Archive of Our Own

June 2009

The first time David Hollander spoke to Ilya Rozanov was the morning after the draft. The kid came in first to Shane’s own second pick and while David understood why his wife was upset by the upset, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to be anything but proud that his son was even standing up there in the first place. He understood this whole rivalry narrative, privately thinking that it was excessive for two eighteen-year-old boys. The draft splitting them between rival teams certainly didn’t help.

The morning they were due to fly back to Canada, David excused himself to the bathroom. Earlier in the morning, he’d walked by Ilya Rozanov and a man who must have been his father. They appeared to be arguing in rapid Russian. David didn’t understand the language, but did understand the tone being used. His plan got derailed once he was actually in the restroom; standing hunched over the sink, running the water, and looking up in surprise when David entered, was Rozanov. One half of his face was red in a way that left little to David's imagination. The boy freezes, eyes wide, like he’d been caught out. David moves slowly, letting the door close quietly behind him and walking forward, keeping his hands at his side. He grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser furthest from Rozanov, wetting one under a different sink. He wrings it out and folds it neatly into squares before holding it out in front of him. Rozanov is just staring, unmoving, eyes flicking between David and the offered towel. He almost looks like Shane when he’s about to have a panic attack. He’s Shane’s age, just a boy, David thinks, moving forward a little, emboldened when Rozanov doesn’t flinch away. He still moves slowly, making his intentions clear,  he’s not a threat, he just wants to help. David gets as far as hovering near Rozanov’s cheek, the boy finally flinching back when the wet towel touches his hot skin, but lets David hold it against his cheek. His hands are shaking and his eyes are darting wildly around, always returning to the man in front of him.

David is unsure if he should break the fragile silence to comfort the boy, or if that would make things worse, so he just readjusts the towel. The silence is broken for him by Rozanov’s phone dinging. The screen, face up on the counter, lights up with a text message. David can’t see anymore than the name Jane. Rozanov’s eyes dart to the phone and back to David, scanning him for a reaction. David keeps his face neutral, it’s none of his business. The kid swallows nervously and snatches the phone to slide it into his pocket without reading the text. 

“You, ah, never know where you might meet someone.” Clearly trying to lighten the air, or deflect, David thinks. He just hums in response and nods. The towel is warm in his hand now, so he pulls back and throws it away, reaching like he’s going to get another, but Rozanov shakes his head. “Thank you. You did not–”

David cuts him off, “It’s fine. You’re good now?”

Rozanov nods, searching his face again. David gives him another nod and starts to back out of the bathroom, leaving the kid in privacy again. And if he secretly flips off the elder Rozanov and mentally curses him because that’s all he can do, that’s between him and god. He sees Rozanov rejoin his father like nothing happened. David doesn’t try to catch the kids eye. Instead, he thinks about the text and the way he’d hidden it quickly, like he expected to be scolded, but tried to deflect. It’s also an odd detail to fixate on, he doesn’t understand why he is. Ridiculous, David thinks, he doesn’t actually know anything about Rozanov or his situation. That doesn’t stop him from thinking the kid doesn’t deserve the pressure on his shoulders. He thinks that whoever that girl was, she’s special enough to be hidden–protected, his mind supplies. David shakes his head; the most he can do is wish the best to his son’s rival. He reminds himself that he doesn’t know the kid, so as curious as he is, he puts it out of his mind.

—

David knew, or suspected, two things about Shane’s love life. One, his son was probably gay. Not in the way David thought he would always find out, stereotypes and such. But instead it occurred to him when Shane got his second high school girlfriend, Jessica. Shane didn't look at her the way boys looked at girls, especially their own girlfriends. He didn’t look at her the way David looked at Yuna. And when they broke up, there was relief on Shane's face. 

This ex-girlfriend was also the catalyst for the other thing. 

Second, Shane—like David, and every Hollander before him—would fall in love once. He would see his person, like David had seen Yuna from the ice of McGill's practice rink, and fall in love immediately. It was a Hollander family tradition; his own mother had seen his father and they'd gotten married three months later. His grandfather spoke of the loss of his life, someone simply referred to as my bluejay, who he’d lost young. He’d remained happily married to David’s grandmother, claiming that if you couldn’t marry the love of your life, marry your best friend. If you could do both, even better. 

Shane had one perfect person for him out there, someone who he would fight the world for. For a while David thought something had gotten mixed up and his son would just marry hockey if he could. but he remained steady in his belief that Shane would find his person, without, he had to remind his wife, their meddling. 

Yuna didn't believe in soulmates, the way David did, but she believed in David. 

It didn’t stop her from trying and David didn’t stop her from her quest. He would just remind her that Shane would do things in his own time, the way he always had. Their son was like both his parents that way. Like his father, Shane took his time with almost everything. He had to think and process information on his own timeline, in his own way. Like Yuna, once the processing was done, Shane was a go-getter. He put his mind to something and didn’t stop, like hockey. 

Yuna shared David’s fears that their son would remain uniquely isolated, by nature of his job, his status at said job, his quiet personality not ideal for getting out of his comfort zone to talk to people. They were thankful when Shane started spending time with Hayden and Jackie Pike after the pair had gotten married. He still spent most of his time alone, but he wasn’t totally isolating himself.

—

David watches his son’s career with a special pride reserved, he thinks, for parents of extraordinary children. Every parent hopes to see their kid succeed and David’s exceeded all expectations. Shane was the best, no one could argue. Except Ilya Rozanov, who always was right there, remaining neck-and-neck with Shane. From points, to awards, to brand deals. The last one was an isolated incident, Yuna complaining that CCM had given them almost no warning of the change in plans to the commercial Shane was supposed to shoot with them, revealing last minute that Ilya Rozanov would be filming with Shane instead of separately. 

David only saw it because he was watching Shane’s face when Yuna read out the email. His son didn’t flinch, didn’t get upset at the change in plans the way he did. Instead, David watched surprise and understanding flicker across his face. Not like he was bracing, but like he’d been handed the last puzzle piece to fill in the picture. A small, imperceptible smile settled on his face. Shane offered up nothing, just said he was fine with the whole thing. David filed it away.

Near the end of Shane’s rookie season, he notices the texting. He was on his phone a lot more than David expected for a kid so disinclined to social media, but it was always texting. Messages exchanged with a mysterious person or persons. It stuck out because David would see that smile again. A tug at the corner of his lips, like Shane was holding in a laugh, always noticed by David at the oddest of times.

—

They’re at a restaurant, celebrating the start of a new season, when David first notices the empty space. It shouldn’t have been special, shouldn’t have stood out. Shane was an only child and their family of three often highlighted the odd number of them, especially at tables where it was Yuna and David on one side, Shane across from them, alone. Sitting at this round table, not square, round, David is suddenly aware of something missing. The feeling hits him as he watches Shane scan the menu, someone should be there. David imagined a day when there were four of them at the table. It started when he and Yuna started trying for kids, imagining at least two running around. Then when Shane started growing up, they’d imagined a future four with someone at their son’s side. It never quite hit him like this, like someone had vacated the table and they were waiting for them to return. 

