Chapter Text
Ottawa, September 2017
Shane Hollander took a few deep breaths, to keep the building anxiety at bay. He slumped over the steering weel of his parked car, hands shaking faintly.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Repeat.
He had been back at an ice hockey rink several times over the past 11 months, at first with his therapist and for the past months, finally alone. He hadn’t been able to make himself step onto the ice, but being near it at the boards had become manageable.
But right now he couldn’t bring himself to face the Ottawa Centaurs Training rink building. It was his first day as an assistant coach for the Ottawa’s team and the pressure and fear was paralyzing him completely. He’d been expecting this to happen and for that reason had arrived at the parking lot an hour before he was expected to be there today.
He forced himself to lift his head, the steadying voice of his therapist echoing in his head.
Name 5 things you can see, 4 things you can touch…
Ten minutes later he had cleared his head enough to finally exit his car without spiraling into another panic attack and was quickly walking towards the buildings entrance. He was practically sprinting. It was like ripping off a bandaid, better done swiftly, to avoid thinking about it too long. He still felt slightly off inside his own skin, as he pushed through the front doors, but it was manageable. He made his way towards the part of the building where the coaches offices were located at the same quick pace.
He took a little detour to avoid the hallway with a gallery of windows directly displaying the rink and the ice below it. Shane told himself it was just for today, to ease the nervousness of his first day.
He’d been near the ice before and he would face it again but today the mere thought of the cold surface, made his skin crawl.
His already overstimulated brain, due to all the changes this new job brought to his life, simply couldn’t manage to push back against the fear and regulate his panic.
He’d learned in therapy to not let such setbacks, frustrate him too much and to be kind and compassionate with himself.
But a large part of him that had always been conditioned to compete and excell in all and any endeavors, felt like a complete failure on days like this.
It made him want to scream and cry at the same time.
He had learned to accept and bear it over the years but deep down he still felt betrayed by his own brain.
He’d been so deeply trapped in his own mind that Shane didn’t notice the man rounding the corner at the same time as him until he collided with him.
The collision knocked both mens breath straight out of their lungs. Shane quickly recovered and grabbed the other man’s arm to steady him and prevent them from both hitting the ground.
“Oh god… I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going”
Shane apologized immediately, turning a bit red from embarrassment and averted his face. He quickly let go of the other man’s arm.
Shane didn’t receive an answer, so he forced himself to lift his head again.
The other man was gaping at him with his eyes blown wide and his mouth hanging slightly open.
He was a few inches shorter than Shane, had a tidy looking beard and the most friendly looking facial features and eyes Shane had ever seen.
The man quickly shook his head, as if he was trying to shake himself out of his trance and forced a friendly smile.
“Don’t be, I should have watched were I’m going too.”
The stranger had a loud but kind voice that boomed through the hallway. He was still kind of staring at Shane.
“I’m so sorry..” he continued and shuffled his feet nervously.
Shane knew the expression of recognition and knew what would leave the other mans mouth next. “.. but you are Shane Hollander”
Shane smiled awkwardly and nodded. He felt even more uncomfortable than before. Being recognized still happened to him sometimes and it always triggered a confusing mixture of emotions inside of him.
He felt somewhat proud of still being remembered for his skills but it also reminded him painfully of his wasted potential and the circumstances preventing him from playing hockey, the sport he loved so much.
He’d spend so much time of his life cultivating his skills and sculpting his body for peak performance, while making so many sacrifices, only to end up as an assistant coach at 26, who broke out in cold sweats at the idea of being anywhere near the ice.
The other man must have sensed his inner turmoil and discomfort.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry for being so rude. My name is Harris Drover, it’s my first day as Social Media Manger for the Centaurs and I’m extremely overwhelmed”
Harris chuckled nervously and stretched his hand out towards Shane.
Shane controlled his face into his polite media smile and took Harris’ hand in a firm handshake. Shanes parents had raised him too well to be rude and years of media training also helped.
“Don’t worry about it, Harris. It’s nice to meet you”
“I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that I’ve always been a huge fan. It’s an honor to meet the Shane Hollander.“
Harris blushed violently but his eyes were shining with excitement. Shane felt his cheeks blush slightly as well and was at a loss of words. What the hell was he supposed to say to someone professing their admiration. Shane had always struggled with situations like these and today it felt impossibly overwhelming.
Harris tried to say something else but Shane was desperately trying to steer the conversation away from his failed hockey career and his former stardom.
