Shane stared at his phone. It lay flat on the coffee table before him, the screen facing up. Its base was neatly aligned with the edge of the glass tabletop, perfectly perpendicular. Perfectly straight.
"You're so cute. Have I told you how cute you are?"
"No. I mean, maybe."
"Well, you are."
Shane flinched when the screen lit up. Just an email. He didn't read the subject line or the address. It hung, suspended for a moment on top of dozens, maybe hundreds, of other messages, then the screen went dark. Almost immediately, another notification came in, this time a news alert, tagged with his name. His lock screen was a picture of the cottage lake on a serene day at dawn. Or, Shane was pretty sure it was dawn, but it might have been dusk. He couldn't remember, and he couldn't see the sun in the photo.
"Miles is extremely jealous."
"Of me?"
"No, of me."
A long pause. "Oh. Oh. Oh."
Before the screen could go dark again, a call came in, buzzing loudly although his ringtone was off. His mom's name lit up the screen. Shane stared at her profile image. It was a picture of her on the day of his draft, almost ten years ago. He should probably update it. He let the call ring out. He got another email, and did not read it either. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and the world seemed blurrier than usual.
"Did you… not notice that Miles is gay?"
"Uh, I guess I hadn't really thought about it."
"Well, he is. And he's low key in love with you."
Another pause. "Oh."
"Does it surprise you that Miles is gay?"
"No, I mean, of course not. No."
"Well, a lot of actors are, they're just not all out." He nodded along but didn't say anything in response. She continued speaking in the silence. "Are there any… like, gay, hockey players? I mean, yes, obviously there are, but are there any openly gay players?"
His phone screen went dark. It lit up with a text. Shane made out Hayden's name, but he didn't look at the preview. Then, almost immediately, another text from Hayden. And another. Then, enough time for the screen to dim, and then a fourth.
"Yeah, uh, no. I mean, yeah, there are probably gay players or whatever, but none that have said it… publicly." He laughed. It sounded awkward. Off-kilter.
"Huh." She sounded sad.
"What?"
She sighed. "Sorry, I don't think I'm going about this the right way. Um…"
"Going about what?" His voice was tremulous. There was another long pause. In the video, the camera flashed up just long enough to show her reaching across the table and taking his hand.
Yuna called again. Shane wasn't counting, but it must have been her twelfth call at least. He should really pick up. She was probably worried. He should also respond to Hayden and check his email for anything urgent. By the time the call went to voicemail, the buzzing had shaken the phone enough that it was no longer perfectly aligned with the table. Shane used the tips of his fingers to nudge it back into place.
"I really like you, Shane."
"I like you, too."
"But I have a feeling that… maybe I'm not… doing it for you?"
More shaky laughter. "Yes, you are."
"I know you like talking to me-"
"Yeah."
"But do you like kissing me?"
"Sure." The camera, aimed at the floor and shaking slightly, again flashed up just in time to show him put his hand over his face, covering his eyes. Something was obscuring the lens, a semi-transparent partition of some kind, between the camera and its subjects.
Shane's Twitter and Instagram notifications had been off for a very long time, which was a small blessing. He really didn't want to know how many tags, DMs, or messages he was receiving. The news alerts were bad enough. He would probably have to turn those off soon. He should probably just do it now.
"Wow," she murmured, laughing.
"No, no, no," he said, stumbling over his hasty denials. "Of course, I do. Sorry." At least he sounded sorry, and looked it. He dropped his hand, and his face was visible in profile for a second, dejected and uncomfortable, before the camera swung back to show the floor and the toes of a pair of nondescript black shoes.
Hayden called. Shane wondered whether he should pick up. They had a game the next day, didn't they? He should probably pick up. No one else on the team had called yet, although they might have texted him. His coach had called, and for the first time in his career, Shane had intentionally not answered.
He had sat right there, staring at his phone. Letting the call go the voicemail.
"No, hey, don't apologize." She sounded so sweet, so endearing. So earnest. What had he done to deserve that from her? "I just… I have a feeling, and-and maybe I'm completely off-base here, but I don't know, I feel like maybe you would rather be kissing… Miles?"
Shane closed his eyes and shuddered.
The television across from him was playing, muted. He had it tuned to one of those channels that played constant programming about sports even when there were no games or interviews to broadcast, and he was waiting. Maybe he would have better luck if he tried TMZ or something on that level, but even now, Shane couldn't bring himself to watch that.
The camera rose again, moving behind the wooden partition to show his face as he shuddered and pushed back in his chair, breath hitching across the static humming beneath the poor audio. He was glancing about quickly, nervously, but obviously not in the right direction because he never noticed the camera pointed at his blank face and red eyes.
Her hand flexed on his wrist as she leaned forward. "Hey, hey, it's—it's really okay."
"'S not," he said, and his voice almost cracked. Humiliating. Another pause. The pathetic attempt, not convincing, which followed: "I do like you, I really do. I like talking with you, I like being with you. I like all of it." She didn't respond. She was focused on him and didn't seem to notice the camera either. "I know the-" the audio blurred as he dropped into a whisper "-problem, but-"
"It's not a problem," she insisted, gentle. "A problem is something you can fix."
Jackie called. She had already called Shane once that night. He wondered why they kept calling, and what they thought switching phones was going to accomplish. He had no intention of taking any of their calls. Jackie's profile picture showed herself at Jade and Ruby's second birthday, wearing a party hat and laughing authentically at the camera. Hayden had taken the photo, Shane was pretty sure.
Her call slid away, showing the fuzzy gray screen that meant she was leaving a voicemail. Shane waited for the picture of his cottage to return, the dock, the trees, the peaceful water, and then waited for his screen to go dark. Another text came in before he could, and it was just a string of numbers without a contact name.
