Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Zane Boodram, Wyatt Hayes, Harris Drover, Troy Barrett

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), alternate tlg ch 23, in which shane does not go back home to montreal, but goes to get his man, at the ottawa centaurs holiday party, now with ch 2!, ft candid photos and backyard talks and an unexpected amount of bbq

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2025-12-30 Completed: 2026-01-30 Words: 7,865 Chapters: 2/2

driving home to you

Summary

Zane Boodram swung the door open, cutting himself off when he saw who waited on the other side.

“Hollander!” he greeted after a second, voice warm but eyes wide in shock. “Wasn’t expecting you tonight!” He paused for a moment, then continued in a softer tone, still warm but growing in confusion. “Not to be blunt, but what the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh, um… Ily—Rozanov invited me.”

Or, after their fight, Shane turns around.

Notes

just like everyone else on the internet, i have not been able to let these two go. jacob tierney you are a star.

and now somehow i have two fics named after olivia rodrigo songs (so far). enjoy :)

Chapter 1

I already chose you, Hollander. 

Shane sped along the highway back to Montreal, the words twisting in his chest. How could he have been so blind? He knew that Ilya could put on a good front—after all, they’d been putting one up together for years—but he was the one person that was supposed to always be able to see past it. Now, Ilya’s words echoing in his head, he forced himself to really think through everything that Ilya had given up. His team. His country. His home. Moving to play for a bottom-of-the-barrel team in a boring Canadian city with no friends, and for what? A secret boyfriend who lived hours away? Who wouldn’t even go with him to a casual holiday party as a friend?

Shane fought the urge to bury his head in his hands. He thought he’d been aware of the sacrifices Ilya had made; in the early days, it honestly felt like Shane spent too much time stressed about what Ilya was giving up. Unlike him, Ilya didn’t have to live this life. He could find a nice girl to marry, one he actually loved. Who was Shane to stand in his way?

But Ilya always just rolled his eyes. “How could you have already forgotten, Hollander?” he would say. “You are a horrible problem, yes, but one I never want to go away.” He’d press a sloppy kiss to Shane’s cheek before pulling back to survey him, brow arched. “Should I spend just as much time worrying about you running away with a nice, young man in Montreal as you do thinking of me with this imaginary woman?” And Shane would sigh, forced to acknowledge he was being ridiculous. Yes, there were easier alternative paths out there for both of them, but this was the one they wanted. The one they chose. To be with each other, no matter the cost. 

So Shane had let it go. Their relationship solid, he instead focused on the execution of their plans: announce the foundation, win the cup, run the camps, lay low. As long as their plans went off without a hitch, they could enjoy happiness in the little moments. The future could wait. All theirs, just… someday.

But Ilya deserved better than someday. Ilya was unhappy now. 

Fuck. Shane bit back a rush of frustration. Why couldn’t Ilya have just talked to him, instead of bottling it all up inside? 

But Shane knew why. He knew he could be single-minded, almost callous, in his march toward a goal. Relax, Hollander, Ilya tutted nearly every day. His mention of the party tonight had seemed so casual, but Shane knew now that it was more than that. It had been Ilya’s tentative probe into Shane’s headspace. One Shane had swatted aside without a second thought. 

Finally, Shane came up on a highway exit and immediately took it, rolling to a stop in the first empty parking lot he saw. What the fuck was he doing? Ilya had told him to go home, but he couldn’t go—not like this. Not when the next time they saw each other wouldn’t be for weeks. 

Hands shaking, he pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over Ilya’s name for a moment before shoving it back in his pocket. Shane didn’t want to just hear Ilya’s voice over the phone. He had to see him. To hold him in his arms as he apologized. Profusely. 

There was nothing else to be done. Shane gripped the steering wheel, drawing in a slow breath as he pulled out into the night, back the way he came. 

By the time Shane was parked back in Ilya’s driveway, the house was dark. He slowly fished out his keys and unlocked the door, walking a tentative path through the living room.

“Ilya?” He called out as he climbed the stairs. There was no reply. In the bedroom, the bed stood unmade and empty.

Shane was surprised. When Ilya was upset, he tended to stew away alone, rarely seeking the comfort of a larger crowd. Who would he have gone to now? Shane knew he liked his teammates, but there was always a sense of distance in the way he talked about them. An unfortunate, Shane-sized sense of distance.

Shane groaned, flopping back on the bed. Maybe Ilya had gone to the party after all, seeking a distraction after their fight. 

He curled up on his side, scrolling through his contacts in search of someone it would be reasonable to ask for Bood’s address. There was nobody, because in what world would Shane Hollander need Zane Boodram’s address? The best option would be Wyatt Hayes, whose number Shane had from their summer charity camps, but even he would be perplexed why Shane was asking him instead of Ilya.

Just call him, Shane thought miserably, but then just as quickly pushed the thought back out of his mind. If he called Ilya, Ilya could do something like hang up. And Shane had already come this far.

Shane opened the map on his phone, beginning to just scroll aimlessly when he remembered he had something even better: Ilya’s location. 