“It’s my first day as well, today, so I guess that makes us colleagues. I’m simply Shane the assistant coach, to you now, not the Shane Hollander.“
Harris smiled brightly at him.
“Well, I’m really looking forward to being your colleague, Shane.”
Harris’ laugh was also loud but warm and friendly.
After they had wished each other good luck for their first day and went in different directions, Shane decided that he liked Harris and felt a little bit lighter about his new chapter with the Centaurs. It was nice knowing that he wasn’t the only new guy today, who was a bit terrified.
Boston, February 2018
Ilya Rozanov sat on a bench of the Bear’s locker room, alone. He never was the first in the locker room despite being captain. But today he had wanted to enjoy the empty room for a while.
Nothing had been officially announced yet, but three days prior, Ilya had signed a trade deal with the Ottawa Centaurs. Boston’s management had been sad to see him go but after he had explicitly asked for them to agree to the terms they had ultimately given in. They had always been good to him in Boston and he had always liked the city and the excitement it held.
But after his father’s death, almost a year ago, and his final fallout with his idiot brother, he slowly began to notice that Boston didn’t feel anymore like home than Moscow did. The cheep thrills like going out, drinking and hooking up with strangers, didn’t make him feel good anymore. It all just made him feel empty.
He knew that simply changing teams and cities would not solve this hollow feeling inside him, that kept growing bigger and bigger, the older he got, but he had done his research about Ottawa. The team was widely known for being refreshingly different, especially regarding locker room culture.
The new head Coach, Brandon Wiebe, was seriously trying to change things. His time as a player in the NHL hadn’t been extraordinary but he definitely was capable as a coach, as the performance of the Ottawa Centaurs showed this year in the regular season. They hadn’t been able to secure a spot in the playoffs, but they had played a hell of a lot better than the seasons before.
And there was also the growing problem of the political situation in the states. Being a Russian immigrant in the united states hadn’t been good for a while now and Ilya desperately wanted to get rid of his Russian passport. Gaining permanent residency and later maybe even citizenship in Canada, seemed safer for him on the long run.
Especially since he was able to negotiate for a permanent residency status immediately after starting in Ottawa as a part of his trade deal with the Centaurs, after communicating its urgency by disclosing his bisexuality to management and the coach. Ilya wasn’t sure if he wanted to come out to his new team yet, but he felt safe for the first time in a long time, at the thought of soon being a Canadian resident. If he somehow got outed while playing for Ottawa, no one would be able to revoke his visa and send him back to Russia. The Centaurs front office had guaranteed him that his sexuality would never be a reason for them to drop him as a player.
But the real reason he was moving to Ottawa was way too embarrassing to even admit to himself. It was Shane Hollander’s home town. And even if all his other reasons were valid and real, the thought of living in Shane’s home town made a strangely intense warmth spread through his body.
The minor possibility of somehow running into him somewhere in Ottawa created an almost painful craving inside his heart. His obsession with Hollander had become unhealthy somewhere in the past years but it was also at the same time the only thing that kept him going sometimes. More times than he was willing to admit, his thoughts drifted to beautiful freckles and eyebrows scrunched up in confusion or irritation.
On the rare occasion he did take a girl home from a bar or a club these days, they always seemed to have dark hair, big brown eyes and freckles or at least one of the features that reminded him of a certain Canadian hockey player. Marleau was having a field day of teasing him about this new preference, since his conquests had always famously been very diverse in their looks. If he’d had a type in the past, they had been blonde woman mostly, since they had no resemblance to Hollander whatsoever.
He had long since given up to resist thinking about Hollander while sleeping with others which was why he now avoided casual hookups mostly. The saddest truth was that he didn’t even feel attracted to most people anymore. And if he did feel a minor spark of desire towards someone, Ilya still couldn’t help but let his fantasies slip to the forefront of his mind. Imagining Hollanders strong hands holding onto him or Shane’s nails scratching his back open while falling apart underneath him or his beautiful ripped body withering under the exploration of Ilya’s tongue and hands. It’s been years since he’d last even been face to face with Shane Hollander but Ilya just couldn’t get the infuriatingly pretty man out of his head.
The loud bang of the locker room door startled Ilya out of his melancholic thoughts about Hollander. He sat up a bit straighter and forced his face into a relaxed mask upon the arrival of his teammates. Cliff and Vic had been the ones responsible for banging the door open. They were closely followed by Hammersmith. After them his entire team trickled into the room, one by one, filling the room with its familiar bustling and noise of conversation. Ilya immediately started to put on his gear while greeting and joking briefly with every one of the new arrivals, like he usually would.
