaos.
Boston-Ottawa game: emotional but very high-level hockey.

@NHLTea
Interesting how a heavy but CLEAN game works better than playing dirty in an attempt to run one guy in particular…

@MetroTrue
Funny how when Boston hits Hollander it’s “good physical hockey” but when Montreal does it everyone cries targeting.

@CensLoyalist
Boston tried to win the game. Montreal tried to hurt him.

@RealHockeyOnly
Boston and Rozanov just beat the hell out of each other for 60 minutes and then probably went for a beer after. That’s hockey. Hollander’s just soft.

@RaidersRiot
We hit Roz, he hit back, everyone moved on. No scrums every whistle.

@MetroTrue
Hollander just can’t handle that game

@CensLoyalist
Hollander plays a different style. Not the same thing.

SportsNet @Sportsnet
Boston showed the blueprint for playing Ottawa — pressure their defence, be physical on their skill players, and test their goaltending.

@BostonSports
Standing ovation during the tribute and cheers after the game. Class from Boston tonight.

@PuckInsider
Two franchise faces with matching careers – both with eight years in, four as captain, two cups. Both leave their drafting teams on the same day for the same rebuild. Two VERY different first games back.

Chapter 14: Rozy's Return

Chapter Notes

For anyone seeing the chapter count increase - nothing has actually changed! I apparently just can't count.
I hope you enjoy.

When Bood follows Rozanov and Hollander into the bar, he’s not at all surprised to see Roz greeted with a cheer and dragged into back-slapping hugs – as if they hadn’t already done that in the locker room before the game, probably, and definitely on the ice after the game – but he is a little surprised to see Hollander also get pulled into a bear hug by Marlow. It’s a small piece of normality that Hollander also looks startled by it, but after Marlow lets him go and steps back he seems off-balance, but not displeased.

Roz is now in a knot of enthusiastically talking Raiders that’s three deep on each side, so Hollander – after giving him a look that is undeniably fond – starts conscientiously introducing the Centaurs around.

It’s not surprising to Bood that Hollander knows all of their names – he’s seen Hollander studying the rosters of every team they play – but he is surprised by the warmth and ease with which he’s greeted in response. Back claps and ‘you good?’ and ‘you’re still a monster on the track even with your baby wingers’ and, bluntly, ‘glad to see you in better company this time’.

By the time the Cens work their way through to the bar, Hollander is looking somewhat flushed, very awkward, and quietly pleased. “You know these guys pretty well, huh?” Bood says curiously.

"Not in a major way,” Hollander disagrees. “Boston-Montreal games had a weird vibe - very aggressive. Not just the fans, but in the room as well. Rozanov and I tried to change it, so we dragged some of the team together for drinks last season." His smile turns slightly bitter. "Boston were more open to that than Montreal were." Bood imagines the contrast – what would happen if Hollander, or anyone associated with him, tried to go into the Metros' favourite joint – and winces a bit. Hollander rolls his shoulders, takes a sip of his ginger ale, and continues in a deliberately lighter tone. "Marlow and St-Simon are friends of Rozanov's, we hung out a few times after the season."

Before Bood needs to look for a way to further move the conversation away from Montreal, Rozanov comes over to their table, half a team following behind him like the tail on a comet.

“Shots for Roz and for the Cens!” Marlow announces, signalling one of the bar staff. “You’ve clearly been taking care of him too well, Hollzy. Look at him! Not even a shadow under his eyes. We have to fix that.”

Rozanov laughs with the rest of the Raiders, but he also looks at Hollander with a look as embarrassingly fond as the one Hollander gave him earlier, and Hollander’s pleased flush comes back.  When the tray of shots is delivered, Bood quickly busies himself with taking one rather than continuing to notice.

“Hollzy, you too!” Marlow encourages him, grabbing a shot glass off the tray before it can be handed on, and offering it.

Hollander declines without hesitation. “I've heard Rozanov’s stories,” he says dryly. “He'll need someone sober to make sure you all don't try to break into the zoo or try to steal a digger from a building site or something.”

“Yes, good idea,” Rozanov agrees instantly. “I can hand off all my responsibility to Hollander.”

There’s a shout of laughter at that. “All of it? How much is that, Rozy – shall we get Hollander a shot glass after all, to put it in?” someone - Carmichael - ribs him.

Rozanov laughs and shrugs, and Hollander rolls his eyes, but Bood notices him shift closer in the middle of the crowd, until his arm touches Rozanov’s. “All of it is fine,” he says to Roz, quietly but easily. “I’ve got it.”

With Rozanov disavowing responsibility for the night, the Raiders all seem to want to be the next one to buy him a drink and to compete in bringing up stories of past legendary nights – ranging from the time he tried to break into a dog rescue centre because he worried the dogs would be lonely overnight (“Was very heartless of the security guard to stop me”); the time he tried to climb a construction crane when drunk (“The view of the city lights was very beautiful”); the time he tried to steal a baby goat (“it was not stealing, the goat wanted to come with me,” Roz protests); the time he climbed onto the railing of a ferry because he wanted to ‘feel the wind properly’ (this is the one that Hollander looks outright concerned by; Rozanov just shrugs and says lightly “Weird day,” and then, glancing to Hollander, “Was years ago.”)

Dykstra shakes his head. “Man, Roz, Ottawa has mellowed you,” he jokes. “Our best stories are him trying to climb a tree in dress shoes to get some kid’s balloon down, or him trying to befriend the stray cat who lives near the area.”

“She has an inside soul,” Rozanov insists.

“Roz, you tried to pet her and she scratched you.”

“I admire a strong, independent woman.”

Bood notices Shane relax a bit as the contrast to Ottawa is pointed out – and notices, too, Marlow casually reaching for Shane’s shoulder and gripping for a moment. “Never thought I’d see the day, Rozy,” he comments lightly, as he lets his hand drop.

It occurs to Bood – as soon as they knew both Roz and Hollander, it had made sense to them all that they would go to any lengths to come to a team that would roster them both. But – that hadn’t been the original plan, had it? Roz had said in a couple of interviews that he had already been considering Ottawa before Hollander decided to leave Montreal. Something which made no sense at all… unless he had reason to believe he might be happier there, even before he knew Hollander would be coming with him.

“What about Hollzy?” St-Simon asks curiously. “Do you have any wild stories from your reckless youth, Hollander?”

“I’m very boring,” Hollander says easily.

“I don’t think Hollander ever made a reckless choice in his life,” Dillon says.

Rozanov laughs. “He has made at least one,” he says teasingly, looking at Hollander as if waiting for him to react.

Bood watches the tension mount into Hollander’s shoulders even as the audience of hockey players eagerly try to press for the story. “Rozanov. No,” Hollander says flatly.

Rozanov meets his eyes, and Bood sees the amusement in his eyes shifts into something more alert. “Ah, but he is not making reckless choices today!” he says, tone still light. “So I will not tell Hollander’s secrets. Not even funny secrets.”

“You have a warped sense of humour,” Hollander tells him, and Rozanov laughs again.

Rozanov flips the conversational ball back into the midst of the Raiders – something about a street sign they’d found on a road trip for ‘Raider Road’ and multiple members of the team being caught trying to steal it on the same night. When the finale of the story includes the Cens being dragged to see the actual original street sign – successfully stolen by a rookie with an innocent face, donated to Bennys for posterity – Bood lags behind long enough to see Roz lean close to Hollander, catch his quick murmur.

“Sorry. Too much?”

“We’re good,” Hollander says back with a smile, touching his arm. “Go have fun,” and Rozanov smiles, straightens, and re-inserts himself back into the crowd.

The street sign duly admired, another round of drinks is apparently called for. Chouinard taps out at this point, as do a couple of the other Cens. Bood is half-expecting Hollander to head home too, but he just waves Chouinard off with a smile and settles back into his chair.

“You’re really going to stick until Roz is done for the night?” Dykstra asks, amused.

“Someone has to make sure the Raiders don’t steal our captain back,” Hollander replies easily. “Or make sure that he doesn’t get distracted on his way back to the hotel and end up adopting a colony of feral raccoons, apparently.”

Dillon smirks. “Looks like they’re pulling out all the stops to keep him,” he says, nodding over to where the very pretty server is leaning over slightly more than needed as she hands Rozanov another drink.

“I didn’t think Bennys had table service,” Hollander says, dust-dry, as he follows Dillon’s gaze over.

“Just being hospitable, Hollzy,” Carmichael says, with a grin.

Rozanov seems to catch the edge of this, and sends over a smirk. He accepts his drink with a smile – and without, Bood notes, taking more than the most casual of glances down the server’s top – and turns back to the group. “She seems nice,” he says provokingly as the server heads back to the bar. Hollander’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing, and Roz laughs.

The jokes start up again, the Raiders seeming determined to brag on and roast their former captain in equal measure. Bood sits back, nursing a beer, and enjoys the show. Roz is not quite drunk yet but is hovering on the edge of it – loose, but not sloppy. Jokes a little wilder, with his aim a little off; accepting the affection showered on him like a bodega cat, and returning his own. But the jokes this time are about Roz’s dating life, and Bood can’t help finding them fascinating.

He had come to the conclusion that the stories of Rozanov the playboy were vastly exaggerated or at least vastly outdated – certainly they didn’t match his Ottawa life – but the Raiders seem to treat it as a given, full of stories about Roz ditching team functions or bailing on nights out to go skirt chasing.

Rozanov doesn’t shut it down, but doesn’t escalate it either, his own responses tending towards the understated or absurd: “Nice woman. Very inconveniently located apartment.” “Her roommate had a pet python. That feels relevant.” “I never did find my shoes.”

“There was that time you left a party and came back three hours later with takeout for everyone,” Carmichael recalls.

“Was good restaurant,” Roz says. “I was being generous.”

“You disappeared with a girl and came back with dumplings.”

“Everyone was hungry,” Roz shrugs.

“Same old Roz,” Carmichael says with a grin. “Are you still up to your old tricks in Ottawa? Or did Jane finally lock you down?”

Bood’s attention sharpens, and he can see Dykstra, Boyle, and Dillon also with their heads on a swivel. Roz , though, waves off the question easily. “Jane is… complicated,” he says. “Not sad, not bad – I am good. Jane is good. Just complicated.”

Carmichael turns to the Cens. “His only girlfriend worth mentioning, and you practically have to pry info about her out with pliers,” he confides.

“Not my girlfriend,” Roz corrects immediately, to a response of protests.

“Bro, you texted her like all the time.”

Bood can’t resist poking. “You know, Cassie could add Jane to the WAGs group chat, if she’s someone special to you,” he says.

Rozanov stares at him for a moment, and then starts laughing until he’s almost tearing up. “Oh, Jane would fucking hate that,” he says, with great delight. “I almost want to do it. It would be so fucking funny.” He gains control of himself with difficulty. “No, no. Jane is not my girlfriend. Like I said. Things are good but complicated.”

Bood turns to study Hollander. He’s starting to learn the difference now between Hollander’s expression when he’s truly neutral, and the polite, performed neutrality he puts on when he’s controlling himself, and he’s not surprised when Dillon also turns to him and accuses, “You know something.”

Hollander shrugs. “I’ve got nothing to tell,” he says smoothly.

“Nothing to tell isn’t nothing to know,” Dillon points out.

Hollander – Shane Hollander - just shrugs again. “Even I can translate ‘it’s complicated’ as ‘I don’t want to explain’,” he says firmly. “So, I have nothing to tell.”

Dillon isn’t going to dispute that, and he subsides. Rozanov starts roasting Marlow for the revolving door he installs for his supposedly serious girlfriends, and the conversation moves on.

Apparently Dillon isn’t averse to a little payback, however. One of the Raiders – desperately trying to get the spotlight off himself, Bood suspects – says that Hollander’s getting off too lightly in the anecdotes department, and Dillon instantly agrees. “Yeah, Hollzy – we never hear about your adventures.”

Hollander is mostly relaxed, but shakes his head decidedly. “The dating stories of a closeted NHL player do not make good bar fodder,” he says dryly.

“Man, but you dated Rose Landry,” says Carmichael – who seems to be carrying his drinks a little more heavily than Rozanov is. “She’s a movie star. You gotta have some cool stories.”

“I did date Rose Landry,” Hollander agrees, “But I was gay the whole time. Sorry, still not a funny story.”

“It is when Rose tells it,” Rozanov says impishly, leaning close to press his shoulder to Hollander’s.

Hollander lets out a profound sigh. “I hate that the two of you are friends now,” he complains, but he leans easily back into the contact.

“I can’t believe Rose got anywhere with him,” Dykstra says. “Not because he’s gay – just, have you ever seen how bad he is at flirting?”

Hollander starts to flush. “Oh, no,” he says involuntarily.

“Oh, yes,” Rozanov says delightedly, and launches in.

As well as the anecdotes offered by the Bood and the Cens, Rozanov has an apparently encyclopaedic memory of every bar worker, photographer, or reporter he’s ever seen try to lay siege only to crash and burn against the wall of Hollander’s obliviousness, and he’s willing to tell them in extremely enthusiastic style - to the point where Hollander first starts begging for mercy, then starts outright accusing Roz of making things up.

“Haven’t you only been hanging out for like a year?” St-Simon asks in amusement at one point. “You must be lying.”

“Bit longer than that,” Rozanov shrugs. “And people hit on him at league events, too.”

“Please, please change the subject,” Hollander says, putting a hand to his eyes. “I’ll put another three hundred dollars behind the bar if someone changes the subject right now.”

“I will match that if the stories get worse,” Rozanov immediately declares.

“Careful, Rozy,” one of the Raiders says. “We don’t want to drive off Hollander and have to babysit you ourselves.”

Roz puts an arm around Hollander’s shoulders. “You’re not going to go anywhere, right, Hollander?” he asks. “You promised to be responsible for me tonight.”

“I did promise that,” Hollander says in a longsuffering tone, but neither flinches away from the contact or staggers under the weight of an entire hockey player hanging off of him. “But that includes making sure you make financially responsible choices. Like not getting into a bidding war with me over buying the Raiders’ loyalty.”

Rozanov is still weathering the alcohol better than some of the Raiders, and definitely better than Dillon – possibly as a result of Hollander unobtrusively switching every second drink out for water during the later part of the night. Still, when the stories and jokes start getting more rambling, and when Rozanov’s coordination in the impromptu beer-mat flipping competition shows as being somewhat wanting, Hollander announces that he’s ordering them a car.

“I’ll make it a six-seater,” he tells Bood, looking over at Dillon (smiling a little blearily at the table), Boyle (unobtrusively yawning), and Dykstra (ready to start a new career in beer-mat flipping). “Can you wrangle the rest while I extract Rozanov?”

Bood figures he has the easier job, but in fact although he overhears a token protest from Rozanov (“I was just getting started!”) and Hollander’s dry response (“That’s what I’m afraid of,”) Roz seems entirely willing to go wherever Hollander leads. The Raiders are slightly more of an obstacle, but their group has already dwindled over the evening, and they only delay Rozanov for long enough to have one more round of hugs and some final teasing about how he never used to be this easy to lever out of bars.

Boyle seems mildly relieved to be returning to the hotel, Dillon is sloppy but amenable to being steered, and Dykstra is happy enough to leave with his beer-mat flipping champion title currently unchallenged, so in fairly short order all of the Cens are headed for the exit.

“Moy budil'nik,” Roz murmurs affectionately as they emerge onto the street, throwing an arm around Hollander’s shoulders and leaning on him.

Even after the car arrives, Rozanov seems unwilling to detach himself,  shifting over and leaning heavily against him. Bood – in a row with them – is just as happy with the extra room, so he just watches with amusement as Hollander accepts his new role as pillow without argument, and puts an arm around Roz to steady him as the car moves off into traffic.

Without the party vibe to sustain them, Dillon and Boyle seem to be slumping into somnolence, and Rozanov lets out a sigh and snuggles – it really is the only appropriate word – a little closer to Hollander.

“Did you have a good time?” Hollander asks him quietly.

“Da. Yes,” Rozanov says. “Good to see them.”

“They love you a whole lot,” Hollander murmurs.

“Mm. Is a little strange.” Rozanov’s voice is getting softer and a bit less distinct. “Spasibo, chto ostalsya.”

Bood glances over again, amused at the sleepy language slip, and so sees the moment where the passing streetlights capture Hollander smiling very softly and says, “Mozhesh otdokhnut. Ya otvezu nas domoy.”

“Moy menedzher,” Rozanov says, and then seems to fall asleep.

Bood carefully turns his gaze to the car window and watches the passing lights instead.

Chapter End Notes

Russian translation notes
Moy budil’nik – my alarm clock
Spasibo, chto ostalsya – Thank you for staying
Mozhesh otdokhnut. Ya otvezu nas domoy – You can rest now. I’ll get us home.
Moy menedzher – my manager

Google translate is still my copilot, please feel free to offer corrections
(Eta - thank you, kind commenters for helping!)

Chapter 15: News from Florida

Chapter Notes

This is just a tiny snack of a chapter!
A normal length chapter will be up at the usual time.

Late November 2018

Montreal Metros @MTLMetros
The Montreal Metros have traded defenceman Jean-Jacques Boiziau to Florida in exchange for Alec Fletcher (RW) and a 2^nd round pick.
We thank Boiziau for his contributions to the organization and wish him the best.

Florida Panthers @FloridaPanthersNHL
We have acquired defenceman Jean-Jacques Boiziau from Montreal.
Excited to add a player who brings experience, composure, and character to our group. Welcome to the squad, JJ!

@TheStatsGuy
Fletcher is a strong forward, shows a lot of promise, but the risk is that the Metros are now tipping their roster more towards offense than they’d planned for in the pre-season.

@NHLRumourLog
Slightly unusual trade from Montreal! Though Boiziau didn’t have a complete no trade / no move he’s been a Metros fixture (and been on two cup teams). Main possibilities:
1. The Metros are finding that acquiring Jackson in the off season hasn’t compensated for the loss of Hollander and they need to bring up their scoring potential.
2. Boiziau requested the move himself.

@ZoneofTruth
Def suspicious. Players like Boiziau don’t just get moved unless something’s up.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Or unless your team needs offense and you have defensive depth. Not everything is a conspiracy.

@MetrosDefence
We don’t have that much defensive depth though??

@MontrealStandard
Solid player gone -> decent return – stop making this more of a story than it needs to be

@NHLTea
Metros trying to replace a franchise player with a 22-year-old winger is certainly a strategy

@FloridaHockey
Great news for the Panthers, he seems like a solid player.

@MetroTrue
Not surprised if Boiziau walked, given what he was posting

@MTLForever
Yeah, I guess he wasn’t all-in here

@MetrosFocus
Feel like we could’ve gotten more for Boiziau 😐

@NHLTea
The Metros locker room must still be a mess if the vets are leaving 👀

@BoiziausBabe
I can’t believe they traded my fave!! 😠 Metros going downhill

@saypuckit
Good luck to him. Boiziau handled himself with class.

Chapter 16: News from the Daily Mail

Chapter Notes

Everyone was so positive about the Athletic article in The Best Laid Plans, so I've decided to write another news article! I hope you all enjoy this one just as much!

Early December 2018

Daily Mail @DailyMail
Identical contracts. Same team. Same house. The Hollander–Rozanov Ottawa arrangement raising eyebrows around the league. [Link]

Inside the Private Ottawa Mansion of Hockey’s Most Talked-About Duo

Property records, contractors and neighbours paint an interesting picture of how two NHL stars have built a surprisingly domestic life together - one that some around the hockey world quietly say looks like much more than a convenient arrangement between teammates.

When Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander - two of the NHL’s biggest names - signed identical contracts with Ottawa on the same day, the move raised eyebrows across the league. But property records suggest the pair may have been planning more than just a new team.

Public records show a luxury home in one of Ottawa’s most secluded neighbourhoods was purchased in July by a numbered company, whose listed directors include representatives connected to both players. Since then, the property has undergone extensive renovations - including a professional-grade gym, recovery facilities, and, most recently, a backyard hockey rink completed only days ago.

Neighbours confirm that both stars are full-time residents, but say the pair keep to themselves. “They always arrive and leave together,” one neighbour told us. “They seem very private.”

