Work Text:
David Hollander needed a new phone. He knew it, had known it for months. His wife had reminded him, his son had made fun of him, both of them had nagged him ever since Shane had come to stay after his injury, but David had dragged his feet and gotten distracted by other things and put it off, and now he was sitting at his kitchen table watching a 6-foot-something Russian man drink his vodka, all because he wouldn’t upgrade his damn phone to one that worked with the same charger as Yuna’s.
If he was being honest with himself, eventually, he’d probably be happy this had happened. His wife hadn’t lied when she said they’d wondered if their son was gay. They’d kind of quietly assumed it to be the case for years, right up until he’d dated that actress. But then they’d broken up so quickly, and it sent David and his wife right back to their speculations. And when Scott Hunter had won the Cup and kissed his boyfriend on live TV, David had glanced briefly at his son, and the shock David saw on his face didn’t just look like surprise. He was pretty sure he’d seen a little awe, and when Shane had come back after taking that phone call? David swore that smile was one of giddiness, before Shane had claimed a headache and excused himself to go get some sleep.
So yeah, David had wondered. David had guessed. And he was glad to have answers, to clear some of the fog from the room and see things, to see his son, more clearly.
But he still felt like a real asshole for forcing the conversation in the way that he had.
He’d tried to joke about things earlier, to lighten the mood and pull Shane out of the anxiety David knew could consume him (“There weren’t any nice men in Montreal?”) and it had worked, sort of, as Shane’s short response had suggested. But the fourth person in the room couldn’t have seemed more uncomfortable, and David knew that until that was resolved, his son could only be so at ease himself.
His wife wasn’t really helping. She and Shane were so alike in so many ways, and David considered himself an expert at recognizing when they were each too in their own heads, and then helping to pull them out of that. Over the years, he’d come to recognize each of their tells, the way Shane’s eyes would glaze over or Yuna’s jaw would tighten, and David had his unique ways to help each of them. Shane needed touch and reassurance. Yuna needed a little time alone and then a mental project to focus on. But the two methods didn’t work well simultaneously, and right now, it was hard to prioritize between the two of them, never mind that there was an extra person who David had zero read on at all.
So David sat there in silence, and so did the boys, as Yuna stoically rose from her seat, jaw clenched, and moved to the kitchen. They sat in silence as she rinsed out her cup and placed it in the dishwasher. She closed it far louder than David was sure she intended, and David saw his son flinch.
They sat in silence as she moved back into the breakfast nook, hand brushing Shane’s shoulder as she passed, and stood at the end of the table, facing the three of them as she made her declaration. “I really am ok, but this is a lot, and I just need to step away and process for a little bit.”
And they continued to sit silently, Shane’s arms crossed over his chest, David rotating his cup slowly between his fingers, and Rozanov - nope, Ilya, David corrected himself - fidgeting with his earlobe, as she walked decisively through the living room and out the front door.
And still they sat. Silently.
Her response wasn’t one that Shane would be unfamiliar with. Yuna knew as well as her husband did that when her anxiety was mounting, she needed a few minutes to collect her thoughts, especially when uncomfortable emotions were involved, and she was vocal about intentionally stepping away to regulate herself when she needed to. She generally handled it better than Shane did, but David knew that big feelings were hard for his wife and son alike. If left to their own devices, they’d swallow down any emotion that made them feel uncomfortable (which was most of them), and they’d put on a good face, until the pot would boil over, eyes teary and harsh words spoken. Yuna knew how to handle that instinct mostly on her own now, while Shane still struggled, David knew. When Shane was younger, people had dismissed him as being too sensitive, but a millennial coworker of David’s had recently said that the parenting gurus all called those “big feelings” now, which David definitely preferred the sound of. Shane and his mom weren’t too sensitive to what they were feeling; they just seemed to feel more deeply than other people did, and that could be overwhelming for them sometimes. It seemed pretty reasonable to David, really, the instinct they had to disengage when their feelings were so much harder to grasp the depths of.
But now, Yuna was gone, and Shane was staring in that way that David knew could precede a panic attack, and Ilya was glancing at Shane, quickly but briefly and repeatedly before looking back at his hands, seemingly nervous of being caught looking at his own boyfriend.
And of course, all three of them were still silent.
