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The Centaurs had just wrapped up a grueling game against the New York Admirals, scraping by with a 1–0 win. It hadn’t been their best game this season, probably one of their worst, even with a win, largely because of the unmistakable tension between the team husbands.
As they filed into the locker room, the usual post-win chaos was nowhere to be found. No shouting, no music, no playful chirping, just an uneasy quiet.
“Should we say something?” Wyatt Hayes muttered, keeping his voice low as he leaned toward his locker mate and alternate captain, Zane Boodram.
“Uh… I would,” Bood said under his breath, glancing across the room, “but Hollander scares me when he’s like that.”
Across the room, Ilya and Shane stripped off their gear with their backs turned to each other, movements quick, both men obviously upset.
“Are you guys talking about the elephant in the room?” Troy Barrett whispered, moving up beside them. “Because this feels crazy awkward.”
“Do you guys know why they’re mad?” Luca Haas asked, joining the small circle near Bood’s locker. “I hate when they fight. It makes me feel like they’re mad at us too.”
“I bet Rozy did something,” Evan Dykstra added, sliding into the circle. “Hollzy doesn’t get that upset unless he’s provoked and Roz is basically the league’s #1 rage-baiter.”
“If you all are going to talk about us,” Ilya called out loudly, not bothering to turn around, “at least play some music so we do not have to hear you.”
Five heads snapped toward them watching as Shane tossed his towel over his shoulder and headed for the showers without a word.
The group stood frozen, caught red-handed.
“Oh, shit. Gotta go,” Troy said, trotting back to his locker, with Dykstra and Luca following.
Wyatt looked at Bood.
“Rock, paper, scissors you for it,” he said, already holding up his fist. “Loser talks to Rozy.”
Bood raised an eyebrow but held out his hand anyway.
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”
Wyatt’s rock crushed Bood’s scissors.
“Best two out of three, Hazy. You cheat,” Bood squinted at him
“How would you even cheat at rock, paper, scissors?” Wyatt shot back.
They reset.
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”
Rock.
Scissors.
Again.
Wyatt let out a laugh as he unstrapped his goalie pads. “Bro… Why would you throw the same hand twice?”
“Because I thought you wouldn’t!” Bood groaned. “Dammit. Fine. FINE! I’ll talk to him.”
Wyatt saluted him as Bood rolled his eyes and made the walk to Ilya’s locker.
“Hey, man. What’s up?” he said, aiming for casual and landing on awkward.
Ilya shot him a sideways glance. “Bood. Nothing much. Just ready to shower. You?”
“Yup, yeah, same, same...,” Bood rambled. “So… that game was… something, huh?”
“Yes. It was tough,” Ilya replied evenly. “But we got the win. Haas continues to prove he is a great asset to the team.”
His eyes flicked toward the showers.
Bood followed the glance. Ah. Waiting for Shane to be done so he can go in.
“Okay,” Bood exhaled, pinching his temple. “I’m going to cut the crap. What’s going on with you guys?”
Ilya’s attention snapped back. “I do not think that is you or the team’s business. We will be fine.”
“I get that,” Bood said, lowering his voice. “I do. But every time you two get like this, it throws everyone off. We were all off tonight. Not just you and Hollz.”
Ilya’s jaw tightened slightly. “It will not last,” he said, “I am sorry we were off. We will be better at practice Tuesday. Tell the team not to worry.”
They were not better.
Practice was a disaster. Passes were missed, players slipped on the ice chasing pucks, and Hayes, normally the league’s best goalie, let five goals slip by.
“Alright. Please put me out of my misery and stop,” Coach Wiebe groaned, blowing his whistle and waving them in.
The team circled up, sweaty and irritated.
“Guys, what is going on?” Wiebe demanded. “This is not the same team that won the Cup last year.”
He scanned their faces. His eyes caught Bood’s. Bood subtly tilted his head toward Ilya.
