Heated Rivalry Episode 5: “I’ll Believe in Anything” — When Everything Breaks Open

It’s Friday, which means one thing and one thing only: it’s Heated Rivalry Day! Since late November, Fridays have belonged exclusively to Shane Hollander (Hudson Williams) and Ilya Rozanov (Connor Storrie), and honestly? We wouldn’t have it any other way. And now, with the season finale looming just one episode away, Episode 5, I’ll Believe in Anything, arrives with the kind of emotional weight that makes it feel like the show knows exactly how close we are to the edge.

This is the episode that feels like a turning point. Not just because we’re so close to the end of the season, but because Episode 5 plays like the perfect backdoor into what we’re fully expecting to be an epic finale. It’s rich, confident, devastating, hopeful, romantic, terrifying, sometimes all within the same scene. It has endings and beginnings, confessions and secrets, moments of pure joy and others soaked in fear and grief. It’s another masterclass in Jacob Tierney’s craftsmanship as both director and screenwriter, and—without exaggeration—it might be the strongest episode of the season so far. 

Episode 5 adapts some of the most pivotal material from Rachel Reid’s novel, reshaping and reordering it where needed to serve the screen, while never losing sight of the emotional truth at the story’s core. It’s bold, confident storytelling, and it sets the stage perfectly for the season finale.

It’s also the episode where Williams and Storrie absolutely level up. Not because they’ve been anything less than excellent up to this point, but because the way this story has unfolded hasn’t yet demanded their full emotional range. Episode 5 does. And when they’re finally allowed to use their entire arsenal—voice, body, silence, stillness, micro-expressions—it’s breathtaking. 

We’ve talked before about how powerful these two actors are when dialogue drops away. Here, they combine that subtlety with raw, open vulnerability in some of the most emotionally draining scenes of the season. That balance between restraint and release, control and collapse, is a sight to behold, and it cements just how fully Williams and Storrie understand the emotional interior of these characters.

To say that Episode 5 destroys people would be a massive understatement. I’ll Believe in Anything breaks you, patches you up, breaks you again, and then somehow puts all the pieces back together in a way that feels earned. We are not okay. We are fundamentally changed as a publication. This show is too good. Too precise. Too damn generous with its feelings.

But anygays, we’re just rambling at this point. Let’s dive right into Episode 5, I’ll Believe in Anything, shall we?

Episode 5: “I’ll Believe in Anything” — Truths Spoken, Hearts Exposed

Episode 5, I’ll Believe in Anything, opens some time after the end of Episode 4, in Shane’s apartment. Rose (Sophie Nélisse) is quietly putting her clothes back on, preparing to leave. This isn’t the same night as the club, it’s another attempt, another moment where intimacy simply didn’t land for them. Shane stirs in his sleep and apologizes for what happened, or rather, what didn’t, the night before. 

He chalks it up to stress, the season weighing on him, but the truth hangs unspoken between them. Rose knows it. Shane knows it. We all know it. This goes deeper than hockey pressure. Rose, kind and gentle as ever, brushes it off and suggests they go to dinner later in the week, just the two of them. Shane agrees, relieved, but unsettled.

From there, the show uses its now-familiar sports-commentary voiceover to frame what’s coming next: the All-Star Game. East versus West. Meaning bitter rivals Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov will not only play on the same team, but likely on the same line. Scott Hunter’s (François Arnaud) name comes up too, with commentators wondering whether he’ll maintain his momentum or crash halfway through the season like he’s done before. As they speak, we see Shane, Ilya, and Scott training in their respective cities. The stage is set, all three unknowingly hurtling toward emotional collision.

Shane and Rose’s dinner date becomes the emotional fulcrum of the episode. Over wine and tentative smiles, Rose tells Shane she thinks he’s cute (objectively correct, no notes), jokes about her friend Miles being jealous of their relationship, and gently steers the conversation into more dangerous territory. Shane is a bit lost, so Rose clarifies: Miles isn’t jealous of Shane because he’s with her; he’s jealous of her because she is with him. The realization lands heavily.

