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Yuna Hollander is a fixer. She keeps things together, keeps things moving forward. And, yes, maybe that makes her a little overbearing. Especially where her son is concerned. She writes out his life for him so he doesn’t have to, takes all the load on herself so he can focus on hockey. On what he loves.
He’d asked her to do it, once. Can’t you just deal with it, Mom?
But he’d been barely eighteen then, and staring down the public eye and all the things that came along with it. Yuna took the reigns because it was what she knew how to do. Manage the sponsors. Organise public appearances. Yell at Shane’s teachers for giving him after school detentions. Tell him where to go and what to say and which people he should be seen with.
Shane isn’t a teenager anymore. She knows he’s grateful for dealing with the sponsors, but at some point he grew up right in front of her and she didn’t even notice.
When did he get so big? In her mind he’s still eight years old in a helmet too big for him.
She can’t remember the last time she saw Shane cry. Really cry.
Because of her, no less. Because she’d taken it to far and let him think she wasn’t just curating his career but him, too. Moulding him into a person she wanted.
It had never been her intention. Her son isn’t a product. She’s treated him like one for far too long.
And so, because Yuna is a fixer, she decides what to do before her heart even stops squeezing. While the warmth of Shane’s hug still clings to her clothes.
She cannot let anything stand in the way of her son’s happiness. She hadn’t realised she was the obstacle. The thing that kept the smile from reaching his eyes, because he was so worried what she’d think. Yuna had always thought she was doing things the way he wanted – he never said a word to indicate otherwise. All the brand deals and sponsorships, maybe she pushed them too hard. Always looking for the next big endorsement. But it was all so he could keep playing and have enough fame and enough cash stored away that he wouldn’t have to worry about making a living when he retired.
She didn’t know she was telling her son he was safest when he was marketable.
That she would only love him when he was fitting the mould she’d set for him.
So, fuck it, she decides. She is going to fix it. She is going to shower her son in so much affection and acceptance that he’ll have enough to drown in it. And she’s going to drown Ilya fucking Rozanov in it, too.
There are no brand deals over the summer. That had been Shane’s one request before his silent retreat. The ruse is up, as far as that is concerned, but now it’s been another week and a half – long past the end of the lie – and Rozanov is still here. Their cover is blown, and she takes the fact that Shane has kept him close as a win. He doesn’t doubt her acceptance enough to send him away.
Rozanov doesn’t go back to Russia. He stays in Shane’s house.
And Yuna doesn’t have any brand deals to worry about – that’s for the autumn. In the meantime, there’s something else she can fix.
She invites them over for movie night.
She’s not stupid. She reads the news. She knows that Rozanov – Ilya – is risking more than just his caeer for her son. He’s risking his safety, his country. His family.
She doesn’t know his situation, though she heard his father died earlier in the year. Nothing about a mother or any other family. Maybe there is nobody else.
Maybe he’s alone.
And that thought pangs at her heart. She might be an overbearing one, but Yuna’s a mother. And that is something she knows how to be.
There’s still some tension in Shane’s shoulders when he and Ilya let themselves into the Hollander’s cottage. Like he doesn’t quite know how he fits into the house he’s known his whole life. The house with his baby pictures on the wall.
Ilya is, too, though he tries not to seem it. Yuna is observant, always watching, so she sees that his confidence isn’t entirely honest. Something about the way he clasps his hands, takes careful steps through the hallway. The way his eyes dart to Shane before he speaks, like he’s checking that it’s fine.
The way he says Mr Hollander and Mrs Hollander, even though both she and David have told him its not necessary multiple times.
“I added toffee to the popcorn,” David says in a stage-whisper.
“Uh, I can’t –” Shane starts, but David only rolls his eyes. He’s already headed into the kitchen to scoop out the sticky mess into a single large bowl. She follows after him, gesturing for the boys to join.
“I told him not to do it,” Yuna interjects. “It’s going to be a nightmare to clean the machine.”
