Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Yuna Hollander, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Original Characters, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, POV Outsider, Coming Out, Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Alternative Outing for Shane and Ilya, POV Original Character, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov Relationship Timeline Reveal, Relationship Reveal, Established Relationship, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander

Language:

English

Collections:

🏒Hollanov🏒 W(rec)k It, RainyBugs_Hollanov_Yay!

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-29 Completed: 2026-06-04 Words: 30,451 Chapters: 10/10

On Their Own Terms

Summary

Before Felix could remove his headphones, he heard it. Heavy, borderline panicked breaths. Felix realized that it must be Hollander. His mic was not turned off when he left the interview. Footsteps. And then a door opening and closing. They had filmed the interview that morning at the offices of the Irina Foundation. It sounded like maybe he had gone into his office.

“Hey, what is it? What is wrong?” Another voice. Unmistakable anywhere. Even if Felix hadn’t spent weeks now listening to it, he would still have recognized Ilya Rozanov’s voice.

–

What if the filmmaker making the documentary about Hollander and Rozanov discovered the truth about their relationship. So he approaches Shane and Ilya about filming them over the course of the 2020/2021 season to create an honest documentary that tells the true story of their lives. Canon-divergent AU set during The Long Game.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

“Hey, Felix, you got a second?”

Felix looked up from his screen, where his vision had started to go blurry. This was supposed to be his lunch break, but he’d still found himself sucked back into answering emails about budgeting and deadlines, and funding proposals and all kinds of admin that he had explicitly been trying to avoid when he decided to become a filmmaker.

He’d had dreams of seeing the sun for at least a moment before he spent the rest of the day in the editing suite. But that hope was rapidly dwindling as he spun around in his chair and said, “sure, what’s up?”

Sanders, his Head of Sound, was hovering nervously in his doorway. Dressed in her usual black, her blonde hair tied in a practical knot at the back of her head, she had her arms crossed tight across her body, a laptop tucked under one arm. As he motioned her inside, she shut the door behind her and closed the blinds that hung across the glass wall of the office, blocking them from view of the rest of the production office.

Felix frowned. He hadn’t even known those blinds closed. He studied Sanders and saw hard lines of tension in her shoulders and jaw. They’d worked together for years, but Felix couldn’t say that they knew each other well. Sanders was polite and professional and did her job well, but he could count on one hand the number of times they’d had a private meeting in his office.

A knot of anxiety took root in his gut. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s just…” Sanders placed a laptop on the desk. She pulled a pair of headphones off from around her own neck and handed them to him. Felix slipped the headphones on and without any further explanation Sanders pressed the space bar.

The screen filled with the footage from the interview that Felix had filmed that morning. Shane Hollander was sitting in the talking head chair, a black canvas-backed stool, his back straight and his face impassive. He was lit in cool white light against a black backdrop, looking washed out and pale. Felix made a mental note to talk to his lighting team about a warmer tone next time.

Shane was saying something bland about how competition was important in hockey and he relished playing against anyone who challenged him to be his best. It was a very boring answer. He hadn’t even named Rozanov directly in the quote. Felix reflected - not for the first time - that this one-hour documentary was going to be incredibly dull. The network wanted a puff piece to fill some airtime, and Felix had the inauspicious job of trying to squeeze personality out of hockey players who had been media trained into a coma. He had interviewed both Rozanov and Hollander separately and neither one had said anything even remotely new or interesting about their decade-long feud-turned-friendship. Some of the stuff about the charity they had recently started together was intriguing, so maybe he could centre the narrative of the documentary more on that. If nothing else, it seemed like a good cause. Maybe this film could at least draw some attention to it.

Felix had no idea why Sanders was so intent that he watch these dailies immediately. He went to remove his headphone and ask, but Sanders held up a hand to keep him in place. “Watch,” she instructed. Her face was set, her hands shaking slightly as she pointed back at the screen. The knot of anxiety tightened as he turned back to the screen.

Felix heard his own voice off-camera setting up footage from an old game before passing the iPad to Shane to watch and react to on camera.

“Can you talk about this game, from 2017?” Felix’s voice prompted Hollander from off camera. “Do you remember it at all?”

Hollander stilled and his face went white as he watched the footage on the iPad. Felix made another mental note for editing to make sure the clips of the hit that took him out for the rest of that season play in the corner of Shane’s shot while he watched them on the iPad. Broken collarbone, concussion. It was a nasty hit. Felix had regretted showing it to Hollander as soon as he’d done it. It was a cheap move to try and elicit a reaction. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and Felix had at least hoped it would get something out of the world’s most boring interview. Did Sanders disapprove of his tactics, was that what this was about?

Felix looked up again at Sanders, ready to apologize for his underhanded approach, but Sanders was frantically motioning for him to keep watching.

Hollander was still staring, motionless, at the footage on the iPad. Then abruptly he stood and asked to have a break as he moved out of frame. Felix heard his own voice agreeing to the break and then the image on the screen cut out.

Confused, Felix looked back at Sanders but before he could remove his headphones, he heard it. Heavy, borderline panicked breaths. And Felix realized that it must be Hollander. His mic was not turned off when he left the interview. Footsteps. And then a door opening and closing. They had filmed the interview that morning at the offices of the Irina Foundation. It sounded like maybe he had gone into his office.

“Hey, what is it? What is wrong?” Another voice. Unmistakable anywhere. Even if Felix hadn’t spent weeks now listening to it, he would still have recognized Ilya Rozanov’s voice.

Hollander’s breathing was still ragged.

“Breathe with me. Is okay.” Rozanov’s voice was softer than Felix had ever heard it.

Several long slow breaths filled the headphones. The shuffle of clothing. It sounded like maybe Rozanov had put his hand on Hollander’s chest. Very near the microphone.

“Was it the interview?” Rozanov asked gently. “What did they say?”

“They showed me footage from that hit. The one against Boston, remember?”

Rozanov said something angry-sounding in Russian. “What kind of journalism is that? Dirty trick. What do they want you to say? ‘Thank you for reminding me of my traumatizing injury, it hurt a lot.’ Is bullshit.”

Felix flushed, chagrined. He probably deserved that. It was nice hearing Rozanov jump to Hollander’s defence. And he clearly knew and cared enough to calm him down. Felix was pleased to hear proof that their newfound friendship was real and not some publicity stunt, as he knew some people speculated.

“No it wasn’t that. It was you.” Hollander’s voice cracked with emotion and Felix felt his stomach drop. “Watching you see me go down like that. It looked so much worse than I imagined. The fear in your eyes, it was- And then everyone is just trying to push you away from me, no one is telling you anything. For fuck’s sake they made you play the rest of the game! And I just kept thinking what if it were me watching you be carried out on a stretcher. And I, I can’t-”

Rozanov said something sweet and soft in Russian. His voice was muffled, as though the mic was covered. Felix thought they might be hugging. “I am here. You are here. We are both safe. Yeah?”

“But if something did happen to you, if you got in a car accident tomorrow, no one would even tell me what had happened.”

“Good point. I will make you emergency contact.”

Hollander’s voice hiccups. “You will?”

“Of course.”

“You can’t.”

“I will say my emergency contact is Jane. They will find her number in my phone easily, I think. Is always at the top of the list.”

Hollander could be heard exhaling a laugh. “Okay.”

The sound of a kiss. Gentle and lingering. And then more kissing.

Felix slid the headphones off quickly, letting them clatter across his desk. His heart was thudding hard and uneven in his chest.

“Who else has heard this?”

“Just us.” Sanders’ arms were crossed tight against her body again. “I just heard it when I was going through the footage from this morning.”

Felix’s mind was swirling, trying to make a plan while processing what was unquestionably the biggest scoop of his career. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Okay, that’s good. Show no one else. Do you understand?”

Sanders hesitated. Felix didn’t like the uncertainty on her face.

“What?”

Sanders’ brows pinched. “All the footage from the day has already been uploaded to the backup server. It was uploaded before I realized. No one else will have gone through any of it yet, and they’re not likely to. But only the studio has clearance to delete something from the backup server.”

“Okay.” Felix stood, needing to move. His whole body was stiff. As if he had been listening for hours instead of minutes. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Did you suspect at all?” Sanders asked.

“No. I really did not.” And Felix was forced to accept that he had done a very poor job interviewing these men.

Chapter End Notes

This fandom has changed a lot since my last GCU fic in 2022, so glad to have so many people join the party! Comments are the lifeblood of fandom - please share all your feels!

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. A simple, straightforward idea, even. Right up until the moment Felix opened the door and was face-to-face with two of the most impressive hockey players in the world. Hollander and Rozanov stood on his doorstep, looking around his apartment’s hallway with polite confusion and barely-disguised boredom, respectively. 

“Come in.” Felix led them through his tiny apartment foyer and into his living area, which was basically just a couch stuffed in one corner, and a tv in the other corner. 

Looking at his apartment through fresh eyes, all Felix could see was the mess. His coffee table had water rings on it, his carpet was stained, his sofa was lumpy and threadbare. He had spent the whole morning cleaning, and somehow the place still looked like a mess. Maybe he should buy new furniture. Or a new apartment. 

“Where is everyone?” Hollander was looking around, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “You said 3 o’clock, didn’t you?” 

“I did. You’re right on time. Do you want to sit down?” Felix motioned towards the couch. 

They both exchanged a brief look as they sat down. 

“What is this?” Rozanov asked. “You said important?” 

“I have to be on a flight back to Montreal in just over an hour.” 

Felix pulled up one of the dining chairs and sat across from them. 

“First off, I need you to understand that there is no one else here. No crew, no cameras, no microphones. I am not recording you right now.” 

He took a breath as he let that information sink in. He watched their foreheads furrow, their expressions turn wary. “Okay,” Rozanov said, apparently speaking for both of them.  

Felix picked up the iPad that he had cued up with the footage already. It was the same iPad he had shown to Hollander in the interview. He passed it towards them both and let them press play. 

They leaned together to watch the screen. Neither of their faces betrayed anything. Then, as the image went blank and the sound of breathing continued through the iPad speakers, Hollander’s face went slack and ghostly pale. 

“Oh fuck,” Hollander breathed. He bent double, his head in his hands. “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he repeated into his hands.

Rozanov lifted the iPad speaker up to his ear to listen better. His other hand went to Hollander’s back. Felix wondered if he even knew he was doing it. The touch seemed instinctive, protective in an immediate, unconscious way. Felix realized it was the first time he had ever seen them touch, and he understood why. With one touch, Rozanov had given away so much about himself, and about Hollander, apparently without even realizing he was doing it.  

After a moment that felt stretched taunt like an elastic band, Rozanov clearly realized or remembered the rest of the conversation the hot mic had captured. He stopped the iPad and tossed it to the carpet by Felix’s feet. His expression was twisted with rage.

“What is this? Not enough you already once gave a panic attack with your trauma footage, now you decide to do it again?” 

Felix shrank under the weight of Rozanov’s righteous anger. He was right, of course. Felix should have prefaced this more, or better. Should have prepared them, or explained himself first. But every time he’d tried to plot out what he wanted to say to them, it all sounded so awful and awkward and vaguely threatening. In the end, he thought it might be easier for them to see for themselves. Another miscalculation for the growing list.

Rozanov leaned over, talking low in Hollander’s ear, his hand still on his back. 

Felix raked a hand over his forehead. “Look, I’m going about this all wrong,” he said in a small voice. “I shouldn’t have surprised you with it like that.” 

“You should not have it at all.” Rozanov sat up, glaring daggers. “Secretly recording us, without our permission! Is illegal, no?” 

“It’s my fault.” Hollander lifted his head slowly. “I’m the idiot who forgot to turn off my microphone.” 

Rozanov just continued to glare at Felix. It was clear who he felt was to blame here. 

“Okay, so what is this?” Hollander continued, his voice clear, all business. “A shakedown? Bag full of cash and this all goes away? Or is this just a courtesy heads up? So we’re prepared for when you blow up our lives?” 

Felix flinched. “It was never my intention to pry like this, or to out you. It’s certainly not my intention to blackmail you.” 

“Easy then,” Rozanov said, “delete the footage. Problem solved. We all pretend this never happened.” 

Felix sat forward, desperate for them to understand. “It’s not that simple. The footage has already been uploaded to the backup server. I can choose not to include it in the final cut of the documentary, but the footage exists, and I can’t delete it. So I can’t guarantee that no one else will ever discover it. I don’t know when or how, but eventually it will get discovered and it will leak.” 

Hollander ran his hands through his hair while Rozanov stared Felix down. 

“As I see it,” Felix continued, fighting to stay in control under the press of Rozanov’s fury, “you have two choices. One, you could just wait it out. Maybe you’ll get lucky and no one will find the footage. Maybe they’ll find it long after you’ve both retired. But maybe they’ll find it in a couple weeks, and whoever does find it probably won’t check with you before releasing it.”

“What is other option?” Rozanov asked, his voice practically a growl.

“The other option,” Felix said slowly, carefully, “is that you let me keep filming. I could tell your story properly. I think I could convince the network to extend my budget. I could follow you both and film you for the rest of the season. Make it into a feature documentary, or a multi-part series maybe. I could let you tell your story in your own words, on your own terms.” 

“Our terms would not include camera crew,” Rozanov muttered with narrowed eyes. “What makes you think we would trust you to tell our story?” 

“You don’t have to. And if you decide not to, I won’t include the audio clip in my documentary. It will be a dull, predictable hour of television that tells the public nothing they haven’t already heard a hundred times already.” Felix took a breath, steeling himself before continuing. “But look, even if you get lucky and no one ever finds the clip, you will be outed eventually. Either by this, or by something else. You can’t hide forever. There are too many people out there paying too much attention to your lives. I’m just trying to give you a chance to control the narrative, if you want to.”      

“Narrative, narrative,” Rozanov repeated, sounding annoyed. “Always with the fucking narrative.” 

Shane let out a choked noise that might have been a laugh.

Felix watched as Rozanov turned to Hollander. “Shane?”

Felix had assumed that Rozanov would be the much harder sell. But watching him, with his careful hand on Hollander’s back, and his eyes roving across Hollander’s profile, Felix realized he might have had it backwards. 

“I can’t do this.” Hollander stood abruptly. “I need to catch my flight.” 

Without another word, Hollander walked out. Rozanov and Felix stood as well.

“He needs time.” Rozanov lingered at Felix’s door. “How long do we have?” 

“If I’m going to do this, I need to let the network know by the end of the week. At the latest.” 

Rozanov nodded. “We’ll be in touch.”

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for all the comments so far - excited for your thoughts as it goes along!

Chapter 3

Felix was ready. At least, he thought he was ready. He was as ready as he was going to be, so he may as well just do it.

It had been two months since he had last met with Hollander and Rozanov to pitch his idea for an honest documentary about them. It took him a month of that time just to talk his boss into not firing him, then another month to negotiate a shoe-string budget and skeleton team to bring his project to life. In all that time, he had only received a single three-word email from Rozanov: We’ll do it. 

He’d managed to negotiate for just enough of a crew that he could divide up their resources, with half the team following Hollander in Montreal, the other half with Rozanov in Ottawa. All of them, Felix and Sanders included, had signed eye-watering NDA’s sent directly from Shane and Ilya’s agent. So far, both crews had mostly just been capturing some day-in-the-life footage - trips to the practice rink, a home game each, and a bit of B-roll in their homes. None of the footage had been particularly interesting, but it was a start. Felix had been doing this long enough that he knew he needed to trust the process. Things had a way of coming together in the edit, and he was confident in the story these men had to tell. 

What he needed was the two of them together on camera. He needed them to talk to him. 

Today was the day. Their schedules were difficult, to say the least. As far as Felix could tell, they were rarely ever in the same city unless they were playing hockey against each other. This time it was in Montreal. Their teams had played last night and Rozanov had the day off today so didn’t need to fly back to Ottawa till later that evening. It was perfect. Felix had rented a studio for the afternoon, under a working title pseudonym so the public didn’t get wind of the project. The filming space was barely bigger than a blackbox theatre, cramped and tucked in the outskirts of the city, but it would serve his purposes. Their basic sound and lighting needs were all set. Felix reviewed his notes. He had spent most of the last two months combing through old footage, desperate to find what he - and everyone else in the world, apparently - had somehow missed.  

Bang on time, Felix heard the telltale crash of the studio’s front door. Hollander and Rozanov entered the space warily. They were compliant and polite as Sanders mic’ed them up. Their makeup artist Natasha, an unflappable local who Felix had worked with a half-dozen times, powdered their faces lightly and without fuss. Hollander and Rozanov didn’t speak to each other or to the crew. Their movement was cautious and restrained, their expressions tight as they went through the motions.  

Eventually Natasha guided them to the two tall white stools, positioned side by side. Felix sat a couple feet across from them, behind a small camera and monitor. He checked the frame and made a small motion to his lighting guy, Ali, to reposition Rozanov’s light. He made the adjustment accordingly, then signalled that he was good to go. 

Felix gave both men a welcoming smile. They both looked back at him blankly, stiff and unsmiling. 

“So, how was the game last night?” Felix asked, hoping to get them off on an easy footing. 

“You did not watch?” Rozanov scoffed. “Insulting.”

“I did,” Felix assured him. “I just wanted to hear your thoughts on how it went.” 

“Montreal won. Ottawa lost. What else is there to say?” Rozanov might sound flippant, but Felix could see the spark of real frustration in his eye. 

“Is it frustrating?” Felix tried to press, “to lose to each other?” 

“Yes,” Hollander said evenly, “neither of us like to lose. Especially to each other.” 

“Obviously is frustrating. All losing is terrible.” 

“Did that make last season, your first in Ottawa, difficult?” 

“Yes,” Rozanov said, cold as ice. 

A strained silence filled the room. God, Felix felt as though decades of experience had flown clear out of his head. He couldn’t remember how to ingratiate himself to a subject, how to ask the right questions to take down their walls. How to create the warm, safe environment that people needed to speak openly. He felt like he was twenty again, fresh out of J-school, trying and failing to get any of his subjects to open up to him, to trust him. Felix shuffled his notes and cleared his throat, wishing he could start the whole conversation over again. 

“Anyway. So, tell me, when did you first meet?” 

“At the Prospector’s Cup in 2008,” Hollander answered. 

“How old were you at the time?” 

“Seventeen.”

“And when you met, what were your first impressions of each other?” 

“I thought he was very boring.” 

“And I thought he was an asshole.” 

“And when did that change? If you were to use one word to describe the other person now, what would it be?”

“Boring.” 

“Asshole.” 

They both responded without missing a beat. 

