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Ilya stared blankly at his phone in the visiting team’s locker room. It was the first match up of the season against Montreal and the first time that he would be seeing his boyfriend in person since their wonderful summer together at the cottage. Apparently, it was also the first time he would be seeing David and Yuna again as well.
YUNA: Good Luck sweetie! We’ll be (secretly) cheering for you too. See you after the game!
This wasn’t the first time that Yuna had texted to wish him luck before a game. Boston had started their season off with a home game against Nashville and Ilya had stared for a long time at his phone then as well, unable to remember the last time anyone had wished him good luck before a game. It had taken a considerable amount of effort not to cry when he realised that it had probably been his own mother.
After a few games Ilya had grown happily accustomed to Yuna’s pre-game texts, which sometimes featured her expert hockey advice and sometimes featured her reporting on a funny joke or sarcastic addition from David. They would call him after games as well sometimes, particularly if the game had been an exciting one, keen to debrief as if Yuna was one of his coaches.
Suddenly Ilya understood why Shane was as good as he was. Having Yuna in his corner was already pushing him to be a better player. She was as good as, if not better, than his coaches at motivating him to do his very best. After years of unrelenting pressure from his father, Ilya was a better player than ever with the genuine encouragement and support that the Hollander’s had not hesitated to offer him.
Now Ilya stared at his phone again as if it was the first time he had received a text from Yuna.
He hadn’t expected her to wish him luck when he would be playing against her son tonight!
As much as Ilya relished the fact that Shane’s parents had welcomed him so warmly into their family, he still felt like he knew his place. They were, after all, Shane’s parents. They had devoted their lives to raising Shane and supporting him and apparently coaching him to back-to-back Stanley Cups.
They had only really known Ilya for a few months.
ILYA: Thank you mama.
YUNA: Don’t go easy on him!
ILYA: I never do.
David Hollander felt unusually nervous. Over the years he and Yuna had attended hundreds of Shane’s games. They had been in the stands both times when Shane won the Stanley Cup and David didn’t think that he had been this nervous even then.
He was wearing his usual ‘Shane Hollander’ jersey, his wife dressed to match and sat in the same usual seats that they had enjoyed since Shane’s rookie season with Montreal. They didn’t come to all of Shane’s home games anymore, but they always had the seats if they wanted them and Yuna had insisted that they should be at tonight’s game against Boston.
The truth was that despite their ‘Hollander’ jerseys, there was someone else that they were here to see as well. Someone that Yuna was busy texting.
Ilya Rozanov.
If you had told David a year ago that he would find himself cheering on Boston games when they watched the hockey at home, he would have called it madness, but since the season had started both David and Yuna’s attention had been stretched between their son and his boyfriend.
Now they were about to watch them play against each other for the first time.
Except it wasn’t the first time. David and Yuna had been to several Montreal vs Boston games in the past. Especially during the first couple of years of Shane’s career, when the rivalry was at its most bitter, they hadn’t missed a single game between the two of them. If only they had known then what they knew now they might have looked upon the fierce competitiveness on the ice with different eyes.
This was just the first time that they knew everything.
David was trying to tell himself that this didn’t change things. He was still here to support his son first and foremost, as the jersey so clearly communicated. Ilya was still Shane’s number one rival on the ice. There was no reason for him to be any more nervous than he normally would be.
But David was nervous for two very good reasons.
The first reason was that the last time Montreal had played Boston, Shane had been badly injured. David wasn’t the type to place blame for these things but there was a nagging feeling in his gut that maybe the injury wouldn’t have happened against another team. That maybe something, or someone, had been distracting Shane from focusing on the game.
The second, and considerably more consuming, reason for his nerves was that David did not want to be responsible for accidently outing his son a second time. He had already managed to unintentionally force both his son and his son’s boyfriend out of the closet – at least to himself and Yuna – over the summer. Now they were somewhere considerably more public and if David so much as cheered for Ilya once it would look very very strange to the hoards of Montreal fans that filled up the arena. For the next few hours David Hollander was going to have to hold his nerve and control his reactions very carefully and he was quietly cursing his wonderful wife for dragging him along tonight.
If he had watched the game at home, he could have happily cheered for every goal scored regardless of the team and enjoyed what was sure to be excellent hockey because Shane and Ilya would never go easy on each other.
David silently promised himself that he would not ruin this for them. If they could manage to keep their secret for seven years, he could manage for one night.
As the players skated out onto the ice and started warming up, he made sure to cheer loudly for his son. When Ilya skated out, he simply reached for Yuna’s hand and squeezed it, exchanging a brief smile because that was as much acknowledgement as they could afford to give him. Around them, Montreal fans booed and it looked to David as though Ilya was loving it.
