Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Hayden Pike

Additional Tags:

Post-Scene: Ilya Rozanov Makes Tuna Melts in Episode: s01e04 Rose, Fix-It, Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau knows about Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Happy Ending, Communication, Ilya Rozanov is Trying His Best, Shane Hollander's Gay Panic, Internalized Homophobia, Compulsory Heterosexuality, POV Shane Hollander, POV Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Defining the Relationship, Tuna Meltdown

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-14 Words: 3,666 Chapters: 1/1

Next Time, We Stay (we do this for real)

Summary

Cliff Marlow had figured out who Jane was. That’s how he knew to confront Shane after the game post-tuna melt, letting him know he’d broken Ilya’s heart.

Shane makes things right.

OR: Cliff does a good deed, and two hockey boys play vulnerability chicken trying to actually communicate. A Tuna Meltdown fix-it.

Notes

Quick note that I know Montreal is supposed to head straight to Florida right after the post-tuna melt game, but for the purposes of this fic they are flying out the next morning.

THIS IS IT, my definitive interpretation of the events of the tuna melt incident and all the associated feelings and communication failures. I wrestled a lot with book canon, show canon, things Rachel Reid has said, etc. and this is what I've come up with. I feel like my brain is finally quiet for having processed all this and excised this demon in the form of a fix-it fic.

I hope you enjoy.

Thank you to poading for the beta!

People made fun of him for being a dumb jock, but Cliff Marlow was smart about one thing: people. 

He observed. He remembered. He noticed patterns.

It was how he had so much success picking up at bars and clubs. It was how he knew to read between the lines of his mother’s phone calls and get the real story about his father’s health. It was the skill that had gotten him the A on his chest. It was how he’d known his sister was gay years before she came out and married her wife. 

It was how he’d gotten to know the distant, inscrutable Ilya Rozanov who deflected and distracted and covered everything real in layers of brash performance. 

It was also how, by proxy, he’d gotten to know Montreal Jane.

He’d first noticed Jane’s influence all the way back in 2011, when their Montreal game had been cancelled due to snow. Roz had been worked up over it, his phone open to his text thread with Jane, and visibly disappointed when word had come that their flight was grounded. From there, it was little things throughout the years. A particular manic energy Roz got before Montreal games, both home and away. Smiling at his phone. Blushing. Montreal Jane was definitely different from all the other girls on Rozy’s roster. A few glimpsed text messages over the years—an inevitability of having the stall next to Rozy’s—illuminated why that was. Eventually, the other hookups had started to dwindle, and they didn’t seem to refresh Rozy like they once did. Cliff saw it all unfolding before him.

So yes, Cliff Marlow was smart about people. 

It was how he knew Ilya Rozanov was in love. 

It was how he knew that Jane was actually Shane Hollander. 

It was how he knew there was a particular sort of anticipation before their November 2016 game against Montreal that he’d never seen before. Something different. Softer. Nervous. A grocery list. A jittery leg. A particular expression when Rozy gazed down at his phone. More frequent touches to the cross around his neck.

It was how he knew that Hollander had broken Rozy’s heart.

###

Their home game against Montreal was a complete disaster, and if Cliff hadn’t already been motivated to step in, that would have done it. Rozy and Hollander both played like they were deathly ill and couldn’t seem to look at each other long enough to play effectively against one another. After the game, Roz was eerily silent and left as soon as he was free of post-game media, with no words of consolation or apology for the team.

Cliff couldn’t let it go. He’d never seen Roz so beaten down, not even after the worst phone calls from his father or brother. And so, with a new resolve, Cliff grabbed his bag and went to linger outside the player entrance to the rink, staring down at his phone so he didn’t look too obvious observing every person who left.

Finally, once nearly every other player had left, his target finally emerged. Hollander, looking miserable and distant, trailed behind Hayden Pike, his phone clutched in his hand and his eyes vacant. Cliff sprang into action.

