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They’d had it planned out for at least two months. Well, Shane had, at least. His plan made the most sense: His parents were in Ottawa. They could drive, they had room in the house, and they loved Ilya.
Ilya had pushed back. He could drive. He had a big, empty house near the surgery. And he loved David and Yuna, but he could take care of himself.
They had argued back and forth for two full weeks, neither willing to admit defeat. But the dentist had been pretty fucking clear that the anaesthetic would be strong, so Ilya wouldn’t be able to drive himself anywhere, or even look after himself, for at least a day. Two days, in some cases, and he’d have pain and swelling for up to two weeks.
“I could wait until summer,” Ilya mused, carding his fingers absently through Shane’s hair. His head was resting against Ilya’s bare chest, the snow piling down outside the window. “Get surgery, go to Cottage.”
”Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Shane scoffed, “The dentist said it had to be as soon as possible, or they’re gonna get infected.”
”Okay, Mr. Dental Health. Who has the wisdom teeth, me or you? Me. So, I think I have the most wisdom in this situation.”
”You’ve never had wisdom in your fucking life.” Shane propped his head up on his hand, looking at Ilya sleepily. “People with wisdom don’t drive Ducatis.”
He knew he was right. If not about the wisdom, then at least about the waiting. It was December, for crying out loud. There was no way Ilya could wait six months to have his wisdom teeth removed, not when they were already causing him so much pain.
Still, Ilya kept protesting that he could figure it out. Even at dinner, when Yuna had pushed a bowl of lemon-pepper salad towards him and asked, “Sweetheart, do you want us to make up the guest room, or would you rather sleep in Shane’s room?”
Shane fixed his eyes quickly on his grilled salmon, but he could still feel Ilya’s accusatory gaze settling on him.
“I am not sure what you mean,” Ilya replied, words slow and careful. Shane stabbed at his salmon.
“Whatever makes you most comfortable,” Yuna smiled, “Wisdom teeth are nasty business. I remember when David’s came through, oh, boy—”
”Worse than childbirth,” David grinned, wiggling his eyebrows cheekily. Shane had heard them have this argument maybe a hundred times, and every time his mom still took the bait. Then again, he pretty consistently falls for Ilya baiting him into playful fights, so he really wasn’t one to talk.
“Anyway,” Yuna rolled her eyes, “It’s your choice, honey. The guest room is a little bigger, but Shane’s room is… Well, I guess it’s more familiar, right?”
“Right,” Ilya groused, tearing his eyes away from Shane and settling his expression into something flat. “Guest room is perfect. Thank you.”
Shane nudged his foot under the table; Ilya nudged back.
He knew his fiancé well. Really fucking well. He was deeply familiar with the complexities of Ilya Rozanov’s brain, which meant he was deeply familiar with how he craved the comfort of being cared for, but pushed it away at every turn. But his parents had been making progress, slowly but surely, like luring a stray fucking cat in from the rain.
If Shane thought about it for too long, it threatened to break his heart clean in two. Ilya had spent a long, long time pretending that he didn’t need anything or anyone. For a number of reasons, starting with his father and ending with every other fucking thing that life had thrown at him. Including him, to a point. Shane knew he’d contributed to it, but just hadn’t been able to unpack how or why yet.
Maybe he should look into therapy, too.
But Ilya had been vocal to Shane about how much he liked his parents, how honoured he felt to be welcomed into their family, how much it meant to him to be accepted by people who meant so much to Shane.
He wanted to let them in. Shane knew that. It was just maybe a little harder than he’d expected.
“I’m gonna call as soon as I’m off the ice, okay?”
”Okay.”
”Do whatever the dentist tells you to do. Okay?”
”Okay.”
”And my mom is gonna text me as soon as you’re out, so I—“
”Hollander,” Ilya interrupted, closing both of his broad hands around Shane’s cheeks, “Is fine. Plan is in place, yes?”
”I’mjus’sayi— Get off, asshole,” Shane wrestled himself free of Ilya’s grip, but pressed a kiss to his wrist before he could pull away entirely, “I’m gonna fly back as soon as the media stuff is done. I promise.”
