Work Text:
One
November 1995
Shane loved to learn, but there were days when he hated school. He knew he was different to the other children. Loud noises hurt his ears, and he liked to understand the rules of whatever game he was playing. And sometimes the words he was trying to say would come out wrong and people would laugh at him. It was frustrating because he knew what he wanted to say, but the words seemed to get tangled up on the way to his mouth.
It was Wednesday afternoon and Shane was engrossed in painting when his teacher, Mrs Frank, came up and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Are you ready to do some phonics, Shane?”
He nodded. “Okay.”
She led him out of the classroom to one of the tables by the bookcases. He sat looking at his feet while she got the familiar envelope of flashcards out of his folder.
“Okay, let’s see how we get on today.” She slid a card towards him on the table. “What’s this word?”
“Mat,” he said dutifully.
“Good boy. What about this one?”
“Hat.”
“And this?”
“Hop.”
“Very good. Can you do this one?”
“Dog.”
“Lovely. Let’s try this.”
Shane swallowed. This was the bad word, the one he always had to try. “Tat.”
Mrs Frank gave a disappointed sigh. “Have another try, Shane. Cat.”
“Tat,” he repeated.
“Try the sound on its own. C.”
“Kyuh. Kyuuuuh. Ch. Sh. T-t-t-tat. Tat, tat, tat.”
Tears stung his eyes. He didn’t want to cry over something so silly, but he was trying so hard. Why couldn’t she see that?
“Sorry,” he whispered.
She patted him on the shoulder. “It’s alright. You’ll get there. I’ll let you have a few minutes before you come back in, okay?”
When she had gone, he slumped back in his seat and let himself cry. He felt like he was broken somehow. It wasn’t fair. It was no wonder other kids laughed at him when he sounded like a baby.
“Shane, what’s wrong?” a gentle voice asked him.
He looked up to see Miss Ash, the principal. He sniffed, wiping at his eyes. “My w-words aaare wrong,” he said.
“Were you practicing with Mrs Frank?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yessss.”
“I know you work really hard, Shane,” she said kindly. “It’s okay if things don’t always go right because school is a great place to learn and grow.” She looked at him for a moment. “Tell you what, would you like to come and help me with an important job?”
“Okay,” he replied, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.
“I’ll just let Mrs Frank know.” She got up and crossed to the classroom door. “Mrs Frank, I’m just going to borrow Shane to help me with something. Is that okay?” She nodded at the reply, then returned. “Alright, follow me.”
He followed her to her office, where she told him to sit down at the big table. After a moment, she sat next to him with a stack of paper.
“Let me show you what I need,” she said. “Everyone in your class needs to have one of these letters to take home. What I would like you to do is take one of these big sheets of paper and one of these little sheets of paper, clip them together with a paperclip, then fold the big piece in half. Do you want to try?”
He carefully copied all the things she had just shown him, trying to make his fold as neat as possible.
“Perfect,” she said with a smile. “Do you think you can do the rest of them while I do these forms?”
“Okay,” he replied.
“Good boy.”
He got on with his task, wanting to do a good job for Miss Ash. She was always kind to him. Working carefully, it took him a while to get through the whole stack. When he was done, he tapped the teacher’s arm.
“Miss Ash, I’ve finished.”
“That’s great. Thank you for helping.” She paused for a moment, looking at him. “Do you feel better now?”
“Yes, fank you,” he replied.
“If you ever feel upset at school again and you don’t want to tell Mrs Frank, you can always come talk to me,” she told him. “I won’t be cross. I always have time to help, okay?”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Good. Let’s get you back to your classroom.”
When they got back, everyone had packed up for home time. Mrs Frank handed out the letters, then they all went out into the playground. Shane’s mommy was already there waiting for him. He walked straight up to her and took her hand, eager to go home.
“Hi, Mommy,” he said.
“Hi, Shane. Did you have a good day?”
“Mrs Hollander, could I have a quick word?” Mrs Frank interrupted them.
“Of course,” Mommy replied. “Is there a problem?”
“Not a problem as such. Shane always behaves very well. I’m just a little concerned about his speech development.”
“Ah. Of course, you know he only started to talk last year.”
