Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories:

F/M, M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov/Svetlana Vetrova, Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Svetlana Vetrova, Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Ryan Price (Game Changers), Hayden Pike, Original Characters

Additional Tags:

Marriage of Convenience, According to Two Idiots, The Svetlana/Ilya/Shane Love Triangle No One Was Asking For, Homophobia, Slurs, Making Stuff Up About Russia, Making Stuff Up About Canadian Law, online gambling

Language:

English

Series:

Part 17 of Hope You're Not Waiting For Me to Wait For You

Stats:

Published: 2026-08-21 Completed: 2026-08-23 Words: 9,388 Chapters: 2/2

Be Brave and Show Your Face

Summary

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov get married.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Warnings at end notes!

Ilya didn't know why every hospital room, including the ones in fancy hospitals, had such shit lighting. Although in all fairness to the one he was currently in, it had one of those fancy light switches that let people adjust the brightness. Ilya would dim it a bit, but Wynn almost bit his head off when he'd tried. He'd said he wanted to see what was happening to him. He'd been rigid in the hospital bed since Ilya arrived to see him after their last game. His lips were set in a thin, pale line and he was taking short, shallow breaths.

"I thought the painkillers would help you sleep," said Ilya.

"I said yes to Toradol only," said Wynn, his bright green eyes fixed on the ceiling. "No opioids, no benzos. I need to know what they're doing to me."

Yes, Ilya had been there and felt a surge of pride when Wynn practically spat at that asshole Jerry that he had a right to say no to medication and he didn't want anything to help him relax, thank you. When Jerry tried to talk down to him, Wynn had looked at the Toronto doctor and said "I do not want this man involved with my care. Get him away from me."

Just like that, Jerry quietly removed himself from the room, cheeks red and expression furious. It was one of the most impressive things Ilya had ever seen. If coaches were like fathers, then team doctors were like priests--both were to be obeyed without question.

That had been a little over an hour ago and Ilya was already wondering if Wynn hadn't been wrong. He was obviously in pain, still tense on the bed and blinking back tears. Would it really be so bad if he let the doctors given him something to help him sleep?

"Kalle," tried Ilya.

"I think I want to kill Dallas Kent," said Wynn.

"Lots of people want this."

"No, I really want to kill him," said Wynn. "Where's my phone? No!" He squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with his uninjured arm. "It's better if I don't have it."

Ilya took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Wynn, I think you need more pain medication."

"Well, it's a good thing I didn't ask your opinion, isn't it?"

True enough. Most people didn't ask for Ilya's opinion, sports reporters aside and even they didn't really want anything beyond a smug chirp.

His phone started vibrating while he tried to think of a way to convince Wynn to accept another shot of this "Toradol", in nothing else. Ilya looked at the screen, hoping/expecting for a message from Shane, but it was Alexei. Call me. What a fucking amazing way to end the evening.

Marley walked in then, sparing Ilya from further conversation with Wynn. His shoulders were so hunched that he looked a little short, for once. They ought to be celebrating sweeping their first playoff series, but since they'd lost their second best forward. . .

"Watch him," Ilya told Marley, holding up his phone. "I have business."

"You got it, boss," said Marley, dejectedly.

Though the chances that there were Russian speakers in a random Toronto hospital were slim, Ilya still looked around until he found the most secluded bathroom on the floor. The light switch wasn't one of the fancy adjustable ones, so Ilya couldn't do anything about the harsh light. He stared at himself in the mirror and cringed at the dark bags under his eyes. What Shane's parents would think of his messy playoffs beard, which hadn't even fully matured yet?

Ilya's mother would never had let him meet his fiance's parents like this.

He considered looking around for another spot, but Grigori would say that he was stalling instead of facing an unpleasant task like a man. And he would be right. But right now, he was probably doing some demented bullshit in the streets of Moscow. The weather wasn't too bad this time of year, even in the dead hours of the early morning, which Ilya supposed was a silver lining.

Earlier in the year, during one of Moscow's harsh winter evenings, Alexei had called in a panic because he thought Grigori wandered out in the middle of a snowstorm. He'd been high out of his fucking mind, of course, and while Ilya asked what he could possibly do from fucking Colorado, where he'd been for a game, Grigori had taken the phone and started yelling at Ilya for his lack of discipline.

Right at that moment, Alexei's phone didn't finish its first ring before Alexei picked up.

"What do you want?" Ilya demanded.

"Hello to you too, fag," said Alexei.

"Money, right?" said Ilya, feeling more relaxed. If something were wrong with Grigori, then Alexei wouldn't be wasting time with insults. He'd tell Ilya the bad news first, ask for money, and then move on to insulting him.

"I'm calling to warn you," said Alexei. "You're probably too busy with your perfect life in America, but you're all over the internet over here slobbering over your redhead winger."

"Fuck you; I don't believe you." What did it matter, even if it was true? Russia had bigger problems than him.

"I'm serious," said Alexei, edge gone from his voice. "I know you don't pay attention to politics, but the country's in a bit of a shitshow right now."

"Which is why no one's gonna waste effort with my love life."

"Ilyusha, you're so fucking stupid. Always, always, you've been an idiot." Alexei didn't sound angry, or even high. Just. . . tired. "What do you think would happen to your money if you're arrested for being a disgusting fag?"

"Finally, we're talking about what you really care about," said Ilya.

"Yes, I'm the parasite and I'm the monster," said Alexei. "I never imagine our mother rolling in her grave because her precious baby is getting raped in prison."

"Can you just tell me what the fuck it is you want?"

"To warn you," said Alexei. "Don't come back to Russia. I'd be careful in any airport outside North America too. Make sure to have a decent amount of cash on you at all times."

"Alexei--"

"This is the one and only time I give you this warning," said Alexei. "Consider it a gift from our mother, or from the brother you used to have."

Ilya stared at his on face in the mirror and hated how watery his eyes were getting. "I'll tell Krasny to transfer the deed to my apartment to you. And to hand over one of my bank accounts. Try not to gamble and snort all of it away. At least wait until our father dies."

