Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Carter Vaughn, Scott Hunter & Carter Vaughn

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Carter Vaughn, Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

POV Carter Vaughn, Shane Hollander gets drunk, Carter Vaughn Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Brief mention of recreational drug use

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-10-26 Words: 3,992 Chapters: 1/1

Exit, Pursued By A Bear

Summary

At the 2018 NHL Awards afterparty, Carter Vaughn dedicates himself to keeping an eye on a drunk Shane Hollander.

Carter almost immediately loses him, watching him speed off across the casino floor. And hey, why is Rozanov hot on Hollzy's tails?

Notes

Carter almost hadn't come to the 2018 NHL Awards.

He wasn't nominated for anything. Hadn't even come close, really; the Admirals had put everything into their 2017 Stanley Cup win, and this year, they had been tired. They'd spent the season limping along, until, like an ailing old dog, they'd been put out of their misery in the First Round of playoffs. It was hardly the inspiring sort of performance that would see any of their names in lights.

Carter had been all set to politely decline his invitation, but then he'd seen that Hootie and the Blowfish were playing Vegas that weekend, and. Well. He'd always been a sucker for Only Wanna Be With You.

So Carter had hopped on a flight across the country with Scott by his side, making sure to pack his best suit and his media-ready smile. Scott seemed a lot less enthused about going to the Hootie concert than Carter was, but he'd agreed to keep Carter company anyway. He was good like that. 

The Awards Ceremony itself had been as awkward and staid as always, a tragically unfunny host trying to drag the presenters through the staged comedy sequences, and a few musical acts who looked like they hadn't been paid enough to look enthusiastic to be there (Hootie would never). Still, the afterparty was turning out to be a fun night.

Carter had spent the last ten years carefully refining his mental Rolodex of hockey players, splitting them into three categories: Cool, Boring, and Do Not Interact. Most fell into the middle category of Boring - fine to say hello to, but God forbid you get roped into a conversation with them (Horner had once explained the best way to shape a hedge to Carter for almost 40 minutes, the worst day of Carter's life). 

The less said about the Do Not Interacts, the better. A significant number of Borings had moved into the DNI category since Scotty came out - they could go fuck themselves, as far as Carter was concerned. They did not get a hello from him. 

Thankfully, the DNIs that did end up at the awards were all clustered in one corner - like attracts like, he supposed - and the Borings were mostly sat at tables talking about Golf, so Carter, at the bar, was a pig in shit with all his favourite guys.

Carter had spent the night catching up with the folks he didn't get to see all that often, making the most of the free bar and revelling the company of good people. Soon enough, his tie had migrated into his pocket, and the Boring folk had started making their way to bed, even though the clock was far from striking midnight. Amateurs. 

With the clock about to strike 11, Carter found himself alone, watching a conversation along the bar.

Hollzy was drunk. Not merry, not tipsy. Drunk. It was a rarity - during the season, Hollzy barely stretched to a sugared soda in front of the opposition - and Carter was enjoying the show. Hollzy was holding court with some of the West-Coasters, had them eating out of his sweaty palm with his succinct storytelling, even if his words were a little slurred. They were all rapt to attention, hanging on every word Hollzy said. 

Carter wondered, sometimes, if Hollzy knew how much power he held. Most of the guys in the room, even the veterans, would do anything for Hollzy's attention, like he was their emotionally absent father, finally bestowing a rare compliment. His quiet demeanour gave every word weight.

Carter himself wasn't immune. Every so often, Hollzy glanced over to him, lifted his glass, and Carter lifted his back in return. They'd already caught up earlier in the evening - seven drinks earlier, back when Hollzy's pronunciation was still perfect - but knowing that Hollzy was looking to him made Carter smile. 

Hollzy was a good looking guy with a watch worth a small fortune around his wrist, and so Carter kept an eye on him - just as he'd keep an eye on any of his teammates, were they that drunk. Carter wasn't so much older than Hollzy - 3 years ish - but it was enough to put their births in different decades, and Carter suspected that he'd consider anyone born post-1990 to be a child even when they were in their 50s. 

