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Shane is in bed reading when his phone buzzes. Smiling to himself, he picks up his phone, expecting a text from Ilya.
It isn’t Ilya.
Unknown: Shane, this is Troy Barrett.
Unknown: I was wondering if maybe we could talk some time.
Shane has no idea why fucking Barrett of all people was trying to reach him, if it really is him. Without giving it more than a moment’s consideration, he hits block, then goes back to his book.
#
He thinks about it more on his run. If Barrett really does have his number, maybe he should get a new one. There’s no telling what shit Barrett might pull or who he might share Shane’s number with. It would be a pain in the ass, though, so he decides to think about it some more.
“I’m thinking of changing my number,” he says to Hayden while they’re sitting on the Pikes’ back deck after practice watching the twins and Arthur in the backyard while Amber naps and Jackie runs errands.
“Why?”
“Troy Barrett texted me last night. Or at least whoever it was said they were Barrett.” Shane says while watching Arthur make his way carefully to the top of the slide.
“Barrett? What the fuck would he want?”
Shane doesn’t bother mentioning the swear jar since the kids are too far away to hear them. “No idea.”
“Isn’t he playing on the Centaurs now?” Harden asks, his eyes tracking where Jade is theoretically pushing her sister on the swing, but may actually be trying to push her off of it.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should ask Ilya about it.”
“Maybe,” Shane says, trying not to sound sullen.
“What’s wrong?”
“They’re friends now.”
“Friends? Rozanov and Barrett? Why?” Hayden sounds as bewildered as Shane feels.
“No idea,” Shane says, running his thumb over the Canada Dry symbol on his can of ginger ale.
Hayden frowns. “Maybe Barrett wasn’t as shitty to Rozanov.”
“Probably not. Ilya is white.”
“Yeah.” Hayden shakes his head. “I learned new words from the shit he and Kent used to say to you and J.J., words I didn’t want to know.”
“Swear jar,” Ruby says, walking past her father en route from the swings to Shane’s lap.
He lifts her easily and she settles back against him. Eventually she and Jade will be too big for this. Shane isn’t looking forward to that day. “How was school?” he asks, setting aside thoughts of Barrett in favor of hearing about life in grade one.
#
“Your day was good?” Ilya asks that night, during their dinner time call.
Shane had eaten with the Pikes, but he was happy to keep Ilya company via Facetime. “It was. Ruby and Jade painted pictures of pumpkins in art class.”
“Sounds fun.”
“They definitely had fun with it. I’ve never seen pumpkins that were that many colors.”
“How were Arthur and Amber?”
“Adorable.” They had been. Shane had spent some time in the sandbox with Arthur and was able to get some cuddle time with Amber. It had been a good afternoon all around.
“I am envious. Only children I was with today were Anya and Luca.”
“Neither of which are children.”
“Shane! Do not say this about our daughter.”
“Sure. If it makes you happy, I’ll pretend we have a daughter with fur and four legs.”
“Pumpkin art is highlight?” Ilya asks, shoveling some chili into his mouth which Facetime shows way too up close.
That Shane finds this even mildly attractive says something about him he’s sure. He just doesn’t know what.
“Arthur has a new truck and Amber is potty training,” Shane says, completing his update of the doings of the Pike family. “I’m thinking about changing my phone number.”
“Why?”
“Someone claiming to be fucking Troy Barrett texted me last night. I blocked him, but who knows if it was really Barrett or who he might give my number to whoever he is.”
“Was Barrett.”
“Ilya.”
“I gave him your number.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Shane is astonished and appalled. “Why would you think I would ever want to talk with Troy fucking Barrett?”
“He is gay.”
“So what?”
“I know he said shit when he was with Toronto, but he was in closet.”
“Being gay doesn’t excuse his actions. He was a grown ass adult. He knew what he was doing and what he was saying, and what kind of people he was supporting.”
“He was afraid.”
“I was afraid. You were afraid. Scott Hunter was afraid. Ryan Price was afraid. None of us did what he did.”
“That is true, but not everyone had support we had.”
“What fucking support, Ilya? Every one of us was deep in the closet. Sure, I had good parents, but Hunter’s an orphan for fuck’s sake. You know Price was struggling. Do you really think Barrett and Kent didn’t make that worse?”
“No, I know they did.”
“If you want to forgive and forget, welcome him with open fucking arms, that’s your choice, but I don’t have to do the same. I won’t.”