"Fuck you."

"There will be a trust fund for my niece," added Ilya. "She can contact me when she's eighteen if she wants it." Assuming I'm still alive, Ilya didn't add, and then hung up the phone.

He took a deep, shaky breath and paced around the bathroom a bit, until his heart rate got back to a decent level.

It wasn't like he wanted to go back to Russia, anyway. He wouldn't have spent all season fucking around with Wynn if he gave a shit about Russia. Last year, he'd been outright grateful for the accident because it'd resulted in multiple doctors advising him to avoid travel. Grigori hadn't been happy, but he respected doctors.

Now, Grigori seemed convinced that Ilya was twelve years old again, acting out. Like his mother.

His phone vibrated. A message from Shane asking for his flight number, probably to spend all evening checking its status online. His little psycho. Ilya couldn't suppress a grin as he sent him a screenshot of his eTicket.

You know there was an earlier flight than this? Shane responded.

Ilya shook his head, smiling, and left him on read.

He had been so sure when he agreed to Shane's "proposal" that his parents would bring him back down to Earth. He was obviously not thinking clearly; Ilya should not have surprised him in the hospital. For all Ilya knew, he'd still been coming down from the anesthesia and that was why he'd somehow landed at marriage as a "solution" to. . . Ilya still didn't quite understand the problem that Shane was addressing. That he didn't own Ilya in the precise way he wanted?

Ilya ought to have known better. He barely remembered the hours immediately before and after his accident, which the doctors said was common after being under surgical anesthesia. Apparently, he'd attacked some of the nurses, maybe even Dr. Xie. Mostly, he'd been confused and scared, wandering if he would ever be able to play hockey again. And what would happen to him if it turned out that he couldn't.

Who knows? Maybe if Hollander had shown up in his hospital room back then, Ilya would have proposed to him. Hollander would have said no, of course, because he wasn't as pathetic as Ilya.

It was nice, though, to know that Shane Hollander's obsession with him ran so deep. Shane could have anything he wanted. Anyone he wanted. If Ilya had had any doubts that his parents had spoiled him rotten, then they vanished when Shane explained that his mom agreed with the marriage so long as Ilya signed a paper that barred him from Shane's money.

Well, all right then. Who was Ilya to argue with the sainted Hollanders? Shane did almost just die. He should get what he wanted for bit. More than he usually did.

First, Ilya need to inform his coach that he needed a couple of days off. He sent Terrent a text that he would join the team in Vancouver on Friday as he walked out of the bathroom. And then walked right back in when Terrent called him a second after his text was marked as read.

"Coach?" said Ilya.

"What? Where the fuck are you going?" said Terrent.

"I have a family emergency." Shane would be his family in twenty-four hours, assuming his parents weren't planning to have Ilya murdered at the airport.

"You're going to Russia?"

"No, Coach," said Ilya.

"Rozanov, this is no time for bullshit," said Terrent. "The doctors are telling me that Wynn is almost definitely out for the rest of the season. You better not be planning some white knight stunt with Kent."

"What?" What the fuck was a white knight?

"Do not try and get revenge," said Terrent.

"Coach, I don't care about Dallas Kent," said Ilya. "He means nothing to me. And also, about Wynn. He doesn't like Jerry. He should have different doctor while he recovers."

"Fine, whatever," said Terrent. "I'll send Carol to babysit him. She's good with autistics. Send me the confirmation for your flight to Vancouver."

"Yes, Coa--" He hung up before Ilya could finish.

Well, he'd gotten the okay, at least. Ilya booked a morning flight to Vancouver and went back to check on Wynn before returning to the hotel. With any luck, he could catch a few hours of sleep on an actual bed.

He found none other than Ryan Price in the room standing next to Marley. Wynn spotted Ilya first and turned to grin at him. It was immediately obvious that someone had managed to convince him to take pain medication because he was sitting up with his left arm limp in its sling, but relaxed.

"Roz!" Wynn greeted. "Look who came to visit me!"

Ryan gave Ilya a brief look and a shy smile.

"He convinced Wynnie here to take some morphine," said Marlow, patting Wynn's good shoulder.

"Yes, Ryan will stay here and make sure the doctors don't do anything I wouldn't like," said Wynn.

"Great," said Ilya, nodding at Ryan. "How's it going?"

"I might be fired," said Ryan, shrugging. "Traded, at least. My agent will sort it out."

"It's best to be traded since the Knights have absolutely collapsed this season," said Wynn. "It's a little remarkable considered they made it all the way to the Stanley Cup last year. I will have to review the tapes and see if it was only a fluke."

"Bro, you'll have teams beating down your door," Marley said, looking at Ryan.

"I attacked my Captain," said Ryan.

"Because he jumped and injured another player," said Marley. "We all saw what happened and we're all pissed. Kent better watch his fucking back."

Ilya wasn't sure. It would be weeks and weeks before next season started and the world had a short memory about this sort of thing. He feared that they wouldn't have a short memory about an enforcer turning on his own captain.

"You'll stay with Wynn for a while, then?" Ilya asked Ryan.

"Yeah," said Ryan. "We talked about it a bit and I have a guest room. Even when--if I get traded, I won't have to move for a little while."

"Okay," said Ilya. Beside him, Marley's phone vibrated, drawing his attention. "I have to go now," Ilya said to Wynn. "Be nice to Ryan; you know he's a soft type."

"Yes, yes," said Wynn. "I will watch his tape with him and be nice when I tell him he sucked this season."

Ilya grimaced but aside from a blush, Ryan didn't react to the statement. It wasn't close to the meanest thing Wynn had ever dropped. Ilya nodded and stepped out of the room. Much to his surprise, Marley followed him.

"Roz," Marley said, when they were halfway down the hallway. "You're going to Montreal?"

"Coach told you where I'm going?" asked Ilya. Nobody needed that fucking detail. Was Ilya not entitled to some basic privacy?

Marley laid a hand on his shoulder. Ilya shrugged him on and kept walking.

