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David stood with his wife and screamed into the open air of the stadium when the lamp lit and Shane scored his second goal of the game, all within the first fifteen minutes of the first period. This was shaping up to be a wonderful night for Shane.
“That’s my boy,” David couldn’t help but shout as Hayden slammed into Shane, giving him a helmet tap while Ilya Rozanov circled and glared at the two celebrating.
This was shaping up to be not such a wonderful night for Ilya.
Poor Ilya. It wasn’t his fault their goalie was having an off night. David fully expected the man, Johnson, to get pulled soon. For some unknown reason he’d started tonight, the Bears usual starting goalie St Simon nowhere to be seen since warmups. David glanced back at the goaltender, understanding the man’s embarrassment as he crouched on the ice. David frowned. Johnson was still on the ground in a half kneel, his head bowed and his stick braced hard against the ice. He looked tense, as if he was in pain.
Ilya skated past him, saying something that went unheard but was probably a chirp, knowing his son’s boyfriend, but when Johnson didn’t so much as move, Ilya skated over again. He crouched by the man, and then flagged down the team trainer. The game was paused for an impromptu commercial break, while Johnson was assisted off the ice, unable to bend one leg.
“Guess they will have to bring St Simon in,” David muttered to his wife.
“Shane can still get a hat trick off him before the night’s over,” Yuna said, and David grinned.
As the halt in play dragged on, David was contemplating making a run for a hotdog when a security guard in the Bell Centre uniform tapped his shoulder.
“Excuse me, David Hollander? Can you come with us please?”
Fear spiked down David’s spine and his eyes shot to the Montreal bench. Shane was there, helmet off, chatting with Hayden. One son fine. His eyes raced over to the Boston bench. Ilya was frowning but also looked well. Second son fine. He turned back to the security guard. “What is this about?”
“Please come with me, we’re short on time.”
“David,” Yuna said, her voice holding a hint of alarm as she tried to stop him, but David patted her on the shoulder.
“I’m sure it’s fine, honey. I’ll text you.”
David met his wife’s eyes, and winked before he palmed his cellphone and followed the guard. Yuna nodded once, and let him go. They both knew the sort of secrets their family now had to protect, and as David’s mind ran away with all the theories of where he was being taken, he quickly pulled out his phone and switched on the recording app he sometimes used for work before sliding his phone back in his pocket. Just in case.
The security guard led David into the bowls of the Bell Center to a hallway David had never had reason to visit when seeing Shane. He was pulled into a room with a “Visitor” badge on the door, and came face to face with Coach Leclaire of the Boston Bears, and a few other men David didn’t recognize.
“Gentlemen,” David said warmly.
“Hollander,” Leclaire said, in that clipped bark common across hockey coaches. It took him back to his college days in an instant. “What kind of man are you?”
“Excuse me?” David said, crossing his arms. David generally thought of himself as a laid back man. Someone who didn’t take offense easily, but Leclaire’s question got his hackles up. For some reason the only thing David’s brain could think of for why he’d been drug down here was something to do with his son, and his son’s rival’s secret relationship. A relationship David had known about for only a few months, but one he would do nearly anything to protect.
David was the kind of man who would fight tooth and nail for his family. And Ilya Rozanov was in fact his family. If his coach had somehow found out about his and Shane’s relationship, well, David and Yuna would handle it.
“I’m asking what kind of man you are, your integrity,” Leclaire continued. “Are you the sort of man who panders to the feelings and wishes of a loved one, or are you the kind of man who can climb into the rival team’s goal, and block his own son’s shots?”
Realization for what this might be flashed like a goal light in David’s mind and a slow grin crept over his face. “The second one,” he said, and Leclaire glared at him like he was trying to see into his soul.
“Good,” Coach Leclaire grunted. “Because you’re all we got.” Leclaire gestured at David, and someone shoved an ipad in David’s face. He glanced down at the short-term tryout agreement.
“What happened to St Simon?” David asked.
“He’s been stuck to the toilet since warmups. Says his gameday calzone betrayed him,” the man with the ipad said.
“And Montreal’s EBUG?” David took the ipad from the man, and scrolled down, skimming over it. Yuna would kill him for not reading it fully, but they really were short on time. David wouldn’t even have time to stretch.
“He left five minutes into the game. Bastard didn’t even warn us. Said his wife was about to have their first kid and took off.”
David tried not to scowl at the derision in Leclaire’s voice. David also would have left if he was about to be a grandfather, but he didn’t think the coach wanted his opinion.
“Look, we got lucky an Ottawa EBUG happened to be here. All we need is for you to sit in the goal so we don’t have to forfeit. We’re telling the guys to keep the puck away from you as best they can, but we aren’t expecting much,” Leclaire said.
