Archive of Our Own

January 1996 — Ottawa

He was only four years old, but Yuna Hollander knew without a shadow of a doubt that her son was special. Not the way every parent cooed over their child, and certainly not the way his well-meaning but deeply misguided preschool teacher had implied in a hushed voice one afternoon during pick-up. No, Shane had real potential. He had focus. He had drive. He had grit. From the moment he stepped foot on the ice, there was a certain sparkle in his eye — a certain tilt to his chin — that said he had found his place in the world. This was where he belonged.

She'd had suspicions even earlier, of course. When he was only two, and she would put on old Voyageurs games to keep them both occupied while she cooked dinner, and his eyes, so bright and wide in his tiny face, were glued to the screen. When he was three, and David took him to his first hockey game (a Centaurs game, to Yuna's chagrin), and it was all he could talk about for weeks after. But today, here on the frozen lake, strapped into the smallest ice skates Yuna could find, Shane looked up at her and beamed so wide she could see every gap in his teeth, and cold certainty struck her like an illegal high stick:

Shane Hollander was going to be a star.

"You're doing so well, Shanebug!" She cheered, letting go of one of his hands. Shane wobbled, but kept his balance. Behind the camera, just a few feet away on the rocky shore, David tossed them a thumbs up. "Do you want to try by yourself? I'll be right here, I promise."

"Ouis (Yes)!" Shane chirped, and before she could pull her other hand away, he had already let go, gliding forward a couple inches on both skates, experimentally bending and straightening his knees. His little face was so serious, eyebrows furrowed with concentration, that Yuna would have laughed if she weren't so spellbound.

Oh my god. He's doing it.

Slowly, purposefully, Shane lifted one skate off the ice and set it back down, pushing off with the other. Yuna swiveled backwards to get out of his way as Shane lurched forwards, his blades scraping and dragging awkwardly with every bump. After one particularly daring attempt to avoid a twig, his skates slipped out from under him and he sat down hard on his butt.

Yuna tensed, cataloguing causes for the inevitable tantrum — the failure of the maneuver, the pain in his tailbone, the cold soaking through his snowpants — but Shane just seemed… intrigued. He got back up, all by himself, and stayed in a low squat, mimicking her pose. His freckled nose scrunched, and he slowly started to wiggle his skates back and forth, gradually rising until he was standing up over his feet, knees bent a little more than the last time. It occurred to Yuna with a burst of pride that he was discovering the concept of a center of gravity from first principles. Shane pushed off again, his entire face screwed up with concentration. And this time, he stayed up.

November 2000 — Ottawa

Once he'd gotten a taste for the ice, Shane was unstoppable. Within a year, he was graduating to hockey skates, and Yuna signed him up for a 6U summer camp, near-daily sessions with a hockey coach, and weekly figure skating lessons just to make sure he didn't fall into bad habits. Every adult who interacted with him was astounded by his dedication — two separate coaches privately informed Yuna that Shane was the best student they'd ever had. He listened closely, followed instructions to the letter, and ran drills without complaint.

His teammates were harder to win over.

Shane had always been a bit of a fussy kid. It wasn't his fault — he never tried to complain — but he wasn't very good at hiding when he was uncomfortable, and he was uncomfortable a lot. When the room was too bright, or too loud; when people were staring at him; when the layers of his gear got bunched up under his jersey; when the coach unexpectedly shifted his line in the middle of practice ("You can play wing, right?" and his eyes had widened with horror).

"Tommy said I'm weird," Shane told her one day between hiccuping sobs, "he said that's why no one likes me."

Yuna's eyes welled up with tears as she pulled him into her arms — and he must have been really upset, because he let her.

"What's wrong with me, Mom?"

"Nothing, sweetheart," she assured him, squeezing him tight until he wriggled away. "You're perfect."

"Then why don't they like me? How do I fix it?"

Yuna sighed, and gave him the best advice she could — the method that had kept her alive when she was his age, the only Japanese student at her school, too "intense" for the girls and too "strict" for the boys, always getting in trouble for talking out of turn.

"Watch the other kids. Pay close attention to what they do, how they react to things, and do the same. Over time, they'll start to consider you one of them."

Shane nodded. Yuna leaned in close.

"And if all else fails…" Shane leaned in too, hanging onto her every word, "be so good they can't ignore you."

She would regret those words, years after, when she realized what she'd done. But in the moment, Shane's eyes had flashed with determination, and his jaw had set like she'd assigned him a new shooting drill, and all Yuna had felt was pride. It worked for me. It will work for you too. Together, we can make you the best in the world. They'll have no choice but to respect you.

May 2004 — Ottawa

Yuna's advice did seem to work, for a while. The years went on, and Shane threw himself into hockey like a man possessed. He cruised up the ladder, from the only 8-year-old on the 10U team, to the only 10-year-old on the 14U team. He got better at handling the noise and fluorescent lights of the rink and the chaos of the locker room, and although he never really settled into the team dynamics, most of the other boys didn't seem to mind. If anything, they treated him a little bit like their mascot, cheering him on enthusiastically, all clammoring to be the first to knock helmets with him after every goal.

By the time Shane was twelve, though, things had started to shift. The inciting incident, Yuna decided later, was his growth spurt. When Shane was the littlest on the ice and still scoring more goals than anyone else, the team could jeer at their opponents — "Damn, even the kid smoked you!" "He's only 10, you know." — and take pride in delivering retaliatory cross checks whenever an opposing defender got too close to him. But when Shane started to grow, suddenly it wasn't cute anymore that he was absolutely dominating the rest of his team. Instead, the other kids got jealous, which made them angry, which made them cruel.

Shane never complained, but Yuna realized how bad it had gotten when she got to the rink to pick him up from practice a couple minutes early and overheard one of the older boys, who was still in denial about the fact that he'd already reached the ceiling of his natural talent and would be lucky to make the AHL, yelling,

"Where's the robot?"

"Back in his box," another kid jeered, sparking peals of laughter from the other little degenerates clustered around the bench.

"What do you think he does, when he's not on the ice? Like, actually?" the first kid asked, performing genuine curiosity, "Because we all know he doesn't have any friends."

"Dude, shut the fuck up, that's his mom!" a third boy hissed. The whole group turned around to gawk at her, completely unsubtly, and Yuna graced them with a little wave. The horrorstruck looks on their faces almost made it worth it.

Shane never admitted the team was icing him out, and Yuna never admitted she'd figured it out anyway. But a month later, just after his thirteenth birthday, she managed to bully the local AA travel team coach into accepting Shane two years early, and they never stepped foot in that rink again.

December 2008 — Saskatchewan

By highschool, Yuna was feeling less nervous about Shane's social skills, and more nervous about the imminent manifestation of the family gift. It usually came on by seventeen, but the presentation varied generation by generation. Yuna's grandmother had always known the exact location of her children, while her mother had been able to sense the emotions of anyone with a strong emotional tie to her. Her uncle Kazuo, though, had been able to hear the thoughts of anyone he locked eyes with. Yuna had grown up hearing stories about him — a bright, empathetic young man, driven out of his mind. He had died young. No one talked about how.

