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David is always a little sad when summer ends. Winter in Ottawa can be long and harsh, and woodfires and heating just aren’t the same as the sun - he misses it until the first, slow warmth of spring.
He misses his son too.
The hockey season is long and it’s unrelenting. Shane flies back and forth across two countries every few days for almost the whole year, and that’s just for the actual games. In between there’s training and recovery and watching tape and strategising for the next game. Shane has captain’s duties too, responsibilities to his teammates and coaching staff and executives for the Metros and the league. On top of that, there are also his sponsorship obligations - more flights, more hours of Shane’s life given over to more strangers.
David knows he’s lucky to have such a good son, who’s loved by so many people. He’s not blind and he knows that Shane and their family are very fortunate - plenty of people in the world suffer much more for much less. It doesn’t mean it isn’t still hard sometimes. Maybe a lot of the time, even.
It probably didn’t help that David and Yuna didn’t have to get used to Shane being gone so much until he went pro. Lots of hockey parents have to let their sons go at fifteen when they play AAA or Junior in some town and live with some billet family. Fifteen. David remembers Shane at fifteen - his growth spurt hadn’t hit yet but he hadn’t grown into his gangly arms and legs either. He still had baby fat. Thank God Shane was so good he started AAA when he was twelve and not even the most rabid team GM was suggesting a twelve year old should go live with strangers so he could play hockey. David and Yuna did a lot of driving back and forth until Shane got his license but at least he was home.
They do their best to still be there for Shane. David and Yuna go to every one of Shane’s home games in Montreal, every game the Metros play in Ottawa. At least one of them makes it to most of the games in Toronto too, depending on the schedule. They take Shane out to a nice restaurant or eat at home with him, a solid home-cooked meal, when he needs a break from being in the public eye. They talk on the phone, text him, email him. Little breaths of air, for all of them, to get through the season.
Now, after this summer, David has two sons to miss.
David adds Ilya to the family calendar.
“Family calendar?” Ilya asks, glancing at Shane.
“Yeah - games, travel days, publicity events,” Shane explains.
“We add other things too,” Yuna chips in. “Appointments, reservations, reminders. I put in my yoga classes, book club nights. David puts in his pickup games and trivia night with his friends. You can put anything on the family calendar.”
“But you don’t have to,” David hurries to add. Ilya’s a grown man who’s lived alone in a foreign country since he was eighteen - and had to manage without any real family support for even longer, if David’s darker suspicions are correct. He might not want his boyfriend’s parents to know when his next dentist appointment is or when he’s meeting with his GM. “You can share as much or as little as you want. We can just start with your game days, if you like?” That’s public information at least so David hopes that doesn’t feel too intrusive.
“No, is okay,” Ilya says, even though he still looks slightly baffled. David wonders how long it’s been since anyone cared where Ilya was or what he was doing if it wasn’t directly related to hockey.
“Great! Now, what colour do you want to be?” David asks.
“I’m blue,” Shane says. He tilts his phone so Ilya can see the family calendar pulled up on his screen.
“Ugly Metros blue,” Ilya teases, and laughs out loud when Shane makes a playful growling face and tickles him.
“Mom’s red,” Shane continues. “Dad’s green. You can pick anything.”
Ilya pulls a face, thinking hard. “Mmm. I will be yellow.” It’s a bit like Raiders yellow but a bit lighter and brighter, gentle and warm. It reminds David of sunshine on the best days in summer.
“Good choice,” David says. Ilya beams at the praise.
They all spend the rest of the afternoon updating Ilya’s part of the family calendar. By the time they’re done, the Hollander family calendar is a colourful patchwork stretching through the rest of the season. David smiles and thinks maybe the season won’t be so bad after all.
The doorbell rings just as David and Yuna are finishing their cups of green tea. It’s become a ritual after these years, a way to catch up after the work day and relax before they’re busy cooking dinner. David assumes it’s just the postman with a parcel, or maybe important business documents that have to be signed for.
It isn’t. Instead of the regular mail guy who they’ve known for years, it’s a delivery man in a fancy official uniform. He’s standing on the porch holding an enormous bouquet of yellow flowers - it’s so big the flowers cover his face - and a box wrapped in black paper and tied with gleaming gold ribbon.