Ilya’s eyes were twinkling in that stupid, hot, mischievous way they did when he was about to say something dirty. “You want to play nurse, ah?”
”Ilya.”
”Dr. Hollander wants to give the patient a sponge bath—“
”Rozanov!”
Ilya trailed off, his words fading into peals of laughter. If Shane could bottle that sound and keep it with him forever, he’d do it in a heartbeat. In fact, he’d bottle the sound of Ilya’s heartbeat, too, and keep them both with him when he was in Montreal, or on the road, or basically anywhere that Ilya wasn’t.
HOLLANDER-OV FAMILY GROUP
MOM
Nurse says he’s out! Everything went well.
MOM sent a picture
DAD
Look at that! Kid is out cold.
Quietest I’ve seen him in years!
SHANE
Aw. Glad it went well!
MOM
Put your phone away while you’re playing!
SHANE
I’m on the bench mom.
YOU texted ME.
I couldn’t focus until I knew it went well.
I don’t trust his dentist.
DAD
You don’t trust any dentists kiddo. You bit me once when you were a kid trying to get out of there.
SHANE
That didn’t happen. I’m putting my phone away now. Tell Ilya I said hi.
Yuna loved both of her sons so much that, sometimes, the emotion of it all threatened to overwhelm her.
She’d always felt that way with Shane. Maybe she showed it a little differently than other moms did; she threw herself into research after Shane’s diagnosis, doing everything she could to learn about autism so she could advocate for him, and support him. And she did the same with hockey, too; it had already been her lifelong love, and sharing it with her only son was hardly a hardship.
But then she gained a soon to be son-in-law. Ilya Rozanov was, by all accounts, an asshole. Rude, and reckless on the ice, a total vanity player with less strategy than he had bloodlust.
It was an adjustment, to say the least.
But Ilya had slotted into their family like he was always supposed to be there, like they were just playing catch-up with the universe. Very quickly, Yuna realised that she didn’t just love Ilya for the way he loved Shane, though she was often in awe of how open and giving he was towards her son.
No, she loved him because he was kind, and funny, and heartbreakingly, awkwardly polite when the situation called for it. Stubborn as a mule with a wicked sense of wit, teasing and tall and so very, very sad.
She had noticed it on-and-off even before he’d moved to Ottawa, but since then it had become glaringly obvious. Where Shane was often an overly-stretched rubber band vibrating from anxiety, Ilya reminded Yuna of a deep lake. Flat on the surface, maybe, but with some deep currents tugging at him where no-one else could see.
He hid it very well. Lighthearted jokes, and convincing excuses, and deep purple rings beneath his eyes.
So, yes, Yuna loved her sons so much that sometimes, the feeling was overwhelming. And that was exactly what came over her when they escorted her into the outpatient recovery room.
Really, it should have been funny; Ilya, completely unconscious, with his mouth stuffed with cotton and that ugly hospital gown cutting a pale slash across his tanned skin. But to Yuna, he just looked small. For a second, she didn’t see the second-best player in the NHL, the Bears’ own nicknamed Red Menace, the Terminator of the Centaurs.
No. Yuna could see the little twelve-year-old boy who had been left alone with a man who didn’t love him so very clearly in Ilya’s sleeping form. She sniffed once, and sent a quick picture of him to their family group chat; the game was playing quietly on the TV mounted on the wall, and she knew Shane had just finished a shift. As much as she disapproved, he’d probably be keeping his phone on him, at least until he knew that Ilya was alright.
She knew her son, afterall.
YUNA
Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll take good care of him.
SHANE
Thanks, mom.
I worry about him.
YUNA
I know. He’s okay. We’ve got him. <3
The sedation had hit him a little harder than it hit most people, but the doctors had assured Yuna that it was totally normal. Some people, he’d said, just reacted worse. He was fine to go home, but they should bring him back if he passed out or vomited for more than twenty-four hours.
Ilya slept most of the day, including the car ride home. Getting him into the car had been a trial itself, requiring David, Yuna, and a nurse to help them get him up out of the wheelchair and into the backseat of her Jeep.
Despite this, they managed to get him home and set up on the couch at least twenty minutes earlier than expected, which was good. Shane had called the second he was off the ice, breathless and panting from the hard-fought win, demanding updates and pictures and checking that everything had turned out okay.
