Archive of Our Own

The invitation arrived on a Tuesday afternoon, wedged between a message from Ilya asking if it was still stealing Shane’s hoodie if they were married and a photo Luca had sent to the team chat of a dog wearing a Centaurs jersey. 

That was how Shane ended up outside a bar in downtown Ottawa on Friday night, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, wondering how exactly he had become the designated player-WAG hybrid of the Centaurs. Cassie spotted him first.

“There he is!”

Lisa, Caitlin and Selena turned with her.

“Oh my God,” Selena said. “You actually came. We didn’t know if you’d be scared.”

Shane gave her a flat look. “Actually? I think I kind of am.”

“That’s okay. We don’t bite.” she said, and hooked her arm through his.

Inside, the place was already loud. Their table was tucked along one wall, half booth and half chairs. Almost immediately, the girls ordered a round of tequila shots. Shane eyed the little glass placed in front of him.

“Oh, come on,” Caitlin said. “It’s WAG night.”

The others joined in until Shane finally sighed and picked up the shot.

“Fine. One.”

They cheered like he’d just agreed to something significantly more impressive. Shane knocked it back with them and immediately made a face. Lisa flagged down the server and ordered for them.

“Five Cosmos.”

A few minutes later, Shane found himself staring down at a very pink cocktail. Definitely not something he would have ordered for himself. He took a sip.

Okay. It was kind of nice.

They'd gotten there early enough that the bar was still in the first phase of its Friday-night transformation. Before the lights went down, the place kicked off the evening with trivia. Shane hadn't known that. The girls apparently had. A server dropped an answer sheet and a pen in the middle of their table, and something about the mood changed immediately.

Cassie grabbed the pen and leaned forward. “Okay now. We need to win.”

Apparently, it was serious.

The questions were hard, too. Not name the capital of France hard. Actually hard. Lisa carried them through anything remotely scientific. Caitlin somehow knew an alarming amount about nineteenth-century history. Cassie and Selena were frighteningly good at music and pop culture. Shane contributed occasionally.

Then the host reached the final question of the round.

“What is the only mammal capable of true sustained flight?”

“Bat,” Shane said.

Four heads turned toward him.

“What?” Cassie asked.

“Bat.”

Caitlin frowned. “Maybe flying squirrels?”

“They glide. They don't actually fly.”

Cassie slowly wrote down BAT.

The host announced the answer. “Bat!”

The girls all turned to Shane, nodding slowly, matching looks of disbelief on their faces. Then Cassie grinned, looking delighted. “We have trivia Shane.”

The others nodded again, apparently very pleased with this development.

The next round was worse. Then came a question that made everyone at the table go blank.

“What does the Russian name ‘Sasha’ commonly serve as a nickname for?”

“Alexander,” Shane said immediately. “Or Alexandra.”

He was not going to tell the girls that Sasha was a name he knew for an entirely different reason, that he'd looked him up online more than once over the years, or that hearing it still produced a tiny, deeply unreasonable flicker of jealousy somewhere in his chest. 

Some things did not need to become WAG-night material.

Cassie turned to him. “You're sure?”

“My husband is Russian.”

“That doesn't automatically make you Russian.”

Cassie wrote it down. The host confirmed the answer a minute later. The girls lifted their glasses towards Shane in acknowledgment.

“Glad my marriage could help with bar trivia.” said Shane.

Lisa considered that. “If we get a comic book question, I might finally get some return on all the things Wyatt has told me over the years.”

By the time trivia wrapped up, the bar had filled considerably. Answer sheets disappeared, teams broke apart, and people drifted back toward the bar as the staff started setting up for karaoke. Across the table, the girls were already getting excited, flipping through the song list and hyping each other up over increasingly ambitious choices.

“You could absolutely do that one.”

“No, no. That’s your song.”

“Oh my God, yes. You have to.”

Shane sat back with his pink drink and watched the negotiations unfold.

Caitlin went first with “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” and had half the bar joining in before she was even halfway through.

Selena and Cassie followed by screaming their way through “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” mostly at each other, with very little concern for staying on key.

