Archive of Our Own

If it’s one thing Zane Boodram was sure about himself, it’s that he was prideful. Annoyingly so to his dissenters and remarkably so to his supporters. Pride was engrained into him as a small child, growing up in the streets of Trinidad. It’s how it pushed him to climb the largest mango tree to get the big mango at the top, it’s how he dominated the street matches of football and cricket, it’s how he would walk with stride when any adult yelled his name whether it was out of correction or praise. His neighbors in Arima all knew him. He was Angela’s rowdy last child, that was full of spunk and pride. He asked all his teachers questions and answered them with a set of boastfulness that would make his fellow classmates sigh (even if the answer was wrong). Zane was never afraid to make a friend, walking up the different types of people, older, younger, outcasts and the elites, and forcing his way into their circles. Some questioned if his pride and his demeanor was overcompensating for what was happening at home. The story throughout the neighborhood talked about how the family was struggling. His father – Robert – was just laid off from the oil refinery and things at home with two other siblings who were in high school were getting difficult. Angela’s paycheck from being a secretary for British West Indian Airways (BWIA) could only stretch so far. However, whatever the gossip that “the school children said” didn’t stop the pride Zane walked with through his neighborhood. Every morning, his school uniform was ironed and his shoes were polished. Even if lunch decreased in size, he continued to lambast on how his mother and father were the best chefs, and how he was in the kitchen with them every Sunday so he could learn as well. It meant that he got to cricket field early on Saturday’s so he could work on his batting techniques before the local league ran him off the pitch.

Then the news came, in the July 2002 at the age of 8 years old, when his mother told him that the entire family was about to leave Trinidad for Canada. Zane heard about Canada before, his teacher mentioned it when looking at the map, and he heard his parents and grandparents talked about family living there. However, it was still a strange place to his young mind. It didn’t matter if it was for a new opportunity, or for new money. Zane’s pride wanted to stay in Trinidad. He wanted to be able to run through the cane fields, climb the many trees, go down south to the beach and smile at his favorite vendor for the biggest serving of bake and shark. However, in this moment, it didn’t work. The decision was already made for him. He would be starting school in September in a new country, at a new school, and with new people. He was terrified. His last day, he cried in his grandmother’s arms, begging why he couldn’t stay with her. Looking back at that moment, Zane could admit that it was a selfish request. His grandmother was aging and consistently ill. She passed away three years after they moved – prompting his first visit back home since they left.

But Zane did not leave the new city, Toronto, swallow up his pride. No, Zane was determined to make Toronto his city. As they settled, he walked into the school with the same demeanor he did in Trinidad. He made friends with the elites, the outcasts, and the in between. He became known within their neighborhood, always asking the other children if they would like to play ‘soccer’ if they were 2^nd or 3^rd generation, and for those that just arrived like him he would ask if they would like to play ‘football’. His accent was still thick, but the sing-song nature of his speech blended in with the people around him. Most of the neighborhood was just fellow Caribbean people – all who made the journey to the frozen tundra of the north hoping for better opportunities. As he continued to grow up in this new environment, he picked up the ability to codeswitch, to the do conflict management (many times he was friends with people who were considered violent and rivals), to make sure he was present in rooms that he wasn’t allowed to be present in.

His pride taught him a lot about racism, and xenophobia, not for the first time, but in a different way than what he would learn about it if he was still in Trinidad. His pride also told him that if he was good at something, then he would do it.

His pride led him to hockey.

It wasn’t an easy decision. All little Zane knew was the complicatedness of cricket, the fascination of football, the speed needed for track and field, and the disdain for baseball being a ‘rip-off’ of good-natured cricket. But when he arrived in Toronto, he was introduced to the Toronto Raptors and their eventual legendary players of Vince Carter and heard about Tracy McGrady leaving them for Orlando. It was evident, that many were pointing him to the direction of basketball. He played it couple times and had the skills and height that would’ve made him successful. It wasn’t enough for him. Sure, he found himself in small cricket leagues, but he continuously crashed with the Indian community that ran them. He needed something in his hand and an item to hit. Yes, baseball was there, but that was a sacrilegious choice.  