"We're more like a square peg and a round hole. Ew." She put her face in her hands, shaking her head. The heavy breathing of whoever was filming them was distractingly loud. "No. I'm sorry, forget I said that. Um." A sigh. "We're just… we're not meant to fit. And it's really, really fine. I just don't think that we can keep trying."
He didn't respond right away. He nodded, slightly, eyes dull as they roamed listlessly over the wall behind her. His voice came out strained and teary. "I get it. I—I just, uh… I think, um." He was fighting tears. In the atmospheric yellow glow of the restaurant, it was clear that his eyes were damp. "I think, uh."
"Hey, you don't owe me any explanation."
"I feel like I kinda do."
"You really don't."
And maybe if it had ended there, Shane thought, it would be okay. Okayish. Still incriminating. Still a fucking disaster. Still embarrassing, to have his breakup with this beautiful actress filmed and disseminated on Reddit of all fucking places, with the disclaimer "I did not film this and this is not my video," as if it fucking mattered—but not a nail in his coffin, burying him alive.
But the video didn't end there.
"Can I ask if you've ever been with another guy?" she had to ask.
And he, tears so visible and bright in his eyes, had to nod.
Just once. Just a single nod.
Why did he have to nod?
"Have you ever told anyone that before?" He shook his head. "Was it different? With a guy?"
"Of course."
Of course.
"Was it better?"
"Yeah, it was, uh… Um. It was better." Wiping away tears. "The thing is, I-"
The video cut abruptly.
Shane wondered if the rest of their conversation was out there, if it was already online, maybe even on the same Reddit page. Maybe someone was texting him about it right now, and he just didn't know it yet. He doubted that whoever had filmed them had actually decided to stop right there and go about their day. It wasn't like he or Rose had caught them, or had any idea that they were being filmed at all.
Unless Rose set him up, of course. But Shane knew she hadn't.
Yuna called. David called. Hayden called. His coach called.
Texts, emails, news alerts from trashy websites he didn't recognize. How long did stuff like this take to make it onto the important channels? He still hadn't seen it on his television. They were still discussing the San Francisco player scripted for the previous All-Star game, because he had just announced his fifth child with a fourth woman. That guy would probably be pretty grateful to Shane, actually, in the morning, when he realized people weren't talking about him anymore. But it also didn't matter if people talked about him, not really.
It mattered to Shane, though.
He glanced at his phone as it buzzed.
WAG Amelie Miitka (Sorren Miitka)
Hi Shane, just wanted to reach out and offer our unwavering support. People are pretty concerned and I don't think anyone has been able to get in touch with you? It doesn't have to be us, but please let some…
The preview ended. Shane stared at his screen as two more almost identical texts popped up from other WAGs.
He thought, yet again, about hitting the power button until his phone shut down. Or picking it up and throwing it out the window. He was in Montreal, in his apartment. The phone would never survive a fall from his floor, not even in its sturdy, practical case. He could shove it down his garbage disposal and turn it on until his sink spat fragments of glass and plastic across his counter. He imagined the noise it would make.
Shane wondered where the WAGs were getting their news. Probably Twitter. That was where Shane had seen it.
Well, first he had gotten an email from his management company.
Hi Shane,
We would like to get in touch regarding the recent rumors circulating online, preferably in a face-to-face meeting, and see how you would like us to handle this situation.
All Shane had needed to do was open Twitter and check his mentions. There had been… a lot of them. Shane was a celebrity, and he was used to people talking about him online, and he was, in fact, pretty accustomed to his fans and detractors alike screaming into the void of the internet, never really believing he would see the sometimes deranged things they wrote. But there had been way more mentions than usual, so it hadn't taken him long to find the video. One of the videos. It had already been re-uploaded dozens of times when Shane found it, halfway through making a post-workout smoothie in his kitchen.
The yogurt and milk were still sitting out on his counter. He would probably have to throw them away. Shane wasn't sure how long he had been sitting here, staring at his phone.
The video he had watched had been uploaded twenty minutes before he found it, and had two hundred thousand views. "From reddit r/roselandry, someone posted this video of her boyfriend Shane Hollander, NHL player, coming out??? With captions."
So he watched the video, with captions, leaning against his counter in workout clothes slowly cooling against his skin, damp with sweat, milk spoiling next to his elbow. He had watched it at least four times, then closed Twitter, stumbled to his couch, and sat down.
They had a game tomorrow, didn't they? He should probably respond to his coach.
His phone buzzed. Incoming call from:
Rose Landry
Shane reached down and hit accept.
"Oh my god, Shane," she cried, and he hung up.
His hands trembled so badly that he could barely raise them to his face as he sucked in a heaving breath. She called him back immediately, and he hung up, twice, and then she didn't call again.
Shane shook. His legs, feet planted firmly on the ground for an hour or more, curled up instinctually to his chest, and he wrapped his arms around his calves and pulled himself in tighter, trying to make himself as small as possible as he pressed his face against his knees hard enough to hurt. He wanted it to bruise. He dug his nails into his skin, and his fingers felt like ice cubes.
He should shower. Shane hated not showering after exercising, and usually, he wouldn't have even thought about sitting on his couch until he had thoroughly rinsed off. He smelled bad, and he was probably ruining the cushions. He should replace them. The sofa would need to be reupholstered.
He should also claw out his eyes. He should take a shower. He should call his coach back, delete Twitter, and check his emails for anything urgent. They had a game tomorrow. He had to get ready.
Someone knocked on his door. He flinched. He tried to bury himself in the corner of his couch.
