Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

Multi

Fandom:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Character:

Original Characters

Additional Tags:

outsider pov, 5+1 Things, Post canon, Fluff

Language:

English

Series:

Part 4 of The Cens Beat Reporter

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-15 Words: 8,592 Chapters: 1/1

What the Beat Reporter Didn't Tweet

Summary

Shane was still looking at Casey cautiously. He was probably worried that she was going to tweet about this.

“I’m not going to tweet about this,” she said, like an idiot. Shane stiffened further, and Ilya snorted.

--

Five things the Cens beat reporter DIDN'T tweet in Shane and Ilya's first year together on the Cens, and one major thing that she did.

Notes

I mean in my defense, i did say that i was done with the social media element of this, not writing for the series in general LOL.

I’d noted at the end of the previous fic that I think there’s a lot that a beat reporter would witness around the practice facility but wouldn’t tweet because of journalistic integrity, and then I was like. Well. I could write that! This is definitely a companion piece to my previous fics in this series, filling in gaps, but I always try to make each fic stand on its own depending on which fic you get to first.

I might revisit this series if inspiration strikes me, but this is the last one i have in the drafts folder for now! As per usual, thank you to Cam for your humor and good ideas. Support your local beat reporters and go caps!!

One - May 2021

Casey, having played hockey for most of her life, was pretty familiar with the idea of keeping your head up. On the ice, you needed to have your head on a swivel, looking out for danger or people coming straight at you. She’d learned that lesson the hard way one too many times. Well, apparently Casey was getting rusty in the years since she’d hung up her skates, because she ran straight into Shane Hollander. 

Well, she didn’t even realize who she’d smacked into at first. Just knew that one moment she’d had her head buried in her phone, frantically typing up notes after the playoff game and the next, she was walking into a brick wall of a person. She didn’t normally type up game notes on her phone as she made her way through the underbelly of the arena to the team locker room, but she wanted to get her thoughts down before the media scrums started. It’d been a strong showing for the Cens, but it was clear that the Admirals were the better team, and she had to phrase that just right to not seem down on the team. (She wanted to hate the Admirals for it, but it was hard to hate gay icon Scott Hunter.) Even so, it was no excuse for complete lack of awareness, and the embarrassment thereafter.

“Fuck!” She cursed, nearly dropping her phone and tripping over herself. 

“Woah, hey,” strong hands caught her before she completely went ass over tea kettle. She was righted up back to her two feet and it was then that she saw she’d run into not just a person, not just a hockey player, but Shane fucking Hollander.

“Shit,” she said, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I totally wasn’t watching where I was going.”

She’d seen him in the stands tonight (well, more specifically, had seen him on the jumbotron) but it was different seeing him up close. It always was, with hockey players. They looked a little more realistic, a little less larger than life. On the screen, he was a legend of the game, a future Hall of Famer, a millionaire. 

The guy in front of her was a little more awkward. He smiled, and shrugged. “It’s okay,” he said, tugging on his hat. Her eyes flicked up at it and confirmed what she thought she’d seen earlier–it was an Irina Foundation hat. “I run into shit all the time. Just usually on skates.”

She snorted, and then put her phone in her pocket. She saw Shane track the movement with his eyes. “Was it weird to watch in the stands?” she asked, going for a joking, jovial tone. She wasn’t trying to interview him. 

He seemed to get her vibe. “So weird,” he laughed. “I think I recognize you. Cameron?”

“Casey,” she corrected kindly. “I’m one of the journalists.”

“I think Ilya’s mentioned you before,” he nodded. “One of the only media people that doesn’t suck.”

“Well, I do my best,” she said. “You on your way to the locker room now?”

“Yeah,” he turned to look down the direction of the hallway they both knew they’d find a room full of sweaty, shirtless hockey players. And it was then, when he turned, that her eyes caught it. 

Earlier, someone had tweeted at her asking if Shane was wearing a WAG jacket, and she’d said no.  Every year for the playoffs, the wives and girlfriends put together an elaborate jacket look that probably cost more than Casey’s couch, and generally a hit or miss between camp and corny. It’s apparently gauche to wear the actual jersey of the guy you’re dating (not that Casey’s lesbian ass would know) so in the playoffs, the wives and girlfriends across the league have to get creative. 

This year, the Centaurs’ WAGs went for a fantasy inspired leather jacket. Hobbit chic. Brown leather and green leaf embroidery with an Old English font for the player’s names on the back. To Casey, they were just the right side of the line for camp, if you were into the high fantasy theme. When she’d glanced at the jumbotron earlier, she’d seen that Shane was wearing a black hoodie, nothing special. 

Now, the way he turned away from her had caught part of his hoodie in the horrible fluorescents of the hallway, and she saw the matte black 81 right over his heart. Subtle, easy to miss, but clearly there. 

Casey thought he might know a lot about being subtle and easy to miss. 

“I don’t want to intrude on their party,” he turned back to her, oblivious to the heavens parting around her for a realization that Shane Hollander was kind of sappy, wearing his long-time partner’s number at a playoff game even after the Centaurs eliminated his own team from a Cup run. “But I am Ilya’s ride home.”

“Well,” Casey started walking in the direction of the locker room. “You can walk with me. I promise not to ask you any questions.”

Shane started walking with her. “Oh, am I supposed to ask you the questions, now?”

She practically guffawed. Her impression of Hollander had always been… robotic. Nice, but kind of bland. The man keeping pace with her was cracking jokes. Jokes! From Shane Hollander!

