Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

F/M, M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Brandon Wiebe, Evan Dykstra, Nick Chouinard, Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Luca Haas, Theo (Game Changers), Zane Boodram

Additional Tags:

Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Book 5: Role Model (Game Changers), Airplanes, Airplane Crashes, Last words, Angst with a Happy Ending, No Smut, Vignette, Tearjerker

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-13 Words: 4,077 Chapters: 1/1

On the Plane

Summary

Spoilers for Books 5 and 6 (Role Model & TLG).

We know what Ilya and Troy/Harris were doing when their plane almost went down, but what was everyone else on the flight doing and thinking? Let's visit those we know best and see!

Notes

I just re-read Role Model and TLG, so the plane scene is fresh in my mind, but not so fresh that I remember exactly what Troy, Ilya, and Harris’s thoughts, words, and actions were in the moment. So this is going to diverge from canon a little in those details, but hopefully not so much that it changes anything.

A bang jolted Troy Barrett out of his thoughts about the man sitting next to him. He jumped in his plane seat, eyes wide, and turned to look at Harris, who was also looking wide-eyed. The plane plunged suddenly under them, knocking Bood off his feet in the aisle and startling cries and yelps from a number of people around them. “What the fuck?” Troy managed, just as the plane bucked again.

“I don’t know,” Harris gasped, “but I don’t think it’s good.”

“Fire!” yelled Chouinard from behind them. “There’s a fucking fire out there!”

More gasps and yells. A moment later, the pilot came on the intercom, informing them that they’d lost an engine but supposedly still had control of the aircraft. It didn’t feel like he was very in-control to Troy. They were advised that the flight would be making an emergency landing in Tampa and to assume the crash position.

Holy shit. They were going to die on this plane. He thought of his mother, so far away that she might not even be able to get home for a funeral. He thought of his father, who’d probably just spit and declare that Troy had picked an unmanly way to die. And he thought of Harris, sitting next to him in obvious terror.

Troy’s hand snuck out and, without his conscious planning, he seized Harris’s and squeezed. “We’ll be ok,” he said softly, even though he didn’t really believe the words himself.

Harris squeezed his hand back. “Of course.” Yeah, he didn’t sound like he believed it, either.

Troy wasn’t a religious man, but as he heard someone a few rows up muttering, he realized that they were praying and that if there was ever a time to appeal to a higher power for help, this would be it. He sent up a quick plea to the cosmos that they would come out of this alive. Not so much for himself – he’d made a mess of his life and the world wouldn’t be losing much by losing him – but for his teammates, the staff on the plane…Harris.

Harris.

God, were they going to survive this?

As Evan Dykstra clutched the armrests of his seat, his hand brushing the freezing-cold one of Holmberg next to him, the lyrics of an old country song came to his mind:

This might really be the real end
How’s it hit ya when you get that kind of news?
Man, whatcha do?

What was he going to do? Apparently he was going to hyperventilate in terror and freeze. On the ice he was fearless, happily charging into situations that would make other people panic and hide, but in this moment, Evan wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t going to wet his pants like a toddler.

No, he couldn’t be found with piss-soaked pants. That would be horrible in more ways than one. He didn’t want Caitlin to have to identify a body that reeked of urine.

What the fuck was he even thinking? His body would smell of charred flesh, not urine, whether he peed himself or not. 

He realized he was holding his breath at that thought, and he forced a gasp out of his seizing lungs. It hurt, as if some thousand-pound beast was sitting on his chest at the thought of his wife identifying his body.

Would his daughter even remember him if he died today? She was only a year old; of course she wouldn’t. All she would have would be photos and her mother’s memories. He swallowed hard at the thought of his beloved Susie growing up without a father, of himself being unable to be there for her first date, her college graduation, her wedding. His first grandchild.

Oh, god.

“Snälla, gud,” Holmberg was muttering over and over next to him. Evan didn’t know what it meant, but he was pretty sure whatever it was, he agreed with the sentiment. Evan didn’t know the young Swedish player all that well – Holmberg wasn’t on his line – but in this moment, as he realized he might die here, he felt a sense of kinship with the other man.

