Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shane decided right after his third season in MLH that during his fourth season, he would win the Stanley Cup. With his team, of course, but since he was the Voyageurs’ captain and undisputed best player, the world would consider it his win. Just like the entire hockey world—Shane’s whole world, really—still talked about the Bears’ win like it was specifically Rozanov’s win. Shane wasn’t mad about it even though Rozanov was his greatest rival, thorn on his side, and ultra secret hook up. He wasn’t even mad that Rozanov had taken the record of youngest captain to ever lead a team to the Stanley Cup.

Okay, he was a little mad about that. Since he and Rozanov where the same age, he couldn’t really take that record from him. Honestly, since most players were not really considered for the position of captain until they hit at least their mid-twenties, Rozanov might hold that record forever. Luckily, there were plenty of other records to focus on, like most hat tricks in one season or greatest number of goals scored in a season. During a championship series. These were not age-related, so it wouldn’t matter if Shane achieved them at age twenty-two or thirty-two. Beyond all that, there was the drive to stay at the top of the game.

He threw himself wholeheartedly into his off season training, with his mom cheering him unequivocally and his dad cheerful and resigned (David had hoped Shane would take a “real break” this time). Shane wondered if his father meant a “break” like Rozanov’s, who had departed to Russia and proceeded to behave like a douchebag on all his socials. It seemed like Rozanov went to a different Moscow nightclub and picked up a new gorgeous woman every weekend. He kept posting about it—well, the girls would take selfies with him, post them, and tag him.

It didn’t seem to bother them that Rozanov never acknowledged any of them, though he obviously posed for them however they instructed. Often, he adopted a serious, threatening face and stood with his muscles gratuitously flexed. But occasionally, a girl would ask him to smile, or make a silly face. Shane spent the most times looking at those pictures, trying to commit Rozanov’s carefree expressions to memory. It wasn't how Rozanov looked at him, not across him on the ice or standing above him in hotel room. Shane wondered which face was Rozanov's in truth. There was one particular post that had prompted Shane to create locked folder on his phone (labeled Hockey Statistic of the Early 20th Century): Rozanov holding a bundle of glittering tinsel over his head and watching it shimmer with a soft smile on his face.

Rozanov had been wearing an over-sized gray hoodie. He had not looked particularly sexy. In fact, he’d looked a little silly, brown curls messy and due for a haircut. One of the Voyageurs had found the post and shared on their team group chat with a snide comment that Rozanov looked high as fuck. Hopefully the Russian government will arrest him and ship him to Siberia lmao, to which another had responded they only do that to foreign athletes dipshit.

Shane didn’t think Rozanov looked high. Just happy. Carefree. In a way that he rarely did.

In any case, Shane was relieved that he wasn’t the only one who had discovered Rozanov’s socials weren’t run by some publicist underling posting sponsored content and proceeded to lose his mind. The Voyageur team group chat was slowly devolving into a bottom tier gossip blog about him.

Voyageurs

Gilbert Comeau
@Shane Hollander for the love of god could you ban Rozanov as a subject

Shane Hollander
Why would I do that
he’s the captain of the Bears
we will need to discuss his performance next season

Gilbert Comeau
ok but he’s not playing hockey right now
only fucking every puck bunny slut in eastern europe

Mitch Denk
stfu comeau
some of us are married and could use the links to these profiles
rozanov pulls hot chicks

Jean-Jaques Boiziau
also why does shane get to ban topics?
he’s not our dad

Shane Hollander
I’m not banning topics
mute this chat if you’re tired of the Rozanov spam

Also, it made Shane feel a little less pathetic to follow Rozanov’s account. Apparently, the Voyageurs (sans Comeau) were right there with him. And in the summer following the Bears’ Stanley Cup victory, over three million people joined them.

“I don’t understand why his agent isn’t capitalizing on this,” said Yuna, over dinner. “He’s posting landscape pictures and letting all the girls he’s presumably sleeping with tag him on random photos.”

“Mom?”

“Companies are willing to fork over absurd amounts of money to people with large, organic social media followings,” said Yuna. “As far as I can tell, he isn’t doing innocuous product placement. His last post was a black-and-white shot of a random street. He’s not even using tags.”

“No, I mean, why are you following Rozanov?” asked Shane.

“Honey, he’s your biggest rival,” said Yuna. “You should be following him to.”

“How is following him on social media going to help Shane beat him at hockey?” asked David.

“Thank you,” said Shane, who had been a second away from declaring that, in fact, he did follow Rozanov. More than Yuna, it seemed, since Shane knew that Rozanov had recently posted that he wanted a bubblegum pink jaguar. In Russian. But that was okay, because Shane knew how to use Google translate.

“It would help Shane with chirping if he knew more about Rozanov’s private life,” said Yuna. “What? It’s part of the game.”

“I’d rather just be better than him at hockey, thanks,” said Shane.

So Shane focused on that. He scheduled a meeting with his trainer and nutritionist and together they designed a training program to maximize bulking without sacrificing speed or flexibility. He posted about his workouts on the Voyageurs group chat to encourage the rest of the team, as a good captain should. Hockey was a team sport, after all. He got a few thumbs up and bicep flex emojis for his trouble. His teammates continued to post photos of their wives and kids, their gross hamburgers and steaks, and screenshots of Rozanov’s exploits.

Voyageurs

Shane Hollander
is rozanov the only MLH player who fucks around or something?

Gilbert Comeau
I told you to ban posts about his stupid puck bunnies

Jean-Jaques Boiziau
@Shane Hollander we wouldn’t have to resort to this if you got your fine ass out to the Ottawa club scene

Hayden Pike
the Ottawa what?

Shane Hollander
at least one of you lives in NYC right now

Gilbert Comeau
Mitch could only pull those chicks from my 600 lb life

Okay, so Shane muted the group chat. They would @ him if they needed him. He continued focusing on his physical fitness. And dedicated a strictly regulated one hour every evening monitoring Rozanov’s fuck tour of Eastern Europe, as someone had tastefully dubbed it in the group chat. This, he determined, was acceptable. Perhaps due diligence, as Yuna might have said. Since Rozanov has several dedicated stan accounts, it wasn’t even hard.

His peace was interrupted a couple of weeks before the upcoming draft by nearly every Voyageur pinging him on the group chat at once.

Voyageurs

Hayden Pike
@Shane Hollander dude are you seeing this????
the Bears traded us Jake Merrell for Mitch and Wynn!!!!
link

Jean-Jaques Boiziau
no fucking way
Merrell is worth at least 3 Mitches
sorry Mitch
are u good?

Mitch Denk
no you assholes I have to move my wife and kids to fucking Boston

Hayden Pike
@Shane Hollander!!!!

Shane Hollander
I’m just seeing it now
What exactly am I supposed to say
Wynn is my left wing

Mitch Denk
dude do you even know who I am?

Shane Hollander
has anyone talked to Wynn?

Jean-Jaques Boiziau
yeah he doesn’t care and is confused as to why *we* care
he would play hockey in Antarctica with penguins and not notice it’s not us lmao

Gilbert Comeau
so Merrell’s gonna be our 1st line right wing next season
starting betting pool about what position Pike will play

Mitch Denk
if he isn’t traded

Shane Hollander
you were good enough to be traded for Jake Merrell
calm down

Mitch Denk
get fucked Shane
obvs Boston doesn’t want to pay Merrell’s salary
fuck only knows what other concessions Theriault got out of them

Hayden Pike
Montreal will skip the first three rounds of the next draft

Jean-Jaques Boiziau
fuck!!!!
how do you know that???

Hayden Pike
Jackie is friends with Theriault’s daughter
who’s dating one of Theriault’s favorite call ups
what’s his name?

Shane Hollander
Merrell is not worth getting fucked over in the draft!

Mitch Denk
but he is worth me
thanks Cap

Gilbert Comeau
bro I am with Shane
your numbers are ass compared to Merrell’s
he is probably the best right wing in the east
sorry Hayden

Shane Hollander
I did not say that

Gilbert Comeau
but Merrell is also 500 years old and probably dying of osteoporosis
he is not worth this draft shit
anyway I think Pike’s true role in our team is safe because no way Merrell will become Shane’s work wife

Shane muted the chat and decided that he needed to go for a run even though it wasn’t part of his training schedule for today. This was a shitshow. One that he was not expecting, though he should have. Players got traded all the time. Shane should not have gotten attached to his linemates.

Despite the awful trade, Shane was still excited for the draft. The Voyageurs couldn’t expect any star picks, certainly not after Theriault’s stupid deal, but still. It was an exciting time for any hockey player and many hockey fans. Yuna always treated the evening like a family event and cooked or ordered all their favorite meals. Shane unmuted the Voyageurs group chat.

“Is this draft special?” David asked, bemused. “You both are more excited than usual. Is hockey Jesus himself up for draft?”

“Honey, this is more important than usual,” said Yuna, "since we don't know what Shane's line will look like next season."

The answer to David’s question was no. Hockey Jesus was not up for draft. There weren’t even little Hollanders or Rozanovs up for draft. Unfortunately, since Shane would have loved some competition.