“Well, it’s about time the players started pulling their weight, too,” she threw back. “Hit me with your best questions, Shane Hollander.”

“Okay, what did you think of tonight’s game?”

She blew a raspberry. His eyebrows went up. “Boring question. Ask me about my fiancé.”

He grinned. “Okay, what would your fiancée think of tonight’s game?”

“Well, for starters, there’s no way she watched it,” Casey said, noticing the way Shane’s eyes lit up at the word she. “But if she had, she would be very glad that all the queer people on the ice got a point tonight. It’s like the only thing she cares about.”

“Not a sports fan?” Shane tucked his hands in his pockets. 

“She’s a figure skater,” Casey shrugged. “Or, was. She coaches now. But she was the figure skater, I was the hockey player, the rest is history. We always argue about who’s the faster skater, between the two of us.”

The corner of Shane’s mouth ticked upwards. “I get that.”

They turned a corner, and Casey could see the door to the locker room propped open. “I gotta go,” she thumbed to the door. 

“Give them hell,” Shane nodded at her. 

She saluted him, and turned into the locker room, pulling her phone out of her pocket. In a few quick taps, she’d opened her Twitter app. She typed without thinking, and hit send.

Casey Williams @casey_williams - May 15, 2021

Just briefly chatted with Shane Hollander outside of the locker room. Good dude.

She hit reply to her own tweet, and started typing out: And he was wearing a hoodie with–

She stopped. 

Shook her head.

Hit backspace. 

Shane and Ilya already had so much of their intimacy exposed without their permission. She didn’t need to be doing the same, even for something as small as a jersey number over the heart. If Shane had wanted to come wearing something blazing and obvious and campy, he would have. Lord knows Ilya might have, if the roles were reversed. But he hadn’t, so she wouldn’t blast it on Twitter. 

“Ptichka!” Ilya cried when he saw her in the doorway. “Did you bring me a present?” he asked with a grin. It was one of their inside jokes, after nearly working together for a decade. It had started one Christmas season when she was still green on the scene and clearly nervous in the Boston Bears locker room. She’d never actually brought him a present before, but now, she grinned.

“I sure did. He’s waiting out there for you.”

Ilya’s whole expression changed, something far too earnest for an NHL locker room. “Shane is here?” He asked, and Casey had only just barely nodded before Ilya was launching himself out of his stall and flinging himself out the door to where Shane was waiting. And for the second time in the last ten minutes, someone slammed into Shane Hollander. This time though, they both went crashing to the floor, knocking into a table and spilling a bunch of things to the floor.

“Ilya, what the fuck?” Shane groaned.

“You’re here!” Ilya was slightly muffled from where he was half buried under Shane. 

"You knew I was coming to the game, asshole,” Shane sat up. 

Ilya tugged him back down into another hug. “I mean you are here by the locker room, idiot.”

“Yeah, well,” Shane said, the corner of his mouth ticking up. 

“And you met ptichka!” Ilya finally released him. “The only reporter I trust.”

“Aww, that’s nice of you to say, Roz,” Casey said, deeply aware that actually, the rest of the media was inside the locker room already, and had probably overheard this whole thing. “You do give me the best content.”

Shane sighed heavily.

“Knocking everything over for a hug is pretty good content,” Ilya said from his position on the floor, looking at all the papers and pens they knocked over.

She waved a hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tweet that.”

Ilya frowned. “Why not? Is good content.”

“Yeah, but…” she shifted on her feet. “Wanna respect you guys' privacy. Or whatever.”

Ilya smacked Shane’s arm. “You see why she'ss my favorite?”

“Yeah,” Shane smacked him back.

“You can tweet it, really,” Ilya finally hauled himself off the floor. “Not like we’re in the closet anymore. Everyone should know how stupid we are.”

Shane took Ilya’s outstretched hand and pulled himself up, too. “Stupid about each other,” he corrected, and Ilya rolled his eyes. 

“Mhm, that, too.”

Casey pulled her phone out. “Shane? You good with it, too?”

Shane looked at her. Looked at Ilya. His face softened. He looked back at her.

“Yeah,” he said. “Why not?”

↳Casey Williams @casey_williams - May 15, 2021

Only tweeting this because Roz told me I could. Rozanov came out of the locker room and launched himself at Hollander for a hug so hard they both fell over and knocked a bunch of things over. Love is real. 

~*~

Two - October 2021

One of the perks of Ilya Rozanov coming to the Ottawa Centaurs a couple years ago, and then growing the Cens fanbase, and then getting the team back in the playoffs, and then signing Shane fucking Hollander, was that the Cens organization finally had a little bit of money to spend updating parts of the practice facility. It wasn’t a complete revamp (they didn’t have that kind of money yet) but it was enough to update the locker rooms, the lounge area for the players, and the stands where fans could watch them practice. The media area and back offices were still crumbling shit holes, but everything front-facing got a new facelift and that was nice.

One of the downsides of all of this happening was that Casey was now lost. 

She’d been covering the Cens since 2016, so she knew her way around the iceplex pretty damn well at this point. She could probably navigate it blind. But now there were walls in places there didn’t used to be walls and turns she wasn’t sure where they led. This was maybe slightly more than the facelift she’d been promised when she’d read about the upgrades over the summer on her honeymoon. They’d only had a couple months to work on it, so it shouldn’t have been anything too serious, right?