Without thinking about it too much, he pried his hand off their shared armrest and rested it on Holmberg’s wrist. “We’re gonna be ok,” he told him, faking confidence.

Holmberg gave him an incredulous look. “Vi ska dö.” He gulped, then shook his head. “Sorry. My English…”

Evan got it. Holmberg spoke perfectly good English day-to-day, but in this moment, he could be forgiven for it deserting him. Evan was a native speaker of English and he still sort of felt like forming coherent words was beyond him right now.

“Say it in whatever language you need to, man,” Evan told him, then jumped as a clunking noise came from beneath their feet. Oh god, had something else happened? Had some piece of the plane broken off entirely, now? His hand tightened on Holmberg’s sleeve.

“Landing wheels,” Holmberg gritted out, and Evan could feel his muscles tightening under his hand. “Is good sign.”

Evan nodded. “Ok. Good.”

Maybe they would survive this, after all.

“Bitte. Bitte.” Luca Haas squeezed his eyes shut as he pleaded to a God he didn’t believe in for his life and the lives of everyone else on the plane. It couldn’t end like this. He was too young to die.

Hah, as if that made a difference. Young people died gruesome deaths every day, all over the world.

He was shaking, he realized. He tried to regain control of his muscles – if he was going to die, he wanted to do it bravely – but they wouldn’t cooperate.

“Hey,” said a voice next to him, “Luca.”

Luca pried his eyes open to look at Boyle, who was leaning forward and looking at him closely. “Yes?” he managed to squeak out. His anxiety was through the roof and he was a little surprised he was even able to make the noise.

“Take deep breaths, ok?” Boyle was somewhere in his late 30s, an experienced defenseman built like a bull, but in this moment, he looked like he was trying to approach a scared child. Which was basically what Luca was. He felt so young in this moment, and he wished for nothing more than a warm hug from his mother.

She’d been so worried about him, moving to another continent and away from all his family to join the NHL. “Are you sure, darling? You could play hockey in Europe, perhaps? A regional team?”

He’d told her that no, to play at his level, he needed to be based in North America, and anyway, what was she so concerned about? He’d be perfectly fine in Ottawa just as he’d been in Zurich.

Joke was on him, he supposed, since following his NHL dreams was probably going to lead to his death today. His mother would be vindicated, but so angry with him.

He needed to talk to her. Or at least try. The small part of his brain that was dedicated to time zone math, which operated almost automatically these days, informed him that it was dinnertime in Zurich. She’d still be awake.

He scrambled for his phone, which he’d stuck in the seatback pocket in front of him, and stabbed at the screen until WhatsApp opened and he could start typing.

Luca: Mami. Mami, are you there?

The plane lurched again and Luca almost dropped his phone, but Boyle managed to slam a hand down on top of it, securing it to Luca’s thigh, before it could get away. He shot his teammate a grateful look and concentrated again on the screen, mentally switching to German

Mueti: Luca? It’s the middle of the day for you, what’s wrong?

Yes, her intuition continued to be infallible. Though in this case, it was probably because he almost never contacted her at this time of day. His family’s dinner hour was inviolable and Luca knew it. Plus, it had been years since he called her “Mommy” the way he just had.

Luca: I’m on a plane and I think it’s going to crash. I needed to tell you that I’m sorry for not listening to you. But also that I’m happy. Coming to Canada was the right decision, even if it ends like this. Please don’t hate me.

Mueti: What? What do you mean your plane is going to crash??

Luca: Something is on fire – the engine, I think. The pilot is going to try to land but I don’t think it’s going to work. Please. I love you. Please tell everyone I love them, too. Papi, Ursula, Lara. I will miss them.

Mueti: Luca, mini Bünzli. I don’t know what to…I am praying for you. Perhaps God will not care about the prayers of an old woman who hasn’t prayed since before you were born, but I am praying anyway. I love you so much, my son. I must believe that I will see you again. You will come home this summer and we will laugh about this.

