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“Is this an aging thing, do you think?” David asked as Yuna slowed to make the turn into Shane’s cottage.
“What, forgetting your phone charger? No, I really don't,” Yuna said. She pulled their car up next to Shane’s and killed the engine. “That’s just a person thing.”
“Well, it’s the second time this week,” he grumbled as they climbed out, and she rolled her eyes slightly.
“And for the second time this week, I will tell you — it’s fine, everyone forgets things. I was hoping for an excuse to come check up on Shane anyway, since he’s not answering his texts,” she added. There were all sorts of stories about what young players, the ones without spouses and kids, got up to in the off-season, and two weeks of silence wasn’t one of the most popular activities. But then again, a meditation retreat really did sound like something Shane would be into.
“Should have checked whether I had that damn charger before I left the other day,” David fretted. Their steps crunched in the gravel leading up to the house, but she shushed him as they approached the door.
“If he’s really trying to stay silent, I think we shouldn’t disturb him — we’ll just wave at him and go, right?”
David nodded in agreement. They swung open the door and crept inside.
“Shane?” she called softly. “Honey?”
There was no sign of him in the kitchen, but Yuna did see David’s charger, still plugged into the wall next to the fridge. She pulled it out and pocketed it, almost absently, as her hypervigilant mind immediately started taking stock. She could spot a dozen things that felt off about this room, that made the kitchen feel different than usual. It was messy, at least by Shane’s standards. There were two plates and two forks in the sink, and two glasses — two of everything — left out on the counter. Remnants of a sliced peach sat on a cutting board, sticky and unwashed. There was a bowl full of individually packaged snacks that she’d never seen before. Were those Cheetos?
“We’re gonna scare the shit out of him,” David said, and Yuna shushed him again. She pointed to the Cheetos, and he frowned.
“Huh,” he whispered. Even in the off-season, Shane would never. That artificial orange dust would be a non-starter.
“Shane?” she called a little louder. No response.
“It feels like— like someone else is here, doesn’t it?” David asked, poking his head back down the hall to the bedroom.
“It really does.” Yuna felt the first crawl of worry on the back of her neck.
“Could someone have broken in?” David whispered.
“Someone who put Cheetos in his kitchen? I doubt it,” Yuna said, but Shane wasn’t in the bedroom either, and her worry grew another fraction. She and David turned back and crept past the island to peer over the half-wall into the living room.
“Maybe he’s on the dock. He goes down there to do yoga sometimes.”
“No, he doesn’t,” she whispered back. “He only said that for the documen—“
At exactly the same time, they froze. There was Shane, asleep on the couch. He wasn’t alone.
Fear roared in Yuna's head for one bad moment, and she jumped like she’d been shocked and started to rush toward Shane on pure instinct. There had been security concerns in the past, lots of them, things Yuna only thought about in the middle of the night when she couldn’t stop her brain from going there, and if some demented stalker had managed to get in—
But then David’s hand was on her arm, warm and solid, holding her back.
“Hey, love— wait. Look.”
Shane was deeply asleep. His slow, full, peaceful breaths were visible even from across the room; he was lying practically on top of a big, muscular man in athletic shorts and an unbuttoned blue shirt, who was also asleep. Shane was twined around him like a vine, face pressed into his chest, and the man’s hand was tangled in Shane’s hair to cradle his head. He had the most peaceful smile on his face that Yuna had seen in recent memory. Maybe in any memory, maybe ever.
The man’s face was turned down toward Shane, resting on top of his head and nestled into his hair in a clear show of tenderness and intimacy, even in sleep. Only a mess of dark blond curls was visible. Something about him looked familiar. A hockey build, maybe, and those curls—
“That’s Ilya Rozanov,” David breathed beside her. His voice was barely audible, and he was right. He was right. Even without being able to see the man's face properly, Yuna could tell — that was definitely Ilya Rozanov.
“Oh my god. It is. Is he— what are they doing?”
“I don’t know, but—"
“They’re taking a nap? It's the middle of the day!” That was almost as shocking as Rozanov being here; Shane hadn’t napped since he was two years old, and he’d barely managed it then.
“Is he… are they… okay?” David asked, and Yuna whispered back, “They look better than okay to me."
It was an understatement; Shane looked so much better than okay. Shane looked like he was in a heaven that Yuna didn’t even believe in. His face was borderline angelic, supported by Rozanov’s chest with one arm behind him and the other snaking up into his hair. Their legs were even wrapped together, with Shane’s knee wedged under one of Rozanov’s thighs and a foot tucked behind his calf.
“It’s not a… a pillow or something?” David asked, and Yuna snorted as quietly as she could.
“You really think our son has a pillow in the shape of his arch-rival?”
