Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Hayden Pike's Children, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Zane Boodram, Evan Dykstra, Brandon Wiebe, Harris Drover, Luca Haas

Additional Tags:

Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Major Character Injury, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Hurt Shane Hollander, Hurt Ilya Rozanov, Temporary Character Death, Social Media, Relationship Reveal, Ottawa Centaurs Player Shane Hollander

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-03 Completed: 2026-07-31 Words: 78,878 Chapters: 20/20

We'll Just Use It To Our Advantage

Summary

When Shane goes down on the ice, he isn't the only one to get hurt, and Ilya, broken and concussed, doesn't exactly keep his cool. Drugged up and so deeply in love they can't bear the thought of recovering apart, they come up with a plan to explain their sudden public friendship.
or
The long game isn't quite so long anymore, and the boys use the Irina Foundation as it was originally intended.

Notes

Should I be writing heated rivalry fics, or should I be working on book 3 of my alien romance series....
Anyways, this is an idea I haven't been able to get out of my head so I had to get it down on paper. I hope this scratches all of your fluff itches.

Full warning, I'm dyslexic and didn't get a second set of eyes on this, so if you read a word and go "did she really mean ___" Yes, she probably did.

I will never us AI in any of my writing or marketing.

Chapter 1: The Collision

The collision was brutal. It was the sort of sports injury that would be clipped and shared across the internet for the next decade. It wouldn’t stay isolated to the hockey world but would make every sports top ten on field injury list for as long as the internet lasted. 

The way Hollander went flying, slamming into the ice at all the wrong angles. The way Rozanov sped up as if to intercept Marlow yet got there too late slamming into him instead. The way Pike hit Rozanov just so and his leg went in two different directions before they all slammed into the boards in a tangle of blades and sticks. The way Hollander lay there unmoving while Pike and Marlow untangled themselves and Rozanov slowly returned to consciousness. The way Rozanov’s eyes fell to Hollander still unmoving, and then, finally, Rozanov crawling his way across the ice to his fallen rival, his leg dragging at a bad angle as all around him two teams launched into a scrum. Sometimes the clip ended there, sometimes it included the part where Rozanov clung to Hollander, refusing to move off while the medical team checked him over. Even fewer clips showed what came next, deciding the replay was distasteful or invasive. 

Rozanov’s actions were questioned and interpreted a hundred different ways. People cited sportsmanship or the confusion of his own concussion, but no one at the time understood the full story, and wasn’t that for the best? 

Ilya opened his eyes, and immediately shut them. The world was loud and bright and everything hurt. Someone shoved him and he shoved back, before immediately regretting it. Fire shot up his leg and he hissed out every curse he could think of, which arguably wasn’t a lot as his head fuzzed out for a long moment. 

When he could think again he noted there was a lot of noise and violent motion around him. He carefully cracked one eye. 

Ah, he was on the ice, and his team was fighting the metros. That made sense. He didn’t often take hits that took him down like this, but there was a first for everything. He closed his eye again. He should really get up, let everyone know he was all right, and nothing could keep Ilya Rozanov down, but based on the burning fire of his leg, he wasn’t sure he could get up. 

Maybe he would give it a minute. The world was a little too bright, and the ice really did feel nice against his pounding head. 

Metros. His team was fighting the Metros. 

Shane.

Ilya forced his eyes open. Marly had been closing in on Shane, but he was going too fast, racing Ilya into the offensive zone, his eyes back on Ilya, not seeing the hit coming, and not braced for impact. He had flown through the air, his blades flying high as he flipped, and then . . .

Ilya squinted through the bodies around him, and there, the crumpled blue form of Shane Hollander laid out on the ice, unmoving. 

“Hollander,” Ilya croaked. Then he said it again louder, but Shane didn’t move. “Hollander!” He yelled. Still no movement. 

Ilya’s chest tightened, and his vision focused to only that unmoving blue heap. He rolled onto his stomach, and the pain was blinding. He grit his teeth, his mouthguard lost somewhere with his helmet, and put one arm out in front of himself. With the strength and determination that had won him a place in the NHL, Ilya drug himself forward three inches. His left leg protested any assistance, but he reached forward again, and got his right blade dug in the ice just enough that he went a little further on his next push. 

“Hollander!” 

Shane still wasn’t moving, and Ilya pushed himself on. Someone tried to grab his arm, but he shoved them off. The fighting players moved around him, threatening to block his path, but Ilya didn’t stop. He didn’t take a break to breathe and adjust to the pain, he pushed through until his fingers were on Shane’s arm, and he could lift up and look down upon the still form of his lover. Shane’s eyes were half open, and his mouth was cracked, but he was still. Utterly still. 

Blackness crept into the edges of Ilya’s vision as panic overwhelmed him, and for a long moment he was twelve again, looking at the still pale form of his mother. He blinked and Shane was back, just as still, just as pale. 

“Hollander! Hollander, please, look at me, look at me, please.” Ilya tapped Sane’s chest. Lightly, so as not to hurt him, but with an urgency he couldn’t avoid. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. He had to be gentle, but he needed Shane to wake up now. “Please, Shane. Look at me, please.” Ilya reached for his face, but his glove was so bulky. He pulled it off with his teeth and carefully stroked Shane’s cheek, looking for a response. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing through the heavy pads. He was so so still. Panic gripped him. “Help. Help! He needs help!” Ilya shouted, but it wasn’t needed. The medical staff were on them a moment later. 

Two fingers were on Shane’s neck, and then one of the staff started compressions, while another tried to pull Ilya away. Compressions, they wouldn’t do that if Shane’s heart was still beating, would they? The medics were saying something, but Ilya couldn't hear, couldn’t think. 

“Is he okay? Is he breathing?” Ilya asked, but he wasn’t sure if he was speaking English or Russian. 

“—the defibrillator!” someone shouted.

The compressions were paused and then someone breathed for Shane before they continued. 

This was it. 

His Shane wasn’t breathing. 

Ilya had finally accepted that he loved Shane, as foolish as that was, and now it was happening again. He was losing the one person in the world he cared for above all others. He hadn’t even told Shane yet, and already he was losing him. 

The universe really did hate him. 

Pain worse than any concussion, worse than any broken bone carved its way into Ilya’s chest. He found Shane’s hand, the glove lost in his collision, and laced his fingers with his own. He brought their joined hands to his face, and he begged. 

“Mama, please. Don’t let him leave me, too. Keep him here with me, please. I can’t do this without him. Shane, please, my love. I love you so much. If you stay with me I promise I will give you everything you ever ask for. I’m yours. I don’t want this life without you to share it with. Please, my love. Don’t leave me.” 

Somewhere within his sobs and the tears streaming down his face someone tried to pull him away, but he fought. They tugged at their joined hands, but Ilya slapped them away. Finally someone got down in his face. Blue eyes, and red hair, a stranger, but someone with compassion and urgency in her eyes. The words registered and he ran them through the slow translator in his mind. 

“Rozanov, you have to let go so we can shock him. We need to get his heart started again, and we can’t if you are touching him,” the medic said. 

Ilya looked down at their joined hands, and up at Shane, his jersey was split open, his pads cut away, and his bare chest was exposed to the cool air of the arina as someone stuck pads to his chest. He looked back down to their hands. 

“Yes, you have to let go so we can help him,” the medic said again, gently tapping their joined hands. 

He had to let go if he wanted to keep him. It was the hardest thing Ilya had ever done. But hadn’t he been telling himself he had to let Shane go so Shane could live his best life for months now? Because his best life would never be with Ilya in it, always living in the dark. Ilya had to let him go before Shane’s heart was as in love with Ilya as Ilya’s was in love with him. Ilya loosened his grip, and a moment later someone slid him back a foot from Shane. He reached for him, but someone caught his hands and held them tight. 

“Clear,” a voice said, and it was echoed by the others. A moment later there was beeping, and then Shane’s body jerked. 

“Is he okay? Is he breathing now?” Ilya asked, but no one answered. And fair, that was likely still in Russian. His head hurt too much to English. 

Someone pressed fingers against Shane’s neck again, and then there was more shouting and another “Clear” and another jerk of movement from his love. 

“He’s back. Let’s move him to the board,” someone said, and that Ilya understood. 

Relief flooded through him. He looked at the redheaded medic holding his hands. “I need to go with him,” he said. 

The medic frowned. “He will be okay, Rozanov.”

Ilya tried to break free, get back to Shane, but the medic held him back. Shane was quickly lifted onto a stretcher and rolled off the ice, while Ilya watched his heart be taken away. 

The medic was talking again, but Ilya couldn’t think past the pain and the twisting emotions. Someone tapped his cheek and he opened his eyes. The medic leaned down toward him again, speaking loud and slow. “Will you let us get you on a board now so we can get you out of here?”

Ilya blinked as another spinal board slid next to him. “No, I’ll walk out. I’m fine,” he lied. But he wasn’t about to be carried off the ice.

The medic frowned. “Rozanov, I can’t understand you. Can you speak English?”

Ilya took a deep breath. “I… walk,” he forced out in English.

The medic gave him a sad little smile. “Sorry friend, but that leg isn’t getting you out of here.”

Ilya forced himself to twist, and with a deep breath, looked at his leg. It was still attached, but it was . . . not straight. There were a lot of things about Ilya that were not straight, but his leg shouldn’t have been one of them. Everything went fuzzy again, and when he was able to think again, he was being lifted onto a spinal board, much to his shame. He would have tried to climb off, but if his leg was broken, and it had to be, then they would take him to the hospital, hopefully the same one where Shane was being taken. 

When they got him on the stretcher he forced himself to sit up and, keeping his eyes far away from his leg, waved to the crowd. The noise was all nonsense to him, but he was vaguely aware his eyes were likely red and his face was tear streaked. The least he could do was show a little strength as he was rolled out. He let his eyes close the moment they reached the tunnel, trying to block out the light, but someone was pulling his arm away from his face, and they kept asking him questions and telling him things. Open your eyes. You need to stay awake. 

He had his own questions. Where is Shane? Is he still alive? When can I see him? But no one answered him and he kept closing his eyes.

Eventually a doctor showed up and talked at him for a little while. Something about his leg they need to do. Ilya just nodded, which sent his head spinning. After the long ambulance ride, the pain was getting a little overwhelming, and thinking was getting harder and harder. He asked again about Shane. He didn’t get a straight answer out of them, but signed the paper they put in front of him, hoping it would make the doctors leave him alone. It did something better, they gave him nice drugs, and everything went away for a while. 

When he awoke again, he came slowly to consciousness, as if floating up out of a lake. Eventually he broke the surface, and with awareness came one hard fact. The last time he saw Shane, Shane’s heart wasn’t beating, his lungs weren’t breathing. 

Ilya sat up and the room spun around him. He was alone in a hospital room, which was a problem. 

“Shane,” he gasped out. 

He needed to find him. 

Ilya tried to climb out of the bed, but there were so many things in the way. He pulled tubes away from his face, and tried to reach for the edge of the bed, but his arm didn’t want to go. He pulled the wire from his hand—ignoring the horrible beeping—and carefully grasped the tube in his arm. He grimaced and looked away as he quickly pulled the tube out.

Next, he puzzled over why his leg wouldn’t swing off the bed. Yes, there was this horrible brace holding it captive, but he could still swing it. It just knocked against something hard. The door opened, and people came in, shouting things that Ilya couldn’t think to translate. 

It was a fence. A bed fence. That’s what was keeping him from climbing off the bed. Ilya grabbed the top of the plastic bar, trying to see how it could go down, but someone gripped his arm and shoved him back in bed. 

The room spun. 

That was rude. 

Ilya glared at the mean nurse. “Where is Shane?” he asked, but the nurse responded with something Ilya didn’t get. He tried to get up again, but was immediately shoved back down. It made his head pound. “Shane, where is Shane? Is he alive? I need to see him. Please let me see him.”

The mean nurse got in Ilya’s face. “Sir, can you speak English?” 

English. Oh, right. Ilya wasn’t speaking English, was he?”

“Shane,” he said again, slowly and clearly. That one was easy. The other words took time and focus to shove out, so he closed his eyes and spoke carefully in English. “Is Shane alive?”

“I’m sorry, sir. We can’t tell you anything,” the mean nurse said, but that wasn’t acceptable. 

“Is he alive, please, I need to know. Tell me!” He shouted, trying to pull away from the man holding his shoulder down. But his words weren’t in English, he knew that now, he just wasn’t quite able to change it. “Please, please. I need to know if he’s alive. Please, take me to Shane!”

“Can we get a translator?” a nurse said, but Ilya only caught a few words. He tried to shove off the nurse again, but he held him tight.

“Can we sedate him?”

“He pulled out his IV.”

“Shane! Shane, can you hear me?” Ilya thrashed but more hands held him in place. “Please, Shane! You can’t leave me, Shane! Please!”

Ilya couldn’t think, couldn’t breath, couldn’t see past the bright lights. He just needed Shane. Eventually there was a sharp prick, and everything went blank and quiet once again. 

When Ilya returned again, it was darker in the room, and he was alone. His heart felt tight in his chest. They hadn’t taken him to Shane when he asked. Was it because his Shane was gone? 

He squeezed his eyes tight. No. That wasn’t possible. If Shane was gone Ilya would know, because there would be a huge hole in his chest. He reached up to pull at his collar and double check his chest was whole, but his arm didn’t move. Did he still have his arms?

He looked down. There was something wrapped around his wrist. Had they handcuffed him? No, this was soft. He yanked, but his arm didn’t budge. 

His breathing quickened. Would they hold him captive forever? Keep him trapped while his Shane’s body grew cold somewhere else in the hospital? 

Beeping picked up, and it made Ilya’s head throbbed. He pulled and twisted against the padded cuffs. His eyes burned and his head pounded. His leg throbbed but it was further away. 

Someone was talking to him again, but Ilya couldn’t focus. “Please, Shane. Where is my Shane?”

 “Mr. Rozanov, the doctors can’t tell you anything about your friend without breaking the rules,” someone said, and Ilya understood this one. He opened his eyes, and saw an older man, thin and gray, a sad expression on his face.

“You speak Russian?” Ilya asked in Russian.

“Yes, Mr. Rozanov. You need to calm down and rest or the nurses will keep sedating you.”

Ilya glanced at the mean nurse standing next to the old man, her arms crossed and her expression angry. 

“No, no, I need to see him. I need to tell him I love him. He needs to know.” Ilya reached out and gripped the man’s arm. His eyes were sad but not mean like his fathers eyes had been. “His heart stopped on the ice. I need to know they fixed him, that he is well. If he is not well and alive, then I cannot be either. If he is alive, then I need to tell him I love him while we still have time.”

The man let out a deep breath and turned to the nurse. They spoke back and forth in English, but Ilya couldn’t think well enough to translate it. He tried twisting at his wrist cuffs again, but the old man slapped at his hand. “Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care about me, I only care about my Shane.”

“Listen. If you hurt yourself, they aren’t going to let you do anything, but if you agree to be good, they might let you see him.”

“What?” Ilya asked dumbly. 

The man leaned in close, and Ilya realized they were alone. The mean nurse had left. “She went to ask the doctor if you could see him. It’s breaking the rules, but she figures if they just roll you in there they won’t have told you anything, and you can see him for yourself.”

“He is alive?”

“I assume so, or she wouldn’t bother asking. But listen, if you disconnect your wires again, or try to get out of bed, they will sedate you, and you won’t get to see your boy. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Would the old man let Ilya kiss him?

The man nodded and stood, clearly finished talking. Ilya closed his eyes, and tried to focus on that one thought. Shane was most likely alive. And if Ilya was good, he could maybe see him. Ilya could be good. Maybe.

The nurse reentered, and the man tapped Ilya on the shoulder. “She says you can see him, but you have to promise to stay in your bed, and not try to get out again.”

Ilya nodded quickly, then closed his eyes when the world started to spin. He grimaced. “Yes,” he said. And then he repeated it in English. 

The nurse spoke again, and Ilya tried to listen, but it was so so hard. It didn’t matter in the end, because the wonderful angel old man translated. 

“She says your boy is sleeping, and you need to not worry, okay?”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. 

It was a whole ordeal, nurses stringing up cords and tubes, two people rolling his bed while others pushed monitors, and the old man following like a parade. Ilya squinted through the brightness of the hall, and tried to contain his joy as they opened another door and pushed him inside. His eyes landed on his Shane, and he held his breath. The monitor beeped and was lit up with numbers he couldn’t read. That was a good sign, yes?

“He is alive?” Ilya asked, and the old man answered.

“Yes, see these numbers?” The man explained a little more about what was on the screen that Ilya couldn’t look at without his head trying to split open. Instead Ilya studied Shane. It was hard to notice at first, as far as he was from Shane, but eventually he could see it. The slow rise and fall of Shane’s chest. Ilya’s chest loosened just a little. He was breathing on his own. That was good. That was amazing.

“Can I stay?” Ilya asked. “I will stay in bed if they let me stay until his eyes open.”

The old man talked with the mean nurse, who maybe wasn’t so mean, because eventually she agreed. 

Ilya turned to the kind of mean nurse. He tried to give her the best smile he could manage. “Can I move just a little bit closer?” he asked. The old man translated.

The nurse let out a long sigh, and waved another nurse over. They rolled his bed and monitors until they were only a few feet apart, parallel from each other. 

“Can I be freed?” Ilya asked, wiggling his wrist and pressing his luck. 

The nurse spoke to the old man, and eventually Ilya got a translation. 

“She says she will consider it if you are good. So be good, yes?”

“Yes, I will be good,” Ilya said, turning back to his Shane. He would be whatever they asked as long as they let him stay with him. As the old man and the nurses finally left, Ilya lay for a long time watching his Shane’s chest slowly rise and fall. He let his own breath match the same pace, and for the first time since the collision, he felt like he could breathe.

Chapter 2: Big Brown Eyes

Chapter Summary

Shane wakes up, and the boys share words. The hospital staff just have to deal.

Chapter Notes

If you're anything like me, you aren't just still at the cottage, but you're chained to the fireplace, and not working very hard to find the key. These characters have me in a chokehold, and I'm loving it.

I gave this an estimated final chapter count, based on what I've outlined, but this could increase, likely with little bonus or social media chapters as I go.

When the nurses returned to keep bothering Ilya, they didn’t need to wake him, for he hadn’t let his eyes close, focused as he was on Shane. 

The mean nurse was accompanied by the old man, and a bright eyed nurse who crossed to Shane’s bed, and began attempting to wake him up. Ilya watched with anticipation.

“Mr. Rozanov, nurse Rachel here needs to do your concussion assessment. Can you focus for a few moments?” the old man asked, gesturing to the mean nurse. 

Ilya tried to wave him away, but his arm was still stuck to the bed fence. He watched closely as Shane began to stir, and saw the exact moment his eyes split to show the most perfect big brown eyes in all of existence. 

“Hey Mr. Hollander, can you open your eyes for me?” the nice nurse asked Shane. 

Shane did, and the nurse shined a light in his eyes, causing him to groan and scrunch up his face in an adorable way. 

“So sorry, all done. Can you tell me your name?”

The old man was saying something to Ilya again, but he shushed him. He needed to hear this.

“Shane,” he said it slowly with a little grin. Ilya grinned in reply.

“Good job, Shane. And do you know where you are?” his nurse asked.

Shane peaked his eyes open and glanced around for a moment. “Hospital.” His voice was a little soft and silly, but it was Shane. Living, breathing, beautiful brown eyes open and alive. So very alive.

“That’s right. Do you remember what you were doing tonight before the hospital?”

Shane frowned. “It’s a Boston night. I saw Ilya. Can someone call him? He will be worried and no one knows,” Shane’s voice choked up, but he forced out the words before Ilya could remember the English ones to comfort him. “He’s not on the paperwork, because it’s a secret, but he needs to know. He will worry.”

“Hey, hey, Shane, don’t worry. Ilya is right here, okay?” 

The nurse pointed to Ilya, and Shane turned, and then his expression exploded with joy. “Ilyaaaaaa!”

“Shane,” Ilya managed. Something warm was running down his face, and his throat was tight.

“Ilya, what’s wrong? What happened to your leg?” Shane asked.

“Broken. Maybe,” Ilya said, forcing out the words in English.

“You don’t know?”

“Uh. English hard.”

Shane’s face screwed up in his angry kitten expression, and Ilya’s heart melted. Shane turned to the nurse, and started yelling at her. Ilya followed most of the conversation, trying extra hard to listen to his Shane. Something about how insensitive and irresponsible it was to not have someone there to translate the medical details of a patient suffering a head injury whose first language wasn’t English. The nurse eventually calmed him down, promising to send for a doctor to explain again to Ilya, now that they had a translator, and Shane agreed to answer the rest of her assessment questions, and Ilya reluctantly agreed to answer his mean nurses questions, on threat of being taken from Shane’s room if he didn’t. 

The doctor arrived a short time later, and asked if he was okay with Shane hearing his medical details. 

“Yes, he can know everything. Add him to all the papers,” Ilya confirmed. The old man translated for him.

“Add my parents too,” Shane called from his bed. “They will probably be here soon, and they can handle all the paperwork for you when they get here, Ilya.” Shane’s voice was happy and floaty, and it was making all of Ilya’s insides warm.

“Are you sure?” Ilya asked slowly in English.

“Yeah, of course. Trust me, okay?” Shane asked.

“Okey,” Ilya agreed. His heart full.

The doctor explained, and the old man translated. He broke both bones in his lower leg, and they reset them without surgery. His brace was temporary while the initial swelling went down, then he would get something a little long term. He was definitely out for the season. They both were, but Ilya would likely still be reconditioning into the preseason. It was a blow, but not surprising. Ilya tapped his thumb against the bed fence, not really caring about the medical details, but Shane asked several questions, frowning or smiling animatedly while the doctor talked. Ilya just wanted everyone to leave so he could talk to his Shane. He felt like he’d been waiting all his life to say three words in English, and he had to say it before something else happened and his Shane was taken from him forever this time. 

Finally, the room cleared out, and the mean nurse told Ilya to get some rest. He kept his eyes on Shane, instead who was busy saying sweet bye bye’s to everyone who left. Eventually, the last of the distraction is gone, Shane turned back to Ilya, and it was like the sun finding him through a cloudy sky.

“Ilya,” Shane said sweetly.

“Shane,” Ilya said, carefully fighting for the English words. “I love you, Shane.”

Shane’s face got somehow even brighter. “I love you!” He said as if it was the greatest coincidences, and something broke within Ilya’s chest. 

“Yes?” Ilya asked.

“Yes, Ilya. I love you so freaking much, I can barely handle it sometimes. I still don’t know how we’ll make it work, but I know we will, okay?”

Ilya’s mind drifted back just a few weeks to that hotel in Tampa for All Stars where Ilya finally let himself admit what he wanted.

“But would you want to be something if we could?” Shane had asked him in the hotel.

The answer felt impossible, and Ilya wanted to tell Shane that. He wanted to yell at him and insist it was impossible, but instead a soft hurt part of himself begged for Ilya to tell the truth, to be brave. “Yes,” Ilya said at last. Unable to meet Shane’s eyes. “Yes Shane. I would want to be everything with you if I could.”

“Then we should try, right?” Shane asked, his voice so full of hope.

“But it is impossible.” Ilya explained about his family, and his country, but instead of letting Ilya’s fear become his, Shane climbed into his lap and held Ilya. 

“Maybe it is impossible, but we could still try,” Shane said as he ran his hand through Ilya’s curls. 

“But what if we try and fail? It would hurt too much.” Ilya knew it was cowardly, but he had always been a little cowardly when it came to protecting his heart. 

“Ilya, I can’t imagine it would hurt anymore than it already does,” Shane had answered simply. And that was the truth of it, wasn’t it?

Shane had left Ilya’s house, left Ilya broken and sticky on his couch, and Ilya had thought his heart couldn’t hurt any worse. Then Shane immediately got a beautiful girlfriend, and it was like the pieces of his heart were slowly dissolving and dripping out of his chest. Having Shane back for just a moment felt worth it, but if he lost him again, well, Ilya would have to figure out how to keep going. The least he could do was try. So he had agreed. 

Now, Ilya had once again almost lost Shane. This time it wasn’t to stupidity or a lack of communication. It was from an accident on the ice, and it was nearly permanent. Ilya wouldn’t let something stupid end the best thing he had in the world. 

The words were slow, but he carefully got them out. “Yes, we will make it work, Shane.”

Shane’s smile was bright and immediate. “Good. You’re mine. My boyfriend and I’m not letting you go.” He said it simply, as if the words were effortless in his drugged haze. 

Ilya smiled. “Boyfriend.” He said it again, and his smile grew.

“Yes. We are boyfriends.” Shane closed his eyes as if soaking up the moment.

Ilya loved the way it sounds when Shane says it. It might be his new favorite word. Shane was silent for a long moment, and Ilya thought he might have fallen asleep, but eventually he opened his lovely brown eyes.

“I was gonna ask you tonight, if you would like to come to my cottage this summer,” Shane said.

“Yes, I will go anywhere you ask,” Ilya answered without needing to think of it. Oh, but Shane was frowning. That was Russian. Ilya focused. “Yes, Shane. I will go.”

Shane’s frown flipped to a sweet grin once again. So back and forth his floaty happy Shane was. “Well, now we can’t go to my cottage. My parents will make me stay with them until I can manage on my own.”

Oh. That made sense. Ilya’s excitement immediately dimmed. “Is okay, when better I come visit,” he said slowly. 

“No! You need to stay with me. My parents will take care of both of us.”

“No Shane, you can’t ask that. Is too much.” 

“But you’re family. They will love you and take care of you.”

“Shane, I am not family.”

“Yes you are!” Shane said, and there was that cute angry face. He loved a happy Shane, but he also loved an angry Shane. He loved every part of Shane. “You’re my boyfriend and I love you, so you are family,” he said, and it was so matter of fact. 

“Boyfriend,” Ilya said again, because it was just so wonderful.

“Yes, please.”

“Okey,” Ilya agreed at last, because what really was the point in arguing when he would do anything for Shane.

Shane smiled and reached for him, but quickly realized they were too far away. He scrunched up his freckles and made a grabby hand. “Can you reach?”

Ilya wiggled his cuff. “No, am trapped.”

Shane frowned and reached up over his head, batting around for a bit, before he seemed to find what he wanted. He relaxed back into his bed with a sigh.

Ilya was a little sad to see he wasn’t still trying to hold his hand, but maybe Shane had given up when it proved impossible.

The door opened before he could remind Shane he existed, wanting his boyfriend’s eyes back on him.

“Mr. Hollander, everything okay?” the nice nurse asked. 

“No, I can’t reach my boyfriend,” Shane said, and reached out toward Ilya. “Can you fix this?”

Ilya’s heart felt two sizes too big. 

The nurse smiled, and then to Ilya’s delight, she unlocked his wheels and pushed one end and then the other until Ilya’s bed was right up next to Shane’s. Shane scooped up his hand, reaching over their bars. It was awkward, but he felt immediately better. 

Shane pouted. “Can you free him?” He tugged on Ilya’s hand. 

The nurse stepped up and crossed her arms, giving Ilya a stern look. “Do you promise to stay put if I take them off?”

“Where would I go?” Ilya said carefully in English, and the nurse rolled her eyes. 

She pulled the cuffs apart with a loud noise. It looked so easy, but Ilya hadn’t managed it. Magic. It had to be. 

Free at last Ilya reached over and hooked his arm around Shane’s 

“Better?” the nurse asked.

“Mmmm. Almost,” Shane said, and knocked against the bars between them. It was uncomfortable, but Ilya moved so it was his arm resting against the bar, and Shane’s rested on top of his. His arm would go numb before long, but it would be worth it. 

The nurse let out a deep sigh. “Let go for a moment.” 

Shane complained when she started rolling them apart, and tried to snatch Ilya’s hand back, but then the nurse dropped the bars. She scooted them back together, and this time Ilya could easily entwine his and Shane’s arms. He laced their fingers together, and sighed. 

“Bet-ter,” Shane said with a smile. Ilya couldn’t take his eyes off of him. The nurse fiddled around them for a few minutes, and eventually left. Ilya scooted his butt closer to Shane. He wiggled his shoulders and then carefully pulled his leg along. 

“Hi, boyfriend,” Shane said.

“Hi, boyfriend,” Ilya said, and scooted again. One careful scoot at a time, he worked himself over until he could lean his shoulder into Shane’s, and with one careful stretch, he could just kiss the row of bruised freckles on his love’s face. Shane let out a sigh, and they both drifted off to sleep.

Chapter End Notes

Hope you liked the chapter! I'm in this now, so chapter 3 will be up tomorrow <3 It's a bit longer, but looks like chapter 4 will be a real long one. I'm fighting all my impulse control to not just upload everything I have mostly ready like right now, lol.

Chapter 3: What Boyfriend?

Chapter Summary

Yuna and David get to the hospital, and get a few shocks.

Chapter Notes

This one's a little longer today. Hope you enjoy the new POV!

I'm currently on a road trip with my 15 yr old nephew, driving cross country to find pretty rocks and just have a summer hang, so this has been what's occupying me in the hotel while he plays my steam deck :] I'm so happy I can share my evening workings with all of you, so know this was written with the notes of terraria playing in the background.

Sitting through the flight had been excruciating. The cab ride to the hospital had been torture. It took too many hours to reach her son. Even with a reassuring call from the doctor, Yuna would not settle until she had eyes on her boy. It had taken all of her strength not to shout at the receptionist when he requested Yuna and David’s photo ID’s and spent an extra three seconds comparing the names to his computer. David’s reassuring hand kept her from taking off at a run when the man finally buzzed them through the door. Thankfully a nurse was waiting for them in the VIP ward.

“How is he?” Yuna asked, unable to keep it in a moment longer.

“Mr. Hollander is doing well,” the nurse began, and Yuna deflated just a little. The nurse continued as she led them down a hall. “He did go into cardiac arrest on the ice, but the team at the rink began compressions within thirty seconds, and they got his heart started within two minutes. Those are excellent times, and all of his scans have been clear. For his clavicle fracture, they performed an ORIF and stabilized the fracture with a screw. He’s looking at maybe six months, but should fully recover.”

Yuna let out a ragged breath. Six months would hurt Shane, but it was doable. He’d try and push it to four.

The nurse continued. “Both the boys are on concussion watch, and we’re waking them every thirty minutes.”

Yuna frowned, not quite sure who else the nurse would be referring to, but didn’t interrupt. Jackie had said Hayden was already home, but maybe another team member?

“Mr. Hollander is on some stronger medication, but he’s aware and tracking well,” the nurse said, unaware of Yuna’s confusion. “He’s been in a pretty great mood with his boyfriend in with him, so we’re letting them stay together.”

Somehow Yuna kept walking. “His boyfriend?” Did Yuna’s voice sound steady? Her mind was spinning. The nurse couldn’t have that right. Was someone impersonating a relationship with her son? Or maybe her son wasn’t as with it as the medical team believed post concussion? Yuna and David had had their suspicions about Shane’s sexuality, but after his recent relationship with Rose Landry . . . But maybe he was bi, and his concussed mind had fabricated a boyfriend? 

The nurse was talking again, and Yuna forced herself to focus. 

“Mr. Rozanov suffered oblique fractures of the tibia and fibula. We were able to realign successfully without surgery. We’re looking at six to twelve months for full recovery. Though we will reassess tomorrow to make sure he didn’t re-injure himself with his antics tonight.”

“Are you allowed to disclose his medical information to us?” Yuna, desperately nosey, very much wanted to know, but another part of her felt responsible for protecting the man’s privacy. She ignored the mean part of her that noted he would be out longer than Shane. 

“Yes, he added both of you to his medical release.”

“Oh. Okay.” Yuna nodded, as if that made total sense. 

“What’s this about his antics?” David asked. 

“Yes, well.” The nurse paused outside of a room with closed curtains, and Yuna wanted to push past her, assuming her son was inside, but something about the nurse’s face, concern and something else, made her pause. “Mr. Rozanov was on the ice when Mr. Hollander’s heart stopped. The experience was a bit traumatic for him, so as he’s waking from his concussion his concern for Mr. Hollander is severe. He kept trying to climb out of his bed and looking for Mr. Hollander. The doctor approved doubling up in one room, and it definitely helped them settle, but he’s still thrashing in panic sometimes.”

The nurse finally pushed open the door and gestured for Yuna and David to enter. Yuna’s eyes immediately landed on her son. His face was purple with bruising, and his right arm was in a brace. His left arm was entwined with the right arm of the large Russian man laying half in his bed, and half in Shane’s. 

Oh my.

“I’ll leave you two for now, but I’ll be back in about fifteen for the next concussion check. I’ll wake them, then and you can say hi, but it’s best to let them rest until then.”

Yuna didn’t hear the nurse leave, all her attention fixed on her baby boy, on the way his body leaned into the shoulder of his rival, the small smile on his lips, his face tipped toward the other man, as if their eyes had been fixed to each other as they drifted off. Eventually she let her eyes run over Ilya Rozanov. She’d seen him so rarely in person without a helmet and hockey pads. His leg was strapped up in a brace, balanced on pillows, but the rest of him was twisted toward Shane, his face inches from her son’s. He had similar bruising across his face from his helmet visor, and his eyebrows were pinched together as if his dreams caused him trouble. 

“David, is this real?”

Her husband’s arm came around her, and he pulled her into his chest. “I think so, my dear.”

She let the scene soak in a little longer before David guided her to a chair next to Shane’s bed. 

Eventually the nurse returned. “Allright. I’m going to wake Shane for his assessment first, and then Ilya. Ilya does better if Shane is still awake when we wake him up.” 

Yuna and David stood, and made room for the nurse to hover over Shane. 

The nurse rubbed her hand up and down Shane’s sternum. “Hey, Shane, can you wake up for me? Shane, can you open your eyes?”

Shane’s eyes cracked open, and something in Yuna’s chest settled a little.

“Hey there, Shane,” the nurse said, before shining a light in his eyes. Shane’s face scrunched up and he winced. “Sorry, sorry, I know.”

Shane groaned. “That’s so mean,” he said, his voice soft and light. 

“I know, but it’s all done. Can you answer a few questions for me?”

“Mmm Kaay,” Shane said, turning to face the nurse again.

“Okay, Shane, can you tell me your name?”

“Shane Hollander.” Shane said it in a weird accent, and then broke out in a grin. Okay, so he was high high.

“Very good, Shane, and do you remember what happened tonight?”

“Mmmmm, hockey.” 

Shane closed his eyes, and the nurse rubbed his chest again. 

“That’s right. Who did you play hockey with tonight?”

“Boston,” Shane said with a dopey smile. Then as if remembering something his eyes opened wide and he turned toward the Russian sleeping next to him. “Against my boyfriend! Ilya, wake up.” Shane shook his hand which shook Rozanov’s hand as they were connected. 

“We’ll wake him up in a minute, but first can you answer a few more questions?”

“Okay,” Shane replied, and Yuna laced her fingers with David’s as she watched her son with a mix of relief and utter bafflement as he answered random questions, mentioning his boyfriend as frequently as possible, as if it was the best word ever and he couldn’t say it enough. 

“Okay, Shane. Want to help me wake up Ilya now?” the nurse said, and Shane’s face lit up. 

“Ilyaaaa, wake up!” 

The nurse walked around to Rozanov’s side, and began rubbing his chest. “Ilya, can you wake up for me?”

Yuna and David stepped up to Shane’s bedside, but they could have been invisible for all Shane spared a glance for them. 

When Rozanov woke, it was nothing like Shane. He went from still with that slight frown on his face to instant panic. “Shane! Shane, moy Shane!”

“Ilya, I’m right here,” Shane said. Rozanov’s eyes fell on Shane, and he began to settle. Russian exploded from him in a rush. Shane closed his eyes again, smiling gently. “Mmm, I can’t understand you, Ilya. The owl hasn’t gotten to all those words yet.”

“Shane, open eyes, please,” Rozanov said slowly. 

Shane opened his eyes. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Rozanov said back. He said something in Russian again. “I love you, Shane.”

“Love you, Ilya. My boy-friend,” he said again with a big grin.

Yuna could barely breathe. It felt like she was intruding on something private between strangers, but these weren’t strangers. This was hee son, and the man she thought her son hated.

Rozanov’s returning smile was soft and beautiful, until his eyes tracked up to Yuna and David, and it melted to a frown. “Shane, your mama and papa.”

Shane glanced at his parents. “Oh, hey!” Shane said with a smile. He pulled Rozanov’s hand to his mouth. “Ilya!” he whispered loudly into the other man’s fingers. “My parents are here. Don’t tell them we’re boyfriends.” 

Rozanov’s expression looked pained. “Is okay, moya lyubov'.”

“Mmm, yeah. It will be okay.” Shane closed his eyes again. “Mom, Dad, I told Ilya we would take care of him while he recovers. He doesn’t have family in Boston, so he should stay with his new family in Ottawa.”

“Of course, Shane. He’s more than welcome,” David said while Yuna tried to remember what words were. 

“Good. Good. Told you Ilya. They can’t not love you. It’s like, literally impossible.” He snorted. “Trust me. I tried.” Shane closed his eyes again, and the nurse put her hand on Rozanov’s shoulder. 

“Ilya, can I ask you some questions now?” the nurse said.

“Da,” Rozanov said, tearing his eyes away from Yuna and David and facing the nurse. She ran through the typical questions, and he answered in mostly broken English as if each word was hard to get out. Eventually she told him he could get some rest, and excused herself. Rozanov’s eyes met Yuna’s again, his face pinched with worry.

“How are ya feeling, son?” David asked, and Rozanov’s eyes slid from hers to her husband’s. 

“I . . . fine,” Rozanov said. “Shane, he will worry when he awakes and is not high. He will panic with you knowing.” He spoke painfully slow, but focused as if it was the most important thing.

David chuckled lightly. “I imagine he will, but we’ll all be here to reassure him that he’s safe.” 

Rozanov frowned, and his eyes fell back to Shane. His expression melted to something bleaker than sadness, and Yuna almost reached out to reassure him. 

“He will hate me when he realizes what I’ve done,” Ilya said.

“What did you do?” Yuna asked, finding her words at last. Her tone was maybe a little accusatory, but this was Ilya Rozanov, for God’s sake. He was The Russian Menace, not this soft tender man before her. It was confusing every thought she’d ever had about him. 

“I was obvious. On the ice. I did not hide how I feel for him. I outed us. Shane will not forgive me.” Rozanov said the last line in a whisper, his eyes closed tight, and it broke Yuna’s heart. 

This was not a man who had manipulated her son in a concussed state. This was a man who was readying himself for devastation. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that, son,” David said, reaching across Shane to touch Rozanov’s arm. “First of all, it was not obvious, believe me.”

“Really?” Rozanov asked softly.

David chuckled. “Yeah, I mean me and Yuna were watching from our hotel in Toronto, and we were confused, but we didn’t take your actions as someone in love. It seemed like confusion and concern. I don’t think you outed yourself or Shane.”

Rozanov’s face relaxed, but then he frowned again. “But then I insist I be brought here, and Shane is high, and now medical staff knows.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Yuna said, surprising both herself and Rozanov. “I’ll have signed NDA’s from everyone on the floor before morning. You just focus on getting better. Okay?”

Rozanov glanced down at his and Shane’s joined hands and muttered something in Russian. “I will ask nurse to move me back to my room, and you tell Shane I go back to Boston. Is for the best.”

“Well, let’s not rush into anything here,” David said. “I think Shane is right. You coming back to Ottawa with us sounds like a better idea. You boys both need someone to look after you, and that’s better with family.”

“I am not family.”

David smiled, and patted Shane and Rozanov’s joined hands. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Rozanov looked up with an open and hopeful expression. His chin quivered for a moment and he looked away, clenching his jaw. He breathed a few times before speaking carefully. “If I stay in Ottawa or even Montreal, there will be questions. Rumors. Shane will panic, and he needs peace more than he needs me.”

“Well, then we just need a plan,” Yuna said. She didn’t agree that Shane didn’t need Rozanov, as weird as it was to think it. Shane’s entire body had lit up at the sight of Rozanov. Yes, he was high, but that depth of emotion didn’t come from nowhere. He wouldn’t be saying he loved his rival if there wasn’t history to back it up. It was the happiest Yuna had ever seen her son, and that was all Yuna had ever wanted for him. If this Russian was what put that smile on his face, she would protect both of them for as long as they needed protecting. “You leave it to me. Get some rest and I’ll work up a plan so Shane doesn’t need to panic. Okay?”

Rozanov met Yuna’s eyes for a long moment, and finally nodded. “Okey. If anyone can plan better than Shane, it must be Yuna Hollander.”

Yuna surprised herself with a laugh. “That’s right. You rest now, okay?”

“Okey.” Rozanov closed his eyes at last, and tucked himself back into Shane’s side. 

Yuna and David found their seats again, and watched the two boys rest.

“What did we do wrong?” Yuna asked. 

David’s head swung around to her. “What do you mean?”

“He didn’t tell us. He’s in love and we didn’t even know he’s gay. What did we do to make him not comfortable enough to talk to us?”

“Oh my love,” David said, and pulled Yuna until she was leaning into him. He ran a hand over her hair. “It’s not about us. Yes, maybe there are ways we could have tried to make him feel safer, but we’ve been trying. We’ve had our suspicions and tried to casually mention things, but he always closed up and got so uncomfortable. He wasn’t ready.” He paused. “We make a safe space for him, and then give him time to figure himself out.”

Yuna thought about it, and then frowned. “That sounds specific.”

“I may have read a book or two.”

Yuna sat up and glared at her husband. “You did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

David sighed with a sad smile. “I don’t know. It felt a little invasive to talk about it. Like me, reading it on my own could just be personal curiosity, but suggesting the book to you felt like I was pushing my assumptions onto you and maybe Shane.”

Yuna hummed and looked back at her son, thankfulness filled her chest. They could have lost him tonight. It was so close, and could have gone so badly, but here he was safe, and surrounded by loved ones. Her eyes drifted to Rozanov. If Shane loved him, of course she would give him a chance. 

“You look like you’re thinking pretty hard over there.”

“We need a plan.”

Wordlessly David pulled her laptop out of her bag and handed it over. Yuna opened a word doc and started brainstorming. 

The night was rough. The nurse came in every half hour, waking first Shane, happy and high, and willing to answer anything. Then she woke Rozanov, who panicked every time, until he saw Shane’s eyes open, and could see him breathing. 

The nurse offered to turn the volume off their monitors, give Yuna and David some quiet while Yuna planned, and David snoozed, but five minutes later Rozanov startled awake, speaking in panicked Russian. 

“Rozanov, hey. It’s okay,” Yuna said, rushing to put a hand on his shoulder as he attempted to shake Shane awake. “He’s just sleeping, he’s okay.”

Rozanov’s frantic eyes met hers, and he fought every English word that left his throat. “His heart. Is not beating.”

“It is, Rozanov. His heart is beating. Look at the monitor here.” Yuna pointed to the heart monitor where Shane’s stats showed. 

Rozanov squinted at the screen, his panic shifting just a little to confusion. He reached for Yuna over Shane and gripped her arm. “But the beep. Is gone. His heart beep.” 

“I’ll go get the nurse,” David said, leaving quickly. 

“Yes, good,” Rozanov said, and turned back to Shane, his grip on Yuna not relaxing. He watched Shane for a few moments. “His breath. He is alive, yes?”

“Yes, Rozanov. He’s alive,” Yuna said, her heart breaking. 

The nurse returned and promptly turned the volume back up on Shane’s monitor. Only then did Rozanov relax, finally letting go of Yuna. 

“Do you want me to turn the sound back up on yours, Ilya?” the nurse asked. 

Rozanov looked at her as if she wasn’t speaking English or Russian. “No, I know I am alive.”

The nurse didn’t bat an eye. “Glad to hear it. Get some rest, okay?”

“Okey,” Rozanov whispered, and fell back into his blankets, but he didn’t seem quite able to settle. 

Yuna stayed by the bed while David settled back into his seat. “He’s okay, Rozanov, you can rest.”

“Ilya,” Rozanov said softly. 

“Ilya,” Yuna repeated. It was weird to say it without adding the Rozanov onto the end. But he would be Ilya to her now, wouldn’t he? “You can rest, Ilya. If anything happens to Shane, the alarms will go off and wake you.”

Ilya swallowed hard. “Is hard. When I close eyes I see him so still.”

Yuna couldn’t help it. She reached out and ran her fingers across his forehead, brushing his curls aside. “That must have been hard to see. Especially after losing your father so recently. I’m so sorry you’ve been through so much, Ilya.”

Ilya shook his head, but his eyes stayed stuck to Shane. “No, losing papa was not hard like this. He was not good man, and he was gone long before he died. No, losing Shane would not be like losing him. More like losing mama, a piece of my heart left with her.” He lifted his and Shane’s hands and held them to his chest. “Is still empty. Losing Shane would be like that. Other part of heart just gone.”

Something hot ran down Yuna’s cheek but she brushed it away before it could fall. “I’m so sorry, Ilya. I didn’t know you lost your mom too.”

Ilya made a small noise. “Was long time ago.”

“Yes, but there is no limit to grief.” Ilya’s eyes met hers at last, and if they were both a little glassy, Yuna wouldn’t tell. She leaned down and caressed his cheek, and Ilya leaned into her hand. “But you can keep the other piece of your heart, because Shane isn’t going anywhere.”

She bent forward and kissed his forehead. When she pulled back, his eyes were closed tight. “Spasibo,” he said. She didn’t know what it meant, but it didn’t matter. 

“Rest, Ilya, I promise Shane won’t go anywhere, and neither will David and I.”

She settled in her chair, and Ilya finally fell back asleep. David pulled her into his side, and Yuna took a moment to breathe. She and David had seen Shane go down on the ice, but hadn’t realized what had happened until the medics started chest compressions. Yuna had rewatched the footage after the second concussion check of the night. It had been hard to watch, but she needed to see it again through the lens of knowing who her son and Rozanov—no, Ilya—were to each other, so she could plan properly. Ilya had been down himself, his leg resting at a horrible angle as he crawled across the ice to her son. He had shouted and begged as he held onto him, but no recording she had found picked up the words well enough for a translation. It was not subtle, but it also wasn’t hopeless for the narrative Shane and Ilya wanted to tell with him having the excuse of being concussed and recently back from mourning his father. It was, however, heartbreaking. She had cried when she watched it, and Yuna was not a crier. Not usually at least. 

She let out a ragged breath, and pressed her face into David’s shoulder. “We’re keeping him,” she said. 

David chuckled. “Yes, we are.”

Chapter End Notes

okay, how are we feeling about David and Yuna? How are we feeling about sad boy Ilya? Do we think Shane is gonna cope well when he wakes up?

Chapter 4 will be up tomorrow, have a wonderful day!!

Chapter 4: Please don’t panic

Chapter Summary

It's the morning after Ilya and Shane collide on the ice, and everyone is a little under medicated. The boys are soft with each other, and it's time for Yuna to do Yuna things.

Chapter Notes

Trigger warning at the end chapter notes.

I had so much fun writing all the soft bits of this <3 Hope you enjoy!

It had been the best night of Ilya’s life. 

He had slept horribly. It wasn’t because the nurses woke him up every half hour to make sure his brain was still working, it was all the other little moments when Ilya wasn’t sure if he had dreamt the part where Shane was alive, and he had to open his eyes and check.

The nice Russian man had been a godsend, but he didn’t need to be up all night, and Ilya told them he would try harder in English so he could leave. It worked, mostly, but it was so hard. Focusing on the words the nurse said, when all he wanted to do was stare at Shane, and then fighting to get the words out in English. It felt like the stress of being shoved into a press room after forty minutes on the ice, and a bad loss, and someone punched him right in the face before shoving him in front of the cameras. 

The sleeping was rough, but the pain was worse. His head ached every time he opened his eyes, and it just got worse and worse as the night progressed. His leg started out feeling like a heavy weight, and nothing more, but slowly it became a pulsing ache radiating up his body. He could feel it in his teeth somehow. Or maybe that was his concussion. He also thought he might have a broken finger, but he didn’t want to tell anyone in case it kept them from giving him crutches. Besides, it was his left hand, and his right hand was busy holding Shane. So it wasn’t like he needed the finger. 

And then the nurse had brought him pills for his pain, and Ilya just couldn’t. All in all it was a painfully long night, and he wouldn’t have wished for a thing to be different.

He had finally told his Shane he loved him, and somehow Shane loved him back. It wasn’t the first time he told Shane he loved him. But it was the first time in English. 

He had finally said the words to Shane, on their phone call after his father's funeral. I love you. But he hadn’t said them in English, and Shane hadn’t understood. It was cowardly, but Ilya couldn’t expose more of his heart that night. Not after burying his father. 

It was the next morning that did it for Ilya. He’d gone to the cemetery early, and sat with his mother. He explained about Shane, and told her why he had to leave. He sat there, tracing her name in the headstone until his finger grew numb before he finally pulled out his phone. It was the middle of the night for Shane, but still he answered. 

“Ilya, are you okay?”

“Yes. I am with my mama.”

“Your mom?” Shane asked, clearly confused. 

“Yes. At the cemetery.”

“Oh, right.” Shane’s voice was soft and careful.

“I wanted to introduce you. Is that okey?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shane cleared his throat. “Absolutely.”

“Okey, you are on speaker. Mama, this is Shane. He is very important to me, so I wanted you to meet him.” He switched to Russian, still a coward. “He is the love of my life, and why I must leave Russia. You would be happy for me I think.”

He was silent for a long moment before Shane broke it. “Uh, Ilya, what was your mother’s name?”

“Irina,” Ilya said carefully. It had been so long since he said it aloud, and here, at his mothers grave, it felt sacred. 

“Irina,” Shane repeated. “Um. Is it okay if I talk to her? I don’t know enough Russian, but is English okay?”