What follows is one of the most quietly devastating conversations the show has delivered. Rose talks about queer actors, some out, some closeted, and asks Shane if there are any openly gay players in the MLH. Shane admits there aren’t, though there must be gay players. The discomfort is palpable, but it’s different for each of them. Shane is scared because the truth about himself has never been closer to surfacing, and it’s written all over his body.

When she gently suggests that maybe she’s not doing it for him, Shane denies it too quickly. She pushes—not cruelly, but honestly—asking if he likes kissing her. His hesitant “sure” tells her everything she needs to know. Rose lands the truth with heartbreaking clarity and confesses that she thinks (leaving room to be wrong, which we love her for), that maybe Shane would rather be kissing Miles than her.

Now, it needs to be said, and it needs to be said LOUDLY: Hudson Williams is extraordinary here. Shane doesn’t crumble; he fractures, which somehow hurts more. His eyes go glassy, terrified, like a deer caught in headlights. This is uncharted territory for him. Rose immediately softens, reaching for his hand, offering reassurance instead of pressure.

Shane fumbles through explanations. He likes her. He likes being with her. He knows sex is a problem. The vulnerability here feels achingly familiar for many of us in the community… scary, destabilizing, life-changing. But Rose isn’t judging him. She’s trying to understand him. She reframes what he’s saying beautifully: “A problem is something you can fix,” she says. This isn’t that. They’re a square peg and a round hole. No one’s fault, just incompatible.

Before the silence can fully settle, Rose gently asks if Shane has ever been with a guy. He nods. When she asks if he’s ever told anyone before, he shakes his head. Ilya is everywhere in his mind. Wrapped in vulnerability, Shane admits that it’s different being with a man, better. With a shy, nervous smile, he also confesses that he prefers being the hole, not the peg, echoing her early metaphor. They laugh, and it’s a release, a gift of grace. Rose proves herself to be exactly the ally Shane needs. She offers him friendship, real friendship, someone he can finally talk to.

And just like that, one chapter closes.

We cut to Ilya’s apartment, where he’s in bed with Svetlana (Ksenia Daniela Kharlamova). Their dynamic is easy, affectionate, rooted in genuine friendship. They talk hockey, the upcoming All-Star Game, and Shane. Svetlana clocks Ilya immediately, pointing out that Shane is a good player, and handsome. Ilya pretends indifference, but it’s paper-thin. When Svetlana casually mentions Rose Landry attending the All-Star Game, Ilya’s face falls. We all know he’s still bleeding from that wound.

Then it’s Tampa Bay. All-Star weekend. Sun, spectacle, tension.

From the moment Shane and Ilya see each other at the hotel bar, the air crackles. They haven’t spoken since Shane ran from Ilya’s place in Episode 4. The discomfort between them is immediate, not hostile, just heavy with unfinished business. Their small talk is awkward, charged, intimate in all the wrong ways. They talk about playing together, about Shane being named captain. 

They circle around the things they can’t say until Ilya finally asks about Rose. Shane says she’s great, just no longer in the picture in that capacity. When he explains they’re not “compatible,” something in Ilya visibly shifts. Hope flickers.

The episode then unfolds in a gorgeous on-ice/off-ice montage. Poolside, Ilya races kids, pretends to lose, splashes Shane on purpose. Shane watches, trying not to stare too long. On the ice, they’re electric. Ilya assists, Shane scores. And just like in the book, Ilya kisses Shane’s cheek after a goal—classic Rozanov obnoxious behavior to everyone else, everything to them. Every look lingers, every smile gives them away. As the sun sets, they sit together on the beach. Ilya admits he looked up the word “compatible.” Their hands inch closer in the sand and Shane asks for Ilya’s room number. 