The degree to which she was lost disagreed with that notion. 

Where the fuck are you? I’m lost. She shot off a text to Bailey, another reporter she knew was somewhere in this godforsaken building. 

Casey turned a corner, and then immediately reversed so hard she nearly fell over herself. She fumbled her phone, caught it before it fell, and then held her breath.

“They’re going to hate me, Ilya,” came the voice around the corner.

In the split second before she’d backpedaled like her life depended on it, she’d seen Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander. This was not enough to make her immediately turn on her heel, but she’d specifically seen that Shane had his hands on his head and was anxiously pacing. Maybe it was just instinct, maybe it was just her own nerves being frazzled from being lost, but her brain went “fucking shit” and now she was leaning against the wall hoping she hadn’t been noticed.

“Sweetheart,” Ilya Rozanov’s voice was the softest she had ever heard in her fucking life. And she’d been covering him for a decade since he was a rookie in Boston. “They are not going to hate you. This is a good group of guys, I promise.”

“I thought that–” Shane inhaled sharply. “I thought it was a good group of guys in Montreal, too. And they– they– fuck. Fuck, Ilya, I can’t do this again.”

Casey’s eyes caught movement, and she realized that she could see the reflection of the two men in a dark office window across the hall from her. (When did that office get there??) She could see that Shane was pacing again, and Ilya was standing calmly, watching him go back and forth.

“Shane,” Ilya said gently. “This will not be like Montreal again.”

“You don’t fucking know that,” Shane snapped.

“Mhm, but I do,” Ilya said, and as Shane passed him again, Ilya gently caught his elbow. “For starters, we are in Ottawa, not Montreal.”

“Fuck you.”

“Second, you are already out to them here, yes? The team already knows about us. There is not a surprise waiting to happen.”

“But–”

“Shane,” Ilya ducked his head to look his husband in the eyes. “I know this is scary, yes? New team, both of us here together. I am scared, too. But this will not be like Montreal again.”

Shane tipped his head forward to rest on Ilya’s shoulder. “I just don’t think I can go through that again, Ilya.”

“And you won’t,” Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane, pulling him closer. “It will be different than Montreal because I am here. And I am best husband in the whole world.”

Shane snorted, and wrapped his arms around Ilya in return. “What if I’m the best husband?”

“You already have Rookie of the Year, let me have this,” Ilya jostled him, and Shane laughed again. They stood there for a moment, breathing together as Ilya ran his hands up and down Shane’s back, soothing him. 

Casey realized that she should have maybe turned around and walked away like, two minutes ago. Immediately. She should have walked away immediately. 

“What brought this on, moy lyubov?” Ilya asked. 

“I said hello to Chouniard and he walked away without saying anything to me,” Shane mumbled. 

Ilya laughed, and pulled back to look at Shane. “That is because it is nine in the morning and coffee machine in new lounge isn’t working yet. He never speaks before he has coffee in the mornings, not because of you.”

“He doesn’t have coffee at home?”

“He says it’s better here.”

“Oh,” Shane said, and then tipped forward into Ilya again. “It just made me think about that last day in the Montreal locker room where no one would look at me. Sorry for freaking out over nothing.”

“Is not nothing,” Ilya kissed the side of his head. “And it's okay. This is what I’m here for, yes? I signed marriage license and everything.”

Okay, Casey really had seen enough. She’d frozen like a deer in the headlights and had nearly intruded on an intimate moment between a married couple that had been through a traumatic event together. The last thing they needed was knowing that a reporter had overheard them. Not that she would report on that. Jesus, no. She was not in the business of airing out their private moments, and was frankly embarrassed that she had taken so long to step away. 

No, that moment would not make its way to twitter or an article. No one needed to know that Ilya Rozanov had gently coaxed Shane Hollander down from a panic attack on his first day of training camp on a new team.

When she saw them later, both men were all smiles. She did notice Shane sticking close to Ilya, but it was tight quarters in the locker room anyway. Ilya was introducing Shane to everyone like they’d never heard of the three time Cup winner before, but Casey could see the tension in Shane’s shoulders slowly relaxing every time Ilya made him laugh. She wouldn’t have known to look for it if she hadn’t seen them earlier. 

The atmosphere in the locker room was casual, which was nice for training camp. Sometimes after games, later in the season, it felt like the press corps were shuffled in, stationed in front of one player for three minutes, and then shuffled out. It was nice to be able to walk up to Shane now, phone casually in her hand, and ask how he liked the new facilities.

“It’s nice,” he shrugged. “I don’t really know what it looked like before, but Ilya tells me it’s a step up. Glad to see the organization is investing in the team. Makes us feel good heading into the season.”

God, he was so media trained it was crazy. 

“Did you have a say at all in where your stalls were in the locker room?” she asked, looking across the room where Ilya’s stall was. She’d half expected them to be side by side, glued at the hip now that they were on the same team. But no, Shane’s stall was on a complete opposite wall.

Shane shrugged again. “Yeah, kind of. I mean, I see that guy all the time,” the corner of his mouth tugged upwards, and he put his hands on his hips. “His stall stinks. I get enough of it at home.”

She snorted, and he looked pleased. Who knew Hollander had jokes?

But he was looking at Ilya from across the room, a softness in his eyes that made the chirp sound way too affectionate. Or, well, probably not too affectionate for a married couple, actually. 

She ended the audio recording and stuck her phone back in her pocket. “We’re glad you’re here, Shane.”

