Chapter Text
Shane is the first one to arrive at practice, as usual. He does it intentionally because the rink just feels different before everyone else gets there. Those extra minutes alone give him time to focus, loosen up at his own pace, and remind himself why he fell in love with hockey in the first place.
“Hey, Shane.” Coach Wiebe appears just as Shane exits the locker room. “Can you stop by my office after practice today?”
Uh-oh. Coach's face seems tense.
“Sure,” Shane nods. “Um… Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I just wanna… ask you something.”
That doesn’t sound very reassuring, but Shane doesn’t push it.
Once the rest of the team arrives, Shane tries to pay attention to see whether Coach approaches anyone else, but no such thing happens. So, this must be Shane-specific. Has he done something wrong?
Ugh. Why is he immediately attacked by pessimistic thoughts, though? Maybe this is about something positive. Maybe — this very idea makes Shane’s heart beat faster — Coach is finally gonna ask him to step into the team captain position.
Speaking of whom… Shane’s eyes dart toward the dark blonde Russian. Ilya Rozanov. He became the captain of the Northlake Falcons last year as the first sophomore student ever to achieve that here. Shane likes to believe he would’ve gotten it instead if he hadn’t just transferred to Northlake University. Rozanov kinda got lucky. He was a familiar face who’d proved himself as a Falcon during the freshman year, right before the then captain graduated, which gave him a significant advantage despite Shane’s incredible stats.
This season, the two of them have been putting up similar numbers, and the rest of the team doesn’t seem to have a problem with Rozanov being the captain — so, perhaps there’s no reason for Shane to assume that things are about to change any time soon. But he’ll never stop hoping and trying.
Which is exactly why Rozanov hates Shane’s guts. He may be obnoxious, but he’s not stupid. He recognizes Shane’s ambitions and is determined to prevent them from becoming reality. Shane must admit he admires one thing about Rozanov, though — he never tries to undermine Shane to make himself look better. Yeah, it may be difficult to squeeze any praise for Shane out of Rozanov, but he doesn’t avoid passing the puck to Shane during games. Plus, he was visibly worried that one time when he thought Shane got seriously injured (luckily, he wasn’t). All that actually kinda makes Rozanov a good team leader, but Shane is still allowed to think he could do it better.
As if he can sense these thoughts, Rozanov points his hockey stick at Shane and remarks: “Your backhand still needs work, Hollander.”
Shane’s blood boils. “My backhand is just fine.”
“Too slow if you ask me.”
“Well, nobody asked.”
Rozanov smirks. “Luckily, captain can say stuff even when nobody asks him.”
Nope, Shane won’t be ragebaited. An eyeroll escapes him, but he chooses not to give Rozanov any more satisfaction.
***
A bit later, getting dressed after a quick shower, Shane’s a little anxious to find Coach, yet he doesn’t delay it. Deep breath, relaxed shoulders, knock-knock.
“Yes?” Coach Wiebe’s voice invites him in from the other side of the door.
Shane enters the office and freezes for a second. Rozanov is also there, sitting across from their coach.
“Um, do you want me to wait outside until you guys finish?” Shane asks.
“No, Shane, we were actually waiting for you.” He gestures toward the chair next to Rozanov. “Take a seat, please.”
Shane does as he’s told, even more nervous now. He glances at Rozanov, his expression quite unreadable.
“So…” Coach Wiebe rubs his hands together. “You two must be wondering why you’re here. Let me be clear and state right away that… This isn’t my idea, but I hope you’ll listen to what I have to say. If you decide to say no, I’ll respect it, but you do need to consider it.”
“Coach, you sound worried,” Rozanov mutters and leans forward. “What is it?”
“Well… You must’ve heard what happened with Crowell. You’ve also heard what he said. The dean made remarks that shouldn’t have been made — homophobic, careless, whatever word you want to use. It’s blown up, and now our biggest sponsors are threatening to pull funding.” Coach Wiebe takes a sip from a coffee mug on his desk. “The administration wants damage control. You know, as soon as possible. Public. Visible.”
