Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Scott Hunter, Shane Hollander/Original Male Character(s), Shane Hollander & Scott Hunter, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike & Jackie Pike & Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter, Hayden Pike, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Original Characters, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Patrice Drapeau, Mitty (Heated Rivalry), Grigori Rozanov, Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hayden Pike Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Montreal Voyageurs Being good for a change, Good Montreal Voyageurs, Unrealistic lack of homophobia, Fix-It, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Anxiety Attacks, Autistic Shane Hollander, Supportive David Hollander and Yuna Hollander, POV Third Person, Drinking Games, Team Bonding, Homophobia, Racism, Racist Language, Homophobic Language, Hate Crimes, Minor Violence, Anxious Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-28 Completed: 2026-08-14 Words: 50,282 Chapters: 16/16

No Reason to Run

Summary

“Shit,” Hunter said, eyes wide. He shot a glance up and down the hallway and held up his hands in the universal sign of “calm down.”
“I can pretend I didn’t see anything,” he said quickly.
“There’s nothing-“ But Shane was losing the ability to speak. His throat was closing up, his vision darkening, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed by barb wire.

What if Scott Hunter caught Shane sneaking out of Ilya's room? What if this change meant Shane had someone to talk to, and then the number of people in his corner kept expanding?

A what-if homophobia can be fixed by a Swedish hockey coach and rational argument. Featuring accidental cock-blocker Hayden, better communication skills, good Montreal team mates, coming outs, drinking games, and canon divergence.

Notes

Warning Shane and Scott do hook up later during the ghosting era, no feelings are caught.

Title from song by Cold War Kids.

Chapter 1

All-star game, 2011

Shane felt a little wild saying goodbye after getting Rozanov’s phone number. Lily was now in his phone, they had made plans to fuck, and he had gotten off after a fun all-star weekend. It made him a little giddy.

It also made him careless.

Just as he the hotel room door closed behind him, he realised in the short moment between Ilya checking the hallway and his own exit, Scott Hunter had left his own room.

They stared at each other in shock.

“I was-“ But there was no excuse, Shane knew. It was so obvious.

“Shit,” Hunter said, eyes wide. He shot a glance up and down the hallway and held up his hands in the universal sign of “calm down.”

“I can pretend I didn’t see anything,” he said quickly.

“There’s nothing-“ But Shane was losing the ability to speak. His throat was closing up, his vision darkening, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed by barb wire.

“Fuck, Hollander, breathe.” He could hear Hunter, but he could only see the ugly carpet shapes swirling. He felt hands grab him around the waist and pull. A moment later the harsh light of the corridor disappeared. Hunter placed him on the end of the bed and Shane immediately leaned forward and stuck his head between his knees.

“Hey, breathe, Shane, please breathe, come on, slow and steady.” Hunter was kneeling in front of him, one hand on Shane’s knee, the other holding his arm. “It’s going to be ok.”

“No,” Shane choked, sucking in a breath too quick and setting himself off again.

“It is, I swear. I know, all right? From experience. I’m gay.”

Shane’s brain stilled a little at that. He breathed in through his nose, lifting his head a little. “I’m not- I-“ Fuck, he couldn’t get it under control.

“Hey, you don’t have to explain yourself, ok?” Hunter’s voice was gentle. He tried to catch Shane’s eye, who just closed them. “You know my secret now too, right? So, whatever I inferred from you leaving Rozanov’s room is not my business.”

Shane focused on breathing. His heart was slowing, Hunter’s words echoed what Rozanov had said during their first hook-up. We had the same secret. He managed a jerky nod.

After a long silence of just breathing, Shane finally sat up and Hunter let go of him. He stayed on his knees, looking up at Shane with concern, like he would panic again at any moment.

“Sorry,” Shane managed.

“No, don’t be sorry. I get it, I do, I swear.” Shane nodded again. “But, Shane, I have to ask something, and please know I’m only asking because I’m worried about you.”

“What?” Shane could not imagine what- Oh, god, was he going to ask about protection or something?

“Is Rozanov… did he treat you right?” Shane choked on his own spit, deciding to look up to the ceiling in utter embarrassment. How was this his life? His hockey idol was kneeling at his feet, saying he was gay, asking about Shane’s own gay exploits. “He already has a bit of a reputation…”

“He’s good,” Shane wheezed, looking away, anywhere except Hunter. “He-“ He tried to nod, closing his eyes and swallowing, taking a deep breath. “He’s nice to me.”

“Really?” Shane felt offended on Rozanov’s behalf. Hunter didn’t even know him!

“It’s different than when we’re on the ice. It’s…” His face flushed as he thought back to how careful Rozanov had been both times, even though Shane had been so inexperienced. “It’s good.”

“Ok,” Hunter sighed in relief. “Good.” He patted Shane on the knee and stood. Sitting down next to Shane on the bed. At least that meant Shane didn’t have to avoid his eyes. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but you need to be careful.” Shane nodded. He glanced at Hunter’s profile. The man looked sad.

“Have you…” Shane couldn’t figure out how to ask.

“Have I snuck around like you and Rozanov?” Hunter guessed with a chuckle. It wasn’t quite what Shane wanted to know. “Not with another player, no, but obviously all my relationships, if you can call them that, have been secret.”

“Right.”

“I wish it could be different.” Shane didn’t know why Hunter was repeating himself. He couldn’t imagine such a world.

“Do you have anyone who knows? Not about Rozanov, I assume that’s… a different kind of secret, but someone you can talk to about this stuff?”

“Stuff?”

“Being gay or bi or however you want to define it. Does anyone know?”

“No.”

“Not even your parents?”

“No.”

“Well, as someone who doesn’t have anyone to tell, I highly recommend telling someone you can trust.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Ok.” They lapsed into silence. “Are your parents conservative?”

“They-“ Shane huffed in frustration. “I’m not-“ but he couldn’t say it. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Hunter knew exactly what he had been doing in the next room. Hunter was gay, and he seemed to Shane like the straightest guy he could imagine. Although, considering Hunter was the first person Shane had ever met who described themselves as gay, maybe Shane wasn’t one to judge.

“It’s a journey, I know. I’ve been there. But wherever you land, Shane, whatever you decide you are or want to call yourself, it’s better if there’s someone to tell. Someone other than whoever you’re sneaking around with.”

“I don’t know.” His voice sounded so small and young.

“Can I give you my number?”

“What?”

“Just, for if you want to talk. About anything.” Hunter shrugged. “I’ve never really had a gay friend either.”

“I’m not-“

“Sorry, shit, I just meant-“ Shane rose abruptly, going to the door. “Please, Shane. I’m sorry.” Shane stopped with a hand on the door, knowing he would want Hunter to check the hallway. He sighed.

“I’m not stupid. Obviously, I like guys,” he spoke to the door. “Or at least, one guy. I’m just not…” ready, he thought, “sure about the rest.”

“I get that.”

Shane turned around and took his phone out. He felt a laugh threaten to bubble out of him as he watched the second guy of the night put his phone number in. “There,” Hunter said as he returned it. Hunter’s phone pinged, and he took it out and entered Shane’s name. For a second Shane wanted to suggest a code name, but then he realised that was stupid and unnecessary.

Hunter gave him a small smile.

“I know this probably doesn’t mean that much in the grand scheme of things, but I’m here for you, if you need to talk.”

“Thanks.” He remembered what Hunter had said. “You too.” At Hunter’s surprised look, Shane added. “I mean, you said you didn’t have-“ Fuck, he was almost panicking again at the thought of putting himself in the role of possibly-gay-friend. “Just, if you want.” He shrugged. Hunter’s smile widened and he nodded.

“Thanks.”

“Could you check the hallway?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

After a quick check, Shane finally left, practically sprinting for the elevator. Finally, alone and in his own room, Shane collapsed and felt everything all at once, and could do nothing but laugh.

Shane spent the next few days panicking. He knew he had to tell Rozanov that Hunter knew about what they had done. But he was terrified Rozanov would call him an idiot for getting caught and never speak to him again. Technically, it had been Rozanov’s fault as well for not checking the hallway properly.

Rozanov needed to know. Boston was playing New York in a couple of weeks, and if Hunter said anything to him…

If Shane waited any longer, Rozanov would probably think Shane had been sitting with the information in order to knock him off his game at the last minute.

So, he needed to tell him.

The only thing in their text thread was Rozanov’s first “hi” and smiley face. This was supposed to be where they “made plans to fuck”. Shane opened a note app so he could practice the text, just so he wouldn’t accidentally send anything.

But he couldn’t figure out how to say it. He didn’t want to panic Rozanov, and he couldn’t organize the information right.

After two days of drafts, he finally just sent: Can I call you? It’s important. Sorry.

Lily replied about an hour later: What is it?

Jane: Please, I can’t explain it over text. You need to know.

Shane jumped when his phone lit up with “Lily calling.”

“Hey.”

“What is it?” Rozanov sounded very annoyed. Shane braced himself. 

“Scott Hunter saw me leave your hotel room and knows about us,” Shane tried not to let his voice run away because he knew Rozanov wouldn’t understand him if he spoke too quickly. “But it’s ok, because he has the same secret. He told me.”

“Hollander,” Rozanov sounded fucking furious.

“It wasn’t my fault! He came out just as I was leaving! Then I had a fucking panic attack about it and he dragged me into his room and then he told me he was gay. So, it’s like with you and the coach’s son. We all have the same secret. Also, I’m pretty sure Hunter is a good guy and wouldn’t tell anyway.”

Shane breathed. Rozanov was silent.

“You were in his hotel room?”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?” Shane almost laughed. “It was either that or have a panic attack in the hallway. It doesn’t even matter. He was nice. He gave me his number.”

“You go to next room after that, Hollander? Fuck the whole floor?”

“Fuck you! It wasn’t like that. He was nice and he told me his secret so I would stop panicking, which I probably shouldn’t have told you. You can’t tell him I told you!”

“Whatever.”

“Rozanov,” Shane heard the pleading in his voice and hated that Rozanov had made him sound like that. He feared this might be the last time they spoke. Maybe Rozanov had changed his mind about their plans. “It wasn’t my fault. All he did was ask me if you treated me good, and told me I could talk to him, as a friend.”

“What did you say? About how I treat you.”

“I told him,” Shane blushed, “that it was good.”

“Just good?”

“I wasn’t about to give him details!”

“Maybe you should have. It would probably be hottest thing Scott Hunter ever heard.”

“Fuck off,” Shane sighed. His heartrate was slowly. Rozanov didn’t sound so angry anymore.

“What else did you say about me?”

“Nothing. It wasn’t a long conversation.” Shane did not want to tell Rozanov about his sexual identity crisis.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Shane asked with relief.

“Same secret, right?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“See you next game then.”

“Yeah-“ Rozanov hung up before Shane could finish. At least their plans hadn’t been ruined. Shane would still get to… do that, with Rozanov. With the adrenaline from the phone call, Shane decided to go to his bedroom and practice a little.

Mexico City, 2013

Hayden slapped back a shot, silently thinking this was his last. He was loving his first real party vacation, but he also did not want to get black-out drunk. The other guys were lining up another row, but Hayden begged off, waving his hands at them. “I’m going to find Hollzy!” he shouted over the thumping music. Mexican clubs went hard.

He knew Shane had probably escaped outside for some air. The guy could never stomach more than twenty minutes in a place like this. But Hayden was sure Shane hadn’t left them. He was responsible like that, their captain.

Outside, Hayden sucked in a deep breath, the heat of the summer night was at least cooler than the throng of bodies inside. He glanced up and down the narrow street, scanning the people milling about, smoking, making out, and… other stuff.

Right at the corner of his eye, his brain more than his eye registered Shane Hollander disappearing round the corner with another man, looking behind him like he was afraid someone would follow.

What the fuck? Had Shane been drugged, blackmailed, threatened? Why was Shane slinking off suspiciously with some random guy?

Hayden was moving before he knew it, pushing through the crowd. His brain replayed the image, trying to make it clearer. The guy had been… tall, dark-haired… pretty?

Yes, Hayden’s brain confirmed, the guy had actually been extremely handsome.

He rounded the corner where they’d disappeared. The even narrower side street looked sketchy, or maybe Hayden was being prejudiced. But man, he was pretty sure Mexico City was not as safe as Montreal. What the hell was Shane thinking?

Hayden had to follow. He picked up the pace. At the next intersection he guessed right, and practically sprinted down it. He was halfway down the next side street when he passed a tiny alley. His body stopped short before he really understood why, turning and looking into the darkness.

Underneath a low awning that stretched almost the entire width of the alley, was Shane Hollander being pressed against the wall. At first, Hayden thought he was being threatened, but then he realised it was a very different situation.

Shane and the pretty guy were making out. Enthusiastically. Like, we’re about to fuck, levels of enthusiasm.

“We have to be quick,” Shane gasped.

“Sure, inside, quick.” The man was trying to open a door Shane was clearly leaning against. As Shane pushed off to let the man access the lock, his body twisting just enough for his eyes to catch Hayden’s.

“Shit!”

The pair sprang apart like a bomb had gone off between them.

“I’m sorry!” Hayden put up his hands. “I thought- Shit, I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry, dude, I was worried. I shouldn’t have followed. Just- pretend I wasn’t here.”

He spun and began walking back, heart hammering.

“Shit, fuck.” He heard Shane swearing and stopped dead in his tracks. His friend’s voice was agony. Hayden’s heart lurched. “This is bad. Bad. Fuck. Fuck!”

“He seemed… ok about it?” The other man’s voice had an accent.  

Hayden returned. Shane was crouched, leaning against the wall, bent forward, hands on his head. The man was crouched to, reaching out, but not touching, clearly unsure of what to do.

Shane was having a panic attack. Hayden knew what to do about those.

“Hey.” The man looked up. God, he really was handsome. Dark curly hair cut close at the sides so it cascaded playfully over his expressive eyes, a jawline that could cut glass. Hayden was straight, but he wasn’t stupid.

He crouched down next to the pair and placed a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Hey, Shane, it’s ok, you need to breathe. I’m sorry. It’s ok, it’s ok.”

“Hay-“ Shane gulped his name.

“I’m sorry I ran away, man, I thought I was doing you a favour. Just breathe, it’ll pass, we’re riding it out, right?”

Shane lifted his head enough to glance at him.

“I don’t care that you’re gay, bi, or whatever. It’s fine, Shane. You’re still my friend.” Shane seemed to be breathing a little easier. “Can you like, nod, so I know you’re hearing me?” Shane nodded once. “Good, then you just keep breathing and we’ll get through.”

Shane breathed a little slower, and Hayden felt his own heartrate return to normal.

“I would leave you guys to talk, but… my apartment is…” the hook-up pointed to the door Shane was currently leaning against. “Unless you both want to come inside to talk?”

“No.” Shane pushed himself up, taking a few steadying breaths.

“I should go,” Hayden said. “Let you two…” he gestured vaguely.

“No,” Shane said a little more forcefully. He glanced at the man. “Sorry, it’s just-“

“Hey, it’s ok, the moment is gone,” the man held up his hands in a sign of defeat.

“Sorry,” Hayden said.

“Can we go back to the hotel?”

“Yeah, man. I- if I remember which way we came.”

“Just make two lefts and you’ll find the nightclub,” the man said.

“Thanks.”

Shane pushed off the door. As they left the alley, the man called out. “Hey, you remember my name, and our promise. We’ll meet again when we’re both famous.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Hayden just nodded and they headed back. They didn’t speak until they reached the hotel, after Hayden texted the others that they were heading back. They always shared a hotel room on the road. It had seemed a natural thing to do on vacation too. Now Hayden wondered if it had prevented Shane from getting to hook-up.

“Listen,” Hayden began once they were back, because he knew Shane was not going to start a difficult conversation. The man dumped himself on the bed like he was awaiting a death sentence. “I do not care that you like guys, like at all. And I am sorry I messed up your night. If I had known that was your plan, I would obviously have… I don’t know, told you to use the hotel room like a normal person, not let yourself be led away to God knows where in Mexico City!” Hayden’s voice had risen during his speech. He hadn’t meant to get angry, but he had been so scared for his friend. “Fuck, Shane. There has to be better way of getting laid.”

“If you know of any, let me know.”

“Fuck.” Hayden sat down next to him. “Sorry, that was stupid of me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“No, man, fuck that. You don’t owe me an explanation. Just…” he sighed. He really wished he had read more on allyship when his cousin came out. “Please don’t disappear into a dark alley without informing me you’re hooking up with some future supermodel.”

“Supermodel?”

“Yeah, dude said he was going to be famous.”

Shane laughed, and Hayden knew things would be ok. “He’s going to be a famous football player.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He was keeping it secret too. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have dared.”

“Shit, man, now I’m really sorry I messed up your night.”

“It’s ok. I’m… kind of glad you know. It was hard keeping it from you.”

“Good. That you feel that way, I mean.”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“Dude, of course not.”

Shane nodded.

“Do your parents know?”

“No.”

“You don’t think they’d be cool?”

“They… of course they would. I just,” Shane shrugged. He picked at a stray thread on his shorts.

“You should tell them. Not about this obviously, but that you’re- uh, you know- whatever,” Hayden waved a hand to encompass every possible identity.

“I’m not sure I know what “whatever” I am.”

“Well, do you feel like going after girls the way you went after the football player?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, if you see a hot chick, does it make you… eager? Do you fantasise about women?”

Shane didn’t say anything. Hayden tried to read his profile. His eyes were giving a thousand-yard stare. Helping his friend through his gay panic was not on his plans for his vacation, but he would give it his best try.

“Ok, like, I think of someone really hot like… Scarlett Johansson. She’s a smoke show, right? Do you think of any woman like that?”

“I mean, I think she’s beautiful.”

“That’s not the same thing, Shane,” Hayden had to laugh. “I mean, do you wish there was a movie with her naked in it? Can you fantasise about touching her tits or-” When Shane made a face, Hayden laughed again. “Dude. I think that’s your answer.”

Shane went quiet again. It hit Hayden that with this realisation, Shane would only ever have “back-alley” hook-ups to look forward to. He wasn’t delusional to think his friend would ever jeopardize his career by being the first openly gay player.

“Hey,” he bumped his shoulder against Shane’s, “I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” Shane whispered.

Hayden put his arm around his shoulder and squeezed hard. Shane smiled a little. “Tired?” Shane nodded. “Me too. My adrenaline’s crashing, so I think we should go to sleep. And hey, when we get to the coast, maybe you can find an equally handsome volleyball player?” Shane chuckled at that, and Hayden knew they would get past this.

Hayden filed away the guy’s name, and wondered about his and Shane’s future.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

I know it is a little unrealistic that the Montreal boys have a change of heart due to a nice speech and a rational argument, but in my fantasy this is were the change in culture starts and its effects ripple out. This is were our canon divergance really sets in.

Montreal, 2013, mid-season

“My greatest hope for this team is to utilize our full potential. I want every player to be at 100%.” The team leaned forward collectively, nodding, hanging on the new coach’s words. Shane was feeling like the other shoe was about to drop. He glanced at Hayden sitting next to him on the bench, who shrugged. Whatever this speech was about, Hayden had no clue either. The new coach was beyond respected, legendary, and he apparently had the management’s full support.

“I believe part of that is being an inclusive sport.”

Shane felt the air leave the room. The new coach kept on as though nothing had changed.

“There are over 720 players in the NHL,” his voice became sharper, like a drill instructor. “Based on statistics alone, there is a high chance you have, or are currently playing with, someone who simply cannot play at 100%”

The team was absolutely silent. The coach’s Swedish accent became more pronounced.

“Think about that. There’s potentially between 20-40 players who have to live in fear and terror of their career ending, every day, every game. They do all this while being on cup-winning teams. They do it while being some of the world’s top athletes.”

Shane felt that fear so acutely in that moment; he stopped breathing.

“Think of what they could do for this sport,” the coach said, his voice filled with passion, “if they could play at 100% just like the rest of you.” He shook his head, almost laughing. “My god, it would be incredible.”

Shane did not look around the room to gauge anyone’s reaction. But he felt Hayden shift next to him. Don’t do anything, he prayed.

 “I am not asking you to police your words. You do not have to wear rainbows for pride. All I am asking of you is this: consider these facts when we are trying to win. What can you, as a team member, do to get us to 100%? How can you support each other?”

The coach let the words hang. Then he clapped, snapping everyone to attention.

“Now, I want you to go out there show me what you can do! Let’s go!”

The team was roused from their stupor and got their asses to the ice.

Shane felt a little like he was half outside his body.

After practice, which had not been their best, a lot of the guys were grumbling, talking about the crazy new coach. But a few of them were saying the opposite.

“Think about it, why wouldn’t we just let people play if they’re good?”

“You think some fag knows how to play hockey?”

“Didn’t you hear him? He knows people, some of the greats, who were gay!”

“So he says.”

“He’s been in this sport forty years, I think he knows a thing or two.”

“I’m all for it,” Hayden said, shrugging when some team members cast him surprised glanced. “I don’t get why we should care what a guy does after playing. If we’re winning cups, who gives a shit?”

“What do you say, captain?”

Shane glanced up, though he wasn’t sure who spoke. He swallowed, rising from the bench. Immediately, the team got quiet. Hayden nodded at him subtly.

“We should do what the coach says,” Shane heard himself say. He nodded. “Which means we don’t have to do anything.” Lots of the guys seemed to sigh in relief. “Except think about it. I came to Montreal to win cups.” A few “hell yeah”s were heard. “To win cups we have to be at our best. We need every player to do their best, which means we support each other.”

“So we just let fags into the locker room?”

“Are you a moron?” Shane was surprised at Drapeau’s quick response to Comeau. “They’re already here, that’s the whole point!”

“Well, we should fucking get rid of them then, then we would be at 100 fucking percent!”

“No one wants your ugly ass Comeau, you’re safe!” This produced a guffaw of laughter. Comeau went red.

 “Olson is one of the best there is,” Shane said. “That’s why we got him. We should try his methods, which is that we each consider the team first. That’s how we win.”

“Hell yeah,” Hayden said, slapping his shoulder. Lots of nods.

Afterwards, walking to the parking lot, Hayden looked behind him and then touched Shane’s shoulder to stop him.

“Hey man, that was good, what you said in there. I know it had to have been difficult.”

“I didn’t do anything, I’m a fucking coward, Hayd.”

“Don’t say that! You got some of the guys thinking, I could tell.”

“Whatever. It’s not going to matter.”

“You never know. We have to start somewhere, right?”

“Right,” Shane rolled his eyes. He did not dare hope.

When he got home, he paced his apartment, feeling like a caged animal. He took out his phone several times and opened the text thread with “Lily”, but he couldn’t figure out what to say. It seemed stupid to follow Rozanov’s latest dick joke with a serious talk about inclusivity. In a moment of insanity, he called Hunter. He almost hung up while the phone rang, but then it was too late.

“Hollander, glad to hear from you.” Hunter sounded sincere. 

“Can you talk?”

“Sure, I just got home. What’s up?”

“We have a new coach.”

“Yeah, I heard Theriault got ousted and it’s all hush hush.”

“It’s Alfred Olsen.”

“Oh, shit, you guys got the Drill? That’s- fuck, you’re not making it easy on the rest of us. He must have cost a fortune.”

“He…” How on earth could he explain this panic? I’m terrified the guys are now looking for the gay one?

“Did he do something?” Shane wasn’t exactly sure what Hunter’s tone implied. Obviously, Al had done something. That was why Shane was calling and talking about him.

“He gave this speech… about inclusivity in the sport.”

“Oh… wow… ok, and how did the team react?”

“I’m not sure.”

“How did you react?”

“I told the guys we should at least try and listen to him.”

“Shane, that,” Hunter paused and Shane waited for the other shoe to drop. “That was really brave.”

“It wasn’t though. It was such a fucking PR answer.” Shane felt tears threatening. He paced into his bedroom where it was darker.

“It was brave. Hey, listen to me.” Fuck, could Hunter tell he was crying? “I would never have had the balls to say anything,” Hunter said. “This is how culture changes, right? Someone has to start something. And you did. You stepped up.”

“No, I didn’t. I did nothing.”

“Shane, it is not on you to give your sexuality to your job. You don’t owe them that.”

“Right.”

“Olsen has forty years of credibility behind him. So, he can afford to stick his neck out in a way you can’t.”

“I don’t think he’s gay. He has a wife and kids.”

“That’s no guarantee, but yeah, that means he has even less to lose. So, let him try. No one’s asking you to come out.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Shane could breathe again. Just hearing Hunter explain the obvious was making his mind quiet down. It was just another inclusivity gesture. It would probably come to nothing.

“Next time we play Montreal, can we grab a beer together?” Hunter asked.

“Sure.”

“Good.”

“I should go.”

“I’m happy you called, Shane. See you in two weeks.”

Note: Shane and Ilya hook up at Shane’s Montreal apartment, in the same manner as in canon.

Olympics, winter 2014

“I mean, I’m assuming your friend is gay?” Shane froze, not daring to look at Hunter, who was sitting close enough that their shoulders were almost touching. Vaughan continued, but Shane barely heard the words. He risked a glance at Hunter, who gave him an almost imperceptible shake of the head. So, Vaughan didn’t know. Shane breathed a sigh of relief. 

After Shane’s awkward confrontation with Rozanov at the figure skating, he was jittery. When he sat back down in the stands, Hunter gave him a look, eyebrows raised. Shane wasn’t sure what he was asking, so he just shook his head in what he hoped was a “not here” gesture.

The next evening, when he was alone in his room, Shane received a text from Hunter. Can we meet up and talk? Shane still felt like everything was itchy, but last time he had spoken to Hunter, it had helped. Sure. Where? Hunter told him where his room was, so Shane all but ran from his room to get there. He hoped none of the other USA team members would be angry at Shane being in the US “ward” - and it did feel like a hospital ward and not a hotel. Luckily, he did not see anyone in the hallway.

Hunter opened the door quick, and Shane found himself in the exact same room as his own.

“Just sit on Carter’s bed,” Hunter said when it was clear Shane didn’t know quite where to stand. Hunter sat opposite, the beds so close their knees were practically touching. “How’ve you been?”

“Where’s Vaughan?”

“He’s watching the speed skating. He won’t be back for hours.”

“Oh. Ok.”

“Are you ok, Shane?” Hunter kept trying to catch his eye.

“I’m good. You?”

“I-… No, I’m terrible, actually,” Hunter laughed humourlessly, rubbing at his face and then hanging his head. “Sorry, forget that.”

“What happened? Did someone-“

“No one found out about me, no. Relax.” Hunter sighed. With his elbows on his knees, he was close enough to smell. He smelled rather nice. Shane noticed how handsome he was. Shane had always known this of course, ever since he had first watched Hunter skate. The man only had three years on Shane, but in the hockey world that experience made Shane always feel so small in his presence.

“Tell me,” Shane forced himself to say. When Hunter glanced up, Shane shrugged. “You picked up when I called. That’s the point of us knowing about each other, right?”

“Anyone ever tell you, your voice sounds different in person than on TV?”

“What?” Shane got whiplash from the change in conversation.

“Sorry,” Hunter laughed. “It’s just, you get this cadence when you’re being interviewed. You sound like this perfect fucking hockey star. It’s annoying, actually.”

“People have told me that.” Rozanov, he did not say. Hunter laughed.

“See, you’re totally dead-pan in real life.”

“Thanks, I think?”

“It’s a compliment I promise.” Hunter’s sincerity made Shane blush to his toes. Why could he not stop the hero worship? They were both at the Olympics for fuck’s sake. “How’re things with Rozanov. You two still…” Hunter gestured with his head at something.

“I don’t know,” Shane said with a sigh. “I thought we were good, but he hasn’t answered my texts in months.”

“He’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“No, Shane. You don’t deserve that. If neither of you hurt the other, then you do not deserve to be ghosted.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe about it!”

“Can we talk about something else, please? I don’t want to think about Rozanov right now.” Shane felt bad about how harsh that had come out, but Hunter didn’t seem annoyed. He just sighed and nodded.

“We’re a real pair.”

“What?”

“Rozanov ghosted you and my lovelife is nonexistent.” There was a lot not being said there, but Shane wasn't going to push.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault, so don’t waste your sympathy.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

“You’re too nice. That’s the Canadian in you. Probably why we’ll take the gold.”

“In your dreams, Hunter.”

They both smiled at the attempt at levity. 

Shane left the olympics with a strange sense of resignation.

Chapter 3

Chapter Summary

Shane and Scott find comfort in each other. Shane decides he needs more people in his corner.

Montreal vs. New York, April 2014

When the text came after the game, Want to come by and have a beer? Shane said yes immediately. Rozanov still had not answered his texts, and despite Montreal winning Shane had a feeling Boston was going to take the cup, so he definitely needed a gay-friend talk. Shane didn’t know quite when he had stopped freaking out about the term.

“Wow, this place is great.” Shane took in the view. “When did you buy this?”

“Um, like 2010?”

“Good investment.”

“Right.” Shane turned, understanding something was being said with Hunter’s tone. The man stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at Shane with a strange expression, one Shane associated with being made fun of.

“Sorry,” Shane said.

“No, I’m just surprised,” Hunter shrugged. “You don’t strike me as a big real estate guy.”

“I’m not a “big real estate guy”” Shane said, embarrassed.

“Just a fan?”

“Fuck off.”

“Drink?”

“Uh, sure.” He did not want to tell Hunter - or maybe he should start saying Scott - about his diet, so he let the man serve him a beer. They found themselves next to each other on the couch. Scott was wearing just sweats and a t-shirt, same as Shane. They put on the recap and post-game commentary. It was nice, just hanging out.

“You guys are doing good this season,” Scott remarked.

“We’re getting there,” Shane agreed.

“Olson’s methods working?”

“Maybe. He’s a good guy.”

“And the… inclusivity stuff?” Scott gestured vaguely with his beer bottle.

“It’s…” Shane tried to think of how to capture Olson’s influence. “I’d say the rate of gay jokes has gone down, definitely. Taylor even mentioned a gay brother, which never would have happened before.” Shane shrugged. “A couple guys use the tape at pride nights. That’s about it.”

“So you haven’t considered…?”

“No, definitely not,” Shane said.

“No, I get it. I’m nowhere near that either.”

They watched the commentary. A replay of Shane’s game-winning goal played in slow-motion. Shane grinned at Scott.

“Sorry about beating you guys so bad.”

“I’d hardly call 3-2 so bad, but it was a good game. You were magnificent.”

Shane blushed to the roots of his hair, hating that the half-beer he had drunk was making it all the more worse. Scott looked at him with a knowing smile.

“Just take the compliment, Shane. You've earned it.” Shane just nodded a small “thanks” and took a sip. They lapsed into silence, but Shane could feel Scott’s gaze on the side of his face, scrutinizing him. He tried to ignore it, but his blush would not go away. He even felt some heat in his cock, which created a rather volcanic feedback loop.

Scott suddenly scooted closer on the couch and leaned in like he was whispering a great secret. “You’re the best hockey player in the world, Hollander, take the fucking compliment.” Shane didn’t know he could get any hotter. He might have made a noise. The voice went straight to his cock. This wasn’t fair. He got hockey fans saying a version of that all the time. Why the hell did he care now? Maybe because Rozanov was exactly the opposite; always teasing Shane that he was only second best, which drove him insane in a different way. This was Scott Hunter, who Shane had studied at fifteen alone in his bedroom when the man had been drafted. He had been beardless then, eighteen and considered a great promise, and so hot. Shane hadn’t realised his own desire then of course.

