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Walking into the locker room on the February 21st for the Voyageurs optional skate, Shane was prepared for a long fucking day.
He had briefly considered making an excuse about a bad hit the night before and skipping it but quickly decided against it. He had only ever missed practice if it was medically required by the team doctor; he couldn’t let a little humiliation about a hickey stop him. It’s not like the marks would even be gone in a day, many of them bloomed a vivid red-purple hue that would take days to fade.
Dropping his equipment bag unceremoniously in his stall, Shane took in who was there. Hayden and Gill were talking power play strategy while they tied their skates, Patrice and Mitty were already in the middle of warm up stretches, and JJ and Roy were demonstrating how to fight on ice to a couple of the rookie forwards, already in uniform.
Normally Shane would have arrived a good thirty minutes before anyone else, giving him time to get ready in peace, but his late night interrupted his schedule and landed him arriving late. Well, technically exactly on time, but that counted as late for Shane. Clearly some of his Teammates had been following his example.
It was Comeau who noticed him first, slapping Pike on the shoulder and pointing, a shit eating grin falling into place. Well that’s just great, Shane thought, I haven’t even taken my shirt off and they already smell blood in the water.
“Would you look at that! Our fearless captain finally gifts us with his presence. What happened, Cap? I don’t think anyone has ever made it to practice before you.” Comeau drawled, leaning into Shane’s space. In his skates he loomed six inches taller, adding a condescending edge to demeanor.
Shane just rolled his eyes, focusing on organizing his gear, “I just had a long night, man. Glad to see everyone is finally taking practice seriously enough to be here on time.”
Clearly that was the wrong thing to say, because when he looked up, Comeau’s grin was even wider, showing off his missing teeth. He chuckled, then turned to the rest of the room, “Hollander had a late night! What do you say boys, did the golden boy finally get his dick wet?” this was met with raucous laughter from the rest of the team. Shane felt his cheeks burn as he strapped on his pads, starting at the bottom and moving up, just like he always did.
One of the fourth liners, something Olsson, Shane couldn’t remember, called “No way! Everyone knows Hollzy is on a strict no pussy diet. He avoids that shit like the plague.” more laughter, but this time Shane stiffened; was it really that much of a talking point that he didn’t hook up with girls? Was it that obvious? Maybe if he admits to a hook up it will help his reputation and take the fun out of this conversation.
Pulling on his hockey pants and standing as tall as he could, Shane said, “So what if I did get laid?” then, putting on his best Captain voice, “Do you all care more about my sex life than preparing to bring home the cup? Because I know I don’t. Get your shit together and get on the ice, nobody takes it easy today!”
Most of the boys had the decency to look a little bit cowed, a few who had their gear on moved down the tunnel to the ice. Comeau gestured for peace, but there was a glint in his eyes that said this wasn’t finished. The rest of the team finished getting ready quickly and filed out.
While he was tying his skates, Hayden plopped down next to him. Before he could speak Shane cut him off, “Hayd, if you’re here to ask me about my hookup please fucking don’t, I just want to focus on practice.” that was an understatement. Shane wished he could pretend that last night hadn’t happened; he was exhausted, emotionally drained, and still a little sore.
“Dude, I don’t care that you had sex. Like, I do because you’re my best friend and I’m happy for you or whatever, but no. I just wanted to make sure you’re good.” Hayden said
“I’m good! I’m good. Obviously. Why wouldn’t I be good?” Shane blabbered; he really needed to work on making his tone believable. Or maybe knowing when to shut up.
Hayden just gave him a look, “I’ve known you since you were 19, Shane. You haven’t been late for practice once since then. You also look like shit. I don’t know what’s up, maybe it’s nothing, but I’m here if you need it.”
Looking around to make sure they were alone; Shane let his shoulders slump and his face fall. He couldn’t tell Hayden the whole truth, but he didn’t have to pretend to be fine either. "I'll be ok. I had an intense night, and it threw off my routine, but I really just want to get back on the ice where things make sense.” Shane admitted. “Also, I wasn't late. Technically.” he felt the need to point out.
Hyden looked like he wanted to push, but he was nice enough to let it go. “You were late by Shane Hollander standards and you know it, but fine.” Hayden stood, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I’ve got your back, buddy, no matter what.”
