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Practice is nearly over when Ilya Rozanov drifts lazily over to where Brandon has been watching his players from his vantage point at the rink's periphery.
“Is Pride Night in few weeks,” Rozanov observes casually as he settles in beside Brandon, leaning back against the boards.
Brandon nods, because he's aware. “Should be a fun time,” he says. The game’s against Montreal, and Brandon is looking embarrassingly forward to reminding them what exactly their lack of pride has cost them.
“Yes,” Rozanov agrees. There’s a beat then he adds, “Harris wants to take picture of me and Shane and Troy and Luca in Pride jerseys to post for Pride Month later in year.”
Brandon smiles. “That's a great idea,” he says, because it is. It's been incredible watching how comfortable his team has become with being open and unashamed about who they are. Sometimes it's hard to imagine that only a few short years ago there were no openly queer players anywhere in the league, when now there are four on his team alone. The progress has been as astonishing as it's been inspiring.
Rozanov gives him a sidelong look. “You should be in picture,” he tells Brandon bluntly.
That startles a chuckle out of Brandon. “I don't know about that,” he replies with a shake of his head. He knows, intellectually, that he'll always be bisexual and that over a decade of marriage to his wife hasn't made him any less queer than when he was actively hooking up with his teammate. But he is willing to admit that it's maybe made that fact seem a bit less… relevant.
Rozanov squints at him. “Why not?” he challenges. “You are part of team, yes? You are bisexual, yes?” When Brandon doesn't respond, Rozanov's eyes narrow even further. “Is it that you do not have pride?”
Brandon feels himself prickle at that. Rozanov's tone is honestly more curious and accusatory, but it still rankles. “Of course, I do,” he tells Rozanov testily. “I just–”
Just what? he thinks.
Just comfortable with allowing this fundamental truth about himself to go unspoken and unacknowledged instead of being open and honest with the world about who he is? Just content to let his players, some barely more than kids, shoulder the burden of being trailblazers while Brandon sits safely behind his lie of omission?
Not to mention that Brandon's witnessed firsthand over the last few years how much representation is truly what matters. And that’s something Brandon can offer. Can offer but is choosing not to.
Rozanov is right. He should be in the fucking picture.
Brandon runs a hand over his face and lets out a long, slow breath. “I should probably talk to my wife,” he says at last. Then at Ilya's wide-eyed expression, he hurries to clarify, “She knows, of course. I just mean that something like this could affect her too. And the girls as well.”
Rozanov nods. “That is fair,” he allows. “But for record, I think it would be good.” Brandon thinks he's probably right.
Mission apparently accomplished, Rozanov pushes himself off the boards and begins to skate away. He makes it a few feet before he stops, gliding around in a half circle until he's facing back towards Brandon. “Harris is getting me special jersey with bisexual colors. Maybe he can get one for you too.”
Brandon snorts. “Been a long time since I wore a jersey.”
“Is just for picture,” Rozanov replies grinning.
“I'll think about it,” Brandon says, and he means it.
A week later, Brandon knocks on Harris's already-open office door. Harris looks up from his laptop and welcomes Brandon in with a wave and a broad smile.
“Hey Coach, what can I do for you?” Harris asks as Brandon crosses the room in a few strides, coming to a stop in front of Harris's desk.
“Rozanov mentioned you're getting him a custom Pride jersey in bisexual colors.”
Harris blinks up at him, looking momentarily confused. “Oh, yes!” he replies after a few seconds. “Well, I do still need to check with the manufacturer, but I'm pretty sure they'll be able to do it.” He stops and furrows his brows. “Wait, that's not a problem, is it?” he adds, sounding suddenly concerned. “I thought it would be nice for players to be able to embrace their own individual identities, but I can see how it could mess with team uniformity–”
Brandon interrupts him with a soft chuckle and a raised hand. “Absolutely, no problem at all,” he reassures Harris. “The opposite, actually. I was wondering if you could get one for me as well.”
Harris’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Sure!” he says just a little too loudly. “Um, sure, that's no issue,” he continues, stammering slightly. “Just, um…” he trails off.
Brandon just smiles at him. “Yes?” he prods.
“Just, ah, is there something you wanted to tell me?” Harris asks delicately.
Brandon levels him with a deadpan stare. “Pretty sure I just did,” he replies.
Harris's jaw doesn't actually drop, but it's a near thing. “Oh, okay, wow. That's, um, that's… wow,” he finishes eloquently.
“Yeah,” Brandon agrees.
For a moment, Harris just stares at him, looking vaguely shell-shocked. “This team is very gay,” he blurts out.
Branon laughs. “You know it's funny. Rozanov said the exact same thing.”
The last week of June, Harris uploads a photo to Instagram and Twitter with the caption Happy PRIDE from the Stanley Cup champions and gayest team in the league. They're on the ice in their Pride jerseys – Luca and Shane on the left, Ilya and Troy on the right. And in the middle, flanked on either side by his incredible, inspirational players, is Brandon Wiebe.