Yuna would laugh her ass off when she saw David on the ice. He’d only signed up to be a backup goalie for Ottawa as a joke after a conversation with her a few years before. David slid his finger across the ipad, sketching his signature, and the moment he hit the little “Done” button, the ipad was ripped from his hands, and an equipment manager was pulling him down a hall. The equipment manager flung open a door and started shoving gear at David.
“How long on that jersey?” the man called at another guy working a heat press.
“About fifteen minutes,” the other guy said.
“Make it ten,” the assistant coach, Walters, called.
The equipment manager turned to David, an apologetic expression on his face. “Sir, do you need help changing?”
Right.
David pulled off his #24 Hollander Metros jersey and handed it over. “Keep that safe for me, would you?”
The equipment manager hid a grin as he nodded. “What’s your skate size?”
Fresh skates, no time to stretch, warmup, or even tape his stick. Yeah, David was gonna walk out of here stiffer than a piece of toast if he didn’t crack in half or tear something, but it would be worth it for that look on Shane’s face when he got out there. At least he’d done his normal hour of Yoga that morning. It didn’t compare to Shane’s routine, but few things did.
He got his chest and arm protectors on, the equipment manager helping him along, when the other guy came over with a jersey. Boston Bears #42 with Hollander across the back in gold letters. This might just be one of the best days of David’s life.
He got the jersey on, before pulling on his helmet and gloves.
He felt heavy in his pads, but it was a familiar weight, a comforting weight.
“No time to warmup,” Walters said, all but pushing David out of the room. “We only have a few minutes left before we forfeit.”
“Just gotta make it through the next five minutes of the first, then I can do all the stretching I need in the intermission,” David said, trying to reassure the man.
Walters just glanced at David as if expecting him to crumple. “We told the boys to keep the puck off you, but we’re already down two so we aren’t expecting a miracle.”
“I’m sure Rozanov will have my back,” David said sincerely.
Walters laughed. It wasn’t a kind laugh. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t realize who you are or he might just take a shot on his own goal to spite you.”
David grinned and put in his mouthguard as he waddled along in his pads and skates.
They reached the rinkside, Coach and ref arguing as David approached. Leclaire gave him a once over. “Well we got a body in the net, even if he is old as fuck.”
“We’re the same age,” David said with a grin. Would have been the same draft year, if David had decided to pursue the NHL. But hockey was a risky career, especially for a goalie, with so few needed for the league. Finance had been a sure thing, and David wasn’t much of a risk taker.
Leclaire glared at him. “I said what I said. Get in the fucking net, Hollander.”
David saluted and stepped onto the ice, just as Leclaire gestured the first line and a few defensemen onto the ice. David’s blades connected with the ice, and he felt good. He took long wide strides to the net, getting a feel for the ice, and the pull of the pads. He played pickup games enough with a beer league that he felt steady and sure. The roar of the crowd, likely impatient for play to resume, filled his ears, and he let it flow in and out of his mind, finding that clear center in the chaos that he loved so much. He reached the crease, roughed the ice up under his skates, and tapped his stick against the goal posts. Two d-men, Lewis and Sweeney skated over, followed closely by Ilya.
“What the fuck,” David’s son’s boyfriend said to him.
“Hey, son,” David said with a grin through his mouthguard.
Ilya blinked at him, speechless.
“Roz, the ref looks like he’s going to strangle you if you don’t get over there,” Lewis said.
Ilya didn’t say anything, just blinked again. Broken. The Russian Menace was completely broken.
“Think Shane has noticed yet?” David asked.
Ilya seemed to come back to himself. He shook his head and met David’s eyes, a look of shock melting into maniacal joy as he spun around and skated for the face off.
Sadly, David couldn’t hear what Ilya chirped at Shane, but it couldn’t have been anything too telling, as Shane hadn’t so much as glanced at David. The puck dropped and Shane shot it over to Hayden. They went back and forth a few times, and David kept his eye on the puck, calling signals to his D-men when it was clear Shane was about to make his play.
He saw the moment Shane glanced up to pick his target, and recognition shot through his hockey focused son. David saw the next moment, when Shane completely forgot the puck existed, his eyes fixed to David as Ilya stole the puck, and disappeared up the ice with the other players following him. Shane didn’t seem to notice the change of possession as he ran right into the boards.
David grimaced but kept his eyes on the puck as Ilya raced it to the Montreal goal and took a shot. The Montreal goalie froze the puck and play halted. David turned to Shane, still laying supine on the ice, his arms and legs spread. David was 65% sure his son wasn’t hurt.
“What the FUCK!!??!!” Shane yelled into the empty air above him as Hayden slid to a stop by his side.
David was 99% sure his son wasn’t hurt.
“Hey buddy, what happened there?” Hayden asked, crouching next to Shane, and helping him up.
The crowd cheered as it usually did for a fallen player getting back up, but Shane ignored it and turned to David.