Shane nods, even though he has no idea where this is going.
“Crowell’s going to issue an apology. Not that I trust what’s behind it, but it’s happening. And part of the agreement being pushed is… he publicly supports a queer couple from Northlake University.” Coach’s gaze shifts between the two players in front of him. “In order for this to work, it needs to be a notable duo. Someone visible on campus, popular.” He hesitates a little, like he already hates what he’s about to say. “They suggest you two.”
“What?!” The outrage escapes Shane’s mouth before he can stop it.
“They want you to appear together, as a couple. For a few weeks, a few months tops. You know, enough to stabilize the situation, keep the sponsors from walking, and show the college is ‘moving forward’ or whatever.”
Rozanov’s sharp inhale indicates he might wanna respond, but Coach Wiebe raises a hand slightly to stop him.
“I know this is unfair and a lot to ask. I’m not pretending it’s simple or right. As I said earlier, you can say no. I would never resent you for that. However, I also need you to understand what’s at stake here. Not just for our team, but for every program that depends on this school not collapsing under the weight of one man’s stupidity.”
Shane can’t believe what he’s hearing. “But, Coach… What about the team?” he asks quietly. “If we did this… wouldn’t it just confuse everyone? Make things super weird in the locker room? Or worse, on the ice against other teams?”
“It would complicate things,” Coach Wiebe admits. “But I’ll handle the team. Any questions, any tensions… You wouldn't carry that alone. That’s on me.” A pause. “And once this crisis is over, once the sponsors are steady again and things calm down… You don’t keep pretending for anyone’s benefit. Then we’ll tell the team the truth, in confidence.”
This is way too ridiculous. There’s no way Shane can agree, and he’s absolutely sure Rozanov thinks the same.
“I’ll do it.”
The words come from Rozanov so easily that Shane actually turns toward him, stunned. Coach blinks too, clearly not expecting an answer that fast, but Shane gets there first.
“Are you insane?” he snaps.
Rozanov barely reacts. “What? The team needs this. I am captain, so it is my responsibility to help.”
“This is not normal! You can’t just agree to fake-date your teammate because the administration screwed up. What will people say about us?!”
A muscle tightens in Ilya’s jaw, though his voice stays annoyingly calm. “You don’t have to do anything.”
Shane frowns.
“I mean it,” Rozanov continues. “Crowell wants visible athlete couple? Fine. I am already recognizable enough on campus. They will survive if it’s just me feeding these rumors.” He shrugs one shoulder. “And unlike some people, I am secure enough in my masculinity not to panic over holding another guy’s hand for a few months.”
Shane stares at him, then scoffs. “Oh, absolutely not. You don’t get to sit here acting like you’re some kind of martyr while I’m the fragile straight guy who can’t handle it.”
“Is not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you implied.” Shane looks at Coach, who’s suspiciously quiet, and crosses his arms. Suddenly, competitive irritation is overtaking the initial shock. “If somebody’s saving this team, it’s not gonna be you alone.” Ilya’s mouth twitches faintly, so Shane rushes to point at him immediately. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself, either, Rozanov. I still think this plan is insane.”
“But you are agreeing?”
Ugh, Shane must be truly crazy. “Yeah, well…” he mutters. “Somebody has to make sure your ego doesn’t become unbearable.”
Coach Wiebe looks at them like he still can’t believe they accepted. “Thank you both. I’ll talk to you again tomorrow with more details, okay? You’re free to go now.”
The two hockey players are completely mute as they pick up their stuff from the locker room and head outside. Shane wants to escape first, but Rozanov keeps up the pace, so they end up leaving the rink together.
“You know,” Rozanov speaks up, walking backward for a second so that he can face Shane, “if we are pretending to be boyfriends, you should probably work on looking less offended every time I speak.”
“You should work on speaking less.”
“Oh, I feel the chemistry already.”
Ugh. Shane is hit with the sinking feeling that he just made the worst fucking decision of his entire life.