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Gilbert Comeau on Montreal Metros Captain: ‘He's gay. Honestly I try not to be uncomfortable about it because he's a very good player, but being in the same locker room has its hiccups. God knows who he'd already ogled.’ – On Shane Hollander’s Homosexuality. 

This was not how he wanted to come out. 

“You fucking dick!” Hayden lands another punch across Comeau's face, “That's our fucking captain! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” 

“It was a fucking joke! I didn't know it would go on record!” 

Shane couldn't feel anything. His knees felt like jelly, blood drained from his body while the pending anger and frustration waited patiently to strike at his heart, hand clutched tightly around his phone with the opened article. ESPN of all places, one of the most hailed credible sources of sports. 

He told the team he was gay in full confidence. That he trusted them to at least keep their mouths shut about it while he untangled the messy threads of being gay and dating his rival since 2009 on his own terms. Clearly, that was out the window now. 

A whistle blows through the locker room, Thierault looking absolutely mad, Hayden finally dropping Comeau's collar and allowing J.J to pull him back as their coach waves the tablet in his hand. “Is this true?” 

Shane flinches. That tone alone, he knew he was in for it. He didn't tell his coach for a reason–Thierault was a hardass, a stickler for tradition that he knew he wouldn't hesitate to have Shane's ass handed to him if the commissioner decided that maybe he didn't need to be on ice anymore. One Scott Hunter was enough, if he had to say anything about it. 

“Coach…”

“I asked you a question, Hollander. We could be giving the commissioner a fucking headache with the shitshow about to happen. Is it?” 

Shane steers himself, swallowing down the impending dread threatening to clutch at his heart prematurely. It could wait, if he decided to. If he crumbled now, god knows what else Thierault would make into a caricature when it came to homosexuality, as if just the sheer thought of conjuring it up by what it is would make the team explode. 

He could deny it, sure. But that was never his prerogative. He wouldn't have drafted a lifelong plan if he was going to deny it anyway, it was a disservice to himself, with what little he was already allowing himself to feel and indulge in. “Yes, coach. It is,”

Thierault stares, like he wanted it to be not Hollander standing across from him at the moment. He was indispensable, his best player, and yet there he was, being the circle and center of this drama. This embarrassment. Thierault rubs the bridge of his nose. 

“The commissioner wants you suspended.”

“What?!” J.J immediately reacts, letting go of Hayden, “Coach, this is outrageous,”

“Stay in your place, Boizieau, unless you want to join Hollander in suspension,”

Shane swallows down his nausea, stepping forward as he holds J.J back, gently pushing him to sit back down on the bench. “Coach, are you sure this is the route you want to go?”

Thierault’s brow raises, scoffing as he places his hands on his hips. “You threatening me, Hollander?”

“I’m quitting,” Shane simply says, peeling the ‘C’ off his jersey and smacking it against his chest. He sharply turns to Hayden and J.J. shaking his head. “Stand down, don’t make him fire you two too,” he simply instructs. If that was how his entire team felt about him being gay, then he was more than willing to leave. 

He’d sacrificed too much to make sure he and Ilya get the coming out they wanted and with a few tongues wagging that opportunity has escaped him. He knew he still had to make a handful of statements, but with everything cracked open? He could work with what was forcibly ripped from his grasp. 

“For the record,” he grabs his bags, not bothering to change out of his gear. “None of you are my fucking type, fucking christ,” he mutters under his breath before he slams the locker room door shut as Thierault shuts his gaping jaw. 

“He’s just mad,” he says, facing Comeau, “Don’t do that again. You’re gonna cost us our captain,”

“Not like there’s a lot of guys to do it more to, coach,” he grumbles back. It was J.J’s turn to get a hit at Comeau. 

But within forty-eight hours of the skirmish, the Metros were up in flames. “What the fuck do you mean he’s trading himself off?!”

“Nothing much I could do, Thierault, it’s within his rights to terminate his contract,” the GM raises his hands, as if to say the entire shitshow was off his shoulders. “Seven teams. Seven teams have already reached out to me to trade Hollander off,” 

“Fucks sake, you should’ve talked him out of it!”

The GM tiredly looks at Thierault. “From what it looked like, there was no talking him out of this one. Now choose,”

Thierault was seeing red. He didn’t expect Shane Hollander–his best and most well-behaved player to pull a stunt like this. “Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Over a joke made by his teammate?! When has he gotten so fucking sensitive,” he kicks the bin in the office, blood boiling at the notion of having the rug pulled out from under them. Their powerhouse–gone over just one article. 

The fans were not going to like this. 