“Hollander!” he called, waving him over when he turned to look for the source of the voice. Hollander hesitated, then made his way over, Hayden following close behind. Cliff smiled his most non-threatening smile and nodded to them both.

“Hollander, can I have a word in private?”

Hollander’s eyes went ever so slightly wide. “Uh… yeah. Sure. Hayd, go on ahead, I’ll catch up, okay?”

“You sure, man?” Hayden asked, brows knit in suspicion and concern. 

Hollander mustered the ghost of a smile. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll see you later.”

Hayden hesitated, eyes darting back and forth between them before he took a few hesitant steps back. 

“Okay, well… I better not hear about them fishing your body out of the river tomorrow. Just text me later, okay?”

Cliff barely kept from rolling his eyes. What, was he giving off murder vibes? He smiled and lifted a hand in farewell to hopefully reassure Pike, then leaned back against the side of the building and stuck his hands in his pockets. 

Now he just had to figure out what to say. Hollander looked ready to bolt, so he decided to just spit it out quickly. 

“Look, man, Rozy is not okay,” Cliff said. 

Hollander blinked, then carefully schooled his features. “Okay, sorry to hear that, but what does that have to do with me?”

Cliff grimaced. He really should have seen this coming. He thought for a moment, mulling over just how blunt to be before deciding that direct was best.

“So, don’t freak out, okay? I know you’re Jane, and I know you guys broke up or something last night.”

Hollander stumbled back a step, horrified, and Cliff quickly put up his hands, shaking his head.

“My lips are sealed, I promise. Roz doesn’t even know that I figured it out like a year ago, and I was never going to say a word to either of you, but with the way he looked last night and today…”

That seemed to sink in past Hollander’s rising panic. He hesitated, a complicated expression flickering across his face. “You saw him last night?”

Cliff nodded, sending a silent apology to Rozy for what he was about to say. 

“Yeah, he texted me to come keep an eye on him. I mean, he’d never call it that, but he does it sometimes. Calls me on nights when his head is really messed up and he needs someone to make sure he doesn’t drink the whole bottle. We watch a movie and don’t talk, mostly.”

Hollander’s eyes went shiny, but he shook his head, looking down at the ground. “If you didn’t talk, then how do you know it has anything to do with me?”

Cliff frowned. “Man, I’m not a complete idiot. Especially not about my best friend. I knew he was planning to have this whole big night with Jane, and he was so nervous and excited about it, and then he was suddenly miserable and alone?” 

Cliff shrugged, then added: “Besides, I straight up asked if he and Jane broke up and he said ‘something like that.’”

Hollander put a thumb to the corner of his eye and cleared his throat. When he tried to speak, his voice came out rough. “I, uh… I don’t…”

When it was clear Hollander wasn’t actually going to finish a sentence, Cliff sighed.

“Look, maybe he’s the one that fucked up and he deserves it or something, but it’s hard to tell because Roz will always blame himself whether it’s his fault or not. All I know is he’s been crazy about you for years, so if there’s any chance you feel the same, I really hope you can fix things.”

Hollander shook his head, looking anywhere but at Cliff’s eyes.

“We can’t… be anything, so maybe it’s better to just break it off now before…”

Cliff scoffed. “What, before you guys fall in love? Pretty sure it’s too late, brother. Definitely for him.”

“But we can’t—”

“You can’t?” Cliff cut in. “Or you’re not willing to try? You’re giving up because it’s hard? You don’t think he’s worth it?”

Each question landed on Hollander’s face like a punch. His chest heaved with harsh breath as he visibly fought for control. Cliff held up his hands and gave him a bit of space.

“Hey, I’m not here to tell you what to do,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you knew how he was. Now it’s up to you to do whatever you want with that information. If you want to go see him before your team flies out in the morning, I’m happy to give you a ride.” 

Hollander stared off into the darkness for a long moment, silent as he wrestled with whatever haunted him. Finally, his eyes fell shut and he sighed, some of the tension going out of his shoulders.

