byul★elle @ellestarcentaurs - Tumblr Blog

Mar 28

՞. .՞𐦯 Summary:

Victoria looks back at him, curious eyes now brimming with what could only be described as juvenile yet steadfast passion, "Daddy, when I grow up, I want to play like you and papa," Shane swallows, feeling emotional as he nods and presses a gentle kiss on his daughter’s forehead. "You can be whatever you want to be, princess," he solemnly swears.

՞. .՞𐦯 Themes: girl dads!hollanov, and grown hollanov daughterin the pwhl

՞. .՞𐦯 Author's Note: This is my love letter to the PHWL and all facets of women's sports and anything else founded and fought for by women. If it comes off as a little corny, just know it comes from the heart and is made from the heart. International Woman's Day is everyday, and we've come so far, but not quite far enough.

՞. .՞𐦯 Word Count: 7.3k | find me.

divider credit - v6gue

Tiny roller skates rumble over the polished wooden floor, elbow and knee pads secure against her small body before she tilts to a stop by the door left ajar by either her fathers. Tilting her head, she creeps closer towards the door and lets the force of her tiny hand crack the gap wider.

Waiting a beat and listening for any other noise, she rolls in quietly before gasping in awe. Tall shelves lined with medals, towering cups and trophies, a wall of rings, jerseys hung up. Blues, reds, whites, blacks, yellows. She knows enough, like how to spell her surnames in combination and that those names hung up on the wall are hers too.

"What are you looking at, princess?" her daddy's soft voice snaps her out, preventing her from tilting back and crashing back with a hand on the back of her head. Crouching down, he levels with his daughter and looks at what her gaze had been so focused on.

"Daddy, is that the jersey you and papa always wear?"

"Well, it's from an old team. Before papa and I played together,"

Her hazel eyes trace over the red, embossed number. "Two-four?"

"And what does that make?"

Victoria starts counting on her tiny fingers, dad at patient watch by her. "Twenty-four!"

Shane smiles and gently nudges his nose against hers, "Correct."

"But why does it have numbers, daddy?"

Shane takes a beat, trying to formulate how he would explain it to his four-year old. "Well, you know when you watch hockey with mamman and pepere?" and his daughter eagerly nods at him. "Sometimes, it's hard to see daddy and papa, right?" another nod.

Shane points to the numbers, tracing over them though the air, "The announcer man uses the numbers so that he could find daddy and papa easier. So that he could tell you, while you're watching, that papa and daddy are doing a good job,"

Blinking up, she ponders for a while longer, hands now planted on her daddy's knee while she keeps staring. "Daddy, I like shapes of your number better,"

Shane has to stifle a laugh. "Don't tell papa that or you'll break his heart, princess," he softly says.

Victoria looks back at him, curious eyes now brimming with what could only be described as juvenile yet steadfast passion, "Daddy, when I grow up, I want to play like you and papa,"

Shane swallows, feeling emotional as he nods and presses a gentle kiss on his daughter’s forehead. "You can be whatever you want to be, princess," he solemnly swears.

"And she gets checked against the boards by Tyra McCain!"

Grunting, she immediately pushes the Boston Armada off her, skates pounding hards against the ice while chasing the puck in a wide shot thrown by her captain. Gritting her teeth against the guard, she tries for a shot but gets blocked by the Armada's goalie, making her curse under her breath.

"Beautiful save by Meier with a hot streak of a total of forty-five shots blocked, but Hollander-Rozanova is not one to be messed with in this game with most of their assists coming from her. Freshly signed to the Ottawa Voltas, she already has a hot streak running under her belt, definitely formidable against her seniors." the commentators observe, far from where it was perceived and heard on the ice as Victoria retires to the benches for a while.

"Fucking Meier really packs a punch, huh?" her captain beams, patting her head. "You'll get her next time Vickzy,"

"I know cap," she smiles, pouring water on her back before taking a swig. "Just getting started, don't worry about me,"

"Atta girl, that's the spirit," Elise beams at her before hopping the boards and going onto a shift on ice. With her hazel eyes closely following the play, it doesn't take long until she's ready to return and just in time, one of her teammates approach for a line change.

Hopping the boards, her skates move fast against the ice, racing towards where the puck had been flung with no player in possession yet.

