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1
Shane was 17 and his girlfriend had just broken up with him.
Shane had known he was different from everyone else as long as he could remember. When he was a kid, it was for being Asian. Even if he wasn’t bullied as much for it, he knew enough to know that the thing that Henry Tashiro got made fun of for was something that he shared, too. It made him feel bad, that Henry got bullied for something he had in common with Shane, but he was never brave enough to do anything about it.
He learned from school that he wasn’t quite like everyone else in another way, too. Nobody ever put a label on it, but he knew he interacted differently, and thought differently than everyone else. He went to therapy as a kid, and only found out this wasn’t normal when he mentioned it to another kid at school. He wasn’t really bullied, especially by the time he was being scouted for the local club teams. He was already being told he would excel, and the kids at school sort of respected him for it. He had the other kids from the club team to be friends with, and he paid too much attention to hockey to do anything else.
It wasn’t until he was a tween that he realized the third way in which he was different. He was watching hockey footage when his first inclination towards attraction hit him, and even then he knew it was a dangerous enough thing that it ought to be shoved down. He was a boy, and boys were meant to be attracted to girls, so he must just be misidentifying whatever this feeling was.
Shane got his first—and for a long time, only—girlfriend in grade 11. He asked a girl, Jessica, out to a dance, after his friends told him he should, and she said yes, and then they kept seeing each other. Kissing her was… fine. The few times they had sex were also fine, and Shane thought maybe he just didn’t get the hype, or this particular girl didn’t do it for him. But deeper down, he knew that wasn’t the case.
There were a few boys in his hockey club, and then the Junior League, who he would see in the shower and think about hours later, alone in his room. There were also words like cocksucker and pussy and gay thrown around in the locker room, and a few (more than a few) instances of harsher words even than that, and Shane knew that he could never tell any of these boys that he sometimes looked up pictures of professional hockey players shirtless and stared at them.
When Jessica broke up with him, saying he cared too much about hockey and not enough about her—which was, unfortunately for her, true—his main feeling was relief. He didn’t have to keep it up any longer. He didn’t have to kiss her any more, or try to make his dick cooperate during sex. He’d gotten through his first relationship unscathed, and while Jessica seemed upset afterwards, he knew she was better off and would find someone else more compatible with her than he was.
When he told his parents, they were sad for him. And he thought about it then; telling them, saying that it wasn’t going to work out, anyway, because… But he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to consider that it wasn’t going to work out for him with any girl. It was just because Jessica didn’t care about hockey. He’d find a girl who liked hockey, maybe even one who played it, and it would work out with her. Nevermind that the idea sounded as unappealing as doing bag skates every day.
His parents had always been very liberal and he didn’t think they’d be bad about it. But he also wasn’t sure whether they might be disappointed. He was living up to their expectations, surpassing them as he got pulled into Canada’s National Junior Team. He was doing everything they wanted of him. He was being their perfect son. And he didn’t think their version of him as a perfect son could factor in him being gay. It wasn’t compatible with the image of them that was in their head, who had a beautiful girlfriend and gave them grandchildren, who they could show off to everyone, who they could be proud of. It would just make everything so needlessly complicated, and he didn’t know if he could handle the guilt of ruining his mother’s plans.
“You’ll find another girl,” she said, and she sounded so hopeful that he knew he couldn’t let her down again. Not twice in one night.
2
Shane was 20, standing in his kitchen, doing dishes with his mom.
His dad was in the living room, cleaning up from the volcano that was Jade and Ruby, Hayden’s 2-year old twins.
Hayden, Jackie, and the kids had left only a few minutes previously, taking the chaos with them. It was the first time they’d come over for dinner with Shane’s parents there, though Yuna and David had met Hayden at the rink before.
“So, you liked them?” Shane asked after a few moments, getting started on putting leftovers away while his mom took charge of the dishes. It was a familiar division of tasks, the same way they did it when he was still living at home. It felt like only yesterday, but also an age ago. He missed it, sometimes.
“I did!” his mom replied, smiling over at him. Shane thought she was telling the truth. “They were both very sweet. And the kids, what adorable nightmares.”
She laughed. Shane laughed back.
“They’re really cute,” he agreed. “I like Hayden a lot. And Jackie too. They’ve been very welcoming.”
“It’s lovely to finally properly meet them,” his mom said in a softer tone. “I can’t wait for you to have that,” she added, putting dishes in the dishwasher and not looking at him.
Shane looked at her, though, pausing. “To have what?”
His mom laughed again, the one she always did when he asked a silly question. He ducked his head.
“A Jackie of your own, honey,” she responded finally. “And kids, when you want them. I’m looking forward to my grandchildren!”
