Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Additional Tags:

Relationship Reveal, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov Relationship Timeline Reveal, Scott Hunter Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, scott hunter is old and has a lot of brain damange, its ok kip loves him anyway, kip gets adopted by wags, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, cliff accidentally terrorizes scott hunter while trying to become his friend, POV Scott Hunter (Game Changers)

Language:

English

Series:

Part 8 of a little more romeo, a little more juliet

Collections:

Zulie's Best of Heated Rivalry

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-22 Words: 10,100 Chapters: 1/1

Scott Hunter vs #1 Ally Cliff Marlow

Summary

It starts with a text.
Scott would really like Cliff to stop stalking him.
also, why is Rozanov here?

Notes

I am a firm believer that Scott has a worse gaydar than Shane.
EDIT: thank you for pointing out i missed editing a huge chunk. thats fixed now, thank you!

May 2016

It started with a text from Cliff Marlow. 

Hey, I wanted to reach out to say congratulations on winning the cup and coming out. That was very brave of you, which I'm sure you're hearing from everyone. It’s true and my wife and I wanted to let you know you've got allies here in Boston. The rest of the Bears were all watching the game, so expect them to reach out too. They all want to offer their support, but if any of them say something let me know and I'll sort it out. Tell your boyfriend(?) hi from us, it was brave of him too. Next time you guys are in Boston, we’ll take you out. I hope New York is taking it well, if they are, they're also invited out. 

Scott had received a lot of messages those first few days, a lot were good, positive, from strangers and players alike. Some were not good, mostly from players who didn't like what he did. This was good, if confusing. He hadn't expected Marlow to reach out, nor did he expect a text from every active player on the Bears. Most were short, congratulating him and Kip, offering support. But they were there, sitting in his messages, Marlow’s on the top. 

Then, a few weeks later, he received an email from Shane Hollander. It was vague, but Scott could read between the lines, unsurprised that Hollander was probably gay. The part that stood out was the allusion to new teammates being enthusiastic in their support. Scott thought about the text from Marlow, but that didn't make sense. Shane played for Montreal, no trade rumors were circling. But what else could he mean?

—

Kip Grady wasn’t lost, he wasn't. He was just trying to figure out how to get back to Scott’s seats where Maria and his dad were waiting for him. He saw a group of women collecting drinks from a vendor. They were all wearing Boston jerseys, but fine, Kip was lost. 

“Excuse me? I’m trying to find section 206, and I think I might have gotten turned around.”

One of the women must recognize him. 

“Oh, hello hun. Yeah, we’re going in that direction, come with us. You’re Kip right? Scott Hunter’s boyfriend?” Kip mentally steels himself for the walk to his seat, unsure of where this conversation will go. 

“Yeah, Kip Grady. That’s me.” He grimaces. 

“It’s nice to meet you Kip, I'm Anita Picco. Dante, #43 is my husband.” The rest of the group introduces themselves and says their hellos. “Our husbands reached out to Scott, of course, but none of us could get in touch with you. It was very brave of you to come out with Scott, being a WAG—or HAB—isn’t easy already. We, the Boston wags, wanted to make sure you were doing ok after everything.”

Oh. “Oh, yeah, I mean, everyone's been great mostly. I didn't really have to worry about anything. Except Scott, but we've gotten support from his team and our friends.”

“That's good. And the New York wags? They’ve been good to you?”

“I mean, yes? We don’t have the most in common, but it's less awkward than it was. I’m in a smaller group with only a few of them, they're nicer and fun to hang out with.”

“Good, good,” Nicole Marlow says from her spot next to him. “Well, we’ll get your number if that's ok, then if you need anything or just want more support, don't hesitate to reach out.”

“Kip,” Anita leans in, lowering her voice, “We want to let you know that Boston is a safe place. and without saying too much, you're not the only HAB out there.” 

Kip stops in his tracks when the words register. What the fuck? He’s not the only HAB? “What?”

The girls exchange looks, Anita and Nicole staying behind and waving off the rest. 

“I can’t tell you anything else, really, I only have permission to say that much. But he wanted you to know you’re not alone, you or Scott. They can't be out yet like you guys, but you’ve got friends in Boston.” Nicole tells him, voice staying low so no one else can overhear. Kip feels overwhelmed. He knows in an abstract sort of way that Scott can't be the only queer hockey player, but to hear from a third party that there was another accepting team with their own queer couple, a couple they’d kept completely secret, it was amazing. Knowing him and Scott had probably helped this couple, gave them hope. Maybe one day they could actually all be out together. 

“That’s…” He’s speechless. 

“We know,” says Anita. “Trust us, we weren’t expecting it either, but the offer stands. If you want to join our SAPs group chat, we’d be happy to have you.”

“I’d love to.” Kip agrees. He likes these women, even if Scott's going to grumble about him making friends with Boston. 

SAPs (cool people)

Nicole has added Kip to the chat

Nicole: operation: acquire newest hab successful!

Anita: Welcome Kip! this is Anita Picco

Janelle: hi! its Janelle hammersmith

Vanessa: Vanessa St Simon! nice to have you

Sam: I'm Sam. I'm Connor's new wife.

Kip: Nice to meet you all, I'm excited to be here. you're all way cooler then nee york wags

Kip: *New York

Anita: Really?

Kip: They're trying. It's just a lot sometimes. Aggressively supportive is the word I'd use.

Sam: good thing we’re not our husbands

Jane: you should have seen the red carpet the boys rolled out for me 

Jane: Hi Kip, it’s nice to meet a fellow HAB. Call me Jane please. 

Kip: Jane? fake name?

Jane: Yeah, unfortunately i could lose my job if it got out, so we’ve got layers of security

Jane: I know you and Scott changed a lot, but if we’re outed, his life could be in danger. 

Kip: omg. That sucks, wtf. don't worry, the secret is safe with me. 

Kip: Thank you for trusting me with this. 

Kip: Hold on! I just remembered that Scott got messages from almost everyone on the bears last summer. Is that why?

Nicole: Yeah, most of us were watching live. They all wanted to reach out. Hope it wasn't too crazy with everything else. 

Kip: not at all, Scott thought it was weird, but we’re grateful for the support. 

Kip: I almost want to go through the messages to see if I can figure out who the gay one is

Jane: Would really prefer if you didn’t, but also you’d never figure it out.

Kip: right! so you’re dating a bear. There’s a gay joke there.

Jane: married, but yes

Jane: The gay joke wouldn’t be accurate, he’s not a bear.

