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Raising an NHL player had never been the goal. All Yuna has ever wanted from the day Shane was born was for him to do whatever made him the happiest. When they accepted that Shane would be their one and only child, there was an unspoken agreement between her and David that they would focus all their love and attention on Shane, giving him the life he deserved.
Of course, when an ex-hockey player and a hockey fan have a kid together, it was a no-brainer that they were going to fit him for skates as soon as he learned to walk. Yuna kneels in front of her young son and carefully laces him up, his still-pudgy fingers reaching out for her impatiently.
Shane takes to the ice immediately, upgrading from pushing a support frame around to skating around on his own two feet before they can even blink. It's almost instinctive, the way Shane picks it up, like he was always meant to be on skates. It's too early to predict then what he would grow up to do, but there was something in the air even then.
When he's old enough, they enrol him in his first proper hockey lessons and buy him his first stick. Because David works full-time, it's mostly Yuna who sits in the uncomfortable plastic seating at the rink, wrapped up warm as she watches her son race back and forth until his cheeks turn pink. He's already fast. Fast enough to earn an eyebrow raise from the coach, his eyes meeting hers from across the ice.
The lessons are only once a week, though Shane loves every minute of it and begs to be taken back to the rink every day in between. Some days they relent, driving him over after school; other days they deal with his tantrums and pouting as they pass by the rink completely.
In the winter, David sets up a rink in the backyard. He and Shane skate around it for hours, practising taking shots at the makeshift goal and passing the puck back and forth. Yuna watches from the window, waiting for the moment Shane trips and needs his mother to make it all better. When it happens, her whole body freezes. He falls back onto the ice hard, his stick skittering away from him. Shane doesn't look up at the house like she expects; instead, he wipes himself down, rolls over, and scrambles back up onto his skates with a determined expression on his face.
That's the exact moment when she knows that this is the life he's chosen for himself, and she's going to do everything in her power to make it happen for him.
They forgo overseas vacations to buy Shane top-of-the-line equipment and extra coaching sessions. They spend hours shuttling him to the rink, early morning practise before school, then again after school, forcing him to finish his homework before they'll take him. He watches hours and hours of games in his free time, studying the players and the stats until his brain turns into an encyclopedia of the NHL.
His sessions at the rink go from once a week to twice, to four times a week to every day, and when he starts skating circles around boys a lot older than him, that's when she knows he's got what it takes to go all the way. The coaches see it too, suggesting they send him to the kind of camps that scouts attend.
When he starts growing tall and building muscle, his diet becomes specific, something she takes time getting used to. He's strict with himself, avoiding sugar and carbs. He goes to bed early and turns down invites to trips to the movies and birthday parties.
She tries to show him there's room for both, that he's allowed to have fun and enjoy himself, but to Shane that's all just a distraction from the end-goal. He's focused in a way that's both inspiring and worrying. He's hard on himself, harder than his coaches. It's impossible to punish a teenage boy who never puts a foot wrong and has learnt how to punish himself anyway.
At some point, getting drafted becomes inevitable. Everyone is talking about Shane Hollander. There's an excitement in the air every time her son's name is mentioned. There's a thrill that runs up her spine every game she watches as everyone starts to see what she's seen from day one. He's got something special.
Commentators already talk about him in the same sentence as some of the biggest names in hockey. They say he could be like them, maybe better. She worries, of course, that all this talk might go to Shane's head, but he doesn't care about any of it. He just wants to play, to win, to keep getting better.
She's far too aware that with every person praising her son, placing him higher and higher on a pedestal, there are even more people jealous of his natural talent, looking to tear him down. Since the first time he scored a goal against a boy a few years older than him, he's been bullied. They hate what Shane represents: the acknowledgement that they're not good enough. That they'll never be good enough.
Shane never says anything about it, never complains, and as far as she's aware, it's never got too rough in the locker room. He's the golden goose after all; even teenage boys understand not to hurt the person who is winning them games, but she can only imagine some of the things her half-Japanese, quieter, more sensitive son hears.
It's no surprise that he's the number two pick in the draft, though Yuna still maintains he should have been number one. Rozanov is good; she can't deny that, but Shane is better. Montreal is a better pick anyway, on her favourite team, only a couple of hours away from home. If he'd been drafted to Boston, Yuna's not sure how she would have handled that.