Wiebe followed the look and noticed Hayes doing the same toward Shane, who stood on the complete opposite side of the circle from Ilya.
Message received, loud and clear.
Wiebe took another slow look around. Nearly every player avoided eye contact and instead glanced, pointedly, at one of the two men.
“Listen up. Whatever’s going on outside, whatever’s bothering you, it stops when you step onto this ice,” he said, looking directly at Ilya and Shane.
“Every practice, every game, leave it at the door. You are not just playing for yourself, you are playing for each other. Right now, this team looks like it is carrying someone else’s fight. That stops today. We play as a team. We support each other. No distractions.”
Silence fell. “Go shower boys. Let’s hope tomorrow is a new day,” Wiebe said, sighing as he turned and walked towards the locker room.
“And the Centaurs manage to get another mediocre 1–0 win against Dallas."
“Harsh, but I have to agree, John. This is not the same Centaurs team we saw last week, shut out the Toronto Guardians 5–0.”
“Exactly. Where has Ilya Rozanov been the last couple of games?”
“Where has Shane Hollander been? Or Zane Boodram? Even Troy Barrett. There just seems to be a serious disconnect with this team on the ice.”
Once again, the locker room was silent. The only sound came from a country song, 'Dirt On My Boots', Dykstra had put on, though he seemed to realize quickly that it did nothing to fix the mood.
“Good job, boys. Another win,” Ilya said blankly, already turning to remove his gear.
No one responded. The team exchanged glances, silently hoping this tension would end before it turned their season into something worse.
“Congrats on the win, boys!” Harris called out as he walked in. “Coach Wiebe wanted me to let you know drinks are on him at Monks tonight.”
A few heads lifted. The players looked at Harris, offering small, sheepish smiles.
“Wow. Not too much excitement at once,” Harris teased. “Thanks, Harris. We’ll be there. It’ll be nice. You’re so awesome,” he added, mimicking their lack of enthusiasm before shaking his head.
“Thanks, babe. Yeah, we’ll be there,” Troy said, reaching for his boyfriend’s hand and looking at the rest of his team, who all reluctantly nodded. Everyone except Shane and Ilya, who had seemingly already hit the showers.
Gradually, the team got ready to leave. Sluggishly pulling on their jackets and hoodies, grabbing their bags and phones. The mood was still heavy, but at least it was moving.
Wyatt slung his duffel over his shoulder and turned toward the door when he froze mid-step.
Bood and Troy walked straight into his back.
“What the hell man?” Bood muttered, steadying himself.
“Look,” Wyatt whispered urgently.
Across the room, Shane and Ilya stood near their lockers. Huddled together. Not back to back. Not across the room distancing themselves.
Close together.
They were leaning in, speaking quietly to each other.
“Oh my god,” Troy breathed out shakily. “They’re talking.”
Wyatt shook his head slightly, eyes wide, not quite believing it. “No. That’s not just talking.”
Shane’s mouth curved upward.
“There's that Hollander smile,” Wyatt said, barely containing himself.
Troy grabbed Bood’s arm, shaking him. “He’s smiling. He’s actually smiling.”
The three of them stood there, staring like they were witnessing a miracle.
Ilya said something else under his breath, and Shane let out a small laugh before nudging him lightly with his shoulder.
Bood exhaled. “Fellas, we might survive this after all.”
Then Ilya stepped away and walked toward Harris.
The guys went quiet again, following their captain with their eyes.
Ilya leaned down and whispered something into Harris’s ear.
Harris’s face lit up instantly. “Wait, seriously?” he said a little too loudly before clapping a hand over his mouth, grinning at Ilya.
Shane walked over, and Harris looked between the two of them, smiling and saying something the guys couldn’t make out.
“Oh, we are so back, boys,” Troy muttered, watching the scene unfold before them.
The three of them headed for the door together, Harris trailing just behind them, still smiling.
Wyatt blinked once. Then shoved his teammates.
