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The auditorium was stifling hot, and Shane tried to wipe away a bead of sweat without anyone noticing. He failed. Ilya, clutching his own bouquet, raised an eyebrow.
“OK?”
Shane nodded. “I’m fine.”
On stage, Jade and Ruby did something and fell dramatically to the stage floor. The play had included a character in a top hat and a gigantic whale and even though there’d been a summary in the little folded sheet of paper that passed for a program, Shane was still confused. He’d never been to a school play before. By the time he’d been Ruby and Jade’s age, he’d been all hockey, all the time, playing up against kids half again his age.
“That’s my girl!” Down the row, Chouinard stood and started clapping.
All around Shane, his teammates began to stand and whistle, so he stood too, tucking his bouquet of daisies under his arm. The entire back row of the auditorium was filled with men who didn’t quite fit into the auditorium seats, their shoulders bulky and their legs too long to be comfortable in the narrow metal confines. At least half of the team was here, either for their own children or, like Shane and Ilya, in support as uncles.
On stage, the players leaped up, took each other by the hand, came forward and bowed. Bood whistled and his youngest squinted past the glare of the spotlights and smiled wide, her teeth white against her dark skin. She bowed again and it caused a ripple effect down the line, all the students taking another bow.
Shane grinned. Their joy was contagious and he looked over to see Ilya’s eyes wide and a little glassy as he used the back of his wrist to wipe away proud tears. Gay or European? Shane mouthed, and Ilya burst into laughter.
“Both?” Ilya nodded at the stage, where the kids had disappeared backstage. Jackie was standing to lead them down.
As they filed past the rows to wait for the kids by the stage, Shane noticed the other parents. The hockey team was, by far, the most recognizable people in the audience—it was called ‘the show’ for a reason—but the school was fierce about privacy and not just because it was filled with the children of the local NHL team. Many of the parents were like Shane and Ilya, or well-known for other reasons, but they all wanted their kids to have a normal school experience, like these end of year plays.
Later that evening, Shane leaned back in his chair and looked down the long table. Amber was slumped against Hayden’s other side, too stubborn to fall asleep and too tired to stay fully awake. Down the table, Ruby and Jade were hunched over a phone with Bood’s youngest, giggling. The girls’ flower bouquets were safe in bags hooked over the back of their chairs.
“They’re having a sleepover after dinner,” Hayden explained, lifting his wine glass. Sandwiched between them, Arthur nodded glumly as Hayden continued. “It was the only way I could persuade them to come to dinner.”
“I can’t believe they’re thirteen.” Shane traced a finger across the nape of Ilya’s neck, where the occasional gray hair showed up, almost invisible in the fine blond curls. “Your kids make me feel old, Hayd.”
“Man, tell me about it.” Hayden smiled across the table at Jackie, who was deep in conversation with Cassie. “I don’t know how you and Ilya are doing it.”
Hayden had retired two years ago, his knee giving out entirely after a bad, albeit legal, hit. He hadn’t walked for a month, and then he’d spent six months getting around with a cane. On long days, like this one, Jackie had been known to pull a folding cane out of her bag, handing it over with a raised eyebrow and a reminder: “There are no martyr prizes in this household.”
Shane shrugged. He didn’t like to think about how his reaction times were a hair slower this year. “Just lucky, I guess.”
Down at the end of the table, LaPointe’s oldest held up a phone. “Everybody smile!”
All the phones in the room belonged to someone on the team, or a member of their families. After the first, disastrous, time Shane and Ilya had hosted a team dinner at one of the local restaurants, his mom had reached out to his lawyer and his accountant, and set up an arrangement with half a dozen local restaurants. Given a month’s notice, the restaurants would close for the evening, hosting only Shane and his guest list. Being uncles for the school play qualified as one of those evenings. The arrangement also let Shane secretly pick up the tab.
Obliging LaPointe’s oldest with a wide, shit-eating grin, Ilya timed a big kiss on Shane’s cheek just in time for the click of the artificial shutter. “There, now everyone can see moy pomidor.”
“Ilya.” Shane tried to frown, but he couldn’t keep a serious expression on his face.
Next to him, Arthur rolled his eyes. “If Uncle Ilya wasn’t the captain, you’d get a fine. You’re always kissing.”
“Pfft!” exclaimed Ilya. “You just wait, Pikelet. One day you’ll be so proud to be with someone that you’ll kiss them in public too.”
Unimpressed, Arthur turned his attention back to his blueberry and lemon cake. Tonight’s choice had been Italian. The kids in the play had voted for it, and if Shane had thrown in an extra vote to make Italian win, he didn’t feel bad about it. Ilya liked spaghetti, and Shane liked it well enough.
He glanced down at his plate, with no marinara sauce. Even here, the sauce was a little too acidic for his taste, so he’d opted for aglio e olio. Jackie’s eyes had crinkled fondly when he’d put in his order, but Shane had just shrugged. He liked what he liked.
And what he liked was this, an evening with his friends and his family, celebrating these small rituals. Shane tapped Ilya’s bicep, drawing his attention from a loud argument with Haasy about set design.
“Gimme kiss.”
As always, Ilya obliged.