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At first, Ilya agreed to do David's puzzle with him because he wanted to make a good impression. It was just a way to bond with the less intense and slightly less hockey obsessed of Shane’s parents. The puzzle was of Niagara Falls with a boat and seagulls and a rainbow disappearing behind one of the waterfalls.
“We picked this up last time we were in the area,” David said as he shook out the pieces onto the coffee table. “I know it’s a little lame and tourist-y, but the falls are beautiful. Have you ever been?”
“Uh-huh,” Ilya said, only half-paying attention. They were in the family room while Shane and Yuna were in the dining room, hammering out details for Shane’s next photoshoot, and Ilya kept peering through the doorway to check on his boyfriend, making sure his shoulders didn’t start tensing until they were around his ears the way they did when he got overwhelmed. Ilya already adored Yuna - warm and sharp and fierce and kind Yuna who told him to never wear a Raiders shirt in her house ever again and then sent Ilya home with a tupperware full of leftovers - but she didn’t always notice when she pressed Shane too hard.
But for now Shane seemed, if not relaxed at least not overly anxious, so Ilya pulled his attention back to David. “Went with team and some Buffalo players once,” he said. “Was nice.”
“American or Canadian side?”
“American.”
David let out a dismissive snort. “Go to the Canadian side next time, it’s better.”
“Not what Buffalo players say.”
“The Buffalo players don’t know what they’re talking about. Me and Yuna can take you next time you play Toronto.”
Ilya blinked in surprise at the offer. It hadn’t occurred to him that Shane’s parents would want to spend time with him without their son. He’d barely gotten used to the idea of hanging out with his boyfriend’s parents with his boyfriend; had barely gotten used to the idea of having a boyfriend, in fact, as happy as he was to have one. To have Shane, officially.
“That is a kind offer,” he said, “but it is maybe too soon? We have not even made charity yet.”
“Right, right, sorry," David said, his smile turning a little sad. "Still not used to the secret stuff.”
“But maybe,” Ilya amended quickly, “we could go after the season. Should have charity announced by next summer. Could be a way to show that Shane and I are … friends.”
David brightened up again and nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me. Might be better, actually, so Shane can have a better memory of Niagara falls. He used to be scared of them as a kid, something about the noise, I guess.”
“Really?” Ilya smirked, calling out to his boyfriend. “Shane, your papa says you are afraid of falling water!”
It was a well timed distraction; Shane's shoulders had started to hunch, but they immediately dropped again at the sound of Ilya's voice. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“He says you are afraid of Niagara Falls and that we should go together so you are not afraid anymore. Big Russian boyfriend can hold your hand and keep you safe.”
“Yeah, we should do that, so I can take you out on the boat tour and throw you overboard.”
He clutched his chest dramatically. “So mean to me when all I want is to protect you.”
“Asshole,” Shane said fondly, his eyes shining. He went back to his conversation with Yuna, his stance completely relaxed.
When Ilya turned back to David, Shane’s father was staring at him steadily. Ilya was suddenly self-conscious in a way he wasn’t used to, and he shifted in his seat.
But then David smiled at him. “Do you want to see some pictures of our first trip to Niagara Falls?”
“Yes,” Ilya said immediately.
David abandoned the puzzle to walk over to a small bookcase and pull off a thick photo album. He flipped through it for a few seconds, then handed it to Ilya.
The first picture on the page was a younger Yuna with a very little Shane on her hip. She was pointing at the falls, but Shane had his face buried in her shoulder, his tiny fingers clutching at Yuna’s jacket. Ilya’s chest ached, remembering the first time he went to one his parents parties for their important friends, how he’d clutched at his mother’s legs until his father had ripped him away.
The second was of Shane eating ice cream, both his hands wrapped around the cone, ice cream all over his mouth and even on his chubby cheeks. He was staring at the cone seriously, like he was deciding the best way to eat it, like it was a problem he had to solve instead of a treat to enjoy.
They were definitely going to Niagara Falls. Ilya couldn't have everything he wanted with Shane, not now, not yet, but he could have this. Next summer, he was going to go on a family vacation with the Hollanders.