Felix looked at them. Were they fucking with him? He didn’t think so. Both of their expressions remained neutral, but they seemed lighter, more relaxed than they had been when they’d arrived. There was a spark in the air, like a challenge. Something like a laugh in both their eyes.

Felix tried again. “You’ve both known each other a long time. Has the nature of your relationship, the way you feel about each other, changed over the years?” 

“No.” 

He let out a groan of frustration. One step forward, two steps back. “You guys, this won’t work if you won’t be honest with me.” 

“I am being honest.” Rozanov’s voice was slow and fierce. “The way I feel about Shane today is the same way I felt when I was seventeen, is the same way I felt when I beat him for the Cup, is the same way I felt when he beat me for the Cup. We have not changed. We are who we have always been. Now ask some better fucking questions.” 

Hollander raised his hand gently and Rozanov deflated back into his stool. 

“Let’s move on, maybe,” Hollander offered. 

“Right.” Felix could feel sweat pooling at the base of his spine. “Can we talk about Scott Hunter?” 

Rozanov made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat. “He’s a hundred years old and a bad hockey player. Even more boring than him,” he jerked a thumb at Hollander. 

Hollander rolled his eyes. “You can’t say that. He’s not a bad hockey player.” 

“Ah, but you agree he is a hundred years old and boring. Those are facts. I can say that.” 

Hollander shook his head, but a ghost of a smile twitched at the edge of his mouth. 

“And what about the fact that he’s gay?” Felix prompted. 

“What about it?” Rozanov retorted. “Do you have problem with this?”

“What?” Felix yelped, caught off guard. “No. Of course not.” He tried again, “what I’m asking is, did his coming out as the first openly gay player in the NHL change things, do you think? Has it made it easier for other players to come out, do you think?” 

“Yes,” Hollander said, and for a moment Felix thought he would stop there, somehow making him an even worse interviewee than Rozanov. But mercifully, he continued, “what he did was huge. It was very brave. And it definitely made things easier for me to come out to my team.” 

“You came out to your team?” Felix asked. He had heard a rumour of that during his Montreal filming, but he was relatively sure this was the first time Hollander was saying it on the record. “When was that?”

“Yeah. A couple years ago, now. I haven’t made it public or anything, because it’s not anyone else's business. But yes, I told my teammates.” 

“That you’re gay?” Felix clarified. He realized Hollander hadn’t actually said the word, which made the clip not as good, but still it was something. 

“Yes.” 

Felix looked to Rozanov, “and are you gay?”   

“No.” 

“Oh.” Felix was thrown. “Uh, but I mean… are you straight?” 

“I never said this.” 

“Okay, but-”

“Ilya,” Hollander said in a very different voice than he’d used to answer any of Felix’s questions, “don’t be difficult.” 

“What?” Rozanov protested. “Is not my fault this idiot has never heard of bisexuals before.” 

“And so are you two…” Felix hesitated. Both men turned to look at him. Rozanov raised an eyebrow. But fuck it, if they were going to do this, then Felix would need to get to the point eventually. “Are you in a relationship with each other?” 

There was a moment of hesitation. Rozanov turned to Hollander. A clear offer for him to be the one to answer. 

Finally, Hollander responded. “Yes.” 

“When did this, your relationship, start?” 

“Is complicated.” Rozanov shrugged. “What are you asking, when is first time we had sex? Is that what you want to hear about?” He gave Felix a lascivious leer.  

“No,” Felix said quickly. Though, yes, maybe that had been exactly the question he’d been asking. But he couldn’t ask it now. The way Rozanov was looking at him, like he was daring him to continue, made Felix certain he did not want to pursue that line of questioning. 

“So,” Felix switched tactics again. “Did you sign with Ottawa so the two of you could be closer to each other?” 

Rozanov sat back, the challenge in his eyes dying out, his expression turning blank once more. “Yes.”  

“And has that worked? Do you get to see more of each other now?” 

“Sometimes.” Rozanov leaned forward. “Though sometimes the precious little time we get to see each other is spent dragged into a studio and asked stupid questions.”  

“Ilya…” Hollander said again, a clear warning in his voice.

Rozanov sat back again, muttering something low in Russian. 

“Listen, are we done here?” Hollander asked, though it didn’t sound like much of a question. “What more do you need?” 

Felix wanted to say that they had barely started. That he didn’t have anything useful yet. He had them on camera admitting to these things as facts, but he didn’t have any of their actual story. They hadn’t yet scratched the surface of Felix’s questions.

But it was clear he wasn’t going to get what he wanted today. “Okay,” he agreed, “we can be done.”

They both leapt off their stools with more energy than they had shown the entire interview.   

He watched them as Sanders removed both of their microphones. They didn’t speak, but it was clear from the animation on their faces that they were communicating. Then Rozanov said something in Russian as they walked out of the studio and Hollander clearly blushed and shook his head. Did Hollander understand Russian? Felix realized that he still had no idea who these men really were.  

Felix slumped back in his chair, cutting his gaze over to Sanders. 

“Well, that went well,” she said blandly.

He blew out a breath, scratching his hand along the back of his head. “Yeah.”

“Cheer up,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder as she walked past to start packing up her equipment. “It can only go up from here, right?” 

“Sanders,” Felix called out as Sanders walked past his office. It was late, and she had her leather jacket slung over one arm, clearly about to head out for the day. “Save me from myself, come have a drink with me.” 

Felix leaned out of his office door, waving his emergency bottle of scotch that he had stashed in his bottom desk drawer. It had been given to him as a gift when he finished his first feature doc a year and a half ago. 

Sanders gave him an assessing look, then shrugged. “Sure thing, boss,” she said, moving into the office and taking the seat across from his desk. 

Felix grabbed two mugs from the top of his filing cabinet and poured generous portions of scotch in each. Sanders’ eyes followed his movements carefully.

“So.” She accepted the mug and sniffed at the scotch. “Is this celebratory drinking or wallowing drinking?”

Felix grimaced. “These are the drinks of people whose entire careers are riding on the whims of two asshole superstars who hate me.” He knocked his mug against hers. “Down the hatch.” 

Sanders took a much smaller sip and nodded towards the open laptop on Felix’s desk. “It’s that bad?” she asked.

“It’s not good.” He had spent the last week torturing himself, watching and re-watching the footage from his disaster of an interview with Hollander and Rozanov, trying to find something - anything - worthwhile in it. “I honestly don’t know if any of it is usable. They didn’t give me anything to work with.” 

“Well,” Sanders said slowly, taking another sip. “That’s not exactly true. Some of it was pretty enlightening. It’s a starting point, anyway.”

Felix rubbed his forehead, his fingers carding through his short-cropped hair. “I mean, sure, they did admit to being gay or bisexual or whatever. And to being in a relationship. But it’s not enough. I can’t fill a documentary with a couple one-word answers.” 

Sanders shook her head, leaning forward. “That wasn’t the part I was talking about.” 

He peered at her. “What part are you talking about?”

She set her mug on his desk and reached over for his laptop, pulling it towards herself. She scanned through the footage, and pressed play, sitting back. On-screen, Rozanov was being confrontational and vague about his sexuality. Hollander turned to him. “Ilya, don’t be difficult.” There was a gentleness to his words, despite the scolding nature of what he was saying. 

Sanders paused the footage. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen them really talk to each other on camera. And did you hear, he calls him Ilya.” 

“Huh, interesting.” Felix had noticed the stark difference in Hollander during that moment, but he hadn’t really put together that it was the only moment where he wasn’t talking to Felix at all, he was just talking to Rozanov. Or Ilya. “It’s not much to go on.”

“It’s more than you think. Earlier Rozanov called him Shane, too.” Sanders picked up her mug and sat back in her chair, crossing one ankle over her knee. “I think maybe that’s the key to this whole documentary, actually.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Well, look. You, me, everyone - we all know who Hollander and Rozanov are, right? I’ve watched them play hockey for a decade now. The documentary we had been making, before-” she waved a hand around the air, “-all this, it was… don’t take this the wrong way, but it was boring. It was going to be boring.”

Felix frowned at her. “Gee, thanks,” he said dryly. 

“No, but listen,” Sanders continued, looking excited now. “This is something different. Because I have no idea who Shane and Ilya are. If this documentary is going to work, you need to tell me that story.” 

Felix blinked.

“I’m sorry.” Sanders put down her mug hastily. “I overstepped. I didn’t mean- it’s your documentary-”  

“No. Don’t be sorry. You’re right.” 

Sanders was silent, but she picked her mug back up and had another sip. 

“Okay,” Felix began, trying to feel out the shape of this thing. “Let's start again. Taking nothing for granted. What do we know so far?” Felix pulled up his notes, where he had been attempting to sketch out a timeline of key footage that documented the major events of Hollander and Rozanov’s careers, ordered into a timeline.  

“Well,” Sanders started, “we know from the accidental audio recording that they were in a relationship in 2017 when Shane took that hit.” 

“Right. And when you watch it back, it’s pretty clear how distraught Roz- Ilya is.” Felix scrolled back in the document. “Something has to have changed in their relationship during the All Stars game in 2017, right? It makes sense, timeline-wise. That would have been just before the hit. It was the first and only time they ever played together. So maybe they spent time together, got to know one another, and hooked up? They were both single at the time. I looked it up and Shane had just broken up with Rose Landry, right before. It all lines up.” 

Sanders hummed, her expression unconvinced. “Maybe, but Shane just told you he’s gay.” 

“What are you saying? You think he and Rose Landry weren’t in a real relationship?”  

“I don’t know. I’m just saying I don’t think you can make assumptions either way.” 

“So you think it might be earlier?” 

“I think so. Yeah.” 

“I don’t see how they could have been in a relationship before then. They barely ever saw each other except to play hockey against each other.” 

Sanders tilted her head. “That’s not so different from their schedules now, and apparently they are making something work.” 

“Huh. So what are you thinking?” 

“I’m not sure yet, but lemme talk through a theory?” On Felix’s ‘go ahead’ gesture, Sanders continued, “do you think they lied to you at all in that interview?” 

Felix was surprised by the question. He considered it before answering. “No. I don’t. They were not exactly forthcoming, but I don’t think they lied to me.” 

“Me neither,” Sanders agreed. “And if that’s true, I think Ilya told you the answer.” 

“When?” 

“He told you that his feelings for Shane have not changed.” 

“Wait. So you think they’ve been in a relationship since they were seventeen?” 

“I don’t know,” Sanders repeated, swirling the contents of her mug. “I don’t know what being ‘in a relationship’ looks like for them now, so I certainly can’t speculate what it looked like when they were seventeen. I’m just saying that you don’t know either, and we can’t rule it out.” 

Felix sat back, taking this in. “So then the whole thing, the Hollander vs Rozanov rivalry, their whole deal... you think it was all fake?” 

“Not necessarily. You saw how touchy Rozanov got when you brought up him losing in the interview. I think the Hollander vs. Rozanov rivalry is very real, still to this day. I just wonder if that whole time there has also been another relationship running parallel their whole lives between Shane and Ilya. One that we’ve never gotten to see. Until now.” 

Felix considered this. Everything Sanders said made sense. So much so that he was a little ashamed he hadn’t thought of it himself earlier. “Sanders,” Felix said. “How would you like a producing credit on this thing?” 

Sanders beamed and downed the rest of her mug.

Chapter 4

Felix figured if he was going to get to know the real Shane and Ilya, he had to talk to the people that knew them. Which was why he was once again setting up a talking head chair for individual interviews. But this time he was determined to do it right. No assumptions. He was just going to listen to the stories people had to tell, and let that paint the picture.

The Metro’s had let him set up in an unused office at the practice rink. The team had morning skate today and Felix had been able to create a schedule of four interviews, including the coach. These people had all known Shane for over a decade. They saw him basically every day. If anyone could speak to him as a person, Felix figured it should be these men. 

Felix was adjusting the camera frame when he was surprised to find Shane standing in the doorway. 

“Hi,” Felix greeted. 

“Hi.” Shane was hovering awkwardly. He had the strings of his hoodie wrapped around his fingers. Felix had the impression he’d been standing there, twisting himself up into knots for a while before Felix noticed him. Shane looked back over his shoulder, down the hall, first one direction, then the other. “Do you, uh, do you have everything you need?”

“Yes. I think so. Thank you.” Felix eyed Shane carefully, waiting for whatever it was Shane had come to speak to him about.

“Right.” Shane hesitated then took a half step into the room. “And you don’t need me?”

“Not today.” Felix smiled. “I do want to interview you again, but I thought I’d give you a break for the day.” 

“Oh, okay.” Shane looked nervous. Certainly he looked a far cry from the confident leader Felix had been filming all week in the locker room and at practice. He looked more like the version of himself that Felix had seen on his own living room sofa, curling into a ball as the horror of discovery crashed over him. “Who are you interviewing?” 

Felix held out his clipboard with the interview schedule, handing it to Shane to peruse. “I’ve got a whole list.” 

“Right.” Shane accepted the clipboard. “Umm, it’s just- you should know. I did come out to my team, these people all know that I’m gay, and they’ve all been cool about it. But, they do not know about-” he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper, eyes on the door. “-about Ilya.” 

Ah. Felix stepped out from around the camera. “Shane,” he used his name deliberately and he noticed Shane’s eyes snap up to him as he did. “The whole reason I’m doing this is to give you and Ilya a platform to tell your story yourselves. The very last thing I want to do is to out your relationship myself to anyone. Especially not important people in your life.”

“Oh.” Felix could see the tension melting from Shane’s shoulders. “Thank you.” 

“Thank you for letting me know.”

Shane nodded, visibly lighter, and went to go. He stopped again in the door. “Oh, except for Hayden. He knows. You can ask him anything you want.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure he’ll have lots to say.” 

The interviews all went fine. Shane’s teammates and coach spoke very highly of him, and with obvious affection. But no one said anything that wouldn’t have been right at home in the original documentary. They painted a picture of exactly who Felix had always assumed Shane Hollander was: a dedicated player and a committed teammate. None of what they said described the nervous man who had visited Felix that morning, or the man who had a panic attack on Felix’s sofa, or the man who could talk Ilya Rovanoz down with a single soft word.

By the time Felix reached the last interview of the morning, he was starting to think this whole thing might have been a waste of time. When Hayden Pike entered the interview room, his hair was still wet from the shower, slicked back and stuck under a Metros ballcap. Sanders mic’ed him up, Natasha gave him a perfunctory once of with her brushes, and handed him off to Felix. Hayden settled onto his stool in front of the camera like he was sitting around a campfire, loose-limbed and smiling. 

Hayden grinned at Felix like they were already friends. “Hello there.” 

Felix had the interview basics down to a routine at his point, taking Hayden through some of the basic questions - how long have they known each other (“since Shane’s rookie season, coming on ten years now. Time flies man, that’s crazy.”), what it’s like to play with him (“I barely remember what it’s like to play without him at this point!”), what words come to mind when he thinks about Shane as a teammate (“how long do you have? There aren’t enough compliments in the dictionary, man.”) Hayden was warm and effusive - Felix had the genuine impression that there was nothing in the world he would rather talk about for an hour than Shane Hollander.

“Do you consider yourselves to be friends off the ice as well?” Felix asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

“Oh absolutely! He’s my best friend. He’s always there when you need him, I’d trust that guy with my life. When my wife broke her ankle last week, he didn’t even hesitate, he was right there to babysit while I took her to the hospital. That’s just the kind of guy Shane is, you know? And I have four kids, so it’s not a small favour.” Hayden laughed and Felix joined him. 

“Wow. Good for you.” 

Hayden’s grin brightened still further. “Thanks. They are total demons. My wife is a saint.” Hayden laughed again before adding, “maybe don’t put that in the documentary. Or you can use the bit about my wife, but I probably shouldn’t be smearing my kids in the public eye, right?” 

“Probably not,” Felix agreed with a smile. “Speaking of life outside the rink, what about Shane’s?” Felix paused, then decided to forge on, unable to think of a more subtle way to ask the question he wanted to address. “Has he had any partners over the years?” 

Hayden’s smile faltered for the first time since he sat down. Then he said, “yeah, sure.” But a wall had gone up behind his eyes.  

“Any that stand out to you?” Felix pressed.

“Well, that whole thing with Rose Landry was wild. And you know they are like legitimate friends, still, to his day? She took him shopping when we were playing in LA last month. Only fucking Hollsy would date the hottest movie star in the world for like two weeks and then become her best friend.” 

“Any guys?” Felix prompted. 

“Umm…” Hayden’s eyes flicked around the room, briefly looking directly down the camera lens, before landing back on Felix. After an awkward beat, he shrugged. “I don’t know.” He was clearly aiming for nonchalance, but landing far short. 

Felix felt a stab of irritation. Shane clearly either forgot or didn’t see fit to brief Hayden on the nature of this documentary, so Felix would just have to take the direct approach. “How would you describe his relationship with Ilya Rozanov?” 

Hayden flinched, his eyes going wide and plainly terrified. “What? I wouldn’t. I mean, what’s there to say? They hate each other.” 

“Do they?” Felix challenged. “I thought they were friends now. They started the Irina Foundation together, after all.” 

“Oh yeah.” Hayden fumbled. “Sure, fine. Friends. I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” 

It was kind of sweet how nervous Hayden had gotten, but this was getting them nowhere. If he was going to get anything useful, he needed to be a lot more direct. “Hayden, Shane specifically told me this morning that you were the one person who did know the truth. The one person I could ask about his relationship with Ilya.” 

“Wait.” Hayden blinked. “He what?” 

Hayden pulled out his phone and instantly it was dialling. 

“What’s up, Hayd?” Felix could hear Shane’s voice through the phone, the sound easily picked up by Hayden’s lav mic. 

“What the fuck is up with this interview?” Hayden glared at Felix, all his earlier camaraderie turned to suspicion and protectiveness. Felix had the distinct impression of an irritated golden retriever. 

“Oh are you there now?” Shane’s voice filtered through the room. “Yeah, sorry man, I meant to text you before. They know about me and Ilya, you can talk to them. It’s whatever.” 

“Whatever?” Hayden repeated, incredulous. “What- How do they know? Did you tell them?” 

“Not exactly. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you about it later. But yeah, we’re going to use the documentary to, like, come out, I guess.”

“Holy shit.” 

“Yeah, it’s- I dunno, it’s weird. Hey bud I gotta go, but yeah say whatever you want.” 

“Okay. We’re talking about this later!” 

Hayden hung up the phone. “Well, uh… yeah, okay.” He looked back up at Felix. His smile was back, but it was smaller, a little more guarded. “Maybe we should try this again. What was the question?” 

Felix leaned forward, finally ready to get somewhere. “What do you know about Shane’s romantic life?”