“Zane, why don’t you try hockey?” His mother asked him one day, when he was 13 years old. That was the beginning of this new journey. His first time on the ice, it came to him like it was second nature. Of course he needed to work on fine tuning skills, especially since he decided he was going to be best of the best. That pride kicked in. It meant long hours at the rink, and longer hours doing training. Hockey became his life (after school, his parents would not tolerate any academic slacking). He worked hard; and the pride blossomed with it. It made his dissenters miserable; his supporters filled with joy. He wore it across his chest as he walked through the halls of his high school, through his neighborhood, through the rink. It made him stood his ground, when the whiteness of the sport tried to push him out. Like how dare them? He was fucking good. So good, that it got him drafted as a high pick to the Ottawa Centaurs. Was he excited that he was going to a franchise that hasn’t won anything since he was a child? Not really, but he saw it as an opportunity. An opportunity to show that the hard work he put in day and out was worth it. Was worth him being a draft pick, was worth him being in the league.

After his first game of the season, a disastrous outing against the New York Admirals, he spoke to Carter Vaughn. He was in the league for a while, and they both spoke about their struggles as Black men in the league and how they felt alone. Carter told him he had an idea. Every day, Zane wanted to hug Carter for such a great idea.

Now, he was not only in the league, but he was also now good friends with Carter Vaughn, J.J. Boiziau and Shane motherfuckin’ Hollander. There was no way he couldn’t be prideful.

That pride walked with him through his relationships. Zane would admit. Through high school and juniors, he was out there. He had an affinity for women and their bodies and indulge tremendously. He heard the whispers from the girls, either warning others to stay away from him because ‘that man is a hoe’ or wondering what the experience was like. That all came to a stop late in his Rookie year when he stumbled across the most beautiful woman he had ever met. Cassandra Pierre, but you can call her Cassie. St. Lucian on her father side, and Grenadian on her mother’s. Moved to Ottawa for school, currently studying economics at the University of Ottawa. She was intrigued when Zane walked up to her, but she knew better. She wasn’t going to let a hockey player just get in her pants just for fun. She was set on her goals and what she wanted. He needed to wine and dine her and made sure that he was only about her. Zane took that to his heart and spent the year courting the most beautiful woman in the world. Pride was not letting him mess this up. He was determined. Now the woman carried his last name and was the love of his life.

So yes, pride got Zane here.
Pride also helped him processed giving Ilya Rozanov the captaincy when he signed with Centaurs, solidifying himself as the alternative. Pride made sure that his locker room was not just a friendly one, but a safe space for all his players. There were many things he did not tolerate. Pride also made sure that there was a team culture of commadore and unity, one that meant monthly BBQs at his house.

Pride is also the reason he was losing his mind when Ilya’s appearances become less notable and his mood more irritable. Pride was also the reason he noticed that when the Voyageurs were in town and a BBQ aligned with it, Shane wasn’t eating the food he cooked anymore. It was driving him crazy.

He questioned the actions every night, to the point that Cassie would turn to her husband with a small smile as he worried. There was no way after all these years, Shane would just stop eating from his pot. He made calls to his mother, and his aunts, wondering if he made a recipe wrong, if he had to adjust some seasonings, cooking times. They reassured him that he was doing it right. His teammates continued to mention that his food was delicious as always. So, what the fuck was going on?

Then he heard it, a term that sent shivers down his spine. In a comment in passing, at some event where half of the league was present, they spoke about Shane Hollander going on a new performance-based diet. Zane shook his head at the point and smiled to himself. Okay, this felt like Shane. However, he got concerned. As a man who is always in the kitchen, Zane was particular about what he put in his body. His ingredients were always local, whole foods, and made with care. Obviously, that didn’t stop him when it came to indulge in the food that reminded him of home. He spent time in the kitchen, making sure to roll out the proper roti, ensuring all the seasonings were prepped properly for his pelau and overtly stressed as he cleaned the pig tail. Because pride was not allowing him to half-ass his food and serve things that were not cooked meticulously with love and care. Absolutely not. But now, he a had a man that was visiting his home and ate nothing that he would cook, and it was driving him crazy.