"Roz," insisted Marley, grabbing his shoulder with more force. "Now's not the time for drama with some chick, okay?"

Ilya turned around. "No drama. We killed the Knights in four games, so I'm stopping by my Jane's to celebrate."

Marlow stared down at him, skepticism obvious on his face. "It's the fucking playoffs. She knows how tight your schedule is, or she should know. It's not a good sign that she's calling you now."

"Not a good sign?"

"Calling you for a bootycall in the middle of the playoffs is crazy behavior, Roz," said Marley. "These are not the actions of a chick who cares about you."

"Thanks for the concern," said Ilya. "But mind your own fucking business."

Marley rolled his eyes, but he didn't try to stop Ilya when Ilya turned around.

"Bet you a hundred you'll be filing a restraining order six months from now!" Marlow called out.

Ilya shook his head. It was way more likely that Shane--and his parents--would be filing a restraining order against him.

Hayden Pike - Shane Hollander

Hayden Pike
so you're still gay?

Shane Hollander
it's not something that turns on and off

Hayden Pike
I'm just saying because I told Jackie and she says she knows some dudes
gay dudes

Shane Hollander
so you're not mad?

Hayden Pike
of course I'm fucking mad
I tell you everything and you don't tell me one little thing

Shane Hollander
one little thing?
like this isn't a big deal?

Hayden Pike
did you think I was gonna be homophobic?
haven't I been cool with Dylan and Jeremy?

Shane Hollander
that's different

Hayden Pike
how?????

Shane Hollander
it just fucking is ok
didn't you see only you're supposed to let gay people do this at their own pace?

Hayden Pike
whatever man
you could've told me and I wouldn't have said shit to anyone no matter what slowpoke pace you went

Shane Hollander
you just said you told Jackie!

Hayden Pike
because you told everyone!
it's a secret anymore is it?
anyway we still need to get you a chick
I mean a dude

Shane Hollander
why?

Hayden Pike
because it's not good for your health to get all backed up
like it's important for sexual health to have a partner

Shane Hollander
hayd what the fuck
stop listening to Jackie's stupid health podcasts
why would she want you to think you'll die if you don't fuck?

Hayden Pike
nobody said anything about dying but still there are health benefits to relieving stress and having sex relieves stress
this is all science
we all can tell you're nicer after
wait a minute
boston lily is a dude

Shane Hollander
I just got shot, man!
the doctors said it's best if I refrain from sexual activity for a week

Hayden Pike
shane
who is boston lily?

Shane Hollander
that's none of your business
and she's a girl

Hayden Pike
is it a Bear?
omg is it Ryan Price?

Shane Hollander
I'm not responding to these questions
have the other guys mentioned Boston Lily?

Hayden Pike
omg it's a Bear

Shane Hollander
no it's not
I told you Lily is a girl

Hayden Pike
are you gay or not?

Shane Hollander
I can still have sex with a girl if I want to

Hayden Pike
so you're bi?
like Dylan?

Shane Hollander
that's it
this conversation is over
tell Jackie thanks but I have been shot so I don't want to be set up with anyone right now
male or female

Svetlana messaged him while he was in the air. She sent well wishes for Wynn and a screenshot of a text from a WAG who'd heard that Shane Hollander--Shane Hollander!--had come out to his team. Can you believe it?

Yeah, he told me, Ilya started typing, but he deleted at the last moment and sent a shrug emoji instead. If he said he already knew, then Svetlana would. . . she might guess. Who Jane was, not what Ilya was about to do. Ilya could hardly believe what he was about to do.

Would Sveta even care?

Ilya had gotten excited during Christmas, when they'd gone to Trinidad together. He had met Svetlana's grandmother, who of course had not liked him because he looked so much like Sergei Vetrov. The wizened old woman had looked up at him and made the sign of the cross, which Ilya had tried not to take too personally. His own father, who was only a few years younger, didn't recognize him sometimes.

Other than that, it'd been great. Hockey wasn't popular in Trinidad, so no one else recognized him. Or mistook him for Vetrov. Sveta's cousins were fun. There had been a pair of baby girls, little ones that had just started learning to walk, fascinated with his curls. He got to play soccer with a bunch of guys around the neighborhood who celebrated every goal, even the ones scored by their opponents.

The entire time, the air had felt like a heavy blanket on his skin. Svetlana adamantly refused to have sex on the beach, but she still let him make love to her in Vetrov's mansion as the setting sun looked on from an open window. He'd asked her again to marry him, for the second time since they known each other.

She'd petted his hair and told him no. At least she'd let him hide his face in the crook of her neck until the disappointment was gone from his expression. Ilya didn't know why he was so nervous about telling her the truth about Jane. Maybe she would be glad to be rid of him.

Rejected impulsive proposal aside, it had been some of the best days of Ilya's life. Hell, even with the rejection, they'd still been pretty awesome. When else had he felt so calm, safe, and wanted? The first time Irina took him skating? His tenth birthday, maybe--the last time Irina had been mostly well for his special day. The first time Svetlana kissed him, on his sixteenth birthday, though he'd already been with Katya by then. And Olga, Alexei's first girlfriend. And Sasha, his coach's son.

On his draft day, the last time Grigori had seemed kind of proud of him. When he won the Stanley Cup. The first time he hooked up with Shane. The first time he beat Shane. That time Shane showed up at his apartment in Boston and admitted he actually liked Ilya.

He opened Shane's crazy five hundred questions. As ridiculous as the situation was, he still wanted the Hollanders to. . . well, they wouldn't like him, obviously. But they should at least be reassured that he had good manners and that he would try to take care of Shane as best he could. And try to make make him happy. And that they had been together for a long time.

All of it was true, so he wasn't even lying and making Irina gaze down at him from heaven with a sad look on her face. She would be looking down at him with a sad look on her face because he was marrying a man.

She wasn't in heaven at all because she had killed herself.

