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“I think I must’ve had a stroke, could you repeat that?” Yuna watched as Shane’s mouth tightened at the corners, a tell he’d had since he was little that he was frustrated and losing patience.
“You heard me, Mom.”
She actually, legitimately, wasn’t sure that she had. She also wasn’t certain she wasn’t having a stroke- what else could possibly cause her to hallucinate Ilya Rozanov sitting at her dining table next to her son, oddly relaxed with an arm slung casually over the back of the chair behind Shane as he lounged back, seemingly quite at ease. The little shit even had the nerve to be wearing a Boston shirt, as if she didn't know who he played for.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said, which for some reason made Rozanov’s peacefully neutral expression shift into something vaguely amused. God, she already had a headache. “Somehow, in between training, games, promotion, events and your international rivalry you two have managed to become friendly enough to… start a charity together?”
“Somehow,” Shane said, his own brand of wry amusement quirking up one side of his lips.
Rozanov unfolded from his easy spread and leaned forward, his shoulder knocking Shane’s when he leaned forward with his forearms resting on the table. Instead of leaning away the way he usually did from incidental contact, Yuna watched as Shane bumped him back almost imperceptibly. “I am negotiating with Ottawa for trade,” he said, smooth and easy as though that wasn’t actually the newest, most shocking thing that had been said in this house in the last, oh, twenty minutes. “I got Shane’s phone number to ask him questions about Canada.” He shrugged, as though this was a perfectly normal thing to have done, and that he hadn’t just blown her mind with that admission. “We talk a bit, and then message a bit more, and now pesto, we are friends.”
Shane smiled, sudden and wide. “Presto.”
Rozanov frowned at him. “What is ‘presto’?”
“You said ‘pesto’. Pesto is food. You meant ‘presto’.”
“Presto is not food?”
Shane shook his head. “It’s Italian. It means quickly, or immediately.”
Rozanov groaned and threw his head back melodramatically. “Italian also, Hollander?” He leant forward again, tossing a look at her son over his shoulder. “Definitely only teaching you best Russian words.”
“You are not to repeat any Russian he teaches you in public,” she told Shane immediately and, impossibly, his smile grew.
Her mind raced as she watched them bicker amiably, Rozanov trying to poke Shane in the cheek and laughing when he slapped the offending finger away. This was weird, she decided, the whole thing. Shane disappearing for the day and then reappearing with Ilya Rozanov in tow had been truly one of the more bizarre moments of Yuna’s life, but this back and forth, this friendliness and tolerance was something else entirely. And she wasn’t entirely sure she was buying a long-distance text-based friendship. They were entirely too at ease in each other’s company for that to hold weight, but Shane was… Shane was smiling, and relaxed in a way she’d never seen him before, so for now she wasn’t looking too hard at it.
She cleared her throat and they both froze and turned back to look at her, gathering their composure. “Tell me about the charity.”
It was a stilted beginning, Shane trying to explain without actually telling her anything until Rozanov sighed and managed to finally poke Shane in the neck. “You can tell your mother,” he said, voice deep and almost fond as he smiled a little at Shane, her darling boy who somehow studied Rozanov’s face in return, then nodded as though Rozanov had continued speaking out loud.
“Ilya’s mother overdosed on pills when he was twelve,” Shane said, voice gentle. His hands, clasped together on the table, twitched in an abortive movement. “Intentionally.”
Jesus. Yuna didn’t want to feel anything for Rozanov other than mild irritation, maybe reluctant admiration for his skill on the ice. But the way he dropped his head down to his face was partially hidden and swallowed hard enough for her to hear the click of his throat in the suddenly-silent house made her chest ache a little.
“So we wanted to start a charity that would raise funds to donate to mental health support and awareness organisations, in her honour.”
At Shane’s words, Rozanov’s head lifted and his face did something complicated, turning soft and… something. It was almost uncomfortable to look at. “Hollander suggested The Irina Foundation for the name.”
Of course he did. God, she was so proud of her boy, and his beautiful, tender heart. “And how do you intend to raise this money?” she asked, bringing their focus back to the matter at hand. She wished David would hurry up and return home, he was never going to believe what they were saying.
“Hockey camp,” Rozanov said, his face suddenly brightening, and she was reminded all over again just how young he was. How young they both were.
