Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Victor St. Simon, Connors (Heated Rivalry), Ryan Carmichael, Brad Hammersmith

Additional Tags:

No Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Supportive Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Coming Out, Relationship Reveal, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov Relationship Timeline Reveal, Shane Hollander Revealed as Montreal Jane

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-22 Words: 5,755 Chapters: 1/1

There Are Some Things Cliff Marleau Cannot Unlearn (No Matter How Hard He Tries)

Summary

Cliff knew that this probably violated the promise he made to Roz when he had given him a spare key. It was for emergencies only. He hoped he kept his key privileges after tonight.

Because throwing a surprise pizza/movie night in Roz’s own home for when he returned to Boston from his father’s funeral in Russia? That probably didn’t count as an emergency.

But fuck it. Roz was his best friend, and while his father may have sucked, it’s still awful losing a parent. Roz should have his friends here, waiting to support him when he gets back.

The only thing that could make this better was if Cliff knew who Jane was, so she could be here for him too.

Notes

This has been a labour of love, and has taken most of a month to write (but to be fair, I did go abroad and get married for like a week in that time)

This idea stemmed from watching the videos of people surprising their long-distance partners, and it sorta just snowballed from there.

Enjoy, and let me know what you thought <3

Cliff knew that this probably violated the promise he made to Roz when he had given him a spare key. It was for emergencies only. He hoped he kept his key privileges after tonight.

 

Because throwing a surprise pizza/movie night in Roz’s own home for when he returned to Boston from his father’s funeral in Russia? That probably didn’t count as an emergency.

 

But fuck it. Roz was his best friend, and while his father may have sucked, it’s still awful losing a parent. Roz should have his friends here, waiting to support him when he gets back.

 

The only thing that could make this better was if Cliff knew who Jane was, so she could be here for him too.

 

Cliff checked his phone.

 

Roz’s flight should have just landed, and judging by the “active” icon next to his name, he was at least on US soil and had an internet connection. It would take him around an hour to get home, he didn’t leave with much luggage, and it would only take around half an hour for the pizzas to arrive. 

 

“Vic?” Cliff called out, and St Simon’s head popped up from the couch. “You got everyone’s order? I’m gonna place it now for a delayed delivery. Should get here just before Roz.”

 

He grabbed the list from St Simon and moved to a quieter part of the house to place the call.

---

The pizzas arrived with five minutes left on Cliff’s mental ‘Roz clock’. 

 

He’d just batted Carmichael’s hands away from the stack of boxes for the fourth time, when he heard the rattle of the key in the lock.

 

“Fucking finally.” Carmichael breathed a sigh of relief.

 

Cliff stood and smacked his hands for the fifth time.

 

He headed towards the door to help Ilya with his bags, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who was silhouetted in the doorway.

 

Shane Hollander.

 

“You’re not Roz.” Cliff’s voice was louder than he meant to be, his surprise coming through.

 

“What are you doing here?” Hollander was evidently just as surprised.

 

“Who is it?” Connors’ voice floated down the hall.

 

“Two secs, guys.” Cliff called over his shoulder, his eyes still locked on Hollander.

 

“Who else is here?” His eyes widened and his voice came out almost scared.

 

“It’s me, St Simon, Hammersmith, Connors and Carmichael. Why are you here?” Cliff cocked his head. “And why do you have a key?”

 

Hollander opened his mouth to respond when his phone pinged in his hand. He looked at the incoming message. “Shit, I’ll explain later, but he’s two minutes out.”

 

He pushed the door closed behind him, and stepped to the side, removing his shoes and placing down his bag.

 

Cliff noticed his hands were shaking slightly.

 

“Hollander-”

 

“Look, I’m sure you have questions, and I’ll probably answer them later. But for now, I’m here for Ilya, just like you.” Ilya?  “Russia was tough for him, more so than usual, and not just because he was there for a funeral.”

 

Hollander straightened and ran a hand across his face.

 

“I know you’re his best friend. I hope you know him as well as I do, and that you’re good enough to move past whatever it is you learn tonight. But if you’re not...Marleau,” He locked eyes with Cliff, behind the fear and anxiety, there was an intensity there he’s never seen before, not even on the ice. “I swear to god I will break every bone in your body.”

 

And suddenly, things clicked.

 

Cliff Marleau may not be the most educated man, and he may have had a couple of concussions, but he knew how to read people.