He was pulled from his idle musings by a familiar voice. "Next year's our year, Carter," Scott promised, clapping Carter on the shoulder. Scott was tipsy, not drunk, nursing on the last of his beer. 

"Of course it is," Carter replied, as he did every year, returning the half-embrace. "You having a good night?"

"Hm." Scott nodded his head to the side, along the bar. "Rozanov's got a countdown on his phone for my retirement party. He's scheduled it for next August, apparently." 

Carter looked over to where Rozanov was sitting. He was with Polinov, another Russian, and did not stop his conversation when he nodded at Carter, friendly. They needed to catch up, still - he was probably the only person left in the room who Carter still needed to chat to, but, just like Hollzy, everyone wanted to speak to Rozanov. "What venue is he thinking?" Carter asked, laughing when Scott shoved at him. 

"Don't encourage him," Scott warned, finishing the dregs of his beer. "You okay over here on your own?"

Carter nodded, pointing down the bar. "I'm keeping an eye on Hollzy."

Scott nodded. "He was doing shots with the Calder nominees earlier," Scott said with a groan. "God. It feels like yesterday I was doing shots with him when he was a rookie." 

Carter snorted. "If you want Rozanov to stop chirping you, you've gotta stop saying shit like that, man," he laughed, and Scott shoved him again. "Have you had a talk with Hollzy tonight?"

Carter and Scott had sat next to each other on the plane over to Vegas and texted each other about precisely this matter, too worried about anyone overhearing to speak it aloud. The Rumours. Word out of Montreal was that Hollzy had come out as gay to the team, and that some of the team weren't being the best about it, because they were idiots.

New York had hardly been perfect, but upper management had been more than happy to slowly shuffle the homophobes out of the organization in the interest of keeping Scott happy. Still. If there was anyone that understood a little of what Hollzy might be going through, it was Scott. "No. I spoke to him a little at the start of the evening, but Phillips from Denver was with us, and it's hardly the conversation to have now," Scott said, dragging a hand through his hair. "Look, we don't really know anything, right?" Scott asked. Carter frowned at him - the rumours had come from enough first-hand sources that they had little room to doubt them - but Scott doubled down. "If Hollander wants to talk to me about that, then he knows where I am," Scott said, final. He looked down the bar.  "You're keeping an eye on Hollander," Scott said, slowly. "So. Where is he?"

Carter's head whipped around to where Hollzy had been hanging out, but all that was left was West-Coasters. "Fuck." He looked around the room. "Fuck." Carter stood up. His head swivelled fast, until finally, thankfully, he spotted Hollzy. He wasn't heading for the exit that would take him towards the elevators to the rooms - he was heading for the main entrance, out onto the casino floor. "Okay. I see him. I'm gonna go check he gets to bed alright."

Scott clapped him on the shoulder. "You're such a Mother Duck." 

"Yeah, and I'm one duckling down," Carter replied, slapping Scott on the back. "Night, Scott." 

Carter didn't hear Scott's reply, already halfway across the room. He watched as Hollzy slipped out of the room, onto the casino floor, and then, Carter spotted something even more concerning. 

Ilya Rozanov, hot on Hollzy's heels. 

Fuck.

Carter had heard the rumours of their new friendship. It was a little weird, sure, but Carter understood it. They were both good guys, both with their own quirks, and both the kind of hyper-competitive that could either make or break friendships - and anyway, he'd seen them hanging out at All Stars a few years earlier, looking like old pals. Under any other circumstance, he'd leave Rozanov to Hollzy-wrangle on his own.

But Rozanov's reputation preceded him. Specifically Rozanov's Las Vegas reputation. Sure, Hollzy had let loose enough to get drunk, but Carter did not think he was ready for the full Cocaine and Strippers Las Vegas experience. 

Carter entered the casino floor, the dim lighting of the afterparty replaced by the bright lights of the slot machines. There wasn't a single window to the outside world, and time didn't seem to exist, there; it could've been 11am or 11pm and no one would be able to tell. 

Hollzy was beelining across the floor, towards the building exits. There wasn't even the slightest stumble to his step - he was famous for his balance, after all, and even a BAC high enough to fell the average man couldn't make him wobble. Rozanov wasn't far behind, skipping between the casino crowds as nimbly as he skated across the ice. 

