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1. Game Sticks
Early October
“And tonight’s Game Stick goes to Vancouver-born, but Ottawa’s borrowed… #17… TROY BARTHOLOMEW BARRETT!!!” Bood shouted from the front of the locker room. “For his 2 goals tonight, baby!!!!”
Troy stood up and bowed dramatically in front of his alternate captain. Bood pretended to knight him with the ice cream cone he was holding, then handed it over and pulled Troy into a hug.
“That is also not my fucking middle name, you freak,” Troy laughed, hugging Bood back.
Shane sat on the bench, watching the team, completely lost on what was currently happening.
It was the first game of Shane’s first season with the Centaurs, and they had won big. 4–0 against the San Francisco Missions. Since joining the team, he’d been trying to pick up on all the little quirks that made the Centaurs different from the Metros.
For one, they didn’t take themselves seriously. Not the way the Metros did.
Sure, they played the game seriously, but they weren’t pretentious. They weren’t assholes. They were genuinely good guys who clearly cared about each other. And Coach Wiebe actually seemed to enjoy being there, laughing and joking with the boys instead of snapping at them after a loss or lecturing them on how they could’ve been better after a win, like Theriault always did.
“BARRETT! BARRETT! BARRETT! BARRETT!” The locker room practically shook from the volume of the cheers.
Shane tugged at Ilya’s jersey to get his attention. His husband was bouncing up and down, doing what Shane could only describe as a jester dance.
“Mmm?” Ilya said, turning to look at him.
“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” Shane whispered, trying to keep his voice low so no one else could hear. “What is a game stick?”
“Ah! Moya lyubov, it is tradition!” Ilya said, grinning. “After a win, the team picks someone who made the biggest impact. Could be goal, big play… or dirty work nobody notices. Blocking shots, hustling like crazy.”
“They get Game Stick!” Ilya added proudly. “AKA ice cream cone.”
“Oh… yeah.” Shane stared blankly. “We did something like that at the Metros, but it was a plastic firefighter hat...”
“Well, that is stupid,” Ilya grunted, nudging Shane. “Ice cream cone is better, no?”
“Alright, boys! Everyone knows the rules! Barrett gets to eat his stick first. AND his is the special edition fudge ripple caramel!” Wiebe announced, causing the team to ooohh and aaahh.
“Then we all get our not-so-fancy cones! Come on up!” Wiebe popped open the cooler beside him.
“WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF!!” The team erupted in barks as they lined up to grab their cones.
Soon, the locker room smelled like sweat and cheap freezer ice cream as the guys sprawled around eating like a bunch of overgrown kids.
“Sticks are unbelievable, man,” Wyatt said around a mouthful of cone.
“Fucking beauties, these sticks boys,” Dykstra replied, crunching loudly.
Shane stared down at the ice cream cone in his hand. He wasn’t usually a sweets guy. Before joining the Centaurs, he’d struggled with food and indulgence. Treats like this had always carried a quiet kind of guilt.
His eyes drifted around the room.
Everyone else was enjoying theirs, chatting, laughing, chirping. Troy’s face was covered in fudge as he sat on the floor, playing Uno with LaPointe, Young, and Luca. Bood and Ilya, sitting beside Shane, were nearly finished with theirs as they swapped comic books with Wyatt.
Shane took a hesitant bite of his cone.
The sweetness and cold hit him all at once. And for a moment, he felt a surprising rush of relief and comfort. Not just from the ice cream, but from the room itself; the laughter, the camaraderie, the naturalness of it all.
He glanced at Ilya, who caught his eye immediately, studying him like he was checking if Shane was okay with eating this.
Shane smiled back and took another bite. Ilya bumped his shoulder lightly against Shane’s before turning back to argue with Bood and Wyatt about which comic was better.
And for the first time in a long time, Shane felt like he could let go. Even if it was just a little.
He was starting to like being a Centaur. And he decided right then he wanted the next game stick to be his.
2. Poker Nights
Mid October
The Centaurs touched down in Pittsburgh for their first away game of the season.
“Okay, boys! You all know the rules. Go drop your stuff off,” Wiebe moved down the line, handing keys to each pair of players. Bood and Wyatt. Troy and Luca. Dykstra and Chouinard. LaPointe and Young. Dillon and Holmberg.
“Once you’re settled in, we’re meeting in Salon K on level 2 for movie night at 7:30 pm.” Wiebe handed the last set of keys to Shane and Ilya.
“And once that’s over, the real fun begins,” Bood whispered to Wyatt and Dykstra, who snickered. Ilya nudged the guys and wiggled his eyebrows.
Shane side-eyed his teammates, confused. Team movie nights weren’t unusual. Most coaches in the league used them before away games to keep players from going out and getting rowdy in unfamiliar cities. What Shane didn’t know was what his husband, and the rest of his teammates, clearly had planned.
Shane gave Ilya a pointed look, but his husband didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy scheming with his teammates.
The movie of the night was The Mighty Ducks, one Shane had already watched back with the Metros. From what he could tell, though, the rest of the Centaurs hadn’t seen it and were enthralled with the film. He didn’t realize he had dozed off until Ilya was shaking him gently.
“Moya lyubov, the movie’s over. Let’s go back to our room.”
Shane blinked awake and looked around, realizing most of the team had filtered out of the hotel salon. Only Coach Wiebe, the rest of the coaching staff, and Bood and Wyatt, who were hovering near Ilya, remained.
Shane followed his teammates and husband out the door, saying goodnight to the coaches on the way.
“Remember, curfew at 11, gentlemen. We need you all rested for tomorrow. 2 p.m. game. I want everyone ready and in the lobby by 11:30 to head to the arena,” Wiebe reminded them.
“Yessir!” the men answered in unison, Bood and Ilya saluting their coach on the way out.
As they flagged the elevator, it took all of two seconds after the doors closed for the men to start talking about their plan.
“Alright,” Bood said immediately, leaning into the back wall of the elevator. “Hazy and I will set up the space in our room, 614. Barrett’s got the chips. Roz, you bring the good deck or the cursed one?”
“The good one,” Ilya scoffed. “I am not getting blamed for your trash hands tonight.”
“Buy in the usual?” Wyatt asked.
“Yeah,” Ilya said casually. “Keep it reasonable. I do not feel like emptying your accounts again.”
Bood snorted. “You got lucky.”
Shane’s head turned slowly from one to the other.
“Are we doing dealer rotation or winner deals?” Wyatt asked.
“Winner deals,” Bood said. “Keeps Roz humble.”
“I am never humble,” Ilya corrected.
Shane finally interrupted, “I’m sorry… what the fuck are you all talking about?”
The elevator went quiet.
Wyatt’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at Ilya. “You didn’t tell him?”
Bood straightened from where he was leaning. “Whoa… Roz... You didn’t prepare him?”
Ilya froze mid-smirk.
Shane stared daggers at his husband. “Prepare me for what?”
The elevator dinged at Shane and Ilya’s floor, but no one moved.
Wyatt leaned back against the railing, grinning. “Oh, this should be good.”
Bood shook his head. “Unbelievable. You just brought him in blind?”
“It slipped my mind,” Ilya muttered.
Shane crossed his arms. “Ilya…”
Ilya sighed dramatically. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a very big deal,” Bood cut in. “It's a Centaur tradition.”
“Every away game,” Wyatt added. “Since like… what, two seasons ago?”
“Three,” Bood corrected.
Wyatt nodded. “Coach wanted us in our rooms, lights out, no nonsense. So we started poker nights. Nobody tries to sneak out of the hotel, nobody does anything stupid. We just rotate suites and play some rounds.”
“Low stakes,” Bood said, shrugging. “Mostly.”
“Low enough that we can deny gambling if anyone asks,” Wyatt added.
“And Coach Wiebe?” Shane asked.
The entire group exchanged looks.
“...He doesn’t know,” Bood said.
“Can’t know,” Wyatt clarified.
“Will never know,” Ilya finished.
Shane stared at his husband. “You’ve been running a secret gambling ring?”
“It’s not a ring,” Ilya said defensively. “It’s structured team bonding. Very good for group. Builds character.”
Bood pointed at him. “See? He prepared a speech like a good captain. He just forgot to give it to you.”
Shane shook his head, trying not to smile. “And I’m just… getting drafted into this?”
Ilya slid an arm around his shoulders, grin returning. “Moya kopilka, you’re about to lose a lot of money and your dignity.”
The elevator doors opened again.
“See you all in 10 minutes, text the group chat!” Ilya shouted to Bood and Wyatt as he pulled his husband to their hotel room.
Poker night had officially begun.
Room 614 was chaotic. 12 grown men huddled around 4 tables pushed together and as many chairs as they could smuggle in from their separate hotel rooms without being caught. Pizza boxes, chip bags, beer bottles, and soda cans were spewed around the whole room.
Shane, Ilya, Bood, Wyatt, Luca, and Troy were huddled around one game.
Dykstra, LaPointe, Young, Dillion, Holmberg, and Chouinard were crowded around the other game.
“YOU CAN’T FUCKING CALL THAT!” LaPointe shouted, on his feet, pointing at his best friend across from him.