David cleared his throat. He was the one who had put them in this mess, and it felt like his responsibility to make it less uncomfortable. Maybe change the subject? “So… how long are you in town for, Ilya?”
“Um… at least through the end of next week.” Ilya fully kept his eyes averted and on his cup as he spoke, acknowledging David through his verbal response only.
Shane had been staring straight ahead, a veritable statue, but David caught the way his eyes moved curiously to Ilya after that response. Something about it had been unexpected.
Huh.
“Well, good. That gives us time hopefully to have you boys over for a normal meal maybe.” An olive branch, a gesture of good will, an encouragement that this was a place where they were both welcome, or at least David hoped it could be received that way.
Ilya, however, looked skeptical - although at least he looked up at David this time, moving only his eyes. “OK.” He hit each letter much harder than David was used to hearing, which David found inexplicably endearing, but also sad. What had happened to this kid - because he was a kid, if he was dating David’s kid - to make him so utterly disbelieving that David would want to intentionally plan to have food with him?
“Actually,” David spoke with determination, slapping the table once, definitively and enthusiastically and maybe just a little unhinged, “I’m hungry. How about you guys? I’m going to make some food. Late lunch/early dinner. Sound good? Pasta ok?”
The boys glanced to each other, heads turning just so slightly towards one another, as David start to rise, the decision already made as far as he was concerned. “Um, sure,” Shane muttered as Ilya offered a “yes?” that was definitely more of a question than an answer.
“Great!” David rubbed his hands together as he made his way to the kitchen. “I’ve got some pasta sauce frozen, we can add some protein and should be good to go. Shane, if I cook up some ground turkey, will that be ok for you?”
Shane shook his head briefly, bringing himself from his daze, before nodding in affirmation. “I mean, you’ll drain it, right? If you do that, it should be fine.”
“Sure thing, great!” David pulled a large container of sauce from the freezer and set it on the counter behind him. “The turkey was defrosting in the fridge in the garage already. I’ll go grab it.”
He left through the door off the kitchen, grateful for something to do besides talk and for an excuse to give the young men in his home a moment alone to collect themselves together. Normally, he wouldn’t leave his son alone when he was like this - staring at the table, stuck in his own head. But, David knew, he wasn’t alone, and David’s gut said that stepping away right now and giving them a few minutes was the right move.
He knew Shane well and could guess where his thoughts were at. He was overwhelmed, overstimulated, probably unnecessarily worrying about his parents’ reaction to… everything. Shane knew, or at least David assumed he knew, that they were fine with gay people. They would have been fine even if that didn’t include their own son, but ever since David had first suggested years ago to his wife that maybe, possibly, their son wasn’t actually attracted to women, Yuna insisted that they were overly clear and enthusiastic about their support for related issues. David had always thought it was a little heavy-handed, but she’d been so nervous about making sure Shane knew they were a safe space for him. Knowing that Shane hadn’t felt like he could tell them did hurt, but he knew whatever Shane had been dealing with would have been much harder. Over time they’d talk it out, David would give Shane a thousand hugs, and it would be fine. They’d get through it.
But this other kid… David wasn’t sure how to read him. And that bugged him, because David had realized over time that he actually had good instincts about people. “You’re an empath, David,” the duh implied by that same millennial coworker recently. He’d recognized early on in his career that his ability to get a read on people wasn’t totally common, at least not in the world of numbers and regulations in which he had planted himself at the Treasury Board. And it made him valuable and appreciated there and allowed him to rise through the ranks fairly easily. Give him 30 minutes with someone, and David could usually tell where their head was at, how they were feeling, whether their intentions were magnanimous or not. Generally speaking, he liked most people and at work enjoyed helping them navigate through their hurdles, external or internal, and helping them deliver work they could be proud of, be the people they wanted to be. Outside of work, those instincts guided him to find the people he wanted to spend his time with and to counsel Yuna on business relationships that seemed worth pursuing.
But then there was Rozanov.
This morning, if anyone had asked, David would have said that Ilya Rozanov was an egotistical media hound, one of the rare cases where the confidence actually matched the talent and met in an entertaining but irritating explosion. He was funny in interviews, sure, but in a way that made David roll his eyes. David had known plenty of guys who talked like Rozanov when he played in college, but Boston’s captain had the ability to back it up, and the result was a man who was far more pleased with himself than David’s Canadian humility preferred.
