Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Jane Hollander (Original Character), Lily Hollander (Original Character), Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Anya

Additional Tags:

Alternate Timelines, Implied/Referenced Character Death

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-24 Completed: 2026-01-26 Words: 6,440 Chapters: 5/5

Nothing Comes Between Us

Summary

The game ended. Shane shepherded the girls out into the cold, promising hot chocolate and dessert if they behaved. The restaurant near the arena was packed. Players, fans, staff, and Shane nearly turned around.

But Lily was already bouncing. “Daddy, that’s him!”

Ilya Rozanov stood near the bar, hair damp from a shower, suit jacket on his stool, laughing loudly at something a teammate said.

Shane froze.

Or what if Shane Hollander left his NHL dreams behind after one too many panic attacks, had kids, but STILL, somehow, in an alternate timeline, found his way to Ilya Rozanov.

Chapter 1: Become What You’ve Always Known

Chapter Notes

Shane Hollander decided that he couldn’t go pro when he was nine years old.

It wasn’t dramatic in the way movies liked to make it. There were scouts in the stands, but no big moment where everything shattered. It just happened in a rink that smelled like plastic, under fluorescent lights that buzzed too loud. His chest locked up and his lungs refused to cooperate.

He remembered gripping the boards, vision tunneling, his heart slamming so hard he thought it might punch through his chest. He remembered the coach yelling his name, the whistle shrieking, the ice tilting beneath him. Someone dragged him off. Someone else said the word panic in a low, worried voice.

This wasn’t his first panic attack, and wouldn’t be his last. But for some reason this one had shook his entire being entirely. It wasn’t just just he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t feel. It was numbing. He absolutely could not do this anymore. The more the prospect of having to go through this time and time again, worrying if he was good enough, fast enough, Canadian enough? He’d heard kids taunt him for being Asian. He got it easier than a few other kids with less westernised surnames but it stung. He didn’t want the pressure, he just wanted to play hockey. But he couldn’t if it would feel like this.

Later, when the world had steadied and his parents sat on either side of him in the locker room, Shane stared down at his skates and thought, with the simple clarity only a terrified child can have:
I can’t do this anymore. I have to stop.

He still loved hockey. God, he loved it. He just loved breathing more.

So Shane Hollander grew up, played recreationally, went to college, and on the eve of his twenty second birthday married his high school girlfriend Jessica Meyer, who had kind eyes and a steady laugh and loved him in a way that felt safe. He loved her too. Deeply, genuinely. Even if some quiet, unnameable part of himself always stayed locked away.

When Jessica died four days after giving birth to their twin girls, that part cracked open.

Shane was twenty three, holding two impossibly small girls, listening to a doctor say we did everything we could, and thinking that if grief were a physical thing it would have crushed him flat into the hospital floor.

But it wasn’t grief for himself. It was for their girls.

He named them Lily and Jane. They had both their parents dark hair and Shane’s big brown doe eyes and freckles. They screamed, they cried, they lived.

And Shane stayed.

By the time the girls were four, Shane’s life had settled into a rhythm that was exhausting and beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.

He worked remotely for a sports analytics company, irony wasn’t lost on him, and lived in a modest house in Montréal. He packed lunches with dinosaur shaped sandwiches, learned to braid hair via YouTube tutorials, and slept in two-hour stretches most nights.

Hockey stayed in his life the way a ghost might linger: always there, never touched.

Ilya Rozanov was drafted to the Montréal Metros at eighteen and immediately became a problem.

For the league, for opposing teams, for defensemen who underestimated him, and for journalists who couldn’t decide whether they wanted to fight him or kiss him. He was reckless and brilliant and loud, a grin carved permanently into his face like he knew something the rest of the world didn’t.

He loved hockey with his whole body. He loved the speed, the violence, the art of it. He loved being watched.

What he didn’t expect was to love the way Montréal loved him back.

The city wrapped itself around him . French and English and noise and history , and Ilya thrived. Sure he missed Russia, well, he thought he did, but he became the Metros’ golden boy, their chaos engine, their top scorer. He dated models. He went to parties. He slept around.

And sometimes, late at night, he felt a hollow ache he couldn’t quite name. Lonely, he thought. Depressed, sometimes, like his Mother. He tried to be as little like his father as he could.

But, lonely.

Something was missing, but he could never seem to understand what it was.

Lily and Jane discovered Ilya Rozanov the way children discover religion.

It started with a commercial. Shane was folding laundry, half watching a Metros game on TV because old habits died hard, when Jane gasped.

“Daddy,” she whispered, eyes wide. “He’s flying.”

