Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Brandon Wiebe, Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Carter Vaughn, Zane Boodram

Additional Tags:

Oblivious Ilya Rozanov, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs critical, Let Shane Hollander Crash Out, Brandon Wiebe Critical, Troy Barrett Bashing, Harris Drover Critical, The Seattle expansion draft had interesting timing, Supportive Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander Leaves the Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros, Social Media, eventually, Texting, i cant write sex, This is the first fun thing I’ve written in over ten years, I mix terminology between book and show because Metros is easier to spell, Ilya still has his curls, Harris looks like book Harris, author does not speak Russian, no beta we die like Ottawa’s hopes and dreams

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-09-04 Completed: 2026-09-15 Words: 40,599 Chapters: 14/14

Black Ice

Summary

Shane Hollander loves his future husband. Sure, his future husband is oblivious sometimes, but he means well, and he always listens.

Ilya Rozanov thinks his future husband doesn’t understand the dark side of hockey. He’s about to learn differently.

The result: two decisions nobody who even slightly follows the NHL expected their two former rival stars to make.

Chapter 1: Swallowing Shards

Shane stared at the quarter-sized brown stain on the floorboard by his brakes, wondering vaguely how it got there given he’d just had his nice, practical, boring Land Rover detailed. The stain was one of five things he could see, something to focus on to regulate his breathing before beginning the two-hour drive back to Ottawa.

He’d driven into Montreal the day before. Just a quick early June trip to check on his Brossard house and meet with Metros management before wedding planning took up his time and brain space. Now that both Ottawa and Montreal were out of the playoffs—Ottawa at the hands of Scott Hunter and Montreal at the hands of Ottawa—he and Ilya both had plenty of time on their hands. Shane had wanted to head to the cottage for his yearly reset, but between his obligatory contract negotiations with Montreal, his more-than-likely free agency and signing with Ottawa, the upcoming wedding to be held in Ilya’s backyard, and Ilya’s desire to actually spend non-working time with his teammates now that he and Shane were out, there simply wasn’t enough time. And the cottage was no place for a honeymoon.

He’d spent the evening before with the Pike family. Ostensibly, it was to spend time with Hayden and JJ. On this occasion; however, the Pike ladies proved to be much better company. He and JJ had said the air was cleared, but JJ’s look of distrust showed a latent doubt that Shane hadn’t actually tripped on purpose. While Shane, as usual, attempted to school his face into his practiced friend mask, a looser version of his media mask, he was sure he had sent JJ his own look of betrayal at some point.

Hayden had treated the visit as business-as-usual, offering ginger ale and attempting to discuss the Conference Finals between New York and Detroit. Then, the surprise matchup of Utah and Anaheim in the Western finals. Finally, he tried the upcoming Seattle expansion draft. But every time Shane looked him in the eye, he was reminded of the upcoming meeting with Metros management and the reason why his contract renewal hadn’t been completed the second they were out of the playoffs. That reason being Hayden’s carelessness when creating Fanmails.

Ilya had forgiven Hayden immediately. Had been relieved to shine their love for the world to see. So Shane had ignored the nightmares of Ilya being hauled back to Russia and murdered. Ilya wanted Hayden to remain his friend. So what right did Shane, who only risked his career and hadn’t dealt with Hayden’s insults to his face, have to say differently?

So Shane allowed himself to be dragged off to play Pretty Pretty Princess with the Pike girls, with Jackie taking pictures of him wearing the crown at the end. Shane was amused to see the construction paper pink and purple rings to replace the plastic versions that now lived in Ottawa.

Arthur, as usual, was the best company though, curling up in Shane’s lap with his copy of Z is for Zamboni, content to fiddle with the dreaded black ring until poor Amber was forced to wear it. He’d read Arthur that book at bedtime before making his excuses to head back to his house to rest for the meeting tomorrow.

Now it was tomorrow, and his meeting was complete, and all that remained was a two-hour drive on Canada’s worst stretch of road before hopefully falling into Ilya’s arms in their hopefully quiet Ottawa house. Ilya had intended to have dinner with Troy the night before, so with all luck and a few orgasms, he would have several days reprieve from that headache.

Shane inhaled for four counts and exhaled for six.

Shane had wanted to tell Montreal to kick rocks. Ilya said he should just say that with some fucks thrown in (don’t be boring Shane!) However, he had a decade-long relationship with the Metros, and he had worked too hard to develop his polite reputation. So, with more than a little nudging from his mother, Shane had agreed to the meeting.

The offer was both a surprise and made all the sense in the world.

He understood where Montreal management was coming from. He and Farah had sat down with the GM (much cooler head than Coach) in the chilly air conditioned conference room, nursing glasses of ice water while discussing the basics. The outing was still fresh, the vitriol of the locker room raw and cutting, and the trip was an unfortunate coincidence still being talked about on podcasts (why though Man in the Crease, with darling Cinderellas Utah and Anaheim right there battling for the West?)

So their proposal was this: a one-year contract renewal with the same terms as before, same salary and preserved captaincy, and everyone would reassess at the end of next year. Comeau and Drapeau would just have to suck it up in the meantime. It would give Shane and Coach time to get a feel for the locker room once tempers had faded. Time to see if this situation was sustainable. If the team chemistry that had led to three cups was salvageable.

It was tempting. Perfectly reasonable. If not for the fact that Shane never wanted to step foot in the Metros locker room again, Shane would have signed it that second, and not just because Shane was desperate for the uncertainty to be over.

The Montreal GM had even said that Shane was perfectly welcome to test free agency and that the offer would be on the table until August 1st, to give Shane time to weigh his options and the Metros time to make necessary trades. Completely fair for them both.

Shane knew he would never be signing that contract.

Unrestricted Free Agent Shane Hollander. A phrase he never expected to put together. And then home to Ottawa.

Ilya wanted Ottawa, and therefore Shane wanted Ottawa. So Ottawa it would be.

Ottawa, with no captaincy and therefore no permission to discuss rule interpretations with the refs, likely a small pay cut to keep the salary cap open for Luca and Wyatt, and a reputation that went from best-hockey-player-in-the-world to captain’s husband. Ottawa, where he would have to fake friendship with Troy Barrett.

Ottawa, where he would wake with his husband every morning, the morning light making his curls sparkle. Where he would fall asleep with his husband’s arms available whenever he needed them and his husband’s sprawling body to act as a living weighted blanket. Where his husband was there to switch the big light with a soft lamp and pull him out of his head when the thoughts raced too quickly.

And as a bonus, his parents nearby to support them both and his dad to make chicken Parmesan.

Some trades are worth making.

Shane breathed deeply, pulled his vehicle in reverse, and backed away from the Metros offices for the last time.

When Shane pulled up to Ilya’s their Ottawa house, he noticed the extra vehicle in the driveway.

Troy fucking Barrett. Back again. He’d become a household staple in the time since the season ended. Shane tried so hard not to hate him. After all, it had been him who convinced Ilya to give Troy a chance.

However, Shane thought that chance meant playing together like teammates, not Troy coming out to Ilya and Ilya coming out right back, not Troy making himself a regular fixture on their couch, sometimes with his boyfriend in tow. Not Ilya making jokes about a threesome with the man who sneered and laughed across the ice while his best buddy Kent made jabs about Shane’s likely small dick, Shane taking it up the ass, and Shane not being able to see the puck because of his Japanese eyes.

Montreal and Barrett in the same day were too much.

Shane took another deep cleansing breath, opened the door, and tossed his keys in their bowl.

“Ilya, I’m back.” Shane walked to the plush leather couch, where Troy and Harris were cuddled on one end, facing Ilya. Suppressing a grimace, Shane plopped next to Ilya, making sure Ilya was between him and the cuddled couple.

“Moy loshad’ how was the meeting?” Ilya turned to kiss him, and Shane could have melted into the contact.

“My horse?”

“Yes, you travel like horse all day. Carry strong load. And soon you will be horse creature like us. How were Metro losers?”

Ilya should have known it was inappropriate for Shane to discuss his contract negotiations with a division rival with Centaurs employees in the room. Ilya was smarter than that. Perhaps he simply didn’t think of the meeting as having any consequence?

“It was fine.” Shane sighed. Then, leaning forward to whisper in Ilya’s ear, “Pozzhe,”

Ilya chuckled, “I think you mean pozdneye, solnyshko. You need to work on your Russian.”

Plan wedding. Sign new contract. Prepare for next season. Try to make nice with Troy Barrett. Shane would add “perfect his Russian” to the list.

“Secret languages don’t make friends,” Troy sing-songed from his place across the couch.

Shane bit down a reply about how he really didn’t want to be friends in the first place. Instead, he conjured his smile, a bit tighter and more media friendly than the one he had worn at the Pike house. “Sorry Barrett, but I can’t really talk about my contract negotiations with another team.”

Barrett whined, “But you aren’t really part of that team anymore. You’re our teammate now. And I bet you’ll talk about it with Ilya as soon as we leave.”

“Ilya is going to be my husband. Plus, I already told Metro management I would be discussing my contract offers with him. He signed an NDA and everything.”

That part was true. Almost immediately after their season ended and contract negotiations ramped up, Farah had drawn up an NDA for Ilya to sign. Ilya had glanced and signed quickly, considering it a mere formality. Shane would be a Centaur soon, and then they could discuss the team together all they pleased. But while Shane was going through the grueling process of extricating himself from Montreal without looking more disloyal than he did already, it helped to have concrete assurance Ilya wouldn’t blab secrets while giving Shane the support he needed.

Not that there had been much support. Just “Why does this bother you? You’ll be a Centaur in July. Tell Metros to go to hell.”

Ilya could get away with that. Could probably tell the media he said that and they would laugh. Shane had been taught from childhood that he couldn’t do the same. It would make him look weak when he was already perceived as such.

“Let my Shane keep his secrets Barrett. Tell us about new dogs while we wait for pizza.”

In a rare but welcome show of intimacy, Shane allowed his head to rest on Ilya’s shoulder as the conversation about a mama dog and her puppies washed over him. He barely paid attention. Ilya, sensing through the minimal contact Shane’s bone-deep exhaustion, let him stay quiet.

And when the pizza came, he managed two whole veggie slices. With real cheese. Oh how he had missed pizza, the tangy tomato sauce tickling his taste buds and the pull of the mozzarella. The slight crunch from the peppers. The crispy, buttery crust. It had probably been two years since he had last savored it.

For once, Ilya refrained from chirping him. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling that came from eating the same flavor as Troy, along with the suspicion that this flavor was only ordered because Troy was visiting. If they had been alone, it would have been a meat lover’s pie and a quip about bird food while Shane nibbled at the pizza, filled up on salad (he was trying to relax the diet, really), and pushed down nausea.

With the empty pizza boxes stacked by the kitchen garbage to be recycled, and with the setting sun casting a golden hue around the living room, Shane felt his obligations had been completed.

He’d attended the meeting.

He’d been given a reasonable, very tempting offer that he was going to be rejecting.

He’d driven home to Ilya.

He’d spoken with Troy fucking Barrett.

He’d eaten pizza.

He’d helped cleaned the mess.

All in all, a pretty good day.

So why was a headache twisting his temples until they felt like they would snap?

He had lost track of the conversation again when he heard Ilya say the word cottage.

“What was that about the cottage?”

Ilya turned to him. “I invited Troy and Harris to the cottage next time we are there. Maybe end of August before season starts?”

Shane suppressed another grimace. They were already having limited cottage time as is, what with the camps and the wedding and the honeymoon Ilya wanted in Ibiza. And now he was expected to share his limited recharge time.

Shane mustered up some energy and turned to Ilya. “I think I’m getting a headache. Going to turn in early, ok?” A statement phrased as a question, polite enough to satisfy the company while firm enough to tell his future husband his battery was depleted and he was absolutely done with this day.

Ilya looked at him with furrowed brows. Concerned? Upset? Finally, he sighed, “All right moya lyubov. Go sleep. I’ll check on you when we are done here.”

“Night Barrett, Harris.” Shane gave a half-hearted wave and got up from the couch, stretching his tense muscles. Shane’s shoulders slumped with relief as he headed to the kitchen for a water bottle, swallowed some headache relief tablets, grabbed his head wrap from the freezer, and slowly slumped into their bedroom for the night.

At last, Shane was free to change out of his business casual slacks and button up, pull on a wash-worn t-shirt that used to be Ilya’s, along with plaid boxers, and crawl into ice cold sheets, the frozen gel pack squeezing his pounding temples into numbness while muted happy conversation carried on outside the closed door.

Chapter 2: The Ice Cracks

Chapter Summary

Ilya intended to have a discussion. Instead he listens. He thinks. Maybe he even learns.

Shane talks. And just keeps talking.

They make it through the other side somehow.

Chapter Notes

Thank you all for reading the first chapter of my little experiment.

Fair warning: I am white. I have drawn inspiration from other fics in this genre that are sometimes written by people who aren’t white. I do not necessarily believe I did everything justice. However, I wanted a version where Ilya actually listens. I like the idea of them actually talking about this issue rather than them sitting with their feelings. I hope it also makes Ilya more receptive to what comes later.

Also I have two more chapters drafted. The AO3 curse already hit my nice new iPad mini keyboard, so I may need to wait until the replacement comes in to continue.

“Why didn’t Shane drink any of my cider?”

Harris pouted and poured another glass as the bedroom door closed.

“Shane does not like much alcohol” Ilya explained. “He used to have it sometimes in the offseason. But not since awful diet started’’ Ilya pulled a face thinking about the neverending parade of morning green smoothies and the giant boxes of kale and spinach in their fridge.

“But he had pizza tonight,” Troy pointed out, correctly. “And didn’t you say he was loosening up on the diet?”

“Maybe he is in denial about Montreal not being in playoffs still?” Ilya shrugged and the room laughed.

It was yet another pleasant buzzy evening that the Ilya of December could only dream of. Shane in Ottawa for good, eating pizza with their friends. Gentle laughter. Shane’s head on his shoulder where sunshine and outside eyes could see.

Come July, Shane would be part of his team for good. His to hold every night, warm and safe and there. His mere presence keeping the dark thoughts away. That magnificent ass in the locker room for him (and only him) to look at and touch. They would go on roadies together. Terrorize their teammates with PDA (Ilya couldn’t wait to add money to the already planned jar.) Attempt to be quiet as mice and fail miserably while keeping awake the poor rookies rooming next to them.

Eat a healthy compromise of dinner together. Go to Bood’s barbecues. Together, together, to-get-her.

What a nice word.

And yet, something was off. Ilya had expected to welcome home a triumphant warrior who told the Montreal losers to kick rocks. Had expected a bright smile and infectious energy as he regaled the room of his conquering. Maybe hand gestures. Shane had looked the Commissioner Himself in the eye and said he chose Ilya over hockey. Surely, a meeting with the Montreal GM would get him the same Shane who thrilled at their elevator kiss that day.

Instead he had welcomed quiet Shane who waved off alcohol and slumped against him like he was trying to transfer his burden to Ilya’s shoulders. This Shane had complained of a headache and went to bed with the sun.

Perhaps the headache was a coincidence? A sign of dehydration or brought on by the change in season?

The conversation continued, flowing like Harris’s cider. They would call Harris’s family to bring the boys home and return for the car later. In a lull, with his whole body resting against Harris’s broad farmer’s torso, Troy looked at Ilya.

“Why doesn’t Shane like me?”

Ilya was startled at the question before considering it was true. Shane gave Troy and Harris media smiles, not even friend masks. He certainly rarely let down his careful guard against them. Eating pizza for the first time in ages and resting even an inch of his body against Ilya’s was a much-enjoyed surprise, Ilya realized.

Ilya knew all too well Troy’s history. How he had acted with a mask of homophobia to hide his own homosexuality. How since coming to Ottawa he had been putting in the work to do better, be better, make right his wrongs.

Ilya knew of Troy’s asshole father, so familiar to his own. Remembered his own teenage sullen silences and acquiescence to traditional values in the face of his father’s coldness. How Ilya had hidden his love for Shane behind, to be frank, a history of sluttiness. Troy’s mask of homophobia was no different than Ilya’s mask of partying. Or Shane’s own robotic costume, as Ilya considered the media-trained face.

Did Shane still hold everything against Troy? Was Shane jealous that Ilya had mentioned fucking Troy once? Jealous that Troy had been there to support Ilya when Shane couldn’t? Ilya was determined to ask when the boys left.

“He likes you fine Troy. Just getting to know you. My Shane takes a while to warm up to people.” There, not really the truth but not a complete lie. More importantly, shutting down the conversation.

“Who wants to play Chel?” Boys at heart, Ilya successfully shifted the conversation and loaded the newest iteration of the game, Ilya’s favorite because it had his husband on the cover, all determined kitten face. They poured more cider and settled in, Harris content to watch and “assist” his boyfriend.

Eventually, Harris’s sister had driven the two giggling, tipsy boys away. Ilya glanced at the kitchen for cleanliness, checked the doors, turned out the lights, and headed to the bedroom to talk to Shane.

Instead, he found Shane was actually telling the truth. His love was curled like the kitten Ilya so often thought of him as, sleeping deeply, the gel headache wrap pressed against his head. Rather than wake Shane and make him grumpy for what could be a tense conversation, Ilya crawled into bed alongside his favorite human pillow and pulled out his phone so he could scroll himself to sleep.

It could wait until tomorrow.

The next morning, Ilya awoke to the blender. Shane had promised to ease up on the diet, but there was no prying the nasty smoothies away. Instead, Shane had a smaller smoothie alongside eggs and toast. Progress, Ilya supposed. It seemed he was doomed to a life of kale in the fridge.

Some trades are worth making.

Ilya rubbed his eyes clear of sleep as he padded into the kitchen barefoot and sat at the island, delighted to see scrambled eggs and his favorite bagel already laid out, alongside cream cheese and Nutella.

“What is this Hollander? Trying to kill me so you can be Captain?” Ilya took a sip of his mug of coffee, humming at the perfect blend of coffee, milk, and sugar.

Shane sat next to him and took a sip of his own brew, black as usual. “And dobroye utro to you too.”

“Sorry. Good morning, my sunshine. Now why have you laid out breakfast I like with no lecture?”

“It’s the offseason. A little treat won’t hurt. I even had pizza yesterday, remember?” Shane grinned, pleased as punch with himself for the perfectly ordinary act of eating a perfectly ordinary food. Ilya wanted to kiss him about it and did.

“Oh I remember.” He murmured against Shane’s lips before settling back to his chair. Ilya took a bite of eggs, then paused and laid his fork down.

“Speaking of yesterday, Troy had a question after you went to bed.” Shane, putting his plain toast down and picking up his smoothie cup, quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah?”

“Why don’t you like him?” Shane set down his smoothie before his sip. He looked at Ilya, face frozen. The robot mask creeped back on.

“What do you mean?” His voice was too light, too casual.

“He thinks you are cold to him. I think he is right.”

Shane scrunched his face. “I’m perfectly polite to him.”

“That is not the same thing as liking him. You were polite to Cuntmeau.” Perhaps a misogynistic nickname for the asshole teammate who caused Shane so much grief, but Ilya couldn’t resist the pun. The two men stared silently at each other, breakfasts forgotten. The eggs cooled and congealed, the toast gummy and cold. Shane’s smoothie turned to a weird fluffy texture with slowly pooling liquid at the bottom.

“So his feelings are what, hurt that I had a headache last night? Or that I didn’t share the details of my sensitive and confidential contract negotiations with him? And instead of asking me directly he went crying to my fiance? Is he still as much of a coward as he was in Toronto?”

Shane had spent the last season terrified of even being seen out in public as friends, and he dared to call Ilya’s best friend a coward?

“It is my job to handle these things.” Ilya spoke stiffly, not taking the bait even as rage pooled in his belly, knocking to be set free.

“As my partner?” Shane crossed his arms; he clearly wasn’t backing down either.

“As your captain.”

Shane narrowed his eyes and took a sip of coffee before responding. “You aren’t my captain yet Rozanov. I haven’t been offered by Ottawa. I haven’t signed a contract. In fact, I’m not even a free agent until July. Until then, I’m still as much of a captain as you.”

Ilya hated the reminder that Shane wasn’t a Centaur yet.

“OK, as your future husband then, why don’t you like my best friend? Are you jealous? You know I don’t want to fuck him right? He has Harris and I think he likes topping.” The quip was intended to tease, to release some of the tension of their conversation. Immediately Ilya realized, looking at Shane’s fixed, blank expression, that it didn’t work.

Shane stared into the distance at a nondescript painting on the wall rather than look Ilya in the eye. Ilya let the question and subsequent silence settle around them like a scratchy blanket. Only the faint twitch of Shane’s eyebrow gave any indication as to his love’s thinking, and Ilya was fairly certain he was about to hear some anger. If Shane didn’t bottle it away first. That option simply wouldn’t do.

Ilya pulled out the trump card. They needed to talk about this. If nothing else, having everything settled before training camp would only make the team better. And Ilya didn’t want this cloud hanging over them at the wedding.

“Cottage honesty Shane. Please.” It was the please that did it.

Finally, Shane began to speak, so quietly Ilya had to strain to hear.

“How much has Barrett told you about his time in Toronto?” He looked at Ilya, eyes glassy. Ilya had expected fury, not tears. But maybe that was Ilya thinking of himself. The faint sheen in his kotenok’s dark eyes dissolved his own frustration like sugar in hot tea.

“He told me he was afraid of Kent finding out he was gay. So he acted homophobic.” Ilya waved his hand. “Laughed at Kent’s jokes. Made some of his own. He apologized. Is doing better.”

Shane breathed out, making a low growl. Ilya was getting angry kitten then. Then, “Did he ever tell you he asked me how I could see the puck with my eyes looking like that?” No, he most certainly had not told Ilya that.

“Well you do wear sexy glasses?” Ilya attempted a flirt.

“That’s not what he meant Rozanov and you know it.” Shane growled. Deep down, Ilya knew what Shane meant. Didn’t want to consider it. “And did you know he asked if my mom’s pussy was as slanted as her eyes and that’s why she only had one kid? Didn’t know Barrett was hiding his secret Japaneseness.”

Ilya started at that. It was one thing to chirp Shane, who was on the ice and could fight back. But to say nasty things about Mama Yuna? Even Kent had left his mama alone.

“Why didn’t you punch him, Shane?” Ilya croaked, forgetting that he was talking about his new best friend. “Nobody would have blamed you.” Shane snorted.

“Montreal would have blamed me. And there would be op eds asking if my kind should be allowed in the league if we are soft enough to drop gloves over a little chirping.”

Ilya had been in his fair share of fights and not had this experience. Why was Shane different? As though reading his mind, Shane continued.

“How has Boodram been with him in the room?” Ilya thought for a moment. Bood had been cordial, welcoming as an alternate captain should be. But actually getting Troy settled and opening up had been Ilya’s doing.

“I…think I need to ask Bood some things.” Shane nodded, as though he had expected that. He didn’t seem like he was about to run out the door and cancel the wedding, at least. Ilya wouldn’t let that happen. He’d get Troy traded himself before he let that happen, nevermind that Ilya had no control over trades.

“Ilya, you might be Russian, but you’re white. And being Russian means you’re expected to be aggressive. I know this comes with its own problems, and people used to mock your English and the league was ass at providing translators, but nobody thinks you’re weak. They look at me, and if I wasn’t the best this sport has seen in a generation, I’d probably be out of the league already. They look at me like I’m soft and breakable. Like I don’t belong. ”

Ilya was about to correct him with “second best” but sensed this wasn’t the time for banter. He had always considered Shane to be separate from the darker side of hockey, something he had only come to discover more since leaving Boston. Shane was just so sweet and polite, the media-trained darling. Pure in a way Ilya wasn’t. When he had discussions with Max and Leah, Shane had appeared bewildered at the idea that you could love hockey without it loving you back.

Maybe Ilya simply wanted Shane to be untouched by his beloved sport’s cruelty.

Maybe Shane understood better than even he did.

“Coaches have always wanted me to goad players into more penalties, but refs let the other guys get away with things they don’t against you.” Ilya had noticed Shane got no-calls more often than him and chalked it up to him putting up less of a fuss, and with three cups to one, who could argue with that particular ref strategy? Especially because ref negotiations were arguably their most important captain duty.

“It got worse since we were outed, you know? I’m the one that tripped. I have ‘bottom eyes’ whatever that means.” Shane made air quotes.

“I must be the one throwing games. Because you’re the top and I’m your Asian mail order bride.”

Ilya had most certainly not heard comments like that. Clearly nobody dared to make those comments to him. Or under his Instagram posts. No wonder Shane avoided social media, if those were the kinds of comments he got. He would have brought that up, but Shane was gaining stream. His eyes were bright and wild, more like a feral tiger than an angry kitten, and Ilya absorbed every word like it was his last chance to hear Shane speak.

In another world, maybe, if he were less receptive, it could have been.

“You want to know if I’m jealous of Troy, right? You’re damn right. I’m so thankful he was there for you when I was stuck in Montreal. I’m glad you have friends. But I can’t trust him like you do. Not yet.

I did everything right my whole life. I ate healthy. I woke up early. Slept the correct amount. Pushed myself to the absolute fucking limit. Played with so many fucking injuries I’m sometimes surprised I can still play. And my entire legacy is gone because of one fucking trip.

Barrett got to be an absolute asshole to everyone, and he gets the happy ending. The nice boyfriend and everyone says ‘how cute’. He’s the hero standing against homophobia. Standing up for women. Don’t get me wrong, the world is a whole lot fucking better with him doing better, but it kills me that none of what he did matters. None of what I did matters.

And quite frankly, I can't help but think him being white is part of that.”

Wow, if that wasn’t a monologue to rival Ilya’s in Moscow. Ilya hadn’t even considered race to be part of what happened to them. So he said so.

“I’m sorry, Shane. So fucking sorry. I’m so stupid. You’re just so beautiful and wonderful and I didn’t…” Ilya trailed off, throat tight. “I didn’t think your race made any difference.”

“I know you didn’t.” Shane was calmer now, still there, still not running back to Montreal. “You grew up in Russia. You didn’t know pretty could be an insult when we met.” That was a lesson he learned by the end of his first season, and he looked back on his childlike flirting with Shane at their commercial with some embarrassment and was thankful Shane had realized he was serious.

“And you get to keep being captain and keep being the highest paid in the league, while I leave behind my team friendly Montreal deal and captaincy for whatever Ottawa is willing to throw at me.”

Whatever Ottawa is willing to throw at him? Sure, Ottawa went from plenty of cap space to creeping toward that ceiling, and they still had to keep Luca in a year, but that doesn’t mean they would shortchange Shane? They could trade Dillon and Boyle for draft picks. Offload a couple of guys on the fourth line. It was workable, and they could give Shane other bonuses and promise later salary bumps when Ilya takes his pay cut next negotiation. Ilya would cut his pay already to give Shane what he deserved, but apparently that wasn’t allowed.

Stupid rules.