Ilya touched the tip of his mother's crucifix and reminded himself that he didn't believe any of that shit. His mother was safe with him, in his heart and in his memories. If there was a God at all, then he would be kind. He would know that she'd been in pain. A kind God would not punish someone for trying to escape the hell Irina had endured, both from her own mind and due to Grigori's cruel treatment.

Why was he thinking about this things? What good would come of it? Ilya looked at Shane's crazy five hundred questions.

Fuck, but Shane was scarily accurate about him. How did he know which corner store Ilya stopped for chicken tenders sometimes? Shane's favorite drink was ginger ale, which Ilya already knew, but Ilya bet the question was asking for favorite drink as in alcohol. Did Shane ever let himself drink, much less get full blown drunk? Would he try it for their wedding night?

Probably not. He still had that bullet hole in his thigh.

Ilya's favorite color wasn't blue, though. Did he even have a favorite color? Brown, maybe. Like Shane's eyes in certain lights. Or brown like his freckles. Shane said his own favorite color was blue--Voyageurs blue, Ilya bet.

In no time at all, the plane was landing. Ilya closed the document and told himself to stay cool. Soon, he would be meeting his. . . future in laws. He texted Shane to let him know he had landed.

It was just so crazy. Ilya was sure someone was waiting in the airport crowd, maybe someone from the FSB, sicced on him by Shane Hollander's dad. Sweet Canadian dad on the outside, international spy on the inside. Ilya had watched a shitty action movie about guy like that once on the Bears' plane. It ended with the man shooting down a plane down with a bazooka.

Shane was still texting him demands for a specific ETA, so Ilya sent him a link to a traffic app and told him to plug in addresses. He had to stop somewhere to pick up a gift for the Hollanders, just in case they were really about to let Shane go through with this. Fuck, he didn't bring a suit. Should he stop somewhere for a suit? He couldn't marry Shane dressed in joggers and a Bears t-shirt. With his playoffs beard not fully grown out.

He got another message from Shane offering to send an express driver for him. Had he gotten uppers instead of painkillers?

No time to grab a proper gift, much less a proper suit. On the way out, Ilya bought a cheap bottle of vodka that made him want to gag and a limp rose wrapped in plastic. It was the thought that counted, right? If the marriage lasted long enough for a birthday or holiday, Ilya would have a chance for proper presents. Maybe he'd actually get to know Shane's parents and the presents would be both fancy and expensive, good enough that they would be glad to have him in their family.

He grabbed a taxi and promised the driver a very generous tip if she managed to avoid Montreal traffic, then slipped in his earbuds and looked for something to distract him. The streams were all on fire, either about SportsBet or about how the last Bears game ended. The replays of Kent's collision with Wynn were actually a little shocking. It was even worse than Ilya remembered.

Kent had abruptly skated away from were Barrett was positioned to accept a pass, assuming Kent would have managed to steal the puck from Cook, and went at Wynn. That had to count as some kind of assault. The most pointless fucking assault Ilya had ever seen. Did Kent have some kind of brain tumor?

ESPN said that there were no official statements from the MLH about this play yet, or what had happened afterwards. Podcast bros went off though, and they were speculating that Kent's rich family would intervene. They seemed to be enraged at Kent and impressed with Ryan for trying to beat his ass, which might be the closest thing to justice any of them would get.

"Here we are," said his driver, her breathy French accent sounding satisfied.

Ilya handed her payment plus a two hundred as a tip before swallowing back his nervousness and getting out of the car. He was, somehow, at Shane Hollander's house. His actual house, where his parents were.

He told himself he would grin and bear it if turned out Shane was playing an elaborate prank on him.

Voyageur Rooks

Jeremy McAllister
guys I have a theory but I'm only saying it here if you swear to secrecy in the name of God

Jonas Raphael Carmichael III
ok whatever
I swear

Dylan Xie
I swear on God

James Wagner
I swear

Cole Passey
me too bro!

Nikolai Babikov
I swear

Mykola Koval
I swear

Jeremy McAllister
Nikki make sure Koval understands what swearing on God is

Nikolai Babikov
he knows

Mykola Koval
I know

Jonas Raphael Carmichael III
spit it out already

Jeremy McAllister
I think Boston Lily is Rozanov

Dylan Xie
dude shut the fuck up

Jonas Rapheal Carmichael III
idiot

Cole Passey
no way
rozanov is so cool

Dylan Xie
oh so he can't be cool if he fucks guys?
you know everyone thinks he's fucking Wynn

Nikolai Babikov
it's possible

Mykola Koval
who is Boston Lily?

Dylan Xie
supposed to be Shane's long term hook up he swears doesn't exist

Jeremy McAllister
yeah shane is only in a good mood after a Bears game because he hooks up with Lily
or so the legend goes

James Wagner
is this maybe not our business?

Jonas Raphael Carmichael III
so what is your "evidence" Jer?

Jeremy McAllister
I don't know
who else could it be?

Dylan Xie
shane says Lily doesn't exist

Jonas Raphael Carmichael III
yeah? all the times he's confiding in you and otherwise noticing your existence?

Dylan Xie
I think shane notices my existence every time he passes to me so I can score fucking goals

Nikolai Babikov
I've seen messages from Boston Lily pop up on his phone

Cole Passey
for real?
what do they say?

Nikolai Babikov
I don't know
he has message previews turned off

Jeremy McAllister
and it's been a while too
not since last season I think

James Wagner
and that means she's actually rozanov?

Jeremy McAllister
Fernando thinks it could be true and he's really smart

Dylan Xie
guys we should drop this
remember Rozanov is Russian
do we want him deported to a Siberian prison for being gay with shane?

Chapter End Notes

Ilya talks to his brother and there are slurs of all kinds and mentions of prison rape, though it's not described graphically at all and the characters don't linger on it.

Also mentions of suicide when Ilya remembers his mother.

I'm latigrat at tumblr where I am briefly discoursing now lol

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Finally it is upon us and it took only like 250k words.

