Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Anya | Ilya Rozanov's Dog

Additional Tags:

Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander's Cottage, Disordered Eating, Depression, Anxiety, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Shane Hollander Has an Eating Disorder, Anxious Shane Hollander, Depressed Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-06 Words: 3,913 Chapters: 1/1

We are a hot mess, Hollander

Summary

Set towards the end of The Long Game. The day after Ilya loses the playoffs and tells Shane he's like his mother, Shane hustles them off to the Cottage. A lot of feelings that haven't been discussed get discussed.

“Moya lyubov, I know we have plans to be very honest with each other, yes?”
Shane pulls away slightly, but he only makes it an inch or two, because Ilya’s still hugging him close. “No, no, do not run away, Hollander. Stay.”
Shane stops trying to move and lets himself sag back into Ilya. Ilya huffs contentedly, “Yes. Good. We have this plan, and it is a good plan. But you said we have time, yes?”
“Forever,” promises Shane, “I’m with you forever, Ilya.”
“Yes,” Ilya agrees, another gentle kiss pressed to the corner of Shane’s mouth, and Shane turns a little so that it turns into a real kiss. Ilya smiles against his lips as he pulls away, “So maybe we slow down? We do not have to share all of our feelings today, okay?”
“Okay,” Shane agrees with a little laugh, “Yes. Some of them can wait until tomorrow.”

Notes

So I was inspired to write this by the you up? text that Ilya sends Shane where he's desperately lonely and Shane's asleep and in the morning writes off as Ilya being horny... and somehow I wrote this entire one shot and it didn't fit in anywhere. But that's okay!

Shane Hollander wakes up cold. Not physically. Physically, Ilya is a solid line of heat against his back. He feels a little nauseous. Unsettled. Last night, Ilya had come home from his last post-season away game, and they’d gotten… emotional. In a way that Shane always craved, always hoped Ilya would wish to share with him. But now that he’d been confided in, Shane feels cold. Worried. And Shane… Shane tends to be fast on the out-of-control spiral.

Shane twists around in bed and watches Ilya sleeping soundly beside him for a while. That helps a little. Ilya’s chief complaint was that he was tired, and now, Shane’s realising that Ilya says he’s tired the way Shane says he’s just freaking out a little. Freaking out = panic attack. Tired = depression? 

He has to move. Has to get up and move through a routine. Or else he’ll be spiralling all the way through all the times he hasn’t noticed that it wasn’t hockey or the Big Secret that had Ilya exhausted.

Shane lets Anya out in the back yard and watches her happily sniffing in the damp grass while he makes coffee. Warm hands slide up the inside of his shirt. Shane leans back into his boyfriend – no, his fiancé – and soaks in the strong alive warmth of him.

Ilya peppers kisses along his jawline, “Good morning, moya lyubov.”

Shane pulls away to let Anya back in. Ilya bends down to welcome her, “Good morning to you, sweet girl! I am sorry, I was so tired last night, I hardly stopped to see you.”

Ilya straightens suddenly, “Or you. I was… a mess last night, I think.”

Shane burrows right back into Ilya’s arms, “I missed you. So fucking much. Hi.”

“Hi,” says Ilya, “I am… are we okay?” 

“We are okay,” Shane says, but he’s suddenly feeling a little short of breath. “Can we… Can we go to the cottage? I know you’re tired –”

Ilya stops him, “Shane, we can do whatever we want now. Yes.”

Tears prick hot against Shane’s eyes and Ilya’s face falls, “Shane? What is wrong?”

Shane shakes his head, “No. I – I don’t want to be sad today. I just… I just miss you.”

“I’m here,” Ilya says, “I’m not going anywhere again anytime soon, okay?”

“I know,” Shane says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Ilya begs him, “Sh.”

Shane pulls himself together a little, “I – I’m okay. Kind of.”

Ilya kisses the wetness off his cheeks. “Cottage, yes?”

Shane nods. Ilya presses one more kiss on his cheek and then starts to get things ready. Shane does too, packing is always oddly soothing. Ilya keeps checking on him, which is a little annoying, but Shane keeps forgetting that when he sees the way Ilya lovingly packs Anya’s things alongside their own. 

In the car, Shane sees that Ilya wants to drive, but he lets Shane take the wheel. Shane knows Ilya’s not expecting him to talk much on the drive, but when they’re almost there, with something to focus on, talking feels just slightly easier. He starts slow. And with Ilya. “How are you feeling today?”