“Yes,” Ilya said on a breath. His eyes burned.

Shane cleared his throat. “Hello, Irina. I just wanted to say thank you for your son. He’s amazing. He’s so smart, and brave, and good at hockey. He’s confident and kind, and the best person I know. He makes me better. I’m so thankful I got to meet him when I did. I honestly don’t know who I would be without him. Shane Hollander the hockey player, and Shane Hollander the man. Every part of me is better for knowing him, and I know that’s all because of you, so thank you, Irina. Thank you for your son.”

“Thank you, Shane,” Ilya whispered, unable to say more. 

“Yeah.”

“Will you hold on for a moment?” Ilya asked.

“Of course.”

“Okey.” Ilya cleared his throat. And spoke in Russian. “See what I mean mama? I am gone for him. He’s everything. He’s worth giving up everything.”

Ilya said his final goodbye and kissed his mom’s headstone before walking back to the parking lot.

“Thank you, Shane,” he said when words came back to him.

“Thank you for introducing me.”

“I think she would have loved you. She was so smart, and funny, and kind. She wasn’t weak.”

“How long ago did she die?”

“I was twelve.”

“What happened?”

Ilya asked himself if he was strong enough for this conversation. His heart was already split open, why not let Shane see his guts?

“She killed herself. Swallowed pills. I found her. I shouldn’t have, she wouldn’t have wanted that, but I came home early.”

“Oh, Ilya, I’m so sorry.”

“She wasn’t a coward,” Ilya said, defensively, because she wasn’t even if he was. “But she was so sad, and my father was so mean. It was just too much I think.”

“I don’t think she was a coward.”

Ilya sniffed. He reached his car and leaned up against it.

“I wish I was there,” Shane said into the phone, and Ilya tried to pretend he was. “I wish . . . I wish I could hold you.”

“I wish that too,” Ilya whispered.

They were silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Eventually, Ilya got in his car and turned on the heat. 

“Where are you going now?” Shane asked.

“To my apartment. Sveta is helping me pack it up.” 

“Are you coming back already?”

“No, but I am giving the apartment to my brother. Then I will never come back here. Today was goodbye to mama.”

“Ilya, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry. I will be back in time for our next game,” Ilya said with a smirk.

“But you could stay longer.” 

“Yes, but I would rather see you.” 

“I want to see you too.”

“Good. I will beat you at hockey, and then you can hold me as promised.”

Shane snorted. “Or I can beat you, and then still hold you. You might need it more then.”

“Mm, unlikely.”

Shane laughed. “Asshole.”

And the word felt like an endearment. It made Ilya grin like an idiot.

He hadn’t said I love you in English before hanging up, but he had said it in a rush in Russian, again a coward. 

But losing Shane for the few minutes his heart stopped on the ice had made Ilya, well, not brave, but desperate. And now the words flowed easily. He spoke them out loud every concussion check for all to hear, and then delighted when Shane said them back. It made the endless night the best of his life. 

Ilya woke in the morning, the sun way too bright in the room, when Shane’s dad, David, as he insisted Ilya call him in the night, left to get coffee for him and Yuna. 

He met Yuna’s exhausted eyes over her laptop. Ilya didn’t think she’d slept.

“How are you feeling, Ilya?” she asked.

“Hmm,” Ilya tried, but no words came to mind. Thinking was way too hard with his head pounding and his leg throbbing. 

The door opened again, and the nurse came in. This one was newer. Shane’s kind nurse had handled both their concussion checks over the night, but this one had taken over the last two checks. She was nicer than his mean nurse had been, but not quite as nice as Shane’s. 

“Good morning, how are we doing?” she asked when she saw Ilya was awake.

Ilya wished people would stop asking that, it was just too much. He grunted and closed his eyes. It didn’t deter the nurse who prodded Ilya into answering all her questions with whatever words he could force out. When she turned her attention to Shane, Ilya did the same, anticipating that moment Shane opened his eyes, and relief would fill Ilya again, smothering the pain for one bright moment. 

But when Shane opened his eyes this time, his floaty happy self wasn’t there. Ilya saw the moment reality settled in as Shane’s eyes flicked from Ilya and their entwined hands to his mom, and then to the nurse. 

“Shane,” Ilya said, squeezing his hand and making Shane ignore the nurse’s question about the date. “Shane, look at me.”

Shane’s wide eyes met his, his chest rising and falling a bit fast, but he didn’t try to drop Ilya’s hand, and it helped.

“Hey, Shane. Is okey. Everything is okey,” Ilya got out, forcing his eyes to stay open through the pain.

He glanced at Yuna, and she seemed to understand. She moved to Shane’s side and rubbed his chest to get his attention. 

“Shane, honey. Everything is okay, just like Ilya said.”

“Ilya?” Shane asked his mom through his panicked breaths, as if it was a complete question.

“Yes, Ilya is great, Shane, and so are you,” Yuna said. “Everything is great, and you don’t need to worry.”

Shane blinked a lot, and looked at Ilya, who smiled back at him carefully. He looked back at his mom. “I’m sorry,” he started, but Yuna cut him off.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Shane. Nothing, do you hear me?” Yuna said.

“You’re sure?” Shane asked.

“Yes, Shane, I love you so much. Your life is your own, and you don’t owe me or your dad anything you aren’t ready to give. Do you understand?”

Shane glanced around. “Is dad—?”

“Your dad just went to get me coffee. He also loves you so much and isn’t mad, okay?”

“Okay. Okay,” Shane said a few times, and he seemed to calm. Relieved, Ilya sank back down into his pillow, closing his eyes against the sharp stabbing. He wanted to keep looking at Shane, but his eyes needed a break.

The nurse, who’d gone quiet at Shane’s panic, spoke back up. “Okay, I think we’re good with the questions for now. We’re moving both your checks to every hour now. Shane, how are you feeling overall?”

“Uh, my head hurts pretty bad,” he said. 

“Okay, I’ll get your next dosage ready.”

“Can I get, uh, not whatever that was before? I don’t wanna be so out of it.”

“Yeah, can do,” the nurse said, making a note on his chart. “Ilya, how are you doing?” she asked again.

He made a noise, and hoped that was enough. It wasn’t.

“Ilya, just to confirm, you are feeling okay this morning?”

“Yes,” he said. What language had that been? He wasn’t sure. 

“That means yes,” Shane said for him, and Ilya smiled. 

“Ilya, can you open your eyes for me again?” the nurse asked, her voice closer again.

“What’s wrong?” Shane asked, and Ilya felt him shift next to him. He cracked open an eye, and there was his Shane, lovely as ever. He tried to focus on the freckles, but they were a little blurry. 

“I okey,” Ilya forced out.

“His notes say he had a harder time with English when he was first admitted, but that it got better as the night progressed. I haven’t been doing his checks long, but is this a normal level of English for him?”

“No, it's not. Hey Ilya, are you okay, baby?”

That got Ilya’s attention. He could only imagine the goofy look on his face. He lifted their joined hands and kissed Shane’s knuckles. “I okey, Shane.”

Shane looked at the nurse, and Ilya frowned, wishing Shane would look back at him. 

“I think something’s wrong,” Shane said.

“No,” Ilya said, not wanting Shane to worry. “Just pain. Is okay.”

“You’re in pain?” the nurse asked. 

“Yes,” Ilya said.

“He says yes,” Shane repeated, as if that wasn’t clear. 

“Okay, let me check in with the doctor about upping his dose.”

“No. No pills,” Ilya said.

“Oh,” Shane said softly. “Did he take his last dose?”

There was some rustling, and then the nurse must have found the little cup Ilya tucked on the small table behind his bed. 

“Nope, they’re still here. That would be the problem.”

“Can they be dissolved or ground up in something? Pudding maybe? He’s really bad at swallowing,” Shane said dryly. 

Ilya couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face. Shane was such a liar. But he was lying for Ilya. Protecting his secrets and his dignity, and making a dirty joke all at the same time. 

The nurse agreed to bring something else, and left. “I love you,” Ilya said when the door closed.

“What does that one mean?” Shane asked.

Ilya frowned. English. He swore to say it in English as many times as he could. “I love you,” Ilya said, making sure it was in English.

“Say it again? In Russian?” Shane asked, he sounded like he was smiling. Ilya did, and then Shane repeated it. Badly. 

“Perfect,” Ilya said. 

David returned a short time later, and reassured Shane that everyone was okay with whatever, because no one had really said anything directly. Ilya and Shane had just fawned over each other every chance they could, and called each other boyfriends. So yes, his parents probably knew he was gay, but Shane hadn’t directly said it yet.

The nurse returned with two trays. “Okay, how about we try some breakfast?”

Breakfast was a lump of sad looking eggs, a small bowl of fruit, and toast. Shane had a side of pills with his, and Ilya had chocolate pudding. He snatched up the little bowl with delight. 

“That’s your pain dose,” the nurse explained unnecessarily. “Shane, I have these for you. You can take them after you eat a little, okay? They don’t sit well on an empty stomach.”

“Thank you,” Shane said, and Ilya repeated it. The nurse nodded and left. 

Ilya inhaled his pudding. It was a little weirdly bitter, and definitely had fake sugar, but it was still delicious. 

“Better than a McDonald’s chocolate shake?” Shane asked him with a grin.

“No, nothing is better than that,” Ilya said, before licking the bowl. Shane snorted. Ilya set in on his eggs. They were okay. Not dry at least, but needed salt and seasoning. He scooped eggs onto one of the dry pieces of toast, and crammed it into his mouth when he realized Shane wasn’t eating. His head was back on his pillow, eyes closed, as if he’d gone back to sleep, but Ilya knew he hadn’t.

“Yuna, would you mind finding phone?” Ilya asked carefully.

“Your phone?” she asked, looking up from her computer. Her eyes were tired and her face was pale. Maybe they could convince her to go rest at Shane’s apartment sometime soon. “It might be in the bag your equipment manager dropped off with the front desk last night. Let me check.” 

The bag had been received from reception, the front desk and the entire floor under strict instructions not to let any non approved people through.

“Right pocket,” Ilya said, and Yuna quickly found it. 

“It’s dead, but I can charge it up. What do you need? You shouldn’t be looking at it, but I can start a call if you need to reach someone.”

“No, order app.” Ilya sighed. Words were so hard right now, but this was important. “There is smoothie shop Shane likes.”

“Ilya, I’m fine,” Shane cut in, but Yuna’s eyes widened as she looked over his untouched tray.

“You know, Shane. I’m feeling a little gross after sleeping here last night,” David said, stepping up to his bedside. “I was thinking maybe I could swing by your apartment and get a shower if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, dad. You have a key.”

“Okay, thank you, son. And you know, while I’m there I can grab some comfortable clothes, maybe whip you up a quick smoothie?”

Oh. David was smart. Ilya hadn’t thought him stupid, just quiet. But here he was, smart and sneaky. 

“Yeah, Dad. Uh, that would be great.”

“Okay, great. Thank you, Shane. Anything else I can get you while I’m there?”

“Uh, maybe some sweats and a sweatshirt?”

“That’s easy. Ilya, how about you?”

Ilya glanced up, surprised to be addressed. “Ah, no. I fine.”

“Nonsense. How about some fresh clothes? Well, maybe not sweats over that brace.”

Yes, Ilya was rather naked under his paper thin gown, and it was rather uncomfortable. “Uh, red shorts,” he said, glancing at Shane.

“There’s a pair of his red basketball shorts in my dresser,” Shane said, rubbing his forehead and not meeting his dad’s eyes. 

“Great. I’ll get that and a few other things, socks, underwear, deodorant, and I’ll be back soon. Okay?”

“Thank you, Dad.”

“Thank you, David.”

Shane sunk back into his pillow with a soft sigh, and Ilya ate Shane’s eggs and toast, completely confident Shane wouldn’t be touching them.

By the time Ilya was finished, he was feeling so much better. Not perfect, maybe not even great, but he could think past the pain, and life didn’t feel quite so hard to be conscious in.

He leaned back in bed, and turned to face Shane. His eyes were closed, and a small frown pinched his eyebrows. 

“Shane,” Ilya said in a plaintive tone. 

Shane opened his eyes and turned to him immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“I have problem,” Ilya started. 

“What is it? Do you need to pee? No, they still have you on a catheter, right?”

Ilya grimaced. He did, and that realization had not been fun. His penis looked like a sad little party balloon, deflated on its string. It was the first time he’d been so limp in Shane’s presence. He wanted to show Shane, and see Shane’s, but his parents had been in the room so it didn’t feel like the right time. 

Ilya refocused. “Is big favor. Can you help me?”

Shane scowled at him. “Ilya if you’re about to make a dick joke with my mom in the room,” Shane hissed.

“No, no.” Ilya, glanced over at Yuna and saw her smirking as she typed on her laptop. “Is not bad. Just need help. Promise you’ll help?”

Shane sighed. “Yes, Ilya, I promise. What is it?”

Ilya reached up and ran a finger across Shane’s freckles. “I have big problem. Seeing you sad and in pain hurts me in ways pain pills cannot fix, and your dad will not be back soon.” Ilya picked a strawberry out of the fruit bowl, and held it up to Shane. Shane scowled at the berry. “Is sad little hospital berry, but you can still eat it.”

“Ilya,” Shane started, but Ilya didn’t let him get going.

“Is not bad sugar Shane, and has vitamins. It has A and C, and the muscle one, what is that?”

“Potassium,” Yuna said.

“Yes, that,” Ilya said, sharing a smile with Yuna. “Is good for muscle, and right now your muscle need help healing, yes?”

Shane sighed, but he wasn’t arguing. 

“Just one little sad strawberry, yes?” Ilya said, and held the strawberry to Shane’s lips. Slowly, as if it pained him, Shane opened his mouth and took a bite. “Mmmm. Very good.”

Shane blushed a little, and it made Ilya’s chest bubbly. When he finished his first bite, Ilya prompted him to eat the rest, and he did. Then Ilya fished another strawberry out of the two fruit bowls. When the last strawberry was gone, he found a piece of melon, and took a bite to check it. “Here, is not too sweet.” Shane made a face. “Is not mushy. Crunchy. Nice.”

Shane hesitated but took a bite. The next piece of melon had Shane turning up his nose. “That one looks mushy.”

Ilya bit off the soft inside. “Here, just the good part.”

Shane ate it. 

When the melon was gone, Ilya handed him his pills and water, not wanting to try his luck on the grapes. They looked squishy.

Shane took his pills, and Ilya caught Yuna’s eyes. She smiled, and nodded. ‘Good job’ she whispered, and Ilya bit his lips as pride bloomed in his chest. Shane relaxed back into his bed, and Ilya made sure the offending grapes disappeared, tucking them behind his bed like he’d done with his own pills. 

Shane dozed, and a nurse came in to clear away the trays and grapes a half hour later, waking Shane. 

“Feeling better?” Ilya asked, when she’d left. 

“Yeah,” Shane said. “Loads.” He gave Ilya a warm smile. “Thank you.”

“I love you,” Ilya replied. 

Shane’s smile brightened. “I love you too.”

Ilya leaned in to kiss his stupidly cute face, but Yuna caught his eye again. “Ah, maybe we should talk about plan now?” he asked, leaning back from the kiss.

“What plan?” Shane asked, looking between Ilya and his mom. 

“Well, last night you had big ideas of things, but maybe we don’t do that?”

Shane frowned. “You mean me asking you to stay in Ottawa while you recover?”

“Yes, Shane.”

“No, you should absolutely still do that. You said yes, right? Do you not want to now?”

“No, no. I want. But, I do not want to be a bother.”

Shane rolled his eyes, then winced. “Then stop arguing with me and let us take care of you.”

Ilya let out a breath. “Fine. Shane. Fine. But if I stay, we need plan. To explain why I stay, yes?”

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t think about that.”

“Which is why I have,” Yuna said, and Shane turned to her. “Shane, honey. Ilya and I talked last night about how we needed a plan to explain away his presence here. I have a few ideas. We can talk about them now, or we can do this later if you’re not feeling up for it.”

“Sooner the better, right?” Shane asked. 

“Yes, maybe. But this will keep another day or two. There isn’t much chance of anything getting out before Ilya is discharged, but the sooner we start laying the ground work, the better.”

“Okay, yeah. Let’s talk it out, then we can think it over if we need to,” Shane said, and he laced his fingers with Ilya’s again. 

“Good. Just stop me if this gets to be too much,” Yuna said, and then she went off. “We have a few different approaches. Lie, misdirect, or tell the truth.”

Shane let out a deep breath. He noticed his mom pause, and waved her on. “Sorry, ignore me.”

“Okay. Lying. It’s the easiest path right now, but depending on what you want long term, it can get messy. If for example you one day want to come out, and we start covering your life with lies, it will hurt later. We lie about where Ilya is, what both of you are doing, maybe come up with cover relationships and people.” She paused, to let it sink in. “Misdirecting would be more complicated, but leaves the future open. We can come up with a cover story of why you two are interacting, why it makes sense for Ilya to be here, and why you might interact for the future.” She paused again, and Shane shot Ilya a curious look. Ilya smiled, but didn’t have any thoughts. “The third option is telling the truth. This one is easy to do, but would mean a lot of complications to work though. We have a good legal team, and I’m confident we can prevent the league from making any issues. We can work out any difficulties. Whatever you two choose.”

“We can’t come out,” Shane said immediately. “It’s . . . well it’s terrifying, but it’s also not safe for Ilya.”

“Shane,” Ilya started.

“No, Ilya. I know you don’t want to go back to Russia, but what if something happens? What if there’s a complication with your leg and you can’t skate again? Or what if this year is trash for you with your rehab and no one signs you the next season for free agency? We can’t come out until you’re safe.”

Ilya frowned. It was clear Shane had been thinking a lot about this. “We could get married,” Ilya suggested. Shane gave him a dirty look. “Or I could marry someone else. Sveta would do it. US citizenship in a few years.”

Shane’s scowl deepened. “If you are marrying anyone, it will be me, Ilya Rozanov. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Ilya said, biting back his grin. 

“But I am not marrying you because we’re scared in a hospital room. I’m marrying you if and when one of us asks, and we decide the time is right. Got it?”

Ilya nodded. He loved this man so much. Maybe it was good that his penis was sleepy and sad. Popping a boner in front of his someday mother in law would be embarrassing. 

Shane sighed and turned back to his mom. His cheeks were pretty pink, and his mom was also hiding a grin. “We can’t come out until we have a better plan for Ilya. And,” he glanced at Ilya. “I don’t want to lie. Not outright. I’ve been lying for six years.”

“Six years?” Yuna says, her voice sharp, startling Ilya and Shane.

“Uh, yeah. Just about,” Shane said carefully.

“Since when, World Juniors?” she asked.

“More like, the summer before rookie year.”

Yuna’s eyes moved back and forth as if she was reading their story on the air, then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. “Okay. So no telling the truth, and no lying outright. We misdirect.” Yuna scrolled through her computer and stopped, looking up at them. “I have a few ideas.”

Ilya grinned. He knew already that he loved this woman. He could see so much of who Shane was in her.

“The goal here is to come up with a reason as to why you are friends, and train everyone to expect your names to come up in more than just a rivalry. It could be a brand collaboration, a program or charity you both help with. Make sense?”

“Actually,” Shane cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking about a charity. Not joining one, but like starting one. Maybe we could do that together?” He looked at Ilya and Ilya nodded. He would do anything Shane wanted. 

“Starting a charity is a lot more work, but a more solid cover,” Yuna said, not missing a beat. She scrolled on her computer as if finding a heading. This woman was amazing. Scary but amazing. “We can spin it as though it was something you’ve been planning for a while, and with the recent opportunity of time off due to being out for the rest of the season, you’re speeding up your timeline. Ilya is staying in town while you work through the details, together. We can post lots of photos of you two in casts working on paperwork, creating lots of buz for the charity.”

“The pictures would go viral, and we can use it all to get donations or something,” Shane added.

“Yes, so we need a charity with a clear plan and mission statement, website, file the NPO, and have a donation portal set up, and a few other details before Ilya is released from the hospital,” Yuna said, as if reading off a list.

“Me?” Ilya asked.

“Yes,” Yuna said. “When you get released the press will want to know where you are, how you’re getting home to Boston, everything. Ideally we have a press release announcing the charity and accepting donations before then.”

Ilya’s head buzzed. This was so much. 

“Don’t stress,” Yuna said, looking at each of them slowly. “You need to make decisions on what you want and how we do this, but the details will all be handled by me and the team.”

“Who’s team?” Ilya asked. Definitely not the metros. 

“Shane’s team. Business manager, marketing manager, publicist, lawyers, all of them. Ilya, I’ll need the contact details of your agent and manager.”

“Um, I can get you agent, but he will not want to be involved,” Ilya said.

“And your manager?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Who handles all your brand deals?”

“I don’t get so many.”

Yuna’s eyes did that thing again where she scanned the air. Clearly this was something to process as big as his and Shane’s six year relationship.

“Okay, and tell me again why your agent won’t want to be involved?”

“He is old, Russian. He will not be interested in something like charity.” Ilya shot Shane a glance. “He would also not be good if real reason gets out. He would drop me as client.”

“And are you attached to him as your agent?” Yuna asked slowly. 

Ilya frowned. “No. He was old friend of papa. Made things more difficult with applying for citizenship.”

Yuna nodded. “I’m adding getting you a new agent to the list.”

“Mom, no overstepping,” Shane whined.

“It’s not overstepping. Ilya, that is truly unacceptable, especially if your goal is to someday be with Shane. I’ll make a list of agents for you to consider. Shane’s agent will be at the top of that list, it might make coordinating things easier you having the same as well, but the choice is yours.”

“Yes, I will take Shane’s if she will have me.”

“Ilya, you don’t have to agree with everything she says,” Shane said.

“She has not said anything stupid yet, Shane. Is all good idea.”

“Yes, Shane, listen to your boyfriend,” Yuna said, and she and Ilya shared a smile. Shane slumped in defeat. 

“Okay, about the charity. I have a list of suggestions.”

“Well,” Shane said and hesitated. Ilya met his warm brown eyes. “I had an idea. I don’t want to make a fake charity. I want to do something real,” he said to Ilya softly, as if this was between just the two of them. “We could make a hockey camp, and donate everything to charities that support mental health, like suicide prevention.”

Ilya’s breath caught in his throat, and he closed his mouth.

“We don’t have to, of course,” Shane started to backtrack, but Ilya squeezed his hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss. “Okay, so yeah. We could call it, maybe the Irina Foundation?”

Ilya had to close his eyes. He couldn’t look at this beautiful man saying these wonderful things. This couldn’t be real. Ilya must have died on the ice when he crashed into Marlow and Pike. He must be dead now, and this was the wonderful imaginings waiting for him.

He couldn’t cry in this place. He wouldn’t. He buried his face in Shane’s shoulder. 

Yuna and Shane chatted about small details. Two weeks of hockey camp. One in Montreal and one in Boston, celebrity coaches, and training plans. When Ilya felt like he had a decent handle on his emotions, he sat back up, and listened. When they reached a lul in their current topic, Shane turned to him.

“What do you think?” Shane asked.

“Yes. I . . . Yes, Shane,” Ilya whispered. 

“To all of it?” Shane asked.

“Yes. All.”

“It’s a beautiful name, the Irina Foundation,” Yuna said. “What does it mean?”

“Irina, my mother,” Ilya said. 

Yuna nodded. “It’s lovely. Perfect.”

Ilya smiled sadly. 

They talked over a few more details, and Yuna sent off emails to engage with web designers, and brand designers, and other designers Ilya wasn’t sure on the purpose of.

“Should we talk about what you want to do, Ilya?”

“Do?” Ilya asked. Did he miss a step in her plan?

“I can engage an immigration lawyer on your behalf. I know a few Canadian, but I can find some US recommendations.”

“No, I want Canadian. Is easier, and better with me being Russian.”

“Okay, that might be harder with you employed in the US, but we can look into options.”

“I am free agent soon. I can move to a Canadian team season after next.”

“You would leave Boston?” Yuna said with a frown.

“Mom!”

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Would be better for us, no?”

Yuna looked like she wanted to say something more, but she shook her head. “Okay, what teams are you considering?”

After a very detailed back and forth, they decided Ottawa was likely the best choice. It was a lot of change, but the idea buzzed under Ilya’s skin. He could be so close to Shane.

“We have time, yes?” Ilya asked, startling Yuna out of her focused email frenzy. 

“Yes. We have a few days to get everything together.”

“Okey,” Ilya said. “Can I make request?”

Yuna nodded. “Of course, honey. I’m here to help.”

“Good. Help by leaving computer here, and going to Shane’s apartment for nap.”

“I . . . But . . .”

Oh, he had made a Hollander speechless. It was delightful.

“He’s right, Mom. You need sleep.”

“Oh, I’m fine.”

“No, Mom. You need proper sleep if you’re going to be on your A game. Taking care of yourself is the best thing you can do for the team. Isn’t that what you always tell me?”

Yuna deflated. “I’ll at least wait until your father gets back,” Yuna started. 

“Mom, no. It’s fine. Just go now. Maybe you can spend like five seconds alone with Dad before he gets back. Me and Ilya are just going to nap anyway. We’ll do that better without all the business discussion.”

“Okay. Okay, fine. I’m just going to finish this email.”

Ilya suspected it was more than just one email, but he would never call Yuna out like that. Before long, Yuna packed up, and Shane forced her to leave her computer on the chair. She kissed Shane on the forehead, and then moved around and kissed Ilya’s forehead too. It made his eyes burn for some reason. 

When she was gone, Shane pulled him even further onto his bed. 

“I love you so freaking much, Ilya. You’re sure you’re okay with all of this?”

“Yes, Shane. We will make it work.”

Chapter End Notes

Mentions of suicide.

I'm not big on flashbacks, so this is the second and last one (most likely) We just have two main changes before the collision, the boys choosing to try and make it work at All Stars, and Ilya opening up to Shane while in Russia. Those are about the only universe changes I plan to make pre the start of the story, except maybe changing the birth date of a kid to provide better fluff. More on that later ;]

Chapter 5: Guests and Posts

Chapter Summary

The boys get a few unexpected visitors. Don't blame Yuna, it's not her fault.

Chapter Notes

Woo! We hit a thousand hits! Thanks everyone for reading, I appreciate you all so much!

Ilya woke when the door banged against the wall. “How’s it going, asshole?”

The large frame of Marlow froze just a few feet from the beds, and Ilya froze staring at Marlow.

“Shit, Roz, when Kevin said you had friends looking after you, this isn’t what I was expecting.”

Ilya glanced at Shane, but he was still asleep, curled against Ilya as best as he could with his shoulder in a sling.  

“Marlow, if you can’t be cool, you need to get the fuck out,” Ilya spat. 

“Hey, man. I can be cool, I can be totally cool,” he said, his arms up in a defensive gesture.

Ilya examined the man, not sure if he should believe him, but he’d always liked Marlow. He was a bit dumb, but he was a good guy.

“Can I sit?” Marlow asked, pointing at David’s chair. 

Ilya nodded, not yet relaxing. 

Marlow picked up the chair and brought it right up to Ilya’s side and sat. He stared at Ilya, and Ilya stared back, his arm still entwined with Shane, his butt half on his rival’s bed.

“So, you and Hollander?” Marlow eventually asked. 

Ilya nodded sharply once.

“Hey man, it’s cool. I support you in all your ho ways. You know that.”

Ilya huffed. Marlow definitely had supported Ilya’s years of sleeping around. “Is not ho ways, not anymore.”

Marlow’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s serious then?”

“Yes.”

Marlow let out a breath in a blast. “Fuck, man. Congrats, but fuck. That’s a lot.” He moved his head side to side a few times. “Makes a few things make sense though.”

“What things, Marly?” Ilya asked, still on edge. 

“Well, the whole business last year. Hollander was dating Rose Landry, and you were a bear, so that tracks. Man, then there was the whole Montreal Jane thing. I’m so stupid for not realizing that sooner. Shane, Jane,” Marlow chuckled, but Ilya was a little impressed. 

“Maybe not stupid enough if it was so obvious.”

“Obvious from this side, at least.” Marlow ran his eyes over Shane, and shook his head. “Fucking Shane Hollander. It’s a crazy pull, Roz.”

Ilya snorted. “Stop looking at my boyfriend.”

“He’s okay? I really didn’t mean to hit him like that, man.”

“I know, Marly. He will be okay.”

“You too?”

“Yes, me too.”

“Good.”

“Yes, good.”

“Good. Good, good,” Marlow said, slapping his thighs. “Can I help?”

“Help?” Ilya asked.

Marlow gestured between him and Shane. “Yeah, anything you need, I can help.”

“Maybe. I will let you know.” Marlow would make a good coach for their camp this summer. 

“Good. Do you need anything? I need to get to the airport.”

“No, I am good. You should leave before mama Hollander arrives and tries to knife you.”

Marlow snorted. “Got it. Not time to meet the inlaws yet.”

Marlow stood and reached out to Ilya. Ilya held out his free left hand, his right still holding Shane tight, and they bumped fists. “Thank you, Marly.”

“I got you, Roz. Anything you need. I’ll tell the boys you’ve got your Jane playing nurse.” 

Ilya grinned. “Yes, I will need to order a costume. Mens large.”

Marlow snorted and headed for the door, never one to let a conversation linger. “Love you, man. Always.” 

“Love you, Marly,” he said, just before the door closed. He let out a deep sigh. That had gone better than he could have expected. He should have expected Marlow would be good, but there was still that fear, which Shane usually wore heavier than Ilya did. He glanced down at his Shane, who was still deeply asleep. Maybe that was for the best. He didn’t need to stress just now when Marlow was supporting them.

When Ilya next wakes, it’s to David handing something green and disgusting to Shane.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Any time, son.” David noticed Ilya awake. “How are you feeling, Ilya?”

“Okey,” Ilya said, watching as Shane carefully drank his gross smoothie.

“I got something for you too if you’re up for it,” David said, turning around. He set a white cup with lovely yellow lettering on his tray with a straw, and Ilya thought maybe he was hallucinating. “You wanted chocolate, right?”

Ilya glanced at the cup, then back at David. “Is for me?”

“Of course! I couldn’t bring Shane back a treat and not get you anything.”

Ilya snorted. “That evil is not treat.” He eyed Shane’s smoothie suspiciously as he carefully unwrapped the straw, still feeling a little unsteady with this oddly kind gesture.

“Mmm. It is to me,” Shane said. “Seriously, thanks Dad.”

“Any time, kid. How have things been since I left?”

Shane summarized the plans for their charity and Ilya took his first pull on his drink. The chocolate hit his tongue and he moaned.

Shane shot him a look and Ilya grinned. “Better than a cigarette,” Ilya said, licking his lips.

Shane made a noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t know which one is worse.”

“Your smoothie is definitely the worst.”

“Whatever.”

After his milkshake, Ilya took a nap, waking only for his next concussion check. The nurse removed their catheters, which was an experience Ilya didn’t want to repeat, but it meant Shane and Ilya could change. David helped both of them into real clothes he’d brought from Shane’s house, but the hoodie proved too much for Shane. 

“I have a bigger one in my bag,” Ilya suggested. 

“The blue one?” Shane asked.

Ilya nodded, and David retrieved it from his bag. It was old and worn and stretched out, and went on easier than the one brought from Shane’s.

Dressed, and a bit out of breath from the exertion of changing, Ilya leaned back into his pillow.

“Hey, Ilya,” David called. “Yuna plugged your phone in over here, and it's been buzzing. Do you want me to answer it? The name is in Russian with a little crown next to it.”

Ilya groaned. “Sveta. She will be worried. Do you mind?” he asked Shane.

“Of course not, you can talk to whoever you want,” Shane said casually, maybe a little too casual. 

Ilya nodded at David who brought him the phone, swiping to answer just before he handed it over. 

“Sveta,” he answered, but then paused as his friend shouted in Russian. He held the phone a few inches from his head. 

“Ilya you asshole! How dare you do this to me? You are not allowed to get hurt when I’m fucking half way around the world. I didn’t even watch the game, I just woke up to a barrage of messages from the hospital and the team since I’m your emergency contact. What good is a fucking emergency contact who’s in Russia, Ilya? Do you know how hard it was to get back in touch with—”

Ilya set the phone face down on his bed and breathed. 

“So you make everyone in your life crazy then?” Shane asked. “Not just me?”

Ilya met his boyfriends pretty eyes, full of mirth. “Not just you.”

Ilya picked his phone back up, ready to interrupt his friend. 

“—and I cannot believe you didn’t tell me Shane Hollander is your Jane, I mean, I get why you didn’t say anything, but HOW DARE YOU not tell me something so good! You always hide the best—”

Ilya put the phone back down.

“Did she just say my name?”

“Uh, she may have figured out a while ago that Jane was a man, and, well, after the way I responded on the ice last night . . .” Ilya trailed off, not sure how to explain to Shane how stupid he had been. 

“How did you respond?”

“Shane,” Ilya said gently. “Your heart stopped on the ice. You weren’t breathing. I lost it. Completely.”

Shane’s face drained of color.

“It wasn’t that bad,” David cut in. “Your mom and I rewatched it a few times. Ilya looks upset, terrified even, but he didn’t give anything away. No one online is speculating.”

“Really?” Shane asked.

“Yes, really. Watching it while knowing the truth, it’s very clear Ilya cares deeply for you, but from an outside perspective he seemed disoriented, which he was due to the concussion he had just blacked out from.”

“So, she knows?” Shane asked.

“Sounds like it, but I can deny it,” Ilya said quickly. “She probably won’t believe me, but she will drop it. She knows when not to push.”

“You trust her?”

“With my life. She’s protected my secrets since we were young.”

“Well, I mean, you can tell her if you really want to.”

“You’re sure? I don’t have to Shane.”

“No, I mean, it would be good right?” A small smile crept over his face. “She should know you’re taken.” 

Ilya grinned, leaned over and planted a kiss on Shane’s freckles. He lifted the phone and tried to shush his friend. 

“—packing now for the airport, and then I suppose I will cart your ass home somehow. Ug, you better be a good patient for me, none of this winy boy needs a cuddle bullshit, Ilya. I am tired of winy men.”

“Sveta, please,” Ilya started.

“Do you have any idea what it is like to have men think they are owed comfort just because I have breasts—”

“Sveta! I have a concussion and if you do not stop shouting my boyfriend’s father will take away my phone,” Ilya said in English. 

Sveta was silent for a long moment. “Boyfriend?”

“Yes, boyfriend,” Ilya said with a smile.

Sveta squealed and Ilya yanked the phone from his ear, but he could still hear her, her Russian exchanged for English. “So I am right then? It’s Shane Hollander, yes? Oh my god Ilyusha, he is SO pretty!”

“Sveta, please, I am getting a headache. Listen. I will put you on speaker phone if you promise to be good.”

David took the phone from Ilya, and tapped the speaker phone button.

“No. Facetime. I need to see this,” Sveta demanded. 

“Sorry,” David called out. “They aren’t allowed to look at screens.” 

“Who is that, Ilyusha?” Sveta said in English, her voice filling the room. 

“That is David, Shane’s father,” Ilya said. 

“Oh, you are spending time with the inlaws, that’s a good sign,” Sveta said, and David chuckled while Shane blushed. “Introduce me, Ilyusha. You usually have better manners.”

Ilya sighed. “Shane, David, this is Sveta, Svetlana Vetrova, my best childhood friend, and the only family I have left. Sveta, this is Shane, my boyfriend, and his father David. My new family.”

“Hello, Sveta,” David said, pronouncing the name carefully. 

“Hi, Sveta,” Shane said weakly.

“Hello, David! Hello, Jane! It is so wonderful to speak at last. Ilyusha has been keeping you a secret for a long time. I’m glad to hear they put you in the same room, yes?”

“Yeah, uh, we kind of insisted while high on pain meds last night,” Shane said.

“Oh, that is absolutely adorable. David, you must send me a picture, please.”

“Of course.” David got up and retrieved the phone. He snapped a pic, Ilya leaning his head on Shane’s shoulder, and Shane trying his best to give a media smile. David tapped the phone a few times, and then Sveta squealed. Both Ilya and Shane flinched. 

“Oh, this is better than I imagined. Absolute power couple. I get to meet him when I get there, yes, Ilyusha?”

“Yes, but you do not need to cut your trip short, Sveta. I do not need a nurse. I will be staying with the Hollanders for the next few weeks.”

“Oh thank god,” Sveta said in a rush. “You are such a baby when you don’t feel good. Good luck, David!”

David chuckled.

“Shane, when you are allowed your phone again make Ilyusha give you my number so I can give you all the dirty details, yes?”

“Uh, yeah. That would be fun,” Shane said carefully. 

He didn’t get it yet, how Sveta had always fit into Ilya’s life in whatever way, how she would make herself a part of Shane’s life one way or another. All Shane saw was someone who Ilya had sex with regularly. It would take some time, but Ilya was confident he would get how Sveta fit, and would maybe no longer see her as a threat. 

They talked for a while longer. Sveta canceled her flight, and Ilya told her about their charity. Sveta asked Shane questions, trying to draw him into the conversation, and eventually they said their goodbyes, Shane extending her an invitation to visit once she was back in North America, and Sveta graciously accepting.

The room settled back into silence. It was startling after the chaos that had been Sveta. 

“I like her,” David said. 

“Me too,” Ilya said. Then nudged Shane. “As friend. As family.”

“Just yesterday you suggested marrying her,” Shane grumbled.

Oh yeah. Shane wouldn’t be getting over that any time soon, would he? 

“For citizenship, Shane. Would not be for love. Besides, I thought we agreed I would only be marrying you?”

Shane didn’t respond, but his lips quirked up in a smile. Ilya laid his head back down against Shane’s shoulder, and they relaxed into the peace of each other. Before long, Shane slipped back into sleep.

Ilya debated if he wanted to spend the next hour napping or watching Shane nap. He was spared the decision when the door opened again, and Hayden Pike entered. 

The man froze in the doorway, eyes roaming over the room from Shane to Ilya to David, and back again. Hmm. Maybe Ilya should have said something about Marlow getting past the front desk, so the daytime desk people knew not to let Pike in.

“Uh, what the fuck?”

“Hayden,” David said, in a remarkably calm voice. “How are you doing?”

Hayden ripped his eyes away from Shane and Ilya’s joined hands and turned to David, ever the polite Canadian. “Uh, yeah.” He lifted his arm showing off a brace. “Just a broken thumb and a mild concussion. They are letting me out today. I just wanted to check in before I get home. You know, see him breathing and all.”

Was Ilya feeling relatable to Pike? Ug. He might need them to lower his meds. 

“Yes, I understand completely. Glad to hear it wasn’t too serious,” David added. “Both Shane and Ilya are recovering. A few broken bones and concussions between them. They will likely be here a few more days, then we’ll get them home.”

“Oh good,” Hayden said, eyes darting back to Ilya, then back to David. “Wait, what? Like, together?”

“Yeah, you know. Figured it would be productive to get a jump start on the charity they are starting. Did Shane mention it?”

“Uh, no.” 

“Ah, well, you know him. Always so tight lipped until he has the whole thing worked out. Him and Ilya have been thinking about starting a hockey camp. They were planning on launching next year, but since they are both out for the season, Ilya’s gonna stay up here to recover so they can launch this summer instead.”

It sounded so natural when David said it. Could this plan actually work?”

“Oh. That makes sense, I guess,” Hayden said, frowning. “But why are you all up in his business? Shouldn’t you give him some room?” Hayden gestured at Ilya still mostly on Shane’s bed. 

“No, I am stuck, Pike.” Ilya held up his and Shane’s joined hands, and opened his grip, showing Shane still hanging on even in his sleep. “See? I am emotional support rival. Just helping the healing journey.”

“What the fuck? You know what. I don’t even care.” Hayden turned back to David. “He’s okay?” 

David listed off Shane’s injuries and recovery time, and Pike nodded along. 

“And this is fine?” he said, gesturing again to Ilya and Shane. 

“Of course. The boys have been friends for so long now, it just made sense to keep them together,” David said matter of factly. 

“Really?” Pike asked, his face screwed up in bewilderment. It was kind of hilarious to watch. Was David a champion gaslighter or what?

“Sure, but you know. The rivalry is good business and all. They’ve been champs playing along, but their charity will do good work.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course. Makes sense.” Pike scratched his head. His phone pinged in his pocket and he fished it out in a rush. “Okay, Jackie is downstairs. She has the newborn in the car, so I should really go. Give Shane my best, will you?”

“Will do. Give that baby kisses from me,” David said. 

“Right. Good seeing you David, and uh, Rozanov, I guess.”

“You too, Hayden.”

“Bye, Pike,” Ilya said sweetly. The baffled look on Pike’s face as he closed the door made Ilya’s day. 

Ilya’s and David’s eyes met. 

“Think he bought it?” David asked in a grumble. 

Ilya snorted. “I do. You were magnificent.”

David chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Oh, you know. You just have to know how to talk to people. Confidence goes a long way.”

Wasn’t that the truth. 

Ilya and Shane snoozed on and off throughout the day when they weren’t being wheeled out for tests and scans, or when an occupational therapist wasn’t coaching Ilya on using crutches. Yuna returned toward the evening, another smoothie for Shane in hand, and she sent David back to Shane’s apartment to get some proper rest. Ilya was feeling much more present, and found the conversation easier to join in on as Yuna updated them on the progress of their charity. She had logos and website designs that she described to Ilya and Shane, not letting them look at the screen. They made dozens of choices, and by the time Shane and Ilya forced Yuna to leave for the night, they had the start of a real charity. 

Ilya wasn’t sure if this whole plan would work, but for now he had Shane by his side, excited for the new endeavor, and happy to stand next to Ilya while they built something good. Ilya couldn’t really ask for anything else. He had real hope for the charity, and the good they could do, but he would do literally anything if it made Shane willing to be seen with him.

David and Yuna arrived the next morning with a smoothie and a milkshake. 

Ilya gasped, unsure what he had done in his life to deserve whatever wonderful thing this was causing the Hollanders to accept him, and give him delicious treats. 

Shane groaned. “Dad, are you trying to send him to an early grave?”

“Oh, Shane, it’s not such a big thing as all that. Besides, it’s not like he has a game coming up,” David said. 

Ilya positioned his straw so it made an annoying slurping noise, maintaining aggressive eye contact with Shane while he did so. 

“Fuck off,” Shane mouthed at Ilya.

“Are you two up for talking through some logistics?” Yuna asked.

“Yeah, Mom, what’s next on your list?”

“If your scans are the same as they were yesterday, you should both be getting discharged tomorrow, so we’re about ready to go live,” Yuna said, and while Ilya knew it was coming, the news still caught him off guard. “I’ve already coordinated to post shortly after the Metros and the Raiders who will be posting updates on your injuries and time off. I’ve created socials for the foundation, and have a few draft post ideas for both of you. We’ll post from each of your accounts, and tag the foundation. Shane, for your post, I’m thinking we share a few photos of the two of you, and then I have this statement.” 

Yuna read her statement. It was good, and neither Shane or Ilya had any notes. 

“For photos, I was thinking we can use one of the existing promos of you two facing off together, and then one of the two of you here in the hospital. Do you have any photos of just the two of you, maybe more casual, but not too intimate we can use?” Yuna asked, looking eager. 

“No, we’ve always deleted any photos, they weren’t safe,” Shane said, and Yuna’s face fell.

“I have photo from MLH awards a few years ago,” Ilya suggested.

“Which one?” Shane asked, turning to him. “The selfie from the sportsmanship bit?” 

“Yes.”

“Oh that would be perfect,” Yuna said. “Ilya, for your post we can either do something very similar, or I thought maybe you might want to say something a little more personal?” 

Ilya thought about it. This foundation was both his and Shane’s, but it held his mothers name, and honoring her would be something good. Ilya nodded. “Yes, could I maybe dictate to you, and then you can make it sound better and add more about the foundation?”

“Absolutly,” Yuna said, and they did it. When Ilya was finished, he felt a little raw, but he also felt good. This was right. No more hiding behind family lies, no more false beliefs that to be strong you had to hide all your weakness. He would honor his mama, and he could maybe do a little good for the world in the process. 

“Um, I have photo on my phone of my mama. They are old and not very good quality, but might be nice?”

“Yes, I think that would be lovely if you’re comfortable sharing her.”

“If you can hand me phone, I will find the folder, and the one of our MLH award selfies.”

“You really shouldn’t be looking at your phone, honey,” Yuna scolded, but she still handed it over, maybe not wanting to look through Ilya’s albums any more than Ilya wanted her to. 

He glanced quickly at the phone, and was relieved to see she had turned down the brightness all the way. He navigated to his locked folder with the six selfies he had taken on stage with Shane several years before, and handed the phone to her. “Can you pick which is best?”

“Oh, these are so cute! Look at you two!” Yuna swiped his screen flipping between them. “Can I send all of these to myself?”

“Mom,” Shane said in a dry voice. 

“Oh come on. I’m allowed to gush over adorable pictures of the two of you. It’s literally my right as your mother.”

Ilya gave her permission and she emailed the photos to herself, before handing him back the phone. Ilya squinted at his phone, and swiped over to an album containing a handful of photos he’d taken of the originals years ago when he’d visited his brother’s home. The fact that his brother had the originals and wouldn’t share them willingly with Ilya would always hurt. 

He handed the phone back over. “The one in the yellow dress would be good, I think.”

“Oh, Ilya, she was so beautiful,” Yuna said softly. 

“Can I see?” Shane asked. 

Yuna scowled. “Fine, but only quickly.” She handed the phone over to him, and he squinted at it for a long moment. 

Blinking he looked back at Ilya, a soft smile on his face. “You look like her.” 

The words made Ilya glow. He liked knowing he’d kept anything of her. It was hard when he looked at himself to see anything but his fathers hard jaw.

Yuna took back the phone. “I have a friend who can try and restore these, if you’d like. She would enhance and remove things like the glare or aging. I could ask her to do the one in the yellow dress first so we have it for tomorrow, but I bet she could do all of them if you’d like.”

“Yes, that would be good,” Ilya said. He hadn’t even known that was possible. Maybe if it worked he could print them and hang them in his home.

Yuna nodded and emailed the photos to herself. 

They had a few other details to take care of, and needed the nurse to help with moving their beds apart, raising the handrails, and helping Ilya scoot back to an appropriate part of his bed so they could take a photo in beds side by side, in a much more platonic pose. When they were finished, their beds were pressed back together, and this time both Ilya and Shane scooted to meet in the middle. Yuna snapped a few more photos, just for herself she promised, once they were again entwined. 

The posts went live the next morning, a few hours before they were discharged.

[[A photo of Shane Hollander in a metros jersey and full hockey kit facing off against Ilya Rozanov in a raiders jersey and full hockey kit. Their expressions are very focused on the opposite player.]]

[[A photo of Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander on stage in tuxedos. Ilya is smiling with a cheese face, and Shane Hollander looks like he is not amused.]]

[[A photo of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov in matching hospital beds a foot apart. Shane is wearing a hoodie a size too big and sweats, his arm in a sling, bruising across his face and a grin bigger than he usually wears on display. Ilya is wearing a hoodie and basketball shorts, his leg in a large cast up to his thigh, and similar bruises across his face. His grin is bright and devilish. Both are giving the camera a thumbs up.]]

Shane Hollander:

For the entirety of my hockey career I have known two truths. Hockey is life, and hockey is always more fun when played against Ilya Rozanov. While rivals on the ice, and friends off the ice, hockey has always been our focus and our passion. As hockey has given Rozanov and myself so many things, we’ve decided it’s time to give back. 

Several years ago Rozanov and myself came up with the idea to start a charity, although finding the time to get started has always been difficult. Fortunately, we’ve recently come into some time on our hands as we will both be out for the rest of the season due to our on-ice  accident three days ago. We are seizing the opportunity to officially launch the Irina Foundation, and the Game Changers Hockey Camp. This summer Rozanov and I will be hosting a summer camp for kids both in Montreal and Boston with the help of some fellow hockey stars, and all proceeds will go toward existing mental health organizations doing great work to support suicide prevention. 

We are excited to take this time our bodies need to heal to start something that can benefit not just the hockey world, but the whole world. Donate today to help support this work, and follow the Irina Foundation’s account for more updates. 

@IlyaRozanoff @IrinaFoundation @MontrealMetros @BostonRaiders #IrinaFoundation #HockeyIsForEveryone

[[A photo of a strikingly lovely woman, with blond curls and a strong nose in a yellow dress standing on the edge of a lake, her face is caught mid laugh, and her eyes are bright with joy.]]

Ilya Rozanov:

Meet Irina, my mother. She was a bright and wonderful person who left our world when I was twelve. She fought a battle with depression for most of her life, and eventually lost. Today I, along with Shane Hollander, honor my mother and announce our charity, the Irina Foundation, to help support people like my mother, so no one has to fight alone. 

For the next few months I will be staying in Canada to recover and work on our foundation, and this summer we will be launching the Game Changers Hockey Camp to raise funds to support mental health organizations. Donate on our new website, and share to support.

@ShaneHollander @IrinaFoundation @MontrealMetros @BostonRaiders #IrinaFoundation #HockeyIsForEveryone

Chapter End Notes

I love a good "what is this" friends finding out moment. I decided to go with the "Weirdly insightful hockey bro" Marlow, and the "Absolutely oblivious" Pike. We know Pike isn't a total moron from canon, since he does figure out Ilya eventually, even though he's doing it as a joke, but this seemed like the most fun path. More of that later!

I took liberties with the date Amber was born here, moving it up a few months. Trust, me, it will be worth the inaccuracy.

Chapter 6: Pikes

Chapter Summary

Hayden takes the kids for a surprise visit to the Hollanders to give Jackie an afternoon kid free rest. Unfortunately there are not just Hollanders in residence.

