Chapter Text
TMZ BREAKING NEWS Montreal, 2016 April 24 9:00 AM
My night with Shane Hollander
That single headline isn’t what initially broke Shane Hollander. That came later, when he sat in his childhood bedroom, surrounded by the familiar shadows cast on the wooden floors and deep red rug.
It had been 9AM on a Wednesday, during a routine team meeting for a video review of their previous game. Different phones in the room started ringing out with alerts. Some from respected news and hockey media. Some from TMZ. The wording was different depending on the website. The article itself was damning all the same.
It had been an unremarkable one-night stand. Unremarkable in the single fact that he hadn’t been Ilya. Shane couldn’t even tell you what he’d been wearing that night. The video had solved that problem. He was just glad it hadn’t been his Metros sweats.
“What the fuck is this…?” A whisper came from someone Shane couldn’t identify.
His eyes were glued to his phone. The explicit video of himself was enough for Shane to halt all his ability to breath. The ringing in his ears didn’t lessen with the even more explicit noises and moaning.
It was there for all the world to see.
Shane Hollander was gay and liked to take it up the ass.
Someone had filmed him without his knowledge…
His hands shook as he tried to read the article that came with the video. The words jumbled together. The ringing in his ears intensified as the room around him was thrown into chaos.
———x———
The text Zane Boodram had gotten from his now almost former coach was a bit unusual. He’d already met his new coach, Brandon Wiebe, so he didn’t really understand why he was summoned to the front office on a Friday morning during the playoffs his team and himself weren’t a part of. Official practice and training always ceased after regular season. And he’d had his exit interview already.
He parked his car in the virtually empty parking lot close to the players entrance. He recognised a few other cars there, but a few he didn’t.
As he made his way through the hallways towards the management offices a news alert popped up on his phone. Glancing at it, he only saw Shane Hollanders name. Couldn’t they leave the poor guy alone for a just a second, he thought to himself. Apparently being outed and publicly humiliated wasn’t enough. The news cycle in the last thirty-six hours hadn’t stopped. Bood did confess to keeping an eye on the news, out of a professional interest.
In the last thirty-six hours, the hockey world hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the upcoming playoffs that the Montreal Metros were expected to dominate. They’d only reported on the alleged fall from grace of Metros captain Shane Hollander.
Him being outed as gay.
Whatever.
Him being benched from the Metros an hour later.
Strange.
Him being dropped as captain in the early afternoon.
Suspicious.
Him being dumped by the Metros all together, citing that “after careful consideration the organisation has elected to place Shane Hollander on unconditional waivers for the purpose of contract termination, effective immediately”.
Made complete sense. Yeah, and Bood was a prima ballerina.
Bood put his phone away, and entered conference room one — as the text had specified — and found a room with only a few people. Coach Wiebe, the Ottawa Centaurs General Manager Gilbert St. Clair, and a few people from the legal team.
Oh crap, he wasn’t getting fired or traded was he?
“Ah, Boodram, thank you so much for coming,” St. Clair said, “please have a seat. There’s a few things we need to discuss.”
Bood sat down, admittedly nervous all of the sudden. St. Clair was a pleasant enough man for a GM. He loved the team, wanted what was best for them, and was not afraid to stand up to the League.
After a secretary closed the door and sat down to take notes, St. Clair cleared his throat.
“Right, I’ll get right to it,” he said. Here we go, I’m definitely getting traded, Bood thought. “We’ve received a request for a goaltender trade, namely Wyatt Hayes, who at the moment is a back-up in Toronto.”
Bood blinked. Not getting traded then. He adjusted himself in his seat. “Right, I’ve heard of him. I get from Marty that Hayes is not being used to his full potential.”
“After talking to Martin as well, we’ve come to the same conclusion,” St. Clair said, clearly pleased with Bood’s answer. “You know that as our starter goalie Martin was consulted about Hayes. Martin has told us honestly that he’s starting to feel his age, and has no problem with a one-on-one trade with Hayes. Your thoughts?”
Bood thought about it for a moment. “I think that Marty is showing character with his honesty.”
To his right, Wiebe covered a smile with his hand,
St. Clair sighed deeply. “There is one thing we wanted to discuss face-to-face…” St. Clair said. Wiebe sat up and leaned on the table. The legal people shifted, one started to continually click their pen. “This morning, we received a phone call from representatives from another player who’s interested in our team.”
Bood sat up a bit straighter, and reached for his glass of water. “Brilliant, fresh blood is good. Who?”
St. Clair and Wiebe glanced at each other,
“Shane Hollander…”
Bood froze, the glass of water forgotten. “Sorry?”
“Shane Hollander’s representative reached out to us a little after nine this morning, stating that he was interested in playing for us,” St. Clair clarified, sounding as if he himself could scarcely believe it.
Dazed, Bood sat back in his chair. “Wow…”
Why Ottawa, Mr. Hollander? Why? Bood’s thoughts raced as the shock wore off. Ottawa was always near the bottom of the standings every year. Ottawa occupied a very specific place in the League. To either start a career, make a name for yourself and then move on to brighter pastures. Or to finish your career in a calm manner. That was it.
Shane Hollander was a hockey prodigy. Drafted at eighteen, Captain at twenty. Stanley Cup winner. His talent as a hockey player was generational. Any team would bleed their bank accounts dry to have him on their roster. Well, most teams.