And then David wondered how he had ever been so blind.
With fresh eyes and new knowledge he watched the way that Shane and Ilya moved on the ice like planets orbiting one another. Their movements echoed, glances stolen across the ice, brief passes where their shoulders almost touched and David was sure that they were whispering quickly to one another despite the proximity of their teammates on the ice.
To everyone else did it just look like two rivals preparing to face off? Did they assume that each whisper was some sly comment designed to get under the others skin? Had David really believed that his son hated Ilya Rozanov for so many years?
It all seemed completely unbelievable now.
Then the game started. Shane and Ilya at centre ice, facing off, eyes locked and David felt as though he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know how they did it but from where he was sitting it looked as though they were loving it. Shane was actually grinning when the puck dropped and he won the face off.
David remembered to cheer for his son as Shane skated away, Ilya quick on his skates chasing him.
Watching them, David felt strangely transported back to the summer, sat at the dinner table watching Shane and Ilya bicker about something utterly trivial, chirping happily at one another and completely unbothered by the fact that David and Yuna were laughing at them.
He couldn’t stifle the small chuckle that breached his lips as he watched them.
The pieces of the puzzle all slotted so easily into place. He didn’t need to worry about how they did this because this was a part of them. Their relationship and the rivalry that they had built up weren’t two separate things; they were one and the same. He had seen as much over the summer, but he hadn’t really understood it until now. Two competitive spirits, battling it out on the ice not in spite of the fact that they loved each other but because they loved each other.
This was flirting.
Deeply competitive, deadly serious, flirting.
David couldn’t help himself from smiling because of course his son would fall in love with his biggest rival. Of course he would pursue a relationship founded in competition. And of course he would get the first score of the night in the net before Ilya could even get control of the puck.
Cheers erupted around him, so David didn’t have to even try and conceal that joy that burst out from him.
It was blindingly obvious, as he let himself relax into watching the game, that Ilya was exactly right for his son.
Ilya couldn’t stop smiling. Boston had lost and he still couldn't stop smiling.
It had, at least, been a closely fought game. Shane had nabbed an early lead for Montreal but then Boston had clawed it back and levelled the score and then Ilya had scored in the second period to take them ahead but unfortunately Shane had his own plans in the third period and fought tooth and nail to get a second goal and an assist, leaving the final score at 3-2 to Montreal.
The crowd had loved every second of it and so had Ilya. Playing against Shane made every other game against every other team feel like mere child’s play.
And now Ilya was getting ready to head back to Shane’s Montreal apartment to have dinner with his boyfriend’s family and then fall asleep in his boyfriend’s arms and he couldn’t be happier.
His reputation as a lady’s man came into clutch when Cliff Marlowe asked if Ilya felt like going out with the team. He barely had to stumble through some vague excuse about having plans when Cliff clapped him hard on the shoulder.
“Montreal girl?” Cliff grinned widely. “You guys back together?”
Ilya tried not to hate Cliff for being too observant. It was a helpful skill in a teammate on the ice but deeply inconvenient off the ice. Cliff had been the first of the Boston team to figure out that Ilya must be seeing someone in Montreal years back, and due to Ilya’s reluctance to spill any details the team had simply dubbed his mystery lover ‘Montreal Girl’ and Ilya never bothered to correct them.
Then, last year, Cliff had been the only one to cotton on that there was, as he put it, ‘trouble in paradise’ after Ilya dragged the team clubbing in Montreal whilst Shane was dating Rose.
“Yeah, we are.” Ilya tried not to smile too much, deciding that the easiest lie would be to let Cliff and the team keep believing in ‘Montreal Girl’. They were all way too straight to even entertain the possibility that his mystery lover could actually be a man, let alone the star centre of the opposing team.
“Nice one man!” Cliff beamed, apparently happy for his captain. “Have fun tonight!”
“Oh I will.” Ilya didn’t need to lie about that at all.
David moved around Shane’s kitchen as if it were his own. He had probably cooked in here more often than Shane did and he was busy tonight preparing a healthy pasta dish that would appease Ilya’s love of pasta whilst still conforming to Shane’s hockey season diet.
Yuna and Shane were perched on the stools at the counter, trying to avoid talking about the game whilst they waited for Ilya to extract himself from his own post-game requirements with his team and make his way across Montreal to the impeccable penthouse apartment that Shane had purchased early on in his career.
“So I was thinking I might sell this place.” Shane was telling Yuna. “It’s great but I’m kind of in the wrong part of town for getting back and forth to Ottawa and I think it would be nice to have a house rather than an apartment.”
“You could probably get a place closer to the rink as well.” Yuna added.
