Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Victor St. Simon, Connors (Heated Rivalry), Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Ryan Carmichael, Yuna Hollander, Farah Jalali, David Hollander, Original Characters, Jessica | Shane Hollander's Ex-Girlfriend, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Wyatt Hayes, Zane Boodram, Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Hayden Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Jackie Pike, Patrice Drapeau, Gilbert Comeau, Svetlana Vetrova, Sasha | Ilya Rozanov's Coach's Son, Luca Haas, Rose Landry, Eric Bennett, Leah Campbell, Ryan Price (Game Changers), Fabian Salah, Max Riley, Brad | Hayden Pike's Fanmail Recipient, Olsson (Heated Rivalry), Sorren "Mitty" Miitka, Theriault (Game Changers), Brandon Wiebe, Anya | Ilya Rozanov's Dog, Hayden Pike's Children

Additional Tags:

Texting Fic, Social Media, Instagram, Coming Out, Shane Hollander Gets Outed, Ilya Rozanov Gets Outed, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Idiots in Love, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hollanov - Freeform, Shipping, Fuck AI, fuck it to death, Shane Hollander's Boston Lily, Inspired by Twitter, Secret Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Post-Book 2: Heated Rivalry (Game Changers), Group Chats

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Hollanov Shippers

Stats:

Published: 2026-08-06 Updated: 2026-10-14 Words: 40,129 Chapters: 9/13

Hollanov Shippers Gone Wild!

Summary

Shortly before the playoffs start in what will be Ilya's last season in Boston, he makes a drunk confession to Cliff that he's in love with Jane...who is a man. Unbeknownst to him, it was captured in the background of a video his teammate posted to social media. Chaos ensues.

Notes

Make sure you have creator’s workskin on. Some of the text message boxes scroll, so make sure you check that or you’ll miss parts of the conversation.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Rozanov

Chapter Summary

After a drunk celebration the previous night at Ilya's house, a TikTok posted by St-Simon catches him confessing a secret to Marleau. Oops!

Chapter Notes

This chapter takes place in April of 2018. Technically, TikTok wasn't available in the US until August of 2018, and didn't really get big until 2020. So we're just going to fudge those years a little. Pretend TikTok was here in 2016 and got big in 2017 or so.

This was inspired by this post on Threads. And as my imagination tends to do, it ran way too far with it.

Make sure you have creator’s workskin on. Some of the text message boxes scroll, so make sure you check that or you’ll miss parts of the conversation.

And forever and always, I don’t fuck with generative AI. I respect authors and copyright laws. And I really like water.

Ilya tossed back four ibuprofen as he glared around at the detritus all over his home.

Detritus was a good word. Carmichael knew a lot of big words for someone who'd had so many concussions, and he liked to teach them to Ilya. The guy had gone to a big deal university, so it made sense he had a big vocabulary, even in a language as stupid as English. Ilya had learned detritus just a few weeks ago, originally in reference to the chaos that was Marley's locker.

And it was a fitting word for all the shit strewn around his house this morning. Fucking animals. Boston's hockey team probably should have been named for some kind of wild animal. But Raiders also fit, since they'd effectively raided his house, then destroyed it.

Ilya was too fucking hungover for this. He pulled an electrolyte drink out of the refrigerator, almost smiling when he saw the row of Shane's ginger ale cans lined up next to the row of Ilya's Coke cans.

The regular season was over for the Raiders, them having beaten the Admirals last night in their final game. It was always nice to send Grandpa Hunter home sad. Even if Ilya did owe his relationship at least in part to the old man.

Shane was in Anaheim and would play his final regular season game tonight. They both had more hockey to play, since both their teams were in the playoffs. But they were just a little closer to being done. A little closer to another trip to Shane's cottage, where they would be almost entirely alone and could freely be together. The only other people they planned to see were Shane's parents, and they still got to be a couple around them, thank fuck.

And every day took them a little closer to Ilya moving to Canada, closer to the love of his life. He was starting to feel nostalgic about Boston. He’d grown up on this team, in this city. But nostalgia had nothing on his love for Shane.

From the pocket of his joggers, Ilya's phone buzzed. Drink in hand, he shuffled to his couch and flopped down, pulling it out to check the notification.

St-Simon had made a group chat that was just him, Marley, and Connors and named it St-Simon Fucked Up. What the fuck?

Cold dread slithered along Ilya's spine. Which was ridiculous. St-Simon had probably broken some dumb art piece Ilya's decorator picked out that he didn't give a shit about.

Ilya's phone kept buzzing, mostly likely Marley and Connors bickering, as usual. They were worse than any old married couple in any movie Ilya had ever seen. He ignored them and clicked the link, that same ominous feeling hanging over him.

The video was of Connors sitting just about where Ilya was right now. He was talking and gesturing animatedly, bottle of Sam Adams in his hand. Because St-Simon said to listen too, Ilya paused the video and turned his phone's volume up. He dragged his finger across the screen to start it over.

Connors was rambling on about some threesome he had recently. Why the fuck did Ilya need to listen to this? He'd heard the story twice already. And why the fuck was St-Simon recording and posting it? Sure, the guy was probably the most active Raider on social media. But who cared about Connors's probably-made-up threesome?

Then, in the background, a very loud, very distinct voice could be heard. Probably the person sitting on the other side of St-Simon and his recording phone.

The voice had a Russian accent.

"I need to tell you somethin’, Marley," Ilya's voice in the video said, only slurring a little. "But is a secret. You cannot tell anyone else."

"Sure, man. You can tell me anything, Rozzy. You know that." Marleau's voice was more slurred than Ilya's. "I won't tell a fucking soul. Have I told anyone about that night in Miami—"

"Shut up. I don't want to talk about that night," Ilya interrupted.

Yeah, that night in Miami had been…unfortunate. But in Ilya's defense, he'd been a stupid 19-year-old rookie. And it had cemented Marley as his best friend on the team.

"Then what's up?" Marley asked on the video.

Ilya realized he was listening like he had no idea what he was about to confess to his alternate captain. His memories of that point in the night were hazy, and he definitely didn't remember this conversation with Marleau.

At this point, whatever Connors was saying sounded like static to him as he listened to his own voice. "I need to tell you something about Jane."

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. This could not be good. No no no, fucking fuck.

"Jane is not really Jane."

Yeah, this was bad. This was so fucking bad. Shane was going to break up with him.

"OK. Who is she?"

"She is not she. She is he."

Forget breaking up with him. Shane was going to straight up murder him. He would get Yuna to help, and the two of them would definitely get away with it. They were too fucking smart not to.

And Ilya absolutely fucking deserved it.

"What?" Marleau sounded more drunk-confused than not understanding the implications of what Ilya just said.

"Jane is man."

"You've been blushing over texts from a dude? I thought you were, like, fucking Jane all this time." Drunk Marleau really was a dumb motherfucker.

Apparently so was Drunk Ilya.

"No, Marley. I told you, Russians do not blush. And they are not just texts with Jane. I have best sex of my life with Jane. But not Jane. Jane is fake name so no one will know he is man."

And there it was. Ilya's cause of death. He should probably just buy a gun and give it to Shane to kill him with because he fucking deserved it.

The only thing he could hope now was that he didn't tell Marleau who Jane actually was. It would also be nice if neither of them mentioned Montreal, but at this point, Ilya didn't have much faith in his drunk self from the previous night.

"So…you've been fucking a dude all these years?"

"Yes. A very wonderful dude who is love of my life."

Maybe Shane would appreciate that part and forgive him?

No, probably not.

"But I've seen you with your tongue down a chick's throat and your hand up her dress. You can't be gay."

Shane was going to love that reminder.

"This is bi-erasure, Marley. But I haven't been with woman in many years. Only Jane."

"So you, like, like both?"

"Yes, Marley, I am bisexual. It is a thing." Drunk Ilya in the video sounded very impatient.

"OK, wait, I have so many quest—"

The video ended, then looped around to start again with Connors waving his beer around.

Ilya sent the message, then threw his phone across the couch and dropped his head back against the armrest. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" He bellowed several more profanities, in both English and Russian. Called himself all manner of insults. His phone buzzed repeatedly, the sound irritating him as his friends undoubtedly had questions for him.

Fuck them. He needed to think. He needed to strategize. But he was too fucking hungover to think or strategize. Strategizing was really more Shane’s thing. Ilya wracked his brain, trying to remember any of the recorded conversation but it was all blank in his memory.

He was never drinking that much again.

He needed Yuna to help him figure this out. She would know how to get Shane to understand and forgive him. He hadn't said Shane's name, and neither he nor Marley referred to his Montreal Girl. The only clue he'd given as to Jane's identity was something Shane had in common with half the planet.

He needed to call Yuna. Probably Farah too. Shit, would she even want him as a client anymore? Shane was the one who'd initially introduced them, after Ilya left his Russian agent.

Shit, Russia. Good thing he had no interest in ever going back there again. There was no way he safely could now.

He needed Shane. What time was it even?

He forced himself to move, grabbing his phone. The group chat was still going but he ignored that in lieu of checking the clock. A little after ten, which meant it was a little after seven in California. Shane would be up, doing his run before going to morning skate. He was chronically offline, so he wouldn't have seen it. The fact he hadn't called Ilya yet was a good sign he hadn't heard about it from someone else either.

Before he could stop and think about what he was going to say, Ilya tapped on Jane's contact and called him.

"What are you doing up? I figured you'd be sleeping off a hangover until at least noon," Shane said by way of a greeting. He sounded a little breathless, like he might still be on the hotel's treadmill. The faint background noise Ilya heard could be the exercise machine.

