Chapter Text
.SUNDAY.
Yuna hated waiting around in airports.
Even if she wasn't the one flying, there was always an overwhelming anxiety, slowly crawling up the back of her neck. She glanced around the arrivals lounge for what felt like the hundredth time, watching people bustling about. Shane had flown out hours ago. It didn’t matter that he was a hockey wunderkind; he would always be her baby first. Her little baby boy, flying thousands of miles across oceans.
Away from her.
Yuna tried not to think too hard about how this was the furthest they had ever been apart. Whilst she was glad, he’d been placed in a Swiss house, a rich, stable and neutral country, her brain was having no trouble in serving her every imaginable disaster on a silver platter. The distance did nothing but increase her ever growing dread; such was the burden of all mothers.
Getting up from her uncomfortable chair, she headed over to the large windows. Yuna watched the runway… planes coming and going… the ground crews running to and fro…
She desperately tried to not look at her watch again. Clocks helped nothing. The flight she was still waiting on had already been delayed for over two hours. Those two hours had passed well over fifty minutes ago and still- nothing.
None of the staff had waved her over to their little management huddle for any updates either, nor had there been any signs of a young hockey player passing through the security doors. The only thing that’d happened in the interim had been a member of the airport’s staff floating back and forth to the coaches' huddle. It made something uncomfortable itch in the back of her brain.
She opened her Filofax for some distraction. Yuna was thankful there weren't many appointments for that week; that made a change of pace for once. It had been the right move to take the week off, there was no way she could have kept her head straight with Shane gone. However, the laundry list of errands she could get done was annoyingly long.
There wouldn't be much downtime when her baby was away.
Scanning down the checklist, she sighed. She hated the stupid little tasks that always slipped through her day-to-day schedule, but it was too good an opportunity to get through them all without her son fretting in the midst.
Shane was so fixated on his rhythms and routines, that she sometimes wondered how he coped with the ever-changing nature of hockey. She said a small prayer that the family he was staying with would cope with his Québécois and look upon his little quirks with a fond affection.
Instead, she began to wonder about the child she’d be taking home with her. It was the first year of ‘The International Under 15s Prospect Exchange’ and the exchange’s organisation had been diabolical. Plus, she hated the acronym 'TIUPE'; it itched funny on the back of her tongue every time she said it. Typical owners, clubbing together and deciding to form the next "non- league federation". Idiot billionaires with too much money and not enough sense.
Shane of course cared for none of that, leaving all the logistics to her. He'd heard of a chance to develop his hockey, and it was all she and David heard about for months. Lists had been made. Impassioned speeches at family meetings. Saved birthday and Christmas money procured for finances. Promises made. Shane was utterly relentless. When it had gotten to the point Shane turned his begging onto his coaches as well, Yuna had finally caved, much to David's chagrin. However, once she’d said yes, Shane was locked in.
No takebacks, no refunds or returns.
Yuna would have pulled Shane from the exchange weeks ago, when the first cracks in the exchange's organisation had begun to show. The usual solution owners fell back on, had been to just throw more money at their problems, which just made her feel more anxious and angry. Shane had seen her building up to retract her permission, but he had scrunched his face- just so, and she knew she'd have lost the fight before it'd even started. Instead, she'd hounded their organisers until she'd had every cold, hard fact about where and who her son was going to be staying with, all the way down to when the batteries in the smoke alarms were last changed. She wasn't taking any chances when it came to her boy.
Yuna hadn't been asked any questions from her guest’s family in return, a cold gap in due diligence, in her humble opinion. She'd only found out the child they were hosting was Russian when she’d had an English/Russian dictionary plopped into her hands by one of the team this morning. She'd been waving her baby off at the time, trying and failing to not burst into tears. Shane was going abroad. Without her. Her little boy, whose kit bag was almost the same size as him.
He hadn't looked back at her once when he walked through the heavy security doors.
Yuna tried to compose herself, blinking back the tears that threatened to creep into her eyes again. It was an hour and a half drive back to the house and she hoped her guest would have a good enough grasp of English for them to make some small talk in the car. There was no relying on Yuna’s non-existent Russian. Looking at the international clocks that decorated the lounge, she calculated a seven-hour time difference between Moscow and Ottawa. The poor boy would be tired.
