Chapter Text
Anyone who knew anything about hockey knew the name “Shane Hollander”. Even when Zane was just entering the league, he was still talked about in a special way. An incredible season as a rookie, rightfully earning the “Rookie of the Year” award. An unheard amount of points amassed through a similarly unreal amount of goals and assists, not to mention the many seasons after that, each with their own smashed records. Hollander was rewriting the records with his name above everyone else’s. Even before stepping onto MLH ice he was talked about as if he was the prospect of a generation. Well, he and Rozanov, the prospects of a generation. Once both were off to the races, it was hard for anyone to compete. The two of them hogged the spotlight from before they even entered their respective barns. Like the entire world went dark around them and all eyes and hearts could only be looking in their direction. Dragging their respective teams from the brink of failure instead to cup success. Zane was drafted a top pick, first round, but it was to Ottawa. The long suffering Centaurs franchise. A first round prospect relegated to the bottom of the standings in the same conference as the two most dominant players of his generation.
If he was truly and sincerely honest, playing against them was a nightmare. Their teams had rebuilt around them, but were further along in the process than Zane’s and it showed in the scores. Shut outs were prominent fixtures. Even single goals were answered with two, or worse, hat tricks. Zane was in the motherfucking trenches, if he managed a goal on either of the cup contending teams it was handily answered by Hollander or Rozanov on their next shift. Zane could hold enough of his own, doing decent against them when bent over the faceoff circle, absorbed a chirp from Rozanov or a focused stare from Hollander. It was good to know he could do as much. Even if the turnovers went right to them, much to his chagrin. They mirrored each other in a funny way. Rozanov was tough on the puck but out maneuvered with speed and a cocksure ease. While in contrast Hollander was still deft, but could see openings and space, then subsequently playing or taking advantage of it before Zane or anyone else could even look across the ice to help his ill prepared defense. Both resulted in a truly astounding amount of goals, not just against the Centaurs but against everyone.
That was just the beginning of Zane’s career. Now though, Shane was a three time Stanley Cup winner, Rookie of the Year Winner, Conn Smyth Award Winner, and Olympic Gold Medalist. A stellar player on the ice and stand up person off the ice as well. Co-founder of the Irina Foundation. It was almost annoying how perfect he was. Or it would be if he wasn’t so sweet and caring to the one person Zane knew deserved it more than anyone else.
And the most recent event in his life? Getting married to said most deserving person, Ilya Rozanov and signing with Zane’s (possibly now formerly long suffering?) team, the Ottawa Centaurs.
But despite dragging the Voyagers kicking and screaming from the bottom of the Eastern conference to winning two back to back cups and another one just for good measure, the former captain of the Montreal Voyagers was relatively chill. The season was midway through and Zane Boodram still had a hard time overlapping the two versions of this man.
Zane had entered the league by being drafted by the worst of the worst in terms of teams. But with their new coach—Brandon Wiebe and new star center—Ilya Rozanov, in recent seasons, they had turned things around enough to make the playoffs for the first time in over a decade. Now for the second season in a row it looked like that would yet again be the case, being bolstered by the addition of The Shane Hollander, who’s proficiency as a center was studied by every team, every player, and every coach. With that depth, it wasn’t an if, but a when the cup would come to Ottawa.
And even though he had three cup rings to his name, Shane Hollander attended training camp like all of the new Centaurs. Shane put his head down in training and made sure he earned his place even though he didn’t have to and even though it distracted the hell out of all of their new rookies, prospects, and AHL/OHL players; most of which definitely had a poster of him or watched his games since they were kids. Through all of that attention though he was unendingly polite. Asking certain players if he could give feedback like they hadn’t dreamt of that very thing since they had started hockey in elementary school. Or how he showed up before everyone, then also stayed after to practice the specific drills each coach asked him to do, and left the latest, with his husband waiting for him, more often than not leaning against an obnoxiously colored sports car.
When he made the team it came as no surprise. He was placed on second line with the rookie who was no longer a rookie, Luca Haas, and another young developing player in Julien LaPointe.
