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They were watching the game from their hotel in Toronto when it happened, when Shane and Ilya Rozanov collided on the ice. They both froze what they were doing, David was about to take a big bite of his room service lasagna, and Yuna was in the middle of an email. They watched, and waited, expecting Shane to get right back up after the collision like always, but he didn’t.
When the medical team brought the spinal boards onto the ice, the unpause button was hit. Yuna immediately started booking a flight, and David stood and began collecting their things, shoving items back into their luggage, wishing he hadn’t insisted they unpack for their long weekend trip. He had a seminar tomorrow he was supposed to be on a panel for, Yuna coming along on his work trip to enjoy the weekend, but none of that mattered now. He would send the emails and make the appropriate excuses when they were on the plane, waiting to get to their son.
David glanced back at the TV, Shane was being lifted on the spinalboard, onto a stretcher, just as the crew was getting Ilya Rozanov onto his own spinalboard.
What a mess.
It felt kismet somehow, that even in this, the two rivals were together. As they rolled their luggage out of the hotel, David couldn’t help but hope Rozanov also had concerned family rushing to his side.
They got to Montreal way too late in the evening, but the hospital staff still let them stay with Shane. He was bruised along his face from his visor, and more than a little out of it every time the staff woke him for concussion protocol, but ultimately his prognosis was good. A broken collarbone was nothing to scoff at, but Shane would heal, and David couldn’t be more relieved.
Yuna excused herself to the bathroom, and David patted her hip as she passed, glad she was taking a break. When the door closed behind her, he slid her laptop into its protective case, and tucked it behind his chair. Maybe he could convince her to take a nap when she returned. She didn’t need to be up all night emailing sponsors and doing damage control, it could wait. He knew she only did it to keep herself busy so she didn’t worry, but that was a stress response that too often led to burnout, and he would protect her from herself if he could.
“Dad?” Shane asked from his bed. David jumped, and leaned forward, grabbing his son’s hand.
“Hey kiddo, you with me now?”
Shane squinted around the room. “Where did Mom go?”
“Bathroom. She’ll be back.”
“Okay,” Shane said with a hum. “Do you think you could do me a favor?”
“Of course, Shane. What do you need?”
“Uh.” He opened one eye and squinted at David. “They said Ilya was also hurt? Ilya Rozanov?”
“Yeah, son. You and him collided. They carried him off the ice just like you.”
“Right. Well,” Shane’s face screwed up in distress, but David just held his hand, letting him find the words in his own time. “It’s just, he doesn’t have anyone. Can you maybe go make sure he’s okay? Say he’s a family friend? He won’t have anyone to make calls or do all the things you and mom do.”
“Oh, Shane. That’s very kind of you to be concerned, but I’m sure his family will be able to help.”
“No!” Shane said, and it was a bit more forceful than maybe it would have been if he wasn’t a little out of it on drugs. “Dad, he has no one. He has a friend in Boston, but his family is all dead or assholes. He’s not lucky like me. He doesn’t have a fix it mom or a compassionate dad. It’s just him and the friends he keeps at an arms length.”
A tear ran down Shane’s face, and David quickly swiped it up. “Hey, hey, Shane. It’s okay. I can go check on him if they let me. Just calm down, okay?”
Shane grinned a little through the tears that kept slipping out. “You can do it, Dad. You’re sneaky like that.”
David chuckled. “We’ll see kiddo. You sure know a lot about Rozanov, yeah? I thought you hated him?”
Another tear fell, glistening in the low light of the room. “I don’t hate him, Dad. It’s just the way everyone always talks about us. Mom, the media. But . . . he gets it, Dad. He knows what it is to be at the top alone. Just us.”
And David could understand that, the isolation his son had always felt. Hadn’t Yuna and him had maybe a hundred conversations over the years, wishing their son had someone who understood him? And if that was his rival, who was David to judge? He could understand why Shane had never said anything to him and Yuna. Yuna was very single minded in her hatred of Boston, and her son’s rival. He’d have to maybe nudge her into a more neutral frame of mind.
Not tonight, of course, but eventually, slowly, over time.
“I’ll check on him, son.”
Shane sighed, and relaxed again. “Thanks, Dad. Tell him I’m okay so he doesn’t worry.”
David frowned but didn’t question it. He waited until Yuna returned, and excused himself, saying he wanted to check on something. She frowned but didn’t say anything, pulling out her laptop, probably looking for new things to distract herself with.