“No,” David admitted. “No, I don’t really think that.” His voice was raw and gentle at the same time, somehow, and Yuna glanced over. His face was soft and his eyes were glittering.
“He’s wearing Shane’s shirt,” she whispered.
She’d bought Shane that shirt, a sky blue linen blend that wasn’t supposed to wrinkle. It looked nice on Ilya Rozanov.
Suddenly, maybe sensing their intense stares, Rozanov’s eyes snapped open and his head jerked up, and Yuna gave a little gasp she couldn’t stifle in time.
He looked straight at them, eyes huge, genuine fear on his face. Yuna — ever the mother, the eldest daughter, the caretaker — rushed to soothe it.
Wordlessly, she held up the white charger, its cord dangling like a punchline.
For a second, no one moved except for his arm tightening around Shane, who stirred slightly beneath it and burrowed in even closer to Rozanov. He still looked like a deer in headlights. Worse, actually — he looked genuinely afraid, like a deer who’d seen the headlights too late.
David clicked in first.
It’s okay, he mouthed, palms up and flat, facing Rozanov, whose expression didn’t change. It looked like he was stuck between wanting to hide Shane, to shield him with his entire body, or to scoop him up in his arms and flee.
We came for this, he tried again, pointing to the charger, still hanging stupidly in Yuna’s hand, and Rozanov relaxed just a fraction. He nodded, minutely, but his eyes were still wary and frozen, his jaw locked, as Shane seemed to smile in his sleep. Yuna didn’t even know his face could do that.
As Rozanov just stared at them across the room, she realized her mouth was, quite literally, hanging open. She closed it, and reached over one finger to gently push David's jaw shut too.
That startled David out of his fog, and he looked over at her and took her hand.
Wow, he mouthed, starting to smile.
Wow, she nodded back.
Wow, Rozanov mouthed across the room, and then his face broke into a smile too. Yuna’s breath caught. It was sweet. Childlike, luminous, a real genuine joy lighting up his face.
She didn’t, couldn't, understand this. Rozanov… really, Rozanov? He was an incredible player, a generational talent — and also famously a total asshole, confrontational and aggressive on the ice, and a womanizer. Emphasis on woman. He was a player, a lothario, the type that went out drinking and clubbing in every city. He had a reputation.
But. Gossip in the sports world was notoriously unreliable, and the rumor mill got things wrong all the time. Who knew the truth about anyone ever, really? All Yuna knew was what she could see with her own eyes: Her son trusted this man. And, in turn, she trusted Shane’s judgment. He had a good head on his shoulders; she knew, because she’d put it there.
So Yuna just smiled back at Ilya, matched his warmth like the sun, and nodded at him with her throat tight.
Beside her, David was beaming too, his own warmth radiating from him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and they started to turn away.
With his one free hand, Rozanov pointed between him and Shane and mimed talking on a phone.
We will call you, he mouthed, and Yuna had to press her hands to her chest.
Okay, she mouthed back, nodding, grinning like a fool. Her son and Ilya Rozanov were a we.
David put a hand on her arm — he was right, they should go, but it was hard to turn away from this. Soon, everything would rush in — Yuna could feel all the thoughts hovering there, pushing in: I knew it, I knew he was gay and why didn’t he feel like he could tell us and I hope he can forgive us for whatever we did that made him feel that way and Rozanov of all people and how long has this been going on and is it serious and do their teammates know and god the hockey world would have a field day with this and it could kill both of their careers and back to seriously how could it be Rozanov wait he’s Russian that could be really dangerous for him and what kind of visa would he need to stay safe here—
Panicky details crowded in at the edges of her mind, waiting for her, but Yuna quieted for now. She gave herself one more long moment to stare. Look. Look at her son, more happy and relaxed than she’d ever seen him. Look at the soft animal part of him, allowed to rest. Look at him, so peaceful in sleep. With Ilya Rozanov. Look at that.
She gave Rozanov a little goodbye wave, and she and David crept out as silently as they could. They didn't talk as they shut the door behind them with the quietest possible click and crunched back down the driveway.
"Wow," David said again, as they climbed back into the car, his voice at full volume again for the first time. It sounded rich and reassuring, steady. She loved his voice.
"Wow. Fucking wow," she repeated, and both of them gave in to disbelieving, slightly hysterical laughter as she pulled out of the driveway.
Shane had found someone who made a safe place for him. Who was part of a we with him. Who would reach for him when neither of them were quite sure what was coming next.
As they headed back toward home, David took Yuna's hand again and brought it over to his side of the car. He kissed the back of it, then kissed her knuckles like they were precious. And then he just held it close to him with both hands, his astonished laughter still an echo in her own chest.