Shane ignored the harsh tugging in his chest. He just hadn’t found a girl he liked yet. He hadn’t found his Jackie. Granted, he hadn’t spent a lot of time looking particularly hard. He hadn’t dated anyone since Jessica, and his thing with Rozanov was… it wasn’t dating, that was for certain. It wasn’t worth talking about. They’d only texted a few times throughout the summer, since the MLH awards, but that was nothing. It didn’t matter that he wished every notification he got was a text from Rozanov. They were nothing. It meant nothing.
And kids… Not an if, but a when. He swallowed. He liked being around Hayden’s kids, but he didn’t know if they were in the cards for him. He didn’t know. He didn’t want to think about it, not right now.
“Right,” he said quietly, stiffly.
His mom seemed to pick up on his tone, and came over to him, laying a hand on his arm. He realized he’d frozen a bit.
“It’s okay, Shane,” she said softly, trying to catch his eyes. Shane took a deep breath and met them, making himself. He knew this would make her happier. “There’s no rush. You’ll find someone.”
He would. He’d find a girl who was into hockey and who he liked enough to do all that with. Marriage, living together, even kids. He had to.
What if he didn’t? What if the person he found was a man? Even if he was into girls (which he was), he was definitely into guys. What if his Jackie was a Jack? (Not an Ilya, he couldn’t be an Ilya).
Shane quickly nodded, and turned away to bring the container of leftovers to the fridge. Maybe he should say something. He didn’t like lying, and he was starting to feel like he was lying to his parents. Keeping Rozanov from them made sense, but keeping the whole matter of not being straight was starting to feel bad.
“Mom, I—” he started, looking at the inside of the fridge.
“Wasn’t that fun!” Shane’s dad said as he walked into the kitchen. He walked up and bumped Shane’s elbow with his own. “You chose good friends, kiddo!”
“Hayden sort of chose me.” Shane smiled. The moment was broken. Maybe it made him a coward, but he was glad for it. Maybe he just wasn’t ready. But it wasn’t the right time. And he didn’t need to do it anyway, because he’d try harder. He’d find a girl he liked. Eventually.
3
Shane was 25, and he was in a bad mood at lunch.
He had a problem by the name of Ilya Rozanov. The asshole had occupied all of Shane’s thoughts for days, ever since that stupid tuna melt and running like a coward after.
Leaving had been a mistake, but he didn’t know what else he could have done. It was getting to be too much, too close to something. They both knew that wasn’t allowed. So he’d left, and ended it, and… And he’d never regretted something so much in his life.
That had been last week, and he’d been in a mood since. He couldn’t even rein himself in to act normal around his parents. He knew he’d fucked up the moment he suggested lying in order for his parents to still go to Wimbledon without him having to take time off for it.
“Honey, I… I don't want you to lie,” his mom said. “That's not who you are.”
Wasn’t that who he was, now? He’d been lying to practically everyone, either directly or through omission, by sneaking around with Rozanov. Maybe that’s why the idea had come to him so easily, even if he knew it left a bad taste in his mouth the moment he’d said it. He had been lying so much that it was becoming part of who he was. If he had something with Rozanov, it was more he was lying about. And it didn’t feel like nothing, it hadn’t for a while. That was why he couldn’t do it anymore.
Shane could feel their eyes on him. He swallowed and looked down. He shifted gears. “Sorry. I'm in a weird mood.”
“It's OK,” his dad said, shifting his shoulders. “Anything you want to talk about?”
He thought about it for a second, but he didn’t even know where to start. First, he had to solve the issue he’d just made. He went through the motions. Smile. Make eye contact. “Let's, um… Let's think about London. Maybe it could be fun.” He was already folding up his menu. His mom would gladly order for him if she needed to. There were only a few things he could even eat. “I'm just gonna use the washroom.”
Shane got up and headed into the washroom, glad to find it empty. He didn’t actually have to use the toilet, but he stood and stared at himself in the mirror for a long, long moment, before shifting his eye contact down to the sink. He ran it, washing his hands.
Act normal, he told himself. Act like your heart isn’t broken.
His heart. How dramatic. No, he’d just called off a convenient hookup. The only person who he had felt real connection with, who he felt compatible with, in his entire life. The only person he’d felt comfortable around, despite how hard they played against each other, how competitive they were. And he’d had to go and fuck it all up.
Maybe he should tell his parents. Everything. He had no idea how he’d explain it (hey Mom, hey Dad, I’ve been fucking my archrival for 6 years, did you order me the salmon or the tuna?), but maybe if he did, they could help.
Help with what?
