Chapter 28: The Long Game: Chapter 28

Ilya and Shane had just finished a boring press conference together the morning of the All-Star game. When they were finally able to exit the room, Ilya was surprised to see Commissioner Crowell in the hallway. He was alone and looking at his phone, and Ilya, without even thinking, took a purposeful stride toward him.

Shane stopped him with a hand on his arm. “What are you doing?”

“I am going to talk to Crowell.”

“The hell you are! Don’t be stupid.”

Ilya grunted, shook Shane’s hand away, and continued walking toward Crowell.

“Commissioner,” Ilya said when he was a few feet away.

Crowell glanced at him, and furrowed his brow. “Mr. Rozanov. How are you enjoying the weekend?”

“Fine. But I was talking to my friend Troy Barrett, and he said you called him.”

“I did.”

“As his captain,” Ilya said, trying to force some importance into his title, “I am…concerned.”

Crowell’s lips formed something close to a sneer. “Are you?”

Now that Ilya was standing in front of Crowell, he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to say. And he had a feeling he may stumble through his English sentences more than usual. Crowell was intimidating.

“Barrett has been doing good work. Trying to help,” Ilya said.

“I assume you’re talking about his recent social media activity,” Crowell said. His tone was almost bored, but with a dangerous edge to it. “He’s become quite the activist .”

“Yes. This is what I mean. He is trying. After what Dallas Kent did—”

Crowell held up a hand. “After what Dallas was accused of doing.

”

Ilya narrowed his eyes. “Barrett was his friend. He knows him.”

“Does he? Because when I spoke to him he told me he didn’t, in fact, know anything about the accusations. He didn’t witness anything. It had never even to him that his best friend was capable of such things. Seems strange, doesn’t it? I would say it’s more likely that people on the internet make stuff up than it is for someone to not know their best friend at all.”

Ilya felt like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet.

“Commissioner Crowell,” came a voice from behind Ilya. Shane had approached. Fuck. He didn’t need to get dragged into this terrible decision.

“Shane,” Crowell said in a way that was warm and cold at the same time. “Are you also here to defend Troy Barrett’s personal vendetta against Dallas Kent?”

Ilya could see the anxiety all over Shane’s face, but Shane straightened his shoulders and said, “I think he was doing good work. Using his voice to help people.”

“Barrett should be using his to win ,” Crowell said. “That’s what he gets paid millions of dollars to do. I have no patience for unnecessary drama. You two have always kept your rivalry on the ice. None of this petty social media bullshit.”

“I don’t think it’s petty,” Shane argued. “I think Barrett legitimately cares about the issues he’s bringing attention to. He’s doing what the should be doing.”

Oh shit. Ilya could not believe Shane just said that. He took a step closer to him, as if to protect Shane from whatever the response from Crowell would be.

Crowell stared at Shane balefully. “Is he? Should I be taking time out of my busy schedule of running the entire fucking National Hockey League to make sure we post about every goddamned issue in the world? You know what happens every time a player decides to be an ?” He said the word like it was the worst insult he could imagine. “Journalists start looking into the league’s history with whatever issue they’re going on about. Suddenly a team with a hundred-year history isn’t so great because they had a coach that said something once that was maybe a bit racist. It’s ridiculous and I don’t have time for it.”

“Like when Scott Hunter came out?” Ilya asked, his voice surprisingly steady. “This was annoying for you?”

Crowell looked slightly thrown by this. “Of course we support Hunter. We support his entire community. Hockey is for everyone.”

Ilya managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “But you would like Hunter to shut up now, yes?”

“I never said that. I only think there’s a time and place where advocating for personal things is appropriate. Hunter often crosses the line.”

“And you do not want others to cross the line,” Ilya said. “One gay player is enough?”

Crowell’s glanced at Shane, and then back to Ilya. “We’ve had other players come out.”

“You mean Baldwin and Lundin,” Shane said, naming the Vancouver and Los Angeles players who had come out shortly after Scott Hunter had. “Baldwin was never offered another contract, and Lundin ended up moving back to Sweden.”

Crowell scoffed. “Baldwin was at the end of his career anyway, and as for Lundin, lots of Europeans choose to cut their careers short to return to their home countries.”

Ilya didn’t personally know either of the players in question, but he’d certainly suspected that their decisions to leave the NHL had more to do with the way they’d been treated by their teams than their ability or desire to play hockey. The only other queer players he knew of—Ryan Price and Eric Bennett—were both retired and hadn’t advertised their sexuality when they’d played. Troy Barrett was the only other active queer NHL player that Ilya knew besides Hunter. And Shane.

It was a pretty small group.

“Anyone who feels the need to come out is welcome to do so,” Crowell said. “But I don’t see why it has to be such a big deal.” He laughed without humor. “It hardly matters these days, does it?” His gaze landed on Shane again.

“It matters,” Shane said firmly. His jaw was clenched. Ilya wanted to hold his hand.

Crowell looked between them for a silent moment and said, “Well. I have a very full schedule today, so I’m afraid I have to end this conversation now.” He straightened his suit jacket, and gave them both one last cold glare before turning and walking away.

“That was probably a terrible idea,” Shane said, once Crowell was out of earshot.

“Probably,” Ilya agreed. “But I would do it again.”

“Me too.”