“A week every summer where kids can come and learn hockey skills, practice drills, play games and whatever, coached by us and whoever else we can get to come on board, we already have a list of potential volunteers,” Shane told her.
“Charitable also for retired geriatrics,” Rozanov added, confusing Yuna.
“You have got to stop calling Scott Hunter a geriatric,” Shane scolded him, but his laugh negated any serious effort at censure.
Yuna choked on a startled laugh of her own, and refused to look at Rozanov’s triumphant face. Then, “Wait, Scott Hunter is on board?”
“He said he was interested, either in coming up here for the first couple of camps, or coaching one in New York if we decide to branch out.” Shane shot Rozanov a significant look, getting a frown in return that turned into a full-blown scowl when Shane refused to relent. With an enormous put-upon sigh Rozanov got up, and left the house, leaving Yuna and Shane sitting alone opposite each other.
“Shane-”
“Just hear us out, okay?” he said, immediately forestalling her incredulous quest for clarification. “It’s a good idea, Mom, and Ilya… he’s really smart about this stuff.”
Ilya. “Okay, fine,” she said, holding her hands up placatingly. “But I think we’re going to need a drink. Wine?”
“Please,” he said. “And beer for Ilya, if you have any.”
Rozanov returned as Yuna was setting a beer at his place setting. “Thank you,” he said, impeccably polite, and she sort of wanted to ruffle his hair a little. He looked oddly nervous for a beat, shot a sidelong glance at Shane and then handed her an exercise book, the kind that had holes punched in the margin to keep in a ring binder. Its blue cover was non-descript, but when she opened it to the first page it was to an immediately overwhelming collection of information. She looked up at the boys in surprise, then focused on the page again and quickly realised that this plan of theirs was more than just a pie in the sky idea; they had created an entire business plan. Overwhelmed, she flicked through page after page of notes, detailed lists, dollar values and expenses, names, dates, locations, all in a mix of Shane’s narrow angled handwriting and presumably Rozanov’s neater, blockier script. She saw Ryan Price’s name underlined in blue with question mark, and several red circles around it with a note from Rozanov in the margin that just said lyubit detey :) and a reply of just like you in Shane’s hand. A sketch of a shirt in a margin with Puck Buddies? written on the front, and a big ABSOLUTELY NOT underlined twice over the top of it. A stylised 81 and 24 side by side on the bottom of one page, coloured in red and blue, absent marginalia of the kind Yuna had never seen Shane indulge in.
“This is… actually very impressive,” she said, pretending not to notice when Rozanov perked up a little from where he’d resentfully slumped in his seat after handing over the book. “I see you two have put a lot of thought into this.” She stared down at the 81 and 24 and wondered just when, exactly, they’d spent enough time together to come up with it in this much detail, or how they’d traded the one book back and forth between them over time. She had questions, but from the tension thrumming palpably through them, she decided that those questions could wait.
“Hello, family,” David called, letting himself into the house, the familiar clatter of his keys landing in the bowl and his bag thumping to the floor as he toed off his shoes bringing some normalcy to Yuna’s otherwise very odd day. She watched as Rozanov turned in his seat to watch Shane and then David when he entered, his expression carefully giving nothing away. “Family and Rozanov,” David said, when he caught sight of their visitor.
“Ilya,” Rozanov said, his mouth going tight like Shane’s as he tried for a poor facsimile of a smile.
“Ilya,” David said with an easy, accepting nod, leaning down to kiss Shane’s head as he reached out to offer Rozanov- Ilya- his hand. Ilya shook it, eyebrows inching up a little, and watched as David then rounded the table to sit across from him, stealing Yuna’s wine with a kiss. “What brings you to our home, all the way up here? In Canada. You do know you’re in Canada, right?”
Ilya’s face relaxed into a more natural smile. “Yes. I come for Shane, we have business to discuss.”
“Oh?” Yuna passed David the notebook, and to his credit he caught on a lot faster than she had as he skimmed over the first two pages before returning to the start. “A charity? Wow, this is… this is very impressive, boys.”
Interestingly, Shane slumped a little, tension she hadn’t even noticed running out of his shoulders while Ilya’s straightened, pulled back a little as his chin lifted. His eyes had barely left David since he’d arrived, and Yuna found that level of scrutiny more than a little unsettling. Shane would only usually maintain eye contact for a moment or two before looking away or dropping his gaze, but Ilya was intense.
“And the recipient?”