Voyageurs

Jean-Jaques Boiziau
did we really just get a kid named
Jesus
Jonas Raphael Carmichael III

Shane Hollander
name sounds familiar
hockey-related
but if he’s good enough to be recognized, why wasn’t he picked in earlier rounds

Hayden Pike
grandson of Joseph Raphael Carmichael
the first I think
owns the Bears

Gilbert Comeau
and Boston didn’t pick him
looking him up now
he is mid

Shane Hollander
it’s what we expected

Hayden Pike
his socials are poser trash
he’s copying Rozanov’s haircut

Shane Hollander
haircut?
Looks like Rozanov occasionally clips his hair with pube shears

Jean-Jaques Boizaiu
Shane that is the best chirp I’ve ever heard from you
you need to drop that one on him next time you guys face off

Patrice Drapeau
we shouldn’t draft kids from Boston
one of them might try to poison Shane

Hayden Pike
this fucking kid had a Bears jersey with his name custom made
like this is a thing that fans do all the time but I assume he knew he would be going for the draft
this is so embarrassing I’m wondering if it’s not embarrassing
why would he do this
guys

Shane Hollander
we got a second kid
Dylan Xie
what do we know?

Gilbert Comeau
.png

Jean-Jaques Boizaiu
that his sister?

Gilbert Comeau
no this is him
no joke he is prettier than my last pull
ignore that I’m on my seventh beer

Jean-Jaques Boizaiu
lightweight

Patrice Drapeau
yes we all comment on the prettiness of twinks after enough beers

Shane Hollander
what do we know about him as a player?
As a *hockey* player

Hayden Pike
he’s from Florida and good enough to be entered in the draft
he doesn’t have socials
looks like he won second place at some engineering math thing when he was sixteen

Gilbert Comeau
ofc he is Asian
only Asian allowed to be bad at math is Shane

Shane Hollander
fuck you
I’m not bad at math

Hayden Pike
found some footage of one of his games
he’s a forward, playing left wing
seems fast
footage is shitty

Shane Hollander
looking for footage of Carmichael now
capable enough center I guess
he’s holding the stick correctly

Patrice Drapeau
wow one can hold the stick correctly and the other one seems fast
the Cup is ours

Shane Hollander
What do you want me to say?
Let’s hope we can get them shaped up during camp

Hayden Pike
I was a late draft pick you know
no need to act like they’re grabbing boys off the street

Gilbert Comeau
yes yes we know and now you are Shane Hollander’s right wing and work wife
well
just his work wife now that Merrell is ours

Jean-Jaques Boizaiu
Merrell is a Rozanov plant mark my words

Shane Hollander
stop that JJ
he doesn’t decide trades and neither does Rozanov

Gilbert Comeau
we got another
Nikolai Babikov
a Russian??

Jean-Jaques Boizaiu
Rozanov’s cousin

Shane Hollander
what???

Hayden Pike
no shockingly not all Russian people are related
this is some kid from Minnesota
plays defense according to his junior team’s website
.png

Gilbert Comeau
is he 40 or on steroids or both?

Jean-Jaques Boizaiu
he’s 17 and built like the standard D-man
big and ugly

Shane Hollander
he looks fine

Gilbert Comeau
yes Shane I bet he also knows how to hold a hockey stick

The draft ended and Shane muted the chat, then went to examine Babikov’s picture. He has pale blue eyes and light brown hair that looked like it would curl at the slightest opportunity. That was where the resemblance ended.

The first few days of camp were optional for Shane, but he always showed up anyway. He didn’t like surprises and besides, he was the team captain. It was his duty to set a good example. He also made sure to be at the locker room early.

This year, someone beat him there. Shane heard a smooth, relaxed voice speaking in what he vaguely recognized as Mandarin Chinese as he walked in. Dylan Xie, Shane guessed even before he saw the lithe figure leaning against a locker, phone at his ear and large bottle of vanilla Muscle Milk on his other hand.

He’s so pretty. Shane blinked, alarmed at the thought, though it was true. Dylan Xie’s school ID pic did not do him justice in the slightest. He was one of the most beautiful people Shane had ever seen, second only to—no. Rozanov was. . . He was painfully masculine and aggressively sexy, not beautiful. And very aware of it. But he was not what anyone would call “pretty”.

Dylan Xie, assuming this wasn’t some other Asian rookie, was downright cute. He was muscular but slim, with long straight black hair that fell past the small of his back, large dark eyes, and a pouty heart-shaped mouth. He was probably average height for guy, which made him short for a hockey player. Shane knew what form of hazing Xie would be enduring and it made something in his chest squirm.

And Xie's gaze slid towards Shane. “Holy shit, it’s Shane Hollander,” he said. Then he blushed bright pink, said something in rapid Mandarin, and hung up his phone. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” said Shane, certain that he was also blushing. He offered his hand for a shake. “I didn’t want to interrupt.” That was a plausible reason for staring, right?

“It was just my mom,” said Xie. “She’s nervous about my first day. I’m not, though. I’m totally cool. I’m Dylan Xie, from Florida in the USA. Which you probably know. I mean, where Florida is. Not who I am.”

Shane gigg—snorted. He snorted. “Moms, right. Um, welcome to the team. I’ll show you around once the rest of the new guys get here.”

There were no further attempts at conversation until more team members arrived, much to Shane’s relief. He was awkward in general, more so with new people, even more so when he had tangible reasons for concern. The guys were going to pick on Xie for his hair, small size, and absurd prettiness. Hazing bordering on sexual harassment was definitely on the table, and as team captain, Shane would have to put a stop to it. He wondered if he would have to keep Xie glued to his side, which in an of itself would open a can of worms.

It was already enough of a challenge to divine when someone called Hayden his “work wife” in a joking, affectionate manner from the times that the words were spat out by players who were furious or jealous because they thought Shane could somehow give Hayden “special treatment”. Well, Shane couldn’t spiral too much about it. It wasn’t like Xie had sneaked into the team. Theriault wanted him, at least provisionally, and while the Voyageurs were typical pro hockey players, they were also pro hockey players. Most of them—hopefully all of them—would not be so stupid as to risk their career because they were offended by a pretty man’s long hair.

The rest of the team trickled with polite greetings. Most gave Xie startled looks with varying levels of confusion and surprise, but no one said anything. Good sign; it had to be. A large, hulking blond who hesitantly introduced himself as Babikov actually went over chat with Xie while they all waited. Then, a couple of minutes before they had to go to the conference for Coach Theirault’s welcome spiel, Shane remembered their other draft pick and started looking around, though he was terrible at recognizing people off their shitty ID mugshot.

“Carmichael?” Shane called out. The team quieted down. A part of Shane was always surprised he could command the room’s attention with relatively little effort. “Carmichael?” he tried again, louder. Nothing. Not a good sign that the rich boy couldn’t be bothered to show up on time on his very first day. Shane shrugged. “All right, team. We’re about to meet with our coaches. I don’t have much to say except I expect the best from all us, and I’m here to help anyway I can. Xie and Babikov, with me.”

Coach Theriault had the usual speech for them. Maybe he seemed a little more excited than usual, but what did Shane know? He wondered if the man realized that their other draft pick was MIA. Should Shane bring it up? It was his job to alert Theriault of any potential problems with players, but it was also his job to be a source of support and confidence for his team, someone they could come to with problems that they didn’t feel like sharing with their coaches, physical therapists, or doctors. They were contradictory roles, in Shane’s opinion, but that was life.

“Finally, there will be one big change this season,” Theriault said, waking Shane from his polite ‘paying attention’ mode to actually paying attention. Change? What change could be more significant than trading his left wing for Rozanov’s right wing?

“The league will be implementing a sweeping overhaul of our social media presence,” continued Theriault. “Every team will know have a social media public relation department that will generate content for our fans.” He gestured at one of his assistants. “Go get Melissa. She will explain what this will entail.”

Why couldn’t Theriault explain it now? Who was Melissa?

A social media manager for the team, it turned out. She was a plump woman with hair dyed a fiery red who informed them that the Voyageurs would generate a social media account for them, and that they would be required to post ‘something personal’ at least once a week.

“We have to do what?” asked one of the AHL dudes. “I’m not on social media; I hate that shit. I signed up to play hockey, not Only Fans.”

“By personal, we mean things like pictures of your lunch,” said Melissa. “Or landscapes—”

Oh God, this was about Rozanov’s European fuck tour. Well, not that. But his account and its inexplicable success. The last time Shane had checked (last night), he’d amassed a staggering ten million followers even though he had not posted about hockey a single time since leaving Boston. A little over a week ago, he had recorded his first ad—for Coca Cola. The US army wouldn’t be able to waterboard this out of Shane, but it was the best ad he’d ever seen. He’d watched it enough times that he could recite Rozanov’s speech from memory:

Hello all, this is Ilya Rozanov and I have decided I will be an influencer as my side gig. I have my first sponsor, the Coca Cola Corporation. They are paying me to tell you that this is a can of Coke Zero, which I am sure you already know, but they are boss so I will do as they say. Have to keep this can on screen so you don’t forget what Coke is.

This is a can of Coke Zero and it’s my favorite soda. They are paying me to say that, but it’s true. I drink it without calories, though I need the calories for my day job. I like the taste of chemicals in the fake sugar one more. And I also like it best when it’s in metal can. More fizzy this way. If you drink Coke Zero and, this is very important, buy Coke Zero, you will be more like me.

Oh, and there are new flavors now. I like classic still, but sometimes the cans will have made up tastes like ‘Dream’ and ‘Starlight’. I think they are doing this because they are Coca Cola and can do as they like to us peasants, but it worked on me. I have tried all fancy new flavors. They are all good. Buy Coke Zero. Except Orange Creamsicle. This one is terrible; buy two Starlight in exchange. Instead.

And recycle for our planet! Coca Cola Corporation is—at that point, Rozanov lifted a white sheet of paper, presumably a part of his sponsorship contract—committed to the health of our planet.

Recycle.

It had, of course, gone viral. Even though Rozanov had been wearing an over-sized Bears’ sweatshirt, the only reference to his “day job” in the whole ad read. To quote Comeau in the Voyageurs group chat: I hate how funny this fucker is.