Bood could name a fair few teams who would never want a gay man in their locker room. And over the years there had been rumours about the Metros locker room being somewhat old-school. If the rumours were true, Bood didn’t know. What he did know was that thirty-six hours ago Shane Hollander had been the Metros captain.
Now he wasn’t.
No, if a man like Shane Hollander, who had the thirty-six hours like he’d had and was as talented as he was, willingly chose a team like the Ottawa Centaurs, it could only be for one reason.
But let it never be said that Zane Boodram made opinions about people without all the facts, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“It would be brilliant to have him on the roster,” Bood said honestly.
“You think so?” St. Clair asked tentatively.
Bood’s eyebrows rose. “Of course I do. He’s one of - if not the best this sport has ever seen. If he truly is UFA, and we could get him, I think we’d become better players just by being in his vicinity.”
St. Clair and Wiebe shared another look.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see an issue with possibly signing Hollander,” Bood said, confused by the continuing looks between the other men. “Unless you know something I don’t.”
Wiebe raised his hand to placate Bood. “We know just as much as you, I mean about why he’s leaving Montreal.”
Bood snorted savagely. “The guy is not leaving Montreal. He’s being discarded like trash.”
Bood took a deep breath. He was Alternate captain, he’d need to step up right now. “If I may be honest,” he started. On a look from Wiebe, he continued: “let’s not beat around the bush. We all know why Montreal is getting rid of him. It’s because he’s gay.”
A legal aid on the other end of the table shifted nervously, Bood locked onto him. “You have a problem with that? Because I sure don’t.”
“No of course not,” the aid said nervously, a little pale. “Of course not.” He continued clicking his pen.
“As I was saying,” Bood continued, turning his attention back to Wiebe and St. Clair, “In less than two days he went from the backbone of that team, leading them to a possible second Cup at only twenty-five, to being put on waivers by the team that drafted him due to a video that was taken without his consent. Those are the facts that we know. Of course, I don’t know for sure what’s being said in Montreal’s front office, but I do know what it looks like.”
“I agree,” St. Clair said. “Let’s be honest, we’re not exactly a destination franchise in this league. I’ve heard through the grapevine that almost every team send him a contract. So why us?”
“The reason doesn’t matter,” Wiebe interjected. “He reached out to us, that is what we know. Everything else is pure speculation.”
Bood sighed in relief. Curiosity about Hollanders reasons for choosing the Centaurs was only natural, he had them himself. He was glad that the people in the room seemed to share his opinion it didn’t matter.
“I heard exactly what I wanted to hear from you gentlemen,” St. Clair said. “Then we will finalise our talks with Hollander.”
“You’re already in the final stages?” Bood asked amazed.
“Yes,” St. Clair said. “His team came with an offer that was entirely reasonable.”
He got to his feet, and everyone in the room followed. “Thank you again, Boodram, for coming in so quickly. The moment we know more about Hollander, we will let you know.”
St. Clair stuck out his hand and Bood shook it. He left the room, followed by the secretary and the legal aids, leaving Bood alone with Wiebe.
“Walk with me,” Wiebe said.
Bood nodded and followed him out. Both men stayed silent as they made their way through the hallways. Wiebe led them into his office, looking out over the rink.
He sat down heavily in his desk chair and gestured to Bood to take any other in the room.
“You think he’ll actually join us?” Bood asked, while dropping in a chair.
Wiebe didn’t answer immediately. “I think he will, yeah.”
“Poor guy,” Bood whispered. “Can’t imagine what he’s going through.”
“No, me neither,” Wiebe said.
“All we can do is be there for him if he does joins us,” Bood stated.
“Agreed,” Wiebe said. “We allow him to set the pace, keep an eye on him, but don’t handle him with kid gloves either. He doesn’t strike me as the kind who would appreciate that.”
Bood just made a sound of agreement. Until Hollander had actually joined them and was standing on the ice in their jersey, it was all speculation anyway.
“Right, moving on,” Wiebe said, clapping his hands. “Hayes..”
Bood nodded. “What about him?”
“I already received an email from him, “ Wiebe smirked, before continuing, “with a request for some extra practice hours once we start training camps in September. Felt he was “more rusty than Batman’s least used batarang”, whatever that means.”
Bood snorted. “I like him already.”
“Yeah, me too,” Wiebe said. “Once I’ve got a more complete roster I’ll let you know.”
“Good, I’m planning a barbecue for the cup finals. Informal, just to get to know each other a little before summer. That includes you, coach.” He pointed to the other man.
Wiebe held up his hands in surrender.
A silence fell between the two men. Not awkward, but still comfortable .
“Why don’t you head home, Bood,” Wiebe said finally. “There’s nothing more you can do here.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting for an announcement.”
“Get out of here,” Wiebe waved him off.
Bood got to his feet, and made for the door. “Let me know…?”
“Of course.”
Bood left Wiebe’s office and plucked his phone from his pockets. Astoundingly, the world was now going on a good hour without news about Hollander.
He pulled up his text threads, and texted his wife, Cassie.
Bood
Well that was kinda mind blowing
Cassie
What babe? Everything alright?
Bood
Tell you when I get home
Cassie
😘
Bood walked back to his car, and on the drive home he couldn’t help but feel that something monumental was going to happen today. And he wasn’t wrong. The text came in at 3:52 PM
Coach Wiebe
Statement will go out in an hour. Hollander signed.