"Hey, is that a photo album?" he heard from behind him. "Dad, put that away."
"It's okay, Shane, it's not from middle school."
Ilya lifted his head, his nostrils flared like a shark smelling blood. "Can I please see middle school photo albums now?"
"Dad, NO!"
*
After they finished the Niagara Falls puzzle, David had it glued together and framed and hung it on the wall next to the family photos. They couldn't have pictures of Ilya in the house unless they wanted to either constantly hide them or never have anyone over, so this was the best they could do for now. It made Ilya feel warm inside every time he saw it.
*
Two weeks at the cottage had turned into the whole summer, other than a few return trips to Boston and Montreal to fulfill sponsorship obligations and spend time with their teammates and friends. Ilya and Shane had dinner with Shane’s parents once a week or so, and by the third or fourth time, Ilya was already more comfortable in their home than he’d ever been in his father’s house. It was … cozy. Between those dinners and quiet nights at the cottage with Shane, Ilya was finding out he enjoyed cozy.
Every time he went, he would work on a puzzle with David. Shane's father was, unsurprisingly, very methodical in his puzzling. He sorted by color and collected all the edge pieces so he could put the outside of the puzzle together and work inward. He focused on one section at time, patiently trying piece after piece until he found the one that fit.
Ilya thought he’d be bored quickly, but David also liked to chat as he worked. He talked about hockey in a more lighthearted way than Shane or Yuna, was happy to tell his own stories of playing as a kid and his time at McGill with good humor, not a hint of bitterness that Shane had gone all the way and he hadn't. He knew more pop culture than his son and wife, got more of Ilya’s references and countered them with his own, and soon they were regularly having involved discussions about Pluribus and Bridgerton and Abbott Elementary. They talked about basketball and soccer, and the most authentic Russian restaurants in Canada, at least the ones Ilya had found while in the country for away games.
In late July, Ilya sat at their kitchen counter and asked, “Which puzzle do you think David would like?”
Shane, who had been making a salad for lunch, paused mid-chop. “Why are you getting my dad a puzzle?”
“Birthday is coming up soon, yes?”
“Yeah. I don’t think he expects a present from you, though. I kinda thought I’d just put your name on my card.”
“Is it weird for me to get him a gift?” It had seemed like the polite thing to do, getting his boyfriend’s father a gift, but maybe it was … presumptuous? Or too soon?
“No, I just didn’t …” Shane cleared his throat, his eyes suspiciously shiny. “It’s really nice you want to get him a birthday gift.”
Ilya preened. “Yes, I am very nice person, everyone says so.”
Shane snorted.
“Everyone who matters,” Ilya amended.
“I call you an asshole all the time, does that mean I don’t matter?”
“No, you matter most. But you are also an asshole, so you calling me an asshole is same as calling me nice. Now come, help me look for perfect boring puzzle for perfect boring father.”
“I don’t think that logic tracked,” Shane said, but he put down his knife and walked around the counter to look at Ilya's phone. “Oh, these are nice. Maybe one of the art ones? Dad always liked the Impressionists.”
“Perfect.”
*
The first time Ilya went over to the Hollanders without Shane, he wasn't sure what to expect. They were planning to eat dinner and watch Shane’s game, nothing too different from what they'd done over the summer, but without the one person that bound them all together. Well, not in the room with them at least, and TV Shane couldn't help fill uncomfortable silences or explain things for Ilya when English was too hard. So he took a page from his boyfriend's book and came prepared.
"Hello, Ilya - oh," David said when he opened the door. "Wow."
"Hello," he said. "I brought a few things. Hope is okay."
'A few things' included a bottle of vodka from his own collection, a bottle of wine that Svetlana had suggested because Yuna preferred wine, a dozen cookies from the Hollander's favorite local bakery, and foam fingers for all three of them. Ilya had borrowed one of Shane's reusable grocery bags to carry them all and still ended up having to tuck one of the foam fingers under his arm.
"That's very nice of you, Ilya, thank you," David said as he took the bag and stepped aside to let Ilya come in.
Ilya brightened when he saw the coffee table. "You got a puppy puzzle!"
