30
ZANE
Monday morning feels like a hangover without the alcohol.
The locker room is quieter than it’s been all season. No music - just the dull, familiar sounds of gear being pulled on and sticks tapping lightly against the floor.
Grant is back.
He’s sitting two lockers down from me, lacing his skates like nothing happened, like the last few weeks didn’t exist. The line we built - me, Russo, Shaw - was just… temporary.
She was temporary.
I can’t look at him.
The door opens and Coach Calloway walks in.
Everyone straightens, almost automatically.
You can feel it before he even speaks.
This isn’t a normal meeting.
“Bring it in,” he says.
We gather at the center of the room in a loose semicircle. Helmets tucked under arms, eyes fixed somewhere between the floor and him.
Calloway waits until it’s completely silent.
“We’ve received a decision from the conference.”
No buildup. No softening.
Just straight to it.
“For a start, we’ve been fined $25,000. Leonora Shaw is banned from further college athletics hockey participation. And, lastly, all games involving ‘Lee Shaw’ are being vacated.”
Vacated.
Like they never happened.
All those games and wins - that run - just erased.
A ripple goes through the room.
“Vacated?” Barrett says. “What does that even mean?”
“It means they don’t count,” Calloway replies calmly. “Officially, those games are removed from the record.”
“So we didn’t win?” someone mutters.
“We won on the ice,” Calloway says. “But it won’t be recorded that way.”
We all know what we did and now we’re being told it doesn’t exist.
“And the final?” Russo asks.
“Same.”
Mercer lets out a harsh laugh. “Unbelievable.”
No one tells him to shut up this time.
“Whole thing gets wiped because of one person,” he adds, louder now. “We finally start winning and - what - turns out it’s built on a lie?”
The blame was always coming.
“That’s not what this is,” Calloway says.
“Yes, it is,” Mercer shoots back. “We played an entire stretch of games with someone who wasn’t even supposed to be on the ice. How is that not all on her?”
A few heads nod.
“This is on the system,” Calloway says.
Mercer frowns. “What?”
“The women’s team was completely cut,” Calloway continues. “You think she did this for fun? And if you didn’t see that she belonged, you weren’t paying attention. The structure just hasn’t caught up with that yet.”
Mercer crosses his arms. “She still lied.”
“Yes,” Calloway says evenly. “She did.”
No denial.
“And we’ll deal with the consequences of that. But don’t confuse that with her not belonging here as a player.”
“What happens now?” Russo asks again.
“Now we move forward. Grant’s back. We rebuild the lines. We play the rest of the season clean. We earn everything back the right way.”
I glance down at my stick. Rebuild. Like the last few weeks didn’t matter.
“We’ve got games left before Christmas,” Calloway continues. “We focus on those.”
He scans the room. “No more distractions.”
“Coach,” Barrett says slowly, “what about her?”
“She’s not part of this team anymore.”
There’s something in his voice. He doesn’t sound angry. Just final.
Calloway claps his hands once.
“Gear up. On the ice in five.”
Meeting over. Just like that.
LEONORA
Markus lights up the screen of my phone. I nearly let it ring out before I finally answer.
“Hi, Markus.”
“Holy shit, Leonora.”
I close my eyes.
“I suggested you transfer to a college with a women’s team,” his voice halfway between disbelief and laughter. “Not impersonate a guy and take over an entire men’s program.”
Despite everything, I laugh. It’s a short, slightly hysterical sound that escapes before I can stop it.
“Yeah,” I say. “That wasn’t exactly the plan.”
“Not the plan?” he repeats. “Leo, you tried out and - what - just decided to become their mystery player?”
“I didn’t want to become a mystery,” I mutter. “That part just… happened.”
He laughs properly now.
“You’ve completely lost your mind,” he says. “Do you know that?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Just checking.”
I sink down onto the edge of my bed, pressing my free hand against my forehead.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “This won’t… affect you, will it?”
The question has been sitting there since the headlines started.
My mess all tied up with him.
Markus doesn’t hesitate. “No.”
“Sure?” I press.
“Absolutely,” he says again, calmer now. “Leo, journalists are always going to make things sound as dramatic as possible. That’s their job. This isn’t going to touch my career.”
“Okay.” I’m instantly relieved.
“I mean,” he adds lightly, “if anything, it’s just made the Shaw family a lot more interesting.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Exactly what I was going for.”
“I watched the games. I found a stream.”
I grip the phone a little tighter.
“And?”
“You kicked ass,” he says.
Simple.
“You should have seen yourself out there, Leo,” he says, his voice full of pride.
“Thank you,” I reply quietly.
“Have you ever heard of Justine Blainey?”
“Should I have?”
“She took Hockey Canada to court in the eighties. Because they wouldn’t let her play boys’ hockey.”
That gets my attention.
“What happened?”
“She won.”
I sit up slightly.
“Wait - really?”
“Yeah. Changed a lot of things over there. Opened doors that didn’t exist before.”
Someone fighting to play - refusing to accept no.
“Her name doesn’t ring a bell,” I admit.
Markus laughs.
“Maybe you should read up on her. You definitely didn’t do it the conventional way.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“But you still stepped onto the ice when you weren’t supposed to have the chance. That counts for something.”
We talk for a few more minutes.
Normal things like Christmas plans and his upcoming games.
Then the call ends and the room is quiet again.
I open my laptop and type the name into the search bar.
Justine Blainey.
The results appear instantly.
Articles.
Photos.
I can’t believe I’d never heard of her.