From a queer circle to the public square
Before its premiere in late November 2025, the Crave Original streaming series Heated Rivalry was largely unknown outside readers of Rachel Reid’s romance novel of the same name. The six-episode adaptation follows Shane Hollander, a Japanese-Canadian star recruit for the fictional Montreal Metros, and Ilya Rozanov, a Russian hockey phenom drafted by the equally fictional Boston Raiders. The two begin a passionate, years-long romance that they feel forced to keep secret within a sport that does not yet know how to accept them. The story unfolds within professional men’s hockey, a world whose culture and policies have long signaled to many women, people of color and LGBTQ people that they do not fully belong. The story is fictional. The fear, silence and costs it depicts are not.
The world of Heated Rivalry is structured by silence and self-protection. Yet it is ultimately a story about love that reconciles and transforms, making space for queer joy.
At first, only a small circle of queer viewers and book fans seemed to be talking about the show. Then enthusiasm began to build. Its popularity moved from queer social media into the larger public square. People I follow on social media for different reasons began posting about how powerful the story felt. The actors who had been serving tables before filming were suddenly presenting at the Golden Globes, appearing on morning television and carrying the Olympic torch. Straight hockey podcasts began rooting for the characters. It expanded because joy, once experienced, wants to be shared.
As Pope Francis wrote, “Goodness always tends to spread. Every authentic experience of truth and goodness seeks by its very nature to grow within us (EG, 9).” That claim reframes what this series offers. Looking back allows us to notice what stirred, what endured and what bore fruit.
What the show means to one queer man
For me, the story landed in a place shaped long before I ever pressed play. Spending my childhood in Catholic schools in the Mountain West, silence and self-protection were daily practices. As I have previously written for Outreach, the anti-gay murder of Matthew Shepard in Laramie felt neither distant nor symbolic. It confirmed that fear around attraction to men was grounded in real danger. That survival logic followed me into adulthood, where working in Catholic education required keeping parts of myself hidden in order to live out my vocation.
That history matters here. It shapes how I watched this show. It helps explain why so many viewers describe it as healing.
The series premiered during the holidays, when many LGBTQ people return to family contexts that still require self-editing. It arrived in a cultural climate where rights and protections remain contested. In that environment, the show became a rare space of collective visibility and shared conversation. Watching it together with other LGBTQ people felt less like fandom and more like participation in the kind of world the story imagines, where recognition replaces hiding and joy expands our circles of belonging.
As Pope Francis wrote, “Goodness always tends to spread. Every authentic experience of truth and goodness seeks by its very nature to grow within us (EG, 9).”
The show holds an astonishing 96% critics’ score on Rotten Tomatoes, and its fifth episode ranks among the highest-rated episodes of television on IMDb. In other words, this is not simply “gay hockey romance” embraced by devoted fans. It is a story widely recognized for its excellence. That recognition matters. It signals that queer love is worthy of serious artistic acclaim. That recognition itself becomes part of the experience we are invited to examine.
Before going further, two brief notes. The series includes several sexual scenes, which some viewers have dismissed as gratuitous. In this story, sex is not spectacle but essential to how the characters understand themselves and grow in their capacity to love. Also, this reflection includes a few spoilers. In Ignatian spirituality, discernment begins with experience. If you have not yet watched Heated Rivalry, you may want to do so before reading further. The Examen, a prayer of reviewing where God has been, invites us to look back on what we have lived, to notice where fear surfaced, where resistance appeared and where love quietly began to grow.
What follows is a contemplation of belovedness and rejection in light of the Gospel and an examination of the fruit that such love bears in our bodies, our communities and our institutions.
Contemplating Belovedness at the Jordan and Rejection at Nazareth
Ignatian contemplation invites us to enter a Gospel scene with imagination and attention, placing ourselves beside its characters to notice their fears, desires and decisions as they unfold. With that same method, we can place Shane and Ilya alongside Jesus’s own journey and see what becomes visible. Just to anticipate any objections, I’m not equating either character with Jesus; rather, we’re invited to see all people, as they struggle to find their identities and vocations, in the Gospel stories.
Jesus’s baptism in the Jordan River marks the beginning of his public ministry (Mark 1: 9-11). Before his preaching, healings or exorcisms, Jesus is named as the Beloved Son. As he emerges from the waters, the skies open, the Spirit descends and the voice of the Father reveals who he is. Belovedness precedes both sacrifice and certainty. Jesus’s yes to a life rooted in that identity is not performance but a freely chosen and faithful response. Consenting to live from that identity shapes the love that flows outward.