Chapter Notes

Yes, Amber's age is wrong, but I think you will forgive me for the fluff <3

Hayden pulled up outside of the modestly sized mid-century home. He couldn’t even hear himself sigh over the chants of “We’re here. We’re here. We’re here!” Coming from the backseat of his van.

He could just make out the light fussing of Amber that indicated she would likely need a bottle soon. Arthur, as usual, was silent, waiting patiently to be released.

He opened his door and climbed out of the car before sliding open the passenger door. Two twin terrors slipped around Arthur’s car seat and launched themselves out of the van. “We’re here. We’re here. We’re here!” his twins screeched as they jumped around him.

“Hey, why don’t you two go knock on the door?” Hayden asked.

His beautiful terrors took off giggling across the grass as he unbuckled Arthur and carefully set his son on the driveway next to the van. 

“Hey Bud, do you want to go follow your sisters?” 

His son shook his head and silently followed Hayden around to the other side of the van. He unclipped Amber and lifted her out, careful not to scratch her with the brace around his arm.  The three of them made their way to the open front door where the twins were busy hugging Yuna and telling her about . . . something. Honestly it was hard to keep up, and his brain was baby fried from lack of sleep.

Yuna stood when he and Arthur entered, and immediately began cooing over the baby. 

“Hope you’re up for a surprise visit,” Hayden said. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but he wasn’t exactly sorry for springing his children onto the Hollanders. 

“Of course, Hayden, we’re always happy to see the kids. Go on through to the living room. I’m working on lunch but the boys are in on the couch.”

He glanced around but Arthur was still trailing him, his silent shadow. 

“Come on, bud,” Hayden said and led the way into the living room, careful not to trip over the toys the girls had already pulled from their backpacks and flung everywhere. 

“Pike. Baby! Gimme!”

Hayden looked up startled at the deep voice, expecting Shane and David. But no. Ilya Rozanov was sprawled over one side of the couch. His arms in the air making grabby hands at Hayden. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Swear jar!” his terrors sung out with Glee. Rozanov looked at his girls with absolute delight. 

“Pike, I was invited here. I should be the one asking why you are here but I do not care. Gimme baby. Now.”

Pike held Amber closer to himself protectively “I’m not giving you my baby.”

Hayden glanced at the other end of the couch where his best friend was helping Arthur climb into his lap. Shane just looked at him with a small grin on his face but he didn’t seem particularly concerned about the Russian Menace trying to abduct his baby. 

“Do not be mean, Pike. Give. Me. Baby.”

“Do you even know how to hold a baby?”

Rozanov rolled his eyes. “Yes I know how to hold baby. I am not going to eat your child. I wish to snuggle and sniff head. Do not be rude and hog baby snuggles all to yourself.”

“Fuck, whatever,” Hayden said, honestly too tired to fight. If Rozanov did eat his kid, he had a few spares. 

“Swear jar!”

He ignored his daughters as he carefully passed Amber over to Rozanov. He glanced down at the cast enveloping the Russian’s leg. At least he didn’t have to worry about Rozanov walking around and dropping his child. 

“She’s going to need a bottle soon,” Hayden told him. 

“Yes I will hold baby while you go make bottle.” 

To his surprise, Rozanov didn’t fumble or hesitate as he took Amber, but scooped her into his arm as if comfortable with such a small human. 

“Careful of her neck,” he started but Rozanov scoffed.

“Yes, Pike. I know what baby is.” He brought Amber to his nose and sniffed her head exaggeratedly. “Ah, yes. This one is still fresh and squishy, no? Smells like uterus.” 

The fuck? He shook his head ignoring the utter nonsense of the man clearly trying to fuck with him.

“Well how am I supposed to know? Shane’s not even comfortable holding them when they’re this little.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault. Babies are scary! One wrong finger placement and you accidentally press a self-destruct button,” Shane said.

“Shane, is not so difficult,” Rozanov said in a teasing tone. He ran his hand lightly along Amber’s baby soft head. “You feel soft spot you do not press. Is not complicated.”

“Whatever. I like them this size better,” he said as he squished Arthur into his side. 

“Yes, that is good size too,” Rozanov said.

“Why do you talk funny?” Jade asked, and Hayden sat down on an arm chair hoping for a better view of his daughter releasing her little girl sass on Rozanov.

“Because I did not grow up speaking English like you,” Rozanov said.

“Why not?” Jade asked.

“Well you know how sometimes people here grow up speaking French and then when they speak English they say words funny?” 

“Yeah but you don’t sound like them.”

“No because I did not grow up speaking French. I grew up speaking Russian.” 

“Do you speak French too?”

“No.” 

“Well that’s stupid. I bet French would be more useful than Russian,” Jade said with all her sass. She gave him a look like he wasn’t that cool and stalked away.

Rozanov grinned. “She is a delight.” 

“So why are you here exactly?” Pike asked. 

“Because I wanted to be here for surprise Pike invasion,” Rozanov snarked.

Shane rolled his eyes. “He’s staying here while he recovers from his concussion and broken leg.”

“Why?” 

“None of your business, Pike.” 

“Because my parents offered. He doesn’t have family in the states so why shouldn’t he stay here?” Shane said.

“Maybe so that your parents don’t have to convalesce two broken grown men?”

“They do not mind. I am a delight,” Rozanov said with a grin.

Amber began to fuss right on cue and Hayden looked up. Hoping to see that uncomfortable look people got when holding other people’s crying children. Much to his frustration, Rozanov’s face was soft as he cooed at little Amber, poking at her face around her mouth to distract her from her hunger. Much like Jackie would have done. 

“You make bottle now yes?”

Right. That was what Hayden was supposed to be doing . . . 

Hayden got up and grabbed the diaper bag before heading into the kitchen.

“You’re really letting him stay here?”

Yuna turned around from the sink and set an orange bell pepper down on the cutting board. 

“He’s really not as bad as you think, Hayden, and he’s absolutely welcome in this house just as you are.” 

Hayden busied himself pulling out a packet of breast milk, feeling properly chastised. 

“Have the kids eaten yet?” Yuna asked as she sliced the bell pepper into strips. 

“No but I can order something, you don’t have to feed the gremlins.”

“It’s not after midnight yet and I really don’t mind.” 

They chatted about Jackie and Amber’s sleep schedule and all of the other things an experienced Mom asks about a newborn while Hayden prepared the bottle. 

When it was warm he brought it back into the living room and set it on the table, ignoring Rozanov’s grabby hands and reaching for his daughter.

“No Pike, I feed baby. Gimme bottle.” 

“Have you ever fed a baby before?” 

“Of course, I am Captain. I visit all the WAGs and feed and hold their babies while they go shower and take care of themselves while their useless husbands sit around complaining about how hard of a time they’ve had since the baby is born.”

Hayden rolled his eyes but handed over the bottle, sitting close in his chair just to make sure Rozanov did it right. 

“You have barf rag?” 

Oh right. 

Hayden retrieved a spit-up cloth from his bag and threw it at Rozanov’s head. 

Rozanov didn’t even blink as he dropped it over his shoulder. He smiled down at the little baby as she chugged her bottle, cooing who knew what in Russian to his daughter.

Probably talking down his +- to her.

He glanced at Shane as if to say can you believe this guy? but his best friend had the weirdest look on his face as he watched his rival feeding the little baby. 

“So what’s the verdict on the collarbone?” he asked Shane 

“Four to six months,” his friend said with a grimace. “Out for the playoffs and then some.” 

“Fuck.”

“Swear jar!” 

“Sorry to hear that, man.” 

“Could have been worse,” Shane said. 

“Could have been worse,” Hayden repeated. 

“How about you?” Shane asked, gesturing at the brace. “Did you sprain your wrist?”

“Na, it was a small fracture in my thumb. They think probably four weeks.”

“Man, sorry to hear that.”

Hayden shrugged. “Honestly, the timing’s not bad. I didn’t get to spend this kind of time with the other kids when they were this small so it’s kind of great getting a mini vacation to be with Amber.”

“Did you hurt thumb in the scrum?” Rozanov asked. “I thought you were better at throwing punches.”

Hayden rolled his eyes. “No, it was you, me, and Marlow slamming into the boards. My stick caught it at the wrong angle. Though punching Marlow in the scrum after probably didn’t help.” 

“Yes punching someone in jaw with already messed up hand is good way to get baby vacation.”

“It’s not like it was intentional.”

“No. But,” Rozanov shrugged. “Happy accident, yes?” 

“Uh. Yeah, I guess so.”

Hayden frowned, waiting for the punch line but it didn’t seem to be coming. Rozanov was being weirdly nice and it was throwing him off. 

Amber finished her bottle and Rozanov set it on the low table. “Very good job. Now you give Uncle Ilya big big burp yes?” 

“Yeah she’s kind of been a stubborn burper so don’t feel bad if you can’t get one,” Hayden said and then watched with utter bafflement as Rozanov held his daughter firmly, in both hands as if gripping a massive burrito. His fingers stretched up the back supporting her head before he lightly jostled her up and down. It wasn’t enough to even wiggle her neck, just a gentle up then firm down motion a few times before draping her over his shoulder. He gave her two big pats and then his baby girl let out the biggest burp she’d ever made. Rosenoff caught his eye grinning. Hayden closed his mouth.

“Is the Coke can method. Shake it like a bottle of Coke and everything comes out. Works every time.”

“Fucking hell, Rozanov.” 

“Swear jar!” the girls called as Shane snickered. 

“Pike. Where is diaper bag? Your daughter has pooped her pants.”

“Oh here, I’ll take her.”

“Ew, gross!” one of the twins called. He wasn’t even sure which one at this point. His head was spinning at the absolute absurdity of the man in front of him. He kept shooting glances at Shane, but his friend just cuddled Arthur and watched Rozanov as if it was completely normal.

“Is not gross. Is completely normal for little babies. You poop your pants too when you were small.”

Hayden went to retrieve the diaper bag while Rozanov argued nonsense with his daughters. This day couldn’t get any weirder.

He tried again to take his daughter but Rozanov refused and snatched the diaper bag out of his hand. Hayden just watched as Rozanov dug around pulling out diapers and wipes and butt cream. He didn’t even hesitate when, at first he pulled out one of Arthur’s much larger pull-ups, putting it back and digging around until he found one of the small diapers.

“Little Pike, the angry one,” Rozanov called. Ruby looked up at him. 

“That’s Ruby,” Hayden said, slightly offended for his child.

“Yes, Ruby. Will you slide that footstool over here please?” 

Hayden expected his daughter to say no and then say something insulting but instead she smiled and dragged the footstool to where Rozanov indicated. Carefully he lifted his leg until it was braced on the footstool leaving a wide space between his legs where he neatly laid out the barf rag and then set Amber down on the couch. 

Hayden was truly speechless as he watched the large man’s nimble fingers unbutton the onesie, remove the old diaper and sit down the new before wiping up an absolute shitload. He even wiped the right direction which Hayden had got wrong the first few times with the twins. Smearing his finger in butt paste, he wiped the cream along the slight redness on Amber’s tush. Hayden glanced up at Shane to see him grimacing which wasn’t surprising. Shane had never changed any of his kids before. He didn’t even like holding a kid with a poopy diaper while Hayden went to fetch a clean one. 

Once the onesie was snapped correctly and fastened up, Rozanov cleaned his hands with another wipe and lifted Amber into the air. 

“There you are, princess. Nice and clean, smelling just as wonderful as before. Yes?” He continued his tirade in Russian.

“Girls,” Yuna called from the door to the kitchen. “I have plates at the table if you want to come eat.”

His twins took off to the kitchen, and Yuna entered a moment later with a small plate of finger foods she handed to Aurthor still in Shane’s lap. Shane helped Aurthor hold the plate while he munched.

“Thank you, Yuna. You’re the best.”

“Of course,” she said, handing him a plate with a sandwich on it.

She left again and brought back two more plates. One with what looked like one of Shane’s weird wraps, and another sandwich mirroring Hayden’s. She set the wrap next to Shane, then turned to Rozanov. 

“Here you go, honey. Let me hold the baby while you eat.” 

“No thank you, Yuna. I am not hungry,” Rozanov said, cooing at the baby. 

“Ilya,” Yuna said in her no nonsense voice, leaning closer to the Russian. “If you do not let me have snuggle time with the baby, you and I will have a problem.”

Rozanov carefully took the plate and balanced it on his legs while he handed off the baby.

“Fine, fine, but please give me back the baby when you are finished.” 

“Of course, honey,” Yuna said with a sweet smile, as she took the baby to the other arm chair.

Did Yuna genuinely like Rozanov? That couldn’t be possible. The woman hated Boston and everything it stood for very verbally.

“So, can you guys explain this whole charity thing a little more? I saw the posts and all, but like, when did this start?”

Shane picked up a bell pepper slice Aurthor dropped on his leg, and put it back on the plate. “Uh, you know. It was something we’ve been thinking about for a while, but it’s been so hard to find time.”

“Yeah, makes sense. Sounds like a lot of work between all the brand deals and everything else that pops up during the season,” Hayden reasoned. 

“Exactly. Which is why this accident is the perfect opportunity to get things up and running,” Yuna said, rocking Amber. 

“I guess it just feels like this whole thing came out of nowhere,” Hayden said, trying hard not to throw pointed looks at Rozanov.

“I mean, I guess I never really talked about it, so I get that,” Shane said, fiddling with Chompy in Aurthor’s lap.

“When did you even come up with the idea?” Hayden asked. He didn’t get this weird partnership. They weren’t friends. No way. 

“I don’t know,” Shane said, glancing at Rozanov. “We’ve been talking about it for a while.”

“I think you first mentioned it at awards?” Rozanov said. “Two years ago?”

“Yeah, that sounds right,” Shane said, smiling at Rozanov.

It just didn’t make sense in Hayden’s head. “So, you guys like what? Chit chat between winning awards?”

“Yeah, you know, awards, all stars, the occasional promo thing or charity event. We text sometimes,” Shane listed off. 

“But you barely even text ME back!” Hayden said, a little offended.

“Yeah, but I see you all the time,” Shane said.

“Don’t be jealous, Pike.”

“Fuck off,” Pike said.

“Sware Jar!” his daughters cheered. 

Fuck.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Shane said. “Ilya’s just like, always been around.”

“Always been an asshole, you mean,” Pike grumbled.

“Sware Jar!”

“Well yeah,” Shane said, and Rozanov grinned. “But we’ve been playing against each other since we were like sixteen, you know? And he gets what it’s like always being expected to be at the top and stuff.”

Was this because they were both generational talents? Was there just a level Hayden would never be able to understand his best friend?

“Ah, yes,” Rozanov started, a weird expression on his face. “Sixteen year old Shane Hollander crossing a parking lot to tell me I’m not allowed to smoke next to a no smoking sign, then shakes my hand twice.”

Yuna chuckled from her spot on the couch, as if it was an old story, and Shane mouthed a “fuck off” at Rozanov, that the girls didn’t hear.

Hayden frowned. Shane had known Rozanov for years longer than he’d known him. He hadn’t ever realized that. Was it really possible Shane had this years long friendship with a man the public called his rival? It was crazy to consider, but hadn’t Shane always been weirdly private? He never even admitted to having a regular hookup, even though Hayden had known indirectly about his Lily for years. His best friend was a closed book, and Hayden had accepted this. He would just have to accept this weird ass friendship too. Didn’t mean he had to like it, or Rozanov.

They stayed long enough to give Amber another bottle so she would be ready for the car ride home, and at last he took his baby back from the confusing Russian man.

“All right, girls. Give your uncle hugs and say goodbye,” Hayden said.

He watched with a grin as Shane was smothered in twin girl hugs. Jade broke off first and rushed to Rozanov. The large Russian lifted his daughter high in the air with a roar before squeezing her to his chest dramatically and shaking her around. 

“Goodbye smart and courageous Jade. Be good for your Papa,” Rozanov said. 

“Okay,” she giggled before climbing down. Ruby replaced her and Rozanov repeated the action, roaring and squeezing his daughter in a tight hug. 

“Goodbye kind and cunning Ruby, give your mom a hug for me.”

“I will!”

“Come on Arthur. It’s time to go,” Hayden said as he scooped up a backpack full of toys and slung it over his shoulder. Shane whispered in Arthur’s ear before giving him a tight one armed squeeze and helping him climb off the couch. Instead of crossing to Hayden as he expected, Arthur scooted down the couch until he stood before Rozanov, staring at the larger man with wide eyes, arms at his side and unspeaking. 

“Would you like hug goodbye as well?” Rozanov asked gently.

Arthur nodded and Hayden covered his mouth and met Shane’s eyes. They shared a look of surprise.

“Would you like big hug like your sisters or would you like small hug?”

Arthur stared at him and Hayden went to jump in knowing his son would never respond and would never enjoy something so loud and overwhelming as his daughters had, but to his absolute shock, his son opened his mouth.

“Big,” he said in that baby small voice Hayden only ever heard at home when things were quiet and his oldest daughters weren’t being their loud selves. 

Rozanov smiled sweetly at the boy and quickly scooped him up, throwing him in the air with a roar before crushing him into his chest and covering his head with kisses. “Goodbye observant and careful Arthur. It has been a delight to meet you.” 

Rozanov release the boy, setting him back down and Arthur giggled and ran to the front door where his sister’s had disappeared 

“What the fuck was that?” Hayden asked.

“Sweare jar, pike,” Rozanov said with a smirk.

“No, I mean,” Hayden started. He glanced at Shane who was smiling weirdly at Rozanov again, and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I can’t deal with any more weirdness today. Shane, text me when concussion protocol is over, Jackie wants to see you.” He leaned down to hug his best friend. Shane awkwardly hugged him with one arm, then carefully rubbed Amber’s head, as if it might explode.

“Thanks, Hayden, see you.” 

“See you, man.” He sided eyed the Russian. “Rozanov.”

“By Pike! Bring baby back any time!”

“Fucking whatever.”

“Swear jar!” Rozanov called, as he left the house.

He couldn’t wait to get home and tell Jackie all about this day. 

“Daddy, that was six swears you owe us sixty dollars for the square jar,” Ruby informed him as he strapped Amber in.

Fucking hell.

“Okay, honey, remind me to e-transfer to you when we get home.” 

His daughters giggled.

Chapter End Notes

Spoiler alert, when Hayden notices a weird expression on one of the boys faces, its a flirty face, and he's just dense. :]
Tomorrow we get more Pikes, but from Jackie's perspective, and our first Shane POV!

Chapter 7: Breakfast Coke

Chapter Summary

Adapting to each other, and more Pikes.

Chapter Notes

A little domesticity for you today! <3 We just hit 2k hits! thanks friends for being a part of this ride.

Ilya

Ilya was having the time of his life. He spent his days chatting about hockey with Shane, and all the brand deals Yuna planned to score for him once his cast was off with Yuna, and spent his evenings putting together puzzles with David. He got to fall asleep every night next to Shane, and even got to wake up next to Shane every morning if he woke up early enough to still experience Shane sleeping. He even got to kiss Shane every day, as many times as he wanted. He didn’t get to do more than kiss, but that was because he wasn’t medically cleared for such activity. More importantly, Shane also wasn’t cleared for sex. Honestly, Ilya wouldn’t even hesitate if Shane was cleared and he wasn’t. 

At least his penis was no longer always sad and deflated now that he had worked off of the worst of the pain meds. He once again was calling it his dick or cock in his head when he thought about it, which was a lot (see previous statements regarding proximity to Shane.)

Life couldn’t be better, except maybe if he was having sex with Shane every day as well, but still, life was basically perfect. 

If Ilya had known this would be the outcome, Ilya would have broken his leg years ago. 

Yes, he missed hockey, and yes, he worried over how next season would go, especially knowing it was his last season before becoming a free agent, so he needed to give a good showing, but they were small worries when stacked against the domestic bliss that was the Hollander resistance. 

He awoke to an empty bed, not entirely disappointed, and moved through his morning routine of clean clothes, brushed teeth and an empty blatter before making his way carefully down the stairs, one crutched step at a time. He found Shane in the kitchen taking things out of the cabinets and fridge one handed. He clunked past Shane, giving him a quick kiss on his shoulder, and pulled a Coke from the fridge. He plopped it onto the island, and then crutched around to one of the tall stools he found was comfortable to sit on even with his cast. He played the fun balancing game with his crutches, making sure they leaned against the island without sliding out of reach, and then cracked the Coke and took a sharp sip. 

He smacked his lips with a sigh.

“Ilya, really? You haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

“Mm not hungry yet. Coke has caffeine, makes perfect breakfast drink.”

Shane rolled his eyes and turned back to the cabinet. He returned with a protein shaker bottle and plopped it down in front of Ilya. Ilya opened it, being the one with two hands in the relationship, and slid it back. Shane made intense eye contact with him as he carefully added a scoop of protein powder to the shaker.

Okay, sexy intense Shane meal prepping. Ilya didn't mind this. 

Next, his death glare still on Ilya, Shane reached across the counter and snatched his Coke from him. Okay, well, not what Ilya was hoping Shane would snatch, but fine. 

His mouth fell open in protest as Shane poured his Coke into the shaker. 

What was this insanity?

Shane dropped the empty can into the recycling and slid the shaker back to Ilya with the lid propped on top. Ilya dutifully screwed the lid on, even though this seemed like an overall horrible idea. Shane took the bottle back and began shaking, one handedly, his eye contact starting to do weird things to Ilya. 

Shake shake shake. 

Mmm the way those biceps flexed. 

Shake shake shake. 

The little crease between Shane’s eyes while he focused on not dropping it with only his one hand in use. 

Shake shake shake. 

Ilya rested his chin on his palm, and lost himself in the show. Whatever disgusting thing Shane was making, Ilya would drink willingly, and then maybe order a McGriddle for delivery.

After more than a minute of intense shaking, Shane dropped the shaker back on the counter, popped the lid and poured the frothy beige liquid into a crystal glass before sliding it back to Ilya. Ilya picked up the cup and glared at it with intense judgement. 

“You truly expect me to ingest this after you ruined perfectly good Coke?”

Shane ignored him, and leaned back against the counter. Watching. Focused.

Fine.

Ilya wasn’t scared. He’d put worse things in his mouth, but he had been enjoying the Coke in its proper form. 

He took a sip and . . .  that was fucking good.

Ilya shot a suspicious glance at his boyfriend who was grinning.

“Now, that is a breakfast Coke I can live with,” Shane said, before turning from Ilya and starting to make his normal morning disgusting smoothie, dumping in precut ingredients Yuna had prepared for him. 

Ilya reached across the island and snatched up the protein powder, reading the label. “Since when did you start buying vanilla flavored protein?”

“Since you refused to drink my healthy one.”

“Yours tastes like chalk.”

“Yeah, you told me. So I bought you a different one.”

Warmth flooded Ilya’s chest and he couldn’t stop the goofy smile creeping onto his face. “You do love me.”

Shane sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.” 

With his smoothie blended and poured into a cup, Shane settled onto the chair next to Ilya to enjoy his green sludge.

“So I was thinking,” Shane said, licking his lips. Ilya wanted to kiss those lips, but he would wait until they no longer tasted like sadness and grass. “Now that we are being allowed a little screentime, do you wanna watch the clip of the accident? Like, together?”

Ilya frowned. “Shane, I do not think you want to see that.”

“No, I do. I mean others have seen it, I should see it too, right? Know what’s out there?”

“I think it would be hard to see yourself like that.” Ilya didn’t want to see Shane like that again either, but didn’t want to admit it.

“That’s why I want to watch it with you,” Shane said.

Oh. Shane would watch it with or without Ilya. The least he could do was support him. “Okey, my love.”

They settled on the couch. They found with Ilya sitting sideways on the far left corner, his right leg along the back of the couch, and bad leg propped up on a foot stool, Shane could lay in his lap, good shoulder down, and his bad right shoulder safely supported with pillows. It was comfortable, and perfect for watching the little phone as Shane found the clip on YouTube. It wasn’t hard. There were hundreds of clips, some with commentary, others as a compilation, some edited to dramatic music. Shane found one that was from the official broadcast, and pressed play. 

The first hit, where Marlow collided with Shane, made both of them flinch. Ilya felt it in his bones when Shane went flying and then came back down with a crunch. The second hit, when Ilya slammed into Marlow, and then Pike slammed into him made his leg ache. 

“Oh, Ilya,” Shane said in a whisper as the Ilya on the screen dragged himself across the ice to the little unbreathing Shane, his leg bent at a bad angle behind him. The clip cut out when the medic pulled Ilya off of Shane, right before they shocked him. It was incredibly fast. It had felt like forever on the ice, but the whole clip was barely two minutes. 

Shane turned the screen off on the phone before the next clip auto played, and they were both silent for a long time. 

“I’m so sorry you had to see that,” Shane said.

Ilya wiped his face. “I’m just glad it brought us here,” he said, and wrapped his arms around Shane. 

“Yeah, me too.”

Yuna returned from her morning meetings and found them like that, still tangled up together on the couch, eyes dry but maybe still a little red, and offered to make lunch. She was the best, truly.

That night, as they lay in bed, Ilya’s arm wrapped around Shane, he brought it up.

“What did you say?” Shane asked. “On the ice.”

“I, uh. I don’t really remember. I remember asking my mama to keep you with me, not let you go.”

Shane rolled over and buried his face in Ilya’s neck. “I love you so much,” he whispered into his flesh.

“I love you forever,” Ilya said.

Jackie

“Are we there yet?” Ruby asked from the back seat. 

Jackie redirected, before that line of questioning became overwhelming. “Almost. What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we get there?”

“Hug grandma Yuna!” Ruby shrieked. Hayden flinched from the driver’s seat. 

“Good idea! What’s the second thing?” Jackie asked.

“Hug Uncle Shane!” Ruby yelled.

“Another brilliant plan. And what is the third thing you’ll do?”

“Hug Uncle Ilya!” Ruby said in an intense guttural voice. 

“He’s not your uncle!” Hayden yelled at the back of the van.

“Yes he is!” Ruby yelled back.

“You’ve only met him once, how can you be so attached already?” Hayden said in almost a whine. 

“Because he’s cool, and nice, and says words funny, and gives really good hugs.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Jackie said.

Hayden scowled at her. 

“Eyes on the road, honey.”

Hayden grumbled but watched the road. “You are not allowed to like him,” he said at last.

“Oh, honey, if I let you dictate who I do and don’t like, I wouldn’t be the woman you love.”

Hayden sighed. “Yeah, but like, he’s horrible.”

“He doesn’t sound horrible based on the last visit. You said he was good with the kids and nice,” Jackie reasoned. 

“I said he was weirdly nice, like it was a trap, or a trick, or some kind of mind game. I’m telling you Jackie, the guy is an asshole—”

“Sware jar!”

“—and has been for years. There’s no way he breaks his leg and gets a whole new personality in the process.”

“Don’t you think it’s possible he’s just a meanie on the ice because that’s his job?” Jackie asked.

“Plenty of guys do their job on the ice without being an asshole—”

“Sware jar!”

“—meanie. He doesn’t need to chirp me about my inability to wrap it up while trying to steal the puck.”

Jackie bit her lips to keep from smiling. “Did he manage to steal the puck?” she asked sweetly. 

“Of course he stole the puck! He always steals the puck! He’s Ilya Fucking Rozanov—”

“Sware jar!”

“—he doesn’t need to chirp me to get the puck off me. It’s just a little something extra he throws in there to be an as—ah a meanie.”

“I don’t know, seems like something you would think was funny coming from a friend,” Jackie suggested.

“But he’s not a friend. He’s the enemy. He’s Boston, Jackie. Boston. We are not friends with Boston.”

“Seems like Shane might be friends with Boston.”

“Don’t remind me.” Hayden chewed his lip. “It’s just so weird. David and Yuna talk like Rozanov has always been around, but Shane’s never said a single word except maybe to agree when someone calls him an—a meanie in the locker room.”

“Is this about hating Ilya on principle, or is it about feeling like you don’t know Shane as well as you thought you did?” Jackie asked. 

“I’m his best friend, Jackie! Or at least I thought I was. Maybe Rozanov is really his best friend and I’m just his work wife.”

Jackie bit her lips again. “I think you can be both, babe.”

“This is just so fucked up,” Hayden whispered, but not quietly enough. 

“Sware jar!”

They arrived at the Hollanders a short time later and Jackie released the girls from the back before unstrapping Amber. “Hello, my little potato,” she cooed as she lifted the baby. 

She followed Hayden and Arthur into the house, the girls long gone, and gave Yuna a hug. They caught up a little, about the baby and how she was doing post labor, all the usuals, and then Yuna waved her into the living room. Shane was sitting on one side of the couch, his arm in a sling, and an Authur tucked into his side, holding his Chompy. Ilya Rozanov was sitting on the other side, his long legs stretched out on the couch, a few feet from Shane, his left leg in a big cast. Ruby already had a marker out and was doodling on it.

“Hey, Jackie,” Shane said, and she leaned in for a one armed hug. “This is Ilya, I don’t think you’ve officially met.” 

Ilya gave a little wave. “Hello, Lady Pike. You have four amazing Children, can I please hold your baby?” he asked shyly, holding out his right hand. 

Jackie took his hand in a gentle shake, and handed over Amber, not unhappy to have a little baby free time. “It’s good to meet you, Ilya. Hayden has told me so much about you.” They shared a grin.

“Ah, all good things I can imagine.”

“I told her you’re a fucking asshole,” Hayden said. 

“Sware jar two times!” the girls yelled. 

“Daddy, why are you so mean to Uncle Ilya?” Jade asked, bringing her barbie and a pair of pants she couldn’t get on it to Ilya.

“It’s complicated adult stuff, honey,” Hayden said. 

Ilya laid Amber down on his legs to free his hands and took the barbie and pants from Jade. 

“He is mean because we play together on the ice, and being mean is part of the game,” Ilya said, as he fumbled with the doll clothes.

“You play with daddy? Are you better than him?” Jade asked, her expression skeptical, as she knew most of the Metros. Jackie could see Hayden tensing up on the arm chair, as if ready to go to war.

“No, I play against your daddy. He is a good hockey player.”

Hayden flinched as if the compliment was harder than a chirp.

“Oh, so you’re one of the bad guys,” she said matter of factly. 

“On ice I can be the bad guy, but off ice I am nice, yes?” Ilya handed the barbie back fully clothed. 

“Yeah, off the ice you’re Uncle Ilya,” Jade said and turned to keep playing. “Daddy, you should be nice off the ice like Uncle Ilya.”

Hayden’s mouth fell open, and Ilya gave him a sickeningly sweet smile while he picked Amber back up, leaning her onto his shoulder. 

“Hey, Arthur buddy, I have to go to the bathroom, think we can unstick for a moment?” Shane asked.

Arthur reluctantly detached himself from Shane, and looked around as Shane disappeared down the hall. “Wanna come here, sweetheart?” Jackie asked, opening her arms, but instead Arthur looked at Ilya. Ilya lifted his arm in invitation, and Arthur scooted across the couch, and snuggled into Ilya’s side. Jackie met the man’s eyes with a soft smile. 

Yeah, there was absolutely nothing hard about this man except maybe the paper thin coating he liked to wear in public. 

“Oh, come on,” Hayden said with a groan. “Arthur’s only ever done that with like five people! What, did you glue candy under your clothes or something?”

“No Pike, that would be creepy. I just have good energy.”

Hayden blinked at Ilya slowly and then turned to Jackie, his expression saying “Can you believe this guy?” Jackie just chuckled.

Ilya traced light patterns on Arthur’s back while he and Jackie chatted about WAG culture between the Metros and the Raiders. Ilya seemed really informed for a single man. Shane could name all the wives, but he couldn’t tell you who felt the most supported in their relationship or who was one more dirty pair of socks shoved in the couch cushions away from a divorce. 

“Absolutly not. You are not allowed to hog all the snuggles,” Shane said, healthy arm on his hip as he glared down at Arthur. 

“You can join us if you want?” Ilya teased with a little devilish smirk. 

Shane shot a look over at Hayden, who wasn’t paying attention, his lips tipping up in a little smile, while his eyes still held the glare. He huffed and went back to his side of the couch, a few careful feet from Ilya’s outstretched leg.

Oh, Shane was jealous jealous, but not of Ilya. He wanted to be the other half of that baby snuggle pile and plaster himself up against the big Russian. Jackie understood completely, and it made her insides bubbly.

Arthur peaked from the crevice under Ilya’s arm and shot a look at Shane. 

“Arthur, you are such a good snuggler, but Uncle Shane looks so sad and lonely over there,” Ilya said, giving him a pat. 

Arthur carefully crawled away from Ilya and his snoozing sister, and embedded himself back with Shane, who was grinning widely now and settling into the snuggle. He still threw a pretty obvious glance at the empty space at Ilya’s side. These two were so obvious, it was adorable.

They ate lunch and chatted the afternoon away. Jackie shot Hayden a look every time Shane and Ilya gave each other flirty little looks, but Hayden just seemed exacerbated over Ilya’s presence, and didn’t get it. When it was time to leave each one of her children (excluding Amber) lined up for one of Ilya’s big hugs, as Hayden had described from his previous visit, and Jackie watched with a grin as Shane watched with a dreamy smile as Ilya lifted each kid with a big roar and squeezed them tight before saying sweet encouraging words to each one. Before lifting Arthur into his big hug, he checked in just to make sure Arthur was comfortable with the rough treatment, and it made Jackie’s heart melt. She loved a consent king, and couldn’t be happier for Shane and what he’d found here. She wanted to be intrusive and ask a million questions, but she also didn’t want to ruin Shane’s peace. She could wait until Shane was comfortable sharing to sate her own curiosity. 

With a lot of half growled orders and last minute second hugs, Jackie eventually got her husband and all four kids in the van and buckled. They were halfway out of the driveway when Arthur let out a little wine. 

“Do you need a fresh pullup, bud?” Hayden asked, but Arthur just wined. 

“Jade, can you see if Arthur has Chompy?” Jackie asked, putting a hand on Hayden’s shoulder. 

Hayden sighed and popped the van into drive, rolling back onto the driveway. 

“No mom, I don’t see him,” Jade yelled. 

Hayden drove back up to the top of the drive, and Jackie unbuckled. “I’ll just pop in real fast.”

Jackie opened the Hollanders front door and slipped back into the living room.  

Shane had finally smooshed himself up against Ilya, and the two lay intertwined lazily on the couch, eyes closed. 

“Don’t get up!” she whispered, spotting the alligator on the ground in front of the couch, right where the two men were sprawled. “Sorry, I just need to grab Chompy.”

Shane’s eyes burst open. He looked horrified. 

“Seriously, all good here.” She held up the alligator like it was a shield and slowly backed away. “Shane, I love you so much, you know that right? And Ilya, you’re like my new favorite person.”

“Same, Jackie, if you ever need a new husband, let me know, I have recommendations,” Ilya said. 

“You’re so sweet,” Jackie said, but she could see Shane starting to spiral. “Shane, eye contact.” Shane’s eyes snapped to hers. “I love you. This”—she gestured between him and Ilya—“is the cutest thing ever and I support you one hundred percent. Okay?”

Shane nodded slowly. 

“Okay great. And no, I won’t tell Hayden. Honestly, the way that man is so oblivious when you’ve been throwing heart eyes at each other all night. But Shane, you should consider telling him about it sometime. He would be good about it. Even the whole Ilya part.” She glanced at Ilya. “Don’t tell him I told you, but you are so growing on him. You’re just so good with the kids, and Arthur. It would be impossible for him to keep hating you.”

“Yes, I am very lovable.”

She snorted. “Obviously, I mean you made Shane fall for you, so you must be capable of magic.” She slipped Chompy under her arm and clapped once. “Okay, I need to go, but someday I want all the details of this.” She pointed between the two of them and raised her eyebrows up and down. “Okay, bye, love you both!”

Jackie fled before either man could panic further.

Shane

They got into a routine. It started as a trial, Shane and Ilya making dinner for the family one night. Shane would pull things from the fridge, set out the cutting board and ingredients. Ilya, sitting at the counter, would chop and do all the things needing two hands, and finally Shane stood at the stove and stirred and flipped and generally stood on two legs. Dinner came out okay, and Yuna was delighted at their attempt. 

They made it a habit, doing things together to prove that they could equal one functioning adult, between their working limbs until finally Shane broached the topic over dinner. 

“I think Ilya and I can manage on our own now,” he said, causing Yuna to put down her fork.

“What do you mean, honey?” Yuna asked.

“Well, I was just thinking we could like, go to my cottage soon, you know? Just the two of us.”

There was a little pause, as his parents looked at each other. “Well I suppose we could make that work. I could drive you back for your appointments,” his dad said.

“Ilya can drive us,” Shane said. “It’s his left leg that’s broken, and my Jeep has plenty of leg room.”

“I think we need to wait for the doctor’s go ahead before you try driving, Ilya,” Yuna said.

“Right, yeah. We could ask for approval at our next appointment. Then go up,” Shane said, nodding, as if it was a done deal. 

And Shane decided it would be. He’d make it happen. 

Shane was getting desperate. The worst of their concussion symptoms had faded, and while they weren’t approved for intense physical exertion, the doctor had cleared them for sex as long as they kept things gentle and checked in with each other to make sure symptoms didn’t worsen. So far the most they had managed were a few quick blowjobs when both his parents had stepped out of the house for errands. Shane just couldn’t with his parents in the house. Ilya had tried to convince him it would be okay, they could be quiet, but Shane knew himself. Being quiet was not his thing, and he didn’t think he could let go like he wanted to knowing his parents were in the same building. 

He needed space. He needed solitude. He needed is boyfriend to fuck him. Or maybe Shane would just bounce on his dick, since Ilya wasn’t exactly able to get into their normal positions. It didn’t matter, they would make it work as long as Shane had an empty house to do some test runs in.

They had doctors appointments a few days later, technically scheduled one after another, but they met with the doctor jointly. Shane preferred it so he could ask all the questions he knew Ilya wouldn’t. He asked about driving, and the doctor suggested they try some shorter trips before attempting the two hours to the cottage. 

Shane told his parents that night, and the next day Ilya and Shane took a trip to the far end of Ottawa for a lunch date at a local cafe. Shane was nervous to be seen in public, but they had a media strategy planned with the foundation as cover, and this would be a good test. Beyond that, he just wanted to go on a date with his boyfriend.

They were packed up and ready to go to the cottage within three days, the house opened by his cleaning service, and the grocery delivery ordered. The drive was excruciating.

Ilya ooed and awed at the cottage, calling it a mansion as they pulled up. While Shane wanted to be proud of the house he’d spent so much time planning, and give Ilya a grand tour, he rushed his boyfriend inside, and immediately shoved him against a wall. 

“Shane, I thought you wanted me to fuck you?” Ilya asked, his voice breathy as Shane kissed down his body on the way to his knees. 

“Won’t last,” Shane said, lifting his lips off Ilya for just a moment. “Need to take the edge off first.”

After they both finished, Shane gave Ilya a proper tour of their home for the next few months, ending with a demo of the bed’s capabilities. Shane felt elated. He finally had Ilya in his space, all to himself. They had nowhere to be for days, and no one expected them. He didn’t need to watch what he said around his parents or worry they would walk in when he kissed Ilya. 

His parents had been wonderful about the whole surprise boyfriend thing, really really wonderful, but Shane was so thankful he could now experience having a boyfriend without adult supervision. He lay naked on Ilya’s chest, and soaked in the warmth of his flesh, and that smell that was all Ilya. 

“We don’t even need to get dressed to go make lunch,” Shane said with a grin.

“You do if you don’t want me fucking you in the kitchen,” Ilya growled. 

“Promise?”

Chapter End Notes

Jackie Pike is the best. Her loving, insightfulness mixed with Hayden's overprotective, invasive obliviousness I think makes a really good match.

Next chapter we get a look at Ilya and Shane's media strategy, and you all get to endure my attempt at social post formatting. I'm probably going to throw these in for the next few chapters and hope you enjoy!

Chapter 8: The Kiss

Chapter Summary

Social posts, text messages, and sharing truth

Chapter Notes

Okay! Time for some social posts! Hope the formatting works for everyone!
The first book in my alien romance series wen't live on amazon today, so instead of anxiously refreshing amazon reports and scrolling tiktok, I'm gonna put all of my nervous energy into giving you a second chapter today! be on the lookout!

[[A picture of Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander sitting at a hospital café. Shane has his arm in a brace, and is drinking tea. Ilya has his leg in a cast, crutches leaning against the back of his chair, and is eating a cupcake. Ilya’s cast has a few doodles on it, flowers and dinosaurs, likely drawn by children, and on the back of his leg where he is unlikely to spot it are the words “SHANE HOLLANDER IS THE WORLDS BEST HOCKEY PLAYER.” They look to be smiling and laughing.]]

@Renee Maylee

OH MY GOD! GUYS!! I’m at the hospital in Ottawa (my grandma is dying soon, RIP) and left to get some coffee because the room is depressing AF, and LOOK WHO I FREAKING SPOTTED IN THE CAFFITERIA?? I thought this whole friends thing was just for publicity? But here they are in PUBLIC laughing like they actually LIKE each other?? 

♥️8k  🗨️405  🔁5.4k  ↗️2k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Thank you so much for lovely picture of me and my very best friend Shane Hollander. If everyone who has enjoyed this picture can please take a moment and donate one dollar to the Irina Foundation, we will be doing good for many [Link]

♥️1.2k

[[A picture of Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander sitting at a table outside of an ice cream shop. Shane has his arm in a sling, a bottle of water in front of him, and is grimacing like he’s just seen a dog turd. Ilya has his leg in a cast, the cast has more child doodles than it did in the previous post, crutches leaning against the wall behind him, and is holding a cup of ice cream in one hand, and in the other is a spoon heaped with what looks like chocolate ice cream. He is leaning forward in his chair, a look of glee on his face as he holds the spoon in front of Shane’s face as if trying to get him to eat it.]]

@Kathleen Rogers

Hollanov spotting!! This is not a drill! I work at a little ice cream shop, and when I say I almost lost it when I came back from lunch and saw these two in my shop???? I think I’ve officially peaked. There is nowhere to go from here. 

♥️63k  🗨️5.3k  🔁29k  ↗️13k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Your shop has amazing ice cream. Shane Hollander my best friend forever is weak and will not eat empty calories. Do not be like Shane. Eat ice cream, and donate to our charity [Link]

♥️43k

[[A picture of Ilya Rozanov sticking out his tongue at the camera. Over his shoulder is Shane Hollander in a loose fitting tshirt, sitting on a couch reading a binder that says “Irina Foundation” on the cover. He’s wearing glasses, and his hair is sticking up at odd places.]]

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Today I bless you all with my very best friend Shane Hollander in his sluttly little glasses. As payment for this once in a life time opportunity, everyone who enjoys this post must donate $1 to the Irina Foundation [Link]

♥️485kk  🗨️366k  🔁298k  ↗️324k

@Shane Hollander☑️

ILYA I said NOT to post that one! Look at my hair!

♥️232k

 

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Oh, sorry. My mistake. English is not so good. 

♥️124k

Ilya

They were on Yuna and David’s cottage couch when it happened. The game had just ended, and the Admirals had won the cup. Ilya and Shane relaxed back into the couch, wrapped up in each other, and just sitting in the moment of having watched a great game of hockey hard won. Shane was talking over plans for dinner the next day, while Ilya zoned out. He focused in on the tv when the man came down from the stands. 

Ilya nudged Shane and pointed when Hunter pulled him onto the ice, and they held each other in awe as the two men kissed in the middle of the ice, for the world to see. 

It changed something in Ilya, settled him in a way he didn’t know he needed. It didn’t really alter his and Shane’s plans or require any immediate action, but it felt powerful and wonderful to see someone openly love the way Ilya loved, in a hockey space. Shane and Ilya weren’t alone, and while they couldn’t be public due to Russia, it made a future with Shane within this lifetime feel closer.

Shane

Being on injured reserve Shane had worked hard to stay connected with his team, participating with the group chat more than he usually would if he was playing, but the morning after the kiss, Shane had to mute the Metros group chat. He knew he should probably participate, talk down the toxic language and disgusting things being said, but he just couldn’t. It turned his stomach to read it, and he decided that ignoring it and letting it cool off for the summer would be the best plan. A small part of him complained he should be brave like Scott Hunter and speak up, but his fingers hit that mute button instead. 

He’d been thinking about telling Hayden, inviting him to the cottage and having that chat, but now Shane wanted to close up, guard that part of his heart that was still scared and vulnerable. 

Ilya dropped onto the couch next to him, and flopped his head onto his lap.

“What’s wrong, Solnyshko?”

“Nothing,” Shane said quickly. 

Ilya blew out a raspberry. “Try again.”

“It’s nothing. Not a big deal.”

“Shane. I thought we were trying to be more honest this summer?”

Shane sighed. Yeah, he’d asked Ilya to be more open and honest with him, but he didn’t think it would be so hard to reciprocate. “I was going to invite Hayden up this weekend to tell him.”

“Have you changed your mind?”

“No, but . . .” 

He didn’t want to tell Ilya this part. He didn’t want to admit his team was being as awful as they were. 

“You do not have to tell him now if you don’t want to. You can wait. There is no time limit to coming out.”

“I know, and I want to. It’s just this whole thing with Hunter has a lot of people reacting badly, and it’s making me feel . . .”

Shane wasn’t sure how exactly he felt. Twisty in his stomach didn’t seem like the right description, even if it was true. 

“Is bringing up all of the reasons you’ve hidden for the last six years, yes?”

Shane let out a deep long breath. “Yeah, exactly.”

Ilya made a soft noise. He didn’t try and tell Shane he was being irrational, or to get over it, he just sat in the emotion with Shane for a while. 

“I’m still going to invite him,” Shane said at last. 

“Good.” Ilya turned his head and kissed Shane’s thigh. “He is a good friend. I don’t think you need to worry about sharing your heart with him.”

“I don’t want him saying shit about you.” Shane sighed. “You’ve been so good not being a total asshole to him, keeping the teasing to a minimum, but he just can’t seem to relax around you, and I hate it.”

“He is jealous,” Ilya said. 

Shane snorted. “Of who? Me?”

“No, of me, Shane. He wants all your attention.”

“Oh my God. No he doesn’t. He has a wife and four kids. He’s happily married.”

“I don’t think these are exclusive things.”

“Whatever,” Shane scoffed. Properly distracted from his worries, he attacked Ilya with kisses.  

Tuesday

Unknown Number: hello oldest man on earth, elder queer scott hunter

Unknown Number: this is Ilya Rozanov. World’s Best Hockey Player. 

Unknown Number: Shane and i want u to come coach at our hockey camp this summer. maybe u have heard of it? 

Unknown Number: we.want camp to b diverse and inclusive so now that u are big out gay hockey player we want u to come to our camp and show kids they to can be big gay hockey player. it would b very good for our brand

Unknown Number: we r doing to weeks, 1 in montreal and 1 in Boston. u should do both because is for charity.

Unknown Number: bring ur gay boyfriend. he should get the chance to meet hotter younger hockey players.

Old man hunter: Fuck off rozanov

Thursday

Shane Hollander: Hey Scott, this is Shane Hollander, not sure if you still have my number from All Stars a few years ago. 

Shane Hollander: Not sure if you’ve heard but Ilya Rozanov and I are starting a charity hockey camp, and are hoping you might be able to join as a coach. We will be hosting two weeks, one in Montreal 8/7-8/11 and one in Boston 8/14-8/18. You could sign up for one or both depending on your schedule. 

Shane Hollander: With your recent publicity we understand if you are unable to commit, but wanted to extend the offer. As a side note I just wanted to say that I found your actions after the cup very brave, and appreciate what you are doing for the hockey community. If you are able to make it, please know that coaches’ partners are also welcome at all event functions. Let me know if you are available and if you can share your email address, we will send an info packet with details and accommodations. 

Shane Hollander: Hope to see you this summer. 

Scott Hunter: Hey Hollander 

Scott Hunter: I got a weirdly similar yet completely different message from Rozanov a few days ago and thought it was a prank 

Scott Hunter: I’d love to coach, but you’re right, my schedule is a little crazy with everything after the cup, so I’ll have to check dates and get back to you

Shane Hollander: Ha, yeah, sorry about that. Ilya said he would message you about the camp, then came back the next day and said I should ask instead. Hope he wasn’t weird about it.

Scott Hunter: oh. 

Scott Hunter: well

Scott Hunter: you know Rozanov

Shane Hollander: Yeah.

Friday

Scott Hunter: Ok looks like the Boston date works for us! 

Scott Hunter: [Email]

Scott Hunter: It’s cool if Kip comes too?

Shane Hollander: Great! Glad to hear it. We’ll send the info packet shortly, and yes, we’d love to meet Kip. Ilya is excited to meet him. He says he has good energy and thinks they will be friends.

Scott Hunter: DEAR GOD

Scott Hunter: maybe we can’t make it

Shane Hollander: Sorry, no take backs.

Scott Hunter: :(

Hayden

Hayden rolled slowly up the gravel driveway, leaning forward over his steering wheel to peer out the front window and get the first glimpse of his best friend’s cottage. The cottage Hayden had been hoping for an invitation to for years. And the best part? This would be his first time getting to hang out with his best friend, without his weird rival turned friend hanging around.

At last it was here, his moment to see what he had only seen in a documentary with millions of other people. The trees parted and the cottage appeared like a picturesque magazine ad, framed by trees with the lake peeking out behind it. 

Yeah, it was definitely better in person. 

Shane opened the front door as Hayden shifted into park, and it made him feel great knowing his BFF was just as excited to see him. 

“Hey, man,” Hayden said, getting out of his car, pulling a six pack, half artisanal ginger ale half craft beer, off the front seat. He wrapped his friend in a hug, careful of his arm, recently freed from his sling.

