Chapter Text
The first time David Hollander stepped onto the ice, he was terrified. His father had strapped skates to his feet and pushed him out into the traffic on the Canal. The skates were too big for him, and the helmet his mother insisted he wear had a full-face cage. David knew that if it were up to his father, no son of his would be pussy enough to wear a helmet. But his mother had stood her ground.
David was pretty sure it was just the first or second year the city maintained the ice way. But his memories were hazy– he was no more than seven years old at the time. What he was sure about was the terror he felt as adults zigged and zagged around him. When David turned around, he couldn’t see his father. It was a lot. So he started crying.
David Hollander remembered crying a lot as a kid.
After a moment, his father appeared by his side. He probably said something about how David needed to man up or stop being a spaz. David couldn’t wipe the tears from his face, the cage was in his way. Instead, he let them freeze to his cheeks. He knew better than to complain.
Now that his father was there, he awkwardly skated backwards while trying to describe what David was supposed to be doing with his feet. It took a few falls and some careful study of what the other skaters were doing, but David managed to awkwardly glide for the first time.
He was hooked.
After that, David spent every spare minute he could on the Canal. He would skate every day after school, weaving between children and adults in downtown Ottawa, carving beautiful arcs into the ice. He loved the section near the University of Ottawa, where the campus radio station set up loudspeakers to broadcast their programs. He’d meet up with a group of boys who played pickup games of hockey on the frozen surface of Dow’s Lake.
By the time David was fourteen, his father had left, but skating hadn’t, and high school hockey was the next natural step. He was light on his feet, so he tried out for the team. His skating was good enough to earn him a spot on the roster, but his stick handling kept him off the top lines.
So every winter after that, he skated up and down the Canal with a stick and a puck. He’d weave between adults and children and run drills for one. By the time he graduated, McGill offered him a chance to try out for their varsity team. David wasn’t going to go pro; he knew that, and so did everyone who played for McGill (only one player from the school had ever been selected in the NHL Amateur Draft). But McGill was willing to cover half his tuition if he made the team.
Scholarships made up the rest of his expenses, and David, unlikely as it was, was able to afford to go to university. He studied Economics, played hockey and met the love of his life.
They got married after graduation, David got a terrible job in Toronto, and he and Yuna tried to start a family. It took time. David got a new, terrible job in Ottawa, which was preferable, so he could be closer to his mother.
Yuna got pregnant.
His mother died.
They lost the baby.
They stopped trying so hard.
Then Shane was born, and David met the new love of his life.
He held Shane in his arms, tiny and pink, and the most beautiful, precious thing he had ever seen. David always knew he was nothing like his father; he knew that he would never make Shane feel the way his father had made him feel.
But looking down at his new baby boy, he simply could not fathom how his father acted the way he did. Why had his dad yelled at him so much? Why did his dad think David couldn’t do anything right? Why had his dad left? These thoughts passed through his mind briefly, but they were quickly pushed away. Because, when he looked at Shane, all he saw was perfection.
*
Shane Hollander cried a lot as a kid.
He wasn’t exactly a difficult child, but he wasn’t easy to raise either. He liked to play alone; he couldn’t stand cotton swabs touching his skin. He would cry at loud noises and get overwhelmed easily in crowds. He would be inconsolable if he didn’t have Mr. Stevenson, his stuffed elephant, wherever he went until the age of 9.
Still, Shane was easy to love.
David saw a lot of himself in Shane, and a lot of Yuna, too. The first time Shane stepped on the ice, David was there beside him. Yuna watched from the bench, where she was finishing lacing her skates. They were on the Canal, in a quiet section near their home. Shane looked up at him, and David recognized his younger self in his son’s eyes, full cage helmet and all.
Shane begged them to go skating every day. David would take him to the Canal whenever he could, and Yuna signed him up for a youth hockey team. After his first practice, he was hooked, far more than David had ever been.
