Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

M/M, Multi

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander/Yuna Hollander, David Hollander & Shane Hollander & Yuna Hollander, David Hollander & Yuna Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander

Additional Tags:

POV Yuna Hollander, Relationship Reveal, Established Relationship, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Non-Linear Narrative, Flashbacks, Good Parents David Hollander/Yuna Hollander, Shane Hollander Speaks Russian

Language:

English

Series:

Part 10 of a little more romeo, a little more juliet

Collections:

These are the stories and series that I have at least reread twice., Zulie's Best of Heated Rivalry

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-01 Words: 6,706 Chapters: 1/1

right where we never thought to look

Summary

All of a sudden, she sees it, all of it, laid out in front of her. Every darkened corner was hiding brushed hands, stolen looks across crowded rooms, the infectious energy at every rivalry game, every question from reporters and peers alike designed to make one of them break, to insult, degrade, hate. 
-
Yuna's perspective learning about Shane and Ilya's relationship.

Notes

Remember! We've only gotten mr. and mr. unreliable narrators up til now. i said i love Yuna and I meant it. She's not perfect, but she's trying. And she's finding out a whole year earlier than intended!

“Mom?” 

Shane is standing between the living and dining room, chewing on his hoodie string in a way that indicates he’s nervous, but wants to talk. Yuna finishes typing her sentence and lowers her laptop to look at her son.

“What’s up, Shane?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Yuna is curious what kind of question has her son looking at her like that.

“Do you,” he scratches behind his ear, “Sorry, this is weird, but… Do you think in Japanese?”

She blinks, “What?”

“Sorry! I just, we never really speak it, I didn’t grow up knowing it, and I was just curious if you still thought in Japanese because it’s your first language, or do you think in English, or a mix of both?”

“Oh, honey, sorry. You caught me off guard,” Yuna reassures him. She is confused how this topic came up. “I guess I don’t really think about it. I suppose I think in English, I’ve been primarily speaking it for the better part of forty years. It’s not like I’ve forgotten all of my Japanese, I just don’t have a use for it.” Shane looks unexpectedly devastated by her answer. “Why do you ask, Shane?”

“No reason, I was just curious. I realized sometimes I don’t think in English and it was like when you suddenly remember that breathing is automatic, like, it just hit me and it was weird and I was curious.”

“Oh, you sure, hon?” She’s eyeing him and can tell he’s not telling the full truth, “I didn’t realize your French was that good.”

He’s chewing on his lip now, having dropped the hoodie string to talk, “Do you miss it? Speaking Japanese?”

Whatever conversation they’re having, Yuna realizes she might be missing her half of the script. She forces herself to take a moment and think about it. If Shane is asking, it must be important and she doesn’t want to misstep because she doesn't understand and asking Shane for clarity will only scare him off. “Sometimes, but I… I don’t know, Shane. I don’t have a reason to speak it anymore. I grew up knowing enough to talk to my parents and grandparents, but I didn’t keep up with it.”

“Do you wish Dad learned it for you? When you got married?”

“Your father did a lot for me when we got married, I didn’t need him to learn a new language too.” She can see Shane about to open his mouth to reword his question, “Shane, what is this really about?”

“Nothing.” He’s defensive again, Yuna sighs. 

“Shane, I might not speak Japanese anymore, we might not speak it as a family, but that’s never mattered to me, ok? Come sit down, tell me what’s going on.”

Shane hesitates, but does make his way over to sit. He’s stiff for a moment before something shifts and he leans back and into her side. Yuna can feel that he’s not putting much weight behind it, but they’re touching, however lightly.

“Nothing’s going on,” he starts, “I just got caught up thinking about it.”

“Ok.” She doesn’t believe him.

“If it was important, more important, would you have wanted Dad to learn it?” The question comes out very quietly, almost inaudible. Yuna knows she’s hit her limit for pushing, so she just opens her computer, letting Shane look over her shoulder while she sends emails.

“Maybe, yes,” she finally says, equally as low. “It might have been nice, like a secret language. But I’m ok, Shane. It wasn’t important to me then, it’s not important to me now.”