"And 24 has a heated start! She manages to swipe the puck, passes it to Maron, and then is passed back to her when Wilson tries to block the shot. And they score! Ottawa Voltas with a minute left to go in the second period, absolutely bring it close to a now 2-2 tie with Boston,"

Pats and shoves come from her older teammates, a chorus of whoops and cheers flooding her as the smile breaks out from her face. Watching the crowds, albeit with emptier seats, a bubble of pride blooms in her chest. At twenty-three years old, a part of a professional league, finally. Not as fast as she wanted to be – both her dads were already NHL pros by age eighteen but with the only horizon she ever had playing beyond juniors at a collegiate level and just the Olympics? This was enough. For now.

"An alumna from Boston University, playing as one of the best defensemen in her run, Victoria Hollander-Rozanova is one of the most fought over prospects when she entered into the PWHL. If she plays her games just right, she might be our next Rookie of the Year following Janine Hirch of the New York Hydra,"

"Okay, we got one more period, yeah? Take a breather before we send the girls home," her alternate captain, Stacey, herds them back to the bench for intermission, winded and tired but definitely beaming with a chance to knock Boston down a peg. Just a little over one point, hopefully.

Stripping her helmet off, she squeezes some water into her mouth and takes a deep breath, feeling one of her fellow rookies nudge her arm, "Have you heard?"

"Hm?" she raises a brow, head resting against the glass while tilting to the side to try and meet Iona's eyes. "Apparently the US team got…less than better reception after the Olympics,"

A brow rises, intrigue and readied offense riding high in her chest, "By the country?"

"No, not necessarily. But from what I've heard, the men's team made a bunch of jokes about what a hassle it was to invite our girls over to a national honoring of the athletes,"

"What? Gross," Victoria scowls, brows knit together in disgust. "They've been winning since, what? 2010?"

"Exactly what I was saying! How crazy is that?! That they've won gold this year and suddenly their supremacy over the women's league is permissible to have them make that shit public," Iona shakes her head, "I feel bad for them. For Kister, especially because she's the literal reason we could even try to play in a league,"

"Well, we still have a long way to go, yeah?" Victoria sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose.

At twenty-three years old, a part of a professional league, finally. Not as fast as she wanted to be – both her dads were already NHL pros by age eighteen but with the only horizon she ever had playing beyond juniors at a collegiate level and just the Olympics? This was enough. For now.

But she couldn't deny that this was also the very sport that broke her fathers' hearts. The very sport that nearly had them banished for having each other, and having her.

Looking around, there was still a sense of melancholy that followed her on the ice, especially once old enough to realize that this was beyond just playing hockey on a league stage. That every waking hour she stepped on ice, it was her fighting for a place at the table of which men have built.

She loved hockey, and she would fight tooth and nail to make sure her and the sisterhood of the sport wouldn't be disputed.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

"There is our winner!" Ilya's voice booms through the restaurant and Victoria could immediately feel her blood rush to her face as she shushes him, tugging him down by his neck and smacking a hand over his mouth.

"Papa! You're so freaking loud!" she groans as Shane smiles from their booth tucked by the wall, letting them play out their usual bonding. When she finally manages to make her papa shut up, she walks up to Shane, letting him plant a kiss on her forehead.

"Your ribs hurt, don't they?"

"How you do that, I could never know," Victoria scoffs.

"Your dad is a witch," Ilya beams, finding his spot beside Shane as his husband rolls his eyes and smiles up at him, "Stop that or I'll curse you,"

His hands make rapid movements towards Shane, "See I told you,"

"It's not like I didn't believe you papa," she chuckles and shakes her head, keeping her eyes on the menu and more than used to the colorful bickering her fathers aways passed around each other. "I know because we watched your play, Vics," Shane softens his voice, "How you feeling, princess?"

Victoria lowers the menu board a tad, "I'm doing alright daddy. I promise. It's not that bad, nothing broken and still breathing just fine. A little bruising doesn't kill anyone,"

"And you will be conditioned enough for your game in three days, I believe?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. I got it," she assures. And Shane tries his best not to pry further. He knew he was both blessed and constantly concerned on how passionate and obsessed his daughter was with playing — truly his baby. And now, he understands his father's moments of always checking in on him.

Victoria leans back, trying not to move as much and finally getting her first breather of the night, eyes drifting out the restaurant window to just momentarily stare and dissociate before dinner. Her brain snaps into various things almost immediately, like cringing at herself for accidentally sticking Marina, one of her longest standing friends in both BU and the league, replaying how the third period went before she had to end her shift, and just how early the sun set today.

She entered the arena and it was already dark. Daylight savings was sorta messing up with her body's schedule and something just clicks in her brain.