He looked at Scott, eyes zeroing in on the man’s lips. Shane couldn’t quite catch his breath.

“Fuck, Shane,” Scott whispered, voice hoarse. “I’m in danger here.”

“What?” Shane forced his gaze up to Scott’s eyes. The man was slouched towards Shane on the couch, gazing up at him with fascination. Their faces were close enough that Shane could pick up that Scott was quite flushed as well.

“I can’t even be mad when you score,” Scott continued. “When you’re in the zone, no one can touch you.”

“You’re… you’ve still got a cup in you,” Shane managed.

“I fucking hope so,” Scott laughed. “But I’m not even talking about points or cups or shot accuracy records. When you play, you’ve got this… focus. Makes a man want to do things to you.”

“Things?” Shane swallowed. He looked at Scott’s lips again, his body leaning closer unconsciously.

“Bad things,” Scott said, though his voice seemed far away. “Things we should not do, under any circumstances. Things Shane Hollander would never do.”

“I do bad things all the time.”

“With Rozanov?”

“Not just him,” Shane protested. He fucking hated the idea of Scott thinking he had no other experience with guys. 

“Really? Who?”

“None of your business.” Scott grinned. God, his teeth were perfect. Most hockey players at his calibre had veneers after having their teeth fixed of course, but Scott made it look natural. “You gonna stare at me all night, Hollander, or you gonna kiss me?” Shane couldn’t tear his eyes away from the perfect mouth. His entire body fell forward before he even thought about it, his lips meeting Scott’s.

Immediately, Scott’s hand was at the back of his head, and Shane was being manoeuvred into Scott’s lap. After an intense kiss, they parted slowly.

“This is… a one time, we’re both kind of desperate, night, right?” Scott asked. “Because if you want more…”

“No,” Shane said. “Just tonight, definitely.”

“You sure?”

“I really want you to fuck me.” He felt the need deep in his core.

“Fuck, I can do that.”

Shane took no small amount of pride at how needy Scott sounded. He kissed him again, grinding down, intoxicated by the desperate sounds they produced.

“I’m such a big fan, Mr. Hunter.”

“Holy shit. That should not turn me on so much.” Scott gave a breathless laugh. He grabbed hold of Shane’s thighs. “Hold on.” Shane only got a second’s warning before Scott was heaving them off the couch, Shane in his arms.

“You’re insane!”

“Not too old yet, rook?” Scott laughed as he walked them to the bedroom.

“I guess since you’re out of the playoffs, spraining your back doesn’t matter.” Scott replied to this chirp by dumping Shane on the bed.

“If you want me to fuck you, Mr. Hollander, you better behave.”

Scott pulled off his t-shirt and Shane lost the ability to chirp. He pulled off his own instead. Scott leaned forward and pulled at Shane’s sweats and boxers. Once Shane was naked, Scott removed his own, then crawled up Shane’s body, settling right between Shane’s legs, both seeking each other’s mouths.

It was different than with Rozanov. Scott was good, very good, but Shane still found his mind drifting, comparing.

Scott took his time, made sure Shane okay. They fucked slow and hard, neither giving completely in. They found pleasure and companionship, but not passion. In some ways, it was almost easier than with Rozanov.  

“You close?” Scott whispered against Shane’s lips as he moved slow and steady.

“Real close,” Shane moaned. “Just… touch me when you’re about to come.”

A moment later and Scott began stroking him and Shane came undone. He was pretty sure Scott was doing the same. 

After, they lay side-by-side just breathing. Shane was afraid it would turn awkward.

“You doing ok over there?” Scott asked.

“Yeah. That was good.”

“I’m glad.”

“We’re still like… friends, right?”

“Of course, Shane.”

“Good,” Shane sighed. Scott shifted and slipped a hand under Shane’s head, moving until Shane had his head on his chest. They lapsed into a peaceful silence. When Scott broke it, he sounded half-questioning, half accusatory.

“You’ve got it bad for Rozanov.”

“You judging?”

“No, I wish I had someone to be obsessed with as you seem with Rozanov," Scott said in full seriousness.

“Shit.”

“Next time you see him, tell him I said hi.”

“Sure,” Shane laughed. God, Rozanov would freak out if he knew. Shane felt more laughter bubbling. “Maybe he’ll want to fuck me again if he wins the cup.”

“That’s… Shane…”

“I know. He’s dealing with his own shit. We all are.”

“Sure, I get that, but if I can offer you one piece of advice?”

Shane huffed a “fine.”

“Don’t have sex with someone who doesn’t care. I mean,” he gestured to the pair of them, “cares about your wellbeing, which I do. And that means communicating, even when it’s hard. I don’t care how good the sex is, trust me, you’ll feel like shit after.”

“Yeah.” Shane had felt that way for months. He thought back on the last time with Rozanov. He had seemed to care. Had Shane read him wrong?

They fell silent for a while. “Have you told your parents?” Scott asked.

“No, of course not.”

“Not about Rozanov. But being…”

Shane felt his throat close up. It was idiotic. He had just been fucked after practically begging for it. Hayden was right, Shane knew the answer.

“Being gay?”

“Yeah, I mean if that’s…” Scott let it hang.

“Yeah. It is. I am, I mean. It’s pretty fucking obvious at this point.” Shane lifted his head and let it slump back on Scott’s chest as a sort of “duh” gesture.

“So, maybe you should tell them?”

“I… I don’t know how.”

“I can’t give advice about that, obviously.” Shane turned his head and looked up at him. He was staring at the ceiling. He really was beautiful. Shane knew of course about why Scott didn’t have any parents to tell. The entire world of hockey knew the story.

“I’m sorry,” Shane whispered. Scott looked at him and smiled. He ran his fingers through Shane’s hair.  

“Just don’t take it for granted. Having people in your corner.”

“Yeah.”

They finished the evening by watching an episode of NCIS. Shane left feeling more settled in himself, his situation with Rozanov notwithstanding.

Montreal got kicked out of the playoffs soon after, and Boston’s victory was all but assured. Shane wanted to text a congratulations, but his last text sat unanswered. Every day without a text from Rozanov, Scott’s advice kept ringing in his ears.

“You ok there, buddy?” Hayden asked as he served Shane more salad. Shane forced himself out of his thoughts to see both Hayden and Jackie looking worried. “Still mad about the cup? We’ll get it next year, dude, guaranteed. We’ve never been stronger.”

“Oh, sure.”

“You’re not thinking about the cup, are you?” Jackie asked. Shane shook his head with a tired smile.

“Sorry, I…”

Hayden opened his mouth, but Jackie placed her hand over his, stilling him. Shane envied that – the silent communication, just by touch or look. The pair waited patiently for Shane to find his words. He shifted in his seat, trying to figure out what he actually wanted. People in his corner.

“I think I need to come out to my parents.”

Hayden and Jackie exchanged a look. “That’s great honey,” Jackie said. “I think they’ll be really supportive.” Shane nodded.

“Hayd, could you…” Shit, Shane had not anticipated being this embarrassed. He was a grown man, for fuck’s sake.

“Do you… want me to come with you?” Hayden asked.

“If it’s not…” fucking stupid.

“Of course, dude. I’m honoured.” Shane huffed a laugh at that, but thanked him anyway. Jackie gave him a real good hug at the end of the night. They arranged a dinner at his parents’ house that weekend, just so Shane’s panic wouldn’t have time to fester. If David and Yuna thought it was odd that Shane wanted Hayden to come to dinner, without Jackie or the kids, they didn’t say anything.

Shane had planned it out in his head. He had insisted on ordering food in instead of a restaurant. He would wait for most of the dinner to be finished, so they could end the night early if it went to shit. It wouldn’t of course, Shane knew his parents, but he also couldn’t help himself for imagining absolutely horrible ways they could react, to the point of ridiculousness.

“So,” Yuna said as though she could feel Shane’s mood shift towards the end of the meal. Shane had drunk two glasses of wine. They were out of the playoffs, but that was still unusual for one dinner. Shane took another sip. “You must like getting a break from the kids for one night, Hayden? Especially now you’ll have another soon.”

“Nah, I get enough breaks on the road.”

“Oh, of course, I’m sorry. Well, it’s nice of you to come tonight then.” Shane could tell Yuna was implying something with her tone. She was trying to ask what the hell this was about.

“Sure, I never say no to a free meal, so I’m an easy ask.” David agreed with that and the pair clinked glasses jokingly, but Shane barely heard it over the roar in his ears. People in your corner. His parents had always been in his corner. They always would be.

“I have something to tell you guys.” The table fell silent. “That’s why I asked Hayden to come. Just so… I wouldn’t chicken out maybe, I don’t know.”

“Moral support,” Hayden offered, clapping Shane gently on the shoulder. Shane shot him a quick smile.

“Yeah,” he swallowed. The silence stretched. “What I wanted to tell you guys is that… I’m… gay.” Saying the last word felt like falling over a cliff, the swoop in his stomach almost making him sick.

“Oh, honey,” Yuna reached out and placed her hand over Shane’s. “Thank you for telling us.” Shane nodded, but he couldn’t look up yet. He really tried.

“We love you,” David added. “Nothing will ever change that.”

“Come here.” Yuna rose and came around the table. Soon Shane was in the middle of a group hug. “And thank you, Hayden, for helping him.” Then Hayden was getting hugged and Shane finally understood the importance of telling people. He felt like he might faint or float away, but in a good way.

The Ilya Rozanov of it all, the unanswered text thread, was still burning a hole in his pocket, but at least the rest of his life felt a bit more solid.

Yuna immediately started talking brand deals, of course, but Shane made it very clear he was not becoming the first openly gay player. They argued a bit over having to live in secret. Yuna pointed out how much their coach was working towards inclusivity, and how pride nights were becoming more accepted.

“I only just managed to come out to you guys. Can I please just exist like this before I share it with the world?”

“Of course, honey, I’m sorry.”

“And I feel like I’ve done so many brand deals. I really hate doing commercials anyway.”

“Well, maybe we could just be a bit more discerning?”

“Discerning how?”

“We make absolutely sure that any sponsorships you do take are from companies we know won’t pull any morality clause bullshit if anything does leak. We accept companies we know are actually inclusive. But none that are obvious. I don’t mean you’ll sell pride merch. We just make it so that if something does leak, we know no brands are going to back out.”

Shane agreed to that. It wasn’t much at all, but it was a tiny step forward.

“Do you feel like you could come out to the team?” David asked.

Shane just shook his head.

“I think Olson has changed things a bit,” Hayden ventured carefully. “We need to get rid of Comeau, the guy is poison for team cohesion, but I think things are less… awful. Like, Taylor was at his brother’s wedding over Christmas, and he showed the guys pictures because it was so crazy decorated. But none of them said anything homophobic, I don’t think? I mean, his brother married a guy,” Hayden added as explanation.  

“Well, that’s encouraging,” Yuna said. “And the fact that the team has accepted Olson despite his methods means something, right?”

“I guess,” Shane said. “But we haven’t really done… anything. Like, he hasn’t really pushed things all that much. He just talks about team building and trust.”

“Well, the man’s record speaks for itself. Hopefully, things will only improve.”

Shane wasn’t so sure, but at least now he didn’t have to hope alone.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Now the story begins to allow our boys to be honest with each other earlier. The beginning of their meeting at the awards in Vegas go the same, the bathroom scene and the beginnings of their encounter. Then, with Shane's newfound confidence in who he is and what he wants, he decides differently. Hope you enjoy!

NHL awards, Las Vegas, summer 2014

“I need…,” Shane said, feeling wild and desperate as he touched himself.

“What do you need?”

“I need you.” The reaction was immediate. As Rozanov stripped off his shirt Shane crawled desperately across the bed, burying his face in the man’s crotch.

When Rozanov was finally naked and on the bed, Shane was about to reach for the man’s face, but he was nudged and pushed around to his stomach. He went at first, desperate and too horny to think, but as Rozanov began preparing him, a thought nagged at him.

“Wait,” Shane said. Rozanov froze and Shane flipped onto his back. Rozanov hovered over him ande his face… Shane couldn’t get a read on it.

“Kiss me.”

Rozanov’s neck muscles spasmed and his eyes flickered away for a second before he leant down. It was enough.

Shane pushed him off and scooted to the end of the bed.

“What Hollander?”

“You’re unbelievable.” Shane rose, going to where Rozanov had thrown his boxers.

“Come on, Hollander. I will kiss you all over.” His voice sounded flat. Shane pulled on his underwear. When he turned around Rozanov was blocking his way. “Do not leave.” Shane tried to catch his breath, but his chest felt tight, and he couldn’t look at Rozanov or he might give in.

“Move.”

Rozanov reached for his chin, “Hollander.”

Shane used his arm to block him, a little more violently than intended. He forced himself to look up. Rozanov was wide-eyed, maybe even a little scared.

“I told you I needed you, but I don’t need you like this,” Shane spat.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some random fucking guy to you.”

“We hook-up, Hollander. We fuck. It’s simple.” Rozanov shrugged.

“Right.” Shane nodded to himself, feeling vindictive. “Just like when I hooked up with Scott Hunter.”  

He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected Rozanov to do. The man was a notorious womanizer and Shane assumed he hooked up with guys as well. A laugh, maybe? A chirp about fucking the dinosaur?

Instead, the man froze completely. He turned away from Shane slightly and sat back down on the bed hard, staring straight ahead. Shane wished he could take it back. He considered just running out of the room. He opened his mouth to say something, though he had no idea what, when Rozanov finally spoke.  

“He fuck you good, Hollander? Guess you don’t need me after all.”

“Fuck you,” Shane bit out, tears springing to his eyes, fists clenching. Rozanov looked up at him. “We fucked. It was good. He was good to me. Except for the fact that he wasn’t-“ Shane couldn’t finish. He had put himself out there, said something that he couldn’t take back, and Rozanov had decided to just use him. And now he had the audacity to be jealous?

“Don’t do this.” Rozanov sounded resigned.

“I’m not doing anything. I’m not asking for anything out there,” he gestured to the Vegas skyline out the window. “I just don’t want you to treat me like we’re nothing when I’m with you. Someone you can ignore and then fuck when you want.”

Shane wasn’t sure what he was doing or asking, not really. The whole situation just felt so fucked up. “We could just stop this.” He spoke as the thought came to him. What would his life be if he just found a normal guy? Or maybe he could find someone like the football player in Mexico, who understood, but wasn’t his rival? “You could find some woman. I’d find a guy. We wouldn’t have to keep doing this. I wouldn’t have to wait for months for you to text me back. That life would be simpler. This isn’t simple, and I’m tired of pretending otherwise because that makes this harder.”

He glanced at Rozanov. The man’s head was hanging and his body looked smaller compared to the commanding presence from just a moment ago. When no answer was forthcoming, Shane felt he had lost the argument, so he moved to leave.

“Do not leave, Hollander.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need you too.”

The words washed over his whole body. He took a deep breath, trying to manhandle his brain into thinking clearly. So, at least he wasn’t alone in whatever this thing between them was. But he couldn’t let himself trust it completely.

“Good. Then we’re on the same page,” he managed. Rozanov reached out timidly, but Shane stepped back. “But I think, right now, I need to leave. Just so I can think. I’ll text you next season. You can decide then if you’ll text me back.”

Shane left him there. Rozanov wisely did not follow. Shane practically collapsed against the wall of the elevator, cursing his life.

Back in his own hotel room, he considered calling Scott, but that felt wrong, like a betrayal. He ended up calling Hayden.

“Hey man, you calling to bitch about Rozanov?”

Shane almost choked on his own spit. “What?”

“Because he got MVP? Are you ok? What happened?” 

“Nothing-“

“It’s definitely not nothing if you’re calling me this late from Vegas sounding like that. I thought you’d just be sad and drunk for a change.”

“Shit, what time is it in Montreal?”

“It’s fine, dude, talk to me. Where are you?”

“My hotel room.”

“Ok, good. I don’t have to send out a search party. So?” Shane tried to find words to explain in a way that didn’t mention Rozanov directly. “Shit, did a hook-up go bad?”

“Sort of.”

“Are you safe?”

“Yes.” Shane felt tears return. Shit, Hayden’s dad-voice was so effective. “He was just… we’ve been hooking up for a while and I just… I just wanted him to admit that we were… something.”

“How long have you been hooking up?”

“Uhm… since… before rookie year.”

“What!? How… Shit, this is Lily, right?” Shane winced at how quickly Hayden guessed. No point in denying it.

“Yeah.”

“Ok,” Hayden sounded excited. “We’re finally talking about Lily, I’m glad you called.”

“It’s late, Hayd, I’m sorry I woke you up just because I’m-“ Me. “I can call you tomorrow. We can talk about it then.”

“No, nonono, tell me now. You’ve been hiding Lily so long, dude. I need to know. He was being a dick?”

“Yeah, but… he’s scared.”

“Of commitment?” Shane almost laughed at the idea.

“Of people knowing. I just wanted us to at least be honest with each other. When we’re alone.” Saying out loud, Shane thought it sounded stupid and pathetic.

“That’s totally reasonable. The world sucks, but you don’t need to like, let it in with you all the time, you know?”

“Yeah…” Shane felt a little part of him lift at the words. That was it exactly.

“Did you end it?”

“No. He… he kind of admitted it, that we were… something, but I walked out and told him I would text him next season.”

“Good for you. Make him work for dat ass.”

“Jesus, Hayd, please don’t say that again.”

“Wait, shit, holy shit.” Shane felt his heartrate spike at Hayden’s sudden pitch change. “It’s a player, isn’t it? You said text next season. You’re at the awards. Shit… oh, god.”

“He’s not. He’s just-“ But there was no reason Shane’s rookie-year hook-up would be at the awards if he wasn’t a player. And the number of players here that it was likely Shane could go for...

“I’m feeling insane for saying this, but… is it Ilya Rozanov?” Shane knew his silence would give it away, but he was absolutely frozen. “Holy shit! Well, fuck my gay-Columbo brain.” A hysteric laugh bubbled out, maybe from both of them. “Wait! He wins fucking MVP and then treats you like that? Shane, you deserve so much better. I knew he was an asshole, but damn dude, you can’t let him treat you like that!”

Shane lay back on his bed, pressing fingers into crying eyes, feeling everything all at once.

“He’s not the asshole when we’re alone,” he managed.

“Shane,” Hayden’s voice was so full of warmth. “I love you, but-“

“He told me he needed me. He admitted it. I left him to think about it.”

“Ok,” Hayden sighed. “That’s good. Let him stew.”

“I’m not trying to play mind-games. I just needed space.”

“I know. I don’t think you’re even capable of mind games.” Shane did not have the energy to be offended over that. He laughed, snot filled. “If you see him again-“

“When.”

“Wow, ok, when you see him, tell him if he hurts you, I will find a way to hurt him. It’ll be difficult, obviously. Guy’s built like Russian shit-house.”

“Hayd,” Shane sighed. “You can’t let on that you know. He’ll freak.”

“Fine,” Hayden grumbled, then he sighed. “Boston Lily is Ilya Rozanov, wow. I’m like oddly impressed?”

“Impressed?”

“He’s such an asshole, a notorious slut, but you’ve got him coming back for more, for years, even after he wins the cup and MVP? I mean, at least the man has good taste.”

“Jesus, Hayd.” Shane let out a tired laugh.

“You feeling calmer?” Hayden sounded smug. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

“Yeah,” Shane still felt teary, but he was much better.

“Glad I could help, and I’m sorry I guessed your secret. Curse my amazing deductive skills.”

“That’s ok. It’s… a relief not to have to lie to you.”

“Dude, don’t think about that.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Shane admitted in a rush. Hayden is in my corner, he thought, feeling the urge to cry again.

“Be a mess, obviously.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No problem, buddy. I’m here whenever you need a reality check.”

“I should let you go back to sleep. Sorry for waking you.”

“Call any time, Shane. When family calls, you pick up.” Shane ruthlessly stamped down his tears. If he started up again Hayden might never get off the phone. “Text me when you land tomorrow, ok?”

“Ok. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Shane fell into an exhausted sleep.

Rozanov’s penthouse, Boston-Montreal game, fall 2014

Shane hadn’t been this nervous since waiting in his hotel room that first time. He had texted Ilya before the game, Can I see you after? and the man had replied with an address. Their first communication since Vegas. Ever since their disastrous encounter, Shane had begun thinking of him as Ilya instead of Rozanov. It felt right, a part of not lying to himself.

Shane replayed his rehearsed conversation in his head, trying to calm himself. Then Ilya opened the door shirtless. Not fair, Shane thought. Ilya looked calm and innocent, as though he didn’t notice how Shane’s gaze raked over his entire chest.

“Beautiful sky,” Shane managed as he entered the apartment, moving towards the giant windows. It was a beautiful sunset over Boston. The red light poured in, with the building’s columns creating sharp shadows. Ilya made a noise of agreement behind him. Very close behind him.

Shane turned towards him. Ilya moved closer.

“We should talk.”

“After.”

Shane tried to protest, but Ilya swallowed his words with a bruising kiss. Shane pushed him away with a hand his chest, trying to ignore how much he wanted to slide his hand downwards.

“We should really talk first.”

“But I need you now.” Shane was utterly helpless at those words, practically falling forward into a kiss. Soon he was shirtless himself and being pushed down onto the couch. Ilya was on top of him, kissing everywhere. He suddenly scooted back enough to pull at Shane’s pants. “Wait,” Shane protested, “shouldn’t we go to the bedroom?”

“I want you here, in the light. Makes your freckles stand out.” Ilya leaned forward and stole a soft kiss, leaving Shane even more speechless. He lifted his hips so Ilya could strip him and blushed at his position. Ilya looked down at him, hands on his bent knees, slowly spreading them open. Without taking his eyes off Shane’s, he leaned down and began kissing from his right knee down, finding his prize at the end.

Something about it reminded Shane of their first time. He made the most pathetic noises as Ilya brought him off, almost as quickly as that first time.

The only difference was the moaned name that escaped Shane at the last moment.

“Ilya.”

Maybe he said it as a challenge, maybe he just had to let it out. Shane didn’t notice if Ilya paused or hesitated or even if he really heard it, but the air felt cold after.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, eyes fixed on the ceiling, feeling Ilya slowly kissing his way up his stomach, over his chest, settling between Shane’s legs. He still had his sweats on, but Shane could feel he was hard. That was good, right? Then he finally looked into Shane’s eyes. He looked… calm? He leaned in and kissed him quite softly.

“Shane,” he whispered and then kissed him again. Shane grabbed his head and kissed him harder, ignoring the desperate sounds that came from him. He would be embarrassed later.

Much later, in bed, Shane lay with his head on Ilya’s chest with Ilya’s fingers running through his hair. The warmth inside him was so different from his encounter with Scott.

“I’m sorry I left you in Vegas.”

“It’s ok. I was… not in good place. I am sorry I did not treat you good.” Like Scott Hunter, he did not say, but Shane felt it. He, however, did not want to bring that into bed with them.

“Why weren’t you in a good place? You’d just won MVP after winning the cup,” Shane pointed out. He tried to work it out in his head.

“Not everything is about hockey.” Ilya’s voice sounded tired.

This comment unlocked a memory. Another memory of Vegas. Not everything is about you, Hollander, shouted. The same city, awards show. Ilya had lost then, but he had won now. Yet, he had still seemed sad. Shane sat up and looked down at Ilya.

“Is it… because you have to go back to Russia in the summer?” Ilya was silent for a long time before he finally nodded. “Your family?”

“My father is very old fashioned.”

“They don’t know about you, that you’re…?”

“Bisexual,” Ilya said shaking his head, which Shane had already guessed. “My brother calls me,” Ilya gestured vaguely, “same word for fag here. He thinks he knows. My father does not know, but he… he is sick now.”

“Sick like cancer?”

“No, like… dementia.”

“I’m sorry.”

When Ilya began crying, Shane held him. Who did Ilya have in his corner? Shane had collected a few people, but Ilya had never really mentioned anyone on his team he was close to. Shane saw Marlow in Ilya’s Instagram stories a lot, and vice-versa, and the team seemed to love posting about their captain. It didn’t seem like the right moment to bring it up, however, so Shane just held on.

They fell asleep together. Shane woke up to light streaming through the sheer curtains, alone. He checked his phone and sighed with relief. Still an hour until he had to be out the door on the way to the airport. He found Ilya in the kitchen making breakfast. Shirtless, of course.

“Morning.” Shane tried not to get lost in his own head and let things get awkward.

“Good morning. I am making oatmeal.”

“Oatmeal?”

“Yes, healthy bird breakfast. You want?”

Shane couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Ilya reached into his fridge and placed a ginger ale in front of him. “Oh, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Shane kept stealing glances at Ilya while they ate. “You want more talking or more fucking before you go?” Ilya asked suddenly, catching him out. Shane blushed.

“We don’t have time for fucking.”

“I think you know how fast I can make you-“

“Shut up, asshole,” Shane laughed. Ilya just grinned. Shane swallowed and forced himself to speak. “There are some more things I have to tell you.”

“Then tell.”

“The first thing is that Hayden sort of guessed… that it’s you I’m seeing.” Ilya had a spoon halfway to his mouth. He carefully set it down again. “But he won’t say anything. He’s my friend.” Ilya seemed to be contemplating the oatmeal’s many faults. Shane really wished he had insisted on talking before. Maybe Ilya regretted the whole night. “He knows I’m here right now. He’s cool.” Shane tried to infuse his voice with a sense of casualness to try and convey that they were in no danger from Hayden. The attempt only made Ilya snort loudly.

“Hayden Pike is cool,” Ilya mocked. “Cool about his friend getting fucked by his rival?”

“I didn’t give him details, obviously. He told me to be safe and call him if I needed help.”

“So he thinks I’ll hurt you?”

“No! He’s just worried. He helped me, after Vegas, just to calm me down when I was all over the place. Which I’m sorry about.”

“You already apologised for Vegas.” Ilya frowned.

“For leaving you, yeah, but I’m also sorry if I pushed for too much too fast. Which is the second thing I want you to know,” Shane spoke over Ilya’s attempted interruption. “That I know we can’t be anything more than what we are here, now, when we’re alone. But I’m not asking for, like, exclusivity or anything.”

“Exclusivity?”

“Like… I’m not expecting you to only fuck me.”  

“You want to fuck Scott Hunter again?”

“What? No, of course not!”

“Pike then? Working your way through the NHL?”

“Fuck off! I don’t want to fuck anyone else.”

The confession hung between them. Shane closed his eyes and hung his head.

“Good. We are on same page.”

Shane’s head shot up again so fast he got dizzy. Ilya was calmly finishing his oatmeal.

“You…” Shane didn’t know how to phrase his question. “Don’t you… wouldn’t it be… long between- I mean, we don’t get to see each other often.”

“We can have phone sex,” Ilya shrugged. “You think you can wait, but not me? I am so sex crazy I must fuck all of Boston?”

“No, of course not. I just… I don’t… I’ve already gotten what I need. I don’t want to ask for more.” It feels like a miracle that I haven’t pushed you away.

“Then I will ask.” 

Ilya got up and took their finished bowls to the sink. Shane rose, knowing he had to get to the airport. Luckily, he could text Hayden to bring his bag from the hotel, since he knew exactly where Shane was, which still felt surreal, but in a good way, and Ilya didn’t seem too angry about it.

Ilya came back round from the kitchen counter and approached Shane, sliding a hand along his jaw and making sure their eyes met. His intense gaze made Shane shiver.

“Do not fuck anyone else, please.”

“Ok.”

“Good.” Ilya kissed him hard. Shane desperately wanted more, but Ilya pushed him away, holding him at arm’s length. “You will tell Hayden Pike I fucked you safely?”

“Fuck off.” They grinned at each other while leaning in for another kiss.

“Will you call me?” For phone sex, he didn’t say. Ilya’s grin told him he was not subtle.

“Yes, I will call.”

At the door they kissed one more time. “Goodbye, Shane.”

“Goodbye, Ilya.”

Chapter 5

Players and WAGs cookout, late fall 2014

Shane felt good. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this relaxed at a party. Maybe it was the fact that only around a few members of the team and their WAGs were at Hayden’s (and Comeau was not among them because Olson had gotten rid of him), so it didn’t feel too overwhelming. Maybe it was the teasing texts Ilya kept sending him, or the knowing smile Hayden sometimes sent him, or Jackie’s warm hand on his arm as she handed him a ginger ale.

Maybe it was the fact that they were going to win the cup this season. Shane could see it, feel it in his bones, this was their year. It would be his, with this team, with a coach that treated them kindly instead of like automatons.

About six of them were sitting around the fire pit, all of them in foldable deck chairs, beers in hand. It was an unseasonably warm night this late in the year, but still chilly. With warm sweaters and the firepit, it was just the right temperature for a nice cook-out.

Shane lounged next to Pike, relaxed in his favourite hoody, just watching the fire and texting Ilya. He liked that he could feel included in the circle while not contributing a lot. A few of the guys had their respective WAGs tucked in beside them, threatening the stability of the some of the chairs but not caring.

Lily: send me picture of you eating hot dog. I want proof.

Shane grinned.

Jane: I ate one already. I’m not eating another one.

Lily: I have something longer you can eat.

Jane: That’s your worst one yet.

Lily: Yet still you’ll suck it.

Jane: Yeah.

“What if there’s a guy WAG?”

Shane tried not to let his head shoot up at Taylor’s question, but it was a near thing.

“What are you talking about?” JJ asked. He sounded confused, not horrified.

“Like, you can’t call him a WAG, right? My brother was asking what a WAG was and I had to explain and he was like, what if there’s ever a guy…?”

“He didn’t know what a WAG was?” Patrice asked, sounding more surprised than Shane thought was reasonable considering the rest of Taylor’s statement.

“He doesn’t follow hockey, dude. He’s gay. Shit!” Taylor smacked his mouth while JJ next to him laughed. “No, I mean like, he watches musicals and goes to the opera, gay, no- I mean, he just doesn’t care about hockey!”

“Careful, the Drill is right behind you!” The guys laughed as Taylor comically winced and ducked as though their coach was about to smack his head from behind him.

“Sorry, sorry!” he cried. He chuckled. “Fuck, Mike would kill me for that one.”

“As he fucking should,” Patrice said with good humour.

“Jackie,” Taylor said as the woman in question came over with a beer in hand, sliding herself in next to Pike, who grinned and kissed her cheek. “What would you call a guy WAG?”

“Would you let a guy into the WAG group?” JJ added.

“Of course,” Jackie said like it was the easiest thing in the world.  

Shane told himself to move, to act natural, but he was frozen, staring into the fire. He should move, right? Sitting still like this would only eventually draw attention to himself. But if he moved, they might notice he was being weird and awkward. Should he maybe just take a sip of his drink?

“But he wouldn’t be a WAG,” Taylor pointed out. “He’d be...?”

“Well, we could change it to SAPs. Spouses and partners, so it’s gender neutral.”

“I’m a SAP for you baby,” Patrice’s girl said, giggling. She was on his lap. He grinned and kissed her, smacking so loud Shane almost winced.