David can’t quite find a logic to the thought, pushing away the feeling for now. Except he starts to notice it more. Some of the proof feels tangible, but unsubstantial. Shane doesn’t stay the night very often anymore. When he does stay in his childhood bed, David watches his son take a side of the bed, usually the right. It sticks out because Shane had always slept in the middle of the bed, no sense in squishing himself to one side or the other when there was plenty of space. Now he was off-center, not on the edge, but not in the middle. David wakes early one day and, through a crack in the door, sees his son’s arm outstretched to the other side of the bed, like it’s reaching  for something, not curled under Shane’s chin. 

Other evidence can’t be traced back to any one source. When Shane watches a hockey game with them, David can almost see the outline where someone should be. He blinks and it’s gone. Shane calls them from Montreal and David resists the urge to say hello twice. He gets out of the car and David is surprised that he’s surprised to see no one else emerge from the passenger seat.

These things happen far enough apart that it’s brushed off except when it happens again. Like pressing a bruise, reminding him that it’s still there. Yuna doesn’t see what her husband sees. Ever the realist, she says, “Well, he’s growing up. We want him to be happy, you’re seeing what you want to see for him.”

—

The second time David speaks to Ilya Rozanov is at the MLH awards after Boston won the Stanley Cup for the second time since Shane was traded. Shane is backstage, preparing to present something before he’s up for his own nominations and can return to sitting in the crowd.

It’s not a bathroom this time, at least not inside it. David found a quiet corner in the hallway to take some deep breaths before he would rejoin Yuna. Events like this aren’t attended by Yuna and him very often, David doesn’t like the large crowds on a good day, even if all he has to do is look handsome on his wife’s arm while she makes the rounds. The moment he needs to compose himself is interrupted by finding Rozanov squatting against the far wall, eyes unfocused and staring down in front of him. If he sees David approach, there’s no indication except a sharp intake of breath when his shoes enter the man’s sightline. 

“Are you ok, son?” David asks, wincing over the last word, suddenly remembering the last time, unsure if that wasn’t going to make anything worse. Rozanov’s eyes cut up to him, wider than David had been expecting. They aren’t shiny with tears, shed or unshed, but there’s something in them. The kid nods after a moment.

“I am ok,” he pushes himself up. Or tries to. David reaches out to steady Rozanov, gripping his bicep as gently as he can and helping haul him to his feet, not letting go until Rozanov is steady. Even when he lets go, he can tell Rozanov is still shaking slightly.

“You sure you’re ok?” David lets his hand hover, then decides it won’t be appreciated, and pulls it back to hang at his side. The kid is trying to regulate his breathing without being obvious.

“I am sure, thank you,” Rozanov searches his gaze for a minute. “Overwhelming, yes? Out there?”

David lets out a chuckle, “I get that. That’s why I’m back here, needed a breather.”

“Da, breathing,” Rozanov nods along, “My, uh, is um, I learned techniques for breathing from…” he trails off for a moment, “someone. Very good at that.”

“Breathing?” David asks, a little amused. 

“Panicking,” says Rozanov instead, with a little hidden smile, like he’s telling a joke only he understands. David lets out his own chuckle. “You are ok too? Need breathing tip?”

“I’m good, kid,” promises David. Rozanov’s phone faintly buzzes in the quiet hallway. He pulls it out of his pocket and a smile spreads over his face as he types out a response. “You know, my son,” Rozanov’s head snaps up to meet his gaze, “is a panicker, he gets it from me. We learned a lot of tips together. Surprised he hasn’t joined our little party back here.”

The look Rozanov is leveling him tells David that he’s been recognized, and he suspects that the intensity in his eyes is not supposed to be as visible to the naked eye as it is.

“Shane Hollander, yes?”

“Yeah, he’s on your team, heard of him?” His joke startles a more genuine laugh out of the kid, and he raises his hand to his mouth to stifle it.

“I think so, a few times,” Rozanov teases back, “Weak backhand, second best player, yes?”

“Well, I think he’s the best, but I’m only his dad, what do I know?” A little of the light dims in Rozanov’s eyes, but the spark is still there. David senses he’s hit something he wasn’t supposed to and he remembers his thoughts about the elder Mr. Rozanov from a decade ago. 

“Yes, you should be proud of him, if he wins MVP again,” an oddly proud look crosses Rozanov’s face. 

“I am,” agrees David, “proud of him, I mean. Whether he wins or not.”

Rozanov nods at him, “We should go sit now, probably.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” David holds out his hand to shake, pleased with the firm grip returned, “See you around, Rozanov.”

Shane brings him over later that evening, announcing that they want to start a charity together. David lets mother and son do what they do best and half listens while watching Rozanov watch his son, because Rozanov is only looking at Shane and now that David sees it, he notices that the kid is doing what David is doing: letting Yuna and Shane talk while looking vaguely interested and contributing when the other looks at them for input.

It’s a little silly, David thinks, having something in common with Ilya Rozanov. His amusement overshadows the (in hindsight) very obvious clues; Rozanov looking at Shane like David looks at Yuna, the way it’s the first time he doesn’t see that emptiness beside Shane, the uncharacteristic looseness of his son’s shoulders.

—

David remembers teaching Shane how to skate. He must have been three or four the first time David held tight to his son's hands while he tried not to slip on the frozen lake in his tiny skates. David never understood the people who cooed over tiny baby shoe versions of adult shoes, but the skates he put his son in were so small, he couldn’t help but tear up at the vision of them leaned against his own large ones. 

Once Shane was steady on his feet, he was off. In the years that passed, David watched his son circle the ice faster and faster until keeping up with him was a matter of yelling, “Stay where I can see you, please!”

There was a figure skater they ran into sometimes at the lake, a young woman who Shane skated up to at five years old and asked her how she did that spin. For a few months, she would let Shane seek her out and show him different techniques for controlling his body and feet. She was only there that one winter, but Shane carried her lessons into hockey the way he did with everything. Carefully filed away to be utilized to its fullest potential when necessary, practiced again and again until it was perfect. 

Hockey came so easily to Shane that David sometimes wondered if he’d somehow passed his years at McGill on genetically. Yuna suspected it was Shane’s brain that was just good at memorizing and committing. Whatever it was, it paid off. By the time he was double digits, Shane was more often found with a puck in the cradle of his stick then not. By the time he was a teenager, almost none of his peers could keep up with him and the ones that could alternated between jealousy and pride. By the time scouts were sniffing around, rumors were already swirling about draft picks and generational talents. 

Watching Shane play his first regulation game on NHL ice was exhilarating and a little unreal. It felt like a dream, his son, his son, was a professional hockey player. At nineteen years old he was being heralded as the hockey player to watch, alongside Ilya Rozanov, of course. His entire career was ahead of him, bright and uncertain.

All David could see, though, was those tiny little skates and hear the sound of nervous giggles.

—

August 2017

There’s one European market near Ottawa worth going to, not quite in the city proper, but perfect for those of them who lived closer to the Canadian wilderness. David doesn’t frequent it, but he stops in from time to time usually, like today, for vodka. He’s also planning on grabbing real groceries, deciding not to waste a trip and mentally running through a few recipes while he decides.

The sound of a familiar voice startles him. David moves to the end of the aisle, looking around the corner to spot exactly who he thought he heard. Shane. What was Shane doing not just in this small grocery store, but in Ottawa when he’s supposed to be back in Boston or maybe Montreal. His son can’t see him where he’s standing at the deli counter, calling out for the man who ran it with a familiarity unusual for his anxious son. Petro emerges and David watches the older man’s face light up when he sees Shane standing at his counter.