"Penny for your thoughts, princess?" her papa's voice immediately draws her to his gaze. As much as he ribbed on her dad for being psychic about injuries, she knew deep down that he was leagues more perceptive. "I don't know. I just feel like I've been playing shorter games this winter. Do you ever get that feeling? My other teammates think so too,"

Ilya looks at Shane who shakes his head. "I personally don't, princess. No,"

"Neither do I," Ilya nods.

She presses her lips together and sighs out heavily, "Maybe it's just me being too eager to play, yeah?"

Ilya shrugs, "That is probably the effect of not having a league for years, my love." he points out, "Its hard to catch up to what has held back on you for years,"

"Damn, papa," she scoffs and crosses her arms across her, "Never knew you had it in you like that,"

Ilya raises his brows in surprise, "You are our treasure. Of course I have it in me, no daughter of mine would be given less, that was the promise I made to you when you were born," he says in earnest, "Which is why it frustrates your dad and I that you aren't receiving the avenues you and the other girls deserve,"

She couldn't help but melt further into the velvet seats, "It is frustrating, but the tides are changing now. Just a little bit more," she assures, even with the settling feeling of dissatisfaction in her chest. The unending feeling and cycle of wanting more and more and more, with the valiant selfishness to have the world in her palm just for a moment in time.

And if anyone was to blame? It was Shane and Ilya for giving her their world.

Looking down at her slightly bruised knuckles, she glances up at them, "But I do want more, I think I'm past denying that in front of you both, of all people."

"And we wouldn't want you holding back on us now," Shane sticks his fist out as she reaches out to bump her own. "I know dad,"

"But we know you're more than capable of changing the tides on them,"

"Something I couldn't really help doing, yeah?"

"Checks out," Ilya looks to Shane who nods with an endeared smile on his lips, gently giving his thigh a drumming smack before letting the tension seep out and finally turning the conversation into something lighter for the sake of his daughter's healing time. "Anyways, did Lauren finally fix her aux game?"

"Ugh, papa, don't even get me started on that,"

Victoria's stick clashes against Shane's as they duke it out in their in-house rink, their roller blades skidding against the acrylic. She manages to jab the puck through his legs, finally getting a singular goal out of the four her father has finally gained on her. "Well fuck," she pants out tiredly, resting her hands on her knees as Shane tuts, "Language,"

"I'm a grown woman, dad. Don't tell me you don't cuss papa out the ice,"

"It's about the principle of it, princess," Shane scolds and hooks in another puck, passing it to her as she shuffles it on her stick before darting off to try and score another goal on her father's net, trying to dodge when he tries and blocks her path and his stick.

Trying to get a pass at him is interrupted by an Ilya descending the stairs with an apron and her phone in his hand, seemingly incessant in its vibration while Anya trails by his feet. "Your captain is calling," he shouts out, abruptly stopping his daughter and husband mid-swipe, with Shane's reflexes able to grab Victoria before she face plants against the floor.

She skates towards the boards, reaching out for the device as Elise Maroney flashes across her screen with a picture of her captain pressed against plexiglass making an absolutely nasty face. She would never find it in her heart to tell her that the Ilya Rozanov saw the photo.

"Ah fuck. I'll just answer this for a second," she looks back at Shane who simply nods. "We'll try not to listen in," he assures and opens the pen, letting Anya skitter in the roller rink, nudging pucks with her nose.

Swiping the greet button across, she presses the phone against her ear, "Hey cap, what's up?"

"Sorry to call you on your break, but Jaime Kister called," Elise's voice rings through. "The league and her thought of something for daylight savings applying during international women's day, the league settled on highlighting just how shortchanged we are," she explains, "Aside from the usual campaigns, Kissy wanted to suggest something to players with the number twenty-four,"

Victoria nods along, even without her captain seeing it. "I'm all ears cap, hit me,"

"It's simple. They're calling it the 23-Hour Play, just all players with a twenty-four bumping down their jerseys to twenty-three for an entire twenty-four hours. We have a game against Toronto and Minnesota back-to-back, you think you're up for it?"

And without question nor a beat of hesitation, "Yeah, of course I'll do it,"

Elise softly laughs through the other line, "Mhm, thought you would, Vickzy. Glad I can count on you,"

"Please, like I'd pass up an opportunity like that. Maas and Hancock also have twenty-fours, eh?"

