Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sixeen year old Shane Hollander never imagined that two years later, he would be doing this kind of job.

You will get $7,000 , it's okay. Hollander closed his eyes. The man behind him lost his rhythm, and Shane knew it would all be over soon. He felt cold and tired, darkness consuming his body. He wanted to shoot someone, or just give this fucking man a punch, but he didn't.

He swallowed all these emotions. He knew that one day, these feelings would rage and burst forth from deep within him, screaming out of his body to consume every last cell of his flesh.

2017  Sixeen-year-old Shane Hollander

Hollander never forgot this moment. He saw the word cancer on his mother’s medical diagnosis report. The single word lingered before his eyes. Though it was the height of summer, an icy chill swept over his entire body. Grief and anxiety seeped into his insides like frigid air, robbing him of his breath.

"I’m so sorry, honey. Truly, I’m sorry," Yuna sobbed.

"It’s all right, Mom. We’ll get through this, as long as we’re together." Hollander squeezed Yuna’s hand tightly. In that instant, he knew he was no longer a child. He had to hold back his own emotions. He could see how much pain Yuna was in, and he refused to let his mother feel even more distressed.

A single diagnosis threw the whole family's rhythm into chaos. At first David could still carry the household expenses, but soon Yuna needed more and more medication, then hospital fees, then the cost of all those trips back and forth. Even with Canada's public health coverage, none of it was enough to hold their lives together. The illness moved through them like a tornado. In the span of a single year, it tore the Hollanders apart, leaving them in pieces.

Hollander wanted to give up hockey, but Yuna wouldn't have it. From her hospital bed she said, "We'll figure something out, we will, Shane, baby. The last thing I want is to watch you throw away your future, the thing you love, because of me. Promise me. Okay?"

"Okay, Mom. I promise."

"I'm sorry, son. I really am." David's hand came to rest on his shoulder.

He knew his father had done everything he could. It hurt to see him like this.

None of this was their fault, so why did he keep apologizing? How had everything fallen apart?

Life had dealt him a heavy blow.

The fucking life. Fuck.

Hollander had originally planned to enter the CHL, train relentlessly, and eventually get drafted into the NHL. But now he couldn't go on like that. After talking it over with Yuna, the path with the best odds was to grind through junior, commit to the NCAA route, get into BU on a full scholarship, get drafted, and when the timing was right sign his entry evel contract that way he could start supporting the family while still keeping hockey alive.

Fine. A strategy. That was the thing he was best at.

2019  Eighteen-year-old Shane Hollander

Everything went according to plan. Hollander did his best in every game. Even before Yuna's diagnosis, he had been a highly touted prospect. At seventeen, while playing in the USHL, he caught the eye of scouts, and offers soon came in from the NCAA.

It felt wonderful to earn. It felt good to give back to his parents. It felt good to see Yuna happy. Shane loved that feeling. Even with his life swallowed whole by hockey, he carved out hours to pick up odd jobs for the neighbors. After every practice, he rushed from the rink to the hospital to relieve his father and take over caring for Yuna. All of it, every last piece of it. The moment he saw Yuna smile, it all felt worth it.

He was later admitted to Boston University. The school was aware of his family’s struggles, and everyone there looked out for him. He knew how fortunate he was. Yet it was still far from enough. Targeted drugs drained nearly all the family’s savings.

After joining the NCAA, he faced tighter regulations. He had to finish his coursework and keep training nonstop under the CARA limits, and he knew he couldn't let his grades slip, couldn't fail a class, because that would only make everything worse. Shane felt like he had less and less time, and less of himself to go around.

Shane had thought that getting into BU and being drafted into the NHL the same year would be the beginning of things turning around. Fate didn't see it that way. Yuna's illness grew worse and worse, until David had no choice but to quit his job to be at the hospital with her full-time. Shane began to dread going to visit his mother. Every time he went, she'd grown a little thinner. The road to the hospital was like a paring knife, peeling him back one layer at a time, and the pain of it was unbearable.

"Shane, we really don't recommend signing your entry level contract in your very first year of college. It would significantly lower your ceiling as a professional. We understand your situation, and we'll coordinate with the NCAA to give you every bit of help we can, all right?"

The advisor tapped her knuckles against the wooden desk. Solid wood, dark brown, the kind that gave back a dull, muffled sound.

Could he still afford Yuna’s targeted medication if he put off the contract for another year? Why wasn’t the treatment working at all, even though his mother kept taking the drugs? When would he ever find time to work extra jobs again... These thoughts exploded inside Shane’s mind. Unconsciously, he started bouncing his leg, arms crossed tight over his chest, the pad of his index finger picking restlessly at the skin of his thumb.

