Chapter Text
Shane stepped into the Raiders’ practice facility feeling partially at ease.
It has been a week since All Stars and a whirlwind of meetings, the first of which being with Head Coach Desjourneys. Then there was the physical with the Raider’s medical team and a small photo shoot for a social media post.
After that was the team skate, which is usually optional but Shane decided he couldn’t skip it. That’s when he formally got introduced to most of Ilya's teammates who were all welcoming. The actual practice was fine, the usual drills and scrimmages. He’ll just need to get used to playing on the right wing.
Getting called Hollzy by the team - by anyone, really - was something new to him as well.
Yet, every time he came back to this facility, he felt better and better about this trade.
Today, however, was the day he and Ilya were talking to the media. This would be the first time he’d spoken to sports journalist in two weeks. Shane couldn’t help but feel nervous.
He wasn’t afraid of the questions about hockey. He was afraid of the ones that weren’t.
Regardless, he met up with Ilya who stood outside the media room with the Social Media Manager, Kailey, and the PR Manager, Braeden.
“You both feeling ready?” Braeden asked.
“Yeah,” Shane replied with a shrug.
“Yes,” Ilya responded.
Braeden studied them for a moment. Then, she reached out and touched Hollander’s deltoid.
“Deep breaths, Shane,” she said.
Hollander exhaled a breathy laugh and smiled as he nodded his head. Ilya gave him a reassuring look.
After a small inhale, the new Raider straightened out and declared, “Alright. I’m good.”
A few seconds later, the doors opened, the noise rose a few volumes, and the cameras started flashing.
The room quieted as they took their seats. Ilya on the left side of the table, Shane on the right, one microphone each. Under the table, their feet slid into place, brushed against each other.
Both managers stood off to the side, one among the cameras from her own team, and one standing closer to the table.
Braeden had curated the reporters in the room and decided the order in which they got to ask questions. That was, in general, part of her job, but Shane found himself thankful she was there anyway.
Once everything settled, the first journalist stood to ask his question.
“Shane,” he started, arms beginning to move. He held a notepad in one hand and kept his pen tucked behind his ear. “It’s been a helluva two weeks for you. Walk us through what you’ve been feeling.”
“It’s been a roller coaster, honestly,” Hollander told them, moving his hands as he talked. “Highs and lows, you know. A lot of reflection. Montreal meant a lot to me. Still does. I was sad to leave it, but I am excited for what’s next.”
In the middle of jotting down notes, he asked, “When did you know getting traded was the right move?”
There was a hint of a smile as he opened his mouth. “I think I knew when I walked into the facility and felt excited instead of unsure,” Hollander told them. “There’s something about the atmosphere here. It just felt right.”
“What specifically about the atmosphere stood out to you?”
“It felt open. Honest. Competitive in a way that pushes you forward instead of wearing you down.”
The reporter muttered a small thank you as he sat down.
Someone from the back cupped his hands around his mouth to ask, “Rozanov, be honest, did you recruit him?” From the tone, it sounded like more of a joke than an actual question.
The room laughed and Ilya answered regardless.
“Eh, no.” The Raiders Captain chuckled and shook his head. “I wish, but no.”
That earned a few more laughs. Shane smiled despite himself.
Finally, the reporter who was supposed to be next, stood and held out her voice recorder.
“Ilya, did his trade onto your team come as a shock to you?” She asked.
The Russian shrugged. “At first, yes. But, I’m glad for it. I do not know what Montreal was thinking, but we’re better for it.”
The reporter gave no physical reaction when she took in the information.
Then she followed up by saying, “Interesting statement, especially about someone who’s supposed to be your rival. What changed?”
“Nothing changed... much,” Rozanov replied. “I know him for many years. We are perhaps friendlier now, but still competitive, even on same team.” He huffed and his lips curled upward as he briefly turned to look at his new teammate. “But, Hollander is great player, perhaps even second best, so Montreal loss, Boston gain.”
Shane rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth began to curl.
“I think the league and the media just ran with the narrative that rivalry automatically meant hatred,” Hollander added. “But that’s never really been the truth.”
Some of the cameras among the crowd clicked and flashed, creating still images of this moment.
The next journalist shuffled through the pages of a small notebook as he stood, pencil in hand.
“This question is to both of you,” he addressed. “Does it feel weird playing on the same team after all these years? Was there ever a moment besides All Stars where you ever thought this might happen?”
