Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Wyatt Hayes, Troy Barrett, Luca Haas, Hayden Pike

Additional Tags:

Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ilya Rozanov Takes Care of Shane Hollander, Coming Out, the centaurs being friends, the centaurs figure it out, Angst with a Happy Ending, at least i think it's happy? it all ends up okay, Cuddling & Snuggling, cuddling as comfort

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2025-12-17 Completed: 2026-01-20 Words: 4,974 Chapters: 2/2

lean on me (i'll hold you up)

Summary

After a bad loss leads to him being benched, Shane goes to Ilya for comfort. He wasn't expecting Ilya to come home with more Centaurs in tow.

Notes

Inspired by the summary of I chose you by Justaromanticfool - I saw the phrase "Um… what the fuck [...] Is that Shane Hollander?” and ran with it.

Chapter 1

"Oh, that explains it," Wyatt said, scrolling on his phone. "ESPN says Hollander was playing with an injured wrist. Guess it affected his game more than he or the coaches expected."

Troy and Luca murmured their agreement. Ilya was a moment late in voicing his. He agreed that an injured wrist would definitely explain the frankly terrible game Shane had just played, resulting in an embarrassing home loss to Detroit. But he was sure Shane's wrist had been perfectly fine. They didn't hide injuries, not from each other. And Shane's performance hadn't looked like he'd been battling an injury. It just looked… bad. Something Ilya hadn't thought he'd ever see, and he knew his teammates hadn't either.

They'd gone to a sports bar to watch the Montreal game, some unofficial PR scheme Harris had dreamed up and convinced Troy to try. Ilya wanted to tell Harris that Ottawa was not New York and would never be, and that they could never rival the Kingfisher even if the team bought their own bar, but whatever. There were worse ways to spend an afternoon.

Besides, it had been fun. Watching the game with friends who also wanted Shane to do well, chatting with the fans who'd filtered in. It would have been more fun if Shane had won, or even scored, but there was nothing Ilya could do about that, except be there to comfort Shane after.

He'd texted before the final buzzer had even sounded. A simple I'm here for you. Call me. Not an I love you or an I wish I could hold you or anything that could be damning if someone else saw. As much as it warmed Ilya's heart to know he was now in Shane's phone as himself, sometimes he missed the freedom of being a pretend woman from whom Shane could have romantic messages waiting.

Shane still hadn't answered.

Ilya had warned Hazy he might have to leave suddenly, blamed it on expecting a call, but his phone hadn't lit up once. So Ilya had stayed, sticking around to watch the Admirals game when Troy suggested it. He'd stopped drinking though, planning to leave whenever Shane was ready to talk and wanting to be able to drive himself home when the time came.

The others had not bothered to stop, instead joining the rest of the bar in shots whenever Hunter scored. Unfortunately for them, Hunter was on fire, and had earned a hat trick minutes into the second period. Ilya decided it was time to be a responsible captain and put an end to it, ordering takeout with one hand while herding his drunken teammates to his SUV.

He tuned out their conversation on the way to the restaurant then back to his house, thinking instead about Shane and wondering at what point he should give in and call. Maybe he should text Yuna first, see if she'd heard from him? He didn't want to disturb Shane if he was doing something reasonable like sleeping off that disaster. Ilya couldn't decide.

He stopped in his driveway instead of pulling in to the garage, not trusting the drunken men behind him to be as careful with their doors as his cars deserved. He had a split second to think the shadows on the front steps looked a little odd, but his teammates were clamoring to get out and he maybe had left the child lock on so he had to deal with them.

He'd intended to give his keys to Hazy, who seemed the most sober, but the three were off before he could, bumbling to the front door. He rolled his eyes at them and instead tossed his keys on the seat, reaching over to the passenger side to grab the takeout. At least it smelled delicious. He figured he'd get the idiots settled with their pasta then go call Shane, at least give it a try, and was double checking he hadn't missed a text when he heard Barrett, his tone extremely cautious.

"Umm, Roz?"

Ilya muttered to himself before raising his voice and calling back, "What, is the door locked? I tried to give you keys. I am grabbing the food, one minute."

"It's not that," Barrett said warily.