“Yeah, I fucking can and I just fucking did!” Young said, smirking.
Laughter erupted from the table as Dykstra dealt the cards like a professional casino employee, a pretzel rod hanging from his lip like a cigar.
At the other table, the energy was tenser.
“Same as last time. Winner deals?” Wyatt said.
“Yeah… let’s reward bad decisions,” Bood muttered, rolling his eyes, and taking a swig of his beer.
Ilya nudged Shane. “Don’t worry, moya lyubov, you will pick up the game fast!”
Shane just gave a small shrug and a smile.
The first few hands passed. Shane folded. Watched. Said nothing.
Luca watched. Folded. Said nothing.
Troy noticed first. “Oh… this is going to be one of those.”
“One of what?” Wyatt asked.
“Games of chicken,” Troy replied, looking between Shane and Luca.
From the other table,
“WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU BLUFF? YOU ARE THE WORST LIAR!” Young shouted, throwing his hands up
“QUIT BEING MEAN! I KNOW YOUR MOM BITCH! I AM TEXTING HER RIGHT NOW!” LaPointe took his phone out.
“Boys, please finish the damn round,” Dykstra said, holding his head in his hands.
The first few rounds passed with small bets and easy folds.
Then Luca pushed a larger stack of chips into the center.
A subtle challenge. Shane matched it without a word.
Wyatt slowly leaned back. “Oooo, here we go baby.”
Ilya looked at Shane, stunned, leaning over to whisper, “You sure?”
Shane didn’t look at his husband, just nodded, not breaking eye contact with Luca.
More chips from Luca.
More chips from Shane.
“Let me find out Hollzy is a damn hustler,” Bood muttered.
“We should’ve known, man,” Troy whispered. “Guy is good at everything.”
Across the suite—
“I SWEAR TO GOD I’M NOT PLAYING WITH YOU ANYMORE!” LaPointe shouted
“OKAY! That's it! LaPointe and Young are no longer allowed to be at the same table ever again!” Chouinard huffed.
Back at the table, Luca suddenly pushed all his chips forward. The table went quiet.
“Check this shit out now,” Bood muttered, grabbing Dykstra’s elbow, calling their table’s attention.
Shane didn’t flinch. He looked at the pile. Then at Luca. And calmly pushed his own stack in.
“Call.”
They turned their cards over.
A beat.
Then the suite exploded.
“NO FUCKING WAY!"
“HOLLZY YOU HUSTLER!”
“He got you!”
“Golden boy Haas defeated.”
“He was setting you up the whole time, and you fell for it, bro!”
Luca stared at the table, speechless.
Shane quietly pulled the massive pile of chips toward himself, smiling.
At the other table,
“WAIT WHAT HAPPENED?” LaPointe asked.
“LUCA JUST GOT OWNED, YOU WOULD KNOW IF YOU EVER PAID ATTENTION!” Young snapped back.
“BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Dillon threw his cards at them.
Luca looked at Shane, shaking his head.
“Never thought I could say Shane Hollander beat me at poker. It’s an honor! Rematch?”
Shane met his gaze and smiled. “Of course, Luca! You played a great game!” Shane said, extending his hand to shake Haas’s hand.
Ilya leaned closer to Shane, voice low and proud. “…remind me never to bet against you... But I will be booking us a trip to Vegas... we will win big!"
Shane stacked his winnings and laughed.
“Don’t worry, moya lyubov, you will pick up the game fast,” Shane mimicked. “Don’t underestimate me again,” he said, grinning. “Next time, we gotta play with my dad, he’s the real shark.”
Ilya smiled, loving when Shane got sassy and making a mental note to do a Hollander family poker night. He reached over to grab at Shane’s pile, which made Shane smack his hand.
“Oh hell no. Win your own!” Shane said, pushing his pile further away from Ilya.
“You’re on!” Ilya grinned. “Hazy! Let’s go, next round!”
The suite dissolved back into the game, with the noise, laughter, accusations, and chip clatter continuing.
And somewhere down the hall, in Room 610…
“Yeah, honey, tell the girls I love them. We’ll probably be back Sunday afternoon. Okay, I’ll see you then.” Coach Wiebe smiled into his phone, propped against the hotel desk.
“Oh yeah, the boys are doing their poker night thing.” He chuckled. “I can hear them from here.”
Another burst of yelling echoed down the hall.
“Apparently, Shane just beat Luca pretty badly. Dale texted me from next door. He can hear everything that's going on. I'm just glad they looped Shane into the tradition.”
“Oh, no! They have no idea I know.” Wiebe grinned. “I like to keep it that way.”
3. Torchlight March
Early November
“Way to go, boys!” Coach Wiebe stood at the front of the locker room, clapping. “5–0! A shutout against one of the top teams in the league this early in the season? That makes us look pretty damn good.”
“Florida didn’t stand a chance!” Dykstra shouted.
The rest of the team erupted in cheers.
Wiebe laughed. “Okay, okay! I am proud of you all! What a game! Hollander, Haas, Rozanov, Barrett: beautiful goals. Bood, Dillon, Dykstra, Chouinard: beautiful assists. Defense held the line all night. And Hayes…”
He grinned. “Best goalie in the league.”
The team slammed their sticks into the floor, the sound echoing off the lockers.
“Get showered up! See you all later at Bood’s so we can properly celebrate Dykstra!” Wiebe called, patting Dykstra on the back before he left.
The team cheered again. Bood and Wyatt shook Dykstra, who turned bright red.
Shane froze, turning to face Ilya. “Bood’s?" He whispered. "Did we get invited to one of his cookouts and you forgot to tell me? Also, why are we celebrating Dykstra?”
Ilya laughed, shrugging as he pulled off his jersey. “Oh… no. Sorry, it’s just a force of habit now, I forgot. It’s a team tradition. It is Dykstra’s birthday! We usually celebrate team birthdays at Bood’s! He has an amazing Trinidadian birthday tradition, you will love it!”
Shane shook his head, staring at the chaos around him. There were a lot of Centaur traditions.
No wonder Ilya had talked about this team the way he did. They weren’t just teammates. They were family. They shared milestones, cultures, birthdays.
And now, Shane was being folded into all of it.
“Shoot! I didn’t know it was his birthday… I didn’t even get him anything!” Shane muttered.
“Don’t worry,” Ilya said, grinning. “I got him the perfect gift from both of us. And… it was on the calendar on fridge.” He raised an eyebrow. “Look who is not using their own system.”
Shane threw his jersey at Ilya, who caught it and laughed. The men went to get cleaned up before seeing what the night had in store for Shane.
Bood’s backyard was popping by the time Ilya and Shane arrived. Turn Me On by Kevin Lyttle blasted from an impressive speaker system. Shane had been to Bood’s a handful of times since joining the team. The house sat tucked back on a huge acreage with a stunning view of the Ottawa River. Enough privacy for the kind of rowdy, full-of-life parties Bood loved to throw.
Ilya held Shane’s hand as they weaved through the crowd, saying hi to teammates, Centaurs staff, and their partners, until they found Bood at the grill. Standing next to him was Bood’s wife, Cassie, holding Milo, their young son, who wore soundproof headphones.
“Rozy and Hollzy, my favorite couple! Glad you guys could make it!” Bood beamed.
“Hey man… we’re right here,” Wyatt and Lisa called, looking up from the impressive spread of food laid out at the table.
“Same… ouch,” Harris and Troy echoed, exiting the sliding door at the exact moment Bood spoke.
Cassie laughed and immediately hugged Ilya with her free arm. Ilya scooped her up in a bear hug and wasted no time plucking Milo from her arms. Cassie turned to Shane.
“I am so glad to see you again, Shane! And even more glad you’re gonna be a regular at these things now! Seeing this guy happy and here is all I ever wanted,” she said, pointing at Ilya and engulfing Shane in what was a strong hug for such a thin woman.
“Thank you for having us!” Shane said, shifting awkwardly. “I’m excited to celebrate with everyone. Ilya said you guys have a great birthday tradition.”
He barely finished the sentence before Bood let out a howl.
“OHHOO HOO! HOLLZY, YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU JUST DID TO YOURSELF!” Bood bellowed.
The rest of his teammates that were nearby began to laugh while Shane looked around in growing horror as Bood continued.
“EVERYONE!” Bood shouted, waving people in closer. “Our newest Centaur, Shane Hollander, was the first person to mention the tradition tonight!”
“Which means,” Bood grinned wickedly, “he gets to lead the… TORCHLIGHT MARCH!”
“YEEEAAHHHHHH!!” the crowd of attendees roared, lifting their cups in the air.
“The what—” Shane squeaked, but he was already being shoved inside the house by his teammates.
“No, no, no, wait! I don’t even know what this is. I’m new here! ILYA!” His voice cracked.
Ilya was doubled over laughing with Wyatt and Troy while Bood handed Shane a grass skirt.
Shane stared down at it. “Oh! Uh… this feels… stereotypical.”
Bood narrowed his eyes at him. “What the fuck are you tryna say, Hollander?”
Silence.
Then Bood broke, with a booming laugh. “Nah, we’re just fucking with you, man!”