“Mental health organisations, specifically suicide prevention,” Ilya said quietly.
David met his eyes. “Close to you?”
“My mother.”
David just looked at him for a long moment. “This looks like a very fine way to honour her memory,” he said honestly. “I’m sure she would be very proud.”
Ilya’s expression shifted and he looked wrecked. Yuna watched as Shane shifted a little, just enough that the back of his hand could brush against the back of Ilya’s, but it was somehow enough for him to collect himself. “Thank you.”
David nodded, returning back to the notebook, fully engrossed now. “How did you two find the time to come up with this?” he asked distractedly, and Yuna watched his thumb trace slowly over the sketched jersey numbers. “Did you send this back and forth?”
“We would meet sometimes, after our games,” Shane said carefully. “It’s been a work in progress for a little while, now.”
Ilya turned to look directly at Shane and Yuna watched, startled, as Shane met his eyes and just… held. No flinching away, no glancing off to the side or ducking of his head, just calmly met Ilya’s look and matched it for several long beats until Ilya began to smile, Shane began to blush a little, and both of them looked away. Ilya found her watching and barely managed to keep his eyebrows from rising before he winked slyly at her, and she laughed, the tension broken.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, but pushed her chair back and got to her feet. “I think it’s time to start dinner. Roz- Ilya, come and help me?” It was phrased as a question, but they both knew it wasn’t, and he stood to join her. He shook his head with a faint smile and pressed his hand briefly down on Shane’s shoulder when he made to join them, nodding in David’s direction as he began patting his chest as though searching for a pen.
“Got an idea or two, Dad?” Shane asked.
“Hmm, yes,” David said, and Ilya smiled as he entered the kitchen.
Yuna began collecting ingredients out of the fridge, slower than usual to allow Ilya time to do a lap of the kitchen, checking out the photos on the wall, the notes Yuna and David left for each other on the fridge, the little trophies and knickknacks that marked lives lived on the shelves. “Dice these for me, please,” he told him, passing him onions, celery and carrots. “Chopping boards are over there, knives in that drawer.”
David and Shane’s voices filtered in every now and then, but for a while it was just the sound of peeling and chopping. “What do you want to know?”
Yuna looked up from where she was liberally seasoning the beef. “Sorry?”
Ilya shrugged. “This is strange for you, yes? I think you would have questions. Ask them.”
Yuna’s breath gusted out in a surprised huff of laughter. “I have so many questions,” she said, which made him smile.
“Ah. I see where Shane gets it from.”
That right there, that casual nothing-comment that hinted at a far better knowledge of her son than their explanation would have her believe. Still: “You’re leaving Boston?”
“Yes.”
She stared at him. “Just like that?”
His eyebrows rose. “Yes?”
Her own matched them. “No loyalty to the first team that signed you? That took you to the cup?”
The look he levelled at her was amused. “I think we both know how Boston got their cups.”
And yeah, well, he had a point.
“Besides, I like challenge. I can take the worst Canadian team and make them better, best even, get more cups later.”
“That’s very-”
He laughed, his mouth stretched wide to show his uneven front teeth, and she marvelled that his aggressive obnoxiousness on the ice had allowed him to keep any of them. “Yes, arrogant, I know. Shane has told me this before. He calls it something, starts with ‘h’?”
“Hubris,” she supplied, and he smiled that wide smile again, devastating in its attractive sincerity.
“Yes, that is it.” Ilya kept chopping, waiting her out.
“How long have you two really been friends?”
His easy amusement changed, his smile turning small and private. “He shook my hand before the Prospect Cup.”
Yuna felt her jaw drop. “You’ve been friends- secret friends- since 2008?”
He smirked and shook his head. “No, no no, not really. But we were seventeen, and he shook my hand and was very awkward, and I was… curious.” His mouth turned up in that strange little half-smile again. “Then he was second-best player in league, and best competition.” He stopped, thinking for a moment as though trying to collect and carefully translate his thoughts. “He made me work for it, made me earn it, every single thing I won. It made it all… worth more. Gave it… value?” He frowned and waved a careless hand. “I am not having best English for this thing, sorry.”
Yuna thought he was doing a pretty good job of it. “Why have you kept it a secret?”