"I am sorry, Shane. I fucked up." A lump that felt suspiciously like it could be tears pressed on the back of Ilya's throat. “Please don’t leave me, Shane. I love you so much and I don’t think I can survive losing you again. I am so sorry. I will do any—“

“Rozanov!” Shane barked in his Captain Hollander voice that Ilya usually found irresistibly sexy.

It was a testament to how truly panicked he was, that he didn’t get even the tiniest bit of interest from his cock. On a normal morning, he’d be half hard from that one word alone.

“Shane, I love you.”

There was a heavy silence. Then the hum of the treadmill cut off and the silence grew even more oppressive. Ilya’s knee started bouncing, his fingernails digging into his palms as his hands clenched in tight fists.

“Did you fuck someone else?” Shane’s voice was colder than Ilya had ever heard it. It gutted him.

“No, Shane. Of course not. I would never—“

“Did you tell someone about us? Someone who can't keep a secret?” His voice was a tiny bit less frosty. But not much.

“No, I would not do that. We have a plan. I know this.” Ilya’s heart pounded in his chest like he’d been running right along with his boyfriend.

His boyfriend who was taking slow, deep breaths that whispered through the phone. The way he did to ward off a panic attack.

After the silence got to be too much for Ilya to bear, he said, “Shane?” in the smallest voice he remembered ever using.

“Yeah. I’m still here.

“Please remember I love you and would never do anything to hurt you and I am very sorry and will do whatever you need to make this up to you.”

Shane’s sigh came through the phone as static. “OK, tell me what happened.”

“Raiders were at my house last night. We drank a lot. And because is my last season there, I drank…” Why was it so hard to admit this next part? Shane didn’t have a problem with him drinking, as long as he behaved.

Except he hadn’t behaved. “I drank too much. I do not remember things. But St-Simon, he… he posted stupid TikTok of Connors, but it also picked up me talking to Marley.”

“Ooooh-kaaaay. But you didn’t out us? Did you mention me at all?”

“No.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true. “I did not say your name.”

“What does that mean?”

“I told Marley that Jane is man. And that he is love of my life.”

The next five seconds were possibly the longest of Ilya’s life, waiting for Shane’s reply.

“And you’re positive you didn’t say my name? Did you say I live in Montreal?”

“No! No, I swear to you, Shane. I did not say anything about you except that you are a man who I love very much. And I told Marley I am bisexual.”

“So you came out to Marleau.”

Ilya was too restless to keep sitting, so he got off the couch and paced back to the kitchen. He needed something in his stomach. Something greasy.

He leaned back against his counter, legs crossed at the ankles, and put Shane on speakerphone. As they kept talking, he opened a food delivery app and started ordering breakfast from his favorite 24-hour diner.

“I suppose, yes. That is what I did.”

“And then you came out to twitter by accident.”

“Yes, Hollander, that is what happened. Was TikTok, but close enough.”

Shane made an impatient noise.

“Are you mad at me?”

Another endless pause. “I’m frustrated. This wasn’t our plan.”

“I know.” Yeah, he was going to need an extra order of bacon.

“So we’ll have to modify our plan. We need to call Farah. And my mom. They can help us figure out what–”

“Shane!” It was Ilya’s turn to interrupt in his Captain voice.

Shane fell silent.

“Breathe, Shane. Do not have panic attack.”

He waited while Shane took several slow breaths. Ilya added two more side orders of toast to his cart, added a 100 percent tip, and tapped to place the order.

“OK. OK. I’m OK.” Shane took a few more deep breaths. “If you hang on a minute, I’ll call Mom and she can help us come up with a strategy.”

“Don’t you have morning skate?”

“Fuck.”

“Is OK. You have game to play. I have situation to fix. That technically, as far as anyone else know, doesn’t not involve you. Only you, me, Yuna, David, and Farah know you are Jane. Yes?”

“Yeah, OK, you’re right. I have to go to fucking morning skate.”

Ilya chuckled. “Shane Hollander upset he has to practice hockey?”

“Fuck off.” Shane’s voice was all affection.

“I will call Yuna. We will call Farah. Three of us will come up with statement. And you will kick Anaheim’s ass. Then we will both have amazing playoffs, though mine will be slightly more amazing, of course.”

“Fuck you, Rozanov.”

“And we will play each other for conference championship, which Boston will of course win.”

“Once again, fuck off.”

“And I will lead Boston to one more cup before I leave.”

“No, pretty sure you’ll still be at one cup and I’ll be leading Montreal to our third cup in four years.”

“Umm, no.”

They were both silent for a beat, then Ilya said, “It will be OK. Yuna is smart. Farah is smart. They will not let anything happen to Canada’s golden boy. Or to his secret boyfriend.”

“OK.”

“OK?”

“Yeah, OK. What else can we do, right?”

Ilya got another Gatorade from his refrigerator even though he hadn’t finished the one on the coffee table. Shane was being surprisingly chill about this. For Shane. “And we are OK? You are not mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you. For reasons I will never understand, I’m too ridiculously in love with you.”

“Is because you are hockey robot and I am best player in MLH.”

“Second best.”

“Ummmm, no. I don’t think so.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

Ilya found himself grinning. “Yes, but I am your asshole.”

“Unfortunately.”

“And your asshole is mine.” He could feel himself grinning wickedly, despite being alone in his house. Hopefully he was also making Shane grin.

“Jesus christ.”

“You are blushing, aren’t you? Let me Facetime you. I want to see you blush.” Ilya tapped at his phone to get to that screen.

“I can’t. I need to shower and I have to be ready to leave in twenty minutes.” Shane sighed. “I”m sorry.”

“Send selfie?” It was better than nothing. Fuck, he missed his boyfriend.

“You’ll delete it, right?” He could practically hear Shane chewing on his lower lip.

“Yes, Hollander. I will delete picture.” Unless it was really sexy. Something hot enough to inspire his imagination when he jerked off thinking about Shane. He kept those in the secret folder on his phone, along with the pictures from the MLH awards four years ago, when they had presented together.

Looking back, that night had been one of the turning points in their relationship. Ilya was glad he hadn’t deleted those pictures the next day. Even if Shane had been going through an unfortunate haircut phase at the time.

Because honestly, he’d been going through that phase pretty much the entire eight years they’d known each other. Until he hired his stylist.

Inspired by Rose Landry. Ilya was definitely not a fan of how she and Shane met, but he did appreciate that she was a good friend to his boyfriend. And if it weren’t for her, Shane would probably still have those awful bangs and wear athleisure everywhere.

Then, a horrible thought occurred to Ilya. “What if… what if Centaurs do not want me?” Shit. That would ruin their plan. The careful plan Shane had stayed up all night to come up with because he loved Ilya that much. Because he didn’t want to be so far apart anymore.

He loved his Shane so much, sometimes it was almost overwhelming.

Shane didn’t answer right away, giving Ilya more time to worry. He took several gulps of his drink, just for something to do. He emptied the bottle, threw it in the recycling, then leaned his elbows on the counter and shoved his hands into his hair. “Shane?” He could hear the despair in his own voice.

What if Boston didn’t want to re-sign him either, and Ottawa didn’t want a bisexual player, even one as good as Ilya Rozanov? What if no other team would sign him?

He could not go back to Russia. But what other choice would he have?

“I don’t know. Fuck. I don’t know, Ilya. Maybe talk to Mom and Farah about it?” Shane’s voice had that edge that said he was barely keeping himself from a panic attack.

And it was Ilya’s fault. He was responsible for his boyfriend being miserable. And he was three time zones away and couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t hold the back of Shane’s neck and massage in the way that calmed him. Couldn’t hold him tight, using the pressure of his arms to ease the panic. All he could offer was another pathetic, “I am so sorry.”

“I know. I… it’s not your fault.” Shane sighed. “I mean, it is a little. But St-Simon should watch what he posts before he posts it. And if anyone can figure this out, it’s my mom.”

“Yes, Yuna will terrify the Centaurs into wanting me.” Ilya chuckled. No one was more formidable than his hopefully-future mother-in-law.

“They’re terrible. I’m pretty sure you could come out as queer, a devil worshipper, a baby killer, and part alligator and Ottawa would want you.” Shane’s tone was flat.

Ilya laughed again. “Wow. Good thing I’m just bisexual.”

“And a menace.”

“A menace you’re in love with.” Ilya stood up straight and scratched at his chest. Shane was right. This was a hiccup, but it would not ruin their plan for him to move to the Centaurs.
It couldn’t.

They had worked too hard to get to this point. It might kill Ilya to play anywhere else next year. Except maybe Montreal, but that was an impossibility.

“Yes, very much in love with you. But I really do have to go.” Shane sounded as disappointed about it as Ilya felt.

“You will FaceTime me after game?”

“I’ll try. It’s going to be late, though. After midnight for you.”

The sound of a door opening came through the phone. A moment later, Ilya heard it close again. Shane must be leaving the gym.

“I don’t care. I need to see your freckles.”

Shane chuckled. “OK. I will.” A pause, then, “I love you.”

“I love you too. Thank you for understanding.” Ilya wasn’t looking forward to the media storm he was about to deal with, but as long as Shane was still there at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. Raiders management was sure to be pissed about his accidental confession, especially given the timing, right before the playoffs. If people talked about queer players being a “distraction” during the regular season, they’d definitely say he was one now.

But fuck them. He was the second best player in the league. He’d say they could suck his dick, but they couldn’t. He was way too good for them. The privilege of sucking his dick belonged solely to the best player in the MLH.

“I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to be your boyfriend.”

“Bye, Shane.”

“Bye, Lily.”

Chuckling, Ilya ended the call. He checked and saw his breakfast should be there in ten minutes.

Wait, had Shane said he loved Ilya after he left the gym? Out in the hall?

