Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

Gen, M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Zane Boodram, Brandon Wiebe, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ottawa Centaurs Player Shane Hollander, Ottawa Centaurs Player Ilya Rozanov, Autistic Shane Hollander

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of simply chance events

Stats:

Published: 2026-09-17 Words: 1,151 Chapters: 1/1

when we can't see the levers and pulleys

Summary

There is a part of Zane—the part of him that’s been on Ottawa his entire professional career and so is very used to nothing ever going Ottawa’s way—that feels like Ottawa’s the dog being treated to one last perfect day before it’s sent up to a farm upstate.

Notes

Some timing!

This is the summer of 2018, which is when Ilya canonically signs with the Centaurs. That means that:
1. Shane has only won two Cups (2015 and 2016)
2. Boodram hasn't met Cassie yet.
3. Luca Haas was drafted by Ottawa in the 2018 draft but won't start with them until the 2020-2021 season

A change: Brandon Wiebe canonically doesn't become Ottawa's coach until the 2020-2021 season. I do not care. We're getting him now.

There is a part of Zane—the part of him that’s been on Ottawa his entire professional career and so is very used to nothing ever going Ottawa’s way—that feels like Ottawa’s the dog being treated to one last perfect day before it’s sent up to a farm upstate.

Getting Shane Hollander or Ilya Rozanov would be insane, because Ottawa is absolutely the sort of team that both of them would put on their no-trade list, but getting both of them at the same time is Make-a-Wish-Foundation-level wild. And the whole situation is weird, too—Rozanov choosing to come as a free agent and Hollander being traded by Montreal in some batshit three-way trade where Montreal inexplicably decided notorious piece of shit Dallas Kent was a better option than two-time-Stanley-Cup-winner Shane fucking Hollander.

So yeah. Zane feels like they’re getting one last romp around the park before it’s time to go to the vet.

They have a new coach, too, and Zane’s spent the last few months getting to know the guy, but he wouldn’t say he knows him well. Still, Zane can see the same sort of manic glee in Coach Wiebe’s eyes as he feels on his own face as they wait for Hollander and Rozanov to show up.

It’s a casual sort of welcome, or casual enough, trying to make them both feel like part of a team that by all rights is so far below either of them that it’s also embarrassing. The GM is going to throw a whole bash for them at some point, thank-god-you’re-here-please-don’t-try-to-leave, but Wiebe thought that would be a bad first intro to the team, and Zane agreed.

“At least Rozanov chose us,” Wiebe says from next to him. He drums his fingers against the wall behind him.

There’s seven minutes until Rozanov and Hollander are supposed to get here. Zane isn’t going to check his phone again to make sure. He’s not.

Instead, he says, “I assume Hollander must have given some sort of thumbs up to be traded. He’s not some fourth-line D-man.”

Wiebe shoots him a sideways look, his mouth curving down, then says, “They didn’t tell him.”

“About the trade?” Zane is pretty sure that’s what Wiebe is saying, but the idea is almost incomprehensible to him. You don’t treat the best player in the league that way. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

Wiebe makes a low sort of noise, like he agrees with Zane’s unspoken sentiment. “I don’t know all the details, but when I called him right after the trade was finalized he said that Montreal hadn’t talked to him about the negotiation. I don’t know if that means he knew he was going to be traded but didn’t know where or what, but I got the impression Montreal fucked him. I’m just not sure why.”

“You think it was medical?” Zane can’t think of many other reasons why a team would throw away Shane Hollander like that. It’s not for any sort of controversy, not when they’re replacing him with Dallas shithead Kent, and Hollander has more money than god so the chances of him doing something stupid like betting on games is pretty low.

Wiebe shakes his head. “We saw all of his physicals during the negotiation process. He’s in exactly as good shape as you think he is. He even has most of his teeth.”

Zane runs his tongue over his own dental bridge and doesn’t comment on that part.

Instead, he asks, “Did the Montreal GM have a stroke, then? Or a psychotic break? Eat a hallucinogenic maple leaf?”

Wiebe grimaces and doesn’t even try to answer, because the sound of bickering starts to filter through the door, not quite clear enough to make out until Zane catches Hollander snapping, “—lay off about the fucking car, Rozanov, it’s practical.”

“You look like a grandpa,” Rozanov says back, taunting. “Deda Hollander, here to give Kis-Kis to his grandchildren.”

“Hollander said they were friends,” Wiebe mutters, and then he strides forward to pull open the door to the office area, saying, “Hollander, Rozanov, thank you for coming.”

“Coach Wiebe,” Zane hears Hollander say, voice like the one he uses for the media, and the man is an impressive fucking code-switcher, Zane will give him that. “It’s good to meet you in person.”

“Yes, yes,” Rozanov says, “It is good to see you again, Coach Wiebe. Please tell my good friend Shane Hollander here that he has enough money for an interesting car.”

“I have a three kids and a minivan,” Wiebe says with a laugh. “I don’t think I should weigh in on this particular discussion. I know we’ll be spending a lot of time together, but I wanted to take this chance to show you around and have you meet Zane Boodram, who’s been here longer than I have and so is far less likely to get lost.”

Zane realizes he’s been hanging back and just listening in, so he jogs over to stop next to Wiebe and offer Rozanov and then Hollander a hand. They look a little weird like this, both casual—Hollander in the sponsored athleisure that he’s almost notorious for living in and Rozanov dressed like the stereotype of a rich Slavic guy. It’s a little like seeing your teacher at the grocery store.

Hollander gives him a media smile, but Rozanov gives him a wide grin, saying, “Bood! I have heard things about your barbequing. You will feed us meat at some point, no?”

Zane laughs. “Absolutely.”

“Boodram is the unofficial social captain of the team,” Wiebe says.

“Yes, good,” Rozanov says, clapping Zane on the shoulder. “You know team, I have best vodka. Hollander will bring hockey facts to bore us all to death.”

Hollander rolls his eyes, but not like he’s particularly bothered by Rozanov’s teasing.

Maybe they really are friends. Who the fuck knew.

“We’re a little light on the ground with WAGs right now,” Zane tells them, “but D—Dykstra—his wife Caitlin maintains the WAG chat and helps new WAGs figure stuff out or whatever, so if you have someone to get added to that list he’s your best bet, or you can give me their information and I can pass it along.” There have always been rumors about Rozanov and Sergei Vetrov’s daughter, and who the fuck knows with Hollander.

But Rozanov just laughs. “I am tied down to no woman,” he says cheerfully, slinging an arm around Hollander’s shoulders. Hollander barely twitches. “And my good friend Shane Hollander here is married to hockey.”

“Fuck off,” Hollander tells him, but he doesn’t shove Rozanov’s arm off, and he doesn’t contradict him.

If Hollander and Rozanov really are friends—if this all goes off without being a tremendous clusterfuck—if they can play together as well as they did in those All Star games—

Fuck, maybe this is a Make-a-Wish situation.