“I know. Thanks, man. You're my favourite linemate for a reason.” Shane said wearily, he just wanted this day to be over.
“Of course I’m your favourite, Comeau’s the only other option and he’s better at being a dick than he is at hockey. Gives Rozanov a run for his money.” Hayden called over his shoulder.
“Don’t let him hear you say that! I don’t want to explain to Jackie why you came home with a black eye.” Shane shouted back, but his stomach turned at the mention of Rozanov. His hand drifted up to his shoulder. He pulled back before he could press into the bruise there.
Focus, Hollander.
--
Practice was mercifully and surprisingly uneventful. Some pointed chirps, a few sidelong glances, whispers and giggles Shane couldn’t prove were about him, but he had his suspicions. One notable “Ben là, ‘Ollander! Not as easy to get between my legs as les sluts tu mettre!” from Drapeau after a save during shooting drills. Shane put a little more effort behind his shots after that, Drapeau didn’t manage to stop a single one.
In the hopes of avoiding more questions, Shane tried to stay on the ice after everyone else left. He only managed six extra minutes before Hayden was back, grabbing him by the jersey and pulling him towards the dressing room with a muttered, “Oh no you don’t. You are going home and taking a nap Mr.” in a tone he usually reserved for the twins. Shane resigned himself to his fate.
Part of him wanted to just go home in his sweaty under layers and shower there, but the thought of staying in the damp garments longer than he had to was a little too unpleasant. Deciding to bite the bullet and get it over with quickly, Shane stripped his gear and pulled the compression top over his head.
It was Hayden who made the first comment, gasping loudly and shouting “Christ, Shane! I know you said it was intense, but that’s.... what the fuck did she do to you.” If anyone hadn’t been paying attention they certainly were now.
Sitting glaringly obvious on his left shoulder, a bruise nearly the size of a fist, little maroon lines on a bed of mottled yellow and green, ringing a dark purple center. The place where Ilya Rozanov sunk his teeth in so hard Shane had thought he might break skin. Initially he had hoped there wouldn’t be obvious teeth marks, and he could pass it off as a regular injury, but by morning the indents had faded and the marks remained. The universe was decidedly not on Shane's side.
Within seconds everyone was crowding in on him, trying to get a look. He heard snickers, a ‘tabarnak!’ that was definitely JJ, and a lot of impressed expletives that blended together into nothing but noise. Shane felt like he couldn’t breathe with everyone so close, talking loud in his ear, breathing down his neck. He shot a panicked, pleading look to Hayden that he hoped screamed ‘you got me into this, now get me out’.
He and Hayden had gotten pretty good at communicating through looks, because immediately Hayden was pushing people back. “All right, everyone give the captain some space! I know we’re all curious, but it won’t do much good if we trample him to death.” the crowd spread out, but kept their focus locked on Shane.
Shane took a deep breath and tried to summon his best imitation of every guy who he had heard talk about sex in the locker room, confident, smug, a little bit sleazy, and most importantly: definitely sexually attracted to women, “Not that many of you assholes would know, but when a girl is actually enjoying herself, she might need help keeping quiet. I was just nice enough to lend a... shoulder.” Shane smirked, daring anyone to fight him on it.
There were more raised eyebrows than he would have liked, but he generally made a point to avoid typical locker room talk so he couldn’t blame them. Even Hayden looked a little shocked. Once the surprise wore off he was flooded with wolf whistles, hollers of ‘Atta boy!’ ‘who knew, Hollz has game!’ ‘lets fuckin’ go!’, congratulatory slaps and shoves, as well as a couple offended grumbles about how they totally get girls off all the time.
Shane felt like he could finally breathe again. Maybe this was good thing, putting out the idea that he’s secretly good with girls; he knew there were already rumors about him in the league. Before he had even been drafted people had been calling him weak, a diversity push, odd, too pretty, too soft, a closet case, not cut out for a game played by real men. He’d been on the receiving end of plenty of chirps about his race, his behavior, his looks, and the number of ways people came up with to call him gay was almost impressive; from blunt slurs to colourful euphemisms. He didn’t do much to dispute them, but maybe it was time to start. His teammates seemed to take this story well.
“What's all this?” came a voice from behind the crowd, “still gossiping about the bitch that punched Cap’s V-card?” Gilbert Comeau was standing there fresh from the showers in nothing but a towel.