It seemed so obvious he felt like an idiot for not thinking of it earlier, but it was something Shane never thought about. Years ago, they had exchanged locations in case of emergency, but Shane never checked it, claiming it made him feel like a stalker. Ilya had no such qualms, spending weeks sending Shane messages like “enjoy your burrito xx” every time he so much as stepped out of the house.

Well now Shane definitely felt like a stalker, zooming in on Ilya’s blue dot on the screen. It seemed to be at a large house in a nice residential neighborhood twenty minutes away. 

Was he really about to do this? Just show up unannounced at the Centaurs holiday party? It felt crazy, crazier than anything he had ever done before. But Shane thought back again to the splintering sadness in Ilya’s eyes, the defeated slump of his shoulders as he told Shane to go home. There was no question. Ilya was worth it.

So he hurried down the stairs, back into the car, and stalked Ilya to Zane Boodram’s house.

The drive passed in a blur—a constant ricochet between aching guilt and crushing anxiety, flashes of Ilya’s face mixed with carefully rehearsed lines justifying Shane’s presence at the party.

Now Shane sat frozen in his seat, his car carefully parked three houses away. He peered down at his phone screen, tapping Ilya’s location one last time. Yep, this had to be it. He tore himself out of the car, the brief walk to the end of the cul-de-sac feeling more like a death march.

Bood’s house was the largest on the block and absolutely covered in Christmas lights. An inflatable centaur wearing a Santa hat bobbed by the mailbox, nearly obscuring the path as it toppled to the side. Shane carefully sidestepped it, allowing himself one final deep breath before he reached the front door and gave a gentle knock. 

“Coming!” A voice boomed over the chatter and music inside. “Classic Rooks, always showing up halfway through, too scared to ring, making me listen for your quiet little knocks—”

Zane Boodram swung the door open, cutting himself off when he saw who waited on the other side.

“Hollander!” he greeted after a second, voice warm but eyes wide in shock. “Wasn’t expecting you tonight!” He paused for a moment, then continued in a softer tone, still warm but growing in confusion. “Not to be blunt, but what the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh, um… Ily—Rozanov invited me.” This was the script that Shane had prepped in the car, but the words were harder to get out than he had imagined. “I’m home for the holidays, and um, had a free evening.” 

Shane offered a weak smile, suddenly doubting everything. It was terribly rude, imposing on Bood’s hospitality like this. Yes, he had to talk things out with Ilya, but just barging over here like this—who did he think he was, the love interest in an eighties rom-com? Was he going to pull a boom box out from his trunk? He was just about to stutter out an apology and race back to the car, when Bood let out a jolly laugh.

“Oh, of course he did! Classic Rozanov, not offering to host but extending out my invitation to whoever he wants.” Shane’s face flamed, and now he really was going to run back to the car, but Bood was already ushering him in. “Well welcome, Hollander! Happy holidays—honored to have you spending it in enemy territory.”

Shane was debating whether he should actually step into the house or not, when Bood turned to shout at someone over his shoulder. “Hey Rozanov! Thanks for the heads up about the rival captain you invited!”

“What?” Shane heard Ilya reply before he came into view behind Bood. He wore his classic crooked Rosanov smile, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. Clearly halfway to plastered. But Shane could see that underneath it all, he looked miserable. 

Ilya spotted Shane, his eyes widening. The mask slid off. “Shane,” he said breathlessly.

“Well don’t just stand there, come on in!” Bood said, gesturing Shane in again. Shane mindlessly followed, not taking his eyes off Ilya. Ilya had frozen, just standing there staring back at him.

Bood shut the door behind Shane and launched into his party introduction, blissfully unaware of whatever staring match Shane and Ilya were engaged in. “We got BBQ set up on the counter, Christmas cookies by the fireplace. Hazy’s got a gallon of his infamous eggnog out next to the sink, but up to you if you want to risk that one.”

“Hollander is too healthy to touch any of that,” Ilya snarked automatically. His eyes hadn’t left Shane’s.

“Well, not to worry, we’ve got a veggie tray set up on the coffee table. Plus some apple slices courtesy of Harris and family!” Bood looked back to where the two of them still stood motionless by the door, finally seeming to detect the strange tension in the air. “Well, I gotta go check on the ice supply.” He gave Shane a rough pat on the shoulder. “Welcome to the party, Hollander!”

That snapped Shane out of it enough to flash Bood a polite smile. “That all sounds great—thank you so much.” 

Bood nodded in return, then he was gone.

It felt strangely quiet in the entryway, the party a million miles away.

“Hi,” Shane breathed.

“How did you find me?” Ilya asked. He looked like he didn’t quite believe Shane was really there.

“I can stalk you, remember?”

“Oh, yes,” Ilya said, but his voice broke on the second syllable, and the next thing Shane knew he had rushed forward and Ilya was wrapped in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Shane whispered into the crook of Ilya’s neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Ilya said into Shane’s hair.

Shane wanted to protest, knowing that he was the one who really needed to apologize, but he held off. For now, all he needed was to hold Ilya close.

“We should not do this here,” Ilya said after a moment, starting to pull away. “Anyone could walk in.”

Shane clutched Ilya tighter, not ready to let him go. “I don’t care.”