“Shanechko! Kak milo s tvoyey storony nakonets navestit' etogo starika.” Shane laughs and David is struck by the sound. When was the last time he’d heard it? He’s distracted before he can think further.

“Mne tozhe priyatno vas videt'.” Shane is responding, but not in English or even French. “Etim letom my byli boleye zanyaty.”

“Ah, a kak tvoy muzh?” Petro leans against the counter. David has never really spoken to him. He’s a Ukrainian man older than David and had lived in Ottawa longer than Shane had been alive, settling in Canada with his wife after fleeing his home. 

“On khorosh.” Shane folds his arms, a smile on his face.

“Mne vso yeshcho nuzhno s nim vstretit'sya. Ty ne smozhesh' derzhat' yego podal'she vechno.”

“Ya znayu, skoro.” Shane’s scanning the deli counter, something the other man catches. He waves as way of moving the conversation to the next part.

“Budete zakazyvat' kak obychno?” 

“Da. Spasibo.” Petro nods and starts to work on Shane’s order. David watches and listens, fascinated at the ease of conversation. He’s heard Petro speak in his native tongue before, but not often. He’s never heard Shane speak what he’s assuming is Russian or a similar language. 

“Znachit, on uzhe pochti grazhdanin?” Petro asks, Shane responding and the conversation flowing from there. David can’t hear any hesitation in his son’s voice, the language sounding natural. Petro doesn’t appear to slow down his speech or repeat anything. It’s fascinating to listen to. Shane still doesn’t know he’s there and he can’t figure out how to reveal himself, so he stays hidden where he is amongst the alcohol. Alcohol brands, he realizes, that Shane introduced him to. 

David scrubs a hand down his face and refocuses in on his son, who is chuckling at something Petro said. He waves a hand in the air and David catches a glint on his hand. His ring. 

A ring Shane started wearing years ago, claiming it helped with his anxiety. It was a well made ring that sat on a track so it could spin with ease. David believed the explanation at the time, saw how it did exactly what Shane said it did. Now, David saw that ring and couldn’t help but start to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know he had with pieces he’d been collecting for years. 

He tables any thoughts for now, focusing on the end of the conversation. Shane is taking a loaded bag from Petro with another, spasibo.

“V sleduyushchiy raz privodi muzha — prikaz zheny.” More laughter, Shane’s head thrown back.

“Kak tol'ko my smozhem, on budet zdes'. On s neterpeniyem zhdot vozmozhnosti poznakomit'sya s vami kak sleduyet.”

“My priglasim vas na uzhin — nikakikh vozrazheniy. Odin «novyy kanadets» — drugomu.” Petro shakes a finger at Shane, who readjusts the bag with a grin. David catches the word Canadian in there.

“Novyy?” Shane teases, “Ty kanadets dol'she, chem ya.”

The pair wrap up their conversation, exchanging goodbyes and Shane leaves, arms laden with more groceries than any single man needs–even a professional athlete.

—

David lays in bed later, staring at the ceiling, Yuna asleep beside him. It was unusual for him to lay awake like this, but he couldn’t get the earlier interaction he’d witnessed out of his head. He hadn’t brought anything up with his wife. David closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. Ok, he thinks, what are the facts? It’s something he learned to do when Yuna was spiraling, or close to it.

One, Shane spoke Russian. Fluently enough to have a conversation. Two, the ring. Something about that ring specifically was bothering David, like a small detail that wasn’t quite there for him to grasp. Petro wore a ring on his right hand too. David knew it was a wedding ring. 

It was a crazy train of thought and almost certainly not probable, but in the interest of eliminating possibilities to quiet his brain…

He pulls out his phone, contemplating for a minute before typing in ring right hand russia. Right there at the top, Why do Russians wear wedding rings on the right hand? He scrolls a little more, taking in all the similar headlines, clicking on an article to read about Eastern Orthodox wedding traditions. David closes the tab and his eyes to process. Shane wore a ring, silver, expensive, on his right ring finger. Shane spoke conversational Russian. There was that feeling again that David got sometimes: something was missing. 

Did Shane have a partner? Someone he was seeing behind his parents backs? No, not behind their backs, that would mean he was doing something wrong. Shane was allowed to date without giving his parents all the details. He tried not to think of it like Shane was doing something wrong. 

He opens his eyes again and pulls up a new page and types, russian wedding traditions gay. This rabbit hole goes on longer, David clicking wikipedia article after wikipedia article. By the time he turns off his phone, his face is damp.

Three, David thinks, Shane might be gay. Shane might be gay and married behind his parents back because his husband is Russian. David presses his fingers to his eyes. He can’t even confirm if any of this is true, really just trusting his instincts. Everything makes too much sense when put together like this. His wonderful, terrible liar of a son had hidden this. How, was David’s first question. Why, was dangling in front of him, but he ignored it. When? Shane didn’t keep secrets, he didn’t do spontaneous–

There’s something nigging at the back of his brain, the only word he’d recognized from the conversation. The word that sounded like Canadian. Pulling out his phone again with a quiet sigh, David is googling, how long does it take to get a canadian citizenship if you’re married?

Shane didn’t do spontaneous, but he also didn’t do anything by half-measures, and there was no reason to believe this was anything but carefully planned out. The results loaded on the screen and David navigated to the government website he knew how to navigate. Three to five years. He did the math; hypothetically, someone who applied for citizenship now would get it by 2022.

The ring. David thinks back, trying to remember when Shane had started wearing that ring. The answer comes to him slowly, as if his brain is trying to convince itself that it has the right answer and didn’t miss anything. 

Shane was wearing that ring when he came back from six weeks alone in Montreal. The summer he’d told his parents he wanted to be alone for a few weeks. If David’s memories aren’t betraying him, Shane wasn’t wearing that ring before summer, he was wearing it after the summer. That had been 2014.

He did math again, more than three years ago. His son is married. This isn’t some casual relationship Shane is hiding from his parents, this is a whole husband, a partner. This is something serious enough to get citizenship, to hide.

David remembers meeting his own in-laws. How nervous he’d been to meet Yuna’s parents. They’d been in a relationship for two years by then, newly engaged, when Yuna decided it was time. His wife explained at the beginning of their relationship that introducing him to her parents would not happen until they were serious, nervous about their reaction to him; he was a jock, white, on a scholarship, nevermind that it was for a business degree. Nothing about David was what they wanted for their daughter. He respected her decision back then, even before he had understood why.

He had a clearer picture now; the pressure, the expectations, her desire to be with David warring with pleasing her parents. He never wanted Shane to feel the same way, that he had to hide someone away from them. David didn’t believe that Shane thought they would turn away someone he loved for something as asinine as his sexuality or home country. He knows they raised Shane better than that.