“Or we could do WAGs and HABs. Husbands and boyfriends.”

“Too long,” JJ said. “It should be one word.”

“What about WAPs? Wives and partners.”

“But then “wives” is more prominent,” Mitty said. “The P would stand in for girlfriends, boyfriends and husbands. That’s discrimination!”

“What about HPs?” Mitty’s girl said. She was tiny compared to the goalie whose lap she was on. Shane had forgotten her name as he had only met her today. She seemed nice, and just as odd as Mitty. When no one could understand the acronym, she added, “Hockey partners.”

A few murmured at this one, considering. Shane had still not moved. He could not get his body to act natural. Just take a sip of your drink. His eyes would start to water soon from staring into the fire.

“But I think it should be a word you can say, like WAGs rolls of the tongue more than HPs, where you have to sound it out,” Taylor said.

“What if you said waps, but spelled it WHAPs, so it’s wives, husbands and partners?” Patrice offered.  A few others liked this one more. Others still insisted HABs was the way to go.

“Maybe the first one should get to decide?” JJ said. “If there ever is one.”

“We know there is one already, they’re just not visible,” Taylor said.

“You think?”

“Guarantee it, dude. There might be a whole NHL-wide HABs chatgroup that no one knows about!”

“I doubt they would risk that.”

Now you really need to move, Hollander. This is getting ridiculous.

His phone pinged. He scrambled to get it out so he could drown out the conversation. He didn’t realise everyone had stopped talking at the sound, all eyes on him due to his reaction.

Lily: Send me picture of you drinking a beer. I want to see Jane gone wild.

Shane smiled. He knew Ilya just wanted to see him. It made him warm and fluttery. He was just about to answer when the lack of noise around him caused him to look up.

“Damn, Jackie needs to watch out,” JJ said. “Lily’s coming for that top WAG spot!”

“We do not have a head WAG!” Jackie admonished. “I don’t want stupid hierarchies. We all contribute.” She raised her beer to the present women, who all toasted her back with grins.

“Who’s Lily?” Mitty asked.

“The captain’s secret Boston girl,” JJ said, almost singing it. “Who we’re not suppose to talk about, ever.”

“Leave him alone,” Hayden said.

“Je suis désolé, mon capitaine!” JJ lifted his beer in a toast, apologising for teasing.

“It’s fine,” Shane managed a tight smile.

“Why is she secret?” Mitty’s girl asked. Shane felt the silent beat like lead in his stomach.

“If we knew that, she wouldn’t be secret!” JJ laughed. The others seemed to sense the mood shifting. Hayden was glaring at JJ, which was not helping.

“I should go.” Shane felt himself rise from his chair, out-of-body, as though he was barely connected to it by long strings. His vision was tunnelling. “Thanks for the food, Jackie. It was great. I’ll see you guys at practice.”

He knew it was a mistake even as he did it. He knew it was much more awkward than just laughing it off, but his body had decided he had to get away. His feet took him straight through the house and out to his car. He was halfway home when he had to pull over and let the panic take him.

He tried not to wonder what the guys had talked about after he left. He couldn’t even remember if anyone even said goodbye to him.

What if this destroyed their cup chances? What if Shane fucked it up by texting Ilya too much? What if they guessed why he was always so fucking awkward about “Lily” because fucking coach Olson put the idea of the “secret gay player” in all their heads? This might be the end of everything.

Shane managed to press the call button.

“Did you have nice time?” Ilya’s voice was amused. “Let lose, Hollander style?”

Shane tried to speak, but he couldn’t find the breath.

“Shane?”

He sucked in air to try and get enough for words, but every time he breathed out it was like there was nothing there. He couldn’t catch it- he would black out soon, surely. His heart would beat out of his chest any minute. 

“Shane! Is this panic attack, can you knock somewhere for me, please?”

Shane managed to knock on the steering wheel.

“Ok, Shane, we will breathe now, together. We will get through. Listen to me. In.” Shane heard him. “Out.”

The next time he spoke, Shane followed him.

They kept on like that for several minutes. It got easier every time and eventually Shane felt he could risk speaking.

“I’m ok now.”

“Where are you?”

“In the car. I stopped on the side of the road.”

“What happened?”

“I… They… There was this stupid debate about what a guy WAG would be called, and then I got your text, and JJ made a joke about how Lily’s a secret.”

Tears sprang from his eyes. He closed them and leaned his head on the steering wheel. “Then… Mitty’s girl asked why Lily was a secret. And everyone got so quiet.” He felt a sob coming on. “It was like they already knew. Like I’m so fucking obvious.”

“Did they say that?”

“No, I just left. Which probably just confirmed it all.” I’m an idiot.

“No, Shane. It confirms nothing. They all know you are private person. This is not news.”

“They’ll wonder why I’m so private, though, and thanks to fucking Olson they’ve probably already decided I’m the gay one.”

“Shane,” Ilya sounded so full of warmth. Shane wanted to badly to be in Boston. Maybe he could just keep driving and go there and forget about cups.

“We do not know what they know or assume right now. And if they know, we do not know what they think about it, yes?”

“Yes.”

“So, until we have more information, we don’t need to worry.”

“How can I not worry?”

“You can worry. How about you worry tomorrow, after practice?”

“Right.”

“Am I on speaker?”

“Uh, no.”

“Put me on speaker, then you drive home while we talk. Then we go on face time and I will watch you fuck yourself with your nice dildo.”

“Ilya,” Shane hated how the man could just turn his whole brain around so quickly.

“Shane. Do as I say now. Time for you to go wild.”

He did as he was told.

The next day, Shane wished he could go back to that same out-of-body feeling as last night. Instead, he was stuck inside his vibrating self, his skin like itchy wool. As usual, he was the first to practice, but unusually, the guys started piling into the locker room almost all at once instead of trickling in as they arrived.

“There he is! You ok, Hollander? Hope you didn’t get food poisoning from Pike’s hotdogs,” JJ slapped him on the back. Shane almost sagged with relief at the lack of awkwardness. Pike grumbled about the affront to his grilling skills but also asked if Shane was ok. Soon enough, all the guys that had been at the cookout had clapped him on the back or touched his shoulder, and a few that hadn’t did too. There did not seem to be any awkwardness. If anything, they had been even more affectionate than normal. Maybe they had really been worried he was sick?

Shane felt something lift. Practice went well. The guys seemed focused just like before, and Shane knew they could still win this.

He just needed to not fuck up again.

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

This story's Svetlana is definitely more show accurate than book.

Boston, February 2015

“I’m gonna head out,” Shane said, trying to say it as casually as possible. By Hayden’s raised eyebrow, he had not succeeded. The man scoffed and continued rummaging around his bag. Shane’s own was in his hand. He figured he should just bring it with him. He was going to sleep over at Ilya’s and there was no point denying it.

“Really? You want to see him after this?”

Montreal had gotten a narrow 4-3 victory in the last minute of the game. Shane had gotten a perfect assist. It had been a hard-won game, but one of those were you love every second of effort, making the final victory all the sweeter. The team felt so in sync, Shane was absolutely certain they would take the cup this year.

“Why wouldn’t I see him after a win?”

“Isn’t he gonna be, you know, insufferable? Actually, he’s probably more insufferable when he wins, right? Ugh.” Hayden shuddered dramatically.

“He’s not insufferable,” Shane scoffed.

“So, he doesn’t like…” Hayden made some sort of shoulder shrug that Shane was supposed to be able to interpret.

“What?”

“Like… punish you?”

“Hayd! No, what the fuck?”

“Hey, I was there for you after Vegas, I just want to make sure!”

“You have made sure, repeatedly. We’re good.” Shane shook his head in disbelief, then a bubble of laughter escaped. He put a hand over his mouth, physically holding in more laughter, finding himself unable to hold in the comment. When Hayden raised an eyebrow at him, he couldn’t keep it in. “Last time Ilya told me to tell you he fucked me safely.” Had he really just said that?

“Dude! I don’t want to know what!” Hayden clutched his face dramatically and fell face first onto the hotel bed, burying his face in the comforter.

“You kind of did, actually.”

This caused Hayden to lift his head just enough to speak. “Ugh, I kind of did, yeah.” He pushed himself up and turned to Shane, his serious dad-face on. “Well, I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Ok, dad.”

“Dude, I’m serious. Just…” He waved his hand in a shooing gesture. Shane grinned. They were ok. He had joked about sex with Ilya and they were ok.

As Shane was about to leave, Hayden got in one last chirp. “Tell him he needs to fuck you extra good for winning!”

“Go fuck yourself twice for winning!” Hayden’s laughter followed him out the door and Shane felt so light he barely remembered the journey to Ilya’s penthouse.

When he arrived, he was still grinning, and it was only half because of Montreal’s win. Ilya smirked as he let Shane inside, watching as he dropped his bag, took off his shoes, and hung up his jacked and scarf. When he was finally free, Ilya stalked towards him, making Shane’s grin even wider as he was pushed against the wall.

“You are looking very happy with yourself,” Ilya murmured, his voice making Shane’s breath hitch.

Shane shrugged one shoulder. “Good game.”

“Mmmm, it was ok, I guess.”

“You’re an asshole.” Shane shook his head, stilling when Ilya’s hand came up to hold his chin. “You should be rewarding me.”

“You think you deserve reward?” Ilya leaned in, voice casually curious, their lips barely brushing. Ilya held Shane back from getting what he wanted.

“Yeah,” Shane breathed.

“No, not for one goal.”

“I got a hat trick!”

“You got lucky. You only won by one.”

“Shut up and kiss me.” Something about that made Ilya’s eyes flare and he did as he was told, the kiss devouring.

Ilya hooked his hands under Shane’s thighs and hoisted him up, never breaking the kiss as he walked them to the bedroom. Ilya put him down and began pulling at Shane’s t-shirt. When it was off, Shane wanted to pull at Ilya’s tank top, but the man made that impossible, as instead of tossing Shane’s shirt aside, he began folding it.

Shane laughed.

“Reward,” Ilya said, turning and tossing the shirt to the dresser so that it landed flat and still folded. When Ilya turned back Shane grabbed his face and kissed him hard, feelings of fondness and horniness competing. “Lie down,” Ilya whispered. Shane let himself be pushed back on the bed. Ilya undressed him, folding the pants and placing them on top of the shirt, then his boxers and socks on top.

Then for a moment Ilya just looked at him. There was heat in his eyes, like in Vegas, the last time Ilya had been dressed and Shane naked, but the gaze held a fondness that wasn’t there the last time. Shane didn’t feel self-conscious at all now. He felt sexy. He spread his legs a little, loving how Ilya’s eyes snapped down, his mouth falling open.

“My reward,” Ilya murmured, ripping off his own clothes in record time. Shane almost laughed again but moaned instead when Ilya was finally on top of him.

“Why do you get a reward?”

“For good sportsmanship.” Shane was having trouble speaking as Ilya kissed all over his chest, making downwards progress.

“You got a penalty.”

“Just the one.”

“That still cou-ounts!” Shane’s voice strangled and he arched as Ilya swallowed him. Thankfully, Ilya couldn’t speak anymore for a while after that. Then, after way too long prep for Shane’s liking even though he knew he should be grateful, they were together again like he had been dreaming of for weeks. Ilya was facing him, eyes down as he carefully slid in.

“Look at me.” Ilya did, his eyes so wide, the blue barely visible. They moved in a slow and steady rhythm, both of them wanting it to last as long as possible.  

Afterwards, they lay just breathing for a long time. “Reward good enough?” Ilya finally asked.

“Yeah, good enough. I’ll have to think of something real big for when I win the cup.”

“It’s nice you have dreams, Hollander, even impossible ones.” Shane’s mind drifted to Vegas. Maybe Ilya’s did the same, because he stopped teasing. “I would do whatever you wanted,” he said quietly. Even though they had just finished a long round, Shane felt a shot of arousal go through him. But when he really thought about it, he couldn’t think of anything. It embarrassed him a little, because of course he was boring, but he still couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

“I think I’d just want this, to be honest. Maybe have a couple of days, so I wouldn’t have to run off in the morning.” He didn’t look at Ilya, just waited for the man to tease him or ask him to go. This is it, I pushed too hard.

“Then that is what you will get.”

Shane looked at him. “Really?” Ilya smiled and reached out, stroking Shane’s cheek, his freckles, and Shane’s heart was in his throat.

“If it was your special night, I would not deny you.”

“So, you admit I’ll win it?”

“Ah, ah,” Ilya ticked his finger at him, “I said if, but it likely will not be. You should probably plan for my reward instead.”

“What would you want?”

Ilya looked away. He shrugged slightly. “Probably the same. A few days.” Shane smiled and when Ilya looked back at him, he smiled too, leaning in and giving him a soft kiss. Shane let himself melt against him, even though he really wanted a shower. When they finally parted a thought occurred to him.

“What if Boston gets knocked out early and they want you to come back to Russia?”

“Oh, Boston will be knocked out early? I thought you had highest hockey IQ? What is that nonsense?”

“You’ll last a while,” Shane shrugged with a grin, “but it will happen.”

“And when you get knocked out in first round you’ll go back to Ottawa, right?”

“Sure, I usually do, but I would come back to Boston to help you celebrate. Maybe I could come here and watch it and be here when you get back from celebrating with the team?” Shane probably shouldn’t have said all that. He was supposed to be thinking about his own cup win. They had it this year. But as always, his mind supplied all manner of contingencies. Ilya looked a little stunned, and Shane began backtracking. “I mean, if you wanted, it was just an idea.”

Ilya rolled on top on him in one smooth motion, kissing him hungrily, and Shane felt such relief he almost giggled. He loved the way Ilya settled between his legs.

“Then if you win I will be in at your place, waiting, naked.”

“Naked?”

Ilya punctuated his statement with a roll of his hips, making Shane moan. “You prefer clothed?”

“Fuck no.”

After, and after a long shower, Shane told him about his real apartment and the door code, so that Ilya could let himself in. Ilya said he would make excuses to wait to go to Russia, interspersed with more chirping about how it was Shane who would have to wait for him to win the cup.

When they settled again, Shane felt like maybe the right moment had come.

“Have you told anybody on your team, about being bisexual?”

“No, it is not like with your team. There is no Olson pushing for,” Ilya fumbled with the word, “inclusivity.”

“But you don’t have anyone close you could trust?”

Ilya shrugged one shoulder. “Marlow maybe, would be fine. A couple of the others would accept it, I think. But I don’t need to tell.”

“You should. It’s good, to have someone in your corner.”

“In my corner?”

“Like, someone who supports you. I never thought I needed to come out before I told my parents. But it feels good. More than I thought it would.”

Ilya didn’t say anything to that, seeming lost in thought. Finally, he swallowed and spoke softly. “I have Svetlana. She is old friend. We used to fuck, but only for fun. She knows about me. Not you.”

“Oh.” Don’t be jealous when he’s being open and vulnerable, idiot.

“We were never serious, only friends,” Ilya continued. “I trust her.”

“Then… you should tell her.” Shane furiously stamped down equal amounts of panic and jealousy. He thought about Scott and Hayden and his parents, and he knew Ilya deserved other people too. They couldn’t share their people, so Shane needed to be ok with someone outside of his control knowing.

“She knows.”

“No, you should tell her about… me.”

Ilya’s eyes snapped to his. “You would be ok with that?”

“Yeah,” Shane swallowed back his panic. “I have Hayden, right? And Jackie,” he added even though they basically counted as one.

“And Scott Hunter, who you fuck for fun.”

“One time! And it was out of pure pathetic desperation.” Ilya took pity on him and kissed his temple.

“I would like to tell Svetlana. She is big fan of you, so she will be very happy.”

“She is?”

“Yes, she calls you sexy all the time, is annoying.”

“What?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Hollander. I will not share you.”

“Ilya, I’m gay, I wouldn’t even want to.”

“She can be persuasive. If you fuck her, I must fuck Scott Hunter, deal?”

“That’s not even comparable!”

After another round of teasing that eventually led to more fucking, they finally fell asleep and Shane had never wanted to win the cup more. He hoped this would mean they would both have people. It felt like they might be building something.

A few weeks later, after Ilya had told Svetlana, they facetimed. It was the most awkward first meeting of Shane’s life, all his fault of course. Svetlana was beautiful and charming and Shane could so easily see how Ilya should be with her instead. That would be simple, wouldn’t it? But after she had left, Ilya called back and they had phone sex. So, Shane supposed if the man preferred calling him instead of just fucking the gorgeous woman already in his apartment, that had to mean something.

Chapter 7

Pride night, Montreal, March 2015

Shane hated Pride Nights. He felt guilty about it, but he couldn’t help the way his anxiety spiked whenever management decided to host one. They had become fairly normalized since Olson was taken on, and apparently it had been drawing new fans to the sport, so management allowed it. Shane always felt his hands start to sweat. He used the rainbow tape, but only after he saw others put it on first. He was such a coward.

On such nights he became even more quiet, taking his time with changing into his gear so that he could be the last to put on tape. He checked his phone, drawn to Ilya’s texts. He wanted to text him something, but he couldn’t think of anything clever to say.

“Here you go, Captain,” Patrice said from his left. Shane glanced at him and froze. The man was handing him the rainbow tape. Patrice looked at him with what Shane could only describe as a neutral expression, so it didn’t seem at first like a trap. When Shane didn’t react, however, he lifted his eyebrows as though confused why Shane wasn’t taking it. He forced himself to reach out and take the proffered tape.

Patrice merely turned back around and continued with his routine. Shane looked over his shoulder at the locker room and froze again.

Everyone was using the tape. Every single player. It wasn’t just that they were all using the tape, however. Shane was sure that had happened before, but there was a calmness about it. No comments, no chirping, no bad jokes. They seemed as excited as for any game they were likely to win.

Shane swallowed. He turned back to his phone, staring at the last text Ilya had sent him, hope crushing Ottawa isn’t too boring.

“You ok, dude?” Hayden asked from his right side. Shane nodded at him.

“Lily ok?” Hayden lowered his voice a little so the others wouldn’t hear. Shane put his phone back in his cubby.

“Yeah, fine.”

“This is going to be such an easy win.”

“Never assume a win, Hayd.”

“Of course, Captain.” Hayden winked at him. Shane grinned. He got to work on his tape.

They demolished Ottawa, and it was a clean game. The atmosphere was good, joyful even. The Ottawa players were all decked out for pride as well, and no one seemed resentful on the ice, or if they did, they kept it to themselves.

Shane almost felt bad for his last goal. They were just rubbing it in at that point. But when he looked up at the home crowd celebrating their win, he saw the rainbows and felt light enough to fly. A second later and the team was mobbing him as though they’d already won the cup.

Even Shane could not say no to going out when they pleaded. JJ led the way to a nice bar thankfully, not a loud club.

The team occupied three large half-circle booths, along with the line of barstools across from them, so that the entire back of the bar was theirs. Shane found himself in one of the booths with JJ, Taylor and Patrice. Hayden had begged off to go home to the kids, something about them being difficult to put to bed without dad lately. Shane couldn’t remember if he had ever gone out with the team without Hayden. He felt a little terrified without the man’s steady presence, which was ridiculous. Shane was a grown man himself. He should be able to socialize without his best friend.

“Here you go,” Patrice said, sliding beers across the table to everyone, except Shane, who got a ginger beer in front of him, without comment. Patrice held up his own bottle. “To an easy, but beautiful win,” they clicked bottles. Shane opened his mouth to ask about the drink. Aren’t you going to comment on your boring captain?

“To our captain!” JJ cried. This caused the entire team to whoop and cheer and raise their drinks. Shane smiled and toasted his team. When no comment about his lack of drinking came, he felt himself relax.

He received more praise for his goals. He commented a little about the game here and there, but otherwise just watched the guys boast and have fun. When he finished his ginger beer he didn’t automatically want to escape and go home. There hadn’t been a single comment about how quiet he was or about his lack of drinking. He looked over to the bar, then at his friends, then rose.

“Next round on me.”

“Merci, capitaine!”

The bar was pretty busy. News about where the team was celebrating had reached social media, so there were a lot of fans trying to get a glimpse or women trying to catch a single player’s eye. Shane found an opening in the bar and was immediately met by the bartender.

He was very handsome, Shane thought. His smile was nice and warm.

“What can I get you?”

“Three beers and one ginger beer, please.”

“Coming right up.”

Shane noticed it then, the way the man’s eyes swept over him. It sent a thrill through him. It wasn’t that he wanted the man. He was counting the hours until they played Boston. But it felt nice, to be noticed like that and notice that he was being noticed. It felt like he could speak a secret language. Like he could decipher a little of the social cues he often missed. It made him smile.

Just then his phone vibrated, and when he checked it, his smile grew.

Lily: I knew you were not really nice Canadian. You made Ottawa cry.

The drinks arrived in front of him. “Who’s the ginger for?” the bartender asked.

“Oh, me, why?”

“Really?” Shane would normally shrink away from such a comment, but the guys’ easy acceptance a moment ago made him feel rather calm about it for once.

“Yeah, I don’t indulge during the season.” He shrugged, easy.

“Your body is a temple, huh?” Shane felt the man’s gaze roam over him. “Well, if it works, it works, and it looks like it is working.”

“Thanks.” He ignored his heating face and took out his money, but the bartender shook his head. “You keep it then.” He stuffed it in the tip jar and grabbed the drinks, turning back towards the booths. Just then a woman knocked into him. Thankfully, Shane was used to being knocked about unexpectedly and didn’t move much, but the woman reacted as though she had made him spill all his drinks.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine. No damage.”

“You’re Shane Hollander!” She was very beautiful, but she leaned in in that way Shane had learned to recognise as the beginnings of flirting. He hadn’t quite found a method that guaranteed women left him alone, but he had a few techniques worked out. He felt a bit more cornered than usual, however, with his hands full of bottles, so his mind couldn’t settle on a strategy.

“You were so good out there today,” she said, touching his shoulder.

“Oh, thanks, I-I have to-“

“That last goal, the way you spun! It gave me goosebumps, honestly.”

“Wow,” Shane chuckled, feeling frustration bubble. How much easier could his life be if he could just ask: Are you talking to me because you want to talk about hockey or get in my pants? Because the last one is not happening unless you have a dick and your name is Ilya Rozanov. But he couldn’t say that, because apparently the world was a stupid place sometimes.

“I got you, cap.” Patrice was there suddenly, taking half the bottles. In one swift movement he had manoeuvred his way between Shane and the woman and was guiding Shane back to the booth with his hand on his back. “Thought you could do with an assist. She looked like she would have kept you all night.”

“Yeah, definitely. Thanks.” The others got their drinks.

“Drinks on you, huh?” Taylor asked, grinning. Shane glanced around the table, and they were all wearing identical sly grins. Heat returned to his face in full force.  

“He probably gets free drinks everywhere,” Patrice said. “He’s Shane fucking Hollander, he can’t help it!”

“You have to come out more with us!” JJ said.

“To get you guys free drinks?”

They ribbed him a little more, but it never felt like they were implying he had been flirting with the bartender, so it didn’t feel dangerous. Slowly, his panic subsided and when he finished his second, he again didn’t immediately want to leave. The noise in the bar was loud, however, and he could feel everything getting too much. Every time someone barked out a laugh it hit him a little harder, like a check into the boards.

“I need to head home.”

Instead of the usual shouts of come on, live a little, or booooring they thanked him for coming out. It stunned him a little.

He couldn’t remember the last time going out had felt like that.

Which is why it felt very strange to arrive at the next practice and feel like something was off. The guys were quiet getting into their gear, and Hayden especially seemed angry. Shane knew he often missed things, but this seemed to have come out of nowhere.

“You okay?” he asked Hayden.

“Fine.”

Was Hayden angry Shane had gone out without him? That seemed a little strange for him. Hayden often couldn’t go out due to his kids, and he never seemed to resent that fact. He was a family man first, Shane had always known that about him.

Practice was awful. Well, maybe not awful, but still stilted, not like they were these days, in sync, a real team, a cup-winning team. Shane felt out of his depth trying to understand it.

“Gather up,” coach called. They still had twenty minutes left and were in the middle of a drill. When every player was gathered round, some on the ice, some behind the boards, coach looked around like he was searching for something. Some players seemed to shrink from his stare. Shane wasn’t sure what the hell was going on.

Coach shook his head. “I don’t know what it is you’re bringing onto the ice today, but you need to settle it. Something’s happened. I don’t care what. I don’t care who. I care that you trust each other enough to leave it outside. Which means you need to fix it off the ice first. I don’t care how. Do trust falls, team buildings exercises, drinking games! We are not losing this team! Do you hear me?”

“Yes, coach!” Not everyone jumped in on the shout, even that wasn’t in sync. Shane felt and saw quite a few looks thrown his way and felt his anxiety spike. Did they know? How?  

The team fell silent, understanding that coach wasn’t finished.

“Right now, we can take the cup! Bring it home to Montreal for the first time in decades! But not if this festers,” his raised a first, holding their future in his grasp, looking to each of them, the threw his hand out, pointing to the locker rooms. “So, egos are out! No room!” His Swedish came through more pronounced. “Go settle things, together. Practice is over.”

As Shane got out of his gear, he went over the last few interactions he had had with the team. Had they taken notice how Shane had reacted to the bartender? Maybe he should have protested a little more, made it clear he had accepted the drinks but not the flirting? Maybe they saw him focused on Lily’s text again and finally came to the correct conclusion?

“OK, party at Hollzy’s!”

“What?” Shane spun, looking to JJ who had called it out.

“Dude, shut the fuck up,” Hayden said, a little more aggressive than was necessary.

“What? You heard coach. We need team-building! Nothing builds a team like a party.”

“That’s bullshit,” Hayden said. “Also, you don’t just invite yourself over.”

“You suggest something then, since you’re the decider!” JJ scoffed. Shane was so confused. Why were they yelling at each other?

“We could go on a retreat!” Mitty suggested. “At a cabin, like that movie, Severance.”

“That’s a horror movie, dude,” Taylor said. “They all die!”

Everyone was talking at the same time, several conversations at once. Shane needed air. The noise level kept rising.

“I’m the decider?” Hayden asked sarcastically. “Really? You need to check yourself, JJ.”

“Putain, je l'aide!”

“What about a laser tag?”

“You aren’t helping shit!”

“Paint-ball is much cooler.”

“Tu le traites comme du verre!”

You treat him like glass. Shane looked at Hayden. What did JJ mean by that?

“Guys, guys!” Shane yelled, finally getting them to quiet. He breathed in, trying to sort it out in his head, but he needed to get out into fresh air before he had a panic attack. “I don’t know what the fuck has happened, but coach is right, it needs fixing. I am not losing the cup because of whatever bullshit this is.”

Everyone fell silent, looking guilty. Shane took a few breaths. “So… let’s have dinner, at my place. Not a full-on rager!” he clarified. “But you can bring drinks, we can eat, drink, do trust falls, whatever it takes.” He had never done that before, invited the team home. It felt strange and monumental, but he really didn’t want to lose the team when he felt like he was finally connecting with them. If JJ thought this would help, maybe he was right. He didn’t like the thought of being treated like glass. Was that why they were being nice to him? “Does that sound… ok?”

“That sounds great, Shane, if you’re sure?” Hayden asked.

“He just invited us,” JJ pointed out, gesturing to Shane with frustration.

“Don’t start again!” They thankfully listened. “We’ll do it tomorrow. Everyone who wants can come, but you two,” he pointed to Hayden and JJ, “clearly have to come.”

“It’s not about us!” Hayden protested. “But yeah, of course I’ll come.”

“I will be there, mon capitaine.” JJ said it as though he had promised Shane he would go into battle.

“Good.”

When Shane finally managed to escape, Hayden caught him as he reached his car.

“Hey, I need to talk to you.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“Uh, it’s kind of about tomorrow. I feel like I need to warn you.”

“What?”

Hayden opened his mouth, then seemed to hesitate. “Shit.” He looked across the parking lot, checking if anyone was there. Shane felt his heartrate spike. “Look. The guys mean well, that’s the most important thing, ok? I overreacted.” He sighed. “They started a group chat without you.”

Shane had never understood the social rules about invites and chats. He knew it was an insult or dig to be excluded, obviously, he just often couldn’t figure out the why.

“Ok…?”

“They… they’ve been trying to find ways to get you to come out.”

Shane was pretty sure his brain decided to vacate the premises. “What?”

“They began speculating. I don’t know who started it. Then, after the cook-out, JJ started the chat to like “find ways to be openly supportive” in case you, or anyone, but it was obviously meant to be about you, wanted to come out to the team. It’s… like, they’ve been trying to be nice about it, I swear, but it’s also been so full of obvious innuendos about who the gay player is, which is not cool, and I kind of lost it after you went out with them. The chat was full of…”

“What?”

“Speculation.” Hayden shrugged. “They said you ignored this hot chick in favour of the hot bartender. I blew up the chat. Told them it was wrong to speculate like that. It got heated. This is all my fault, I’m so sorry. I should have told you immediately, but I was trying to manage it, you know? So you wouldn’t panic about it.”

“So… they know?” Shane was waiting for his panic attack. He had short-circuited.

“No, they’re making a bunch of assumptions.”

“… Did they say what they would do about it?”

“Do about it?” Hayden asked as though the question was confusing.

“Do about me?”

“What? Shane, no no, they want you to trust them. That’s the whole point of the chat! They want you to come out so that you can play at 100% or whatever. Like I said, they mean well, they’re just being really fucking… guys about it.”

“OK.”

Shane looked back at the rink, wondering when his panic was about to set in. He was afraid to get in the car. He was going to throw up. “I need to call Ilya. Right now.”

“Ok, if you’re sure? Of course. And tomorrow, you do not have to come out, ok? They’re being pushy dickbags, all of them.”

“Tomorrow… I have to…”

“Shane, fuck, hey!” He was on the ground. He had slid down the side of his car. Was he breathing? Hayden was speaking, reaching into Shane’s jacket. A phone was in front of Shane’s face suddenly, unlocking, disappearing and then reappearing with Calling Lily on the screen.

“Shane?” Ilya knew when Shane usually called. This was too early. Shane instinctively knocked on the side on the car. Ilya understood immediately. “I’m here, Shane, breathe with me. It will pass. We will breathe through it together.” Shane followed Ilya’s breathing and voice, but it took a lot longer than last time. Everything, from practice to the locker room to Hayden’s revelation was making it difficult to get back in control.

Hayden didn’t touch him, just held the phone close to Shane’s face so he could hear.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Shane felt like he could speak.

“I’m here,” he managed. “You’re on speaker. Hayden…”

“Pike is there with you?”

“Yeah, I’m here. We had a bit of a situation in the parking lot here. Shane was about to call you, but then the panic hit.”

“Why were you having panic attack, Shane?”

“The team…”

“It’s a lot to explain,” Hayden jumped in when Shane floundered. “Why don’t I drive you home first, Shane, and then you and Rozanov can talk it out.”

“Yeah.”

“Could I maybe give Rozanov a play-by-play first, so he gets the whole picture?”

“Ok, yeah, please.”

“Why don’t you get in the car.”