Lisa, who Shane had so far known mostly as Wyatt’s very composed doctor wife, turned out to know every single word to “Before He Cheats” and delivered it with such cheerful menace that Shane made a mental note to tell Wyatt his wife was alarmingly convincing with an imaginary baseball bat.

Then Selena dropped into the seat beside him, flushed and laughing.

“Your turn.”

“No, I'm good.”

Cassie appeared over Selena’s shoulder. “Ilya says you sing. He told Bood.”

Shane closed his eyes.Of course he had.

It had happened maybe two months ago. Ilya had come home early and found Shane in the shower, halfway through a genuinely respectable performance of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now,” complete with a key change Shane had been extremely proud of until he opened his eyes and found Ilya leaning against the bathroom doorframe with the most unbearable expression of delight Shane had ever seen.

“I’m not personally a fan,” Shane had tried to explain. “It’s just because my mom loves her. She played her a lot when I was growing up. I only know a couple of songs.”

Ilya hadn't cared about the Céline part at all.

“You can sing.”

Shane had immediately realized he'd focused on the wrong problem.

Since then, Ilya had been obsessed with this previously undiscovered piece of Shane information, regularly requesting songs like Shane was a jukebox he'd somehow failed to notice for the first decade of their relationship.

Shane had refused every single time.

Cassie stared at him.

“I’ll make you a deal. You sing, and I'll tell you about the time Ilya—”

Before she could finish, a voice came over the speakers.

“Next up, making his Ottawa karaoke debut…”

Shane's head snapped toward the stage. “Oh no.”

Beside him, Cassie gave him a guilty little smile. “Oops. I may have already told them.”

Shane turned slowly toward her. “You what?”

Caitlin was already at the microphone, Lisa beside her, both of them looking entirely too pleased with themselves.

“Stanley Cup champion, Olympic gold medalist, and apparently secret Céline Dion’s fan…”

Cassie pressed a tequila shot into Shane's hand. He looked at it. Then at the stage. Then at the four women who had apparently conspired against him in the space of thirty seconds.

“Fuck it.”

He knocked back the shot, set the empty glass on the table, and strode toward the stage.

“Give me the microphone.”

The girls screamed. Shane took it from Caitlin, mostly to stop her from adding anything else to his introduction. Then the opening notes of “My Heart Will Go On” started. Of course they had picked this one.

Shane glanced back at their table. Four delighted faces stared back at him. He sighed, turned toward the screen, and started to sing.

“Every night in my dreams, I see you, I feel you…”

And, judging by the sudden reaction from the table, apparently none of them had actually believed he could sing. Cassie was recording him. Shane noticed but he kept singing anyway. At this point, singing Céline Dion in front of a crowded bar probably counted as some kind of exposure therapy.

When he finished, their table erupted.

By eleven-thirty, karaoke ended and the bar shifted personalities. The lights dimmed. The stage disappeared behind a curtain. The music changed, bass rolling through the floor as more people packed into the room. Tables were pushed back. The dance floor filled. Selena grabbed both his hands and dragged him into the crowd.

“Come on, Hollander!”

“I already sang for you people.”

“And now you dance.”

“That was not the deal.”

“You should’ve read the terms and conditions.” 

That made him laugh, and then somehow he was dancing. Cassie spun under his arm while Caitlin nearly fell into him from laughing. They were all pretty giggly.

“On est pas mal pompettes!” Selena announced. Shane laughed. There really was no English equivalent that did pompettes justice. Quebecers had somehow perfected the art of making being drunk sound charming.

Cassie leaned close enough to shout into his ear.

“I’m gonna go pee and get some more drinks. You coming?”

Shane glanced around. Lisa and Caitlin were still dancing, and Selena had somehow acquired a glow stick. No more drinks for him, he decided. He’d had enough, and he wanted to keep a clear head for the rest of the night.

“I’ll come with you.”

Cassie didn’t need an escort to the bathroom, obviously, but Shane didn’t particularly like the idea of any of them wandering around the increasingly crowded bar alone, either.

He liked this, he realized. Not the sobriety exactly. The responsibility.

