Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Patrice Drapeau, Gilbert Comeau, Original Characters, Dallas Kent

Additional Tags:

Making Stuff Up About Hockey, Hat Tricks Every Game for Dramatic Effect, Slurs, Homophobia, Sexism, Misogyny, Group Chats, bros bonding, POV Original Character, Teen Girls Disrespecting Hockey, homophobic violence, Unrequited Crush, I keep forgetting the slurs tag but assume these bros are using slurs every conversation, Peak Fuckboy Era Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Series:

Part 4 of Hope You're Not Waiting For Me to Wait For You

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-30 Completed: 2026-05-03 Words: 11,654 Chapters: 3/3

On the Way to the Bright Angel

Summary

One of Dylan Xie's teenage fangirls gets him into the All Star game via fan polls and draws attention away from important things. Like more manufactured Rozanov-Hollander rivalry drama.

Notes

I'm cleaning up brainstorming I'd done for this verse so I can take a break from the fic that deals with Ilya's childhood, which has negative 100 humor points.

Chapter 1

Voyageurs

Gilbert Comeau
bros!
all star list is out

Hayden Pike
how come you're telling us and not Drapeau?

Shane Hollander
he didn't make it again

Patrice Drapeau
thanks Shane
I was so fucking close this time
fuck Eric Bennett

Jake Merrell
he's a pretty decent guy actually

Patrice Drapeau
yes grandpa Jake
tell us about the season you played for the Admirals 50 years ago

Shane Hollander
calm down Drapeau
you'll make it next year since we're gonna win the cup this year

Wayne Thompson
Xie made it

Jake Merrell
did he?

Shane Hollander
he won the fan poll
huh

Jeremy McAllister
@Dylan_Xie you're officially an MLH all star!!!!

Dylan Xie
what
ah shit

Gilbert Comeau
typical reaction

Dylan Xie
no I mean
it's an honor or whatever
but I was gonna visit my sister in Boston all star weekend

Shane Hollander
fly her out to Arizona

Wayne Thompson
this is nonsense
Xie doesn't take any of this seriously

Dylan Xie
it's an exhibition match that doesn't count for anything
I'm playing enough hockey

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
how the fuck did Dylan win a popularity contest with hockey bros

Patrice Drapeau
the all star poll is open to everyone who's willing to sign up for the MLH promotional newsletter
and my guess is
wait it's not even a guess
.link

Jeremy McAllister
oh wow
this chick is some kind of hair influencer and got her followers to vote you in Dylan

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
guys check this out lmao
.link
she said in the video she doesn't know if Dylan is any good

Wayne Thompson
unbelievable

Shane Hollander
however it happened
it happened
sorry Dylan you will actually have to work an extra weekend

Gilbert Comeau
this chick has 82 million followers
what does she even do

Patrice Drapeau
she's more famous than Shane and Rozanov combined
hilarious

Hayden Pike
her videos
I mean
I don't get this

David Taylor
they're vapid as fuck you can say it Hayden
this stupid bitch ruined the all star line up
@Dylan_Xie do something

Dylan Xie
what the fuck am I supposed to do
I didn't realize this girl existed

Hayden Pike
guys it's just one slot and for the player the fans like
no need to act like she committed a crime against humanity

Dylan Xie
I could turn it down

Shane Hollander
absolutely not
no one turns down an all star spot unless they're injured or there's a death in the family
there's no hockey literacy test to vote on this dumb poll

Jeremy McAllister
guys look at this margin
Dylan got five times more votes than the second fan pick for the eastern conference

Gilbert Comeau
fuck it's Scott Hunter again
what kind of blood pact with Satan does he have?
even when he sucks ass he makes it to the all star game thanks to hockey bros

Wayne Thompson
the fan picks are not real all stars

Aubrey Williams
spoken as someone who'll never get picked by the fans
fake ones or not

Jake Merrell
any surprises besides Dylan?

Shane Hollander
you and I and Xie for our team
and JJ for the D lines
Wynn made it too

Gilbert Comeau
and Rozanov

Shane Hollander
yes and Rozanov too

Hayden Pike
the Wagners made it in
including the rookie Jamie
by stats not by fan poll

Patrice Drapeau
nepo baby fucks

Dylan didn't watch his MLH draft on stream or on TV. He'd been so sure he wouldn't be drafted that he'd skipped his junior league team's watch party in favor of helping his niece's sixth birthday party. Only reason he'd put himself up for the draft in the first place was because it was free and because one of his friends who was into video editing made a decent compilation of his best plays. It was something unique to put on his college application.

Chasing around little girls at the Chinese Culture Center had proved exhausting and he'd had an AP Calculus final exam the next day, so he'd put his phone on silent and went to sleep early. The truth was he'd forgotten all about the MLH draft.

He'd been woken next day by a ruckus. Half his junior team had shown up at his house early morning, frantic that he hadn't been answering calls or texts. His nainai, who understood way more English than she let on, had been furious that her home had been invaded by a bunch of loud white boys. And more so when they said something that distracted Dylan from apologizing.

"I was drafted?" Dylan demanded of Jeremy. Not McAllister, but a member of his junior team, another Jeremy with light brown hair and hazel eyes.

"By Montreal, dude. Tell me you checked your phone."

Dylan had finally turned on his phone, opened the email account he'd been using for his college applications, and there it was. An official email from the MLH with the standard rookie offer letter, identical to the template they'd shared on the official MLH website. Provisional contract, to be finalized after completion of a team's preseason training camp and definitive placement on the team's season roster.

In Dylan's case, for the Voyageurs in Montreal.

He'd agreed immediately, not thinking about how much money he would need, the chances that he would make it past the preseason camp, or the fact that said camp overlapped with the college fall semester. Hell, he didn't let himself consider the possibility that Henry Theriault had called out his number in the draft by mistake and that the instant one of his assistants pointed it out, the offer would be rescinded.

Against his mother and grandmother's advice--their very firm advice--he'd turned down Harvard and got on a plane to Montreal. His sister Yulan had helped out with some spending money since all his savings had gone to paying for housing for the month. Montreal was fucking expensive. He'd found a nice French Canadian retired couple that rented out their spare bedroom to teens doing summer training with the Voyageurs coaches. They'd even given him a discount once they realized that he was a draftee for the team.

While waiting, he'd reached out to the other two rookies Theriault had drafted via social media. Nik had replied, so he'd arrived knowing that he'd have at least one friend in the team. It was the only aspect of the whole thing that had made him feel a little optimistic.

In all honesty, he hadn't expected to make it through camp. Dylan was hardly a humble person; he was just realistic. His family had barely tolerated his hobby and only paid for hand-me-down gear if he aced all his classes. The few times his coach had tried to get them to agree to more time in the rink, they'd flatly turned him down. Even when he'd offered his time for free. Dylan had to go to school, after all. College tuition in the US was astronomical, so he needed to be good enough to apply for scholarships.

"And stop telling him he's exceptional," his mom had snapped. "He's already full of himself as it is."

He'd told himself that a month in Montreal, with the freaking Voyageurs, was worth delaying college for a year. He'd have a great story to tell, one that might make his college entrance essay a little less generic. That had become even less rational of an excuse once he received his acceptance letter from Harvard, but still. The fucking Voyageurs, man. Shane Hollander's team. Dylan might get to hang out with him! He couldn't turn it down.

No one had been more shocked than him when he not only made the team, but as a first liner.

And he still hadn't dared tell anyone that he maybe didn't like hockey as much as he thought he did back when it was the reward after endless hours of studying. Obviously, he still liked it. Loved it, even. But. . . but.

