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“I’m gonna…” Shane’s voice trailed off as he gestured lamely at the door.
His father nodded once, firmly and said, “Take all the time you need, we’ll be fine.”
Ilya fixed a smile onto his face as Shane turned to him, his uncertainty obvious in every line of his body. “I will be fine. Go.”
With a squeeze of Ilya’s hand, Shane was gone, leaving Ilya with a nearly empty plate of pasta and a half drunk tumbler of vodka to face Shane’s father.
At least the other man looked nearly as uncomfortable as Ilya felt, shifting in his seat and staring at his empty plate.
He didn’t look like Shane in an obvious way, their features were nearly all different. But Ilya couldn’t help but see Shane in the set of his shoulders and the slight furrow of his brow, like he was almost apologetic for having attention on him.
It seemed a safe assumption that he wouldn’t make the first move. Ilya rested his hands in his lap and asked, “So…did you read the latest New Yorker?”
David startled to attention and said, somewhat incredulously, “Yes! Wait, did you?”
“No.”
David paused and stared at him and Ilya internally cursed himself for his stupidity. Why the fuck hadn’t he just lied and said he did? Now he looked insane.
“Er. Do you enjoy the magazine in general? Because if you haven’t gotten around to reading last week’s, I actually have it right up—“
“No, no, is not necessary. I’ve never read it, Shane just said you liked.” Tactfully, he avoided saying it was the most boring magazine in the world.
“Oh. I…has he mentioned much about us?” David was clearly attempting to look stoic but if Shane was anything to go off of, the set of his jaw showed his nerves.
He had to be lighthearted, cool. These people were Shane’s whole world. If they hated him… well. Ilya didn’t want to think about that.
“He said, uh, you went to McGill for school, to play hockey. You work for the Treasury. Yuna is his manager, kind of? She cares about hockey even more than he does, also works for government. Your family is just as Canadian as mine is Russian.”
“How so?”
“My father and brother both were police in Russia. Very big in politics. But you are nothing like them.” He paused to take a sip of water and consider what exactly he wanted to say. How personal was he supposed to be? Was it odd to talk about this? “You are good people. Love Shane very much, take care of him. My father was not that. He and my brother are assholes, would not support me the way you help Shane.”
David stared at him for a long moment before standing up.
“Let’s make a deal: I’m going to try my best to forget any preconceived notions I have of you and you’re going to promise me you treat my son right.” He took a deep breath and stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m David Hollander, Shane’s dad.”
Ilya stood as well and shook his hand. “My name is Ilya Rozanov, and I am very in love with your son.”
David laughed and picked up his glass. “To our health, Mr. Rozanov.”
“Za zdoróvye, Mr. Hollander.”
“Please, it’s David. Now tell me, how are you liking the cottage?”
Ilya settled back into his chair and noted that David also looked far more relaxed as he poured them each another drink.
“It is beautiful. It’s obvious that Shane designed it, it’s so…him.”
“Yes, he loves that place very much. I don’t think he’s ever brought another person there.”
“I’m surprised he even let them film that special. They showed a lot of the house.”
David laughed warmly. “Ask Yuna about that one. She convinced him it was too beautiful a place to hide away for no one to see but us. But that was definitely a debate, especially that goddamn yoga segment.”
“He gets very defensive about that. He looked good, though.”
David’s cheeks colored, just a bit, and Ilya realized belatedly he just told the man he found his son attractive.
“Uh, do you like the pasta? We have more in the kitchen.”
“No, no, I’m okay. But is excellent. Did you make it?”
“Yep, I’m the chef in the family. Except for Japanese food, I haven’t quite mastered that yet. If you’d like the pasta recipe, maybe you and Shane can make it at his place?”
“We have like 10 burgers left over from last night, no more food.” Ilya took another swig of vodka and looked thoughtfully at the empty glass. “Good stuff. Not Russian good. But good.”
David shrugged slightly, “You’d have to ask Yuna about that, I’m afraid. Shane got his terrible tolerance from me, I don’t have much interest in brands and whatnot.”
