Chapter Three

 

 

SHANE GOT home, threw his gear into the corner of his apartment, and cursed Coach Fucking Callahan in a variety of inventive ways as he went to the kitchen to fix himself something to eat. He really should learn to pack himself a snack or something, especially if he was going to end up with more “extended workouts.” It might keep his temper in check so he didn’t brain his new coach with his hockey stick.

Callahan was such an asshole. If the team didn’t even know Shane was supposed to be there yesterday, what the fuck was that whole thing about making him apologize for missing practice and having him show up early? Shane remembered the blank look on Captain Matthews’s face and got angry all over again. If that was how things were going to be, why had Bow wanted him on the team so badly?

Shane knew he was overreacting because he was hungry and tired, but it still sucked. A lot. The assistant coach was way less of a dick, but seemed to do nothing other than hold an empty dry-erase board and clap supportively. Callahan clearly had that guy cowed too. And Jesus, what was it with this team hiring the biggest jerks in hockey to coach? First St. Savoy, then Callahan. And if one of his coaches had to be hot, why did it have to be the asshole one?

You wouldn’t have found him hot if he weren’t an asshole, and you know it.

Scowling, Shane fixed himself a peanut butter sandwich and grabbed some pita chips and a container of hummus. He missed San Diego, and he tried not to think about being on the ice with the Gulls, because that’s really where he wanted to be right then—not glaring daggers at his television. The ECHL had found him a furnished place, and he didn’t have a roommate, thank God, but he missed his rental house in San Diego, missed the warm breeze, and missed not having a coach who hated him. Everything was terrible.

Shane took a vicious bite of the sandwich and followed it up with half a glass of water. As he ate he found his temper gently receding as the much-needed calories did their job. By the time he’d eaten another sandwich and half the hummus, he felt a lot less angry. It wasn’t as though he never got pissed off in San Diego at the game, his coaches, or his fellow teammates. But usually when that happened, he could grab his surfboard. Of course that was out of the question. Not only was he hours from the coast—and had no idea about surfing in North Carolina waters—his board was still in his room back in San Diego. Or maybe Alani was using it. Who knew?

Speaking of….

Shane finished his dinner, grabbed his phone, and hoped that Alani would answer. He knew it was a few hours earlier in San Diego and she might be on the beach. God knew that’s where he’d be, if he weren’t trapped in Cold Mountain. Maybe he should take up skiing.

“Shane. You’re there!”

Her voice immediately made him smile and eased some of his lingering tension. “Hey, Ali. Yeah, I’m here. Sorry I didn’t call sooner, I’ve had practice.”

“Of course.” Her voice was warm. “Dude, I miss you, like, so fucking much, you don’t even know.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He sighed, put his feet up on the coffee table, and noticed he had a hole in one of his socks. “How’s it hanging?”

“Good. I’m getting ready for the tournament in Honolulu,” she enthused. “Have a new sponsor I’m meeting with next Wednesday, so things are great. How’s Asheville?”

Awful and I hate it. “It’s, uh…different. Lots of mountains.”

“Wow,” Alani said dryly. “That good, huh?”

Shane didn’t want to wail about his sad life, but he couldn’t help it. “The coach hates me, I can’t go surfing, my teammates are all in their twenties—”

“Uh, hello?” She cleared her throat. “I’m in my twenties too.”

“Right, but… I don’t know, Ali. Maybe coming here was a bad idea. I should have retired and lived rent-free in the house your new sponsor will pay for.”

She snorted. “Your coach does not hate you, Shane. Why would they want you on the team if they hated you?”

“Because it wasn’t Coach Callahan who wanted me.” He hated how he sounded like he was whining. “It was the GM, who was an old coach of mine when I was with the Ducks. Gabriel Bow.”

“Well, still. You’re good at hockey,” Ali declared loyally. “Just because the Gulls are morons doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still be playing.”

“I told you all the shit this team was in, right?” he asked.

“Like, the whole thing with the guy who got fired for trying to pull a Jeff Gillooly?”

He smiled despite himself. “Aren’t you too young to be making Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding references?”

