Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander

Additional Tags:

juxtapositions are made between Shane's family and Ilya's family, References to Homophobia, especially Ilya's family and Russia and Shane's team, Ilya takes some liberties, he's trying to mend fences with Shane's family, everything is fine

Language:

English

Series:

Part 5 of Married in Vegas

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-30 Words: 2,883 Chapters: 1/1

I know I gotta give it a try

Summary

In which Ilya is determined to win Shane’s parents over.

Since coming out to his parents, Ilya had noticed that Shane was acting strangely about them. His mother rang often, and Shane rarely answered, his face scrunching up as he checked Caller ID and sent it to voicemail. He knew for a fact that they had been invited over for dinner a few times since that first uncomfortable meeting, but Shane had declined each time, coming up with a range of excuses to avoid it.

But Ilya knew it hurt him, the distance. Even in the very early days, when Shane Hollander had just been an annoying but persistent opponent, he had known that he and his mother were close.

Hell, the first time they’d hooked up, he’d run into Yuna Hollander in the hotel and seen the way she’d studied him like a mother bear protecting her cub, as if his very proximity to Shane in the same hotel was a threat.

She had been more right than she’d suspected at the time, though obviously things were very different now.

The point was that Ilya felt responsible. Maybe if it had been a few more years, and they hadn’t been so reckless, maybe she would have warmed to him a bit more. But the facts remained the facts, and Ilya did not want to drive a wedge between Shane and his parents.

Mothers were… important.

He played with his cross, adjusting it so that it sat more neatly against his chest.

Yes, he would need to do something to fix this.

Shane was showering after a grueling training session when Ilya wandered into their room, unlocking Shane’s phone and shooting off a quick text message to Yuna. He invited her around for dinner the next day and locked the phone, not waiting to see if she would reply.

Twenty minutes later, Shane came back downstairs, rubbing at his hair with a towel and scowling at Ilya.

“You invited my mom without saying anything to me?” he asked.

Ilya shrugged. He knew Shane would be bitchy about it. He’d done it anyway.

“Yes,” he said simply. “We can make nice meal, and she can see that I am not some asshole who has stolen her baby from her.”

Shane looked annoyed. “You should have asked first.”

Ilya gave him an unimpressed look. “She is your mother, Shane. She is important.”

He watched the micro-expressions that flitted over Shane’s face. Finally, he settled on a grimace, but said nothing further, stomping past him to the kitchen and pulling open the fridge.

“We don’t even have any food!” he complained.

Ilya pushed himself up so that he could see Shane over the back of the couch, holding up his phone. “Already doing grocery order now,” he said. “Relax, Hollander.”

Shane glared at him. “So what, I just leave everything up to you?”

“Is that so bad?” Ilya asked him mildly. “I am one who invited her, so I deal with it. You can just turn up and eat nice food and watch me charm your mother.”

At this, Shane smirked a bit. “You think it’s gonna be that easy?” he taunted.

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Of course not,” he said. “If you are anything like her, then it will take years to win her over. But that is no reason not to start now.”

Shane blinked a few times, eyebrows raising in surprise. He studied his face, draping the towel around his neck.

“You really care about this, don’t you?” he observed. “What she thinks of you, I mean.”

“Of course,” he admitted. “She is the most important person in your life. Is why you are afraid to be around her right now, no?”

Shane’s shoulders dropped. “I guess,” he muttered. “Like yeah, I didn’t like the way her and my dad acted towards you, but also, I don’t know. I kind of feel like she’s… disappointed… in me. And I hate that.”

“Yes,” Ilya said, giving Shane a pointed look, “so disappointed that she immediately accepted an invitation to dinner.”

Shane’s cheeks flushed. “Shut up,” he grumbled. “You don’t know what she’s like.”

She is probably good, Ilya thought to himself, sweeping his eyes over Shane’s features, mentally comparing them to his mothers. Like you.

“No,” he agreed. “But every important time in your life, she was there. Junior world champs. The draft. Your rookie award. She was even there when you were getting dolled up all pretty for advert.”

Shane gave a shrug but said nothing.

“She was a bit surprised about us, so what? She did not kick us out, she did not yell or hit or say mean things,” Ilya continued. “Compared to what that would have been like with my family, in Russia? That was walk in the park.”

“What would they say?” Shane asked, unable to keep the curiosity from his tone. “If they knew?”

Ilya closed his eyes, feeling tired suddenly. “Nothing good,” he said grimly. “I do not think they would take me to police station, but only because they would not want it to get out to anyone and shame them. They would deal with me themselves.”

Shane gave him a horrified look. “And by deal with you, you mean what exactly?”

He said nothing.

Shane swore and moved around the couch to drop in front of him, burying his face in his chest.

“Jesus, Ilya,” he said into his shirt, gripping tightly.

