Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

Gen, M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov & Original Children of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Original Children of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Future Fic, Parents Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Career Ending Injuries, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Siblings, Generational Trauma, hockey trauma, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, background found family, background wag ilya rozanov

Language:

English

Series:

Part 10 of all dwk heated rivalry fics

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-15 Words: 3,769 Chapters: 1/1

no easy love

Summary

Karina Hollander is four when she first learns to skate, eight when she decides she wants to go pro, and twenty six when it all goes down the drain.

--

Future fic where hollanov's daughter suffers a career-ending injury

Notes

inspired by my own post as well as the fic linked above!!

I feel like I'm missing tags but I don't know what else to put lol so please let me know if there's something I should add!! I will come back in the morning and fix any typos

title from wherever I go by onerepublic

• Inspired by wow, genetic by ganseyyiii

When you play hockey, the possibility of an injury doesn’t just hang over your head—it hangs over everyone’s. But you don’t think it will be you. You hope it won’t be you. 

And you’re lucky, or maybe it’s just raw talent, but you go a long time without getting hurt and it makes you forget, just a little. Serious injuries happen to other people. As long as you’re fast and powerful on the ice, as long as you keep your eyes open and your feet steady and your brain engaged, you’ll be safe. 

Maybe you get a little cocky, just while you’re drunk. Maybe you tell your friends that you’ve never been hurt on the ice. Not one tooth lost, not one bone broken. Bruises don’t count—everyone gets bruises. 

You’re at the top of the world, and you get to bask in it. You smile, because you’re so fucking happy, you’re thrilled, this is why you do all of this—and then reality slams into you with all the force of a heavy, speeding hockey player. 

Karina Hollander was four when she first learned to skate. She doesn’t remember it, obviously, but there are pictures. 

There she was, bundled up in enough layers that she looked nearly circular, her cheeks pink from the cool air of the rink. Centaurs colors fill the background, but in the pictures she’s holding the hands of her fathers, dressed in work out clothes. The ones where Dad—Shane—is with her are funnier, because she’s dressed for winter and he’s only got shorts and a t-shirt on, but he only looks worried about her. Papa—Ilya—was far more covered up, but he was also kneeling on the ice, making silly faces and holding onto both of her hands. 

Grandma and Grandpa were there that day. They’ve told the story a hundred times—she’d just been adopted, and this was how she met her fathers’ teammates. She didn’t understand a lick of English except for the word hi, and she said it to everyone, and everyone said it back. 

Dad was so proud he could barely speak. Papa cried. Karina toddled around on the tiniest skates anyone had ever seen before, and no one ever let her fall, but they hardly needed to try, because she was a natural.

Hockey was just fun at first. 

Papa was retired but Dad still played, so they went and saw as many of his games as they could. Karina would press her face up against the glass and scream her head off whenever Dad did anything. When he made a goal, she would get lightheaded from screaming so much. Papa made her drink her juice and sit down every time Dad was on the bench.

And whenever they got the chance—in the arena, at home, on the frozen lake behind the cottage—they would all play. Karina and eventually her younger siblings, Emiliya and Viktor and Yuri, would all play on one team against Dad and Papa. 

Papa let them win, but Dad never did. 

Karina has so many memories of those games. They felt real but there was no pressure to be good. It didn’t really matter if she made goals, because Dad was going to beat her anyway. She just had to try her best and have a good time. 

It was so easy then. Karina had her own stick and her own tape, like a big girl, and Papa shouted tips her way while Dad pretended to be mad. She made her first goals giggling, feeling loved and safe and like she belonged. 

Then Emiliya got big enough she could join them. Karina was excited—surely she and her little sister would be so good on the ice together, they would kick Dad and Papa’s butts. There’s a video of Karina pulling her equally-circular baby sister around on the ice, already so at ease on skates at only seven years old.

The problem was. Emiliya cannot ice skate for shit. Not when she was four, being dragged around by Karina, and not now as an adult even though she can roller skate backwards and on one foot. 

Karina was horrified when Emiliya stumbled so badly it made them both fall. Then her sister began crying, and though Karina was eight and felt she was too old to cry over a little bump, tears welled up in her eyes too. 

Dad and Papa hurried to their sides. Emiliya was tucked into Papa’s chest easily, where she quickly calmed down.

Karina didn’t. 

Dad held her, and he asked, “What’s wrong, baby, why are you crying?” He wiped her tears away from her cheeks and promised to kiss it better and to fight that stupid ice and Emiliya’s stupid skates if that’s what she needed. 

Karina didn’t know how to say what was wrong, not until she was laying in bed between her fathers that night. “If Emi can’t skate, what’ll happen?”