“Tired,” Ilya says, unexpectedly honest, “I am always tired. But… better than last night.”

Shane doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but he reaches for Ilya’s knee, squeezes, then finds his hand and threads their fingers together. “I’m tired too. In a way that is different. But… “ He trails off, not sure how to describe himself.

Ilya squeezes his hand, “I know, moya lozhka.”

Shane feels the corner of his mouth dip up, “Uh… spoon?”

“Yes,” Ilya brings their fingers up to his mouth and kisses softly, “My spoon.”

Shane swallows hard, “Ilya?”

Ilya sounds almost amused, with just that small hint of worry underneath, “Yes, Shane?”

“Remember the first time I brought you to the cottage?”

Ilya kisses Shane’s fingertips again, “Yes, of course. Big trip for us.”

“Remember when I said, we should be honest with each other? About everything?”

Ilya’s voice immediately has a hard edge, “Yes?”

“I –” Shane takes his eyes off the road, “Can we do that again? I love you so much, and I think… I think I need to tell you some things. And I have questions for you. Questions I… I should have been asking a long time ago.”

He has to look at the road again before Ilya answers, and it hurts to pull his eyes away. But as he watches the road in front of them, Ilya says softly, “Yes. This sounds good.”

“Fuck you,” Shane says, “It sounds terrifying and you know it.”

“Yes,” Ilya agrees, “But you are right. You have questions?”

“Yes,” says Shane, “But can I tell you something first?”

Ilya hums agreement, and Shane pulls his hand away to put it back on the wheel. He stares straight ahead. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to find the right time and place to tell you that. But things keep getting fucked up and… and today’s the right time. I’m sorry.”

Ilya makes a confused sound, “What are you sorry for? What is wrong?”

Shane sighs, “I think… I was so focused on the plan, on following the stupid plan, because that’s what I do. I make a plan and I follow it, and I forgot to… adjust as things changed. And I missed… I missed all the ways it hurt you. And me. I was hurting too, Ilya. And I should have been able to… to tell you that.”

Ilya sounds more confused, “This is about the old fight we had? I don’t understand, Hollander.”

“It’s about everything,” Shane says, “Like… I think… We both knew we had to keep this huge secret. And I know you wanted to tell people or be seen together. But I don’t think you knew that I also wanted that. I didn’t want to say no. Like… remember when we went to see Fabian play?”

“Yes,” says Ilya immediately, “Felt like…”

“Like dying,” Shane says, “Like… agony, right?” That’s a word he hasn’t used in three years, not since they finally said their first I love yous. That had staved off the agony for a little while. But it had seeped back in over time, as the thing between them grew bigger than they could contain inside the box they’d tried to hide themselves in.

“Yes,” said Ilya, “I wanted to touch you. All around us, other people, touching each other. But not us.”

“But then I did touch you,” said Shane, “Just… not in the way I wanted to.”

He reaches for Ilya’s face blindly, and Ilya guides his hand to his cheek and his hair. Shane grips again a little too tight, but no complaint comes, “It wasn’t enough, Ilya. I promise you, it wasn’t enough for me either.”

Ilya’s hand holds Shane’s in place. “Moya lyubov, I know.”

Shane shakes his head, “No, I – I was missing so much. I thought you were… I thought you didn’t think I was enough anymore. Which was stupid, because I agreed. Hiding was… it was hurting me too.”

Ilya turned his head a little, kissing Shane’s palm, “I didn’t understand either, Shane. I was very sad. And I thought you had to see that I was sad.”

“I missed it,” Shane said, “I missed a lot. You remember when you said that we were so good at hiding we’re in love, that we’re not good at showing it? I think… we always had so little time together, I was scared to waste it on anything too hard.”

“Yes!” Ilya sounded incredibly relieved, “Yes, that is how I feel.”

Shane tangles their hands together in Ilya’s lap again, “We’re going to be together, Ilya. You and I. Married. Forever. So we – we have time, okay? Time to talk about things, time to help, or just to understand, okay?”

“Okay,” says Ilya, “Yes. We will try this now.”

Shane takes the last familiar turn to the cottage. He parks the car and finally he looks at Ilya, “I love you.”

Ilya’s mouth quirks up, “Yes. You keep saying that today.”