He felt everything around him dissolve outward, until all that was left was the brown wood desk in front of him and the dull knock knock knock of it being tapped, over and over.

"Shane, you have to think about the long term. If you go pro now, yes, the signing bonus hits your account right away, but your base salary won't be high. The team could easily find excuses to keep you off the ice, and if you don't crack the top roster, what happens when you can't pull down that $925,000 salary? You might not even get the chance to prove yourself. You'd be giving up your degree and your NCAA eligibility, and that could very realistically stall your whole career. Right now you've got exactly one team you can go to. Do you really think this is the right move? For you? For your family?"

Two years. Could their family really hold on like this for two more years? Could Yuna even wait that long? And why, why did the new rules that would finally let players earn not take effect until 2023?

"Shane? Shane? Are you listening?"

"Oh, oh, yeah, I'm listening. Sorry, Ms. Sawyer, I was just thinking. Could you give me some time to think it over?"

"Of course, Shane. Come find me once you’ve made up your mind. I’ll be here whenever you need."

BU was beautiful. It really was. If it weren't for all of this, he'd have loved it here. The weather was good now, and Boston had the willow trees he adored. He loved the way the wind moved through them, the sound of the branches brushing against one another, the way they drifted in the air, soft, and free.

At least it wasn't the winter he hated. In winter, Yuna could never go outside for walks. She could only stay in the hospital room or at home, listening to the radiators creak through the house. Winter could very well be the thing that killed her.

"Hey, Shane, have you decided yet?"

Shane, lost in his own thoughts, was startled. He turned around. Wow, what a lucky day. He'd run into the very last person he wanted to see — the assistant coach, Sam. From the first moment he'd laid eyes on him, something had felt off in a way Shane couldn't quite put into words, and he disliked the man from the bottom of his heart. The inappropriate physical contact, the way he overstepped boundaries in conversation, the excessive concern — all of it made Shane uncomfortable.

"It's about the money, right?"

"Uh... yeah."

"It’d be such a waste if you sign right now. You know you’ve got real talent, Shane. Finish your college career, and you’ll land a far better contract. But..." Sam took a step closer and glanced around cautiously. "Your mom doesn’t have that much time, does she?"

A nameless anger flared up in Shane. What was Sam actually after? He couldn't read the man's intentions, what exactly did he want to get out of Shane?

"I’ve got a way for you to stay on the regular path, land a great contract, and sort out your mom’s... well, you know, all those troubles."

Sort out my mom? Was Yuna some kind of problem to fix? Was there something wrong with my mother? Sort out her?

"I've got a great job for you. If you're interested, come here tomorrow night at seven."

"A job? What kind of job? It won't violate the improper benefits rules, will it?"

"You'll find out when you come." Sam brushed him off impatiently, shoved an envelope into Shane's hand, and turned and walked away.

1098 Willow Street, YUK Bar. One guest only.

The paper inside the envelope was gilded and exquisitely made, carrying a faint scent of roses.

WTF?

Shane meant to put it out of his mind, but the advisor’s words kept echoing in his head. He knew full well that every path carried its own risk. He loved hockey, and he loved Yuna too. He didn't want to talk it over with Yuna. Because he knew it would only end in a fight. Yuna would tell him without a moment's hesitation to finish his degree.

Fine. Just going to take a look. He was an eighteen year old grown man, an athlete. What could they do to him if he didn't want to go along with it?

A shop window threw his reflection back at him. Something on display caught his eye — a voice recorder.

7:50 PM

Shane stood outside YUK Bar. From the street it didn't look busy. Reddish brown wooden door frame, a warm yellow sign glowing above it, two guards posted at the entrance. Everyone who went in was dressed in fine clothes and carrying luxury bags — outfits and accessories that could easily cover the cost of Yuna’s targeted medication for months on end. Shane looked down at his own tracksuit and was suddenly struck by how badly he didn't belong here. He gripped the card tightly, trembling just a little. He drew a deep breath. Come on, Hollander. Just take a look.

After checking his card, the guard signaled to a server inside. A woman in a four-button suit came over to greet him.

"Hi, are you Shane Hollander?"

"Oh, ye...yes."

"Follow me, Mr. Hollander."

The woman led Hollander toward the back door, through the kitchen, and into a private room at the far end of the bar.  Leather sofas, walls papered in a vintage pattern that matched the carpet, and on the glass coffee table sat a manila envelope and an expensive fountain pen.

"Please wait here a moment, Mr. Hollander."

8:00 PM.