Kip: holy shit! married????

Jane: Yeah. We've been together for a while. since before he was on the bears, technically. 

Vanessa: Did he have to explain the bear joke to you?

Jane: …maybe

Janelle: Holy shit I always forget how long it's been for you two. 

Jane: i lived it

Nicole: yeah while the rest of us were blissfully unaware

Anita: timeline goes crazy

Anita: Can I share the DTR story?

Jane: dtr?

Kip: define the relationship

Jane: oh. You mean our engagement story?

Anita: yeah

Jane: Sure. It's not that exciting. 

Nicole: yea it is

Anita: Kip, this doofus accidentally said I love you to his situationship. 

Anita: then panicked 

Anita: then proposed

Kip: I'm sorry?

Anita: let’s be clear, they were NOT dating, no labels, no talking about feelings. just accidentally got engaged bc they're insane

Kip: you hadn't defined your relationship yet so you decided to get married???

Kip: That's crazy

Kip: gay people are insane

Jane: my husband is bisexual

Jane: he will correct you

Anita: too bad we’re all married, your husband and i would make a fantastic bisexual power couple

Sam: You'd be so toxic to everyone and each other

Nicole: i agree, bad idea

Jane: He says ‘tell Anita we make good bisexuals, not good couple.’

Anita: ouch, but fair

Jane: he also says hi Kip

Kip: hello Jane’s husband

Jane: He says hello Scott hunters boyfriend. 

Anita: he did not

Jane: I'm editing 

Jane: he also says to tell Scott to be prepared

Kip: ominous. why? Should I be concerned?

Jane: no, my idiot of a husband has some sort of plan to make friends with him so he can start a gay hockey players cult. 

Kip: oh, in that case, wish him luck. Maybe one day we can have a full HAB chat. 

—

June 2016

Cliff Marlow of the Boston Bears was hovering in the corner of Scott’s eye. He’d been there all night. Everywhere Scott looked, Marlow was there. It wasn’t bad, just odd, especially after the cryptic email from Hollander and brightly supportive text messages from the Bears, starting with the man currently stalking him. 

Scott tuned back into the conversation happening around him. Since coming out and accepting his award, everyone wanted to talk to him, offering congratulations or telling him how brave he’s been. The same recycled platitudes from straight people who'd never considered how to interact with a gay person. Well, with someone they knew was gay. He puts a polite smile on his face and excuses himself to get some fresh air. 

The roof is blissfully empty. Of people and Cliff Marlow, thank god. Scott leans against the railing and bows his head to run fingers through his hair. A frustrated huff leaves his lips. 

“Is not worth jumping over.” Scott jumps and spins around at the voice. The rooftop is no longer abandoned. Ilya Rozanov, the last fucking person Scott wants to see right now is standing a few feet behind him with a smirk on his smug face. His tie is undone and laying loose around his neck, top buttons of his shirt open, exposing Rozanov’s collarbone. 

“Rozanov, what the fuck do you want?” Rozanov had been one of the people to reach out, surprisingly tame, giving the same platitudes of support captain-to-captain. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. This however, was unwelcome. Being ambushed on an empty rooftop by the one guy unpredictable enough that Scott wasn't sure where this would go. 

“What, Hunter? I cannot come see view?” Rozanov doesn’t move except to raise an eyebrow. Scott huffs again. 

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“No. I follow you up here to talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yes, talk. Are you losing hearing in old age?”

“Fuck off, Rozanov.”

“Hmm.” Rozanov moves now to stand with his back against the railing, looking at Scott. “Was very good what you did. You are hearing this a lot, yes? Is true. Very brave, very good thing, very scary, yes?”

Scott doesn’t know what to say. He can't detect any traces of anything but sincerity in Rozanov’s voice. “Is Boston conspiring? Is that why Marlow is following me?”

Rozanov laughs, head thrown back. “Your boy did not tell you?”

“Tell me what? You talked to Kip?” Scott feels like he’s missing something. Kip didn’t mention having spoken to Rozanov or any of his teammates. And he hadn’t told Scott whatever it is Rozanov's referring to. 

“No, not me. I thought he told you, but is ok. I tell you then.” Another smug grin overtakes his face. “ Boston is very excited to show support to newest HAB. Even if he belongs to New York.”

The words hit him, but Scott still takes a minute to process what he’s been told. New York is not the only team with a HAB. Husbands and Boyfriends, he knows what the acronym stands for. Rozanov is telling him that Boston has a HAB, that means…

“There’s another player that's…” Scott is aware, even though the shock, that he shouldn’t say it, just in case, but it slips out.

Rozanov rolls his eyes, “Yes, you are not only gay player. Your brain is slow, Hunter, save it for hockey. Let young boyfriend do thinking in relationship.”

“Ruck off, Rozanov.”

“Ok.” Rozanov pushes himself off the railing and starts to walk away. He pauses at the door. “Congratulations, Scott Hunter. For award. And thank you, for what you did on ice.”

With that, Ilya Rozanov is gone, leaving Scott alone like his entire world hadn’t shifted on its axis. He knew logically, he couldn't be the only gay—or queer—hockey player. But to actually hear it, maybe not from the source, but to hear it nonetheless, was earth-shattering. He wasn’t alone, kissing Kip on the ice hadn’t just changed their lives, but the lives of other people like them. 

Also, Boston? Boston had a gay player, an out gay player, with a boyfriend. Not completely out, but his team knew and accepted him and his partner. How long had they been keeping this under wraps? How long had this been a big Boston team secret? 

Kip knew. That little shit, Scott thought. He had a boyfriend to call.

Back at his hotel, narrowly escaping Cliff Marlow again (why was he so persistent? What did he want?), Scott calls Kip. 

“Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, I was reading, I just got home from the bar. How were the awards? We tuned in for your speech, it was great.”

“I love you. They were fine, just a bunch of straight people who don't know how to act, but don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

“I love you too.”

“Kip.” Scott doesn’t let his boyfriend continue. “Do you want to tell me why Ilya Rozanov approached me?”

“Ilya Rozanov approached you? Should I be worried?”

“He wanted to talk. He told me something interesting. About the Boston WAGS. Or rather,” Scott narrows his eyes at the way his boyfriend's face lights up in recognition, “The Boston HAB.” Kip is laughing. “Kip!”

“Sorry, sorry. I was supposed to warn you that you might be approached by some overly friendly Bears trying to make friends, but I know you would have done anything to avoid that. Yes, I know about Boston’s HAB. What do you know about Boston’s HAB?”