.⋆𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟⋆.

Ilya cradles him in his arms, rubbing Shane’s back as he holds back his tears, hands clutching his shirt tightly. On a technicality, Shane was effectively unemployed. And it did take a hit to his ego even with the seven immediate offers for drafts on his plate. No amount of drafting offers would compare to being outed by your own teammate and he has been holding back these tears forty-eight hours too long. 

“My sweetheart,” Ilya mutters, gently pulling away as he pads his thumb tenderly against Shane’s cheek, sympathetic and angry all the same as he frowns and looks at his fiance’s lovely, wet, brown eyes. “I know it hurts. But you were very brave about it, I am proud of you so much Shane,” he whispers, pressing gentle kisses on the tracks of Shane’s tears. 

“It’s embarrassing!” he snaps, unable to contain his emotions. He wasn’t embarrassed that he was gay, never. Shaky feet on the precipice of his identity was something he would never think embarrassing–it was a slow, torturous crawl of self-discovery, and it was his journey. 

And it had been cruelly ripped away from him with the first impression that he was a disgrace to other gay players–no restraint, no control, and predatory. 

That’s what he was embarrassed by. And now he couldn’t even feel like he could come out and tell the world he’s dating Ilya because what irony it is that he had victimized his number one rival since rookie season if Comeau’s narrative was going to win. 

Homosexual players already had such a fragile rap sheet within the NHL, and he was effectively bringing that reputation down with his career and it was all over now. 

“I’m so sorry,” Shane sniffles, wiping his tears while his lips wobble when he looks up at Ilya. “We had- we had this whole plan. And I’m sorry I’m being selfish again by delaying that,”

If Ilya was being honest, he was frustrated. He couldn’t deny that, but he knew how to compartmentalize disappointments now, He wasn’t going to deny that he was, but he fundamentally understood why they had to go back to planning on square one. “I am not blaming you,” he softly says, “I am not mad at you. You do not need to say sorry,” he pulls Shane a little closer, head on his chest as he sighs.

“It is fucked up. But is better if we plan again. That is what you are good at, moya lyubov. Thinking of next step, next move,” he offers, rubbing the back of Shane’s neck as his breathing finally steadies down. “You would not let Comeau succeed, right?”

A flicker of pride ignites in his chest, incredulously detaching from Ilya. “Fuck no!”

“There you are,” Ilya lets out a breath. “I know you would not,”

Shane scowls at him before melting into Ilya's warm hand when it cups his face. “You are very smart, I know you will make the correct choice, and you will be back after play-offs, kick Montreal’s ass and have Thierault fired, is that the plan?”

He couldn’t help but wetly laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so,” 

Ilya frowns and gently presses another kiss on Shane's lips, chaste and gentle. “We can do this,” 

.⋆𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟⋆.

Scott presses his lips together before turning to Murdok. “Let’s trade in Shane Hollander,”

Harv raises a brow. “...He’s Canadian,”

“Rich coming from you, coach,” he dryly says before shaking his head, bracing his hands across the table, “But this is big. Eric has left a gaping skill gap since he retired,”

“Hollander is not a goalie,”

“But he’s a damn good player,”

Harv couldn’t help but scoff, “Look me in the eyes and tell me why you really want him in the team, captain?”

“We’re really gonna do this?”

“Enlighten me, Scott.”

Scott takes a deep breath and faces his coach. He couldn't deny he had a certain fondness for Hollander, much to his own dismay. There was something about the kid he saw in him, even during his rookie days and even if he was a particularly larger pain in the ass when he was combined with Ilya Rozanov.

He also lived in fear of experiencing what just happened to Shane. He used to have literal nightmares over just thinking about all the million ways he could get outed and he had the golden opportunity to do it in his own terms. And even that was a little terrifying for him. 

He simply couldn't imagine how Shane would deal with it and his humanity, and even more so his own hard-fought and won battles against his sexuality–could not find it in himself to leave Shane Hollander alone in the trenches. Kip has turned his heart into mush, sue him. 

“Shane Hollander is one of, if not the best player in the league. Three Stanley Cups, a Conn Smythe, 1,920 points scored his entire career at thirty years old? Coach, that's a record nobody could touch,” Scott starts, “But I know that's not what you want to hear. So, yes, maybe some part of me wants Hollander because this entire PR thing of him being outed is detrimental to him and other players,” 

“So it is you wanting to pioneer your agenda,”

“Yes.” he boldly states, “I would've done it for anyone else, coach. This just happens to be a highly demanded player,” Scott scoffs and stands up straight. 