But having the man in his home now, it was obvious that he was very clearly not how he presented himself publicly, and as someone who prided himself on reading people, David was frustrated to not have seen through the facade earlier. But of course, he had to remind himself, Shane wasn’t who he presented himself as either. The outside world saw his son as the confident, calm, and self-possessed man who had led his team to back-to-back Cups, a level-headed and smooth leader amongst overly testosteroned, overgrown teenagers. And he could be that, but there was also the quiet, nervous, soft boy that the rest of the world didn’t get see. They didn’t get to know the complex, deep thinking, incredibly funny man that David was honored to carry around in his heart.
And if Shane could be so different from the person he presented himself to be, then who the heck was Ilya Rozanov?
David took his time alone to start a mental reassessment, like he might do after an initial business meeting.
Ilya’s posture and demeanor when he and Shane had walked through that front door had been so formal, overly respectful and stoic. Intentionally blank, numb even. But there were glimpses of maybe a playfulness, a sweetness, in the way he had tried to describe their relationship. He had corrected Shane so quickly when asked when they had started dating, enthusiastic to get in that they’d been together a few months longer than Shane had indicated, a child eager to finally add “and a half!” to their age. There was a bravery, in how he had honestly responded to David’s surprise given Ilya’s reputation in the tabloids. And David had caught the way he looked to Shane to set their future timeline when asked if they planned to keep their relationship secret until retirement, and David’s stomach had bottomed out, just for a second, when Ilya had turned to look out the window, the sad acceptance completely unveiled on his face after agreeing with Shane that, yes, of course they’d be hiding for probably another decade.
Those first few moments, though… the rigidity, the preparation for the worst, the clear expectation of rejection and coldness, felt too familiar to David. It was the stance of someone who was ready to be demeaned and have to respond “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
It was a posture David knew too well from his own youth and teenage years, and he couldn’t stomach that anyone, never mind a guest in his own home and the man who looked at his son with such open adoration, would assume David would require that. He couldn’t allow that to stand.
Tupperware container in hand, he made his way back towards the kitchen and froze out of sight in the still-open door as their conversation reached him.
“…so mad.” Shane’s voice was one David recognized with dread as his scared voice, one that hadn’t changed in anything but tenor since Shane was nervous about the first day of kindergarten and curled up on his dad’s lap, needing David’s arms to encompass him fully in the physical safety of his arms.
“No, they are fine. It is a lot of things all at once, but they are fine. I promise, I can tell.” Ilya’s voice was soft, not as low and rumbling as David was used to hearing, not even as low as it had been ten minutes earlier. It was softer and affectionate, moving fluidly between crisp consonants like music.
“I lied to them. For years.”
“Yes but they will understand this.” A chair was scooted, floorboards creaked, and there was a soft sound of maybe a gentle kiss. “They love you. And they said they thought maybe this was the case anyway. Is not about you. They love you. They are just shocked that you brought home the sluttiest asshole in the MLH.” The voice was teasing and light in its self-deprecation, but the way Ilya narrated the perception of himself cracked David a bit and added one more item to the list of things David couldn’t allow to happen in his home, with his family.
“You’re not a slutty asshole.” Shane’s voice was lighter now too, as the sound of another chair sliding reached David around the corner.
“I am a little bit, yes.”
“Fine, then. You’re my slutty asshole.”
David’s eyes went wide as a rich, deep chuckle escaped from Ilya. “Maybe do not say this to your parents just like that.”
“Shut up. I hate you.” Shane’s voice was petulant and playful now. It was a voice David hasn’t really heard from his son before, but it was easy and relaxed, and David was grateful for that.
“No you don’t. You love me. And only a little bit because I am a slutty asshole.” An audible, comically loud kiss followed.
David should have been mortified. He absolutely did not need or want to hear his son talking about his sex life, regardless of whether that was with a man or a woman. But also, for so many years, he had wondered if Shane would ever find his person, someone to tease and be silly and flirt with, to stay in bed late with and steal kisses with around corners at parties, to be what Yuna had always been for him, and hearing Shane have that very thing soothed parts of David he didn’t know were hurting.
