Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

referees, Crack Treated Seriously, POV Outsider, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Crack, Caught, these guys can't keep a secret, Secret Relationship, Texting

Language:

English

Series:

Part 3 of Zebra Huddle

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-19 Words: 1,943 Chapters: 1/1

Zebra Huddle: Mel's Version

Summary

Stairwells at midnight, bar service and All Star games

or

Referees might love their group chats, but somehow it was Mel who became the keeper of Shane and Ilya's secrets.

(kind of sequel to Zebra Huddle)

Notes

I'm not sure how the first story blew up, but hey, not complaining. This one is a little different from the first two but we learn a bit about Mel and Terry!

I’m gonna be honest, I have no idea how these things kept happening to me.

It started in 2014. My now ex-boyfriend and I had just moved in together. Officiating for the MLH pays decent, but it was Kevin’s income as an attorney that paid for the open concept, newly renovated apartment in a fantastic neighbourhood in Montreal.

I first spotted Shane Hollander one day as I carried an armload of groceries in from my car. Hollander was just coming off the elevator, gear bag over one shoulder, headphones on, looking at something on his cellphone. He didn’t even see me as he turned toward the front entrance.

I spotted him a few other times, passing each other without interacting. My profession means coming into contact with big name athletes all the time, it was nothing new. I actually had a rule not to approach any players I recognized unless they approached me first, which worked quite well with my introverted nature.

The evening in question started with officiating a game between Boston and Montreal. Those games were always fun, very fast, lots of hits; Boston and Montreal hated each other and they went hard. Rozanov and Hollander had been going after each other harder than usual. After the game, I was joking with one of the linesmen that Rozanov must owe Hollander money, the way they were hitting each other.

I got home to an empty apartment. Kevin had left a message saying he was stuck at work. I’ll be honest, I’m a bit of a night owl on game days. I could never seem to settle, probably the adrenaline. I paced my apartment for a while, made a sandwich, but eventually gave up and changed into my runners.

Our apartment was on the second floor, right next to the stairwell that went to the back exit. That door opened to the alley, which led to a park where I often ran in the evening.

This particular evening though, I pushed open the door quietly (it was nearly midnight and I didn’t want to bother my neighbours) and looked down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs was Shane Hollander. He was dressed in soft sweats, completely relaxed. Actually, relaxed isn’t quite the right word. He looked he had been fucked six ways from Sunday; like he had been fucked until his bones were liquid and his nervous system had gone on vacation.

The most interesting part of this story is who he was talking to while he lounged on the stairs though; he was talking to Ilya Rozanov, the Russian Menace, the player who had been his mortal enemy since they were in juniors, the player who had spent all evening slamming Hollander into the boards every chance he could, the man who had a chirp for every face off, the man who had blown a sarcastic kiss at Hollander as everyone lined up for handshakes…

Rozanov was tying his shoes while Hollander talked about going to the Olympics. Hollander seemed to be the chattier of the two. Rozanov let Hollander talk while he pulled on his jacket, straightened himself out.

I’m not going to claim I know Hollander well, but I’ve seen him on and off the ice, at MLH events and press stuff. But I gotta say, I’ve never seen Hollander this relaxed, this happy. He’s always so in control, so focused, it was just out of character. But it wasn’t, was it? This was the real Shane Hollander, the one who was excited to play in the Olympics and who flirts with a guy he likes.

And yes, they were flirting. Rozanov made a crude joke about their tryst, Shane teased Rozanov, all while they were leaning in for a kiss.

And wow, it was a sweet kiss, soft and intimate. I slipped away then as Rozanov went out the door.

As a gay man, I understood why they kept it a secret. As an official, I’m not under the same pressures as them, but being a queer man in the hockey world, it’s tricky. You have to be careful about who knows because every locker room is different. I’ve been in some that are very accepting, some that are neutral or mixed, some that are so homophobic I would change in the public restroom.

The MLH is no different. I might not be in the locker rooms with the teams, but I hear their words on the ice, the way they casually throw out slurs. In the fallout of Scott Hunter coming out, as well as several other players who have come out including Rozanov and Hollander, it really brought to light how prejudiced the leadership of the MLH truly is. I’m not even going to touch on such cases as their handling of arrest of Dallas Kent and the allegations Leo Washington made against the Calgary Rockies management.

So that’s all to say, I kept their secret, and every time I worked a Montreal v Boston game, it was amusing to watch Hollander and Rozanov, the way their chatter on the ice sounded more and more like flirting, the way their hits looked more like foreplay. I wondered what happened when they were suddenly ignoring each other, and Hollander was seen out with a famous actress.