“Coach, it's not like you don't know a thing or two about pioneering movements,” he brings up and that gets Harv's brow twitching. “Who else but Hollander and I could make this sport into a safe space? If the narrative of him being predatory wins, we're pushing back progress for closeted players,” 

And Harv’s veneer cracks. “Alright,” he sighs and nods, “I will talk to the others about it. But we cannot be so sure of any trades if Hollander himself says no,”

Scott nods, “I'll handle that part. Thank you coach,” 

“If we lose the bidding war to Ottawa, don't blame me,” 

Scott stops in his tracks. “What? Ottawa?! They're going to put Hollander and Rozanov in the same team?” 

Harv shrugs, “Speculations,” 

“What can I offer Hollander to make him pick us?” 

“Anything you could, son,” Murdock shrugs, “We have a vacancy. We can pull some strings to afford him,”

Scott stops by the door, “And if it comes out that he's dating another player?” He didn’t know where it was coming from. All he knew is he had to ask. 

His coach scoffs, “Then he's dating a player. Tell him we'll have that covered,”

.⋆𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟⋆.

“I'm not gonna release a statement until I get traded, mom,” he softly says and he could tell she's holding back from the other line. She was getting antsy as his manager but she was also his mother–who had to respect that it was his decision. 

“Okay,” Yuna softly concedes, “Well…who was it so far? You've gotten trade offers from the west too, right?” 

“So far it's Detroit, Pittsburgh, New Jersey, Buffalo, Colorado…and New York. Save for Ottawa of course,” he recalls by memory. “I just don't want a repeat of this anymore, mom. I'm trying to pick the best I could,” 

She lets out a breath she was holding in, “I'm sorry this happened to you, Shane,” she softly says, “I wish I could do more,”

He ruefully smiles against his phone. “You've done enough, mom. I swear. I got this, I'll call you when I've reached a decision,”

As the call ends, he sighs and grips the counter of his Montreal apartment. It's been three days since the entire fiasco, with Thierault angrily calling him to say he made a mistake allowing to be traded off instead of apologizing. And that's what pushed him to make it all final. 

He was hesitating on Ottawa. Something he couldn't bring himself to tell Ilya because in the back of his mind–he knew his capabilities as a player, he knew what he could do, what he and Ilya could do to raise that team from the bottom up. And he knew that the possibility of him removing all of Ilya's hard work throughout the years he's played for Ottawa might be diminished with him joining the team.

As much as he pretended not to care, PR was definitely important for any team. Especially Ottawa. And if he joined, it would be revealed that he and Ilya were dating eventually. Whether it was nepotism by relationship, him going after Ilya and forcing him to put in a good word, or god forbid Ilya being the one painted as a villain in this shitshow, Shane had to hesitate. 

For the sake of the love of his life. 

His phone buzzes against the counter, flipping it over to see Scott Hunter’s contact at the top of the notification carousel. 

Scott was the very first person to message him when the article dropped. It was grounding, to know that the pioneer for gay players hadn’t entirely abandoned him but now his brows furrowed. He didn’t mind if he had help from Scott Hunter, of all people, to try and dispel any growing speculation of predatory behavior. So, he takes the offer and all the help he could get. 

He gets off the barstool, rushing to his room as he takes a quick shower. By the time he’s rushing out the room, tugging a jacket over him, he bumps against Ilya and Anya who had just come from their morning walk. 

“Woah, woah. Where are you going?” Ilya holds him by both arms, catching him. 

“I’m meeting up with Scott,”

Ilya furrows his brows, “Hunter?”

Shane rolls his eyes, “We don’t know a lot of Scotts, Ilya,”

“Why the rush?”

Shane opens his mouth and closes it again. Because I don’t want to chicken out, because I want to ride on the high of my own nervousness. I want to make sure the anger sustains itself before I could second guess this. 

“I don’t want to keep him waiting,”

Ilya couldn’t help but scowl. “You’re making me jealous,”

And Shane couldn’t help but laugh at that, holding Ilya’s hands. “He’s a married man,”

“You found him hot before,”

“Jesus…that was like years ago, you idiot,” he says lovingly, voice fond and tender. “I need a driver. Would you do the honors?”

“We are taking my stylish car,”

“But you’ll leave me alone to talk with Scott,”

“Whatever you need. Just do not kiss him,”

“I would really not, Ilya,”

.⋆𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟⋆.

Scott looks up when he hears footsteps against the wooden floorboards of the hole-in-the-wall cafe one of Kip’s friends swears by that there aren’t any people. And he comes face to face with Shane Hollander. 