 

Shane Hollander was here. In Rozanov’s house. With a key - one that Cliff only had for genuine emergencies. He knew where to hang his coat, where his shoes went by the door. He looks comfortable being in this space. Hollander’s anxiety was aimed at Cliff, though he was hiding it well, only his tapping fingers gave him away. But that look in his eye? It was fierce. Protective. Cliff was four inches taller than Hollander, but here he was, being threatened with grievous bodily harm. Rozanov disappeared whenever they were in Montreal. But not only then. He also disappeared whenever Montreal played at Boston. 

 

His voice was barely a whisper, “Jane.” It hung in the air. Not a question.

 

Hollander’s whole body deflated as he let out a long shaky breath, tension bleeding out. He nodded, it was a tiny movement, but it looked like it cost him the world.

 

“Fuck, okay.” Cliff ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before turning back down the hall. “Thank fuck you’re here. You’re right, I have questions, but they can fucking wait.”

 

Hollander had started following him, but he stopped in his tracks, a curious look on his face. “What are you on about?”

 

“I was thinking to myself earlier that the only thing that could make this welcome better was for, you know,” he lowered his voice, “Jane to be here. The guys should all be cool about it all, but I’ll deal with them if there’s any issues, I promise. For Roz. Well, and for you.”

 

As they moved into the lounge, Hollander hesitated at the sound of voices.

 

“If it wasn’t Roz, then who the fuck are you talking to Marly?” Hammersmith sat on the coffee table, staring at the doorway Cliff now filled.

 

“We have a surprise guest, but there’s no time for questions. Roz is about thirty seconds out.” At the confused looks, Cliff pulled Hollander into the room. He was staring resolutely at the floor, hands shoved in pockets.

 

“Hollander?”

 

“What–?”

 

Their questions were abruptly cut when they heard the rattle of keys in the door.

 

Everyone stopped talking immediately. Cliff couldn’t fight the smile on his face as he strode out into the hall.

 

The rest of them moved to follow him as Roz opened the front door.

 

“Marlaeu, what the fuck are you doing in my home?” Roz’s voice was tired, his accent more pronounced. He looked drained, moments away from collapsing onto the nearest surface.

 

“We thought we would try to cheer you up by bringing you a pizza and movie night.” He responded like it was the most logical answer.

 

“Who the fuck is we?” Roz turned to face the wall, toeing off his shoes.

 

“Oh, just a couple of the guys, Vic, Connors, Carmy and Smithy.” He saw the moment Roz noticed the sixth pair of shoes, lined neatly along the wall next to the other bag. Cliff let his grin spread wide across his face and stepped to one side to reveal the man behind him. “Oh yeah, and Hollander.”

 

“Shane?” His voice broke.

 

“Ilya…” Hollander started forward, moving past the group.

 

As soon as Roz saw him, everything else melted away. He didn’t look anywhere else, just locking eyes with Hollander, shoulders sagging with relief. His bag slipped off his shoulder to unceremoniously thunk against the floor.

 

“Moya lyubov',” He let out a rough breath and ran, fully ran, and bodily slammed into Hollander, their arms wrapping around each other tightly. It was only Cliff and St Simon catching them that prevented them falling to the ground.

 

Cliff barely had time to steady them on their feet before he felt it.

 

Roz’s shoulders shaking.

 

He’d initially thought it was just the impact, the force of them, but it hadn’t stopped. If anything, it got worse, his grip tightening on Hollander like he was trying to anchor himself to something solid.

 

He heard Hollander muttering something under his breath into Roz’s hair. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tone alone was soothing. Reassuring. Fingers stroking slowly through the curls at the base of Roz’s skull, repetitive and calming.

 

He glanced up and caught Cliff’s eye.

 

“Alright,” Cliff said quietly, already stepping back. “Let’s give them a second, yeah?”

 

No one else had heard him yet. They were all still standing there, absolutely bewildered, eyes flicking between the pair of them, trying to piece it together.

 

“Guys.” 

 

Cliff hated to use his Captain voice off the ice, but it had the intended effect. Every set of eyes snapped towards him.

 

He nodded back towards the living room. It took a moment, but they moved, the atmosphere awkward as they moved ahead of him and sat on the sofas. 

 

Cliff glanced back at the pair. Hollander hadn’t moved. Hadn’t loosened his grip, hadn’t said anything, just held on as Roz buried his face into his shoulder.

