Chapter Text
The season was over. Even though they didn’t win the cup, the Centaurs made it further in the playoffs than they did the year before. They still needed to improve, but Shane was confident that next season they had a serious shot. It was inevitable.
The team was also getting better with the racist comments and microaggressions. The diversity sensitivity workshop helped greatly. It was such a success that the team asked for bi-weekly sessions to “keep on the path of enlightenment”, as Hazy described it. Shane wasn’t complaining. He saw that when someone inevitably messed up, other teammates were able to intercede and correct. When Shane himself called the microaggressions out, he was listened to as well, which led to him speaking out more. It felt gratifying and satisfying.
Holy crap. People are actually listening to me now. This is so fucking cool, and also fucking finally. Finally.
As for the rest of the league — well. They still sucked, but the Centaurs themselves felt much safer as opposed to before.
***
Harris Drover had gradually faded into insignificance. When he heard about the workshops, he initially wanted to post photos and videos of them in the diversity sensitivity classes. (Probably featuring Barrett, Shane thought snidely.) Ilya immediately put his foot down on that nonsense. When Wiebe backed Ilya up on that decision, Drover reluctantly acquiesced and left them alone.
Drover lost his position as Senior Director a month or so ago. He was still part of the social media staff, but it was an obvious step down and the person they recently hired was much more professional and knowledgeable. (And knew how to do her fucking job.)
In addition, Drover wasn’t around the team very much. He had no reason to be, as he more of a lackey for his boss. Even Amanda, the person who took over the position, didn’t hang out with the team anywhere near as Drover did when he was director.
Despite the fact that Amanda wasn’t around the team as much as Drover was, posts in general significantly increased. They were focused on both Ilya and Shane, and also frequently included other members of the team as well. The Barrett posts were significantly reduced. Apparently, people liked more of the posts in general: Shane’s and Ilya’s jersey sales went up, and season tickets for the next year also increased as well.
Bood was right. Social media is actually helping us get more fans now that Barrett isn’t the de facto poster boy for the Centaurs.
While it was obvious there was still a significant amount of PDA between Drover and Barrett at work (with the freshly mussed up hair and rumpled clothing that Barrett would show up with at practice after he’d visit the social media office) Shane didn’t have to see them. He didn’t care what they did, as long as he wasn’t around to have to see it.
And if HR gets on their ass for it, oh well. Not my business.
In general, Shane was pleased. Yeah, he really wasn’t good at his job, he mused, feeling vindicated.
***
Ilya and Shane hung out regularly with Zane and Cassie. Being minorities in such a fucking white sport was a good bonding experience but they found that they really liked the Boodrams themselves.
They invited Zane to be one of the coaches for their hockey camp, as well as J.J. and Ryan Price. Thanks to Wiebe’s connections, they also added a couple of PWHL hockey players as well. Ilya and Shane wanted the camps to be as inclusive as they could possibly be, and put a lot of thought in who to invite to coach.
Too bad Scott Hunter will be gone all summer for his honeymoon. He did say he would volunteer next year though. And hopefully we’ll be able to ask people in the western division as well as word spreads about the camps.
Cassie and Ilya also got closer, both bonding from being in an interracial couple, especially in a too white league. Ilya causing chaos in the WAG chat also helped grow their friendship; “I am innocent and just ask nice questions! Not my fault there is language barrier? And I am technically a WAG! I am the partner of second best hockey player!” he responded to Shane’s glare when Cassie, cackling, told him about one particular chaotic chat. The Troy Barrett drinking game was also still a thing, although there were less shots (Drover toned it down when Ilya joined, I guess) and Ilya had also become close to Lisa Hayes from many drunken texts.
And the gossip sessions amongst them were frankly fucking scary. How the hell do they know these things? They’re like the fucking CSIS.
But really, Zane and Cassie are just truly nice and kind and cool people, Shane thought fondly. I’m glad we’ve all become friends.
Shane and Ilya had plans to host more parties for all of their friends over the summer: Zane and Cassie, Alice and Janet, as well as the Russian crew — Maksim, Vladimir, Sofiya, and Dmitry.
Perhaps we can even invite some of the Centaurs, like Wyatt and Lisa, and maybe Luca Haas when he’s in Ottawa. Shane found that he enjoyed their company, and realized that he wanted to get to know them better. Lisa and Ilya are already gossip and drinking buddies. It makes sense to include Wyatt, too, and he’s turned into a really good ally now.