Ilya stared at his love, who was breathing like he was cooling down from a workout. Finally, Ilya asked, “What can I do? What do you want, no need, me to do?” Ilya considered himself perceptive, but Shane had told him so much he had missed, so he was under no illusion he could just figure out how to handle this the way his Shane deserved.

Shane considered him. “First, never ever mention fucking Barrett again. I don’t care if it’s a chirp or a joke. I actually wondered if you would prefer him to me at one point.”

Ilya was flabbergasted and immediately took Shane’s hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over the top of Shane’s smooth hands. “No moya lyubov. Never. It’s always you. Only you. For many years now and forever.” Ilya was near tears himself, choking out the words as he refrained from pulling Shane to his chest. Cuddles could come later. Shane deserved his eyes right now.

“Thank you Ilya. I know with my head you didn’t mean anything. Doesn’t always help.”

“Why not?” Ilya whispered, nearly sobbing.

“He was there. I wasn’t. He has all my boring but you still have so much in common.” Shane shrugged, looking to the side.

Ilya squeezed Shane’s hands, still clasped in his own. “I want your boring Shane. Not his. Nobody else’s. What else can I do solnyshko? As your husband and as your future captain?”

“Counting your chickens Rozanov.” Shane teased with his patented half-smile, then took a moment to gather his thoughts while staring at their entwined fingers. “To start, you can remind Barrett he never really apologized to me. And you can ask him to give me time. I know we will be teammates and I’m used to working with people I don’t like, but he needs to get it in his head that friendship is going to take time. If it ever happens.”

“Done.”

“Also, could you warn me if he’s going to be coming over? He’s been over a lot this summer, and I’m kind of tired.”

“Of course. I won’t have him over at all anymore. Not unless whole team is here. I shouldn’t have invited him to cottage without your permission. That’s your safe space.” Shane hadn’t even brought up the unexpected and unwelcome cottage invite. Ilya doing it himself did wonders for Shane’s fractured heart.

“I’m not sure I want to be around him right now anyway.” Ilya grumbled.

“Doesn’t he have to pick up his car?”

“Yes, but he can do that and leave. I need My Shane Time.” Ilya stood, pulling Shane with him. Ilya’s strong arms wrapped around Shane’s strong torso, closing the distance between them. Shane pulled his head back slightly to look at Ilya’s face. Finally.

“Your Shane Time.”

“Mmm yes, we will turn air conditioning up, cuddle under weighted blanket you love, and watch Demolition Man. Many explosions. Weird seashells. Lots of fun.”

Shane felt his ability to really smile return. Ilya was listening. Ilya cared. Ilya loved him more than his friendship with Barrett. He might not really get it right now. He might fuck up. But Ilya wanted to put him first, his comfort and his safety, and that made all the difference in the world. Effort over perfection, his dad had always told him.

“Sounds perfect.”

Thirty minutes later, Troy showed up to pick up his car. Ilya told him Shane was still fighting the migraine and hurried him away. If he brought it up right then, Troy would be in a hurry to rush inside and offer a flowery, stuttering not-apology. Shane didn’t need that. Not after negotiations with Montreal losers. Not after making it through two whole pieces of pizza the night before. Not after their discussion that morning over cooled breakfast.

There would be time for apologies from racists later. Today, he and Shane would cuddle under the weighted blanket, eat popcorn, and watch Demolition Man and debate how to use the three seashells for hours.

And that night, Ilya would slowly and tenderly take his husband apart until Shane, eyes glinting, flipped him over to ride him instead. They’d take a bath together and cuddle to sleep. And Ilya would drift off reminded of the fact they get to do this every night for the rest of their lives.

He never did ask Shane about what happened in that Montreal meeting.

Chapter 3: When the Ice Breaks

Chapter Summary

It’s July 1, 2021.

Shane Hollander is officially a free agent.

Shane never expected to be in this position.

Ilya’s just along for the ride at this point

Chapter Notes

Shane is based on Sid Crosby, who notoriously keeps his AAV at $8.7 million a year as a nod to his jersey number. So I played around with that concept.

The days passed, and Shane didn’t see Troy once. Somehow it wasn’t on purpose, at least on Shane’s part. Shane hadn’t made a single trip to Montreal since that stretch in early June. He hadn’t even gone to visit his parents without Ilya in tow. Ilya hadn’t disappeared with Anya either. In fact, Ilya had barely spoken to Troy in weeks.

Instead, when Troy called, Ilya kept the conversations brief. “Busy with wedding planning Troy. We’ll talk later.” Only later never really came, until another phone call a few days later when Ilya would make the same excuse.

Quite ironically, neither of them had made much of a dent in wedding planning themselves. They’d bought suits and rings. Many of the other details were left to Yuna, made trickier by the fact that hockey bros were terrible at the concept of the RSVP. Nobody knew how many chairs to order.

Instead of stress and planning, they took walks together, with Ilya pointing out all his favorite little neighborhood landmarks that Shane already knew. Shane indulged Ilya’s commentary, knowing this was his way of welcoming him to the quiet neighborhood they’d both picked three years before.

What lay unspoken between them was the July 1 date creeping ever closer. Ilya assured Shane that of course he would get an Ottawa offer, and that it would be at a minimum decent. What team wouldn’t want Shane Fucking Hollander, especially a team that had languished in the tundra of playoff ineligibility for so many years.

Still, Shane hadn’t felt real uncertainty about his career since he was eighteen and unsure if he would be moving to Boston or Montreal (Arizona was a theoretical option, but even tense teenage Shane didn’t see himself dropping past second absent an injury.)

Insomnia claimed the whole household by the end of June.

Ilya spent many mornings sitting outside with his coffee, staring into the distance as Anya bounced around the dew damp yard. At first, Shane was concerned. Silent Ilya could mean depressed Ilya, and depressed Ilya needed to see the doctor.

One morning, Shane walked outside and sat next to Ilya on the patio with his own mug of coffee. Together, they watched the morning fog dissolve, Anya curled next to Ilya’s feet.

“Baby, why don’t you visit Troy anymore. I’m worried you’re isolating yourself.” Even the birds hushed.

Ilya reached for Shane’s hand with his free one, taking a slow sip of coffee from the old Boston Raiders mug.

“We have had dinner with Bood twice this month.” Bood had brought seasoned chicken that made Shane’s tastebuds dance and had Ilya’s face turning Centaurs red as he dashed to the fridge for the milk. Shane had giggled, actually giggled, in delight, wiggling his eyebrows as he took another bite. “Dee-licious” he had proclaimed. “Looking forward to those team barbecues.”

The dinners started because Ilya wanted to know, with full honesty and away from the pressure of the team and season, how Bood felt about Troy Barrett.

So Ilya had asked Shane to walk Anya alone, to give the two Centaurs captains a chance to speak freely. Shane wasn’t yet part of the team, after all.

Knowing Barrett had laughed while Kent called Bood’s mom a crack whore had nearly caused the spicy chicken to reappear.

Knowing Barrett himself, out of the earshot of refs, had used the notorious-in-English n-word, a word Ilya at sixteen, barely speaking English, had known was considered among the worst, had finished the job. He’d hovered over the toilet for several minutes, apologizing to Bood for the interruption and the language and simply not knowing and demanding an apology.

Ilya went to bed with his sinuses still burning.  

His love and his fellow captain had taken to each other quickly, comrades against league racism and weak spice tolerance. Ilya was relieved Shane was on his way to a friend on the team. The evening of the first dinner, Shane had apologized again for not attending that Boxing Day barbecue. Ilya had hushed the apologies with a forgiveness blowjob.

The combined laughter had made Ilya consider what he had in common with Troy aside from sexual interests and shitty fathers.

“I don’t know how I feel about Troy anymore.”  Ilya finally admitted. Troy had been there for him to talk to during the darkest days he’d faced since Rose Landry. Troy had been the first in North America without the last name Hollander that he’d trusted to come out to. Troy had made him long for the sweet taste of freedom.

Troy had said nasty racist and homophobic things to his Shane and Bood and his Mama Yuna without so much as a token apology to any of them directly. Shane had asked him to remind Troy there hadn’t been an apology.

Ilya couldn’t see why he should have to remind Troy to be good if Troy was supposedly already trying to be. Troy knew Shane was going to be his teammate. Troy had been to their house many evenings. Troy had many opportunities to apologize to Shane. Preferably with apology flowers and an edible arrangement. Shane deserved fancy cut fruit.

Yet nothing, even before Ilya had essentially put Troy in time out.

“Or maybe I do know how I feel now. And maybe that new feeling makes me sad. Disappointed. I don’t know.”

Shane hadn’t pressed him further, merely squeezing his hand as they watched the sun dry the dew drops from the grass.

The summer heat crept in and settled around them, first slowly, with the nights becoming warmer as the calendar progressed. Each morning, the fog was a little less, the sky a little brighter when they took their morning coffee. The true summer heat; however, bludgeoned them on the morning of July 1. Perhaps the most significant morning of Shane’s life so far.

Shane was already miserable and cranky as he lowered the thermostat. Ilya was blending his smoothie, and Shane smelled bacon in the oven. They had four hours before he was officially on the market, and the clawing feeling in his stomach made Shane want to gobble a whole tray of bacon and then throw it back up.

He settled for a ginger chew from the bowl on the kitchen island as he meandered to the stove, wrapping his arms around his fiancé’s strong back. “Morning,” he whispered into Ilya’s shoulder.

“Goomorning” Ilya mumbled back, leaning his head back to kiss Shane’s temple.

They ate breakfast in near silence, each one handed as they gripped each other’s fingers so tightly their knuckles turned ghost white. At one point, Ilya offered to distract Shane with a blowjob. Or more.

Shane shook his head quickly. “Let’s save it for the celebrations, eh?”

By the time they had cleared the kitchen, treated Anya to some leftover bacon, and taken Anya on an extra long walk, they were sticky with humidity and had two hours to kill.

So they showered together, where they took their time exploring the familiar glistening skin of each other’s soaked, soapy bodies. A sight just as familiar and exciting as when they were nineteen and locked on each other across a locker room shower. Even an orgasm each, from dicks rubbed together, with cum washing down the drain with soap residue, did nothing to lessen the coil wrapped around them both.

Sportscenter didn’t help either. The Cincinnati Reds had beaten the Yankees, and the shock of ESPN took ten whole minutes every hour to parse through. There was some discussion of the upcoming hockey free agency, with Shane’s face plastered as the highlight. However, as it was a foregone conclusion where he was headed, ESPN pundits merely walked through his outing and his trip for the thousandth time, for the benefit of the one guy who apparently had been living in a bomb shelter for thirty years, emerged from the underground, and decided that hockey highlights were his first thing to catch up on.

Finally, the clock ticked noon, and Farah was officially on the clock. Shane had asked her to simply send him the Ottawa contract for him to review via email, so he began refreshing.

It was therefore unexpected when, at 12:10 sharp, his phone rang with the saxophone from the song ‘Farrah Fawcett Hair’ that he and Ilya both used for their hardworking agent.

“Hey Shane, got a minute?” Farah spoke as if it were any other July1 and not the most important July 1 of Shane’s life.

“Sure Farah, but I thought you were just sending me the contract to look over.” Shane’s voice shook. Did Ottawa not send an offer?

Farah sighed. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Quickly, she continued, “Don’t worry, they did offer you. I’m sending it now.” Farah soothed him as he heard her nails tapping her keyboard.

“I just…want to be on the phone with you when you see it.”

Thirty seconds later, Farah’s forwarded email hit his inbox. Ten seconds later, Shane’s stomach hit the floor.

No captaincy, which he expected. Not even an alternate, even though teams can have more than one. So he’s not going to be allowed to discuss rules with the refs.

They’d mentioned he’d likely be on second line, with Haas and Dillon. Shane dreaded it a little. Haas was a future star, and Shane really looked forward to mentoring him, but he remembered Ilya’s complaints about Dillon being slow. Shane had privately hoped Dillon would have been traded out to make room for him, though he didn’t mention those hopes to Ilya.

As an afterthought, they’d added they look forward to seeing him on the Power Play with his husband. Ilya and Shane together was more magical than Frozen on Ice.

They wanted him signed for a full seven years. Not surprising, given he’s a hometown boy and married to their star. However, Ilya’s contract was up in 2023, and they’d discussed the possibility of Shane signing a shorter bridge contract so their terms lined up and they could make decisions as a pair. Maybe even take identical salaries. Something to negotiate, Shane supposed. They probably wanted Ilya and Shane out of sync so they could be guaranteed to keep them both.

What was noticeable was the absence of a no trade clause. Shane didn’t expect Ottawa to actually want to trade him, but Ilya had a no move clause, and he wasn’t even a Canadian citizen yet. It would be expected for Hometown Boy Shane to have one too, especially if they wanted Ilya to have incentive to resign in 2023.

Shane was so focused on the other details that he didn’t notice the salary at first.

Then Ilya, who had moved to the kitchen to give Shane privacy for his phone call, heard Shane screech and dropped the aluminum water bottle he had been filling.

“What the ever loving fuck?” Shane’s voice was loud enough to make Anya yelp.

Ilya abandoned the water bottle, allowing the hardwood floor to be soaked, a problem for later. He entered the living room to find his future husband clutching his phone to his ear, glaring at his iPad like he wanted to throw it into the fireplace.

“Can I?” Ilya asked gently, glancing over Shane’s shoulder and registering the barely perceivable nod. His eyes widened.

Four point one million dollars.

The bottom dwelling Ottawa Centaurs had offered Shane Fucking Hollander, three-time Stanley Cup winning captain of the infamous Original Six Montreal Metros, four point one million dollars.

Ilya made thirteen million. Troy fucking Barrett made seven, almost eight. Even Bood had been bumped up to six the previous year. Shane’s lauded team friendly Montreal deal, signed just after his entry level contract had ended, had him at eight point one by the time he was 27 and age eligible to be UFA had he signed a shorter contract. It was a silly little nod to Ilya’s own jersey number, and Shane had turned it into one of his rare media jokes: that he loved the Montreal franchise so much that he took his rival’s jersey number in salary to keep the cap open for good players.

Ottawa saw fit to cut that in half.

“Fifty thousand over half. What a gift.” Shane muttered.

Ilya took a quick glance at the Centaur group chat. Nobody was missing. Nobody had announced they were leaving. It seemed not a single trade was being made.

Barrett, Dillon, and Young had already asked when the signing would be made official and Shane added to the chat. Even Dillon with his two million was still there. Two million that could have gone to Shane.

Shane had sat the phone down and switched to speaker before he broke the device with his grip. “Farah, I’m here too.” Ilya said, standing behind where Shane was seated on the couch and massaging his shoulders.

“Hi Ilya.” Farah sounded exhausted. “I’m going to ask that you let me advise my client as solely my client right now. I know you have a, well, vested interest in this outcome.”

“Sure” Ilya sighed, knowing good and well what Farah was about to say.

“Shane, as your agent I am begging you. Please. Do. Not. Sign. This.” Shane could only nod, his voice seemingly vanished. Ilya stepped in.

“Farah, he hears you, but I don’t think he is able to speak right now. I promise he won’t sign anything until after he talks to you. Probably tomorrow at the soonest.”

Farah made a noise of relief. “Take care of him, Ilya. I can go back and renegotiate, but if this is where they’re starting, frankly that says a lot about their commitment to my client and to be honest, I am not pleased with your team’s management right now.”

Neither was Ilya.

“Shane, let me know if you want to see the other offers. I’m not seeing Toronto or New York, but your folder in my inbox is pretty popular today.”

Ilya hadn’t even thought about the possibility of other offers. From the wide wet brown eyes next to him, neither had Shane. “Talk to you later, Farah.”

Shane slumped against the cool leather of the couch, staring at the fireplace, barely blinking. Ilya clapped hands together and set about being a Good Husband.

First, he returned to the kitchen and dried up the water. Then, he filled both his and Shane’s bottles with ice water, being careful not to drop either this time. Shane’s bottle got lemon and orange packets added. Ilya added lime to his. Then, he grabbed a can of Coke and a can of ginger ale from the fridge. Was it too early for vodka?

Juggling the many beverages in his cradled arms, Ilya returned to the couch.

“Drink,” he insisted, holding out Shane’s bottle.

Shane complied, reminding Ilya with a twist in his gut of their second real face-to-face, in a hotel gym after being drafted one and two.

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking right now?” Ilya asked.

Shane shook his head.

“Can I hold you?” Ilya asked again.

Shane nodded.

Ilya scooted over until his arm was around Shane’s shoulders, then put his other arm under Shane’s knees until Shane’s legs were draped across his lap and Shane’s head rested in the crook of Ilya’s neck. Distantly, Ilya heard the buzzing of both their phones sitting on the coffee table.

It was 12:30 pm on July 1, 2021, and Shane was still a free agent.

“Want me to check our phones? Just for anything important?” Shane nodded against Ilya’s shoulder.

Ilya picked up Shane’s first.

Mom: Shane, have you signed your contract with Ottawa yet?

Dad: Should I make chicken Parmesan to celebrate?

Troy Barrett: Welcome to the team Holly

Mom: What was the final offer?

Rose: Hey babes, it’s the big day! Let me know how it goes.

Mom: Shane, are you there?

Hayden: So what’s Ottawa paying you?

Troy Barrett: Ready for the chat?

JJ: Is Captaine the Centaur official?

As Ilya scrolled, a new text came through.

Bood: Shane, I’m sure it’s a busy day for you so don’t worry about responding right away. I just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you and here if you need someone to talk to. I hope everything worked out ok. If it didn’t, we can go axe throwing or something.

Ilya chuckled and made a mental note to schedule an appointment for three for axe throwing.

Next, his own phone was buzzing. It was considerably fuller than Shane’s.

Mama Yuna: Ilya, is everything OK over there? Have Shane call me.

Papa David: Can one of you boys text Yuna back? She’s about to bounce off the walls.

Jackie’s husband: Hey Rozanov, is Shane ok?

Sveta: I put money on Ottawa yesterday. Hope they didn’t fuck me over.

Boiziau: Roz, is something wrong with Shane?

Marly: Is the league fucked yet, Roz?

Jackie: Hayden said Shane isn’t answering his text. I don’t want to bother Shane and I doubt he’d respond to me if he’s not responding to Hayden. Just let us know you all are ok when you can.

Predictably, the group chat was ramping up.

Troy: It’s 12:05. Time to add Holly to the chat?

Dillon: Where’s my new liney?

Young: Yo cap, can we add your hubby yet?

Haasy: Guys, they might be busy.

Hazy: Free agency is a hectic day even if you know where you’re going.

Boyle: I’m sure there’s a lot of paperwork

Chewie: And media stuff.

Dillon: But the team’s like priority number one right?

Barrett: Right

Pointy: Right

Holmberg: Oh Captain my captain, where are you?

Haasy: Leave them alone. They’ll hop in when they’re ready.

Hazy: And Cap should really be the one to add his own husband.

Young: Cap could at least tell us what’s happening.

Then Barrett had messaged Ilya privately:

Roz, what’s going on over there? You haven’t responded to the group chat yet. Am I ok to add Shane?

He had another message from Harris:

Hey Ilya, let me know when Shane signs his contract. I can come over today to get some first-day-as-a-Centaur shots. Or I could come over to take a picture of him signing if he wants.

Ilya glared at the phones. Immediately he muted the Centaur chat, Harris Drover, and Troy Barrett.

“I think we should answer Yuna so she knows we are alive. Then, we turn phones off.”

“Sounds good.” Shane murmured.

Quickly, Ilya fired off a text to Yuna. Offer was not what we expected but we are ok. Nothing being signed until tomorrow at least. Shane isn’t in the mood for talking about it.

Mama Yuna: What do you mean, not what you expected? We expected it to be lower than what he would have gotten at Montreal before all this.

Before all this. Before Ilya’s sunshine. Shane had been offered the most disrespectful contract Ilya had ever seen because Ilya got the sunshine he craved.

Is disrespectful what they offered, Ilya typed quickly. We are shutting phones off now. Need to talk as husbands.

Mama Yuna: Ok. Check in before you go to sleep?

👍

For a long time, the two sat there as the leather couch stuck to their skin, Shane sprawled onto Ilya’s lap. Ilya ran his fingers idly through Shane’s hair.

Just as Ilya was about to suggest something for lunch, or rather an early dinner, Shane swung his legs off Ilya’s lap. Then he was standing and pacing, fingers pulling at his longer dark hair. He gave a guttural scream so loud Anya ran to the bedroom.

“What the actual fuck Rozanov?” Shane shouted.

“I wish I knew lyubimmy.” All the bad emotions churned in Ilya’s gut: anger, heartbreak, disgust. He could see the dream of them playing together in Ottawa with smiles on their faces dying by the minute. Ilya leaned forward so his forearms rested on his thighs, looking up at his angrily pacing husband. Normally, Ilya would call him his gazonokosilka but this was not the time for chirping a very valid and very tame reaction.

“How many Stanley Cups have I won, Ilya” Shane tapped his finger to his chin.

“Three, moya lyubov.” Ilya’s eyes followed Shane.

“And how many times was I captain for those?”

“All of them, moya lyubov.”

“So why, in the Ever Loving Fuck, does Ottawa just think they can toss me spare change and be done with it? They didn’t trade anybody! Troy fucking Barrett makes double what they want to pay me! Bood even gets six, and I get they’re repaying his loyalty and he’s definitely worth six, but I am the best fucking player in this league.”

“You are moya lyubov.”

“You’ve got rookies and slow as molasses Dillon and I know you like Luca but he’s not in his prime yet and he’s going to be worth real money next year.” All Ilya could do was sigh.

“You know it isn’t about the money, right Ilya?” Ilya did and could only nod. There were team friendly deals and then there was respect, and a tweet from ESPN saying that Shane Hollander had signed with Ottawa for $4.1 million would be so embarrassing the very picture made Ilya want to vomit.

“I expected a cut. Heck, even this time last year I was prepared to sign with Montreal for the same amount they were already paying me. I thought getting paid your jersey number was fine, funny even, and I had all the endorsements and commercials and everything. Plus, as you said, I have you. The wealthy husband with the mail order bride.”

Ilya flinched at the reminder of the worst of the Twitter comments.

“You know how I know it’s bad? You haven’t chirped me once. Not about getting paid less than you. Not about being captain. Not even saying I’m second best.”

“You are a king, moya lyubov. My king. I told you that, remember? Before we met with Crusty Crowell?” Shane blushed at the reminder of the stain that still marred the chair in their trophy room. The leather wipes only did so much.

Having tired himself out, Shane slumped back onto the couch.

“So, what now?” Shane turned to look at Ilya, big brown eyes pleading. He looked like that picture of Puss in Boots.

“That’s your call Shane. I’m not the one being disrespected.”

Shane shrugged, “I guess I could have Farah go back and get a better offer.”

Ilya tapped his hand on his thigh. “But would they give it, solnyshko, or would they, as you say, call your bluff?”

Shane grinned, his first smile all day. “Call your bluff. Where’d you get that?”

“I’ve been in this continent long time now. And I may have read David’s New Yorker.” Shane laughed and leaned against him.

The rest of the day, they did nothing of importance. Ilya periodically checked their phones. It seems Hayden had somehow contacted Yuna or David, numbers he only had for emergency, because he’d sent a I know you’re ok now. We can talk later. Everyone else on Shane’s phone was silent.

The Centaurs group chat had sensed there would be no news from their captain immediately, because they had dissolved into talking about their summers and then nothing.

They binge watched Rocket Power on Paramount. They ordered cookie delivery. They ordered Chipotle, because Shane wanted real fucking rice and not cauliflower.

Before the sun set, Shane sent two text messages:

First, to his mom. Just letting her know he was disappointed but ok and he and Ilya were discussing their options. Farah would probably go back and renegotiate and everything would be fine.

It had to be fine. He and Ilya had weathered too many storms to not get sunshine at the end.

The second, he sent to Farah.

Hey Farah, I know it’s late and you can get to this tomorrow, but can you send me over those other offers? Just so I know what I’m looking at.

Chapter 4: A Little Notice Ensures Fresh Ice

Chapter Summary

Shane and Ilya play wastepaper basketball with the various offers.

Ilya meets with Coach.

Chapter Notes

Coach Wiebe here is kind of the mouthpiece for Ottawa’s management as a whole. They did hire him, after all. I just thought it would make more sense for Ilya to have a face-to-face with his coach during the offseason than management.

Hockey is a business after all.

It was 2:00 pm on July 2, 2021, and Shane Fucking Hollander was still an Unrestricted Free Agent.

The headlines had hit Sportscenter around ten the night before, after most of the baseball games of the day had concluded. Shane entering free agency was not the surprise; nobody expected him to resign with Montreal, even Montreal.

Montreal fans had spent the day mourning on Twitter or celebrating his departure, depending on how they leaned politically. Or how they shipped, as it turned out.

The surprise for the parts of the continent that followed hockey was Shane going to sleep without a freshly signed Ottawa contract.

Not that Shane paid too much attention to Twitter. He even ignored Instagram, a much friendlier location online. Twitter had become a hellscape that his Ilya monitored every few hours. The updates were never pleasant.

By the time Shane woke up, Ilya said, the question was being asked: What was happening with Shane Hollander?

The Centaurs had been quick to release a social media statement, likely written by Harris Drover himself. They had offered Shane a nice, reasonable contract. They were waiting for him to accept. He remained unsigned.

They refrained from describing said nice, reasonable contract in detail.

Predictably, the fans, and even fans from some other teams, had turned against Shane. Asking if he was a prima donna. Conceited. Too full of himself. Not thankful for what he had been graciously offered.

What none of them knew was that Shane and Ilya had just ended a FaceTime call with Farah Jalali, who reiterated that Shane should absolutely not sign what the Centaurs had sent over the day before. Shane had given permission for her to return to Ottawa management to procure a different, more respectable offer.

She’d also filled his inbox with a cornucopia, which Shane and Ilya had printed out like they were Shane’s parents so they could review them by hand. This alone took an hour and a half, because the ink in their printer had dried and Ilya had to sneak out to buy some more while wearing a ball cap and sunglasses. Now they sat on the couch, surrounded by stacks of paper, sorted into divisions. Ilya had Coke. Shane had ginger ale. They had vodka chilling on standby, both the good Russian stuff for Ilya and the cheap Canadian stuff for Shane to mix with cranberry juice.

The first surprise of the day for Ilya had been the Montreal losers.

“Montreal wants you back?” Ilya asked. “I thought you told them to kick rocks.”

Shane put his head in his hands. “I guess I didn’t tell you what happened in the meeting. Barrett kind of distracted us.”

Ilya remembered the blowout argument that almost was and the still muted chat with Troy Barrett. Rethinking a friendship that had come to mean so much did take brain space. Nevertheless, Ilya was happy to have listened to Shane. His Shane was still here. Still including him in important decisions like how to tell bad teams to fuck off.

“Tell me now. I’m super curious. What did Montreal losers say?” Ilya batted his eyelashes and balanced his chin in his hands, which he had formed into the shape of a heart. The antics made Shane giggle, which Ilya decided was worth all the money in his contract. And the C.