Ilya scored on a breakaway, stickhandling like the puck was an extension of his hand, grin blazing as the crowd erupted.

“Who is that?” Lily demanded.

Shane glanced up. His breath hitched, unexpectedly.

“Oh,” he said, faintly. “That’s… Ilya Rozanov.”

The girls latched on immediately. They insisted on watching Metros games. They wore blue and white jerseys three sizes too big Shane got at a local store. They argued over who got to be Ilya when they played hockey in the driveway with plastic sticks.

Shane let it happen.

Maybe because it made them happy. Maybe because it was easier to love something with them. Maybe because watching Ilya Rozanov play felt like standing too close to a fire. Dangerous, warm, impossible to look away from.

The Metros had a home game in January.

Shane told himself he didn’t have to go. He really did. But Lily begged, and Jane cried, and Shane, soft hearted fool that he was, bought three tickets in the lower bowl after months of saving.

The arena buzzed with energy. The girls bounced in their seats, faces painted, new, real Metros jerseys bought for them by nanna Yuna and pop pop David tucked into leggings.

And then Ilya stepped onto the ice.

Shane felt it like a punch to the sternum.

Ilya Rozanov was bigger in person. Faster. Real in a way TV didn’t capture. He skated with arrogance, with joy, with a confidence that made Shane’s palms sweat.

He’d seen him before, once. Out grocery shopping whilst the girls were with the grandparents. He stopped still in the cereal aisle, eight feet away from him. Ilya looked up and a small smile curved at his lips. Shane wanted to go over and ask for an autograph. For the girls, obviously, but his feet wouldn’t move. Ilya turned and walked away to the next aisle.

Midway through the second period, Ilya took a penalty shot.

He glanced up, scanning the crowd, as players sometimes did, and his eyes caught.

On Shane. Again.

On two little girls waving wildly, one holding a sign that said ILY A YOU’RE MY HERO in backwards letters.

Something in Ilya’s chest shifted.

He scored, of course. He always did. But when he skated past the boards afterward, he looked again.

The man with the girls wasn’t cheering. He was smiling softly, like he was holding something fragile and precious and didn’t want to drop it.

Ilya didn’t know why it mattered.

It just did.

They met again that night completely by accident.

The game ended. Shane shepherded the girls out into the cold, promising hot chocolate and dessert if they behaved. The restaurant near the arena was packed. Players, fans, staff, and Shane nearly turned around.

But Lily was already bouncing. “Daddy, that’s him!”

Ilya Rozanov stood near the bar, hair damp from a shower, suit jacket on his stool, laughing loudly at something a teammate said.

Shane froze.

Ilya noticed them at the same time.

The girls broke free like missiles.

“Ilya!” Jane shouted.

Ilya turned, startled, and then grinned.

“Hey,” he said, crouching automatically. “You are loud.”

“You’re my favourite!” Lily announced, shoving her phone at him. “Can we have a picture?”

Ilya laughed, bright and real. “Of course.”

Shane hovered, mortified. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine,” Ilya said, standing. Up close, he was devastating. “They are… intimidating.”

The girls giggled.

“I’m Shane,” he said, holding out a hand. “Their dad.”

Ilya took it.

The contact sent a jolt through both of them.

“Ilya,” he said, eyes lingering a fraction too long. “Nice to meet you, Shane. But, I have seen you before, no.”

“What?”

“Yes, I remember, few months ago in supermarket. You stood planted to the floor like statue.”

“I was intimidated, ok. I’ve never seen a celebrity before.”

“Ah, so not frozen due to my good looks, no?”

Shane’s cheeks went beet red. Ilya playfully pushed his shoulder then crouched down again to the girls.

They took pictures. Ilya teased. Teased the girls, and Shane. Shane laughed despite himself.

And somehow. Somehow. Ilya walked away with Shane’s phone number scribbled on a napkin.

“For… anytime I have spare ticket. Cannot let these girls down now can I.” Ilya had said, wink sharp as a blade.

Shane should not have texted him back the next day when Ilyas name popped up on his screen.

He did anyway.

They texted constantly.

At first it was about the girls. About hockey. About Montréal versus Boston, trash talk light and playful.

Then it wasn’t.

They talked about music. Food. Sleep deprivation. Ilya sent videos of himself doing stupid things at practice. Shane sent pictures of Lily and Jane, asleep on the couch, tangled together like puppies.

Months passed.

Shane attended two more games with the girls. And one alone.

One night, after the girls were asleep and the house was quiet, Shane stared at his phone.

Ilya

I’m glad I met you and your girls. I was a little lonely at that time. Now I have people cheering for me in the stands. It feels nice.