The man could have been attractive in another life; a broad, muscular build, strong jaw covered by a thick layer of stubble, long black hair streaked with grey that looked like it belonged to a rock star. In this life, he was missing three of his teeth and refused get them fixed until the off season, his nose was crooked where it had been broken half a dozen times, and there was a hard edge to his eyes that made them off-putting.
Lindgren, a lanky Swedish winger piped up, “We had our boy all wrong Gil, take a look at this shit. Hollander pulled himself a vampire.”
Shane tried to keep the confident expression in place, but he couldn’t help the anxiety bubbling up. Comeau was a new acquisition this season and had been placed on the first line with him and Hayden, but they weren’t close. With ten years in the game, Comeau was considered a veteran, and he prided himself on playing old school hockey; hard, aggressive, and a little bit dirty. Putting him so high in the lineup had been unexpected, but Coach Theriault was adamant that they needed more physicality from the forwards. So far it was actually working. Comeau kept players from getting to Shane, bought them time and space to set up plays, and had a powerful shot to boot, but there was something about him that left Shane on edge.
As he approached, Shane felt his heart beating faster. Squaring his shoulders, he let himself be examined. Comeau smirked when he clocked the bruise, “Isn’t that something. I didn't peg you as into biters, but it’s always the quiet ones who are into freak shit.” he clapped a hand down directly on the bruise, the noise and sudden touch made him flinch more than any residual pain. It only hurt when you put hard pressure on it, which Shane had discovered this morning, but his teammates wouldn’t know that; they would think he was so delicate he couldn't handle having a hickey touched.
He just needed to get out of here.
Leaning back into that masculine persona, Shane shrugged Comeau off and scoffed “That's because you don’t know shit about me, man. I like to keep my private life private.” shucking off his pants and socks, Shane didn’t even bother folding them before stuffing them in the equipment bag. Moving towards the showers in his jock, Shane couldn’t resist calling behind him “If you think biting is freak shit, I bet your wife has a very close relationship with her vibrator.” the echoes of laughter and jibes followed him down the hall.
The second he was naked Shane turned the water as hot as he could bare. He washed his body on autopilot, already lost in the building dread that someone might still figure it out, that his performance wasn’t good enough and someone would see through it. For the first time he was grateful he bruised easily, the finger marks on his hips were light enough to blend in the patchwork of fading bruises that were impossible to avoid in a contact sport. Shane couldn’t actually remember the last time he didn’t have a bruise. At some point in the summers maybe? But even then, he was usually healing from some playoff injury or other. Either way it made good camouflage, the fingerprints would be harder to explain, especially if someone noticed they wrapped around him from behind.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone turned on the shower next to him.
Only Hayden, thank God.
“I didn’t know you had that in you man. I’ve never heard you talk like that. Maybe Getting laid is good for your confidence!” Hayden grinned, clapping Shane on the back.
‘You’re starting to sound like him’
The words from Hunter echoed in his mind. Had he been trying to sound like Ilya? Confident, masculine, a little sleazy all fit the bill. Don't forget ‘likes fucking women’ his brain helpfully supplied. He hadn’t meant to, but it seemed Ilya was just the first thing to come to mind when he thought of the ideal hockey player. The mold Shane never quite fit. Always too quiet, too passive, too Asian. Never drinking, or fucking, or fighting. Could land a chirp or a check when needed, but relied on pure skill to get respect.
The truth was he had been fighting an uphill battle since he was five years old, constantly having to try harder, play better, do more, just to prove he deserved a spot next to kids who were more physical, more normal, more white. If he hadn’t trained like hell to be the most talented player since Gretzky, he would have been pushed out a long time ago.
And Ilya? Ilya was everything Shane couldn’t be, with his sports cars, model girlfriends, sandy curls, strong right hook, and blue eyes. He didn’t have to pretend.
Maybe that’s why Shane tried to act like him.
“Yeah. Maybe!” he replied, shooting Hayden a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Maybe that's why he wanted Ilya so badly.
Maybe they were so tangled up together now that when Shane tried to be someone else, someone who fit in this world, Ilya was all that was left.
You’re starting to sound like him.
You’re starting to sound like him.
You’re starting to sound like him.