Dad and Papa were quiet. Dad rubbed her back soothingly. Papa pressed a kiss to her forehead and said, “Nothing will happen, malyshka.”

“But what about when we’re playing?”

“Grandpa or one of your cousins will stay with her,” Dad said. “Arthur doesn’t like to play either.”

They weren’t getting it. “No,” she whined. “What happens if she can’t play with us?”

“She doesn’t have to play, is fine. Maybe she will get better once she’s older. She only has little baby legs now.”

“But I could skate when I was little.”

“Rina—“

“I want to be a hockey player,” she said, crying again though she didn’t know why. It was the first time she’d ever said it—the first time she’d meant it in the way her fathers were, rather than playing it as a hobby. “I want to be like you. But if Emi can’t play then—then—“

Papa held her tight, shushing and rocking her. “Everything will be alright, malyshka. We promise. It’s okay, let it out.”

The next day, Dad and Papa sat her and Emiliya down. They looked very serious, and Karina was nervous that they were going to say they would have to give Emiliya up if she couldn’t play, because they were a family of hockey players—even Grandma and Grandpa and all of her uncles. 

Dad took her hand, and he looked her in the eye long enough that she could see the gleam in them, though she didn’t know what it meant then. When he looked away, she turned to Papa, who was holding one of Emi’s socked feet, and he smiled at her. It just made her feel more nervous.

Dad told her, “Karina, listen to me. You don’t have to play hockey if you don’t want to. It can stay fun. Or you can stop, anytime. We love you no matter what you choose, baby. Whatever you want to do or be is okay. We’ll support anything.”

She didn’t quite understand, because she was only eight and he was speaking like each word pained him. Maybe Papa could see her confusion, because he said, “It’s okay that Emi isn’t good at skating. We love her anyway. Is the same for you.”

“But I can skate,” she said. She could skate really well—her uncles said so, Dad’s Coach said so, even Aunt Sveta said so and she was very serious about good vs bad hockey.

“You enjoy it? You want to keep playing?”

Emiliya, though she was definitely too little to understand and had mostly spent this conversation watching them speak and clutching her teddy bear, said, “No! Don' wanna!”

“Okay, so we will not put her on the ice again,” Papa said reasonably to Dad, nodding his head at Emiliya. Dad stayed silent and pale, but he nodded too. 

“I do, Papa,” Karina said. “I want to play.”

Not everything they’d said made sense, but she felt reassured that Emi wasn’t going anywhere. And the more she thought about getting to be like her fathers, the more she wanted that. She could be great and important like them. She could have fun playing hockey and be the best too. 

“Okay. Then you will play.”

“Until you’re done,” Dad said, his voice scraping out of him. “Whenever you’re ready.”

So Karina played, and trained, and grew. 

She and her fathers had similar conversations several more times over the years. They told her and Emiliya and their brothers over and over again that they didn’t have to be hockey players, or even fans. There was no pressure to follow in their fathers’ footsteps. She and her siblings could be whoever they wanted to be.

So they did.

Emiliya is a teacher now. Kindergarten, because she’s great with kids and they love her back. No, she can’t ice skate, only on roller blades, but she’s so damn good that she’s won awards and has a signature move just like Papa. She’s beautiful in a feminine way, with long dark blond hair and a slightly-crooked smile that makes everyone melt. Emiliya is the nicest person anyone has ever met, until a smartass comment gets loose.

Then there’s Viktor. Viktor can skate, but he doesn’t bother much, because he hates to be cold. Growing up, he stuck to Dad’s side like glue and threw fits if anyone tried to separate them, which has naturally extended to him working with Dad and Papa at the Irina Foundation. He likes to show people pictures of their late babushka, pale and blonde, and say, “Don’t we look alike?” and laugh when those people see his darker skin and hair and get confused.

Finally, Yuri. He’s the artist of the family. He never cared about any sports, let alone hockey, and made no secret about it. He only came to Centaurs games to see Uncle Luca, though he did wear #24 jerseys like the rest of them. Now he's in university, and the last time they talked, he complained about how exhausting it is. 

Karina is the only one who decides to go pro. She spends years training against her fathers, getting better and better as time goes on. It gets easier to score on them, though Papa loudly defends them both by saying they’re getting old and its not their fault. The WLH takes notice of her, probably because of her name, but then they realize she’s got talent of her own.

She’s the first draft pick when she’s 18 and lands in Toronto. It wasn’t her first choice, really, but it’s okay. It’s not that far of a drive. 

When she plays her first professional game, it’s on home ice. Her jersey is emblazoned with HOLLANDER #84. Her whole family is in the stands, Dad and Papa and her siblings, even Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Rose and Aunt Sveta. Under their watchful eyes, she scores her first goal with the WLH that night.

