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:

Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of You'd wanna avoid a hate crime if you could.

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-02 Words: 1,811 Chapters: 1/1

Gotta catch 'em all.

Summary

CLIFF: I think my rookie may be one of yours.
ILYA: Russian?
CLIFF: No, dumbass. Gay.

Marlow accidently helps Ilya add to his collection of hockey queers.

Notes

CLIFF: I think my rookie may be one of yours.

Ilya blinks at the contextless text message on his screen and tries to figure out what the fuck Marlow is talking about.

ILYA:  Russian?

CLIFF:  No, dumbass.  Gay.  Or whatever.

Admittedly, that does make more sense.  In Ilya's defense, he is currently very jetlagged.  

CLIFF:  Dan Keegan.  I ran into him and his roommate at a restaurant the other day and I can't explain why but I really don't think that was just a roommate.  And he's been kinda squirrelly with me ever since.

ILYA:  And you are telling me why?

CLIFF:  Because I need advice!  What should I do?

Ilya sighs down at his phone.  Overall, Marlow had been great about the bisexual thing, and even pretty good about the Shane thing once he got over the initial shock, but the man remained painfully heterosexual and also sometimes very dumb.

ILYA:  Do?  We do not require special accommodations.  Are you doing a hate crime right now?

CLIFF:  Fuck you, asshole.  I mean I want him to be comfortable and shit.  Like I’d wanna AVOID a hate crime if I could.

Okay, that's surprisingly sweet actually.  

CLIFF:  If he even is.  Which I don't know.  He might not be.  It's just a vibe.

But Ilya is intrigued now.  He swipes briefly over to his calendar app, then back to his text thread with Marlow.

ILYA:  We play in Boston next weekend.  Bring him out for drinks after and I will talk to him.  See how good your gaydar is.

CLIFF:  You’re the best.

ILYA:  I know.  Hopefully, more for my collection.

CLIFF:  Your what?

Ilya leaves him on read.

A week and a half later, Ilya is sliding into a booth next to Daniel Keegan in the back of a Boston bar.  There's a small group of them out tonight, but Troy and Wyatt have long since disappeared in the direction of the pool table, and Marlow, after much cajoling, has finally corralled Shane, Hammersmith, and Carmichael into a game of darts.  Ilya is currently as alone with Keegan as it’s possible to be in the middle of a crowded bar.

Keegan’s slightly older than Ilya's expecting; the kid must have played in college before entering the draft.  He's also quiet, but Ilya can't tell if that's because he's actually shy or just intimidated by being the lone rookie surrounded by veterans.  Ilya briefly wonders what nonsense Marlow had spouted to even get him to come out with them tonight.

“So you are rookie, yes?” he opens as casually as he can.  Ilya's not one for subtlety, and he's not really aiming for it here, but he also doesn't want to send the kid running straight away.

“Oh, yeah.  I mean, yes,” Keegan replies and sits up a little straighter.  He has the same faintly starstruck look that Luca used to get whenever Ilya talked to him.  

“How has season been?” Ilya asks like this is all just meaningless small talk.

“Good!” the kid answers.  “Exciting, but also scary, obviously.  I’m still just trying to get as much ice time as possible, prove I belong here, you know?”  It's the media-friendly response, but the kid sounds so earnest, Ilya can't find it in himself to be disappointed.  

“You must not forget to have fun too,” Ilya tells him, thinking back to all the things he got up to his rookie season.  And who he got up to them with.  He gives the kid’s shoulder a friendly clap and continues brightly, “Like me!  I got with my husband rookie season.  Well, technically summer before.” 

He pauses a moment, then thinks, fuck it, and adds, “Perhaps you will meet yours too?”  It's not like the direct approach hasn't been working for him so far.  

“What?” Keegan yelps.  “I mean, no, I don’t think so, no,” he stammers, shaking his head.  Ilya waits a moment to see if he will specifically comment on the “husband” part, but Keegan doesn’t.  He just stares wide-eyed at Ilya, wearing an expression that looks more surprised than confused.

Interesting, Ilya thinks and plows ahead.  “Oh, because you are maybe already seeing someone then?”  

Keegan hesitates a moment before answering.  “Um, yes, actually,” he admits eventually.  

Now that's even more interesting.  Keegan's been involved with someone since presumably before the start of the season, and yet he hasn’t mentioned a girlfriend to the team and lives with a male roommate.  Marlow is definitely onto something here.

Ilya grins broadly.  “That is wonderful!  How did you meet if not playing hockey?”  He leans in and gestures across the bar toward Shane, before adding in a faux-conspiratory whisper, “Is only way I know how.”  

Beside him, Keegan goes pink to a degree that even the low light of the bar can’t hide, and Ilya has to fight to keep the surprise off his own face, because he hadn't been expecting that plot twist.  For an excited moment, Ilya wonders if it’s another NHL player, but, no, surely Marlow would have mentioned if the “roommate” he’d met was also a player.

“Actually, we did,” the kid says so haltingly that his statement sounds more like a series of questions.   “In college, but only I wanted to play professionally after we graduated,” he clarifies a bit more smoothly.