Wyatt was more direct. "Forget the food, Ilya. Get over here. Now."

Ilya didn't know that he'd ever heard Wyatt sound that forceful, even in a game. He obeyed immediately, leaving everything where it was. He would have heard if one of them had fallen and hurt themselves, right?

But then Luca spoke, and Ilya started running. Because although the kid was clearly trying to whisper, his words carried all the way back to the driveway, and they filled Ilya's veins with ice.

"Um, guys? Am I seeing things, or is that Shane Hollander?"

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Ilya was glad he'd ran. It was, in fact, Shane Hollander. In any other situation, Ilya would've made fun of Luca for asking. Even curled up as he was, hood pulled over the toque on his head, it was clearly Shane. His Shane, who was staring up at Ilya's teammates like a trapped deer. His eyes were wide and red and wet, tears still trickling down his face. They were the only movement. Shane's body was as still as a statue. He looked absolutely terrified.

Ilya crouched before him. He gently grasped Shane's chin and turned his head to force his gaze away from Ilya's teammates. "Hollander," he tried. Ilya didn't know what Shane would want of him in this moment, what he would want to pretend. How he would want to present this. But Shane didn't even respond. He just slid his eyes back over to Wyatt and Troy and Luca despite Ilya's hold.

Ilya changed his mind. It didn't matter what his teammates thought, what mattered was Shane. "Shane," he tried, softly, to no avail. He shifted to a kneel, giving himself better balance, then cupped Shane's face in his hands, running his right thumb over Shane's cheekbone until he had his boyfriend's gaze back on him, unfocused as it was.

"I can't," Shane whispered, then looked away again.

"Can't what?"

Shane didn't answer, just started repeating, "I can't, I can't," over and over as he looked everywhere but Ilya's eyes.

"Moy lyubimyy."

Shane finally looked at him, really looked. Ilya took a deep breath, trying to subtly encourage Shane to do the same. "Shane, moya lyubov, why are you sitting here?"

"Was empty."

Ilya couldn't figure out what Shane meant. "What was?"

"The house. You weren't here. It was empty. I didn't like it."

Ilya's heart felt like it was breaking. This was his fault. Shane couldn't have been here long, the drive from Ottawa would have taken up most of the time since his game, but still. If Ilya had only come back sooner, maybe Shane wouldn't be sitting here crying in the cold.

He forced that feeling down. He hadn't known, and that wasn't going to help anything now. "It will not be empty now, will you come inside?"

Shane lowered his head, but Ilya took it for the attempted nod he knew it was.

"Good, good. Are your keys in your pocket? Mine are in the car, so far away." He knew he was giving away it all to his teammates. There was no reason beyond the truth for Shane to have keys to his house. But he would handle it. He needed to get Shane inside and safe and warm.

Shane gave another barely-there nod but made no move to grab his keys, his hands still clasped around his pulled-up legs. Ilya started to reach, making his intention clear, waiting for another tiny nod before rooting around in Shane's pocket. He found the correct key and held it out toward his teammates, not bothering to look at who grabbed it.

"2-4-8-1," he said to the group, sure at least one of them would hear him. "For the alarm." There was a rustling behind him, then the sounds of the door opening and the alarm being disarmed, so Ilya refocused on Shane, speaking quietly. "I will need to get them settled, and then I will be all yours. I can come in with you so it is not empty but then will have to leave to help them. Or I can get them their food and then come find you."

Shane stared at him blankly. Maybe the choice was too much.

"Shane. Can you make it to our room without me? I will be there soon."

Another tiny nod. Ilya moved back so Shane could stand. He wanted so badly to pull Shane into a hug, but didn't trust that he would be able to let him go.

"Soon," Ilya repeated, promising them both.

Once Shane was inside, Ilya allowed himself two deep breaths. One to settle himself after finding Shane like that. One to steady himself for what was to come. And then he moved like he was on fire.

His teammates had settled themselves on his living room furniture. Wyatt had his 'figuring things out' face on. Luca was glancing between the stairs to their and Wyatt's and Troy's faces was like he was watching a tennis match. And Troy… Troy had his phone out. And he was typing. Fuck. Ilya emptied all that was in his hands onto the counter and moved silently to the living room.