He opened his text thread with Jane.

Laughing, Ilya set his phone down. Only to have it ping with a new text message. Yuna had texted him and Farah.

He at least needed to get his food so he could eat while they talked. He couldn’t deal with the fallout on an empty stomach. Then he would call his surrogate mom and his agent. And trust they could fix his fuck up.

Chapter End Notes

Obviously Shane and Ilya can't use each other's real pictures as the contacts for Jane and Lily. I imagine when Ilya first came to the US, he watched a lot of TV to improve his English. And I think he would really enjoy the show Daria. So when he needed a picture for his Jane, he used Daria's best friend Jane.

Next up: social media responds to St-Simon's post. No idea how long it'll take me to write that, but... so subscribe if you'd like more of this. Right now, I'm planning 6 chapters, but might add a 7th.

Comments and kudos are always appreciated. We writers have very fragile egos. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 2: Social media has thoughts

Chapter Summary

Social media has thoughts about St-Simon's TikTok

Chapter Notes

Previously on Hollanov Shippers Gone Wild...
Chapter 1: Ilya drunkenly confesses to Marley that Jane is a man, that he’s bisexual. Unfortunately, St-Simon was next to them, filming a TikTok that he posted. And the whole internet heard Ilya’s confession.

There's mild homophobic language in this chapter (I can't bring myself to use slurs, even if in character, so none of that), and bi-erasure.

Oh my god so much coding. But I love the end result. Make sure you have creator’s workskin on. Some of the text message boxes scroll, so make sure you check that or you’ll miss parts of the conversation.

Chapter End Notes

Next up: what about Shane? When will he be coming out (get outed?) No idea how long it'll take me to write that, but... so subscribe if you'd like more of this. I am on staycation this week, taking a break between writing my day job books, so I've got time to play! And there'll be way less coding in chapter 3... phew.

Comments and kudos are always appreciated. We writers have very fragile egos. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 3: Hollander

Chapter Summary

Remember how during the situationship years, Shane hooked up with a guy while on vacation in Mexico? That comes back to haunt Shane in a terrible way.

Chapter Notes

Previously on Hollanov Shippers Gone Wild…
Chapter 1: Ilya drunkenly confesses to Marley that Jane is a man, that he’s bisexual. Unfortunately, St-Simon was next to them, filming a TikTok that he posted. And the whole internet heard Ilya’s confession.
Chapter 2: Social media has thoughts about Ilya being bisexual.

Please note, I have added a couple chapters based on my updated outline. I am going to do the chapter I wasn't sure if I was going to do or not. And I wrote an extra chapter I hadn't planned on just for shits and giggles and it was ridiculously fun.

Make sure you have creator’s workskin on. Some of the text message boxes scroll, so make sure you check that or you’ll miss parts of the conversation.

MLH All-Star Shane Hollander revealed to have wild gay sex while on vacation

Keep reading for exclusive details from one of Hollander’s gay lovers

Shane Hollander was not having a good morning. To say the least. After reading the article his mom sent him, he did remember who Paul was. He sent his ancient one-night stand a fuck you text, with seven different gifs of someone showing their middle finger.

One stupid, weak moment back in 2016 and it was coming back to haunt Shane four and a half years later. And the sex hadn’t even been that good; certainly not worth being outed. He’d had to imagine it was Ilya half the time. Which had answered his question of was sex better with all men, or just Ilya. And while yes, he enjoyed the sex with Paul more than he ever had with a woman, it didn’t come close to what he had with Ilya.

He knew now that was because he and Ilya were in love. And had been halfway there even that first night they hooked up. When he let Paul fuck him, he’d already known, deep down, that sex with Ilya was different. But no, he’d had to get data.

Now that data was splashed all over the internet. Today, the whole world knew he was gay, whereas yesterday a very select few had. Worse, his mom had read the sentence “I had anal sex with hockey star Shane Hollander.”

Could he please die now?

His phone buzzed from where he’d put it down on the kitchen counter. His heart skipped, assuming it was Ilya again.

Then he read the notification on his screen and his heart and his stomach sank.

Fuck.

Shane scrubbed a hand over his face, then shoved it into his hair. He started pacing his kitchen like some kind of caged animal.

Theriault was an old-fashioned type, old-school hockey guy. He didn’t reprimand players for using slurs. Including the few that had been directed at Shane’s Japanese heritage during his rookie season. Fortunately the guy who said them retired at the end of that year. But it had been real fucking eye opening to know from day one his coach didn’t have his back. It wasn’t like Theriault knew Shane was gay when he let the gay slurs slide. But he still allowed them. Had even used them on occasion.

Shane would not be getting support from his coach the way Ilya had in Boston. The way management had more or less supported him. The way his new team in Ottawa not only supported him being queer, but embraced it. Inspired by his new captain, Troy Barrett had come out recently. According to Ilya, there was something between Barrett and the Centaurs’ social media manager.

And neither Wiebe nor Ilya put up with slurs from the team. Though Ilya said he’d never had to shut them down because he never heard them, even when he first got to the team.

If the Centaurs weren’t such a bad hockey team, Shane might almost be jealous of Ilya’s circumstances. Though they were getting better. They’d been slowly improving over the first half of the season, and in recent games, since the horrible plane crash landing, they were on a winning streak. Still a long way to go, but in Ilya’s first two seasons in Ottawa, they’d never won three in a row.

And they embraced him being queer.

Instead of answering Theriault, Shane texted his mom and agent.

Shane nodded at his phone even though his mom clearly couldn’t see.

Fuck fuck fuck his life.

He grabbed a ginger ale from the fridge, then took it and his phone to the couch. He really wanted to go to his room, curl up in bed, and pull the covers over his head to hide from the world. He could call Ilya from under the blankets.

Instead he flopped down, sprawling across the worn leather and propping his feet on the coffee table. He looked up at the ceiling, taking several deep breaths, until he felt the tiniest bit more settled.

He wasn’t quite ready when his phone rang, vibrating against his thigh. He snatched it up and nearly answered without checking the caller ID. Fortunately he caught himself. Because he only wanted to talk to Ilya. Maybe Rose, but not yet.

It was Hayden.

Shane declined the call. He couldn’t deal with his teammate’s “Shane, buddy, what the fuck?” right now. He knew Hayden would be hurt that Shane hadn’t told him he was gay. And yeah, it was shitty that his friends were finding out this way—though he honestly didn’t care about anyone except Hayden, Jackie, and JJ. But they were still low priority right now. Jackie and JJ would be easier, but Hayden would be focused on his own hurt. Shane would have to manage his friend’s feelings. It’s not like Hayd was a selfish asshole or anything. He was just kind of clueless.

Ignoring the dozens of text notifications he had, Shane opened the conversation with his head coach. Fuck it. He wasn’t asking Theriault’s permission to move the meeting until tomorrow.

That was an hour before their optional practice started. Which he’d planned to go to, but it might be better if he skipped it. He supposed it would depend on how the meeting went.

He sent a text to Farah, letting her know when the meeting was. So he wouldn’t be inundated by notifications during the call, he put his phone in do not disturb mode.

Then, done with everything else, he called Ilya on FaceTime. He needed to see his fiancé’s face, not just hear his voice.

The phone pinged, then the face he loved so much filled the small screen. “Shane.”

Hearing the softness in Ilya’s voice, the sympathy, was enough to have tears filling Shane’s eyes. “Fuck, Ilya.” His voice came out choked, like someone had a hand around his throat.

“I know.” There was a beat of silence, then, “I love you. We will figure this out.”

“I know.”

“What did Farah and Yuna say?”

Shane swiped at his eyes and told Ilya the plan the three of them had come up with.

“Is your coach upset?” Ilya asked.

“Hard to be certain from a text message, but…” Shane sighed.

“But yes?”

“But yes.”

“Have you heard from your team?” Ilya asked. He held the phone close enough to his face that Shane could see only the smallest bit of background behind his head. He was pretty sure Ilya was sitting on his couch, just like Shane.

“I have a bunch of missed calls and texts but I’m ignoring them.”

“Hayden and JJ?”

Shane nodded. “Jackie… though she’s not the team. The group chat is constant, but I’m definitely not checking that. Hayd can let me know if there’s anything I really need to know.”

Comeau and Drapeau were the most vocally homophobic on the team. Pretty much everyone except Shane and Hayden used homophobic language, and along with Comeau and Drapeau, probably half the team went to outright slurs.

As captain, sure, it was Shane’s job to set the tone for the locker room. He knew he let things slide that he shouldn’t. Partly because he didn’t want anyone turning around and looking too closely at why he forbid hate speech that was considered “locker room talk.” Partly because he would get no backing from coaching or management if he tried. And partly because he knew his teammates thought he was weird. Several likely had racist thoughts about him that they at least were smart enough not to say out loud when he could hear it. They tolerated him because he was good. The best. He didn’t want to make himself more of a target and risk them deciding him winning them all three cups wasn’t worth it.

It was weak, and sometimes he hated himself for it. But it was too late to change it now.

Yeah, he wasn’t going to optional practice after meeting with Theriault. Let his teammates get out the worst of their vitriol in the group chat and in the locker room tomorrow. Hayden and JJ could let him know how bad it was, and he could decide from there.

“You let me know who gives you trouble. We will take care of them on the ice next game.” Ilya’s expression was fierce.

Shane huffed a humorless laugh. “Pretty sure it’s going to be too many players for Ottawa to take on all of them.”

Ilya scoffed. “Nineteen of them, twenty of us.”

“There are twenty of us too.” Which Ilya obviously knew.

“Yes, but no one will touch my Shane.”

Shane smiled briefly, but it faded quickly. “I wish—” His voice choked off. He cleared his throat. “I wish you hadn’t had to read that.”