He sighed. “There is a lot of pressure, especially for Shane. He is young, and best on ice, and loved by Canada. He is-” He sighed again. “No one is harder on Shane than Shane. He fears to disappoint anyone, thinks that Montreal signing him and Boston signing me was done on condition of making us hate each other.” He shrugged. “And maybe he is right. But I don’t care about that, because I am also the best, and will be so even if we are friends.” He put the knife down and turned to face her fully, hip resting on the bench. “I think that he thinks that if people see us being friends they will think he does not try as hard as he should, that anytime he loses will be… how you say, not accident? Intentional?”
“On purpose?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “And that his sponsors will not like him consorting with the enemy. And that his fans will not love him anymore, or that he will be disappointment to them.”
She had had no idea, none, that her boy was feeling that kind of pressure. She wondered if that was part of the reason he was so insular, had so few friends, because he was concerned about the way that could possibly be perceived. She wondered how much of that was her fault, and felt something heavy worm through her belly. Some of her concern must have shown on her face, because his next words were a kindness.
“He doesn’t want to disappoint you or David either, but that is normal son stuff. He is very confident that you are proud of him, and love him without condition.” His expression changed then, to something sad and bitter, an expression he was too young to have any business wearing. “I am very jealous of him for this.”
The admission, the simple honesty of it took her breath away. “Your parents weren’t supportive? Of you? Of hockey? Leaving Russia?”
“My mother was lovely, in all the ways a mother should be,” Ilya told her, serious and wistful. “My father.” He stopped, inhaled. “My father was a hard man, brutal, cold, distant, like cartoon Russian villain. I am not sure he ever loved me, and I know he was never proud.”
He shrugged, and Yuna wanted to cry for him, for the little curly-haired boy who she was certain had worked so hard and gone for so long without his father’s love and approval. “Do you have any other family?”
“None I claim,” he said, bitter again but with a weight that sounded to her like regret. “But I have Svetlana, my friend from Russia, from when we were children, she is my best friend. And Marly, and some other guys from Boston.” He inhaled deeply. “And… and now I have Shane. He is special, sem’ya po sedtsu.” He frowned. “Is like ‘heart family’, I think.”
“Family of choice? Yuna supplied. “Family of the heart?”
“Da, like that, probably.” Ilya bit his lip. “Apart from Sveta sometimes, I feel like nobody sees me, or knows me. But Shane does. He always has.”
“For ten years,” Yuna said, partly as a gentle dig, but also partly to alleviate some of the heaviness their conversation had brought to the room.
He smirked at her, but seemed grateful for the reprieve. “Well, for first year or two when I beat him at everything, maybe not so much.”
Yuna laughed and collected the pot she needed, gesturing for Ilya to put the diced vegetables into it. “So, this charity idea, how exactly did that come about?”
He looked a little cagey for the first time, but she pretended not to notice. “Shane is always wanting to help people, and when I told him about coming to Ottawa he suggested the idea one day, easy for us to do when we live much closer than Boston and Montreal.”
“So this plan of yours, you’ve come up with it in, what? Two weeks? How long have you known about the trade?”
“Two weeks is about right, yes,” he agreed, finding a dish cloth and wiping down the bench as she put the meat into the oven. “But Shane has been thinking about this for a long time, and I am pretty good with numbers, so it all came together pretty quickly.”
“How often do you two see each other?” she asked, still trying to wrap her head around the logistics of their friendship.
“Every game day,” he admitted. “More or less. This is first time I am seeing cottage, but maybe more now that I live close.”
“Cottage,” she snorted, because that was a very loose definition of Shane’s admittedly very beautiful home.
“Real estate fetish,” he said seriously, nodding, and it made her laugh.
“You must text a lot, and call, I guess?”
“Every day now, for a long time,” he admitted. “Mostly he calls me an asshole, and I tell him he is boring.”
“So it’s a friendship based on mutual respect, then.”
This time he laughed. “Something like that, yes.”
“And does no one know? Really?”
He shook his head. “Only Sveta. Shane didn’t want to make anyone else… what is, carry secret? Know if they don’t want to?”
“Complicit,” she helped. He nodded and she frowned. “You seem okay with it, but it sounds like you’re sacrificing a lot for what Shane wants. That can be a heavy burden to carry.”
“Not so heavy,” he said with unexpected sweetness. “Worth it, for having Shane.”
“Does he know?”
“Know what?”
“What you’re giving up, or going without, for him.”