Despite earning millions and easily being able to afford separate homes, it seems the star duo have instead chosen to share one - an arrangement some around the league find unusual for two single teammates. For two wealthy, high-profile athletes, the decision to build a shared private residence rather than maintain separate homes is, as one league executive put it, ‘not typical’.

A House Designed for Company - or Just Two?

Archived real estate listings show the house includes four bedrooms - two with attached bathrooms, but only one true master suite, complete with two walk-in closets - a detail that has raised eyebrows among some observers. The home also features a large kitchen, formal dining area, and a fully converted basement. Despite the size of the property, contractors say the layout focused on shared domestic space rather than separate suites - a design choice some may consider unusual for two single professional athletes.

Contractors who worked on the renovations say the basement has been transformed into a luxury training and recovery complex, including a full gym, shooting lane, sauna, media room, and games area.

“They were very particular about the gym - everything had to be professional grade,” one contractor said. “There were two of everything.”

“They both had a lot of input into the plans,” another added. “It didn’t look like a bachelor pad, put it that way.”

Outside, drone photos show a newly installed backyard rink with lighting for night skating, a covered patio with heaters, a firepit, and a high privacy fence and security cameras surrounding the property - features more commonly associated with celebrities than hockey players in a quiet Ottawa suburb.

The house was purchased in mid-July, shortly after free agency opened. Renovations began immediately, and by September the pair had moved into the property full time - suggesting the two had made long-term plans well before either officially signed in Ottawa. The recently completed backyard rink appears to be the final piece of what is effectively a private training compound for two.

Inseparable Since Signing

While those around the pair describe them as “very close” the two stars seem to have become nearly inseparable since arriving in Ottawa. The pair, who left more prestigious teams - and reportedly more lucrative offers - to sign together, now appear to share not just a team, but a home, a training facility, and a daily routine. One team source said, “They do almost everything together.” The pair even commute together, typically arriving at the arena in the same luxury SUV and taking turns behind the wheel - an arrangement more reminiscent of a long-term domestic partnership than two single teammates. The image is a far cry from Rozanov’s Boston years, when he was better known for late nights than quiet suburban living. 

Not only are they together in the season, social media posts confirm the pair also spent part of the off-season together at Hollander’s luxury lakeside cottage, which he has previously described in interviews as his “private retreat.”

Hollander’s reputation is one for quiet living - in contrast to Rozanov’s rather more storied social history - but even the pair’s social lives seem to be surprisingly in synch. Neighbours have confirmed the star duo hosted team gatherings at the house, and Rozanov has also been photographed on several occasions with Hollander’s parents, appearing to be on notably good terms with the family - a level of familiarity that some say goes well beyond most teammate relationships. This intertwined social world invites the question - how close are the pair really?

From Controversy to Ottawa

Hollander, who came out publicly last year, was previously the franchise face of the Montreal Metros. Hollander’s separation from Montreal was one of the most controversial exits in recent NHL history, with many in Montreal still believing Hollander abandoned a team built around him. His abrupt departure left fans and analysts alike asking what - or who - might be worth risking a legacy and uprooting a life for. A question that now, in light of this surprising living situation, some believe may finally have an answer.

Rozanov, meanwhile, spent eight years in Boston, where he built a reputation not just as a Stanley Cup–winning captain but also for a famously chaotic party lifestyle. According to those who knew him then, Rozanov’s Boston lifestyle changed rapidly in the year before he left the city - around the same time his friendship with Hollander became notably closer, in a change that those who knew Rozanov in Boston describe as ‘dramatic.’

The curious closeness between the stars emerged most strikingly during Hollander’s controversial final season in Montreal, when Rozanov became one of his most vocal and adamant public supporters - a surprising alliance at the time, given the pair’s reputation as league rivals, but perhaps one that makes more sense now that rivalry has given way to an unusually close off-ice partnership.

Two Bachelors, One Home

Hollander, who is openly gay, has been known as one of hockey’s most private players. Rozanov, long known for his bachelor lifestyle and past relationships with models and actresses, has not been publicly linked to anyone for over a year.

Fans have long speculated about the unusually close friendship between the two stars. Whether the choice to share one property, renovate it together, and live there full time is just a convenient arrangement between teammates - or something more - neither player has commented.

Rumours have long swirled that the two coordinated their contracts - signed on the same day, for identical salaries and terms, which some around the league still find hard to credit as coincidental. The pair have consistently refused to speak to the rumours - just as neither player has publicly addressed speculation about just how close they really are. Representatives for both players did not respond to requests for comment.

Whatever the explanation, one thing is clear: when it comes to life off the ice, Hollander and Rozanov appear to be a package deal.

@HockeyBee
If I had that much money I would ALSO build a house with a rink and a sauna with my best friend. Just saying.

@StickBitch
If building a rink together is wrong I don’t want to be right.

@thisrozfan
We all thought he left for less pressure. Turns out he left for Hollander 😭

@BostonBro
If this is true, good for Roz honestly. Dude looks happier than he did his last year here.

@MetroThruAndThru
If this is true I’m even more mad because that means he chose Ottawa over Montreal for a guy.

@CensLoyalist
Or maybe he chose Ottawa because our organization isn’t a dumpster fire.

@HollanderDefenseSquad
if they are together I hope they’re happy and people leave them alone.

@MetroTrue
So THAT’S why he blew up the team for Ottawa 💀

@SinBin2018
man really left a franchise to go play house

@saypuckit
Whether they’re together or not, this article is invasive as hell

@puckmylife
Lowkey the funniest possible outcome is that they really are just two hockey psychos who wanted a private rink.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Media should stay out of players’ private lives. Period.

@QComment
hockey fans when two men share a house:
“wow that’s weird”
hockey fans when two men fight each other:
“this is the purest sport”

@OldSchoolPuck
Not judging but this is definitely going to be a distraction

@HockeyWatch
Yeah this is going to make things real awkward in the room eventually. Just saying.

@StickToTheSix
I don’t care what they do in private but when it starts affecting contracts and teams that’s different

@puck18
you can’t tell me this didn’t affect free agency decisions

@MTLForever
“Wanted a new challenge” yeah okay sure buddy 🙄

@MontrealStandard
This whole thing makes his last year in Montreal make a LOT more sense and I don’t mean that in a good way

@OttawaOutAndAbout
Was it just me or did everyone already kind of assume this?

@KaytlaTweets
Matching contracts, matching house, matching walk-in closets. 😂

@ChaosGoalie
Imagine being the contractor and realizing halfway through building a double gym and a backyard rink that you’re not building a house, you’re building a hockey marriage

@hockey1234
Your franchise guy tanks the season and leaves, then he starts picking out curtains with his former rival 5 minutes later?? He 100% knew he was already gone from the start of the season

@OttawaFan
Or maybe the dude just wanted to be happy and not live under a microscope in Montreal.

@NHLTea
He filed his grievance FIVE DAYS before the end of the season. And then played like a god In the last 3 games. Then had two+ months post season to figure out his plans before he signed with Ottawa. Why are you acting like he firebombed the Metros room halfway through the season?

@RozanderWatch
Omg Rozander confirmed!! 👀

@TumblrRefugee
Bestie, I say this with love. I see what you see, I do. But at this point I think that this isn’t ‘fun intense subtext’ and the pin board with red string, this is trying to look in through their windows.

@RealHockeyOnly
Hockey is not the place for this

@CentaurBaby
For what? Owning a house?

@NHLTea
They literally built a rink, is hockey the place for that?

@HockeyMediaClips
Pre-practise media availability with Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander – addressing the article about them living together, and speculation about their relationship.

Transcript:

“There’s been a lot of attention on how close you two are off the ice – even living together. Does spending that much time together make it easier to build the kind of culture you’ve talked about here?”

Rozanov: [casually] “There were lots of reasons. Yes, is good for building trust and communication. Also we both wanted a very fancy gym - does not make sense to both move at the same time and build two separate very fancy gyms. But mostly, we just wanted to.”

"Shane - you had a famously difficult season last year, and of course Ilya was someone who spoke up for you publicly at that time. Is it a relief to have that support nearer at hand now you're under one roof both on and off the ice?"

Hollander: “It means a lot to me to be around people who share my values and principles. It’s why I chose this team, and a big part of why I’m pleased to be in the leadership group with Rozanov. I wouldn’t frame us living together as being about ‘support’, though. Like Rozanov said – there were practical reasons, but mostly we just wanted to.”

“The timeline of your move to Ottawa and your connection with Rozanov has been getting attention — how much did that connection factor into your decision to leave Montreal?”

Hollander: [calmly] “I didn’t leave Montreal because I’d decided to come to Ottawa, or because I’d decided I wanted to play with Rozanov. Making the decision that it was time to move on came before anything else. After that, I thought about where I felt I could do my best work, and who I wanted to do that work with.”

“Just to clarify — are you saying your relationship with Rozanov didn’t factor into your decision to leave Montreal at all?”

Hollander: [evenly] “You’re asking about an incredibly challenging decision – one of the harder decisions I have ever made, one I thought about and argued with myself about for days before coming to a conclusion. I don’t think it’s useful or accurate to reduce it to one factor.”

“So what were some of the other factors?”

Hollander: [evenly] “I spoke at the end of last season about some of the challenges I experienced. Others are a matter of public record. I’m not going to relitigate them here.”

“Do teammates treat you any differently knowing how close you are?”

Rozanov: “Mostly they were annoyed that we hadn’t told them about the rink yet.”

Hollander: [Mildly exasperated] “The rink was only finished a few days ago. We hadn’t had a chance to tell anyone about it.”

“We’ve heard a few teammates say you’ve hosted them over at the house. Has that become a bit of a gathering spot for the team?”

Hollander: “Not as much as Boodram’s place! Our house is nice but we can’t match the appeal of Bood’s barbecue skills.”

“Who actually uses the gym more?”

Hollander: “I think Rozanov probably uses it more, but it’s not a big difference. We actually train together a lot.”

Rozanov: [casually] “We trained together in the off season, the last couple of years.”

“You say you’d been training together the last couple off-seasons — when did that start? Was that something that came out of the All-Star events, or did you just end up in the same place?”

Hollander: “You could certainly say All Stars in 2017 shifted things. But it was after I broke my collarbone, actually, a little after All Stars. I was needing to rebuild fitness after the sling came off, Rozanov had some plans change and was free, so we ended up meeting up a bit that summer and training.”

Rozanov: “Hollander hates losing to me. Made him work harder to catch up.”

“There’s obviously been a lot of speculation — how would you describe your relationship?”

Rozanov: “As unrelated to hockey.”

Hollander: [slight smile]

PR Handler: “Alright, thanks everyone, we’re going to let Shane and Ilya head into practise now.”

SportsNet @Sportsnet
Hollander and Rozanov addressed questions about their living arrangement this morning, emphasizing “practical reasons” and shared training, while declining to expand on their relationship beyond hockey.

TSN Hockey @TSNHockey
“You’re asking about one of the harder decisions I’ve ever made… I’m not going to reduce it to one factor.” - Hollander on leaving Montreal

@RozanovApologist
Reporter: how would you describe your relationship
Rozanov: none of your business ❤️

@QComment
Reporters straight up asking them to define their relationship in a hockey presser is… a choice

@MetroTrue
“making the decision to leave came before anything else” sure real believable

@hockey1234
“not one factor” = definitely one factor

@NHLTea
They had every opportunity to deny it and… did not 👀

@StickToTheSix
This is becoming a distraction fast

@ProspectHopeful
“we both wanted a very fancy gym” - honestly valid

@RealHockeyOnly
League’s changing and not for the better

@NorthHockey
Two teammates living together and training together isn’t that weird tbh

@PuckTalk
Hollander says his decision to leave Montreal wasn’t about Rozanov, but then also says they’ve been training together for years and immediately bought a house together after signing identical deals.
So you can decide how much of that you believe.

@CensBeat
Neither Hollander nor Rozanov directly addressed speculation, but both were relaxed and joking in their responses. Tone suggests the situation is not a distraction inside the room.

@CensLoyalist
Since Hollander can only say some of the challenges he experienced are a matter of public record I’m going to come out and say it for him: SLUR PHOTO SLUR PHOTO SLUR PHOTO

@ChaosGoalie
Yes CHRIST “Hey Hollander, why did you leave that workplace where you were called a f****t on multiple occasions? We bet it was because you wanted to move in with your boyfriend.”

@TumblrRefugee
I mean, wanting to move cities to shack up with Rozanov is highly relatable but also very much not the motivation people should be paying attention to

Chapter 17: Workplace Conduct

Chapter Notes

I'm so glad you enjoyed the mean article!
And yes, don't worry - it might not be featured in the story but there will 100% be lawyers.
And now, the aftermath of the article from a different perspective!

I'm doing things backwards today - you get a standard-length chapter now, and a slightly short chapter later on. (honestly mostly because I'm impatient to share the story with you. The only reason I don't fire chapters at you like a t-shirt cannon is that I will outrun my own editing if I try)

Early December 2018

"Ilya. Ilya, wake up, I need you."

The tone registers first - tight and urgent. By the time he parses the words he's already worried and any urge to joke - you need me, my favourite reason to be woken up - dies in the seed.

"Chto - what - Yuna? David?" Ilya asks inarticulately, pushing himself up to sit against the pillows and looking at Shane. He'd sounded tense, rather than devastated, but the worry is already lodged.

"Safe," Shane says immediately. Then, in his careful and imperfect Russian, "Vse v poryadke." Shane takes a breath, though whether he’s giving Ilya time to process or trying to steady himself isn’t entirely clear. "It's a problem, not an emergency."

Ilya reaches for him, and the fact that Shane is still wearing his yoga clothes and yet allows himself to be drawn back under the duvet without protest is... not a good sign. Nor is the rigid way he's holding himself. The third worrying sign is when Ilya's glance at the clock shows that it's still a couple of minutes shy of 7am when they don't have practise until 11. Shane would normally deal on his own with problems ranging from team crisis to health emergency to minor house fire rather than deprive Ilya of an hour's sleep; despite Shane's reassurance he can't dislodge the knot of worry from his stomach.

"Okay," Ilya says. "I am awake." Mostly. "What is it?"

Wordlessly, Shane hands over his phone, open to a wall of text. "Christ. I need coffee," Ilya mutters as his eyes initially struggle to make sense of it.

"I'll make you some," Shane says automatically, starting to sit up. But at that point Ilya has seen the headline – ‘Inside the Private Ottawa Mansion of Hockey’s Most Talked-About Duo’ - and he locks his arm around Shane instinctively, holding him close.

 "I need you with me more than I need coffee," Ilya clarifies instantly, feeling his heart race and his chest  squeeze tight at the thought of not having Shane where he can see him, touch him, and grab him if he panics and gets it into his head that he needs to leave. "Tell me. Are we outed?"

"No," Shane says instantly. Ilya feels relieved and chagrined all at once. It's not that he wants to be outed - but if they're already outed Shane has nothing else to lose, nothing else to try and protect by keeping his distance from Ilya. "It's - just speculation. Like we guessed it would be." Ilya's panic settles a little. Shane had already anticipated speculation, mentally prepared himself for it. Decided in advance that a life together was worth the risks. Shane presses closer to him, turns his face against Ilya's chest, and Ilya breathes a little more easily and instinctively tightens his arm around him again. "A lot of speculation," Shane says. His voice is muffled but it doesn’t quite conceal the way his anger grates through..

"Okay," Ilya says, as calmly as he can. "I will read." 

Shane's phone keeps lighting up with notifications as Ilya tries to make his way through the article. The team group chat is pinging off, bright and early, and it looks like Shane's agent Farah, who presumably got a google alert alongside her morning coffee, and - "Robyn is trying to call you," Ilya says. "Should I -?"

Shane reluctantly uncurls himself. "We probably should talk to her," he says unenthusiastically.

Ilya nods, but he's already missed her; instead he reaches around Shane for his own phone, unplugs it, and drops it onto Shane's duvet-covered lap. "In case she calls," he says, and returns to the article.

Ilya has to bite down a swell of fury at the quotes from contractors. They had trusted these people in their home - in Shane's home. They had used companies that came highly recommended. They had made everyone sign NDAs. And yet some subcontractor or intern or person delivering a new washing machine had either not thought the NDA applied to them or didn't give a shit, and Ilya suspects bitterly that with anonymous quotes and with all the people they’d had in, his chances of tracking them down and suing them are only marginally better than tracking them down and punching them.

He's reading about how inseparable they are when Shane shifts just far enough that he can answer the phone without getting in Ilya's way.

"Hi Robyn. Yes, this is Shane," and it occurs to Ilya with a flicker of irony that they're not exactly defying the narrative, with Shane answering Ilya's phone for him at 7.20am. "Yes, he's here too. He's reading the article on my phone and doesn't want to lose his place."

"Hoping they say next how many kitchen cupboards we have," Ilya says loudly, forcing himself to make a joke. "Can’t look away." 

Shane lets out a breath in a huff of air, and some of the rigidity leaves him. "Yeah, of course that was him. ...Uh, swinging between jokes and murder plans, I think." A pause, and then Shane tightens up again. "I am... as well as can be expected," Shane says carefully. Ilya winces a bit at that. "This isn't - surprising,” Shane says, as if focusing on his the fact that he saw it coming will make it feel like less of a slap now it’s here. “We guessed people would find out about us living together and would be weird about it. The level of it is… slightly more than I had anticipated -"

"Blyat, fuck, Shane, it says you abandoned Montreal for me," Ilya blurts out, having reached that section. He knows Shane's trying to talk to Robyn, knows he's being unprofessional, but the rage is bubbling up. "Fucking dickhead asshole making it look like you burned the room just to live with me –”

"Yeah, he's reached that bit," Shane says bleakly into the phone.  

“It isn’t true!” The words sound stupid as soon as they leave Ilya’s mouth; as if this kind of article cares about ‘true’. But the erasure of Shane’s dogged, stubborn, stupid fucking loyalty infuriates him to almost the same degree that Shane’s initial refusal to leave the Metros had terrified him.

"Okay, Robyn, I need to go. We can be there at nine,” Shane says, and then he’s throwing Ilya’s phone aside to wrap himself around Ilya.

“It gets Montreal wrong. It gets you wrong,” Ilya says, angry and bubbling over with it. “It makes it seem like you didn’t want to stay, like you didn’t try to stay, like those fuckers didn’t drive you out.“

“Ilya,” Shane says softly, rubbing his cheek against Ilya’s shoulder like a cat – a gesture that would have charmed and distracted him at any other moment, if he wasn’t so helplessly furious.

“It makes it seem like you just – walked, like it didn’t matter to you,” he continues, the words forcing their way out. “As if you would! As if you would have thrown away your team, risked your career, for nothing –“

“It wouldn’t have been nothing,” Shane cuts in.

Shane’s voice is suddenly tight and sharp, and Ilya blinks at the contrast. “What?” he asks, and Shane shifts just enough to meet his gaze.

“It wouldn’t have been nothing,” Shane repeats firmly. “We both know that’s not why I left. But if I had left because I wanted to live with you, that’s not nothing. You’re not nothing,” he insists. “This –” Shane gestures vaguely at their bed, their bedroom, in their home. “- isn’t nothing.”

The words slice through Ilya’s anger like a clean knife, leaving him feeling oddly bereft. “I hate that it’s so wrong,” Shane continues, the grate back in his voice. “I hate that people are going to think they know us when they don’t. But.” He stumbles, and Ilya smooths a hand over Shane’s back. “But. I also hate that they make it sound like a bad thing, to leave. To choose each other.” Ilya’s throat feels oddly tight. He draws his hand up, to cup Shane’s jaw, to drag a thumb over the freckles on his cheeks. Shane gives him a faltering smile. “You chose us, over your team, over your career. I… didn’t.”

“Lyubimyy,” Ilya protests immediately, but Shane is already talking on.

“I’m here now, and I’m glad I’m here now, but I asked you to leave for me and never even thought of leaving for you, and I should have, and I’m fucking sorry,” he says in one breath. “And I’m so fucking mad that this article is acting like I did. And so fucking mad that it’s acting like that’s a bad thing.”