Once, Yulan had confided in him that she sometimes wanted to quit medicine. When it was because she was stressed out, she knew how to deal. An easier, or at least more enjoyable rotation would come along and she would feel a renewed sense of determination. But when everything was going well? Maybe amazing? Just the way she'd imagined?

"Imagine your favorite dessert," she'd said. "Imagine the best Longxusu you ever had. Amazing treat, right? Now imagine it's the only thing you can eat. Three times a day, plus two snacks. Every day. A week. Three weeks. Six months. A year. Three years. How long until you can't stand the sight of it anymore? Even if it's perfect?"

"Ah," Dylan had said. "How do you deal?"

"I remind myself I owe the United States Department of Education three hundred thousand dollars," said Yulan.

Well, Dylan did not owe anyone three hundred thousand dollars. All he had to get himself through years of Longxusu, of hockey, was love of the game. And the salary, of course. Even if all he managed was his three year contract and picked up zero endorsements, he'd have such a nice nest egg for himself and his family. If he was cautious with investments, he might spare his younger brother Nolan the need to take student debt at all.

So. Dylan better get over himself quick. He was thinking about how to do it at the Voyageurs' gym. Most players had gone home already, but Dylan was huddled next to the treadmills, scrolling through his tag in the corner of social media where hockey bros spent most of their time. It was not a heartening experience.

What the fuck is Theriault thinking??? this twink must be sucking his dick after every game.

Fuck you too, Hollanders#1stan.

Shane Hollander, prince of hockey himself, entered the gym and made a beeline towards him. Judging by the glint in his eyes, he was as happy with Dylan as his number one stan. "Xie, we need to go over the tape of our last game," he said. "Last two minutes."

"Sure." Last two minutes were always the worst, the part of every game when he got reckless. Mostly, it was okay since his linemates were literally the top and third ranked forwards in the Eastern conference. Last game, though, he'd gotten the puck.

He should have passed to Jake, like the play required, but he'd thought he'd seen an opening. He took a shot that shithead understudy Troy Barrett had intercepted and then passed to his shithead maestro, Dallas Kent. Kent had scored fifteen seconds later, delivering a victory to his Knights.

"You're supposed to pass to me or Merrell," said Hollander. "Not the opposing forwards."

"I was going for a goal," said Dylan, because he never knew when to shut the fuck up.

"Xie, this maverick shit's gonna cost you--cost us--every time it doesn't work out," said Shane. "You didn't have an opening then; the play wasn't bold, it was stupid."

Theriault had already given him this speech. "I know," said Dylan. "I'll be less impulsive next time."

"Good," said Shane. He was quiet for a few long moments. "Is everything. . .okay?"

What was he supposed to say? "I guess."

"You guess?"

"Do you ever think this is too much?" asked Dylan. More like burst out. It was a stupid question.

"What do you mean?" asked Shane.

"Like, maybe you should ask Theirault for another wing?" said Dylan. "Do I really need to be on the first line?"

"Beaty's needed on the second line and Comeau and Carmichael sure as shit can't compensate for you," said Shane. "So yes, we really do need you on the first line."

"Thanks, Shane."

"There's no need to thank me; I'm just pointing out our situation." Shane sighed deeply. "Look, you're not doing too terribly. You're very fast and when you focus, you keep up with me and Merrell."

"Thanks." Genuinely, this time.

"You're not Wynn, of course, but no one was expecting you to be."

"I got that much," said Dylan.

"Right," said Shane. "Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. Be here early tomorrow. We need to start preparing you for the All Star game."

"What?" Dylan frowned. "That's just an exhibition game."

Shane sighed again. "There's no just about it, Xie. Take this seriously. We can't have you embarrassing our team."

"Gentlemen," one the assistant coaches called out at the end of the next day. "Be here an hour early tomorrow for some interviews with Melissa's girls."

A few of the guys groaned but no one bothered to complain.

"Stay at my place tonight," Dylan said to Nik.

"Okay."

For some reason Dylan had yet to work out, Nik had opted for a small studio apartment about forty minutes away from the rink. It was cheaper, sure, but it was five stops away by light rail. Montreal's light rail system was really nice, but why bother with a commute at all when they had an MLH salary? Nik wouldn't listen to reason, though. At least he was willing to crash at Dylan's guest room, more so now that he was occasionally recognized on the way to work.

Later, while Nik played with his Nintendo Switch, Dylan checked out the videos from his influencer fan. A quick investigation revealed a sixteen year old brown-haired girl from Winnipeg who went by Cheche online. As far as Dylan could tell, she made videos about hair braiding techniques for people with straight hair, though her own hair war very curly. She looked very light skinned but also had quite a few collaborations with black girls. The online hair braiding community must be astronomical because she did indeed have a whopping eighty-two million followers.

Dylan told himself to focus. He could watch these tutorials later.

To make a long story short, the girl had seen him while her brother and father watched a game on TV. Dylan didn't recall the exact game, but it must have been at the end because he'd taken off his helmet to wave at fans. His own simple braided hairdo had caught her attention enough that she'd looked him up and watched all the reels of him Melissa had posted. Now, she was apparently in love with him.

Dylan couldn't help but blush. She was sixteen, a baby, so no wonder the guys were making fun of him. He watched the video where she'd instructed her followers to vote for him in the All Star online poll.

"Ladies, I have a quick favor to ask," she said to the camera. "The MLH poll for the All Star game coming up this year is running, and we can vote for Dylan. My stupid brother says he's overrated and doesn't deserve to be an All Star, and maybe that's true, whatever. Hockey's boring as hell. But the poll is open to everyone and since this is a special game, maybe Dylan will wear something special for it."

What? He'd wear whatever uniform he was assigned.

"I'll put the link on the description," Cheche continued. "All you need is a valid email address; it's totally free to sign up. The MLH will ask for permission to send you promo stuff and you don't have to agree, obviously, but I did! In case I can get discounts for game tickets." She frowned. "I mean, I'm not sure I can sit through an entire hockey game, but I could troll my brother with tickets. And there are discounts for jerseys and other merch. Let's do it, girls."

"Nik," Dylan said in despair. "Did you see the video from this hair braiding girl?"

"Yeah," said Nik, without looking up from his Switch. "It's fucking hilarious."

Okay, fine. It was. A bunch of teen girls had, to quote whoever in the group chat, fucked the All Star roster. If he wasn't involved, he'd be laughing hard enough to make his stomach hurt. Smiling, Dylan decided to look through some of Cheche's tutorials.

Next day, he opted for one of the more simple French braid styles from her videos, certain that the guys wouldn't notice a difference. Or they could. Dylan didn't care. He wondered if they'd last the entire plane ride to Buffalo. Either way, Dylan wouldn't risk keeping them for their upcoming game against the Wolves. He'd learned his lesson long ago about locks of hair falling in front of his eyes in the middle of second period.

Some of the guys did notice he'd done something different and chirped at him, but Dylan spared only a second to give them the middle finger before heading to Melissa's little studio.

"Congratulations," she said, beaming. The red frames of her glasses glinted. "You're officially an MLH All Star."

"Thanks," said Dylan.

"Do you know the girl who campaigned for you?"

Campaigned? Jesus. "No, I swear," said Dylan. "Apparently she saw me because her brother watches hockey or something. I was planning to visit my sister All Star weekend."

"Dylan, it's not against the rules to ask your fans to vote for you on the All Star fan poll," said Melissa, smiling calmly. "In fact, a lot of players do just that. It's an established route to get in the All Star game."