“I’m going to keep saying that forever,” Shane says, “Every day, okay? And I hope you believe it always, but I’m going to say it so you don’t forget.”

Ilya nods, “I love you too. I will say this every day too.”

Shane cracks open the door. It’s still spring, still cool especially by the water. Ilya does the same and they spill out into the sunshine with Anya in tow. They do the same thing they did at the house. They distract one another and themselves with the practical movements of unpacking and then taking Anya on a good walk.

The walk is nice, holding hands where no one can see them. Since being outed, they can hold hands anywhere, but it still doesn’t come easily to them, or at least not to Shane. The weight of people’s eyes on them still feels heavy, especially when his team and half the hockey world are still convinced that Shane and Ilya cheated that game. Shane hopes that now that Ottawa’s out of the playoffs that talk will stop, or at least die down. 

 

But then they’re in the kitchen, and Shane asks something he needs to ask. Something he’s wanted to ask for a long time, “Ilya? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But can I ask you something?”

Ilya gestures like that’s fine, like Shane should remember that by his own rules the cottage is a safe place for them to be honest. “What made you decide you should see Galina?”

Ilya’s shoulders tense, then he heaves a long sigh, “Yes. You asked me if I was sad sometimes and I did what you said. I made myself be fine for you. You remember Halloween?”

Shane feels himself blushing. He remembers. Remembers wishing he could be at Ilya’s stupid party, the impulsive drive to Ottawa, the plug, the frantic mind-blowing sex. “Yeah.”

“I was not good when you got there,” said Ilya, “I wanted you there with the other partners. I wanted to tell them. I was sad and a liar. And you were so perfect, showing up, so sexy, so beautiful. And I was all mixed up with it. And when you left, I cried for a very long time. And then I decided, that was maybe a bad thing to do and I needed some help.”

Shane’s stomach drops. He crosses the room immediately and wraps Ilya in his arms. Ilya sniffs softly, and then Shane’s not sure who is crying first, but they’re both crying. Anya whines anxiously and Ilya pulls away, one hand resting on Shane’s arm so they can’t separate too much farther from one another as he assures the dog they’re both going to be fine.

Shane drags Ilya to the couch and they collapse into one another. Shane is kissing Ilya, and they are both crying again, and then they just kind of lie tangled up together, breathing each other in.

Shane mumbles into Ilya’s t-shirt, “I want a ginger ale. And a cheeseburger.”

Ilya gasps, “No, you don’t!”

Shane’s eyes sting, “Ilya… my diet doesn’t make me feel good at all.”

Ilya’s forehead creases, “What?”

“I feel bad,” says Shane, “Like… If I stop, for even a second, I will be bad at hockey. I’ll get sick, or hurt, and I’ll have to stop playing.”

Ilya’s frown deepens, “Shane…”

“I know,” says Shane miserably, “At first, it wasn’t really about the food, it was about the discipline of sticking with it even though it was hard. I like that. And then it was about playing hockey for as long as possible. But now… I don’t know how to… rest.”

Ilya rocks him a little, “We are… hottest couple in the MLH, maybe the world. But we are a hot mess, Hollander.”

The joke is so unexpected that Shane is completely unprepared, and he laughs probably harder than the quality of the joke warrants. 

When he recovers, Shane sits up, separates himself from Ilya, not because he doesn’t want to be touching Ilya – he always wants that – but because he wants to be able to see Ilya. “What else have we been missing?”

“Lots probably,” says Ilya stretching out, exposing a sliver of abs between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his sweatpants. 

Shane picks up the framed photo of them at that fateful photoshoot and holds it, “I wanted a cookie on Christmas so bad.”

Ilya almost smiles. He regards the photo in Shane’s hand cautiously, “It hurt my feelings that you wanted to bring that here. Hide it, like everything else.” He’s rushing through the words so Shane can’t argue or protest or apologize, “I know we couldn’t risk anyone seeing anything. But my feelings were hurt.”

“I know,” says Shane, “And I knew you knew that.” He holds the photo to his chest, “Let’s bring this home when we leave, okay?”

“You don’t have to do that,” says Ilya immediately.

“I want to,” Shane says.

Ilya nods, looking a little uncertain. Shane’s still calibrating himself to a reality where Ilya is not as confident as he’s always seemed. “Home like… yours? Or mine?”