“Yes, we’re aware of that. I was only wondering whether he might benefit from some extra support in that area. The school can help you to find a specialist if you would like.”
“Okay.” Mommy squeezed Shane’s hand. “I’ll have a talk with David about it. Thank you.”
Shane felt ashamed again as she led him away. He hadn’t understood all the words the grownups were saying, but he knew it was about his wrong words. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes again. “Sorrrry, Mommy,” he said quietly.
She stopped and crouched down to his level. “Shane, honey, you don’t need to be sorry. You don’t have to get everything right straight away. Mrs Frank is saying that we could get you some extra help to make things easier for you. This isn’t your fault and it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. Okay?”
“Feels l-like there isss,” he said.
She looked sad and pulled him into a tight hug. “I know, Shanebug. But some people take longer to learn things than others. It’s not fair. Shall I tell you a secret?”
“What?”
“When I first moved to Canada, my English was bad and the other kids made fun of me. My voice sounded weird and I sometimes got words wrong. But I learned, and you will too. We all have to go at our own speed.”
He took a deep breath, breathing in the warm scent of her hair. “Okay. Fank you.”
She kissed his cheek. “Let’s go home. We can ask Daddy to cook sausages for dinner.”
***
Three weeks later
Shane had been for his first appointment with the speech doctor that morning. The doctor was a nice man, and he had gone through lots of different sounds to test out what Shane could do. They now had a plan, but Shane felt tired. He had talked too much.
After lunch, when she had noticed how quiet he had become, Mrs Frank sent him out to the bookcase tables to work on some numeracy activities he had missed. It was nice to sit quietly and focus on his work.
When he had finished his worksheets and was sitting kicking his feet and humming to himself, Miss Ash went past.
“Are you okay, Shane?” she asked.
“Mmhmm,” he replied, nodding. Words felt like too much work.
“I bet you’re tired after your appointment with the speech doctor this morning.”
He nodded again.
“I think I wouldn’t want to talk after all that either.” She sat down next to him. “Did you know there’s a way you can talk with your hands?”
He shook his head.
“I could show you a bit,” she offered. “It might be helpful.”
Another nod.
“Okay. This is how you say yes.” She held up a fist and moved it up and down from her wrist. “And this is no.” She held up her first two fingers and thumb, bringing the tips together and moving them away again. “You try.”
Shane copied the movements.
“Very good. This is how to say please.” She put her right hand flat on her chest and moved it in a circle. “And sorry looks very similar.” She did the same movement with a fist.
Shane tried the new signs.
“That’s great. I have two more for you. This means restroom.” She held up her first with her first finger hooked over her thumb and shook it. “And this means thank you.” She flattened her hand, brought her fingertips to her chin, and moved her hand away.
Shane tried those too. It was easy. He wished someone had told him about this sooner.
“What do you think?” Miss Ash asked. “Good?”
He signed yes, thank you. That made her smile.
“I’m glad. See you later, Shane.”
He practiced the signs over and over until Mrs Frank called him back into the classroom for story time. He wanted to show Mommy and Daddy when he got home.
When Shane got out onto the playground when school was over, Miss Ash was talking to Mommy.
“Thank you very much,” he heard Mommy saying as he got close. “I’m sure that’ll be a lot of help. And I’ll be sure to mention it to the specialist at the next appointment.”
“Happy to help. We’re all very fond of Shane.”
“Miss Ash was just telling me about the signs she taught you,” Mommy explained as they walked to the car. “I think we should all learn. We can talk to the speech doctor the next time we go. Does that sound good?”
Shane nodded. He thought it sounded great.
Two
March 2000
There were a lot of things Shane liked about his junior hockey team. He loved getting to play so often. He was also learning more about the game and other players and their tactics all the time. And their captain, Bood, was really nice. What he didn’t like so much was some of the other boys who messed around in training sessions and were too loud and sometimes mean.
It had been a long afternoon. Tiredness caught at Shane’s throat, making his words slower to come. Coach had them running drills, and he wasn’t going to stop until everyone was doing it right. Shane had got it right half an hour ago, but they were still going because the usual crowd of troublemakers weren’t paying attention. They thought it was funny to make Coach yell at them and have Bood getting bored.