Hayden helped him up and into the passenger seat of his own car, then closed the door and spoke to Ilya as he walked around to the driver’s side. Shane couldn’t hear the conversation. Hayden stood for a while outside. There weren’t any raised voices, so that had to be good. Ilya wasn’t panicking like Shane and deleting his number.

Finally, Hayden hung up and got in the car. He sighed heavily. Shane braced himself.

“Ok. You call him when you get home, and talk about your plans for tomorrow. I can call the guys and cancel if you can’t face them. But, I think it would be good to just have a dinner, even if there’s no coming out party after.”

“Ok.”

“But you talk it over with Rozanov first and let me know.” Shane nodded. Hayden started driving.

“What about your car?”

“I’ll get an uber back, don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.” Shane wanted to ask what he and Ilya had spoken about specifically, but he supposed he would hear about it soon.

“Rozanov is a good guy.”

“What?”

Hayden shrugged. “He helped you. He cares about you, obviously. He was livid about the whole situation and my handling of it, which I did not appreciate from him, especially since he had to audacity to be right about it.”

Shane was not equipped to handle such complicated sentences yet. “OK.”

“Yeah,” Hayden sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Ilya Rozanov is a good guy. The world just doesn’t make sense anymore.”

“He was always good, to me.”

“I know buddy. I’m sorry it took so long for me to understand that.”

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

A single chapter from Ilya's perspective. I'm not really comfortable in his POV, so I don't know if I'll do more. Let me know what you think.

New York vs. Boston, the previous night, March 2015

“You ok over there, Rozanoz?” Scott asked as they leaned down for the face-off. Ilya grit his teeth. He hated facing off against Scott. He could make enough old man jokes to fill a comedy special, but the man knew, and he’d had Shane, and if Ilya pushed too hard, maybe he would say something. It didn’t matter how much of a friend Scott offered to be, Ilya knew the man was desperate for a win. Not even good guy Scott Hunter would ignore the opportunity to unsettle Ilya if it meant scoring.

Thankfully, he won the face-off.

“It’s weird, you not talking shit to me,” Scott said conversationally during a stop in play.

“Maybe you have become hard of hearing.” The chirp slipped out before he could stop it.

“There he is!”

Ilya skated away, ignoring Scott’s grin. Boston won 2-1. He knew Shane was busy, so they had not made plans to call. It was terrifying how addicted he had become to Shane, to being a boyfriend.

Ilya wanted another Stanley Cup so much it hurt. It would help secure a long-lasting place in the NHL, in America, so that if the worst happened, he would be prepared.

But his skating wasn’t showing this desperation. If anything, his performance was slipping. The team had never been better, but Ilya also needed to be the best of them. He thought if he could just be with Shane, lock out the world, then he could exist as bisexual, bisected. But the world was leaking in. Every time his brother or father called, asking for more, he wondered what would happen if they knew. The fact that he even had such thoughts terrified him.  

As he sat on bus back to the hotel, he received a text from an unknown number.

Can we meet and talk? It’s Scott.

Ilya immediately texted Shane. He must not have boarded yet, because he answered immediately.

Lily: Did you give my number to Scott Hunter?

Jane: No? Did he contact you? What about?

Ilya almost scoffed out loud and almost wrote back, he probably wants to go to Paris with us, but then decided against it. There was always the chance Ilya had shared his number with a player who now played for New York. Shane was unlikely to lie. Ilya went back to Scott’s text, but hesitated. If he blew Scott off, he might chirp something awful at him during their next game. Ilya really did not need the distraction.

Another text from Scott came through: Come to my place, we can talk. That definitely tempted Ilya to chirp something about Scott fucking him too. Not that it would be a chore, Scott was hot, but Ilya had no interest in anyone but a certain freckled Canadian.

Ilya: Address?

Scott sent the address of what Ilya would soon find out was a very nice apartment. Ilya told himself he only went so he could see where Shane had fucked. It should unsettle him; how much he wanted to know everything about Shane’s encounter with Scott. He couldn’t ask Shane about it, obviously, as Ilya’s intense interest would become obvious. He hated the thought of Shane with someone else, of course he did, but he also wanted to know everything about Shane, including experiences that made Ilya’s heart ache.

“Hey, come on in.” Ilya entered Scott’s apartment assessing it like he imagined Shane had, taking in the sterile modern design, the million-dollar view, and Scott’s appearance. In a way, he was close to Shane in media personality: the golden boy of New York, always wearing athletic wear and thinking of himself as too good for a fight.

Ilya had worn actual clothes, but now he regretted it, because it might give Scott the idea that he had somehow dressed up to meet him. He forced his eyes to scan the open concept kitchen and living room instead.

“So, this is where you bring young hockey stars to fuck,” he said. He couldn’t help it.

“Jesus, Rozanov.” Scott walked to the kitchen. “Can I get you a beer?”

“Is it part of seduction process?”

“If you’re going to be like that you can leave.”

“Why am I here?”

Scott removed two bottles from his fridge, opened them and placed one on the kitchen island between them. They both drank.

“I wanted to talk.” Scott said eventually. “I figured it might be good for you to talk to someone else who’s… you know.”

“Fucking Shane Hollander?”

“Christ,” Scott swore, looking away and shaking his head. “Can you put away the Russian menace for one fucking night and just talk like a normal person?” He fixed Ilya with an impatient look. The bottle looked ready to pop in his grip.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Let’s sit.” Ilya did not like the change in position, preferring the island between them, but he sat down a good distance from Scott on the couch. Was this how he had done it with Shane?

“Look,” Scott sighed. He fiddled with the bottle’s label. “When I found Shane in that hallway outside your room, my whole world sort of turned upside down, ok? I had been alone with this thing so long, it became second nature to not even think about other gay players. I knew, intellectually, that there had to be, but to actually know someone, to be able to talk to them, gave me a lot. I’ve managed to come out to a couple of the guys on the team. I know Hollander came out to his parents. It feels like progress. It feels healing. So, I wanted to reach out to you too. We might not ever be friends, but at least we should be allies in this.” Scott finally looked up at Ilya and gestured between them at the undefined “this” that they shared. Ilya frowned.

“I am bisexual,” was the only thing he could think of to say. Surprisingly, this seemed to be good news to Scott.

“Oh, ok, that’s great. Thank you for sharing that.” Ilya rolled his eyes, but he didn’t chirp back. “So, are you and Hollander…?” Had Shane talked to him, had he told him? Ilya suddenly found his own bottle label very interesting.

“We are together.”

“Together, like, shit, together together?” Scott sounded way too shocked by that, as though he could not believe Shane would have Ilya.

“Yes, together. So, hands off.”

“Rozanov, I’m happy for you two. That you have each other.” Scott gave a soft laugh. “I have no idea how you two, like, work, at all, but I am glad you found each other.”

“Really? You don’t think he should go for someone like you?”

“I am not entertaining those questions anymore, so drop it.”

“Did you fuck him here, or in the bedroom?”

“Fuck. Off.” Ilya rose, leaving his bottle on the table. He was done with whatever therapy session Scott was doing. “Hey, wait.” Ilya ignored him, going to the front door. He yanked it open, only for Scott to slam it shut. “Rozanov, give me a fucking chance here.”

“Is this the only technique that works for you?” Scott jerked back as though burned, staring at Ilya with shock and disgust.

“I get that you care about him, but we don’t have to be enemies.”

“Then answer my questions.”

“Are you serious?” Scott looked genuinely confused by Ilya’s desire. “You want… fucking details?”

“Yes.”

Scott opened his mouth several times, trying to find an answer. “Fine,” he huffed. He gestured back to the living room. “Come sit and talk with me, and then I will answer your fucked up questions.” Ilya considered. He did not doubt that Scott could lie to him. Still, it was the only chance he had, so he abruptly returned to the couch, Scott following a tad slower.

“Well? Talk.”

“Have you come out to anyone on your team?”

Ilya sighed at the question. “Marlow knows.”

“You don’t have anyone else, family?”

Ilya’s jaw clenched. He did not want to talk to Scott fucking Hunter about this. Was this worth it? He tried to imagine Shane next to Scott. How had they started? Who had kissed who? Had Scott treated Shane good? Fucked him slow?

“I am Russian.”

“Right, shit, I guess that makes things difficult. There’s no one else?”

“I have a friend, Svetlana.” The words felt like rocks in his mouth, his teeth trying to avoid biting down on them.

“Well, finding out about you and Shane made me realise how important telling people was. I didn’t have anyone to tell either, before. I lost my mom when I was young, so for a long time, I thought I had to be alone with it.”

Ilya fixed his gaze on the bottle of beer still on the coffee table. He did not want to be there anymore. He did not want something in common with Scott Hunter. There was a stinging feeling at the back of his throat.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we’re all there is, I mean – we’re all we know,” Scott said, shrugging. “And we should help each other.”

Ilya sighed. “I can not tell people. If I lose my place in the NHL, I will get sent back to Russia. If I am out and in Russia, I will be arrested.”

“I get that it’s dangerous, but you have to know you’re never losing your place in the NHL. You’re Ilya Rozanov. You’ve already won a cup!”

“It’s nice feeling, you should try it.”

“I’m working on it. But you know even if Boston lets you go for some insane reason, there will always be a team who’d want you?”

Hearing praise from Scott was even more unsettling that hearing about his dead mother.

“And if I am injured? How long until I am deported?”

They fell silent for a moment.

“You can get citizenship,” Scott said carefully. “Eventually. Until then, that’s all the more reason to actually lean on the people who do know, who can know. I’m sorry you hate that it’s me, but I’m here.”

Ilya dragged his eyes over to Scott. The man looked the way he often did during media appearances, especially meeting fans and kids. Eyes bright, a small warm smile, with an aura of utter confidence in his own leadership. Ilya hated every detail.

“Thank you,” he said instead. Scott’s eyes widened a little, but he tried to keep his visible shock hidden by a smile and a nod. “I am sorry about your mother too. My own. I also… when I was twelve.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

“It fucking sucks.”

Ilya appreciated Scott’s sentiment. He did not think anyone had expressed it quite that way when learning about Ilya’s family history. “It does suck.”

“They’d be proud of us, both of them.” This was dangerous territory.

“Maybe when you get your cup that will be true.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Scott said, but he was holding in a laugh. Ilya reached forward and took a long swallow of beer before setting it down decisively.

“I will go now.”

“Ok, but you have my number.” They both rose, but instead of turning towards the door, Ilya faced Scott with an expectant look. Scott frowned at the lack of movement, before slowly realising what Ilya was waiting for. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“So, was it here, or…?”

“You don’t want to know this.”

“I do. Tell me.”

“I can’t,” Scott pleaded reason. “That’s Shane’s story to tell as much as mine.”

“You gave your word.”

“Jesus.” Scott looked away, as though someone would save him from the conversation. “What the hell do you want to know?”

“Who started it?”

“Me, both, I don’t know,” Scott sighed. He closed his eyes in pain. “We were talking about the game we just played. I complimented him. He got this flush.”

“He does that.”

Scott nodded. “I said I wanted to do something we shouldn’t. I was in a bad place. I basically only have sex in the summer, when I go to places no one knows me, so I guess having someone I knew was safe so close just…” He made a gesture, to some quality Ilya knew all to well. The same secret. “I asked him to kiss me. Then I asked him if he was ok with it just being a one time hook up. I knew it wasn’t more than that. He said it was what he wanted too. He was still waiting to hear from you.” Ilya ignored the dig, focusing on picturing Shane. Scott fell silent.

“Then what?”

“We fucked.”

“In bedroom?”

“Yes. Jesus.”

“What position?”

“You’re insane, Rozanov.”

“Tell me.”

“He was on his back. And now I am done talking about this.”

“Did he come untouched?”

Scott looked at Ilya like his head had just popped off and started singing on its own. Ilya waited patiently for the man to answer.

“No.” Scott’s voice came out strangled. Ilya nodded, relieved.

“And after, you made sure he was good?”

“Of course,” Scott said, offended, then he got a look his eyes, a little shameful. “He asked if we were still friends, which I assured him we were. We talked about how hung up he was on you, then we watched tv. That’s it.” Ilya took in the information almost mechanically.

“OK. I will leave now.”

“You…!” Scott followed on his heels as he made his way to the door again. “You need help, Rozanov. This isn’t healthy.”

“You think fucking your rival in secret with the threat of imprisonment from my home country can be healthy?”

“You need to talk to Shane about this. You need to tell him you asked me about this, or I will.”

“He does not need to know.”

“The fuck he does.”

Ilya knew Scott was right, unfortunately. Shane had gotten into the annoying habit of talking about everything. “Fine,” he said. “I will tell him I spoke to you.” He opened the door, and Scott did not prevent him. “Thank you. For telling me.”

“Yeah, sure, I guess.” He sounded confused.

“You are good guy, Hunter, like Hollander. I am asshole. This is how it is.”

Scott and Ilya’s eyes met. Ilya felt the judgement, but also unexpected sympathy. “He wants you, dumbass.” A flush crept up Ilya’s face when he realised what he had allowed Scott to infer.

Ilya simply nodded once and left.

Chapter 9

Dinner at Shane’s, the next evening

Ilya had talked him down the night before twice, and again this morning. Even still, Shane wanted to call again and listen to Ilya state the obvious. The team wants to be supportive. That does not mean you must come out. If you change your mind at any point, just let them drink and have fun and then say you have a headache. Shane could do this.

Hayden was aware of the plan. He was not sure about the whole “decide in the moment” part, which Shane understood. It wasn’t exactly part of the Shane Hollander strategy to wait and see. But in this case, there simply was no other option but to watch the play before deciding. He had to “feel the room”, which seemed impossible. But Ilya had been clear: You feel if you are comfortable, Shane. If you are not, then you just have dinner.

The guys arrived on time, maybe because they knew Shane and understood he would not accept the “fashionably late” excuse. The amount of food was perhaps excessive, even with the exact number of people being known thanks to Hayden and the secret group chat. On offer was a bunch of game night food, the type that they could eat in front of the television. Shane never ate in front of the television, but it was part of hosting, right? Eat, watch the Boston vs. New York game from the other night, and then maybe come out.

Shane had also bought a case of beer, just in case. There was still a month before the playoffs, and if he fucked this up, they might as well give it to Toronto next week. He could have a beer, just to loosen himself up.

“Wow, cap, you got a nice place!” Mitty commented. A lot of the guys had said similar, which made Shane feel like the worst captain. This was part of team building, like Olson said. He should have done this ages ago.

Everyone seemed appreciative of the food and drinks, and no one mocked him for overpreparing. In fact, they seemed on their best behaviour, which now made Shane nervous because apparently it was all an act? Or part of a plan? He didn’t really understand.

“I can’t believe Rozanov! Where’s the ref!” Patrice asked during the game. “Fuck, I hate that he’s so good and a dick!”

“He’s got nothing on our Hollander,” Taylor shot in. Shane had heard this sort of thing from them before, but it hit a little differently. Was this part of the plan? Get him comfortable enough to spill the beans? He was in his own head too much. He got up to get another beer.

“Wow, we are living it up!” Patrice said when Shane returned. He raised his own bottle, and Shane clinked it before sitting.

“I know we’re team bonding, captain, but don’t ruin your diet on account of us!” Taylor said.

“I can have a couple of beers.”

The game ended. The guys seemed ok, riffing New York and Boston, talking about their future cup win. Even Hayden and JJ seemed to be talking normally. They had eaten almost all the food, so Shane felt justified in his planning.

“OK, time for team building!” JJ said, standing and holding out his hands to quiet the room. The team settled. Shane’s enormous couch was stuffed full of hockey players, and Shane had the thought that this was the first time this many people had been in his home. It was kind of nice, seeing them relaxed and looking up at JJ waiting for whatever antics he was going to propose. “Me and Pike have already buried the hatch.”

“Hatchet, buried the hatchet,” Hayden corrected. JJ waved him off to the laughter of the others.

“Come June, I want to see that man,” JJ pointed at Shane, “holding the fucking cup over his fucking head!” Cheers rang out, fuck yeah’s and lots of other expletives. Shane grinned and gave his own yell. “Which means we have to be like this.” JJ weaved his fingers together like he was praying. “One team, at 100%”

Shane’s heart jumped a little at the words, taking a long drink of his beer. But no one seemed to glance at him.

“So, to bond as a team, we play drinking games, we talk real shit.”

“Like never have I ever?” Mitty asked.

“No, real drinking games! Not one for children!” JJ said.

Unfortunately, no one could think of another type of drinking game that didn’t involve watching something or a card deck, which Shane didn’t have on hand. So, “never have I ever” was accepted.

“Ok, who goes first?” Patrice asked.

“Wait, how do you play?” This was apparently the wrong thing to ask, as everyone stared at Shane like he had, well, come out maybe. “What? I’m boring, how is this a surprise to anyone?” This made them all laugh, thankfully. Mitty explained the rules, which Shane wasn’t quite sure he understood. Hayden was first to go.

“Never have I ever won rookie of the year.”

“What?” Shane hadn’t realised the statements could be targeted.

“Getting the captain drunk, I like this strategy!” JJ cried. Shane glared at Hayden who shrugged innocently. Shane took a sip. 

They all went with similar things for a while, listing Shane’s accomplishments. Some of the others had to drink occasionally, like for All-stars. Soon, however, things veered into the more personal.

“Never have I ever fucked someone without knowing their name,” Mitty said. This made JJ drink, which meant he had to tell the story, and it was frankly filthy, but the guys seemed to love it.

“Never have I ever fucked someone in the hotel room I shared with a team member,” Taylor said, looking at Patrice suspiciously. After a beat the man drank. “I fucking knew it!” Patrice was made to confess his sins. This set off more targeted statements about sexual exploits, causing more sharing of stories, not all of them racy, but almost all of them hilarious.

“Never have I ever brought someone home to meet the parents only to break up with them at the dinner table.”

“That was told to you in confidence!”

“Bonding baby!”

“Never have I ever fucked two people, separately, on the same night.”

“What can I say, I am the captain of sex!”

“Never have I ever had sex in the locker room.”

Thankfully, no one drank at that. Shane thought about Ilya in the locker room and was grateful that they had saved it for the hotel room.

“Never have I ever had sex with a fellow athlete.”

Shane’s heart jumped, but he tried to keep still. He had obviously not had a sip in a while, and felt a little pathetic. He almost wanted to drink just to prove he wasn’t that boring. A fellow athlete could be a girl, right? Taylor drank and everyone turned to him.

“Figure skater,” he said. “We met during one of those videos, like try each other’s sport, things? So fucking hot. She didn’t even make fun of my jumps.”

Shane drank, before he even really thought it through.

Eyes turned to him. He forced himself to swallow.

“Oh, mon capitaine,” JJ said. “I knew you had it in you!”

“Who else is Shane Hollander gonna fuck? Normal people wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

Shane tried to smile and act natural. He was obviously not going to share the story. He really, really wanted to, though. Was that weird? All the other stories shared that night were told so freely – why couldn’t he have that? Even if he didn’t name names. Why the fuck couldn’t he just share funny stories like the rest of them? He didn’t even want it to be dirty. He just wanted to be a guy at a party, laughing at old exploits.

“A hockey player,” he rasped out. The room stilled. He could still back out. Say he met someone from the women’s league. But it would be so obvious. That ship was sailing away with every passing second of silence.

“Holy shit,” Taylor said. “Who?”

“You can’t ask who! Are you crazy!” Patrice slapped him. That sealed it.

“I can’t tell you a name,” Shane shook his head, keeping his eyes on his beer bottle. “But, actually, I’ve been with two.” He shrugged one shoulder.

“Holy shit!” “You badass motherfucker” “You are the new captain of sex, mon capitaine!” “Oh my god!” They sounded excited for him. Patrice reached over and shook him by the shoulders, ruffling his hair. “This man, this man!”

“Ok, calm down,” Shane said when it was getting excessive.

“That is insane. How do you even, like, figure out who!?” It seemed like a lot of them wanted to know the answer to that. Shane shrugged.

“It’s… you can tell, or mostly, the other guys can tell, about me I mean. I’m terrible at it, mostly. The first time, it was in the locker room-“

“But you didn’t drink!”

“He propositioned me in the locker room,” Shane corrected, a thrill shooting through him at the use of he, feeling giddiness at the way the guys hung on his words, while not acting any different than when they listened to the other stories. “We had sex later in the hotel room.”

“When was this?”

“Before- um, in juniors.” If he said anything else, they might guess. 

“Holy shit.”

“And one time in Mexico, there was a football player, but we didn’t get anywhere, thanks to Hayden.”

“What?” Everyone swung around to look at Hayden, who froze like a deer at the scrutiny.

“You cock-blocked our captain?” Mitty asked.

“I didn’t do it on purpose! I thought he was being abducted!” This caused the team to absolutely fall apart laughing, demanding to hear the full story. Even after explaining the whole night, Taylor was still flummoxed.

“But how did you know he wanted to like, fuck?”

“He made it pretty clear,” Shane laughed. “Like that bartender the other night. He made it clear he could be interested.”

“Did you hook up with him?” Taylor asked.

“No, no, I’m not… I have someone now. I’m not sleeping around.”

“Wait, like a boyfriend?”

Shane felt his stomach do a loop de loop. “Yeah. But I can’t really talk about him. Neither of us our out. His situation is difficult too.”

“Fuck, that sucks.” A lot of murmured agreements all around. “He can’t even come to games, as a friend?”

“We can’t risk it.”

“But he could come to team night’s now, right, with the WAGs?”

“He has to decide between HAB’s or WHAPS!” Taylor had never sounded so excited. Shane laughed.

“Sorry, guys, I don’t think the other WAGs would like him very much.”

“Of course they would! At least add him to the chat.”

“Wait, is this Lily!?” This caused another round of excitement before Shane confirmed, and they all went wild again. “You are down for him so bad, Hollander!” “Your face when he texts!” “Lily locked down Shane Hollander!”

Shane begged for them to stop asking questions he couldn’t answer, and they thankfully respected that and the game continued on for a little while longer.

By the end of the evening, everyone hugged him on the way out, thanking him. JJ was the second to last one out before Hayden. He lingered.

“Pike told you about our little chat?”

“Yeah.”

“Désolé, mon capitaine. We went a little overboard.”

“I know. It’s ok. Thanks for being cool about it.”

“No, no. You do not thank us for being your friend. That is our privilege.” Shane felt his eyes tearing and was grateful to JJ for making the hug and goodbye quick. Then only Hayden was left. They hugged tightly.

“I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

“I did not need to know about you and Ilya in the locker room.”

“Too bad.” They shared a laugh and Hayden punched him lightly in the shoulder before leaving.

Later in bed, Shane facetimed Ilya.

“Hey.”

“You seem happy? It went well?”

“Yeah. I think so.” Ilya looked nice and soft in bed. Shane wanted so badly to be with him it physically hurt. “I came out to them.”

“Shane,” Ilya was trying to convey a lot with that name. Shane felt tears in his eyes. Despite how well it had gone, the day had been long, after a series of freak-outs, so Shane was probably a little on edge.

“It went well. They… they seemed normal about it.” He shrugged, but a few tears started to fall. He wiped at them. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“It was big day. Big feelings. It’s ok to cry.”

“I told them about you, not your name, obviously. Just that you were Lily and that neither of us could come out.”

“You told them we were together?”

“I told them that… well, I said you were my boyfriend.” That was probably not ok without talking about it, was it? “I mean they asked if we were exclusive, like boyfriends, which we are so-“

“We are boyfriends, Shane. I think so, yes.”

“Good.”

“Tell me everything. Whole evening. I want to know.”

“That’s a long story.”

“You are ready for bed?”

“No, I might not even sleep tonight I’m so worked up.”

“So? Talk.”

Shane managed to get through most of the evening without too many eyerolls at Ilya’s commentary. When he mentioned the propositioning in the shower, Ilya grinned and made Shane blush by asking why he had left out details on how Ilya had propositioned him. Eventually, the recounting made Shane calm down. His mind was usually going through the day’s events when he was trying to sleep, but now he was utterly exhausted, so they said their goodbyes.

Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

Post-cup win, June 2015

“100% baby!!”

“You were a fucking beast, Hollander!”

“Going to celebrate with Lily?”

“Tell Lily thanks for letting you come out with us!”

“The real celebration begins, eh?”

Shane’s answering smile made them all hoot, and he ducked out of the bar, blushing. He had gotten one drink with them, as planned. They had celebrated on the ice, in the locker room, and now at the club. But Shane had only one thought the whole time after seeing the rest of the team celebrating with their family.

He had to get home to Ilya. Ilya is in my bed right now, waiting.

The Russian had made excuses to his family on why he had to stay until after the playoffs were over. But he could only stay until the day after. Shane had asked why it was so difficult to make excuses to stay, because it seemed Ilya was stressing about coming up with believable reasons.  

“They would know if I lie too many times. My agent is friends with my father. He reports back.”

“Should you maybe get a different agent? Or at least a manager? I mean, my mom obviously manages my career, but I still have an agent and a financial advisor and-“

“Yes, for you to buy secret sex condos.”

“For keeping my independence and investments,” Shane said pointedly. “Do you not have anyone who wouldn’t report back to them?”

“No.”

“You should have someone who just works for you.”

“It is… difficult.”

“Yeah, I get that. Well, maybe I don’t really… get it, I guess. I know I’m lucky. But maybe we could look at some options? Just in case you were ever to hire someone new?”

Ilya had agreed to that with a noncommittal hum. Shane understood Ilya wanted to see his father, even though it would be difficult. He tried to be supportive despite it being impossible for him to imagine a parental figure who wasn’t proud no matter what. How could anyone know Ilya and not support him unconditionally? Shane was grateful Ilya had wanted to stay as long as he could, especially with how difficult it was for him.

The living room was quiet when Shane finally got home, but he knew exactly where Ilya was waiting. He had never taken off his shoes faster, hating that he just had to reach out and adjust them a little, before walking briskly towards the bedroom.

What he found when he entered was not what he had expected.

“Are you… reading?”

Ilya was clearly, probably, naked under the covers. He was sitting up in bed, one of Shane’s hockey books in his lap. His bare chest was exquisite, and the domesticity of the scene was as confusing as it was arousing.

“Yes, I had to entertain myself,” Ilya said with a sigh, closing the book slowly and placing it on the bedside table. “Was nothing interesting on television.” Shane grinned. Ilya smirked back.

Shane couldn’t wait any longer, he began pulling off his clothes. Ilya threw back the covers and let Shane see him. Ilya teased him while he did the quickest fold of his life and when he was finally on top of Ilya he sighed with relief.

“How does it feel?”

“It feels so good,” Shane began kissing everywhere he could reach.

“I think you mean this,” Ilya said, laughing as he squeezed Shane, “but I meant holding the cup.” Shane pushed himself up so he could look at Ilya’s smirking face.

“It felt pretty good.” Shane tried to shrug casually. “A good first cup.”

“One and only cup I think, because I will unfortunately have to take all the others from you.”

“In your dreams, Rozanov.”

They went back to celebrating. Shane, even though he was exhausted, wanted to be on top, so he would stretch and arch and watch what he did to Ilya. He didn’t think the night could get better.

“Showers, now,” Ilya ordered after they were spent.

“I’m too tired.”

“You will regret if you stay here.”

“I just won the cup and rode you to fucking Moscow and back.”

“Mmm, I will change sheets while you shower.”

That was more than enough incentive, and Shane was joined by Ilya soon after.

When they lay in bed, trying to ignore Ilya’s flight the next morning, Shane felt fuzzy and strange. Good and sad at the same time, like his brain didn’t know what to do with all the chemicals. He never wanted the night to end. He thought back to that night in Vegas, Ilya’s confession of needing him too. They had locked the world away, but Shane was now out to so many people in his life. How could he still want more?

“The guys were so nice tonight, telling me to go celebrate with you.”

“They do not know it is me.”

“I know. Hayden does though. He wants you to come to dinner.”

“Dinner?” Ilya pulled a disgusted face and Shane pushed him.

“He’s trying to be nice.”

“He should after his terrible job with secret chat.”

“He was trying to shield me from it. Besides, he admitted you were right to chew him out for it.”

“Really?”

“Dinner sounding better?” Shane laughed when Ilya made a face. He thought about the four of them, Hayden and Jackie, he and Ilya. It had seemed utterly impossible less than a year ago. Maybe it still was. “I wish we had more time.”

“Wishing is for children, Hollander. We must take what we can, that is all.”

“I know that. Sorry.”

Shane slept badly, and when morning came, he watched Ilya instead of doing his morning routine. He felt all wrong. Even though he hadn’t seen Ilya for weeks before last night, it felt like he couldn’t imagine his apartment without him in it. The force of his feelings made him jittery.

All too soon, Ilya was at the door with his bag in hand. “Ok,” he said. “We will call?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Shane stood stiffly hugging himself, wondering how to say something meaningful without spilling everything and finally pushing Ilya away for good.

“Congrats on winning the cup.”

“Right,” Shane tried to smile. “Thanks.”

“Shane?” Ilya stepped close, dropping the bag and taking hold of Shane’s chin, angling him for a kiss. “See you next season?”

“Ok.”

“Shane.”

“What?” Shane didn’t understand what Ilya wanted him to say. If he said anything it would all explode. Ilya still held his face, and he wanted to look away from those goddamn blue eyes. “See you next season.”

“What is wrong? You are having panic attack?”

“No, Jesus.” Shane pushed at him, but he only created a small space between them. At least Ilya wasn’t touching him. “You have to go. You’ll miss your flight.”

“Fine. Goodbye Hollander.” Ilya turned to pick up his bag.

“Don’t call me that when you’re leaving!”

Ilya dropped the bag again. He looked at Shane with that infuriating intensity. “I have to leave, Shane.”

“I know that. I’m just sad about it and I’m trying not to say anything really fucking stupid, so just go. Goodbye Ilya. See you next season.” Shane closed his eyes and took a breath.

“What would you say?”

“Don’t make me say it.” Shane shook his head, eyes squeezed tight. He felt Ilya’s hands along his arms, up to his shoulders, cupping his face. He opened his eyes, hating how Ilya could see how watery they were.

“Say it,” Ilya whispered. “Shane.”

“Wishing is for children, Ilya.”

“What do you wish for?”

“You.” Ilya kissed him, long and hard. A few tears left Shane’s eyes, caught by Ilya’s hands. They gasped when they parted. “I think I might be falling in love with you.” Shane breathed the confession against Ilya’s lips.

Ilya whispered right back, first something in Russian, then “I think I am so too.”  

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“That’s really stupid of you.” Shane sniffed.

“We are very stupid people.” Shane could only nod against Ilya’s forehead pressed to his own. “I must leave now. I will call you when I can.”

“Ok.” They kissed one last time.

When Shane closed the door, he slid down it and sat for a long while, wondering what one earth they could do about the mess they were in. At least they had each other, and they had people. Could it be enough? For how long? How long could they hold the world back? Shane knew he needed to tell his parents about Ilya. If he could have Ilya with his people, then maybe the world could be held back a little longer.  

He resolved to ask him next season.

First Boston-Montreal game of fall 2015

“You are sure they will not try to kill me?”

“No, Ilya.”

“Or maim me to secure Montreal victory?”

“No… I don’t think so.” Ilya raised his eyebrow at Shane. “No, of course not.” Ilya still looked sceptical. They were just finishing setting the table for dinner. The food Shane had ordered was ready, some of it being kept warm in the oven. He was dressed in what he hoped was normal “introduce your boyfriend” clothes, which was just his usual blue shirt and chinos.

