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Shane came out to his teammates in 2018 and thought everything would be all right.
He started the Irina foundation with Ilya and they had an amazing first camp and got to be friends in public.
He won a third Stanley cup in 2020.
He saw the dream get closer and closer. With each game he won with Hayden by his side, his best friend who now knew everything about him. With each time JJ shut down an homophobic slur in the locker room. With each time he played against Ilya and kissed him later before they even make it past the entryway of his home. With each summer at the cottage, having dinner with his parents.
Then the video changed everything, of course. They had always intended to come out with a carefully drafted PR statement, never with a leaked video of them kissing.
For a while Shane believed that it was the trip that marked the end. That loosing to Ilya in the playoffs killed his dream with Montreal. But he had come to accept that it was only the straw that broke the camel’s back. The Voyageurs had stopped trusting him long before that, with the way their minds jumped so easily to him throwing the game.
And now, he sat in the visitors’ locker room in the Centre Bell and he felt sick to his core.
It was the first time Shane would face the Metros. After signing with the Centaurs he had focused on hockey, on fitting in with the second line and with Ilya on his wing in the power play. He had focused on the pure joy of playing the game he loved with the man he loved. But as soon as the regular season had started, he realized that the was about to face his former teammates.
He had arrived at the Bell Center, disorientated by the visitor wing, only to see half the fans missing him and the other half calling for his head. He had walked from the team he was supposed to be loyal to. The team who had drafted him, who had made him captain, who had built a roster to support his style of play.
Shane was supposed to retire with Montreal, with the C on his jersey, under the applause of fans. He had always thought his number would hang from the Montreal rafters. But the team he had won three cups for had dropped him. Had accused him of treason, had stopped clicking with him on the ice, stopped letting him do his job. He hadn’t had a choice, had he ?
The media hadn’t put much together yet. The public didn’t know why Hollander had decided to leave Montreal after his relationship was outed. Speculation ran rampant, of course, but neither Shane nor the Metros had given any explanation for his move. Most of the fans simply thought Shane had moved to be closer to his husband. No one had spoken of the locker room falling apart, of the homophobia ramping up when Shane being gay was not something the team could ignore anymore. No one had talked about accusations of cheating. Shane wondered how long it would last before the truth came out. He wondered if he wanted it to come out.
The game was hard, as everyone had expected. It was physical, with Shane getting targeted more often than not. It was a hard-fought game, more reminding of a seventh game in a playoff series than an early season meeting.
There were chirps. There were so many chirps and despite the fact that the Centaurs were being respectful and playful in the style Ilya had taught them, the Voyageurs were going too far.
Gagnon was going at Ilya aggressively as he defended against him. Ilya was playing wing, Shane on the centre for a more aggressive line as Ottawa was down two points.
“That all you can do, pussy ?” He asked, too loud, as he boarded Ilya. Still, the Russian managed to pass to Shane.
“Sucking up to the captain ? Didn’t have enough of sucking his cock ?” He asked again when Shane passed back to the newly free Ilya instead of taking the shot on goal.
“Fuck off !” Ilya fired back as he fired his puck into the net. The shot ricocheted off the goalie’s pads and the players all leaped after it. Ilya caught it on his outstretched stick, whooping as he passed back to Troy, the third member of their line.
“Kill yourself, fucker !” A Montreal player shouted, clearly directed at Ilya. Shane didn’t even care who it was among the three forwards. His eyes stayed on the puck, not wiling to look at his former teammates.
“I would if I was as bad as you are !” Ilya said instead, catching the puck back from Troy. He was entirely focused on the goal, planning one of his famous tricks.
“Irina must be glad she did.” Ilya’s shot went wide.
“What the fuck ?” He said, turning to the Montreal forward. The forward had been joined by Gagnon, neither of them even trying to play anymore. Shane had caught Ilya’s stray shot and buried it cleanly in the back of the net like Drapeau wasn’t even there. He was turning to his husband to celebrate when he heard the Montreal players.
“If I was Irina I would also kill myself,” Gagnon said. “Avoid the disappointment of a cocksucker son who can’t even…”
Ilya’s fist was in Gagnon’s face so quickly the other man didn’t see it coming. Gloves were flying, sticks littering the ice and the rest of the skaters were getting into the altercation.
Shane was about to skate towards his husband when JJ grabbed his jersey from behind.
“Calmes toi, frère,” "Calm down, brother," he said easily.
“Fermes là !” "Shut up !" Shane said, quite mildly for a hockey player. “Calisse, lâche moi ! Putain !” "Shit, let me go ! Fuck !"
