Chapter Text
Polina got off the plane exhausted from her trip. Because Ottawa was a smaller city, she had to make two transfers from Moscow. She landed in New York last night, spent the night on the airport floor, and almost missed her third flight to Ottawa. She did not know much English, but enough to get by answering the customs officer's questions:
“Polina Rosanov, you would not be related to Ilya Rosanov, the hockey player, by any chance?”
“Ummm, yes, my dyadya, ummm, my uncle,” she answered.
“Really? Well, your uncle is certainly beloved in this city, and so is his husband, Shane Hollander”
Husband… hearing this seemed weird to Polina; she had spent a lot of time digging up information about her uncle and knew he was married to another hockey player, and that they had a daughter together. But homophobia was prevalent in Russia, and her uncle’s sexuality was taboo in her family. Now, hearing an officer openly talk about a gay couple in such a positive, casual way, Polina felt a strange tangle of emotions twist inside her: confusion, relief, and a tiny spark of hope. She thought of one winter evening, hiding behind her bedroom door as her father and uncle argued in the kitchen, the words growing sharper, until the only thing Polina could fixate on was the cruel slur echoing through her childhood apartment. The smell of boiled potatoes and wet snow clung to her memory, as did the heavy silence that always followed when anyone mentioned Ilya. It was so different from what she was used to at home. The breaking of an unspoken rule, the simple acceptance in the officer’s voice, made her breath catch for a moment. Here, it was as if sunlight was pouring into a secret, locked room inside her. She realized there could be a world where people like Ilya were not whispered about in shame or hidden. She was only used to the slurs her dad said about gay people; she did not like it, even if it was part of the culture, she knew it was wrong.
Ilya did not know she was here; she had no way to contact him. He had left the family when her grandfather died almost 10 years ago, and she had never seen him since. Her father was adamant that he was a traitor, using all the possible slurs to qualify him. Her Dyadya had stopped sending her father money, which he spent on gambling and alcohol. At the time, even if she was very young, Polina knew it was not right. She missed her Dyadua dearly. She had grown up with him. He was there all summer, taking care of her almost every day, bringing her to the park, painting her nails, buying her sweets, and all of that had disappeared from one day to another. For a long time, she thought that maybe Ilya had never loved her, and that he had left her all alone in Russia because she was not enough. Then she understood it was way worse than that, and her heart ached when, at 18, she learned that Ilya had never forgotten her.
She patiently waited for her 18th birthday so that she could use the trust Ilya had saved for her and leave without her parents being able to do anything about it. It was her first time leaving Russia, and everything was so new; Canada looked so different. Underneath her determination, Polina felt a swirl of hopes and worries pulling at her thoughts. She hoped that thing would go well. She pictured meeting Ilya again, hoping he would recognize the little girl he used to care for. Maybe he would forgive their years apart and welcome her; maybe she could build something new with this part of her family. But anxiety simmered under her excitement. What if Ilya didn't remember her? What if the gaps between them were too wide to bridge? And what if her English failed her at an important moment, or people in Canada saw her as an outsider? She had learned English in school and by watching American shows with her VPN, but she never got much real-life practice. Despite these worries, Polina pushed herself forward. She was determined to find Ilya and thank him for giving her the key to escape her home.
She hopped into a cab and gave the driver her uncle's address. It was surprisingly easy to find online, or maybe she had the same skill as a KGB agent, who knew, she was good at informatics. The house was located in a residential area close to the rink. From the outside, it looked like a normal house with a picket fence and a neatly lawned front porch. When she got out of the car, she saw a little girl playing in the garden. She looked so happy that Polina felt a flitting pain reach her heart. She had never been that happy. She took a second look, the little girl was radiating happiness, full of energy, she was really cute: could it be her cousin?
She saw a man getting out of the house and overheard something about being careful not to get her clothes dirty, something like that. She wondered if he could be Ilya’s husband, Shane?
—-
Shane was once again yelling at Hana about her not being careful with staining herself:
“Hana, you are going to get this dress all dirty. Your godmother Rose paid a lot of money for it, you know”
Shane kept telling Rose not to get her Chanel clothes, as she grew out of them so fast and used them to play in the dirt anyway, but Rose loved nothing more than spoiling Hana.
“Papa, look what I did”, Hana pointed at some sort of shape in the dirt that Shane could not really identify. What he knew was that he did not want to be as harsh as his parents were with him growing up. He wanted to encourage his daughter in all her endeavours, at least that’s what the book about parenting he was currently reading was advising him to do:
“Wow, Hana, that’s… beautiful,” he said, unconvinced before raising his gaze and realizing someone was watching them. A young girl with blond curly hair, she could not have been older than 18, a fan, maybe?