He looked back at her and smiled. A real smile, not a media smile. “Thanks, Casey.” He looked back at where Ilya was lovingly bullying Luca Haas. “I’m glad to be here, too.”

~*~

Three - December 2021

Casey didn’t spend a ton of time in the player’s lounge. It was, well, by nature, for the players. Lots of other people who worked for the team—the athletic trainers and equipment staff and social media team and such—were known to filter in and out of the player’s lounge a fair amount. But it was different for Casey and the other reporters. She wasn’t employed by the team, she was employed by The Ottawa Citizen, the local paper her dad’s been reading for twenty years. She had the media pass to get her in the building, but there was still a divide between them.

And rightly so, in her opinion. It was different to be someone inside the team, working with the players every day, and someone outside the team writing about the players every day. She had to write about the good, the bad, and the ugly whether she really wanted to or not. She always tried to be kind in her writing. She never wanted to dunk on a guy unnecessarily, or pile on to a player when he was in a bad slump. She didn’t want to be a reporter that the guys dreaded seeing.

But if they lost a game because Wyatt Hayes let in five goals on 16 shots and the defensive pairings couldn't seem to connect their passes and the forwards weren’t generating any offense, well it’s not her fault that Troy Barrett’s on a seven game goal drought. They lost the game. She has to report the news. She’ll be kind about it, but she’s got to turn her write up in to the editors before midnight. 

So, all that to say, she’s very aware of the distance between players and journalists. She’s fine with it, because for the most part, she does have a good relationship with most of the team. The ones she talks to the most, anyway. She likes having an easy-going relationship with them, and is fine with the professional distance that needs to be kept. Which means she doesn't ever spend time in the player’s lounge, where it might be weird to have a reporter hanging out.

But, all of that being said…

She heard there were donuts in the player’s lounge. Not just any donuts. Strome’s Donuts, from a local mom and pop shop with the best donuts in the whole province—she’s done thorough research on this topic. Strome’s was only open three days a week and at the most inconvenient hours and on the opposite side of the city from the practice facility. Casey Williams-Singer would be damned if she missed an opportunity to get her favorite donuts. Maybe two.

She’s gonna see if she can sneak out three.

It had been an optional skate today, which meant that the whole team hadn’t been in, and she knew that the defensemen were still on the ice running drills. Their defensemen, for whatever reason, collectively, had the biggest sweet tooth on the team. (Sweet teeth? Not important.) So her chances of some of the famed donuts being left were pretty good. 

Cautiously, she poked her head into the doorway, and her eyes immediately locked on that big, beautiful, white box on the counter. Strome & Sons. Donuts from the Gods. Now was her chance. 

She slipped into the room and got all of three feet in before she heard a delighted little: “Ptichka!” 

Casey’s head snapped to where Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were cuddled up on the couch that was just out of view from the doorway. Literally. Cuddled up. Shane was sitting on the couch, iPad in one hand, and the other in Ilya’s hair. Ilya, who was laying with his head in Shane’s lap. Ilya looked delighted her see her, and Shane had frozen. Fuck.

“Uh, hi guys,” she waved. Glanced at the box of donuts. “Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna…”

“Oh, you are here for famous donuts,” Ilya said, his legs kicked up on the back of the couch, sprawled out. “Shane has told me all about how unhealthy those donuts are.”

“It’s a lot of sugar,” Shane grumbled, still looking at Casey cautiously. He was probably worried that she was going to tweet about this.

“I’m not going to tweet about this,” she said, like an idiot. Shane stiffened further. “I just, uh,” she took a step closer to the donuts. “I’m here for the goods. I was never here.”

Ilya looked from Shane to Casey and then back to Shane. He then reached up and gently smacked the side of Shane’s face. Casey had to physically bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. 

“I told you, Hollander, we're good here. Casey is not a dick.”

She took another step closer to the donuts. “I really try not to be.”

Shane looked at her. “You wrote a whole article about Barrett’s goal drought.”

“Well, I was told to by my editor, and if he didn’t want articles written about him, he should score a goal,” she said, and then immediately felt her cheeks heat. It was more sass than she normally gave players, but both men seemed to respond well to the chirp.

“Okay, true,” Shane seemed to relax a little. He started playing with Ilya’s hair again. 

“We could be fucking right now and she still would not write about it because of gay solidarity.”

“You’re bisexual,” Shane shot back, but he said it affectionately.

Ilya huffed. “I know, Shane.”

“Well, also, I’m a sports journalist, not a tabloid writer,” Casey said, stepping towards the donuts again. She was so close to getting out of this social interaction. “Snuggling on the couch doesn’t really affect the power play.”

“We’re not snuggling,” Shane said at the same time Ilya said: “Yes, it does.”

Shane looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. 

Ilya shrugged. “Team bonding.”

Casey finally, finally, got within range of the box of donuts. She practically lunged for it, and then the heavens opened up and the angels sang and the world righted itself. The box was practically full. It was a miracle. She looked back up at the married couple. “I’ll make you a deal. I won’t tweet that Roz said snuggling helps the power play if you let me walk out of here with three donuts and don’t tell anyone.”

“Deal,” Shane said without missing a beat.

“She wouldn’t have tweeted it anyway,” Ilya grumbled. 

“I wouldn’t have,” she agreed, but she was walking out of here with three Strome donuts, so what did she care? 

Just as she had safely tucked away three donuts into paper towels and carefully placed them into her bag, Shane called out: “Wait.”