She had popped into a local travel agent to inquire about the flight times for Shane once she knew where he would be going. He'd only just managed to deal with their flight to London for his tenth birthday, mostly through having both of his parents on either side of him. This flight time of just under eight hours had made her wince. It was so far…
Russia was a lot further away than Switzerland.
It was rapidly approaching 5pm. Maybe they should stop somewhere for something to eat? The boy would certainly be hungry and plane food always sucked. She scowled- another fumble by TIUPE. No one appeared to have factored in the incredibly long flight times for an international exchange- for kids. She refused to accept their mediocre excuse of: ‘children bounced back quickly’. Even grown adults of the NHL struggled with plane hopping and jetlag. Yuna Hollander would not accept their flimsy statement of ‘this is a true taste of the Pro Hockey life’ for a bunch of under 15s, pushed hard by a bunch of egotistical men in suits. Not for one second. They were children first, hockey players second.
The thought of food reminded her- she needed to check for the boy's allergies and medical information before they left. Unbelievable that she had to chase for that information. Yuna had made sure Shane was sent off with a list of foods he was less fussy about, a gentle warning about some of his preferences written in both English and French, with copies for the Swiss coaches and Shane's hosts. Hopefully he would try some of the local cuisine too…
David had said something about a chicken parm for dinner...
What if her guest culturally didn’t eat the same things that they had in the house, or had religious restrictions? People could be particular. Yuna was all too aware about her own specific cultural norms. It was unfair to put the onus on a child to explain these nuanced things, language barrier aside. It infuriated her.
She was glad she'd written a scathing letter to the exchange's management office and encouraged some of the other parents to do the same. There was no way this exchange could continue to run with such lackadaisical and haphazard planning. This wasn’t a local rink tournament or a state training camp. Their children were being flown all around the world by a few overenthusiastic owners. This was beyond 'early scouting'; it was closer to child exploitation, but when it came to the NHL, a lot of black and white views turned a blurry grey.
It hadn’t helped that David had brought home a horror story from the office a few weeks before. A co-worker had hosted a sleepover for their child and a school friend, where the child’s parents had failed to inform them about a nut allergy. Between frantic hospital visits, child protection and honest to God lawyers, she didn't need to fake her gaps of horror. She didn't even know the word for allergies in Russian.
Yuna did not want to be responsible for a foreign child in the emergency room-
“Yuna!”
She jumped to attention and made her way across to the team. “Sorry, Gabriel! I was miles away!"
Head Coach Gabriel Henri was a big, charismatic man. Three years ago, he'd retired from coaching Ottawa's pro team, The Centaurs, and had subsequently taken up the mantle with the younger teams. The man was a legend of Ottawa. Played to the highest level whilst in the NHL until a career ending injury forced him to retire down to the beer league and had eventually come back to coach. Even though the years had passed, when Gabriel got out on the ice, he still looked like he was ready to play in a Stanley Cup Final.
Gabriel been the first one to notice Shane’s quirks as something more- quickly proclaiming her son a savant of the hockey world. Other coaches had passed over Shane with that look on their face, 'Sure the IQ looks off the charts but there's no chemistry with anyone else out there. Maybe in a couple more years, when he's grown up a bit'.
To them, it didn't matter that Shane was one in a million. To them, he had to be one of twenty. One of six.
Under Gabriel, he'd thrived. He'd not written Shane off as an issue but rather nurtured his growing potential. Gabriel showed him how to focus his talent exactly where he needed it and Shane had learned to manage his own idiosyncrasies better. Slowly but surely, Shane had become a better team player.
It showed so clearly on Gabriel's face- when he watched Yuna's boy smack a puck to the back of the net- he'd seen something great in her son, waiting to show itself to the rest of the hockey world. Shane had always been able to see the plays before they were put into motion. His speed on the ice got faster with each and every practice and he learned to work within his team, to trust their ability. Shane had started to be as much a part of the room as much as he was a phenom on the ice.
Yuna had a lot of time for Gabriel Henri.
Gabriel's veneers gleamed in the dull light of the lounge. “Still worrying about Shane? Yuna! He’s a good, independent boy, he’ll be fine.” He gestured to one of the airport staff. “On that note, Mac here has just informed me that our young Russian player was held up at immigration, but he should be with us any second. Thanks for being so patient. I know everyone else managed to do their trades without having to wait this long.”
Waving him off, she bit down her quip of irritation. Really. Keeping a child alone at immigration.