"Barrett," Ilya demanded.

Troy looked up, spooked.

"What are you doing, Barrett?" he asked slowly, enunciating carefully. He knew he sounded frightening. He heard it himself even before he saw it on Troy's face.

"Um," Troy squeaked.

"Give me your phone." He held his hand out and waited. He had Troy's phone in an instant, screen still showing Troy's text thread with Harris. Ilya scanned it carefully, relieved to see the absolute wall of messages were all various misspellings of i was right and i can't tell you what but i need you to know i was right. He carefully typed out a message reassuring Harris that Troy was at his house and would be looked after until he was more sober, then held out his hand again. "Phones," he said to Luca and Wyatt. Luca obeyed immediately, but Wyatt hesitated.

"Just for now," Ilya reassured. "I will explain. I just—" he glanced to the stairs. "I need to know what's wrong. I need to know what I can say. I, I need to be with him." He was giving too much away again, he was sure. But he needed to know he didn't have to worry about them. He knew they wouldn't do anything malicious, like tell a tabloid or the press. But they might tell the team, or their partners, and Ilya needed only one crisis at a time.

Wyatt looked at him hard, then handed his phone over. "Sure, Roz. Whatever you need."

Ilya was grateful, both that Wyatt had acquiesced and that he seemed well on his way to sober. He could keep an eye on the other two. Ilya went back to the kitchen and traded the phones for the take out bags, giving them to Wyatt to distribute while he filled three plastic cups with water. He turned the TV on, flipping through channels with the intent of finding a hockey rerun, stopping instead on a nature show when Luca cooed at wild kittens.

"Okay. You all eat. Hydrate. Watch TV. I will be back. No phones or you are benched rest of season, understand?"

They looked like children then, wide-eyed and nodding at him. He supposed that was good enough. It had to be.

Ilya tapped lightly on their bedroom door before pushing it open. "Shane?" he asked softly. He doubted Shane would have fallen asleep, but if he had, Ilya would hate to wake him.

Shane didn't answer him, but he wasn't sleeping. He was curled on the bed, face buried in Ilya's pillow. More concerning, his shoes, coat, and hat were still on. On a typical day, Shane would never. He'd be too appalled by the thought of contaminating the cleanliness of the bedding to even consider it. Ilya approached cautiously.

"Shane?" he repeated. "What happened?"

Shane shook his head into the pillow, refusing to look at Ilya.

"Okay, okay," Ilya murmured. "Will you get up? Let me get you more comfortable?"

Shane didn't nod, but he didn't shake his head earlier, so Ilya carefully sat beside Shane on the bed and slowly worked his shoes off. Shane let Ilya move him like a rag doll, only moving to give Ilya easier access when he reached for his coat zipper. Ilya let him be as long as he could, then gently coaxed him up onto his now-bare feet so Ilya could pull off his coat and turn down the covers.

Shane started shivering, even though it wasn't that cold in the room. Ilya shrugged off his sweatshirt, painstakingly guiding Shane's arms into the sleeves before sliding it over his head. Shane wrapped his arms around himself the second he was done, leaving them around his torso even when Ilya pulled him in to a hug.

When Shane didn't relax, even slightly, Ilya released him, nudging him toward the bed while Ilya grabbed a new hoodie for himself from the dresser. Shane sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed slightly. He still wasn't looking at Ilya, but his eyes were at least tracking his movements. Ilya climbed on the bed behind him, settling himself against the headboard before reaching for Shane.

Shane shook his head, but he did come to Ilya, climbing into his lap. He knelt over Ilya's legs, facing him, and buried his face in Ilya's neck. Ilya rested his chin on Shane's head and wrapped his arms around him, doing his best to make sure Shane felt secure and safe and loved. Shane didn't return the embrace, but he did slip his hands into the kangaroo pocket of Ilya's hoodie.

Ilya slid a hand up to the back of Shane's head and started running it through his hair, gently separating any snags he hit. He waited until Shane's breathing was deep and steady, then murmured, "Are you hurt?"

Shane went completely still, but Ilya was patient. Eventually, Shane shook his head the tiniest amount.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

"I can't," Shane whispered into his skin. "I can't, I can't, I—"

"Shh," Ilya soothed. "Is okay, just breathe."