“You know,” says Shane, “When people get married, they usually live together.”

“We are not most people,” says Ilya, which is a little redundant. 

Shane smiles, “Guess not. Lucky us.”

Ilya doesn’t look any more at ease. “One of us will need to drive a lot.”

Shane feels his smile getting bigger, “No. Because I’m leaving Montreal.”

And Shane’s not doing this for Ilya at all, but he’d do anything, give anything, to see his future husband’s face light up like that. “Shane?”

Shane has to put a hand over his mouth to contain an honest-to-God giggle. “Yes. While you were gone, I called Farah. Obviously, I can’t sign until July. But I told her I wanted Ottawa, and basically nowhere else. If I have to, New York. But I’m leaving Montreal. Everyone except Hayden and J.J. basically thinks I let you win a playoff game. They’ll never respect me, I can’t be a captain on a team that has… looked down on me for a long time. Even before the video leak. I, uh, I don’t think I wanted to admit to myself or to you how bad it’s been since I came out.”

Ilya can only reach Shane’s leg from here, but he slides a hand rhythmically from Shane’s knee to ankle. Shane sighs, “Obviously, I was a bit of an uptight freak about the plan –”

“You? I don’t think so,” Ilya pulls himself up a bit to kiss Shane’s knee.

Shane nods, “But I think I was more scared of being found out because I… I suspected that it would be bad when it happened. Not just overall in the league, but in my room specifically. And I was scared that it would be for you in yours.”

“Has not been bad,” Ilya assures him, “Will be better when you’re there.”

Shane can’t take it anymore, he pivots his body around and he pounces on Ilya. “We’re going to win so many cups for Ottawa. You were so close already. We’re going to slaughter everyone.” Ilya surges up to kiss him back. 

They kiss and then they stumble to the bedroom to fuck. And it’s phenomenal. It’s always been hot, every time, all the way back to the start. But for the first time in a while, Shane’s able to see that there’s a difference between communicating through sex and not communicating by havign sex. They’ve been doing a lot of that, trying to connect, but not quite getting there. Having sex so they wouldn’t need to talk about the problems that were building up around them. Clearly some of those things had slipped through the cracks.

Today though, Shane feels it all. Feels how much Ilya needs him, how much he loves him, and he gives it all right back. 

Shane lays on his back as Ilya gently cleans him up. He sighs, contented and finally warm and safe. Ilya presses a kiss to Shane’s hipbone, “You are so beautiful, always, but especially like this.”

Shane’s a little sleepy, so he’s not really thinking when he mumbles a thank you, “This is so nice. Love that you do this. Cried after Vegas when you didn’t.”

Ilya freezes, “Vegas?”

Shane’s sleepy blissed out brain is just starting to catch up to the fact that Ilya looks sick at the idea, “Oh, hey, no. Ilya, it was so hot that night. It was. I just… I made a mistake that night.”

Ilya frowns like he doesn’t understand, and Shane guesses he doesn’t. They’ve only talked about that night vaguely in reference to how hot Shane looked masturbating for Ilya. Never that cold emptiness of riding the elevator alone, that text written out but not sent. The realization that something was missing or no longer enough or no longer sustainable. 

Shane says softly now, “I didn’t know back then what aftercare was. Or how to tell you what I needed. It was so fucking good, so fucking hot. But I was starting to fall for you, and you had ghosted me, and I was an asshole too, in my own way. I tried to get you to talk about your family, when really, we weren’t there yet. But I just wanted… I wanted to feel like you wanted me the way I wanted you. I wanted you to kiss me, because you had every other time.”

Ilya kisses him now, so softly, so sweetly, that Shane almost can’t believe this is the same man who had demanded he touch himself while Ilya bragged about beating Shane to a Cup. Shane remembers the press between his shoulderblades as Ilya had fucked him ruthlessly into the hotel mattress. Partially, because it was so memorable, and partially because in the years since, they’ve done that same thing more times than Shane can count.

Ilya rests his forehead against Shane’s shoulder, “I was mad at you for bringing them up after sex. And I was late for the award because I was… I had a panic attack, like you.”

Shane’s suspected that since he started noticing Ilya getting more distant. That Ilya’s always been so good at managing Shane’s panic attacks because he’s had one before himself. The confirmation still lodges in his chest. 

