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Shane Hollander didn’t fight.
Everyone knew that, and it was accepted that he never would. Sure, he got into a heated argument with Scott Hunter, but even Gandhi would hardly classify that as a “fight”. This “fight” was a one in a million— until it wasn’t.
Shane had been waiting to blow for the last 2 weeks. Usually, he could ignore the chirps and slurs but that’s when his team hasn’t been assholes. That’s when his mom hasn’t been breathing down his neck. That’s when he hasn’t relapsed back into his eating disorder. That’s when he wasn’t under a constant fear of being exposed for hooking up with his rival of years.
Shane Hollander didn’t fight, until he did.
———
It started like it always did, hunched over a toilet expunging all the food that had been in his stomach rotting away.
Shane had been clean for months. He had stuck to his diet and hadn’t felt the need to purge away the guilt. He doesn’t even know what triggered it— well he did but he would never admit it.
Ilya Rozanov.
That’s how it always starts, isn’t it? Shane had seen a tabloid of Ilya with a lean and breath-taking woman nestled right into his side like she was made to be there. Usually, Shane doesn’t give much mind to Ilya’s many conquests, because most of them are a one, maybe two, and done. This lady, though, Shane had seen a multitude of times. She had a perfect silhouette, with perfect olive skin, and perfect tight ringed curls, she was just perfect. She look like a model, probably was one, and she looked perfect with Ilya. That picture had sent Shane into a spiral faster than he could even comprehend it happening.
After that picture he went to his at home gym and ran and ran until his legs gave out under him. Feeling completely out of control he made his way to the kitchen and ate all the food he could find. He started with the junk food, which was sparse only having any for when Ilya or his team came over, eventually he stopped caring about taste and just went for anything he could find. He ate cold chicken and protein peanut butter by the handfuls, forgoing utensils.
After gorging himself past comfort he felt horrible. He was ridden with guilt and could feel the fat on his body multiplying by the second. He felt himself becoming less and less like the woman in the picture. With that thought he made his way into his bathroom. The only thing he was left with was tears running down his face and spit running down his hand.
Shane had to go to practice, he knew he did.
But lying on the bathroom floor, the room smelling like guilt and puke, made it really hard to care. He had passed out on the bathroom floor after purging so hard his nose started bleeding. He knew he needed to get up and go to practice. The game against Boston was later that night and his coach would be on his ass if he missed this practice.
He could hear his alarm going off from where his phone was planted on the ground next to him. He wishes the incentive ringing would stop, his head was pounding and the sound wasn’t helping at all. Using all his will, Shane shakily rose to his feet. Shutting off the ringing, he splashed water on his puffy and red face, brushed his teeth, grabbed his phone and keys and practice essentials before making his way to his car.
By the time he made it to the rink, his stomach was growling, upset with his earlier decisions and skipping breakfast. He trudged into the locker room, usually he was the first person to arrive, but with his slow start the room was nearly full. Only few players remained missing.
“Rough morning?” Hayden asked Shane from his cubby right next to him.
Shane gave a noncommittal shrug, ignoring Hayden’s concerned looks, and instead focused on getting dressed for practice.
The locker room was loud and it was starting to grate on Shane’s nerves. He doesn’t remember the last time he got so annoyed so fast. Fortunately, he was able to make it to the ice without snapping and killing all his teammates. It was obvious he wasn’t in a good mood, but his teammates being his teammates didn’t give him a break.
They had continuously been having less and less respect for him as time went on. Shane doesn’t know what started it, but he does know the only reason it hasn’t stopped is because he doesn’t fight.
They were on the ice running drills, Shane failed to receive a pass, and Comeau felt inclined to open his fat mouth.
“Wow Holly,” Comeau called down the ice “I thought for a pussy you’d be a lot better at receiving.”
The new nickname “Holly” was grating and demeaning, but all together it was a weak insult. It pissed Shane off.
“And I thought being such a massive dick to everyone would mean you have a bigger one,” Shane responded back. He saw his teammates faces flash with surprise. Shane Hollander didn’t chirp back, and when he did they were never good.
“If you spent half as much time actually playing hockey as you do being a fucking cunt, you’d probably get time on the ice,” Shane follows up once not getting a response, “Now shut the fuck up and get back on the line.”
Shane had started moving back towards the line, trying not to think about his mild blow up on Comeau. Some of the players tried to stifle their laughs, many let out loud and stunned laughs, Comeau stayed silent though. His face was a mix of red from embarrassment and green from how scared he had been when Shane had actually replied back. Shane Hollander was scary.