Ilya had never met a lover's parents before, at least not as their offspring's lover. Sergei Vetrov had met him when he was eight and his wife had been dead by then. Sasha's parents had never learned of their association, as far as Ilya knew. Olga's parents had known him as Alexei's little brother, not that Olga could be considered his "lover" in any significant capacity. He didn't think, anyway. Maybe he ought to ask Shane about it later.

It was David Hollander who tried to push through the inherent awkwardness of the situation as they stood around in Shane's living. Well, Shane himself didn't stand and shot anxious looks at them from his spot on the couch.

"Are you hungry?" Mr. Hollander asked Ilya, with a gentle smile.

Ilya nodded quickly, though his entrails were tied up in knots.

"My dad's an amazing cook," Shane said. "Which I've told you before, obviously. Many times."

"All right, then," said Mrs. Hollander. Under her watchful eyes, Ilya and Mr. Hollander helped Shane to the dining table.

"Your leg is well?" Ilya asked Shane, anxiously, as his father took a pair of crutches from him.

"Yeah, much better," said Shane. "Still can't put weight on it though. The doctor said in a few days."

Mr. Hollander excused himself to the kitchen after Ilya, Shane, and Mrs. Hollander sat down next to a gorgeous view of the Montreal skyline. It must look very fancy at night. Would Ilya get to see it? Or was he expected to make himself scarce after he signed whatever else Shane wanted him to sign?

"So, you boys met the summer of your rookie year?" asked Mrs. Hollander.

"Um. . . before?" said Ilya.

"Oh?" said Mrs. Hollander, raising an eyebrow.

"In Saskatchewan," said Ilya, stumbling a bit over the word. "The parking lot."

"Ah, yeah," said Shane, smiling softly. "I went to say hello. Tried to get you to stop smoking."

"You smoke?" said Mrs. Hollander.

"No," said Ilya. Parents didn't like it. "Not really. Only one . . . only half a cigarette sometimes. Before really big games."

Mr. Hollander returned with a big casserole, sparing him from putting his foot in his mouth any more. Ilya stood up reflexively and noticed that he wasn't supposed to right away, when all three Hollanders turned to look at him with vaguely confused expressions. Ilya blushed and sat down, looking at his plate. Grigori always expected them to stand up when he entered a room. He'd forgotten that younger fathers weren't like that.

"Ilya," said Mr. Hollander. "I've made my meat lover's lasagna--a Hollander family special."

"It smells very good," said Ilya. He realized it was true as he said it, as if the savory scent had been drawn to his nostrils by the words.

"Thank you," said Mr. Hollander. "I also made chicken tenders since Shane said they're your favorite."

"Yes, there is corner store close to the rink in Boston," said Ilya. "Ranch sauce is very good but also, chicken is not too breaded. Lots of actual chicken so very filling and lots of protein." God, he sounded like a moron. David Hollander was some kind of college professor and amateur chef, and Ilya was trying to explain to him what chicken tenders were.

"I keep telling him it's more efficient to eat grilled chicken breast," said Shane. "Breading and sauce at all just wastes calories."

"And I always say that taste is just as important for the dish as the nutrition aspect," said Mr. Hollander. "Ilya, what would you like to try first?"

"Lasagna, please." It was indeed very good, not just taste-wise, but also varied in texture. There was a creamy, cheesy layer in the middle that had Ilya reaching for seconds before he remembered the chicken tenders. "Amazing!" Ilya said to Mr. Hollander. "Will tell Marco--from the corner store--that he has competition in Canada."

Mr. Hollander grinned and said something about how it was all thanks to some recipe he found online. He looked at his wife and his smile dimmed a little. Ilya noticed that she'd hardly touched her plate.

"Mom, uh, I'm sure you have some questions for Ilya," prompted Shane.

Ilya tried not to tense up.

"I do," said Mrs. Hollander, with a tense smile. "But I have to admit I don't know how to approach them."

"It's not sudden for us," said Shane. "I know it looks that way because we've been hiding, but that's only because we were worried about how the world would react. Especially the Russian government."

"Did that concern not apply to Kalle Wynn?" said Mrs. Hollander.

"Okay, fine," said Shane. "I was really determined to stay closeted because I was afraid of how the league would react if I stopped being their perfect poster boy for even a second, and then you saw what happened. I was kidnapped and almost killed over an online casino they've been promoting for years, and they won't even pretend to consider cutting ties with them."

"Oh, Shane!" said Mrs. Hollander, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm furious with the league too, and I don't intend to take this lying down. But. . ." She looked at Ilya and stopped herself. "I just don't like to see you making such a big decision under duress. Why can't you boys wait a little bit longer, until the situation has calmed somewhat?"

"Because of Russia, Mom!"

"Shane, I already said there are ways to help Ilya that don't involve this kind of legal entanglement," said Mrs. Hollander. "You wouldn't want him to feel pressured into a rushed marriage, right?"

Finally, Shane's determined expression wavered.

"I'm not pressured," said Ilya.

The Hollanders all turned to look at him.

Ilya swallowed and took a moment to organize his thoughts. Even years after living in Boston, his English tended to leave him when he was excited. Or upset. "I do not feel pressure," he said again. "I understand Russia is problem, but I knew this always and was lazy with handling it. This has worried Shane, and I'm sorry for it. If fast marriage makes him feel better, then I am not pressured. I will do it for him."

"We're doing it for you," said Shane, reaching over to hold his hand. "It'll be safer if you have actually family here, on paper."

Ilya didn't know if that was true, but it felt true. It would be amazing if he had family besides Alexei and his dad--family that might actually want him. And Shane said he wanted Ilya, and that had to mean something. Even if it was only because he was spoiled and didn't like to share, and had just survived the world's craziest abduction.

"I l-love him," said Ilya, stealing a glance a Shane. He couldn't hold it for long; the way Shane's eyes widened made Ilya's heart race. "I love him," he repeated, more firmly, looking at the Hollanders. Shane said they had to say it so his parents would not worry. "And we have signed this prenup, so it's no big deal, right?"

"Of course it's a big deal," said Mr. Hollander. "It's a commitment between two people who love each other, right?"

