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The lake was so still it reflected the wisps of clouds like a mirror. Shane stared out at it, pleasantly exhausted from the bench on the dock. He and Ilya went swimming earlier. It’s something they’ve done practically every day since Ilya arrived. He’s taken everything about the cottage and found a way to make Shane see it in a new light. Now there are tinges of crud Russian jokes mixed with his memories of his living room, and the way Ilya shares the kitchen with him in the mornings will be forever imprinted on his soul.
The last week has been so much more than Shane ever imagined it could be. All he had wanted was some time where he and Ilya could relax together. The idea of not having to rush through a hook up might have been the initial inspiration, but over the last six months it had become increasingly clear to him that what he really wanted, if he’d let himself admit it, was this: the two of them cuddled up on his private dock, away from prying eyes but together in the daylight.
Moments like this, with Shane’s head resting comfortably in Ilya’s lap while his boyfriend’s fingers comb through his damp hair are more than he ever thought he could have, especially after the last 24 hours.
When his father walked in on Shane and Ilya kissing yesterday he was sure that some foundational part of his life was over.
But the floor never dropped out from under him. Ilya went with him to his parents and stood by his side like a steady, deep rooted tree. There have been a thousand small moments in the last week where he knew Ilya was all in, hell, they were finally brave enough to admit they loved each other and had a plan to be together, but yesterday when Ilya clung to his side like he was ready to personally throw his body on any grenade Shane’s parents may decide to throw he knew there would never be any going back.
There would never be any going back not because his parents had decided that his gayness or his relationship were too much, but because through all of it he now understood that the thing that had always been missing from these long, slow summers was Ilya.
His entire life there has been some missing piece. When they were in his parents living room yesterday it was like a phantom limb had been brought home. The Hollander’s coach was always meant to seat another person, and that person was destined to be Ilya. At least that’s how it felt to Shane.
Now his parents are coming over for a proper dinner to get to know his boyfriend and there is something still nagging at the back of his mind.
“What did you and my dad talk about yesterday?” Shane asks, his thumb rubbing small circles against Ilya’s sunkissed thigh. “When I was outside with mom.”
“Not much. He asked if I was enjoying my time in Canada. I told him very much. I have not had many relaxing vacations.”
Shane hums in acknowledgement. Ilya had sat quietly and answered any questions his parents had, within reason, yesterday. His jokes were tamer, his entire demeanor was something Shane wouldn’t have recognized if he hadn’t spent the last half a year taking a chisel to the hardest parts of Ilya’s armour. Now, in hindsight, watching Ilya meet Shane’s parents was like seeing him try out for the most important team he’d ever join.
In all of the feelings and anxiety of coming out to his parents Shane may have overlooked the fact that accepting him as he is dose not have to come hand in hand with welcoming Ilya, and how he saw that metaphorical try out might actually not be what happened in reality.
“We were gone for like 15 minutes,” he says. He digs a nail gently into Ilya’s skin, probing him on.
“I also complemented his choice in vodka,” Ilya says with a sigh, “I wanted him to like me. He is very quiet.”
“Yeah. He can be. Especially until he gets to know someone. You really think tonight is a good idea?” Shane turns just enough so that he’s looking up at Ilya. The hand that was in his hair falls to his shoulder and Shane reaches up, tracing a line between the moles that make up the topography of Ilya’s torso.
“I think I would like to spend time with your parents again. This time they know I am here, it will not be so awkward. They want to see us both, yes?”
“Yeah, I think that’s what they want.” Shane hopes he sounds more confident than he feels. His parents absolutely want to see him. They want him to have the best life. That has always meant success on the ice, sponsorships, and a golden reputation. He’s not sure that his parents had ever considered something like this, his personal happiness, until yesterday, and even then him being happy with Ilya definitely conflicts with the other things that have always come first.
“You are okay, still?”
“I think I’m still in shock.” It’s not that he thought his parents wouldn’t be okay with him being gay, but he spent his entire adult life lying to them. He has been in a clandestine relationship since he was 18, and pining for a man who had no business taking up any space in his head for even longer.