“Hey, thanks for making the drive, Hayd.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss an invite for the world.” Hayden grabbed his overnight bag from his car before following Shane.

Shane seemed a little antsy as he led Hayden inside and showed him around. He rambled for about five minutes about the water quality of his well before asking if Hayden wanted to sit down. Hayden did, and Shane led him to a couch. 

“I have something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” Shane said, the moment his butt hit the cushion. 

“Oh fuck, man, I knew it. Ilya really is your best friend, isn’t he?” Hayden said, dread filling his gut. “I mean I know I’m not the first or second best hockey player in the league, but I thought our friendship surpassed that, like I know you care about stats, but I didn’t think it mattered for friend ranking, you know?”

“Woah, Hayden, man. Hold on. Yeah, you’re my best friend, that’s not what I was going to say,” Shane said, putting a hand on Hayden’s shoulder. 

“Really? Oh thank fuck. Honestly man, I didn’t think I could handle losing you to him. I mean my wife is treating him like her new BFF, the girls are running around speaking Russian, and Arthur asked when we could go see Uncle Ilya again. Like, he said it in a complete sentence.” Hayden blew out a rush of air, and pent up worry. He relaxed back on the couch. “So what did you want to tell me then?”

“Uh, nothing,” Shane said, getting up suddenly. “Did you want one of those beers?”

“Uh, yeah sure.”

Shane left, and was gone for longer than seemed necessary. He returned several minutes later with one of the beers and one of the ginger ales Hayden had brought, both uncapped. Maybe he couldn’t find the bottle opener? 

Shane was acting a little weird when he came back, sitting on the edge of the couch again, and glancing around, mentioning random facts about the decor. It wasn’t that weird for Shane, but there was something about the shallow breathing, and darting eyes that had Hayden think there might be something wrong. 

“Shane, you okay, buddy?”

“Well, it’s just that, you’re my best friend, yeah, but he’s my boyfriend,” Shane said in a rush.

“What?” Hayden asked, unsure where the conversation had suddenly gone.  

“I’m gay.” Shane took a deep breath. “And Ilya and I are together.”

Oh.

OH.

What!?

“What!?” Hayden asked. Hayden stood up, walked to the far window that looked over the lake, then walked back to the couch. He opened his mouth, closed it, then walked back to the window. 

He tried to gather his thoughts, but there were none. 

He turned back to the couch, and . . . Shane was breathing really shallowly now. 

Oh. 

Hayden was stupid. He moved back to the couch quickly, and sat down. 

“Sorry, sorry, man. Fuck. That’s totally cool, great even. I totally support you being gay, man. Seriously.” 

Shane glanced at him, a spark of hope in his eyes, and Hayden nodded. 

“Yeah, for real man, total ally. I know the team has been a shit show, but I’ve been trying to shut it down in the chat, you know? And like, I’m so glad my kids are going to have an amazing uncle to show them they can be amazing and strong and smart no matter who they are. Seriously, man, I support you.” 

Shane took in a deep breath, and nodded. “Thanks, Hayden.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s so totally cool that you’re gay. I’m just trying to process the Rozanov thing, you know?” Hayden stared out the big picture window for a long moment. “Is this like stockholm syndrome or something after living with him and recovering from traumatic brain injuries together or something?” Hayden said thinking out loud.

“No man, I love him. I loved him before our accident,” Shane said quietly, and Hayden snapped his head around to look at his friend.

“Fuck, really?”

“Yeah.” 

“But you were dating Rose a few months ago.” Hayden tried to think through a calendar in his head, but it didn’t totally fit. “Did you and him get together at All Stars or something?”

“We’ve kinda been together sort of for years. We weren’t exclusive, and we kinda had a falling out right before I dated Rose, but we decided to be exclusive and try to make something work at last All Stars.”

“Wow. Okay, so not new then.”

“No, not new.”  

“So like, a few years then?”

“We’ve kind of been something since before our rookie season,” Shane said, and Hayden’s mind went totally blank.

“You’ve been with him longer than you’ve been with me?!” Hayden almost shouted. Restraint. See? He was growing. 

Shane looked at him weird. “Uhh . . .”

“God, I need to call Jackie, and debrief this,” Hayden said to himself. He turned to Shane. “Can I tell Jackie? Please say yes, I don’t think I can keep this from her.”

“She kind of already knows.”

“What? You told her before you told me?”

“No, she kinda figured it out when she met Ilya for the first time. She said it was obvious.”

“Not to me!!” Hayden stood up again and paced in front of the couch.

“You two being all buddy buddy at your parents house? I thought that was totally platonic!” He pulled at his hair. “Man, I even saw you cuddled up in that hospital bed and didn’t think anything of it. Am I stupid?” 

“You did?” Shane asked, his voice weird.

“Yeah, Rozanov called himself your emotional support rival, and David acted like it was no big deal so I didn’t really question it.” He turned back to Shane. “I am stupid, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but this is not new, Pike.”

Hayden’s mouth fell open at the sight of Ilya standing in the doorway, a walking cast on his leg, and grocery bags in his hands. 

“Sorry, did I come back too soon?” Rozanov asked Shane.

“Wait, he’s here?” Pike asked. 

“Yeah, he lives here with me,” Shane said like it was obvious. 

“You mean he got to see the cottage before me?” This was literally the worst day of Hayden’s life. 

“Pike, there are many of Shane’s things I have gotten to see before you. Should I make a list?”

“Ew, gross Ilya,” Shane said, and Hayden frowned. 

“Wait, was that a sex joke?”

“Yes, Pike, I am referring to his asshole,” Rozanov said. 

“Ilya!” Shane yelled. 

Rozanov snickered and moved down the hall toward the kitchen. 

“Oh, I’m gonna be sick,” Hayden said and sank into an armchair.

“Well, to be fair, you have been asking for Lily details for years,” Shane said with a small smirk as he took another swig of his ginger ale. 

Something very similar to the dread Hayden experienced when he suspected his infant of having a poopy blowout slowly made its way up his spine, and he turned to stare Shane in the face. Shane was grinning a little, but he didn’t look like he was joking, and he met Hayden’s eyes evenly.

“HE’S LILY?”

Hayden sank down into his chair, officially having a full on existential crisis. What was life? What was reality, truly? Was this all just a simulation, like Drapeau always talked about?

Rozanov returned to the living room and flopped onto the couch in between Shane and the arm, one of Hayden’s craft beers in his hand. Shane kind of sank into Rozanov’s side like Jackie would have done to him. It was so weird. Shane didn’t do soft and relaxed. 

“Is it gay sex part you don’t like, or is it me?” Rozanov asked, making intense eye contact with Hayden. 

“Fuck, man, I don’t care that you’re both gay,” Hayden started. 

“I’m not gay, I am bisexual. Shane is super gay,” Rozanov said. 

“I am regular gay,” Shane said, elbowing Rozanov in the stomach. Rozanov just smirked down at Shane. But was that a smirk? It was weird, not like Rozanov’s smirks on the ice. 

“Okay, whatever. I don’t care that he’s gay and you’re bisexual. Congrats. I care that you’re an asshole, and Shane is too good for you. Like, come on, Shane. I know you never let me set you up with women, but if I’d known—”

“Hayden,” Shane said sharply. Oh, that was his captain face. “This is a hard boundary. Ilya is it for me, okay? I love him. You would never allow anyone to disrespect Jackie like that, and I’m not going to tolerate it either. Got it?”

Fuck. He was right. 

“Sorry, man. Yeah. That was out of line.” He glanced at Rozanov. “Sorry, Rozanov.”

Rozanov shrugged. “You are right. Shane is too good for me, but I am selfish and I am not letting him go.”

Shane elbowed Rozanov in the ribs again. “Shut the fuck up. You’re perfect for me. Literally the only person who’s ever made me feel completely myself.”

Rozanov tightened the arm he had wrapped around Shane, and Hayden saw it, for just a moment. That face was tender, wasn’t it? He couldn’t imagine Rozanov being tender, but Hayden had also never tried. Maybe he would have to start trying a little more. 

“So.” Hayden scooped his beer back up from the table. “Does this mean you’re now going to give me Lily details?” 

Shane groaned and Rozanov smirked. 

“What do you want to know, Pike? Shane is a bottom, but that shouldn’t be surprising.”

“Okay, well, I don’t actually know what that means,” Hayden said, worried he was about to be the butt of a joke. 

“Ah, let me start at the beginning. Gay sex stuff 101 by Ilya Rozanov,” Rozanov said, and Shane groaned again and pulled Rozanov’s arm up to cover his face, but he didn’t stop Rozanov. Rozanov launched into a very informative, very factual explanation of things Hayden had kinda been curious about but never knew how to ask google or his wife. All in all it wasn’t a horrible evening.

[[A picture of Ilya Rozanov sitting at a desk with an NHL branded backdrop, folding table, and a slew of microphones with various news logos. Shane Hollander is standing just next to him, as if about to sit, and Ilya is looking up at Shane with a fond expression.]]

[[A picture of Ilya Rozanov upper body bare and sweaty, lower body still in his hockey kit, with his hip pads framing his abs. Ilya is smirking devilishly at the camera.]]

[[A picture of Shane Hollander’s calvin klein ad. Shane is bare except for a pair of well fitting black briefs pulled low, and is looking at the camera seductively.]]

@Hollanov4ever

Submitting my official application to be a third within this sandwich. Please and thank you. @Ilya Rozanov @Shane Hollander #pleasesir

♥️12k  🗨️4.2k  🔁5k  ↗️8k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Hello, thank you for lovely post. My bestest friend Shane Hollander and I are not currently accepting applications for a third, but here is the obligatory parasocial tax request in form of donation link for the Irina Foundation [Link]

♥️23.3k

[[A picture of Shane Hollander in an arm brace standing next to a shopping cart being pushed by Ilya Rozanov, in a walking leg cast. They are walking down a cereal isle, Ilya is pointing at captain crunch, and Shane is frowning, his nose scrunched up.]]

@Sarah L

My boyfriend absolutely freaked out about these two cutiepies we spotted shopping today. He said they are “hockey bros and super cool dudes”, direct quote. I just thought they were really hot and had to share. #hockey I guess. 

♥️132k  🗨️158k  🔁92k  ↗️121k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Hi, yes, we are hockey bros and super cool dudes. Please tell your boyfriend Ilya Rozanov said he should take you out to a super nice restaurant he picked out himself, and donate to the Irina Foundation to show his respect for humanity [Link]

♥️98k

[[A picture of Shane Hollander in an arm brace, black tshirt and green shorts grilling burgers outside of a beautiful building with large glass windows. In the reflection of the window just behind Shane is a clearly visible Ilya Rozanov, hair wet in green shorts and nothing else, flexing.]]

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Hello world, here is my best friend Shane Hollander. He is world’s second best hockey player, and second best looking hockey player. If you have enjoyed looking at anything in this picture, please donate one dollar to our charity [Link]

♥️869k  🗨️721k  🔁523k  ↗️449k

@Hayden Pike☑️

Excuse me, I’m his best friend. Not you.

♥️105k

Chapter End Notes

If you think Ilya and Shane’s messages to Scott are super similar, its because they came up with a template when reaching out to people, and Ilya just freestyled it. Did Ilya think his message would work? Probably not, but he just couldn’t help himself.

Chapter 9: Summer

Chapter Summary

Posts and camp and being real with people

Chapter Notes

ATTN:

This is the second post today, if this is the first one you're seeing, go back to the previous chapter to make sure you didn't skip one.

Double post today AND this ones a bit longer <3

Hayden

Hayden pulled up to the cottage and let out a sigh of relief. They had made it, and Hayden hadn’t self-destructed. 

“Come on man, what is up?” JJ asked from his passenger seat. 

“Nothing, nothing is up,” Hayden said quickly. 

“Ah, and that is why your eyes are big and stupid?”

“Fuck off, let’s just go inside,” Hayden said, getting out of his car. “Leave the bags, we’ll come get them later.” At least Hayden hoped they did, if this day went well, they would be staying the night for a bros hangout. Hayden really hoped it went well.

They rang the doorbell, and a minute later Shane answered, looking a little nervous, but not too bad for Shane. Hayden peered around him but didn’t see a large Russian. 

“Capitaine, thank God. Hayden has been acting so fucking weird the whole drive, man,” JJ said and gave Shane a hug. 

“Well you know Hayden,” Shane said, and what was that supposed to mean?

Shane welcomed them inside, and directly into the living room, still no Russian in sight. JJ made the appropriate noises about the furniture and architecture and the view.

“So, uh, JJ, I wanted to tell you something?” Shane said it like a question, and Hayden sat on the edge of his seat trying to send supportive vibes. 

“Yeah, man. What’s up?”

Shane took a very deep breath. “I’m gay.” 

JJ barely paused. “Oh! Thanks for telling me, man. I support you completely, capitaine,” JJ said, and gave Shane another hug. 

Shane let out a shaky breath. “Okay. Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

“Always. And you know, I kinda had a feeling once or twice, so good to know I wasn’t wrong.” JJ chuckled. 

“What do you mean?” Shane asked slowly.

“Well there was that time I saw you sneaking off with that man in Mexico, yes?”

A loud clattering came from the kitchen, and Hayden, Shane, and JJ all jumped and looked at the hallway. A scowling Russian appeared at last, laser focused on Shane. 

“What man in Mexico?” he asked.

“Ilya, not now,” Shane said sharply, and Rozanov threw up his hands and padded back into the kitchen. 

Hayden glanced at JJ, whose eyes were wide. 

“You’re fucking Rozanov?” JJ asked.

“How did you possibly figure that out so quick?” Hayden asked, mystified.

“What do you mean? That was classic Jealous Lover eyes.”

“It was?” Hayden asked. He just thought Rozanov looked pissed off. “Am I really that bad at this?” 

“Yes,” both Shane and Rozanov said at the same time, the Russian’s voice coming down the hall.”

“Whatever,” Hayden said, standing. “I need a beer.” He turned to JJ. “Are you good? Are we still staying?”

“Of course we’re fucking staying. I’ve been wanting to see the cottage for years! Hayden, did you think I wouldn’t be okay with Shane being gay? Is that why you were so weird coming up here? You know I’ve been working just as hard as you to shut that homophobic shit down with the team.”

“Well, there’s also the Rozanov of it all.”

JJ clapped him on the back as they made their way into the kitchen. “Love is love, man. And enemies to lovers makes a great story. Besides, Capitaine and Rozanov have not truly been enemies for months now. Haven’t you been following on socials?”

JJ and Hayden took seats at the island, while Shane stepped up to Rozanov and made a weird face at him.

“So fucking cute, man,” JJ said. 

“What? What’s cute?” Hayden asked, looking around. 

“You’re absolutely hopeless, Hayd,” JJ said, shaking his head. 

Shane set a couple of beers down in front of them, and opened a third he set next to Rozanov who was making lunch. He popped a forth, and took a sip, leaning against the counter. It caught Hayden off guard at first, but it was summer, so he figured it wasn’t that weird for Shane to drink.

“So, what?” JJ asked. “You start a charity and fall in love?”

“More like we started the charity as a cover,” Shane said.

“Oh, that wasn’t a bad idea. I think it’s definitely working. Everyone thinks you two hanging out is just publicity for the charity.”

“Dude,” Hayden blurted, unable to keep it in any longer. “They’ve been together since before their rookie year.”

JJ’s eyebrows went up, but he didn’t spit out the beer he was drinking like Hayden had thought he might. 

JJ swallowed and grinned at Hayden. “That’s longer than you and Jackie.”

And didn’t Hayden know it. Shane and Rozanov had been together longer than him and his wife. Shane and Rozanov had been together longer than Hayden had known Shane. Shane and Rozanov had been together longer than Shane had been in the NHL.

“We weren’t exclusive until All Stars this year,” Shane added.

“Oh, well congratulations you two,” JJ said, and lifted his beer to tap against Rozanov’s and Shane’s. “How’s the leg doing, Rozanov? Or should I call you Ilya now that we are family?”

Rozanov set a plate down in front of Shane with one of his weird wraps and grinned at JJ. “Ilya, please.” He shot a smirk at Hayden. “Leg is fine. Healing okay, but taking too long.”

Rozanov finished the remaining three sandwiches, and they took the food to the table to sit and eat. It was weird. JJ was taking the whole thing better than Hayden had expected, and he was a little annoyed by it. 

“When do you get the boot off?” JJ asked.

“Another month or two.” Rozanov took a swig of his beer. “If I do not get to swim in this lake before the season starts and I have to go back to Boston I will be very upset.”

“Oh, can we go swimming later?” Hayden asked, glancing up at Shane. He’d brought his swimming trunks just in case. 

“Uh, sure go ahead if you want to,” Shane said.

“No, I mean like all of us,” Hayden said.

“I’m not swimming without Ilya, but we can hang out outside if you and JJ want to,” Shane said, and Hayden frowned. Shane wouldn’t swim just because his boyfriend couldn’t? That seemed a bit controlling.

“You know, you could always buy a second boot,” JJ said. “You can afford it, have one you ruin in the lake, and one you keep clean.”

Rozanov’s eyes got big, and he dropped his sandwich. “Shane!” Rozanov picked up his phone and began tapping away.

Shane sighed. “It’s not a bad idea, but you’ll still need to be careful not to over do it. You’re not going to find one that can be delivered out here today, but maybe we can swim in a few days when you get one delivered.”

“Found a currier. Will be here in two hours,” Rozanov said, a little grin on his face.

“Ilya, how much is that going to cost?” Shane complained.

“Shaane. It doesn’t matter. We are not hurting for money.”

“Yeah, but it’s wasteful and unnecessary.”

“Is very necessary, Shane. We have beautiful lake and I have not gotten to be in it yet.”

Hayden watched them go back and forth, trying to figure them out. Did they even like each other? They were so different and didn’t have anything in common except for hockey. 

“Whatever,” Shane said as if annoyed, but he was smiling a little. “Well, we have two hours. What do you guys wanna do?”

“I have idea,” Rozanov said, grinning weirdly.

“Ilya,” Shane said.

“Wait, that was also flirting, right?” Hayden asked. 

“Pike, would it be helpful if I make a hand gesture when I’m flirting so you can tell better?”

Hayden narrowed his eyes at him, not sure if he was telling a joke or not. But maybe . . . 

“I mean, if you want to.”

Rozanov turned to Shane. “You are very pretty today, moya lyubov'.” Rozanov flipped Hayden off.

Shane fought a smirk, and JJ snorted.

“You know, still helpful,” Hayden said. 

“What I was going to say,” Rozanov drawled. “Is Shane has not yet given JJ tour of cottage and told him all about well water quality.”

Shane’s face lit up and he turned to JJ. “The water is really great. We can go take a look if you guys want. Hayd I don’t think I actually showed you the site last time.” Shane stood and began clearing the table. 

“Well, beats you two going off to do butt stuff I guess,” Hayden muttered. He frowned. “Wait, is that homophobic to talk about butt stuff to gay people?”

“Anal is not just for gay dudes,” JJ said, draining the last of his beer. 

“Have you ever done that?” Hayden asked his friend.

“What? Anal or pegging?” JJ asked.

“No, uh like a prostate massage?” Hayden said, remembering it from Rozanov’s lecture a few weeks ago.

“Oh, yes. Of course,” JJ said.

“Pike, if you truly are feminist and ally, you should ask your wife to peg you. Will strengthen your relationship,” Rozanov said as he helped Shane with the dishes. 

“Ilya.” Shane elbowed his boyfriend, then turned to Hayden. “It’s not for everyone. You don’t have to like it or even want to do it if you don’t want to.”

“No, but should still try it once,” Rozanov said, shrugging.

“Do you like it?” Hayden asked Shane.

“Well yeah, obviously, but Ilya doesn’t really.”

“Is not for me, but is Shane’s favorite thing. Not being pegged by woman, but being fucked by me,” Rozanov said proudly. He flipped off Hayden. Oh, so that was flirting. Weird.

The currier arrived while they were all outside, Shane talking about the grading completed for the foundation. The man got out of his car, slowly, as if afraid he was hallucinating at the sight of the four hockey dudes. His eyes roamed between them, spending the most time on Shane and Rozanov. Which didn’t really bother Hayden. He was used to being ignored by fans when Shane was around. 

Rozanov accepted the delivery and gave the man a thick stack of folded bills before politely ushering him back into the car. 

“Thank you so much! My friends and I need to go swimming now. Very urgent business, thank you!” As the car pulled out, Rozanov gleefully limped back into the house. “Come, Shane! You can finish talking about gravel quality later!”

Shane was, in Hayden’s opinion, a little smothering with his worry over Rozanov as the large Russian jumped into the lake. He kept checking in to make sure he wasn’t experiencing any muscle spasms, and that he wasn’t twisting his leg in unusual ways with the new activity. JJ and Hayden competed to see who could make the biggest cannonball splash, while Shane mostly sat on the doc in his swim shorts, and watched Rozanov do handstands. All in all it was a wonderful day, even if Hayden didn’t exactly get their relationship.

[[A picture of a beautiful lake, the sun shining on the surface, trees framing the photo. In the center of the frame two legs stick straight up out of the water, as if the person is doing a hand stand. One of the exposed legs is wearing a walking cast.]]

[[A picture of Ilya Rozanov in green swimming trunks, his blond curls dripping wet, his chest glistening in the sun. On his right is Shane Hollander, also shirtless but mostly dry with wet patches on his shoulder, waist, and cheek, in matching green swimming trunks. On his left, a little in the background is a shirtless and wet Hayden Pike in blue swimming trunks with little ducks on them, and JJ Boiziau, also shirtless and wet in green swimming trunks. All four men are stretched out on a dock in the sun.]]

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Nobody tell my doctor 🤐If you made eyecontact with my best friend Shane Hollanders nipples, you now owe us one dollar donation to our charity [Link]

♥️981k  🗨️832k  🔁675k  ↗️635k

@JJ Boiziau☑️

Hope you have your doctor blocked on here, my friend.

♥️342

Shane

“Shane, I have question,” Ilya asked, rolling over from his post sex haze to eye his boyfriend.

“Oh my God, Ilya. It was just some random guy in Mexico after our first cup win. You’ve been with loads of people, you do not get to act like me getting dicked down once is a big deal,” Shane said. He had been waiting for Ilya to bring this up since JJ had mentioned it earlier, but had been properly distracted by Ilya convincing him they could be quiet with his two best friends down stairs. 

“That is not what I was going to ask,” Ilya said, a hint of offense in his voice.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to be so defensive. What did you want to ask?”

“What did JJ mean about homophobic shit with the team?”

Shane sighed and let his head drop onto Ilya’s hard chest.“It’s nothing. The team in the group chat has just been really loud since Hunter came out. I muted the chat, but I guess JJ and Hayden have been trying to shut it down.”

“Is it working?” 

“I don’t know, I muted it the first day and haven’t looked since. I didn’t want it to ruin this summer, you know.”

“Yes.” Ilya leaned in and kissed Shane slowly. 

“Shane?” Ilya asked, once Shane was feeling dopey and love drunk again. “How was dicking down by mexico man, on a scale of 1 to Ilya Rozanov?”

Shane groaned, his happy little expression immediately gone. “Do you even want me to answer that? Really?”

Ilya frowned. “I’m not sure.” 

Shane rolled his eyes. How Ilya didn’t get that he was completely gone for him he would never understand. 

Shane propped himself up on his arm. “It felt good. It confirmed some things for me about myself. I worried for a long time that it was just you. Like, I was attracted to other men, but I worried I wouldn’t enjoy being with other men. And, well, it felt good, but it wasn’t like it is with you.”

“What do you mean?” Ilya asked, his voice a rasp.

“With him, it felt good, and I got off. But with you, it’s like coming home and being made whole, while also losing myself all at once. You make my brain quiet.” Shane kissed Ilya’s pec, right next to his nipple. “It felt good, but then it was over, and I felt nothing. It wasn’t like it is with you. It made me realize that I didn’t really want anyone but you, because everyone else would only make me feel good for a moment, but being with you would make me feel good for months.”

Ilya smiled sappily, his post sex glow coming back. “Is why I stopped sleeping with other people,” Ilya said. “Before we became exclusive, I wasn’t really going out as much. Sex was a release for me. Like drinking. A way to relax, but not much more. It stopped being even that. I stopped relaxing, and started wanting you more every time I was with someone else. Like being thirsty, but each sip only made my throat dry.”

“You love me,” Shane said with a wicked grin.

“I really really do.”

[[A picture of an ice rink, Shane Hollander in full hockey kit wearing a Game Changers official jersey, and Ilya Rozanov in an Irina Foundation tshirt over a long sleeved shirt. Both men stand side by side, arms around each other standing next to the boards, and grinning brightly. ]]

[[A collection of photos of professional hockey players and groups of kids on the ice doing various drills. Any photo with a kid’s face clearly in frame is carefully blurred.]]

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Thank you to everyone who has participated or contributed to the Irina foundation and our first successful Game Changers hockey camp. This week has been amazing, and I am so delighted to have had the opportunity to meet and hangout with so many amazing kids. The future of hockey is looking bright. Donate here: [Link]

♥️655k  🗨️210k  🔁482k  ↗️276k

@Shane Hollander☑️

This has been one of the best weeks of my career, and we get to do it all over again next week in Boston. Thank you everyone for your support!

♥️283k

Shane

The first week of the Game Changers Hockey Camp in Montreal went off without any catastrophes. Shane couldn’t have been more relieved. He’d been horribly stressed and anxious all week, and probably for the entire month leading up to camp, but now that the week was over, he felt like he could breathe. 

They really couldn’t have done any of it without their fantastic coaching staff. Shane wasn’t yet back in full hockey form, and Ilya hadn’t been cleared to put on skates yet, but they had managed. Shane focused on coordinating the coaches, on ice classes, drills and scrimmages, while Ilya did some coaching from the bench, and focused on their off ice classes, most notably his pride and joy, Ilya Rozanov’s Chirping 101 (ages 9 and below) and 102 (ages 10 and above), which had been a camp favorite. 

The coaching staff was a mix of friends from around the league, NHL and PWHL, with a heavy density of Boston players, and a notably light presence of Montreal players, Shane, Hayden, and JJ being the only ones in attendance. When selecting their coaches, Ilya called their strategy “going on vibes.” Anyone who had spouted off anything homophobic was not even considered, which was really easy to identify with Scott Hunter’s recent actions. Anyone who was known for cheating on their spouses, or general gross locker room behavior, was excluded. Anyone who preferred degrading or angry words as motivation, wasn’t allowed near their camp kids. 

If Shane did anything in his life, he wanted to make a difference in the hockey world. He knew he couldn’t change a whole culture, but if he could show that hockey could exist without kids being stressed out by angry coaches, or taught toxic culture was a norm, he would count his efforts a success. 

Friday night found Shane and Ilya cuddled up in bed after enjoying some proper alone time. Their coaches had all gone their own ways after a celebratory dinner, and some of them would meet back up next week in Boston, joined by a few new faces. 

“Do you think I can convince Hunter and his boyfriend to attend my Chirping 102 next week?” Ilya asked, as he ran his fingers slowly through Shane’s hair. 

“Are you looking for approval from an old man now?” Shane teased. 

Ilya let out a soft chuckle, but grew quiet. Shane knew how much work he’d put into his chirping lessons, and how much they meant to him. “I would just like their opinion. Might be good outside perspective for what could be revised.”

“Ilya, your class is really good. You don’t need to make any changes. You’re doing good with that class and I wish more people could hear it.”

“Yes, maybe someday,” Ilya said softly. 

“I’ll suggest they attend. Like make it seem like a joke, so they can’t say no.”

“You don’t have to, Shane. Is not a big deal.”

“I know, but I still will.”

The Boston camp went even better. Shane thought it might have just been him who felt it. There had been a weight hanging over Shane as he arrived at the Metros practice rink they were renting each day for their camp. Occasionally coaching staff or teammates who weren’t coaching would show up and watch or say hi. It wasn’t like they were shouting slurs as hellos, but Shane couldn’t help but tense up as if expecting a check. He needed to sort himself out before the season started. He had to decide how he was going to handle it if the slurs and jokes didn’t die down to the casual volume they had been before Scott Hunter kissed his boyfriend on ice. Hayden and JJ had been trying, but in the room they wouldn’t stand a chance if Shane didn’t back them up and lead the way. 

But that was still a few weeks away, and Shane didn’t need to think about it now. For now Shane enjoyed spending time in Ilya’s house, and in Ilya’s bed, playing hockey with a bunch of kids and seeing Ilya every day. 

Having Scott Hunter attend this week of camp had also shifted things. He was a big name, especially coming off a cup win, but his actions after the cup, making out with his boyfriend after the win, had everyone treating him with a sort of reverence. Except Ilya. Ilya still teased and mocked Scott, while kind of flirting teasing Kip. 

Shane didn’t mind. Really. Ilya was in love with Shane, and wasn’t interested in Kip, and none of his flirting could really be called flirting when looked straight on, especially since barely anyone knew Ilya was bi, but Kip enjoyed bantering back with Ilya and teasing Scott, and Shane couldn’t keep up with their banter. He was constantly tense, watching his every word and move to make sure he didn’t give Ilya too many heart eyes as Jackie had warned him.

Sometimes Shane thought about life if he and Ilya came out. It would be a fucking mess with the league. Scott had told them some of the passive aggressive comments Crowell the NHL commissioner had said to him over the last few weeks, and Shane could only imagine how much worse it would be if it was two hockey players dating. And then there was Russia, and that deep aching fear Shane felt every time he thought of Ilya being in danger. But the rest of it? Being able to make jokes about sex or relationships like the rest of his friends, being able to talk to Ilya in public without worrying where his hands were, and the direction his feet were pointing (people on instagram really did analyze the weirdest things), not overthinking his every word and action. That all sounded amazing. So he didn’t let himself think about it too often.

Shane approached Scott and Kip as they were waiting for their rideshare after dinner outside of the restaurant Ilya had drug them all too. Ilya was still inside chatting with Marlow over a last drink.

“Hey, guys. Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Yeah, this place was pretty good. I guess I shouldn’t doubt Rozanov’s food recommendations,” Scott said, his arm laced through Kip’s. Shane tried not to stare, or feel too jealous. 

“I’m gonna be dreaming about that lamb for years,” Kip added with a grin.

Shane couldn’t think of anything grosser than a bloody slab of lamb, but didn’t say so. “Well, I wanted to mention tomorrow is Ilya’s Chirping 102 class after lunch.”

“Yeah, I saw that on the schedule.” Scott snorted. “Can’t imagine anything worse than Rozanov training the next generation up in chirping.”

“I don’t know, might be entertaining,” Kip said with a grin at his boyfriend.

“Well, you should both attend. Kip, I don’t know if you have other plans, but it’s just an hour. You two might enjoy it, and I’d love your perspective.”

“What, like, make sure he doesn’t get out of line?” Kip asked.

“No, nothing like that, just like, um, his curriculum is pretty indepth,” Shane said, not sure how to persuade them. 

“I don’t know. If I show up is it gonna turn into crowd work like a comedy club where he just tears into me for forty five minutes?” Scott asked. He said it like a joke, but he clearly meant it. 

“No, no. Really. It’s not a routine, it’s a proper lecture and everything. Trust me. You two should go.” Shane wasn’t sure he was being convincing enough, and was a few moments away from begging, but Scott studied him for a long moment before his shoulders finally dropped. 

“Fine. I’ll be there,” Scott said, and turned to Kip.

“Yeah, I’d love to go, really,” Kip said. 

A black SUV pulled up to the curb. “This is us. See you tomorrow, Hollander?”

“Sounds good. Have a good night,” Shane said. And when the SUV finally pulled away, he let out a ragged breath and headed back into the restaurant. He really hoped they kept their word. Ilya would be so disappointed if they missed it.

Everyone had cleared out except for Ilya and Marlow who had moved to a booth. Shane wasn’t sure if it would be weird if he joined them, but Ilya patted the bench next to him when he spotted him. 

“How did it go?” Ilya asked, and slid a ginger ale in front of him. 

“Good, I think,” Shane said, and glanced up at Marlow. 

“Super cool that Hunter could make it,” Marlow said. “His boyfriend is great. Couple goals, am I right?”

Shane wasn’t sure how to respond. Ilya told him Marlow was cool, but Shane hadn’t expected him to be so openly supportive of a gay couple. 

“You wish, Marly. Kip is going into graduate program. You could never bag someone so smart,” Ilya teased. 

“Yeah, but I’m pretty at least. I could be the arm candy to her brains.”

“No Marly, you are not pretty. You are ugly man with an okey body,” Ilya said, grinning into his beer. 

“Fuck you, Roz. Hollander, tell him I’m pretty,” Marlow said, tipping his beer at Shane. 

Shane opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but Ilya, always the conversational wizard, saved him.

“Fuck off Marly. Shane has standards.”

“Clearly not,” Marlow said with a laugh. “Otherwise he would have dumped your dumb ass years ago.”

Shane felt the room get smaller all around him. His breathing skipped and cold fear dripped down his spine. He looked at Ilya, expecting similar shock to be on his boyfriend’s face, but Ilya just looked guilty. His hand gripped Shane’s thigh under the table. 

“Marly came to see me in the hospital, and wasn’t as dumb as Pike. He supports us. He has kept it quiet.”

Shane let out a ragged breath. 

“You didn’t fucking tell him, Roz? Fuck. Sorry, Hollander. If I’d known this dumb ass wasn’t good at communication I wouldn’t have joked about it like that.” He nodded his head.
“Seriously, though. We’re good.”

“Right. Thanks, Marlow,” Shane managed to choke out.

“Don’t mention it, man. It’s like the bare minimum.” Those words stuck in Shane’s head. The bare minimum, but would Shane’s team feel the same way? Marlow drained his beer and gestured for the waiter. “Are you guys hanging out longer or what? There’s a potential grad student over there I wanna go chat up.”

“Go for it, Marly. We are going home soon.”

Marlow stood and tapped the table with his knuckle twice. “Sounds good. See you boys tomorrow.”

Shane closed his eyes, and slowly lowered his forehead to the table. Instead of the hard clunk he was expecting, his head hit a soft warm surface. He turned to look at Ilya. 

“Table is sticky,” he said, with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Ilya shrugged. “I was so scared in the hospital you would change your mind and decide I wasn’t worth the trouble. Then I kind of forgot.”

Shane sighed and quickly kissed the back of Ilya’s hand before sitting up. “A warning would have been nice, but I’m glad you have someone who knows.”

Kip arrived at the rink at lunch the next day. Shane waved a greeting before heading off to get some details sorted before the afternoon got underway. He saw Kip and Scott wandering into the rink a few hours later, a shell shocked look on Scott’s face, Kip wearing a grin. Shane skated up to the boards where they were leaning, talking quietly. 

“Hey guys,” he said, coming to a stop.

“What the fuck was that, Hollander?” Scott asked, he still looked a bit lost and confused.

“Enjoyed afternoon classes?” Shane asked with a grin. 

Kip broke out in a laugh, and Scott just looked between them, as if unsure of who he wanted to punch more. “I literally don’t understand what I just witnessed.”

“He didn’t chirp you though, did he?”

“He didn’t even glance at me,” Scott said, scratching his beard. “He made a comment about how calling someone old and slow who’s basically the same age as you is funny and a good chirp.”

“I mean it is,” Shane said with a shrug.

“I think I need to reevaluate my entire life,” Scott said, and turned toward the locker room. 

“Scrimage with the U10’s in twenty,” Shane called after him, and he waved before disappearing. Shane turned back to Kip. “Are you staying to watch?”

“Yeah, or scroll on my phone,” Kip said with a shrug. “Then we can leave straight from here to dinner. Hey, so Ilya really came up with all of that on his own?”

Snake nodded. “He worked on it for months. Really wanted Scott to see it.”

A soft smile crept over Kip’s face. “I think he was really impressed. I was at least. But it’s probably going to take Scott some time to sort out his feelings.”

“Yeah, I get that. People underestimate Rozanov. Not on the ice, but everywhere else,” Shane said fondly. 

“Not you, though, right?”

“Uh, I don’t know, sometimes he still catches me offguard,” Shane floundered. “I should get back to the kids. See you at dinner.”

Shane skated off before he could say anything too telling.

“Hey,” Scott said to him at a stop in play in the middle of their U10 scrimmage. He gestured toward the stands. “Should I be worried?”

Shane glanced up and spotted Kip and Ilya sitting next to each other, half way up the stands talking animatedly. They broke out in laughter, both throwing their heads back in unison. Shane snorted. “Probably.” He skated off to help a little girl with her first faceoff.

Boston insisted Ilya return for training camp, which usually wasn’t required for veterans, but the team wanted their trainers to have eyes on him and their own doctors opinions on when he could start training again. 

Shane knew it was coming, knew Ilya couldn’t stay with him forever, but he hadn’t expected their inevitable separation to hurt quite so much. Packing up all the odds and ends hurt, and Shane made room in his closet and bathroom in Montreal, insisting Ilya leave some things for when he would visit through the season. Even if that was only going to be a small handful of times. 

They just had to get through this season, then Ilya would be moving to Ottawa, and well, they still wouldn’t be seeing each other every day, but they could at least make it a few times a month. Shane dropped his head and threw the sweater of Ilya’s he’d been refolding for the eighth time back into his suitcase. 

Just a few months ago the opportunity to see each other a few times a month had seemed wonderful, fantastical, everything he could ever ask for, but now, after waking up next to the man he loved every day, even that felt like it would barely sooth the ache that was already forming. And that was still a year away. 

He’d really fucked up. He’d let himself get so fucking comfortable with Ilya.

Two strong warm arms wrapped around him from behind, and Ilya pressed his face into Shane’s neck.

“Moya lyubov', what is wrong?”

“I’m thinking of hiding your passport,” Shane grumbled. 

Ilya kissed his neck. “I don’t want to go either.”

“I could quit hockey,” Shane said, pulling Ilya’s arms tighter around himself. “I could move in with you and make you dinner every night.”

“Mmmm. No,” Ilya said, and Shane turned in his arms to glare at him. “You would only make healthy food. Is better if I quit and move in with you. That way you will have food that you will eat that actually tastes good.”

Shane chuckled, and it was a little wet. He buried his face in Ilya’s neck. “What are we going to do?”

“We will just have lots of phone sex, yes? I’ll order us little tripods. One for home and one for roadies.” 

Shane squeezed his arms around Ilya. It wouldn’t be enough, but it had to be enough. “With both of us making the payoffs this season we’ll only have a few weeks this summer.”

“Then we won’t make the playoffs, yes? We both bomb the teams so we have a longer break.”

“Okay,” Shane said tearily. He tried to pull away, but Ilya wouldn’t let him go. “Ilya, I’m gonna get snot on your shirt.”

“Good. Something to remember you by on the plane.” He loosened his hold and Shane pulled back enough to kiss him gently. Ilya’s eyes were also red and wet. 

Shane sniffled and cleared his throat. “We just have to get through the season, and then we’ll be closer.”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. 

“Only two hours.”

“Yes.” 

“It still won’t be enough.”

“No.”

“But it will be better.” Shane chewed his lip. “Maybe, maybe we find a house halfway between Ottawa and Montreal. Like, we keep my apartment, and find you a house near the rink like planned, but we get a second house in the middle. On nights when we don’t have roadies, it would only be an hour instead of two. That wouldn’t be so bad, right? We could manage a few nights a week, maybe.”

A tear found its way out of Ilya’s eye, and Shane brushed it away before it reached his chin.

“You are a very smart thinker,” Ilya said and kissed him. 

“It’s not perfect, but it would be better,” Shane said. “We can think about it. Plan this season. We don’t have to rush into anything.”

“Mm. Yes. Very good idea. Perfect,” Ilya said, kissing down Shane’s neck.

“We’ll still focus on finding you the perfect house first.”

“Yes, house for both of us in Ottawa. Home to retire in,” Ilya said between kisses. 

“Ilya, we’re going to be late if you do that,” Shane grumbled, but didn’t stop the hands tugging at his pants. 

“No, you packed me up last night, and planned extra hour for traffic into our leave time. I will be quick.”

Shane sighed, but didn’t protest. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

Chapter End Notes

I’m gonna give a peak at Ilya Rozanov’s Chirping 101 in a later chapter <3 I think it fits better next summer. Okay, any fun guesses on how this next year is gonna go for our boys???

Chapter 10: Ottawa

Chapter Summary

Shane goes to Ottawa and attends a barbecue

Chapter Notes

We're going to be skipping quickly through this season <3 We're coming up toward the end here, and I hope you enjoy the ride!
Would you believe me if I said the most stressful part of writing this fic is coming up with the random numbers to put as the likes, comments, ect on the social posts?

Shane was stressed, but not over the game. Ottawa wasn’t a challenge with their goalie Kirkman one of the most inconsistent goalies in the league. He knew they would win even with the mess of chemistry that was the current state of the Metros. Shane had scored more hat tricks against Ottawa than any other team over the years, and he didn’t even try to up his stats when playing Ottawa anymore. Instead he mostly focused on setting up the rookies or the d-men, giving them more goals. 

But still, Shane was stressed. Things were not going well in the room, and it was starting to show on the ice. Pre season hadn’t been so bad, but the coach had been giving Shane less ice time, letting the rookies have more practice in the low stakes games, and giving Shane’s shoulder every chance to be 100% before things got real. But their first few weeks of the season had been off. 

They were still winning more than they weren’t. Of course they were, they were the fucking Metros. Two time cup winners, all under Shane’s leadership. But still, the play was off. Passes weren’t connecting, and team members weren’t passing to Shane quite as often as normal. 

Shane wasn’t sure if it was because of the attitude in the room, and Hayden and JJ’s actions to shut it down with Shane backing them up, or if it was just a result of him having been out at the end of the last season, and the team tanking it in the first round of the playoffs. 

Comeau was a problem. He kept making little comments here and there about Shane being slower, or losing his touch. Kept saying other things that felt targeted, but Shane wasn’t completely sure of their intent. 

Shane wasn’t losing his touch. He’d worked hard to get back to his original level post recovery and he felt good. He thought he was back, but it was hard to tell if it was him, or the overall team causing that slight dip in their stats. He could ask Ilya to really analyse his game, tell him if he was performing well, but his calls with Ilya felt precious and he didn’t want to worry him over his team’s behavior. He could figure things out and get them back on track. 

Shane was doing slow laps around their side of the ice during warmups, more to clear his mind than to actually get any warmer. When he approached the center line, Zane Boodram gave him a little wave, and he came to a stop. 

“Hey, Hollander, ready for us to wipe the ice with you today?” Bood said with a big grin. 

Shane chuckled. “You can give it your best, I suppose.” No way would the Centaurs ever wipe anything with the Metros, but saying it outloud felt mean.

“Will do, man,” Bood said goodnaturedly. “Hey, listen, I heard you have a roadie this week and aren’t flying out till the morning, so I wanted to invite you to my place for a little barbeque after the game.”

Shane blinked, unsure of how to reply. 

“I know it’s not the norm, but that’s kinda the point. We’ve been thinking of trying something different this year, get together with non assholes from other teams, start a little inter league comradery and all. We tried it out with the Admirals last month, and Scott said you might be interested. 

Shane glanced at Evan Dykstra who was stretching a few feet away, then back at Bood. “Uh, yeah, so like, the whole team is invited?”

Bood made a face. “Well, I’ll leave that up to you. We’re trying to catch up with non assholes, if you know what I mean.”

“He means people who aren’t racists, homophobes, or cheating misogynists,” Dykstra said. He grew quiet and they all watched as Comeau and Drapeau skated past.

“But we trust your judgement, Hollander,” Bood said at last, when the pair were out of hearing range. “Hunter said you’d gotten a good group for your camps.”

“Uh, right. Yeah, Hayden and JJ would be good, I think. But probably just them. Some of the rookies, maybe but . . .”

“Yeah, they’re just rookies,” Bood agreed. “Okay, sounds good then. We’ll plan for three more.”

“You still have my number from that training thing we did a few years ago?” Shane asked.

“Yeah, man. I’ll text you the address after the game.”

“Sounds good.”

Shane skated back over to his team, and tried to shake off the weird interaction. He needed to focus now, and panic over an unknown social engagement later. 

They won, of course. 4-1. That one for Ottawa came when Comeau wasn’t where he needed to be for Shane’s pass and Bood snapped it up. When their coach called it out at first intermission, Comeau said Shane had signaled wrong, didn’t know the right play, and was too slow to get the puck where it needed to be. He ended it with a muttered slur everyone heard. Coach just stared Shane down, as if daring him to say something. 

After the game was over, the very last thing Shane wanted to do was go to a barbecue at someone’s house where there likely wouldn’t be any food he would want to eat with people he didn’t know, but he had told Bood he’d be there, and he had to admit he was curious what this whole thing was about. He also wanted to know more about the Centaurs. This was going to be Ilya’s team next year, and Shane wanted to see what situation his boyfriend was getting into.

So, he plastered on a grin, changed at the hotel into jeans and a hoodie, and ordered a car with JJ and Hayden. 

Bood’s house was nice. One of the older builds in Ottawa, renovated with an eye to its original charm. It had an enormous covered back deck added on that complimented the bone structure of the house, and kept the flow of the original building which was so rare with extensions. Shane asked if Bood knew who had renovated it, but it had happened before they bought it, and Shane made a note to look it up later.

The food was about what Shane expected. Everything had meat in it, and after the stress of the day, Shane just couldn’t stomach it. There was one dish without meat, but it had way too much mayonnaise, which was almost worse. He loaded a few things onto his plate so as to not seem rude, and planned to shove bits onto Hayden and JJ’s plates as the night progressed. 

Shane was a little shocked to see the drink fridge didn’t just have beer but also contained a selection of sodas, including ginger ale. He took one eagerly before tossing a beer to Hayden.

The evening wasn’t horrible. They mostly talked hockey, or league gossip, and with Hayden and JJ at his side, there weren’t any awkward pauses. The crowd was made up of most of the Centaurs, a few WAGs and a few team staff which caught Shane off guard when he first noticed them. One guy, a cute dude a little shorter than Shane with sandy hair and a round middle came up and introduced himself to them. 

“Shane Hollander, and Hayden Pike. It’s so great to meet you guys,” he said with a huge grin, shaking all their hands. JJ had recently wandered off to go talk with someone he was in juniors with. “I’m Harris, the new social media manager.”

“Oh, nice to meet you. You’re not posting this event, are you?” Shane had a feeling his team would not be cool knowing the three of them had gone off to associate with a rival team.

“Na, I’m off duty. Just here to hang and eat some great food.”

“Oh. Thank God. Okay.” Shane tried to relax, his eyes drifting to the very obvious pride pins sprinkled around Harris’s jacket. Not just staff, but gay staff being invited to a team event. This was so weird. 

“So how do you like working for the Centaurs?” Hayden asked Harris, elbowing Shane in the side. He only did that when he thought Shane was acting weird so Shane glanced up but didn’t see anything off. 

“Oh man, I love it so much. An absolute dream come true. I’ve been a Centaurs fan basically my entire life, and now I get to not only work with them but also be friends with the guys, and everyone’s just so cool and welcoming.”

“Really?” Shane asked. “I know everyone always says the Centaurs are culture first, but like, they actually follow through on that?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, there are always a few rotten apples in the bunch, but the team shuts them down so they don’t really make themselves known.”

Shane frowned. It felt like the opposite was happening on the metros. The few rotten players were loud and carried the rest along with them, making the rookies feel like they have to laugh along if they want to fit in. 

“So someone says something shitty and the whole team just puts a stop to it?” Shane asked. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Harris said, looking around a little. “This is my first year with the team, so I’m not an expert or anything, all I know is that everyone’s been really great to me so far, except for a few players I just don’t engage with outside of normal job duties.” Harris made eye contact with someone behind Shane, and a moment later Bood was clapping Shane on the shoulder. 

“Hey boys, how’s it going, everyone get enough to eat?” Bood asked.

“Yeah, it was great,” Shane lied. 

“Man, your barbecue lives up to the hype,” Hayden said, and clasped hands with Bood. “Oh, I guess those barbeque with Bood short things are your doing as the socials guy, right?” Hayden asked Harris, and Shane wasn’t sure what he was talking about. 

“Yep! That’s me,” Harris said with a big loud laugh. “I’m hoping to do more spotlights like that with other players if I can rope them in.”

“Yeah, that’s brilliant. Our socials are so flat,” Hayden said and glanced at Shane. Shane frowned at him. Shane was glad they didn’t have to do weird stuff for socials with the Metros like some other teams got up to. 

“Yeah, tell me about it. They have no spirit to them,” Harris said. He gestured to Bood. “Shane was just asking about team culture. I figure you’re the better one to ask since I just shape how we’re perceived from the outside, but you shape it from within.”

“Yeah, man.” Bood turned to Shane. “What do you wanna to know?”

“Well, I don’t know, really. It’s nothing big. Harris just said the team is really welcoming, and I just can’t help thinking he wouldn’t feel the same in Montreal.” Shane glanced at Hayden who was nodding encouragingly. So he hadn’t said anything off so far. “We’ve been trying to curb some of that, but haven’t been very successful.”

Bood crossed his arms, his bright expression growing tight. “What do you mean exactly?”

Shane shot a look at Hayden, the back of his neck getting a bit damp. 

Hayden jumped in. “Well, a few guys on the team have always been a little loose with slurs and all that, but since the cup final last season things have escalated. A lot. We tell them to shut up, but it just escalates.”

“And when you say escalates,” Bood said, and trailed off.

Shane let out a sigh, so tired of living on edge the last few weeks. Bood had to get it, right? Being a black man in the league, he had to know what was out there. If he had somehow found his way to a team who wasn’t toxic, Shane had to know how it happened. 