"Shane? Shane, buddy? I need you to open up. I'm fucking so—I'm so sorry, but I need you to open up."
"Shane. It's Jackie and Hayden, okay? Just us. We need to check on you, make sure you're alright?"
The door seemed oceans away. Shane didn't want to get up. He didn't want to move. He wished the ground would open up beneath him, and he could fall through fifteen floors of his apartment building and hit the ground beneath.
"Okay. Okay." Murmurs. Maybe the door was, in fact, in the ocean, and Shane was beneath the waves, because everything sounded like it was echoing, dull and distorted, through water. "Shane, I'm sorry, bud, but I'm using my key, okay? We're coming in."
He didn't hear the door open, but he heard it slam shut, and he heard two frantic sets of overlapping footsteps running down the hallway, rounding the corner.
"Oh my god, Shane," Jackie murmured, and he shuddered. "Here, here." She pulled a blanket off the back of his couch (it was mostly decorative, but at least it was soft) and started wrapping it around him, hands touching him all over, fluttering, as she tucked it beneath his thighs and over his feet and around his shoulders, binding his arms to his chest. Shane kept his eyes covered. "Jesus, Shane, you're freezing," Jackie said, and her voice was trembling. She sounded as if she had been crying. "Hayden, will you turn up-"
"Yup, got it." Hayden's footsteps were loud. Shane wanted to tell him to walk more softly, lest he disturb his neighbors. Then he remembered that he had bought all the adjacent units, and they were all empty. Hollow. "Okay. Okay."
"Shane," Jackie said slowly. "Can you hear me?"
He didn't want to respond. He didn't think there were any words left in his chest. He couldn't make himself nod.
"This is important," Jackie said. "Can you hear me?"
She reached for his face. Shane flinched at the first touch of her fingers, but he didn't pull away. She did not drag his hands away from his face, but rather set her fingers on top of his. She felt warm—or, he realized, he really was freezing.
"Shane, we love you," she murmured. "We love you. It's going to be okay. We are so, so sorry, but this doesn't change anything, okay?"
"Yeah, buddy," Hayden said. His voice sounded shaky and tight as well, anxious or uncomfortable, but Shane couldn't tell. He sat next to Shane on the couch. Shane shied away, shifting until he had wedged himself against the armrest, but Hayden put his arm around his shoulders and pulled him against him. Strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him down, now wrapped in his decorative but soft blanket, against a chest. Shane didn't resist. Another set of arms, Jackie's, encircled him from behind. Her soft hands pulled his face into the crook of her neck. "Buddy." Hayden's voice broke. "It's okay. We love you. It's okay."
Shane sobbed out the first real breath he had taken in hours.
"It's okay, it's okay," Hayden said, wrapping his long arms around Shane and Jackie both, "It's okay, bud, it's fucking fine, okay? You're fine, you're good, you're gonna be good. I promise. We've got you. Your parents are on their way, okay? They'll be here soon, and-"
"No," Shane said quickly, gasping through his sobs. "No, no, no. I can't—I don't want to see them. No. No fucking way."
Hayden looked stricken. Jackie responded quickly. "Okay, okay, Shane, I'm sure they'll understand. They can stay at our house, okay, how about that? They just want to be nearby, in case you need them, but they can stay with us."
He cried in their arms, clutching them, until he ran out of tears. They never let go. A part of him, still capable of conscious thought, was surprised by that.
Eventually, he pushed out of their grasp, feeling suffocated and hot, feeling gross from the sweat sticking to his skin. He needed a fucking shower, but now that they were here, he realized he didn't want to be alone.
Which was… surprising.
His phone had never gone silent, but it began to buzz persistently anew. Shane glanced at it in horror and again fantasized about throwing it out the window, or down the garbage disposal, or into the shower. Maybe, if he brought it into the shower, he could crouch in the corner with his back pressed up against the tiles and watch his phone slowly die in the drain, drowning, until the screen went dark forever.
The buzzing continued, text after text, layered and overlapping with the occasional chime of a different notification, but consistent, like a steady drumbeat.
"Can I…?" Hayden asked hesitantly. "I'll just—maybe I'll turn it off, okay? Would that be better?"
"No," Shane said. "I can't—we can't—there's a game tomorrow. I have to be available."
Jackie and Hayden shared a look. "Can I check for you, then?" Hayden asked, and Shane wanted to point out that his phone was right there, the previews visible and flooding in, and he could have just looked.
But he didn't care, it turned out. Shane jerked his head, not quite a nod so much as a spasm, and a whine tore out of his throat when he tried to say the word, "Sure."
"Okay, it's okay," Hayden said, patting his arm as he leaned away. "It's just—oh."
"What?" Jackie asked quietly. "If it's—don't say if it's-"
"It's Lily," Hayden said, lingering on the simple, two-syllable name. "That makes sense, I guess."
Shane sobbed again, pressing his hands back against his eyes. "Oh, fuck," he cried, like he hadn't been staring at his phone for two hours, waiting for exactly one person to call him, not brave enough to call first.
(Had it really only been a day since they had talked? Less than that? Shane had been in a different city, crouched in the cold stairwell of a mediocre hotel, this same phone pressed to his face as it served as a bridge between him and the man he—between him and Ilya, in a moment when Ilya needed him. It was impossible to conceive that this was the same phone. The same object. That it was his only connection to Ilya, and also ruining his life.)
"She's," Hayden said, then shook his head. "Whoa. Okay. That makes a lot of sense."
"Hayden," Jackie snapped.
"We were, we had all these theories, dude," Hayden said. "I thought she was, like, married, dude, I was convinced-"
"Hayden!"