Saying goodbye to Shane is hard. He's still too young, she thinks, as she helps him pack his bags. She's not ready for an empty nest. The Metros send a car for him, and she and David take turns hugging him in the doorway.
"Call if you need anything."
"I will."
"And don't let the vets goad you into doing anything you don't want to do."
"I won't."
"And-"
"Mom, I've got it, you don't need to worry"
"I know you do, sweetie," She'll worry no matter what.
David wraps his solid arm around her waist, and they wave from the doorway as the car pulls away and disappears around the corner. She's not exactly sure what to do now. Her whole life revolved around Shane, and it leaves a gap in her life she doesn't exactly know how to fill.
His first NHL game takes place on a Wednesday. She cheers when her son's name is called, watches him skate out onto the ice as a fully-fledged NHL player for the first time, her chest bursting with pride when she takes in the Montréal Metros logo on his chest.
The game itself is tense. She's watched Shane play a thousand games, but this one feels different. Her anxiety spikes every time Shane's line takes to the ice, her hand balling into a fist so tight her fingernails dig into her palm. David notices, the way he always notices her, and he slips his hand into hers so it's his palm she digs into instead.
Shane scores the winning goal and his new team surrounds him. People are chanting his name, the roar deafening. It's the first time Yuna truly realises she has to share Shane with the world now.
Having fans hanging around an ice rink hoping for an autograph or a photo is one thing; it's another thing entirely to be recognised in a whole other city in the middle of a grocery store. Shane is home for the weekend, and Yuna has dragged him to the store to push the cart and pick what he'll actually eat for dinner. She's inspecting the avocados when she hears her son's name being called.
Her head spins round, and there are two young boys standing on either side of her son while a woman, presumably their mother, takes a photo on a digital camera. Shane stands ramrod straight, an awkward, toothy smile on his face. They hold out scrap pieces of paper next, like their mom has dug into the bottom of her handbag for something to write on. Shane uses the boys' backs as a flat surface for him to sign his autograph for each of them. The mother thanks him, Shane waves her off like it's not a problem, and then they're gone.
"How does it feel to be recognised out in public for the first time?" She asks excitedly as she places her selected avocados into the cart. He's already returned to lean his elbows across the handle.
"Oh," he blinks, "It's not actually the first; it's happened a few times now."
"Oh," Of course it has.
Her son is famous.
It happens again a few weeks later when it's their turn visiting him in Montréal. They're just walking back to the car when she notices people staring. Someone points at them, another person takes a photo from a distance. She'll be surprised if the photo comes out clear enough.
"Sorry," Shane apologises, his cheeks flushing.
His broad shoulders curl inwards, like he's trying to make himself look smaller, less noticeable. It doesn't help at all. Of course Shane feels to blame for the attention. He can't help it, not in a city that's quickly become obsessed with their new star centre.
"Don't be, just something we're all going to have to get used to," she tells him before his mind spirals. She gives him an encouraging smile and reaches over to squeeze his arm.
His whole hand used to fit easily into hers, and now she can't even fit her hand around his bicep. Some days it feels like she blinked and he became a grown adult overnight.
"You know, this kid at work asked if I knew that there was a hockey player with the same surname as me," David reveals, an amused expression on his face. She'd already heard this story once and wasn't as amused. "Didn't believe me that I was your dad until I showed him a photo…he thinks I'm cool now."
"He thinks you can get him free hockey tickets," Yuna points out with an arched eyebrow.
"I can-" Shane starts to say.
"No," she cuts him off sharply. "Absolutely not."
And that's the end of the conversation.
No one is taking advantage of her son. There are far too many people out there who will be looking to see how much they can extract from him. Free tickets, money, using his fame for their own selfish needs. While Shane isn't naive about how this fame thing works and there are plenty of people around him giving him sensible advice, she's going to do all she can to make sure the wrong people don't get close to him. It's a slippery slope she's determined to not let him slide down.
She and David aren't the only ones having to quickly figure out how to handle having a famous family member. At the first annual gathering of Hollanders, including David's three brothers, their wives and Shane's many cousins, all younger, all boys, there's a lot of staring.