After it’s over, the Pikes call and they all scream their heads off because Karina is the real deal now. She’s a fucking hockey player.  

The point is that all of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov’s children are quite different. 

And yet it doesn’t matter. Dad and Papa love all of them. It’s obvious, and nothing changes that, not even Emiliya’s pregnancy scare when she’s fifteen, or the time Viktor hit someone’s mailbox when he was learning to drive, or Yuri’s completely unmistakable disinterest in hockey. 

Karina never feels like she’s out of the place in their family. She has her own fuck ups—like when she got so drunk at seventeen that she threw up all over herself and had to call them to come pick her up at two in the morning. Papa came, got her home and cleaned up, and in the morning they told her she has to be safe. 

Dad and Papa are the best parents anyone can ask for. They’re reliable and present and they care so much that Karina tries to get them to adopt her friends who need an adult who gives a shit.

There’s some part of her that knows, through all of this, that if she decided to stop playing, they would still love her. She has evidence right in front of her, every day. 

But… hockey is how she talks with her fathers. It’s their common language, the thing that all three of them are interested in. 

It never occurs to her at any age that she could give it up. 

Why would she? Karina loves hockey. She feels like herself on the ice, her feet steady and her brain engaged. She’s fast, faster than her teammates, and she’s not afraid to body check other players. There’s a joke online that she’s like a speeding bullet, precise and deadly. She scores and scores and scores. 

Of course, she gets compared to her fathers. Shane Hollander is one of the best hockey players of all time, if not the best period. Ilya Rozanov isn’t far behind. Talking heads say that she’s a perfect mix of them, or that she’s a nepo baby who only looks good because the WLH doesn’t want their darling to fail.

It’s stupid. Sure, getting trained by them—and all of their extremely talented friends—is possibly an unfair advantage. But Karina works for everything she does, throws herself into being her own player. She earns her place on her team, bringing them to playoffs three years in a row. They win the Walter Cup when she’s twenty, and again when she’s twenty-two. 

Karina makes her own name, until #84 jerseys are sold out and every hockey fan knows who she is. Not because of her fathers. Because of her.

Karina Hollander is twenty six when it all goes down the drain.

It’s not a particularly important game. Still early in the season, the pressure of the playoffs is a distant concern. They’re having fun tonight, just trying to please the crowd and play some good hockey. 

That doesn’t mean the two teams—Toronto and Vegas—go easy on each other. No one gets hurt, but the checks are borderline brutal, and the chirping from both sides only ratchets up higher and higher as the game goes on. 

Karina has friends on both teams, her fathers are up there in her seats, and it’s a home game, so most of the crowd cheers for her.

HOLL-AND-DER! HOLL-AND-DER! HOLL-AND-DER!

She slams a player from Vegas against the boards, trying to poke the puck away from her and towards one of Karina’s teammates. They tussle, the other woman cussing like a sailor as they fight. The score is tied right now, 2-2, and they both want this win.

It’s moments like these that she remembers why she loves hockey so much. That she clings to when her body aches and she feels ten years older than she really is, or when the headlines spew stupid shit and reporters ask her about her fucking underwear or what Dad thinks about this or that current event. Not everything about hockey is perfect, but it all goes away when she’s on the ice. 

This is what she’s thinking when it happens. She’s smiling. She fucking loves hockey.

Karina doesn’t see the Vegas defender coming barreling towards them. She only feels their bodies slam together, forcing her off the other player. They both go down, and Karina knows how to take hits and keep herself safe, she does, but it happens too fast—her brain is two seconds too slow. 

The defender’s weight sends her into the boards hard, her whole body bouncing off the glass. Something in her back—in her spine—wrenches.

She crumples to the ice, gasping in shock and pain, and does not get up.

Ilya breaks many traffic laws on the way to the hospital. Shane doesn’t care for once—he actually wishes Ilya would go faster.

Neither of them speak a word. There’s nothing to say. Their daughter just got stretchered out of a game, laying on her stomach on the boards like the medics didn’t want to move her too much.

They both know what that means. 

Ilya reaches across the center console and takes one of Shane’s hands in his own. They both hold on too tightly, and Ilya’s hand is shaking, and none of this is okay at all. Shane has had nightmares like this since they first talked about adopting. 

Nausea fills Shane so much he feels like he could throw up in Ilya’s fancy sports car. There’s a thought echoing in his head, I fucking knew this would happen, and he wonders if it makes him a terrible parent. Why didn’t he sit Karina down twenty years ago and tell her that she couldn’t play professionally, because he wasn’t going to let her? Why did he listen to Ilya and let her decide? Why didn’t he go back in time and tell himself that they could never let her on the ice?