“So,” Hayden began seriously, “first of all, you need to understand that I love Shane, he’s one of my favourite people. But he is and always has been a little antisocial. He’ll hang for like the odd team dinner or something, but he would for sure win ‘most likely on the team to stay home with a book’, you know? I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen that kid get truly drunk, and we’ve won three Stanley cups together. And he did not date. I mean, ever. For years, my wife and I tried to set him up. He never took us up on anyone. He was like a hockey-obsessed monk. But honestly I never worried about it that much, because he did have someone - Lily. You always knew when he was texting Lily because he would be totally obsessed with his phone. He’d blush like a teenager with their first crush. And it was clear Lily was in Boston because whenever we were there, Lily would text and Hollander would just go. After every game. This guy who never went out, who was usually in bed by ten, he would go to meet Lily. 

“He never talked about her. Literally never. If I even tried to bring her up he would get weird and annoyed, or try to pretend like she didn’t even exist. I thought it was odd, obviously. I wondered if maybe she was married, or famous, or I don’t know, maybe she was just really shy or something. I had no idea. Then two years ago, after the whole Scott Hunter thing, Shane tells me and the guys on the team he’s gay. Which honestly made so much sense, I kinda felt stupid for not realizing it before. The reason I never met Lily was that he was a guy. Big mystery solved, right?

“This is where it gets interesting, though. Cause then the next time we’re in Boston, I was waiting for Lily to text cause I thought maybe we could finally talk about it now. I’d like to meet this guy, after all these years! But Lily doesn’t text. Or at least not that I could tell. Shane doesn’t go out. He’s in bed by fucking ten. I was kinda bummed, ‘cause I figured that probably meant they broke up. But then we’re in Ottawa and Shane disappears and is out all night. And then he starts going to Ottawa whenever he has any time off. And I mean I know his parents live there, but he’d never done that before. So I didn’t buy for a second that he was driving two hours just to visit his parents.

“So then I say to him one afternoon, ‘first you have a mystery dude in Boston and now he’s in Ottawa, if I didn’t know any better I’d think it was Ilya Rozanov.’ And he nods. He fucking nods!” 

Hayden was shaking his head in disbelief at the memory. 

“How did you feel when you found out?” 

“Disbelief. A little betrayed, I guess. I mean of all people, why did it have to be Rozanov? He’s such an asshole.” 

“And is he, really? An asshole, I mean.”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely.”   

Felix hummed, putting that together with everything else he’d learned so far. It had to be more complicated than that. “What do you think Shane sees in him, then?”

Hayden grimaced. “For a while I had no idea. I did not get it at all.”

“Do you understand it now?”

“Listen, the thing about Rozanov is he is a world class dick. Like his ability to goad people, to get under players’ skin on the ice and throw them off their game is unparalleled. He chirps like it’s a fucking olympic sport. It is unquestionably rat bastard behaviour. And there is no one he loves to chirp more than Hollander. But he’s not like most rats you come across. He doesn’t bother chirping players that he can just beat by out-skating. If he thinks you’re beneath him, as a person or as a player, he just doesn’t bother. So for him, being a dick is like a sign of respect. It’s a game. Can being an asshole be a love language? It’s like that.” 

Felix chuckled. “Okay, so the Hollander-versus-Rozanov rivalry, is it real?” 

“Oh hell yes,” Hayden said quickly. “They both love to win, and hate to lose. Especially against each other. It’s funny really, I know the media has always made a big song and dance of their rivalry. But no one has been keeping track of their stats and the comparison between the two of them more than they have. I guarantee you if you called Hollsy now he could tell you off the top of his head how many points he has versus how many Rozanov has at any point in the season.” 

Felix was thrilled. This was all amazing insight. But he thought of what Sanders had said. This still felt like Hollander and Rozanov’s relationship, not Shane and Ilya’s.

“Okay so Rozanov is a dick, but what about off the ice? What’s Ilya like?” 

“Yeah.” Hayden sat back thoughtfully. “Look, as much as it pains me to say publicly, Ilya can be very sweet. Since I found out about them, he hasn’t missed a single one of my kids' birthdays. He sends these extravagant gifts that they definitely don’t need. I’m like 90% sure he’s just doing it to fuck with me, but I mean the kids love him, so I can’t exactly get mad about it. And Jackie says I should be nicer to him. I mean, he did drop everything, on what I’m sure was supposed to be a more fun day off, to come babysit my kids when Jackie broke her ankle.” 

Felix perked up. “Wait, Ilya babysat them?”

“They both did, yeah. And my kids have been talking non-stop about Uncle Ilya ever since. I swear Ilya has endeared himself to my whole family just to annoy me! But Jackie said it’s not okay to get mad at someone because they’re too nice.” 

“Wow.” Felix reeled as he took in this new information. “So, going back to my original question, how would you describe their relationship? What are they like as a couple?” 

“Shane and Ilya? Oh man, they’re so disgustingly in love, I can’t stand it. They’re kind of perfect for each other, in a weird way.” Hayden sobered a little, before continuing, “I know all this - the secrecy, the long-distance, the surrounding bullshit - it wears on them. It’s hard, you know? And they wouldn’t have been doing it all this time if it wasn’t worth it. I think- I think they’re happy. I hope they are.”  

Felix smiled, relieved. The contours of the story were finally coming into focus. 

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

Felix had taken to filming with a smaller, handheld camera. He quickly realized that this fly-on-the-wall type of filmmaking captured something much more honest and interesting. All of these hockey players had been media trained to within an inch of their lives. They were used to big cameras being shoved in their faces after a game so the networks could collect a few bland soundbites. In front of cameras, they all tensed up, plastering on empty smiles and speaking in cliches. But with his handheld camera in his lap, they quickly relaxed and seemed to forget why Felix was even there.  

In December, before the Christmas break, Felix sat down for one-on-ones with a handful of the players on the Centaurs. And while Felix was impressed with the clear admiration, respect, and loyalty they all showed to Ilya, none of them shared the same level of insight that Hayden had. In fact, despite how much they all seemed to love Ilya, Felix was taken aback by how little any of them seemed to know about him off the ice. Even so, they were a compelling group to interview. They weren’t a well-oiled machine in the same way the Metros clearly were. But they were candid and warm and far less stiff than the Metros. There was noticeably more laughter in their locker room, notwithstanding their terrible win record. And sure, maybe it was just Felix’s inner love of an underdog, but he kept coming back day after day to film them. And journalistic detachment be damned, he found himself rooting for them. So when Ilya suggested that he join them on their road trip to Florida at the beginning of January, it was really a no brainer. 

That was how Felix found himself sitting next to Sanders, camera recording, as their plane fell out of the sky. 

There was sharp turbulence, followed by a bang that rattled through the cabin and shuddered in Felix’s bones. His stomach lurched as the plane dropped like a stone. When Felix looked back through the footage, days later, it would watch like a bad Hollywood movie. Shaky handheld footage sweeping across the cabin, catching the frozen shock and sharp cries from a dozen young men who weren’t prepared to die. In the moment, Felix watched them all with the detachment of a documentary filmmaker. It felt like something that was happening to the people around him, not something that was happening to him. He felt for them, he didn’t want them to die. It was only When Sanders reached for him, her hand gripping his arm like a vice, that the reality hit him with the force of a freight train. This was real, it was happening. He was going to die and he had no control over it.  

A terrible static filled his head. He turned to Sanders and they locked eyes, all his fear and regret mirrored in her expression. He wanted to say something to her - something profound or comforting, or at least something honest. That he was sorry for dragging her into this. That he didn’t want to die. But his throat was tight with pressure and in the end he couldn’t think of anything worth saying at all. He shifted his arm to grip tight to Sanders’ hand. Unsure what else to do, he just kept recording.

When the wheels touched down, and the air was no longer stifling with terror, Felix had enough presence of mind to look across the aisle for Ilya. He was, like all of them, pale and shaking, his phone held white-knuckled in his fist.

The atmosphere at the hotel bar was, to say the least, incredibly weird. The whole team was spread out in one corner of the bar, a half dozen tables pushed together so they could all sit as one group. Usually, the Centaurs seemed to treat conversations like a competitive sport - whoever was loudest or fastest won. The stilted, half-formed conversation made for a sharp, awkward contrast to their usual energy. Most players were on their phones, stepping away to take calls from loved ones, and returning a little while later with red-rimmed eyes. 

For his part, Felix was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the whole thing. He vacillated between numb shock and acute panic, in equal measure. He had nearly died. He was still alive. He was okay. But he nearly wasn’t. If he’d died, what would he have left behind? A handful of not-terrible documentaries and a messy apartment. Only a dog to miss him, who probably preferred staying with his neighbours anyway. Felix leaned his shoulder against Sanders’, grinding himself in the present. He didn’t die. He was fine. 

Felix was incredibly grateful that they had decided to leave the rest of their five-person crew back in Ottawa. It was bad enough to have Sanders’ wellbeing on his conscience, Felix couldn’t have bared it if any more of their little rag tag team had joined them. At least he had spared the others from that. Without speaking, Felix motioned to Sanders and they both stood from the table, moved through the bar with their handheld camera and small portable boom. It felt much better to be working, to return to the safety of capturing someone else’s experiences, rather than having to try and process his own. From her expression as they worked, Felix suspected that Sanders agreed. 

They hadn’t spoken much since getting off the plane. He wasn’t sure what to say. He was gripped with a strong desire to apologize to her for dragging her into this strange project of theirs, but he didn’t think she would take it well if he tried. Still, he tried to keep close to Sanders, drawing some comfort from her stoicism, and hoping he might be able to give her some in exchange.  

From the corner of his eye, Felix caught sight of Ilya outside the window. He had never emerged to join the Centaurs at the bar. Felix had assumed he’d been holed up in his hotel room, but no, apparently he was standing outside on the edge of the parking lot. Felix elbowed Sanders lightly in the side, indicating what had caught his eye. She gave him a small nod and followed him as Felix slipped out of the bar and headed towards the exit. 

He had planned to try and remain invisible, maybe to film Ilya in an honest moment. But as soon as the door clanged behind them, Ilya spun around, catching them immediately. 

“Ah!” Concern tightened Ilya’s face. “Felix, I did not realize you were with us. I’m so sorry you had to be there for that.” His gaze slid over Felix’s shoulder. “Sanders! You too!” And then to Felix’s surprise, Ilya extended his arms to hug Sanders. She stepped in to accept his hug, warm and tight for a moment before stepping back. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking into her face. “How is your wife? Have you gotten to talk to her?” 

Sanders nodded. “I sent her a text, in case she saw the news. She’s at work, so might not see it, but yeah, should be okay. And I’m alright. Well, as good as any of us are right now.” 

“Which is not so good, I think.”  

Felix realized too late that his mouth was hanging open. Ilya caught his look of surprise and frowned at him. 

“What?” 

Felix looked between the two of them. “No, nothing, I just didn’t realize…” 

Ilya’s eyes darted between Felix and Sanders. Then he turned to Sanders, his face morphing into something like terror. “He does not know? Is not a secret, I thought. I am so sorry-” 

“No, no.” Sanders laughed, waving him off with one hand, her other still gripping the sound equipment. “I haven’t been in the closet since I was eighteen. Don’t worry about that.” 

“That is good.” Ilya nodded. “Eighteen. That is nice.” 

Sanders gave a self-depricating little shrug. “It was never really a big deal, honestly. No one expects the female sound tech to be straight.” 

“That is very lucky for you.” 

“Yes,” Sanders agreed seriously. 

“But you did not know,” Ilya turned to Felix. Under Ilya’s sharp-eyed scrutiny, it was hard not to feel like he was being judged and found wanting. 

“Uh, no,” Felix admitted, his neck going uncomfortably hot. It had just genuinely never even occurred to him. He had never asked. Never been curious. Guilt churned in his stomach. “How did you know?” 

“Is very obvious. No?” Ilya smirked. “But then I am, what is word… perceptive.” Ilya looked pleased with himself. “Also I can tell, Sanders here doesn’t want to sleep with me. Big give away.” He gave Felix an exaggerated wink, and Felix found himself smiling despite himself.  

Just then Ilya’s phone rang. 

“Is Shane,” he said as he went to answer it. 

“We can stop filming,” Felix offered quickly. 

Ilya rolled his eyes. “You are very bad at this, no? How are you to make a film about us if you keep turning off your camera?” Ilya looked at him pointedly and then answered the phone. 

Their conversation was so raw that despite what Ilya said, Felix was pretty sure none of the footage would make it to the final cut. As he filmed, Felix was reminded of the panic attack Shane had had just imagining what he would do if Ilya was hurt on the ice. And here he was having to confront the reality that Ilya had almost died in a plane crash. The distance between them felt achingly unfair. And for the first time, as he listened to Ilya comfort and then tease Shane on the phone, he heard it. So obvious that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it from the beginning. Love. 

After the phone call, Ilya finally made his way into the hotel bar to drink with the rest of the team. Somehow Felix had found a drink in front of himself as well. And what the hell. He had almost died, after all, he deserved a beer. He fell into a warm conversation with Wyatt about how films failed to capture the essence of a comic book universe. 

He lost track of time, and drinks, and found himself at some point at a quiet table on his own. His camera was sitting next to him on the table. He thought it might still be recording, but he wasn’t sure. Sanders had long since gone to bed. She left him with a squeeze of his hand, and a promise to meet him for a coffee the next morning. Felix had just been thinking he should probably make his own way to bed, when Ilya dropped down in the chair next to him. 

“How are you?” Ilya asked, his gaze sharp and clear and a good deal more sober than Felix. 

“Alive,” Felix answered. It was the first thing that came to his mind. His head swam as he turned to look at Ilya. 

He probably should have stopped drinking a while ago. 

“Yes,” Ilya said seriously, “that is good.” 

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Felix asked, acting mostly on impulse.

“Of course. Is your job, yes?”  

“You said on the phone that you texted Shane. That it was poetic. What did you write?” 

It was an incredibly personal question, even given Felix’s current role to ask nothing but personal questions. Even as Felix asked, a large part of him assumed that Ilya was about to tell him to fuck off. Instead, Ilya studied him for a moment, then pulled out his phone and started to read.

“Shane, I love you. Always. Maybe from the first time I saw you. I am thinking only about you right now. A million memories. Thank you for those. Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.” He read it quickly, but his tone was warm.

Felix was embarrassed to realize that his eyes were hot with tears. He blinked them away, hiding his emotion behind a sip from his empty pint glass. “Wow.” 

Ilya looked a little embarrassed himself as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I feel bad that I scared him.” 

“It’s beautiful.” 

“It’s the truth. Shane is everything to me. Nothing is more important than him. When I thought I was going to die, all I thought of was him. I was happy and grateful for all that we had, and filled with regret for all we have not yet had. Maybe that is one good part about almost dying. It makes things clear.” 

“I couldn’t think of anything,” Felix found himself confessing. “My parents are gone, I have no siblings, I haven’t had a serious relationship in over a decade. All I do is work. I didn’t think of anyone.” His throat felt tight, but he managed to swallow down the press of tears. “The only one who would even notice if I was gone is my dog. That’s all I thought of.” 

“You have a dog?” Ilya perked up. “How come I did not know this? I’ve been to your apartment, I saw no dog.” 

“Yeah.” Felix blinked, taken aback. “She’s a greyhound, Lucy. My neighbour’s been looking after her a lot lately, with all this travel. That’s where she is now. When you guys came to mine, I think she was asleep on my bed.” He smiled ruefully. “That’s what she spends most of her time doing.” 

“You must bring her. To the rink. Next time.” 

“Dogs don’t usually mix well with hockey rinks.” 

“Pah,” Ilya waved his hand dismissively. “Bring her.” 

“Okay.” Felix laughed. He felt embarrassed that he had shared so much. “Well, I should go to bed.” 

Felix picked up his camera and stood up. 

“Felix.” Ilya stopped him. “Is okay. Because you did not die. And now you are clear. About what matters. Is not too late.” 

Felix nodded. And then turned to walk quickly back to his room before he could humiliate himself any more than he already had by weeping in front of Ilya Rozanov.  

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all for your wonderful comments so far! This has been such fun to write, and really looking forward to your thoughts on this chapter!!

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

This fic is going with the show-canon version of Scott Hunter, because we make the rules.

The All Stars weekend in Anaheim proved to be an excellent source of footage for Felix. Not only did he get to film Hollander and Rozanov compete against one another in the fastest skater competition, but he was able to grab quotes and quick interviews with a wide variety of hockey players all at the same time. 

At a certain point, Felix thought he should probably stop being surprised when everyone he spoke to wanted to sing Hollander and Rozanov’s praises. 

“Roz is a legend. Absolutely,” Cliff Marlow said to the camera. Felix had stopped him in the hallway at the afterparty in the hotel bar. “Miss that guy. I can tell ya, I’d much rather play with him than against him. And Hollsy is fierce, man. You always knew Roz would be in the zone if we were going up against Montreal.”  

Felix thanked Marlow and let him move off back to the party. 

“Nice,” Sanders said, pulling one of her headphones down off of her ear. “Good to get something from Rozanov’s old team.”

Felix shrugged. “Sure, but he still didn’t say anything we haven’t heard a hundred times over by this point. There must be someone who has something new to say, right?”

Sanders looked thoughtful. “Maybe, or maybe this is as much as anyone in the league has to say.” She lowered her voice, even though no one was paying them any attention. “To these guys, Ilya and Shane are exactly what they seem to be on the ice, right? They don’t have anything interesting to add, because at this point you know more about the two of them than all the men in this room combined.”

Felix gave her a wry smile. She was maybe right, but somehow accepting the point felt like bragging.  

“Hey, by the way, I wanted to ask…” Sanders’ voice had that faux-casual tone that immediately caught Felix’s attention. His gaze caught hers, and he saw an uncharacteristic hesitancy in her expression. “My wife, Jill, is in town too. She has an aunt in Anaheim who has had some health issues, and she had been wanting an excuse to visit for a while now, so this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Anyway, we’re planning on going out for dinner tonight and I was wondering if you wanted to come too?” 

Felix felt a surprising warmth bloom in his chest. “I’d love to, thanks,” he said. 

“Great.” 

“Great,” Felix repeated. 

“She’s very excited to meet you,” Sanders continued, grinning. “But be warned she knows absolutely nothing about hockey or filmmaking so we will have to talk about something else over dinner.” 

Felix smiled. “Deal.” 

Suddenly Sanders slipped her headphones back on and raised her eyebrow significantly before indicating towards someone behind Felix. 

Felix turned and there was the one person here that might have a new and interesting quote to give. Scott Hunter was standing alone at a high-top table at the far side of the room. 

