Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

M/M, Multi

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Queer Themes, Queer platonic relationships, Marriage of Convenience, QPR Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov/Svetlana Vetrova, Polyamory, A different fix for Shane and Ilya's situation, Banter, Hockey Talk

Language:

English

Collections:

Fandom Trumps Hate 2026

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-19 Completed: 2026-05-27 Words: 9,211 Chapters: 3/3

dreaming up a different life

Summary

“I think you should marry Svetlana.”

---

Shane has a different suggestion out of the dilemma of their situation – one that takes Ilya a little while to wrap his head around. And yet, it turns out that there’s things within his reach that he never knew he could dream of.

Notes

Written as part of FTH 2026! Thank you to Ternary for their wonderful idea that was a blast to dive into 💛 I hope you enjoy the final result!

Also huge thanks again to spideykell for the beta!

This work has three chapters, and I will be posting twice a week until it is complete!

Chapter 1

“I think you should marry Svetlana.”

Ilya’s world freezes for a moment. Shane says it casually, just a little too even, and when Ilya regains control over his limbs, Shane is looking at him with a gaze that has the same texture. Just a little too even.

In his chest, Ilya’s heart starts beating like he’s coming off an overtime shift. “What?”

Ilya has gotten good at following Shane’s thought processes over the years. He’s not perfect, but he likes to think he’s better than most. Better than everyone else. Right now, he is absolutely stumped.

Shane swallows. His throat clicks loudly in the quiet of the living room. “I said, I think you should marry Svetlana.”

It’s no more understandable the second time. A thousand thoughts are racing through Ilya’s mind, faster even than his heart, as he tries to parse what Shane is saying. He can’t make sense of it.

Things have been good, is the thing. Both of them bowed out of the ASG this year – Shane with a wrist that’s totally not sprained, Ilya with bruised ribs courtesy of an asshole in Philly a week ago – and it’s good. Better than good, really. A whole week where he’s waking up curled around Shane, filled with lazy morning sex and languid afternoon sex and drawn-out late-night sex, and just spending time together.

A dream, if you’d asked Ilya. Shane…

“You are breaking up with me.” Ilya’s voice sounds pathetically brittle in his own ears. In his defence, Shane just pulled the rug out from under him and he’s in free-fall, heart shrivelled up in his chest and tears prickling hot in his eyes.

“What?” Now it’s Shane who’s frowning, eyes wide and lips open as he lurches forward. “Ilya – what? I’m – no! I – I wouldn’t.”

Ilya frowns back. “But that is what you say.” His voice wobbles, even though he viciously bites down on the inside of his cheek as soon as his mouth snaps shut again. “That – that I should marry Svetlana.” Less than a year ago, Shane had looked ready to burn down his custom-built cottage with both of them inside at the merest suggestion.

Shane is out of his seat and by Ilya’s side in a heartbeat, hands hot and a little clammy as he finds Ilya’s thighs, looking up at Ilya. Making himself non-threatening and baring his throat, like Ilya will fly off the handle any moment. His eyes are dark and intent, though, and for once, it is Ilya who cannot meet them.

Ilya closes his eyes.

“Ilya,” Shane says, fingers squeezing Ilya’s thigh. “Ilya – my love, look at me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“You want me to marry someone else,” Ilya says, still in that same brittle voice. Shane had made it perfectly clear what he thought of that suggestion, so for him to bring it up now…

“I just – it makes sense! For both of you!”

“And you?” Ilya asks. Maybe he should ask, in what sense. Or maybe why. But all he can think about is Shane finally pushing him into someone else’s arms so Shane can move on, find someone with less baggage, and –

“I’ll still be yours,” Shane says simply, uncaring that it is very much not simple. Usually, this is Ilya’s role. “In all the ways that matter. Just—” Shane exhales, a little frustrated. “I’ve been thinking. Since—what she said at Christmas. And—there is a solution. A solution that fixes her problem, and also neatly solves yours – ours. And – I think it could work. I think it will work.”

“We have a plan.” Ilya finally looks down at Shane, at his eager face. Eager to hand off Ilya to someone else, even if that someone else is Sveta.

“Yeah, but – Boston’s looking good this season. I don’t – I’ve been thinking, and I don’t – I’m not sure it’s such a good plan anymore.”

Ilya raises one eyebrow. “Shane Hollander, doubting himself? Call press, is once-in-a-lifetime event.”

“Shut up,” Shane grumbles, briefly glaring at Ilya, before he sighs. “No, just – Boston is yours. You have Svetlana there, Marleau, your captaincy – a life.”

“But not you.”

“I wouldn’t be in Ottawa either! Just – I’ve been paying attention this season, and do you know how many times the schedules have lined up that we could have met up? It’s not much! And I don’t think – I just think this would be better.”

“Is my decision,” Ilya points out, evenly. A warning, maybe.

Shane deflates. “I know. But – with what Svetlana said. And – the schedule. I just think… I think it’s worth considering.”

Part of Ilya still wants to rail against it. Wants to storm off, shove Shane away and demand to know what he did to make Shane want to drop him, but… things have been good. And Shane is looking like he does when he has An Idea, which is one of Ilya’s most favourite looks on him, and Ilya is, when it comes down to it, rather weak for Shane as is.

He closes his eyes, rolls his neck, and then looks at Shane again. “Fine. Walk me through it. But – here.” He pats his thighs, and it only takes a moment for Shane to be in his lap, lips hot on Ilya’s temple and fingers shoved under Ilya’s shirt. It’s probably embarrassing, but all that closeness settles something inside Ilya, and so does the very slow, very thorough, very gentle kiss Shane lets himself sink into.

And then Shane talks.

Svetlana, in person, is stunningly gorgeous.

She reminds Shane of Rose Landry, of that moment when he first saw her and had to reconcile the woman in pictures and on the screen with the person in front of him, with an aura and a realness that doesn’t come across in pictures.

“So you are Jane,” Svetlana says in greeting, the J soft enough it’s almost a Sh. She doesn’t offer her hand.