“I don’t think they actually want to lose me, unless they’re named Comeau or Drapeau. It’s a bridge contract. One year, same terms as before, and we see how everyone feels at the end of next year.”

Ilya stopped short. One year. It was such a short time in terms of hockey contracts and yet so long in terms of relationships. It would give them time to be settled. Everything was happening so quickly. They hadn’t even finished planning the wedding. No invites had been sent. Honestly, Ilya had hoped to just put the details in the Centaur group chat and be done with his end.

“Shane, if you wanted to go back to Montreal, just for a year, that would be ok with me.”

Shane stared blankly. “Would it?” He had Robot Shane voice.

Ilya nodded, not telling the truth in the least but not wanting to take a reasonable opportunity for Shane.

“You’re lying but it’s ok. I never want to walk into that locker room again.” Shane took the paper with the Montreal offer, crumpled it into a ball, shouted “Kobe!” and tossed it into the small wastebasket they’d set up in the living room for that purpose.

Ilya breathed a sigh of relief before furrowing his brow and tilting his head. “It would maybe show Ottawa they aren’t the only ones with offers on the table.”

Shane smiled at his love. “I appreciate that, but they don’t value me enough to figure that out on their own. Besides,” Shane patted the array of papers. “There’s proof enough from twenty-eight other teams.”

New York didn’t have the cap space for Shane; Scott Hunter was still on a major contract and not looking to retire for a few more years. They did contact Farah to express their apologies and offer a place in the future after Hunter if Shane’s landing place (read: Ottawa) didn’t work out. Toronto wanted to keep their “traditional values” reputation, Shane supposed, and hadn’t contacted Farah at all.

Every other team in the league had sent Farah a double digit offer for Shane.

Most of the offers were identical on the face: anywhere from $10-$12 million, first line center spot guaranteed absent injury, bonuses. About half had offered the captaincy outright. The others had all offered the A.

Shane wrestled his Twitter account back from Ilya’s watchful eye to glance at other trades being made; several teams were making moves in an obvious bid to free up cap space. The salary cap didn’t actually kick in until the season began, so teams could be over if they happened to win the Hollander lottery and dump dead weight after. But making the moves before they had to showed their intent, and that intent warmed Shane like the summer sun.

Only Montreal, playing the short game, and Ottawa, playing some game unknown to anyone with a brain, kept their rosters intact.

The real question, if he accepted any of the offers that showed his actual worth, was where he wanted to live. Whose locker room he wanted to join. Shane crossed all the teams in the South off the list, he and Ilya taking turns tossing the paper balls. He wanted snow and peace, damnit. Only the reputation of the California teams, and proximity to Rose, kept them from being crumpled and tossed. Neither Shane nor Ilya liked too much heat.

Shane picked up the most unique of the offers: The Seattle Cthulhu.

Seattle had been granted a franchise in 2018, though setting it up had taken some time. Now the team was ready to launch, with the expansion draft scheduled for July 21. Teams had until the 18th to submit their protection lists. If Shane had resigned with Montreal, he would have assuredly been on their protected list. Ilya was already on Ottawa’s, and thankfully part of the offer Farah had initially received included expansion draft protection.

There was no sense signing Shane just to have him shipped across the country, after all. If nothing else, it would upset Ilya, and Ottawa didn’t want any chance at losing Ilya in two years.

Seattle was offering him $10 million for two years. A captain position if he wanted it, though they were insisting he at least wear an A. Bonuses to make Shane’s head spin. Full input on who they draft on July 21. A promise that everyone on the team would be fully accepting of two players married to each other, regardless of which teams they played for. So far, the only person signed was Cliff Marleau from Boston. He’d been a free agent this year and had a girlfriend in Vancouver. Taking inspiration from his own former captain, Marleau had taken the leap.

They’d also included a rather interesting promise: if Ilya waived his no move clause for the draft, which the rules of the expansion draft allowed, he would be their Ottawa pick. Then, lines and captaincy decisions would be based on what was best for the team, keeping in mind their two stars were married. Only Ilya’s current contracted salary, which they couldn’t get rid of, kept them from offering Shane more. If Ilya wanted to stay put, Shane could ask for more salary.

When their contracts both expired in 2023, they could renegotiate as a package deal if they wanted. Whatever made their marriage work.

Shane figured this was probably tampering. He didn’t necessarily like having said tampering in writing. But after everything, he deserved a little tampering. As a treat.

Shane stared at the offer for a long time.

Sure, $10 million wasn’t as much as some of the other teams were offering.

It was also more than Montreal. It showed a desire to have him that Montreal hadn’t exhibited since that fateful day in March. It showed they valued his marriage, his sexuality, and his respect.

And Ottawa? It beat Ottawa’s like Ottawa used to get their asses kicked by Montreal and the rest of the league.

Shane bit his tongue. There was still time for Ilya’s name to be added to the draft. Over two weeks to make that decision. They’d be married by then.

But he’d already asked Ilya to move once. Ilya had given up Russia for him. Given up Boston for him. He couldn’t ask him to move across the continent to a brand-new team, not when the Centaurs were finally getting good and showing signs of cup potential. Not when Shane could add the depth the Centaurs needed to get over that hump and make it to the conference finals and beyond. Shane should just plaster on a grin, sign the Ottawa offer that Farah returned with, whatever it was, and become a Centaur under his husband’s captaincy with Troy fucking Barrett and say goodbye to ever getting to discuss rules with the refs again.

“Lyubimmy?”

“Hmm”

“You saw something interesting. You have thinking face. Give.” Ilya reached a hand out for the paper Shane was holding, which Shane handed over without a word.

Ilya studied it for some time. His eyebrows rose, and he nodded slowly.

“Seattle is nice, yes?” Ilya sat the offer down.

“It’s known for salmon.” Shane monotoned. “And a big wall where people stick their chewing gum. I think it has more dogs than kids.” Ilya’s eyes perked up.

“There’s dogs?”

“Everywhere has dogs Ilya.”

Ilya waved a hand. “But Seattle is known for dogs. That must mean there’s lots of dogs. Lots of dogs for me to pet and bring home. Lots of friends for Anya.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “We haven’t even had a full season with Anya yet. Let’s see how we do with her before making her a sister.”
Ilya flopped forward, head in Shane’s lap. He looked up at his love’s exasperated expression. “But Shaaaaane, Seattle will have many doggies who need good daddies.” Shane closed his eyes.

“Ilya, I can’t ask you to move to Seattle.”

“But the dogs Shane.”

Shane sighed and mock glared. “First of all, I want a cat. You said I could have my cat. Anya will be a good big sister to a cat.”

“Fine yes, we get cat and then more dogs.” Ilya sat back up and held Shane’s shoulders.

“Ilya, can you stop with the dogs for a minute. This is serious.”

“Right, yes, serious.” Ilya folded his hands in his lap and looked at Shane, eyes wide, the perfect picture of a model pupil.

“You can never go home again because of me. You gave up Boston for me. I can’t ask you to move again. Possibly give up the captaincy. Maybe take a pay cut next negotiation time. All because I can’t handle being shortchanged a little.”

Ilya stood and knelt before Shane, taking both of Shane’s hands in his.

“My love, you did not force me into anything. I do not want to go back to Russia, so I don’t go back even when I still could. I want Canadian passport, so I move to Canada. Is just lucky there is a Canadian man willing to marry me so I don’t have to stay in Canada if there is a better opportunity.

I love my team, but they do not love you back. That means they do not love me back. They treat you like you mean nothing. They could trade players to make cap space for you, like Winnipeg. They could offer you an A; the second one is sitting empty, and you are best at ref rule talk. They could offer bonuses. They did none of these things.

If you want Seattle, we go to Seattle.”

Shane pulled Ilya into his arms. “I love you. Ya tebya lyubov. Let’s see what Farah comes back with.”

Farah returned to Ilya and Shane’s little bubble the morning of July 3 with the Centaurs’ new offer.

“They think it would divide the room to give two people an A, so they shot that down. They said they scrounged up another seven hundred thousand. So $4.8 million. Double your jersey number, they said. Thought the number would be cute enough for you to accept. That’s the only change.”

Shane’s phone buzzed. His mom, again. She had been periodically checking in for the last three days, eager for the new offer. They had not given her the exact number of the old one, content to tell her that it was insulting in hopes Ottawa would return with something more reasonable and they wouldn’t have to have that discussion with her.

She kept insisting she needed something to tell Rolex as soon as possible. They wanted a new ad with a new black watch or something.

Mostly he let Ilya do the texting.

Shane resigned himself to a low Ottawa offer. “At least they tried to raise it?” he’d shrugged at Ilya. Ilya had glared at him.

Shane was just so, so tired. He’d never expected this headache.

Ilya, for his part, was incensed and intended to do something about it.

Ilya had a last-minute scheduled summer training session with LaPointe and Boyle that afternoon. They’d heard he was still in town and wanted tips for their own regimens. It wasn’t an offer he normally made, especially with his busy schedule this summer, but when the opportunity for a face-to-face with the coach during the offseason came about, Ilya wasn’t going to say no.

The practice session went fine. The two young ones walked away with a myriad of advice for their own summer training. They would be an asset to their team next year. Ilya waved off the offer of lunch and went to find coach.

Ilya knocked on the door and entered when he heard the quiet, “Come in.”

“Hey Coach.” Ilya slouched in the offered chair.

“Hey Ilya, good to see you son. That husband of yours sign his offer yet? We could probably get him in today or tomorrow for some promo shots.” Coach Wiebe sat back in his chair, folding his hands.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Suddenly, Ilya felt his confidence evaporate. He twiddled his fingers together. Coach had been supportive when they were outed. Why was this topic so hard now?

“Don’t tell me he’s still dragging his feet. The GM told me the offer was all settled. All he had to do was sign. I even have lines all drawn up for next year.”

Coach Wiebe tilted his computer screen to show Ilya. As expected, Shane would be on second line with Luca Haas and Tanner Dillon. Haasy, Shane would enjoy. Dillon would make him lose his hair.

“Dragging his feet? I saw the offer coach. I know you saw the offer.”

Wiebe had the audacity to groan. “What else does your princess want?”

“Princess?” Ilya barely choked the word out, sitting up straight and gripping the sides of his chair. He leaned forward, to be sure he heard coach right.

“Listen, Ilya, son, I know he’s gonna be your husband and you love him, and he’s a damn fine hockey player, but you can’t blame us for wanting to save some money on that head case. He’s lucky we even want him. Just shows how good his hockey is.”

“Head case?” Ilya shook his head, feeling like he had tumbled down the rabbit hole.

“He’s difficult. He thinks he’s smarter than everyone else. And yeah, we owe him for tripping, thank him for that for us, but offering him after Montreal tossed him out should be enough.”

Ilya could only blink in shock. “You think he tripped on purpose?” Wiebe shrugged.

“Well yeah, everyone does. We’d worry about him doing it again, but I don’t think you’d let him get fucked by anyone else in the league. So we’re safe. And since he’s yours, we can get him for cheap. And since he’s Asian, we add some diversity points, not that we need it with you and Troy and Bood. But Shane’s sexuality and race combined add a little something extra.”

Ilya held up his hands. “You think he tripped and is a head case and are still worried about getting him? That makes no sense.” Wiebe leaned forward in his own chair, looking Ilya directly in the eye.

“There are struggling teams willing to take a risk. And I heard Montreal offered some kind of bridge contract. A courtesy. Nothing anyone actually wants him to take. But, we know he wants to be with you, so we can save a little dough.

Anyway, tell him we are happy to have him and I’m available any time for photos. Oh, and send me an invite to the wedding.”

Ilya nodded dumbly and left coach’s office. He drove back home in a daze, barely noticing his landmarks. He pulled his car into the driveway, barely registering he was home.

He nodded to Shane and went upstairs to shower, alone so he had time to think.

What had happened to the supportive coach from months back? The one who said he had Ilya’s back and Shane’s too? The one who opened up about his own bisexual heartbreak? Was it all to assure he kept Rozanov happy and secured the Hollander signing? Did they really just see his Shane as his Shane and not Shane Fucking Hollander, best fucking player alive?

Shane was right about everything. Shane was being disrespected because everyone saw Shane as Ilya’s mail order bride, submissive and happy to follow where he was led. Just like Shane had said when they talked about Troy, they used his race against him. They looked at Shane and saw weakness where Ilya only saw strength, kindness, and beautiful eyes and freckles. Oh, and a magnificent ass. And arms. And his dick…

If Shane went to Ottawa, his entire legacy would be flushed. He would just be Ilya’s hanger-on, Ilya’s hockey playing husband, Ilya’s shadow. He’d never be respected as Shane Fucking Hollander again.

The last people to disrespect Ilya had been his father and brother. His father was worm food and his brother silent. Ilya didn’t need the Ottawa captaincy to be respected. Or to keep his salary next negotiation. People respected him based on what he brought to the ice alone.

Ilya dried himself off, dressed, and went to sit next to his love on the couch and pull up pictures from the dog shelters of Seattle.

The next afternoon, July 4, American Independence Day, Ilya stormed into the offices of the general manager in Ottawa and demanded to waive his no move clause for the upcoming Seattle Cthulhu expansion draft.

The GM spat out his coffee and nearly fell out of his chair onto the floor.

Chapter 5: Hell Freezes Over

Chapter Summary

A little dive into what is happening on the Internet, outside Shane and Ilya’s little bubble.

Chapter Notes

This is completely self-indulgent.

Also, I apologize for the formatting. I could not get my Word file to upload like I wanted.

Any resemblance to real people is either coincidence or homage. I borrowed a bit from my basketball Twitter feed.

Twelve-year-old Ellie Holbrook of Vanleek Hill, Ontario, Canada, got straight A’s in school, was captain of her school’s debate team, and was partially deaf in her left ear from a bad bout of meningitis as a baby. She also, like most of the boys and a third of the girls in her class, ate, lived, breathed, studied and worshipped hockey. Unfortunately, she’d had to accept two years ago she would never get to play seriously. Women didn’t make as much as men playing, to start. Also, the meningitis that had taken her hearing had also created a weakness in her left foot, which made skating quickly difficult. Also she was petite.

So she had quickly set her sights to agency. And to be the best agent the world would ever see, she followed hockey news like a religion. Oh she watched the games and cheered the best plays. She had trouble picking a favorite because she lived in a house divided: her mom a diehard Ottawa lover and her father a forever Montreal supporter. But she really loved tracking player stats and salaries. She followed trades religiously. She researched the team cities, cultures, and owners like she was a travel agent or PR firm. She learned as much about players and their personal lives as she could. After all, signing with a team wasn’t just about salary. If you were going to live somewhere for seven years, it better make you happy.

That’s why Canada Day was her favorite holiday.

She woke up bright and early at 8 am, poured herself a glass of juice and bowl of Cheerios, and settled at the kitchen table with her own iPad and her father’s laptop both open to Twitter. She normally wasn’t allowed so much screen time, especially social media and even more especially Twitter, but it was free agency day and her parents occasionally indulged her interests.

It helped she acted responsibly online, always watching, never posting.

As her parents greeted her, she settled in for a long day of scrolling.

Hockey Scoop Plus @hockeyscoop

It’s Free Agency Day! How’d everyone sleep?

Ray Billows @raybillowsESPN ✅

I'm so hot, and you ain't cool. The boy gettin' new paper like the first day of school. I gotta go to work.

The Recovery @therecoverypodcast

Ranking the top 16 players available in NHL Free Agency

     Bob James @BJames 

     You misspelled NBA

     Brad Kessler @bkessler

     We all know where Hollander’s going

Bill Walton’s legacy @BWall4Eva

Why is everyone so freaked out over Hollander? We know he’s off to be Roz’s boytoy

     Hollanov since 2010 @hollanovsinceday1

     How dare you disrespect the name of Bill Walton with homophobia?

ESPN NHL @ESPNNHL✅

NHL Free Agency show begins 11 am ET 10 am CT LIVE on ESPN+ with 6 hrs of coverage.

Gene Wyndham @wyndhamespn ✅

NHL Free Agency 2021. The players to target. The players teams should avoid. And the players that stand out from the rest. Read my article here.

     Roz’s left tit @roz’slefttit

     You think Hollander isn’t worth it?

     Roz’s right tit @roz’srighttit

     He’s not worth it to anybody but Ottawa

MetrosFanForLife @metrosfanforlife

I think we all moved on too quickly from Hollander’s trip. Why would any team want to sign him today?

    Metros luvr @metrosluvr

    Because Ottawa knows he isn’t fucking anyone on any other team?

    Hollandaise @hollandergivesmehope

    You all know it’s not a guarantee that Hollander signs with Ottawa, right?

    Cens for the Win @censforthewin

    Shut up

    NY Admirals are Number One @nyadmiralsnumberone

    Shut up

    Troy Barret Official @therealtroybarrett ✅

    Shut up

ESPN NHL @ESPNNHL ✅

Where will Hollander sign? Tune in starting NOW

     Cens For the Win @Censforthewin

     ESPN: Hollander’s a free agent? This is the best.

     Also ESPN: Everyone already knows where he’s going? This is the worst.

     Brad the Metros Fan @bradcooper

     Why does anyone wonder where Rozanov’s mail order bride is going?

     Cens and Censability @censandcensability

     Right, we all know it’s Ottawa for the Stanley Cup baby!

     Montreal since birth @montrealsincebirth

     We’ll miss you Hollzy 😔😭

ESPN Breaking @ESPNBreaking ✅

Cliff Marleau of the Boston Raiders signs seven-year deal with the Seattle Cthulhu for $4 million AAV.

     SeattleHockeyFinally @firstseattlehockey fan

     Welcome to Seattle!

     BostonGirl @bostonbaby

     NOOOOOO! Not Cliffy! This is as bad when Roz left

     Boston for the Cup @bostonforthecup

     I guess in hindsight, we know why Roz left.

     NY Admirals are Number One @nyadmiralsnumberone

     I don’t have a dog in this fight, but this seems awfully low, no?

     BostonSportsfortheWin @bostonsportsforthewin

     Rumor has it he has a girl in Vancouver.

     Seattle Sports Tolerator @seattlesportstolerator

     It’s a new franchise. He’s their first signee. Probably want to keep that cap space open.

Shayden’s Third @shaydensthird

I can’t believe they’re separating my shaylas

     Hollanover @hollanover

     Girl, give it up. You’ve been debunked

     ShaydenSharp @shaydensharp

     I can’t believe he’s giving up everything he worked for in Montreal to be that pussyhound’s fucktoy.

     Shayden is real @shaydenisreal

     Shane  hasn’t signed anything yet.

Shane’s freckles @shanesfreckles

It’s 12:15. Shane is unsigned. Where’s he going?

Gene Wyndham @wyndhamespn ✅

Lost in all the hubbub of free agency is the question: what effect does the upcoming Seattle expansion draft have on decisions made today?

Hockey Scoop Plus @hockeyscoop

Rumor has it Montreal has offered Captain Shane Hollander a one-year bridge contract at his current rate of $8.1 million.

     Metros fan  @metrosfan

     Why would they do something that stupid? They don’t want him to take it right?

     Montreal since birth @montrealsincebirth

     Maybe because he won us three cups?

     Metros fan @metrosfan

     And what happened this year?

     Montreal since birth @montrealsincebirth

     An unfortunate coincidence. Maybe he met Quinn Hughes’s Victorian ghosts.

     Troy Barrett Official @therealtroybarrett ✅

     He won’t take that         

     I Like Pike @Ilikepike

     It is kind of crazy how Hollander only makes $8.1 million when Rozanov makes $13 million

     Metros fan @metrosfan

     And his jersey number? He thought he was so cute coming up with that.

     Cens and Censability @censandcensability

     Am I the only one thinking it wouldn’t be that crazy if Hollander signed this? Everything just happened so fast. Maybe a year to cool off would be good for everyone?

ESPN NHL @ESPN NHL ✅

It’s 1 pm Eastern. Free agency has been on for one hour. Where is Shane Hollander headed?

     Brad the Metros Fan @BradtheMetrosFan

     Hopefully not back to Montreal

     Metros lover @metroslover

     To Ottawa of course. He’s probably just on the shitter.

     Boston Girl @bostongirl

     To Boston maybe? You can bring our former captain with you!

     Seattle Sports Tolerator @seattlesportstolerator 

     My new team has lots of cap space…

     Brad the Metros Fan @BradtheMetrosFan

     In your dreams hippie

Shaney my babey @shaneybaby

Where is Yuna Hollander in all of this? Has she spoken to her son?

     ShaydenSharp @shaydensharp

     She’s negotiating for him as we speak.

     Shaney my babey @shaneybaby

     Doesn’t he have an agent? Same one as Roz?

     ShaydenSharp @shaydensharp

     Dame Yuna Hollander is the one to fear.

Hockey Scoop Plus @hockeyscoop

Rumor on the street is Ottawa has not sent an offer to Shane Hollander’s agent Farah Jalali.

    Cens and Censability @censandcensability

    That’s nonsense

    Cens for the Win @censforthewin

    They wouldn’t dare

    NYAdmiralsNumberOne @nyadmiralsnumberone

    Not even a bottom-dweller like Ottawa would screw this up. Roz’s contract is up in a couple of years. They already lucked into one generational talent and a second just falls into their lap by the power of gay love?

   Montreal Since Birth @montrealsincebirth

   Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to keep Shane. But Ottawa absolutely offered him. They’d be stupid not to.

   Troy Barrett Official @therealtroybarrett ✅

   Are you crazy? Of course we offered him

   Cens for the Win @censforthewin

   Troy Barrett???????

ESPN NHL @ESPNNHL ✅

It’s coming up on 6 pm ET and Shane Hollander is still unsigned. Do you want us to stay on the air? Call in and let us know.

    Hockey Lover Generally @hockeylovergenerally

    You might be waiting a while at this point. If he hasn’t signed yet, something has gone wrong.

    Hockey Lover Specifically @hockeyloverspecifically

    Ottawa wouldn’t be stupid enough to not offer him, right?

    Hockey Lover Generally @hockeylovergenerally

    I’m sure they offered him. But did they offer enough? Also, did you just make your account to ask that one question?

    Brad the Metros Fan @bradthemetrosfan

    That pansy should be happy with whatever they give him.

    Hollanover @hollanover

    Fuck off Brad. Haven’t you done enough?

Metros Fan @metrosfan

It sure would be hilarious after all this nonsense for Ottawa to not even offer Hollander.

NY Admirals are Number One @nyadmiralsnumberone

It sure would be hilarious after all this nonsense for Hollander to reject Ottawa’s offer.

ESPN NHL @ESPNNHL ✅

OK, we have taken this as long as we can, but we’ve been on the air for nine hours and need to rest up for day 2. Get some sleep everyone.

Shayden is real @shaydenisreal

I’m choosing to keep hope! Maybe the boys don’t want to be separated?

   Hollanover @hollanover

   Girl, give. It. Up. He’s not resigning with you.

   Shayden is real @shaydenisreal

   He hasn’t signed with your boy either.

Pop Craze @PopCraze

IT’S OVER??????? GLORIA GREY AND CARTER VAUGHAN CALL IT QUITS!

   Mandy @mandylandry

   She cheated on him with one of his teammates. Chad Gross, backup goalie. Not even a good one. 🤮

Sportscenter @ESPNSportscenter ✅

Top of the hour: It’s NHL Free Agency  Day. The winners, the losers, the trades, and the surprises. And the question everyone is asking: Where is Shane Hollander?

   Shayden is real @shaydenisreal

   Montreal

   Hollanover @hollanover

   Ottawa

   NY Admirals are Number One @nyadmiralsnumberone

   Ottawa

   Brad the Metros Fan @bradthemetrosfan

   Ottawa

It was a long day of scrolling Twitter. Ellie’s eyes hurt. Worst of all, she had no idea where Shane Hollander was headed.

The biggest actual news of the day had been Seattle getting their first player in Marleau. Ellie had the expansion draft already marked on her calendar. There hadn’t been an expansion draft since she was eight.

Deciding to call it a night, mostly because she knew Shane Hollander liked to sleep early when he could, she turned on that day’s episode of Man in the Crease to listen to as she dozed off, the podcast playing in her functioning right ear. She pulled up the transcript anyway.

Man in the Crease Live: Episode 070121 Free Agency Edition

Mark: Welcome everyone to the Man in the Crease Podcast. I’m Mark Jones, with me is Brian Lemond and Andy Franklin, and we’re coming to you live from the Bell Center parking lot in Montreal where we hope to see some riots.

Brian: Someone thought we needed to come all the way to Montreal to watch a riot.

Andy: Well you know what they say, Montreal fans riot when they’re happy and riot when they’re mad.

Mark: They do at that, and no matter which way you slice it, today is a big day for the city of Montreal. Shane Hollander as of noon today is Montreal’s biggest free agent in… twenty years?

Andy: I’d say twenty years is about right.

Brian: it’s pretty quiet out here so far.

Andy: Yeah, I’m not seeing a whole lot of rioting Mark.

Mark: there’s some people with posters.

Brian: Posters.

Andy: I see one that says “Go Home Traitor” and one that says “Come Back Hollzy.” And we drove all the way to Montreal for this.

Mark: it’s still early. And Since it’s still early, let’s talk about what has happened so far. As we all know, Montreal captain Shane Hollander and Ottawa captain Ilya Rozanov were found in a moment of indiscretion in the background of a Fanmail video by Hayden Pike.

Andy: Let’s just say it: they were playing tonsil hockey.

Mark: Sure. Then, they were benched for a game, had some sort of discussion with NHL Commissioner Roger Crowell that still hasn’t leaked, and were let back onto the ice.

Brian: Well, I think Montreal fans would have rioted otherwise.

Andy: Ottawa too.

Mark: All of Canada loves to riot I guess. Anyway, the two squads met in the first round of the playoffs this year, it went to game seven, Hollander tripped, Rozanov got the puck and won the game.

Andy: And now we’re here.

Mark: And now we’re here. Free agent Shane Hollander.

Brian: If you’d told me back in January Shane Hollander would be a free agent I would have asked what you were smoking.

Andy: I would have asked if Montreal lowballed him.

Mark: well Hollander famously took a team friendly deal last time, so I’m not sure I’d even ask that.

Andy: That was in 2013 though.

Mark: it was. But there’s been rumors not everything was chill in Montreal for the past couple of years.

Brian: But they still won the cup last year.

Andy: They did, but it’s no secret that Hollander put that team on his back.

Brian: As opposed to laying on his back.

Mark: OK, enough of that. Now, all camps are being quiet on this front so far, but if you had to place your bets, where do you think Hollander takes the ice next season

Brian: Ottawa

Andy: Ottawa

Mark: I’d like to say something interesting, but I’m not an idiot. I’m picking Ottawa too.

Brian: So I guess we just wait for it to be official?

