“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’veheardthat you are...homosexual.”
“I, uh—” Shane’s stomach clenched. Hewasa 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’tneedto 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 obviouslyanyonecan 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.