He suspected he might kind of like this Ilya Rozanov guy. He definitely liked the way he had lightened Shane’s unnecessary anxiety so quickly.
“So is your dad a good cook, or will it be like eating your weird food?”
“It’s not weird food, it’s healthy food, you’re a professional athlete, it’s what you should be eating too. And he is a good cook and makes plenty of stuff I can eat-”
It seemed as good a time as any to reenter the room, the conversation safely moving into the unemotional and about David already. To announce himself and make it seem like he had just come back, he baked up into the garage and took audible steps, loudly closing the door from the garage before he walked the rest of the way into the kitchen.
Shane and Ilya were standing in the dining area, and based on the way they both turned in synchronization towards the kitchen counter behind them to face him, they had been embracing a moment before. David grabbed a skillet from a cabinet next to the stove and, throwing a kitchen towel over his shoulder, put the pan on the burner to heat up.
“Shane, buddy, can you grab one of those big sauce pots and get that on the stove with the sauce in it?”
“Yeah, sure.” Shane did as he was asked, his frame more relaxed, clearly back in his body and in the moment again.
Yep, David definitely liked this kid’s influence on Shane.
Ilya fidgeted in place for a moment before asking, his voice a partial, performative octave lower than it had been when David overheard him talking to Shane, “Can I help with anything?”
“Oh, that would be great!” David knew he was overly enthusiastic but couldn’t help it. This kid seemed like he needed to feel needed, and dammit David could do that. “Can you chop a couple of onions for the sauce? Shane, can you show him where the stuff is at?”
The three men moved through the kitchen around one another for a few more moments in silence, until the soft sound of the knife against the cutting board began in a gentle rhythm, before David hesitantly offered in the softest tone he could muster while still acting casual, “Ilya, I heard about your dad a few months back. I’m sorry about that.” He glanced over from his spot at the stove where he added a little olive oil and began moving the turkey around with a wooden spoon. Ilya’s shoulders had visibly tensed up, his body tightening, and David felt a pang of guilt for having evidently picked the wrong topic.
“Thank you.” The response was a little formal again, followed by a beat and then an audible exhale. “But is ok. He was very sick for a long time, dementia, Alzheimer’s like, so was kind of I guess good finally for him to not be like that anymore.” David watched out of his peripheral vision, letting the moment breathe as Ilya flexed and relaxed the muscles in his back, Shane quickly but gently rubbing at his lower back, before speaking again. “And we were not like very close after I joined the League. I would see him for summers but it was… we did not talk a lot.” His posture shifted again, loosening ever so slightly, and David wanted to pat him on the shoulder to thank him for sharing just that littlest bit of himself to David.
But instead, David responded as lightly and easily as he could force himself to be. “That’s hard. A loss is still a loss, even when maybe a relationship isn’t what you’d want it to be, so still… I’m sorry.” The half a metaphorical step David had taken closer seemed well received, and Ilya’s jaw softened a little bit further.
David glanced at the clock on the oven and at Shane, who was leaning with his elbows against the counter besides his… not lover, boyfriend David guessed?, whatever Ilya was. David was pretty sure that his wife would have spent enough time processing by now. She and Shane needed to talk, and it was time to nudge that conversation into being.
“Shane, buddy, it’s getting cooler out there. Maybe take a jacket out to your mom?”
Shane went rigid, and David noticed Ilya’s posture mirroring his immediately. “I don’t know, Dad…”
David set his spoon down and walked over to his son, placing his hands on Shane’s upper arms and looking into his eyes. Shane hated when David approached him in that exact way, always had, but David also knew that the physical touch and forced eye contact, when wielded strategically, had the ability to center Shane pretty effectively, and David was darn good at picking the right time to use it. “Your mom is fine, Shane. She just needed a minute. But if I know her, and I do, she’s right now at the point where she’s ready to talk.” Shane inhaled sharply, his leg bouncing a little. “Plus you know if you don’t, she’s going to start over-thinking and spiraling. So grab a jacket and go save her from herself. Please.” He squeezed once and then let go, tousling Shane’s hair. “You’ve got this, buddy. It’s all going to be ok. I promise.”
Shane nodded and breathed deeply, visibly prepping himself mentally. “Ok. Ok.”
Ilya leaned towards him, pausing in his work, and spoke so softly that David almost couldn’t hear him even from a few feet away. “Do you want me to come with you?”