—

It’s that memory that plays through her mind while she watches Shane explain that their–that is to say his and Ilya Rozanov’s–cat is named runt in Russian or something like that. The boys are standing in the dining room, close and arguing over a cat. The way they’re standing, the meal that was carefully prepared and served, the gray puff in Rozanov’s hands, the careful Russian, the memory. It’s all too much and Yuna needs air.

 “Excuse me for a minute,” she says and walks back to the front door. She missed the looks trailing after her. Yuna doesn’t register anything around her until the door clicks behind her and she’s alone on the porch. There are only a few minutes at most before someone, probably her son, follows her out here. She just needs a moment to breathe, to process the nine year revelation she hadn’t been expecting. Officially, 2012, that’s what Shane said, six years he’d been hiding a boyfriend from them.

Then David asked when they’d unofficially started, and Shane had blushed and revealed that the night of the draft was the first time he’d kissed his rival. Nine whole years of sneaking around, nine years of secrecy, nine years of lying. Yuna hated it. She hated that it felt necessary. Hated that she hadn’t been able to see it. Hated that somewhere along the way, Shane learned how to lie to her. 

Walking into the house, her son’s home, she’d been prepared to meet her son’s partner. She had not been prepared to see Ilya Rozanov standing in the kitchen like he belonged there. Except he did, because this had been his house first. At least, she assumed, because she didn’t actually know. When had they moved in together? Obviously when Shane moved, but before then? There are four years of them being on different teams while together. Seven, if you wanted to count back. No, there are only six years of them being separated by Boston and Montreal. There’s a whole year where they were instead separated by an ocean.

Yuna hysterically laughs into the wind. They’d been pitted against each other since the beginning, she’d known the name Ilya Rozanov longer than the man had been on the continent, but he and Shane hadn’t been rivals until 2010. The commercial shoot, Shane hadn’t been quite upset as she expected him to be at the change of plans. Of course not, he got to see the boy he liked. 

The boy he liked.

—

“Shane, are you listening to me?” Her son was staring down at the ice despite having just left it. Yuna can tell that even with his eyes now on her, his attention is still on the moving figure below. She gets through reminding him to wear his Reeboks, tries to remind him that she’s proud that he gets to be the one representing the kids like him. His attention is still drifting back down. Can’t he forget the rivalry for two minutes?

Yuna looks down at the man on the ice, wondering what about him could possibly be drawing Shane in so much. She knows Shane is better, Shane knows Shane is better, despite coming in second draft six months ago. After a good night's sleep, Shane hadn’t even been upset about the whole thing. He had, but not as much as her, disappointed, maybe, but not upset. She realizes she’s getting nothing else out of him right now and releases him to the showers, reminding him about dinner.

Through dinner, Shane is distracted, barely looking at her, keeping his eyes down at his food or looking around at the restaurant they’re in. Yuna tries to engage him, asks about the makeup artist who’d been flirting with him, asks about the book he’s reading. Nothing. 

When she finally lets him go, Shane practically runs back to the hotel, expressing exhaustion from the day and the shoot.

—

The door opens behind her. She doesn’t turn around, just keeps staring ahead. The hedges are nice, bordering the yard for privacy. Whoever came out doesn’t speak, but does move to stand next to her, about a foot of space between them.

“Mom?” She wants to let out a sob at the hitch in his voice. “I’m- I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner or–”

She pulls him into a hug, effectively cutting him off. No words are spoken, just the whistling of the wind makes any noise. There’s a distant honking and the bark of a dog. Shane’s arms are around her, but his chin is hooked over her shoulder.

When she pulls back, she keeps her hands on Shane’s shoulders to keep him in place then she just looks at him for a minute. There’s a line of tension in his shoulders, unshed tears being held back, fingers twitching at his sides. She can see the resignation and a little fear in his eyes and she hates it.

—

“He’s right, sweetie. You haven’t been out in ages, it would be good for you,” Yuna chimes in. Flying in for the weekend in Toronto had started out as a good idea with good intentions. It was also quickly derailing. “You’re not getting any younger, Shane.”

“Maybe I don’t want to go out. And I’m 24, not dead,” came Shane’s retort. Yuna could feel the control slipping through her fingers. She tried again.