“It wasn’t brain surgery, Shane,” Yuna had argued, her phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder. Her hands were busy carding through Ilya’s hair. “He’s absolutely fine. We’re watching a movie.”
”He’s awake already?” Shane's voice was tinny down the line, bad service in the tunnels, she guessed. “How has he been?”
”He’s been in and out, mostly out. I’m watching Finding Nemo and he’s asleep on my lap.”
“Don’t make him watch that, mom! The mom fish dies!”
Yuna rolled her eyes. “Shane. You are both going into your thirties. Ilya isn’t a fish. I think it’s fine.”
Through the phone, she could hear people calling out to him; media, perhaps, or his team. The trials of being team captain.
”Go,” She urged him, “Your dad booked you a flight for this evening, he said he emailed the details.”
”Okay. Thanks, mom.” Shane went silent for a few seconds, and then added, “I love you!” before hanging up.
Ilya woke up again about an hour before Shane’s flight was set to depart. Yuna checked his pain, and changed his gauze, at which Ilya made a truly disgusted face. He tried to say a few things in Russian, before switching to English.
Every other sentence was some variation of ‘Where is Shane?’ with a few more general questions and statements dotted in between; things like, ‘You are very pretty, Yuna,’ and ‘I am the heaviest rock in the pond,’ which she chooses to interpret as a commentary on the lingering effects of anaesthesia.
It was, for the most part, very, very sweet. He preened when she smoothed his hair back, and reached for her boneless and willing when she settled beside him on the couch. Ilya Rozanov on anaesthetic was exactly the big, goofy teddy bear she’d expected him to be.
Except, she noticed, when David was in the room.
David had been flitting about, to and fro, all day. He had a to-do list as long as his arm, with chores to check off upstairs, downstairs, and in the garage. But when he stepped into the living room, or at least into Ilya’s field vision, Yuna could see something changing in Ilya’s expression.
Whatever had been pried open by the pain medications and his hazy state immediately shuttered. His large body tensed beside her, taking over a stillness that she had never seen on him outside of the rink. His hazel eyes, barely open, would take over something cautious, watching, tracking David’s movements as he carried boxes in and out, or stood with his hands on his hips a few feet away from the television.
And then David would walk out to the garage, or slink back into the kitchen, absolutely none the wiser; and Ilya would relax again. His eyes would flutter closed, or he’d mumble something close to nonsense. One time he tried to stand up, all misplaced muscle and uncoordinated limbs, but Yuna settled him back down easily enough.
It was jarring, and it made Yuna feel sick to her stomach. Ilya and David were usually as thick as thieves, often teaming up together against the unstoppable force that she and Shane made. They did puzzles together, and took walks together, and even ran errands together when Ilya had a day off training.
But Yuna wasn’t an idiot. She could imagine why Ilya, vulnerable and sedated and in pain, would have that kind of reaction to a man he saw as a kind of father figure. She hoped he saw David as a father figure, anyway. With motherly desperation, she wanted Ilya to feel like he was a solid, cared for, unmovable part of their family.
“Where is Shane?”
”He’s on his way,” Yuna soothed, trying not to smile. “He was playing today. He won!”
”Well, of course. Who else? How else? He is always winner.”
”His flight should be landing soon. Do you need anything, sweetheart? Water?”
Ilya shook his head violently, curls flying, and immediately winced into himself when the movement jostled his jaw.
“Ouch.” He looked up at Yuna, blinking blearily. “I have concussion?”
Yuna opened her mouth to respond, fond and ready to repeat no, Ilya, you had your wisdom teeth removed, when David opened the door.
For a second, Ilya didn’t notice, head lolling back happily against the couch cushions, and Yuna thought that maybe she’d been overthinking things. Maybe he’d just been tensing in pain, earlier.
But then David stepped into the room, and Ilya tensed up again. He was sprawled across the couch, shoulder to shoulder with Yuna, his head pillowed and jaw supported. For the past half hour he’d been pretty much boneless, like a toddler taking a nap, but it only took a split second for every muscle in his body to seemingly activate.
