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Ilya Rozanov had never been more relaxed. Shane Hollander loved him. Shane Hollander- the best hockey player in the world, not that Ilya would ever admit it- loved him. Shane Hollander, voted no.1 hottest NHL player by cosmopolitan for the last three years running, loved him. Wonderful, beautiful Shane, who had invited him to his cottage and made him his favourite foods and looked up at him with his beautiful eyes last night and said I love you too.
They’d had a wonderful day, waking up slowly in each other's arms, bathing in the glorious aftermath of their late-night love confessions. Ilya had made Shane breakfast in bed, which had seemed like a lovely idea until Shane complained about crumbs in the bed. Now, a competitive swimming race, lunch and a sex marathon later, Ilya was lying face down on his boyfriend’s- could he say boyfriend?- torso, in between his legs on the sun lounger, the warm sun drying the lake water droplets that were resting on his skin from his latest dip. Shane was idly playing with his hair, making Ilya feel unreasonably sleepy, and reading a boring hockey book with the other. Ilya thought this might be the safest, warmest and calmest he’d ever felt, here in this boring cottage in the middle of boring Canada with the boring love of his life who made Ilya want to be incredibly boring too. His cheek was squished against Shane’s abs, facing away from the house, eyes drooping as they looked over the lake and surrounding forest. He had an eye out for loons. He always had an eye out for loons.
Ilya nestled his hands under Shane’s lower back so he was completely wrapped around him. He wanted to crawl into his boyfriend's skin. Shane just shifted, making the perfect amount of space for Ilya, and continued reading. Ilya lifted his head, propping his chin on Shane’s stomach as he gazed at his perfect face. He sighed, planting a kiss to Shane’s bellybutton, smiling, before turning his head in the direction of the cottage, dropping his face back down so his cheek was cushioned on Shane’s belly. His eyes adjusted to the change in sunlight, and his heart dropped to his stomach. His mouth went dry.
He’d met the shocked gazes of Yuna and David Hollander.
—
Yuna thought she knew her son well. Very well. She was his manager, after all. That was a fact Shane had never argued against, never complained. She knew what he was particular about, and easily translated that to his brand deals, his schedule, his life. She knew almost everything he did, when he did it. She knew his nutritionist, and his physical therapist, and had met most of his friends, his team, his coaching staff. But now, standing in the doorway of his cottage, she did not think she knew her son very well at all.
Her and David were at their own cottage a few miles away, enjoying a well-deserved break from work. They’d thought it was odd when Shane had mentioned his silent meditation retreat, but Shane often had some strange habits, so they brushed it off. After a while though, they’d started to get nervous. He’d not picked up his phone, not answered one text, since he started. So they’d thought the smart thing to do would be to just drive down and check on him, bring him some groceries, and make sure he wasn’t injured or dead. He was still recovering from a concussion, for god’s sake.
She’d knocked and rang the doorbell, to no answer. David had called Shane’s phone again, and it had gone straight to voicemail. It wasn’t like Shane to go completely no contact, despite the silent retreat he’d mentioned. Yuna was getting worried, so she’d pulled the emergency spare key out of her pocket, ignoring David’s look of reproach.
“Honey, we really shouldn’t disturb Shane if he’s meditating. He needs his privacy-” Her husband had cut off at her pointed look.
Letting themselves in, they’d called Shane’s name, announcing their presence. Then stopped dead in the kitchen.
Laying in the sun just outside of the closed glass doors, Shane was reading a hockey book, looking the most relaxed she’d seen her son in a long time. And laying on top of him, head resting on Shane’s stomach, facing away from them, was a man.
Now, Yuna had always known Shane might be gay. He was private to the point of secrecy about his dating life, and had not once mentioned a girl to her since high school. But recently, she’d gotten over that notion with his very public, very heterosexual relationship with Rose Landry. Granted, she’d never met Rose, but their photos looked incredibly sweet. So, to see her known heterosexual, over 200lbs, hockey-playing, extremely masculine son in a loving, tender embrace with a man- well, Yuna was entitled to be shocked.
She exchanged a look with David, who was frozen beside her. As they watched, Shane ran a hand through the other man’s blonde curls, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, tilting his head towards the sun. He looked so peaceful, so calm, that she realised how tense he usually was. The pair looked the perfect picture of relaxation and serenity.
