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Yuna POV
Yuna Hollander had spent the last three days convincing herself not to worry.
It wasn't working.
"He said he wanted silence," David reminded her for what had to be the twentieth time that week, folding the morning newspaper with infuriating calm. "A retreat."
Yuna placed another container of homemade pasta on the kitchen counter.
"I know what he said."
"He is twenty-six."
"I know."
"He owns the cottage."
"I know."
"He has enough food."
"I know."
David smiled.
"So why are you cooking enough for an army?"
"Because," she sighed dramatically, "our son believes peanut butter counts as dinner."
David couldn't argue with that.
Shane had always been independent. Quiet. Content with spending entire weekends reading, hiking, or reorganizing hockey statistics into spreadsheets for reasons only Shane himself understood.
When he announced he would spend two weeks alone at his lakeside cottage for a "silent retreat", David had nodded.
Yuna had smiled, but then she had immediately started worrying.
Most mothers dreamed of sons who stayed home instead of partying.
She had somehow been blessed - or cursed - with one who voluntarily disappeared into the woods.
"I just wish..." she muttered while wrapping another container.
"What?"
"I wish he had someone."
David looked up.
"A friend?"
"A person."
"You mean a girlfriend."
Yuna smiled wistfully.
"I suppose."
For years she'd imagined Shane bringing home someone sweet.
Someone who laughed at his awkward jokes.
Someone patient enough to wait through his long pauses before he answered questions.
Someone who appreciated how gentle he was.
Instead...
There had been Rose.
An actress.
Beautiful. Elegant. Famous.
The relationship had lasted barely long enough for magazine photographers to invent wedding rumours before they decided to be only friends instead.
Yuna had never even met her.
David reached over to squeeze her hand.
"He'll find someone."
"I know."
An hour later the trunk was full of food containers.
David carried two insulated bags.
"Too much?"
Yuna blinked innocently.
"Our son has been alone for almost a week."
"Yuna."
"He could be starving."
"He ordered groceries before he left."
"He could be emotionally starving."
David couldn't even pretend that wasn't adorable.
They climbed into the car.
Halfway there Yuna tried calling Shane. No answer.
She frowned.
"He's probably hiking."
She called again. Straight to voicemail.
Another ten minutes passed. Still nothing.
"He always answers for me."
"He'll call back."
"He always answers."
David glanced sideways.
"You're catastrophizing."
"I'm being a mother."
"Same thing."
She stuck her tongue out at him.
The cottage stood peacefully beside the lake, exactly as beautiful as always.
Birds chirped. The breeze moved gently through the pine trees.
Everything looked... too quiet.
Yuna climbed out before David had even parked.
"Shane?"
Nothing.
She knocked. No answer.
She tried the handle. Unlocked.
David raised an eyebrow.
"He forgot to lock it."
"He never forgets."
They stepped inside.
Silence.
No television. No music. No footsteps.
"Shane?"
Still nothing.
Yuna's stomach tightened.
Her imagination instantly supplied seventeen horrifying scenarios.
He'd fallen. He'd hit his head.
He'd been bitten by…
Stop it.
"Shane!" she called louder.
David listened carefully.
"I don't hear anything."
"I'm checking the bedrooms."
She hurried down the hallway.
The guest room. Empty.
Bathroom. Empty.
Laundry room. Empty.
The master bedroom door was mostly closed.
She pushed it open.
...
Everything in her brain stopped.
Her first coherent thought was:
Oh.
Her second was:
That is definitely Shane.
Her third was considerably less coherent.
Shane lay asleep on top of the blankets, shirtless, hair sticking in every possible direction.
One arm was tucked beneath his pillow.
The other rested lazily across another person's arm.
Another person.
Another very male person.
Another very large person.
Someone was sleeping behind Shane with one muscular arm wrapped securely around his waist.
Both of them wore nothing but boxers.
The stranger's face was half-hidden by curls.
His nose was buried against Shane's shoulder.
Shane had unconsciously leaned backward into him.
They looked...
Comfortable. Safe. Natural.