"Yeah. There'd be more details on next game's briefing but I'd give coach and the GM a heads up. I'm sure the league sent you an email but I figured you'd be busy tonight,"

That makes her laugh sheepishly, "Yeah well, you weren't wrong,"

After a few more pleasantries, the call finally ends and she turns back to her fathers, seeing the pair bickering and flirting between the boards while her dad occasionally throws Anya some pucks she could retrieve. "Is it confidential or could we ask about it?" Ilya turns back when she returns by their side.

"Its just something for International Women's Day," she explains, handing back her phone to Ilya. "Gonna have 23 instead of 24 for an entire twenty-four hours during a game. It's a statement on how when women get less, the answer is to give more," she explains while pushing the gate open and letting Anya out their rink.

"Anyways, gimme another one dad," she beckons with her stick, missing the automatic look that Ilya gives Shane. Of knowing and married telepathy that is automatic to the cause of their daughter.

"You're also wearing twenty-three,"

"I'm also going to wear twenty-three, yes,"

Ilya melts into Shane's opened arms, finally finishing their bedtime rituals and taking a momentary breather. Victoria had a game in two days, a short and momentary respite for the whole family when Shane to fly to Boston in three days, and her in Vancouver.

Ilya, while in retirement bliss, was still assistant coach for Toronto Maces, one career move he had yet again been questioned for — choosing a PWHL team over an NHL team.

"Do you ever wish we could've done more for her?"

Ilya hums, looking up at his husband with a pinch of regret in his eyes, fleeting but ever present. "Yes. God, yes," he breathes out with heavy burden, "I should've started before she was even a year old. Even if there was a possibility that she wouldn't like hockey," he ruminates.

"How many more girls would've already made such a big difference even before her? It breaks my heart, моя любовь,"

"I know," Shane presses his lips together, gently brushing a hand over Ilya's cheek. "Are we not very lucky to have a daughter like her," he whispers with reverence, "Strong, resolute, beautiful, and so fucking brave,"

"Just like you,"

"Oh stop," Shane chuckles and leans down to press a gentle kiss on Ilya's lips. "She's one of us each, I love that she gets her perceptiveness from you. And her strong right hook,"

"Eh, could be stronger," he shrugs, which makes his husband laugh, a sound he could never be tired of. "But you are right, we are very, very lucky to have her," he whispers, fingers gently tracing against the skin on Shane's bare shoulder.

While the night fully engulfs them, Shane tugs the blankets closer to them, "I can't wait to see how much more barriers she'd break. With or without us,"

"She is a very interesting player, yes? Very sharp and unpredictable,"

"Definitely our daughter,"

Shane presses his lips together, remembering a distant past, a heartbreaking time for his little girl — he could almost see the tears brimming in those young eyes.

15 years ago

Shane glances down at his phone, time already indicating that Victoria was already ten minutes too late to be staying over. He could almost feel his own father's mirrored parental exasperation to wait up for his overachieving child, if he didn't understand that passion himself.

He tried his best to not be as neurotic as his mother — but the moment his own daughter picked up a hockey stick his hold of his control was slipping by his fingers very quickly. It's not like she had forced her, but victory was basically coursing in her blood and he just knows it is his own doing. That ultimately, she was half of him.

Pushing off the wall, he sighs and approaches the information desk, "Hey, Mrs. Mabel, do you mind if I check on Vics real quick?"

"Oh! Not a problem at all, Mr. Hollander. Please take this guest pass, I'll have security let you in," she chuckles, more than familiar with Victoria's overtime schedule. She had worked twice as hard as her peers, and many things about her was unforgettable. Being the daughter of two hockey legends were enough to make her known, but to make her memorable was that drive that always had her fathers waiting minutes longer than the other kids. Or the fact that she was one out of the five girls that attended the introductory school.

Shane and Ilya had despaired over it more than once. That they couldn't simply let Game Changers be her only hockey class, while armed with the knowledge that the best hockey schools for children her age was dominated by boys. Schools have been inclusive, but acclimation was anything but easy.

Turning to the hallway down west, Shane hears the echo of small, juvenile voices in the rink, a group of tinny-voiced boys and the vague cadence of his daughter. "Come on, Victoria. Go home," one of her teammates — if Shane could even call them that — voices, less than kind and not at all out of concern.

He could hear the swings of a stick against ice, tell-tale sound of the puck slamming against the backboards. "You're never going to be like your dads, you know," one of them laughs.

He peers over the doorway, eyes narrowed as he could see Victoria finally turn, eyes already blazing with irritation and tears. Something told him it had been going on a while now. "Because you're a girl. Girls should not be playing hockey with us," one of them sticks a tongue out mockingly.