Then there were the weekly coffee meetings, or more recently, cooking get togethers. Alice, at one point, decided that Shane needed to learn more about Korean food and what she called Hanglish cuisine (a combination of the words Hangul and English), which were dishes that mixed Western and Korean food together.
Ilya became very good making the dishes; his favorite was Rabokki, which were the spicy rice tubes with some veggies, fish cakes, and ramen noodles. He enjoyed dipping piroshki and Pogos (Alice liked to complain ceaselessly that Pogos are fucking corn dogs and you Canadians are insane to call them that) in the sauce, which tickled Janet immensely. (“Holy cow, we’re combining Russian and Canadian food with Korean street food. How cool is that?” she exclaimed.) That mess was in rotation once a week.
Shane, despite his complaints about poor nutritional value, always finished his serving and made sure to steal a couple of piroshki as well as a Pogo to dip as well every time Ilya made it.
(Ilya once told him, “I love this dish because it is very tasty but it is also us. Mix of Korean, Canadian, Russian. It is like us, a mix of different countries. And dish is very good, just like us.” After that declaration, Shane had to eat it. Because Ilya was right: it was very tasty and very good and a very fitting mix of them.)
Shane himself preferred KFC extra crispy chicken dipped in mash potatoes and gravy with kimchi or mu (a sweetened pickled radish), topped with an icy cold beer. That became his comfort meal. (Ilya laughed gleefully at him: “Hahaha! For years, Shane, for years, you gave me so much shit for my McDonalds meals! You are hypocrite! Hahaha!!!”)
Both Shane and Ilya were looking forward to the summer. Unlike before, Shane felt that he had a very active social life with plans to be able to talk with and see friends; and then there were the hockey camps, the MMA classes, and the weekly lunches with his parents.
I feel so lucky, Shane fondly thought. His life felt so full.
***
About a week ago, Shane finally acquiesced and demonstrated his MMA skills to Wyatt Hayes and the rookies. They had begged him, throughout the season, to show them what he knew. It didn’t help that Ilya bragged incessantly about how skilled Shane was.
After showing a couple of moves in the workout room, LaPointe looked awestruck, and murmured, “Dude. Remind me never to piss you off.”
Then Young quietly asked, “Why the fuck do you avoid fighting so much when you can beat the shit out of anyone? Bro,” he breathed out.
As for Luca Haas, he half whispered, “Wow,” and looked at Shane even more starry-eyed. “You are so cool.”
Ilya laughed. He guffawed, tickled at the reactions as he hollered, “Look at Haasy! Crush turning bigger!” He reached over and ruffled Haas’ hair, who turned a bright, strawberry red.
As he yelped, Wyatt commented enthusiastically, “Haasy’s right! You are so cool! You’re so fucking awesome! I gotta try this! Hollzy, you really are Superman!”
Ilya, who had tried a couple of classes before he gave up, beamed, “It’s hard! I quit because too difficult for me! So yes, Shane is Superman! Big strong superhero! Kick everyone’s ass!”
Hazy replied, guffawing, “Does that make you Lois Lane then? Superman Shane — no, SuperShane — can protect you then!” Amidst Shane blushing and grinning, Ilya slung his arm around him and agreed, “Yes! Strong SuperShane protect me! I am more like Lois instead!”
***
Smiling as Shane thought of that fun tomfoolery, he slowly packed his gear in the locker room. Ilya was with Wiebe in an end-of-the-season meeting. The team all agreed to a barbecue at Zane’s house the next day so the partings were casual, more along the lines of “See ya at Bood’s!” Or “Later, bro!” as people left. Soon enough, it was just Shane and Troy Barrett in the room.
After the first diversity sensitivity session, Barrett finally backed off from aggressively trying to become friends with Shane. I have no idea why, but I don’t care, Shane thought.
He sighed. He figured there was going to be some sort of confrontation, but appreciated that it wasn’t in front of an audience, at least.
“So,” said Barrett nervously.
“Yeah, Barrett,” Shane responded, turning around to face him. “What do you want?” He breathed out. I really don’t want to deal with this shit, he thought, annoyed.
“So, um,” Barrett started, “I want to know why you don’t want to be friends with me. I know that Ilya and I drifted apart because of you, and I wanna know why. I mean,” he asked plaintively, “I apologized to you.” He added, “Seriously, I’m really trying to change and be better. And I tried to learn how to be more aware and stuff from the diversity workshops,” he stated. “So, um, are we cool now? Can we become friends? Can Ilya and I be friends again?”