“Hey man,” he takes a deep breath out, standing to shake his hand. “How have you been?”

Shane takes a seat across him, “Well, couldn’t get any worse than this,”

“Damn. I’m so sorry, Shane. Really,” he sympathetically mutters. He holds back from saying it had been his biggest fear ever–it wasn’t helpful for his current cause. “But trust me when I say it’ll get better,”

Shane presses his lips together. “Yeah…hopefully,” he nods, “So, what did you want to talk to me for?”

Scott taps his tingers against the table, “Have you considered where your next team would be?”

That garners a rueful chuckle from Shane. “Why, do you have ideas for me,”

“Join us in the Admirals,”

“Jesus Scott, are you flirting with me or something?” Shane’s brows furrows, leg shaking. 

“Rozanov has really rubbed off on you,” Scott retorts. And that gets Shane to stammer and fall short on a response. “Though I am being serious. I could only imagine you don’t want a re-run of Montreal with the next team you’d be drafted to,” 

His head lifts up, eyes spanning Scott’s face. It struck the right nerve, because the last thing he wanted to happen was to sign with a team full of lip service only to be miserable in the locker room or anywhere else with his teammates. He loved hockey–but hockey without synergy with his team was going to put him in vulnerable spots on and off the ice. “What exactly are you saying?”

“Crowell is already hot on your trail,” Scott leans forward, “You need a buffer. And I promise you, the Admirals are a team full of allies. If Crowell cannot reach you, he cannot touch you. You’ve only been compromised because Thierault shares the same brain with that piece of shit,”

“You’re saying Murdock is capable of blocking Crowell?”

“Hell, it worked for me, didn’t it?”

Touche. Scott Hunter was still captain after everything that went down. Coming out very publically, getting married, and the whole nine yards. 

“And if I told you I had conditions?”

Scott laughs, “Of course you do, man. You have eight teams gunning for you, I would too if I were you,”

“I’m dating Ilya. Ilya Rozanov. Think the team could handle it when the news comes out,”

“What?”

He looks Scott in the eyes, the first time he’d ever looked at him, really. Eyes rife with time and domesticity, a gentle understanding beneath such mortified vindication. And Shane’s eyes widens, “Did you…know?”

“No,” Scott responds almost a little too quickly. “But I had my guesses,”

“Since when?”

“...Maybe since you two started becoming friends. Or maybe years before that, I- I don’t know.”

“So, Ilya told you nothing?”

Scott shakes his head, “Couldn’t get anything outta him even if I tried. I guess in hindsight…” he nods, trying to wrap his head around it, “...he was really protective when it came to you.”

Warmth blooms over Shane’s chest. Ilya ultimately did put his comforts first. Which is why he was hesitating. Ilya got traded to a team that hadn’t made it to playoffs in years, his entire life in Boston upended just for him to get closer to Shane. And now…Shane was moving to a farther place to save face?

“Ilya moved to Ottawa for me, did you know that?”

“It makes sense now, yes,”

“Playing for the Admirals would mean I have to stay away from him again,”

And that makes Scott pause. If this was Shane’s main caveat, he couldn’t necessarily help it. Ottawa was Shane’s best chance at staying with Ilya but by far the worse when it came to quelling the fuel Simon Crowell was igniting. It mattered where Shane’s priorities lay, and Scott couldn’t determine if Shane was as ballsy as he was to forever be hockey’s black sheep to stay with the man he loves. 

“It would,” he nods. “But is that not protecting Ilya all the same?”

Shane presses his lips together, fingers intertwined together while resting his digits against his forehead. It was all so fucked up–creating a safe space for at least Ilya to land on was so fucking hard. Beyond PR and standings, it was already a dangerous enough environment for him if he carelessly did it. Adrenaline, pride, and ego could only take you so far until you have to face the music of reality.

What was one more season? One more cup for him to prove to the world that any dangerous stigma that could chain him to Ilya? Didn’t their initial plans involve putting up walls and appearances?

And wasn’t Ilya sick of it already?

“I have to think about it, Scott. I appreciate the offer, really. And I know reasonably, that the Admirals are the closest thing I have into getting a clean slate,” he explains in earnest, “But I cannot, for the life of me, make this decision without Ilya,”

Scott nods, a little disappointed but if anyone understood whatever modicum of struggle Shane was feeling – it was him. And in a sense, he was better at telling shit to his significant other rather than pulling them on the ice for the entire hockey world to see.

“I understand,” he nods, offering Shane a soft smile. “And…I hope you know you aren’t alone, Hollander,”

“Thank you,” he simply says, “For your time and everything.”