Ilya huffed out a soft laugh, disentangling himself from the hug. He stopped to briefly to run his thumb over Shane’s cheek. “Yes, moya lyubov, you do. But it is okay, so do I.” He reached to pull the door open. “Come on, let’s go outside.”

They slipped out the door, Ilya tugging on the first coat he saw off the coatrack. The only sound was the puff of their breath as they strolled down the sidewalk, rounding the corner onto another block.

“It’s fucking freezing,” Ilya finally said. “This coat, whoever’s it is, is absolute shit. I’m betting Hayes.”

“You know you could’ve taken the time to find your own coat.”

“No, not when my boyfriend has just shown up to Ottawa Centaurs’ holiday party to see me. No wasting time for coat finding.”

Shane sighed, deciding that was as good an opening as he was going to get. “I’m sorry about the party. About not getting that it was about so much more than the party. I’m sorry for not paying attention.” He scuffed his shoe at a crack in the sidewalk before turning to meet Ilya’s eyes, taken aback by the level of somberness in Ilya’s face.

“I am sorry too,” Ilya said. “I should not have asked so casually. It is a big deal, I know. I have just had… a lot on my mind.”

Shane felt his eyes well up with tears. “I’m sorry if you felt like you couldn’t tell me,” his voice came out strangled, barely more than a whisper. “I know I can be… focused, but I don’t want it to seem like you’re not a priority.” He paused, and it was like a dam had broken, the tears spilling out and over his cheeks. “I just want you to be happy.” 

“Oh, Shane,” Ilya said, pulling him close. Shane sniffled into his shoulder, embarrassed. He was the one who was supposed to be apologizing, and now Ilya was comforting him. “It is… complicated. I am happy, lots of the time. On the ice, with the team, with you.” At this, Ilya pressed a kiss into the top of Shane’s head. “But other times, not so much. I think I am… I think I am like my mother. Depressed.”

Shane pulled back to look up at Ilya, to let him know that he was listening.

“Some days it is not so bad,” Ilya continued, running a soft hand through Shane’s hair. “But other days… it is hard. I’ve started talking to a therapist. Galina. That helps, a bit.”

“Oh,” Shane breathed. He couldn’t disguise his surprise, but he pushed it aside for now. This moment was about Ilya. “I’m sorry it’s been hard. But I’m glad you have someone.”

“Yes,” Ilya said, now tucking a stray strand of hair behind Shane’s ear. “But I should have told you too.”

“You told me now,” Shane said, hazarding a small smile.

“Yes,” Ilya said again. He smiled back before looking away and out into the dark street, his face growing pensive again. “I think it has just gotten harder for me… keeping this secret.” He looked back at Shane, tracking his freckles with his thumb. “You are just such a big part of me. How can they get to know me without knowing you?”

Shane felt his eyes watering again, but he blinked the tears back. “Maybe… in a bit we can go back in and I can meet your team? I don’t think I’m ready to come out or anything, but you’re right, there’s no reason I can’t get to know them as your friend.”

“Shane…” Ilya said. “You do not have to do this. We have both been upset tonight, do not need to do anything, what’s the word… rash.”

Shane knew it was rash, knew him coming here at all had been rash, but he found he truly didn’t care. “No, I want to. This is important. You talk about these people all the time, and I want to know them as more than just names and faces. I want to know your life.”

Ilya was giving him the sappiest smile, clearly tears in his eyes, and Shane couldn’t help but press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Bood was really nice at the door,” Shane added. “So I’m sure it will totally be fine. Worst comes to worst, I’ll just hide in the corner eating veggie sticks.”

Ilya laughed, pulling him in to kiss him again. “I love you.” He kissed Shane firmly once, twice more before releasing him and starting down the block. “Now let’s walk for a bit so they cannot tell you have been crying into my coat.”

“Hey!” Shane sputtered, scrambling to catch up. “It’s not even your coat!” 

He glanced around before lacing Ilya’s fingers through his, tucking their hands together into his coat pocket. “But yes, I love you, too.”

Chapter 2

Chapter Summary

Ilya steered them over to the living room with a grin. “See, Hollander? No grand introductions necessary.” He plopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and nudging the tray of snacks toward Shane. “Now eat your veggie sticks.”

Or, Shane attends the party.

As they completed their lap around the block and started to approach the house again, Shane could feel his nerves start to return.

“Breathe,” Ilya said. They had dropped their hands as soon as they rounded the corner, but now Ilya grasped his again for a quick squeeze. “We do not have to do this, you know. We can just go home, have a nice night in.” He gave Shane’s shoulder a playful bump.

That did sound nice. Shane was tempted by it, the option to return to their warm bubble, just the two of them. He couldn’t lie, a Centaurs team event was not something he’d been dreaming of. Not because he didn’t want to—he’d just never even considered it a possibility. They were a secret; that was the deal. But now that he’d realized how badly Ilya wanted things to be different, Shane could at least consider opening the door too. Just a crack.

“No, we’re going.” Shane strode forward faster so he didn’t lose his nerve.

“Alright, Hollander. Just breathe.”

Shane rolled his eyes at Ilya’s placative tone but obeyed. Slowly inhaled, exhaled. Felt his hands steady, his mind clear.

