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They had replaced him.
Shane’s mouth felt dry as he tried to swallow—the remnants of saliva he could manage nauseated him. His head was beginning to pulse with the promise of a migraine. The strain of his phone against his hand felt like a thousand pounds, and his eyes couldn’t focus on the small screen in front of him. He was suffering a mountain of afflictions, all because he happened to watch an ESPN reel starring Montreal’s rookie center.
The day had begun pleasantly enough. Shane and Ilya were enjoying Summer at the cottage. They had kissed and caressed each other awake in the early sunlight before Shane left Ilya sated in bed to go on his morning run. He returned to his husband and a plated breakfast waiting for him. They fooled around again against a wall in the kitchen, leaving them both breathless. Shane hadn’t thought life could get better.
So, he had sat himself on the couch as Ilya did the laundry. He never used his phone much, but why not scroll as he waited for Ilya to return? The draft was last week. It was always interesting to see where the league's newest players came from. That’s when he stumbled across the video that would ruin his entire day, maybe week. Possibly his entire next season.
Daniel Hung, all of twenty years old, zipped across his screen. This former college sophomore had been thrust out of relative obscurity after being drafted fourth by the Voyageurs. Despite being a slightly above-average player from some American college, Hung was expected to step into big shoes as the team’s newest forward.
According to the media, Voyageurs management, and even some of Shane’s former teammates, this kid had the ability to restore Montreal to greatness.
It had been two seasons since Shane left, and to say his absence was noticeable was an understatement. Each season, the Voyageurs fell in the first round of playoffs after barely clinching the last seed. He and Ilya had revelled in the downfall of the franchise. Shane felt a little bad for Hayden and J.J., but they had three Stanley Cups under their belts. They could handle an embarrassing season or two while the team failed to fill the gap in talent.
Shane knew it was coming. Any decent franchise would look for another younger, star player. Yet, it burned Shane to his core to compare his thirty-two-year-old face to the unauthorized heir of his legacy.
According to him, Hung’s angular, sculpted face looked refreshing next to Shane’s. He wasn’t quite baby-faced anymore, but there was still a roundness to his cheeks and a smoothness to his jaw that seemed ridiculous on a grown man. Hung’s sharp jaw and piercing eyes would certainly earn him NHL’s Hottest Player soon enough. Where Shane had been cute, Hung was handsome.
In the reel, one of the anchors made a racist joke about Hung being Shane’s son. He grimaced. Hung was obviously a Chinese last name. Shane was of Japanese and Irish descent. Sure, they were both East Asian, but father and son?
God, do I look old enough to have a son? Shane thought.
He threw his phone across the couch. It bounced against the cushion and clattered to the floor loudly against the quiet of the cottage.
“Shane?”
Shane couldn’t respond. His vision started to spin, and he lowered his head to rest between his knees.
“Shane?” Ilya called again. “Hey, did you-”
He couldn’t see Ilya, but he knew his husband was silently assessing the situation.
It wasn’t often that Shane freaked out like this, but Ilya had seen him at his best, worst, and everything in between.
After a moment, Shane felt a dip in the cushion next to him. He could feel the heat from Ilya’s hovering hand radiating over the middle of his back.
“Sweetheart,” Ilya cooed. “Are you okay?”
Shane breathed in and out deeply, willing the stinging of tears away. When Ilya’s hand fell gently to rest against his back, he couldn’t help but let a few tears fall to the rug below him. Shane squeezed his eyes tightly.
“They fucking replaced me with some kid,” Shane gritted out. Look at me calling another grown man a kid.
“Who? Coach?!” Ilya leaned closer to Shane’s head as if he wasn’t hearing him clearly. The franticness in Ilya’s voice made Shane feel a little ridiculous.
He was on a team with his husband—the very thing he dreamed about for years—a successful team at that. Since his arrival, Ottawa hadn’t struggled with decimating Montreal, yet the arrival of this rookie had flummoxed him.
“Montreal,” Shane squeaked out.
“What?” Ilya breathed out.
“ESPN is reporting it,” Shane muttered. “On my phone.”
Ilya scooted over to pick up Shane’s phone off the floor. They listened as the reel filled the silence between them. It hurt doubly to hear the overall feeling of excitement and hopefulness about the second coming of Shane Hollander.
Ilya sighed once the reel ended and set down the phone on the coffee table.
“They’ve found another me,” Shane sniffed, getting angry. “This kid, who is he? He hasn’t accomplished half of what I had at that age. It’s almost as if what I did meant nothing to anybody! They just think he’ll lead them—”
“Shane,” Ilya interrupted firmly. “That’s not fair. Montreal was a good team with you. You shouldn’t be surprised they want to recreate that success with someone else.”