Ilya, of course, looked incredible. Brown slacks, dark brown belt that did that thing to his waist Shane was obsessed about, and a nice soft polo t-shirt with stripes in various browns and oranges. He looked effortless and perfect, and Shane was having a tiny panic attack about the fact that he would soon be in the same room as his parents while thinking about how beautiful Ilya was, who would be within kissing distance.

They had talked a lot over the summer.

Ilya had told him about his meeting with Scott, which had mortified Shane a little, and he was not sure he really understood why Ilya had to know those details. In the end though, Shane didn’t really care. He liked that Ilya knew everything. That what happened with Scott hadn’t ruined things between him and Ilya.

They spoke about how simply existing in the world of NHL knowing others hid themselves helped. Ilya said he had spoken to Ryan Price before the man got traded and thought he might also be gay, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to ask outright. Shane felt more and more that something fundamental was changing.

The lingering fear about the future they couldn’t have was never spoken about directly. The fear of “Russia” hung over Ilya’s head. They had not spoken about “falling in love” again, but Ilya had agreed to meet Shane’s parents. “I feel like, as long as I’m hiding you from them, then they are part of the world we keep out, and I don’t want that.” Shane wasn’t sure he had explained it well. At first, Ilya had rejected the idea outright. Too many people knew. But he had called back the next day and agreed. “They would keep your secret more than anyone,” he had admitted. “Even if they hate me, they are good, like you, and would not put me in danger.” Shane had assured him they would absolutely never even think about doing that.

The doorbell rang. They froze.

“Maybe we pretend you are not home?”

“… maybe.”

“I can get it.” Ilya moved towards the door.

“No,” Shane said, only realising after that Ilya was obviously teasing him. “Just wait here.”

When he opened the door, his parents were standing close together, excited smiles on their faces. David had a bottle of wine in his hand. They thought they were meeting Shane’s totally normal boyfriend.

“Hello honey,” Yuna greeted. She mimed peering into his apartment. “So, where is he?”

“He’s inside. Come in.”

Shane should have briefed them, but he hadn’t been able to make himself say it. So, they were going in blind.

Ilya was standing ready in the living room area. He looked gorgeous, Shane thought, but obviously nervous. Shane walked up to him and turned, taking his hand and finally looking at his parents. They looked shocked, unsurprisingly.

“Mom, dad, this is my boyfriend. Ilya... Rozanov.” Ilya squeezed his hand and Shane squeezed back.

“Hi,” Ilya said.

“Hi,” Yuna said, her voice slightly higher than normal. “You… but how?”

“That’s a long story,” Shane said, swallowing his nervousness.

“But you hate him?”

“No, I don’t. We…” Shane looked at Ilya. “We’ve never hated each other.” Ilya nodded his agreement. Shane forced his eyes back to his parents. A long silence stretched out, Shane’s anxiety rising with every second.

“Well, I say we sit down, eat and have a drink,” David said with perhaps a little forced cheer.

Once everyone was seated with food and drinks, Shane felt an urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all. His life couldn’t just be normal, could it? Taking Ilya’s hand under the table, Shane glanced at him and got a small smile back.  

“So, you two are together?” Yuna asked, drawing their eyes to her.

“Yes.”

“How did this happen?”

“Maybe we should ask,” David put in politely, touching Yuna’s shoulder, “how did you two meet? Or, get together?”

“Right,” Yuna said, realising her question might be interpreted as negative, as though Shane accidentally became boyfriend to Ilya Rozanov through no fault of his own and needed help getting cured.

“We, uh.” Shane hadn’t actually practiced this bit. He looked to Ilya, floundering.

“It was the commercial we did together, before rookie year,” Ilya said gently. Shane wondered at the tone of his voice. Was that his “meeting the parents” voice?

“The CCM commercial?” Yuna exclaimed. “You’ve been boyfriends since then?”

“No, no,” they both protested.

“That’s just where we…” Shit, Shane had really not practiced telling their story in this order.

“You…?” 

“Hooked up,” Ilya finally supplied, shrugging one shoulder. Shane closed his eyes and hung his head.

“Oh,” Yuna said.

“We did not become exclusive until later,” Ilya continued. Shane’s head inched towards the table in embarrassment. “A year ago.”

“I see,” Yuna said again, filing away the information. “Shane, you said you came out to the team in March, did you also…?”

“No,” Shane forced his head up. “Only Hayden and Jackie know about Ilya, and Ilya’s friend Svetlana knows about me.”

“And Scott Hunter,” Ilya supplied. Shane shot him a look of warning.

“Scott Hunter? Why would he know?”

“It was an accident,” Shane said. “He’s a friend now, and he won’t tell anyone,” he insisted.

“How was it an accident?” Yuna was nothing if not thorough. Shane had to close his eyes again.

“He saw Shane leaving my hotel room.”

“Ilya!”

“It was at the All-stars in 2011, so he has kept our secret.”

Yuna and David leaned back a bit and exchanged some sort of look.

“And Hayden just kind of guessed,” Shane felt compelled to add.

“Guessed?” This was apparently even more incredible.

“It’s a long story.” Shane shook his head. He didn’t want his parents to think he had prioritized telling other people first. Yuna sighed and looked at both of them. Shane knew she wanted him to look her in the eye, but he was wrung out.

“You never let him win, did you, Shane?”

This forced his eyes up, anger flaring through him. “Do you let Dad win at cards?”

“I’d rather die.”

“Ok then.”

“He did just win the cup,” Ilya supplied. Shane felt such instant warmth run through him he was afraid he’d start tearing up. Ilya looked at him, squeezing his hand. For a moment, they were alone. “Took you much longer than me, of course.”

“One year!”

“And your only year, so you must enjoy it now, while you can.”

“You wish.”

God, Shane wanted to kiss that smirk off his face. The sound of Yuna clearing her throat brought them back with whiplash. She and David were looking at them with small smiles.

“I think I see it,” David said. Shane blushed. “It makes sense, in the way your hockey only makes sense to you.” What did that mean? It sounded kind of nice. “Though I am a bit surprised about you Ilya. You do have a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man.”

“Ilya likes both.”

“Oh.”

“But I am with Shane now, only.”

“Have you come out to your team?” Yuna asked.

“I have told Marlow I am bisexual and that I have a boyfriend, but not that it is Shane. The rest of the team…” Ilya shook his head. “We do not have the same…”

“Culture of inclusivity,” Shane supplied, since he knew they had used the term together when talking about it.

“Yes, Olson has made things better in Montreal.”

The table fell silent for a moment. Shane didn’t know what else to say to convince them.

“Mom?” Shane prompted when it seemed like Yuna’s lips couldn’t be pursed harder.

“I’m sorry, honey, it’s just a lot to take in,” she said. Shane nodded automatically, trying to focus on Ilya’s hand in his. “I mean, Boston, Shane.”

“Seriously? That’s your problem with this?”

“No no, it’s not a problem, honey, I just…”

“I think what your mother means is that we’re just surprised you managed to keep this up, for so long, with someone from a rival team.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Of course, but,” Yuna looked sympathetically between the boys. “This will makes things a bit more difficult going forward. Obviously, we can craft a statement that-”

“We can’t come out,” Shane cut her off a little harshly. “Too many people already know. Any more puts Ilya in jeopardy.”

“Jeopardy?” David asked sharply.

“Russia,” Ilya explained. “I trust Shane, and so far nothing is provable about me. Only friends or allies know. But, if this were to get out, if I lose my place and lose visa, they would arrest me and I might disappear…”

The implication hung in the air.

“And you still want to be with Shane, despite the risks?”

“Yes.” Shane squeezed Ilya’s hand so hard he was probably hurting him, but Ilya squeezed back just as hard.

Silence reigned again. David and Yuna exchanged a look.  

“So, what’s the plan?” Yuna asked abruptly.

“Plan?”

“You need a plan so you can at least spend more time together. The current situation is too antagonistic.”

“I…” A sinkhole opened up in Shane’s stomach. This was the thing they had been avoiding, living in their fantasy place where the world could be kept at bay indefinitely. He knew Ilya would get tired of it, whatever feelings they had for each other simply could not sustain it. The years of Shane’s career stretched out before him, ending in heartbreak and loneliness.

“I think we will take what we can get,” Ilya said. “Anything else is… impossible.”

“But that’s sad,” Yuna said. “And we can at least begin changing the narrative a bit.”

“The narrative?”

“Your rivalry,” Yuna said by way of explanation. “Obviously, we need to change that into a professional rivalry, one that focuses on mutual respect on the ice and eventually a friendship off it.”

“Yeah,” Shane said, mind going a hundred miles a minute suddenly. “Then we could at least be seen with each other without everyone freaking out.”

“Exactly. Ilya, who is your agent?”

“No, he can not be trusted. He is Russian.”

“You don’t have an American agent, or manager?” Ilya shook his head. “Well, you should get one. Maybe Farah is available, if not, I can recommend someone we can trust. You don’t really have many brand deals, do you? I admit I’ve always found that odd.”

“No, I-“ Ilya blushed. He gestured to his own mouth. “My accent.”

“Well, that’s no hindrance,” Yuna said. “Shane hates talking in commercials, so his are often done with someone else’s voice over. And besides…” Yuna shrugged, looking at Shane pointedly. “I’m sure your accent is appealing to many.” Shane flushed.

“Mom!”

“You like my accent?” When Shane looked at Ilya, he seemed genuinely surprised.

“Of course I do,” Shane mumbled.

“Many people think a Russian accent is sexy.”

“Oh my god!”

“What? The point is, if I can get you a good agent we can trust for American brand deals, you could tell your current agent it will bring in a lot more money, and then,” she gestured with her wine glass into the future, “We can reframe.”

“Reframe?”

“We will change how the media writes about you. And you need to secure US citizenship, eventually. Trust me. It can be done. But it will take time, are you ready for that?” She asked Ilya, but Shane felt compelled to answer.

“Yes. I want that.”

Ilya locked eyes with him. Shane squeezed his hand. “Da, yes, I want that too, however long it takes.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.” Shane wasn’t sure what was settled, but he knew the look in his mother’s eyes well enough. She was planning a whole campaign in her head already.

A few days later, Shane had dinner with his parents again as they usually did before he hit the road. It felt a little different now that they knew everything. They hadn’t really spoken about Ilya since their introduction. Nothing was said for almost the entirety of the dinner, until finally, Yuna addressed, her voice casual. Shane recognised it as the voice she used when she was working towards something more serious.

“How is Lily?” Shane had told them about their code-names.

“Fine. Good.”

“Boston won against New Jersey last night.”

“They always win against New Jersey.”

“Rozanov got a hat trick.”

“I watched the game, Mom.” Shane frowned, trying to understand why his mother was stating the obvious.

“I…” Yuna seemed at a loss for words. David remained silent, but he was frowning so he might not have known what Yuna was planning. “I know our plan is good, but it’s not a true solution. Staying hidden until retirement. It’s… do you think your relationship will last that long?” Shane stilled, staring at his empty plate and wishing he had something to fiddle with.  

“I do. I want it to.”

“Do you know if he does?”

“Considering what he’s risking, yeah, mom, I think he wants it. He told you himself.”

“I know. I just worry. You’re both so young. You have such long careers ahead of you.”

“I don’t care. This is. We-“ Shane tried to find a way to say it without saying it, because he wanted to say that to Ilya only, when he was ready. “He’s been it for me since 2010, Mom. I’ve never had an NHL season without him.”

Yuna looked at him with worry and love, nodding with a small smile. “Of course.”

“We support you,” David added.

“Yes, of course we do,” Yuna agreed and Shane breathed.

Chapter End Notes

Yuna is very protective of course, so she needs a little more than the show because she doesn't get the definitive "I love him" at first meeting.

Chapter 11

December, 2015

“Then in the last shot, you run off camera here,” the director – Shane thought it was the director – was explaining the concept to them. Ilya was standing next to him, making Shane’s skin buzz. They were both wearing summer clothes even though it was December. They were standing close, not touching, but both paying polite professional attention to the director as he explained the “story” of the commercial. Shane was used to it, but Ilya had to ask a few clarifying questions. He had done a few sponsorships, but this was a much bigger campaign that would probably reach a lot of non-hockey fans.

No one said anything about how strange it was that the two rivals were existing in the same room without a problem. Of course, few of the filming crew were likely to be hockey fans in Shane’s experience. Still, Shane and Ilya had greeted one another cordially, pretending to have met before briefly.

“If you want us to go flat out, you should probably have a crash mat there,” Shane said, pointing. The director looked over, assessing the area. He glanced between them, eyes nervous. Maybe he was a hockey fan.

“Obviously, we don’t want you to hurt each other.”

“No, he won’t hurt me,” Shane said easily. Ilya grinned at him. “Would you, Rozanov?”

“No,” Ilya admitted, his grin turning into a smile. He explained to the director, “I would not want to win against Hollander if I knew he was injured in tv commercial. That is not hockey.”

 “What he said,” Shane agreed. He pointed to the set. “It’s just so we have a landing spot. Otherwise, it might look real fake.” The studio wasn’t really big enough for them to run flat out until off camera and stop without hitting the wall.

“Yes, people will easily see I am not really trying to catch him.”

“Ok. Sure. Absolutely. I can see that.” The director was clearly trying to realign his thoughts. “Let me just get legal- Hang on.”

About a month later, the commercial aired. Shane and Ilya, hockey rivals, arguing over the remote so they could both watch their games on some new sports TV package for the NHL. Why they were in the same house, chasing after the same thing, changing the channel to their own games, didn’t make sense, and it didn’t have to. It was a funny commercial. Shane actually laughed when he saw the final result. Ilya’s “Hollander!” when Shane stole the remote from right under him the last time was hysterical.  

Ilya had chased him hard, and off camera they had landed in a heap on the crash mat, laughing. Ilya had caught him round the waist and made sure they landed safely in a roll.

It had been one of the best days of Shane’s life, which was a very strange thought, considering. But being allowed to not only speak to Ilya normally in front of people, but touch him? It was addicting. It made Shane want to throw Yuna’s ten-year-plan out the window. Laughing with Ilya had brought him right back to their first commercial together. Judging by Ilya’s sly smile, he was thinking the same thing.

The team made fun of him for it, of course. They did that with all of his commercials. The fans went absolutely crazy for it, loving how the hockey rivalry had “spilled” over into their commercials. Management loved the engagement it created, especially how neither of them “won” in the commercial itself. Shane was a little sceptical about how this would help soften their rivalry, but Yuna had a plan. First, they had to establish a working relationship outside of hockey, or at least hockey adjacent. She had apparently done some sort of witchcraft to even get the higher ups to agree to it.

Hollander and Rozanov were brands to their own teams, but they were also a packaged brand that the entire NHL corporation used to their advantage. The rivalry sold tickets. Messing with that, even by a seemingly innocent tv commercial, was considered high risk.

Yuna Hollander was the best in the business for a reason. She had secured deals for Shane that sold him as a fit, wholesome athlete, securing brand deals that sent his image outside the hockey world. But that did not mean he truly controlled his own image. The NHL would not just let them change the narrative overnight. Every step had to be so seemingly inconsequential that, by the time the big boys at the top of the NHL organization noticed the reframing, it was already too late to change it back. The fans would already be fans of the new reality.

Part of this plan was that Ilya got his own deals. Convincing his agent and father that he needed someone who understood the American market had been surprisingly easy when he mentioned the amount of money it would bring in. The first few tv spots humanized him a little to the fans, also part of the plan. He got more fans that didn’t just care about him being this untouchable asshole Russian who said smug things during post-game interviews. Even Ilya’s team seemed to feel the change in him. If your bad-ass chirping captain suddenly sold soda on tv, he didn’t seem as scary. 

With Yuna on the case, and an excuse to be seen together, Ilya and Shane could relax ever so slightly. It wasn’t a shock if they exchanged a few words before games during warmup. The fans ate up their respectful side, so long as they still chirped at each other in post-game interviews, which they weren’t going to change anyway.

It wasn’t nearly enough, but it felt like they were heading somewhere, together.

Christmas and New Years, 2015

Shane picked Ilya up at the airport in Ottawa. Ilya had brought presents. Apparently, he never went home for Christmas, Russian or not, which Shane felt bad for, thinking about Ilya alone in Boston for years.

“You are sure they don’t mind?” Ilya asked for what felt like the tenth time during the drive to Shane’s childhood home.

“They’re happy to have you.”

“I am happy to be invited.” Shane threw him a grin, hating that he had to keep his eyes on the road. “It feels… big, right?” Ilya asked gently. “Spending Christmas together?”

“Yeah, but good big, right?”

“Yes, good big.”

Yuna and David greeted him warmly. Since their introduction dinner, the pair had done a lot of research and Shane had a feeling they had finally understood the risks Ilya had taken every time he stayed with Shane. When Yuna had mentioned it to Shane, a new thought occurred to him: Every time someone found out, always due to Shane’s incompetence, Ilya had not run. Sure, he had “run” after their first time together, ghosted Shane for months, but that was due to his own feelings. He had even apologised. For all their time together, however, the risks associated with it had not been enough to stop him.

Shane showed Ilya the guest room, blushing when he remembered Yuna asking if Shane wanted to room with Ilya in there instead, since the bed was bigger than his childhood bed. Shane had stuttered out a “That’s not necessary.” Now, however, he suspected he might sneak across the hallway after bedtime.

“Where is your room?”

Shane took Ilya’s hand. He tried not to feel embarrassed at the shelves full of trophies and hockey books, or the posters of now very obviously handsome hockey players. Ilya studied every inch of the room, a grin on his face. He raised his eyebrow when he got to the poster of Scott Hunter.

“Don’t even start.”

“There is English phrase. I forget. Always meet your hero, he might fuck you?”

“Shut up!” Shane hissed, glancing at the open door. He pushed at Ilya, but the man held on, pulling him close, eyes delighted.

“What? Is not phrase?”

“I’m burning that poster.”

“Good.” Ilya kissed him, walking them back until Shane’s legs hit the bed. They tumbled, laughing, kissing. It didn’t turn truly heated, they both knew they were not about to get off on his childhood bed with his parents downstairs. When they parted, Shane glanced at the open door but found himself not even caring. He looked up at Ilya, feeling overwhelmed suddenly. Ilya had come all this way, risking it all, for him.

“I don’t want Scott Hunter, you know that, right?”

Ilya’s face turned serious. He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to Shane’s lips.

“Da, I know.”

“Do you?” Shane squeezed him a little in case Ilya tried to leave. “You bring it up a lot. You made Scott tell you all the details.”

“You said you forgive me.”

“I don’t care that you asked. I’m just saying,” Shane said carefully, forcing himself to look Ilya in the eyes for the whole thing. “I don’t want anyone else, ever.” Was that too much? “My mom is literally running a secret media campaign for us just so we can be friends in public.”

“I know you don’t want Hunter. I am grateful, for Yuna and her plans.”

“Good. I told her we would last, so.”

“Last?”

“Yeah. Last until… well, until, like…”

“Until?”

“Forever. Retirement,” Shane blushed as he said it. He had to look away. It was too much. “When we can be together openly.” He let himself feel Ilya’s weight on top of him, steadily him. Ilya wasn’t shifting at all, so that had to be a good sign.

“Shane.” Ilya placed a slow, soft kiss against his temple. Shane forced himself to look up again when Ilya lifted his face. “I love you.” His eyes were glassy with tears. The words were said quickly, but they sank into Shane’s brain slowly and all at once.  

“Holy shit.”

“Sorry. Is too much?”

“I love you too.”

Ilya collapsed on top of him, kissing him desperately.

When they finally came downstairs again, neither Yuna nor David said anything if they noticed the young couple being a little quieter than usual.

In the evening, when they were watching a Christmas movie, one of Ilya’s new commercials came on. He looked so goddamn handsome, acting like a James Bond villain as he drove like a getaway driver in a sleek new car. His accent was perfect for the part. Shane grinned at him, leaning closer. “You look like a spy.”

That night, Shane tiptoed across the hall and felt like a spy himsef. Just lying in Ilya’s arms, the familiar sounds of the yard and forest outside, Shane hadn’t felt so peaceful.

“Thank you for bringing me,” Ilya said softly.

“Of course.”

Ilya had sounded sad, and when Shane tilted his head up from where he rested on Ilya’s chest, he saw tears coming on. “Hey,” he reached out and brushed them away.

“I wish I had somewhere good to bring you,” Ilya whispered. His fingers slipped into Shane’s hair. The wish made Shane imagine all sorts of places he wished Ilya could show him, most of which might never have existed. A safe childhood home. A happy place untainted by tragedy. He considered his words carefully. He wanted to learn about the good moments in between.

“Will you tell me about where you would want to bring me, if you could? Maybe about… how we would meet your mom? Like, what would she make for dinner, if we stopped by?”

Ilya told him about Irina and her hospitality. All the details. The exact food. The way she would hug and kiss Shane’s cheeks. How she would study him, make sure he was good for her boy. How she would give Ilya a nod of approval. How she would push extra dessert on them both, her growing boys.

He told Shane about losing her, finding her gone. The impossibility of it that still sometimes hit him. Shane was grateful for all of it.

“She would have loved you, like I love you.”

At their last dinner before Ilya had to catch his flight back to Boston, Shane was lost in thought, mind running a million miles a second. He didn’t even notice he had gone away until Ilya placed a hand on his thigh.

“Shane?”

“Sorry,” Shane shook his head to clear it. He looked around. He tried to smile. Ilya gave him the look Shane now knew meant: I know you have more to say, so just say it. “I’ve been thinking about the plan.” They all knew which plan he was referring to, Yuna’s master plan. “I feel like, we could maybe do something charitable too, together.”

“Good idea,” Yuna said. “You might both visit a hospital-“

“Actually,” Shane interrupted. “I want to start a charity. I think we should do hockey camps. In the summer. For kids.” He looked at Ilya, trying to gauge his reaction as he spoke. “I was thinking it might be nice. Like for real, not just for the plan. We could give the money away to mental health organizations, like for suicide prevention. We could start it together.” Ilya hadn’t told Shane’s parents the details about his mother, only that she had died when he was twelve. He didn’t want to overstep.

“That sounds very nice, Shane,” Yuna said, her voice gentle. Shane kept his eyes on Ilya, whose eyes were getting a little glassy.

“Yes, I think that sounds good.”

It was only later when they said goodbye in the parking garage at the airport that Shane told him the last part of his idea. “We could call it the Irina Foundation. If you want. It was just an idea.” Ilya kissed him, and Shane didn’t even think about cameras or people for a second.

Chapter 12

Chapter Notes

The hockey scenarios are from the hockey highlights that have invaded my feed since heated rivalry, so they are losely inspired by real events.

WARNING for homophobic and racist language. Tags have been updated.

March 2016

He should have known it was inevitable. That was the reason why no other player had come out. Shane trusted those he had told, but they trusted people too, and somewhere down the line a person’s trusted person wasn’t trustworthy at all.

So, like a leaking dam finally breaking, a trusted secret became a whispered rumor, and then inevitably, an accepted fact.

Shane had kept to his buddle, expanding it so slowly, and every time it had worked out. The reality of that bubble popping hit him harder than anticipated.

Perhaps he should have told his mother, the master planner. This would reshape everything, after all. It was difficult to find the words to explain. How could he tell his mother that the homophobic chirp suddenly had an edge? That during their last game against Toronto, Dallas Kent had leaned down with an enthusiasm he had never shown before a face-off against Shane Hollander, grin leering, eyes piercing, and that his simple words had cut Shane’s throat.

“I hear you take it up the ass, Hollander.”

The puck dropped before Kent could finish his chirp, or perhaps he hadn’t needed to say anything else. Shane didn’t know if his face had reacted. His body reacted automatically, however, and he got the puck over to Hayden.

Kent was relentless the entire game. Never loud enough for refs or even teammates. Shane did not chirp back. Maybe that was a confirmation. The more Shane ignored him, the angrier Kent became.

“Is it cause your dick’s so small? Little ladyboy?”

The dam had broken. It was only a matter of time before other players decided it was worth a try to mention it. Shane pushed himself hard, like he was already in the playoffs. Kent was not going to get the satisfaction that his tactic worked.

Toronto lost, thank God.

But Dallas Kent was only the first. Other players made it obvious what they thought they knew about Shane Hollander. It somehow made them more racist too, as though the rumour about his sexuality had reminded them they already had a great set of slurs to pair the new ones with.

Shane didn’t ask his team about it. He hoped they hadn’t heard a word. He knew it was pointless to find the leak. What would it matter anyway? He went online and couldn’t find anything, so the rumour was analogue between players so far, an internal memo.

But everyone knew intra-player rumours could break containment if they were big enough, and this was bigger than anything. For the NHL, it was bigger than the rumours about Kent, or speculations like why Price kept getting traded, or a whole host of other “truths” that circulated between players across teams. This was a front-page rumour.

Shane’s first thought had been Ilya.

Because if the rumour evolved into an accepted truth, one only waiting for confirmation, then Ilya and Shane’s relationship couldn’t be public after all. If he was seen with Shane too much, people might start talking, and Russia especially might not like Ilya’s passive acceptance of Shane’s status.

So, he had to tell Ilya, to warn him.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ilya had not been receptive to a compromise.

“I’m not saying we throw away the plan, we just need to make sure you don’t get caught in the crossfire.”

“Use normal words, Hollander.”

“If people see you being friendly with me, they might start talking about you too, about us.”

Ilya had argued. He had not heard anything in the Boston locker room. It was just players talking, nothing online yet. Shane had tried to explain he was trying to keep Ilya safe, but also himself. Because if Shane was seen as being "friendly" with Ilya, they might decide Shane was pursuing him, or worse, harrassing him. They might decide Shane was predatory. How long before his team turned on him if the media started asking about the locker-room and showering?

“When people online start talking they might drag our friendship into it.”

“Shane. You came out. This would happen, yes? In the end, people will know.”

“But you might be in danger.” I might lose everything, even you, Shane thought. Because, unlike Ilya, Shane would get no leeway. Ilya could still walk away. There was a reason Ilya could be a menance on the ice and get a reputation without it ruining his career. In fact, his reputation had been part of why Boston loved him. Now, they loved this new side of him that Yuna's campaign was engineering. He was maturing, people said.

Shane had only ever had one choice: to be the role model. The perfect model minority. His gayness would shatter that, no matter how softly they launched it. Before, his support structure had been enough to keep him focused, keep him at 100%, but could it withstand the reality of being out to the world?

“I have always been in danger, Shane," Ilya was saying. "Before you. Even before I leave Russia. But with you, is danger I chose.” Shane tried to focus on that. He had chosen this too. He had people in his corner. He could take a few extra chirps and stupid media think-pieces. So long as Ilya was safe, with him.

Fear still gripped him, tighter that ever before.

They didn’t really come to an agreement. Shane said they should probably not meet up, just in case.

To say their face-off was tense would be an understatement.

“Hollander.”

“Rozanov.”

The urge to tell Ilya to keep his distance one more time made Shane clench his jaw. Ilya won the face-off. He skated hard. Both teams were secured for the playoffs, but Boston and Montreal never let that stop them. Shane couldn’t keep up. He hadn’t played a game this bad, maybe ever.

“Get your head in the game, Hollander,” Ilya barked at him as he stole the puck from him.

“You ok, captain?” JJ asked as Shane took his seat on the bench.

“Sure, yeah.”

Boston seemed ok so far. Maybe Ilya had cultivated a good locker room despite no Olson gunning for inclusivity. For some reason, the thought of Ilya hearing one of his teammates call Shane something made him want to throw up. Would racism or homophobia be worse? He couldn't decide. Every noise in the entire arena was amplified tenfold. The voices of the players over the scrape of ice made him strain his ears to hear.

Just before the first period ended, Shane heard it, or rather he felt it. His brain didn’t clock the words until after. He was pretty sure the forward’s name was Hammersmith. The comment had been something beginning with “Heard you’re a fag-“, spat right in his ear as he was pressed into the boards. Shane ignored it, got free and went round the goal to find a new opening.

Then suddenly he was upside down, his body slammed so hard he left the ice entirely. He closed his eyes and felt himself hit the ice, most of the impact being taken by his pads. He still kept his eyes closed for a moment, checking his body for pain. The hit had been so unexpected and harsh, his heartbeat was pounding in his ears. All other sound disappeared.

When Shane opened his eyes again, he found himself looking up from ice and found the most bizarre scene.

Ilya was kneeling by Shane’s side. his arms stretched out wide as they could go, his eyes filled with concern.

Behind him, it looked like the entire roster of Boston and Montreal were fighting. They were fighting so hard they didn’t realise how close they were to Shane. Ilya was holding them back so Shane wasn’t accidentally hit again or skated right over. From Shane’s vantage point, it looked like Ilya was holding back two entire NHL teams, which wasn’t the case of course, but Shane felt something in him warm at the sight.

“Hollander,” Ilya said. “You ok?”

“I’m good,” Shane managed, pushing himself up.

“Do not move, wait for medic,” Ilya ordered. Shane found himself obeying. Finally, the refs started to pull the players apart. A medic came over and helped Shane up. As he was led off the ice for concussion protocol, he glanced back at Ilya. The man had turned to Hammersmith to yell at him over the ref.

Shane found the team in the locker room when he finished. No concussion, thankfully. He had just been rattled. A tense air lingered over the room despite the game not meaning that much in the grand scheme of things. They were sitting around like they were losing a playoff game, staring at him with apprehension.

“What happened?” Shane asked, glancing at Hayden, wondering if something else had gone down during the last minute of the first period. Was it Ilya’s actions that had them worried? For a terrifying moment, Shane thought they had guessed it all.

“Are you ok?” Hayden asked, rising and placing a hand on Shane’s shoulder.

“Yeah, fine. They said I’m good to skate.”

“That was a dirty fucking hit,” JJ spat. Shane shrugged, not disagreeing, but he was ok, so no point in dwelling on it.

“What did he say to you?” Hayden asked.

“What?”

“Hammersmith. He said something?” But Shane was already shaking his head. This was pointless, a distraction.

“We heard Rozanov tell him off,” Taylor said. “He was screaming at him.”

“What?” He was becoming a broken record. He forced himself to speak. “What did he say?”

“Just that if Hammersmith used language like that again, Rozanov would make sure he was done using his legs for the rest of the season.”

“Fuck,” Shane tried to figure out how to play this. This was exactly the scenario he wanted to avoid. If Ilya defended him, it would blowback on both of them.

“What did he say?” Hayden asked. “Did he use a… like a slur?”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s just focus on the game, ok? Please.” The added please made him feel pathetic, but Shane would give anything to just be back on the ice. He hated feeling this sick adrenaline rush, a thousand scenarios running through his head, every movement of his teammates, a sideways glance, a sigh, sent his mind spiralling. They knew, they all knew and they would hate him now. A coming out was one thing; this was a step too far.

“It matters!” JJ said.

“No, it fucking doesn’t and you know it,” Shane snapped. He caught JJ’s eyes and maybe JJ understood, because his shoulders slumped and he nodded. JJ knew the refs wouldn't police language unless it was broadcast.