"Well, you kept talking about that Ottawa team dog, so I thought you might like it. Thought we could work on it during the commercial breaks, if you want."
“Five minutes until the dumplings are ready,” Yuna said as she walked back into the family room. “Shane said they’re your favorite. We ordered pizza, too, though, in case we made them wrong.”
It took Ilya a few seconds to realize what she meant. “Pelmeni? You made pelmeni?”
“Right, sorry, pelmeni. Shane sent us a recipe. Is that okay?”
“Yes, um. That is very okay.”
"Great," she said, smiling wide, like she was relieved. It occurred to Ilya that this was a first for them, too, that they might be almost as nervous and determined for tonight to go well as he was.
So he ended up sitting on his boyfriend’s parents’ couch, putting together a puzzle of Bernese Mountain Dogs running through a field, eating half a dozen perfectly made pelmeni and waving around a foam finger every time Shane did something impressive. After the game, Yuna had them gather around the TV. When the post-game commentary switched to a shot of Shane making the winning goal, they took a selfie, Yuna and David on one side with big exaggerated proud smiles and Ilya on the other blowing a raspberry. Yuna sent it to Shane while David and Ilya went back to their puzzle.
The reply came twenty minutes later and she read it out loud. Wish I was there.
“Whaddaya say, Ilya?” David said. “Wanna come by and watch a game sometime, the four of us?”
“We know you and Shane don’t have a lot of time together during the season, so we understand if you don’t want to,” Yuna was quick to add.
But they probably watched hockey with their son all the time, talking strategy and playoff chances and what rookies were promising and who needed to retire. They were used to having their son come by on nights he played in Ottawa and now Ilya was taking up all of that time.
And Ilya did want Shane all to himself, so much. They never had enough time. But they could spare a few nights, have a few family dinners. Take a selfie of the four of them in the Hollander’s family room.
So he took out his phone and opened his calendar. “We could watch Scott Hunter lose to Boston next month.”
Yuna laughed. “Sounds good to me.”
“Please send me that picture,” he asked.
He had a folder for his photos of Shane, a hidden locked folder within three different other folders under a main folder that was called 'Protein Shake Recipes.' He added a second one for pictures with David and Yuna and named it 'Favorite Puzzles.' He had several dozen saved in it by New Year's.
*
Yuna and David had always texted Ilya occasionally, mostly things like what time they should come over for dinner or wishing him luck before a game.
But after watching that game together, it was like the floodgates had opened, and he rarely went more than a day without one of them texting him. David sent him silly jokes and puns, Yuna sent him her thoughts on his brand deals and how she could get him better ones, and asked if he’s eating well and did he want her to bring over some of the lasagna she and David made last night?
And they sent him pictures. Pictures of loons in their yard after Shane told them about the wolf-bird incident, and pictures of puzzles that David was working on, and pictures of dogs from their neighborhood, and pictures of them with Shane watching Ilya's games at their house.
The Centaurs had barely scraped into the playoffs only to get swept, knocked out after a brutal and embarrassing game four. It had been the best season Ottawa'd had in years but by far the worst season of Ilya’s career, and he didn’t regret a second of it because being so close to Shane was more than worth it, but that didn’t make this kind of loss easier.
He had given his best captain’s speech and was thinking over all the team changes he and Wiebe had already started to discuss to make the team better next year, when he checked his phone. Amid a slew of consolatory messages was a text from Yuna and David. He opened it to see a selfie of the two of them, but not in their family room. They were in the arena. Over Yuna’s shoulder he could see a tiny version of him facing off on the ice.
Proud of you, the text said. Come over after the game? We have pelmeni and vodka.
And then, We understand if you want to be alone.
His eyes teared up and he leaned further into his stall so his teammates couldn't see.
I do not want to be alone, he replied. Please give me vodka.
When he pulled up to the Hollanders' house, he got another surprise. Shane was sitting on the front steps, wearing a Centaur’s hoodie and hopeful smile.
Ilya scrambled out of the car. “What are you doing here? You have game in New York tomorrow night.”
“I got a flight out tomorrow morning instead,” Shane said, standing up as Ilya got closer. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me tonight, but -“
Ilya grabbed him and reeled him into a kiss as soon as he was within reach.
