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Casey Bouchard wasn’t a bigot. Not when it came to money anyway. If something not only made profit but looked good, he’d do it. It served him well in his years with the Metros organization, leading him up the ladder to GM by the time he was forty-five.
He’d watched the rumblings of the previous GM, Paul Sanders, smoothing over his mistakes with a smile and nod. He’d been the one to apologize to Shane Hollander about the whole ‘happy he’s Asian’ incident during his draft, and was the one who’d alerted the owners to the old GM’s wish to trade Shane after two cups because ‘we don’t need him any more’.
A truly stupid thought. Casey wondered if Paul remembered that the owners' Asian son-in-law they adored. Or if he remembered what city they lived in. Montreal worshiped Shane, the man who brought them two cups. Canada loved him for finally bringing back the Stanley.
Paul’s short-sightedness mimicked many white men Casey met through the years. They always thought they had a clever idea or plan. That they held the power in their hands. The ridiculousness ceased surprising Casey after a while.
Or so he’d thought.
“So,” he said, staring at his head coach and five players. “You’re telling me Shane Hollander came out and you all want him demoted from Captain or traded?” Casey stared at the men, cataloging what he knew of them as they spoke.
“We don’t feel comfortable with him,” Gilbert Comeau, right wing, said with a nod. His stats had gone down in recent years, the man one of the main reasons they missed the playoffs the year before after Hollander’s injury. “I mean, he never really fit in and now it’s even worse.” Casey wondered if it was due to Hollander’s lack of interest in partying until they blacked out or his race causing that comment. Marcel visited his office several times to complain about the man’s inability to not show racism when talking to the media.
“Yeah,” Caleb Jones, defenseman, looked almost too eager to speak up. The man was from before Hollander’s draft, two years before even. When their old captain retired, his name appeared in the running. Paul complained bitterly about how they were forced to give Hollander the position over Jones, who he’d had a soft spot for, because Hollander frankly was the better fit skill-wise. Jones knew he’d been beaten for the position, thank you, Paul, and never got over it.
“It’s unsettling,” Patrice Drapeau, goalie, nodded his head. Always kept his head down, but was best friends with Comeau. A follower more than a leader. He’d been taken on when their old goalie Miitka ended up retiring early due to an injury he’d never quite healed from after their second cup under Hollander. The backup goalie hadn’t quite been ready to be a starter, and still wasn’t, Casey knew.
“We know he’s good but like… it’s uncomfortable, you know?” Michael Bane said, the second-line center said. Marcel warned Casey of uncovering the man’s secret Twitter, where he’d been posting about Hollander being ‘overrated’ and a ‘diversity hire’. The man had gotten into a habit of attempting some of the shots Hollander did, showboating about. Few actually worked.
“It’s gross, you mean,” Sebastian Claude, defenseman, sneered out. Now he was a plain old homophobe, Casey knew. The man made no secret of it, which did not endear him to most of Montreal. Still he was a pretty good player so they kept him on.
“It’ll tear the room apart,” Gabriel Thériault said with a nod. Casey did not like him. At all. The choice to hire him had frankly been one he’d fully been against. A good coach, yes, but an awful person who was happy to leave much of the ‘room culture’ to Hollander, barely stepping in. He was homophobic, racist, sexist and unpleasant in general. The issue was there hadn’t been a reason to fire him. Until now.
“I see,” Casey said, nodding. “And you have others who expressed similar concerns?”
“Yeah,” Jones handed over a list almost too fast, chest puffed up. Casey did not wrinkle his nose despite his wishes. Instead, he took the list and put it down.
“I will handle this, gentlemen,” Casey smiled, teeth bared. “Don’t you worry.”
They left the GM’s office smug, convinced things would go their way. Meanwhile, Casey called up the owners, shaking his head.
What a bunch of morons.
Casey could respect their gall, and perhaps in Ottawa or Calgary it might have gone the way they thought. They’d failed to factor in several issues, however.
This was Montreal. The gayest city in North America. They made twice their normal revenue on Pride Nights, far beyond anyone else’s. If it got out they’d gotten rid of Shane or demoted him because he was gay?
Montreal rioted when happy. Casey wasn’t interested in seeing how they’d react unhappy. He had a feeling a guillotine would be built.
The other thing was the recent publicity around Scott Hunter. His coming out brought out support in droves, people screaming his name in glee. If it got out that Hollander came out to his team, then was punished? Lawsuit and, of course, the riots.
The last thing the men didn’t realize was that Shane Hollander was far more important to keep around and happy. Their own biases blinded them to it.
Truly, the stupidity of white men.