Yuna herself had been a bit of a late bloomer. In fact, she had been convinced the gift had skipped her entirely (which was not unheard of), until she was twenty-one. Her best friend, Marie, had dragged her to a college hockey game because she'd recently started dating the third-line center and needed Yuna to explain the rules. Yuna had reluctantly agreed, even though the team in question (Concordia University) wasn't very good. They were playing McGill, another Montreal team, so the game was being held just across town, and she really didn't have an excuse to say no.

As expected, the game had been mediocre. But it had all been worth it, because when Maria pulled her down to the boards to greet her boyfriend, Yuna accidentally met the eyes of McGill's goalie, number 24, and subtitles scrolled across the bottom of her peripheral vision.

Mon Dieu (My god).

The goalie promptly tripped over his own skates and went sprawling on his stomach, revealing the name written across his back: HOLLANDER.

Explaining things to David had been awkward enough, and he'd had undeniable evidence that she was telling the truth. Yuna had no idea how she was supposed to look her son in the eye and say with a straight face,

"Hey, just so you know, telepathy runs in our family."

No, she decided, better to wait until Shane came to her. Why confuse and upset him about something he wouldn't believe, and might not even have to deal with at all? Still, she kept a close eye on him when he started dating his first girlfriend, in case his gift manifested similarly to her own. Shane wasn't big on direct eye contact anyway, so it was pretty easy to discern that they weren't getting suspiciously lost in each others' eyes. Well, not many people meet the love of their life in highschool, she rationalized when they broke up a few months later, without Shane ever giving any indication of supernatural capabilities.

Her next thought was that maybe Shane's gift would have something to do with his team, but Shane seemed perfectly content to exist on the outskirts of their camaraderie. It wasn't like the other boys were actively excluding him, the way his middle school team had — this was Juniors, so they were more glad to have him on their side than they were jealous about his superiority. Still, even though Shane never rubbed it in, they could all see it. They tended to treat him more like an assistant coach than a peer, coming to him for help with drills or advice about their grips, but not necessarily including him in their inside jokes or inviting him to their parties. The one time he actually got roped into their antics, when the whole team got their ears pierced, he'd immediately regretted it, taking them out just a few days later.

So Yuna watched, and waited, but Shane didn't seem interested in developing any bonds strong enough to manifest his gift. Yuna couldn't really blame him — none of the guys on his team were even close to matching his raw skill, or his single-minded dedication. The first time he showed any real interest in someone his own age was at the 2008 World Juniors championships, when he'd insisted on watching the Russian team practice, citing the importance of "knowing his enemy." Yuna had nodded and pretended she didn't notice the way his eyes followed Ilya Rozanov across the ice. It made sense, she supposed, that Shane would be a little fascinated by him. Rozanov was a phenom, one of very few players at this level discussed in the same sentence as Shane for first overall draft pick next year.

They were leaving the rink after practice that afternoon when Shane spotted Rozanov lingering around the corner. Yuna noted with disapproval that he was holding a cigarette. Where were that boy's parents?

"Hey, uh, you guys go ahead. I'm gonna… introduce myself."

David caught Yuna's eye immediately, eyebrows raised.

That's new.

I know.

Good sign?

Maybe?

"Of course, honey," Yuna said smoothly, "we'll be in the car."

She settled into the driver's seat, tracking her son's movement in the rear-view mirror as he walked up to Rozanov, hands in his pockets. When he put out one hand to shake, Yuna's stomach clenched.

Please be nice to him. You have no idea how brave he's being right now.

Rozanov took it, and Yuna breathed a sigh of relief. The two boys chatted for another moment, and then Shane was heading back to the car.

"What was he like?" David asked as he plopped into the backseat. Shane took a moment to reply. His face was oddly thoughtful in the mirror, and for a moment, suspicion tingled down Yuna's spine — maybe there was something there. But then he broke into a little smile and said,

"Kind of a dick."

Internally shaking her head at her own paranoia, Yuna chuckled and pulled out of the parking lot.

July 2010 — Toronto

The next summer, CCM reached out with an opportunity Shane couldn't afford to turn down — a more than generous partnership agreement, with only a one-day commitment. The only catch was that Rozanov would be there too. Shane hadn't seemed too put off, even though Yuna had watched him nearly bite through his own tongue when he'd lost the first draft spot. Of course, the blow had been softened by the fact that Shane was headed to the team Yuna had been following her entire life, but it felt almost like a betrayal to be happy about that when they all knew that he deserved first pick. Maybe she was biased, but Shane was a far better player than Rozanov. Oh, sure, Rozanov had talent — his natural gifts were undeniable — but he didn't need hockey, didn't eat, sleep, and breathe it the way Shane did.

Just to rub a little salt in the wound, Boston's GM had pulled Yuna aside later, at the mixer.

"Shane's a great kid, really. But we just weren't sure if he'd be compatible with Boston's play style. It wasn't personal, but Rozanov is more… aggressive."

Bullshit. He knew as well as she did that Shane was a goddamn chameleon on the ice, could adapt to any play style they put him up to. He'd worked twice as hard as anyone else on that stage, certainly harder than Rozanov, and none of it mattered because he didn't fit the mold they were looking for, even though they didn't have the decency to admit it. Yuna had smiled, sharp and brittle, and started organizing brand deals on her phone in the elevator.

So yeah, maybe it rankled just a little that CCM had seemingly only reached out because they wanted their piece of the so-called rivalry ("They're just kids!" she'd told their marketing coordinator exasperatedly, and the man had just laughed like she didn't get it). But it was a good opportunity, really, and that was her own hang-up, not Shane's, so when he'd shrugged and said "I'll do it," she sucked it up and negotiated the best contract they'd ever offered a rookie.

It was kind of sweet, actually, seeing the two of them on the ice, chasing each other around like overexcited puppies, making each other laugh and ruining takes. Yuna couldn't help the bittersweet pang that rushed through her as she realized these boys could have been friends — best friends, even — if they'd met under different circumstances, if an entire industry hadn't conspired to set them against each other. It was so rare for Shane to truly click with anyone, even other players, but Rozanov had the potential to actually be a peer to him. For a fleeting moment, Yuna humored the thought that it was almost the kind of bond that triggered the family gift — but then Rozanov turned away to flirt obnoxiously with a stylist, and she shook herself out of it. Suddenly, she couldn't stand to watch anymore. She typed out a quick message to Shane and headed back to the hotel to lose herself in paperwork.

September 2010 — Montreal

Yuna was aware she was hovering, but she didn't seem to be able to stop.

"And your in-unit washer was just hooked up yesterday, so be on the lookout for leaks."

"I know, Mom."

"And once you get to know your neighbors, you should make sure someone has a spare key, just in case you get locked out."

"The doorman has a copy, Mom."

"Well, it's a good excuse to reach out. It's important to build community, you know, since you'll be on your own now."

Without her permission, tears welled up behind Yuna's eyes. She cleared her throat, wracking her mind for another excuse to keep lingering in the spacious front room. The interior designer had done a great job. Shane's condo was modern and airy, more sophisticated than she would have expected from a 19-year-old. But then, Shane always had been mature for his age. That was her kid. Serious. Responsible. Dependable. She turned away, scrubbing her hands over her face, and made eye contact with David, who had made himself comfortable on the couch.