“Just one date, Shane. It’s not the end of the world.” With the way Shane was reacting, it might as well be. Sue her, Yuna wanted her son to have someone and she wanted grandchildren. His best friend being Hayden Pike didn’t help her dreams when he’d gotten married and had their first kid so young. Shane wasn’t that old yet, but his age was highlighted by his teammates who were already onto that stage of life.

“Maria is the daughter of an old friend from college. She just got back from Denmark,” her husband adds. She’s thankful David’s at her side, easing the way between her and Shane. 

“She studied abroad, she speaks two languages. She’s really pretty,” Yuna emphasises, “I think you’d be a good match!”

“Mom, I’m not interested. I’m not looking for a girlfriend, or a wife, or anything.” Shane is raising his voice now, not quite loud enough to shout, but an audible increase nonetheless. “Please stop.”

Yuna is taken aback at his tone, looking quickly at her husband, “Are you sure you’re alright Shane? You’ve been acting different all weekend.” 

“Maybe I’m not having a very good weekend. All three of you, all weekend. I haven’t had a chance to breathe, you’re around every corner with a brand deal or a blind date or-or,” Shane stands, running a hand down his face. “I’m tired of talking about this. I’ve had a long day, so I’m going back to my room. Thank you for coming, I love you, goodnight.”

And with that, he was gone. Walking away from the table and soon the two elder Hollanders are left alone again. Yuna chews her lip, replaying the conversation in her mind, trying to figure out where it went wrong. The truth was, it went wrong when they showed up, she knew that. She felt like she didn’t even know her own son anymore. The last two years he’d been pulling away more and more, spending summers and holidays and days off alone or with an unnamed friend which probably meant alone. Yuna didn’t begrudge him his solitude, she knew that much at least, but she mourned the kid that needed her. 

—

“Shane,” she whispers, “Shane. Don’t, you don’t…” she swallows around the lump in her throat, “Don’t apologize, you don’t need to do that, not for this, ok?” He’s looking at her like he doesn’t quite believe her. She needs him to believe her, this is her failing, her fault, not his. Never his. 

“Mom, I–”

“Shane, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t walk out because of anything you did,” she says. “It was just suddenly I could see all nine years and… I hate that I missed it. It was right in front of me, and I missed it. That’s not your fault, it’s probably a good thing you hid it so well. But I missed you falling in love.”

“I wanted to tell you, so many times.” Yuna cups his face, wiping away the tears gathered in the corners.

“Why didn’t you?” Shane rears back and she knows she messed up, “I’m not accusing you, I’m asking. I’m trying to understand. Come here, sit.” She sits on the step and pats the spot next to her, not forcing Shane down, but inviting him. 

“Ilya’s Russian,” starts Shane when he joins her. He doesn’t look at her, looking forward instead, examining his property, voice low as he explains, “It’s not good, over there, for people like us. Especially not for him. Losing him is the worst thing I can imagine, the nightmares I’ve had about waking up and him being gone, never to be seen again,” he shakes his head, as if to clear the memories. “We couldn’t risk it leaking, so we didn’t tell anyone. We took one gamble to tell Farah, so she could help, but that’s it. No one else knew. It was easier to keep it a secret than to risk telling the wrong person.”

“I see,” says Yuna. “Why now?”

Shane gives her a strange look, it’s a little sad, a little remorseful, “We were going to wait another year, actually. Next summer, probably, but I didn’t want to. I knew I just needed to rip the bandaid off sooner instead of later. Emma, that’s my therapist, helped me come up with a plan.”

Yuna is surprised at the confession. She remembers the therapist, Shane brought her up for the first time when he’d sat them down and told them he was leaving Montreal.

—

Yuna doesn’t know what to say. What do you say to your son who just admitted that he doesn’t feel safe at work, that he’s scared of what might happen if he stays because the guys, his teammates, that have been there the last half-decade don’t like him. It hits her like a blow directly to the heart, she wasn’t the first to know. Sure, this wouldn’t be her job as his manager, but she should have, and in the past, would have, been part of the planning party. Instead Shane is… Shane is telling his parents. Or trying to. Yuna pinches her thigh to reset herself and takes a deep breath. She needs to be Mom for this conversation.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Shane,” Yuna reaches a hand out in an offering, Shane takes it, squeezing back. “I think we’re a little confused, but don’t, don’t be sorry. I’m sorry we didn’t notice you were so unhappy.” 