“Delivery for Mr and Mrs Hollander,” the delivery man says, his voice muffled by the flowers.
“That’s us,” David says, staring in amazement. “But I don’t know anyone who’d send us something like this - I haven’t seen this many flowers since my nephew’s wedding and that’s only because his wife’s a florist.” Maybe it’s a mistake and these are actually for Shane? He’s the Hollander much more likely to get elaborate thank you gifts from a sponsor.
“It says it’s for Mr David Hollander and Mrs Yuna Hollander.”
“Well, that’s us.”
“Someone sure likes you both,” the delivery man chuckles. “Have a great night, sir.”
“What on earth . . . !” Yuna exclaims when David staggers back inside. “Hang on, let’s find a vase for those flowers - if we even have one big enough.”
They do, just - it’s a vase David’s grandma bought them as a wedding present and he’s pretty sure they’ve never used it because it’s so fancy and they’ve never needed to display this many flowers before. Yuna finds the card as she’s arranging the flowers. It’s a beautiful card, made of thick textured paper. The ‘thank you’ and colourful pictures - a garden, blooming brightly, with butterflies above - are pressed into the paper, not printed. It makes David think of wedding invitations. This isn’t just an over-priced Hallmark card someone grabbed in a hurry as they rushed past a store on the way to something more important. Someone made a real effort, chose this card specially.
He and Yuna read the message inside. The writing is neat and careful and it’s clear Ilya made an effort with this too.
To David and Yuna,
Thank you for the summer. I loved it.
Ilya
David can feel his eyes watering, even as he smiles. Yuna is sniffling but she laughs as she blows her nose with a tissue. “Oh, that boy,” she sighs.
“We should call him and say thank you.”
Yuna checks her watch. “He’ll be flying back from the Detroit game.”
David wonders if Ilya arranged for the presents to be delivered when they couldn’t reach him - maybe because he didn’t want to deal with them making a fuss. Or, worse, so he wouldn’t have to deal with it if they didn’t make a fuss and just ignored him.
“Let's text him,” David suggests. “So he’ll see the message when the plane lands but he won’t have to talk to us when he’s tired. And then we’ll call him tomorrow.”
David will always be a phone call guy. He knows young people these days - and, yes, he knows that makes him sound extremely old - prefer text messaging and apps and other things he’s only vaguely aware of. But David likes being able to hear someone’s voice because it feels real and meaningful in a way that words on a screen don’t.
He always checks the family calendar before he calls Shane, knows not to call on game days or before a big photoshoot or filming session. Shane’s already stressed out then, and an interruption will only make it worse. Shane always answers calls from David or Yuna, even if it’s only to say he can’t talk and then hang up, so David is careful not to take advantage.
David makes sure to check Ilya’s part of the family calendar again. It’s not a game day, there’s no training scheduled today, nothing but an optional skate tomorrow morning. The family calendar says Ilya’s day is free so David shouldn’t be interrupting anything. He just hopes Ilya isn’t napping or in the middle of making lunch.
Ilya picks up after the first ring. “David?”
“Hey, son. Is this a bad time? I can call back later if you’re busy.”
“No, no, is good.”
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing? Uh, we won our last game against New York.”
“We saw - your slapshot at the buzzer was a beaut. Hell of a way to win the game.”
“You watched my game?” Ilya asks, surprised.
“Of course - that’s why they’re all in the family calendar. Left work a little early so I wouldn’t miss the start.”
“Is that okay? You won’t get into trouble from your work?”
“Perfectly okay - just ate lunch at my desk so I could get out a little early, beat the traffic home.”
“Oh.”
David talks for a bit longer, the same easy rambling he does when he’s chatting to Shane or Yuna or other close family and old friends. He talks about the big report he’s working on, and the boring meeting that was livened up when the chair realised he’d come to work with mismatched shoes on. He talks about getting the garden ready for the cold weather coming, and about the sponge cake recipe he’s trying because he wants to expand his cooking repertoire to desserts.
“I’d better go,” David says. “This report won’t write itself.”
“Okay.” But Ilya doesn’t hang up and neither does David. “You and Yuna are okay? Do you . . . need anything?”