Shane shook his head. “No. I’m ok. I’m good.” And he turned and, after a brush of his hand against Ilya’s forearm, he walked away, David throwing a quick “I love you!” after him. He noticed Ilya’s eyes following Shane as he left but was glad to see Ilya’s shoulders remained relatively relaxed.
The two went about their work of preparing a meal together, quiet until David heard the front door close behind Shane.
Two down, taken care of, and one to go.
Ilya felt like a challenge, but maybe a challenge David was uniquely suited to handle.
Clearing his throat again, he began casually, never stopping in his work as he spoke. “Shane’s mom and I met in college. My second year, her first. I always thought we were so young, but I guess we were older than you two were when you met. Huh.” A gentle, sincere laugh escaped his mouth, and he shook his head, mostly to himself, as Ilya glanced over at him briefly, eyes unreadable, and then continued to chop. “I’d seen her at games - I played in college, of course never as good as you two and never really good enough at all to think of going pro or anything, but I was decent and played left wing - and she was at every game, usually with friends but sometimes even just there on her own. She always looked so serious and focused on the game, and she was gorgeous. She had this choppy kind of short hair cut, like to her chin, kind of a punk rock thing? I hadn’t ever seen anyone quite like her. I always figured I’d talk to her after a game or something if I saw her, but she never stuck around.”
“So when I walked into a business class after the January term started, I was excited to see she was in the class too. I was studying accounting, she was studying marketing, and it was a class we both had to take. And right away, I realized that in addition to being absolutely the coolest girl I’d ever seen, she was maybe the smartest and funniest too. So I started trying to build up my nerve to talk to her so I could ask her out.” He smiled, briefly transported back to those early days, the awe of being absorbed into Yuna Nakamura’s orbit.
“But she beat me to it. She came up to me, the third week of class, and said, ‘You know you’re not fooling anyone with that hip injury. It’s why your slap shot keeps veering left.’ I thought I’d been hiding it well, and asked how she knew. And she just said it was obvious to anyone who knew hockey at all and paid attention.” David exhaled a breathy laughed more to himself, the memory still making him catch his breath like it had when she’d said it. He didn’t say the other bit, their inside joke that could still heat deep in his belly and warm her eyes. I’m a witch, she’d initially joked, biting her lip as her dark eyes twinkled.
“A girl who was gorgeous and brilliant and knew hockey? I was done for. I asked her if I could buy her a drink that weekend, and she counter offered that we should get coffee right then instead. So I skipped my next class, and we got coffee and then we got dinner. And within a few weeks we were together whenever we were both free, and I’ve been very grateful that aside from some away games, mine and then Shane’s, and work trips, I’ve been able to wake up to her face most mornings ever since.” David paused, hoping that the personal, intimate detail would provide some appropriate vulnerability, rather than make the other man uncomfortable, that it would offer the reassurance that David remembered what it was to be a young man stupid in love, unable to resist touching and kissing the person he was obsessed with. Ilya didn’t respond but also didn’t pause in his work or shift his body at all, so David took that as a sign to go on.
“A couple months after we started dating, her parents came in town for her birthday. And she told them that she had a boyfriend she wanted to bring to dinner. She hadn’t told them she was seeing anybody yet, so I guess they were surprised but wanted to meet this guy who had managed to catch the attention of their serious, focused daughter.”
“The thing was, she didn’t mention until about five minutes before I got there that the accounting student boyfriend they had just learned existed was an idiot hockey player, and also not Japanese, not even Asian. And she didn’t tell me in advance that she hadn’t told them those things yet either.” He shook his head at the memory. “She’s a lot like Shane, she gets pretty anxious sometimes. And she’s definitely better at handling it now, but back then, she usually just avoided the stuff that made her nervous for as long as she could.” His smile softened, his affection for that strong, somehow simultaneously fragile young woman still as all-consuming as it ever had been.“So when I walked in, and they’d just barely learned that I wasn’t what they were probably expecting, I guess it was a lot for them. I was this big, hulking white kid, wearing my post game suit, since it was the only one I had. I’d added a few inches of muscle since my parents bought it a couple years earlier, so it was a little too tight, and to make matters worse, I’d broken my nose in a game a week before and still had these two black eyes… I looked like an idiot, and here I was, the complete oaf who had somehow caught their beautiful, genius daughter.” David laughed fully and openly now. “The dinner was a disaster. No one was really rude or hostile. It was just… uncomfortable.”