"That's not true!" she argues, voice booming and shaky. "My papa Ilya says I can be whatever I wanted."

"You couldn't even stand up properly when Decklan checked you in the boards. You have girl legs my daddy said so," the kid laughs, "You're only here because your dads are rich,"

Shane grits his teeth, having heard enough as he shows himself, looming over the gaggle of boys daring to speak so crassly against Victoria. "Excuse me," his voice booms and they flinch, immediately stumbling to face him. "Are your parents around?"

Within the confines of the head coach's office, his voice radiates with barely concealed anger. "And you think it is appropriate to speak about my daughter that way? Especially within the closed quarters of your own home? You are fortunate it is not my husband in this very room,"

He was a heavy believer that children only parrot what they hear from their parents, therefore the parents he would face. "I should file a defamation suit,"

"Now, Mr. Hollander—" one of the parents, utterly humiliated by the sudden demand for a meeting with such a subject at hand, tries to tamp down his temper. "I am sure my son did not mean such a thing. Boys will be boys, he probably just had a great appreciation of your daughter—"

He scoffs, "Telling my daughter she could only play hockey by virtue of being my daughter is not appreciation, Mrs. Wilson." he snaps. "Implying that she is treated this way because the boys have a crush on her is insulting!"

"It's all part of the game!" one father immediately interjects, "You've played on professional ice, Mr. Hollander. A good chirp is part of the game,"

And he doesn't even bother dignifying that with a response.

His eyes land back on his daughter, now having her dungarees bunched up in her hands, clearly fighting tears as he sighs and rubs his nose before turning to the head coach, "You have a daughter of your own, Coach Sikorsky. I believe you know exactly where my frustrations are coming from,"

"I do, Shane." he nods. "I will make sure that the girls would have a class of their own from now on, to prevent fostering hostility," he promises and that brings up an entirely new bubble of frustration in his chest that he desperately tries to pop because he is doing his best to try and preserve his daughter's dignity.

For fuck's sake, she was right there.

"In the mean time, the boys would be suspended from play for a day, as per the rules and regulations falling under bullying and unsportsmanlike conduct,"

"Now hang on a second—"

Coach Sikorsky lifts a hand up in objection, "All part of the game, sir. If your boys would learn to chirp and check people into boards, then they should also know the spirit of penalties and the rule book. Please, feel free to reference it if you have concerns," he sternly says, shooting Shane an apologetic look. It does little to soothe him, but there were more important matters at hand.

And once they reach the car, the quiet little patters of Victoria's tears hitting the leather washes Shane with heartbreak. "…Is— is it really not for me?" she squeaks, soft and frustrated as Shane immediately unbuckles his seatbelt and scoops her up into his arms.

"Never, and I mean never, ever think that about hockey." he sternly says, rubbing her back as she starts crying harder. Cupping her small face and making sure her eyes stay on him, he shakes his head, "You will conquer the world of hockey, or whatever you set your mind to, Victoria. Beyond being our daughter, you are a girl," he fervently says, "And girls can do anything they set their minds to, do you understand?"

"But—"

"You will not listen to them," he shakes his head, "Hockey, is for you. No matter what anyone says. You play good hockey, my darling. Nobody can ever change that but you," he softens his voice, "Or would you really let those boys win?"

She frowns, lower lip jutting out in upset while she shakes her head. "No…"

"That's what I thought," he offers her a terse yet small smile. "Don't let anyone make you think that you are undeserving of this, Victoria. Because you deserve the world, your papa and I made sure of that,"

The sewing machine whirs inside the equipment room, Victoria keeping watch as the Hollander-Rozanov gets stitched on three of her '23' jerseys, helmets with 23 also dangling from off her fingers.

"You know you don't need to watch it," Iona comments, peering over the doorway as she scoffs.

"Back off, I find it relaxing. It's my pre-game," she scoffs, not bothering to look behind her while she has one hand over her hip.

She doesn't know why she was nervous. She normally wasn't such a superstitious player, albeit with a few rituals of her own. Ones that didn't even involve her number because she has donned an 81 during her very first game in the league and still managed to get some scores in.

Maybe the subconscious knowledge that a lot of NHL fans had their eyes on her, that a lot of her father's fans would think she's besmirching his name for doing something greater than either of them. It was a silly thing to worry about but it wasn't beyond the realm of impossibilities.

She recognized the effort her fathers put into making sure she didn't fall under their shadows, a chip on her shoulder she had during the angsty years of high school hockey long repaired with reinforced gold — but times like these did make her feel somewhat juvenile.

