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Ever since Theriault and the Montreal Metros Management team pulled him out of the locker room after the game and told Shane that he’d give the press interviews alone and apologize to the furious fans after a shameful defeat thanks to him — Shane, who was already on the verge of a dissociative episode, had to swallow the lump of feelings he can't name stuck in his throat and walk to the press room like a man walks to the guillotine, shoulders tense, head bowed, his chest so full of everything and nothing at the same time.
Shane repeats the script in his head over and over again, trying to avoid shuddering violently at every flash of the cameras and the murmur of the hall that must be the worst background noise in history, pressing his nails against the palms of his hands in an attempt to focus his thoughts.
But they are in such a mess that Shane hardly knows how he manages to walk without tripping over his own feet until he finally sits in the chair in front of the microphone and the cameras.
The questions begin.
Ruthless, calculating, cold as the unease he feels accumulating in the pit of his stomach.
He answers the inquiries mechanically like an emotionless robot, even though inside everything is so overwhelming that he barely knows how he can even breathe.
Too numb to bother maintaining meaningful eye contact beyond staring straight ahead with unfocused vision, while he was still repeating his script to the reporter’s questions.
Tonight’s defeat is as much of a great disappointment for Shane as it is for the fans, and he understands their frustration and, for the next season, he and the Metros will work even harder to honor the fans, regain their trust and bring the Cup back to Montreal once again.
His brain doesn't register the insistent question from one of the reporters at first.
There is a delay in Shane's auditory processing, until he manages to isolate the words and their meaning in a pause that disorients him.
Shane blinks, lost, unfocused, frowning as he can't believe he actually heard what was asked.
For a second, he believes this was just another time he failed to grasp a subliminal context — and indeed, at first he doesn't understand, hence the long seconds of silence as his head tirelessly repeats the question, until, unfortunately, he realizes that he actually knows what the reporter meant.
Noticing that Shane seems to have frozen, the reporter — a middle-aged man with large receding hairlines, thinning gray hair, a condescending glint in his eyes, and a venomous smile — repeats the question as if he’d just won the lottery for leaving Shane speechless under live television.
"Hollander, do you believe that tonight your relationship with Rozanov outweighed your loyalty to the Metros?"
Marlow's hard tackle in April 2017, which resulted in Shane's fractured collarbone and concussion, hurt less than the horrific realization that just felt like it had ripped a hole in his chest.
Something Shane learned early on even before being drafted by the Metros in his rookie year — and which his mother and Farah reinforced over the years — is that the media doesn't blink at the possibility of being kind when being cruel is far more profitable for them.
But somehow the feelings he couldn't name since arriving at the stadium tonight and being greeted by the cold, disapproving stares of teammates, managers, assistants, coaches, and even team doctors, are starting to grow inside him and take on an ugly shape that makes him gasp for breath and widen his eyes a fraction.
Everything comes flooding back at once, and it seems to tighten around Shane's neck in a cruel grip.
The isolation from before the start of the game, all of the commands he tried to give as captain that were ignored by everyone except Hayden – even J.J., man, wasn't able to look him in the eye tonight.
The way nobody else even bothered to get any of the passes he assisted, all the shoves on the ice and the muttered insults disguised as accidental strikes from his own teammates. The way they let the Centaurs corner him at every chance, all the times he tried to talk to Coach to intercede and make the others listen to him and, instead, he only received a look of disgust from the man or got benched.
The harsh words in the locker room during halftime, the glares and accusations from his teammates, the homophobic insults, the shoves and threats from people he'd known for almost a decade.
Everyone thinks Shane threw tonight's game on purpose.
The bad feeling in his stomach is the first thing he recognizes amidst the turmoil. Dread. Then, all the other emotions are easily recognized: indignation, frustration, disappointment, sadness.
Shane also feels deeply betrayed.
Until the disappointment turns into hurt, resentment, a growing anger — which must somehow show on his face because the same reporter from before stares at him, frightened, and recoils back with his pathetic notebook.
How dare they?
He gave everything for this team.
Shane gave his all and then some, even when there was nothing left for himself and all he had the strength to do when he got to his empty apartment was lie on the bed and stare at the wall for hours, absolutely exhausted to the bone.