She froze with the lid to the box halfway closed, looking at him expectantly. 

“Will you bring us over a couple from the box?” Shane asked, and Ilya laughed in delight. 

~*~

Four - February 2022

There were many adorably sweet things about covering a married couple on a professional sports team. Casual intimacies and inside jokes and stuff that made the room brighter. It was something that Casey never thought she would see in her life, not from an openly queer couple. She didn’t spend a lot of time with the wives and girlfriends of the players; rarely saw them, in fact. So there was a certain novelty of seeing softness and sweetness from the two players with their significant other that she never really got to see in the locker room.

For example: Shane and Ilya often walked into the practice facility holding hands. Ilya gave Shane kisses on his cheek so often it was like he was passing out Halloween candy. Shane was maybe not as physically affectionate at work, but was always bringing up Ilya’s accomplishments in his pressers. The guys had started joking that Shane was the other half of Ilya’s brain, too. They finished each other’s sentences, remembered what the other forgot, and the whole time looked at each other with a sparkle in their eyes that they finally got to have this. 

Covering a married couple also meant that she saw the bitchy parts, too.

Shane and Ilya bickered like they invented the word. The range of their fights was anywhere between snippy comments at practice to simmering silently in their stalls after a bad game. They always made up quickly, from what Casey could tell. And, not to sound parasocial about two professional athletes she wrote articles about for a living, but the fights never like… worried her. She never saw them snipping at each other and thought: “Oh, this is it. Divorce incoming.”

Why? Because she also was married and sometimes you had to bitch at the person you loved more than anything in the world. She’s seen Olivia load the dishwasher. Her gorgeous wife needed to know that she did it wrong and could go to hell for putting the wooden cutting board through the dishwasher. That was married life. 

So she was never particularly taken aback when one of the players would slide by where the press were stationed for practice and say: “Mom and Dad are fighting today.” Sometimes it was that they brought in a fight from home, sometimes it was that Ilya did something stupid on the ice, or that Shane wasn’t listening to him. It was really a coin toss, depending on the day and the weather and the standings and the stars aligning in the heavens. 

Casey never tweeted about it, obviously. Shane and Ilya were under such intense scrutiny from the whole league, the whole world that she wasn’t about to make it worse. If she were to tweet something like “Hollander and Rozanov getting into a heated argument on the ice at practice. Not sure what it’s about.” the whole world would go up in a tizzy, especially when she’d later learn that it was because Shane said he didn’t like a particular musical artist and Ilya spent the rest of practice getting a rise out of him. 

The homophobic world of hockey was just itching for a reason to tear down the newly married couple. She wouldn’t give them even a drop of fuel to the fire. 

“Oh, there they go again.”

Casey turned to see her good friend Harris Drover come stand beside her. Harris, the newest Senior Director of Communications for the Cens, wasn’t around practice as much as he used to be when he ran the team’s social media accounts. Still, he came by often enough to see how the team was doing, say hello to his boyfriend, and even more importantly, say hello to Casey.

“I think this time it's a pop culture argument and not about hockey,” Casey took the coffee that Harris handed her and looked out onto the ice where Shane looked like he wanted to murder his husband. “Normally, if it’s hockey related, Ilya doesn’t look so smug.”

“I think you’re right,” Harris leaned a shoulder against the plexiglass. “Troy told me they’ve started watching reality TV shows together and can’t agree on the latest Bachelor.”

Casey snorted, and then raised an eyebrow at her friend. “Are you making the usual rounds?” 

Harris nodded, sighed, and then straightened his shoulders. He said to her in his best Director voice: “Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are professionals, and they have never let their married life impact their game play. We ask that you please refrain from speculating on their personal life on social media.”

Casey sipped her coffee. ‘You know I’m not the one who needs that speech, right?”

Harris rolled his eyes. “I know, but if I single out Mark, he gets pissy.”

Casey wasn’t the only reporter to cover the Cens regularly, even though she was for a couple of years when she joined the team in 2016. (Pre-Rozanov signing.) The press corps for the team had only grown in the last few years, which had its pros and cons. Some of the new reporters were great, thoughtful journalists who had good insights to the players and the games. And then there was Mark. 

He sucked. 

“He’s not even here right now,” Casey looked around the media corner where the reporters usually posted up during practice. 

“He’s in the office, and I already gave him the speech,” Harris said. “So when he comes out here in twenty minutes for the start of practice and starts bitching, you can say you got the same talking to.”

Casey shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss. You do tend to be right about these things.”

“Can I record you saying that?” Harris pulled out his phone, and Casey playfully batted him away. 

~*~

Five - April 2022

Casey winced as Ilya went down on the ice. Taking a puck up high was never fun, but at least it was during practice and not a game. At a game, there were thousands of people watching, cameras everywhere, and pressure to get the injured guy off the ice as soon as possible to resume game play. In a practice, there were often only a handful of reporters in the corner, maybe a couple of fans in the stands depending on the day, and they could actually pause what they were doing. 

Like right now, with Ilya down on one knee, hand up to his mouth. It was a special teams practice, working on the five person power play and the four person penalty kill. PP Unit 1 was Hollander, Rozanov, Barrett, Haas, and Dykstra, and the five of them had been running the same drill for the last ten minutes. It was kind of boring, to be honest, until Ilya was in the wrong place at the wrong time and took a puck to the mouth from his own husband’s backhanded shot.