"Right." Dylan knew that, of course. It was just. . . guys made a case to their fans that their current stats weren't reflective of their true potential on the ice, or something to that effect. No hockey player would promise they'd 'wear something special' if they won the poll.

"In any case," said Melissa. "I was hoping we could film a short thank you message for this girl. It's also customary."

"Sure," said Dylan. He was annoyed, but he wasn't going to take it out on a sixteen year old girl. "Uh, just to send her directly, right?"

"It's customary to make a public gesture of gratitude," said Melissa, smile still in place.

"Right." Dylan took a short breath. "What camera do I look at?"

Melissa pointed it out and reminded him that they could edit out any excessive awkward pauses, or do more than one take, if it came to that. Fuck, he might as well have moved to LA and started auditioning for random movie parts.

"Just in case, I took the liberty of preparing some remarks," Melissa finished.

"That's okay." Dylan could come up with something better than whatever PR drivel she'd come up with. He got a long with Melissa, but she was still an advertiser. He looked at the camera. "Hi, Cheche. I was. . . surprised by your enthusiastic support, and I wanted to thank you. Being an MLH All Star is a great honor, which I'm sure that brother of yours knows."

Too sarcastic. He should dial it back.

"I watched some of your videos, and I found them very interesting. And useful." He gestured at his own head. "Please try not to put yourself down so much; I think your curls are beautiful. Um, you've said you don't care that much about hockey, but I think you should give it a chance. It's an amazing game; I can hardly describe it. It's like flying, which should be a scary, but it takes such intense focus to keep track of the puck, and your teammates, and your opponents. . . it's probably the only time my mind is ever truly quiet."

Okay, that was probably enough. No; one more thing.

"You might get more out of watching if you understood the game a little. That's true of almost everything in life--the more you understand it, the easier it is to see the beauty in it. There are a bunch of hockey explainers and tutorials online, if you're interested. There's the women's league too; their games are a little different, but very fast paced and impressive. And there are amateur leagues to try out for yourself. If you ever get a chance, give it a shot. It might surprise you how fun hockey can be. Anyway. Thank you, again." He looked at Melissa. "How was that?"

"That was excellent, Dylan," she said. "One take; thank you."

Thank God. Dylan retreated to the lounge to wait for Nik and Jeremy to do their interviews. They'd all agreed to go to head to the airport together. Carmichael joined them, which no longer surprised Dylan. At some point, Mr. The Third had decided he wasn't too good to hang out with his fellow commoner rookies.

The game against the Wolves was their worst of the season so far. Maybe it was something in the air. Shane and Jake kept fucking up passes to each other and the Wolves' D-men wouldn't let Dylan advance. Hayden's line didn't have better luck; Jeremy got into a big fight with an opposing right wing and landed himself in the penalty box. It was bullshit. Both guys had been at fault, but Shane failed to convince the referee. Home ice advantage was a bitch.

Their PK unit was missing J. J. because he was off for a family thing so Gleason, the Wolves' captain, delivered a goal. His second one of the night. Three minutes later, Shane scored, but they were still behind. Nik got into a fight with a different Wolf and once again, the Voyageurs got screwed on a power play. Comeau managed a goal before the end of second period, tying the game, but it did little to lift the air of frustration in their box.

"What the fuck is going on, guys?" asked Comeau.

"Nothing's going on," said Shane. "We're tied. One more goal, and we can pack up and go home."

They did not score another goal. Worse than that, the Wolves managed two more. One of their forwards crashed into Dylan and they both fell. Dylan bit his upper lip, a small bite, but deep enough to draw blood. It looked worse than it was, and he didn't get a chance to tell Nik to chill out.

The referee was not amused when, minutes later, Nik went after the offending forward. Dylan skated over to try and separate them, which drew the attention of a defenseman. Soon, it was an outright brawl. Nik landed himself in the penalty box and once again, their PK unit didn't hold out. Three-to-two.

That would have been bad enough. Then, as if to rub it in, Gleason pulled off a last goal with twelve seconds left on the clock. A hat trick, and also a final fuck you to the challenging team.

"Guys," Shane said later in the locker room. "That was a clusterfuck. Let's take the night to try and relax, and tomorrow we sit and watch that embarrassment together. Don't add insult to injury by doing something stupid at the clubs."

While they were all filing out, Jeremy leaned over. "Don't forget about One Piece tonight. Joe's room! His secretary always gets him a nice single."

"I don't have a fucking secretary," said Carmichael.

"Yeah, bro, he has a servant," said Dylan.

"Fuck you," mumbled Carmichael. "She's my mother's personal assistant."

One of the guys let out an ugly snort-laugh, which was better than any comeback Dylan could come up with.

Voyageurs

Patrice Drapeau
lines for the all star game are out

Shane Hollander
I get Wynn back for the night!!!!!

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
surely you could've phrased that another way

Shane Hollander
what?

Jake Merrell
screenshotting that for my Bears group chat

Shane Hollander
you're in the Bears group chat still?

Patrice Drapeau
and no fucking intel for us?

Jake Merrell
not the official group chat
the legacy group chat for the traded players

Hayden Pike
hey we should make one of those for the Voyageurs

Dylan Xie
I get to play on Rozanov's line!!!!

Jake Merrell
screenshotting that too

Dylan Xie
yeah I'm sure Rozanov will be shocked and amazed dudes want to play on his line

Shane Hollander
Rozanov is a pest when he has no need to be
no one wants to play on his line

Jake Merrell
delusional statement Hollander
also
.png

Jeremy McAllister
lol
Rozanov gets Jake back for the night!!!

Wayne Thompson
how come Xie gets to first line?
he's only in this because of teen girls

Dylan Xie
because God loves me Wayne
he'll get Gretzky to unretire and age him down to his prime just so he can play a couple of games with me

Patrice Drapeau
they're making this into another Hollander-Rozanov showdown
reversing the Wynn-Merrell trade
not bad for a gimmick

Shane Hollander
I get Jamie Wagner for the night too

Greg Cornick
again with the phrasing bro

Hayden Pike
I wonder why Jamie

Shane Hollander
he's doing very well
he might come close to me and Rozanov goals wise this season

Hayden Pike
I mean his name
Jack Julius and Jamie?
that's not gonna be cute when he's forty

Patrice Drapeau
pretty sure his legal name is James
his PR team is capitalizing on his boy band good looks while he still has them

Wayne Thompson
degenerate little fag

Jeremy McAllister
whatever man
pretty sure Jamie Wagner is drowning under a cascade of pussy

Gilbert Comeau
watch out bros
someone loaned Jer a dictionary

Jeremy McAllister
bitch I know cascades
I like nature

Dylan was getting into the spirit of things. He was a fucking MLH All Star. Melissa was right. Fan polls were a legitimate way to get into the All Star roster that had been around forever. He was going to Phoenix to play with the generation's talents, and no amount of whining from hockey bros would change that. To spite them, Dylan resolved to score at least one goal.

On more superficial note, he'd get a red/gold jersey with his name on it. Dylan looked great in red and gold. He got over the inherent doucheyness of it and ordered a few jerseys shipped back home for his mom to store, some of them in larger sizes. Someday, when he was old and fat, he might want to wear them. Relieve his glory days, or something. He went ahead and shipped a few to Yulan as well. Too bad she couldn't make it out to Phoenix.

"Bros!" Jeremy called out as he suddenly walked in, Carmichael trailing behind him with the usual annoyed look on his face. "I have a great idea."