Ilya just hummed, smoothing a hand over the back of his head. “Is okay,” he said quietly. “I think maybe my brother suspects something, about me, I mean. He uses slurs sometimes when we talk on the phone.”

Shane’s grip tightened.

“What are a few disappointed looks compared to that?” Ilya mused quietly, petting Shane’s hair. “Here, at least we are safe, you have the support and love of good parents who will come around eventually.”

He felt Shane nod against him and let his hand drift to the back of Shane’s neck, gripping it firmly, being the grounding presence he knew Shane needed.

“Is okay,” he murmured into Shane’s hair. “I’ve got you, moya lyubov.”

His shirt was damp where Shane’s face was pressed into it, his breaths coming faster. 

Ilya soothed him with quiet touches and kisses, feeling touched that Shane was so upset on his behalf.

It took a while for him to calm down, to get up off the hard floor and instead cuddle with Ilya on the couch, but he eventually did, tucking his face into Ilya’s neck and quietly responding as Ilya planned the menu for their impromptu dinner.

There was a steep learning curve to this being married business, but Ilya liked to think he was starting to get a little better at it.

***

When the doorbell rang, Shane was the one to answer it while Ilya remained in the kitchen, still chopping up ingredients for a garden salad.

The quiet murmur of voices came from the front door and then suddenly Yuna and David were both there, Shane trailing in after them, his face tight with tension.

Ilya offered Shane’s parents a smile, already pulling a beer from the fridge for David and pouring Yuna a glass of crisp white wine. He slid Shane a ginger ale to, who accepted it with a nod, though he just held it, not even opening it.

Yuna thanked him quietly, and silence fell, broken only by the sounds of chopping.

David cleared his throat. “Thank you for inviting us.”

He glanced up at him, pausing what he was doing to study his face. It was open, his gaze direct, his lips curled up in that awkward smile that Ilya knew almost as well as his own reflection. Clearly, Shane didn’t just get his boring from his dad, but his awkward, too. It was endearing as hell.

“You’re welcome,” he said, letting some of that warmth shine through. From the corner of his eye, he noted Shane’s shoulders loosening slightly.

David nodded, and took a swig of his beer, glancing at his wife. She was studying Ilya as well over the top of her wine glass, her expression thoughtful.

“The food smells good. What are you making?” It was a peace offering, one that Ilya took gladly.

“Nothing fancy,” he said with a shrug. “Baked lemon chicken. Brown rice. Salad.”

Shane finally entered the conversation. “Bird food,” he murmured. 

Ilya winked at him. He finished the salad, putting all of the ingredients together in a bowl and setting it in the fridge for now. He would make the dressing once the chicken was ready. The rice was almost done in the cooker. It was coming together well.

He opened the fridge, pulling out his own beer. He stood on the opposite side of the bench, studying the three Hollanders with undisguised amusement. It felt like there were a dozen microphones in his face, the eyes of the nation glued to him.

But Ilya had always thrived under the spotlight.

“Ask your questions,” he said. “None of you will settle until you do.”

He shot Shane an amused look, who was glaring at his parents with his stereotypical angry kitten scowl.

“Is fine, Shane.”

Yuna pulled out one of the stools and set her wine glass down, lacing her fingers together. Shane sighed.

“I hope you know what you’re getting into,” he muttered to Ilya, finally pulling the tab on his ginger ale and tipping his head back to take a deep swallow. He watched him, feeling the idle thrum of arousal at the movement of his throat.

He made himself look away, meeting Yuna’s direct gaze.

“Ask,” he said again, his voice gentle. “I will not shy away from your questions.”

He saw a flash of approval in her gaze.

“Very well,” she said. “We didn’t speak for very long, last time. What’s the plan?”

Ilya looked over at Shane. They were still in the early days of their marriage and were still in their honeymoon phase. Some plans had been discussed, but likely not to the extent that Yuna Hollander would demand.

“We know that we cannot come out, not yet,” he started. He explained his reasoning why, and she nodded along slowly, her fingers playing with the stem of her wine glass. 

“But it is in the long term plan?” David clarified. “People knowing about this?”

Ilya nodded. “Of course,” he said. “If I thought we could get away with it now, I would scream it from the rooftops. But we need to be big names, untouchable. We need cups. Medals. Honours.”

Yuna cut her eyes to Shane, who was staring down at his ginger ale, his expression frustrated.

“You agree with this?” she asked.

Shane gave a tight nod. “We don’t have a choice,” he said. “It hasn’t come out yet, which means there’s still a chance we can play hockey.”

“Oh, Shane,” she said. “Do you really think the Metros would fire you for this?”

Ilya studied the micro-expressions that flashed over Shane’s face. Finally, it shuttered.

Yes, he did. Something in that locker room had told him that he needed to hide, that he would not be accepted otherwise. Ilya’s fingers tightened on the edge of the bench.

