Chapter Text
NHL Draft Day - 26th June 2009
Shane is watching the draft live, albeit not from the Bell Centre. Instead, he's inside his family cottage in Ottawa, watching as Ilya Rozanov becomes the first pick for the Boston Bears.
He can feel his parents' stares on him, waiting for him to react to this news with some display of emotion, but something has settled in him. Rozanov going to the Bears is right. He'd fit right in with their play.
What should feel wrong, the fact that he himself is not at the draft, also feels right.
"Well, I guess we'll never know who was meant to win between you and Rozanov," his mom says, the silence becoming unbearable for her.
Shane can't do much other than smile as he parrots back her own media-prepared statements to her, "The draft isn't really a competition. It's an opportunity to play in the NHL, and that's an honour in itself."
"And you won't be for at least another year. I still don't really understand why, Shane." His dad's arm slinks around her waist, reminding her not to push, but Shane knows his mother will never let this go. She's worried, angry, and overall, just upset with him. It stings. He's never been the cause of upset in his family before.
He hasn't been able to explain it to them yet, how he just knows that entering the draft this year would have irreparably damaged his career. There were too many signs that he wouldn't have lived up to his full potential if he went to the NHL this year.
"I just know that this extra year in juniors is going to make all the difference. Trust me on this, Mom."
Yuna purses her lips. She believes she knows better when it comes to hockey, but she's just a viewer. She doesn't know how sacred it feels to glide on the ice, and how Shane would do anything to make sure he can do that for as long as possible. So yeah, he's not going to the NHL this year. It's fine, he's still playing hockey, and he'll be there for the long run. There's no rush.
—
At the Bell Centre
Fuck fucking Shane Hollander. All these reporters focusing on the wrong thing. He dropped out last week! I am the first draft pick, but all questions are about that stupid freckled boy, Ilya thinks to himself as he dutifully replies to yet another reporter who asks for his comment on Hollander's absence.
"I have no opinion. Hollander is good hockey player - will be a shame to not play him this year."
Sign One: May 2009, NHL Scouting Combine
The first sign that he shouldn't enter the draft this year is at the combine in Toronto.
It's weird because Shane swears he can smell his future in this hotel. Aspiration, sweat, and hope mingling in the air, but it's choking him. At first, he thinks it's just pressure. Shane's no stranger to anxiety; he's always pushed through the nausea. He's built his body to withstand the feeling. He plans to do the same at the combine.
He gets into Toronto on a Sunday since all of the testing begins on Monday morning. He has dinner with his parents at a restaurant near the hotel they're staying at. Shane chose the restaurant so he doesn't have to stray from his nutrition plan. From tomorrow, the combine will be providing food, and the menu is perfect for his diet.
After his parents drop him off at the Westin Harbour Hotel, Shane completes his evening routine. Winding down from the day of travel with a shower, light stretching, and then, he lies on his bed with his eyes closed. Visualising how the week will go. He's effectively doing his game day routine for the combine. It's soothing to go through the different events, weighing up how well he'll perform in each one.
He's not anxious about the physical tests. Again, Shane's body has been honed to go through with those tests. It's really the interviews that spike his heart rate. Shane doesn't know how to 'show personality'. He's been chirped mercilessly for being like a robot, and he's never been able to shake how deeply that comment cuts. So what if he's a robot? If he plays good hockey, he thinks. But he wants to play the best hockey, and his lack of personality is an obstacle.
So, he added questions to his visualisation a month ago to prepare for the interviews. He can be less of a robot for a moment if he prepares enough.
Once he finishes visualising the physical tests with his eyes closed, he sits upright on his bed, opens his laptop, and stares at a Word document that has pages upon pages of potential questions. The bright light stings his eyes in the dark room.
One by one, Shane works his way through the responses. Feeling the shapes of the words on his tongue. He goes through each question three times for good measure.
—
What animal would you be on and off the ice?
A cat, I think. Agile, smart, etc
*I'm confused - like two separate animals on the ice or one animal for both — past responses have given one
You encounter a man. He says he works in Silicon Valley and that the end of the world is coming because we aren't having enough babies. How many babies do you plan to have in response to this information?
That depends. Is this factual just because a man from Silicon Valley said it? I'd have to verify or see if the information is true. Even then, I'm a man, so I can't fix this by getting pregnant, and I can't be irresponsible either, so I don't know how many babies I'd have in response. If my wife wants to, then maybe we'd plan to have 4 children, which would double the average for a Canadian family, which is about 2 per family.