Shane has never lied to them about anything else. He’s never had reason to. His life was always hockey, sponsorships, and cross training.
They lay there until they’re mostly dry and the sun sneaks behind a large cloud, casting their warm bench in shadows. They’ve been outside long enough that Shane knows they could both fall asleep for hours just from being exposed to so much fresh air.
But they don’t have hours. He is sure that if they went back into the cottage one of their phones would be lit up with a string of texts. There is no way his dad is making the short drive back to Shane’s place without checking that he and Ilya are both dressed and behaved.
By the time Shane convinces Ilya that really they need to shower and make themselves presentable for his parents they’re already late. Shane’s mom had texted twenty minutes ago, and his dad followed up ten minutes later. Shane shoots off a quick message letting them know that they’re still ready to see them at five and very excited about it before pushing Ilya into the bathroom to finish getting ready.
Shane is still buttoning up his shirt when he hears the telltale signs of car wheels on the gravel of his driveway. This is it. Yesterday was a test in acceptance. His parents passed with flying colors. Today he wants more. It isn’t enough that they accept this new to them version of Shane. He wants their approval, a quick recalibration so that by the end of tonight he doesn’t have to worry about how the rest of the summer will play out. It doesn’t matter that yesterday Ilya was practically giddy at the idea of his parents not hating him. In Shane’s mind that is the bare fucking minimum.
He doesn’t want to have to choose between seeing his parents and spending time with Ilya. He’s not even sure if that’s a choice he could make. Not now, with Ilya standing at his side with their fingers intertwined like he both needs comfort and wants to anchor Shane before he starts to hyperventilate.
Because really, the sight of his parents getting out of their car with the same tote bag full of groceries they bring to his house every time they’re here makes him want to kneel over. This isn’t normal, no matter how badly he wants it to be. They are at least five hours and endless small talk away from discovering if there is even a bridge to normal
Shane wants their approval so much he thinks it might eat him alive. He’s never had to work for it before. He doesn’t know how to show his parents that his love for his boyfriend is such an integral part of him that anything other than full unwavering love and support for both of them feels like a slap in the face.
He doesn’t think he can communicate this without sounding like a child throwing a tantrum. The last thing he wants his parents to think is that Ilya is his one act of rebellion. Maybe when he was young that was part of it. Maybe. But it has always been so much more, and now he is sure that this is the only love he wants in his life.
So Shane hugs his parents and Ilya opens the door for his mom and her giant tote bag full of groceries. And then the normalcy stops. There’s no script for Shane to help merge this in-between moment. Ilya is always close by. Now he rests a hand on the small of his back.
“Maybe we should start dinner? Then we can all talk while we eat,” Ilya says, his fingers trace small circles against Shane’s back. His parents watch them. His dad’s expression is unreadable, but his mom smiles. Things were easier when they were eating yesterday. Ilya has a point.
“Sure. Dad, want to help me grill?” He asks, even though his mouth is so dry he thinks he’s going to choke. “Mom, you’re good on side duty?”
“I know the drill,” She says with a laugh, already headed for her bag of endless groceries.
“I can help you in the kitchen, if that is okay?” Ilya asks, Yuna nods and Shane takes the opportunity to nudge his hip against Ilya’s.
“Yeah, you absolutely should be pulling your weight with my family, Rozanov.”
---
Yesterday when he and Shane had walked hand in hand into his parents house Ilya had braced for the worst.
Sure, Shane had always talked about his parents in a way that was full of love and support. That didn’t mean that his father catching the two of them in an intense embrace was going to be accepted at face value. There were plenty of people who thought they could accept their children in theory, and many more that were happy to be considered allies as long as the people they needed to support were not their own family.
Ilya had been ready to throw himself onto hot coals if it meant Shane’s parents didn’t break his heart.