Andy: Or until we hear something at least. And then we watch the riots. Hopefully

Mark: and in the meantime, there’s other free agency news to discuss. The Boston Raiders have signed Brooklyn Pirates forward Josiah Campbell to a five-year $7.2 million AAV contract after Cliff Marleau signed with the newly minted Seattle Cthulhu for $4 million. What do we think of these moves? Who got the better deal?

Ellie awoke on Day 2 of free agency with more curiosity than she’d had in her life. Her cursory peek at social media showed that Hollander remained unsigned. She wasn’t sure her parents would let her get away with another day of scrolling.

Nevertheless, she began her day with another glass of juice, another bowl of Cheerios, and resolved to check throughout the day. Maybe she could go swimming at some point?

Hockey Scoop Plus @hockeyscoop

It’s Free Agency Day 2! How do we think Shane Hollander slept?

Ray Billows @raybillowsESPN ✅

Men do what they want, boys do what they can. And, it ain’t no secret, I’m a grown ass man. I gotta go to work

Arminda Lorenzo @mindy2028

Call me crazy, but I think I just saw Ilya Rozanov in Canada Tire. He was looking at printer ink?

    Patrick Donaldson @ppattaddywhack

    Is the holdup on Hollander just that they didn’t have any ink to print the contract so he could sign it?

ESPN NHL @ESPNNHL ✅

Winnipeg Wizards trade defenseman Eric Levinson to Buffalo Sabres. Winnipeg will receive one 2021 first round pick and two 2022 first and second round picks.

ESPN NHL @ESPNNHL✅

San Jose Stingrays trade forward Andrei Zelensky to Carolina Tornados, Carolina will receive one 2021 first round pick and two 2022 first and second round picks.

    NY Admirals are Number One @NYAdmiralsNumberOne

    Teams are looking to free their cap space today…

Ottawa Centaurs @ottawacentaursofficial ✅

Some rumors have emerged over the last 24 hours regarding our status with Shane Hollander. We can assure all our fans that we relayed a very reasonable offer for the maximum seven years. Only his signature remains to make it official. We hope to have good news for you soon!

    NY Admirals are Number One @NYAdmiralsNumberOne

    Curious to know what this very reasonable offer is

    Cens for the Win @CensfortheWin

    So what’s the holdup then? Rozanov stocked up on ink. I’ll print it for them

    Metros luvr @metrosluvr

    We could have told you he was a primadonna.

    Cens and Censability @censandcensability

    What’s he want, 15 million? There’s a cap you know?

    Boston Girl @bostonbaby

    Don’t know why Roz puts up with his arrogance.

    Brad the Metros Fan @bradthemetrosfan

    As I said yesterday, he should be grateful to be offered at all.

    Brad Kessler @bkessler

    He should just be thankful for what I’m sure is a sensible amount.

    Roz’s left tit @roz’slefttit

    He’s so full of himself.

    Roz’s right tit @roz’srighttit

    Thinks he’s a hockey god.

    MetrosFanForLife @metrosfanforlife

    Glad to be rid of that head case.

    Jackie Wilcox @jackiewilcox

    Why are you publishing this?

Hockey Scoop Plus @hockeyscoop

Rumor has it that Ottawa offered Shane Hollander $14.1 million.

     Cens and Censability @censandcensability

     Can we even afford that?

     Cens for the Win @censforthewin

     Why hasn’t he signed yet? Mad he won't be captain?

ESPN NHL @ESPNNHL✅

Join us on air tonight at 8 pm ET/ 7 pm CT to discuss the Shane Hollander situation.

Man in the Crease @maninthecreasepodcast

We’re still here, Montreal. But we are going to wait until something actually happens to go back to the Bell Center.

Ellie shook her head. No way was that gossip rag telling the truth. Ellie kept up with salaries and trades. The Centaurs had made no moves to free cap space, and they definitely couldn’t afford $14 million on top of Rozanov’s thirteen. The way she had calculated it, between needing to pay Luca Haas soon and everyone else’s contracts, they could afford just about seven. More if they traded Tanner Dillon and a couple of fourth liners making league minimum. They could also pay him a lot more this year and lower it when Haas got his first big payday, so maybe that’s where the number was coming from?

Ellie decided that was enough Internet for the day and picked up a book.

Ellie got no more clarity the next day. She did get to swim though. She checked her phone during breaks.

Hockey Scoop Plus @hockeyscoop

It’s Free Agency Day 3! Is Shane Hollander still alive?

Ray Billows @raybillowsESPN ✅

The whole pie like Domino’s, yes indeed. I’m tryin’ to stack my bacon up, I need extra cheese. I gotta go to work

Hockey Scoop Plus @hockeyscoop

Rumor has it that Ottawa offered Shane Hollander $9.5 million.

     Cens for the Win @censforthewin

     That sounds closer to what I expected. Are we trading Dillon? Why hasn’t anything been signed?

Jamie LaPointe @jameslapointeofficial ✅

Always great to get to hang out with teammates (and Cap!) in the offseason. Got a great workout and great ideas too!

Sky Larson @skylarsontheythem

I was going for a run by the Centaurplex, and I saw Ilya Rozanov getting into a fancy SUV. He looked mad as hell.

    Cens for the Win @censforthewin

    Pics or it didn’t happen.

ESPN NHL @ESPNNHL✅

Official: New York Admirals alternate captain Carter Vaughan has informed Admirals management that he is waiving his no move clause for the Seattle Cthulhu expansion draft to be held on July 21. 

     Mandy @mandylandry

     They can’t seriously be supporting Gross. He should have been the one traded.

     NY Admirals are Number One @nyadmiralsnumberone

     Maybe he wants a change of scenery?

Coach Brandon Wiebe @coachwiebecentaurs ✅

Love spending time with my family in the offseason. Great when you have a surprise visit from the boys too!

Hockey Scoop Plus @hockeyscoop

Rumor has it that Ottawa offered Shane Hollander $8.1 million.

    Cens and Censability @censandcensability

    This number keeps dropping.

    NY Admirals are Number One @nyadmiralsnumberone

    At least this one is the same he was making in Montreal?

ESPN NHL @ESPNNHL✅

Join us on air tonight at 8 pm ET/ 7 pm CT to discuss the Shane Hollander situation.

Ellie woke up on July 4 not expecting much. It was American Independence Day, and US holidays kind of ruled the news world of North America. Nevertheless, she scrolled.

Finally, at about 3 pm, it got interesting.

Hockey Scoop Plus @hockeyscoop

It’s Free Agency Day 4! Where in the world is Shane Hollander? (You know how the song goes)

Ray Billows @raybillowsESPN ✅

I went from old school Chevys to drop-top Porsches. You couldn’t walk a mile off in my Air Force’s. I gotta go to work

Hockey Scoop Plus @hockeyscoop

Word on the street is Ilya Rozanov plans to waive his NMC specifically for the upcoming Seattle Cthulhu expansion draft.

    Metros luvr @metrosluvr

    😂😂😂😂

    CensfortheWin @censforthewin

    WTF?????

    Cens and Censability @censandcensability

    Lying for clicks as usual.

Hockey Scoop Plus @hockeyscoop

Rumor has it that Ottawa offered Shane Hollander $4.8 million.

    Cens and Censability @censandcensability

    Please tell me you’re dyslexic.

    Brad the Metros Fan @bradthemetrosfan

    😂😂😂😂😂😂

    CensfortheWin @censforthewin

    WTF????????

    Hockey Scoop @hockeyscoop

    Update: the original offer was for $4.1 million.

    NY Admirals are Number One @nyadmiralsnumberone

    Do they actually want him?

    Bill Walton’s legacy @bwaltonlegacy

    Where’s Troy Barrett’s account today?

    Boston Girl @bostonbaby

    Do they want to keep the hockey husbands?

    Hollanov Since 2010 @hollanovsincedayone

    I thought this wasn’t the homophobic team

    Seattle Sports Tolerator @seattlesportstolerator

    Don’t tell me the gay pride team is racist

    Hollanover @hollanover

    Absolutely not.

    Metros luvr @metrosluvr

    I’m still mad at the guy, but this is stupid.

    Shaney baby @shaneybaby

    Come back, Shane! Montreal will treat you so much better than this.

Gene Wyndham @wyndhamespn ✅

While the source is questionable, I also have heard similar numbers today. The news that Ottawa originally only offered Hollander $4.1 million makes one wonder if they simply assumed his signing was a given?

Ray Billows @raybillowsESPN ✅

Ottawa only offering $4.8 million is a travesty.

    Mark Jones @MJonesinthecrease

    Is this confirmed?

ESPN NHL @ESPNNHL✅

Official: Ottawa Centaurs captain and star forward Ilya Rozanov has informed Centaurs management that he is waiving his no move clause for the Seattle Cthulhu expansion draft to be held on July 21. 

     Seattle sports tolerator @seattlesportstolerator

     👀👀👀

     Cens for the Win @censforthewin

     NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

     Cens and Censability @censandcensability

     Ottawa, what did you do????????

     Jackie Wilcox @jwilcox

     Sounds like the rumors this morning were true. 

     Brad the Metros Fan @bradthemetrosfan

     Would be funny if they broke up over this

     Montreal Since Birth @montrealsincebirth

     I think that would have already been news. Looks like the hockey husbands are Seattle-bound

     Roz’s loon tattoo @loonybird

     They didn’t actually only offer his husband $4.8 mil, right?

     Hollandaise @hollandergivesmehope

     I guess we know where Hollander’s headed.

     Roz’s left tit @rozslefttit

     Did they just think Hollander was a given?

     Roz’s right tit @rozsrighttit

     Ottawa deserves whatever is coming to them. 

     Toronto’s Number 1 @torontoforever

     Oh we are Ottawa. We are just so pure and loving and welcoming. Oh, and we want to cut the Gay Asian king’s salary in half. Hypocrites. 

     Shayden’s Third @shaydensthird

     Maybe they’re going to do long distance?

ESPN NHL @ESPNNHL✅

Official: Montreal Metros captain and star forward Shane Hollander signs two-year deal with Seattle Cthulhu for $10 million AAV.

     NY Admirals are Number One @nyadmiralsnumberone

     Can’t say I saw this coming on July 1.

     Cens and Censability @censandcensability

     I can’t believe my little whimsy team fumbled this badly. Wait, yes I can.

     Cens for the Win @censforthewin

     Back to the basement. Hope they kept my beanbag.

     Seattle sports tolerator @seattlesportstolerator

     With a tear…in my eye…this is the greatest moment of my life

Man in the Crease @maninthecrease

On the road to Ottawa as fast as we can drive. Heard something about a riot?

Ellie grinned. A decent payday for Shane Hollander, if not what he could have gotten on some other teams. His husband was following. Their contracts would line up. Also, Seattle had salmon and dogs. They like salmon and dogs. She made a mental note to ask for Hollander’s new Seattle jersey for her birthday in October. Cthulhu was a rocking name. 

Nothing was what she would have predicted, but she’s only twelve years old still. 

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Chapter 6: The Cold Never Bothered Us Anyway

Chapter Summary

Some people deserve to hear this news in person. So the boys combine where they can, and divide and conquer where they need to save time.

First up, Shane.

Chapter Notes

I’m sorry for the sadness at the end. I know the kids have so much fun with their Uncle Ilya, but Shane has watched these kids grow up. They’re going to miss him, and they don’t understand contracts.

Also I don’t know if the idea with JJ is against NHL expansion draft rules. My thinking is none of the teams involved would be complaining so it doesn’t matter. Also I needed a defenseman, already had to invent a goalie, and Ryan is retired. So JJ gets forgiveness.

Also I know they married in July. But in this scenario, time is short, what with the draft and the camps. So August now. Sorry to anyone attached to July.

I never intended this story to grow, but you all gave me so many ideas for their time in Seattle that it’s expanding.

Telling the Parents

Shane had wanted to wait another day to announce their decisions publicly. Ilya convinced him otherwise.

“Is American Independence Day Shane. We are going to be American. Is iconic.”

“I think you mean ironic.”

“That too.”

Shane had taken it in stride when Ilya had stalked into the living room after his shower and started showing him more cute dogs of Seattle. Shane hadn’t explicitly said he wanted Seattle.

“I see it in your eyes lyubimmy. They sparkle like they do when you score hat trick. Now look at cute retriever. She’s called Pancake.”

Shane had responded by pulling up Zillow listings in Seattle. Bainbridge Island was beautiful, but there was a ferry. Maybe a condo in the city too? Together they cold afford both.

Just like that, the decision was made. Shane signed the contract using his favorite Pilot Metropolitan fountain pen in the privacy of his own home, with Ilya by his side and Farah watching on FaceTime grinning like a proud mother. He immediately scanned the document to her but asked her to hold off on the announcement until Ilya’s meeting with Ottawa the next day.

Ilya had called and scheduled a meeting with Ottawa’s general manager for noon. He’d hinted at a surprise to get the meeting, considering it was a Sunday. They assumed he was bringing his husband. So many people in their lives were going to find out about this big change on Twitter.

However, Shane knew there were two people who couldn’t find out through Twitter or an ESPN notification. So he gathered his folder, filled with freshly printed copies of Montreal’s offer, Ottawa’s offer, Winnipeg’s offer of $11 million for funsies, New York’s unnecessary apology, and finally Seattle’s offer.

All the other offers had made it into the wastebasket. Except Ottawa. They’d ordered supplies for s’mores to be delivered, and Ilya had watched with lust as Shane went to the snack cabinet in the kitchen, fished Ilya’s secret lighter from the box of candy bars, and proceeded to use the Ottawa offer to start a small fire in the fireplace, eyes gleaming. Ilya loved his piroman.

 Ilya had made a Reese’s s’more. It was delicious. They’d licked chocolate and marshmallow off each other. Then Ilya had put a cooled roasted marshmallow on his dick, and Shane had indulged in more sugar.

The perfect calm before the storm.

Now the storm was upon them, and the first step was breakfast with Shane’s parents, who had no idea their sons were moving across the country in weeks.

“Mom, it’s us.” Shane called as he entered. He smelled pancakes and bacon. His mom was chopping fruit, the only thing David allowed her to do in the kitchen.

“Sweetie, come here.” She dropped her knife and pulled him in for a hug. After hugging Ilya, she pulled them into the kitchen. “Tell me about Ottawa. Have you signed yet? Rolex is really getting on our case; they’ve got this new black and red model they really want you to show off.”

“Can we talk while we eat Mom. Please?”

David brought the food out onto platters, and they helped themselves. After everyone had eaten a quarter of their plates, Shane cleared his throat.

“Mom, Ilya and I have an announcement.” Yuna put down her cup of coffee and looked at him.

“You didn’t elope, did you Shane? I’ve worked so hard on planning this wedding even though I still don’t know how many chairs to order. The caterer is now saying it’s too late and you’ll have to have an August wedding and I know you wanted July.”

“August is fine Mom. Maybe better even.”

“August 14?” Ilya asked, looking at his phone. “We haven’t sent out invites yet. Should be no problem.” Shane nodded.

“Well we know you’re not pregnant son. Are you adopting?” David asked with a grin, sitting back in his chair.

“No, no babies yet. Unless I find a stray kitten.” Shane shook his head and chuckled.

“Or more dogs.” Ilya muttered

“Ilya…” Shane glanced sideways at him.

Ilya looked at his plate, chastised.

“So, what is it Shane?” Yuna folded her hands and looked at him expectantly.

Shane took a deep breath and grabbed Ilya’s hand. “Ilya and I are moving to Seattle.”

His mom coughed. “Seattle, what?”

“What about Ottawa son?” David leaned forward, raising an eyebrow.

Shane glanced at Ilya. Ilya waved his hand, telling Shane silently to continue. “Ottawa’s offer was unacceptable. So we made a different choice.”

“The expansion draft.” Yuna said flatly.

“The expansion draft. For Ilya anyway. I’m signing UFA.”  Shane picked up his fork and took a bite of pancake. He’d done so well with his eating this summer, he realized. Maybe feeling supported and free meant eating pancakes with his family and marshmallows off his husband’s penis.

“But…Seattle is a brand new team. Your sponsors aren’t going to like you going to a brand new team. And it’s so far away. How will we visit?” Shane almost thought he saw a tear in his mom’s eye.

“There’s these little things called planes, Mom. I can even buy you tickets. And who cares what the sponsors think?”

“But the sponsors make you so much money. And they’re a way for kids who don’t see themselves in your shoes to feel inspired.”

“They can be inspired by my hockey. Which is my actual career.” Shane glared. 

“But Shane, Rolex isn’t going to want you to wear a watch in Seattle colors. They’re black and turquoise. So bright.” Yuna shook her head. “And they’re called the Cthulhu. Not even a plural. Just one Cthulhu.” 

“So I won’t wear a Seattle Rolex watch. Who cares?” Shane waved his arms.

“I just want you happy and taken care of Shane.” Her voice softened.

“I am happy. And I am taken care of. I’ve got Ilya. Seattle is going to pay me $10 million. What else do I need?” Shane’s voice rose in response.

“Your parents nearby?” David asked.

“You can move if you want. I’m not stopping you. But this decision has been made.” Shane took another bite.

“I just don’t understand. You both were so excited about Ottawa. What happened?” Yuna’s voice cracked.

“What happened was we got Ottawa’s offer.” Shane said flatly.

“I know it was a cut, but surely”

“Four point one million.”

That shut her up. She blinked at him. “What?”

“Four point one million initially. They raised it to four point eight.” Ilya clarified.

Yuna blinked for a moment. “Did they give you an A at least?”

“No. They said it would divide the room.” Shane growled.

“That’s nonsense,” David spat, sitting back in his chair. “You deserve so much better.”

“I got better. From other teams. New York even sent an apology they couldn’t offer me. Montreal offered a one year bridge at current terms.”

“Understandable.” Yuna looked impressed.

“Winnipeg offered eleven. They traded a defenseman to make it happen, I think. And Seattle offered ten. Seattle also made it clear they supported my marriage.” Shane laid each offer out on the table one by one.

“They also offered you more money if I didn’t follow.” Ilya muttered. “You could have made me stay.”

“You didn’t want to stay after you saw four point one million.”

Yuna was shaking her head. “I just can’t believe.”

“There’s more.” Ilya said. “I went to talk to Wiebe. Ask why. He said awful things. Called Shane princess. Said he was lucky they were signing him at all. Thought they could save money because he wanted to be with me so bad.”

Shane’s eyebrows rose. “You forgot to mention the princess part Ilya.”

“He also called you headcase.”

“That sounds racist and homophobic.” David remarked.

“Ah no, can’t be racist or homophobic because Shane’s sexuality and race are diversity points. A nice perk to have them together.” Ilya made air quotes.

Yuna put her face in her hands, fingers clawing at her hair. Finally, she looked up.

“Well fuck them.” She said, looking first Shane, then Ilya, in the eyes. “Fuck them right up the butt. With a cactus.”

Plans With JJ

Shane had wanted to be with Ilya while he met with Ottawa management. However, Ilya insisted he head to Montreal to talk to his friends before the news spread to Twitter.

First, Shane headed to JJ’s condo.

“Captaine” JJ greeted, pulling him in for a hug.

“Not your captain anymore JJ.”

“I know you’re Ottawa’s now, but you’re captain of my heart.” JJ offered him a stool and ginger ale.

“You don’t think I tripped anymore.” Shane was legitimately curious. JJ had apologized but he had still looked at Shane with suspicion at times. Today, there was nothing but a genuine, welcoming smile.

“Man, I really am so sorry about that. I just got all caught up in my feelings. I should have known you were too competitive of a motherfucker to let Rozanov win. Especially since  New York kicked their asses easy. I’m an idiot.” JJ calling him a competitive motherfucker was more real than anything he’d said in weeks.

“I really do appreciate that apology JJ.”

“You deserve it. So how much is Ottawa treating you to?” Shane sighed.

“That’s actually what I came to talk to you about. You’re the first hearing this after Ilya, my agent, and my parents.”

JJ’s eyes widened. “Not even Hayden?”

“He’s next, but I want to spend some time with the kids and I didn’t want you to find out through Twitter, so I came here first.”

JJ clutched his can of orange soda. “This sounds serious.”

Shane held up a hand. “It’s nothing bad, for me anyway. I signed with Seattle.” JJ’s eyes widened.

“Pardon?” with full Québécois accent. 

“I signed with Seattle. For $10 million.”

JJ slapped the counter. “Tabarnak, don’t tell me Twitter was right!”

Shane frowned. “What’s on Twitter?”

“Some gossip rag on Twitter has been talking about various offers. They got your Montreal one right. Then said Ottawa didn’t offer you, but that’s bullshit. Then they said you got offered $14.1 million which I don’t even think they could afford. They had a couple reasonable numbers yesterday but this morning they were saying $4.8 mil.”

Shane looked down and nodded.

“4.8 mil? Really?”

“It was 4.1 initially.” Shane whispered.

“Motherfuckers. So now you’re off to Seattle?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, west coast.”

JJ frowned. “The wedding is still happening here right?”

Shane grinned. “Yeah, but August 14 now. We’ve procrastinated a little too much, and we have to go to the draft.”

JJ nodded, sipped his soda, and continued. “Makes sense. I assume Rozanov is waiving his NMC.”

“Probably as we speak.”

JJ grinned that easy grin that always made Shane feel safe in the Montreal locker room. “Nice. I’d love to see a pic of that GM’s stupid face.”

“It’s his coach’s you really want.” Shane laughed. They sat in silence for a beat, enjoying their soft drinks. Then JJ asked, “So is Ottawa just some racist fuckers?”

Shane nodded. “Homophobic too. They thought I was weak and would just follow Ilya wherever. Turns out he’s following me. Still gets paid more, but we can’t help his contract or the salary cap.”

“Montreal is run by racist fucks too, but at least they wanted to keep things the way they are.”  JJ thought for a moment. “I’m not looking forward to next year. Wish I could be drafted by Seattle too, but it’s one person per team and you count as Montreal’s.” JJ pouted.

Shane thought for a moment. “Your agent is Trent Novell, right?”

JJ nodded. “Yeah, he’s great.”

Shane patted JJ’s shoulder. “Talk to him. Word I’m hearing is Detroit really doesn’t want to lose anyone to this expansion draft. If Montreal is willing to let go of you, you might be able to strike a deal.”

“What do you mean?”

“Waive your NMC. You to Detroit. Then you’re Seattle’s Detroit pick. Or any of the other teams that are mad about losing someone. There’s a few.”

JJ frowned. “How can you be sure I’d get picked?”

Shane grinned, eyes sparkling. JJ could see what Rozanov saw in him; his eyes really were mesmerizing when full of ideas. “They’re giving me full input on draft picks.”

JJ grinned back. “Captaine”

The Pike Babies

Shane knew as he pulled up to the Pike’s driveway he wasn’t giving Hayden the JJ Plan. Jackie’s parents were too close to help with the kids. Also, it would look suspicious if one team traded away multiple players who somehow got drafted to Seattle. Shane was already dancing a little too close to tampering.

Shane rubbed at his eyes; he knew he was saying goodbye to his godchildren. Sure, they had FaceTime. And summers. But kids grew so much during the year; would they even remember him?

And Ilya. Ilya was too busy meeting with management to say goodbye to the kids. He would need to hug them extra long at the wedding.

Shane knocked. Jackie threw the door open and pulled him into a clutching hug.

“Shane, the Internet is saying so many things. Are you ok?”

Shane hugged back, inhaling her tropical perfume. He’d miss her hugs. “I’m ok. Great actually. Is Hayd here?”

“Living room with the kids.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

Hayden patted the cushion next to him. “So what’s going on? Some dumbass on Twitter is saying Rozanov is waiving his NMC. He dump you?”

Jackie slapped Hayden’s arm. “Rude. And swear jar.” Hayden handed her a $5 from his pocket and muttered how he was only joking.

“No Hayden, he didn’t dump me.”

Hayden laughed. “I knew that account was mostly nonsense.”

Shane was so curious about this Twitter account. “Well they’re correct about this. Ilya has waived his NMC for Seattle.”

Hayden’s mouth dropped. “And that means you…”

Shane nodded. “Signed with Seattle. Last night.”

Hayden shook his head. “But Ottawa.”

Shane slumped back into the couch cushions. “Gave me a dumbass offer. Took a better one.” He handed over a $5 to Jackie before she could say anything.

“But Ottawa’s only two hours away. Seattle’s ages. Who’s going to babysit the kids?” Hayden cracked a grin, but his eyes were near tears.

Shane shrugged. “You’ll have to find a new babysitter, I guess.”

“You know I’m not just upset about the babysitting right?” Hayden asked as he turned toward him. “That was a joke.”

“I know Hayd.”

“I guess I just assumed you’d still be close enough for us to hang out sometimes.”

Hayden watched Ruby and Jade play with their Barbies. “So that account talking about Roz’s move also brought up some other numbers from Ottawa. I guess that last one was true.”

The more Shane talked about it, the more he wanted to scream. But the kids were there. “If you mean 4.8, then yeah.”

Hayden made a noise of frustration. “This sucks.”

“For you. Ilya and I are actually really excited. He’s looking forward to the dogs.” Shane laughed.

“And you’re having fun on Zillow.”

“Bainbridge Island houses are so great Hayd; you don’t even know.” Hayden grinned at Shane’s eyes lighting up.

They conversed casually after that, with light and careful voices, both acutely aware this might be one of their last hangouts for a long time. They’d have the wedding, which Shane remembered to mention had been rescheduled for August 14, but Shane and Ilya were about to be so busy. Jackie brought Shane a ginger ale with tears in her eyes, remarking that she won’t have to keep the house stocked anymore. Jackie’s tears led to the twins asking what was wrong.

Which led to Shane sitting down his four precious godchildren, from Ruby down to little Amber, and telling them he was moving across the continent.

Ruby’s eyes filled with tears. “You won’t pick us up from school anymore?” Her lip wobbled.

Jade gave a squeak and rushed at him, pounding her little fists into his torso, “No, you can’t leave, no.” Shane let her tire herself out pounding at his chest and clutched her as she clung to him and sobbed into his plain t-shirt.

This led to Ruby claiming his other side with identical sobbing. Little Arthur, quieter than his sisters, crawled into his lap and slumped across his chest.

“We can read stories on the iPad please? Like Daddy does on road trips?”

Shane’s voice caught. “Of course buddy. I’ll call lots. And I can read you stories through the iPad. You’ll have to tell me what books to buy.”

“And Uncle Ilya too.”

“Uncle Ilya too. He had an important meeting today, but he wanted me to tell you all how much he’s going to miss you.”

That led to renewed sobbing. Little Amber didn’t quite understand what was going on, but didn’t want to feel left out, so she crawled into the cuddle pile. The older girls continued to hiccup and sniff. Arthur slumped against his chest with silent tears.

At least Shane’s arms were big enough to hold them all.

Chapter 7: The Wrath of Morozko

Chapter Summary

Now it’s Ilya’s turn

Chapter Notes

As a Labor Day treat, here’s the next chapter early.

Fair warning, the updates are going to slow a bit. The long weekend is over. Work beckons. I have to actually watch some of the Seattle Kraken draft.