The rest of the room was eerily silent. “It doesn’t matter what they call me. It’s just a new variation. I’ve never let shit like that effect the way I play. That stuff-…” he shook his head. “I played like shit today for completely different reasons, not because of that shit. I’ve dealt with fucked up chirps and slurs my entire career. I’m sorry that you guys might get some of it just because you’re on a team with me, but please don’t get into fights over it. If we did that every time,” Shane huffed a laugh, “we wouldn’t have time to play hockey. And I came here to play fucking hockey.”

He hoped his speech might put it to rest, deflect attention away from Ilya, and maybe get some spirit back into the team. He wasn’t very good at motivational speeches, but he felt this was hadn’t been half bad. There was very little reaction to it, however. The silence felt damming. Shane looked over to Hayden for help, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

“You don’t say sorry to us for that shit, you…!” Hayden threw up his hands in frustration. Several guys made grunts of agreement and nods. “Christ, that’s fucked up, Shane.”

“He’s right,” JJ said, standing. “I mean, Hollander is right. This shit won’t stop by getting into fights.” He went over to Shane and pulled him into a quick, hard hug. When they parted, he grabbed Shane by the shoulder and turned to the group. “You heard the captain! Let’s play fucking hockey!” Finally, the guys got up and found their energy again. Shane was treated to what felt like an endless round of hugs, more than a few whispered words of apology and encouragement in his ear. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. But Hayden’s smile seemed to suggest it had gone as well as could be hoped.

Back on the ice, Shane sought out Ilya immediately. He felt Ilya’s gaze assessing him, no doubt checking for damage. He gave a nod, trying to convey that he was fine. He wondered how the confrontation with Hammersmith, who he could no longer see present, had played on television. What were they saying? Had anyone caught the slur or guessed the reason for the dirty hit and fight?

“You good?” Ilya asked when they met for their face-off.

“Yeah. You?” Shane wasn’t sure why he was asking.

“Yes, I am winning sportsmanship trophy.” Shane had to look up, because he knew Ilya would be grinning at him. Sure enough, when they eyes met, Ilya’s grin turned into a delighted smile, and Shane had to smile back.

“That’s all you’re getting this year,” Shane chirped back, more just to have an excuse to keep looking at Ilya. Movement from the ref made Shane’s focus snap back, and he was off with the puck, a surge of energy making him fly across the ice.

Maybe the players had realised fighting when both teams were heading for the playoffs was really fucking stupid, because the rest of the game was exceptionally clean.

Montral was up 2-1, and Shane really wanted to keep it that way. On a breakaway, he thought he might actually get another one in, but Ilya was so fast. This time, the crush into the boards was practically courteous compared to Hammersmith’s hit.

Shane had been about to sneak the puck back to Hayden, but he blinked as Ilya hit him, and then the puck was gone. His eyes immediately went to Ilya’s stick, almost pushing off the boards to follow him, but Ilya wasn’t moving, still pressing into him, eyes on the ice, scanning. The puck was gone.

Shane had seen this happen to a few players, goalies especially, and it usually resulted in a laugh. The puck would usually fall out of a leg after a little shake. It had never happened to him, however.

“Where did you hide it?” Ilya laughed. He reached out and started patting Shane down like he was a cop looking for contraband. The damn thing would not fall out.

“Fuck off,” Shane said, blushing, pushing at Ilya while also trying to locate the puck himself. He didn’t want Ilya to find it first and take off with it. Had play stopped? He wasn’t sure. Ilya started laughing.

“New technique, Hollander?”

“Shit, where is it?” He shook his legs and tried to feel for it, but nothing dropped out.

The stadium noise was filling with laughter, and many other players were standing around giggling at the two all-stars, both cup winners, one poking the other like kids on a playground.

“Is in your pants,” Ilya was full on laughing now. “If you couldn’t wait for me to-“

“Shut up,” Shane hissed, but he was grinning. “Shit, I have to take them off.”

“Should I ask them to put on music?”

Shane shoved Ilya hard enough for him to be pushed back a couple of feet so he could actually get his outer layer down a bit, very thankful for his compression tights. He knew he was blushing terribly, and he did not dare look up at the crowd. He could hear their laughter, but it was just a bit of fun, he told himself. It was a relief after the bad fight, and the crowd was loving every second of it. A few hollered and whistled when Shane pushed his pants just far enough down to stick his hand down his right leg. He was pretty sure a couple of whistles came from his teammates.

Finally, he found the puck and raised it high in triumph. The stadium erupted in cheers, and Shane grinned, shaking his head in disbelief at the absurdity. He tossed the puck to the ref, and pulled his pants up.

Montreal won, and even though it hadn’t decided anything, it still felt like a sweet victory.

“How do you feel about the victory tonight?”

“It was a good game. I think the team had fun. We’re full of energy and ready for the playoffs.” Shane felt the smile on his face, and it wasn’t quite as forced as it usually was. Of course, that meant the reporter’s next question would rip it off him.

“And the fight with Hammersmith, people are saying he had it out for you?”

“It wasn’t as bad as it looked,” Shane said. “It happens. But I’m ok. Ready for the playoffs.”

“Rozanov protected you from further injury. Where you surprised he would do that for a rival?”

“No, of course not,” Shane said, actually shocked the reported would question that. “He saw the position I was in and realised I might get further injured. I would do the same.”

“But it’s still a little surprising, is it not?”  

“Rozanov is an honourable player. We are hockey rivals. Neither of us want the other injured like that, and I think both our teams would agree.” He knew his voice was becoming too harsh. Shane Hollander didn’t talk like this to reporters. He needed to dial it back, get his PR voice under control.

Thankfully, their PR rep pulled him from the interview, probably having a sixth sense when any player was in danger of making a headline.

“You ok?” Hayden asked when they were finally free to get dressed and head out.

“Yeah, just the reporters…” Shane shrugged.

“Never thought I’d see the day I would want to defend Ilya fucking Rozanov,” Mitty said suddenly.

“Yeah, I hate that we owe him, but also, how the fuck did he even realise what was happening?” Taylor asked. “I didn’t even realise cap was at risk, and he was there in half a second.”

Shane kept his back to the room, focusing on getting dressed.

“He was on Hollander for the puck, obviously. The only reason Hammersmith even hit cap is because he cut Rozanov off.”

“When we win the cup, we have to send Rozanov a fucking gift basket.”

Shane smiled to himself, thinking he might just give him something more.

“He gets points too for not being a homophobic asshole.”

“No one gets points for that!”

“He’s Russian, though.”

“So? That lets them get away with homophobia?”

“I’m just saying!”

“We should invite him out to celebrate with us, as a thank you.” Mitty’s suggestion was met with disbelief and snorting. When conversation resumed, most of the team drifted towards other topics.

“If we do see him out tonight, I’ll buy him a shot of vodka,” JJ said. “You coming tonight?” he asked Shane.

“Sorry can’t, I’m in my playoff routine already.”

“Back to back cups, captain, you do whatever you have to do!” JJ reached out and they clasped hands briefly. The team had been doing that a lot since Shane had come out, being more at ease with how often Shane begged out. In return, Shane had gotten better at coming out for at least one drink and being more honest about why he couldn’t go out other times, instead of just saying vague excuses. It made the locker room feel much more relaxed.

“Yeah right, "playoff routine",” Taylor said, making quotation marks with his fingers. “We all know you’re seeing Boston Lily!”

“What?” Shane’s heart stuttered. “Why-“

“You always text him after a game against Boston and run out the door,” Taylor continued. “Including when we play them in Montreal.”

“Hey, he’s right!” Drapeau said. “How did you notice that and not me?”

“I notice stuff!”

“Is it true, captain? Is he a… Boston fan?” Mitty asked, the last words spoken as though he was afraid of conjuring a ghost.

“No! He’s-“ but Shane’s brain betrayed him, too busy denying one thing to consider the wider implication. His heart was hammering.

“So you are seeing him!” Taylor accused.

“Hey, guys, leave him alone,” Hayden stepped into the center of the room. “You shouldn’t speculate. You know the guy can’t come out.”

“And he’s not here,” Shane decided to add. “I just text a lot more when we play Boston because he likes to chirp me about it.”

“So you can come out with us?” JJ jumped on it immediately.

“Uh-“

“I am joking, capitaine, I know-

“Sure, I can come out for a drink. Just one.”

The guys cheered, all of them knowing this would be the last night out post-victory before the gruesome schedule of the playoffs. Shane should probably have prioritised it as captain. Shane caught Hayden’s eye and the man bumped his shoulder.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Shane turned away to his gear. “I wasn’t going to see him anyway,” he said softly.

“Why not?”

“Too dangerous.”

“What? Dude, when has it not been anything but dangerous?”

That made Shane pause and he thought about how hurt Ilya had been. Fuck, why had he let his paranoia control him? He picked up his phone and texted Lily.

Jane: I’m sorry I was stupid about meeting up. The guys want to go out and I have to have a drink with them. Could you let yourself in and I’ll be back as soon as I can?

When no answer came at once, Shane sighed and put his phone away. He checked it again when he came back from the shower and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a new message.

Lily: Where are you going out?

Jane: Probably The Monte Cristo? Or The Downtown. That’s the go-tos. I’ll only have one drink I promise.

Lily: See you later.

Shane grinned and felt himself settle, eager to get out so he could get back home.

Chapter 13

A bar, Montreal

“Holy shit, he’s here.”

Shane heard Patrice’s words just as his eyes caught Ilya’s across the bar. He gripped his ginger ale tightly, hoping his face wasn’t betraying him. Ilya’s sly smirk was legendary as he approached the table Shane was sharing with Hayden, JJ and Patrice, with the rest at the tables on either side filled with over half the team.

Ilya was insane. He was a Boston player, alone, in enemy territory.

“Congratulations, boys,” he said, seeming to not notice the hostile looks. Not as hostile as they might have been before the game. Ilya nodded at Shane. “Glad to see you out, Hollander. It was a dirty hit. As captain, I apologize. Ham was always dickhead. I hope he gets sent down.”

“That’s- Thank you, Rozanov,” Shane managed.

“Maybe we can take photo together? Help my campaign.”

“Campaign?”

“For sportsmanship award.”

Shane couldn’t help it, he laughed. Ilya’s sly smile, all of him looking gorgeous - it made Shane giddy. He hoped the guys figured his blush was due to the warm bar.

“I don’t think they’ll give it to you if you want it too much, Rozanov.”

Ilya grinned at the retort. “You fear competition, I think. Always, they give it to nice Canadian.”

“Well, I’m about to win another cup, so you can have the Byng this year.” Shane had won it once already, and in truth he wanted Ilya to win it more than he had ever wanted Ilya to win anything. It would prove to the world that Ilya Rozanov was more than his reputation.

Ilya’s grin widened at Shane’s boast. “We will see, Hollander. I usually get there first.”

“Well, except for rookie of the year, the Lady Byng award…” Shane counted off the awards he had gotten before or alone.

“Oh- I see, not nice Canadian after all!” Ilya interrupted his list with a laugh. “I think I must warn the voters of this.” He looked around as though he would find members of the PHWA in the bar. Shane just shook his head, rolling his eyes. “You should buy me drink, as thank you, at least.”

Shane felt a stab of panic at the request, but he managed to glance at JJ. “I believe Boiziau said something about buying you a shot of vodka?”

Ilya raised his eyebrow at JJ, who huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Rozanov. We are grateful,” he gestured to Shane. “I will buy you a shot, but not top shelf!”

For half a second, Shane was afraid Ilya would reject the offer just to fuck with them, but Ilya just smiled and inclined his head. JJ and some of the other guys went to get the shot and more drinks, and suddenly Ilya was sitting next to Shane, though they were at the corner of the table, so it created a little space between them.

“That was some quick thinking, Rozanov,” Hayden said. “If Shane had been worse hit by our fighting, I would have been so angry.”

“Yes, hit was bad, but fighting without looking is stupid.”

“Your guys were fighting too.”

“Yes, is what I said, no?”

The guys seemed to settle more firmly as JJ returned with drinks. They had even gotten Ilya a beer along with his shot, which seemed incredible. Ilya held up the shot and toasted it towards Hollander.

“To playoffs.”

Shane clinked his ginger ale against the glass and knew he was smiling way too widely as Ilya downed the shot. “Bah,” he said, shaking his head. “Canadian vodka.”

They were sitting in a bar together, with Shane’s team. The team who had just bought Ilya a drink. Shane was pretty sure the hit had actually sent him into a coma. This was all a dream.

“How can vodka ever taste good?” Taylor asked with his usual obliviousness.

“How?!” Ilya spluttered. The guys laughed at his earnest offence.

“Yeah, it just always tastes like pure alcohol in my opinion.”

“Poor, poor Canadians. In Boston I have taught whole team about proper drinking.”

After more arguing, suddenly, Ilya was buying top shelf shots for the whole team. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it, everyone in the bar knew that, but Shane wondered what would happen if this got out on social media. Ilya did not seem to care, far too concerned with Taylor’s lack of drinking culture.

Even Shane had to get a shot. He could hardly say no.

“Such a lightweight, Hollander,” Ilya snickered with Shane made a face at the tiniest sip.

“Fuck off. I never drink during the season.”

“Oh, I am special occasion?”

“No, but this is free, so.”

Ilya laughed.

Soon Ilya was talking to the guys, and Shane was just enjoying being an observer of Ilya’s natural charisma. It should have been obvious, once the harshness of the rivalry was softened, that the team would be helpless against the Russian’s magic appeal. They even laughed or groaned good naturedly at his chirps, though Ilya kept most of them directed at Shane.

At yet another chirp that Shane just laughed at, JJ spoke up.

“You never chirp Hollander this bad even on the ice, Rozanov.”

“No? Well, probably because I know he will not react, no point.” It was true, in a way, their chirping had lost that hard edge a while ago. And Ilya had never chirped at Shane to make him drop gloves. That would indeed be pointless.

“So we just need to stop reacting and you’ll stop chirping us?”

“I’ve been telling you that for years,” Shane interrupted. “I always tell all of you not to react to stupid chirps! You never listen.”

“Ah, bad strategy, Hollander,” Ilya tsk’d at him. “I will give you advice, captain to captain. You must chirp your team yourself. That is how I prepare my guys.”

“You chirp your own team as, like, practice?” Hayden asked.

“Of course. I chirp best. That way they do not care what other team says. They can not think of anything original.” Shane knew Boston fought more than most, but they were known for getting the other team to break first. Ilya had won more games on a power play than Shane, he could easily admit. “Of course you cannot use that strategy, Hollander, as you cannot chirp.”

“Fuck you,” Shane said without heat.

“Thank you for demonstrating.”

This made even Shane’s own guys laugh, and Shane couldn’t even be mad at it. He felt conflicted. On the one hand, being with Ilya in public like this was intoxicating. On the other, he desperately wanted to go home with Ilya.

In the end, he offered to get a round of drinks, since Ilya had. He couldn’t let the Boston captain get all the sportsmanship points after all.

At the bar, before he could even order, a guy slid up close to him. He was handsome enough, but he had a leering vibe Shane disliked immediately.

“Great game today,” he said.

“Thanks.” Shane glanced at him out of politeness but returned his gaze quickly to the back of the bartender’s head, willing the man to turn in his direction. The leering guy did not move.

“You looked so hot on the ice. Just, incredible.”

“Wow,” Shane said flatly. He debated calling for the bartender, knowing he, as Shane fucking Hollander, would get service instantly, but he always felt bad for cutting in line.

“It was so funny, when the puck got stuck. Seemed like you really had to dig for it.”

“Ha, yeah.”

“But your last goal was a work of art, honestly, all your goals are.”

“Thanks.”  

“Listen, I know this is a long shot-“

“Hollander, what is taking so long?”

Shane glanced behind him at Ilya, feeling paralyzed by a mixture of fear and gratitude.

“Are you…” the leering guy’s brain seemed to short-circuit.

“Who are you?” The man opened his mouth to answer, but Ilya cut him off. “Do not care. Fuck off.”

“Excuse you!”

Ilya ignored him and stepped up to the bar between them, so that Shane had to shift back to accommodate him. He called the bartender, who came at once as he had already served Ilya before and was clearly eager for more big tips.

“You ok, Hollander?” Patrice was there now too, eyeing Ilya a little strangely.

“Oh, yeah, fine.”

“Ginger ale and,” Ilya told the bartender, glancing behind him to check who was still at the tables. “Eight beers. You help, Drapeau?”

Ilya butchered the French name, but the man did not seem to care. “Yeah.”  

They returned together with the drinks. Shane’s anxiety was high for a long time after that, feeling as though the entire bar could tell how he felt about Ilya. Thankfully, Ilya excused himself first.

“I must head back to hotel. Thank you for Canadian hospitality.”

“Thanks for the drinks!” Taylor said.

“Can’t wait to crush you in the playoffs!”  

“Have a good one, Rozanov.”

“I hate you on the ice, but you’re not bad off it.”

Ilya accepted the various goodbyes and comments with grins and easy charm. Shane envied him suddenly, but then he remembered that Ilya was going to his place to be with him. If you charmed the charmer, that had to count for something, right?

Shane waited as long as he was able, listening to the guys being in disbelief at the nice night they had had with Ilya Rozanov of all people.

Finally, he could get away and hurry home. Ilya was just on the other side of the door, as though he had been standing right there waiting.

They fell into each other like always, kissing so deeply it felt like they would meld. Ilya backed them into the apartment, then angled Shane towards the kitchen counter and lifted him up, slotting himself between Shane’s legs.

“Did you look online?” Ilya asked between kisses.

“What?” Shane pulled back slightly, trying not to panic immediately. His hands were still fisted in Ilya’s hair.

“They are writing about my sportsmanship. Your interview too.”

“You really want that trophy, huh?”

“I think we skipped a few steps of Yuna’s plan.”

Shane had deliberately not read his mother’s email that had the subject line “Sportsmanship angle – areas of focus moving forward.” She had sent a heads up about it over text. She also knew not to call whenever Shane was playing against Boston.

Shane pulled back a little more, letting his hands drop to Ilya’s shoulders. “What are people saying? Did anyone post about you at the bar?”

“I have not seen anything yet, just the game. There are… thought pieces?”

“Think pieces.”

“Yes, lots of think pieces on respectful rivalries and sportsmanship. We are gentlemen hockey players.” Shane snorted at that.

“I hate that basic decency makes headlines.”

“Yes, that is shameful, but this is what we want, yes? Respect off ice, rivalry on it.”

“Yeah, but you still need to be careful. If the rumors about me-“

“No, Shane. Fuck rumors.”

“Ilya. You might not be able to go home if you’re seen as supporting me.”

“I know what I risk, Shane,” Ilya’s voice had an edge to it Shane wasn’t sure he had ever heard before. It made his voice deep and his accent heavy. “My brother called after our commercial. He mocked me. I am soft. I am fag. My father is disappointed I am wasting time not playing hockey.” Ilya shrugged, eyes down. Shane cupped his face, stroking Ilya’s cheek with his thumb. “I am tired of it. I am… scared of never going home. I hate myself for not being with my father when he is sick. I am selfish-“

“No, Ilya,” Shane whispered.

“I am selfish,” Ilya insisted. “Because I also want to never go home. I want to be found out, so the choice is not mine. I think like this- I am- coward-“

“No, Ilya, no, please don’t say that. You are so brave, so selfless. I love you so much.”

“I love you,” Ilya whispered, along with Russian words as he leaned forward and put his head into Shane’s neck, kissing the skin there. Shane held him tightly. 

“I just don’t want you to be trapped into a choice you might regret,” Shane admitted into Ilya’s hair. “If you need to wait until after the summer, we can put the plan on hold. I’ll wait however long you need.”

“I need you.” Shane squeezed Ilya even tighter at the now familiar words.

“You have me, no matter what. I love you.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

At Hayden’s, June 2016

Shane did not usually go much online. He knew it was bad for him. Since the rumors about his sexuality, he did google himself now and then. During the playoffs, however, he lost all sense of the outside world.  

Now, he was a two-time champion, and the idea of caring about rumors was far from his mind. The euphoria he felt as his team embraced him, knowing they knew - as much about him as they could know - meant the world.

Now they were sitting in Hayden’s backyard, everyone nicely drunk and full of food. The cup itself was with some of the rookies. Shane hoped the NHL officials kept them on a short leash.

Shane had been seated in the exact same chair almost two years ago and been terrified of the idea of telling the team about his sexuality. Now they had won two cups together. Shane remembered the end of his first playoffs. How exhausted he was, how he felt the need to isolate himself, rewatch tape until he didn’t know day from night, and blame himself for losing. Now, even when they lost, it didn’t feel as heavy. That meant winning came easier. They were all at 100%.

That Olson guy really knew his stuff.

“Mon capitaine, may we speak?”

“Sure,” Shane said, following JJ with a small frown into the kitchen. The place was a disaster, and Shane was glad Jackie would be getting cleaners in the morning. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if Lily was in town?”

“Oh, no, not now, why?” Shane had acknowledged that his paranoia had been extreme, but even Ilya could admit that he couldn’t stay several days between the end of the playoffs and the NHL awards. They would get to celebrate together in Vegas before Ilya went to Russia. Shane had never been more grateful for people’s short memories and the sportsmanship award.

“It must be hard, seeing each other so little.”

“It’s… difficult. But we talk almost every day during the season.”

“You will see each other during the summer?”

“Oh- no, he… he goes home to his family during the summer.”

“So you are all alone now?”

“Yes…?”

“Not having a little visit with Rozanov?”

Shane froze. He tried to make his mouth move. “Wha… What? That’s insane. Why would he…?” But his hesitation was enough.

“Merde,” JJ swore, running a hand through his hair. Then he slammed his hand on the counter, making Shane jump.

“I don’t know how you got that idea, but…” Shane tried to find words to deny it.

“Hey, guys,” Hayden came into the kitchen with a bunch of empties, disposing of them in an already almost full trash bag. “What’s going on?” He seemed to sense something tense. “Shane?”

JJ smiled at Hayden as though nothing was wrong. When he spoke, he was completely casual. “Nothing, just discussing Vegas. Want to bet if Rozanov gets the Lady Byng?”

“I mean, he probably will. The people loved that shit and they have a short attention span.”

Shane looked between them, confused and untethered.

“True, but he did keep our capitaine safe, so,” JJ said, shrugging.

“Yeah, gotta hand it to him, I guess.” Was JJ keeping his secret? Shane felt his eyes sting. “Shane, you ok?”

“I think he’s had enough to drink tonight,” JJ said. “Maybe I am tired too. We can share a car home, capitaine?”

“Hayden knows,” Shane managed. All three froze for a moment, eyes darting between them.

“You told him?”

“No, he guessed too. Guess I’m just shit at hiding it.”

“Fuck, are we talking,” Hayden glanced behind him before lowering his voice, “Rozanov?”

“Yes,” Shane said.

“How could you do this, Hollander?” JJ asked, angry, then he turned to Hayden. “And how can you condone this?”

“Hey!” “I’m sorry.” Hayden spoke over Shane’s apology. “You just said Rozanov deserved the Byng!”

“That doesn’t mean I condone the capitaine cheating!” JJ hissed.

“What?” Hayden’s face scrunched comically in confusion. Shane was simply frozen, unable to make his mouth do anything. Suddenly, Hayden rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, he didn’t cheat, you idiot! Ilya is Lily. Duh!”

“Rozanov is Lily?” JJ looked at Shane as though to confirm, perhaps wondering if Hayden was just making stuff up. Shane could only nod.

“You did not cheat on Lily with Rozanov?”

“No,” he managed.  

“Oh, Dieu merci,” JJ breathed out. “I thought after the night when he came out with us, that you two had started something.” He looked so relieved.

“Fucking hell,” Hayden muttered. “How could you think that about cap?!”

“They had such chemistry!” JJ protested, gesturing to Shane emphatically. “And now, obviously, I know why. When did you guess?”

“Oh, I clocked them during Vegas 2014.”

“Tabarnak!” JJ gave Shane a look full of equal parts admiration and annoyance. “You are fucking crazy, capitaine. You could not pick the easy route, huh?”

“I didn’t pick anything. It just… happened.”

“When? How?”

Shane took a deep breath, hoping for once to explain in a way he felt was accurate. “We were drawn to each other the first time we met, at juniors in ’09. Then during a commercial shoot before our rookie season, we… hooked up. I thought it would just be the one time, but then it just… kept happening.”

“Putain de merde,” JJ swore, closing his eyes for a moment and shaking his head.

“I know it’s impossible for us to be together openly, but I love him. He loves me. We… we want to try to at least be friends in public. I hope you can help with that. You seemed to get along at the bar?”

“Oui, capitaine, we got along fine,” JJ sighed.

“And you can’t tell anyone. If the world finds out, especially during the summer, Ilya could get arrested in Russia.”

“D’accord, capitaine. I will keep your secret. I swear it.”

“Thank you, JJ.”

They hugged it out, and Shane was relieved, but the danger had now increased. If JJ had guessed, who else could? What if the rumors started in earnest during the summer?   

Was Ilya even safe to go to Russia at all?

Chapter 14

Chapter Notes

I did check the fact used in this chapter about Gretzky, but I don't know enough about hockey to say if the same thing is possible today.

NHL awards, 2016

Ilya wasn’t going to win the sportsmanship award. The only reason he was in Vegas was because Shane was there. One last night before the summer.

He tried to be in a good mood. He was happy for Shane. His surliness was just his regular mood at this time of year.

Svetlana was on his arm, a good buffer. She had insisted because they could use the excuse that she wanted to talk to Hollander even more than Ilya, creating an even better reason for them to be friendly. She would be flying out to Moscow with him after. Ilya tried not to think about how he wished he was on Shane’s arm instead.

He had to suppress a grin when he spotted Shane in the crowd, moving slowly towards the hall where the show would be. Finally, his bad mood evaporated.

“Hollander,” he called. Shane turned, and smiled, making Ilya’s grin break free. He looked so good in his suit. A flash went off and Shane’s eyes shot towards it, his whole body tensing. “Are you going to thank me in your acceptance speech?” As he hoped, Ilya’s question made Shane refocus on him and relax slightly. When they reached each other, Ilya shook his hand, ignoring the crowd.

“I don’t unusually thank everyone I beat, it would take too long,” Shane replied with a smirk.

“See, I told you, Sveta, Hollander is secretly an asshole.”

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Sveta told him. She stepped up and greeted Shane with a kiss on both cheeks. “Congratulations, Hollander. Two cups in two years. I am impressed.”

“Thank you, that means a lot,” Shane said softly. Ilya felt the reckless urge to kiss him. He zoned out as Sveta and Shane discussed the final game, indulging in the fantasy of one day attending such an event together. Shane relaxed as he talked to Svetlana. Then Yuna appeared, having no doubt talked the ears off of sponsors. Shane introduced her to Svetlana and the two seemed to have instant camaraderie. Shane and Ilya exchanged a glance as the two women proceeded to ignore them.

“We should get to our seats, it’s starting soon,” Ilya finally said.

The organizers had clearly decided it looked good on camera if Shane and Ilya were seated close. Ilya was just two rows behind Shane, meaning the camera man could probably get them both in shot for reactions.

Ilya was quite used to the proceedings, which he should probably be a bit more humble about. It was far from every hockey player, especially at their age, who had attended and won at these awards as often as they had. Still, he quickly lost interest in the show.

Shane had won the scoring award at the end of the regular season. He would no doubt win one MVP too. Ilya tried not to be too jealous when he thought about why Shane had had such an incredible season. He was playing at 100%, or just about. He was playing the best hockey he could. The best hockey in the world, and his team stood behind him.

Ilya couldn’t be at 100%. Not as long as his position was uncertain, not without his own Olsen maybe. Yuna was helping. She had gotten him an immigration lawyer who was being paid a lot. But the ticket to Russia was burning a hole in his pocket, weighing him down.

“And the award for sportsmanship goes to… Ilya Rozanov.”

A strange feeling shot through him. A combination of longing and pride.

The Lady Byng wasn’t an award he had ever coveted openly, but maybe a part of him had. It was the one award only Shane had received.  

Suddenly, Ilya was incredibly tired of being the Russian bad boy. It felt nice, being recognized for his sportsmanship. Maybe he had even resented the fact that his playing had always been interpreted in the worst way, even though he was hardly starting more fights than other players.

Sveta was pushing him out of his seat, and he realized he had to actually get on stage. As he passed down the aisle, he clapped Shane on the shoulder, exchanging a quick grin.

“Thank you, thank you,” Ilya said into the mic as the applause died down. He didn’t have a speech. He never did, because he usually just thanked his team and got out of there. This time, however, he found himself at a loss for words. “Surprisingly, I did not write speech,” he said and the crowd chuckled. He swallowed. “I should thank Shane Hollander.” More laughter. “But in truth, I am very glad I was there to help.” He tried not to stare too hard at Shane in the crowd. He had no idea what his face was doing. “This sport takes a lot out of us. I give it all, very happily. I also give my respect to my fellow players. I am proud to accept this award… and also because now Hollander cannot hold this one over me.” He waved and allowed the laughter and applause to lead him off stage. He felt embarrassed at having been so openly delighted by it, but it couldn’t be helped now.

When he returned to his seat, Sveta murmured her congratulations, squeezed his arm and put her head on his shoulder. He tried to slow his breathing. A strange reaction to such a trite trophy, he thought.

The big awards were next. Shane got the Hart. He looked so beautiful on the stage, his practiced smile and nice clean speech were all Canadian golden boy. At the end though, his smile turned a little warmer. “I also want to thank Ilya Rozanov. Without his quick reaction I might have been out for the playoffs entirely, or worse.” Ilya felt his face heat a little at the applause, which seemed to be directed at both of them. Sveta nudged him and gave him a wink.

Then, after Shane had only been back in his seat a short while, an announcement came that no one expected.

“And the Conn Smythe award goes to… Shane Hollander.”

The shock rippled through the crowd. Shane did not move. Ilya couldn’t blame him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. In fact, it hadn’t happened since Gretzky in the 80s. It shouldn’t have been possible.

Shane had won all three, Ross, Hart and Smythe, in one season.

Ilya felt a million different things, but at the forefront was happiness on Shane’s behalf. This is what Shane fucking Hollander at 100% could do.

Finally, Shane was pushed out of his seat by his mother, who was seated next to him. He almost stumbled. He glanced back as he walked down the aisle, clearly stunned. He caught Ilya eye, who tried to smile encouragingly.

Shane obviously had not anticipated winning both MVP awards, so his speech was a bit of a repeat. “I don’t know what else to say,” he eventually said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I… need to thank coach Olson again especially. He made this team what it is today. He brought in ideas about how to support each other. We were pretty skeptical at first, I’m not gonna lie,” Shane chuckled. “But, it worked. We play at 100% because we know we’re a team on and off the ice.” He took a deep breath, and for a moment Ilya had the insane thought he was about to come out. “I have loved hockey for as long as I can remember. But these past years have been incredible. I never thought I would get to play like this. It is such a privilege to play with you all. Thank you. All of you.”

“100% baby!” The voice of JJ Boiziau rang out as the crowd cheered and applauded, soon rising to their feet. It felt surreal. Shane grinned and waved as he exited stage right.

“Only three people have ever done that before him,” Sveta said in his ear as they re-seated themselves.