There was a moment, just one, where he was sure he would need to. Their concern wasn’t with Shane, but him. Ilya was used to his own family hating him. It isn’t a surprise that upon seeing him with their son the Hollander’s could only gape at the two of them in confused horror. Ilya knew if needed he would turn himself into a villain to make sure Shane’s parents didn’t turn on him.
But that wasn’t what he wanted. No, he saw the way Yuna looked at her son with such love and sadness, and the way David stared at the both of them like something was sliding into place in his mind. Ilya wanted the people who loved Shane and made him the person he is today to look at him and see someone worthy of their son's love.
So Ilya follows Yuna into Shane’s kitchen even though he has spent the last four days with Shane here cooking, making coffee, and stealing kisses before almost setting off the smoke alarm. He nods as Shane’s mom lists out the contents of her grocery bag like he’s supposed to intuitively know what she’s making, and he helps her reach for the large bowl on the shelf next to the refrigerator.
The entire time he communicates mostly in hums of acknowledgement. He doesn’t know what to say. Yesterday, when Yuna was outside with Shane, Ilya sat across from David in their kitchen. He was glad the table could cover the way his leg bounced. He had no control over the nervous energy coursing through his body.
They sat there for a solid two minutes without speaking. Eventually David asked him about his stay, and Ilya complimented his vodka before they sank back into uncomfortable silence.
“I think I’m supposed to ask about your intentions with my son,” David said eventually after a long pull of his drink.
Ilya let the words wash over him. He understood them, mostly. Just not in this context.
“I am sorry I do not think I understand what intentions means,” He admitted. He wanted to take a drink, but he had to make a good impression. He needs to do this for Shane. He was already failing. He left Russia eight years ago this month and he still let English slip him up when it matters.
He waited for his judgement. David stared at him from across the table, but then his face softened before he broke eye contact, drumming his fingers against the table.
“Are you serious about what this is between the two of you? Shane doesn’t do anything by halves. If you’re here this means something to him.”
Ilya had thought about the entire building Shane bought so they could hook up multiple times a year, then the way he held him in Tampa, and how wouldn’t let him retreat into himself when he was back in Moscow for his father’s funeral. No, Shane Hollander did not do anything by halves. Not when he wanted them.
“I am the most serious. There is nothing more important than him.”
He’s not sure David believed him, but the questions stopped. Ilya watched as David went about setting a pot on the stove and rummaging through the kitchen until Shane and Yuna came back inside.
Now, it’s Yuna he watches take stock of the contents of Shane’s fridge. He watches her smile tighten as she spots the cans of Coke Shane bought for him and the leftovers they’ve been working through after leisurely afternoons by the lake.
“Mrs Hollander, I can help,” He says to her back. He can’t stand here in silence any longer. Shane wants him here. He trusts him to help with dinner and talk to his mother. He can do this.
“You’re a guest,” Yuna says, pulling out a jug of milk and some cheese from the fridge.
“Shane would put me to work. I am pretty good in the kitchen.” He makes an effort to not drop articles, use full, complete English sentences. He doesn’t want another slip up like yesterday where he didn’t understand David.
Yuna surveys him from the other side of the kitchen island. He hadn’t planned on needing to impress anyone but Shane when he left Boston and the nicest shirt he brought still feels too casual for this situation. There are think pieces written about him weekly during the season, people commenting on everything from his choice of shoes to how he behaves on the bench, but now having his boyfriend’s mother study he feel more exposed than he ever has.
“There’s a lot that needs to be chopped for the salad. Shane likes extra-” She says after a moment, her eyes meeting his.
“Tomatoes, yes. I’ve noticed.”
They begin to work in a mutually awkward silence. It really hasn’t taken Ilya long to learn the ins and outs of this space, especially when he and Shane have actually found it fun to cook together. Yuna watches him chop up an ungodly amount of tomatoes while she works on a roux at the stove.
“I wish you both had felt comfortable with us knowing,” She says after throwing in a generous portion of freshly ground pepper into her pot.