“Just a few more days of sunshine for the garden,” David chuckles. “But, no, we’re both well.”
“Oh. Good.”
“Anyway, thanks for talking, son - it was nice to catch up. Have fun, stay safe. We love you.”
“Thank you. Bye.”
Shane calls them that evening. He tells them about his day and David thinks playing nice with an arrogant GM and being berated by a coach who’s never satisfied sound much worse than wrangling with Excel. He and Yuna talk about sponsorships, discuss which requests sound reasonable and which ones to refuse. David stirs the sauce on the stove - he finds it just as comforting to listen as he does to talk himself.
“Um. I talked to Ilya today too,” Shane says. “He said Dad called him.”
“I did,” David says, worried. “Was that okay?”
“Yeah. I think he liked it. A lot.” Shane hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “I don’t think he’s used to getting calls from family. Not good calls, anyway.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Yuna says softly.
“I heard a couple of them and they sounded . . . bad. Angry. The calls and his family.”
David and Yuna exchange a look. They have theories about Ilya’s family, pieced together from little pieces of information. Yuna scowls every time she sorts out another mess made by Ilya’s old manager or agent or accountant, who all seem to be distant relatives or cronies of his father.
“Should we stop calling Ilya?” David asks. He wonders whether Ilya wants them to step back but doesn't feel comfortable enough to say anything so Shane is telling them instead. He doesn’t imagine that Ilya’s father would’ve reacted well to being asked by his son to stop doing anything.
“Ilya likes talking to you guys,” Shane says slowly, as if he’s thinking hard. “Maybe just don’t rush it? I think it’s a big change for him. But a good one.”
”Of course, sweetie,” Yuna agrees immediately. “Whatever you and Ilya want.”
So they keep calling. David thinks the best calls are when they can all Facetime together but Yuna also calls to talk about management and brand stuff, and David calls just to keep in touch. He chats to Ilya when he’s at the grocery store and the farmers market, when he’s waiting in line running errands and on his lunch break. He tells Ilya about recipes he’s practicing, and they brainstorm ways to tweak them so David can make a version that Shane will want to eat too. He updates Ilya about what’s going on at the office and in the neighbourhood, especially about any new pets people have adopted.
He asks Ilya about what music he’s been listening to, what movies he’s watched recently. Ilya mentions that he subscribed to the New Yorker so they talk about some of the articles that catch Ilya’s attention. Ilya asks questions about the personal finance and investment books he’s starting to read. They talk about hockey too but there are plenty of other interesting things to talk about.
“You have day off today,” Ilya says. “I saw in family calendar.” He says ‘family calendar’ with relish.
“Yeah, the car needs to go in for servicing and it’s easier to just drop it off first thing in the morning and collect it later.”
“Hmph. Is old car.” Ilya’s voice is full of the judgement of a man who drives to work in a Lamborghini.
“Not even ten years old yet,” David says mildly.
“It was already old when you bought it. Now it’s so old.”
David tries not to laugh. “There’s no point spending so much money on a depreciating asset - a car loses the most value in the first five years.”
“Even Shane buys new cars,” Ilya says. “Just boring ones.”
“Shane’s car is very nice,” David says diplomatically. “But I’m happy with my old Toyota. It has an excellent safety rating and resale value.”
“You won’t be able to sell the car,” Ilya protests. “It will be ancient by then, like if Scott Hunter was a car.”
“Poor Scott Hunter,” David laughs. “Have you started thinking about a new car for when you move to Ottawa? I don’t think your Lamborghini will be happy about driving through snow in winter. You could get the same car as Shane.”
“Shane and I will match,” Ilya says, full of delight. “Will be so cute couple. Better if Shane and me have matching Ferraris though, instead of boring cars.”
“Good luck with that,” David says. Shane has never been a car guy - there’s a reason Yuna never bothered to get him a car sponsorship, even though there have been plenty of opportunities. But Shane also loves Ilya. David won’t be surprised if there’s a Ferrari in Shane’s future.
Ilya sighs. “Okay. I will get a boring car for Ottawa winter then. But shiny and pretty one.”
“Probably a lot more practical than a sports car.”
“Maybe I buy one now so it’s ready for when I come to Ottawa. Will need someone to drive it around though, keep in good condition.”