"But, no, okay. Okay." He picked up Shane's phone and pulled his hand away from his face. He pressed it, still buzzing with a continuous roll of messages, into his palm. "She—sorry, he, whoa—he wants you to call him. Shane. You should call him."
The phone unlocked with the inadvertent press of his thumb, directing to the flood of messages piling in, and Shane stared with one eye at the screen.
Lily
Call me
Call me
Call me
Where are you?
Call me
Shane
Call me, please
Shane
Call me
Are you alone?
Call me
Call me
I won't stop
Call me
Call me
Call me
Read! It says read!
Fucking call me Hollander
It says read
Call me
I'm calling you
Are you alone?
Can I call you
Fucking Shane
"I can't," he choked, eyes welling with fresh tears. He looked helplessly at Jackie and Hayden. "I can't—he—he isn't—he isn't out, oh my god-"
Jackie jumped up so abruptly that Shane wobbled and almost fell, but Hayden grabbed his shoulder, steadying him. She darted toward his counter, toward all the ingredients for his smoothie, still neatly lined up next to his blender in the specific order he always added them. Jackie picked up a cable of neatly corded earbuds and held them above her head victoriously, darting back to the couch. "Here," she said, slipping them into Shane's ears so, so gently while he watched her with watery eyes. "We'll clean up the kitchen, okay, Shane? We won't listen in." She took his wrist and steadied his phone as she plugged the earbuds in, then kissed his cheek. "Call him," she said.
Hayden squeezed his shoulder and stood.
Shane watched them walk away, watched the reassuring looks they shot at him, still curled into a ball on his ruined couch.
He hit call.
"Hollander," Ilya gasped. "Fuck."
"Fuck," Shane agreed, thick wet tears spilling over his lash line and tumbling down his cheeks. "Fuck."
"I cannot," Ilya said, breathing heavily over the line. "I cannot—is seven in the morning in Moscow now, I did not see—fuck, Shane."
Shane wanted to say his name. He wanted to say it so bad, the way Ilya said his name. Shane forced his hand to his mouth and bit down hard on his thumb to stifle the urge. He pressed his forehead to his knees again, folding himself into a tight ball so he couldn't see anything, and all he could hear was Ilya's voice.
"Shane," Ilya said, halting and broken.
"I have a game tomorrow," Shane whined.
"Oh, fuck game!" Ilya yelled. "Fuck the game! Shane, where the fuck are you? Are you—are you-"
"My apartment," he said. "Montreal."
"You are—you are not alone?"
"No. No. Hayden and Jackie—they know, oh god,everyone knows."
"Is okay, is okay," Ilya rumbled. Shane could hear the heavy falls of his footsteps as he paced. "They are your friends, da? They are not assholes? They do not care."
"No," Shane murmured. "No. They don't."
He was still tucked into the hollow created by his knees, and his face finally started to warm up, pressed against the fabric of his blanket. He was sure he looked pathetic, but he also had no urge to move.
Ilya's breath was heavy and intense over the line. Shane imagined that it was also warm. He wished he could feel it on his skin. "You are—safe?" he asked. "You are in safe place with safe people?"
Shane licked his lips. "Yeah," he admitted, even though he was having a hard time convincing himself of that. But he knew it was true. "For now."
"For now." Ilya laughed hollowly. "Your team—we have not said, do you know if your team…? Any real problems, real assholes? Who have said real bad things, unsafe things?"
"I—I don't know." Of course, Shane was acutely aware of every gay joke that had ever been slung around in his presence, anywhere in his vicinity, whether it was directed at him or not, but the vast majority were outwardly playful, even sarcastic. Just in the seven years he had been playing for the NHL, those jokes had changed so much. They became almost self-aware, even when they didn't disappear. But they were so normalized that it was hard to discern whether any of them held a kernel of truth. Or, rather, they all did, probably. All those jokes, every word, had a core, a casual heart of malice. Othering. Each joke was true, just a little, which made it impossible to tell who felt discomfort, who felt dislike, and who felt hatred. "I have no… no idea. Some of them…."
Yeah. Some of them. His coach, for one. Ladies. Pansies. Fags, just the once, Shane's rookie season, and then someone on the PR team told him not to say it anymore. But Shane remembered. It hadn't been the only time he heard it in the dressing room or on the ice, anyway, and most of the time, players weren't reprimanded for it unless there was a camera on them.
"You do not go anywhere alone," Ilya said, hard and clear. "You keep Pike with you, okay? Always. Anyone you trust. Do not be alone, Hollander, okay? He is not a good player, but he isn't teeny, is strong enough. Okay?"
That made his heart beat faster. He curled in a little tighter. "Okay," he agreed weakly.
"Good. Probably nothing, but you must be safe."
"They'll probably scratch me," Shane admitted, voice breaking. "Or—or fucking trade me. I'll be in fucking Ottawa by next week."
"Your hometown," Ilya said. "Close to your parents. Not so bad, no? They love you there."
Shane wished he had denied it, and he wished Ilya hadn't mentioned his parents.
Ilya probably heard the hitch in his voice. "Your parents…."
"I haven't answered their calls," Shane admitted, his throat squeezing shut again. He had never really stopped crying, and his head ached, and his eyes burned. "I don't—I don't want to."
"Is good sign that they are calling," Ilya said quietly. "They would not call if they did not care. You know this."
Shane glanced up, just a little. Hayden and Jackie were purposefully facing away from him. They had cleaned up the kitchen to Shane's exacting standards, but if they had put the milk in the fridge, he might need to throw everything out and disinfect it. He was feeling neurotic enough for that at the moment, even though he hadn't succumbed to an urge like that in years. "Or," he said, hiding his face and trying not to think about it, "they're mad at me."