“Okay, so you’ll do most of the talking then, right? Facilitate intros and explanations and all that.” If they were going to do this, Shane figured they should go in with a clear game plan.

“Yes, right at the door, I will be sure to shout to everyone, ‘Hello, may I now introduce Mr. Shane Hollander! None of you have ever heard of him before. Yes, he is a beautiful man, but no, he is not here because we fuck. Yes, I agree, that is a huge tragedy.’”

Ilya stumbled slightly at Shane’s responding shove.

“Shane, it is a holiday party for a hockey team,” he said, grasping both of Shane’s shoulders and forcing him to look him in the eye. “The most introduction you will have to do is a fist bump. They might be surprised you are here for a second, yes, but then someone will offer them another beer and they’ll have already forgotten, okay?”

“Okay,” Shane said.

“Besides, they will love you. You should be more worried about whether you will like them. And we leave whenever you want, okay?”

“Okay,” Shane said again.

“Good.”

They had reached the house. For the second time tonight, Shane was somehow standing outside Zane Boodram’s door.

He looked at Ilya, but Ilya just shrugged. It was up to Shane to make the final call.

So Shane heaved a final breath, squared his shoulders, and reached for the handle. He was a goddamn Olympian, MVP, three-time Stanley Cup champion. He could handle an Ottawa Centaurs Boxing Day party.

“Let’s do this.”

Inside, the party was in full swing, but not quite the way Shane had imagined. Cheerful Christmas music blasted from the speakers, and the TV displayed a fake crackling fireplace (for some reason, directly overhead the real crackling fireplace). Players milled about, and it was clear from their broadly gesturing arms and bellowing laughter that they were a few drinks in, but in a way that felt… cozy, rather than debauched. Shane wasn’t the biggest Montreal party attender, but as captain he’d dutifully shown face enough times over the years to feel the difference. Here, many of the players had their arms wrapped around their wives, matching Christmas sweaters on display, and the ones who didn’t were playing what appeared to be an intensely competitive game of poker in the corner. No one batted an eye at their arrival.

Ilya steered them over to the living room with a grin. “See, Hollander? No grand introductions necessary.” He plopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and nudging the tray of snacks toward Shane. “Now eat your veggie sticks.”

Shane rolled his eyes, but sank down onto the couch beside Ilya, a foot of space between them, and bit into a piece of celery. He surveyed the room again as he chewed. “It’s different than I thought.”

Ilya scooted in to grab his own celery stick, closer to Shane than before but still far enough to be socially acceptable. “Good different or bad different?”

“Good different, I think.”

“I told you Centaurs are a good team. Good at hockey—meh, still getting there—but a good team.” He slung his arm over the back of the couch, letting it just barely brush Shane’s shoulders. “You want to talk to other people?”

“Mm, not yet,” Shane said. “But if you want to, you should feel free.”

He was sure this wasn’t how Ilya usually spent team parties, sitting quietly in the corner with the veggie tray. Although he supposed he really couldn’t say for certain—it wasn’t like they’d ever been to a gathering like this together. Sure, there was the annual All-Stars madness, but there they were always extremely careful with their interactions; Shane tended to just watch from a distance as Ilya worked the room, drawing out rancorous laughter and pumping up the dance floor. It was in those moments that Shane felt most acutely the distance between Rosanov, the notorious persona both loved and hated, and Ilya, the man who’d slowly blink awake tangled up in Shane’s sheets.

But here it seemed like Ilya embodied something in between. Not quite the soft Ilya Shane only saw at home, but not the Rosanov mask either. Something new. Shane liked it—liked that Ilya felt comfortable enough with his team to be it.

“No, I will not leave you to talk to these people,” Ilya said. “That is what I do every day. Very boring.”

“More boring than me?” Shane asked dryly.

“Da, Hollander, that’s how you know. I had to invite the most boring man in the world to save me from even boring-er party.” He subtly brushed his fingers over the ends of Shane’s hair, eyes soft. “But not to worry, they cannot leave me alone for long. Captain is always the star guest of the party.”

Shane scoffed, but true to Ilya’s word they were only alone for another minute before a figure plopped into the overstuffed armchair beside them.

“Hey, Cap, thought you left!” Wyatt Hayes beamed. “And Hollander, good to see you! Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Yes, Hollander was very sad and lonely at his parent’s house. He texted me ‘please Ilya, please do you have anything I can do tonight?’ And I said there is Bood’s Boxing Day party, but it will be very awkward if you come, Centaurs are the coolest team and you are our worst enemy. But then he sent me so many crying emojis—I felt very bad, I had to invite him.”

Shane glared, but he had to fight back the smile threatening to break through. “Oh, fuck off.”

Wyatt was laughing. “I’ve missed seeing the two of you together. Roz truly does come for you like no one else.”

Shane felt his cheeks flush, expecting the usual accompanying surge of panic whenever someone commented too closely on their interactions, but it didn’t come. Wyatt knew them; he wasn’t reading into anything further. And Ilya was wearing his classic crooked smile—the one he wore when poking fun at Shane, yes, but really the one he wore when poking fun at anyone.

“So how’ve you been, Hollander?” Wyatt asked earnestly.

