Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Farah Jalali

Additional Tags:

Mentioned Anya | Ilya Rozanov's Dog, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Being Assholes (Game Changers), Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander is So Done, Funny Shane Hollander, Homophobic Language, One Shot, Bilingual Shane Hollander

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-09 Words: 2,042 Chapters: 1/1

The Pride of Montreal

Summary

Shane Hollander is benched following the fanmail video that outed his relationship with his rival Ilya Rozanov. While walking alone in Montreal he passes by a sports bar showing the Metros losing without him and he meets two unlikely companions.

 

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” says Shane in soft English, looking at the bartender only, “Uh, just saw the game was on when I walked by, wanted to know the score.” He swallows thickly, “Guess we’re losing?”

The man who’d called him a homo ducks and with considerable effort, puts the table back where it had been before. He mutters something that Shane thinks is an apology to the bartender. The other man shakes his hand and reaches for a nearby chair. 

In English, the man who’d called him the pride of Montréal says loudly, “A ginger ale for Monsieur Hollander, yes?”

Shane hesitates, then nods at the bartender, who wordlessly starts to pour. The two men finish righting the place and gesture for Shane to sit with them. Shane shouldn’t. But he does as the bartender comes over and sets a glass of ginger ale in front of him. 

“So,” says Shane as casually as he can, “Uh, I guess you’re both Metros fans?”

Shane Hollander is standing mesmerized outside some hole in the wall sports bar. 

The air is cold and wind whips up the street against his cheeks, but it’s losing the bite of winter. He’s frozen at the door watching two strangers as they scream at one another.

They’re shouting in French, which always sounds a little louder than it really is to his ears, and they’re shouting about him, almost too fast for him to really translate. Neither of them have any idea he’s standing there, watching, as the screaming turns into table flipping turns into an actual bar brawl.

“Hollander est la fierté de Montréal!” Hollander is the Pride of Montréal!

“C'est un putain d'homo et on a perdu!” He’s a fucking homo and we’re losing!

“On perd parce qu'il est sur le banc, parce que cette ligue est dirigée par des trous de balles!” We’re losing cause he’s benched cause this league is run by ancient assholes!

The bartender, who looks about Shane’s age, and jacked, literally vaults over the bar to break up the fight. It’s only when he’s kind of separated the two fighters that he notices Shane, “Ferme cette maudite porte!” Shut the damn door!

Shane should step outside first, but he steps forward instead, the door swinging closed and blocking that fucking icy wind from the back of his neck and face. Warmth rushes in to fill the space around him where he’d let all the heat out. 

The two men freeze as they recognize him, “Tabarnak. C’est Shane Hollander.”

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” says Shane in soft English, looking at the bartender only, “Uh, just saw the game was on when I walked by, wanted to know the score.” He swallows thickly, “Guess we’re losing?”

The man who’d called him a homo ducks and with considerable effort, puts the table back where it had been before. He mutters something that Shane thinks is an apology to the bartender. The other man shakes his hand and reaches for a nearby chair. 

In English, the man who’d called him the pride of Montréal says loudly, “A ginger ale for Monsieur Hollander, yes?”

Shane hesitates, then nods at the bartender, who wordlessly starts to pour. The two men finish righting the place and gesture for Shane to sit with them. Shane shouldn’t. But he does as the bartender comes over and sets a glass of ginger ale in front of him. 

“So,” says Shane as casually as he can, “Uh, I guess you’re both Metros fans?”

The men both nod sheepishly. Shane fights off a grin, “Same. I’m Shane.”

“Marc,” says the guy who called him a homo.

“John,” says the other guy. Shane hides a laugh, ‘cause half the men in Montreal are named Mark, John, Jean-Marc, or some variation of the three. 

Marc ducks his head, “Sorry, about before. I was… out of line.”

“Yeah,” Shane agrees, “You were.”

John’s accent is a little thicker, but he doesn’t seem to mind carrying on in English, “You were not wrong, we are losing with our best player benched.”