“Ilya!” Shane dropped his stick and rushed over to where Ilya had dropped down. “Are you okay?”

“Ow,” Ilya groaned. “What the fuck, Hollander?”

Luckily, they’d been working on the end of the rink closer to Casey, so she could actually hear them. And even more lucky, fucking Mark wasn’t there to watch this accidental husband violence. 

“I’m so sorry!” Shane dropped to his knees in front of him, tearing off his own helmet. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Ilya said, pulling his glove away and–oh that was a lot of blood. Gross. “My husband shot me.”

“Please don’t say it like that,” Shane said, and gingerly helped Ilya take off his helmet. “I am so sorry, Ilya.” 

Ilya looked down around him. “Did I lose a tooth?”

“Let me see,” Shane touched his face, and Ilya hissed and jerked away.

“Hollander!”

“I’m sorry! Jesus, just let me look!”

Ilya steadied, and it was hard to see from her perspective, but judging by the way the other guys on the ice winced, Ilya was probably missing a tooth or at least part of one. The athletic trainers were rushing on to the ice at that point, and the other players stepped back to give them space. Shane, however, stayed kneeling in front of his husband.

“You knocked out my tooth?!” Ilya said loud enough for the whole province to hear them. “My own husband!”

“I’m so sorry,” Shane did look a little panicked. 

The trainer had bandages ready, and Casey was glad she couldn’t see exactly what was going on. She was too squeamish for this kind of thing. 

Ilya looked at his husband, and said with a little bit of a whine that was not quite befitting a big bad hockey player: “Do you still think I look pretty?”

That got a laugh out of Shane, who pressed a kiss to Ilya’s knuckles while the trainer worked. “You could be missing all your teeth and I’d still think you’d look good.”

“Well, don’t knock out the rest of them!” Ilya said. 

“You look like a real hockey player now,” Shane chirped, intertwining their fingers.

“So I should not get the—fucking ow—tooth replaced?”

“Oh, no. You're definitely getting it replaced.”

“Oh, come on!”

Shane grinned. “So much for my weak backhand.”

“It is too soon, Hollander! My blood is still on the ice and you are making jokes!”

Casey was drawn away from the scene by the sound of frantic footsteps, and turned to see Harris rushing up to her with wide eyes.

“What happened?” He looked at where Ilya was now being escorted off the ice by the trainer and Shane while someone else started cleaning up the ice. “Why is there blood on the ice?!”

“Hollander’s shot went high and got Roz in the mouth,” Casey reported. “It took out a tooth.” She glanced back at them. “It was a pretty sick backhand though.”

“Geez,” Harris ran a hand through his hair. “That’s gotta hurt. I’ll go check on them. Shane’s probably freaking out.” He looked at her. “And please don’t—”

“Tweet it, I know,” Casey rolled her eyes. “I won’t say it was Hollander, but I gotta say something. I’m gonna say he took friendly fire and maybe has to get a bit of dental work done.”

Harris waved a hand and began jogging towards the locker room. “Sure, fine! I trust you!”

Casey sighed and opened her phone. 

Later, she caught the couple on the way out of the arena. Well, not caught. She happened to be leaving at the same time as them, and held the door open for them. 

“Oh, hello, Casey,” Ilya said, sounding a little muffled. “Did you see that my husband shot me?”

“Ilya, please stop saying that,” Shane groaned, and wrapped his arm around his husband’s shoulders. “I already said I was sorry.”

“And you took out my tooth, so I get to give you shit for that for the next two months.”

“Two weeks,” Shane countered.

“Three weeks.”

“Fine,” Shane squeezed his shoulders and pulled him in to kiss the side of Ilya’s head. It was more affection than Shane normally shared at practice, but now several months into his time on the Centaurs, he’d seemed to relax a little bit more. Plus, he had seemed genuinely freaked out to have taken out Ilya’s tooth, and Ilya was leaning into him heavily, still looking a little banged up, so she couldn’t blame them. 

“You crazy kids get home alright,” Casey waved at them.

“We’re like the same age,” Shane grumbled, which was partially true, she was only a couple years older than them. “See you, Casey.”

“Bye, ptichka! Tell the tweeters my husband shot me!” Ilya called out as Shane led him to their car.

“Do not,” Shane countered, and Casey laughed.

“Your secret is safe with me, Hollander!” She called out, and then got into her car. She turned on her car, connected the bluetooth, and then called Olivia.

“Hi, baby,” Olivia said, her voice staticky over the phone. “You headed home?”

“Yup,” Casey fastened her seatbelt. “And I have the craziest story to tell you from practice.”

~*~

Plus One - June 2022

Casey Williams-Singer @casey_williams  - June 12, 2022 

For the first time in franchise history, The Ottawa Centaurs are Stanley Cup Champions. 

Casey was embarrassed to say that she was sobbing in the press box. She was at work, doing her professional job that she was paid to do, and she was weeping in the goddamned press box. Who could blame her, though? Her hometown team, the Ottawa Centaurs were Stanley Cup Champions for the first time in franchise history, and they had done it with three openly queer players on the roster. She was a fucking basket case. She might never stop crying for the rest of her life. 

Amongst her tears and the screaming fans and the throng of players embracing on the ice, she could just make out the sight of jersey number 24 embracing jersey number 81. Shane knocked into Ilya so hard they went tumbling down to the ice, and it looked like Shane was kissing Ilya like his life depended on it. Casey covered her mouth with her hand and sobbed again, and then felt embarrassed all over again. 