She grabs three glasses from the cupboard and sets them down. She pours two glasses of David’s good vodka and a glass of wine for herself. Shane is already turning to the fridge to get himself a can of ginger ale, refusing to meet her eyes.
“You’re not on a bird food diet are you, Ilya?” David calls over his shoulder.
“No chance,” he says. “Let me help with drinks.”
Ilya swoops in to take the two smaller glasses, while Yuna picks up her wine. “Thanks,” she smiles. Such a polite young man, she thinks to herself. And then has to bite down on her tongue to keep herself from laughing. She’s seen this polite young man crack his own ribs just to shove another player into the boards.
Shane remains quiet as they all head to the living room and settle down for the movie. They’ve been making their way – sporadically, because of Shane’s schedule – through last year’s Best Picture nominees. Yuna had decided that the biopic about Stephen Hawking couldn’t possibly bring up anything uncomfortable for Shane. If it does, she has a plan to throw her wine glass on the floor as a distraction.
Already, Shane kind of looks like he’s going to his death. After the popcorn is situated on the coffee table between them all and Ilya has handed David his drink, Shane sits between Yuna and Ilya. Stiffly.
Ilya leans back against the couch cushions, his arm flung over the back in a picture of ease. And Shane perches, uncomfortably, in the crook of his arm. Not quite touching.
Part of Yuna wants to whack him over the head. But Shane has always been like this, she reminds herself. He’s private. He keeps everything locked up inside, hesitant to let anyone guess his feelings. Even as a child, he’d been this way. She’d only ever know he was panicking by how still he became.
She sees that same little boy in Shane’s shadow now. Unsure of himself. Unsure if he can let himself relax, let his feelings leak out in front of the people who love him the most.
She watches this, from the corner of her eye, as David turns on the movie. And she sees Ilya watching, too. She sees the way he bumps his leg up against Shane’s and keeps it there. A touch that could be accidental. The couch isn’t quite big enough for three people to sit with a lot of space between them, after all.
Yuna has made many mistakes, but she knows her son well. She thinks of how, when he was little, his big eyes were always looking at her. He copied the way she walked, the way she tied her shoelaces. Always looking for her to show him what was okay, what was appropriate.
She reaches over the space between her corner of the couch and David’s chair, and takes his hand.
David’s eyebrow raises in question – she’s never been overt with her affection – but when she flicks her eyes over to Shane in answer, she sees David nod. He squeezes her hand and doesn’t let it go.
Slowly, over the course of the movie, she sees Shane begin to relax. She’s not sure he’s paying any attention to the movie. Actually, she’s pretty sure he’s somewhere else. That mysterious elsewhere he goes when he’s overwhelmed.
He acts the part well enough, replying like he’s engaged when she or David make a comment about something happening on screen.
It happens at a snail’s pace, but eventually Shane sits back completely, the whole right side of his body pressed into Ilya’s, and Yuna smiles.
Somehow, it feels like a victory.
By the time the movie ends, Shane has fallen asleep. It must be exhausting, worrying so much. Even though she’s said it a thousand times, that she loves and accepts him exactly as he is, she’s sure it doesn’t sink in immediately. Shane has always been someone who needs reassurance. Often repeatedly, until he can trust it.
It doesn’t surprise her that he’s tired himself out with all his thinking.
She knows it isn’t because he doesn’t trust her. It’s just how his brain works. It needs a lot of evidence to come to a conclusion that she or David might find obvious.
So when she sees Shane’s head pillowed on Ilya’s chest, with Ilya’s arm encircling him protectively, she thinks she wants to cry.
Since their rookie season, her head supplies. And then she hears David’s voice in her head correcting her: the summer before.
And she knows, she knows, they haven’t been like this the whole time. In love, or whatever. But she doesn’t care what happened before, or how long it took them to get here. How many times they fucked it up and fell apart and together again. It isn’t any of her business. Nor does she particularly want to think about it, because in her head her son is still twelve years old.
She doesn’t think the sex talk she gave him included this, and that was an unfortunate oversight. But it’s too late, now, and she doesn’t let the thought fester.
