The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(107)

“Sorry,” Ilya said again.

“The thing is, because I’m a rookie coach—and not particularly popular with Crowell—I don’t know how much help I can be. But know that you have my support, whatever happens.”

That was...more than Ilya had expected from his coach. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely.

Wiebe studied him for a long moment, took a sip of coffee, then seemed to reach a decision. “I’m going to share something with you that I’ve only ever told my wife.”

Oh god. “Okay,” Ilya said.

“When I was playing my second season, in Detroit, I had a thing with one of my teammates. It doesn’t matter who, and I’m not going to tell you, but we got drunk and fooled around one night during a road trip and then we...kept doing it a bit. For a few months.”

Ilya didn’t say a word.

Wiebe grimaced. “I’m not telling this right. The truth was, I’d been half in love with him before we first hooked up—before I’d even thought that was a possibility—and after that first night, I fell the rest of the way. I was nuts about him. But he was...he said he didn’t feel that way about me.”

“He was scared,” Ilya said.

“Maybe. Or maybe he truly only wanted a bit of release on the road. We never hooked up at home. But I thought he might have returned the feelings more than he’d let on.” Wiebe waved a hand. “Anyway. It all fell apart when I told him I loved him. He, uh, didn’t take it well. I ended up being sent down to the AHL for a while after that, and then he was traded in the summer. Haven’t spoken to him since.”

Ilya didn’t know what to say. He’d been the first one to say “I love you” in his and Shane’s relationship. What if Shane hadn’t said it back? What if he’d been horrified?

“Sorry that happened to you,” Ilya said.

Wiebe just nodded. “Now I look back and I think, maybe he saved me a whole mountain of trouble. If we’d been a real couple, trying to hide, I can imagine how hard that would have been.” He gave a small smile. “So that’s a long-winded way of saying I have your back. That I understand.”

Ilya’s lips curved up. “This team is very gay.”

Wiebe laughed. “Technically, I’m bisexual. To be clear, I love my wife. I’m not hiding anything.”

Ilya’s smile grew. “Bisexual! Great. Yes, me too.”

“I figured, what with your long and impressive history with the ladies.”

“That is over. It has been only Shane for a long time.”

“I’m glad you have each other. It’s not going to sit right with a lot of people, but I’ll be talking to the team about my feelings on it at a meeting before we get on the plane. Like I said, I can’t do much, but I’ll do what I can.” He stood. “Thanks for the coffee. I should get going, but I’m sorry you aren’t coming with us.”

Ilya stood too. “Me too. Thank you for coming here. It has helped.”

Then Wiebe embraced him in a hug, and slapped his back for good measure. “Stay strong, Captain. We’ll be needing you in the playoffs.”

“Keep winning,” Ilya instructed.

Wiebe stepped back, smiling wide. “With this team? Easy.”



Chapter Thirty-Three


Walking into the Montreal Voyageurs locker room at the practice facility was the hardest thing Shane had ever forced himself to do.

For a long moment, he stood, frozen, just inside the door while everyone in the room—the men he loved like brothers—stared at him with obvious disgust. He felt sick. Or like his heart might explode. The only friendly face in the room was Hayden, whose expression seemed mostly apologetic.

“Hi,” Shane tried.

No one made a sound, except J.J., who snorted and turned away.

Shit.

Shane walked to his stall, trying to look normal. Still Shane Hollander. Still the captain of this team. Still the same guy as the last time they’d seen him. He removed his coat and hung it on the hook inside his stall, hoping, optimistically, that he might be able to change into his gear and get on the ice without much fuss.

“Hollander,” a voice barked behind him. Shane turned and saw Coach Theriault in the doorway. “Come with me.”

Shane kept his head down as he left the room and followed his coach down the hallway to his office. Coach pointed to one of the chairs in front of his desk, and Shane sat.

“Was it a joke?” Coach asked. His voice was cold and serious. Shane knew saying yes right now was the only answer the man would accept.

“No,” Shane said.

Coach’s jaw clenched. He looked at the ceiling and sucked his teeth, clearly furious.

“How long?” he asked.

Again, Shane knew the only possibly acceptable answer would be “this was the first time.”

“Years,” Shane said, and didn’t elaborate.

Coach inhaled sharply. “Go home. I will talk to management and we’ll decide what to do with you.”

“Am I...benched?”

“Yes, you’re fucking benched, Hollander!” Coach roared. “What did you think would happen?”

Shane’s whole body went rigid. He wanted to scream back in his coach’s face. He also wanted to disappear.