"Yes!" said Shane, squeezing Ilya's hand. "We love each other. If anything good came out of this kidnapping thing, it's that I know that's what's important now."

So in the end, Shane got exactly what he wanted. Ilya apologized to the Hollanders for not having brought a suit, half expecting that they would cite the lack of proper attire as the reason to stop the "wedding" from happening at all. They did look a little. . . tense, but Shane jumped in and said he would wear joggers too. He would even get a Voyageurs t-shirt so they both matched, in their own way.

The ceremony, if it could be called that, was quick. It had to be, since Shane couldn't stand for long. He probably shouldn't be standing at all, but he was stubborn and insisted that he would not be marrying laying down. Ilya stood beside him, holding as much of his weight as he could. If Shane was in pain, it wasn't evident in his expression. He looked delighted and satisfied, just like he did on TV after winning a game.

Shane's lawyer, a scary looking middle aged lady with brown hair and light French accent, had brought along a diminutive white-haired judge who wore thick spectacles and asked them both to sign hockey jerseys; a Hollander one and a Rozanov one. She was a big fan of their rivalry, or so she said. To Ilya, she looked a little too excited about the marriage for someone who supposedly liked to see them go up against each other.

At Shane's urging, the kooky judge produced the marriage contract, asked them to verify the spelling of their names and dates of birth, and then pointed at where they were supposed to sign. Shane did so with a blush, stealing a brief look at Ilya as he passed on the pen.

Ilya's hand shook a little as he signed. He couldn't help but imagine Svetlana looking at him with exasperation as he did this--as he put himself in danger like this. The moment Shane snapped out of whatever post-gunshot spiral he was in the middle of, he would want this undone. Ilya could only hope that it could be dealt with privately.

Mr. Hollander served as Shane's witness and Mrs. Hollander as Ilya's. She gave him very polite look right after she signed, which Ilya knew was a warning. Should Shane decide this whole thing was his fault, this woman would make him wish Putin himself had arrested him before he had a chance to hurt her precious boy.

"And you may now kiss the. . ." The judge cough, then grinned. "Each other."

They had to keep it light and brief--Shane's parents were watching--but Shane buried a hand in his hair and also kissed his nose. Ilya pressed their foreheads together and tightened the arm he had around Shane's waist.

"Congratulations, gentlemen," said the lawyer. "May the union be long and joyful."

"Thank you," said Shane, without looking at her. He didn't even let go of Ilya's hair.

"All right, time to sit down again," said Mrs. Hollander.

That signaled the end of the "ceremony", much to the judge's disappointment. Mr. Hollander started offering some food-to-go as the lawyer gathered her papers without any further fuss. She said something in French to Shane before kissing Mrs. Hollander on the cheek and grabbing her judge friend. They were out of the apartment before Ilya fully grasped that he was married.

Shane asked to go to his bedroom so he could get comfortable before the next Voyageurs game started and a couple of minutes later, Ilya found himself taking it all in while the Hollanders helped him to bed. He was in shane's bedroom. His real bedroom, not the one in the squirreled away building he'd bought so he'd never have to bring Ilya here. Ilya couldn't believe that soon, he would be sharing Shane's actual bed.

He was Shane Hollander's husband. Ilya was in his bedroom.

It looked like something out of a catalog for a fancy finance bro. Steel gray and navy blue, expensive and somehow aloof, but comfortable enough. There were at least half a dozen pillows on the luxurious king size bed. It was the first room in the condo that didn't have windows, giving it an air of privacy that Ilya had not noticed was missing out in the shared living space.

"Okay," Shane said from the bed. "I'm good now."

"Yes, we booked a hotel," said Mr. Hollander. "We'll be out of your hair soon. Ilya, let me give you our contact info and the numbers for his doctors."

"Guys, my leg's perfectly fine," said Shane. "I'm not gonna be rushed to the hospital any time soon."

"We've also hired some private security for the time being," said Mr. Hollander, ignoring him. "They've been informed you'll be here. Don't worry; they are quite discreet."

Ilya was sure they'd said that. He mentally prepared himself for the possibility that one of them would sell a picture of him entering Shane Hollander's apartment building to some gossip blog, then nodded at Mr. Hollander and the man took out his phone. Ilya started reciting his number.

"Remember to be careful," Mrs. Hollander told Shane. "You're injured."

"I know, Mom," said Shane, freckles becoming more prominent as his face went red. "We're not doing anything. You know how important my fitness is."

"I will take care of him," said Ilya, walking closer to the bed. Shane looked up at him and smiled shyly. "I promise."

After the Hollanders left, Shane gestured at Ilya to get under the covers and then pulled him down for a deep kiss. His hands roamed under Ilya's t-shirt as he rubbed his cheek against Ilya's beard and sighed. Ilya bit his tongue to stop himself from saying I love you, even in Russian, because Shane might've looked it up. There was no audience to say it for anymore.

"Kotenok, no," he said instead, gently guiding Shane's hands out from under his shirt. "Your parents will push me out your fancy windows if I hurt you, and then I will die."

"It's all reinforced glass."

"Shane!" Ilya chuckled and buried his nose in Shane's hair. "I can't believe you did this. I can't believe they let you."

"I told you; my parents love me," said Shane. "Thank you for being so polite today, by the way. They would've worried if Ilya Rozanov showed up and started chirping at them."

"Do you think I would do this?"

"No," said Shane, snuggling next to him. Stubbornly, he slipped a hand under Ilya's shirt again, but only to lay his palm gently on Ilya's belly. "I mean. . . I guess I didn't get a lot of time to imagine you meeting my parents. You remember the MLH awards last year?"

"The Gleason thing?" said Ilya, smirking. "Yes."

"That's what everyone remembers." The eye roll was evident in Shane's tone. "But they sat you next to my Mom, and she said was pleasantly surprised at how nice you were."
Ilya tried to take it as a compliment. It wasn't Mrs. Hollander's fault that the press had decided that he was a brute without manners.