“We should go,” she whispered urgently to her husband, who was nodding, “we weren’t supposed to know, he hasn’t told us-”
She stopped abruptly.
The man lying on top of her son, their legs tangled together on the sun lounger, moved his head away from the lake, pressing a kiss to Shane’s abs, who smiled faintly. She felt her knees weaken as the man shifted again, laying his head back down, facing the opposite direction this time, sighing happily before looking up and meeting her eyes.
She locked eyes with Ilya Rozanov, and her brain whited out.
—
Ilya had never known fear like it. He thought he was going to be sick. No, he might actually be sick. All over Shane’s fancy patio furniture. The second his eyes met Shane’s mothers, it was like his whole body was plunged into Moscow’s icy winter. He’d never been more tense in his life, even before his Stanley Cup final. He shot up, his arms straining to hold himself over Shane, who made a noise of protest and looked at him quizzically.
“Ilya!,” Shane protested, “now I’ve lost my place in the book.”
He felt Shane tense at his lack of reaction, and seemed to follow his gaze inside the cottage, where his parents were now turning, apparently wanting to leave them to it. Ilya really did feel sick.
He felt Shane’s breath quicken beneath him, and he pulled himself off Shane completely, standing and offering an arm to Shane, who quickly got up before doubling over almost immediately.
“Shall I-” Ilya started. He didn’t know what to do. What did Shane want him to do?
Shane waved a hand at his parents, who had reached the front door. Fucking Canadian cottages with their fucking glass walls and their fucking emotional vulnerability. Ilya made a mental note to never have glass in a house ever again.
“They can’t leave,” Shane wheezed. “They can’t- oh god.”
Ilya held onto his boyfriends heaving shoulders, “Do you want me to-”
“Yes.” Shane breathed.
Ilya nodded. Even though his every instinct was to stay by the side of his panicking boyfriend, he ran inside, acutely aware that he was only wearing a thin pair of swimming shorts. Very short shorts. “Please,” he called after the pair, “wait.”
He stopped on the doorstep as they opened their car doors.
“Wait,” Ilya said again, “I’m so sorry, please wait.”
“We are so sorry to interrupt,” Shane’s dad said, his face as red as Shane’s usually went, “we just wanted to check in. We’ll go now.”
“No,” Ilya said, “Shane doesn’t want you to go.” They stopped what they were doing, actually starting to look back at him properly now. The wave of nausea was now reaching every part of his body, and he felt quite lightheaded. “Just, come back in.”
The pair exchanged a look, before nodding slowly, “If you are sure.”
Ilya smiled tightly, “please.”
They slowly made their way back up the steps, and Ilya’s first instinct was to brace. What if they hated him? Well, they definitely hated him. He was from Boston, after all. Worse, what if they hated Shane? Disaster, what if they hated Shane, and Shane left him because of it? The thing between them was so new- or not new- but still fragile, still growing. What if Shane finally realised Ilya was more trouble than he was worth- and this, right here, was the moment everything tipped?
Ilya took a deep breath, attempting to rearrange his face into something welcoming, “Please, just- um, wait here. I just need to-” He waved a hand back to the garden, where Shane was crouched on the floor, clearly on his way to a fully-fledged panic attack.
Shane’s mother nodded, and Ilya fled.
—
Yuna felt sick. Ilya Rozanov? Ilya Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov, captain of her son’s rival team. Notorious womanizer, Ilya Rozanov. Frankly, she always assumed he was homophobic. Maybe that was the whole Russian aspect of him. Was that xenophobia? She thought, maybe.
Ilya Rozanov, who was currently crouched down next to her panicking son, running soothing hands over his back and through his hair, whispering fast words she couldn’t quite make out through the half-opened doors of the cottage. She looked at David again, who was watching them- a sad expression on his face. Right. They needed a plan. A plan would help all four people of the cottage deal with this head on. They marched into the kitchen, grabbing mugs and filling up the kettle. Tea. Or maybe- she saw a bottle of some expensive looking vodka sat on the counter, half empty. Russian. Right. She grabbed it.
She was nearer the doors to the patio, here in the kitchen area, and words floated in from the patio.
“Yes, is scary. But you are brave.” The words were soft, and something was whispered in Russian between the two. Shane was standing now, his face buried in Rozanov’s neck, who was holding him tightly. Well, if there was any question about the nature of the relationship between the pair, there certainly wasn’t now. Shane still hadn’t looked their way since his initial realisation. She’d never seen that much fear in his eyes before. She hated that it was directed at her. They both looked comfortable with each other. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Shane that comfortable with being so close to another person before.