Exhausted from the physical exertion, body aching from maintaining the mask of the perfect captain, from upholding his perfectionism and rigid routine, from swallowing down his discomfort at the sudden changes so as not to be inconvenient or socially awkward to the rest of the team.
He was exhausted from feeling out of place all the time, from silently enduring the often racist and homophobic jokes.
Every damn day, for nearly ten years of his life.
The silence lingers, heavy and impossibly loud, while everyone waits for him to relax his clenched jaw and fists—nails so deeply embedded in his skin that they bleed in half-moon shapes.
The correct thing, or rather the expected thing, would be for Shane to maintain his composure despite the explicit accusation of the question, for him to deeply apologize for his actions that led to today's defeat.
For loving a man.
For that man being Ilya Rozanov.
Even though he did nothing fucking wrong.
However, the words that suddenly escape his throat in a cold rage are the exact opposite of what everyone expects from Shane Hollander, captain of the Montreal Metros, Canada's golden boy.
They are unfiltered, not meant to please anyone, or to appease tempers as Shane had always done before when dealing with the press.
"You know what? Fuck that."
Shane says this with absolute determination, his eyes burning as he curses, something uncharacteristic for someone who has always been known for how to deal with the press with politeness.
Finally, he fully understands what the expression means — you could cut the tension with a knife — instead of just getting used to hearing it and associating it with an extremely uncomfortable situation as he often does.
Needing to control his breathing before it becomes too erratic, Shane unlocks his jaw and lets his thoughts run wild and violent for the first time at a press conference.
"Everyone suddenly feels like they’re entitled to scrutinize my relationship as if it’s public matter, instead of private,” He sneers derisively, glaring at the reporter with loathing, “People have been acting as if any of you has the right to accuse me or Ilya of throwing games for each other’s benefit in the past, like you feel you are entitled to dictate rules for our lives and how we should behave so as to not make everyone uncomfortable with our relationship."
He snorts a disgusted laugh, shaking his head, feeling his heart pounding in his throat with the deep anger that has settled within him.
Clenching his teeth again for a moment, he glares directly at the nearest camera, fulminating, hoping that his next words leave no doubt to the entire world.
"You have no fucking right to anything regarding our lives. You have no right to microanalyze either tonight’s game or any other game in the season as if we were at fault for every single thing. Because we did nothing wrong.” Shane seethes, unable to control his haggard breathing and fuming eyes, too angry to notice the reporter from before pailing, “Tonight, Ilya and I played as we always play against each other, with the same intensity, commitment, and desire to lead our team to victory. Nothing was different from all the other times.”
His cold anger drips from every word, fists clenched and eyes refusing to look anywhere but ahead.
To hell with the outraged stares from the Montreal staff and the desperate negative nods and gesturing from the PR assistant nearby.
"Do you know why the Centaurs won tonight’s game?” He asks right back to the bald man, but doesn’t give either him or anyone else a chance to answer before he nearly snarls, “Because they fucking deserved it. They trained hard for it. They also didn't question the trust they built with their captain, they didn't disregard his commands tonight, they didn't treat their captain as someone less deserving of the C on his arm just because some self entitled jerk outed his relationship with another player."
Shane's eyes burn, but for the first time since he left the locker room and had to hear the same guys he'd played with for almost ten years — guys he grew up with, supported through times of grief, messy breakups, attended most of their weddings as one of the groomsmen — accusing him of throwing the game to Ilya, there are no tears.
Maybe later, when he can finally break down realizing that all this time he's only been avoiding the inevitable there will be a lot of tears.
The Montreal Metros never deserved Shane Hollander, and he spent nearly ten years of his life trying to prove his worth, giving his sweat, blood and tears for a team that never truly valued him.
But enough is enough.
"Go ahead, pull up the statistics from tonight’s game.” Shane jeers at them with scorn, not giving anyone a single second to interrupt him, “I know exactly how many passes assists I got from my teammates. And I also know how many assists to pass I did and to whom, and how many they actually bothered to get. The final score was 5-4, and I scored three of those goals all by myself, and the other goal also had my assist, might I add.”
Then, with a defiant grin that is too Rozanov-coded for anyone else in the room to miss, he adds with venom,
“I wasn't the only Metro playing tonight, so why the hell should tonight’s defeat be only my fault? Because I tripped at the last couple minutes of the game?" He scoffed.