David frowns with suspicion. “Son, are you trying to trick me into letting you give me a new?”
“You would be helping me have a car for Ottawa winter.”
“Uh-huh. Something tells me you’d somehow forget to take ‘your’ car back,” David says dryly.
Ilya’s laugh is sheepish. “New Range Rover is still much better than your Scott Hunter old car.”
“Thank you for the offer but my car suits me fine.”
“Is okay. I buy a boring Range Rover for Ottawa winter, and a beautiful Ferrari for Shane for summer.” Ilya’s still laughing as he says goodbye.
It’s a surprise when Ilya calls.
“David, you are at doctor - it wasn’t on family calendar yesterday. Are you sick? Is it bad?”
David hasn’t heard Ilya sound this worried in months. He’s used to Ilya being more at ease with their family these days - less tense, less watchful, less like something might go wrong.
“No, I’m completely fine. I’m just due my tetanus shot - meant to get it every ten years.” David forces his voice to be as calm when he answers, like he does for Shane when he gets too caught up in worrying.
“You’re not sick?”
“No, son. Promise.”
“Oh. I thought it was something bad.”
David and Yuna don’t ask Ilya about his parents - the topic of his mother is too sensitive and, as awful as it sounds, they don’t care about his father beyond how he affects Ilya. And Ilya doesn’t offer up much either. They know that Grigor Rozanov was sick and dying for awhile, and the weight and responsibility fell on Ilya even though he was the youngest and half a world away. David thinks he should probably feel worse that he despises a dead man.
“Hollanders have always been healthy as horses,” David says.
“Horses break legs and get shot,” Ilya mutters darkly.
“Not Hollanders. The only shot I’m getting is this tetanus one.”
“Okay.”
“How’s your shoulder?” David asks because Ilya isn’t the only one who worries in this family. “We saw the late hit you took in the Tampa game - it looked bad.”
“Not bad, a bit sore,” Ilya replies, like playing with an injured shoulder is nothing. “I think tetanus injection will be worse.”
“It definitely won’t.” David answers the unanswered question. “It’s a good clinic - experienced doctors and nurses, everyone’s very compassionate. We’ve been going here since Shane was born.”
“They look after baby Shane?”
“Absolutely. Right up until he moved to Montreal.”
“Even injections? How was baby Shane?”
David smiles as he remembers Shane as a baby. “He was great. Never cried but he’d glare at the doctor and nurse so hard after they gave him the shot.”
“Angry baby Shane,” Ilya laughs fondly. “Must be good doctors and nurses then.”
“They really are. Want me to call you after my appointment to let you know I’m alive?” David offers, joking but not really.
“Yes, please.”
Ilya starts calling them too after that. He always calls when it’s convenient for Yuna and David but he’s less strict about his own schedule - they’re not expecting a phone call in the middle of a tough stretch of back to back games bouncing back and forth between Boston, New York, and New Jersey.
“Yuna! David! Thank you for presents! Is not even my birthday and I only scored one goal yesterday, even against sad old Scott Hunter.” Ilya literally sounds giddy with excitement.
“Hi, son,” David says. He likes Scott Hunter as a player but he likes Ilya’s glee more. And Scott is approaching the end of his hockey career. “Glad you liked the presents - the best presents are the ones that are ‘just because’.”
“Best presents,” Ilya agrees.
”How was the shortbread? I wasn’t sure if you like it - what’s your favourite cookie anyway? - but they travel well in the mail and I think they still taste pretty good even if they’re not your favourite. Simple but classic. It’s my mom’s recipe.”
“Delicious,” Ilya says firmly. “Best shortbread but I like any cookies you make us, David. Oh, and all the guys say thank you too for shortbread too - they ate them all. Marly was a little piggy.”
”I’ll make a double batch next time. And I’ll check out what other cookies are good to send in the mail.”
”Yuna, thank you for scarf - is gorgeous.”
”Oh, thank you, sweetie - I just wanted you to have something cosy,” Yuna explains. “I’m still working on my knitting skills but at least it’s warm, right? And I’m sorry I couldn’t make it in Raiders colours - black wool is hard to knit with! I’ll get there though.”
”Scarf is warm and beautiful,” Ilya insists.