“Like someone will say something out of line and then Hayden will tell them to shut the fuck up, and then they just start saying shit about Hayden, calling him all the homephobic shit, even though he’s married and has a dozen kids—”

“Four. I have a very normal amount of kids.”

“—so then I jump in and then they just tear into me with the homophobic or racist shit, which is fine. I don’t really care what they say about me, but then it just never stops, and it’s normalized and encouraged in that way that if you don’t join them you become a target, and I just don’t know how we can get around it. Like if I as team captain say something is out of line, and they just say I’m weak or not manly enough to get it, then I have no—”

Shane stopped himself, and glanced around to see who all had heard his outburst. There were a few people nearby, but they all seemed focused on their own conversations. He met Harris’s eyes briefly before he looked away. He’d basically just told a rival team he was losing the respect of his own team. But the guys still listened to him on the ice. Well, everyone except for Comeau, and sometimes Drapeau. Was it only a matter of time before they turned others against his leadership on the ice as they had in the room?

“We just want to end it,” Hayden jumped in. “Clean up the room and play good hockey.”

“Have you taken this to staff?” Bood asked.

Hayden snorted, and then grimaced. “Sorry, not funny, but uh, yeah. Staff isn’t really an option. If we go to coaching staff, they say it’s my and Shane’s responsibility being C and AC to keep the team together. If we go to HR they say to go to coaching staff.”

Bood grimaced. “So it goes all the way up. See, we have good management and staff here. They would step in if something like that happened.” He thought for a moment. “What about the NHLPA?”

Shane started to shake his head, but then Hayden spoke. “I called them last week.” Hayden met Shane’s eyes. “It was pointless, so I didn’t tell you. They said if someone on the team was gay they should come out so they could file discriminatory paperwork, and basically implied if no one was gay it didn’t really matter.”

Shane flinched.

“The fuck?” Bood said.

“Yeah, when I mentioned they were also using racial slurs they asked if we had proof, which we don’t,” Hayden said.

“That’s fucked up,” Bood said.

“And even if we like recorded them or something, it wouldn’t be a smoking gun of evidence, because most of what they say to Shane are micro aggressions he doesn’t even pick up on half the time,” Hayden said and shot Shane another glance. “Sorry, buddy.”

Shane sighed. “Not your fault, I just try to play hockey and block everything else out.”

“I get that,” Bood said, a knowing expression on his face. “But that’s a hard way to live. Does JJ get a lot of that too?”

“Not so much,” Hayden said. “JJ’s cool. Everyone loves him, even when he’s telling them to stop using slurs as insults. They just brush him off and keep going.”

“Have you talked to Scott Hunter?” Bood asked.

“Not about this,” Shane said. “He coached for our camp this summer, but this was all just in the group chat back then.”

“Take screenshots of that shit if you haven’t already,” Bood said. “Start documenting anything you can, even if it’s small. It all builds.”

“I can do that,” Hayden said. “And JJ is in another chat he can get screenshots of.”

Shane nodded. There were probably a few group chats with the worst of the worst that none of them ever saw. 

“But you should still talk to Scott. I think this is the kind of stuff he’s wanting to fix, why he wants to start doing hangouts like this with more teams. Build a network.”

“What do you mean?” Shane asked. “What do team hangouts really accomplish?”

Bood shrugged. “When people know they aren’t alone, it makes the fight easier, doesn’t it? This conversation right now, I might not have any workable solutions for you, but maybe we figure something out this season, and then the next guy having the same problems is one step closer.”

Shane thought about it, and nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Bood nodded sagely. “We met up with Scott after the first game of the season, he said something about how little changes in the room could help shape the future of hockey culture. Said he got the idea from Rozanov of all people if you can believe that.”

Shane snorted. “Yeah, they are kinda friends now. Well, Kip and Ilya are friends. Scott is just kind of there, I guess.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, they bonded over the summer, and now they text all the time.”

“Huh. Wouldn’t have guessed that one.”

Shane shrugged. “If you’re looking for more teams to invite over, Boston wouldn’t be a bad choice.” 

“No assholes, remember.” Bood asked. “Rozanov is one of the biggest assholes in the league.”

Shane shrugged again. “Yeah, but you’ve never heard him say anything homophobic, racist, or misogynistic, have you?”

Bood frowned, as if never having thought that deep. 

“Scott told you we had a good group of people for camp?” Shane asked. “That was all Ilya. He’s the one that’s good at reading people. I’m so focused on hockey I didn’t realize I had a team of rotten apples until it’s too late.”

Hayden groaned. “I hate to say anything good about Rozanov, like really hate it. But yeah. As my wife says, who also thinks of him as her bff by the way, he’s a gooey gummy bear with an asshole candy coating. And please tell him I said so. He will hate it.”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it, and check out the schedules next time we play Boston,” Bood said. “Do you guys want some more food?” 

Shane called Ilya in his hotel later that night, with headphones on, while Hayden talked to Jackie on the other bed. Ilya was just back from a game he didn’t get to play in, his an evening game to Shane’s afternoon, and he stared fondly at his boyfriend while he made an evening snack of grilled cheese, his phone propped up on one of the little tripods that were now scattered around Ilya and Shane’s houses. 

Shane told Ilya about the barbeque at Bood’s. He didn’t tell him about the conversation about the metros, but told him Bood was trying to start a network of non shitty players with Hunter. Ilya was intrigued. “They even invited their gay social media manager to a team event, and no one thought it was weird or anything. He said he was friends with the team.”

“That is a good sign. Maybe they will not care if I come out someday,” Ilya said, draping an excessive amount of cheese onto the bread in his pan. 

The thought made Shane squirm. He wanted that, for them to be out, but it also terrified him. “Based on what I learned chatting with them tonight, I think they could be.” Shane bit his lip. He wanted this move to be good for Ilya, he wanted a team where Ilya would be safe. He probably had that now with Boston, but Shane still felt guilty that Ilya would be giving that up, partially for him. “I’m excited for the Montreal Boston game next week.”

Ilya wasn’t yet cleared for playing, but he had been traveling with the team on some roadies in support. 

“Oh yes, the one where we fuck you on the ice and then I fuck you in your apartment after?”

Shane grinned stupidly. “No to the first fucking, but yes to the second.” Playing Boston wouldn’t be its normal challenge with Ilya still recovering. 

“Hmm. We will see then,” Ilya said, as he flipped his grilled cheese in the skillet without a spatula, his bare chest muscles flexing in the kitchen light.

“Do you think Christmas will work?” Shane asked. 

The schedule was tight for Ilya, and he would likely be back on the ice by then. He had an afternoon game on the 24th, and then another game on the 27th, but if he skipped the optional skate on the 26th . . .

“Yes, I found a flight leaving an hour after the game ends. It should work nicely.”

“Ilya, an hour isn’t enough time. You’ll need to shower and do press, and what if it goes into overtime?”

“Is game against Jersey. Will not be overtime, and I will tell them I cannot do press because my beautiful boyfriend is waiting to pick me up from the airport, so I can give his parents the best christmas gifts ever and become favorite son.”

“I think you already are the favorite,” Shane said with a sigh and a little grin. Shane’s interactions with his parents were always so transactional, but Ilya somehow had meaningful text conversations on the regular.

Ilya plated his grilled cheese and carried it and his phone to his island, where he set his phone on a second tripod placed exactly for this purpose. Ilya lifted the crusty grilled cheese and took a bite. The seared bread crunched perfectly, and the cheese stretched.

“That looks so good,” Shane said, licking his lips. “I miss your grilled cheese.”

“You did not eat at the Centaur’s party?” 

“No, it was just a lot of meat. I had a protein bar though.”

“Shane,” Ilya started. 

“I’m not hungry like that, I just miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Six more days.”

[[A picture of Ilya Rozanov slamming Shane Hollander into the boards during an All Stars game in 2015]]

[[A picture of Ilya Rozanov Kissing the helmet of Shane Hollander during an All Stars game in 2017]]

@Kelsy Hollanov

Here is a detailed timeline of events that prove Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov went from bitter hated enemies to cutesie lovers within '15-'17
[continue reading]

♥️219k  🗨️93k  🔁87k  ↗️72k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

This is very detailed list, thank you for sharing your theories, but my very good friend Shane Hollander and I have never been enemies. We are the very best of friends who get along always and never fight, so I think your theories need peer review and revision. Here is obligatory donation link to charity for all who have enjoyed this timeline [Link]

♥️194k

[[A picture of Shane Hollander working out in a gym, doing dumbbell lifts in a gray sweaty tank top. Ilya Rozanov, sweaty and lifting the hem of his black tank top as he takes a mirror selfie has been photoshopped into the picture so it looks like they are working out together.]]

@Penny West

Oh wow, look at these two super hot hockey boys who are such best friends they work out together all sweaty and hot. It would be so embarrassing if Ilya Rozanov suddenly appeared in my comment section asking for donations. 

♥️657k  🗨️456k  🔁567k  ↗️498k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Thank you Penny for great picture of me and my very best friend Shane Hollander. This is wonderful computer editing. 10/10. Now, if everyone who has looked at Shane Hollanders bicep vein and thought about licking it can donate one dollar to the Irina Foundation, we can do a little good in the world together [Link]

♥️569k

@Penny West

It's like you truly know my mind, sir. Donated ☑️

♥️87k

Ilya

Ilya was back on the fucking ice at last. He wasn’t quite getting his normal twenty plus minutes of ice time like usual, but last game he had played fifteen, and he was feeling good today. They were playing the Centaurs, and Ilya suspected it would not be a hard game, so hopefully coach would let him play longer. He was feeling good after months of physical therapy and training. Ilya needed to prove he was back. He needed to prove his value was still there so this crappy little team would send him an offer when free agency opened over the summer. 

Ilya did some quick sprints on the ice to get his blood pumping, but pulled up short when he saw Boodram wave at him. A slow smile crept over his face. “Ah, is this the delicious barbecue invitation I have been anticipating like little child on christmas morning?”

“Oh yeah, did Hollander tell you about it?” Bood asked.

“No, Hollander has weird diet, but Pike told me all about your marinades and spice blends. He drooled on his baby when he mentioned the sausages.”

Bood’s face fell a little. “What do you mean about Hollander’s diet? He didn’t say anything.”

“No, he does not do that. Just eats protein bar and smiles.”

“Fuck. I didn’t even ask. I feel like an asshole.”

Ilya shrugged. “Is okey. He likes assholes.”

Bood frowned at him but didn’t take the bait. “I’ll have to do a little more research if I invite him again.”

“He is mostly vegetarian. He also has some weird texture preferences, but I can send you list if you need it,” Ilya said casually. When Bood nodded in agreement a trickle of satisfaction worked its way into Ilya’s chest. Now if Shane got to visit his team’s hangouts next year, Bood would have something his boyfriend would enjoy. 

“Well, we don’t have time for a proper barbecue tonight but we wanted to invite you and any of the guys from the team you think are cool for drinks. We have a place nearby we like. Monks.”

“Yes, Hollander told me. Only cool people, no assholes except for me because I am fun asshole.”

“Hayden said you’re a squishy gummy bear with an asshole coating.”

Ilya grinned. “Pike is mad because I am teaching his twin girls Russian.”

Bood laughed. “That tracks. Okay, see you guys there after the game?”

“Monks. Yes, we will be there,” Ilya said, and skated off. He would go to their boring Ottawa bar and be nice and charming, and work hard to make a good first impression with his future team.

[[A picture of the Hollander family plus Ilya Rozanov all in matching sweaters in front of a christmas tree. Ilya is between David and Yuna Hollander, arms thrown over their shoulders, in an embrace. Shane is in front of Ilya, holding the camera. All four are smiling brightly.]]

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Life hack: If you do not have a family for the holidays, you can steal your life long rival’s family instead. 

Holidays are hard for many, but there are some great organizations that can help [Link]

To give back and help support organizations like the one above you can donate to our foundation [Link] My very best friend Shane Hollander will match every donation made through the end of the year.

♥️344k  🗨️129k  🔁230k  ↗️302k

@Yuna Hollander

It was so great seeing you Ilya. Have a safe flight back to Boston, sweetie.

♥️132k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Thank you mama Yuna. Will send you tickets so you can come watch me in the playoffs since you will have nothing better to do.

♥️97k

@Shane Hollander☑️

Fuck you Rozanov

♥️65k

Chapter End Notes

Okay, I know the fandom really hates their little tripods from the books, but that is absolutely something they would do IMO. They are SERIOUS about phone sex. They need ALL the tripods.

Chapter 11: New York

Chapter Summary

Shane and Hayden talk to Scott and Kip <3

Chapter Notes

Trigger warning: Discussions of homophobic language, but no slurs on the page. This will be true of quite a few of the next couple chapters.

I’m kind of a big believer that an author doesn’t need to say it to get their point across. I don’t need to do research into witty homophobic and racist language to make this fic better, and I don’t need to write out hateful language for a bigger impact. Those words get enough attention, and while we need to be aware of them, we all know them here, and including it doesn’t add anything to the conversation, so I won't.

Shane

Shane didn’t get a chance, or the courage, to chat with Scott Hunter until the last week of January. They were in New York in the middle of a long roadie, and, well, the situation with the team had not improved, so Shane decided it was finally time to try and get an outside perspective. 

Shane skated up to the center line during warmups and nodded at Scott who was chatting with Carter Vaughn. Scott spotted him and skated over. “Hollander. How’s it going?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s going,” Shane said, not wanting to immediately lie. “Hey, I was wondering if you had time to chat tonight? Me and Hayden had some stuff we wanted your opinion on.” Shane glanced around, nervous someone on his team would overhear. 

“Sure, man. Like drinks at a bar chat, or like dinner at my place chat?”

“Your place might be better, if that’s cool. More quiet and all.”

Scott nodded like he got what Shane wasn’t saying. “Kip will be there, will Pike be cool about that? I didn’t get a great read on him at camp since he just spent the whole week cursing Rozanov.”

Shane let out a chuckle that was more anxious than anything else. “Yeah, Pike is great.”

“Okay cool. I’ll text you my address after the game, then. Just head over whenever. If I’m not back yet Kip will be there.”

“Thank you,” Shane said, really meaning it. He skated away before he said anything weird and finished his warmups. 

They lost 5-1. Their only goal was Shane’s, assisted by Hayden. After the game Shane had two texts waiting for him. One from Scott with his address, and the other from Lily. 

Lily: When I said over the summer we should not make the playoffs so we have more time together, was joke. You did not have to take so seriously, solnyshko.

Shane: 🖕

Lily: 😘

Scottie🍌🫐: Hey babe, a couple guys from the other team asked to chat tonight. Are you up for visitors? We can order in.

Kip: Aww are you collecting more gay hockey babies?

Scottie🍌🫐: I don’t think so. It’s Pike and Hollander. Bood mentioned a few months ago they were having issues with the team culture 

Kip: Ahh more allies looking for advice from the elder queer.

Scottie🍌🫐: I really wish you weren’t friends with Rozanov 

Kip

Kip sighed and cleaned up his laptop, scattered papers and textbooks strewn over the kitchen table. He’d been looking forward to Scott coming home from his game, high on adrenalyn, fucking him, and then falling asleep in his arms. 

Instead Kip straightened up the apartment, and prepared for an evening that would probably consist of educating a few straight boys on allyship. It was a little annoying, being expected to educate something someone should have learned through basic human empathy and social awareness, but Kip understood the hockey world was its own culture bubble. Fuck, not even Scott really understood the LGBTQ+ community, although he was learning.

The intercom chimed about forty five minutes after Scott texted him, and Kip buzzed the guys up. When he opened the door it was to an awkward faced Shane Hollander, and a grinning Hayden Pike. 

“Hey guys, come on in.”

“Hey, thanks for having us.”

“No problem at all. Scott should be another fifteen to twenty, so I’m gonna order food now. Do you guys have any preferences?” Kip remembered something about Shane’s diet from camp, but he couldn’t place the details. He led them to the kitchen table, and pulled some drinks out of the fridge, offering. Shane took the bottle of water, and Hayden grabbed the beer. Kip grabbed a second beer for himself.

“Anywhere is fine,” Shane said.

“Shane is basically vegetarian,” Hayden said, cutting his friend off. “Anywhere that’s got a lot of grains or veg would be good.”

Kip blinked. That would be hard to maintain on an athletes regiment. What if he had suggested barbeque or cheesesteaks? Would Shane have just not eaten? “How do we feel about sushi?” he asked.

“Yeah, that would be great,” Hayden said. 

Kip nodded and pulled up the delivery app. He added what he and Scott usually ordered and slid the phone across the table to his guests. “Add whatever you want, it’s got Scott’s credit card in there,” he said with a grin. The guys added a few rolls each to the order, and Kip submitted it.

“So, how was the game?” The looks the two men dawned told Kip everything he needed to know. “Oh, did Scott win?”

“You didn’t watch?” Hayden asked. 

“I had an essay I was trying to finish up before Scott got home,” Kip said, feeling a little embarrassed. People in the hockey world acted like it was a sin that he didn’t watch every game. He had put it on, but was getting so distracted watching Scott, he’d turned it off before the first period ended so he could focus. 

Shane blew out a breath. “It wasn’t great.”

“You guys have had a rough season, right? I think I heard some commentary mentioning it.”

“Uh, yeah. You could say that,” Shane said, fiddling with the wrapper on his bottle. 

Hayden eyed him with concern before turning to Kip. “We still have time to get it together. We aren’t bombing it or anything, it’s just not our year.”

“Right. I’m sure you guys will get there,” Kip said, and changed the subject to how the hockey camp had gone last year, and any plans for the coming year. They chatted for about twenty minutes, and in all that time Shane didn’t relax. He seemed cagey and uncomfortable, not meeting Kip’s eye, and Kip couldn’t help but wonder if it was him Shane had a problem with. 

When the lock clicked in the door, Kip let out a relieved sigh and stood to meet Scott.

“I got a delivery here,” Scott said, holding up the bag of sushi. “Caught the guy in the lobby.” 

“Hi,” Kip said, and leaned in to kiss his boyfriend.

“Hi,” Scott said back, meeting his lips. 

They broke apart and Kip grabbed the bag of food, turning back to the table. Shane was frowning at his water bottle again, looking uncomfortable, and Hayden was texting someone. 

“Hey, boys,” Scott greeted them, clasping hands before sitting at the table and starting to pull containers from the bag. Kip opened a beer for Scott and slid into the chair next to him, refusing to act differently in his own home just because it might make Shane Hollander uncomfortable. 

“So what did you want to chat about, Hollander?” Scott asked, sliding Kip’s bagel roll in front of him with a wink. 

The piece of sushi in Hollander’s chopsticks dropped back in the container. “I, well,” he glanced at Hayden, and took a deep breath before turning back to Scott. “Hayden and JJ started trying to clean up the team chat over the summer, and well, it hasn’t been successful. We don’t have leadership support so we’re getting nowhere, and Bood mentioned you might be a good person to talk to about it.”

“What exactly were you trying to clean up?” Scott asked, glancing at Hayden, who had a huge piece of sushi in his mouth.

“Well,” Shane started instead. “The team has always been a bit rough. I’ve tried to shut down the worst of it over the years, but they just got quieter, but never really stopped. Then last year after the cup win, uh, the guys just kinda stopped holding back.”

Scott nodded. “You mean after I came out?”

“Yeah,” Shane said, eyes on his sushi. “I uh, kinda just muted the chat and tried to ignore it for the summer, but JJ and Hayden tried to shut it down. When we came back for the season, it just got worse.”

Hayden, finally swallowing his food chimed in. “It’s like they’re trying to push the boundaries of what they can get away with. Egging each other on and saying the worst shit.”

“And you’ve spoken to leadership?” Scott asked.

“Honestly,” Hayden said, shooting Shane a look, who just nodded once, tightly. “Theriault kinda encourages it. When we tried to complain formally he said it was the captain’s responsibility to keep the team together, and if trying to make everything PC was going to break up the team, we should check our priorities.”

“Fuck, he said that?”

“And some worse things I won’t repeat.”

“What about HR or team management?”

“HR said they would investigate, then closed the case without telling us,” Hayden said with a scowl. “When we checked in a few months later they said their internal review didn’t turn up anything concerning and that all future concerns should be taken to the coaching staff. Management said basically the same thing. It’s Theriault’s call.”

“Fuck. What about the NHLPA, did you try them yet?” Scott asked, and Kip put his hand on his thigh under the table. Scott had been worried other players might get stonewalled like this, despite the league’s claims of wanting to be more inclusive, but up until now, Scott hadn’t had any knowledge of it happening. 

“Yeah, uh. They weren’t helpful,” Hayden said. “They say unless we have clear evidence of discrimination, or a gay player on the team who needs protection to come out, they don’t really have anything they can do.”

“Fucking hell, do you have their name?”

“Yeah, it’s in my notes,” Hayden said and scrolled through his phone. 

“I’ll give you my contact’s number, he’s not a dumbass,” Scott said, leaning back in his chair, his hand found Kip’s on his leg.  “He can help with building a case against the team, which your guy should have been doing from the sound of it.”

“But that could end badly, couldn’t it?” Shane asked, speaking up at last. “We don’t wanna wreck the team or start lawsuits or something that could put us out. We just want to play hockey and not have to deal with all this stuff. Like, I want the slurs to stop, but I also wanna win another cup.”

Kip didn’t think Shane was homophobic exactly, but he was familiar with the brand of straight dude who just didn’t get it. Someone who thought standing up for queer rights was probably the right thing to do, but a chore. The fact that he was here at all said he wasn’t a bad guy, but it didn’t mean Kip enjoyed trying to make a straight feel good for showing basic human decency.

“Shane, buddy, we’re kind of past that at this point,” Hayden said, shooting his friend a look.

“We aren’t out of the playoff running yet,” Shane said defensively. 

“The room is a mess, man,” Hayden said. “Comeau has it out for you, and he’s trying to turn the team against you. He’s like a shark, man. He smells weakness and he’s going for it.”

“I’m not weak,” Shane said sharply, defensively. “He can call me all the fucking slurs he wants. He can say whatever shit he wants about me. I can take it, and I can keep winning us cups. I did it before when they treated me like a little kid, I can do it again now.”

Kip frowned. “They are calling you slurs?”

Shane dropped his head and ripped apart a sushi roll with his chopsticks. “Yeah, uh. Hayden and JJ were trying to shut the homophobic shit down, and when I started backing them up, they just turned their focus on me. You know, I’m usually private and my only public relationship was with Rose, and that ended quickly, so they see me as an easy target. Then they get into the racial shit, and it’s fine. I’ve heard it all before. It’s not new, and half of it doesn’t even land or whatever. I don’t care what they call me, I’m still better than all of those fucking blockheads. I just wish this whole thing would go away so we can play hockey.”

Oh. Shane had a huge target on his back being the asian dude, and now they were piling on, being homophobic and just generally targeting him. Kip got it now. Shane wasn’t exactly the most personable guy. Quiet, awkward. When Kip and Ilya had hung out the week of camp, Shane would usually be around, and sometimes Ilya would try to pull him in, engage him, but Shane always kept them at an arms distance. He didn't relax, and he didn't engage. He was a bully magnet, except he was also excellent at hockey, and that had protected him for most of his career. 

“I mean, I’m not mad you came out or anything, Scott,” Shane said, still not looking up. “It’s important and whatever, but it’s just made everything so much worse.”

Scott’s hand tightened on his under the table. “So you just wish everything could be swept back into the closet so the homophobia wasn’t so loud and you could just keep on ignoring it forever?” Scott’s voice was tense, sharp, but Shane didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah,” Shane said with a sigh. “Sometimes.”

“Dude,” Hayden said, elbowing Shane.

Shane glanced up, scanning each of their faces. “What?” he whispered at Hayden.

“You’re coming across like an asshole,” Hayden told him.

“What?” Shane asked, as if truly confused. “I said I wasn’t mad about him coming out. It helped a lot of people. I just like, wish it didn’t have to happen. That being gay didn’t matter and wasn’t a thing. Like, why can’t we just play hockey and that’s it?”

“Dude,” Hayden said again, putting a hand over his face. 

Shane looked helplessly at Kip and Scott, who was giving Shane an absolute death stare at this point. Kip flipped his hand around to hold Scott’s properly, as his grip was getting a bit tight. 

Hayden stood from his chair. “Dude, can I like, talk to you for a second in the bathroom?”

Shane stood and followed him into the hall, his head hanging low. 

“Well, this is going great,” Kip said after he heard the bathroom door click shut. 

Scott stooped in his chair, running a hand over his face. “I really thought the kid was better than this,” he said. “I mean they invited gay players to their camps, and then there was Rozanov’s chirping class.”

Kip frowned. “Maybe all the good parts were Ilya’s doing.”

Scott let out a pained laugh. “I just can’t believe out of the two of them Rozanov is the open minded welcoming one.”

“That’s because he likes driving you crazy.”

{{In the bathroom. 

“I just don’t get how you understand how what I said came across as homophobic or whatever, yet you can’t tell when me and Ilya are flirting!” Shane hissed.

“You and me both, brother,” Hayden said.}}

The bathroom door clicked open, and Kip and Scott straightened as Hayden dropped back in his chair.

“Shane will be back in a second, with his actual brain in place,” Hayden said, shoving a piece of sushi in his mouth and talking around it. “I promise he’s not a bad guy. He just has a hard time reading people, and doesn’t get how things sound sometimes.” He swallowed and took a sip of his beer. “Seriously man, these guys are horrible to him, and he doesn’t realize half the things they say to him are micro aggressions about his race, or like, not being masculine enough. He used to laugh along because he always laughs at jokes he doesn’t get, so I had to start explaining shit to him.” Hayden leaned over the table and whispered. “Comeau has it out for him. Wants to knock him down a peg so he can be captain. When Shane went out on IR he saw it as his chance to take over the room, and he’s winning.”

“And your coach is just okay with this?”

Hayden shrugged. “Theriault sees him as weak. Not his idea of a proper hockey player if you know what I mean. But Shane’s the best, and they couldn’t have him on a team as the best and not make him captain. As his AC I’ve always handled more of the team culture shit while Shane focused on pushing us all where we needed to be. It worked for a long time.” Hayden shoved another piece of sushi in his mouth, and the bathroom door clicked open. 

Kip let Hayden’s words sit with him for a long moment, not sure if he should be feeling sympathy for Shane or not. 

Shane returned to the table, his shoulders hunched and his face pale. He sat, and stared at his mostly untouched food. No one spoke.

“I’m gay,” Shane blurted out. 

Oh.

Oooooooohhhhhhhhhhh.

That clicked everything together in Kip’s head. 

Scott squeezed his hand. “Hollander,” he said. 

“I promise I’m not homophobic,” Shane said, peeking up at Scott and Kip quickly. “I’m not like, super in touch with all the things in the queer community, my boyfriend says I’m really bad at being gay,” Shane said with a little smile, and Hayden snorted. He had a boyfriend? Kip was trying to re label and tag every interaction they had ever had in his memory.  “But I really do want to make hockey a safer place for queer kids, and POCs. I just don’t know how to do that when every time I try and shut something down in the room, they double up and come at me harder. No one on the team knows except for JJ and Hayden, but it doesn’t really matter if I’m gay or not. They take away my power just the same every time they ignore my instructions in drills or drop a pass on the ice and call me a slur like its a joke we're all in on.”

“Sorry I judged you, man,” Scott said. “But thank you for trusting us enough to tell us.”

“Yeah, thank you, Shane. And I’d love to meet your boyfriend sometime,” Kip said with a grin. “Us SAPs need to stick together.”

“Saps?” Hayden asked. 

“S A P. Spouses and partners. Like a more inclusive version of WAG,” Kip explained. 

“Oh, Jackie will love that,” Hayden said with a grin, pulling out his phone. 

“Uh, thanks guys. Maybe someday, but we aren’t ready to come out yet.”

Scott nodded. “Well, know you have our full support when you do. I know how hard it can be living in the dark, having a relationship in secret.”

Shane chuckled sadly. “Yeah, it’s been hard.”

“Well, I still think you should talk to my NHLPA rep. Even if you weren’t gay, this whole thing isn’t acceptable.”

“Yeah, I know.” Shane said. “I’ve hated being the token asian my whole career, I didn’t want to become the gay asian guy, but I keep thinking about the rookies. Any one of them could be queer and just suffering in silence and there are always a few POCs every year who get drafted and then wash out of the AHL. I remember how hard those early years were. If I wasn’t the best, I don’t think I’d still be here.”

Scott nodded. “What you’re doing with your camps is a start, but we can’t wait for the next generation to age up and push out all the assholes.”

“Yeah,” Shane said, looking lost.

Scott straightened up in his chair and picked up his beer. 

“Eat, Hollander. You worked hard on the ice tonight.”

“Not hard enough,” Shane scoffed, but ate a piece of sushi. 

“No, you worked harder than anyone out there, but you can’t win a game by yourself when nobody passes to you,” Scott said.

“I have before,” Shane grumbled in between bites.

Scott chuckled. “Yeah, you have.”

[[A picture of Shane Hollander on the ice doing a frog stretch. Ilya Rozanov is skating past, a smile on his face, likely chirping his rival.]]

@Casie Francis

He may have lost tonight, but I’d still let Shane Hollander split me in half while Ilya Rozanov watched.

♥️219k  🗨️105k  🔁98k  ↗️128k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

I think you are making poor choice of which of us should do the splitting, but we are all allowed our bad choices. Make a good choice, and donate to Shane Hollander’s charity [Link]

♥️203k

Shane

When Hayden went to jump in the shower, Shane called Ilya, curled on his side under the blankets, his headphones in. 

“Hollander, why is it so dark there? Are you in cave?” Ilya asked, his bright face illuminating Shane in the dark.

Shane grinned a little, feeling better already. “No, I’m under the blanket.”

“Oh, doing something kinky with Pike in the room?”

“No, asshole, I just needed the dark for a bit.”

“Was rough game,” Ilya said knowingly.

“Yeah.”

“Shane, what is happening with the team? It was not just tonight.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Shane said in a rush.

“Okey, we do not need to talk about it tonight, but has been a while now, yes? We need to talk soon.”

Ilya had been asking for months, but Shane just couldn’t. It was too much. He didn’t want to admit he was losing control. He didn't want to admit he was failing.

“I came out to Scott tonight,” Shane said instead. 

Ilya’s eyebrows went up. “On the ice?”

“No, me and Hayden went over to his and Kip’s place for dinner. I said something that came off as a bit homophobic, and well, didn’t want them thinking that about me.”

Ilya snorted. “Yes, they need to know super gay hockey player Shane Hollander is not homophobe.”

Shane grinned into his pillow. “I’m regular gay.”

“You are perfect gay. Now show me your dick under the blankets.”

“No, Hayden will be out of the shower any second. I’m not getting hard with him in the room with me.”

“Hmm. Don’t lie to me, moya lyubov'. You are already hard.”

Shane hid his face in his pillow while he smiled stupidly.

Chapter End Notes

I kind of love this picture of Shane that he's so unaware he comes across a homiphobic, and Pike being aware where Shane is lacking, and vice versa. I think it makes them good friends, and why they work as C and AC.

Chapter 12: Losing The Room

Chapter Summary

Shane loses the room

Chapter Notes

Yes, you did see that chapter count go up... it might go up one more time, but i'm not sure quite yet.

[[A picture of the ad strip along the top of a subway car. An old CCM ad showing Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov in faceoff position is pinned in place by some old gum. One corner of the ad is broken off, hiding part of the logo.]]

@Whitney Marshal

An ad fell on the subway today and LOOK what was underneath!! Back when the rivalry was yong and they were younger!! Look how widdle and cute these two hockey superstars were!!!

♥️568k  🗨️320k  🔁421k  ↗️445k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Ah, that was very good night for me. Not so great night for the photographers. They made us sit in intense faceoff pose for very long time. I kept laughing and super professional model Shane Hollander could not keep a straight face 😏 In honor of an exposed glimpse of the past, everyone who has enjoyed, please donate one dollar to our charity helping the future. [Link]

♥️533k

@Hayden Pike☑️

Oh man, you were absolute babies. 

♥️201k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

🖕

♥️182k

@Hayden Pike☑️

oohhhhhhhh

♥️3k

Shane

Practice had gone badly.

There was a recent callup from the Metro’s farm team. A d-man who had been doing well in the AHL when Comeau’s partner had thrown out his back. Comeau seemed to think the twenty-two year old man needed to be hazed for some fucked up reason. When Comeau made the guy do bagskates after a pretty heavy practice, Shane made the rest of the team, including himself join them. 

In the locker room Dreapeau made an inappropriate comment about the guy’s junk, and that set Comeau off. He made some pretty disgusting comments and used horrible homophobic language. 

“Okay, that’s it. You’re done. We’ve talked about this, and that language isn’t going to stand in here.” Shane crossed his arms and stared down Comeau. This needed to stop. Shane couldn’t handle months more of this back and forth, every day the same arguments, the same slurs. He was tired. Exhausted. This needed to end.

Comeau turned to Shane as the room paused as it often did, waiting to see the direction things went. Comeau’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw. So yeah, this wasn’t going to go too well. 

“You’re right, Hollander, we have talked about this, and I’ve told you to go eat a bag of dicks if you’re so in love with all the ****.” He continued, spouting a few more slurs, and threw in a few racial comments to round out his insults. 

Rage and frustration built right in the back of Shane’s neck, radiating out and up. His vision narrowed in on his teammate as the rage began to take over. 

“Dude, not cool on any level,” Hayden said, leveling a glare at Comeau. 

“Fucking hell, Pike, just get it over with and go suck his dick already. That’s what he probably wants out of this anyway. Fucking ****** ******.”

“That’s it. This conversation is over. Everyone get dressed and get the fuck out of this room,” Shane said, his head ready to boil over with rage.

“I’m not listening to a thing you have to say you ***. You’re the one who should get the fuck out.” Comeau crossed his arms, a smug look on his face as he shot a grin at some of the other guys. 

“You know what, Comeau, yeah, I am gay. And I’m also better than you ever will be at hockey, so maybe you should try sucking a dick if you want to get your rankings up, because as long as I’m the best, I’m captain and that means you follow my lead.”

The room stilled again, and somewhere in the back of Shane’s mind, a warning light was blinking, but he couldn’t see it, wasn’t paying attention to the careful caution he lived his life by. 

Comeau burst into laughter. “I fucking new it!” he shouted. Something like shocked humor flashed over his face before it twisted to something nasty. 

The room was no longer quiet. Slurs. So many slurs. From Comeau, from Drapeau and a few others. Shane stood there and took it all, his face a wall of stone.

Eventually Comeau stepped up close to Shane, got in his face. 

“This is it, Hollander. Your time is over. Never again am I protecting your *** ***** **** ass. We’ll see how long you can handle getting your ass beat on the ice without protection before you’re no longer number one. You better watch your back.”

Shane stood there, not breaking eye contact with whichever of his teammates decided to meet his, which wasn’t many, and almost always accompanied a slur. When it was just him and Hayden left, Shane picked up his bag. 

“Shane—” 

“Not now,” Shane said, and left the room.

He made it to his car before his breathing turned into short pants. 

This was his worst nightmare. Shane had always known the social side was his weakness, but he just didn’t always see the same things others did. He didn’t always get why people acted the way they did, or why they responded how they did. He hated it. It made him feel stupid, like he was missing something crucial everyone got, like he had big block letters on his forehead saying something stupid and everyone knew it except him. He tried to fake it, he tried to blend in, and he tried to be so fucking good, always so perfect, that nobody cared. 

And now? He’d failed. 

He’d lost the acceptance, the control, the respect of the room. When your leadership failed so absolutely, there was no going back. He was done. 

He forced himself to breathe carefully, working through a few mindful techniques before he pulled out his phone and tapped a contact. 

She answered on the second ring. “Shane, how’s your day going?”

“Farah, I fucked up.”

“Okay, tell me what happened,” his agent said without missing a beat.

“I kinda came out to the guys. In the locker room. It wasn’t planned, and it didn’t go well. I—” Shane couldn’t think, his mind swirled in a mess of worse case scenarios. 

His passenger side door opened and—

“Is that Rozanov?” Hayden asked.

“No, this is Farah,” his agent said when it was clear Shane wasn’t capable of speech.

“Okay good. You’re probably more rational than Rozanov would be right now. Farah, he needs out. Like immediately. The guys are making plans. Shane isn’t going to be safe on the ice.”

Shane dropped his head and focused on his breathing. 

“Tell me exactly what you mean,” Farah said.

“JJ followed the guys out after Shane let out his truth bomb. They were talking up who on other teams they can leak Shane’s sexuality to to make him a target. They want him injured.”

Farah was silent for a long moment, and Shane closed his eyes. He’d brought this on himself. He’d kept his own secrets his whole life, and this was how he finally came out?

“Shane, we can waive your no trade, but they aren’t going to be motivated to actually make a trade, we only have another week before the trade deadline as it is.”

“Even if they know he’s gay?” Hayden asked.

“Yes, even if they know he’s gay. He’s too valuable to them.”

“But the team is playing like crap. If they know he’s the problem and it’s not going to get better, wouldn’t they just want him gone?”

“Is he the problem?” Farah asked. 

“I mean, we both kind of are. We’ve been trying to clean up the room culture all season, and things keep escalating.” Hayden launched into a history of how the season had gone, not sparing any details. “So like, this has been building, and we haven’t gotten any support from the org.”

Farah let out a long slow breath. It was the biggest reaction Shane had ever heard from her. “They will still try to fix the issue before trading him. Especially if we bring a formal complaint that they can’t ignore. They will start addressing issues, putting players through sensitivity training, and start an investigation. They can easily drag this out through the rest of the season, and even the next.”

“That won’t work,” Hayden said, his voice a little high and panicky. “Comeau’s a vicious fuck. He wants the C, and he smells blood. He’s going to try and get Shane out any way he can.” Hayden paused and let out a ragged breath. “What if we blackmail them?”

“That would be illegal—” 

“Right right, I mean the professional form of blackmail . . . Negotiate! We can negotiate!”

“We would need something solid and persuasive. One or even two player’s word against another isn’t going to sway anyone.”

“I have recordings. Months of recordings of the room, and even some from conversations with Theriault where he refused to step in and used lots of slurs,” Hayden said.

This pulled Shane out of his doom spiral.

“What?” Shane asked.

“Yeah dude. That guy Harris gave me the idea. We didn’t have anything but our complaints, and HR wasn’t even filing them. So I’ve been recording.” Hayden pulled out his phone. “Farah, what’s your email? I’ll send you a link to the files. Start with the one from today, then maybe listen to the folder titled coaching staff. The one from January 5th is a good one. It’s just me and coach, and he says a lot of bad shit about Shane specifically. There are trimmed files in there with just the worst stuff my wife clipped, and then also the raw files for like, proper evidence is what Jackie called it.”

Shane couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Jackie and Hayden had been recording and cataloging this whole time?

Farah rattled off her email, and Hayden carefully typed it in. Hayden barely knew how to work his phone, yet he’d learned how to record and upload files? He owed Jackie babysitting and spa days for a year, because this was almost definitely her doing. 

“Okay, give me a few hours to work on this,” Farah said, her voice distracted. “Shane, just so we’re clear, a trade is what you want?”

Shane opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Come on dude, this is the best answer, you know that.”

“I just want to play hockey.”

“Yeah, so get your ass traded so you have a chance to do that again.”

“But we have a plan.” If Shane asks for a trade, who knows where he would end up, or if Ilya would be willing to follow him in the fall.

“Yeah man, but the plan doesn’t really need to change, just move up a little. Go to Ottawa.”

It was like a light clicked on in Shane’s mind. He could go to Ottawa? Now? Before Ilya? The idea felt too good to be true.

But why not?

“Could . . . Farah, could we do that? Could I go to Ottawa?”

“If that’s what you want Shane, I can see if we can make it happen.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay. That’s what I want. Fuck, I need to call Ilya.” 

“Um, if I can make a request, can we make sure Rozanov doesn’t get his hands on those recordings?” Hayden asked.

“Absolutly,” Farah said without a pause. 

“Wait, why?” Shane asked.

“Shane, my guy. If Rozanov hears those files, he’s gonna wind up in jail, and I don’t want that for you two.”

Shane thought about it for a long moment, all the things Hayden could have picked up in his recordings, and how murderous Ilya got even over the slightest mention of Shane being mistreated by anyone. It was one of the reasons Shane had been keeping so much from Ilya all season. “Okay, you’re right. And maybe I won’t talk to Ilya until after we know if the trade can happen.”

Hayden was nodding, but then Farah cut in. “Shane, you should talk it out with him. You two need to be on the same page with this. You being traded now will likely not cause issues with us getting an offer next season, but it will affect the cap space they can offer him.”

“Right. I’ll call him when I get home.”

“Good. I will call you tonight, and we can talk out a plan. Shane, if you get a call from anyone from the team or the league besides Hayden, don’t answer and call me immediately, okay?”

“Okay,” Shane replied automatically. The gravity of the situation was starting to really dawn on him, and he felt physically weighed down as his body slumped. Farah said her goodbye and the call disconnected. 

“Come on man, let’s switch. I’m driving you home.” 

Shane sighed and got out of the car. 

He didn’t think much on the way home, just carried his bag into the elevator, Hayden following. 

“I don’t really wanna talk right now, man,” Shane said as he toed off his shoes and headed for his bedroom. Hayden followed, but Shane ignored him. He dropped his phone on the bed, and curled into the pillow Ilya had last used. 

“Open your eyes for a sec, bud,” Hayden said. Shane did so, and saw his phone hanging right in front of his face. It unlocked, and Hayden pulled it away.

Shane buried his face in his pillow, ignoring whatever Hayden was doing. If he wanted to read his sexts, it was his own fault what he saw. 

A moment later a dial tone filled the room, his phone on speaker. The call was picked up after two rings. 

“Moya lyubov', how was practice?” Ilya’s voice said, filling the room with a little warmth. Shane turned toward the phone. 

“Hey Rozanov, I’m here with Shane,” Hayden said.

“Pike, what is wrong?”

“Has Shane kept you up to date on everything with the team?”

Ilya was quiet for a long moment, and then cursed in Russian. “No, what has happened.”

Hayden met Shane’s eyes. “Will you tell him or should I?”

Shane deflated but held out his hand. Hayden handed the phone over. “Make him tell you everything, Rozanov,” Hayden said before leaving the room. He left the door ajar.

Shane took the phone off speaker and pressed it to his ear. “Hi,” Shane said.

“Lyubov' vsey moyey zhizni, speak to me, please,” Ilya cooed in his ear. 

Shane sighed. “Hold on.”

He dug through his nightstand for his earbuds and put them in, connecting them to his phone. He wanted Ilya’s voice to surround him and block everything else out. He crawled under the blankets not bothering to take off his outside clothes.

“So, I might have rage outed myself to the team today. It didn’t go well.”

And Shane told him. Told him about the group chat he muted, how JJ and Hayden tried to shut it down before they knew he was gay, how they fought harder once they did know. He told him how gross and horrible the guys had been in the pre season, and how Comeau started trying to subvert his orders when the season started. He talked about how he was hazed when he was a rookie, and how mad he’d been when the guys started in on the new guy, and then he told him how he lost it. Told everyone he was gay, and better than them. Ilya snorted, but it sounded wet. 

“I called Farah. Hayden told her they are trying to get me injured, and that I needed out right now.”

“Yes. What is she going to do?” Ilya asked

“Hayden sent her some recordings he’s taken of the team and staff being horrible, and she’s going to see if she can use it as leverage to get me traded.”

“Oh? Where will you look for trades? I know I was going to Canada next year, but I can just as easily go somewhere else.”

Shane’s chest bubbled and he felt just a little bit lighter. “How would you feel if we stuck with Ottawa?”

“Both?” Ilya asked, his voice soft. 

“Yeah,” Shane said on an exhale. “I could like, warm up the team for you.”

“Yes. Fuck, yes Shane. That is what I want.” Ilya’s voice broke on the last word and Shane’s eyes burned. 

“We wouldn’t be two hours away,” Shane said. “And we know the team would probably be cool with us eventually.”

“I don’t care if the team fucking hates us, Hollander. If we are together we can get through anything.”

“But, Farah thinks this could reduce cap space. You wouldn’t get as big of an offer next season.”

“I don’t fucking care about offer, Shane. Yuna has already gotten me more brand deals this year than I’ve had my whole career. And if I am ever hurting I would have super rich real estate mogul boyfriend to provide for me.”

Shane laughed, and he couldn’t help but dream for a little bit. “There’s this house I’ve been looking at. It’s perfect Ilya. Has everything on our list, but I’ve been worried it might sell before free agency starts up. You can’t put an offer down before you trade or it would look bad. But if I get the trade this week, I can put in an offer.”

“It has back yard for forty dogs?” Ilya asked. 

Shane groaned. “It has a back yard along a nice river, perfect for one dog, maybe.”

“One dog, and dogs best friend. And then best friend dog needs a friend.”

“One dog who’s friends with the cat,” Shane said.

“We will see. Maybe I make bet. I win the cup this year and we get two dogs.”

“You’re not supposed to get two dogs at the same time,” Shane told him. “They can have behavioral issues. It’s better to get one dog, train them, let them grow a bit, then introduce the next dog when it’s a few years old.”

“You have done research?” Ilya asked. 

“Maybe,” Shane said, and Ilya laughed. 

They talked for another hour, while Ilya moved around his house, packing for practice or something, and then while Ilya called a car service, being a little cagey about where he was going. Shane offered to hang up, but Ilya insisted he stay on. Finally a familiar sound came over the line.

“Ilya, are you at the airport?”

“Yes, flight leaves in twenty. I should go, Solnyshko, but I will see you soon, yes?”

Shane’s heart leapt. “Ilya, you have a game tomorrow.”

“Ah, no. I have family emergency. Already texted coach. I have a roadie in three days, and can leave from Montreal.”

Hot tears filled his eyes, and Shane blinked them loose. He needed Ilya desperately but didn’t even have to ask. His love was coming to him.

“Send me your flight info and I’ll come pick you up.”

“No, you stay and rest. Order us dinner, and I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

“I love you so fucking much, Ilya.”

“See you soon.”

They hung up, and Shane buried his face in Ilya’s pillow and breathed in his scent. Eventually he got up. He needed to pee, and he needed water. He wandered out into the kitchen, and jumped when he saw Hayden huddled at the kitchen counter, Shane’s laptop in front of him.

“How did you guess my password?” Shane asked.

Hayden snorted. “Come on, man.”

Shane sighed and filled a glass with water. “What are you still doing here?”

“Emailing with Farah and JJ, and our agents. JJ’s responsible for a lot of the chat screenshots we’ve gathered, and she wants to make sure we’re both prepared to make statements if necessary.”

“I’m so sorry, man.”

“Don’t even start,” Hayden said.

“But I just threw a bomb into the team and now I’m running away for you to deal with everything.”

“No man, you’re doing what you need to do, and JJ and I will stay here and do what we need to do. That NHLPA guy Scott recommended really is shar.” Hayden put his palm flat on the island. “I know you could have fought this, man. You could have raised this to the league and forced the metros to change, but you never wanted that. It would have thrown you into the spotlight in a way you aren’t ready for, and me being a straight white dude has a better chance of actually making it through this.”

“Hayden, what if the metros retaliate? You have a family.”

Hayden shrugged. “Me and Jackie have talked about the risks, and we are pretty okay financially. If I get canned and can’t find work, I’m sure the kids’ rich uncles will pay for school.”

Shane snorted. “Yeah man, in a heartbeat.”

“But I don’t think it will be all bad. I have a lot of shit on the team. If worst comes to worst, I post it, and let the internet back me up. I’m sure some crappy team out there would want the fifteenth best metro.”

“You’re one of the highest point scorers on the team, Hayd. Two time cup winner.”

“All because of you, man. I get points because you score off my passes.”

Shane grinned. “Then come to Ottawa and keep up your stats.”

Hayden gave him a sad smile. “Maybe. But first I want to see if I can do some good. Get Theriault fired, maybe.” A text flashed on his screen. “Farah’s gonna call in about ten. Can Rozanov join?”

“No, he’s on a flight, but let me text my mom.”

“Roadie?”

“No, he’s on his way here,” Shane said, and couldn’t stop the smile that split his face.

Hayden blew out a breath. “Good.” He caught Shane’s eye. “I’m glad you have him, man.”

Shane smiled. “Me too.”

Chapter End Notes

Awww, Pike accepting Ilya, even if he would never say it to his face <3

Chapter 13: Centaur

Chapter Summary

Shane gets a new team

Chapter Notes

Yes, you did see the chapter count go up again, but its set now. I have the rest of this drafted, so just editing and posting left! Can't wait for you all to read it.

Farah scheduled a meeting with team management for the next morning. Shane insisted Ilya stay home, so Ilya agreed to wait in the car around the block while Shane went in. Shane was secretly glad. He knew he wouldn’t be up for driving home when this meeting was over. 

He entered one of the fancy boardrooms, the wood table gleaming, the leather chairs smelling of polish, and the GM, Theriault, and two people Shane suspected were lawyers seated and looking annoyed.

“Hollander, sit your ass down and tell us what this nonsense is about,” Theriault ordered. 

Farah gave Theriault a sharp glare before nodding to Shane, and they both sat. 

“Gentlemen,” Farah started. “As I stated in my email, my client Shane Hollander has reached what we believe are irreconcilable differences, and we are waving our no trade. We are asking to amicably part ways.”

“Is this about the fucking drama in the locker room?” Theriault shot at Shane.

“Yes,” Farah answered for him. “Shane told the team yesterday that he is gay, and the team made it clear they had an issue with it.”

The GM’s face paled, the lawyers glanced at each other, and Theriault cursed.

“Well tell them it was a joke and let’s move on, I guess,” Theriault said, as if this was a consolation. 

“It was not a joke, and Shane will not be tolerating any more of the behavior he has received so far.”