.⋆𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟⋆.

It’s his seventh lap around his office, trying to formulate the jumbled words in his head. The pressure was a little too much, too nauseating to bear as he sighs and presses the heels of his palms against the edge of the desk, melting down to the floor, knees hitting the wood with a resounding thud as he blinks away the tears. 

He was still considering Admirals. It was a good team, and with a coach nearly as untouchable as Murdock after years of fighting? That was a record nobody could touch or concede to. 

But Ilya. Ilya, Ilya, Ilya.

The love of his life.

A knock snaps him out of it, the door opening before he could stand and his fiance is immediately beside him. “What did that motherfucker tell you?! I will–”

“No. No, Scott didn’t say anything wrong,” Shane immediately stops him. “It’s…It’s a deeper problem, Ilya. Something that we need to talk about,” he finally concedes, ripping the band-aid off. “Problem is, I don’t really know how to tell you,” he helplessly says, cupping Ilya’s face. 

“Is this about your trade?”

“Yes,” he whispers. “I got offers from other teams but Scott personally asked me to join. And I’m actually considering it,”

“New York is seven hours away from Ottawa,” and the way Ilya’s voice sounded, so small and already beyond concession, near accepting, it broke Shane’s heart. “But maybe you need New York,”

“Ilya…”

“Does Scott know?”

“About us? Yeah, he figured it out,”

“Do you want to join New York?” 

Shane closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath before trying his best to look Ilya in the eyes. Failing, as he shifts them back downwards, “I– I don't know. It's beneficial, sure but it's just so far away from you, Ilya. I don't think I could take putting you through all that,” 

“Shane. Do you want to join New York?” 

A beat passes them. “Yes,” he breathlessly says. “But if you tell me not to, I won't. That much I could sacrifice, I swear,” 

“Do not. Shane, if this is what gives you back power then go,” Ilya says, steadfast and sure. “We will get married soon, yes? All I need is that, I promise you,” 

“We'll be farther apart again,” 

“I had you close for four years,” 

He grits his teeth, “And that is not enough for you. Make demands, Ilya. Please. You're killing me here my love,” 

Ilya scoffs and takes a step back, “Well what do you want me to say, Shane? Anything I would say, you could possibly use to not go to New York,” 

“Because I don't want to leave you here alone again!” 

“But you need this! We both know. Because if I tell you that I do not want you to go, that I am sick of always being away from you, then you lose your chance to fucking change your career for the better!” 

They were shouting now. And Shane didn't like this. Why was he even forcing something out of Ilya? “I feel guilty. That all I'm thinking about is what I could do to mitigate this fucking disaster. I shouldn't have quit,” he mutters, taking another deep breath and lowering his voice trying to stop the tears from falling. “I'm so sorry, Ilya,” 

“No. No, you do not apologize for leaving a shitty team,” he also softens his tone. “I need you to believe me, Shane. I understand, and I know you are scared that I have not told you a lot of what I was feeling before but I am being honest now,” he says in earnest. 

“I don't want to lose you too,” 

Ilya swallows, shaking his head. “You would not. I promise, I will be okay. We will be okay,” 

“This is so fucking unfair,” Shane laments, frustration upon frustration piling up, “I– fuck…” 

“It is,” Ilya nods and pulls Shane into his arms. “But we make it ours. We can do this, Shane. We cannot lose this far in,” 

“I'm so sorry for putting you through this,” he tightens his arms around Ilya. But he wouldn’t be able to tell him to try and find somewhere he could be open and free, with someone right by his side. Shane was too selfish for that, he couldn’t stomach the thought.

He loves Ilya too much to let him go. And he would upend the hockey world if it meant Ilya could be out and safe. A fight, a plane crash, a proposal proved that enough. That his priorities had drastically shifted.

“Take the New York contract,” Ilya rubs circles on the back of his hand absentmindedly. “I will wait. For times you could visit, or I could visit. And we have holidays together, yes?” 

“Okay,” Shane sighs and nods, conceding. 

“One thing. You can say no,” Ilya brings up, “I get to introduce you to my team as fiance,” 

In this moment, Shane had nothing more to lose. And everything else to gain. “Let me release my statment…then I'll face them,” 

“Releasing a statement means you sign with New York. That was your plan, yes?” 

“Yeah,” he steers himself, shoulders straightening. “I think it's time for me to draft something with mom,” 

.⋆𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟⋆.

“Hazy! Hazy! Hazy!” Luca nearly trips by the tunnels, skates barely on as the goalie skates across, headed to the boards to stop the rookie from smacking down face forward against the floor.