“We watched that ESPN 30-for-30 about it. Remember?”

“Right. And yeah, that’s what happened, or at least, that’s the gist of it as far as I know.” Shane hadn’t asked anyone for specifics. “But I guess the coach doesn’t want me here since I’m…. Well, I guess he thinks I’m just a goon and bad for morale.”

“You’ve been there, like, two days.” She sounded worried, which he didn’t want but secretly liked. “Seriously, Shane, if you’re that miserable, you could just retire, right? Come back and be my manager and glare threateningly at the boys who say dumb shit when they hit on me.”

“What about the girls who say dumb shit when they hit on you?”

“No glaring at girls, and besides I can handle them.”

“You can handle the boys too, and you know it,” he reminded her. “And hey, you got mad at me when I tried to step in once before. Remember?”

“Because I thought you were trying to pull one of those nice-guy bullshit moves,” she said. “I had no idea you were a gay hockey player who recognized one of your own in distress from unwanted hetero attention.”

Shane grinned outright. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Everyone’s like, where’s your boyfriend?” She sighed. “It literally does not matter how many times I tell them you’re not my boyfriend. They don’t get it.”

That had been equally as true for Shane. He met Alani at a bar, where she’d been the recipient of, as she put it, “unwanted hetero attention” from an aggressive guy who pissed Shane off. He went over and told the guy to knock it off, because at the time, he had no idea the girl—who barely came up to his shoulder—was a badass professional surfer who’d been dealing with macho assholes since she caught her first wave.

When Shane got the guy to stumble off, she turned her attention to Shane and said, “I’m not going home with you either. So you can fuck off with him, for all I care.”

For some reason Shane, who was firmly in the closet, responded with “He’s not my type, but thanks.”

She gave him a piercing look from her gorgeous dark eyes, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and patted the barstool. “Sit down, and if you’re lying and trying to pick me up, I’ll kick you in the shins.”

Over the next two years they became inseparable. She taught him how to surf, and he taught her to like hockey. He went to her events when he could, and she was his fiercest and most loyal fan—maybe the only person in America who owned a North jersey who wasn’t related to him. He even went home with her to Hawaii for Christmas one year, though her parents thought he was her boyfriend and she “wasn’t ready to tell them about the lesbian thing yet.”

That, Shane understood. He’d never told his parents he was gay either. Other than Alani, he’d never told anyone.

“Speaking of… any hot boys on your team?”

“Alani,” he groaned. “If I can’t ask you about hooking up with other girl surfers, you can’t ask about me hooking up with hockey players.”

“You can ask me,” she clarified. “It’s the guys who want to ask me because they think women’s surfing is just a Playboy Channel movie instead of, you know, a professional sport.”

“I know. But no, there’s… well, there’s a gay player here who’s out to the team. The captain, actually.” That was one piece of information Shane had learned from Gabriel Bow, who told Shane there was a gay player who was out to the team in the locker room, and he hoped he hadn’t misjudged Shane as someone who wouldn’t have a problem with that. Shane briefly considered outing himself to his new GM, decided against it, and simply assured Bow that he didn’t have a problem with it at all.

“What?”

He had to hold the phone away from his ear at her shriek. “Jesus, Al.”

“No, seriously. You’re gay, you play hockey for a coach who is also gay, and there’s a hot gay player and…. Why are you bummed about being there, again?”

“Because this is my job, not a movie on the Playgirl Channel?”

“Oh, fuck off.” She laughed. “But wait, is he like, dating someone?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t asked. Look, he’s… okay, well, he’s really hot. Blond, strong jaw. You know the type.”

“I’ve seen such creatures before. Yes.”

“But way too young for me,” Shane pointed out. “Maybe like, two years older than you.”

“Everyone always thinks we’re dating, so what’s the problem?” she breezed.

“Besides the fact that we aren’t? And I’m only going to be here this season, you know. Then I’m coming back to San Diego. Seems like a terrible idea to date someone knowing that, doesn’t it?”

“Couldn’t they renew your contract another year if you decided you liked it there?” she asked, and he could picture her in the living room, feet propped up and trying to paint her toenails, watch a movie, and talk on the phone at the same time.