"So I thought, I mean before the fucking kidnapping, that maybe someday. . . I don't know." Shane laid his forehead on Ilya's chest and Ilya hugged him tighter. "After last year, when we decided to cool off on the rivalry thing, I told them we decided to be friends. So I'd been mentioning you to them since then."

"Mentioning me?"

"Yeah, like when they asked how my friends were doing," said Shane. "I would tell them something about Hayden or J. J., or another of the guys, and then I would say something vague about you. Like Ilya's doing good too. Little things like that."

"Really?" Wasn't Ilya Shane's dirty little secret?

"Yeah," said Shane. "It's probably why they came around so soon. Can you imagine if I'd just dropped that I want to marry you to them out of nowhere? Where's the remote? Game's about to start."

Ilya should probably pay careful attention since there was a chance he would be playing either the Voyageurs or the Sharks during the playoffs, but he could hardly notice anything besides Shane laying next to him. He was adorable, with his focused little face as he watched his team play, nodding with satisfaction every time they did well and grunting with frustration if they ever messed up.

"That was bullshit," he yelled, when one of the Sharks crashed into one of the Voyageurs forwards so hard that both players slipped and fell. Boiziau went up to argue with the ref at the same time as Byrne.

"And bullshit call too!" Shane added when the ref awarded both players a minor penalty.

Ilya kissed the top of Shane's head to soothe him. He inhaled the scent of him and had to resist the urge to pinch himself when he realized that he was in Shane's bed, for the whole night, and maybe his own scent would be left behind and Shane would notice and think of him every time until the cleaning staff came to collect his used sheets.

On the screen, Jake scored the first goal of the game off a pass from Pike.

"Yes!" hissed Shane.

They made for a good team, not that Ilya would be complimenting Pike any time soon. He had a reputation to maintain, after all.

In the end, the Voyageurs pulled off a narrow three-to-two victory. Shane decided that it was the universe's wedding present for him and pulled Ilya down for another kiss. Ilya nipped at his lower lip when it started getting too heavy, which was a stupid move because Shane wasn't exactly opposed to some playful biting. He whined when Ilya grabbed his wrist to stop him from reaching under his waistband.

"I can't believe you want to fuck through gunshot wound, Hollander," said Ilya.

"Come on, it was a superficial hit!" said Shane, squirming. "Let me suck you, at least."

"No," Ilya said, firmly.

"It's my wedding night!"

"Is fake marriage," said Ilya, then made himself ignore the little whimper Shane let out. "Where is my phone? I have to check on my team."

Mostly, he needed an excuse to make Shane back off a little. Ilya didn't trust himself not to lose control and fuck Shane if things got too heavy, and for all he knew, that would open Shane's surgical wound and he would bleed out right then and there.

Ilya's own doctors had been worried that would happen to him right after his accident--that strenuous activity would rip open whatever repairs they'd done to his artery. It'd been a couple weeks before they'd cleared him for walking at a brisk pace.

The Bears group chat was delighted because Wynn, high on painkiller and with Ryan's help typing, was providing harsh criticisms of. . . everyone in the league, as far as Ilya could tell from scrolling. He smiled, relieved. He'd been worried to leave Wynn alone, with Jerry sniffing around, before someone from Wynn's family arrived. Jerry, that fucker, was mean enough that it might break through his sense of self-preservation.

"Glad I won't be doing these for a while," Shane said, as he turned up the volume of the TV for the post-game interview. The Voyageurs had sent Boiziau and Xie.

". . . what can you tell us about Hollander's condition?" the reporter was asking.

"Shane's doing great," said Boiziau. "We dedicate this victory to him and we can't wait to have him back on the ice with us."

Beside Ilya, Shane offered the screen a satisfied little grin.

"And Xie?"

"Same," said Xie.

"Any comments on SportsBet?"

"What's there to say?" said Boiziau. "We can only urge our fans--and anyone with any sense--to stay away from that glorified casino."

"Legally, prediction markets are not classified as bets," said a reporter.

"The website's name is SportsBet," said Boizaiu.

"And why do you all get a smug little smirk when you drop the 'legally, it's not gambling' soundbite?" snapped Xie. "Is every sports bro a statistician and an economist now? Is SportsBet LLC your friend? Are you in on the joke when SportsBet takes your rent money?"

Ilya snorted. "Your rookie is very funny."

Shane muted the interview. His nose got scrunched up with obvious annoyance. "He's a know-it-all."

"Ah, kotik," said Ilya. "You are right. He rambles too much."

Shane rolled his eyes, but he accepted a peck on the lips. "You know. . ." He trailed off and stared at Ilya's chin. "If we're gonna be serious about this. I mean. About getting you Canadian citizenship. . ."

"Yes?" prompted Ilya.

"We should probably stop seeing other people," Shane rushed out. "Because we need to make it look real and--I know it's a big ask--but I don't want to explain to may parents that I'm okay with my husband, who I'm supposedly madly in love with, going on an off-season fuck tour."

"You don't think I can be discreet?" said Ilya.

"Honestly? No," said Shane. "You'd try, I'm sure, but all it would take is one slutty puck bunny showing off and--"

"You will stop seeing others too?" asked Ilya.

Shane cut his rant off. "Yeah, of course. It's only fair. If you can't do your thing, then I can't either."

"Okay," said Ilya. "Anything for Canadian citizenship."

Shane gave him a bright smile and then licked his lips. Ilya gave him a warning look when he tried to go for another kiss. " Okay, fine!" said Shane, with a tone that reminded Ilya of a child stomping his foot. "If we're not going to fuck, then we might as well go out and watch the sunset."

A few minutes later, after Ilya carried him out bridal style, ignoring the voice in his head warning him that Coach would kill him if he pulled his back hauling ninety kilos and change around a fancy penthouse (never mind what the Hollanders would do to him if he dropped Shane). He deposited his charge on a lounging chair out in his balcony.

When Shane shivered at a chilly gust of wind, Ilya ran back inside to get a set of fluffy blankets. Then Shane demanded a cup of tea so, Ilya went back to the kitchen. He reheated a couple of Mr. Hollander's chicken tenders while the water began to steam and looked through Shane's liquor cabinet. His husband's liquor, he thought with a smile, at least until he realized was mostly wine. Ilya would have to send him proper vodka. He went back out to the balcony.