Ilya grabs an onion from the bag on the counter and begins slicing, careful to make sure the pieces are even in a way he would never care about if he were doing it for himself.
“Was nothing really to know, not until recently. Yes we have been together in a way for a long time but this,” He gestures at the cottage and hopes she understands just how much that means, “did not feel possible. Not until my father died and Hunter kissed a man on television.”
She hums, and Ilya recognizes it as the same noise Shane makes when he is in the process of understanding something. He loves that noise out of Shane.
“You visited Shane in the hospital when he was injured,” Yuna says. It isn’t a question. Ilya had gathered over the years that she must be a smart woman, strategic, like her son in so many ways. He wonders if she was up all night trying to put together a picture of their relationship based on seven years of match ups and MHL events.
“Da. Yes,” He says, silently chiding himself for letting the Russian slip out, “It was reckless. He should have been mad.”
Honestly, Ilya is still amazed that after Shane sobered up his invite to the cottage still stood. A year ago it wouldn’t have. He would have been furious that Ilya would even dare to compromise them like that.
“It’s pretty normal for captains to reach out like. I know Shane has in the past. It’s good sportsmanship.”
Ilya shakes his head as the onions burn at his eyes. So much for a good impression.
“This was not sportsmanship. The second I walked into the building I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave until I saw that he was okay. I was so scared and if he had been hurt worse I think I would have missed my next game. I needed to see that he was awake and there would have been no excuse for me to be there. Nothing. And I would not have left.” He doesn’t need to tell Shane’s mom that he’s had a lifetime of shitty days, but the time he spent waiting for visiting hours at the hospital a few months ago is in his top five. “You would have probably had security remove me from hospital.”
He tries at a laugh, though it sounds a little watery. Shane is alright. It doesn’t matter that at the time Ilya thought the best thing he could do for Shane was break things off, and even then he couldn’t stay away. Yuna watches him, her expression the same one of tight sadness he saw yesterday, and then, pushes a bag of brussels sprouts toward him.
Ilya takes the hint. The onions go into a bowl and the sprouts take their place on the cutting board. He focuses intently on cutting them in half as he tries to figure out what he has to say next.
“If it had been worse I don’t know that I could have played again. Every time I closed my eyes that night I saw him laid out on the ice. He kept trying to talk to me. His whole team just left and he was so alone. I couldn’t leave him and I know one day someone will look back at that game and say of course we were more than rivals. He should have been furious with me for adding to any speculation. He is always so careful about us.”
Yuna adjusts the temperature on the stove and walks the few steps between her and Ilya’s station with the cutting board.
“He wasn’t mad. He mentioned it a few times when he was still high as a kite,” She says, reaching out and steadying his shaky hand. She takes the knife from him and sets it out the counter.
“I love him. Sometimes it is scary to me. Is why it has taken us so long to get here. I promise he will be safe with me. I won’t be reckless like at hospital again. I’ll protect his career,” Ilya says, turning to Yuna and meeting her gaze. He hated seeing Shane so worried this afternoon, especially when it’s clear his parents only want him to be happy. “I will protect us.”
Yuna lets out a huff and Ilya wonders if this was too much. He is still Rozanov, the man who has taken so many accolades from her precious son. His reputation precedes him into every room, and half an hour chopping vegetables and making a salad can’t undo the most basic facts of his career.
But then she cautiously lifts her arms and engulfs Ilya in an awkward hug.
“Ilya, I am so happy my son found you,” She says before she pulls away, holding him at arms length.” Now those cucumbers aren’t going to cut themselves.”
---
“Let’s start the grill,” His dad says, turning some nobs and adjusting the set of stainless steel tools Shane put out earlier to save on time.
Yesterday Shane was part of a united front, and for the most part his parents stood together as one as well. There were the few moments he had with his mom outside, ones where Ilya said he and his father chatted fairly amiably and started dinner.