There was an old meme he’d seen online a hundred times: It’s okay, Mom, we got a boy with us, accompanied by a photo of the smallest, gayest man imaginable standing proudly in the middle of a group of women.

Tonight, the girls had Shane. Five-ten, two hundred pounds, and built like someone who got paid to slam other men into boards.

The women’s bathroom line was enormous. The men’s room, predictably, was not.

“I hate you,” Cassie told him.

“See you in twenty minutes.”

“Asshole.”

Shane was back in three. Cassie had moved maybe four feet. He leaned against the wall beside her, arms folded.

“Having fun?” she asked.

“Actually, yeah.”

“We knew you would.”

“You also have blackmail footage now.”

“Correct.” She gave him a wink.

A movement behind them caught Shane’s attention. A young woman stumbled out of the bathroom line.

Not drunk-stumbling.

Wrong-stumbling.

She caught herself against the wall, blinked hard, then pushed away from it as if she couldn’t quite understand why it was moving. Cassie saw it too.

“Hey, girly,” she called gently. “You okay?”

The woman turned toward them. She looked maybe mid-twenties. Her face was pale under her makeup, eyes unfocused.

“Yeah. I—” She swallowed. “Hey, I swear I didn’t drink that much. I really don’t feel good.”

Shane was off the wall immediately.

“Okay,” he said, voice calm. “Don’t walk by yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“Just let us help you sit down.”

Cassie took one arm. Shane offered his hand rather than grabbing her other one.

“Can I help?”

The woman nodded.

There was an empty booth a few yards away, far enough from the dance floor that it was quieter. They got her into it, Cassie sliding in beside her while Shane crouched a few feet away rather than crowding her.

“What’s your name?” Cassie asked.

“Emily.”

“Okay, Emily. I’m Cassie. This is my friend Shane.”

Emily blinked toward him.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Shane said softly.

“Are you here with friends?” Cassie asked.

“I was. I think they’re…” Emily’s eyes moved toward the dance floor and lost focus. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.”

“My arms feel weird.”

Cassie and Shane exchanged a look.

“I’m gonna get staff,” Cassie said. Then she stopped.

She looked at Emily, and something in her expression shifted as she seemed to realize exactly what she was proposing: leaving a disoriented young woman alone with a man she had never met.

“Hey.” Cassie touched Emily lightly on the forearm. “Is it okay if Shane stays with you while I go get someone? I can stay and send him instead.”

Emily glanced at Shane, then nodded. “No, it’s okay. He can stay.”

“Okay.” Cassie smiled. “Keep an eye on him for me. Make sure he doesn’t get hit on too much while I’m gone. His husband will be pissed if I leave him unattended.”

Emily gave a weak, surprised little laugh.

Shane raised an eyebrow. “I think I can survive two minutes.”

“I’m not taking any chances.” Cassie looked back at Emily. “He’ll stay right here and make sure nobody bothers you.”

“Alright.” Emily said, still smiling faintly.

Only then did Cassie leave.

Shane stayed where he was, crouched beside the booth rather than sliding in next to her.

“I really didn’t drink that much.”

“I believe you.”

Her hand moved uncertainly across the table, like she was looking for something solid. Shane put his hand down on the table between them, palm up. She looked at it for a second.

Then she took it.

He closed his fingers gently around hers. For a minute, that was all it was. Her fingers holding his a little tighter whenever the room seemed to tilt.

Cassie returned with a bartender and a manager. The manager crouched beside Shane and began asking Emily questions while the bartender called for an ambulance.

Shane started to shift back to give them some room, but Emily’s grip tightened around his hand before he could get very far. He settled back into place beside her.

“You want me to stay?”

She nodded.

“Okay. I’m staying.”

A few minutes later, when her eyes were focusing better and the manager had gotten her some water, Emily looked down at their joined hands.

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m like, holding you hostage.”

“Pretty sure I volunteered.” Shane gave her a small smile.

A little later, when the manager told them the paramedics were almost there, Shane nodded toward Emily’s phone.

“Do you want my number? You can text me later, just so I know you’re okay.”