Looking down at her stick, she takes in a deep breath, finishing the last of her pre-game rituals, grabbing a marker she always has stashed in her cubicle, writing a 'Shane', and 'Илья ' in a singular line on the tape before closing her eyes and taking in a deep, calming breath. For years, they've built her stepping stones, until she herself learned how to lay her own pathing, and now she was making each substantial crack in the rigidity of what she could do in her own professional league.

That some little girl would watch her and never doubt that she had a place in this world. Their world.

With her thoughts finally snipped to an end with their equipment manager finally handing her the last of the jerseys, she beams and runs her eyes over the red, orange and white stylized '23'. "Thank you so much Alberta,"

"You're welcome girly, you know I always got you,"

Walking into the locker room, whistles and cheers immediately greet her once their eyes land on the changed number, other teammates heckling her with love as she tries to actually get into her cubicle.

"You a changed lady now, eh?"

That makes her grin in exasperation, "Not quite. Can't break my dad's heart like that,"

"But it is a nice touch," her alt captain walks up to her, a firm clasp on her shoulder following after. "For the girls,"

She nods in solidarity, "For the girls."

"Excuse me," Ilya politely tries to hobble into his seat directly behind the benches as he tries to keep a straight face while tugging his Voltas ball cap lower. Admittedly, he had to pull strings to get a number twenty-three with her name stitched given it wasn't common merchandise, but he just wanted to watch her up close. Suggesting he wear sunglasses in the arena was met by a stern lecture from his husband and how wearing sunnies indoors pull eyes on him.

He didn't want to pull the attention away from her, but a father would always try and find ways to watch his daughter up close. Watching from the TV in some hotel room was not ideal if you wanted to focus on a singular player after all. Setting aside the fact that he didn't tell said daughter he'd be showing up face-to-face on his precious off-day, Ilya makes himself comfortable against the seat, taking a few pictures for Shane.

The warm-ups are in full swing, with each team on their own respective sides on the ice, stretching, doing stickhandling drills, and tossing up pucks to the early birds eagerly waiting on by the wings.

Right at the front most seat across him, a little girl is eagerly bouncing atop the board ledges, holding up a sign for Victoria herself. He couldn't read it in reverse but he sees his daughter skate up with a beaming smile on her face, waving at the little girl who couldn't help but squeal.

She makes a show of doing a few zig-zags on the puck beneath her before tossing it up her hand while beckoning towards the silver sharpie the girl's mother had in her hand, catching it with practiced poise. With a quick sign and a small message, she tosses the marker back first before finally batting the puck in.

Once the little girl gets a hold of it, she waves one last time as the girl bounces in her place, absolute elation and admiration painting her bright eyes. "I love you Vickzy!" she squeals.

It makes Ilya chuckle, throat bubbling with a sense of pride and giddiness at witnessing his daughter do signings and drills on ice. It seemed like forever when she was the one slamming her tiny little hands on the glass, held by her memere Yuna and wearing either dad's jersey.

Or the very first time her tiny, little skates hit NHL ice. He could never forget that. He cried for hours in Shane's arms in the privacy of their room that night. And he remembers it just like yesterday. Now, watching her be professional after fighting an uphill battle, he couldn't help but tear up just a little.

He gets snapped out of his thoughts when he sees her tap the glass with her stick, and she removes her gloves to make an 'I see you' motion, which makes him laugh as he sends her a heart, watching her catch it before she waves and skates off into center ice.

17 Years Ago

"Okay, papa would let go," Ilya softly says as he slowly breaks his hand away from hers, watching carefully when she gains her momentum and continues pushing forward while she holds his stick in her tiny hands. Lately, she has been obsessed with skating and playing at their home rink, asking questions of whether or not she could try playing with her uncles.

It's not like both of them had hidden hockey from her, she knew that they played in a league, but they tried not to push it too hard towards her.

And now here she was, giggling happily while trailing the pathway of the blue line outlining the neutral zone. "Woah! Look at Vickzy go!" Evan walks in the rink, practice jersey hanging off him as his helmet dangles on his ungloved fingers.