Would you rather be better than everyone else or the best?
The best.
—
Once he finishes, he puts his laptop away. Drinks a cup of unsweetened chamomile tea and waits for an hour to pass before he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.
When he wakes up on Monday morning, he feels balanced and in control of his body and mind. Except that's a lie that he's repeating to himself. There's still something stuck in his throat. Even the blast of fresh air from Lake Ontario on his walk down to the rink for on-ice testing doesn't help to ease the off-kilter feeling that's been following Shane. He tries to stop thinking about the doom; thinking about it means he's actually willing it to come. It's an endless loop that he gets stuck in.
For a moment, he panics and wonders if the loop will follow him onto the ice. For all the anxiety he's suffered in his life, skating has been the only reprieve. His only salvation from his mind. If Shane can't skate with a clear mind, then…
Luckily, he doesn't have to wait long in his panic to find out. It's like his brain resets the moment he smells the ice. It's almost funny how fresh air from a lake is useless for him, but the clinical smell of freshly shaved ice changes everything.
The combine is going well. All of his visualisations for the physical tests are coming true. He predicted that he'd fly through the on-ice testing, and fly he did. There's already an article out calling Shane the cleanest skater out of all the prospects. His mom texts him that he's 'smashing it' and hints that his favourite teams have his name on their lips. It feels like a relief, having his panic be drowned out by pure statistics.
He does 18 reps in the pullup test, the average that he had been attaining in training, and that puts him at the top of the results for the test currently. He doesn't throw up after doing the Wingate, which is a feat in and of itself, and also cinches the top result for that.
There's another name being said alongside his over the course of the week. Someone else does 19 pullups and usurps his spot at the top for it.
Every time someone says Shane Hollander, they attach it to Ilya Rozanov and vice versa. They're inseparable to everyone keeping track of the prospects. Except, they've never spoken a real word to each other. A 'good game' in the handshake line at the Canada v Russia final isn't the same. Rozanov apparently chirps everyone and anyone, but Shane's got the gift of selective hearing when he's on the ice, so he's never really been listening.
Even though they don't know each other, Shane Hollander doesn't like Ilya Rozanov. He doesn't like the cocky curve of his lips when he speaks to the press. Shane hates how he plays 50% of the time, brutish, forceful, always high risk. The other 50% makes Shane feel alive to watch; it's beautiful, beautiful, hockey, and he hates him all the more for it.
—
After the midway point, everything starts to feel wrong. The physical tests start to wind down, and the questions just keep coming his way. They don't stop. Shane wishes they would stop.
It's hell. His own personal hell, being asked to show personality. Shane's never been a 'room' guy. He doesn't light up the locker room that he's in with jokes. He flinches when his teammates touch him off-ice. Most of the time, the guys he plays with are laughing at him. Shane's oblivious, naive, and if he weren't such a good hockey player, someone could mistake him for a fairy. Last thing, said verbatim to his face.
He's spoken to countless scouts, reps, and coaches from various teams. Shane wishes he could lose track of who he's spoken to, but he remembers everything. Moments where he couldn't stop his surprise at a certain question popping up. He remembers stuttering at the start of his interview in Montreal when they asked to conduct it in French. How he had to quickly try and joke and say, 'Don't worry, I do know French. Just spent too much time speaking English this week.'
To get some peace, he's grabbed a takeout box from the canteen and is trying to find a spot outside the hotel to eat quietly. He could eat in his room, but the smell would linger, and he didn't want to get the room all cold as he tried to air it out.
Shane is halfway through a bite of his salmon when he hears a voice interrupt him,
"Ugh, how can you eat this tasteless food? Is rubbish," says the voice, with a thick Russian accent.
Shane really wants to groan and complain that his only moment of peace is being interrupted, but he's too polite for that, so he just stares blankly. Suddenly, he becomes very distracted by the way smoke billows out of Ilya Rozanov's mouth. Forming a coherent response is entirely out of the question; he mumbles an unintelligible response.
Rozanov is staring at him. Cocking his head to the side, and really studying Shane. Shane's face is bright red at this point, and it's the embarrassment that makes him remember his manners. He sets his takeout box to rest precariously on the ledge next to him and offers Rozanov his hand.
"Hi, it's really nice to meet you properly," he says, almost about to add 'I'm Shane Hollander,' but he catches himself at the last moment.