He frowned, uncomprehending. “I am going without nothing,” he said simply. “I am getting, having. He shook his head. “He is giving me everything.”
While neither of them had said as much, Yuna was certain that the drip-fed encounters Shane and Ilya had after Ilya’s announced transfer were as carefully orchestrated as anything she had ever managed for Shane. It started with a ‘chance’ meeting at Tim Horton’s, somewhere Shane absolutely would not frequent by choice, conveniently timed to coincide with the lunch hour rush. The social media furore had been immediate and passionate, and much was made of the photo of the two of them shaking hands at the counter, restrained matching smiles on their faces.
A fortnight after that was a night out for Shane with Rose and Hayden, and again, there was Ilya. Candid photos of the four of them at a VIP table drinking together, Hayden looking sullen, Rose beautiful and sparkling, and Ilya and Shane with their heads tilted together as though to be heard over the club music. Then a series of paparazzi photos of the two of them jogging Olmstead Path in Mount Royal Park together before one of Shane’s home games, and a video of the two of them playing a pickup game at the Bell Sensplex, opened specially for the local kids to come and play on the holidays with some of their favourite local players. Of particular note on that day was the clip on Twitter of Ilya with a tiny dark-haired boy on his shoulders, stick lifted triumphantly as Shane stood nearby and laughed so hard his eyes were almost closed. It was as clever a strategy as Yuna could have planned herself, and she had been pleased to watch it actually succeed.
With that success had come the added bonus of the change she and David noticed in Shane. Gone was the fatigue, the worry that had bowed his shoulders, the short temper and crease between his eyebrows that had seemed permanent. He laughed now, but it was only with its return that Yuna realised how long it had been gone, and how much she had missed it. A huge part of that, she observed with no small amount of wonder, was thanks to Ilya. He was such a mystery to her, a curious juxtaposition of curated brash assholery and sweet attentive friendship, always underfoot wherever Shane was to be found, and fast becoming a fixture in their home. She knew he spent many of his days off with Shane, either at the cottage or the two of them getting about together, and his sweetly solicitous care of her son made her breath catch sometimes. She had watched in amazement as Ilya had effortlessly irritated Shane out of a spiral, coaxing him from introspective silence to bright laughter by pelting him with foam bullets from a small Nerf gun he had procured from parts unknown, and then handing him a matching pistol to return fire, the two of them ignoring her protests that they not run in the house or vault over the furniture, Ilya.
Watching them do backflips off the dock into the lake was its own special kind of wonderful for her. Shane had so rarely brought anyone home from school as a boy, had never been the kind of kid to have a lot of friends, or even that one special best friend the way kids were wont to do. He had always been so hockey-focused, so intent on being the best and so determined to earn that distinction it was like he had never prioritised the effort or time it would have taken to cultivate those friendships. But now, with seemingly little effort and the distance of five hundred kilometres and an international rivalry between them, Ilya had simply bulled his way through every excuse Shane had ever had and decided they were to be friends anyway.
She watched from the shade as Ilya went down on one knee and cupped his hands for Shane to set his foot into to launch him into an even higher flip, but her attention was caught by the way Shane froze, mouth hanging a little open before Ilya began to laugh, boisterous and loud, before saying something that made Shane blush bright enough that she could see it from a distance. Fuck you, she saw Shane say, the shape of his mouth familiar as he tossed the words at Ilya, only for Ilya to sweep him up into a bridal carry and throw them both into the lake together, Shane surfacing in full laughter, as beautiful and carefree as she’d ever seen him. He slung his arm around Ilya’s shoulders, saying something to him that she couldn’t hear, and she watched in startled fascination as Shane’s hand found its way into Ilya’s hair, tangling there with familiar ease. Ilya pinched Shane’s cheek and shouted as Shane used his grip to dunk Ilya again before swimming away as fast as he could, a neat overarm stroke back towards the dock before Ilya could retaliate. He hauled himself up onto the sunbleached wood and turned to flip Ilya off before jogging over to her and collapsing down onto one of the towels they’d laid out there.
She looked down at him from where she was reading in the adirondack chair, marvelling at the change in him, at the man who had wrought them. Ilya followed Shane up, tan and strong, vital in a way she couldn’t help but admire. And neither could her son, apparently, his gaze locked on Ilya in a way that revealed far more than she suspected he knew. Ilya watched Shane right back, his own expression just as open, and she wondered.