The entire group dissolved into laughter, clutching each other for balance, while Shane stood there, grass skirt in hand, blinking at them.
“What the fuck is happening right now?!”
Bood clapped his hands once, loud enough to refocus the room. “Alright, alright! Settle down. Hollzy, relax. Leading the Torchlight March is an honor.”
Shane looked unconvinced. “Why does it feel like it’s not?”
“Oh no, it very much is,” Wyatt said, straightening up from where he had been laughing so hard.
Bood slung an arm over Shane’s shoulders and steered him toward the back patio doors. “It’s simple. First mention of the birthday tradition leads the march. You carry the first ‘torch’, which is really just a battery-operated tiki torch. I tried real fire once and Cassie almost divorced me.”
Shane looked at his teammates who all shook their heads knowingly.
“Then the rest of us follow behind. The birthday guest of honor, in this case, Dykstra, sits on the throne while we march toward him. We sing, we dance, we drink, and we make any of the neighbors that can see us from their balconies mildly concerned. And when we reach the birthday boy, we lay the torches at his feet and each say one reason we’re thankful for him. It’s beautiful.”
Troy nodded earnestly. “I kinda cried when they did it for me.”
Harris snorted. “You didn’t "kinda" cry. You sobbed. You had snot running down your nose.”
“Shut it! It was touching, okay?” Troy shot back, looking down but clearly still moved.
Bood’s expression softened. “It’s something we used to do back on the island. My family’s sappy. They believe in making sure everyone around them knows exactly how loved they are, at all times. This is just one small way to do that.”
He smiled warmly at Shane, a flicker of nostalgia in his eyes.
Shane’s shoulders dropped. “Wow. I’m sorry, Bood. That’s actually… really nice. I thought you guys were just messing with me.”
“Oh no, we definitely were at first.” Ilya said. “But it’s one of my favorite team traditions. I was honored when I got to lead my first one for Hazy.” Ilya grins, throwing an arm around Wyatt and pinching his cheek.
“You cried too,” Troy sing-songed at Wyatt.
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “That is unconfirmed; no one can prove that.”
“Oh, it is very much confirmed thanks to the videos on my phone,” Harris said, teasing.
Shane looked around at all of them, the teasing, the softness underneath it, the way no one seemed actually embarrassed to admit they had cried.
“…Okay,” Shane said slowly. “I’d be honored to lead the Torchlight March then.”
A cheer went up. “TORCHLIGHT MARCH! TORCHLIGHT MARCH!”
“You’ll be fine,” Ilya said, pressing a quick kiss to Shane’s temple. “Just walk slowly and look confident. That’s like… 80% of it.”
“And the other 20%?” Shane asked.
“Have fun!” The guys all said together.
“Easier said than done for me,” Shane muttered.
Bood placed an unlit tiki torch in Shane’s hand. “Centaur Hollander,” he spoke. “Do you accept your sacred duty?”
Shane looked around at the expectant faces, the barely-contained laughter, the phones already coming out to record.
He sighed. “…If this ends up on the internet, I’m suing all of you, and I’m divorcing you” He said, pointing at Ilya.
“HE ACCEPTS!” Bood shouted, grabbing Shane’s face and kissing both cheeks.
The torch flared to life with the push of the button. The patio doors swung open, cool night air spilling inside. The crowd ooohhed like they were witnessing fireworks instead of backyard theatrics. Dykstra sat at the end of the walkway on the ‘throne’, which was just a large patio chair, beaming like a child.
Shane stepped forward onto the patio, holding the torch slightly too stiffly.
“Go slow!” Harris whispered.
“Think regal!” Troy called.
“Stop giving him notes and get in line!” Wyatt gripped them, pressing his torch on and following behind Shane.
And somehow, despite the nerves, Shane lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and began walking across the backyard while a procession of grown men followed behind him, chanting something he filtered out from the nerves.
More people gathered behind the torchbearers: Coach Wiebe, Luca Haas, LaPointe, Young, Holmberg, and Dykstra’s wife, Caitlin, gently swaying their sleeping daughter, Susie.
Shane kept his eyes forward, focused on leading the march and trying not to trip over his own feet. Behind him, drinks flowed freely, and the steady pulse of Carnival Soca music filled the backyard, bass vibrating through the wooden deck.
As they approached the ‘throne’, Shane looked up at the birthday boy. Dykstra sat there grinning, already a little misty-eyed.
Shane cleared his throat. The music lowered. A hush fell over the yard.
“When I first got to the Centaurs,” Shane began, voice steadier than he felt, “you were one of the first guys who made me feel like I was home. Right off the bat, you treated me like we’d known each other for years. And I think that’s because of how much love you have for this team, and for Ilya.”
He gulped.
“I can honestly say I’ve never played with someone more willing to put the team first than you. It’s an honor to share the ice with you, man.”
Shane stepped forward and planted the torch carefully at Dykstra’s feet. “Happy Birthday, Evan.”
A chorus of cheers broke out as Dykstra stood, pulling Shane into a tight hug while the rest of the team whooped and started lining up with their torches.
“You’re the first one to check in with us after a tough loss or a rough day. Always making sure we’re okay. Even when you’re not. You truly are one of my best friends. I love you, man.” Wyatt choked back tears as he planted his torch
“I don’t get all sappy like some of these guys, but I’d be lying if I said you don’t mean a lot to me. You make everyone around you better, and that includes me. Happy birthday DJ DK!!!” Troy called, planting his torch
“You’re a pain in my ass when I try to get you not to cuss in social media videos but what’s a Centaur feature without everyone’s favorite guy? We love you Dyksy, today and everyday!” Harris blew a kiss as he planted his torch
“I’ve coached talent. I’ve coached skills. But character? That’s harder to find. And you’ve got all of it. You make my job easier because you set the standard,” Coach Wiebe saluted as he planted his torch
“You hype everyone else up more than you hype yourself up. But tonight? We’re hyping you up! Shots later, bro, we got you!” LaPointe, Young, and Holmberg planted their torches while some of the guys stifled back laughter, and some groaned at the fact that the 3 men had to go up together.
Ilya stepped forward.
“Dykstra,” he began, his voice thick with emotion, “I don’t tell you this enough, but you are what makes this team so special. Not just because you’re a hell of a player, but because you show all of us what it really means to care, about this team and about each other. I’m proud to play beside you. Proud to call you my brother. I love you man… even if you play awful music half the time.”
Dykstra and Ilya laughed as he planted his torch.
“When I felt homesick for Zurich, you went and found a shop on the other side of town that sold my favorite snack from home. You drove almost an hour and acted like it was nothing, like it was some small, ordinary thing.”
Luca shook his head, swallowing hard. “But it wasn’t small to me. It meant everything. Thank you for being my role model and for being one of my closest friends.”
He wiped at his eyes before stepping forward and planting his torch in the ground.
Caitlin stepped forward, voice soft. “You are the same man at home that you are here… That you are at practice. In a game. Steady. Patient. Selfless.” Holding back tears, she said, “I’m so blessed that Susie is going to grow up knowing what love looks like because she sees it in you every day.”
She kneeled slightly and placed the torch down. “Happy Birthday, Ev. I love you more than you know.” Dykstra was crying by this point, not trying to conceal his tears.
“When my family did this back home, it was never about the march. It was about making sure nobody walked through life wondering if they mattered.” Bood said, looking at Dykstra
“You matter. To all of us. I hope you felt that tonight and I hope you feel that everyday. We love you man. To Evan Dykstra!” He shouts, planting the final torch.
Dykstra was wiping his tears as someone yells “Speech! Speech!”
He shook his head, laughing breathlessly, and stood.
“Jeez, man. I thought when Troy sobbed at his, he was overreacting.”
The crowd burst into laughter, Troy immediately throwing his hands up in protest.
“I don’t even know what to say,” Dykstra continued, voice thick, swallowing hard. “Being surrounded by the people I love, my family, my best friends, my team… I’ll never take that for granted.”
He looked around at them, blinking back more tears. “I’m not a guy who shows a lot of emotion, but… Fuck. I love you all. I really do.”
A few of the guys coughed roughly, pretending not to be affected, but there wasn’t a dry Centaur eye in the house.
“Thank you, Bood, for always opening your home to us. Thank you, Caitlin, for loving me the way you do and for giving me the greatest gift of my life.” He glanced at Susie, sleeping peacefully in her mother’s arms, and his voice cracked again.
“And thank you to the Centaurs, for being my home, my passion, and for giving me the best friends a man could have ever asked for.”
“And Hollander,” he added, looking at Shane. “You led that like you’ve been here for years, man. You fit right in with us.”
Dykstra gestured to the torches at his feet. We don’t always get to choose where we land… but somehow, we all hit the lottery with this team and the family we’ve built here.”
He wiped his face again, exhaling sharply. “God, you all suck.”
Laughter rippled through the yard. “Holms, LaPointe, Young, get the shots you promised me, boys. I need a drink.”
The crowd erupted as music surged back to full volume.