Yuna hated how, according to a leaked contract, Coca Cola had paid two-hundred-and-fifty thousand US dollars for what looked like maybe five minutes of his time. She had been plotting how to get Shane ten million social media followers ever since, and Shane had been desperate to start the season if only to avoid hearing the words, “engagement”, “parasocial”, “Coke Zero” and “Coca Cola”. And now. . . Melissa. Shane refused to care about it. The media training he’d already done would have to be enough. He had hockey to play.

Eventually, Carmichael did show up, not looking anywhere near contrite enough for his tardiness. If he had an excuse, he didn’t bother to share it with Shane. His handshake was firm, bordering on too firm, and the once-over he gave Shane managed to be dismissive despite the smile he plastered on his face. His teeth were perfectly straight in the way that only US American teeth could be, and his hair was a professionally-bleached blond. He looked like a plastic Hayden (Shane mentally apologized to Hayden for the uncharitable thought).

The first week of camp was satisfactory. For the most part. New social media shit aside, which Shane did not mind anywhere near as much as everyone expected him to. Certainly, not as much as some of the shyer guys on the team seemed to. So far, all they had to do was show up to training with Voyageurs-branded shirts that had their names on the back, which many of them would do anyway. Shane chose one weekly lunch as his "personal post", and so far, no one in Melissa's team had complained. He had been introduced to a blond young woman who also had access to the account and presumably posted stuff the rest of the time, usually short reels of Shane trianing with the team. Shane rarely interacted with her and had already forgotten her name. She was very competent. Honestly, it kind of made things easy for Shane to have a uniform, not to mention to have all his players helpfully displaying their names at all times. Gone were the days of Shane accidentally calling dudes by the wrong name.

Melissa occasionally grabbed a couple of them for extremely boring interviews that she and her team used to make reels, and Shane could tell that they were all boring as shit without even looking at any of them, but that wasn’t his problem. They didn’t even have to censor themselves since Melissa and her team were in charge of making sure every piece of official Voyageurs content was sterile and advertiser friendly.

Shane could tell that Theriault was pleased with what he was seeing. He hoped that meant their lines would not be altered too much but regardless, there would be plenty of guys they would be able to call up if anyone got injured.

As for their draft picks. . . Babikov was a decent defenceman. Quick enough to use his considerable size to the team’s advantage, though a bit dim. Shane wasn’t being nasty about it, he just got the feeling that Babikov didn’t notice when he was being teased. Honestly, it made him so laid back about everything that Shane was kind of jealous.

Xie was good. Better than Shane expected, if he was honest. The kid was fast. Not Rozanov-fast, but no one was, not even Shane (although he was close). Better than that, Xie was clever and agile, able to go through drills with minimal instruction. His fundamentals were excellent, which meant that Theriault and his assistants didn’t have to waste time teaching him how to hold the stick correctly. Only problem was. . .

“Xie, you need to put on some weight,” barked Theriault, the next time a check from a defenceman sent him tumbling way more than was reasonable. Babikov, who had toppled him, was bending down to check on him. “Are you following your bulking plan?”

“Yes, sir,” said Xie, as he took Babikov’s hand and let himself be hauled up.

“Go back to see the nutritionist,” said Theriault. “I want you to put on ten kilos of muscle this season. You’re not a figure skater.”

The only problem was that. Xie needed to be fast because every time a defenceman or enforcer got near him, they flattened him. The Voyageurs obviously didn’t want to injure a teammate during training, but the same would not be true in a real game.

A part of Shane that he wished he could smother couldn’t help but think about how fans, and probably commentators, would sneer that Xie was simply too Asian to play a violent game like hockey. Never mind that there were skinny dudes of every race and ethnicity. They had tried to do it to Shane at first, and Shane had an English name, a white father, and was average-sized for a pro hockey player. They had stopped eventually, but what where the chances that Xie would be Rookie of the Year and then proceed to become one of the league’s top forwards?

Anyway, Xie’s problem could potentially be mitigated by something as simple as eating more calories. Ten kilos of muscle over the season was a bit delusional, unless Theriault was hoping the kid had one last growth spurt in him, which was not impossible. But yes, there were possible simple solutions to pursue.

The same could not be said for Carmichael’s problem, which was his entire obnoxious personality.

The way Carmichael strutted, he was already an All Star. He had the nerve to argue with Theriault about drills, tried to give Shane advice about his stick handling (and not good advice), and acted like it was a given that he would be a first line player. A first line center, which Shane found too funny to be insulted. Xie had a better chance of taking Shane’s position, and the guy had most experience as a left wing.

“I feel like I’m seeing what Rozanov would be like if he didn’t have the skills to back up his bullshit,” said Hayden, when he joined camp with the other veterans on the second week.

Over on the ice, Carmichael was arguing about God knew what with an assistant coach. At one point, J.J. Boiziau, one of their veteran defencemen, had to skate their way to loom over the kid.

“I know the kid’s attitude is rancid,” said Gilbert Comeau, their 2nd line center from last season. “But has he done anything to deserve being compared to that bitch Rozanov?”

“Watch your mouth, Comeau,” said Jake Merrell. He was tall, broad, and had a buzz cut shaved close to his scalp. “That’s my former captain you’re talking about.”

“What?” demanded Comeau. “You saying Rozanov never ran his mouth about me?”

“I doubt Roz knows your name,” shrugged Merrell.

“Drop it,” said Shane, when he saw Comeau tensing up.

He also had the insane thought that he ought to text Rozanov for advice. He was captain of the Bears and probably had his share of dumb players who thought they were way better than they actually were. And since the kid’s family owned the Bears, maybe Rozanov knew him. But it was a stupid thought. He an Rozanov texted to arrange hook ups, not to give each other pointers about how to be a good captain. Christ, they were supposed to be consummate rivals. Their teams and cities hated each other. Their coaches hated each other.

“Xie’s pretty good, at least,” said Shane, hoping to end the suddenly tense silence.

The guy himself skated near the box, smirking at a defenceman who had failed to check him on a drill. “I’m flattered you think I’m pretty, Mark, but you’re not my type. Maybe your mom can hit me up.”

The hulking defenceman growled and rushed at him, but Xie gleefully skated away, his long brain flowing behind him. That was supposed to be under his jersey. It would be a massive liability in a real game. Shane would have to watch for that during the season. God, why on earth didn’t Xie cut his hair?

“He is very pretty,” said Hayden.

“Hayden, you’re married!” said Shane.

“I’m not saying I’m gonna leave Jackie so I can propose to him,” said Hayden. “But a man has eyes, even a straight man.”

“Dude,” said Comeau, making an exaggerated gagging sound.

“Blow me, man. The kid’s cuter than the last semi-drunk chick you pulled, and we both know it,” said Hayden. “Honestly, I thought this was gonna be a way bigger problem than it’s turning out to be. Guess everyone’s too busy plotting Carmichael’s murder to pay too much attention to Xie.”

“Whatever, let’s just not jinx it,” said Shane, hoping that the conversation wouldn’t devolve into further critiques of the women unfortunate to land in Comeau’s orbit.

The jinxing happened at the last week of camp, when Theriault announced which line ups he’d be trying out during the preseason exhibition games. Shane was a little nervous, though he knew his position was safe. He had lost Wynn, his left wing for his first three seasons, to a trade. Who would take his place? Jake Merrell, the veteran forward they’d traded Wynn for, was most skilled as a right wing. Going by the numbers alone, Merrell was the stronger right wing, but Shane was used to Hayden. The numerical difference, though real, was not enough to make a change worth it.

Those calls were not Shane’s to make, so he made sure to keep his expression placid while they waited in their conference room.

“Gentleman,” Theriault started, “I don’t want to waste any time reminding you not to get precious about the positions you think you should be playing. Your job here is to be at peak physical condition and to follow instructions on how to best support the team. Some of you will be at different positions, but trust I would not put you anywhere if I didn’t believe you had the talent and discipline for the role.”

Right, sure, whatever. But who would be with Shane on the 1st line?

“First, our 1st line,” said Theriault. “Hollander will remain at center, but Merrel will be his right wing and Xie his left.”

Shane didn’t think anyone was expecting that. Not the change for Hayden—Hayden himself had probably accepted that he’d be moved once he heard Merrell was joining their team—but the part about Xie. Even Merrell looked startled. Who knew what Xie looked like right now? The kid was probably hiding in a corner of the conference room somewhere with the other rookies and AHL guys.

“Our second line,” Theriault continued. “Pike will be the new center—”

“—that’s bullshit!” interrupted Carmichael, who had planted himself close to the front with all the veterans. “Xie weighs like a hundred pounds soaking wet!”

That went about as well for him as it could have. The meeting was a bit of a blur after that and Shane fled the moment he had a chance.

He should’ve probably looked for his new wings, but he tracked Hayden down first. His friend was by his favorite rowing machine at the gym, typing furiously on his phone. Talking with his wife Jackie, most likely. Shane wondered if he should even be here. Maybe this wasn’t a big deal for Hayden, who was entering his fifth year in the MLH and seemed see the whole thing as a job, albeit a really cool one that paid a ridiculous amount of money.

“Hey,” Shane forced himself to say. “Are you okay?”

Hayden looked up at him and smiled. “Yeah, I’m good.” He sighed heavily and put his phone in his pocket. “Actually, I’m not really great. Theriault must be stoned or something; I haven’t played center since my rookie year.”

“You’re center when I’m on the penalty box,” said Shane. Mostly because Wynn had thrown a tantrum when Theriault tried to make him the center, but still.

“Yeah, the three times per season you get a penalty,” snorted Hayden.

