by Avon Gale
“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.
Chapter Four
THE RAVENS’ home opener was against the Sea Storm from Jacksonville, Florida. The Storm had swept the Ravens out of the conference finals two years earlier, and watching the game tapes from that particular series made Troy as angry as that waterspout thing on Jacksonville’s jersey. He couldn’t believe what the Ravens got away with, especially with the officials. Maybe players and management weren’t the only people St. Savoy bribed, or maybe the officials were afraid of St. Savoy too. The previous year the Ravens had beaten the Storm in the playoffs. But there’d been just as many cheap shots and so much diving, Troy thought he was watching the goddamn Olympics.
The Ravens were nervous on opening night, and Troy couldn’t blame them. The team he watched on those tapes deserved every bit of the ire directed at them, but Troy would be damned if that would be his team. Which is what he told his players in no uncertain terms in his pregame address.
“This is the first game of the season, and there’s a team who really wants to beat you waiting on the ice. To be honest I watched those goddamn game tapes and I want to beat that team too. But luckily we’re not that team anymore.” That wasn’t a question, so Troy kept talking. “But they don’t know that. Our fans don’t know that either. And the only way they’re gonna learn is by us going out there and showing them. And the only way you can do that? You need to do more than just understand that this isn’t the same team. You need to believe it. You need to breathe it. You need to bleed it.” He held up a hand. “That’s a metaphor, guys. Before anyone takes me fucking literally. But that concept needs to be as familiar to you as the skates on your feet and the ice beneath you. I don’t think we’re there yet, but what I need to see tonight from all of you? I need to see the potential that we can get there. Do you understand me?”