“But does it have to be him?” Shane lifted his head to gaze into Ilya’s eyes. He was sure his wet eyes communicated his anguish better than he could. “They're treating him as if he’s my son. Like he’ll inherit everything I...”
From the look on Ilya’s face, Shane could tell he wasn’t getting it. He turned away to stare at his socked feet.
Maybe he wasn’t being fair. Hung was just some kid. Yes, he happened to be Asian and around the same size as Shane was at that age, but the similarities ended there. He didn’t have Shane’s skill handling the puck, he wasn’t as fast, his shots weren’t as accurate, and he certainly didn’t have the same hockey IQ. Despite all this, the rookie was being propped up to attempt to fill not only a Shane-sized hole on Montreal’s roster but also in the NHL’s heart.
Shane wasn’t on social media, but he couldn’t lie that he indulged in seeing himself on league highlights every now and then. However, ever since his and Ilya’s outing, Shane noticed less and less of his plays—of himself—featured on official NHL accounts. It wasn’t only that. Anchors, reporters, and even podcasters mentioned him less.
At first, he chalked it up to moving to a terrible team. Shane Hollander moves to a shit team: career suicide to be with his husband. It was a cute story for a week. However, when the Centaurs made it to the conference finals during his first season with the team, it became obvious how desperate everyone was to mention his name as little as possible.
It was strange, though. Scott Hunter still enjoyed the limelight. Every once in a while, Troy Barrett was featured as player of the week. Most devastating of all, Ilya saw a boost in love from the commentators and fans alike. He had seduced the great Shane Hollander to come play for Ottawa. His husband was treated like a reformed man for loving Shane. As if he had taken one for the team when he married Shane.
Briefly, Shane resented Ilya. Canada’s sweetheart had been sneaking around with Russia’s bad boy. Their relationship had definitely done some damage to the public’s perception of him. He was the only openly queer person of color in the NHL; he hadn’t factored in how coming out would affect the precarious space he occupied as an Asian man. Shane wanted to cry more, but it wouldn’t do him any good.
So, he abandoned the thought of envying Ilya, Scott, or Troy before it could fester into something more sinister. He dealt with racism in the sport before. It just hurts a little more to have it paired with homophobia this time around.
All Shane could do was focus on the league’s newest darling. A younger, still diverse, and (most likely) straight version of me to project all their ideas of masculinity onto.
“It just hurts,” Shane groaned. “I carried all this pressure to be the best for the longest time. Longer than I can remember. This kid isn’t carrying that on top of...everything else I was dealing with.”
Ilya remained silent but nodded.
“I can’t tell you how many days I stayed at the rink for hours. All the times I puked from pushing myself, and...“Shane's voice began to crack. “The years I spent hiding from myself and how I felt about you.”
“Shane,” Ilya cupped Shane’s face in his hands. He was frowning as he looked into Shane’s teary eyes.
“I sacrificed so much in the pursuit of greatness. Too much. And now what? Some kid just gets to ride the coattails of what I built. I endured so much, Ilya. Not just the homophobia, but guys picking on me in the showers and people calling me slurs. I kept my head above it all. But this, geez, it might keep me down.”
Ilya sucked in a sharp breath. He grabbed Shane’s shoulders with both hands, angling him so they faced each other head-on. There was a kind of clarity in Ilya’s eye that was hard to place.
“They will try to replace you. But they cannot erase you.”
“It seems like they’re trying,” Shane said dismissively.
“There are three banners hanging in Montreal’s arena. This new kid didn’t hang them. You did." Ilya shook his head. "Here, let us go to the trophy room. There is more evidence there.”
Shane chuckled as Ilya tried to pull him to stand.
“It’s two hours to get back home!” He remained seated and pulled Ilya back down to him.
“A trip to the moon would be worth it, if it meant you’d feel better.” His husband wiped the remnants of tears from his cheeks.
Somehow, Ilya always knew what to say. His words were a soothing balm for Shane’s aching heart.
“I am sorry, Shane,” Ilya whispered. “I am sorry this is happening to you. I am sorry you were bullied for the things you cannot change.”
Shane could only shrug as he leaned into Ilya's embrace.
He still felt shaken, but Ilya was right. He had forever changed Voyageurs’ legacy. With enough time, and with Ilya’s help, he would transform Ottawa into a bona fide hockey powerhouse. Honestly, he hoped Daniel Hung turned out to be half as good as him. The constant comparison might remind Montreal, the league, and fans of what a mistake it was to reject him.
For the first time in his life, he'd pass up Summer for the season to begin now.