Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

Gen, M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Crack Treated Seriously, Coming Out, Sort Of, Supportive Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros, Anxious Shane Hollander, Established Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), everyone gets to be a little bit of an idiot in this one

Language:

English

Series:

Part 33 of heated rivalry masterlist

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-28 Words: 3,151 Chapters: 1/1

rotting on a wooden cutting board

Summary

He doesn't mean for it to be a secret.

Or, well. That's his story, at least. It sounds convincing in his head. He practices the words in the mirror, over and over again, at first with a flat affect and then growing into a wearied sort of pleading, an uncomfortable honesty soaking into the lines of his face as he imagines the expressions of his teammates.

Fuck.

He doesn't know if he can do this.

But he knows—he knows—it's a matter of time.

OR: Shane has a secret. It's a really, really big one.

Notes

He doesn't mean for it to be a secret.

Or, well. That's his story, at least. It sounds convincing in his head. He practices the words in the mirror, over and over again, at first with a flat affect and then growing into a wearied sort of pleading, an uncomfortable honesty soaking into the lines of his face as he imagines the expressions of his teammates.

Fuck.

He doesn't know if he can do this.

But he knows—he knows—it's a matter of time.

All secrets out themselves eventually, Rose had said, the last time she was over, a narrow-eyed look on her face. She's been good to him, he knows. Careful about his neuroticism, gentle when he falters in his words.

He almost wishes she were the person he needs to tell. He thinks she'd be comforting about it, a gentle pat on his back. Steady, dependable Rose, who has—ever since she arrived—been there for him.

But no.

First Ilya. Then, the Metros. Then, he guesses, if needed, the world.

He swallows, locking eyes with his queasy expression in the mirror. It's all going to be fine, he tells himself. It doesn't even matter that he looks like an apocalypse is approaching. It'll be fine.

He just has to believe it.

"I have to talk to you," Shane blurts out, as soon as Ilya's in his apartment, the door still cracked open, the sound of the elevator shutting echoing down the hall behind him.

He's wringing his hands, rocking on his heels as Ilya bumps the door shut with his hip, his eyes narrowing.

Shane knows he looks like a fucking mess. He's been up since three am, pacing the halls of his apartment. It's just—this is a big deal. He's never told anyone about this. He swore when he was fifteen that he'd take this awful, terrible want with him to the grave. He'd seen what could happen to people who put pressure on too-thin ice. He knows what can come.

But lately, it's sucked. He's watched people get together in cheerful, warm rooms, and thought that could be me. He's seen the expressions on peoples faces, watched the way they melt around dinner tables, the casual intimacy of shared food, of good company, and been in total fucking agony.

Jackie had kicked him under the table at Hayden's two nights ago when he'd started sighing longingly watching them feed each other forkfuls of tiramisu. She'd arched a worried eyebrow, her mouth flattening and then tipping down in clear question. He'd shaken his head in answer, and she'd opened her mouth to interrogate him only to be forcefully fed by Hayd who wasn't paying attention.

It had been so cute, once she'd stopped choking, that he'd wanted to die.

"You are regretting something?" Ilya asks slowly, but Shane shakes his head immediately, rushing over when Ilya’s shoulder relax.

"No! No, I mean—I just—no. I have to tell you something, I mean. And it's—I haven't told anyone in forever. Well, ever, actually. So. You'll be the first."

"You kill people?" Ilya guesses, tugging him closer until he slumps into his chest and sighs. "Shane Hollander, mass murderer does have the same ring to it as Shane Hollander, Montreal Metros Captain. I can see it."

Shane bites his collarbone in retaliation, grinning when he hisses, before pulling back. "No," he says, already feeling better simply by being in Ilya's arms. "And fuck you, if I were a mass murderer, who the hell would I be killing?"

"Poorly playing hockey players," Ilya says promptly. He sounds like he's been thinking about it long enough for Shane to feel a little flustered. Surely his ire isn't that bad. "Or the people who do your instacart orders and pick already too ripe produce."

"They know what the fuck they're doing," Shane grumbles, still pissed off about his three rotted bananas from last weeks order. "Who picks out something that's already spotted like that? They were banana bread levels of banana, not smoothie."

