Chapter Sixteen

SHANE WAS used to wearing a suit on game day, but it felt strange to show up at the arena and know that he wouldn’t change into his uniform that night. He waited for some kind of pang, some kind of flash of nostalgia or yearning, but he was more worried about Troy’s announcement to the team and his first night as an interim assistant coach to think much about it.

“Stop fidgeting,” said Troy as he finished up some notes in his office. He’d had a door installed again, because the lack of one had done nothing to make the locker room less dramatic and he couldn’t stand T.J. Clarke’s thrash metal Thursdays another goddamn week.

“I’m not fidgeting,” Shane said defensively, even though he totally was.

Troy rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head. Shane wondered if next year they’d have to share the office. If so, maybe they should take that door off again, because they might end up distracted.

Not that the lack of a door would stop them. It hadn’t yet. The team being in the locker room, though, was a different story.

“I told you, we don’t have to say a word about us to the team. We can just say that you decided to retire early because you were a good fit for the assistant coaching job and since you’ve basically been doing it for a few months already.” Troy’s stare was sharp. “Our business is our business, Shane. We don’t need to tell them unless there’s a reason.”

“They’re my teammates.” Shane forced himself to stop messing with his tie. He gave Troy a wry smile. “Or they were. I sort of feel like I want them to know, but maybe that’s not appropriate. What do you think, Coach? And hey, are you still gonna find it hot when I call you that?”

“Always,” said Troy. “I don’t care how you tell them, if you tell them, or if you just kiss me when we finally beat the goddamn Spitfires. Okay?”

“Okay.” Shane took a deep breath. He wanted the team to know without having to tell them. If he weren’t the new assistant coach, he’d just tell Cory Martin and let him tell everyone else. That seemed like a cop-out now that he was kind of, sort of, in charge.

“You ready?”

“I was born ready,” said Shane, because he’d always wanted to say that. Troy came up and kissed him, and Shane kissed him back until he started to get distracted. He pushed a little on Troy’s shoulder. “We keep doing this, team’s gonna know what’s up just by looking at your suit pants.”

Troy snorted and pulled away, and they both took a moment to compose themselves. Troy opened the door, and Shane followed him and eased next to a row of lockers as Troy whistled sharply and told them to turn off the pregame music. “Listen up. I’ve got a few announcements, and they’re important.”

The team fell immediately silent, and Shane saw a few of his teammates glance his way.

“There’s going to be an official announcement about this tonight, before the game, but you’re going to hear about it now.” Troy stood in his customary spot with one foot propped up on the bench. The team stood expectantly around him, in various stages of dress. “To put it succinctly, which is a fancy word for saying I’m not gonna bullshit you, Brian Quinn is no longer the assistant coach of this team.”

There was silence as the team exchanged some surprised glances, but no one looked particularly bothered. Shane heard Cory Martin mutter to Evan Snyder, “Was he ever?” and had to muffle a laugh in a discreet cough.

If Troy heard—and he probably did—he gave no hint of it. “And we’re replacing him with our own Shane North in an interim capacity. But if he doesn’t fuck up too badly, then you’ll see him back behind the bench with me next season.”

That got a reaction—a lot of cheers, stick taps, and whistles. It also got him a lot of back pats and hugs, and that was nice, if horribly embarrassing.

“You want to say anything, Shane?”

“Just, uh… thanks for the opportunity,” Shane said, which sounded lame and like he was a rookie talking to the press for the first time. “I’m excited to stick around. This is a great team, and I’m happy I get to be a part of it, even though I’m finished playing.”

“Aw, man,” said Josh Baker, the center for Shane’s former line. “I liked having North out there on the ice. He was so slow it made me look good.”

Shane laughed at the expected chirping. “Better watch it. I get to make you skate laps for saying that shit now.”

“Man, though, North,” said Cory, “we didn’t even get to celebrate your last game. We were gonna have, like, an epic party. With beer and everything. We had a plan.” Next to him, Evan—and even Xavier—nodded emphatically.