“I owe him an apology for how I left, at least,” he said. 

Cliff nodded, relief blooming in his chest, and he shot him a half-smile. “And whatever you’re afraid of, maybe say that to him, too.”

Hollander gave a humorless laugh and shook his head. “I don’t know if he really wants to hear it.”

Cliff clapped a hand on Hollander’s shoulder and squeezed. “Hey, it can’t possibly fuck things up any more, right?”

Hollander didn’t reply, but he followed Cliff to his car and got in without argument, his anxiety like a third passenger crowding the space. Cliff fired up the engine and headed for Rozy’s place, hoping with all his being that he was doing the right thing getting involved in this mess.

###

Shane wiped his palms on the pants of his game day suit and tried to tame his spinning thoughts as Marlow pulled into Ilya Rozanov’s driveway and put the car in park.

“You nervous?” Marlow asked, one hand propped at the top of the steering wheel.

Shane stared out the window for a moment and nodded. “Yeah.”

Marlow reached over and clapped him on the shoulder. “You can do this. He’ll listen. It’ll work out.”

Shane stared out the windshield at Rozanov’s—Ilya’s—front door. Last time he’d walked through it, he hadn’t stopped walking until he got back to his hotel, his mind whited out with panic.

“I hope you’re right,” he said. He laid his hand on the door handle, then looked back at Marlow one last time. “Thank you for the ride. And the… kick in the ass, I guess.”

Marlow snorted. “You’re welcome. Stop stalling, bro. Get out of my damn car.”

Shane huffed a laugh and got out of the damn car. The short walk up to Ilya’s front door wasn’t nearly long enough to gather his thoughts, but Marlow was still in the driveway watching, making sure he didn’t chicken out, probably. With a sick, twisting sort of feeling in his chest, Shane hit the doorbell, then also knocked for good measure.

He breathed. Breathed. 

A moment later, the door opened, and there he was, gorgeous as always even in sweatpants and a faded Raiders t-shirt. At least he was wearing a shirt. It was easier to concentrate when the sculpted glory of Ilya’s body wasn’t on full display. A brief look of surprise flickered across Ilya’s face before he locked it down, buried under a smooth facade of indifference.

“What do you want?” Ilya said flatly.

Shane gathered his courage and met Ilya’s gaze. “Can we talk?”

After a moment of tense silence, Ilya stepped back just far enough to let Shane in the door and closed it behind him, but made no move to head any deeper into the house. He waved a hand for Shane to say whatever he had come to say. Shane took in a slow breath through his nose and nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry I freaked out and left. I shouldn’t have.”

“Freaked out over nothing.”

“Fuck you, it wasn’t nothing. I’m trying to apologize here, so can you just… not.”

Ilya pursed his lips and blew a harsh breath out through his nose. “Fine. What did you freak out about, then?”

There it was. Shane had to say something true or this whole thing really would be over. And he should want it to be over, had tried to end it so many times over the years, but he was here to be honest. He hadn’t chickened out six and a half years ago, and he wouldn’t chicken out now. His chest felt like an open wound as he finally let himself say it.

“Because I liked it too much, okay?” Shane said in a rush, whirling around to escape the intensity of Ilya’s gaze. “This isn’t what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to… find a girl and marry her and have kids and be normal, I’m not supposed to…”

Shame washed over him, stealing the last of his words and leaving him choked and adrift. Ilya stepped closer and grabbed Shane’s face so he couldn’t look away.

“Fuck supposed to,” he spat. “What do you actually want, Hollander? Because right now you look like you’re marching to your own execution, not finding a nice girl to marry.”

Shane nearly lost his courage and fled for the door again, because the answer was obvious. But it couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be, not for Canada’s Golden Boy. He stepped back to get enough space for the words that were going to ruin his life.

“I mean, getting married, and the kids maybe, yeah, probably, some day, but…”

“Not a woman,” Ilya finished when it was clear Shane wasn’t going to. 