The rest of practice had gone smooth— well as smooth as possible when the captain wants to smother all of his teammates with pillows til they stop breathing— and Shane has finally make it back to the locker room and was nearly fully dressed, then his mom called. Shane loved his mother very much and knew what she had been through, many would even go as far as to call him a mama’s boy, but if he had to talk brand deals or dinner plans he might pull a Van Gogh and cut his ear off.
Shane picks up his phone, most of his teammates still surrounding him. Instantly his mom starts talking about some brand deal and how he can only be seen wearing their clothes, even though she knows how Shane can be with textures, and then she’s talking about his diet and how he could improve that, and then she’s asking about dinner. Shane tries to cut in.
“Mom.”
Yuna continues on her spiel about how Rolex hasn’t contacted her back to renew Shane’s contract with them.
“Mom.”
Ignored. Again.
“For the love of God, please let me speak. Fuck.”
That got Yuna to stop as well as many of his teammates attention. Shane had never cursed at his mother, or even thought about it. Noticing the long gazes on him, he made his way to the bathrooms, ignoring Hayden trying to catch his eye. Finally, hidden away in a stall, Shane let himself just talk to his mom.
“Mom, I’m sorry but I really just don’t care about this stupid sponsor.” Truth. “And I don’t care about this stupid diet.” Lie. “And I don’t care about having dinner with you and dad right now.” Semi-truth. “I just want to stop thinking about all of this for one fucking day, so I’m sorry but I really can’t do this right now.”
The line was silent. That made Shane really fucking annoyed. He hung up and turned off his phone, slipping it into his pocket, before his mom could respond, resting his head on the stall door. He closed his eyes and took a couple deep breathes, trying to even out his breathing from the long monologue he just had. Shane knew he was out of line for speaking to his mother like that, and he would make sure to call back and apologize, but right now he just didn’t care.
After a couple more seconds he made his way back to his cubby. Shane quickly threw on his last clothing item and was reaching for his bag when asshole number 2 opened his mouth.
“Jeez, Holly,” Drapeau started deprecatingly, “Mama couldn’t get you another spons-“
“Shut the fuck up Drapeau,” Shane snapped, cutting him off. He finally got to his car outside the rink, and he felt confused and some concerned eyes the whole way out. Shane drove home on autopilot, too worked up to be present, he didn’t come to it till he was collapsing onto his bed. His brain was finally silent as he drifted off to sleep.
———
The first thing Shane noticed when he woke up was how hard he was. He had a dream about being on his knees for a certain Russian as he whispered sweet nothings to him and fucked his mouth raw. He was disappointed when he woke up to say the least. The second thing he noticed was how late it was. He had to be at the rink for his game at 5 p.m. and it was promptly 4 p.m. The third thing he noticed was how hungry he was. Since purging now almost two days ago, he hasn’t eaten.
Shane priorities the problem in his pants, thinking of Ilya’s mouth on him in place of his hand, it only taking him a few strokes before spilling over his hand, cleans up and then makes his way to his kitchen.
He knows he has a game tonight against Boston, and he doesn’t want to feel weighed down, so he eats a light meal, even when his body is begging for more. After taking a shower, promptly crying in the shower for a bit, and finishing the rest of his routine, he makes his way to the rink for the game.
———
4:17 Lily: Hope you’re ready to have ass handed to you
4:18 Lily: In more ways than one 😉
———
The locker room was loud. Which was unsurprising considering they’re playing Boston, but even now it seemed over the top.
Shane went to his cubby silently, ignoring any of his teammates chirps at him. He knew that if he paid attention to them it would make him even angrier, and he couldn’t deal with that at this moment. He had an agonizing headache, and clearly the medicine he had taken earlier had yet to set in.
Quickly getting suited up, he made his way to the ice.
———
4:39 Lily: Now we are shy?
4:41 Lily: Wow. Must be very upset with Boston guarantee win
———
He was able to do a couple laps around the Metros side of the rink and his stretches before the crowd started to roll in. He was keeping his head down and skillfully avoided the Boston’s captain’s eyes but, he could feel the heat of his gaze on him at all times.
The crowd’s buzz was loud and it only served to worsen his headache.