They grow up so fast, he thought fondly.

Too fast, Yuna thought back, rueful. Where did the time go? She turned back to Shane. "Maybe we should stay. Just for your first night."

"Mom, it's fine." Shane sounded exhausted, but his eyes were clear and determined. "I'll be up early tomorrow for camp anyway. If you leave now, you'll be home before dark."

David slapped his thighs and got to his feet, crossing the room to pull his son into a bear hug.

"We're so proud of you, Shane."

"I haven't done anything yet," Shane muttered, awkwardly patting his father on the back. Yuna watched them, her vision a little blurry from the tears she kept trying to blink away. "They could still change their minds about whether they even want me on the team this season."

"Don't be ridiculous," Yuna scoffed, "Of course they'll want you. They're in desperate need of a new first line center — Comeau's slowing down, and even at his best, his shot accuracy percentage was never as high as yours."

Shane's brows furrowed.

"That was Juniors. It's a completely different league." He seemed to realize what he'd said, and a small grin flickered across his face. "Literally."

Yuna nibbled on her lower lip, trying to find her words as David bustled around retrieving their bags and pulling on his shoes and Shane's patience visibly evaporated. Finally she settled on,

"I love you. And I believe in you. Montreal will hang your jersey from the rafters one day."

Shane smiled again, shy and suddenly so young.

"Thanks, Mom," he mumbled, hugging her, "I love you too."

Yuna finally lost the battle with the tears threatening to course down her cheeks, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Call us if you need anything," she commanded, pulling back to hold his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Anything, Shane. I mean it. Promise me."

"I promise."

She searched his eyes for any hesitation, any fear, but all she saw was calm, unflinching readiness. At only nineteen, not even an official Voyageur yet, he already looked like a captain.

June 2011 — Las Vegas

"And the nominees for Rookie of the Year are… Shane Hollander, the Montreal Voyageurs. Vincent Lemaire, the Minnesota Wild. And Ilya Rozanov, the Boston Bears. And the Rookie of the Year is…"

Shane Hollander. It's Shane Hollander. Go on, say it. Why are you drawing it out? It's Shane. It's Shane. It has to be Shane.

"Shane Hollander!"

Yuna felt her own face split into a triumphant smile, catching her husband's eye as she reached up to steady Shane so he could clamber over her.

I knew it.

David's subtitles scrolled past too quickly to catch more than a couple words — happy … proud … good kid — and it was too loud to have an actual conversation, so Yuna gave up and turned to Shane, still clutching his hands as he stepped into the aisle.

Yuna knew it had been a challenging year, no matter how hard Shane had tried to convince her otherwise. He'd had to prove himself to not just the fans, but to management, his coaches, the team itself, over and over; every game, every practice a testing ground. And he had done it. Of course he had done it. Her wonderful, remarkable boy, recognized by the entire league for his skill, his dedication —

She must have said something on autopilot, maybe "I love you," because suddenly Shane was walking down the aisle, tucking his shaking hands into his pockets. Yuna spent his entire speech fighting back tears, clinging to David's arm so tightly she would have been worried about cutting off circulation if she weren't so enraptured.

Shane was still a little shaky when he got back to his seat, holding his award tightly against his chest, occasionally glancing at it as the show went on like he was checking it was still there. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes shining with triumph, and when the ceremony was finally over, he leapt out of his seat with relief, like it had cost him substantial effort just to stay still. Yuna was thrilled to see him finally basking in the well-earned approval of his peers, but as soon as they walked into the reception, he seemed like he would rather be anywhere else. She couldn't figure out what he was waiting for — his head was on a swivel, and he seemed mildly annoyed with anyone who attempted to pull him into a conversation, even Scott Hunter, who she knew he'd looked up to for years. He only made it an hour or so before telling her he was going to head upstairs early.

"Honey, this is your night!" Yuna replied, frowning with concern. "Don't you want to celebrate?" Did something happen? Did someone say something?

"I know, but, um, it's been a long day and I want to put this thing away somewhere safe anyway. So. I'll see you guys for breakfast tomorrow?"

Deciding he was just overwhelmed (it had been a big day, after all), Yuna brushed off his odd behavior and sent him off to bed with one last hug.

July 2015 — Ottawa

The years seemed to fly by. Yuna applied herself to the role of manager with the same intensity Shane applied to the roll of the Voyageurs' captain — with single-minded focus, competent to the point of obsession. She had developed a bit of a reputation among athlete managers, which she took as a point of personal pride. So they were jealous? Good. They thought she was monopolizing opportunities? Excellent. They should be afraid of her. It was the closest thing to respect those assholes were capable of.

As the seasons passed, though, she couldn't help but notice that Shane still didn't seem to be bonding with his teammates. His friendship with Hayden Pike and JJ Boiziau aside, most of the guys were still holding him at a distance, just like his Juniors team. She couldn't quite put her finger on it — she wasn't privvy to locker room conversations, of course — but there was a strange dichotomy to the Voyageurs. On the ice, they functioned as an unshakeable unit. They stood behind Shane, trusted him to handle conferring with the refs, practically fell over themselves to earn an approving nod or a quiet word of encouragement, and she'd seen him working with rookies during practice, molding them to fit into that framework. Off the ice, though…

Yuna kept a close eye on the Voyageurs' social media posts (closer than she had any right to, if she was being completely honest). Shane's rookie year, the only pictures of him with his team were taken during official events. The next year, once he was named captain, he was usually in the first couple pictures of the night, on the periphery, clutching a beer like his own personal Aegis. But as the photos progressed, tumbling into drunken debauchery, Shane was conspicuously absent. When smaller groups hung out together — just the D-lines, or the rookies, or the veterans — Shane wasn't there either. The only people prominantly featuring him on their pages were Hayden and JJ. It seemed like he spent more of his (granted, limited) free time with Hayden's wife and kids than he did his own team.

Yuna wasn't surprised by this, exactly, but it did worry her. She'd encouraged Shane to reach out, to make more connections in Montreal, and every time she tried to check in, he assured her he had.

"JJ and Hayden and Jackie are my friends, Mom. I'm fine."

"I just don't want you to be lonely, sweetheart."

"I'm not."

"It's just — you're so busy, and you…"

"I have a routine, yes."

"You know, sometimes it's important to get out of your comfort zone."

"I'm uncomfortable like 90% of the time. That's basically part of the gig."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then just say what you mean."

He was losing patience, she could tell — all the innocent arrogance of his twenty four years on display. When Yuna paused to collect her thoughts, Shane went on,

"We won the fucking cup this year, Mom. And Canada won gold last year. I'm at the top of my game. I have friends. I have my team. I'm not lonely. I'm fine. Everything is fine."

He wouldn't meet her eyes.

"You know, there are a lot of nice girls in Montreal."

"I know." His jaw set in a grim line, like she was threatening him instead of being lightly nosey.

"Have you…"

"You'll be the first to hear about it."

And that was where he always shut the conversation down. Every time, no matter how delicately she tried to approach it, he froze up, went quiet, changed the subject if she was lucky or just hung up if she wasn't.

"Do you think he's gay?" She asked David that night, perched on the edge of the bathtub while he brushed his teeth. He glanced over long enough for her to read,

Not really our business, is it?