“I just found out I'm not the only gay player in the league and you're laughing at me.” Scott pouts.

“You big baby, you’re fine. I’m sorry I let you be approached by your nemesis unprepared. But, babe, neither of us is alone.”

“No, you’re right. Yeah, it’s crazy to think about. I wonder if we’ll ever meet them.” He eyes Kip through the screen suspiciously, “Hold on, have you met them?”

“No!” Kip is adamant. “I’m in a group chat with a few of the Boston wags who know. Not all of the wags have met him, but I think all the players have. I haven’t met him, but I do have his number and a fake name.”

“Fake name?” Scott settles against the pillows on the large hotel bed, shock taking a back seat over listening to Kip gossip, he wants to know everything. 

“Yeah, he goes by Jane. Apparently, if he was outed he could lose his job and he doesn’t want to put his husband’s life in danger.”

“Husband!?”

“Oh, yeah! They’re married. Mystery gay Boston player and Jane are married, have been since 2014. They’ve only been out to the team since February.”

Something about that pokes the back of his brain, but he pushes it away, nothing special had happened in February, so it was insane to think he would have noticed a queer hockey player coming out to his team with his husband secretly behind everyone’s backs. 

“Wow. Married? There’s another gay hockey player and he’s gay married to his gay partner and they’re out to his team. That’s insane, babe.”

“I know, but one is bisexual. Jane is very insistent that his husband is bisexual.”

“Semantics, they’re still two men who are married and out to an entire ice hockey team. Not even the Admirals were all supportive. Just because nobody caused problems…” Scott shakes his head. “Good for them. I do hope we can meet them one day.”

“Probably. It would be cool to go on a double date with them. We just have to wait.”

“You’re right.”

“I always am. Also, they want to be your friend. That was part of the warning I was supposed to give you, the Bears are coming and they want to be your friend so they can introduce you to their gay player.”

Scott groans, throwing his head back. “I guess I’ll be nicer if it means more gay friends.”

“That’s my boy. Now, take off your pants, I miss you.”

—

February 2017

Some diabolical moron decided that Hollander and Rozanov should play on the same team for All Stars this year, like they hadn’t all borne witness to the nightmare fuel that was facing the duo on ice for the last several months. 

To make things worse, Scott was on the opposite team. With Cliff Marlow. 

Since coming out, he’d been able to gauge reactions from most players and the luckiest part of this whole weekend was that all of his teammates were on the neutral to positive line. They listened to Scott as their captain, didn’t chirp anything homophobic, and a few had even asked about Kip. 

Cliff Marlow was one of the ones to ask about Kip, after the game in the locker room. 

“Your boyfriend come with you this weekend, Hunter?”

“Yes,” he says, warily, wondering what Marlow's game was. Besides being the Bears personal outreach program for Scott and Scott alone. 

“You should bring him to drinks. There are five of us here from Boston, we’d love to meet him. We’re going out after the skills comp, if you want to come.”

He remembers what Kip said about the Bears bisexual, married player. Scott’s gaydar wasn’t perfect, but he was surprised he never suspected it. He spots the silicone sportswear ring on Marlow’s finger and things click into place. Of course! Marlow’s behavior makes sense. He was one of the first Bears to reach out, then had sent his best friend to talk to Scott on his behalf. 

“Uh, sure, I guess. I’ll ask Kip.” Fuck, Scott is going to have to play nice with Rozanov; at least Hollander will be there. And Cliff Marlow, who is apparently bisexual and married to a man. He can do this as a show of support for a fellow queer player. If they're going out, maybe Marlow’s husband will be there. 

Kip is delighted to be invited, practically shoving Scott out the door while pulling on his coat. 

“Hurry up, Scott. I don’t want to be late.”

“We’re fine, babe.” Kip tugs on his hand, pulling him towards the elevator until they are safely alone inside, headed towards the lobby. 

“Scott, do you really think it's Marlow?”

“Who else? I told you he’s been following me, then the whole Rozanov conversation.”

“Have you considered,” Kip starts, patient in a way he gets sometimes when explaining things to Scott that should make sense, “that they’re the captains of the Bears and it would be less suspicious for them to approach you then maybe a third linesman? We don't actually know who it is and if it’s so dangerous for them to come out, maybe they won’t risk it at All Stars.”

“So they sent the captains in their place.” Scott concedes.

“They sent Rozanov and Marlow in their place,” agrees Kip. “Also, I’ve met Marlow’s wife.”

The elevator doors open and Kip strides out, dragging a stunned Scott with him. They almost get stopped in the lobby by a few people who want to say hello, but they manage to convey ‘we have plans’ and escape. 

Making their way towards the address Marlow gave Scott, the couple is surprised to find themselves at a gay bar. It’s lowkey, reminiscent of the Kingfisher, but still a gay bar. Kip exchanges a look with his boyfriend, who looks flabbergasted at entering a gay bar. Which is ridiculous because they’re gay and meeting gay-friendly people about another gay couple. 

“Don’t be weird, Scott.” Kip warns. Scott pouts. 

“I’m not going to be weird.” He promises. “Even if I don't know what's happening.”

At a back booth sits the captain of the Boston Bears, his alternate, their newest teammate, a rookie named Clarke, and Tanner Simmons. The latter had also been on Scott's team for All Stars. 

The couple join them, sliding into the round booth at one end. Scott puts himself between Kip on the end and Simmons. There are several beers on the table and one fancy looking drink with an umbrella in front of Marlow. He shoots Kip a quick look out of the corner of his eye. 

“Hey, man,” greets Simmons, holding out a hand to shake, extending it to Kip as well. “Nice to meet you. Kip, right?”

“Oh. uh, yeah. I'm Kip Grady, Scott's boyfriend.” Kip shakes his hand. “Its nice to meet you all.”

His boyfriend is too kind, Scott thinks. Rozanov already has a smug look on his face. 

“Hunter, you are cradle robber now? Boyfriend is too young and sexy for you.”

“Fuck off, Rozanov.” The man just grins wider, turning his attention to Kip, ignoring Scott.

“Kip, yes? People have been good to you? Nice?”

“Oh.” Kip wasn't expecting that; he glances at his boyfriend who is equally as surprised at the civility. “Yeah, mostly people have been good. I don’t come to many big hockey events like this, but I figured All Stars could be fun.”

Rozanov sits back and nods, draping an arm over the back of the booth behind Hollander, “Good. New York players are good?” he asks the both of them. 