“Mom, that’s not… That’s not it. I was hiding it from everyone. Except my therapist.” The admission is small and throws Yuna off, therapist?

“A therapist? I didn’t know you were seeing a therapist?” She doesn’t mean for her tone to come off as guarded as it does. Focus; mom, not manager.

“Yeah, I’ve been seeing her for a while. She’s been helping.” Yuna opens her mouth, even unsure of what she would even say, “I didn’t hide it because I was ashamed or anything, I just didn’t want it to be another thing. She helped me figure out what to say.” Her mouth snaps shut. Another thing, her son says. And she hates that she knows what that means to him, what that means for–about her.

“Shane,” starts David, ever the rescuer, “we love you, nothing will change that. Thank you for telling us. This is just very out of the blue.”

Yuna takes every emotion she’s experiencing and locks it tight in her chest. Shane doesn’t need her questions, he needs her to listen, “Why don’t you start at the beginning? Farah is already looking into waiving your NTC?”

“Yeah, she’s handling all of that. We’ve been emailing all week.”

“You’ve really thought this through?” Yuna asks. It’s not doubt, it’s fear. Shane has never given any indication that he wanted to move, or that he wasn’t feeling safe in Montreal. It scares her that she missed something this big. Shane, though, takes her question as insult, not that she can blame him.

“Yes, mom. I’ve thought this through. Every angle, everything. I have to do this. Mom, hockey isn’t fun anymore. It hasn’t been fun in a long time.” 

And with one word her heart breaks. Shatters, really, all over the pristine hardwood floors. She hopes the devastation isn’t visible on her face, but she’s always been more expressive than anyone gives her credit for. It’s something she has in common with her son.

Her son who just informed them in a broken voice that the great passion of his life, his job, his reason for getting up, the thing that brings him so much joy, isn’t fun anymore. It hasn’t been fun in a long time.

She needs to fix this. This wasn’t just one mess up. It wasn’t even entirely on the Voyagers. This was on everybody remotely involved with Shane’s hockey life except Shane. Yuna remembers watching Shane take to hockey like a duck to water. The way he was always so excited to be on the ice. She remembers the meltdowns when it was time to go home, take off the skates, put the pucks away. Yuna remembers seeing David on the ice at McGill, head thrown back in laughter as he skated circles around his team, wrestling for the puck.

—

“Next summer seems very specific,” she says instead. “Why next summer? Waiting to finish out the decade?” Her teasing tone must come across with the last question because Shane cracks a quick smile. She hopes it hides the stab to her heart at hearing they were going to wait another year to tell them. She can’t imagine going another year watching Shane be so close and hiding something so big, she doesn’t want to. Already, thinking about the last nine does something to Yuna that she doesn’t want to examine yet, something weightless and dizzying.

“No, not intentionally.” He takes a deep breath, “Ilya’s citizenship would be finalized.” Oh, she thinks, “We’re still waiting, but we’re due to hear back before next summer, then it’s just the test and finishing paperwork and ordering his passport.”

Ilya Rozanov, Canadian citizen. She can hardly believe it, but she supposes none of today has been to her expectations. There’s something about his citizenship that’s bothering her and she can’t put a finger on it.

“But it’s not done yet?” 

Her son shakes his head, “Not yet. That’s why we were going to wait, but things change and I didn’t think I could wait another year. I– I didn’t want you to think… Ilya is as safe as he can be, and we trust you, waiting a year wouldn’t do any good. Besides, at this point, I don’t think they’re going to deny him. There’s no one in Russia coming after him either, unless he does get outed, so…” Shane shrugs. Yuna can still see the tension in his shoulders and eyes, even as he tries to be nonchalant. 

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” asks Yuna, remembering the events that lead to her being outside in the first place. Shane looks away and she glimpses the gloss over his eyes.

A stuttering breath precedes the, “Yeah, there’s something else.” Shane squeezes his eyes closed, “It’s big and I think you’re going to freak out a little.”

“Shane…” but he’s already rambling on.

“It has to do with the citizenship and–”

“Shane–”

“–it’s not something we should have kept from you–”

“Shane!” He stops. “Whatever it is, just tell me. Or should we go inside first?”