Yuna rolled her eyes as David leaned forward, spitting toothpaste into the sink. "I mean, it's a little bit our business. Especially because he still hasn't manifested his gift, as far as we know. Now I'm wondering, what if he has, but he doesn't think he can tell us because it's with a man?"

"You said it sometimes skips a generation."

"Yes, but —"

"He'll tell us when he's ready."

When Yuna opened her mouth to clarify or object, David cut her off, kindly but firmly.

"Either way. If it's not something he's ready to discuss, we shouldn't push it."

"I just worry," Yuna admitted in a small voice, feeling her shoulders slump. "But I don't… I don't know how to explain it, if he hasn't… I don't want to upset him. I don't think he would believe me."

"I know, darling." David's voice was a low rumble, and he folded her into a hug.

"Do you think his teammates are giving him a hard time about it? Maybe I should prepare a statement, just in case. You know, he really should have a dedicated publicist —"

"Yuna, let it go."

"But —"

"I know. Just let it go. He'll tell us when he's ready."

November 2016 — Montreal

Yuna had never been any good at letting things go.

"Honey, have you decided about Wimbledon?" she asked one day at lunch, carefully nonchalant. "Rolex really wants you there. I think they're worried their box is too… tennis-y, I think."

"Does that mean too white?" Shane muttered, head buried in his menu.

"I thought you like your deal with Rolex."

"I do."

"Well, you certainly love the money. And they're great seats. I mean, they're next to a prince, or —" She double checked the email, like she didn't already have the details memorized. "No, actually, a Swedish princess."

"I don't think I should skip training."

Yuna risked a glance over at David, who was thinking resolutely,

Drop it.

"Well, meeting a Swedish princess could be fun, right?" she tried, still keeping her voice light.

"I don't have time for that right now, Mom. All my time is scheduled."

"I know, I just meant —"

Shane cut her off, on a roll now. Yuna couldn't remember the last time she'd heard him this annoyed. "I get, like, two weeks off a year. I don't want to spend it next to someone I don't know, trying to make conversation about what, Swedish politics?"

"Okay," Yuna breathed, almost relieved when a waiter passed by and asked,

"Can I get anyone a drink?"

David ordered a white wine that looked nice, but Shane wasn't interested. Yuna watched his face carefully, fighting with herself not to press too hard, but she couldn't resist offering,

"I'm sure you could have a glass of wine, that's —"

Shane cut her off again. "No, I can't. Not during the season."

Yuna and David shared a look.

What is going on with him today?

Honey, you need to stop pushing.

I'm not pushing! There's something wrong!

"Shane…" David leaned forward, meeting his son's gaze. "Is everything all right?"

"Why, because I don't want wine?"

"Well, you just seem… tense."

"I'm fine."

He didn't look fine. Undeterred, David said,

"Well, I think a little trip to London next summer, for Wimbledon, just the three of us, would be fun, and I think you should think about it."

Yuna caught his eye mid sentence.

Thank you.

Got your back, chérie (sweetheart).

Shane didn't interject, so David went on, "We could make a week out of it. Go to a play, see Big Ben. You loved it when you were a kid."

"You guys should go," Shane replied immediately. His voice was level, and the earlier frustration seemed to have receded, but it was still visible in the set of his shoulders, the tense lines of his arms where they rested on the table. "You'd have a great time. You're the tennis fan, Dad."

"They're not going to send us the tickets, honey, it's you they want," Yuna objected. "We're just the parents, you're the main attraction."

"Well then, I'll just lie, tell them I'm coming, they won't kick you out. And you can just tell them I'm sick or something."

"Honey, I don't want you to lie. That's not who you are."

Shane was quiet for a long moment, emotion flickering in his eyes too quickly for Yuna to catch. Then he blinked, shook his head, and mumbled,

"Sorry, I'm… I'm in a weird mood."

"It's okay." David said easily. He'd always been better than Yuna about handling this kind of thing. "Anything you want to talk about?"

Shane's face went carefully neutral. Then, like a magic trick, the corner of his mouth flipped into a small smile, and his voice was calm and cheerful as he set down his menu, getting to his feet.

"Let's... let's think about London. Maybe it could be fun. I'm just going to use the washroom."

As soon as he was out of sight, Yuna turned to her husband.

What the hell was that?

David sighed.

I don't think he's going to Wimbledon.

January 2017 — Ottawa

Something was going on with Shane.

He'd been… off, for a while, in a way Yuna couldn't quite put her finger on. Snappish, withdrawn. She'd first noticed it at that lunch in November, but then he'd started dating Rose Landry (Rose Landry!) and he seemed… a little better, maybe? For a while? He smiled more, but it didn't reach his eyes, and he was still walking around like a bomb was about to drop any moment. December passed in a blur, and Yuna didn't see Shane much. She couldn't tell if he was purposely avoiding her, or if he was really just that busy. They'd been at several of his games — one in Ottawa, two in Montreal — and he'd found excuses not to go out to dinner with them like he usually would, even when Yuna had suggested his favorite restaurant.

Eventually, Yuna had cornered Hayden Pike and tried to get to the bottom of it, but Pike didn't seem to know anything either. Nice guy, Yuna thought to herself, but maybe not the brightest bulb in the box. She would have asked Jackie, but she'd only met the woman a handful of times, and on the off chance that she was just being hypervigilant over nothing, she didn't want it to get back to Shane that she had been worried. So she watched, and waited, and tried so hard not to push as the weeks went on and Shane got quieter and quieter, spending all of his time at the gym or on the ice, and no one had any idea why.

Then, in January, a switch flipped.

"We broke up," Shane said calmly when David asked about Rose one night at the first dinner since November he had actually scheduled himself.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. We decided we're better as friends." And Shane smiled — a real, bright smile — for the first time in months, so Yuna took him at his word (despite her reservations) and changed the subject.

"Are you excited for All-Stars?"

A shadow passed over Shane's eyes, an echo of nerves that didn't make sense considering everyone knew All-Star Weekend was a mostly unserious league promotional event, but then he took a deep breath and said,

"Yeah. I am. Should be fun."

"I wish we could be there," David said with a chuckle. "Seeing you and Ilya Rozanov on a line together will be a once-in-a-lifetime experience."

Shane's smile went slightly brittle as he shrugged and took a bite of his salmon.

"At least they made you captain," Yuna pointed out with relish. "I'm sure Rozanov is pissed about that one."

"Do we really have to talk about Rozanov right now?" Shane asked, rolling his eyes. "He's an asshole, but he'll do whatever it takes to win — and anyway, it's just All-Stars. It'll be fine."

Okay, that was more like it. Whatever anxiety Yuna had thought she'd seen, it was gone now, replaced by calm competence. She had never seen anyone react to a breakup so well. Almost… suspiciously well, actually. Maybe there was more to his friendship with Rose Landry than she'd thought. After all, not all soulmates were romantic — it wouldn't be unheard of for an empathic connection to manifest between best friends.

* * *

As they stretched out on the couch that weekend to watch the game, though, David wasn't as convinced by Yuna's theory.

"I don't know," he frowned, eyes trained on the TV. Shane's line was hopping the boards. "Why wouldn't he have mentioned it?"