What follows is one of the rawest, most intimate conversations the show has given us between these two. In Ilya’s hotel room, Shane finally says the words he’s been trying to share: he’s gay. Not joking. Not deflecting. He tells Ilya he has no one else he can say that to. He apologizes for running, for freaking out, for leaving without explanation. He tells Ilya that what they had felt different, that he thought it meant something. When Ilya says they can’t be something, Shane asks the real question: would he want to be, if they could?

The answer doesn’t come easily. Instead, Ilya opens up about Russia, about his fear, about his father’s dementia, about a life that would become dangerous if the truth came out. Shane comforts him, holding him as the walls finally collapse. He doesn’t try to fix it, he just stays. He kisses him. Holds him. Lets him cry.

Two weeks later, they’re sneaking moments together again, texting, meeting before games…  falling deeper. Calls from Ilya’s brother (Slavic Rogozine) go unanswered. And then the floor drops out: Ilya’s father (Yaroslav Poverlo) dies. The episode fractures beautifully, moving between grief, distance, and longing.

Shane becomes Ilya’s lifeline: checking in, offering space, listening. In one of the most anticipated and devastating scenes of the season, Shane invites Ilya to speak in Russian, promising that not understanding won’t stop him from being there. The show makes a bold, deeply romantic choice: it removes language as a tool of communication and replaces it with something far more intimate… trust.

Ilya pours everything out. Years of grief, resentment, guilt, and longing. Shane doesn’t understand the words, but he listens. He closes his eyes and stays. And in that choice—to bear witness without comprehension—the show captures something profoundly queer and deeply human: sometimes love isn’t about fixing or responding or even knowing exactly what to say. Sometimes it’s about holding space.

For Ilya, this confession is everything he’s never been allowed to voice. He talks about Moscow, about how suffocating it feels to be home, about being reduced to a bank account or a disappointment. He talks about his brother’s hatred, about his father’s absence even before his death, about the loneliness of being needed but never truly loved. And then, trembling, he says the thing that scares him the most: that the one person he loves, the one person he wants, is Shane. That it’s always been Shane. That loving him feels impossible and inevitable all at once.

The brilliance of the scene lies in the dramatic irony. We, the audience, understand every word, Shane doesn’t. And yet the connection between them has never felt stronger. When Ilya finishes and switches back to English, brushing it off with a casual “I’m done,” the weight of what he’s just said hangs heavy in the air. Shane asks if he feels better. Ilya says yes, and for the first time, it feels true. Because even if Shane couldn’t understand the words, he understood the feeling, and that’s enough to change everything.

After such emotional intimacy, the episode snaps violently back into the physical world of hockey. Montreal versus Boston. Shane and Ilya are smiling, circling each other on the ice, alive with adrenaline and something dangerously close to happiness. And then, in a split second, all that is gone.

The hit comes fast and brutal. Shane collides with another Raider player (Franco Lo Presti) and crumples to the ice, the sound and chaos of the arena blurring into something distant and unreal. The show smartly fractures the moment, showing it through multiple lenses: the TV broadcast, the panicked voices of commentators, the medics rushing in. And most crucially, Shane’s own disoriented perspective. Everything is muffled and slow, but one thing cuts through the fog: Ilya’s voice.

He’s frantic, desperate, demanding answers from the medics, trying to get closer, trying to see Shane, trying to make sure he’s still breathing. The rivalry disappears instantly, replaced by raw fear. The commentators try to frame it as professional concern, as respect between long-time opponents, but the truth is written all over Ilya’s face. This isn’t about hockey. This is about love… unspoken, unprotected, and suddenly terrifyingly vulnerable.

As Shane is taken off the ice, barely conscious, he tries to speak. He asks for his parents to be called, but then stumbles over another name, one he can’t quite say out loud. The medic misses it, but we don’t: Ilya. 

Their reunion is in the hospital. Shane, high on painkillers and honesty, lights up the moment he sees Ilya. Ilya, still shaken, tries to keep his distance, to be rational, to leave. But Shane pulls him close, apologizes for scaring him, confesses how much he was looking forward to their plans. And then, with devastating sincerity, he asks Ilya to come to his cottage with him for the summer. Not as a fling, not as a secret hookup, but as something dangerously close to a life together, even if only for a little while—a week maybe two. Ilya doesn’t say no, but doesn’t say yes either. They can’t, they both know it.