She’s trying to console him, brown eyes identical to hers are staring back with so much raw emotion, she can’t identify them all. Sadness, regret, a little bit of grief, fear. That last one scares her the most, she never wanted Shane to be afraid to tell her anything. Whatever he’s going to say–

“We’re married.” The confession comes almost inaudibly. Not in conviction, no, Shane says it with confidence, love, and defiance, but the volume is almost drowned out by the roaring in her ears and she almost misses Shane explaining in that same low voice, “Ilya and I, we got married in 2014, that summer.”

“I just don’t want to go anywhere during the break Mom, I’ve got some stuff planned already. Sorry I’m going to miss Christmas, I’ll call, I promise.”

“No, it’s fine. Montreal is only two hours, I can drive back.”

“I’m not looking for a girlfriend, or a wife, or anything.”

A tear finally breaks free, slipping down her cheek. That’s what was bugging her about the citizenship, of course the easiest way to do it was through marriage. She didn’t just miss him falling in love, she missed the wedding.

“Married,” she whispers.

“Ilya is my husband,” Shane confirms.

—

“There’s this kid, in Russia,” the Coach is saying. “They’re calling him a prodigy, the greatest hockey player to come out of Russia since Fedorov. He’s supposed to be as good as you.”

Yuna listens intently, already mentally breaking down the few stats they have on this kid and comparing him to Shane. Her fifteen-year-old son is paying attention, but some of his focus keeps drifting to the screen playing one of the few tapes they’d gotten of this Ilya Rozanov. Shane’s eyes track the graceful movements of this opponent on the grainy tv, watching him weave and score.

She internally scoffs, he might be good, but he’s not better than her son. Sure, in a few years, he could be up for number one draft pick alongside Shane, but there isn’t a competition here as far as she’s concerned. 

—

“Ilya is your husband,” repeats Yuna, rather faintly. “Ilya Rozanov is your husband.”

“Yes, he is.” Shane could keep going, start to explain, ramble on and on about the whole thing, becoming exclusive, accidentally confessing, the proposal, the six weeks they’d gotten. But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t need to right now. It only needs to be as simple as Ilya Rozanov is his husband.

Yuna opens and closes her mouth several times, willing words to come. It’s one thing to introduce a long term partner to them, but the word husband carries connotations with it that can’t be ignored.

“You got married.”

“We did,” agrees Shane. Gone are the filler words and adjectives. We hit her eardrums, it’s such a simple word, but it holds so much meaning. It’s evidence of just how long this has been happening, how serious it is, that Shane defaults to we.

“When?” She knows what he said, but Yuna needs to hear it again.

“Summer, 2014.” This time he does elaborate, “I proposed, in Vegas, during–well after–the awards. It was very spur of the moment and Ilya likes to tease that if we could have gotten away with it, we would have found an Elvis impersonator that night.”

“You…” Yuna is still struggling to incorporate this new information, “Vegas? That was when you were up for MVP, but didn’t want us to come.”

Shane nods, then shrugs, “I knew it was going to Ilya, he played his best season and led the Bears to the Cup. I wasn’t planning on proposing, it just kind of happened.”

“You got married and you didn’t think it through?” It comes out almost petulant, with an undercurrent of worry. Yuna doesn’t mean to sound accusatory, but it slips out.

“Like when you told me I was getting older and should find someone to settle down with before it was too late?” 

“I never said–”

“Maybe not that exactly, but Mom,” Shane gives her a disbelieving look, “you’ve been pushing for me to get into a relationship for years, but now that I’m happily married, I’m not thinking things through? Yes, we might have rushed the wedding, but we’re not exactly a normal couple, Mom! We didn’t get to go on dates or plan out an elaborate proposal or go ring shopping together. We barely got to see each other, even after we were married we only got to see each other after games or during breaks. How many married couples do you know that have to do that? On top of being the most well kept secret on the planet because there’s the very real risk you could both wake up without jobs, I could wake up and find myself a widower without warning.” Shane shakes his head, bringing his hand up to wipe at his eyes, “We couldn’t even be seen together in public until I moved to Boston. Even now, we have to be so, so careful. Every picture we have from before the wedding is professionally shot. Not just that, they’re all pictures of Rozanov and Hollander, not Ilya and Shane. The one from that awards show, where we present onstage together, we have it framed because it’s the only picture of us from the day we got engaged. It’s exhausting, we wanted our relationship, I wanted our relationship to be the one thing I didn’t have to worry about. Not like… like it was…” 

“Not like it was something to manage,” Yuna finishes for her son when he trails off, unable to find the correct words.