Ilya clocks the careful phrasing, the avoidance of third-person pronouns.  Keegan might just conceivably be talking about a girlfriend who played on a women's team.  But if that were the case, he could have chosen to make that clear at any point, and he hasn’t.  

Marlow was so fucking right.

“So what do they do now then?” Ilya prods.  He puts the barest emphasis on they, but he can tell Keegan notices, because the kid's breath catches slightly as Ilya says the word.

Keegan doesn’t respond immediately.  He fiddles with the straw in the empty glass in front of him on the table with one hand, while simultaneously tearing at the corners of the cocktail napkin beneath it with the other.  Ilya can feel how carefully he's weighing his next words.  

“He's, um–” he starts, swallows, and when he tries again it comes out all in a rush.  “He's in veterinary school.”

Ilya doesn't even have time to be excited about the he he'd been fishing for, because he's already crashing right past that to:  “Ah!  So your boyfriend can take care of Anya one day!”  At Keegan's baffled look, Ilya adds, “Anya is my daughter and the most perfect dog in the world.  Here let me show you.”  

Ilya grabs his phone from his back pocket, opens up his photos, and swipes to the picture of Anya he'd taken just yesterday morning before they'd dropped her off with her grandparents.  “See?” he beams, holding up his phone. 

But Keegan isn't looking at his phone.  He's just staring at Ilya.  Ilya would normally find that extremely rude, because Anya should always be the center of attention, but considering the kid literally just came out to Ilya, it’s probably excusable under the circumstances.  Finally, Keegan stops staring and drops his face into his hands.  

“How the fuck did you know?” he groans.  Then he sits back up and glances around the bar like he's maybe expecting to see the word queer floating in space with an arrow pointing at his head.

“I am very perceptive,” Ilya replies with a shrug.  He stows his phone back in his pocket, since clearly, now is not the time.  He'll have to show Anya off later.  “Also Cliff suspected.  He asked me for advice.”

“Advice?” Keegan echoes, shoulders tensing slightly.

“Yes, he wants you to feel comfortable.”  Ilya thinks back.  “Said he wanted to avoid a hate crime if he could.”

“Oh.”  Keegan blinks.  “That's… nice?”  His tone is uncertain, but he relaxes visibly.

“Cliff is nice,” Ilya agrees with a nod.  He gestures towards the trio of Boston players currently getting their shit kicked in by Shane over at the dartboard.  “They are all nice.  They have been good about me and Shane.  I think they would be good about you too.”

Keegan smiles shyly.  “Right now, I'm mainly just focused on getting through my rookie season without making a fool of myself on the ice, but I was thinking that maybe afterwards…”  He shrugs as he trails off.  “I just don't think I can keep this secret for much longer.”

“Yes,” says Ilya, because he's familiar with the feeling.  “Now you must give me your phone number.”  He fishes his phone back out, unlocks it, and hands it to Keegan.  The kid looks a little hesitant, but he punches his number in, then texts himself so he has Ilya's before handing it back.

“I will add you to group chat,” Ilya tells him.

“What group chat?”

Ilya texts Marlow the next morning.

ILYA:  I have sorted out your rookie.

CLIFF:  So I was right?

Ilya hesitates.  He doesn't want to explicitly out anyone, even if Marlow had been the one who originally guessed.  He tries his best to keep his response vague.  

ILYA:  I probably should not say, but I think you will find out before too long.  He is good though.

CLIFF:  Gotcha.  And thanks, man.

ILYA:  Anytime.  More for my collection.

CLIFF:  Your. WHAT.

Once again, Ilya leaves him on read.

A week later, Dan Keegan’s phone pings with a notification.  He taps it to discover that Ilya Rozanov has added him to a group chat filled with a bunch of numbers he doesn't recognize and also Luca Haas.  Dan had played with him briefly in juniors.  Apparently, he still has his number saved.

The group chat is called Hockey Queers, which Dan is very much not prepared for.

ILYA:  This is Daniel Keegan from Boston Bears.  His boyfriend will be Anya's vet one day.

It’s an introduction that makes just slightly more sense once Dan remembers Anya’s the name of Rozanov’s dog.

(613) 225-7698:  Wait, is this why you were so adamant Troy and I come to the bar with you last weekend?

Which means that must be Shane Hollander.  Dan feels slightly overwhelmed.

ILYA:  Yes.  Daniel, I will send you contact cards for everyone in a minute.

LUCA:  Hi, Dan!  So this is weird.

Dan feels like he's probably expected to say something, but he has no idea what.  Especially, because he’s beginning to suspect there might be some other very big names in this chat.  Like is one of these numbers Scott fucking Hunter’s?  Dan might literally die if that’s the case.  He tries his best to keep it casual.

DAN:  Hey, what's up?

So he’s not winning any points for originality, but at least he doesn't look like an awkward weirdo stuck on three dots forever.

(212) 263-5290:  Just Rozanov collecting us like fucking Pokémon apparently.

ILYA:  I have a calling, Bennett.