Before we get to the next part, I should tell my own story. In late 2016, I met a new ref, someone who had just come from the WHL. He was tall and handsome; his dark hair was shot with silver even though he was still in his early thirties; his hands were big and rough; he skated so elegantly. We worked together one night at a game in Washington, and afterwards, we walked down to the Lincoln Memorial and circled the reflecting pool for hours, just talking despite the falling snow. In the wee hours of the morning, he pulled me against him and kissed me, and I knew he was the love of my life.

So, All Star weekend 2017. I wasn’t officiating, but my partner was, and I tagged along. The first day, almost everyone, players, officials and guests, had gathered in the resort bar for drinks and socializing. My partner had wandered off to talk to another official, while I had been happy to sit at the bar and nurse a beer.

Most people were gathered around tables, chatting, but not me and not Rozanov. We sat at opposite ends of the bar, sipping our drinks.

That is until Hollander walked in. Other players stood and said hello, and he smiled and nodded, but he looked like a man on a mission. He made his way to the bar and took a seat next to a nervous looking Rozanov. I should have walked away, gone to find my partner, but instead I pulled out my phone and pretended to catch up on my emails.

They both sat and drank their beers. I couldn’t hear everything they said, but it didn’t matter. They were basically fucking each other with their eyes, if I’m being honest.

Carter Vaughan threw his arms around both of them at one point, razzing Rozanov, before moving on, then it was back to flirtatious eye contact and posture that screamed ‘I am barely stopping myself from touching you’. They both kept offering the little secret smiles, until I caught Rozanov say “You’re looking very pretty today’.

Fuck's sakes, I thought, looking sightlessly at a junk email. Get a fucking room, guys.

Hollander said something I didn’t catch, then Rozanov was grinning. It was the kind of smile I’d never seen on his face. I mean, I’ve seen him smile often, in post game interviews, on the ice after a goal, but this was different. This was a private smile, the kind your friend or lover might show you behind closed doors. I saw it one more time that weekend when they embraced playfully on the ice after a goal. Rozanov had laid a smacking kiss on Hollander’s helmet, and they’d grinned at each other in that same, secret way.

They’d finished their conversation with another long, lingering look then Hollander left, lightly brushing against Rozanov as he walked away.

I filed this memory away in the vault with the stairwell interaction and hoped it would never come up again.

It did.

The next story is not technically mine. Another ref approached me with a story the day after Hollander got taken out by Marleau and was injured. He had been visiting his wife who had just given birth and had accidentally stumbled on Hollander’s room. He peeked in, just in time to see Hollander hold out his hand to Rozanov. He watched as Rozanov took hold of his hand, stroked his cheek. He described Hollander as looking like he was melting into the touch. He said they looked more like lovers, rather than a captain checking on another captain.

He left when he spotted an approaching nurse, but luckily, he texted me later to tell me about it. I made sure to impress on him how important it was to keep this secret. I never heard whispers of this getting out, so I assume he kept that promise.

I’ve heard from other refs that Rozanov had been completely distraught while Hollander was still on the ice while the medics worked. In fact one ref I know had to push him back to his bench, to get him out of the way. Another told me that Hollander had been asking for “Ilya” the whole time the medics were getting him off the ice. I’m sure you can guess which Ilya he was referring to.

The following All Star weekend was just as interesting as the 2017 one. I was heading back to my room for the night, a little tipsy and thinking about my man who was waiting for me there, when I passed by a door that was open a crack. The voices I heard made me pause.

“Stay here tonight, kotenok, no one will notice.” Rozanov, his voice softer than I’d ever heard, a far cry from the voice that hurled insults on the ice.
“Maybe you can convince me…” Hollander’s voice, then soft kissing sounds, a quiet moan.

I prayed they were too distracted with each other and pulled the door closed as quietly as possible, then hurried down to my room. I didn’t hear anything, so I hope I didn’t disturb them.

This leads me to 2020. Something you should know is that referees love group chats. I think I’m currently in four separate ones. There was a chat for some of the referees local to Ontario (or previously from Ontario like one member). A new guy had been added; it’s important to mention that he’s a Russian speaker. He had noticed some odd interactions between Hollander and Rozanov where they had spoken Russian to each other, then had caught sight of them getting into a car together after the game.

The group ended up deciding to add several other officials to see if they had ever seen anything; I was one of them. Between all of us, we put the pieces together that they were lovers and had been for a long time. The Fanmail video came out several weeks later, outing them. Of course, now they’re married and playing in Ottawa together. They seem to have found happiness, and I’m thrilled for them.

I found my own happiness too. I married that referee who kissed me in front of the Lincoln Memorial; his name is Terry, and I still love to kiss him as the snow falls.