Luca swallowed hard at the thought that he might survive this, might get to see his parents and sisters again. He glanced over at Boyle, who was staring fixedly out the window now, as if, if he watched closely enough, he could keep the engine running. Did Boyle have anyone at home who would mourn him? He didn’t know.

Luca: Pray for all of us, then.

He started typing another sentence about how much he loved her, but he was interrupted by a loud clanking noise that came from the belly of the plane. He froze. Had something else gone wrong? Beside him, Boyle was rigid, and suddenly Luca couldn’t stand it.

Luca: I must go, Mami. Just know that I love you all. I will call if I can.

Mueti: Luca -

He turned off the screen of his phone and pressed it between his thighs, then reached out to touch Boyle’s shoulder with a hand that was suddenly steadier than it had any right to be. “Hey, mini Kolleg. Look at me.”

Boyle slowly cranked his head around, and Luca took in his wide eyes and white lips. 

He tightened his grip on the other man’s shoulder. “We will survive this,” he said with a certainty he didn’t feel. “It will be ok.”

Boyle let out a shuddering breath and attempted a nod, though it was weak. “I’m never getting on a plane again.”

Luca made a noise that could be charitably interpreted as a laugh. “Yes, same. Once we touch the ground today, I am walking everywhere.”

His phone vibrated in his lap, but he kept his eyes on Boyle. He’d said his goodbyes to those he couldn’t comfort; now it was time to focus on someone he maybe could comfort.

Zane Boodram managed to scramble back into his seat from the floor just as the plane dropped out from under them yet again. At least now he wouldn’t be pinballing around the cabin for the duration of…whatever this was. He clicked his seatbelt closed and rubbed the top of his head where it had bashed into an overhead bin.

“You ok?” asked LaPoint from beside him. “Are you bleeding?” His teeth were clenched around the words, and he was clearly fighting back panic so he could check on his teammate.

Bood shook his head. “No. No, I’m good. Fine. I mean…” He looked around the cabin at the team and staff, who were in varying states of the same panic he felt. “As fine as it gets right now.”

LaPoint nodded and stared down at his phone in one hand. “I’m trying to figure out how to get a message to Marie and the kids without cell service.”

The plane jolted again and they both levitated for a split second under their seatbelts. Bood couldn’t hold back a yelp of fear. He watched, mind and body frozen, as LaPoint unlocked his phone and thumbed through his apps, and suddenly it hit him: Cassie.

Cassie was halfway through her pregnancy now. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t. He had a wife to hug, a son to watch grow up. With a shaking hand, he pulled his own phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. LaPoint was right: if they did die today, he wanted to get out a last message to her and the baby.

He rapidly scanned the available apps, trying to figure out what the plane’s wifi would allow him to do. There! Their shared notes app. They mostly used one perpetual note in it for keeping track of what groceries one of them needed to pick up next time they were at the store, but it also allowed creation of free-text notes. He created a new note and colored the background pink, then started typing as fast as he could think of the words:

Cass,

Something bad might happen to me today. The plane is…it’s bad. So I don’t know. But I wanted to make sure you know how fucking much I adore you. You mean everything to me, and the biggest achievement in my life is having married you. I hope I make you as happy as you make me. Please don’t hate me for not being around, ok? Be happy. Find someone else to love. Hug our son. Tell him stories about me and tell him that I loved him. I will love both you and him to my last breath. – Z

He saved the note and then flipped out of the app. Cassie would get a notification that a new note had been created at some point, so he knew she’d see the message. He just hoped he’d still be around to explain it when she did.

Brandon Wiebe looked around the cabin of the plane, at these people who had put themselves in his care, and then allowed himself to close his eyes for a long moment. He felt tears rising. He knew a plane crashing wasn’t actually his fault – he was a coach, not a pilot – but he couldn’t help feeling like if he’d made different choices, they may not have found themselves here.