Shane squeezed his eyes shut and gave the tiniest nod. 

A partial truth, but enough to devastate all on its own.

A vast chasm opened in his core. 

“It’s one thing to just be fucking a guy for fun, but if I…” 

Shane dared a look at Ilya, whose expression was completely unreadable, and he suddenly felt too exposed to say any of the things battling in his head. Instead, he honed in on one of the questions that had been bugging him since Ilya had asked him to stay yesterday. He shook his head to clear it and made himself ask. 

“Ilya, things were different this time. You made it different. So… why?” Shane asked. “What were you hoping would come out of all this?”

For the first time since Shane arrived, Ilya’s indifference cracked. He looked away.

“It was stupid.”

“No, I was honest with you, now you be honest with me,” Shane said, managing to keep his voice level. “Why was it different?”

Ilya shook his head and pursed his lips tight before speaking quickly.

“I just wanted more time,” he admitted. “I tried not to think too hard about why.”

Ilya swore under his breath and walked a few paces away, running a hand through his curls.

“I should have known better. I fucked up a good thing because I got greedy. Should have kept it simple. Get together, fuck, that’s it.” He paused, then said the next words like they were killing him. “We still can be. Simple.”

I don’t think we can, actually, Shane thought but did not say. 

“You still haven’t really answered my whole question, Ilya,” he said instead. “What did you think would come of it?”

Shane studied Ilya’s profile as he stared at the ground, hands on his hips, taking several breaths before answering.

“I thought maybe you would like it,” Ilya finally said to the floor. “And if you did, then maybe we do it a few more times, whenever we can. And then maybe we text more, and call sometimes. Maybe I stop sleeping with other people. Maybe…”

He trailed off, shaking his head, visibly bracing himself. Shane’s breath came out shaky as he tried to reconcile Ilya’s vision with what had actually happened.

“You want to stop sleeping with other people?” he asked, disbelieving. “But you were just talking about all your women you have all over the fucking country, asking me if I liked girls, telling me about Svetlana. What the fuck?”

Ilya gestured vaguely. “I was trying to figure out if you were gay or bi, and figure out if you were sleeping with other people. I was telling you I don’t sleep with Sveta anymore, told you I was too lazy to find someone new, you know, so…”

“That was your way of trying to talk to me about going exclusive? By telling me all about how much you love hot women?”

Ilya did not reply. There was a brief, horrified silence.

“Ilya, that is a legitimately insane way to go about that.”

Ilya threw his hands in the air.

“I don’t know, Hollander, I’m good at fucking not at… whatever the fuck this is.”

Silence. Then a snort. Then a laugh, quickly joined by a second laugh. Shane was suddenly brought back to room 1410, to laughing with Ilya after coming the hardest he ever had in his young, inexperienced life, breathless and exultant and feeling completely new in his skin. He felt that way again, new somehow, on the cusp of a whole new version of himself. Shane stepped forward and took Ilya’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“So you want this,” he said. “You want something… with me. Exclusive.”

Ilya’s mouth twisted into a strained smile. “I should not.”

“That’s not a no.”

“...I know.”

“Even with…” Shane waved a hand generally. “The league. The secrecy. Russia. You still…”

“I cannot help it. I’ve tried.” Ilya hesitated, then added: “If it weren’t for Russia, I think maybe we already would be.”

Ilya met Shane’s gaze and quickly looked away. 

“You have not said if you want, though,” Ilya murmured. “You have forced all this out of me but I still don’t know if…”

Fuck, he was right. Shane reached up to cup Ilya’s jaw and ran a thumb over his cheekbone.

“I want,” he said. “It’s why I left yesterday. I felt too much. For you.”

“So you had to go have gay panic,” Ilya said with a half-hearted smirk, his eyes suspiciously shiny.

“Shut up, asshole,” Shane said automatically, flushing at the word gay finally being spoken aloud for the first time. “I’d crossed a line I’d been trying to avoid for years, and I didn’t think we could ever be anything. Or should. But… we’re going to try?”