Shane

Ilya, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that. We will always cheer for you. You can talk to me if you need to, about anything. I know we’ve only met a few times but the girls adore you.

Ilya

And I, them.

Ilya

Shane.

Ilya

I adore you too.

Shane

You do?

Ilya

I do.

Ilya

I wasn’t lying when I said I was lonely. But I haven’t felt lonely in months. Not since I met you.

Shane

Ilya…

Shane

I’ve never told anyone this.

The dots appeared. Paused. Appeared again.

Ilya

Okay.

Ilya

Tell me.

Shane’s hands shook.

Shane

I’m gay.

The reply came instantly.

Ilya

Thank you for telling me.

Shane swallowed hard.

Shane

I loved my wife. I still do. But I’m scared I’m lying to my daughters somehow. Like I’m already failing them.

There was a long pause.

Then:

Ilya

You are not failing anyone. You are raising two incredible humans alone and doing it with love. That is… very brave.

Shane exhaled, tears stinging.

They decided to meet.

No expectations. No labels.

Just coffee.

The door chimed as Shane stepped inside, heart hammering.

Ilya was already there.

He looked up.

Their eyes met.

“Hi,” Shane said.

“Hi,” Ilya replied.

And for a moment, the world held its breath.

Chapter End Notes

Some divergence from real timeline obviously.

- Without ‘Shane Hollander’ and the rivalry the NHL loved to exploit. Ilya gets picked first but this time by the metros. Butterfly effect I guess

- This takes place end of 2017/beginning of 2018

- Major events have still taken place. Scott coming out with Kip on the ice, Ilya’s father dying etc

Yes the chapters are Little Mix lyrics :’D

Chapter 2: You And I And Nobody Else

Chapter Notes

Inspiration got the better of me.

Enjoy this chapter. I already have mapped what’s to come and started Chapter 3 :)

The lat six months had been a blur of stolen mornings, long phone calls, and dates they’d long stopped counting. Shane had lost track weeks ago. How many dinners, coffees, or mid-afternoon walks they’d taken. Long talks over FaceTime whilst Ilya was at away games. Him and the girls at home games with Rozanov jerseys screaming their hearts out when he scored. Tonight, however, felt deliberate. Intentional. Different.

It was now off season. Which meant more time. If they wanted it.

The girls were with their grandparents. Shane had come out to them last year but had kept any mention of his private life just that. Private. They’d asked questions these last few months but didn’t pry too much. When Shane had asked for them to take the girls overnight, which wasn’t new, they did ask for a reason why. He told them straight. He was seeing someone, he had been for several months, and they needed some time to talk. Yuna and David were not shocked.

“Enjoy your evening, honey. Do what you need to do. We will be here tomorrow if you want to talk.” Yuna had said.

Shane smiled, walked over to the dining/play room that had been over run with toys and a fort filled with pillows and blankets. “Be good for Nanna and Pop Pop girls, see you tomorrow.”

Shane now stood in Ilya’s kitchen in socked feet, wine glass abandoned on the counter, watching Ilya wrestle with a frying pan like it had personally offended him.

“This stove,” Ilya declared, voice full of outrage, “pretends to be hot and then… nothing. Nothing happens. I am betrayed.”

Shane laughed, leaning on the counter. “You know, you don’t have to impress me.”

“I always have to impress you!” Ilya shot back, grinning over his shoulder. “This is important. Reputation!”

Shane rolled his eyes, smiling softly. “Sure. Your entire reputation depends on this pan.”

Eventually, they sat at Ilya’s small table with the dinner they’d somehow cobbled together, the pasta slightly overcooked, garlic bread a little burnt. They ate slowly, the wine loosening the conversation. Laughter came easy, spilling into silences, settling like warm light.

Then, as always, the conversation slowed.

Shane was nervous now. Something had gone unsaid for the last six months. But now it was time.

“Ilya…” Shane started, voice hesitant. “There’s something I haven’t told you about… about hockey.”

Ilya tilted his head, intrigued. “Really? What haven’t you told me?”

Shane laughed nervously, running a hand over his face. “I… I used to play actually. When I was a kid. I was… pretty good, by all accounts. My mom was a bit of nightmare about it actually. Making my dad take extra shifts to pay for practices and gear. Her taking on extra work for the same. I loved it, but… I could never go pro. I stopped when I was nine. Panic attack, all that pressure… coaches already talking about teams from all over Canada wanting to see me play. Talking about junior hockey leagues, flying around the world to play against teams in other countries. I thought I’d never breathe again. I never told anyone. Not really. Sometimes I wondered if I made the right decision… or the wrong one. But it got me here. To the girls. To this life. And I don’t regret that.”