“Are you gonna let this girl talk for you all day, Hollander? You can’t even be man enough to say it to our faces?” Theriault sneered.

The GM put a hand on Theriault’s shoulder and pushed him back. “I believe we can come to an understanding here. Hollander is an important part of the team. We can open an investigation and see what we can change to make Hollander feel more supported. Perhaps a private locker room, and some sensitivity training?” The GM glanced at the lawyers who looked uncomfortable. 

“No. This is not something that can be reconciled with discriminatory segregation and empty HR training,” Farah said. “I have recordings of the team and coaching staff using racial and homophobic slurs against Shane directly, and screenshots of team members discussing bodily harm against Shane in retaliation for his sexuality. This has gone too far, you did not listen months ago when several teammates brought this to your attention, and now we are past the point of no return. You can trade Shane to the team of his choice, or we can file a discrimination lawsuit against you.”

“You have recordings?” the GM said weakly. 

Farah turned to Therault, a steely expression on her face. “Coach Theriault, perhaps you can enlighten Mr. Simpson to the sort of recordings we might have?”

Therault glared at her for a long moment before he burst from his chair. “Fucking—” and then Therault launched into a long tirade of curses and slurs like Shane had never heard before. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, slurs echoing through the hall. 

“Yes, recordings similar to that,” Farah said, turning back to the GM. He shot a look over his shoulder at one of the lawyers who shook their head subtly. 

“Right. Hollander, you’re scratched from the next game. We’ll see what we can do, and be in touch.”

Farah stood and shook his hand, and they left. Shane thanked Farah, feeling a little shaky on his legs, and walked around the block to the black jeep waiting for him. Shane slid into the passenger’s seat. 

“Well?” Ilya asked. 

Shane sighed. “They said they would look into a trade.” He glanced at Ilya. “I’m scratched for the next game. Wanna drive to Ottawa and look at a few houses?”

Ilya leaned across the car, and kissed him.

The call came two days later, after Ilya was on a plane to North Carolina for his next game. “Can you make it in this afternoon to sign the paperwork?” Farah asked. 

Shane could, and he did. He walked into the stadium as if in a daze. The assistant coach Wiebe greeted them in the lobby with a firm handshake. 

“Wonderful to have you here, Hollander.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

He led them to a board room with a long old and scratched table, and large comfortable chairs that looked like they were new maybe around the time Shane was in timbits. Shane was introduced to the head coach, Johnson, an older man in his late sixties maybe, the GM, John Leftwitch, and one of the three owners of the centaurs, Richard McKay, who said his siblings were out of the country but were very excited for him to join their franchisee. 

They all said a few nice things about team culture and a long legacy to be proud of, before eventually the GM slid the contract toward Shane, and set a pen down in front of him. “We’re glad to have you, Hollander.”

Shane glanced at Farah who nodded to him. She didn’t approve of his next words, but she supported him. “Before I sign the paperwork, I just wanted to make the org aware that I’m gay,” Shane said, quickly. There were a few quirked eyebrows, but no one looked alarmed or disgusted. “I don’t have plans to come out, but the metro’s staff knows, and the players know, so it’s only a matter of time for them to start spreading it and for word to get out, so I thought it proper to disclose it.”

“Thank you for telling us,” Richard McKay, said, a soft smile on his face. “This org supports you completely, Hollander. Who you love is your business, but even beyond that we are happy to support all LGBTQ+ players openly and proudly. We hope you feel at home here.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The GM frowned at Shane. “Would this have anything to do with why this trade came through so quickly?”

“Yes,” Shane said, hesitating. “We had a locker room problem, and the staff was not interested in fixing it.” He tried to keep it brief. 

“Got it. Well, you let us know if anything of the sort happens here. We don’t tolerate that behavior.” He turned to the assistant coach. “Wiebe, keep an eye on things.” 

“Of course, sir,” Wiebe said, giving Shane a nod. 

The GM nudged the pen toward Shane, and he picked it up. “And a word of advice, Hollander?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Next time you have something to disclose that you think might prevent you from being signed, wait till after you sign to disclose it. Yes?”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” Shane said, and he signed. 

Shane shook everyone’s hands a few more times, and eventually said goodbye to Farah, before being ushered down the hall with Coach Johnson, and Assistant Coach Wiebe. 

They reached another room, this one a media room set up with a few backdrops, tripods and lighting. Shane tried not to grimace.

“Hollaner, my man!” Bood called, approaching him with a black and red jersey. “I couldn’t believe it when they told me. An absolute dream to have you, man.”

Shane clasped hands with him. “Good to see you, Bood.”

“Better to see you! And look what they gave me,” he held up the jersey, showing the centaurs logo and a C on the chest, Shane’s 24 showing on the sleeve. Shane’s eyes drifted to the jersey Bood was wearing. Where there used to sit a C, there now sat an A. 

Shane turned to Johnson. “I don’t want the C.” 

“What?” Johnson asked, his face confused. “Hollander, with your experience and reputation, it only makes sense—”

“Give me the A,” Shane said, and nodded to Bood. “Let Bood keep it for now. He knows the team. I can add a lot to the team with drills and conditioning.” He shot a look at the coach. “I know what it takes to push the guys for a cup, and I think I can get us there, but I don’t need or want the C to do it.”

“Well, who am I to argue with that?” Johnson asked. He turned to an equipment guy in the corner. “Go have them fetch one of Bood’s C jerseys, and fix Hollanders.”

The man hurried out, taking the C jersey with him.

“Sounds like you’ve got plans for us, Hollander?” Bood asked with a grin.

“I’m not done winning cups,” Shane said. He turned to Johnson. “Coach, I know with the right planning we can get there, and if you’ll allow it, I’d like to help with some of that, player analysis, take a look at the farm team a little closer, play with the lines. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, but I believe we can get there. I want to build a legacy in Ottawa.”

“Sounds great, Hollander. We’re a pretty laid back bunch here, so I don’t think you’ll step on any toes, but coordinate with Wiebe. I’m sure the two of you will make a great team.”

Shane frowned and glanced at Wiebe, who was giving him an uncomfortable smile. “Sounds good, sir.”

“Oh, no need for sirs here. Well, I’m gonna go look for coffee and leave you boys to it. You have things from here, Wiebe?”

“Sure thing, Coach.”

Johnson gave them all a nod, and left. Shane frowned. 

“He’s a bit hands off,” Bood said, as way of explanation. 

Shane didn’t understand. “But he’s the head coach.”

“Yep,” Bood agreed. “But Wiebe has us covered.”

Wiebe gave Shane another small smile. “I’d love to hear your plans, Hollander. I wouldn’t mind taking a cup run sometime soon.”

Shane nodded, still feeling a little confused. The door opened and Harris, the centaurs social media guy entered. “Shane Hollander!” he said with a huge grin. “They told me we got someone good, but I never would have guessed. I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Bood chuckled. “If we are, I don’t wanna wake up.”

“Wow,” Harris said, staring at Shane for a long moment, then seemed to shake himself. “Okay, well, I’m here to get a few shots to welcome you to the team. Did they get you a jersey?”

“Yeah, but Kevin ran to fix it,” Bood said. “Hollander doesn’t want the C.”

“Okaaay,” Harris said. “I won’t pry, but good to know since people will likely be asking on socials. I’ll get with the team for how we’re framing it. Well, while we wait, Shane, how would you feel if I worked up a few videos to showcase you in the next few weeks? I’ll get footage from practices and our next game, but I’d love something with a little more personality.”

“Uh,” Shane said, and Harris blinked at him, as if waiting for Shane to say more. Shane had no more to say. He absolutely didn’t want to do anymore social media than he was forced to.

When the silence grew long, Harris jumped back in as if it wasn’t awkward. “Like with Bood, I’m showcasing some of his cooking and recipes. I just started a music highlight with Dykstra. Any hobbies or interests you have? We could do something around that.”

“Uh,” Shane said again. Really winning this. “I don’t really have any hobbies.”

“What about interests?”

“Uh, just hockey. I don’t really have time for anything else.”

Harris studied him as if he was a puzzle he would solve. Sorry, Harris, he wanted to say. I’m about as boring as I seem. Just ask my boyfriend.

“What about the architecture thing?” Bood said.

“What?” Shane asked, turning to him.

“Dude, you came over to my house and asked me about eighty questions about it.” 

“I did?”

“Yeah, man. And when I didn’t really know anything other than the year it was built you looked so disappointed.” Bood turned to Harris. “He texted me like three days later with the names of the original architect and builder, and the guy who was in charge of the reno. He had a whole factsheet on the eaves.”

“Well, they did some really cool things with it,” Shane said defensively.

“Yeah, but like, you’re into architecture, right?” Bood asked.

“I mean I have opinions,” Shane said. “I have a few houses, and worked closely with the designer of my cottage.”

“Oooh, I have an idea,” Harris said, his eyes lighting up. “What if we do little shorts on houses around Ottawa? I can find interesting or weird homes for sale, and we can go tour them and you can give your opinions?”

That . . . actually sounded like fun. Shane had loved the day he spent with Ilya, looking at the few homes they had picked out, deciding on a huge sprawling home with a particularly modern Edwardian flare. Shane had gone on and on about the designer before Ilya had kissed him quietly in the walk-in closet, and agreed it was perfect. 

“I think I might like that,” Shane said, hesitantly.

“Oh perfect,” Harris said. “I’ll work on some plans and see what your schedule’s like on our next few off days.”

The equipment manager, Kevin, returned a short time later with two jerseys. Shane pulled his on, while Bood swapped the A jersey he was wearing for his normal C.

The afternoon wasn’t horrible. He did a few joint interviews and photo shoots with Bood, and then a few solo, Harris asking him a number of questions he had no answer for, like his favorite mario cart character. Shane usually just played hockey games, especially loving that one with Ilya on the cover, one of the few photos of Ilya Shane had ever been able to keep openly in his house. 

But between Bood and Harris, they buffered Shane’s awkward and kept things flowing. The metro’s social person had given up shooting anything non hockey related with Shane years ago.

When they were done, Harris and their photographer Jen thanked them, and Shane walked out with Bood. He took a selfie of himself in the centaurs jersey, and quickly sent it off to Ilya. Ilya’s plane had landed about forty-five minutes ago, which Shane knew because his phone had been blowing up in his pocket ever since. He would call him when he got to the car. 

“So tomorrow we have morning skate and the rest of the day free,” Bood said. “Cassie and I wanna host a barbeque to welcome you if you’re free? I know you probably have a lot of packing and things to do.”

“Uh, sure. That sounds great,” Shane lied. “I’m staying with my parents in Ottawa for now, while I put in an offer on a house, so nothing to move quite yet.”

“Perfect. I’ll tell the boys and add you to the team group chats. The news should be going live any time now, so I expect them to lose it.”

“Well, there’s something else I wanted to mention,” Shane said, stopping to turn to Bood at the edge of the players lot. “I’m not telling the team yet, but I told the GM and coaches today, and I think you should know too. I’m gay.”

Bood blinked, but didn’t freak out, which felt like a relief. “Man, thanks for telling me. I’ll keep it to myself until you decide differently.”

“Thanks. Uh, I’m not totally sure how long it will stay secret. I left the metros because things were bad there, and I kind of came out to the team and staff, and it wasn’t pretty.”

“Shit. Sorry to hear about it, man.”

“Thanks. Yeah, it’s been a weird few days.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll have a problem here if you do come out. There’s two of the d-men who are dicks, Bozz and Franks, but they know better than to say anything. Everyone else should be great.”

“Okay, good to know.”

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow, Hollzy,” Bood said with a wave, and left for his car. 

Shane couldn’t help the little grin that found his face as he got into his jeep and dialed Ilya. Hollzy. He had never had a proper team nickname before. The guys had started calling him Hollywood after he dated Rose, but that had turned into more of a joke. He couldn’t help but be hopeful things would be different with the centaurs. 

[[A shot of Shane Hollander and Zane Boodram sitting side by side wearing Centaurs jerseys. Bood wears the C and Shane has an A. They are smiling, Bood’s looks natural while Shane’s is his media smile]]

@CentaursNHLofficial☑️

Everyone join me in welcoming our newest Centaur Shane Hollander!

[See full press release]

♥️1.2m  🗨️981k  🔁1m  ↗️876k

@Stacie West

Am I fucking dreaming? My favorite team gets my favorite player? I’ve died. Literally died. 

♥️34 

@Kevin Roy

I mean I knew the Metros weren’t playing their finest this year, but to lose Hollander? No way we make the playoffs now.

♥️12

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Congratulations to the Centaurs for getting the second best hockey player in the world. In celebration let us all donate one dollar to the Irina Foundation [Link]

♥️954k

@Shane Hollander☑️

Rozanov, maybe not on team posts?

♥️876k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Is fine, Hollander. Is for a good cause.

♥️833k

@CentaursNHLofficial☑️

We really don’t mind! The Centaurs support the Irina Foundation and would love to host a Game Changers camp in Ottawa next summer! Donate to the Irina Foundation here: [Link]

♥️578k

Chapter 14: Starting over

Chapter Summary

Shane finds his footing, and its a wonderful place to be.

Shane

Things were different with the centaurs. For starters, they sucked. No one was moving at practice. It was like they all were taking naps, not trying to play hockey. Bood was great. Wiebe, because it was Wiebe who was leading practice, Johnson nowhere to be seen, set Shane up on a line with Bood and Tanner Dillon, a winger who Shane couldn’t figure out why he had ever been brought up from the AHL. 

Bood kept up with Shane okay, but he was winded by the end of practice. Shane was frustrated. Somehow in the last few days he’d forgotten how much the Centaurs sucked. He and Ilya had agreed Ilya would move to them, and Shane had planned to stay with the metros, where Shane would retire. Somehow Shane had forgotten that moving to the Centaurs would mean losing a lot of games. He could fix things. He would fix things, if Wiebe was as open to it as he seemed, and Johnson really did let them do whatever they wanted, but it would be a hard push.

They had all been so excited when he walked into the locker room before practice, and they had been great after practice, full of energy and hope. They should have been exhausted from a hard practice, not lively and excited to go to a barbeque. A barbeque Shane really didn’t want to attend. Still, he drove to his parents house, grumbled something to his mom when she asked how it went, and took a proper shower. He changed into jeans and a sweater, and grabbed a few protein bars for the car. 

Everyone cheered when he reached the backyard. So happy to have Shane Hollander, as if he would magically fix everything. Shane believed he could fix the team, but it wouldn’t be magic, and they all might hate him afterwards. 

Bood pulled Shane toward the food table, and his stomach dropped. He didn’t have Hayden or JJ here this time to eat his food so he didn’t look rude. 

“So we’ve got a few goodies over here, Cassie made this great quinoa salad, and I just pulled the sweet potato off. I have mushroom and squash on now that should be ready in a minute.”

Shane blinked and ran his eyes over the table. Unlike last time, all the food had little cards listing the ingredients, and several things were definitely in his safe foods. 

“This looks really great, man,” Shane said honestly, grabbing a plate.

“Awesome, let me go check the mushrooms.”

Shane added some of the quinoa salad, sweet potato, and a rice dish to his plate just as Bood returned with a platter he set next to the chicken. 

“This half has my signature jerk on it, it’s spicy so stay away if you can’t handle it, and these ones have a few other spice blends, smokey and savory, but not so much spice. Let me know what you like, okay man?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Shane picked up some of the jerk coated squash, and the smokey mushroom, snagged a ginger ale, and found a spot at an open table. Dykstra and Young joined him a few moments later, plates full. 

“Hey, man,” Dykstra greeted him. “Bood said he was trying something new with the mushrooms, what do you think?”

“This is fantastic,” Shane said. “Shiitake can get really rubbery if you aren’t careful, but the texture is perfect.” Shane cut the mushroom easily with his plastic fork, inhaling it. 

“Yeah, Bood’s amazing. Takes a lot of care to make sure everything is perfect,” Young said. “Watch out for his jerk though, it can be a lot.”

Shane gestured to the squash he’d nearly finished. “No, this is perfect. Just the right heat.”

“No way,” Young said. “It has to be less intense on that or something. It’s killer on the chicken.”

“Give it a try then,” Shane said, cutting off a chunk. 

Young picked the piece up with his fingers and popped it in his mouth. He chewed for a long moment, and then his face screwed up in distress. He looked like he was in pain for a moment, and then he coughed. “Fuck.” He stood and ran toward the house. “Milk!” he gasped. 

Dykstra burst into laughter. “That was fucking amazing, man.”

Shane shrugged. “I think it’s really good.” He ate the remaining piece of squash. 

“Man, Young can’t handle anything spicier than catchup.”

Shane frowned. “Catchup isn’t spicy.”

“Exactly.”

Shane snorted and dug back into his food. He’d cleaned his plate and was about ready to head back for some more mushroom when Harris stopped by his table. “Hey, Shane!”

“Hey, Harris, how’s it going?”

“Hey, man,” Dykstra said, before excusing himself for more ribs.

“Good, I got some great footage at practice today,” he said, sliding into a chair across from Shane. “I posted a few clips but more to come later.”

Shane tried not to grimace, he couldn’t imagine anything impressive coming from that practice. “That’s great.”

Bozz and Franks wandered over and plopped themselves down on either side of Shane, beers in hand.

“So, Hollander, why did you leave the metros?” Franks asked. 

Shane noticed Harris’s shoulders immediately go up, but he didn’t leave.

“Yeah, you had a no trade, so you had to have waived it to end up here. No way you do that for no reason,” Bozz said.

“Just felt like time for a change,” Shane said. Somehow no one had asked him that yet, and these two didn’t feel like the ones Shane wanted to open up to.

“Hey, Shane. Do you wanna try a cider? My sisters make them locally from my family’s apples,” Harris said, gesturing toward the deck.

“Sounds good, but I don’t really drink during the season,” Shane said.

“Why not?” Franks asked.

“I just like to stay up on my game, and alcohol can have effects on muscle recovery, sleep rhythms, hormone cycles, and glucose production.”

“Fuck you sure are fun at parties,” Franks said, and Bozz laughed.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Harris said loudly. “And not everyone needs to drink to have a good time.”

“You’re in Ottawa now, Hollander. You can relax a bit,” Bozz said, and the sentiment darkened Shane’s mood further. 

“Hey, Hollzy,” Bood said, appearing at the side of the table. “Did you see the study last time you were here? I think you’d really like the arches.”

“Oh, really?” Shane asked.

“Yeah, Harris, can you show him where it is?” Bood asked, and shot a sharp look at Bozz and Franks.

“Yeah, come on,” Harris said, leading Shane into the house. “Ignore those assholes. They usually don’t even come to these things.”

“Why, not team players?” Shane asked. They didn’t seem great, but they seemed like basically every other hockey bro Shane had ever played with.

“No, they usually aren’t welcomed, but this was specifically to welcome you to the team so Bood didn’t feel great about excluding them when they directly asked to come.”

They entered the study, and the arches really were something. Shane studied them for a while, taking a few pictures and telling Harris a little about the history of the style in Ontario and where it originated. 

“Sorry, I get a little focused sometimes,” Shane said sometime later, realizing he’d been rambling and Harris was probably bored out of his mind. 

“No, I love it. And I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun filming our shorts,” Harris said, and Shane thought it felt genuine.

They made their way back out to the yard, and Shane noticed Franks and Bozz were nowhere to be seen. 

“Holzy, come join us,” Bood called. He sat at a table with his wife, Young, Dykstra, and another woman Dykstra introduced as his wife Caitlin.

Shane joined them, and Harris dropped in the seat next to Shane a minute later, sliding a fresh ginger ale over to Shane. He nodded his thanks. 

“So what did you think of practice today,” Young asked him.

“Uh,” Shane said, unsure what to say and not make everyone immediately hate him.

“It’s okay, you can be honest,” Bood said.

Shane blew out a breath. “It was a fucking mess.”

“Yep, that’s about my opinion too,” Dykstra said.

“Wiebe’s trying,” Bood said. “But this is his first year on the team, and most of the team has a lot of bad habits they need to unlearn.”

“What’s up with Johnson?” Shane asked.

“He checked out a few decades ago,” Dykstra said. “But the Centaurs are loyal, and will let him ride till retirement.”

Shane grimaced. That was a problem, but not one he knew how to solve.

“It’s not so bad. Wiebe is game to change things up, and Johnson goes along with pretty much everything he says as long as it doesn’t mean more work for him,” Bood said. “So how do we fix it, Hollzy? How do we get a cup?”

He noticed Young’s eyes sharpen, and Dykstra leaned forward in his chair. So not everyone was happy with the status quo.

“Well, I have some ideas, but everyone will probably hate me by the time we get there.”

Young grinned and Dykstra let out a sharp yee-haw that drew eyes from around the yard.

“Let’s fucking do it, Hollzy,” Bood said. “I’ve never made a cup run, but I’m not afraid of hard work, or holding the guys to it. I’ve got your back.”

“How was the barbeque?” Ilya asked later that night, after a round of exhausting phone sex. It made up for the light practice, and Shane was feeling properly tired out.

“It was really cool actually,” Shane said. “Cassie, Bood’s wife made this quinoa salad.”

“Sounds disgusting.” 

“It wasn’t, it was really good. I tried to get the recipe from her, but she said no, because then I’d have to keep coming back to barbecues.” 

“Sounds like a smart woman,” Ilya said. 

“Yeah. The core team seems really great. Bood, Dykstra, Young. I think you’ll like them.”

“I do like them. I have met them, remember?”

“Yeah, but I mean like, on a team. They seem excited for a cup run. I started to think maybe everyone’s spirits were broken, but them, a few others and the rookies, I think we can do it.”

“How many seasons until we get a cup, do you think?” Ilya asked him.

Shane grinned into the phone. “I’m not answering that.”

“We can make bet. I get third dog if I’m right.”

“What about the second dog?”

“I get that when I win the cup this year.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you’re delusional.”

“Come on, Hollander, how many?”

“I’m not answering that. Too many variables.”

“Like what?”

“We need a better goalie before we do anything.”

“Mm. Yes, we do. Kirkman is a . . . Wait. I will remember word.”

“Sieve,” Shane said.

“Sieve? What is this word? I meant the one you use for pasta.”

“Oh, colander.”

Ilya broke out in a grin. “Yes, colander. Rhymes with my favorite person.”

Shane’s first game wasn’t great. He scored twice, both off of Bood’s passes, but his third goal was ruined by a bad pass from Dillon. They lost 7-2. It was like Kirkman didn’t even show up to the game. 

For their next practice, Shane showed up ready for business. Bood gave him a fist bump as they took the ice. 

“Alright men, this practice is Hollander’s. That means he’s running drills and you all will do exactly what he says. Got it?”

“Yes, captain!” the guys chanted, and didn’t that feel weird? Someone else being called captain?

Shane put the guys through his typical pre season drills, the ones where he was pushing the guys who’d let themselves go over the summer. Two old-timers puked, and a third collapsed. Shane worried for a moment he was having a medical emergency, but turned out he was just dramatic. 

“Where’s the fucking fire, Hollander?” Franks called as Shane told them to pick up their skates on the next drill. “This is a practice, in case you forgot.”

Shane slid to a stop in front of where Franks dragged, and waited until he had his attention. Everyone came to a halt and focused in as if hoping for a break. 

“So you think you can play like shit in practice then go out and win a game?” Shane asked. 

“Wake up, Hollander. This is Ottawa, we don’t win,” Franks said. 

Shane looked around at the exhausted men around him. “Is that what you really think?” he asked. No one nodded, but no one disagreed either. Bood stood beside Shane, his arms crossed, his chest heaving, but not quite as bad as some of the others.

“Listen up, all of you,” Shane said in his captain voice, as Hayden called it. Everyone was laser focused on him. “If you aren’t interested in winning the Stanley cup, then you should consider retiring this summer, or asking for a trade. If you aren’t interested in putting in the work it takes to win the cup, then you don’t really want it, and again, you should get out now. I know what it fucking takes to get a winning team to the top. I did it with Montreal in five, and I can do it here in less. If you aren’t interested in that, then get out now.” 

Shane paused and looked each man in the eyes. He could see it in a few, that glimmer of hope, just as he could see the exhaustion in a few others. “If you’re actually here to win then I expect you to actually show the fuck up at practice, every practice. Now, if you’re done for the day like Franks here, hit the showers. Everyone else, let’s finish this drill.”

“You heard him,” Bood shouted. “Let’s fucking go.”

They finished the drill, then the next, and Shane dismissed the team, and kept going himself. Bood joined him, and Shane gave him a silent nod while he showed Bood his next favorite conditioning drills. 

“Sorry if I stepped on your toes back there,” Shane said, when they finally made it to the locker room, the rest of the team cleared out. 

“Fuck no, Hollander, that was the best speech I’ve ever heard. Listen, I know you don’t want the C, even if you won’t tell me the real reason, but I want to back you up in all of this. I want to win a fucking cup. Tell me what we need to do so we can be a unit here.”

Shane sighed. “Okay, wanna get lunch or something? I have a spreadsheet.”

“Fuck yes, I wanna see Shane Hollander’s spreadsheet to victory,” Bood said, and got in the shower.

Ilya

When the paperwork on the house finally closed, Ilya called in sick to practice, and flew in from Boston to pick up the keys with Shane. He drove Shane’s jeep up the long driveway, punching in the temporary gate code, and rolled to a stop in front of their new house. 

Theirs. 

Together. 

The home they would furnish and decorate as a couple. 

Ilya might not move in permanently for a few months, but it would still have his things in the bathroom drawers, his clothes filling one of the large walk-in closets, his cereal preferences in the pantry. They would build a life here, and Ilya couldn’t fucking wait. 

Shane shuffled a little on their way to the front door as if nervous, and handed Ilya the key. Grinning, he took it and clicked the lock. He pushed the door open, then in a quick move, scooped Shane up in a bridal carry and charged into the house. Shane laughed and kissed his neck as he held on.

“Into the living room, through there,” Shane directed. A low glow emanated from the entry as if a light had been left on, and Ilya carried his love around the corner, into a room covered in millions of candles. 

He stopped dead. “They are trying to burn down our house,” Ilya said. “Insurance fraud.”

“Put me down,” Shane said, and Ilya did. Shane took his hand and pulled him carefully into the center of the candles, and knelt. He pulled a small red velvet box from his pocket and held it up. Ilya’s breath caught in his throat. “We’re starting our new life today,” Shane said, and Ilya’s eyes immediately started burning. “We’ve been together in so many places, always temporary. Montreal, the condo and the sex building, Boston, Ottawa, the cabin, hotels scattered around north america, but here, in this house we finally get to make a home. And no matter where we end up, I want us to be together forever. Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov, will you marry me?”

Ilya narrowed his eyes at the candles surrounding them, 95% positive they were electric. He decided to risk it, and tackled his fiance to the ground. 

Scott Hunter: Hey man congrats on the trade.

Scott Hunter: Or, fuck I hope its a congrats, and that it was intentional

Scott Hunter: Either way, I hope you’re happy man. I’ve got your back if you need anything.

Shane Hollander: Thanks Scott. It was kind of intentional. I got mad and came out to my team after a really shitty practice, and realized I had to get out. Not ideal, but at least I made it before the trade deadline.

Scott Hunter: Fuck

Scott Hunter: Sorry to hear that

Scott Hunter: Things going okay in ottawa?

Shane Hollander: Yeah, I think so. The team seems like it will be better when things leak

Scott Hunter: Are you expecting them to leak?

Shane Hollander: Yeah, all the metros know, and the staff. We used it to force their hand in the trade. My agent is awesome and made Theriault start cussing us out, using more slurs than I knew existed. I had to look some up. Made the lawyers in the room look like they were going to pass out.

Scott Hunter: Fuck

Shane Hollander: Yeah. 

Shane Hollander: So I don’t expect it to stay quiet forever. 

Scott Hunter: Man, that sucks. You should get to come out on your own terms. 

Shane Hollander: Maybe

Scott Hunter: Still not ready?

Shane Hollander: Just a few personal things I need to sort before that can happen.

Scott Hunter: Well I have your back if you need anything. And seriously, think about passing your boyfriend’s number to Kip. He would love a new friend and I’m sure your boyfriend could use the support. Being a hockey partner isn’t easy.

Shane Hollander: *fiance 

Scott Hunter: Fuck really?

Scott Hunter: Congrats man! So happy for you!

Shane Hollander: Thanks 🥰

Kip Grady: Hey Shane! Scott just told me! Congradufuckinglations man!! 

Kip Grady: ♥️♥️💍💍👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨♥️♥️

Kip Grady: UG. So annoying that there aren’t any gender neutral wedding ring emoji. 

Kip Grady: ♂️♥️♂️

Kip Grady: Whatever

Shane Hollander: Thanks Kip ♂️♥️♂️ I’m pretty excited.

Kip Grady: Who proposed?

Shane Hollander: I did

Kip Grady: REALLY??? ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Kip Grady: Oh I love that

Kip Grady: How did you do it?

Shane Hollander: We picked up the keys for our new house, and I had the realtor go in before we got them and set up a few hundred electric candles in the living room.

Kip Grady: That is SO freaking sweet!

Kip Grady: I’m going to tell Scott so he gets ideas.

Shane Hollander: Ha

Shane Hollander: Yeah, I actually stole the idea from my fiance. He told me over the summer he wanted to fill the doc at my cottage with candles and propose one day when we could both be out.

Shane Hollander: But I didn’t want to wait that long

Kip Grady: Oh

Kip Grady: That’s so beautiful and so heartbreaking at the same time

Kip Grady: I’m sorry the hockey world isn’t better.

Shane Hollander: Yeah

Shane Hollander: We’ll get there someday.

Kip Grady: I can’t wait to see it. 

Shane

The Centaurs did not make the playoffs, but no one expected them to. 

They did start winning a few more games, but still not enough. That was okay, even if every loss hurt his pride. Shane was working on a rebuild, and they needed structure changes before they would be there. In the remaining few weeks of the regular season, Shane focused on pushing the guys who wanted to be pushed, and secretly, trying to scare away the guys who didn’t. If a few of the oldtimers retired at the end of the season, it would mean more cap space for Ilya. 

Shane had spreadsheets upon spreadsheets. Ones breaking down every player on the team, as well as their farm team, and a few of players he wished they could get from other teams. Shane made the trek to Belleville a few times to watch the farm team, then approached Wiebe. 

“Hey, Coach. Is this an okay time?”

“Hollander, sure thing. Come on in.”

Shane sat, fiddling with the folded piece of paper in his pocket. 

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’ve headed over to Belleville a few times to check out the team, and I was wondering if you could get a request to them. There’s a few guys I want to see play together. They have a practice Thursday, and I was planning to be there.”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem. Would you mind if I joined you?”

Shane wasn’t expecting that. “Uh, no. Of course not.”

Wiebe nodded. “Who do you want to see?”

Shane pulled out his paper and unfolded it before sliding it across the table. Wiebe read it over carefully. It was just a few line combinations, and Shane wondered how closely Wiebe had been watching the farm team, if he could see what Shane did. 

Wiebe nodded, and folded the paper back up. “Have you kept an eye on this year's prospects?” Wiebe asked, catching Shane off guard.

“Yeah, a few. There are some good looking forwards.”

Wiebe nodded. “Perfect. We have a few good draft picks. How about we carpool Thursday and you can tell me what you think?”

Shane agreed. He could do that. It was only about two and a half hours. He could keep up hockey talk that long to keep things from becoming awkward.

Shane picked a few of the AHL players from the farm team, and asked Wiebe if they could invite them to practice with the team a few days a week. It was a big ask for the players, driving out and skipping their own practices, but they all knew it meant a chance of being called up if they were lucky, so they all tried.

“I wanna try two lines,” Shane told Wiebe and Bood before their first practice with the AHL players. “Put me with Bood and Gaspard for the first line, and Osman and Holmberg for the second. We’ll go half and half for the scrimmage.” He turned to Bood. “I wanna try out a different playing style. Think you can keep up?”

“Let’s do it,” Bood said with a grin and knocked their helmets together. 

When Shane centered the line with Bood and Gaspard, he changed his playing style to be more aggressive and direct. Turning right when he would usually go left, taking risks and choosing bolder plays. When he centered Osman and Holmberg, he played his usual game.

“What are you up to, Hollzy,” Bood asked suspiciously at the end of practice. 

“Spoilers,” Shane said with a grin, and hit the shower. 

After a few weeks of practices, Shane was satisfied, if not entirely sold on the AHL guys. He slipped each of them a personalized training and conditioning packet, and told them he hoped to see them at training camp in the fall. He hoped they took his suggestions seriously.

Chapter 15: Little victories

Chapter Summary

Some nice things happen. You know, nothing too big.

Chapter Notes

Hello new readers! Thank you to everyone following along and giving this fic a shot! I'm posting daily, so this should be complete within the week. I have everything drafted and it looks like this will come in just under 80k words 😅

Shane

The Centaurs played the metros as their second to last game of the regular season, and Shane was dreading it. Both teams were already out for the playoffs, so the game didn’t count for much, and a very small, very weak part of Shane wanted to be sick that day. But no. He wasn’t a coward. He would face his old team, and he would kick their ass. They might not win, but Shane was scoring a fucking hat trick on Drapeau.

Three days before the game, he received a weird message from Hayden. 

Hayden Pike: Hey man. Im not so sure about the game thursday

Shane Hollander: What do you mean?

Hayden Pike: I think its gonna be off

Hayden Pike: Like, the guys are planning something but me and JJ dont know what

Shane Hollander: Ok

Hayden Pike: Im just saying be ready

Shane Hollander: For what?

Hayden Pike: IDK man, just anything

Shane Hollander: Helpful. 

Shane lay awake, trying to think through the worst the metros could throw at him. They could hurt him. They could chirp him. They could out him.

Shane called Ilya, who picked up on the fourth ring. 

“Shane, are you okey?” Ilya asked sleepily.

“Yes, sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Yes, you did. But is okey. Waking fiance for booty call is what I am here for.”

Fiance. The word made Shane glow, but he wasn’t getting distracted.

“I think I need to come out to my team.”

“Okey, Shane. You know that is your choice. If you feel ready then you should do it.”

“No, it’s not that I feel ready. Here, let me read you the texts Hayden sent me.”

“Ah, this is Pike’s fault,” Ilya said, but shut up while Shane read him the messages. 

“I keep thinking, what’s the worst they can do to me? And obviously that’s hurt me, but I don’t think they think that’s the worst thing.”

“Woah, Shane. Too many words for three am.”

“Sorry. I think they might try to out me, at least to the team. You know, throw off our dynamic on the ice?”

“Hmm, seems too smart for them,” Ilya said. “Comeau is more likely to smoosh you into the boards.”

“Yeah, I think he will try that too, but he’d have to catch me, and he’s slow as fuck.”

“Is true,” Ilya said, and yawned. “So, Comeau tries to squish you, and when he fails he chirps your team and says gross things about you liking cock?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.”

“Shane, do not let him force your hand. Come out when you want to.”

“I know, but like, the team is mostly great. I’m not worried about coming out to them, and I do think I would rather do it on my terms tomorrow at practice than Thursday on the ice.”

“Makes sense. I support you if is what you want to do.”

“I think so. It will put more eyes on us, but I don’t think it’s going to stay quiet too much longer. Not with all of them knowing and being pissed about the playoffs.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Okay. So I’m doing it. Tomorrow at practice.”

“Call me after?” Ilya asked.

“Yes please.”

“Good, now take off your pants,” Ilya said in a sleepy voice.

Shane sighed contentedly into the phone. “How about I just tell you I did, and then listen while you pass out before you can even get your boxers off?”

“Da, that works too,” Ilya said, and he was asleep before long.

Shane was the first one to practice, which was normal for him. Bood joined him not long after, and Shane told him what he planned.

“I support you, brother. 100%.”

“Thanks, man.”

Shane dressed quickly in his gear, then waited for the rest of the team to arrive, trying his hardest not to fidget too much. When the last of the team trickled in, Shane stood.

“Hey, guys, listen up,” he called above the noise, and the room stilled. “We need to talk about Thursday. We’re playing the metros, and as a personal favor, I’d like to kick their asses.” The room broke into scattered Hell yeah’s and laughs. Shane waited for it to quiet again. “I have it on good authority that this game isn’t going to be standard play. They are gunning for me. That means trying to take me out physically, and also pull me out of the team dynamics.” He met the eyes of his teammates. “I’m gay. The metros know. It’s why I left. They wanted me gone more than they wanted to win. I’m telling you now because the chirps are going to be bad, and targeted. Racist and homophobic shit. They said it when I was their teammate and it’s only going to be worse now, so prepare yourself, and don’t let it mess up your game, okay? I wanna fucking win against those assholes. Are you with me?”

The room broke out in cheers, and Shane felt great. He knew this wasn’t the end. This was the adrenalyn, and later would come the thoughts, the changes in action. Shane kind of hoped his social blindspot would keep the worst from him. He was fine being hated, he’d done it before, he just really hoped this time they could keep the hockey clean. 

Most of the team pat Shane on the shoulder and said encouraging things as they took the ice for practice. Wiebe clapped him on the back. “Good job, Hollander,” he said, and Shane nodded his thanks. 

Practice went well. 

The game? Well, the game went. 

The first period was rough. Shane spent most of his time dodging his old teammates as they seemed focused on taking him out. Shane couldn’t believe it. They really did want to hurt him more than they wanted to score. Kirkman hadn’t suddenly gotten better, but the metros didn’t even try. They checked Shane, tripped him once, and tried to knock him out every time he had the puck. He ended up passing to Dillon more often than he wished, and they lost the puck every time. Still, the metros didn’t score, barely taking shots on goal, as if wanting Shane to steal the puck back, so they had another shot at him.

When Bozz and Franks were on the ice, Shane basically counted them out. They were usually great d-men, but suddenly they didn’t seem interested in protecting Shane, and he couldn’t help but feel like it was a little intentional.

Shane finally scored off a pass from Dykstra a few seconds before the end of the first period, and when the second started, the score 1-0, he could tell the metros were ready to up their game. 

They really went for it with the slurs. They said shit to the rookies about their AC that made them pale, they chanted things whenever Shane had the puck, and they generally didn’t care who heard. Comeau got a penalty for saying something right in front of a ref, which was both delightful and a little surprising. It took a lot for refs to call it on language, which was just one more problem with the league overall. Maybe they could fix it one day. 

With the metros so focused on being raging assholes, Shane managed to score two more times and got his hat trick before the end of the second. 

Comeau nailed him against the boards at the start of the third, a late check he got five min for, and Wiebe pulled Shane for the rest of the game to make sure his shoulder was okay, it being the same one he hurt last year. 

With Shane off the ice, the Centaurs weren’t as strong, and the metros got a few more shots on goal, but Shane’s team rallied, and they won, 3-2. It felt amazing.

After their last game of the year, another loss, Shane made eye contact with Bood, who nodded at him, and Shane stood up on one of the benches, still sweaty in his gear.

“Allright, guys,” Shane called, and everyone got quiet and turned to him. “Our season is over, and we all have a few months to make some choices. You can spend your summer doing nothing, and come back next season ready to be replaced by a callup, or you can work your ass off, and get to where you need to be to support this team.”

A few people frowned at him, but most were listening.

“I just sent a link to the group chat with training and conditioning guides. If you want something more personal, text me. When training camp hits, I expect every person who wants to win a cup to be there, that includes veterans. Wiebe can’t order you there. It’s not required for most of you, but I can tell you we’re rebuilding lines and changing things up. If you’re not at training camp we might find someone better to take your place. So go home, enjoy the time off, and decide if you want to win a cup next year.”

Shane got off the bench and started to undress. 

“You heard him,” Bood called. “Hollzy is intense because he’s the fucking best, and he can make us the best team in the fucking league. So go home, change your plans, put in the work, and show up to fucking training camp.”

Wiebe texted him a week later, saying four of the oldest players had officially retired. Shane counted it as a personal victory.

When their season finally ended, and Shane had no more commitments in Ottawa, he packed a big bag and hopped on a plane to Boston. Ilya was going on a cup run, and Shane was excited to be there for him, at least when he was home, and support him through the playoffs. There was a part of Shane that stung being left out of the playoffs, but he could support Ilya this year, and then they could do it again next year, but together.

Ilya was focused, driven, and convinced he played better when he got a blowjob right before each game. Shane wanted to question the logic, but it was working.

They blew through the first round in five. Dominated the second round in six, and won the conference finals in six again. The shorter rounds put them a leg up to the competition who took all three rounds to seven games. 

They came out of the first six games against Colorado even, 3-3, and played the final in Boston. Shane made sure he was in the crowd, his parents on either side of him. He sent Ilya a mirror selfie before the game, him in his centaurs hoodie, pulled up revealing the Rozanov 81 painted on his bare chest. The second picture was one he took of his parents when they left their hotel, both revealing the 81 painted on their shoulders. The jumbotron found the three of them in the crowd where Shane’s dad shot the camera a thumbs up, while his mom blew it a kiss. Shane just tapped his chest twice, where the letters were painted on his skin, and pointed at the camera. 

He found Ilya down on the ice, paused in his warmups, eyes transfixed on the screen. 

When the game ended, and Ilya lifted the cup over his head for the second time in his career, Shane had to leave the stands so the cameras didn’t pick him up sobbing his eyes out. He knew he couldn’t go down. Ilya knew he couldn’t go down. But Shane desperately wanted to. Instead he drove his parents back to their hotel, and went back to Ilya’s to wait for his fiance to come home from celebrating. 

Ilya

Ilya stumbled into his house, a little clumsy, and maybe a lot drunk. He stunk of booz. More had been sprayed on his body than had gone down his throat, which was saying something, because an awful lot had gone down his throat.

Ilya slunk into the bathroom, trying not to wake up Shane as he took off his champagne laden clothes, dumped them on the floor, and climbed into the shower. He leaned against the tiles, slowly washing his body, and scrubbing his hair twice, before he eventually pulled himself from the water, dried off, and climbed into bed naked. 

“Hey,” Shane said, his voice heavy with sleep. He rolled over and found Ilya’s lips in the dark.

“I’m so proud of you Ilya. You were amazing.”

“Yes, I am,” Ilya said.

“And now we’re tied, and then we’ll be on the same team, and every cup from now on we win together.”

“A fucking dynasty,” Ilya said with a grin as he turned on the flashlight on his phone, blinding both of them.

“What the fuck, Ilya?”

“Sorry, sorry, I need to find something,” Ilya said, pawing under the covers at Shane’s shirt.

Shane snorted and tugged his shirt off, and there, written across his chest was Ilya’s name and number.

“So fucking sexy.”

Ilya fumbled with his phone and took a picture, the flash blinding them both. 

Shane huffed and took his phone away, turning off the light, and sticking it under a pillow. He kissed Ilya’s chest. 

“Are you too drunk to get it up?” Shane asked. 

“Why don’t you give it a little suck and find out?” Ilya said in what he hoped was a seductive tone. Shane did as he was told, and yeah. Ilya was too drunk. Shane didn’t mind, and let Ilya curl up into his arms instead. 

Being held by his fiance was almost better than an orgasm. The only thing better would be an orgasm and then being held by his fiance, but they could do that tomorrow. A smile lit up Ilya’s face as he remembered this was it. They didn’t have to say goodbye this time. They were done with separate teams, conflicting schedules, and constant roadies apart. From here on out they could spend every night in the same bed if they planned it right. 

They could burn the tripods. Would the tripods burn? They were plastic and metal. Very high quality. Maybe they would have a burial instead.

“Shane?”

“Yeah, baby?”

The name made him smile even bigger somehow.

“I’m so happy.”

“I’m so proud of you. You did it, Ilya.”

“No, not about the cup,” Ilya said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this is it now. You and me, together.”

Shane squeezed him tighter and Ilya loved it. He wished Shane would squeeze him so hard he could join them together like some horrific blob person.

“When are you telling your team?” Shane asked.

“Tomorrow. I wanted them to have the celebration tonight, but I also want them to have time to process. We have the cup parade, and all the cellys.”

“Are you nervous?”

“I don’t want them to hate me. Most guys think I am holding out for more money. They won’t know what to think when I take less and go to Ottawa.”

Shane kissed his forehead, and Ilya tipped his head back so he could find his lips. “Whatever happens, I’ll be here,” Shane said, and tucked Ilya’s head back under his chin.

“Shane?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I think my cock is less drunk now.”

Shane

Shane watched the draft on the couch with Ilya, much more invested than he usually would be. Ottawa had the second draft pick, and Shane knew who he wanted. Vancouver had the first pick, but they were low on defense, and Shane hoped they skipped over his first choice. When Vancouver drafted some kid from Texas, Shane couldn’t help but do a little victory pump. 

Ilya snorted. “Now you just have to hope they pick your choice.”

“They will,” Shane said. “Wiebe and I talked it out, and Johnson doesn’t care enough to even look at the stats.” 

“Luka Haas,” the tv called for the second draft pick going to the Ottawa Centaurs. Shane fought the urge to give a celly. 

“Shane, he is baby.”

“Yeah, but he’s fast. He can keep up with me.” Shane pulled out his phone.

“You think this baby will keep up with you?” 

Shane met his fiance’s eyes. “We have to build two first lines, Ilya. One strong enough for you, and another fast enough for me. This kid has the potential, even if he will be totally green. It just means I can keep him from learning bad habits.”

Shane pulled up his text thread with his coach, well, his assistant coach. He didn’t even have his head coach’s number. Did Johnson even know how to text?

Shane Hollander: Can we pull him in this season?

Coach Wiebe: He’s young. only 17.

Shane Hollander: He'll be 18 by training camp.

Coach Wiebe: Normally we would send him back to the European league for another year or two.

Shane Hollander: We can get someone to host him. Dykstra maybe.

Coach Wiebe: Not you?

Shane Hollander: No, my fiance is moving in. Don’t want to make the kid uncomfortable.

Coach Wiebe: Fuck Hollander. Congratulations!

Coach Wiebe: Keeping it quiet for now?

Shane Hollander: Yeah. Might tell the team after the season starts.

Coach Wiebe: Do I get to meet him?

Shane Hollander: Maybe in July.

Coach Wiebe: Specific, but okay.

Shane Hollander: Try and get the kid’s family to let us have him this year. I think he could learn better with us than with the European league. 

Coach Wiebe: I’ll see what I can do.

Shane Hollander: Thanks, Coach.

Wiebe

Wiebe found himself at the Ottawa practice rink on a Tuesday morning in the last week of June. He knew he wasn’t expected, and he knew he wasn’t totally supposed to be there, but he was so curious, he couldn’t help himself. 

He entered the rink, the sound of children echoing around the room, drowned out only by the occasional bellow of professional hockey players. Who he assumed were a few parents sat scattered around the stands, and Wiebe found a spot a few rows up to observe. The ice had a few groups of kids, sectioned off and running drills, led by a few adults each. He could see Shane Hollander and Hayden Pike coaching a group of maybe U8s through a cone drill, Scott Hunter and Cliff Marlow next to them with a group maybe a little older, showing them different stopping techniques. On the left was JJ Boiziau and Leah Campbell with a group of kids doing a passing drill.

And in the far corner was Ilya Rozanov and Max Riley teaching a group of U6s to . . . twirl, maybe? It was hard to tell, but the Russian executed a decent spin before pushing off and picking up a six year old, tossing them in the air. Sure, totally normal hockey drills. 

Hollander turned toward the kid’s squeals of delight and barked something at Rozanov, who turned to Hollander, shrugged, and held up the kid in front of him, as if showing him something cool. Hollander clearly shook his head, and Rozanov set the kid down before returning to his group. 

After a while, the kids on the ice made their way off, while more kids came in, geared up and ready to go. There was a lot of shouting, and conflicting directions as professional hockey players tried to direct the kids, and Wiebe snuck down to the boards in the chaos. 

Hollander spotted him and skated over. 

“Coach, good to see you.”

“Hey, Hollander. Hope you don’t mind. I’ve been wanting to get a peek at your operation here.” 

Hollander grinned and glanced at a kid about twenty feet away, flat on their back getting spun in circles by Scott Hunter wielding a hockey stick.

“Yeah, it’s a lot of chaos, but it’s been great.”

“Love to see it,” Wiebe agreed. 

Something large and Russian came tearing across the ice, and slammed into Hollander, shoving him into the boards. Somehow Hollander didn’t topple over. 

Hollander groaned and shoved Rozanov off, but the Russian only grinned and stuck out his hand. “Coach Wiebe, yes?”

“That’s me. Nice to meet you, Rozanov.”

“You as well. Shane tells me great things about working with you. Says you are building a strong team.”

Wiebe eyed Hollander who was fiddling with his glove. “That’s the goal. What about you? I haven’t heard you resigned with Boston yet.”

Rozanov grinned. “Not yet. I am waiting to see what is available as a free agent.” Rozanov shrugged. “Maybe try a Canadian team.”

“Really?” Wiebe asked, absolutely fascinated. “Well, I think Montreal might be the only one able to afford you.”

Rozanov blew a raspberry. “There are more important things than money,” Rozanov said. “Citizenship, express entry for residency, many things.”

“Hey Roz, can you come help me with this?” someone shouted. 

Wiebe turned to see Cliff Marlow, with two small children thrown over his shoulders, skates flailing in the air, screaming and laughing. 

“Ah, sorry, coach. I am needed somewhere urgently. It was nice meeting you,” Ilya said and skated off. “I am coming, Marly!”

“Well, he sure isn’t what I expected,” Wiebe said.

Hollander snorted. “Not an uncommon discovery.”

Wiebe shook his head. “So you’re really friends? It’s not just publicity?”

Hollander shrugged. “Yeah. We’ve both spent both our careers at the top. Hard not to be friends with someone who gets it.”

Wiebe nodded. “Something to think about, for sure.”