“Excuse me,” Felix approached, with Sanders right behind him. His camera was already filming in his hands, just in case. “Scott Hunter? I’m Felix DeAngelo - I’m sure you’ve seen us around, we’re making a documentary about the Rozanov-Hollander rivalry. I wondered if you’d be willing to answer a couple of questions on camera?”

Hunter eyed him suspiciously, his eyes darting between Felix and Sanders, before landing back on Felix. He watched as the familiar media training walls went up behind Hunter’s eyes. “You want to interview me about Hollander and Rozanov?” 

“That’s right,” Felix confirmed, “you know them both?” 

“Of course. They are both world-class players. It’s always exciting to play against them, because you know you need to bring your A-game. And of course that makes it all the more fun to beat them.” Hunter smiled that empty hockey player smile. 

Again it was a good quote, a fine quote. But Felix was getting downright bored with twenty versions of the same quote. Felix knew that Hunter didn’t know about Shane and Ilya, and he had no intention of outing them to him. But Ilya had spoken to Felix about hanging out with Hunter. In fact Ilya spoke about Hunter quite often (albeit usually it was to insult him for being old) but still. There had to be something more interesting here. If he could just figure out his way in. 

“Do you socialize with either of them off the ice?” 

Hunter’s brow furrowed, as though confused by the question. “Um yeah, occasionally Roz will come out for a drink, if he’s in town.” 

“You own a bar in New York, right? The Kingfisher?” 

“Yeah. That’s right.” 

“Is that where you would meet Rozanov for a drink, usually?” 

Hunter squared his shoulders, looking annoyed now. “Well, I do own the bar. So that just makes sense.” 

The chilly tone was unmistakable. Felix needed to switch his line of questioning. If he couldn’t get him to open up about a friendship with Rozanov, then at least Felix might be able to get some general quotes about the league and its history of homophobia.

He cleared his throat, pivoting. “Since you came out, almost three years ago now, have you noticed a change at all in the hockey culture?” 

“I’d like to think so…” Hunter still looked wary. 

“Do you think you’ve made it easier? Paved the way at all for more hockey players to come out?” 

Something dark shuttered in his eyes. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Oh, um,” Felix was thrown by the ferocity in Hunter’s expression. “I’m just trying to get a quote about the league and its changing culture around gay players.”

“Why?” Hunter challenged. “Turn that fucking camera off,” he snapped, all pretense at politeness gone from his voice. Obediently, Felix paused his recording. Once the light was off, Hunter leaned forward, looking angry now. Felix was suddenly hyper aware of the size difference between himself and a veteran professional athlete. “Why would you want a quote about that for a documentary about Rozanov and Hollander?” 

Oh shit. Felix’s stomach dropped like a stone. Oh, he seriously fucked up. He should have been more careful. Should have seen this coming. He opened his mouth to try and explain himself. This was Scott Hunter after all, surely he of all people would be understanding. “I-”

“Fuck,” Hunter swore under his breath before Felix could say anything further. “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” Hunter turned on a heel and stormed out of the room.

“Go!” Sanders hissed frantically, pushing at his shoulder. And Felix was in motion, Sanders hot on his heels.

It was all Felix could do to keep up with him. He followed Hunter out of the bar, across the lobby, and through the hotel until Hunter came to a stop outside one of the rooms. He knocked furiously on the door. Felix surreptitiously flicked his camera back on. 

“Rozanov!” Hunter called through the door. He noticed Felix and Sanders behind him and rolled his eyes. “Roz, open up!” There seemed to be movement inside the room but Ilya didn’t answer. Hunter pounded on the door once more. “Rozanov, open the door. This is important.” Inside, Felix could make out the sounds of muffled voices. It was not hard to guess who was in there with him. 

The door opened and Ilya stood on the other side, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers. “Hunter,” Ilya said, sounding bored. “What do you want?”

Hunter opened and closed his mouth a few times. “I’m sorry, I…” His eyes looked behind Ilya to the messy bed and clothes strewn about the room. 

Ilya sighed. “What is it, Hunter?”

Hunter brought his focus back to Ilya. “You need to know, I think this documentary is trying to unearth stuff about you. About your past maybe. To… expose, private details.”

Ilya leaned into the hallway and noticed Sanders and Felix standing there with the camera. Then he looked back at Scott. His expression remained passive. A mask. “Well, if Felix here didn’t have the proof on camera before, I’d say he definitely has it now, no?” 

Horror spread on Hunter’s face as his eyes clocked that there were two pairs of large, men's shoes on the floor by the bed. Hunter rounded on him. “I told you to turn the fucking camera off, you fucking snake- God, Roz, I’m so sorry.” Scott was speaking fast now. “I never thought- never imagined- I mean I was talking to you like ten minutes ago at the bar! How the fuck-”

“Interesting,” Ilya said slowly, watching Scott’s panic with open curiosity.  

“Oh for god's sake.” Shane emerged from the bathroom, also dressed in only his underwear. He picked up a t-shirt from the floor and pulled it on as he crossed the room, throwing a second t-shirt into Ilya’s chest. “If we’re going to do this, can you at least come inside and close the door?” 

Felix slipped quickly into the room, Sanders close at his back. He made sure to capture both Scott's stunned expression and Ilya’s gleeful one as he moved past them both.

“So, you did not know?” Ilya asked with interest. “About me and Hollander? I always thought maybe you did.” 

“I, uh-” Hunter spluttered, looking between them both. “I thought that maybe there was something between you guys. That you had messed around when you were rookies or something. I didn’t think you were actively having sex at this moment, obviously, or I definitely would not have come up here. I’m sorry.” Hunter eyed the camera warily. 

“It’s okay.” Shane flopped down on the bed, looking remarkably relaxed considering the circumstances. “Thanks for trying to warn us, that was nice of you.” 

“Felix, what did you say to terrify poor Hunter here so bad?” Ilya asked with a smile. “He is old man, a fright like that, is bad for his heart.”  

“Oh fuck off, Rozanov.” Hunter said reflexively. “So I assume from all this that this documentary thing already knows about you two?” 

“Yes,” Shane confirmed. “When it comes out we’ll make our relationship public.” 

Scott looked between them, his eyes wide. “Wow.” 

“We considered waiting and then kissing when one of us wins the Stanley Cup - again - but that seemed a little showy, no?” 

“You’re such a dick.” He turned to Shane. “Is he always this much of an asshole?” 

Shane just shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.” 

“He likes it,” Ilya teased. 

Hunter shook his head, clearly trying not to smile. “Well, I should go. Good luck, you guys. And let me know if you need anything when this-” He gestured towards the camera, trailing off. “Well I’m here, whatever happens.” 

“Thank you for trying to warn me, Hunter,” Ilya said, his bravado slipping into something warm and sincere. “And for… well, just thank you.” 

Hunter nodded. Then Felix followed him as they slipped back out of the room. In the hallway, he looked at Felix for a long moment before he spoke. “If you fuck them over somehow with this, I will make it my personal mission to destroy you.” 

“I won’t,” Felix said quickly. “I promise. All I want is to help them tell their whole story.” 

 Hunter tilted his head to the side, considering. “Okay then. Let’s talk.”

Chapter End Notes

This one was really fun to write - looking forward to your thoughts!

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

Hello again! Sorry for the delay on this one, I was travelling last week, so the edits to the latest chapter were delayed. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it - enjoy some fun with the Centaurs!

A lot had happened to Felix in the last six months, but the one thing he never saw coming was that he would become regular text correspondents with Ilya Rozanov. It started a few days after they got back from the fateful Florida trip, when Ilya had texted him to demand pictures of his dog. Then it had been links to events around the city that Ilya was trying to convince Felix to attend, to, in Ilya’s words: ‘meet people and have no regrets.’ or, when Felix proved reticent: ‘you need life Felix, your only friend is colleague who you didn’t even know was married.’ Felix tried to argue that he knew Sanders was married now. And that he had since hung out with her and Jill on three separate occasions, thankyouverymuch. Ilya had responded ‘good’, and then immediately sent a link to a singles mixer event adding, ‘you still need to get out more."

Sometimes the texts were about the documentary. Ilya would send him voice notes with stories he thought Felix should know, or people he thought Felix should talk to. And sometimes they were random photos of things Ilya had clearly just seen. Often the photos seemed to be dogs he had met in the street. It was nice, almost friendly. 

So when Ilya texted that Zane Boodram was hosting a BBQ and that Felix and Sanders needed to be there to film it, Felix didn’t think too much of it. He was happy to go. 

The reality was that they were running out of time. When he’d asked (begged, pleaded, bargained with every drop of his social capital) for this filming extension, the deal had been to release the documentary at the beginning of April, just in time for the playoffs. It was now mid-February, and Felix still didn’t have a full picture of the story he wanted to tell. He had spent weeks sitting with the editor, and there was a lot of great material to work with. He had filmed the Pride Night game that Ottawa had won against Toronto two nights ago. He had filmed as Troy Barrett came out, and later interviewed him about it as well. Ottawa had been on a winning streak and it looked like they would even make it to the playoffs. The documentary was taking shape and it was painting a more hopeful picture. A picture of a hockey league that is capable of change. But he knew he needed more. 

So he picked up Sanders and they drove together to the address Ilya had sent. When they pulled up, Felix spotted Shane and Ilya on the sidewalk, mid-conversation. Felix instinctively started filming from the other side of the road, staying out of sight. 

“Are you sure about this?” Shane was saying, clearly not for the first time. 

“Yes.” Ilya said something in Russian that Felix guessed was some kind of pet name. 

“Because I told JJ the other day and it did not go great…” 

“I am very sorry that his reaction was disappointing. But I promise these boys, this team. It will not be like that.” Ilya threaded his fingers through Shane’s. “Everyone loves Troy and Harris. Is very gay team.” 

“Alright.” Shane smiled. “After all, JJ’s issue wasn’t that I’m gay, it was that I’m with you. Presumably your team likes you more than mine, so that won’t be a problem.” 

Ilya tossed his head, his curls bouncing across his forehead. “Don’t know what you mean. Everyone loves me.”

Ilya turned towards the house, hand in hand with Shane, and spotted Felix. 

“Ah, Felix! Sanders! Good.” He motioned to them both to follow. Felix and Sanders exchanged an amused look, then hurried out of the car, trailing after them. 

Ilya’s finger hesitated for a fraction fo a second, before hitting the doorbell. Through the lens of his camera, Felix watched Ilya squeeze Shane’s hand tight in his own. Moments later, the front door was swinging open and Cassie Boodram was standing on the threshold to greet them. In a fraction of a second, she seemed to take in everything at once: Shane Hollander standing on her front porch, his shoulders a little hunched. Shane and Ilya side-by-side, their hands intertwined. Felix and Sanders perched over their shoulders, trying and failing to blend into the background. Her face moved from pleased, to delighted as she took in the scene. A grin split her face. “Hi there,” she said warmly, “welcome!” 

“This is Cassie, Bood’s wife,” Ilya introduced, waving between Cassie and Shane with his spare hand. “Cassie, this is Shane.” As if Cassie didn’t know exactly who stood on her doorstep. 

Cassie reached out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“It’s very nice to meet you too,” Shane replied, shaking her hand. The significance of this moment was not lost on any of them. “Come in. Let me take your coats, they’re all in the back room there.” 

Felix followed them as they made their way down the hall. Shane and Ilya exchanged a look, full of open, honest affection. Felix paned down to catch them both squeezing each other’s hands in reassurance. Then they entered the living room. 

The room was full of the team and their partners. Predictably, none of them possessed the tact and subtlety that Cassie had. As dozens of pairs of eyes turned to see who had just arrived, the room quieted, and then exploded. 

“Ahhh! I knew it!” Wyatt Hayes leapt from his seat. “Dykstra, you owe me 50 bucks!” 

The chorus of other shouts around the room indicated that perhaps theirs wasn’t the only money exchanging hands. 

“Is it true, Cap?” Zane Boodram asked, “are you dating Hollander?” 

“Ah, no.” Ilya raised his spare hand and instantly the room fell silent. Obediently hanging on their Captain’s every word. “I am not dating Shane Hollander.” Everyone seemed to deflate. Genuine disappointment was written on the faces of the team. Ilya hesitated a beat, then grinned. “I am engaged to Shane Hollander.” Unerringly, he found Felix across the room and threw a wink directly down the barrel of the camera lens.

The room popped like a home arena after an overtime goal. Felix couldn’t believe Ilya had manufactured this reveal for the camera. As he captured the elation around the room, Felix felt a rush of something like relief. Yes, this was exactly what he needed. And more to the point, Ilya had known it was what he needed. This confirmed two suspicions that Felix had been harbouring for a while: one, that Ilya was an irrepressible drama queen, and two, that he genuinely wanted the documentary to be good.  

Everything was a blur of cheers, hugs, handshakes, and back pats. Felix stayed back at the edge of the room with Sanders and took it all in as drinks were pressed into Shane and Ilya’s hands and space was made for them both on one of the couches. 

“Okay, I have like a million questions,” Evan Dykstra said. 

“We will answer any questions you have for the next…” Ilya looked at his watch, “ten minutes. Then we will move on.” 

Everyone leaned forward in excitement. 

“Who proposed?” Harris asked from his position perched on the edge of Troy’s lap.

“Shane did.” Ilya looked to Shane, his eyes filled with unabashed love, “was very beautiful.” 

“Who made the first move?” Bood asked. 

“He did,” they both insisted at the same time. 

“In what world did I make the first move?” Shane protested. 

“You were staring.” 

“That doesn’t count!” 

“Of course it does.”

“Hmm,” Dykstra said, “I don’t know that staring can be considered making the first move…” 

“Yeah,” Tanner Dillon added, “staring is not a move.” 

“Ah,” Ilya grinned. “But what if I told you it was staring while we were in the showers, and it was very clear he liked what he saw.” 

“Ilya!” Shane yelped, swatting him across the chest as the room rippled with exclamation.  

“Wait, wait, wait,” Wyatt’s voice rose above the hubbub. “When are we talking about? When did this happen?” 

Ilya grinned mischievously. Felix saw his eyes dart to the camera. “Why don’t you guess?” 

“When you started the Foundation?” Dykstra tried. 

“No,” Wyatt countered, “it has to have been before that, ‘cause this is the reason you moved to Ottawa, right? To be closer together?” Ilya nodded in confirmation. “So just before that then, 2018?” 

“Earlier,” Ilya said, shaking his head. 

“That All Star game, where you played together,” Dillon guessed. 

Felix felt justified that his guesses and line of thinking were shared by others. 

“Earlier,” Shane said this time. 

“How much earlier could it be?” Wyatt asked. 

“2010,” Shane answered for them. Ilya pouted at his ruined game. “The summer before our rookie season.” 

A chorus of shouts echoed around the room. 

“WHAT???” 

“Are you serious?” 

“THIS WHOLE TIME!” 

“So wait,” Dillon objected. “I don’t understand. Was it all a lie, then?” 

“How do you mean?” Ilya asked, feigning ignorance.

“I’ve listened to you give a lot of speeches in the locker room about how important it is that we crush Montreal, and Hollander in particular. Was that like, a joke?” 

“No. That is very real. Is very important to me that we beat Montreal. And that I, as the better hockey player, beat Hollander.” 

“You are not the better hockey player,” Shane objected. 

“Mmm. I am. Yes.” 

“I’m currently beating you in both points and goals this season, and I’m faster than you.” 

“That was a tie! It was a tie. You are not faster. And I am only nine goals behind you, that is nothing. I will catch up, we are on winning streak.” 

“Pfft.” 

“Okay okay,” Boyle cut in. “You’ve proved your point. The rivalry obviously is real. But does this mean that all that chirping on the ice is, what, flirting?” 

“Oh my god,” Broodman groaned. “It’s worse than that. It’s foreplay isn’t it?” 

“No,” Shane denied. But his voice lacked conviction and his ears had turned pink. 

“Next question.” Ilya grinned. 

“What’s Shane’s number? I need to add him to the WAGs group chat,” Cassie asked from the side of the room. 

“Oh I don’t think-” Shane protested. But Cassie’s phone pinged several times in quick succession. And around the room different phones were sliding back into pockets, including Ilya’s. “Got it, thanks!”  

“Okay but in the past eleven years you guys have definitely been with other people, right?” LaPoint asked. “How did that work?” 

“Yeah, what about Rose Landry?” Wyatt asked.

“We weren’t exclusive until 2017, so before then, yeah there were other people. And for the record, for the three weeks I was dating Rose we didn’t see each other so I didn’t, like, cheat on her or anything. She kinda helped me realize I was gay, actually.” 

“Only Hollander here,” Ilya said fondly, “would spend years fucking me but still need to have sex with a movie star just to be sure he was gay.” 

“So since 2017? After Hunter?” Troy guessed. 

“Yes,” Ilya admitted begrudgingly. “Don’t tell the old man I said this.” His eyes flicked to the camera and he winked again. “But what he did was very brave. And it changed things. Gave us hope. That maybe, you know…” 

“And now?” Troy looked to Felix and then back to them. “This documentary thing, you’re planning to come out?” 

“Yes. Next month or so this documentary will come out. It will tell the whole story. And then we will see what happens.” 

For a moment the room was quiet as everyone absorbed this information. Felix’s gut clenched as the reality of what he and Sanders were really doing here hit him. Whatever happened, this documentary would have a huge impact on everyone in the room. He didn’t know how the documentary would be received. How the news of Ilya and Shane’s relationship would be received. He hoped that everyone would treat them with the same joy and warmth that they had been welcomed by in this room. But realistically that wasn’t going to happen. He was comforted at least in the knowledge that even if there were tough times ahead, they had all the people in this room to protect and support them. 

“One last question,” Bood said. “Hotdogs or Hamburgers?”  

“We need to interview the rest of the Centaurs again,” Sanders muttered at Felix’s side.

Felix broke off from filming what seemed to be a heated debate about music between Wyatt and Dykstra. The interrogation had died down and the BBQ was back into full swing. Clusters of players and their partners had broken off into a handful of conversations, filling the house with a warm buzz of activity.  

He turned to Sanders. “Yeah, good idea.”

Felix had been struck when interviewing the team before how little any of them knew about what was going on with their Captain. But now, watching them all cheering and exchanging money as a result of bets, he wondered how true that impression had been. 

He first approached Troy and Harris, who were sitting together in a corner of the living room. 

“Hey, can I ask you both, were you surprised to learn just now that Ilya and Shane are in a relationship?” 

“Yes.” Harris answered emphatically at the exact same time Troy said, “No.” 

“What do you mean, no?” Harris turned to his boyfriend, doing Felix’s job for him.

Troy looked at him mildly. “Just that I wasn’t surprised. I knew already.” 