"Hi Uncle Evy!" she beams, turning to look at him as her goalie uncle leans against the boards, watching her push the puck around. "She in a mini league now?" he asks Ilya who was radiating with pride and terror all the same. "No, no not yet," Ilya sighs and shakes his head, "We are just…trying to see how interested she is in hockey first,"

"Right. The whole 'my two dads are the NHL's best,' combo," he dryly chuckles but Ilya nods in earnest, "We just don't want her to think we expect her to do hockey, Shane has been trying to see if she is just a generally curious girl but it seems…" he smiles and watches her spin and do the drill faster on her way back, "…like she really likes it,"

"My Susie already went to a pee wee league try-out," he informs, "More boys than girls. Better bring Victoria in there too so that they could balance the playing field a little," he says in jest.

"We'll let her decide," Ilya nods. "Make sure there's no pressure that unknowingly came from both me and Shane, yes?"

Victoria takes her seat right beside her Head Coach, Alina Buchanan, flanked by her veteran teammate Rebekkah Monroe, lined up for player of the night after taking a 2-5 victory. The post-game press starts, cameras and microphones set up. The energy is restrained, not too hectic and very much an organized set, given credit to the Volta's media team.

She knows there would be a lot of question in regards to her number, and more than ever, how the league would move forwards.

"Coach Buchanan, congratulations on taking the win," one of the reporters start as Alina starts off her opening thoughts in regards to their winning play and their rank as third for the upcoming playoffs.

"Victoria," her name finally gets called as she adjusts the microphone in front of her, "Good evening. Now, just to breach the topic a little, you're sporting a number twenty-three tonight, as a united front among the league, may we get more elaboration for this decision?"

She smiles and nods, taking a moment to collect her thoughts before clearing her throat, "Well, there are three of us in the league sporting number twenty-four normally. But with the adjustment of daylight savings, some of the teams who had twenty-four hour games got reduced to one hour," she starts explaining, "Which would seem insignificant, but is very much indicative of how left behind women's sports is. That in the face of having less, we need to make more,"

"Can you elaborate more on that?"

"Well, if you have two hours, I definitely can," she jokes, which makes a chorus of laughter surround the press room before she clears her throat, "I think, it is evident enough that our professional league has lagged behind. The NHL has been around for a hundred years already, and yet the PWHL is barely five years old," she couldn't help but scoff.

"We are delayed by generations, to simply have a space where women could do this professionally, and we are doing everything in our power as both a league and players individually to catch up to that deficit. To be the role models for little girls that this is possible. That there is no stopping them, to go against the grain of what they couldn't achieve," her eyes span around the room, feeling more emboldened to see such rapt attention from the press, "I mean twenty years ago, Monsy, Bees, Capolli, the older players in the league had to play in boy leagues, without any space made to accommodate us,"

A chorus of agreement bubbles amongst the crowd, "Now that we have kick started something real, something so beyond ourselves, I think every player has a social responsibility to ride that momentum and make sure that a space for all the little girls who dare to dream is never removed again,"

She could feel the gaze her head coach had on her, eyes seeping with pride as she couldn't help but feel a little flustered, not one to usually be so serious during press. But there she was regardless. "And, obviously, your fathers are part of your driving force for hockey," the follow-up starts and she couldn't help but make a show of trying to look at the number on her jersey, "Yeah? What gave it away?" which elicits another bout of soft chuckles.

"Sorry, continue," she beams. "But who else has inspired you to reach heights like these?"

"Hayley Wickenheiser," she answers almost immediately, "God, if you could've seen her play face-to-face. That was something life changing for me, because even if your fathers promise you the world, you need to see that there is a possibility for you to even make a notch in this sport. I think without her, we wouldn't have a league as we know it yet,"

"So, it would be safe to say you are the next line of the Wickenheisers and Capollis?"

She couldn't help but laugh at that, "Well- I'll definitely try!" she rubs the back of her neck, "But I do want to be representation to what women could achieve. That at least one little girl sees me and decides there is no stopping her from reaching her dreams,"

"But there's also no doubt that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are your heroes,"

"Oh, definitely," a wide smile reaches her face, absolutely beaming. "I think my fathers have been through a lot, also pushing past the rigid tides their league has set for them, and I think its that experience that makes then so empathetic to my own," she explains, "I know my dads have gotten weird little questions of what they would do now that they have a daughter that couldn't carry their legacy, and the answer is in front of you," she leans forward.

"That the legacy of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov will not die with me. And the people who know that the most, are also them. My fathers have believed in me the day I popped into this world, and never have I doubted that they have my back, and I think that is one of the greatest contributing factors of just how far I've come as both a player and daughter,"

"Vickzy!" one of her teammates, Jessica Lee, rushes to her, phone in hand while she piles up her plate from the breakfast bar. "Have you seen the recent Cents highlights?"