Ilya looked upwards, like he was gathering his thoughts. Then he looked back into the camera. Looked back at Shane. “I did not love it. Why did they need so much detail? Seemed excessive, yes? But was before we were really together. I was with other people and I would be hypocrite if I got mad that you were too.”

“I know.”

“And you have told me he was no good, that I am the best. So is all good.” Ilya smirked and waggled his eyebrows.

“Asshole,” Shane muttered affectionately.

“Is much worse that David and Yuna read it, yes?” Ilya’s smirk turned into a shit-eating grin.

“Go fuck yourself.” Shane felt his cheeks heating. It was one thing to know his parents knew he had sex, in an abstract sense. It was another entirely to think about them reading the excessive amount of specifics Paul had shared with ZMT. Ilya was right. Why had they needed to publish that level of detail?

“Maybe they skimmed that part?” Ilya offered hopefully.

Shane just grunted. He certainly hoped they’d only skimmed.

They were silent for a moment that stretched almost to the point of awkward. Shane didn’t want to hang up, but he didn’t have much to say. Just how pissed and scared he was, over and over. He knew Ilya got it. The method they’d been outed was different, but it was still being outed when they hadn’t made the choice. And it was still the same thing at stake.

Ilya’s career had managed to come through without any damage. But they were both certain Boston had been more cool with it than they might have been because they knew Ilya didn’t intend to re-sign with them. It was only their problem until the playoffs were over. And it would be known Ilya chose to change teams, so they wouldn’t look like bad guys, pushing him out the door. They probably still would have been OK about it in the long run anyway, but Ilya’s impending move made it even easier for them.

And it turned out Ottawa’s GM was bisexual, like Ilya. So Ottawa hadn’t cared, and in fact embraced and celebrated their queer players and employees. Shane was kind of jealous of that, if he was honest.

But everyone who remotely paid attention to professional hockey knew the Metros’ reputation. They weren’t the very worst in the MLH—that title went to Toronto and Dallas Kent—but they were definitely top 5. And that went from Comeau and Drapeau all the way up to the team owner. And most of the men in between. There was only one token woman working in management.

Yeah, Shane was so fucking fucked. And not in the fun way.

“Oh, Shane.” Ilya’s voice once more took on the soft, sympathetic tone.

Shane sniffed, not realizing his eyes had once again filled with tears until one overflowed and ran down his cheek. “I wish you were here right now. I could really use a hug.” And a hard fuck that blanked everything out of his mind.

Ilya’s phone came away from his face, moving until he propped it up against something on his coffee table. Shane watched him grab his iPad and tap and scroll on it for a minute. He typed something, then set the tablet back on the table.

“I have meeting with Bood in an hour. Then I will leave. I will need to bring Anya with me.”

“What do you mean ‘leave’? You have practice tomorrow.”

“I have texted Wiebe to say I need day off. I will tell Bood in our meeting. Practice Friday is optional. Afternoon game Saturday, so no morning skate. Need to be at the arena at nine.” He nodded like it was decided.

“Ilya, you can’t skip practice for me.” Realistically, Theriault would likely bench him. He and Ilya couldn’t both be skipping out on their responsibilities, as players and as captains.

“I am not. I am skipping practice for me. I need to see you. See for myself that you are OK.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Don’t lie to me on top of everything else.”

Ilya sighed. “I am not lying,” he said in a much more sincere tone. “I do need to see you, lyubmy. I—” His voice cracked and he grabbed a water bottle from off screen and took a drink. “I know how this feels. And I know this will be worse for you than was for me.”

“No, it’s not—”

Ilya held up his hand. “Not important who had it worse. I need to be there with you. So unless you tell me you do not want me—not that you think I should not skip practice, but that you do not want to see me—I will hang up now. I will pack for me and Anya, I will go to Bood’s to meet with him, and I will leave. I will be there around five.”

Shane had to swipe at his eyes as more tears rolled down his cheeks. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” After a weighty moment, he returned to his default smirk. “And I will fuck you so hard, your brain turns off for hours.”

Shane barked out a laugh, the sound ripping out of his throat so harshly, he started coughing. When he stopped, he said, “Uh, my parents are going to be here too. Tonight, anyway.”

Ilya sighed. “Then I will fuck you in shower and you will be quiet. Or I will put towel on the floor and fuck you there, with a pillow for you to scream into.”

They’d had sex in the shower plenty of times, but they’d never tried the floor as a way to keep things quieter. Realistically, two 200-pound men having vigorous sex would likely make some noise anyway, but it would eliminate any sounds the bed might make. And it made a hot as fuck mental picture.

“We’ll figure something out,” he mumbled, cheeks flushed again. Would he be terrible and ungrateful if he booked his parents a hotel room for the night?

Surely they’d go back to Ottawa tomorrow. His dad couldn’t work remotely for that many days, could he? Shane assumed that was his plan, rather than taking a personal day. If Ilya was staying three nights but his parents only one, they’d be fine limiting themselves to shower sex tonight. They had two more nights to make all the noise they wanted to.

Anya had gotten used to it quickly.

“OK, I will go. Anya and I will see you soon.” Ilya gave him the look Hayden called heart eyes. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”

“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu. I can’t wait to see you.” He hadn’t realized how much he needed Ilya until his fiancé made his plan.

“Bye.”

Shane’s phone screen went dark, then defaulted back to his home screen. He tapped into his missed call log.

Seventeen calls from Hayden; fucking take a hint, dude. Four from JJ. Two from Theriault, one from the team owner. Two from Rose, and he would actually text her in a few minutes.

The little red dot indicated he had 11 voicemails, probably most from Hayden. But no way was he listening to them.

He had 331 unread text messages. The notification dot made him feel itchy; he hated having outstanding notifications. But he also didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with anyone else today. Still, he was curious who they were from.

Sixty-three from Hayden. Jesus christ. Two hundred twenty-six in the Metros team chat. The rest were an assortment of his mom, two from his dad, Rose, Jackie, Farah, and a handful of other people. Fuck, one was from the contact he’d saved as MLH Commissioner. There was a second one from a New York City area code that he didn’t have saved in his contacts, but it was probably someone else in Crowell’s office.

He definitely wasn’t responding to fucking Roger Crowell. That was for Farah.

One more caught his eye as someone he wanted to respond to.

It should’ve felt more satisfying to block Paul’s contact, but Shane was still too angry to feel anything else. And maybe it made him a shitty person to not care about Paul’s kid, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Hell, if Paul had texted him and asked for the money, he probably would’ve given it to him. Or had Yuna hook Paul up with resources that could help him. But no, he chose selling Shane out to fucking ZMT instead.

Shane got up from the couch and started pacing, because he needed to do something with the nervous energy pulsing through him.

He should eat, but his stomach was too knotted up. His mom and dad wouldn’t be there for more than an hour. Early March in Montreal was still too fucking cold to go for a run outside and no way was he going to the practice facility to work out. Home gym it was.

He jogged up the stairs and changed into workout clothes, then hurried back downstairs. He stopped in the kitchen to fill his water bottle, then headed for his home gym.

After programming the treadmill for a pace at which he’d still be able to text, he started jogging. Then he opened his text thread with Rose.

Shane texted a big game about his team. But he knew he was trying to convince himself that it would all be fine as much as Rose. Probably more than he was trying to convince Rose.

He spent almost an hour on the treadmill, gradually ramping up the speed and incline until he was fully present in his body and not stuck in his head. For a blissful twenty minutes, he barely had a single thought.

Then he heard his security system beep and the front door open.

“Shane, honey! We’re here!” his mom called.

He slowed down to a brisk walk faster than he usually did, and only spent a minute at a cool-down pace before stopping the treadmill and hopping off.

He grabbed a clean towel off the shelf by the door on his way out. Then headed for the kitchen to face reality.

Chapter End Notes

Next up: social media responds to to the ZMT article. No idea how long it'll take me to write that, but... so subscribe if you'd like more of this. And I can't believe so many of you have subscribed already. 🥰

Comments and kudos are always appreciated. We writers have very fragile egos. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 4: Social Media Has More Thoughts

Chapter Summary

Social media reacts to Paul and ZMT outing Shane Hollander. #FuckYouPaul

There are a few homophobic posts, typical for terrible hockey fans.

Chapter Notes

Previously on Hollanov Shippers Gone Wild…
Chapter 1: Ilya drunkenly confesses to Marley that Jane is a man, that he’s bisexual. Unfortunately, St-Simon was next to them, filming a TikTok that he posted. And the whole internet heard Ilya’s confession.
Chapter 2: Social media has thoughts about Ilya being bisexual.
Chapter 3: Shane’s old hookup outed him to ZMT.

So I might've had ideas for 2 more chapters...I swear that's all the chapters I'll be adding. And they'll be fun!

Probably.

Also, discovering the Hockey Jesus image might be one of my favorite parts of writing this fic.

Make sure you have creator’s workskin on. Some of the text message boxes scroll, so make sure you check that or you’ll miss parts of the conversation.

~Trending~

#FuckYouPaul

#HockeyIsForEveryone

Shane Hollander

#Hollanov

Christopher Plummer dead

The next morning

Chapter End Notes

Next up: Shane reaches out to someone he saw posting on Twitter. I have this chapter written already so I'll likely post tomorrow... so subscribe if you'd like more of this. And I can't believe so many of you have subscribed already. 🥰

As always, comments and kudos are always appreciated. We writers have very fragile egos. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 5: Blast from the past

Chapter Summary

Shane reaches out to someone he saw commenting on twitter. Takes place the same day as chapters 3 and 4.

