Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Shane looked out the window of the taxi, watching the city lights glisten as they reflected off the rain-slicked streets. Despite visiting Seattle a few times a year, he hadn’t truly explored the city. As it turned out, his introduction would be a night out with a few players from the new Seattle women’s hockey team.
The women’s league was brand new, having just expanded from four teams to eight. The higher-ups wanted to ensure that “real” hockey fans were invested in the women’s game, so they invited captains from the men’s league to provide commentary. Shane thought this was stupid because hockey was a draw on its own, and thought asking the male players to help overshadowed the women's accomplishments. His mom was even more upset about it. But neither of them were in charge. Since Montreal was playing Seattle the following day, management had asked Shane to arrive a day early and sit in the broadcast booth.
He wasn't surprised by the talent on the ice. The women weren't quite as fast as the men, being slightly shorter on average, but what they lacked in explosive power, they made up for with finesse, grace, and an impressive amount of raw skill. He sometimes wondered if the slower pace actually gave them more time to think, that extra microsecond that allowed for more accurate shots, fancier stick work, and swifter dodging.
He truly hoped he’d been able to convey his appreciation for their game during the broadcast. Shane knew he was never great on the mic, but he’d had his media training and did it because it was his job.
That was how he found himself in a taxi with a few of the players after the game. The captain, Mallory Brooks, and defenseman Bridgette Stacey had insisted on taking him out for drinks. He felt it would be rude to turn them down; besides, Hayden, his mom, and pretty much everyone else he knew had told him he needed to get out more and try new things. He figured this was the perfect opportunity.
He probably should’ve asked more questions about their destination. All he knew was that they were meeting a few other people. As they turned a corner, he spotted a bright pink shop with a rainbow flag and a large neon sign. Is that a sex shop? he wondered. What kind of neighborhood are they taking me to?
A moment later, they pulled up to a solid black building flying a giant blue, white, and black flag, one he didn't recognize. The sign out front simply read: The Sparkle Horse.
“We’re here!” Brooks shimmied with joy, grabbed her things, and darted out of the taxi.
Oh my God, what is this?
Shane tensed as everyone piled out of the car. He noticed a large bouncer at the door. “Hey guys? What kind of club is this?” he asked, trying to mask his discomfort.
“Just a club,” Stacey said with a wink.
“Don’t be like that, Stacey.” Brooks turned to Shane. “Hollzy, this is a gay bar. Are you okay with that? We probably should have asked first.”
Shane tried to hide the alarm on his face, but he was certain Brooks could see the internal panic he was cycling through.
“Hollzy, please tell me you’re not one of those hockey guys…” Brooks said, a hint of disdain creeping into her voice.
“No, no, no! I don’t have a problem with gay bars. I just... haven’t been to a lot of them.” Shane hoped he sounded nonchalant. He rarely felt nonchalant.
“So you have been to one before?” she asked as they approached the bouncer. “My girlfriend works here. She’ll keep you safe. It’s fine.”
“Like, girlfriend girlfriend?” Shane knew the stigma for openly gay players wasn’t the same in women’s sports as it was in the men’s league, but it had never crossed his mind that she would be so open about it. Having a girlfriend? In public? Like it was nothing? A small part of him felt a sharp pang of jealousy.
“Yes, her name is Michelle,” Brooks beamed.
“Look at him, he’s freaking out. Oh my God, Hollzy, are you a homophobe?” Stacey crossed her arms. “Canada’s Golden Boy... I told you all hockey guys are like that.”
“Not all of them,” Brooks countered. “Rosenov was surprisingly cool. A good dancer, too.”
“Are you surprised that the NHL’s most notorious fuck-boy is comfortable in a club?” Stacey rolled her eyes, still clearly annoyed. “I told you we shouldn’t have brought Hollander here. Look at him. This is not his vibe.”
“Hollzy, you said 'not many.' Have you been to a gay bar before?” Brooks asked, waving off her friend’s comments.
Shit.
He hoped she would have missed that. He’d actually been to a few. He, Hunter, and a few of the guys had ended up in one in Vegas after the awards. He wasn’t sure if they had intended to go there, but it had been fine, mostly full of tourists. Hunter had mentioned they had a good mocktail menu. He’d also visited one in Mexico; it had been nice to be out and not be recognized, but the place was more of a loud club than a bar, and Shane hadn't stayed long. But that was it. And now, it looked like he was heading into his third.
“Yeah, a few. With Scott Hunter and some of the guys in Vegas,” Shane said, trying to sound casual. He wasn't sure he ever truly achieved "casual."
“I’m sorry we sprung this on you,” Brooks said. “Just be cool, okay?”
As he walked up to the bounder, Shane Hollander, the Golden Boy of Canada, Stanley Cup winner, and Olympian, had never felt less cool in his entire life.