Shane breathed in and out. He felt oddly clearheaded from the rush of extreme irritation that flooded his thoughts. He squared his shoulders and finally stared directly at Barrett.
“First of all, I did not tell Ilya to stop being friends with you. I’m not some evil Ming the Merciless stereotype and banned Ilya from being your friend. If you have issues with him, you do not ask me. You talk to Ilya. Or is it because I seem more meek and weak and approachable since I’m half Asian while Ilya is a scary, strong Russian commie aggressor?”
“Furthermore,” he continued loudly, speaking over Barrett’s interruption, “Furthermore, when you apologized to me, it was in front of the team. You put me in a position where if I didn’t accept your apology, I would be a selfish asshole and not a team player. That is fucking manipulation, and I certainly don’t appreciate that shit.”
At Barrett trying to respond again, Shane firmly stated, “No, you do not get to talk. You listen. You will listen right now. You asked me why? I’m telling you why and if you can’t listen, we’re done and I’m not saying shit.”
Finally, Barrett quieted. Shane took another deep breath and added, “So. You said that you were making homophobic comments because you were in the closet and scared as hell. Well, guess what, Barrett? Your bullshit attacks put me and other queer people further in the closet.”
“It’s because of assholes like you that keep queer and gay people like me in that closet and scared for our fucking lives.” Shane’s temper rose as he kept talking.
“I know you made those comments to keep yourself protected from Dallas fucking Kent and because of your own internalized homophobia, but guess fucking what? My internalized homophobia didn’t attack other players and I was surrounded by multiple people like Dallas Kent when I was with Montreal. Ryan Price’s internalized homophobia didn’t spew slurs like faggot to other people. Scott Hunter’s internalized homophobia didn’t make him do dirty hits and call people cock suckers.”
“So no. I do not give a damn about the justifications you made as to why you said that shit. You actively chose to make things worse for gays and queers in the league for your own selfish needs.”
Shane bulldozed forward. “And you know what? Your internalized homophobia isn’t an excuse for the racist bullshit you spouted to me.”
“For fuck’s sake, Barrett, are you also a closeted Asian? Do you also have internalized racism? Is that why you kept calling me a chink or a jap? Telling me to go back home, which is fucking Ottawa? Jesus Christ, you didn’t even get the fucking Asian country right but it was easier for you to call me a chink or jap or Chinaman ‘cause orientals all look the same, right?” He scoffed.
“And yeah, calling me a faggot boy pencil dick or a yellow fairy geisha pussy really helped you out with your internalized homophobia, I bet,” he guffawed.
The wave of words finally culminated. “The thing is, maybe you’re trying harder now. Maybe you’re learning to be a better person. Maybe you are a better person. And yeah, standing up for those rape victims of Dallas Kent took a lot of bravery. But your past actions have consequences. You perpetrated homophobia, and misogyny, and racism. Your actions encouraged that bullshit in the league. So I will never forget your shit. We will never be friends. Even if you turn into a fucking saint and the Pope himself blesses you, I will never forget how much you hurt me and made things worse.”
Shane half shouted, “Let me repeat this: your past actions have consequences. I do not want to be your friend, and that is one of those consequences, no matter how much you’ve changed and apologized.”
He sighed, breathing out. Most of his words were out, and he felt strangely empty.
He added, quieter, slower, finally looking away, “I am professional enough so that I will continue to be amicable to you. Throughout this season, I talked to you, I listened to you, I played our games together despite how much I despise you. I did everything that is required to play hockey with another person. Just because we’re on the same team doesn’t mean that we have to be friends. We can work together as we have been. And that’s it. That is all I can give you. And I also expect an amiable working relationship from you as well.”
In the quiet of the locker room, the drip of a faucet faintly heard, Barrett, pale and aghast, looked at Shane. He hoarsely murmured, “I’m really sorry. Thank you for telling me.” He quickly picked up his bag and quietly walked out of the room.
In solitude, Shane took a deep breath. Then another. He shook his head and then grabbed his phone to text Ilya in Russian (he was semi-fluent the language now, and the Cyrillic was coming along nicely).
Gonna go spar. Will pick up some KFC on the way home for dinner. It’s a comfort meal night. Yelled at Barrett but I’m okay. Will talk at home. Love you!
He grabbed his own bag to walk to the car.
And that is that. Next season will be better.