Total Assist

Shively “Shiv” Myers

The league sponsors events throughout the year, and while it’s not required of us to attend, it is “strongly encouraged.” It’s important to the league that the faces of their teams are shown supporting charities and whatever.

This one is about ending childhood hunger. It’s one of my least favorite charities because I’ve never seen any evidence that they’re actually making a difference. According to all of their commercials and marketing, the number of hungry children never declines each year. If they’re bringing in millions of dollars in donations for this one cause, why do those numbers never fluctuate?

I’ve recently read a handful of articles that state the world has the means and resources to end all hunger, homelessness, and unemployment. However, it’s not profitable to do so, and therefore, it’ll never change. That’s how I feel about some of these charities. On the face of them, yes, I’m all about supporting the end of childhood hunger. But the reality is, their own numbers don’t show that they’re making a difference.

Either that, or they’re lying to the public to keep money coming in. Whose pocket is being lined? I strongly feel that someone’s is.

To be fair, I’m not sure ending childhood hunger is the charity function I’m attending. This isn’t exactly the kind of place where a large vinyl banner with the name of the event would be appropriate, not with the crystal chandeliers and the gilded columns. I suppose I’ve seen tackier decorations, but that’s not the vibe for tonight.

Practice begins for the season in a few days. I like to get my obligatory appearance for the year out of the way before the season is underway, so my attention never wavers from my team. There are a handful of smaller appearances I must make during the season, but they’re local volunteer opportunities or team events.

Tonight is a black-tie event, so I’m epically uncomfortable. I despise ties. More than that, I loathe the feel of a tuxedo. It’s far worse than a simple suit. This is what I get for waiting until the end of the summer to choose my poison… uh… I mean charity event appearances.

Frankly, I’d rather just donate money or something. Hell, I’d even sponsor something if it meant I could get out of wearing a tux.

It’s fine. Just a few more hours, then I can get out of this get-up and spend the night in the luxurious room upstairs. There’s something to be said about events being held in ritzy hotels. Not only do you get to avoid traffic congestion and travel time, but it’s a simple elevator trip upstairs.

A server stops in front of me to offer a glass of champagne from their tray, and I take one, offering them a thank you. As they pass, I take a sip and try my best not to cringe. I don’t like champagne. It’s bland, and there are too many bubbles. How do you even taste something with so much carbonation?

I’m standing off to the side where very few people are paying attention. I haven’t been noticed by anyone except the one server so far, which doesn’t upset me. I’d much rather be hidden here than have to talk to people. I hate small talk. It’s such a waste of time.

I glance around as I suffer through another sip of champagne. What I wouldn’t give for someone to come around with glasses of water. You can even make them fancy if you want with slices of weird vegetables or whatever, but at least water is hydrating. I’m not convinced champagne is.

There are a lot of faces here I don’t recognize. I’d say probably the majority. As I’m ready to finish this glass, my gaze catches on one of my players, Dasan Ukiah, and fuck, he looks good in a tux.

He’s smiling as he talks to a small group of people. His long hair falls down his back, the top portion held back with a string of leather. Since his hair is always ringing his head like a halo under his helmet, I tend to forget it’s so long. He has such beautiful golden, or maybe copper, undertones, which classically tells of his Indigenous American heritage. Did I say he fills out a tux beautifully?

Not that I’m checking out my player. That’s a line you don’t cross. All players are off limits regardless of the team they’re on. Hell, I’ll go so far as to say that everyone in the league is off limits. Workplace romance and all that. No need to add complication where it doesn’t exist.

Even so, I watch Dasan interact with the people surrounding him. He’s taller than they are. I’m used to my team being on skates while I’m in shoes, so I’m used to them being exaggeratingly tall, but even without the few inches skates add, Dasan is tall.

His eyes flick in my direction, and I’m sure I imagine that his smile widens when he spots me. Apparently, I’m not hiding well enough. Or perhaps staring like a creep is the beacon that gives my hiding spot away.