"What, are they Republicans?" Ilya asked dubiously.
He huffed. "No. Obviously not. And in Canada, it's just… Liberals and Conservatives."
"Thank you for correcting me on such important matter, Hollander," Ilya snarked. "So fucking important right now, wow. Glad to be educated. Fine, how did they think of gay marriage? Very exciting, da? Did they jump and tell you they love you no matter what? That would be good clue."
"Gay marriage has been legal in Canada since two thousand and five," Shane muttered, hoping Jackie and Hayden couldn't overhear him. They knew, or he thought they knew, that 'Lily' was from Boston, but this conversation felt personal even outside of protecting Ilya's identity. The flutter in his heart as Ilya swore at him and mocked him felt personal. It was for him. Him alone. No one else's business. "And it was already legal in Quebec and Ontario before that. I was a kid, I don't really remember how they reacted."
"Oh my god, Hollander, you make this impossible," Ilya groaned. "I am fucking trying to comfort you, dumbass. Your parents, you would know this, do they hate gay people?"
"No," Shane admitted, still chewing absently on the skin of his fingers. "But… with your own kids… it's different. I'm a—I'm a hockey player. I'm an athlete."
"Yes, yes, try to keep up," Ilya drawled. "Whatever, so you surprise them. Honestly, Shane, you are not that subtle, people shouldn't be so surprised."
"Shut up," he grumbled.
"No, no, will not shut up. I think you need to hear me right now."
Shane couldn't help but admit, "Yeah. Yeah, that's… true." Again, it was a fight not to say the name he had only just earned the right to say a few weeks ago in Tampa, but he bit it back. He needed to protect Ilya now, and this was the only way he could do it. "I need you."
"Fuck."
"Hey, Shane?" He jolted a little and looked up, over his knees. Hayden and Jackie were still far away, clearly trying to give him privacy.
"Um, one second," he murmured into his phone, and forced his body to uncurl. He felt as if he were made of marble, and it hurt to stretch his neck. "What's—what's up?"
Hayden was holding his own phone, messages open, and he gave it a hesitant little wave as if Shane could read it from across the room. "Don't freak out, because you can always say no," he said, "but Miitka and Boiziau are downstairs. Outside. They want to know if they can come up." Shane stared at him. He could see Hayden's throat work on a swallow. "We were all really worried about you, Shane. They just want to…."
"They want to show their support," Jackie said, and Hayden nodded eagerly. "Because they support you,Shane. We're all here for you. They want to know you're okay."
"What is it?" Ilya asked.
Shane blinked at Hayden and Jackie. Miitie and Boiziau were downstairs, waiting for his call. "Really?" he asked, voice cracking.
Hayden nodded fiercely. "Yes, yeah, of course. Shane, you're our friend, of course."
Except Shane had never really felt that close with anyone on the Voyageurs other than Hayden. He had never been good at making friends, period. He liked Miitie and Boiziau a lot, and he was definitely closer with them than anyone else on the team, but were they really friends?
That isn't fair, a part of Shane's mind, and it sounded a little like his mom when he was a kid, coaching him on the playground, trying to convince him to introduce himself to the other kids playing, while Shane fiddled nervously with the hem of his shirt. If you insist on putting distance between yourself and others, then you cannot blame them for your lack of closeness. They might not even know it's there. You're the only one who can see it, because you're the only one keeping secrets.
But he didn't really have secrets anymore.
Well. Ilya. But compared to the leak, that felt like nothing.
He jerked his head in a nod before he could overthink it, and saw both Hayden and Jackie's shoulders relax. "Sure. Yes. Sure. They can come up." He scrubbed at his face with the side of the blanket, then quickly stood. His legs almost gave out under his weight. He saw Hayden jerk forward, as if he could catch him from across the room. He felt stiff and sore and numb, but Shane managed to stay on his feet. "I, uh, I need to wash my face."
"Okay, okay, man. You alright?"
He nodded but couldn't answer.
"What is it? What is happening?" Ilya asked insistently as the bathroom door shut behind Shane.
"JJ and Miitie," Shane said. "They're… here."
Ilya sighed. He sounded relieved. "Good," he said. "Good. I'm glad. Glad for you."
That accounted for three of his teammates. More than twenty guys were signed to the Voyageurs. Maybe they had sent texts, lingering in Shane's unchecked messages, so he couldn't feel too sorry for himself yet, but even still… three was not nothing.
And Boiziau was an enforcer. Shane didn't really want to need to think about that, but it was nice to know that he was on his side.
He didn't take the earbuds out as he turned on the water and washed his face, attempting to rub away the evidence of his tears, although that was certainly impossible at this point. He tried to avoid his reflection and wished he had gone to his bedroom's en suite instead, where he kept his skincare products. They would have felt soothing on his damaged skin. He was sure he looked pale, and his cheeks were probably raw, maybe even spotty, given that he had been pressing his palms to his face for hours, but what could they expect? Surely everyone knew that his world was ending.
"Do you want to stay on the phone?" Ilya asked softly.
Shane forced himself to meet his eyes in the mirror. "I want that," he said quietly. "But I don't know if I should. The other guys… they don't even really know about Lily…."
"You tell them only what you want to," Ilya said, just as Shane heard his front door open, "but you can tell them about that. If you want."
Shane shut his eyes. "They're here."
"Then don't be a weirdo, Hollander. Go greet them, say 'thank you, glad you are not homophobic asshole and welcome to my home.' You call me back if you need. It's not hanging up forever."