The VIP ward in Montreal General was not very populated tonight, and it didn’t take long for David, casually strolling by, to spot the one Rozanov might be in.
He didn’t glance around before opening the door and slipping inside the room. It was a scene very similar to the one he had just left with Shane, the large hockey player seeming small outside of his pads, bruises across his face from his visor, wires and tubes connecting him to monitors and IVs.
David pulled a chair up to the side of the bed, and took a seat. The Russian looked soft here, so unlike the hard jawed glare he wore on ice and in front of the camera. Hurt and alone, it was hard to think of him as anything other than another boy, the same age as his son.
He glanced across the monitors and tried to decide what to do next. He’d seen Rozanov, but he didn’t know how he was, and it felt rude to intrude and leave without even checking in. Decided, David made himself comfortable, and pulled up an article on his phone to read.
About fifteen minutes later the door opened and two people walked in, a nurse, and someone in plain clothes with a hospital badge. David straightened and gave them a warm smile.
The nurse paused at the sight of him, her eyes quickly running over his visitor sticker. “Sorry, didn’t realise Mr. Rozanov had visitors.”
“Ah, yeah, I’m an old family friend. I didn’t like the idea of him in here all alone.”
The nurse nodded and stepped up next to Rozanov. She rubbed his sternum. “Mr. Rozanov, can you open your eyes for me?”
Rozanov began to wake, moving slowly. His face screwed up in a grimace.
“That’s it. Can you open your eyes for me?” the nurse asked.
“Vy mozhete otkryt' glaza?” the second woman said. Maybe in Russian? David was pretty sure that was Russian.
Ilya opened his eyes and glanced around. His eyes fell on David, and something like recognition filled his eyes. David tried to smile reassuringly.
“Mr. Rozanov, do you mind if your visitor here is witness to your medical assessment?” she glanced at David.
“David Hollander,” David provided.
The nurse’s eyebrows went up, but she didn’t immediately kick him out.
The second woman, the translator, said something in slow paced Russian, which David heard his name in the middle of. Rozanov said something back in Russian.
“He said Mr. Hollander is fine to know whatever he wishes,” the translator told the nurse. David made sure his expression didn’t reveal his surprise. He’d expected his presence to at least be questioned by Rozanov, but maybe the concussion was helping. David tried not to feel guilty about that.
The nurse walked through the same concussion protocol they were doing with Shane, the only difference being the translator helping the conversation along.
“Okay, that’s all for now. I’ll let you get some rest and will be back in a half hour,” the nurse told Rozanov, the translator repeating it in Russian.
“Sorry to be a bother, but can you let me know how he’s doing?” David asked. The nurse glanced at Rozanov who waved a hand before the other woman could translate.
“Skazhi yemu chto ugodno. On drug, kotoromu ya doveryayu,” Rozanov said.
“He says to tell him anything, he’s a trusted friend,” the translator filled in.
The nurse nodded and turned to David. “He has a grade 3 concussion, and a twisted ankle. We’ll keep him for a few more days before releasing him to his team trainers. Concussion assessments are looking good. He’s tracking, hasn’t lost significant memory, but he’s finding English a little hard. It’s not uncommon for people to revert to their first language with head trauma like this. If you wish to speak to him, he should understand you fine if you go slow and use conversational language. Nothing big or technical right now.”
David nodded with a warm smile. Grade 3 concussion just like Shane, but a sprained ankle to Shane’s broken collarbone. Yuna would hate knowing Rozanov would likely be back on the ice before Shane. “Thank you, very much. I’m glad he’s out of the worst of the danger.”
The nurse excused herself, and left with the translator. David turned back to Rozanov, trying to look friendly.
“Sorry to barge in on you. Shane was worried you were alone and wanted me to see how you are,” David said, trying to talk slow and clear.
“Da. On volnuyetsya. Kak on?” Rozanov asked.
David grimaced.
“Sorry, buddy. I can’t understand you,” David said. “I can go ask if the translator can come back.”
“Net,” Rozanov said, and that one David at least knew meant no. He leaned back in his chair.
Rozanov said something again, his eyes focused on David, and David tried to return his intense gaze with a calm smile. Rozanov kept talking, getting a little faster, as if the words were flowing from a faucet.
“Oh, you know what,” David began, and pulled out his phone. Rozanov didn’t seem to mind his lack of focus, and kept up his speech.