In the meantime, enjoy a little comeuppance.

When Ilya stormed into the general manager’s office without knocking, he wanted to announce his decision and storm back out. Unfortunately, waiving contract provisions meant paperwork.

The GM had run into some supply closet for paper towels and cleaned up his spat coffee. Then, he’d sat next to Ilya in the boring office chair across from his own opulent leather computer chair, put a hand on his shoulder, and asked shakily What happened?

Was someone on the team homophobic? They’d get traded.

Had he and Shane broken up? They’d pull Shane’s offer.

Did he not like dealing with Bood as alternate captain? They’d take his A. Would he prefer Barrett?

Ilya shoved his shoulder away, looked the manager in the eyes, and asked “Would you have asked these questions to Shane?”

GM had sputtered for a minute. Ilya stood and looked down at him.

“Did you really think you were Shane’s only option?”

GM flinched. “I mean, he’s rather difficult. You know him. We didn’t think many teams would want him.”

Ilya snorted, crossing his arms. “Did you really think Shane would just accept your little offer?”

“He wants to be with you, we thought. And his parents.” Ilya raised an eyebrow.

“Do you really think he tripped on purpose?”

GM’s eyes widened. “He didn’t?”

Ilya smirked, examining his fingernails. “Did you know he got offers from twenty-nine other teams?”

The GM’s eyes widened.

“Everyone but Toronto and New York. And New York apologized. And probably regrets it now because Vaughan wants to join us. That was surprise to everyone.” GM hopped up from the visitor chair and sat at his computer, typing frantically.

“We can up it. Maybe seven? I think if we trade a couple guys we can get him to eight.”

Ilya glared.

“Why would Shane sign an offer so low just to be called a princess?”

GM’s eyes narrowed.

“Who called him a princess exactly?”

Which led to GM calling a very grumpy Coach Wiebe who dragged himself to the Centaur offices and away from his happy family cookout. Immediately upon arriving, Wiebe winced. Ilya Rozanov sat smugly in a chair across from the nearly crying GM, who typed at his computer with shaking hands. Farah Jalali’s face was on Ilya’s phone which lay on the desk.

GM turned to face Coach.

“Did you call Hollander a princess to Rozanov’s face?”

Wiebe grimaced. “Might not have been the best word but he is kinda picky.”

GM folded his arms and stared down his coach. “Well, let me be the first to tell you that Hollander signed with Seattle last night.”

Coach Wiebe laughed. “The expansion team? Good luck to him I guess. And them now that he’s their problem.” Wiebe turned to Ilya. “You doing all right son?”

“Will be great once I finish this paperwork.”

Wiebe furrowed his brow. “What paperwork?”

“Just waiving my no move. Then I’ll be on my way and you can get back to Sunday barbecue.”

“You’re waiving what?”

“I only came to Ottawa for Shane. Now Shane wants to move to Seattle. So I’ll go too.”

Wiebe for a moment looked genuinely surprised. Then, his eyes narrowed.

“Now son, let’s think things through a bit. I’m sure we can raise Hollander’s offer a little. Think we can afford six million?” He turned to the GM.

“Too late.” Ilya said. “If you thought my husband was worth the money he deserves you would have already tried.” Ilya sat back.

Wiebe thought for a moment and narrowed his eyes. “What about your immigration, son? I know you came to Ottawa to be in Canada too. Now you’re going back to the States? Won’t that mess things up? You don’t want to be forced back to Russia if something were to happen, do you?” Ilya had never seen Wiebe look so calculating, and he was supposed to be their play caller.

But Ilya grinned and pulled out his wallet. “Look what came in end of May. Permanent residency card. Something about express entry; the lawyer was confusing, but I get to stay in Canada forever. Even more forever after I marry Shane.”

Wiebe’s shoulders fell. Ilya rubbed his hands together in glee.

“Now, Paperwork please. I’ve got a lot to do. Find Seattle house. Find Seattle dog. Plan wedding. Attend draft. Host camps. Many important things so chop chop.” Ilya clapped his hands.

Ilya signed his papers, shook their hands, and practically skipped out of the office. Right as he exited the office, he heard the voice of Ottawa Centaurs owner Clarence Leroux on speakerphone, “What the fuck is going on there? What’s this I’m seeing on Twitter about Rozanov wanting to go to Seattle?”

Just like three years before, he could hear the GM sobbing down the hall. It wasn’t happy tears this time. As for Ilya, he sauntered out of the icy Ottawa Centaurs offices into the bright July sunshine, humming to himself.

Everything was perfect. He had his Shane. He had Anya. He still had hockey. He and his Shane were going on a brand-new adventure to a team that understood they were married and in love but also the best fucking hockey players in the league. A team that loved them both. Wanted them both. Especially Shane. Finally a team that loved both his Shane and Shane Fucking Hollander.

Best of all, Shane’s eyes just kept sparkling. Shane’s shoulders had no tension. He ate real food and didn’t look at it with fear. Ilya hadn’t had any dark thoughts in weeks; he’d had no trouble getting out of bed every day this week. Maybe for the first time ever, they were just good.

Ilya texted Shane that everything went absolutely perfectly and to tell the Pikelings he’d miss them. No matter how they’d treated him personally, Pike and Boiziau were still Shane’s friends, and he needed time to essentially say goodbye, to the Pikes at least. Especially to the babies.

Shane had already mentioned his idea for JJ, and Ilya supported it. JJ wasn’t a bigot, really, and he was a damn fine defenseman. Their team needed talent on both sides. Plus, Ilya was getting Marly back; Shane deserved a friend too.

Take all the time you need malysh.

Then, after days of silence, he finally unmuted the Centaurs group chat.

Predictably, it was a shitshow.

Boyle: Ok it’s been days and nothing from Cap.

Pointy: What’s the holdup with Holly?

Ilya grimaced at the nickname. He knew it was Shane’s least favorite, the one said with a sneer by his homophobic former teammates. A girl’s name, insinuating he was just a weak “woman.” Shane liked Hollzy. Even tolerated Hollywood after his relationship with Rose Landry. Not Holly, and if they’d asked Ilya instead of listening to Troy Barrett he would have told them so.

Chewie: Heard anything Barrett?

Hazy: You’ve sure been all over Twitter.

Barrett: Harris changed my Twitter password and won’t tell me the new one.

Ilya laughed at that. He assumed Harris’s boss had told him to corral his boyfriend before he pissed off fans or gave something away.

Haas: How did you even find that gossip account?

Barrett: I’ve heard nothing and it’s pissing me off

Bood: Why would they have told you anything?

Barrett: Ilya and I are best friends.

Ilya scoffed. They had barely talked in weeks. Also, this was the kind of thing he’d tell the team as a whole, not one person who wasn’t even alternate captain.

Haas: I think his husband is his best friend first.

Damn right Haasy, Ilya thought.

Dillon: Have you all seen the rumors today?

Dykstra: Twitter’s a shitshow

Hazy: So place your bets: what do you think we actually offered Hollander? I’m going nine.

Boyle: About eight

Chewie: Seven

Dillon: Twelve

Barrett: Six

Dykstra: Ten

Haas: It can’t be four, right?

Barrett: Maybe it’s all we can afford?

Chewie: Do you know something?

Barrett: No, I just think we are really close to cap space. We don’t want to lose anyone right?

Hazy: Now they’re saying Cap waived his NMC?

Dykstra: WTF

Chewie: Yeah, for Seattle

Dillon: No fucking way

Haas: Please say it isn’t so Roz

Barrett: It isn’t. He would have told me.

And have Barrett tell Twitter? Ilya thought.

Chewie: You sure about that?

Hazy: I don’t wanna lose Cap!

Dykstra: Cap is still in the chat.

Hazy: Cap, you there?

Ilya began typing furiously.

Hello fuckers. Yes rumors are true. I’m off to Seattle to pet dogs and play hockey with my wonderful king Shane Fucking Hollander

Dykstra: Cap, what the fuck?

Barrett: Why didn’t you tell us sooner?

Haas: I’ll miss you.

Hazy: Ottawa won’t be the same without you. Also goalieing against the two of you is my new personal hell.

Dykstra: At least it’s only twice a year.

Barrett: Does this mean we aren’t getting Holly?

Boyle: Why are you abandoning us man?

Ilya sighed. He’d known the guys would be upset, but he hoped they’d eventually accept it.

Ilya: Seattle made good offer. I took it.

Boyle: Booo

Dykstra: Dead to us

Chewie: I can’t believe you.

Dillon: Don’t you make enough for you and hubby?

Apparently Ilya’s hopes were misplaced. Didn’t these guys understand respect?

Dykstra: Plenty of guys in the league make four.

Dillon: Some of us get less

Well, plenty of guys aren’t the slowest in the league Tanner, Ilya thought.

Chewie: It’s not that big a deal to get a pay cut

Not when you’re still on your rookie contract maybe. Let’s see how you feel when you enter real negotiations kid, Ilya stewed.

Dykstra: Especially to play with a bunch of good guys

Because you’re all showing what a good bunch of guys you are. Especially Barrett. Ilya couldn’t believe how entitled these guys were acting.

Boyle: Didn’t realize how greedy you both were.

Ilya screamed into the void of his living room and typed in the chat one last time: Wedding is on August 14 at 5:30 pm in my backyard. Come if you want. Rozanov out.

Then, he left the chat.

Ilya was just settling in with a meal prep to watch a movie when he realized he forgot to lock the door. Troy fucking Barrett himself barged in, tracking footprints from the front door to the living room.

“What the fuck man?” Barrett hissed.

Ilya should have realized this was coming when Barrett went silent in the team chat. However, he had been so angry at the other guys that he’d ignored the warning in the back of his head.

“Hello Troy Barrett. What can I do for you” Ilya did not get up from his comfy spot on the couch.

“You can tell me why the fuck you are headed to Seattle.” Barrett crossed his arms and glared down at him.

“I told team chat. Seattle made good offer.”

Barrett scoffed. “You’re under contract. They’re not allowed to offer you.”

Ilya shrugged. “They can offer Shane.”

“So you’re leaving us because your boytoy told you to.” Barrett looked unimpressed. Ilya wondered how he viewed his own boyfriend.

Ilya sighed and stood. “I’m going to Seattle because they respect my partner and me.”

Barrett threw his arms in the air and turned to face the fireplace. “So you’re leaving a good group of guys because Shane wants more money?”

Ilya glared at Barrett’s back. “It’s not just about money Barrett. It’s about respect.”

Barrett turned around and whined “Was Ottawa’s offer really that bad?” Ilya nodded.

“Why didn’t you say anything? We could have talked about it. I could have told Shane what it was like when I was traded.”

Ilya snorted. “I don’t think Shane wants advice from you.”

Barrett looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you once ask him how he could see the puck because he is Japanese?” Ilya crossed his arms.

Barrett looked stunned. “I…”

“And didn’t you once make crude remarks about my mother in law’s genitals?”

Barrett started shaking. “Ilya I…”

“Didn’t you laugh at nasty things from Kent? Didn’t you call Bood’s mom a crack whore? Didn’t you use the n word on the ice?”

Barrett sighed and pouted. “Ilya, you know what Toronto was like. I was scared of people finding out I was gay.”

“So you were racist instead?”

Barrett looked ready to cry. “Ilya, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing to me? I’m white. You didn’t say those mean things to me. You never apologized to Shane. Or Bood. And you’ve had plenty of time to cry and say sorry your feelings were hurt and make excuses.”

Barrett was pleading now. Ilya wouldn’t have been surprised if he dropped to his knees. “But I really am sorry. I’ll apologize to them both. For real.”

Ilya shook his head. “I shouldn’t have had to tell you. You should have apologized to Shane the first time you were over here with him. And even then, I’m not sure you deserved to be forgiven.”

Barrett’s voice cracked. “Ilya”

Ilya growled. “I shouldn’t have made him hang out with you. You should have told me everything you said so I knew what I was doing. Instead I hurt my Shane. And I didn’t even really realize I was doing it. I didn’t know how much racism he sees. I should have known.  And now I do. I’m just lucky he still wants to marry me.”

For a moment they just stared at each other, breathing heavily. “So you’re really leaving.”

“Lose my number Barrett. Good luck with your team.”

The next evening, Shane and Ilya met with Bood for their promised axe throwing date. They were leaving for Seattle the day after tomorrow to begin house hunting. After that was an avalanche of draft, camps, and wedding, so this might be their only opportunity. Also, Shane really wanted to let out some aggression.

 Ilya and Shane walked into the busy but not overcrowded bar and spotted Bood immediately. He was grinning, but the smile was tight, like springs that could snap at any moment.

“Hey guys,” he hugged them both briefly, patting their backs. “Excited for the move.”

“Can’t wait,” Ilya grinned and meant it.

“Some of the houses are amazing.” Mr. Real Estate Shane said.

“Of course that’s your first thought. Not that you’re building a super team. The two of you plus Marleau and Vaughan? That’s already a recipe for greatness.”

“Well, Seattle has given me veto power and promises no homophobes or racists, so things are promising.”

They ordered beers, even Shane, and found a table to wait for their turn. Bood leaned forward.

“Got some gossip guys. You know how your contracts were leaking on Twitter.”

Shane threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, some hockey gossip rag. Took them days to get the numbers right.”

“Well, turns out they heard the first offer correctly but thought it was so stupid they misheard. So $14.1 million. Then, someone made up some reasonable offer, which is where the nine came from. Then, they got the Montreal and Ottawa offers confused.”

“So they heard right the first time and didn’t believe it?” Ilya giggled into his beer.

“Yeah, and then their original source came back and corrected them.”

Ilya leaned forward to whisper to Bood over the music. “Do we know who the source was?” Bood nodded.

“Antonio Rodriguez. Worked in maintenance at the offices. He’s already been fired.”

Ilya’s eyes widened. “Oh no. I liked him. His kids are so cute.”

“Anything we can do?” Shane asked, concerned.

“Lisa, you know Wyatt’s wife Shane, already got him a job at the hospital as an orderly. Turns out it’s a pay bump. And they’re going to pay for him to have x-ray technician training. Turns out he’s first generation Canadian and they have some sort of grant to help with education.”

Shane grinned. “Well, send him my thanks if you get a chance to talk to Lisa.”

Once it was their turn at a booth, they got down to business. Shane, to nobody’s surprise, was a beast at axe throwing. He kept hitting that bullseye. Ilya’s axes hit the target generally but didn’t always line up where they should. Bood was more focused on throwing the axe as hard as he could than aiming, letting each one fly with a guttural moan.

“Ok what is wrong,” Ilya asked his former co-captain as they took a break. “You’ve been tense all night.”

“You aren’t even aiming the axe.” Shane chimed in.

“I heard from management today.” Ilya knew that couldn’t be good.

“And?” Shane asked. “If you can tell us, we’d love to listen.”

“They’re making Troy Barrett captain.” Bood spat.

“Barrett? He has been on team one year. He has never even been alternate. He can’t shut up on Twitter. What would make him good captain?” Ilya was truly flummoxed at just how much stupider Ottawa could get.

“They think it would be good for their image. Barrett’s and Ottawa’s. Ottawa shows off gay captain and Barrett gets a nice story about how far he’s come. If Drover wasn’t just the social media guy I’d think he had a hand in it.”

Ilya shook his head. “No, he does not have that much, what is the word, clout. This is all GM. I heard him crying when I left the office.”

Bood scoffed. “It seems they want to keep having an LGBTQ+ captain, never mind how racist he is. Or was.”

“Or they want a white captain and not a black one and are using him being gay to hide their bigotry.” Shane mused.

“Ding ding ding. God, I wish I could just leave, but I just signed that new contract and once you ask for a trade you don’t get much control over where you go. I don’t want to go south.”

Shane’s eyes lit up again.

“New Jersey is really mad they have to lose someone to this draft.” Shane said. “So are some other teams. Your agent is Trent Novell right?”

“Yeah, he kind of is the go-to guy for black NHL players.”

“Talk to him. He will be familiar. Waive your NMC and ask for a trade to one of the pissy teams.”

Bood was smarter than JJ. “And those teams will leave me open to the draft.”

“Right in one. Unless you don’t want to move to Seattle.” Book whooped and then settled.

“Milo’s still a baby. Cassie’s sister actually just moved to Seattle. She got some nice job with a newspaper there. I think Cassie will be up for it.”

“You’ll have family then. Makes it better.” Ilya said as though the deal was done. The three men clinked glasses.

“Are you building a super team Hollander?” Bood raised an eyebrow, smirking.

Shane winked in response, looking every bit like the man he was going to marry.

Chapter 8: A Fresh New Fall of Snow

Chapter Summary

It’s draft day! Let’s meet the Cthulhu

Chapter Notes

First of all, drafts are kind of dull. I didn’t want to just say “they were drafted.” So I’m walking you through the important guys. Plus, there’s some newbies to round out the first two lines. I’m not putting you through all thirty two guys.

Most importantly: a character is very temporarily misgendered for a bit of this chapter. Shane and Ilya have no way of knowing their pronouns or preferred name, and I wanted my goalie to come out themselves.

So let me be clear: Ace Westbrook is nonbinary. Ace Westbrook’s pronouns are they/them. Don’t be mean to my baby.

Shane turned in the crisp white hotel sheets and smiled at his future husband.

The last couple of weeks had been a whirlwind. They’d arrived two weeks before and had immediately settled into house hunting. They were still undecided. Shane had drooled over the beautiful homes and privacy on Bainbridge Island, but once he had put the actual locations into Google Maps, he realized it was just a dream. Still, he had put it on his list of places to visit, should they have a free afternoon.

So they’d kept looking. They were choosing between several locations: Mercer, Medina, Redmond. The most important thing on their list was commute and nice yard for Anya.
In the meantime, their hotel suite served their purpose, and their real estate agent could continue the work while they headed back to Canada for the camps and wedding.

As for today, it was draft day.

Not that there would be many surprises for Shane. He had been in close contact with Seattle’s GM over the past couple of weeks, vouching for their friends and vetting other, less notable picks. While Ilya hadn’t contributed much aside from warning about a couple guys from Carolina and Tampa, who got crossed off the list and replaced with better teammates, he’d asked so many questions during Shane’s conversations that they’d eventually switched to speakerphone. The third and fourth lines were for the future of the franchise, so the most important thing was that they were decent people. As for their first two lines, Shane was proud. His trade suggestions had gone off without a hitch. Zane Boodram was technically a New Jersey Blue Devil, and JJ was at the moment a Detroit Racer.

Shane had never expected to be happy to possibly be on second line, but he was looking forward to mentoring his new near-rookie, a third-season left winger from Philadelphia who had been on a team full of veterans and didn’t get the ice time he needed to truly develop. It helped Shane had heard he had two moms. More importantly, the kid had ice vision that reminded him of his own at that age. He wasn’t ready for first line yet, but Shane didn’t think it would take long with the right leadership.

Shane was determined that by playoffs they’d be trading lines, once the kid had adjusted.

Their new goalie was a mystery. Alexander Westbrook from Dallas. He’d shown great promise on his entry contract, but his ice time had near disappeared last year. Everyone expected him to be traded. The Seattle GM had pushed back a little, wanting someone more seasoned, but Shane had argued salary cap and shown highlights from his rookie seasons. In the end, Seattle had been convinced. They could always trade for a better goalie if he didn’t work out.

Shane had a good feeling though.

Ilya shifted in his sleep, waking with a small smile. It was time to face the day.

But first, breakfast and shower sex.

Seattle decided to have their draft outside, the black stage baking under the sun and the soupy air suffocating all the attendees. It seemed Seattle had forgotten it was supposed to rain for this occasion just like every other. It was supposed to be a draft for ice hockey, for fuck’s sake. Both Shane and Ilya sat in front row chairs, Shane in a polo and Ilya in an expensive silk tee, sweating like they had just completed a run. They held their brand-new jerseys in their laps, no desire to don long sleeves until they absolutely had to. Through the crowd they saw some of their new teammates, even if not all had made the trip. The draft wasn’t mandatory attendance, and the new Seattle Cthulhu had already been informed. This was merely an introduction for their new fans.

Finally the festivities began. Roger Crowell himself strode to the stage. Briefly, he and Shane made eye contact. Shane plastered on his best media smile and very obviously grabbed Ilya’s sweaty hand. Crowell nodded; Shane figured only the cameras kept him from sneering in disgust.
Shane tuned out Crowell’s comments. Exciting new chapter blah blah blah spreading hockey’s fine traditions to Seattle blah. Shane hoped he got heat stroke in his custom suit.

Finally Crowell took his seat offstage, and some ESPN pundits took the stage. Special Seattle legends would announce each new member. Ilya had wanted to know who would be first pick in this draft; turns out they were announcing by division, in alphabetical order.

So Marly it was.

“From the Boston Raiders, the Seattle Cthulhu select Clifford Marleau.” Cliff glided to the stage, grinning and shaking hands and shaking his new Cthulhu jersey, turquoise with the iconic picture of the black winged sea demon with red eyes. So much cooler than the half horse man. Shane smiled and clapped at the first piece of his puzzle falling into place.

The Buffalo pick was announced, a young defenseman who wasn’t present. Then
“From the Detroit Racers, the Seattle Cthulhu select Jean-Jacques Boiziau.” JJ took the stage with his easy grin.

Ilya and Shane glanced at each other as the Florida guy was announced.

“From the Montreal Metros, the Seattle Cthulhu select Shane Hollander.” Shane donned his jersey, put on his media smile, relaxed it, and took the stage. Unlike the other guys, he waited on the stage off to the side.

“From the Ottawa Centaurs, the Seattle Cthulhu select Ilya Rozanov.” Ilya bounced to the stage, waving and grinning. He shook the hands he needed to, winked at the audience, and pulled Shane in for a previously discussed kiss, dipping him low. Then they exited the stage hand-in-hand.

Crowell, sitting to the side off stage, looked ready to vomit.
Ilya and Shane retook their seats. They sat through some of the other announcements, watched the ESPN guy toss a fish at someone to entertain the crowd, and waited for the Metropolitan Division.

Finally, “From the New Jersey Blue Devils, the Seattle Cthulhu select Zane Boodram.” Zane took his turn calmly, sweat pouring down his face.

And right after “From the New York Admirals, the Seattle Cthulhu select Carter Vaughan.” Carter bounced to the stage, grinning like the sunshine above them.

Shane zoned out through some of the more boring, cost saving picks. Then one he was personally waiting for “From the Philadelphia Copters, the Seattle Cthulhu select Derek Jordan.” The black left winger grinned and glided to the stage, winking at the crowd, his braids swaying with every step. This was Shane’s first time seeing his new protégé in person, and so far, for all his hockey smarts his bravado was all Ilya.

Shane clapped vigorously for his new linemate and sat back in his chair for the west coast picks.

They’d chosen a trio of beefy, strong brothers, who had been drafted in consecutive years, for their defensemen alongside JJ.
First up, “From the Colorado Mountaineers, the Seattle Cthulhu select Adam Barker.” The large red-haired man, reminiscent of Ryan Price, took the stage with a blank face, jerkily shaking hands with everyone.

Then Shane’s mystery. “From the Dallas Astros, the Seattle Cthulhu select Alexander Westbrook.” A tall man with brown, perfectly styled, shoulder length curls, clean shaven face, and broad shoulders took the stage, eyes wide. His hands quivered as he offered his handshakes. Shane hoped they weren’t ruining his life with this pick and that the increase in ice time would be worth it.

The last two Barker brothers, Brett and Chris, came from LA and Vancouver respectively. They were identical to their brother down to red hair and stony movements.

And the team was announced.

Shane and Ilya had rented a large room at a seafood restaurant to get to know the team.

“Fucking beauties,” Carter Vaughan yelled as he threw an arm around each of them. “Never thought we’d be on the same team outside All Stars.”

“We didn’t expect to have you here Vaughny. What happened?” Ilya asked.

“Well you know Gloria and I broke up in June. I just couldn’t handle looking at the places we used to go together. So I asked for a change of scenery.”

“And locker room.” Shane patted his shoulder.

“That too. I don’t wanna talk about that.”

“Consider it forgotten.” Ilya assured.

“Thanks for vouching for me.” Carter addressed Shane. “I heard you’ve been talking with management.”

“Had to make sure the team was up to snuff.” Shane shrugged and smirked.

“If there’s anyone who can make sure of that, it’s you. Aah, I can’t believe you’re both here. What happened with Ottawa?”

“Seattle’s offer was just a lot better.” Shane shrugged.

“Rumor has it Ottawa’s owner’s pissed.” Carter leaned forward and whispered.

“Yes, if it wasn’t so close to the season many people would be fired. I think they are all on short leash.” Ilya said.

“Didn’t Wyatt say probation for Wiebe and the GM?” Shane
asked. Ilya had kept Hayes’s and Haas’s numbers unblocked.

“Yeah they’ll probably be fired next year. No way they’re making the playoffs.” Carter laughed.

In the corner, Shane saw their new goalie clutching a glass of bourbon with ice, eyeing the room nervously. The poor kid had seemed ready to break all day. Shane excused himself to say hi.

“Westbrook, great to see you man.” Shane raised his glass of ginger ale.

Shane noticed a very unsubtle flinch. “Great to be here sir. I can’t believe Seattle wanted me.” Westbrook spoke with awe, and Shane scrunched his face.

“You’re a killer goalie. Your rookie seasons were fantastic. I know they didn’t have you in with me too often, but I don’t think I’ve scored on you once.”

Westbrook blinked. “That’s quite a compliment sir.”

Shane waved him off and leaned in closer. “Enough with that. I am kind of curious to know what happened though. You were showing real promise and then they just stopped playing you. Injured?”

Westbrook shook his head. “No, they just thought our main goalie was better.” Westbrook shrugged and looked down.
Shane gave the kid a look of disbelief. “Not that much.”
Westbrook hummed and sipped his drink.

“Do you like being called Westbrook? Or West? Alex? Xander? I’ve had teammates call me Holly and I hate it.”
Westbrook’s eyes brightened. “I umm actually like Ace.”

“Excellent, we have Ace Goalie.” Ilya came up behind them and kissed Shane’s cheek.

“Yeah I, uhh, ah screw it. If I’m gonna get booted I want to know now. I came out as nonbinary to my team last year. Thankfully they’ve been quiet about it. Only reason I didn’t get traded was I was a great backup goalie.”

“So, pronouns are they?” Ilya asked.

“They/them, yeah.”

“Noted. Be prepared to make all our household decisions Ace.” Shane grinned.

“Excuse me?”

“Just because we are on same team doesn’t mean we don’t compete. Whoever scores more goals in practice decides dinner.” Ilya warned seriously, throwing an arm over Shane’s shoulder.

“I’m doomed.” Ace bit their lip.

Ilya and Shane simply grinned devilishly at them.

Ilya had spent many years making fun of Shane and his love of salmon. Even he could admit, though, it was delicious when you lived right next to it. The grilled seasoning and lemon added just the right amount of flavor, and the fish was so fresh. He was glad he’d listened to Shane and ordered it.