At first, Shane was terrible, but he was so, so excited to be part of a team. To have a role assigned to him and a community around him. And he was so excited to skate.
Shane got better quick and pretty soon, he was playing with kids two years older than him. The season after that, he was practicing with the local QMJHL team in Gatineau— even though he couldn’t be drafted to a Junior team for three more years.
Shane was good. He was probably great. But David still looked at him and saw that perfect pink baby, that kid who wanted to skate, that little boy who could only fall asleep on his father's chest when he was sick.
When it was David’s turn to take Shane to the rink, the other parents would comment on how proud David was of his son, the rising star, the next generational talent.
David didn’t have the heart to tell them that he didn’t give a shit if his son made it to the NHL. He couldn’t care less if Shane was drafted first overall, as long as his son was happy and healthy.
David would be proud of Shane no matter what, and that's what he told him every day. That's what he told him when he lost to Russia at his first prospect cup. Thats what he told Shane when he led his team to victory the next year. As long as Shane went out into the world and gave his best effort, then David would be proud of him.
And that's exactly what he told Shane on his draft day.
Secretly, David was thrilled that Shane had been drafted second overall. Montreal was so so much closer than Boston. He didn’t tell that to Shane or even Yuna. He let them talk, worry about teams and contracts and all those things.
Instead, after the fanfare had died down and they had a quiet moment in Shane’s hotel room, he told his son how unbelievably proud he was of him that he had followed his dream.
Shane scoffed at him, “I was drafted second, Dad. Weren’t you there?” he asked, and it broke David's heart a little bit.
“Shane, being drafted second overall is nothing to be ashamed of. You have worked so hard every day of your life. I’ve been there to watch you, and I will never not be proud of you working hard and trying your best. That’s all anyone can ever ask you to do.” His son was quiet, sitting at the edge of his bed in his light grey suit. They had to get moving to make the reception, but David wasn’t going to disturb Shane while he processed his thoughts.
He did understand Shane’s disappointment, he just didn’t think it was warranted. But it wasn't his job to tell his son what to feel, it was his job to try to be there to support him. Although he couldn’t help but add, “Remember, son, this is just the beginning of your career. You have a long time to prove yourself against Rozanov.”
**
David’s first Dad’s Trip was to a rivalry game with Boston. Shane seemed extra nervous and on edge when they boarded the flight. He was checking his phone every thirty seconds. When it was finally time to put it on airplane mode, David clasped his son's hand and smiled at him.
Shane was still so young, not even 20 yet. But that didn’t matter, he still carried the weight of the franchise on his shoulders. David knew this was what his son wanted, the only thing he had ever wanted, so he would always be at Shane’s side to support him.
In the morning, they joined the team for the video meeting. After David was on the ice with his son for the optional skate. They separated in the afternoon so that Shane could have his normal game-day routine.
David ended up spending the time with the other players' fathers. One by one, they would all eventually come to him and congratulate him on his son’s success. They would make comments about how proud he must be. David was proud. He had always been proud of his son, just not for the reasons they thought.
Later, at the game, when he was dressed in the family name and family number, Hollander 24, David sat in the stands and watched his son play. He skated circles around the defence; he willed the puck to move how he wanted it. He pushed hard on the forecheck and got back hard on the backcheck. Shane played a complete game, his game, his way.
Shane was still small, surrounded by grown men who had been playing for years longer. But he made them look like children the way he danced around them. Except for Rozanov, it seemed like that man, that boy, could keep up. It seemed like they were pushing each other further, higher, faster, stronger.
***
David had suspected his son was gay (or at least had no interest in women) by the time he was 20. By age 23, David knew it for a fact. He couldn’t point to one thing about Shane that screamed gay. Instead, it was a thousand things that quietly whispered it over and over until it became a booming voice, screaming loud to anyone who cared to stop and listen.
So naturally, David was shocked when Shane started dating Rose Landry. Yuna was thrilled, of course. He was, too, he guessed. In a way.