At that time of the year, during the season, Shane and Ilya were staying in a smaller house closer to the rink and to Hana’s school to avoid a long commuting time. It was a residential neighborhood, so it was more accessible than their cottage. Shane missed the cottage.
Shane was really protective of her daughter and their private life and hardly allowed fans to bother him when he was with family, but she seemed unthreatening; he could just tell her to go away, and she probably would.
“Stay here, Hana, Papa is going to talk to this lady and be back ok?”
“D’accord,” She replied in perfect French. Shane thought it was so cute how well she mixed her three languages. Hana had started to learn English, but was also now fluent in French due to school and Russian due to Ilya, who was now almost speaking Russian all the time to her.
As he got closer, Shane noticed it was a very young girl who looked terrified. Her bright blue eyes were searching desperately for a place to land. From close, Shane could see her face in more detail. Her blond hair falling on blue wooded eyes, high cheekbones, and plumped lips. She looked so familiar, but we could not pinpoint who she reminded him of. As she looked so uneasy, Shane opted for a nicer approach:
“Hi, are you lost?” he asked tentatively.
“I… look for Ilya,” she answered with a thick russian accent. Realization came as a shock to Shane; she reminded him of someone, of course, she looked a lot like Ilya, especially Ilya of the rookie year. Could she be someone from his family? No, it was impossible! Ilya had no family, or at least the one that he had left was no longer in contact with him. Could she be Ilya’s hidden child?
Ilya had a very “successful” sexual life; maybe an accident occurred? But he would have told Shane. Just like that, on the pavement, Shane was spiraling. It took a moment for his brain to connect the dots. He suddenly remembered that Ilya had a niece, but he had never been in contact with her. Could that be her? It had to be her, but how old was she?
He did not have a lot of information, outside of the selfies Ilya showed him, of them when she was around 8-9 years old.
“Do you know Ilya?” He tried to remain calm. If she were Ilya’s niece, it meant she had left Russia. Was she alone? Or Alexeis, Ilya's asshole brother, was tailing her? If that was the case, he needed to act right now to protect his family, protect Ilya.
“He’s my dyadya, I mean uncle,” The girl answered, locking eyes with him. Ok, no doubt, Shane thought, she is his niece. Even if she looked insecure, her eyes challenged him like Ilya used to do. So all the Rozanovs were insufferable smugs.
“Are you ?” He hesitated over her name.
“Yes, I am Polina.” She paused, still looking straight at him. Shane hoped she could not see him freaking out. All the questions mixing in his head: Why did she come to Canada? What happened back home? Are her parents aware? She might have been barely 18; was she of age to travel alone? Or did she just run away?
Poline seemed uneasy by the silence, so she spoke again.
“Euhh, nice to meet you.” She continued extending her hand to shake Shane’s. Shane shook her hand like a robot still stunned by this meeting. The only words he could utter were:
“Did you come all the way here alone?”
“Da,” Polina replied without a hint of emotion. Gosh, he was back in his rookie season, and that girl was Ilya’s feminine version.
When the shock passed, Shane could not believe he was finally meeting someone from Ilya’s family. It felt really special. For Ilya to have cut ties with his family was unavoidable but hard. As much as Ilya had found a new family with David and Yuna, there was a part of his identity that was still linked to Russia, and outside of Svetlana, he did not get a lot of chances nowadays to connect with his roots.
He knew seeing his niece was going to make Ilya so happy, and this thought put a smile on Shane’s face. Shane did what seemed natural to him and invited her to come in:
“Come in, come in, Ilya will be back soon,” said Shane to Polina.
Hana, who was still dirt drawing, seemed to have abandoned her very serious activity to run towards Polina. The little girl looked at the Russian, half confused, half curious, and told her in Russian:
“Who are you?”
Polina seemed so relieved that her cousin spoke Russian; it was going to make things 10 times easier to have a 7-year-old translator available.
“I am Polina,” again, the blond girl pitched her lips as if she wanted to say “I’m your cousin,” but Shane was not sure; he wanted her to break the news that way.
“Does Ilya know you’re here?” Shane certainly knew Ilya would have mentioned they were expecting a visit from someone in his family, especially Polina. Gosh, he had missed her. He mentioned her regularly to Shane, hoping she was fine, she was eating well, and she was studying well. He always lingered around the back-to-school aisle at the grocery store when it was the season. He often said to Shane that he always made sure she received flowers for her first day of school to give to her teacher.
Polina shook her head, looking slightly embarrassed.