Carter and JJ sat closely next to each other, shoulders brushing. The two were talking over their steaks, smiling and clinking glasses. The Barker brothers sat in a corner to themselves, eating silently. At some point, Ilya would have to pull the three defensemen out of their brother bubble. One of them would have to work with JJ.

Down the table, Shane sat with Bood and Shane’s new duckling Jordan; they had commandeered salt and pepper shakers and a stack of sugar packets. Shane and Jordan had set up what looked like a rink and were discussing plays with wild gestures. Jordan was shaking his head, seeming to disagree with something and looked toward him as though Ilya would come back him up. Ilya shook his head. Shane held up his hand and returned to his pointing. Jordan lost his defensive look and began nodding, pointing at a sweet-n-low packet with a question. Bood shook his head, grinning. Their new goalie hovered next to them, watching intently but silently. Ace had followed Shane around the room as Shane made introductions. With each person, Ace lost that tenseness in their shoulders, although they still seemed quiet and more interested in observing.

Goalies.

“The boys are back,” Ilya heard Marly’s booming voice behind him.

Ilya stood and faced him. “Marly, finally.”

“Missed you brother.”

“Missed you more.” They hugged for a full minute, Marly swaying them wildly back and forth.

“Ready to show Seattle what hockey looks like.” Marleau grinned.

“And the rest of the league. Shane worked hard putting team together.” Ilya looked over proudly at his love, who was watching intently as Jordan demonstrated something with a blue packet.

“Yeah I have to say I was shocked when Pike’s video went viral, but the more I think about it the more it makes sense. You and Hollander are the best. You both deserve the best.”

“Glad to have your approval Marly. Not that I needed it.”

Marleau sat at the table and patted the chair Ilya had been occupying, which Ilya reclaimed. “Was Jane upset? I thought she was your forever. You moved to Ottawa and everything. Wait, you weren’t two timing her, were you?”

Ilya blinked at Marleau.

“Marly.” How many concussions had Marleau had, again?

“Yes?” Marleau asked calmly.

Ilya sighed. “What is Hollander’s first name?”

Marleau looked confused. Ilya wanted to slap the CTE out of him. “Shane? And? What does that have to do with Jane?”

Ilya stared at him. “What does Shane rhyme with?”

Marleau looked at him bewildered. Then his eyes widened.

“No!”

“Yes.”

“This whole time Jane was Shane fucking Hollander?” Marleau whisper shouted.

Ilya laughed. “Yes”

“But you were texting Jane when you were a rookie?”

“Correct.” Ilya nodded once.

“You’ve been with Hollander since your rookie seasons?” Marleau nearly spilled his drink. Ilya steadied it.

“Just hooking up at first, since summer before.” Ilya shrugged.

“You and Shane Hollander were hooking up before you were rookies?”

“Yes. What is so confusing?”

“Man, a lot of people thought that statement you put out was PR shit. They thought you were just saying you were getting married, especially since you moved the wedding.”

Ilya threw his head back and groaned. “Just to next month. August 14. You better be there.”

Marleau grinned and patted his back. “Wouldn’t miss it. Wait?” Marleau trailed off.

“What?”

“Shane Hollander did casual for years. Hockey robot Hollander sent you back to the locker room with scratches on your back? Hollander made you blush like a schoolgirl.”

“I did not blush. Russians do not do this.”

“Hey Jane!” Marleau yelled across the room. “I’ve got some pictures of Roz you really wanna see.”

Ilya grinned as Marleau approached the hockey play corner and pulled out his phone, scrolling. Shane looked at Ilya with a soft smile. Life was really good.

Chapter 9: Two Icicles Merging Into One

Chapter Summary

Their wedding day is a little smaller than it might have been, a little quieter, but it was still perfect for them.

Chapter Notes

I hope I got the colors right. Shane purple, Ilya pink. I think purple looks better with Hudson’s coloring anyway, so that’s what we are going with.

I chose Reflecting Light by Sam Phillips. Harris wasn’t there to pick, and Rose as a millennial woman would eat up Gilmore Girls. Also, I think the song suits them.

Ilya and Svetlana speak in Russian to each other.

I kept a lot of Rachel’s bits, but added some of my own. I wanted Shane to have a moment with both his parents. Plus, I wanted Svetlana with Ilya. She hasn’t been in the story much, just quietly supporting while living her best life.

One side effect of their move Shane had not been prepared for was the effect on the camps.

Montreal and Ottawa still allowed the use of their facilities for this year. It was too late to cancel; canceling on a charity camp for kids would make them look terrible. However, both organizations had hinted the Irina Foundation would need to find other facilities the next year.

Shane and Ilya were uncertain if they would even hold both Canadian camps, considering they had no more ties to Montreal and limited ties to Ottawa.

They’d definitely be adding a Seattle camp.

Another problem was that about half their campers had been pulled. Parents didn’t give a reason for requesting the refund, nor were they asked. However, sign ups for the camps happened in February; this was the first cycle with Shane and Ilya out. They had no way of knowing whether it was their outing that caused the decrease in numbers or their move. Maybe a little of both.

Nevertheless, they had a great time. They didn’t lose a single volunteer coach from the previous year, so the kids got more individualized attention than before. Scott Hunter even volunteered, bringing Kip who rewarded great play and sportsmanship with celebratory face painting. They intended to stay in Canada for the wedding.

And no kids went to the hospital because of their egg allergy.

Ilya ran a hand over his freshly shaven face and looked down at his crisp all white tuxedo.

He hoped he didn’t get it dirty. It was his wedding day, after all. Maybe he shouldn’t have insisted on wearing all white.

As Ilya was inserting the bright turquoise pocket square, a nod to their new team, the door opened.

“Oh Ilyusha.” Svetlana glided in, effortlessly beautiful, her gold maid of honor dress trailing the ground. For a moment, she just gazed at him. The weight of their shared history lay between them.

Svetlana marched in front of him, straightened his white tie, fixed the pocket square, and hugged him tightly around the neck.

In his ear, she whispered, in Russian, “Your mama would be so proud of you today.”

Ilya’s throat closed, and he hugged Svetlana back. “Thank you.”

She pulled back, eyes glassy. “Anything else I can help with?”

Ilya held out the gold and mother of pearl cufflinks. “Maybe these?”

Svetlana effortlessly threaded the studs through the crisp white material of Ilya’s dress shirt.

“Let’s get you married, boring old man.” She smiled, tears sliding down her cheeks for all to see.

Shane looked at himself in his own mirror, meticulously inspecting every inch of his all-black suit for stray Anya hairs.

“Knock knock” his mom called.

“Come in.” Both his parents entered, and his mom put her hands to her face.

“You look so handsome.” She rushed forward to hug him, dabbing at her eyes.

“You look more grown up than I’ve ever seen you, son.” David’s voice shook.

“Thank you both. For everything.” Shane looked at each of his parents in turn.

“Shane,” his mother began, putting her hands on his shoulders. “I know that we sometimes have our differences, and I haven’t always expected every choice you’ve made. But I just want you to know how incredibly proud I am of the man you’ve become.”

Shane’s vision turned blurry. “Thanks mom.”

David stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Shane, we could only have one child. We considered adopting and making you a brother. Then, we decided we would just do our best to make you the best man we could. And I have to say, you’ve exceeded all my wildest dreams.” His dad was crying openly now. Yuna handed him a tissue.

Shane stepped forward and hugged his father. “Thanks dad.”

“You have the ring?” Yuna asked.

“Yes mom” Shane patted his pocket.

“And your cell phone ringer is off?”

“I’m leaving it in the house, but yes.”

His mom straightened his tie and turquoise pocket square. His dad threaded gold and mother of pearl cufflinks, identical to Ilya’s, through the crisp black fabric of his dress shirt.

“Let’s get you to that altar son.”

Most of Ilya’s house was in the process of being packed up. They’d set out framed photos of themselves as a couple on a table outside; these would immediately be packed safely to be moved to their new house. Their new house.

In the corner of the living room, Shane noticed stacks of chairs.

“I ordered way more than we needed,” Yuna said lightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Shane walked outside and immediately noticed Ilya, standing nervously talking with Svetlana. Next to Svetlana stood Rose, looking elegant in her turquoise maid of honor dress. Anya stood at Ilya’s feet, freshly groomed with a turquoise bow on her head and gold collar about her neck.

They both grinned goofily at each other.

We’re getting married.

“Ready?” Shane asked.

Ilya nodded once. “Let’s do this.”

The music began to play, and Rose began her walk down the aisle. Svetlana followed, standing to the other side. Then Shane’s parents walked arm-in-arm, each standing on one side of the aisle, Yuna on Shane’s and David on Ilya’s.

The wedding attendance was not what it would have been had they remained in Ottawa, Ilya realized immediately as he began his walk down the little aisle.

He saw the entire Pike family, kids craning for a good view of the grooms. JJ was there, next to Carter Vaughan.

On the other side, Cliff Marleau stood with his girlfriend. Scott and Kip stood proudly. Bood and Wyatt Hayes stood with their wives, baby Milo quiet in Cassie’s arms.

And that was it.

They hadn’t invited any of their new teammates, still getting to know each other. Most of the guys were trying to get settled in Seattle. Shane’s mom had wanted to invite industry people, but the wedding had been planned rather last minute. Nobody else from their former teams had shown up. Luca had sent a lovely gift at least: an air fryer along with a beautiful sketch of Shane and Ilya facing off across the ice and grinning at each other. Unfortunately, he was visiting his family back home in Switzerland and couldn’t make the trip.

It was fine, Ilya thought. Everyone there was someone who had supported them.

“Do you have your ring?” Shane asked Ilya as they faced each other.

Ilya’s eyes widened for a moment. Then, he patted his pocket and nodded. Shane grinned and copied him.

Farah, the best person in the whole wide world, had applied for and received a one-day marriage officiant designation. “Shane and Ilya have chosen to express their love for each other in their own vows. Shane?”

“Ilya, you are the best thing in my life.” Ilya’s vision got blurry. “I fell in love with you a little bit the day we met outside that rink in Regina. I fall in love with you a little more each day. I know that, no matter what happens, we are safe in each other’s hearts. I believe it.

So I promise to always make you eat vegetables. I promise to stay boring. I promise to never let you win at anything, especially Uno. And I promise to love you in the sunlight, no matter what the world throws at us. I am yours forever.”

It seemed like time had stood still. Ilya was transported back to that day in Saskatchewan, when a cute Canadian boy with beautiful freckles had shaken his hand twice, scolded him for smoking, and laughed off his chirp like it was a game. Shane was stronger now, held himself taller, had so much more muscle and just the beginnings of lines around his eyes, but the beautiful dark eyes still shone and the freckles glittered like a constellation on his cheeks.

“Ilya?” Farah prompted.

“Right, yes, vows.” Ilya shook his head, returning to the present day.

“Everything was so crazy that I tried to write vows but nothing sounded good enough. So I will wing it.” The audience, and Shane, chuckled. Marley whooped.

“Five years before we met, my mama died.” Shane took a short, sharp intake of breath, and tears pooled in his eyes.

“Everything went dark and gray and sad. Then I met you. I remember it was cold that day. You shook my hand twice and smiled at me, and everything started to get warm again. And today it is warm outside and warm in here.” Ilya patted his heart.

“I promise to always be a little bit asshole. I promise to make sure you eat enough protein. I promise to never ever let you win at cards. And I promise to always take care of you and try to love you how you deserve. I will follow you anywhere.”

Then Farah began the boring parts of the ceremony that made it legal.

“Shane Hollander, do you take Ilya Rozanov as your lawfully intended husband?” She looked at her first client.

“I do.” Shane grinned stupidly.

“And Ilya Rozanov, do you take Shane Hollander as your lawfully intended husband?”

“Yes. I mean, I do.” Ilya chuckled and was sure the grin on his face was just as stupid.

“Now it’s time for rings,” Farah smiled.

“With this ring, I will love, honor, and cherish you. This ring is a symbol of my love.” Shane slid the black ceramic band, with the center sparkling with a band of pink sapphire, onto Ilya’s finger. Ilya gazed at it a minute, watching the stones catch the light. Farah cleared her throat.

He repeated the phrase, sliding the black ceramic band, this one sparkling with purple amethyst, onto Shane’s finger.

“I now pronounce you husbands. You may now kiss.”

They came together in a crushing kiss, Ilya spinning them around. The small band of supporters cheered. Shane looked at him dizzily.

“We’re husbands,” Shane whispered, smile splitting his face.

“Where do we go now?” Ilya whispered back.

“Um, there’s still some paperwork for you to sign.” Farah said quietly.

“OK, we have to go sign boring papers but we will be back to party,” Ilya announced to the little gathering.

Together they walked hand in hand toward the house to sign the most important paperwork of their lives.

Ilya sat with the Pike children, who were enjoying their cake. Arthur’s face and shirt were smeared with icing.

“This was not the real wedding.” He told Ruby seriously. “The real one was yours. This one was just for show. And paperwork. Law makes grownups sign papers to be married.”

Ruby grinned and nudged her sister. “Told you so.”

“I like your rings.” Arthur mumbled.

“Thank you. We had great inspiration.” Ilya winked at the twins.

“I can’t believe you’re really leaving.” Jade muttered, staring at her cake.

“We will call you lots. Our numbers are in your iPad now. And your mama says we don’t count against screen time.” Jade nodded but continued to pout.

“I‘ll miss you,” Arthur whispered. Ilya walked to the other side of the table, knelt, and took all the kids in his arms. “I’ll miss you too.” He squeezed the little bundle of Pikelings as hard as he could safely.

Evening was setting in, and string lights sparkled above them. Everything felt magical, for a goodbye.

“So,” Hayden said from behind Ilya. “You’re taking my best friend to the west coast.”

Ilya faced him, “More like he’s taking us. And we have your video to thank.”

“Look, I’m really fucking sorry about that. I—“

Ilya laughed. “I am kidding. Besides, it helped us both see what our teams were like.”

They both looked somberly at that. Then Hayden said, “I’m really happy for you guys. I get why you’re leaving, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m gonna miss both of you.”

Ilya was surprised to find he felt the same.

Shane bounced up to them both. “Mom has it in her head that we need to dance. In front of people.”

“Oh?”

“Honestly, I hadn’t thought of it, but that’s a wedding thing, right?”

Hayden’s mouth fell. “Yes you morons; it’s a wedding thing. Did you not pick a song?”

“Mom did most of the planning.” Shane said at the same time Ilya said “Shane doesn’t know any songs.”

“So I guess we get someone to play a song and we slow dance or something? I’m not a great dancer.”

“Come,” Ilya said.

Rose, who had been standing nearby chatting with Svetlana, sprang into action, “I’ve got this.”

Ilya held out his hand to Shane.

“Are you leading then?” Shane asked, eyebrow quirked.

“You can’t dance.” Ilya shrugged.

They fell together like puzzle pieces. An unfamiliar song began to play.

Now that I’ve worn out, I’ve worn out the world. I’m on my knees in fascination. Looking through the night. And the moon’s never seen me before. But I’m reflecting light

“It even has line about being on your knees Shane,” Ilya quipped.

“Shut up,” Shane said, but he was blushing and smiling.

So they danced. Or rotated. Something.

Later, as Shane danced awkwardly with Yuna, David approached him.

“I’m so proud of him,” David said as he watched his family do something that kind of looked like slow dancing. “And you.”

“David.”

“I was telling Shane earlier. Yuna and I could only have one kid. I think we did an okay job with him.”

Ilya smiled at the understatement.

“I’ll take care of him.” Ilya swallowed. “You might be far away, but he will be safe.”

“I know.” David smiled. “What I’m trying to say is we ended up with such a wonderful son, and I never expected to end up with a second one just as wonderful.”

Ilya’s own father would be spinning in his grave at the ceremony that had happened that day. Instead, Ilya got to hug a better father tightly, feeling warm and safe and cherished.

“Thank you.” He whispered. “For everything.”

Suddenly David stood with a burst of inspiration and held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

Ilya blinked. “What?”

David smiled. “A father dance is traditional, right?”

And what could Ilya do except follow?

Chapter 10: A Lighthouse on a Hill

Chapter Summary

The Hockey Husbands host a presser. It goes about how you’d expect.

Also new house! And some new family members?

Chapter Notes

Here’s the address on Zillow if you’re in the area and house hunting:

4102 100th Avenue SE, Mercer Island, WA 98040

I know not everyone will be happy with the location, but I had to pick something and Ilya wants waterfront. He’s been a good boy. He deserves a treat.

And if you want a visual for the coach, google Dusty May.

Cameras flashed. Ilya and Shane sat next to each other in gameday suits, microphones attached to their lapels and in front of them.

Ilya couldn’t help but flash back to their very first press conference together, at All Stars so long ago. They’d both been so young, so in denial of feelings that were already beginning to take shape.

And now they were here, headlining their first press conference on the same team as official and legal husbands. Husbands

“First question, to both of you,” a Seattle reporter began. “How has the transition to our city been?”

“It’s been great. The city and Seattle team management have been so welcoming. It’s been great meeting fans while getting to explore the city.” Shane said.

“I have already pet so many dogs. Is great. Fans are very nice but also don’t get in my Shane’s face too much so he can look at things he wants to.”

The room laughed.

“Shane,” a reporter who had made the long trip from Montreal began. “Walk us through the end of last season. There was a lot of controversy about the way playoffs ended for Montreal. Can you comment on that last play?”

“Blaaaah, we move across continent and all you want to talk about is last season. Is new team. New season.” Ilya interrupted.

“What he said.” Shane said dryly.

“Shane, did Montreal push you out or did you decide to leave voluntarily?”

Shane held up a hand to silence Ilya, whose face was turning red. “I can confirm that Montreal did want to continue our partnership for another year under the same terms. In the end, I decided Seattle was a better fit.” Shane gave a practiced small shrug.

“Shane, it’s no secret everyone expected you to sign with Ottawa. Can you talk about that negotiation process?” Someone from ESPN.

“It would have been fun to play for my hometown team. However, in the end, that’s not the way things worked out. I’m excited for this new chapter in Seattle and spreading my love for hockey to a brand-new city.”

“What he is too polite to say,” Ilya began, leaning forward into his microphone, “is he did not get offer he deserves so he took one better.”

The room murmured. Finally, a reporter who had made the trek from Ottawa asked, “So are the rumors about you being offered a lower than expected contract true?”

“I’m not going to comment on contracts I didn’t sign.” Shane said.

“But if you check Twitter you can get all the information you’re looking for.” Ilya winked.

Shane glared at Ilya, who returned with puppy eyes.
“Ilya, a question for you. You just led Ottawa to their first playoff berth in many years. Ottawa had you on their protected list. Why did you choose to waive your no move?”

“Is very simple. My Shane wanted to sign with Seattle. So we go to Seattle. They were perfectly happy to have us both.”

“I’d say perfectly happy is an understatement Mr. Rozanov,” A Seattle reporter chimed in, chuckling. “What do you hope to bring to your new team now that you are playing with your husband?”

“A Stanley Cup of course.”

“In the team’s first season.” The Seattle reported pressed.

“Of course. They have best hockey player. I will score most goals and dedicate them all to the dogs I meet.”

“You think you’re scoring the most goals?” Shane objected.

“Of course, lyubimmy. I am the best.” Ilya smirked.

“Remind me who had more points last season.” Shane raised his eyebrow.

“Ah, but I scored most goals.”

“But I beat you in assists.”

“My team went further in the playoffs.”

“Montreal had a better overall record.”
“I was drafted first.”

“Talk to my Rookie of the Year trophy. You get to live with it now.”

The press coordinator, a professional woman named Michelle Yung, cleared her throat.

“So I see the rivalry is alive and well.” The ESPN correspondent from Vancouver noted.

“We have always been competitive. That isn’t about to change just because we are on the same team now.” Shane said.

“How will that affect the locker room? There are concerns that two star talents have trouble playing together.” Ironically, this was the same reporter from Ottawa.

“Look at All Star Games. We are magic.” Ilya grinned at his husband.

“We hope to bring our competitive spirit to our locker room and inspire the rest of our teammates.” Shane rattled off.

“Ilya, a question for you. You were at Boston for eight seasons and immediately signed with Ottawa as soon as your contract expired. Then, you waived your no move clause for Seattle. Can you comment on allegations that you are disloyal to your teams?” ESPN’s Boston correspondent, a young guy who was probably in junior high school when Ilya was drafted, asked.

“I think if you want to know about my loyalty, you just need to ask my Shane. I have always been loyal to him.” Ilya gestured to Shane.

“Yes, I understand the move to Seattle was for him” the young guy pressed on, “but people are concerned because of your move from Boston to Ottawa.”

Ilya shrugged, “Was for same reason.”

The reporter looked confused. “But wasn’t that before you were together?”

Ilya smiled and shook his head as though the reporter were a silly goose, “Ah, no. I move to Ottawa to be closer to my boyfriend. Now I move to Seattle to live with my husband.”

“Are you saying that you and Mr. Hollander were together while you were in Boston.” This from the Fox Sports reporter.

“Yes.” Really, how hard is this to understand?

“Mr. Hollander, does this mean you won your most recent cup while in a relationship with Mr. Rozanov?” Montreal’s reporter was back.

“I believe our statement when we were outed said we had been in a relationship for many years. So yes.”

“We won all our cups while together,” Ilya said cheerily.

The room exploded at that.

“Are you saying that you and your husband were dating when you won your cup in 2014?”

“Mr. Hollander, what about Rose Landry?”

“You were together when Montreal and Boston faced each other in the 2016 playoffs? Did that impact either of your play?”

Shane cleared his throat. “Yes, while Ilya and I have been together in some capacity throughout our careers, we were only exclusive beginning in 2017. Our relationship beginnings were complicated and we ask for privacy in these matters.”

“Do we have any questions about the team?” Ms Yung asked.

“Do you know who will be first line center?”

“Lines are still being decided.” Shane stated.

“Don’t want to give away our secrets too early.” Ilya joked.
“One last question: who is going to be captain?”

And wasn’t that a difficult question with a complicated answer?

They were sitting in a conference room at their new training facility: Shane, Ilya, JJ, Bood, Vaughny, and Marley. Coach Dustin March, a good-looking short haired man with slutty glasses who previously coached University of Wisconsin to back-to-back NCAA championships before moving back to his hometown, looked at each of them in turn.

“Somehow, I’ve lucked into a lot of talent on this team. No fucking idea how.”

They laughed and turned to Shane, who grinned and blushed.

“Now, I’ve got to figure out who is going to captain it. There’s a lot of leadership experience in this room, and I expect all of you to contribute no matter what you’re wearing.

“Now, I’ve already told Hollander he’s wearing an A at least. Anybody here have a problem with that?”

All five heads around Shane shook.

“He should have the C coach. He helped bring us together.” Carter said.

“I don’t want it over Ilya. We’re both great at what we do. I’ll be the first to say he’s the best motivator I’ve ever heard.”

“I think he’s giving you a different kind of motivation than he’s giving us Hollzy,” Marleau joked.

“Ref discussions are a big part of it, and refs like you.” Bood countered.

“You deserve respect Shane. That’s why we are here. Now you’re denying respect.” Ilya raised his hand in annoyance.

“I just wish we could have two captains,” JJ grumbled. Shane looked at him in surprise.

“What, he’s already my heart’s stepcaptain.” JJ defended.

“Rules only let one person a game wear the C.” Carter said.

“Huh.” Coach looked thoughtful.

After a lot of debate, they came to a solution.

Shane and Ilya would both wear the C, Shane for away games and Ilya at home where there was theoretically a more friendly whistle. Ilya could give all the motivating speeches he wanted. Shane would continue his mentorship journey with Jordan and any rookies future him found promising; the two had begun having regular tape review on footage from last season, Shane wanting to familiarize himself with west coast teams that he had played less frequently.

As for the A’s, Shane and Ilya would pick one. Ilya immediately picked Marleau, shooting Bood an apologetic look. “He already took cut to be here” was Ilya’s logic.
Shane had looked at the three black men in the room, torn. He’d worked with JJ for many years; he would be the easy, logical pick. Carter and Bood were both great alternates in their own right; Ilya had sung Bood’s praises.

In the end, the decision was made for him.

JJ had looked at him seriously. “I don’t think I was a good A for you captaine. Hayden was better, but even he wasn’t always the support you deserve. I don’t want it.” Shane had wanted to argue, but the determined look in JJ’s eyes won out.

Carter had shifted in his seat, glancing at JJ. “I’m going through a lot right now, what with moving and breaking up with Gloria. I don’t think I have the energy for more on my plate right now. Pick Bood.”

So Shane picked Bood, the youngest of them all. Bood nodded, pleased if not a more than a little surprised.
Shane and Ilya would wear the A when not wearing the C. When they each wore the C, their alternate pick would wear the second A. JJ and Carter would each act as alternate As, should someone be injured or sick or otherwise scratched. It’s not like having a letter meant a pay bump or anything. They would reassess the following season, maybe with having all four of the alternates trading off.

Shane felt like he needed a flowchart to explain it properly.

In the end, Shane gave the media his best fake smile and said, “You’ll have to tune in to our games and find out.”

“Now if you’ll excuse us, we must go pick up keys to new house.” Ilya waved at the crowd as he got up from his chair.
Shane supposed that could have gone worse.

Mercer Island wasn’t Bainbridge in Shane’s heart, but it was an acceptable substitute.

The new house was situated on the water, a five bedroom, five bath mansion with windows that looked over the shore, giving them a spectacular morning view. They’d bought the house while still living in Canada, letting their real estate agent give detailed FaceTime tours. Google Maps stated it was a 22-minute drive to the practice facility, which was nothing for two men accustomed to two-hour drives to see each other. There was an already fenced-in “pancake yard” for Anya to run around in, a dock, and a one-bedroom triangular “guest house” that also had waterfront views.

“For billeting rookies,” Ilya had argued. Shane hadn’t needed much convincing.

The bedrooms could be offices or guest rooms when his parents or even the Pikes visited. Plus, Anya needed her own room.

Shane had worried the house was too big and the housekeeper fees would be enormous. Finally, Ilya had looked at him with soft eyes, and made the final argument.

“It reminds me a little of the cottage. So peaceful. I feel safe here.”

It was really a great house.

They’d let movers have the keys first, before they even made it back to Seattle, and decorators had set up their furniture and made the beds. For once, Shane remembered he was a millionaire and didn’t need to do the tedious work if he didn’t want to.

While they still had some unpacking to do, it wasn’t the monstrous task Shane had worried about headed into the preseason.

For now, he and Anya were on a jog throughout their new neighborhood, the morning mist surrounding them and keeping them cool. Anya had taken to joining him on his morning runs.

Suddenly, Anya began barking. Then growling. Then, she pulled hard at the leash, toward a large maple tree whose leaves were starting to turn gold.

Curled inside the hollow of a trunk was a small puppy, with fluffy white fur and bright brown spots. The puppy looked up at him with big eyes and nudged their nose at a little bundle in their legs.