“It’s more than three times.” Shane rolled his eyes. “And Comeau? You think he’ll be good with this?” Hayden would be taking his spot, after all.

Hayden shrugged. “If he’s not, he’ll have to get over it just like me. Or Theriault will see how dumb this is in the preseason games and I’ll be your right wing again before you have time to miss me.”

Unlikely. The dumb part was Xie, not Merrell. If anything, Hayden might have to take his left side.

Their first preseason game would be against the Centaurs, one of the shittiest teams in the league. Shane wouldn’t say that out loud, but it was the truth. Another thing that he wouldn’t say out loud was that it was a relief to be facing them first. There couldn’t be more favorable conditions to give their new lines a shot.

Which were working out pretty well during drills. Xie was even faster than he’d let on during the first few weeks; he’d just been adapting to the other guys he was playing with. It was a sign that he understood the game at a deeper level than some vets, even. He could keep up with Shane and Jake Merell, who was living up to the hype in both skill and maturity. He wasn’t pissy about Shane being the better player, and he was also willing to spend the time necessary to get Xie up to speed.

From what he’d gathered, Melissa liked to get footage of Merrell interacting with Xie since both of them were getting the most engagement on their dumb social media engagement bullshit. Which Melissa called “building the team’s brand”. Whatever, it was a ploy to save money on photo ops. Shane realized it when he saw a billboard downtown projecting a candid picture of Merrell helping Xie adjust his stance on the ice.

His blueliners were working out too. He had J.J. back at his right, thank goodness, and Babikov was a cheerful mountain in skates at his left. The two were getting along, with Babikov happily following J.J.’s lead. Shane, unfortunately, had no reason at all to complain to Theriault that he wanted Hayden back. Hayden himself was doing pretty well as a second line center. Of course. Shane hadn’t doubted him. He just knew that Hayden would’ve been happy to play at the position he’d grown comfortable.

Their third line was showing promise as deeply irritating wall of defensively oriented players, so they were perfect. Comeau had been shifted there to be their center, and while Shane intellectually understood that the 3rd line wasn’t a demotion, he couldn’t pretend that he wouldn’t be mortified if he ever ended up there. Comeau seemed to be taking it in stride and was having an obvious positive effect on his linemen. He'd done something to make Mark Batton, his left defencemen, stop hounding Xie. <em>Stop obsessing with the 1st line left wing and focus on your own, even if he's not as pretty at Xie.</em> Exactly. Comeau had more leadership potential than Shane had given him credit for.

As for the fourth line. . . they were stuck with Carmichael. As a center. Shane sighed as he watched the asshole lay it into the poor 4th line right wing, who probably had done nothing to deserve it. Hayden stepped in to try and smooth things over, but Carmichael half pushed him when Hayden tried to lay a hand on his shoulder. An assistant coach had to skate over to them. It would be funny if it weren’t Shane’s team that the dipshit was messing with.

“What the fuck is that dude’s issue?” asked Hiltunen, their back up goalie, who was with them at the box. “Is it some kind of autism?”

“I don’t think so,” said Shane. “He’s just kind of an asshole.” He regretted the words almost immediately. As captain, he should not be playing favorites.

“He’s got affluenza,” said Xie.

“What’s that mean?” asked Babikov.

“Rich Asshole Entitlement Syndrome,” said J.J., taking a gulp of blue Gatorade. Then, he looked at the rookies fiercely. “I forbid you too from ever getting like that. Even if you end up with as many endorsements as our cap here.”

“We won’t; we won’t,” said Babikov, shaking his head.

“As if you’re gonna be getting endorsement deals with that mug,” said their goalie. “Maybe Pretty Boy here. If he makes it past the first month.”

Luckily, the 4th line didn’t get as much playtime. Shane pushed aside his guilt and let the coaches deal with the Carmichael problem. He had his own line to worry about, and Hayden’s too. A top tier 1st line was dead in the water without a solid 2nd line.

“You’re feeling good?” Shane asked Hayden the next time they ran into each other at the weights section of the gym. “About our first game?”

“Yeah,” said Hayden, after finishing his set at the bench press. “I feel like I’m a rookie all over again, but my wings are good. They’ll get me through.”

“You’re not rookie,” said Shane, wiping down the bench. “And remember, being a center is mostly knowing your wings and when you have to slow down for them so they can give you decent passes.” He sighed. “You and Wynn were really good. Very predictable.”

“Thanks, Shane.”

“You’re welcome.” Shane grinned at him. “Xie and Merrell are pretty good too, just new. I need to chill and be patient. Give clearer instructions.”

“Merell is not new,” pointed out Hayden. “He’s been playing in the MLH for ten years and he’s actually top tier. There are top players in this league besides you and Rozanov.”

“I meant Merrell’s new to playing with me,” said Shane. “He’s a veteran; I know that, but. . .” Shane replayed the conversation in his head. “Do you think I’m being too bossy or particular with them?”

“You? Impossible. No way.” But Hayden’s tone was so sarcastic that even Shane caught it.

“Ah, shit,” said Shane.

“Don’t spiral, buddy,” said Hayden, pushing him down on the bench. “You’re the Shane Hollander. If anyone is gonna get Jake Merrell to swallow his pride, it’s you.”

That didn’t sound right.

Shane ruminated on it for the rest of the day and by the time he’d made it to the locker room, he’d realized that he was not building proper rapport with his new linemates. They didn’t even have a dedicated group chat. Hayden had created his last one and unofficially taken over all social gatherings for them. Or Jackie did. Regardless, Shane never had to worry about them building rapport.

He heard the door open, followed by Xie and Babikov chatting about nothing on the other side, behind a wall lockers. The two of them, at least, seem to have bonded quite nicely without any help from Shane. Or, they had become close off the rink complaining about what an asshole their center was.

Shane shook his head and took action before he had a chance to spiral. He created a group chat—Voyageurs 1st Line. Yes, he should have done this immediately, but he did not have a time machine. Guys, this is the place for us to keep each other informed. Was that too formal? Fuck it. Shane hit send.

Over the line of lockers, Xie and Babikov’s paused their conversation. There was some rustling as they checked their phones.

“Oh, cool,” said Babikov.

Shane saw a thumbs up emoji appear on his first message.

Voyageurs 1st Line

Jean-Jaques Boiziau
Rooks I expect you to inform daddy Shane every time you jerk off
He will decide how you spend your energies

Babikov laughed while Shane rolled his eyes and wondered how long it would be before he muted this group chat.

“Oh, God,” he heard Xie say, sounding like he was being strangled.

“What?” asked Babikov.

“I’m Shane Hollander’s left wing,” said Xie, with a dry heave. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

What? Why? Shane’s felt his stomach sinking. He’d thought Xie liked him. Except for earlier, he guessed.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” Babikov was asking. “Are freaking out? Why?”

“Nik, you are Shane Hollander’s left D-man,” said Xie.

How was Shane going to get out of there without them knowing he’d been eavesdropping? His headphones?

“Yeah, it’s awesome,” said Babikov. “Why do you say it like that? Every asshole from my high school is up my ass on all socials, like I’m gonna forget how they all treated me.”

Shane slipped on his headphones and turned up some music. He did not want to hear more of this, so he walked out from his little nook. Babivok and Xie both looked like deer caught under headlights, so Shane made a show of taking off his headphones. “You guys good?”

“Yeah, we weren’t talking about you!” said Babikov.

Xie squeezed his eyes shut, threw his head back, and sighed. “Oh my God.”

“Okay,” said Shane, hoping his blush wasn’t too obvious. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow at the bus.”

He felt better about the whole thing later, after talking to his parents. Yuna pointed out that Xie was probably nervous about playing on the same line as the best center in the league, which yeah. That made sense. Shane couldn’t believe that his mom had to explain something so obvious to him. He'd considered saying something and had been relieved when David pointed out that Xie might appreciate it more if Shane let the moment pass without comment. Better to spend the evening messing around with the other group chat.

Voyageurs

Patrice Drapeau
how long until Melissa’s thing is done?
I’m not gonna be covering the labels on all my drinks forever wtf

Jean-Jaques Boizaiu
that’s your biggest issue with this social media bullshit?
Not having a camera shoved in your face all the time?
Not seeing random pictures of you you didn’t agree to popping up everywhere?

Patrice Drapeau
I wanna drink a fucking monster in peace
don’t wanna carry a fucking purse for my gatorade
wtf is her problem

Shane Hollander
potentially the team could sign sponsorship deals with all those brands

Gilbert Comeau
yeah we got that professor Hollander
I am gonna kill Rozanov
this is all his fault

Jake Merrell
not Roz’s fault he hates this shit too
whoever made #Roz81EuropeanF*ckTour trend is to blame

Gilbert Comeau
how do you know how the Rozanov feels about it?
You still talk to him??

Jake Merrell
yes I’m sure this is an alien concept to you Comeau but Rozanov is my friend
I played for Boston for six years

Nikolai Babikov
I think Melissa is really nice

Hayden Pike
is anyone checking these reels?
Some of them are kinda cute
look at our rookies:
link

Dylan Xie
no don’t look at that

Patrice Drapeau
aw Xie don’t worry
it’s also a dream for us to be on the ice with Shane

Dylan Xie
she took that out of context!

Nikolai Babikov
But it’s true! Shane is the best hockey player in the world

Gilbert Comeau
dude he is in this very chat and already his shoulders can barely support his giant head

Shane Hollander
guys is this how we’re preparing for tomorrow’s game?