“You what?” Harris exclaimed, continuing the interview himself. “What do you mean you knew? When? How?”

“Ilya told me a while ago.” 

“Oh my god babe, I love you, but you are hopeless. Felix and I are going to need this entire story. Right now.” 

“It was back before Christmas, Roz knew I was struggling with… well, a lot of things, and he took me to The Kingfisher while we were in New York. It was my first gay bar, and while in reality we just had drinks with Hunter and Bennett, it was still a big deal for me. Anyway, afterwards I came out to him and he came out to me. That’s all.” 

“And he told you about Shane?” 

Troy shrugged, noncommittal. “It was implied. I asked, and he didn’t deny it.” 

“And??” 

“And nothing. That was it.” 

“That was it!” Harris repeated. “Ugh, men! Are you seriously telling me that Ilya came out to you, implied that he was in a relationship with his long time rival, and you asked zero follow up questions?” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess” 

“Unbelievable.”  

Felix next cornered Wyatt Hayes and Evan Dykstra, convincing them to abandon their attempts to tease apart the difference between country and americana. 

“So, what was the bet?” Felix asked. 

Wyatt grinned at Felix. “That Roz was in love with Hollander.” 

“It seemed like such a safe bet…” Dykstra shook his head, muttering to himself. 

“How did you know?” Felix asked, “What made you make the bet?” 

Wyatt hesitated. “Well, it’s a long story…” 

“Those are my favourite kinds,” Felix encouraged. 

“Okay,” Wyatt smiled. “So it all started back when it was announced that Rozanov was signing with Ottawa. Which, I’m sure you remember, the whole hockey world was kind of baffled by. You can imagine for those of us on the team already, it was both very exciting and very confusing. I kept waiting for it to make sense. We all did. We had a lot of theories, but none of them were very good.” 

“My theory was that he was on the run from a mob boss in Boston,” Dykstra added. 

“Yeah, like I said, none of them were good. But then he arrived here and it made even less sense. Because listen, I love Ottawa.” He paused to look sternly down the barrel of the camera. “I love Ottawa. Stay out of my mentions. But it is not a city known for its nightlife, right? So if you’re an outgoing, social person, known for being the life of the party and you choose to move to a quiet city like this one, well, for one thing that in and of itself is kind of weird. For another, your partying options are kind of limited. You can only really go out with your teammates. And Roz, who had the reputation of being the party king of Boston, suddenly not only moved to sleepy Ottawa, but he also didn’t come out with us.” 

“He would join us for a beer sometimes,” Dykstra argued.

“That’s true, and that made it even weirder. Cause he would come out for a drink, so it wasn’t about us - he seemed to like us! But he never got drunk, and he never flirted or went home with anyone, and if we ever did anything on a day off, he wouldn’t attend.” 

“That’s true.” Dykstra nodded seriously. 

“So that was when I started to think that he hadn’t moved here to get away from anything, but to be with someone.”

“And what made you think that that somebody might be Shane?” Felix asked. 

Wyatt grinned. “I watched.”    

“What the fuck does that mean?” Dykstra protested. “You watched them make out or something? I swear if you-” 

“WHAT? NO!” Wyatt spluttered. “I mean I watched them play hockey! Goalie eyes.” He wiggled his eyebrows to emphasize the point. “I see everything on the ice, and I saw that when Roz chirps Hollander he gets this excited gleam in his eyes. And it’s not like when he’s playing against anyone else. It’s almost soft. Loving. So that, paired with them starting the charity together, just made me think maybe it was worth the bet.”   

“I’ll get you your money.” Dykstra sighed, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. 

“Oh, also one time I heard Hollander say something in Russian to Rozanov. So that was a clue too.”

“Motherfuck-”

Felix found Luca Haas sitting alone out on the back porch, nursing a mostly full beer.

“Mind if we join you?” Felix asked as he and Sanders approached him.

Luca gave them a smile. “Sure, of course. I was just getting some air. I love this team, but they can be kind of loud, you know? Sometimes I can’t even hear myself think.”

Felix chuckled. “I can imagine.” 

“You, uh, you want an interview?” Luca asked, eyeing the camera with some trepidation.

“Just your thoughts, really,” Felix said lightly. “I wondered if you’d had any suspicions that Ilya and Shane were in a relationship?” 

“Umm…” The rookie’s eyes darted around the garden, before landing on his own hands, tucked in his lap. 

Luca had always been pretty soft-spoken, but Felix had never known him to be nervous. “I mean, were you surprised,” Felix tried to reframe, “or had you seen any hints of their relationship before today?” 

A beat of silence stretched between them before Luca spoke. “I didn’t know anything, no. But I’ve been a hockey fan and a fan of both of them since I was a kid. So I’ve seen lots about their relationship.” 

“Seen lots, since you started playing with Ilya?” 

“No, I mean long before that. Like, from the outside. On the internet...” 

“You mean ‘Hollanov’?” Sanders prompted.  

Luca’s eyes went wide. “You know about that?” 

“We’re making a documentary about their relationship. It would have been pretty odd for us not to research the subjects of our documentary,” Felix reasoned. “There’s a whole subset of the internet that has been speculating about their relationship from the very start. That’s what you mean?”

Sanders had dug up the Hollanov fan sites and sent them to Felix back in November. He had been tempted to reach out to some of the accounts for an interview, but there had been no way to do it without tipping them off to what he was working on and why. And he’d promised Shane and Ilya that nothing would leak ahead of time, so they couldn’t risk it. 

“When did you first come across the Hollanov theory online?” Felix asked. 

Luca opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Then he opened it once more and seemed kinda stuck in indecision. 

“What have you done to poor Luca?” Ilya said from the doorway to the backyard, pulling their attention to him as he moved to sit down next  to Luca on camera. “Felix, what are you asking him about? He is baby, be nice yes?” 

“Ilya,” Felix decided he might as well ask about it now that it had come up. “Are you aware that there are a group of people on the internet who have been rooting for you and Shane to get together?”  

“What?” Ilya looked alarmed. “Shane!” He hollered back through the open doors into the living room. “Shane, come here! Did you know about this?” 

Shane emerged curiously to join Ilya outside. “Did I know about what?”

Luca, meanwhile, looked like he was actively praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

“Apparently Felix says the internet already knows about us,” Ilya explained, wrapping his arm comfortably around Shane’s waist. 

Shane’s eyebrows shot up in panic. “WHAT?” 

“I did not say that-”

“No, no, they don’t know anything.” Luca jumped in to try and calm Shane down. “And most of what they think they know is complete bullshit. I mean, some of them think you’re in a relationship with Hayden Pike, which I assume is not and has never been true?” 

“Hayden’s straight. And married. And has four kids!” 

“Yeah.” Luca nodded, “I always knew Shayden was ridiculous.” 

“Shayden?” Ilya repeated like the word was causing him physical pain. 

“It’s the ship name,” Luca continued, explaining in spite of himself. “The one for you two is Hollanov. Personally, I’ve always liked Shilya better, but-”  

“How did they know?” Shane asked, “what did we do that made them see-” 

“It honestly wasn’t really about anything that you did, exactly,” Luca began slowly, his eyes on the ground. “It was just that, like. Well for me, as a nine year old, obsessed with hockey, watching you two get drafted, I looked up to you both.” 

“Did he tell you about the poster he had of me on his wall already?” Ilya asked Felix. Shane elbowed Ilya in the stomach as poor Luca flushed completely. He kept his eyes firmly on the ground, but he continued. “And then the media made a huge deal about your rivalry. And it was just a fantasy. It was a community that emerged online that made up stories about you. That took the idea of the rivalry and ran with it. I think it was mainly wishful thinking more than anything else. A fun story, that’s all. Or a wild hope, maybe. That representation for someone like- that it could exist in this sport I loved so much. They don’t actually know anything. They just hope.” A small smile emerged on Luca’s face and he looked up at the camera. “This documentary is going to blow their minds.”

Chapter End Notes

It was so much fun to write more for the Cens - looking forward to your thoughts!!

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

We're coming towards the end now, just one more chapter to go!

Felix was rewatching and editing footage when his phone pinged. 

Hi Felix, it’s Shane. My mum would like to invite you to dinner on Sunday.  

Felix responded instantly. 

Absolutely. I’ll be there.

Ten minutes later, he received a text from Ilya. 

Bring Lucy to dinner.  

Anya wants to meet her. 

Entering the Hollander house felt like entering any suburban family home. Shane’s mother, Yuna, greeted Felix at the door with a warm hug, and invited him in like an old friend. There was a mess of discarded sneakers and jackets by the door, and a large family portrait on the wall featuring what looked like an eight-year-old Shane Hollander, flanked by his beaming parents. Lucy was pulling at her lead excitedly, and as soon as Felix released her, with Yuna’s permission, she took off into the house to investigate. The sounds of excited and playful barks echoed from the other room as the two dogs greeted each other.  

Yuna ushered Felix into the main room. The open plan living space featured a sleek kitchen on one side and a sitting area with two couches on the other. In the middle of the room was a large island covered with the kind of mess that accumulated over time. Important papers, keys, a ballcap, and what looked like old hockey gloves. 

There was hockey playing on the tv, New York vs Toronto, and Ilya was lying across one of the couches in a Centaurs hoodie, nuzzling and petting Lucy while Anya lay curled up at his feet. 

“It’s salmon, I hope that's okay,” David, Shane’s dad, called from the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. 

“That’s great, thank you.” 

Ilya looked up from Lucy to give Felix a nod of greeting. “Finally, you bring Lucy. She is much more fun than you, I think.”

“Ilya…” Yuna chided in a tone that sounded so much like Shane that Felix had to stifle a laugh.

He waved her off. “It’s fine, I’m used to it. Besides, you’re not wrong, Lucy’s definitely more fun.”

“Sanders too,” Ilya agreed, undaunted. “Where is she? I know Shane invited her too, he is very polite like that.” 

“She’s coming,” Felix assured, “Jill too, actually. They’re coming from some family thing, but they’ll be here in time for dinner.” In point of fact, they were coming from a fertility appointment, which was not his news to tell, so Felix was keeping that to himself. It still gave him a warm glow of pleasure that Sanders had chosen to confide in him at all.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Yuna asked from the kitchen island. “Beer? Pop?” 

Felix hesitated, feeling caught out. He wasn’t used to being treated like a guest, not just a fly on the wall. But then, he wasn’t filming right now, so maybe he could be off the clock for a minute. His camera was sitting in his bag, of course, ready whenever he might need it. He couldn’t remember the last time he went anywhere without it. “Water would be great, thank you.” 

Yuna opened and closed the fridge. “Ilya, can you grab some more ice from the freezer downstairs?” 

Ilya rolled obediently off the couch, both dogs following in his wake as he left the room.

“So you’re based in Ottawa, is that right?” Yuna asked. “Did you grow up here? Are your folks still here?” 

“I’m usually the one asking questions,” Felix said wryly. 

Yuna raised an eyebrow. 

“Felix thinks he is very… mysterious.” Ilya said, placing a tray of ice and a six pack of cold beer on the counter. “He needs to know everything about us, we are not allowed to know anything about him.”

Felix opened his mouth to protest, then caught Ilya grinning at him. Ilya extracted one of the cans of beer for himself, before vaulting back over the couch to continue watching the game.  

“Yes, I am.” Felix answered, “from Ottawa, I mean. I should move to Toronto, there’s more work there. I probably will. But, um, I’m here for now.” 

Yuna handed him a glass of water filled with ice. “And how’s all the filming going?”  

“Good, I think. It’s taking shape. I think it’s going to be...” he hesitated, thinking. “Honest. If nothing else.” 

Yuna smiled, her eyes twinkling, and Felix couldn’t help feeling that he’d just passed some kind of test. “Do you want to see the things I have for you?” 

“You have things for me?”

“If you’re interested.” Yuna lifted a banker's box from the floor up onto the counter. She lifted the lid and pulled out a large scrapbook. It was leather-bound, worn in the edges and bursting against its bindings. Felix pulled open the first page. A team photo of a group of children filled the first page. There, sitting ramrod straight in the front row was unmistakably a very small Shane Hollander. 

“This is everything I have,” said Yuna, flipping through the pages slowly. Candids and game-day rosters and formal team photos. Newspaper clippings and certificates and magazine features. Everything accompanied by labels in what Felix assumed was Yuna’s neat cursive, noting dates and locations and team names. “Some of these photos I do also have digitally, so if you give me an email address I can send them to you. Obviously everything from the newspapers you would have to scan, but you’re welcome to borrow them to do that if you’d like.” 

Felix flipped through the pages. It was an amazing chronicle of Shane’s entire childhood and then into his professional career, right up to last year’s season. Lovingly and meticulously sorted and treasured. 

“This is amazing. Thank you.” It was exactly what he needed to ground the documentary. The story of a person, not an icon. “Can I take these with me? It’ll make great B-roll, and I promise I’ll get it all back to you.” 

“Of course, take whatever you need.” Yuna pulled out a second scrapbook and laid it out on the table.   

“Another one? How many are there?” 

“Well, this one is Ilya’s.” 

Felix felt something squeeze in his chest. “What?” 

“His has been trickier to compile, obviously, because I wasn’t collecting it from the start. And some of the articles are in Russian, so I don’t know exactly what they say. But Ilya and Google translate tell me they are very complimentary.” 

“I bet,” Felix said with a laugh. 

He opened the second scrapbook and staring back at him was another team photo. These children looked a little older, maybe twelve or thirteen, and there off to one side, scowling at the camera, was young Ilya. The book had fewer pages than Shane’s, but the careful chronicle, the loving attention to detail, was just the same. Felix lost himself in the books for a while. He pulled out his camera and began filming each page while Yuna occasionally offered commentary for him about certain photos and events. On TV, the second period ended and Ilya stood up and stretched as it went to commercial. 

“You want to go outside?” Ilya asked Lucy, who had barely left Ilya’s side since they’d arrived. “Come on.” He then said something in Russian that Anya seemed to understand as she leapt off the couch and raced to the glass door at the far side of the room. 

Felix put his camera down on the counter and followed Ilya into the backyard with the dogs. 

It had been a cold winter, but there were early signs of spring in the air. The backyard was comfortable in the warm afternoon sun. A breeze carried across the grass, reminding Felix that it was still March in Ottawa, but it was nice enough that Felix was happy to pull up an adirondack beside Ilya and join him in watching the dogs explore Yuna and David’s spacious, secluded back garden. Anya and Lucy seemed delighted to be able to chase each other around in circles.

“Stay out of the flower beds!” Felix called to Lucy, as though she could understand him.

Ilya laughed. “Do not worry, Yuna does not care. She likes idea of gardening, but has never been able to grow even a carrot.”

“Do you spend a lot of time here?” Felix asked.

Ilya’s eyes flicked down to Felix’s empty hands. No camera. Ilya smiled brightly at him and took another sip of his beer, resting it back on the arm of his chair. “Yes. A couple nights a week usually. Depending on schedule.” Ilya stood up and rooted around in a small chest beside the chairs. He came up with a tennis ball and threw it across the grass for Anya and Lucy to chase after. “Before I met Yuna and David, I did not think this kind of family was real. Only in the movies could a family be so loving and perfect.”  

“They do seem great,” Felix agreed, “Shane is very lucky.” 

“We both are,” Ilya corrected, grinning. Anya brought the toy back to Ilya and he patted her, cooing in Russian before he threw the ball again. 

“So, I wanted to ask…” Felix picked at a loose splinter in the chair. “Did you have a chance to watch the edited footage I sent you? I know Florida was awful and I honestly wasn’t even aware I was filming some of that, so if you don’t want me to use the footage, you just need to say the word-”

Ilya raised his hand gently. “Felix, is okay. Is good. Use it.”

“Okay.” 

“I also wanted to say,” Ilya began as they both watched their dogs barking gleefully at each other, “Thank you. And also, I’m sorry, I think.” 

Felix blinked. “For what?” 

“Last summer, when you started filming, I was not the nicest. I did not trust you.” 

“Oh, that’s okay. I understood. You had no reason to trust me.” 

“Maybe. But, what you have done with all of this. Giving us the time to become prepared. To think about it, to tell the people in our lives ourselves, to make plans. And then to provide the space to say in our own words the whole story. It means a lot.” 

“It was nothing, really.” Felix shrugged. “I just did what anyone would do.” 

“Ah, no. Not true. You could have leaked it online for five minutes of fame. You could have sold it probably for a lot of money to tabloid. Most people would have done this, I think. But you did not. So, thank you. We were not ready last summer. It would have been bad.” 

“And now? Do you think you’re ready now?” 

“Close to ready.” Ilya nodded. “This next part was never going to be easy. No matter how or when it happened. But is a lot better now, thanks to you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Felix said in a small voice. Overwhelmed by the powerful weight of Ilya’s gratitude. After a moment Felix cleared his throat. “Hey so, um, I meant to mention, I went on a date last week.” 

Ilya’s head snapped to Felix, his eyes alight with glee. “Did you go to single people party I suggested?”

“Well, yes,” Felix laughed to himself, remembering the painfully awkward speed dating event he had attended last month. “But that was terrible. I did not meet anyone there. But when I was at the community centre, I saw a flyer they had for this indoor climbing club that they do every Sunday. I used to love rock climbing when I was a teenager, so I figured what the hell, might be fun. And yeah, I’ve gone a couple times now, and it’s a really nice group. And there is this woman there, and I mean we just met up for coffee, it’s not a big deal…” 

“That is great news!” Ilya beamed. “Really great.” 

“Third period’s starting!” Yuna called from inside, prompting them both to gather up the dogs and make their way back inside. 

Ilya joined Yuna on the couches, and Felix returned to the scrapbooks. Anya curled up in a ball next to Ilya, while Lucy, after coming to nose at Felix’s leg for a bit, entertained herself playing with one of Anya’s toys in the corner. After a while, the front door opened and Shane entered the room, to a chorus of dog barks. He was still in his travel suit, his tie loose and shirt collar open. He greeted both dogs and David in the kitchen before moving further into the room.

“How was the flight?” Yuna asked from where she was sitting watching the game.

“Fine,” Shane greeted her with a half-hug, leaning down over the sofa. “Hi Felix.” 

Felix smiled in greeting. He wanted to say something about the scrapbooks he had been looking through, but Shane’s attention had already moved on. Ilya had sat up on his knees, looking over the back of the couch and Shane wrapped his arms around him, hugging and kissing him from the other side of the couch. 

“How’s the game?” Shane asked as they pulled apart. 

“Toronto is terrible now, without Kent. They do not know what to do. The old man is destroying them.” 

“Fun,” Shane said lightly. “I’m going to go get changed.”  