"So, how long will we be married?" asked Ilya, after they'd been cuddling for a while.

Shane fidgeted beside him, gripped his shirt hard, and snuggled closer. "Has to be for a while."

The sun was setting, making some of the glass window's of Montreal's skyscraper glimmer. "At least a year," murmured Ilya.

"More," said Shane. "Lawyer said you have to live in Canada for at least a full year before you can apply for citizenship, but you're technically a US employee right now."

"MLH is not both Canadian and American?"

"Yes," said Shane. "Players for Canadian teams are technically Canadian residents and players for American teams are technically US residents. Don't your finance people explain these things to you during tax season?"

Ilya's finance people was an accountant friend of Grigori who sent him account summaries every few months. So long as the line kept going up, Ilya didn't pay too much attention. Dips were to be expected and usually indicated that Alexei had had a drug or gambling binge. Or both. Grigori had access to the information, of course, and Ilya told himself that he could keep Alexei under control. He didn't think about how little sense it made to assume that now that Grigori's mind appeared to be gone.

"So, you might have to switch to a Canadian team to make this work," continued Shane.

"I have to finish this season with the Bears," said Ilya.

"Just this one?" Shane sat up a little to look down at Ilya. "I was thinking maybe a few more. So it doesn't look like you're bailing on your team at the first contract renewal."

"Who cares?" Ilya shrugs.

"What do you mean?" said Shane. "Boston's been building around you since we were drafted. You'll look disloyal if you drop them at the first opportunity."

"I already won Cup for them once," said Ilya. "I will try very hard to win again."

"You think you'll get Wynn back in time?" asked Shane. "The two week estimate the Bears' physician gave was a feint?"

Ilya shook his head. "It's pretty bad hit."

"Fucking Kent," breathed Shane. "I've been trying to message Wynn, but he's not answering."

"Marlow's holding his phone," said Ilya. "We don't want him taking a hit out on Kent."

"No need," said Shane. "Someone's gonna fuck him up next season, mark my words. It was really stupid of him to injure another player like that; we all need to trust we won't be out to actually hurt each other on purpose."

Probably, but that was hardly of much use or even comfort to Wynn now. He'd been so excited for the playoffs this season, which had been the best of his career so far. A few times, he'd surpassed Ilya or Shane in goals, though he'd never quite been at first place. If the Bears made it far enough into the playoffs, certainly if they won the Cup, Wynn would've been a strong contender for MVP of the Eastern conference.

Maybe Ilya should've let Ryan beat Kent to death on international TV.

"You'd really move at the end of this season?" Shane cut through Ilya's thoughts, sounding a little breathless. "Would you consider Ottawa?"

"I did not think this far," said Ilya. "You think they would have me?"

"Are you kidding?" Shane grinned and arranged himself beside Ilya again, head comfortably on his chest. "The Cens will die of excitement if Ilya Rozanov's agent reaches out to them. You could probably ask for a human sacrifice from them--definitely more money. They're no where near their salary cap."

"Okay," said Ilya. "Then I will do that once season is over."

Shane hugged him tight. "Ottawa. I can't believe it. It's only two hours away from here, so we'll get to see each other more often. A lot more often. And it's so close to my parents!"

Ilya snorted.

"They like you!" said Shane. "I can tell. My dad especially and he'll get Mom to come around."

Ilya was sure that Shane was trying to will it into existence even as he said the words out loud, but that didn't make it any more likely. He was sure Shane's parents would be relieved if he spontaneously combusted before the season was over.

"Okay," said Ilya. "So the Cens take me, I move to Canada and at the end of next season. . . then what?"

"By then, the Cens will be a better team, of course," said Shane. "Once word gets out you're a Centaur, free agents will be lining up to join Ottawa. And you'll get a couple of first round picks during the draft too."

"I mean with the marriage," said Ilya. "The year will be over and I will be Canadian citizen."

"Well," said Shane, huffing. "We can't divorce right away."

"No?"

"Of course not," said Shane. "It'll look like we committed immigration fraud. Which is illegal."

"Okay."

"So we have to stay together longer," said Shane.

"Two years, then?" Ilya just wanted to know how much time he had.

"Too obvious that we're trying to hide our immigration fraud," said Shane. "We need to wait at least three years."

"To divorce?" asked Ilya.

"Three years to revisit the situation and assess where we're at," said Shane.

"Okay," said Ilya, though he didn't know what that meant. Three years was longer than he'd let himself hope for though, so he didn't press the issue.

Voyageurs

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
team once again we dominate and show this fucking league who the champions are
I expect another victory tomorrow
get a nice little breather before the next series
Kings we are coming for you

Greg Cornick
Dylan's going viral again

Gilbert Comeau
ah shit
what did he do now?

Dylan Xie
I've literally been with the team the entire fucking time
we're going to be up each other's ass until we get knocked out of the playoffs

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
we're not getting knocked out
don't even say such things

Patrice Drapeau
he's going viral for shitting on sportsbet

Dylan Xie
what?
for real?

Patrice Drapeau
the rent money line
.gif

Dylan Xie
ah fuck
if I'd known they were gonna gif me I wouldn't have made that stupid face

Jonas Raphael Carmichael III
that's just your face

Dylan Xie
fuck you

Shane Hollander
Dylan it was good to shit on sportsbet

Dylan Xie
fuck you too Shane
wait
thank you

Shane Hollander
from now on whenever we get asked about sportbet we shit on it

Soren Miitka
the league won't like that

Jake Merrell
so what
if we all start speaking up they'll just have to deal

Shane Hollander
and it's not just us
NFL MLB and NBL all have players speaking out
everyone's had it with this fucking website

Chapter End Notes

If the marriage ceremony seemed like an afterthought, understand that he doesn't give a shit about the wedding. He merely wants a document that says that Ilya belongs to him lmao.

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