“Yeah.” Shane steps aside so she can come in, feeling stupidly out of place as he watches Svetlana exchange her street shoes for slippers she fishes out from the drawers in the entryway. Of course. This is Ilya’s house, and she’s probably been here more often than Shane has.

“Thank you for the invitation.”

“Of course.” Stilted silence. Shane is used to it, to that drop in conversation where he’s probably supposed to say something, but no one ever shared that script with him. “It’s Christmas, you know?”

It’s Christmas, and the Metros had played the Admirals before the break and will play in Houston right after, so it made sense for Shane to spend the three days off with Ilya in Boston. It made sense to invite Svetlana, the one person on Ilya’s side who knows about them. The closest friend Ilya has. It’s a daunting set of accolades, in Shane’s opinion.

“Your Christmas,” Svetlana corrects, still sizing him up. Even though she just reaches Shane’s shoulder, that is daunting, too. “So. Are we going to just stand here, or will you let me see Ilya?”

Shane snorts, equal parts amused and affronted. “He’s still wrangling dinner.” He smiles, a little wryly, and is surprised to find that expression mirrored in Svetlana’s face when he meets her eyes.

“Was this wise?”

“Absolutely not,” Shane says, heartfelt, “but there is backup from the team chef, so it’s probably safe enough.”

Svetlana laughs, and it makes something inside Shane unclench. So do her next words: “And here I was, hoping you’d be a good influence on him.”

Shane gives her another wry smile. “I think that was a lost cause.”

With a shake of her head, Svetlana moves past him. “That man,” she murmurs, grinning at Shane over her shoulder. When he follows her deeper into the house, Shane realises that he, too, is smiling.

They migrate to the couch sometime around the second bottle of wine. Mostly for Ilya and Svetlana, that is. Shane has caved and also let Ilya pour him one glass, but he’s still nursing that one while Ilya and Svetlana made their way through that first bottle. It’s Christmas Eve, after all, and they have two more days to sleep the alcohol off.

Not that Shane really needs it. He’s buzzy in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything with how Ilya and Svetlana bounce off of each other, gestures expansive and smiles quick and their eyes fond. It would be easy to be jealous, Shane thinks as he leans back into the corner of the sectional. Svetlana is gorgeous, and their familiarity is undeniable, and Ilya’s eyes are alight with joy, his whole face transformed in a way Shane thought impossible to get during the season.

But even with all their familiarity, with their shared language that Shane doesn’t speak – both literally and from years spent together without him – they never forget about Shane. And maybe part of it is that Shane is literally sitting in the middle, wedged into the corner of the sectional with Svetlana cross-legged on one side and Ilya’s long legs tangled with Shane’s from the other. But they also stick to English for the entirety of the conversation, remember to give context to Shane when they drop old names – though half the time that context is still incomprehensible – and in general make him feel included without forcing him to actually join.

It’s comfortable.

In fact, it’s so comfortable that Shane abruptly has to excuse himself to the bathroom.

Ilya catches his wrist, face suddenly serious and eyes so full of something that Shane nearly chokes on it. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah.” Shane smiles back and squeezes Ilya’s hand. “I’ll be right back.” No lies, because Ilya would never let him get away with that.

“Ilyusha,” Svetlana murmurs, a little chiding, “don’t make the man piss his pants.”

Ilya chokes on a snort, while Shane smiles despite himself, heat shooting into his cheeks, but Ilya lets go of his wrist and so Shane flees into the bathroom. He locks the door and braces himself on the sink, letting the cool porcelain siphon some of the excess warmth from his skin while he breathes.

He could get used to this, is the thing. Svetlana on their couch, Ilya and her laughing and comfortable. From what Shane has gleaned over the years but especially over the past few months, Ilya doesn’t have many close friends, for all that he’s outgoing to a fault. It’s entirely possible Shane has more close friends between Hayden and Jackie and JJ and Rose; with the Team Canada guys and past teammates he’s stayed in touch with.

Ilya has Svetlana. Svetlana, and maybe Marleau. His team clearly adores him, but Ilya keeps them at arm’s length, probably without them even realising.

And Shane suggested he upend all of that by moving to Ottawa.

He takes another breath. Closes his eyes. Shifts his grip on the sink, away from the skin-warm spot he’s been holding onto. Nothing’s settled yet, of course. There’s months still until Free Agency for Ilya.

Shane bundles up all those thoughts into a neat little box, puts it into the corner of his mind, and then actually does piss before Ilya sends out a search party.

Ilya is in the kitchen when Shane makes his way back, poking at the nutritionist-approved dessert.

“Everything good?” he asks when Shane stops by to steal a kiss, just because he can.

“Yes,” Shane answers honestly, steals another kiss, and then lets Ilya shoo him away so he can keep Svetlana company.

Svetlana, too, gives him an appraising look. Shane braces himself for her inevitable questions, but she just pats the couch next to her. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” she starts, and Shane has to fight to keep relaxed, “but what the hell is going on with the Drillers again?”

Oh.

Shane laughs. “Man, I have no idea. They’re leaving MacAvoy out to dry, and they really have to fix their penalty kill situation…”

Svetlana purses her lips and shakes her head, and it’s easy to drift into hockey from there.

When Ilya rejoins them, they’ve shifted so they’re facing each other, with Shane’s legs stretched out and Svetlana cross-legged between his knees, her hand resting on his thigh.

Ilya stops short and raises one eyebrow, which is when Shane realises how close they are. Oops.

“You don’t need to move on my account,” Ilya waves Shane’s tension away, while Svetlana just grins and reaches for her dessert. “Just do not steal my man.” Ilya points at Svetlana.

Svetlana laughs. “I would, if I had any illusions of standing a chance.”

“Hey!” Shane protests, his face heating once again, “I’m right here!”

Ilya just nonsensically waggles his eyebrows at Shane. “Too gay for Rose Landry.”

Shane rolls his eyes, even though that’s what he’s been saying.