When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was Ilya Rozanov, jaw clenched, typing madly on his phone. He couldn’t be texting someone; they didn’t have cellular service this far up in the air. Brandon supposed there were any number of other apps that would allow him to contact someone, though he had no idea who Rozanov, a loner as best he could tell, would be contacting.

He scanned what he could see of the rest of the plane. Two of his coaching staffers, both burly ex-players, were sitting with their hands clasped tightly together and tears rolling down their cheeks. Bood was doing much as Rozanov was, presumably trying to contact his pregnant wife. Dykstra was mouthing something, either to himself or to his seatmate, with his hand resting on the other man’s arm comfortingly. Luca Haas and his seatmate, Boyle, were both white-faced and tense, but seemed to be talking.

And Brandon sat, alone, in the front row of the plane, wishing desperately that he could go back in time and do something, anything differently to change this moment. He didn’t want these men and women to die. They were some of the best people he knew, and the world would be worse without them. The hockey world certainly would be. One fewer Ilya Rozanov to balance out the Dallas Kents of the world. 

And him? What would his legacy be? His girls, of course, were his proudest achievement, and he knew their mother would raise them the rest of the way to adulthood well. But something stabbed him, deep inside, at the thought of not being there to help, to watch them grow.

He needed to leave them a message. He fumbled by his feet for his carry-on bag, thinking he’d write them a note on the notepad he had in it, then realized that a paper note would almost certainly be destroyed in the flames that followed a crash. Fuck. Did he have anything on his phone that he could use to send a message? 

Facebook. That was his best bet, he realized. Donna was always on Facebook, liking her friends’ posts and talking up the Centaurs and Brandon. Didn’t Facebook have a private message function? He pulled his phone out of his pocket, opened the app, and tapped the message icon. His wife’s name appeared at the top of the list of contacts that appeared. He tapped it.

Brandon Wiebe: Hey baby, you might be getting some bad news soon. I don’t know how much time I have, so I just wanted to tell you as much as I could in what’s left. I love you and the girls so much. You are my soul, outside my body. I trust you to guide the girls. I trust you to be strong, no matter what happens, but I also trust you to know when you can’t be strong any longer and to forgive yourself and allow yourself the time you need to breathe. I trust you with everything, Donna. I always have and I always will.

He hit send to dispatch the message, wanting to get that most important part out before anything happened, and then immediately started typing another message:

Brandon Wiebe: You know where my will is. Everything goes to you and the girls. There should be plenty to get them through college and keep you comfortable for at least a few years of recovery. Don’t mourn me too long, ok? If I’m gone, I’m gone. I know you loved me to the end, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ever love anyone else.

Just as he hit send on the second message, a reply from Donna popped up on his screen.

Donna Bass-Wiebe: What the absolute fuck are you talking about, Brandon? What bad news? Time? WHAT IS GOING ON ARE YOU OK?

He swallowed. He hadn’t anticipated her responding in real-time. He’d thought he was just leaving her a last message. He hadn’t thought of a reply before her reply to his second comment appeared.

Donna Bass-Wiebe: YOUR WILL? GONE? JESUS CHRIST BRANDON WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.

Brandon Wiebe: I honestly don’t know how long we have before something happens, but there’s a mechanical problem with the plane, something serious. They’re trying to do an emergency landing, but things are pretty rough and even the flight crew seems to think we might not get out of this. So I wanted to tell you, well, everything I could think of. Like how much I love you, Sara, Leanne, and Emily. And Lolly. And that you’ll be taken care of. Lean on the rest of the WAGs when you need to.

A flight attendant strode down the aisle, her hand jostling his seatback and startling him. He looked up at her and she gave him a thin smile. “We’re going to be landing,” she said loudly, so the others could hear her as well. “I need everyone to put their tray tables up, seatbacks straight. Remove anything around your neck – ties, necklaces – and brace your arms against the back of the seat in front of you, head down on your arms. Please make absolutely sure your seatbelt is fastened.” And then, quietly enough that Brandon thought only he could hear her, she added, “And then we pray.”