David tapped in his password and looked for the little icon he had downloaded last month. A new co-worker, a younger woman, a few generations behind David, had been talking up an app she used to get around Québécois. Everyone had downloaded the app to play with it, see how well it could translate conversations in real time, and he’d had a fun afternoon.
He held up the phone and tapped the speaker icon. Immediately the “Detecting” box began to fill with cerilic characters, and the translation box began to populate.
Russian detected: He is everything to me, everything bright and perfect in this world. I love him so much. I love your son with all of my heart but I know it can never work between us. It is impossible. It is the best thing for him for me to end it now, before his heart cares for me like mine cares for him. We fuck yes, and it is convenient for him, I know. He is not one to go out looking for men to be with and we have the same secret so I am a safe place for him to find release. But I do not think he loves me yet. Not like I love him. I must let him go. I must be strong and free him before he is trapped with me. I do not want to let him go. It will be like cutting out my own heart and throwing it against the rocks, but to him, hockey is more important and with me he would lose that. What will I lose but the sun in my life? What will I miss but a thousand perfect freckles. But they will not forever be out of my life. I will see them every time we play, crouched in front of each other, centimeters and oceans apart all at once. I will set your son free. Do not worry, he can be free to go on and find someone else. Someone right for him unlike the messed up person laying before you. I will love him from afar, for the rest of my days and I will hope it is enough. We may not—
David deleted the transcript and clicked out of the app. He sat back in his chair and let the man in front of him continue his speech with all the privacy David could afford.
Well fuck.
That was certainly eye opening, but so incredibly invasive. David felt horrible, as if he had just stolen something from this man he could never give back. He tried not to think about it, the secrets he had gleaned, but he couldn’t help it. He and Yuna had always suspected Shane was gay, and wasn’t this the proof? But love? Ilya Rozanov was in love with his son?
He said Shane didn’t love him back, but David wasn’t so sure about that. Shane had looked so concerned when he asked David to check on Rozanov. Said it was just them alone at the top. It was clear now that his son cared for his rival as more than David would have ever suspected.
When Rozenov—no Ilya, for he would now always be Ilya to him, the man who loves his son—finally ran out of words, David leaned forward and patted his hand.
“I’m sorry I can’t understand you, but there’s an app that might let me translate? You can ask me questions and I can help as best I can if you would like.”
“Da,” Roznov said.
That one David recognized as “yes” from the concussion check the nurse had completed.
David pulled up his phone and clicked on the app again. “Okay, I’m going to press a button that will make it so when you speak it picks up your language. Is that all right?”
“Da.”
David pressed the button and nodded to Ilya.
Ilya spoke slowly and carefully in Russian, and the app did its thing.
Russian detected: How is Shane really? Is he okay?
David remembered to speak slow and steady. “Oh yeah, he will be just fine. Concussion grade 3 just like you, and a broken collarbone.” David pointed at his head and his shoulder as he said it just in case Ilya had a hard time with the words. “He will be out a few weeks but he will be okay.”
Ilya said something then pointed at David’s phone again. David pressed the microphone icon again, and nodded.
Russian detected: He is awake and can talk? His head is okay? Can I see him?
“Well, I don’t know about all that. You’re both in pretty rough shape, and hooked up to a lot of wires,” David said, pressing the microphone icon in anticipation of Ilya speaking.
Russian detected: I’m sorry for the fall. I would never hurt Shane on purpose.
“Don’t worry about that. I’m not mad. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Just a hockey thing.”
Ilya didn’t look ready to respond just yet, so David pulled up his messaging app.
David: Can you tell Shane Ilya Rozanov is doing okay? I’m going to stay over here with him for the night. I think he could use a friend.
Yuna: Is that where you went?? David!! He is the enemy!
David: Oh hush. He’s friendly with Shane, I think.
Yuna: Since when?
David: I don’t know, but Shane said they didn’t hate each other, and Ilya seems just as concerned for Shane. I think we misjudged him.
Yuna: Oh, so he’s Ilya now?
David: Yeah, hon. I think so.
Yuna: Wouldn’t Shane tell us that? He always says Rozanov is the worst!
David: I don’t know, hon. Would he tell us? You know how he is, always just nodding along in a conversation when he’s ready to be done. Is he always saying Rozanov is the worst, or is he just agreeing when we say it?
Yuna: Okay, you may have a point. I’m going to have to think about that one. He’s so hard to read sometimes. I wish he was more open with us.