“Shane, you have chosen me. You chose to look for teams for both of us, rather than fucking off to New York or something. You chose me when I asked you to live with me, even though you were still scared,” Ilya tells him. “I love you.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane tells him – the phrase he’s practised over and over so the accent is as perfect as he can make it, and Ilya kisses him.

Shane slides his hands into Ilya’s hair and kisses back like he’s trying to win something. When the kiss ends, Shane is a little breathless. “Fuck. Fuck. 9am meeting,” he says. Ilya groans, then groans again when Shane reluctantly draws himself back. “Shower. I’ll go get coffee started,” Shane promises.

Ilya lets his head clonk back against the headboard for a moment. “Fucking media,” he says bitterly, then pries himself out of bed.

“Good to see you, come in. Grab coffee,” Robyn says, when Hollander raps on the open door and leads Rozanov in.

“Thanks for coming in early,” Marks says.

They’re in Robyn’s office, not his. It has the  benefits of not framing this like a conduct problem and also that if they need to check in with Harris about how things are landing online all she needs to do is stick her head into the corridor and yell. The downside is that unlike Marks she doesn’t have a fancy coffee machine right next door, but she’d thought ahead and had her assistant get Starbucks.

Unsurprisingly, Rozanov beelines right for it. Somewhat more concerningly, so does Hollander.

“This shouldn’t take long,” Robyn promises them. She studies them as they each sit; Hollander looks polished and camera-ready, but also guarded and careful. Rozanov sprawls in his seat like a lazy cat, as if she hadn’t heard him in the background of the call with Hollander, devastated and furious. Then he meets her gaze, briefly, and it’s there – the tension around his eyes and at the corner of his jaw, before he buries himself in his coffee cup again. “We just want to check in about the article, and how you want to handle it. It’s gaining some traction online. Harris can brief you on that –”

Rozanov waves off the offer of a briefing with a dismissive hand.

“Later – unless you there’s something unexpected?” Hollander says, and gives a very tight smile. “I think I can already imagine most of it.”

Robyn nods. “As you might expect from the tone of the article, there’s a lot of speculation about your relationship,” she confirms. “Most of it… predictable. Nothing unusual for the internet, but it does mean you’re probably going to start getting questions about it in scrums over the next little while.” She pauses, lets that sink in; Rozanov grimaces, and Hollander nods, politely attentive. “We’re not here to get into your personal lives,” she goes on, deliberately keeping her voice easy. “This is really just about making sure you’re comfortable with how we handle the media side and making sure we’re all on the same page.”

Marks clears his throat, leans forward. “The bottom line is, you’ve got the organization’s support. This is just about keeping things manageable with the media.”

Both relax incrementally, which means Hollander’s face becomes just slightly more expressive and Rozanov slouches marginally less.

“How are you guys feeling about the coverage so far?” Robyn opens.

Hollander shrugs. “It’s intrusive,” he says, controlled and flat. “But like I said on the phone, we more or less anticipated that someone might write something like this about us living together.”

Robyn nods, and turns to Rozanov. “And how are you feeling about it now?” she asks.

Rozanov gives her a smile without unlocking his jaw. “Calmer,” he says briefly.

Robyn raises her eyebrows, but decides not to interrogate the difference between ‘calmer’ and ‘calm’. “It’s definitely invasive,” she concurs, “But Hollander’s basically right. This kind of thing can happen when two high-profile players spend a lot of time together.”

Marks nods. “It’s not the first time the internet’s invented a relationship, and it won’t be the last,” he says casually, and Robyn can feel her smile going brittle as an electric tension in both of the players ratchets up so quickly she’s surprised they don’t crackle.

“Is that the org’s preferred message?” Rozanov asks after a loaded pause. Hollander’s usually the one she thinks of as over-controlled, but this is a Rozanov who’s not at all inclined to be joking or outrageous. He talks like he’s clamping everything down, and he watches her like he’s assessing for threats.

“Let me rephrase that,” Robyn says, with meticulous care. “The internet speculates about a lot of things. Whether any of it’s true or not isn’t something we’re asking you to address.”

She wishes there was a way to kick Marks, that wouldn’t be a) obvious and b) extremely unprofessional. Fortunately for the sake of the meeting – and for the sake of Rozanov and Hollander’s blood pressure – something about the soup-thick atmosphere or possibly her own deliberate phrasing seems to catch him up. “Of course,” he agrees quickly. “Your personal lives are not the org’s business. We’re not asking you to deny anything – and we’re not asking you to explain anything. We just want to get aligned on media and strategy, so it doesn’t turn into a circus.”

Hollander’s frozen expression thaws slightly at that, and he and Rozanov look at each other for a very long moment before Rozanov leans back, clearly ceding the floor to him.

“We definitely don’t want to fuel a media circus,” he says carefully. “Neither of us are interested in being the centre of any big stories or controversies.” Marks looks like he’s only realised how close he came to a cliff edge after taking a step back, and doesn’t know whether to feel panicked or relieved. Hollander, by contrast, looks like he’s inching steadily closer to the cliff edge and is trying hard to pretend he isn’t. “That said, we do not think it would be… strategic… to refute the speculation.”

Robyn is conscious of a profound relief that their star players aren’t planning on launching her directly into a league scandal before she’s even had a chance to prepare a draft statement. “That’s fine,” she says immediately, and then glances to Marks. “I mean, from a comms perspective, that sounds manageable,” she says. Fortunately, Marks is nodding too, and she’s conscious of another relief - that of not having to witness the Centaurs rebuild crumble in her office because the GM failed to read a room. “Alright. So, we keep it contained, we keep it light, we draw a boundary around private life, and we do not deny. Here’s what might come up…”

Once the players leave, Robyn and Marks sit together in silence for a moment.

“You know, Tony,” Robyn comments quietly, “Our workplace conduct policy doesn’t say anything about romantic relationships between players. Nothing about disclosure.” Marks glances over at her, and she shrugs. “Staff in the same reporting line, players with staff… the policy says they need to disclose relationships. But it says nothing about two players.”

“Huh,” says Marks thoughtfully, tapping his fingertips together for a moment. “I suppose that’s not very forward thinking, for a culture first team,” he says dryly. He seems to meditate on it for a while longer; Robyn sits quietly and lets him think it through. “I think… we should keep an eye on that policy,” he eventually says. “No need to rush to update it.”

Robyn lets out a slow, unobtrusive breath, and cracks a smile. “Yes, sir,” she says.

Chapter End Notes

Russian translation notes
Chto - what
Vse v poryadke – Everyone is fine
Ya tebya lyublyu – I love you

Thank you commenters for your language help as usual!!

Chapter 18: News from NHLTea

Chapter Notes

Note - this is the second chapter in 24 hours - do check back if you've not seen the previous one.

Is this chapter mostly an excuse to throw all my half-written draft interviews at you at once? Why would you even say something like that?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Early December 2018

@NHLTea
“Unrelated to hockey” + Hollander and Rozanov’s long-term refusal to call each other ‘friend’. A thread of video clips from the last year. (I genuinely looked for clips where they do use the word friend and couldn’t find any! Please prove me wrong if you can.) 1/13

@NHLTea
2/13: Clip from a media availability with Rozanov, where he’s asked about Hollander (January 2018): [video clip]

Transcript:

Reporter: “You’ve been seen at some social events together lately. Would you say you’re on friendly terms?”

Rozanov: “Off the ice, we get on fine – no problems. (small shrug) On the ice, we try to kill each other. Both things can be true.”

@NHLTea
3/13: Clip from a media availability with Hollander, where he’s asked about Rozanov (January 2018): [video clip]

Transcript:

Reporter: “You’ve been seen at some social events together lately. Would you say you’re on friendly terms?”

Hollander (very calm, even tone): “I try to stay on civil terms with people across the league.”

@NHLTea
4/13: Clip from a joint interview (All Stars, Feb 2018): [video clip]

Transcript:

“You two sounded like you were having fun on the bench — is that something that surprised you?”

Rozanov: “No – we know each other pretty well.”

@NHLTea
5/13: Clip from Feb 2018 Hollander doing a media availability post-All Stars (this was after the All Stars where they did those bantery mic’d up bits and interviews, the context is he’s being asked whether the rivalry between him and Rozanov is real): [video clip]

Transcript:

Hollander: “I think it’s normal to have people you’re friendly with on other teams – surely most players do?”

@NHLTea
6/13: Clip from their signing press conference with Ottawa (July 2018): [video clip]

Transcript:

“You played together at All-Star Weekend, in 2017. It was in the next season that people first noticed you two spending more time together off the ice. Is that when your relationship actually became a friendship?”

[the two look at each other]

Rozanov: [teasingly] “Are we friends, Hollander?”

Hollander: [deadpan] “You're tolerable, on a good day.”

Rozanov: “I do not know why people think you are the nice one.”

@NHLTea
7/13: Clip from a media availability with Hollander in the early season (October 2018): [video clip]

Transcript:

“You seemed careful about describing the relationship with Rozanov. Is there a reason you prefer not to label it?”

Hollander: “We’re friendly. As we’ve said. Is there a reason that answer doesn’t feel adequate?”

@NHLTea
8/13: Clip from a media availability with Rozanov in the early season (October 2018): [video clip]

Transcript:

“You’ve both described your relationship carefully as ‘friendly.’ Would you consider Hollander a friend?”
Rozanov: [shrugs] “If you want you can write that.”

@NHLTea
9/13: Clip from an early-season interview Hollander did about the Ottawa rebuild and team culture (November 2018): [video clip]

Transcript:

“With Rozanov, you’ve emphasized the word ‘friendly.’ Is there a reason you feel it’s important to keep the relationship framed that way?”

Hollander:
“Part of it’s actually perhaps slightly nerdy or niche. It’s about labels being limited. A noun – a label – brings a whole set of ideas with it. People have lots of ideas about what it means to be someone’s ‘friend’. Just as they have lots of ideas about what it means to be someone’s ‘rival’. And it’s easy to see things within that idea set, and harder to see things outside of it.
For a very long time, Rozanov and I were described as ‘rivals’. People had a lot of ideas about what that meant. Some of those ideas reflected how we actually related to each other, others didn’t. Now, the media wants to call us ‘friends’. People will once again have lots of ideas about what that means. Some of those may reflect how we actually relate to each other, others probably won’t.
‘Friendly’ carries less baggage. If I publicly say that I think Rozanov’s an asshole – which he absolutely is – is that something which people will see as ‘friends’? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe they’ll think one is true but not the other. But if I say ‘I think he’s an asshole – but we’re friendly’ – are people more likely to listen to me when I say both? I think they might be.”

“Rozanov seemed comfortable calling you a friend when asked. Why is that a difference between you?”

Hollander:
“He doesn’t care as much as me. But also, he didn’t call me a friend. He just said he didn’t have a problem with people writing that.”

@NHLTea
10/13: Clip of Rozanov having a conversation with a reporter (November 2018): [video clip]

Transcript:

“Hollander has talked about the idea of you being ‘friendly’ rather than ‘friends’. You seem more relaxed about the label. Why doesn’t it matter to you the way it appears to matter to him?”

Rozanov: “Did you see Hollander’s interview? This matters more to him because he is a boring nerd. He is very specific about words.”

“Hollander also pointed out that you didn’t call him a friend, you just didn’t dispute it. So, would you call him a friend? Yourself?”

Rozanov: [grin] “Is it a slow news day?”

@NHLTea
11/13: Rozanov being interviewed about Hollander on the Hockey Jaw podcast, late November 2018: [video clip]

Transcript:

“Some fans believe there’s a deeper relationship between the two of you. How do you respond to that?”

Rozanov: “The fans are very creative.”

@NHLTea
12/13: Rozanov and Hollander being interviewed after the Daily Mail ‘house share’ article, December 2018: [video clip]

Transcript:

“There’s obviously been a lot of speculation — how would you describe your relationship?”

Rozanov: “As unrelated to hockey.”

Hollander: [slight smile]

@NHLTea
13/13: Essentially – refusing to define or engage with definitions has been their go-to mode for a year. “Unrelated to hockey” isn’t new.
Do I know what this means? …Well. I sure have some theories.👀

@saypuckit
Or they just don’t want media twisting their words? Not everything is a conspiracy.

@NorthHockey
@NHLTea once again inventing league drama too wild even for the rumor accounts 🙄

@TheStatsGuy
#9 is a genuinely thoughtful answer about framing and language. Hollander’s right that labels carry assumptions.

@HockeyBee
Okay so that’s a situationship

@ChaosGoalie
Reporter: are you friends
Hollander: let me explain semiotics

@RozanovApologist
Reporter: are you two friends?
Hollander: we coexist within acceptable parameters

@HollanderHive
Reporter: are you friends?
Hollander: I acknowledge his existence within the league

@TumblrRefugee
Reporter: are you two friends?
Hollander: we operate within a mutually understood framework

@HockeyBee
Reporter: are you friends?
Hollander: we engage in ongoing cooperative behaviours

@QComment
The real takeaway here is that NHL players will do ANYTHING to avoid emotional honesty

@OttawaFan
If this is the secret to that power play I don’t need details

@MTLForever
so it’s “too complex for labels” AND “not relevant to hockey”
bro pick a cover story

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
The “not relevant to hockey” line honestly makes MORE sense in this context, not less. If any label would misrepresent, why invite misrepresentation when it’s not even relevant to their work?

@RozanderWatch
Soooo… anyone else think they refused to use ‘friend’ because the actual word was ‘boyfriend’?

@OttawaOutAndAbout
Whatever the label is or isn’t, I think we can all agree they’re… not just “friendly” 😂

@BostonBro
Or Hollander is just a weird nerd about words? Like if they’re together, good for them, but we don’t actually have to read into everything.

@MetroTrue
So we’re meant to believe he left his team for “civil terms”?? Get real.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Players don’t owe you personal labels. “Friendly” is a normal answer. So is ‘unrelated to hockey’.

@puckmylife
People writing essays because two guys don’t want to overshare in interviews. Please go outside.

@NHLTea
Didn’t get enough hate for my last pass so here I am yet again! Has anyone noticed that Hollander and Rozanov are acting weirdly lukewarm to each other this week? Their last couple of games the bench interactions have been… less.

@OttawaOutAndAbout
I NOTICED THIS TOO?? Roz has always been super touchy with Hollander and now it’s like… polite coworkers??

@RozanderWatch
Hollander scored a goal and no back-of-neck touch?? 😭

@HollanderDefenceSquad
i hope they didn’t have a fight

@HockeyFan24
They were down 2 goals. Maybe they’re just focused???

@TheStatsGuy
Their on-ice chemistry hasn’t dropped, which would be the actual indicator if something was wrong.

@NorthHockey
Bench cams caught them laughing together like 10 mins later you guys are exhausting

@HockeyBee
Oh so now we’re doing “they’re distant” after a week of “they’re secretly married”? 😭 Let’s pick a narrative guys I can’t keep up

@ChaosGoalie
Hockey marriage -> hockey divorce speedrun 😂

@realhockeyonly
About time someone told them to cut the distractions

@puckmylife
idk I think they realized they were feeding the rumors and pulled back. Seems intentional.

@QComment
I don’t know which I hate more – the idea that Roz is straight and ‘no homo-ing’ so hard he’s refusing to touch his gay bestie in public, or the idea that they’re together but hiding 😕

@saypuckit
Or maybe they’re just… normal people who aren’t glued together 24/7?

@ChaosGoalie
They WERE glued together 24/7 and now they’re not. That’s the whole point

@GoOutside
@NHLTea I don’t understand how you take yourself seriously, you are a hockey drama flat-earther

@NHLTea
Home game against Montreal tomorrow so I guess we’ll see if the pattern holds??

Chapter End Notes

See you back here tomorrow for the Ottawa-Montreal game!

Chapter 19: Sell-out game

Chapter Notes

To those who were distressed by NHLTea's nosiness: I am sorry. I want you all to know that before writing the chapter I meditated on it for some time before reluctantly concluding that while NHLTea is a lot of fun and will fight homophobia to the end of the earth they are also an utter drama llama. It would have been a betrayal of my vision for NHLTea to obscure their appetite for drama in the service of preserving their likeability. (also I can only handle so many social media accounts before my brain starts to break so I didn't have the bandwidth to build up another gossip account for the purpose 😅)

Anyway - enjoy the game!

Mid December 2018

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
We’re ready for another challenge - come be a part of it!
Support your local team on home ice – tomorrow at 7pm.
🎟️ Limited tickets remaining

Montreal Metros @MTLMetros
Some games hit different.
Ottawa better be ready.
#GoMetros

SportsNet @SportsNet
Hollander faces Montreal tonight for the first time since last week’s off-ice headlines involving him and teammate Ilya Rozanov. Expect a charged atmosphere.

@MTLForever
Another game where we get to watch him skate around with the guy he left for. Awesome.

@MetroTrue
6 days later and it still doesn’t sit right. “not one factor” - what BS

@NHLTea
People are mad he didn’t deny it and also mad he didn’t confirm it. Pick a lane.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Between the article fallout and the history here, this might be the most emotionally loaded game of the week.

@MontrealStandard
Come on Montreal, let’s take this on the road and be LOUD tonight

@TheStatsGuy
Curious to see how Montreal approaches Hollander tonight after the past week. Last time it got borderline.

@RozanovApologist
Rozanov’s going to be interesting tonight. You know he’s not letting anything happen.

@saypuckit
Can we just talk about hockey instead of their house??

@PuckTalk
A lot of Metros jerseys expected in Ottawa’s house tonight! The vibe’s going to be interesting, that’s for sure…

@CensBeat
Expecting one of the livelier crowds Ottawa’s had this season tonight.

@OttawaFan
Haven’t seen the building this full in a while 👀

@CentaurBaby
Forget the rebuild, Ottawa finally selling tickets because two superstars wanted a sauna

The first Montreal game had been a shock.

Young had never been on the ice with a crowd like that – the wall of sound, the viciousness of it. He’d never been in a game like that, either. Oh, sure, he’d played his share of chaotic, messy games in juniors – but not a game where a quarter of a roster were so focused on one player that it bent their own plays out of shape.

He’d been impressed by Hollander before that game – it was hard not to be, seeing him from the wing - but afterwards he admired him even more. Hollander was focusing through the crowd, through some intense fucking chirps, bouncing back from hits like they didn’t stick, all while playing almost twice as many minutes as Young. And then the day after he’d been back in the training facility, completely calm and collected.

Elite behaviour.

They’d planned for this game. Talked about it, broken it down. Keep the puck moving to try to evade the hits. Don’t give up power play opportunities with stupid, angry penalties. Let them talk themselves out – just ignore it.

Young had taken all of that in and nodded determinedly. The crowd and the chirps had been a surprise last time, for sure, but he told himself this time was in their own barn and he’d already heard the worst they had to offer. Told himself he would take it in his stride.

Then, on his first shift, one of the Metros says to him, “So you guys all have sleepovers together or just them?”

It doesn’t click with Young at first. The tone sounds almost joking, light, but there’s something off about the expression that’s matched with it. It leaves him feeling uneasy, wondering if he’s missed something important.

Young doesn’t say anything. He’s not even sure what he should say.

But it continues through that shift, and the next, and the next. 

“Captain’s busy playing house.”

“That your culture now?”

“Your guy left his team for that.”

“You trust that?”

“You think he’s loyal?”

It’s not just one player, Young realises. It feels like all of them. Any Metro who corners him against the boards or who ends up next to him after a stoppage starts up with the next chirp. Like it’s coordinated or something. Some of the younger guys laugh a bit as they say it, but some of the veterans sound bitter and others sound disgusted.

Young bites his lip and focuses on moving the puck, focuses on keeping up with Hollander. The play is moving fast - trying to move the puck ahead of the checks they keep trying to land on Hollzy - and he forces himself not to hear the words.

“He walks when things get hard.”

An image of that weird, unsettling photo from before the first Metros game pulls up behind Young’s eyes. “Fucking shut it,” he blurts out before he can stop himself, and the player – Finley – grins.

As they come off for a change, Hollander skates next to him, and grips his shoulder as they settle on the bench. “Don’t let it get to you,” he advises. “Don’t engage, don’t respond.”

“Block it out. Yeah, I know,” Young says, determined to do better next time, but Hollander gives a little half shrug, half shake of his head.