She nodded and unlocked her phone before handing it to him. Shane typed in his number, saved himself as Shane (volunteer), then sent a text to his own phone so he’d have hers too.

“There,” he said, handing it back. “Now you have to let me know you’re alright, or I’m going to worry.”

From somewhere near the front of the bar, voices rose above the music.

Not laughing. Arguing.

Cassie looked over her shoulder.

Another shout.

Then a very distinct:

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HER.”

Cassie’s eyes widened. “That’s Selena.”

Through the crowd, they could see her standing almost nose-to-nose with a man twice as broad as she was, one finger planted hard against the center of his chest. Caitlin was behind her, furious. Lisa was already moving toward them.

The manager glanced over. “I’ve got Emily,” he told Shane. “Paramedics are almost here.”

Shane looked at Emily. “You okay if I go help my friends?”

Her eyes were clearer now.She nodded.

“Thank you.”

She squeezed his hand once before letting go.

Then Shane and Cassie were moving. By the time they reached the front, the argument had migrated through the doors and onto the sidewalk.

“What happened?” Cassie demanded.

“He grabbed Caitlin,” Selena snapped.

“I fucking bumped into her,” the guy said.

“You put your hand on my ass,” Caitlin shot back.

Lisa stepped between Caitlin and the guy just enough to make it clear he was not getting any closer. “Back up.”

The guy laughed, then caught sight of Shane walking toward them. Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of recognition, followed almost immediately by a sneer.

“Fucking puck bunnies.”

Selena’s eyebrows shot up.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, what, all you bitches gonna jump me now?”

He looked over the four women dismissively, then pointed at Shane.

“Look at you. You’re all so fucking ugly you have to settle for the gay guy.”

There was a beat.

Shane had been standing slightly behind Cassie. Now he stepped forward.

“What did you say?”

The man smirked.

“What? Gonna defend your little puck-bunny fan club?”

Shane’s expression went completely still.

“Say it again.”

“Shane,” Lisa said quietly. Not because she was afraid of the guy.

Because she had apparently realized before anyone else what Shane was about to do.

The man laughed. Then he took a step toward them. It wasn’t a stumble. It wasn’t accidental. He moved deliberately into their space, shoulders squared, close enough that Lisa instinctively put an arm out in front of Caitlin.

Then he raised a hand, drawing it back like he was about to swing.

“Your pathetic fucking puck-bunny sluts should learn to keep their mouths shut—”

Shane punched him.

There was no dramatic hockey fight. No grabbing shirts. No circling. One punch.

Clean.

The guy hit the sidewalk like somebody had unplugged him.

Silence.

Shane stared down at him.

“Oh.”

Behind him, Cassie said, very softly, “Holy shit.”

Caitlin’s mouth was hanging open.

Lisa looked from the man to Shane. Then back to the man. Then back to Shane. “We never see you fight on the ice.”

“I—”

Selena pointed at Shane like she had just discovered a new species. “ONE PUNCH.” 

Shane rubbed a hand over his face.

A bouncer came outside. He looked at the man. “What happened?”

Four voices answered at once.

“He grabbed Caitlin—”

“He called us puck bunnies—”

“Shane fucking DECKED him—”

“Do not say it like that!”

The bouncer held up both hands.

“I didn’t see anything.”

Shane was done.

“I’m calling us Ubers.”

Selena blinked. “What?”

“We’re leaving.”

“But—”

“Let’s go, girls.”

All four women immediately squealed.

Shane stared at them. “What?”

Caitlin clutched a hand to her chest. “You quoted Shania.”

By then, a couple of the guy’s friends had made their way outside. They hauled him to his feet, looking deeply embarrassed by the entire situation.

“Sorry, Mr. Hollander,” one of them mumbled as they dragged their friend away.

Cassie burst out laughing, Selena right behind her.

“Mr. Hollander,” Selena repeated.

“That aged me ten years.”

Twenty minutes later, Shane had all the girls packed into an Uber. He took attendance twice. He made them swear they would text him when they got home. Then he climbed into a second car and leaned his head against the seat. His phone buzzed.

Well. News traveled fast.

Before Shane could even answer, his phone began vibrating almost continuously.