Chapter 16: The Long Game: Chapter 16

A few days later, Shane was sitting in a waiting area outside Crowell’s office. He had never been to the NHL’s headquarters in Manhattan before, and the sleek lobby that had greeted him when he’d stepped off the elevators, with its fortieth-floor view of the Hudson River, was impressive. And intimidating.

“Commissioner Crowell can see you now, Mr. Hollander,” said the receptionist.

Shane nodded at her without quite making eye contact. He found her intimidating too.

When Shane walked in, he was greeted warmly by Crowell. “Shane! Come in. Thank you for meeting with me. Short notice, I know.”

Roger Crowell was a tall man, solidly built, with thick silver hair and heavy eyebrows over calculating, pale blue eyes. He’d never been a hockey player, but he’d played football in college, back in the seventies, and he clearly still kept in shape. If he weren’t so fucking scary, Shane would say he was handsome.

“No problem,” Shane said as he shook Crowell’s offered hand. “The offices are nice.”

“You’ve never been here before?”

“No.”

Crowell’s face shifted into a confused expression that seemed a bit theatrical to Shane. “Is that so? I’m surprised to hear it. Well, welcome.”

“Thank you.”

Crowell gestured to one of the leather chairs facing his desk, and Shane perched on the edge of the seat. Crowell sat in his own high-backed executive desk chair, leaning back in it comfortably. “Montreal’s had a great start to the season.”

“Yes. Not bad.”

“Always tough, defending a title,” Crowell said. As if he knew.

“It can be, yeah.”

“And how’s that charity doing? The one you started with Rozanov?”

“Good. We’ve been able to fund some very worthwhile organizations and initiatives.” Shane knew he sounded like he was reading directly from the Irina Foundation’s website, but he was too nervous to care. Where the hell was this conversation going?

“Glad to hear it. Your camps are doing good work too. Very…inclusive.”

“Yes. We try to make sure of that. It’s important to both of us.”

“That’s good. That’s good. We like to see that. Diversity is important.”

“It is,” Shane said cautiously.

“It can be hard sometimes to find a balance,” Crowell continued. “If you know what I mean.”

Shane definitely didn’t. “Balance?”

“Of course we, as a league and as a sport, want to talk about inclusion and diversity in hockey. We want to see things move in the right direction. But too much talk about that stuff can be…distracting.”

“Um.”

Crowell held out one hand. “Now I’ve heard, and you don’t have to confirm this, but I’ve that you are…homosexual.”

“I, uh—” Shane’s stomach clenched. He a homosexual, but the way Crowell said it made it sound icky.

“Like I said, you don’t have to tell me. But let’s say the rumor is true.”

It wasn’t so much a rumor as something that Shane had told his teammates, and had willingly admitted to anyone who asked. He kept his mouth shut now.

“So maybe you’ve told your teammates, your friends, your family. Maybe you have a partner, I don’t know. The point is, I don’t to know, and neither does anyone else.”

“Okay.”

“Nothing against Scott Hunter, of course. He’s a great player and a great ambassador for the game, but that approach can be a lot, y’know?”

“Approach? You mean his activism?”

“Activism, sure. Or just being loud about your personal business. What I’m saying is I appreciate the way you handle yourself, Shane. I know you put hockey first, and keep your private life private. That keeps everyone comfortable, and keeps the focus on hockey.”

Shane had no idea what the fuck they were talking about. Was Crowell telling him not to come out publicly? Was that what this meeting was truly about? “I admire Scott Hunter,” Shane said. “What he’s done over the past few years has been important to LGBTQ hockey players and fans, especially young players.”

“Of course. Like I said, the NHL absolutely supports Scott Hunter and the LGBTQ community one hundred percent.” Crowell said “LGBTQ” slowly and carefully, as if he were repeating a phone number he needed to memorize. “Did you know we sell Pride merchandise year-round on our website now?”

“Does the money go to LGBTQ charities?”

“And we’re expanding our Pride Nights,” Crowell said, ignoring Shane’s question. “Every team has them now, and we’re planning the first joint Pride Night game.”

“That’s a good first step, but—”

“I know that, historically, hockey hasn’t been the most inclusive sport, but obviously can make it to the very top if they work hard enough. I mean, you’re proof of that.”

Shane wasn’t sure if Crowell was referring to his rumored homosexuality, his Japanese heritage, or both. He really wanted to get the fuck out of this office.

“What I wanted to say, Shane, in person, is that the league is proud of what you’re doing with your charity. Mental health is so important. And you can tell Rozanov that too. Just great work, both of you.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“And, if you want to be more vocal about your…personal life, maybe the NHL can help you with that. We can plan something together. We’d be happy to do that with you. For you.”

“I’ll…think about it.”

Crowell smiled like a panther. “Fantastic.” He stood, so Shane stood as well. “Always a pleasure sitting down with one of the league’s best players, Shane. You know, you’re my nephew’s favorite.”

“Oh. That’s cool.”

“Good luck this season. Lydia can show you out.”