Shane, somewhat used to people staring at him now, just eats his chicken without pause, though there's a strain in his shoulders that Yuna notices. While he's always been quieter and more reserved than his cousins, he's never found their company uncomfortable before.
One of the younger cousins down the end of the table pulls a polaroid camera out of thin air and tries to take a photo, but is stopped when his mother plucks it from his hands and tuts at him.
Yuna tries to fill the awkward silence with something other than hockey, which is usually her favourite topic, but needs must.
"So, Callum," she addresses her brother-in-law across the table. "How's work?"
She couldn't give a rat's ass about his law firm, but Shane flashes a grateful look in her direction, and his shoulders relax a little. She'll ask inane questions all evening if it takes the attention off her son.
After dinner, Shane is dragged outside by his cousins, and Yuna can only watch from the window as they hang off his frame and try to get him to roughhouse with them. Luckily, there's no rink in the vicinity, or she suspects they would be luring her son into a game on his day off. Not that he would say he minded, of course, but Yuna minds on his behalf. Her son is not a performing animal.
When the adults fill up their wine glasses and head outside too, she tunes into the many questions thrown Shane's way, one after the other. What's Scott Hunter like? Can they come watch him practice? Can he come to their games and show him off to their friends? Why hasn't he won the cup yet? Has he punched out anyone's teeth yet?
Shane does his best to answer his cousins with the right amount of politeness and humour, but she can see how tired he becomes as the sun begins to set.
"They'll get used to it too," she reassures him on the drive home. "It's still new, exciting."
He doesn't acknowledge her, his attention firmly on the darkness outside the window. There's nothing to see, but Shane stares anyway.
Her son is rich.
She's known this from his very first contract. She was there when he read it through the first time, saw the large number at the bottom of the page. Rookies don't earn millions, certainly not at the beginning, but being drafted second still means a healthy sum from day one.
And then on top of his NHL salary, she has worked hard to get Shane sponsorships. He's already signed a deal with Reebok; then there's the CCM ad he's filmed, and a drinks company is interested in working with him. They're all offering big sums to work with Shane Hollander, and Yuna negotiates them all.
But it's one thing knowing how much her son makes, and it's another thing seeing it up close. The three of them are out to lunch, something Yuna suggested after her son moved out of the house as a way to catch up. The restaurant was her pick, somewhere light and quiet with some healthy options that she knows Shane will appreciate. It's on the pricier end of things, but without a third mouth to feed and all the costs associated with raising a pro-ice hockey player, they've got some spare cash these days.
Somehow in the few months since Shane left home, he looks older. He's stopped looking like her teenage son and has started looking like an adult. She tries not to let the thought overwhelm her.
When the bill comes, her eyes glance down at the three-digit number at the bottom. It's high but not extortionate. On autopilot, she reaches for her purse, but before she can, she watches Shane drop a credit card down onto the small tray, right on top of the bill.
"I'll get this one," he says awkwardly, almost like he's been practising the words in the mirror that morning. She wouldn't be surprised if he had.
"Shane, we're your parents; we really don't mind paying for lunch," David speaks up because Yuna's still processing.
It's silly. It's less than five hundred dollars, and yet she can't quite get over her son not even blinking at the cost. The way he dropped his credit card down on the table. The colour of the credit card. The Rolex he flashed on his wrist as he placed the card down.
Her son isn't just well off. He's rich. He doesn't need to look at price tags, doesn't need to check his balance before buying a new car or a plane ticket to a private island.
Soon, he'll be making eight, ten, maybe fifteen million a year, plus sponsorships. It's more money than he'll ever need. More money than he probably knows what to do with.
She's thankful for David and all the sensible money advice he's imparted to Shane since he first received his 5 dollars a week pocket money. They never spoiled him. If he wanted something expensive, he had to save up for it. Because of that, Yuna knows he has a sensible head on his shoulders. She knows he isn't about to blow it all on parties and alcohol and designer clothes that'll fall out of fashion faster than Shane can skate across the rink. He'll save, and he'll invest, and always ask his parents what they think when he's planning a big purchase.
"You've spent a lot of money on me since I was young; I'm aware of how much it cost to get me here," Shane begins.
"And we would do it all over again," David speaks again, saying what Yuna is thinking without hesitation.
"I appreciate that, but let me do this, okay? It's my turn to pay."