“He deserved it,” Ilya said. He meant it. A part of him hated that he would never do the same, but he also loved Shane Hollander so fucking much it outweighed everything else.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Ilya shook Shane’s hand at the party, hearing cameras go off all around them, but not caring. “Not bad, Hollander.”

“Not bad?”

“People say I’m the show-off, not anymore.”

“Fuck off.”

“See, this is why I get sportsmanship award.”

Later, after saying goodnight to Sveta, Ilya knocked gently on the door of the penthouse suite. Shane opened immediately. He had no concept of playing it cool.

Once inside Shane attacked him, there was no other word for it. Ilya was ready. Shane had taken off his suit jacket, so Ilya could get straight to work on his buttons, but Shane was tugging at his jacket, so he had to lower his arms. Once it was off, they both frantically attacked their respective shirt buttons.  

“Congratulations on the Byng. I’m really glad you got it. You deserved it.”

Ilya felt a sudden lump in his throat. “Thank you.” He peeled off Shane’s shirt and started kissing Shane’s neck, groping his pecks even as Shane tried to finish the last buttons with his hands squished between them.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

“Hmmm? Did you win something?”

“Asshole.” Ilya ignored him in favor of toeing off his shoes and ripping off his own shirt, silencing Shane effectively as always. They collided again, and Ilya lifted Shane up, carrying him into the bedroom.

He tossed Shane down on it and immediately worked on pulling off Shane’s last articles of clothing. Once naked, Ilya had to spare a moment to simply admire. This was the man everyone was talking about tonight, maybe even beyond the hockey world. He would now be known as one of those people even non-hockey fans knew. And he was right here, waiting for Ilya to pounce.

“You have not said what you want as reward,” Ilya rasped out, desire making him almost vibrate.

“Just you, Ilya, please.” Shane reached for him. Ilya had no defense. He got his own clothes off and pounced.

“мой трофей,” Ilya murmured as he mouthed at Shane’s stomach, moving down.

“Your… trophy?” Shane gasped.

“Yes. You can have all the others, but I want this one,” Ilya whispered, feeling too exposed to speak loudly.

“You mean my dick?” Shane laughed.

“Mmm, yes, this is a good trophy,” Ilya considered. He sat up and manoeuvred so he was between Shane’s legs, pressing his hands into Shane’s on either side of his head. He rolled his hips, pulling moans from the gorgeous man spread beneath him. “You are the only reward I need.”

“Fuck, Ilya. I love you. You too. You’re mine. The only thing in the world I need. Please fuck me.”

Ilya wasn’t sure he really believed Shane. He knew the man had a different relationship to hockey. He was more concerned with the legacy of it, the role model. Maybe Ilya felt it a little too, now that he was officially worthy of being one.

But it didn’t matter right then. They were alone, at the top of the world.

“Do not worry, мой прекрасный трофей,” he said. “You will get everything you want tonight.”

He made damn sure Shane got rewarded.

The media circus, summer 2016

ROZANOV AND HOLLANDER: FROM RIVALS TO UNLIKELY FRIENDS, THE FULL STORY

CAN ONE SEASON UNDO YEARS OF HARD HITS? ILYA ROZANOV AND THE SPORTSMANSHIP AWARD.

“Hello, welcome to Man in the crease, your one stop shop for all things hockey. Today’s big story: Will the now world-famous Rozanov-Hollander friendship ruin the oldest rivalry in hockey? Boston and Montreal fans weigh in.”

IS SHANE HOLLANDER GAY? RUMOURS AND WHAT WE KNOW.

IS THE NHL READY FOR SHANE HOLLANDER TO COME OUT?

“Good morning lovelies, you’re listening to Hockey Hotties, the only hockey podcast with more hotties than the NHL. In today’s episode we break down exactly who might be gay and why that matters. First on the chopping block: Shane Hollander, one of only four people ever to take home all three individual trophies in one season. He’s alone at the top, and he might just be queer. Well, here’s hoping.”

OLSON’S PROJECT IN MONTREAL – THE RESULTS PROVE THE METHOD

MONTREAL UNDER OLSEN’S RULE: A FORMER PLAYER TELLS ALL.

“This is PuckPod, where we tell you the real stuff that matters in hockey. On today’s episode we’re talking Montreal and Olson’s so-called “method” and why it’s really all liberal bullshit that’s trying to fundamentally change the sport we love. Listen and we’ll tell you how you can help stop it.”

FAN OF SHANE HOLLANDER GOES VIRAL ON TWITTER: A NEW “LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE” MEME IS BORN.

HEARD OF HOLLANOV? WHY SOME FANS MAKE PORN ABOUT TWO BIGGEST HOCKEY STARS.

“Shane Hollander did something no one has done since fucking Gretzky, man, and he’s brought in a huge number of new fans. Tickets to the Montreal’s games are selling out. The second-hand market is insane! Merch is flying. They can’t make jerseys fast enough. Gay or not, he’s making history.”

WHERE IS ILYA ROZANOV? BOSTON’S STAR CENTER TO MISS FIRST GAME AGAINST DETROIT.

Montreal-Toronto, first game of the 2016-2017 season

“You ok, Shane?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Have you heard from Lily?” Hayden lowered his voice, though he barely needed to with the amount of noise from the team, all gearing up for their first official game of the season.

“No.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“Yeah.” Shane unconsciously checked his phone to confirm no new text. The last one from Ilya stared back at him.

Lily: I need to stay a bit longer. Family stuff. I will call when I can.

Ilya would have told him if it was something serious. He would have told Shane if he was in danger, right? Shane put the phone away and focused on his skates, letting the hum of the team refocus his attention.

The team wasn’t the same. It never was. A new season meant finding their rhythm all over again. Luckily, it seemed the veterans made sure the new guys understood the system. Get behind Olsen’s method or let the team down. Shane did not officially come out to the new guys, but he assumed they got the memo somehow. A couple seemed unsure at first, but training had settled things.

The fact that Shane Hollander was now a legend helped. He didn’t feel untouchable, but Hayden and JJ had assured him he now effectively was.

His mother, his agent, his friends, they thought he should make a statement, come out. It wasn’t a good look to sit on the fence, not denying or confirming. It made him look weak to both sides.

Maybe a part of him wished he could just play hockey, but the bigger part had now realized the truth that Olson had taught them. He couldn’t leave Shane Hollander, gay man, off the ice any more than he could leave his Asian self or hockey-player self. If he wanted to play 100%, he had to step onto the ice with all of himself.

It seemed Toronto had gotten the memo too.

“So,” Kent spat as they met at center ice. “Did they give you all the awards cause you’re gay or a chink?”

“Maybe if you played at my level, you’d find out.”

Kent reared back and dropped his gloves. Shane retreated in surprise, frowning at the intense reaction to such a mild comeback. The ref stepped between them before Kent could do much more than raise his chin in challenge at Shane.

Kent got his gloves back on and they leaned down again for the fact-off.

“Fucking gay pussy,” Kent spat.

“Play hockey, dude,” Shane said, eyes on the ice. Kent shoved him. Shane straightened and again retreated.

“Fucking coward, drop your fucking gloves, let’s go!”

“Play the fucking game!” Shane yelled instead. All their wingers had come close to step in if necessary.

“Let’s start the game first, Kent,” the ref said.

“I don’t want to play with this goddamn fag,” Kent spat. The Toronto center looked a bit unhinged, Shane realized, when he finally caught the look in Kent’s eyes. They were bloodshot. No one told the ref Kent should be penalized for the language.

“Kent,” his winger, Barrett, said, putting a hand on his shoulder to pull him back. Kent wrenched himself away violently.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

Barrett looked a little pale at the admonishment, looking at Shane with a strange expression.

His other winger, Hjalmar, pulled him with more force. “Orest will pull the line if you don’t get it the fuck together,” he spat in a heavy Swedish accent.

Kent finally got in position and the puck was dropped. Shane got it very easily, but the rest of the game was a shit-show from the get-go. Kent and his goons, sans Barrett surprisingly, played dirty. When barely legal checks didn’t get them results, they started pushing the boundaries. They racked up penalties while Montreal racked up points on the easiest power-plays Shane had ever played.

They were up 4-0 and the crowd was going crazy. Shane was pretty sure Toronto fans were booing their own team.

“Just play hockey, am I right?” Hayden said as they watched their second line keeping everything controlled. The rest of the Toronto team seemed unsure how to act with their captain being so unhinged.

It was during the second period that things went to shit. Shane had won the face-off. He shot it to Hayden, who ran straight at the goal, barely anyone covering him. It was as if Toronto had taken the night off. Instead of shooting it at the tired goalie, he shot it backwards to Shane, who caught it smoothly and shot it at the goalie’s open right side. It went in, 5-0, as one of the quickest goals of Shane’s career. Hayden could have taken it, honestly, but Hayden would always give an assist to guarantee a goal.

Shane only managed to just lift his fist in celebration before everything went black.

The next moment he was on the ice, staring up at the ceiling of the Bell Center. A skate came into view, heading straight for his neck.

He managed to get his arm up instinctively, catching the blade with his right forearm. The next moment, his arm was bleeding and Kent was on the ice next to him, having been pulled off by JJ and Barrett, the latter holding Kent by the throat and screaming at his face. Shane couldn’t hear it; his ears felt like they were full of cotton.

Hayden was by Shane’s side the next moment. “Fuck, shit, you’re bleeding.” He looked green.

Shane held his arm, feeling the sting, but probably not as much as he would later when the adrenaline tapered off. Luckily, it seemed they’d pulled Kent before his blade had cut deep. He felt detached from himself, but he didn’t feel concussed, just sort of floating above the fray. Hayden grabbed at the wound as well, holding tight.

The crowd was wild, booing Kent and crying out in shock. The medics were there the next second. Shane told them he could stand. He wanted to get up on his own. The crowd seemed to gasp with relief and then started cheering Shane when he got to his feet and managed a wave with his left hand to show he was ok.

There wasn’t any fighting, other than Kent and Barrett screaming at each other. Every other player appeared shocked. The refs were now trying to get Barrett and JJ off Kent.

Shane was taken off the ice by the medics, not paying attention to the shit-show he left behind. They said they wanted him at the hospital for stiches. They helped him out of his skates and got his phone so he could text his parents one-handed from the ambulance. Still, Shane waited for something, anything, to feel real.

Much later, after they cut the arm of his under armor shirt off and gave him fourteen stiches, Shane found himself alone. He lay back and stared at the hospital ceiling, feeling his throat close up.

He wanted, more than anything, to call Ilya. To know Ilya was safe and in America, or preferably Canada. He hoped Ilya called him before he saw the news.

What happened was what they had both known but never spoken of. It felt inevitable. Maybe not this exact event, or with Kent specifically, but sooner or later, the other shoe had to drop.

The world had broken through and now it was all fucked. His official coming out, being gay in hockey, his career. Ilya. Surely, it would all be taken? At first, they would blame Kent for the attack, but in the long run guys didn’t want to play hockey with someone who caused so much trouble. Shane Hollander would go from hockey legend to liability, victim, more trouble than he was worth.

So much for being untouchable.

“Shane!”

Yuna and David arrived, looking more scared than they had ever been after a hit. Yuna went straight for him and hugged him gently, careful of his arm. Shane pressed his face into her neck and felt a wave of ugly crying surge up. He couldn’t hold it back and had to let go.

He wasn’t crying over the pain, and they all knew that. They thankfully didn’t say anything about it. David came around and put a steady hand on his back.

When he managed to wrest control of himself, Shane leaned back, closing his eyes. He wanted to wipe his face.

“I’m ok,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Are you in any pain?”

Shane shook his head.

“They’ve arrested him,” Yuna told him later. “He’s going to pay.”

“I don’t want…” But what could he say? I don’t want a big deal. I don’t want to talk to police. I don’t want to confront him in court. I don’t want to think about Kent ever again.

I just want to play hockey.

“Have you heard from Ilya?” Yuna was in contact with Ilya’s American agent, so she might have heard something.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m sure he’ll call when he hears the news.”

Much later, after well-wishes, visits and a walk to the car that felt like a perp-walk with the number of paparazzi outside the hospital, Shane was finally asked the question.

“Do you want to make a statement?”

 “I can’t. Not until Ilya is back.”

“People won’t know you two-“

“I don’t care. I’m not risking it.”

“Okay.”

24 hours later

TORONTO’S DALLAS KENT OUT AFTER LESS THAN 3 HOURS OF QUESTIONING.

“I don’t care if Shane Hollander is gay or not, anyone with eyes and/or ears can see this was a homophobic attack. It doesn’t matter what Hollander identifies as or what Kent knew or thought he knew.”

“Agree, 100%. You can clearly hear his words, from the very start of the game. The refs should have expelled him long before he had the opportunity to do an attempted murder in front of a full stadium of people, and live television.”

KENT GIVES STATEMENT “IT WAS ACCIDENT.” SILENCE FROM HOLLANDER CAMP.

COMMISSIONER CROWELL: “WE WILL WAIT FOR INVESTIGATION TO CONCLUDE.”

“Now, obviously everyone is innocent until proven guilty, but this fucking pathetic. The NHL has been pink-washing the league for years with their little pride nights while at the same time letting things fester to the point where players’ lives are literally in danger.”

“And it’s not just Crowell. Toronto hasn’t said a word. I’d actually like to read a list of teams that have made supportive statements. Montreal, obviously, made things very clear that they were backing their star center. New York. Boston. Ottawa…”

Shane put his phone away. He was still technically slightly concussed from the sucker-punch and hit on the ice, but he had been desperate to distract himself from the pain in his arm. Of course, the news wasn’t exactly distracting at the moment. Even though he had just put his phone down, he lifted it again and checked his messages.

“Shane?”

He lifted his head from the bed so he could see his mother in the door frame. She was clutching her phone, looking anxious. Shane sat up.

“What? Is it Ilya?”

“No, sorry, honey. It’s… well, Scott Hunter just came out.”

“Oh…” Irrationally, Shane felt annoyed he’d done it first, even though that was ridiculous. He didn’t want to be first. He didn’t want to be anything other than a hockey player. Fuck. He closed his eyes. 100%, he thought, or nothing.

“And Troy Barrett.”

“What?”

Yuna sat down on the edge of the bed and showed him her phone. There was a tweet by Troy Barrett stating: “Homophobic language is everywhere in hockey. In every room. I accepted it. I laughed along and repeated it, because I was scared. In the end, Hollander didn’t need to come out as anything to experience that danger. Which means I might as well say it: I’m gay. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Shit,” Shane said, head spinning.

“There are more,” Yuna said gently.  She swiped back and found a different tweet, this time from Ryan Price. “I’m gay and play hockey. Kent tried to cut him on purpose. #JusticeforHollander.” Apparently, it was his one and only tweet.

“There’s a hashtag?”

“Yes. Several actually. Not all about you. Mostly #hockeyisforeveryone. There are more players coming out too. One forward in LA, and one defenseman in Seattle. There’s a couple in the AHL too, and a few college teams. And people in other sports entirely. Your old friend Joe officially came out.”

“Holy shit.”

Shane had taken over Yuna’s phone without noticing, following the hashtags and reading the outpouring of support. A lot of hate too, of course, but a lot of angry fans promising boycotts and demanding a statement from Crowell. There were actually very few demanding anything of Shane himself. No one was whining about him giving a statement and coming out. In fact, the few who speculated were piled on heavily and told to shut up. “Hollander didn’t get stomped because he was gay. Kent tried to kill him because Kent assumed he was gay. That’s all you need to know,” one tweet with thousands of likes read.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“I know you hate the attention. But… this might be the catalyst for something big. A real shift in public perception. If people associate anti-gay players with Kent, then obviously, that makes it harder to be openly homophobic. This could be the start of something.”

“Or it could just cause a bigger backlash.”

“I know. But I think if we don’t try, then there’s no change. At least if we ride this, we have a chance.” Yuna sighed, shrugging. “It might be our best shot at getting back to the game.”

I just want to play hockey.

“I have to wait for Ilya.”

“Are you-“

“Shane!”

He was having auditory hallucinations, clearly, because that shout had been Ilya’s voice. He heard the hard thumps of someone bounding up the stairs. Yuna’s eyes had gone wide, did that mean…? The pair looked to the door just as Ilya appeared breathless, still in his jacket, hair a mess and looking like he’d spent the last twenty-four hours in airports and planes.

“Ilya,” Shane managed.

Chapter End Notes

I do want to note that obviously this story is not realistic, and people's minds are not automatically changed by rational Swedish hockey coaches or instantly filled with empathy for those experiencing hate-crimes. People do, in fact, frequently, suck in real life.

Chapter 15

Chapter Notes

Moscow, summer 2016

The summers in Moscow were usually filled with parties, training, bulking, and fucking. This summer was different, and it wasn’t because of his father’s illness or Alexei’s increasing resentment.

It was because Ilya was different.

“Get your mother, Ilya.”

He didn’t correct his father. By the time he returned from the kitchen with a glass of water, Grigori had forgotten the request.

His brother was nowhere to be seen. The second Ilya had arrived; his brother had decided his shift was over. Polina was not there during the day. She slept in a guestroom.

“He needs a proper nurse,” Svetlana told him.

“He won’t trust her. He will only get angry that there’s some stranger in his home.”

“I think that’s not going to matter soon, Ilya.”

Svetlana left him. She had things to do and family to visit too.

Ilya watched his father, let him argue and rant. The doctors said he had a few years, maybe. Compared to the man he had once been, Ilya felt as though his father was already gone. Since Ilya had not seen him since the previous summer, and even phone calls could not prepare him, the change was a shock.

Still, it would not have mattered if Grigori was at the peak of health. Ilya would still be different. Shane had changed him, but perhaps even more, seeing Shane grow into himself had changed Ilya.

His mind constantly went back to the time he had spent with the Hollanders, especially at Christmas. He saw how effortlessly they supported each other, and how proud they were of Shane, even before he became a legend. The contrast with his own life made him feel pathetic. Ilya now knew what it meant to be given love freely, and the knowledge poisoned everything in Moscow.

Grigori would laugh at the Hollanders’ way of living.

Over the course of the summer, as the contrast between his past and potential future became stark, Ilya came to one devastating conclusion: he didn’t want to go back to Russia again.

Which meant this would be the last summer in Russia, the last time seeing his family, and the last time visiting his mother’s grave.

It also meant he would probably not be there when his father died, not his funeral.

That fact made him doubt. Could he really abandon him? Solidify once and for all what a terrible son he was? On the other hand, Grigori would probably not remember.

Still, it made Ilya linger. He could not leave, because leaving meant making a final decision. He called his team and told them he would miss the pre-season. He told them his father was deteriorating. It might be close. He would be there for the first game, he promised.

He did not tell them he hadn’t bought a plane ticket. Instead, he endured the days with Grigori as one last penance, prolonging it for as long as possible. Perhaps, by some miracle, a different solution would present itself if he just had a little more time.

As part of this penance, he avoided talking to Shane as much as possible. He didn’t want him to influence his final decision.

“You let that filth get the better of you,” Grigori said one evening they were watching TV. Some commentator referenced Shane’s achievement at the NHL awards. It was a typical comment from Grigori these days.

“I’m sorry, father.”

The Russian commentator then began talking about the rumors surrounding Shane. Ilya felt his heart freeze. He hated when they did this. Grigori would rant and then get angry when Ilya tried to change the channel. Every time, it was like Grigori discovered the rumor about Shane for the first time. On cue, Grigori leaned forward on the sofa, eyes widening as he took in the words. It was as though the idea of Shane being gay had shocked him into a moment of lucidity.

“Blyat,” Grigori muttered, at a loss for words. He gestured at the TV. “The boy is a fag! They let a degenerate win. You let him beat you!” His voice rose as he got going, and Ilya lost the meaning of them as Grigori swore so loudly spittle flew.

A strange calm rushed over Ilya, and for a moment he had the urge to strike his father. It was gone a moment later and he felt ashamed. Thankfully, the commentators moved on and Grigori was soon distracted.

Unfortunately, the idea that Shane could be a degenerate homosexual was perfect for the Russian media. They could use it to delegitimize every achievement, not just Shane’s, but all of Canada and the West. Ilya began changing the channel when his father was distracted, trying to avoid setting him off on a rant about the fall of civilization. If they did not shore up their borders, Russia would be the next to become infected.

By the time Alexei arrived unexpectedly, Ilya was disassociating, moving through the apartment like a zombie.

“What are you doing here?”

“Fuck you. What the fuck are you still doing here? I take care of him the rest of the year. I can go wherever I like while you’re here.”

“So why are you here now?”

Alexei ignored him, unpacking some groceries in the kitchen and then going to see Grigori in the living room. Ilya stood by the door and watched as Grigori accepted the simple hello and touch on his shoulder from Alexei, no assessment, no disgust, just a small relieved smile at the person he was used to seeing. Ilya scratched his nose and went to his room.

A while later he heard raised voices and came out to see what was happening. It was a football match, thankfully, and Alexei had reheated food so they could eat together on the couch. None for Ilya of course. Ilya did not comment and went into the kitchen to get something for himself. He found pirozhki in the freezer.

He debated going back to his room to eat, but he was always partly the architect of his own misery, so he instead went back into the living room and sat in the recliner. He listened to the relatively easy conversation between father and son. Grigori still lost the plot a lot, but he didn’t reach for anger as quickly. He respected Alexei, as fellow police if nothing else, and accepted corrections and answers more readily.

They were watching a channel that didn’t even exist a few years ago, so Ilya was unfamiliar with it. It often struck him during the summer, how much Russia had changed since he left, especially the available media. It had started before he left, of course, but Grigori had always been conversative in what he allowed in his house. Ilya remembered his mother hiding her books and reading to him in secret.

Since Alexei started caring for their father, he clearly controlled what was available, as Grigori probably couldn’t understand the technology anymore.

“They should not allow him to play,” Grigori spat. The pundits were discussing the upcoming hockey season, and of course, Shane came up.

Alexei’s eyes shot over to Ilya, and for a moment Ilya was certain his brother somehow knew. They stared at each other, unsure who should answer their father.

“He’s a fucking degenerate,” Grigori continued. “He should be taken out and shot.”

Ilya couldn’t tear his eyes away from Alexei’s dead stare.

“Next time you play, you fucking kill him, Ilya,” Grigori pointed, from Ilya to the TV, where a clip of Shane Hollander accepting his Smythe award played silently between the pundits as they ranted.

Ilya squeezed the armrests of his chair. Alexei shifted slowly, changing the channel.

“Why did you do that? I was watching!”

“I want to watch the news.”

They watched the awful news. Ilya removed their dirty dishes and made sure Grigori took his afternoon medication. They heard Polina arrive and go straight to the guest room. Alexei got up and told Grigori he was going out.

Ilya debated going to his room, but in the end, he sat next to his father, feeling anticipation building to something intangible. Grigori found the remote and of course knew how to switch to his favorite propaganda channel. He kept up a constant stream of his own commentary to match the pundits’.

“How could you lose again, and to that faggot?”

“I’m sorry, father.”

“It’s a conspiracy. All propaganda!”

“Yes, father.”

“They want to teach our boys it’s ok to be girls.”

“He’s gay not transgender, father.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you talking back to me?”

“No, father.” Ilya flinched as Grigori slapped his shoulder, more out of memory than pain. He looked at him, meeting his anger with dead eyes.

“You like that fag?”

Perhaps it was the threatening tone, or the pathetic crazed look in his eyes, but Ilya suddenly realized how little power Grigori had now. He was retired, confused, and weak. He made Ilya miserable when it might be their last time together. Why couldn’t they say goodbye with one good word between them? Ilya wasn’t even supposed to still be there!

“I love him,” Ilya said suddenly. Grigori frowned, not understanding the words.

“What?”

“I love him. I’m a fag too, father. Me and Shane Hollander have been fucking since our rookie season. Years and years of gay fucking.” He said it as though he was telling Grigori what he bought for dinner.

“You shut your mouth!” Grigori roared as he shot to his feet. “Stop saying that filth!” Ilya got up too. “How dare you speak that way to me! You think this is a joke?”

“It is not a joke. I love him. I love Shane Hollander. We’re both fags,” Ilya spat the words.

“You!” Grigori lunged, grabbing Ilya by his t-shirt, hauling him closer as though Ilya was a little boy still. “You shut your mouth! You fucking filthy little shit!”

“I love sucking his cock too,” Ilya laughed, barely moving even though Grigori was using all his strength. Ilya felt crazed, like he was watching himself in a car crash.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Grigori tried to shake him.

“I’ve always been like this, father. I fuck women and I fuck men. I don’t even care which.”

“No son of mine is a fag. You take it back!” Grigori’s face was red, chest heaving, eyes furious, until he stopped. His eyes went blank, his hands going limp. He stumbled back.

Ilya reached out, horrified, his hand frozen just shy of his father’s arm. Grigori seemed to look at it for a moment, then at Ilya again, confused. He collapsed back into the couch, his mouth opening like a fish gasping for air.

 “Polina! Call an ambulance!”

A few days later

Grigori was moved back into his apartment, with a full medical bed and 24-hour nurse, curtesy of Ilya’s money. The doctors said he might not make it to the end of the week. Grigori had not spoken. He had been conscious, but it was unclear if he understood what was happening. Alexei had insisted he would want to go home. Ilya had not argued.

Everyone agreed: Grigori had become too agitated while watching television. Hockey made him so angry lately, especially since Shane Hollander was rumored to be a homosexual. Polina had told the doctors he had gotten worse over the last year. He raged at everything he saw that he thought meant the West’s degeneracy was infecting hockey. But he became even angrier if someone hid the remote. She blamed herself for not limiting his access to it, as though she had even tried.

“I killed him,” Ilya told Svetlana. He needed someone to know this about him. He knew he had to tell Shane. But he couldn’t bring himself to contact him. He couldn’t explain to Shane what he had done.

“No, you did not, Ilya.” She took his hand, squeezing gently, bowing her head to catch his eye. He remained slumped forward, eyes on the carpet of his room. The same room his mother had last said goodnight to him, read to him, hugged him. The very night before her last day. What would she say to him now?

“Ilya, please look at me.”

Her eyes were full of sympathy. Ilya hated that.

“I told him awful things. I shocked him on purpose.”

“You could not have known it would lead to this. He was agitating himself by watching stupid propaganda. It could just as easily have happened while he was screaming at the TV instead of you.”

“But it didn’t. I did this to him.”

“Ilya, no. Even if what you said did set him off, all you did was tell the truth. How he reacted to it is not your fault.”

“I didn’t just tell him the truth. I said awful things to him. Things no son should say to his father.”

“Ilya…” He knew was she wanted to say – that Grigori deserved it, that he was dying anyway, that going quickly was in many ways a mercy for all. That didn’t mean Ilya wasn’t guilty.

“I’m relieved he can’t speak. I’m a terrible person.”

“You’re not, Ilya. You are good. You yelled at your father. People do that every day. What happened was not your fault.” She put an arm around him and kissed his cheek, placing her head on his shoulder. They sat still for a moment.

“Have you talked to Shane?”

“No.” He had only sent a message that he wouldn’t be back for the first game of the season. Family stuff, he’d said. Patricide, he thought.

“You should call him.”

Ilya didn’t reply to that. Alexei appeared in the doorway. He looked as tired as Ilya felt.

“You need to leave.” Ilya stiffened at the words, bracing for a fight.

“He has every right to-“

“He has a game on Friday,” Alexei cut Svetlana’s anger off. He looked at Ilya. “Papa doesn’t recognize anyone. It doesn’t matter if you’re here.”

“If I leave, I’m not coming back,” Ilya admitted it before thinking clearly. Surprisingly, Alexei just shrugged.

“Then don’t come back.”

“When he’s dead, the money’s gone.”

“Maybe I don’t want your money anymore.”

Ilya’s eyes immediately began to tear up. He hated how much Alexei’s calm rejection stabbed him in the gut. Svetlana shot to her feet, ready to go to war for him. He took her hand, silently telling her not to bother. Alexei scoffed and left.

Ilya stayed for a few more days, still caught between penance and escape. He sat by Grigori’s side, holding out for one last word of condemnation maybe.

The next day, Ilya spent his last day in Russia by his mother’s grave.

When he returned, Alexei stopped him going in to see their father.

“Did you see the game?”

"What game?" 

"Your boyfriend's game, fag." Ilya froze. Alexei smirked. He didn't know, Ilya told himself. It was just their rivals-to-friends media narrative that made Alexei use it to tease him. 

“Fuck off,” Ilya said. Alexei kept smirking. Something about it sent a chill down Ilya’s spine. He took out his phone and went to Montreal’s main newspaper, the sport’s page, because he had it bookmarked.

SHANE HOLLANDER ATTACKED ON ICE BY TORONTO’S DALLAS KENT.

Hollander was taken directly to Montreal General Hospital for bleeding. See the full incident here.

Ilya clicked on the link and watched the video. Shane shot a spectacular goal off of Pike’s assist, but Kent didn’t stop coming. He punched the left side of Shane’s head hard, knocking him down, then lifted his skate. It seemed unbelievable, but there was no mistaking his intent. JJ and Barrett pulled him off, but not quickly enough to stop the skate from cutting into Shane’s arm. Blood gushed out.

Ilya felt as if the world turned to ash. The only thing he could think about was getting to Shane and making sure he was ok. The medics surrounded him and Pike, and it seemed like he was getting up. Get up, Ilya thought. If he left on his own feet, it couldn’t be that bad, surely?

“Shame Kent didn’t get him in the neck,” Alexei said, though his voice seemed distant. Ilya’s blood boiled. He screamed and grabbed at Alexei’s shirt, pushing him into the wall.

“Shut your mouth!”

Alexei punched him in the side of the head, though it wasn’t a hard hit. Still, Ilya flinched and Alexei pushed him off, immediately hitting him everywhere he could reach. Alexei probably usually beat people into submission who didn’t dare fight back.

Ilya did fight back. It only took two-three hits before Alexei was staggering back.

“Stop this!” Svetlana intervened. Alexei had a bloody nose and Ilya a split lip, but both men stopped at once when she put herself between them. “You need to get on a flight,” she told Ilya. She rounded on Alexei. “And you can go fuck yourself.”

“Fuck off to America, and don’t come back, fucking faggot,” Alexei muttered as he left. Ilya gulped in heaving breaths, trying to calm down.

“Ilya,” Svetlana held his face. “He’s ok. He got stitches. You can get on a plane now. There’s one leaving in two hours.”

Ilya suddenly realized he didn’t have his phone. He looked around and found it on the floor, screen black and broken.

“Fuck,” he said when it failed to come on. He couldn’t call Shane. He couldn’t make sure he was ok. His breaths started coming in shallow – was he having a heart attack?

“I’ll come with you to the airport and help,” Svetlana said. “You can buy a new phone when you land. It’s more important that you’re on your way as soon as possible.”

“Sveta,” he couldn’t explain his anxiety at the thought of leaving, or at the thought of not being by Shane’s side at that very moment. It was too much. He needed to go, right now, but if he left, it was over, for good.

“I will follow as soon as I can, come on. Let’s go.”

“Father.”

“We’ll say goodbye, come.” His breathing calmed at Sveta’s precise instructions. She would get him to Shane.