"Maybe it's something subtle, more like my mom's gift, and he hasn't even noticed."

David's lips quirked doubtfully.

"Maybe," he repeated in the absent voice he always used when he wasn't really listening. "Damn, Shane and Rozanov are flying. Look at that pass."

Right on cue, Shane fired a perfect shot straight into the back of the net. Yuna leapt to her feet, almost upending her snack bowl, and yelled,

"That's what I'm talking about!"

Shane was unstoppable that afternoon, Yuna observed with delight, and even she couldn't deny that Rozanov was right in step with him. Their other winger eked out a couple assists, but most of the game was the Hollander-Rozanov show, systematically demolishing the Western team with genuinely demoralizing ease. After one particularly beautiful goal, Rozanov pulled Shane into a hug, pressing a sloppy, obnoxious kiss to the side of his helmet. Yuna grimaced empathetically — she knew how much Shane hated it when his equipment got messy — but he barely even seemed to notice, probably flying too high on adrenaline to care. David made a soft, amused sound in the back of his throat, and when she glanced over at him, his eyes were thoughtful.

"We hate him," she reminded her husband, only half joking.

April 2017 — Montreal

Yuna would hate herself until the day she died for not being in the stands at the moment Shane went down. She usually never missed a game when she was in town, but Adidas had been on her ass about the contract for Shane's new workout line, and she'd — god, it made her sick just to think about it — she'd told herself that finalizing the negotiations was a better use of her time.

It happened at 7:14. She got the call at 7:20. She was in a car on her way across town by 7:23, texting David, who was already packing to drive up from Ottawa. She was at the hospital by 7:45.

"My son, Shane Hollander —" Yuna heard her own hands slam against the receptionist's desk, saw the woman flinch, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Words failed her. Is he here? Is he awake? How bad is it? Concussion? Broken bones? Can he play through it? Is he out for the season? Will he —

"They just brought him back," the receptionist said kindly, and Yuna almost hated her for how level her voice was, at a time like this. "As soon as he's through intake, the doctor will come out and chat with you —" ("Chat with!" The gall of this woman!) "— and then you'll be able to see him."

"How long will that be?"

"Not long. You can have a seat if you'd like."

"I'll stand, thanks," Yuna said tersely, and positioned herself near the wall, out of the way but with a clear line of sight to all the doors in the room. Her phone buzzed.

She wouldn't. David needed to focus on driving. She could handle this.

After a brief eternity, a doctor came through the double doors. There was a smear of blood on the back of his wrist. Yuna stepped forward, inertia carrying her towards him, barely keeping her upright. His eyes scanned the room with detached professionalism, quickly meeting hers.

"Yuna?"

"Yes. Is my son — is Shane —"

"He's going to be fine," the doctor said warmly, and Yuna locked her knees before they could buckle. "Head wounds are always scary, but it doesn't look like he'll face any permanent brain damage — he was only unconscious for a moment, and never experienced severe disorientation. We're going to hold him overnight for observation, but all things considered, he got pretty lucky."

Knowing what Shane's first question would be, Yuna asked,

"What does this mean for playoffs?"

The doctor chuckled, shaking his head.

"Hockey players. Well, listen, if it were just the concussion, we'd take it on a week-by-week basis, and he might be back by the end of the first round. But he has a midshaft fracture in his collarbone, which will take longer to heal. We've set it, and he won't need surgery, but that's the kind of injury that could have severe consequences down the line if it doesn't heal correctly. He'll need to wear an arm sling for at least the first two weeks, and it won't be fully stable for much longer than that. Unfortunately, I think at this point it's safe to say he'll be out for the season. We hooked him up to some pretty heavy duty painkillers, so he's resting now, but you can see him if you'd like."

Yuna nodded mutely and followed in his wake, typing out a message to David.

Despite herself, Yuna huffed out a snort of laughter.

The room was dark, lit only by the dim LEDs around the baseboards. Shane was stretched out in his hospital bed, looking young and vulnerable. Yuna pressed one hand to her mouth, holding in tears. His face was bruised, his hair a mess, a sling tightly wound around his shoulder. His eyes were shut, a little line forming between his eyebrows as his face moved and twitched in his sleep, one hand grasping uselessly. Yuna didn't even realize she was walking across the room until she grabbed it. Shane went still, breathing out a soft sigh. Yuna sat limply on the couch, still holding his hand, her heartbeat finally slowing.

He's here. He's alive. He's going to be okay.

* * *

It felt sacriligeous, but after a while, she pulled out her phone with her free hand and checked her notifications. David was still on his way, but stuck in traffic. The Voyageurs were falling apart without Shane, unsurprisingly. Twitter was aflame with speculation — "He's being dramatic, he'll be back next game." "He's out for the season." "He'll never play again."

Suddenly, Shane stirred and mumbled something under his breath. Yuna leaned in. He wasn't making any sense, but she was pretty sure he was asking for Rose.

"'Mogayrose… tellum. 'M okay. 'M okay. Tell… tell Rose an'… tellul…"

"Shane, honey," Yuna whispered, squeezing his hand. Shane's eyes fluttered open, then shut again. His voice was hoarse and cracked.

"Mom?"

"I'm here, sweetheart. I talked to the doctor, you're gonna be fine."

"Ogay," he slurred, mouth barely moving. "Did we win?"

Hot tears coursed down Yuna's cheeks, and she furiously wiped them away.

"Is that a no?" Shane asked weakly.

Between short naps, repeating herself constantly, Yuna eventually managed to establish the core facts: Yes, Shane would be out for the season. Yes, they were holding him overnight. No, they had not won the game. No, it wasn't his fault.

"My head's weird," he mumbled towards the end of their fourth attempt. He was pretty lucid by that point, so she was hopeful that this time would stick.

"Yeah, honey, that's the concussion."

"No. 'S like… fuzzy."

"The doctor said they put you on an IV drip, so your body can focus on healing your collarbone."

"Don' wanna."

"Don't want what?"

"Can —" He pursed his lips, working hard. "I can't think. Don't like it. Scary."

Yuna's heart twinged. Clearly, Shane was afraid of revealing something — she tried not to speculate on what that might be, but she had a few ideas.

"Okay, we can tell them you want to be weaned off the IV painkillers as soon as possible."

Shane nodded and passed out again.

* * *

The next time Shane woke up, he asked,

"Wha' time'sit?"

"Late."

"You should go home. My condo. Rest."

"Honey, I don't want to leave you when you're —"

"'M okay," he promised, eyes wide and earnest. "Gonna sleep anyway. Jus'… come back t'morrow?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Your father will be here soon too. I'll send him over to keep you company in the morning."

"'Kay." Shane's eyelids dropped closed like they were too heavy to hold up. He let go of her hand. "Where's my phone?"

"Over there, on the counter. But you really shouldn't —"

"I know, I know." For a moment, he sounded just like himself, completely normal, politely exasperated. Yuna could almost forget he was laid out in a hopsital room after sustaining a serious injury. "Love you. See ya t'morrow."

"I love you, honey." Yuna dropped a kiss on his cheek and reluctantly headed out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind herself.