“Dinner in half an hour!” David called. 

“Okay!” Shane called back, leaving the room. 

Felix was struck by how domestic it all was. A family. 

Shane reemerged a couple minutes later in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt. Ilya made room on the couch next to him and they chatted as they watched, catching details in the play and commentating on parts of the game that Felix never would have even known to look for. When the game ended - a 5-1 victory for New York - they both left the couch and wandered over to inspect the materials that had been laid out in front of Felix. 

“Look at your little face!” Shane laughed, pointing to a picture of young Ilya looking serious. “So cute.”

“I was not cute! I was fierce, intimidating player.” 

Shane just laughed again. 

Ilya poked around in the box, coming up with a folder of labeled DVDs. “What are these?” 

“Oh,” Yuna said, looking over from where she had joined David at the stove. “Those are recordings of old games.” 

“You have that?” Felix looked up. 

Shane had moved to look over Ilya’s shoulder as Ilya flipped though the DVDs. They were all silver disks with labels in sharpie of dates and names on them. Ilya suddenly stopped flipping at a page. 

“Holy shit,” Shane said, clearly reacting to the same thing Ilya was. 

Ilya removed one of the DVDs and turned to Felix, holding it out to him. “This. You should watch this.” 

“You should be able to play it on the TV here,” Yuna offered. “See? This is why I won’t get rid of that old DVD player. I know you say no one uses them anymore, but then sometimes, you need it.” Shane was already bent over the DVD player, setting it up.

“What is this?” Felix asked as grainy footage of hockey filled the screen. 

“It’s the final game for the Prospect Cup in 2008,” Shane answered. “It’s the first time we played against each other.” 

The footage was cut together into a ten-minute highlight reel. And sure enough, there on the screen was a young Hollander and Rozanov. Both were very good. Clearly standouts amongst their teammates. Both aggressive and fast. It was as if they were the only two players on the ice as they battled hard, the rest of their teams just trying to keep up in their wake. 

Shane and Ilya returned to the couch to watch. There was a fondness in their eyes as they watched their young selves. Felix grabbed his camera and started to film them. He would get the footage from the DVD and intercut the footage together with their reaction. On the TV, young Rozanov scored. 

“Of course the better team wins,” Ilya grinned. 

“Ugh.” Shane motioned dismissively, getting up. “Where’s the footage for the 2009 game?” 

“Nooo.” Ilya grabbed Shane around the waist and pulled him back down into his lap. “I want to watch little Shane loose.” 

Shane struggled playfully, but ultimately relented and stayed. On screen, the winning Russian team celebrated and shook hands with the Canadians. Felix watched. It looked like Ilya had spoken to Shane as they shook hands. 

“What did you say to each other, back then? Do you remember?” Felix asked. 

“Ha. Baby’s first chirp.” Shane laughed. 

“Was not a chirp,” Ilya protested. Shane raised an eyebrow and Ilya continued. “Was not! I said ‘see you at the draft,’ and I meant it. God, I remember that feeling. Playing with you, at last playing against someone who made me work, who pushed me to be better. I could not wait to play you again. And if I also wanted to see beautiful freckles again. That was bonus.” 

Felix looked at the image of them through his camera. They sat together, relaxed and comfortable, gazing at each other with open vulnerability and honestly. And he realized this was the final moment, this was the interview he’d been missing for months. 

“It's clear your lives have been inextricably linked for a long time now,” Felix said from behind his camera. “When you look forward to the future, what do you see?”  

“Hopefully more hockey,” Shane answered. “I think we probably both have another ten years in our careers, and we look forward to that.” 

“Yes, if Hunter can keep playing from his seniors' home, so can we.” 

“And we’re getting married this summer,” Shane said decisively. “And while I hope that our marriage and our story is respected, and understood as not being relevant to our careers, the reality is that we’re also prepared. I love hockey, I want nothing more than to continue playing it and continue winning cups. But I love Ilya more. And if the league did or does make us choose, I’d choose him.” Shane spoke directly at the camera, as if daring the Commissioner himself to come after him. Possibly that's exactly what he was doing. 

“Are you excited for the playoffs?” Felix asked. “It’s looking like Ottawa and Montreal will meet in the first round.” 

“Absolutely,” Ilya said eagerly. “Is not the first time. We have playoff rules.” 

That piqued Felix’s interest. “Oh yeah? What are the playoff rules?” 

“We don’t see each other when we’re playing against each other in the playoffs,” Shane elaborated. “It lets us both focus. Stay in the zone.” 

“Really?” Felix was surprised. 

“Of course.” Ilya nodded seriously. 

“Dinner’s nearly ready,” David called. 

“Can I just ask one more thing?” Felix asked as they moved to get up. “Is there anything that you think people will get wrong, or not understand about your relationship?”    

They both thought for a moment and looked at each other before Shane spoke. “I think the thing that people are most likely to get wrong is they will act like they miss an old version of us. Like they will say that we’ve changed and that we are not who we once were, or something like that. But that is fundamentally wrong. The world never met the version of us from before. We got together before we started our rookie season. Which means the only Shane Hollander who has ever played in the NHL is the one who loves Ilya Rozanov.”   

After a moment Ilya added. “Yes. What he said.”

Chapter End Notes

Looking forward to your thoughts!!

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

This is it - the final main chapter! Thank you for all your lovely comments, this fic has been so much fun to write, and we're so glad people have enjoyed it.

Sanders blew into Felix’s office, a broad grin on her face. “It’s done! Final cut has been delivered to the studio, ready to go to air in-” she checked her phone, “-T-minus three hours. No going back now.” She collapsed into the chair beside Felix’s desk. “I can’t believe it’s done.”

The two of them had been holed up in an editing suite until the last possible moment, hamstrung in their progress by insisting on doing the editing themselves. Felix didn’t come this far to risk a leak because they brought in an unknown editor at the 11th hour. Sanders pinched the bridge of her nose, her head tipped back against the back of her chair.

Felix leaned his elbows on his desk, peering across at her. “Did you have any issues handing over the final cut?” 

Sanders smiled wryly. “Well, they didn’t love receiving the final copy with only a couple hours till air, but they accepted it. No time now for the higher ups to pull it, even if they knew enough to want to.” 

Felix let out a breath of relief, but he wouldn’t feel safe until the film was literally on air. Before he could even voice his fear, his phone rang, vibrating a pattering rhythm across his desk. Anxiety clenched at Felix’s stomach before he even looked at the screen. Sure enough, the called ID read out the name of the network’s Head of Content, Joel Davidson. Felix had been carefully evading his calls for weeks, but this one he knew he had to answer. 

He exchanged a look with Sanders and then answered. “Hi Joel.” 

“Felix!” Joel’s booming voice blasted through the phone. Felix flinched but kept the volume as high as he could for Sanders’ sake. “Why is Gavin complaining to me that he hasn’t seen any footage from you? Are we set for air tonight?” 

“Yes, absolutely.  I’ve just received confirmation that the final edit is ready to air. I did send some preview footage to Gavin a couple weeks ago. I apologize for not sending the final edit in for approval earlier, we received some excellent previously unseen and unpublished material from Yuna Hollander last week, so the final edit has come right down to the wire.” 

“Oh, excellent! Stories from family members always play well, did you get an interview with her too? Always nice to get some of that stuff from the families. Especially Hollander, that guy’s such a robot, I’m sure you needed some stuff to make him sound a bit more human!” Joel laughed at his own joke. Felix grimaced and couldn’t even bring himself to force a laugh. 

“I did, absolutely. It’s great additional material.” 

“Wonderful, wonderful. And does Gavin have the footage now? Can I tell him to stop complaining?” Davidson laughed. 

Felix felt a stab of guilt. He met Sanders’ eye and then quickly looked away as he lied. “Oh sorry about that, I thought I sent it last night, but it looks like the file transfer didn’t go through. I’ve just had Sanders get it over to him, so he has it now.” 

“Alright. And I assume you’ve cleared everything with legal?” 

Felix exchanged a loaded look with Sanders. “I can assure you, I have run all the footage we used past both Hollander and Rozanov personally, and both parties have given their written consent.” 

Joel hummed. “Then I’m sure we’re in the clear.”

“Yes, it shouldn’t be a problem.” It was an effort for Felix to keep his voice steady. Across from him, Sanders was nervously tapping her index finger against her knee.  

“I gotta say, I thought you were taking a hell of a gamble when you pitched expanding this project,” Joel continued, ignorant of the anxiety mounting in Felix’s gut. “I mean, with Rozanov in Ottawa now, it seemed like the era of the great Hollander-versus-Rozanov rivalry was over. But now here we are. Against all odds, they’re about to meet again in the playoffs - and with two Canadian teams, no less! Appetite for their rivalry is at an all time high, so you were really onto something. That footage you sent from the Centaurs locker room was excellent. What a great story: Rozanov taking this rock-bottom team and making them a cup contender. Everyone loves an underdog. Is that why he went to Ottawa, then? Did you get him to talk about it? He just wanted to challenge himself, eh?” Joel laughed again.   

“I uh, yeah. I did get the full story of why he moved to Ottawa, yes.” 

“Brilliant, brilliant.” Joel continued chuckling to himself. “Well, like I said, you turned out to be right on the money with this pitch. I look forward to whatever you do next.” 

“Thank you.” 

The call wrapped up, and Felix set his phone back onto his desk. His fingers felt numb, his hands shaking. He exhaled slowly, bringing his forehead to rest against his desk. 

“Are you okay?” Sanders asked gently. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Felix said, lifting his head back up. “I mean, relatively speaking, I guess. Joel doesn’t seem to suspect that there is anything he should be worried about, so he’s not too mad that no one’s seen it yet. Not so fine, in the sense that when he does see it…” 

“He’s going to lose his shit.” 

“Yeah, seems likely.” 

“Do you think there will be trouble?”

Felix sat back, reminding himself to keep taking deep breaths. “Legally, no. I was contracted to make a documentary about Hollander and Rozanov, and that’s exactly what I did. But professionally?” Felix looked up and met Sanders’ gaze head on. “I’ve lied to pretty much every single one of my bosses, outright and by omission, for months. There is no way they will ever hire me again.” 

Sanders nodded. “Are you having regrets?” 

“No,” Felix answered quickly. “You?” 

“Never.” She gave him a firm look. “We knew what we were signing up for when we decided to do this. We knew there would be… consequences.” They sat in silence for a moment before Sanders added, “you know, there is a chance it might not be too bad. The public is going to be surprised, but they are also going to watch. And if I do say so myself, it’s a damn good documentary. It’s going to vastly out-perform whatever metrics they’re projecting for this thing. It’s going to get a lot of attention. The network cares about views more than anything. Maybe they’ll just pretend they knew what we were up to all along, to save face.” 

Felix shrugged. “Maybe. But Joel won’t like that I misled him and obfuscated the whole time. He won’t like being surprised or being made to look foolish. Besides, he’s close friends with the Commissioner, who will be livid about all of this. Even if we don’t suffer any public backlash, we’re going to be blackballed by the studio. Or I will, anyway. I might be able to make it look like I went rogue, kept you in the dark until you had no choice but to stick with me.” 

Sanders shook her head. “Absolutely not. We’re in this together, no matter how it shakes out.” She grinned at him. “I have the producer credit to show for it.”

Felix grinned back. Maybe it was wrong to be so relieved, but he was. Whatever he did next, professionally, he wanted to do it with Sanders. “You know, I was thinking. Since no one is going to want to hire us after this, maybe we could start our own production team.” 

Sanders’ eyes lit up. “I’d like that, very much.” 

They lapsed back into a companionable silence, as the wide open future stretched out before them.

“Do you think the league will try and punish Shane and Ilya somehow?” Sanders asked eventually. 

“I was talking to Yuna about that the other day, actually. She thinks it’s possible. But the documentary lays it all out so clearly, I think any retaliatory action taken by the Commissioner and the league will be wildly unpopular and people will see it for what it is. Their hands are tied now. But they will be furious at us for tying them.” 

Sanders nodded thoughtfully. “I worry about Shane. That Montreal locker room…” she shook her head. “It was an unkind room.” 

“Yuna was worried about that too,” Felix agreed. “Shane wants to believe it’ll be fine. He’s loyal to a fault, and Montreal is the team that drafted him. He feels like he owes them. But I think Ilya wants him to move to Ottawa.” 

A spark took hold in Sanders’ eye. “So they might play on the same team?” 

“Maybe…” Despite himself, Felix couldn’t help but picture it. The idea was incredibly compelling. 

From the look on Sanders’ face, she was thinking what he was. Maybe, one day, there might be more story for them to tell in Ottawa. For now, though, all they could do was hope they’d told today’s story as best they could. 

VO: And coming onto the ice we have Hollander and Rozanov… 

The audio clip of game commentary plays over a montage of iconic hockey highlights from Hollander and Rozanov’s careers. Each moment is recognizable to any hockey fan. Rozanov’s slapshot game winner in 2014, Hollander’s overtime backhand goal in 2016, a series of hits and face offs. 

VO: …you know when you’re getting these two on the ice together that we’re in for some good hockey…

CUT TO: 

Talking head shot of long-time Sportsnet correspondent, Steve Black. 

STEVE: 

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are the greatest talents of their generation. If only one of them existed they would be, without a doubt, the very best. But the fact that there are two of them, I mean it’s like if we got to watch Micheal Jordan play himself. 

CUT TO: 

Talking head shot of JJ. 

JJ

Hollander is the best. No question. A true captain. When you’re on the ice with him, it’s electric. 

CUT TO: 

Talking head shot of Troy. 

TROY

I’ve never played with anyone like Rozanov before. He’s so good, obviously. But beyond that, he’s also a leader, he’s inspiring. 

CUT BACK TO JJ:

JJ

And when he’s playing Rozanov? Well, let’s just say look out. It’s always very important that we beat that [BLEEP].

CUT TO:

Talking head of Hollander. He’s stiff, guarded. It’s the interview done for the original documentary. 

HOLLANDER

It’s always exciting in this sport to play against anyone who challenges you. 

CUT TO: 

Talking head of Rozanov. Perhaps not as stiff as Hollander, but equally guarded. 

ROZANOV

Hollander is a fine hockey player. He is fun to play, fun to beat. 

CUT BACK TO STEVE:

STEVE

You’re either Team Hollander or Team Rozanov. That’s just the way it goes. Their rivalry is intense and has resulted in some of the best hockey I’ve ever had the privilege to watch. 

CUT TO: 

Talking head of Carmicheal. 

CARMICHEAL

Rozanov is a beast. He’s my guy. I’d back him over Hollander any day. 

CUT TO: 

Talking head of Comeau. 

COMEAU

Team Hollander all the way, of course. Rozanov is a [BLEEP], everyone hates him. Especially Hollander. 

Orchestral music builds underneath a series of quick talking heads from a variety of players in the league all answering either Hollander or Rozanov, intercut with more highlights of both players on the ice.

Until suddenly the music cuts out. 

CUT TO: 

An empty stool, Ilya walks into frame and sits down. He’s wearing a plain black henley with his sleeves pushed up. As he sits down on the stool he looks off camera, smiling. 

ILYA 

Okay, here we go. The truth this time, yes?

FELIX (off camera)

Are you ready? 

ILYA (grinning)

Very. Ask me that question again, the one you had before.

FELIX (off camera)

Who’s the better hockey player?

ILYA

No, not that one. I am of course better hockey player. You all know that. The one about him. 

FELIX (off camera)

How would you describe Shane Hollander, and your relationship with him? 

Ilya looks directly in the camera. Smiling, he speaks slowly. 

ILYA 

Shane Hollander is everything to me. He is the best person I know, and I love him. Very much. 

SMASH CUT TO TITLE CREDITS: “Ilya and Shane: the truth behind the rivalry” 

CUT TO:

Shane is sitting down into frame. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and his hair is still a little damp. He is much less stiff and more relaxed than the previous shot. 

SHANE (speaking to Felix off camera)

Okay, so I’ve been thinking a lot about this. Can I say something for you to use at the beginning of this thing?   

FELIX (off camera)

Go ahead. 

SHANE (looking at the camera)

First, before I say anything else, before I tell this story, I want to say I’m sorry. I know Ilya doesn’t think we need to apologize, and I get where he’s coming from. We didn’t really lie so much as we didn’t disclose personal information that we felt was none of the public’s business. And honestly, I still struggle with the idea of telling the world our story. I’m a private person. We both are. And while our careers make us public figures, that’s just our jobs. And why should it matter for our jobs what we do when we’re not working? 

Shane is quiet for a moment. He blinks at the camera. 

Uh, anyway. I think I got off topic a bit there. You can probably cut that. What I wanted to say is that I am sorry. Because we did lie. Both of us. To our friends. To our teams. To the people in our lives. We did lie. For a long time. And in spite of the fact that you could maybe argue that we didn’t directly lie to our fans, I know and appreciate that all of this might feel like a betrayal. All I ask is that you hear us out. We wanted to make this documentary for you. The fans. So, after all these years you might finally hear our story from us.  

FELIX (off camera)

So, what is the story?

Shane pauses, and then his face splits into a grin, warm and real for the first time. He takes a deep breath, and begins speaking.

Chapter End Notes

We have one more bonus chapter still to come, but this is the conclusion of Felix and Sanders' main story :-)

Thank you again for all your comments - It's been so much fun to hear all your thoughts as the fic goes along!! <3

Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

Thank you for your patience with this - here we are, the epilogue! Hope you all enjoy!

JOSIE

Josie rapped her fingers against the edge of her laptop keyboard. She had the perfect set up and was ready for the night’s main event. A laptop on her knees, the tail end of the hockey game on her mounted TV, and her phone beside her if she needed it. A fresh cup of tea on the table in front of her, and snacks aplenty, she was dialed in for a documentary she’d been looking forward to for months. She knew that she was probably in the vast minority, counting down the days until a puff documentary piece about a couple of hockey players aired. But that did absolutely nothing to dampen her hype. 

Anyone who had been paying attention - which she had been - knew that something weird was going on with this particular feature. There wasn’t a lot of information that she could find online about it, but from what she and her friends had been able to piece together, it looked like production had been pushed back by a lot, extended by months for some reason. The prevailing theory was that the NHL was looking to throw their own hat into the ‘grow the game’ sports documentary ring. And if anything could bring in new fans, it made sense to Josie that the most homoerotic rivalry in sports could do it. She had been trying to temper her expectations, reminding herself that the documentary was going to be targeting a newer audience; there was probably nothing she didn’t already know about Hollanov in it. But still, she lived for any time her boys were in front of a camera. 