 

Cliff caught the way his hand came up, pressing against the back of Roz’s head, fingers curling tight.

 

Protective. Steady. Like he’d done this before.

 

Cliff turned away, dragging a hand down his face as he joined the others on the sofa.

 

For a moment, no one spoke.

 

The silence was interrupted as a soft cry carried down the hallway.

 

Broken. Quiet, like he’d been holding it in for too long.

 

Connors turned his head to the doorway. “Is he-?”

 

Hammersmith ran a hand through his hair, voice a whisper. “What the fuck is happening?”

 

Cliff exhaled, leaning forwards to rest his head in his hands, gaze fixed on the table in front of him.

 

“That’s Jane.”

 

Silence, broken only by the cries in the hallway.

 

He could feel everyone’s eyes staring at him.

 

“Putain… bien sûr.”

 

“What do you mean?” Carmichael was lost.

 

Connors’ eyes went wide as the pieces fell into place. “Montreal Jane? Fuck, she’s been Shane Hollander this whole time?”

 

“Yeah, apparently.” Cliff grabbed one of the drinks that had been delivered with their pizzas, twisting the top off before taking a long gulp.

 

Carmichael leaned forward to open the box, and Cliff no longer had the brain power to stop him. “Why didn’t he tell us sooner?” The words were muffled around pepperoni and cheese.

 

“Really?” Hammersmith threw him a withering look. “His country spent years calling anyone not straight predators and his whole family are cops. He’s not telling us, we’re just figuring it out.”

 

They all sat and stared at him, the reality of Roz’s situation settling heavily over the room.

 

“Shit,” Connors muttered quietly.

 

Nobody really knew what else to say after that.

 

Cliff found himself staring blankly at the coffee table, his brain still connecting little details, their meanings suddenly different.

 

His disappearances in Montreal.

 

Jane.

 

The way Hollander had walked in here, seemingly comfortable and familiar. And the instant terror in his eyes when he saw Cliff.

 

Across from him, Carmichael froze, his slice of pizza hanging suspended in the air, halfway to his open mouth.

 

“Fuck, no. Ew.”

 

All eyes were on him, as he dropped his pizza back into the box, dusting his hands off. His lip was curled, his whole posture suddenly changing.

 

Connors frowned, “What?”

 

“I’m never going to be able to look at either of them the same way again.”

 

Cliff’s voice was dangerous, a warning, “Carmy.”

 

“Hey, watch it.” Hammersmith said at the same time, rising to his feet.

 

Carmichael went pale, blinking rapidly as he immediately realised how his sentence had landed. “No, fuck, that’s not what I meant!” He pointed helplessly down the corridor. “I don’t care that they are gay, bi, pan, or whatever!” 

 

“Then what the fuck did you mean by that?” Hammersmith still hadn’t sat down, but his voice had lost a touch of iciness.

 

“Because I am just realising that all of those times Roz came to practice after all of those Boston-Montreal games…”

 

“Oh fuck!” St Simon quickly dropped his face into his hands, understanding instantly where Carmy was going with this.

 

“Right, Vic?” Carmichael waved his hands out in front of him. “If Shane was Jane this whole time, then all of those scratches and hickeys came from Hollander! The same guy who could probably tell you the final score of any Champion match since the NHL began!” 

 

Silence.

 

Hammersmith sat back down, heavily.

 

Connors slowly lowered his drink. “Oh my God.”

 

Cliff gently huffed a laugh, a small smirk spreading across his face. “My guy.”

 

They all turned to look at him.

 

“What?” Cliff shrugged. “I’m just glad someone can match Roz’s freak.”

 

And strangely enough, it was that comment that finally broke them.

 

Connors folded over laughing first, nearly tipping his drink into the pizza box. “Oh my God, he’s right,” he wheezed.

 

“I did not need that sentence in my life,” Hammersmith groaned, rubbing both hands down his face.

 

“You’re all acting like I’m insane here,” Carmichael protested loudly. “Tell me your world has not tilted on its fucking axis. Remember all those times Roz strutted round the locker room after Montreal games looking smug as fuck?”

 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Vic sighed.

 

Connors pointed accusingly across the room. “The hotel selfie!”

 

“That’s enough talking from you.” Cliff warned immediately.

 

“And the time he wore that turtleneck for two days straight–”

 

“Connors! I know we’re all friends and talk about this shit pretty openly, but for the love of God, stop putting these images in my head all at once.” He dropped his face into his hands as he laughed.