Like they'd slept that way dozens of times.
Yuna couldn't move.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
No sound emerged.
What...
Who...
Why...
Her husband gently appeared behind her. He looked into the room.
Blink. Blink again.
Without saying a single word, David quietly took her hand. Very gently he pulled her backward.
Closed the bedroom door.
Neither of them spoke until they reached the living room.
Yuna stared at David. David stared back.
Finally she whispered,
"...Did I imagine that?"
"I don't think so."
"There was..."
"A man."
"In Shane's bed."
"Yes."
"Half naked."
"Also yes."
"Our son..."
"Appeared to be enjoying being used as a pillow."
Yuna sat down slowly.
"My brain has stopped functioning."
"I noticed."
She looked at him desperately.
"Who was that?"
"I couldn't see."
"He was enormous."
"He certainly wasn't Rose."
Despite herself, a tiny laugh escaped.
Then...
A floorboard creaked.
Both parents looked toward the hallway.
Someone was awake.
Footsteps. A yawn. Another creak.
Then the stranger emerged only wearing charcoal gray boxers.
Tall. Ridiculously tall. Broad shoulders.
Curly light brown hair in absolute chaos.
Sleep still clouding bright blue eyes.
He rubbed one eye lazily while wandering toward the kitchen.
Then he looked up and everything froze.
Yuna recognized him instantly.
No Canadian failed to recognize Ilya Rozanov.
The tabloids practically printed his face every other day.
Boston's superstar. Montreal's greatest rival.
Professional menace. Public flirt. Alleged heartbreaker.
Current owner of approximately half the internet's gossip headlines.
He stared. His face lost every trace of colour.
"...Oh."
Silence.
"...Ah."
Longer silence.
"...This," he finally managed, "is... not ideal, yes."
Yuna had no response. David didn't either.
Ilya looked from one parent to the other. Then toward the hallway.
His eyes widened and very loudly he shouted,
"SHANE!"
From the bedroom came a sleepy groan.
"What?"
"You should... come."
"Do you miss me already? Five more minutes."
"I respectfully disagree!"
Another yawn.
"...Why?"
"Because your parents are here, yes!"
Silence. Utter silence.
Then…
"...What?"
A loud thump. Another.
"What?!"
More crashing.
A drawer slammed. Something metallic hit the floor.
"Ilya!"
"I am aware!"
"WHY ARE MY PARENTS HERE?"
"I have many questions myself!"
A moment later Shane appeared wearing athletic shorts backward and a T-shirt inside out.
He stopped dead. His face turned the exact shade of printer paper.
"Oh."
Nobody moved. Nobody blinked.
Ilya quietly shuffled closer until he stood beside Shane.
Not in front. Beside. Close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
Yuna noticed it immediately.
Without thinking. Without hesitation.
He had chosen Shane's side. It was... strangely sweet.
Also incredibly confusing.
Shane opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
"I..."
Another attempt.
"I..."
His breathing became visibly uneven.
Yuna recognized it immediately.
Panic.
David recognized it too.
Before either parent could say anything, Ilya casually cleared his throat.
"So..." he announced with the confidence of a man marching toward execution.
"I suppose introductions are overdue."
Nobody laughed. He continued anyway.
"I am Ilya."
Pause.
"You probably guessed."
Another pause.
"I usually prefer meeting parents while wearing pants."
David's lips twitched. Yuna looked at him.
He was trying not to smile. Ilya noticed.
"This is... less formal than I imagined, yes."
Shane buried his face in one hand.
"Oh my God..."
"It could be worse." Ilya whispered.
"How?"
"I could still be asleep."
"...Please stop helping."
"I am trying very hard, yes."
A tiny, helpless laugh escaped David and that finally broke the unbearable tension.
Shane inhaled slowly.
"I need to explain."
"You don't have to rush." David said gently.
"I do."
Shane looked at both parents. His hands trembled.
"I'm gay."
The words landed softly.
No thunder. No shouting. No anger.
Only silence.
He swallowed.
"I wanted to tell you. I just..."