She slides her hand across the table, covering his and squeezing it gently. "You don't owe us anything, Shane, not now, not ever."
"That's the thing, Mom, I owe you everything."
From that point onwards, Shane pays for everything.
Yuna's in the stadium, heart in her mouth, hands clutched to her chest as the final buzzer goes.
They won.
Montréal are champions.
Her son is a Stanley Cup champion.
She screams and cheers until her throat hurts. She kisses David and cries.
The moment her son lifts the cup above his head for the first time is seared into her brain. She'll never forget how she feels in this moment. The pride, the joy, the awe. She's worried she might actually combust. It's only David's arm around her keeping her from floating high into the rafters.
Every early morning, every missed party, all the blood, sweat, and tears have led to this. If anyone deserves this, it's him.
Eventually, family is allowed onto the rink to celebrate with the team, and she and David carefully step onto the ice and find their son in the throng of people celebrating. She pulls him into a tight hug, his face tucked into her neck. David hugs him next, a firm slap on Shane's back, then Yuna joins in, spreading her arms around her son and husband.
"I'm so proud of you," she tells him, though the arena is so loud with cheers and music that she's not sure if he hears her.
This should be it; this is what all hockey players dream of, so few reach this pinnacle. And yet she knows that Shane still wants more.
She's standing in the same stadium a year later, watching her son raise the cup for the second year in a row. She cries again and can't help but think of all the doubters who thought Shane couldn't do it again. To the haters who posted hateful comments online saying he was nothing but a diversity hire. Her son just won back-to-back cups. He did that.
And still it's not enough for Shane.
One cup was a dream come true. Two cups won was proof that it wasn't an accident. Three cups would be the start of a dynasty. It would make him a legend. And if anyone can make it happen, it's Shane fucking Hollander.
There's a chance her son is gay.
It's a thought that appears fleetingly every now and again, never staying long enough to settle in her mind. It's certainly not a thought she's voiced to David, though she suspects he's considered it too.
He had the odd girlfriend at school, the kind of young, chaste romance that feels dramatic at the time but looking back was nothing but a blip. A week or two of saying you were 'seeing each other' which just meant you ate lunch together and everyone giggled when you held hands.
Then, when he started to get serious about hockey, there was no time for romance and for a while, Yuna believed that line. Her son has always been intense, focused; it made sense that a girlfriend was low down on the bottom of his priorities.
But then after a couple of years in Montréal, Yuna expected things to change, after all; she's not an idiot, she knows what happens at NHL Hockey nights out. There's a lot of women out there who would love to dig their claws into Shane Hollander. She knows Shane isn't someone who enjoys clubs and bars and heavy drinking, but she also knows hockey teammates can be a bad influence.
She waits for the tabloid headlines that mention her son, but they don't materialise.
Sports journalists call Shane the golden boy of hockey. Polite, media-trained, no scandals, no drama, just good hockey. The kind of player all hockey teams probably dream of.
And then another year passes and another, and there is not even a whisper of Shane spending any time with a member of the opposite sex. She wants Shane to find someone so desperately. She wants him to have a partner, an equal, someone to share all the highs and lows of his unusual life with.
She pictures what it'll be like when he brings home his partner for the first time, introducing them to his parents. She imagines their wedding, then getting a call that they're grandparents for the first time.
That's when the thought occurs to her again
Maybe he's gay.
It's a thought that niggles in the back of her mind. It would make sense why he hasn't been photographed with anyone. There's no out NHL player. She can only imagine some of the homophobic rhetoric and tasteless jokes passed back and forth in some locker rooms across North America.
Her heart squeezes painfully in her chest at the thought.
She loves Shane unconditionally; being gay wouldn't change that, but she can't help but worry about what it could mean for Shane if he is gay. His NHL contract, his sponsorships, friendships, his reputation, could all be at risk because of narrow minds and outdated assumptions.
The thought reappears again a few months later when they're out to lunch and broach the topic of Wimbledon and a Swedish princess, which Shane shuts down with such brusqueness, she and David glance at each other with matching worried expressions.
Not long after that lunch, one of the many Google Alerts she has set up for Shane pings in her inbox. At the top of the article is a photo of her son leaving a restaurant hand in hand with none other than Rose Landry.