“Okay.”
“And, Ilya, next time you fucking give out my number, ask me first.”
“I will.”
“Great, well, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good-night.”
“Good-night.”
Shane had terminated the call before Ilya finished speaking.
#
Dropping his spoon into his empty bowl, Ilya tries to make sense of what had just happened. He knows Troy had been shitty to other players when he was with Toronto. Troy had called him a cocksucker and a faggot more than once. Shane’s reaction seems a little out of proportion, though.
At the same time, he knows some things are harder for Shane than for him. Ilya is everything a hockey player is expected to be, at least in public, brash and loud and with a deserved reputation for sleeping with lots of women. Shane is quiet, private, and has only been publicly seen with a woman during the two months he dated Rose Landry.
And Shane doesn’t fight.
All of that makes him more likely to be targeted by someone like Kent, and Troy when he’d been Kent’s lackey.
But if they’d been that awful to Shane, why would Barrett ask for Shane’s number? He had to know Shane wouldn’t want to talk to him.
Shane clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but there is one other person who would probably know why Shane had reacted like he had. Picking up his phone, Ilya opens his contacts and thumbs through them until he finds Pike’s, then he hits call.
Pike answers after two rings. “Rozanov.”
“Pike.”
“What’s up?” It’s a more polite greeting than Ilya was expecting.
“I need your help,” Ilya says. “What did Kent and Barrett say to Shane? He is clearly upset, but he doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s more like what didn’t they say. It was the usual stuff, just amped up to 11.”
“The usual stuff? Like faggot?”
“Well, yeah, but also all the stuff about Shane being half-Japanese. You know, the slurs, and saying his dick is small, mocking his eyes, calling his mother a whore.”
Ilya inhales sharply. “They said this to Shane? On the ice? They called Yuna a whore?”
“Every time we played Toronto. Kent really loved the racist shit. I didn’t even know some of the words he used to sling at Shane and J.J.”
“What about Troy? Did he say this stuff, too?”
“He was always one step behind Kent, you know that. Not as much and not as creative, but he said it.”
“Other teams say this, too?”
“Some of them. Vegas and Carolina aren’t as bad as Toronto, but they’re worse than the rest. Some teams are good: New York, Ottawa, Philadelphia, Boston. Most of the rest are in between, some good players, some shitty ones.”
Ilya nods, even though Pike can’t see him.
“Being the most prominent Asian in the MLH isn’t a picnic,” Pike continues. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s worse for the lower profile guys or better.”
Ilya takes a moment to think through what he’s hearing. “Why not report it?”
“Come on, Rozanov, you know what bullies are like. Reporting it would just put a larger target on Shane’s back, especially when we both know Crowell wouldn’t do shit.”
That’s true. Crowell would probably prefer if it all of the players were white. He’d definitely prefer them all to be straight.
“Shane said you and Barrett are friends,” Pike says.
“We were. Now I am not so sure,” Ilya says. “How can I help Shane with this?”
“Damned if I know. All these years and I still haven’t figured it out. He never wants anyone to fight these guys on the ice.”
“He hates giving another team a power play.” Ilya has heard Shane rant more than once about stupid players giving the other team an advantage.
“Exactly.” Pike pauses for a moment. “He gets really stressed before Toronto games, quieter than usual, like he’s mentally preparing for war or something.”
“I want names.”
“Names?”
“Of players on other teams who say this shit.”
“He’ll hate that.”
“He will.”
“I’ll text you.”
“Thanks, Pike.”
“You’re welcome. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“I will. You do same, yes?”
“Yeah, absolutely.”
“Shane said Ruby and Jade painted colorful pumpkins,” Ilya says.
“I’ll text you pictures. Oh, and I took a picture of Shane in the sandbox with Arthur today.”
“Send, please,” Ilya says.
“You got it.”
“Good-night, Pike. You are good friend.”
“Good-night, Rozanov.”
#
Immediately after terminating his call with Pike, he calls Bood.
“Hey, Cap,” Bood says.
“Sorry to call at home. Is okay time to talk?”
“Sure.”
“We can talk tomorrow at rink. I do not want to interrupt Cassie and Milo time.”
“You’re not. Milo is in bed and Cassie is in the tub with a book.”
“Ah, good. Sounds relaxing.”
“She thinks so. What’s up?”
Ilya takes a moment to think through what he wants to say. “As Captain, I need to ask something I should have asked before.”