Ilya hums, his mouth curling into a fond grin. "I know, malysh. One day, we will be free from these evils, yes?" Shane nods, and accepts the kiss Ilya presses to his smile, chasing after him when he pulls back. "Ah, ah, ah," Ilya murmurs. "You have something to tell me?"

All at once, all of Shane's nerves return.

"You can't—don't—this is hard enough," he says through a stiff jaw, the words reluctant. "I don't—please don't look at me differently, after."

Ilya meets his eyes, and nods. "I will not, sweetheart," he says, soft and low. Shane's heart clenches once before he nods, and grabs Ilya by the hand, towing him through the apartment.

"Okay," he says, as he brings them into the kitchen and pushing Ilya into a seat. "Alright. Okay. Here we go—"

Shane is almost bouncing on his feet as he makes his way into their training rink, a broad smile he can't fight back spilling onto his face.

He should've known that Ilya was going to make him feel better—mostly he thinks it's impossible for him to not. But still, it had been risky to Shane's mental state, and he's thrilled it went well.

Now, all he has to do is confess to the team.

An arm swings around his shoulders, catching him by surprise, and he glances over to find Hayden grinning at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.

"Happy, bud?" he asks, patting the curve of his shoulder. He squints at him, vague concern spilling across his face. "Or—nervous, too?"

Shane shrugs, unwilling to get into it; he knows once he starts talking, he probably won't be able to stop until the whole sordid tale has spilled out of him. He’s only got enough bravery in him to say it all once.

"I have something to tell you all," Shane mutters, chewing on his bottom lip. "After practice."

There's a pause, before Hayden nods, his voice oddly gentler than it had been moments before. "I'll let the boys know," he says, squeezing him in tighter, before dropping his arm and yanking out his phone. "Make sure everyone's there for it."

"Thanks, Hayd," Shane says gratefully. He'd planned on sending a text before practice started, but Ilya had distracted him—as he so loves to do—and Shane had completely forgotten he hadn't sent the text until right now.

Hayden bumps their shoulders together, companionable quiet settling over them as they make their way through the hallways to the locker room.

"Hey," Hayden mutters, as soon as they can hear the loud crush of noise—Andropov's playlist blasting, the rookies arguing with each other, Drapeau's echoing, boisterous laughter—and snags his elbow, tugging them to a stop. He inhales, a little more shakily than Shane expects, and nods his head. "I've got your back," he says, clean and concise. "No matter what."

The churn of anxiety settles a tad, the choppy emotion flooding through him easing. He believes Hayd, but he also knows how the judgment of a room can change everything, can twist the support once had into some smear of I do support you, but…, and he doesn't want to be the reason that everything changes.

But he promised honesty, and he's not a fucking liar (except for all the ways that he is) so this has to happen.

It has to.

Hayd jostles his elbow again, just the once, and smiles. "Got your back," he repeats, bis eyes dark and serious. "Always, Shane."

Shane nods back, shoring up all his defenses and leads the two of them into the locker room, pretending like he can't feel the eyes of his team clinging to his skin.

Practice flies even faster than normal, the time slipping by with ease, and by the time Shane's damp from the shower, hair loose around his face, he's worked the sharpest parts of worry out of his body.

"Captaine," JJ murmurs, sliding up beside him. His voice is low, deference laced through his tone, an unexpected sort of gentleness in it. Shane can only imagine what the team thinks as his stomach twists. "The room is ready, when you are."

Shane offers him a smile, and pushes himself up, the locker room quieting without a single word.

He lets it sink into him, the feeling of all of their eyes on him, and tries not to grimace as he meets each of their gazes.

"I have to tell you all something," he starts, refusing to let his fear strangle his throat. "And I don't want it to be a big deal, or make you guys look at me any differently—"

"We won't," Berkes promises, Mitty and Cardot nodding earnestly at his side.

"I appreciate that," Shane says, before the dregs of his nerves resurface. "But I also—I mean—I understand if it takes you a moment—"

Laine shakes his head earnestly. "It won't, Cap, we all—" He cuts himself off, flushing as some of the team hisses at him, Hayden and JJ the loudest. "Er, I mean—I'm sure it's fine?"