Shane smirks a little into his ginger ale as Marc nods, “Yes, well – Therriault est un minable s'il est incapable d'envoyer Crowell se faire foutre.” Shane chokes a little on his drink as his brain belatedly converts the french to “bastard” and “incapable of telling Crowell to fuck off”. 

John pounds him on the back until he can breathe again, “Tabarnak! You are going to kill Shane Hollander!  You will be the scourge of Montréal, non?”

Shane laughs. Really laughs. 

Marc and John look delighted by that. On the TV, the Metros let in another goal from fucking Buffalo. 

Shane’s phone rings. Incoming facetime request from Lily. 

He answers it right at the table. Ilya’s face fills the screen. “Moya lyubov, are you watching this game?”

“I am,” Shane laughs. “Trainwreck.”

Ilya grins, then squints at the screen, “Where the fuck are you?”

John and Marc are both staring not at the TV but at the phone in Shane’s hand. Marc breathes, “Holy shit, is that Ilya Rozanov? You’re really with Ilya Rozanov?”

Shane grins wider, “Yeah. I am.”

Ilya takes in the sight of John leaning into frame, “You are watching game with new friends I do not know? Why have I been forced to hang out with Hayden Pike if you have other friends.”

John goes ramrod straight, “Oh my god you know Hayden Pike!”

Shane almost giggles at these starstruck men, “Yeah, we’ve played on the same line for almost ten years. I was his best man in his fucking wedding.”

Marc lets out a long breath, “I’m watching a Metros game with Shane fucking Hollander, and he’s on the phone with Ilya Rozanov and we’re talking about Hayden Pike. What the fuck is today?”

Shane leaves Marc to be overwhelmed on his own and focuses back on Ilya, “I just met these guys. They were, uh, having a heated debate about whether I deserve to be benched for being with you.”

The bartender, who Shane can now see has a nametag that reads ‘Derek’, sets a fresh glass of ginger ale in front of Shane and a beer in front of the other two men. He scoffs, “Debate? Les andouilles were tearing this place and each other apart.”

Ilya raises an eyebrow, “You are at a bar? Who are you, what have you done with my Shane?”

“Oh fuck off,” Shane complains with no heat behind it, “I’m just drinking gingerale, I don’t think I’m done for the season yet.” Though maybe you are, said that annoying voice in his head that usually told him if he cheated on his diet he’d stop dominating at hockey. He glances up at the game, nothing interesting is happening. “Was practice okay?”

Ilya nods, grin going all mischievous in a way that has Shane expecting some kind of innuendo. What Ilya says is more surprising, “I am a hero to them, locking down a catch like Shane Hollander, though I have been – what is the word for when someone tells you you should have done something different? They are… disappointed?”

Shane usually knows what Ilya means, but this time he’s guessing, “Scolded?” 

“Yes,” Ilya snaps his fingers, “Scolded. I have been scolded for hiding you from the team, they would like to meet you very much. Off the ice, on the ice, you are a big headache for them.”

Shane feels a warmth in his chest, accompanied by a stab of self-loathing. He could’ve been doing just that since January if he’d just been brave and trusted Ilya a little more. “I’d like that. Uh, next time there’s a barbecue or whatever, let me know, and uh, ask what I can bring?”

Ilya’s face lights up, “Yes.” Shane sees his eyes flick to something behind the phone, probably the TV, “Have you heard when you’ll be let back?”

Shane shakes his head, “No, uh, I was thinking – if you’re going to be back to practicing and playing and I’m, uh, not, maybe I could drive up tomorrow? I can see Mom and Dad, and I know the dog hotel is good to Anya, but I could watch her for now…?”

Shane can’t think about spending an unknown number of days with no Ilya, no Hayden, and no hockey as the Metros are leaving in the morning for a week-long road trip that he’s not been invited back to. Ilya nods, “Yes, this is perfect. Do that, please.”

“Okay,” Shane says, “If I don’t get the call tonight to get on the plane in the morning, I’ll drive up early.”