Yuna kept tracing comforting circles on his shoulder, trying to mother away whatever was triggering his fear. Because it was fear that was causing his tension. She could see it in the set of his shoulders, the crease of his brow, the way his breathing slowed to be as quiet and still as possible.
“How are we doing in here?” David asked, happy and oblivious. Yuna exhaled.
”We’re doing okay, aren’t we?” She tried to force some cheer into her tone, squeezing Ilya’s shoulder gently. She remembered what the doctor had said, about the sedatives reacting badly with Ilya’s system, his consciousness not being where most people would be.
He was still watching David warily.
“Yeah?” David asked, grabbing his keys from the mantle and shoving them in the pocket of his jeans, “You feeling good, Ilya?”
Ilya shrugged. Yuna hoped that would be that; David was going to the airport to pick Shane up, and she hoped that her sons presence would help Ilya settle a little more. Hoped, but didn’t exactly believe.
She was going to have to explain his reaction to the sedatives to Shane, and that would probably set him off into a spiral of research and anxiety. Unneeded anxiety, because Ilya’s very expensive and very skilled dentist had told her it was fine, and somewhat normal. But still. She knew her son.
David reached forward to ruffle a hand through Ilya’s hair, the same way he had hundreds of times by that point, and Ilya flinched away from him so hard that Yuna thought he might be having a delayed reaction to the sedative. Some kind of seizure, or muscle spasm. She almost wished that was the case, but it very clearly wasn’t.
Ilya had flinched away from her hopelessly sweet, constantly gentle husband, and had thrown an arm out over her, too. Protecting her, no doubt, from a threat she had never seen or experienced.
Ilya was far over six feet tall, made seemingly from pure muscle. He could easily have lurched up towards the perceived threat and put a fist to David’s jaw, but he didn’t. Maybe he was too tired, or too afraid, or maybe it was just muscle memory from a time long ago, pulled out of him by the pain and the sedatives. But he’d still put that lone, protective arm out across Yuna.
“Whoa, kiddo, okay,” David held both hands up in front of him, concern creasing his features. “It’s okay, Ilya. You just get some rest.”
He was still as handsome as the day Yuna met him, and she was overcome with a swell of love for the stupid, kind, patient man that had latched onto her in college and never let go. A lot of men would have been offended, or gotten angry, or felt put out. David just looked worried.
“I’m gonna go pick Shaney up,” David threw her a wink, dropping their years-old nickname as if it wasn’t going to tear at her already shredded heart, “Are you guys good here?”
”Mhm,” Yuna hummed, gently coaxing Ilya back into a more comfortable position against the pillows, “Drive safe. Don’t speed. I’m serious.”
”I never speed when Shane’s in the car, he doesn’t let me!” David groused, but shook his head fondly. “See you later, pretty girl.”
”Pretty girl,” Yuna muttered, as the door clicked shut behind him. Ilya was shaking beneath her hands, ever so slightly; it reminded her of the way Shane would shake when he was younger, when the grocery store was too loud, or the neighbours were setting off fireworks. “Can you believe him? What a goof.”
Shane’s flight got in ahead of schedule, so he was already waiting at the gate when David arrived. His dad looked the same as ever; baseball cap covering his hair, a checked shirt, and blue jeans. It was an immediately comforting sight, but even the calming effect of his dad’s firm hug couldn’t dull the anxiety buzzing under his skin.
The game was a mess. He’d been distracted, thinking about Ilya and then feeling stupid for thinking about Ilya. It was basically a glorified dentist appointment, that’s what his mom had said. It was barely even a surgery, just classed that way for insurance. Still, it made him twitch. He felt guilty for not being there to, like, hold his hand or something.
Montreal still won, but barely, and no thanks to him. He’d fought through a ruthless media scrum, reporters questioning his play and his state of mind, whether he was distracted. He’d brushed them off as brusquely as possible while remaining polite, and slipped away to make his flight.
“C’mon,” David said, taking Shane’s bag despite his protests, “Let’s go relieve your mom of babysitting duties.”
”How is he?” Shane asked, when they’d made it onto the freeway. Fifteen minutes, give or take, until they were back at his parent’s house. David hummed, noncommittal, and the small sound sent Shane’s heart down into his stomach.