Rozanov moves his stare to Shane's outstretched hand. Amusement is written all over his face when he takes Shane's hand in a firm grip. One that Shane won't be able to stop thinking about when he heads up to his hotel room later. Feeling like Rozanov shook more than his hand, but shifted his entire worldview.
"Yes, good to meet the competition. Shame, you won't be first in the draft," Rozanov drawls out.
"Fuck off, we'll see,"
Rozanov smirks back at him, "Yes, we'll see."
Because Shane can't help himself, he adds, "You do know smoking is bad for you, right? And if anyone sees, it could affect your chances."
"Well, you are only person who has seen me smoke. If you tell, it's dirty play."
Shane's at a loss with himself when that ends the conversation, Rozanov walking away from him as he says those final words with a shrug. Shane thinks about looking away. Removing his starstruck gaze from Rozanov's retreating, but he can't stop looking at him.
Fuck. He realises once he's in the comfort of his room, hand gripping his cock tightly as he recalls Rozanov's handshake from earlier. He's attracted to men, and now, he can't enter the NHL draft this year. There's no way. Realising this now was a sign, he thinks. A chance for him to figure it out with more time.
Sign Two: 10th June 2009
This is the sign that makes Shane pull out of the draft entirely. His grandfather passes away.
He hasn't told his parents that he's considering dropping out of the draft, but it's been on his mind constantly since the combine. Dropping out, and coming to terms with the fact that he's gay — or more appropriately, freaking out about the fact that he's gay.
He wonders if it's obvious to everyone else. If it'll be glaringly clear when he hits the show. Whether his NHL career will blossom like he wants it to or whether he'll crash and burn, becoming yet another prospect that squandered his potential.
Shane's had approximately two girlfriends before. Neither relationship lasted very long, but the endings were mostly amicable. He's a busy hockey player; he didn't have enough time to lavish them with attention. He broke up with both girlfriends, citing that he felt guilty the whole time he was playing and wanted to focus on hockey more.
He tries to dissect whether he's actually gay gay, or maybe bisexual? He never had penetrative sex with his ex-girlfriend; it was always oral. He didn't hate it completely, but the concept of… fucking someone always made his dick soft, so he never even tried. The famous hockey player superstitions saved him from questioning from his exes.
"You sure you don't want to fuck me?"
"Last time I fucked before a game, we lost tragically, so I try to wait until the season's over."
Never let it be said that Shane Hollander is a bad liar. He can lie; he's been doing it to himself his whole life. So, he lied to his exes, he's never fucked anyone, and he doesn't ever want to.
What he wants… is something else that's been plaguing him.
What he wants is for Ilya Rozanov to touch him again. And again. And again.
That want is inspiring the worst fear in him. When Rozanov spoke to him, Shane's mind and body were singularly focused on him. That sensation never happens outside of the rink. Outside of hockey. It's sacrilege, Shane thinks. Blasphemy of some variety. How could he dare to want more than hockey? How could he want something that could ruin hockey for him?
That's why he loops back to dropping out of the draft. If he goes this year, the Hollander-Rozanov rivalry will only grow stronger. Boston has the first pick, and Montreal, the second. No matter how the draft goes, they're destined to be division rivals. He could evade that by dropping out. Change their fate, just a little bit.
Plus, Shane doesn't know how not to be obvious about liking men now. He's never truly been comfortable in a locker room. Now, his chest burns with anxiety that somehow, someone will look at him and just know. Like it's irrational, he knows it's irrational, but imagine someone could read his thoughts in a locker room. What if they could see him repeating to himself, 'Don't let them know you're gay. Don't do anything that will draw attention to you.'
His junior team is solid. They've never really given him too many issues. He plays well enough to have earned everyone's respect. He should spend another year with them, getting more confident in the locker room before he's thrown into the deep end as a rookie on a pro team.
—
Shane's grandfather has a stroke. It happens out of the blue. One second, Shane is in the bathroom, showering after gym, and the next, he's in a hospital in Montreal.
For as long as Shane can remember, his grandad had been sprightly, always on his feet whenever they visited him at his assisted living facility. It's a shock to see him looking frail and devoid of colour on that hospital bed. All of the beeping machines surrounding him. The entire room seems to be filled with older men and women like him.
His mother is distraught. Like any child would be, knowing they're on the verge of becoming an orphan. Shane's grandmother died when Shane was too little to really mourn her.