"Really?" Shane asked quietly. "You'll be here? If I… call?"
"Is seven in the morning," Ilya said. "I'll be here all day."
"And…" Shane cleared his throat. "And things with you, they're alright? You're safe?"
"I am safe," Ilya soothed. "It's not… great, of course, but no one in Russia cares about Shane Hollander. Except me. And I leave soon."
"Soon," Shane whispered. "I wish you were here."
"I will be. Everything will be alright."
His breath caught. "Will it?"
"Things will turn out all right," Ilya said, "or we figure out a way to make it all right."
Shane was close to tears again, but he tried to choke them back. "We?"
"Yes, fucking 'we,' Shane," he said, insistent, and Shane could imagine him rolling his eyes. "Fucking of course, we are 'we.' Why are you so slow about this? Highest IQ in the league, no way, I can't fucking believe they call you that."
"You asshole," Shane muttered. "I'm sort of—I'm sort of going through it, right now, if you couldn't tell. I'm not exactly at the top of my game."
"No, you are," Ilya said. "Prime of your career. You won't lose it over this."
Shane nodded, trying to internalize the words even as everything felt like it was slipping away. "Okay. Okay." He took a deep breath. "I have to go."
"Call back whenever you want," Ilya said. "Whenever."
"I will," Shane said, knowing how much he meant it. "Good—goodbye, Ilya," he whispered.
"Bye."
Ilya waited for Shane to hang up. Shane tucked his phone into his pocket—god, he was still wearing his gym clothes, he needed to fucking change—and carefully wound the wires of his earbuds and slipped them in beside his phone. He took a few steadying breaths, then forced himself out of the bathroom.
Miitka and Boiziau had joined Hayden and Jackie at the counter. Miitka had an almost stunned look on his face. Boiziau was practically vibrating with energy. He leapt out of his stool as soon as Shane appeared. "Capitaine!" he said. "Fucking hell, Capitaine! You know how to make headlines!"
"I didn't try to make this one," Shane forced out. He made himself walk to the counter. Hayden shoved a glass of water into his hand.
"Drink," he ordered. "You're dehydrated."
He definitely was. The water felt smooth and cool against his throat. He stared at the granite counter, tracing the veins with his eyes.
"So," Miitka said. "Can I ask? Is it true?"
Shane scrubbed a hand over his face. He took another sip of water. "Did you see the video?" he asked.
Miitka shifted. "Just parts, I think," he said. "Mostly just what people were saying."
"I watched it," Boiziau said, sounding a little guilty. "Thought it was, what, a deepfake? I don't know."
Shane hated that they had seen it. He thought again of the moment the video had cut off, the sentence, the awful, humiliating confession that followed, and wondered if the full-length version had made it onto Twitter yet, but couldn't bring himself to ask. What would he even say? Have you seen the part where I tell my ex-girlfriend I prefer taking it up the ass while she is breaking up with me? Do you still respect me, despite that? "It's true," he said. "It's… I mean, the video is real."
"Whoa," Boiziau said. "Wow, man, I had no idea! I thought you were a terrible liar, actually, but you must not be so bad."
"JJ," Jackie said sharply. "Come on. Now is not the time."
"Anything we can do to help," Miitka said. He shifted on his stool awkwardly. "Uh, 'cause, my wife's sister is a lesbian, you know, married and everything. So, you know." He held up his fist. "Allies."
Shane stared at him. "Great," he said. "Thanks." He finished the glass. Hayden took it from him and refilled it, this time adding a packet of Shane's electrolytes, which was probably not a bad idea. "Thanks for being here," Shane said. "This is… rough."
"I can imagine," Boiziau said loudly. Shane wondered if his nonchalance was an act or if it was genuine. Boiziau was always so loud and straightforward, sometimes it was hard to tell. "This is nuts! What has management said about it? The owners reach out yet?"
Jackie sighed. "JJ."
"What? Just asking!"
"I don't know," Shane admitted. In his pocket, his phone was still buzzing intermittently, but not at the same frequency as earlier. At least, he didn't think. He hadn't exactly been in a clear headspace, though. He had barely noticed the progression of time but hours had passed. "I haven't… checked my phone."
"Your mom's on it," Hayden said quickly, and Shane glanced at him, wondering if all the blood had drained from his face. "I mean—I don't even know how she found my number, dude, but she texted me when we were trying to find a sitter for the kids so we could come over."
"Oh," was all he could manage.
"Shane," Jackie said carefully, "they're driving to Montreal right now. They will probably be here soon."
"Did they know?" Boiziau asked quickly.
For the third time, Jackie snapped, "JJ! Enough!"
"What?" he asked, raising his hands, eyes comically wide. "I am just asking."
"No," Shane said, staring at himself in the glass of water. He wanted to call Ilya again, suddenly, desperately, even though he had just hung up. "No, they didn't."
Boiziau whistled. "Oh, that is fucked up, man. Sorry about it."
Jackie just sighed.
"It's gonna be fine," Hayden said. "Obviously, they don't care, they're just worried about you. They just want to help. Your mom is dealing with management and stuff, she told me to tell you."
"Okay."
"Seriously," Hayden urged, "it's totally fine. They are totally fine, dude. They love you, I mean, I don't know anybody whose parents show up to as many games as they do!"
"This isn't hockey, though." Shane shielded his eyes from them, slouching lower to the counter, feeling panic stirring again in him. What had he said in the video? What were his exact words? Was the full video out yet? His phone buzzed, and Shane pulled it out of his pocket carelessly, overstimulated by the continuous ringing pressing against his skin by his tight athletic shorts, and dropped it on the counter.