“Maybe? But I’m done after this year,” he said firmly. “I should have just hung it up after the Gulls didn’t renew my contract.”

“I hate them,” Alani declared. “And I’m going to be a Kings fan now. Wait. Who’s the AHL team for the Kings? That’d be the rivals for the Gulls, right? Because we hate the Kings and all their various subteams?”

“You don’t have to hate the Gulls,” he told her, but it made him feel good that she said that. “But the Kings’ AHL team is the Reign.”

“Where are their games? I’ll start going.”

“Ontario,” he said.

“Oh. Wait. What? Ontario, as in Canada?”

“California, actually. Up near Anaheim.”

“Hmm.” Alani paused. “Let’s be honest. I probably won’t go, but I’ll still boo the Gulls. Even actual gulls. I’ll boo one every time I see one on the beach. How’s that?”

“I feel very avenged, Al.”

“Seriously, though. Even if you’re not into this hot blond hockey player who happens to also be gay, maybe you should think about coming out? I mean, if you’re only going to be there a year and the coach is also openly gay, I think it’d be a pretty accepting environment.”

“No way,” Shane said firmly. “I’m not going to say, ‘Oh, hey. Not only did I fail to live up to expectations and develop into the player I was supposed to be. Guess what. I’m gay.’”

“Those two things have nothing—nothing—to do with each other,” she reminded him, the laughter gone from her voice. “You being gay is just one single part of who you are, and you have got to stop thinking it makes you some kind of disappointment. Seriously, Shane. That isn’t healthy, and you know it.”

“I know.” Shane ignored the unhappy twist in his stomach and the way his throat was suddenly too tight. “I do. Okay? But my press is always negative. I don’t have Sidney Crosby’s career, and it means I’m a failure. I get suspended a few times, so I’m a goon. I don’t get a contract, so I’m bottom-feeding in the lowest level of the minors. And before you yell at me, I don’t think that. I’m just telling you what people say. I don’t want them to do the same thing about me being gay. And don’t tell me you don’t know how important press is and what it means to athletes.”

She sighed. “God, Shane. I’m not going to pressure you. Hello. I haven’t told anyone I’m a lesbian either. I just know you, and you’re not a goon. You’re a great guy, and I wish more people knew that about you. I wish you knew it about you.”

“Ugh. Stop.” Shane’s face was hot, but the churn in his stomach had eased up, and he could breathe. So there was that. “I can get some without fucking around with my teammates, and like I said, Matthews is way too young for me. Pretty to look at, though, definitely. His abs.” Shane gave a wolf whistle. He did not mention how attractive—physically, at least—Callahan was. The guy might do it for Shane, with the scowl and the icy eyes and that tall, lean body, but he was an asshole. And besides, he hated Shane.

“Ah. There’s something you’re enjoying about Asheville,” she teased. “That’s good.”

“I haven’t even been here a week,” he reminded her. “I might take up snow skiing, though.”

“Second-class surfing,” she scoffed, which made him grin.

“Tell me about your waves today,” he said, and he settled in and let her sheer joy in her sport and the passion she felt for it wash over him like the ocean he missed so much.

 

 

TO SAY the Ravens were a team was a bit of an exaggeration. They were a group of guys running drills on the ice and getting ready for their first game, but Katniss Everdeen probably had more fun training for the Hunger Games.

It was a few days before Shane finally felt comfortable enough to break the silence and say something to Matthews that wasn’t “pass the tape.” He needed to get the scoop on what exactly went down last year, and who better to ask than the team captain? “Hey, Matthews. You got a second?”

“Yeah?” Xavier looked skeptical, like he was expecting Shane to… fuck, Shane didn’t even know. He couldn’t get a handle on what was going on in the locker room.

“Is there some kind of rule about talking in here? Some superstition? Help the new guy out, here, before I doom our entire season.”

Matthews blinked. He had sea-green eyes to go along with the fair hair and strong jawline. He had the body of an underwear model. Even if Shane was never going to hit that, at least he had some goddamn sweet eye candy for the rest of the season.