Yuna had her own suspicions about Shane. But having any evidence that pointed Shane towards the straight and narrow (emphasis on the straight) was all she needed. She chalked the rest of his history with women up to Shane being Shane. David knew the main reason Yuna was happy: life would be so much easier for Shane if he could marry a nice girl like Rose.
That wasn’t an opinion, it was a fact.
All David wanted was for Shane to be happy. He didn’t care what that looked like. He just wanted his son to be happy. David really hoped Rose made him happy. If she did, he would welcome her into their family with open arms.
The one time they met Rose, Yuna had been ecstatic. It was a quiet lunch in Shane’s condo, nestled into their busy schedules. Yuna had been so excited that she didn’t notice that Shane’s smile didn’t meet his eyes. She didn’t notice that he barely touched his lunch. She didn’t notice that he downed three ginger ales instead of his usual one. Sure, Shane and Rose were nice to each other. Kind, considerate. But David didn’t think Rose could make his son happy. And Yuna didn’t notice.
It would be so much easier on everyone if Shane were happy with Rose. But at lunch, it felt like David was the only one in the room who could see he wasn’t.
Thankfully, soon after that, Shane and Rose decided they worked better as friends.
Then Shane asked them not to come to the All-Star Game in Tampa.
And then Shane got hurt.
It was the single scariest moment of David’s life, seeing his son motionless on the ice. The cameras cut to Hayden grabbing a fistful of Marleau's sweater. The TV was forgotten, and Yuna was already getting her shoes on, ready to head out the door.
They drove straight onto the Trans-Canada Highway, not considering whether it was the fastest route. Not even sure what their destination would be. All David could do was make a choice and start moving.
The call finally came from the Metros medical staff when they passed the last hint of the Ottawa suburbs and were surrounded by snowy fields. He lost consciousness, but he was awake now, if a little confused. They suspected a fracture to his collarbone, but hadn’t had any imaging to confirm yet. He was headed to Montreal General. Yuna put the address into Maps. ETA two hours. Shane would be ok alone for two hours.
By the time they arrived, desperate and urgent, at Shane’s room, he was asleep. The doctors explained that he had a mild concussion, which was surprising only if they had expected it to be more severe. His collar bone was indeed fractured, and would need to be immobilized as it healed. His season was over.
Could have been worse.
Could have been worse.
That’s what they kept saying over and over again.
Could have been worse.
Shane would make a full recover, but they wanted to keep him for the next two days. David settled next to his son’s side and took hold of his left hand. Yuna, impossibly, turned the game on her phone and placed it on the side table. Shane had been injured so early on that there were still two minutes left in the third. It seemed inconceivable that the game continued even after the captain left the building in the back of an ambulance.
Could have been worse.
By the time Hayden had arrived, his lip slightly swollen, his hair stuck to his forehead, David believed those words. It could have been worse. They accepted Hayden's delivery of Shane’s personal effects, and an hour after he left, David and Yuna used Shane’s keys to enter his condo. Yuna didn’t want to leave the hospital, but the doctors assured her that Shane was fine, and they would call if anything changed.
Nothing did. And in the morning, Shane was happy, and bubbly, and beaming. They took him to his condo the next day and then home to Ottawa the next week. Shane’s season was done. He didn’t need to be in Montreal anymore. He needed to rest and recover. Yuna insisted.
And then Scott Hunter won the cup.
In the past, David may have suspected his son was gay, but seeing his reaction to Hunter’s victory confirmed it. But suddenly, it was a lot less scary for David to handle.
Except now Shane wanted to go on a silent retreat(?) He told his parents that he needed time to re-focus and re-strengthen his upper body. He told them he wanted to be left completely alone for two weeks while he did this.
They trusted him, but they were worried. Two weeks alone, silent. Shane was always a quiet kid, and he grew into a quiet adult. But two weeks in isolation, meditating, that was intense.
David and Yuna agreed, because what else were they going to do? Shane was an adult, an athlete, a superstar. But they could still worry, David would still worry.