“Do you want something to drink?” Shane asked.
“We have Tarkhun,” Hana beamed, still speaking in Russian.
Polina smiled at hearing the name of her favorite russian soda, and that little girl was already so fluent in Russian.
“Do you want Tarkhun, Polina?” asked Shane
She nodded.
“You must have had a long trip. Do your parents know you are here? Do you have a place to stay?” Shane asked in a concerning tone. He needed to be sure that if she had run away, it would be a whole new scenario. Ilya’s brother was, though, definitely an asshole, and this could create a problem for Ilya and their family.
Polina lowered her gaze, silent. It broke Shane’s heart; she did not have to reply, he knew. As she was in the middle of gathering her words in English, he heard the door open. Hana ran to the front door.
“Popa!” Hana ran toward the door and jumped into Ilya’s arms. He was back from a quick grocery run, wearing a simple centaur t-shirt and carrying some bags. Hana had requested pizza for dinner, and as usual, Ilya had ployed.
“Papa, Papa, Papa…” Hana started to cheer. Shane heard Ilya’s voice.
“Baby, how are you? You look happier than usual?” Ilya asked, curious to which Hana replied right away in Russian: “There is a Russian girl, and she likes Tarkhun like me.”
________
Ilya had just come back for a quick grocery run to buy ingredients for a healthy pizza for their daughter. Cauliflower crust, ewww, thought Ilya, what a nonsensical idea, but it made Shane happy, and at that game, he always needed to win. When he reached back, the door was open, which was unusual, and Ilya felt a weird voice coming from the kitchen. Taking off his shoes, his beautiful daughter jumped into his arms. She looked excited, more than usual, and it was hard because Hana was always so energetic. She had explained something about a russian girl being in the house and liking the Tarkhun soda, maybe it was an imaginary friend? Maybe she and Shane had role-played? How was it possible otherwise? No one from Russia ever visited, and he had denied any ties with his family.
Ilya looked around with confusion and saw first some blond curls, long and luxurious. It was a young woman. From the back, she looked like any other woman. The Russian woman was not an imaginary friend then; maybe it was Galina, Ilya's psychologist, but she did not look that young, barely 18. Crossing Shane’s gaze, his husband looked a mix of confusion and emotion. What was going on? Ilya had no time to think about it when the girl turned to face him.
He instantly knew it was her; he had not seen her for a while, but she was a Rosanov, that was for sure. Yet she looked so grown up, her hair was longer, her eyes looked sharper, she was no longer a little girl, she was a young lady.
Polina got up from her chair, and they were facing each other silently for a few seconds, which seemed like an eternity. Ilya’s hazel eyes locked in a battle with her blue eyes. She had her mother’s eyes, blue, not hazel like the Rozanov.
Hana was looking at them, confused, her little mouth open. She was about to open her mouth when Shane called her: “Hey Hanushka, show me again the shape you drew outside.” He looked at Ilya in a way that said, “I’ll give you some privacy.”
Without a word, Ilya got closer to Polina and said in Russian:
“Polina, you’re Polina, right?” he tried to keep his voice as flat as possible. If she were not, he could not break down in front of a random stranger. He prayed, oh, he prayed for her to be Polina, to be this little girl he helped raise, the only part of Russia he could still claim.
The blond nodded, raising her gaze to him.
Something broke into Ilya, and he realized that he had put restraints on his heart a long time ago. He had left Russia and had to mourn that part of him, but with the years, he had realized he could not let go. Something was weighing on him, someone, a guilt that he was not able to resolve. It was his little niece that he left selfishly to rot there when he had promised he would come back. She had found him; she escaped without his help, but she was there, so grown up. Ilya felt his eyes water. It was a mix of feelings, sadness, guilt, bitterness, but also happiness because she was there.
He took her in his arms, silent tears running down her shirt. He was so relieved to see her but so mad that his brother stole her from him that he did not see her grow up. He released her after he had calmed himself.
“How old are you now?” Russian rolled on his tongue like it used to.
“Eighteen,” she answered, locking their gaze.
“I am here thanks to you, the trust you left me. I used it to come here, to say thank you, and to get to know you.” Her eyes were also wet. Ilya embraced her again and placed a kiss on the crown of her head like he used to. She slyly separated herself from him. Polina might not be used to that much physical touch; Ilya remembered his upbringing, surely her parents were always so cold with her that it was like this in the Rozanov family.
“Do you want to eat something, take a shower?” He had so many things to ask.
“Shower would be nice,” She replied, looking at her feet.