Before she could turn her temper on Mac, the doors slid open to reveal a young, curly-haired boy, struggling with his kit bag and a large folio envelope clutched to his chest. Tight faced with red-rimmed eyes, the poor boy looked exhausted. He clocked them instantly, seemingly recognising the bulky frames of hockey coaching staff. His posture straightened instantly and he rushed over, coming to a stop in front of them before nodding politely.
“Hello. I am Ilya Rozanov, and I am very happy to be here to play hockey in Canada. This is for Coach and host family. Thank you.” His accent was thick and stilted as he spoke the rehearsed words, holding out the folio and standing to attention like a soldier waiting for orders.
“Hello Rozanov. I’m Coach Henri and this is my Assistant Coach, Coach Mike. We’re happy you’re here to play hockey with us.” He took the folio from the boy and handed it over to Coach Mike, as he turned back to introduce Yuna. “This is Mrs. Hollander. You’re going to be staying with her. Her son Shane is our star centre. He’s gone to Geneva with TIUPE.”
Ilya kept his gaze down, nodding to the coaches. Yuna wondered how much of that the boy had actually understood. His reply sounded just as rehearsed as before. “Thank you, Coach. I will play good.” He turned to Yuna, eyes fixed on her shoes, head bowed forward. “Thank you for letting me stay in your house, Mrs Hollander.”
Her heart softened. Such a polite, young man. “Please, call me Yuna, Ilya. I'm happy you're staying with me. Can I carry your bag?”
Ilya gripped his bag strap tighter and shook his head. “No. Thank you.” He didn't look up.
A kerfuffle between the coaches drew her attention away from the boy.
“Uh, Yuna.” Gabriel cringed and passed her a letter. “It seems Ilya’s dad has sent a dossier for me. This… is for you.” He glanced awkwardly at Ilya. The boy hadn’t moved a muscle.
To the host of Ilya Rozanov,
Thank you for hosting my son in your home for this week. Know that Ilya is very lazy and will need hard discipline. He must learn to be a proper man and stop his childish ways. I expect this visit will help him improve his English. It is not good enough. He must improve. He will stay quietly in his room when not at practice. He should not receive any special treatment. He needs to use this trip to shape his skills and temperament. He has no allergies, and he will eat anything that he is given. Do not change from your regular routine for him.
With Thanks G. Rozanov.
The short, acrid letter had Yuna exchanging a worried glance with the other adults. The notes in Gabriel's hands seemed to hold a similar sentiment. It seemed Ilya's Russian coaches held no mercy for the boy either.
Mike winced, nodding back towards the ‘report’. It looked like a long list. “~Maybe the stereotypes are truer than we thought.~”
With a pointed, silent look, they agreed to put their conversation on hold for the moment, all too aware of the quiet boy in front of them. Ilya hadn't reacted to anything they'd said, but none of them wanted to test his fluency in either language.
Conscious of the time, Yuna bade them a quick goodbye and led the way to the car. Ilya holding onto his bag like a lifeline.
"I am very sorry for bad English. I will try to be better." Ilya didn't look at her when he slid into the passenger seat, clicking his seatbelt into place. He kept his eyes trained on his shoes, sitting like a schoolchild waiting to be summoned to the principal's office for detention.
Yuna still smiled brightly- best to not let her worry show. "That's ok, Ilya. I'm happy to help you, if you want." She passed him the dictionary. "Coach gave me this- just in case we get stuck!"
Ilya didn't smile but held the book like it was a precious text, clutched securely on his lap. He sat tense and quiet, his eyes front. Her heart clenched in motherly worry. Please God, let Shane be more relaxed than this. She kept her voice soft and open. "Ilya? Are you nervous about something? You can tell me, you aren't in any trouble."
He froze, the tension thickening. Yuna wondered if she should take the dictionary from him to see if she could stumble her way through a Russian translation, when his reply came rushing out.
"Iamsorryformakingyouwait." He caught himself, clearing his throat. "The passport man made me wait. He had to be on telephone with Coach Novikov." His was voice small, "I am sorry."
He'd spoken with the same level of dread in his voice as if he'd told Yuna that he'd single-handedly destroyed Canada's immigration system. Why was Ilya this nervous that bureaucracy had made her wait a little longer in the airport? Why such a heavy reaction at the thought she was angry with him? It made something cold settle across the back of her neck.