“Coach St.—umm. Our last coach didn’t let us talk in here.”

Shane looked toward the coach’s office. Since there was no door, he could see Callahan’s head bent over his desk. He didn’t appear to be paying the slightest bit of attention.

Probably catching a nap since it’s so quiet.

“And is that still the rule?” Shane asked.

“No.” Matthews shut his locker. “We just don’t have a lot to say. Waiting to get a sense of the team when the season starts, I guess.”

Well, that was bullshit. “I got a sense of it already, Matthews, and it’s pretty fucking glum,” said Shane.

“Well, we had a pretty fucking glum season,” Matthews snapped and showed a little spirit at last. “You weren’t here. You don’t know.”

“If it was half as fun as this, I can see why everyone’s miserable.” Shane tried to look past the pretty-boy looks and see what was beneath. Matthews had leadership skills in there somewhere. Shane had played on enough teams to tell who just needed a little adversity to bring it out of them. But the team had had plenty of adversity. What they needed was fun.

Shane had never been captain—well, he’d been an alternate captain once in juniors—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t impart some veteran wisdom. He sure as hell didn’t want to spend his last season playing professional hockey as though he were awaiting a firing squad, even if he was already violating his self-imposed “don’t get involved” rule.

“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t know. Want to grab lunch after practice and tell me about it?”

Xavier gave a slight nod. “Sure. Yeah. I forgot you missed the first day and didn’t hear Coach’s, uh… speech.” He glanced quickly toward the office and then away. “There’s a place we can go that’s not too far from here.” He was practically whispering.

Shane pitched his voice just as low. “Is it a secret place?”

That at least got a half smile from Xavier. “Sorry, we… weren’t allowed to hang out outside of games or practices.” He looked abashed. “I know it’s not the same anymore. It just takes some getting used to.”

Shane didn’t doubt that. “No problem, Matty,” he said, adopting Xavier’s team nickname.

After practice Shane showered, dressed, and met Xavier at a place called the Bier Garden, which was busy enough that there was a low hum of conversation in the background. After they were seated and had ordered some food, Xavier launched right into a somber version of Coach Denis St. Savoy’s Greatest Hits.

It was sort of unreal. Shane listened quietly to all the talk of blackmail allegations, incentives to cause injury, and general tyranny. He tried not to make faces and probably failed spectacularly, because what in the hell?

“That’s awful,” he said when Xavier finished what sounded like a Game of Thrones episode recap and sipped his beer. “I mean, yeah. Wow. I can see that might leave, uh… a funk in the locker room. Not even the used-equipment kind of funk we’re all used to.”

That got a laugh out of Xavier, albeit slight. “I know Coach Callahan isn’t the same way, but it’s hard to remember that. Those of us who were here the last few years, it’s like we’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. The heavy one. With, like, golf cleats or spikes on it.”

“I really don’t think Coach Callahan is the type to tell you to take out other players for money,” Shane said. Despite his opinion of Callahan, he honestly couldn’t see it. “I mean, he’s an asshole, but it sounds like your last coach was straight-up evil.”

“He was,” Xavier agreed. “And you know, the thing is… we played like he wanted us to—which by the way, I’m not proud of, even if I never deliberately tried to injure anyone—and we didn’t even win. I mean, we mostly did in the regular season, but we didn’t win the Kelly Cup. We went out in the first round of the playoffs. So it’s not like his coaching got us anywhere. I feel awful even saying that, but it’s the truth.”

Shane took a sip of his iced tea, which he’d once again forgotten to order unsweetened. “You don’t sound like an asshole. Wow, though, you know…. Gabe Bow told me a little about what happened. But yeah, I had no idea it was so awful. No wonder St. Savoy ended up with a lifetime ban.”

“He’s lucky he didn’t end up in jail,” Xavier said flatly. “Him and Tyler Simon both. That’s the guy who injured the Spitfires’ goalie, Isaac Drake. Drake could have pressed charges if he wanted to. It was that bad.”