There was no him and Rozanov, not on the other side. Rozanov had made that especially clear when he’d started talking about all the girls he was so into. And the not-girlfriend he apparently had. No matter how nice things had felt that day, it had meant nothing to Rozanov, so it would mean nothing to Shane, too.
He didn’t need to tell his parents, because there was nothing worth telling them about. He’d find a girl. He had to start looking harder. There had to be someone else in the world who got him.
The next time Hayden or J.J. invited him out to the club, maybe, just maybe, he’d say yes.
Shane dried off his hands, wiped his mouth, and went back out to finish lunch.
4
Shane was 25, and Scott Hunter had come out on live television.
Before Shane knew it, his phone was buzzing. He saw Lily on the screen and quickly excused himself out of his parents’ earshot, ready to jump in with a question about what the fuck just happened, holy shit, did he really just do that, when Ilya blew his mind harder than it had ever been blown.
“I'm coming to the cottage.”
Shane was absolutely lost for words, fumbling, his brain working on overdrive. He couldn’t believe it. In the end, Ilya spoke again before Shane did.
“I’ll text you later for details. But I am coming.”
“You are,” Shane said when he figured out how to get his mouth to work again. Fuck. Ilya was coming. “Okay. Yes. I’ll help you figure out flights.”
“I can do this myself,” Ilya said, and then, more softly. “OK. I will text you.”
“Okay,” Shane said, remembering his parents in the other room. “Talk later.”
“Yes.” There was a brief pause. “Talk soon.”
Shane found himself smiling and leaning against the wall, needing a moment to take in the enormity of what he’d just heard before he had to go back out there and talk to his parents about Scott Hunter and pretend it was just something he was surprised about because he could never have known, and how brave it was for him, and not like this had already impacted him in an immeasurable way. He knew Ilya wouldn’t have called, wouldn’t probably have ever said yes to spending a week at his cottage, if not for what Hunter had just done.
Maybe the momentum could take him further.
Shane imagined saying it, now that he’d admitted it to himself. And to Ilya, in that hotel room in Tampa. He’s gay. Mom, Dad, I’m gay. Your son is gay.
See, he wanted to say. If Scott Hunter can be a good hockey player and be gay, I can too. The two didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.
But then he imagined his mom responding, “Well he’s not that good of a hockey player,” and the words dried up in his mouth.
She wouldn’t. He knew she wouldn’t, but as he walked back into the living room, he couldn’t make himself say anything. He lied again, about it being Hayden calling to talk about what had just happened, and it was so easy, too easy, to let the lie spill off his tongue. When they talked about what Hunter had done, he just said yeah, that was really brave, and he hoped that his team would treat him well. He wished it could be as simple for him as pulling some no-name guy out of the stands and onto the ice to kiss him after winning the cup. Not that that was easy, at all, but it was still a lot less complicated.
He’d stay a coward, for now.
5
Shane was 25, and Ilya Rozanov was going to come to his cottage.
Ilya was arriving in two days, and Shane had worked himself into a bit of a panic. The cottage was beyond spotless, the floors so clean he was almost sliding on them. The guest rooms were also made up (just in case, but God, he hoped not), and he’d purchased enough food to last them pretty much the entire time, with a few fresh options he was going out to buy tomorrow. Shane’s clothes had been folded and refolded in his dresser until they looked perfect, like he was setting the house up for staging.
The last hurdle was his parents.
He hadn’t told them yet. He didn’t know what to tell them. He was seeing them tonight, and he had to think of a way to make sure they wouldn’t come over while Ilya was there. He couldn’t even imagine what would happen if one of them showed up, unannounced, as they semi-frequently did, while Ilya was there.
He didn’t know what he could tell them to keep them away. If he said he was going somewhere else, they’d both want details, and might show up while he was “gone,” so that wouldn’t work. And the idea of lying so directly put a bad taste in his mouth again.
He could say he was sick, but they might want to come over and take care of him, or demand a doctor see him, especially if it lasted two whole weeks.
He could maybe say Rose was coming up, but that was another big lie, and they’d want to meet her, anyways.
Dinner was uneventful, without much to talk about in the offseason. They found enough topics to drag out the conversation as they ate. Shane was nervous, trying to decide what to say afterwards.
He waited until they’d finished eating and cleaning up, and were moving towards sitting in the living room, his mom having a glass of wine, his dad a vodka-lime, and himself nothing, since he had to drive home. He didn’t mind. Drinking with his parents could feel weird, sometimes.
Still, he wished he had a beer or something, so he could be less terrified, less anxious about how this conversation was going to go.