However, Zane couldn’t process that properly, as the heaviness of Ilya Rozanov lingered in the locker-room. Sure, he smiled, he laughed and cracked jokes, but the light that was uniquely Ilya Rozanov was missing. Zane considered himself to be a good friend of the Russian, not just a solid co-worker. So, Zane and his pride decided that needed to come to terms on to what was happening, and find some way to if not fix it, but help with it. To get Ilya to finally tell him what was happening, Zane decided that he needed a plan. In his opinion, all great things started with a plan.

Figuring out wa di hell wrong with Roz

1. Get Roz to come over by my place with no other teammates around.
2. Feed Roz with good food, and find really good vodka
3. Start telling the story of how moving to Canada sucked for him
4. Ask Roz if it sucked for him too.
5. Don’t be too nosey, but be nosey enough
6. Figure out the problem
7. Maybe fix the problem (depends how big the problem is)
8. Also, tell him his crush on Shane Hollander is loud (maybe not on the same day).

His last straw came after a brutal practice. Rozanov was doing everything right, but there was a dark cloud over him that just made everything feel even more emotional. The season just started and they’ve taken loses on the ice. Zane wished this wasn’t the norm for them, but with a new coach and new rookies, it was going to take things a while to mesh. However, things weren’t going to mesh, if their captain was also going through things on his own.

Once the locker room cleared out, Zane walked up to Ilya and cornered him into his own locker.

“Bood, I understand you want to show me your nice body, but I think you’ve figured out that I am spoken for.” Ilya joked. Zane sucked his teeth at him, chuckling slightly.

“Oh, hush up.” He huffed before pointing his fingers into Ilya’s chest. “No is not an answer, you’re coming to my house this afternoon. If you’re not there by 5, I know where you live Rozanov. And if you’re not home, I will search the entire city, province and gah damn country for your scunt. Okay?”  Ilya looked at him with a slightly amused look before he nodded his head.

“Okay.” Ilya chuckled. “No need to get all papa bear on me Bood. I’ll show up. Do you need me to bring anything?”

“Just yourself, sugarplum.” Both men cackled at the statement as they went back to getting dressed the leave the arena. As Zane sat in his vehicle, he pulled out the pen and paper that had his plan and scratched off step one.

Figuring out wa di hell wrong with Roz

1. Get Roz to come over by my place with no other teammates around.
2. Feed Roz with good food, and find really good vodka
3. Start telling the story of how moving to Canada sucked for him
4. Ask Roz if it sucked for him too.
5. Don’t be too nosey, but be nosey enough
6. Figure out the problem
7. Maybe fix the problem (depends how big the problem is)
8. Also, tell him his crush on Shane Hollander is loud (maybe not on the same day).

Ilya was coming over and he had just enough time to put the aloo pies he worked on the night before in the oven. He also got a batch of tamarind balls from his favorite Caribbean grocer and wanted to see if could challenge Ilya in how many he could eat at once.  All he had to do was make a quick stop at the specialty liquor store and collect the bottle of vodka he pre-ordered two days ago. He would then go home and make sure that it was chilled. All important steps that needed to be taken to be a good host.

When Ilya showed up at his door with a bottle of red wine, Zane chuckled to himself as he let him into the house. These damn immigrants could never not bring something over, huh? But he understood, because every time someone told him he didn’t need to bring anything over, he still did. It was just good manners, and his parents would be thoroughly upset if he was going around showing off bad manners. The pair quickly got settled around the kitchen island, with the pies fresh out of the oven, two chill glasses half filled with vodka, and soft sounds of old calypso playing through the house speakers.

“Why do I feel you brought me here to have a very deep conversation?” Ilya asked after he took a sip from his glass.

“Why do you say that?” Zane asked before taking a bite of his food.