“Vas pas t’embarquer…” "Don't get in it..." JJ continued to argue. The Centaurs defence men didn’t even make their way up from the blue line before the brawl was stopped by the refs. Shane had been held out by JJ the whole time and the fight didn’t spread.
Rozanov served a major, of course.
“Vous avez entendu, non ?” "You (formal) heard, didn't you ?" Shane came up to the ref. The poor linesman nodded before he realized he would have been wiser not to.
“Think of how this will look,” Shane added.
Gagnon got a major as well. Being an amazing captain for Montreal and speaking French had its perks, if only to be able to charm the refs in Centre Bell.
The play cut for commercial break and Shane took a moment to rest on the bench, looking up at the jumbotron. He knew what should come. There had been some whispers going around the locker room for the past few days. As a former Montreal Captain returning for his first game, he should get a tribute. A montage of his time with Montreal, to give the fans a moment to cheer for their captain before he started scoring against them in the new season. A random section from the in-arena commentators played instead.
He looked at the other bench and around the stands covered in red. This was the team that he thought he would retire for, the team he thought would hang up #24.
Suddenly Wiebe poked him : the press wanted him for a short interview. He smiled as he skated alone to centre ice. Most of the fans cheered for him, some having made a huge cutout his jersey number. He waved at that group, the cameras panning from his smiling face to the tribute in the stands. Some other Montreal fans booed. In a pique of uncharacteristic pride, Shane pointed to his three Cup banners hanging above him and more cheers cut above the booing.
He gave a few words for the interview, polite and media trained as always, stating he was glad to be with the Centaurs now but would miss Montreal.
He certainly missed what Montreal could have been.
Shane went back to his bench, looked up at the three Cup banners again. How hard would it be to steal them, he wondered. He certainly deserved them more than any of these assholes.
——————————————
Ilya started the second period with a vengeance. He didn’t care for being “nice” to the team that had bullied his husband away and had recently insulted his dead mother.
Speaking of mothers.
“Marie says hi,” he said as he passed by Gagnon, who he apparently didn’t send to the medical suite for long enough, although he looked like he had spent intermission icing his nose.
“The fuck ?” The Montreal forward spat out.
“Yeah, I did fuck her last night !” Ilya continued as Gagnon caught up to him behind the net. “Gonna give her a son who’s not a disappointment.”
“Fuck you,” Gagnon started, throwing his gloves, but the refs were on him before anything can start. He got a minor and Ilya skated to the face-off circle to start the play again, getting possession early from the Montreal second liner and scoring from it.
“For you, Marie !” He shouted at a camera and the Centaurs laughed so hard they couldn’t even have a good celly.
The Centaurs had all started googling players mothers names during the intermission. Wyatt had the idea, stating that it wasn’t fair everyone knew Ilya’s mother was named Irina. Hockey players had a good memory for important stuff like playbooks and chirps even if most of them would forget half their equipment if left alone to sort it out. But the list of mother’s name they had hastily compiled was certainly going to be well used.
The goalie made the best use of the chirps himself when Laine showed up to shoot.
“I got it in Janie better than that !”
The poor Laine stumbled and missed the rebound so Hayes easily froze the puck while shouting more obscenities about ‘Janie’.
Ilya went after Andropov’s mother Sofia, calling her Sonechka, the diminutive usually reserved for close family and lovers. The guy missed his pass so badly Ilya laughed about it for his whole shift.
Wiebe was on his phone behind the bench and whispered “Kim” to Haas as he skated off to face off against a Montreal centre. Ilya couldn’t hear what was said, but the guy’s face fell and Lucas won the face off easily.
He grinned wide, sitting on his bench, watching his team come together to support him and Shane. Even their coach was fine with them taking penalties. He really loved the Centaurs and he loved that he now got to share them with Shane even more.
Shane faced off some nameless fourth liner and the guys asked :
“Nothing to say this time Hollander ?”
“I barely know your name, I have never heard of your fucking mother !” Shane replied easily and won the face-off. Troy laughed his ass off on his wing even as he easily caught the puck.
It so happened that Shane faced off against Comeau in the middle of the third. The Centaurs were ahead, hits from Montreal were getting dirtier with every passing minute and Shane had been sitting on a funny chirp the whole time.
“I called Marie during the intermission,” he said. “She’s disappointed in your lack of scoring.”
“Fuck off, you didn’t call no one !”
“514 553…” Shane started. He did have Marie’s number from a forgotten Montreal contacts registry.
The puck dropped. Shane won the faceoff.
“Enculé !” "You take it up the ass !"screamed Comeau, forgetting English in his rage or perhaps remembering that Shane would understand the insult while some of the refs wouldn’t.
Shane didn’t care, skating with his trademark speed to shoot on goal. The goalie froze it, but the play didn’t seem to stop. Comeau rushed up to Shane.