"But if it's not—"

"Hollzy, you're good," Comeau says gruffly. "We're not going to be dicks." He clears his throat, casting a baleful glare across the room, as if this is a point he's been beaten over the head with. "It's going to be fine. Just—"

"I don't want to—"

"You can tell us anything," Hardwin says quietly, offering him a tiny smile from where he sits, next to Lugs by their rookie row. "Cap, it's just us."

"You don't understand," Shane says, close to tears. He feels raw, cracked open, the pulsing wound in the center of his chest obvious to everyone. How long has he been pretending that the team doesn't at least suspect something's off? "I can't be a baker and a hockey player. It doesn't make any sense!"

"Wait," Andropov says loudly, frowning at him. The already hushed room gets even more quiet. "What?"

"All my life," Shane starts, ignoring the glances carefully being exchanged. If he thinks about it too hard, he's going to clam up and he's already made it this far—he needs to fucking finish it. "I've liked baking. I mean, like, I don't want to eat the things I bake, because that would break my—"

"Macrobiotic diet," most of the team choruses.

Shane nods. He hopes it's dignified, but he's pretty sure he looks like a wet rat, soaked through with the sin of baked goods. God, he knows he'll never wash his hands clean of the sweet scent of sugar, that warm creaminess of melting butter. "Yeah, exactly." He pauses, breathing in. "But I've—lately, I've been wanting to bring the desserts to team gatherings and stuff, and I don't want to lie, but I know it's—I know it's not what a hockey player should be." He shakes his head, avoiding their gazes. "Even if I want to do both."

"Captaine," JJ says gently. The room is silent, except for Shane's shallow panting. He sort of feels dizzy, as if an adrenaline rush corkscrewed up his veins the wrong way. "Who told you, you could not?"

"It's going to sound stupid when I say it," Shane mutters, because it sounds stupid to him and it's his own goddamn brain that's convincing him it's true.

"Am I hallucinating?" someone hisses, their voice strangled, and Shane fights the urge to flinch. Jesus, this is a mess.

"You can tell us," Hayd murmurs. His voice drops into a pointed register. He, for some reason, sounds like there's some other secret Shane's keeping, which he can't deal with right now. "You can tell us anything?"

"I know that," Shane says, even though he's not really sure why Hayden ended his words as a question. He ignores it as he gestures around the room. "What do you think I'm trying to do?" He shuffles on his feet, chewing on his lip. "It's just hard, you know? Everyone has all these expectations, and all these ideas about who I am, and I don't want to let them down."

"You aren't letting anyone down," JJ says immediately. "If anything we're letting you down." He casts a glare around the room, and out of the corner of Shane's eye, he can see his team straightening up, plastering their best smile attempts on their faces.

Fuck, he never should have said anything.

"I just—I saw some stupid clip ages ago," Shane says. "About a team not supporting someone when they said they wanted to bake." He flicks his gaze around the room, before dropping it back down. "I just. I didn't want to risk it."

"Cap," Berkes says, his voice strangled. Shane's palms are sweating. He can't feel his feet. Is the locker rooms wall supposed to be wobbling, or is he just losing his mind? "Are you talking about High School Musical?"

Shane blinks at him, everything returning back to their expected places. "I—maybe?" He settles on. The memory of the video is hazy now. He knows it'd been from something popular, because he sometimes sees clips of it when he scrolls on his burner accounts, but he doesn't ever watch it. Once had been enough.

He's seen the rejection. He never needs to watch it again.

"Holy shit," someone else breathes, and then Hayden's arms are around him, the rest of the team piling on, as Shane's squeezed so hard it almost hurts.

He succumbs to the pressure, soaking it in until one-by-one they slowly peel off.

"Dude," Hayden says, when it's just the two of them and JJ. "It's totally fine that you bake."

Shane sniffles, relief making his hands shake. "It is?"

"Of course, it is," JJ says emphatically, smacking a kiss to his temple. "And if anyone has a problem with it, they can deal with me."