“Go!” he said.
The three men scrambled at once, grabbing bags, nearly tripping over loose gear and shoes as they rushed toward the exit.
“Wait, what the hell is happening?” Dykstra asked, drying his damp hair with a towel.
“They’re talking, man!” Bood said, practically bouncing up and down.
“They’re smiling,” Wyatt added quickly. “They’re laughing. I don’t even know what else! They left with Harris, and we have to follow them.”
Luca straightened from where he’d been slumped at his locker. “Wait! Shane and Ilya?”
“YES!” All 3 men cried out.
“Oh, hell yes! Wait up!” Dykstra said, nearly losing his balance as he shoved his feet into his sneakers.
“I am so excited I might cry,” Luca said, grabbing his backpack from his locker.
“Let’s go, boys. They’re going to leave without us,” Wyatt urged.
The men burst out of the locker room in a chaotic cluster, determined to catch up.
They skidded to a stop outside the arena.
Shane and Ilya were nowhere in sight. Their Mercedes was gone from the parking lot.
Instead, Harris stood a few feet away, under a streetlight, focused on his phone. He looked up just in time to see the five men charging towards him.
“Oh, hey!” Harris said. “I was just about to text you,” he added, looking at Troy.
“Where did they go?” all five of them shouted at once.
Harris winced. “Whoa! Volume... Who?” he asked, glancing between them, confused.
“Roz and Hollzy!” Dykstra shouted, still out of breath.
“Oh.” Harris grinned widely, “You guys don’t know?”
“Know what?” Bood asked, narrowing his eyes.
Harris’s grin grew. “Oh my god. You guys seriously don’t know?”
“Know what!?” Wyatt snapped, before adding a quick “Sorry!"
Harris giggled, covering his mouth with his hand. “I can’t believe you guys don’t know!”
“Babe, just tell us!” Troy said, losing his patience with his boyfriend.
“Fine, but keep it lowkey okay!” Harris said, looking at each of the men, “Every time Ilya does something that pisses Shane off, he apologizes by taking him to Finnigan’s and singing him karaoke love songs.”
Silence, then
“WHAT?” they all yelled.
“I thought you guys knew,” Harris said, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s been happening for over a year. It’s pretty amazing to see.”
“Wait. What?” Troy stared at him. “You’ve seen this and haven’t told me?”
He pauses, hurt. “Or taken me?”
Harris smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, babe. But it’s adorable. Last time Ilya invited me so I could record him and send the videos to Shane’s mom and dad.” He shrugged casually.
The five of them slowly turned to look at each other.
And then they all started talking at once.
“We’re going, right?”
“Oh, we’re definitely going!!”
“I need to see this.”
“What song do you think he’s going to sing?”
“I’m driving. Come on.”
Still clamoring, they all took off towards Bood’s 4Runner.
Finnigan’s was already alive by the time they pushed through the doors.
Music thumped from old speakers mounted in the corners. The smell of fried food and beer hung in the air. A few regulars crowded near the bar while a small group lingered around the tables at the front by the stage.
The guys burst through the doors, slightly out of breath, scanning the room.
“Do you see them?” Luca asked, standing on his tippy toes.
“No- wait” Bood said.
Then they all heard it. A familiar thick accent, slightly distorted through the microphone.
Up on the small stage, under a flickering spotlight, stood Ilya Rozanov, fidgeting with a mic, one hand nervously in his pocket.
Shane was seated at a table near the front, arms crossed but already fighting a smile.
“This one is for my husband,” Ilya said into the mic, glancing at Shane. “Because sometimes I am stubborn, and he has a lot of patience with me.”
A few people in the bar laughed, some whistled.
Then the opening piano of It’s All Coming Back to Me Now by Celine Dion filled the bar.
Wyatt grabbed Bood’s arm, almost squealing “He chose the Queen of Canada!”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Troy whispered, grinning wide.