“T’as dit quoi à mon capitaine, tabernac ? Tu parles sur mon frère ?” "What did you just say to my captain, fuck? You speak on my brother ?" A Centaur showed up next to Shane. Comeau had forgotten that there was another québécois in Ottawa : LaPointe, who was on Shane’s wing.
“Vas niquer ta race, toi !” "Go and fuck your race ! " Comeau said again, getting more agitated. Comeau had no problem punching down and using race against Shane, once he had exhausted his homophobic ideas. But… Shane suddenly realized he had been speaking to LaPointe. The Québecois was mixed and Shane knew having even slightly darker skin than average was a curse worse than being Japanese Canadian in the hockey world. Shane could deal with anti Asian hate, but he wouldn’t let his liney face racism because of Montreal hated him.
“Tu parles pas de race, connard !” "Don't speak of race, asshole ! " Shane shouted, grabbing his past teammate by his jersey.
“Et tu vas faire quoi, petit pédé ?” "And what are you gonna do, little fag ?" Comeau spit in his face, grabbing Shane back.
“Ta mère la pute je la baise !” "I fuck your bitch of a mother !" LaPointe shouted and got a full punch in Comeau’s side profile before another Montreal player showed up and started going at the Centaurs right wing.
“The Asian is offended, eh ? Sticking with the other monkeys ?” Comeau shouted at Shane, apparently deciding he was an easier target.
“T’as dit quoi ?” "What did you just say ?" JJ said. Shane suddenly realized the Montreal defence man had been standing right next to them both the whole time.
“Répète que je te décalisse !” "Repeat so I fuck you up !" JJ continued.
“Il va bien baiser sa race ouais !” "Yeah he can fucking go fuck his race !"The Montreal player didn’t back down.
JJ spat at Comeau as the Montreal player refused to take his words back. Comeau couldn’t even clean the spit off his face as he battled Shane’s hold on him.
“C’est toi qui va bien niquer tes osties de morts !” "You're the one who's going to go fuck his fucking dead !" JJ said and Shane could barely release Comeau before JJ started pummelling his own teammate. Blows fell quickly. JJ was a large defensemen Comeau had no chance against. Shane stood by, shocked to see JJ getting into it with another Montreal player.
“I should have known you were a fag, you can’t even fight like a man !” Wilson, another Voyageur said to Shane as he stood, stunned. JJ was still shouting at Comeau, even as their teammates started to separate them.
Shane looked at the Montreal player in front of him. He, consciously and almost slowly, dropped his gloves. His first punch sent Wilson’s helmet flying and the second one broke his nose.
The rest of the Centaurs jumped off the bench and everything descended into pandemonium.
Drapeau had taken off his mask, standing behind the brawl happening right in front of his crease. Shane knew he was glad for it, knew he had been instigating just as much as Comeau, was just as racist and homophobic. But even if Shane hadn’t been a hockey player trained since birth not to go at a goalie, especially one he had played with for years, he was too caught up in his own fighting to find the time.
Wyatt Hazes wasn’t caught up in anything.
He took off his own mask slowly, put it up on his net, and skated up to centre line.
“Come on”, he said even though Drapeau couldn’t possibly hear. He tapped his stick on the ice and Drapeau finally skated up. The crowd went wild, chanting “goalie fight” even as their attention was already focused on the full bench-clearing brawl happening by the Montreal goal.
“Defending your fag of a captain ? You fucking cocksu…” Drapeau didn’t finish the word before Wyatt caught his jersey and started throwing his fist.
They were awkward, of course, all big pads, skates not really made to stay upright on, and no fighting technique at all. They were so bulky they almost didn’t land any punches, looking more like these games where people bumped against each other inside inflatable bubbles. The refs didn’t care much, clearly more bothered with defensemen breaking noses. So, Wyatt managed to get a lucky punch in on Drapeau before they were forced apart.
He skated proudly towards the penalty box for the first time in his career, his fist raised in the air as the Centre Bell cheered indiscriminately for both sides of the fight. Drapeau would have a killer black eye and Wyatt would definitely make it his screen saver picture for the foreseeable future.
Ilya was fucking turned on.
He kissed Shane as they both made their way to the box. His face was bloody and they knew the picture would make the papers tomorrow. It was hot, to feel Shane licking the blood off his lips, to taste iron as he kissed him again.
In the end, Shane had been the one to cause the worst injuries. Just because je never fought didn’t mean he couldn’t and he had the advantage of being underestimated. He hadn’t gotten the game misconduct he usually would have because throwing players out would simply have led to no one even playing the rest of the game. They all however did have a 10 minute penalty.