“Well, no one else from the team is here. Cassie is by her parents, and when we are alone, we are usually on the game, not sitting at your counter eating, which is very delicious by the way.” Ilya nodded before he picked up another one from the tray.

“Thank you, thank you. And yes, I wanted to talk to you. I am worried about you Roz.” Zane said, cutting straight to the case. “Like, I want to remind you that are great, a great friend, a great person, a great teammate, a great captain, but after getting to know you after these few years, I can tell you’re not in a great place, and it worries me.” Ilya sighed, pulling the bottom of his lip between his teeth. Zane watched the Russian’s body language shifted from comfortable, to sad, to defensive. This conversation was going to be just as hard as he thought.

“I’m okay Bood.” Ilya chuckled. “You don’t have to worry your pretty brain about me.” While Zane would jest back, as their friendship truly teeters heteronormative norms of hockey players, he just knew that Ilya was deflecting.

“I can also tell when you’re lying to me.” Zane said with a small smile. “And look, I’m not telling you that you need to pour out your entire life to me. If things need to be private. I get it. Like when I moved to Canada, I was so miserable. It was cold, I hated the accents, and everyone kept looking at me like I was a shiny new toy. I kept it pushing but I was sad as shit. Like real sad. But as a Caribbean man, I couldn’t cry. Not with my pride. So again, I understand if you don’t want to share, but I need you to know that you’re not alone.” Ilya looked up at him with sad eyes before taking another sip of his drink.

“Crying is really frowned upon on, ain’t it.” Ilya chuckled as she shook his head. “I just started seeing a therapist. I think I’m more like my mother than anything else right now.”

“Depressed?”

“да.” Zane took in a deep breath as he nodded his head in acknowledgement. He had a small hunch that was the case, thus spending hours the night before reading about depression and all of its side effects. It was an overwhelming process.

“I’m glad you’re seeing someone then. I believe that’s the first step, right? Acknowledging the issue?” Ilya hummed in agreement as he put his glass back down on the counter.

“It is. But I’m not going to lie and say it’s now hard. Fuck, Bood it’s so difficult talking about your feelings when all your life you had to keep it in.” Ilya shook his head. “I’m talking about things that I’ve never thought I would mention. But I’m trying, so please don’t take pity on me.”

“Roz, I would never take pity on you.” Zane chuckled slighty. That’s the last thing he wanted Ilya to feel, as if he was a burden, a charity case, something pulling him down. “Pity, no. Worried, hell fucking yeah. I consider you one of my closest friends and man, I just want to make sure you’re good.”

“Ha. Thanks though.” Ilya shook his head. Zane let out a small sigh. They were getting somewhere but at a snail’s pace. He remembers all the trainings and lessons he learnt about patience. This was going to be a process.

“I think it’s just strange for me to feel all this shit now, in Ottawa. It’s not like I didn’t choose to be here. I want to be here.” Ilya ranted as he picked up his glass again. Zane squinted at statement – making a mental note. Yes, signing with the Centaurs wasn’t a league mandated purgatory for him. It was a conscious choice that still confuses everyone – including Zane – till this day.

“I guess, maybe life is slowing down now? Idk Roz, you were quite the party boy back in Boston. I think you just have more time to think now.” Zane shrugged. “Which, I guess in theory isn’t really a bad thing, but the underlying issues then bubble over?”

“You read about depression before this conversation, huh?” Ilya smirked. Fuck, he caught on him. Zane shrugged again before picking up another pie from the plate.

“Shit, I was trying to understand what’s happening man. Like I said, we don’t talk about this shit like that. Had to do a lot of unlearning. If this was a conversation like a decade ago, I would’ve told you just go pray and take it to the Lord in prayer or some fuckery like that.” Zane shook his head. He remembered clearly that his cousin was going through a dark period of their lives, and instead of getting support from the family, everyone initiated a prayer circle. That only let them to be admitted to the hospital. Zane was committed to change on how he understood mental health from that day onward.

“I appreciate it. For me, it was just men don’t feel those things. Men had to be tough.” Ilya shook his head again. “I thought it was just a cold country mindset though; therapist told me it’s patriarchy.”