The episode saves its most audacious move for last, building toward a climax that reframes the entire season. The 2017 Stanley Cup Final unfolds as expected at first. There’s noise, celebration, tension, but something feels different. The camera lingers, the music swells, it’s like the show is holding its breath. Then the buzzer sounds. The New York Admirals win the Stanley Cup.

The show throws us straight into the chaos on the ice as Scott Hunter finally lifts the Cup, the culmination of a career defined by near-misses and unfinished business. The arena erupts. It’s loud, euphoric, overwhelming, a home victory, years in the making. Families and loved ones flood the rink to celebrate with the players, and the moment feels almost unbearably joyful.

In the stands, Kip (Robbie G.K.) watches with Elena (Nadine Bhabha) and his father (Matt Gordon). He’s proud, but he’s also heartbroken. And as the camera cuts between the celebration on the ice and reactions elsewhere—the Hollanders watching from home, Ilya standing in his apartment mid-pack—a quiet truth starts to emerge.

Everyone has someone to hug, someone to celebrate with, everyone except Scott. Surrounded by teammates and noise, Scott suddenly looks… alone. And then he sees Kip. From across the rink, something shifts within him. The world seems to narrow to a single point. The sports commentators notice it too, remarking that Scott appears to be locking eyes with someone in the crowd. At first, they assume he’s acknowledging a fan, maybe offering a once-in-a-lifetime moment to someone in the stands. 

But it’s not a fan. Back on the ice, Scott skates toward the boards and gestures for Kip to come down. Kip freezes, unsure and overwhelmed. Elena nudges him forward, urging him to go. Confusion ripples through the arena, through the commentators, through the Hollanders. Even Ilya texts Shane, asking what the hell Scott Hunter is doing. Shane doesn’t know.

When Kip reaches the edge of the rink, Scott doesn’t hesitate. He grabs Kip by the hand and pulls him onto the ice, right into the center of the celebration. Kip protests softly, telling him he doesn’t need to do this. Scott looks at him and says that he does.

And then he kisses him. Right there, in front of everyone. The arena collectively gasps. Shane, Ilya, Yuna (Christina Chang), David (Dylan Walsh)…all of them stare at the screen, stunned. Scott tells Kip he loves him and kisses him again, as the Wolf Parade song that inspired the episode’s title swells in the background. It’s fearless, it’s tender, it’s revolutionary in its simplicity. Queer love, unapologetic and public.

And somewhere in that moment—watching a man choose love without hesitation, without apology—something finally clicks for Ilya. He doesn’t overthink it, he doesn’t hedge, he just calls Shane and says the only thing that matters: “I’m coming to the cottage.”

Cut to black.

We screamed, we cried, we yelled into pillows, we stared at the screen in disbelief. Because Episode 5 doesn’t just set up a finale, it detonates the ground beneath it. I’ll Believe in Anything isn’t just the best episode of Heated Rivalry so far, it’s one of the best hours of television we’ve seen this year. It’s rare to find queer storytelling this unapologetically epic, this emotionally generous, this confident in the power of our love stories. 

Back in our Episode 3 review, we said Episode 3 walked so Episode 6 could run. We were wrong. Episode 3 walked so Episode 5 could run, and Episode 6 can soar. We’re going to the cottage, baby!

We’ll see you next week for our final episodic review of the season, and our full season wrap-up. Until then, we’ll be rewatching Heated Rivalry on a loop, trying to survive the wait and preparing to say goodbye (for now) to our favorite show on TV.

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Episodes 1-5 of Heated Rivalry are available to stream on Crave (Canada) and HBO Max (U.S. & other regions). The final episode will drop Friday, December 26 at 12 a.m. ET.  Follow us on X and Instagram for all queer stuff!

Featured Image: Image Courtesy of Bell Media.