Jean-Jaques Boizaiu
it’s the Centaurs what is there to prepare for???
if we lose I will simply kill everyone in this and chat then myself

The trip to Ottowa went well. Probably. Shane wasn’t paying much attention on the way. He decided to check other teams’ official social media content on the way. And by “other teams”, he meant meant the Bears. He wanted to see how the Voyageurs they'd lost were doing.

Well enough, or they’d been edited to sound that way. Mitch was playing right wing on the 4th line, which was about right for his skills, and went on about his kids were really liking the parks in Boston. Wynn stared directly at the camera with his strange, almost mint-green eyes and said that a trade from the Voyageurs 1st line to the Bears’ 1st line didn’t matter because they were “essentially equivalent” in skill, though he did “prefer Hollander’s leadership style” to Rozanov’s.

Shane decided to take that as a compliment.

The reel cut to a highlight of Wynn scoring a goal off an assist from Rozanov spliced with a shot of them grinning and Rozanov kissing Wynn’s helmet in celebration. Maybe the contrast was meant to be humorous. The many times Wynn scored while they were playing together, Shane had attempted to respect his aversion to physical contact by celebrating with a smile and a thumbs up.

Honestly, he didn’t like all the celebratory hugs when he scored either, but he’d learned to live with it.

“What do you think of your replacement on Hollander’s line?” a feminine voice asked.

“I have no opinion since I haven’t seen him play.”

“Not even his junior games?”

“Why bother?” said Wynn. “He would have had to skate and play at whatever level his linemates were playing. Ask me again after I’ve met him on the ice.”

God, Shane missed Wynn. They once sat next to each other on a trans-Atlantic flight and had not exchanged a single word.

He went to a reel from Rozanov where the same feminine voice asked him about the off season.

Rozanov—who couldn’t be shirtless now that he was expected to wear his Bears-branded t-shirt all the time, Shane was happy to note—smirked slowly at the camera and wiggled his eyebrows. “I think everyone knows what I did last summer. There was hashtag and everything.”

Ugh. Shane closed the app. Time to watch his upcoming game.

The Bears were playing their first game—the first game of the season, actually—against the Admirals. Shane watched the game on his small phone screen, pretending he felt nothing special every time the cameras focused on Rozanov’s face and his delighted blue eyes, which always looked more striking when his skin was shining with exertion. And the cameras followed him; Rozanov was extremely popular with fans. Or unpopular. The league’s most infamous bad boy. Whatever. If the pinched look on Scott Hunter’s face was anything to go by, then Rozanov was being particularly obnoxious.

Rozanov scored twice in the first period, both times with passes from Wynn. He bowed like old fashioned gentleman the second time while the irate New York City crowd booed him.

“God, punch him in the face Hunter!” So there was at least one other person in the bus watching this shitshow.

Hunter managed to score just before the end of the first period, then the 2nd and 3rd lines fucked around for most of the second period. It was an exciting game—both Boston and New York had elite teams—but Shane had to admit that the match was most exciting when Rozanov’s line was on the ice. He noticed that Rozanov was being methodical, chirping as usual, but skating around like a laser, avoiding checks. By the end of the second period, he’d only spent two minutes on the penalty box.

Rozanov is playing more defensively than usual, one of the talking heads concurred. It’s a testament to the skill that the Admirals are bringing to the ice.

No need for him to risk injury when his team in ahead, added the other.

Hunter scored again at the beginning of the third period, ratcheting up the tension and forcing Boston to get more aggressive. The Boston defencemen started stalking Rozanov—a mistake, in Shane’s opinion. He would expect that, anyone would expect that, and so Rozanov would at this point focus on passing to his wings. Wynn would notice, of course, and if it was Shane’s match, he would be looking for the opening to pass to him.

It looked like the game would go into sudden death—Rozanov scored with fifteen seconds left on the clock.

“Fuck,” breathed Shane, though he couldn’t quite suppress the smile that took over his face as fans threw their hats to the ice. Not that many, considering it wasn’t Boston, but still. Rozanov skated toward the edge of the rink, grabbed a shiny Admiral-branded cap, kissed the logo, and smirked at the camera following him.

“First game of the season too, fuck,” he heard Hayden complaining. “Maybe he’ll finally catch Herpes this year.” Would he still say that if he knew he’d pass it on to Shane?

Later, while he got ready at the Centaur’s guest dressing room, Merrell approached him. “Cap,” eh started, scratching at his shaved head. “What’s the plan if the rookies crap out on us on the ice?”

Shane looked over at the other end of the of the dressing room, where Xie and Babikov were helping each other with their gear. “They’ve been pretty good in drills.”

“Yeah, but this is their first real match and they’re both real. . . soft,” said Merrell.

“Are they?” Shane hadn’t noticed anything ‘soft’, which was not a good word in the MLH.

“They’re good kids,” said Merrell, “but I think we should check with Theriault for a contingency plan in case we need to switch them out. Pike can move back to 1st line right, I can take your left, and we can move a couple of the guys from the 4th line up to second. Not Carmichael.”

Shane didn’t think this was something to spring on Theriault right before a game, and Merrell knew that. But Shane didn’t want to argue about it, or find out what Merell had learned on the bus ride to make him want to do this while Shane watched Rozanov’s game like a deranged puck bunny. “Fine, let’s go talk to Theriault.”

Theriault didn’t shoot them down immediately, but he did send them off with a short snap that he could manage his lines without their last minute input. Whatever, this was an exhibition game anyway. For them, though not for Shane. Rozanov had overtaken him in the private and also highly public scoring race.

The match started out pretty well. Shane forced himself not to go overboard—these games were supposed to be for the rookies and hopefuls to show their mettle; Rozanov was such a show off asshole. He and Merrell went for more fun plays and passed to Xie whenever they could. The Centaurs weren’t sucking as much as usual, which made for a more entertaining game for the audience, if nothing else.

In the middle of the first period, Shane spotted an opening and passed to Xie, who swiftly scored the first goal of the game. And of his career. He froze like a rabbit when the crowd cheered—Ottawa was close enough to Montreal that there were more Voyageurs fans than Centaurs fans on the stands. Xie grinned only when Babikov hugged him from behind.

Merrell scored at the end of the first period. And Hayden scored as well in the second period, bringing the game to a comfortable 3-0 in the Voyageurs’ favor. Theriault sent in the 3rd line to kill some time and Shane wondered if Rozanov was watching the game. Probably not. Centaur games were pretty boring.

1st line played again at the beginning of the third period and Shane scored his first goal of the season. 4-0. The crowd cheered the loudest they had all night since the Ottawa crowd considered him one of their own, even if he didn’t play for the home team. There was a very real chance that many people on the stand were keeping track of the scoring race between him and Rozanov. Shane waved at them and smiled, though he couldn’t pretend he was super excited. He was relieved when Theriault switched them out for the 4th line.

That was when things started going to shit.

The Centaurs sent out their 1st line and Carmichael just wasn’t a good center. Shane watched with morbid horror as he lost track of his wings and kept getting stomped by opposing defencemen. The Centaurs actually managed to score four times before Theriault woke up from some kind of shock coma and signaled to the ref that he was switching lines.

“What the fuck is happening?” asked J.J.

“What’s the plan if the 4th line craps out?” Shane asked Merrell.

“We go in obviously,” said Merrell, turning to the to where Xie was slumped. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Xie.

Shane should probably be the one checking on his rookie wing, but he was looking at the ice with more focus. They didn’t have a lot of time to fix this disaster. He scored another goal off an assist from Babikov—of all people—and ended the match, barely mustering an appropriate friendly smile for the cameras.

The mood in the locker room afterwards was happy enough, Shane supposed, as he passed the winning puck to Xie. The kid looked up at him with stars in his dark eyes. “You scored more than me,” he said.

“I got other pucks,” said Shane. So did Hayden. But Xie would likely remember that first goal for as long as he lived.

Theriault came in to berate them for almost getting their asses handed to them by the Centaurs, which they deserved. Well, the 4th line and Shane did. And by the 4th line, he meant Carmichael, who was so far up his own ass that he didn’t realize that the dudes on his line were just trying not to get bumped back to the AHL.

“All right,” Theriault finished. “Hollander, with reporters. You and one other guy, be ready in a minute.”

“Yes, Coach,” Shane said to Theriault’s retreating back. “J.J., come on,” he added, not giving himself a chance to overthink who should go with him to entertain annoying reporters.

The guys were going to celebrate, but Shane begged off with an excuse about how his parents were waiting for him at the parking lot. It was true, but they wouldn’t be mad if he messaged them to say he was going out to celebrate with his team. In fact, they’d be happy to see him unwind or whatever. Shane just did not want to unwind. He wanted to watch the streams of the game he’d just played so he could analyze his and his team’s performance. Then, he wanted to do the same for the Bears’ game.

He settled for going to ESPN to hear how the talking heads were judging him, especially in comparison to Rozanov. It was their favorite fucking past time.

Hollander played an—well, it would have been an amazing game for a player with a less impressive record. For him, it was fairly underwhelming.

More so if you consider the electric game Rozanov played earlier today. . .

“Baby!” His mother’s voice could be heard over his headphones. Shane muted his phone and let her pull him down for a hug. Yuna ruffled his hair and kissed his nose. “You did well.”

Yeah, well. But not great. Shane forced himself to grin and then got in the car.

“Excellent game, son,” said David, because he didn’t know hockey as well as Yuna.

Later, after dinner was done and Shane had allowed himself to vent to his parents, he got a message from the devil himself. It was a gif of Rozanov kissing the Admirals branded cap after he scored his hat trick.