“Oh, that’s some deep shit.”

“Right.” Ilya shrugged. “But I appreciate you looking out for me Bood. I really do. This has made me feel slightly better today.” Zane beamed up and nodded his head, glad that they were heading in a positive direction.

“And I’m happy that you felt comfortable to open up to me a little bit Roz. I want you to know that you got a support system. You got me. You don’t need to do this shit by yourself. Shit, even make sure you lean on your partner.” Zane added, hoping that the message went through. Zane noticed Ilya’s demeanor shifted when he mentioned partner. Did he overstep? Did they break up and he wasn’t aware of it?

“I haven’t told them as yet.” Okay, this feels significantly worse than a breakup.

“Rozanov.”

“I know I know.” Ilya groaned as he wiped his hand over his face. “They already have a lot going on, I just don’t want to be a burden.”’ Zane sucked his teeth so loud that he echoed through the kitchen.

“Roz, if your partner decides that your real issues is a burden, then that’s not the person for you. But you will never know if you don’t fucking talk to them you fool.” Zane chastised him a little. Ilya threw his head back in frustration and nodded his head.

“You’re right. I’ll have the conversation soon.”

“Soon or soon? Because let me tell you about a West Indian soon, that shit don’t be soon. How long Rihanna telling us her next album was coming soon? Bredda it’s been four years since ANTI dropped. I’m in a drought.” Zane complained. “And you had to tell them from the jump so your soon better be tonight.”

“I don’t know about tonight, but not a West Indian soon for sure.” Ilya chuckled.

“Also, throwing it out there. I think you should talk to your partner about your crush on Hollander. It’s loud and I don’t know if they would like that.” Zane added before draining his cup. As he made eye contact with Ilya, a bright smile was plastered across his face. The Russian simply shrugged at the request, and drained the rest of his glass, before getting out of his seat. Zane squinted at him before letting out a deep belly laugh.

Holy shit.

Figuring out wa di hell wrong with Roz

1. Get Roz to come over by my place with no other teammates around.
2. Feed Roz with good food, and find really good vodka
3. Start telling the story of how moving to Canada sucked for him
4. Ask Roz if it sucked for him too.
5. Don’t be too nosey, but be nosey enough
6. Figure out the problem. wow it’s depression whew
7. Maybe fix the problem (depends how big the problem is) uhhhhh support will be there, big up the professional help one time.
8. Also, tell him his crush on Shane Hollander is loud (maybe not on the same day). ME SKUNTHOLE!!!!!

“Anyways, before I go – we should talk about the Barrett trade. He should be in tomorrow and we need to reiterate what we do not tolerate in our locker room.” Zane snapped out of his new founded realization to focus on an important matter at hand, fuck they now had to deal with a very questionable Troy Barrett.

“I’m not a fan of this at all.”

“That makes the both of us, Bood. That makes the both of us.”

While things didn’t immediately turn around with Ilya, Zane appreciated that the Russian took extra steps to inform him when his mood dips and was willing to accept any support. It wasn’t a quick sprint – it was a marathon. He chuckled a bit at the thought. All the athletes were now captioning their posts with ‘the marathon continues 🏁’ in honor of the rapper Nippsey Hustle. He was a little bit hypocritical in his joke, as he definitely used the checkered flag in an Instagram story a couple months ago. However, while he was running a marathon with Ilya, he felt that he needed to run the 200M with Shane. One day after practice, he decided he needed to get to the bottom of this. The holidays were coming up, and he wanted Shane to be at the Boxing Day BBQ. He actually needed Shane to be there.

“Babe, Hollzy new diet is called what again? The microcosmic?” He asked Cassie one day as he sat by the little nook in the kitchen, looking up new recipes. Cassie chuckled as she closed the fridge with her new pregnancy cravings – peanut butter and dried cranberries, cold – and walked towards him.

“It’s macrobiotic babe.” She kissed the top of his head. He leaned against her stomach, listening for the heartbeat, and potential kick.