“Idiot,” he said, after he kissed the breath out of his boyfriend. “I always want to see you.”
The corners of Shane's mouth turned down. “Even though I’m still in the playoffs and you’re not?”
“Yes. And will not be this way for long. I have plans for next year.”
“Really? Like what?”
“You will have to wait and see." He gave him one last smacking kiss, then said, "I was promised vodka.”
Shane took his hand and pulled him inside.
*
He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to find the energy to get up and make lunch instead of getting DoorDash for the fourth time that week when Svetlana texted him. Did you see?
Ilya frowned. See what?
She sent him a link to some celeb site’s article about 'Rivals Turned Friends? Shane Hollander Gives Charity Co-Founder Ilya Rozanov Tour of National Treasure.’
And there were pictures. Mostly it was close-ups of him and Shane, Shane in his baseball cap and Ilya with a hood pulled over his curls, carefully staying at least two feet apart at all times. But there were a couple pics of them with Yuna and David, including one where they’re eating ice cream. They’re leaning against a rail, the falls in the distance behind them, and Ilya was biting the bottom of his cone, ice cream dripping all over his fingers, and the Hollanders were laughing at the mess he was making. Shane was leaning close, already holding out a napkin for Ilya to take, and he looked so happy that Ilya could feel it through his phone screen.
They looked like a normal couple on a family vacation with the in-laws. It’s a picture of what Ilya already had, this amazing new life he’s been building the last year and a half, and a tantalizing tease of what he hoped his future could be.
*
The first antidepressant Ilya tried was the worst. He couldn’t sleep but was lethargic almost all the time, save for bursts of restlessness at odd hours. And while it lessened his depression somewhat, it heightened his anxiety, and it made him nauseous.
The second gave him a rash.
The third was better. His psychiatrist thought it was promising, anyway; it just made him drowsy and his brain feel a little fuzzy, for lack of a better word, symptoms she thought would abate once Ilya adjusted to them.
He hadn't seen anyone except Shane during the entire process, aside from a brief visit from Svetlana when he was switching from the first medication to the second. But some of their friends had sent care packages, and Yuna and David had dropped off something at least twice a week. He went looking through them now, grabbing a cherry blossom puzzle out of the bags the Hollanders brought, and dumped it out on his coffee table. He did some half-hearted sorting, managing to make a solid corner of pink and white.
He picked up a piece and tried to fit it in. Turned it and tried again. Turned it and tried again.
Put it down and picked up another one. Put it in the empty spot.
Turned it and tried again.
Turned it and tried again.
Picked up another piece.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Shane found him there an hour later, lying on the couch and staring at single puzzle corner on the table, Anya sleeping at his feet. He squatted down next to him and gently ran his fingers through Ilya’s limp curls. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Useless, shitty brain,” Ilya said, monotone. “Can’t do anything. Not even stupid fucking puzzle.”
“What if we do it together?”
Shane waited patiently until Ilya sighed and nodded. He pressed a kiss to Ilya’s forehead. “Be right back.”
A minute or two later he returned with a dozen little plastic tubs and sorted the pieces into them by color, except for the edge pieces which he left on the table. “Let’s do the perimeter first first.”
“Just like your papa,” Ilya said as he sat up and pulled some pieces towards him. “I never ask, did you ever do puzzles with him?”
“Uh, sometimes, especially when I was little. But I got older, and if I couldn’t do hockey I’d want to play cards or chess or video games.”
Ilya tilted his head, his sluggish brain figuring out the connection. “Because you cannot win at puzzles. So competitive, Hollander.”
Shane shrugged sheepishly. Ilya laughed for the first time in days, because he loved this. He loved seeing all the parts of Shane that he didn’t show the rest of the world. The parts that weren’t always perfect, like not doing his dad’s hobby with him because he loved winning too much.
But he sobered quickly. Because Shane was doing something he didn’t like because of Ilya. He’d been enough of a burden on his boyfriend the last few weeks.
“Thank you for sorting, you can go now,” he said gruffly, picking up one the plastic tubs.
“No, I want to do the puzzle.”
“You do not.”