Shane sees the wide-eyed reporters, coach Theriault red as a bell pepper glaring at him, and the worried look from Hayden — the only one accompanying him to the press conference that Montreal had put him in alone to humiliate him in return for him humiliating the team with his sexuality and choice of partner.
"So go ahead, say what you wanted to say from the beginning when you asked if I thought tonight my relationship outweighed my loyalty to my team. ‘Shane Hollander stumbled because he wanted his boyfriend to win’, isn't that what you were trying to imply from the start? You and half the internet, I'm sure."
And unable to control himself, a laugh, this time almost hysterical, escapes his throat. Something burns in his stomach, making him feel disgusted within his body.
Trying to swallow the nausea, after all these years of suppressing his feelings, choking over his fears, Shane finally doesn't try to interrupt his outburst out of courtesy for the sake of people who’d never actually cared about him.
Fuck them.
"As if I hadn't dedicated my entire career, sacrificed my personal life for the sake of this goddamn team, and the only time I chose something for myself that didn't align with their morals, they rejected me and scorned me like trash.” Shane scoffs, “I came out as gay to Management and my teammates two years ago, and no one has ever treated me the same since. As if I’d suddenly start ogling them in the showers, or flirting with them when I had never thought of them that way, or would do anything to disrespect them.”
So, he can't help but stare intently at the coach in the distance, curling his lips in derision at the man who punished him every time Shane tried to stand up to the team's homophobia.
“You said everything was okay as long as I kept my personal preferences a secret, right coach? Me standing up from the homophobic slurs was me overreacting, that’s what you told me, right? Because in your opinion I had to put up with it since I decided to disrupt the team dynamic with this issue,” Shane doesn’t care if Theriault is about to have a heart attack from how red the man’s face is. "As long as I was gay, far away from you all, no problem?"
No matter how the Montreal Metros try to accuse him of libel afterward, Shane has numerous recordings of conversations he had with Theriault, the team managers, and the insults he was forced to endure from his teammates — especially in the last month.
“But having my relationship with Ilya Rozanov outed against our will suddenly had everyone on the Metros questioning my dedication, my loyalty to this team. As if everything I did for them was nothing."
Shane blinks, starting to feel lightheaded and shaking with the pain of betrayal he felt as soon as he stepped into the locker room after the game — because he never, ever thought they would accuse him of tripping on purpose. After knowing him for almost ten fucking years.
“Even though I fucking won not one, not two, but three Cups for the Metros.”
With trembling breaths, numb fingers, and beginning to notice signs of a shutdown, Shane continues speaking everything that had been bottled up inside him, even as the emptiness in his chest grew.
"Today's game was no different from the other games I've played against Ilya. Nothing was different. Absolutely nothing changed." He emphasizes, the words pouring from his mouth in a torrent of emotions.
And if nothing else matters, if Shane has nothing left to lose, if the Metros never truly cared about him except for taking everything they could get from him, and if they clearly aren't important to him anymore, what's wrong with telling the truth?
Shane just wants to go home to Ilya.
Everything else is white noise.
A white blank page.
His story, his career, his whole life with the Montreal Metros has become a damn white blank page and a swelling rage.
With his breath ragged, his throat dry, he drops the final bomb, not caring about the explosion and repercussions.
Let the internet blow up. Let the Metros deal with the fallout of their actions — losing a generation's talent for nothing, not a single cent at all.
"You want a headline that will shock the world of sports? Fine then, write this statement down.”
Shane smiles derisively straight ahead, not bothering to pretend he cares about looking at any of them, while straightening his back and with his chin held high, he finally drops the bomb into the lap of everyone watching.
“Before I was even drafted by the Metros and every single game since signing with them — every award and Cup won until now, my entire professional life in the NHL, no one had ever known a Shane Hollander, professional hockey player, who wasn't in love with Ilya Rozanov from the start.”
Everyone was already wide-eyed before Shane’s statement, following each of his words in a speech so full of cold rage, but now the entire room takes a collective gasp in utter shock as he delivers the news no one could have expected.
Then, he shrugs because Shane is so fucking tired of everything.