Ilya closed his eyes for a brief second, then started singing.
There were nights when the wind was so colddd
Dramatic as always. Slightly off-key but fearless.
And he never once looked at the screen. He only looked at Shane.
Harris gestured his hands to have the Centaurs follow him. They moved toward Shane’s table and filled the empty chairs around him. Wyatt and Bood dropped into the seats beside him. Luca leaned forward across the table, captivated by Ilya's performance. Troy slid in next to Harris. Dykstra was already gesturing to the bartender to get them all beers.
Shane looked up, startled.
Then he saw all of them. His smile widened instantly.
Ilya noticed too. Mid-verse, he caught sight of his closest friends surrounding Shane. His expression shifted. His voice grew louder, more confident, the smile on his face could not get any bigger.
By the time the first chorus hit, it seemed like the whole bar was watching.
But when you touch me like this, and you hold me like that
Shane was laughing openly now, cheeks beet red, eyes soft.
I just have to admit that it's all coming back to me
“Oh, he’s gone,” Dykstra muttered, nudging Troy, “That man is in love.”
Halfway through the song, as the instrumental swelled, Wyatt stood up.
“I am not letting him crush a Celine song without me!”
Before anyone could stop him, Wyatt made his way to the stage.
Bood quickly followed.
Then Troy.
Then Dykstra.
Lastly and a bit reluctantly, Luca followed.
One by one, the Centaurs climbed onto the small stage behind Ilya.
Ilya turned around mid-line, eyes widening, then he started laughing.
The next chorus hit, and suddenly it wasn’t a solo anymore.
Six grown professional hockey players belted Celine Dion at the top of their lungs. Off-key. Completely uncoordinated. Happy as can be.
BABY BABY BABY! WHEN YOU TOUCH ME LIKE THIS
The bar erupted into song.
AND WHEN YOU HOLD ME LIKE THAT
People were clapping, cheering, filming. This was gonna be all over the internet tomorrow.
IT WAS GONE WITH THE WIND, BUT IT’S ALL COMING BACK TO ME
Shane sat there shaking his head, hand over his mouth, trying to hide the huge smile he had on his face.
Ilya stepped toward the edge of the stage, holding the mic out toward Shane.
Shane rejected him immediately, laughing as he waved him off.
The team started chanting
“Shane! Shane! Shane!”
Shane covered his face in his hands for a second, then finally rolled his eyes and stood.
If you forgive me all this, if I forgive you all that
Shane took the mic for the next line, voice strong and steady.
We forgive and forget, and it’s all coming back to me
The look he gave Ilya was all love.
The final chorus exploded into chaos. The entire team screamed the lyrics, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, bouncing in place. At some point Dykstra had hauled their beer glasses onto the stage, and the floor was slick and sticky, covered in beer.
ITS ALL COMING BACK TO ME NOW
When the song ended, the applause was louder than the music had been.
Ilya didn’t take a bow like the rest of the team. Instead, he jumped down from the stage and went straight to Shane, cupping his face and kissing him. Behind them, the Centaurs cheered like they had just won another Cup.
Harris, still recording, wiped his eyes. “Gets me every time.”
Wyatt threw an arm around Bood, “Looks like we’ll be okay, man.”
“Yeah,” Bood said, clinking his glass against Wyatt’s. “We will.”
For the first time in days, everything felt right again.
“What’s next, Cap?” Troy called out, laughing through all the noise.
Ilya looked back at his team, then at Shane, smiling wide.
“Well, we did one Canadian icon,” he said. “Now we must do another. Do you guys know ‘You’re Still the One’ by Shania Twain?"
“OH HELL YES!” Wyatt shouted, jumping up and down. “Shane! Shane! Record this for Lisa!”
“Okay, I officially have to join this jam session,” Harris said, climbing onto the stage.
Shane laughed at his team and flagged down the bartender for another round. He knew it was going to be a long night and the start of a new team tradition.