"I doubt that," mumbled Dylan, even as Nik sat up straight.

"We are going to the Grand Canyon," said Jeremy, a big grin splitting his face. The corners of his nose were red and flaky since he refused to moisturize.

"Like the whole team?" asked Nik.

"No, just us four," said Jeremy. "As senior rookie of the Voyageurs, I'm planning the trip after the All Star game."

"Senior rookie is not a thing," said Carmichael. "You made that up."

"Dude, the Grand Canyon is like four hours away from the rink," said Dylan, going back to his phone. What other All Star merch with his name could he throw money at?

"No, come on, guys," said Jeremy. "I got it all figured out. We don't have another game until the Tuesday after, in Calgary. If we head out to the Grand Canyon right after the game, we can stay the night at the Maswick Lodge and then hike down Bright Angel next day. The campground is like five miles away, so we can hike back up that same day, drive back to the airport, and be at Calgary with plenty of time to rest before our game."

"Pass," said Nik.

"Bro!" whined Jeremy.

"I'm not squeezing into a freaking Spirit airplane seat if I can help it," said Nik.

"Spirit?" said Carmichael.

"Dude, you don't have to pretend you don't know Spirit Airlines," said Dylan.

"Who the fuck said anything about Spirit Airlines?" Jeremy growled. "We are MLH players. Nik, I'll get your cheap ass a first class ticket on a real airline."

"No, thanks."

"Dylan, talk to your boyfriend," said Jeremy.

"Did you even clear this with Coach?" asked Dylan.

"Sometimes, it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission," said Jeremy.

"So, no," said Carmichael.

"Guys, let's not be pussies," said Jeremy. "It's the Grand fucking Canyon."

Carmichael sagged down onto one of the couches. "No one cares about some giant hole in the ground, Jer."

"It's not just a giant hole in the ground!" Jeremy inched closer to Nik. "Nikki, remember Last Breath of the Dragon? When you go down Death Valley to beat that optional dragon boss?"

Nik looked up, eyes narrowed.

"Remember how the game said there was five thousand feet of elevation change so we had little mini dungeons on the way? Well, Bright Angel it's like that for real. You feel the air change and the plants and shit look different, and then near the bottom there's this little mini forest looking thing. If we had more time we could hike all the way down to the Colorado River."

"Is there a dragon down there?" snorted Carmichael.

"Yeah, her name is your Mom's pussy," said Jeremy.

Carmichael growled and launched himself at Jeremy. Dylan dived out of the way, rolling his eyes, and let Nik separate the two idiots. He had to admit that Jeremy did make the Grand Canyon sound cool. But was it worth it giving Coach a heart attack and Shane an aneurysm? If all four of them managed to get themselves stranded in bumfuck Arizona, they'd have to forfeit their next game.

While Carmichael and Jeremy were sniping at each other, Wayne Thompson walked into the lounge and glared at them. He made a disgusted noise, prompting them to pause, and then Jeremy beamed.

"Wayne!" he said. "Are you bringing your family to the All Star game this year? Has Michael seen the Grand Canyon yet?"

"I didn't make the All Stars this year," said Thompson.

Dylan almost pointed out that he'd never made the All Stars. It was unnecessary, but so was Thompson's determination to remind everyone that Dylan wasn't a "real" All Star at every opportunity.

"I didn't either but I'm still going to the game," said Jeremy.

"You're such a loser, Jeremy," said Thompson. Though it barely counted as far as chirps went, it still made Jeremy wilt.

"It's a good idea, McAllister," said Dylan. "Let's do it."

"Yeah?" said Jeremy.

"Seriously?" said Carmichael.

"Okay, let's do it!" said Nik. "I'm in too."

And that was that. Jeremy went as far as getting their flights to Calgary and renting a red Mustang convertible for their little trip. Much to Dylan's surprise, his brother Nolan asked if he could come along. He didn't care about hockey, but apparently the unique ecosystems of the Grand Canyon would make for an excellent extra credit assignment, one worth losing his perfect attendance record for the school year.

"How are we gonna pull with an eleven year old tagging along?" demanded Carmichael.

"You planning to pull a fucking cactus, man?" said Jeremy. "Bring your bro, Xie. The Canyon is gonna blow his little mind away."

"And the game too," said Nik.

"Eh, knowing Nolan?" Dylan shrugged. "He's definitely in it for the Grand Canyon."

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Someday I will learn to outline properly lol.

CONTENT NOTE at end of this chapter

"Listen up, guys!" Shane said in the locker room, at the end of practice.

He was a shirtless, so Dylan made sure not to stare at him too long. This wasn't an issue he ever had back with his junior team since he'd practically grown up with all the guys and seen them crumble into braindead jock stereotypes the first time a math teacher brought up y = mx + b. Not that the Voyageurs were scholars, exactly; it was just their ambient jock stupidity didn't counter their hotness as much as it should.

Regardless, it wasn't safe to notice their chest hair, their trim waists, or--God help them all--their asses. Even if a few knew that Dylan liked guys and were fine with it. Maybe that was abstract. Fine as long as Dylan liked some other guys, far outside their divine locker room and holy team. Or as long as it was Nik.

"We have children joining us at the bus tomorrow," Shane went on, "including Merrell's little girl, so we can't talk like savages. No profanities, and definitely no gross talk about women. Keep it PG."

"Yes, Captain," the guys chorused halfheartedly.

"We can't lose either," said Shane. "Don't get cocky just because it's the Centaurs. They have been steadily improving this season."

"Yes, Captain," they all said, a little more animated.

The other kid joining them was Nolan, Dylan's little brother. He had arrived in Montreal a couple of days ago and made Dylan realize how much he missed his family, and even their muggy suburb an hour away from Miami. Nolan was right; it was miserable having to put on so many layers to deal with Montreal's winter. His cheeks did hurt and his lips were peeling.

"When does your brother arrive?" Hayden asked a little later, as they all headed out.

"He's already here," said Dylan.

"Dude, where's he staying?"

"At my apartment," said Dylan.

"You didn't have to leave him with someone from Player Services," said Hayden. "My house is pretty big and Jackie stays home with our kids."

"He's not with anyone from Player Services," said Dylan.

"Then who's he with?" asked Hayden.

"By himself."

"Dude!"

And Dylan found himself explaining that Nolan was eleven and perfectly happy to have a nice Montreal apartment to himself for a couple of days. Dylan had been straight up employed at that age. Illegally, but still. Nolan had shelter, food, water, a laptop with internet access, and a phone. Left to his own devices, he could plot a takeover of the Canadian government from that apartment.

Outside, it was pouring frigid rain. Dylan finished reassuring Hayden that Nolan wasn't about to succumb to internet predators or burn down a building after a few unsupervised hours and then invited Nik to stay over.

"You sure there's enough room?" said Nik.

"Yeah, Nolan can sleep with me," said Dylan. "Or one of us can take the couch. It'd be more comfortable than some cheap beds I've crashed at, come on."

They found Nolan at said couch, huddled under a fluffy blanket and listening to a lecture on Quebec's history. Dylan grinned and ruffled his hair, snorting at the annoyed glare that came his way. Nolan was a wisp of a boy, with dark eyes hidden behind thick corrective lenses and sporting a silly bowl cut. Like Dylan, he had very thick black hair that grew quickly. Unlike Dylan, he'd probably deal with it by shaving his head the moment their mother gave up trying to coax him to Super Cuts on a regular basis.

"Hey, little dude," said Dylan, gesturing at Nik. "This is Nikolai. He'll be staying with us tonight."

"Hi," said Nik.