“Oh, uh… good,” Shane said, surprised at being addressed. “Always a lot of pressure the season after winning the cup, but generally doing well.”

“Always pressure after winning the cup, he says. Sounds like a rough life!”

“Oh, I mean—” Shane started, but Wyatt just jostled his shoulder.

“Nah, I’m just playing! I’m sure that’s tough. I’ve seen how things are on the ice though, what about off it? How’s life?”

Shane frantically rifled through his brain for anything in his life that wasn’t about hockey or Ilya. “Um…”

“I don’t think Hollander understands this question,” Ilya cut in. “What do you mean, this ‘life’ off the ice?”

“Hey, I have a life!” Shane shot back, inwardly grateful for the interjection. He looked back at Wyatt. “I spent Christmas with my parents—that was nice.”

“Sweet!” Wyatt replied, easily ignoring Ilya’s muttered chirp of Christmas with your parents is not a ‘life’, Hollander. “Any good presents?”

Shane’s mind immediately went back to the present that Ilya had grumpily thrust in hands the day before, the unexpected picture of the two of them cracking up on the ice mid-photoshoot, back on the day it had all started. It made him want to smile and cry at the same time.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “My parents are really thoughtful.”

“What about you?” Shane continued before Wyatt had a chance to ask any follow up questions. “How was your Christmas?”

“Oh, amazing,” Wyatt started, launching into a long-winded tale somehow involving cranberry sauce, a broken window, and multiple herds of wild animals. Shane nodded along, reacting in the right places, letting his mind drift. He felt grounded by Ilya’s presence beside him, the warmth of his arm over the back of the couch feeling almost like an embrace. This wasn’t so bad. This wasn’t so bad at all.

Soon more Centaurs joined the fray, eager to hang out with their captain and his surprise guest.

Shane found himself growing slightly more overwhelmed with each new addition, but Ilya deftly steered the attention away, weaving more and more elaborate tales of how pitiful Shane had been before Ilya finally deigned to extend an invite. Shane groaned each time, but couldn’t deny deep down he was grateful for Ilya’s antics.

It also gave him immediate shared ground with anyone he met.

“I can’t believe you’re friends with this asshole,” Bood said, jerking his thumb in Ilya’s direction. They were strolling through the kitchen, having left the crowd to fulfill Bood’s quest of finding an adequate piece of barbeque for Shane. We’ll cut the leanest, blandest piece out there for you, Bood had said. And it’ll still change your life, I promise.

“Well, friends is a strong term,” Shane said now, wavering his hand in a so-so gesture. “At least I’m not the one who has to see him every day.”

Bood let out a delighted laugh, like witnessing Shane Hollander chirping Ilya Rozanov was all he’d ever dreamed of. “Right you are.”

“He seems happy tonight,” Bood continued, absently poking through the various piles of meat before starting to saw off an apparently satisfactory piece. “Happier than usual.”

Bood speared the chunk onto Shane’s plate and looked up, seeming to falter momentarily at whatever he saw in Shane’s expression. “I mean, sorry, not sure how well you two know each other. Just, you know Roz, always spouting bullshit, making the guys laugh. Knows the right thing to say, even if it’s shit I’d never say in a million years. But sometimes, I swear, I never know what’s really going on in his head.”

“Yeah, an enigma for sure,” Shane murmured. It was uncanny, the level of care the Centaurs seemed to put into understanding one another as people, not just on the ice. He’d certainly never been on a team like that before. Did the Voyageurs care at all about Shane, or just the Hollander mask?

Ilya’s head suddenly appeared between them, a hand resting on each of their shoulders. “Ooh! Is Hollander finally going to try the barbeque?”

“Yep, here’s the best piece I could find.” Bood slid the plate in Shane’s direction.

“By best, he really means worst,” Ilya chimed. “You’re missing out on all the good stuff—the fat.”

Shane rolled his eyes, cutting off a small piece and lifting it to his mouth. He chewed, swallowed. “Damn, that’s good.”

“Told you!” Bood and Ilya exclaimed in unison. Bood looked pleased—his perfect host track record still intact. Ilya was just beaming, his attempt at a smug smile ruined by the way he looked so incandescently happy.

Shane allowed himself a moment of smiling helplessly back before taking another bite. Wow. Bood really did know what he was talking about.

As the night wound down, Harris was desperately trying to corral the team for a group photo. It wasn’t going well.

“Come on guys, you can’t all be seen! I need levels, levels. Some of you come around in front of the couch!”

Shane privately thought taking a photo would’ve been a better idea before all the alcohol was consumed, but hey, it wasn’t his team’s party.

“Shane… Shane!” Harris gestured eagerly toward where Shane leaned against the wall, surveying the chaos from a distance. “You want to get in here? Show a little cross-team sportsmanship?”

“No, definitely not,” Shane laughed awkwardly.

“Aww.” Harris made pleading puppy-dog eyes. “The fans would love it…”

“No,” Ilya said firmly. His tone left no room for argument. “Harris, why don’t you get in for once? Hollander can take the photo. If he is capable of lining up the shot—I know shot accuracy is very difficult for him.”