But he felt like a heavy stone was nestled inside his stomach the entire time. He hadn’t come around to telling his team, whom had become the closest thing to family he had, that their captain would be leaving them at the end of the playoffs. Ilya was terrified of their reactions. He tried to push his worries away, focusing on the upcoming weeks.
The Centaur‘s missing the playoffs this season, allowed Ilya to complete the series with the Bears one final time. He didn’t expect them to go all the way to the finals due to their goalie being injured but he was hell bent on dragging his team forward into as many rounds as possible.
“What’s up your ass, today Rozy?”
Marleau dropped to the bench beside him to tie his skates, turning towards him with a teasing expression and raised eyebrows.
Ilya chuckled and immediately fell into the comfortable rhythm of chirping and bantering with his best friend until they headed towards the ice.
Ottawa, February 2018
(a week before)
Shane was sitting in his office, going over game tape of their previous match against Winnipeg. He was scribbling adjustments of play and other mistakes he noticed into a notebook beside him.
Even though the team had been improving steadily under the guidance from Wiebe, Shane couldn’t help but feeling disappointed about them missing a spot in the playoffs this year. Everyone of the players, from the most experienced veterans down to the rookies, had worked their asses off these past months. He was aware that rebuilding took time and patience and that they were painfully missing depth at center but somehow it felt like a personal failure to Shane. Some part of him viciously kept telling him that maybe he wasn’t as competent as an assistant coach as he had hoped, otherwise his team would have secured themselves a spot to compete for the cup.
Shane groaned and rubbed his hand over his eyes and face. These were exactly the kind of unproductive, self loathing thoughts he kept working on avoiding with his therapist.
An hour later, he headed towards Wiebe‘s office down the hall, since the head coach had requested to speak to him privately today. Shane could already imagine the course of their conversation. Not a lot got past Brandon Wiebe, so Shane was sure he was aware of Shane beating himself up about missing the playoffs. Even though Wiebe had never played as a goalie, he often reminded Shane of one, with his gift of perception that usually was accredited to players of that position. After working together closely for an entire season, Shane and Wiebe had slowly become close. The older retired player had immediately adopted Shane at the beginning of their working relationship and had gradually become an amazing mentor, who openly appreciated and valued Shane’s opinions and input. One night at an hotel bar during an away game where Shane had accompanied the team for once, he had turned to Shane somberly after a few beers and had told him what a tragedy it was that Shane had been forced to retire so early. The coaches eyes had been so honest and empathetic but without traces of pity, that Shane had actually opened up to his head coach about the true reasons for his sudden retirement. Ever since that night, Wiebe had become almost annoyingly protective of Shane Hollander. It was nice in some ways but sometimes it made Shane feel sort of smothered.
Everything Shane had imagined about the conversation with Wiebe turned out to be completely false when the Coach explained why they were currently sitting in his office.
„Shane, I want to be honest with you. This is a huge opportunity for us to finally gain some depth at center, but if this will be a problem for you, we will find another option.”
Shane was starting at Wiebe completely dumbfounded. His brain was still stuck on the sentence that had been spoken before. He was seriously considering if he’d had a stroke or something.
“You want to trade for Rozanov?”
Shane wasn’t sure how long he’d been just staring before he managed to grit out the question. But according to the concerned glint in Wiebe’s eyes, it had probably been a while.
“Yes. Everything is pretty much negotiated. But Shane, listen…”
“Ilya Rozanov? From the Boston Bears?”
Shane knew how ridiculous his question sounded the minute it left his mouth. Wiebe had to fight off a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. But Shane simply couldn’t wrap his head around the concept of Ilya god damn Rozanov in Ottawa. A lot of emotions and memories were trying to force themselves to the forefront of Shane’s mind when thinking about the ridiculously hot Russian with the golden curls and infuriatingly beautiful hazel eyes, but he couldn’t afford to let them. Even after years of zero contact with Rozanov, Shane’s heart ached painfully and constantly while thinking about what he had lost alongside of hockey.
“Do you know any other players named Rozanov?”
Wiebe couldn’t quite hold back his smile this time. Shane shook his head absently, his mind still miles away.
“Listen Shane, I always thought the rivalry between you two was more performative for the media than anything else but if I miscalculated and it’s gonna be a problem for you to work with him…”
Shane’s head snapped up before Wiebe could finish his sentence.
“No, you’re right. It was for the media. It… It’s fine.”
