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“I know we went a little late into the pre-season without adding on a new assistant offensive coach. But today I’m pleased to announce we’ve finally secured the right person for the job, Bern Martin!”
It isn’t Wiebe’s fault.
Troy Barrett was literally vibrating out of his skin. Should he look at Shane? Would it be too obvious? Wait, of course it wouldn’t be too obvious, no one else on the Centaurs was part of the Team Canada training camp for that World Cup of Hockey thing they did last year.
Troy looked across the room at Hollander. And, yup, he was frozen with that weird smile on his face. Didn’t seem like anyone else had noticed. Did Ilya even know about the whole Shane-and-Bern hate-fest?
He noticed some movement from the doorway and, yep, there’s Marty. Recently retired Team Canada captain and top forward, one of the most decorated women playing the game up until her retirement at the end of her last professional season. Mind like a steel trap, an impeccable public image and largely considered to be the toughest woman in hockey, excepting a fair amount of d-men who were literally paid to be tougher.
Troy, belatedly, clapped along with the rest of the team. He noticed Hollander do the same.
Marty stepped into the room and waved.
“Hello, thank you all for the warm welcome. I look forward to getting to know you all and how you operate on the ice, as individuals and as a team.”
A few players moved forward to shake Marty’s hand, and Leona, the new social media coordinator, flitted around getting pictures. Troy watched Shane steel himself, plaster a smile over his face and get up from where he was sitting in front of his locker.
Troy, because he was not stupid, actually, kept seated right where he was outside of the blast zone.
Hollander made his way to the little group around their new coach, fuck, she’ll be coaching the forwards!
Marty turned toward Shane, like she could sense him coming, like a shark can sense blood in the water.
She grinned at Hollander, juuuuuust barely professional. Troy couldn’t see Shane’s face anymore, but he could see some of their other teammates responding to whatever Shane was projecting. Probably that weird blank face.
“Hey Bernadette, glad to have you on the team.”
Marty’s grin morphed into sneer. She hates her first name. Literally everyone in Canada knows she prefers to be called Bern or Marty.
“Ah, Hollywood, how are you doing? I haven’t seen you since the men’s team lost Canada the gold medal at your last little tournament. Well, I guess they don’t call it gold!”
Troy saw Shane nod. Wiebe’s expression was… not good.
“How is the knee holding up? Still able to keep up with your fiance?”
Her much younger fiance who plays for the professional women’s hockey team also based in Ottawa. The fiance she probably followed to Ottawa.
Now Marty’s face went a bit stiff.
“I keep up just fine. Where’s the Russian Love Machine?”
“Physio.”
“Ah, well, I’ll have to meet him later. You know I’ve always preferred his style of play.”
Preferred it over Shane’s style, she meant.
“Well, we can’t all be the Ice Queen.”
No, because there’s only one Ice Queen, Hana Ferris, center for the Ottawa Blizzard, Marty’s fiance. Who does, actually, play a lot like early career Hollander.
**********************
So Troy wasn’t surprised when he was pulled into Wiebe’s office about five minutes after everyone cleared out of the locker room.
“Oh yea, they hate each other.”
Wiebe’s head was leaned against the back of the chair in his office, eyes closed.
“Great, that’s… great. Why didn’t she mention it?”
“They don’t talk about it. I tried to ask Shane about it at World Cup, he completely shut me down. Asked some of the other Team Canada people. I guess they’ve always been like this? Something weird happened at their first joint Team Canada photo shoot, back when Shane was in juniors, like they just accidentally did everything to piss each other off in the first 15 minutes of knowing each other. Kueller said Shane said something that Marty thought was like, slighting her and all women players, or something? And then I guess Marty hit on Shane’s mom? They’re a bit crazy.”
“They always say great things about each other in the press.”
“Yea, I guess they do respect one another? Kueller said they don’t acknowledge it, like, at all, just make everything unbearable for everyone else.”
Wiebe groaned.
“And Shane completely shut you down?”
Troy opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Wiebe stares him down.
“Tell me.”
“He… he said that… That Marty’s his only real competition when it comes to what it means to be Canadian hockey.”
Wiebe blinked.
“I thought Hollander didn’t care about things like that.”
Troy shrugged.
“I don’t think he does. I don’t even think Marty does unless they’re, um, in the same room together.”
Wiebe groaned again.
“So, everything I would have thought in 2013 if I had Hollander on my team and hired Rozanov as his coach.”
Troy squirmed, yea, that was the correct sentence to describe what he was doing.
“Well-”
His coach was looking at Troy again.
“She’s probably the only person other than Roz who can get Shane fired up. So, that might be good, right?
Wiebe groaned again.
************************************
“I’m here to do a job, obviously.”
Shane scoffed.
“You’re here to be close to Ferris.”
“Got me there, Hollywood. Guess it's the first time anyone has moved to Ottawa for their partner.”
Shane rolled his eyes, then looked over at Marty. They were the only people in the gym, both working on stretches. Shane, as part of his daily cool-down, Marty, obviously homework from her physio. It was kind of embarrassing how long it took Shane to figure out that he and Bernadette Martin were just similar enough, and just different enough, to forever clash.
They had the same love of sport and country, but different ways of expressing that love. They played the same position, but with different philosophies. They were both at the top of their game, but with different rewards, and challenges. They had the same values, about what they loved about hockey, and how it needed to change, but different worldviews about how to make those changes happen.
She made him feel fucking stupid, and like he didn’t deserve half of what he had, and sure, maybe he didn’t, but she-ugh.
He’d spend more than one therapy session after World Cup of Hockey talking about Bernadette fucking Martin.
“Look, I don’t want us to have an issue. I honestly do think I can make Ottawa better. Outside of Rozanov, you don’t have a lot of offensive players who can mix grit and finesse. I want to bring that to the rest of the lineup.”
“Even me?”
Marty snorted.
“You play like a tactician. You skate well, and you can be creative, but you use the ice, your teammates and angles more than your ability to skate pretty. And you can already take a hit pretty well. I’m going to mainly give you better pieces on the board. And maybe get you to be a little more creative with your skating, if the scenario calls for it.”
Shane huffed and moved into his next stretch.
“Going to have them doing yoga with me, or bringing in ballet again?”
“Low blow, Hollywood.”
He looked over at her. What was she talking about?
Marty rolled her eyes and moved into her next stretch.
“God, you really don’t pay any fucking attention to anyone but yourself off the ice. I had my team doing ballet instead of something else because I was dating a professional ballet instructor.”
Oh, well.
“Sorry I just don’t find your personal life all that interesting.”
“Well, only one of us makes international headlines.”
“Yea….”
He tried not to let himself get sucked back into how it felt, right after they were outed.
“Hey, Shane. Hey!”
Shane looked back over at Marty, now standing, her stretching apparently done. She was frowning at him. That was pretty normal but, ew, she looked concerned.
“How it happened was fucked up. But I’m glad he’s here. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re both safe.”
Shane nodded. Marty was right, they were safe. He hated how good she was at putting shit into perspective like that.
She rolled her shoulders out and started walking out of the team gym. Marty called back behind her as she walked the long hallways between the gym and rest of the team facilities.
“Tell him to get his citizen paperwork finished. I’m helping scout for the next round of international play, and I’ve got a spot in mind for him.”
Oh, yea, Ilya could play for Team Canada soon, if people on the inside, people like Marty apparently, were in his corner.
“Really?”
“Yea, I want him to center the top line.”
So, Shane’s spot.
“Fuck off!”
Marty’s cackle echoed down the concrete hallway.