“What the fuck?!?” Shane yelled again, skating up to David. Lewis and Sweeney got between David and Shane real fast, and Shane shoved them back.
“Back up, man,” Sweeney said, dropping his gloves. “Leave the EBUG alone.”
“Fuck off, that’s my fucking dad!” Shane yelled, just as Ilya slid to a stop.
“No, that is my goalie,” Ilya said with a wicked grin.
Shane rounded on Ilya. “Did you do this?”
Ilya just laughed maniacally.
“Woah, Mr. Hollander!” Hayden said.
“Hey, Hayden,” David said. “How’s the baby?”
“No. We are not doing this. There has to be rules!” Shane said, looking around for a ref.
“Yes, Mr. Hockey IQ 3000. Tell me what rule says your papa cannot play with the enemy?” Ilya said, shooting David a wink.
Shane growled and skated off toward his bench where he proceeded to gesture wildly at his coach. Ilya laughed, well, it sounded more like a giggle if David was being honest, and followed him.
“Are you really Shane Hollander’s dad?” Lewis asked.
David winked at him. “Sure am.” He turned to Hayden. “We’ll catch up later, Hayden. Maybe you can bring the kids by. Yuna would love to see them.”
“Uh, right. Sure thing, Mr. Hollander.” Hayden skated back to his bench where Shane was still yelling at his coach, and now a ref, Ilya standing a polite distance away, cackling while Marlow tried and failed to pull him away.
“So, uh. Any tips on blocking out your son?” Lewis asked.
David patted the younger man on the arm pad. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
David didn’t have to try very hard to back up his words for the remainder of the period, as Shane was given a two minute penalty for yelling at the refs, and sat in the sin bin, glaring at David for the remainder of the first. They ended the period 2-0, Montreal still in the lead from Shane’s two early goals.
Ilya threw his arm around David as he came off the ice. “David. This is best day of my life. How did this happen?”
“Well, you know about Johnson and St Simon, right?” David asked.
“Yes, torn groin and calzone casualty. But you are not Montreal EBUG are you?” Ilya asked, a few of the other guys pacing them and listening as they headed down the tunnel.
“Nope. Montreal’s EBUG is about to become a father. I just happened to be approved for Ottawa and was in the right place at the right time.”
“Yes. I love it. Best day ever,” Ilya said with glee.
“Dude, is he really,” Marlow asked Ilya.
“What?” Ilya asked, punching Marlow. “You do not recognise David Hollander? He played for McGill.”
David smiled as they entered the locker room. He immediately found a corner and dropped to stretch. He’d probably need help up, but he wasn’t ashamed of asking one of the guys half his age for a hand.
“Okey, listen up you fuckers,” Ilya shouted, getting everyone’s attention. “You all know we’re down two goalies. Let this be a lesson to stay the fuck away from folded pizza. Pizza should not be folded. Is stupid food. Lucky for us we have best EBUG in Canada, David Hollander.”
There were a few cheers, and a few more laughs.
“No, you do not laugh. This man is legend. He produced second best hockey player in the world. That does not come from nothing.”
“Wait, he’s that Hollander?” someone asked.
Ilya rolled his eyes. “Yes, this is Shane Hollander’s papa. Come to help us beat his son and send him home crying.” Ilya made a crying face, and David had to hide his smile. He made the same face over the summer when Shane told him he couldn’t have a second scoop of ice cream.
There were shocked sounds and grumbles from around the room.
“You’re not, like, gonna throw the game for your son, are you?” David looked up from his stretch, and met the eyes of the third line center.
“I’d rather die,” David said with a grin, quoting his wife, his son, and his son’s boyfriend.
The room exploded into cheers.
Intermission wasn’t long enough to stretch like David needed to before playing an NHL game, but he doubted six hours would be long enough to stretch to really prepare himself.
When it was time for the second period, Ilya helped David up, and walked back with him to the ice, waxing poetic about Shane’s angry kitten face when he was arguing with the ref. When they reached the ice, David found Yuna in the stands and blew her a kiss. She caught it and pressed it to her heart. Ilya also gave her a wave and made a heart with his fingers. She grinned and shook her head at him.
When they returned to play, Shane had another twenty seconds in the penalty box where he spent his time alternating his glare between David and Ilya. When he was released, he tore across the ice with a vengeance, and David prepared himself, calling directions to his d-men. Thirty seconds in, Shane had the puck, and in another eight seconds he shot it right at David’s five hole. David, seeing the shot coming a mile away blocked the shot with his stick, sending it right at Ilya who scooped it up and took off down the ice. Shane’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything as he took off after his boyfriend.
Shane’s next shot he tried to fake David out, but he wasn’t falling for that one. His glove came up, and he caught it in his right hand. The ref’s whistle blew, and Ilya cheered and slammed into David at the same time his two d-men did.