Her heart was too big in her chest. There was a little lesbian hockey player tucked away inside of her that had spent years feeling ashamed of who she was, and it was maybe, just maybe, healing something in her to see two queer people in love, kissing on the ice after having won the Stanley Cup. She never thought she would see anything close to that in her lifetime. Never thought that the little gay hockey player she’d once been could feel hope like this.

And wow, they were really kissing. Lord above, they were going at it. She could practically see the tongue from the press box. She laughed, and wiped away her tears, pulling out her phone.

Casey Williams-Singer @casey_williams  - June 12, 2022 

Sorry everyone, it was a little hard to see what was happening on the ice through my tears. Can confirm Hollander knocked Roz down to the ice for a passionate kiss. 

Her phone was blowing up, buzzing with text from friends and family and just about every person she’d ever met. She caught a few of them coming in. One from her dad that said “Congrats, kiddo” like she’d been the one on the ice to score the game winner. One of many from Olivia that said “you should kiss me like that on the ice” that made her laugh again. She looked up and yeah, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were rolling around on the ice making out. 

Casey Williams-Singer @casey_williams  - June 12, 2022 

Celebrations continue on the ice. Coaching staff and trainers emptying on to the ice, as well. Roz and Holly. Still going at it. I can’t stop laughing.

She forced herself to take some deep breaths and wiped away the tears and the snot with a tissue or two. So far her fellow reporters up in the box had been bouncing around screaming, and she’d gotten a couple slaps on the back, but no one had seemingly noticed the way she’d been sobbing at her station amongst all the chaos happening on the ice. The chaos that was dying down a little bit for the handshake line. Barrett pulled Hollander and Rozanov up off the ice eventually, and the captain was first in line for handshakes, his husband right behind him.

Casey Williams-Singer @casey_williams  - June 12, 2022 

Everyone pulls themselves together for the handshake line. Seattle is eager to get off the ice, but they can’t really retreat to the locker room until after the handshake line as a show of good sportsmanship.

“Okay, folks, we’ve been given the green light to head down to the ice,” she heard from behind her. She started frantically shoving things in her bag and stored it under her station. She’d come back up for it after the on-ice coverage, but for now, she had to haul ass down a million stairs to get to ice level.

Casey Williams-Singer @casey_williams  - June 12, 2022 

Seattle is off the ice and they’re setting up for the ceremony. I will be making my way to the ice now, so please tell me if anything exciting happens.

↳victoriaaa @mythicalhockeyteam  - June 12, 2022 

Holly and Rozy are making out again

↳Casey Williams-Singer @casey_williams  - June 12, 2022 

Yes, I think we can expect a lot of that

The on-ice ceremony was a bit of a blur to her. It was like watching a dream, all bright lights and buzzing nerves. She saw it all happen and cataloged every moment in her mind. The new commissioner addressed the crowd and Shane Hollander won the Conn Smythe. Casey’s phone was buzzing like crazy in her hand. She kept looking for Olivia in the crowd like she could possibly see that far. The Stanley Cup was brought out, and it shined brightly in the lights. The commissioner presented the Cup to Ilya Rozanov, and pyrotechnics went off when he lifted it over his head. Casey thought she could spot her wife's red hair in the sea of people. Ilya Rozanov did a lap with the Cup on the ice, holding it above his head and cheering.

It was always a point of interest, the order in which the Cup would be passed in its celebrations. Every team member got to hold it, and veterans tended to go first. Guys that had been there the longest, worked for years to hoist the Cup for the club. There was a very real possibility that Ilya could pass the cup to Boodram, or Dykstra, maybe even Barrett first.

But that was silly, because of course Ilya Rozanov only had eyes for Shane Hollander.

He skated up to his husband, saying something that the cameras would pick up but Casey couldn’t from her position with the rest of the press. Ilya passed Shane the Cup, still holding it above their heads, and once Shane was firmly holding the Cup in the air, Ilya grabbed his face and kissed him. The crowd went wild.

Casey Williams-Singer @casey_williams  - June 12, 2022 

They’ll put this in the history books. Ilya Rozanov passes the Cup off to his husband, Shane Hollander, and then kisses him square on the mouth. 

The rest of it was a blur, and the only thing that grounded her was the constant stream of text messages from her wife; her calm port in the chaos, even digitally. 

Olivia 💕

Baby!!!!!!!!!! I can see you!!!

Olivia 💕

Oh friends and family coming out on the ice. Serious question do i count

Olivia 💕

YUNA HOLLANDER SPOTTED MY QUEEN AND ICON

Olivia 💕

YUNA ADOPT ME PLEASE

Olivia 💕

David is also there. 

Olivia 💕

Literally how is there still confetti falling from the ceiling

Olivia 💕

Your dad facetimed me btw!!! He says hello and was glad to see the celebrations 

Olivia 💕

Glad he’s at home tho he would HATE how loud this crowd is

Olivia 💕

The man next to me has been sobbing for like ten minutes. Love when men show emotions

Olivia 💕

BABY IN THE CUP! Please tell me whose baby that was

Olivia 💕

I swear to god every time i look at roz and holly they’re all over each other

Olivia 💕

Rozanov grabbing his husband’s ass in front of god and everyone as is his right

Casey Williams-Singer @casey_williams  - June 12, 2022 

H & R have always been very careful about public displays of affection while at work. They’ve always been very professional at their job, especially in their 1st year on a team together. All those rules have gone out the window. Good for them.