Tucked between the paws, curled safely in the puppy’s hold was a tiny black kitten. The kitty gazed at the puppy with green eyes and nudged with their nose.

Anya hopped and barked, periodically stopping to sniff the pair. The puppy barked back, and the kitten curled in tighter on themselves.

“Ok, calm down Anya,” Shane said, putting his hand forth for the two small animals to sniff. They inched forward to sniff his palm. Immediately the kitten began climbing his pant leg, and the puppy stood at attention at his shoe.

Shane called Ilya.

“Hello lyubimmy, everything ok?”

Shane looked down at the tiny zoo surrounding him. “Can you call the vet please?”

Both animals were healthy, if a little hungry and thirsty. A couple months later and it might have been a different story.

Shane bathed the three-month-old boy kitten in a guest room sink. In a guest room bathtub, Ilya washed the boy puppy. The kitten curled into his palm as he scrubbed, nuzzling his hand. Distantly, he heard Ilya laughing in Russian about being soaked and knew he got the better deal.

Each room now had a litter box and scratching post, even the guest toilets. Various beds and pillows were strewn through the house “to see what they like best Shane.” The pet bedroom, what Ilya had started calling their sanctuary (sanctuary? Shane teased.), had enough toys to cover the floor.

Anya, Gordie Meow, and Misha curled together that night to sleep; they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Neither would their dads.

Chapter 11: The Making of an Avalanche

Chapter Summary

Little moments of the season with our lovely team.

Featuring dancing, pranks, and nail polish.

Also games in Eastern Canada

Chapter Notes

I’m not really great at writing hockey plays, so here’s some fun moments with the team.

Warning: homophobic slurs are used. The Barker brothers are on the case.

The Seattle Cthulhu team arrived bright and early for their first preseason training session.

“Umm, I have a question.” Ace began.

“Go right ahead.” Shane began.

“How are they affording all of you?”

“That’s a very good question,” Jordan praised. “Been wondering that myself.”

Shane shrugged. “The contracts worked out. I’m not questioning it.”

“How much do you think we all get paid kid?” Carter asked.

Ace and Jordan shrugged.

“Well I can tell you I’m at $3 mil. I know Marley here is at four.” Carter stated.

“I know Marley took lower because he was in a hurry to move for love and negotiated bad, but what the fuck Vaughny.” Ilya looked like he wanted to smack Carter Vaughan.

“Yeah, you’re worth a lot more than that.” Bood said. “You’ve been in the league a lot longer than me and won a Stanley Cup.”

“We’ll get you one this year Bood.” Ilya promised.

“To answer your question,” Carter interjected. “Until recently I had a very rich movie star girlfriend I was in a relationship with for many years, so I took an extremely team friendly deal. By choice.”

“And Bood and JJ are both at six.” Shane said.

“Interesting.” Ilya muttered.

“This is all publicly available info guys. Seattle was bound by everyone’s contracts coming in,” Shane turned to grab his stick from his stall.

“So every one of our star-studded lineup but the Hollanov Horror were underpaid by their previous teams?” Jordan asked.

The guys shrugged and nodded.

“Well that’s stupid but glad I benefit.” Jordan smirked.

“We should probably stop talking about what we are paid and start doing what we are paid to do.” Shane said. “Let’s get to the ice.”

Initially, they decided on Bood, Ilya, and Marleau on the first line with Jordan, Shane, and Vaughny on the second. So far, it seemed to be working well.

Ace at first looked like a deer in the headlights facing a Power Play with Shane and Ilya, but with every blocked shot, their surprised face disappeared, giving way to hard, laser focused eyes.

Usually, teams in the preseason didn’t play their full rosters, to preserve energy and protect against injury and give their younger lines some ice time.

Unfortunately for Calgary, Edmonton, and Vancouver, they were playing a brand-new Seattle team that needed to develop some chemistry. Those teams also decided to play their full rosters too.

They were the most watched six preseason games in history.

Seattle went 4-2, losing to Vancouver and Calgary on the road. The Seattle GM looked pleased at the team achieving a winning record; it boded well for their chances at a playoff berth, statistically.

It wasn’t good enough for Shane.

Shane spent several nights poring over game tape at the kitchen table, making notes and muttering to himself. Each night, Ilya had to come close the tablet and drag Shane to bed.

Finally, after several days, Shane found the problem: their line combinations didn’t work well enough. Shane and Jordan together combined the smart playmaking, and Bood’s speed was wasted on the strength of Ilya and Marley. Ilya was of course very fast, but Bood preferred to play a more agile game.

During practice one day, Shane skated over to Coach and voiced his observations. Ilya watched as Shane made hand gestures in demonstration, a pit growing in his stomach.

And that’s how Shane made it back to first line, flanked by Bood and Carter.

Ilya headed the second line, accompanied by Jordan and Marley.

It was breathtaking.

“Playing with baby Jordan is like playing with baby you.” Ilya celebrated after practice. “Only he can actually play wing.”

“Glad you’re happy on second line,” Shane laughed as they leashed Anya and Misha for their walk. Shane wore Gordie Meow against his chest in a cat carrier hoodie, where the black kitten was quite content to peek out at the world while staying cozy and held inside.

The sun was shining, and Ilya was holding Shane’s hand in public while they walked their dogs. Life was good.

To celebrate the end of preseason games, and the new lineups, they decided to hit a club. Ilya promised Shane they would leave whenever he felt ready. Shane, not normally the extrovert, was kind of excited to grind against his husband in public. He wouldn’t call it dancing.

Ilya picked Shane’s outfit: tight dark jeans and a white linen button up shirt embroidered with white roses. At Ilya’s begging, he wore it open halfway.

Ilya wore a shimmering tight gold silk tank and equally tight black pants. Shane wanted to bite him.

The club was loud, with pounding bass that rattled Shane’s teeth and made his insides shake. Ilya got them both drinks: a Moscow Mule for Shane and straight vodka for himself. They planned to Uber home.

They took their drinks to a corner where they saw Ace, who had painted their eyelids bright green and lined their eyes with heavy black liner. They were mildly surprised to see Ace wearing a skirt with their bright green button up top.

“Clothes don’t have a gender,” they explained. “And skirts are so comfy. And it twirls. Watch!” They set down their drink, what looked suspiciously like a Long Island Iced Tea, and gave a spin. They were right; the skirt flipped up. Shane was reminded of Jade and Ruby spinning in princess dresses.

Abie, as the team taken to calling Adam Barker, steadied Ace before they fell.

“Maybe some water. Or black coffee.” Ilya laughed.

Suddenly they heard a voice sneer. “You a man or a woman? Either way, you ugly.” The twenty-something punk, with pants halfway down his butt, sneered.

Before Shane and Ilya could say anything, Abie stood in all his enforcer glory, staring stonily. Behind the punk, BB and CBGB, aka his brothers Brett and Chris, pounded their fists.

“Ace is Ace. Ace is beautiful.” Abie growled.

“You will leave our goalie alone.” BB warned. The punk looked around, surrounded by strong 250 pound defensemen, and scampered away, holding his pants up.

“Stay with Barker bros Ace. I’m going to dance with my Shane.”

Ilya pulled Shane onto the dance floor. He pulled Shane close, and together they swayed to the music, grinding their hips and rubbing against each other. Shane slung his arms around Ilya’s neck and thrust forward.

“You’re going to kill me Shane.” Ilya muttered.

They were in a dark nightclub, embracing each other instead of women they didn’t want to be with, looking in each other’s eyes for the whole club to see, barely inches apart instead of a room.

The music thrummed, and Shane’s mind floated.

Distantly, he saw Carter and JJ dancing with a woman between them. Wait, the woman went away and then they were just dancing together, flushed and lively. Ace was in the corner with their new bodyguards. Ilya was suddenly spinning him and he felt so good and he was hard and Ilya looked so good in his tight pants, ass bulging.

Suddenly Shane was dragging Ilya to the bathroom. Ilya couldn’t believe this was his Shane.

All hail the power of the Moscow Mule, Ilya supposed. Russian fluids had quite the effect on Shane Hollander.

The Barker bodyguard commitment continued to the ice.

The team was playing away in Dallas, and Shane’s line was up. JJ was permanently one of Shane’s defensemen, but the Barker brothers drew straws as to who had to be separated from the pack each game. Whatever worked, Shane supposed. They were all similar in talent level.

As they were lining up for the faceoff, Dallas’s center, some talentless hack Shane only thought of as number 48, skated toward the goal.

“Can’t believe Seattle lets a fairy like you play. Do they know you can’t even figure out what you are? How can you figure out where the puck’s going?” The forward gave Ace a shove with his shoulder, not too hard, but he touched a goalie and that was not allowed.

Shane sped forward, but CBGB got there first. His brothers were suddenly over the wall and all three of them were laying into Dallas’s farce of a star center. The whistles blew, and the refs sped to pull the three angry enforcers away.

Somehow they won that game, 5-4, mostly due to Shane and Ilya being teamed up on the penalty kill and Dallas deciding to not play defense.

They lost the next game though, considering all three Barker brothers were suspended for it. Thankfully it was at Colorado, a game they knew they were likely to lose anyway.

It helped that Colorado all used pride tape that game.

“I’m just saying, maybe you could listen to me Roz,” Jordan was whining in the locker room. “I have the highest hockey IQ of my generation.”

“Highest hockey IQ huh? What about my Shane.”

“He’s the previous generation.”

Ilya sputtered. “Previous? You are on same team. Shane!”

Shane looked up where he was unlacing his skates. “Need something Rozanov.”

“Jordan says we are previous generation. He is calling us old.”

“Huh” Shane said and continued to remove his practice gear.

“We are not old. Tell him Shane.” Ilya whined

“Well I did hear your knee click this morning.” Shane said thoughtfully.

“You are lying. Liar is saying this. And you are older than me.”

“By a month. And my knee didn’t click this morning.”

“We will settle this now. Ace!”

“Hey, don’t bring me into this today. It was a hard practice, and I already had to help you decide which dog food to switch Misha to.”

They had taken to having goal scoring contests when they bickered about decisions like towels and dog food. They now had plush blue bath sheets in all the guest bathrooms, thanks to Shane’s win. Misha and Anya now ate fresh beef and vegetables prepared by the chef who made their meal preps, thanks to Ilya. Not only did they decide each individual decision with a contest, but JJ had hung up a white board with tally marks indicating who won each contest. Ilya was currently winning 4-3. The winner at the end of the season got a prize they weren’t telling the team.

“Maybe try some yoga old man. Seems to work for your husband.” Jordan patted Ilya’s back sympathetically.

“I am not old. You are child. Infant.”

And thus began the great prank war of the 2021-2022 season.

Ilya came to his stall a few days later and found a fresh new package of Metamucil. Ilya had retaliated with a container of baby powder. The pranks had quickly escalated: diapers, pacifiers, a giant onesie complete with butt flap against adult diapers, denture cream, and a cane.

Shane for his part just laughed and texted pictures of Ilya’s indignant face to Scott Hunter.

One day, the team arrived in the locker room to find it more cluttered than normal: in front of Jordan’s stall stood a fully assembled baby crib with Seattle bedding, including a plushy Cthulhu. In front of Ilya’s sat a wheelchair decked out with Seattle colors, including a basket, blinged wheels, and streamers. In the basket also sat a plushy Cthulhu.

Shane had no idea how either of them had gotten the equipment into the locker room without seeing the other’s prank. (Both confessed later that they’d each paid maintenance a healthy bonus.)

“Alright enough,” Bood yelled, silencing the laughter. “Roz, Jordan, if you want to prank each other, fine. But keep it in your stalls.”

The prank war stopped after that.

Shane and Ilya were both nervous for their return to Eastern Canada. Ilya, for his part, denied it.

The first stop was a trip to the Montreal Metros Bell Center. Then, pit stops in Pittsburgh and St. Louis before back to Canada for the floundering Ottawa Centaurs.

Neither of their former teams was accomplishing much. Both stood at under .500 for the year so far, fighting each other for the bottom of the standings. Buffalo was somehow soaring to the top of the division, off the back of their new rookie center that they’d gotten when they lucked into first pick of the draft. (Seattle had gone second and sent their rookie down to AHL for development.)

Shane stood facing Gilbert Comeau, who had somehow found himself as starting center. Hayden, as trusty right wing, mouthed sorry across the ice.

“So the fairy traitor returns,” Comeau spat. “Ready to face some real hockey?”

“Funny, we don’t have a team practice tomorrow. Travel day, you know?” Shane winked and won the faceoff.

They won the game 4-1; Hayden was the only Montreal goal.

Later that evening, Shane and Ilya begged off partying with their team, recommended any other club but Ciel, and piled into the Pike living room for a slumber party with the whole family. The kids had hugged them a long time and whined that they didn’t call nearly enough (Shane made sure it was weekly at least.) They ate popcorn, watched a movie, and Hayden allowed the kids to stay up as late as their eyes would stay open, which wasn’t very long, so the kids cuddled close to their uncles in sleep.

Oh how Shane had missed the little gremlins, he thought while examining his new purple glitter nails, courtesy of the salon of Jade Pike.

It took Shane until the plane ride back to Ottawa to notice Ace had painted their nails black and turquoise.

“Team spirit,” they shrugged. “I got the polish in a Walgreens in Pittsburgh, so it probably isn’t that good.”

“You did a great job. Much neater than I can manage.” Shane complimented.

Then he turned to face Ilya, who was pale and silent. Ilya had begun an antidepressant back in early November when the Seattle gray had settled in for the season, and Shane knew he had taken it that morning because Shane had given it to him. Medicine wasn’t a cure all for difficult feelings, Shane supposed.

When Ilya had left Boston, they’d played a tribute of his best goals when he returned.

At Ottawa, while the fans cheered, there was no such official welcome back. It seemed Harris Drover held a grudge.

Shane knew the Centaurs had begun the year with Troy Barrett at center, but at some point they’d switched around to Luca. Dillon found himself back on first line.

Poor Luca Haas, Shane thought. His contract had several years left, and Ottawa wasn’t going to be keen on trading their only decent forward.

Shane lined up for the faceoff and gave a sympathetic smile. It didn’t stop him from winning the puck.

Later in the game, Shane was watching Ilya’s line. Seattle was up 3-0. Right in front of him, Ilya slammed Troy into the boards.

“Showing off for your princess, you traitor?” Troy grunted. Troy shoved Ilya, dropped his gloves, and landed a punch.

Ilya’s gloves were off and his fists were flying. Troy ended up battered on the ice, with Ilya still landing punches as he was hauled away, grinning with blood on his teeth.

Shane, wearing the C that game, got coach to sub him for Marleau. Knowing the ref was about to throw Ilya out of the game, Shane hauled his way over to said ref and informed him politely that the penalty for a mutual fight was a 5-minute major, not being ejected. Plus, Troy had said a slur first.

Thanks to Shane’s skill, Ilya served a five-minute major and Troy served ten.

Ironically, the Centaurs seemed to control the puck better with Luca, Dillon, and their new rookie.

It didn’t stop Seattle winning 6-0.

Chapter 12: The Frost Creeps In

Chapter Summary

Ilya has a confession.

They strike a deal.

Chapter Notes

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

I was chugging along with my nice, wish fulfillment fantasy when Ilya cleared his throat and said “I still have depression.” Then this happened. It’s important to remember that life being what you want doesn’t make the chemical imbalance go away

So yes, discussions of depression ahead.

It started on a Thursday.

The weather had started turning colder in the mornings, the mist wrapped around them like a damp wool blanket. The house was a little chillier, echoed more harshly. Walks with the family became chores, where Shane and Ilya snipped at each other about the power play or how many eggs Shane ate in relation to smoothies or how many times a week was too many for a McGriddle.

And this Thursday morning in late October, Ilya couldn’t find it in himself to get out of bed.

Their alarm blared harshly at five thirty am. Ilya mumbled about needing more sleep, so Shane kissed his forehead and took Anya and Misha outside. Gordie Meow stayed tucked in his cozy bed in the corner of their room, barely glancing up as Shane left.

When Shane returned, Ilya was still asleep.

Shane came back to bed, slid under the heavy comforter, and put a hand on Ilya’s forehead. “No fever. You feel ok baby?”

Ilya grunted and pushed himself out of bed. He went through the day in a haze as deep as the mist outside. He said little at practice and kept missing passes.

When they got home, he collapsed into bed and closed his eyes without eating dinner.

Shane let this go on for two more days, including a home game against Anaheim they lost 2-1, with Shane scoring the only goal off an assist from Bood. Ilya had trouble getting the puck to Jordan, and coach had eventually brought in the third line for some extra ice time and sat Ilya’s line, causing Marleau and Jordan to pout.  Each day, Shane tried to coax a little more food into Ilya: bacon at breakfast, mashed potatoes at dinner. Ilya would nibble at his plate and crawl into bed as soon as he was able.

On Sunday morning, Shane decided to address it.

He started by making hot chocolate: the good kind, with melted chocolate chunks and full fat milk and plenty of sugar. He topped Ilya’s mug with whipped cream and sprinkles. Ilya stayed sleeping.

Shane entered their bedroom and shook Ilya awake. “Baby,” Shane whispered. “I made hot chocolate.”

“Uhnnng,”

Shane shook his shoulder a little harder. “Please, for me. You haven’t eaten much this week and you need calories.” Shane pushed his lip out in an exaggerated pout.

Ilya pushed himself up and took the comforting warm turquoise Seattle mug.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “Is good.”

Shane sat silently while they sipped. As Ilya’s mug neared empty, Shane broached the subject.

“Baby, you’ve been very off the past few days. Is something wrong?” Shane took Ilya’s hand in his.

“I’m fine.” Ilya started strong. Then he hesitated. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“It’s ok if you aren’t, you know.” Shane put his arm around Ilya’s shoulder and pulled him close into his side, knowing his husband craved physical contact but not wanting to overwhelm him. “I’m here if you want to talk.”

Ilya took a breath. “You know how I said I sometimes get sad like my mama did.”

Shane looked at Ilya seriously, but forced his voice to be light. “Yeah?” It came out shaky.

“I think it’s that.” Ilya sounded ready to cry.

Shane forced himself into calm. In for four breaths and out for six. Repeat. “You think your depression is taking a turn?”

Ilya threw his head back against their padded headboard in frustration. “I just don’t understand why. I love being in Seattle. I love coming home with you. I love when we cuddle at the end of the day, and I love the babies.” Shane smiled at the endearment toward their dogs and cat.

Ilya whimpered. “I love my team. Everything is good.”

In for four breaths. Out for six. Repeat, Shane. “But…”

“But sometimes my brain tells me it won’t last or that I’m a failure for being on second line or my power play ideas are stupid or that I’m lazy for eating junk when I should be eating kale.” Ilya laid on his side and buried his face in his hands.

Shane took the mug and set it on his nightstand. He looked down at Ilya, tilting his husband’s chin up so Ilya could look him in the eyes.

“First and most important thing: do you want to hurt yourself.” Shane gave him a look that demanded the truth. “Cottage honesty Ilya. This is important.”

Ilya thought for a moment. “No. I think it could get that bad but not yet.”

Shane breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, that’s good baby. Now second most important thing. Ilya, do you trust me?”

Ilya nodded, “More than anything.”

Shane continued, tilting his head toward Ilya. “And do you think I’ve lied to you?”

Ilya wrinkled his brow “No?”

“Didn’t I promise at our wedding I was yours forever?”

Ilya nodded miserably.

“Then I will write that promise on your arm, where you can see it and look at it every day, and we will find a nice safe tattoo parlor and get it inked, so you can always look at it when your brain starts lying. How does that sound?”

Ilya laughed wetly, wiping his eyes. “That sounds perfect.”

Shane scooted down and scooped Ilya into his arms, so Ilya’s ear rested on Shane’s chest. Shane idly played with the curls, and Ilya hummed with pleasure.

“As for you being on second line, that’s just what’s best for the team right now. We wear them out with my speed and then hit them with your strength. They don’t know what hit them.”

Ilya nodded. “True.”

“And we already have plans to switch it up with some teams that need to be smacked around first. Vancouver is one of them, aren’t they? And Carolina?” Shane smiled down at his husband.

“They are. So is New York.” Ilya brightened a little.

“You rile Scott up more easily than me anyway.” Shane chuckled.

Ilya pouted. “Don’t talk about that dinosaur while we are cuddling Shane.”

Shane sighed. “He’s only three years older than us Ilya. That’s less than you and Jordan.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

Shane continued, musing. “You know, a little junk food isn’t so bad sometimes. I know I was doing better about eating and now I’m starting to feel scared of carbs again. Maybe it’s the season ramping up.”

Ilya grumbled. “Yes, you want bird food diet to make you live forever and score hat tricks.”

Shane squeezed Ilya. “I disagree with your thoughts on the Power Play, but I wouldn’t call them stupid, and you’re not lazy for eating the foods that make your brain feel happier.”

This confused Ilya. “We will come back to power play later but talk about that last bit?”

Shane continued. “I did some reading about depression a while back. Depression is a chemical imbalance. Sugary foods give us endorphins that make us feel happier. It probably makes the bad thoughts less when you eat a McGriddle, right?”

Ilya shrugged. “Kind of.”

“And you know, the weather might have something to do with it too. It’s getting gray outside so you’re gray inside. I read about Seasonal Affective Disorder…” Ilya nodded but lost focus at Shane’s rambling.

Suddenly Shane realized something. “When’s the last time you talked with Galina?”

Ilya paused and mumbled.

“What was that?”

Ilya winced, knowing he was about to upset Shane. “Before we left Canada? Maybe July?”

Shane was deadpan. “You haven’t been to therapy in months? But we have been through so many changes. I know your therapy is your private medical care, but I thought you were at least doing check ins. Check ups?”

Ilya whimpered and buried his face in Shane’s shoulder so Shane had to struggle to hear him. “I was just so happy. And then I got to thinking and realized that she said a lot of things that made our relationship not so good.”

Now it was Shane’s turn to be confused. “How so?”

“Like how I was all alone in Ottawa and you had so many people around. She didn’t really encourage me to actually talk about your fears about coming out. I know them now, and she didn’t help with that.” Shane nodded.

Ilya cried. “I just didn’t want me getting better to make us worse.” Shane kissed his curls. Ilya buried his face in his husband’s shoulder and let the tears fall.

“So find a new therapist.” As though it was just something Ilya could do.

“Shane…”

“If you ceased improvement with one doctor, try another. And keep trying. I hear it’s like dating. It takes some time to find the right person.”

“Ceased improvement?”

“Stopped feeling better.”

Ilya lifted his head. “I wouldn’t know about dating. I met the right person when I was seventeen.”

“Ilya…”

“I’m just scared they will want me to take pills.” Ilya spoke quickly. Shane kissed his forehead and rubbed his husband’s arm.

“Well, if a doctor says you need an antibiotic for strep throat or a cast for a broken collarbone, do you tell them no?” Shane raised an eyebrow and looked directly in his husband’s eyes.

“Well no, but that’s different Shane.”

Shane hummed. “How is it different?”

“My mama.”

Shane sighed. “I know you’re scared of pills. I know you’re afraid of ending up like your mama. But what if I hid the meds? I just lock them away and only I know the password and it won’t be anything connected to us and I’ll give you the medicine exactly as the doctor says, no more and no less, ok?”

Ilya looked unsure.

“Listen, I’ll make you a deal. You find a new therapist and I’ll find one too.”

Ilya scoffed. “You? Therapy?”

Shane had surprised himself. Nevertheless, he continued, awed at how easily the admission came. “I’m still struggling with food. And some things that happened with Ottawa. I will eat something and think about how you chirp me about this but never chirped Troy.”

Ilya grumbled. “Troy is an ass who deserves a lot more than chirping Shane.”

Shane nodded and then mock glared at Ilya. “My point is that my head will spiral about how you made fun of me but always went along with the foods he likes.” Ilya pushed himself up so he could be eye level with Shane.

“Shane, you know how I chirp Scott for being old? And call Jordan baby?And called Hayden Montreal’s fifteenth best player?” Shane hummed.

“He’s their best now, you can’t deny that.”

“Mmm, yes that chirp is unfortunately dead. I say those things to people I like and feel safe with. I don’t know if I ever felt really safe with Troy. So I left his diet alone.”

“That actually makes sense. Wow, look at how good we are at talking.” Shane grinned.

“Yes, gold medal for both of us.”

Shane smirked again. “You know where else we can practice our talking?”

“Where Shane?” Ilya groaned, knowing what was coming.

“Therapy.”

Ilya finally sighed. “Fine, you go and I’ll go.”

“And you’ll take medicine if they think you need it?” Shane asked again, voice purposely casual.

“I’ll take medicine if they think I need it. As long as you hide it from me and only give me what the doctor says.”

Shane gave Ilya a squeeze and leaned down for a kiss. “I’ll make pancakes. They kind of look like gold medals.”

“With bacon around the necks?”

“With bacon for the ribbon. We both earned gold medal breakfasts today.”

Chapter 13: Some Say the Earth Will End in Fire

Chapter Summary

After he caught Gloria in bed with his teammate, Carter Vaughan couldn’t stop shivering.

He didn’t stop shivering until his plane touched down in Seattle.

Chapter Notes

It’s Carter. And JJ.

Featuring cameos from Shane’s careful attempts to write in Russian, Carter’s sis Cecilia, and Roz’s mysterious mint chocolate flavored lube.

Carter Vaughan spent his entire life from the day he was born being told he was a ray of sunshine. He relished the compliment, loved uplifting others and making them smile. When his sister came out as a lesbian, he made a joke about not being a teen mom that made her giggle. There had never been a single person who left his presence more sad than when they entered it, and that was his goal in life.

When he’d come home from a dentist appointment in June to find his long-term girlfriend in bed with his teammate, it felt like a permanent solar eclipse on his heart. New York City was hot in June, humidity pressing everywhere while people clamored for just a bit of breeze. After that day, Carter couldn’t stop shivering.

He didn’t stop shivering until his plane touched down in Seattle.

Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe he was here, on this team, in this city. He’d barely been in his body when he waived his no trade clause. It felt like he was watching someone else speaking when he gave the news to Scott (who looked both sad and sympathetic, the bastard.)  He was leaving behind his A, his legacy, his dreams, and his broken heart.

Yet stepping into a cab in Seattle to take him to his hotel felt like the clouds making way for the sun.

Carter still couldn’t believe he was on a team with the Hockey Husbands. Heck, he still had trouble believing there were hockey husbands. And that they were these two infamous rivals. Even now, eating a delicious steak at a seafood restaurant full of new teammates, he felt dizzy and disjointed.

“I see you didn’t go for the fish either,” a voice said behind him.

“Not much of a seafood guy.” Carter shrugged at Jean Jacque Boiziau, who grinned easy and welcoming and safe.

“Me neither but captaine loves it. Probably why they picked it. Mind if I sit?” Boiziau gestured at the empty seat next to Carter, already putting his plate down.