Carter tried to follow, but then, the doors beside him opened, and an ocean of people spilled out of the hotel's Cirque Du Soleil theatre. Instantaneously, he was surrounded by wine-drunk Moms, who swooned when he said ladies, and it slowed his progress across the casino floor. They were all very nice, all very drunk, and it took far longer than it should have for Carter to make it to the entrance of the hotel.

The air outside was warm - both from the June climate and the residual heat of the cars nearby - and Carter popped open another button of his shirt for relief, head swivelling until he spotted a mop of golden curls disappearing around the side of the building, down a barely-visible alleyway. 

Carter followed Rozanov's steps. The strange narrow alley was dark and private, winding down the side of the building. There was no one else around - just the three of them in this cramped space, and he didn't think Rozanov or Hollzy had noticed him, not yet. Carter had almost caught up with the pair of them before something slowed his step - a feeling, deep in his belly, that he should wait and see how this played out. He stepped to the side of the alley, behind a grand pillar, and found a little gap through which to see. Sure enough, he spotted Rozanov's wide back, a little way down the alley. Hollander was in front of him, pressed against the wall, his face partly covered by the back of Rozanov's head. 

"Where do you think are you going, Mr Roadrunner?" Rozanov asked. Hollzy was pinned in front of him, Rozanov's hands on his elbows, but he wasn't struggling.

"I want to see the fountains," Hollzy declared. Carter could hear the resolution in his voice; when Hollzy wanted something, he usually got it. "Every time I come to Vegas, I just stay in the hotel and go straight to the airport or to the arena. There's so much I've not seen. I want to see it all."

Carter couldn't see Rozanov's face at all, but he could hear his voice clearly enough. "And you think now is the time for that."

"I think now is the time for that." Hollzy echoed, his words lilting like he was from the mean streets of Moscow himself. He was flushed and limber, and looking at Rozanov like he was the Stanley Cup. His hands came up, shaking off Rozanov's hold so that he could reach up higher. Then, his hands were cupping Rozanov's face, which - what? "Come with me to see the fountains. Please."

No one said no to Hollzy. Back in the afterparty, Hollzy could've asked any player worth their salt to hand over their drink and they'd have passed it over gladly. Fuck, he could've asked most of them for their bank details and they'd have been searching for a piece of paper to write them down on. And Hollzy didn't look at them the way he was looking at Rozanov now, which Carter's brain was still struggling to compute. 

Rozanov pressed Hollzy even more firmly into the wall, until their entire bodies were flush against one another, and then - 

Well.

They were kissing.

Carter didn't remember taking any edibles that night, but he must have, because surely he was seeing things. Hollzy and Rozanov were kissing each other like they had been married for years. It wasn't a first-kiss kind of embrace, this wasn't a momentary lapse. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of lazy mornings and shared showers and doing admin together. 

Holy shit. What had Carter stumbled upon?

Carter would have to move soon if he didn't want to be spotted. After a kiss like that, Rozanov would surely be carrying Hollzy to the fountains bridal style. Fuck, he might even carry him further down the strip, straight to the little chapel up past The Strat.

Rozanov pulled away, and even from fifteen feet away, Carter could see that Hollzy's lips were as wet as his eyes, which were big and round. Rozanov squeezed Hollzy's waist. "No."

Hollzy's face dropped into a pissed-off frown. Carter's did too. Who said no to Hollzy?

"No?" Hollzy echoed, almost disbelieving.

"No," Rozanov repeated, dipping down to kiss Hollzy again, soft presses of lips until Hollzy's frown abated. "I will give you the moon, but I will not take you to the fountains like this," Rozanov continued, running his hands up and down Hollzy's sides. Carter had never seen Rozanov so tender - in truth, he wasn't sure he believed Rozanov capable of it. Rozanov cupped Hollzy's face in both hands, kissing him again gently. "You will fall in."

"I won't. I promise." 

Rozanov hummed. "I want to believe you," he said, and then kissed Hollzy again. "Come on, Shane. Let us go to bed."

Hollzy perked up. "Oh?"

"To sleep." 