Dasan excuses himself and makes his way toward me, snagging a glass of champagne when a server passes him. His eyes don’t leave mine as he downs half the flute while he walks, one hand in his pocket. How does he look so… suave?

He stops beside me and faces the room full of milling people. “Is it just me, or do you not recognize anyone?”

I snort. “I took note of that a few minutes ago.”

“Is that why you’re hiding in the corner, Coach?”

His smirk gives me chills, the kind that reach into my pants and poke at my balls. Nope. I’m not even going to acknowledge that.

“Yes. I’d like to avoid talking about the weather or some shit. The season hasn’t started, so I don’t have that to talk about.”

“You can discuss the new players and how you’re planning to integrate them,” he suggests.

“Is that a hint that you’d like to know?”

He grins, downing the rest of his champagne. “Yes. We have a solid team, so I’m curious to know what you’re going to do with the new players.”

“We have a solid team,” I agree. “But we’re not making it to the playoffs. Our team has been really good for a few years, but really good isn’t good enough anymore. We need to be better.”

“That’s not really answering my question.”

“It’s not, but while I have some ideas, I need to see how they gel with the team first.”

“Keeping Fel in goal, right?”

I nod. “Certainly. Ren has been amazing for Felton.” 

There’s no league or even franchise rule that states teammates can’t date. To be honest, the rules were made when the world was an even harsher place for the queer community, so being gay in sports wasn’t a thing. I wonder, as more and more players come out as something other than straight, if those rules will be put into place.

Teams like Buffalo seemed to embrace the throuple they had. From what came out later, management knew that Ethan Wilder and Jakub Bozik were secretly married and chose to bring him to the team anyway. Then there was the budding relationship that the world watched unfold between Ethan and another teammate, Credence Ayrton.

Not long after that, Deryke Schneider was traded to Philly where his… I’m not sure “boyfriend” accurately described his relationship with Max at that point, but yeah. That happened. Deryke retired shortly after when their son was born, but still. He was there.

There are a few examples of hockey couples playing for different teams. Caulder Haines with Buffalo and Laurent Duval of Toronto come to mind. A few years earlier, there was Noah Kain in Florida and Elixon Kipler in Edmonton.

Some teams are completely fine with this, and it doesn’t seem to change team dynamics much. In fact, in Buffalo’s case, it made them a stronger team—especially when the shit began going down with the hateful public. The team truly came together.

I can say the same thing for Winnipeg. Ren and Felton getting together has been nothing but a positive influence on the team. I think my team was relatively close anyway, but Ren being what Felton needed and deserves truly made our team flourish. Even more so when Felton’s father was removed from his life and banned from all NHL games where Felton was playing.

“Felton fills the net,” Dasan says, grinning. He steps out of the little corner I’m hiding in to set his glass on a passing tray. He takes mine and does the same, probably noting that I’m not truly drinking it anymore. “You have to be damn good about finding small holes to get around him.”

The way he’s smirking at me says there’s certainly an innuendo in that sentence, thoughI try not to encourage him. Dasan is a flirt at the best of times, and I actually really love that he includes me among the people he’s comfortable flirting with.

I love being a coach, but I don’t love the separation that innately brings to me. Dasan’s comfort to flirt with me goes a long way to bridge that gap with the entire team. Granted, his flirting is far more subtle.

Then again, there’s the chance that I’m imagining it because I want him to flirt with me. Oof. Let’s not unpack that. Certainly not here and not now.

“I don’t necessarily plan to change up the starting positions,” I say. “You work well together. That’s not to say I won’t, but as of right now, I can’t see a person who’s going to manage better than what we have going.”

I’d worried about Denny, one of our starting wingmen. At the start of the year, his fiancée gave birth and died shortly after due to complications, leaving Denny as a single first-time father. It was touch and go for a while, but then his baby mama’s brother showed up, and, well, that’s a very interesting situation that I wasn’t expecting.

Anyway, Denny struggled for a bit, as to be expected when one’s life is turned upside down. But I think he’s become an even better man than he was before his life nearly imploded with change. He’s always been our power forward, but it feels as if there’s more fire under him now. He has a son who’ll look up to him, and I think he’s determined to make sure that baby has a damn good role model.