The tight ball of worry in her gut loosens. Maybe Shane just needed to find the right person. Shane doesn't say much to them about her, no matter how much Yuna gently pries. He might insist there's nothing much to tell, but the Hollywood actress attends a game wearing one of his jerseys, and that's not nothing.
"You should bring Rose round; we'd love to meet her."
"I don't think we're quite there yet, Mom."
She notes the yet, but doesn't say anything. Shane seems happy, but it's not always easy to tell from paparazzi photos and phone calls.
As quickly as their relationship explodes in the media, it ends. Fast enough for Yuna to be blindsided by the short text message from Shane announcing that he and Rose realised they weren't compatible but planned to stay friends.
The word compatible rolls around in her head long after the news is delivered.
Maybe he's gay, she thinks again.
She and David aren't watching the Boston game. It's rare for them to not watch Shane's games live, but David invited some friends from work over for dinner, and it was the only night they were all free. Yuna tries to eat her dinner and pay attention to a story being told down the other end of the table, but all she's really thinking about is when she can slip away briefly to check the score.
Their phone suddenly starts ringing, interrupting the story and Yuna's mouthful of chicken. David apologises and pushes his chair back to get up and answer it. The conversation at the table resumes, but Yuna's attention is on David and the phone, curious who would be ringing at this time.
"This is he," David tells the other person on the line.
David's eyes snap to hers, his eyes wide.
"Is he okay?"
Her heart drops into her stomach.
"Which hospital?"
The table goes quiet. Yuna drops her fork. It lands on her plate with a loud clatter.
"Yes, of course, we'll be there as soon as possible. Tell him we love him."
He hangs up.
"Honey?" She rises to her feet.
"He took a nasty hit; was stretchered off the ice. He's awake and talking, but they're taking him for tests," he looks past Yuna to their dinner company. "I'm so sorry, we need to go."
"Of course," one of his colleagues says. "Have you got spare keys? Let us clean up."
"You don't have to," David says as Yuna grabs her bag and her coat. She doesn't care about these strangers in her house.
"Please, let us; you don't want to have to come back to a mess," another colleague insists.
They leave just a few minutes later, their house still occupied by their guests. In the car, David reaches over and settles his hand over one of Yuna's trembling hands.
"He'll be okay; he's tough like his mother."
It's not the first time they've ended up at the hospital because of Shane. Every player gets their bell rung at some point, and while she knows hockey can be a dangerous sport, the few injuries Shane's suffered thus far have been minor. Out for a few games and then straight back to it. It's been scary every time, no matter how minor the injury. He is her only son, and every time he skates out onto the ice she knows there's a chance that he could leave it with a career-ending injury. Or worse.
As soon as they arrive, they are led to an empty room, with space for a gurney in the middle. A nurse tells them that their son is currently getting a CT scan and he'll be back soon. As soon as his bed is pushed through the door, Yuna is up on her feet, drawn to the side of the bed in an instant.
She takes in the bruising across his face and the sling his arm is secured into.
"Sweetie?"
He blinks at her blearily. "Mom?"
"We're here." She slides her hand into his free one and squeezes it. "Do you remember what happened?"
"Fuckin' Marleau," he mutters, his words slurring.
Yuna huffs in amusement, relaxing as she breathes out.
He's okay.
His eyes widen as a thought occurs to him, "Did you see?"
"No, we weren't watching."
"Don't watch it, okay?"
Even when he's hurt and in the hospital, he's worrying about other people.
"Okay," she agrees, but doesn't promise. "Rest now."
The doctor appears half an hour later, Shane fast asleep in bed. A serious concussion, they're told, plus a broken collarbone that luckily won't need surgery.
He's out for the play-offs, but it could have been worse.
They want to keep him for a couple more days to keep an eye on the head injury, and David has to get back to work, so Yuna stays with him, the Metros paying for a hotel for her nearby. She arrives at the hospital the next morning, stopping at the nurse's station when she hears her son's name mentioned.
"He was here to see Shane Hollander?"
Yuna freezes mid-step. Someone came to see Shane?
"Surprising, right? I made a joke about him smothering Hollander with a pillow; he ducked out pretty quickly after that."
"I'm sorry," Yuna inserts herself into the conversation. "Who came to see my son?"
The two nurses glance at each other, then back at Yuna. "Ilya Rozanov."