A slow, shit eating grin spread across Ilya’s face. He’d never seen Shane drink much, but he’d always assumed that was because of his natural uptightness and composure. “He can’t handle his alcohol?”
David laughed yet again, and Ilya couldn’t help but giggle as well. The sound was so welcoming and just— home like. Kind. “You didn’t know? I mean even if he could drink, he probably wouldn’t, but my god, he struggles.”
He glanced over at the door, ensuring Shane wasn’t about to walk in, then said, “When he was like 16, maybe? His teammates dragged him to some party and he had maybe two shots? Not sure of the exact details but his friend dropped him off an hour after he left and he was already crying because he thought we’d be mad. He also said he was sad that his stick never knew he loved it? I think that kinda put him off drinking for life.”
Ilya was cackling now, imaging a teenaged Shane all rumpled and red eyed crying about such stupid ideas. “Oh my god.”
“Was his whole face red?”
“Oh yeah! As a kid he blushed constantly. Hang on lemme…”
David pulled out his phone and began scrolling through something before sliding the phone over to Ilya. “Just swipe through there.”
It was a photo of an old picture of Shane, maybe three or four years old. He was beaming at the camera as he held a minuscule hockey stick above his head. Sure enough, his face was bright red.
The next picture had him a bit older, making a shocked face as he stared into a massive bowl of ramen.
The pictures charted Shane’s growth, showing him with teammates, on the ice and off, and with various trophies and awards. But they also showed him just…being. Yuna cutting his hair. Cooking with David. Riding a bike, eating ice cream, and again and again, sandwiched between his beaming parents.
In spite of himself, Ilya paused at one of them. Shane at World Juniors. Their first world juniors. He’s in the upper stands staring down at the team warming up on the ice. Shane is smiling, not a lot, but a little as he stares out at the rink and—holy shit—the Russian team.
A tiny Ilya is celebrating in the background, hands over his head and one foot up in an exaggerated celly. And Shane is watching him. He can’t prove it, of course, but…he knows.
He looks up to see David smiling at him. “I’ll send you the picture. Here, give me your number.”
Somewhat uncertainly, Ilya typed his number into the phone and felt the telltale buzz in his pocket of a message being received.
Hey, Ilya, this is David. Text me if you need anything.
Attached were a couple of different pictures of Shane, and a shot of the two of them shaking hands after a game.
“Thank you.” He saved the contact under the name “David (Shane’s Father)”
He lifted his phone up and snapped a quick picture of David for the contact.
“Hey, no! I probably look terrible right now, I just got the shock of my life and I’m drinking!”
“You look fine. Eventually I will change to even worse photo.”
“Why?”
The man had the exact same bemused expression Shane often wore. It was almost frightening.
“Is a thing. People do it for people they care about. Look.”
Ilya tapped over to Shane’s contact and held up the profile picture he had set just yesterday. Shane was in the kitchen, chopping onions, and had clearly been about to cry from the intensity. His eyes were screwed up and mouth twisted in a grimace as he attempted to continue chopping.
“Wow. That is a bad photo.”
“I know, right? Do you want it?”
Without waiting for David to answer, Ilya sent the picture. David laughed again as he zoomed in on Shane’s tortured expression.
“I’m glad he has someone who…cares about him this way. It’s nice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy and relaxed with someone else.”
Ilya wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. You’re welcome? Thank you? Tell him that he loves Shane too?
He’s thankfully spared from that when Shane and Yuna walk back into the kitchen, arm in arm and smiling a bit, although Yuna’s eyes looked wet.
As they sat down, Shane grabbed Ilya’s hand and interlaced their fingers atop the table. David shot Ilya a pointed look and he couldn’t help his bark of laughter in response.
“What?” Shane looked adorable, bemused and rumpled and perfect, eyebrows furrows in a gentle frown.
Ilya shook his head as he stared at this breathtaking man. He heard the click of a camera. Then felt the buzz of his phone on the table.
His grin spread wider. This was going to be wonderful.