On the 5th day, David texted his son in the evening. He got no response. The next morning, he called. And called. And called, and texted. And called some more. No answer. That wasn’t like Shane at all, silent retreat or not.
David was very worried, he wasn’t exactly sure of what.
Ultimately, he knew Shane would forgive him for disturbing his silence, but David would never forgive himself if something was wrong. So he got in his car and drove to his son’s cottage.
Shane was fine.
Shane wasn’t alone.
The silent retreat was a lie, a cover, for something much bigger.
It was only when he was on the road to his own cottage, replaying the events of the last three minutes, that he had a thought. Was that Ilya Rozanov?
It turns out, it was. They were in love. His son, who had worked so hard and played so hard to be recognized for his achievements, had been living a double life for years.
It hurt. Of course, it hurt. How could it not? How could David have missed this? He knew, he knew his son was gay. But how could he have missed that his son had been in love? How could he have let his son down like that? David would never be able to get that time back, he’d never be able to watch his son fall in love for the first time.
After the boys left, David went straight into research mode. He read every article he could find about Rozanov— Ilya. Most of them mentioned his son. It was strange reading about Shane on the internet; it wasn’t something he did often, if he could help it. But now it was even stranger to know that his son and Ilya had been together in some form or another when all of these articles had been written.
At 2 a.m., he clicked on a YouTube video with all the Hollander/Rozanov highlights from the 2016/2017 season. It started with the late-game hat-trick Ilya scored when they met in October, and finished with the hit that ended Shane’s season.
David almost couldn’t watch the hit, it had been hard enough in the moment. David had only ever seen the hit live, never a replay, never anything after his son had been laid bare on the ice. So 15 seconds after Shane hit the ice, David saw something he didn’t expect.
When the trainers knelt by Shane’s prone body, Ilya was there, trying to get closer, trying to see if Shane was okay. Suddenly, something clicked in David's head. Ilya was there. He had been there since the summer before rookie season.
When Shane was 20, and David thought he might be gay, Ilya was there. The first time David travelled with the Metros, Ilya had been there. When Shane was 23, and David knew his son was hiding his sexuality from him, Ilya had been there.
When Shane needed someone to share— well, David didn’t want to think about that too much— but Ilya was there. He had been there for Shane when David couldn’t be. Ilya had been a part of Shane’s life for a lot of moments where his parents just couldn’t be a part of.
When Shane was alone, he was less alone because of Ilya.
When Shane was lying prone on the ice, and Yuna and David were rushing out the door to drive to Montreal, Ilya was there for his son.
For the last seven years, Ilya had been there.
And that night, when Shane was recovering in the hospital, and Yuna and David were pretending to sleep in at his condo, Ilya wasn’t there. Because they didn’t know he should have been. They didn’t know that someone else out there loved their son. They didn’t know that someone else should have been there, should have been kept up to date.
But now they did. And it would be different.
**
Ilya Rozanov suddenly became a fixture in David's life. He was in Shane’s space at the cottage. He was there at Christmas, or whenever the schedules aligned. Eventually, Ilya was there in David’s hometown. Ilya orbited Shane like two bodies of equal mass orbited each other. They seemed implicitly aware of each other whenever they were together, spinning around one another, tidally locked, gravitationally bound forever.
David’s relationship with his son’s partner was rocky at first, not on David's part, or at least not directly. Ilya was quiet, scanning everything, bracing for reactions. David could feel eyes tracking his movements the first time they had Ilya over after a Boston game. It was like that for awhile, whenever Shane wasn’t there.
But slowly it got better, easier. Slowly, Ilya lingered. Stay for a game of cards here, a board game there. Eventually, they started puzzling together, David and he. Eventually, Ilya let his guard down. He would tell little stories about his childhood. Share things he remembered about his mother.
Ilya never spoke about his father, and David could guess why. Shane knew nothing about his Grandfather, even though David was fairly sure the man was still alive, somewhere out west.