”Dad?” Maybe it was the panicked edge creeping into his tone, but David shot him soothing look from the driver’s side. “Is he okay?”
”He’s alright,” David confirmed, keeping his eyes on the road now, “He just… Had a bit of a stronger reaction to the sedation than expected. Don’t panic! The doctors all said it was totally fine, he’s just kind of… Out of it.”
Shane frowned. He’d seen a lot of viral videos on YouTube of people after getting their wisdom teeth out, and they all seemed super out of it anyway. One girl thought she’d been abducted by aliens.
“Out of it,” Shane repeated, “In a… Bad way?”
”In and out,” David sighed, turning left off the freeway and onto the exit that would take them towards their little suburb. “Mostly fine, just sleeping or resting with your mom. Asking about you a lot.”
The but hung between them for a few seconds, unsaid but not unheard. Shane balled his hands up into fists, pressing his nails into the palms of his hands. It wasn’t the best way of coping, sure, but it usually helped him ground himself, and prevent any premature freak-outs.
“And?”
“And I think I scared the kid,” David sighed, “I don’t know. He wouldn’t say a word when I was in the room, not all day, and then pulled away from me like I was a hot potato.”
“Oh.”
”Yeah.”
”Fuck,” Shane pushed a hand through his hair; he didn’t shower after the game, desperate to get to the airport as soon as he could, and it had left his scalp feeling sore and itchy. “I’m sorry, dad, I should’ve… I don’t know, warned you guys, or something.”
”Warned us?”
”I mean, not warned you, it’s not like he’s dangerous,” Shane scoffed, “But he… Ilya’s had some hard times, y’know? And I guess I should’ve seen it coming, with the sedatives and all, that maybe…”
Shane trailed off, suddenly feeling very nauseous. He’d been so caught up in his own fears— Ilya having an allergic reaction to the sedation, having a heart attack while he was under, bleeding out in some freak dental accident —He didn’t take a minute to consider the very real and, in hindsight, probable side-effects of his fiance post-surgery.
“I’ve been a dad for a long time, Shane,” David said, after a few seconds of silence. His tone was soft, and kind, the same way it had always been when he spoke to Shane. That alone made his stomach twist, misplaced guilt and maybe some shame, because when had Ilya ever received that? “I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, sure, but I know when a kid’s had it rough.”
Had it rough was maybe the understatement of the century. Ilya had two long, gnarled scars on his back that he told people were from a hockey accident, but had actually been from his father’s belt when he was younger. Before he learned how to leave less marks, Ilya had said. He had a big, stupid, gentle heart, and he didn’t like it when Shane let the cabinets slam in the evening while simultaneously pretending it didn’t bother him.
And still, despite all that, he let Shane know him. He told Shane the truth, even when it scared him, and when it made him sad. Lately more than ever, since they’d gotten engaged, Ilya had opened his heart to him in ways that he was certain had made Shane a better man, better fiancé, better player.
“Yeah,” Shane said, thickly, “He’s not, like… Accusing you of anything.”
”Oh, buddy. I know that!” David chuckled, despite himself, “Jeez, Shane, I’m not mad at him. Or either of you. I just… Want you both to feel safe in the house, y’know.” He threw Shane another concerned glance as they turned onto the dirt road that led up to the driveway.
As they approached the house, Shane could see the lamps from the sitting room spilling warm, golden light out onto the flowerbeds his dad planted so lovingly every spring.
“He does,” Shane said, before David could open the door. “Feel safe. In the house, and with you guys. He loves you guys. He tells me all the time. I think it’s just… Being vulnerable, I guess, that makes him feel like he isn’t safe.”
The car is silent for a few seconds as his dad digests his words, and Shane resists the urge to start pulling at his eyebrows. His mom would notice, and Ilya would, too. He keeps his palms on his knees, letting the friction between his open hands and the denim ground him.
“Is he seeing someone? A professional?”
Shane nodded. “Yeah. For a few months, I think. But don’t, like, broadcast it. Don’t tell mom. He can tell you guys in his own time.”