Ilya shook his head, looking disgusted, “I am glad my team is being good. But I am not sure what the point is. Team is playing so well, even without me and if Montreal cannot get their heads out of their asses, they do not need my help. Will be boring to play them without you.”

Shane rolled his eyes, “And I thought I’d taken all the boring with me. Go to bed, asshole. Give Anya some pets for me. I love you.”

“I love you too moy pylesos.”

Shane has to think for a second, “Vacuum?”

“Very good,” Ilya laughs delightedly, “Goodnight!”

Shane ends the call and finds both of his new companions staring at him. Marc whispers, “Ilya Rozanov is in love with you, Hollander.”

Shane is so startled by the observation that he lets out an uncharacteristic bark of laughter, “Yeah, he is. And the feeling is mutual.”

Marc shakes his head, “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. That you were… un peu naїf, like sure, be gay, this is Montréal. But Rozanov he is… experienced with many many women. I am not so surprised he likes men also, I am surprised he likes one person so much. But that is a man who is in love. In love with you.”

“Lucky me,” says Shane, with only a tiny hint of sarcasm. “I love him. We’re… we’re the real deal.”

John nods, “This is what I have been saying since the video. It is so clear from just this small reflection of you, that this is serious. Happening for a long time.”

Shane nods, they hadn’t given an exact timeline in their statement post on instagram, but it had definitely correctly alluded to a longer relationship. Shane figured most people would make the same assumption his father had, that they’d hit it off at the 2017 All Stars weekend. 

“It must have been very difficult to hide this,” says Marc quietly, “Everyone knows you both here, in Boston, in Ottawa. Everywhere you go, people recognize you.”

Shane’s not sure what to say. It has been hard. It was the plan, but it’s been hard. Especially now that they’re engaged, not that anyone knows that part yet. 

On screen the game has ended, the Metros limping to a 1-3 loss against Buffalo. Shane stands, “Uh, thanks for letting me watch the game.”

John stands to shake his hand. Marc does as well, “Can we take a picture?”

Shane nods. He doesn’t usually love taking his picture, but he figures this isn’t so bad. He tries his best not to smile too awkwardly as they each snap a couple selfies individually and all together. Shane walks over to Derek to pay for his drinks. 

Marc shouts, “Non! Je paierai pour Hollander.” He hands over his credit card, “It’s two pops, and I was an asshole. The least I can do.” 

Shane hated when people paid for him, but Marc had called him a homo, and it was probably 7-10 bucks depending how well Marc tipped, so like the pictures, Shane allows it with a smile. “Thanks.”

Shane breathes in the Montréal air. Cold. Crisp. 

He resumes his walk from earlier back to his car and drives home.

He has a message from Farah earlier that reads: i thought you’d be laying low at home but this is good!

Attached are a few screenshots of a social media thread.

 

Marc @MountieMetrosMark

Ran into Hollander tonight @ScoreFinale and he was incredibly gracious even though he overheard me being an absolute ass

Watched the rest of the game with us and took a call from Rozanov at the table to complain @MetrosMontreal were playing like shit

[image: Shane, Marc, and John at the sports bar]

 

Marc @MountieMetrosMark replying to @MountieMetrosMark

Rozanov was back at practice so clearly @OttawaCentaurs have their priorities straight. Whoever Rozanov is screwing he’s playing great fucking hockey. Meanwhile @MetrosMontreal is wasting our top scorer and his multimillion dollar contract for what?

Marc @MountieMetrosMark replying to @MountieMetrosMark

Hollander literally just chatted with Roz at the table like it was no big deal, and I was doubting they could have hid any real relationship from the public but they said I love you like they say it all the time. This thing is not new for them. 

Marc @MountieMetrosMark replying to @MountieMetrosMark

.@ShaneHollander24 idk if you ever log in here, but thank you for being a chill guy even when I put my ignorant foot in my mouth. As my new friend John reminded me, you’re the pride of Montreal, and it’s on us to remember it.