There’s a question burning on the tip of his tongue, though he manages half of his slice of cake – still oven warm and far too much, even during a holiday – before he can’t stand it any longer.

“So – there’s… no one… for you?”

Svetlana raises an eyebrow, effortlessly mocking the way Ilya is. They really are a matched pair. “I think there are many people for me.” She slides another piece of cake into her mouth, lips wrapping around her fork. “But – no, no one I’d rather spend time with. Much to my father’s dismay.” She rolls her eyes, eats another piece of cake.

“Your father’s dismay?”

“He could never understand that I did not ‘lock down’ Ilyusha. Like either of us was interested in that. No offense, Ilyusha.”

“None taken,” Ilya replies easily. He doesn’t say anything else, apparently content to let Shane and Svetlana talk.

“He… has been… making suggestions again. I hope he doesn’t find out I spent Christmas here.”

“Suggestions?” Shane repeats. A lot hides behind that word, but he cannot figure out what that is.

Svetlana’s mouth twists. “He’s in something of a pickle. There was a… well. Someone I would rather not marry, who extended an offer. Someone with power.”

“What—” Shane starts.

“An oligarch’s son.” Svetlana rolls her eyes. “I said no, but I don’t have a ‘good reason.’ A prior engagement,” she clarifies when Shane just boggles at her. There’s little else he can do – it sounds like something straight out of one of the dramas Rose has starred in. “So. He’s been suggesting that I ‘have someone’ to avoid him having to sanction me. Not that I rely on his money, or anything, but he’s the minister. He could make returning to Russia very… uncomfortable.”

“He would do that?” Shane’s voice climbs an octave in actual horror.

Svetlana gives him a pitying smile that feels like it says more about her than Shane. “It’s all for the family’s good. And to save his own hide.”

“But –”

“But we aren’t here to listen to me whine,” Svetlana says resolutely. “So enough about my pitiful disagreements. I want to talk about your backcheck, Hollander, because Ilya may obsess over your backhand, but it’s the backcheck that’s an embarrassment.”

“Hey!” Shane protests, but then Svetlana is reaching for her phone to illustrate her point, and Shane has to admit her criticism might have merit. Damn. Even he hadn’t realised he was starting to slide into unwise habits quite yet, which definitely raises Svetlana several more notches in his estimation.

One day, he’ll have to introduce her to his mother, just to show Ilya that hockey talk can get more intense than what Shane can offer.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Chapter 2! I am still absolutely in the throes of VoiceTeam, though good news: only about a week more of that, and then – business trips notwithstanding – I should be back to more regularly scheduled posting pls ignore that I rarely have a schedule.

If you wanna see the cool stuff we’re doing in Voiceteam, head on over to xia_pods, my podfic profile, and check them out! Lots of HR, but also other things (and a potential preview for a new fandom that will probably soon also be joining this account 😂

“You don’t need to make a decision now,” Shane had said. He’d peppered Ilya’s face with kisses throughout his entire process of laying out his thoughts, which… had made it bearable.

They’d fucked afterwards, face-to-face, with Shane gasping and clinging to Ilya and coming with Ilya’s name on his lips, which had made it more bearable still, and Shane hadn’t brought it up again for the rest of the week.

That doesn’t mean it had also stayed quiet in Ilya’s mind.

The problem is that there isn’t really anyone Ilya can talk to about this. Only a handful of people know about Shane’s role in Ilya’s life, and they’re all tangled up in the situation by proxy: Shane’s parents—who Ilya decidedly does not want to confront with, so your son suggested I marry my childhood friend—Sveta, who is the person Shane suggested he marry, and Shane himself.

In the end, Ilya ends up calling Sveta. Who else was he going to call?

“I did not put him up to this,” Sveta says, before Ilya has managed to fully get out his question.

For a moment, he is quiet. “You already spoke to him?”

“He called me a couple of days ago. I was wondering when I’d hear from you.”

Ilya’s chest constricts for reasons he can’t quite name. “I didn’t even realise you had his number.”

“We exchanged contact info over Christmas,” Sveta says simply. “It seemed… sensible.”

So he could arrange our marriage? Ilya thinks to himself. “Sensible,” he repeats out loud.

“He is a very nice young man.”

Ilya flops backwards onto his couch and stares up at the ceiling. There’s tiny cracks where the building has settled unevenly, though Ilya should probably see about getting them repaired before moving to Ottawa. Unless Shane doesn’t want him in Ottawa any longer. “Maybe you should marry him then.”

Sveta snorts, and then actually does laugh. “It would solve my problem,” she acknowledges, “though if would also be quite the scandal, and if you really want your boy under so much scrutiny…”

Ilya grimaces up at the ceiling. Yes, he’d just been joking, but now he can’t help but imagine it. The headlines. Hayden Pike’s reaction. Every sports news reporter in the US and Canada getting all up in Shane’s business for daring to marry Ilya Rozanov’s childhood friend. “I see your point.”

“Of course you do.”

For long seconds, there is silence between them.

“I just don’t understand,” Ilya says finally, voice pathetically plaintive. He closes his eyes.

“It is not my place to explain,” Sveta tells him. “Except that my impression was that he was genuinely trying to protect us both. He loves you.”

Ilya’s chest constricts again. “I know.”

Do you? Sveta’s silence says. She doesn’t voice it. “And I think loving you also extends to looking out for me, in his world view. He’s a very special young man. You really should keep him.”

“He doesn’t want to keep me,” Ilya says before he can think better of it. At least Sveta can’t see him right then.

Sveta clicks her tongue. “If I weren’t in LA right now, I’d come over to thwap you. That boy is stupid about you. If he wanted to be rid of you, he could just pull back.”

Blunt and to the point – that’s Sveta. The familiar ruthlessness settles something inside Ilya.

“For anything else, you’ll need to talk to him again, Ilyusha.”

“And you’d do it?”

“It would get my father off my back,” Sveta says, which isn’t an answer except for how it is.

“So you would?”