 

“I just assumed Jane was a biter.”

 

“Don’t forget who Jane really is.” Carmichael shot back.

 

Vic made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a prayer.

 

“Oh my God,” Connors whispered suddenly, “the thigh marks!”

 

Cliff physically pointed at him, “I need you to stop having thoughts.”

 

“I’m trying!”

 

The room dissolved into overlapping arguments immediately after that.

 

“No, because seriously? Hollander?”

 

“Why are you so shocked by this?”

 

“Because the guy looks like he says thank you to automatic doors!”

 

“Fuck all of you,” Cliff informed them.

 

“And Roz!” Carmichael continued over the noise. “He spent years acting like some mysterious sex god, and meanwhile it was just this fucking nerd the whole time!”

 

“Hey, don’t speak about the number one hockey player like that!” Cliff protested.

 

Vic let out a strangled noise, “Don’t let cap hear you say that Marleau.”

 

The whole group laughed harder as Cliff’s face went pale.

 

Connors was still spiraling.

 

“Fucking hell, the scratches.”

 

“Dude, stop talking.”

 

“The bite marks.”

 

“Connors.”

 

“No, because now I’m remembering all of these things against my will!” Connors pointed accusingly towards the hallway. “That time Roz wore his tiniest European sport shorts halfway down his hips for an entire week after the Montreal road trip–”

 

“He absolutely wanted us to see those,” Vic cut in, sounding deeply betrayed.

 

“YOU THINK?” Carmy shouted enthusiastically, climbing to kneel in his seat. “The man was practically presenting evidence.”

 

They were all laughing hard now.

 

“No, because seriously,” he said through the chaos, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “It was just disgusting. I can’t even begin to process that Jane is Shane.”

 

“Marleau.”

 

All noise in the room dropped immediately.

 

Hollander stood in the doorway, one hand wrapped tightly around Rozanov’s wrist.

 

Fuck.

 

Cliff recognised that tone immediately, the expression too. Not just anger, but readiness.

 

It was the same exact look Hollander had given him earlier by the front door, when he had quietly promised to break every bone in his body if he hurt Ilya.

 

Only now there was something worse underneath it: fear.

 

Beside him, Roz looked wrecked.

 

Eyes red and swollen. Cheeks flushed and damp. Curls a complete disaster.

 

And suddenly, Cliff heard the room from their perspective.

 

Disgusting.

 

Jane.

 

Shane.

 

Laughter.

Roz’s face had gone completely blank.

No anger. No defensiveness.

 

Just resignation.

 

Like he already knew how this was going to go. Like he’d already started bracing himself to lose his brothers.

 

The silence stretched for one brutal second.

 

Then Cliff stood abruptly. “Oh, absolutely fucking not.”

 

Roz looked up, startled, just as Cliff crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed both of them at once, hauling them bodily into a hug hard enough to nearly knock Shane off balance.

 

For half a second neither of them reacted.

 

Then Roz made a broken sound and folded instantly, clutching at the front of Cliff’s shirt hard enough to wrinkle it, tucking his face into the juncture of Cliff’s neck.

 

Beside him, Shane had gone completely still in obvious shock.

 

Cliff tightened his arms around both of them.

 

“You two are so fucking stupid,” he muttered roughly. “What, you thought we were gonna throw you out? We don’t care.”

 

“It’s my fucking house,” Roz mumbled somewhere against Cliff’s shoulder. “You can’t kick me out of my own home.”

 

Relief hit Cliff so hard it nearly made his knees weak.

 

“There he is,” he said immediately. “Our asshole’s back, guys.”

 

And just like that, most of the tension shattered.

 

The others abandoned the sofas almost immediately, crowding into the hug until it became less of a heartfelt moment and more of a full-contact sport.

 

Connors nearly took Cliff out with an elbow.

 

Vic was laughing quietly somewhere to his left.

 

Hammersmith’s hand landed heavily against the back of Roz’s shoulder, solid and grounding.

 

For the first time since Shane had appeared in the doorway, the apartment finally felt peaceful again.

 

Right up until Carmichael opened his mouth.

 

“This has got to be the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.” He laughed. “Oh wait. That’s you now, Roz.”

 

Someone smacked him hard around the back of the head.

 

“Ow! What the fuck?”

 

Roz laughed into Cliff’s shoulder, still sounding wrecked around the edges. “I’m bisexual, asshole, so only sort of gay. Shane is super gay though.”