But Shane didn’t have a moment alone with his father. Every time he thinks about yesterday the thing that still sours his stomach is the way his father, the man who first put him on ice skates and taught him how to hold a hockey stick, looked at him like he was some stranger and then ran away.
“Dad, I know this isn’t easy for you,” Shane says, adjusting the plate of chicken so that it will be easier to access once the grill is up to temperature.
This should be easy. Most summer nights they spend like this, the two of them at the grill. It’s where they catch up and talk about the world, or more often, hockey. It’s where Shane learned how to hook up a propane tank and learned about minor repairs to the cottage.
“Nothing hard about it, we just want you to be happy. It was just surprising that Roz-, Ilya is that person for you,” His father takes out the tongs and places the chicken delicately on the grill before reaching for his beer, “He was very polite yesterday.”
Shane sinks down to one of the Adirondack chairs. HIs arms rest on his knees as he hunches over.
“Yeah. He wanted you to support me. Which is stupid, I knew you’d be okay with me being gay, at least I was pretty sure. I was honestly more worried that you wouldn’t accept him, that you’d try to negotiate me out of loving him. I was terrified you’d tell me all the ways we don’t make sense together, believe me I already know them, and you’d tell me to find someone else.” He’s still not sure this won’t happen. Ilya could be the dictionary definition of perfect today, just like he was polite and kind yesterday, and it still might not matter. He’s had seven years to cement an impression in his father’s head. He’s hidden this for too long, and sure, Ilya doesn’t seem as worried, but that doesn’t mean everything is perfect. “I didn’t know how to tell you and mom that I like men, but also that Ilya is the one that makes me want to be happy. Not like how hockey makes me happy, or being up here on the lake.”
Shane watches for a reaction, anything. He knows his dad. He’s calm, collected, and doesn’t usually speak without knowing what he’s going to say. Shane usually understands. He is the one who practices before interviews and spent his entire summer before his rookie season with a consultant to work on media training, but right now all he has is nearly a decade of things he has wanted to say and it’s like a dam burst.
“Ilya makes me believe I can be happy on a random Tuesday in the middle of August. No ice, no cottage, just us. That I can leave a brand meeting and look down at my phone and smile because he texted me. It’s taken me years to let myself believe I can have both that happiness and hockey. The truth is I never really looked for anyone else. I don’t want a nice man in Montreal. That person won’t challenge me to be better, and I don’t think they could make me happy.”
Shane can smell the chicken charring, but his dad’s attention is no longer on the grill. He stares at Shane with such an open, hurt expression that it’s all he can do to continue.
“I really just want a chance to be happy. I don’t think I have been, not for a long time,” It’s the one thing he’s wanted to say his entire adult life. Sure, hockey makes him happy, it’s his life’s work, but hockey doesn’t brighten his life, it doesn’t make him want to be brave or kind. That’s all Ilya. and one day hockey won’t be there for him, but he’s pretty sure the Russian asshole currently making salads and sides with his mother will. “So it would mean a lot if you could maybe try, like really hard, to forget about what he’s like on the ice. I know we weren’t together long yesterday but I promise he’s different. He’s so special. He deserves-”
His dad holds up the pair of tongs and shakily slashes them through the air, cutting Shane off mid sentence.
“Son, if he makes you happy he already has my full approval. You don’t have to defend him to me. I am sorry I ran out yesterday. That wasn’t my finest parenting moment. It was probably up there with the time I let you skate on that half frozen pond.”
He drops the tongs and strides over to the other chair, perching at the end and placing a hand under Shane’s chin, forcing him to look at him. His eyes water. He doesn’t want to cry, not again, but this entire week has been too much. He never hoped he could have Ilya completely and have his parents support. The idea of them being together and out to his family within days is whiplash. His brain can’t keep up with all of the things it needs to recalibrate.
But his dad is here with a comforting clasp on his shoulder and Ilya is in the house somewhere with his mom. He got a chance to say everything that he’s kept bottled up for years and nothing bad happened.