”Okay, kiddo,” David gave him a gentle smile, and reached over to squeeze his shoulder. Shane closed his eyes, letting the moment settle over him, counting his blessings that his dad had only ever extended a hand for him to hold, to squeeze, to guide him over the ice or across the street. “Well. You’ve got a big, doped-up teddy bear in there waiting for you, and I’ve got a wife to force dinner on. Team Hollander!”
”Team Hollander!” Shane laughed, shaking his head and unbuckling his seatbelt. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that the game was terrible, or that he’d been worried about Ilya, or that the flight was full of crying kids and people asking him for selfies. He was about to walk into a warm, quiet house, full of love and understanding. Full of people who loved and understood him, and each other.
Shane couldn’t help but smile when Ilya blinked himself awake, his hazel eyes clouded with sleep and whatever painkillers were still in his system.
“Hi, baby,” He said, cupping his cheek gently, touch feather-light. Shane rarely used pet names, but it felt right in the moment. “How are you feeling?”
It took a few seconds for Ilya to realise who he was talking to, but very soon a huge, beaming smile took over his features. He looked tired, and there was a pile of bloody gauze on the table that made Shane cringe, but he seemed… Fine. A little out of it, sure, but fine.
“Moya lyubov!” Ilya grinned, the words muffled from the wadded-up cotton and gauze still padding his cheeks, slurred through the sedation. “My Shanya! You come home.”
”Yeah, I came home,” Shane laughed, perching on the small sliver of couch that was available beside Ilya’s hip. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a McGill sweatshirt that Shane had to assume had belonged to his dad, a long time ago. “Are you okay?”
”I missed you,” Ilya sighed, “They take away my mouth, you know.”
”Yeah, they took your wisdom teeth out, huh?”
“It did not even hurt me at all. No pain, everyone is very dramatic.” Ilya sniffed, and then, ”You are so pretty.”
Shane laughed again, swiping his thumb across Ilya’s cheek. Like he was one to talk; even doped up and swaddled on the couch, Ilya was stunning. His curls were unstyled and loose around his temples, eyes soft.
”We’ve had a very relaxing day,” Yuna added, carefully disentangling her arm from behind Ilya’s head. “We watched three movies, ate some ice chips, and took a few naps.”
”Thank you for looking out for him, mom.” Shane hoped the deep, raw gratitude he felt showed on his face. It probably didn’t; he never seemed to get the hang of letting people know the depth of his feelings, but he had been working on it.
”You don’t need to thank me!” Yuna scoffed, tapping Shane’s shoulder lightly as she stood up, “That’s my future son-in-law.”
“Yeah.” Shane grinned; Ilya’s eyes had fluttered closed again, head lolling to the side. “Dad brought you dinner, by the way.”
”Did you eat already?”
”I ate on the plane.” It wasn’t a lie; he wasn’t proud of the lacklustre pastrami sandwich the flight attendant had provided, but he was willing to stomach it for Ilya’s sake. “I think I’m gonna take sleeping beauty over here to bed.”
Shane manoeuvred Ilya’s arm around his shoulders, and scooped him up into a hybrid fireman-bridal carry. It took a few seconds for him to get his balance, because Ilya was arguably heavier than him, but Shane wasn’t a small man by any means.
It was only when he was crossing the living room, Ilya still blissfully sleeping in his arms, that he realised his dad hadn’t come in with him. He could hear him speaking in low tones to his mom in the kitchen; he’d stayed out of the way, because he didn’t want to upset Ilya.
He’d talk to him about it tomorrow, Shane decided. He’d talk to both of them. If Ilya could remember any of today, he’d probably find his way to David first. Either way, he hoped he wouldn’t feel embarrassed, or awkward, or guilty. Ilya’s hidden talent was finding guilt in places it didn’t belong.
Ilya woke briefly when they got upstairs, and Shane helped him stumble around the bathroom and change into some pyjamas. He’d decided on the guest bedroom, because it had a full king-size, and Shane’s room had the same twin he’d grown up in.
Eventually, they were settled beneath the comforter, and Ilya immediately wrapped his large arms around Shane like a vine twisting towards the sun. As Shane twisted his hands gently into Ilya’s curls, he was hit with a sudden, unfamiliar feeling; Something like comfort, maybe, or confidence. A strange, welcome sense that everything would be fine.