“Yes, Rozanov,” Scott rolls his eyes, it was weird to be having a civil conversation with the man who drove him insane, and not in a fun way. “New York's been good. There were some guys who took some time to come around, but no one outright said anything. They’ve been good.” he wants to redirect the conversation. “Hollander, you're on the Bears now. How's that? Always thought you'd retire a Voyager.”

Hollander shrugs, taking a sip of his ginger ale, “It was a change I needed. The Bears have been great, very welcoming. Even if they're meddling idiots sometimes.”

“Hey!” protests Bugsy. 

“The rookie gets a pass, it was well intentioned.”

“What do you mean by meddling?” Kip asks “Are you talking about Jane?”

“Jane?” Scott asks. 

“The Boston HAB,” Kip reminds Scott before turning to Hollander. “He mentioned something about the Bears basically kidnapping him from his old job.”

Hollander is staring at him weirdly, “Yeah, Jane.”

Cliff snorts, hand coming up to cover the bottom of his face, “We call them Romeo and Juliet.”

“Why?” Scott asks.

“Code names, so we can talk about them in public.” Simmons shrugs,  “And because it's cute.”

“Don’t they die in that one?” Kip says, to shrugs around the table.

“They’re Romeo and Juliet with a happy ending.”

“Oh-kay,” draws out Kip. “Well Scott and I were talking about doing a double date sometime, when they’re ready to introduce themselves. Just something private if they want, like dinner or something.”

The Bears all exchange looks with each other. Marlow looks especially delighted about something, making eyebrows at Hollander who is pressing his lips together and shaking his head. Scott watches this happen, having the sudden thought that Shane Hollander had always given him a vibe. That must be it, Scott thinks, proud of his gaydar. Hollander is the gay player.

Except no. Scott remembers Kip telling him that the queer, married player on the Bears was bisexual and while Shane could certainly be bisexual, Scott didn’t think so. So maybe there were more queer players on the Bears, but Shane wasn’t ready to come out yet. It made sense. Let the attention be on the married couple who were ready to tell at least Scott and Kip about themselves. Scott would keep Hollander’s secret until he was ready. 

In truth, Scott was a little jealous that the Boston Bears got two queer players, one of which was married, with the support of their team. New York wasn’t the worst place to be gay, but Scott’s bravery had come at the cost of a few friendships. It stung.

He tunes back into where Kip and Shane are discussing Scott's hockey stats. Or Shane is explaining to Kip the difference and importance of each one. Kip looks incredibly interested, leaning forward slightly, his hand on his boyfriend’s knee. Scott takes a sip of his beer, watching Rozanov watch Hollander talk. Something about the way his eyes trained on the other man was odd. Scott couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. He’d call it possessive if he was stupid, but he settles on Rozanov being weird about his rival being his teammate. It must be weird to compete against someone your whole career and suddenly have to share the same side of the ice with someone you dislike. Hollander to his credit doesn’t look bothered by Rozanov’s behavior, remaining professional. Unphased by the unrooting of his life into enemy territory. 

More power to him, dealing with Roz everyday.

“So, Scotty, what’s the plan next time you’re in Boston?” Cliff Marlow is talking to him.

“Sorry?” He gives the man his attention.

“New York plays in Boston in a month.” He says it like it's obvious. “Are we going out? Boston’s got some great gay clubs.”

“We scouted out some private ones,” says Simmons. “Bring any of your teammates who are chill, we’ll go out and celebrate Boston’s win.”

The last part is said with a teasing grin. 

“You want us to go clubbing in Boston with you?” Scott asks.

“Yeah! Come one, bring your boy and we’ll show you how Boston parties.”

“I’ll think about it.” Kip jumps in to try and convince his boyfriend this could be a good idea.

“Come on, Scott! Let’s go out with them.”

“Babe, Boston?” 

“If we must, but I want to see how the Boston gays do it. Besides,” Kip lowers his voice to whisper in his boyfriend’s ear, “Don’t you want to see a bunch of hockey players in a gay bar?”

Scott considers this. Even just a few months ago, his answer would be no, but these guys are trying and he does think it would be funny to watch them try and navigate a queer space. He spares a quick glance at Rozanov and imagines the womanizer trying to flirt with a lesbian or getting hit on by a man. By now, Scott doesn’t think he’d try anything, but it would be funny to find one thing the Russian wasn’t good at.

“Fine, we’ll see.” Cheers from the table.

—

“Scott Hunter is stupid,” Ilya announces to the group when Scott and Kip are gone, “He has terrible gaydar.”

“Oh I’m glad I'm not the only one that noticed.”

“What do you mean?” asks Bugsy.

“He didn’t notice that Ilya and I are together,” Shane explains. “They asked when they would get to meet Jane. Kip said when we’re ready to introduce ourselves, they’d love to go on a double date. They don’t know it’s us.”

“Hunter is too old, his brain is not working,” Ilya is delighted at the obliviousness of Scott Hunter. Shane already knows his husband is going to have too much fun messing with Hunter, but seriously? Shane didn’t care, because his own gaydar might be bad, but not that bad.

“We’ll take them to that one club with no phones, see how long it takes him to notice you two.”

“Yes, solnyshko, we will be gross and obvious and he will still say, Rozanov, you are straight, why are you being asshole and dancing with gay people? Do not kiss gay people if you are not gay. And I will say, no I am not gay, but my husband is. And he will have heart attack in old age.”

“Stop.” Shane pinches his husband's thigh, “He won’t have a heart attack, he’ll have an aneurysm from his brain overloading. I can’t believe neither of them put it together. I told Kip we were trying to be friends with them and they still didn’t…” Shane shakes his head,

“To be fair, Scott should have noticed in Vegas, but it’s a big jump from there’s a gay married couple on the Bears to famous ex-rivals Hollander and Rozanov are married. We wouldn’t have noticed except we’re around Roz more.”

Ilya scoffs, “I thank him for kissing boyfriend on ice and he thinks I am what? Ally?”

“Well, just imagine the look on his face when he does figure it out,” Cliff points out, already doing just that. Their own surprise was tempered by the fact that Roz had been on his way to the hospital at the time, worried about their captain and his partner over the shock of who said partner was. Not to say there wasn’t a few weeks of that really happened? It’s really him? Holy shit, this is crazy! But, it would be fun to watch from the outside.

—

March 2017

The Admirals lose against the Bears, but Scott still agrees to meet up with a small group at a bar near the Admirals hotel with a few teammates. It’s no gay club, but it is a sports bar with a flag in the window. None of the patrons spare them more than passing looks, making it obvious that this is a regular spot for athletes and the regular crowd is used to it. Scott himself doesn’t even get a lot of extra looks, just double takes before the eyes move on.