Her laptop was pinging away regularly as her friends arrived into their dedicated channel for all things related to the new Hollanov documentary. Texts filled her screen, cozy POV photos of laptop screens and TVs and blankets and buckets of popcorn and lap cats, as her favourite people from around the world signalled their readiness. Josie thrilled at any excuse to gather her favourite corner of the internet together.  

Xan: Is everyone here? Are we missing anyone?

Elio: Xan, can you DM me the streaming link? Take pity on us poor Australians!

Xan: I got you, two secs 

Britt: Is Scarlet joining?

Josie typed out one handed, balancing her mug of tea in the other. 

Jojo: She can’t, she’s working tonight. :-(

Elio: Anyone heard from Lucky lately? They would love this.

A handful of messages came in at once confirming that no, none of them had heard from Lucky in months, accompanied by a handful of sad emojis. Lucky had gone dark without warning a while ago, and hadn’t been online in ages. Josie would have been worried about them, but they’d replied to a DM she sent checking in, and confirmed they were doing well, but had needed to take a step back from the group. They hadn’t extrapolated on why, and Josie didn’t think it was her place to push. Sometimes people needed to take space, and that was fine, the group would be there if Lucky ever decided they wanted to come back.

Their group was made up of a couple dozen Hollanov fans from around the world. All together there were just seven of them tonight, though, from five countries in three different continents. It would have been more, except their little cluster of Europeans apparently drew the line at waking up at 4am for a puff piece documentary that they could just watch the next day at a normal time. Which Josie supposed was fair.  

Britt: So what do we think, gang?. 

Janny: A joint interview or we riot

Elio: I’ll be standing by to gif anything of note. Keep an eye on timestamps if you notice anything good!

Janny: Apparently they have been filming both of them on and off all season.

Xan: I heard they were even filming when the Centaurs had that plane trouble and had to make an emergency landing.

Jojo: Hey, you don’t think there’s a chance that this documentary is going to actually be good, do you?

This was greeted with a chorus of laughing emojis. Which yeah, okay, fair. Of course Josie knew it wouldn’t be good, but no harm in hoping. The Hollanov community could survive on scraps, anyway, so it didn’t matter even if it was terrible. Hell, she had written over 100,000 words of fanfiction based off of one goal celebration at the 2017 All Star’s game. Anything new was at least something. Maybe it was weird to spend so much time poring over five frames of grainy footage from years ago. Or to pause her TV whenever the broadcast gave her a close up of either of them, so she could make a note of the timestamp for later giffing purposes. But she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Their strange little fandom had introduced her to some of her favourite people on the internet - people who had become real life friends, people who she trusted and who understood her more than any of her colleagues at her incredibly stuffy nine-to-five, or even more than many of her non-fandom friends. Josie constantly found herself having to tone herself down around others, to be a quieter, less intense, less excitable version of herself. But with these people, she could finally relax. 

Janny: Ooohhh!! okay, the game’s over (RIP Toronto, sucks to suck) - everyone lock in!

There was a flurry of replying emojis as everyone got hype. Josie grinned at her laptop. She turned up the volume and re-positioned her laptop, so she could keep track of the chat while giving most of her attention to the TV. An excellent montage of Hollander and Rozanov’s hockey highlights began. Josie grinned to herself, thinking of some similar youtube montages she had seen before. 

Britt: omg, he’s so hot

Josie reacted with an appropriate emoji, but couldn’t devote much energy to a reply, when the documentary was rapidly flashing through images of the boys, and she didn’t want to miss anything.

Suddenly, the music cut out. 

Josie felt anticipation ping through her body, feeling strangely anxious as the shot changed to an empty chair. The energy felt charged in a way she couldn’t account for, something heavy in the air as Rozanov sat down into frame. A chill shot down Josie’s spine. Everything about the tone had shifted so dramatically that she felt wrong-footed. Something was off. In Rozanov’s body language, his tone of voice, his smile. In all his interviews, his game clips, even his fan interactions, she’d never seen Rozanov look like that.

He looked at ease. Like a mask had been removed. 

And then the words he was saying finally processed. Love. He loved Shane Hollander. 

The chat was losing its mind. HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT. An unintelligible smash of the keyboard. Long, prolonged, lines of exclamation points and all caps screaming. For her part, Josie felt kind of paralyzed with shock. Something akin to an out of body experience had taken her over as she watched her friends yell at one another over text. The documentary was still going, providing piece by piece a whole narrative that Josie could barely wrap her head around. She would need to watch it again - many, many times, probably.

They were gay. And in love. They were actually gay and actually in love. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy, of course she was ecstatic, but it- well, she never really believed it was real. Some of her friends did, she knew, really were convinced in their bones that there was a years-long conspiracy to keep their relationship under wraps. But Josie just… she enjoyed the story. It was a fantasy, it was just a bit of fun. But this- it wasn’t a story. It wasn’t fantasy, it was real, it was their lives and- god, she wondered if maybe it hadn’t been fun for them at all, actually. She watched the rest of the documentary in a daze, trying to take in every detail. 

Shane and Ilya were playing foosball in a large rec room. Both laser-focused on the game. 

“Hey, that's cheating!” Shane protested, his hands flying quickly between handles. “We said no spins.”

“My hand slipped.” Ilya shrugged as he passed the ball between his players. 

“[BLEEP] you, no it didn’t.” 

“So-” said a voice off-camera, “this is what you guys do in your time off?” 

“Yes,” Ilya said casually. “We do other activities too, but Shane says I’m not allowed to talk about it for the camera.” 

Shane flushed red and kept his eyes on the foosball table.  

Shane said something in Russian that the subtitles didn’t translate but Josie was definitely going to spend some time on google translate to figure that one out later.    

He narrowed his eyes at Ilya and flicked the handle of his players so they spun dramatically, sending the ball sailing into the net. 

“Oops. My hand slipped.”  

Ilya huffed. “Is okay. You just show cameras you cannot beat me without cheating.” Ilya turned to address the camera directly. “Let the record show, Shane Hollander is a cheat and I am the superior foosball and hockey player.”  

Shane rolled his eyes. “I hate you.” 

“You do not. That is what this is all about,” Ilya motioned to the cameras and the house around them. “Remember?” 

Shane grinned. “I wondered why they were here.” 

“Ah, he makes jokes!” 

Ilya walked out of the rec room and the camera followed him into the kitchen. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out two cans. He passed the ginger ale to Shane and opened the diet coke himself. They both took a long drink. 

“Tell us about your house, Ilya,” The voice off camera prompted. 

“Ah, is not my house. Is our house, it just happens to be in Ottawa, so I am the one here most.”   

The camera panned around the room, taking in the lush floor-to-ceiling windows, the enormous open-plan kitchen, the sectional sofa blanketed in a pair of obviously soft throws. Finally the camera zoomed in on a picture on the wall. Josie recognized it right away as the photo from their CCM photoshoot, before their rookie season. But no, that couldn’t be right. In this photo, they were both laughing. In the published photo, they had been staring seriously at one another, Josie was sure of it. But this was clearly from the same shoot.

“What’s this from?” The unseen voice asked. 

“That,” Shane said, moving towards the picture, “was the beginning.” 

And then, because this documentary was apparently trying to give Josie a heart attack, Ilya appeared in frame behind Shane. He looked directly at the camera, and winked. 

The beginning. Their rookie season. 2010. Over a decade ago. The entire time. She would have time to lose her mind over the timeline later. She and her friends would be dissecting every frame, watching and re-watching the documentary until it was embedded into her bloodstream.

But in the meantime, Josie could only think about one thing. She had studied an embarrassing amount of footage of both Shane and Ilya. But she had never seen them smile like that before. They were happy. She was sure they’d had struggles, keeping this secret for so long, but they were still able to have fun. Josie was crying before she really even understood why. 

And then, later, just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get any more unbelievable, she listened to Luca Haas give a beautiful, succinct explanation of the Hollanov community to both the camera and a surprised-looking Shane and Ilya. Josie laughed as her fingers flew across the keys. 

Jojo: Holy fuck, guys…I think I know why we haven’t heard from Lucky.

CLIFF 

“Coming up next, their rivalry defined a generation of hockey…”

Cliff Marlow stood up, taking a moment to stretch out his back as he reached for the remote. 

“Wait!” Claire looked over from where she was sprawled comfortably, her head resting against the armrest of the far side of the couch. She reached out with one of her socked feet to bat at Cliff’s wrist, ineffectually getting him to put down the remote.

“You want to watch this?” Cliff gestured to the TV, which was showing a montage of Rozanov and Hollander’s hockey highlights. 

Claire shrugged. “You know I love a documentary.” 

“I don’t think anyone is going to be kidnapped or join a sex cult in this one.” 

Claire laughed and kicked Cliff’s thigh playfully. “You never know.” 

Cliff rolled his eyes, but left the tv on, where a voiceover was describing the intense and storied rivalry between two people who Cliff was pretty sure only talked a few times a year over a face-off dot. He never really got the big deal about rivalries. His biggest rival was whoever he was pounding into the boards in any given moment. Half the time, if they didn’t have names on the back, Cliff wouldn’t be able to tell apart one guy from the next. He let out a scoff in the back of his throat and started collecting up the empty food plates from the coffee table. 

“Aren’t you at least a little curious?” Claire asked, sitting up. 

“Not really,” Cliff responded honestly. “They were filming this during All Stars, actually.” 

“Are you going to be in this?” Claire’s eyes rounded with adorable excitement. 

Cliff shrugged as he stood with dishes in both hands. “Maybe, but I doubt it. I didn’t say anything interesting. No one ever does in shit like this. It’s all-” Cliff cleared his throat and adopted the Media Voice that was drilled into all of them before they left juniors, “‘gotta get those pucks in deep. Hollsy is a great competitor. Roz is a great leader, gets the boys fired up to play. Gotta be winning those battles in the corner, pucks in deep, pucks in deep.” Cliff dropped his flat affect and turned back to Claire. “It’s always the same. I can’t imagine that anyone else was any different. You know us hockey players, we’re boring as shit, babe.” 

Claire laughed, giving him an indulgent look. “I don’t know, you seem pretty interesting to me.” With that she turned her focus back to the TV, turning it up a little as she settled in. He watched as she grabbed a throw off the back of the couch and curled up under it.

Cliff smiled to himself as he moved off to the kitchen. He set about rinsing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. He and Claire had been together for almost a year now and it was days like today, quiet evenings spent eating in front of the TV while watching hockey that he finally understood what so many of the guys on the team, the married guys, had been talking about all this time. He thought maybe he could get used to this. He filled a small bowl with a nut mix that Claire had bought a Costco size bag of the other day, and mentally resigned himself to an evening of watching what was sure to be a painfully boring documentary. 

“Umm… Babe?” Claire’s voice called from the other room. 

“Yeah?” Cliff called back.

“You know Rozanov, yeah?” There was something in her voice that Cliff couldn’t place. 

“Yeah,” he called back, resealing the bag of nuts and putting it back in the cupboard. “We played together for like eight years.”  

“Is there any chance he’s in love with Shane Hollander?” 

“What?” Cliff laughed, sure she was joking but not sure what her point was. “Uh, no?” Cliff stepped into the living room. “Why?” 

“Because-” Claire was sitting bolt upright on the couch now, the blanket forgotten in a heap on the floor. She pointed at the TV without taking her eyes off it. “He just said he’s in love with Shane Hollander.” 

Cliff’s mind stuttered. Was it possible that Roz was kidding? Even as Cliff considered the idea, he knew it wasn’t right. First of all, it didn’t seem like at all the kind of joke Roz would make, and second of all… Well. It wasn’t- It actually maybe didn’t sound- It wasn’t maybe such a crazy… Cliff sat down heavily on the couch, the bowl of nuts forgotten on the kitchen counter. 

On screen, Hollander was speaking to the camera. Not using his stilted Media Voice at all. But really, genuinely talking. 

“You know in some ways, I think the media really doesn’t get to be surprised by this. They were the ones who saw it coming. They were the ones who noticed us. Two boys on opposite sides of the world, who were both the same. Both driven, both completely obsessed with hockey, both playing at a level unmatched by everyone around us. Growing up we were both on our own. It was only once we finally got to play against each other that we found our equal. We knew it the moment we met, and what gets me is that everyone else knew it too. Everyone saw and knew that we were perfectly matched for one another. The only thing they got wrong is that they assumed we wouldn’t like the challenge. That we would naturally hate our rival. When in fact, we both love competition.”  

Shane smiled to himself, a little wryly. “Well, that and the gay thing. They definitely didn’t see that coming either.” 

Cliff had heard rumours that Hollander was gay, it was a bit of an open secret across the league these days. Hockey players liked gossip, and even if they didn’t, the WAGs knew everything. And Cliff had enough blurry memories of his own from wild nights out with Roz back in the day that he’d suspected for a while his friend might be… open minded, as far as sexual preferences goes. So, ‘the gay thing’, as Hollander put it, wasn’t that shocking. What was shocking was that Cliff hadn’t had any idea. Hadn’t even suspected. 

On screen, Roz and Hollander were playing foosball, then chatting to an unseen voice off camera, then showing them around Roz’s house in Ottawa. Cliff had met up with Roz for a drink the last time he’d been in town, but he hadn’t seen his house. The house was so… domestic. So suburban. The kind of house the older guys bought, after they were married and had kids on the way. If it hadn’t been for the same vaguely pretentious abstract art that Cliff recognized from Roz’s old place in Boston, he never would have guessed that the same person lived there. Roz sat in an armchair now, as the voice off camera asked him about his past relationships. 

“It was difficult.” Roz said seriously. “We were young. Overwhelmed by each other and the pressures for us to be the best. We could not be with each other. Could not imagine world where we were anything more than occasional hookup. So I went out. Yes. That is all well documented, I think.”  

Cliff didn’t need the reminder of the series of tabloid photos and headlines that flashed across the screen. For the most part, he remembered those nights. Was there, even, blurry in the background in some of the photos of Roz, a glass of vodka in one hand, a beautiful girl on the other arm. 

“Was fun, yes. But was always second best. Nothing and no one else has ever compared to my Shane.” 

Suddenly, from one second to the next, an entire decade of memories clicked into place. It was the look on Roz’s face that did it first. That sweet, lovesick smile. Because Cliff did know that smile. He knew it very well. It was the smile he got when he was texting his Montreal girl, Jane. The girl Cliff remembered Roz describing once as smart, as beautiful, as having the prettiest freckles and the most incredible ass. Jane. Jane. And okay yeah, now that Cliff heard it again in his head, it was actually not even that subtle. Roz had been describing Shane Hollander. The whole time, it had been Shane fucking Hollander. Cliff let out a bark of laughter. It had been right there. Staring him in the face. 

“You okay?” Claire asked, a note of worry in her voice. She was frowning at him a little, and he wondered if laughing maybe hadn’t been the most encouraging response.

“Oh yeah. I’m great,” he assured her, a grin cracking across his face. “Just surprised, I guess. Also it explains a lot, so maybe not that surprising at the same time.”

“Did you suspect something was going on between them?” 

Cliff laughs again. “I really didn’t, but I should have. Shane’s number is saved in Roz’s phone as Jane. I knew all about Jane. I even knew she was in Montreal. Whenever we were playing there, Roz would disappear after the game to see her- him. Holy shit.” 

“And when Montreal played in Boston?” 

“Oh my god.” Cliff flopped his head into his hands. “How did I not put it together that he also disappeared whenever Montreal played in Boston?”  

Claire laughed before sighing happily. “It’s so romantic.” 

Cliff became lost between the images of Rozanov and Hollander on screen and a million of his own memories that were rapidly being rewritten with new understanding. He groaned as Rose Landry appeared on the screen, laughing about her sweet, short-lived relationship with Shane. The memory of looking at those paparazzi photos with Roz, of teasing him about it. How sour and angry Roz had been back then. 

The worst wave of guilt, however, was when he watched himself fly into Hollander. He hadn’t ever watched the footage from the hit. Had actively avoided it, in fact. He remembered seeing Hollander go down, and then Pike had gotten a good swing in. Nevermind that the hit had been clean, he didn’t begrudge Pike for sticking up for his boy. After that, he had been taken off the ice, and his split lip had been seen to. He had never meant to hurt Hollander. He had apologized profusely for it at the time, and had been anxious about Hollander’s recovery for a while afterwards. But the thing he didn’t remember, that he had never seen, was Roz’s face when Hollander went down. Fuck. He was amazed Roz hadn’t taken a swing at him himself. 

It was late in the documentary, while Roz was introducing his new dog to the camera, that Cliff remembered a moment from their conversation when they had gone for drinks last month. 

Cliff had asked, “So, do you miss Boston?” 

“No,” Roz had answered with his trademark bluntness. “Not really.” 

“So it was worth it then, whatever it was that you moved here for?” 

Cliff was curious, of course. Everyone was curious. It had been the only thing the entire hockey world could talk about for months after it happened. Ilya Rozanov walked in free agency, leaving the team that drafted him without any return. Not only that, but he had the gall to sign within the Division and with Ottawa of all places. It didn’t make the least bit of sense. Theories ranged from Roz being driven from the country by the Russian mob, to someone in the Centaurs front office having blackmail material on him. Whatever was motivating him, plenty of Boston fans - and some of the players too, if Cliff was being honest - were still pretty bitter over the whole thing. 

“Yes.” Roz had smiled. “Very worth it.” 

And Cliff had recognized that smile, giving him a pretty good guess at what - or who - was behind the decision after all. “Well then, I’m glad. And maybe one day I’ll get to meet this very worth it person, huh?” 

Roz’s smile grew a bit. “I think so. Yes. Soon. I would like that. Very much.” 

As Roz announced to the cameras, and a room full of Centaurs, that he and Hollander were engaged, Cliff picked up his phone. 

Congratulations, man. I always knew Jane had to be wildly out of your league. Love you, bud.   

OSCAR

Oscar’s hands were sweating. He shifted on the sofa, moving one arm onto the armrest on his left. Moving it off again to his lap. Moving it back to trap it between the sofa and his ribs. Why couldn’t he remember how to sit? Where was he supposed to put his hands? Annie sat a few feet away from him, on the other side of the couch. Was she too far away? Should he move from the edge of the couch towards her? But no, that was weird, who sits in the middle of the couch? 

Mercifully, Annie didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, as she flicked through channels on the TV. Oscar liked Annie; she was nice. She sat beside him in math and always seemed happy to help him out when he lost track of the proof their teacher was trying to explain. So when, at school on Friday, she had invited him to come over to her place to hang out on Saturday night, he had said yes right away. But then, on the drive over here, his older brother had told him that she had obviously invited him here because she liked him - liked, liked him - and that this was clearly a date. To Oscar’s mortification, his brother had then slipped a condom into his hand as he got out of the car. And since then, Oscar had felt like he might be sick at any moment. 