“Fire away.”
“Is about Barrett. I know he said a lot of shit when he was with Toronto. I only heard homophobic slurs, but I learned today he said racist shit, too.”
“Yeah, yeah, he did.”
Bood sounds worn out, worse than at the end of a long roadie. “Can talk tomorrow if that would be better. Face to face,” Ilya says, unsure if he is offering the delay for his own sake or Bood’s.
“No. The phone might actually be easier.” Bood takes a long pause, then he says, “Barrett and Kent said all the usual stuff, comparisons to apes, jokes about lynching, stuff about big dicks and low IQs, that kind of shit.”
Ilya doesn’t know what lynching is, but if it is racist he doesn’t want to make Bood explain it. He’ll look it up later. “I am sorry, Bood. You should not have to deal with that on ice or anywhere. If anyone says things like this again, on or off the ice, tell me. If it comes from within team or support staff, I will deal with it. On ice, I will deal with it.”
“Thanks, Roz. It’s not as easy as you’d think to deal with, though.”
“I am learning this, but Canada has workplace rules to prevent this, and I will make sure they are enforced.”
“You know about Canada’s labor laws?”
“I learn many things for citizenship,” Ilya says proudly. “So, Barrett…” he adds, inviting Bood to finish the sentence.
“He’s not what I expected,” Bood says after a long pause. “I’m still not keen on playing with him, but he’s been quiet, hasn’t tossed around any slurs I’ve heard.”
“Can you play with him? Or does his presence make you uncomfortable?”
“Roz, I’m a black man with a beautiful white wife playing fucking hockey. I’m always uncomfortable.”
Ilya is horrified by this statement. “Even with Centaurs?” he asks. The Centaurs were Bood’s team long before they were Ilya’s.
“I was pretty comfortable with the Centaurs.”
“But now you are not,” Ilya declares.
“I’m always waiting for Barrett to revert to who he was.”
“Makes sense. Would it help if he apologized?”
“Not really. If he was genuinely sorry, maybe, but he’s had plenty of time to apologize and he hasn’t yet.”
Ilya frowns. The lack of apology says something about Barrett he doesn’t like. “Thank you, Bood. I appreciate you talking with me about this. Is not easy, I know.”
“I’m glad you asked. For what it’s worth, I think Barrett is a follower. In Toronto, he followed Kent. Here, he wants to follow you.”
Ilya thinks about this. “But not just following team captain, more copying behavior, attitudes…” He trails off.
“Exactly.”
It’s more for Ilya to consider. “If anything happens, you let me know, please.”
“I will.”
“Good. Now go offer to wash your beautiful wife’s back.”
“Maybe I’ll do that.”
They exchange good-byes and Ilya goes in search of the laptop he rarely uses. It takes him a couple of tries to spell lynching right. Stupid English and its stupid spelling. A half hour later, he is staring at the screen in front of him, appalled.
#
Ilya does his best to treat Barrett the same as always at practice the next day. He is not sure he succeeds.
When the locker room has mostly emptied out, Ilya goes up to Barrett and holds out his hand. “Phone, give.”
Barrett is bent over with one foot on the bench in front of his stall while he ties his sneaker. “What?”
“Your phone, give,” Ilya repeats.
Looking confused, Barrett straightens, grabs his phone, and puts it in Ilya’s hand.
Ilya glances at the screen. “Unlock it.”
Taking back his phone, Barrett unlocks it and hands it back.
Ilya immediately opens his contacts and begins scrolling through them until he finds Shane’s number then he deletes the contact.
“What did you do?”
“Deleted Hollander’s number.”
“He already blocked me.”
“I know, but he was concerned you would share it. Now, I can tell him that will not happen.” Ilya looks Barrett directly in the eye. “You will come to my house. We will talk.”
Barrett just nods.
#
Ilya doesn’t want Barrett in the home that is as much Shane’s as it is his, so when Barrett arrives he grabs them each a beer and leads him out onto the deck. It’s late fall and there is a bite in the air, but Ilya is Russian, he’ll tough it out. They sit side by side in deck chairs.
“I’m guessing Hollander said something to you,” Barrett says, but he sounds a little annoyed, as if Hollander shouldn’t have said anything.