 

“Ilya,” Shane sighed, sounding exasperated and fond in equal measure. “For the record, I’m just regular gay.”

 

That got another round of laughter out of the room.

 

But Cliff still felt the rapid hammering of Shane’s heartbeat where his hand rested against the back of his neck.

 

Still scared.

 

Still waiting for the moment this all went wrong.

 

Cliff gave the back of his neck a small squeeze.

 

Shane went still for half a second.

 

Then, slowly, some of the tension finally left his shoulders too.

 

Eventually the hug loosened naturally, the group unfolding out of itself in awkward stages.

 

Cliff kept one hand against the back of Shane’s neck for another second before finally letting him go completely.

 

“Alright, guys,” he said, voice rough with fond exhaustion. “As much as I’m enjoying whatever the fuck this is, the pizza’s getting cold.”

 

That finally got everyone moving again.

 

Connors immediately swiped another slice from the open box.

 

“Animal,” Vic muttered.

 

“You’re just jealous I’m faster than you.”

 

The group drifted back toward the sofas in a loose shuffle of shoulders and laughter, the atmosphere softer now.

 

But there was still a hint of anxiety in the air, of unease.

 

Cliff noticed it immediately when Roz and Shane sat down though.

 

The gap.

 

The purposeful two feet between their thighs.

 

Cliff stared at it for a second.

 

Then at Shane, who was suddenly very interested in opening napkins.

 

Then at Roz, who had apparently discovered the muted TV was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen in his life.

 

Oh, for fuck's sake.

 

He looked across the room to find Hammersmith already looking at him.

 

Cliff raised an eyebrow.

 

Hammersmith glanced at the gap, then back at Cliff and nodded.

 

Without a word, Cliff dropped heavily onto one side of the sofa at the exact same moment Hammersmith sat down on the other.

 

Roz made an offended squawking noise as he and Shane were abruptly compressed together in the middle, Shane having to lean forwards slightly to accommodate the shoulders suddenly in his personal space.

 

Rozanov looked round at Cliff and Hammersmith with his hands gesturing in the air. “What the fuck?”

 

“Oops,” Cliff said, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

 

Hammersmith grabbed a slice of pizza, shrugging. “Nowhere else to sit.”

 

Roz stared at the empty chair on their left incredulously.

 

But as Cliff leaned forward to grab a slice of pizza, out of the corner of his eye he saw Roz pull Shane to lean back against him.

 

Like it was instinct.

 

Like he wasn't even thinking about it.

 

Cliff hid his smile by stuffing the slice into his mouth.

 

Carmichael flipped open another pizza box.

 

“We got your favourite too, Roz.” He grinned triumphantly, turning it to face their captain. “Meat lovers.”

 

The room fell silent instantly.

 

Carmichael froze, his grin disappearing as his eyes widened in horror. “Oh fuck.”

 

Connors folded over laughing while Vic dropped his face into his hands and Hammersmith suddenly became very interested in his drink, but Cliff barely noticed any of them because Shane had snapped back into focus so quickly it was almost jarring. A second ago he had been staring somewhere around the coffee table, fingers worrying at the edge of a napkin while the conversation moved around him. Now his hands had stopped completely and his eyes were fixed on Carmichael, posture tightening in a way Cliff recognised immediately.

 

It was the same thing he’d seen by the front door.

 

Readiness.

 

Like some part of Shane had heard something that might mean Ilya needed him.

 

Roz noticed too. 

 

Meanwhile, Carmichael was still staring at the pizza box in horror. “No, no, no. I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

Roz looked back at him, head tilting slightly. “Oh? How did you mean it?”

 

“Dude, that you love this pizza.”

 

Roz flipped him off before shifting beside him and nudging Shane’s knee lightly with his own. “Hey.”

 

Shane blinked, then looked over.

 

“You’re doing a face,” Roz said quietly.

 

Shane frowned. “I am not doing a face.”

 

“You are absolutely doing a face.”

 

“There is no face.”

 

“Sure.” Roz’s tone and expression made it abundantly clear that he didn’t believe him for a second.

 

“Fuck off.”

 

Shane clearly meant it the same way he always had because Roz’s face immediately lit up, and despite himself, Shane lost the fight against the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

 

Cliff stared at them for a second.

 

Then another.

 

“Jeez,” he said quietly.