“Oh, c-c-come on,” Shane muttered as he skated an arc around them.
“M-m-make us, H-H-Hollander,” one of them taunted him.
“S-shut up,” he snapped back.
“Uh oh,” another started. “Hockey robot’s blown a fuse.”
They all laughed as Shane struggled to spit something back at them.
“Does not compute,” the first boy said in a robotic voice.
“Oi, leave him alone,” Bood yelled, skating over to Shane’s side. “He’s ten times better than all of you put together. Go do the drill properly, or Coach is gonna make you do bags until you actually puke.”
Grumbling, the boys skulked away towards Coach.
“You okay, buddy?” Bood asked.
Shane nodded weakly, trying to blink back the tears prickling at his eyes.
“Really?”
Shane sighed and shook his head.
“Thought so. Those guys suck,” Bood went on. “I meant what I said. You’re a great player, Shane. Some day, we’re both gonna be playing for MLH teams and they’ll wish they were our friends.”
Shane laughed. He still didn’t feel like he could force words out, so he signed thank you.
“No problem.” Bood clapped Shane heavily on the back. “Hey, do you fancy coming round to mine tomorrow lunch? My dad’s gonna do a barbeque.”
Shane nodded. He would have to check with Mom and Dad, but he didn’t see any reason they would say no.
“Cool. You can get your mom to call mine later after you’ve checked.”
Bood skated away to check on the other boys, leaving Shane smiling to himself. It was nice to have a real friend.
***
Shane’s parents said he could go to Bood’s, so he was on their doorstep at 12:30. Bood’s mom answered his knock.
“Hi, Shane,” she greeted him. “Come on in. Zane’s out back with his dad. What have you got there?”
“Oh, um, my mom made mochi skewers to grill,” he said. “I hope that’s okay, Mrs Boodram.”
“Of course it is,” she replied. “And please, call me Allie. You can go on through and give those to my husband.”
He headed the way she indicated and stepped out into the back garden. Bood grinned at him.
“Hey, Shane. Glad you could come.”
“Thanks for asking me. Um, I brought some stuff to go on the grill.”
“Oh sweet. Dad, Shane brought more food.”
“Nice.” Bood’s dad indicated Shane should walk over. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jacques. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Shane took the lid off the container. “They’re mochi skewers. My mom made them. When you grill the whole thing, the rice goes all crispy.”
“Mm. Sounds great. You boys can chill. I’ll shout when things are ready.”
Shane went to sit beside Bood on the outdoor couch.
“You want something to drink?” Bood asked.
“Yeah. Have you got any ginger ale?”
“Yeah, of course. Let me grab you a can.”
Bood went inside for a moment, reappearing with a can which he handed to Shane.
“I’m sorry training was so bad yesterday.”
Shane shrugged. “Not your fault. You were right, those guys do suck.”
Bood laughed. “It still sucks that you have to deal with it, though. I’m sorry I don’t always see it happening.”
Shane swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Other kids have always been mean to me. I’m used to it.”
“That’s even worse.”
“I know. And - and sometimes, when I get upset, I can’t get my words out at all.”
“I saw that.” Bood was thoughtful for a second. “Is there any way you can tell me you need help when it’s like that?”
Shane smiled. “The sign for help is like this.” He made his right hand into a fist on top of the flat left, then lifted both up. “I could try tapping you on the arm and doing this.”
“Yeah, okay. Let’s try it.”
Three
February 2011
Hayden was sick, so Shane would be assigned to room with someone else in Chicago. He groaned when he saw the email with the room allocation. He was going to be with Comeau, possibly the single worst person on the team he could be paired with. There was no point in asking Theriault to change the assignments. That would only make him mad, then piss off the rest of the guys. So, he resigned himself to it.
The game went entirely against them. Mitty was still recovering from a shoulder strain sustained the previous week and their lines were sloppy. Everyone was in a bad mood and Shane felt exhausted. It had been an early flight off the back of late training the previous day, and he just wanted to fall into his hotel bed and sleep. The rest of the team, however, wanted to go out and drown their sorrows.