Ilya’s thought about what he wants to accomplish here. As Shane’s boyfriend and Bood’s friend, he just wants to unload on Barrett, but as captain he can’t. And while yelling at Barrett might make him feel better, it won’t accomplish the task, which is to push Barrett to be better and protect Bood and the other members of the team, as well as players on other teams. So as much as Ilya wants to point out that if you’re a piece of shit you have no right to complain when someone else says you smell, he doesn’t. “He told me someone claiming to be Troy Barrett texted him and he might change his number.” Ilya says. “Wanting to know why Hollander reacted like that, I called Pike. Pike told me you and Kent taught him whole new vocabulary of racist shit. Me, too, I now know about lynching. You thought was funny to chirp about black people killed by gangs of white men, yes?”
“Yes, no, I don’t…”
“Don’t what, Barrett?”
Barrett takes a deep breath. “No, it wasn’t funny. I just went along.”
“Went along with Kent.”
“Yeah.” Troy is looking at the ground in front of him, absently rubbing his beer bottle.
“You also said things,” Ilya says, because he knows Troy did.
The words when they finally come are barely loud enough for Ilya to hear them. “I, yes, I did.” He takes a drink of his beer and his next words are louder. “I’m not proud of it. I needed to keep him from realizing I was gay.”
“So you think closet is excuse.” When Barrett doesn’t answer, Ilya asks, ”Do you know what it was like for the people you said that shit to?” Ilya hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it, what it was like for Shane, for Bood, for Carter, even fucking J.J. He’s imagined what it would be like to be a rookie who isn’t white facing Toronto for the first time.
“No.”
“Have you wondered what it was like for them?”
“No, not really.”
“Perhaps you should, if you want to be better than Kent.”
“My father always said that kind of shit. It was normal, growing up.” Barrett probably doesn’t mean to sound sullen, but he does.
“Knowing what a piece of shit your father was, you still copied him,” Ilya says, his tone flat, because this excuse is maybe even weaker than being in the closet. “If my father did something, I knew it was wrong thing to do. So I did not do it.”
“Maybe you’re smarter than I am.”
“There is no maybe.”
They sit in silence until Ilya speaks again. “Why did you really ask for Hollander’s number?”
“I heard he was gay.” Troy at least sounds embarrassed.
Ilya scoffs. “And you thought he would suck your cock after shitty way you treated him?”
“Yeah, probably not my best idea.”
“Stay away from Hollander.”
“I will.” Troy sounds small, but Ilya doesn’t have the same sympathy he usually does.
“You say you want to be a better person.”
“I do.”
“Then maybe you should think about someone other than yourself.”
Troy nods, then takes a long drink from his beer.
“Did you say this shit to every player who isn’t white?” Ilya persists.
“Pretty much.”
“Including Bood.”
Barrett nods. He’s still not looking at Ilya.
“Yet you go to his house, eat his food, drink his beer.”
“The whole team is there.”
Ilya ignores this. “You have excuse for everything. Just following Kent, just saying words your father said, just keeping people from realizing you are gay. Do you ever accept responsibility for shitty things you’ve done?”
Troy looks trapped now, but Ilya doesn’t feel sorry for him, can’t, not when Barrett hurt Shane, attacked Yuna. “I guess not,” Troy admits, eyes still glued to the ground, shoulders rounded.
“You should try it. You made others feel they did not belong on ice, simply because of their skin. Hollander is best player in the league, maybe the world. You don’t come close. Bood, he is better man than you, than me, but you call him names, taunt him on ice. Did the same to Vaughn, to Boiziau, to others, to make yourself feel better. It wasn’t just them, was it?”
Barrett didn’t answer.
“Bullies are same everywhere. So I know there were others. Players who were different, who were vulnerable.”
“Yeah.”
“Like Price.” Price is a sweet guy, too good for hockey, and Ilya knew that had made him a prime target for Kent and Barrett.
Barrett nods.
“Price is my friend.”
“I, um, I apologized to Price,” Barrett says.
“And?”
“He said ‘okay.’ Then he walked away.”
Ilya is not surprised. He takes a long drink of his beer, giving Barrett time to think about what he’s said.
“What should I say to Bood?”
“Fuck if I know,” Ilya answers. “But whatever you say do not make excuses.”
“Right, I can do that,” Barrett says, but he doesn’t sound like he can. “What about us, are we still friends?”
“I do not know,” Ilya answers truthfully. “You hurt people I care about, said fucking horrible things to them and about them, even Yuna. She is like second mother to me, and you called her a whore. That is not easy thing to forgive.”