Now, Yuna was a modern woman. She'd sat through enough child safety and welfare meetings from plenty of hockey camp seminars, to know what was the expected way to act around kids nowadays. Times had changed in regards as to what was appropriate conduct. Anyone around children, parent or not, was under scrutiny. Child protection laws were a lot stricter than when Yuna was young.
Still, today she struggled with following those logical reasons. The boy's gaze was still fixed firmly to the floor. Her heart won out. She would not let a child feel guilty over incorrect paperwork, propriety be dammed. Yuna lifted her hand to pat his back and he flinched hard, as if he'd thought she was going to strike him. It made her heart fall into the pit of her stomach. Ever so slowly, she moved her hand onto the boy's back, rubbing up and down in soothing motions. She kept her touch firm, grounding, like she would do for Shane.
"Ilya. It’s ok. That was not your fault. I'm not angry at you." She gave him a reassuring smile. "I was a little angry at the passport man making you wait. That wasn’t fair. Understand? You and me- it's all good."
Ilya nodded his head stiffly and Yuna didn't believe for a second he'd understood a fraction of what she'd just said. But after a few tense moments he muttered, "Yes I understand. Okay." Yuna kept her hand on the boy's back until she felt him relax a fraction.
"Ready to go?" The small affirmative smile in the corner of his mouth felt like victory.
When they hit the road, she tried to make a little conversation, but Ilya only replied with stilted yes or no answers, never really letting himself relax into the passenger seat. Yuna couldn't be sure he even understood her simple questions.
The dictionary stayed unopened, tucked safely in his lap. Eventually she ran out of basic topics and turned on the radio to a classical music station to cover the silence of the car. The gentle lullaby of flutes and violins didn't sooth her nerves the way it should have.
It was going to be a long drive.
They stopped at a gas station when Ilya had finally asked a question of his own, needing a bathroom break. Yuna was grateful to escape the stilted atmosphere of the car. The tension had continued to radiate from the young boy. It was making her twitchy. Yuna was a fixer at heart, but being stuck behind a steering wheel, and with a thick language barrier between them, she was just going to have to sit in it.
She walked around the inside of the gas station, grabbing two bottles of water and a packet of her favourite maple candies. They were her all time weakness, her one addiction, not that she was actually addicted, but… her dentist had told her to cut down on them. More than once. She'd been trying her best to not buy any more, to remove the temptation, but she deserved them today. It had been stressful enough to warrant a packet.
When Ilya was buckled back up in the car, she insisted he have one, even though he protested. When he finally relented, she grinned. Seeing his enjoyment when he finally popped one into his mouth, Yuna couldn't help but feel a little smug. Who could resist a delicious sweet?
But when Ilya looked at her with those big hazel eyes, all she wanted was to wrap him up in her arms and squeeze him tight. "Is good. Thank you, Mrs Hollander."
Yuna smiled right back at him, laughing a little at her own, strong reaction, and reached round to rub his back again. "Yuna. Call me Yuna.”
He didn't flinch that time.
When they arrived at the house, David was already busy, bustling about in the kitchen. When he shook Ilya’s hand and offered to take his bag and show him up to his room, Ilya had shrunk back into himself. Hands wrapped tightly around the strap of his bag, he shook his head, face pale. “No. Is okay. Thank you.”
Yuna quickly directed the two of them up to the spare room to let Ilya get settled in. When they headed up, she felt herself relax a little. It had been so tense in the car, her own fault really, letting her frustrations and anxieties get to her like that. She was glad to have a moment for herself. Plus, David would need a bit of quality time with Ilya to gain his trust. They both needed to suss each other out and she didn't want to interfere.
Her husband had grown up in a family that had had a thick belt hung on the wall. He'd know what to do. Thankfully, David hadn't carried on his family's version of discipline. A truly modern parent, he'd committed to raising Shane with a firm but gentle hand, a good man and a better father. She knew there was nothing to worry about, David would win him over in no time.
Yuna braced herself for another stilted conversation around the dinner table. She really needed to grab the dictionary and get some sentences put together for tomorrow. At least Ilya would be in bed early tonight. The exhaustion had hung heavily over the small boy since he’d arrived. Yuna couldn't blame him; her own stamina was slipping after such a wrought day, her pillows were already calling her name. Blessedly the first day of hockey would be a late start, 10am at the rink for practice.