But his son would hide the man he loves to keep him safe, because that was who Shane was. That’s who they raised their son to be, someone who protected, who committed. Someone who learned Russian and shopped at European grocery stores and…

David rolls onto his side, draping an arm over his wife when she cuddles closer. Was Shane doing this right now? Pressed against his husband, breathing in sync? He presses a kiss to Yuna’s head, mind still racing while he falls into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning doesn’t bring any more answers. Yuna lets him move sluggishly through the day, chiding him for staying up, but there’s no heat behind it; they’ve been in the reverse often enough. He can’t tell Yuna the full truth of what he’s discovered. It will derail faster than David could keep up. He loves his wife, but he won’t take this away from his son. Instead, he offers a small piece of what’s weighing on him.

“Do you remember when you introduced me to your parents?” She looks over at him from where she’s answering emails on the other end of the couch.

“Why are you bringing it up?” Her tone is curious. David contemplates his next words.

“I just, do you ever wonder if–” he presses his lips together, “I don’t want Shane to–” he can’t quite figure out how to word his thoughts. Yuna is ever the lifesaver, as always.

“You think he hasn’t come out to us because of something we did?” They’d discussed Shane being gay more recently, lobbying it as a possibility. They sometimes discussed it between the two of them like it was fact, not speculation. Yuna frowns, “He has to know we’re ok with it, right? After Scott Hunter and everything.”

“I don’t know, honey. I hope he does. I can’t think of anything specific, but I wonder sometimes if he wouldn’t introduce us to someone until it’s serious.” He shrugs, “I was caught up in some memories last night, it got me thinking.”

His wife has her eyes locked on her computer screen, unseeing. David pushes himself up to sit next to her, pulling Yuna into a hug.

“Why wouldn’t he? Tell us, I mean,” Yuna is frowning, mind racing in that way it does. David thinks it’s beautiful to watch. “We’re not, we wouldn’t–”

“That’s not it,” David soothes, “It was just– Shane is such a private person. I don’t think he thinks we would turn away any partner of his, but, honey, you would have a million contingencies. Especially if he brought home a man.”

She looks offended, “David!”

“You want what’s best for him, always have. That means making sure he’s prepared for everything.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that!”

“No, but if Shane was in a relationship,” Yuna huffs at him, interrupting.

“He’s a professional hockey player, he’s a public figure. Any relationship of his is going to be big news. If he is gay, then there’s a whole extra layer to it.” Her voice is quieter, admitting, “I just want him to be happy. I want things to be easy for him.”

“But is that what Shane wants?” Yuna is watching him, a sad look in her eyes. “Do you remember that All Star weekend we showed up to?”

David knows she remembers, still embarrassed by how poorly the interaction had gone. Yuna had seen the weekend as a chance to catch up with a retreating Shane. Instead of spending the weekend relaxing and watching their son play hockey, he’d retreated further from them. The width of the divide wasn’t visible until Shane sat them down for dinner, ate food he never would have normally eaten and told them he was moving to Boston. In hindsight, they should have noticed the constant tension in his shoulders, more than the usual amount, the bags beneath his eyes, the quiet way he had no energy to make conversation when he visited.

“God, watching him storm away from the table… I just kept bringing up more work. It was supposed to be his time off and I made it about work,” she pinches between her eyes, “And girls. I remember.”

David runs a hand comfortingly down her arm, “I think, maybe, we have to be ready for him to surprise us.”

“I don’t think he could. He’s Shane,” she laughs, “We’ll keep trying to let him know it’s ok.”

“I think that’s all we can do.”

—

Turns out Shane can surprise them, just not the way they thought, because only a few days later Shane is at their table telling them that he’s gay and he’s sorry for not telling them earlier but he didn’t know how. David feels a little vindicated that he was right, but he’ll keep that to himself. Telling Shane that they’d started to suspect surprised him. Telling Shane they supported him no matter what brought out tears.

David finds a moment before Shane leaves their house to pull him into a hug, squeezing the life out of him, he’s sure. Shane’s arms tentatively come up to wrap around his father, but he does bury his face into David’s shoulder and let out a stuttering breath. 

“I love you,” David starts, voice low, “Nothing, nothing will change that. Something tells me there’s more you’re not sharing. I’m not prying, I want to tell you to take your time, ok?” He doesn’t let Shane out of the hug, cradling his head to keep his son in place, “When you’re ready, we’ll be here. You let me handle your mother, ok?”

He does let Shane pull back then. David claps his hands onto Shane’s shoulders, massaging lightly to keep his son’s face on his. Shane’s eyes are watery, but he’s successfully holding back any tears. He’s searching David for something and he must find it because he just nods rapidly, “I love you too, dad.”

He watches Shane drive off, arm around his wife. On the porch, he’s alone with the knowledge that Shane is driving home to his husband. He’ll recount the conversation to this mystery man, tell him about David’s cryptic words, and they'll talk about it. David wishes this young man had someone on the other side of this. If he’s right about his son-in-law’s home country, did that mean he had nobody here with him? Did he have any family he could call, family he couldn’t see again but wanted too? A surge of protectiveness runs through David’s veins, he might have to wait another year, year and a half, to meet this man, but he would be waiting the whole time with open arms. When this kid was finally safe, David would be there like there had never been a time he wasn’t family.

“You were right,” Yuna admits. David just tightens his grip around her waist. “He surprised us. I’m so happy he told us, but he also felt like he had to hide it. I know we suspected, but to hear confirmation?”

“Hmmm.”

“When we were outside, when I stepped out for a minute…” Yuna hesitates, “That’s what he told me, that he tried so hard to be normal. He apologized, like he’d done something wrong. I hated it,” she’s worrying her lip between her teeth, “I can’t mess this up. Not like I did with… I’m going to go buy some books.”

David lets her go and continues to stare out at the treeline, where Shane’s car had disappeared. He’ll go and comfort Yuna soon; she needs her time to process, so he’ll be there to catch her like always. It makes him think of what kind of person, man, Shane might have at home. Is he nice and boring, someone just like Shane? Does he do yoga in the morning and drink Shane’s ridiculous smoothies? Simultaneous routines, side by side, morning jogs and seven step skincare routines?

He shakes his head, as nice as that sounds, it honestly sounds like Shane’s nightmare. If Yuna and him can be opposite in compatible ways, why would he want Shane to have someone just like him?

He doesn’t try to picture physical details. Not enough evidence to go on and he doesn’t think it matters for him to know. He does picture, however, someone who does go on runs with Shane, but will make two separate breakfasts while Shane does yoga. He pictures someone kind, tempering Shane’s unintentional animosity towards most people. He hopes this man likes animals and can convince Shane to get a pet. David wonders if he reads, or likes music, or if he’s also famous in his field. Has he ever come to a hockey game, or does he watch from home?

When they’re curled into their bed discussing the day, David brings the topic up to Yuna, “What kind of man do you think Shane would like?”

“Like, his type?” Yuna frowns, “He’s never really shown interest before… No, I heard it when I said it, obviously we don’t know his type.”

“Not necessarily his type, just personality traits.”

“Well, I think Boston has a good gay scene, so he could meet someone at least. Let me think,” Yuna trails off. “Do you think he’d bring home someone… flamboyant?”

“Flamboyant? Yuna, what?” David can’t help the drop of his jaw.

“That’s not, I just mean,” Yuna rubs at her face, giggling slightly, “No, David, I mean, Shane is very… not that. I’m not trying to stereotype, there’s nothing wrong with being flamboyant or anything, I just wonder if that’s what he likes. Someone who’s not a jock, or something.” The end of her sentence isn’t super confident.