His eyes drifted toward Ilya.
"I didn't know if it was safe."
Yuna nodded slowly. She understood that much.
"And... we're together."
Ilya reached over without looking and quietly squeezed Shane's wrist.
The movement was almost invisible.
But Yuna saw it. So did David.
Shane continued.
"We met the summer before our rookie season."
"We hated each other." Ilya added.
"We absolutely did not hate each other."
"We argued professionally."
"You chirped me constantly."
"I flirted."
Shane stared.
"...You what?"
"I said flirted."
"You said you were trying to annoy me."
"I discovered they were same hobby."
Even Shane snorted. His shoulders relaxed slightly.
"We started..." Shane hesitated.
"...hooking up years ago."
David blinked once. Yuna blinked twice.
"Years ago." Shane continued rapidly.
"It wasn't serious."
"Very irresponsible." Ilya nodded solemnly.
"Emotionally confusing."
"Stop narrating."
"I cannot. My survival instincts demand comedy."
Shane sighed.
"Recently..."
His voice softened.
"It became real."
He looked toward Ilya.
"I asked him to spend the summer with me."
Another squeeze of his wrist. Another reassuring glance.
"I love him."
The cottage became impossibly quiet.
Yuna looked between them.
The famous rivalry. The gossip articles. The impossible secrecy.
Everything suddenly made sense.
Not because they had explained every detail.
Because of the way they stood.
Shane unconsciously leaned closer whenever he became anxious. Ilya never once stepped away.
Whenever Shane stumbled over his words, Ilya steadied the conversation without speaking for him.
Whenever Ilya joked too much, Shane gently nudged him back on track.
It wasn't performance. It wasn't temporary.
It was partnership.
David spoke first.
"So..."
Both young men looked ready for sentencing.
"You've been hiding this for years?"
"...Yes."
David sighed dramatically.
"I can't believe we drove all this way carrying pasta just to discover our son has been secretly together with the loudest hockey player in North America."
Ilya slowly raised one hand.
"In fairness..."
"Yes?"
"I also like pasta."
David laughed. Actually laughed.
The sound startled everyone. Including Ilya.
Yuna looked at the two young men standing shoulder to shoulder.
Shane looked happier than she had seen him in years.
Not because he wasn't nervous.
Because even terrified, he kept unconsciously reaching toward Ilya.
And Ilya, beneath all the jokes and tabloids and ridiculous public image, kept quietly reaching back.
She had spent years hoping Shane would someday find someone who loved him.
She had simply imagined someone very different.
She smiled softly.
"I think," she said, "the pasta is going to get cold."
For the first time since opening that bedroom door, Shane smiled without fear.
And Ilya let out the longest relieved breath of his entire life.
Maybe, he thought, this had not been the worst morning ever after all.
... Although next time, pants first.
Always pants first.
Shane POV
The first thing Shane became aware of was warmth.
Not the summer sun filtering through the curtains. Not the blanket twisted around his legs.
Ilya.
Ilya had somehow managed, despite being much taller and built like he could wrestle a bear, to wrap himself around Shane during the night like an oversized heated blanket.
Again.
Shane smiled without opening his eyes.
Every single morning.
When Ilya first arrived at the cottage, he'd insisted he "did not cuddle”.
Apparently, Ilya's definition of not cuddling involved unconsciously searching for Shane in his sleep until he found him.
Shane had stopped pointing it out after the fourth morning.
It was easier to let the self-proclaimed menace of the NHL continue believing he wasn't affectionate.
He felt slow, comfortable breathing against the back of his neck.
One large hand rested lazily around his waist.
Another had somehow ended up under Shane's pillow.
How does he even sleep like this?
There was no logical explanation.
Ilya was enormous. The bed wasn't.
And yet somehow Ilya always arranged himself around Shane as though gravity personally approved of the decision.
Shane closed his eyes again.
Five more minutes.
Just…
A distant sound.
...
Was that... a door?
His sleepy brain tried to process it.
The cottage was old. It made noises.