"I was conked out asleep, so no," she scoffs and rolls her eyes affectionately at her.

"No! But seriously, look!" she says indignantly, pulling on her arm and placing the phne right across her gaze, hitting play and seeing the immediate '23' plastered right below a 'HOLLANDER' jersey, the player turning and evidently wearing the 'C' patch.

Yep. That really was her dad.

A small laugh of disbelief escapes her, "Oh…my god. He really didn't have to," she shakes her head with a fond little smile while she watches him flit about during first period. "He's so silly. Is the post-game out now?"

"Mmm," Jessica hums and starts searching, "Yeah, just uploaded three hours ago,"

The video pans out in its usual glaring, white lighting, hectic framing, with the camera all too close to her father's face as he remains in his compression wear, still sweaty and padded.

"Shane, congratulations for tonight in acquiring your wildcard spot in the playoffs. Quite a close call with that, is it not? What could we expect from the team moving forward as captain?"

He nods, briefly thinking about his answer before clearing his throat, "Well, I could assure that we'd bring our A-game to the playoffs. The rookies are doing great, just needs a bit more conditioning but everybody brushes against a learning curve once in a while. Especially in a sport where your experience is a learned skill,"

"And, tonight, we've seen something new. Would that number continue to stay?"

"It wouldn't. But I will wear if for my next game before retiring it," he starts explaining, eyes now clearly sparkling with greater interest, and without being asked — "But it is more representative of the PWHL than men's hockey. And I know the two rarely bleed into each other but as a father I think it's important to support our daughters in the endeavors they take on,"

Victoria's face softens when she hears that, absolutely grateful to such a strong support system.

"My husband went to her game also with a 23 on. And it breaks my heart as a father to have to witness such a lack in backing from certain federations and leagues in terms of the PWHL,"

"And in saying this, we could assume you aren't quite worried as to what these federations would think of you?"

"I can guarantee it is not my first time speaking against certain bodies in professional hockey, no I'm not worried," he chafes at the implication while still keeping a straight face, "I think the women's professional league need backing from all walks and voices. We are all basically co-workers and I am very fortunate to have my daughter work within the same sphere as I do, but that wouldn't be possible without the pioneers that made sure this league was even possible," he continues to explain, and gloriously, nobody interrupts the flow.

"My daughter is a good player. One of the best in her line and generation of hockey players and it would be such a disservice to her to not be proud of that fact. To not stand by her and her talent,"

"Oh man, I'm going to cry," Victoria lifts her gaze up, feeling a little emotional as she sets her plate down a nearby table.

Jessica smiles and bumps her forehead against her shoulder, "You've been blessed with such a strong family. And they're lucky to have you as their daughter too,"

She nods, letting the video drone on as she takes a deep breath and sighs, "I have a call to make," she excuses herself before leaving her meal momentarily.

Stepping out onto the quieter corridor near their fire exit, she pulls up the family group chat and presses call, met with the trill of a line connecting.

"Vikochka, good morning princess how are you?" her papa's voice reaches her first, and immediately followed by, "Hey my love, good morning. Did you get a good night's rest?"

A smile immediately floods her face, "Good morning Папочка, daddy. I'm good, I got a good night's rest, immediately clocked out the moment I hit my mattress," she assures them, "I won't take much time, but I just wanted to let you two know I love you guys. Я тебя люблю,"

She could hear her papa croon at her, making her roll her eyes a bit, all out of love, "Я тоже тебя люблю," Shane cuts Ilya off to the chase which makes his husband make an indignant noise before, "I love you too, малыш, so much,"

"What's with the sudden call, princess?"

"Nothing, just cause," she shrugs, even if she knows her fathers couldn't see her, "Just felt like you two needed to know. And because I watched dad's post-game,"

"Why would you even do that?"

"Oh come on dad, it's like you don't watch my post-games either,"

"He got all emotional about it," her papa eggs him on, "Oh fuck you, I was absolutely reasonable about all the things they asked me,"

"Shane, you looked like you were about to punch someone when it was suggested you wouldn't have needed the extra effort if you had a son,"

Victoria's brows furrow, "In what part of the interview?"

"Did you not watch the whole thing?"

"No?"

The chaos erupts, her voice echoing through the hall as she bickers with them. The harmonious space their family navigated well, chaotic, and healthy as always. And she wouldn't trade it for anything else.

#heated rivalry #shane hollander #ilya rozanov #hollanov #heated rivalry fic #ilya x shane #hollanov fic

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