Carter buys their drinks and meets him at a booth, squishing in beside Scott and Cale. On the opposite side is Rozanov in the middle between Hollander on the open end and St Simon against the wall. Sitting in the booth behind the three and leaning over to join the conversation is Marlow, Carmichael, and Hammersmith.

“Welcome to the Cathedral,” greets Vicky.

“Thank you,” says Scott. “It’s no club, but it’s nice.”

“Ha! Yeah, we figured we’d do something more low-key after beating you so badly.” The score hadn’t been that bad, Admirals losing 3-2.

“Fuck off. We’ll just beat you on our home ice.”

“Ah, yes. Easier to play at home, Hunter? Not good for old men to travel so much.”

“Fuck you, Rozanov.”

“No thank you. Dinosaur is not my type.” Scott can’t help but flush at that. It was so easy for Rozanov to get under his skin, being an asshole just came so naturally to him. 

“What is your type Roz? Because I’m pretty sure TMZ just ran an article about how your party days are over. Running out of steam already?”

“What? I party. Hollander, tell them I party.” Rozanov is pouting at his teammate. Hollander just raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, I’m aware you still party. That’s not what Vaughn meant. He meant you no longer have a reputation for fucking your way through every city you play in.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “I have very specific type. Cannot be found just anywhere.”

“So you’re not sleeping around?” asks Scott in disbelief, intending to join in on chirping the Russian, but now he’s just baffled. Rozanov looks very proud of himself, for what is anybody's guess.

“Nope.”

“So what is this very specific type? Did the great Ilya Rozanov get bored of all the regular supermodels?” Vaughn laughs.

“Maybe I like boring, yes?” Rozanov lounges back, arms stretching across the booth to lay them behind his seatmates. “My type is freckles. And boring.”

“Boring? You like boring and freckles? Hate to break it to you, but that’s not very specific. Also, I don’t believe you.”

“I am not done. Yes, boring with freckles. Also, must be athlete, like me, and model.”

“Again, hate to break it to you, but that doesn’t narrow things down at all. There are so many people who fit that description.”

Rozanov just hums and removes one arm from behind Victor to lift his beer to his lips. Scott notices a red flush across Hollander’s face, highlighting his own freckles. Oh, maybe Hollander has a crush on Rozanov. Well, that sucks for him. Scott’s been in that position before, crushing on a straight man, especially one who’s just admitted that they would be attracted to a girl version of you. Rough. Scott makes a mental note to try and bring it up later, maybe get Hollander to open up a little, gay man to gay man.

“Trust us, Roz’s type is very specific. Even if it doesn’t seem like it, he’s a lover boy at heart.” Marlow throws in from behind his friend. It must be some sort of inside joke because the rest of Boston erupts in laughter, even a few of the patrons from surrounding tables that overheard the quip join in. One man covering his mouth and snorting, his companion slapping the table and pressing his lips together. 

“Lover boy? Rozanov? Not a chance, I don’t believe it.”

“Yeah, Marly, I am big scary Russian. I am not lover boy.” Rozanov’s grin seems sarcastic to Scott, but he doesn’t know why they’ve made up this big joke or where it came from. Rozanov’s reputation preceded him, so he was curious how a joke about Roz being the exact opposite had started. And how regular denizens were in on it. 

“Alright. Hollander!” calls out Vaughn, “You’re new to the Bears, what’s Rozanov’s type? The secret behind the parties? Are any of the rumors true?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re unbiased! He’s rival-turned-teammate and you haven’t had enough time to be brainwashed into the chaos!” Hollander huffs out a laugh, shaking his head and sitting up to lean closer.

“You want to know the truth?” The Admirals lean in, eager to get a straight answer. “Rozanov is a lover boy who never goes home with any women, ever.”

The assorted Bears cheer at his answer, a shit-eating grin on his face as he accepts the shoulder claps and ribbing from his teammates.

“Nooo! They’ve infected Hollander. Come on!” whines Wagner, flopping back against the booth, “You really expect us to believe that? This is a stupid joke.”

“Is very funny, actually,” says a delighted looking Rozanov. “One day, it will be more funny. You will look back and laugh. Haha, Rozanov is very funny.”

“Keep telling yourself that, but one day, we’re going to rescue Hollander from Boston because it’s not fair that you two work so well together and you’ve infected him with your chaos. At least he hasn’t started getting into fights, so there’s still hope.”

The shit-eating grin on Rozanov’s face turns into something sharper, “I would like you to try, will never work.”

The conversation turns to something else with a smooth transition from Carmichael. Scott gets up to get another beer, finding himself at the bar with Marlow. This guy is just everywhere, Scott thinks.

“There a reason you’ve been following me?” Scott blurts out. He’s mortified, but Cliff only looks a little taken aback.

“I’m not following you, I just happen to be at a lot of places you’re also at.”

“And you follow me around those places,” points out Scott. Marlow shrugs.

“I have a mission.”

“A mission?”

“Yeah, mission: introduce you to more gay people,” he says. Scott just stares, giving the other man a look that he hopes conveys what the fuck?

“You’ve been put on a mission?” Marlow accepts his drink from the bartender.

“We told you, Boston’s got some people for you to meet. Not my fault you haven’t put it together.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means, Hunter, that you’re blind as a bat. All the answers are in front of you, just put them all together.” He takes a drink, “They’ve never told anyone before. Us, the Bears, finding out was an accident, but they want you and your boy to figure it out. Said it’s not fair for you to think you’re alone, but they can’t just come out and tell you, so…” Cliff shrugs, “we’ve been dropping clues until you notice. We really thought you’d get it at All Stars.”

“Ok? I’m still confused. Why can’t they just reach out, tell us themselves?” Marlow sighs, sitting down at the barstool, gesturing for Scott to join him.

“Look, Scotty. I’ll never be in your shoes. Never know what it’s like to be gay or gay and playing hockey. 100% ally over here, so I don’t want you to think what I’m going to say is coming from a bad place. Most of it doesn’t even come from me.” Scott nods along, keeping his mouth shut in the hopes of actually getting a straight answer. “Here’s the thing, you’re a white, American man from New York. Your boyfriend is a grad student, good looking, completely unconnected to hockey. When it comes to optics, you guys hit the lottery. Or as close to it as you can get in your situation.”

Cliff takes another drink, letting his words sink in.