The lights were entirely too bright, and the seams of his socks were bothering him. Luckily, he was called back into the locker room for the pregame speech. Shane wasn’t in the mood, to put it lightly, so he left the speech to Hayden and JJ. Should he have given the speech as he was the captain and they were playing their biggest rivals? Probably. Did he really care? Not in the fucking slightest.
———
4:56 Lily: Shane?
4:57 Lily: Are you okay?
———
“-and we’re gonna FUCK. BOSTON. UP!”
That’s all Shane was able to comprehend before his teams yelled in approval and they pushed their way onto home ice.
The previous boos for Boston were quickly replaced by the prideful cheers of Montreal. Shane did his best to look like he wasn’t two seconds away from killing himself, but based on the concerned glances from Hayden, he doesn’t think he’s doing too well.
Lining up in center ice, he finally made eye contact with Ilya. It’s weird, huh? How he calls him Ilya in his head, but could never say out loud. Saying it out loud would be like cursing the rest of Ilya’s life. Anything that comes into contact with Shane ends up worse than it started. Hell, Shane himself is a perfect example of that.
As if somehow hearing Shane’s thoughts, he looks at Shane with a weird expression.
‘Are you okay?’
Surely that’s not what the expression means, because why would Rozanov care about Shane in any other setting than in bed?
Shane looks down at the ice instead of answering. The puck drops, and Shane quickly has it in his disease ridden clutch.
———
Montreal was losing.
Not horribly, no, but, they were still losing.
Shane was playing angry too. Shane Hollander never played even aggressive, let alone angry. He was making unnecessary checks and dangerous plays that his team rarely pulled off. But if his last three days didn’t make him play this way, the Boston rookie sure as hell would’ve made him.
Anytime Shane was around him, the rookie had something to say. It was crazy how cocky this rookie could be, because Shane didn’t even know his name! But his lack of skill, and seemingly popularity considering how the Raiders kept looking at him in pure disgust, didn’t keep him from throwing any harmful chirp his pea brain could muster straight at Shane.
“Can you even see the puck?”
“So did your mom get into Montreal by being a child bride, or is that just for the pretty Asians?”
“Eyes up here, faggot.”
The last one he muttered just loud enough for Shane to hear after slamming Shane into the boards hard enough for him to fall on the ice. He seemed oddly comfortable in using slurs when his captain wasn’t around.
The breaking point came after the last buzzer. Montreal had lost. Shane was hunched over in center ice trying to catch his breath when the rookie skated up next to him.
They were only a few other players around him, so how close the rookie was to Shane was completely unnecessary.
He clearly didn’t notice Rozanov or Marleau or Hayden standing nearby with the way he said, “You’re mom must be really disappointed she got raped and ended up with a faggot loser son.”
Everyone went completely still at those words.
Yuna and David had sat Shane down when he was eighteen and explained how his mother was raped one day, not long after they got married, and ended up pregnant with Shane. They explained how they never did a DNA test to see who his biological father was, but if Shane really wanted to, he could. Shane didn’t want to though, because he knew if it came back and he wasn’t his dad’s son he would be absolutely crushed. But it was always in the back of his mind, is this why he’s so disgusting?
Shane threw down his stick and pulled off his gloves before anyone could process it. He was quickly on the rookie, hitting him with a left jab to uncenter him before knocking him down with a powerful right hook. The rookie collapsed on the ice with a deafening crack, his helmet flying off in the process. Shane followed him down. Grabbing him by his collar, Shane got into his face.
“If you ever say shit like this again I will make sure you never step onto the ice again. You are a nobody and for the rest of your career I will make sure you remember it.”
Once making himself clear, he slammed the rookie back on the ice, nearly knocking him unconscious, and grabbed his gloves and stick.
He finally risked a glance around the stadium and saw everyone with a terrified expression. They couldn’t believe that the Golden Boy just fought! Shane wasn’t worried about them though, he was just looking for one person’s reaction. He made eye contact with Rozanov. He looked even more concerned then he had previously. His chest was rising rapidly and he could feel the adrenaline fade away once he finally clocked what Rozanov’s expression was.
It was worry.
Ilya was worried for him.
He couldn’t bare it, so he turned away and walked back to the locker room. That seemed to finally put everyone back in reality. Paramedics were coming to check on the rookie, Boston players and Montreal alike were starting to scuffle, just wanting to fight more than protect their teammates pride, but Shane just walked to the locker room, oddly calm.
Finally in his cubby, he let him head fall against it. And he let out a choked sob. Shane just cried and cried.
Again and again.