↳Casey Williams-Singer @casey_williams  - June 12, 2022 

Roz is dragging Hollander around with an arm around his neck. “This is my husband, he won the Conn Smythe, do you know him?” Hollander can’t stop grinning. 

↳victoriaaa @mythicalhockeyteam - June 12, 2022 

I suppose when you win the Stanley Cup for the fourth time and prove to everyone that being gay doesn’t stop you from being good at hockey, you can do whatever the fuck you want. 

↳Casey Williams-Singer @casey_williams  - June 12, 2022

Very, very true. 

Olivia 💕

How did Wyatt Hayes get a Captain America shield. Who brought that out to him.

Olivia 💕

You’re so far away and you still look so cute 😍

Olivia 💕

That’s my baby on the ice who almost slipped and fell! That’s my star!

Casey

The ice is slippery. Don’t know if you knew that or not

Olivia 💕

TELL YUNA I SAID HI

Casey

Love of my life, she does not know who you are

Olivia 💕

SHE NEEDS TO KNOW THE LESBIANS LOVE HER

Casey snorted, and pocketed her phone. She was recording the audio on a much better piece of equipment for this, and had been going around collecting interviews where she could from players in between their celebrations. There were two players she hadn’t caught yet, as they were the hot commodity of the evening, but she was sure they were around here somewhere–

“Ptichka!”

She turned around, and Shane and Ilya were skating towards her. And for the first time ever in her career, Ilya Rozanov hugged her. She was not crying about it.

“Congratulations,” she said, stepping back and wiping her eyes. “Do you mind if I ask you both a few questions? Do you have to run to another interview?”

Shane grinned at her, and it was the brightest smile she’d ever seen on his face. “We’re all yours.” 

She took a deep breath and settled her nerves, starting another audio recording. 

“Let’s start simple. How are you both feeling?”

Shane’s grin widened, which she didn’t think was possible. “I just won the Cup with the love of my fucking life,” and then reached up to grab Ilya’s chin with one hand and pull him in for another passionate kiss. The crowd went wild at the sight of the pair kissing again, and when they pulled apart, Ilya looked dazed and delighted.

“This is the happiest I have ever been,” Ilya said, wrapping an arm around Shane’s waist. “All of it has brought us here.”

“What do you think led to this win?” Casey asked.

“Whole team effort,” Ilya said, finally looking at her again. “Every person on this team and the coaches gave it their all. We are so lucky.”

“When a team trusts each other like we do,” Shane added. “It’s amazing how far you can go.”

“A million people are going to ask you this question, so sorry about that, but what does it mean to you to win this cup together?” Casey asked.

“It means the homophobes can fucking suck it,” Ilya grinned.

Shane of a few months ago, maybe even of a few hours ago, might have admonished his husband for the language, but the four-time Stanley Cup Winning Shane Hollander of now just whooped in agreement. 

“One last question,” Casey said, and she knew she had to make it count. “If you could go back and say anything to your younger selves, when you first met each other, what would you say?”

“Oh wow,” Ilya looked at Shane. “That’s a big question.” He looked back at Casey. “I would say to not be so afraid of love. It does not always hurt, and he will be good to you.”

Shane smacked a kiss on the side of his head, and Ilya’s grin was as bright as the lights above them.

“That’s such a hard question,” Shane answered. “We spent so long competing against each other, denying how we felt about each other. I was the best and he was the best and I don’t think we ever thought that we could be the best together.” Shane looked around at the celebrations around them, the fans and their family, and his eyes found his way back to Ilya, soft as hell. He turned back to Casey.

“We were supposed to stand alone at the top,” Shane said. “But we’ll always be there together.” He squeezed Ilya’s hand. “Our names are gonna be on the Cup side by side, forever.”

And then Ilya was kissing him again, dipping him back until they both fell over on their skates and were laughing on their backs on the ice. 

Casey couldn’t imagine how freeing it must feel, to hide their relationship for a decade and then to be wrapped up in each other on the world’s biggest stage. How much of their life together had been kept in the dark for fear of being found out? How crazy must it feel to have all the lights on them now, knowing that they won it all together and could be open about who they really were?

God, Casey was going to have to stop crying at some point. It was so embarrassing.

“Hey, ptichka,” Roz sat up on the ice. “Do you want to hold the Cup?”

She blinked. “Oh, fuck no.”

When she found Olivia in the lobby afterwards, her wife swept her up into an equally romantic hug and nearly equally passionate kiss. (But it was never going to be possible to top the Hollander-Rozanovs in matters of passion, really.) 

“Baby!” Olivia cried, taking Casey's face into her hands. “You did so good!”

Casey laughed. “I didn’t do anything, really.”

“You did,” Olivia insisted. “I saw you cranking out those tweets and getting all those interviews.” Olivia looked at her very seriously. “And you didn’t fall on the ice, which I think is really admirable.”

Casey rolled her eyes and shoved her wife playfully. “Shut up, Singer, oh my god.”

Olivia grinned, and slugged an arm around Casey’s neck. She was taller than Casey, which had always annoyed her endlessly, but she had to admit that it never got old to look up into those pretty green eyes. Olivia smacked a kiss on her cheek. 

“Come on, Williams,” Olivia said, turning them in the direction of the parking lot. “Take me home and tell me about everything you didn’t tweet.”

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