Shane Hollander is also beloved. But he does not believe it when the series begins. A hockey player and a closeted gay man, he keeps these parts of his life separate. He reads rooms carefully. He anticipates tension before it surfaces. Hockey brings him joy, but it also teaches him that acceptance is conditional and visibility must be managed.
In episode one, Shane’s mom, Yuna, reminds him that he needs to be seen in his brand-deal sneakers because his contract requires it. Referring to his Asian heritage and mixed-race identity, she tells him that many kids who do not often see themselves represented will be watching him. She is proud. She is also naming a truth Shane already knows. He is always being observed. He must play his approved role perfectly.
When Shane learns to say yes to who he is, he is not discovering belovedness for the first time. He is consenting to live from it.
That pressure shapes him. His parents never make explicit claims about who he is allowed to love, and even a distasteful joke about gay intimacy passes without comment. Nothing dramatic is said. The undercurrent has already taught him what is possible and what is not. Even after years of yearning and romance, Shane cannot trust that this part of himself is beloved.
His growth is slow. After a fight with Ilya in episode four, Shane begins dating Rose Landry. Their connection is real. It also allows him to test whether he might be “compatible” with women, to see if he could survive a life that looks straight. In episode five, Rose creates a loving and judgment-free space. Sensing what he is struggling to name, she asks if kissing a man feels different. Shane’s body answers first. His eyes relax. He smiles. Deep in his bones, he trusts the truth of who he is.
When Shane learns to say yes to who he is, he is not discovering belovedness for the first time. He is consenting to live from it. Somewhat like Jesus stepping into the Jordan River, that yes does not erase danger or promise safety. It is a freely chosen and faithful response. From that yes, a more integrated love takes shape.
Belovedness does not shield Jesus from rejection. Faithful and integrated love of self, neighbor and God can put you at odds with the world.
After his baptism and time in the desert, Jesus is rejected at Nazareth, the town where he grew up (Luke 4: 16-30). In the synagogue, he reads from the Book of Isaiah and declares his vocation. His hometown responds with rage and fails to throw him off a cliff. As James Martin, SJ, writes in Jesus: A Pilgrimage, “Jesus did not need their approval; he needed to be true to himself.” Jesus remains faithful to his calling even when misunderstood.
Like Jesus at Nazareth, Ilya’s life is shaped by the risk of rejection. Yet he does not abandon love. He remains faithful even when misunderstood.
Heated Rivalry invites us to see this kind of reality through Ilya Rozanov. A Russian-born professional hockey player, Ilya lives between Boston during the season and Russia during the off-season. His family depends on him for money and status, yet treats him with contempt. When he explains why he feels forced to keep his sexuality and his relationship a secret, he is blunt. “I wouldn’t be able to go home again. Ever. Do you get that?”
When Shane presses him, Ilya answers, “Because Russia! I would not be able to go back to Russia! My father is police. My brother is police.”
His fear is not abstract. No amount of money sent home or championships won will make him acceptable or safe. As Martin observes, “We’ve all faced times when our families didn’t understand us. This is especially the case for LGBTQ youth (and sometimes adults) whose families sometimes don’t ‘get’ them.” Loving honestly can carry real costs.
Like Jesus at Nazareth, Ilya’s life is shaped by the risk of rejection. Yet he does not abandon love. He remains faithful even when misunderstood.
Embodied consolation
Ignatian discernment asks us to notice where consolation takes flesh. In the second half of the series, the story slows down. Love is no longer hidden or theoretical. It is enacted in bodies that touch and tremble, recoil yet remain. As we watch, we are invited to notice what shifts within the characters and within ourselves.
Episode four reveals how deeply fragmentation has taken root. Ilya makes Shane a tuna melt sandwich, offers him cold ginger ale and receives a distressing call from his family. Shane sits on Ilya’s lap to comfort him. The tenderness is real, but so is the fear. Offered the belovedness and mutual recognition he desires, Shane’s body cannot yet hold it. Years of being watched, judged and warned have conditioned him to recoil. He makes an excuse and runs.
By episode five, something has shifted. Shane names his sexuality to Ilya and apologizes for running. Ilya names the cost of loving openly, especially in relation to his father, and begins to weep. Shane crawls onto Ilya’s lap again. The posture is the same, but the capacity is not. This time, he stays, rocking gently as he holds the man he loves.
One of the clearest signs of this embodied consolation unfolds under the bright lights of a championship game. On the ice, Scott Hunter, a veteran player long presented as closeted, wins the final game of his career. Earlier in the season, his relationship with Kip ended because secrecy proved unbearable. Now, as families flood the ice in celebration, Scott waves Kip down. In front of the world, they kiss. The arena erupts. Watching beside his parents in Canada, Shane’s body leans forward. Ilya calls him. The plans they had whispered are suddenly no longer theoretical. Courage is visible. Hope has taken flesh. “I’m coming to the cottage.”