Shane took a deep breath, but it faltered, and Ilya soon felt tears on his skin. He buried his face in Shane's hair, not wanting to let his own fall. He hated feeling like this, feeling useless. Unable to help Shane, when Shane was his everything. He pressed a kiss to Shane's head, trying to figure out what he could do, what he should ask.

But then there was a soft knock on the open door, and Luca was there, looking apprehensive. Ilya realized why almost immediately. "I said no phones, Haas."

He didn't believe Luca would have broken his rule, and was wondering which of the other two had sent him as a sacrificial lamb when Luca stammered out, "Oh, uh, no, it's yours. It, um, won't stop buzzing."

Ilya held his hand out, demanding. Luca shuffled into the room, then all but bolted once he'd delivered the phone. Ilya glanced down at his lock screen. Six missed calls, all from Hayden Pike. The last few were mixed with texts begging him to answer. Telling him it was about 'Jane'.

Normally, Ilya wouldn't care. Shane needed him, even if he was reluctant, and Pike could fuck right off.

But now? Shane was dead weight against him. He hadn't even flinched when Luca came in. Ilya needed to know what happened, and Hayden might be able to tell him.

Ilya reached for the earbuds on his nightstand to call him back. Before he could take them out, his phone started ringing again. He fumbled for an earbud, getting one in so he could talk without disturbing Shane.

"Pike?" he answered.

"Oh thank fuck. Listen, I don't have long, they took all our phones. I only have mine because Jackie forced her way through and claimed she needed me for a family emergency. I mean, not really claimed, it is, but. They gave me ten minutes and I had to talk to her first, so. Listen. Have you heard from Shane? Wait, of course you haven't. Jackie found his phone. Without him. Shit, I didn't mean to say that, don't freak out. I mean, don't not freak out? I'm freaking out."

"Pike," Ilya said, sharper. "What is it."

"Shane. We don't know where Shane is."

Ah. "He is here."

Pike continued without hearing him. "Jackie went to his place and his phone is there but he's not and his car's not and I'm worried, Ilya."

The use of his first name told Ilya more about Pike's mental state than even the rambling had.

"Hayden," Ilya said sharply enough to cut through the haze. "Hayden, he is okay. He is here."

"What?"

"Shane. He was here when I got home."

A deep, ragged breath. "Thank God. Oh, thank God, I was imagining the worst, I thought he'd, I don't know. Is he okay? I mean, of course he's not. But is he like, um." Hayden trailed off, apparently unable to come up with an end to his question. "What did he say?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"He's just been crying. He won't talk." Ilya glanced down, but Shane was still lifeless against him, his only movements the involuntary ones needed to draw enough breath to sob. "What happened?"

"Um."

"Pike."

"He came out."

Ilya was confused. "He already did this. He said it was fine." Not great, but fine. Manageable.

"No, like, all the way."

"I don't understand your ramblings, Pike. Tell me plainly."

Another deep breath. "Before the game. Comeau was talking about that tabloid article."

Ilya knew the one, immediately. The tell-all from an anonymous source, that claimed Ilya had been traded from Boston for sleeping with half of the team's wives. "Is bullshit."

"Obviously," Hayden said. "But it was… bad. Shane wasn't taking it well, tried to say you're not like that, that he'd gotten to know you with the charity and you wouldn't do that."

"Ah."

"It didn't go over, obviously. Shane kept denying it, and they wouldn't listen, and then he just snapped. I don't know what exactly was said to set him off, but all of a sudden he just got everyone's attention and told them to shut the fuck up about you because there was no way you'd have time to fuck all the Boston WAGs when you spent all your free time fucking him."

Fuck.

Hayden was graciously quiet, letting Ilya process that as much as he could. Which wasn't much. "Then what?" Ilya asked.