“Are you sticking around long?” Hollander asked. “We have classes after lunch. Ilya Rozanov’s Chirping 101 and 102 are a big favorite. You might like it.”

Wiebe blinked. “He’s teaching children to chirp?”

Hollander grinned. “The parents sign a permission form in the camp packet. One o’clock in the west 2 conference room. You won’t be disappointed.”

Hollander excused himself, and went to corral his next group of kids. 

Wiebe went and found his seat again, and at one found himself in the west 2 conference room. It was one of the larger rooms, one wall covered in whiteboards, and currently filled with kids, laughing and joking as Ilya Rozanov sorted papers at the front. 

It was a big group of kids, maybe ages ten to sixteen. Wiebe found a spot in the back to stand, and he noticed a few of the coaches find their way in to observe as well. Apparently this would be a spectacle. 

“Okey, okey, time for silence,” Rozanov said, raising his hand in the air. Somehow, all of the kids actually stopped talking. “Now, in this class we have a few rules. When I ask a question and you want to answer, you raise hand, and I call on you. If I don’t call on you, you stay quiet. If you don’t want to answer, you don’t raise your hand. Sound good?”

A chorus of yeses rang out around the room, and Rozanov jumped. “Ha! That was trick, and you all failed. I said if I ask a question, you raise your hand, and do not speak unless I call on you. Do you understand?”

Twenty hands shot into the air. “Brittany,” Rozanov said, pointing at a girl. 

“Yes, coach!” 

“Perfect. Brilliant. No notes. All of you be like Brittany. Now, who can tell me what a chirp is.”

Hands went in the air, and Rozanov called on someone. 

“Something funny?”

“No, not quite. Because what I think is funny and what you think is funny may not be the same thing, and may not always be okey. But we will get to that. Chirp is something said on the ice to distract. Can be strategic. Today I teach you what is an okey chirp, and what is not. Now, in this class I will be using a lot of words that I don’t ever want to hear a single one of you saying, and I don’t mean fuck.”

The kids broke out into nervous chuckles, and Wiebe blinked. 

“Fuck is a good word,” Rozanov continued. “I like this word. Is different in Russian, but still gets the point across. Now, this does not mean Coach Rozanov gives you permission to say fuck. If you can say fuck is between you and your parents, understand?”

Kids nodded and Wiebe glanced around. That was a lot of fucks for a group of kids. 

Rozanov continued. “The words I will talk about today are bad words. Not like fuck, but truly bad words. Words that saying them makes you a not good person.” Rozanov crossed to the corner and pointed out a lamp. “When I turn on the lamp, I will be using these bad words. Is a warning, saying this is a space where bad words are being used for education. When light is off, we don’t use them anymore. Yes? Okey, let’s get started. Who can tell me a good chirp to say to an opposing player?”

A few hands went up, and Rozanov pointed at a kid in the front. “You have a big nose,” he said.

A few kids laughed, and Rozanov made a face. “Yes, is okey chirp, but said best to someone who looks normal. If you say to someone with a big nose, it might be a bit mean. Better if you say it to someone who has normal nose, or small nose. Okey, another.”

Hands went up again, and Rozanov called on someone. 

“You smell like poop!” a little girl shouted. 

“Very good. I love it,” Rozanov praised. “But if you really want to get someone, say they smell like they don’t wash their butt in the shower.” The kids laughed. “Similar effect, tells them they smell bad, but also educational, they may learn they should always wash their butts in the shower. It gets into their head, makes them think, stays with them.”

Wiebe realized his mouth was open, and closed it. Was Rozanov teaching these kids psychological warfare?

“Good chirps are telling someone who is a good player that they are the 15th best player on their team. Gets in their head, stays with them. A good chirp is telling someone close to you in age that they are old man, slowly rolling their walker toward the grave.”

The kids laughed again.

Rozanov clapped. “Okey, these are great examples of good chirps. Now let’s talk about bad chirps. A bad chirp is anything that tries to belittle someone based on something important. For example, if someone’s mom is dead, you do not make fun of dead mom. If someone’s parents are getting divorced, you do not throw it at them on the ice. If someone’s skin color is different from yours, you do not make it a joke.”

Oh. This wasn’t going where Wiebe expected. 

“There are many great things about hockey and sports. There are also many not so great things. One of these not great things, is that sometimes hockey culture likes to say something is funny or fine to say to someone who’s too slow or not doing a good job, when those words are never okey to say to someone. Hockey says these bad words are fine, that they are jokes or not serious. They say is just locker room talk, and that you should be a man and be tough, not let hateful things hurt you. But these are lies. Some things cross a line, and I want all of you to know exactly where that line is, so you never cross it. I want you to know exactly where that line is, so that if you hear something bad said in a locker room, you know not to laugh, not to repeat it, and if you are really really brave, to stand up against someone when they say these words.”

Rozanov paused, and looked around the room, meeting the eyes of the children. Every kid was locked on Rozanov with intense focus.

The door opened and Hollander slipped in, but no one noticed except maybe Wiebe. He slid over to Wiebe, and watched.

“Now, I am going to turn on the bad word light, and say some bad words. These are not things I ever want any of you to ever repeat. I tell you them only so you know what they are, because when we don’t know the bad word, sometimes we laugh when they are said, and then it seems like those words are okey when they are not.”

Rozanov crossed the room and clicked on the light. It was soft and yellow. 

Rozanov moved to the whiteboard and carefully wrote out one of the more harsher homophobic slurs that Wiebe had heard a thousand times on the ice. Below it he wrote the shortened version. He pointed to each, and said them out loud, carefully pronouncing them. “This is not an okey word to ever say, for any reason. People say ‘is just a joke’ but it is not a joke. Let’s talk about why this is not just three letters but is a history of oppression.”

Rozanov launched into a quick history of the word, and how it had been used throughout time to hurt people. When he was finished, he moved on to a racial slur that made Wiebe flinch.

“Is he breaking down the entomology of slurs?” Wiebe whispered to Hollander.

“Who better than the guy who speaks two and a half languages?” Hollander said, and Wiebe saw he was grinning.

“Two and a half?”

“He’s learning French after being insulted by a five year old girl who said Russian was useless in Canada.”

“He’s serious about the residency thing?”

“Very.” 

Wiebe shut his mouth, and listened to the rest of the class, completely shocked that the best DE&I class he had ever attended was being taught by the NHL’s advertised biggest asshole. 

Chapter End Notes

Yeah, I know the cup win isn’t exactly a little victory, but I thought it was funny implying it was here.

IDK who won the playoffs in 2018 in the books, since it’s never mentioned, but I like to think the metros eating dirt shook everything up, and Ilya powered by 🌈♥️ and being engaged, managed to get his team there.

And yes, I know Wiebe talking to Ilya at all about his free agency is a big no no, but I don’t work for the NHL.

Also, just picture Scott and Kip sitting through Ilya's DE&I class

Chapter 16: Together

Chapter Summary

The boys no longer need to keep separate houses. What more do they need?

Chapter Notes

The chapter title is said in the voice of super high, concussed Shane Hollander in his hospital bed.

Ilya

July 1st found Shane and Ilya curled up on the couch in Ilya’s Boston home. Their coaches were arriving today, checking into hotels and preparing for the camp starting tomorrow, but Ilya and Shane had their phones muted, trying their best to get through the slow Sunday morning, until the clock struck noon, and free agency would officially start. 

They didn’t know for sure if Ottawa would send Ilya an offer. It might be they wouldn’t think they had a chance, and wouldn’t even bother. If that happened, Farah would make a few pointed inquiries, but she said it was polite to wait a few hours at least. She recommended twenty four, Shane suggested four. 

They agreed on 8 am Monday morning. 

The clock hit noon, and Ilya squeezed Shane tighter to his chest. 

“You have Farah set for your DND bypass?” Shane asked. 

“Yes. We checked three times.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“She said she would call in a half hour when the bulk of the offers had come in,” Ilya reminded him.

“Well, I know what we can do easily within a half hour,” Shane said, and then showed Ilya how quickly he could properly distract him. 

They were cleaned up, and mostly respectable before Ilya’s phone rang at twelve thirty. 

“You have twenty six offers,” Farah said, skipping the hello completely. 

“Twenty six, are there even that many teams with cap space?” Shane asked.

“No, several teams are planning on trading players to make room if Ilya accepts them.”

Ilya let out a snort. “And Ottawa?”

“Yes, we have an offer from them,” Farah said. “It’s good. She listed a number, not as high as Ilya’s current contract, but still not bad. It was for seven years, no trade clause, and included support in filing for express entry permanent residency, and a sponsorship for citizenship.”

“Tell them we accept,” Ilya said.

“Ilya, don’t you even want to hear the other offers?” Shane asked.

Ilya looked at Shane like he was crazy. “No. We have plan. We stick to plan.”

“Yeah, but you could have better money, better terms. We could make long distance work.”

“I do not want anything but chance to play with you, live with you, be with you always, Shane.” Ilya leaned in and kissed Shane slowly. 

“Okay, before you forget I’m still on the line, I’ll let them know we accept,” Farah said quickly.

“Sorry, Farah,” both Shane and Ilya said at the same time.

“Ilya, when do you want me to schedule the contract signing?” Farah asked.

“We have camp until Friday. We could fly back in Saturday?” Ilya asked, glancing at Shane.

“Let’s make it Monday. We’re accepting the offer, signing isn’t so urgent. It can wait for a week day,” Farah suggested.

“Okey, sounds good. Thank you, Farah.”

They hung up, and Ilya fell into Shane, a weight lifted off of him making him feel light and floaty.

“We did it.”

Shane and Ilya arrived at the Centaurs facility a week later. They met Farah at the doors, and walked in together. Staff had asked Shane and Bood to both come in and greet Ilya, but Shane had decided he would be Ilya’s permanent escort and Ilya couldn’t be happier. 

Wiebe met them in the lobby. 

“Rozanov, great to see you again,” he said, shaking Ilya’s hand.

“Coach, thank you,” Ilya said.

Wiebe turned to Shane. “Hollander, if you wanna wait for us in the media room, Bood should be along before too long.”

“Ah, no,” Ilya said. “I would prefer if he comes. He is my emotional support rival.”

Wiebe looked confused, but didn’t argue as people usually didn’t when Ilya Rozanov said things that were just bizarre enough. Wiebe led them to a conference room, and introduced Ilya to the GM, John Leftwitch, the three owners, all siblings, and the head coach Johnson, who Ilya already knew from Shane’s stories he would have a hard time respecting.

Ilya sat, Farah on his right, and Shane on his left. The owners and staff all took turns saying nice things to Ilya, and while they glanced questioningly at Shane, no one asked why he was there, or asked him to leave. Eventually the polite part of the day was over, and the GM slid the contract across the desk to Ilya. Ilya signed everywhere highlighted without even glancing at it. 

When he was done he set down the pen and grinned. “This is official now? No take backs?”

“Yes, you’re officially a centaur,” the GM said with a grin.

“Good. Shane and I have something we wish to discuss,” Ilya said, and glanced at Shane, ignoring the questioning looks from the room.

“Okay, of course,” the GM said.

“Ilya and I are in a serious committed relationship,” Shane said, and didn’t Ilya love hearing that? He had told Shane he should say it since he was better with words, but really Ilya just wanted to hear him claim him. “We don’t plan to go public right now, but we wanted to disclose it here.”

The room paused for a moment, and everyone seemed to take a breath. “Thank you for telling us,” the GM said first. “It’s unprecedented, but the centaurs organization will support you fully. Even if you do decide to go public,” he added.

“We do, eventually, but are waiting until my citizenship is secured. It would not be good if something happened and I lost my visa.”

“That is an understandable concern, but I speak for the organization when I say that shouldn’t be an issue. You can be public when you choose to be, and you won’t be losing your visa. You’re a centaur now, and we protect our own.”

Heads around the room nodded.

“Yeah, but what if Crowell forces you to bench us, or if he’s permanently injured and unable to play again?” Shane asked. “There are too many factors.” 

“Crowell can force us to bench you, but can’t force us to remove you from the roster, and we wouldn’t, under any circumstances,”  Brian McKay, one of the brother owners said. “If you’re seriously injured, we put you on long term IR and fudge the paperwork to say you’re working through your recommended rehabilitation with hope to play, and we keep you there until your permanent residency or citizenship is official, whichever you prefer. We’re loyal, here with the centaurs. We have your back, Mr. Rozanov.”

“Thank you,” Ilya said, unable to find more words. It had been more than he was expecting with him and Shane coming in here to essentially tell them they were going to be a PR nightmare.

“You would do that?” Shane asked. “Essentially commit fraud for him?”

“Would anyone in this room turn us in?” Tiffany McKay, the sister of the three owners said. “We aren’t the metros.”

And Ilya snorted at that.

“Thank you,” Shane said, also looking a little stunned. Ilya found his hand under the table and squeezed it. “Um, we should also probably mention we’re engaged. We haven’t set a date yet, but probably will once things have settled further.”

“Congratulations,” Tiffany said brightly. “That’s so delightful.”

“The first husbands of Hockey,” Richard McKay, the last brother said, a small grin on his face. “We can’t wait.”

The table began to break up, and handshakes were exchanged. 

The GM shook Shane’s hand with a weird smile, leaning over the table. “I brought this on myself, didn’t I?” he asked.

“Just taking your advice, sir,” Shane said with a grin, and Ilya suppressed a laugh. Shane had told him the advice the GM had given him during his own signing.  

“Good man, Hollander.”

Wiebe

Wiebe was feeling elated after that revelation. He had Shane Hollander on his team. He also had Ilya Rozanov on his team. Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander were in love, and engaged. Each fact on its own was a big deal. Together it was almost too much to handle. 

As the room broke up, Johnson tapped him on the shoulder and gestured down the hall to his office. 

“Hollander, can you get Rozanov to the media room?” Wiebe asked. “I’ll be along shortly.”

“Of course, Coach,” Hollander said, and turned down the hall, a soft smile looking awfully permanent on his face. 

Wiebe followed Johnson to his office, where the old man sank into his chair with a long sigh.

“I’m officially too old for this,” Johnson said, looking at his desk.

“Coach?”

Johnson looked up and fixed his steely gaze on Wiebe. “Those two boys are about to turn this place into a circus. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great what they’re doing. Trail blazers. Husbands of hockey,” he muttered. “But I am way too old to have to deal with the media those two will bring.”

Wiebe blinked, unsure what he was saying. 

“I’m retiring. Effective now. I’ll go talk to John in a minute, but wanted you to hear it first. I’ll let them know they should just promote you to head coach. I doubt it will be a fuss.”

“But, Coach. We have a real shot at a cup. Just a few more years and you could have your name on it.”

Johnson waved him off. “Oh, cups aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. And cup runs are not an enjoyable experience. Trust me Wiebe, if you can avoid it, it’s worth it. The bonuses are not worth the stress.”

Wiebe just blinked at the man. 

“Well, that’s all. You go deal with all that, then.”

Wiebe slowly rose, and made his way to the media room, where Rozanov was sporting a new Centaur’s jersey, a crisp C on his chest. Bood and Hollander were wearing their A jerseys, and Jen was snapping pictures as the three men joked.

“We’re all okay with this arrangement then?” Wiebe asked. “The C and As,” he clarified, in case Shane or Rozanov worried he was talking about their relationship.

Shane nodded. “Ilya’s the stronger captain. Bood knows the team and has their respect, and I’ve got our stats. I think the three of us will be exactly what we need to get us to the cup.”

“You got the metros there in five, you thinking the same for us?”

“Please, I was a child back then. It won’t take us so long this time around,” Shane said.

“Yes, and I got Boston there in four,” Rozanov said. Hollander shoved him.

“Yeah?” Wiebe asked, anticipation bubbling in his chest.

“Depends on when you get us a good goalie,” Shane said, grinning. 

“You have recommendations?”

“I’ll send you my Christmas list,” Shane said, and threw his arm around his fiance. The sight made something in Wiebe’s chest go soft. He’d had a hard time in love the first go around, and seeing these two hockey boys, loving each other, just on the edge of being open and free, it healed something inside of him. 

“Fucking mastermind, over here,” Bood said, grinning.

“You’ll edit that part out, right Harris?” Wiebe asked. 

“No problem,” Harris said, cheerily, his camera set up and recording the chaos. 

“Uh, Bood? There’s something else we wanted to tell you,” Shane said when they were wrapping up, Jen the photographer having just stepped out. “Harris, you should probably know too, but are all the cameras off?”

Harris, as if sensing his tension, double checked his two tripods. “Yeah, Shane. They are all off.”

“Good.” Shane glanced between Bood and Harris before dropping his bomb. “Ilya and I are in a relationship. We’re engaged.”

Bood’s face was a mask of utter disbelief before it split into a grin. “Congratulations boys!” He pulled both of them into a big hug. Rozanov was grinning, and Shane looked pleased. “Fucking power couple. Well that explains why Roz moved to fucking Ottawa.”

Wiebe glanced at Harris to make sure he was cool with this, and the man was gripping his face with both hands, knuckles white, a look of pure joy on his face. “This is the best day of my life,” he said in a low growl. 

“Yeah, well, obviously we’re keeping it quiet right now. Ilya is still getting residency things sorted with Canada, so it can’t be public before then because it isn’t safe with Russia, but we will be telling the team once the season starts and the roster is more stable.”

“We told GM, owners and coaches today,” Rozanov said, nodding Wiebe’s way. 

“And the whole org is behind them, ready to support them when they do come out,” Wiebe said. 

“Bood, we wanted to tell you because we trust you, and you know, will be working close together.” Shane turned to Harris. “And I thought it would be good for you to know, Harris. We don’t want to be accidentally outed for looking too domestic on socials, so like, if you could help with that maybe?”

Harris dropped his hands and tried to smooth his expression before breaking out in a grin again and clasping his hands to his chest. He tried to look serious but was failing horribly. “Right, makes total sense. I’ll scan everything for heart eyes, and only post clips that give off bro vibes, not lover vibes. And if people get weird in the comments I’ll charge them a dollar donation to the Irina Foundation.” Harris was grinning stupidly now. “That’s the strategy, isn’t it?”

Rozanov smiled wide, all his teeth visible. “Yes, was my idea. Good, wasn’t it?”

Harris laughed loudly. “I’d say. Even I fell for it. Completely brilliant.”

“It was actually my idea,” Shane grumbled. 

“But I started invading comment sections like surprise rick roll.”

“Whatever,” Shane said, but he was grinning. 

“Oh my God, you two are so cute.”

“Yeah, but now that I know, it’s also kind of obvious? Like people are totally gonna figure it out,” Bood said.

Rozanov dropped his hand which had snaked its way up around Shane’s waist. “Ah, yes. Is why we plan to tell the team eventually. We will try to be careful through preseason.”

Bood nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on the guys and try to run interference where I can.”

“I don’t think it will be so bad,” Harris said. “Straight guys who spend a lot of time in straight spaces often don’t recognize the queer right in front of them.”

“This is true,” Rozanov said with a grin. “Hayden Pike had seen me and Shane cuddling several times and thought I was just replacing him as best friend. Shane had to tell him very clearly we were boyfriends before he got it.”

Shane elbowed Rozanov in the ribs. “That’s because you and my dad gaslit him and he was sleep-deprived with a newborn.”

Wiebe’s phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket. He opened his texts.

John Leftwitch GM: See me when you are finished.

Wiebe’s pulse raced. Was this to notify him of Johnson’s resignation? Was Leftwitch about to tell Wiebe he was the new head coach, or would he tell them they were going to open the position up to new applications?

Wiebe excused himself and made his way to the GMs office. When he left an hour later, he was the new head coach to the Ottawa Centaurs.

[[Ilya Rozanov in his Boston jersey holding the stanley cup over his head just after winning in 2014]]

[[Ilya Rozanov in his Boston jersey holding the stanley cup over his head just after winning in 2018]]

[[Ilya Rozanov in a Centaurs jersey with a C on it, sitting in between Zane Boodram and Shane Hollander, both in Centaurs jerseys with an A on them. The three men have their arms over their shoulders and are all grinning widely.]]

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Thank you to the Bears and to all of Boston for being the best team a rookie could have ever hoped to be drafted to. You’ve helped shape me into who I am today, and I couldn’t be more thankful. 

While I am sad to be closing the door on my time in Boston I could not be more excited to step into the future with my new team the Centaurs, and in my new home of Ottawa. We have a bright future ahead of us together.

In celebration of this new chapter, please join me in donating one dollar to the Irina Foundation [Link]

♥️1.2m  🗨️893k  🔁922k  ↗️988k

@Zane Boodram☑️

We’re gonna build a fucking dynasty boys!!

♥️647k

@Holly Marshal

First we get Hollander, and now Rozanov? I really don’t know if we can handle it. It’s just too much power.

♥️32k

@Kirk Bradly

This is so fucking weird. What does Ottawa even have besides a shitty team that’s never won a cup?

♥️6.1k

@Marsha West

Government buildings? Museums? Poutine?

♥️2.3k

@Nick Smith

Thats it. Rozanov moved to canada for the poutine. We figured it out guys

♥️1.1k

@Hayden Pike☑️

Yuna wrote this, didn’t she?

♥️65k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

🖕

♥️453k

@Hayden Pike☑️

Wait, really? How? I thought I was getting better at this

♥️56k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

No, no. This one is just meaning fuck you

🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

♥️234k

@Hayden Pike☑️

Oh. Yeah that tracks.

♥️43k

Ilya

Ilya spent the summer in total bliss. There were the messy bits, breaking his team’s heart without giving them proper explanations, selling several of his sports cars, and packing up his home in Boston. He would keep his Boston house for when he and Shane did camps there, but it would no longer be his home. 

It was an easy trade for his new life. They spent weeks moving in and adjusting things in their new home. Shane had been living there a few months now, but they had moved him in in a rush, and between the end of the season and playoffs and camps, they hadn’t done too much more than move him in. Now they got to argue over decor and furniture, and which drawer Ilya put his socks in which Shane shouldn’t have cared about, and it was perfect.

They argued over paint colors, and the proper number of throw pillows, and which playset Ilya would have built in the back yard for when the Pike kids got to have sleepovers, and every argument made Ilya’s chest fill with something he thought might just be joy, peace, and contentment.

Bood and Cassie invited Shane and Ilya over regularly that summer. It was great. Both of them were amazing cooks, and always took care to make something Shane would eat without asking. Ilya had that one conversation with Bood about Shane’s preferences last season, and then a few weeks later, Bood texted and asked for details, and then he never brought it up again, just took care to make sure there were always things for Shane any time Shane was present. 

It made Ilya instantly love the man. 

It felt amazing to just be them, the couple, with other people around. They had that with Jackie and Hayden, even if Hayden did get a little aggressive sometimes, and they had that with David and Yuna, even if Shane sometimes felt weird being affectionate in front of them, but to have that here with another couple, new friends they had just made, yet who accepted them completely? It was kind of wonderful. Sitting at the table after a meal, their hands linked not even under the table, but resting casually on the table cloth. Shane curled up into Ilya on a love seat, while they all chatted together. It was still wonderful, even after Shane pulled out his computer and little portable projector and started going over his spreadsheets and flow charts and plans for training camp.

Later that night, curled up in their bed, in their home, in their town, Ilya and Shane scrolled on their phones, content to lay in each other’s arms and do their own thing for some quiet time before sleeping. Ilya was scouring social media for posts about him and Shane he could drop Foundation donation links in.

Ilya’s phone buzzed.

Jackie👑: 🪛🍑✅

Ilya Rozanov: 🎉♀️✊

“Jackie finally convinced Pike to let her peg him,” Ilya said with excitement.

“Reall? How do you know?”

Ilya showed him the phone screen, and Shane snorted and tapped at his phone.

Shane Hollander: How did it go? 🍑👈

Hayden Pike: HOW DO YOU KNOW???

Shane Hollander: Uh. Gay intuition. 

Hayden Pike: OH

Hayden Pike: makes sense

Hayden Pike: it was like, really weird but also like really great

Shane Hollander: Will you do it again?

Hayden Pike: yeah

Hayden Pike: definitely

Hayden Pike: Jackie says she wants to on her birthday every year and maybe a few other times

Shane Hollander: Aww you’re officially a bottom ♥️

Hayden Pike: Jackie says im verse

Hayden Pike: she told me what it means

Hayden Pike: what are you?

Shane Hollander: Just a bottom. I told you this

Hayden Pike: yeah but it means more now

Hayden Pike: like

Hayden Pike: i get it

Shane showed Ilya his phone, and Ilya laughed. “He believes you have gay butt sex detection powers.”

“At least he’s being an ally.”

“That is word for it.”

[[A picture of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov on ice at All Stars 2017. Shane is smiling brightly after just winning a goal, and Ilya Rozanov is kissing his helmet.]]

[[A picture of Shane Hollander on the ice, his heart has stopped and medics are trying to resuscitate him. Ilya Rozanov is hanging onto him, very distraught, his leg behind him sits at a bad angle.]]

@Lisa Hollanov

Here is a detailed timeline and catalogue of evidence proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are not just friends, but have been lovers since Shane’s public breakup at the end of 2016, and this whole foundation and charity donation scam is just to cover it up. [thread]

♥️123k  🗨️98k  🔁62k  ↗️78k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

This is very detailed work. Thank you for being such a close and invasive, I mean attentive fan to the careers and personal lives of myself and my very good friend Shane Hollander. Your thesis however is incorrect and harmful and needs more peer review. 

The Irina Foundation is not a scam, it is a real foundation doing good to support mental health organizations fighting against suicide and depression, which kills more than 720,000 people worldwide every year. Here is our publicly available tax and financial records [Link]

To help support this cause, you can donate here [Link]

Also, Shane Hollander thinks the word lovers is gross. 

Also, sharing a photo of someone experiencing a medical emergency for likes is very gross.

♥️112k

@Lisa Hollanov

Pay attention people! He didn’t deny they’re lovers!!

♥️86k

@Shane Hollander☑️

Gross. Please stop using that word. Also, please don’t refer to our charity as a scam. We are trying hard to do good work and give back to a world that has supported our careers for years. 

♥️104k

@Lisa Hollanov

Sorry Mister Hollander

♥️75k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

She listens to you but not to me????

♥️109k

@Shane Hollander☑️

Her profile says Hollanov, not Rozander

♥️98k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

🖕

♥️95k

Hayden Pike likes this comment

Chapter End Notes

I just really really felt like Hayden needed that pegging moment to complete his character arc.

Chapter 17: Shane Hollander’s Spreadsheet to Victory

Chapter Summary

Shane works to improve the centaurs using the power of spreadsheets

Chapter Notes

You know, my original idea for this fic was Shane and Ilya in the hospital, and David using google translate for Ilya to be "helpful" and figuring out their relationship from that. But them crawling into each others beds and being obvious won out. But maybe I will do a one shot of the other version..... you know, because I need more fan fic to right after this turned from like, 20k to 80k

Ilya

Training camp was way more fun than Ilya expected it to be.

Shane and Ilya arrived earlier than anyone else, which as Ilya told Shane over and over again, meant they could drive in together with no one noticing. Shane insisted they take his boring car, because it would draw less attention. Ilya grumbled because it was still summer and they wouldn’t be able to drive most of his cars for much longer, but decided it was a far compromise if he got to hold Shane’s hand through the drive. That was a lot harder in his cars when he had to shift so frequently through the city.

Ilya had met most of the team formally at a welcome back barbeque at Bood’s house a few days before training started, but it was something else when they each strode into the locker room, and expressed proper excitement at having both Shane and Ilya on their team.

The energy in the room was electric, and Ilya loved it. It only grew more and more as players from the farm team, rookies, prospects, and a few invited free agents showed up.

Since Shane and Bood had both insisted all of their existing roster show up, they had 72 guys on the ice by the time they got started. It was chaos, and Ilya thrived. 

The first three days were medical exams, splitting the players into groups to make them easier to manage, and Shane Hollander’s Torture Time, also referred to as Shane running groups through various drills to assess their levels. Ilya’s fiance took copious notes on each player that he later filled into his spreadsheets. Ilya helped of course by running the drills with every group, to provide a baseline of excellence. 

By the end of the first week, Shane and Wiebe had worked up forward line and defense pairing combinations they ran through drills and scrimmages. 

In their first scrimmage, Ilya centered Bood and Gaspard, an AHL player Shane had been scouting for him, and when they went up against Shane’s line of two rookies, they connected well, and crushed them.

Shane didn’t seem all that upset, focused on how Ilya was working with the two forwards. 

Bood and Gaspard complemented Ilya’s more aggressive and direct playing style well, just as he’d told Ilya they would. Just after their first scrimmage, Bood stopped dead and stared across the ice. “Hollzy, you fucking planned this,” he said, with something between bewilderment and shock on his face.

Ilya skated up to the AC who turned to him with a scowl. 

“Last year he invited Gaspard to practice with us, he centered me and him, and played differently than normal. He was mimicking your fucking playing style and I didn’t realize it,” Bood said. 

“Ah, my fiance gives the best gifts,” Ilya said quietly, and gave Bood a wink before skating over to Hollander. 

“What is wrong with your rookies?” Ilya asked. “I thought you said it would be like robotics?”

“Clockwork,” Shane corrected, without really thinking about it. He was frowning across the ice. “Something is off with Haas. He plays better than this.”

“He is baby,” Ilya said with a scoff. Bood slid up to their huddle.

“You’ve seen the tapes. He’s fast, sharp, but here he’s acting like he doesn’t know how to hold his stick.”

“He did well in drills,” Ilya said. “Some of them, at least.”

“Haas?” Bood asked. “I noticed that. The time he crashed into the boards was when you told everyone they were good boys doing a perfect job.”

Ilya grinned and Shane rolled his eyes. 

“So, what, he has a praise kink?” Ilya asked.

“No, if that was the case he would be playing harder trying to get more,” Shane grumbled, and Bood choked out a laugh. 

“Put him on line with me next scrimmage,” Ilya said. “I will need to get a better read, and maybe he just doesn’t work with you, Hollander.”

“He needs to work with me,” Shane said. “He was my bet for this season.”

“We still might be able to get him there, but we need to figure out what his deal is first,” Bood said.

They agreed and broke up the huddle. 

For the next scrimmage, Ilya centered Bood and Haas, while Shane tried out another pairing he had set up, LaPointe and Meyer. Shane’s line did better, if for no other reason, none of them dropped their stick, which Haas did after Ilya clapped him on the back when he pulled off a good pass. 

LaPointe and Meyer were okay players. Solid, but not on Shane’s level. But Shane was also used to playing with players not on his level. Ilya would never admit it, but Pike had been a good wing for Shane, he wasn’t as fast or as strategic, but he knew how to get where Shane needed him.

Bood, Shane, and Ilya huddled again after the scrimmage. 

“That didn’t work,” Shane said, his face annoyed and adorable.

“It wasn’t supposed to work, it was to get a better read on the baby,” Ilya reminded him.

“And what is your read?” Shane asked.

“He is anxious little doe, dodging cars on the highway,” Ilya said thoughtfully. “He reminds me of young Shane Hollander at a social function.”

“Fuck off, I was never like that on the ice,” Shane said, while Bood snorted, properly entertained by them.

“No, not on ice, but off ice. Very anxious. I cornered him in locker room this morning and he would not make eye contact.”

Bood nodded. “He’s intimidated by you, both of you. I get it, all the players are to some degree, especially the young guys.”

Shane looked very annoyed. Anxiety was not a box on his spreadsheet. “So how do we make him not intimidated?” Shane asked.

“Let me give it a go,” Bood said. “We have the barbecue Sunday to vibe check everyone, we’ll sort it.”

It was one of Bood’s brilliant ideas, Ilya thought. He decided to host a barbeque after the first week of training so they could decide if the players they were picking would fit the culture the team wanted to maintain. At this point they had the players sorted into possibilities and duds, so it wasn’t a huge undertaking. Shane had tried to argue that checking players vibes wasn’t as important as skill, but Bood reminded him that neither Bozz or Franks had bothered showing up to training camp as ordered, and Shane relented.

The barbeque would be much larger than Bood usually served, and not wanting to put Cassie out, Ilya insisted he and Shane hire caterers to provide the bulk of the food. Bood could still prepare his signature dishes, but they would need a lot of food to feed everyone.  

Saturday was to be a lazy day, and Ilya couldn’t be more excited. Shane went for his typical run, while Ilya slept in, and then made them breakfast in time for Shane to get back. They ate together, then did a light workout, and showered together, getting in a second workout in the shower. 

Shane emerged from their closet, towel wrapped around his waist, arms full of clothes for them both, frowning down at his phone. 

“Something wrong?” Ilya asked. Shane tossed him the phone. 

Coach Wiebe: Hollander. I got you a present. Come in at noon and bring Rozanov.

When they got to the rink, Bood was just climbing out of his truck. He waited for them, and they walked in together. “Know what this is about?” Bood asked. Shane and Ilya just shook their heads. 

Wiebe stood in the foyer waiting. “We got a trade, you lot go wait in the media room, and I’ll bring him by after he signs the paperwork.”

“Who is it?” Bood asked.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he said with a grin.

“Who did we lose?” Shane asked. 

“Franks and Bozz.”

“Ah, so no one, then,” Ilya said, and Bood covered up a smile. From what Shane and Bood had told them, they were a waste of cap space. Good d-men, but the centaurs had an excellent roster of d-men, it was the only way any shots were blocked with their horrible goalie. 

The three of them made their way to the media room, where they shot the shit with Harris. There was a new video app Harris was raving about, and convinced Ilya to shoot a few stupid dance videos too while they waited. Ilya was happy to look like a fool in front of a camera while Shane watched, his eyes heavy with lust, so Harris got his content.

Eventually the door opened, and Wiebe led in their newest teammate. 

“Wyatt Fucking Hayes!” Bood shouted before letting out a loud woop. They all clapped the new man on the arm, and generally welcomed him. 

“Thanks, guys. Can’t say I’m upset to be out of Toronto,” Hayes said.

“Where do they have you staying?” Bood asked.

“A hotel a block away. I have time to find a house, my wife Lisa needs to work on getting a transfer to a hospital out here, so it’s just me for now,” Hayes said.

“Let me know when you start house hunting,” Shane said. “I’ve got a pretty good eye on the Ottawa market.”

“Oh yeah,” Hayes said, his eyes lighting up. “I saw those shorts! Shane Hollander’s guide to house hunting, or something, right?”

Shane chuckled awkwardly. “That was all Harris’s doing,” Shane said, gesturing to Harris, waiting to get started. “I just show up and hyperfocus on architecture then he cuts together the usable bit.”

“Harris, nice to meet you,” Hayes said, shaking his hand. “Love the flair.” He gestured to Harris’s collection of pride pins on his jacket. “You’re doing really great work with the socials.”

“Thank you,” Harris said brightly. “Any fun interests I can capitalize on for some more shorts?” 

“Well, I’m a bit of a comic nerd. We could probably do something with that.”

“Oh, that would be perfect!”

They got started, taking pictures and doing quick interviews to welcome Hayes to the team.

“So,” Wiebe said quietly to Shane, while Hayes answered Harris’s interview questions. “I got you your goalie, what are we thinking, two years for a cup?”

“Who needs two?” Shane said with a straight face.

Wiebe grinned.

“Let’s fucking go,” Bood said under his breath.

When they were done, Shane convinced Ilya they should have a quick skate while they were there. Ilya tried to convince Shane if he had so much energy they should go home and fuck, but he was overruled. They could fuck after the skate, Ilya decided. Bood joined them, and Ilya suspected it was to be a proper buffer. If any staff showed up to the rink, it would be a decidedly less romantic skate if Bood was there.

When they got to the locker room, it wasn’t empty. 

Kirkman was stooped over his stall, shoving things in a bag. He glanced at them as they came in.

“Wiebe told me. Don’t worry, I’m retiring,” he said without a greeting.

“Hey, man. You don’t have to do that,” Bood said, stepping up to the older man. “Stick with us for the rest of the season and we’ll get that cup, man.”

Kirkman’s face darkened. “You think that would be better? Ride the bench all season playing just enough games to qualify, and then get a cup ring as a consolation prize? No.”

Kirkman shoved the rest of his things in his bag, and then he left the room without another word. 

Ilya didn’t blame the man. His pride would have required the same.

[[Video of Ilya Rozanov flossing(dance) to the song Swish Swish in a Centaurs jersey, and tight black pants doing a lot of heavy lifting.]]

@CentaursNHLofficial☑️

Hello world! The Centaurs have now joined Tiktok. Follow to see what crazy things our social media guy can get these professional athletes to do on camera.

♥️1.3m  🗨️432k  🔖62k  ↗️78k

@Mipsey

Aww, I’m so sad our favorite panhandling russian isn’t on here yet to drop donation links

♥️876

@IlyaRozanov81

Hello, I am here. Links do not work in comments but go to irina.com to donate

♥️587k

@Mipsey

OH EM GEEEEE

♥️231

@hockeybro

How do we even know it’s him?

♥️125

@IlyaRozanov81

Am not verified yet, but will post video in a sec as proof. Hold please. 

♥️320k

[[A short video of Ilya Rozanov in a hoodie as he stands in front of a window looking out onto a green backyard, a river in the distance. “Hello world, this is social proof I exist on tiktok.” The video cuts out just as a blender turns on in the background.]]

@IlyaRozanov81

I am not verified yet, but this is me. Donate to my charity irina.com

♥️322k  🗨️54k  🔖12k  ↗️43k

Chapter End Notes

Super early, but had to give Tiktok a shout out. Harris would absolutely have been an early adopter.

Chapter 18: Fixing the baby

Chapter Summary

Shane and Ilya try fix what ever the heck is going on with Haas

Chapter Notes

sooooo, last night I might have posted a 10k one shot of Ilya getting appendicitis and Shane taking care of him, pre cottage. So you know, if you need another hit, maybe go check that out. It's called feverish.

Shane

Training Monday was not much of an improvement. The team was beyond ecstatic at their new starting goalie, and based on how the barbeque had gone, Ilya told Shane Hayes was going to fit right in, but Shane’s current worry was his own line. He had four guys he thought might work. Haas, Holmberg, LaPointe, and Meyer, but none were it yet.

LaPointe and Meyer were okay, Shane could win games with them, but it wasn’t the power line he was looking for. Holmberg was a twenty-one year old rookie who was strategic and steady, and based on Shane’s pretty intense research, should compliment Haas’s fresh eighteen year old skills perfectly. And he did in most of the drills Shane paired them on. But as soon as Shane was in the mix, or even Ilya, it was like the kid forgot he was the number two draft pick.

Shane was so sure he would work out, and he still hoped he would eventually, but still Shane started thinking up backup plans. Maybe he would try Holmberg with LaPointe and Meyer, see if something clicked there. Haas could go to third or fourth line until his issues were resolved. 

He thought about it through the day, until the rest of the players were dismissed, and Shane, Ilya, Bood, and Wiebe met up in Wiebe’s office for their daily debrief.

Shane set up his projector to cast over Wiebe’s whiteboard, and pulled up his Miro board of their current roster, prospects, and rookies. He’d cleaned the list up and hidden the duds they knew weren’t going to make the cut.

Bood pointed to a few players. “Nightingale, Steel, Fisher, and Martin all failed the vibes check this weekend.” 

Wiebe uncapped a dry erase marker and drew lines on the whiteboard through the projected players. Shane didn’t object. None of them were standouts enough to bother trying to fix their attitudes. 

“Jones and Barkley go in the milk dud box,” Ilya said. “They are too inconsistent.”

Wiebe drew lines through their pictures.

They went through another ten players, commending on their progress and where they sat in the standings. 

“What about the kid?” Wiebe asked at last. 

Shane sighed. 

“He’s terrified of Roz and Hollzy,” Bood said. 

“But can he get over it?” Wiebe asked.

No one had an answer.

“What does Dykstra say?” Shane asked. “He’s living with him, right?”

“He says the kid is quiet and polite,” Bood said.

Ilya scoffed. “You asked the wrong Dykstra. Ask Caitlin, she will know better.”

Bood nodded. “Yeah, didn’t think about that. Oh, you know, we should ask Hayes. They were chatting at the barbeque Sunday.” Bood pulled out his phone and tapped away. “He just got back to the hotel, but said he can be here in ten.”

They talked over their lines until there was a knock at the door. Ilya got up to open it, and Hayes entered with that goodnatured grin Shane grew to expect from him.

“Wow, an invite to the secret brain trust, don’t I feel cool,” he said before taking a seat next to Bood.

“Goalies do see everything, yes?” Ilya asked and Hayes chuckled.

“Yeah we do.”

“So what can you tell us about Haas?” Wiebe asked. “Hollander wants him on his line, but he’s not adapting like we had hoped.”

Hayes winced. “Yeah, he’s got the big league shock, but I don’t think we should count him out yet. He might just need time.”

“So should we send him down for a year?” Bood asked, glancing at Wiebe, who shot a look at Shane. Shane, who had stuck his neck out for the kid.

“I think he still has potential, even if we park him on the fourth line until he gets used to us,” Shane said. “But I still want him on my line if we can fix him.”

“He’s still just eighteen and you want him on your line?” Wiebe asked.

“He’s still better than Dillan,” Shane said.

“Tanner is a great guy,” Wiebe said. 

“Yeah, super nice. Very loving, great guy. Hockey? No.” Shane scoffed.

Bood snorted.

“And everyone thinks I am the asshole,” Ilya said, and Shane could hear the smile in his voice. “Is because Yuna Hollander’s media training is so good. No one knows Shane is secretly an asshole.”

Shane elbowed him in the gut. 

“So how do we get him used to Hollzy and Roz?” Bood asked.

“The kid is really talented and not just with hockey. Here, check out the art he has up on insta.” Hayes handed his phone over, and Shane was genuinely surprised at the quality and detail of the art. How did someone so good at hockey have time to get so good at something else? Ilya glanced at the phone over his shoulder, then he did a double take. He took the phone from Shane and started scrolling. 

“So, what? You’re thinking of maybe using that? Me and Ilya compliment his art, ask him to draw us something, try and get him to loosen up?” Shane asked. It sounded like hell to him, but Ilya might be able to manage it. Shane was awkward enough, trying to engage with another awkward person didn’t cancel it out. It was a multiplier, to like the eighth power.

“Yeah, maybe,” Hayes said. “Just an idea.”

“No, will not work,” Ilya said and handed the phone back to Hayes. 

“What? Why not.”

“Shane and I will not be able to talk him out of his feelings. Maybe time will work, exposure therapy.”

“We aren’t an allergen, Ilya.”

“Is okey. He just needs time.”

“So we send him back down so he can do some growing up,” Wiebe suggested. 

“No, no. Exposure time. Shane and I will go to lunch with him, not alone, he would not handle that well. He needs a buddy. What is other good rookie? Holmberg maybe.”

“So, what’s his deal then?” Bood asked.

“Ah,” Ilya started, a vague look on his face. “It would be embarrassing for him, I think. I do not want to share it.”

“He has a crush on you?” Wiebe asked, and Shane could definitely understand that.

Ilya shrugged. “Maybe, probably. I am very hot. But no, is more embarrassing. Things you do as a teen and regret later, you know?”

Hayes let out a sigh. “Yeah, I know what you mean, man. But it’s not like any of us are going to razz him for it.”

“Yeah, no hazing, remember?” Shane said. “We’re making a safe space for the rookies.”

Ilya gave him a soft look, then turned back to the others. “He is RPFer,” Ilya said, and Shane frowned, trying to figure out the letters. 

“Holly shit!” Hayes said, a grin on his face. “You’re sure?” Shane glanced at Bood and Wiebe who were also both frowning, so Shane wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what it meant.

“Yes,” Ilya said, crossing his arms. “I recognise the art style immediately. And his signature has not changed.”

“He drew it?” Hayes asked. “What were his ships?”

Ilya shrugged. “He did commissions, so anything, but big on the Hollanov.”

And that was a word Shane knew. This was about him and Ilya?

“If you look at his insta, he has lots of hockey drawings, but not a single one of me or Shane,” Ilya said, pointing at Hayes’s pocket.

Hayes nodded knowingly. “He scrubbed it. Probably right before or right after the draft.”

“Yes. Probably.”

“Okay, anyone wanna explain to the rest of us?” Bood asked.

Hayes sighed. “Ilya’s right. We can’t bring this up. It would break the kid. RPF is real person fiction. It’s people who write or in Haas’s case, draw real people but in made up scenarios, most typically in relationships people aren’t really in. Hollanov is the ship name for people who think Hollander and Rozanov are romantically involved.”

“Wait, that’s public?” Bood asked, throwing Shane and Ilya a concerned glance.

“It’s a fan thing,” Shane said, trying to reassure him. “Teen girls mostly.”

“Or gay teen boys,” Ilya said with a smirk. 

“It’s been around forever. Jackie, Hayden Pike’s wife, used to read us stories written by people who thought me and Hayden were secretly a couple.”

Ilya made a gagging sound, Bood’s eyes got big, and Wiebe seemed like he was familiar with the concept.

“There is likely fics with people shipping you and the centaurs mascot, Bood,” Ilya said, grinning wider.

Shane shivered at the thought of the horrible beaver costume.

“So you’re sure about this?” Wiebe asked.

“Yes. I have . . . seen his work of me and Shane. He was very prolific, we could likely find it with a few searches,” Ilya said.

Shane narrowed his eyes at Ilya. “You’ve seen it?”

Ilya’s shoulders went up into that defensive position he got when he’d been smoking. “Yes, seen, Shane. Internet is vast.”

“Okay,” Hayes said with a laugh. “You’ve just come across it casually enough that you immediately recognized his art style and knew who he was.”

“Yes, like Hayes said. I come across it,” Ilya said with a shrug and a completely straight face. Bood choked and Shane tried not to grin at the dirty joke he knew was intentional.

“Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov. Did you commission fan art of us doing sex things from our new rookie?” Shane asked. 

Now Hayes was choking and laughing, and Wiebe gently rested his chin in his hand, watching the spectacle. 

“Shaaane,” Ilya said, an innocent look on his face. “His profile said he needed money for hockey gear so he could be great hockey player one day. I was doing a good deed. Helping economy. Shaping young lives.”

Shane rolled his eyes and turned to Hayes. “Exposure therapy?”

Hayes schooled his expression, and wiped his eyes. “Yeah, might work. That and absolutely no one ever mentioning any of this to him. He would literally break.”

Shane nodded, and turned back to coach. “I’ll take him and Holmberg to lunch tomorrow, and Ilya will do it Wednesday. We’ll get him sorted.” 

Wiebe nodded and turned to Hayes. “I expect you can keep this to yourself?”

“Absolutely Coach, I am a vault of secrets,” Hayes said.

Shane frowned. “We’re all going to keep this to ourselves.” 

“Moya lyubov', he’s referring to you and me,” Ilya said in his gentle voice. “You outed us.” 

“I did not!” Shane said, outraged at the accusation.

“You absolutely did,” Ilya said grinning. 

Shane turned to Hayes.

“Sorry dude, you middle named him,” Hayes said, holding up his hands. “But to be honest this isn’t subtle.” 

“Yeah every time you two get going I’m surprised more people don’t figure it out. That argument you had over cone placement before lunch was, well, yeah.” 

Shane blew out a breath. “We’re just waiting until after preseason to tell the team, once the roster is finalized.”

“So you’re official?” Hayes asked.

“We are engaged,” Ilya said proudly.

“Oh shit, really? Someone make sure there’s medical staff on site when Haas finds out. He won’t recover,” Hayes said, cracking up.

When Shane glanced at Ilya, the asshole was grinning.

Later that night, Shane cornered Ilya in the kitchen. He grabbed Ilya by the thighs, and picked him up, plopping him down on the counter like he usually did to Shane. When Shane stepped into the space between Ilya’s thighs, Ilya was blushing.

“Hello,” Ilya said, and leaned in for a kiss. 

Shane kissed him stupid until Ilya was limp and sloppy, then he kissed up his neck and bit his ear.

“Ilya?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” Ilya said, in that voice that was so syrupy it dripped down Shane’s back. 

“When are you going to show me, baby?” Shane asked. 

Ilya ran his hands up and down Shane’s side, while he leaned in for more kisses. “All you have to do is unbutton my pants,” Ilya said.

Shane planted more little kisses on his neck. 

“Not that. When are you going to show me the pictures you commissioned?”

Ilya tensed. Shane tried to pull him back, but Ilya straightened and pulled away. “Shane, are you trying to seduce me?”

“Is it working?” Shane asked. 

“It was,” Ilya drawled. 

“Come on, they can’t be that bad.”

Ilya made a face. 

“Ilya, he was an underage kid!” Shane started. 

“No, is not like that. Is embarrassing,” Ilya said at last. 

“Ilya, we’ve literally had our tongues in each other’s buttholes.”

“Mmm, let’s do that instead,” Ilya said, leaning back in for a kiss.

Shane dodged his kiss. “Not until you show me.”

Ilya sighed and gently moved Shane before jumping down from the counter. He left the kitchen, and Shane made tea. 

Ilya returned with a crusty old porno and handed it to Shane. Shane took the magazine gingerly, and grimaced at the naked woman on the front. How had he ever doubted he was gay?

“What the fuck?” Shane asked. 

Ilya opened the pages, showing original pencil sketches tucked between the pages of the porno.

“Good hiding place,” Ilya said. “Someone finds your old porno they do not touch.”

Shane shook his head, and bit back the smile threatening to creep on his face. He carefully pulled out all of the sketches. Many were originals, but some were printouts. He threw the magazine in the trash, ignoring Ilya’s wine of complaint, and washed and dried his hands before he looked through the sketches.

Some of them were decidedly steamy, but nothing even bordering on pornographic. Most of them were soft and domestic. 

Shane in the kitchen blending up his morning smoothie, with Ilya’s arms wrapped around him, his face tucked into the crook of Shane’s neck. 