May 2017 — Ottawa

Game seven. Madison Square Garden. The Stanley Cup in the background.

Scott Hunter, standing in the center circle.

His thumbs stroking across a man's cheekbones like he was trying to read a sacred text in braille.

Time slowed down.

Yuna saw what was coming before David did. She didn't need to meet her husband's eyes to know — she could see the innocent confusion in his face, the polite interest. The same look he gave her when she started spelling out an unfamiliar word in Scrabble and he was curious to see where she was going with it.

Shane was on her other side, his own thumbs tapping out a message to Ilya Rozanov, of all people. His eyes were so wide and bright, filled with something like hope, or maybe panic. Suddenly, Yuna felt like she was intruding. She looked away.

Scott Hunter kissed the man.

Someone gasped. Maybe it was David. Maybe it was Yuna herself. She blinked, hard, just in case this was some kind of stress-induced hallucination. When her eyes opened again, the camera had cut to a wide shot, but she could still see them, wrapped up in each other like they were the only two people on the ice. As a rule, Yuna did not consider herself a crier, but she realized with a start that she was a little misty.

She'd spoken to Hunter a couple times, actually. He had been unfailingly polite, but... withdrawn, maybe. Like he was carefully holding himself apart from everyone. Not sad, exactly, but… melancholy. Forlorn. His smile hadn't reached his eyes.

He was really smiling now. Big and sparkling and relieved, lighting up his entire face.

Oh, good for you, sweetheart. Good for you.

"Mom?" Shane's voice cracked. When Yuna looked at him, his hands were trembling. He clenched them on his thighs to keep them still. "Dad?" His eyes were wet and terrified. He started to take a breath, nearly choked on it. Persevered. "I'm gay."

Yuna blinked again. She'd been preparing for this eventuality, had even practiced in the mirror what she would say, just in case. Something calm and reassuring. It had been good.

Every single word of it escaped her.

What came out was,

"Shane."

His face crumpled.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, "I'm so sorry, I tried — I really tried, Mom, I just — I couldn't help it."

"Shane," Yuna said again, and he was crying, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, and she still didn't know what to do so her body reacted for her, reaching for him, folding him into her arms the way he hadn't let her in nearly two decades.

"Shane, why on earth are you sorry?" David asked gently, walking around the couch to sit on his son's other side.

"We love you, honey," Yuna said, the only part of her speech she remembered, squeezing him tight and then letting him go as David placed a hand on his shoulder. Shane looked baffled.

"You're not mad?"

"Of course not," David assured him, equally confused.

"I don't — I don't want to be a disappointment," Shane muttered, his face pointing resolutely at the floor.

"You could never disappoint us, sweetheart," Yuna promised. Her own voice was shaking. All this time, she'd been frustrated with him, thought he was just being secretive, and her precious boy had thought — god, what had he thought? That they would… yell? Disown him? What had she done wrong? What had she said, to make him so afraid? She took his perfect face in her hands. "Never. Never, Shane."

He wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled again. "I wanted… I tried to be good."

"You are good," David said, and Yuna nodded wholeheartedly. "A good man. A good son. The best."

Shane shook his head.

"I'm not, though. And I thought…" his voice was quiet, hollowed out. "I thought if I could just do everything else right, then… then it would be okay. Like, if I'm — if they can't — but I… it's like…" he shook his head again, harder, pressing his hands to his face. "And I was so close, you know? I almost had it."

"Shanebug," Yuna breathed, one hand petting his hair the way she used to when he was very small. Recognition gnawed at her stomach, sinking, spreading. "What are you saying?"

Words poured out of Shane, coming faster and faster, like he'd lost control over his own tongue.

"Like, if… if I was good enough, they'd have to respect me. They had to give me ice time, even when I was just a rookie and the guys all knew I hadn't really earned it, because I'm so good it would be stupid not to. My teammates have to ask me for advice, include me in their shit sometimes, because I'm the captain, and I'm only the captain because I'm the best. And they all know it. That's… The only reason anyone tolerates me is because I'm the best. And if I could just see it through, then maybe — but I didn't. I can't. We're tied up in overtime, and I choked."

Yuna was going to be sick.

"Shane, where did you get that idea?" David asked. "We don't think that of you. No one thinks that of you."

"They do!" Shane insisted, swiping furiously at his own eyes. "They always have. Ever since I was a kid. The only way to fix it was to —"

"Be so good they can't ignore you," Yuna whispered.

"Yeah." Shane almost sounded relieved.

Yuna's vision went spotty, pulling in at the edges. Her ears were ringing so loudly, she couldn't hear what David said next. After a moment, she managed to say, in a trembly voice that didn't feel like her own,

"Oh god it's my fault. It's all my fault. Shane — Shane, look at me."

He wouldn't.

Yuna knelt down on the floor, putting herself within his line of sight, bracing her hands on his knees.

"I never should have said that to you."

"What? No, it was — you were right. It helped. I fixed it."

"But honey, it wasn't your responsibility to 'fix' anything. I — I should have realized how you'd take that, but I didn't mean… you don't have to earn our love, sweetheart. We are so… so infinitely proud of you. Whether you're straight, or gay, or — I don't know, anything else. No matter who you are, no matter what you do, I never want you to be afraid to tell us something like this."

"I know there's a lot of pressure on you, son," David cut in, one hand still moving back and forth over Shane's shoulder. "But we want to help you deal with it, not… not make it worse. I'm so sorry that we've ever made it worse."

Shane nodded mutely, and Yuna had the distinct sense that their words were just washing over him, not really connecting. Her fears were confirmed when, instead of acknowledging any of that, he just asked,

"You're not disappointed?"

"No, Shane," Yuna said firmly. "We're not disappointed."

Shane nodded again, his lower lip trembling. Clearly they weren't making any progress, so, before he could fall back into the hysteria, Yuna took a deep breath, waited for him to mirror it, and said,

"Okay. Enough. You're fine. Nobody's disappointed. So, you're gay. Are you… seeing anyone?"

Shane blinked, his eyes refocusing, shoulders dropping as he let the breath go.

"No."

"But you'll tell us? If… if there is anything serious?"

Shane took another deep breath. He looked like he was thinking very hard.

"Yeah, I will."

"That's all we can ask," David said. His voice was warm and steady, grounding in a way that Yuna didn't think she'd ever get enough of. Gratitude coursed through her, and she didn't try to avoid his gaze when David glanced over.

What would I do without you?

Probably be even more terrifyingly competent. You and Shane would have cornered every market. There'd be posters of him on the moon.

Yuna didn't protest — there were more important things going on right now — but she knew, with sudden certainty, that he was wrong. Usually it was a point of pride, how similar Shane was to her. It was a rare gift, how well they understood each other, she thought to herself sometimes, hanging up the phone after spending an hour or more lambasting an opposing team's defensive strategy. Everyone always talked about how much they had in common — their drive, their ambition, their relentless work ethic. But everything soft in him — his empathy, his patience, his willingness to forgive… that was all David. He had always been better with people. Emotions. Advice. Guilt curdled in Yuna's stomach at the thought. The one piece of advice she'd tried to give Shane had spiraled into a horrifically familiar coping mechanism she had never intended to spark. For the first time, Yuna realized that maybe it wasn't a good thing for Shane to be so much like her.