“Fuck off,” Shane said on instinct. “But yeah, I’m happy to take it.”

“Oh, okay!” Harris seemed flustered but pleased. “Just let me snag a couple first, then I’ll jump in.”

“See, Hollander? Harris does not trust your photo-taking skills either.”

“No, no!” Harris sputtered. “I just had a very particular vision, it’s nothing against you, Shane, I promise.”

“All right everyone!” Bood’s voice boomed over the chaos. “Let’s ignore Roz—smiles on three!”

Harris counted down and took what seemed like a hundred photos, thumb clicking faster than Shane thought was humanly possible.

He then turned to Shane, trying to hand over the phone in a way that preserved its positioning. “Okay, you’ll just want to frame it just… like… this.”

Shane took the phone, and Harris scurried over to the team, scooching hesitantly into a spot beside Troy Barrett.

“Okay, guys,” Shane called, fighting to keep his voice steady. It was a bit overwhelming, the room the closest to quiet it had been all evening, all eyes on him. “Um, say ‘Go Centaurs’!”

“Go Centarus!” the team rowdily chorused back. Shane took a quick video, then snapped a few pics—even a couple candids once the team started to disassemble. Hopefully Harris would like that.

Through it all, he couldn’t take his eyes off Ilya’s face in the little phone screen. His grin was wide and easy, the way it had been all night. As Shane lowered the camera, their eyes met for a moment, and he couldn’t help but smile goofily back.

“Thanks Shane!” Harris hurried back over to retrieve his phone, snapping Shane out of it. He laughed as he scrolled through the photos, lingering on one of the candids. “Wow, these are great! You really captured the team’s essence.”

“I’m glad.” Shane’s cheeks warmed, feeling ridiculously pleased at the compliment. It was just nice to know that he had been helpful, that Ilya bringing him here hadn’t just been a burden.

“It was really nice of you to come by,” Harris said, as if reading Shane’s thoughts. “You bring a comforting energy to the place. Balances out the chaos.” As if on cue, across the room Luca Haas let out a loud screech, desperately dodging the threat of Ilya’s headlock.

“Oh, thanks.” Shane wasn’t sure he’d ever been called comforting before. He’d always thought of himself as more of a nervous wreck. “It’s really nice to be here. Very different from Voyageur parties.”

“Oh? How so?”

“You know, fewer tequila shots and supermodels, more… veggie sticks and Christmas sweaters.” And openly gay social media managers, he added mentally.

Harris chuckled. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting this either. I’m lucky, the Centaurs are a great team.”

He looked back down at his phone for a moment again before pausing. “Hey—you still haven’t been in any photos! You want me to take one of you and Ilya?”

Shane was about to say no, had the word ready on his lips, when he stopped to reconsider. He and Ilya took so few photos together—they were either publicly available official shots, or ones hidden under lock and key. But now here they were at a casual gathering, one where plenty of others had seen them together and thought nothing of it. Maybe they should.

“Rozanov!” Shane called before he thought better of it.

Ilya immediately looked up, abandoning his chase of Luca to come to Shane’s side. “Yes?”

“Um, Harris offered to take a photo of the two of us, if you want.”

The surprise on Ilya’s face was apparent.

“No pressure,” Harris laughed. “Just because Shane wasn’t in any of the team photos, I thought—”

“Yes,” Ilya interrupted. “Yes, of course. Where should we stand?” He looked like a child who’d been given an unexpected gift and had to hurry in case it might be taken away.

“Hmm, maybe by the Christmas tree?” Harris suggested.

“Yes, okay.”

They got situated in front of the tree, where Ilya just stood with his arms by his side, looking hesitantly at Shane. Shane sighed, shuffling closer and slinging an arm around Ilya’s back. The way friends did. Ilya mirrored him, fingers barely ghosting Shane’s upper arm.

“Aww, very cute,” Harris cooed. “Smile!”

Shane smiled, could see out of the corner of his eye that Ilya was smiling too. But it wasn’t his sharklike press smile, or his soft real smile, or even the easy grin he’d worn all night. It was a smile Shane wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Ilya wear before. Ilya looked… awkward.

Shane poked his side, and Ilya jumped. “Chill.”

“Chill? You tell me to chill?” Ilya looked affronted.

“Yes,” Shane said primly, and they both laughed. It felt almost hysterical, the exhilaration of this whole night finally catching up with them.

“Yay, candids!” Harris exclaimed. “You two are both so photogenic, it’s insane. Here, come see!”

Shane and Ilya walked back over to Harris, peering down at his phone screen. To a stranger, Shane could see how maybe they did look like rivals turned tentative friends, pushed into an awkward photo op, laughing to break the tension. But all Shane could see was the truth. A couple so used to hiding, nervous to have their picture taken, but giddy to be out together in the real world. And in love. So sickeningly in love.

“These are lovely,” Ilya said, and Shane was taken aback by the genuine note to his voice. “Thank you, Harris.”

“Of course.” Harris looked slightly startled for a moment, but Shane blinked and the expression was gone, replaced with Harris’ usual cheery smile. “Anytime—it’s my job!”