 

Roz looked over. “What?”

 

“Nothing.” Cliff’s face was fond. “It’s just weird to see you both like this.”

 

Roz narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Like what?”

 

Cliff shrugged. “I dunno. Nice, I guess.”

 

Roz stared at him for a second like he'd just spoken a foreign language.

 

“That was disgustingly sincere,” he informed him.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Shane snorted quietly beside him, and Roz looked around the room before his expression shifted slightly, some of the amusement fading.

 

“Seriously though,” he said slowly, gesturing vaguely between himself and Shane. “How the fuck are all of you so calm about this?”

 

The question seemed to catch everyone off guard.

 

Carmichael looked genuinely offended first.

 

“Calm?” He pointed at himself with a slice of pizza. “Buddy, I have been buffering for, like, twenty minutes.”

 

“That explains a lot actually,” Connors muttered.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Connors shrugged. “Honestly? I know quite a few queer people already. This isn't exactly world-ending information.”

 

Hammersmith reached over for another slice of pizza. “My nephew's trans.”

 

Carmichael stared at him. “I thought you had a niece?”

 

Hammersmith looked back at him blankly. “Had. Key word.”

 

There was a moment of silence while everyone watched the cogs slowly turn in Carmichael's head.

 

Then he nodded.

 

“Fair.”

 

Cliff snorted into his drink before shrugging. “Nothing about you surprises me anymore, asshole. Though I’ll admit I never would’ve come up with this.”

 

Vic took a drink and gave a small shrug of his own. “Il faut être un peu pareil pour le reconnaître.”

 

Shane immediately choked on his drink.

 

Every head in the room snapped towards him.

 

Shane coughed into his fist, eyes watering slightly as he waved a hand dismissively.

 

Across the room, Vic had gone very still before giving the tiniest shake of his head.

 

Please don't. Not now.

 

Shane stared at him for a beat before looking away and taking another drink.

 

“Went down the wrong way.”

 

Roz narrowed his eyes immediately.

 

Shane could practically feel it before he even looked over.

 

“Anyway, what the fuck did you say Vic?” Connors turned his head back to St Simon.

 

Vic didn't miss a beat.

 

“I said something like, ‘As long as you’re happy, I don’t care.’”

 

He delivered it with confidence.

 

Complete, absolute confidence.

 

Shane stared at him.

 

Vic took another bite of pizza like he hadn't just lied directly to five people's faces.

 

And suddenly Shane was willing to bet this wasn't the first time St Simon had casually dropped comments in French around his teammates. It was probably just the first time someone else in the room had actually understood him.

 

Shane narrowed his eyes slightly.

 

Across the room, without even looking up, Vic gave the tiniest shrug.

 

For a few seconds nobody said anything.

 

Then Carmichael sat upright so suddenly he nearly launched his pizza onto the floor.

 

“I just have to know.”

 

Shane visibly stiffened beside Roz.

 

“Relax,” Cliff said immediately around a mouthful of pizza. “He's had a thought. I thought I heard something.”

 

“No, fuck off, seriously.” Carmichael pointed between them. “How the fuck did this happen?”

 

Roz blinked.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean this.” He waved both hands vaguely at the pair of them. “You two.”

 

Connors nodded immediately. “Actually yeah. Fair question.”

 

Shane looked like he was considering whether launching himself through the nearest window was a viable option.

 

Roz glanced sideways at him before looking back at the room.

 

“Fine,” he said eventually, sounding offended. “We'll answer questions.”

 

Cliff narrowed his eyes immediately.

 

“That sounded dangerous.”

 

“But,” Roz continued over him, “we will not elaborate. You are going to have to drag information out of us.”

 

Carmichael stared at him, mouth agape.

 

“You know what? Somehow that's worse.”

 

“I’ve got the first question.” Connors pointed his pizza slice at them. “Who made the first move?”

 

“Shane.” Roz answered immediately.

 

“No, I didn’t.” 

 

Every head turned to face Shane.

 

Shane looked up from his drink, frowning slightly.

 

Roz looked equally offended. “What do you mean no?”

 

“I mean no.” Shane stared at him, voice hard. “You made the first move.”

 

“Shane Hollander,” Roz had a sly grin on his face. “You absolutely did.”

 

Connors held his hand up, “Woah, guys. My question wasn’t meant to be this difficult.”

 

They continued, as if Connors hadn’t spoken.