Wood expanded. Floors creaked.
Maybe…
A voice.
"...Shane?"
His mother's voice?
No. Impossible.
Dream. Definitely dream.
His parents had called yesterday.
He hadn't answered because he and Ilya had been swimming.
He'd meant to call back.
Probably. Eventually.
After breakfast. Or lunch. Or tomorrow.
Something nudged his shoulder.
"Mmm?"
Nothing.
Silence again.
Then...
Very loudly…
"SHANE!"
Shane groaned into the pillow.
"What?"
"You should... come."
He frowned. Why did Ilya sound so awake?
" Do you miss me already? Five more minutes."
"I respectfully disagree!"
"...Why?"
A pause.
Then...
"Because your parents are here, yes!"
...
...
...
His parents. Here.
His parents. HERE.
Shane's eyes snapped open.
For one glorious half second he considered the possibility that he'd misunderstood English.
Then he looked around.
Bedroom. Cottage.
Ilya no longer beside him.
Living room voices.
Very real. Not dream.
"Oh no."
He sat up so fast he almost launched himself off the mattress.
"Oh no."
His heart immediately attempted to leave through his throat.
"Ilya!" he squeaked.
"I am aware!"
"WHY ARE MY PARENTS HERE?"
"I have many questions myself!"
Shane stumbled off the bed.
His shorts.
Where were his…
No.
Those weren't his. Those were Ilya's.
Why was he holding…
Never mind.
He dragged on the first pair of athletic shorts he found.
Backwards. Didn't notice.
Grabbed a shirt. Inside out.
Definitely didn't notice.
He nearly ran into the doorframe.
"Ow."
His brain had officially stopped working.
Mom is here.
Dad is here.
Ilya is half naked.
I'm half naked.
This is how I die.
By the time he reached the hallway, he'd already imagined seventeen different catastrophic outcomes.
His parents would hate him.
They'd hate Ilya.
They'd never speak to him again.
His mother would cry.
His father would be disappointed.
Somehow the NHL would find out.
Somehow every reporter in North America would materialize outside the cottage.
His career would explode.
Montreal fans would riot.
Boston fans would riot harder.
The Stanley Cup might spontaneously catch fire.
By the time he stepped into the living room, his imagination had escalated to national emergencies.
Then he actually saw his parents.
His mother looked frozen. His father looked... confused.
Ilya stood a few feet away looking like someone had informed him the earth would explode in thirty seconds.
"...Oh." Shane whispered.
Nobody spoke. Nobody breathed.
Nobody seemed particularly interested in existing.
Shane desperately searched for words. Nothing.
His vocabulary had abandoned him.
"I..."
Nothing.
"I..."
Still nothing.
His pulse became louder.
Say something.
Anything.
"I'm…"
His throat closed.
Fantastic.
He was having a panic attack. Now. Of all moments.
Perfect timing.
He barely noticed Ilya moving. Only that suddenly he wasn't standing alone anymore.
Ilya had quietly crossed the room until their shoulders almost touched.
Not grabbing him. Not making a scene.
Just... there. Solid. Reliable.
Close enough that Shane could feel the reassuring warmth radiating from him.
The silent message was unmistakable.
I've got you.
Shane exhaled shakily.
Then Ilya cleared his throat.
"So..." he announced.
Shane closed his eyes.
Please don't.
"I suppose introductions are overdue."
Please definitely don't.
"I usually prefer meeting parents while wearing pants."
Shane wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
Instead...
He heard something astonishing. His father trying not to laugh.
...What?
Ilya continued.
Apparently once committed to embarrassment, he believed in finishing the job.
"This is... less formal than I imagined, yes."
Shane pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Oh my God."
"It could be worse."
"How?"
"I could still be asleep."
"...Please stop helping."
"I am trying very hard, yes."
Against every expectation... His mother smiled.
Tiny. Barely noticeable, but she smiled.
The knot in Shane's chest loosened just enough for him to breathe.
Now.
Now he had to tell them. Actually tell them.
He had rehearsed this conversation hundreds of times.