“Our Romeo and Juliet? They don’t have that security, not even close. It’s so much more dangerous for them. If they get caught, they won’t just lose their jobs, they could lose the respect of everyone in their lives just for being together; Juliet could lose his life if things go wrong and we can’t protect him. When we kidnapped Romeo, it’s in part because we thought his life would be in genuine danger if his job found out. He’s still in the same profession, but the Boston branch is safer. They don’t have a nice acceptable story to sell the general population. Those of us who know think they’re adorable, a love story for the ages. But that’s why we call them Romeo and Juliet, adorable love story, fucked up circumstances. Anyone else would have crashed and burned through the darkness and hardship, but them? They figured it out and fought for it. So, no, they can’t just tell people. They’ve never told anyone their secret, we just had enough information to figure them out and we had to do a lot of damage control initially. We, and they, won’t risk the wrong person finding out.”

“If they don’t tell me outright, no one can say I told you so,” Scott mulls over the new information. Obviously, he understands what Cliff is saying. This couple has more to fight through than just being gay. Apparently their entire relationship would be a problem if it was found out. It was a wonder he and Kip had been approached at all. He runs a hand down his face. “Ok, I get it. Why would they put themselves through that?”

“Because they love each other.” It’s said like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Scott understands that, thinking about Kip. Everything was worth it because he and Kip loved each other and wanted to make it work. Marlow claps him on the shoulder and stands, “Just some food for thought. If you figure it out, let us know. But if you don’t, you’re still welcome in Boston.”

Scott is left alone, to be eventually joined by his teammates, but for now he just thinks about what Marlow has told him. Those of us who know think they’re adorable, but they don’t have a nice story to sell the public. They don’t have that security. The security of not being a minority, of having a fall back, of not being in a homophobic sport. They might have the Bears now, but how long didn’t they? How long was it just the two of them, terrified of being found out and choosing to do it anyway. He couldn’t even claim the same, the long year of separation from Kip when Scott had been too afraid to make a choice. Scott is sad just thinking about it. He’s also a little jealous that they managed to choose each other despite the hardships.

He resolves to call Kip as soon as he gets back to the hotel. 

—

February 2018

All Stars this year is being held in Boston, just Scott’s luck. He almost declined again this year, but Kip was on a trip with his friends and the other option was sitting home alone all weekend. Besides, it wasn’t the hockey he was looking forward to, it was the after party. Cliff Marlow had once again reached out to send Scott an address for a classy queer club that enforced a strict no-phone and privacy policy for their patrons. Basically, it catered to anyone who didn’t want or couldn’t be out yet. The club had a reputation for cracking down hard on leaks and over the years had lived up to a reputation of being safe for closeted celebrities. He hands over his ID to verify his identity.

Scott was surprised at the number of Boston locals occupying the club, none of them batting an eye at the hoard of hockey players invading their space, but perhaps it was a common enough occurrence for them. Boston wasn’t LA, but gay people were gay people, and protecting their own–celebrity or not–came easy to this crowd.

He sees Shane Hollander across the room, sitting at a table on an elevated platform with a group of not only teammates, but a few strangers as well. When he gets closer, he hears that Shane is explaining how the scoring race works with occasional input from a woman with spiky hair. She seems to be a fellow hockey player, just for the PWHL. She has her arm around another woman who is chatting to one of the Bear’s wives he doesn’t recognize. 

It’s Connors who spots him first, coming up behind him and clapping him enthusiastically on the shoulder. “Hey, man. Great of you to join us, we’ve got beer on the table if you want any. Otherwise, bar is that way.” 

“Oh, thank you.” Connors smiles and grabs a cup from the table, chugging it down.

“Sam, come dance with me!” He reaches for the woman’s hand.

“I’m talking, Connor,” she laughs.

“Your friend can come with us!” Connors reaches his other hand towards his wife’s conversation partner. “Her wife is busy talking hockey with Hollzy. Come on you two! Roz is waiting.”

Both women decide to follow him to the dance floor, Connors keeping a hand on his wife’s waist and keeping her close while they find a spot and start to dance. Scott takes a seat and waves at Hollander to continue the conversation. He lets his eyes wander, taking in the scene. Finding the Bears is easy, each of them hulking in the room. Most of them are also dancing with women, so they stand out in a gay club. Scott spots Rozanov in the crowd to his surprise. He was sure when he hadn’t seen him, that Rozanov maybe just wasn’t here. But instead, Rozanov is dancing very closely between a couple who seem more interested in each other than the hockey player. Rozanov lets himself move around the dance floor, moving his body with a confidence that suggests mastery. 

Scott loses sight of him briefly, so he turns back to Hollander and the PWHL player, “Sorry, Scott Hunter,” he introduces himself.

“Rayne Willard, goalie for the Fleet. I know who you are,” she introduces herself.

“Right,” Scott says back. He wants to say something else, but he’s not sure what. 

“How are you doing, Scott?” Hollander asks. He’s grateful for the question.

“I’m good, Kip’s good. How are you?” Scott looks around, “Never expected to find you in a place like this.”

“Yeah, well,” Hollander shrugs, “I’ve been pulled out of my comfort zone. It’s not all bad. The privacy part helps.”

“I bet. I never knew this was here.”

“It’s invitation only.” Scotts looks at him incredulously.

“How did an entire hockey team get an invitation?” Hollander laughs at him.

“One of Ilya’s friends, Sveta, vouched for some of us. Then we were able to vouch for the rest of them.” He shrugs like he hasn’t turned Scott’s world upside down, “Not everyone comes, but we’ve got a good group for stuff like this.”

“We are talking about me?” Speak of the devil. Ilya Rozanov appears behind Scott, stripping his sweaty shirt off and throwing it neatly over the back of a chair.

“No, Scott was asking how we got the team into an exclusive queer club.” 

“You must know gay person,” says Rozanov, “or be gay person.”

“I figured that much out, thank you.” Scott watched Rozanov smack an obnoxious kiss to Willard’s cheek.

“Your wife is dancing without you,” he says to her.

“Yeah, and what are you doing out there by yourself?” She counters, eyebrows raised. Rozanov sticks his tongue out at her and turns to Hollander.

“Hollander, come dance.” Hollander sighs, but starts to slide out of the booth, reaching a hand out for Rozanov to grab and pull him up.

“Have fun!” Willard calls, “I guess I’m keeping you company, Scott Hunter.”

“Yeah,” Scott is distracted, his eyes trailing after Rozanov and Hollander, the former leading them to an open spot near teammates and spinning them to face each other. “Did Rozanov just ask Hollander to dance?”