Sveta is quiet for a breath, two. He can imagine her worrying her lip, twirling her hair around her finger. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told him when he asked me about my opinion,” she finally says, “I would. Because I know your heart is taken, that you wouldn’t tie me down. That you love me, but not like you love him. And that’s why I would.”

“You don’t mind?” Ilya asks. It’s easier with a continent between them to ask this question he’d shied away from in Moscow a year ago. God, has it only been a year?

“I am very grateful,” Sveta says after another pause. Her voice is gentle, careful, like she’s worried about offending him. “If I wanted to be tied down, I would already be married. But – I don’t love the way you do, Ilyusha.” She snorts, a bitterness in her voice that Ilya can’t place. “And I don’t want to love the way you do, either. So no, I do not mind.”

“I love you,” Ilya says, honest and helpless and no more certain about how to resolve this situation than he was before he’d called her.

“And I love you. If you need to get drunk about this, please wait until I’m back in Boston – I want some of that vodka, you hear me?”

“I do,” Ilya says, and tries to figure out which of his teammates will be willing to go out and party with him tonight.

“Are you sure we have to do this?” Ilya asks, for the tenth time, even though he knows the answer. It probably says something about his relationship to Shane that he still voices the question. The other nine times, Ilya’s voice ranged from exasperated to whiny. This time, to his eternal hatred, his voice wobbles. He swallows.

“Yes, we do.” Shane’s answer is just as patiently the tenth time as the last nine times. His hand is warm and dry when he links his fingers with Ilya’s. They’re still protected by the tinted windows of Shane’s boring car, safely in the driveway to his boringly fancy house in Montreal. Another car is already parked in the driveway, a portent of doom.

It was risky, taking the same car back to Shane’s, but Ilya is pretty sure that if they hadn’t, he would have chickened out. And, anyway – if anyone catches them, they have a charity in the works that is a perfect cover.

When they finally brave the house, the interior already smells like something hearty.

“There you are!” Yuna exclaims, and pulls both of them into a hug, one after the other. “I was worried you’d gotten lost!”

“We had media to deal with,” Shane says, “You know how it is.”

Yuna clucks her tongue. “They really could take pity on you boys.”

Ilya chuckles. “Next time, I tell them, Mama Hollander is waiting, sorry, please excuse me, eh? Surely, this will make them let me go sooner, yes?”

Yuna laughs and swats at him, and Ilya can’t help but grin. Shane’s family is so strange. Even at her best, Ilya’s mama hadn’t been like that. So carefree. So joking. But Shane’s mama is, and she’s sharing this with Ilya just because Shane has chosen him, and Ilya isn’t entirely sure what to do with all that.

So he does the next best thing: he ducks past her into the kitchen, to ask David if there’s anything he can do to help.

“Good to see you.” David smiles at him and gives him a nod, hands occupied with a spoon and a spatula. “And no, it’s all covered – you just have to take a seat, and then we’re good to go. Dinner is ready.”

Because Shane and his parents have the sort of relationship where they can just invade his kitchen and make food for him and his boyfriend. Ilya is no more sure what to do with that, so he follows David’s instructions and takes his seat at Shane’s dining table. 

“So you’ve come to your senses,” is the first thing Yuna says, once they’re all seated at the table.

Ilya chokes on his water, while next to him, Shane starts. “Mom!” he complains.

“What? I told you it would not be smart to leave Boston behind just like that.”

“You don’t have to be all I told you so about it,” Shane whines. It makes him sound like a teenager, which is really more adorable than Ilya can appreciate with his current state of nerves and surprise.

“I did tell you, though,” Yuna says relentlessly.

“Mom!” Shane complains again.

“Just accept it, son,” David says. He starts distributing the whole-wheat noodles and a sauce that smells too delicious to be meal-plan approved, except for how Shane would never, ever consume anything not in-line with his diet during the season. Ilya can’t help but squint a little at his plate.

“What brought about your change of mind?” Yuna raises her eyebrows at Ilya. She looks non-judgemental, as far as Ilya can tell, though it doesn’t really fit; either, Shane has already told her everything, and she’s just waiting to catch Ilya in a lie, or Shane hasn’t told her everything, in which case it doesn’t make sense for her to be so calm.

In-laws were a mistake.

“Shane,” he says, because it seems like a safe-enough answer.

Yuna’s lips quirk in a smile. “He was persuasive?”

“I told you, Mom—”

“I want to hear it from him,” Yuna interrupts her son. “I know why you suggested this; I want to know why he wants to go along with this plan.” It’s impossible for Ilya to tell whether she does approve of it or not. A part of him resents Shane for making him do this at the dinner table, with both of his parents there.

Then again, he doesn’t know how else they would do this.

Ilya takes another sip of water.

“Can’t we eat first?” Shane asks resignedly, though Ilya shakes his head.

“Will be easier without stomach full of nerves,” he tells Shane.

Yuna’s lips quirk again.

Ilya finds her eyes and holds her gaze until he’s sure she’s listening. “I would do many things for Shane,” he says.

Yuna nods; he’s already shown that, probably.

“And… I love Svetlana. Not like I love Shane, but… she is my best friend, all the way back in childhood. And… her situation, it is not easy. Her father is very important, in Russian government, and he puts pressure on her. She…” he casts around for the right words, for that which is his to share. “She is told she needs to marry, but she has no interest in that, from what I know. Aside from maybe helping me with citizenship. So. Since I would not marry anyone other than Shane for real, and we cannot get married right now because of… you know, the League and…” Politics, his mind supplies, but he hopes his gesture is evocative of that, “so… if I marry Sveta, she won’t have to fight her father against him making that choice, and I won’t have to worry about citizenship. And… it gives Shane and me cover.”

“So you don’t want to come out?”