Yuna blinks. "Ilya Rozanov visited my son in the hospital?"
She can hardly believe it.
Shane is awake and sitting up when she steps into his room. There's more colour in his cheeks than the day before, and while there's still a slightly loopy expression on his face from the painkillers, he seems a lot more aware of what's happening.
She fusses over him for a bit. Fluffs his pillow, tells him off for watching the TV and puts a bowl of fresh fruit in front of him she'd picked up on her way to the hospital and tells him to eat it all.
"So," she begins as she finally settles into the chair beside his bed. "I heard Rozanov came to visit you this morning."
He pauses mid-bite of pineapple, then swallows. "Yup."
"What did he want?"
Shane stabs at the fruit, unable to successfully spear a grape with his left hand. He gives up and uses his fingers, popping the grape into his mouth.
"Shane?" Yuna presses.
"Just to check in, apologise on behalf of Marleau….you know, captain to captain."
She snorts, "Surprising."
Shane hums, "He has his moments."
Yuna doubts that. Maybe one of the coaches put him up to it, ordered him to do the polite thing.
"He didn't take advantage of the situation, did he?"
Shane almost chokes on a slice of kiwi. "Take advantage?"
"You're still on some pretty heavy-duty painkillers, honey."
She reaches over, swipes her thumb gently across his bruised cheek. She had a nightmare last night that the injury had been worse. That they'd rushed to the hospital in time for the doctor to tell them that he's sorry, that they did all they could do but it wasn't enough.
"You didn't have to accept any apology, or even talk to him if you weren't feeling up to it."
"I was fine, really; it was nice of him to come…he didn't have to."
Nice isn't a word Yuna would ever think to use to describe Ilya Rozanov.
With a sigh, Shane drops the fork in the bowl and pushes it away from him.
"So, when can I get out of here?"
They stand on the steps long after Shane's car has driven out of sight. David's arm is still firm on her waist, and she can sense he's waiting for her to say something. That's how they've always been from day one.
He takes her lead.
"Our son is in love with Ilya Rozanov."
She's seen it with her own two eyes, seen the way the two young men look at each other, seen the way Ilya comforted Shane when things got too much, seen them kiss. It wasn't a hallucination; it's not an act. It's real.
Finding out her son is gay was the easy part. They'd both been ready for that for a while. But Ilya Rozanov wasn't something Yuna could have predicted in a million years.
As they walk back into the cottage, her mind scrutinises everything she thought she knew about the Boston player. Her own interactions with him before today are few and far between, having mostly seen him from across an ice rink. She vaguely remembers bumping into him on an elevator at a CCM ad many years ago, and she's seen enough post-game footage of him shit-talking her son that had previously formed her opinion of the man.
Only to discover it's all lies.
Ilya Rozanov worships the ground Shane walks on. It's the only reason he would give up his chance at winning another cup or two in Boston to move to Ottawa to be closer to Shane. Ottawa has no chance of winning anything anytime soon.
They clean up together: four plates, four sets of cutlery, four glasses. They've waited a long time for Shane to bring someone home, for them to fill the empty space beside him. As Yuna wipes up the stray shavings of parmesan on the table, she can't help but laugh.
"What's so funny?" David asks, popping his head around the doorway from the kitchen.
"Our son is in love."
She's not laughing at her son being in love, or laughing at who he's chosen to love. It's just a release of something that's been building and building inside her since Shane was a child. A fear that no one would love him like they do.
She laughs at herself because she was wrong. Someone does love Shane. Someone who not only accepts his drive and competitiveness, but matches it. Someone who knows what to say when Shane doesn't have the words. Someone who understands the pressure of being the best.Maybe the only person who understands.
When they turn up on Shane's doorstep a couple of days later, food in hand, it's Ilya who opens the door and welcomes them inside. He looks comfortable, at home, like Shane has already added Ilya to the deed.
She's quieter than normal at dinner, choosing instead to watch her son and his boyfriend. They sit close at the table outside, close enough for Ilya to rest his hand on Shane's thigh possessively. As they eat and talk, Shane's eyes flick to Ilya often, constantly checking in on him, his cheeks flushing red when Shane realises Yuna's watching him.