"That’s right, and I'll give you two headlines instead of one, how about it? In good Canadian spirit, after all I'm the golden boy, right?"
Shane jeers derisively, as he slowly gets up from the chair, the metal dragging on the floor with a loud shriek that has him internally wincing from the deep silence of the press conference room.
"Everyone and their mom knows that I don’t have a reputation for bragging, or for behaving as if I am the best player in the league. But it turns out that I am, right? The Best Hockey Player in the league, that is. It’s not actually bragging if that's what the statistics show, right?” Shane smirks at them, because it’s the first time he allowed himself to brag about this. “I have more goals and assists that result in goals under my stats than any other player in the league, including Ilya himself."
He makes a point of staring intently for a moment at coach Theriault, the Metro management representative, and the PR assistant — in what would later the internet would dub as the Shane Hollander’s Glare of Doom — before flashing a smile more arrogant and confident than he actually felt before winking towards the reporters and, especially, towards the camera recording everything and broadcasting live.
Then Shane leans over to reach the microphone again, the smile vanishing from his face and giving way to a cold, furious expression, his voice filled with pure contempt.
“And as the best player in the league, this is my official statement: tonight was my last game with the Montreal Metros, from now on I am a free agent. And whichever team I play for next season, it will be an inclusive team that respects me, a team that values the blood, sweat and tears I have always dedicated to my training and to every game I have ever played — regardless of whether I am gay or in a long-term relationship with Ilya Rozanov. It will be a team that, unlike the Metros, welcomes me and is grateful to have the best hockey player in the NHL, Shane Hollander.”
Shane takes a deep breath and, with one last cold glare, addresses the group of Metro players — now publicly his former teammates — who had begun to slowly gather during the interview, staring at him in shock and bewilderment.
As if, even after everything that had happened in the last few weeks and especially tonight, they never expected Shane to leave the Metros of his own accord.
"And for as long as I'm a professional player, I promise you that I will dedicate myself intensely so that, when the Metros’ odds of going to the playoffs rely on the results of me and them meeting on the rink on opposing teams, the Metros will never again be able to lift a Cup."
The cacophony of outraged exclamations, the frantic clicks and flashes of the cameras, and the reporters practically climbing on top of each other with incessant questions is almost enough to send Shane into a breakdown right there.
A knot is forming in his throat, panic beginning to grow beneath his skin as the tornado of emotions makes his head spin. These people could never understand how badly, at this moment, Shane Hollander feels everything around him is too much.
The lights, the scraping of chairs, the side conversations, the stitching of his clothes against his skin, the urge to bite his arm and tear out his hair while screaming and crying, and he wants to rip open his chest with his own nails to see if all the pain, all the anger and disappointment will come out of him.
Not yet, you’re not safe yet Shane. Just a little more.
But he refuses to show any more vulnerability in front of people who have only hurt him.
He owes nothing to anyone here.
Not even a final goodbye.
Or a goodnight, for that matter.
And without saying anything more, Shane walks away.
Hayden, who was already waiting for him in the hallway with their things, quickly guides Shane to one of the exits behind the stadium where Jackie is waiting with the car running and eyes fixed on the surroundings.
Minutes into the drive, the couple exchange worried glances as Shane, unsurprisingly after the events of the press conference, becomes completely nonverbal and dissociates the entire way home.
Nothing they do or say can snap Shane out of his shutdown, not even mentioning that they learned from Harris that Rozanov is finishing his own conference and going straight home afterward — because Shane is more important than hockey to Ilya, however happy he is with tonight’s victory.
They don't mention that Yuna has already posted an official statement on Shane's social media about the end of his contract with Montreal and his disappointment with a team he thought he would retire with, while thanking the fans for their support all these years, highlighting his commitment, dedication, and work ethic to the team and fans all this time. They don't mention that Yuna also removed all pictures with and unfollowed all of the Montreal Metros’ accounts and those of the other players on the team — even J.J’s.
Hayden and Jackie also don't tell Shane that Scott Hunter and most of the NY Admirals, and even Marlow and a few others of the Raiders and several other players in the league and their own teams official accounts, made their own official statements on their profiles condemning homophobia in sports and the Metros' shameful conduct, and highlighting Shane's professionalism throughout his career, and how shameful and disrespectful this press conference was — all mentioning the NHL and demanding action, while emphasizing that any team in the league would be overjoyed to sign with a player of Hollander’s caliber.