“Right now? With how they are hounding boring, perfect Scott Hunter, with his boring, perfect boyfriend?” Ilya’s lips curdle into a grimace, too much bitterness in his voice. Maybe, in a perfect world he and Shane could have that. But the reporters have been relentless, and from what Shane has mentioned, the Montreal locker room has not been fun, either. Boston is okay, because Ilya has never let that shit fly and the guys are decent about respecting that, but he recognises that he has a far easier time than Shane, who is an outsider even in his own locker room – who does not have the smokescreen of a decade of hookups to fall back on.

Yuna nods once, decisively. “While it is certainly… unconventional, and might have ramifications down the line should you two ever want to get married, I think it is not the worst way forward.”

“We’ll still do the charity,” Shane adds, “and hopefully, by the time we would, like, officially get married, people aren’t that interested in us anymore.”

Ilya can’t help but smile at him. “Yes, you are boring enough.”

But he isn’t wrong. Their relationship is theirs, and something Ilya is loathe to have scrutinized by the public, so being boring will be to their advantage. And having Ilya’s proclivities out of the question should hopefully make the two of them rather more boring.

“Boring is good in this case,” David agrees, and just like that, they have Shane’s parents on board.

Svetlana does not dither. She does not look back, and she does not second-guess herself.

So when the cab drops her at the gate to Ilya’s glass mansion, she smooths out her blazer, takes a breath, and lets herself onto the property. She rings the bell; they invited her over, so she’s here as a guest, and guests don’t let themselves into the house.

Of course it’s Hollander who opens.

He smiles when he sees her, stepping back so she can enter. His hands flutter at his side, a little like he’s not sure what to do with them. Christ, he was the one to suggest this harebrained scheme in the first place.

Before he can get even more nervous, she pulls him into a polite half-hug, kissing the air next to his cheeks. He’s blushing when he pulls back, which makes his freckles stand out even more. Adorable.

He’s still flustered as he leads the way back to the kitchen where Ilya is just popping the chef-prepared dinners into the oven.

Svetlana wants to hate him. Wants to push Shane Hollander off the nearest cliff, or plant her heel in his crotch and bear down, or –

Well. She wants him to get a taste of the abyss his presence has torn open in her chest, except that he ducks his head and blushes at her attention, except that he looks at Ilya with such a soft expression that Svetlana has no idea how no one has cottoned on yet.

“Sveta!” Ilya exclaims and sweeps her up in a hug, and she cannot hate him, either.

It was supposed to be the two of them against the world. The two of them, stumbling from bed to bed and yet ending the week together. And then Ilya went and fell in love for real, and left Sveta behind. Except unlike her, he does look back.

His Shane looks back, too, at the people left in the dust of his and Ilya’s whirlwind of emotions. She wants to hate him a little for that, too, except that he turns that eager, apprehensive, soft look on her, and Svetlana isn’t in love, but she suddenly understands why her Ilyusha is so very weak for this man.

“I see you’ve learned from last time,” Svetlana says with a meaningful look at the ready-made dinners. They’d eaten those at Christmas, too; rather late, though, because Ilya had tried to cook something himself, and it had failed predictably.

Ilya just shrugs unrepentantly. “Shane wants to catch the Detroit game.”

“No curfew?”

Hollander blushes again. “Asked for an exemption.”

“Boston Lily’s calling,” Ilya sing-songs, and Svetlana meets Shane’s eyes and shares an exasperated but fond look with him.

She really should accept that she can’t hate either of them. Not when Hollander would give up his fledgling plan of securing a future with Ilya, just to help her out. Not when Ilya invites her to share what little time he gets with Hollander.

Even if it’s to discuss this ludicrous plan that Shane fucking Hollander has apparently cooked up.

Dinner is surprisingly easy, even with that topic looming over them. But Nashville has made some truly baffling choices this close to the trade-deadline, and that’s as good a topic of conversation as any. Before Svetlana knows it, she’s following Hollander into the living room, nearly spilling her wine as she tries to emphasize that the Monsters’ GM has no fucking clue, and the new assets would not help Nashville defeat the Detroit Squid today.

“It’s not about right now,” Hollander argues, throwing himself onto the couch. “They’re poised to have a deep run this year, and bolstering their blue line—”

“While their forwards have less defensive coverage than a layer of Swiss cheese?” Svetlana interrupts him.

Hollander opens his mouth, and then just laughs. “Than Swiss cheese? Really?”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You aren’t.”

“Thank you,” Svetlana says smugly, which nets her an unimpressed glare from Hollander.

“Are you done arguing?” Ilya asks as he joins them on the couch, passing a can of ginger ale to Hollander and taking a sip from his own glass of coke-coloured liquid. If that isn’t spiked, Svetlana will quit her job.

“We’re not arguing,” Hollander says primly.

“We were having a discussion,” Svetlana agrees.

Ilya groans. “This was a mistake.” He takes a sip of his drink. “You two are horrible together.”

“And yet you weren’t wholly opposed to… a menage-a-trois?”

Hollander grimaces. “No!” he almost yells, then flushes and ducks his head. “No offense, just—” He licks his lips, glances at Ilya. Looks back at her, shoulders suddenly squared. “I’m gay.”

“I’m aware.” Svetlana chuckles. “But my point stands – I was under the impression you had a plan. For your future together.” One that included just the two of them. When Hollander nods, Svetlana adds, “What changed? Pity?”

Hollander gives her a withering look. “No,” he says resolutely. “Just – I told you. It makes a lot of sense. You need your dad to get off your back, Ilya needs citizenship…”

“So we’re back to pity.”

A muscle in Hollander’s jaw jumps. “No.”

“Then explain to me why, if not for pity, you’d change your beautiful plan.” It’s worded provocatively, Svetlana knows, but she’s asked twice and is rapidly running out of patience. Men. Never able to be straightforward, are they?

The same muscle in Hollander’s jaw jumps again as his eyes slide away from her face. “Boston’s doing really well this season,” he finally says. “And… they have a great room, versus a gamble with Ottawa.”

“A room is what you make of it,” Svetlana points out.

Ilya snorts.

“What?”

“The Metros are not just terrible on the ice, they are also terrible in the head.”