Nolan looked Nik up and down. "Hello."

Soon, they were all settled in the living room--Nolan working on some math workbooks, Nik on his Switch, and Dylan by the window, supposedly looking down at the Montreal skyline. In reality, he was scrolling through his on tags on social media because he had some latent self-harming impulse he'd never identified before. Who the hell where people talking about online and why had he stolen Dylan's name and face?

The hockey bros despised him for being some kind of nefarious queer plant hellbent on destroying the Voyageurs--nay, the MLH and the concept of professional hockey itself--from the inside. If he played badly, it was proof he didn't deserve to be on the ice at all. If he played well, then he was somehow sucking Hollander and Merrell's life energy like a succubus. It was so absurd that mostly, it was funny. Or it was until some of the sewage hit Cheche. Since Melissa posted Dylan's brief thank you video, the bros had decided she was a fine target of their ire.

They had descended on her with deranged and disgusting harassment, including death and rape threats, relentless comments asking her to kill herself, and screeds denigrating her content, looks, and intelligence. Never mind that she hadn't broken any rules, or that she'd provided fuck knows how much of free advertisement for the MLH. Or that she was sixteen. She'd ruined All Star weekend, after all.

At least she was handling well. More than well. Dylan couldn't help but smile at her response video.

"Get fucked, hockey stans," she said. "You think your boring and gross hashtags and comments mean anything to me? That you can intimidate me? Losers. You're correct about one thing only: I, some stupid teenage girl, am more relevant that all of you combined. The MLH should, in fact, cater to me and my followers."

She had worked out, or perhaps had already known, that over-the-top confidence and entitlement was the only way to manage formless, collective aggression from sports fans. They weren't interested in changing their minds or even compromising, only fighting. It was their impotent version of a hat trick.

"This is now a braiding/fashion and ice hockey channel," said Cheche. "I listened to Dylan's suggestion and started learning more about the sport--links in the description, ladies, my favorite channel is Lady Istar--and you know what this space needs? More in depth discussions about which pro hockey players are hot."

Dylan scrolled on, hoping that she'd stick with it long enough to get more followers than Hockinator. Well, she had more followers already. More sports followers.

"Dylan, is it time for dinner yet?" said Nolan.

"Yeah, you hungry?"

After tearing through the fresh food Player Services delivered, Dylan said goodnight Nik and herded Nolan to his room. He wished they had time to take Nolan out somewhere in Montreal in the afternoon, but they never finished at the rink early enough. It was pretty cold too, and Nolan had never been north of South Carolina. He did not seem impressed by snow.

"Why am I sleeping here?" asked Nolan, when he finished putting on his pajamas.

"Would you rather take the couch?" asked Dylan.

"No, that big guy is your boyfriend, right?" said Nolan. "Are you like. . . uh, not going all the way with him?"

"What the fuck?" Oh, fucking white Jesus Christ. "Are you looking me up on social media? Is our whole family looking me up on social media?"

"What?" Nolan shrugged. "You think we can't read?"

Oh, fuck. Fuck!

Dylan fell onto his bed and buried his face in his hands. Yulan. . . the wasn't too bad. She already knew everything, including the fact that Dylan had babbled anything and everything in front of an MLH superstar because he'd assumed the man couldn't possibly speak Mandarin. This is what he got for not paying attention to the players' personal lives, though he would've assumed that Jake Merrell didn't speak Mandarin even if he'd known the man is married to a Chinese woman.

But his Mom. "What does Mama think?"

"She hopes this means you won't get any girl pregnant."

Dylan winced.

"Nainai and yeye say--"

"--they read English now?" Dylan screeched.

"Mama's talked to them about it," said Nolan. "They think it's because of all the Western influence of hockey."

Hysterical laughter bubbled out of Dylan. "They think hockey turned me gay?" That was amazing. He wish he could say that in the locker room. "They think there's no queer people in China?"

"I mean, hockey players are pretty affectionate," said Nolan.

"Stop." Dylan tried to stop giggling. "Am I disowned?"

"No, obviously," said Nolan. "They let me come visit and I didn't even have to beg."

"So, they're cool with it?"

Nolan took off his glasses and shrugged. "They're resigned. You always do whatever you want anyway."

"Sure, that's me," said Dylan. "Always doing whatever I want."

"Don't you?" said Nolan. "Here you are in a big Canadian city, in this huge apartment, with maids bringing you food and doing your chores. Even the people who hate you won't stop talking about how hot you are. Random girls online got you a spot on the top hockey players list. You'll probably be a millionaire before you're twenty. And you don't have to take a test ever again."

"I'm playing hockey every waking hour of my life."

"But you love hockey," said Nolan.

"Right." Dylan shook his head. "Nik is not my boyfriend, by the way. That's. . ." A fucking gimmick that was getting out of hand. "Look, he's just not. And what do you mean 'going all the way'? What the hell do you know about that? You better not be doing any of that."

"Dylan, please." Nolan reached for the blankets. "I am eleven; I still think it's gross. Let's hope that lasts a few more years."

Dylan groaned and got under his own comforter.

"Did he reject you?" asked Nolan. "The big guy?"

"Good night, Nolan." He did not want to talk about this, least of all with his annoying, know-it-all brother.

The thing with Nik had started. . . not as a joke, exactly. They'd just noticed right away that any guy who was too close to Dylan would be accused of queerness by mere association. Denying it would only make it worse, so he and Nik had decided to shrug it off, maybe even play up their affection a bit as a joke. Dylan had been a little hesitant since he wasn't six foot five, nor did he box for cardio. He shouldn't have worried. It seemed like Nik was big enough for the both of them.

Honestly, there were probably sociology or gender studies dissertations written about the fact that, apparently, once a white dude accumulated enough masculinity points, he could have a cute Asian boyfriend if he so chose. It wasn't just their team, either. Since Coach Theriault had instructed Nik to retaliate against any foul plays against his forwards, and since Nik usually defended for the Voyageurs' first line. . . well, who was targeted for checks most often?

The smallest guy on the line, of course. The result had been a steady supply of reels of Nik hulking out against players who targeted Dylan. The chirps spontaneously generated from there. Don't touch Xie unless you want his boyfriend to break your nose. Watch out for the BRICS alliance. Dylan was a little impressed that hockey bros knew enough about the global economy to come up with that one.

It was pathetic to hope it was true. Dylan had landed himself in the cliche situation of developing a stupid crush on a straight guy who was nice to him. He'd actually been shocked and sad the first time Nik texted him to ask if he could vacate their shared hotel room so he could bring up a bunny from the club. Very stupid of him. Dylan knew how this ended, and it wasn't with Nik changing sexual orientation or making an exception for him.

At least Nik was nice. Dylan wasn't falling into the trap of doing some dumb jock's homework in exchange for crumbs of attention, like one of his friends had back home.

There was a short delay while they were loading the bus for the trip to Ottawa. One of the veteran D-men came to get Shane but didn't share any details, so Dylan sat back and tried not to speculate. It couldn't have anything to do with Nolan, who was sitting calmly on the opposite row to him, headphones lodged in his ears. Next to him, Jake's little girl Lina was drawing red flowers that matched the clips in her hair on a coloring book. Dylan had heard her telling Jake that she didn't need to sit with him this time because she was a big girl now.

"Dang rán," Jake had said, tone uncertain. Funnily enough.

"Dāng rán," little Lina corrected him.

