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The day after Yuna finds out that her son is dating Ilya Rozanov, she finds the first one. She wasn't even looking for it. They're at dinner, just as promised, eating a surprisingly delicious pasta dish that Rozanov – Ilya – apparently had a hand in cooking. Shane rolls his sleeves up casually and it's right there.
A bruise.
It's the size of a quarter, maybe a little bit larger, right on his arm. If she weren't sitting on Shane's left, she wouldn't have even noticed it. He certainly doesn't seem to. Shane gets bruises all the time, it's a hazard of the job, so this one is probably nothing.
Except for the fact that this is the off season. And she's seen how rough Ilya can be on the ice.
She doesn't mention it that night, but she does keep an eye on Shane, and what she sees doesn't inspire confidence. He dances around Ilya, careful not to touch him. Every time they get too close, his eyes dart over to her and then to the floor. Embarrassed? Or afraid?
The conversation is a bit stilted, despite all of their best efforts. Shane remains nervous and Ilya is polite to the point of awkwardness. Gone is the comfortable couple that kissed in front of them yesterday, replaced by some sort of uneasy dynamic that Yuna quickly despises.
It's too soon to determine anything for sure, but she's keeping her eye on Ilya Rozanov.
"Ilya, we need to talk," Shane says when they get home from his parents house on the day of The Incident.
"You can't break up with me on the same day you agree to be my boyfriend," Ilya replies as he toes his shoes off without untying them.
"No, that's not – no. About PDA," Shane clarifies
Ilya freezes, visibly thinking back over the night. "In front of your parents?"
"Yeah," Shane sighs. "It was okay tonight. I mean, I... thank you. For tonight. But in the future..."
With a nod, Ilya pulls Shane into a hug. "Not in front of your parents. Okay. No problem." Shane relaxes into his arms immediately.
For a while, there doesn't seem to be anything. Wastes no time talking to his agent and his team's management, securing a trade to Ottawa and refusing to comment publicly about his reasoning. It sends the hockey world into an uproar.
The weekend after Ilya moves into his new house, Shane drives from Montreal to spend the weekend with him. Yuna and David make the twenty-minute trip and join them for an early dinner on Sunday afternoon. It's a beautiful house just outside of the city, with large windows and plenty of natural light. Ilya had his furniture moved from Boston, but it doesn't feel lived-in quite yet.
This time, Shane seems more comfortable with Ilya. They still don't touch unless necessary, but he doesn't seem afraid. That's a good sign.
Shane keeps tugging on the sleeves of his shirt, pulling them over his wrists. Whenever he catches her staring, he flushes and looks away. That is not.
She doesn't get a good look at what he's hiding until after dinner. He takes their plates into the kitchen to start washing up like the responsible young man he is. Yuna leaves David and Ilya to their conversation about how things are going with the new team and follows her son into the kitchen.
His sleeves are pushed up now to avoid getting them wet, revealing the fresh bruising around his wrists.
"Shane," she breathes without thinking about it.
"Hm?" He glances up at her, and his eyebrows pinch at her startled expression. He follows her line of sight and flushes red.
"Shane, sweetie," she begins, but he shakes his head.
"No, nope. We're not talking about this," he says firmly while pulling his sleeves back down. "Just forget you saw anything."
"Honey," she tries again.
"It's fine. Everything's fine, just... please, drop it," Shane pleads with her.
"If he's hurting you –"
"He's not!" Shane cuts her off immediately, looking increasingly alarmed. "Really, everything is fine! I'd tell you if... I'd tell you. I promise. So can we drop it, please?"
He's tearing her heart to shreds with this. All she wants to do is help him, but what can she do if he won't even admit something's wrong? She forces a wobbly smile.
"Well, I'm always here if you need to talk, sweetheart."
“Ilya, there are bruises! On my wrists!” Shane hisses. He rubs desperately at the faint bruising, as if it’ll rub off if he tries hard enough. He’s still shirtless, caught in the process of getting dressed after being held down and fucked within an inch of his life.
“Nobody will notice,” Ilya attempts to assure him.