Quickly, he dashed off a last message to his wife.

Brandon Wiebe: We’re gonna try to land. I have to put my phone away. Love you so much.

And then he jammed his phone into his pocket and assumed the position.

They were going to die. Nick Chouinard was sure of it. He could see the flames coming from the engine under the wing of the plane. Their plane was on fire and falling out of the sky, and they were going to die before they reached the ground on this fucked-up attempt at a landing. 

He closed his eyes, clasped his hands against his face and the seatback, and started praying in a desperate whisper. “Je vous salue Marie…” It took him mere seconds to get through the Hail Mary prayer, and he immediately started it again. It was the only thing he could think of to do or say now, at the hour of his death. As he was about to lose Selena – or rather, she was about to lose him.

Nick believed firmly in the afterlife of his Catholic faith, and he was fairly sure he’d go to Heaven as opposed to Hell and that Selena would eventually join him there, but that didn’t make the impending separation any less painful. They’d been talking about another baby. That would never happen now. At least, not with him as the baby’s father. Maybe Selena would find a new husband to have a baby with. He couldn’t decide if he hated that idea or not, her finding love after him.

“Nick?” said a shaking voice next to him, and Nick broke off his prayer and craned his head around to find Theo, face bone-white, staring at him from against his own seatback. Theo was their mascot performer, a smallish man with a bristly mustache and perpetual stubble on his fair cheeks. He was also clearly terrified out of his wits. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nick recalled having noticed that Theo was always uneasy on airplanes. This must be his worst nightmare.

“Yeah?” he managed to grind out, his throat tight. “You good?”

Theo huffed something that might once have been a laugh and shook his head. “No. Not at all. I just…” He swallowed. “I don’t want to die alone.”

Nick looked around the plane as much as he could without lifting his head, then back at Theo. “Pretty sure you’re in good company, mon chum.”

The plane bucked under them and Theo gasped out a little scream. His hand shot out and latched onto Nick’s thigh. “Sorry,” Theo gasped, but he didn’t release his grip. “Sorry. I just…I can’t…”

Moving cautiously, as if he were facing a spooked animal, Nick lowered one hand and laid his palm over the back of Theo’s hand. He interlocked their fingers and gave the other man’s hand a squeeze. “You’re fine. It’s fine. I am here with you.”

Theo shuddered hard and his grip tightened on Nick’s fingers. “Ok. You’re with me. Ok.”

“We’re not going to die,” Nick said, though he didn’t really believe it, “but if we do, I’ll be here next to you. You won’t be alone.”

Theo’s eyes fluttered closed and he released a tiny sigh, barely more than a breath, as he relaxed his posture. “Not alone.”

Ilya Rozanov slid his phone back into the seatback pocket, having determined that he couldn’t see the screen from the angle he was being forced to hold his head at in the crash position, and closed his eyes. He pictured Shane for what might be the last time, that freckled face and that shy smile.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” he whispered, and then the plane bounced again. The passengers collectively gasped, because this bounce had felt different. It was followed almost immediately by another, and Ilya realized at the same time as many of the others that this wasn’t air turbulence; this was the landing gear hitting the ground a little too hard.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, almost afraid to speak the words out loud, “did we actually land? In one piece?”

Someone started applauding then, and someone else shouted, “Fuck yeah!” and then suddenly the plane was erupting in cheers, shouts, and clapping as they all celebrated their unexpected survival. Grown men were hugging and crying all around him. Ilya applauded with everyone else for a long moment, and then picked up his phone and flipped it out of airplane mode.

He immediately went to his text thread with Shane. He needed to get ahead of Shane seeing his intended last words.

Lily: Don’t worry about the IG thing. Am fine.

There was no response, not that he’d expected one immediately. But at least now he knew Shane would see it, and he would definitely check his texts before he checked his Instagram.

Ilya leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and just…breathed.

They’d made it.