It was one thing to know of Shane Hollander. To see the seriousness and line of concentration go taut on an opponent’s face as he won a faceoff and proceeded to score, over, and over, and over again. To see him perfectly pass to an open winger across the royal road like there was barely a thought between his head and the stick. To see him lift the cup three times, two of which were back to back. But it was a completely different thing to be on the winning end of that. To observe how Hollander and Rozanov flew by each other, drop passed the puck behind them before the other was even there, and to see their super human ability to predict where the other would be on opposite sides of the net and still find each other before the goalie had time to react as it went from potential backdoor to just above the pad.
Yet The Shane Hollander was also the man that blushed at incredibly soft and simple public displays of affection from his literal husband. The same man that sometimes broke into impossibly wide smiles. The same man that tried to hide his face when Rozanov whispered Russian into his ear before heading through the tunnel. The same man that pushed their captain playfully and skated away at practices after they exchanged a too long look close together.
All the while he was and still is the sleep paralysis demon of every goalie in the MLH. Part of a power play unit one that had defensive, goalie, and special teams coaches waking up in a cold sweat the night before they played the Centaurs, if they could even sleep at all. The puck burying nightmare of a man that the entire league feared when he decided he wanted to win a game.
The two sides of the future Hall of Famer were hard to reconcile if he was honest, even though he had spend over half of the season seeing it first hand, day in and day out. How Shane was focused, yet quiet most days. Not quite soft spoken, but also not outspoken and boisterous like his husband. Sure, he was never really out of breath at practice, came into every optional practice and days beyond that, on top of his daily morning runs. But he was a veteran of the sport now and a bonafided legend, maybe he was just like that naturally. Now that his captain days were behind him and he was married, he had mellowed out from the certified spitfire that had driven a failing franchise and turned it into one that won the entire thing multiple times over.
Zane had thought that. He really had. That was until last week.
Ilya had been put on injury reserve (IR) for a stint of tendonitis. The man was already not happy about it, but both Wiebe and Hollander had overruled him because it had noticeably affected his shot in their last game. With their top seed already cemented and nearly cinched for playoffs, on top of the depth Shane proved they could afford a few closer games. To succeed at playoffs the team needed Ilya in peak performance, so he was being forced to rest and get better for when playoffs actually came around.
Shane, Troy, and himself had been alternates all season so far, with which two of them who were wearing the A switching depending on the game. When it was initially brought up at the beginning of the season as a consideration for Shane to wear the A, both Troy and Zane were all for it. There was no world where they were against it, not because of his wins for the Voyagers but because he had already been acting as it informally. He had helped the rookies and newer players since training camp, and had even shared some insider knowledge with the veterans too. Useful things about not only about the Voyagers’ habits and certain goalies’ weakness, but also reviewing tapes individually with him if they asked, giving constructive yet considerate feedback.
So, in talking about what would happen while Ilya was on IR over with Wiebe, the other coaches, Shane, Troy, Zane, and Ilya, it was only natural that Shane came up as the person to temporarily help out with drills and take the C. Yes, Zane had been captain prior to Ilya’s arrival, but Shane had done it longer and certainly with more success. Zane also wondered, a little bit, with a certain amount of curiosity and maybe some sleep depervation due to the baby, what Shane would be like in captain mode. Ilya had been noticeably silent, observing the conversation that happened around him, which was slightly uncharacteristic for the man. Once the decision had been made though, his face practically split in half from laughter. He looked to Troy and Zane once he managed to get it under control, “I suppose it is your funeral. Glad you planned it with no help from me.”
Zane snapped out of his exhaustion stupor that had been hanging over his head during this entire conversation and exchanged a look with Troy. Troy looked back to Ilya as if to get a clue of why he was being like this, only for their captain to laugh again.
“You will be begging for me to come back on day two,” the man managed to get out in between laughs. To which Shane responded by promptly elbowing him in the side.
“I am not that bad,” he said pointedly.
Ilya gave him a look, one that can only be described as if the word ‘Really?’ was made manifest physically on someone’s face and body. “Oh? That is not what Pike and Boiziau tell me. Sometimes they text me saying they both have stress nightmares about the two months before playoff season.”
Shane simply rolled his eyes, “Yeah, well, we train together every summer and you won’t even be practicing since you’re on IR.”
Ilya huffed, “But the poor rookies moy lyubimyy,” he seemingly pleaded with him.
“Everyone will be fine,” Shane replied, a sternness entering his tenor.