Someone smacked Shane on the back hard enough to jolt him forward. “First march and you made the birthday boy cry,” Bood said, proudly. “That’s how you do it.” He winked before turning to where the rest of the team was drowning Dykstra in affection.
Ilya slipped an arm around Shane’s waist, leaning in close. “You did amazing, moya lyubov. I hope you enjoyed it."
Shane leaned against Ilya, feeling the warmth of the crowd around him in the chilly Ottawa night.
The laughter, the teasing, the speeches. They blended into something he hadn’t realized he needed so badly.
When he first joined the Centaurs, he’d wondered if he belonged.
Now he knew.
This ridiculous, heartfelt, chaotic team had somehow made a place for him.
Shane smiled to himself.
Yeah. This was exactly where he was supposed to be.
4. Mario Kart Tournaments
Late November
“MK tourney at Hazy’s on Friday! You going?” Bood nudged Ilya’s shoulder as he stripped off his Centaurs practice jersey.
“I already called dibs on Yoshi,” Ilya smirked.
“Oh hell no, you Russian mink.” Bood crossed his arms. “Wy, he can’t do that, can he?”
“Unfortunately, he can. 48 hour hold on characters. You know the rules, man.” Wyatt shrugged while peeling off his practice pads.
“WHAT?” Bood clutched his temples. “Then what characters are left? And I swear to God if you say Rosalina is gone—”
“…Rosalina is gone.” Wyatt winced and jerked a thumb toward LaPointe.
“LaPointe, tu espèce de petit serpent!”
“What the hell did I do?” LaPointe called from the floor, trading Pokémon cards with Young and Holmberg.
“You stole my princess! You know if I’m not Yoshi, I’m Rosalina!”
“Ohhh. Yeah.” LaPointe dodged the glove Bood launched at him. “You snooze, you lose.”
Ilya and Wyatt snickered, quickly trying to hide it when their alternate captain shot daggers at them.
“Uh… who’s Rosalina?” Shane asked from his locker, tying his shoes. “And isn’t Yoshi that green lizard guy from Mario?”
“DINOSAUR!” Ilya and Bood shouted in perfect unison, immediately fist-bumping.
Shane raised both hands. “Dinosaur. Sorry. But… who’s Rosalina?”
Bood gasped dramatically and pretended to faint.
Wyatt caught him while Luca rushed over, fanning the large Trinidadian man with a glove while Troy lightly sprayed water on his face.
“PRINCESS Rosalina,” Bood declared as he sprang back upright, “guardian of the cosmos and mother to the Lumas.”
“Yeah… that actually cleared up nothing for me,” Shane admitted. “Mother to… the Lumas? Is that like a pet?”
“PET?!” Bood exploded. “No! The Lumas are celestial beings! Guardians of the stars! It’s Mario Galaxy! You wouldn’t understand, Shane!”
“I’m sorry!” Shane laughed. “I fully respect it though. But why are we talking about Mario?”
“I’m hosting our MK tourney Friday,” Wyatt said, glancing around the room. “These guys are ruthless.”
Shane looks at the team, “MK… like Mario Kart, right? That sounds fun! I didn’t know you guys did tournaments.”
“Roz bro… What DO you tell your husband?” Troy squirted Ilya with the water from the bottle he was holding, “It’s like a new tradition that Shane just never knows what the hell we’re talking about.”
“I’m sorry, okay!” Ilya threw up his hands. “I’m too busy loving my husband instead of talking to him… if you know what I mean.” He winked.
“Oh, gross.”
“Shut up, Rozy!”
“BOOOOO!”
Three gloves flew at Ilya.
Wyatt turned back to Shane. “Anyways, you’re absolutely invited. Most of the good characters are taken, but there are always some cool underrated ones.”
“I usually play as Mario,” Shane said.
“Sorry, Holz. Dibs on Mario,” Troy called from across the room.
“Which is the most boring character, Barrett!” Ilya shouted while tying his shoes.
“Shut up, lizard boy!”
“DINOSAUR!” Ilya and Bood yelled again.
Shane shrugged. “That’s okay. If Mario’s taken, I usually pick Shy Guy.”
The room froze.
“…Shy Guy?” Wyatt repeated.
“Yeah,” Shane said with a small laugh. “I like the little noises he makes.”
“Oh my god, Barrett,” Ilya said slowly, staring at Shane. “I am so sorry. My husband just outdid you for picking the most boring character in Mario Kart."
“What? He’s not boring, he’s cute!” Shane protested.
“He’s a little freak, is what he is,” Bood muttered.
“Well, which characters did you all pick since mine is apparently so terrible?” Shane crossed his arms.
“I’m Yoshi,” Ilya said.
“Always gotta go with my main man, Bowser,” Wyatt replied.
“I’m Luigi!” Luca added.
“Mario,” Troy nodded toward them. “And Harris will be there, he’s always Toadette.”
“Princess Rosalina,” LaPointe said smugly, looking at Bood. “Guardian of the cosmos. Mother of the Lumas. Love of my life.”
“I swear to God, kid,” Bood muttered, “I will throw you in the dumpster out back.”
“Princess Peach,” Young said, while Holmberg added, “Princess Daisy.”
“Ah, so you’re all three princesses?” Shane asked.
“Hell yeah! Fucking beautieesss!” The boys laughed.
“Donkey Kong, every time. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Dykstra said.
“Waluigi” Dillion said.
“Wario! He’s a sneaky son of a bitch,” Chouinard called from the back.
“And I’ll pick my back-up’s back-up… Baby Bowser,” Bood sighed.
“Solid choice, bro,” Wyatt said, fist-bumping him, then pulled out his phone to mark the choice in his notes app.
“You sure you want to stick with Shy Guy, Shane?” Wyatt double-checked.
“We still have Birdo, Toad, Dry Bon—” Wyatt began, but Shane interrupted.
“Nope. Shy Guy it is!” Shane said, smiling at them.
The door to Wyatt’s house swung open, revealing Wyatt Hayes in a vintage Super Mario Sunshine sweatshirt, navy joggers, and gray Crocs covered in a collection of fandom jibbitz.
“Welcome, boys!” he said, pulling Ilya and Shane inside with quick hugs.
“Follow me to the gaming zone!” he added, leading them through the sprawling lakefront-style home. “Shane, I stocked up on ginger ale for you, bud. But we’ve also got beers, cokes, water, and the wings and pizza just got here a few minutes ago, so they’re still hot! Also, Ilya’s been here too many times to count, but just want to say; make yourself at home.”
“Thanks, Wyatt,” Shane said with a smile. “I appreciate it.”
“Of course, man! Gotta make sure everyone feels welcome and ready to game.”
They stopped in front of a large door at the very back of the house. A sign read:
Welcome to Hazy’s Game Zone. Enter at your own risk.
As Wyatt turned the knob, the room burst to life, laughter, shouts, and the rapid clicking of controllers spilling into the hallway.
The team was already scattered everywhere: some on the couches, others lying on the floor, a few sprawled across bean bags and mismatched chairs. Neon LED lights rimmed the room, a massive TV hung on the wall, and an impressive soundbar sat beneath it.
“Cap! Hollyz! What’s up!!” several voices called.
Wyatt quickly shut the door behind them and shushed the room.
“Lisa’s scheduled for a 12 hour shift tomorrow and already tuckered out,” he whispered, gesturing toward the food and drinks. “If we wake her, she’ll kill me. But this room is soundproof, baby.”
Shane and Ilya made their way over to where Bood sat on the couch, Harris and Troy laughing on the bean bags next to him.
“You feeling ready, Shane?” Harris asked with a grin.
“Yeah. I don’t really know what to expect, but it seems like it’s gonna be a good time,” Shane replied, smiling back.
“Oh, it always is, man!” Bood said, clapping him on the back. “We act competitive, but get ready to have the time of your life. Especially once Luca starts trying to trash talk."
They all glanced over at the Swissman, who was innocently demolishing a wing, sauce smeared all over his face and burst out laughing.
The first game loaded in, and every set of eyes locked onto the screen.
They were playing for the Special Cup, and the first track was Cheep Cheep Falls, one of Shane’s childhood favorites.
Beep…
Beep…
BEEP!
The racers launched off the line. Rosalina, Peach, and Daisy immediately over-accelerated and were left in the dust.
“NO!” LaPointe yelled.
“You are dishonoring Rosalina!” Bood shouted, hurling a couch cushion at him.
Shane’s Shy Guy shot forward, quickly settling into third behind Wyatt’s Bowser and Dykstra’s Donkey Kong.
Two circuits later, Shane was still holding steady in third. Ilya had clawed his way into second, while Wyatt held first with the confidence of a man who had done this a hundred times.
At the back of the pack, LaPointe, Young, and Holmberg were shouting over each other.
“This controller is broken!”
“You drove off the course!”
“I WAS DISTRACTED!”
“You drove off the course 4 times!”
“Last circuit!” Wyatt called. “Who’s taking the Cup?”
“You’re literally in first place,” Troy said, tossing a chip at him. “So… probably you?”
“You won’t be in first for much longer, grandpa,” Luca muttered, eyes locked on the screen.
“Hey!” Wyatt snapped. “I’m 32!”