 

Lily (Boston)

Lily (Boston)
had great game today
did u watch
we are 140-139 goals now, going my way

Shane Hollander
So you watched my game then
I didn’t watch yours because I’m not obsessed with you

Lily (Boston)
yes I watched your 4th line shame all of Montreal state

Shane Hollander
Province of Quebec, City of Montreal
USA has states
Did they not teach you basic geography in the USSR

Lily (Boston)
did they not teach you to control stupid rookies in captain school
why is carmichael being a clown???
unfuck that situation

Shane Hollander
mind your own business

Lily (Boston)
sure my darling Jane
my current business now is are we meeting after bears humiliate voyuers next weekend
voyagurs
voygeurs???
autocorrect not working

Shane Hollander
Voyageurs god
and I don’t know
I have to see what my schedule looks like

The truth was that Shane already had the hotel room booked. And a back up hotel room too, just in case. It wasn’t like he was hurting for money, even if he was hurting for dignity.

Their next couple of exhibition games went well. Even Carmichael shaped up a bit; Shane figured that Theriault had threatened to castrate him or something. Well, the 4th line was playing less too, so maybe he just didn’t have as much time to be a shithead. If only they could get rid of him. . . But considering who his grandaddy was, Shane doubted he had the standard rookie contract.

In much better news, Hayden was settling into his role as a 2nd line center, the 3rd line dudes were solid under Comeau (enough that Shane was sure Theriault wasn’t considering sending any of them packing). Shane’s own line, of course, was exceeding expectations.

Merrell was basically a team dad. He was nearly thirty and proving to be excellent and corralling the others into something resembling proper discipline. J.J. was ribbing the rookies, but not in a bad way. More like in a cool older brother way. And Xie and Babikov were turning out to be hidden gems, considered how far down the draft they’d been picked. Best of all, they had amazing chemistry on the ice and were obviously learning how to predict each other.

As expected, Xie’s small stature painted a target on his back, but Babikov was making a habit of descending on anyone who checked him. It didn’t seem like Theriault was interested in putting a stop to it, though it wasn’t the most clean way to play hockey.

“Babikov, how about you try to stay off the penalty box next time we’re on the ice?” said Shane, once it crossed a line to playing dirty. Shane had been too focused on the play they were attempting, so he didn’t know the details. But he’d watched Babikov rip Dallas Kent’s helmet off almost all the way before throwing a punch. “We all want to punch Kent in the mouth, but that’s what he wants so his shit team can go on power play. We restrain ourselves. Pull yourself together.”

Babikov looked up at him from where he was sitting in the penalty box. They were up on the jumbotron while the rink was prepped for the second period, but hopefully no cameraman was zooming in to Babikov’s furious glare. Somehow, he looked his alarming 198 cm and change of height, for once. “He called Dylan a fag.”

“And that was not right,” said Shane. But it was one of the most common insults in the MLH. Probably the most common one Xie heard, considering what he looked like. “Still, no throwing punches.”

“And—other stuff,” said Babikov. He looked down.

So a racial slur on top of it, which the MLH had slightly less tolerance for than homophobia. Well, the n-word was pretty much forbidden, for good reason, though there was always the odd asshole who thought they could spit it out and inevitably got himself suspended for at least one game if he was stupid enough to say it on camera.

“Nikolai, just pull yourself together, all right,” said Shane. “You can’t be Xie’s mother bear from this box.”

Babikov’s expression finally softened. “Tell J.J. to watch out for him, okay?”

“Okay,” said Shane, valiantly not rolling his eyes. He also swallowed a passive aggressive comment about how there was no need to worry about him and Merrell either.

Shane skated to their box, trying to keep his face neutral. They were winning, but it sure as shit didn’t feel like it. He plopped down next to Hayden and tried to pay attention as the 3rd line started wearing down Kent’s line. Over in the corner, Xie was dejectedly chugging chocolate Muscle Milk wrapped in his Voyageur-branded bottle purse, as Drapeau had dubbed them.

“He scored one of our goals tonight,” said Shane. Xie was playing really well, actually, so Shane didn’t see why he should care what bullshit Kent was spewing.

“People are gonna pick on him more the better he gets,” said Hayden.

Shane bit his tongue. He didn’t know why, but Xie getting all weepy annoyed him more than anything else, even Babikov’s overreaction. Was Xie just now realizing that he was short, Asian, and pretty? He could cut his stupid hair if he wanted to look less like a girl on steroids.

They won and Shane made sure to plaster on his sunniest smile when he thanked Kent for a great game. At least the asshole’s lip was split for nothing.

Despite their victory, both Xie and Babikov looked miserable in the locker room. At another corner, Carmichael was whining to Comeau because he’d only gotten to play for five minutes or so. Much to Shane’s annoyance, Comeau seemed to entertaining his bullshit. Maybe Cameau just wanted to try a different approach. Carmichael definitely didn’t seem to notice or care that everyone hated him. Shane told himself that he should be grateful to have two good rookies, even if the two of them were being dramatic at the moment.

Out of nowhere, Merrell leaned close to him. “We gotta talk. Not tonight; I’m fucking exhausted. Tomorrow, on the plane.”

“Okay,” muttered Shane. He was in no hurry to find out what exactly Merrell had learned.

Besides, he’d rather not have anything specific to worry about for the post game interview. Fuck, they were gonna ask about his rookie D-man jumping Kent, weren’t they?

The Voyageurs’ plane designed for private business flights, so there was plenty of cozy corners for Shane to hide in. Recharge after social interactions, he meant. Last couple of seasons, Hayden had stuck close to him, but now he had his own linemen to keep entertained. No doubt Shane ought to be doing the same for his little crew, but they seemed to be fine without him. He didn’t even know how Merrell passed their time on the road, and he was sad that the man’s routine would be interrupted.

Shane offered him a small smile when Merrell sat down next to him. “So, I speak Mandarin,” Merrell said without preamble.

“The fuck?” said Shane. He gave Merrell a once over. The man was very white; his eyes were as blue as marbles.

“Fine, ‘speak’ is generous considering my accent, but I understand Mandarin,” said Merrell. “My wife is Chinese. Point is, I didn’t tell Xie I understand him when he talks to his sisters.”

“You should,” said Shane. “He probably switches languages when he wants privacy.”

“Not my fault he assumes white people can’t understand him,” said Merrell. “Look, I overheard him freaking out on the phone because some asshole he hooked up with in high school is trying to blackmail him. A male asshole.”

Shane froze on his seat. He looked down in a pointless attempt to hide.

“Ah, shit.” Shane swallowed. “Fuck.” Damn it. For a horrendous moment, he saw Rozanov’s smirking face. But no, Rozanov was a dick, but he’d never once even hinted at revealing their secret. It was their secret. “Fuck,” he said again. And he’d been trying not to make assumptions just because Xie had hair down to his ass and was prettier than anyone Shane had ever seen in real life. Was being gay legal in China? That shouldn’t matter, fuck. Xie was a US American citizen. “Okay." He took a deep breath and looked at Merrell. "So what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to talk to him,” said Merrell. “Then we gotta go to Theriault.”

“You want to out him?” asked Shane, which was a more important question than ‘why me?’

“No, I’m not a fucking scumbag,” said Merrell. “But this is gonna come out sooner or later, and I think Theriault is more likely to back him if he’s not caught by surprise.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” said Merrell. “The kid’s playing really well, so Theriault is all smug because he took a chance on him. Xie has some goodwill to burn.”

“You don’t think Theriault is a homophobe?” said Shane.

“I mean, I don’t think he’s an ‘ally’ or whatever,” said Merrell. “But he’s one of the more. . . socially forward coaches.”

“Theriault? Really?”

“Shane, Ive been in the MLH for ten years and played for three teams,” said Merrell. “Theriault might as well be wearing rainbow pins compared to some of the assholes I’ve worked for.”

“Okay, but why should I be the one to talk to Xie?” Shane could think of other guys better suited for it. Hayden. Maybe J.J.

“Because you’re the captain, Shane Hollander, and he idolizes you,” said Merrell.

“I know my name.”

“And it’ll mean a lot to him to have your support,” finished Merrell. He gave Shane a hard look. “He does have your support, right?”

“Yes, I’m not a fucking homophobe,” said Shane. “I just don’t think we should be doing this while we’re on the road.” He went over his mental calendar. “When we’re back in Montreal—”

“—no time for that,” said Merrel, shoving his phone screen in Shane’s face.

It was open to a sports gossip blog bragging about the supposed info they had about a hot MLH rookie who was, in their words, ‘queer’. Was that not a slur? So what? You might think. There’s a sea of MLH rookies every year and most of them will be forgotten in six months. But friends, this one is in the running for Rookie of the Year.

“The season’s been going on for like three weeks.” Shane rolled his eyes and scrolled a bit. Though Xie’s name wasn’t mentioned—or any team name at all—the first comment was a gift of Xie blushing as J.J. picked him up to celebrate one of his goals. It was a third period goal too, so some of his hair had escaped his helmet, making him look awfully cute. “Has the rest of the team seen this?”

“I don’t know,” said Merrell. “Probably, but it sounds like standard puck bunny bullshit for now. They think we’re all gay and having orgies in the locker rooms. But like I said, someone is blackmailing him.”

“Fine,” said Shane. “After tomorrow’s game, we go to his hotel room, kick Babikov out, and talk to him.”

Their next game was in Chicago and Xie looked so focused that Shane almost doubted Merrell’s story. They won, extending their streak by one more game. Shane scored two goals, neatly overtaking Rozanov in their private/public competition. The 2nd and 3rd lines blocked Detroit, and then Xie scored another goal to clean up their now usual 4th line fuck up. Shane decided then and there that he would back Xie. Whatever clout he’d gotten over the last three years sweeping in the MLH, he would spend it helping his left wing. The little guy was an excellent player with a world of potential, and it should not matter that he liked to suck dick. Or maybe having other guys suck his dick. Shane wondered if he liked riding guys, or having his pretty hair pulled.