Chapter Notes

Previously on Hollanov Shippers Gone Wild…
Chapter 1: Ilya drunkenly confesses to Marley that Jane is a man, that he’s bisexual. Unfortunately, St-Simon was next to them, filming a TikTok that he posted. And the whole internet heard Ilya’s confession.
Chapter 2: Social media has thoughts about Ilya being bisexual.
Chapter 3: Shane’s old hookup outed him to ZMT.
Chapter 4: Social media has thoughts on Shane being gay, and on how he was outed. #FuckYouPaul is trending.

This felt like a very Shane thing to apologize for. And it was fun to imagine this conversation. Hope you have as much fun reading it.

Make sure you have creator’s workskin on. The text message scrolls, so make sure you do that or you’ll miss most of the conversation.

Chapter End Notes

Next up: the aftermath of Shane being outed, how Montreal responds (fuck the Metros in every universe), and what Shane and Ilya do about it. Also possible consequences for Paul. Because he deserves it. #FuckYouPaul

No idea how long it'll take me to write that, but... so subscribe if you'd like more of this.

As always, comments and kudos are always appreciated. We writers have very fragile egos. The comments you’ve left so far have been wonderful.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 6: Fallout

Chapter Summary

March 2021-May 2021
The fallout from Shane being outed. The Metros don't handle it well (shocking!). Yuna has plans for Paul. Shane tells Hayden and JJ he has a boyfriend...uh, a fiancee. The Metros continue to handle things poorly.

Chapter Notes

Previously on Hollanov Shippers Gone Wild…
Chapter 1: Ilya drunkenly confesses to Marley that Jane is a man, that he’s bisexual. Unfortunately, St-Simon was next to them, filming a TikTok that he posted. And the whole internet heard Ilya’s confession.
Chapter 2: Social media has thoughts about Ilya being bisexual.
Chapter 3: Shane’s old hookup outed him to ZMT.
Chapter 4: Social media has thoughts on Shane being gay, and on how he was outed. #FuckYouPaul is trending.
Chapter 5: Shane and Jessica have a text chat.

So far, all the chapters have taken place on one day. This chapter will span March of 2021 (in canon timeline, this is near the end of The Long Game), and go through May 2021. And yes, I added another chapter. This one was going to be way too long, so I split it up.

Content warning for hockey-typical homophobia, and implied slurs.

Make sure you have creator’s workskin on. Some of the text message boxes scroll, so make sure you check that or you’ll miss parts of the conversation.

MARCH 8

Shane was so furious, it was a wonder he could walk straight. His entire body felt like a live wire, vibrating with anger. It was a good thing Farah had driven her rental car to the practice facility to meet with Theriault—and the GM, it turned out, and someone from legal, and the head of communications—because there was no way he could’ve driven home.

He’d hoped the ride would help him calm down, but it had only given his brain time to spiral, leaving him even more livid than when he walked out of the building.

He smashed the keypad on his door so hard, his finger bent backward. Then he smacked the door open so hard it swung a full 180 degrees, slamming into the wall next to the door.

Making a startled sound, his mom popped up from the couch. Her hair shifted around her shoulders as she spun in his direction.

His dad and Ilya remained seated. His dad looked as concerned as his mom did surprised. Ilya’s expression quickly morphed into anger that matched Shane’s own.

“I take it it didn’t go well,” his dad said dryly. Master of the understatement.

“No!” Shane snapped. He immediately regretted using that tone on David, who was on his side, but he couldn’t help it. “It didn’t fucking go well.”

The fact his mom didn’t scold him for practically yelling at his dad spoke volumes.

Behind him, Farah gently closed the door and slipped off her shoes. “We have a lot of things to think about over the next few days, and some hard discussions ahead.”

Possibly a bigger understatement than David’s.

Needing to do something other than stand there seething, Shane kicked off his shoes, not caring if they were lined up like he usually did. He stalked to the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator. For a split second he considered getting out the good vodka Ilya kept in the freezer, but went for a ginger ale instead. Vodka would make him fuzzy, and he needed a sharp mind right now. Farah was right; he had a lot to think about.

Like how to keep himself from fucking killing his coach, his GM, and fucking Drapeau. And how to keep Ilya from doing it if Shane didn’t.

You did not have our permission to post a statement on social media.

Theriault had some fucking audacity, thinking he got to tell Shane what he could say in response to what happened to him yesterday. At least the woman from legal had mumbled something about them not being able to dictate that.

Shane slammed the refrigerator shut, then startled when he turned to find Ilya right there.

He put his hands on Shane’s shoulders, then ran them up and down his arms. “What do you need? You need me to put out a hit on your coach? Just tell me. I have money. You need me to calm you down? I will do that. You need me to buy dartboard to tape picture of Theriault to so you can throw darts at his face? I’ll order one right now.”

A sharp bark of laughter escaped Shane’s throat, calming him the tiniest bit. “Murder for hire probably shouldn’t be our first step.”

“And if it were, I have other people who take priority,” Yuma mumbled from where she’d moved to stand on the other side of the breakfast bar.

That got a snort of laughter from Ilya.

“No, him I want to strangle with my own hands,” Shane said. He knew his mom well enough to know she was referring to fucking Paul.

“As an attorney, I’m not hearing any of this,” Farah piped up from where she sat on the couch. She had her laptop out and was typing rapidly as she spoke. "And I don't do criminal defense so you'll have to find someone else to represent you."

“We’ll make sure you have plausible deniability,” David said, still relaxed in his chair.

Shane had always envied his dad’s ability to remain unruffled in the most stressful of circumstances. Shane was like David in many ways, but this was one area where he clearly favored his mom.

“I guess we have the violence taken care of by my mom, so calm me down?” Shane said. He tipped his forehead onto his boyfriend’s shoulder.

Ilya’s big hands moved from his arms to his back, continuing to run up and down. “Of course.”

What Shane really wanted was for Ilya to fuck him so hard he forgot his own name, let alone any of the shit that had happened in the past 24 hours. But they couldn’t do that until his parents and his agent left, which wasn’t for several more hours. They’d managed quick orgasms in the shower last night, Ilya taking both of them in hand while they kissed messily to muffle their sounds of pleasure. But that had barely taken the edge off Shane’s stress.

Ilya must’ve read his mind about what he truly wanted, because he murmured “later” in Shane’s ear, so low he almost missed it.

“Boys, come sit down and Shane and Farah can catch us up,” Yuna said.

“That’s a good idea,” Farah said. “And Shane, you need to let me know what happened in the locker room.”

Ilya pulled back to look at Shane’s face. “Locker room?” There was an edge to his tone.

Exhausted, Shane shook his head. He laced his fingers with Ilya’s and led him to the couch.

David popped up from his chair. “I’m going to let the rest of you strategize while I’ll make some lunch.” He clapped Shane on the shoulder as they passed each other.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Ilya sat on the couch in his usual spot against the arm. Shane dropped down next to him, close enough their thighs and shoulders pressed together, fingers still entwined.

“Start with the meeting,” Yuna said, settling into the chair her husband had just vacated since Farah had taken her seat on the couch. “Then we can get to whatever happened in the locker room.”

A fresh wave of dread, followed quickly by fury, rolled through Shane’s gut. He knew he and Drapeau weren’t close, but he thought they were somewhat friends. Shane stood up in his wedding, for fuck’s sake. And yeah, he’d heard the guy say some homophobic shit, but no worse than most hockey players. He had not seen the man’s disgusted hatred coming.

Which was probably fucking naive of Shane.

“Let me guess,” Yuna continued. “Theriault was a ray of sunshine and congratulated Shane on coming out while commiserating with the way it happened? And offered to make a large donation to an LGBTQ organization in his name?” It was a wonder actual sarcasm didn’t drip from her mouth as she spoke.

Ilya pointed at her. “Yes, I like this. Let’s manifest that version.”

Shane made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a snort. His mom wasn’t even in the same ballpark as what had happened. Theriault wasn’t a warm and fuzzy man, but he showed Shane his due respect. Today was the first time he’d seen contemp on his coach’s face.

Ilya pulled his hand from Shane’s so he could wrap his arm around Shane’s shoulder. He pulled his fiancee into his side, and Shane let himself relax into the safest place he’d ever found. Ilya murmured something in Russian, then kissed the top of Shane’s head. Shane couldn’t make out the words but he didn’t need to. No matter what else, Ilya was with him.

Farah sighed. “The GM was also there. And the head of communications and someone from legal.”

“I hope the person from legal informed them that Shane has done absolutely nothing wrong and they have no cause for any kind of action against him.” Yuna’s tone was sharp. “And that if anything, they should be looking at legal recourse against this man Paul.”

“I’m benched until they can investigate whether I’ve done anything ‘inappropriate’”--Shane made air quotes with his hands–”that would violate my contract.” He ignored his mom’s comment about Paul. That was low on his list of priorities.

“Like what?” Ilya snapped.

“I don’t know. Look at their hairy asses in the showers? Like I’d want to anyway.” His anger had settled to a simmer, but remembering his coach’s face, pinched in distaste, accusing Shane of things he’d never done, brought the emotion back to a rapid boil.

“He said something about a captain needing to be honest with his teammates, they have to trust Shane. And if he was keeping this secret, what else is he keeping secret?” Farah continued.

Ilya cleared his throat. “I mean…”

“It’s none of their fucking business. Just because they share every fucking detail about the women they fuck doesn’t mean I have to do the same. I wish they’d keep a little more of those secrets.” Shane hated the way far too many of his teammates talked about women. The way they bragged about treating them like shit. They way a few bragged about cheating on their wives.

Farah continued talking, mostly to Yuna, about the details of the meeting. Shane tuned them out and closed his eyes. He focused on the feel of Ilya pressed against his side, his hand moving soothingly over Shane’s shoulder. He knew his benching wouldn’t last long. Theriault was an asshole, but he liked to win. And without Shane, their offense fell apart quickly.