He isn’t joking. Ilya does his next post-game interview dressed in sleek ensemble - it’s nothing so pedestrian as just clothes - by one of the luxury designer brands he’s sponsored by now. David is pretty sure that even one of the socks Ilya’s wearing - not even the pair, just a single sock - costs more than his ten year old Toyota.
The one thing that David knows for certain isn’t from some expensive designer is the pale blue scarf tucked around Ilya’s neck. The yarn is the softest and smoothest Yuna could find - Shane hates scratchy clothes against his skin so Yuna figures Ilya might be the same, especially since they share clothes so often. There are a few dropped or twisted stitches - Yuna likes knitting because it keeps her hands busy and her mind free to think but the only time David hears her swear more is when they’re watching hockey. David is pretty sure fashion people would say the scarf doesn’t go with the rest of Ilya’s outfit but David thinks it looks just right.
One of the reporters asks Ilya about all his new sponsorships, his growing profile outside of hockey, then comments about his clothes today.
“And is the scarf part of the new collection too?” The reporter asks.
“Oh, no,” Ilya answers. “This is custom, very exclusive, made just for me. Is my favourite scarf.”
The league roster gods are smiling on their family for once and Ilya has enough time to come over for dinner the next time the Raiders play the Cens in Ottawa. He arrives with another bouquet of flowers and a bottle of vodka, and hesitates even as David and Yuna fling open the front door and hug him as they pull him inside.
“Ilya, sweetie, you’re here! Perfect timing,” Yuna says, ruffling Ilya’s hair one last time before accepting the flowers and vodka.
“Chicken parm should be ready in about ten minutes,” David adds.
“Yes!” Ilya cheers. “I will set the table.”
David and Yuna exchange smiles - guests are served politely at the dining table, family joins them in the kitchen.
“Thank you, that would be wonderful.”
David watches as Ilya sets the table as carefully as Shane does - all the cutlery lined up in parallel, every place setting identical. He eats like a hungry boy fresh from hockey practice, and David’s glad he made the full recipe with servings for four.
“We were thinking of coming to the game tomorrow, if it’s alright with you first,” David says as he plates another serving for Ilya. He suspects that Ilya’s father and brother and other hangers-on used Ilya for money and clout - he doesn’t want to do anything that might remind Ilya of that, to make him feel like the Hollanders are trying to use him.
Ilya stares at them wide-eyed. “Really? You want to watch me play. Is not an important game.”
“Every game in a season is important,” Yuna says, ever the hockey devotee. “That’s how Cups are won - one game at a time. A winning team shows up in every game, not just during the playoffs.”
“I see why Shane wins so many cups,” Ilya says, with a grin. “And, yes, I would love if you come to the game. I’ll call, get you tickets.”
“No need, we bought some already,” Yuna replies.
Ilya looks confused. “What if I say no? Even though I would never say no. But if I did, then you waste your money.”
Yuna just shrugs. “That’s okay. We just didn’t want to miss out on seats.”
“Is Ottawa - they always have seats.”
“Not good ones,” Yuna insists. “We want the best seats so we can fully appreciate your hockey, just like we do for Shane.”
After the main course, Yuna clears the used dishes from the table and David scoops cookies and cream ice-cream into bowls for dessert. Ilya drifts over to look at the family photos displayed on the wall. As always, he looks the longest and smiles widest at photos of Shane, especially the ones where Shane’s a kid. David wishes they had childhood photos of Ilya to add to the family photo wall but he suspects they might all be back in Russia. If Ilya’s father bothered to keep any at all, which David also doubts.
Ilya freezes suddenly when he sees the new photos.
“The family photos needed updating,” David explains from where he sits at the kitchen table.
“Family,” Ilya whispers.
Most of the photos are of Shane and Ilya, either individually or together. Most of them are from the summer, either at Shane’s cottage or the Hollanders, but there are a few from Ottawa or Montreal or Boston - even a few game photos of them on the ice. There’s a mix of posed and candid shots. There’s a larger photo of the four of them together, taken at a fancy dinner. But the biggest photo is just Shane and Ilya sitting on the dock, with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, and smiling at each other. They’re lit by golden summer sunlight. It’s David’s favourite photo in the whole house.