“Fuck yes, David!”
“It really is genetic!”
“Dude, how did you do that?”
David snorted and tossed the puck out of his glove.
“Please, I’ve been blocking Shane’s goals his entire life,” David said.
“Let’s fucking go!” Marlow shouted and the other guys cheered.
Shane growled and took off for the bench, and Ilya pumped his eyebrows at David, before following him, likely to chirp.
David had so much fun.
Between playing hockey, something he always enjoyed, knowing his son’s playing so well he could predict his shorts, and the general glee from the Bears every time he blocked the puck, David felt on top of the world. Yes, his hip was starting to ache, and he could feel his lower spine protesting his posture, but he bet Yuna would give him a proper rub down when they got home.
Half way through the third period, Shane had still not scored, nor had the Bears. Ilya swung past David after Shane stormed off cussing. “David, you are magic. My new favorite Hollander,” Ilya said. “We will win this all because you know secrets for defeating Shane Hollander.”
“Maybe you could pull some weight here and score next time?” David chirped at Ilya.
Ilya grinned. “As you wish, David!”
Ilya scored 90 seconds later, bringing them to 2-1 Montreal still in the lead.
With Ilya hounding him, Shane managed thirteen shots the rest of the game. David blocked every single one. Pike got a shot off once, but David managed to block that one too. It wasn’t a shut out for Boston, but it was a shut out for David, and not a single person watching would ever accuse Shane of going easy on him.
Boston didn’t manage a second goal, and still lost the game, but the true winner was David, who would end his NHL career with a 100% save average. It was worth it, even if his son refused to speak to him for the rest of the season.
They had lost, but you wouldn’t know it from the celebration in the locker room as guys cheered and took pictures with David. He took one with Ilya he had a feeling would be his favorite. Maybe he could hang it up at his house. It would be a good excuse to have a picture of Ilya in his home.
“Drinks! We have to celebrate!” Marlow called.
“Yes! We have to drink with Shane Hollander’s dad!” someone else said, and the guys cheered.
The equipment manager shouldered his way through the room and congratulated David as he handed over his clothes. David thanked him and pulled off his jersey. He wondered what it would take to get Yuna to wear it. Probably hell freezing over.
“What do you say, Hollander?” Lewis asked, slapping David on the back.
“Well, my wife and I had dinner plans,” David started.
“Mrs. Hollander! Yes! Bring her!”
David chuckled. “Let me ask.”
David pulled out his phone.
Yuna: David!
Yuna: Is this a joke!
Yuna: Oh my god you look so GOOD out there, honey!
Yuna: I’m so proud of you.
Yuna: I have so many pictures of you on the jumbotron. They keep putting Shane up there next to you and he looks so angry! Maybe it will be our holiday card this year.
Yuna: Good save!
Yuna: Ilya looks so happy, poor Shane.
Yuna: You couldn’t even let him have his hat trick?
David snorted as he read over the texts
David: You know me better than that.
David: The team wants to go for drinks, wanna do shots with some hockey boys for old times sake?
Yuna: That could be fun. Think we can convince Shane to join us?
David: I think he and Ilya have plans.
Yuna: oh, they can hold out for a drink. Honestly, they act like horney teenagers.
David glanced up and found Ilya peeling off a compression shirt. “Hey Rozanov, think you can handle it if my son comes along for a drink?”
Ilya grinned while the team cheered around them. David saw him furiously texting before he hopped into the showers.
Between Yuna and Ilya texting him, Shane agreed to a drink to celebrate David’s accomplishments, even if the Bears had still lost, which Shane insisted on reminding him several times through the night. They went to a bar, where Ilya bought several rounds of quality vodka, which helped to soothe a few of the aches David was feeling. After his second shot, David noticed the lack of son and son’s boyfriend in the bar, but didn’t do more than shoot Yuna a grin. He pulled her into his lap, enjoying the buzz and celebration of a crazy night as he kissed her to the cheers of hockey boys.
For months afterward, sports bloggers, and news channels brought out the Hollander EBUG story every time they needed a little something to liven the mood. It was always a big deal when some nobody EBUG got to sit in on an NHL bench and live out their fantasies, but David wasn’t exactly a nobody, and he hadn’t ridden the bench. He was Shane Hollander’s dad, who got to play for Shane Hollander’s rival team, and shut out Shane Hollander for forty five regulation minutes of an NHL game. People weren’t ever letting the story go.
The most entertaining outcome of the night David got to play for the NHL were the messages that found their way to his DMs every few weeks. Goalies from across the league asked, begged, pleaded, and attempted to bribe him, all for secrets to shut out his son. David enjoyed the awkward inquiries from the league’s top goalies, but the only advice he ever gave was to never eat a calzone on game day.