“You think our son, who loves hockey more than anything else, would want to date someone who doesn’t like sports?”

“I didn’t say that, I said someone who isn’t a jock.”

“Sure.” Yuna huffs and leans back into her husband’s side.

“He’ll need someone who can keep up with him.”

David disagrees, “Maybe, or maybe he needs someone to be waiting for him when he realizes he’s too far ahead.”

It’s Yuna’s turn to hum in contemplation, “Sure. Someone who can get him out of his comfort zone, too.”

“Someone kind,” David counters, “so Shane doesn’t have to be so controlled.”

“What do you mean?” Yuna asks.

“He needs to give Shane space to relax, even in public.” David strokes his wife’s hair, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Shane can be… kind of mean? Sometimes, you know. He just says stuff that people don’t realize is an insult. Do you remember when he told that kid in juniors that if he didn’t want to be insulted for being a slow skater, he should try and skate faster?”

Yuna laughs, “No? Did he really say that?”

“Something like it,” David chuckles, “but that’s what I mean, his partner should probably be nicer to balance it out.”

Yuna considers everything for a minute, letting the silence stretch on, “So, someone just like him? Or someone totally different?”

“I guess we’ll have to see,” David replies. “And when he does bring someone home, we have to trust him.”

—

May 2018

They were already planning to head to Boston for the start of the Bears round against Las Vegas. Yuna was fretting over Shane inviting them to dinner the day before the game. It was unusual for Shane to have them over, especially to what was an address for a secluded house not a restaurant or apartment in the city. Neither of them were under any illusion that tonight was Shane introducing them to someone. Probably because his text included the words there’s someone I’d like you to meet. 

David pulled the rental car into the long driveway up to the house, a lovely shade of light green with a white trim. The lawn was manicured and lined with hedges. There was a flower garden planted along the house. It certainly looked like the home of a married couple.

“Are you ready?” Yuna asks beside him. He looks over at his wife, cataloging her pinched expression, the worry weaved around her like a shawl, the nervous energy permeating the air.

“It’s dinner with our son,” starts David, “we’ve had dinner with him before. Except now he’s introducing us to someone.”

“Exactly, David. He’s never done that before. We’re about to meet his boyfriend o-or-or partner, and–”

“Yuna, darling, breathe.” He reaches over to smooth his hand down her back, “Yes, this is new. You’re right, Shane’s never introduced us to a partner before. But he’s still Shane, it’s just dinner. However nervous you are right now, I promise Shane is more nervous.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

“Because you need me to be.” The answer is so simple, Yuna gives him a grateful look and leans over the console to kiss him.

“Thank you.”

“Always. Now, let’s go meet this someone.” David follows his wife out of the car and to the front door. He was calm for Yuna’s sake, and for the fact that he was heading into this evening slightly more prepared for whatever was on the other side of the door. Shane’s husband was inside this house. This was the closest he’s ever been to the man, as far as he’s aware, and he’s incredibly nervous. Not to meet him, but to make a good impression. Meeting the parents was never easy and David knew both of his boys would be extra nervous for the reaction to the secrecy. So David was prepared to be the level headed one, making sure that everyone stayed on track.

“Hi, you’re here.” Shane practically throws the door open, trying to play off that he’d definitely been waiting for them to arrive. Yuna sweeps him into a hug and David follows, taking their shoes off and following their son to the kitchen. He stops them before they get there, “Um, there’s someone else here, which, obviously you knew that, I told you. I just want to, I don’t think there’s anyway to prepare you, just please… please.”

David almost runs into his wife where she’s frozen a few steps into the dining room. He sees what’s stopped her in her tracks and understands. They’d entered the home with the knowledge, or at least the idea, that they were meeting Shane’s boyfriend. There was no one David was expecting to see less than Ilya Rozanov setting something on the table. The man straightens up, throwing the towel he’s holding over his shoulder.

“Hello.” Shane is there suddenly, appearing next to Rozanov and using a hand on the small of his back to guide him closer to his parents.

“Mom, Dad, this is Ilya. Rozanov, but you knew that already. He’s my… um, we’re together. He’s who I wanted to introduce you to,” Rozanov smiles politely and nods in their direction. “Should– can we sit down, please?”

Once seated, David can smell something delicious coming from the pot. Rozanov notices him eyeing it appreciatively and says, “Beef stew. Recipe from home, good for hungry hockey players.”

“I see, it smells delicious, Rozanov.”

“Ilya,” he corrects.

“Ilya, of course.” 

Shane watches all of this from his spot next to Ilya, nervously glancing between both parents. One trying to appear normal, the other outright staring while their son’s partner serves up bowls of the stew. It’s delicious, but after a few minutes Shane has to start talking again.

“Can someone say something, please?” Ilya’s hand immediately finds Shane’s leg. Yuna seems startled out of her head.

“Well,” she hesitates, “I don’t know where to start.”

David takes over for her, “I think we’re just in a little bit of shock. I don’t think we were expecting Ilya, but you’re right, let’s not just sit here.”

“I know it’s a shock,” Shane sighs, “I guess I–”

“Why don’t you start with when this happened?” David interrupts.

“Since you joined the Bears you’ve had so much chemistry, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised…” Shane and Ilya are already shaking their heads.

“No, it was before I moved to Boston, mom.” Shane worries his lip between his teeth, eerily similar to the way Yuna does it when she’s contemplating her words, “It’s why I chose Boston over anywhere else.”

“Oh, wow,” Yuna sits back. “Before you moved?”

There are answering nods from both the boys across from them. Shane and Ilya keep looking at each other, having small conversations with their eyes. David wonders if that chemistry followed them onto the ice or if the chemistry from the ice followed them home. He sees in real time the play being adjusted, subtle information being passed from one player to another. Probably both, then.

“So how long?” Yuna asks with a raised eyebrow, watching the boys intensely.

“Um,” Shane hesitates again, looking at Ilya, “it’s a long story.”

David knows Yuna’s thought process here, she’s doing the math backwards. Shane moved to Boston in 2016, two years ago. If their relationship is a ‘long story’ then Yuna knows the added time won’t be a few months, it’ll be another few years. She’s also restraining herself incredibly well.

Ilya’s hand squeezes Shane’s knee in a move David recognizes, but can’t place for a moment. Until Shane’s hand covers Ilya’s own and laces their fingers together over his leg. It’s the same thing Shane’s been doing for years to calm himself, squeezing either side of his knee like that. Exactly like that. His son’s been replicating his husband’s soothing techniques in front of them for years. 

“We’ve been together, officially, since 2012.” Yuna’s jaw drops, so does David’s. He’s known that they’ve been married since 2014, but to hear confirmation might just break his heart. Six years they’ve been together officially. David pauses, but Yuna’s already there.

“Six years! You’ve been together for six years?” Her tone starts to pitch into hysterical territory, but she reins it in when Shane flinches. “That’s before either of you won a cup.”

Their son nods, eyes trained down and ahead, the only movement is his fingers playing with Ilya’s under the table. Yuna sits back, breathing deep to steady herself.

“When did it start? Before it became official?” David asks, hoping that they can get the big surprises portion of the evening done in one fell swoop. Although that’s unlikely, with the whole secret relationship now open for questioning. He’s sure that even years from now, they’ll be confessing things that surprise them.