Ilya blinked, genuinely surprised. “Nine? That’s… incredible. I mean, I bet you were amazing. Were you that good?”

“Yeah I think so. I don’t think everyone around me would have been like that if I wasn’t.”

“We are same age pretty much, you probably would’ve been the number two draft pick after me. Same year. We’d have been rivals. I actually played in Canada for Juniors in… 2008, or, 2009. You would have been there I bet.”

Shane grinned, shaking his head. “Yes. Probably. And… we’d probably have embarked on a secret affair that would have blown everyone’s minds if they found out. Fierce rivals, secret lovers. Ew, not lovers, gross.”

Ilya threw his head back and laughed, a sound full of disbelief and delight. “You’re awful. But… I like the thought.”

Shane leaned back, imagining it. “Think about it though. We’d be the headlines. Every magazine. Every blog.”

“I mean…” Ilya’s eyes twinkled, voice teasing, “we would have done it in hotel rooms, locker rooms… God, Shane. The chaos we would have caused.”

Shane laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach. “Yes! And somehow we’d keep it secret from everyone. Coaches, parents, teammates… can you imagine?”

Ilya grinned mischievously. “Oh, I can. And then one of us scores a game-winning goal against the other, and the other one throws a tantrum on the ice while secretly smiling.”

“Exactly!” Shane said, eyes sparkling. “And everyone would lose their minds because we’d be… us. And unstoppable. Rivals and conspirators.”

They laughed together until their ribs ached. And yet beneath the jokes, beneath the playful “what-ifs,” Shane felt a tenderness for what was. The calm, warm intimacy of this evening, the laughter that filled the room, the quiet that settled after.

Shane traced the rim of his glass with his finger. “Ilya… I’ve never really told you about Jessica,” he murmured.

Ilya’s grin softened, his teasing gone. He leaned back, waiting, silent.

“She was… amazing,” Shane said. “Kind. Funny. Grounding. We married young. I thought that was… just how love was supposed to feel. Safe, steady. And then she died. Four days after giving birth to the girls. And… everything changed.”

Ilya reached across the table, hand brushing Shane’s. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I can’t imagine…”

Shane shook his head. “Don’t. You can’t be sorry. It’s not about being sorry. I… I realized after that, after losing her, that I had been keeping a part of myself locked away my whole life.”

He swallowed. “A few years later… the company Christmas party. I had one drink too many. And then… one night with a guy. Someone I worked with. And I woke up the next morning, and I knew. I didn’t panic. I didn’t question. I just… knew.”

Ilya smirked, despite the seriousness. “Ah. Office fling. Jealousy brewing.”

Shane laughed, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Ilya pressed, leaning closer. “I might be a little jealous. Not in a serious way. Just… annoyed I wasn’t there first.”

Shane shook his head, heart lightening. “You are impossible.”

By the time they were done, Shane felt a familiar tightness in his chest. Love, fear, longing, all tangled. Tonight, he was sleeping over. The first time.

After dinner had long ended and they had talked for hours, they were tangled under blankets, limbs intertwined, Shane’s chest still ached with the weight of everything he wanted to say.

“Ilya,” he murmured. “I… I don’t know how to tell the girls about us. I want to, but… It makes it real.”

Ilya’s hand traced patterns across Shane’s chest, trembling. “I know. I get it.” Ilyas face shifted, eyes darting away from Shane’s chest to his lips.

“What is it Ilya?”

“I don’t want to bring my past into this either. Losing my mother. It’s why I’ve been careful, why I’ve held back. I’m scared of losing anyone else.”

Shane stiffened. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Ilya whispered, head resting against Shane. “It’s not you. It’s me. And… if I come out publicly, I couldn’t go back to Russia. Not that I need to. My father’s gone, and my mother’s gone. The grave I wouldn’t be able to visit… but… I’ll find other ways to remember her. But I can’t hide who I am anymore.”

Shane swallowed hard. “You’re safe here. We’ll figure it out together.”

“I know. But there’s more,” Ilya said, voice breaking slightly. “I know you are not just hockey fan now so you must know about Scott Hunter? Two years ago, Stanley Cup win, kissed his boyfriend Kip on the ice? Everyone saw it. Everyone supported him. Well almost everyone. Seeing that… it made me feel like maybe I could breathe too. Like maybe I could be me and not hide.”

Shane nodded slowly. “I see. If he could do it, the league supported him, mostly… he’s still with the Admirals after all. It could be possible for you.”

