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David sits on the couch. He hunches over the coffee table, which is cluttered with a variety of piles. That is always the first thing he does when he starts a new puzzle; he sorts the pieces by colour. Yuna sits next to him. Her brown eyes are fixed on the TV, rewatching one of Shane and Ilya’s games from last week. She is analysing the boys’ movements like the hockey nerd she is. It was her preferred way to bridge the time till today’s dinner. Shane invited them a few days ago, and his parents had been unable to hide the gentle excitement on their faces.
Despite Yuna’s decade-long admiration for Montreal’s Metros, she adores the close distance to her son and his fiancée, her other son, after Shane has switched to Ottawa too. For the first time in years, he was back in his hometown, and the change was very noticeable. They spend a lot of time together; David and Yuna would walk Anya on Mondays. Ilya would randomly visit them on his own, dropping food, because he knew his parents-in-law loved it. Shane has insisted on visiting them after practice, and his parents would come to every game.
Today was one of their practice runs. It used to be the same as always when the phone rings. David answers the call, expecting just another salesman, but surprisingly, he is greeted by a familiar voice instead.
“David Hollander.”
“Mr Hollander, it’s Wiebe. Your son’s coach. There was an incident at today’s practice and-”
“Who is it?” Yuna asked, unknowingly disrupting the call. David shields the receiver, mouthing the answer, before continuing to listen. Wiebe must not register the interruption, as he has continued nonetheless.
“He is currently resting. His fiancée is by his side, and he demanded-”
“Sorry, I do not quite understand. What happened?”
“He had a panic attack, and I pulled him from the ice. He looked like he was about to collapse. He is better now, still a bit shaky, but I won’t let him play in this condition. Could you come and get him?”
“Oh. Of course. I’m coming. Thank you very much. Bye!”
David hangs on. He needed a moment to process the call. His wife is watching him carefully. She got no information out of it apart from David’s strained voice and wide eyes. Something happened, and she knows that it was not pleasant at all. She knows everything.
“It’s Shane! He had a panic attack. Ilya is with him, everything is fine, but he won’t play today.”
Yuna’s eyes went soft. But it was no fear or pity. She knew her son; she had watched enough of his panic attacks over the last thirty years to know when and when not to worry. Let alone the dinner this one summer evening, and what had changed since. She also witnessed enough of Shane and Ilya together to ease her motherly fears. It calmed her, knowing he was by his side. Always by his side. She thought.
Twenty minutes later, David arrives at the ice rink. He went straight to the back entrance, which is closer to the parking lot, and where Wiebe was already waiting for him. The men greet each other with little words, suitable for the situation, as they head to the locker room. David eyes the man as they are walking. He was calm, but moving with significant force, as a man with a strict schedule would do.
“I already talked with Shane. Don’t worry, just make sure that our boys are well. Let them rest, and I will see them in tomorrow’s practice.”
Wiebe speaks as if every single word were a public announcement. Experience is dripping from his lips when he says goodbye. He may be returning to the rink. When David entered the hall, he could hear the noise of practising men. Or, he wants to give the three men some privacy. Who knows?
David opens the door, but holds in when he sees Shane totally calm. For a wonder, his son is standing in front of his fiancée’s locker, packing the Russian’s bag. He is folding the other man’s clothing, even the dirty ones, while the men with the golden curls lie on the bench. His legs have been arranged upright. His knees bend at a square angle. His muscular arms are placed on his stomach, and his breaths are deep and calm, even though Ilya takes great effort to focus on his breathing. Shanes is turning towards him.
“Dad! Thank god, you’re here! I was so afraid when Ilya-”
“Wait, Ilya is having a panic attack? I thought it was you.” David argues. That is what he wanted to do, but instead he stared open-mouthed. It makes sense, David reflects, Wiebe has not mentioned Shane being the one he was talking about. Well, he had certainly used Ilya’s name when Yuna had interrupted him, David realises. He has assumed it must be Shane, because he had not known Ilya was also having panic attacks until now. Ilya has always been the calm and strong one, who grounded his son in seconds. It has not occurred to David that the roles could also be reversed. How wrong he was!