Wiebe asserted Shane carefully. Fuck. He did not look convinced by Shane’s rambling. Shane absentmindedly rubbed his hands along his thighs before meeting Wiebe’s eyes again.
“Honestly, it’s fine. Rozanov isn’t as bad as the media makes him out to be. He certainly isn’t an asshole towards his own team.”
Wiebe laughed at that and he stopped looking at Shane like a concerned parent.
“Well I sure hope he isn’t.” Wiebe grinned to himself. “But he is an amazing player, the best currently active, ever since your retirement. He could finally bring the cup to Ottawa.“
Shane struggled not to frown. The best currently active, ever since your retirement. He couldn’t help but imagine the smug grin appearing on Rozanov‘s face if he’d heard that sentence. Or maybe even worst, the Russian wouldn’t care about their competition to be on top anymore. It’s been years and Rozanov had claimed the top spot for himself firmly. Nobody came close anymore.
Wiebe, ever perceptive, noticed Shane‘s discomfort and softened his expression.
„I’m sorry, Shane. Didn’t mean to rub salt into the wound“
Shane waved him off.
„It’s fine, Coach.“ Wiebe had told him countless times, that they were colleagues and to call him Brandon, but Shane simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt wrong, like addressing one of his former teachers by their first name. Wiebe had since given up and accepted it. „You’re right, this will be good for the team.“
Shane managed to put enough confidence into his voice to actually sound convincing. But internally he was still freaking out about the prospect of having Rozanov living in his city and playing for the team he was coaching.
Wiebe seemed content. He nodded and relaxed back into his chair.
“We haven’t sent him the contract yet. I wanted to check in with you first.”
Shane averted his head, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed by being the reason a trade deal hadn’t been finalized. He certainly wasn’t as important as a star center for the team. Wiebe leaned forward again, trying to reduce the distance between Shane and him. Shane felt Wiebe’s eyes on him, but wasn’t able to return the eye contact.
“It’s important to me, that you know, how much you are valued here, Shane. If we had to choose, the entire organization and me, would choose you. No hesitation.“
Shane swallowed around the lump forming in his throat and felt his cheeks and neck turning hot. He was probably visibly blushing. He nodded and forced himself to smile a bit but still wasn’t able to meet Wiebe’s eyes, suddenly overcome with emotions. In his peripheral vision Shane saw Wiebe lean back again. Shane swallowed hard and turned his head upwards to meet his Coaches kind look.
Shane nodded again more confidently and thanked Wiebe. The Coaches expression seemed to soften further. Sometimes Shane couldn’t believe how much luck he’d had to end up with this Coach on this team. As an active player his experiences with Coaches had been vastly different. Thierault had ruled the Voyagers like a king, with an iron fist and the Coaches of his youth hadn’t been the gentle or understanding kind either. Shane had simply accepted it as a fact of hockey before meeting Brandon Wiebe.
They wrapped up the talk about Rozanov, after Wiebe informed him that the Russian didn’t know about Shane being an assistant coach and that they didn’t see the need to inform him of that fact before finalizing the trade deal. Shane thought that that was probably for the best. He couldn’t quite anticipate Rozanov’s reaction to being coached by Shane. Once, he would have thought that they would make a great team on the ice and sworn they could easily transfer their chemistry into a coaching relationship, but so much had changed since then. Over the course of their prolonged radio silence, Shane had lost all confidence in predicting any behavior of Ilya Rozanov.
Rozanov surely wouldn’t get wind of Shane’s current place of employment beforehand since due to Shanes circumstances it wasn’t widely known that he was working for the Centaurs. It wasn’t a secret, that would be impossible to pull off, but it hadn’t been paraded to the public either. Yuna Hollander had made sure of that. As far as Shane was aware, only a few players, mostly in Canada and especially on his old team knew. Over the years maybe it would spread throughout the league, but the truth was, that people simply didn’t care that much about players once they retired. Sure some people probably wondered what had happened and where he’d ended up, but the gossip and speculations in the league simply focused on active players. Even generational talents like Shane Hollander got forgotten eventually. And it was exactly how Shane wanted it to be.
Shane was just about to stand up and leave Wiebe’s office when something accured to him.
„Wait, Coach, has Rozanov said why he wants to be traded here? He just won the cup with Boston again last year. The timing seems kind of odd“
Since Rozanov had a non-trade clause in his contract with the Bears, he’d have to explicitly agree or even request a trade to another team. And requesting a trade to the improving but still worst team of the league was insane after winning the cup with his current team a year ago, for the second time.
Wiebe whose attention had been slowly drifting towards his laptop, looked up at Shane with an unreadable expression.