Ilya shrugged, “We shall see.” He looks to Boodram and Barrett, “Do not call or text me for help. You will explain to the team that I contributed nothing to this decision.”
Troy and Zane meet each others’ eyes again, still utterly confused by Ilya’s behavior. A softly chuckling Wiebe passes behind them both and gives them pats on their shoulders as he heads back towards his office.
Announcing the temporary change to the team went well from what he remembered, the second round of teething had started that week so it was all a blur if he was honest. While everyone was sad that Ilya would not be playing with them for an extended period of time, they all knew it was for the best and seemed to understand. Wiebe also announced Shane would help decide on what drills to do which Ilya regularly did as well. It had gone smoothly. Then Zane had caught Haas having some sort of reaction and proceeded to catch Hayes catching Haas having said reaction. But he was more focused on the rest of the team, taking over as the more informal leader due to his and Cassie’s frequent hosting, that he really didn’t give those reactions much thought.
Now though? Barely halfway done with day one of Shane’s temporary captain practices, he was deeply regretting being exhausted due to the baby and thus not asking Rozanov to explain why he had acted the way he had. He was also mourning not recognizing what was probably dread coming over Haas’ face when he heard the news. His limbs ached bone deep, his lungs burned, and his hands felt raw.
One of the rookies had already thrown up. The trio of LaPointe, Holmberg, and Young were laying flat on their backs staring up at the ceiling. Luca was draped over the boards of the bench breathing heavily. Troy was right next to him, breathing even worse and more hoarse. And Zane himself? He was face first on the ice, contemplating every life decision that had led up to this exact moment in time. Freezing cold hardness was the only thing tethering him to his body as his mind wanted to escape into the aether and never come back.
Yet, standing in the middle of the rink, chest barely rising and falling was Shane Hollander. Doing all of these insane drills right next to them and the sweat not even dripping off of him. He even had the audacity to skate easy circles and figure eights across the length of the rink waiting for the rest of the team to catch their breath for their next round. He claps loudly, the sound ringing through the empty place, and says something about getting ready for the next round or next drill. Zane doesn’t hear it. Thankfully, the media and fans are mercifully absent this day per request of Harris to let the team adjust. If they hadn’t, he wonders what kind of a meme they all would have been turned into due to their various states of disarray.
Once practice is finally over and he drags himself home to Cassie and Milo, he collapses just beyond the threshold of the doorway. His face against a certainly dirty but also relief-inducing cool hardwood. He can hear soft footfalls and he knows his wonderful wife approaches. A soft chuckle fills the air as she looks upon the scene that is him splayed out, “Is this your way of telling me you aren’t able to help with Milo today?”
Zane just groans into the floor which only causes her to laugh much harder.
Cassie squats down and with her non-Milo occupied hand, pats him on the head, “Alright big guy at least get a shower and relax a bit since you will have to do it all over again tomorrow.”
With that realization he almost swears up a storm in front of her, but really he’s too tired to even do that and just groans slowly rolling himself over.
Cassie is now standing above him and still laughing at his suffering.
“Is it too late to tell Roz I regret ever getting drafted in the first place and need him to come back as soon as possible?” he asks, even though he very well knows the answer.
“Didn’t you tell me that he, quite literally, warned you that you will be begging for him to come back by the second day?” she replies right back.
Zane simply responds by bringing his arms up to his face and dragging them across and down it, “I’m doomed.”
“Yeah probably.”
“I’m gonna text Roz anyways.”
“Yeah also probably true.”
“He’s going to laugh at my text, if not call me to laugh at me while on the phone.”
“Almost certainly.”
Zane groans again and starts digging around his pockets to find his phone.
Cassie leans down and kisses his forehead before heading back towards the living room, “Don’t forget to tell Roz he’s invited to the WAG watch parties and the family room while he’s on IR. I know he’ll probably be in the press box, but, you know.”
“Yup got it,” he says throwing up a thumbs up above him as his phone finally unearths itself.
He pulls it out, quickly maneuvering to the messaging app and the contact named “Ra Ra Rozanov”.
“I know it isn’t day two but I already want you back man,” is the quick text that swooshes off as Zane does his best to pry himself off of the floor, on the way to a shower to hopefully help his aching muscles and then drafting another text for inviting the man to WAG(?), or well HAB(?), or SAP(?)—there is really no good name for this—activities while he’s on IR.