“Exactly.”
“So you move to the opposite side of Montreal to get away from us but the minute your boyfriend’s thinking about moving to Ottawa suddenly you want to move?” David teased as he chopped vegetables.
“I did not move here to get away from you!” Shane protested “I was young. I wanted to be in the… I don’t know, the cool part of town.”
“And how much have you actually taken advantage of being in the ‘cool’ part of town?” Yuna asked, placing air quotes around the word ‘cool’.
“I met Rose at that one party!”
“So once.” David laughed heartily.
“I could have gone to more parties.” Shane grumbled.
“You could have but that’s not you.” Yuna shrugged. “It’s okay to want to stay home and read a book instead of going out sweetie.”
“Ilya’s right. I am boring.”
As if the simple gesture of speaking his name had summoned him, David heard the sound of the door opening around the corner. There was no knock. Nobody had rung the buzzer. No grand announcement of his arrival. Just the click of the lock being opened and the shuffling of shoes being taken off whilst Shane raced to the door to privately greet his boyfriend before the parents could descend.
David realised rather stupidly that Ilya knew the code and had his own key and once again he needed a minute to adjust his perspective on his son’s seven-year long relationship.
“Hi sweetie!” Yuna hopped down from the barstool to give Ilya a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Great game tonight!”
“It was.” Ilya agreed despite the end result.
“Ilya.” David greeted him with a smile.
“Food smells good.” Ilya grinned back. “Can I help?”
David was about to suggest that Ilya could help him with the pasta when Yuna beat him to the punch.
“Not at all! You’ve just played a game!” She had a point. “You two boys relax; I’ll help your father.”
Yuna did not help at all though. As soon as Shane and Ilya were sat at the counter, nursing a ginger ale and a can of coke respectively, she was straight into the post-game analysis with them because she had been holding it all in from the moment they arrived at Shane’s apartment.
David was more than happy to keep quiet and just listen to the three of them as they dissected every moment of the game in great detail with Shane and Ilya happily ribbing each other’s form and Yuna acting as though she was coaching both of them. It wouldn’t surprise David one bit if his wife actually started pulling up game footage to run through with the two of them.
“Dinner will be ready in a minute.” Was David’s only contribution to the conversation.
“Oh I should set the table.” Shane hopped down from the barstool, rummaging around in his cupboards for plates.
“I can help.” Ilya looked around the kitchen as though he was lost.
“You’ll do no such thing.” Yuna patted Ilya’s chest as she moved past him to collect the cutlery and followed her son over to the dining table, leaving David and Ilya alone in the kitchen.
“Here, you can help me son.” David clapped Ilya’s shoulder, filling a teaspoon with the pasta sauce that he had made from scratch. “Taste this.”
Ilya took the teaspoon and tasted, taking a moment to consider it.
“Perfect.” He smiled and David knew that Ilya wasn’t just being polite.
“Good.”
Ilya felt lighter than he had in weeks. Ever since he had flown back to Boston, he felt his body grow heavier with every passing week, dragging him down and filling his time with endless stretches of nothing but missing Shane. They texted every day and called at least twice a week but usually more and still Ilya missed him terribly.
It was remarkable how easily it all washed away now that he was in Montreal, sat at Shane’s dining table, eating pasta with his family.
He didn’t even mind that David and Yuna being here was cutting into his alone time with Shane because it was so nice to be around family. Yuna’s post-game debrief was even more fun in person and with Shane there as well, catching his eye and grinning as she ran though every single play with an intense amount of detail. David’s cooking was even better than Ilya remembered despite the fact that he was adhering to Shane’s boring diet plan.
And Shane looked even more beautiful than ever, smiling and laughing and completely at ease.
If Ilya didn’t know better, he would think that that he was dreaming.
After dinner, Yuna helped Shane to pack up the dishwasher whilst David and Ilya lounged back on the sofa, watching the game highlights on TV.
“You know it was strange watching the two of you out there.” David’s eyes were fixed on the television, showing a repeat of the first face off in slow motion.
“Was it?” Ilya felt strangely apprehensive about whatever David was about to say next.
“I don’t know how I never noticed it before.” David chuckled. “You two move together even though you’re playing against each other.”
Ilya’s chest tightened, a sudden fear washing through him that maybe he and Shane had let their guard down too much tonight. If David had noticed it then maybe other people had too and if other people noticed that could ruin the whole plan.
“Hey.” David reached across and rested a reassuring hand on Ilya’s arm. “I only noticed it because I know. I’m sure everyone else is still seeing the same rivalry that I was seeing for the last seven years.”