When Shane pads back into the house to retrieve more beer from the fridge, Ilya's attention is drawn up to the door Shane disappeared through, his body relaxing back into his chair when Shane reappears a moment later.
Yuna shares a look with David, remembering the days when she was young and in love with a hockey player from McGill and he was all she could think about.
It's only in these little moments, the hundreds of tiny ways these two men interact with each other, that remind Yuna just how long they've been together in one way or another. This might be new for her and David, but it's not new for them. They have a decade of knowing each other to fall back on. A foundation of something strong that she's only seen a glimpse of.
At their place, Ilya was quieter, following Shane's lead, so she couldn't get a proper read on him, but here, she finally gets to meet the real Ilya Rozanov. A man who is perceptive, whip-smart, funny, and more sensitive than Yuna ever expected. It takes her all nice to reconcile the imposing, indomitable tyrant on skates that she's used to with the gentle, loving man she's just now meeting.
There are still hints of that man sitting across the table from her, she discovers. He teases Shane, pushing his buttons, getting him flustered, knowing exactly what to say to wind Shane up. There are moments where the need to defend Shane flares in her chest, but she holds back, waits for Shane's reaction. Instead of awkwardness or a sharp retort, Shane just rolls his eyes and, with a warm expression, calls Ilya an asshole.
Turns out being called an asshole just makes Ilya's grin grow wider.
"I'm glad he has you," Yuna admits to Ilya when she finally gets him alone for a few minutes. "I like seeing him this happy."
"I like seeing him this happy too," Ilya agrees, and it feels like an unspoken promise from him to ensure Shane stays this happy.
She sleeps easy that night, belly full of good food, a slight buzz under her skin from the wine and the knowledge that Shane has someone in his corner that would do anything in his power to make Shane smile. That's all she's ever wanted.
"They think I fell on purpose."
Yuna's not sure if it's the words out of her son's mouth or the look of pure devastation on his face that breaks her heart.
It's quickly replaced with anger. No, fury.
“Who said that? I want names.”
Shane doesn't give her the names, though Yuna already suspects who is on the list. The same teammates who turned their backs on him from the moment he came out to them.
Her heart breaks all over again.
He doesn't deserve any of this. He's given more, sacrificed more than any of them.
David hugs Shane, stepping in while Yuna's thoughts tumble around in her mind. A single thought sticks out sharply, and she retrieves her phone from her pocket to open up social media.
She frowns at the screen.
There is message after message from angry fans, saying worse things than Shane probably heard in the locker room. Awful, ugly things thrown at Shane. He's being tagged in some of them too. Good thing Shane doesn't look at his account that much.
“Oh god. What now?”
Yuna does her best to smile at her son, praying that he's too preoccupied to see through it. “Nothing important. Let’s go home.”
She forces her phone back into her pocket, pushing down the urge to respond to every single message with two words.
Back at Shane's apartment, she makes him tea and waits for him to be ready to tell her what happened in that locker room. It'll come out eventually. While she's now aware of the many secrets Shane has kept for the last decade, there's still an honesty to him that's a part of who he is. Since learning about Ilya and Shane's relationship, he's been more open and honest than Yuna ever remembers, though she's not sure if it's because Shane feels comfortable now that the big secret is out in the open or the newfound openness is because he feels guilty for keeping so much from them for so long.
She watches him from across the kitchen island, scrolling on his phone, reading all the nasty things people are putting out into the world about him. She wants to snatch the phone out of his hands and protect him from it all, but she can't. He's a grown man.
"They're upset about the loss, they're lashing out, they'll cool off once emotions aren't so high," She tries to reassure him.
He sighs heavily and finally places his phone face-down on the counter. "It's not just the fans, there are articles too."
"Saying you gave Ilya the win?"
He nods bitterly.
Probably written by the same journalists who placed Shane high up on a pedestal.
"Sweetheart," She walks around the island and cups his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "Anyone that knows you knows you would never trip on purpose."
His shoulders sag, and he blinks away the moisture in his eyes. "I guess nobody truly knows me then."
"Anyone you care about and cares about you knows it without a shadow of a doubt. Ilya knows you would never."
"I think he would leave me if I tried."
"You know the truth, so do we, so does Ilya; no one else's opinions matter, you hear me?"
He presses his lips together and nods.
"You should try and get some sleep."