He glanced over to assess how Ilya was reacting and saw he was finished with his current task and staring quietly at the counter before him. “Onions done? Great, let’s get those added to the meat.” Ilya quietly turned and, using the knife, slid the onions off of the cutting board into the skillet in a single smooth motion. He knew his way around a kitchen, David noted mentally with delight. “How about you grab a couple of cloves of garlic out of that bowl over there and chop those up too?”
As Ilya went about his next assignment, David returned to his story, his voice softer as he continued. “I wound up at McGill because it was the furthest school I got into from my parents. Montreal from Edmonton, all the way across the country. My father was… Well, he never hit my mom, not that I know of anyway, and he waited until I was bigger than him to get physical with me. But even before that, he was… he was just mean. And so I always knew that hockey and school were how I could separate myself from that.”
“My dad met Yuna once. My parents came to my graduation a few years later, and we went out to dinner with them after, and he said… well, he said things that I wouldn’t allow him to say, not about anybody but definitely not about her. Probably he would have found a reason to be horrible to anyone I was dating, but her being Japanese was an easy target for someone like him. We wound up leaving before they even served our entrees. He died when Shane was five and never met him - my call, not Yuna’s. I’d see my parents myself once a year or so, mostly for my mom, but I wasn’t going to have my wife and kid around that. After he died, my mom had a chance to meet Shane, and I was grateful they got to know each other, she got to see him play, before she passed when he was a teenager.” Ilya, David saw, was making effective work mincing the garlic, but he had slowed in his speed, his eyes squinted and focused, clearly listening closely.
“When Yuna’s parents reacted like they did, when they didn’t seem sure about me, I sort of figured it was going to be like it was with my father. Just… no way to get along. Incompatible. But that night, after dinner, they called Yuna and asked if we could meet for breakfast again before they left town the next morning. I walked into that cafe, holding Yuna’s hand and ready for a fight, because there was no way I was going to be scared off, and I wanted them to know that. But her dad smiled at me, and her mom hugged me, and when Yuna stepped away to the restroom a little while later, her mom apologized and explained that they were sorry for how they reacted. I wasn’t what they were expecting, but that wasn’t a bad thing, and they were happy Yuna was happy.” He smiled recalling the lightness that had settled over his future mother-in-law’s frame when he had reassured her that it was ok, and that he was happy when Yuna was happy, too. She had hugged him so tightly after that meal, her tiny frame not even reaching David’s chin but somehow enveloping him in the warmth of her affection.
He turned away from the stove to face Ilya, just able to see a bit of the man’s profile from where he stood. Ilya had finished his work and was frozen, hands both resting on the counter, and David could see that his body was set but not rigid a receptive posture, David hoped, assumed.
David took a deep breath. “I really am sorry about how today happened. You two should have been able to tell us when you were ready, and me and my darn antique phone forced you. And I’m sorry Yuna and I didn’t react in the way I would have wanted us to.” David paused, swallowing a lump in his throat that he found had snuck up on him. “But I’m not sorry we got to meet you. We’re glad you’re here, kiddo.”
A moment passed as neither moved, each frozen in silent acknowledgement of the moment, before Ilya blinked his eyes a few times and rubbed at his nose with the back of his wrist in a gesture that was too intentionally casual. “The garlic is done, if you are ready for it.”
David grinned “Perfect timing. Can you get that into the pan for me? And then there’s some parmesan in the fridge and a grater in that drawer over there, if you want to get that grated up for us. Shane won’t use it, but I sure will.”
David opened the cabinet, retrieving various spice jars, and had just started adding them to the sauce when the younger man spoke again, leaning back against the counter but facing David as he spoke. “Russia would not be safe for me, not if anyone found out about Shane and me.”