“Try focusing on other things,” he says. “Your breath. Your stick. The puck. Those things matter more.”

Then Hollander’s attention is grabbed by Weber, and he turns his attention away, to his next shift.

Hollander’s next shift is with his second set of wingers, and as he sits Young tries to practise what he’s been told; watch the puck, watch the play, not let his thoughts be tugged onto the chirps. But instead he finds himself watching Hollander, face carefully neutral as he plays, wondering how it is that he makes it look so easy.

Watches the harassing little hits and bumps. Watches the checks that are not – quite – as bad as the last Metros game. Watches the traffic forming around him after the whistle.

Watches the Metros’ mouths moving all the time.

He feels a bit sick.

They’re jawing at Rozanov too, he can see it – but it doesn’t seem to land. Rozanov just chirps them back, and usually it’s the Metros who skate off scowling. Even across the ice Young can see Fletcher, the new winger the Metros have been bragging on, come off worse in a little exchange – just make out something like mingled pity and contempt in Roz’s face as he says something to the younger player, coolly steals the puck, and plays it into the first goal of the game.

Young is on his feet cheering with the rest of the bench, but he feels a sharp hit of envious embarrassment. Somehow when Roz chirps back he comes out the best – but when Young talks back he makes himself a target.

And the chirping at him has definitely amped up since he snapped back.

“Made you mad?”

“Don’t like the truth?”

“He’s a traitor.”

“Cried to the league, burned the room.”

“And for what? To cozy up with a rival player?”

“Maybe that’s how he gets his kicks?”

“Maybe he’s already picked a new one.”

Young tries to do what Hollander told him. Focuses on his breath, on his hands on the stick. Focuses on listening past the whispers and laughter - for Hollzy, for coach. Tries not to understand what they’re saying.

Scoreboard, he tells himself fiercely as the period clock wears down, and “Scoreboard,” he retorts to Finley after one remark. He earns a rough jostle for it – the ref gives Finley a hard look but says nothing.

“You think that will last?” Finley says. “With your goalie?”

Young realises Hollander’s moving and he needs to be too; he pushes off hard, furious with himself.

Despite Finley’s mockery, they make it to the first intermission still up 1-0, and Young tries to settle himself.

“The Metros seem to have a lot to say out there,” Coach Wiebe says in his slightly sardonic way.

“They want me and Hollander to give them a house tour, I think,” Roz says casually. “Keep asking questions about it. Very weird. Like whole team is a jealous ex-boyfriend.”

Hollander rolls his eyes at Rozanov, and the tension in the room eases a notch as a few people chuckle.

“They’re looking for reactions,” Wiebe says more practically. “Don’t bite. Let them focus on chirping – we’ll focus on hockey. It worked for us this period and it will keep working.”

Young nods along with the rest, rolling his shoulders to try to let the words settle in more deeply, and tries to tell himself he’s ready for the next period.

The next period starts hard. The Metros seem to have figured out that the chirping isn’t working, and they’ve come back out determined to see if bigger hits might make the words land harder. Hollander takes a couple of nasty checks in Young’s first shift out with him – nothing he can’t handle, but it has his mouth pulling flat and has the play speeding up to compensate. At least Young’s so focused on keeping up that it’s easier to set the chirps aside, for now.

The checks are escalating on Rozanov, too – not that he seems to care, either shoving back into the hits with bruising force or riding them out as if they’re nothing.

“Keep trying, maybe will work next time,” he hears Roz say encouragingly when the whistle goes and he shoves free of a board battle near the bench. Fletcher shoves him; Roz just shakes his head and starts to skate away. Fletcher grabs his jersey and shoves him again, harder this time – and the ref’s arm goes up.

“I barely touched him!” Fletcher protests, but the ref just points him to the box.

Young finds himself almost agreeing with Fletcher – it hadn’t looked like much. Just the same sort of shoving and pushing that Hollander and Rozanov have both been having to shoulder their way through at every stoppage so far.

Then again, perhaps that was the ref’s point.

Hollander wastes no time joining Rozanov on the ice for the power play, of course, and it feels like no time at all before they’re breaking cracks in the Metros’ penalty kill, Hollander snapping a goal in before the goalie can catch up with his and Rozanov’s quickfire passes. It feels like half of the arena erupts into boos, the noise is so loud, but Young just thinks scoreboard again, and wishes he could play like Rozanov and grind it into Finley’s face.

Whatever good the refs thought they were doing with the call on Fletcher seems to have been eroded by Hollander scoring on the power play. When Young next goes on with him, the Metros almost leave him alone on the ice, they’re so focused on Hollzy. When Hollander manages to pass the puck out, Young carries it all the way into the Metros’ zone before he’s intercepted by their defence, but they’ve also managed to tangle up Hollzy behind the play when he tries to follow.

Young and D’Souza do their best, but by the time Hollander joins the rush the Metros have turned it over.  Hollander manages to win the puck back almost immediately – but the Metros have decided on a working strategy, and Hollzy is immediately driven into the boards, hemmed in hard by both Finley and Byrne.

Young gets in close to take a desperation pass – close enough to catch the edges of Finley’s sharp, “Finally got the guy? Stalking paid off?”

“Watch the chirps,” a ref cuts in tersely, and when Finley half-turns to give him a resentful look Hollzy chips the puck out, and the play is on again.

After that shift, the refs seem to keep a man tracking Hollander every time he’s on the ice. He’s not entirely sure how much good it’s doing – they seem shy about issuing penalties, just handing out warnings, and Hollander’s still taking more than his share of hits.

They’re mid line change when the play shifts and Hollander’s suddenly calling for him to move. Young doesn’t think, just goes where he’s told, but feels a flicker of unease when Hollander carries the puck into the zone and he sees Comeau on defence instead of Stedlund. Young feels relieved to see the ref still tracking Hollander, and then worried and relieved in a confusing mix when rather than moving to intercept Hollander Comeau stays shadowing him.

“Is it weird in the room?” Comeau asks. Wilson and Byrne are boxing Hollander in, and D’Souza had already been over the boards – Young tries to get some space to take a pass, but he’s already been on for a full shift, and Comeau is fresh. He works his way closer to Hollander, trying to watch Hollzy’s face for cues, but Comeau is right on top of him the whole time. “Careful in the showers, kid,” Comeau says. “Watch yourself around those two.”

Young is focused enough on Hollzy that at first the meaning of the words doesn’t land. It’s only when he sees Hollander’s face change – eyes flicking to Comeau for just an instant with a flash of icy fury – that Young realises what he’s just heard. He jerks to look at Comeau himself. It’s just a moment, before he snaps himself under control and wrenches back to Hollander, but a moment’s enough – Hollander chips the puck loose just before losing it, and Young is one half-second too late to collect it.

Dillon’s finally made it into the zone with them, just in time to miss the interception, and just in time to be too slow to keep up with Young and Hollander on the backcheck. Even distraught at the turnover, Young feels a moment’s smugness about being faster than the veteran even at the end of a shift – but his smugness dies quickly when he and Hollander arrive too late to do anything but watch the messy scramble at the Ottawa net. There’s an eruption of groans and cheers, and Young realises he’s cost them a goal.  

Hollander’s jaw is very tight as they skate back towards the bench together, and Young can’t quite figure out how to apologise or what to say. Rozanov meets them at the boards – gives Hollander a long look – but Hollander just shakes his head and jerks his chin at Young instead.

Young braces himself for disappointment, and is thrown off balance when Rozanov says with apparent concern, “You okay?”

Young blinks at him. “I’m fine,” he says quickly, before he becomes the centre of anything.

Roz nods briefly, and absently touches Hollander’s arm as they switch places. “Comeau talks shit,” he tells Young seriously. “Whatever he said is not on you.”

Young doesn’t have another shift before the period ends a couple of minutes later. A good thing, probably – for all he spends the time watching the puck and telling himself to pay attention, he’s replaying what Comeau said over and over.

It’s not that Young’s not heard the jokes – but he’d kind of thought that’s all they were. And he’d kind of thought that the players were the butt of it – ha ha, those dumb bigot jocks and their jokes about ‘watch out in the showers’. It just… hadn’t occurred to him that a joke like that might matter. To hear someone say it and – well, not mean it, maybe, but mean it to hurt…

It’s Pointy who’s the anxious one, not him, but he’s suddenly finding himself with a pit in his stomach and six different half-formed and embarrassing speeches to make it clear to Hollander that Comeau’s gross comments don’t make any difference to him.

And he still kind of wants to apologise about that goal.

In the intermission, Hollander comes over to him in the locker room before he’s had a chance to figure out what he wants to say.

“You doing alright?” Hollander asks.

“I’m fine,” Young says quickly. “It was nothing.” It’s not quite right, it’s not what he wants to say – but he knows it doesn’t feel right for Hollander to be worrying for him.

Hollander seems to hesitate for a moment. "If it didn't land, fine,” he says quietly. “No reason for you to take what he says on board. But it’s understandable to react when something's out of line.”

“Yeah,” says Young doubtfully, rather than saying you don’t react or I cost us a goal. “I just don’t want to make it a thing." Then, before he can stop it, one of his worse questions lines itself up and shoots out of his mouth. “Do you get that a lot?”

There’s a pause, and Young now understands what Pointy must feel when he sometimes says he wishes he could turn into a ghost mid-conversation. Finally, Hollander says, “Never in this room. And that's what matters to me.” He grips Young’s shoulder lightly. “Good work keeping up. That was a long shift.”

Hollander heads into the midst of the team, briefly checking in with a few others. Young doesn’t want to go join the conversation, so he stays off to one side, restlessly fidgeting with his phone and trying to distract himself from his thoughts.

It’s not working very well. When Rozanov draws Hollander out of the group and back towards his stall, and Young hears his name – well, Candy Crush doesn’t stand a chance.

“Young doing okay?” Rozanov asks.

"He handled it,” Hollander says. “I told him he was allowed to react if something crossed a line.”

Rozanov snorts. “Hypocrite,” he accuses fondly. “Next you will tell him taking breaks is healthy.”

Hollander doesn’t say anything, and when Young sneaks a glance all he sees is a tired shrug.

“You going to tell me what Comeau said?” Rozanov asks steadily.

“Nope.”

Rozanov’s voice flattens. “Give me something. Or I go through him next shift.”

Young thinks he means it. From Hollander’s irritated sigh, he agrees. “Same shit as last year,” he says evenly. “No slurs. No threats.”

Rozanov’s voice drops, but it’s intense enough that Young can still hear him when he bites out “Motherfucker.” Young’s hand clenches a little tighter around his phone as the implications of that start to sink in.

“Keep it together,” Hollander says firmly. “No instigator penalties, and no game suspensions.”

“Might be worth it,” Rozanov says bleakly.

Hollander’s voice goes sharp. “No, he's not.”

Rozanov exhales slowly. There’s a pause that goes on long enough that Young has to fight himself to keep his eyes on his phone screen, and when Rozanov speaks again his voice has dropped low enough that Young can barely hear. “Shane - take a real break before we get back on,” he says, voice so concerned that it throws Young off-balance. “They are coming after you hard."

“I've got it,” Hollander says.

“Moy litsemer,” Rozanov says, the unfamiliar word edged with sarcasm and something like fondness.

“I've got it, Rozanov,” Hollander says firmly, and Rozanov leaves him to it.

They head back out for third period sooner than Young really wants to. His first shift back on, he wonders if being in the lead would make the Metros easier to play against – certainly, being a goal behind in third hasn’t seemed to sweeten their tempers. Or maybe Comeau’s been laughing it up about his ‘showers’ joke all intermission, and everyone’s decided they need to up the ante further.

Whatever the reason, the Metros have amped up their hits on Hollander even further. The ref looks like he’s one hard stare away from calling something – Young can almost see his hand twitching at his side – but Hollander can’t carry the puck an inch before he’s jumped on.

Hollander’s shifts start to follow a predictable pattern – claim the puck, chip it out to D’Souza or Young; they run like mad with it while Hollander rides out the inevitable massive check; everyone hopes that Hollander shakes off the hit and gets there to support them before the defence turns it over. The Metros’ strategy rests on neither D’Souza or Young being elite scorers – but though they each give it their best try, much to Young’s frustration that gamble from the Metros seems to be paying off.

It’s probably selfish of him to feel relieved when it’s not his line where it happens. Instead, Young is watching from the bench as Weber fumbles a catch and the play turns over before Hollander’s fully righted himself, and in the next moment there’s a chaotic, all-hands-on rush on the goal, which somehow in the mess and confusion of blocked shots and rebounds leads to Hollander being knocked into the boards - and the puck being knocked into the net.

Hollander comes back to the bench with his mouth a flat line and his face set hard. “Glancing hit,” he says almost before coach opens his mouth. “I’m good to play.”

Coach gives him a hard look. “Take one off first,” he says. Hollander’s mouth stays thin, but he nods and clears off the ice.

Rozanov’s line is weathering the physical play better – they make it into the zone and spend a shift firing pucks at the Metros goal. Still, Rozanov’s aim seems less daring than usual – less about trying to slip the puck in through a bare inch or an awkward angle, and more about driving the puck hard and fast straight into the goalie, forcing him to block or absorb it. It takes a few tries before the goalie manages to grab a puck on the rebound and finally freeze the play.

Coach Wiebe breathes out through his teeth. “Stacked line,” he says. “Hollander, get ready.”

Hollander nods, and as he jumps the boards to join Rozanov Young leans forward eagerly, watching to see how the pace of the game might change next.

Shane can feel the hits he’s taken as he jumps over the boards - tender or hot or electric patches. But for now his muscles are still warm and loose, and he can ignore tomorrow’s bruises as he skates over to Bood and Ilya. Ilya looks him over, concern in the corners of his mouth - but with the game tied Shane wants to win more than he wants care. He makes his strides smooth and strong, not letting the earliest quivers of fatigue show in his movement, and he’s rewarded by Ilya’s face relaxing into a grin.

“Wiebe wants a goal, then?” Ilya says.

“Maybe he thinks Hollzy needs a bodyguard,” Bood says dryly.

“I can look after myself,” Shane says firmly.

“We can do both,” Ilya says easily, ignoring Shane’s objection. When Shane scowls at him, he just laughs. “Moy zloy kotenok,” he says fondly, and Shane scowls more. “My faceoff.”

Shane nods and heads to the right wing. Not his favourite – but if he’s anywhere on the ice with Ilya, he will make it work.

Ilya wins the faceoff – of course – and knocks the puck out to Bood. Shane was more than half expecting that, but the Metros clearly weren’t; he almost smiles when Jackson and Fletcher both instinctively step towards him, giving Bood the space he needs to carry the puck away. Shane and Ilya waste no time in following, and then it’s just the electric rush of playing with Ilya, trusting Bood to be where they need him.

The three of them weave the puck back and forth a few times, passing fast rather than tempting hits. The  defence is closing in tight and Drapeau is good in the goal, damn it – even with Ilya doing his best earlier to break Drapeau’s fingers or bruise him through the padding, he’s not flinching or giving space.

Then it comes – the moment where something in the loose readiness of Ilya’s body changes, and Shane knows he has a plan. Ilya holds the puck a moment longer, as if indecisive, teasing Wilson into committing to a check; as soon as he sees Wilson move, on instinct Shane is ducking around Comeau and sliding into position to catch the puck. He shoots without thinking, without hardly looking: Ilya sent the puck at this angle and Shane’s instinct sent him to meet it here - so this is where the opening must be.

It’s after the puck has left his stick that he finishes catching up with himself – sees Bood, positioned perfectly for a pass – sees the goalie, moving to track Bood – and sees the puck flying into the net through the gap the goalie’s made.

The crowd is already starting to cheer when Comeau’s shoulder hits his chest and rides up upwards, hard enough that he feels it in his teeth and in the dizzying spin of net and glass and crowd and the bright lights above – and then feels it again as he slams back hard into the ice.

He can’t take a breath.

He aches – a horrible, buzzy ache fills his whole torso. That’s fine. Nothing sharp. But he can’t take a breath.

He tries – it feels like his chest has locked closed. He can feel the panic rising, and forces it down. Slow. Slow. Don’t gasp. Just breathe.

The buzzy ache is concentrating itself into a deep and nasty throb across his chest, his shoulder, his shoulder blades, but he finally sucks in a thin breath, and the panic starts to subside.

And then he’s able to pay attention to sounds again.

The roar – the crowd? – is just noise and pressure, like a wave that makes it hard to pick out anything else. The whistle cuts through, clean and sharp, and even before he hears Ilya’s voice he knows he needs to move.

Someone’s shouting his name. He sets his elbows to the ice and tries to push himself to sit, but he doesn’t have the breath to set his diaphragm against the pain in his chest, and he slumps back. There’s a babble of voices overlapping. “Late – that was fucking late –” “- clean hit, he’s fine –” “- just a finished check – Hollzy too much of a princess for that?”

Skates cut past him, there’s a thud of bodies, and he’s relieved; if Ilya’s starting a scrum, that probably means Shane managed to move enough that Ilya knows he’s okay.

Shane takes another careful breath, sets his core, and wincingly pushes up onto his elbows, trying to get eyes on the scrum.

It’s a moment before the knot of black and red and white figures resolves itself into recognisable players – but then he sees Ilya, half turned to look at him, and the eye contact steadies him like a thrown rope. “You too fucking slow to hit on time?” Ilya’s saying, voice rich with contempt. He turns back to look at Comeau. “You couldn’t keep up with him last year, either. No wonder he needed better fucking players than you.”

Ilya definitely saw him move, then, Shane notes absently as he pushes from his elbows onto his hands. Chirping, rather than either by Shane’s side checking on him or already three punches deep.

Twisting onto his knees hurts less than sitting had, or maybe the first shock of the pain is just fading. The linesmen are trying to break up the scrum, peeling off some of the outermost players - they’ve not yet reached Comeau and Ilya by the time Comeau pulls off a glove and grabs Ilya’s jersey.

Shane grabs his abandoned stick and braces on it only a moderate amount as he pushes to his feet. Then he pushes towards the edge of the scrum, reaches in, and catches Ilya’s sleeve.

Ilya hasn’t been resisting Comeau’s pull, but at Shane’s touch he turns and looks at him. There’s a moment where Shane can see him hovering on the edge – where seeing Shane up seems like it will be enough to pull him back. The linesmen sense their moment and start to move back in.

“On a leash now?” Comeau snaps. “That how you like it?”

There’s a beat, with Shane still meeting Ilya’s eyes, where suddenly Shane feels cold. Then, very deliberately, he releases his hold on Ilya’s jersey and steps away from the scrum.

Ilya’s face blooms with a savage smile, and he drops his own gloves and lets Comeau draw him in.

Shane doesn’t look back at the fight – he’ll be of no use to Ilya there. Instead he focuses on his skating, on the smooth motion of his legs and hips; absently flexing his wrists, and then more cautiously rolling each of his shoulders. His left is a problem, but a manageable one, he concludes by the time he reaches the bench.

They’ve got the bench gate open for him, rather than having him jump the boards. Shane’s confident he could have made it over, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to manage his face while he does, so he steps in without commenting.

“You good?” Wiebe asks. “You were down for a second there.”

“Just winded,” Shane says matter-of-factly. “I’m fine. The puck was fully in the net before he hit me.”

“Yeah. Late as hell,” Wiebe agrees. “Hopefully the refs call it or the bench might riot. Go talk to the trainers, Hollander,” he adds when Shane starts to take his usual place, and Shane keeps his sigh purely internal as he moves to the end of the bench instead.

A few of the team look over at him – Young and LaPointe both look a bit wide-eyed, and he makes a point of giving them both a brief nod. But mostly the team are riveted on the fight, and Antonia is waiting with performative patience, so aside from smiling in response to the quick check-ins he doesn’t delay.

“Sit,” she tells him. “Let’s have a look.”

More than half of Shane’s attention is on the ice and on the announcements, but he responds to Antonia’s prompts with slightly irritated politeness; drawing in a slow and careful breath (pleased when it doesn’t catch), letting her poke at his ribs and shoulders and do a concussion check. When she diagnoses him as having taken a hell of a whack, but not having any lasting damage, he nods and immediately says, “So I’m cleared to play?”