Shane lingered for a long moment before sitting down. He imagined saying it. He’s gay. He’s gay, and Ilya Rozanov is coming to stay with him, because they’re gay together, and maybe dating, though he was still unclear on that part for the moment. Because they only got together and fucked, until recently. And they couldn’t be together because he supposedly hated Ilya and half his career was rooted in that supposed hatred. And also his parents already hated the guy more than pretty much anyone else. That guy was coming to Shane’s private cottage, where he’d never invited a friend before, and they needed privacy because they probably wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off each other.
Shane’s mom and dad were staring at him, and he realized he’d been sitting anxiously for probably far too long. He swallowed. Just say it. Just fucking say it.
“Rose and I aren’t dating anymore,” he said after a beat.
“Oh, honey,” his mom said, and he was glad he was in a chair and not within touching distance, because he could tell she wanted to put her hand on his arm or something. “What happened?”
“We decided we’re better as friends,” Shane said, and his heart rate was fast but slowing down a bit. This was good. He was glad he could not-lie about this, for the most part. “We’re still friends. Good friends. We just weren’t compatible for a relationship.”
“It was mutual, then?” his dad asked, and his mom shot a look at him. “What, I’m just gathering details!”
“It was mutual,” Shane answered, relaxing just the slightest bit more. This was good. This was almost the truth. He was just leaving out the part about them being incompatible due to him being completely gay. For Ilya Rozanov. Fuck. Not helping. “It just wasn’t working out, but we get along well. Besides, the distance would have made things really hard, too.”
“I’m glad you’re not too broken up about it,” his mom said, and Shane nodded. He was glad too. He was glad Rose had ended things when she had. It had made things a lot easier, in a lot of ways.
Harder, in some others.
“I’m not,” Shane assured them, smiling. He wasn’t sure it quite worked, but he was trying his best. “I’m really not. I’m glad to have her as a friend.”
Now would be the perfect time to say it. Even just to tell them that he had someone else, a romantic interest, coming to the cottage, but he wasn’t sure enough about it for them to meet his parents yet. Or just to come fully out with it, not holding anything back. A braver man would.
Shane was not that braver man.
“Unrelated, but I’m doing this thing,” Shane started, breaking the eye contact and letting his face return to normal. “It’s a silent retreat, thing? At home. Basically, I’m just not seeing or talking to anyone for two weeks.”
When he glanced up, his mom looked a little worried, but the expression was gone quickly. “Why are you doing that?”
“It’s meant to be good, for mental health, and stuff?” he tried, hoping he sounded convincing. Shane cleared his throat. “I don’t know, after being captain all year, I want to give my voice a rest. I might give up early, but I just wanted to tell you so you know why I’m not coming over or calling.” Right back into the lies, as easy as ever.
“Alright,” Shane’s dad said after only a beat. “Sounds boring to me, but whatever floats your boat, right? I hope it’s fun. Or whatever it’s meant to be.”
“Yeah, it’ll be great,” Shane said, and then yawned, and stretched a bit. “I should get going.”
After assuring his mom that yes, he’d still text, and maybe call once, he was finally released back to his car to head home. Relief at giving them an excuse was caught up in the shame of it being a lie, of still not being able to gather the courage to tell his parents the most important thing. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know how to.
+1
Shane was 25, and his worst nightmare was coming true.
Well, not his worst nightmare. That was probably the paparazzi seeing Ilya with him, kissing him, and leaking it to the press. This was only his second worst nightmare: his dad seeing them together. Seeing them kissing. And then running away, off to tell his mom, before Shane could explain, before he could beg him not to.
Shane wasn’t panicking anymore, or at least not quite as much. Not now in the car with Ilya, their hands linked together, driving to his parent’s cottage. He only had a ten minute drive to get himself together.
He’d imagined coming out a hundred, a thousand, a million different times. This was not the way he wanted any of this to happen. This was the opposite of how he wanted this to happen.
At least it wasn’t the paparazzi. If pictures had leaked before he’d told his parents, too, that was actually the fucking worst option. He felt sick thinking about it.
He had to keep his eyes on the road.
Time, really, was what Shane wished he’d had. Time to get his parents to know Ilya as more than just his public persona, before introducing him to them as Shane’s as whatever they were, now. Time to get his parents used to the idea of Shane being gay—maybe he could have just come out as that without telling them about Ilya. Time to have the courage to say it himself.
But now he only had ten minutes, more like eight. Eight minutes to figure out what he was meant to say.
Hey, it's me, Shane. He practiced it in his head. Mom, Dad, I’m gay.
Mom, Dad, I’m gay, and I’m in love with my archrival. Ilya Rozanov and I are in a relationship, and we have been for… For a while, now, but we don’t need to get into the specifics.
