Chapter Text
“‘Fuck this,’ Shane muttered, and began to angrily remove the rest of his gear. These were the guys who were supposed to have his back. They’d won a cup together last year and fought like hell all season for another one. Some of these men had played with Shane for over ten seasons. It made him sick that they were so quick to believe him to be a traitor.” (Reid, Rachel. The Long Game, Chapter Thirty-Six)
As Shane barrelled through the locker room door, leaving as quickly as he possibly could, he was faced with the unstoppable force of Yuna Hollander.
“I heard enough of that,” she said, full of righteous anger. “Get back in there and let them fucking have it.”
Shane froze in his steps and answered in a rapid, hushed voice. “What?”
She answered in the same way. “They’re complete dicks. And they deserve to be yelled at. Yell at them.”
“It probably wont change their mind,” Shane argued.
“I don’t care. It will change yours.”
“You need this, for you,” she added.
So, in two seconds flat, Shane had been convinced by his mother to turn right back around and let them have it. Hopefully Farah wouldn’t kill him.
The door swung open with a bang. Everyone had been essentially silent — stewing in their anger from the bad loss.
Shane started off strong. “You know what?? Fuck you.”
All heads turn to look at him. Some whipped, some turned around lazily and unimpressed, but he had successfully grabbed their attention. Small victories.
He pointed accusatorily at Comeau. “Call me a faggot.”
Comeau blinked at him, his eyebrows climbing up to his forehead. “..What?” His tone was dismissive and disgusted — as if he were speaking to a girl he deemed unattractive at the bar. Piece of shit.
“Look me in the eyes, and call me a traitorous faggot.”
“Fucking chill dude,” Comeau responded with a mean smirk. He was such a douche. Some of the guys snickered. They had been trained for this. All their lives — and Shane’s as well — hockey had been a game of cliques and exclusion. If you ‘put yourself above the team’ or just stuck out in any way, you were accused of being an attention whore (or much worse) and were bullied off the team. Shane had stood by it and let it happen, his entire life. He had stood right where J.J. and Hayden were standing in this moment. He envied their position.
But, it wasn’t time to be humiliated. He pushed on.
He pointed to Andropov. “Call me a cock sucking sissy.”
Before he could answer, Shane followed up with: “Tell me that I let the team down because I like it up the ass. Go for it!”
Andropov sputtered. The snickers turned into groans (and would soon turn into boos.)
Shane started pointing to every damn face in the room. “Call me a faggot.” “Do it.” “Call me a whore.” “Say that I have no integrity."
He gave none of them the time to answer. “You fucking can’t. You guys can’t even fucking bully me right! I mean —” he sputtered, “you can laugh all you want, but you know that I hold the power here – the clout. You want me to stand out?? Fine! I’ll stand out! I’m a faggot who takes it up the ass, and who won you three fucking cups.”
He let his voice ring in the changeroom. He felt like Ilya, he felt powerful. No one spoke a word.
“Most of you were not on this team when I started. That’s because you were a fucking child with my goddamn poster on your wall. But let me remind you that this team was winning nothing when I came. Our last cup was in 1993. And yet, guess what??? We fucking won. Three. Times. And the whole goddamn time — even when I was nothing but a poster on your wall — I was with Ilya. Okay??? You have never known me without Ilya. So don’t fucking start accusing me now!” His eyes glazed over, he only felt the heat of the moment.
“I was one of the bes–” he cut himself off, “I made this fucking team into what it is. I brought you all up within this team, I played with you as your captain during World Juniors or the Olympics. Everything that you know in the Metro’s world, I sat in on those meetings. And you have the fucking audacity to tell me that I don’t care about this team??? That I threw our chances?? Come the fuck on!”
“Fuck right off Hollan–”
“I’M NOT DONE.” He didn’t know his voice could go that loud.
“I’m not done!” he repeated. “You don’t get to fucking interrupt me! I fucking loved this team!!” He could hear his voice wobbling with emotion. He didn’t want to hold back. “I don’t want to leave! They’re making me leave! They’re making me leave because I am gay and because I advertised being gay! I wasn’t quiet enough for them! Okay!! Do you realize this??? This is more than what happens in this changeroom. They’re affecting our entire lives. All of us who are like me and Ilya! They will keep benching me until I’m quiet!” The tears started rolling down his face freely, but his composure did not break.
“This is my entire life. And by telling me that I fell on purpose because I am weak, you are breaking my entire life. I don’t care if I look vulnerable right now. I am vulnerable! Feel bad for your actions!! Please!!” His head was spinning. He couldn’t really focus on anyone’s faces and hadn’t been able to in a while. All he felt was that none of them — not even Hayden’s right now — were friendly.
“I don’t care if you can never look me in the eyes again. I will make this fucking sport a safe space or I will fucking die trying. Fuck all of you.”
He turned around, and tried to make it through the door. It took him many tries to grab the handle correctly. He swung it and stepped basically blindly into the hallway.
“He walked quickly down the hall toward the underground parking, leaving his parents scrambling to catch up. He was being rude, he knew, but he felt like he wouldn’t be able to breathe until he was out of the fucking arena.” (Reid, Rachel. The Long Game, Chapter Thirty-Six)