“That is ancient,” Luca responded, voice serious.
Shane leaned toward Ilya and whispered, “I’ve never seen Haas this mean before.”
Ilya snorted. “Just pray he does not get a blue shell.”
The final track loaded. Rainbow Road. The Promised Land.
The room lost its collective mind.
“LET’S GO!”
“I’M SO READY!”
“LOCK IN, BOYS!”
Wyatt calmly crunched a chip like he wasn’t about to enter battle.
“Good luck,” he said, looking at his teammates. “And Godspeed.”
The countdown began.
“Woah!!” Troy and Harris laughed, “Luca, too much man!”
Shane couldn’t stop laughing, even as he narrowly avoided sliding into the abyss. The track shimmered beneath them, the music swelling, the room electric with shouting and threats and dramatic declarations.
“Hollzy is a beast man!” Dykstra shouted, “You guys made fun of shy guy and he’s gonna beat us all”
For a moment, Shane forgot about the race. Forgot about everything happening around him.
The shouting.
The trash talk.
The pile of teammates losing their minds over a rainbow racetrack.
He felt like a kid again. Although... he hadn’t really gotten to be one.
Growing up, hockey had always come first. Early mornings. Late practices. Pressure. Expectations. He never really had friends. And when he made it to the Metros, it was mostly just Hayden and JJ. That was his circle. But this was different. Now he was with his whole team crammed into a game room, yelling over Rainbow Road like it was Game Seven. Guys who actually liked him. Who wanted him there.
“OH, FUCK YES!” Ilya’s shout ripped Shane out of his thoughts.
He snapped his eyes back to the screen, just in time to see that somehow, Ilya had dropped to ninth.
“What are you yelling ab-” Bood said before.
“NO. NO!” Wyatt suddenly yelled, spotting it at the same time Shane did.
The blue shell.
Ilya didn’t even blink as he launched it.
“When you get to hell,” he said calmly, Russian accent thick as ever, eyes locked on the screen, “tell them Rozanov sent you.”
Wyatt’s Bowser exploded in a burst of blue light, spinning violently off the track and into the abyss.
“ROZ WHYYYYYY!” Wyatt sank to the floor.
Shane’s Shy Guy zoomed into first place. Final lap.
“Shane,” Luca said from 4th place, voice deadly serious, “I respect you.”
Shane blinked.
“But politely,” Luca continued, “I hope you die a miserable death tonight.”
The room went silent.
“Whoa, dude!” Troy barked.
“Absolutely not,” Harris wheezed, laughing. “We need to teach you how to trash talk.”
Luca frowned. “It is competitive spirit.”
Shane was laughing so hard he nearly missed the next drift. “You can’t say politely and then threaten my life!”
“I can,” Luca replied stubbornly. “And I did.”
“Just glad it’s not against me this time,” Wyatt muttered.
Shane gritted his teeth, eyes glued to the screen. His Shy Guy was clinging to first, but Ilya’s Yoshi and Bood’s Baby Bowser were on his tail
“C’mon, c’mon!” Shane muttered, heart hammering. He timed a perfect drift through the last turn, hitting a boost pad just as Bood launched a shell that barely missed him.
The finish line appeared. Wyatt was still trying to recover from the blue shell earlier, the others slightly behind, and the rest of the crew yelling nonsense in the background.
With a final, smooth turn, Shy Guy shot across the finish line.
FIRST PLACE.
“LET’S GO!” Shane yelled, throwing his arms in the air.
The room exploded.
Bood launched himself onto the couch and tackled him.
Then Ilya.
Then Troy.
Within seconds there was a full pile of grown men crushing Shane into the cushions.
“We owe Shy Guy an apology!” Wyatt announced, crawling over the couch to fist bump him.
“I cannot believe this,” Luca groaned, collapsing dramatically into a beanbag. “I never win anything.”
Shane dropped back onto the couch beside Ilya, breathless from laughing.
Ilya pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Very proud of my husband,” he murmured.
Shane looked around the room at the chaos. For the first time in a long time, he felt completely at home.
“Banana Cup next!” someone shouted.
Shane grinned. Bring it on.
5. Secret Santa
December
The Centaurs went all out for Christmas.
The arena was decked from corner to corner with festive decorations. A massive tree stood grandly in the main hallway, impossible to miss for anyone passing by on their way to the offices or locker rooms. Christmas music blared cheerfully through the speakers at every opportunity.
“Boys!” Harris sang as he walked into the locker room, rocking a gaudy Dolly Parton Christmas sweater, that read 'Sleighing 9 to 5'. “Reminder! After practice tomorrow, we’re pulling names for Secret Santa!”
The locker room erupted instantly.
“Finally! I’ve been waiting for this since last year!” Wyatt said. “Literally. Since last Christmas.” He stared blankly.
The team burst out laughing.
“Bood! We have to have you as Santa again, man!” Harris grinned. “Hottest Santa in Canada!”
Bood spun dramatically, shimmying out of his Centaurs' track jacket as the guys hollered and whistled. “You already know I will,” he said proudly. “Pretty sure my suit still fits.”
Shane leaned against his locker, smiling at the chaos. “Aww, I didn’t know you guys did Secret Santa. That’s a really cool idea.”
Everyone slowly turned to look at him.
Then at Ilya, who sat beside him mid-bite of a protein bar.
Ilya froze.
“What… happened? I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Dude… do you hate us?” Chounaird asked, squinting.
“…No?” Ilya replied slowly.
“Why does Shane always find out about our traditions in the worst way possible?” Troy groaned, throwing his hands up. “You never prepare him!”
Shane laughed, shaking his head. “I swear, I’m trying to keep up!”
“Okay, this one is not my fault,” Ilya protested, jumping to his feet. “I thought we were doing Secret Santa next week. I technically had more time to tell him.”
“Liar!” Luca pointed at him. “You still would’ve forgotten!”
“Guys, it’s okay,” Shane said, smiling. “Honestly, I’m starting to like the element of surprise with the team traditions.”
“See?” Ilya said smugly, still chewing. “He likes being unaware.”
“Whatever,” Harris muttered, rolling his eyes. “Your name’s already in the generator, Shane. You’re obviously included.”
He grinned. "Everyone be ready to find out who you have tomorrowwww!”
The next day, the Centaurs’ locker room buzzed after practice.
“Who’d you have last year?” Shane asked, dropping onto the bench beside Ilya.
“I had Harris,” Ilya said proudly. “I got him tickets to a Carly Rae Jepsen tribute drag show.”
Shane blinked.
“Who’s Carly Rae Jepsen?”
Ilya rested his head dramatically on Shane’s shoulder. “Oh, moya lyubov,” he sighed. “Remind me to make you another running playlist.”
“Okay, boys!” Harris burst into the room wearing yet another flashy Christmas sweater, this one bedazzled with Cher and the words 'Cher'ry Christmas across the front.
“Once I hit send on this text, you’ll all get a link showing who you got for Secret Santa,” Harris beamed at the team.
The guys cheered.
“K… and done!” Harris tapped his phone dramatically. “Check it out. And remember… keep it a secret.” He shot a pointed look at LaPointe. “You hear me? No babbling.”
LaPointe threw his hands up. “Okay, it wasn’t my fault, dude! I was too excited about the gift I got Chouinard and wanted to give it to him early!”
“And that gift was legendary, kid,” Chouinard said with a wink. “The twins still talk about it.”
Shane pulled his phone from his pocket, the locker room buzzing around him with groans and laughter.
“Aw hell no! I can’t shop for him!”
“Let’s goooo!”
“What if I got myself… again?”
Shane had only officially been with the Centaurs for a few months. Long enough to feel part of the team but not long enough to know everyone’s weird little preferences.
What if he got someone impossible to shop for?
What if he went too basic?
What if he accidentally got someone something they hated?
Shane tapped the link. The page loaded.
Luca Haas
Shane exhaled when the name finally popped up.
“Oh,” he muttered under his breath.
Not the worst draw. Luca was a nice kid and Shane thought he was exceptionally talented.
But not exactly the easiest draw either.
Luca wasn’t loud about what he liked. He wasn’t the “collectible mug” or “novelty socks” type. He had specific taste. Quiet taste. The kind you either nailed… or completely missed.
Shane rubbed the back of his neck, glancing across the room.
Luca was leaning against a locker, laughing at something Wyatt and Boos were saying, completely absorbed in the conversation.
Yeah. Shane was going to have to try.
And he really, really didn’t want to mess up his first Centaur Secret Santa.
“Shaneeeee,” Ilya called as he walked into the living room, spotting Shane curled up on the couch with his laptop, Anya snoozing next to him.
Shane had been scrolling through gift ideas since they got home from practice, determined to find something, anything, that felt right for Luca.
“In here…” Shane muttered absently, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, barely glancing up from the screen.
“Shane... Hello?” Ilya stepped closer and waved a hand in front of his husband’s face. “I called you like five minutes ago. Dinner’s ready.”
Shane blinked up at him, clearly pulled from his overthinking, “Oh. Right. Sorry.”
Ilya narrowed his eyes slightly. “You’ve been sitting there since we got home.”