Barrett makes a choked sound.
“You can make yourself a better man, Barrett. I will help if I can, but the work is yours to do. And you cannot expect people to forgive you or forget what you did. They have right to be angry, even to hate you.”
Barrett finally lifts his head and looks directly at Ilya. “I know,” he says quietly, looking like a man who may finally be realizing that his actions have consequences.
“You have started making amends, I know, but some tweets are not enough, not for this.”
“Okay,” Barrett says.
“Start by thinking for yourself instead of just following whoever top guy is. Think about who you’ve been and who you want to be. Then work to become that person.”
“I’ll try.”
Done with this conversation, Ilya says, “Finish your beer.”
#
Shane calls him that night after an away game in Colorado and opens with, “You talked to Hayden.”
“Da,” Ilya says, relieved that Shane called him first. “It was educational conversation. You should know I took Barrett’s phone, deleted your number. I should not have given him your number without asking. I won’t do that again.”
“Thanks,” Shane says, even though they both know Ilya had been in the wrong.
“I talked to Bood, too. Barrett also said shit to him.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Hayden said this happens with other teams, too. Why did you never tell me?”
“I hate talking about it. Also, I assumed you knew.”
“I knew things weren’t perfect from Svetlana, but I thought things were better than this.”
Shane snorts. “I guess, but the bar is pretty low. I mean, outright discrimination is illegal now, but—“
“Attitudes are harder to change,” Ilya says.
“Yeah,” Shane sighs.
“Especially when shitty players benefit.”
“Benefit?”
“Mediocre white players benefit when Asian kids, Black kids, First Nations kids who might be better than them never put on skates or decide they don’t want to deal with racist shit on ice and stop playing,” Ilya says.
“I hadn’t thought of it like that. I should have because there were so many people when I was a kid who acted like I shouldn’t be on the ice, mostly mediocre white players and their parents.”
“I am grateful they did not chase you out of hockey.”
“I loved it too much.”
“That, and you were too strong for them.”
“I didn’t feel strong.”
“Maybe we are strongest when we don’t feel strong,” Ilya says.
“I want you to remember you said that the next time you are having a bad brain day.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious. I’m going to quote that back to you.”
“I know you will.”
“What did you say to Barrett?”
“I asked about what he said and to who. He admitted it. He had lots of excuses, his shitty father taught him those words, he copied Kent so Kent wouldn’t realize he was gay. I told him he should think about people he hurt instead of himself, and decide what kind of person he wants to be. We will see if he does it.”
“I’m not holding my breath,” Shane says.
“No, probably best if you don’t, even though I like when you turn red, muy pomidor .”
On his phone screen, Shane smiles.
“Barrett asked if we are still friends. I told him I don’t know, he hurt people I care about, said horrible things about them and to them, including Yuna.”
“I don’t want you to lose your friends, Ilya. I want you to have people in Ottawa you can talk to, not just me.”
“Barrett is not my only friend on Centaurs. Would you be okay with me telling Bood about us? Maybe Hayes? They are good men, kind and decent. They would not out us. And I think you would like them. We could maybe have dinner with them and their wives some time.” Ilya doesn’t mention that he thinks being friends with another mixed race couple, like Cassie and Bood, might be good for them.
A long moment passes before Shane answers, “Yes, if you trust them.”
“I do. Hayes will ask you about Rose Landry. He loves X-Squad.”
“So you’re saying I can win points with your friends by introducing them to Rose.”
“Yes, only because they are easy to impress.” Ilya doesn’t want to spoil the happier mood, but there are things he needs to say to Shane. “I want to learn more about what it is like for you, being half-Japanese not just in hockey, but in world. We don’t have to talk about it. I have started researching racism in Canada and U.S. Is very upsetting.”
“It is,” Shane says quietly.
“I want to be good boyfriend and someday good husband for you.”
“You are a good boyfriend,” Shane says, then adds, “It isn’t easy for me to talk about.”
“I know,” Ilya says gently. “Does not have to be big conversation. Can be maybe little conversations, here and there, when things come up?”
Shane nods. “I’ll try to talk about it more. Thank you for trying to learn, for trying to understand.”
Ilya waves his hand, dismissing Shane’s thanks. “How many books did you read about depression?”
This gets him a small smile. “I am a good boyfriend slash future husband.”
“You are, but I will be better.”
Shane laughs and the conversation moves on.