“Yes,” Ilya said, tears glimmering in his eyes. “But if we go public… really public… it’s not just me. You’re with me. And I know you’ve built this life. Your girls… and I’m… high profile. Hockey isn’t Hollywood, but is big, yes? Would you be comfortable? With that?”

Shane’s throat tightened. “I… I don’t know. It would be scary. But I think it’s worth it. I want this. I want you.”

“I could email Scott Hunter. Ask his Kip to call you maybe. Talk through how it has been for him.”

“You don’t have to do that Ilya.”

“Oh I don’t want to. Hunter is dinosaur, 100,000 years old and this will be humiliating for me, for him to see me begging for help”

“Shut up.”

Ilya laughed, head tilted back resting on the couch. They were silent for a second.

Ilya moved forward, pressed closer, forehead to Shane’s. “I don’t want to hide. Not anymore. Not from you. Not from anyone.”

Shane brushed hair from Ilya’s forehead, chest tight. “We’ll take it step by step. I… We, will tell the girls when we’re ready. We’ll make a plan for the world. I want to be with you. That’s all I’ve wanted since… well. That day at the supermarket, actually.”

Ilya’s fingers trembled against Shane’s collarbone. “And I’ve wanted it too. I just… I was scared. But then you… you are here. I stop hiding.”

Shane’s voice cracked. “You mean that?”

“I do. In a way it will make not going back to Russia easier. Having handsome man waiting for me at home. Two beautiful little girls adoring me. Hard life eh.”

Shane sniffed.

“We can find new ways to honour your mother, Ilya. I would like that.”

Ilya’s lips quivered. “She would have loved you… like I love you.”

Shane froze. Heart pounding. “Ilya…”

“I mean it,” Ilya whispered, forehead resting against his. “I can’t hide it anymore. I love you. I don’t care about rest of the world knowing. I just… I love you.”

Shane’s eyes widened. “Holy shit.” He laughed through tears, cupping Ilya’s face. “I… I love you too. I’ve never… I’ve never wanted something like this. Not ever.”

They kissed then. Slow, trembling, desperate.

Six months of laughter, fear, longing, and love sealing into one infinite, perfect moment. Outside, the city hummed. Shane’s girls could wait. The world could wait. Everything could wait, because here, under the blankets, neither of them were hiding anymore.

And somehow, against every caution, it felt exactly right.

Chapter 3: I Don’t Wanna Hide Us Away

Chapter Notes

Chapter 3.

Had this finished last night but came home from work an hour ago and re wrote a few bits.

Chapter 4 will also be posted tonight as I’m away with work from tomorrow.

Enjoy :)

Ilya

Ilya had driven across countries where the road signs changed languages and the rules of the game shifted under his skates, but the stretch of highway leading toward Ottawa made his palms sweat in a way nothing else ever had.

The cottage had been in Shane’s family for years. Not rented. Owned. Loved. Planned to be passed down with the kind of permanence Ilya had never known.

That mattered.

The car hummed steadily beneath him, Shane sat in the passenger seat, window cracked, elbow resting against the door, fingers tapping idly against his thigh. The girls were with Shane’s friend Jackie from work.

“You’re quiet,” Ilya said, keeping his eyes on the road.

Shane smiled faintly. “Just thinking.”

Ilya waited. He’d learned that silence was something Shane needed space to move through, not something to fill.

“This place,” Shane said eventually, voice softer now, almost distant. “It’s the same cottage we came to every summer when I was a kid. My parents still own it. Haven’t changed much about it either.”

Ilya glanced at him. “You told me once you loved the lake.”

“I did,” Shane said. “I still do. I used to wake up early and sneak out before breakfast. Sit on the dock with my feet in the water. Sometimes I’d bring a book. Sometimes I’d just… sit.”

He paused, then laughed quietly. “I always wished I could have a place like this of my own someday. Close to here, maybe a little more private. Somewhere the girls could run around without anyone watching. No noise. No expectations. Just the three of us. Or four, obviously. And a dog.”

Ours, Ilya thought again, unbidden. He would remember that.

Shane shifted in his seat. “I wanted to be close enough to my parents without being… right on top of them. I didn’t know why that mattered so much when I was younger.”

“I think I know.” Ilya said simply.

Shane looked at him, surprised. Then something warm spread across his face. “You do?”

“Yes. It mattered because everyone expected so much from you when you were that age. But a place for you meant no expectations.” Ilya tightened his grip on the wheel. “See, I listen.”

They drove the rest of the way with the windows down, the air cooler now, carrying the scent of water and pine. When the cottage finally came into view with weathered wood, familiar angles, a dock stretching quietly into the lake, Ilya felt something shift inside his chest.