“I do. I think I get puzzles now.”
Ilya frowned. “What do you mean, ‘you get puzzles?’”
“I dunno,” Shane said, the tops of his cheeks turning pink. “I guess I always thought it was stupid, ‘cause you’re just putting together a picture that you already have on the box, right? And it’s a worse picture because there’s all those lines through it. Also you’re right, I’m too competitive and you can’t win at puzzles.”
“No, I said you cannot win puzzles. I win at puzzles all the time. I am puzzle champion.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh, anyway. You have all this little parts that don’t look like they should fit together, but bit by bit you figure out how they do, and the picture is better because you made it yourself. And the more the pieces look like they shouldn’t fit together, the more satisfying it is when they do.” He huffed out a laugh. “Is that stupid? Am I taking stuff too seriously again?”
“No, is not stupid,” Ilya said quietly. He looked down at his threadbare pajama pants that he’d been wearing for a week and said, in an uneven voice, “There might be a nicer picture for you somewhere, though. Something that fits better.”
The last time they had talked about Shane being with other men it had gone spectacularly badly, but this time Shane just looked at him, steady as anything, and said, “You think so? Because I don’t. I think this is exactly where I fit.”
Ilya reached out and cupped his boyfriend’s face in his hand and smoothed his thumb over Shane’s cheek. “Good. Because I do not want you anywhere else.”
Shane leaned into Ilya’s hand, kissing his palm. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
It was too heavy, especially with Ilya’s current mental state. He took a deep breath, winked, and said, “Give me a couple weeks to get used to medication and then I’ll show you exactly where I fit.”
“Shut up and help me with your fucking puzzle, Rozanov.”
*
A couple weeks later, the new medication had evened out and Ilya felt more like himself than he had in months. After he spent three days fulfilling his promise and showing Shane exactly how well they fit together, they decided to spent a weekend at Shane’s parents’ house. When they got there, he got long hugs from both of them.
When David let him go, he clapped Ilya on the shoulder. “We missed you, son.”
And Ilya knew he meant it. He’d never had a father who missed him before, even when he was across the world. “I missed you, too.”
“Oh, and we got you a little something.” He grabbed something off the side table and gave it to Ilya. “We found a place that makes puzzles with custom pictures.”
And maybe Ilya wasn’t doing quite as well as he thought, because the sight of the puzzle box made his eyes water up.
“Wow, Dad, that’s amazing,” Shane said, curling a protective arm around Ilya’s shoulders, letting him lean on Shane as he tried to get himself together.
It was the four of them and Anya last Christmas, out in the snow. Yuna had put her phone on a stand and set a timer for them to take a nice family portrait. But Anya had come running and knocked Ilya down at the knees and Ilya had pulled Shane down with him. The photo was of Shane with snow stuck to his sweater and hair and eyelashes, scowling at Ilya, who was just as snow covered and grinning widely as he hugged Anya, whose wagging tail was spraying even more snow on the both of them. David and Yuna had their arms wrapped around each other, Yuna looking down at Ilya and Shane with wide eyes while David was still smiling at the camera, having missed the whole calamity.
They took a perfect family portrait a few minutes later, after Shane and Ilya had gotten most of the snow off their sweaters and hair, and, against Ilya’s objections, Anya had been put inside the house. But this picture was better. It was perfect.
“Snow will make it difficult, all the white pieces look the same,” Ilya said, his voice only wavering a little. “We should get started.”
This time, Yuna and Shane didn’t peel off to do something else. They all sat around the coffee table and worked on the puzzle, edge pieces first.
*
Shane and Ilya had a wall of photos. Them on their wedding day. Ilya with Anya. Shane with his silver medal, Ilya giving his speech for MVP, them kissing on the ice with the Stanley Cup hoisted above them. A team picture from the Ilya's last birthday party. Their first campers at the rink they used for the Game Changers program. Yuna and David wearing Hollander-Rozanov Centaur jerseys and the ice cream picture from Niagara Falls.
And in the center was the Christmas puzzle, glued together and framed. The lines running through the picture were clear, cutting through Shane's scowl and Ilya's smile and the pristine snow; but to Ilya, it was beautiful.