As Dasan and I continue to talk, we somehow migrate out of the corner I’d been lowkey hiding in. So much so that a beautiful woman approaches.

“Excuse me,” she says, and we face her, Dasan with his always-charming smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m wondering if you’d like to dance?”

“It’ll be my absolute pleasure,” Dasan says. He throws me a wink and takes the woman’s hand, leading her away.

I didn’t even know there was a dance floor. Sticking my hands in my pockets, I track their progress through the crowd, making my way along the side of the room until I can see the dance floor. When a server stops to offer me more champagne, I take one because I’m staring at my player and I need to be at least tipsy to justify the jealousy in my stomach.

I watch them as casually as I can through an entire song. They look good together. The way Dasan smiles, I can practically hear his flirty tone when they talk. Her admiration shines in her eyes as she stares at him, constantly dropping her face to hide her blush.

When they don’t leave the dance floor at the end of the song, I force myself to return to the corner I’d been in. I’m stopped along the way by someone who recognizes me as the coach for the Winnipeg Avalanche. It’s nice that there are some hockey fans at an event sponsored by the NHL. You’d think that would attract more hockey fans.

I’m relieved that this man doesn’t mention the weather. He talks about last season and the upcoming one. He gushes a little on my team, which I appreciate.

Then he spots someone else who will probably be far more engaging to talk to and excuses himself. I’m definitely not the best conversationalist. Dasan returns several minutes later, though I’m surprised he does, with two drinks in hand. He offers one to me then retakes his position at my side.

“What happened to the woman?” I ask.

He looks at me with amusement. “It was just a dance.”

“For several songs.” I wince at the words. Fuck’s sake. What’s wrong with me?

Dasan’s smirk says it all. I sound jealous. Yeah, dude, I heard the words. Thankfully, I’m saved from any further embarrassment when we’re called to the dining room for dinner. Dasan fucking pulls my chair out for me, which only makes me flush. However, I’m pleased as fuck, and relieved, if I’m being honest, when he sits beside me.

I hadn’t noted a posted menu for this event, and when the first round comes out, our plates are all different. I’m handed one with three mussels. My stomach rolls. Ew. Gross.

Dasan chuckles quietly. He removes two of the mussels and replaces them with little chicken dumplings from his plate.

“You forgot one,” I say.

“I didn’t. You’re going to eat that one.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, Shiv. Try it.”

I don’t know why, but his tone feels like fingers going down my spine in the most delicious way. Obediently, I stab the gross little thing with my fork and put it in my mouth. I freeze as soon as my mouth is closed. Oh. My. Fuck. Disgusting. Ew, what is that texture? I’m going to throw up. This isn’t the kind of event where I can spit it into my napkin, is it? I look at Dasan pleadingly.

He’s incredibly amused. Leaning closer to me, he says in the sexiest fucking voice, “Swallow, Shively.”

Okay, I’m positive that was flirty. My cock twitches as I do what he says. Where’s the water?! That was awful.

Dasan, still chuckling, slides a glass of water toward me, and I chug it. “Eat your chicken,” he says, and I watch him eat the other two mussels from my plate. Thank fuck he’s here, or I might have been stuck with gross things.

He makes the night bearable. Actually, he makes it pleasant. Dasan takes from my plates and adds things that I eat, which makes me wonder how he knows what I will and won’t eat. I try not to convince myself that means he pays attention to me.

He remains by my side throughout the rest of the night as well. In his company, I forget that I’m in an uncomfortable tux surrounded by people I don’t know. We talk and laugh, and I have to say, I enjoy myself.

It’s easy and comfortable right up until I realize we’re standing outside Dasan’s hotel room door. Whatever I’d been saying dies on my lips. My heart races as he opens it and steps inside. His eyes meet mine, and for a minute, we just stare.

“Want to come in, Shively?” Dasan asks, his voice low and smooth and sexy.

With everything inside me, I want to. But… That’s a really, really bad idea.