“He carries that whole damn team on his back and this is how they treat him? He’s won them three cups!” His mom echoed his thoughts.

Ilya made a sound of agreement, dragging his hand over to cup the back of Shane’s neck. In the way he knew calmed Shane. Usually it was due to anxiety, but it was having an effect on his anger too. It was slowly settling again.

He loved Ilya so fucking much. He couldn’t even imagine how much worse this would all be without him to lean on. The way Ilya leaned on him when he outed himself. Though the fallout from that had been minimal.

“Did they say anything about his contract?” Ilya asked.

Shane was a free agent at the end of the season. Everyone, including him, had assumed he’d resign with Montreal. But they were playing hardball, lowballing him and making noise about the salary cap. Even though they had plenty of cap space to pay him what he was worth.

Fuck, he hadn’t even thought of what this would do to that. Ilya’s hand squeezed tighter on his neck, making Shane realize he’d stiffened.

“No, the contract didn’t come up.”

“They’ll use this as an excuse to keep shortchanging me,” Shane predicted.

“Then we talk about other options,” Farah said matter-of-factly.

“We need more depth at center.”

Shane lifted his head to look at his fiancee. “You’re serious?”

There wasn’t even a tiny hint of amusement on Ilya’s face as he nodded. “Would be amazing to play together.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Shane that he and Ilya could play on the same team. Mostly because he’d always wanted to stay in Montreal for his whole career.

Farah nodded her head from side to side. “If we get creative, backload your contract, add in lots of performance bonuses, I might be able to make that work.”

“Much though I would love to have my son home, can we talk about that later and focus on the problem at hand?” Yuna interrupted.

Back home. She said it like he was going to move into his old bedroom. Obviously he’d move into Ilya’s house. They already both thought of it as both their house, much more than Ilya thought of Shane’s Montreal condo as his.

No, his mom was right. That was a discussion for later.

“I mean, there isn’t much they can do to me, right? They’ll do whatever they call an investigation”--Shane rolled his eyes as he said the word–”and see I did nothing wrong. And I’ll get back on the ice.”

“And if he’s out for more than two games, I will be paying a return visit to Coach Theriault.”

Tense silence settled over them, and a beat later, Yuna cleared her throat. “So what’s this about the locker room?”

Shane closed his eyes to try to relax a little more. It was easier to talk if he didn’t have to look at anyone, so he kept his eyes shut. “I left my headphones in my stall yesterday, assuming I’d be back today. So I went in to grab them. I figured it would be empty, but Drapeau was there. He’d clearly just gotten out of the shower and only had on underwear.”

As he remembered the encounter, the electric tremor started up again inside Shane. He felt like he was going to break apart from the pressure of everything that had happened to him in less than 36 hours.

“I should’ve pretended he wasn’t there, but I said hi. And he just lost his shit at me. First he said I was trying to catch him in the shower so I could, I don’t remember his exact words but basically so I could try to seduce him.”

“Gross,” Ilya snarked. Shane didn’t disagree.

“Called me pretty much every derogatory term and slur in the book. Even said I was a pedophile, that was great. Then he came over and got right in my face. Said he should break both my legs for the way I lied to the team when I’ve been looking at their dicks the whole time. Then said he’d break my jaw so I couldn’t–”

He really didn’t want to say this with his parents in the room. And his agent. It was humiliating enough they’d read that article.

“So you couldn’t what, honey?” Yuna prompted. Her voice was deceptively gentle but Shane heard the fury underneath.

“So I couldn’t suck anyone’s dick.” He knew the words came out jumbled together.

“I see.”

Shane kept his face buried in Ilya because he absolutely could not look at his mom right now. He did have to admire Ilya’s restraint. He knew his fiancee was barely refraining from making a crude comment about Shane sucking Ilya’s dick. Maybe Shane could reward his restraint later…by sucking his dick. That always managed to soothe Shane too.

“You didn’t actually fight him, did you, Shane?” Farah asked.

“He would be in hospital if Shane fought him.”

Ilya probably wasn’t wrong about that. Shane had two inches and at least 20 pounds on Drapeau. And was generally faster and a better fighter, even if he didn’t use that skill very often on the ice. Shane had seen Drapeau in enough fights to know he was pretty awful at it, especially considering how often he dropped gloves.

“He will also be in hospital if he laid a finger on you.” Ilya didn’t phrase it as a question, but it was implied.

“He didn’t. I think he was going to try, but JJ came in. It distracted him enough that I was able to duck around him and get away. Then JJ laid into him. I guess Drapeau was yelling loud enough, JJ and the physio heard him.”

“I will send Boiziau a fruit basket.”

The mental picture of a giant basket of pineapple cut into stars or hearts or whatever the fuck they did for fruit baskets made Shane snort a laugh. He could recognize he was crossing over that line where he was so furious, he couldn’t maintain it. Not the same as being punch-drunk, but a similar result.

“Yeah, JJ said there were going to be changes in the locker room going forward. No more homophobic shit, no more slurs.”

“JJ said this? JJ Boiziau? Your assistant captain?” Ilya said, surprised.

Shane nodded. “Yeah.”

“JJ who loves to call people cocksuckers?”

Shane couldn’t explain why, but his cheeks went hot. If he were a better captain, he’d have shut that down in his locker room already. But it had been hard enough to get the racist language to stop. And that he wasn’t just doing for himself. That was for JJ too, and for a couple years, there had been another Black guy on the team. But telling hockey players they couldn’t use homophobic language invited them to ask why. And Shane didn’t want anyone looking that closely at him.

For all the good it did him in the end.

“Yeah, that JJ. He texted me last night apologizing for it and promising he won’t use that language anymore. Said he should’ve understood how harmful it could be given the things he’s been called.”

“Points for personal growth.” Ilya pressed another kiss to Shane’s hair.

“I want you to keep a log, Shane,” Farah said. “I want you documenting every single thing your teammates say to you that is less than glowing.”

Shane shifted his shoulders so he could look at his agent. “Why?”

“I don’t know, exactly. I just have a feeling it might come in handy down the road.” She shrugged. “And if not, nothing lost.”

“Plus, makes it easier to remember who goes on our hit list.”

Shane pressed his elbow into Ilya’s side.

“You said it, not me,” Yuna mumbled.

“And on that note,” David’s raised voice came from the kitchen, “lunch is on the table. And I propose we not talk about any of this while we eat, use this as a little break, and you can get back to it after.”

Yuna slapped her thighs and stood. “Good idea.”

Farah got up and followed Yuna toward the dining table while Shane and Ilya lingered.

“Are you OK? Really?” Ilya nudged Shane until he sat up so Ilya could see his face. He cupped Shane’s cheeks, stroking his thumbs over Shane’s where he knew his freckles were. Ilya’s eyes were soft with concern.

“Not really.” Shane wouldn’t lie to him. “But I will be. We’ll figure it out. Right?”

Ilya pressed his lips to Shane’s forehead. “With you, Yuna, and Farah on the case? There’s no better team to come up with a foolproof plan.”

Shane actually smiled at that. Not a wide smile, but a small upward curve of the corners of his mouth. “I love you.”

Ilya pulled back and gave Shane a similar smile. “I love you too, Shane.”

APRIL 30

MAY 16

Shane was so fucking done. And he clung to his anger, because if he let that go, he’d drown in the grief and betrayal of almost his entire team, men he’d considered family, turning on him so completely. Just because he was gay. Something that clearly had zero effect on his hockey playing abilities.

More than 2 months since that fucking article came out and instead of improving, the room had gotten gradually worse. To the point they’d only needed four games to get knocked out of the playoffs. Dallas fucking Kent was moving on to the second round and Shane was going home earlier than he had since his rookie season. A decade of getting at least to the second round ended because his teammates were a bunch of homophobic babies.

Fuck all of them. Except JJ and Hayden. They were the only ones who would even look at him anymore, let alone talk to him. And it was hard to pass to someone you refused to look at. And hard to win games when the entire team refused to pass to their best player. The Metros didn’t have the depth for other lines to make up the scoring when Shane’s became dysfunctional. Sure, Hayden and JJ were on his line. But so were Comeau and Olsson.

And not only would they not pass to him, they didn’t block for him. Didn’t defend him. He was more bruised up now, after two months of this bullshit, than he’d been after any one of his Cup wins.

Fucking pathetic.

“Hollander, you and the boyfriend heading to the cottage early this year?” JJ asked from his stall several away from Shane’s.

“No, uh, he’s tied up with some work stuff and can’t get away yet. So I’ll go stay with him until that’s done.” If Ottawa won tonight, which they likely would, they would advance to the second round. And could easily beat Toronto to get to the third. Shane would never tell Ilya, but he didn’t think they had what it took this year to get all the way to the finals. But third round was three rounds farther than they’d been in years.

Having told JJ and Hayden who he was with, JJ knew his fiancée was still in it, so why was he asking? At least he’d said boyfriend. Shane didn’t have it in him to deal with anyone else finding out he was engaged.

“Boyfriend?” Drapeau scoffed, his stall between Shane and JJ’s.

Shane pulled in a deep breath, then turned to his teammate. “Yes, I have a boyfriend.”

”That cocksucker better not have been hanging around at our games,” Olsson said, sneer in his voice and on his face.

“We don’t need f****s like you and your boyfriend as fans.”

”The fuck did you just say?” JJ grabbed the front of Comeau’s shirt and hauled him in.

Comeau didn’t shrink back from the larger man. “I said I don’t want f****s in the stands. And I sure as fuck don’t want them on my team.”