The Pike couple says nothing about how the internet is buzzing and today's press conference is already occupying the entire Top 5 on Twitter in Sports, being 1# TheMontrealMetrosSUCK, #2 ShaneHollander, 3# HollanderGlareOfDoom, 4# IlyaRozanov and # 5 SinceBeforeTheirRookieSeason.
When they finally arrive at Shane's apartment, Hayden watches with a broken heart as his best friend gets out of the car dejected, his eyes clouded and full of tears, but with a blank expression, head hung low and shoulders inched towards himself as Shane barely shrugs out of his sneakers leaving them where they drop instead of carefully organizing his things, and goes straight to the master suite without even closing the door.
Jackie takes a sharp intake of air next to him, and after a few seconds they hear the sniffles, and she grabs Hayden's own trembling arm — and even in all their years of friendship, this is the first time she's truly seen how Shane is when he no longer has the strength to mask how he feels.
From her gaze, which struggles between concern for Shane's mental state and her month-old growing hatred for the Metros, Hayden is certain that as soon as his own contract ends next season, he too will look for another team to sign with and that his wife won't mind even if they have to move countries.
Fortunately, it doesn’t take too long for Rozanov to arrive at the apartment, entering with hurried steps and almost breathless as he looks around for Shane.
"He went straight to the bedroom." Hayden says quietly and gestures toward where Shane went and hasn't come out in the last half hour since they’ve arrived.
He and Jackie heard nothing but a few sniffles and low sobs, and he tells Rozanov as much, seeing how the other player’s eyes get heavy with concern as does his accent.
"Thank you for taking care of him."
The Russian says in a hoarse voice, his hair still a mess of damp curls from the shower at the rink.
Years have made Hayden used to the other side of Ilya Rozanov, to the point that even a sincere thank you that used to make him widen his eyes in surprise and stammer a response is now just another normal thing in their lives.
The sky is blue, Shane is his best friend, and Rozanov isn't such a bad guy after all.
"No problem, Rozy. Let me know how he is later?"
With a hurried nod from Ilya, who is clearly practically climbing the walls with the urge to go to the room and see how Shane is doing, Hayden and Jackie say a brief goodbye and leave.
It's likely that the Montreal Metros still haven't realized the mess they made by mistreating the best player in the entire of their team's history, and just how deep the pit Shane Hollander pulled them out of so many years ago — and guided them back into the spotlight today — actually is.
Hayden shakes his head at the idiocy of it all, and Jackie exchanges a glance with him in the rearview mirror as she drives them home.
The Metros may not have realized how screwed they are, blinded beyond measure by their own disgusting prejudice, and Hayden doubts they'll realize the mess they've made anytime soon.
But after so many years on the team, he knows what’ll happen to them, and he's not the only one.
The hockey world has already started talking; it's only a matter of time before the Metros are back in the same hole they were in before Shane Hollander lifted them up.
And in about three months from now, just before the next season, it will be announced which team Shane has signed with.
All the NHL teams and the fans themselves will be cursing all generations of Montreal Metros for recklessly letting Shane Hollander go and causing him and Ilya Rozanov to play on the same team, when the world realizes that, in addition to their unparalleled rivalry built over almost a decade under the spotlight already making them difficult players to compete with when alone, they manage to be even worse opponents when they form a terrifying duo on the ice that terrifies everyone.
Especially when the newlywed couple plays on the same line.
Well, Hayden thinks to himself, puffing out an amused laugh through his nose, it's going to be hell playing against them for everyone, but especially for the Metros.
Because while they waited in Shane's apartment living room, Jackie showed him excerpts from Rozanov's interview and, damn — there's no other way to describe the glint in the Russian's eyes other than bloodthirsty, when he vowed that the Montreal Metros would get what they deserved.
So, with a heavy, exhausted sigh from today's game, Pike realizes he's going to have to endure the next season with players he's lost all respect for.
He ignores J.J.'s seventh call in a row.
Boiziau and the Metros have made their choice; now they must deal with the consequences when the time comes.
Hayden suspects this will be the most emotionally draining, yet short, season of his entire career.