“Oh, Ilya,” David interrupted, speaking and turning, both too quickly. “We will never-”
“Yes, yes, I know this,” Ilya cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I just mean to say, this used to be a big problem, when my father was alive. Meant, like, I had to be worried about being able to go home and see him. But I think maybe it makes it more ok for us now. We do not plan to tell people, but if anyone finds out, is more ok if I cannot go home. So I think, maybe, is ok timing for us. And maybe is… I think it is ok that my father is gone.” He said the last words in a quick breath, his English decidedly clunky in the rush of an admission he evidently needed to make to someone, and David felt his entire body sag, at the realization that Ilya had felt safe with David to make such a personal declaration. He wanted to reach out, to hug Ilya, at least touch his arm in recognition, but he didn’t know yet how this man handled physical affection, so instead he nodded, knowingly, sadly.
“I understand that.” A pause. “And I do mean it, Yuna and I will not tell anyone until you and Shane both tell us you’re ready for that.” He smiled tentatively, hoping the timing was right as he tried to shift things into lighter territory. “It might drive Yuna crazy to not be able to brag yet to her friends that her son landed a number one draft pick, but she’ll get over it.”
Ilya’s jaw dropped, absolutely dumbfounded, before his face widened into a grin, morning sunshine breaking through blinds, and David was delighted at how young he looked. “Yes, she will just have to brag about his two Stanley Cups until then.”
David laughed sincerely and fully. “Oh believe me, she does that plenty.” He turned back to the stove, prepping to drain the meat as he had promised Shane. From the table, Shane’s phone pinged again, for probably the sixth time since they had started talking. “Shane’s popular today.”
Ilya laughed knowingly. “Yes, your son is a very popular man.” He started moving towards the table then hesitated and explained himself. “I will check, but just to make sure is not an emergency. These are lots of texts, even for most popular person.”
“Sure thing, go for it.” David gestured congenially with his spoon. It was a couple-y thing to do, something David would do for Yuna if she had left her phone behind. He watched as Ilya flipped Shane’s phone up and rolled his eyes with a sigh at the screen. “Everything ok?”
Ilya blushed a little, responding with some embarrassment at his reaction. “Yes, yes, everything is ok. Is just Rose Landry again.”
David felt his eyebrows raise. “Really? Ok.” He started adding the meat to the sauce. “They’re friends still? Text and stuff?”
“Oh yes. All the time.” Ilya made his way back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter again, arms crossed, the embodiment of an irritated child.
David frowned, trying to sort through timelines and realities given the new information he had learned about his son over the past few hours. “But… wait. What was going on there, if Shane’s…?”
“Yes, Mr. Hollander, your gay son dated most famous, most beautiful actress in the world. Is ridiculous.”
David laughed despite himself. It was sort of ridiculous. What the heck had Shane been thinking? “But… why? I’m just… confused.”
Ilya’s face softened into a gentle smile. “I should not make fun. I do, because is funny, and it annoys Shane, but she is a good friend for him. We were… he was trying to figure things out about himself. And she did help him with that, was the first person he told about being gay. And she is still good friend to him. Is his story, and I should let him tell it if he wants to. But-” he gestured exasperatedly to the phone on the table behind him. “Apparently he texted her about what was happening before we left the cottage to come here, and now she wants many details. And is very impatient.”
“Huh. Well poor Rose Landry then, I guess. That’s quite a cliffhanger of a story she’s waiting on.” He laughed and pointed across to a cabinet by the sink. “Can you do me a favor and grab the big pot out of that bottom cabinet and get water in it so we can get the pasta boiling? I think we’ll have this sauce ready before too long.”
“Yeah, sure. And then I will get the cheese.”
“Great! Oh, and please just call me David, not Mr. Hollander.”
Ilya smiled freely. “Yes. Ok. David.”
And that was how his wife and son found them a few moments later, Ilya digging through a drawer for a cheese grater and David stirring the sauce that had started to simmer. He was happy to see that Shane’s arm was wrapped around his mother’s waist, his hand resting near her hip, where Yuna had covered it in her own. They looked at ease with one another again but froze together in the living room as they processed the relaxed domestic scene before them in the kitchen.
David grinned at them both. “You two doing ok?”
Yuna’s mouth was agape, as was Shane’s, who was finally the first to speak. “Umm… yeah. We’re good. You guys?”
“Yes,” Ilya responded immediately. “Pasta should be ready soon. Water will boil soon, and David has sauce almost done, too.”
“Yep, we made easy work of it,” David agreed.
