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Summary
“Shane Hollander,” Rozanov says in his deep, thick accent.
“Rozanov,” Hollander nods. His voice cracks embarrassingly so he keeps talking, hoping the other man won’t notice. “Just came up here to get some air. I didn’t see a sign saying not to so I think we’re allowed. It’s chilly, eh? But a beautiful view,” he rambles.
“Ah yes,” Rozanov says flatly. “London, Ontario. Famous view.”
Shane can’t tell whether he’s being sarcastic. He probably is. He’s kind of an asshole, Shane thinks to himself, not for the first time. But an asshole who makes Shane’s stomach do weird things. Things that he wants to experience again so that he can properly label them. For science.
OR
What if last year's Hockey Canada sexual assault trial happened in the Heated Rivalry universe, not with the 2018 gold medal team but with Shane Hollander's 2009 team? A nearly decade-long situationship with consent king Ilya Rozanov makes the Hollander who walks into the courtroom in 2017 a very different man from the boy who ran out of the hotel room all those years ago.