“Not manage, but… ogranichivat, maybe.” Shane chews his lip in concentration, “My zashchishchali nechto dragotsennoye — prezhde, chem kto-libo uspel by eto razrushit'.”

The Russian catches her off guard, the ease with which it rolls off his tongue. It’s not lost on her that he couldn’t find the word in English, but found it in a language she didn’t know he spoke. Can I ask you something? Do you think in Japanese? Sometimes I don’t think in English.

All of a sudden, she sees it, all of it, laid out in front of her. Every darkened corner was hiding brushed hands, stolen looks across crowded rooms, the infectious energy at every rivalry game, every question from reporters and peers alike designed to make one of them break, to insult, degrade, hate. 

She hears her own voice insisting that what she sees on the ice and in the media is the unchangeable truth. Once they were teammates, she should have made more of an effort, but then her child was in a different country for the first time and he wasn’t just physically far, he shared less and less of his life with them and it scared her. Understanding dawns over her, the yard with its flower garden, the soothing green of the house, the kitten, the practical Jeep in the driveway, the Russian, the gentle life built from the ground up. Shane couldn’t share his life with them because it was no longer just his. He wanted to, here was Shane, extending the olive branch because he wants to share his–their life, and all Yuna can think is this is my fault. She would have prepared, down to the tiniest detail. She would have made them wait, flesh out every possibility, have statements on top of statements. She would have monitored the hell out of every angle of scrutiny possible, she knows it, David knows it, Shane knows it. It’s her love language, helping. But she knows her son doesn’t always respond the same way, for all that he can recognize and accept it as her way of showing love. It would have become overbearing to two young adults who just wanted one thing and it was the one thing Yuna had the hardest time giving people: to be left alone.

“This is my fault,” her voice still low and choked.

“No, Mom, it’s not your fault…”

“Yes, I could have made an effort,” she’s crying now, not even trying to stop, “You tried so many times to get me to understand, and I didn’t listen. That’s not on you, you did everything right, don’t even think… I’m so, so sorry I made it harder.”

“Mom, you didn’t–”

“I did, Shane, I did.” She needs him to understand that she understands, “Every time you tried, I didn’t hear you–”

“This isn't about you!” Shane interrupts her, finally raising his voice, “Maybe I let it go on too long, but this isn't about you,” Yuna stops, snapping her mouth shut and listening. “It's about a conversation–several conversations–I had with my husband. As adults, as two people trying to build a life together. Muzh i zhena — odna satana. Husband and wife are one devil,” Shane lets out a chuckle. “There are so many reasons we didn’t come out, to anyone, not just you guys. We were thinking about Russia, and our teams, and our future. It’s really hard to plan a future together when you’re keeping a secret as big as ours. You didn’t make it easier, but no one did. Everywhere we turned, there was someone telling us how much we hated each other. We wanted peace, just one place we didn’t have to be Hollander and Rozanov. No expectations.” He shakes his head to clear it and Yuna keeps her mouth pinched against the words fighting to get out, “He has always been the most important thing in my life and protecting not just him, but our relationship from outside eyes was my number one priority. I didn’t want to disappoint anybody by choosing him, because I will, every time, I will choose him. I love him. I love him so, so much, Mom.”

Isn’t that the devastating truth, Shane already chose Ilya, a long time ago, before anyone could intervene. Yuna wipes at the tears on her face and clears her throat, “You could never, never disappoint me by choosing him.”

“It felt like it,” he confesses, “It scared me and I couldn’t even just start with one thing because they’re all so wrapped up in each other. Ilya was the first guy I let myself like and I wasn’t ready to share him yet.”

“Shane, look at me.” Yuna waits until he’s looking her in the eye, “I love you, so, so much. I can’t wait to love Ilya too. Forgive me? For every time I messed up and didn’t know.”