Mom, Dad, I’m gay, and specifically gay for and with Ilya Rozanov, whom you think I hate, but I actually love. We’ve been fucking on and off for seven years, but only got together properly this past week.
Mom, Dad, I’m gay and no, I didn’t know the whole time, but falling in love with Ilya Rozanov and failing at a relationship with Rose Landry sort of cemented the whole thing. Yeah, Ilya Rozanov, the one you said to fuck right up the butt, all those years ago, and I already sort of was, but the opposite direction.
Mom, Dad, I’m gay with a capital G, and that guy in the car is Ilya Rozanov, and please don’t be mean to him, because I’m so in love with him, and if I lose him now I might just die.
Mom, Dad, I’m gay, and I’m so sorry.
Shane realized he was gripping Ilya’s hand way too tight, and glanced over at him before focusing on the road again.
“It’s okay,” Ilya said before he could apologize. Still, he backed off the grip, though he couldn’t make himself let go. “It will be okay.” Ilya sounded so sure of it, but how could he know?
“They weren’t meant to find out like this.” He knew he was acting like a coward, a pathetic coward. And part of him was even worried that Ilya was going to lose respect for him, with the way he was acting, and want to leave even if his parents weren’t assholes to him. God, what if his parents were assholes to Ilya, and he wanted to leave because of it. He started squeezing harder again. “This is—”
“Your nightmare, I know,” Ilya said, and reached over with his other hand, lightly stroking his knuckles. “But it will be okay. You will tell them, and they will understand, and if they don’t, we will go back to your cottage and drink a lot of vodka. Yes?”
Ilya knew just what to say, to make Shane laugh just enough that his thoughts stopped going around in circles. He didn’t panic like this often, but he wished he could have Ilya there every time he did. Something about him was so instantly grounding.
“Yes,” he agreed, a soft smile on his face. They were almost there. Almost out of time completely. “What should I say?”
“You will figure it out,” Ilya said, giving not what he wanted—an actual script of words—but what he arguably probably needed. Confidence. Ilya squeezed his hand, and Shane squeezed it back, strong but not squeezing the life out of it this time.
Shane pulled up into his parents’ driveway and braced himself for impact.
Hey, it's me, Shane. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have found out that way. I'm gay. Which I was gonna tell you soon. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I… Yeah, and this is Ilya. Rozanov. But you already know that. He's visiting, and we're, uh… Lovers. No, Ilya, that's gross. No. I mean, I get that, but no, I actually… I love him. I did not want this to be how I told you. I'm sorry. Can we just sit down, please?
They sat down.
For the most part, the evening went smoothly. They talked. They had dinner. His parents didn’t kick Ilya out or say anything that seemed to make him want to leave, like Shane had been worried they might. Shane had a conversation with his mother and a bit of a panic attack but other than that, he couldn’t have really asked for things to go better.
In the car on the way home, they didn’t talk much, not properly, only trading a few words during the short drive. Ilya held his hand again and Shane drove to the quiet music on the radio, his mind circling once more, though now he was mostly too tired to be panicking.
When they got out of the car, Shane lingered for just a moment. Ilya was halfway to the cottage’s door when he realized Shane wasn’t with him. A moment later, he was there, standing in front of Shane and gently taking his hands.
“It went well,” Ilya said, and Shane slowly nodded. “What is wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Shane said with a sigh. “I still feel like a coward. I don’t know why it took me so long to tell them. I knew they’d be fine about it, I just…”
“You did well,” Ilya said, and Shane closed his eyes. Ilya’s hands squeezed his own, but he didn’t make Shane open his eyes or look at him. Shane leaned back into the car. “You are not coward. You were brave.”
One of Ilya’s hands left his, but it returned a moment later to cup his cheek, and Shane found himself leaning shamelessly into it. Even though they were at the end of the private driveway to his cottage, it still made his heart beat faster to do this outside.
“I think they liked me,” Ilya said, and Shane couldn’t help a smile, his eyes slowly drifting open again. “Maybe I become favourite child to Hollander parents, hmm? They will get me Rolex brand deals.”
“Fuck you,” Shane said, no bite behind it. Shane looked up at him, and found the smile on his face. He didn’t stop himself from leaning forward and kissing it, just brushing their smiling lips together for a brief moment. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Ilya said, his voice lower and more serious. “And you did very good job today.” Ilya ran a hand through Shane’s hair, nails scratching over his scalp in a way that made him shiver. “Now let me take you inside and congratulate you properly.”
Shane nodded, letting Ilya lead him by the hand back into the cottage, his stomach already warming.
Shane was 25, and he was out, if only to his parents, and he had a boyfriend, and everything was going to be okay.