“Go ahead, I’m not saving it or anything.” Carter found his voice a lot more unsteady than he intended.

“So you hate seafood and somehow ended up in Seattle. Why?” Boiziau asked, smirking.

“Just needed a change, I guess.” Carter shrugged.

“Saw what happened on socials. I know you’ve heard this a lot but that sucks man.”

Carter sighed and chuckled dryly, “Yeah, it’s not my favorite.”

JJ nodded sympathetically. “Been there. Of course, the person who cheated on me wasn’t a high-profile actress and they didn’t get the support of my team, but it still felt awful. Like I wasn’t good enough.” Carter noted the neutral pronoun but didn’t mention it.

Carter was quick to defend his former team. With hands raised, he said, “I got the support of my team. I hear they’re trying to trade Gross. I just needed a change for myself.”

“Hey, I’ll drink to that.” JJ lifted his glass of water. Carter clinked his water glass against it. His shoulder brushed against JJ’s, and the spot felt warm and tingly.

Carter gave JJ a curious eyebrow raise. “So, what brings you to Seattle?”

JJ shrugged. “Montreal management are racist fucks. Captaine suggested an out.”

Carter nodded. “And you took it. I’m glad I dealt with a lot less of that in New York.”

“I’m hoping Seattle will be better than them.”

“I’m just hoping nobody fucks anyone I’m fucking.” Carter laughed.

JJ raised his glass again and smiled.

“What are you doing later?”

The two decided to explore Pike Place Market together the next day. JJ was leaving to go back to Canada the next day to finish his packing and coach the camps.

“So it’s just a wall of gum?” JJ tilted his head at the wall. “What the…”

“Apparently it gets scraped off but people just keep doing it.” Carter looked at a tourist pamphlet.

“If it keeps getting scraped off, what’s the point of adding it?” JJ threw his arms in the air.

Carter shrugged, sipping his coffee, which they’d gotten at the first Starbucks and which tasted like all the other Starbucks, meaning vaguely medicinal, in his view.

“So you’re headed back to Canada?” Carter asked.

“Yeah, gonna coach the Irina foundation camps and then attend the big wedding. You coming?” JJ nudged him with his shoulder. That tingly feeling returned.

“To the camps? I’ve never been invited.” Carter pouted.

“That’ll change now, I bet. Keep your schedule open for next summer.”

“Will do.” Carter gave a thumbs up.

“I meant the wedding though? You going?”

Carter laughed. “Didn’t get an invite to that either.”

JJ mused. “I don’t think they sent invites so much as texted people the date and time. I don’t know if they actually have your number even.” JJ shook his head. “These are not dudes that pay attention to things like wedding culture.”

“I wonder if they have vows. Or a song. Or heck, chairs. Knowing Hollzy they’ll be getting married in workout gear.”

“Wanna find out?” JJ asked.

Carter choked on his coffee. “Crash the wedding? I know enough about weddings to know that isn’t done.”

“No, I mean come with me. Shane said I could bring a plus one, but the roster is currently pretty thin and I don’t want to start something with someone when I’ll be leaving, so that leaves me empty. Might as well bring a new teammate. And I know you’re cool about everything.”

“Of course I’m cool. My sister’s a lesbian. And Scott can tell you how many punches I’ve thrown.”

“I’ve seen the highlights buddy. You’ve got a mean right hook for someone who is always so smiley and not an enforcer.” JJ grinned.

Carter couldn’t stop the blush and looked to the side. “Thanks.”

“So how bout it? Come to the wedding with me. Keep me from being bored and dateless.” JJ moved to stand in front of him and began walking backward, giving wide eyes and a stuck-out lip.

Carter thought of the summer in front of him, full of unpacking and exploring a city and trying to figure out life on his own. “Ok, yeah, sounds fun.”

“I’ll send you the address.”

The wedding was exactly the amount of chaos Carter imagined.

He’d immediately been commandeered into removing excess chairs to the house while the grooms got ready. Something about Yuna Hollander ordering too many, he heard.

The grooms looked, and there was no other word for it, beautiful. Shane wore a crisp, badass black suit. Ilya wore white. Both wore a turquoise pocket square. Their dog Anya bounced around to different guests like she was the guest of honor.

Everyone cried a little during the vows, which Shane had written and Ilya had winged.

Predictably, they didn’t have a song. Thankfully, the one and only Rose Landry pulled something up on her phone.  (Carter had forgotten she’d be there; hopefully she’d tell Gloria that he looked good and happy and not miserable)

They’d at least given an open bar, which he and JJ took great advantage of.

Once the important dances were completed, with both Hollander parents dancing with both the grooms, the dance floor turned into a free for all. The Pike children, hyped on sugar, ran between people’s legs.

He and JJ ended up dancing together for the faster songs, a perfectly respectable two feet apart. JJ’s muscles flexed in his suit shirt, jacket long forgotten. At one point, JJ took his tie completely off and used it to pull Carter closer. Carter tried to ignore the twitch in his cock as their torsos collided, but the moment was ruined by JJ falling backward, pulling them both into a heap on the grass.

That night, they stumbled back into their hotel room, which they’d hurriedly dumped their suitcases into before heading to the wedding. In their rush, they’d forgotten an important detail.

“Hmm, one bed. I think couch pullssss ou” JJ slurred, his Québécois accent prominent.

“I take it. Iz your room,” Carter slurred back.

“Nooooo you’re my date.” JJ pulled him onto the bed. They collapsed, giggling.

“I’m your date huh?”

“Yes.” JJ nodded once, decisively. “How bout we jusss share? Iz not a big deal. I don think I can move the couch righ now.” JJ flopped over on his stomach.

“Me neither.” Carter giggled. They lay for a moment, inches apart, and Carter thought out loud.

“I don think I’ve ever ended a date without a g’nite kiss.”

“No?”

“Not since middle school probly.”

JJ flipped over so he was balanced on his forearms, hovering over Carter who lay flat on his back on the bed. JJ looked directly into Carter’s eyes, and Carter’s breath caught at just how beautiful and bright a brown they were.

“Does mon soleil need a goodnight kiss?”

Carter tried to swallow the lump in his throat. His mouth felt dry; what was he doing? This was his teammate! Not looking away from the tea colored eyes, he nodded.

Soft lips brushed against his, and Carter felt fire explode from his chest.

Kissing Gloria had been lovely. She’d always been soft and sweet and pliant in his arms. This was different. JJ was a strong defenseman; he could probably keep Carter pinned without breaking a sweat. His lips were soft, but there was a slight stubble on his chin from the fact he hadn’t shaved since the day before. Carter found himself wondering if those lips could push harder, if those hands could leave bruises…

As JJ’s lips pulled away, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake, Carter pulled himself up and chased them with his own.

Suddenly, they were pressed together on the bed, legs tangled, lips and teeth and tongues dancing. Carter moaned as JJ’s teeth nibbled his lip. JJ moaned back when Carter tentatively pressed his leg against JJ’s crotch.

At some point, their shirts became unbuttoned, and Carter found his hands gliding over strong, well earned muscle. His fingers brushed dark curls, and he imagined what it would be like to grip those curls while JJ’s mouth was on his cock.

At some point, they both got tired and fell asleep succumbing to drunkenness, still in their suit pants. JJ’s arm draped across his torso, but they otherwise slept separately.

When Carter awoke the next morning, head pounding, JJ had shifted to his side of the bed, curled into himself and facing the window.

Carter’s lips were swollen and sore. He touched them gently.

What had happened? And why had he liked it?

They didn’t discuss the kissing. Carter wondered if JJ even remembered it.

Nevertheless, Carter was happy to have a new friend on the team and in the new city. Scott checked in, asking how things were going, and Carter could say with honesty that things were great.

JJ was funny, protective, and full of energy. They’d taken to rollerblading in parks together, knowing Hollanov, as the team called the married couple, would be upset they were risking their knees.

The day before their leadership meeting, where they would discuss Seattle captaincy, they sat in the park after a run, drinking water.

“So, mon chum, which of the husbands do you think should be captain?” JJ asked him.

“How do we know it will be one of them?” Carter asked but not meaning it.

“They’ve both been captains for longest. You, me, and Bood have only been As. Marleau was captain at Boston when Roz left, but I’m not picking him unless neither of the husbands wants it.”

“I know dumbass. I was kidding.” Carter laughed and shoved JJ.

“Maybe they could share it?” JJ thought.

“Or everyone could just wear an A?” Carter  pondered.

JJ paused, looking at the ground. “I don’t think I want it.”

Carter looked over at him, but said nothing.

“When things in Montreal got bad, I didn’t really say anything to help Shane. And then, in that last game, it was me that put the idea of him tripping in the team’s heads. I’m sure someone would have thought it, but I’m the one who said it out loud.” JJ sighed and looked at the ground guiltily.

“You’ve apologized, right?” Carter gave him a pointed look.

“‘Many times.”

“And you’ve been trying to do better.” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t know how good I’m doing, but he’s forgiven me. He brought me here. And Roz seems kind of ok with me now.” Carter nodded.

“Well, those are all good things so maybe stop beating yourself up so much.” Carter patted his shoulder.

“I know.” JJ groaned. “But I still think there are better people for the job.”

Carter found himself wondering if their budding friendship would change if he wore an A and JJ didn’t. His stomach twisted at the thought.

“I don’t know if I’m in the right headspace for it either,” Carter confessed.

JJ looked at him incredulously.

“I just left a team I’d been on for a very long time and moved across the country all by myself. And I lost a girlfriend I’d been in love with a long time.”

“She lost you mon chum.” JJ scoffed.

“So you keep saying. But my head just keeps telling me I’m not good enough.” It was Carter’s turn to stare at the pavement.

“You are. You are so good enough.” JJ told him seriously.

“It’s just, my head feels all jumbled right now and I don’t know if I want an A.” Carter justified.

“I guess we are both turning it down.” JJ said.

“Guess so,” Carter shrugged.

“Race you to the coffee shop,” JJ laughed and sprinted away.

“Cheater,” Carter yelled and sped after him.

At the team’s first hangout at a club, Carter and JJ had found themselves sandwiching a beautiful busty blonde as she ground against them both. Carter’s mouth burned with the taste of his three tequila sours.

Carter didn’t know what happened, but suddenly the blonde had gravitated toward another man, tall and lanky and not hockey player shaped, and Carter found himself with a JJ parter and no sandwich filling.

The music was bright and lively, and they just kept dancing. JJ moved closer to him in the dark, trailing fingers along his arms. Carter tilted his face up to meet him, and their lips brushed, ever so softly. JJ tasted like rum.

Carter liked rum.

Carter was flying high being on the first line of a winning team. Sure, he’d won a Stanley Cup in New York, but they had a tendency to, as Man in the Crease so lovingly put it, crash and burn in the middle of every season. 

Here, Shane and Ilya kept pushing them in practice, and they just kept winning.

They won in Dallas. They kicked the asses of Montreal and Ottawa. They beat LA, San Jose, Vegas, and Vancouver. Sure, they lost at Colorado and Edmonton, and had a terrible home game against Anaheim. But they sat at the top of their division, with only New York ahead of them in league standings.

All this on an expansion team. Carter couldn’t be more thrilled.

He also lucked into the best roadie roomie he could ask for. JJ would make sure he had water before bed every night. They liked the same movies. They always seemed to be in the mood for going out at the same time, and if Carter wanted to head back early, JJ was quick to follow. It was amazing how in sync they were.

And if JJ’s shoulder happened to make the best pillow on long, late plane rides, nobody else needed to know that.

They’d taken to having dinner together most nights, neither wanting to dine alone. Most of the time they ate at JJ’s because he’d gotten a much nicer condo than Carter’s one-bedroom rental decided in the throes of his Gloria grief.

One night, they settled back to watch Montreal and Ottawa, rooting for a meteor. This activity had led to them pouring wine.

“Have you ever been pegged?” JJ asked suddenly.

Carter choked on his wine, red liquid splattering his hoodie. He grabbed a paper towel and tried to clean himself off. “What?”

“Ever been pegged?”

“Umm no, not that I’m against it. I just never really thought about it.” Suddenly the thought entered Carter’s head, but it wasn’t a toy. Carter didn’t think he would ever want to stop being on top, but from the locker room he knew JJ’s dick was a good seven inches, just the right amount of girth, and Carter wondered what it would feel like inside him. Thrusting into him. Hitting that special spot he’d always heard he had.

“Prostate orgasms are great mon chum. You should really try it.” JJ said casually. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to give up topping, but it’s nice to let go sometimes.” JJ looked off dreamily.

Carter completely understood what he meant.

“Can I tell you something and you won’t tell anyone?” JJ suddenly asked.

Carter nodded, putting his wine glass on a coaster and turning to face JJ. “Of course.”

“The person who cheated on me? It wasn’t a girl.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t super serious or anything. I thought I was just experimenting. But he decided he didn’t want to be with someone who wasn’t out. Or who didn’t know what they are. And he didn’t want to be with someone who wanted to top. So he cheated on me.”

Carter also wanted to top and felt his heart sink.

“Does anyone else know? Shane?”

JJ shook his head. “No, I was kind of embarrassed. It’s just so humiliating to be cheated on, you know? And I didn’t have a good label for myself. And I didn’t want Shane to think I had a crush on him or was checking him out or anything. I mean Shane’s great, but he’s mon frere you know?”

Carter knew all about the humiliation that comes from getting played. And not wanting your teammate to think you had a crush. So Carter nodded sympathetically and they silently returned to the game, the 1-0 overtime  Montreal score not as funny as it could have been.

Somehow they found themselves at a tattoo parlor, completely sober.

Roz was getting another tattoo and wanted friends to witness it. This was a safe, clean facility, and they insisted on sobriety in their clients. So the plan was tattoo first and drinks after.

They watched Shane carefully writing something with a shaky Cyrillic alphabet on Ilya’s forearm. He periodically looked at a piece of notebook paper he had written the tattoo-intended phrase on earlier, tongue between his teeth.

“Man Captaine’s a real one. Learning Russian for Roz? Alphabet and all. That’s real commitment.” JJ remarked next to him.

Carter nodded, watching Ilya grin with watery eyes. They hadn’t told anyone what the tattoo said, but he was sure it was something romantic.

“I’d kill for their kind of love.” Carter said.

JJ thought for a minute. “Walk with me,” he said. “The festivities aren’t starting yet and the lights in here are making me a little dizzy.”

They walked outside and stepped into a streetlight.

“I envy them too,” JJ said suddenly. Then he looked at Carter, bent his head down, and kissed him. Soberly. With lips and tongue that moved decisively and without the aid of alcohol. No sweet taste of rum left behind, just a warmth that felt like drinking hot chocolate.

Carter felt like he was floating.

“I just wanted to see what my brain actually thought.” JJ whispered. Did that mean JJ didn’t like the kiss? Were the previous ones just drunkenness? Did he not want to be Carter’s friend anymore? Did he want to be Carter’s boyfriend? Carter hadn’t had a boyfriend before; was he rebounding over Gloria? Could this be real?

Carter couldn’t find his voice.

Suddenly, Jordan opened the shop door and called, “Hey, they’re ready!”

“Coming,” JJ squeaked.

Carter excused himself with a headache after the tattoo was done. The thoughts were just pounding too hard in his head.

Their stalls were right next to each other. They played the same as they always did on the ice. Off the ice, they didn’t say a word to each other.

Carter went home to his sad, single apartment and ate his sad meal prep and tried not to think about the kiss.

He’d never thought about men before. Well, except Scott, who had the most dreamy eyes. And some celebrities, but everyone thinks about celebrities, right? And occasionally through the years he’d caught a peek at Ilya Rozanov’s ass and wondered what it would be like to pound into it, but really it was a great ass so how could he not?

Fuck, was he bi? Was he over thirty years old and just now realizing he was bi?

He called his sister panicking.

“Hello brother mine, what can I do for you?”

“How did you know you were gay?” He blabbered without a hello.

She answered easily, “I kissed a girl and I liked it. I kissed a boy and didn’t. It really was that simple.”

“Did you never think about fucking men? Not even Patrick Swayze or one of the Backstreet Boys?”

Cecilia sighed. “Carter, what’s this about?”

“I think I’m bi.” He rushed the confession.

His sister laughed. “Finally, I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out.”

“What?” He growled.

“Carter, sweetie, brother from my mother, when Uncle Ray tried to set me up with that guy that worked for him, you blushed harder than I did.”

Carter sputtered, “I didn’t like how homophobic Ray was being.”

Cecilia laughed, “You checked out the guy’s ass.”

“I did?”

“Mmhmm. While I tried to get through the dinner without stabbing anyone, you asked him all kinds of questions about accounting and looked at his eyes the whole time. Except, of course, when you weren’t peeking at his ass.”

Carter was floored. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I thought you knew and just didn’t want to say anything. You got with Gloria right after and you were so happy and I just thought you wanted to stay in the closet. You do work for homophobic pricks.”

“Not so much homophobia these days.” It was the truth and a relief.

“Yes, you’re living the queer and black sports dream in Seattle. Now what’s this about.”

And he tells his sister about JJ.

His sister was thrilled. “You’d better pound him into the mattress as soon as possible. Or other way around. You do you.” And wasn’t that part of the problem, not knowing which way to go.

“How do I know he even likes me?”

Cecilia paused. “Would you be asking that if it were a woman?”

Carter shrugged even though she couldn’t see him. “No, I guess not. I think I know by now when a woman likes me.”

“It’s no different sweetie.”

Roz sat them both down after practice one day, with the locker room empty, and asked.

“Have you two fucked yet?”

Carter looked at his home captain with wide eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Roz said, “Please. You are always together and now you can’t look at each other. You fucked and it went bad, or you fucked and it was too much too good, or you haven’t fucked yet and it’s making you crazy. Which is it? I need to know for team.”

JJ mumbled. “We haven’t.”

Ilya pointed at JJ.  “But you want to.”

JJ ignored him.

Roz went to his bag and pulled out a sleeve of condoms and several packets of lube. “Don’t forget these. Now go home and fuck and figure it out.”

Carter and JJ looked at each other. “But what if you both like topping?” Carter asked.

“Have you never heard of verse?” Roz asked incredulously.

“Verse?” JJ asked.

“Is when partners switch. Shane and I don’t so much but I do like getting my ass played with sometimes. If you want to know more about switching ask Elder Scott.”

With that one sentence Carter learned way too much about his friends.

“Shane said it was ok for me to talk to you, but maybe don’t talk to him about it or he will turn red like tomato. Oh, and if it is first time do research first. Don’t want anyone to get hurt. And if you want to play with toys, don’t forget flared base. Have fun.”

Ilya left, with Carter holding the sleeve of condoms and lube packets. Why did Roz even have those in his practice bag, and why was the lube mint chocolate flavored?

Carter and JJ couldn’t stop staring at each other, both faces burning.

“Do you want?” JJ asked. “I mean.”

Carter smiled. “Captain says.”

They lay tangled in the sheets, both having come at some point in the evening  from the other’s dick alone. Carter saw stars. From JJ’s limp, sleeping form draped across his chest, he knew it had been phenomenal for him too.

Reaching for his phone on the nightstand, he texted his sister.

I think I have a boyfriend.

Sometime later, Carter would look up all of JJ’s little nicknames. The drunken mon soleil, meaning my sunshine. The mon frere for Shane, meaning unsurprisingly, brother.  Most interesting was mon chum, which JJ had started calling him early on.

Google said it could refer to friend.

Québécois French speakers also used it to refer to boyfriend.

Sneaky, sneaky JJ.  

Chapter 14: Snow Sparkling in the Sun

Chapter by MiaKitten1410 (ladywildcat16)

Chapter Summary

Stanley Cup finals

Chapter Notes

And so ends our journey for now.

I may come back to this universe someday and write more social media reactions (I wanted to do another chapter of it but it just wouldn’t come to me and I really felt like I’d just be copying your comments. I’ve enjoyed every single one of them.)

I could leave you hanging with a forever WIP, but I had the end written, and I left the characters in good, happy places for now and I have another alternate universe knocking at my brain

So I will leave you all with a little last taste of our Stanley Cup Champion Cthulhu

 

And in case you were worried: Ellie got her jersey and tickets to a game when her mom had a work trip to Seattle.

Shane faced off against Scott Hunter.

It was the Stanley Cup finals. Because New York had exactly one more point in the standings, they’d had home ice advantage and won the first two games. Seattle had won the next two and squeaked out an overtime win back in New York off a goal from Jordan. Now they were back in Seattle for Game Six.

Somewhere in the building was the Stanley Cup. The score was tied and there were 45 seconds left. The cup could get awarded that evening. Coach had sent out Shane and Ilya along with Jordan and Carter and JJ, one of their power play combinations. He wanted to end this tonight, in regulation.

But what a ride it was to get there.

Seattle had swept Edmonton in four before beating San Jose in a full seven. Then, they’d played Minnesota for the Western Conference Championship, beating them in six.

Montreal and Ottawa had both not made the playoffs. Ottawa fans, after their earlier rioting at losing their star and missing out on another, were resigned, knowing they were back to the basement they were so familiar with. Fans of long losing teams were long suffering; they merely waited to maybe luck into the next forbidden love story. Or coax Ilya and Shane back to Canada, now that the GM and coach had been fired. Either way, they were more used to losing than winning.

Montreal fans were angrier, not used to being ineligible for the playoffs after so many years being in. Their fans were singing “Paved Paradise and Put up a Parking Lot” on repeat, and they routinely gathered outside the Bell Center at night with candles.

Ilya had heard Troy Barrett had been traded through an angry voicemail he’d gotten from an unknown number. Turns out, it was Harris Drover’s, whose number he’d deleted. Now Drover was in the position of choosing between his family’s farm and his job at the Centaurs, which they’d heard from Wyatt was hanging on by thin ice, or following Troy to Carolina. Raleigh was a fairly liberal area so it could be worse, but the state’s politics could swing like a kid on a playground. Shane and Ilya neither knew nor cared what he’d pick. Troy Barrett and Ottawa were no longer their concern, aside from when they were the ones across the ice.

Scott gave him a grin. “May the best gay man win.” The puck dropped, and Shane snatched it.

He immediately sped it to Ilya, who slapped it to Jordan, who got the puck back to Ilya, who faked a shot before passing to Shane. With a smirk, Shane proceeded to complete one of their signature moves. He faked a backhand before firing a forehand shot into the net.

The light went red.

Seattle fans screamed. Helmets were flying, and Shane found himself on top of a pile of heavy hockey players, his husband on his back. He heard nothing but screaming and felt nothing but elation. “That was my move. You stole my move,” his husband yelled in his ear. But he was grinning.

After several minutes of celebration, they detangled themselves for the handshake line; Scott shook his hand with a mix of pride and dejection. It wasn’t his first time being in this position.

Because Ilya was wearing the C that night, because it was a home game and he wanted to win it in front of their fans, he’d screamed before the game began, he would be accepting the cup first. Which meant shaking the hand of Roger Crowell. Ilya smirked with great relish and held out his hand. Crowell attempted a smile but Shane could tell it was a grimace.

Behind Shane, Carter and JJ met for a kiss. They announced that quickly, he thought distantly. Then, Ilya was gesturing toward him.

As Ilya’s A, and basically co-captain, it was his turn with the cup. But Ilya hadn’t had his lap yet. Instead, Ilya handed the top half of the cup to Shane while holding the other half.

Then, under the cup, surrounded by screaming Seattle fans, they met in the best kiss of Shane’s life.

Together, they skated their victory lap.

Together, they passed the cup to Marleau.

Together, they stared at their brand-new fans in their brand-new city.

Later, they’d scream together in a fountain of champagne.

Later, they’d answer questions from the press.

Later still, they’d party until they sun came up, dreaming up how they were going to combine their Cup days so they could have a night with it and fuck on top of it.

There were parades and interviews and happy owners to talk to. There were new camps to run, a honeymoon to finally take, and a cottage in Canada that had stood empty far too long. There were sponsorship meetings, although fewer now that his mom was busy with his lesser-paid teammates. Then, there was a new season, with new rookies, more salary cap finagling and trades to deal with. All that was in the future though.

For now, Shane stood in that arena, bright fluorescent lights blaring, jersey scratching at his neck, noise pounding in his ears, blood rushing, and felt truly at peace.

Seattle’s owner grinned as he watched all the kissing on the ice.

He had considered himself an old-fashioned man until he moved to a city that wasn’t. So he’d done something he hadn’t thought himself capable of: he adapted. He attended pride parades. He learned about the environment. He talked to Seattleites rich and poor, from business folks to fishermen. Along the way, he learned how to be kinder to people and that words can hurt. He committed to paying all employees a living wage.  He’d been dragged kicking and screaming into the new millennium, and he couldn’t be more grateful. Unlike a few of the people he used to call friends, his grown kids still called and visited. He could honestly say, even before buying a hockey team, he was happy.

 Now, he also had a hockey team that played in a solar powered arena that boasted a name that reminded people of climate consciousness.  And said team was led by two married men.

It was rare that expansion teams could get themselves a center, let alone a star center. Two was unfathomable. Centers tended to be the best players on a team, and thus were usually protected.

Unless, of course, those players didn’t want to be protected.

With the help of his star center, who happened to be gay, Asian, and a future GM in the making, and a little input from the man’s menace of a husband, they’d collected all the league’s talent that didn’t feel safe and given them a soft place to land. It had worked. On conference calls, other owners had given him impressed words and jealous looks. Ottawa’s owner looked perpetually nauseated.

Defying the odds, they’d won the Stanley Cup in their first season. The draft was coming up, and their AHL rookie appeared ready to join the team.

The future looked bright for rainy Seattle, at least where hockey was concerned.

Ilya leaned against the newly cracked headboard and held his sleeping four-time Stanley Cup champion husband. He had a therapy appointment in two weeks, and his medication made him stable. He had family and friends and a team who loved him and his love. He was a captain and had made a winning Stanley Cup game pass. In the next room, his dogs and kitten slept peacefully in a pile, having left the room when the noise of their lovemaking got too loud.

It didn’t really feel like he’d made any trade at all.

Chapter End Notes

If anyone wants a sneak preview of my AU, it starts at the 2014 Olympics. Shane runs into Rose after being sent away by Ilya, who is doing research for a figure skating themed movie she was cast in (she’s a Michigan girl so her knowing how to skate a bit isn’t a leap, and there’s stunt doubles for the rest.)

So while Ilya is ghosting Shane for six months, he’s also seeing paparazzi of him and Rose Landry. Meanwhile, Shane is coming to terms with being gay and that it’s ok. This obviously makes Vegas go very differently.

It also makes Shane’s feelings about his sexuality different, and surprise: this is also a universe where the people around him aren’t exactly supportive. Except Ilya and Rose of course. There is no universe where Rose is not a supportive queen, and I can’t keep the boys apart long.

The idea is to address ways homophobia (and biphobia, eventually) manifest, from the subtle “don’t ask don’t tell” to the obvious cruel slurs to people trying to “help” and people who turn a blind eye.