After a rigorous google search, YouTube rabbit hole, and being in the depths of reddit hell, Zane decided that this is not a diet a pro-athlete should be participating in. He completely understood of eating non-processed food and seasonal vegetables, but the diet being mostly grains and limited protein was not healthy. In his opinion it was not healthy for anyone and not an athlete. So, Zane found himself in a conundrum. Sure, he could take the route his mother would’ve done and cursed at Shane until he eats real food, but he knew the man. It would be counterproductive and Shane would ice him out. He was also very concerned about the mental aspect of it all. Why does an elite athlete, one of the best, deciding that he needs to push his body to unrealistic levels? What is happening in the Montreal locker room that encouraged him that this is a route that he needed to take. He wasn’t arguing that mindful eating was bad. Shit, he counts his calories and protein intake every day to ensure that he kept up his muscle for the long 82 game season.

Zane thought about the last time he saw Shane. While the muscles were more defined, he also seamed leaner, and more exhausted. As if the extreme control of the diet was the only control he had in his life right now, and everything was exhausting him.

Fuck, was this teetering on an eating disorder?

Zane quickly went back through his newly research, clicking through tabs, and opening new ones as his brain ran back and forth in trying to figure out what to do. He pulled out a paper form his recipe notebook and scribbled across the paper.

wa to make dis boy nyam.  

The following week, Zane knew that Shaen was in town visiting his parents. He debated back and forth on if he wanted to call him and force him to visit him like he did with Ilya earlier in the month. But after much deliberation, he picked up the phone and dial Shane’s number.

“Sup, Bood.”

“Now, what the fuck is this bitch ass diet you on, Hollander?” Zane knew that it was an harsh opening question. However, after knowing Shane for years, he would rather them get straight to the point than going through three minutes of pleasantries. He heard Shane sigh over the receiver. Shane was about to tell him some bull shit.

“Performance based Bood. It’s to help me with my game.” Shane replied softly. “Trust me, I feel better.”

“I am calling bull shit. My house, dinner, 7pm. Shane I know where you stay. We will figure this shit out together.” Shane confirmed he would be by Zane, citing he originally planned to swing by him in the evening anyways. Once they hung up the phone, Zane let out a deep breath in his car. He had practice, Barrett issues, and now he needed to make sure he made the best meal Shane Hollander has ever had in his entire life. Easy stuff, his pride could handle it.

When the doorbell rang, Zane was doing some finishing touches to the steamed fish. He knew Cassie was on her way out to hang out with the WAGS, so she quickly greeted Shane, let him in and headed out. Shane walked into the kitchen with a pensive look, concerned as to what Zane had planned. After a quick bro hug and mindless conversation, Shane was now seated at the island with a cold ginger ale – the same spot Ilya sat at a couple week ago – and two bowls were pushed in front of him.

“Eat. It’s steamed fish, with millet.” Zane motioned as he went to make his own plate. Shane looked down at the food, and then back at Zane. As he was about to protest, Zane cut him off with a raised brow.

“It’s in alignment with your dietary goals. the protein is fish, the grain is unprocessed and healthy, and there is an abundance of in season vegetables in there. Pumpkin, carrots, I even added some squash. Eat.” Zane said before sitting down at the table.

“It looks good Zane, but the proportions aren’t right.” Shane shrugged as he shook his head. “It needs to be 50, 40, 30. 50 being grains.” Zane nodded his head as he took a bite of the fish. He was satisfied with how it came out, especially since he had to call his fish guy hoping he could get a fresh snapper, filet with skin on, for the matter. Traditionally he would use a whole fish, but this conversation proves to him that he was correct.

“It supposed to help with my body, strengthening and regulating itself.” Shane continues. “It’s important to be able to have control on what goes in.” Zane smiled at his friend as he got up from his seat and picked up a paper that was in his kitchen nook. He slid the paper towards Shane, who squinted at the document in front of him. It was a breakdown of all the ingredients in the food, the calorie count, protein count, and all other numbers Zane thought it would be deemed appropriate for Shane. After reading through the document a few times, Shane let out a sigh and picked up his fork.