“I’m researching,” Shane said defensively, adjusting his glasses again and angling the laptop away just a little too casually.
“Researching what?” Ilya asked, moving around the couch to peek.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Ilya repeated, amused. “You have fourteen tabs open.”
Shane quickly minimized the browser like that solved everything. “It’s… stuff.”
Ilya stared at him.
“… It’s for Secret Santa,” Shane finally admitted.
Ilya’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh. Who’d you get?”
Shane immediately shook his head. “Nope. Absolutely not. That defeats the entire purpose.”
“Oh come on,” Ilya laughed, dropping onto the couch beside him and snuggling into Shane. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“That’s not the point. You’re biased. You’d react.”
“I would not.”
“You absolutely would.”
Ilya opened his mouth to argue, then paused. “… Okay maybe a little.”
“Exactly.” Shane crossed his arms, then deflated a second later. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”
Ilya’s teasing expression softened. “You won’t.”
“I don’t know everyone that well yet,” Shane said quietly. “Like what if I get something totally off? What if it’s too generic? Or too specific? Or weird?”
Ilya snuggled closer into Shane. “You’re overthinking it… as always.”
“I am not.”
“You were whisper-arguing with yourself as I walked up behind you." Ilya raised his eyebrows at his husband.
Shane glanced at the laptop screen. He had, in fact, been whisper-arguing with himself.
“I just want it to be good,” he muttered.
“It will be,” Ilya said gently. “Because you care. That’s literally the only requirement. Also, have you met the team? Any of them will love anything you get them because they love you,” He caressed Shane’s hair
Shane exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
“Dinner’s getting cold,” Ilya added, standing and offering a hand. “And if you keep staring at that screen any longer, you’re going to end up buying a monogrammed money clip for someone who probably uses a Velcro wallet.”
Shane hesitated.
… He had been looking at monogrammed money clips and wallets.
He shut the laptop quickly. “Coming.”
Ilya smirked as they walked toward the kitchen. “You’re adorable when you stress.”
“Don’t,” Shane warned.
“I’m just saying, very beautiful when your brows furrow.”
Shane rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now.
And even as they sat down to eat, his brain was still quietly turning over ideas. He really hoped he didn’t screw this up.
The next week sent Shane into a downward spiral. He had been scrolling for hours every day, bouncing between ideas, none of which felt right. Not because they were bad, just because they weren’t Luca.
Coffee kits? Too generic.
Hockey memorabilia? Too obvious.
Socks? Too lame.
He wanted something that said, Hey, this is Luca!
Which was close to impossible. He barely knew the guy outside of practice and team events.
Ilya noticed Shane’s intensity but didn’t ask. He knew better than to poke at Shane’s brainstorms when it came to Secret Santa, especially since Shane had already made it clear he didn’t want to blab about who he had.
One night, Shane was wandering past their rarely-used home office, laptop in hand, comparing tabs and scrolling. His eyes landed on a sketch framed on the shelf, the one Luca had drawn for him and Ilya as a wedding gift.
Shane froze. Of course.
Luca had drawn them. Thoughtfully. Personally. Carefully. That was the kind of attention Shane wanted to return.
He ducked into the office, pacing for a moment before flopping into a chair. His heart was racing. Art supplies. Fancy ones. The kind someone with Luca’s talent would appreciate.
“Step one,” he whispered, “research.”
Tabs opened. Prices compared. Reviews skimmed. Sketchbooks. Pencils. Charcoal kits. Erasers. The works. Shane’s fingers flew across the keyboard, plotting, comparing, obsessing.
This wasn’t just a gift. This was him saying, I noticed you. I get you.
And for the first time all week, Shane felt like he might just pull it off.
By Thursday night, Shane had narrowed it down. Fancy sketchbooks, a set of high-quality pencils, charcoal sticks, blending tools, everything a serious artist could want.
He stared at the “Add to Cart” button for a full minute.
What if it’s too much?
What if he already has this exact set?
What if he hates it?
He shook his head. Stop overthinking Dude. With a decisive click, he ordered it anyway.
Now it was a waiting game.
The Centaurs’ holiday party was in full swing. Twinkling lights reflected off polished hardwood floors. A buffet lined one wall, and the faint scent of cinnamon and pine hung in the air.
Players and partners filled the room in ugly Christmas sweaters and festive outfits.
Harris stood in the center wearing, unsurprisingly, another outrageous sweater, this one featuring a dancing reindeer in a cowboy hat with the words Pink Reindeer Club.
“Alright, Centaurs!” he said over the laughter and chatter. “Secret Santa time!”
The team cheered, gathering around the tree where everyone had piled their gifts earlier in the night. Beside it sat a large, throne-like chair, where Bood settled in, decked out in a classic red Santa suit.
“Okay, rules!” Harris called, drawing everyone’s attention. “Bood will choose who gets to give their gift. Santa's orders!"
Bood stood slightly in his throne-chair, letting out a dramatic ho ho ho. “That’s right! And if you behave, maybe Santa will give you extra gifts later!”
The team laughed and nudged each other, eyes darting toward the tree and the pile of packages.
“Alright, I’m going to start with our naughtiest teammate... who also happens to be the captain,” Bood announced with a laugh. “Ilya!”
Ilya, sitting next to Shane, threw his head back and laughed. “Bood, I am top of the nice list. You know this!”
He smirked, standing and sauntering over to the tree. Hands almost theatrically, he picked up a long, thin package wrapped in fancy burgundy paper and topped with a huge plaid bow.
Ilya grinned, holding the package like it was a trophy. “Well… this is for—”
“Ah no. Since I’m first, I think this deserves a drumroll,” he interrupted, glancing at the group.
Some rolled their eyes, while others pounded rhythmically on the floor and chairs.
“…DYKSTRA!!!” Ilya shouted, throwing his arms up.
Dykstra stepped forward, trying to hide his excitement. He tore off the maroon wrapping and lifted the gift out.
A collective “ooohh” went up from the team.
Inside was a Kraken electric fishing rod and reel, almost too perfect a gift for Dykstra.
“WHAT THE HELL, ROZY!?” Dykstra shouted, slamming into Ilya and nearly knocking him to the ground in a bear hug.
The team erupted into laughter and cheers, some chirping, some just enjoying the chaos.
Dykstra stepped back, still grinning from ear to ear, waving the rod like a flag. “I can’t believe this… this is insane!”
Shane smiled. He knew Ilya had been excited to give his Secret Santa gift, and now he understood why. Classic Ilya: an incredible gift giver. Which made Shane even more nervous about giving his own.
Dykstra was next to give. He pulled a gift bag from under the tree.
“Hey, even Santa needs his gifts,” Dykstra said, turning toward Bood with a grin.
Bood stood from his throne, dapping Dykstra up before grabbing the bag and opening it without hesitation.
“Oh man… no fucking way.”
Inside were two neatly bottled barbecue sauces, professionally labeled with bold lettering: Bood’s Bangin’ BBQ Zauce—complete with his signature printed underneath.
“Ain’t no way,” Bood muttered, staring down at the bottles like they might disappear. “How the hell?”
He turned them over in his hands, stunned, his own recipe staring back at him in glossy print.
The team erupted.
“No way!”
“When can I buy them in stores?”
“Give me five bottles right now!”
Bood just kept shaking his head, grinning in disbelief. He pulled Dykstra into a long, tight hug, patting his back a few extra times and muttering something in his ear before finally stepping away.
He quickly swiped at his eyes and cleared his throat.
“Guess I’m next,” Bood laughed, his voice a little weaker this time.
“Will Troy Barrett please come see Santa?” Bood boomed, hauling a large red-wrapped box from under the tree.
Troy stood, shaking his head with a grin before pulling Bood into a quick hug.
“Alright, alright, what’d you do?” Troy laughed as he dropped back and started tearing into the wrapping paper.
The paper fell away to reveal a sleek black and neon green tennis racket.
“Aw man... this is sickkkkkk." Troy turned it in his hands, admiring it like a trophy. "How did you know my racket busted?"
Bood leaned back in his throne, folding his arms with exaggerated pride. “I may have a little birdie who feeds me intel.”
He shot a smirk in Harris’s direction.
Harris immediately threw his hands up. “Hey! I am but a humble elf.”
The team laughed as Troy reached under the tree for his gift to give. He pulled out a sleek gold-foiled black envelope.
“To the newest member of our team… Shane!” he called out.
Shane stood, brushing his clammy palms against his dress pants. He gave Troy a quick hug, patting his back a little awkwardly before carefully opening the envelope.
It was elegant, too nice to tear, so he slid a finger under the flap instead.
His eyebrows lifted. “Oh wow. I’ve heard incredible things about this place.”
Inside were 2 all-inclusive passes to a luxury spa retreat in Quebec.
“Harris and I went last year; it was unreal,” Troy said with a grin. “I hope you and Ilya love it.”
“Thanks, Troy. Seriously… this is amazing.” Shane’s smile softened, genuine and warm.
“Ah, a gift for me too? I love you, Barrett.” Ilya blew him an exaggerated kiss.
“Actually, take literally anyone else but him, Shane,” Troy shot back.