Shane lets himself be pulled onto his feet and into a hug. Yuna feels her shirt dampen where Shane has his face pressed into her shoulder, finally letting tears fall.

“I forgive you, Mom.” Yuna squeezes her son tighter against her, letting both of them attempt to wrestle themselves back to a semi-composed state. It’s not perfect, it won’t be perfect for a while, but it’s a start and it’s the truth.

—

June 2018

The car pulls into the driveway, gravel crunching to alert the residents of its approach. Yuna stands and watches her son and son-in-law get out of the car to approach the front door. There’s something settled and right about watching someone else get out of the passenger side of Shane’s car.

“Hey, it’s us,” calls Shane when he opens the door. He and Ilya toe off their shoes and make their way to the living room where Yuna meets them. She pulls Shane into a hug first, releasing him quickly and turning to his husband.

“Hi, Ilya,” she wraps her arms around his broad frame, “it’s nice to see you again. How was the drive?”

“It was good,” answers Shane. His shoulders lack any of their usual tension, instead his body language is looser than she’s seen in a long time. Not completely relaxed, but he doesn’t look like he’s waiting for the gallows.

“Yes. Thank you for having us,” Ilya adds, clearing his throat when he pulls back. He positions himself next to Shane, almost a half-step behind, like he can’t decide if he needs to be at his husband’s back or slightly in front of him. It warms her heart to know Ilya is just trying to protect Shane, it hurts a little to think that he needs to be protected from them, but she can ignore it for the sake of progress.

“Is that who I think it is?” David calls from the kitchen. Yuna steps back to let the boys head to the dining room to say hello. “It is! Ilya, I hope you like chicken parm and salad.”

“I do,” confirms Ilya with a small smile on his face. He leans against the counter and Shane wastes no time pressing into his side, hand on his lower back. “Thank you for cooking.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I couldn’t let you show me up forever,” teases David. “Shane, will you grab drinks from the fridge for everyone and we can go sit.” He throws the towel he was using over his shoulder and carries the pan of chicken to the table. Shane does as he’s asked, fetching the bottle of wine and after a moment's hesitation, leaves behind the chilled can of ginger ale. The conversation once everyone is seated and served starts slow, but the longer they talk, the more they open up.

“He shot me!” Ilya waves an arm in the air, “He cheated so he could shoot me and I didn’t even notice.”

“You’re a baby,” says Shane, flicking his husband’s shoulder. “It was your idea to split up couples, you should have been prepared for dirty tricks.”

Yuna watches them argue. Both boys lighting up as they hurl insults back and forth, neither willing to concede defeat. This version of Shane is one she never thought she’d see. A phone buzzes and Shane pulls out his phone to check it.

“Who is it?” Ilya asks, leaning over. But Shane just leans away, angling his phone so no one can see the screen. Ilya pouts and leans further. Shane just laughs and twists his body.

“No one, just the girls.”

“Just the girls? No, who is it?”

“Vanessa’s trying to plan something for Vicky, that’s all.”

“Oh, and I’m not allowed to see?”

“No,” Shane says, sitting back up and turning off his phone to slip it back into his pocket. “Because you’ll just try and drop hints to him and it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

Yuna giggles at the jutting lip on Ilya’s face. Big, bad, Russian hockey machine pouting. Any reservations she had were all but gone after that first dinner, but lingering doubts, the kind any mother has for her son, are close to evaporating. She’s been worried that they did get together too young and their relationship would reflect that. Worried that they’ll still try and hold back from each other for their sake. None of that is true. Sure, it’s clear that two teenagers fell in love, but what they’ve managed to build out of it is stable.

“What?” Shane asks, catching her look.

“Nothing, nothing,” she sits up in her chair, sipping on her wine. “It’s just cute, is all. All the arguing.”

“Well, it’s not like the rivalry was completely fake,” Shane grumbles with a shrug.

“No, I didn’t–” Yuna pauses, “I’m glad you’re both competitive. I don’t think you’d survive anyone who didn’t challenge you.” The sappy look Shane gives his husband is almost out of place on his face, but she knows it can’t be. 

“I wouldn’t,” he agrees.

Dinner finishes and David motions for Shane to help him clear the table. Yuna finishes her drink, eye on her son-in-law who is watching her son. His fingers twitch like he wants to get up and help, but also doesn’t want to over step. Shane picks up his plate and kisses the top of his head.