That angry, electric tremble had started up again in Shane’s body. He knew it was the cowardly reaction, but all he wanted was to run away and hide. Curl up in Ilya’s arms and cry. He fucking built this team. These men were nothing without him leading them. And they didn’t care if they destroyed all that just because he happened to be attracted to men and not women.

It would only get worse when he and Ilya came out as a couple. They didn’t have a solid plan for how they were going to do that, but they’d decided on a wedding date. And they’d agreed they wouldn’t keep their marriage hidden the way their relationship was now. He already knew his teammates would question his loyalty to the Metros. Accuse him and Ilya of cheating, even without proof. Maybe question if he ever threw games. He and Ilya didn’t deserve any of it, but Shane knew it would happen.

He felt Hayden’s hand land on his forearm but he jerked it away, continuing to shove things into his bag. JJ and Comeau were still yelling in each other’s faces, but Shane couldn't focus on what they were saying. He didn’t want to know anyway, and there was a buzzing noise filling his head.

He knew the signs of an approaching panic attack by now, but he didn’t have time for this shit. He was supposed to meet with Coach, the GM, and Farah in a few minutes. He could fall apart later, when he got to Ottawa. To their home.

It was for the best that he had to get out of the locker room. Drapeau and Olsson had joined the yelling, all three ganging up on JJ. Mitty was hovering at JJ’s shoulder, but he wasn’t getting involved.

Was it cowardly to leave and let JJ fight this battle alone? Yes. But would Shane end up either completely breaking down or else proving to his worst teammates how well he could actually fight, even if he usually chose not to? Also yes.

”Shane…” Hayden’s overly concerned voice cut through the buzz.

Shane stared at the skates in his hand, then shoved them into his stall. He’d come back and grab them before he left. Once everyone else was gone.

”I have a meeting.” He glanced over at JJ, who still had Comeau’s shirt in his fist. All four men were yelling over each other but Shane couldn’t make out any individual words, other than the occasional slur.

Shane stalked out, swinging his bag over his shoulder. As he moved through the building to the conference room where the meeting was, he pulled out his phone to text Ilya that he’d be there by dinner time.

He’d originally planned to spend the afternoon packing things up, tossing out food that would go bad, and other small chores, then drive to Ottawa after dinner. But now he couldn’t wait. He needed Ilya. Needed the way his fiancée was the only one who knew how to calm him when he was this upset.

As he approached the conference room, he sent another message saying he needed Ilya to turn off his brain as soon as he got there. Ilya knew that meant sex. Then Shane silenced his phone, squared his shoulders, and walked into the room.

On the far side of the table sat Coach Theriault, the same lawyer as from their meeting two months ago, and again Shannon tk, the head of communications. Russell, the GM, wasn’t there yet.

Farah faced them on the opposite side of the table, and gave Shane a professional smile when he walked in. He couldn’t force his media smile onto his face, so he only nodded as he slid into the chair next to her. Her eyebrows folded in, the question clear on her face. Shane gave his head a tiny shake, indicating he would tell her later.

The door opened, and Russell walked in. He was a tall, barrel-chested man with a voice loud enough to make Ilya seem quiet. He made Shane extremely uncomfortable, especially the way he always managed to bring up Shane being Asian-Canadian, as if it was something Russell himself was personally responsible for. As if he had trained Shane and built him into the player he was. Maybe there was an exception or two, but he’d brought it up the first time Shane met him just before the draft, and had worked it into every conversation they’d had since.

From what Shane could tell, he wasn’t as eager to have Shane check off the diversity box for being an LGBTQ+ player as he was for racial diversity. His need to pat his own back didn’t extend to tolerating queer people, apparently.

”Mr. Hollander.” His voice vibrated off the walls as he shut the door and made his way around to sit next to Theriault.

“Hello.” Shane knew he should be more sociable than his grumbling tone, but he just couldn’t. Besides, he knew how this meeting was going to go. The fact that Montreal hadn’t put forth any reasonable offers for him before the season ended spoke volumes.

”Mr. Hollander, I took the liberty of showing your agent our final offer while we were waiting for you,” the lawyer said. Shane couldn’t remember his name and he didn’t introduce himself. “I think you’ll find—“

”It’s an insult,” Farah interrupted. The consummate professional, it was a testament to exactly how insulting when it drove her to act so rudely.

She slid the summary sheet over the tabletop to him. Shane scanned it and couldn’t hold back the disbelieving, humorless laugh that escaped.

“This is a joke, right? You want to pay me less than I was making before, after I won this team another Cup? And you want to take away my captaincy? I’ve been captain for nine years. I get outed as gay and suddenly I’m no longer captain? Great fucking optics.”

He tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling as he shoved his hands into his hair. This motherfuckers. This was worse than their last offer.

It was everything Shane feared would happen playing out just how he imagined. The Metros couldn’t say they’d fired him for being gay. He would have to be the one to reject the contract extension.

But how could he stay when he’d lost all but two of his teammates? Of course they were going to take the captaincy. He’d completely lost the room.

He obviously didn’t need the money. But that wasn’t the point. The point was paying him what he was worth. After eleven fucking years.

Not to mention if he took a pay cut this big, other teams could use it to do the same to other top players. Especially ones like Hunter and Ilya, who were out as queer.

But if he didn’t take it, what were his alternatives? Would another team want him? It had been painfully obvious that even as captain, he’d lost the room. What other team would want a player like that?

But fuck, he’d rather play beer league than accept this bullshit.

Since no one answered him before, he repeated his question. “This is a motherfucking joke, right?” Shane stared down Russell. The man could at least look him in the eyes if he was going to insult him like this.

”You all know very well Shane is the reason for—“ Farah started.

Theriault cut her off. “He’s a liability. My men don’t trust him. Other teams target him. You’ve seen how the boys have done since all this shit came out.”

”Because they play like I’m not on the ice!” Shane tried not to yell, he really did. But he yelled.

”If they can’t trust you off the ice, how can they trust you on it?” Coach snapped. “How can I trust you?”

”When did I lie?” Shane snapped. “I didn’t lie to anyone on that team ever about my sexuality. It’s not my fault they all assumed compulsory heterosexuality. But not once did anyone ever say ‘Hey, Hollander, are you gay?’”

”Compulso-what now?” Russel said.

Shane ignored him, glaring daggers at his coach. “Do you tell us every detail about your sex life, Coach?”

”I don’t think—“ the lawyer started.

”The fuck does that have to do with anything? I’m not some pervert who takes it up—“

”I’m going to stop you right there, Coach Theriault.” Farah held up her hand, her rage only slightly better controlled than Shane’s. He was visibly shaking now, not just the internal tremor from when he left the locker room. “And I will remind you that no one who works in this building, Mr. Hollander included, is under any obligation to share information about their romantic or sexual activities. Am I right, Mr. Holt?”

”That’s correct,” the lawyer grumbled. Like he wanted them to be able to hold Shane to a different standard because he dared to deviate from hockey’s toxic masculinity norms.

”This is our final offer,” Russell bellowed over everyone else. “Take it or leave it. But I would think carefully, Mr. Hollander, about whether any other team will want to take on a liability like this.”

”You can go to New York and fuck that other f**,” Theriault mumbled in what was clearly supposed to be an unheard statement.

Rage surged through Shane, shoving him to his feet. His chair fell backward and clattered against the wall. “Scott Hunter is happily married. And I have a boyfriend.” He was so fucking done with this team full of traitors, run by traitors.

He snatched up the piece of paper, folded it, then tore it in half. Tore those pieces in half. Tore everything a few more times, then let the paper fall from his fingers onto the table. “I sure as fuck won’t be taking it. But don’t worry. Without me, the Metros are mid at best.”

He stalked to the door and yanked it open. Then he turned to glare at the man who had been his coach for 11 seasons. A cold smile worked its way across his face.

”You’ll be lucky to make the playoffs next year. But I’ll still be Shane Motherfucking Hollander.”

Chapter End Notes

Next up: Summer of 2021. Centaurs bbqs at Bood's. Slowly coming out as a couple. On their own terms.

No idea how long it'll take me to write that since I'm back to writing my own books for my day job...so subscribe if you'd like more of this.

As always, comments and kudos are always appreciated. We writers have very fragile egos. The comments you’ve left so far have been wonderful.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 7: The Queerest Team in the League Just Got More Queer (Queerer?)

Chapter Summary

The Centaurs meet their new 2nd line center.

Chapter Notes

Previously on Hollanov Shippers Gone Wild…
Chapter 1: Ilya drunkenly confesses to Marley that Jane is a man, that he’s bisexual. Unfortunately, St-Simon was next to them, filming a TikTok that he posted. And the whole internet heard Ilya’s confession.
Chapter 2: Social media has thoughts about Ilya being bisexual.
Chapter 3: Shane’s old hookup outed him to ZMT.
Chapter 4: Social media has thoughts on Shane being gay, and on how he was outed. #FuckYouPaul is trending.
Chapter 5: Shane and Jessica have a text chat.
Chapter 6: The Metros don’t deal well with Shane being gay. Yuna has plans for Paul. Shane tells Hayden and JJ he has a fiance.

This chapter takes place in July of 2021 (in book canon timeline, July of 2021 is the end of The Long Game).

Make sure you have creator’s workskin on. Some of the text message boxes scroll, so make sure you check that or you’ll miss parts of the conversation (there are no texts in this chapter, but I figure I'll keep this notice in every chapter just in case).