-
“We need people who will play with Hollander if they find out, yes?” Jean Fontaine, owner of the Montreal Metros, asked Casey. The tall man had flown from his vacation home in France back to Canada to handle this personally, furious over the entire incident.
“We do, and I think I know a few,” Casey agreed. After the furious conversation the week before, Casey had not been idle. He went to each player on Jones’ list to ask them their thoughts and what they truly thought. Of the fifteen, ten had been shocked about the entire thing.
“Like yeah I’m not… you know, comfortable,” Keven Stacy, a young American man who was a second liner winger, stated when Casey spoke with him. He’d rubbed the back of his head, wincing. “But like that’s on me yeah? I know it’s homophobic- gotta get over that. It’s Shane fucking Hollander- ah, sorry, sir.”
“It’s fine,” Casey’s quick assurance was born partly out of the fact Stacy’s reaction showed a good head and relief he wouldn’t need to replace more than he’d thought.
Similar statements came from the other nine. The last five were where it had gotten tricky, one of them expressing disgust at Hollander being gay and fearing for his safety in the room. That caused Casey to laugh.
“So you fear he will treat you as you treat women?”
That caused the man to splutter and deny it. It didn’t matter; he would be removed anyway. The other four, two had been eager to express a racist doctrine where they said they’d never liked following an Asian man. The final two were… well, idiots who’d been unaware of what they were agreeing with. Casey wouldn’t trade them, simply for the headache replacing more players would cause, but they were first for next season.
After going through the fifteen men, Casey looked into the stats of various players around the NHL while diving into their personal lives through social media. He’d found quite a few potential replacements.
“Wyatt Hayes. He should be starting goalie, but rumour is Toronto dislikes him for being a gentler man. His sister is a lesbian, and he actively participates in Pride Nights,” Casey handed over the file to Jean, who flipped through it, nodding.
“Good. Next?”
“Ottawa is a terrible team,” Casey began, “but they have a diamond. Zane Boodman, currently the Assistant Captain despite deserving the actual captaincy. From what I can tell, he’s stuck with the A due to racism from the front office and the current coach.”
Ottawa loved to talk about having the best locker room culture and having queer staff, but they were just as rotten as the rest of the NHL. Casey fully knew he was no saint, but at least he knew when his biases were working against him.
“Yes,” Jean said with a nod. “He has good stats; we should take him. Give him an A; Pike is doing a shit job with the locker room. A new A to balance it all out will be best.”
Casey agreed. Pike seemed to support Hollander, but he wasn’t very good at handling the team's actual confrontation. Plus, there seemed to be some rift between them, one he discreetly asked Marcel to look into during their research phase. The man came back with the news that Pike had discovered Hollander’s boyfriend, and he disapproved. He barely kept his voice down regarding whoever it was.
Marcel refused to tell Casey the name, stating he would look into it personally but wanted Hollander to have some privacy. Casey respected that.
“Ryan Price is next on my list,” Casey said next. “He’s gay himself- doesn’t hide it or advertise it. But I have some sources I trust who tell me he is.”
“Perfect,” Jean said with a nod. “The Valkyries have multiple gay players on their team; some are married to each other.” He paused, thinking of the woman’s hockey team. “We should check with them about rules. I do not know if romance will blossom, but to get ahead, yes?”
“Hollander apparently has a boyfriend. Not out,” Casey commented. “But we should anyway. Just in case.”
Hockey players, hell, athletes in general, weren’t very loyal to their partners. Hollander never seemed the type, but Casey didn’t know if that would change with a fellow gay player on his team.
“Who else are you thinking of?” Jean asked.
“I’m going to offer Jones to Boston for Rozanov,” Casey shrugged. “Might as well, but then we’ll go to LA with him. There’s an alright center there. We’d have to move third and fourth up, but that’s fine. They’re good enough while we see if we can snag anyone else. We have the cap space with most of our guys being moved for cheaper options.”
“Rozanov? He is Russian,” Jean said.
“He went to Scott Hunter night at that gay bar,” Casey said, having heard those rumours. “And the rivalry isn’t actually hatred like the media paints.”
“I know this,” Jean waved a hand. “You cannot watch last year's All-Star Game without seeing it.” The man paused for a second before grinning. “Boston thinks so. There are comments during gatherings.”
“You think they’ll do it?” Casey asked. “Really?”
“Perhaps. Rumours Rozanov is not resigning. Not surprising, his father just died, no? The man may go back to Russia for KHL,” Jean shrugged. “To pay respects.”
