Chapter Text
Despite the fact that Shane had spent more of his life playing hockey than not, there were still some things that never got old.
The last weeks of summer leading up to the preseason were some of Shane’s favorite. Even as the arrival of autumn signaled an end to quiet weeks spent with Ilya at the cottage, Shane couldn’t help the part of him that looked forward to once again lacing up his skates with purpose.
Last year had been hectic. Between Ilya’s almost plane crash, getting outed via FanMail, the wedding, and joining a new team for the first time in his professional career, Shane hadn’t been able to enjoy the lead-up to hockey season the way he normally would.
He’d been unmoored; nervous to socialize with a locker room full of unfamiliar faces, and anxious about what playing with Ilya would be like when he’d spent all but a few exhibition games playing against him.
It was, as it turned out, a dream come true.
Shane knew where Ilya would be without having to look for him. They could pass the puck between them and take shots at a goal that might as well be empty for all the good the opposing team’s goalie could do to stop them. This synergy helped propel the Centaurs deep into a playoff run before too many injuries and a fantastic New York offense sent them limping back to Ottawa.
As preparations began for the 2022-23 season, Shane felt confident both in the team and his place on it. Ilya was captain and Shane was alternate. Luca had grown into a reliable wing, Hayes had one of the top save percentages in the league, and the defense was practically airtight thanks to the work Dykstra and Chouinard had put in. Shane understood the wisdom in not counting your chickens before they hatched, but he couldn’t shake the belief that this would finally be the year Ottawa would bring home the Cup after decades of drought, and—perhaps more importantly—the year he would win a Cup with his husband.
And they would be bringing a few new rookies along for the ride.
Their season standings and playoff performance had been too good to earn them any high draft picks, but they still ended up with a couple of new kids that Shane believed had potential.
Goalie Ayden Schubert.
…And forward Tyler Zhao.
The first time Shane had read that name in conjunction with ‘Centaurs draft pick’ he’d felt a jolt of excitement move through his body.
He’d already done the research: Tyler Zhao was a forward out of the University of British Columbia where he’d majored in nutritional sciences. His mother was a Vancouver Island native of British heritage and had spent 15 years as a teacher before making the move to administration. His father worked in finance and had immigrated to Canada in the 90s from Shanghai. Zhao was fluent in English, French, Mandarin—and described his Shanghainese as “passable.” He had two older sisters, who’d both followed their mother into the field of education. Zhao’s previous teammates described him as a handworker and good team-player whose speed made up for anything he might lack in strength. His social media presence was sparse, with his Instagram account being what Ilya would certainly describe as ‘boring hockey player.’
He’s like me. Shane’s mind simplified.
And also, not. Shane had never gone to college, he didn’t have any siblings, and his Japanese was mediocre on the best of days.
Maybe it was silly to care so much, but he hadn’t played on a team with a fellow Asian-Canadian since he was a kid, and that hadn’t exactly gone well.
He’d explained as much to Ilya.
“…Most of Russia is in Asia, you know.” Was his husband’s response.
“You know what I meant, asshole.”
And Ilya did. Shane knew he understood in the way his face lit up the moment he stepped foot in the Russian grocery store, or in the way his conversations would flow at break-neck speed when he happened upon another Russian-speaker in the wild.
These bits of connection were important to Ilya, made him feel tethered to where he’d come from.
Shane hadn’t realized until now, just how much he’d been craving the same.
“I’m glad you will have a friend Shane.” Ilya had said, voice soft and earnest as he planted a kiss on Shane’s forehead.
The rookies had already been added to the group chat and sat through logistical meetings with management, but today would be their first official team hangout, and the first time most of the guys would be meeting them—Shane included.
He knew other teams were more formal when it came to folding new players into an existing team dynamic, but this was the Centaurs way.
The Hollander-Rozanov residence was lively with the sounds of half a hockey team and Bood had already commandeered their grill when a tentative knock echoed from the entry way.
“Who the fuck is knocking?” Ilya grumbled as he pulled down bottles from the liquor cabinet. “Team knows to walk in if the door is unlocked.”
“Knocking isn’t a bad idea. Could have saved me from seeing plenty of things I’d rather not think about.” Troy chirped from his barstool perch.
“Here I thought you were taking notes on how to woo cute little social media manager.”
“Fuck off Rozanov.”
“It’s probably the rookies, I’ll get it.” Shane said, halfway through the task of emptying the refrigerator of hors d'oeuvres.
“We go together.” Ilya countered, abandoning the vodka to focus his attention on his husband. “Captain should be there to welcome them, yes?”
“Yeah.” Shane smiled, softly closing the fridge.
When they reached the front door and Shane pulled it open, the two young men staring at him from across the threshold were ones he only recognized from photographs.
“Hi, Ayden, Ayden Schubert.” Said the first—tall, blond, with an easy smile and a hand held out in greeting.
“Shane. And this is my husband, Ilya.” He took the offered hand in his own.
With as much fanfare as the league used to parade their Stanley-Cup-winning names around, there was nothing that Shane appreciated more than being able to just be Shane and Ilya, surrounded by the proof of the life they’d built together.
“It’s a pleasure—an honor really.” Ayden said, releasing Shane’s hand to accept Ilya’s as he looked back and forth at the two of them. “Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov… I hope you can appreciate how normal I’m trying to be about the fact that I’m here right now, but I’ll be honest, when my name got called up at the draft… I might have peed a little.”
Ilya shot him a grin, the kind that Shane knew from experience could succeed in disarming even the most protected fortress.
“Hazy is going to have fun with you.”
The man lingering behind Schubert took a step forward so he could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his fellow rookie.
“I’m Tyler Zhao.” He said as he took Ilya’s hand first, and then his eyes flickered over to meet Shane’s.
Shane wasn’t sure if he imagined it, or if he truly saw his own recognition and understanding reflected back at him.