 

“I didn’t. You were the one who started it. You know, in Toronto.”

 

Cliff nearly inhaled his drink. “Toronto?”

 

Shane looked around at the six faces staring back at him and seemed to realise, very belatedly, that he'd walked directly into something.

 

“We’d just finished a commercial photoshoot and were wrapping up after, and he just…” Shane trailed off. 

 

“What did Roz do?” Carmichael was already leaning dangerously far forward in his chair.

 

He sighed, evidently deciding to commit as he jabbed his finger into Iya’s chest. “We’re in the locker room showers after and this fucker starts jacking off!”

 

The room exploded.

 

“Fucking hell!”

 

“Cap!”

 

“Went in strong, didn't you?”

 

“Jesus Christ!”

 

Voices immediately started overlapping.

 

“No, no, no!” Roz cut across all of them, looking horrified. “I only did that because he reacted first!”

 

He made a crude gesture in his own lap, forefinger slowly rising off his thigh.

 

Shane stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

 

“What the fuck did you expect?” His voice had climbed an octave in indignation now. “You stood in that fucking shower showing off, getting all soapy and flexing every muscle you had!”

 

Roz looked offended. “Because you missed all of my fucking flirting.”

 

Shane scoffed, turning on the sofa to face him. “What fucking flirting?”

 

“I called you fucking pretty!”

 

Shane practically punched the air. “HA!”

 

Roz blinked. 

 

Confusion was written on everyone’s face.

 

“What?” Roz asked.

 

Shane looked around the room triumphantly. “So you were flirting. I’d say that counts as making the first move, right guys?”

 

They looked at each other before begrudgingly nodding in agreement.

 

Roz gasped dramatically and grabbed at his chest. “Traitors! All of you!” He genuinely looked betrayed. “I can’t believe I ever called you my friends.”

 

“Fuck off.” Shane shoved him, fully grinning. 

 

He leaned back without thinking and this time Roz automatically slung an arm over his shoulders.

 

Cliff watched as the tension drained out of Shane at this gesture.

 

“Oh my God.” Carmichael groaned, dropping his head into his hands. His voice was exasperated but fond. “I get it now.”

 

“The fuck are you on about?” Connors threw a balled up napkin at him.

 

Carmichael slowly looked up.

 

“I couldn’t see how they worked together before, but now I get it.” 

 

Every instinct in Cliff began screaming at him. “Carmy…”

 

 “All their arguing?” He pointed between Shane and Roz. “It’s flirting. It’s foreplay.”

 

Silence.

 

Shane and Roz looked at each other.

 

Slowly, a knowing smile spread across Roz’s face. Then Shane’s mouth twitched.

 

Oh no.

 

Connors sat bolt upright. “OH MY GOD IT IS.”

 

Roz immediately lost whatever battle he had been fighting, and started laughing while Shane dropped his head backwards, shoulders shaking.

 

“No fucking way,” Cliff whispered in betrayal.

 

Hammersmith narrowed his eyes at the pair of them. “Not to sound like Carmy, but I’ve just got to know…”

 

“Oi, fuck you.”

 

He ignored him.

 

“Roz, how the fuck did you manage to land Shane motherfucking Hollander?”

 

Roz let out an undignified sound. “Excuse me?”

 

“No, no.” Connors pointed. “Smithy’s right.”

 

“You are absolutely punching,” Carmichael agreed immediately.

 

Cliff looked Shane up and down thoughtfully. “Yeah, actually.”

 

“MARLEAU?”

 

“Buddy, I love you, but look at him.” He gestured at Shane. “He’s Shane fucking Hollander.”

 

“Smart,” Carmichael started counting on his fingers.

 

“Successful,” Connors added.

 

“Pretty,” Vic said around a mouthful of pizza.

 

Roz glared at him, seeing into his soul.

 

Vic held his hands up in defence. “What, we’re making a list.”

 

“Very pretty,” Hammersmith nodded.

 

“No, everyone shut up, he is mine. You all get your own Shanes.” Roz had moved his body in front of Shane in order to block as much of him from view as possible.

 

“Yeah, no, actually,” Connors suddenly said, brightening. “How the fuck did you do it? Maybe you could give Vic some tips.”

 

“Hey!” Vic turned on Connors, slapping his arm.

 

Shane snorted into his drink, immediately coughing as it went down the wrong way.

 

Everyone turned to look at him, most with puzzlement. 