This wasn’t neutral ground.

This was Shane’s history.

The door opened almost immediately.

“Shane,” Yuna Hollander said, smile bright and instinctive. Until her gaze moved past him.

The smallest pause. Barely a breath.

“Oh,” she said.

David Hollander stepped forward, brows lifting. “Rozanov.”

They knew he was bringing someone. His boyfriend. But they had no idea who.

Ilya forced himself to breathe. “Hi. Ilya, please. Thank you for having me.”

Shane’s hand brushed his wrist. Light, grounding, deliberate.

Yuna turned around and met David’s side.

“Oh, I should have said, my Mom’s kind of a huge hockey fan. Her favourite team is the Metros.”

“Now is when you tell me this!”

Dinner was polite. Careful. Balanced on a thin wire of civility and curiosity.

David asked about the drive. About the off-season. About training schedules. Ilya answered plainly, stripped of charm, voice steady even as his stomach churned.

Yuna watched him closely. Assessing, curious, not unkind. She knew of Ilya Rozanov sure, was a fan for his hockey. But she also knew his reputation.

Then she leaned forward slightly. “Is it true,” she asked, eyes lighting despite herself, “that when you scored that goal on one knee against Toronto last year it was on purpose?”

Ilya blinked, then laughed, the sound escaping before he could stop it. “Unfortunately, yes. My coach still insists it wasn’t intentional. I insist it absolutely was.”

Her grin widened. “I knew it.”

Just like that, something eased. Not gone, but loosened.

They talked hockey then. Real hockey. Old rivalries, rule changes, how the league felt different now. Yuna knew her statistics, remembered games Ilya had half-forgotten himself. She spoke about players with the fondness of someone who truly loved the sport, not just the spectacle.

Ilya found himself relaxing despite the tightness in his chest.

Shane watched them, amused, shoulders slowly lowering.

Then Yuna turned her attention fully to her son.

“So,” she said casually, “how long has this been going on?”

Shane stiffened almost imperceptibly. “About seven months.”

David’s fork paused mid-air.

“And the girls?” Yuna asked gently.

Shane hesitated. “They know Ilya.”

Ilya’s heart thudded.

“But,” Shane continued, “not like this.”

Yuna tilted her head. “Explain.”

“They know him because he’s… well. Him,” Shane said, glancing at Ilya. “They’ve seen him on TV. They’ve been to a few games. Met him a bunch of times. He came over once, about two weeks ago.”

Ilya smiled despite himself. “Yes, two weeks ago,” he echoed. “They immediately put me in princess dresses and painted my nails glitter pink.”

Yuna laughed outright. “Of course they did.”

“I lost all dignity,” Ilya added solemnly. “Immediately.”

Shane smiled, warmth spreading through his chest. “They like him. They just don’t know… us yet.”

Yuna nodded slowly. “And you’re waiting because?”

Shane swallowed. “Because once I tell them, it’s all real. And I need to be sure I’m not pulling them into something I can’t protect them from.” Ilya looked at Shane now, he looked back, smiled and placed his hand on his.

The table went quiet.

Then Shane stood. “Bathroom. Back in a second.”

The moment he disappeared down the hall, Yuna turned fully toward Ilya.

“You know,” she said softly, “Shane used to play hockey.”

“I know,” Ilya replied. “He told me.”

David leaned back, watching carefully now.

“He was exceptional,” Yuna continued. “People still ask why he quit.”

“He was nine,” Ilya said. “Panic attack. Too much pressure. Adults forgetting he was a child.”

Yuna’s eyes glistened. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“What kind of world are you bringing him into?”

Ilya didn’t look away. “A loud one. One that absolutely doesn’t deserve him.”

David folded his hands. “And yet you’re still here.”

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Because we’re making a plan. Together.”

“And the girls?” Yuna asked. “Are you… prepared for that?”

Ilya didn’t hesitate. “I love Shane. And I love the girls. They are not baggage. They are a gift.”

Yuna studied him for a long moment.

Shane returned then, sensing the shift instantly.

David turned toward Ilya, directly, unmistakably. “Have you ever spoken to Scott Hunter?”

The question was for Ilya.

But Shane answered.

“Yes,” Shane said. “We have. It was actually Ilya’s idea.”

Ilya’s breath caught.

“He suggested reaching out,” Shane continued. “Scott put us in touch with Kip. He was the best person to speak to given the circumstances. He was honest. About everything.”

David nodded. “And?”

“And it’s been hard… for him. And for Scott I guess.” Shane said. “But most of the worst of it is online. In real life, at games, out in public, people have been kind. Supportive.”