Fuck, Shane needed to get laid. It was a good thing his next game was against the Bears.

That evening, Babikov was reluctant to leave the hotel room and in fact refused to do so until Shane promised that Xie wasn’t in trouble. Well, he refused to leave until Xie yelled at him to get out, then patted his giant shoulder when his eyes got wide, and promised to text him later. The moment Babikov stepped closed the door behind him, Merrell said something in Mandarin.

“Ah, fuck,” said Xie, grimacing. “You sound like shit.”

“Whatever, man,” said Merrell. “I know what you were talking about with your sister.”

Xie held his head high. “So, what?” He spread his arms out in challenge. “You guys here to hate crime me?”

“No!” said Shane. “We’re here to talk. Why weren’t you more discreet?”

“That’s not exactly what we came here to say,” interjected Merrell. “We’re just—”

“—because I didn’t think I’d get into the fucking MLH!” said Xie, looking more furious than embarrassed or scared. “I gave it a shot because I thought it’d look good in my college application, make me stand out from all the other Chinese dudes with a 4.0 GPA who can play the violin or some bullshit. But then I got in, so now I’m here.”

“Sure, okay,” said Shane. He could see the logic in that. “So how many of your hook ups are out for blood?”

“Hollander, should we have workshopped how this conversation is supposed to go?” asked Merrell.

“How many?” demanded Xie. “I’m sorry, but are you under the impression that I had a life in high school? Some of us weren’t born with a hockey stick on hand, Shane Hollander. I had to work my ass off for a long shot of being here.”

“Excuse me? Some of us?” said Shane. What the fuck was he talking about? Did he think Shane didn’t work hard? Shane hadn’t tasted candy since he was fourteen years old and read some convincing research that synthetic sugars decreased athletic performance. “Born with a hockey stick on hand?”

“Fucking Christ,” said Merrell.

“I hooked up with one motherfucker at a college fair, and now he’s googling shit and assuming I’m a closeted millionaire,” said Xie, snorting. “Well, I’d rather be kicked out. I’m not giving him a dime, not a fucking penny. If I’m gonna break my body playing this sport, it’s gonna be for me and my family, not some scumbag who begged to blow me.”

“Does he actually have evidence?” asked Shane. First things first.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Merrell.

“He took a few pics of me without asking for permission, so yeah,” said Xie. “At the time, I didn’t think it was worth it to get into a fight over it.”

“It doesn’t matter!” shouted Merrell.

Both Shane and Xie turned towards him, Shane feeling a little embarrassed.

“Dylan,” said Merrell. “It doesn’t matter because we are going to talk to Theriault about this. You’ll have to come out to him, probably to the rest of the team, but whatever. We’ll come up with a plan of action.”

“But won’t he fire me?” asked Xie.

“He can’t fire you for being gay,” said Merrell. “That’s illegal in Canada. I think in the USA too, but your country is awful, so who knows.”

“Theriault can’t fire you regardless,” said Shane. “He’s not our boss—he’s not! We work for the league, not him.”

“Fine,” said Xie, though his lower lip quivered. “Call him up. I’ll come out to him right now. I guess I can be gay.”

“What do you mean, you guess?” said Shane. “Are you gay or not?”

“Have you ever heard of bisexuality or pansexuality?” asked Xie.

“Guys, let’s relax a little bit,” said Merrell. “Talk out the details, get our thoughts out and organized in a rational fashion so we don’t sound hysterical when we talk to Theriault.”

“Fine,” said Shane.

The situation was fucked, but not particularly complicated. Some college douchebag had pics of Xie’s dick and screenshots of some boiler plate sexting. Xie was not interested in paying him off (good), and while he could try denying everything, there would be a scandal regardless. There were no out queer players in the MLH.

“Isn’t queer a slur?” asked Shane, squirming in the shitty hotel couch.

“Nah, it’s been pretty much reclaimed by the LGBT community,” said Merrell. “What?” He added when both Shane and Xie gave him a look. “My wife is a gender studies adjunct at Harvard.”

“So is it like the n-word now? Are straight people allowed to say it?” Mostly, Shane was asking if Merrell was. . . queer. Even though there was a wife he kept mentioning.

“No, it’s not like the n-word, man. Focus,” said Merrell. “And yes, straight people can say it so long as they don’t mean it in a shitty way.”

What? How were people supposed to know who meant it in a ‘shitty way’?

“So now I have to come out?” said Xie. “That’s what my career is gonna amount to? Being the first queer guy in the MLH?” He sighed.

“Well, I think you’re already the first Chinese one,” said Merrell. “But it may not come to that. You might just want to tell Theriault, or some members of the team, or just wait to see if this douchebag is serious. Believe it or not, he might not be stupid enough to become famous in the queer community for blackmailing an eighteen year old trying to make it as pro athlete in a very homophobic league.”

“And blackmail is illegal too,” added Shane. “I hope you’ve threatened to sue this asshole into the stratosphere.”

Xie sighed. “So, who else knows?”

“Just me and Merrell.”

“And Babikov,” said Xie.

Of course, thought Shane.

“Yeah?” said Merrell.

“He caught me freaking out,” said Xie. “Should I tell more guys on the team?”

Shane looked at Merrell and shrugged.

“It might not be a bad idea,” said Merrell. “Theriault might be more. . . laid back if he knew the team is functioning even with your sexuality being essentially common knowledge.”

“Hayden would probably be okay with it,” said Shane. “J.J. too, I think.” He wasn’t sure about Comeau, who wasn’t exceedingly toxic, but shared nudes from random puck bunnies more than anyone else and threw around too many ‘fags’ for Shane’s comfort. Drapeau. . . Shane didn’t know. He wasn’t as outwardly toxic as most guys, but he’d called Xie pretty a little too often. It would be nice to have their best goalie in Xie’s corner—and terrible not to have him.

“Fine, let’s tell them,” said Xie, reaching for his phone. “I’ll get Nik in here so we can all have a pizza party about my pathetic problem.”

Shane nodded at Merrell and pulled out his phone to text Hayden.

Hayden Pike

Shane Hollander
You free?
Emergency meeting at room 4031
Find JJ and bring him along

Hayden Pike
Sure man
Only JJ?
What’s wrong????

Shane Hollander
Rookie drama
Kinda serious
But no one’s hurt
get here ASAP

Fifteen minutes later, they had colonized Babikov and Xie’s crappy hotel room. Hayden and J.J. were a little startled by Xie’s matter-of-fact coming out, but neither freaked out. J.J. groaned and declared that he had to cancel his hook up, and Hayden forced a smile and announced that they should order pizza. Shane reminded him to order a couple of salads and whatever grilled chicken or shrimp they had. With any luck, he wouldn’t have to make do with protein powder alone.

In all honesty, he preferred to celebrate a victory like this instead of going out to a loud night club. They started streaming their last game to critique each other’s plays and to complain about Kent until they got bored and started joking around about nothing. Xie slowly relaxed as the evening went on and Shane. . . did not. If anything, he felt his muscles tightening up and had to force himself not to glare as Xie and Babikov started their usual horsing around. There was a greasy meatball pizza slice in Babikov’s hand. Did he not care if he dripped oil and sauce on the shitty bed?

“All right,” said J.J., when Babikov wrestled Xie into a headlock. “Let’s see this sexts you’re getting blackmailed with.”

“J.J.,” said Hayden.

“We gotta see how bad this is,” insisted J.J.

“It’s okay,” said Xie, tapping Babikov’s shoulder to signal the end of the game. He straightened up and reached for his phone. “They’re kinda blurry, but it’s not like people are gonna be skeptical when they get leaked.”

J.J. examined the screen first, looked for a few interminable seconds, cringed, and passed the phone to Hayden. Hayden barely glanced at them and passed them to Merrell, who didn’t even look at the screen before handing it to Shane. Everyone in the room kept their expressions blank, even Xie himself. It was just nudes; no big deal at all. Guys often shared hole pics in the locker room, and sometimes they weren’t particularly nasty about it. Some dudes critiqued each other’s dick pics and Shane had yet to discern how straight bros broached the topic without throwing around accusations of homosexuality. There was no need to have palpitations about this.

Shane forced himself to look. On the phone screen, there was a lithe body supine on a bed with plain white bed sheets, face partially hidden under a curtain of sleek black hair. He was male, dick soft and stained come, muscles lightly defined. Hysterically, Shane noted that Xie had definitely grown more muscular since this picture was taken. He swiped to the next pic and felt a little nauseous. The body had been turned over and the camera focused on Xie’s ass. An obscene hand had spread the cheeks to put his hole on display, also stained with white ropes.

Was this was Rozanov saw?

No. Rozanov would never take a picture. Certainly not without asking for permission first. And they always used condoms. Had the douchebag asked Xie for permission? What had Xie said? It hadn’t seemed worth it to argue about it at the time.

Shane blinked, forced himself to look at the totality of the image. Over at the small of Xie’s back, there was a mark. A birthmark? No. A tattoo. What was it called? A tramp stamp.

“Xie, do you any tattoos?” asked Shane. He was sure he hadn’t seen any at the communal showers, but he was careful never to look at anyone too closely in there.

“What?” Xie sounded a little breathless. “No, I don’t.”

“This guy has a tattoo,” said Shane, swiping to the next image. Yeah, there was a trashy tramp stamp of a winking heart with an arrow pointed down, towards. . . well, the hole. No way Xie had been showing this off at the showers for weeks and no one had tried to bully him into oblivion over it. “Are you sure this is you?”