What David did find difficult, more than difficult really, was to pretend they were nothing more than acquaintances. At All-Star games, at award shows, anywhere that wasn’t behind a closed door.
The charity made it easier for Shane, for Ilya, for David. Having Ilya in Ottawa made it easier too. Christmas was easier, summer was easier, and having Ilya drop by whenever he wanted was easier.
But is still wasn’t easy. David still found it difficult.
When David’s manager asked how Shane’s season was going, he wanted to talk about how Ilya was playing, too.
When he went to Centaur’s games, which he did more frequently now, he had to make sure he wasn’t recognized. Being a late middle-aged white man helped with this, but it was still stressful.
When Ilya made the all-star team, David couldn’t brag at work, like he did for Shane.
When the Centaurs went on their Dad’s Trip, David couldn’t come. He didn’t even know if Ilya would want him to come. But David wasn’t even allowed to ask.
Until Brad.
David could have waited. The boys were getting married in the summer, they would be out in the summer, they just had to make it to the summer. But three weeks after Christmas, and two weeks before the Centaurs Dad’s Trip, Brad took their choice away.
Objectively, it was a bad thing that his son and his fiancée had been publicly outed and temporarily suspended. Objectively.\
But now he doesn’t have to wait. Now David could ask.
Except he didn’t ask Ilya. Instead, he went to the master momager, Yuna, and inquired about the optics. She loved the idea and ran with it. Before David got to ask Ilya, he got an answer, and his hotel is arranged, his place on the team plane is reserved, and he is officially going on the Centaur’s Dad’s Trip.
Someone, David is not sure who, asked him if he wanted Hollander or Rozanov on the back of the game day jersey. David didn’t really understand the question; he was there to support Ilya… so, Rozanov, thank you. The jersey was delivered the day before they left, and David had it packed in his travel bag and waiting at the door before he went to sleep.
*
David wasn’t exactly shocked at the number of faces he recognized on the team bus, but he was pleasantly surprised. The flight had been rowdy, just like it was on the Metros trips, but it was different. Lighter almost. David noticed Ilya retreating on the bus, but slowly, he started to open up. Become his usual self, the man who David loved. The man who loved David’s son.
The Centaurs had an interesting tradition of the team fathers bunking together like their sons. Because David was such a last-minute addition, he was by himself, but there were promises of next year. David liked the sound of next year.
They ended up at a bar, it’s how these things usually went. Except they had the whole back room to themselves, and karaoke was being set up. That was new, the Metros would never.
When Ilya had finished his allotted beer for the night, David took his chance. “Do you want to sing?” he asked.
Ilya looked torn, and David understood. This was happening so fast; a month ago, they wouldn’t have been able to sit at the same table in public. Now David asked him to sing in front of his entire team. But David had a decent feeling for these things, and he figured the Centaurs would be, are, good. They were ok, they didn’t see David as an enemy trying to infiltrate. They saw him as Ilya’s dad, because that's who he was.
Ilya agreed; he let David pick the song, so of course they were singing Bowie…
“You've got your mother in a whirl,”
“She's sure if you're a boy or a girl,”
David remembered the first time he heard Bowie. The disk jockey who had the 4-6 pm weekday slot at the U of O radio station loved Bowie. Every second song David heard on that stretch of the Canal was Bowie for a solid three years. Pretty quickly, David had been obsessed.
“Rebel rebel, you've torn your dress,”
“Rebel rebel, your face is a mess,”
Now whenever he heard this song, David thought about the ice. He thought about skating and freedom, and the cold February winds that blew over the happy parts of his childhood. David lost himself in the music.
“Rebel rebel, how could they know?”
“Hot tramp, I love you so,”
He looked over at his little rebel, the man who brought Shane out of his shell. The man who stood up to anyone who wronged his team on the ice (even if it wasn't his job). The man who gave up playing for a contending team just so he could love his son more easily. The man, who, despite all that, still went out on the ice with everything he had. The man who led his team with fire and passion every night. The man who loved his son with fire and passion for the last decade or more. The man who was Ottawa's best hope of ever winning a Cup. His second son, whom David was so unbelievably proud of.