“What's gotten you so pressed so early, kid?” Wyatt scoffs, light-hearted and teasing but the aghast expression on Luca told him it was serious. Oh? 

Luca shows his opened screen to Wyatt, an Instagram story. Plain, classic text on a black background.

@shanehollander • 2h

Hello,

I know, as you are also well aware, that there has been an article released by ESPN about me and several allegations. I would like to preface this by saying, I love hockey–always have. I would like to think my performance speaks to that dedication, and I am so grateful I get to do this for a living. 

Given that, however, I don't think anyone's sexuality affects how they play. 

Which is to say—the article got one thing right. I am gay. I came out to my team in full confidence that if it wasn't allyship I got, tolerance would be my best course of action. However, with now growing concerns that were not forwarded to me, I would like to also clarify that I have never looked at any of my teammates inappropriately, nor have ever considered anything else rather than colleagueship and teamwork. With the growing tension within the team of which I have remained unaware of until now, I could not, in good faith, stay in the Montreal Metros, and have terminated my contract for the foreseeable duration of this season. 

I am not retiring, however. I am proud of who I am, and found that retreating and being ashamed would just stop me from doing what I love most; playing hockey. I have been scared to share this news with the public for years, but I am not ashamed to do so. Within the confines of that, is the indomitable spirit of an athlete who will keep playing – so I'll be seeing you this season too. 

- S.H. 🌈

“Holy shit…” Wyatt has his jaw hanging open. “Not only that!” Luca quickly swipes out the story he had already liked a million times, clicking back to the opened Safari tab of ESPN. 

Hollander Traded to Admirals by Metros in a shocking deal. – April 12, 2021

Beating the buzzer to the trade deadlines, in what could be considered the most shocking deal in recent NHL history, Montreal Metros Captain Shane Hollander had been traded to the New York Admirals for Coney and Malone. After allegations of dispute between inter-teammate relations admits the captain coming out as gay, the Metros have officially ended their Hollander Era as of today. 

Winning the bidding war for Hollander, it is no mistake why he chose the New York Admirals to sign with. Would this be a brand new dawn for another Stanley Cup for New York this season? Only time would tell as Shane Hollander joins American powerhouses such as Scott Hunter, Carter Vaughn, and Tristan Brisebois–a fellow Canadian from the same hometown.

What would this mean for the Metros now that their star player is gone? And would Hayden Pike take the helm as Captain? 

“What?!” 

“Apparently the team coaches and GMs knew earlier that Hollander quit the Metros,” 

“Hang on, hang on. Why the fuck would Montreal trade off Hollander?” LaPointe skates closer after hearing the commotion, the rest of the team now flocking to the boards, passing Luca’s phone around with intrigue and shock. 

“Man, fuck if I know?” Luca says helplessly, hands put out forward in exasperated animation. The thump of a stick bag makes the pair turn, Zane with a smile on his face, “What’s all the ruckus here, boys? Starting your mornings early?”

“Hollander got traded to Admirals.” the lot say in unison as his jaw drops. “What?! Why?”

“Exactly!” Wyatt groans, “Apparently it’s because he’s gay,”

Zane has his face painted with a scrunch of confusion and disgust. “How the hell is that relevant?”

“What are we congregatin' here for?” Evan walks in, all primed for practice.

“Hollander is now playing for the Admirals. Got booted by Metros after he got outed by Comeau,” the voice that follows makes all of them flinch, all eyes on Ilya Rozanov who had the steeliest gaze they’ve seen yet. “I am assuming we know what is wrong here, yes?”

“Absolutely, cap,” Luca immediately stands up straighter. “But…but how is he? Mr. Hollander, I mean?”

Evan gently nudges the kid, as if telling him that even Ilya wouldn’t be knowing everything about Shane just because they were friends but to their surprise, Ilya gives them a pretty substantial answer. “He has been sleeping like shit before the announcement, but now it seems like he has calmed down,” 

Luca then glances at Zane, as if checking to see if the surprise was a standard reaction to a very detailed rundown of what Shane Hollander has been going through. And by the looks of it, it was. “Send him our regards, captain,” Zane offers. 

“I will,” he sucks in a deep breath, “But with or without Hollander, we have to beat Montreal now. And is easier to do so,”

“Hell yeah!” Evan breaks the tension, lifting his stick up, “To Shane Hollander!”

That effectively melts Ilya’s heart as he smiles, watching the entire team raise their sticks in honor of his fiance. Even if they didn’t know that just yet. It was a comforting sight for him – Shane would be alright. 