Dylan still cringed mentally every time he thought about everything he'd said in front of Jake, certain that no one on the plane or bus understood him. For example, Jake Merrell knew that he looked hotter in person, and that Dylan wondered what he would look like if he grew out his hair. And that wasn't the most embarrassing thing he'd said. Not even close.

Behind the children sat Mrs. Chardin, a broad-shouldered woman with a gentle face reading a book with waves on the cover. The title was in French.

She was the MLH-appointed sitter for this trip, and getting her had been the most complicated part of Nolan's visit so far. Dylan had planned to leave Nolan alongside the WAGs, confident that he would behave himself, but when he requested the single ticket and said that his brother was a minor, he'd received an official questionnaire from the league.

Shane entered the bus, this time followed by Thompson and a little boy holding his hand. He approached Mrs. Chardin and started talking in rapid French. Or at least it sounded rapid to Dylan's ear. The conversation didn't seem to be going well. Dylan got his phone.

Voyageurs (without Shane)

Dylan Xie
what are they saying?

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
kinda rude bro

Gilbert Comeau
that's Thompson's kid
the sitter is saying she wasn't notified about a third kid this trip
so she doesn't want to take responsibility for him

Greg Cornick
she can't watch some kid for a few hours?
I bet Thompson can watch him on the bus

Aubrey Williams
this is union shit
it's just one more kid

Jeremy McAllister
we can help
Michael's a sweet boy

Aubrey Williams
help with what?
just give him a phone and play Paw Patrol or something

Gilbert Comeau
nvm bros
Shane's work wife is handling it

Over by the little French conference, Hayden was telling them that he'd called ahead and someone's WAG was willing to sit with Michael Thompson during the game. On the bus, the boy could just stay with his dad. The sitter said, in accented English, that she of course had no issues with the boy being present, but she could not take responsibility for his care.

Thompson grimaced and thanked them curtly, then started squeezing past them. His little boy struggled to keep up with his long strides.

A pair of large blue eyes, watery and very unlike Thompson's harsh brown ones, met Dylan's as they walked by. Shane sighed and went back to his seat as Hayden followed the Thompsons.

Voyageurs (without Shane)

Dylan Xie
that was weird

Greg Cornick
you know Thompson's on this chat right?

Dylan Xie
I mean why didn't the lady just take the kid?
if she can watch two, she can watch three

Patrice Drapeau
MLH policy after the kidnapping debacle

Gilbert Comeau
bro that's an urban legend

Dylan Xie
the what????

Patrice Drapeau
some years back the league accidentally helped a guy kidnap his kids from his ex wife
he asked Player Services for a babysitter and had her taking care of his kids for like a week before the cops showed up at his house

Dylan Xie
what the fuck

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
name and team or it didn't happen

Gilbert Comeau
yeah this always sounded like bullshit to me
you can't find anything online

David Taylor
agreed not even the MLH could keep that shitshow from the tabloids

Dylan Xie
they sent me a crazy ass questionnaire about my bro
his doctor meds allergies, his legal guardian, who would pick him up if I got injured while playing
they even called our Mom back in Florida to verify she knew where he is

Jake Merrell
that's good practice for any business volunteering to take care of a minor
even for a short amount of time

Patrice Drapeau
grandpa Jake were you around for the great kidnapping scandal?

Jake Merrell
no comment

Gilbert Comeau
holy shit
it actually happened

Dylan Xie
ok but Nolan's old enough to sit and wait until I pick him up
like it was less difficult to get him a fucking passport than an MLH babysitter
which they insisted on

Wayne Thompson
why don't you all mind your business?

Jeremy McAllister
you can drop Micheal off by my seat if you want

Wayne Thompson
he's fine

The game against the Centaurs went well, though the first line didn't play as much as usual. Theriault probably didn't want to wear them out on a subpar team unless it was necessary, which it wasn't. Comeau scored twice and Carmichael once. The Centaurs only managed one goal, but they did block Shane and Jake. Credit where credit was due.

They looked pretty chill despite losing during the final handshake and while they filed back into their box. Did they not care about losing on home ice? It was a little strange, but Dylan couldn't help but gaze at them wistfully as he recalled the shroud of misery that fell over the Voyageurs every time they lost. Or even when they won sometimes, but not as decisively as Shane thought they should have.

"How did you like that?" Dylan asked Nolan sometime later, as they all filed back into the bus.

"You didn't score," said Nolan.

"Glad you were paying attention." Dylan laughed.

"And you didn't even get an assist," said Nolan.

"What's this?" said Dylan, as he sat down. "You finally admitting you know the rules of the game?"

Nolan blushed and reached for his headphones.

Over at the bus entrance, Thompson stomped in with the usual sour look on his face. Dylan looked around for his son, a little confused. He spotted the boy huddled by Jeremy's side. Was he sick or something? Was Dylan being sensitive because Thompson rubbed him the wrong way, or was the guy maybe a shit dad?

Voyageurs

Patrice Drapeau
All star game in less than 48 hours bros
SportBets on fire
Hollander and Rozanov head to head in the prediction markets

Jake Merrell
you'd think no one else is playing in this game

Hayden Pike
there's bets about you too

Aubrey Williams
lol there's betting on whether or not Rozanov will kiss Xie's helmet

Dylan Xie
like me specifically?
he always kisses his wings when they score

Jake Merrell
not always
Wynn mostly
apparently he told the Bears he's never kissed anyone

Gilbert Comeau
not anyone???
I mean his personality is rancid
but he's you know

David Taylor
know what?

Jeremy McAllister
Kalle Wynn is hot Gilbert
it's ok to say it

Gilbert Comeau
I mean rich you fag
Girls care way more about that

Patrice Drapeau
there's a popular bet that Jamie Wagner will be the first rookie to score a hat trick at the all star game

Dylan Xie
come on
he's not hockey Jesus incarnate

Shane Hollander
he wouldn't be the first rookie to score a hat trick at an all star game

Patrice Drapeau
ok Cap
who was it

Shane Hollander
Rozanov
his second year
but still a rookie

There was something eerie putting on his gear without any Voyageurs chatting away around him. Without Nik. As was his habit, Dylan had gotten to the rink a little early. Jake always walked in with a minute to spare, so he found himself with guys he barely recognized. He'd played against all of them by now and thanks to his decent memory, he remembered the ones who'd taunted him with slurs. At least half of them, by Dylan's involuntary count.

"What nice thing are you wearing tonight, Xie?" asked Brian Peters, a big defenseman from Seattle, drawing mocking snorts from some of the guys.

The panties your wife lent me after I fucked her. No. Not the time to chirp or posture. Besides, he didn't even know if the dipshit had a wife. Dylan kept taping his stick.

A shadow fell over him. While he tried to decide if he should look up, a hand grasped the side of his head and fisted his hair.

"Don't be rude now, little bitch."

Dylan forced himself ignore the pain in his scalp and looked up. He met Dallas Kent's narrowed gray eyes and sadistic smirk. Staring him down wouldn't work, fuck. Dylan knew, with sudden frightening certainty, that Kent genuinely wanted to punish him.

"Get the fuck off my wing, third rate shithead," said an accented voice.

Kent's grip loosened and Dylan immediately pulled away, ignoring a flash of pain. He spotted Jake and slid closer to him. No time to worry about looking like a pussy now.

"Rozanov," said Kent. "He shouldn't even be here. I'd be doing you a favor roughing him up a little."

"He is fine," said Rozanov. "Unlike you, I can perform without Troy Barrett fluffing me up."

"You okay?" asked Jake, while the other guys' attention was on Rozanov and Kent.