"I'll be sure to take my mom," Shane said, grinning at Ilya.
Ilya’s smile fell into a dramatic pout as the team burst into laughter, a chorus of teasing aimed squarely at him.
While the noise carried on, Shane crouched by the tree and searched for his gift, spotting it wrapped neatly in the same burgundy paper Ilya had used.
He swallowed.
“For my first Secret Santa, I got… Luca,” Shane announced, forcing enthusiasm into his voice even as his stomach flipped.
Across the room, Luca blinked in surprise and pushed himself up from where he was sitting, clearly not expecting his name to be called.
They exchanged an awkward hug before Luca opened the gift.
A chorus of “oooohs” and “wooows” rippled through the team.
Luca’s expression shifted from surprise to something softer. He picked up the sketchbook, flipping it open and running a thumb over the thick, textured pages. Then he looked at the pencil kit and charcoal set.
“These are… wow,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
“You remembered I sketch,” Luca added, looking up at him.
Shane shrugged, cheeks warming. “Yeah. The wedding sketch you did for me and Ilya was… incredible. Figured you deserved some upgrades.”
Luca broke into a huge smile and stepped forward, pulling Shane into a much tighter hug this time.
“Thank you! These are perfect,” he said softly.
Shane stiffened for a second, then relaxed and hugged him back, laughing lightly. “Of course, Luca! I’m so glad you like them!”
“Oooo, Haas… draw me like one of your French girls,” LaPointe teased, dramatically tossing his hair back.
“Shut up, dude. He wouldn’t waste his talent on your ugly face,” Holmberg shot back without missing a beat.
The tension finally slipped from Shane’s shoulders. Not a mess-up. Not even close.
Laughter rippled through the circle as wrapping paper continued to fly.
“Whoa… whoa, WHOA!” Wyatt’s voice suddenly cut through the noise. He held up a comic book with trembling hands. “This is a collector’s edition Spider-Man comic… signed by THE Stan Lee?!”
He grabbed Luca’s arm to steady himself like he might faint.
“Wyatt, breathe, please!” Lisa called from across the room, where the wives were gathered with glasses of wine, thoroughly entertained by the chaos.
“Someone check his pulse,” Bood yelled. “We can’t have him fainting like last year.”
“Wyatt Hayes!! You did not!” Harris yelped, staring down at the two glossy tickets in his hand. “ARE THESE TICKETS TO BEYONCÉ?!”
The room went dead silent for half a second.
Then—
“No way.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re lying.”
Wyatt tried to play it cool. “What? You said you’d sell a kidney to see Beyoncé live. Lisa and I figured we’d save you the surgery.”
Harris launched himself at Wyatt, nearly tackling him. “YOU GUYS ARE THE GREATEST HUMAN BEINGS ALIVE.”
Ilya let out a high-pitched squeak. “Wait… is this a matching Adidas tracksuit? For me and Anya?!”
He held up the tiny coordinating set, eyes wide with delight.
Harris stood there looking entirely too pleased with himself. "And matching shoes too." He laughed, "I didn't even know they had doggie Adidas."
“Shane!!!” Ilya yelled, bouncing on his toes. “Look at my matching outfit for me and Anya!!”
Shane turned, laughing despite himself. “I see it! You’re never taking it off, are you?”
“Absolutely not,” Ilya declared proudly, already holding the miniature dog jacket up and booties to his chest like a try-on haul before hugging Harris tightly.
The room buzzed with overlapping reactions, laughter, teasing, exaggerated gratitude, the kind of loud, messy joy that only happened when the whole team was together.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, Shane caught Luca glancing down at the sketchbook again, quietly flipping through the pages with a small, thoughtful smile.
Shane’s chest warmed. Yeah. He’d done okay.
After a while, the music shifted, a familiar holiday playlist kicking back in, and someone shouted for Bood to get into the dance circle. Plates clinked, wine glasses were refilled, and the team’s chaos picked up again, louder than ever.
Another Centaurs Christmas in the books.
+1. Yoga Saturdays
Late February
Mid-January, Ilya got injured during a game against Buffalo. A nasty blow to his shoulder sidelined him for two weeks, followed by six weeks of physical therapy.
He couldn’t practice with the team. He couldn’t travel with them. Instead, he was stuck in rehab sessions and sitting beside Yuna and David at home games in his and Shane’s suite.
During the time he was out, he noticed how much the Centaurs had evolved. They were more focused. Faster. Better.
Bood had stepped in as Captain, making Shane Alternate Captain, and they hadn’t lost a single game.
That should have thrilled him.
Instead, it brought up the dark thoughts he tried so hard to suppress.
Ever since before you were even drafted, you knew Hollander was better than you. Better player. Better leader. This just proves it.
You could die tomorrow and the Centaurs wouldn’t need you. Shane wouldn’t need—
He cut that thought off immediately.
Maybe they didn’t need him. But they would mourn him.
They loved him. Shane loved him.
He should be happy. At this rate, they were heading to the Stanley Cup playoffs again and likely to win it all.
Winning the Cup.
For and with Shane.
Now that was a thought he could hold onto.
BUZZ.
The game clock hit 00:00.
6–0. Centaurs shut out St. Louis.
Ilya hugged Yuna and David, promising to see them at dinner later that day, then made his way down to the locker room.
“Cap!!!” some of the team shouted as he walked in.
Ilya smiled, offering high-fives with his good hand, careful with the arm secured in a sling. He made his way toward Shane, Bood, and Wyatt, who were mid-conversation.
“That C looks good on you,” Ilya said.
The three turned.
Bood smacked him on the back a little too hard, then pulled him into a hug that was, again, a little too hard.
“Maybe,” he grinned, “but it misses you. And so do we.”
Something in Ilya loosened. The noise in his head dimmed.
“Yeah,” Shane added with a laugh, sliding an arm around Ilya’s waist and pulling his husband close. “As much as I liked having the C on my chest, this A just isn’t doing it for me.”
“Hey!” Bood shot back. “Nothing wrong with that A!”
They all laughed as Shane and Bood began stripping off their sweat-soaked game gear.
Wyatt studied Ilya quietly. “How’re you hanging in?” he asked. “You seem a little distant.”
Ilya smiled softly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hazy, always the most perceptive,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. “I’m okay… just missing all of this.”
His gaze dropped to the floor. “You guys just look amazing out there.”
Wyatt laughed loudly. “Yeah? You can thank your husband for that. He’s got us doing yoga almost every week.” He rolled his shoulders dramatically. “I’ve never felt more flexible in my life.”
“Same!” Troy called from his locker. “First time I get out of bed and my back doesn’t try to give out on me. I’m 26, man! I was feeling 66.”
Laughter rippled across the room. Ilya blinked, confused, turning toward the others as more voices joined in.
“Yeah, Hollzy’s a miracle worker,” Dykstra chimed in. “Played on the floor with Susie last night and stood up without my knees buckling.”
“Grandpa!!!” LaPointe, Young, and Holmberg shouted in unison as Dykstra threw his sweaty jersey at them.
“For me, it’s the mental energy,” Luca said. “I feel way more prepared for games. And… I don’t spiral when I miss a cue anymore.”
“You guys, that’s amazing to hear,” Shane beamed. “That’s exactly why I suggested it to Bood.”
“Dude, it’s tradition now,” Bood said firmly. “Interim Captain’s rules.”
“Yoga?” Ilya turned slowly toward Shane and Bood. “Since when does this team do yoga?”
Shane and Bood exchanged a look.
“Uh… since the week you got placed on IR, actually,” Shane admitted. “The team was feeling a little off. I just… wanted to center us.”
“Yeah,” Bood added. “Shane and I had a strategy session when we realized you’d be out close to two months. The news hit the team hard. Guys were worried.”
He shrugged. “We needed something to bring everyone back together. Hollz suggested yoga.”
Bood smiled. “Cassie’s a huge fan too, so I figured why not?”
“So now we’ve been doing it almost every Saturday morning,” Shane added. “Mandatory stretching and emotional growth.”
“And honestly?” Bood looked back at Ilya. “It’s working.”
Ilya looked between Shane and Bood. Then around the room.
“I had no idea.”
Shane’s face fell slightly. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. I was so excited about it too, but I think I was more worried about you, your PT sessions, recovery, and everything. That’s all I’ve been focused on.”
Something in Ilya’s chest swelled but not in a painful way.
He smiled. Then he laughed. A small laugh at first. Then bigger.
Until he was bent forward, clutching his stomach, shoulders shaking.
The locker room went silent.
The team stared at him like he’d completely lost it.
“Uh…” Troy squinted. “Did we break Roz, or is that the pain meds talking?”
“Wow,” he wiped his eyes. “Here I was thinking you guys were playing so well because you didn’t need me anymore.” He paused, laughing again. “But it’s because Shane has you all doing yoga.”
A few of the guys looked at him with concern.
“And,” Ilya added, finally straightening up, still grinning, “there’s finally a team tradition that Shane knows about… and I’m the clueless one.”
The team erupted, but not with laughter.
“What?” Wyatt’s head snapped toward him.