“Fuck it, fine I’ll eat.”

The conversation from then was easy going as they cleared their plates. Zane – and his pride – was particularly happy when Shane asked for more of the sauce and a small piece of the fish. However, he knew the small joys of finally seeing Shane eat something substantial was just the beginning. There was a larger conversation to be had.

“Okay, we’ve been skirting around it all night, but you know this is obviously bigger than food. What’s happening Hollander?” Zane asked as he put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher (wow look at him, him real acclimated to foreign, dishwasher and not doing the dishes by hand? Well, suh).  

Shane looked down at the counter as he played with the empty can.  “Okay, I’m going to tell you, but you can’t tell anyone. Not Vaughny, not Roz. Okay maybe Cassie. But no one.”

“Lips are sealed, my friend. I am worried.” Zane said with a small sigh. Shane let out a loud groan as he pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes. Zane knew that he was trying to regulate himself, so he let him process the situation.

“Since I came out, things in the locker room as gotten worse. But this is me fixing it. I just need to work harder and prove that I am worthy of their captain Bood. So don’t worry too hard, I’m working on it.” Fucking hell. Zane now knew he had to kill the Voyageurs.

“Hollzy… what the fuck else you need to prove to dem man? You’ve led them to three championships. Back to fucking back?” Zane threw his hands up in frustration. “What is J.J. saying, because I know he doesn’t think this.”

“He asked the same thing you just did.” Shane sighed.  “And if we want to win again, Bood, I need to prove to them I can. I swear it’s working. Isn’t this the best I’ve been on the ice?” Zane took a deep breath as he closed his eyes. For the first time in a while he felt like he was going to cry. The rage that was bubbling up in him needed to be contained, for the sake of Shane, but he knew that the team was slowly sowing seeds of uncertainty into him.

Fuck.

“Do you want an answer, or do you want my honest answer?”

“Honest, always.” Shane replied as he chewed on the bottom of his lip.

“No. this is not the best you’ve looked on ice. Obviously, the numbers wouldn’t say such because you’re Shane fucking Hollander. It’s two months in the season and somehow, they’ve found ways to ice you out. I watched the last game, Shane. If it’s not Pike or a rookie, they aren’t passing you the puck. If it’s not Boiziau, they not protecting you. You’re winning but at what cost?”  Shane closed his eyes as he took in all of Zane’s words. Zane noticed him processing everything, before dropping his head onto the counter.

“Fuck. You’re right, Zane.” Shane sighed. “How can I make them like me again?”

“Date Rose again.” Zane chuckled as he saw Shane physically shuddered at the thought.

“Yeah, I love her deeply. I’m not dating women again. It’s more of a disservice to women than to myself.” Shane laughed a little. The pair fell into a silence – it wasn’t comforting but it wasn’t tense. That was just the reality of hard conversations.  Zane needed a plan. Zane also knew that Shane needed a plan. They both knew that whatever this was, was unsustainable.

“Look, you’re Shane muthafukin’ Hollander. You call the shots, if people need to move before the deadline, move them.” Zane shrugged.  “But it’s your locker room, whether they want to believe it or not. You run the fucking league.”

“Yeah, but we got salary issues, no trade clauses, fit. We won three championships.”

“You won three championships.” The room once again fell silent. Zane went to his cupboard and pulled out a small baggie with tamarind balls and tossed it to Shane. Shane chuckled at he looked at the sweet. Zane knew it was a weak point, as Shane used to beg for them every time they saw each other. But it was intentional. He needed Shane to know that Zane got him and will help him with whatever is happening in life. It if it’s about food, control – whatever. He will be there. Not just because of his pride, but because he was always thought to be there for your people.

“I’m still going back to my meal prep tomorrow.” Shane started as he opened the bag. “But I’ll be here boxing day. Can you make some fish?”

“How you feel about jerk snapper? I think I can ask an old friend of mine of mine for the recipe.”

“Sounds good to me.”