Hollzy frowned again, shoulders slumping. "But I want to blow you."

Jesus Christ.

Rozanov laughed and kissed him again. "You should've thought about that before you drank the bar dry," he teased, cupping Hollzy's pecs in both hands. Hollzy was flushed from the alcohol and attention, and still frowning, and Rozanov conceded,  "You can blow me tomorrow, and then we will see the fountains."

It didn't do the trick. If anything, Hollzy looked sadder. "We can't," he said, and then huffed. "I mean. I can blow you, but we can't see the fountains. It'll look weird. Us together."

Rozanov brought one hand upwards, cupping Hollzy's face. "We are meant to be friends, no? Friends can see fountains together," he said, but it didn't fix Hollzy's mood. "We can see if any other players want to join us."

At that, Hollzy nodded. "Vaughny. We should invite Vaughny."

Carter perked at the sound of his own name.

"Yes, Shane. We will invite your favourite person Carter Vaughn," Rozanov replied tartly, and Carter's heart grew three sizes. Rozanov let out a groan. "He will want to bring Hunter."

A smirk passed across Shane's face. "Oh no, you'll have to spend the whole day with a player you really respect."

Rozanov pressed him into the wall firmly. "You take that back."

"Make me," Hollzy whispered, arching up against Rozanov. 

Rozanov groaned again, head falling to rest against Hollzy's collarbone. "I cannot believe you got too drunk for me to fuck you." 

"It's okay. We have the whole summer." Hollzy stretched out the last two words, and stretched out his arms with them, wrapping himself around Rozanov's shoulders. 

"The whole summer," Rozanov repeated, and then they were kissing again, soft and gentle, and that was Carter's cue.

Carter slipped back out of the alley, hanging around at its mouth to check that no one else entered. It didn't take long for the two of them to emerge, arms thrown across one another's shoulders like they were a pair of bros. 

It was performance art. Beautiful.

"I was just looking for you two!" Carter declared, and Rozanov blanched. Making out in an alleyway next to a hotel containing a hundred NHL players was not, perhaps, their smartest move, but Carter wouldn't judge. 

"Hey Vaughny!" Hollander said, a smile on his face.

"Hey Hollzy!" Carter replied, reaching out his arms towards Hollzy's other side. "I can take Hollzy up if you want to go back to the party, Roz," Carter offered - more to wind Rozanov up than as a genuine offer.

Rozanov pulled Hollzy away from Carter's hands. "I will take Hollzy to bed," Rozanov argued back, the nickname resting mockingly on his tongue.

Hollzy shrugged, smiling at Carter and Rozanov, and let himself be pulled towards the elevators. "Night, Carter!"

Carter waved them away, before heading towards a bar that was far from both the hotel rooms and the afterparty. He sat down and ordered himself a shot of whiskey.

He downed it quickly, before taking a shaky breath and laughing to himself. 

Holy shit. Rozanov and Hollander. What the fuck.

Getting older fucking sucked.

Carter hadn't even drunk that much the night before, and yet there was a consistent pulse behind his eyes that left him feeling like he was on a ferry on stormy seas. The instant coffee in the room didn't even touch the sides, and so he slunk down to the coffee shop in the lobby, unsurprised to find the casino floor bustling as he crossed it, even at 10am. 

There was a winding queue at the front of the coffee shop, and Carter slipped into place, quickening his last few steps to get there just ahead of an older woman doing the same thing, who tutted at him. She looked even worse than he did - her large sunglasses were pressed high on her nose, over her eyes, and she looked like a pallid bug. Her cirque du soleil shirt suggested she'd been one of the wine Moms from the night before, and sure enough, Carter vaguely recognized her. He ignored her annoyance, too determined to get his coffee to give any thoughts of bowing down to her. 

"Did I get hit by the team coach last night and forget about it?" A voice beside Carter bemoaned, and he turned to see Scott, deep bags under his eyes. Scott joined Carter in the queue, and the woman behind tutted again, but they paid her no mind. 

"I think it got us both, Scotty," Carter replied, stretching his arms gently. "Did you have a good night, at least?"

"Sure, it was fine," Scott shrugged, stretching out his neck. "I'd have rather be home with the Admirals and Kip, but it was good to see some of the guys." He glanced at Carter. "You?"