Mom calls. Shane has no idea what to say, so he doesn’t pick up, and texts her and Dad that he’ll call them soon. Then Viktor calls. Shane picks up, and tries to help his son through a panic attack even though he feels like he’s in the middle of one himself. Emiliya blows up Ilya’s phone with, they find out later, forty-eight texts in ten minutes. Yuri texts Shane to ask if he needs to drive to Toronto tonight or tomorrow.

There’s also Hayden and Jackie, and Rose, and the Boodrams, and Harris and Troy, and a thousand other people. They all ask after Karina or say they hope she’s okay. It’s obvious that everyone who knows anything about hockey knows she’s not. Amber Pike texts that Karina will probably be just fine and they’ll all get to yell at her for scaring them.

Shane should be happy that their daughter is so loved, but he’s not. He’s fucking overwhelmed, and the second the car is put in park, Ilya gently grabs the phone so he can take a turn talking Viktor down. 

God, he’s so grateful to Ilya. His eyes heat up, but he forces it down. Not here.

Shane is hollow when they hurry through the ER doors, but he manages to find the front desk and explain who they are and who they’re here for. 

They’re shown to a private waiting room. Neither of them sit.

Ilya stays on the phone with Viktor for a while longer. He’s pale, but that’s it—his eyes are dry and his voice is steady. Shane listens to him say, “We are here now. She’s not alone, synochek. Yes, it looked bad, but we don’t know anything yet. Everything will be okay,” and tries to stay calm. 

Eventually, Viktor hangs up. Shane is watching Ilya, so he sees the moment the phone call ends and Ilya finally takes a breath.

They stare at each other for a long moment. After forty years, they don’t need to speak to understand each other. Shane knows that Ilya’s going to break before his eyes even well up.

“C’mere,” he whispers, opening his arms and pulling Ilya towards him. His husband lets out a shuttering breath, ducking his head into the crook of Shane’s neck. 

They hold onto each other tightly. Shane whispers to Ilya in Russian, things only they would understand, anything that he thinks will help Ilya stay calm. They can’t break down yet when they don’t even know anything. 

“She is not okay,” Ilya says heavily, at some point. “Fuck. That was….”

“Don’t, Ilyusha. Don’t say that. Don’t jinx our baby.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

Shane runs his hand through Ilya’s curls and kisses wherever he can reach. He didn’t mean to make him feel bad. 

“Let’s sit, okay?”

They trudge, a pile of limbs, to the chairs. Shane ends up in Ilya’s lap, which is fine by him, because he doesn’t know if he can handle being any farther apart right now. And then they sit there, breathing and panicking and ignoring their buzzing phones, until a doctor comes to speak to them.

Doctor Khan is kind and delivers the news apologetically.

While they can’t be completely certain so early on, she says carefully, they believe that Karina Hollander has suffered a severe injury in her spine. She was awake when she arrived at the hospital, though they’ve given her pain medication by now. After this, they can go and see her.

“What does that mean? She’s in pain?” Shane asks. 

“Unfortunately, yes, Mr. Hollander-Rozanov.” Dr. Khan steeples her fingers. “She was able to tell us so in the ER.”

“Oh god.” Ilya looks away, clenching his jaw. He always hates to see their kids in any amount of pain. Shane holds onto him tighter and makes himself be a rock, something Ilya can lean on. He’ll stay strong for Karina, too. And then he’ll call his Mom and finally have his much-delayed panic attack.

“Is that… is she going to be okay? I know it’s too early, but—if it wasn’t too bad then—“

“I’m going to be honest with you both. Yes, it’s too early to tell, but… it was a bad injury. We suspect she is partially paralyzed. She was able to tell us she could not feel her legs.”

Shane and Ilya both stop breathing. For one, two, three seconds they are perfectly in sync—fear and regret and aching love fill them up. Their baby, paralyzed. It doesn’t feel real. 

But it is. Dr. Khan looks at them with sympathy that neither of them can feel. 

Finally, Shane swallows down the rising tide of his emotions and manages not to throw up. He looks at Ilya, and finds his husband looking back. They’re both remembering a conversation had nearly twenty years before, when Karina cried and asked what would happen if her little sister couldn’t skate. The idea was incomprehensible to her. She has spent her whole life since then reaching for one goal, one future, and now it’s been ripped away from her. 

Ilya is the one who breaks the silence. Turning to Dr. Khan, he asks, “What happens now?”

No one ever thinks the injury will happen to them. 

Serious injuries happen to other people. Maybe they weren’t fast or powerful enough. Maybe they let the chance of it hang too heavily over their head. 

Maybe they were distracted, smiling when they should have been focusing.

Karina Hollander wakes up in a hospital bed with her fathers beside her, and she cannot move her legs. She doesn’t have to be told that her career is over.