Shane kissed Ilya again as they walked inside the box, standing there by the door because it was full to bursting with a dozen players. They were showing the box on the jumbotron at the wrong —or perhaps right— time and it turned into a kiss cam, most of the stadium cheering. Cheering for their past captain, the legendary Shane Hollander, who had just kicked his past team’s asses.
Ilya really found it so sexy, seeing his husband let go of his golden boy facade and retaliate against his past team. They had hurt him so much during his last season with them and now again when they faced off each other. Shane deserved so much better and Ilya was glad he knew it now.
—————————————————
Montreal lost, of course. They couldn’t get up from being two points down before the brawl, because the Centaurs had apparently created an amazing kill unit after they acquired Rozanov.
JJ had to deal with the press after dealing with a fucking freezing locker room atmosphere and being chewed out by Coach Thierault like he never had been before. In front of everyone else, like that was going to help the team vibes. He was halfway between tears and wanting to punch the rest of his teammates.
He sat down in front of the reporters, knowing he looked like a mess, with a black eye, split knuckles and red eyes that clearly didn’t come from the physical fight.
“Jean-Jacques !” A reporter started. Like he didn’t clearly refuse to use his full first name ! Although perhaps this time sounding more traditional French and ‘civilized’ was better. JJ found the reporter in the mass assembled and he went on :
“Why did you punch your teammate Gilbert Comeau ?”
JJ knew the question would come, but he had perhaps hoped for some hockey beforehand. He took a deep breath, but his mind was fully blank. What should he say ? How to find the words in English ?
“He said some things I can’t tolerate.” He was driving in automatic, not knowing what was about to come out of his mouth.
“Like what ?”
“He said… I won’t repeat. Not correct for TV.” JJ took a breath and just as the reporters were about to move on to another question, he bent back towards his mic. “He said something that included ‘ta race’. To Hollander or LaPointe. I won’t say what came before, but francophones can fill in the blanks. Saying that to non white players, to any player really, is unacceptable and I couldn’t let that go. He also said it knowing I, a black player, was standing inches from them.”
Silence reigned in the room, only cameras clicking to take pictures to go with the articles about the night’s brawl that would certainly make the front pages of the hockey news.
“We all know that arguing the existence of human races is illegal in Québec,” he concluded. Sat back in his chair, resting against the back as he waited for reporters to pick their jaw off the floor.
The suddenly the moment broke and they all clamoured for his attention.
Shane looked up from the TV and immediately texted JJ.
“Thanks.” he simply wrote at first. “For punching Comeau about that racist comment. And saying what he said on TV. Hope it was OK in the locker room and with Thierault.”
And wasn’t that strange, thinking of the man he had known as ‘Coach’ for his whole adult life as ‘Thierault’, someone who didn’t have God-like power over his life anymore.
“I’m scratched for sure, but whatever. He had it coming, racist asshole.” JJ replied.
“I wanted to fight for you, it was overdue truly.” Another text came through almost immediately after the first.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t on your side last season. I’m sorry I was part of the problem, accusing you of shit you didn’t do. You deserved better from this team and from me. I spent the summer regretting it and I was too ashamed to text you. Comeau and the others are racist and homophobic pieces of shit and I should have noticed earlier and done something about it before they the best guy off the team.”
Then, before Shane could write anything else.
“Je suis tellement désolé. Je t’aime mon frère.”
Shane couldn’t do more than heart the message as his vision blurred with tears.
Ilya’s press run had been much less politically correct.
“I voted most hated player in the MHL,” he said, his teeth still bloody. “I have to earn it, you know. Not an easy award to get. Perhaps easier now, with the whole gay thing.” Saying the truth without saying it, as always. Even Yuna had to begrudgingly admit it was a good PR strategy.
The headlines were writing themselves, from “Savage Rozanov involves families in chirping, insulting mothers”, mentioning how he had always been a “ruthless player” and “violent”. Ilya had explained where the Centaur’s chirping had come from, so some magazines spoke of “Voyageur’s insults against Irina Rozanov, the mother of Centaur captain who named a charity in her honour, going so far as to mention her death by suicide.”
And of course, every media defended Shane Hollander. If the end of the last season had been discussed before, it was now all but officially confirmed.
“Captain Hollander left Montreal because of homophobia, sources argue. The locker room is said not to have accepted his relationship with his past rival and legendary player Ilya Rozanov. Hollander definitely took his revenge last night, leaving the ice of the Bell Centre Ottawa red…”
Shane looked up from the article on his phone. Ilya was sitting next to him on the sofa, his eye already very black and a bag of frozen peas on his nose.
It was worth it, loosing his dream with Montreal, because he got to have this : a team that stood up for him and he husband he got to love openly.