“You’re cleared to sit on the bench for at least a minute first,” she tells him firmly. 

The refs are still picking apart the aftermath by the time Antonia releases him. He goes back to his usual place – resignedly relays “One minute off,” when Wiebe looks at him – but then without the distraction of a penlight in his eyes looks to the ice to make sense of what had happened.

Ilya and Comeau have finally been tugged apart by linesmen; Shane tracks Ilya’s movement as he heads to the box, relieved (though unsurprised) to see him moving easily, shoulders loose and relaxed. The linesmen hold Comeau for a moment longer before sending him; Shane doesn’t deny himself the flicker of satisfaction at the blood on Comeau’s face, though he keeps his face neutral for the cameras.

“Five minutes,” Wiebe says aside to Shane as he watches. “You couldn’t stop him?”

It’s wry, not accusatory, and so after a moment’s consideration Shane shrugs. "We had the lead back,” he says evenly. “I gave Comeau an opportunity to walk away. He wanted the last word more.”

Wiebe gives him a sharp look, then snorts, nods, and turns his attention back to the ice again.

The refs confer, and the bench tenses up watchfully. Shane tries not to care, but – the hit was late – and when Comeau is given the late hit minor as well as the fighting major, Shane feels a knot of tension unlock in his diaphragm, and he feels like he can hold himself a little more loosely.

All through Ilya’s five minutes in the box Shane works on breathing through frustration. Wiebe’s keeping him on short, controlled shifts – it galls, but he can’t contest it, not when he can feel how his chest and shoulder keep trying to stiffen up even as he systematically, gently loosens them; not when the shaky feeling of fatigue in his muscles is harder than it should be to ignore. This is how it is, he tells himself firmly, and uses his shifts to track where his body is setting the limits at, trying to gauge how soft or hard those limits are. No need to score, he tells himself firmly. Just control the puck; keep the game slow; find his edges.

Wait for Ilya.

Wiebe times the shifts perfectly; Shane and Bood have just settled onto the ice when Ilya is released from the box. He grins at Shane as he takes the wing, and Shane smiles helplessly back and passes him the puck.

Ilya’s clearly been watching Shane’s shifts; he matches his pace to Shane’s without needing a conversation. Shane’s not able to reach the wild, electric synergy of some of their power-plays, but they keep the puck moving, keep the pressure on, and it seems like that might be enough – he sees an opening – but he’s not quite fast enough to dodge around Stedlund, and he passes out to Bood instead as the window closes.

Shane’s pulled off before Ilya is – a wrench, but he doesn’t waste time regretting it, just goes. Ilya has the fresh legs, after all. When Ilya is pulled, too, the next line is easily slapped back by the Metros, but Shane focuses on Ilya beside him on the bench, shoulder pressed to his own.

“Okay?” Ilya checks gently.

Shane gives him a half smile. “Okay for three more minutes,” he says, and then they’re back on.

Shane wants another goal – wants the decisiveness of it, wants to breathe out – but the next shift with Ilya is much the same. It’s working – they’re in the zone, they’re making the Metros feel the pressure – but even a hair slow is a problem against a good goalie, and Shane doesn’t want to take another big hit in front of Ilya tonight. When Drapeau grabs a puck Shane’s fired – not fast or hard enough to slip past or rebound – Shane keeps rolling his shoulders to stop frustration stiffening them further as he heads back to the bench at Wiebe’s call.

Less than a minute on the clock, and Wiebe sends them out together for a last, messy shift. The Metros pull their goalie – a last, desperate push for a goal – and the last nine minutes of carefully mapping his limits comes into its own as Shane pushes against every one of them, equally determined to stop them. Jackson and Fletcher are at least more committed to the puck than they are to big hits, and the chirps have dropped off in this last period as fatigue took over – it’s almost like a normal hockey game, and even with the ache in his shoulder and across his chest it’s a little easier to keep playing. And with Ilya beside him - passing the puck back and forth, burning the clock until the horn sounds – easier still.  

Even as Young cheers on the bench when the horn goes at 3-2, even as he’s surrounded by the team doing the same, he can feel the difference in it. There’s a relief – thank god that’s done and we get to stop now – thank god Hollzy’s not properly injured – but there’s also a hint of teeth to it.

Fuck you. We won against you, and we won clean.

Young looks across to the Metros bench, and feels that particular hit of victory intensify as he sees their surly or frustrated looks. One guy – Pike? – keeps looking over at Hollander on the ice, but if he was going to try a last chirp or something he eventually changes his mind. Hollander probably wouldn’t be able to hear it, anyway – he’s next to Tremblay in the centre of a cluster of players, and it looks like he’s all but pushed back to the bench rather than being allowed to skate under his own power.

Hollzy taps gloves with everyone – not much of a hugger – but he also grips Young’s shoulder again. “Good game,” he tells him seriously. “Long shifts, and long minutes, and you kept up.”

Young feels puffed up with the praise, but his mouth hasn’t quite caught up with that feeling. “I couldn’t finish the plays,” he says.

Hollzy gives him a half-smile. “Drapeau’s tough,” he says. “We’ll do some shooting practise.”

A last nod, and then Hollander leaves the bench to make his way up the tunnel. He doesn’t stop for autographs – he normally does, at least for a couple of minutes, but with that big hit no one seems too surprised when he keeps moving. It’s Rozanov who’s more of a surprise. As usual Roz is almost the last off the bench, only leaving once he’s exchanged a word or a touch with everyone (Young got an affectionate rap on the back of his helmet that warms him as much as Hollzy’s shoulder grip) – but normally he’ll still linger for a moment or two, chatting with fans and signing things. This time he looks up – then keeps moving down the tunnel with no more than a wave.

Young looks up, too, and sees the blue jerseys mixed in with the red and black, and wonders if that’s why.

By the time Young gets back into the locker room, Hollander already has a couple of trainers at his stall, poking at his chest and shoulder again. Young sneaks a look over, but no one seems too concerned – Hollander looks kind of annoyed but like he’s trying to be nice about it. “I’ll ice it,” Young hears him promising them. “Now, why don’t you make Rozanov show you his hands?”

The distraction is well calculated – by the time Young makes it to his own stall next to LaPointe, the trainer is carefully checking out Rozanov’s bruised knuckles.

“That was some game,” LaPointe says. They’re on different lines, with LaPointe having fewer minutes than him, but even after Young’s minutes dropped in the third they’d not had much chance for bench chat. “Especially the fight. Holy shit, right?”

“Yeah,” Young says. “It was intense.”

LaPointe gives him a somewhat odd look. Young realises he’s being weirdly quiet, but he doesn’t quite know how to shrug it off yet.

Director Robyn comes in – Young only vaguely tracks her as she goes to Rozanov and Hollander, but he does look up when he feels her attention on him. For a moment he wonders if he’s going to be pulled in front of the media, to give a rookie perspective of the game, and his stomach turns over a bit – but then Rozanov keeps talking and her eyes track on. A moment later, Hollander nods, sets down his bag of ice and he follows her out with Rozanov at his heels.

Young feels physically better after having showered, but he still can’t quite shake his unsettled feelings. By the time he comes out of the showers the locker room is quieter, and when Roz and Hollzy return from doing media it’s easy to hear their quiet exchange.

“Ice back on,” Roz tells Hollander.

“Who’s the hypocrite now?” Hollzy snipes back, already reaching for the bag.

“Do not know what you mean,” Roz says blithely – very much not reaching for ice himself for his swollen knuckles. Then Hollzy must say or do something Young misses, because Roz laughs. “Will ice them when we get home. Is fine. Just bruises.” He pauses, then says quietly but with deep satisfaction. “Worth it.”

Hollander makes a mildly disagreeing noise. “Your hands are important.”

“You didn’t like my work?” Roz asks mildly.

There’s an undercurrent to his voice that has Young looking up at them, hands stilling on the buttons of his shirt. Roz has paused what he was doing and is looking at Hollander, waiting for an answer, his eyes not wavering.

Hollander looks back up at him from where he’s sitting by his stall. “No instigator penalty, no suspension,” he says analytically, and some of the coiled tension in Rozanov eases. Then Hollander gives a thin little smile. “It was good work,” he agrees. A smirk tugs onto Rozanov’s face, and Hollzy’s smile turns a little sharper. “I don’t think I enjoyed it as much as you,” he comments. “Call it an early Christmas present?”

It’s dry and a little dark and so much not what he expected from Hollander that Young’s almost shocked by it.

Rozanov doesn’t look shocked in the least – the look he gives Hollander is amused and weirdly delighted and has Young instinctively looking back to his buttons before he’s caught staring. “So thoughtful,” Rozanov says, and he sounds teasing but also… not. “Moy mayak.”

Young thinks of the video he’s seen – he thinks everyone in the league has seen – of Comeau on the ice, saying something; of Rozanov turning and rushing for him; of Hollander getting there first and sending Comeau to the ice with a single punch. He thinks of the simmering tension of last Montreal game that never quite boiled over, and he thinks of this game and Roz saying give me something, or I go through him, and he thinks of Hollander saying same shit as last year about the weird and horrible chirp.

He turns to LaPointe, who is well ahead of him and is already doing up his shoes. “I don’t know about you, but I could really use a beer,” he says.

Chapter End Notes

Russian translation notes
Moy litsemer – my hypocrite
Moy zloy kotenok – my angry kitten
Moy mayak – my lighthouse

Chapter 20: News from Ottawa

Chapter Notes

I loved all your comments on the last chapter! I'm glad everyone's so pleased about Comeau's deserved punch in the face.

Early December 2018

@HockeyNightLive
Getting ready for puck drop on the Ottawa-Montreal game – this one should be exciting.

@OttawaOutAndAbout
At the Ottawa-Montreal game, and I’m pleased to say that once again the Jersey Parents are here! (sweet couple with major Mom and Dad energy, wearing 24 and 81 jerseys)

@OttawaOutAndAbout
Also, side note, possibly I am legit a hockey fan now??

@CensLoyalist
Less chippy than the first Montreal-Ottawa matchup of the season, but is it just me or does it look like the Metros are talking A LOT? 👀

@ChaosGoalie
The Metros are 100% chirping about the house article 🙄

@HollanderHive
You can SEE them trying to get under Hollander’s skin and it’s just not working

@MontrealStandard
Every rivalry game has chirping. Not everything is a scandal.

@NHLTea
Every whistle there’s like 3 guys talking at Hollander – you really think that’s normal?

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
You can literally see Ottawa speeding the play up whenever Hollander touches the puck. They’re trying to outrun contact.

@MetroTrue
Hollander can’t take the hits lol

@HockeyNightLive
Rozanov scores – 1-0 to Ottawa.

@RozanovApologist
Roz messing with that kid before the goal 😂

@SmirkOfTheNorth
A lesson all young players must learn. Don’t try to outchirp a master.

@MTLForever
Scoreboard won’t look so cute when Ottawa’s goalie melts down

@MetroTrue
Yeah Tremblay has no staying power

@HockeyNightLive
End of period 1 – Ottawa one up at 1-0.

@CensLoyalist
I see the Metros have gotten tired of playing hockey and have decided to just start hitting Hollander instead 😠

@RealHockeyOnly
He’s one of their best players. Of course he’s getting targeted. That’s hockey.

@RozanovApologist
Lol Rozy riding out the hits with a big smile

@HockeyNightLive
Roughing penalty called on Fletcher – Ottawa PP!

@SmirkOfTheNorth
Rozanov chirping like he’s hosting a podcast mid-game

@MontrealForever
Oh come on, that wasn’t roughing – Fletcher barely had a hand on him!

@saypuckit
You trade away a solid player for a kid, you gotta deal with having a kid 🤷‍♂️

@TheStatsGuy
Fletcher’s skill is obvious but the decision-making isn’t there yet

@MetroTrue
Refs not even being subtle about it, huh?

@MTLForever
Yeah. Refs are going to shift the whole game. That’s a joke call on Fletcher.

@Hockey1234
You think Hollander has to work hard for all these favors from the league?

@ChaosGoalie
You think the league told Fletcher to grab Roz’s jersey and shove him twice??

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
It’s a tone-setting penalty, not a conspiracy

@HockeyNightLive
Hollander scores on the PP – 2-0 to Ottawa

@OttawaFan
I love watching their power play so much 😍

@saypuckit
Montreal’s solution to the PP goal is… hit him more? Bold strategy

@CensLoyalist
As soon as he touches the puck Hollander’s getting hammered by two Metros 😬

@MetroTrue
That’s hockey, if he doesn’t like it he shouldn’t play

@ChaosGoalie
Lol are you trying to chirp like Hollander’s not still getting the puck out when it’s two on one?

@MetrosFocus
We look kind of obsessed with him tbh

@OttawaFan
Hollander needs a finisher on the wing. His collection of baby players is cute but they’re not effective when he’s pinned down.

@MetrosDefense
We are way too focused on Hollander again. Should be following the puck, not him!

@HockeyNightLive
First Montreal goal! Jackson scores, making it 2-1.

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
Refs shadowing Hollander now – looks like they’re wanting to stop any further escalation

@Puck18
Ref’s pet

@NHLTea
Hey did anyone else catch that moment just before the turnover? Wonder what Comeau said to Young to make him look around like that.

@ChaosGoalie
Yeah that looked weird

@puckmylife
Young’s a rookie. He’d probably flinch at a ‘your mom’ joke.

@NHLRumourLog
The replay doesn’t show it but if you roll back the broadcast you can see Hollander reacted too

@OldSchoolPuck
If they let chirps get to them, the turnover is on them

@puckmylife
This game has a weird edge to it now

@HockeyNightLive
Second period score: 2-1 to Ottawa.

@HollanderDefenseSquad
wow Hollander is taking some hits

@SticktotheSix
“Elite” but can’t handle physical hockey

@BringBack1987
Different era he wouldn’t last a week

@HockeyNightLive
Laine scores equaliser for the Metros! Score is now 2-2

@MetroTrue
Tremblay in his usual fine form 😂

@SolelyGoalie
I would not want to be Drapeau right now with that barrage. Rozanov is shooting to kill.

@HockeyNightLive
Ottawa sending out a heavy offensive line – Rozanov, Hollander, and Bood on as forwards

@OttawaFan
Yesss here we go!

@ChaosGoalie
Lol at the Metros being so obsessed with Hollander that they try to chase the wrong player 😂

@HockeyNightLive
Hollander scores for Ottawa – score now 3-2

@HockeyNightLive
Hollander is down after a hit from Comeau!

@CensLoyalist
Fucking LATE HIT

@CentaurBaby
Late hit yeah and what about high??

@OttawaOutAndAbout
Jersey Parents look really upset! ☹️ (I realise I should be watching the game not the crowd but honestly I still only understand what’s going on about half the time). I am also upset, but not as much as Jersey Parents.

@RealHockeyOnly
Every time he gets touched it’s suddenly a crisis 🙄

@MetroTrue
Finish your checks

@NHLTea
On the replay you can SEE Comeau accelerate after the puck’s already out

@ChaosGoalie
Less finishing a hit, more trying hitting a plausible deniability window 😡

@Hockey1234
Lol cry about it

@CensLoyalist
Oh thank fuck, he’s moving

@HockeyNightLive
Comeau and Rozanov dropping the gloves!

@RozanovApologist
YES Rozy kill kill

@MetroTrue
So he scores and then his buddy jumps our guy?? Instigator all day

@CensLoyalist
You take runs at our best player all game and then act shocked when someone answers??

@ChaosGoalie
Can’t tell if you’re trolling or just stupid. Look at the replay – Comeau drops gloves, grabs Rozanov’s jersey, reels him in – Roz’s gloves still on.

@Hockey1234
Some guys just bring distractions with them wherever they go

@puck18
At least Comeau doesn’t hide behind teammates

@NHLTea
What’s wild to me is the moment where Hollander gets up and it looks for a moment like he’s going to pull Rozanov out of the scrum

@thisrozfan
Rozanov was not having that, he wanted the fight lol

@TumblrRefugee
Maybe but it did kind of look like the sequence went “Don’t do it he’s not worth it” -> Comeau saying something -> “Kick his ass baby."

@Ice1999
do you think Rozanov minds being Hollander’s guard dog or do you think he likes it?

@NHLRumourLog
Playing back the broadcast – is that Comeau calling Hollander ‘princess’ as Hollander’s laid out on the ice??

@CensLoyalist
Wow. Classy.

@NHLTea
So great to know those inclusion workshops the Metros ran are working 🙄

@HockeyNightLive
Penalties awarded-
Rozanov: Fighting major
Comeau: Fighting major + late hit

@MetroTrue
ANOTHER PP?? Refs are so biased this is unreal

@RozanovApologist
Comeau going to the box with cotton wool shoved up his nose. Roz going to the box looking at peace like a Zen master 😂

@CensLoyalist
👀 Hollander coming back on?? I thought for sure he was done.

@HockeyWatch
When you only have two players worth a damn what are you gonna do I guess

@TheStatsGuy
Ottawa clearly focusing on burning the clock at this point

@HockeyNightLive
Ottawa PP – both Rozanov and Hollander are on the ice

@MetroTrue
Rozanov doing all the work again

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
You can see in the way Hollander’s playing that he’s taken a battering – smart, careful, but slow.

@CensLoyalist
His slow is other players’ top speed tbh

@NHLTea
True but that’s not enough to score

@HockeyNightLive
Montreal pulls the goalie!

@NHLTea
Roz and Hollander essentially just doing passing practise at this point, not even trying for anything else.

@HockeyNightLive
Game end! Final score – 3-2 Ottawa.

@RozanovApologist
Rozanov plays agitator, enforcer, and playmaker all in one game. 😍 Rozanov I know you are committed to your hockey marriage but if that ever ends, call me!

@MetroTrue
Refs handed that to them, what a joke

@puck18
Whole game built around protecting one player. That’s not a contender.

@MetrosFocus
Undisciplined game cost us

@ChaosGoalie
So that might have been the most explosive real estate article ever written

@HockeyMediaClips
Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander doing joint media after the Ottawa-Montreal game:

Transcript:
[Hollander looks exhausted but composed. Rozanov looks calm.]

PR handler:
“We’re going to keep Shane brief tonight. Let’s keep it to game-related questions.”

“Shane - how are you feeling after that hit in the third?”
Hollander: [calmly] “A little sore. But really, I just had the breath knocked out.”

“Did you think the hit crossed a line?”
Hollander: [shrug] “I got the shot off. The refs assessed a minor. I’m happy with their call.”

“Ilya, you responded pretty quickly there — what did you see on that play?”
Rozanov: “I saw Hollander take a late hit.” [shrug] “Thought it was a good time to have a conversation.”

“Shane, did you expect that response to the hit?”
Hollander: “The game had been running hot. I didn’t see it coming, but I wasn’t surprised.”

“Rozanov, were you trying to send a message with the fight?”
Rozanov: “I didn’t start the fight. I just finished it.”

“Shane, what did it mean to you to see that response from your team?”
Hollander: “It’s a good room. We look out for each other.”

“Both Montreal games this season have had a lot of edge — do you see this as becoming an ongoing rivalry?”

Hollander: [firmly] “If there’s a rivalry developing, it’s not from Ottawa’s side – we’re focused on playing our game, and focused on winning. Not on trying to settle scores from the past.”

“Does an intense game like this one bring back anything from last season?”
Hollander: “I’ve already settled everything I need to settle from last season. I’m just here to play hockey.”

“What does a win like this say about your group?”
Rozanov: “Says we take care of our own. That we play, and win.”

PR handler:
“Thanks, everyone. I’m going to close things down so Shane and Ilya can get some rest.”

@MetroTrue
Can’t even do media without Rozanov to protect him now??

@NeutralZoneEnjoyer
“Happy with the call” is about as diplomatic as it gets after a hit like that

@SmirkOfTheNorth
“I didn’t start the fight. I just finished it.” 🔥🔥🔥

@TheStatsGuy
Hollander is drawing a very clear line: we play hockey, they make it personal

@pucktalk
“We take care of our own” yeah okay sure just teammates 👍

@NorthHockey
…yes? That is exactly how team sports should work.