Later that night, after crawling into bed and into David’s welcoming arms, she sighed. “Do you think they know?”
He hummed a little, picking up on the meaning of her question without any context required. He had always been like that, and she had always been grateful for it. “I think so,” he said. “But whether or not they’re ready to admit it? That I’m not so sure about.”
“To themselves, or each other?”
“Yes.”
She lay with that for a long moment, considering. “Are you concerned?”
David hummed a soft laugh. “That our son is in love with another man, or that that man is Ilya Rozanov?”
She laughed this time, and snuggled in closer. “Yes,” she sighed when he shifted to make more room for her. “Either. Both.”
“He’s happy,” he said quietly. “They both are. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him.” He kissed her forehead and her eyes dropped closed. “I know you’ve been struggling with his defection, but Ilya seems to be growing on you.”
She made a disparaging noise, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear as soothing as it had always been. “He’s obnoxious, rude, his English language skills are situationally flexible, and he makes Shane laugh like I’ve never seen.” She felt her heart stumble a little. “I’m finding him very easy to love.”
David tilted her chin up to kiss her, soft and sweet. “I guess Shane comes by it honestly, then.”
She let him sweep her up in their own love and decided that she would be okay with it if Ilya were to someday become theirs too, just so long as Shane kept smiling about it the way he had been of late.
The boys’ social media charm offensive grew legs and ran off, and it was almost overwhelmingly positive. Yuna wasn’t sure it would be, but with the start of the season Ottawa had embraced Ilya, and he had seemed to love it right back. It probably also didn’t hurt that he’d taken to Instagram and Twitter of late, and had really leaned into the new Ilya-Shane-friendship, fascinating enough for the public to be very appreciative of the sudden glut of behind the scenes Shane Hollander pictures where, previously, there had been next to nothing that wasn’t brand or game affiliated. But photos of Shane relaxing, drink in hand at a barbeque (#downtime), dozing on a pool float in pair of swim trunks with sunglasses on (#chillaxing), shirtless and sweating mid-workout with an enormous amount of weights on a barbell across his shoulders (#training #grind), and scowling with hair askew over an early morning coffee (#caffeineaddict #barelyfunctional) were all hugely popular.
The most popular of them all, however, was a tongue-in-cheek reproduction of their first CCM photoshoot, the two of them lit starkly by the patio lights at Hayden’s and a black and white filter as they stared each other down, head to head, while engaging in an arm wrestling contest. They were both grinning wildly, eyes locked, and Ilya had somehow managed to get his hands on a photo from the original shoot where they’d both been incapable of controlling their laughter, helmets almost touching and youthful faces scrunched in mutual amusement, which he’d added to the reel. Hard to believe we were ever this young, he had captioned the photo, but we’re still the funnest guys in the league. Proud of us @ShaneHollanderOfficial #TBT #HockeyBabies #OGBFFL #SorryNotSorryPike.
Hayden is going to ankle you so hard the next time you play him, Yuna had texted him after she’d laughed herself sick over the caption.
He is welcome to try, she got in return, and just knew that his expression was smug as hell.
Then, on one of Shane’s away games, Ilya posted a series of photos late at night. Yuna caught it in the early hours, awake to Skype with a friend in Tokyo, and wasn’t worried, exactly, but concerned wouldn’t be too strong a word.
Ten years today since leaving everything I ever knew and coming to America. It has been hard, lonely, amazing, fun, awful, challenging and rewarding, and I have learned many things. Most importantly, I have learned the importance of having good people around me, of trust, of dedication and a good team. I have been so lucky to do what I love, with the people I love, and to make my own family along the way, and I will forever be grateful for the amazing fans who always turn up in the ways that matter. There are not enough words in any language to describe how lucky I am, so thank you all. He had then tagged a whole bunch of people, including the Bears, the Centaurs, friends, old teammates and current, as well as Shane, Yuna and David. The photos in the post were a mixed bunch: Ilya hoisting the cup during his first win, a couple at various award presentations, a training photo, a photo of a loon for some reason, a few clubbing photos with Svetlana, a photo of Ilya and Yuna mid-argument over a board game with David watching on and grinning, a photo of Shane squinting a little into the late afternoon sunshine, his hand lifted to his forehead to shield his eyes and a small smile curling up the corner of his mouth. The last, however, was an old photo, the colours faded, of a slim woman with wild blonde curls holding the hand of a very young Ilya, maybe six or seven years old, both of them wearing serious expressions as they stared into the camera.