“Yes? Why are you confused?” Scott looks at her. She’s watching him over her drink, eyebrows raised at him now. She makes a gesture and says, “I thought you knew? About, you know.”

“Knew what?” Scott wracks his brain and lands on the only thing he can think of, but… “Is this about Bear’s queer player? And his husband?”

Willard nods.

“Yes, I know about them, but I’ve never met them. What does that have to do with Hollander and Rozanov?” 

Willard is still staring at him, silently judging, and Scott’s not sure why. The silence stretches. Scott shifts uncomfortably. He’s not about to air his suspicions about Hollander, besides, it still doesn’t answer his question. Well, if Shane still has a crush on Rozanov, that would explain his actions, but Rozanov’s still confuse him. 

“Scott Hunter, you have a terrible gaydar,” Willard sighs, setting her drink down. “The bisexual hockey player and his husband.”

Understanding dawns slowly on Scott. “You can’t be suggesting that Shane and Rozanov? No, that’s not right. Rozanov’s–” Scott cuts himself off from saying he’s straight, bisexual hockey player, well fuck. The conversation with Cliff Marlow a year ago comes back to him in pieces, they don’t have a nice story to sell the public; they don’t have the same security you do; his life could be in danger. Scott remembers being in Russia during the Olympics, remembers the shock of learning Shane Hollander had suddenly been traded to Boston and Boston keeping it a secret so well, remembers Rozanov thanking him in Vegas after coming out. Fuck everything, this can’t be happening. Scott drops his head into his hands and rubs at his eyes. 

“What the fuck?” Willard only laughs at him. He sees her arm move out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t linger on the action. “What the fuck? Hollzy and Roz?” he hisses.

“What’s up?” A new voice has joined them. The devil’s sidekick, Cliff Marlow. “What happened to Hunter?”

“He just figured out the Romeo and Juliet thing.” Marlow starts cackling.

“Holy shit dude, you ok?” Scott groans.

“Romeo and Juliet?” is all he can say.

“Romeo and Juliet, rivals who fell in love? Ringing any bells?” He gets it now, and hates how stupid it is. This whole time, the other queer hockey player had actually been queer hockey players. Scott can’t wait to tell Kip, but he also wants to die a little. “Yeah, he gets it. Any questions, Scotty?”

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah, that was our first question too,” Marlow shrugs and pours himself a beer. “What finally clued you in?”

“Ilya asked Shane to dance.”

“Oh, is that why I saw Hollzy on the floor? I thought I might have had too much to drink.”

“Naw, Roz took his shirt off.” Cliff hums in agreement at the information. Scott looks towards the dance floor, scanning until he spots Rozanov near the wall dancing in a way that could only be described as slutty. He had his hands on Hollander’s waist, one hand trailing occasionally to his ass and squeezing. Their foreheads are almost pressed together and Shane’s arms are around Rozanov’s neck. They look like any other couple in the room, but Scott can’t tear his eyes away from what’s happening. He feels like he’s hallucinating and takes a moment to peer into his beer like it could give him answers. 

“You good, Hunter?” Willard’s voice pulls him back.

“I don’t know?”

“You really never put it together before?” Marlow asks. “I mean, I knew you hadn’t, but we really thought you would have figured it out.”

Scott shakes his head and decides to just start asking questions until something makes sense, “How did you find out? I remember you telling me you figured it out by yourself.”

“It was a group effort,” starts Marlow. “We had a group chat dedicated to finding out who our captain's mystery Montreal girl was, then there was an incident with the rookies and we found out that it was actually Montreal boy. Then, remember Hollander’s injury? In New York?”

He groans, remembering driving Carter to the hospital to apologize.

“Yeah, we were all watching that game when Roz calls me to tell me his mystery boy is in the hospital in, get this, New York. Wasn’t hard to put together and we had to tell them we knew. Rest is history, we kidnap Hollander, win a ton of Stanley cups, etc, etc.”

“We are talking about Stanley cups now?” Rozanov appears with Hollander behind him. Both are out of breath and sweaty from the heat of the club. 

“Scott figured it out,” says Marlow, “I think he thinks he’s being punked.”

Rozanov, the asshole, just starts laughing, “Finally! I thought you would never figure it out.”

“In my defense, no one would have guessed this!” Scott defends himself, “Seriously, what the fuck?”

Shane sits down in his abandoned seat and pulls Rozanov to sit next to him. Ilya drapes an arm around Hollander's shoulders and lounges back, a lazy grin aimed at Scott while his fingers lightly drum on Shane’s arm. 

“Hunter, we gave you clues. Told boyfriend and put him in group chat.”

“How were we supposed to guess that it was you two?” he exclaimes, “We were told that there was a bisexual hockey player with a husband, not that there were two gay hockey players!”

“Yes, was supposed to be a little bit secret."

“I thought maybe Hollander was gay, but I never connected that it was you two!”

“So what, you think we have a bisexual married player and a separate different gay player and the two aren't related?”

“Not every gay person has to date each other!”

“But sometimes they do, yes? You did not think maybe Hollander was dating fellow hockey player?”

“See, you’re calling him Hollander and you expect me to piece together that you’re dating!?”

“Not dating, married,” Scott freezes, one finger still raised and pointing at the Russian. 

“Married. Right, shit, that means you two are married.”

“Yes, Hunter, we are young and sexy. Of course we are married.”

“When— how did that happen? I'm struggling to wrap my head around this? you two are—were— rivals and now what? You two are married? Hollander joins the Bears and you put it all behind you and hook up?”

“No, actually, I joined the Bears after we got married. Which we told you,” Hollander’s tone is amused. Scott is remembering a few minutes before when Marlow had explained how they'd figured out Shane was with Rozanov. The fucking hit from Carter. 

“Fuck, the hit.” Shane nods. 

“Yeah, that's when Ilya's team put it together, but we were already together then. I actually recovered in Boston. It was closer than Montreal.”

“Shit, that’s why the nurse wouldn't let us up to your room.”

“Couldn't have you running into Ilya,” Shane nods.

“You were really together before you were in Boston?” Ilya's grin widens. 

“We have been together longer than you think, Hunter.”

“How long is that?”

“Guess.”

Scott looks to Marlow for help, and gets none. None of the other teammates who have since joined him are any help either. 

“Sorry, man, we don't actually know.”

“We know when they got married, but not how long they've been together.”

“We’ve all got bets placed though, even if they're super secretive about the rest of it.”