"And me!" Lugs chirps, grinning widely at him. He waves a giant hand around, gesturing at the entire locker room. "We've got your fucking back, Cap."

"Oh," Shane says. Warmth trickles through him, as he slowly detangles from JJ and Hayd's arms. "You guys are the fucking best."

"Goddamn, right we are," Comeau says, the rest of them hooting in loud agreement.

There's a pause, as Shane scrubs at his face, before he becomes aware of the strange looks still being passed around the room.

"Is there—is there something else that needs to be addressed?"

"No!" Half the team yelps, glaring at the other half who nod.

They dissolve into whispers as Shane wracks his brain for what the other thing could possibly be. JJ grimaces at him awkwardly, before he ducks into the huddle as Shane waits by Hayden's side.

"Okay," Cardot snaps, loud enough to cut through everything else. "No, we're fucking doing it."

He glances around, before reaching out and shoving Mitty forward. As one, the entire team slips backwards, leaving their back up goalie alone under Shane's keen eye.

"Oh, fucking—okay. Uh, Cap," Mitty says, clearing his throat a few times, his face an odd mottled color. He bounces in place for a beat, seemingly working up to something. It only makes Shane more nervous as he waits. What the fuck could it possibly be? "Uh, in case you're worried, we're all cool with the, uh, with the gay stuff, too."

Shane blinks at him, frowning. "I mean, yeah, I'd hope so," he says slowly, cocking his head to the side. This is a weird segue into whatever the fuck else is bothering them. "Since you all RSVP'd yes to my wedding with Ilya."

"I'm sorry?" Laine says, fumbling his phone. It's loud in the absolute silence as it clatters off the bench to smash against the ground. No one so much as moves, even though it's landed in wet spot. "We did?"

"Wait, hang on, you're engaged?" Drapeau says. "Since fucking when?"

Shane picks up his phone, and locates their group chat. He has to scroll back a few days to find the text but, it's there, clear as day. "I said, I should have proposed (HA!) this a few weeks ago but better late than never. Are you all free on July 10th? We're having a get together after the ceremony. Should be pretty casual, but no worries if you can't make it. And everyone said yes or heart reacted, so I dropped the pin for it and said, see you then!"

"Shane, buddy," Hayden says, grabbing him by the shoulder. He looks frazzled, his hair sticking out at the sides, as if he's been yanking at it. "Look me in the eyes and tell me why the fuck you think any of that was clearly about a wedding. About your wedding."

"I'm more confused about why you were freaking out about baking and not the whole gay thing?" Comeau says. He holds his hands up when the whole team rounds on him. "I'm just saying? Jesus Christ, I mean hockey isn't historically the best for it? And coming out is a huge deal, or I thought it could be? I mean if it wasn't, then what the fuck is Hunter's whole deal?"

Shane stares at him, before glancing around the room, watching everyone nod along.

"Oh, I mean, uh. It can be? I just—I mean," he shrugs. "I thought I'd been out this whole time?"

"Wait a second," Cardot says, loud enough over the ripple of mutters. Shane's fairly certain this can't be a surprise. He said no to Rose Landry years ago, despite the headlines that said otherwise and he's tried his best to make it clear in the locker room. But, still, Cardot sounds like he's been hit by a two-by-four. "Ilya Rozanov?"

Shane wrinkles his nose. He thought that was obvious. What other Ilya do they know? "I mean, yes?"

The room's silent for a beat, before it explodes, and Shane sighs, tugging his phone out to text Ilya that he'll be late for dinner.

He never would've said anything if he'd known it was going to turn into this, but even that doesn't stop the grin from growing on his face, listening to his team meltdown around him.

It shouldn't be as funny as it is, but he's trying a new thing, called chilling the fuck out, now that his big secret's been spilled.

He settles in on the bench, and sighs. At least someone will be thrilled that he's somehow scrambled the entire Metros' roster.

Ilya, he knows, will be so proud, the bastard. He'll probably hold it over his head for eternity; Shane's never going to get a break now.

He sighs, again, fighting back the smile that always appears when he thinks about Ilya. He can't fucking wait to marry him, even if it's somehow big news to his entire team.