“Rebel rebel…”
Ilya wasn’t a hugger, or at least he wasn’t with David, and David respected that. But he couldn’t help himself. When the song was finished and the Centaurs were cheering around him, David pulled Ilya into his arms and held him tight.
He could see the tear threatening to fall. David knew that look. Ilya had it when they watched Marley & Me for family movie night (Ilya now checks doesthedogdie.com before agreeing to watch anything). He politely ignored the emotional moment until they were back at the hotel. David pulled him into an alcove while everyone else was saying their goodnights. He looked Ilya in the eye and said, “I hope I didn’t embarrass you tonight.”
The glossiness returned to Ilya’s face before he responded: “Neyt, no, no.” Ilya took a deep, steadying breath, “I am very happy you are here. I, you know, my father. He never came on these trips. And I was okay with that. I didn’t want him here; I didn’t want him to be disappointed in me. Or how does Yuna say it, I didn’t want him to ruin the vibe,” he said.
David didn’t actually know very much about Ilya’s father, they had never met, and David was more than ok with that. He had never met Grigori Rozanov, but he had met a lot of men like him. He lived his early life with a man like him. David knew what it was like, even if his second son didn’t know they had that in common. Right now wasn’t the time to get into that.
Instead, David wanted Ilya to know the unconditional support that he had made sure Shane grew up with. “Ilya, I have… From the moment you came into our lives—”
But was cut off by Ilya asking, “The very first moment?” with his eyebrows raised. They could joke now about how disastrous that day started. Of course, David knew what Ilya was doing, trying to deflect with humour. It usually worked; David usually let him get away with it. But not right now.
“Ilya,” he chided. “As soon as I saw the man you are, I was proud and scared and a whole host of other things. But I have never been disappointed in you.” He wanted to say more, but he didn’t quite have the words. It was ok though, they had time. They didn’t have to hide anymore.
Ilya spoke, barely above a whisper, “Thank you for agreeing to come. It means a lot to me.”
That didn’t make sense. David didn’t agree to anything. “It was my idea, son.”
Something changed on Ilya’s face, “Really?” he asked, a smile breaking through the heaviness of the moment.
“Yes, Ilya, you are family. To me, you are family. And I was excited to show the world that, now that I can. Now that we are allowed.” David would say these words every time Ilya needed him to. For the rest of his life, if he had to. It was more than worth it, given the tight hug he was currently receiving.
Soon after, Ilya and the rest of the team called it a night, but the dads didn’t have to play a game tomorrow. They ended up at the bar just off the hotel lobby. David was familiar with the portion of the festivities. He got himself a light beer and looked around.
Henry Hayes waved him over to a table. He didn’t know everyone seated, but he was quickly introduced: Sven Holmberg, Steven Dillon, and David Young. Holmberg made a joke about two Davids and how they’d have to go by their last names.
“Should we call you Hollander or Rozanov?” Hayes asked, and David could tell it was a joke. He was searching for any animosity in the other father’s eyes, but he found none. “Well, I’m wearing Rozanov tomorrow, so either I guess?” he finally responded.
Young chuckled, “And your boy is ok with that?”
“Ilya? Yes, of course?” Why did people keep asking David this?
“No, I mean Shane. Hollander. Captain of the Metros?”
“Oh, yeah, of course he’s ok with it. Why wouldn’t he be?” The other men laugh, not at him, but instead like David had told a joke. David couldn’t hear any bitterness or hostility that would have been present if this were Metros’ fathers. Still, he kept his guard up.
Dillon eventually brought up the elephant in the room. “You have to admit, it is pretty unorthodox. Two of the best players in the world. The top two picks from the undisputed strongest draft class in decades. Secretly dating.”