Rose Landry
They all stared at her name until it disappeared.
"She probably feels pretty bad," Jackie said quietly. "And she probably wants to know what your next move is going to be. Her team will probably want to make a statement as well."
"As well," Shane echoed dully. He stared at the black screen while his friends shuffled awkwardly around him, then turned it over. He wished he were still alone and could curl up on the couch without interruption. "Did you watch the video?" he asked Hayden, then flicked his eyes to Jackie.
They both paused. "We saw clips of it on Twitter," Hayden answered. "Not the full thing. We wouldn't watch the full thing."
"Was that," Jackie said hesitantly, "was that really… the first time you… came out, to someone? Oh, Shane." She must have read the answer on his face immediately because she rounded the counter and wrapped him in another embrace. "I'm so sorry. That's so unfair."
"What are-" His voice cracked. He coughed and tried again. "What are people saying?"
"Nothing weird," Boiziau answered as Hayden opened his mouth, speaking over him. "Expected stuff, I guess. Most people are surprised that you are gay because you don't look that gay, other people are saying it is fake, other people are saying it is for publicity-"
"JJ," Hayden sighed. "You are so, so not helping."
"Yeah, dude," Miitie muttered. "Just shut up, okay?"
"Most people are concerned," Jackie said gently. "Anyone with a brain is aware that this is not a pleasant moment for you."
"Well," Shane said. His voice wavered so much that he cut himself off and fell silent. Jackie's hug felt nice, though. He leaned into her and tried to ignore the instinctive desire that wished she were taller, broader, corded with muscles, and scented with expensive cologne. He closed his eyes.
For once, it wasn't his phone that rang next. Hayden pulled away from the table, glanced at his phone, glanced at Shane, then accepted it. "You're on speaker," he said right away, setting the phone on the counter between them so that Shane could see his mother's name spelled out across the screen.
"Hayden? Shane? Shane, are you there? Shane, baby?"
Shane put a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes.
Hayden answered, "Yes, Mrs. Hollander, we're both here. It's me, Jackie, Shane, JJ, and Miitie."
"Oh." The connection wasn't very good. Shane could hear some kind of interference and white noise coming from the tinny speakers. "On behalf of Shane, then, thank you so much, all of you, for supporting him through this. As a…" her voice wavered. She soldiered on. "As a mom, it means the world to me to know that he's not alone."
That was embarrassing. Shane thought about squirreling into his room and curling up under his blankets (he'd ruin the bed sheets as well if he didn't shower first, but it might be worth it, to have Ilya's voice in his ears even a second sooner).
"Hayden, I think we're about five minutes away—we're parking right now."
"Oh, god," Shane murmured, slumping out of Jackie's arms so that his elbows and forearms were pressed to the cool countertop. He wanted to lean his whole body on it, to press his heated face to the marble until he went numb again.
"Shane?" his mom asked urgently. "Shane, Shane? Is that you?"
Hayden reached over and nudged his shoulder.
"Hi," Shane said. He couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Oh my god, baby." Yuna sounded like she had been crying. It didn't make Shane feel any better. "Baby, we're almost there, okay? We'll be there soon. Everything is going to be alright." Shane heard his dad's voice, just a rumble, indistinguishable in the background. "That's right, of course, that's right. Shane, could you hear that? We love you very, very much. We love you so much, sweetheart."
Shane gave up. He slumped onto the counter, pressing his cheek to the stone. "Okay."
"Let's go sit in the dining room," Jackie murmured, ushering his teammates away. "Shane, we'll be just over here, okay? Come on, go."
"Shane?" Yuna said, voice trembling. He heard the sound of their car locking and the doors slamming shut, then the noise of a city night filtered in. "Can you hear me?"
He licked his lips, which were chapped despite the water he'd had and the recent warm weather thaw that had hit Montreal. "Yeah."
"We're almost at your door, then we're coming up. We love you so much, you understand that, right? This doesn't change anything. You're our baby. You'll always be our baby. And we're so, so sorry that this happened."
She must have kept talking after that, but maybe Shane zoned out again, because the next thing he knew, the phone call had ended and there were real, warm hands on his shoulders and arms, pulling him off the counter and into his dad's chest. It was instinct, old and childlike, that made him tuck his face into the crook of his dad's neck, and press in, and breathe.
"I've got you," his dad murmured, cradling the back of his head and swaying like Shane was a baby. "I've got you."
"Honey," his mom said, and she had definitely been crying. Shane's eyes were closed, but he thought she might still be crying. She was pressed shoulder to shoulder with his dad, hugging Shane from the side, trying to hold on. "Honey, it's okay."
"It's not okay," Shane sniffled, and he was pretty sure he'd said the same thing on the video. "It's not. I'm so—I'm so stupid. I shouldn't have—I should never have said that out, out in public. Out loud. I'm so stupid."
"You're not stupid, hey, don't say that," Yuna said softly. Her fingers tangled with David's at the base of his skull, tickling the short hairs on his neck. "Don't say that about my baby."
"We love you," David hummed, still rocking him. "It's gonna be okay. We love you."
"'M gonna get kicked off the team," Shane murmured. "Traded to… Alaska, or something."
"And then I will sue the NHL in a discrimination lawsuit that will take every last dime from their CEOs," Yuna said confidently. "Shane, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. You're the best player Montreal has. Everyone with eyes knows that."
"We have a game tomorrow," Shane's voice hitched. "I'm gonna be scratched. They're gonna bench me-"
"They're not," Yuna said firmly. "Theriault called me when he couldn't get a hold of you. I told him that unless we gave further notice, you were playing tomorrow." She pulled back a little and coaxed him to turn his head to the side, her concerned gaze landing on the side of his face. "Was that right? I thought… I wasn't sure, but I know…."