Assistant coach Sam walked in, along with a woman in the same four-button suit except her hair was blonde, her eyebrows finely drawn, and her eyes smiling. She was beautiful.

"Hi, Shane. May I call you that?"

"Sure."

"Did Sam fill you in on what this job actually involves?"

"Umm, no. Would this job violate the improper benefits rules?"

"Hahahaha, sweet boy." The woman burst out laughing.

"Sorry. You can call me Reagan. You don't need to worry about any of that. This job fully respects what you want. All you have to do is think it over carefully and decide whether you're willing. Everything else, leave it to us. We have plenty of employees just like you, who’ve come to us for help, and we’re always glad to lend a hand, baby."

"So what does the job actually involve?"

"You'd be providing services to our members. In return, you can choose to be compensated in cash, or in any other form we're able to arrange. The specifics of the services are all laid out in the contract, which you can open it and read it now. Contracts generally run one year, and compensation is settled per session. The more sessions you provide, the more you earn. If a member tips you privately during a session, you keep all of it, however much it is — we don't take a cut. But you're required to provide at least twelve sessions a year. Fall short of twelve, and we charge a mandatory ten-thousand-dollar penalty fee."

Shane opened the file on the table. The cover read Dorian Charity Foundation, and like the envelope, it carried the faint scent of roses. Up until he saw what was on the second page, he'd still found the smell oddly familiar — but the moment he read those few lines, the scent made him want to retch. He remembered what it was now. It was the smell of roses wilting, rotting. Deceptive at first, but breathe it in carefully and you'd catch the decay beneath the sweetness.

It was the smell from back when Yuna was healthy, tending her garden — the smell of withered roses she'd buried in the soil as fertilizer.

Services provided. Including but not limited to:

Companionship Services

Sex Services

Any form of service requested by the member

"So it's just like a hooker?" Shane let out a cold laugh.

"Oh, baby. If that's how you're going to think about it, the rest of this conversation is going to get difficult. You know what, Shane? You're lucky. Not just anyone gets offered this. You're handsome. You've got the perfect face, the perfect body, and all that training and studying you put in turned you into a top athlete good enough to stand among the best at BU. That's exactly the kind of quality our members appreciate. Without it, it's very hard to become one of us. So, baby, why don't you turn a few pages and take a look at what we're offering?"

Reagan didn't so much as flinch. She watched Shane with a smile, a look in her eyes that said she was certain she'd already won.

$5,000 a session.

The number stung. One session, and he could cover a full month of Yuna's treatment and meds. Fuck.

"If your work pleases the member, they'll usually throw in a tip on top of that. And our members are a generous bunch — they're more than happy to help out young people like you."

"Hollander, what are you hesitating for? You know you've got the looks. Just shut your eyes, spread your legs, and it'll be over before you know it. Don't be such a pussy." Sam cut in, impatient.

"Sam. Get out. Now." Reagan's expression shifted. She fixed him with a cold stare.

"Fine. I'm just trying to help. Fuck. No appreciation around here." Sam slunk out of the room, sulking.

"Now it's just the two of us, Shane. Take your time and think it over." Reagan's smile returned, and she gave Shane a gentle pat.

He didn't want to. Right now all he wanted was to flip this table over, walk out, land a hard punch square on Sam's face, and scream at him to get the hell away. He wanted to throw up to vomit out all of it, the breakdown, the pressure, everything. Why him? Why was this happening to him? What had he done wrong? He didn't understand.

"Hey, If you can't decide tonight, take a few days. Think it through. When you've made up your mind, call me, alright? I'm always here, Shane." A business card was placed in Shane's hand.

I'm always here. What was that line even supposed to mean? Would it make his life any better? Would it make the new NIL rules take effect right now? No. The places these people lived in were like swamps — except one was a green swamp, and the other a black one that looked deeper and pulled you down faster.

Shane didn't know how he walked out of that bar, how he got back to the dorm and lay down on his bed, how he fell asleep, how he got up the next morning and trained out on the ice.

"Yes." His hand, holding the pen, hovered over the paper. "Are all your employees like me? My age?"

"No, Shane. We have a great many members. People around your age make up...about half, I'd guess? Like I said, young people like you are exactly what our members appreciate."

Okay. So it's a foundation full of rich, powerful perverts who like them young, pretty, accomplished, and with a clean record. Got it.

"Okay," Shane said, and signed the contract.

"Wonderful. We're very happy to have you, Shane."

Shane’s chest felt tight. He didn't know what he had just signed. He didn't know what was waiting for him. And beyond that he didn't know any other way to protect both Yuna and the hockey he loved. No one was going to help him. No one but himself.