Shane leaned forward, closer to his microphone to give him a few seconds of thought before answering. “Eh, yes and no, if that makes sense.” He rested his arms flat against the table and nodded. “All Stars definitely eased us into it, I think.” His eyes darted about the room. “And there have been a few things to get used to-“ his shoulders rose and quickly fell- “as is true whenever anyone gets traded to a new team, or needs to adjust to a new teammate. But, no,” he shook his head quickly. “I’m not sure I could have ever seen this coming any time soon.”
The man nodded and started to write things down before looking at the other hockey player. “Rozanov, anything to add?”
“Eh, Hollander said it well, except I say maybe it was only…” his brows creased and his lips pursed. “… what is expression? Matter of time?” He threw an arm up, but then waved his hand dismissively as it fell back to his lap. “Anyway, good players find each other.”
The journalist shifted his weight. “That sounds like you’ve thought about this before.”
“I think about winning,” Ilya deflected. “That is all.”
The next reporter started speaking her question before she even finished standing. “Going back to All Stars, the two of you played wonderfully together. Do you expect that to be replicated in every one of your games going forward?”
“We can only hope so,” Shane replied, leaning back in the chair.
“No, I know so,” Ilya declared. “We will crush every other team.”
That got a few light chuckles from the room.
The next question a media person asked was, “The timing of this move has raised eyebrows, Shane. Is this one you saw coming?”
Hollander winced and pursed his lips. He opened his mouth only to close it seconds later.
“In hindsight,” he began. “I probably should have, but things happen how they may. You focus on the work in front of you.”
Ilya placed a reassuring hand on Hollander’s thigh, and both were thankful for the Boston Raiders branded table cloth draped over the front of the furniture.
“Hollander,” the next journalist addressed as he stood. “You mentioned in your statement to the public that there was a change in culture within the Metros. Do you care to specify?”
Shane took a minute to formulate the answer. “Organizations evolve. Sometimes that evolution lines up with where you’re at in your career, and sometimes it doesn’t.”
The cameras shutters snapped.
“Rozanov,” the next reporter said as he stood, voice recorder in hand. “You’ve been one of the leaders in this room for years. What responsibility do you feel in helping Shane transition?”
Ilya’s answer was simply stated. “He is not rookie. He does not need babysitter. We push each other. That is enough.”
At this time, Braeden stepped forward with her arms out, poised, and declared, “Alright everyone, we have time for one more question.”
One of the reporters from earlier nodded at her and she stepped back. He adjusted the way he sat.
“Hollander, are you ready to face your old team on the ice?” The man inquired.
Out of his periphery, the former Metro could see cameras moving, trying to focus on him more.
Shane blinked a few times. His mouth opened before the words came out. He leaned into the microphone’s space again.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I am.”
Braeden stepped forward again and said, “Thank you for your time, everyone, that will be all.”
As the hockey players left the tables, the paparazzi crowd tried to get more photos of them. Cameras flashed and the people clamored.
Ilya stood between Shane and the crowd as they walked, their bodies close enough for their hands to brush against each other’s.
Hollander’s pulse didn’t settle until they were past the doors.
When the two of them finally got back to the suburban house Ilya owned, Shane’s anxiety about today’s event still lingered.
The team skate in the afternoon had taken his mind off of the media room, but his thoughts eventually circled back to it.
If Hollander wore that thousand yard stare, he couldn’t quite tell.
“Shane?” Ilya’s voice brought his mind back to the present. He gave him a concerned expression.
“Did I sound okay?” The Canadian asked, shifting his weight. “In the, uh, conference.”
Rozanov nodded. “You did good.”
Shane exhaled and showed him a brief smile. His boyfriend didn’t look convinced of his assuredness and stepped forward.
Ilya hooked a finger through his belt loop, pulled him closer, and pressed a kiss to his temple before he pecked him on the lips.
“You sounded sure.” Rozanov reiterated, as he pulled away. He said it as though it was a fact and not just a comfort. “Now come on, it’s movie night. We should get into something more comfortable.” He tossed his blazer on the hall table.
Shane blinked at him and admonished, “Y-you can’t just throw that wherever.”
Ilya shrugged. “I can. It is my house.”
“It’s our house,” Hollander corrected, stepping closer to him.
The words didn’t register until after he said them.
Hollander froze. A somewhat awkward moment passed between them as he worked out in his head if that was an okay thing to say.
As of yesterday, he was still looking for an apartment. Today, however, he might start believing he won’t actually need one.
Wordlessly, and with a small smile, Ilya picked up the jacket and properly hung it in the closet before approaching him again.
“Yes it is,” he said before pulling Shane further into the house.