His sons share another look, and Ilya answers this time in a soft voice, “Depends what you mean. If you mean first kiss or…”

Shane must pinch him because Ilya snaps his mouth closed a little too quickly.

“Well now I’m curious. When was your first kiss?” He’s expecting an answer along the lines of an All Stars game or a particularly eventful hockey match.

“July 27, 2009.” The date means almost nothing to David except the year, which lacks the double digits he was waiting for.

“Two-thousand and nine?”

Yuna has a hand over her mouth, “That was the summer you were drafted. July, that would have been draft day, right?”

“Yeah, draft day,” Shane forces his eyes up to look at them and David sees they’re full of unshed tears. Draft day, David thinks, almost a decade. Ilya is nodding along and David finally notices that he’s also been avoiding eye contact with them. He’s been looking up, but mostly at Shane and David is reminded of the awards last year when Ilya was doing the same thing.

“Wow,” he breathes softly, “wow. Nine years, huh?” 

He wonders how they’re going to drop the marriage bomb, but the answer seems to be over alcohol now that dinner is over. David compliments the food while the boys clear the table, leaving the elder Hollanders to sit in their shock for a minute. Neither of them speak as vodka and four glasses are set on the table. One of the glasses is full of ginger ale already, set in front of Shane. Ilya goes to serve, but David is faster, opening and pouring the liquid for the three of them, offering a gentle smile to Ilya when he fills his glass.

“There’s something else we need to tell you,” starts Shane, “and I think you’re going to freak out a little.”

David knows what’s coming, but tries to lighten the mood, “You’re not pregnant are you?”

A glass hits the table a little too hard, Ilya’s hand coming up to cover his face when he snorts. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Oh my god,” Shane can’t help but also chuckle, “no, dad, no one’s pregnant. That’s not–”

There’s a sudden yelp from Rozanov, disrupting the conversation, “Blyat! That little–” he reaches down but comes up hands empty. Shane must catch on because he is already reaching down lightning fast and has more success scooping up a small gray ball. It takes a second for David to recognize the shape of a cat, a very small cat, pressed against Shane’s chest. 

“Calm down,” Shane says, cradling her close.

“She bit me!” Ilya retorts, “She is a little menace.”

“Ilya…” The man in question reaches out for the puffball, but Shane stands and steps away, shielding the kitten from his husband, “Nyet, she’s just playing.”

Ilya stands too, walking over and gently taking the cat from Shane. She immediately starts purring in his hands, rubbing her face on his chest. The frown on Ilya’s face is slowly melting while the glare in his eyes stays trained on his husband, “She is asshole, enjoys biting me for reaction.”

“Who is this?” Yuna asks, cutting into the domestic bubble. Shane looks over at her.

“Bukashka,” he says. “We found her in the yard a few months ago.”

“Boo– I’m sorry,” Yuna tries to repeat the name.

“Bukashka,” Shane corrects, “or Bug, or Bushka. Or Ilya calls her Krokha, which means runt.”

“She is a runt, Shane, look at her,” Ilya holds the kitten up. He’s right, she looks to be about two pounds and is dwarfed further by the massive hockey player holding her. “Her eyes are too big and her head is too small and her tail is too long. She is runt, krokha.”

The krokha is pleased to have the attention on her, settling down into a loaf in Ilya’s hands and purring louder. The look Shane is giving the two of them is softer than David’s ever seen anyone be on the receiving end of. They look like a family. Nine years. The force of that realization hits both David and Yuna at the same time and it’s what finally gives.

Yuna stands, “Excuse me for a minute,” and walks away. Distantly, they hear the front door shut. Shane looks devastated, eyes following his mother. Ilya shifts the cat to one arm and puts the other to Shane’s neck. Instead of pulling his attention, like David thought he would, he just starts rubbing his thumb at the base of Shane’s skull. David lets the silence stretch in Yuna’s absence, watching his boys instead. Shane takes a few steadying breaths, returning his eyes to Ilya and saying something low in Russian. Ilya’s eyes dart towards him before responding, but David pretends not to notice. Shane nods once and heads towards the front door to follow his mother.

Then it was just him and Ilya left at the table. David takes another sip of his vodka while Ilya sits back down and extends the olive branch first, “How was the citizenship test?”

Ilya blinks at him, now petting Bukashka in his lap, “I’m sorry?”

“Your Canadian citizenship test,” David clarifies, “Sorry, I just assumed that it must have gone through.”

“You are asking if I am Canadian citizen already?”

“Yeah? Shane’s been wearing his ring for, what, four years now? I just assumed that you were telling us because it was all finalized.” Ilya is still just staring at him, hand stilling on his cat’s fur.

“Oh, no, um,” Ilya looks down and brushes his own ring with his thumb, “still waiting, soon though, probably. How long have you known?”

And damn, the kid looks nervous and David feels bad, “I didn’t tell anyone else I knew. A few months ago, last summer, I saw Shane at the grocery store. He didn’t see me, but he was speaking Russian with Petro–that’s the grocer there–and I got a little help from google about Russian wedding traditions. Look, kid,” David can tell Ilya is feeling wrong-footed, “I’m not mad at you boys for hiding it, actually, I’m real impressed you managed it. As his father, I’m sad we didn’t get to see him fall in love. I’m sad the world is the kind of place where you couldn’t even tell us.”

“Mr. Hollander–”

“Ilya, call me David.”

“David–” 

He doesn’t let the kid interrupt, “You know, I’ve been waiting to meet you his whole life.” At Ilya’s surprised look, David nods, “His whole life. Meet someone, fall in love, bring them home, the good stuff. I hoped he would be happy. I just told Yuna I hoped he found someone nicer than him.” Ilya snorts. “I’m serious, and before you say anything, you are nicer than him.”

“Thank you, but we both know I am asshole. He is golden boy, yes?” It’s David’s turn to snort.

“Yeah, Shane definitely is nice and not at all mean to people when he’s not in front of a camera,” David is nodding in mock seriousness. “He’s the one sitting here petting a cat the size of his bicep and making dinner for his in-laws. Definitely the nice one.”

Ilya cracks a smile, “She is Shane’s cat.”

David is wearing him down, “Yeah? And how fast did you cave?”

Ilya’s voice is small when he speaks, “Petro is very nice, I can’t wait to meet him.” David raises his eyebrows at the deflection and Ilya cracks a smile, “Shane makes me happy too. I cannot say no to him.”

“I’m glad. That he makes you happy, that’s good.” David pours himself more vodka and offers the bottle to Ilya who pushes his glass forward, “So tell me about the cat, that seems like a safe topic until they get back.” Ilya looks nervously over his shoulder towards the door, “They’ll be ok, son. They just need to get it out.”

“Has been long time coming, I think. Am I using that correct?” Ilya looks at him and David is struck by just how young he still is.

“Yes, it was going to happen eventually, and today’s the day.” He waits for Ilya’s attention to be back on him, “So, you call her runt, but her name is Babushka?”

Ilya laughs, “No, Bu-kash-ka,” he pronounces slowly, “Means small bug. I found her outside, but Shane brought her in and decided to keep her. Is long name though, so we call her Bushka sometimes, like small name. I call her Krokha, yes. Is word, like, sweet word for someone in Russian, for daughter or small child. Like calling her baby.”