"I don't even know," Hayden said. "It's all a blur. Everyone was talking, yelling once they realized he wasn't joking. So much was said, that he was a traitor, that he was a, well. I'm sure you can guess. Coach had come in right before Shane said it, and he was pissed. I mean, partly because it was like, minutes before we needed to be on the ice and the whole fucking team was yelling at each other, but I could tell, he was pissed about Shane. About what he'd said. I don't know. He just told us all to get out of the room and didn't say a fucking word to Shane all game and when we got back to the locker room all our phones were gone and they didn't allow the press in and it was silent, man, it was so weird and everyone was staring at Shane. And he was freaked, I mean obviously, but when you can tell, you know? When he's like, there but not there?"

Hayden seemed to expect a response then, so Ilya hummed in agreement.

"Then Coach called everyone into a meeting and in front of everyone told Shane he was benched for the next two games at least and to get out of the arena before it turned into more."

Ilya doubted it would. The Voyageurs' next two games should be easy, but after that they had a road trip with Toronto then the Admirals. If they wanted to make the playoffs, they'd have to let Shane play.

He tuned back in to Hayden's rambling. "Since then Coach has just kept the rest of us here and told us if anyone said anything to the press or whoever we'd be knocked down to the AHL or put on waivers or whatever he could convince the organization to do so everyone's just been sitting getting more mad about you and Shane, and mad it means we're stuck and can't leave or see anyone or anything, and then I don't know, someone from the offices came in and said Jackie had been calling nonstop about an emergency and now I'm talking to you."

"Hayden," Ilya said softly. "Breathe."

Hayden laughed frantically. "I'm trying." He did try then, Ilya could tell, but then he cursed suddenly, and yelled, "One minute," way too loudly in Ilya's ear. A pause, then, "Listen, I have to go, they said time's up. I'm gonna turn my phone off so they can't see anything but you have Jackie's number, right? Please. Please, text her if there's anything, I don't even know what, but,"

Ilya cut him off, "I will, Hayden. Thank you."

"Okay. Thanks. Gotta go."

The call ended so abruptly Ilya checked his phone to see that it had, in fact, ended. He sent a quick text to Jackie, just telling her that Hayden had called and that Shane was safe, then shoved his phone under the pillows, throwing the earbud back towards the nightstand.

He pulled Shane tighter against him, placing kiss after kiss into his hair. Once he felt a little less desperate, he loosened his arms again.

"Shane?" he said tentatively.

Shane tapped his stomach from his hoodie pocket. Ilya figured it was answer enough.

"I am glad you are here."

That made Shane pull away, and finally, look Ilya in the eye. He held Ilya's gaze with his sad, sad eyes and whispered, "I'm so sorry."

"What? No 'sorry', why are you sorry? I am so, so glad you came to me."

"They're going to take hockey from me," Shane whispered. "And now they know." He tilted his head toward the door, towards where Ilya's teammates sat. "And they'll take it from you too. I can't let them do that. I can't. And now they will and it's my fault."

"Shane," Ilya said heavily. "Shane, no. They will not take hockey from anyone."

That was apparently too much, because Shane didn't respond, just pressed his head back into Ilya's chest. Ilya let him, but murmured into his ear, "I will not let them."

Shane went quiet again after that, but he was calmer. Ilya mentally cheered when Shane withdrew his hands and clung to Ilya instead, finally allowing himself to touch. He was still crying, not the body-wracking sobs from earlier, but a steady stream of tears down his face. Ilya could think of hundreds of reasons why. This had been Shane's nightmare, that someone would find out. That this, them, would cost him his first love.

Ilya would do whatever he could to keep Shane in hockey at the professional level, though he knew his own influence was limited. At least he had control over himself—he was never leaving Shane, not unless Shane made him. And even then, he wouldn't go without a fight. Even if Shane lost his first love, he would not lose his second.

Ilya kept those thoughts to himself so Shane would continue to relax, not get all worked up again. This time, when Shane went boneless against him, he carefully maneuvered them down, until they were laying on their sides with Shane's face still buried in Ilya's chest. He drew shapes on Shane's back and murmured sweet nothings until he finally relaxed enough to fall asleep.

Once he was sure Shane was staying asleep, Ilya slipped out his embrace. He wanted to stay with him, wanted to hold him forever, wanted to be there when Shane woke up, but he needed to talk to Luca, Troy, and Wyatt. And that really couldn't wait any longer.

