Chapter Text
Piece by piece, he restored my faith
That a man can be kind, and a father should be great.
July 2017
David and Ilya sat in silence for a long moment. Ilya’s fingers were tap tap tapping on the empty glass as he shifted slightly, taking shallow breaths and alternating between forcing himself to look David in the eye and trying valiantly to look anywhere else. Eventually David sighed and pushed himself up from the table.
“Any good at making garlic bread?” He asked, clapping one hand gingerly on the Russian’s shoulder. Ilya stood immediately and followed David into the kitchen where he began to putter around pulling out pots and pans. He handed Ilya the softened butter from the counter, a head of garlic and the foil that he merely stared at. Eventually David took pity on him.
“Shane won’t really eat it unless it’s roasted,” David explained. Something lightened in his chest when Ilya’s eyes flicked awareness and a chuckle escaped.
“Is why he picks around it in everything? I had professional chef fill my fridge with his food. Anything he wants. But he leaves pile of shaved garlic on plate.” And yeah, that was his kid. It had taken them years to get Shane to admit he didn’t like the bite to garlic in most foods. Ilya Rozanov noticed Shane’s weird hangups about garlic. Well, that was a thought that was gonna fester.
“Look,” David said, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t miss the way Ilya’s shoulders rose to his ears, or how his chest widened, and arms crossed. It was like he was trying to make himself bigger and smaller all at once.
“Yes.”
“I, uh, know you lost your dad recently. But I’m sure he’d want the best for you,” David began and he also couldn’t miss the long blink and shallow breath Ilya took. Something that looked less like fresh grief and more like an old truth, a long-held pain. “Or, well, what I am trying to say is that we want the best for Shane. And this is all surprising. And it is really not like our son to keep this kind of secret for so long. So we’re reticent.. uh cautious.. worried about all this.”
“Yes is… I don’t think…” Ilya started and stopped. David took in the kid in front of him and could see just how outsized the myth of Rozanov had grown. Because the brash and reckless skater, unyielding speed, fearless fighter, outlandish playboy? That was not the Ilya in front of him. David reached out and put a hand on his shoulder and didn’t waver when he felt Ilya tense under it.
“Just help me understand. I trust Shane to be a good judge of character. But can I trust you with my son?”
“I did not ask him to lie to you, he did not lie I don’t think. Not for very long,” he said. “We were… young. I think he was still figuring out this, uh himself. And it was not serious not until…”
“The All Star weekend?” David repeated. And this time Ilya nodded. Aha! He knew there was something there.
“I think, before… I was… it was… hard to tell him how I felt and so hard for him to know where he stood and I am sorry for that.”
“Alright, so then...?”
“Rose helped him,” David had to resist the urge to laugh at the way Ilya’s eyes narrowed because he knew the feeling of jealousy that came with not being there for someone who mattered. Ilya’s eyes warred between jealousy and guilt. Rose helped him in ways I could not, they said. “And after that… was busy.”
As David recalled the last few months, busy was an understatement. “You were in Russia for your father’s funeral,” Ilya nodded. “And then Shane was hit,” David continued and for the first time he saw real pain creep into the man’s eyes. David leaned back against the counter, arms crossed as he took Ilya in.
Ilya shook his head and also leaned back, against the sink, facing David “And then Scott Hunter…” he added with an eye roll and a shrug and there was Rozanov. So not all myth.
“Were you texting him through the game?” Ilya nodded. “Did you call him?” David asked, remembering how Shane bolted from the room immediately after Scott Hunter had kissed his boyfriend on live television in an arena filled with thousands of fans.
“He… invited me here. But, I was coward. I was not going to come. I don’t know what we—“ Ilya cut himself off as if imagining the world where he was in Russia at that very moment and not standing in their kitchen. David didn’t need to know Ilya’s whole story to know that world would’ve been a darker one. He stopped fighting the instinct he’d had from the moment they’d started talking, stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Ilya Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov. Jesus, his kid did nothing by half measures.
“Guess now you gotta name your first kid Scott,” David said with a laugh as he released Ilya and turned back to the stove. He enjoyed the shocked intake of breath from the Russian.
“No, never. He is not even good hockey player. It took like decade for Admirals to win cup.”
“We watched the game where they knocked Boston out. I don’t think you get to have that tone.”
“I had broken ribs!”
“Please don’t tell that to Yuna. I don’t need her actually thinking she’s psychic.”
“Then we stop joking about Scott Hunter, yes?”
“Cover the garlic with this,” David said. “Add olive oil, toss it in the toaster oven, pull down the protein pasta from there” he directed as they started moving around each other in the kitchen. Hockey players were nothing if not coachable and it was good to see Ilya knew enough to cook for Shane who had the aptitude but rarely the interest.
When Yuna and Shane returned to the house they were halfway through setting the table for lunch and he was happy to see his wife with her game face on and his sun lighter if not less anxious. Shane’s anxiety, he was familiar with, the weight on their son’s shoulders earlier was another thing entirely. And he didn’t miss the way Shane’s eyes tracked Ilya around the table or the way he inched closer to him when standing, leaned toward him when sitting. He saw the small ways the Russian made space for Shane, joining the conversation animatedly but his attention always returning to Shane. And the big ones too. The way he talked Shane down from panic and loved him as easily as breathing.
His son’s first boyfriend and likely last was Ilya fucking Rozanov. Since rookie year. Well, the summer before. Wow.