David was actually surprised it had taken this long. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. David was once again glad of the post-Brad family meeting, where they discussed what to say when questions like these came up. Use your best judgment and be honest. We’re done lying, but don’t feel like you owe anyone anything. “I’ll admit. It was a lot to process when we first found out.” David could tell a few of the tables around him had quieted; obviously, everyone was curious. “But all anyone needs to know is that Shane and Ilya love each other very much, and they have for a long time. Yuna and I couldn’t be more proud of both of them. I hope now that people know, they can continue to play hard against each other.”
Everyone was openly listening now. A voice from another table asked, “Is this why Rozy signed with Ottawa? It has to be, right?”
“Yes, it was.” That garnered a few quiet but audible reactions. A soft flurry of whispers danced through the room before someone else spoke.
It was Young, “Do you mind— Can we ask how long?”
David paused before giving a somewhat practiced answer. “That’s not my story to share. You can ask Ilya if you want. Just know it’s been long enough.”
Henry nodded at David’s answer, before he addressed the group of men, “Ok. That's enough gossiping about a WAG— or whatever. On to more important things, like, who’s gonna get the next round?” David was thankful the eyes had been pulled off of him. Conversation was flowing all around him, and David was happy to simply listen.
When his beer was half gone and the conversation had well and truly moved on, Henry Hayes leaned over to him and spoke. “You know, my daughter is a lesbian.”
David was taken aback, “Congratulations?” he offered.
“I wasn’t good about it. When she first came out to my wife and me. We didn’t make it easier for her, I mean. We… I lost a lot of time with her, that I can't get back now.” The other man was lost in thought for a moment. David truly didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, Hayes spoke again, “Sorry, Sorry. I’m getting off track. What I mean to say is this group of guys they are good about it. Maybe not perfect, but their hearts are in the right place. And they try. Hopefully, you didn’t mind the mini-interrogation. ”
David smiled, “It’s fine, honestly, I expected more.”
“Yeah, we made one of those group chat things on our phones. Got most of the guys on this trip, and we decided to try and not make it awful.”
“Well, it worked. I can’t imagine what it's like for…” David knew the Metros were having a much harder time. He couldn’t imagine going on this trip if Ilya played for the Metros.
“Shane?” Hayes asked.
“Yes,” Shit. That was a little more than David wanted to share.
“Wyatt, my boy, he played for Toronto, so I can imagine what that's like. The shity guys, and the shitty management, I mean. Toronto is probably worse. But I’m not that surprised that an old franchise, an original six, is stuck in the past. Wasting time.”
David didn’t want to badmouth the team that had drafted his son, the one he had captained for years; the team that had three more cups because of his son. Still, he had noticed a distinct difference in the reactions between Ottawa and Montreal. David kept his mouth shut.
Hayes was quiet for a moment, acknowledging the unsaid words, and acknowledging why David left them unsaid. He leaned forward, with a conspiratorial look in his eye, “Hey, Hollander’s a free agent in the summer? You know, he’d fit right in in Ottawa. And then the boys would definitely bring home the cup.”
David laughed, “You’d have to bring it up with Yuna. I don’t talk shop with Shane. Not about contracts at least.”
“Fair enough, but just know. My boy has been with this team for a few years. This is a good team, a lot of heart, good guys and good management. Your boys would be welcome. I just wanted you to know that.”
Your boys. That statement played over and over in his head. Your boys. Shane had been his son for nearly thirty years, Ilya for much less. But for the very first time, other people knew he had boys. Plural. Two. “Thanks,” he finally managed, “I’ll keep it in mind— if it ever comes up.”
**
David cheered in the stands with Henry Hayes while Ilya was on the ice, celebrating his second goal of the third period. It was a beautiful one-timer off a feed from one of the defencemen. He was locked in the tight embrace of his line mates, Bood and Barrett. And David was there; he was allowed to be there in the open. Cheering his son on, pride beaming out of his chest, with the family name and family number, Rozanov 81, on his back.