As expected, dinner was a largely silent affair, the background noise of cutlery on porcelain echoing around the kitchen. Yuna went briefly over Ilya's schedule for the upcoming long days of hockey; the rink would give him his lunch, and she would drop him off and pick him up each day. She tried to keep the conversation light, but the poor boy was battling his own exhaustion to slowly clear his plate, and his clearly overworked mind wasn’t up for much small talk. A few brief nods of affirmation were his only response.
She chewed her lip.
How bad was his English or had he used up all his bandwidth speaking a second language before they'd gotten back to the house? Yuna really needed to get some words and phrases sorted into some kind of cheat sheet.
Her mind drifted back to Shane, hopefully the Swiss French wasn't this much of a hurdle. A brief glance at the clock and some quick maths informed her that he would most likely be snoring heavily into the pillow of a comfortable bed by now.
Shane hadn’t asked anything about who would be staying in their spare room, too excited for his own trip. Instead, he'd been solely focused on giving Yuna a play-by-play of his latest conversation with Gabriel. The trip had him homed in on how European and the North American players differed, no doubt buying into the propaganda spouted round Canadian rinks. 'Hockey belonged to those who had invented it' was the mantra to many. Yuna kept silent around Shane when he brought up the topic. His reflection in their bathroom mirror should have been proof enough, that Hockey belonged to the devout players of the game, not a nationality.
She'd rolled her eyes in fond affection as she changed the linens for their guest, bringing out a heavier quilt for the foot of the bed. Shane had continued unabated, wondering aloud what sort of drills the other coaches would give him. Yuna simply smiled at his excitement and handed him the fresh towels she pulled out of the airing cupboard, making sure to nod at the appropriate moments. Shane just never switched off from hockey. The only interest he had shown in hosting another player, was to make sure that they wouldn't be staying in his room, or God forbid- touching any of his sticks in the basement.
Now, as she looked at the poor, jet-lagged boy at the other end of the table, Shane needn't have worried. Ilya looked barely conscious. He was hardly masterminding a plan to re-tape Shane's precious sticks the wrong way.
Yuna hoped Ilya wouldn’t find her rude when directed her conversation to David, asking about his day and going through the details of the coming week. They'd always worked well as a unit, even as Shane's schedule demanded more of an input into the what, where and when of their daily lives. If asked, Yuna would've been hard pressed to lie and say she wouldn’t have preferred a week of some alone time with her husband, but the terms of the exchange demanded that they host a player in return, and so Ilya sat at their table.
When she was satisfied Ilya had eaten enough and wasn’t politely refusing a dessert, she quickly grabbed their plates to wash up. David intercepted Ilya’s protests to help by giving him a quick tour around the rest of the house. Yuna sighed, aggressively scrubbing their absurdly large pasta pot. She really did hate doing the dishes, but she wouldn’t subject anyone to her cooking abilities. David usually faked a bright smile when he had to eat her culinary attempts. Shane, on the other hand, had always been bluntly honest about it, asking for plain toast instead. She couldn't really blame them. She struggled just as much to eat her own cooking.
She waved goodnight to Ilya as the boys headed for the stairs. David hovered behind him as the boy trudged upwards, one foot in front of the other. Poor thing. It was hard to think about him as hockey protégé in that moment and not a scared kid, thousands of miles away from home.
Hopefully, his language barrier and shyness wouldn’t hold him back from getting the most out of the exchange. She knew the NHL and AHL scouts would be loitering around, curious to see which young international players had been chosen to take part. No doubt, the same would be happening around the rink in Geneva but considering how Shane had campaigned so valiantly to get there, Yuna knew he'd be focused enough this week to ignore them in favour of developing his skills. He didn't care about scouts or showcasing his skills, he just wanted to play good hockey.
By the looks of Ilya’s 'dossier', he would take the training seriously, never mind the scouting. She wondered what the rest of the papers had said about him. Were they from his Russian coaches? Hopefully they wouldn’t be as disparaging as Ilya’s father. She pulled the letter out of her bag and reread the clipped lines. That poor boy. There wasn’t much room to use mistranslation as an excuse. The elder Rozanov's handsome, flowing script lovelessly picked his son apart word by word.
If Mr. Rozanov had been so ruthless about his son to a stranger, she hated to think what he was like in person, or worse, in front of Ilya. She thought back to how he had flinched away from her. How he'd reverted to his tense state the moment he saw David. It didn't take much to connect the dots.
Hopefully, his mother was nicer…