David drifted over to stand by her, briefly stroking over her arm, and kissing her cheek. He picked up his glass of vodka, taking a large gulp.
The patio doors slid open, and Shane met her eyes, walking in, Rozanov trailing behind him, wrapping a towel around his broad shoulders and clasping his hands in front of him, possibly attempting to make himself as small as possible.
“Hi,” Shane started, his thumbs tucked in the pockets of his swim shorts, “sorry you had to find out like that.”
“Find out what, exactly?” Yuna could still feel adrenaline coursing through her.
“I, uh. I’m gay. Which I was going to tell you, soon. I’m gay and this is Ilya- Rozanov. But you already know that.”
Ilya nodded at them, “hi.”
“He’s visiting and we’re uh-”
“Lovers.” Ilya jumped in at Shane’s pause, putting a hand on her son’s shoulders.
Shane winced and shook his head, “No, Ilya. That’s gross.”
Rozanov looked at the floor, chastised.
“But… you hate him.” Yuna said.
“No, actually. I get that, but actually I, uh- I love him.” Yuna felt her whole world swim. Her son- her only son- in love? In love with a man. And she- she didn’t know anything about it. This whole time, whenever this started, she didn’t know.
“I did not want this to be how I told you,” Shane said, “Can we just sit down, please?”
Yuna didn’t want to tell him that this was, in fact, his house.
—
Yuna was never getting over this day. Since rookie season. She couldn’t believe it. Well, looking at them now, she kind of could. They were standing side by side, washing up the dishes from the pasta they’d eaten. They worked in perfect synchronicity, Ilya washing, Shane drying. Yuna knew Shane hated touching leftover food if it was in water. She wondered if Rozanov- if Ilya- knew that. She’d seen the way Ilya had brought Shane through his panic attack, how he’d been a quiet but sturdy supporter the entire, difficult conversation. She thought back to the look on Ilya’s face when he’d first seen them. He’d looked so scared. So young, and so scared. Nothing like the terrifying, arrogant asshole she’d seen on TV.
The couple had told them about their plan- Ottawa, the charity. The Irina Foundation. Named after Ilya’s mother apparently. She didn’t know the whole story there, but she’d seen the pain in Ilya’s eyes when he’d spoken of her, the suffering and the loss behind his carefully chosen words. She knew some things about grief. About how it clung to you. And now, he was saying he would never return to Russia. She knew something about that too, how it felt to be so, so far from your roots.
Yuna hoped Ilya would feel comfortable telling her his whole story one day. There was only so much one could learn from a wikipedia page.
“Since rookie season,” David whispered in her ear, watching the pair at the sink.
“The summer before,” Yuna whispered back, smiling.
No, maybe she didn’t know Shane as well as she’d thought. But he had someone else who knew him completely. And she was just thrilled for him.
—
Long conversations and a bowl of pasta later, Ilya was once again lying down, his head resting in his boyfriend’s- he could say boyfriend!- lap. He felt relaxed again. He was watching the bonfire flicker. But what was different about this time was that Shane’s parents- Yuna and David- they said he could call them, were sitting across from them. Yuna was leaning into her husband’s chest, both of them watching the fire.
He really did think this might be the best week of his life. They didn’t hate him. Maybe they didn’t quite like him yet, but they didn’t hate him. Or their relationship. And Shane- he hadn’t left again. He was there. He was right under Ilya’s cheek, his thigh covered in thin summer sweats, them both having finally changed out of his swimwear.
“I have a question,” Ilya said into the quiet.
“Hmm?” Shane asked, rubbing a hand over Ilya’s back.
“I still don’t understand. What is wrong with the word lover?”
Shane’s parents both burst out laughing, the tension of the day finally becoming too much. Shane groaned above him.
“I’m serious! I will not use- I promise- but I think it means something different to what I think. In Russia, is like- beloved.”
Shane leaned down and dropped a kiss to his hair. Ilya’s heart soared. They could do this- casual affection- in front of other people now. Well. Two people. Still counted, he thought.
He settled back into Shane’s lap, as Shane launched into an explanation about why lover was apparently the worst possible word in the world and he could never use it again, and sighed. Yes, Ilya thought. He really had never been more relaxed.