@MTLForever
“No rivalry from Ottawa’s side” lol okay

@Hockey1234
Hollander spinning that victim narrative HARD

@RozanovApologist
“Conversation” with his fists and I respect it

@OttawaBabe
at a bar near the arena and pretty sure one of the cens rookies was just talking about what got said on the ice tonight 😬

@OttawaBabe
not gonna name names but apparently one of the metros said something like “watch yourself in the showers” about hollander/rozanov?? if that’s true… yikes

@NHLRumourLog
Unverified: Reports circulating that a comment made during tonight’s Ottawa-Montreal game included “watch yourself in the showers” in relation to Hollander/Rozanov.

@NHLTea
If that’s what was said then yeah… that reaction from Young and Hollander makes a LOT of sense

@CensLoyalist
So THAT’S what they were saying all night? Holy shit and we thought ‘princess’ was bad.

@snitchwatch
all hail our snitch king and all hail his court

@MetroTrue
“someone at a bar said a rookie said something” yeah okay 🙄

@MontrealStandard
We’re really running with this kind of thing now?

@NHLTea
Look at the context. Last season we have Comeau in a bar trashing Hollander + Comeau calling him f****t on the ice. This game we have Comeau on broadcast calling Hollander ‘princess’ after knocking him flat.
Comeau saying ‘watch yourself in the showers’ = kind of on brand.

@enforcethis
even if this has ANY truth to it – rookie needs to learn the fucking code

@OttawaFan
From “they live together” to THIS in under a week is wild

SportsNet @SportsNet
Unverified reports circulating online suggest some of the on-ice exchanges in tonight’s Ottawa-Montreal game may have crossed into inappropriate territory. No official confirmation.

@HockeyMediaClips
Post practise media availability from Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander, the day after the OTT-MTL game.

Transcript:

Rozanov: "Hello. Has been too long. Did you miss us?"

Hollander: [rolls his eyes]

“There’s been some chatter about the tone of what was said on the ice in that game — did you feel anything crossed a line verbally?”

Rozanov: [shrug, very judgemental tone] "Some chirps I wouldn't use. Refs gave some warnings.”

“Hollander - there’s a report that a Montreal player told a teammate to ‘watch himself in the showers’ around you — did you hear that?”

[Rozanov’s expression is angry but flat. Hollander looks very neutral]

Hollander: “I’m aware of what’s circulating on social media.”

“Fans have speculated that this was linked to an moment in the game when you were also present. Can you confirm if you heard a comment like that?”

[Hollander’s expression stays politely neutral. He turns to the PR handler]

PR handler: “We’re not going to get into specific reported comments.”

Hollander: [turns back to reporter, shrugs] “There you have it.”

“So just to be clear, you’re not confirming that anything like that was said?”

Hollander: [pause] “I’m saying I’m not getting into it.”

“Shane - you seem very measured talking about this—does that reflect how you process it during the game as well?”

Hollander: “I try to focus on the hockey – that’s what matters to me. Some players make engaging with chirps part of their gameplay, it works for them – that’s not my style, so I try not to give it my attention.”

“Without getting into specific language, do you feel there’s been a shift in how teams are engaging with you this season?”

[Rozanov and Hollander exchange a look]

Hollander: [blandly] “As individuals, I would say Rozanov and I have had fairly consistent interactions with teams this season and last season.”

Rozanov: “The Centaurs as a whole are not used to having so much attention, I think. But they are finding their feet.”

“Do you think the league needs to be clearer about what crosses that line?”

Hollander: “I think the league’s stated standards are actually clear. The grey area is enforcement - refs can’t be everywhere and hear everything. That means a lot of it comes down to players to set a tone. And most of that needs to come from inside the room, not from on the ice – it’s a player’s teammates, their org, who are going to have the most influence.”

“Ilya – you said you ‘finished it’ last night—was that you setting a tone?”

Rozanov: “I did not punch Comeau because he was chirping. I punched him because he dropped gloves and punched me first.” [pauses] “Probably would not have kept punching him if not for his chirping, though.”

Hollander: [sighs; undertone, away from microphones] “Inside thought, Ilya.”

Rozanov: [unrepentant shrug]

“You mentioned tone being set inside the room — do you feel that standard is being met consistently across the league right now?”

Hollander: “I don’t think I have the knowledge to comment on other orgs or other rooms.”

“About your own room, then - we’ve heard a lot about the room you guys have built here. Does a game like that reinforce that identity?”

Hollander: “I think you can often learn more from hard games than easy ones.”

Rozanov: “The room is tight. Tough games build that – having to work together, but also wanting to stick up for each other during tough shifts.”

“Shane – you said yesterday you were sore after the big hit. How are you feeling today?”

Hollander: [absently rolls shoulders; dry tone] “More sore. Bit stiff. Practise was interesting. But good to keep moving.”

Rozanov: [innocent voice, smirk] “Good thing we have a sauna.” [to reporters] “Maybe you already knew…?”

Hollander: [breaks composure – seems to be struggling to cover a laugh or a scowl]

PR Handler: “I think we’ll wrap there.”

@NHLRumourLog
They are VERY carefully not denying anything

@NHLTea
Yes! Denying it would be so much easier than this. Which… tells you something 👀

@Ice1999
Hollander says players should enforce tone but doesn’t like it when people say they don’t want someone like him in their room??

@OttawaFan
Hollander takes the hit, wins the game, refuses to engage in drama. That’s leadership.

@puck18
All that talk about “focusing on hockey” while doing a whole media tour about a chirp

@ChaosGoalie
The unbeatable dynamic of one guy doing PR flawlessly, the other saying “I punched him more because I was annoyed” 😂

@thisrozfan
Rozanov is the most honest player in the league and it’s both a blessing and a problem

@RozanovApologist
PR handler: Ilya, no
Rozanov: Ilya YES

@SmirkOfTheNorth
PR handler fighting for her life while Rozanov is like “I will elaborate actually”

@RozanderWatch
“Inside thought, Ilya” is killing me 😭

@bringback1987
“Some chirps I wouldn’t use” welcome to hockey

@CentaurBaby
I think two time Stanley Cup winner Ilya Rozanov has encountered hockey before

@MTLForever
So they’re just going to imply things and not say it. Cool.

@NHLTea
The LOOK Hollander and Rozanov exchanged when asked about “shift in engagement”

@ChaosGoalie
Yeah. Anyone else hear that as ‘Metros were shit last season and they’re still shit now?’

@MetroTrue
“Not getting into it” yeah because it’s not real

@Hockey1234
Hollander cries to the league last season and we’re meant to believe that if this happened he wouldn’t be telling the world??

@TumbrRefugee
I know there was a whole serious presser here. But also.
Rozanov makes him LAUGH 😭

@NHLTea
Also: I can admit when I’m wrong. Nothing lukewarm about them 🔥

SportsNet @SportsNet
The Montreal Metros say they will not comment on unsubstantiated rumors of ‘line crossing’ chirps in the Ottawa-Montreal game, but say they ‘expect the highest standards of professional conduct from all players and staff’.

@NHLTea
‘Expect the highest standards’ =/= actually getting those standards

@PuckInsider
Have the Montreal Metros pushed too far towards offense? With Boiziau traded away to the Florida Panthers the Metros are already down one top-four defenceman. Now with another Comeau controversy, they may be regretting that decision as they face the choice of standing by Comeau - or thinning their defence further. Full analysis here: [link]

Chapter 21: Welcome, Wyatt!

Chapter Notes

The day has finally come!!
(I have a weird schedule in the next couple of days - so the chapter updates will still be at least once a day but possibly at odd times - just in case people are used to me posting in about the same time window each day!)

Late December 2018

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
The Ottawa Centaur have acquired Goalie Wyatt Hayes from the Toronto Guardians, in exchange for Frederick Weber (RW) and a 3^rd round pick.
Thank you, Weber, for being a part of our team. It’s been an amazing season and it’s a shame not to finish it out with you, but we wish you all the best with the Guardians.

Ottawa Centaurs @OttawaCentaurs
Welcome to the team, Wyatt! We loved seeing you on the ice at the Ottawa-Toronto game earlier this season – we’re going to love it even more being on the same side.

@TheStatsGuy
Ottawa finally addresses goaltending. Hayes has always been given low minutes but underlying numbers are decent this season. Interesting gamble.

@OttawaFan
DO WE HAVE A PROPER GOALIE??

@SolelyGoalie
Hayes finally getting a real shot somewhere. Always thought Toronto buried him behind their starter.

@MTLForever
Ottawa fans celebrating like this fixes anything. Still a one-line team btw

@CensLoyalist
Good to have more solid goaltending but if this means Hollander has to drag even slower wingers around I’m going to lose my mind

@HollanderHive
Especially with Hollander getting run every game…

@NHLTea
Ottawa: “we need saves”
Also Ottawa: “but what if Hollander just plays 28 minutes instead”

@GuardianGuardian
He barely plays for a reason. People acting like Ottawa just stole a starter 😂🙄

@MetroTrue
New goalie, same soft team

@CentaurBaby
Is it embarrassing to have lost twice this season to a soft team?

Wyatt is… not thrilled about this trade.

It’s not about leaving the team – the only person on the Guardians that he’d give the time of day to if he didn’t have to is Price, and frankly Pricey has half a season left with the Guardians, if that. But Toronto – the music scene, his favourite comic book store, his D&D group, the friends he’s had for years… overnight, all 400 kilometres away.

And so is Lisa.

Lisa’s taken it more in her stride than Wyatt has, at least. Wyatt’s never been traded before, and frankly he never really expected to be – mostly, goalies aren’t, even goalies like him who barely see the ice. Wyatt was so in shock that he barely knew what to do, but Lisa – crisis management skills honed from years in emergency medicine – started making phone calls immediately, and already has some ‘exploratory telephone meetings’ set up with some people from Ottawa Hospital over the next few days.

At least Ottawa has a hospital. Even if it has nothing else. Apart from some apparently rather nice museums.

And, Wyatt grudgingly admits, a hockey team that might at least be interesting.  

He’s followed the media about Ottawa with at least as much interest as anyone else in the Guardians – and a very different perspective. Hollander and Rozanov seem like they might be decent teammates. Hollander has a reputation for being one of the nicest guys in the league – if you don’t count that incident where he broke his teammate’s jaw with one punch, which on reflection Wyatt’s decided probably counts in his favour, actually. Of course, he’s meant to have approximately zero chill, and Wyatt’s 80-90% chill most days, so that may not be a match made in heaven, but hey – at least he’ll be on the side that’s punching bigots rather than defending them. Rozanov, especially – Wyatt doesn’t really know him personally, but having watched from the bench as Rozanov broke Dallas Kent’s nose for him two years ago (excellent), and then last year chirped Kent so hard that Kent called him a slur and got suspended for it (arguably better)… he’d like to buy Roz a beer at the very least.

And, alright, the game Toronto had played against Ottawa earlier in the season, when he actually was in goal for once, had been weirdly fun.

Still, cool though the Ottawa rebuild is, he can’t help wishing they hadn’t traded for him.

Maybe he should tell them to trade for Price instead. Their rebuild doesn’t need new defensemen, but they could give Pricey to Hollander as a bodyguard – surely that would make even the Metros think twice?

Wyatt plays the idea out for a couple of minutes – complete with old fashioned comic book ‘pow’ and ‘boff’ explosions – before he reluctantly shelves the daydream. Fun though it is to imagine, it would probably only make Hollander defensive and Price miserable.

So. Wyatt’s not the happiest about this situation. But after being introduced to some of the staff, including spending a pleasant forty-five minutes talking about dogs and comic books with the social media guy, he’s in a somewhat better frame of mind and ready to go to his first practise.

And practise, it turns out, is… interesting.

Everyone’s super nice, to start with.

Well, Tremblay’s a little gruff, but Wyatt can forgive the guy that – he doesn’t seem to quite know if he’s resentful or relieved about the fact that Wyatt’s taken his job as starting goalie, so Wyatt decides to be as chill as he can until Tremblay figures that out.

Everyone else, though, is frankly weirdly friendly.  It shouldn’t be a surprise, really – their whole advertising pitch could probably be translated as ‘less dude-bro-y than your stereotypical hockey team!’ – but it’s certainly a novelty to be greeted by everyone, to have no immediately apparent cliques, and to get an invite out to an early dinner after practise before he’s even finished kitting up. A few of the team immediately start wrangling about which restaurant they want to show him, apparently determined to prove that there is in fact more to Ottawa than museums (oh, and a river).

He wasn’t sure what Rozanov and Hollander would be like in the room, and it turns out that’s weird, too. His closest experience with NHL stars is Dallas Kent and Troy Barrett, both of whom are poster boys for ‘hockey dude-bro’ and would probably vie for top spot at an All Stars grossest chirp competition (although apparently Comeau would be in that same competition, if he’d ever once made it to All Stars). Anyway, Kent and Barrett were cliquey as hell, and if the room wasn’t rotating around him Kent tended to either kick off or kick out.

Here – well, Hollander’s not chatty, but in a ‘quietly awkward’ way rather than anything else. He said hi to Wyatt, said some friendly things about starting in a new city being a challenge, said something nice about the local hospital being great and that he hopes they have a job for Lisa, and then said a couple of weirdly specific things about how many minutes Wyatt had had on the ice this season but how the longer he was on in a game the better his save stats tended to get, and how it seemed to stack over subsequent games. Wyatt goes silent trying to decide if mentally comparing Hollander to Bruce Banner was accurate or offensive (comparing him to Banner, not the Hulk, but given the whole punch/suspension thing the comparison might be seen as slightly tactless), and by the time he’s pulled himself back to the conversation Hollander is awkwardly excusing himself before Wyatt can explain.

“Hollander’s like that,” Dykstra says to him easily, as Wyatt watches nonplussed as Hollander retreats back to his own stall. “If you want some real entertainment, pour two-and-a-half beers into him, ask him who the most over-rated players in the league are, and settle in for the most analytical trash-talk you’ve ever heard in your life.”

Wyatt laughs – but honestly that does sound like a pretty good time.

Rozanov in the room is much like he seems to be on the ice – loud and hard to ignore – though at least here he’s not simultaneously firing pucks at Wyatt’s head, which makes it easier to appreciate. He comes in late - he apparently commutes in with Hollander and Hollander was in the room early, so him being late leads to Hollander accusing him of being as easily distracted as a toddler in a shopping mall. As soon as he’s manoeuvred out of that argument Rozanov realises there’s a debate on where to take Wyatt for dinner and jumps into the fresh conversation instead, spiritedly arguing on three sides at once. 

So. That was pretty fun.

Practise was cool, too. Hollander’s reputation for being super-intense is definitely true, but he’s way less awkward when he has a hockey stick in his hands. Rozanov is almost as intense but he hides it better, and the pair of them are clearly a bit insane about each other, but it seems to work for them.

That’s really the biggest surprise to Wyatt – that it seems like the rumours are true.

When the article about Rozanov and Hollander living together had come out a couple of weeks ago, Kent and Barrett and their pals had snickered over it and told some nasty jokes until Pricey kind of loomed at them and they shut up again. Wyatt had read the article himself and thought it was most likely nasty homophobic trash designed to increase the cost of visible allyship. Even the clips floating around where Rozanov said their relationship was ‘not relevant to hockey’ hadn’t really changed that – he’d thought ‘maybe, I guess’, but mostly he’d thought ‘classy guy’ and gone on with his day.

It’s not the ‘Rozanov dated models’ thing – after all, Hollander dated a hot actress and then came out, and also Wyatt’s sister-in-law is bisexual and some lengthy conversations with Kristy and Eve over the years means he not only knows that bisexuality exists, he knows the term bisexual erasure too. It’s more that he’s staggered by the sheer brazen courage of it – constructing a glass closet in the heart of the NHL.

Like, good for them but also holy shit.

But also – gold fucking star for Ottawa’s culture rebuild, right?

It’s not just that no one from the team has done a tell-all – clearing that bar doesn’t earn even a bronze star. Maybe a little carved wooden token, or a participation ribbon. But no one is making it weird at all, just treating Rozanov and Hollander as totally normal teammates. Shrugging off their constant mutual awareness, and the pre-emptive tracking thing which is striking enough on the ice but even more interesting when Hollander does shit like pass Roz a water bottle without looking and Roz takes it also without looking. Not to mention their ability to communicate with glances and a nod and those frankly adorable tiny little smiles. There are no jokes (well, plenty of jokes, but none specifically about the queer thing). No pointed little looks. No hesitation about working with them or being in the room with them.

This team is great. Wyatt can’t wait to tell Lisa about it.

Chapter 22: Backyard Rink

Chapter Notes

Everyone was so happy to see Hazy and I'm so glad!
His POV was a lot of fun to write, so you'll see more of it in the next couple of chapters!

Cassie and Bood had arranged to arrive right on twelve o’clock.

Well, Cassie had arranged, and Zane had laughed at her for it. “You know Hollzy will have everything in hand,” he’d told her. “You don’t actually need to host this one.”

She does know. But she also knows that Shane and Ilya invited the entire team, the coaches, and most of the road staff, plus partners and kids. Even if only half of them come, this has the potential to be chaos.

She’d expected they’d be the first arrivals and is surprised – and mildly affronted on Shane’s behalf - to already see a minivan tucked up close to the garage. And even more surprised when Shane greets them at the mudroom door casually carrying under his arm a giggling child she’s never seen before.

“Good to see you. Come on through,” Shane says warmly. The child giggles more, and deliberately pitches herself forward; Shane just as casually rearranges her to let her hang upside down.

“Who’s this?” Cassie says with a smile.

“I’m Ruby,” the child announces, from where she’s continuing to dangle.

“She’s a menace,” Shane says fondly. “One of my godchildren.”

Shane backs off to let them take off shoes and coats, and Zane shoots her a laughing look. “You may have co-host competition,” he teases her, and she shakes her head at him.

As she gets into the living room, though, she has to admit that Zane may be right. There’s a very pretty woman carefully setting out stacks of plates, a toddler sitting at Shane and Ilya’s coffee table solemnly eating goldfish crackers, and another little girl – identical to the first, aside from not currently using Shane as a climbing frame – intently building something out of bits of coloured plastic.

“Cassie, Bood, meet Jackie,” Shane says warmly. “Ruby you’ve met, but this is Jade and Arthur. And Amber is asleep upstairs.”

“Don’t bother to remember their names,” Jackie says. “Most days we don’t.” She smiles at each of them with an edge of humour, and Cassie finds herself smiling back despite her lingering surprise.

“Ilya –” Shane breaks off. “Rozanov’s outside checking the rink,” he finishes smoothly.

Jackie doesn’t comment on the self-correction, but it stands out to Cassie and she just can’t help herself. “You know I do know his first name,” she points out, letting her bemusement show.

Shane gives a rueful smile - but he gains some colour, too, and looks aside. “Force of habit, I guess,” he says. “I called him Rozanov for years. It still feels more normal in hockey spaces.”

Cassie feels a pang to learn that hosting the team here is apparently enough to transform Shane’s private home into a hockey space. It’s probably irrational – Shane actively chooses the spend the vast majority of his waking hours in hockey spaces – but, nonetheless.

She hasn’t quite worked her way through her feelings about it when the sound of the back door opening – and bickering voices – interrupts.

 “- glad I have your approval.” Ilya’s voice is flatly sarcastic. Shane sighs, and Jackie gives him a look that combines sympathy and vast amounts of amusement.

“You don’t have kids, Rozanov! I wanted to look at the ice myself, it’s not an insult –”

“How many backyard rinks do you own, Pike?”

“Oh, screw you, Rozanov.”

“Even if your beautiful wife is not enough for you I am still not available –”

“Boys!” Jackie calls. “Guests!”

Ilya strides in from the kitchen with a ready smile, an arm grip for Zane, and a kiss on the cheek for Cassie. But Zane is staring past him.

“Roz,” he says. “Why is one of the Metros inside your house?”

The party is in full swing by the time Wyatt and Lisa get there – or so he’s guessing by the number of cars he can see on the drive as they peer through the gates. Prudently, they drive past and park on the road instead.

“We can invent an emergency if you hate it,” he assures her.

“You like them,” Lisa says. “The women seem nice on the group chat. As long as no one talks directly to my breasts or implies that I’m a lesbian because I have a pixie cut they’ll already be miles ahead of the Guardians, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Wyatt winces a little at the reminder. “Thank you for trying again,” he tells her earnestly, as they manage to navigate their way through the coded gate and head up to the house.