“You not coming out?” Comeau asked as he exited their bathroom after changing and found Shane sitting on his bed in sweats and a t-shirt.
“No, I’m pretty wiped,” Shane replied. He hoped this would be enough.
“Don’t be such a pussy, Hollander,” Comeau goaded.
Shane could feel his throat closing up. “I’m n-not,” he retorted.
“You a-a-are.”
“Don’t ffffffucking m-make fun of me,” Shane shot back. It felt like he was fighting his own tongue.
“Or what, hot shot? You gonna t-t-tell on me?”
When Shane couldn’t force any more words out, Comeau bit out a harsh laugh and left. Shane lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He had hoped, when he was younger, that being an adult would mean an end to being bullied. Clearly that wasn’t going to happen, at least not when he had to deal with man-children like fucking Comeau. He picked his phone up from the nightstand and texted Hayden.
Shane: Wish you were here. Comeau’s a fucking dick.
Hayden: Sorry, bro. Jackie reckons I’ll be better in a few days. What did he do?
Shane: Said I was a pussy for not wanting to go out and made fun of my speech when I got mad.
Hayden: Man, even Rozanov doesn’t go that low. You gonna say something to Coach?
Shane: Sigh. What’s the point? He’ll only tell me to man up.
Hayden: True. That sucks, man. When I’m back, I’ll trip him for you so it’s not obvious.
Shane: Thanks, Hayd. Gonna get some sleep now.
Sighing, Shane rolled to his side. Hayden was more right than he realised about Rozanov. Shane had stuttered in the showers and later in his hotel room when they hooked up after the CCM shoot. Rozanov hadn’t been cruel. If anything, he’d been very kind, continuing to push in the way he did on the ice, but somehow knowing when Shane needed to be soothed. The second time, at All Stars, had gone much more smoothly because Shane had known what to expect.
Switching his phone to silent for the night and plugging it in to charge, Shane thought about taking out Dumpy Hippo for comfort. He reasoned it wasn’t worth the piss-take he’d get in the morning. As he lay in the dark, he thought of Miss Ash’s words to him on his last day of Elementary School.
“Whenever someone tries to tell you you’re not good enough because you’re different, I want you to remember this. You are Shane Hollander and you work harder than anyone else I know. You go and show them just how good you are.”
He smiled to himself. He fucking well would show them.
Four
November 2016
Shane absolutely hated pressers after losses. He ended giving a bunch of stock answers every time about why their performance had been poor because he was talking ahead of any analysis. This time, in New York and with his relationship with Rose having been the subject of much media speculation, he felt the pressure of lots of eyes on him.
Everything seemed to be running in line with the expected script when a young woman with bleached blonde hair and bright pink false nails stepped forward.
“Hi, Shane. Haley Calder, TMZ. Is there any Hollandry gossip you can reveal?”
She gave him a sickly, false smile while his brain spun its wheels, trying to work out what she wanted from him.
“Um,” he began. “Sorry. Huh-huh-who I’mmmmm … dating … has n-nothing to do with how I p-play.”
“Yes, can we keep questions relevant, please?” Jason, the press officer for the team, interjected. “Are there any further real questions for Shane? No? Then we’re done here. Thank you.”
Shane flexed his hands as they walked away. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“Not your fault, Shane,” Jason reassured him. “It was a dumb question. No fucking wonder your brain stalled.”
Shane forced out a laugh. He wondered whether throwaway comments would ever stop feeling like a knife between his ribs.
Back in the locker room, he changed quickly out of his gear and took a much-needed shower. It only took him a few minutes to get into his game day suit, then they left for the hotel.
“You good, dude?” Hayden asked him once they were in their room.
Shane shrugged. “I guess. Presser wasn’t great. There was some girl from TMZ asking about Rose.”
Hayden snorted. “Huh. They fucking would. How’d your brain do?”
Shane flopped down on his bed. “Not great. My words were all … bleh.”
Hayden pulled a face. “Bunch of fucking vultures. Forget them.”
Shane really did try to forget about it, but his mind refused to stop churning. Long after Hayden had fallen asleep, he was still trying to quieten his brain. It was at around 2am that he started getting pinged in the group chat.