Hollander sighs. “Ilya is exaggerating.”

“I’m not!”

“It’s not all—”

“It is still enough of them! Especially if we’re going by support for Hunter!” Ilya exclaims.

Svetlana runs through what she’s seen of the responses to Hunter coming out at the end of last season. Not a lot of them were by Metros, now that she’s thinking about it.

Hollander grimaces again. “Yeah, well, maybe most of them are kinda terrible. So – yeah.” Hollander swallows. When he continues, his voice is very quiet, and he’s not looking at her. “I don’t know how long I’ll be a Metro for.”

She has to let that sink in for a moment. “Come again?”

Hollander looks over at Ilya again, who crowds even closer. Two men, wound around each other like a single entity. If the implications from Hollander’s statement are correct, she’s tempted to join them. Forget pity – Hollander may be approaching this a lot more strategically than she initially gave him credit for.

“The room has… not been too enthused about Scott… being a distraction. I have been told not to make mountains out of molehills, and that boys will be boys—”

Here, Svetlana snorts incredulously, which is echoed in Hollander’s face and Ilya’s murderous scowl.

“—and that Montreal does not want equal distractions.” A wry smile from Hollander. “So. My plan had been to come out to a few teammates at some point in the near future, but— that will not happen. Not with management the way it is.”

“You need to get out,” Ilya urges.

Hollander sighs. “Oh, yes, because that’s so easy.” His nostrils flare. “My contract runs two years longer than Ilya’s, but… there’s a decent chance I will be traded before that.”

At this, Ilya starts.

“They’d trade you?” Svetlana asks, which is far stupider a question than she usually allows herself.

Hollander shrugs. “Not right now, but… it’s been made clear that my behaviour has been deemed… disruptive. So. Ilya should extend with Boston, at least for the next couple of years, and then we’ll see where I’ll end up. Whether we can work towards being on the same team, down the line.”

It’s a shocker. Clearly, Ilya has already been made aware of the whole plan, though he looks none-too-happy about it.

“They’ll want to extend him for the max term,” Svetlana points out.

“Maybe. But that is what I have agent for,” Ilya chimes in. “But… Shane has a point. And with the way the press has behaved…”

“I can’t be a role model,” Hollander says bluntly. “Not for this. Not with my heritage and the rivalry between Ilya and me. At least not at the moment. So another layer – plausible deniability, that’s what’s in it for us. You get your father off your back.”

A codified support network, too, though Hollander does not mention that. Does not think of it, maybe, because both his parents are still actively involved in his life. Svetlana swallows and meets Ilya’s gaze. He inclines his head. This is for real.

It’s also a little terrifying. Because this is Hollander, inviting her into the little unit he’s started to build with Ilya. Inviting her to be family, even in a rather non-traditional setting.

“And in practice?” Svetlana asks, because this is important. “I don’t expect you’ll be… sharing Ilyusha.” She flicks one eye-brow. Maybe it would be funnier to spell it out. To use all the crude terms and needle Hollander. But she does want this to be constructive, so she reins herself in.

“I know you used to fuck,” Hollander says evenly. Point to him. “But no. My suggestion is a marriage in name only. At least for that part.”

“This also means that you are free to do whatever,” Ilya adds. “I would not chain you, you know this, Svetochka.”

“Oh, the scandal…” Svetlana drawls.

Ilya chuckles. “These damned Russians, huh? Let’s give them something to talk about.”

“And you would be okay with this?” Svetlana asks Hollander after a moment.

Hollander doesn’t play dumb. “It’s your lives. Your decisions. Of course I’d be okay with this – I am no more interested in chaining you to Ilya than he is. After all, this is supposed to set you free from your father’s demands, not do the opposite.”

“So gallant,” Svetlana purrs, “so considerate.”

Hollander’s gaze goes hard as he sits up straight. He is a very intense young man like this. “I want them to stop looking at us,” he says tightly. “I want to spend time with Ilya in public without think pieces linking us romantically cropping up everywhere. This isn’t just for you, or for him – this solves something for all three of us. Or I wouldn’t be suggesting it.”

Svetlana inclines her head. Point taken. “Okay, as you said: a marriage in name only, to solve our issues.”

“For the sex part,” Hollander corrects.

Svetlana gives him a questioning look.

“I’d expect you to move in together. Before you get married, if you want to sell this. Unless you’d prefer your own place, that’s of course—”

“This mansion is big enough to house all three of us and then some,” Svetlana points out.

“So is my cottage,” Hollander offers, and that, too, takes a moment to sink in. Oh. He’s serious about this.

“Really?”

Hollander shrugs. “If we’re doing this, I want to do it properly.”

“Just no sex,” Svetlana repeats.

“Just no sex,” Hollander agrees.

“This is tragedy,” Ilya pipes up for the first time in quite a while, “you two would be so pretty together…”

“Ilya!” Hollander turns on Ilya, who starts squealing a moment later as he tries to defend himself from Hollander’s hands.

A tickle war? Svetlana gives herself a moment to pick the optimal strategy, and then joins on Hollander’s side.

On Shane’s side, she amends as Ilya starts crying traitor in Russian and English and bad German. She probably really should be calling him Shane. Especially when they’re ganging up on Ilya together.

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

And here we are! Thank you for following along on this ride, and I hope you’ve enjoyed this!

“Are you sure about this?”

A muscle in Shane’s jaw jumps and his nostrils flare before his expression evens out. “I wouldn’t have suggested this if I was unsure about it.”

Ilya exhales. “Yes, but…”

“Ilya.” Shane shifts so he’s closer, and then gives up and climbs into Ilya’s lap. “Hey, Ilya. If you aren’t on-board with this, we can still call it off.”