“Is he okay? The goalie, I mean.” Shane made a note to check the hit out on YouTube later, though maybe he shouldn’t. That such nastiness was part of the game wasn’t entirely a surprise, but it always made him sad to hear about it or see it firsthand.

“Drake? Yeah, he’s back in goal for the Spitfires. And that’s part of it too, you know? Those of us who were here last year? It’s like we’re all ashamed we played the way we did, with the trash talk and shit. I said stuff on the ice that I… well, it makes me sick to think about what I said, the words I used, when I—I’m gay.”

Xavier went stick straight in his seat, like someone had jerked a rope that controlled his spine. His chin lifted, and his pretty, sea-colored eyes narrowed. “Not sure if you knew that, but if you have a problem with it, I don’t care.”

“I don’t have a problem with it at all.” Shane knew he should do the right thing and tell Xavier exactly why it wasn’t a problem—hell, there wasn’t likely to be a better opportunity—but he didn’t. “And if anyone does, you let me know.” As far as reassurance went, it wasn’t the best thing he could have said, but at least it was something.

Xavier’s posture eased. “Thanks. I had to come out to the team last year, after what happened with Drake. I don’t know how much you know about St. Savoy’s son, Laurent? He was our goalie for a while and… fuck, he got it worse than anyone. We didn’t know because Laurent made sure to be as unlikable as possible, which makes so much more sense now. Anyway he’s the one who called the ECHL board about a hearing, and he asked me if I’d speak up and say what Coach—er, St. Savoy did with the blackmail. So I did.”

“That must have taken a lot of courage,” said Shane sincerely. He couldn’t even imagine the kind of atmosphere Xavier described.

Xavier shrugged and looked away. “It was fine with the team, honestly. My family? That’s… well, not the point. I wanted to be traded, but after they kicked St. Savoy out and banned him, I said I’d stick around. I feel like I owe it to the team, you know? To see if I can help make it better.”

Jesus, what a mess. “What about Coach Quinn?” Shane asked. “He was here last year too, wasn’t he?”

Xavier shrugged. “Basically he just did whatever St. Savoy said. But, man, we all did. He said he didn’t know about any of that stuff with the blackmail and the paying money to players, though.”

“Do you believe him?” Shane asked.

Xavier stared over Shane’s shoulder and out of the window. His reluctance to immediately exonerate Quinn from any of the goings-on last season was interesting. “I mean, I could believe that he didn’t have a clue. St. Savoy never really involved him in much of anything.”

“But?” Shane prompted, because he could hear a qualifier was coming.

Xavier looked around again, as though someone were spying in an attempt to get dirt on a double-minor professional hockey team in North Carolina. “I was surprised they kept him around this year, to be honest. I don’t know if he knew what was going on, but he didn’t…. There was a lot he had to know about, like the shit we were told to do on the ice. He never said anything about that, but he was probably afraid. Not that I can blame him.”

Interesting. Shane sipped his overly sweet tea as the waitress reappeared with their food. “So, is that why no one says a word in our locker room? Everyone’s afraid?”

“I think we just… we lost our team identity, and don’t get me wrong, that’s a good thing because it was terrible. But we don’t really know who we are now. Just that everyone hates us,” Xavier said glumly. “We were booed by our fans at the last game of the season, man.”

“Ducks fans do that after every season,” Shane consoled him. “And okay, I get that. I get that you’re all nervous. But the fans, the other teams? They’re gonna see the team that’s out there on the ice playing hockey. And it’s up to you—us—to decide what that team is. And it needs to happen now. We wait until we skate out there for puck drop, it’s gonna be too late.”

Xavier nodded. “I know. I do. I just… don’t know how.” He speared some broccoli with his fork.

Shane picked up his turkey sandwich, peeled off the wilted lettuce, and took a bite. He gave Xavier a thoughtful look as he chewed. “Let’s see if we can figure it out.”

They came up with a few plans over lunch, one of which involved Shane bringing in some speakers and his iPod, and by the time they were done eating, Xavier seemed almost like a different person. He had a personality to go along with his good looks, and Shane was glad they decided to go to lunch. Maybe that could be the extent of his involvement in the team and Xavier could take it from there.