“I see, that’s cute. Shane was the one that wanted to keep her?”

“Yes, used big brown eyes and I cannot say no.” Ilya looks down at the small cat in his lap, “Cannot say no to her, either. She knows she is cute and will not answer to English. Very bad combination for me. They team up to get what they want.”

“Oh, yes,” David chuckles at his son-in-law. He knows the power of big brown eyes, Yuna weaponizes them at him enough. He’s lucky that Shane never caught onto his own power while living under their roof, because the combined power of wife and son caused him to fold a number of times for things he should have held strong on. “She doesn’t understand English?”

Ilya shrugs, “I don’t know. She won’t respond to anything but Russian. She barely responds to Russian.”

“I wanted to ask about that,” he starts, “I heard Shane speaking Russian and it sounded very good. Now, I don’t know what very good sounds like, but I was wondering how long he’d been learning.”

“Oh,” Ilya seems surprised by the question, and a little embarrassed, though David cannot fathom why. “Whole time, I think.”

David blinks at the answer, “What do you mean, the whole time?”

“I mean whole time. I think, I do not know, but draft day, he says to me, ty khochesh' menya potselovat?” The blush has spread, “He asked me if I wanted to kiss him, so I did.”

Oh, David hadn’t been expecting that. Ilya is still talking.

“I know he practiced. And every time we saw each other, he had more and more. He did ok in Russia, I know, during Olympics, getting around and stuff. He said vows in Russian, too.” The memory brings a smile to Ilya’s face and David wishes, not for the first time, that the world wasn’t so cruel that he missed these early years. He should have been there, standing beside his son–sons. David wishes he could have watched them exchange vows, promising their lives to each other. 

“He’s been learning Russian the whole time,” he says instead and it comes out half-question, half awe.

“Yes.”

“That’s dedication.”

“I know,” Ilya pouts after the cat that just decided she wanted to be elsewhere, “Shane is very dedicated.”

“Yes, he is.” They sit quietly for a minute. “Tell me about him, Shane, I mean. Obviously, I know my own son, but tell me what you thought the first time you met.” He sees Ilya’s eyes light up and a blush spread across his cheeks.

“Shane came over to introduce himself, at Juniors. He was so beautiful I forgot how to speak English.” He’s blushing at the memory. David remembers their first match, back in 2008, before the draft. Shane had been pink the whole day, perhaps, David thinks, not just from cold or adrenaline. “He shook my hand and I told him I liked his freckles. Then he said he would beat me and I said no way.” Ilya chuckles, “I beat him and six months later he asked me to kiss him.”

Suddenly, he remembers. A week after they’d gotten home from that event, Shane sat at the dinner table and asked how to know if someone was flirting with him. Said someone had said they liked his freckles. That had been Ilya.

The way Ilya had nervously hidden his phone from David the morning after the draft, in that bathroom, that must have been Shane texting him. He has to ask, “Did you get his phone number when you were drafted?”

Ilya nods. So it had been Shane. It’s everywhere, all the weird, unexplained things, it’s always been Ilya. He’s sure if he asks, that Shane is the one that drives. If he asked, he’d bet Shane sleeps on the right side of the bed. He’d bet that every event Shane was just a little late to, but a little too calm about, he was meeting with Ilya. He’d bet that every little grin at his phone was actually directed at Ilya. It’s clear that this has always been there and David feels vindicated about all the little things he’s noticed but couldn’t put together.

—

Mother and son return with red rimmed eyes and immediately peel off in different directions. Shane pulls Ilya after him with only a look and they disappear towards the back of the house. Yuna pours more vodka into her glass, tops off David more than necessary, and walks to sit on the couch. He follows. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t ask, he just sits.

Yuna’s face is streaked with the evidence of her crying. She pulls her hair over her shoulder and leans back into the plush couch and tips her head back.

“What did you and I–” she clears her throat, “Il-Ilya talk about?”

“Shane,” David answers honestly, “the cat, how they met, when Shane learned Russian.”

Yuna nods, still looking at the ceiling, “Did he, did he tell you about… Shane’s been learning Russian since 2008.”

“I know.”

“Did he–Ilya–tell you…” she trails off again, trying to hold herself together. David reaches out and squeezes her hand. Whatever she’s referring to has reduced her to this, her voice comes in a whisper, “Did he tell you about Vegas?”

He shakes his head, “No, I didn’t hear about Vegas. What happened in Vegas?”

“Twenty-fourteen, Vegas.” David understands what she’s trying to ask.

“I know about 2014, if we’re referring to the same thing,” he says quietly. Yuna chokes back a sob.

“Four years, David. Our son has been married for four years.”

“I know, darling.” He knows why this is upsetting her, knows that at the core of her hurt isn’t that Shane got married, or that he got married to a man, or married to Ilya Rozanov. It’s not even that he kept it a secret, it’s that he caught her off guard. She didn’t even suspect. She hated that there was a secret of this magnitude between them and she didn’t even know he was hiding it. There’s a magnitude to this he thinks they’ll be processing forever. David might be the calm one about this, might have integrated this new information with ease, but there’s still that part of him that mourns all the firsts he wishes he could have been a part of. Tying Shane’s tie before their wedding, helping him dress for his first date, teasingly grilling him for details when he got home, cheering them both on when they played, helping Shane pick out a ring all while knowing Ilya already asked him for his blessing.

“He speaks Russian.”

“I know.”

“Not just speaks it, David. He thinks in Russian, he was trying to find the right word and couldn’t in English, so he just said it in Russian.”

“I know,” David says again, “Ilya told me he’s been learning since the beginning.”

She huffs, “Of course he has.”

“Yuna…”

“I’m just trying to process everything I’ve learned the last few hours and I feel like my brain is breaking.” She turns her head to lean into David’s touch, “He was so scared. The whole time. He said he has nightmares of waking up a widower because Ilya was taken away.”

“I can’t imagine,’ says David softly, stroking Yuna’s cheek. He can’t imagine the kind of terror that would inspire realistic nightmares of his spouse being vanished in the night, never to be seen again. He’d read articles on the subject, knew how bad it was in Russia for Ilya and by extension, Shane. But that wasn’t living the life-or-death reality of it. 

“You know how I know they love each other?” David shakes his head. He has his own answers, but Yuna is asking rhetorically, “Shane said when they’re alone, it’s the only time he doesn’t have to be Shane Hollander, he can just be Shane, with no expectations. They–” Something catches her eye and she stops. David watches her sit up, eyes laser-focused on something down the hallway. 

“Darling…” Yuna ignores him to stalk over to whatever caught her attention and bring it back to the couch. There are fresh tears in her eyes as she stares down at the photograph she’s taken off the wall. David lets her have a moment before tugging it gently out of her hands and directing her back onto the couch. When he looks down, he’s greeted by a well lit, but rather poorly taken, picture of his son and son-in-law in tuxedos on a stage. Ilya has an arm raised, taking the picture in selfie-mode. Both boys are smiling, not too widely, still perfectly acceptable for the public, and Ilya’s other arm must be on Shane’s back.