Mostly in the shower. Sometimes while driving.
Occasionally while pretending to pay attention during interviews.
In every rehearsal he'd been calm. Articulate. Prepared.
Reality was significantly worse.
"I'm gay."
There. It was out.
The room remained quiet.
No shouting. No anger.
His parents simply... Listened.
His voice shook.
"I wanted to tell you. I just..."
How could he explain?
How could he make them understand what professional hockey was like?
The jokes. The locker rooms.
The whispers. The headlines.
The fear.
"I didn't know if it was safe."
His father nodded slowly.
"I understand."
The simple answer almost made Shane cry.
He swallowed hard.
"And..."
He looked toward Ilya.
"...we're together."
He felt Ilya's fingers gently squeeze his wrist.
A tiny gesture. Almost invisible. Enough to steady him.
"We met the summer before our rookie season."
"We hated each other." Ilya added.
"We absolutely did not hate each other."
"We argued professionally."
"You chirped me constantly."
"I flirted."
Shane stared.
"...You what?"
"I said flirted."
"You said you were trying to annoy me."
"I discovered they were same hobby."
Despite himself, Shane laughed.
His mother noticed immediately. Of course she did. She always noticed.
"We started hooking up years ago." Shane admitted.
The story continued and at one point David actually laughed out loud.
The sound surprised everyone. Especially Ilya.
"I like him." David admitted.
"I am incredibly charming."
"You've been in my house for three minutes."
"My best work is under pressure."
Shane groaned.
"This is unbelievable."
His mother finally spoke.
"Oh." she whispered. "I understand."
She walked over to Shane first.
Without hesitation. Without questions.
She hugged him tightly.
"So that's why you've been smiling more lately."
Shane hugged her back.
"I was worried," she admitted softly. "I thought you were lonely."
"I was."
He glanced toward Ilya.
"...Until I stopped pretending I wanted to be."
When Yuna stepped back, she turned toward Ilya.
For the first time since meeting him, the famous hockey superstar looked genuinely nervous.
"I know," she said gently, "the newspapers write many things about you."
Ilya sighed.
"They are... creative."
"But what I've seen this morning..."
She smiled.
"...is someone who never once let my son stand alone."
Ilya looked genuinely speechless.
Which, Shane reflected, might actually be a medical miracle.
"I..."
The Russian scratched the back of his neck.
"I like standing next to him."
"I noticed."
"He gets scared."
"I noticed that too."
"I don't like when he is scared."
Yuna's smile softened even more.
"I don't either."
David clapped Ilya lightly on the shoulder.
"I do have one complaint."
Ilya straightened immediately.
"Yes?"
"You've apparently been dating our son for months."
"...Yes."
"And we had to discover it because you were asleep in your underwear."
"...Also yes."
"You could have at least worn pyjamas."
Ilya looked genuinely apologetic.
"I own pyjamas."
Shane stared.
"You do?"
"No."
"You just lied to my father."
"I panicked."
David burst into laughter again.
The tension that had filled the cottage only minutes earlier dissolved completely.
Yuna looked around the room.
At the forgotten bags of food. At her son's inside-out shirt.
At Ilya's backwards expression as he finally noticed Shane's backwards shorts.
"...Your shorts are backwards."
Shane looked down.
"...Oh. I was under emotional distress."
For the first time all morning, everyone laughed together. Real laughter.
The kind that echoed through the quiet cottage and out toward the lake.
Shane stood between his parents and the man he loved, listening to them tease one another over cold pasta, backwards shorts, and terrible timing.
He had imagined this day ending in heartbreak.
Instead, it ended with his mother insisting everyone sit down for breakfast because, in her words "life-changing confessions should never happen on an empty stomach”.
And as Ilya quietly reached for his hand beneath the kitchen table - careful, hidden, gentle - Shane realized something remarkable.
The secret he'd carried for nearly a decade no longer belonged to him alone.
His parents knew.
They still loved him.
They loved Ilya, too.
For the first time in years, the future felt just a little less frightening.
❤️❤️❤️