Shane on the couch in an oversized Boston Bears T-shirt watching game tape on an iPad. Ilya lying stretched out on the couch with his head in Shane’s lap scrolling on his phone. 

Shane and Ilya side by side brushing their teeth. 

Shane and Ilya kissing in the doorway, as if one of them was on the way to work.

Shane in a locker room, taping his stick, Ilya a bay away, watching him dreamily.

Shane and Ilya in matching pajamas, playing with a puppy in front of a christmas tree.

“Ilya these are . . .”

Shane didn’t have any words.

“We never had any pictures. I never had anything to keep.” His voice was soft and vulnerable.

Shane met his eyes for a long moment. “There’s so many,” Shane said, still going through the stack.

“Helping economy. Remember? The originals I commissioned. The prints he made for other people or himself and I just downloaded from his account.”

The originals were the softest, most domestic. The prints were where things got steamy. 

“When did you start?”

“Ah, oldest are probably 2014.”

Shane shot Ilya a look. “You mean the year when you stop talking to me?” 

“Yes, probably,” Ilya said with a sad smile. 

Shane set down the stack and pulled his fiance into his arms. 

“You love me,” he said teasingly. 

“Only a little,” Ilya said, and Shane pinched him hard. “Ow. Do it again. The team will think I have hickeys tomorrow. I will tell them all my lover is a maniac.”

Shane showed him what a maniac he could be. 

Lunch was not what Shane would call an enjoyable experience. Fortunately, Holmberg was a talker. Shane took them to a little cafe around the corner that had a good menu of powerbowls and told them to order what they wanted. Haas got a powerbowl, while Holmberg got a meatball sandwich. Kinda heavy when they weren’t done on the ice for the day, but Shane didn’t say anything.

Shane talked hockey the entire time, asking Holmberg and Haas about games he’d seen of them when he was studying them. Haas had played in the Juniors world finals, and was easily one of the best players, even if his country didn’t win. Shane knew all about that from his first game against Ilya, and told Haas so when the kid seemed down about the loss. 

“You can’t win without the team to back it up,” Shane said. “Well, you can. I have, but you can’t maintain it to a championship. Look at Russia in the 2014 Olympics. Ilya’s team didn’t mesh and they flopped hard, even though he’s one of the best players in the world. That’s why we’re doing lunch,” Shane said, a little impressed his ramblings connected. 

Haas frowned into his powerbowl and didn’t say anything, but Holmberg did.

“Wait, what do you mean?”

Shane gestured at the two younger guys. He refused to call them babies, no matter what Ilya said, but he couldn’t deny they did make him feel really old. Scott Hunter old. He would have to remember that and tell Ilya later. “I want you two on my line. I’ve studied your play, and I think we compliment each other, but we have to figure out the dynamic.”

Shane glanced up, to check their expressions. He wished Ilya was here, he was so much better at this. Holmberg was grinning, an excited gleam in his eye, but Haas looked terrified, his eyes big like the doe Ilya had called him, and his face a little pale.

Fuck.

Shane was gonna have to open up a little, wasn’t he?

Holmberg just seemed happy to be here, but Haas needed to get him. He needed to see him as a real person, not just as Shane Hollander the untouchable hockey player who sometimes took off a lot of his clothes for brand deals.

“Look, a line is like a partnership,” Shane said. “You have to work closely with your line, get in their heads a little so you can predict them. If you don’t understand your linemates, it just won’t work. Not at the level we play.”

Holmberg looked like he was listening intently, but while Haas’s expression had softened, he still looked ready to bolt. Shane just hoped he was listening. 

“I’m kind of a weird guy, if you hadn’t noticed,” Shane said, trying on a grin. Haas’s eyes darted up at him for a split second, then away. “I’m not great at social things, I eat weird, I don’t really have any hobbies outside of hockey, and I’m probably the most obsessed with hockey as anyone you’ll ever meet. People say I have the highest hockey IQ, but it’s just because it’s literally all I think about. I’m obsessive. When I’m on the ice, that’s the only place I am. I’m focused and I’m driven, and I get frustrated when other people don’t have the same drive as me. I don’t need either of you to like me for us to play together, but we need to understand each other.” Shane looked at Holmberg. “Who are you?”

Shane saw Haas’s shoulders go up the moment he realized he would be expected to talk. Shane tried to focus on Holmberg.

“Well, I’m kinda your typical hockey guy,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been in the AHL two years now, and believe this is my year. I’m driven, but who isn’t at this level? I’m not big on parties unless it’s mario party, and I had your poster on my wall, right next to Rozanov when I was in Juniors.” He said it with a grin, not showing a bit of embarrassment. 

Shane grinned. “I had Scott Hunter. It was weird the first time I played him.”

Holmberg laughed. “Shure as shit. What a mind fuck when Wiebe invited me to practice last season. It’s one thing to know Shane Hollander gets traded to your parent club, but another thing to see fucking Hollander right there on the ice.”

Shane shot him a grin he hoped looked real, and nodded at Haas. “What about you?” 

“I also had your posters,” Haas said in a rush with a nervous chuckle. “You and Rozanov. And Hunter. I, uh. I worked very hard to get here. My family worked hard to help me get here. I’m very close to them. I have three little sisters who are my favorite people.” He got quiet, then shot Shane a glance. “I think that is all.”

“You draw, don’t you?” Shane asked.

Haas looked like he was ready to pass out. 

“Hayes mentioned it. Showed me your insta,” Shane said quickly.

“Oh,” Haas seemed to relax marginally. “Yes, is hobby.”

“It looked good enough to be professional to me,” Shane said.

Haas shrugged. “Hockey pays better.” He grinned, still not meeting Shane’s eyes, but that was fine. This felt like progress. A few more of these, as much as Shane dreaded it, and maybe they could manage as a line. 

Ilya was leaning against the wall right outside of the locker room when they got back, already in his gear for afternoon drills. He studied Haas closely as he walked past. Shane let Holmberg and Haas disappear inside, and tried to stand casually next to his fiance. 

“Shane,” Ilya hissed. “You were not supposed to make the baby fall in love with you.”

“What the fuck? I didn’t,” Shane said.

Ilya crossed his arms over his chest, and Shane tried not to drool. “He looks dreamy. That is our child, Shane. We must protect him.”

Shane fought a grin. “Our child?”

“Da. He takes after my good looks, skates good like me, but he is neurotic little anxious boy, just like you. He is Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov’s love child. Our first born as we have not gotten a dog yet.”

Shane thought about it, and honestly, didn’t really see a fault in Ilya’s logic. 

“How did lunch go?” Ilya asked. 

“I got him to say 67 words.”

Ilya frowned. “Including his food order?”

Shane glared at him. “No, I’m not a cheater.”

“Ilya rolled his eyes. I can beat that.”

Ilya did beat it the next day for his lunch with the rookies. Said he asked Haas about his sisters and he told them their names, their favorite classes, what they were good at, and a number of other things Shane would never have thought to ask. But that was Ilya. He was good at the people thing. Shane always felt like asking someone personal questions was invasive, so he didn’t.

Regardless of the number of words they got out of him, their plan was working. Haas didn’t open up personally, but he did on the ice, as if remembering he knew how to play hockey. 

One problem on the way to solved, so many more to go.

Their third line wasn’t working. Their first and second lines were solid, and would kill this season, but they couldn’t have things falling apart when the third and fourth lines got out. 

“Kinda a crazy idea,” Shane said to Wiebe before the next day’s practice. “What if we tried Dillon as center? Put him with LaPointe and Meyer?”

Wiebe frowned. “He’s never played center.”

“No, but he can’t be worse than he is as a winger. Juniors is always focused on its star centers, and a lot of forwards get shoved into winger by default. Maybe Dillon is just misplaced.”

Wiebe shrugged. “We’ll give it a shot.”

And it worked. Kind of. It was a bit clunky, but it wasn’t hopeless. 

At the end of training camp, Wiebe forced all of the players into an hour long seminar he was calling Shane Hollander’s conditioning 101, where Shane laid out the basics of conditioning and training in a way that hockey brains seemed to get. He gave them all packets, and told the rookies and AHL guys that following it could level them up over the competition, and to email him if they ever needed anything personalized.

Wiebe also forced them into Ilya Rozanov’s Chirping 103, which Ilya specifically shaped for adults. He didn’t have his yellow lamp, because as he told them, they all knew what language was bad, and saying it out loud or writing it down wasn’t going to add anything to the conversation.

“You should put that on youtube,” Harris said to him after. “It could really do a lot of good for people looking for teaching materials.”

Ilya preened under the praise. “I would love to. Some day, but would not be safe right now with Russia. Would be considered propaganda.”

“Fuck, I forgot. Sorry, you’re totally right,” Harris said. 

“Someday,” Ilya said, patting Harris on the shoulder, and giving Shane a knowing smile. 

Chapter End Notes

Okay, Haas in this is inspired by the fic ilyuca81 (otherwise known as lukarozanov) by Anonymus. It’s really great and you should all go read it.

Chapter 19: Centaur Strong

Chapter Summary

The centaurs dominate and stuff

Chapter Notes

Surprise!! Second chapter today!! It's been a long day, and I wanted to spread a little more cheer, so here's another!! Only one more chapter to go, and it will be up in the AM!

Ilya

By the end of training camp everyone seemed a bit exhausted, and rolling into the first practice of Preseason, their roster pretty set, Wiebe decided to do a little moral building. 

“Okay guys, let’s try something different to kick us off,” he said before the start of their scrimmage. “We’re gonna test out our PP line. That’s Hollander with Bood and Rozanov for wings. A low buzz filled the ice as the guys traded grins and excited chatter.

Shane met Ilya’s eyes with a secret smile. They had been waiting for this.

“I’ll just wait on the bench,” Bood called. “You won’t even need me.”

Ilya grabbed him by the back of the jersey, and shoved him toward the center ice.

It was perfect. They were playing against Gaspard, Haas, and Holmberg, which wasn’t a horrible second PP line, but didn’t stand a chance against Ilya, Shane, and Bood. Still, they were enough of an obstacle to give a good show. Shane dropped a blind pass to Ilya for their first goal, Bood got the puck to Shane for their second, and Ilya deked, before sliding it to Shane, for their third. Hayes was crying abuse by the end of it. 

“I thought being traded to the same team meant I didn’t have to deal with Hollander and Rozanov shots anymore!”

Every pass was effortless, Ilya knowing where Shane was at all times by instinct.

The team was elated and took that energy right into their first preseason game. 

Preseason was low stakes, which was the perfect opportunity to really focus in on their third and fourth lines to work out the kinks. When Wiebe said the third line was starting, in their first game against Toronto, Ilya could see Dillon slump. 

“He’s going to choke,” he said to Shane under his breath. 

Shane shot him a dirty look, even if he probably agreed with him, and walked up to Dillon. He said something to the man, using his serious face, and Ilya watched him get even greener. He shook his head, and decided to just let the train wreck happen. If the Centaurs had a bad showing in the preseason, people would be even more caught unaware when they killed it when the season started. 

When Wiebe patted Dillon on the shoulder to send him out on the ice for the faceoff, he turned back with a look of absolute dread.

“I’m not a center. I’m a winger, support staff. I’m not a leader of a line,” Dillon said in a rush.

Shane stood, as if to go say something, but Ilya held him in place. Shane’s words hadn’t worked before.

“Okay, so don’t be a center,” Wiebe said. 

“What?” Dillon asked, as if his brain was breaking. 

“Be the middle part of the wing.”

“What?”

“Be the middle wing, not the center,” Wiebe said again. “Instead of leading, support your left and right wing.”

Dillon frowned as if thinking hard. Ilya expected to see smoke coming out of his ears. 

“Middle wing?” he asked.

“Middle wing,” Wiebe said, confidently.

“Middle wing, middle wing,” he chanted, as he made his way to the faceoff.

Ilya looked at Wiebe, who just shook his head and threw up his hands. 

Dillon scored on his second shift. His wingers slammed into him, all three chanting “Middle wing, middle wing.”

“I can’t believe that fucking worked,” Ilya said, and closed Shane’s mouth with his finger. 

“You and me both,” Wiebe said with a grin.

The worst part about preseason was that Montreal and Ottawa played each other three times. The night before their first Montreal game, Ilya got a text.

Unknown number: hey

Unknown number: this is Hayden

Unknown number: we need to talk

Ilya Rozanov: how did you get this number?

Jackie’s husband: you think i dont have your number?

Ilya Rozanov: i did

Jackie’s husband: fuck

Jackie’s husband: whatever

Jackie’s husband: i got it from Jackie

Ilya Rozanov: swear jar

Jackie’s husband: fuck off you fucking fucker

Ilya Rozanov: what do you want puke

Ilya Rozanov: *pike

Jackie’s husband: fuck you

Jackie’s husband: its about Shane

Ilya Rozanov: what about Shane?

Jackie’s husband: JJ heard the guys talking about roughing him up in our game

Ilya Rozanov: did he get specifics? 

Jackie’s husband: no just that they would be targeting him

Ilya Rozanov: ok

Ilya Rozanov: i will handle it

Ilya went to Wiebe the next day before morning skate, and showed him the texts. 

“What do you want to do about it?” Wiebe asked him.

“Play our PP lines. Keep me on ice with him. We could use the practice, is good excuse.”

“Hollander isn’t going to like this.”

“No, but he will understand.”

Ilya told him when they got home from morning skate. “Ilya, I can handle myself,” Shane snapped.

“Yes, but I can handle you better.” He tried to kiss Shane, but Shane pulled away.

“You can’t always protect me. I can take a few hits. I’m not weak.”

“I know, sweetheart. But I will worry less this way. Please, let me have this so we can practice PP in preseason, and I’ll loosen up when the season starts. We won’t see Montreal again for over a month.”

Shane growled, but he relented. 

In the locker room before the team went out for warmups, Ilya got their attention.

“Listen up! Yes, this is preseason, yes, this is low stakes, but no, it does not mean we can slack off. This game against the Metros will not be normal game. They will be targeting Hollander. They will be trying to hurt him. They won’t care about winning if they can take Hollander out before the season starts. We don’t want that. We like Hollander. We need Hollander to win this season. We will protect Hollander—”Shane elbowed Ilya right between the pads—“We will not smother Hollander”—Bood snorted into his arm pads—“We will trust Hollander to take care of himself, and when big homophobic Metros try and take Hollander out, we will kick their asses, yes?”

The room exploded into cheers. Shane buried his face in his hands, but didn’t argue. 

They won. Ilya broke Comeau’s nose. It was a good game. Hayden sent him a mediocre bottle of Vodka that Ilya planned to use for cleaning or something.

For their third preseason game, second against the Metros, someone had apparently told the new Metros star center (a very arrogant kid without the skill to back it up) Shane’s big gay secret, and he decided to say some very rude things in their faceoff. Ilya broke his nose, and was ejected from the game. Totally worth it. They still won. Shane scolded him, and then gave him a blowjob, which wasn’t exactly a proper deterrent. 

For their last preseason game, and third against the Metros, Ilya promised his fiance not to break any more noses. Fortunately, Wyatt Hayes did not promise Shane anything of the sort. He heard Drapeau say something nasty during warmups, and once the centaurs were up two, he left the crease and had a proper goalie fight. Hayes pulled off the other goalie’s mask and broke his nose. They won again. Ilya spent the evening being a super spy(asking his wife) and bought Hayes an expensive collectors edition Batman comic.

With the preseason over, Ilya turned to his husband, and eyed him silently.

“I know,” Shane said.

“We don’t have to,” Ilya told him.

“Yeah, but I want to. On our terms,” Shane said. 

Ilya kissed him. 

Shane

Ilya and Shane got to the locker room early like always, for the first practice of the season Shane was nervous. He dressed quickly, and then sat in his stall, and waited for the rest of the guys to show. When at last they had arrived, Shane stood, and nodded to Ilya.

Ilya stepped up next to him. “Listen up,” Ilya roared, and the team quieted. “My very best friend Shane Hollander has an announcement to make.”

There were a few chuckles, Ilya’s antics on social media well known by now. 

Shane gave him another nod, and turned to the room. 

“Ilya and I are in a romantic relationship. We’re engaged.” Shane paused only for a moment to let it sink in. He saw looks of shock or confusion on a few faces, then focused in on Bood, who was calm and steady. “The coaching staff knows, the team leadership knows. We waited to tell the team until the season started so the roster would be solid. We know this might be hard for some to adjust to, but please understand Ilya and I are professionals, and we will be professionals on the ice. If you have any concerns with us or our behavior, and don’t feel comfortable coming to us, you can talk freely with Bood or Wiebe. That being said, we’re asking you to keep this quiet. We aren’t ready to be public until after Ilya’s residency paperwork is finalized. Russia is not safe for queer people, so this needs to be kept just here until he is safe. Understood?”

People nodded, or mumbled agreement, until Dykstra.

“Wait, back the fuck up. You’re like, together together?”

Had Shane not been clear?

“Yes, Dykstra,” Ilya said, his voice a drawl. “Shane and I are together. We fuck. We live in the same house, sleep in the same bed. We are going to get married and be husbands. Do you understand?”

“Fuck,” Dykstra said, as if getting it at last. “Congrats dudes, that’s awesome!”

That did it for the rest of the guys. 

“Fucking hell.”

“Is that why you came to Ottawa?”

“Woah, power couple!”

“No wonder they’re magic on the ice, it’s the power of gay love.”

“Is that why you carpool every day?”

Shane sighed. Of course someone had noticed. He glanced at Ilya. 

“Okey,” Ilya said, and clapped loudly. “Cliffnotes for the gossips, then we hit the ice, yes?”

There were nods and agreements.

“My very best friend and fiance Shane Hollander and I have been hooking up for years. Since before we were in NHL, so you have always known two rivals who kiss sometimes. Is not new. We got serious in 2017 and engaged last spring. We don’t have date for the wedding yet, but all of you assholes will be invited as long as you stay cool. Okey?”

Supportive shouts and cheers echoed from around the room.

Shane scanned the crowd, everyone seemed okay, there weren’t any dirty looks, maybe a little confusion or shock, but time would tell how they all did. His gaze landed on Haas. He was slumped back in his stall, a dreamy expression on his face, while Hayes fanned him with one of his goalie pads. Hayes caught his eye and winked. 

“Okey, onto the ice, all of you,” Ilya yelled over the noise. The guys started to file out, and Dykstra stepped out of the line to stop in front of Ilya and Shane.

“Wait, but didn’t you used to hook up with like a lot of women?” Shane heard Dykstra say to Ilya.

“Yes, Dykstra, bisexual people exist.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about them.” He turned to Shane. “You too, right? You dated that actress?”

“No, no. Shane is super gay. The actress did not have good time, is why they are friends now.”

Shane elbowed Ilya between his pads. 

“I’m regular gay,” he told Dykstra. It was an old joke, but this time he was saying it to be educational. He really didn’t want Dykstra to think there was a super prefix within the LGBTQ+ community. 

“How is my child doing, Hayes?” Ilya called. 

Haas, who was just starting to stand, noticed Ilya and Shane staring at him, and immediately sat back down. Hayes rolled his eyes. 

“He’s not your child, Roz,” Hayes said, patting Haas on the back.

“Yes, yes. He’s our child,” Ilya said, throwing his arm around Shane. “He has my good looks and Shane’s anxiety. Our first born. Baby Luka, our little bunny.”

Haas looked like he was going to be sick. 

“Ignore him, Haas, he’s just an asshole,” Shane said.

“You like my asshole,” Ilya retorted. 

“Ilya! We said we would be professional. That doesn’t change just because everyone knows.”

“Is fiiine,” Ilya drawled. “Is just our son. His parents are in a happy loving relationship and he needs to get used to it. Here, gimme kiss.”

Shane punched him in the gut, and Ilya snorted but let himself be pushed out of the room.

“Stop teasing him,” Shane ordered.

“Shane, I basically paid for his hockey training. We are family.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.”

“I will tell him.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“After we win cup. He will have summer to deal with it.”

“Okay, maybe.”

Practice went well, no one made a deal out of Shane’s announcement, but he was sure questions would come. Or at least he hoped they did. No questions just meant the guys were stewing in secret. Haas was a little off in practice, but Hayes said he thought he would snap back without an issue once the shock wore off. 

The Centaurs entered the season solid and strong. They won every game, without too much struggle, and with a lot of fan fare. The media kept asking what their secret was, and Shane knew saying having two generational talents who were also in love on a single team, wasn’t the best response, so he told them it came down to training and dedication. Every time they asked why Ilya had chosen Ottawa, he gave them a different absurd reason until #doitforthepoutine was trending. 

Ilya

A few weeks into the season Shane insisted they needed a break from routine and forced Ilya into the passenger seat of the Jeep, and drove them into the countryside. 

Ilya was immediately suspicious. 

Shane never wanted a break from routine. Shane fucking loved routine. Maybe more than Shane loved Ilya.

Shane also never insisted on driving. His car was boring, so when they had to take it, Ilya preferred to drive so he had something to occupy himself. Shane knew a bored Ilya in the passenger seat led to very unsafe and illegal things, so Shane usually didn’t mind giving up the wheel. 

Fifteen minutes into the drive Shane slapped Ilya’s hand away from his thigh.

“Ilya, if you do not stop, you won’t get your surprise.”

“What is my surprise?”

“I’m not telling you, it’s a fucking surprise.”

“Then how do I know it’s worth stopping for?”

“Because if you don’t stop I might accidentally crash and kill us both.”

“I think you are better at multitasking than this,” Ilya argued. 

Shane glared at him, and changed the station to something boring, knowing that would distract Ilya into fiddling with the radio until he found something good again. Well played. 

Eventually, Shane turned up a long winding path, past a sign that said Drover Apples.

“Are we going to get cider? Pick apples? Fuck under an apple tree?”

“Maybe one of those things if you’re really good.”

“Do I get to pick which one?” Ilya asked excitedly.

“No.”

“Do we get to meet Harris’s ghost?”

“I fucking hope not,” his fiance said. Ilya put his hand on his thigh again, and got another slap.

They pulled up to an old farmhouse, and as Ilya opened his door, a pack of dogs came running around the house straight for him. He gasped and dropped to his knees, swarmed by puppies of all ages. They attacked him with kisses and he wished he had more hands to pet all of them at once. This was heaven. He must have died and gone to heaven.

“Hey, guys,” someone called. Harris, Ilya assumed, but he couldn’t see him through the dog pile Ilya was happily on the bottom of. “See you’ve met the crew.”

“Yeah,” Shane said with a laugh. “He’s right where he wants to be.”

Harris introduced the dogs, pointing to each one, and Ilya craned his neck to try and see who all he named. “That’s Max, and Ronald, and Mazie, and Kevin, and potato.” Eventually he got to a smaller wiggly thing with a black coat and little white dots on his snoot. “And this little guy doesn’t have a name yet.”

Ilya gasped and picked up the dog he hadn’t seen below all the others. “Shane, he has freckles just like you!” Ilya pulled him into his lap and tried to pet him, but he was too excited trying to give every inch of Ilya kisses. “Why doesn’t he have a name yet, Harris? Is very mean.”

“He’s a stray. Someone found him and gave him to my sister knowing we take in dogs. We’re trying to find a home for him. Know anyone who could take him?”

Ilya’s head shot up, eyes locking on Harris, who was grinning at him. Ilya turned slowly and found Shane, who had his phone out, snapping pictures, a sweet smile on his face.

“We are getting dog?” Ilya asked, completely ashamed when his eyes started leaking. He buried his face in the puppy’s coat. 

Apparently Shane didn’t love routine more than Ilya. 

“Yeah, baby. If you like him, he’s ours,” Shane said. 

“I love him,” Ilya gasped out, and pet his puppy. “You are my little Bogdan, yes?”

He kissed the puppy’s snout and got a kiss back.

“You’re washing your face before I kiss you again,” Shane grumbled.

Harris invited them in, and they had lunch with his family, and cider. Ilya was only a little disappointed the sex under an apple tree thing wasn’t happening, but he had better things to focus on. Bogdon was a little ball of fluffy energy, and Ilya sat on the floor playing with him for half an hour before his baby curled up in his lap and fell asleep. Shane snapped pictures of Ilya lightly crying as he softly stroked the sleeping dog’s velvet ears. 

“Shane, we must go to the pet store and get all the toys,” Ilya insisted, once they were back in the car, Bogdan on his lap.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Shane said. “I already bought a lot. It’s all hidden in the guest bedroom closet. You can go through everything so you know what you want to buy tomorrow.”

Ilya couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

“I love you so much, Shane.”

Shane grinned. “I know.”

Ilya texted a picture of the puppy to Haas.

Ilya Rozanov: [picture]

Ilya Rozanov: Your new brother Bogdan

Baby boy: What?

Ilya Rozanov: Dont be upset, you will always be my and Shane’s first born son

Baby boy: I am not your child

Ilya Rozanov: Is okay, you are still first in our hearts. Puppy will not replace you

Ilya laughed at the string of curses the rookie sent him, happy he was getting comfortable enough to express himself. 

Ilya Rozanov: They grow up so fast

Chapter End Notes

Don’t worry, They still adopt Anya when she’s found and brought to Harris. Shane said they had to wait at least a year for another dog, so Bodgan gets his sister when she comes along.

Chapter 20: Everything else, for the rest of time

Chapter Summary

The end, happy things happen and all the good guys win.

Chapter Notes

This entire fic ended up WAAAAYYYYYY longer than I intended, but I was on vacation the last too weeks and was really in the zone writing, so I'm so glad I got to share this with all of you, and got it all drafted before I had to go back to work, lol. Hope this gave you all the warm and fuzzies!

Shane

The season continued, an absolute success. People were rumbling about the longest winning streak in Ottawa’s history, and the pressure was up.

Their first game of the season against Montreal was in the first week of November, and according to Hayden they were dedicated to breaking the Centaur’s streak.

Shane wasn’t worried. All streaks came to an end eventually, but theirs would absolutely not be at the hands of the Metros. The Metros were having a horrible season, doing even worse than they had the previous year. It seemed to everyone that their dynasty truly had left with Shane. 

Shane and Ilya got to the rink early for their game, as they always did. The room was full, and Shane was in his base layers, Ilya just his compression pants when Wiebe stepped in. 

“Hollander, Rozanov, my office.”

Shane glanced at Ilya wondering what they had done wrong, but Ilya just shrugged. They put on their slides, and Ilya grabbed a sweatshirt, and they followed Wiebe to his office. Harris was already there, looking pale and upset, holding an Ipad to his chest. Ilya and Shane sank into chairs. 

“What’s wrong?” Shane asked, something like dread running down his spine.

“An article went live about ten minutes ago from TMZ outing you, Hollander. It has quotes from what they call anonymous verified players on the current metros roster.”

“Fuck,” Ilya said.

“Can I read it?” Shane asked. Harris handed over the ipad. 

Shane glanced down at the article, but his eyes didn’t see the words.

“We wanted you to see it before everyone in the locker room finds it,” Wiebe said. 

“Should we tell the men to turn off their phones?” Harris asked.

“No, they should know. The metros will try to use this on the ice. They need to be prepared,” Shane said. 

Wiebe nodded and left to go tell the team. 

“I’ll wait outside,” Harris said, and excused himself.  

Shane tried to focus on the ipad again. Ilya wrapped his arms around him. “You don’t need to read it,” Ilya said.

Shane cleared his throat. “I need to know so I’m prepared to.” He hesitated. “Want me to read it to you?”

Ilya pressed a kiss into his neck. “If it is easier, yes.”

Shane thought that it was. He wasn’t just reading it, he was reading it to Ilya. It was a task, made it easier to compartmentalize. 

Shane read it. It wasn’t kind. It was scathing. It tore apart his leadership, and him as a person, it was homephobic, spoke about fear, disgust, betrayal, and a lack of his morals.

Shane was positive he recognised the tone from the anonymous quotes. 

When he was finished, Ilya took the ipad, turned off the screen, and set it on the desk. 

Shane tipped his head until it was resting on his chest.

“We need to call Farah, and my mom. Put out a statement.”

Ilya squeezed him tighter into his chest.

“Hey, Harris?” Ilya called loudly. 

The door opened. “Yeah, buddy?” 

“Can you go get Shane’s and my phone from the locker room? Then I think we need you, yes? Statements and all that.”

“Absolutely. Be right back.”

The door closed, and Ilya lifted Shane’s head. He felt lips brush against his, and opened to Ilya. He kissed him deeply, slowly. Ilya drew back, pecking him once on the lips, then on his freckles.

“Where is your head?” Ilya asked.

Shane signed, but still didn’t open his eyes. “It’s done. It’s out. I don’t have to hide anymore. I mean, we still have to hide a little longer, but I don’t.” Shane opened his eyes and met Ilya’s. “It fucking sucks it happened this way, but there’s nothing I can do now.”

He just breathed, and let Ilya hold him, until there was a warning knock before the door slowly opened. “Don’t worry, we are not fucking on Coache’s desk,” Ilya said, and Shane snorted.

“Thank God,” Harris said, entering and hanging them back their phones. “I don’t think my heart would handle it today.”

“Would be good way to go, maybe,” Ilya said.

“Still, I’d rather live a nice long life.”

Shane unlocked his phone and . . . that was a lot of messages and missed calls.

Shane glanced at the message counts. The most missed calls were from Hayden. He pulled up their text thread. 

Hayden Pike: SHANE!

Hayden Pike: FUCK

Hayden Pike: IM SO SORRY

Hayden Pike: have you seen it yet?

Hayden Pike: fucking hell, man.

Hayden Pike: I can fix this. 

Hayden Pike: pall me back

Hayden Pike: call

Hayden Pike: please

Hayden Pike: I’d really like your permission before I do this

Hayden Pike: fuck whatever Im doing it

Hayden Pike: sorry but your worth it bro

Hayden Pike: love you

Hayden Pike: call me

“Holy fuck,” Harris said. Shane looked up and caught his eye. His face was pale. “Hayden Pike is your buddy, right?”

“What did he do? He sent me some really weird messages.”

Harris handed over his phone.

[[Sound clip]]

@Hayden Pike☑️

Well, seeing as some assholes hiding behind “anonymous verified players” want to twist the narrative, lets play fuckers. Here’s a very small sample of the kind of shit Shane was putting up with last season. You tell me if he’s a trader for protecting himself.

♥️32k  🗨️21k  🔁31k  ↗️29k

Shane hit play on the sound clip. The recording played, first with a clip of Comeau laughing with someone else, and saying some really racist things about Shane, then implying he was weak and pathetic for dying on the ice, and rounding it off by wishing the medics hadn’t been able to get his heart going again.

Someone asked “How hard do you think we need to hit him to do it again?” They all laugh.

Ilya’s grip on Shane tightened.

The next clip was of Theriault saying some really homophobic shit, with a few racial things thrown in. It wasn’t clear at first who it was about, but then he says Shane’s name and says if Shane isn’t able to handle criticism maybe he isn’t captain material. 

The clips continue, spewing vitriol and hate and threats, all aimed at Shane.

Wiebe comes in toward the end of it, and silently sits at his desk, listening to the slurs and the hate. 

The last clip is the one from Shane’s last day in the locker room when Comeau got right up in Shane’s face and told him his time was over and he better watch his back. 

Silence fell when it ended. Wiebe broke it. 

“What was that?” he asked. 

“Hayden Pike posted clips he recorded in the locker room,” Harris explained. 

“Fuck.” Wiebe stood and poked his head out of the office. “Marshal,” he called. “Find out if Pike is in the building and if he is, make sure he’s somewhere safe. Get him away from his team and somewhere with cameras.”

That woke Shane up. He grabbed his phone. 

Shane Hollander: Where are you? 

Shane Hollander: Are you safe? 

Shane Hollander: Hayd, you shouldn’t have done that

Shane Hollander: I love you man

Shane pulled out of Ilya’s grip and turned to him. He grabbed Ilya’s face and made him look at him. Ilya’s eyes were steely and full of rage. “Listen to me. You are absolutely not allowed to kill anyone. Do you understand? If you go to jail you won’t get any conjugal visits.”

Ilya’s eyes seemed to focus on him. That was good. “Conj— what is this word, Hollander?”

“It’s when they let people in jail have sex visits from family. You won’t get that if you kill a metro and go to jail.”

“What if I get Comeau fired first so he is no longer metro before I kill him?”

“No killing, Ilya. Promise.”

Ilya deflated a little. “Fine, Hollander.” Everyone in the room let out a collective breath. “Just maiming,” Ilya added. “He does not need all of his fingers.”

Shane sighed and turned back to Wiebe. “Now what?”

Wiebe’s shoulders dropped. “Depends a little on what we want to do now. We have grounds to try and get the game canceled. Players out there made death threats against you.”

“No, I want to play. I want to kick their asses.” He glanced at Ilya. “In hockey. I want to beat them in hockey and not have anyone on our team get penalty minutes.”

“Unlikely, Hollander,” Ilya said. 

“Okay, not get any penalty minutes that are not also given to the other team.”

Ilya nodded. “We don’t punch first. We can ask this of them.”

Shane’s phone buzzed.

Hayden Pike: im fine, buddy

Hayden Pike: got escorted out

Hayden Pike: im going to your parents house

Hayden Pike: you and rozanov are paying for the kids schools

Hayden Pike: they put me on waivers

Hayden Pike: still dont regret it

Hayden Pike: totally worth it

Shane Hollander: Of course man. Ilya would buy them all horses and castles and rainbows if he could. 

Shane Hollander: I’m glad you’re safe.

Shane sighed. “Hayden is safe, he’s headed to my parents house.” He glanced at Ilya. “He got put on waivers though, so we have to pay for his kids college fund.”

Ilya narrowed his eyes and glanced at Wiebe. “Shane could use another winger. Holmberg is good, but not keeping up well with him and my son.”

“Right. I’ll take it under advisement.” Wiebe stood. “I need to go deal with some shit. Harris, let me know if you need anything from the media side.”

“Thanks, coach.”

They called Yuna and Farah, and discussed their statements. They already had something drafted for an accidental outing, but this needed something more with the whole fucking bomb of the thing. They coordinated, releasing a statement from Shane confirming his sexuality, his  decision to leave the team due to the toxic culture and refusal of support from leadership, his thanks to Hayden, and his call to action for the league to actually do something good for once and hold players accountable for hate speech. 

The Centaurs released a statement supporting Shane completely.

Shane saw Ilya’s fingers hovering over the keyboard on his phone. “Ilya, this is not the time for asking for donations in the comment section.”

“Gotta keep up the bit, Shane.”

Shane glanced at Harris, expecting for him to be on his side, but Harris just shrugged. “Gotta keep up the bit,” he agreed. 

Ilya grinned and posted his rage bait donation link in the comments of both statements, then saw him click over to Hayden’s post of the recording and do the same. 

“This will be Pike’s most liked post for all time,” Ilya mumbled. 

“Well, if this shit show is over, we need to go get dressed for the game,” Shane said. 

“Thanks for your help, Harris.”

“Any time, man.”

They won the game. It was really really easy with both Comeau and Hayden out. Comeau was benched, a move Wiebe insisted on, and the commissioner reluctantly backed him up. Laughable, Comeau got benched for hate speech and death threats, and Hayden was put on waivers just for posting it. 

It was surprising the number of supportive pride posters scattered through the crowd when Shane knew the audience didn’t have much notice between him being outed and the game starting. He was impressed, and touched at the effort.

The metros seemed shell shocked by the events of the afternoon, not even Drapeau working up the nerve to chirp Shane. With the wind properly taken out of their sails, the Centaurs won 8-0 Shane getting a hat trick, Ilya and Bood both getting 2 goals, and Haas getting one.

After the game, Harris asked Ilya if he was up to talking to the press. He didn’t even pretend to ask Shane.

Ilya nodded, pulling his sweaty compression shirt back on, and followed Harris out of the locker room, his serious game face back on. 

Ilya

Ilya followed Harris to the room with all the reporters and cameras. This was one of the last places he wanted to be right now, but he was willing to do it for his Shane. 

The first reporter hit him with a reasonably tame question.

“What do you think about the article released today about Shane Hollander, and the audio file released shortly after by Hayden Pike?”

“I think anyone who believes that article is foolish homophobic trash, and Hayden Pike is courageous man. Best player on the metros,” Ilya replied.

Harris signaled the next reporter. “How do you feel about the sentiment that if people can’t take locker room talk or chirps then they don’t belong on the ice?”

“I think it is very sad we tell anyone they need to suffer abuse to be a good hockey player,” Ilya said. “Listen. I chirp. I am big chirper. I love to chirp someone and make them punch me so I get a PP. We know this. I am asshole. But I have never said any of the things in those recordings. This is not locker room talk. This is hate speech and death threats, and they do not belong anywhere. I also think telling someone they have to endure hate speech to do their job is fucked up. Is this what we want to teach our children? Too many coaches lead with verbal abuse thinking it will make kids stronger or tougher. It does not. It only teaches kids this is okay to take abuse. It doesn’t belong in hockey, and it doesn’t belong anywhere in the world.”

The next reporter cut in without being called on. “Are you worried about yourself or your teammates knowing you have a gay player in the room?”

“No,” Ilya said, firmly and clearly. “This is gross question. Implies gay men are predators. Being a predator is not specific to sexuality. People who believe a man will take advantage of another man just because he is gay are the same ones who say women are asking for it when they dress a specific way. If you are afraid of a gay man, I think it says more about you and how you treat and view women.”

Ilya saw the blood drain from the man’s face, and tried not to grin. Instead he pointed to another reporter, who said their question with a little more apprehension. 

“Do you feel there are any additional challenges captaining a team with an openly gay player on it?”

“Ah yes, getting stupid questions from press about gay players is a challenge. Gay and queer players are not a challenge, they are an asset. Queer players seem to play better hockey than the straight ones, so, I don’t know, maybe something more players should try.”

There were a few chuckles, but they were nervous. 

“Are you saying being gay makes you a better hockey player?” the same reporter asked.

“Well, why don’t we look at the statistics,” Ilya said, channeling Shane for a moment. “The last five stanley cups have been won by teams with queer captains. That seems to say being queer makes you better at hockey, yes?”

The room grew both more silent and more active as the media seemed to take that in, and calculated the meaning.

Someone in front was the brave one to speak up. “Rozanov, you’ve won two of the last five cups as captain.”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed.

“Are you saying you, yourself are also gay?”

“No, of course not,” Ilya said, a scowl on his face. “I am bisexual, keep up.”

Everyone started yelling their questions at once, and Harris immediately ended things. Ilya was a little sad. He wanted to go another round or two with the reporters. Instead he was led out into the hall. When they were away from the media, Harris slapped his chest with a huge grin. 

“That was awesome! I mean, gonna be a shit show for me on socials later, but man! You really nailed them to the wall!”

Ilya grinned, glad someone appreciated him. “Shane will not be so happy.”

“That’s because Shane is worried about you. Once you get past that, I think he will be proud.”

When Ilya walked back into the locker room, he was grabbed bodily by his fiance and kissed rather nicely. 

The room cheered and cat called, and eventually Shane broke away. 

“That was fucking stupid,” Shane growled, and kissed him once more, quick, but hard.

“The team is with us, Hollander,” Ilya said when he had breath again. “Is safe enough.”

Shane sighed. “I wish you were completely safe,” he said. 

Kip: SCOTT!!

Kip: OMG!! 

Kip: Have you seen this???

Kip: [[link- Clip of Ilya Rozanov destroying homophobic reporters and coming out as bi]]

Scottie🍌🫐: Not possible

Kip: I TOLD YOU!!

Scottie🍌🫐: Fine, my love. I admit it. Your gaydar is better than mine

Kip: I forgive you

Kip🌈♥️🦖: Hey there my Bisexual Baddie Best Friend

Kip🌈♥️🦖: CONGRATS!!!

Kip🌈♥️🦖: That was literally the most entertaining hockey press conference I’ve ever seen

Ilya Rozanov: Thank you Kip ♥️

Ilya Rozanov: Tell your dinosaur man I am now coolest queer out hockey player. Shane is second, so he as to be third

Ilya Rozanov: I specify out because if we included all the closeted he would be like 56th coolest

Kip🌈♥️🦖: I will for sure tell him that.

Shane Hollander: Breakfast tomorrow before you head back to Montreal?

Hayden Pike: yeah man

Hayden Pike: your place?

Shane Hollander: Yeah, come over whenever, just text first.

Hayden Pike: yeah, I’ll absolutely text first dont wanna walk in on rozanov rocking your world

Shane Hollander: Gross

Hayden Pike: yeah super gross

Shane Hollander: fuck you

Hayden Pike: hey, you cant say that to me i just got fired for you

Shane Hollander: Too soon to joke about, man

Hayden Pike: yeah, i thought so as soon as i sent it

Hayden Pike: soooooo im gonna have to cancel

Hayden Pike: the centaurs gm just called me!!???!

Ilya

They did finally lose their winning streak in a game against the Admirals. Ilya called it gay on gay crime in front of a camera, and got scolded by Shane, and Harris, and the PR team and Farah, and Yuna, and basically everyone else. Kip thought it was funny though, so Ilya counted it a win.

The internet, who so rarely agreed on anything, got their collective opinions together, and eventually decided it was the Metros fault for unleashing Hollanov onto the hockey world to destroy every team in their path. Basically literally anything that could be blamed on the Metros, was in fact blamed on the Metros. JJ scored a trade to a team in Florida, and while Hayden and Shane were sad to have him so far, he was super excited for year round summer.

The Metros did not fare well. Hayden’s efforts with the NHLPA and backed up by a mountain of lawyers paid for by Shane, Ilya, and Scott Hunter, eventually made some movement in Montreal. Theriault was fired, and every member of leadership was reprimanded for gross incompetence.

The Centaurs didn’t win every game, but they won a fuck ton of games. They were setting records left and right. Shane, with Hayden and Haas on his line was near perfection, rivaled only by their PP when he had Bood and Ilya by his side. 

No one was surprised when they qualified for the playoffs. Few were surprised when they won the first round. The second and third rounds were a slog. Most of the centaurs had never made a cup run before, and didn’t understand the sheer exhaustion that hit with all the games and travel. Shane and Ilya worked hard to take care of everyone, making sure meal plans were ordered, and people were sleeping enough, and taking care of their injuries properly. When they made it to the finals, they finally did what had never been done before. They won the stanley cup, while wearing centaurs jerseys. The final game was tied going into the third period, and remained that way through the first eighteen minutes. When two minutes remained, Ilya told Wiebe to throw him and Shane into it.

“We’ll get the goal, Coach.” Wiebe nodded and sent in Bood, Shane, and Ilya.  

With twenty seconds on the regulation clock, Bood passed to Ilya who carried the puck up an open channel to the net. He faked a shot, but left the puck behind just for Shane to pick it up a split second later, and send it through the fivehole. 

Ilya slammed into Shane, ripped off his helmet, and kissed him senseless on live TV as Bood slammed into them both, followed by the d-men on shift. Eventually the refs got them to calm down, and reset play for the remaining eighteen seconds of play. They ran out the clock easily, and then their entire team was on the ice, and everyone was hugging and cheering. 

Ilya lifted the cup over his head for the third time in his life, did his lap around the rink, smiling for the camera, and then handed it off to Shane. Their eyes met under the cup, both of them grinning like idiots, and crying a little. Shane did his lap, and handed it off to Bood. 

The family members came onto the ice, and Yuna and David found their way to Shane and Ilya, kissing and hugging them, Yuna wearing a Hollander Jersey, and David wearing a Rozanov jersey. It made Ilya’s heart so happy having his family with him rooting for him.

Eventually Ilya made his way to center ice, pulling Shane along with him, and kissed him clearly for all to see, just in case anyone had missed that kiss right after Shane scored. Just in case anyone doubted who Ilya belonged to. He made sure to use more tongue than Hunter had when he kissed his boyfriend on ice, and changed the game forever. 

In the locker room champagne was a mist on the air, as everyone screamed and celebrated. Ilya drug Shane over to the corner where an excited, exhausted Haas cheered with the other rookies.

“Oh, Haas, my son. I forgot to tell you,” Ilya said, yelling over the noise. “We have met before this year, you should know.”

“What?” Hass asked, confused.

“Well, not met, but we chatted online. For years. You and me with different names.”

“What?” he asked again, a little waver in his voice.

“I am LilyHollander24,” Ilya said with a grin.

“What?” he yelped, and he fell back into his stall. 

Ilya looked down at him. “You know, I thought he would be happier,” he said to Shane.

“No you didn’t you asshole,” Shane said, but he still kissed him. 

Ilya Rozanov: You loose

Ilya Rozanov: Two young hot queer hockey players kissing after cup win is still better than one old queer hockey player and one hot sexy grad student

Kip’s boyfriend🦖: Fuck you

Kip’s boyfriend🦖: Copy cat

Scott Hunter: Hollander, can you please leash your boyfriend?

Scott Hunter: Congratulations though, seriously. Well done

Shane Hollander: *fiance

Scott Hunter: HES THE FIANCE??

Shane Hollander: Did you think I was just cheating on my fiance with Ilya or something?

Scott Hunter: You know, I think my brain just wasn’t willing to make that connection.

Shane Hollander: Fair. 

Kip🌈♥️🦖: Congrats bestie!! 

Kip🌈♥️🦖: I’ve been telling your fiance for months to give me your number. Now I know why he kept dodging the question! It’s because I already had it! Fuck you for not telling me! Also I love you. Also Scott is in physical pain over not figuring it out.

Ilya Rozanov: Poor old man. We should put him on hospice. 

Ilya Rozanov: Love you, Kip. When your boyfriend dies move to Canada, I know nice gay apple farmer you might like.

Kip🌈♥️🦖:*fiance

Ilya Rozanov: WHAT??? NO!! DO NOT MARY THE OLD MAN KIP!!

Ilya Rozanov: Actually? No. you get that bag. Put a ring on it so you get the money when he dies

Ilya Rozanov: I approve

Kip🌈♥️🦖:♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

[[Video clip thumbnail of Ilya Rozanov in a centaurs jersey with hearts in his eyes on the ice]]

@CentaursNHLofficial☑️

Now that Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander are Cup Kiss Official, here’s a compilation of every clip our social media manager had to cut in the last year because one or both of these two lover boys was too busy throwing heart eyes at the other, and we promised to keep secrets.

♥️3.4m  🗨️3.1m  🔁3.3m  ↗️2.9m

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Yes, yes, Ilya Rozanov is secretly big softy and very in love with his very good best fiance Shane Hollander. Harris you should know all the scowly angry kitten faces Shane made back were also flirting. Donate to our charity people [link]

♥️2.8m

[[Video clip thumbnail of Shane Hollander in a centaurs jersey making a scrunched up angry face.]]

@CentaursNHLofficial☑️

Well you asked for it. Here’s a compilation of every time Shane Hollander made a scowly flirty face at his fiance Ilya Rozanov last year, that our social media man didn’t know he was supposed to cut, because apparently these are also heart eyes. “Angry kitten heart eyes” -Ilya Rozanov

♥️2.5m  🗨️2.1m  🔁2.3m  ↗️1.9m

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

Thank you Harris, you are doing the good work. I will keep this forever, re watch every night before bed. You are a blessing ♥️🌈🍎♥️🌈🍎♥️🌈🍎♥️🌈🍎

Anyone who dared look upon my perfect Shane and his scrunched up freckles owes me $2 donation to our charity, now! [link]

♥️1.8m

[[A picture of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov on ice at All Stars 2017. Shane is smiling brightly after just winning a goal, and Ilya Rozanov is kissing his helmet.]]

[[A picture of Shane Hollander on the ice, his heart has stopped and medics are trying to resuscitate him. Ilya Rozanov is hanging onto him, very distraught, his leg behind him sits at a bad angle.]]

@Lisa Hollanov

Here is a detailed timeline and catalogue of evidence proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are not just friends, but have been lovers since Shane’s public breakup at the end of 2016, and this whole foundation and charity donation scam is just to cover it up. [thread]

♥️123k  🗨️98k  🔁62k  ↗️78k

@Ilya Rozanov☑️

This is very detailed work. Thank you for being such a close and invasive, I mean attentive fan to the careers and personal lives of myself and my very good friend Shane Hollander. Your thesis however is incorrect and harmful and needs more peer review. 

The Irina Foundation is not a scam, it is a real foundation doing good to support mental health organizations fighting against suicide and depression, which kills more than 720,000 people worldwide every year. Here is our publicly available tax and financial records [Link]

To help support this cause, you can donate here [Link]

Also, Shane Hollander thinks the word lovers is gross. 

Also, sharing a photo of someone experiencing a medical emergency for likes is very gross.

♥️112k

@Lisa Hollanov

Pay attention people! He didn’t deny they’re lovers!!

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@Shane Hollander☑️

Gross. Please stop using that word. Also, please don’t refer to our charity as a scam. We are trying hard to do good work and give back to a world that has supported our careers for years. 

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@Lisa Hollanov

Sorry Mister Hollander

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@Ilya Rozanov☑️

She listens to you but not to me????

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@Shane Hollander☑️

Her profile says Hollanov, not Rozander

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@Ilya Rozanov☑️

🖕

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New comment:

@Lisa Hollanov 

@Ilya Rozanov☑️ excuse me sir, anything you with to apologise for here??? 🏆👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨

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@Ilya Rozanov☑️

No. Our charity has never been a scam, my Shane does hate the words lovers, and we became lovers long, long before 2016. You still lose.

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Chapter End Notes

Don't worry, they still have room for Troy on Ilya's line when he comes along.

I don't know if this will ever have a sequel but I will likely keep writing oneshots, so follow along if you're interested! My sickfick oneshot (fevered) with soft Ilya and protective Shane is live now, and I'm working on one of David's accidental relationship reveal via Google translate 🥰
Thank you all who read and left comments and kudos. I'm so glad I got to share this fic with you!