“Ok.” Shane’s eyes were a little narrowed, like he couldn’t quite trust what he was seeing, but he had also started to smile, a glimmer of hope pushing through. “I was just telling Mom about the Ottawa plan.”
Ilya smiled from where he had finished freely opened cabinets to find a bowl for the cheese. “Ah, good. Is a good plan.”
David frowned at Ilya as he stirred the sauce. “What’s the Ottawa plan?”
“Ah,” Ilya began grating cheese and spoke. Even though he never looked at David, it was clear who he was speaking to. “I will trade to Ottawa after next season. We will let people know we are friends and start a charity together so people will not think it is like weird if we like go out to dinner or whatever. And we have a reason to be together over summers.”
“Oh nice!” David nodded as he smiled. “That is a good plan.”
“Yes! Is very nice,” Ilya hummed.
David nodded a little more solemnly. “But I don’t know… have you run it by Rose Landry yet?”
Ilya’s jaw dropped, and he turned to David dramatically, pointing enthusiastically at him with the narrow cheese grater. “YES! David, this is very good. Very funny.” He turned to Shane, who looked equally horrified and enamored to see the two most important men in his life doing… whatever this was together. “Shane, you did not tell me your dad is very funny. You should have told me this.”
As David and Ilya returned to their meal prep in amiable silence, Shane looked to his mother, her hand still enclosing his at her hip. “What the hell is going on in here?” he whispered to her.
She attempted a smile, admittedly a little confused, looking between the three men occupying her kitchen. Her eyes caught David’s, whose easy, light smile conveyed the kind of detailed communication that decades together allowed.
With a look, he told her that the small space had never felt quite so full, much more than the addition of one more person could really account for. It was warmer, cozier, and just… complete.
Yuna returned David’s smile, a real one this time, and leaned into the warmth of her son’s body. “I think your dad just made a new friend, Shane.”
******
Three days later, David answered a ring of the doorbell to find a delivery person, arms overflowing with a very large gift basket. Returning to the living room, he set the basket on the coffee table where Yuna was sitting with her morning coffee, long legs curled up beneath a light blanket, thick reading glasses perched on her nose as she scrolled through email on her phone.
“Mmm, what’s that?” She leaned forward and started pulling items out, as David opened the small envelope to reveal a card - a handwritten “Thank your for your hospitality,” followed by a few characters of script that David was pretty sure were Cyrillic and, he was guessing, spelled Ilya. The items inside were clearly, attentively personalized to each of them. Several boxes of hard-to-find Japanese candies that Yuna loved. A sizable gift certificate to a nearby spa that she had mentioned she would sneak off to a few times each summer. A bottle of vodka that David hadn’t had before but, based on the fact that he couldn’t read much of what was written on it, he was pretty sure was almost impossible to get in Canada.
And a box containing a brand new iPhone, nestled alongside a bundle of probably six charger cords. Normally David would have been uncomfortable with the extravagance of the gift, but then again, Ilya was a millionaire dating a millionaire; it was pretty much pocket change for them. David could let it slide.
So when he felt the laugh start, he let it absolutely erupt from him. He picked up his wife’s hand and kissed the back of it, wanting to share the moment with this woman who had been his everything for every part of his life that mattered. She squeezed his hand and draped his arm around her shoulder, settling in against him on the couch with a contented sigh as she took another sip of her coffee and opened up one of the boxes of candy.
She popped a candy into her mouth and hummed around it before putting a piece in David’s mouth as well. “I think I like him.”
“Me too.”
“I mean, not because of the gifts. They don’t hurt, but… I’m glad our boy found him.”
“Me too.” He kissed into her hair and left his face there, breathing her in.
He liked this kid. He liked how he brought peace to his own kid. He liked how he had stood his ground and won over his skeptical wife, even as he shoveled pasta in his mouth like a teenager. He just… liked him as a person.
He knew things weren’t going to be easy for them. But as he sat wrapped around his wife and stole a sip from her coffee, he meant what he had said to Ilya; he was sorry he’d inadvertently invaded the boys’ privacy, but he’d never be sorry to have them both in his life, in his family. He and Yuna would happily walk with them through whatever the coming years had in store, the highs and the (he hoped, very few) lows.
The Hollander-Nakamura-Rozanovs would be ready for anything, together.