“It’s fine,” Shane reassured him but he felt about a thousand years old. “Really.” What the hell. He might as well get it over with. “One more thing. If you see me kiss Coach Cally here after a game, just, uh… go with it. Okay?”

It was the worst coming-out speech in the history of ever, but it worked. The team went wide-eyed and looked back and forth from him to Troy like they were watching a tennis match. Troy didn’t so much as crack a smile.

“Wait. What?” Evan smacked his hand on his forehead. “Oh. That’s why you’re not banging the hot surfer chick. Makes sense.”

“Seriously, Snydes?” Shit. He couldn’t use team nicknames anymore. “Snyder,” he corrected. “Didn’t she tell you she was a lesbian?”

“Yeah, but North, that’s hot,” Evan said reasonably.

“Don’t make me send you to sensitivity training,” Troy interrupted. “Go look up what lesbian means, Evan. And don’t treat women like a commodity if you ever want one to date you.” Troy paused. “Also I better hear a ‘Coach’ in front of that ‘North’ next time.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, Coach. Er, Coach North.”

Shane liked the sound of that a lot. “Don’t worry about it. But he’s right about the thing about women.”

“Seriously,” Cory said to Evan. “Ava probably wouldn’t like it if you talk about other girls being hot, anyway.”

Ava must be the server from Tombstone Brewery. Evan smiled. “She’s open-minded. I’m just saying it all makes sense now that North—er, Coach North—is into dudes.”

Shane opened his mouth to explain he’d always been “into dudes,” but he changed his mind. With his new position came a modicum of maturity, apparently. And he already knew that arguing with Evan would be pointless. He wished Ava good luck.

“So, uh… you guys are….” Wes Kelly said as he waved a hand.

“Your coaches,” Troy finished in a firm voice. “That’s all that really matters in here.”

“It makes sense,” Cory said, nodding. “North… Coach North, you are kinda like, Cally, Jr.”

Shane resisted the impulse to put his face in his hands, unsure if it was because he was blushing at the topic of conversation or smiling at the comparison. “Please stop talking.”

“Sure. Just… congratulations or whatever. On the job and the boyfriend. Big day for you.”

“Martin, seriously. Shut up and get dressed before I bench you,” said Troy.

Shane wasn’t quite sure what to do. Troy went back in his office as usual, though he left the door open. Shane couldn’t discount the team making kissy noises or saying aww if he happened to go in there too. But as he was trying to figure out if he should look busy or just play a game on his phone, Xavier came up to him.

“I didn’t want to say this earlier, since there were a bunch of people around, and please don’t make me skate laps for this, Coach North, but no drunk sleep in the world is deep enough to tune you two out.” Xavier grinned. “I mean, it was hot, and if I hadn’t wanted to throw up—because of the beer—I probably would have enjoyed listening.”

He laughed at Shane’s expression of horror. “I didn’t realize it was Coach Cally you were with, though.”

If he’d ever had a more excruciating moment in his life, Shane didn’t know when. He didn’t want to know either. “Captain Matthews, go get your gear on.”

“Got it, Coach North,” said Xavier. He laughed as he walked away and left Shane bright red and running his fingers under the knot of his tie, convinced he’d tied it too tight.

They were playing the Spitfires for the last time, unless they happened to meet in the playoffs—if the Ravens even made the playoffs. Shane was just getting used to the weirdness of being behind the bench instead of on the ice during warm-ups when Isaac Drake skated over. He leaned casually against the boards in front of the Ravens’ bench. “What’s up with the suit, North?”

“That’s Coach North to you, Drake. And I got a new job. Now when I tell my team to stop going top-shelf on you and shoot stick side instead, they have to listen.” He held his fist out.

“Hey.” Drake laughed, but he didn’t look all that bothered, and he fist-bumped Shane right back. “Your team can go whatever side they want, Assville Raven. Oh, sorry.” He winked. “I guess that’s Coach Assville Raven.”