Meanwhile, the MSG Training Center is hectic. 

“Look alive people!” Quinn Cameron claps his hands, the media team already in a frenzy while he traverses the halls with a beaming smile on his face. Winning the draft lottery was a fucking understatement, he was sure. He’d been wanting to knock Thierault down a peg or two since 2017, it was about time he did something stupid. 

Most hockey players were straight and still played like shit. Gay or not, Shane Hollander was a god. And it was about time Montreal lost their grasps on him. Cameron couldn’t care less what happened in his bedroom – all that mattered to him was that he could push for a Stanley again. 

Heading to Murdock’s office, he peers over and sees Shane Hollander, in the flesh, the final details of his contract finally hashed out and effectively official. “Welcome to the Admirals, Shane,”

“Thanks coach, glad to be here,” Shane politely nods before standing as Cameron leans against the door. “They’re ready for you,” he says with a beaming smile, “We are glad to have you here, Hollander,” 

.⋆𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟⋆.

April 30, 2021

Shane’s hand gently smooths down Ilya’s lower back as he passes by him, a little shaky and nervous with most of his brainpower working to not look like he wanted to throw up. It was just a team dinner. Ilya assured him over and over again that Ottawa was very different from Montreal. They had him, Troy Barrett, and Harris Drover. That was an entire flank of queer people. None fired, none ostracized, all three celebrated in the team’s own private way.

“Shane,” Ilya catches his wrist, stopping him midway while turning the fire down the stove, his other hand hooking against his fiance’s waist, “You are nervous,”

“Can you blame me? It’s your team,” Shane frowns and rests his forehead against Ilya’s shoulder, “I want to make a good impression. Especially now, of all times,”

“You have not punched players until they are heaving on the ice. You will be fine,” and bracketing his jaw with his fingers, he places a tender kiss on Shane’s lips. “They will like you, trust me. Just be same boring fiance, with boring hockey analysis, and absolutely beautiful freckles and soul,” he soothes, “It will all be fine,”

Shane has a small pout on his lips when Ilya looks back. “Or we can cancel?”

“No, no cancelling,” he shakes his head and places a hand on Ilya’s chest, right atop his heart. “I want to do this. Even if I’m kind of a mess about it,”

“My mess,” Ilya beams, nuzzling his nose against his freckles, crooning softly. “I love you,”

“I love you too,”

Anya breaks up the tender moment, barking and feeling a little left out to see her dads getting cozy without her, tail wagging and immediately pawing at Shane’s leg, vying for his attention. “It is not fair she prefers you,” Ilya grumbles, continuing to stir the Borscht he was making. Luca and Nick liked the stew he always made after all, and he was a very gracious host. 

After a few more hours of preparing food for twelve grown men – the doorbell rings and Shane finds himself holding his breath. “Should I open it?”

“Do you want to?” Ilya asks with furrowed brows. “Do you want me to do it with you?”

They had to decide. And quickly.

“The fuck does that say wine..drink?” Evan looks down at the bottle of wine Nick had bought. “Oh fuck, did I not grab the right bottle?” he turns the bottle, and smacks Evan’s arm, “It doesn’t you, dick!”

Evan’s laughter is immediately ended when the door finally clatters open, and their eyes widen when they come face to face with their captain–and Shane Hollander. With their captain’s hand wrapped around Hollander’s waist, the two close and it seemed they always have been.

“Welcome!” Ilya beams, “Was traffic bad on your way here?”

Nick has to nudge Evan to shut his gaping mouth, quickly locking logic in place as years of Selena’s training finally do him some good. Context clues, as his wife has always said. 

“Oh yeah, the 5th was a little clogged up, rush hour and all,” he says as casually as he could, extending his arm to hand Shane the wine he had picked out and brought, extending it towards Shane rather than Ilya, “Thanks for having us over. I’m Nicholas Chouinard, by the way, just Nick is fine. It’s a pleasure to meet your official acquaintance, out of the ice and everything,” 

That dislodges something knotted in Shane’s lungs. “Shane Hollander. Just Shane is alright,”

“Ditto. Evan Dykstra, guys know me as just Evan. Uh, very glad for the invitation,” Evan finally comes to, bumping fists with Ilya’s free hand before being greeted by Anya who yips excitedly. 