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say, or how he was supposed to act. He didn’t want to be on a date, but he had no idea how to tell Annie that without asking if this even was a date at all. The resulting anxiety spiral meant Oscar had barely been able to even look at Annie since he arrived. She suggested they watch TV, and Oscar didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing, so he just nodded mutely. They’d been sitting in silence on opposite sides of the couch ever since, while Annie flicked through the channels. How long had it been since Oscar had said something? Too long, probably. 

Annie flicked the channel, and Rose Landry’s face filled the screen. 

“Oh I love her,” Oscar said, just to say something. 

“Me too,” Annie agreed. “The X-Squad movies are so good.” 

“So good,” Oscar repeated, genuinely.  

But whatever they were watching, it wasn’t an X-Squad movie. Rose Landry was sitting on a massive sofa, facing the camera, clearly being interviewed about something. 

“Okay, so, the full story,” she was saying to an interviewer off camera. “I met Shane in November of 2016 while I was filming in Montreal. We hit it off right away. I mean, he’s charming, funny, the sweetest person I’ve ever met, and incredibly gorgeous. What’s not to like? We dated for a few weeks, and in a lot of ways it was wonderful. We were friends, we are still the best of friends. But it became pretty clear to me that his heart wasn’t in it. For one, because he was in love with someone else, and for another because he was gay. So I took him out for lunch, and we talked, and I told him, ‘honey, you’re gay’.” 

“That is not how it happened!” A voice protested off camera. 

Rose looked over her shoulder at someone off-screen. “No? That’s how I remember it.” 

The camera zoomed out, bringing into frame a guy sitting at the kitchen island behind Rose. Oscar thought the guy looked kind of familiar - a hockey player, maybe. He’d seen his face in adverts around the city, but Oscar wasn’t a big sports guy. 

“When you say it like that it makes it seem like I had no idea I was gay!” The guy - Shane, presumably - was protesting from his perch in the kitchen. 

“Babe. You were actively trying to date me. You did not know you were gay.”

Shane grimaced and crossed his arms, leaning on the countertop.  

Rose turned back to the camera and leaned forward, grinning conspiratorially. “You might have thought the seven years of sleeping with a man would have tipped him off by then, right? But no.” 

“Okay see now that’s what I mean, that’s unfair,” Shane objected. “I knew I was attracted to men, obviously. But Ilya likes both so I thought maybe I might be able to like both too.”

“But you do not,” Rose supplied for him with a grin. 

“No,” Shane sighed. “I’m sorry for putting you through all of that.” 

“Don’t apologize to me.” Rose waved off his apology and blew him a kiss across the room. “If you hadn’t been confused, we might never have met. And then I would be without my best friend.” 

The documentary cut away to footage of hockey players warming up on the ice, but Oscar couldn’t focus on anything else through the buzzing in his own ears. He felt detached from his own body, at once a little numb and like his nerves were on fire.  

“What an icon,” Annie was saying, ignorant to Oscar’s existential crisis. “She’s amazing.” 

“I think that’s me.” The words came out quickly, stumbling over themselves in a rush to get out of his mouth. As soon as he said it, Oscar felt a rush of relief that he hadn’t expected. He collapsed back into the couch cushions, feeling a little exhausted all of sudden.

“Oh,” Annie said, turning to look at him. Her eyes were wide, clearly a little surprised, but she didn’t seem upset. “Okay.” 

“Is it?” Oscar asked, his heart pounding in his throat. 

“Of course it is.” Annie smiled. “Do you want to talk about it?”     

“Not right now,” Oscar answered honestly. “Later, maybe.” 

“Okay. Do you want to watch the rest of this?” Annie gestured to the TV. 

Onscreen some hockey player Oscar didn’t recognize was talking. 

“Not really. Do you want to watch X-Squad?” 

Annie grinned. “Great idea.” 

BRIAN

Brian’s mind wandered as he watched Pittsburgh beat Toronto into the ice. No surprise there, Toronto had been terrible all season. He hadn’t really been watching the game, anyway. He didn’t particularly care about either team. But the house was too quiet these days, so at least it helped fill the silence. 

There had been a time, not too long ago, when having enough time to watch an entire hockey game by himself would have been a minor miracle. A time when there was always a track meet, or a soccer game, or a piano lesson to drive to, and there was always a fight for control over the remote. But the twins, Nancy and Sally, were studying business and political science on the west coast now, and Adam, his youngest… well, he was at McGill now. He should still be here - he could have been, but his son was so stubborn. So unwilling to just talk it through with them, to give them some time to adjust, to get used to things. He just stormed out. He just left. 

His wife was home, Brian could hear her gently puttering in the next room. But she felt far away. There was too much space between them. The house was too big, it was easy to lose track of each other. And all the things they weren’t talking about filled the silences between them, injecting all of their conversations with a heavy, tired air. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. With Adam going to school close by, he was supposed to be living at home. That had always been the plan. Grief and anger was a constant knot in Brian’s throat. 

“What’s this?” Sara asked, entering the room and motioning towards the TV. 

Brian blinked at the TV. He hadn’t been paying attention to it. The hockey game was over and it appeared some kind of sports doc was on.

“I can turn it off,” Brian offered, picking up the remote.

“Oh, go on.” Sara sat down in the armchair next to him. “I’ve always liked that Shane Hollander. Seems like such a nice boy.” 

If ever proof was needed of how quiet and empty their lives had become with none of their children at home, surely it was this. His wife voluntarily sitting down to watch a hockey documentary. But Brian refrained from commenting. He turned the volume up as Hollander’s voice filled the room.

“It would be nice to say it was easy. Love at first sight, and all that…”

The documentary cut away from Shane, to Ilya saying. “Was love at first sight. Yes. I took one look at this boring Canadian with beautiful freckles, and I knew.” 

The screen cut back to Shane. “He said that?” He rolled his eyes fondly. “Okay fine in hindsight, sure. Looking back, I can see that I loved him from the beginning. Since we were eighteen. But at the time, it was impossibly difficult. There was so much pressure on us. My entire life was all about becoming the best possible hockey player. And that image, the definition of what that perfect hockey player looked like, was very particular.” Hollander was quiet for a moment. “The truth is, I was a coward. I could not process or confront either the feelings that I felt for Ilya, or even the fact that I was gay, for many, many years. I wish I had. I wish I had come out to my parents earlier. Had been open and honest with Ilya earlier. But it was scary. Hell. It is scary.” 

Brian sat, frozen still. The knot in his throat had grown tighter. Beside him, Sara was also silent and still, her eyes locked on the screen. He wasn’t sure either of them were even breathing as the documentary continued. 

An hour later, near the end of the documentary, there was a sequence of footage from the game Ottawa played in Montreal just last month. The cameras stayed with Ilya after the game, and followed him as he drove away from the stadium. He arrived at a sleek, modern home in the Montreal suburbs. He took out a key and let himself in. 

“What took you so long?” Shane’s voice called from another room as Ilya kicked off his shoes and hung up his jacket. 

“I think you mean, ‘congratulations, moya lyubov on your win. The better team and player won tonight.’ Yes?” 

“[BLEEP] you.” Shane called back without missing a beat. “You are not the better team or player.” 

The camera followed Ilya into the main living room of the house, revealing Shane. He was sitting sideways on the couch with his legs stretched out under a blanket, an iPad on his lap. 

“You have to admit.” Ilya perched on the back of the couch, leaning down to bring his face close to Shane’s. “That goal in the second was pretty sexy, no?” 

“It was fine,” Shane admitted petulantly. 

“Liar.” Ilya grinned before closing the distance between them to kiss Shane hungrily. 

Shane pulled Ilya over the back of the couch down on top of him. But after a moment he pulled away, briefly looking down the barrel of the camera lens before adjusting to put a bit more space between himself and Ilya, though still within a comfortable touching distance. “No, but seriously, what took you so long?” 

Ilya lifted an eyebrow. “Getting impatient, are we?” 

“It’s your shoulder, isn’t it?” Shane said, ignoring him. “Medical wanted to keep you longer for a full diagnosis. What did they say?” 

Ilya sighed dramatically. “That it is fine. Best shoulder they’ve ever seen.” 

“Have you iced it?” He started to get up from the couch. 

“Stop.” Ilya pulled him back down. “Yes, I iced it. I will ice it more later. But really is fine. Small strain. You do not need to worry.” 

“You sure it’s okay?” 

“Okay enough to beat you in the game tonight 4-1. Was pretty embarrassing for you, no?” 

“[BLEEP] you.” Shane grinned.  

They were the same people. They were gay. But behind closed doors, they weren’t different. They were still the same competitive, obsessive hockey players. Being gay hadn’t changed that. They were still just the same as they had always been. Brian looked over at Sara. She reached out and gripped his hand tight. He gripped back, trying to convey in touch what he wasn’t sure he had words for. Understanding and regret passed wordlessly between them. 

Brian stood up, pulling out his phone as he took a few steps away. 

Behind him, Sara muted the TV as he listened to the ringer on the other end of the line. 

“What is it?” Adam’s voice came onto the line, clipped and guarded. 

“Hi.” Brian felt his voice hitch at the enormity of his own failing. He didn’t even know how to start. “I, uh. How are you?”

“What do you want, Dad?” They had only been on the phone for ten seconds and his son was already mad at him. Why was that always how it went whenever they spoke?

“Don’t-” he faltered, trying to breathe through his own frustration. “I just called because… well, I wanted to say… hi, I guess.” 

“Really?” Adam asked, voice clearly trying and failing to hold its edge.

“I just-” Brian swallowed against all the things he knew he should say. Please come home. We never wanted you to leave, we just needed a minute. I miss you. I’m sorry. I love you. He didn’t know how to say any of those things. He wanted to, he knew he might never get another chance, but the words were trapped his throat, caught up in the knot with all the rest of his regret. He couldn’t talk about himself, but maybe he could manage talking about Adam, at least. “It was, uh. It was really brave of you. To, you know, to tell us what you did.” I’m proud of you. I only want you to be safe, to be happy. “I know it can’t have been easy.” I’m sorry I didn’t know how to react.

“Oh.” Adam’s voice sounded very small through the phone. “Okay.”

“I think I…” Brian faltered, and tried again. Determined not to waste this chance. “I reacted the way I did, because when you told me you were, you know, gay… I felt like everything must have been a lie. That if you were gay then that meant you were different, that you had just been pretending all this time, and that the boy I knew, that boy was gone.” 

“I-“ Adam huffed, but he didn’t sound angry anymore. “I’m still me, Dad.” 

“Yeah,” Brian continued quickly. “No, I- I know. I think I understand that now, that maybe I was wrong. Not maybe, I was wrong, I know that.” 

Adam sniffed and made a slightly strangled noise. 

Both men were silent. Brian blinking fiercely. After a moment he cleared his throat. 

“So, um, are you still running?” 

Adam let out a bark of laughter. “Dad, I’m here on a track scholarship, of course I’m still running.” 

“Oh, right.” 

“What, did you think because I was gay I was going to suddenly drop out of track and join musical theatre or something?” 

“No…” But Brian realized that maybe to an extent that had been his fear. That his son had suddenly changed beyond recognition. But then he thought how unfair that was, to hold his son to a narrow definition of who he was allowed to be. “If you did though, that would be okay too.” 

Adam laughed through the speaker, and Brian felt his shoulders loosen for the first time in months. “Um thanks, I guess. But that would be pretty weird seeing as I definitely can’t hold a tune and am not even sure if I could name three musicals.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” Brian said, finally putting voice to at least some of the many, many things he still wanted to say. At least he thought now, he might still get a chance, and that was something. And once he’d started, he found it suddenly got so much easier than he expected. “I, uh, I love you, you know?” 

“Thanks Dad. Love you too.” 

ETHAN

“Hey babe,” Aaron poked his head into the living room. “If you’re done watching your thing for work, there’s a new Masterchef we could watch.” 

Ethan blinked at the blank page of note paper on his lap, like awaking out of some kind of fugue state. He hadn’t taken a single note. He’d been writing about sports for his entire career. Hockey, specifically, has been his entire beat for over twenty years. He’s worked for a half dozen hockey beats across the country, and the last ten providing game recaps for every single Montreal game. He’s written entire books about hockey players, hockey culture, hockey history. He thought, he really, genuinely thought, the sport couldn’t surprise him anymore. Little did he know. 

“They’re gay.” The words fell out of him, as he sat unmoving, staring at the TV. He still felt kind of dazed. 

“Oooh,” His husband joined him on the couch. “Are they making out on centre ice again? That was fun, more hockey should have that.” 

“No, not Hunter. Hollander and Rozanov are gay. And in love with each other.” 

Aaron cooed. “Love that for them. Which ones are they?” 

“Shane Hollander-” 

“Wait, wait I know, he's the local one everyone’s obsessed with. With the Calvin Klein ads, right?” 

“Yes. And Ilya Rozanov-”

“Oh, oh, shirtless winking meme one!” Aaron said proudly. 

Ethan grinned. “They also both play hockey occasionally, and are captains of the Montreal Metros and the Ottawa Centaurs.” 

“Rival teams,” Aaron said with a knowing nod. “That’s hot.” 

“Yeah. It is. They have been huge rivals for their entire careers and, according to this documentary, they have been in a secret relationship since they were like 18.” 

“Wow. Fuck. I would have been watching hockey with you this whole time if I knew it had these kinds of plot lines going. You’ve been holding out on me.” 

“That’s the thing…” Ethan said, feeling adrift again.

“What?” Aaron asked gently. His hand landed on Ethan’s back, pressing reassuringly.

“I was there. I was right there. You can literally see the back of my head in some of the shots. I’ve been interviewing, and talking to, and writing about Hollander and Rozanov for the last decade. And I didn’t see it. Didn’t see anything. What does that say about me?” 

“That you have terrible gaydar? But we knew that, I had to ask you out four times and even then you thought I invited you ice skating as a friend.” 

Ethan rolled his eyes. “It’s more than that. This documentary showed them all as people. Flawed, funny, real people. It showed Scott Hunter as panicked and protective and Troy Barnett as nervous and apologetic. It shows the Centaurs as this amazing, welcoming and warm team, while the Metros… fuck. At one point Shane asks about the teams plans for the pride night game and he gets told ‘not to worry about that social media shit.’” 

“Ugh.” Aaron made a sympathetic gagging sound. 

“And the kicker is, Shane’s team knew he was gay when they said that! He’s been out to them for years, apparently.” 

Ethan sank back against the cushions of the couch and sighed. 

“I’m not totally blind. I knew that locker room was not great. But I… if I had known he…” 

Ethan wasn’t closeted. Hadn’t been for a very long time. He and Aaron had been married for over five years now. But he knew, bone deep, that while he spoke about his personal life with his colleagues in journalism and broadcasting, he had never once said or done anything that could get him clocked while around the players. He couldn’t remember, now, if he’d done it intentionally to protect himself, or if it had been subconscious. Either way, he knew that on some instinctual level he understood that it would be a bad idea to out himself in that environment. He had asked Shane Hollander questions after almost every home game for years. And never once had he done anything to indicate to Shane that he was a safe space. In fact, he had done everything in his power to avoid any such assumption.  

“Hey,” Aaron’s voice brought him out of his mental spiral. “It’s not your fault for not seeing what someone else wasn’t ready to show you.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, still feeling despondent. “Maybe.” It didn’t mean he couldn’t have done more. 

They were silent for a moment, Aaron resting his hand on Ethan’s knee. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Aaron asked. “Going back into that room?” 

Ethan grimaced. It was hard to deny that the idea of writing anything supportive about the Metros and their playoff chances right now made him sick to his stomach. But it would be worth it, maybe, if he could at least do something now, even if it was too little and too late. “Yeah, I’ll be okay. For now at least. Yes, I think I have to go back, even if I don’t really want to. For Shane. The press are going to want to tear him apart with questions. I want to be the one asking.” 

“What are you going to ask?” 

“I’m going to ask about their power play unit and his line’s ability to enter the zone with possession. I’m going to do my job, so he can focus on doing his.” 

Aaron leaned over and kissed his temple. “I love you.” 

Ethan hummed in agreement, but his mind was already whirring, mapping out his next several writing projects. “Before I go back, though, I do need to write about this documentary. And I think I need to watch it again, because I was so in shock throughout I made no notes. Sorry, Masterchef might need to wait.” 

“That’s fine,” Aaron said lightly. “I’ll watch this with you instead. Let me just make some popcorn.” 

And so Ethan watched it again, managing this time to actually take notes. On a second viewing, Ethan came to appreciate the way that Felix managed to get past his subjects’ defences, to the people underneath. Ethan had built a career trying to pull personality out of hockey players, and it was like blood from a stone. He would have to text Felix later to congratulate him, and maybe pick his brains for some professional tips. 

The documentary ended with Shane and Ilya curled up on Shane’s parents couch reminiscing about the first time they met and what they hope their future holds. And then as the credits began to roll, the footage cut to Shane and Ilya later that night, playing keep away with a soccer ball in a large backyard, while two dogs ran around them. It was unclear what - of anything - was at stake in their skirmish, but both seemed determined to win. Despite the focused energy in their bodies, they were both smiling and chirping at each other even if what they were saying couldn’t be heard. And then, laughing, Shane’s father ran over to join them. On the turn of a dime, Shane and Ilya stop competing and started working together. And sure, they were clearly all laughing and just having fun, and sure their opponent was a man in his 50’s, and none of them were soccer players. But it gave Ethan chills nonetheless. 

When the documentary finished a second time, Ethan ordered, express delivery, a rainbow lapel pin for his jacket. Hopefully it would arrive in time for the post-game scrimmage tomorrow night.

Later, as he was about to submit his article, Ethan’s phone buzzed with a text. 

Ethan frowned at his phone. It was his cousin, Brad. 

CHECK THIS OUT!!! 

Ethan opened the link to find a video of a fan mail from Hayden Pike, of all people. What a weird thing to brag about to someone who spoke with the man regularly. He almost closed it without watching when he saw, there in the background, a reflection of Shane and Ilya kissing. 

Ethan rolled his eyes, and responded:

A) The fact that this was clearly taken without their consent makes this weird and gross. Delete it. B) This is not news, they literally just aired a documentary talking about their relationship. C) Pike? Seriously?? 

Chapter End Notes

CertainlyUncertain here! Thank you for all your support and comments along the way, we've so enjoyed working on this.

This has been a collaborative project between Pammcasso and me, and has been huge fun to write. Hopefully we'll write more together soon! In the meantime, it's Pammcasso's birthday today, please wish her a happy birthday by commenting with all your thoughts and feelings about the fic! :-)