Lanaudiére

"Did you find it?" Yuna asked, looking up from her crossword where she was lounging in the overstuffed recliner, when she heard the garage door shut.

"Yep, it was in his junk drawer!" David called back, heading into the kitchen. "Hey, what do you think about pasta bolognese for dinner? I'll start defrosting ground beef."

"I think there's a little bit in the fridge already." Yuna set aside her crossword and pulled off her glasses, watching her husband suspiciously through the kitchen doorway. "We have some chicken from the other night too, actually. We don't really need to cook tonight."

"Well, Shane's coming over. And he's bringing a guest. I want to make a good impression."

"A guest?" Yuna leapt to her feet and practically sprinted into the other room. "Who?"

"I don't know all the details," David hedged, "But he had someone with him at his cottage, and he said it was someone he really cared about, and I invited them both for dinner."

Yuna's barely recognized the delighted squeal that escaped her.

"I'll go unearth the good wine."

* * *

Yuna had cracked open said good wine a little early, just to calm her nerves as she waited in the kitchen, hovering over David as he prepared dinner.

"Is the salad prewashed? Did you make the vinaigrette the same way as last time? I think Shane said it was a little too sweet. Oh, and we're running low on parmesan. Maybe I should run to the store."

"There's enough for tonight. And besides, they'll be here any minute."

Yuna took another sip of her wine, holding it so tightly that her knuckles were turning white around the stem. David had just put the noodles into the sauce to simmer when they heard the front door open.

"It's me, Shane!"

They exchanged a glance, reading each others' excitement and nerves, and turned to the living room doorway to see Shane crossing the room, shoulders nearly touching his ears.

"Good to see you, honey!" Yuna said, trying desperately to sound normal.

"How's that silent meditation going?" David asked with a wink. Shane blushed and ducked his head.

"Well, I'm here. And I brought, um…"

He looked back at the foyer, out of Yuna's line of sight, and said,

"Ilya?"

Yuna reeled, but before she could react, Shane was moving aside and Ilya fucking Rozanov was stepping into the living room. Her hands went numb and useless, the wine glass smashing on the tiles in front of her.

"Um, this is Ilya… Rozanov," Shane said, like he was worried they had forgotten, then winced and added, "But you already know that."

"Hi," said Ilya Rozanov.

Yuna fought back hysterical laughter and slid down to the floor, genuinely worried her legs might not hold her up. Shane was still going.

"And Dad invited us both to dinner. So. Here we are."

"You invited Ilya Rozanov to dinner?" Yuna demanded, looking up at him. David's subtitles flicked past too quickly to read, and he just said,

"Not… on purpose."

"I can go," Rozanov started to back towards the hallway, but Shane took his hand, halting him in his tracks.

"No, son, we're glad you're here."

"We are??" Yuna asked helplessly.

Before she knew it, David was lifting her out of the wine puddle and Shane and Ilya were diligently cleaning the floor while Yuna leaned uselessly against the window and tried not to hyperventilate.

"What — what is this? How long — how did it —"

"He's my boyfriend, Mom," Shane said evenly, not taking his eyes off the floor. Yuna's heart caught in her throat at the steadiness of his voice, unhesitating, unflinching. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard him sound so sure about anything not related to hockey. Still, her thoughts swirled, trying to make sense of it all.

"But you… you hate each other. Not so much these days, but… wait, is that when it happened? When he came to the hospital?"

"I think it was All-Stars," David remarked. "You two had so much chemistry."

Shane still didn't look up.

"It was… before then."

David leaned against the counter.

Wow.

The boys finished cleaning up as Yuna waited for someone to elaborate. When no one did, she eventually asked,

"So, when?"

Shane finally looked up, meeting her eyes. She could see the fear there, but more than that, calm determination.

"Since our rookie season."

"Your rookie season?" she repeated.

"Technically the summer before," Ilya muttered. Shane glared at him. All of Yuna's further efforts to clarify the timeline seemed to be received poorly, and after a few awkward minutes, she put away the wine and went to grab some of David's good vodka. They were going to need something a lot stronger to get through this conversation.

Yuna was aware that her natural tendency towards interrogation was not ideal for this situation, but she couldn't help it: she had questions. And concerns. Many concerns. If she was being honest, part of her expected Rozanov to start a fight, or just get frustrated and leave — something befitting the melodramatic persona he seemed to slip into so easily on the ice. But instead, he just got quieter and quieter, holding her gaze with a bold defiance she couldn't help but respect. When even David had turned against her, recounting their interaction in that hospital room with way more details than the last time, she could feel herself starting to get defensive despite herself.

"You didn't ever let him win, did you, Shane?"

Shane just stared at her, open shock and contempt written all over his face.

"Do you let Dad win at cards?"

"I'd rather die."

"Same here."

Shane wasn't usually one for extended eye contact, and Yuna almost never pushed him on it. But right now, their eyes locked, and Yuna refused to let him off the hook.

Are you serious about this? Are you serious about him?

Shane didn't look away. His dark eyes burned with that same defiance she'd seen from Rozanov; like he was saying, "we're doing this with or without you, so deal with it."

"I don't like this," she admitted. "But you're an adult, and I trust you to make your own decisions. Just… tell me you have a plan."

They did. She did not like that either. But Shane stood up to her again, pushing back on her every objection, and before the tension could escalate, David interrupted.

"Dinner should be ready by now. Yuna, can you give me a hand?"

She followed him into the kitchen, blood still pumping hot in her ears, and their eyes met as he stirred the pasta.

Let's just hear them out.

Don't tell me you think this is a good idea. David, how is it ever going to work? They live in separate countries, an entire industry has organized itself around their "rivalry" — it's just… it's impossible.

That's not our decision to make.

I don't want Shane to get hurt.

I know, chérie (sweetheart). David smiled gently, and he squeezed Yuna's arm briefly before taking an experimental sip. I think the sauce has cooked down enough. It was a little too bright earlier, but it should be good to serve now. You ready to get back out there?

Yuna took a fortifying deep breath.

I think so.

"I'm sorry, I cut you off," Yuna said through gritted teeth as she reentered the room and set the table, David right behind her, carefully hefting the pot. "You were telling me about the plan. What kind of charity?"

"We… haven't really decided yet," Shane admitted with a sidelong glance at Rozanov. "We still have time to figure out the details. We're not planning to announce it until next year at the very earliest. But once we do, we'll run hockey camps during the summers to fund it."

Yuna fought to balance her curiosity with politeness.

"So you'll just… keep doing this? Keeping your relationship a secret? Until you retire?"

"I mean, yeah, basically."

Yuna felt her own eyes soften as she turned to Rozanov.

"Are you okay with that?"

Rozanov shrugged, his eyes a little downturned.

"What else are we supposed to do?"

Yuna bit her lip, suddenly experiencing a rush of empathy. She couldn't imagine how difficult it would have been to be separated from David like that, by distance and circumstances. She kept pretty quiet through the rest of the dinner, just absorbing the soft looks Shane and Rozanov kept sending each others' way. She was pretty sure they were holding hands under the table. Not for the first time, it occurred to her that it was entirely possible Rozanov was the one Shane had manifested a connection with, and she made a mental note to examine the possibility further a different time, when the stakes were lower.