He thought of Boston, his own team. Would they be surprised? Of course, but he couldn’t imagine the GM or coach sending him packing over it. There would be meetings, of course, boundaries discussed, agreements sighed, he was sure. 

But he knew, deep down, that his team would have his back. He already had Marlow and Connors onside, and between the three of them, they would be able to wrangle the rest of the team.

He hated that Shane didn’t have that same certainty, even with Hayden and J.J. by his side.

“They would,” he said quietly. “I’m the captain. I have to be beyond reproach. I have to have the team’s respect. And they wouldn’t-”

Ilya watched the way Shane bit back the words, and felt the anger rise. He had always played hard against Montreal, but most of that was usually directed at Shane, at their wonderful, exhilarating contests.

He had a feeling that from now on, he’d be a lot more focused at slamming the homophobic motherfuckers that had caused this tight, miserable expression on his husband’s face into the boards at every available opportunity.

Shane looked at him, and sighed. “Stop it,” he said. It was firm, his captain’s voice. “You’re not killing my team.”

Ilya bristled. He would do whatever it took to protect Shane, up to and including homicide. “I will not,” he said, “if they don’t give me a reason to.”

“Cups,” Shane reminded him. “We need the cups more.”

Ilya just wanted heads. He turned away from the Hollanders, feeling the tension buzzing under his skin. He hated this. If Shane was on his team, he could at least protect him, stop the team from saying these awful things. But he knew Shane. He probably ignored the homophobic comments, letting them roll off his back, just usual locker room shit. As the captain, he was expected to set the tone of the room, and if he didn’t shut it down, that shit would fester.

And Shane would never do anything to draw attention to himself, not about this. 

Ilya’s first speech once he’d been made captain was about how quickly any discriminatory language would get them shafted down to the AHL or traded to another team. He’d met the gaze of every single team and staff member, showing his firm resolve.

He’d rarely needed to act on it. Once or twice, and even the vets had gotten the message. 

Ilya resolved to talk to Pike about this. To ask him about Montreal’s locker room. To see if there was anything that could be done.

He was sure that Yuna would be able to help, as well. She was an efficient manager. She probably knew Shane’s contract better than he did, or his agent. 

No matter what, he would either find a way to ease some of that underlying tension in Shane’s team or make it possible for Shane to move elsewhere.

Because to Ilya, his long-term plan had them both on the same team, the same line. He wanted it so badly he’d been dreaming about it at night, waking up with his chest aching with longing for a future he wasn’t sure they’d ever reach. Them out and happy and playing together, sharing a home, a locker room, the ice, their whole lives.

He took a deep, calming breath and then another, and then walked over to the oven, checking on the chicken. “Is almost ready,” he said, his voice carefully even. “Shane, could you take out the rice and bring it and the salad to the table?”

Shane set his ginger ale down and walked around the kitchen island, his hip gently bumping into him as he eased past. 

Ilya settled at the touch, turning his head to watch him for a few moments, lips quirking up.

God, but he loved this man.

As Shane walked over the table, he caught Yuna’s eye. Her brow was furrowed, attention slipping from Shane to him, her eyes steely. Her ire wasn’t directed at him. He arched an eyebrow at her and she nodded tightly. Later. For this, for Shane, they would be on the same side.

Reassured, he busied himself making the dressing and pulling the chicken out of the oven, serving up their meal.

Over dinner, the conversation started haltingly, but soon the awkwardness eased as Shane and his parents discussed summer plans, training, whatever the latest brand deals were that Yuna had cooked up for Shane. Ilya watched them, something in his chest settling.

He’d never had anything like this before. Even when his mother had been alive, the threat of his father had hung over the house like a thunderstorm, violence thick in the air. This soft, easy camaraderie was like a warm, spring day, wind easing through the whispering trees.

The tension in Shane eased in slow increments, until he was leaning back in his chair, a soft smile on his lips. His plate was almost empty, and Ilya had fetched him a second ginger ale a little while ago, as well as topping up Yuna’s wine glass and passing David another beer.

It was… nice. 

And even if they weren’t all the way towards accepting him and Shane, even if they were a little wary, they were at least letting him sit here and be part of this, part of their family.

Ilya smiled, resting his chin on his hand, just watching Shane.

He eventually noticed, and his answering smile was immediate, and he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Shane kissed him back gently, a hand brushing gently over Ilya’s cheek.

When he leaned back, Shane was blushing but pleased, and ducked his head to hide his smile.

Across the table, Yuna’s eyes were fond, David’s knowing.

Ilya picked up his fork, speared a piece of chicken and stuffed it into his mouth, blinking fiercely down at the table.

He got to have this. A husband who loved him. A family who would, eventually, support him. A home where he would always be welcomed.

And it was everything.