It’s Wyatt’s first visit, too, and it’s already leaving a better impression than Kent’s tacky McMansion. It’s large, yes, but it’s mostly just a comfortable suburban home on a generous lot.

Hollander answers the door looking about ten degrees less awkward than usual. “This room is toddler central,” he warns them both as he waves them in. “Food in the dining room – help yourself and take it anywhere on this floor or outside or in the basement. The patio is where a lot of people are hanging out –”

“Man, are you kidding? I want to see this rink!” Wyatt says, and Hollander relaxes enough to grin.

“Come on through, then,” he invites, and leads them through toddler central – waving off their offer to ditch shoes, since they’re going straight out again (though Wyatt notices he looks slightly twitchy about it and wonders when Hollander’s arranged the deep clean for). As well as Hollander, toddler central includes Chouinard (wrangling a pouting toddler and talking to a woman Wyatt assumes must be his wife Selena), a couple of other women, and a small assortment of tiny children.

The kitchen, as they pass by it, contains a woman who looks to be in her thirties (Lisa instantly relaxes a beat) apparently contemplating what the optimum number of mini-marshmallows is for a mug of hot chocolate (she apparently decides on ‘more’ – a good choice, and Wyatt salutes her for it). Hollander smiles at her, but continues leading them outside.

The patio’s nice – tables, chairs (each with a thick blanket draped over the back), heaters; there’s a fire pit with a fire already going and Dykstra and a mixed group of adults and kids apparently extremely intent on s’mores; and then –

“Hollzy, that rink looks fucking epic,” Wyatt says enthusiastically, and Hollander looks quietly delighted.

“It’s forty percent of standard,” Hollander immediately says. “We’ve got the lights, obviously, and there’s a sound system, too. It’s set up so that in the summer it can convert for ball hockey – sorry, you want to skate on it, not talk about it.”

“I want to do both, but skating more,” Wyatt says.

“Is that supposed to be a game of shinny?” Lisa asks, studying the ice with furrowed brow.

“It started with that intention,” Shane says. “I think Rozanov may be being… creative with the rules.”

He sounds faintly disapproving, and Wyatt grins. “Is that why you’re not on the ice?” he asks. “Too much chaos?”

“We’re taking shifts,” Shane says. “I’m on nap duty.” Before Wyatt can ask what that means, Shane’s waving them a well-graded path to a bench and a rink gate. “You’re both welcome to go join in. I’m sure Rozanov will loop you in.” His voice is fond and easy, and Wyatt smiles back at him.

Then, not one to delay, he offers his hand to Lisa. “Ready to lose to a group of children?” he asks.

“Sounds like a plan,” she agrees, and goes with him.

Rozanov greets Wyatt with delight. “A goalie!” he says excitedly. “Teams, we have a goalie now!”

Obedient to the cue, the two very small, bobble-hatted shadows he has acquired from somewhere shout “Yay!” and the assorted mix of other children and adults follow suit rather more raggedly. Lisa hides a grin; Wyatt doesn’t bother. 

“And what position do you play?” Roz asks Lisa when she introduces herself.

“Any, all equally badly,” she says promptly, and he laughs.

“Great!” he says “You are already better than Pike. He only plays one position badly.”

“Hey!” protests a man Wyatt doesn’t know, while the woman with him just laughs.

Wyatt feels a surge of fondness for the team as Rozanov steers Lisa unhesitatingly to a heap of mismatched equipment and helps her find a stick. Wyatt is still living out of a suitcase and also grabs some odds and ends before being directed to a goal – saluting his opposite number, who he’s told is called Jackie, as he goes.

Wyatt quickly realises that Rozanov’s main priority is directing the game as enthusiastically as possible while keeping his two equally enthusiastic followers out of it. They’re both good skaters – obviously hockey kids – but no one’s wearing proper pads and they’re younger by at least a couple of years than the next youngest kids on the ice.

The game is indeed shinny – the ‘creative rules’ that Hollander was disapproving of mostly either about maximising use of the small rink, giving Roz excuses to help the younger kids out, or dunking on Pike – and Wyatt’s enjoying the chaotic energy of it.

He also enjoys, very much, the moment a while in when Roz completely loses track of what he’s doing in the midst of a supposedly fancy bit of stick work, and utterly flubs it - coincidentally at the exact moment that Hollander comes to stand rinkside cuddling  a snowsuit-wearing toddler like a mini abominable snowman and leading an Ewok by the hand. Hollander helps the Ewok onto a bench to watch the play - where it’s revealed to be a somewhat larger and less cooperative toddler with an amazing hat - and then smiles at Rozanov over the head of the snowman still in his arms.

Wyatt has never seen a man look simultaneously more painfully soft and unsubtly hungry than Rozanov does when he looks back. Honestly, for the sake of the team not losing their 2C he finds himself kind of glad that Roz can’t knock Hollzy up without some pretty significant scientific advances or some personal medical history that the NHL probably wouldn’t have been too accepting of, because that is a man with a serious case of baby fever.

Roz calls a game stoppage a few moments later, and the identity of the snowman, the Ewok, and the two bobble-hats is revealed when Jackie and Pike converge on Hollander. “She woke up a little early. But she was grizzling, so I figured best to bring her down,” Hollander’s explaining as Jackie strips off her skates and takes over – the snowman, having seen her, now unwilling to be placated by lesser substitutions.  

The pausing of the game seems to signal time for a general free skate, and Lisa joins Wyatt and does a couple of lazy laps with him before they clear the way for fresh skaters. When they get to the bench gate, Hollander is helping Pike wrangle the bobble hats, who are complaining about coming off the ice – a problem solved by Rozanov pointing out that they can’t have s’mores on the ice, whereupon it becomes a race to remove their skates fastest.

“You can’t keep bribing my kids with sugar,” Pike snipes under his breath to Roz.

“You are just mad because it doesn’t work when you try it,” Roz retorts.

“You are the worst, I can’t believe my kids like you,” Pike complains.

“What’s the connection between you all, anyway?” Lisa asks easily, settling next to them to take her own skates off.

“Wife,” Pike says, smiling at Jackie. “Our kids,” and he waves at the small mob, “Former teammate, ongoing best friend and honorary uncle,” gesturing to Hollander, “And this menace who my friend thinks is redeemable.”

“He’s going to be our uncle too,” pipes up Red Bobble Hat before Rozanov can come up with a suitably crushing return volley, and Wyatt’s startled by the sudden oh shit expression on Pike’s face, his shoulders tightening for a second as he quickly scans who else is in earshot. I mean – yeah, it’s not subtle, but no one’s going to freak out, right?

“Can never have too many uncles,” Jackie says easily, ignoring Pike’s mutter of there can definitely be one too many. “Come on, let’s go find the s’mores.”

Wyatt watches the cavalcade depart – with an open invitation to find s’mores, the buffet, hot chocolate, or anything else they wanted – and thinks, huh.

Bood considers himself to be an easygoing guy, but it had genuinely thrown him to walk into Roz and Hollzy’s place and see Hayden Pike, #35, walking in through the back door.

He’d known that the Metros weren’t just a homogenous mass – he remembered those glove taps in the away game. And right - in hindsight, one of those had been Pike. And he’d not seen Pike deliver any of the brutal hits or toxic chirps – in fact, in as much as he’d registered Pike at all, he’d mostly seen a stony silence.

But still. A Metro.

Blue eyes, brown eyes, he tells himself wryly. It doesn’t take much to start seeing another group as one-note. Still, given how much he ends up being reduced to a category himself, it’s a little embarrassing to realise he’s so susceptible to it too.

He’d recovered alright – or at least, Cassie had assured him afterwards that he hadn’t been too rude.

He’d asked before he could think better of it if Pike had been a part of all the trouble last year. Pike’s immediate and vehement “Fuck no,” (followed by Hollander and Pike’s wife exasperatedly chorusing ‘swear jar’) had been pretty convincing.

Roz had been quick to reassure, too. “No, Pike is alright in that way. Not awful.” Then he’d paused. “Awful in most other ways. But not that one.” Hollander had sighed and Pike had looked outraged, and the whole thing was clearly a well-established bit. And who was he to say that Hollander shouldn’t include his godkids in the team’s family day?

There hadn’t been a huge amount of time to talk it through before Boyle arrived (complete with Ammie, two young boys, and Spot) quickly followed by Wiebe (with his utterly beautiful wife Cara, three girls, and Lollipop). Roz was distracted by having two dogs to play with (the dogs also being highly distracted by each other), Cassie was distracted by making sure everyone was introduced, and Hollander was distracted by going back into full formal hosting mode, and ‘my best friend still plays for a team that fucking hates me’ somehow got bumped past.

Maybe that bumping past is why when Bood sees Roz and Pike in a tense conversation off to one side of the rink it lands so uncomfortably.

Bood hadn’t had much to do with Pike after that introduction – he’d been too busy greeting arriving teammates, testing out the ice with a game of tag, and helping Dykstra with setting up the s’mores station. But now Cassie’s convinced Hollzy to delegate his watch on the front door to her for a bit so he can get some ice time, and he and Wiebe have set up what looks like a half-serious drill for a small group of pre-teens, and Rozanov – rather than watching Hollander, like he normally would – has his mouth tight as Pike jaws at him.

After a moment of hesitation, Bood deliberately drifts in on an intercepting angle. Not that Rozanov can’t take care of himself – but he might hesitate to bear tales to Hollander about his best friend.

“-have actually reprimanded him, I think,” Pike is saying. “Not that it’s stopped him saying stuff in private. I think he knows the org won’t scratch him until he gets caught on tape.”

“Again,” Rozanov says flatly. “Caught on tape again.”

“I guess they’re hoping they can weather it. Ride it out, trade him when they’ve rebuilt defence.”

“Or just let it die down, and keep him.”

“Yeah.” Hayden takes a swig from his beer. “Jackson’s still not doing shit. Not causing problems, not solving them. He’s just there for the paycheck. Fletcher would be fine in a good room but he’s got that mix of cocky and anxious going on, you know? So he doesn’t know what to do when the jokes start. Joins in sometimes. Sometimes hangs with the younger crowd.”

“The rookies okay?”

Hayden hesitates. “Mostly. Some of them are starting to buy into it. Laughing at the wrong jokes.” His expression looks briefly bitter. “Not so much I can do there anymore.”

“Yeah.” Rozanov stays matter-of-fact. “How’s Wilson with the A?”

“Goes with the biggest faction.” Another swallow of beer. “He’s not bad with the rookies, but he’s not pushing back. And he gets prickly when I try.”

“Has the article talk started to die off?”

“Not as much as I’d hoped,” Pike says. “Not so much of the ‘left for you’ stuff, but… lots of running jokes. Ones with an edge.”

Rozanov looks broodingly at the ice, where Hollander is extremely seriously explaining to a confused nine-year-old how to position her hands differently.

Pike seems to follow his gaze. “Still a bit of time for it to go quiet before the next game,” he says bracingly.

Rozanov just smiles grimly. “Let’s hope.”

Bood carefully re-angles himself so he’ll end up near them but not beside them, quietly re-shuffling what he knows about the Metros and Rozanov’s very precise information about preferred matchups into a new configuration. Roz gives him a slightly ironic smile, which suggests to Bood that he wasn’t as subtle as he’d hoped, but at least he doesn’t look annoyed. Or no more annoyed than he had anyway.

“I think I’m empty,” Pike says casually, taking a last swallow from his bottle. “And I should probably go help Jackie with the kids.”

“Go give her an extra burden to look after, you mean,” Roz shoots back reflexively. Pike flips him the bird and walks away.

“Hollzy is… not great at simplifying things for kids, huh?” Bood says as Hollander’s student starts to look even more confused and has to be rescued by Wiebe.

Roz smiles a bit. “Very bad. You playing enforcer, Bood?”

Bood doesn’t bother with another subject change. “Just support.”

Rozanov nods. “You do not need to worry about Pike,” he says firmly. “He was not part of the problem.” Roz hesitates a moment, then adds more quietly, “Without him, it would maybe have been much worse.”

Hollander shoots a rueful smile over at them as he is relegated to demonstration and opponent, rather than coach – well, at Roz, but Bood gets the edges of it. Bood thinks about how tense Hollander was at the barbecue in the summer, and thinks about Hollander saying he didn’t used to like hosting, and thinks about how brittle Hollander gets before Montreal games.

“You going to talk with Pike before the next Montreal game?” Bood asks.

Roz looks at him with raised eyebrows, but then just nods.

Bood gives a little bleak half-smile. “Maybe after, you can read me in,” he suggests, and Roz smiles.

Cassie had worried about unmanageable chaos, but by the time it’s getting dark she concludes that the chaos has stayed at a high but reasonable level throughout. Some of the early arrivals have already departed, but new arrivals have rotated in; the lights in the rink work perfectly against the growing dark; and Shane’s lightly obsessive level of preparation was revealed when he cracked open a second and more secret stash of s’mores supplies when Ilya’s pre-event inroads meant they ran out too soon.

Cassie has some worries about how unsupervised the basement has been, but Shane’s foresight has shown up there, too – when she heads down to check, she finds the alcohol cabinets behind the bar are locked, as are the sauna and the gym. There’s a group on the pool table and another group playing video games, and a couple of people idly playing with the shooting lane, but no one causing havoc. In the end she retrieves a few abandoned plates and heads back up to ‘toddler central’, as she’d heard Shane dubbing the living room earlier.

There are fewer toddlers now – Nick and Selena already having left with Gabe and Celeste – but Hayden and Jackie’s adorable son is intently building some kind of structure at the coffee table. Jackie herself Cassie encounters in the kitchen loading plates into the dishwasher, and Cassie pauses for a moment, mildly self-conscious to encounter someone else on a similar mission of benign interference.

“Oh,” Jackie says as she looks up and sees Cassie there with a plates in her hands. “Am I overstepping?”

Cassie relaxes and smiles, and adds her offering to the stack on the counter. “I would have thought it was the other way around,” she says. “You’re here as Shane’s family, right?”

Jackie’s answering smile is warm and pleased. “We don’t actually know the house that well,” she admits. “Mostly they come to us. We don’t exactly travel light, with four kids.”

“I can imagine,” Cassie says. She can imagine in her nightmares. She and Zane definitely want kids, but four – especially so closely spaced – feels like a stretch. “So you aren’t the designated sub-host?”

“Nope,” Jackie admits lightly. “I guess I just can’t switch it off.”

“Oh, believe me, I get it,” Cassie assures her. “But how am I meant to switch it off when people keep doing things the wrong way?”

Jackie laughs, and when she reaches for one of the open bottles of wine with an inquiring expression, Cassie grins and starts looking for glasses.

Talking to Jackie turns out to be easy. She’s got this surface pleasantness – yoga-mom, hockey-wife, the kind of woman who Cassie can imagine making all-organic brownies for the kindergarten bake sale – but also an underlying sharpness, like the kind of woman Cassie can imagine turning her back on the clique who rejects the shop-bought cupcakes the working single mother brought in, and buying three.

She also, it turns out, was in a similar role to Cassie with the Montreal WAGs. “Shane was, ah, unattached, Hayden had the A, and I was happy to host things,” she says, a little wryly. “Over time it built up, and for a while I was co-ordinating most of the WAGs events.”

“Not anymore?” Cassie asks. “Oh – you’ve a new captain. Is Jackson’s wife at the helm now?”

“Not notably,” Jackie says. “No, I just… stepped back. After last season.”

There’s a story there that Cassie suspects comes round full circle to why they’re both sitting in a house in Ottawa, but Jackie’s tone has gone more reserved and so Cassie doesn’t push.

Instead, they talk about Ottawa – the team, the WAGs. Jackie’s leading the conversation, gently probing in a way Cassie immediately translates as ‘are you treating my boy right’ and so has no qualms about answering fully. Cassie tells the story of the first barbecue Shane came to with the team – all awkward politeness – Jackie laughs in fond recognition even as she glances out at the yard – pockets of people on the patio, at the fire pit, at the rink, Shane having welcomed them all.

“I’m glad he’s found his feet,” Jackie says warmly.

“You know,” Cassie says, carefully probing in turn, “That first day I asked him if he had a boyfriend. I wanted him to know that any partner of his would be welcome, too.”

Jackie lifts her wine glass and takes a slow sip, but otherwise he face stays remarkably composed. “That was… kind. And a little bold,” she assesses.

“Yes – it embarrassed him dreadfully,” Cassie admits. “And of course, now that I’ve spent more time with him, I wouldn’t have the same question.” Cassie watches as Jackie goes very carefully still. “After all, there’s not exactly a… boyfriend-shaped gap in his life, is there?”

Jackie smiles at her sharply, and gives her a tiny nod; Cassie accepts it as respect from one social duellist to another. “You may be right,” she admits.

When they look out across the yard again, Shane seems to be gently shooing people off the rink for resurfacing, and Cassie automatically checks that the big urn of hot chocolate is still topped up.

“You know, when we got here Ilya and Shane were having an argument about getting a home Zamboni,” Jackie tells her.

“Oh my god,” Cassie says, laughing. “Let me guess – Ilya was team Zamboni, Shane was team hand tools and precision?” Jackie nods. “But do Bugatti even make a home Zamboni?” Cassie asks, and is pleased when Jackie laughs.

“The rink is amazing,” Jackie says fondly. “So over the top. So Shane.” She looks around as if taking in the space. “You know, I was a little worried when he described the house to us as being perfect for hosting, for entertainment. I thought it might be something he was tolerating for Ilya’s sake, rather than wanting for himself,” she admits. “But – seeing him here, seeing both of them here with the team – I can see how well it works.” Outside, Shane is on the rink with something that looks like a giant mop, and by the body language having an ongoing argument with Ilya about how it should be used. “I think he’s happier here than I’ve ever seen him,” Jackie says quietly.

Cassie turns to her, struck by the pang in her voice, but before she can continue the back door opens up with a cooler billow of air and a babble of noise, and the next round of the party begins.

Chapter 23: Moy polotentsesushitel

Chapter Notes

Another lighthearted chapter, because I enjoy writing from Wyatt's POV so much.
Interestingly, this very silly chapter (and another chapter a bit further on) were probably the reason I ended up writing this whole story. Even when I wasn't sure I had enough inspiration / plot to fill out a whole story, the idea for this chapter was firmly in my mind! So I kept poking mentally at the 'vibes' chapters and eventually the 'plot' chapters crystallised around them.
I hope you enjoy it!
(plottier chapters resume next time)

January 2019

It was the long word that clued Wyatt in.

Roz and Hollzy were ahead of him in the corridor, talking about how cute the dogs were at the Boxing Day thing (valid) and how they should get a dog (Roz’s view) and how that would be a great idea if they weren’t on the road for most of the year (Hollzy’s view); how maybe they should go to a dog rescue centre and see if any of the dogs there seemed particularly suited to an itinerant lifestyle (Roz); how the team weren’t going to let him smuggle a dog onto a plane (Hollzy); and how going to a dog rescue was a terrible idea because Roz would inevitably come back with at least three dogs (also Hollzy, though Roz didn’t disagree and in fact seemed to see this as a point in favour of the dog rescue plan).

Wyatt was wondering if he should point out the existence of boarding kennels, or if Hollzy might kill him if he did, when it happened. “You have no sympathy, moy polotentsesushitel,” Roz said, and Hollzy paused in place to the point where Wyatt nearly walked into him.

“Is that one word or two?” Hollzy asked suspiciously.

“Figure it out,” Roz said, and walked into the locker room with an air of having gained some ground in an argument.

After that, Wyatt starts keeping an eye out.

As far as he can figure out, it happens at least once a day, often more. Occasionally he goes a day without hearing it, but he’s not always with them, after all. Most of the team don’t react much, apart from with the occasional bemused look, so it’s clearly a long-standing system.

Some of them are clearly easy. ‘Moya lozhka’ in the player lounge when a few of them are eating lunch just gets “I’m eating a salad. So shouldn’t it be moya vilka?”

“Two points to Hollander,” says Roz.

So, there’s a scoring system. Wyatt logs that as a data point, and then, because Lisa has taught him about the value of collaboration in scientific discovery, he asks the team about it.