Ilya was taking an eternity bidding the rookies goodbye, each one requiring a long series of chirps and hair ruffles, so Shane allowed himself to wander. He found himself peering out into the backyard, where all that was visible was a wooden deck softly illuminated by rows of hanging string lights. The lights were nice—maybe he should add something like that at his cottage. He slipped outside for a closer look.

He was peering closely at the bulbs, trying to discern exactly what shape they were, when a voice cut through the night.

“Nice, right? Bood’s done a surprisingly good job with the place.”

Shane jumped, whipping his head around to spot Troy Barrett perched on a deck step below him.

“Oh, sorry—I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”

“All good,” Troy shrugged. “Just wanted a moment of peace and quiet.”

“Yeah, I feel you,” Shane agreed awkwardly, unsure if Troy meant to imply that Shane was intruding on said peace and quiet.

He had barely exchanged any words with Troy all night—not quite avoiding him, just never finding himself in the same space as him. It just felt like too much: Troy knowing Ilya was bi, Shane knowing Troy was gay. Did Troy know that Shane knew about him? Did Troy know about Shane? Could Troy tell that Shane and Ilya were together? Shane was terrified to find out. He started to shuffle back toward the house.

“Did you enjoy the party?”

Apparently Troy hadn’t been implying Shane should leave. Shane internally sighed, turning back to reluctantly take a seat on the deck step beside him. If they were going to have a conversation, might as well not do it from ten feet apart.

“Yeah, I did. Definitely a bit chaotic, but everyone was really nice. Especially considering I’m the enemy and all.” Shane chuckled awkwardly.

Troy didn’t crack a smile. “Yeah. This team is fucking weird.”

Shane wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. “It must have sucked, being traded,” he offered.

“It did, at first.” Troy paused, staring out into the night. “But now it’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Shane let that hang in the air for a moment. If there’s one thing he’d expected of this night, it certainly wasn’t Troy Barrett opening up. “Well, I know Ilya is glad it happened, too.”

He immediately cursed himself. Surely that had been far too intimate—his casual knowledge of Ilya’s feelings, Ilya’s name soft on his tongue.

But Troy just hummed, giving nothing away. “Yeah, Roz is the fucking weirdest of them all. Great captain, though.”

Shane stayed silent; there was nothing for him to say on the matter. It was strange to be reminded that for all he saw of Ilya that others didn’t, there was still all that others saw that he didn’t. He knew Ilya on the ice, in the bedroom, puttering around the kitchen. But he didn’t know Ilya in the locker room—before game seven of a playoff series, after a brutal loss at home. He didn’t know Ilya every day at practice. He’d never gotten to see what Ilya looked like stuffing gear away in his stall.

It surprised Shane, how much that ached. He was so happy that Ilya’s teammates seemed to truly recognize and appreciate how amazing he was. He was so proud. But right now, knowing that they got to see Ilya every day, got to openly sing his praises without a second thought, while Shane was trapped in Montreal, surrounded by Ilya’s biggest haters? It made him want to claw his insides out.

“Shane? Are you out here?” Ilya’s voice pulled Shane back from his dizzying spiral of emotions.

“Yeah,” Shane called, turning to see Ilya’s back as he slid the door shut behind him.

“What are you doing?” Ilya’s voice was soft in a way usually reserved for Shane’s ears only. “So bored of my teammates you had to come out and look at black nothingness?”

Ilya loped out onto the deck, steps halting when he saw who sat beside Shane. “Oh, hello, Barrett.”

“Hey.” Troy gave a casual nod in return.

Ilya recovered from his surprise quickly, strolling over to drop into the space between Shane and Troy. “You two getting to know each other? I’m sure lots to talk about, many common struggles of being short hockey players.”

“Fuck off,” Shane and Troy muttered in unison, exchanging dark glances when Ilya beamed.

“Wow, truly must have bonded then, to be saying things so in sync.”

“I just came to check out the deck lights,” Shane said, gesturing upwards. “I was thinking of putting up something similar at my cabin.”

Ilya opened and closed his mouth, clearly about to make some sarcastic comment about Shane’s cabin before thinking better of it. “Yes, they are pretty,” he finally said.

They all sat there for a moment in the quiet, looking up at the lights. It hit Shane the unlikeliness of this tableau—three of the league’s top scorers, all queer men, enjoying this moment of stillness together at a team holiday party. If only Crowell could see them now.

After a minute, Ilya nudged his shoulder against Shane’s. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“Sure.” It had been a long night. A good night, but a long one, and Shane could feel himself starting to crash. “Are you ready to go though? No more elaborate goodbye handshakes to perform?”

“Oh, well, of course,” Ilya grinned. “You think Hazy would let you leave without one?”

Shane rolled his eyes as he stood, pausing momentarily to dust off his pants. He turned to Troy.

“Um, it was nice talking with you.” It had been awkward, and slightly terrifying, but Shane was still glad to have done it.

The corners of Troy’s mouth slightly upturned. “Yeah, you too.”

“Aww, so cute, you two,” Ilya chirped, and Shane and Troy exchanged another look, a silent agreement to say nothing that would give Ilya more ammunition. “Good night, Barret.”

“Night, Roz.”