“Drake, go back to your side before I decide you’re on my team and make you do laps,” Troy said to the irreverent Drake, who just gave another laugh and skated off.

Shane got a nice cheer from the crowd when he was announced as the new interim assistant coach right before puck drop, and he went onto the ice to acknowledge it—as well as the enthusiastic stick taps from his team. He was probably bright red, but it was nice to have the crowd on his side—even if it was entirely possible they were just excited to finally have something to cheer about.

The Spitfires also gave him stick taps, which was not unnoticed by the crowd or the Ravens’ bench.

“Do not act impressed. They’re trying to get in your heads. You still need to score on their punk goalie and get us a goddamn win. Don’t embarrass Coach North in his first game,” Troy cautioned and fixed his team with his usual sharp stare.

Shane spent most of the game watching Troy, feeling things out, and trying to get a sense of what he was supposed to do. A few times he wanted to add something or even contradict something Troy came up with, but he didn’t think he had the experience to do that and mostly stayed quiet. The Ravens were down 2-1 at the first intermission, and as the team came out to start the second, Troy grabbed him by the arm.

“I already got rid of one coach who wouldn’t open his mouth,” said Troy. “And I know you’re good at that. What is it? You scared? Awed by my competency?”

“You’re not that competent,” Shane pointed out. “We’re losing.”

“You got some better ideas, North? Then fucking impress me.”

Shane took that as his cue—or, okay, he took it as permission—to speak up. He argued with Troy when they talked about plays, told him to stop harping so much on forechecking and to try some riskier offensive moves and generally spent the game being a pain in the ass. Or so he thought. It struck him near the end of the second period that Troy wasn’t irritated with him at all. Quite the opposite.

And the Ravens had tied the game. So maybe Shane was on to something.

“Goddammit. I want to fuck you,” Troy muttered as he followed him into the locker room at intermission. “If we didn’t have to convince these assholes to win a game, I’d bend you over my desk.”

That wasn’t exactly a surprise, Shane thought ruefully. “I wasn’t sure if you’d appreciate all my arguing.”

“I didn’t know you had another setting,” said Troy. And yeah, fair enough.

Troy’s speech between the second and third period boiled down to “Go out there and score goals, run plays, keep your forechecking up. But you have to be more offense-minded this period, or they’ll run us over. Again. And I am tired of losing to these assholes. Got it?”

“Guys, I don’t want to have to buy Drake drinks again if we lose,” said Xavier.

“Not even if he’d put out?” Evan asked and then hurriedly said, “Uh, is that not appropriate locker-room banter? I mean, we all know Matty thinks Drake is hot.”

“It’s not appropriate because you sound like you’re in middle school,” Troy said. “I’m glad we’re all okay with the rainbow of sexuality in our locker room, but right now it’s time to play hockey.”

During the next period, Shane suggested a few riskier plays, and Troy vetoed all of them except for one, which he allowed just to “show your punk ass up.” When it resulted in a goal, Troy claimed that he knew it would all along and it was just a lesson. Shane burst out laughing. Loudly.

“You’re so full of shit, Coach,” he said, and Troy’s light eyes flashed at him. Shane peeked discreetly at the scoreboard and hoped the game ended in regulation with a Ravens victory. He wanted to celebrate the successful beginning of his new career with more than just a beer and maybe try out that brand-new office door.

The Ravens did win, but it took two minutes into overtime for it to happen. And it wasn’t on one of Shane’s plays, but actually had to do with the Ravens’ forechecking, goddammit. So Shane went ahead and took credit for that by telling Troy, “You’re welcome for my helping out with all those attack-angle drills.”

Troy clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re learning.”

“Bite me,” Shane said, and Troy laughed.

“Later, North. Right now we gotta go to my office and make some game notes.”

Shane would have liked to think that was code for sex, but he knew Troy well enough by then to know that he honestly meant that, about the game notes.

But after that? Hey, the possibilities were endless.