Ilya grabbed their phones on his way to the living room, handing them out immediately. He'd felt guilty when he'd taken them, guilty for not trusting his (albeit, drunk) friends. He felt even worse after learning he'd done the same thing as the Montreal Voyageurs. He and Shane weren't anything to be ashamed of, and he never wanted to give that impression. At least here, he could explain himself.

He settled on the ottoman, facing them. Wyatt muted the TV.

"I am sorry I did that," Ilya started. They all looked confused, so he clarified. "Took your phones. I am used to hiding, to keeping this a secret, I did not want you to tell anyone. But I should have just asked that, that you do not tell anyone what you saw, and not taken your things."

Wyatt immediately said, "It's okay, Roz."

Ilya nodded, accepting that, then took a deep breath. "I did not want to keep this from you, but Shane—" He paused, trying to work out what he wanted to say. He didn't want to blame Shane, that's not what this was. "Shane's team," he decided. "They are not good. Not like the Centaurs. When he told them he was gay, they accepted it, but it was not right. It made them, um, shaky. Unsteady. Everyone said they did not mind, but he could tell that was not true. But he did not make a deal of it, so it was not a problem."

Ilya paused for a moment to collect himself. This next part shouldn't be hard, it was what he'd been dreaming of for months. Troy already knew, and the other two must suspect. "We are together. Shane and me." He was right, they had suspected. None of them looked surprised. He thought, maybe, that made this easier. "Even though Shane has said he is gay, we hide this. Because it could be trouble. No one would be happy that rivals are in love." Ilya wiped his eyes with the cuff of his hoodie. He had hated the hiding, but maybe he hated this more. That he was in love, that Shane was in love with him back, and that made people hate them.

"He told his team today. I do not think he meant to, but he did. And it," Ilya's voice broke. "It was a problem, just like he worried. The game today—" he cut himself off. He didn't need to explain. They'd all seen how disastrous it had been. "And then they lied. Said he was injured and that he cannot play, but they just do not want him. Want him to hide away while they figure out what to do with him."

He could feel himself scowling. "Shane has given them everything, and they cast him aside. They will want him back, I know they will, because he is Shane Hollander. He is the best. And he will go back. Even though they do not deserve him. Because he is the best person too."

Ilya shook his head. "I am sorry. I did not expect this. I need to go back to him. He is sleeping, but I don't know how long." He stood abruptly, suddenly needing to be back with Shane, right this second. "You can stay, or leave, I do not mind. Just please, please do not tell anyone. We can talk more soon, we will figure this out, but right now, please. He needs quiet, and I need to give that to him."

All three of them nodded wordlessly. He understood. It was a lot to take in.

"Text me if you decide to stay. We can do breakfast tomorrow. Even if you go, you can come back. Meet him properly, yes?" Ilya gave a small smile. He would love that, if it happened. All his favorite people, right in one room. It would be good for Shane too, to see there were people who did not care beyond caring that they were happy. "I will text. We can plan. But later. Now, I need to go."

He started towards the stairs without another word, but stopped when Wyatt called his name. "Yes?" he asked, turning back.

"You know we love you, right? Even if you love a Voyageur."

Ilya smiled shyly. "I know."

"Good," Wyatt said. "We'll all head out, I'll get them sorted. But we'll be back for breakfast, to meet your man. And to hear the story of how you of all people pulled Shane Hollander."

Luca's cheeks turned pink as he nodded his agreement, and Troy let out a teasing whistle. Ilya grinned back. He'd endure all the teasing in the world if it meant he got to be with Shane.

"Thank you. Truly." He held Wyatt's gaze a moment before he turned away, making his way up the stairs and back to Shane at last.

Thankfully, Shane was still asleep. He'd curled around Ilya's pillow again, though this time he looked more like himself. Ilya carefully shrugged his hoodie off and slid under the covers, replacing the pillow in Shane's arms. Shane stirred slightly, and Ilya was afraid he'd woken him, but Shane just tightened his grip around Ilya and settled again, nuzzling close. Ilya let his own eyes close as he held Shane against him. Whatever came tomorrow, they'd face it together. There was nowhere Ilya would rather be.

Chapter End Notes

thanks for all the lovely comments on the first chapter! i read all of them even if i don't respond <3