It took them an eternity to extricate themselves from the house—Wyatt’s goodbye handshake indeed far too elaborate and Bood insistent on assembling Shane a to-go container of all the leanest pieces of barbeque (“I promise, no one wanted those ones anyway”)—but finally, blessedly, they were able to escape.

They walked down the driveway in silence, both seeming to need a minute to process. Shane felt like so much had happened he wasn’t even sure what to say.

Once they reached the sidewalk they bumped into each other, attempting to head in opposite directions.

“Oh, I parked this way,” Shane said, pointing to where his Jeep stood a few houses down. “I forgot we took different cars.”

“I will come with you.”

“Are you sure?” Shane asked. “Then you’ll have to come back and get your car another time.”

“Yes.”

Shane had expected mocking for being overly concerned with logistics, but Ilya’s voice was short, clipped. Shane shrugged. “Okay, up to you.”

They continued the walk to the car in silence, Shane sneaking glances at Ilya out of the corner of his eye. Inside Ilya had boisterously herded Shane out the door, full of effusive praise for Bood’s hosting. But now he seemed so tightly contained, his face impossible to read even after they’d settled within the privacy of the car.

“I think that went really well,” Shane finally said, a few minutes into the drive. His thoughts were a bit more settled now, and he figured he should share them in case Ilya’s silence was due to concern about how Shane was feeling. “I’ll admit, I was definitely freaking out right before, but as soon as we went in, everything was fine. It’s kind of insane how nice everyone was being. It didn’t seem weird to them that I was there at all.”

Shane could feel himself starting to ramble, but it was a bit exhilarating to rehash the night’s events now that he’d started. “I can’t believe Bood picked out all those pieces of barbeque for me. That man is truly the most dedicated host I’ve ever seen. And Barrett? I was definitely the most anxious about seeing him, I thought he’d take one look at us and just know and come marching over to say some shit, but you’re right, he’s definitely changed. He even told me getting traded to the Centaurs is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, can you believe—”

“Pull over.”

Shane risked a glance over at Ilya, but he couldn’t see anything discernably wrong. “What? Are you okay?”

“Yes, just pull over. Please.”

It wasn’t like Ilya to give such a serious request, so Shane obeyed without further argument, pulling safely into the first side road he saw. It was dark and wooded, out of the way of any traffic.

“What’s happening?” he asked, giving Ilya a quick once over with his eyes. “Ilya? Are you feeling alright—mphf!”

He was cut off by Ilya bodily hauling him in, sealing his mouth over his. It took a moment for his brain to catch up and his panic to settle—Ilya was fine, everything was alright—before he was kissing back.

Ilya kissed him like his life depended on it, like the world started and ended at Shane’s mouth, and Shane was helpless but to go along. A groan sounded from the back of his throat as Ilya licked desperately into his mouth, and he scrambled to unbuckle his seatbelt, fingers winding through Ilya’s hair. Anything to get him closer, closer.

Then an icy-cold hand slid under Shane’s shirt, shocking him back to reality.

“Gah!” Shane panted into Ilya’s mouth, shoving Ilya’s hand away. “Cold!”

Ilya grinned into the kiss, not making the slightest pause to his motions—just dutifully replacing his hand atop Shane’s clothes instead.

Shane reluctantly pulled away. “C’mon. We’re like fifteen minutes away from home, we could be doing this warm in bed instead.” He shot Ilya a reprimanding glare. “I can’t believe you almost gave me a heart attack just because you wanted to make out at the side of the road.”

Ilya’s returning expression was as open as Shane ever saw it. He didn’t make a sarcastic joke, or even give a mock apology. He just grabbed Shane’s hand, softly brushing his lips across the back of it and said, “I love you.”

“Yeah?” Shane breathed.

“What do you mean, ‘yeah’?” Now here came the sarcasm. “You did not know? I do not tell you enough?”

“I don’t know,” Shane blushed. “I mean, obviously, yes, I know you love me. I just—you’ve been quiet, since we left the party. I wasn’t sure if you were happy with how it all went.”

“Da, Shane, yes, of course.” Ilya shook his head like Shane was an idiot, which maybe he was. “Was everything I ever dreamed.”

“Yeah?” Shane knew he sounded like a broken record, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Shane. You know you are my everything. To get to show you off to my team, to see how easily they can love you too? I am so happy. Words cannot describe.”

Something inside Shane broke at that, to hear Ilya speaking those words like they were as casual a fact of existence as the weather. You know you are my everything. Shane surged to kiss him again, was starting to clamber his way into Ilya’s lap, when Ilya pulled away with a mock scandalized expression.

“What are you doing, Hollander? We are only like fifteen minutes away from home—you cannot wait?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Shane said. He slunk back into his seat, loudly fastened the seatbelt. “I’m actually going to start driving now, so if you wanted car sex you just blew your chance.”

“But I have not blown anything yet,” Ilya said with a wink, and Shane barely resisted the urge to throttle him. Or climb back into his lap. Instead, he turned on the signal, preparing to pull back out into the main road.

Ilya just laughed, pressing a final soft kiss to Shane’s cheek. “Okay, moya lyubov. Let’s go home.”

Home. Shane really liked the sound of that.