Troy straightened. “Hold on. Back up.”
Bood’s grin dropped instantly. “You think we don't need you?”
Ilya blinked, smile fading, caught off guard by how fast the energy shifted. “Well, I mean… You haven’t lost a game since I’ve been out and—”
“That’s not what you said,” Shane cut in quietly.
The room stilled.
“You said,” Wyatt continued, stepping closer, “that you thought we were better because you weren’t here.”
Ilya shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t say better...”
“You implied it,” Troy said, stone-faced.
Wyatt ran a hand over his face. “Roz. We haven’t been better because you’ve been gone. We’ve been good because we haven’t wanted to waste what you have built here.”
A few heads nodded.
“When you went down,” Chouinard added, “we all kind of panicked.”
“Yeah,” Luca admitted. “It felt wrong.”
“You’re our captain,” Dykstra said. “When you weren’t in the room, we had to decide what kind of team we were going to be.”
Shane crossed his arms. “So we chose to be the best versions of ourselves we could be… for you.”
That hit harder than any hit on the ice could have. Ilya swallowed thick.
“You really think we don’t need you?” Bood asked, he sounded a bit choked up. “You think this is just plug-and-play captaincy?”
Bood stepped closer, looking him dead in the eye. “I’m wearing the C because someone had to. Not because it fits better.”
Silence.
The weight of it pressed against Ilya’s heart. He hadn’t expected this.
“I just…” Ilya exhaled. “You guys looked so great out there. So focused. I thought maybe that was because I wasn’t here messing it up.”
Troy’s eyebrows shot up. “Messing it up?”
“Dude… respectfully. You’re our leader. Always have been.” LaPointe said.
“Always will be.” Young added. “You’ve never messed shit up before. You took us to the damn playoffs last year.”
Bood nodded. “Rozy… We’re the team we are because you showed us how to be. We had a lot of heart, but if you hadn’t shown up as a leader, we wouldn’t be us.”
Another beat of silence. Then Shane stepped forward.
“You’re coming Saturday,” he said.
The entire room shifted again.
Ilya blinked. “To…?”
“Yoga,” Shane said.
The guys nodded immediately.
“You don’t get to spiral alone,” Shane added, and Ilya could tell he had his signature Shane worrying look on
“You sit in the front,” Troy said. “Judge our form, our breathing, whatever.”
“With captain's authority,” Bood agreed.
Shane moved closer until he was standing right in front of Ilya.
“You don’t get to decide you’re unnecessary,” Shane said quietly. “Not while we’re all standing here telling you otherwise.”
Ilya felt his throat tighten again, but this time it wasn’t from panic. It was from being seen. By his team. By the guys he loved. Who clearly loved him back.
“Clear it with PT,” Bood added, pointing at him. “But you’re going. I already texted Wiebe.”
Ilya looked around the room one more time.
At their stubborn faces.
At their crossed arms.
At the way none of them were laughing now.
They weren’t teasing him. They were holding him accountable.
A slow breath left his lungs. “O… Okay,” he said.
The tension cracked.
“Good.”
“Cap’s back.”
“Emotionally, at least,”
The room finally loosened as guys filtered toward the showers, the normal post-game noise returning.
Shane stayed by Ilya. Of course he did. When they were mostly alone, he stepped in closer.
“You really thought we didn’t need you?” he asked softly.
This time, Ilya didn’t deflect. “Yeah,” he admitted. “For a minute.” Ilya leaned forward, resting his forehead against Shane’s.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Shane smiled. “I know. You’re very vocal about it.”
Ilya huffed out a quiet laugh.
“I love you too. And for the record,” Shane added softly, “We’re winning the Cup with you. Not without you.”
Ilya closed his eyes. Winning the cup. And with this team. Yeah. He wasn’t done yet.
At 5:50 a.m. on Saturday, Shane pulled into the Centaurs arena parking lot under a still-dark winter sky.
Ilya was completely out in the passenger seat.
Shane nudged him gently, careful of his shoulder.
“Ilya.”
“I AM AWAKE!” Ilya shot upright, eyes wide.
Shane laughed. “Sure you are. We’re here.”
“Ready to watch you all do yoga?” Ilya muttered.
“And you’ll be doing some,” Shane said, far too cheerful for the hour.
Ilya squinted at him. “I’m sorry?”
“I talked to Bria. Got a few approved poses. Nothing major. Breathing, seated stretches, some moderations.”
“I feel set up.”
“You said you hated feeling sidelined,” Shane said mildly. “So I talked to your physical therapist. She loved the idea.”
Ilya sighed, but there was no real fight in it.
“Fine. But if I get injured again, I’m blaming you.”
They stepped out into the freezing Ottawa air, both immediately shivering as they hurried inside.
The warmth of the facility wrapped around them as they walked toward the practice gym. And Ilya stopped.
Half the team was already there.
It wasn’t even six in the morning.
Harris and Troy were stretching near the front. Luca and Dykstra wore loose athletic tops and stretchy pants that looked suspiciously like dancewear. Bood stood near the front in joggers, talking animatedly with Wyatt, who was attempting a hamstring stretch with alarming enthusiasm.
LaPointe, Young, and Holmberg were rolling out mats toward the back.
Ilya let out a quiet laugh.
“Why,” he murmured to Shane, “are they dressed like hippies?”
Shane grinned. “Commitment.”
Ilya watched them.
They were awake. Loose. Laughing. At six in the morning. For yoga.
Despite himself, Ilya smiled.
“Okay,” he admitted quietly. “This is kind of adorable.”
“They like being better,” Shane said gently.
Ilya nodded.
And for the first time since the injury, he didn’t feel like he was walking into something that had moved on without him.
He felt like he was walking back into his team.
Someone clapped from the front.
“Alright, gentlemen! Good morning!”
Ilya blinked.
At the front stood a woman he didn’t recognize. Dark hair in a high bun, wrapped in a long cardigan over athletic wear, radiating calm authority.
“Good morning, Karina!” the team called.
“That’s Karina,” Shane whispered. “She runs a studio downtown. She went to college with Jackie!"
“You’re not leading it?” Ilya asked.
Shane snorted. “Absolutely not, I want to enjoy it with the team.”
Karina approached them with a warm smile. “Well you must be our captain, Ilya. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I’m up to speed on your modifications today,” she added kindly. “But please go at your own pace.”
She squeezed Shane’s shoulder and returned to the front.
“Okay! Let’s begin.”
Music drifted softly through the room.
Karina moved through the space, adjusting mats and greeting players.
“Wyatt, remember knees softer this time, okay?”
“Troy, breathe through the nose and out through the mouth.”
“Bood, this is not a competition but that warrior pose is impressive.”
“LaPointe… let’s extend to those toes.”
“And try not to fart this time,” Young added.
The team burst out laughing.
Ilya watched them. Watched how they listened to her. Respected her. Trusted her.
“Dykstra, beautiful child’s pose.”
“Ilya! Excellent eagle pose, great balance.”
“Shane... gorgeous form as always. Honestly, come teach with me.”
“Hey!” Bood protested. “No poaching our teammates!”
More laughter. Then Karina’s voice softened.
“Inhale… steady.”
The room quieted. Grown men lying on their backs. Silent.
Ilya sat cross-legged at the front of the room, sling resting against his chest.
He followed the breathing. Slow.
Next to him, Shane was focused, calm.
The team moved together.
Inhale. Exhale.
For weeks, Ilya had watched them from the outside.
From the stands.
From rehab rooms.
From the suite.
But now—
Now he could feel it.
The rhythm of them.
Karina’s voice drifted through the room.
“You don’t lose strength when you share it. You gain strength by being open and accepting change."
Ilya’s lips twitched.
Yeah.
Shane opened his eyes at the same moment Ilya did.
Their gazes met. No words. Just understanding.
Behind them, Bood peeked one eye open. Wyatt did the same.
Ilya breathed out. His team knew him well.
“Take what you need from today,” Karina said gently. “Leave what you don’t. Thank you for a great session guys, I will see you next week!"
For the first time since the injury, Ilya let the doubt go.
The team ended up at their routine diner down the street from the arena, Maple Leaf’s.
Ilya laughed into his coffee as Troy tried to demonstrate downward dog to their favorite waitress, Joyce.
A week ago, he’d been sitting in the suite upstairs, wondering if this team still needed him.
Now he was here. At the table. Exactly where he belonged.
Ilya nudged Shane with his shoulder.
“You know,” he said softly, “I didn’t think I’d like this little tradition of yours… but I kinda loved it.”
Shane lit up. “Really? I’m glad. But it’s a team tradition now, not just mine.”
Wyatt lifted his mug. “To yoga. And to our traditions, long may they reign.”
“And to our captain... both of them,” Troy added.
Ilya snorted, raising his coffee mug. “To the team,” he said, simply. Bood winked at him, lifting his glass of orange juice in solidarity.
Mugs and glasses clinked around the table.
Under the table, Shane nudged his knee. Ilya glanced at him.
Shane didn’t say anything, just smiled and clinked his mug gently against Ilya’s.
Ilya smiled back. Yeah.
He was going to be just fine. After all, he had his team.