"Yeah," mumbled Dylan, allowing himself a short breath and a quick head shake. The Voyageurs chirped and said stupid shit at every opportunity, but none of them had ever put their hands on him. Not like that, with obvious intent to really hurt him.

That wasn't relevant now. Dylan told himself to focus.

"Listen up, assholes," Ilya Rozanov was saying. "Prepare for huge victory tonight. My Montreal chick flew all the way down from Canadian wilderness and she likes me best after I win big. Her pussy gets wetter the more I score."

That level of sleaze shouldn't be as hot as it was.

"We will be sending green team and Hollander's ass back north in tears," said Rozanov. "Do not fuck this up for me."

Chapter End Notes

Content note: Dallas Kent begins assaulting Dylan at the end of this in a pretty explicit attempt at a hate crime. He is interrupted.

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

In a first for me, I actually cut out stuff while editing lmao this probably could've been done in a single chapter. Live and learn.

The All Star crowd was electric, like all the crowds at the Voyageurs-Bears games combined. Dylan feared the ice would shatter thanks to their screams, and all that was happening was the teams were skating out to their boxes. He was between Rozanov and Jake, hoping he didn't look as stupefied as he felt. He snapped out of it when he passed J.J., who bumped his helmet and smirked at him. Dylan grinned back at him, then nodded when he skated past Shane.

After the Kent incident, the other guys had mostly ignored him. It was the best he could hope for.

"Team," Rozanov told them, loudly enough that the guys on the other box could hear, "remember my favorite girl is watching."

Dylan caught Shane looking over, eyes narrowed.

Rozanov turned to smirk at him. "Let's get that pussy preheated."

Shane's nostrils flared and his face went red. He turned to his All Star line to speak to them quietly. Wynn stared in rapt attention and Jamie Wagner seemed a little starstruck.

The game started with a Hollander-Rozanov face off that made the crowd fell into a palpable silence. Rozanov won and the noise came back for a moment. Then, they were off, so fast that Dylan worried for his bones, and his focus narrowed so much that he could barely hear the crowd.

The puck flew between them, forcing them to glide so much that Dylan found himself at Rozanov's right, intercepting a pass from Wagner and redirecting to Jake. He dodged a check from J.J. and kept skating, accepting a pass from Jake midway and then passing on to Rozanov, who took the first shot of the game. Eric Bennett blocked it.

Their coach--Terrent, the Bears' coach--called for a line switch. Dylan skated back to the box, noticing how fast his heart was beating.

The game's pace did not slow for a second. There was barely a difference between the lines since everyone on the ice was a top player. Okay, almost everyone. And the game didn't count for the play offs, so dudes were unwilling to get too risky with checks or fights. They all reverted to speed and puck stealing for their plays.

Thirteen minutes into the first period, Shane scored the first goal of the game off an assist from Wynn. Dylan was close enough to spot him smirking at Rozanov, then sliding over to plant a kiss on Wynn's helmet. The crowd exploded.

Huh. Shane wasn't the playful type. He rarely even chirped.

At the end of the first period, Dylan found himself with the puck, near the net--he almost took a shot, but something about the way Bennett shifted let him know the man was expecting it. He passed to Rozanov at the last second, and Rozanov tied the game. Dylan braced himself as the crowd cheered, but Rozanov merely drew him into a quick bear hug.

Guess the kisses were for Kalle Wynn.

When he was back at their box, he saw a SportBets ad on the jumbotron. The bros were in the middle of a gambling frenzy. There was fifty-k on a Hollander-Rozanov fight? Idiots. Hollander and Rozanov had never fought on the ice.

"Let's go, boys!" said Rozanov, making Dylan realized that they were going back out to finish the first period.

They ended it a tangle after Wagner crashed into Jake and they stumbled. Jake toppled Wynn, and Dylan had to make abrupt stop right in front of them, angling to the side and forcing himself to his knees to avoid driving the blades of skates into anyone's body. He heard both Rozanov and Shane calling for a pause.

Fuck, did he hit anything important? Nothing hurt, but his heart was racing so fast he couldn't perceive anything else. He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, multiple guys were peering down at him. He moved to stand and someone--Shane--offered him a hand. Rozanov hauled him up.

"Good save," said Rozanov.

They got switched out again and while other lines played, medics checked all of them out. Dylan was a little embarrassed, though medics were crowding Jake, Wynn, and Wagner as well. By the time they had all been cleared for play, it was time for the first intermission.

"Fuck, someone's betting a million actual dollars on the outcome of this thing?" said Scott Hunter, who was the second line center for their team. He was looking at the flashing screen with the SportsBet hockey page.

"Two someones," said Julius Wagner, their goalie. Looking at his large frame, it was difficult to imagine how he was related to Jamie. The rookie was barely taller than Dylan, and maybe a little skinnier. Hard to tell with all their gear on. "There's a bet against each team."

"Imagine what you could do with a million dollars," said Dylan.

"Imagine what you could do with two," said Wagner.

"Your brother good?" Scott asked him.

Wagner shrugged. "Jack's got him."

Dylan glanced at the other box. There was another big dude talking to Jamie, probably the second (or was it oldest?) brother, defenseman Jack Wagner. Must be nice, to have big brothers watching out for you every where you went.

Shane and Rozanov started the second period, to ecstatic cheers from the crowd. Once again, Dylan got ready to skate faster than he had in his life, the plays Terrent had requested all but forgotten. Rozanov won the face off, and their line managed to get the puck almost close enough for scoring, but Wynn stole the puck and was off. It went to Wagner, then to Shane, then back to Wagner. His brother blocked the shot.

The coaches did not call for a switch.

They went back to position. Shane won the next face off and went left. Dylan intercepted and managed to take the puck back, then passed to Rozanov at the first opportunity. After a few zigzags, Rozanov scored. He skated over to Jake to celebrate with a fist bump while the crowd cheered. Two-to-one in their favor. Terrent called for a line switch.

"A hundred grand on Rozanov pulling off a hat trick," Dylan heard Kent snorting when they made it back to the box.

"It will make my girl jizz where she's standing," Rozanov sing-songed, looking over at the other box.

"Girls don't jizz, dumbass," said Kent.

"Holy shit, bro." The Seattle defenseman who'd asked Dylan what special thing he was wearing looked at Kent with an air of pity. "You think chicks don't come? They don't even fake it for you?"

Terrent gestured and Scott signaled to his wings to head out.

Dylan looked over at the other box and waved as J.J. stepped onto the ice.

No goals where scored for the next fifteen minutes. Both teams' first lines stayed at the box, watching as Bennett and Julius Wagner blocked shot after shot. It remained a fast game, but the crowd was getting rowdy. Some got the bright idea to start shouting for Shane--for Hollander--prompting a competing chant for Rozanov. A few seats away, Kent made a frustrated noise.

Dylan smirked to himself. However much he postured, Kent was not on Shane or Rozanov's level. He wasn't a Kalle Wynn, Jake Merrell, or even a Wagner. Dylan hoped it ate him up inside.

The other coach blinked first and sent out Shane's line. Terrent switched in Kent, who promptly lost a face off to Shane. A couple of minutes later, Jamie Wagner scored off an assist from Shane, tying the game.

There were no more goals the rest of second period, though plenty of attempts. Bennett and Julius Wagner seemed to grow more stubborn with every passing minute. On the SportsBet giant screen, a new bet appeared: eighty-k on the game going overtime.

"I feel not great about all this gambling," said Dylan.

"It's technically not gambling," said Scott Hunter. "It's a prediction market."

"What?" said Dylan.