Comeau: @Cap_Hollander ur blwin up on Yputunr.
Shane: Huh? Try again please. Too tired to translate gibberish.
JJ: Woah! Buuuuurn! He means your TMZ clip has loadsa comments. https://youtube.com/watch?v=TkPakj-Gghhh Shane Hollander gets cryptic about Rose Landry.
He knew he really shouldn’t, but Shane plugged in his headphones and clicked through to the video. It was every bit as excruciating as it had felt, and had been blown up to mean far more than it actually had. Taking a deep breath, he scrolled down to the comment section.
@mrlandryxoxo 5 hours ago
What the fuck? Why does he sound like a baby?
206
45
@metros4lyf 5 hours ago
Swear Hollander doesn’t usually sound like that. Is he okay?
306
2
@roselandryfan24 5 hours ago
Aw, he’s so flustered. They’re either serious or they’ve just broken up.
157
89
@hockeybrooooooo 4 hours ago
Beep boop! Hockey robot can only answer questions about hockey!
703
5
@hockeyboy222 3 hours ago
Leave him alone, you fuckers! He’s clearly struggling because hockey pressers are not right place for relationship questions. If you read this, Shane, hope you are okay.
1056
2
@hollandry5eva 55 minutes ago
Absolutely right @hockeyboy222. I hope Shane is okay and that this doesn’t mean anything bad has happened to my fave couple.
7
0
There were thousands more. Some contained well-wishes, but a lot were saying how stupid he sounded or that he didn’t know how to talk about anything other than hockey. He groaned, squeezing his eyes tight shut. This was bad. Like, really fucking bad. It felt like the whole world now knew how broken he really was, like an entire army of Mrs Franks sighing in disappointment at his inability to say ‘cat’.
Sleep was completely impossible after that. By morning, he had gnawed on his thumb so much that it was all chapped and starting to bleed. Hayden took one look at him and knew something was wrong.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Is it about TMZ?”
“Mmhmm,” Shane confirmed. “L-look at the groupchat.”
“Ah shit,” Hayden muttered as he clicked through. “How bad?”
“Th-thousands. Need to c-c-call my mom.”
“Good shout. Yuna can fix anything. I’ll be here while you do that, okay?”
Shane nodded, then made his call. His mom picked up quickly.
“Hi, Shane. Are you okay? This is early for you.”
“D-did you sssssee my presser?”
“Yeah, we did. Slow down, honey. Take a breath, then tell me what’s happening.”
He took a few slow breaths before continuing. “The TMZ bit isss on their YouTube. It has thousands of c-comments. I don’t know what to do.”
She hummed thoughtfully. “Okay. First of all, you need to remember this isn’t your fault. It doesn’t mean you’re broken or stupid or any of the things your brain is telling you right now. Alright?”
He couldn’t help a tiny smile. “Yes, Mom.”
“Good. Now, you probably won’t like this, but I think the best thing right now is for you to be honest. Release a statement on your Instagram to explain what happened. I think people will respect your honesty and it’ll be good for kids like you to see themselves represented. What do you think?”
Shane chewed his lip. It was true that when he was younger he would have loved to have an autistic hockey player to look up to. “I could do that,” he replied. “Could I send you a draft before posting?”
“Of course. No problem. Do you feel better now?”
“A little,” he replied. “You’re the best, Mom.”
He could hear her smile in her response. “Good. Look after yourself today, okay? And tell Hayden I said hi.”
“Will do.”
“Alright. Talk later, then. I love you.”
“I love you too. Bye.”
He hung up and lay back against his pillows.
“You got a plan?” Hayden asked.
“Yep,” Shane confirmed. “And my mom says hi.”
Hayden chuckled. “Good. I’m gonna go call Jackie.”
Shane was grateful for the quiet while he started to put together his Instagram post. It took an hour for him to be happy with it, then his mom made a few changes. He formatted the text across several slides and finished it off with a collage picture of him with friends at various ages.
Hi, everyone.
I expect most of you have seen the clip of me being asked a question about Rose Landry in the post-game presser yesterday. I wasn’t prepared for this because we are usually only asked questions about the game we have just played. My response was meant to reflect this.