“Let me see!” Xie gestured for the phone. He focused on the screen, sighed, then slapped his forehead. “Oh my God. Okay. This isn’t me.”

There were a few moments of tense silence.

“Wow,” said J.J., smacking his lips. “I thought it was racist to not be able to tell Asians apart.”

“Not the time, man,” said Merrell.

“This is good, right?” said Babikov, beaming.

“Fucking rookies,” mumbled Hayden.

“Do you not know what your own dick looks like?” demanded J.J.

“I didn’t look at these pics too closely!” squeaked Xie. He squirmed on the bed. “It doesn’t even matter, thought. I already responded to him like I thought it’s me.”

“Are you sure this is the guy you hooked up with?” asked Shane.

“Yes!” But Xie looked away. “I mean, I only talked to him for that weekend. He gave me his socials, though, and he’s sent me his bank and routing number so I can transfer him fifty grand.”

“Un-fucking-believeable,” said Hayden, shaking his head. “How long have you been panicking over this bullshit?”

“Whatever, guys,” said Babikov. “Now that Dylan knows he’s not in the pics, he can pretend he was just playing along with the dude because he thought it was funny.”

“Text me this man’s name and his socials,” said Shane, tossing the phone back to Xie. “I need verify some of this.”

Shane tuned out their subsequent bickering and started searching some extremely basic information online, which Xie should have already done himself. But Shane would cut him some slack considering he was eighteen and likely trying not to melt into a puddle of panic and tears over this while also playing his first games in the MLH. 

The pervert extortionist claimed to be one Matthew Henders, from the state of Maryland, currently working as—Shane rolled his eyes—a used car salesman. Honestly, had the dude been cooked up for a shitty script about a sex pest? He was twenty-six years old, so he would have been twenty-five at the time of the alleged hook up. Shane looked up the age of consent in the USA, then scowled when he realized that it varied by state. Stupid country.

“Xie,” Shane said, just to make sure. “How old were you when this hook up happened?”

“Seventeen,” said Xie. “I was at an away game with my team, and there was a college fair nearby.”

“Did this guy tell you how old he was?” asked Shane, not that it mattered.

“Eh, he said he was a sophomore?”

So, no.

Shane went back to the guy’s page. He looked like a painfully average dude, honestly not good looking enough to pull someone like Xie. Nothing about the his posts indicated that he was this level of shitstain, though. Not that he would be posting about how he was extorting the kid he’d hooked up with in college. Still, something wasn’t adding up.

“Text me the banking info he sent you,” Shane told Xie.

“You’re not gonna actually send him money, are you?” Xie demanded, indignant.

“No, I’m checking some stuff,” said Shane.

Once he got the number and which bank it was for, Shane googled the relevant customer service number.

“Bro, what are you doing?” asked Hayden.

“Guys, eat some more pizza,” said Shane, then settled down to hit zero until he got an actual person on the line. He tried to get comfortable and looked out the window, wishing that there was more than a dreary parking lot, lit only by a tepid streetlight, to observe. Behind him, the guys had paused all conversation.

“Hi, this is Cindy with Bank of America.”

“Hi, Cindy, thanks for answering,” said Shane. “I’m on a trip to visit family and I’ve lost my wallet and my phone, so I want to block all my cards. This is a friend’s phone.”

“No problem, sir,” said Cindy in a perky customer service voice. “Might I have your name and date of birth.”

“Yes, this is Matthew Henders,” Shane started. There was anxious rustling behind him as he read info from one of Henders’ social media profile.

“And your social security number?”

“Sorry, I don’t have that number memorized,” said Shane, hoping that wasn’t uncommon among US Americans. “But I do have my account and routing numbers.”

“All right, sir. Please go ahead.”

Shane rattled off the numbers.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Cindy. “Those numbers are not accurate. We could attempt your security questions.”

“That’s all right, Cindy. Thanks for your help.” Shane hung up the phone and turned back towards Xie. “I don’t who you’ve been talking to, but it’s not Matthew Henders. And I probably just fucked up his bank accounts.”

“I canceled my hook up for this,” said J.J.

“I. . .” Xie grimaced and looked at his hands. “Fuck, I’m a moron.”

“It’s not your fault, kid,” said Merrell.

“Yeah,” agreed Hayden. “No one wakes up expecting to be blackmailed by some asshole. And the important thing is you stood up for yourself and didn’t give the fucker a single dollar.”

“And you don’t even have to come out now, if you don’t want to,” said Babikov.

“Well,” said Merrell. Everyone looked at him. “It’s definitely not urgent now, but I would still consider it. He might want to get a boyfriend at some point. Or pull some male puck bunnies. They exist, even if they’re too scared to approach us.”

“Yeah,” said Hayden, looking at Xie. “No one can blackmail you for being gay if you’re not in the closet.”

“But wouldn’t I be harassed out of the league?” said Xie. “Just because the MLH can’t fire me for being queer doesn’t mean they can’t make me miserable.”

“Dude, I really don’t think it’s that big a deal,” said Babikov. “It’s not like we’re in the 1950s.”

J.J. flicked his head. “Quiet, white boy.” He turned to Xie. “Look, I’m with Hayden and Jake. I’m not pretending it would be easy, but it doesn’t look like being in the closet is a walk in the park either. Seems like you’re gonna have to pick your poison. If it was me, I mean if I could somehow hide that I’m black, I would not do it.”

Shane very carefully kept his breathing even and his face blank. This did not apply to him. He wasn’t gay, or queer. He just had some kind of—his brain had been fried by Rozanov. By their intense rivalry. It was exciting, what they did. Rozanov was Shane’s only indulgence, what he deserved for being so fucking perfect all the damned time.

“Look, this isn’t something you have to rush,” said Hayden. “No one in this room is gonna breathe a word of this to anyone, regardless of what you decide.”

“But this fucker keeps harassing me,” said Xie. “What do I do about him?”

“Can I call him?” asked Shane.

“What?” It was Hayden who asked.

“Can I call him?” repeated Shane.

“What?” asked Merrell. “You’re gonna tell him you’re the top player in the MLH and Xie’s captain? And if he doesn’t fuck off you’ll take a hit out on him?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Babikov.

Everyone ignored him. Xie looked at Shane with wide eyes.

“Trust me,” said Shane. “Pass me your phone.”

This was dumb and might blow up in their faces. But Shane was feeling reckless in a way he very rarely did. On the ice, sometimes, when he spotted a risky opening and had to make a call about whether or not to shoot his shot. And every single time he arranged a meet with Rozanov. He hit the call button. The scumbag answered almost immediately.

“Baby.”

“Mr. Henders,” Shane said, in his most media-ready tone. He looked to the boring parking lot to make sure he didn’t stumble over his words. “I am an attorney working with the MLH and currently assisting Mr. Dylan Xie with this. . . business you seem to think you have with him.”

“Heh,” the asshole said. Then, he stayed silent, even though Shane let him stew for bit.

“Right,” said Shane. “It’s my understanding that, in the process of harassing my client, you have admitted to committing statutory rape—”

“—what!”

“Mr. Henders, I advise you not to interrupt me,” said Shane. “This once, I will be gracious and point out that at the time of your alleged encounter with my client, he was seventeen years old. The age of consent in the state of Maryland is eighteen.”

Shane let the man stew for a few moments.

“As I was saying,” continued Shane. “While you were attempting to harass and intimidate my client, you admitted to committing statutory rape, producing child sexual exploitation material—colloquially known as ‘child porn’—waiting for your victim to sign a lucrative contract with the MLH, and then proceeding to blackmail him.”

“Bullshit,” the pervert spat. “A pro sport career is worth millions. No way the little slut would—”

“Mr. Henders,” interrupted Shane. “Considering that the MLH is an equal opportunity employer and has no interest in violating anti-discrimination laws in either Canada or the United States over some admittedly embarrassing but fraudulent photos, I’m baffled that you think my client has something to lose here.”

“Fuck you—”

“Of course, we don’t want to waste any further time or resources on this tedious affair,” said Shane, “so I will be generous and forget this ever happened if you make sure never to contact my client again. Trust that if you ever do, I will utilize the MLH’s considerable resources to ensure that you never know a moment of legal peace for the rest of your natural born life.”

“You can’t threaten me. I have a right to free speech—”

Jesus. What the fuck did US Americans think freedom of speech was? “Good evening, Mr. Henders. If we ever speak to each other again, it will be in a court of law.” Shane hung up and turned to the guys. “I think we’re good.”

“Dude,” said J.J. “I didn’t think you could be cool off the ice.”

Shane tossed the phone back to Xie. He felt as though he’d scored the most difficult goal of his career.

“What if he gets mad and goes to the press?” asked Merrell.

“Go to the press with what?” said Shane. “He doesn’t actually have Xie’s nudes and might not even be Matthew Henders. Like Babikov said, Xie could pretend he was going along with the bit because he thought it was funny.”

“You’re right,” said Xie. “I should’ve figured all of that out for myself. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

“No more of that either,” said Shane. “We are going to Boston next, and I want Rozanov—and the Bears—fucking obliterated and weeping on home ice. I can’t have my left wing wasting mental energy on this dumb bullshit. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Captain,” said Xie, with a tentative smile.

They went on to chirp and chatter, Xie looking more relaxed since. . . well, more relaxed than Shane had ever noticed. Shane imagined that being out of the closet, at least for a few teammates, could do that to a guy.

He thought of their upcoming game. Of seeing Rozanov for the first time since last season. Maybe Shane could arrange to see him both before and after their game? Normally, Shane would not entertain this for fear of coming off as desperate, but tonight, the notion didn’t bother him too much.