"Technicality so it's legal in a lot of places where it shouldn't be," said Jake.

They spent the second intermission arguing about what the supposed difference was, but it sure as shit sounded like gambling to Dylan. They were exchanging stupid amounts of money on. . . whether or not a player would die at this game? Fuck. Why was the league even showing that nonsense on a screen?

"Hollander, what would you bet on my hat trick?" Rozanov had inched as close to the opposing box as he could.

"We're not allowed to bet on our games," said Shane.

"But you're allowed to think, no?" said Rozanov. "Come on, Hollander. How happy you think my girl will be tonight?"

"The game is too fast-paced for a meaningful calculation of odds," said Wynn, from Shane's left side. "There are too many variables. And happiness is an emotion, so extremely difficult to quantify."

"Wynn!" said Rozanov. "You are doing so very well tonight."

"Of course I am," said Wynn. "I am one of the top forwards in the league."

"Yes!" Rozanov beamed. "My very fast, very clever kitten. If you score close to me, you will get another kiss."

"We are not on the same team tonight, Roz," said Wynn. "It would not be right to celebrate a goal together."

Rozanov let out a delighted laugh.

"Ignore him, Wynn," said Shane. "He's teasing."

They got the signal that there was a minute left to the intermission, cutting off Rozanov's next chirp.

Third period started with yet another Hollander-Rozanov face off, which the crowd dutifully hushed for. Shane won the puck and skated towards Rozanov's left again, an expected but still logical move. Dylan was much easier to work around than Jake. He tried to stay close to Wynn, not that it did any good. By the end of the play, Wynn had scored and pushed his team to the lead. Three-to-two.

"We got like fifteen minutes to turn it around," Rozanov said as they entered their box. "Look at gambler screen--a hundred grand that we will. Look alive, Kent. I know you can score without Barrett holding your hand."

Kent's line did not score, but neither did the opposing green line. Neither did Scott Hunter's line. Terrent kept switching them out until there was four minutes left on the clock, then he signaled for Rozanov. They went out to the ice buoyed by a chorus of cheers. The last thing Dylan saw was the bet in favor of Rozanov scoring a hat trick--it had soared to a staggering two million dollars. Holy shit. Did Rozanov notice that?

Whether he did or not, he won the next face off.

Once again, Dylan focused on keeping up. He tried to be in a good position to accept passes and didn't even try to keep the puck for too long. The net might as well have been in another dimension. They had maybe two minutes left; no time to be a maverick--he passed to Rozanov and then heard the ring signaling a goal before he realized what had happened.

The crowd erupted. Hats rained down on the ice. Dylan wondered who had just won two million dollars.

"Oh my God, I can't believe this thing is going over time," Dylan said, as Rozanov went to pick up a hat.

Jake skated close to him. "You good?"

"Yeah," mumbled Dylan. Though he was winding down. Fuck, he didn't want to do overtime.

Rationally, he knew his adrenaline was crashing or whatever, but that didn't make it feel any better. It was fucking bright and loud, and he was tired. MLH games were so fucking long. He squeezed  his eyes shut and breathed deeply, hoping that the cameras were too busy following along Rozanov's celebration to make note of him.

They waited for the crew to clean up the hats and finished the last period. Dylan skated back to the box and almost cried with relief when Terrent announced that Rozanov and Jake would be the forwards going out for overtime. Obviously. What the hell had Dylan cooked up in his addled brain? He took off his helmet as he gulped down Gatorade. Maybe he needed electrolytes.

Rozanov plopped down next to him a laid his gloved hand on Dylan's head. "Good job, braids boy," he said.

Dylan stared up at his flushed face and swallowed. The pink of Rozanov's cheeks made his eyes seem brighter. "Uh. . . congratulations. Bet your girl is happy."

"Yes, her panties probably soaked."

"Gross, Rozanov, stop bothering him," Shane said, from somewhere far away.

Rozanov chuckled and moved his hand off Dylan's head. He turned towards the opposite box, likely to continue chirping at Shane. Dylan squirmed away, looking around and blushing when he caught Jake's knowing glance. Or maybe not knowing.

No wait, he definitely knew that Dylan had himself a quick jerk off session to thoughts of Ilya Rozanov. Or two. Or three. He'd said so on the phone to his one cousin who liked hockey and knew Dylan liked men. How very avant-garde of him to be attracted to Ilya Rozanov.

The final lines were Shane, Wynn, and JJ against Rozanov, Jake, and the Seattle defenseman. Dylan sipped his Gatorade and watched, feeling like he was back home with his team watching another chapter of the Boston-Montreal rivalry. It was still so surreal that he'd played professional hockey with both Hollander and Rozanov now. That they both knew his name.

Well, Shane knew his name. He was apparently "braided boy" to Rozanov.

The overtime went on uninterrupted for four minutes and thirty-three seconds. The crowd stayed electrified, oohing and aahing every time it looked like someone was about to score. Then, Wynn stole the puck from Rozanov and passed to Shane, who buried it in the red net. The crowd exploded and Dylan almost joined them.

It was the most exciting game he'd played so far, never mind that he'd lost. Four-to-three, for the green team. Rozanov got his hat trick, but Hollander got the final laugh.

Voyageurs

Shane Hollander
this better not fuck up my mood
but where the fuck are the rookies?

Wayne Thompson
Grand Canyon

Shane Hollander
what

Wayne Thompson
McAllister wanted to go down Bright Angel
talked the other three into it

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
shit they are dead
I went down that hole and was almost physically destroyed
humbled by a giant ass hole in the ground

Jake Merrell
Thompson you knew they would do this shit and you didn't think to warn anyone
or stop them?

Wayne Thompson
I'm not their father or a snitch

Shane Hollander
we have a game in thirty hours
they should be at the rink training

Jake Merrell
priorities

Shane Hollander
what about *their* priorities?

Hayden Pike
they took Xie's brother with them
no way they actually went down the hole

Dylan Xie
guys we are alive
on the way back

Nikolai Babikov
got a bunch of awesome pictures!
but none of them look as cool as the real thing

Shane Hollander
did you clear this with Theriault?

Jeremy McAllister
yes we said we'd stay in Phoenix for a few extra days

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
staying in Phoenix for a few extra days =/= hiking Bright Angel

Gilbert Comeau
shitheads

Patrice Drapeau
oddly impressed despite how stupid this is

Dylan Xie
we went to *see* Bright Angle
we didn't hike it

Nikolai Babikov
we were going to but then Nolan got dizzy on the way down

Shane Hollander
who?

Dylan Xie
my brother

Hayden Pike
is he okay?

Jake Merrell
is he ok?

Dylan Xie
yeah just mad he didn't get to see the bottom
he said he is ready to get fit
All Star game impressed him so he wants to try hockey now

David Taylor
it took the an All Star game at the family box to impress him?

Dylan Xie
we Xies have high standards

Jeremy McAllister
we weren't going to the bottom of the canyon
not enough time
was gonna go just a little into Tonto trail

Jonas Raphael Carmichael III
it was pretty cool
even the little bit we saw

Jeremy McAllister
looking back on it
it might have been smarter to check out the caves

Shane Hollander
whatever
you guys are at the airport now?

Jeremy McAllister
yes flight on time and everything
and we got prickly pear snacks for the whole team!
Wayne I got a bunch for Michael

Chapter End Notes

Extremely making stuff up about hockey for drama here. Would an All Star Game play out like this? Where are the D-lines? Not needed for drama so they are in the ether.

Seven goals in a single game lol. It's because all the defense guys were asleep and both goalies checked out.