“Oh, yeah, the game they play to help Hollzy learn Russian,” Dykstra says easily.

“Wait, Hollzy’s learning Russian?” Dillon asks. “Since when?”

Dykstra shrugs. “A while, I guess? Hang on, what did you think the random Russian words were about?”

“I just thought they were being weird,” Dillon says. Which – yeah, fair, Wyatt thinks.

Anyway, his attempt to engage his teammates in the pursuit of knowledge ends up unexpectedly bringing in new data points when Hollander walks in and Dillon says, “Hey, Hollzy, do you speak Russian?”

“Uh, not really?” Hollander says, looking a little confused. “I know a bit, but –”

“He is being modest,” Roz says, inevitably walking in behind him. “You are doing well, moy karandash.”

“Pencil,” Hollzy says automatically. “I’m not conversational.”

“How long have you been learning?” Dillon asks.

“Consistently? Uh, eight months, or thereabouts,” Hollzy says. 

Wyatt’s intrigued by the ‘consistently’ line, but he decides that one’s probably not his business. Truthfully, figuring out the ‘moy word’ game is also not his business, but since it’s happening right in front of his nose he figures its’s understandable enough that he might want to poke it in.

“You sounded pretty conversational when you were speaking to Roz in the car, that time in Boston,” Dykstra says. (“Wait, what?” says Dillon, and “You were drooling against the window at the time,” explains Dykstra).

“Zatknis nakhuy isn’t conversational,” Hollzy says, deadpan. “Just one of those useful all-round phrases.”

A couple of people in the room snort or grin, as Dillon looks around in mild bafflement. “Useful phrase for Roz, definitely,” Chouinard says with a straight face.

“He says it to me all the time,” Roz says. “I am very bullied. Right, moy polotentsesushitel?”

"Say the word again?" Hollander asks, a slight furrow to his brow.

"Oh, do you need my help?” Rozanov asks. “Of course, if you cannot get it just from this –“

“Fuck you. No help. I’ll get it." Competitive chagrin lights up Hollzy’s face, and Wyatt realises with quiet delight that this is just going to keep on happening.

He methodically assembles his data.

Some words fit Dykstra’s theory – Hollzy shows he understands them, and he gets a point. But there’s a pattern to it – or at least Wyatt thinks there is.

He only heard ‘moy ekran’ in the video room. He heard it a couple of times and then it stopped, so presumably Hollzy figured it out and he missed it, or Rozanov just got bored. When they were on the plane for a roadtrip ‘moy chemodan’ was triumphantly responded to with ‘suitcase’. Add that to Hollzy’s comment that ‘moya lozhka’ versus ‘moya vilka’ was significant to him eating a salad, and there’s a clear rule of environmental context being relevant for word choice.

But then there are the exceptions.

Moy polotentsesushitel does not seem to fit. He’s now heard that one in the corridor (dog argument), in the locker room (Russian language conversation, Roz claiming that Hollander bullies him), and now he’s hearing it again on the ice, when Roz and Hollzy have been bickering over whether something counts as offside or not.

“It has something to do with towels,” Hollander bursts out. “Right?”

“Not close enough with the offside rule, or with the word,” Rozanov tells him.

“You absolutely were offside, and I know I’m right about the towels!” Hollander says, frustrated. “I want half a point.”

“No half points,” Roz says, very seriously. “You should respect that, moy svod pravil.”

“Rulebook. And this game has no rules because it’s made up!”

‘Rulebook’ highlighted another pattern. Clearly contextual – an argument about rules – but, like, about Hollzy rather than anything else.

Wyatt makes a note and expands his hypotheses.

‘Moi chasy’ seems to match that - immediately translated as ‘clock’, and was being used when Hollzy was trying to hustle Rozanov out of the gym to get to a meeting, so that was a big hint. ‘Moy bloknot’ he hears once while they’re talking about going grocery shopping later, and then once when Bood invites them over for dinner and Hollander pulls out his phone to check their diaries, and then Hollzy throws his phone at Roz, says he’s not his damn notebook, and to figure it out himself.

On the face of it Wyatt wouldn’t be classifying these differently from the first set. But some of them get… metaphorical.

‘Moy pylesos’ stumps Hollander – and by extension, Wyatt – for days. He hears it three times, and it irritates Hollzy enough that for a while he wonders if it’s another moy polotentsesushitel. In the locker room, Hollzy grabbing up Rozanov’s air pods when one falls on the floor gets a ‘spasibo, moy pylesos’ (Hollzy looks highly suspicious but doesn’t protest). Hollander sorting out a drill in practise that had collapsed into chaos gets it, too, and finally Hollander taking charge of the transport situation from a bar back to the hotel when two rookies manage to order three different Ubers. Hollzy squints at Roz and says “I think it’s – but why the hell am I a vacuum cleaner?”

Then, there’s another layer. A couple that Hollzy definitely seems to know – no confusion, no attempt to guess – but which come up over and over.

At first Wyatt thinks ‘moy zloy kotenok’ has something to do with ice, or hockey, because that’s where it usually comes up. But then he hears it mixed in with trash-talk when the two are playing cards on the team bus, and he also hears it in the locker room when Hollander was annoyed about a sub-par box of hockey tape, and Roz decided to divert him with a little recreational bickering. So – maybe it’s about them being at odds, but in a playful way? Wyatt listens out on the ice and he definitely hears it while Roz is one-up on a scrimmage and Hollzy is glaring at him about it, so that seems solid, even if he still has no idea what the word actually means.

‘Moy pomidor’ is a little easier. Not only is the usage specific, the data set is large – Roz manages to tease Hollzy into flustered or frustrated flushes on an approximately weekly basis. Not to mention that the word ‘tomato’ has a similar sound in a bunch of different languages and Wyatt isn’t completely ignorant.

Finally, the last data point appears during the planning of a coffee-maker heist. The coffee-maker in the player lounge has been broken for days, and Roz lays out a daring plan to liberate the fancy coffee maker from the front office breakroom and carry it down. Wyatt’s on board already, and Rozanov’s making progress in convincing a group of the others that his plan is workable when Hollzy walks in and realises what’s happening.

“They’re fixing it tomorrow,” he says with exasperation. “Just go to Starbucks.”

This prosaic plan unfortunately finds favour, and Rozanov and Wyatt promptly lose most of their heist crew as they pivot to planning a coffee run instead.

As the group starts to disperse, Roz sighs a little theatrically, and Wyatt looks over keenly. “You are an agent of our oppressors, moy polotentsesushitel,” he says in mock-disappointment.

Hollander meets Rozanov's smirk with narrowed eyes and the energy of a superhero who has been defeated by the same villain too many times, but now has been given a new weapon and plans to climb back to his feet and vindicate himself with a righteous final stand. "Towel heater," he enunciates challengingly.

Rozanov smirk turns delighted. "At last!” he says. “A point for Hollander!"

"Fuck you!" explodes Hollzy. "Towel heater? What the fuck? How was I meant to get that?"

"You got it in the end," Rozanov says unrepentantly.

"I had to look up so many words!"

"Very good for your studying," Roz says mildly. "Moy snegouborshchik."

Hollander gives him a look filled with mingled despair and fury, and stomps off.

So, Wyatt's conclusion is that the final layer is mostly Roz being an asshole.

He's kept Lisa apprised of his evolving research project throughout, of course, so when he gets home that day he proudly outlines his final notes (peer review: another important stage in the scientific process). Lisa hears him out with great interest and even greater amusement, and then climbs into his lap and kisses him. (Probably not a common response to research dissemination, but who really knows what happens at conferences? Not an outcome he's objecting to, anyway.)

"You've missed a layer," she tells him affectionately.

Wyatt frowns, and thinks back through his data set. "I don't think so," he says doubtfully.

"My love. My husband. My adorable man," Lisa says. "What does 'moy' mean?"

Wyatt thinks about that for all of two seconds. And - oh. Well.

That's just fucking cute.

Chapter End Notes

Russian translation notes
moy polotentsesushitel – my heated towel rail / towel radiator / towel heater
moya lozhka – my spoon
moya vilka – my fork
moy karandash – my pencil
zatknis nakhuy – shut the fuck up (or equivalent thereof)
moy ekran – my screen
moy chemodan – my suitcase
moy svod pravil – my rulebook
moi chasy – my clock
moy bloknot – my notebook
moy pylesos – my vacuum cleaner
moy zloy kotenok – my angry kitten
moy pomidor – my tomato
moy snegouborshchik – my snowblower

Yes, for many of these I did walk around my home looking at things and then putting random words into google translate looking for ones which I liked the sound of. Do I know if they actually make sense in the context I've used them? ...hopefully. If they don't, please let me know in the comments!

Chapter 24: Writing for Sports Illustrated

Chapter Notes

Did someone request a serious journalist??
I'm excited to hear your thoughts on this one!
(Edited to add: this article is intentionally upsetting. If gaslighty faux-neutrality is likely to be hard reading for you, please go in fore-warned!)

Shane Hollander and the Cost of Change in Montreal

Steven Chamberly for Sports Illustrated

Shane Hollander’s departure from the Montreal Metros was framed, at the time, as a player stepping away from a locker room that no longer reflected his stated values. As more voices from that season are heard, a more complicated picture has taken shape. Few dispute the seriousness of Hollander’s intentions - or his elite ability on the ice - but several describe a room that grew increasingly divided, with Hollander frequently at the centre of those fault lines.

In a sport where leadership depends as much on cohesion and trust as on conviction and expectation-setting, the question is not simply what went wrong in Montreal, but how - and where responsibility ultimately lies.

Brilliance and Friction

Hollander is widely regarded as an exceptional player. Scouting reports from his early teens identified him as a generational talent, and his trophy cabinet reflects a rapid rise. Off the ice, however - according to those who have worked with him closely - the picture is less even.

Former Metros coach Lucas St-Germain, who retired in 2014, described Hollander as “brilliant at analysis, brilliant on the ice,” but consistently less effective in the social dimensions of the game. “Intense, hyperfocused, driven - and not always patient when others didn’t match his pace,” was St-Germain’s conclusion.

Daniel Gagnon, who coached Hollander during his AHL season with the IceCaps, offered a similar assessment: “Shane communicates at a very high level - but not always in a way that lands comfortably.”

Ryan Fraser, who captained Team Canada during the 2014 Winter Olympics, described Hollander as “basically a hockey genius,” but also as “socially intense,” noting that building rapport was “something he had to work at.”

Across those accounts, a consistent pattern emerges: a player whose skill and clarity of thought were rarely in question, but whose ability to translate this into shared understanding was less assured. While for an individual athlete, intensity and high expectations might be an advantage, within team settings several described them as increasingly difficult to navigate over time.

The Captaincy Question

Brilliant, intense, driven - qualities that have long defined Shane Hollander as a player. In a leadership role, however, those same traits do not always translate cleanly - particularly in a sport where emotional intelligence and social cohesion are as critical as tactical insight.

“Captaincy in hockey extends beyond setting standards of play,” says Dr. Elise Fournier, a Montreal-based sports psychologist who has worked with multiple professional teams. “It’s about reading a room and working with the people in it. The most effective leaders tend to be those who can regulate not only their own intensity, but the emotional temperature of the group.”

By that measure, Hollander was not an obvious fit.

And yet, during his early years wearing the C, the results were strong. The Metros captured back-to-back Stanley Cups in 2015 and 2016, with Hollander at the centre of both runs - driving play and setting expectations through performance on the ice.

Those seasons, however, were defined by a high degree of continuity. Veteran leadership groups remained largely intact, roles were clearly established, and by multiple accounts the locker room was already cohesive. Within that environment, Hollander’s intensity and exacting standards functioned more as an accelerant than a destabilising force.

Challenges emerged as that stability receded.

As the roster turned over and questions around culture and accountability became a more central focus for Hollander, concerns about Hollander’s communication style became increasingly apparent. Leading a stable room, several staff members noted, is a very different task from guiding an evolving one - requiring not just conviction, but flexibility and an ability to bring players along rather than simply set direction. For some within the organisation, this raised questions: whether Hollander’s strengths as a player - and as a leader in stable contexts - were matched by the adaptability required to support a team through instability.

A Season That Split the Room

Hollander’s final season in Montreal was marked by a series of public controversies - an outward sign of what several within the organisation later described as a locker room under growing strain. At the outset of the 2017–18 season, the Metros were widely considered a playoff contender, but by midseason that momentum faltered - on the ice and, increasingly, within the room.

The tension came to a head in March. During a nationally broadcast game, Hollander responded to teammate Gilbert Comeau’s use of a discriminatory insult by striking him - breaking his jaw and bringing a private conflict abruptly into public view. Both players were subsequently disciplined by the league. In the aftermath, the incident became a focal point - not only for discussions around locker room culture, but also around leadership and accountability. For some, the moment crystallised a broader concern: not only what had been said, but how conflict within the room was handled.

In the weeks surrounding the incident, Hollander spoke about the pressures he’d been experiencing, describing a season shaped, in his account, by “out of control” speculation about his private life, as well as the strain of attempting to address behaviour within the room that he believed had gone inappropriately unchallenged. During this period, Hollander publicly came out as gay, a decision he indicated had been accelerated by that scrutiny. Hollander pointed to those factors as context for the incident - though others within the organisation describe the season differently.

“There were definitely jokes,” one veteran Metros player said, speaking anonymously. “Old-school stuff. After Shane came out, I could see why he’d been upset. But before that, he didn’t really share much about his personal life with us. He kept things pretty separate. So when he started pushing back, it felt like it came out of nowhere. It was hard to know how to respond in the moment.”

In a locker room environment, where trust is often built through shared openness and informal bonds, that proved difficult for players to navigate in real time. “Most of us weren’t trying to be malicious,” the same player continued. “We just didn’t realise the jokes were landing the way they were. Once he came out, that stuff disappeared pretty quickly.” This veteran wasn’t the only player who described efforts to adjust. Others, however, pointed to ongoing difficulties in how Hollander’s concerns were communicated and addressed.

The same communication dynamics noted earlier in his career appeared to persist with little change. One veteran expressed concern about minor transgressions being treated as serious issues, and with limited emphasis on reconciliation. “It wasn’t just the big things,” the veteran said. “It was corrections on smaller stuff too. I remember making a dumb comment - nothing serious - and trying to apologise after. Shane just told me to save it, and walked off.” Several players described similar interactions, with attempts at repair often going unacknowledged. That dynamic had a cumulative effect: “After a while, guys just stopped engaging.”

“He was trying to do the right thing,” another Metros player said. “We’re not questioning that. But the way it played out… it split the room.” Multiple sources described a locker room that became increasingly factionalised over the course of the season: a core group aligned with Hollander, a contingent of more traditional veterans, and a middle group finding it increasingly difficult to stay out of the conflict – a gradual and persistent erosion of common ground. “It stopped feeling like a team,” the player concluded. By the latter part of the season, multiple players noted that off-ice interaction within the group had noticeably diminished, with several choosing to disengage rather than risk further conflict.

The dynamic was particularly impactful on younger players, with Hayden Pike, who served as alternate captain during that period, describing it as “a tough year for the rookies.”

Andrew Reilly, then a rookie with the Metros, recalled a season in which tensions ran high, but avenues for addressing them were limited. “You could feel that things weren’t right, but you didn’t really know where to go with it,” he said. “Hollander was in the middle of everything, so it didn’t feel like something you could bring to him.”

Another young Metros player described a similar experience, saying “Hollander was so focused on his own stuff, he stopped having time for us.” Overall, multiple sources described younger players withdrawing from team life – and Hollander as unable to bridge that gap.

In retrospect, the season has been described by some as a case study in the difficulty of implementing cultural change in a professional sports environment - particularly when driven by leadership under personal pressure, and where team alignment is limited.

“There’s a difference between identifying a problem and successfully leading a group through change,” says Dr. Fournier. “In team environments, progress depends on knowing when to push, when to pause, and how to maintain cohesion throughout the process.” Hollander’s dominant traits suggest a misalignment in that context. Dr Fournier continues, “Leaders who are highly principled and highly driven can sometimes struggle with that balance. If there’s limited space for gradual adjustment or disagreement, even well-intentioned efforts can end up polarising or factionalising a group.”

That complexity is underscored by a recently resurfaced episode, though the available details remain limited.

In October 2018, on the day of Montreal’s first matchup against Ottawa, an image circulated online that appeared to show a homophobic slur taped to Hollander’s locker - though the timing and context of the original incident remain unclear. The Ottawa Centaurs issued a brief statement acknowledging the image, and stating that the matter had been addressed through appropriate channels prior to Hollander joining their organisation. Hollander declined to comment, and no additional details were made public.

Public reaction to the image was mixed. Some viewed it as evidence of a more hostile environment in Montreal than had previously been understood; others questioned the timing of its release, suggesting it may have been intended to shape the narrative around a high-intensity matchup. Within the Metros organisation, several players expressed surprise. “I’d never seen it or heard about it before,” one veteran said. “If that was from last season, it sounds like it was handled quietly, which honestly seems like the most appropriate way to deal with something like that.” Others echoed that uncertainty, describing no direct knowledge of when the incident occurred or how widely it had been known at the time.

Hollander declined requests to be interviewed for this article. The limited context surrounding the image mirrors the broader uncertainty that continues to define interpretations of that season - raising unresolved questions not only about what occurred, but how those events entered the public domain, and the role this may play in shaping the broader narrative.

Few dispute the legitimacy of the concerns Hollander raised. What remains less settled is the effect of how they were expressed, the pace at which change was pursued, and its impact on the room.

Where Resolution Stalled

In the weeks following the March incident, fractures within the Metros locker room proved difficult to repair. Most notably, an enduring rift between once-friendly teammates Hollander and Comeau remained a central concern for a room still attempting to recalibrate. Several players described efforts to stabilise the dynamic that were not met by Hollander..

“Things stayed really awkward,” one veteran Metro player said, speaking anonymously. “It left the rest of us in a tough spot. You didn’t really know how to act around it, or how to move forward.”

According to that player, Comeau made repeated efforts to re-engage. “He’d nod to Hollander at practice, say something friendly after games, try to keep it normal,” the veteran said. “But Hollander didn’t ever really respond - not even small talk.”

From the organisation’s perspective, reintegration was handled through established processes, intended to support a return to normal team function. “Comeau fulfilled all of the league’s requirements,” a member of the Metros’ management group said. “He served his suspension and participated in inclusion training. From the organisation’s standpoint, it was important to balance the rights of both players, and to ensure that one conflict didn’t result in the ongoing exclusion of a player.”

But within the room, the lack of resolution lingered. That tension appears to have surfaced in subtler ways - both in day-to-day interactions and on the ice.

Hollander’s individual play has long been one of his defining strengths - his ability to drive possession, attack space, and create scoring opportunities without relying on others. During that final season in Montreal, however, analysts noted that tendency becoming more pronounced, with Hollander increasingly carrying plays himself rather than involving linemates. “It’s part of what makes him elite,” one analyst said. “But it can also be a problem if he’s not in tune with his team.” In a room already navigating internal tension, that dynamic was notable.

This pattern was not new. Early scouting reports from Hollander’s junior career noted a similar dynamic: a player of exceptional individual ability, but one still developing the instinct to integrate that skill within a broader team structure - the same tension between individual drive and collective integration that has, in some respects, followed him throughout his career.

In Montreal, as the season wore on, those questions - about communication, cohesion, and how individual excellence fits within a collective - became increasingly central to the challenges facing the room.

The “Nuclear Option”

Five days before the end of an already strained season, Hollander took a step that drew surprised reactions across the league, filing a formal grievance against the Montreal Metros through the NHL Players’ Association - the first instance of a sitting team captain doing so while still with his club.

The grievance, which was settled confidentially in June 2018, prompted an external review. According to team officials, that process identified areas for improvement, which team officials said have since been incorporated into existing structures.

“The review flagged some issues, and we’ve made adjustments as a result,” the same official said. “While we wish it hadn’t unfolded this way, we believe the changes have ultimately been positive for the organisation.”

In a season already marked by conflict, the move marked a decisive break, reinforcing for some within the organisation a growing sense that resolution within the room was no longer achievable.