“Help yourself. Shane made lots of appetizers,” Ilya throws back, watching the two men make their way in his kitchen before glancing back at Shane with a smile. “I told you,”

Shane couldn’t help it, feeling his tears start to prick his eyes before Ilya caresses his freckles in a delicate way. “Hey,”

“I’m okay. I promise. Pulling it together,” he promises, shaking his hands with a deep breath. “Just relieved,”

Ilya reaches out to squeeze his nape, massaging the muscle and skin underneath steadily, eyes filled to the brim with love and adoration. “We have ten more of them to go,”

“I know,” Shane squeezes his arm in acknowledgement. “It doesn’t seem so bad now,” 

“Can you greet them alone, or do you still need me?”

“We already have guests in and you know how I am when it comes to small talk,” he shudders, shaking his head. It would’ve been too awkward. “Go entertain them, I’ll be fine answering the door,”

Something flutters in Ilya’s stomach. We have guests. His lucky stars might’ve finally aligned for him to have this opportunity. For him to gain this small reprieve, to make it all seem normal even just for a small moment in time, within the four walls of his house, with the people that mattered and the only person he has ever loved this deeply. 

The bustle of herding guests into the dining room is an entire affair, the team shell shocked to see Shane opening the door for them, interacting with Ilya in a way nobody could mistake for being anything other than lovers. And at the head of the table, with his entire team gathered for another dinner, now with the addition of Shane Hollander on the table. 

“We wanted to host this dinner, because we did not want to hide anymore,” Ilya explains, the chatter dying down for a moment. He glaces to his fiance who nods and clears his throat. “As you all know, I have been outed,” he looks down at his plate, fiddling with lettuce and tomatoes, “Ilya and I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you guys on our own terms,”

“Shane and I are engaged,” plain and simple. And that makes someone’s fork clatter.

“Sorry!” Luca stammers, red as a beet when everyone’s eyes land on him. “Please continue, captain. I didn’t mean to interrupt,”

That makes Ilya laugh before continuing. “We have been dating for a while. Since before our rookie season,” 

And he could feel the anticipation of wanting to ask questions, the eyes on him and Shane absolutely sparking with curiosity. “Okay fine, ask your questions now,”

.⋆𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟⋆.

September 2021

“Hollzy!” Vaughn skates towards him, hooking his arm around his shoulder while Shane pads up. “You ready for tonight man?” 

“You checking in on me Vaughny?”

“Just making sure you don’t get cold feet,” 

“Feet are cold enough already, we’re in ice hockey,” Shane reminds which makes Vaughn laugh out loud, shaking his head before patting his back. “Let’s get them tonight!”

“Nerveux?” his lockermate, Tristan Brisebois asks. There was a certain kinship he had with him. Coming from the same country and all. 

“Un peu, oui,” Shane shrugs while pulling the red jersey over his head, perfectly fitted, the 24 still proud on his back despite the very different logo in front. It had been surreal–that he was now an Admiral. The flight back to New York for the season was heartbreaking and all too liberating as well. Married over the summer, he hangs his wedding ring on a chain, superstitiously pressing a kiss over it before straightening his back, “Mais je pense que ça va être amusant aussi.”

“Atta boy, Hollzy,” Brisebois beams, giving the side of his arm a friendly punch. “Did you check the new schedule? Quand est-ce qu’on s’oppose à ton mari?” When are we going against your husband?

It makes him smirk. “Dans deux semaines. Once we beat the rest,”

“That is one optimistic smile Hollzy!” one of their defenseman, Patrick Muller comments from across the locker room, good-natured whistles following as he laughs and shakes his head. “Fuck off Patsy!”

Once he has his skates laced up, Hunter makes his way inside the locker room, clearing his throat. “Okay! Let’s double time and hit the ice,” his voice booms around, “Let's get them this season too, boys. Shall we?” cheers and hollers fill the room. And his eyes find Shane’s, “Especially now, that a damn good powerhouse has joined us. If you ride or die for me, then we also ride or die for Hollander. No man left behind! And we are proud of who we are!” 

“Hell yeah!” 

“I need Los Angeles’ head on a platter boys!”

And Shane finds himself cheering along, blood pumping through his veins. It was something terrifying, something so nauseating he swears he’d soil the newly zambonied ice the moment his skates hit home rink but he knew there was backing for him. Knew there was real support. 

Ottawa could wait, he had to give New York his due diligence too.  

The rink is heavy with anticipation, crowds still silent as the linemen and referees finish their laps, the lights dimmed down cinematically ready as the announcer’s voices boom across the space. “New York! On your feet!” 

The lights flash red, blue, and whites, glittering on the ice and off the fans as Shane feels Hunter’s hand on his shoulder. “Let’s all go prove them wrong,”

“Hell yeah we would,” he nods, slipping his mouth guard on as the team trudges forward out of the tunnel. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the New York Admirals!”