“Yes, they will! Oh my god.” Shane gives up on rubbing away the bruises and runs his hands through his hair, tugging slightly as he does. Ilya reaches over and pulls both hands away, lacing their fingers together instead.
“Here, easy fix,” Ilya says and brings their clasped hands to his lips before releasing Shane’s hands. He crosses the room quickly and digs a long-sleeved shirt out of his bag, tossing it to Shane. “Put this on.”
Shane catches it. For a moment, he looks between Ilya and the shirt, like he’s considering it. Finally, he slips the shirt over his head. It’s only a size larger than he’d normally wear, but the sleeves hang down far enough on his hands to obscure his wrists.
“Thank you,” Shane sighs, visibly relieved. Ilya steps forward and draws him into a gentle kiss.
“Everything will be okay.”
It doesn't happen often in the months that follow, but it happens enough for her to notice a pattern. If Shane comes straight to their house from Montreal, he's untouched. However, if he goes to see Ilya first, there's a chance he'll show up with bruises.
Shane never says anything about it. If she tries to prompt him, he gets flustered and assures her that everything is fine, but her boy has always been a bad liar. She can read him like a book. He's definitely hiding something.
She hits her breaking point when Shane shows up for her birthday dinner – alone, for once – with a split lip.
Yesterday's game was Montreal vs Ottawa on Ottawa's ice. Shane scored two goals and assisted a third, leading Montreal to a narrow victory against the Centaurs. He'd agreed to come over for dinner the next day, but he'd spent the night after the game with Ilya.
His lip was fine when he left the rink.
"Shane, we need to talk," she says solemnly as soon as he takes his shoes off. It catches David's attention, but when he peeks his head in from the kitchen, she waves him away. She's got a better chance of getting this out of her son if this is one-on-one. He'll just clam up even worse if both of them confront him.
He sighs, licking over the split nervously. "Mom, it was an accident. I'm fine."
"You have an awful lot of accidents around him," she replies and even she can hear how sour her tone is.
"I appreciate the concern, really," Shane tries. "But Ilya would never hurt me like that, not on purpose."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Not on purpose? So, what, he just accidentally busted your lip?"
"Okay, I get how that sounds," Shane admits reluctantly. He runs his tongue over the split again, as if he doesn't realize he's doing it. "Really, though, it was a mistake. That's all."
"Bullshit."
This time, she gets an exasperated sigh. "Mom, seriously, I get it, but I'm telling you there's nothing wrong."
"That's what you'd say if you were trying to hide it," she points out, crossing her arms.
"So how am I supposed to prove that nothing's going on if you won't believe me when I say so?" Shane asks and crosses his own arms in response.
"Tell me the truth, and maybe I'll believe it."
Shane throws his hands up in the air. "The truth is that everything is fine!"
"Shane, every time I see the two of you together, you're avoiding him," Yuna points out. "You also argue constantly. Every time you've come over with bruises, you're coming from his house. I'm not stupid."
Shane groans and rubs at his brow. His cheeks are flushed and he's obviously stressed about this. Getting him too flustered will just make him shut down harder. She lets out a slow breath.
"Maybe if you gave me some better explanations that 'it was an accident' it would be easier to believe you," she suggests, desperately hoping that she can make a hole in the wall he's built around the truth. For a long second, Shane seems to consider her words. Finally, he gives his biggest sigh of the night.
"You're not going to let this go, are you?" he asks, already sounding resigned.
"Not even a bit," she confirms.
“He accidentally headbutted me,” Shane finally admits. “Accidentally.”
She blinks, thoroughly baffled. “How does that even happen?”
His face is turning an alarming shade of red.
“We were just… goofing around. We weren’t being careful. He felt really bad,” Shane says, all in a rush.
“And he split your lip?”
“We were… uh, wrestling.”
Unlikely.
“Okay, then what about that time you had bruised wrists?” she asks.
“That… we… it was…”
He’s so flushed she momentarily worries that he’s sick. Then, finally, something clicks. She feels herself becoming very red as well.
Oh god.
Are these all sex injuries?