And dammit, I added another chapter…

It’s been a while since I mentioned, fuck generative AI. My published books, that I make a living from, were stolen to train LLMs, plus I like water. I will never knowingly use generative AI (and I resent all the ways it’s snuck into programs so we accidentally use it). Writing is fun. Why would I want to have a machine do it for me? Now if it was going to clean my house, maybe…

Ilya carried a limp Shane to their bedroom, bridal style, even though his own legs were still a little shaky. He knew his fiance’s 2 orgasms had been potent enough to render him immobile for several minutes, but Ilya’s own had been nothing short of mind blowing. One of the most intense he’d ever had.

He had known Shane was coming back to himself when he started grumbling about the cum stains they would probably leave on the chair in the trophy room. Though he suspected Shane would agree with him that they were worth it. This was possibly the hottest sex they’d ever had. Definitely top five.

Ilya had tried to help the other man to stand, intending for them to lean on each other as they stumbled their way to their bed. But Shane’s knees had buckled, Ilya having to catch him. His choices were to set Shane back in the chair where he would immediately complain about feeling the cum against his skin, set him on the floor where he’d undoubtedly have issues with the texture of the carpet against his naked ass, or carry him to their bedroom.

He’d opted for carrying. He’d ridden Shane hard–literally and figuratively–and he would need longer to recover than Ilya did.

Shane nuzzled his face into Ilya’s neck and with the heat of arousal sated, at least temporarily, it tickled. Ilya let out a chuckle and told him this.

“Sorry,” Shane said without a hint of sincerity. He pressed his lips against the skin just under Ilya’s earlobe. “I love you.”

Ilya laid Shane down on his side of the bed and kissed him softly between his eyebrows. “I love you too.” He started to straighten but Shane still had his arm draped around Ilya’s shoulders and didn’t let him go.

“Stay here with me.” There was a whine in his voice.

“I will get you water and a cloth so I can clean us up. You will be more comfortable.” He gave Shane another kiss, because he couldn’t resist. This time on his temple.

Shane murmured something that was probably his agreement and Ilya shuffled to the bathroom. If he kept his steps smaller, his legs seemed steadier.

He quickly cleaned himself and downed a full glass of water. Then, damp cloth in one hand and the refilled glass in the other, he returned to their bed. He helped Shane sit up against their headboard and while he drank the water, Ilya gently wiped him clean. Shane would want to shower before they left for Bood’s, but they still had a half hour or so before they needed to do that.

He tossed the dirty cloth into the hamper, then climbed over Shane to settle in next to him. Ilya spread out on his back, his head in Shane’s lap, looking up at the beautiful man. His cheeks were still flushed, his hair damp at the roots, chest still rising and falling with breaths that weren’t quite back to normal. Ilya couldn’t stop staring at the love of his life, watching his throat as he swallowed.

And getting turned on by it. Not enough so that his dick made any movement to get involved. But Shane swallowing was hot.

Everything Shane did was hot.

Ilya forced himself to close his eyes before he got too turned on. They didn’t have time for another round, considering they both needed a refractory period longer than ten minutes. Once Shane shifted beneath him and he heard the sound of the glass being set on the nightstand, he knew it was safe to open them again.

So he could look up and see the tension creeping back into Shane’s jaw. Fuck. Fuck the fucking Montreal Metros. Fuck everyone who had ever made Shane doubt himself.

Ilya reached up and skimmed his thumb along his jawline. “Hey, no getting all stressed again. I didn’t fuck you that hard just for you to forget that you’re Shane Motherfucking Hollander.”

Shane’s lips twitched and he gazed down at Ilya with a fond expression. His fingers slid into Ilya’s messy curls. “I know. I’m trying. It’s just…I know they’ll be glad to have me playing games with them, but do you really think they’re going to actually like me?”

Ilya held in the sigh he wanted to release as he sat up and turned to face his fiance. “Of course. They are going to love you. Not the same way as I love you, of course. But they will love you. And not because you are The Shane Hollander, hockey god. Not even because you are coming with me as my friend.” Ilya made air quotes around the word friend. “Or because you are going to be my husband, after we tell them. But because you are a good person. Because you are boring in all the good ways. Because you are funny when you let people know you. Because you are you.” He tapped his finger against Shane’s chest, right over his heart. Hopefully he was conveying that he meant who Shane was in his heart, a kind, wonderful man.

Even if he could sometimes be an asshole. But Ilya’s team—and Shane’s team too, as of a few hours ago—was used to assholes. He was their captain, after all.

Shane tilted toward Ilya, resting his forehead against his, eyes closed. Ilya tried to look at Shane’s thick, dark lashes and the beauty of them brushing his skin, the tips meeting his perfect freckles. But this close, it made him go cross-eyed so he had to close his own eyes.

“And if they don’t like you, I will make Wiebe punish them in training camp. Get them all traded to West Coast teams, far away from us.”

Shane huffed out a laugh as he wrapped his arms around Ilya’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug.

Ilya immediately wound his own arms around Shane’s back. The angle was awkward, Ilya leaning over his crossed legs and Shane twisting to the side, but it was still perfect. Every embrace they shared was perfect.

“I love you, Ilya. And I can’t wait for Christmas this year.” Shane’s words came out muffled as he spoke into Ilya’s neck.

“I can’t wait either.” Ilya squeezed him, then said, “Let’s go shower so we are not late.”

An hour later, Cassie Boodram led the way through their house to the backyard, tiny Miles strapped to her chest with a bright colored fabric thing. “Zane, Ilya and his guest are here!”

“Guest?” Bood called out from where he was tending the grill.

“You finally find someone willing to put up with you long enough to bring them to a barbeque, Roz?” Wyatt called from the far side of the porch where he was sitting on a lawnchair, Lisa perched on his thigh.

His eyes went wide as soon as he caught sight of who was behind Ilya. “Hollander. Holy shit. What are you doing here?”

“I’m, uh, in town to get some stuff ready for camp next week,” Shane said, using the cover story they’d come up with. They’d decided to wait until Wiebe and his wife arrived to tell the team about their newest addition to the roster. That way they could also tell everyone at the same time about them being a couple. “Rozanov asked if I wanted to come with.”

“Scoping the competition, huh?” Dykstra asked with a grin.

“I don’t need to scope you guys out to win,” Shane said with his competitive grin that Ilya loved so much. Then Shane’s jaw went tight, probably as he remembered that he had no reason to spy on the Centaurs, because they were now his team.

Because Shane’s previous team hadn’t wanted him.

Ilya longed to reach out and hold Shane’s hand, or put his hand on Shane’s back, or his arm around Shane’s shoulder. Give him some physical measure of comfort. Instead he shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts.

“Cap, have a seat.” Barrett nodded to the two-person wooden seat next to the similar one he was sharing with Harris, arm draped around his boyfriend’s shoulders.

Ilya ignored the stab of envy as he stepped over Chouinard’s long legs to get to the empty chair. He couldn’t fucking wait until they got to tell the team about them being together. He longed for more than just Shane’s parents, JJ, the Pikes, Rose, and Svetlana to know about them.

Right now, their relationship mostly existed in Shane’s world, since Sveta was still in Boston and he didn’t see her enough. And yes, Ilya saw Shane’s parents. During the season, he saw them more than Shane did. But they were still Shane’s parents.

Where the hell was Wiebe?

Ilya wanted to get this over with so he could finally—fucking finally—hold his love’s hand in from of his teammates. Could snuggle Shane the way Troy and Harris were.

His team would finally know him. The real him. All of him. After three seasons of holding back such a large part of himself—and such an important part—he would finally be able to show his full self.

He trusted these men, and their partners, to not tell anyone until Shane and Ilya were ready to share their relationship with the world.

They had a plan for that reveal. Because of course they did. Shane and Yuna loved a good plan almost as much as they loved a good hockey game. Ilya was pretty sure the order of things Shane loved most was Ilya at number one, hockey number two, and a color-coded spreadsheet outlining a complex plan coming it at third.

Fuck he loved that man. He desperately wanted to put his arm around Shane’s shoulder and pull him into his side. Kiss his temple. Their coach had to get there soon.

Small talk continued around them, and Ilya participated when someone asked him a direct question. Otherwise, he was too aware of the tension in Shane’s body next to him. So much for fucking the stress out of him.

Ilya would just have to do it again when they got home. A real hardship.

He slid his foot over and tapped it against Shane’s. Shane turned his head just enough to glance over at Ilya, and Ilya did the same, until they were gazing into each other’s eyes like the lovesick fools they were.

Fuck it. The team would know in less than an hour. Ilya leaned in, shoulder pressed to Shane’s, and murmured, “Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Shane pressed back against him and a smile played at the corners of his lips.

“And they will too,” Ilya said. Then he had to add, “But they better not the same way I do.”

Shane made a strangled-sounding snort, drawing attention to the two of them.

“So Hollander,” Wyatt said, taking the fresh beer his wife handed him as she settled back onto his lap.

Could Ilya convince Shane to sit on his lap like that, once they told their team about them? Selena was on Chouinard’s lap, and Caitlin Dykstra was sitting about as close to Evan as she could possibly get without sitting on him. Hell, even Harris was perched on Troy’s thigh.

Ilya was pretty sure he’d be lucky to get Shane to hold his hand.

Shane swallowed his swig of beer and turned his attention to the goalie. “Yeah?”

“How come we haven’t heard any news about your new contract? Montreal can’t possibly be playing hardball with their best player.”

Ilya resisted the urge to flinch. He again tapped his foot against Shane’s, the best show of support he could give at the moment.

Shane’s mouth opened but no words came out. He just blinked his gorgeous eyes a few times and Ilya could practically hear the gears in his head panicking, trying to come up with an answer he could give before Wiebe got there.

“I can answer that one.”

Finally. Thank fuck.

Everyone turned to see their head coach stepping out through the back door, his wife, Pippa, holding his hand beside him. Cassie followed them out, baby Miles still strapped to her chest.