Ilya said his goodbye to his father and the man slept through it, which was just as well. Alexei was nowhere to be seen, neither was Polina.

Svetlana packed the important things he wouldn’t want to leave behind, then helped him into a car. She escorted him to buy a ticket, helped him check in his luggage and then hugged him tightly at security.

“Go home to Shane, Ilya.”

“How can I?”

“He will understand.”

“No, I don’t even understand! Nothing makes sense anymore. I want to go, but I need to stay. If I go that’s it, do you understand? But no one wants me here…” anywhere.

“Shane needs you now. He wants you, I promise. Go be with him and you’ll see. And I’ll be with you soon too. Then, when you play Montreal, we can all hang out. It’ll be so much fun.” Her hand stroked his back as though he was a child, petting gently as she murmured her instructions. “Go, or you’ll miss your flight.”

Ilya stepped through security, terrified they would somehow know everything, but they let him through without comment. Finally, inevitably, he left Russia for good.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry for the shorter chapter! I need a bit more time to figure out the ending, so I felt like you guys should get what I had so far.

Chapter 16

Chapter Notes

So, this was a difficult chapter to write. I knew this is where I wanted it to end, sort of in the same time as Heated Rivalry. I also knew I did not want to write it so detailed that it went on forever. So, I hope it isn't too "needs an editor." There is a lot of talking because obviously a lot needs to be talked about.

Obviously, this is, like the original, meant to be a softer take on the homophobia present in the hockey world.

Montreal, now

“Ilya.”

Shane almost doubted his own eyes. Ilya looked like he’d been through hell and back. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was in complete disarray and his skin had a pallid look. He looked like death reheated.

“Shane.” He sounded broken. Shane felt panicked. What had happened to Ilya? Finally, Yuna got up from the bed and Shane could reach out. Ilya rushed forwards, taking Yuna’s place without so much as glancing at her.

“Shane,” he repeated. He looked down at the bandaged arm. Shane kept it in a sling for protection and to remind himself not to jostle it too much. Ilya looked as though it had been a mortal wound. Shane put his good hand on Ilya’s face.

“Hey, I’m ok.” He gently turned Ilya’s attention up to his eyes. “It wasn’t that deep. I’m ok.”

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

“Let’s not talk about him. You’re here now.” Shane leaned in and Ilya finally gave him what he wanted. They kissed gently, and Shane felt Ilya shiver, before realizing he was actually shaking.  

“I love you,” Ilya said between kisses.

“I love you too.” Shane said. He forced himself to pull back, but Ilya made a noise and cupped Shane’s face, keeping them together.

“Hey,” Shane tried to pull back slightly. “Ilya, please, you’re shaking.”

“Tired. From flight.” His accent was heavier than Shane had ever heard it.

“Come here.” Shane shifted so that Ilya could lie down along his good side. Ilya came very gingerly, but finally he placed his head on Shane’s good shoulder. Shane was glad his mother had left the room. He hugged his boyfriend and rested his head against his currently dirty curls. The relief was overwhelming. Ilya was here, safe. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he murmured.

“I am, too.”

“Why didn’t you text? Or call? Did something happen?”

“Lost phone.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s ok. You’re here.”

Ilya twisted his head so he could look up at Shane. He reached up and caressed Shane’s freckles with his thumb. Shane felt like he could stay just like that forever. The world could go fuck itself.

“Did you see what happened?” Ilya nodded silently. “Mom tried to call you, but she didn’t know when you’d be awake and then the calls were sent straight to voicemail apparently.”

“Is ok.”

“I’m still sorry you had to see that without any more information. Did you wake up to the news?”

“No, I-“ He shook his head, closing his eyes. “Does not matter.”

“We can talk later,” Shane whispered. “How about you shower and then we eat something, and then sleep for like twelve hours?”

For a moment it looked like Ilya might have argued at the prospect of moving, but then he nodded in defeat.

While Ilya showered, Shane retrieved some snacks from the kitchen.

“How is he?” Yuna asked.

“I’m not sure,” Shane admitted.

“He seemed… a little worse for wear, even considering the circumstances.”

“I know.”

“He must have been worried sick,” David pointed out. “And with his knowledge about the kind of person Dallas Kent is…”

“Yeah, he knows Kent’s reputation, but…” Ilya no doubt knew exactly why Kent had attacked, but Shane felt in his bones that something else was wrong with Ilya. He squared his shoulders and his mind; he was just happy to stay in his room with his boyfriend. “We’re going to eat in the bedroom and then sleep for a good while. Are you guys staying or…?”

“We’ll stay if you don’t mind,” Yuna said gently. “I think we need to talk specifics after you’ve both had some time.”

“Yeah…” Shane sighed, not looking forward to that. He retreated to his bedroom, determined to enjoy it until the world demanded their attention again.

After eating a few snacks, most of them healthy - despite Ilya’s complaints - they both fell asleep.

A long time later, Shane woke due to the sensation of Ilya twitching next to him. He opened his eyes to Ilya jerking away, springing into a seated position like a toy out of a box, gasping. Ilya’s eyes searched the room before finally catching on Shane. His whole body deflated with relief.  

“Hey,” Shane sat up, leaning in slowly. “Hey.” Ilya let himself be pulled close, down against the pillows. “You’re here, you’re ok.” Shane threaded his fingers into Ilya’s hair as the man buried his face in Shane’s neck. “Bad dream?”

“The worst,” Ilya muttered. They must have dosed off again. The next awakening was a little less jack-in-the-box, with Ilya kissing along Shane’s chin and cheeks.

A knock on the door broke them apart.

“Ugh,” Shane said.

“Boys?” Yuna called. “I think it’s time to get up and eat something. Your father’s making lunch.”

“Coming!”

Shane looked to Ilya to suggest they get up. He should shower. Ilya had the most curious expression, however. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I am glad to be here.”

“I’m really glad you’re here too.”

“It’s nice,” Ilya said, voice going quiet. “Your mother calling for us, your father making us food.”

“Oh… yeah, it is.” Shane had to get a kiss for that. It did feel a little like they were teenagers after a sleepover. Apart from the hate crime and whatever demons Ilya had brought with him from Russia, it was a perfect way to wake up.  

They finally got up and Ilya helped Shane shower with a bag over his bandage. He frowned the whole time, glaring at the wound like he could make Kent combust telepathically.

Once out, they found David had cooked up a lunch more consistent with breakfast. The four gathered comfortably around Shane’s table, despite the circumstances, and Shane found himself blushing as Ilya helped plate his food since he kept his arm in the sling. Yuna was adamant he not pull any stitches, so he had promised to wear it another couple of days at least.

“So,” Yuna announced when they were about finished with the meal. Shane braced himself. “Shall I give you a brief?”

“Yeah,” Shane sighed, knowing it was better if his mother gave him a rundown of what he had missed while asleep. Yuna unlocked her phone, probably to a bullet list.

“Nothing more from the NHL or the commissioner,” she listed derisively first. “Not surprising. But the big news is several leaks from Toronto concerning Dallas Kent leading up to the incident. Apparently, he’s been showing concerning behavior since last season and the rumors about your sexuality was a particular focus of his ire. Several people have said, anonymously mind you, that he also particularly hated that Montreal has won cups thanks to that expletive-loving Swede.”

“He’s always been an asshole,” Shane said. Hardly surprising he hated that a culture of tolerance could still produce results.

“Has he targeted you in the past?”

Shane glanced at Ilya. He didn’t want to upset him further, considering how fragile he had seemed when he arrived. “Um, he’s definitely said stuff before.”

“When?” Ilya asked.

"Just... during games." His mother nodded, her lips pursed.

"Barrett reached out," she continued. "He wants to help. He said he came out to Kent during an argument about you right before the game. He thinks that might have been a factor. To be clear, Kent has never talked to you off the ice?"

"No."

"He's also been going on rants about minorities taking over hockey. Has he said racist things to you?"

"... yeah, but that's not new. He just got more explicit, I guess." Shane didn't want to look at Ilya to gauge his reaction, but Shane could feel him going quiet. Yuna just nodded.

"I hate that you have to deal with that," David said. "It's like hockey takes one step forward and two steps back."

"The team's been good," Shane defended, maybe out of a misplaced sense of shame over his chosen sport. "It's just not all teams are in one of the most gay-friendly cities with Olson leading them."

"Speaking of Montreal, I am glad to report the fans have been very vocal in their support of you," Yuna said. "Eventually, I think we should get you in a room with the mayor. His office has reached out, as well as several others. The PM might want to get in on it too, if we play our cards right."

"Mom, please," Shane said, overwhelmed. He had actually met the mayor before, but still.

"Don't worry, you need to heal and we will let the NHL play their card first. I am keeping an eye on them and the prosecutor's office. Dallas Kent might be well-liked in Toronto, but he attacked you in Montreal. He should not be getting out after three hours. It's ridiculous."

"Well, Kent's white and straight, so."

"Shane." Her voice was full of sadness. Shane rarely made those sorts of comments, at least never to his parents. He had always been under the opinion - or maybe delusion? - that his record would speak for itself, eventually. Shane and his mother knew the realities of the world, however, and there weren't enough trophies in the world that could make even The Shane Hollander untouchable. Dallas Kent had proved that if nothing else.

"Sorry, ignore me." Yuna kept her eyes on him a moment longer, assessing, but eventually returned to her phone.

"I know with Kent it's likely a combination of homophobia and racism," she continued, voice a tad more gentle. "But right now, we need the media to focus on one thing and that's what people heard before the attack. Otherwise people will just accuse you of playing the race-card."

"Card?" Ilya said, though he sounded like he was afraid to ask.

"Just means they'll accuse me of playing for sympathy by accusing Kent of racism without basis."

"There is big basis," Ilya muttered.

"We don't have proof of that, unfortunately," Yuna said. "Now, sponsors. Luckily, our planning has paid off, and everyone has said they will stand by you, though a couple implied they would prefer were waiting to make statements until the outcome of the investigation, so I'll be putting pressure on them."

"That's... good?"

"It is very good, Shane. The careful curation of the your brand was meant to handle this sort of thing. By being selective we've cemented that you're still a safe bet for advertisers." Shane tried not to let the pride in his mother's voice affect him.

"You did all that stuff."

Yuna smiled and reached across the table to gently lay her hand on top of Shane's good one. "I wouldn't have been able to do anything without a son like you to put forward." Shane swallowed, nodding, fighting his blush. After a moment, Yuna withdrew.

"Now, the last thing we need to discuss is your statement."

"I thought you said we wait?"

"Yes, we wait to comment on the Kent incident, but I do think you might need to come out before that. It might take weeks before either the prosecutors or the NHL actually do anything. We need to let pressure build there. A coming out statement, released at the right moment, could be the exact leverage we need before they start stalling. If the public has confirmation that Kent did attack a gay player, it will help our case."

"I...." Shane shook his head, closing his eyes, feeling a pressure build inside him. "I don't want to come out for fucking leverage, Mom," he breathed out in a rush. He placed his head on the table. Ilya's hand was immediately gently stroking his back.

"I know, Shane," Yuna said softly, apologetically. "I wish more than anything it didn't have to be this way."

"I will come out too, if it helps," Ilya said. "Or not. What you think is best."

"No." Shane lifted his head to look at him. "We don't need you in danger too."

"I will be ok," Ilya said, his hand still stroking along Shane's side, going up to cup his face. "The more players come out, the better, right?"

"You're right on that," Yuna said. "With Barrett, Hunter, Price, and the two in the western conference, we have a real wave. All of them active players, a lot of them very highly rated. It would be very good to add Ilya to that."

"But... Russia."

Ilya shook his head. He leaned in and kissed Shane quickly but firmly. "This is home now," he murmured. "Russia is gone from me."

"Ilya..."

"There is still a danger for you Ilya," Yuna said. "The smear campaign they would launch alone, although with the frenzy around Shane it might get lost in the sauce."

"Mom, please don't encourage him."

"I come out to my team first. Then, I make statement. I want to. Not just for Shane, but all the others."

"I will help you draft something," Yuna was already typing away on her phone, probably to alert their agents.

"But what if Boston-"

"If I lose room, I go somewhere else."

"Where?"

"Canadian team. Maybe Toronto will need to fix things if they tell Kent to fuck off."

"Not funny."

"Actually, that would probably be a great move on their part, if they were smart, which they probably aren't," Yuna mused even as she continued typing.

"Ok," David announced, always knowing exactly when shop-talk was bringing Shane to the breaking point. "I say we finish lunch, then let the boys have some quiet time together before Ilya has to get back to Boston." Shane felt a stab of despair at the thought.

When his parents left, Shane felt wrung out. Ilya guided him back into bed and they lay down together, face to face.

"I'm sorry you've been dragged into this," Shane said, unsure how to voice what he really felt. I'm sorry our relationship might be turned into leverage.

"No," Ilya reached out and smoothed some hair away from Shane's eyes. His own were glassy. "No sorry from you. I love you."

"I love you."

"I wish the whole world could see you the way I see you."

"How do you see me?" Shane's vision clouded as tears sprang to his eyes. Ilya was looking at him with such devotion. It had to be enough, even against the world, right?

"My Shane," Ilya said softly. "Beautiful... kind... strong... so strong, so brave." He leaned in and kissed Shane's lips so softly, then whispered kisses all over his face. Finally, he pulled back and smiled. "And also Shane Hollander, the best hockey player since Gretzky." Shane sucked in a breath, but before he could answer, Ilya continued. "It is on record, yes? No one since him got them all in one season."

"They'll probably take them away, write me out," Shane sniffed, bitter and cynical. "Maybe claim I got special treatment."

"No, people who know the truth will always know. You will be my date when we are both in the Hall of Fame."

"I'd like that."

"Shane..." Ilya seemed to need to say something more, but it was clear he was having trouble with English after a summer in Russia and then an emotional journey back. "I am sorry."

"For what?"

"I think I have been lying about you in my head."

"What?"

"Maybe even since before we met."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think when I see this kid, this Hollander, he is perfect. He plays good, he talks good, in French too. Everyone like him. He is golden boy, yes? Gets brand deals, TV specials."

"Yeah, but that's the media. You never treated me like that."

"No, but I think maybe I..." Ilya took a deep sigh, gathering his thoughts. "I think you have it so good. Good team. Good family. You come out even, play so well. And I love it. I love you." He looked Shane in the eyes, adamant that Shane keep that in might. Shane nodded. "But I was also jealous. Not of cups or award, well them too. But of everything in your life. Perfect Shane Hollander. Perfect life."

"It's not perfect," Shane protested.

"I know. No one is. You have struggles I never know." Shane finally began to understand what Ilya was getting at, or at least suspect. He wished he could reach for him, but he was lying on his good arm and he didn't want to risk any stitches just yet. "You have to worry so much, about kids who look up at you, being perfect role model. They worship you for the wrong reasons. You are too good for them, all of them, ok? And I worry... I worry I am bad for you too."

"What? What's ridiculous."

"No, is true. I... I am so empty sometimes."

"What?"

"I told my father about us."

"What?" Shane felt like his heart had stopped. He sat up so he could look at Ilya properly. Was this was had happened in Russia?

"I shocked him. Made him so angry. He had an... like his head bled and... he fell and now he can not move or talk."

"A stroke?"

"Da, yes, I did that to him."

"Ilya, you can't give someone a stroke like that, not on purpose. What are you even talking about?"

"I am not a good person, is what I am trying to say."

"Ilya, what the fuck?" Shane wanted to shake Ilya, but he couldn't with his injury. Instead, he lay down again and hugged him as best he could. "You're kind and good and- fuck! You're just as good a player. If you had an Olson in Boston you'd had fucking four cups already! I can't play at 100% without you, you know that right? I'd still be miserable and in the closet. Last season was the best year of my life, Ilya, and that could not have happened if you hadn't been there every step of the way!" Shane became overwhelmed, perhaps more with everything that had happened than at Ilya specifically. He started breathing erratically. Fuck, he didn't want to cry again.

"Hey, hey, sorry," Ilya gathered him close, kissing the top of his head. "Sorry. I love you."

"I love you. Please don't think I'm perfect and don't think you're bad. We're both stupid idiots who need each other, ok?"

"I will try. I promise."

Shane started crying, he had to, and he clung to Ilya, stitches be damned. "Fuck, I don't know why I'm like this."

"Is ok. I got you. Too much too soon. We will talk more later." They might have both cried a little, in the end, but eventually they fell asleep together.

Two weeks later

"Ok, listen up, assholes," Ilya announced to the room. He had only been back for a while and with missing the pre-season he was unsure about the room, but he couldn't wait any longer. "I have announcement so shut the fuck up a second."

"Yes, Captain," Marley said, amused. It was at the end of practice, after everything had been reviewed and said, so Ilya's actions were a bit odd. A few players had left, Ilya noted, but the important figures were still present and the rest would know soon enough.

"I must say something that you might not give two shits about, ok? But I have to say it because if we have another Hammersmith on this team I will personally make their life hell, you hear? You understand?" Ilya looked around the room and noted the players who seemed annoyed at the words, those that rolled their eyes not-so-subtly, and those who shuffled awkwardly. A couple of the new members were confused.

Ilya took a breath. "I am bi, bisexual, I play hockey, I fuck who I want, you should not care, ok? We move on."

There was a beat of silence. Ilya looked around. He nodded and turned to put away the last of his gear. Silence he could accept.

"Well, I fully fucking support you, captain," Marley said, sticking out his hand. Ilya looked at it for a beat before grabbing it, actually surprised when he was hauled in for a hug, with very manly back-slapping. "Fuck Dallas Kent," Marley said when they parted.

"Fuck Dallas Kent," Ilya repeated, grinning. He knew Marley would support him, but doing it this so openly was touching.

"Me too, cap," Saint-Vincent said, sticking out his own hand. Ilya shook it, more relief flooding his senses. "Fuck Kent. He's crazy if he thinks Hollander is the problem with hockey."

"He is only problem because he beats us, yes? We will fucking destroy Montreal this year, but it will be on the ice."

"Hell yeah!" Vincent agreed.

"Fuck Kent!" Another player cried. "Fuck Kent!"

"Fuck Kent!" Marley started a chant. "Fuck Kent, fuck Kent, fuck Kent, FUCK KENT!"

Ilya knew not everyone had joined in, some had fled the locker altogether, but he still felt on top of the world. Was this that feeling Shane was always talking about?

"This is our fucking year!" he yelled and a cheer went out.

LeClaire was less enthusiastic. In the end he stopped Ilya on the way out with a warning that he was not to make any statements to the press about Dallas Kent, and to "keep it professional" on the ice, whatever that meant. After conferring with Yuna and his agent, they agreed Boston would look very foolish if they did anything to jeopardize Ilya's captaincy right in the middle of the biggest hockey scandal in a generation.

In the Crease, podcast

"Welcome to In The Crease, number one hockey podcast in Montreal as of last Friday, where today we'll be breaking down the big topic in the hockey world-"

"And beyond."

"You're right, this has broken containment. The question on everyone's mind is will Dallas Kent be indicted with aggravated assault, which has a sentence of up to 14 years in prison, or assault with a deadly weapon, which maxes out at 10, or if the prosecution really wants to piss off all of Montreal, will he be charged with assault causing bodily harm, also with a max of 10 years."

"The intent was clear for the entire viewing public. It's on the internet. The guy is clearly stomping with the intent to cut Hollander's neck, there's no question!"

"That might be difficult to prove. The other big question is, is a skate a deadly weapon?"

"Obviously, anything can be a deadly weapon, but it's a giant fucking knife, I think it counts in this context."

"Let's read some comments people have left on our last episode and find out just how quickly the civil war between Montreal and Toronto will start if Kent walks."

"I actually think Toronto is considering sending him into exile."

"Well, no one wants him, so the island of St. Helen it is."

"Way too nice for the likes of him."

Shane's apartment, one month later

"Thanks for hosting, cap," Patrice said as he carried in a case of beer. Shane waved him into the kitchen as JJ arrived, looking a little secretive. The man glanced performatively over Shane's shoulder.

"Is he here?" he asked.

"No, obviously."

"Why is that obvious?"

"He's not hiding in the apartment," Shane laughed. "He's on his way."

"I don't know if you should get them drunk."

"Captain said we should get drunk?" Taylor asked just as came out of the elevator. "Woohoo!" he lifted his own six-pack.

"Just, don't get shit-faced?" Shane ended the plea in a question, clearly the wrong tone, because he heard the guys cheering from the kitchen when Taylor relayed the conversation. "Thanks, JJ."

The rest of the team arrived in a celebratory mood, having just won against Boston on home turf, always a great feeling. Shane had more fans in the stands than ever before, but against all odds, there had been quite a few Ilya Rozanov jerseys, even among the Montreal fans.

Ilya had been very smug when he had seen it. He had come out publicly with a supportive statement to Shane and the other gay players. It had sent the hockey world into a tailspin. If both top players were queer, and one was just assaulted on the ice, what the hell was going on in the locker rooms? For the first time in the history of the Boston-Montreal rivalry, the fans stood in solidarity together. Not all, of course, but a loud and significant portion. Loud and big enough to get management to be a little scared of pissing them off more.

Boston's management, already in official support of the investigation against Kent, finally put out of supportive statements for Ilya and all other gay players.

Maybe it was a wave worth riding, just like Yuna had said. The next day Shane had put out a statement where he thanked everyone and confirmed he was gay, while not saying a word about Kent.

Two days later, the PM of Canada made it clear that hockey was for everyone and that Shane Hollander was a Canadian hero.

Two days after that, the prosecutor's office finally said they would be indicting Dallas Kent for assault with a deadly weapon. It was more than what they realistically thought they would get, but less than they hoped for. It was early days yet, so Shane had no way of knowing if it would mean testifying.

Kent was benched at least, and Shane was back on the ice, to a crowd so loud he was sure the stadium's roof would pop off.

Now, after a sweet victory, he was going to do the scariest thing of this whole saga: tell his team he was seeing the enemy. He might lose it all, but then again, a player might decide to cut his throat open during the next game. When viewed from that angle, Shane realised he didn't want hockey if hockey didn't want all of him. He would probably retract that statement if anyone asked or if it all went to shit, but he told himself it was true right then. It would have to be enough.

After food and drink, Shane got a text: Am outside.

He rose and stood in front of the TV, turning it off even though it was silently playing the game they had just finished. He wanted no distractions.

"What's up, cap?"

"I have something to tell you guys." Shane steeled himself. "I want you all to meet Lily."

"Really?" "For real?" "Holy shit, yes!" "Finally!"

"Ok, settle down, I need to explain a few things first, ok? Just, please listen and try to... not Dallas Kent me, I guess." The joke fell flat. "Sorry, forget that."

"Captain, who is this guy? Why would you think we'd be upset?"

"We're supportive!"

"We're not fucking Dallas Kent!"

"I know, I'm sorry, that was really bad of me. Just... fuck, this is hard, ok? Just..." he looked around at his team. Back-to-back cups, the untouchable Shane Hollander as their captain, friends, colleagues - would it all go away? He caught Hayden's and JJ's eyes and they nodded. He had two, at least. "Just please remember this happens all the time in women's sports, ok, so it really shouldn't be that far-fetched."

"Is Lily a woman after all?" Taylor asked. Patrice hit him in the shoulder. "No, idiot, he's saying they're both players."

A collective "ooooh" went across the couch. Shane nodded. "That makes more sense," Taylor admitted.

"So, I'll just... go get him."

Shane all but ran to the door, finding Ilya behind it looking amazing as always. He smiled. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Team here?"

"Yeah, I just told them I'm dating a player, but..."

"Best to give dramatic entrance, yes?"

"Shut up."

Shane grabbed his hand and dragged him inside, even more glad they had beat Boston tonight. Ilya had less of a reason to be smug.

He didn't really take in his team mates until he was back in front of the TV, still holding Ilya's hand. They were... staring.

"Hello." Ilya gave a little wave, but Shane could tell from his voice he was nervous too. When no one said anything, Ilya added. "Good game tonight. Hollander seemed to only be carrying team maybe 80%-"

"Ilya," Shane's voice held an edge.

"What? Is compliment!"

"Please, we agreed, hockey stays on the ice."

"Fine. I can be nice. I brought good vodka." He held up his other hand, in which he did indeed hold a nice vodka bottle. "Taylor, this one you will like, I swear on mother Russia herself." He pointed to Taylor, who got a dear-in-the-headlights expression, as though he was about to deny ever having discussed the nuances of vodkas with Ilya.

"Taylor eats like trash, he can't taste your vodka," Pike said, getting to his feet. He had told Shane he would do this for him. Shane held his breath as his best friend and boyfriend faced each other. "Rozanov."

"Pike."

"You and Shane have obviously been together for years, judging by his obsession with Lily." Ilya threw Shane a grin and an eyebrow wiggle.

"Not obsessed," Shane protested weakly.

"The point being," Pike continued. "It clearly never affected your games. Otherwise I'm sure you would have found a way to sabotage our last season."

"I play fair, against everyone," Ilya said, angry creeping in.

"I know. The fact that you're with Shane, even with everything that's going on, says enough for me, so..." Pike nodded as though what he was about to do was painful. He stuck out his hand. "I hope you and Shane are happy together."

Ilya's eyes flickered down to the outstretched hand, before giving Pike a hard stare. Finally, he shook it.

"Thank you, Pike. Is appreciated. Not everyone on my team would be so good about it." This fact seemed to shake some of the rest of Shane's team awake.

JJ was the next to rise.

"You are still asshole, Rozanov."

"Not my fault you are easy to chirp."

"If you are Lily, you have been making our capitaine very happy for a long time." JJ stuck out his own hand. Ilya shook it, still tense. JJ grinned. "So thank you for the cups."

Shane barked a laugh as Ilya's face did something complicated.

"You are lucky he plays for Montreal," Ilya said. "If we had him in Boston it would be three cups already."

"We are very lucky," JJ agreed. They seemed to nod at each other and then finally let go. Shane breathed a sigh of relief. Now, for the rest.

"This is crazy," Patrice said. "You really like each other?"

"He saved Hollzy last season," Taylor pointed out. "Or was that just because you two were together?"

"I would have done that anyway," Ilya said. He glanced at Shane. "But obviously, I was fucking pissed at Hammersmith for illegally checking my boyfriend." Shane felt a slight blush at the word being said in front of his team.

"When did you actually start this?" Mitty asked suddenly. He had been surprisingly silent for a while.

"We- uh, it's complicated," Shane said.

"We start hooking up summer before our rookie year. We get exclusive in fall of 2014."

"Holy shit."

"That's... longer than expected."

"So, your whole-ass career!?"

"It's always been Rozanov," Shane interrupted the chaos. The team fell silent. "We've circled each other since juniors. He's..." Shane looked at Ilya, neither of them realising how love-sick they looked at each other. "No one makes me want to win more. He's infuriating on the ice. He makes me play better. But I also love him, so... that's me at 100%." Shane shrugged. "That's always included Ilya Rozanov."

"And is same for me," Ilya said. They nodded at each other. When Shane looked back at his team they still seemed shocked, but maybe less... angry? They looked contemplative, maybe even understanding.

"Well, that's fucking beautiful," Mitty declared. "If you guys ever write like a memoir or something, please include that I suspected this."

"What?" Shane laughed.

"Goalie eyes."

"Fuck off," Patrice protested. "You didn't know shit. You literally said you were surprised it was Kent and not Rozanov since you thought he hated Hollander more."

"That was before he came out!" Mitty protested.

The team began arguing specifics, who suspected what when or how homophobic Mitty had just been. Several team member came up to repeat JJ and Pike's gesture of acceptance. Taylor shook Ilya's hand somberly.

"Just please don't make me drink more vodka."

"Fine, be boring Canadian."

"Thank you."

Soon, JJ insisted Ilya start pouring and they all (who wanted one) got a shot of Ilya's nice vodka.

"To Rozanov and Hollander," JJ declared as he raised the shot. "Two of the best who ever played the game, much as I hate to declare it."

Shane coughed after the shot, but so did several others, so they accepted Ilya's teasing with good humor.

It was, in short, an incredible night. They all got shit-faced drunk, well, maybe not Shane, entirely, but it was a close thing.

In the morning he and Ilya stumbled through the motions of becoming proper humans again. After showers, coffee and a carb-heavy (for Shane) breakfast, they sat curled together watching the highlights of last night's game.

"Went well, I think," Ilya murmured.

"Crazy well," Shane said. "Though the rest of the team might not think so."

"The important players were here, they will tell the others to fuck off."

"Yeah, I hope so."

"Olson ok with it?"

"He was surprisingly... chipper about it when I told him."

"Chipper?"

"Like, upbeat, happy? Almost like he found it a good thing."

"Swedes," Ilya muttered.

"Just Olson I think."

Yuna and their agents started texting, asking for an update, so they spent a little time of the phone giving play-by-plays of the previous night. Yuna had never been prouder of her favorite team.

"How long until your flight?"

"Not until afternoon."

"So... we have time?"

"Yes, we should go through strategy for Boston and the Foundation announcement." Ilya lasted only two seconds after seeing Shane's slight pout. "But nap first, I think." Ilya got up and stretched exaggeratedly and walked away, Shane hot on his heels.

Epilogue

In the end, they were not crushed by the weight of the world when they finally told their truth. By the time they officially confirmed it to the press, it had been an open "secret" in the hockey world for almost the entire season.

There were still think pieces about "keeping it professional on the ice" and if they could really play against each other. But as the games kept coming and the points piled up, the debate had less and less substance to it. Shane and Ilya were still Hollander and Rozanov, and no one could watch a game and doubt it.

The NHL eventually condemned Kent, though their support of gay players was lack-luster at best. It did not get better until Crowell got ousted in 2021.

Boston was the more difficult room, no question, but Ilya was still getting the team to the playoffs, so it hadn't collapsed fully. Ilya's aggressive play style meant he was shielded more from accusations of "going easy" on his partner, though he was never immune from it.

The 2017 cup was won for the first time by a team led by an openly gay captain, Scott Hunter. When the families joined the team on the ice, Scott received the first same-sex celebratory kiss in NHL's history (Shane would always point out the women's league already had several every time someone asked him to comment).

There were ups and downs. Backlash and protests. Pride parades and meetings with politicians. They kept playing through it. Ilya was photographed going into Shane's Montreal apartment, so Shane moved to a gated community. There were slurs and hard checks, but no assaults on the ice again.

Ilya admitted his depression and got help. Not even coming out had fixed him, so he finally had to admit his fears to Shane, that he was like his mother. There were ups and downs with that too.

Dallas Kent was eventually convicted of assault with a deadly weapon, though only received 18 months in prison. He was then investigated for several rapes and assaults as several women came forward, right back to his rookie season.

The Irina Foundation started and they had more volunteer hockey coaches than they knew what to do with.

Eventually, both Ilya and Shane felt the strain of a long-distance relationship, even one lived out in the open. With meticulous planning, they arranged it so they would both go to Ottawa. Ilya first, and then Shane, with their salaries being both less than usual so that the team could afford them. Shane considered it a challenge and an honor to play for his home team, and Ilya felt much safer from Russia's continued smear campaign.

Over the years in Ottawa they would trade the C and A. Eventually their team mates would forget which was which.

They did bring each other as their date for their Hall of Fame induction.

The End.