Maybe. But Casey doubted it. Rozanov probably just wanted a bigger payout and wasn’t getting it with Boston right then. They’d cave and give him what he wanted eventually.
-
Shane didn’t know why the GM called him into his office before practice. He didn’t often meet with Mr. Bouchard, except when the man asked his opinion on potential trades, wanting his weigh-in on locker room culture. If this was about that, he’d have sent an email to set up a time, not ask him to come in personally.
The office at the rink wasn’t anything special- just a simple one tucked into a corner. Mr. Bouchard tried to keep the fancy one downtown, preferring to project a more approachable visage in the rink.
Shane could admire that level of manipulation.
Knocking on the door, he entered when he got the okay from Mr. Bouchard.
“Hollander,” Mr. Bouchard said, standing up from behind his desk. “It’s good to see you,” he said, walking around to shake Shane’s hand.
“Good to see you, sir,” Shane said. “Can I ask what this is about?”
“Ah yes. Mind, this will be uncomfortable,” Mr. Bouchard warned. He waved Shane to sit down, doing the same behind the desk. Shane waited as Mr. Bouchard shifted uncomfortably. “There’s no easy way to say this. Your coach and several players came in to express that you came out, and it made them uncomfortable.”
Shane’s stomach dropped. He stared at the GM, who just looked at him with an awkward expression, as if he couldn’t decide whether to try to be sympathetic or upset. Shane honestly didn’t know which one would be worse.
“They…” Shane swallowed. “I knew they weren’t all happy but…” Shane looked at his hands.
They really did that? He knew not all of them were comfortable around him, eyeing him whenever they thought his focus lingered elsewhere. He just didn’t expect them to do this.
“I know,” Mr. Bouchard said. “I’m sorry this happened.” He paused for a second, clearly thinking. “We’re trading them.”
“… pardon?” Shane asked, not sure if he heard correctly.
“Hollander- I am going to be very blunt. You’re worth more than they are.” Mr. Bouchard explained. “I would rather trade each player than you.”
Shane opened and closed his mouth. That… didn’t seem really right. It felt good, and a part of him knew that he’d been the reason they won the cups, but to trade everyone to keep him?
“Seriously?” Shane couldn’t help but ask.
“Seriously,” Mr. Bouchard confirmed. “We’ve already made arrangements for most of them, and they will be signing NDAs, but I wanted to ask your opinion about a few of our choices.”
Shane nodded, wanting to latch onto something other than the buzzing inside his head.
His teammates went around his back to complain. They took him being gay this badly. How would Ilya be treated if it got out they were dating? Would he be safe? Should they maybe slow down on their public friendship?
“The first, and most critical one, is from Boston. In exchange for Jones and Kelly, we’re getting Rozanov.” Mr. Bouchard said.
The buzzing ground to a stop and Shane nearly choked on his own spit.
-
Gabriel strode into the meeting with Casey and the owners of the Metros, head held high. He figured they’d want his advice on what to do with Hollander after they did their due diligence and figured out how to handle it. Gabriel had his ideas.
Personally, he would trade Hollander to Ottawa and lure Rozanov over once his free-agent status hit. Given it would be a year or so in the future, they’d probably have to keep Hollander, but the man could be demoted to second line and removed from his captaincy. It was better for everyone, and they’d finally lose the story that Hollander earned the Metros their cups.
Gabriel smiled, sitting down across from Jean Fontaine and Casey Bouchard, ready to discuss how to save the Metros from Hollander’s deviancy.
He’d lost his smile five minutes in when the owner of the club, Jean Fontaine, was in the middle of screaming at him.
“Getting rid of Shane Hollander? Demoting him? What on EARTH went through your head?” The man snarled, looming over Gabriel.
“I was trying to ensure the Metros remained strong,” Gabriel tried to explain, mind rapidly trying to grasp what exactly went wrong. They weren’t acting how they should. Instead of praising him, saying they were happy Gabriel brought his concerns to them, they’d begun berating him.
“By getting rid of our best player? The man who brought us two cups?” Mr. Fontaine screamed.
“It wasn’t just that fucking fairy Chinaman-“ Gabriel yelled back, unable to help himself.
“So you are a homophobic racist who does not even know what fucking country Hollander’s mother is from,” Mr. Fontaine scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Are you upset that a man you think is beneath you is better than all your white players, hmm? Are you upset the truth is you are a terrible coach whose entire career is based on two wins Hollander made himself? We have statistics. We have evidence he is truly why we won the cups.”
“Gabriel, what did you actually think would happen when you approached me?” Casey asked, looking almost bored as he sat there.