“Okay. Thank you. Um…thanks. Bye.”

Shane followed Lydia—the receptionist—to the elevators in a daze, his stomach clenching and his skin crawling with disgust. He wanted a shower, or a treadmill, or soundproof room he could scream into.

He stood in the elevator and miserably watched the doors close, blocking out the large glass NHL logo on the other side.

Ilya woke up from his pregame nap to find about a hundred texts from Shane on his phone. Most of them asking him to call as soon as possible. But also assuring him he was fine. But to call him. Soon. Now, if possible.

Ilya called him.

“Jesus. Finally,” Shane said.

“I was asleep. What is it?”

“I met with Crowell.”

Ilya propped himself up on an elbow. “Oh yes?”

“It was weird.”

“Weird how?”

“He basically said—I don’t even know what he said. He’s really intimidating.”

“Tell me one thing he said.”

Shane exhaled loudly. “First of all, he told me we were doing good work with the Irina Foundation. He asked me to tell you that.”

“Okay.”

“But he also, like, told me not to come out, maybe?”

Ilya sat all the way up. “I don’t understand.”

“He said he’s heard about me being gay and basically that he’d like them to stay rumors.”

“He said this?”

“Not exactly. Like I said, it was weird. The way he talks, it’s friendly and scary at the same time. I hated it.”

Ilya was starting to get angry. Mostly at Crowell. A little bit at Shane. “What did he say?”

“I think he doesn’t want another Scott Hunter. He doesn’t seem to be a fan of activism in hockey. Or anything that isn’t hockey in hockey, really.”

“He is a fan of money in hockey,” Ilya said.

“He was talking about how great diversity is, and about the league’s LGBTQ initiatives, but also that he hates distractions from the game. The whole meeting felt like an indirect threat. Like, he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to surprise anyone by coming out on social media or something.”

“Or kissing your boyfriend on TV.”

“Right. I mean, obviously I’m not going to do either of those things.”

“Obviously.” Ilya said it bitterly, but Shane didn’t seem to notice.

“But also it was like he was daring me to accuse the league of not being, like, queer-friendly or something. By listing all the stuff they do.”

“Gross.”

“It was, a bit. Yeah.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Nothing. I wasn’t going to do anything anyway, but I still feel slimy after that meeting.”

Ilya’s jaw clenched. He knew all too well Shane had no intention of going public about their relationship, but if there had even been a chance and Crowell had crushed it…

“Anyway,” Shane said, “I just needed to tell someone about it. So thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Good luck tonight, okay?”

“Sure. You too.”

“I love you.”

Ilya’s heart felt like lead. “I love you too.”

“Last time we met,” Dr. Galina Molchalina said, in Russian, “you told me quite a bit about your mother. Would you like to talk about your father today?”

“No,” Ilya said, without hesitation. Then, “I’m glad he’s dead.”

If Galina was shocked by this statement, her face didn’t show it. “He died a few years ago, right?”

“Yes. I’d been expecting it. He had Alzheimer’s, and had been deteriorating quickly. My brother pretended it wasn’t happening.”

“Are you and your brother close?”

Ilya barked out a surprised laugh at that. “Andrei? No. Not at all. I haven’t talked to him since I went home for the funeral. He’s a clone of Dad.”

Galina leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, waiting. Ilya sighed. He supposed he need to talk about his goddamned father.

“Dad was a cop. Very highly decorated, very proud. He climbed the ranks all the way to an important job at the Ministry. He was about fifty when I was born. Andrei is four years older than me. And my mother was still only in her twenties when I was born, so.”

“Quite an age gap between your parents.”

“Yes.” Ilya hated to imagine what circumstances made his young, beautiful mother have to marry a joyless old man and bear his children. “My father hated her, I think. He always thought she was cheating on him, or planning to leave him. I wish she could have left.”

He didn’t want to get into some of his darker memories of his father terrorizing his mom, and Galina must have sensed it. She asked, “Was your father proud of your hockey career?”

“Not really. He was a big KHL fan. He thought the Russian league was superior to the NHL, and did not want me going to America. He never followed my NHL career too closely, but he was always interested when I played for Team Russia in any tournament. If Russia won gold, he was proud of me. Anything less was an embarrassment.”

“That must have been very hard,” she said, and Ilya wondered if she was thinking of the disastrous Sochi Olympics.

“My mother loved watching me play, when I was little. I liked playing for her. After she died, hockey became an escape for me. It got me away from home, and it was a way to get out some of my anger, I guess.” He smiled. “And I was very good at it.”

Galina smiled back. “It’s good that you had that. Were there other things you did to escape at that time?”

Well. Yes. And Ilya supposed there was no reason to be shy about it. Not here.

“Sex,” he said bluntly. “When I was old enough, sex was the other thing I did to keep my mind and body busy.

could be the title of my autobiography. I’m not complicated.” He stretched his arm along the back of the couch, trying to show how relaxed and uncomplicated he was. It probably wasn’t convincing.

“May I ask when ‘old enough’ was?” she said.