He hugs his son in a way only a dad could do. Patting his clenched shoulders, a silent “You’re doing amazing.” Then he faces his other son. He kneels in front of Ilya, examining him, as his knee is making a cracking sound, nothing new. Ilya’s eyes are closed, and his skin is weirdly pale. Sweat is dripping from his forehead. He is hyperaware of his surroundings, leaning his head closer to where David stands.
“How are you, son?”
“Fine.” Ilya mumbles. As soon as the blond opens his eyes, David looks at two blue pearls, screaming with utter fatigue. He is obviously lying, and today, after guiding his better half through an almost thirty-minute-long panic attack, Shane is not having it. He grumbles. “Ilya.”
“Okay, tired. Exhausted. Want to go home.”
Ilya admits weakly. He sits up in a clumsy motion, holding his right hand out. David cannot help but smile. He strengthens Ilya, who is, as Wiebe has told him, still shaking slightly. He leads Ilya to his car, an arm loosely slung around the athlete’s shoulders. Simultaneously, Shane follows them, each of their bags on each shoulder. The occasional roar, hits and a distant ticking sound of a clock are behind them.
The drive is calm, nobody is talking, and they sit in the silence. Ilya is resting again with closed eyes. The panic attack has taken its toll. On Shane’s request, they head back to David and Yuna’s place. Ilya summed in agreement. It felt right, regarding the aspect that it was technically after practice and they would visit his parents always after practise. Besides this safety-promising rule, which only Shane really understands, Yuna was also expecting them, David stated. Mainly, because she wants to cuddle her poor son, but also because nobody should be alone after something like that in the Hollander household.
When they enter the driveway, Yuna is standing behind the window. She is waiting. She is observing with a folded blanket in her arms. Shane is the one opening the frontdoor, still gathering both bags. To Yuna’s surprise, he seemed mostly unshaken, almost unbothered. He dumps the bags right at the front door before he gives his mother a tight welcome hug. Yuna is deepening the hug, regardless of the sheer confusion written on her face.
Shane does not act the way he usually does after a panic attack, Yuna questions. Especially his hugs feel different, because they are not desperate. He is still searching for comfort, but he is not desperately claiming his mother's embrace. His hug tells her that he isn’t the one who had a panic attack an hour ago. As Shane loosens his grip, David and Ilya are standing in front of her. The Russian is not dependent on her husband, as he needed to be in the locker room. His curls are unkempt, his head lowered, and his entire body language screams tired.
“My poor son. Come here.”
Yuna unfolds the blanket, which is instantly laid on Ilya’s shoulders. She hushes him to the couch, the unfinished puzzle still on the table, when he lowers himself onto a soft cushion.
“So it was not Shane,” Yuna whispered, and David nodded. He patted his son-in-law’s shoulder before he dropped himself beside him, already returned to his abundant puzzle. Shane is still standing at the same spot where Yuna held him before. Not moving an inch. He is watching the scene in front of him, and how stupidly easy his father and fiancée fall back into normality.
“Everything is going to be alright. Panic attacks are scary, but not necessarily dangerous.”
Yuna addresses him casually. Shane glances at Ilya’s peaceful posture. “I know. I just need a moment. That’s all.”
Yuna nods understandingly. “Has it happened before? Has he ever had something like that?”
Her voice is soft. She carefully places the words, not wanting to overstep. Which was extremely hard, because she couldn’t tell where these boundaries were. The two men have been together for such a long time. Has it been there since the beginning? Maybe it was a recent development, and Shane was as surprised as they were? Whatever it was, Shane was about to tell her. He touches his eyelash in comfort, then he answers, even the unspoken questions.
“No. Well, probably. I don’t know for sure, but I’ve never noticed before. I know that he has problems. Family stuff. He is very private about it. He has been seeing a therapist for a while. It’s good. Well, it is getting better. If it happened now, then it’s probably not the first time.”
Yuna nods again. “If you need anything, it doesn’t matter who or what or when, we are here. Understood?”
She is not waiting for her son to answer, because it was not a question. It was a parental plea. They are joining their significant others in the living room. Yuna gets back to her play recording, Ilya helps David, and Shane scrolls through social media. When the game was over, it was already dark outside. Ilya was the first one to notice.
“I’m sorry, but we are probably not hosting dinner tonight.” He jokes. Yuna chuckles, and David smiles.
“That’s fine. We change the plan. You two will stay tonight, and we will order some takeout.”
***