Nearly ten years. She can’t wrap her head around the fact that Shane has had someone in his life, someone this important, for almost a decade. A whole portion of his life he kept to himself.
It is her fault he didn’t feel safe enough to share it, but Yuna is a woman of the future. She doesn’t let herself linger on the past too much. Her mistakes have been made, and all she can do is try to rectify them.
She lifts her eyes from Shane’s sleeping face and finds Ilya looking back at her. He watches everything, she’s noticed. He has eyes as sharp as a hunting bird, much like hers, and he moves with Shane like the two of them are a pair of lungs. In sync, conjoined.
“Thank you,” she whispers to him, barely able to breathe.
She’s not sure she understands the look that passes over Ilya’s face, but after a pause that lasts too many sects, he gives a small, serious nod.
“Another drink, Ilya?” David asks. He’s been refilling their glasses all evening, and if the flush on David’s face is anything to go back, Ilya is far superior at handling his alcohol.
Ilya turns his empty glass over in his hand, eyes flitting between it and Shane.
“Ah, I am bad guest,” he says when he looks up. “I should pour you drink, Mr Hollander.”
David waves a hand dismissively as he takes Ilya’s glass. As Yuna gets up to follow him into the kitchen, she levels a stern finger at Ilya. “If you move, I’ll kill you.”
He raises his hands in defeat, but his smile is almost bashful. “Would not dare. I am pillow.”
She wants to squeeze him so tightly he explodes, this precious man. She cannot resist placing a hand on his shoulder as she walks past him.
When she steps into the kitchen, David’s eyes are wide and his hand is on his hip. He pulls a face at her and she pulls one back.
“Oh my God!” she mouths at him.
“I know!” he breathes back.
They’ve been doing this a lot this past week. She fluctuates wildly between sadness for the years Shane’s spent hiding and giddiness that he’s found someone who clearly loves him so much. He’s sleeping on Ilya’s shoulder! And doing it in front of her! It’s a big step for Shane, who keeps everything wound so tightly, and she can only credit Ilya for it.
Yuna covers her hand with her mouth, sending her husband an embarrassed look. “I like him,” she admits quietly. “He’s an enemy of the state, but he’s so sweet.”
“I know,” David coos in a whisper. “I’ve been charmed. I’ve been charmed by a fucking Raider. I can never show my face in public again.”
Yuna nods in voracious agreement. “We need to chill, though. We’re normal parents, and this is normal.”
“So normal,” David agrees, but he’s biting his lip over the top of his grin.
Once she and David have calmed themselves, they step back into the living room, hoping they aren’t too obvious in their joy. Yuna’s wanted to see Shane happy and settled with someone for so long. She’d assumed there must have been people he’d been close with, and when he’d started seeing Rose Landry, she’d thought that could have been something special. But all this time, there’s been someone right there with him, under the radar.
With a deep breath, she sits back in her spot and pulls up her knees to tuck them beneath her. David hands Ilya another glass and returns to his seat. There’s only a slight pink flush on his face, but that’s probably from the alcohol.
“Cute photo,” Ilya says, jutting his chin to the space above David’s head.
She turns to look, but she already knows which one he’s looking at. It’s one of her favourites. Shane’s only seven or eight, his toothy grin taking up most of the frame. She keeps it in prime position in the living room just because it makes so happy to look at.
“He was such a cute kid,” Yuna says, unable to keep the warm smile from her face.
“None of my genetics, that’s for sure,” David quips. Yuna privately disagrees, because while Shane certain looks more like her generally, the smile is all David’s.
She turns back to Ilya, but he’s still looking at the photo on the wall. “What was he like as a child? He tells me nothing.”
Yuna chuckles. “Always so serious. He only ever cared about hockey.”
“He’d always rush home from school and do his homework as quickly as possible so he could get out on the ice.”
“That’s if he did it at all,” Yuna says, remembering all the weekend detentions she had to schmooze him out of.