“They don’t have any pictures together,” explains Yuna. “This is the one they took on stage during that stupid skit. It’s also the only picture they have together from the day they got engaged. Look at them David, they’re so young and no one knows that in a few hours they’re going to be engaged! They don’t even know they’re getting engaged.” She wipes viciously at her eyes again, staring down at the picture. He lets her hold onto it and pulls her into his side, head on his shoulder.

“Do you want to hear about the cat?”

“What?” Yuna is distracted and a little startled.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d lighten the mood with the story about the cat,” David shrugs and continues, “Don’t ask me to say her name in Russian, any of them, but in English it’s ‘little bug’ and Ilya doesn’t call her a runt, his nickname for her is ‘baby’ but like you’d call your kid. It’s a term of endearment.” Yuna giggles, still looking at the picture, trailing her fingers over it, so David keeps going, “Shane was the one who kept her. Ilya found her outside, but Shane caught her and brought her in. Ilya says he tried to say no, but Shane ‘used big brown eyes, I cannot say no’. Between you and me, I think he’s a liar. I don’t think he tried to say no at all.”

He keeps talking for Yuna’s benefit, relaying the small bits of information he’s learned from sitting with Ilya while she was outside with Shane. He’s glad to have gotten some one-on-one time with Ilya. The kid is a lot sweeter than he’d like to be given credit for, the way he talks about Shane and the soft way he converses. 

“Shane made the first move, I learned.” That finally makes Yuna look up at him in surprise.

“Really? Our son, Shane, made the first move?” The look of pure disbelief is hysterical and both burst into laughter. “I don’t believe you.”

“I swear that’s what I was told. Do you…” David covers his mouth with his hand, getting his amusement under control, “Back in Juniors, Shane went up and introduced himself. Remember he wanted to ‘meet the competition’?”

“I do!” gasps Yuna. “He was obsessed. I thought it was jealousy. Maybe a little intrigue because we’d been hearing about him for at least a year by then and it was the first time they played against each other.”

David blinks, filing away the revelation he just had for later, “You want to know how I know they’re in love?” Yuna nods, “Ilya says he forgot how to speak English the first time he saw Shane. Was so breathtaken he couldn’t even talk to him, just shake his hand. He managed one compliment, I think. The next time they saw each other was the draft, that’s when Shane asked Ilya in Russian if he wanted to kiss him.”

“David, it sounds suspiciously like you’re telling me our son was flirting in a language he didn’t speak.”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Yuna,” David preens. “Our son learned how to flirt in a different language because he saw a cute boy he wanted to kiss. You know how Shane is, he wanted to make sure Ilya was comfortable and there was no miscommunication. Very direct and straight forward.”

“That does sound like Shane, direct and straight forward. All because of one compliment…” Yuna faces David again. “What compliment? He forgot an entire language except one compliment. Must have been a hell of a line to make Shane bold enough to flirt back.”

“Krasivyye vesnushki,” a voice says. Over the back of the couch, when both parents turn, is their son standing in the archway between rooms. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” His voice is a little rough, like he’d been crying, but his face is dry. “I just walked in and heard that last part. Ilya’s clearing the table.”

Yuna is stock still staring at Shane, but David gestures for him to join them, which he does. Shane sits on the long part of the sectional, diagonal to his parents. He’s changed, David notices. No longer wearing jeans and a button down, instead in comfy house clothes that sit in a way that makes David almost positive they’re not his.

“The compliment,” Shane clears his throat, “krasivyye vesnushki. It was the first thing Ilya ever said to me. I thought he was being rude, staring at my face. Instead he was just distracted by my freckles.”

“Your freckles?” Yuna asks, covering the tightness in her voice. Shane gives her a soft smile, pressing his lips together in a bad attempt to suppress his grin.

“Vesnushki means freckles, krasivyye means beautiful.” He stops trying to hide the grin on his face to say, “You get him drunk enough and he’ll tell anyone who’ll listen all about my freckles. He’s lucky no one else on the team speaks Russian.”

“You speak it very well, it sounds like,” says Yuna. Shane winces a little, but his smile doesn’t fade too much. “I’ve been told you’ve been speaking it a long time.”

“Yeah, I started learning a few phrases here and there. Before I knew it,” he shrugs. “It’s nice to talk to Ilya in Russian. It’s a piece of home I can give him.”

“Your dad was just telling me about Juniors and draft day.”

“I was,” confirms David, “Just what Ilya was telling me. I wanted to ask you, Shane, if you remembered when you asked us how to know if someone was flirting with you? It would have been right around that time, right Yuna?”

Yuna sits up a little straighter, “I do! I was so excited you were asking us. It never came up again, but…” she sighs, light and breathy instead of weighed down, “You said someone liked your freckles.”

“Dad asked me if I wanted them to be flirting with me,” Shane says. “That’s what I remember from that conversation. It kept me up all night, I couldn’t even think about all the reasons it was a bad idea to flirt with my male rival. He wasn’t exactly my rival yet, but the point stands.” Shane waves a hand in dismissal, “I just laid awake all night asking myself do I want him to flirt with me? The answer was yes, so I made a plan.”

“It was Ilya, then?” Yuna asks.

“Yeah,” nods Shane, “it was Ilya.” Then he adds in a quieter voice, “It was always Ilya.”

—

David remembers to get Ilya’s phone number before they leave. Yuna is distracted and not firing on all her usual cylinders, so David takes the initiative. Also, he wants to talk to his son-in-law. Ilya seems surprised when David finds him in the dining room later, while Yuna and Shane are distracted. 

“You want my phone number?” Ilya’s voice sounds a little rough, accent coming thicker.

David nods, leaning against the counter, “Of course. You’re a part of this family now. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get to know the man our son loves.”

“Oh,” Ilya’s voice is soft, “yes, of course.” David hands his phone over and lets the kid put his name and number in. When he gets it back, he raises an eyebrow. Ilya smiles, “Fake name. I am Shane’s Lily, he is my Jane.”

“I see,” David looks down at his newest contact, Shane’s Lily. “Well, if that’s not the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.” Ilya’s face flushes, but he’s still smiling, “Whose idea was that?”

“Mine,” he says proudly and David chuckles.

“I know Yuna already said it, but welcome to the family, kid.” He gives Ilya an extra long hug when they finally leave, promising to cheer extra loud when he scores goals tomorrow, “We’ve got too much time to make up for!”

David does keep his promise and text Ilya. He thought it would be a little like pulling teeth, or taming a skittish cat, but his son-in-law is enthusiastic with his replies. Through the playoffs, David will text encouragement to both of his sons. He sends memes to Ilya because he finds them funny, Ilya will send back pictures of Shane. They both exchange recipes, Ilya promising to teach him how to make pelmeni because it’s one of Shane’s favorites. David updates him on work and neighborhood gossip. Ilya has opinions.

Ilya has Shane between his legs and pressed back-to-front, fast asleep. David’s attention won’t focus on the movie, instead watching Ilya watch the movie. At least, when he’s not looking at Shane asleep in his arms. It feels complete, their family, this picture of domesticity. Everything he’s been waiting and wishing for is here, sleeping the summer away on their couch. Ilya catches David’s eye, distracting his train of thought and gives him a questioning look.

“Nothing,” David whispers, waving away his attention. Then thinks better of it, “You’re a good egg, I’m happy you found each other.”