The plans they had whispered are suddenly no longer theoretical. Courage is visible. Hope has taken flesh. “I’m coming to the cottage.”
Episode six carries that courage into ordinary life. At the cottage, love settles into daily presence. They swim, cook, play video games and make love in the sunlight. Shane begins to imagine a future that does not require hiding. He proposes a mental health initiative within hockey, a way of being visible without turning their relationship into spectacle. Love feels possible, though still fragile.
Then comes the rupture. Shane’s father, David, accidentally sees them kiss and drives away without a word. The air shifts. Shane collapses into panic. He says he feels like he is dying. Ilya steadies him and tells him gently that it may be time to tell his parents the truth. Shane agrees but curls at Ilya’s feet, his body responding to the shock of being exposed after years of careful concealment. Ilya remains. Love does not eliminate fear. It accompanies it. It transforms it.
They drive up the road to his parents’ cottage. Shane tells them he is gay and in love with Ilya. His parents ask questions. His mother apologizes for any silences that may have harmed him. Feeling seen, Shane forgives her. Yet even in that tenderness, old instincts surface. Yuna worries about sponsors, strategy and protection. When David asks, in the same breath, whether they have spoken to Scott Hunter, Shane’s chest tightens again.
When the panic rises, Ilya does not retreat. He steadies Shane with quiet, embodied calm and reminds him that his boyfriend is right there. In that moment, Shane’s parents begin to see what they cannot yet fully articulate. They may not grasp every detail, but they recognize that their son is deeply known and deeply loved. They exchange beaming smiles. The joy is quiet but unmistakable.
This show offers hope within a world where homophobia persists. The Examen asks whether an experience draws us toward God or away.
From Shane’s panic attacks to Scott’s costly discernment, the series refuses to romanticize secrecy. Fragmented lives leave marks on the body. Viewers felt it. In the days after episodes five and six aired, many described the experience as unexpectedly healing. LGBTQ audiences are accustomed to bracing for punishment, exposure, abandonment or death. The genre has trained us to expect tragedy. When those consequences did not arrive, when love was not punished, when fear did not win, something in the body softened. Relief. Recognition. A loosening in the chest. Seeing those interior lives treated with gravity and tenderness allowed many viewers to feel their own interior lives taken seriously.
This is why the show’s healing is not merely emotional but embodied. It offers hope within a world where homophobia persists. The Examen asks whether an experience draws us toward God or away. So where has my own body learned to expect danger? Has the series invited me to widen my circles of compassion? What in this story has invited me to live more freely from my belovedness? How might I participate in the mutual healing of our LGBTQ community?
Examining the fruit of love
Our healing is both personal and mutual. It is communal and structural. If love has taken flesh, it must shape the cultures we inhabit. The church calls for “respect, compassion, and sensitivity” toward LGBTQ persons (CCC, 2358). Those words must become concrete.
When Scott and Kip kissed and Ilya told Shane he was coming to the cottage, LGBTQ communities responded with relief. Many at watch parties sobbed with joy. Gay bars and sports pubs cheered. Social media filled with tears, laughter, and disbelief. People did not gather to mourn, but to celebrate.
Beyond the episodes, viewers began naming what the show made imaginable. Athletes posted about visibility, and some came out. LGBTQ leagues amplified the conversation. Queer and trans* athletes, especially women in professional sports, have been outspoken in modeling embodied courage. When courage is made visible, more just futures take root.
Love is present even while barriers remain.
Love is present even while barriers remain. Visibility, though essential, does not by itself convert or dismantle the structures that make authenticity costly. Because queer and trans* people have had to build resilience to survive hostile systems, we are called to examine the systems that still require hiding.
The Examen asks not only what stirred among us, but what remains unfinished. If love widens our circles of belonging, how might our institutions widen to match? Public praise and league-level conversations suggest momentum, yet athletes and cast members continue to press for policies that move beyond symbolism toward concrete reform.
We are invited to discern: Where has visibility outpaced protection? Whose recognition and participation remain contested even as we celebrate progress? If LGBTQ people long for safety and belonging, how do we participate in the Gospel’s commitment to immigrants, refugees and all who seek protection and dignity?
Ultimately, rejection, shame and fear still exist. So do recognition, integration and love. Belovedness is revealed as our shared identity, and we bear responsibility for stewarding that fragile good. The clouds part, and sunshine warms the faces of those blessed enough to witness.