Just saw your Instagram post, she messaged him immediately. Congratulations on ten years, Ilya- as a mom, I know how proud your mother would be to see the man you have become. Are you free tonight? David and I would love to have you over for dinner to celebrate you!
On Instagram, however, she posted a photo of Ilya asleep on their sofa, arm thrown up above his head, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle over the opposite arm rest, cheeks pink from the sun. Happy 10 years @ilyarozanov, she captioned, we are so lucky to have you (taking up the entire sofa)!
I can be free, he sent back, if you remove that terrible photo of me.
I will not, she replied. See you at five!
His frowny emoji made her laugh, and she began sending more messages, making a plan for dinner. Shane would unfortunately be away, but they could always do something extra when he was back; she knew he would want to be involved in celebrating Ilya, too. When David woke up she showed him the post and told him about dinner, which he was pleased about. She wondered momentarily when exactly they’d decided to claim Ilya as their own, but knew deep down it was pretty much the day Shane had brought him home, that they had had no choice in the matter once their boy had made up his mind. She wasn’t mad about it at all.
Ilya was late, which wasn’t like him at all. Five o’clock rolled around and nothing, and Yuna knew he wasn’t at training so figured he had either taken a nap and forgotten to set an alarm, or had gotten caught up in something. She and David decided to pick him up on their way to the restaurant she’d booked, and once they’d arrived at Ilya’s condo David said he’d wait while she went in to fetch him. She let herself in with the key Ilya had given her for emergencies, the sound of laughter coming from further inside. She followed the sound, surprised to hear that the laughter was Shane’s, then realised she wasn’t all that surprised at all that he had somehow managed to get home early enough to be a part of the celebration. She heard music and thought they must’ve been distracted by watching a movie or playing a video game, heading up the stairs towards the bedrooms as Shane laughed again, a bright, happy sound that made her smile.
She glanced in on the first room, filled with free weights and memorabilia, then further up the hallway to look into the second room. She caught sight of movement and began to smile, but froze when she realised just what she was looking at. They were lying together on Ilya’s bed, both completely naked, Ilya between Shane’s thighs with his mouth pressed to Shane’s throat, her son’s head dropped back against the pillows and eyes closed as he laughed, Ilya murmuring something she couldn’t hear. Shane’s hands were clutching Ilya’s shoulder and buried in his hair, possessive and covetous, and Ilya’s hand on Shane’s chest was stroking the muscle there lazily. They were so beautiful together, so happy and at ease that it actually took her far too long to realise that this wasn’t a thing she should be seeing, that it was something so intensely private and intimate- emotionally intimate- that it actually made her chest ache. She backed up a few steps and snuck back out the way she’d come before they could see her, and it wasn’t until she got back into the car, expression shellshocked, that she really began to process what she’d witnessed.
“Yuna, sweetheart, are you alright? Is Ilya-”
“Currently balls deep in our only son? Yes, darling, yes he is.”
“I- what?”
She began to laugh, lightly hysterical. “I think we can definitively confirm that they know they’re in love with each other.”
It took him far too long, but eventually David blanched. “Oh no… were they-?”
“Yep.”
“And you saw-?”
“Oh yes.”
“Oh.”
There was a multitude contained in that one syllable. She got her laughter under control, but it was only when David touched his thumb to her cheek that she realised she was crying, just a little. “I’m so happy,” she whispered, reaching for him, only to find he was already reaching for her. “I was so afraid he would be lonely, that he wouldn’t allow himself to have this, to have something good that was just for him.”
He held her close. “I guess this means you get to keep Ilya now.”
She sobbed out a laugh and held on tight for a minute before sitting back and swiping beneath her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “Oh god, how am I supposed to face them?”
David smiled at her and reached out to smooth her hair back to perfect neatness. “Just think about how embarrassed they’re going to be when you drop this story into casual conversation a year from now.”
They stared at each other before dissolving into giggles, both of them shocked and thrilled, irrespective of how they’d come across the knowledge that their son was in love and happy. They decided to wait for another ten minutes before attempting to collect the boys, gossiping about this newly discovered development with ill-contained glee.
But the second time Yuna went to fetch them, she waited for Ilya to answer the door first.