Shane and Rozanov left with a little tupperware of pasta and David's promises to call ahead next time. David actually hugged Rozanov goodbye, which Yuna wasn't quite up for yet, but she did manage a polite handshake, and when she thanked him for coming, she could see in his eyes that he could tell she meant it. So. Baby steps.

July 2017 — Ottawa

Most summers, Shane only spent the first couple weeks after playoffs at the cottage. But this year, for reasons Yuna was very deliberately not dwelling on, he stayed well into the middle of July, all the way up until he needed to start training. The night before he (and the reason in question) headed back to Montreal, Yuna invited them both to sleep over in Ottawa. She'd told Shane it was just to space out the drive a bit, but really she wanted to get to the bottom of whether or not he had manifested his gift. If it wasn't his team, and it wasn't Rose Landry, then Rozanov would know better than anyone else.

Which is how Yuna found herself cornering Ilya Rozanov in the kitchen while David kept Shane occupied with some project in the garage. She honestly still wasn't sure to make of him — the Russian terrror on ice, six foot something of raw muscle, golden tanned skin and a halo of light brown curls, the man who had fucked his way through Moscow, Boston and then moved on to most of North America, cleaning up dirty dishes in the humble kitchen of the little house she'd raised her son in.

"Thank you for dinner, Yuna," Rozanov said politely, setting a stack of plates down on the counter. Yuna crossed her arms and watched him carefully scraping crumbs into the trash, then loading the dishwasher. After a minute, when Yuna still hadn't found the words, he looked up and asked, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yes. Um." Yuna twisted her arms tighter, pushing her hands against her forearms until her wrists twinged. "It's about Shane."

Rozanov's eyes narrowed with concern, and he gently set down the plate he was holding.

"What about Shane?"

"There is… a certain trait in our family that I, um… I should have talked to him about years ago, but it's the kind of thing he might not… want to discuss… especially if… I'm not sure if he even inherited… but I was wondering if you've noticed anything… unusual. About him, or your relationship."

"You mean the autism?"

"The what?" Yuna practically screeched, then forced herself to lower her voice, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Shane hadn't heard. "No! Of course not! There's nothing wrong with him."

"I did not say something was wrong with him," Rozanov said slowly, hands raised in surrender. "My teammate's brother is autistic. Good guy. But after meeting him I… connected dots."

"There are no dots to connect!" Yuna fumed.

Rozanov's eyebrows lifted skeptically, but he just asked,

"Then what were you talking about?"

"I'm not exactly sure — it presents differently for everyone. But it might be some kind of… empathic connection? Telepathy, maybe?"

The confusion on Rozanov's face was washed away by pure relief.

"Oh, yes. That too."

Part of Yuna had already expected it, but her jaw still dropped.

"What? Really?"

"Yes. Since first meeting. We hear each others' thoughts. And… more, overs the years. Memories." Rozanov looked like he was about to say something else, but he cut himself off, a faint pink blush spreading over his cheeks.

To Yuna's horror, her eyes flooded with tears. She covered her mouth, knees folding with just enough control to sit down at the kitchen table.

"Is bad thing?" Rozanov immediately asked, settling into the chair next to her.

"No, nothing like that," Yuna assured him. "Just… all this time, and I never — oh god, you must have been so confused."

Rozanov shrugged lightly, but his voice betrayed him, halting and cracked.

"It was… a lot, at first, but we got used to it. Teenage boys are stupid, but they have… high tolerance for weird. I always…" He glanced away, visibly pulling himself together. Suddenly, he looked so young, so human, it almost broke her heart. When he met her gaze again, there was no trace of his usual cocky persona in those clear blue eyes. "I thought maybe I was just crazy. But then, he was too. So at least we were crazy together."

"Oh, honey," Yuna breathed, and her hands reached out of their own volition. Ilya's hands were large and calloused, with faint scars littered over his fingers. Yuna squeezed them and said, "You're not crazy. It's… my mother called it the family gift. I have it too. When I look at David, I can see his thoughts, like subtitles. But I — I didn't know how to tell Shane. Sometimes it skips a generation, and I knew he wouldn't… understand it, unless he experienced it himself. I assumed — stupidly, I guess — that when he did, he would tell me."

"He would have, if it had been anyone but me." Ilya's lips twisted ruefully. Yuna shook her head.

"That's not how it works. If… if his gift could only be triggered by… this type… of bond, if it wasn't his friends or his team or his family… then it never would have manifested at all if not for you."

"Oh," Ilya said quietly, staring down at their conjoined hands.

"I don't think I've been fair to you, Ilya," Yuna admitted reluctantly. Ilya looked significantly more shocked at that than when she'd told him about the family gift. His mouth opened, but no words came out, so Yuna kept talking. "Shane is… one of a kind. And I have been… a little overprotective."

Ilya's nod of agreement was a little too fervent, and Yuna narrowed her eyes.

"Rest assured, if you hurt him, I will ruin you. I have my ways."

"I believe you."

"Good. But also… the kind of connection you two share is not to be taken lightly. I know that more than anyone. So, for better or for worse, you are a part of this family now."

Ilya's jaw fully dropped. They sat there in silence, holding each other's hands, for a long minute. Finally, he managed,

"I — I do not know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry if that's too… I know I can be intense, sometimes."

"Shane is the same way," Ilya said with a small, helplessly fond smile, and if Yuna hadn't already decided to like him, that would have sealed it. "He walked up to me at All-Stars, in a crowded bar, looked me dead in the eyes, and told me he was in love with me."

Oh, my sweet baby.

Yuna felt her lower lip quiver as tears threatened to spill over again. She grounded herself, as usual, by focusing on the relevant details.

"So it was All-Stars then? When you got serious?"

"That is when we made the plan. Before…" he shrugged, eyes falling to their hands again. "It was complicated."

With a Herculean act of will, Yuna restrained herself from prying.

"… What's going on in here?"

Yuna whipped her head around to see Shane standing in the doorway, looking truly concerned. Now that Yuna was looking for it, it was impossible to miss the way his and Ilya's eyes locked and held fast. Her heart lurched again.

Since the first time they met.

Shane broke the eye contact like it cost him real effort, his mouth falling open in shock as he turned back to Yuna. His voice shook.

"Really?"

Yuna nodded wordlessly. Shane's knees wobbled, and he barely made it to the chair next to her.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. I just didn't know how."

"I wouldn't have believed you," Shane admitted with a breathy laugh. "Not until I met Ilya and it… happened. And even then, I wouldn't have wanted to talk about it. But… it is a relief, to know that we're not, like, crazy."

"Of course not, sweetheart. You're perfect."

Shane nodded, his eyes suspiciously bright, and cleared his throat.

"You are," Yuna insisted, squeezing his arm with her right hand so she could leave her left hand in Ilya's. "My special boy. My little Shanebug."

"Shanebug?" Ilya repeated, eyes dancing with delight.

"Drop it," Shane gritted out, and Ilya tipped his head back and laughed, open and unselfconscious, until Shane was smiling too, like he couldn't help it.

Yes, Yuna thought to herself, I can see it.