Yuna reached for Shane’s hand.

Dinner ended quietly after that.

When Yuna stood, she didn’t hesitate. She walked around the table and pulled Ilya into a firm, unexpected hug.

“You’re family,” she said simply. “If you’re choosing our son, then we choose you too.”

David joined them, hand heavy on Ilya’s shoulder.

“And you better get us tickets. It’s been years since we’ve been to a home game. I always dreamed of cheering on my boy from the stands on home ice. Now I have you.”

Ilya closed his eyes.

For the first time since he was twelve, the future didn’t feel like something he had to survive.

It felt like something he might get to live.

Chapter 4: Let The Good Things In My Life Rain Down

Chapter Notes

Final chapter. I think.

Happily ever after. Fluff, love and a confirmation that Shane and Ilya are meant to be in any timeline :)

Shane & Ilya

When Shane… and Ilya, told the girls, it didn’t look like the moment they’d rehearsed a hundred times in their heads.

There were no perfectly chosen words. No careful metaphors. No gentle easing-in.

There was just a Saturday morning, cereal bowls abandoned on the table, Ilya sitting cross-legged on the floor while both girls argued over whose turn it was to brush Anya’s fur, even though Anya didn’t exist yet, and they were using a stuffed unicorn as a stand-in.

Shane watched them for a long moment, heart thudding.

“Girls,” he said finally.

They looked up at him in unison.

“We need to tell you something.”

Four-year-olds, it turned out, were spectacularly bad at sensing the gravity of a moment.

“Is it about pancakes?” one of them asked hopefully.

“No,” Shane said, laughing despite himself. “It’s about Ilya. About… us.”

That did it. Two pairs of eyes snapped to Ilya immediately.

Ilya froze.

Shane sat down on the rug with them. “You know how Daddy loves you more than anything in the whole world?”

“Yes,” they chorused, immediately.

“And you know how people can love more than one person?”

They nodded again, solemn.

“Well… I love Ilya. In a grown up way. The way people choose each other.”

There was a pause. A long one.

Then…

“Does that mean he’s staying for dinner more?”

“And can he still wear the princess dress?”

Ilya let out a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a sob.

“Yes,” Shane said hoarsely. “And yes.”

That was it.

No fear. No rejection. No breaking.

Just acceptance, simple and bright and uncomplicated.

Later, when Ilya lay awake that night with Shane breathing softly beside him, he cried quietly into the pillow. Not from grief, but from the sheer, staggering relief of it.

Going public was louder. Much louder.

They did it carefully. Slowly. Together.

A short statement. A confirmation about Ilya’s bisexuality first and about his upcoming Canadian citizenship test. A photo from Shane. Ilya’s hand tucked casually into the frame, familiar to anyone who looked closely enough. Then more photos. Tagged on Instagram, open, free.

The reaction was… a lot.

But Scott Hunter had been right. Kip had been right.

Most of the cruelty stayed trapped behind screens. In real life, people smiled. They congratulated. They told Ilya they were proud. They told Shane they were brave.

Someone once asked Shane if it was hard, being known as the partner of a star athlete.

Shane smiled and said, “I’m not the partner of a star athlete. I’m the partner of the man who makes our kids laugh and makes the coffee wrong every morning.”

That clip went viral.

Ilya saved it. Watched it when the world felt sharp again.

The years unfolded gently after that.

Not without difficulty. Never without it… but with intention.

They bought land on the lake near Ottawa. Ten minutes from David and Yuna’s cottage. Close enough to hear the same birds in the morning. Far enough to build something entirely their own. Ilya had remembered.

The house took shape slowly.

Big windows. Open spaces. A dock that stretched into the water the way Shane had dreamed as a child.

A place where the girls could grow without feeling watched.

A place where Ilya could exhale.

Anya arrived before the house was finished. A gangly, oversized puppy with ears too big for her head and a habit of curling up directly on Ilya’s feet.

“Troy Barrett from Ottawa Centaurs reached out. This little one needed a home, it was too crowded at his Harris’s farm, and we are so close, and she is called Anya. Fate, no? I had to have her.” Ilya told Shane when he arrived to the cottage with her completely unannounced.

Shane kissed his temple. “She’s perfect.”

Life softened around them.

The girls grew taller. Louder. Sharper. They stopped painting Ilya’s nails and started stealing his hoodies instead.

Ilya retired quietly years later. On his own terms.

The final game was emotional, but not devastating. He skated off the ice to a standing ovation, eyes finding Shane in the stands, the girls on either side of him, Anya’s name stitched discreetly into Shane’s jacket sleeve.