For a breath, Ilya lets himself entertain the notion. Svetlana would understand. Yuna and David probably would, too. They’ve been nothing but supportive even with this scheme, taking Shane’s change in plans in stride. Ilya isn’t entirely sure how he has become the weakest link in all of this, considering the initial proposal had been his. Just…

“But if you’re worried I will be walking this back—”

“What if you should?” Ilya interrupts Shane, and he hadn’t even realised this was on his mind until it suddenly spills out. “What if you find it doesn’t work and—” What if Shane found it didn’t work for him? Would he say something? Or would he come to quietly resent Ilya, like Ilya had resented his brother and father back in Russia, unable to tell them how much of a toll they were taking on him? He closes his eyes.

“Then we’ll sit down and find a solution together,” Shane says simply. Which is all kinds of hilarious considering that, without fail, Shane has presented Ilya with fully fledged plans, but it is kind of nice.

“You promise?” It feels horribly weak, but Shane leans down to kiss Ilya regardless.

“I promise. But only if you do the same.”

Ilya blinks up at him. It won’t be necessary, he’s pretty sure. Shane is sacrificing quite a bit to help both Ilya and Svetlana. “I will,” Ilya lies.

The muscle in Shane’s jaw jumps again, but this time, his face mellows into a wry smile. “I guess we should probably just have regular check-ins.” He says it more to himself than Ilya, but the urge to brush him off is strong and undeniable, but… Ilya thinks of the truth pact in the cottage, how the terrifying feeling of putting himself out there had been countered with pure joy when he realised Shane was letting him see sides of himself Ilya had only been able to guess at before.

“Okay,” Ilya finally agrees. “Is maybe wise.”

Shane smiles at him. In that moment, Ilya knows that he would do anything for Shane – and that Shane probably feels the same. He hopes that they won’t ever actually ask that of each other.

Before Svetlana moves into Ilya’s house, she visits him and Shane up at the Cottage.

It’s a gesture she can recognise – Shane and Ilya get so little time together, and them inviting her is a first step towards their new reality next season. Still, she gives them a week or two to themselves to get over the first bout of horniness after a busy end of the season.

When she finally makes her way to the remote bastion of solitude Shane had built, she is buzzing with anticipation. Both to see Ilyusha again, but also because there’s quite a bit of hockey to talk: Ilya has re-signed with Boston for now, a pretty decent eight year contract with a No Movement Clause, which should give him quite a bit of bargaining power down the line. Also, the first rumors of a possible trade involving Shane have cropped up, and she wants to know their veracity – as his wife-in-law-to-be, she feels like she should get the inside scoop, right?

Shane is once again the one to greet her at the door. Svetlana gives him a pointed look, to which he laughs and then pulls her into an embrace. It’s a good embrace, firm and unafraid, and something inside her relaxes as she hugs him back.

“Why mess with a greeting that works?” he asks as she swaps her shoes for slides, stashed where Ilya always stashes hers at his place.

Svetlana can’t help but laugh in delight at the fact that she didn’t even have to say her part aloud.

Maybe, this can in fact work.

Having Svetlana at the cottage is strangely easy. Shane keeps waiting for his jealousy to flare up, but mostly, he just feels… warm.

The first time he finds Ilya and Svetlana curled up on the couch together, he stops in the doorway and just breathes, certain he’ll have to swallow ugly words and feelings. Instead, there’s a tugging feeling inside his chest, urging him on – not to get between them, but to join them, to bask in their easy relaxation and laughter. They’re speaking Russian, too fast for Shane’s four months of language acquisition to follow along, but he finds he doesn’t mind.

He’s been planning on going outside to read by the lake, but that plan suddenly has lost most of its appeal. And, hell – it’s the off-season, and they’re at the cottage, and if he can’t do whatever he wants right now, then when can he?

So he makes his way over, touches Svetlana’s shoulder briefly and kisses Ilya, and then curls up on the floor in front of the two of them and opens his book.

It doesn’t take long for a hand to land in his hair, joined by a second hand on the back of his neck shortly after. Scratching softly, massaging a little. Shane doesn’t know which hand is whose, but he isn’t actually bothered by that. It’s too comfortable, too relaxing, and within minutes, he has to give up on his book because his eyes are drooping shut.

He drifts for a while, not quite asleep but also not quite awake, either, until Svetlana switches to English to ask, “So, what are your plans for next season?”

Ilya chuckles. “Play good hockey, win many games, shut up the haters.”

“Par for the course,” Svetlana agrees in clear amusement. “No, I mean – you’ve been mentioning a project?”

Shane makes a noise, still too languid to pipe up, which makes the hand massaging his scalp press down a little harder. It’s heaven. “I know, Solnyshko.”

Shane hums, content to let Ilya take the lead here so he can bask in this calm a little longer.

To Svetlana, Ilya says, “The project is – hockey camp. I have told you.”

“In memory of your mother?” Svetlana asks. Ilya must nod, because she goes on, “Yeah, you did – so, that’s about to become a reality?”

“Yes. To bury our rivalry. So… we want you to be part of this.”

“Ilya,” Shane says, soft but still a little chiding. Ilya has phrased it as a demand, when they’d agreed they would ask Svetlana.

“What? She knows she can say no!” Ilya defends himself.

Svetlana snorts. “I probably should,” she says. That… was not in Shane’s plans, if he admits. “Is it wise to weave together your private and… professional lives like this?”

With a sigh, Shane rights himself properly and pries his eyelids open. Svetlana is already looking at him, gaze open and curious. “I want to be able to be seen with you,” he says bluntly. “Without people speculating about cheating or anything. I want to be able to acknowledge you in public. And since we can’t very well tell the truth, the foundation is a pretty good reason.”

It shuts Svetlana up for quite a moment.

After a few seconds, Ilya says something in Russian, soft and soothing. Shane’s eyes flicker to him, and Ilya smiles at him, before looking back at Svetlana.

“I see,” she finally says. There’s an expression on her face Shane can’t parse. “I’ll think about it.”

Shane hasn’t known her nearly as long as Ilya, but he’s pretty sure that’s a yes nonetheless.

Svetlana has always watched all of Ilya’s games, but now she comes to every home game, and every other game that aligns with work or her visiting friends in other cities. She wears a Rozanov jersey – an authentic one, not that most people would be able to tell – and Ilya watches her up on the jumbotron and waves at her, and finally introduces her as his fiancée to the rest of the team.