She shepherds him upstairs, and once his bedroom door is shut, he messages her future son-in-law, gently suggesting now might be a good time for a call. A minute later she hears Shane speaking quietly to someone, and she finally turns away and finds David getting ready for bed in the spare room.
He looks at her questioningly, and all she can do is shrug helplessly. She doesn't have the words.
This is Shane's worst nightmare. Having everyone question his integrity- to think he would ever willingly let someone else win. She hates every single person who believes that her son is capable of that, and she doesn't plan on forgetting any time soon.
It hurts that the team that has meant so much to her over the years, the thing that made her feel most like a Canadian, that gave her son a home and a team and a purpose, have turned their backs when things got hard.
"He doesn't deserve this," David sighs, pulling Yuna tight against him in bed.
She wishes there was more that she could do than pat Shane on the shoulder and make him tea. She hates feeling this helpless. She would go to the ends of the earth if Shane asked her to.
"No, he doesn't," she agrees.
Never in a million years did Yuna think she'd one day be sitting at the Canadian Tire Centre in red and black. There's still a twenty-four on her jersey at least, her surname in block letters across her back, while David has an eighty-one and Rozanov on his. The crowd is hyped up already as team members are announced and skate into the middle of the rink to loud cheers.
Then the announcer calls Shane, and as he emerges from the tunnel, the crowd goes wild. A roar fills the area, drowning out her own cheers. Shane's too far away for her to see how he feels about the warm welcome, but then a camera down on the ice catches him, and Yuna's eyes flick to the big screen. Shane's Adam's apple bobs as he waves to the adoring crowds. Their hometown hero is finally where he belongs.
It feels like only yesterday she and David were standing watching Shane and Ilya make a lifelong promise to each other. She's been to a good handful of weddings over the years, listened to couples promise to love each other forever only for the relationship to collapse a few years down the line. Anyone with half a brain can see how much Ilya and Shane love each other. She knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that when they promised to love each other till death do us part, they meant it.
She'd cried throughout the ceremony, wiping away at the moisture until David had silently placed a monogrammed handkerchief into her hand. The vows had been short, simple and classic, and suddenly her son was kissing his new husband to a crowd of cheers. As they waited for Shane and Ilya to sign the official paperwork designating them legally married, Yuna had let her eyes drift across the backyard at everyone who had shown up for the couple. Some people she recognised, knew well; others were still strangers to her. She had tried not to dwell on how few Montréal players were in attendance; instead she focused on how the whole of the Centaurs had not only turned up, but were happy and proud to stand with their captain and celebrate his marriage.
As they danced, or at least swayed to the music, she cried again, and her husband handed her a second dry handkerchief. It's Ilya her attention is drawn to on the dance floor. She'd seen that exact, besotted expression on his face more than once since she first discovered they were in love. An expression he was forced to hide away for far too long, and now it felt permanently etched on his face.
It's funny, she thinks, how she used to hate this man. He was a barrier to Shane's success, someone with a big ego and a cocky smile. It felt like he didn't take it seriously, not like Shane. he partied and drove his flashy cars and got under everyone's skin.
That feels like so long ago now.
At some point, during the dinners and jigsaw puzzles and phone calls, Ilya became a son to her. Her love for him was no different than her love for Shane. As she learnt about his family, his past, a fierce overprotectiveness emerged from her any time someone dared to hurt him. She could never fully replace what Ilya had lost, but she was glad she could offer him even a fraction of the love his own mother had offered.
"And finally, your captain, Ilya Rozanov!"
Her attention turns back to the rink as the roar of the crowd builds once more, loud enough for the whole building to vibrate. Her new son-in-law skates onto the ice smoothly, waving at the crowd as he takes his place in the circle, right opposite his husband.
As she cheers for her two boys, on a team she's only recently switched allegiances to, she thinks about what it means. Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander on the same team. An unstoppable force that will win Ottawa cup after cup. She can't fucking wait.
She could never have predicted this, not back when she first placed a hockey stick in Shane's chubby fingers. All Yuna has ever wanted from the day Shane was born was for him to do whatever made him the happiest, and as the camera cuts to Shane once more, a wide grin on his face, his eyes locked on Ilya across from him, Yuna realises she didn't get all she wanted.
She got more.