"I had fun," Carter declared. He wanted desperately to tell Scott about what he'd seen, but he knew well enough not to out someone, and so instead, he groaned. "I learned the best gossip ever yesterday, and I can't even tell you about it."

Scott glared at him. "Come on, Vaughny. You can't say stuff like that to me, now I want to know," he complained, and then seemed to spot something behind Carter, his face blanching. "Oh no." 

Carter turned around and spotted them. Hollzy and Rozanov, walking towards them. The pair of them looked photoshoot-ready,  both fresh and chipper, as if the night before hadn't even happened. Carter hated them both.  

"Good morning!" Hollzy smiled at them both, full of energy and jois de vivre. Fuck, he and Rozanov had probably exchanged blowjobs that morning, and now they were bringing their happy well-fucked energy to his tattered doorstep. 

"Fuck you," Carter replied, and Hollzy's grin widened.

"Feeling a bit rough this morning?" Hollzy asked teasingly, and Carter hated him even more. Hollzy glanced at Rozanov, and then back at them both. "Rozanov and I are going to head to the Bellagio fountains. Do you want to come with us?"

Before Scott could refuse, Carter hopped in with a response. "Holy shit, Hollzy, Scott and I would love that," Carter declared. He could feel Scott glaring at him. No doubt Scott's plans had been to go back to the room and sleep until the Hootie gig the next night, but no matter. Hollzy deserved to see the fountains, and if Carter and Scott being there made him feel less conspicuous, by God, they were going to be there. Carter looked between Rozanov and Hollzy. "I'll get you both coffee, what would you like?"

Carter heard the woman behind mutter for fuck's sake, but he continued to ignore her, and pledged to get the most complicated, time consuming drink on the menu.

"I would like their special, please," Rozanov declared, pointing to the sandwich signboard, which listed out their Summer Special Sweet Vanilla and Peach Iced Coffee. The thought of it made Carter feel, somehow, even more hungover.

"If they have unsweetened soy milk, then a soy latte. If not, just a black coffee please," Hollzy requested. "I can get them, if you like, Vaughny."

Rozanov snorted. "Hollander. Vaughn is a millionaire. He can afford thirty dollars." 

Hollzy rolled his eyes back. "I know, but it's polite to offer."

"Oh my God Hollander, you are so boring -"

"- just because I have manners -"

"- I bet you put your coat over puddles -"

"- I bet you push people into puddles -"

"How about you guys go wait over there?" Scott interrupted, pointing to the other side of the lobby. Hollzy and Rozanov didn't even pause their argument, continuing even as they walked away, taking their big, loud voices far away from Carter's tender head. 

Carter watched them go, shaking his head. "God, I wish I was still the right side of thirty." 

The woman behind him snorted. "Wait til you hit fifty."

Suddenly, Carter found a sliver of sympathy for his mortal enemy. "You're just getting coffee for you?" he asked, and she nodded. "You can go ahead." 

All at once, she softened, and it made her look significantly less bug-like. "You're a sweetheart," she said, squeezing his arm on the way past. 

He and Scott fell into an easy silence, and Carter found his eyes trailing over to where Rozanov and Hollzy were still arguing. If he'd seen them like this even the day before, he'd have assumed they hated each other; but, with his new insights, it was clear this was just another form of flirtation for them. 

Carter watched them both fondly. God, they were a pair of kids in love. It made Carter feel even older. 

His reverie was broken by a harsh pinch to his side, and Carter glared over at Scott, who was staring back at him with lowered brows. Scott got out his phone, and soon enough, Carter's pocket buzzed with a message.

They both looked up, and shared a horrified glance. Carter looked over to where Rozanov and Hollzy were waiting; their low-stakes argument had dulled down to a gentle bickering, and they looked so in love that Carter suddenly wished Gloria and Kip were there, so they could all be happy together. 

Fuck. The Admirals didn't stand a chance. Carter's heart dropped to his feet, and he looked back down at his phone. 

Today 10:18 AM
We're never winning the cup again
This is the worst day of my life
☹️☹️☹️☹️ I hate true love