As they were heading upstairs to the bathroom, Ilya bombarded her with questions:
“Do you have somewhere to stay?”
“I have a hotel in the center…” she barely replied
“You will stay here,” Ilya cut her off. “We have a guest room. I am not letting my niece stay at a dirty hotel. How long are you in Ottawa?”
“Two weeks. Then I have to return to school… university,” she said with a sad tone.
Ilya looked at her, confused. He wanted to ask “where was she going to school?” because if she planned to go to school in Russia, then her dad would steal her back, lock her down, and she could not come back. Fear gripped his gut; she could not come back. He had to find a solution, but now did not seem the right time, because she had just arrived. She might have been tired; he could not act like the crazy uncle right now. He would give her time.
Take that, Rose, thought Ilya, “I have self-control with my niece, not like you.” Next time, he will tell her.
Ilya gave her what she needed for the shower and headed back downstairs.
—
Shane was in the kitchen looking at Ilya as he walked down the stairs. He was nervous; he needed all the details about Ilya's conversation with Polina. Judging by his husband's drained face, he might have been intense.
“Hana is in her room. I did not tell her who Polina was. I did not know how you wanted to handle it.”
“I can’t believe she’s here. I have been thinking about her, how old she would be, I knew she had the trust, but…” tears trickled down Ilya’s cheeks. Shane knew that he was Ilya’s safe place, with the years the Russian man had opened up to Shane, but every time he felt honored to see that sensitive side of Ilya. It was hard for Ilya to let his guard down.
Shane came close to him, dried his tears with his hand cupping Ily’s face, and took him in his arms.
“I know it must be a lot,” he acknowledged.
“I told her she could stay here, is that ok?” asked Ilya.
“Of course," said Shane, in reality, he did not love the idea of Polina staying at their place. He knew it; he was a control freak, but the truth was that Ilya did not really know his niece. What if she were a psycho? What if she told Hana bad things about him that Shane could not understand? Shane pushed the weird thoughts away. No, if she came all the way here knowing that Ilya was married to him, she probably was accepting of them.
“I am happy finally meeting another Rozanov,” said Shane jokingly.
“Probably the only person from my family you will meet, the rest of them can go to hell. Growing up was hard for her, I think. It makes me sad that she had my brother as a father. If I learn that he hit her, I am not letting her go back.”
Shane's smile fell. He wanted to be supportive of Ilya, and technically, Polina was family, but it felt like a lot of sudden changes. He tried to gather his thoughts and answer in a way that would not hurt Ilya.
“Let’s slow down, let’s start by having her stay with us and getting to know her ok?” He said tentatively.
“Yes, yes, you are right,” said Ilya, grabbing his hand to steady himself.
Shane gave him a tender kiss, and they hugged again. It was a lot of emotion for both of them, but mostly for Ilya.
–
Polina was feeling much better now that she had taken a shower. She did not imagine her uncle's house to be that warm. It was full of pictures of their friends, family, and their daughter. The house was elegantly decorated but felt like a home, warm and cozy. It was a weird feeling for her warmth. She went downstairs and saw Ilya and Shane cuddling together. Ilya’s arm around Shane's shoulders, his head resting on Shane’s side. Her uncle looked different; he looked soft but a good softness. He reminded her of her time with him when she was a child. Ilya had a soft side that, at the time, he was only showing to her. At the sight of her, Ilya got off the couch; she didn’t want to seem embarrassed, but still, she was not used to seeing two men together and, in general, two adults being physically that close.
Polina needed to tell her uncle the truth, and she wanted to explain in English so that Shane would not feel left out. She did not know at that time that Shane was completely fluent in Russian.
“My dad… mad at me, he knows… I am here. I left without… telling him.”
Ilya’s face darkened at the mention of his brother. She knew she was putting him in a tough situation, but at the same time, he was the only one who could help her.
“Okay,” Ilya simply replied in English, and then gestured for her to sit down on the couch.
“I will make coffee, cookies, ok for you, Polina ?” Shane asked with a sweet smile. This man looked so gorgeous and sweet, she thought; she understood her uncle’s choices. She nodded awkwardly:
“Da… I mean, yes!” She blushed. Shane smiled.
“We can also talk in Russian if you want.” He replied in perfect Russian. This guy kept on surprising her; he looked like a native. She felt impressed and happy for her uncle that someone had learned their language.
“No, no, English is ok, I need practice.” Shane nodded, and she saw Ilya’s proud eyes follow him until he disappeared in the kitchen. Then he turned to her with a serious look:
“Tell me everything,” he commanded, and then Polina started to talk. It would not be an easy task, but she had no other choice.
–