Yuna splinters in that hospital. The wounds of grief open anew as his grandfather dies on that hospital bed. They sign a DNR once the doctors inform them that their grandad is functionally brain dead, and if he arrests, well, there's no need to torture him. Vaguely, Shane thinks he's still too young for this. To see life and death being handled by normal people.
How did he get from being in the shower to Montreal in record time? Did he even pack everything he needed?
He's seen his mother cry before. But this is something else, entirely. She's incomprehensible. Saying things like 'we should have made him live with us', even though his grandfather never wanted to leave Montreal. He chose the facility himself and told them all to stop hovering.
Shane doesn't say or do much to help. Isn't a nuisance with his grief either. He holds his shaking mother. Rubs circles into her back as she cries. Blinks away tears, keeps his face stoic, and offers to help with the funeral arrangements. Turns out his grandfather had handled all of that stuff a week before he had the stroke.
Almost like he felt he was going to die soon.
He lets his mother grieve, and grieve. Shane quietly wonders what grieving is supposed to look like. If he's doing it right. If his grandfather is somewhere shaking his head and wondering where Shane's tears are.
The funeral is handled quickly, without too much fanfare. His grandfather is cremated like his grandmother, but Shane and his father still help to carry the coffin into the chapel. Eulogies are made. Shane delivers a short speech about how happy he was every single time his grandad came to a game of his. Always wearing a Hollander jersey.
Just as quickly as he was in the hospital in Montreal, he's back home in Ottawa. His grandfather's urn sits next to his grandmother's on the mantle.
It's looking at the two urns, with a photograph of Shane in his Timbits hockey uniform, Grandad with a hand on his shoulder. His grandmother, smiling widely at the camera, that he remembers the draft.
And he knows it's selfish and disgusting, but his grandfather's death has to be a sign. It's a sign that he shouldn't enter the draft this year. Getting drafted to Boston, being miles away from his parents so soon after this, would be horrible. Getting drafted to Montreal, a city that he'll forever associate with his grandparents even worse.
That's the sign that he should wait. Waiting will make his odds better.
Sign or excuse. The lines blur between the two, but Shane's made up his mind.
—
15th June 2009
"We'll have to pack up the house in Montreal after the draft," his mother says at breakfast, the morning after the funeral.
She's reset herself mostly. Slipping back into the role of his manager, packaging up her grief and choosing to handle it after the draft. This is Shane's only chance to drop out of the draft before it's too late. He has to strike whilst the grief is still fresh.
"I'm dropping out of the draft," he announces. His hand shakes slightly, so he puts down his cutlery and fidgets with the hem of his shirt. He doesn't look at his mother yet.
Yuna stills. Forces down a bite of her omelet, then, very calmly asks, "What do you mean?"
Shane's practiced this. He makes sure to shake his head a little, blinking rapidly and letting tears spring to his eyes, and he looks his mother in the eyes. There's nothing but sincerity in them when he speaks to her. The tears are real; she just won't be able to tell their real source.
"I need another year at home. Please, Mom. I just — I was feeling worried about it all since the combine. And now with Grandad. I just want to be close for one more year…"
David exchanges a glance with Yuna, a glance that reminds her that she shouldn't push.
"You know I've always wanted to learn Japanese… learn a little more about I guess… being me? And I thought I'd be ready, but I'm not. I don't wanna go into the NHL and be one of the only Asian players in the league. I don't know the first thing about being a role model—" he stops.
His mother walked out of the kitchen.
When Shane thought about the possibility of this happening, he couldn't decide whether he'd chase after her and try to explain himself further. His dad gets up from the table instead.
"Don't worry, Shane. You can take all the time you want. I'll speak to her."
Shane lets his head drop to the table, he closes his eyes, and cries properly in his family's kitchen. More pictures of himself in hockey gear surrounding him. He cries for his grandparents, he cries because he's lying to his parents, he cries because it seems like he'll never really be able to be comfortable.
He hears his mother's raised voice, "Why couldn't he say this earlier?" and his dad's measured reply, "He only just realised now."
Never let it be said that Shane Hollander is bad at lying. He's a pro at equivocating.
—
18th June 2009
Farah Jalali @farahjalali_agent
OHL Player Shane Hollander has chosen to opt out of the draft for the 2009 selection for personal reasons. He will be returning to his OHL team for one final season.
—
Mom: The cultural centre is doing a Japanese program starting in August. Would you like to come with me? I can sign us all up.
Mom: Also don't forget to check the email I sent you with therapist options.
Mom: Come downstairs. Your dad and I are discussing family holiday options!