“It was so good to see you smile yesterday. Your mom and I haven’t seen a real one from you in so long. I think we forgot what it looked like. I am so sorry we didn’t notice.”
The last shreds of his resolve fall away. Shane hunches over and lets the tears fall. It feels different from yesterday when he cried in his mom’s arms. He still had so much anxiety then. Now it’s like each time he heaves for air his nerves release.
“And if it helps I had a really nice conversation with your boyfriend when you were outside with mom. We’re here for you both. Now how about we get dinner going so we can show Ilya what a Hollander game night looks like?”
---
“How did it go?” Shane asks as he helps set the table. The sun is just starting to lower and the lake is taking on a brilliant golden hue.
Ilya has learned to love the way the lake looks before sunset. He also loves it in the morning, and has never enjoyed swimming as much as he does on lazy, hot afternoons. Tonight the lake feels different. It’s the backdrop to his first planned family dinner.
“Yuna is nice. Very good cook. A little particular about cutting brussels sprouts, but we made it through,” He says, setting a large salad near the center of the outdoor table. “I think your parents are coming around.”
“I think so too.”
Shane busies himself by straightening napkins, and then making sure everyone has their preferred drinks. Ilya wants to pull him back to the table, maybe even onto his lap, and force him to settle. Though even with his nervous energy he seems happier, lighter.
It strikes him that this is just how Shane is when he is caring for his people. He’s had a week of watching Shane now to know that this is just their nightly dinners on a slightly larger scale. Yuna and David seem to agree. They sit down across from Ilya and watch their son carry out two bottles of beer and a chilled bottle of wine.
“You let me help next time,” He says, taking the wine from Shane and pouring a glass for Yuna and himself.
“Next time,“ Shane agrees, leaning over to kiss his cheek before plopping into the seat next to him.
Ilya is sure there will be a next time. Dinner is perfect. Sure, the food is good, but he’s come to expect that of anything Shane touches. It’s the ease of conversation that actually makes it one of the best meals of his life. Tonight when they talk about Ilya’s new plan to play for Ottawa there is no judgement from Yuna. David has stories of growing up rooting for the Centaurs, and there is a brief moment where he muses about how it’ll be like his son is playing for his hometown team, since Shane will obviously never leave Montreal. Ilya will have to fill that roll.
After dessert and another round of drinks the sun has nearly disappeared from the horizon. Shane has an arm slung around Ilya’s chair, pulling him closer while he and his parents debate games.
“Yahtze. We need to introduce Ilya to game night,” Yuna suggests, tilting her glass towards David for a refill.
“Too intense. I still say monopoly is the way to go.” Shane’s suggestion is met with a chorus of groans. Ilya raises an eyebrow towards his boyfriend who shakes his head in response.
“Shane, I do not think Ilya is prepared to see you become a real estate mogul,” David says, “We’d like him to keep coming around.”
He barks out a laugh. Shane sinks back into his chair, running a hand over his face.
“Oh, is he Mr. Landlord?”
David and Yuna laugh. For a second Shane looks like he’ll kill him, but then his face softens and he pulls him back into his arms.
They settle on cards, some trick tacking game the Ilya finds confusing, but is still fun. Yuna is the most competitive person he has ever met, and David understands strategy in a way he finds surprising. He is sure that with some practice he will be good enough to make Shane want to be his partner.
Later, Shane’s parents stand at the doorway with a bag overflowing with leftovers. David pulls him in for a hug, and then Yuna wraps him in another tight embrace. He doesn’t quite know what to make of the gestures, but he doesn’t want them to end.
Ilya stands with Shane just outside the door and watches as his parents car backs out of the driveway and starts down the road.
“They’re really happy for us,” Shane says, pulling Ilya into his arms and placing an opened mouth kiss against his jaw. Ilya doesn’t have words for how much love he feels at this moment. He’s never had family care about him like how David and Yuna did today, and they’ve only known him for a matter of hours.
“I’m pretty sure you’re stuck with me for life now.”
“Good. I would not want it any other way.”