It’s met with stunned silence, though at least the assholes manage to be decent and only rib him at the next practice instead of within earshot of Svetlana.

“What about Jane?” Marly asks once most of the attention has shifted away from Ilya again.

Ilya snorts a little. The question was bound to come up, of course, especially since Jane doesn’t exist in his contacts anymore. Shane Hollander (boring) is in there now, their WhatsApp chat a boring amalgamation of ideas for the foundation and the upcoming announcement for it and all that stuff. There is a second thread, encrypted and on a separate app, where their actual conversation takes place. Away from prying eyes, which had been their main priority. “We all have to grow up,” he says, which is what he’d told his other teammates, too.

Marly laughs, claps him on the shoulder. “I’m surprised, man. Out of all your girls, I’d been sure if anyone were to lock you down, it’d be Jane.”

“I’ve known Sveta for longer,” Ilya points out, which is neither confirmation nor denial when it comes down to it. He doesn’t like lying. But it’s not like he can tell the truth, not even when Marly keeps looking at him with that sad look, like he suspects Ilya is merely settling for Svetlana.

He isn’t. And maybe, one day, they can tell Marly the truth. But for now, it’s merely a reminder that Ilya and Shane had been flying rather closer to the sun than either of them might have been aware of.

At the trade deadline the next season, Shane gets traded to the Los Angeles Royals. It’s a blockbuster trade, the biggest in the recent league history. Think pieces drop by the day, with speculation covering every conceivable topic. The consensus? That the Metros organisation fosters the kind of locker room culture that has a generational talent traded to the other side of the continent as a playoff rental.

Svetlana already splits her time between Boston and LA, but she spends most of the rest of the regular season down in LA – at the behest of Ilya, yes, but also because Shane hadn’t been able to hide the flash of relief when she’d offered it.

It’s strange. The whole reason for this scheme is because Svetlana does not want to be tied down. And yet she’s ready to upend her life to join Shane down in LA for the final two months of the regular season – had packed a bag even before Ilya had asked her to.

Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have to. She can go down there, keep Shane from losing his mind so far outside his usual comfort zone, and then fuck off to do her own thing whenever she wants to. Maybe it’s because he looks so ridiculously grateful, and doesn’t even pretend he doesn’t want her to share his bed at night, both of them missing Ilya on the other side of the continent. Maybe it’s because she actually enjoys spending time with him.

He’s asked about it by a reporter once, after practice. The press is far less zealous here than up in Montreal or Boston, and his skin seems to glow from the California sun when he smiles. “Svetlana and I have had a chance to work together on the Foundation, and she has an outstanding mind for hockey – better than pretty much anyone I know. It’s quite fortunate that her actual job aligned with my trade like this. A friendly face in a new city is always a good thing, and she knows the best spots around town already.”

It’s a good answer. Sleek and media-appropriate. And it’s a testament to all the groundwork they’ve laid over the past season that no one so much as bats an eyelash.

She shows up at his doorstep early that evening, once he’s home from the arena. He lets her in with a look of trepidation. “What?”

“We’re going out,” she declares. “I’ve been slacking in my duties as guide to the city, I’ve realised.”

Shane laughs, but doesn’t argue. She’s trained him well, as it turns out.

They send Ilya a selfie from the restaurant, both of them smiling and Shane with actual not-quite-mealplan-approved food in front of him. He chose it himself, and Svetlana doesn’t mention it to him, but she does let Ilya know.

Yes, Shane is far away from Boston at the moment. But more importantly, he’s out of Montreal’s clutches, and it’s doing him quite good.

No one in LA is surprised when Shane doesn’t sign with them. They’d known going in, and even actually getting another fucking Cup with them isn’t enough to sway his mind.

Ben Howardson, the GM, laughs when Shane shakes his head after Howardson offers one last time. “I figured, with your network all up there. But I still had to offer.”

Shane ducks his head. “Nothing’s completely ironed out,” he hedges. It isn’t. But people know about the Foundation, and they know he and Ilya and Svetlana are all close, and his agent isn’t making it a secret that he’s looking at teams closer to Boston. Somehow, people seem to agree it makes perfect sense.

And if Shane is most excited about the options in New York? Well, that just makes perfect sense, too. After all, Rose Landry very famously lives in New York.

“If you change your mind, you have my number. We’ll make space for you.”

Shane can’t help but smile. “I’ll keep it in mind. You have a great room here.”

Howardson nods, grimly satisfied. It’s a far cry from the impersonal phone call that had let Shane know the team that drafted him has traded him away. His mom might never forgive them. “That’s good to hear. And I know that wherever you go, you’ll pass that along.”

“Thanks,” Shane says, and then leaves with one last handshake. Svetlana will be cross if he misses their airport transfer, and Ilya is waiting on the other side, and he can’t wait to get the first proper off-season with the two of them.

Ilya and Svetlana will get married a year later in a lavish outdoor ceremony that makes Shane roll his eyes and rib them for but that leaves none of their eyes dry.

Shane will be the one to walk Svetlana down the aisle — a bond forged by a common cause in the public eye, but a symbolic gesture circling all the way back to how this began for those in the know: Shane’s plan, Shane’s blessing, Shane’s two favourite people these days committing to a life together.

They will have told Hayden and Jackie and Marly by then – because they are secure enough in their relationship and their desires to defend their choices, and because living with Svetlana will have opened Shane’s eyes to what it means to open up and to trust.

Also, because Hayden had gotten really concerned Ilya was cheating on Svetlana with Shane, and it been easier to just come clean to him. Maybe it had been the whole cheating thing, but Hayden had been surprisingly chill with the information that Boston Lily had been Ilya all along.

Only a small fraction of the attendees will understand that second part, but it doesn’t matter. It’s for them, and it may be unconventional, but it’s exactly what the three of them need.

And that is truly all that matters.