 

Roz, however, was suspicious. “Again, moya lyubov?”

 

“Yeah.” Shane nodded.

 

Carmichael leaned forward, pointing between them. “No, no, something just happened.”

 

“Nothing happened.” Shane replied instantly.

 

“Something absolutely happened, you’re blushing.”

 

“You’re imagining things.”

 

“Hollander, I swear to God–”

 

“Guys,” Hammersmith leaned forward, reaching his arm out across the coffee table. “Shut the fuck up and give me the remote.”

 

“What?”

 

“Miami highlights are on.”

 

The room quieted almost immediately as someone unmuted the TV.

 

Boston were playing Miami next week, and the guys had missed watching this evening’s match to set up Operation: Cheer up Roz. 

 

Which, if Cliff is being honest with himself, went so much better than he ever could have imagined.

 

Within moments, all eyes were on the screen, everyone focused in.

 

Connors leaned in with a mouth full of pizza. “Oh, these assholes play dirty.”

 

“Their second line is fast,” Cliff muttered

 

“Defence pinches too high.” Hammersmith added.

 

They were all so engrossed in what was playing on the screen that they had forgotten Shane Hollander was sitting with them.

 

On screen, Miami’s winger cut through centre ice before firing wide.

 

Shane frowned.

 

“Twenty-seven drops his shoulder before he shoots.”

 

Nobody spoke.

 

Shane looked up to find six pairs of eyes staring at him.

 

“What?”

 

Connors blinked. “You saw that from one clip?”

 

Shane shook his head, starting to feel a little self conscious. “He does it every time. He scored in this game, so keep watching and you’ll see it.”

 

Cliff grinned, “Well shit." He reached across Roz to clap him on the shoulder.

 

Roz looked unbearably smug. “My Shane is a hockey genius.” 

 

“Your Sha–”

 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Ilya was grabbing the front of his hoodie. He was hauled sideways where his lips crashed against Ilya’s in a deliberate, almost performative kiss.

 

For one second the room went completely silent.

 

“OH MY GOD GET A ROOM YOU TWO!”

 

Balled up napkins flew instantly, voices overlapping.

 

“Jesus Christ. In front of my pizza, really?”

 

“Cap, what the fuck?”

 

“FUCK YEAH, GET IT ROZ!”

 

Shane pulled away from Ilya sharply, bumping back into Hammersmith who was laughing. Shane had turned such a shade of red that Cliff briefly wondered if he was going to pass out.

 

“Ilya!” Shane spluttered, looking like he wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed, happy, or some combination of the two.

 

Roz, however, looked immensely pleased with himself. “What? Now the first kiss in front of people is done. Should be less awkward now, no?”

 

Shane stared at him, stared at the room. He turned back to Ilya, “You’re actually unbelievable.” But the admonishment fell flat as he started to laugh.

 

“Yeah, but you kissed me back.”

 

Shane opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Fuck off.”

 

Roz burst out laughing. 

 

He rested his hand on the side of Shane’s neck, cradling his jaw. They both instinctively moved closer.

 

The room erupted again, a cacophony of noise.

 

“BOOOOO.”

 

“GET OFF THE ICE.”

 

“TWO MINUTES FOR UNSPORTSMANLIKE CONDUCT.”

 

“YOU’RE GONNA MAKE MARLEY JEALOUS.”

 

Connors balled up a napkin and launched it directly at Roz’s forehead.

 

Carmichael immediately joined in. 

 

Then Cliff.

 

Seriously, where did they keep getting napkins from?

 

Shane grabbed a handful of napkins that had landed on his lap and returned fire, because apparently they were all twelve years old.

 

Eventually Roz threw his hands over his head in self-defence, laughing as napkins rained down around him.

 

Shane slumped against him, hands over his face and shoulders shaking with laughter.

 

Cliff looked around the room at his teammates, his brothers, at Roz getting pelted with napkins and laughing harder than Cliff had seen in weeks.

 

… and Shane fucking Hollander, somehow fitting into their mess like he’d always been there

 

So, yeah. Cliff figured he was probably keeping his spare key privileges after tonight.

 

Though considering Shane apparently had one too, maybe Roz was handing the fucking things out now.

 

And with that new information, Cliff vowed that the next time he needed to use the “emergency” key, he was absolutely calling ahead first.

 

While he was happy there was someone out there to match Roz’s freak, he had absolutely no desire to witness proof of it firsthand.