I am autistic and I also have a related condition called apraxia of speech. This means that the signals from my brain can be delayed and scrambled before being translated into words. This becomes worse when I am upset or stressed or confused by something that usually follows a routine going off-script. Sometimes, I can’t get any words out at all and use ASL instead.
I want to thank the people who left kind comments wishing me well. I am fine, just a little shaken by the experience. My parents have been very supportive, as has my teammate and friend Hayden.
To put an end to the speculation, Rose and I are no longer dating. We are still close friends and will continue to spend time together.
If you have read all of this, thank you!
Shane
It did not take long for comments and likes to start pouring in.
realroselandry: Proud of you, Shane. This took a lot of courage.
hockeyboy222: I told you to leave him alone! This is class, Hollander. Hope we can change hockey to be more supportive.
hollanderfanboy: Woah! I’m an autistic hockey fan and it is amazing to find out my favorite player is like me, even if it had to happen for a shitty reason. Thank you for doing this, Shane. I hope you’re looking after yourself today. That must have been a big overload.
gimmiethemtimbits: @hollanderfanboy 100% this! I’m autistic too and this is huge. It’s so cool to finally see ourselves in hockey. Hollander is the GOAT.
scottthehunter: Respect, Hollander. Sorry NY couldn’t manage to be kinder to you. Hmu if you want to grab a beer before you leave.
thejjboiziau: Nice one, Cap! I’m always behind you.
mtlmetrosofficial: We stand with you, Captain! Let’s make things more inclusive.
hollanovtruther: Good for you, Hollander. Glad to hear you have great friends to help you.
boodno67: Fuck yes, Shane! Keep being you, buddy!
no1hollandryfan: Glad to hear you and Rose are still friends. Take care of yourself.
lucyrw92: I level 3 autistic and I’m love hockey. Is nice see sum1 who have trouble speak. Thankyou, Shane. Love you.
He couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he kept scrolling. It was clear that telling the truth had been important to lots of people. He vowed to himself that he would keep doing it as long as he could now.
Five
November 2020
Shane was petrified as he waited outside Crowell’s office. Was he about to find out that the League had somehow found out about him and Ilya? No, that made no sense. If that were the case, then Ilya would have been summoned for a meeting too. Maybe he had said the wrong thing online and Crowell was going to kick him out?
The spiral of his thoughts was stopped when the assistant told him to go into the office.
“Ah, good morning, Shane,” Crowell greeted him, striding across to shake his hand.
Shane took it. “Good morning, Commissioner. What can I do for you?”
“Sit down,” Crowell said, motioning to a chair opposite his. “You’re having a great season.”
“Thank you.”
“And I think the representation you give for your communities is fantastic. We in the League are very keen to show that hockey is for everyone.”
“That’s … uh … that’s great. I want to make the sport more accessible for people like me.”
“I can see that.” Crowell’s smile was becoming increasingly strained. “As I say, we appreciate the things you represent, but we are a little concerned about your social media activity.”
Shane’s stomach plummeted. “W-what do you mmmean?”
“Look, I don’t want you to get stressed out by this. We would simply prefer it if politics was kept out of your public-facing social account.”
“What … p-politicsss?”
Crowell sighed as though he were dealing with a stubborn child. Shame burned in Shane’s throat, threatening to shut off his words entirely.
“I mean that you’ve been posting disability activism content. I would ask you to think about whether it’s appropriate for a professional hockey player to be encouraging people to protest. Again, I appreciate that you’re showing young people with autism that they are welcome in our sport, but I want to make sure that you’re not accidentally saying things that could reflect badly on our organisation down the line.”
Shane took a breath to steady himself. It was important he got this out correctly. “I don’ttt want to damage the League at all. But I also thinnnnk it’s important for me to use my platform to make a difffference to people like me.”
“I do understand that, Shane,” Crowell said in a placating tone. “All I’m asking is that you’re careful about what you post publically.”
They shook hands again and Shane left. All the way down in the elevator and as he made his way outside, angry tears burned his eyes. As soon as he was away from the building, he called Ilya.
“Are you okay, moya lyubov?” Ilya asked as soon as he picked up.