Ilya nodded still feeling the lump in his throat because he couldn't be sure. His eyes fixed on the screen watching to see if what David said was true. He had watched thousands of hours of game tapes over his career but never had he watched anything so intently in his life as he watched himself just a few hours earlier following Shane across the ice and slamming him into the boards to steal the puck away.
A small smile flittered over his face as he remembered that particular tackle.
David was right. Every play they made it looked as though they were connected by an invisible string that held them together, their eyes constantly searching for each other across the ice, their movements drawing them closer.
But, to Ilya’s great relief, he felt that it could all be easily put down to two rivals watching each other closely.
For years he had hated the narrative that the league had built around them being rivals but now he was grateful for it because it was providing them with the perfect cover to go unnoticed. There was, after all, a very thin line between love and hate. The fans didn’t need to know that Ilya and Shane sat squarely on the ‘love’ side of the line.
“Now that was a great shot!” David exclaimed pointing at the TV with a wide grin. Miitka had blocked it, but David was right; it was a great shot. If it wasn’t for the fact that Miitka was on such good form tonight it could easily have been a Boston win.
“Thank you.” Ilya raised his glass of good Russian vodka (courtesy of David).
“You know I had a hard time not cheering for you tonight son.” David admitted and Ilya felt his heart swell and his cheeks flush. He didn’t even know what to say to that. “I mean I love cheering for my son, but I hope you know that if I could, I would be cheering you on too.”
“I…” Ilya bit his lip hard.
“I’ve never cheered for Boston before, but I watch all your games now.” David continued, his eyes still fixed on the screen. He seemed oblivious to the tears that were filling Ilya’s eyes. “Yuna will tell you. I’m at home shouting at the TV every time. Sometimes the games clash with Shane’s but Yuna’s figured out the TV box thing to record one so we can watch back-to-back.”
“You watch every game?” Ilya’s voice cracked slightly. Nobody watched all of Ilya’s games. Sure his late father would always check the score so that he could berate Ilya for losing and Svetlana watched most of his games if she had the time, but nobody watched every single game or went to the trouble of recording games.
“Every single one.” David confirmed, turning his head to face Ilya now and catching for the first time that Ilya was on the verge of tears. “Oh son.”
Before Ilya knew what was happening, David Hollander had wrapped him up in a warm hug, patting him on the back as he did, and Ilya wasn’t holding back the tears anymore. He had gone years of his life without ever shedding a tear and yet over the last year he had now cried on every single member of the Hollander family at one point or another.
“Oh no.” Shane’s voice broke through the air as he emerged from the kitchen.
“This… is your fault.” Ilya protested weakly, pointing a finger at Shane.
“What is?” Shane sounded genuinely confused.
“Years. For years I don’t cry because Russians don’t do that.” Ilya extracted himself from the hug so that he could half heartedly complain about his newfound emotions to Shane. “But then you and your family and now I am always crying like boring Canadian.”
Ilya wasn’t sure anything he was saying was making sense and Shane looked as though he was laughing at him as he moved around the couch to brush the tears from Ilya’s cheeks.
“Sorry.” Shane whispered softly.
“I hate you.” Ilya grumbled like a petulant child.
“No you don’t.”
And then Shane kissed him and Ilya forgot all about being annoyed and emotional and for a minute he even forgot his own name because he was so completely entranced by Shane’s tongue diving between his lips, clashing with Ilya’s own, as Shane’s arms snaked around Ilya’s waist.
“I think that’s our cue to leave.” Yuna whispered loudly enough for Shane and Ilya to spring apart breathlessly.
“I think you’re right.” David looked slightly bemused.
“Sorry.” Ilya grinned sheepishly, his eyes still wet with ridiculous tears.
“Wow you really are turning Canadian.” Shane teased, elbowing him in the ribs as David and Yuna laughed.
“Fuck you.” Ilya elbowed him back.
“Language.” Yuna reprimanded and Ilya was heart wrenchingly reminded of his own mother for a moment.
Ilya bit his tongue and wrapped an arm around Shane’s waist as Yuna and David collected their things. They weren’t driving back home tonight but Yuna had the good sense to book a hotel rather than impose on Shane whilst Ilya was in town. David left not one but two bottles of the really good Russian vodka in Shane’s kitchen.
“One to keep here and one to take home because I reckon you’ve finished the other bottle I gave you already.” David explained because he already knew Ilya too well.
“Thank you.” Ilya beamed. “For everything.”
“I’m proud of you son.”
“Shut up. Do not make me cry again.”
David just laughed, half hugging Ilya as he followed his wife out of the door.
“Oh Ilya, before I forget, do you have plans over the winter break?” Yuna asked.
“No.”
“Well then, how would you like to spend Christmas with us?”