“Pozvol' mne. Ty pogovori s moyey mamoy.” Ilya nods in response. Yuna is once again surprised at how easily her son speaks Russian. Whatever was said, Ilya turns back to her, spinning his own empty glass in his hands and chewing on the inside of his mouth.

“So, Ilya, what’s the plan this summer?” 

He looks a little surprised, “We have first camps next month, so we will prepare for that. After,” he shrugs, “Same as every summer.”

“Of course. Are you excited about the camps?”

A small smile graces his features, “Yes. It will be fun, I think, to teach kids.”

She nods along, picking up her glass and setting it back down when she remembers it’s empty. “I have a question for you. I don’t want you to think I’m… implying anything with it, I’m just curious.”

“Ok,” Ilya is giving her a weird look, but his full attention is focused on her.

“Would you have left Boston for Shane?” Surprise colors his face, “If things had been different, if Montreal wasn’t as bad, Boston wasn’t as good, or if both were bad… Just if there were different circumstances, what would you have done?”

To his credit, he doesn’t look upset or contemplative, just glances back towards the kitchen and says without hesitation, “Yes.” He looks at her, face set, “If Shane asked me to move teams I would have. I would have quit hockey and run away if he asked. But you understand, Shane will not ask. He does not have to, neither do I,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t ask him to come to Boston. We knew Montreal was not good for him, so we had to find solution, but that was all. We solve problem together. Muzh i zhena — odna satana.”

“You didn’t ask him to move to Boston?” she asks. That’s new information to her. Since she found out about the relationship, she thought she’d pieced together the move. Obviously, Shane hadn’t lied about why he needed to leave Montreal, but she thought… “I’ve heard that before, musa zehna… Shane’s said it to me before, what does it mean?”

“No, we didn’t even consider the option. Bears went behind my back,” he chuckles, reminiscing in answer to her first question. As for the second, “Muzh i zhena — odna satana. Yes, Shane likes it. Means we are one person, mistakes and success. We share all of it. Is our reminder sometimes, when things are messy, that we have each other always, no matter what.”

“Oh,” Yuna breathes, it’s beautiful, “That’s… I love that.”

Ilya’s smile is shy, “When… when he proposed, after, he was very stressed about all the small parts. I think he broke his phone with too many pages. I told him same thing then, we are team. I took care of all the things he would overthink. Our Shane thinks too much sometimes, yes?” Yuna lets out a small laugh, our Shane warms her, “I pick out rings and clothes. He does paperwork.”

“You picked out his ring?”

“I found it before, years ago. So when Shane said he wanted rings I thought it was perfect.” his blush spreads, “Maybe we don’t tell him I picked out ring so early, yes?”

“How early is ‘so early’?” she questions. Ilya blushes harder and mumbles something, “What?”

“Two thousand ten,” he confesses. Yuna has to slap a hand over her mouth to keep her shock from attracting the men in the kitchen.

“Two thousand and ten!”

“I was not thinking marriage then,” he stops, considering, “maybe a little, but like daydream. Nice, but impossible. It moves and I thought Shane would like it to yerzat', play with.”

“I noticed that. I think it’s why no one put together that it was a wedding ring.”

“Good cover, yes? Also on wrong hand, that helps.” Ilya looks up and Yuna follows his gaze to Shane. He’s holding a bottle of vodka and a stack of glasses.

“What are you two talking about?” He circles the table to set down his wares and sit.

“You,” answers Ilya. “Vso v poryadke, Shanya. Tvoya mama prosto sprashivala, kak sil'no ya tebya lyublyu.”

Shane raises an eyebrow at him, “Oh? I naskol'ko sil'no ty menya lyubish'?”

Ilya grins and spreads his arms out as far as they’ll go, “YA lyublyu tebya vot tak sil'no.” 

“Vsego lish' stol'ko?” Shane’s voice is teasing, an easy grin on his face. Yuna wished she knew what they were saying, but she doesn’t think it matters. Her son is happy, in love, and married to someone equally as happy and in love. There’ll be more to learn, other secrets to share, things from the last decade that will surprise and hurt, but for now, the most important thing is that their family is together. All four of them.