“I would like to try,” Ilya said, barely above a whisper, his expression softer than Shane had ever seen it. “I might not be any good at it. I’ve never been a boyfriend before. Not since I was a teenager, at least.”

“Boyfriend,” Shane said, rolling the word around on his tongue and letting the corner of his mouth tug upward. “We’ll figure it out together.”

For a long moment, they simply looked at one another, open and feeling and finally allowed to let everything show. Ilya lifted a hand to Shane’s face but hesitated just before making contact.

“Can I call you Shane? Is okay?” 

Shane turned and pressed a kiss to the spot where Ilya’s palm met his wrist, nuzzling the sensitive skin there. “Yes, Ilya. I promise not to panic.”

Ilya’s eyes fell half closed and he pressed his forehead to Shane’s.

“Fuck, Shane, I thought I lost you,” he breathed. 

“I’m so sorry,” Shane murmured. “I’m here now. We’re together. I won’t leave like that again.”

“We’re together,” Ilya said slowly, like he was tasting the words. He nuzzled their noses together, slow and hesitant, his mouth so close but never quite pressing in. Still unsure of his welcome, maybe, or remembering how their last kiss had ended: Ilya pressing up, kissing through a smile that had melted into confusion, then dismay, then heartbreak.

He needed Shane to make the move, so that’s what he did. 

With a delicious ache swelling in his chest, Shane closed the gap, breathing a faint moan as their lips finally touched. It instantly became his favorite kiss he’d ever shared with Ilya. Slow, and soft, a sweet press of lips that tasted like the word “stay” in Ilya’s mouth. Ilya’s fingers wove into Shane’s hair, cradling the back of his head as he deepened the kiss, letting their tongues touch and twine. The kiss renewed again and again, Ilya’s smile growing with each one until he was grinning too hard to actually meet Shane’s lips. Shane huffed a laugh and gave up, burying his own grin in Ilya’s neck, relishing the feel of Ilya’s body pressed against his.

“Thank you for coming back,” Ilya whispered into Shane’s hair. Shane squeezed him in response, running his hands up Ilya’s back.

“I’m so glad I did.”

Shane suddenly remembered who they had to thank for all this and grimaced, backing off just far enough to see Ilya’s eyes. 

“You should probably know,” he began. “Marlow knows about us. Apparently he’s known for a long time and just kept his mouth shut. So, you know, you have someone in your corner here.”

Ilya’s eyebrows went up. “Marly knows? How…? I will kill that nosy fucker.”

“Well, maybe don’t kill him, because he’s the reason I’m here,” Shane admitted. “He told me you weren’t doing well and drove me here. If it weren’t for him I’d probably be back in my hotel, miserable and imagining you moving on with all your many women. You have that option. I… don’t, I guess.”

“I don’t either,” Ilya said. “Because they are not you. And for what it’s worth, I was imagining the same thing. You going out and getting some perfect girlfriend and forgetting all about your big six year mistake.”

The words landed like a puck to the stomach, because that was exactly what Shane had been planning to do before Cliff had got to him. Now, that option was unfathomable. 

“You’ve never been a mistake,” Shane said, the words firm and unyielding. “Never, Ilya.”

It might take a while for Ilya to believe him, but Shane promised himself he’d work to prove it every day. Ilya captured his lips in another kiss, harder and hotter this time, backing Shane further into the house with every press of his mouth.

“So, do we have time for me to fuck you tonight?” Ilya asked, nipping Shane’s bottom lip.

“I have a few hours,” Shane replied. “I’m sorry I wasted our opportunity to spend the whole night together. I wish I could wake up with you in the morning.”

Ilya’s heated gaze softened a bit.

“I will take what I can get. But next time…”

Shane pressed in for a firm, reassuring kiss, then pulled back so Ilya could see just how serious he was.

“Next time. Yes. Next time, we stay.”