While they waited for the bill, Xavier snapped his fingers and said, “Oh, I almost forgot. If you missed the first day, then you missed Coach Callahan’s speech. I’m not the only person St. Savoy blackmailed for being gay. He did it to Coach Callahan too, back when they were both playing for the Rangers.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Apparently St. Savoy threatened to out Coach Callahan to the league if he didn’t quit.” Xavier made a face. “Sure doesn’t seem like that’d work, though. Coach Callahan doesn’t seem like a guy who’d give in to blackmail.”

Shane couldn’t disagree with that. “Not now, maybe. But that was—it must have been twenty years ago, yeah?”

Xavier nodded. “Yeah. Anyway, I wanted to tell you because the whole team knows, and you’re part of the team, so.”

“Is that why he came here to coach?” If Callahan had a vendetta against the Ravens’ former coach, it might make more sense that he’d taken a job in the ECHL.

“I think so? I mean, he mentioned it made him sick to know that St. Savoy had tried this shit with other people and if he could step in and make that right, he wanted to. He gave up an assistant coaching job with the Rangers. Can you believe that? Finally got a chance to get back into the NHL and decided to come here instead.”

Damn. It was becoming harder and harder for Shane to stay pissed off at Callahan. “Yeah. You’re right,” Shane admitted. “That is pretty amazing.” Goddammit. Finding Callahan physically attractive was one thing. He’d accepted that. Liking Callahan was something else entirely.

“Right? And he’s a good coach too. Like, okay, you missed practice that first day and you had to come in early and apologize or whatever. But you can tell he’s over it, you know? And that is not how Coach St. Savoy did things. It was never that cut-and-dried. Callahan’s definitely not shy about telling you what he thinks, but he’s fair. At least it seems that way to me.” Xavier flushed a little. “I really like Coach Callahan. He’s going to do a lot of good for the team. I know we don’t talk in the locker room yet, but we’ll get there. It’s a big step, even though I’m sure it doesn’t seem like it.”

Shane couldn’t argue. Callahan had treated him exactly the same as the rest of the team after that initial issue with Shane missing practice, and it didn’t feel like Callahan still judged him for that misstep. And it was a misstep. Shane should have known better and made sure he was on time that first day. It probably looked bad from Callahan’s perspective, as though Shane didn’t respect the league where he would play his last season. But Callahan didn’t seem to hold that against him.

“Nah, he’s been his usual self with me.” Shane shook his head with a rueful laugh. “He’s a bastard, but you’re right. He’s a good coach, and you definitely know where you stand with him.”

Xavier nodded. “Exactly. Man, you have no idea. It was just not like that last year.” Xavier seemed to shake himself, and he pulled at his cloth napkin as though he were trying to shred the fabric. “I respect him a lot too. For being out. It was hard enough to come out to the team and my family. What he did, it’s… y’know.” Xavier looked down at the table, and Shane barely caught the word. “Inspirational.”

He smiled. “Got a crush on him, Matty?” It was a gentle attempt at teasing, and Shane hoped it didn’t go over the wrong way.

Xavier raised his head and snorted, but he was blushing a bit. “He’s attractive, sure, but not my type.”

He was, however, Shane’s type to a T. Especially the contrariness that led Callahan to want to coach the Ravens.

Yeah, fuck. Maybe Shane should be late again so he could go back to hating him.

Luckily Xavier had moved on to another subject that wasn’t extolling Callahan’s virtues. “So, is this really your last year, then?”

Shane refocused on his teammate. “The Gulls put me on waivers, and no one bit, so here I am.” He lifted his mostly empty iced-tea glass in a toast. “A Raven, for better or worse.”

“Caw,” Xavier toasted with his own empty glass. He’d had four glasses of iced tea with lunch and never asked for it unsweetened. At least someone liked it, though Shane despaired for his teeth. Ah, well. They were hockey players. Teeth were always in danger, regardless of the sugar content of their beverages. “Here’s hoping we’ll make your last season a good one.”

Shane wasn’t sure about “good,” but at least it wouldn’t be boring. “Here’s hoping,” he said and finished his tea.