Shane wasn't sure what she was trying to say. She knew that hockey was important to him? That he would want to keep up appearances? That it would take his mind off things? Or did she earnestly, truly believe that his most pressing concern was getting the Voyageurs into the playoffs?
He nodded. "That's right," he said softly. Whatever the reason was, he did know that he needed to play tomorrow. He felt that if he didn't, he might never play again. "I'm—I'm playing?"
"You're playing, unless you decide otherwise," she said. "It's your decision, I promise. Okay?"
"Okay," he whispered.
She guided them back to the couch. Shane could tell that David didn't want to let go of him, but he wasn't about to fucking sit in his dad's lap, so he sat between them, their arms around his shoulders. He tried not to think about how he was getting hours old sweat on their shirts, probably ruining their clothes as well as the couch.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he whispered, staring at the coffee table.
"No, no, don't be sorry," Yuna said gently. "Shane… this should have happened on your own time. We understand that. And… we understand why you might have wanted to keep this a secret. Given your career and given… me."
He glanced at her, brows lowered.
"I'm your manager," she said softly. Her eyes looked a lot like his, he knew, in shape and color, and the way they became big and glossy when she teared up. "I've talked a lot about your image, and your status as a role model, and your visibility. All of that. More than I should have, I know that now."
"Mom-"
"It's okay," she said, cupping his cheek and shaking her head with a tight, unhappy smile. "It's really okay. We're okay, Shane, alright?" She pressed their foreheads together. "I love every inch of you. I always have."
"Every inch," David repeated.
His phone buzzed. Shane closed his eyes, then reluctantly pulled away from his parents' grasp to fish it from his pocket. He set it on the table in front of him, a mirror of his position earlier, only he wasn't alone anymore. "There's going to be so many messages," he murmured, eyeing the email before it disappeared. "So many calls—fuck, I wasn't picking up Theriault's calls. He's going to crucify me."
"He'll understand, won't he?" David asked, but Shane wasn't sure.
"I'll handle your emails," Yuna said. "I've already started. We're going to see what legal action we can take against the people who uploaded that video-"
"Mom-"
"And I'm hiring someone to look into who filmed it in the first place—yes, sweetie, I am, because this is important. Your privacy is important."
"Mom."
"Your brands aren't going to want to pull out, not right away, so you don't have to worry about that at all yet," she said sternly, slipping into business mode. Something about it was strangely relieving. Maybe just the reminder that someone else actually would, and could, take care of all this for him. Or some of it, at least. "And you don't have to make a statement about it—not ever if you don't want to, and certainly not before the game. Let your actions speak for themselves. Okay? I'll draft up some options we can go through later, but none of that has to happen tonight. Nothing else has to happen tonight."
Shane felt a little more of the tension leave his shoulders.
He looked at his phone.
"I, uh." He cleared his throat. "Something does. Something has to happen. I need, uh, I have to…"
"Whatever you need," David said, soft and steady, sure.
"Sit with me?" he asked, and they agreed.
He pulled up his contacts and bent forward over his knees before hitting the call button. It was answered almost immediately.
"Rose," he said.
"Shane." Her voice was thick, throaty. She had obviously been crying, and maybe for a very long time. "Oh my god, Shane."
"Rose," he repeated, leaning forward until his forehead touched the table. His mom's fingers landed light and cool on the back of his neck. "Hi, Rose."
She laughed, high and unhappy. "Hi, Shane."
Their conversation wasn't long, and afterward, in the weeks to come, it would fade from Shane's memory like the hours he had sat in panic would fade, even though he wasn't panicking while he spoke to her. He kept his forehead on the coffee table, chin between his knees, his mother's gentle fingers on the back of his neck, and his teammates milling about quietly in his kitchen.
They said what they needed to say, though. He knew that. Apologies. Assurances. Forgiveness, so much as it was warranted.
He hung up, so exhausted he thought he might keel over right there, ending up a slumped mass on his carpet.
"Let's get you in the shower," his dad said quietly, hauling him up.
Shane waved a hand at his teammates as he stumbled past them up the stairs. "There's—three guest bedrooms," he said, vision bleary. The adrenaline leaving his system made him feel catatonic. "Other apartments… figure it out. Stay, if you want," he said. "Night."
His dad guided him into the bathroom and stayed until Shane reassured him that he could rinse off by himself, and then went to find him sleep clothes.
Shane showered off what felt like years' worth of stress. It didn't leave him, but the sticky veneer of sweat that made it hard for him to think or move finally washed down the drain, leaving him clean and shivering.
His dad helped him get dressed. Shane was so tired he didn't even object.
David brushed his hair away from his forehead. "You don't have to play tomorrow, Shane. No one would blame you. Take a sick day."
"I want to play," Shane mumbled, crawling under his blankets, phone still clutched in his hand. "I can still play."
"I know you can, buddy," his dad said, kissing his brow. "Get some sleep."
He closed the door. Shane pulled his duvet over his head. He choked on a sob and pressed the smooth, flat screen of his phone to his lips.
It was weird to think about how many people were in his apartment. His parents. Hayden and Jackie. Rose, over the phone, if he needed her. JJ and Miitie, awkward and uncomfortable, but here, showing up despite that.
It was nice. He knew it was nice, logically. He knew he wasn't alone.
But he wanted to be alone more than anything. Alone with just one person.
Shane stared at the black phone screen for a long time. No new messages came in, and it was just his reflection, dark but clear.
Finally, he sighed. He swiped up and opened Ilya's contact. He hit call.