“Fourteen, I think. Something like that.” He hesitated a moment, wondering if he was ready to reveal this, then decided to just go for it. “It was girls only, at first. Then boys too. Not as many, but some.”

Again, her face didn’t show any surprise. She jotted something on the notepad she balanced on her lap, then glanced back up. “That would have been risky, especially in Russia,” she said.

“I think that was part of what I liked about it.”

“Those desires didn’t scare you?”

Ilya considered the question before answering. “No. They never did. It just seemed like an opportunity for more sex.” It was the truth; maybe if he hadn’t been attracted to girls first, he would have been scared, but being attracted to men as well had always made him feel…evolved.

She scribbled more notes while Ilya watched.

“I’m bisexual. Just to be clear.” He said it casually, as if he said those words all the time. He’d barely said them ever.

She nodded. “What has it been like, being a bisexual NHL player?”

Ilya shrugged. “Normal. I don’t advertise it.”

“It’s never been an issue?”

“No.” Ilya frowned. He was lying, which was pointless here. “Well, yes. It’s made it hard to be…” He wasn’t sure how much he should reveal here. His therapist was sworn to secrecy. This was a safe space. But he still felt like he should have Shane’s permission to talk about their relationship to someone else. So, he said, “I’m…seeing someone. In secret.”

“A man,” she guessed.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

Ilya almost laughed. “Ten years, give or take.”

For the first time during their session, Galina looked surprised.

“Off and on,” Ilya explained. “It was casual for years. Secret hookups, that sort of thing. But then I fell in love with the guy.”

“And…did he feel the same?”

Ilya couldn’t stop the giddy smile that spread across his face. “He did. He does.”

She acknowledged his smile with one of her own. “How does your relationship work now?”

“We see each other when we can. He lives in…a place not too far away from here. We’re both busy, but we spend as much time together as we can. Especially in the—” Ilya cut himself off. He was revealing too much.

“In the summers?” Galina guessed. “When you aren’t playing hockey.”

“Right. Yes.”

A silence hung in the room, heavy and full of mutual understanding. She knew who his boyfriend was, and she knew knew. And no one had to ever say his name aloud.

“So,” Ilya said. “That’s another thing. In my life.”

“Does anyone know?”

“A few people. His parents know. Maybe five other people besides. Mostly Sh—” He pressed his lips together just in time. “Mostly his friends.”

“None of friends?”

“Not yet. No.”

“That doesn’t sound even. He has more support than you do in this.”

Ilya knew that. Of course it had occurred to him. Sometimes he was even angry about it. “I know.”

“Who would you tell, if you could?”

Everyone. Ilya would tell the whole world if he could. “I don’t know. My teammates might not understand. I don’t have many friends who aren’t teammates.”

“There are other queer NHL players,” she said. “And ex-NHL players. Are you friends with any of them?”

“Some. Sort of. I think even they would be bothered by—” He caught himself. After a moment’s hesitation, though, he decided there was no point in pretending she didn’t already know the next part. “By rival players secretly dating. A gay hockey player is still a hockey player, and there are unofficial rules. A code.”

“Are there rules?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know. I’m sure the league will make some up in a hurry if they find out about us. Either way, things would get very difficult for us.”

“What do you think the worst-case scenario is?”

Ilya took a moment to think before answering. “My worst fear is having to go back to Russia. Especially since, in that scenario, I would have been outed as bisexual.”

“Do you think that’s likely?”

Ilya sighed. “I don’t know.”

“What would need to happen, for you to have to leave Canada?”

“I guess I think…if I wasn’t allowed to play hockey, I would be unemployed. And I haven’t lived here long enough to apply for citizenship.”

“But there are other ways,” she said reasonably. “And it’s unlikely you’d be banned from the NHL, especially given who you are.”

She was right. Ilya had considered the fact that, even if the worst happened and he and Shane were kicked out of the league—or shunned by every team, if not officially kicked out—then he could seek out other ways to stay in Canada. He could find other work. He could…get married.

“Worst-case scenario,” he said slowly. “Actual, realistic worst-case scenario: our NHL careers are over, but we can get married, and live a quiet life together in Canada.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Angry that we would have our careers cut short like that. But also… I don’t know. Relief, maybe. Sometimes I feel like I might scream, it’s so hard keeping this secret. I love hockey, and I deserve to have the career I want for as long as I want it. I’ve earned that. But if I had to choose…I’d choose him.”

Galina made another quick note.

“But,” Ilya said quietly, “I shouldn’t have to choose.”

“What’s the best-case scenario?” she asked.

Ilya blew out a breath. “No idea. We announce we’re together and everyone cheers? I win three more Stanley Cups and celebrate each one with my husband watching? I don’t know.”

“What’s a realistic best-case scenario?”

Ilya considered it, and smiled. “We keep going, same as we are now, except everyone knows we’re together and it’s fine. No big deal.”

“Is that what you both want?”

Well, that was the big question. Ilya thought that was what Shane wanted, but he was also pretty sure Shane was happy to hide until they were both retired. “I hope so.”