Later that night, Ilya said, “I won’t miss it.”

And he meant it.

The ring came one evening at the lake.

No cameras. No speeches.

Just the sun sinking low, the water gold and still, 100 candles, electric ones inside, real outside, leading to the dock.

Ilya knelt in front of Shane and pressed a box into his hand.

“I choose you,” he said simply. “Still. Always.”

Shane didn’t cry.

He laughed. Breathless and disbelieving, and then said yes before Ilya could finish breathing.

The summer of their wedding was warm and slow.

The cottage smelled like cut grass and sunscreen and coffee in the mornings. Invitations were scattered across the dining table. The girls argued over dresses. Anya shed everywhere.

Yuna fussed. David pretended not to. Shane with his mother by his side. Ilya getting help from David to fix his cufflinks.

One evening, as they stood on the deck watching the light fade over the lake, Shane leaned into Ilya and said, “You know… this feels like the life I would’ve picked. Even if I’d known all my other options.”

Ilya kissed his hair. “Me too.”

They stood there for a long time.

The world quiet.

The future wide open.

No hiding.

No fear.

Just love. Settled, certain, and finally, completely their own.

Chapter End Notes

Okay so I have a fifth chapter/epilogue in my head.

Going to write tonight and if all goes well in my brain I’ll post tomorrow night once I get to my hotel.

Chapter 5: When The Curtains Close and All Of The Lights Go Down (Epilogue)

Chapter Notes

Little Epilogue after some inspiration last night.

Enjoy :)

Lily & Jane

We don’t remember our mom.

Not really.

We know her face from photos. We know her name from the way Dad says it softly sometimes, like it’s something breakable. We know she loved yellow and laughed loudly and held us when we were born, even though she was tired.

But the house we grew up in?
That was Dad and Papa.

When people ask what it was like growing up with a famous hockey player, we always look at each other first. Because that’s not really how it felt.

It felt like burnt toast in the mornings because Papa never paid attention.
It felt like Dad reminding us to bring sweaters even in July.
It felt like lake water so cold it made your teeth ache and laughter burst out of you anyway.

It felt like home.

The cottage was the centre of everything.

Built ten minutes from Nanna and Pop Pop’s place, but somehow quieter. Bigger. Warmer. Full of light and noise and muddy footprints and dog hair.

Anya claimed the sunniest spot on the deck as her own. We claimed the dock.

We grew up swimming there. Crying there. Studying for exams with our feet in the water. Sneaking beers we absolutely weren’t supposed to have.

Dad pretended not to notice.

Papa definitely noticed. He just didn’t snitch.

They got married at the end of summer when we were eight.

Everyone says weddings are for the couple, but that’s not really true. This one was for all of us.

There were no big speeches. No cameras. Just family, friends, and people who had stayed.

Nanna cried immediately. Pop Pop pretended not to, failed.

Papa wore a blue suit. Dad wore grey. They looked… steady. Like they’d already lived a whole life together and this was just the part where they said it out loud.

When Papa said his vows, his voice shook.

When Dad said his, he laughed halfway through, a single tear steady against his cheek, and had to stop.

We stood between them.

Because of course we did.

Later, someone asked us what it was like, having two dads.

Jane answered first.

“It’s loud.”

Lily added, “And embarrassing.”

But then we thought about it longer.

“It’s safe,”

That felt right.

They taught us things.

Dad taught us how to stay. How to sit with hard feelings without running. How to love carefully and completely at the same time.

Papa taught us how to be brave. How to take up space. How not to apologize for joy.

Together, they taught us that love could be rebuilt. That grief didn’t cancel happiness. That choosing each other again and again mattered more than getting it perfect.

Sometimes, late at night, we’d hear them talking on the deck.

Soft voices. Laughter. Silence that wasn’t empty.

Once, when we were older, Papa told us that he never thought he’d get a life like this. That he thought happiness was something loud and fast and temporary.

“And then,” he said, smiling at Dad across the kitchen, “it was quiet. And it stayed.”

Now, years later, the cottage still stands.

The dock’s a little weathered. The kitchen table has scratches from too many dinners. Anya long gone.

Dad still wakes up early. Papa still doesn’t.

And when we come back, from university, from work, from wherever life has taken us. The light is always on.

The door is always unlocked.

And no matter how old we get, Dad still asks if we’re hungry.

We don’t remember our mom.

But we remember love.

We grew up inside it.

And it was more than enough.

Chapter End Notes

Hope you enjoyed it. I loved writing this little story.

Thinking of some other ideas for stories with alternate timelines too hehe.