“No,” Shane replied. “H-he waaaants me to st-stop what I do onnnline.”
“Shanya, you need to breathe,” Ilya said, calmly but firmly. “Slow down, I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to lose your words, sweetheart.”
Shane forced his breathing to slow down, listening to the even rhythm of Ilya’s breath on the other end of the line. Eventually, he felt his chest start to loosen.
“I’m okay,” he mumbled. “Thank you.”
“Is no problem,” Ilya replied. “So, tell me slowly what Crowell said.”
“He t-told me that the League likesss that I’m representation for my communities, but he wants me to ssstop posting activism. He wants to make sure I don’t say anything that could rrreflect badly on the organisation.”
Ilya snorted. “That’s bullshit, Shane. He likes that you make the League look good because you’re autistic but he wants you to keep quiet and not make any difference. Bull-fucking-shit.”
Shane laughed. “Yeah. I don’t want to stop, but he could throw me out. What do I do, Ilya?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Keep going. It’s important.”
“Then you do that. Fuck him. Maybe talk to Farah about it too?”
Shane smiled. He was so lucky to have such a brilliant, supportive boyfriend. “You’re right. Thank you, baby.”
“You’re welcome. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
***
Shane called Farah when he got back to his hotel room.
“Hey, Shane. What can I do for you?”
“Sorry to call you out of the blue, Farah, but I’ve just had a meeting with Commissioner Crowell.”
“Oh.” She sounded as baffled as he had been. “What did he want?”
“It was weird,” Shane explained. He crossed his legs underneath him on the bed and held Dumpy Hippo in his lap. “He told me they like that I’m representing my communities, but they want me to stop posting activism on my Instagram.”
“Huh. And what does Ilya think?”
“He said it was bullshit.”
Farah chuckled. “He’s a perceptive man. So, what do you want to do?”
“I don’t want to stop doing it. But he could sack me if I do that. Ilya thinks I should carry on. I know he’ll support me whatever happens. I just wanted to run it all past you first.”
He heard her tapping a pen against her teeth. “Hmm. I’m gonna shock you here. I agree with Ilya. You absolutely should carry on. What you’re doing is very important. If Crowell tries to do anything off the back of it, that’s discrimination and we will fight it all the way.”
“Thanks, Farah. That’s reassuring.”
“No problem. Was there anything else?”
“No, not right now. Speak to you again soon.”
“Sure. Bye.”
When they hung up, Shane opened Instagram and made a post he had been hanging onto for a while but seemed particularly relevant after his meeting with Crowell.
What should you do to be a good ally for someone autistic?
Don’t try to speak for them unless they’ve asked you to.
Learn their signs of shutdown or meltdown.
Help get them somewhere safe if they are overwhelmed.
Accommodate their sensory needs.
Find out if they prefer identity- or person-first language.
Listen.
Plus One
September 2022
Shane was excited to be starting his second season with the Centaurs, but the first week back at training was tough. By Friday, even Luca was losing some of his bounce. When Wiebe dismissed them at the end of the day, Shane and Ilya were only too glad to drive home. Shane was quiet on the way and Ilya didn’t push him, giving him space to decompress.
Anya greeted them enthusiastically when they got through the door. Ilya kept most of her attention focused on him so Shane wouldn’t get overwhelmed. Shane retreated to the couch, hugging his knees to his chest for the pressure. Ilya joined him there fifteen minutes later.
“Anya’s settled again now,” Ilya announced. “What a fucking week, huh?”
Shane signed yes.
“Ah. Are we having a quiet evening?”
Shane signed yes again, then sorry.
“No need to apologise, lyubimyy,” Ilya said, gently guiding Shane against his chest. “I like my quiet Shane time. Is good after hard week.”
Shane signed thank you. Ilya pressed a kiss to the top of Shane’s head. It was peaceful.
“Are you hungry?” Ilya asked.
Shane nodded.
“You want me to do steaks?”
Another nod.
“Okay. We move in five minutes.”
Shane huffed a laugh, relaxing more against his husband. His lovely husband, who never made him feel stupid when he couldn’t get his words out properly, who had learned ASL for him and didn’t complain when he was quiet. He was so fucking lucky.