David runs his finger around the rim of his glass, goofy smile on his face. “He did it most of the time. And by that point we all knew he had a career in hockey if he wanted it, so why not let him focus on what he loves? Who needs geography anyway?”
Yuna watches Ilya as his eyes scan over the pictures on the wall. She sees them in her head without turning to look. Shane’s high school graduation. His awkward prom photo. Pictures from hockey camp. A skiing holiday they took when he was thirteen, which he hated, because he couldn’t skate for ten whole days.
She wonders what Ilya’s thinking, his face so serious, so hungry. How much does Shane tell him, about them, about his childhood? He’s always needed coaxing to open his heart, is it the same with Ilya?
“You are good parents,” he says quietly.
Yuna’s eyes prickle with tears. Not because of his words, but because of how sad they sound. It would probably be rude to ask about his parents, his childhood. Especially so soon after his father’s passing. She doesn’t want to bring up anything he isn’t ready to talk about. It isn’t her place. He’s here for Shane. It wouldn’t be fair for her to pry.
“I’m sure we fucked up plenty,” David says. Yuna folds her hands under her knees, because she knows it’s true. She’s sure there have been many more mistakes than she’s even realised, or that she could ever realise. She’s not naïve or arrogant enough to think they haven’t made plenty of mistakes. “But we always tried our best,” David continues. “What’s most important to us is that Shane’s happy.”
“Yeah, that’s all we ever wanted,” Yuna adds in a low voice. “I guess at some point hockey stopped being the only thing he cared about.”
“It is still very high on list.” Ilya takes a swig of his drink, his jaw tensing as he swallows it. “Family is also very high. He loves you a lot.”
Yuna smiles warmly, her vision suddenly blurring. She wonders what she would want, if Shane was alone in another country, sitting in a different woman’s house. If she…weren’t around. If David were gone, too. She would want that woman to love Shane as much as she loved her own son, to keep him safe when she could not.
“You should come over for Thanksgiving,” she blurts. Which is an insane thing to say, because it’s still only July. “If neither of you are playing, of course. We do it in October in Canada. And Christmas, you should come for Christmas, too. And the New Year.”
She’s rambling, she knows it. And poor Ilya looks a little bit like a deer in the headlights, his mouth slightly agape. She feels David’s eyes boring into the back of her head, but she doesn’t even care that she’s launching in quickly. She wants to wrap this man – who she had hated only a week ago, who she didn’t even know a week ago – and keep him secure in her home.
But she shouldn’t force everything on him at once. “How do you celebrate Christmas in Russia?” she asks, hoping it makes up for her steamrolling him so abruptly.
Fortunately, Ilya recovers quickly. “Not big holiday. Russians prefer New Year.”
“Really? That’s unusual,” David says. Yuna briefly considers hitting with a pillow. Light violence was her main method for dealing with his rare moments of cultural insensitivity.
“Like Thanksgiving in October, no? Or Thanksgiving as whole. Strange holiday.”
David barks a laugh, and Shane jerks in his sleep. He makes a small, distressed noise and Ilya smooths a hand through his hair until he settles back down.
“Would it be safe for you to go back?” Yuna asks quietly.
Ilya lets out a long breath. “I don’t know. Depends. I have no reason o go back. Is too cold.”
For some reason, Yuna doesn’t think he’s talking about the weather. She gives him a sympathetic smile, to show she understands.
“Is fine. As long as I don’t get fired, I stay on this side of ocean.”
Instinctively, Yuna reaches out and grabs his hand tightly. It’s held closely against Shane’s back, and she can feel his warmth underneath her knuckles.
“We’d help you. If that happened, we’d help. I don’t know how it works but…we’d help.”
She’s rambling again, unsure what she’d even be able to do in that situation. But Ilya nods seriously at her words.
“You are kind people,” he says, but his eyes stay sad. It only lasts for a moment, then his lips are curling up again. “I am glad Shane has you.”
She squeezes Ilya’s hand, hoping that he gets the message. I’m glad he has you, too.