Ilya folds himself into Shane’s waiting arms. Shane holds tight. Ilya’s lips brush against the side of Shane’s neck. Not quite a kiss, just so close to each other that his lips and Shane’s neck are occupying the same space. “Moya lyubov, I know we have plans to be very honest with each other, yes?”

Shane pulls away slightly, but he only makes it an inch or two, because Ilya’s still hugging him close. “No, no, do not run away, Hollander. Stay.” 

Shane stops trying to move and lets himself sag back into Ilya. Ilya huffs contentedly, “Yes. Good. We have this plan, and it is a good plan. But you said we have time, yes?”

“Forever,” promises Shane, “I’m with you forever, Ilya.”

“Yes,” Ilya agrees, another gentle kiss pressed to the corner of Shane’s mouth, and Shane turns a little so that it turns into a real kiss. Ilya smiles against his lips as he pulls away, “So maybe we slow down? We do not have to share all of our feelings today, okay?”

“Okay,” Shane agrees with a little laugh, “Yes. Some of them can wait until tomorrow.”

Ilya shifts his weight and they tumble to the side, kissing again. Just when Shane’s reaching to turn this makeout session into something more, Ilya’s hands stop him, “Wait, wait. Shane. One more feeling?”

Shane freezes and nods. Ilya grabs his wandering hand and folds it in his own against his chest between them. Ilya smiles softly, and Shane’s face gets warm. “I feel so much love. So much… thank – this is wrong word, Shane. Blagodarnost.”

“Gratitude,” Shane supplies quietly.

“Yes, this thing,” Ilya says, “Gratitude. For you. For loving you, being loved by you. Ya lyublyu tebya bol'she vsego na svete.” And Shane’s heard that one enough now that he doesn’t need a translation. I love you more than anything in the world.

Shane runs his hands through Ilya’s curls, “When we’re on the same team, we’re going to have so many flights and road trips together. So much time together. And you know what my top priority for that time is going to be?”

Ilya grins, “Fuck without the team hearing us?”

Shane shoves Ilya’s face into the pillow, “Asshole. Fine, you know what my second priority will be?”

Ilya shakes his head. Shane smiles, “I’m going to learn Russian this year. I’ve been too slow. But I want to be able to talk to my husband in his first language.” Ilya’s face breaks into a smile. Shane grins back and tries not to overthink his accent as he says, “Moy muzh.”

Ilya’s lips move but no sound comes out as he copies the words, as though he’s the one who doesn’t know them. “Moy muzh.”

“I love you,” says Shane, “And I want to speak your very hard language, and play hockey until we’re ninety and they kick us out, and our kids are breaking all our old records.”

“Our kids,” Ilya says, “How many?”

“I don’t know,” Shane says, “Let’s start with one. And if we don’t completely screw them up, we’ll stop when it feels right?”

Ilya nods, “Yes. Good. When?”

Shane frowns at his fiancé, “Ilya, we have spent our entire lives planning for the next thing. Pushing things off, waiting for later. For this. To live our lives. And I honestly did not think we would get here and get hockey. So I don’t want to make another plan right now. I want to love you. Loudly. Score so many goals, they name a fucking trophy after me. Marry you. Play on the same team. And I think, somewhere along the way, we’ll decide together that we’re ready to be dads.”

Ilya smiles, “You’re going to be a really good dad, Hollander.”

“I hope so,” says Shane, “And even if I’m not, our kid will have you, so, they’ll be perfect.”

Ilya looks almost shy, “You think I would be a good father?”

“You are good with every kid ever,” Shane says, “Hayden’s, the camp kids, fans, strangers on the street. So yeah, our kid? They’ll worship you. You’ll be the best dad.”

Ilya asks hesitantly, “My father was… angry. Critical. I would… I hope I am not like that.”

“You won’t be,” Shane says, certain, “You are… not like that. You are so good. Kind. Gentle. But strong. Funny, kids love that. I love that. You.”

Shane kisses Ilya softly, “Any kid would be lucky to have Ilya Rozanov as their dad.”

Ilya’s smile goes very soft at the edges, “I remember the first time you brought me here, and you woke me up and told me the plan, that you wanted to be with me, and now… now we do not need a plan. This is the plan. You and me.”

“You and me,” Shane repeats, threading their fingers together, and pulling Ilya’s fingers to his lips. “Together.”

He falls asleep warm, tangled in the bed with Ilya.