„Well… I can’t tell you all the details but he basically would prefer to play for a Canadian team.“
Shane’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Ilya Rozanov wanting to play for a boring Canadian team seemed widely out of character.
„Oh wow. I didn’t expect that“
„The political situation in the States hasn’t been great for Russian citizens for a while now. I guess he just wants to feel more secure in his ability to keep playing in the league. I can’t blame him.”
Something about Shane’s shocked expression made Wiebe chuckle.
“You both aren’t rookies anymore, Shane. Adulthood catches up with everyone eventually.”
Wiebe laughed again. “Even with Ilya Rozanov.”
Shane smiled timidly at Wiebe’s attempt to loosen the tension radiating off Shane again.
„I guess you’re right.“
—————
(one week later)
At the end of the next week it was announced that Ilya Rozanov would be playing his last playoffs with the Boston Bears and had signed with the Ottawa Centaurs. The hockey world was shocked. Media coverage was insane and immediate.
Shane didn’t envy Rozanov. Even though he’d rarely really been at the receiving end of media scrutiny, except for the sudden announcement of his retirement, he vividly remembered how awful it had been to get one‘s life dissected in the public eye.
Reporters crowded Rozanov after every game, like vultures, demanding an explanation for his sudden and unexpected trade. Rozanov seemed to handle it perfectly, always his charming, nonchalant self, even if the interviewers danced on the line of being completely invasive. But Shane noticed the tiny strain in his hazel eyes and saw him clench his jaw a few times in those interviews. It wasn’t obvious, but Shane had seen Rozanovs face in a lot of different expressions over the years and had become an expert at reading the microscopic little movement that would sometimes break through his carefully curated mask of indifference.
Shane locked his phone and threw it on the couch beside him. He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. He’d had spend way too much time the past week, thinking about Ilya Rozanov. He’d even had contemplated sending him a text to welcome him to the Centaurs, but had ultimately decided against it. But his finger had hovered embarrassingly long over the curser of their text messages chat. Not knowing what to even write and their last text exchanges staring back at Shane, had finally prevented him from reaching out.
After Shane had lifted the Stanley Cup in the Spring of 2015, Ilya had sent him two quick messages, that had made him blush at the time, but he had never had a chance to reply to. A few days later, his life had been violently shaken forever and answering the texts had left his mind completely for a long while.
June 2015, Lily: congrats hollander
June 2015, Lily: now you know how it feels, yes?
Shane had been out with his teammates, celebrating the win and had been persuaded to a lot of champagne and other drinks, he so rarely indulged in, when he read the message. So he’d been rather drunk and way too flustered to reply. But Rozanov had sent the text right after the end of the game. Later in the comfort of his own bed he might have gotten off to the thought of Rozanov watching him win the cup and his reference to the award ceremony in Vegas the year prior.
A month later the news of Shane’s retirement had been made public. He’d gotten a call from Lily that day, that he hadn’t answered and a text sent some time later.
July 2015, Lily: Hollander, are you okay??
Shane had never texted back either. He really hadn’t been in any condition to deal with Rozanov, even though, he regretted never answering, later on.
In March 2017, Ilya Rozanov mysteriously disappeared from the NHL and stepped back onto the ice a week later with headlines of his father’s sudden passing.
Shane had read those news articles with a heavy heart and had painfully realized how little they had actually known of each other, despite having continuously hooked up at any possibility for five years. Rozanov had never told Shane about his father being sick or anything about his family or his life in Russia at all. Shane had never told him anything important about his life either, after all. Still, Shane had felt the need to reach out, despite basically and unintentionally ghosting the other player for almost two years prior.
March 2017, Shane: I‘m really sorry for your loss
Shane had never received an answer. He‘d agonized about it for a long time, fully aware that he had no right to such hypocrisy. But he couldn’t help but spiral into overthinking it. Maybe his message had been too polite, too impersonal. But after such a long time he simply hadn’t had a clue how to phrase his empathy with Rozanov’s situation differently. And they had never been exchanging heartfelt messages before, so the uncertainty of Ilya‘s reaction to a more vulnerable message had paralyzed Shane completely with anxiety. So he had simply chosen the route that had felt safest.
Shane sunk deeper into his couch, willing himself to think about literally anything else than the looming arrival of his rival turned fuckbuddy turned stranger. They’d be forced to see each other again soon enough anyways so it really didn’t help to torture himself about it beforehand. Shane sighed. Another thing to dissect with his therapist at their next session.