David glanced up, to see Ilya still watching him. His eyes were squinty like in pain, but he also looked worried. “Maybe I can get a picture from my wife? Of Shane? So you know he is okay?” David asked, pressing the microphone icon.
Russian detected: Yes, please. That would be very nice. A picture with his eyes open so I know he is still alive.
Ilya’s Russian was soft, his voice wavering at the end, as he looked away from David.
And didn’t that just twist the knife in his chest. “Okay, I can work on that. How about you sleep now, and I’ll show you when you next wake up for your concussion check?” David asked.
Ilya turned to him, frowning, and David quickly tapped the microphone icon.
Russian detected: You will stay? Are you sure Shane does not need you? You should be with him so he does not feel alone. I will be fine.
David reached out and patted his hand again. “Don’t worry about Shane. My wife, Yuna, is in there with him, probably sending emails to brands as we speak. She will keep Shane company. Let me stay here with you, okay?”
Russian detected: Why would you do that?
“Because you shouldn’t be alone either. You may not know me, but I feel like I’ve seen you grow up alongside Shane. Let me be a dad right now and make sure you’re safe and not alone, okay?”
Ilya’s hand turned over in David’s, and squeezed his once as he closed his eyes and turned his face. “Spasibo,” Ilya said, with a sniff.
David didn’t know exactly what it meant, but he didn’t think he needed to. He remembered then that Ilya had just lost his father. He hoped his words hadn't been too presumptuous. But who couldn’t use a little more love and support?
David: Honey, can you send me a pic of Shane? With his eyes open?
Yuna: For like a promo? You aren’t tweeting without me are you? I sent you the latest from Rolex last week. Should be in your email.
David: No, no. A pic of him right now, eyes open looking alive. Rozanov is concerned, and I think it would help him rest.
Yuna: Why would he need to see our son?
David: He cares. He’s worried.
Yuna: Maybe if he hadn’t run into him in the first place.
David: You know it wasn’t his fault. He got between him and Marlow, which looked like it was about to be a worse hit.
Yuna: Fine
Yuna: [[Picture of Shane in a hospital bed, his face is bruised, but his eyes are open and he’s giving the camera a sweet smile and a thumbs up.]]
Yuna: He’s very high. I told him the pic was for Rozanov and he freaking smiled. I expected him to maybe flip off the camera.
Yuna: Hoped.
“Ah, here we go,” David said, and Rozanov turned, squinting his eyes. “You shouldn’t be looking at screens, so just quick, okay?”
He turned the brightness down far on the phone, and handed it over. Ilya held it up to his face, squinting at the screen. His face melted into a soft sappy smile David recognised completely.
“On takoy neveroyatno krasivyy,” Ilya said. ((He is so very beautiful.))
“Sorry kid, I didn’t get that. I didn’t have the translation app open,” David took the phone and tapped back over to the app. “Can you try again?”
Russian detected: I am glad he is okay.
“Yeah, you both got pretty lucky.” He patted Rozanov gently on the arm. “Why don’t you get some sleep, okay? I will be here when you wake up.”
Ilya nodded and settled back into the bed.
David had recognized the hockey machismo in Ilya over the years, it wasn’t uncommon, even when David played hockey. Sure Rozanov seemed like quite a dick but that wasn’t that unusual for the league. But here? Concussed and worried more over Shane than himself, it was quite clear that was all an act. Or mostly an act. He could still probably be a dick when he wanted to be. Who couldn’t?
But regardless of his attitude on the ice or in front of a camera it was clear Ilya Rozanov needed protecting just the same as any young man whose heart was tied up in an insecure relationship, on the cusp of being something or nothing.
Well, maybe he needed more protection than the average person, what with the whole loving a man and being Russian thing.
David settled in his chair, ready to take a nap of his own. Shane said Ilya didn’t have many people in his corner, and David knew he was perfectly capable of at least being that for the kid. He could bring his wife around to the idea of liking him, and maybe eventually protecting him, and helping him with contracts and brand deals. Yuna loved to meddle, and Shane wouldn’t mind sharing his mom’s intense focus. And then, eventually, when Shane was ready, maybe he would come out to David and Yuna on his own terms, and share his boyfriend with them himself.
David wouldn’t and couldn’t forget the secrets he’d learned through Google translate, but he could keep them to himself, and maybe use them to help smooth the path for two boys who clearly cared about each other, despite the obstacles in their path.