“Guess, Hunter.”

“Yeah, come on, I want to know if you can figure it out!”

“Ok, ok. You two have been married since before you two were on the same team. Ok, then I guess you've been married since…” Scott wracks his brain for anything that makes sense. The truth is, nothing makes sense. Not the relationship, not the ambiguous timeline, nothing. He thinks back to everything Kip told him from the SAP chat he was in with, well, one of the two. probably Shane, considering the fake name was Jane. Ok, see, Scott could put together clues. Kip mentioned that Jane had been married to his husband since…

“There's no way it's been since 2014,” he says when the year occurs to him. There are cheers at his guess and he groans. He’s not sure he wants to be right. He thinks back to the year, it would have been the Olympics. Boston had also won a cup that year. 

“Yes, 2014. Shane Hollander asked me to marry him.”

“Hollander asked you?” Scott's not sure he believes that. It’s inconceivable that Canada’s golden boy had asked the world's biggest pain in the ass to marry him. No way.

“I did. He won the cup and the MVP award that year, so,” he shrugs, “we talked and we decided to get married. I think if we weren't famous hockey players, we would have just gotten married in Vegas, but that would have defeated the whole secret thing.”

“Vegas? Oh my god, at the MLH awards?”

“God, Hunter, you are so old your brain is broken?” Ilya chirps, “Yes, we got married, but not until after Vegas. Is not our anniversary.”

“I'm scared to ask when it is.”

“June 27th!” comes the combined voices of everyone at the table minus the happy couple. Scott blinks at the cacophony.

“Ok?”

“Was week after Vegas,” explains Rozanov. “Is important date for us, not just when we got married.”

“So June, what 27th, is your relationship anniversary and not just your wedding anniversary?”

“Yeah.”

“What year?”

“That's the guessing part,” says Connors. “They won't tell us. I mean there's only so many options, but they won't confirm yet.”

“Kip’s gotten the engagement story, you should ask him about it, it might help,” Shane tells him, smug look on his face, “or it might not.”

“Kip has heard your engagement story?” Scott didn't realize that Kip would have heard all these things from the group chat, “Really?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Fuck, this is insane, you get that right?”

“We know. It’s why we let you figure it out on your own instead of just telling you.”

“We did not expect old age to get you first.”

“Go fuck yourself, Rozanov.”

“No, I would rather fuck my husband.” 

“Jesus Christ. How did he manage to score you?” Roaring laughter rings out. “No offence, but you have a reputation. And Hollander doesn’t.” Willard almost falls out of her chair with how hard she’s shaking, Connors’ wife falling on top of her when her husband shoves her in amusement. Scott is bewildered by the reaction. “What? It’s a valid question. You’re the biggest asshole in the league! Notoriously opposite of Hollander in every way, how on earth did this start?”

Hollander is red in the face, but Scott can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or from trying not to laugh. Rozanov looks delighted, arm hooking around his husband to pull him closer with a growl.

“Hunter thinks you are too boring for me.”

“He’s wrong.”

“Yes, I know. Should I tell him I score you? You seduce me with pretty freckles first?” Rozanov starts pressing kisses to Hollander’s head and face.

“Here’s what you need to know, Scotty boy,” Marlow leans in, “Hollander there is secretly an asshole and Rozanov is whipped. You can’t tell anyone, they have reputations to maintain, you understand.”

“Whipped? Rozanov?” Marlow’s nod is not reassuring. Scott can’t imagine Hollander being the one to make the first move. He also can’t reconcile the partying asshole he knows with the image that whipped conjures in his mind. 

“The other thing is you need to remember it’s always the quiet ones.” It’s said with a wink that makes Scott’s face flush at the implication. He looks over at the couple and remembers how they were dancing earlier. He cuts that line of thinking off.

—

When Scott is finally home, he lets himself digest the insanity of the last few days. Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, married. The two best hockey players—and Scott will only admit that in the privacy of his own mind—we’re both queer and married to each other. That just didn’t happen. It would be like Michael Jackson and Prince are suddenly married, or Princess Diana and Camilla are actually lovers. It didn’t make sense, but it was real and it was a mind fuck. 

Kip lets him get through dinner before confronting him. 

“Scott, what’s got you all preoccupied? How was All Stars?”

“Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.”

“What about them?”

“Remember Jane and his bisexual hockey player husband?”

“Yes…” Kip’s eyes lit up in recognition and he reached out to shake his boyfriend, “Scott. Scott! Are you telling me it’s them?”

Scott nods, “They invited me to a gay club. They’re married. Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are married to each other.”

“Oh, my god. That's amazing.”

“No, not amazing. Well yes, maybe. I just- can’t believe it. It’s Rozanov, the biggest asshole in the league and Canada’s golden boy. You couldn’t find two people more different and they’ve been married for four years. Four years, Kip!” Scott is pacing around their apartment now, waving his arms around. Kip looks on in amusement, “They told me you know the engagement story.”

“Oh! Yes, I do. So get this, they were hooking up, then Jane, Shane, accidentally confessed his love and then proposed they just get married! Just straight past boyfriends to husbands.”

His jaw drops, whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. Hollander was right, the context of how they’d gotten engaged didn’t help clear anything up. They’d been hooking up prior to 2014, but Scott can’t imagine when the hooking up would have started where it would make sense that they’d gotten married. The other thing is it sounds like it had been a spur of the moment thing, so they couldn’t have been hooking up for that long, right? He says as much to Kip, who looks contemplative.

“No idea, it could go either way. Shane has said that they both knew feelings were involved when they got married, but I don’t know what that means for their timeline.”

“Fuck.” Kip leaves his boyfriend to his spiraling. Later in bed, he asks Kip why it wasn’t driving him as crazy as it was driving Scott. “Because babe, I didn’t know anything about hockey until you and I didn’t start following it closely until we came out. By then, they were already on the same team. I just don’t have the same hurdle to get over.”

Kip cuddles closer to his boyfriend, “Too bad they’re already married, I would love to go to their wedding. The first husbands of hockey, they’ll call them.”

"Yeah, despite how crazy the whole thing is, I think I'm happy for them. They found each other at least and they seem happy."

The first husbands of hockey, fitting, Scott thinks, It’s always been them–

Before he can finish his thought, the train jumps tracks into a new idea, but he shuts it down immediately. There’s no way he’s remembering that year correctly, just because he’d seen both of them leave out the door that leads to the roof after the awards…

Hollander and Rozanov have not been hooking up since rookie season.