Gabriel stared at Casey, not understanding the question. He should have seen sense! Hollander had never been a proper hockey player, and now his actions were further tainting the Metros. If it got out that their captain was a fucking fairy, they’d be a worse laughing stock than they were for having an Asian guy be their captain! Gabriel could barely show his face when he went drinking with some of the other guys. It couldn’t get worse. They might think he was like that fucking idiot Murdock in New York or the rest of those pansy-ass dumbasses repeating the buzzwords of inclusiveness and diversity.
“I thought you would want to keep the Metros strong,” Gabriel finally said.
“Please,” Mr. Fontain scoffed. “If anything, last year showed that you cannot do that. Without Hollander, why did our defence and offence both fall apart? Why was Drapeau not pulled for his save point average in exchange for Samson? Why did you think making Jones temp captain was smart when Pike was there?”
Gabriel hesitated, the questions hitting him. He’d done it because he wanted to show that Jones was a better captain, honestly. Hollander looked nice; he guessed for publicity, but he wasn’t Captain material. It should be Jones. Yet… well, Gabriel couldn’t argue he’d failed there. The season had been a mess; no one seemed to know what to do. They were all looking for something, or reacting too late. Then Drapeau… he made so few saves; Gabriel had pulled his stats to check for an injury. There wasn’t.
A part of Gabriel, the part he ignored because he didn’t like admitting he was wrong, knew exactly why it all went to shit. The team was too used to Hollander carrying them; they fell apart without him. Drapeau never really needed to be a good goalie unless they went up against Boston with Rozanov, as Hollander outscored everyone else.
Gabriel would rather die than say that, so he just glared.
“We’re letting you go. Family reasons on your behalf, of course,” Casey said, voice cold. “We have two new coaches to come in, a new head and assistant.” The unsaid fact that they wouldn’t support his former assistant coaches moving up showed how angry they were.
Fucking bullshit.
“Paul wouldn’t let this happen,” Gabriel couldn’t help but snap, glaring.
“Paul was let go because he tried to trade Hollander. You should have taken that as the sign it was,” Casey said.
“He’s a fucking faggot!” Gabriel yelled, standing up. “You want him on your fucking team?” He asked Mr. Fontaine. “A fucking Asian fag?”
“First,” the man said coldly, “have you met Ningkai? My son-in-law, he’s Chinese. I know he was here for his anniversary with my daughter last year.”
Fuck. Gabriel felt the blood trickle from his face. He’d forgotten that, or tried to. Why the fuck would they let their daughter marry a Chinese guy he didn’t know. He’d understood Hollander’s dad marrying an Asian woman. They were naturally submissive, perfect for a true man. Even if Hollander’s mom ran his life like a military drill sergeant, she made him money. But why would you let your daughter ruin her life that way?
Still, he knew better than to say shit. At least until now.
“Second, I suggest you remember this is Montreal, the gayest city in North America,” Mr. Fontaine said. “If Hollander publicly comes out, he will be even more adored by the city. He will be praised, his queerness accepted. Remember the riots of joy for Scott Hunter? Mixed in with the rage, we do not have the first gay hockey player?”
Gabriel took the paper, the one firing him, with shaking hands. Casey's words felt like a gunshot.
He didn’t often think about how Montreal was the capital city of queer culture in their part of the world. Frankly, he tried to forget it, disliking what it meant. He barely could stand the Pride Nights everyone insisted on doing, feeling it was far too much. Being reminded of it here caused Gabriel to realize, perhaps finally, how much they’d messed up.
“You will sign an NDA,” Casey continued, his face sharpening into a razor blade smile. “I mean, you still live here, no?”
Fuck. Yeah. Gabriel wasn’t going to even whisper about what he’d tried to do. Montreal would eat him alive.
Once the papers were signed, he stepped outside the meeting room. Lingering in the hall was Comeau, who radiated smugness.
“Coach!” The man grinned. “We getting rid of Hollander? About fucking time! Jones is so much better suited for captain, yeah? I bet I’m getting the A too, that’s why they called me in, right?”
Gabriel slowly shook his head, mouth open, but Casey called out.
“Comeau? Good. We can discuss your trade to Ottawa.”
Gabriel had a sudden feeling he got off lightly as Comeau’s face went pale.
-
By the time the day was done, Casey wanted a fucking nap. He rubbed his temples as Mr. Fontaine drank his seventh glass of water.
“At least it is done,” Mr. Fontaine announced. “No more bad eggs.”
“Hopefully,” Casey said. “We’ll see how the season goes.”
They’d get to keep Hollander, though, which meant it would be their year to get that third cup.
Casey could already see the parade