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The moment the nurses put her little boy on Yuna’s chest, the feeling of their skin meeting made his wailing cries stop immediately. It was a memory so stark, so vivid in her mind that she can easily access it now, many years later. It was a sweet picture in her mind, even through the pain of pushing, when she saw the tiniest bundle swarmed by a blue blanket. A splotch of dark hair covered his head, and the cutest button nose Yuna had ever seen.
In that moment, she remembers asking the world for his eyes to echo David’s, the tenderness they always seemed to carry, a way to convey his emotions so clearly that had disarmed Yuna each time life got hard. And in a way, life had answered, giving her little boy the most expressive eyes, full of life yet quick to shake whenever something disturbed him.
Her pregnancy had been easy, way too easy; she had taken every step her gynecologist recommended to her, eaten the diet they gave her religiously, and Shane had not given her any hell. He had been calm, an angel of a baby. He had carried his emotions inside, in an introspective way that rattled Yuna, and she had mentioned it to David many times, how sometimes she didn’t know what was going on inside that brilliant brain of Shane.
Maybe that’s why, when he hit his toddler years, it was such a surprise to them that he was angry.
He seemed to have problems with his emotions, with regulating what he felt and how to react, and always seemed to explode at random moments, without anything to truly pinpoint what happened.
It wasn’t until they got Shane diagnosed that they finally understood. Shane didn’t react to the diagnosis, not really; he just asked questions about himself, to try to understand himself. It had broken Yuna’s heart to see him so ready to meet himself, at barely six years old.
It had been better afterwards. Shane had put all his focus on hockey—his hyperfixation, said the psychiatrist with a soft smile—and had grown up.
With the blink of an eye, Shane had gone from an explosive little kid to living by himself in Montréal, juggling his life as a high-performance athlete without complaint, even when Yuna knew his experience wasn’t the best: a half-Asian kid and autistic on top of that?
Fuck, she was scared of it; the locker room talk, the way people could take advantage of her boy—not that she would ever let them, God forbid—and the people around him not understanding him, with all his routines, and his superstitious habits.
Her son was particular, and she wouldn’t have him any other way, but she worried, maybe too much, but it was her job as his mother. David always tried to calm her down, told her to rein her momma bear instincts in, and that Shane was his own person, and most of the time, she believed him. Most of the time, she nodded and took a deep breath, knowing that her boy had it all under control.
Until Ilya Rozanov entered her living room, side-by-side with her son, and shattered all the things she thought she knew about Shane.
For so long, she had nagged Shane to meet someone, to open himself up to love. From Swedish princesses to Rose Landry, to whoever she deemed good enough for Shane. Shane had shut down every idea, and Yuna thought he was being stubborn.
But seeing the unconditional love shining in her son’s eyes towards his rival in the middle of her home broke the reality Yuna thought she knew. It was painful for her, a horrible and stark confirmation that she, somehow, seemed not to notice such a big part of Shane’s life.
⭐︎
There was a hum in between bites, the cottage’s fauna chirping outside while the perfectly positioned warm light floated on top of the table. Yuna was still processing, still smarting from seeing Shane cry and apologize, as if him being himself somehow hurt her.
David had stayed inside, cooked them dinner, and entertained Rozanov while they seemed to find their footing outside. Had helped smooth the dinner at their house before now, where they were seeing Shane and Rozanov together for real, as if it was the first time. And in a way, it was.
Everything had gone so quickly before, a rushed conversation turned into an awkward conversation while Shane seemed to vibrate under his skin, yet seemed to be calmed by Rozanov’s sweet nothings in a way that Yuna, who had taken care of Shane for decades, deemed sorcery.
“So, Ilya,” She started, taking a sip of her red wine, “how did you do that?”
Ilya’s brow furrowed, as if trying to understand her question, before his charming grin that seemed to work even on her. Dammit.
“How did I charm your son? Well, it started when I beat—”
“No, no. That makes sense, actually.” She nodded at him, giving him the point. “What I want to know is how you could stop Shane from panicking before, because that’s a trick I haven’t learned in all these years I’ve been his mother.”
“Mom!” Shane's voice sounded offended, yet fond. His eyes were fixed on Ilya, as if he were to disappear into thin air. “That’s—”
“Well, Mrs. Hollander. I know your son. I have been learning everything about him since we met. He gets under your skin like that. Like plyushch; ivy, it grows on you, and you cannot stop it. He’s my favorite topic.”
“Ilya…”
“What, solnyshko? You also know me, you know how I get, and how to work me.” His words were a bit wonky, wrapped in the accent that seemed to endear Shane even more to him, judging by the gooey way his eyes seemed to melt as he stared at him. “It’s easy. Shane needs reassurance, but logical. No fake stuff. He needs it straight to the point, in a way that his mind can’t take out of context. So I do that. Always.”
Oh.
“Oh.” Shane whispered, as if his entire life had clicked into place, and nodded. “Yes. Fuck, I’ve been trying to explain that since I was a kid. How did you do that?”
Yuna looked at David, a knowing look passing between them. Because they had that, too. A way of knowing each other to the deepest level, something that just seemed to happen when they met and had never let go.
“Because it’s you, Shane. Of course I would.”
And for a moment, a terrifying moment, Yuna realized that it didn’t matter anymore that she didn’t know her son the best: that was Ilya’s job, from now on, to be the one to carry the knowledge of Shane Hollander’s intricate routines, his mood swings, and how his breakfast stayed the same, yet his smoothies switched in flavour every three days, his favorite single number.
Shane mouthed an almost inaudible I love you at Ilya, and she saw how Ilya Rozanov’s face bloomed into a blush, his eyes sparkled into the most beautiful opal, and in that moment, she swore she saw exactly what her son had seen in him. He looked soft; the entire League’s paralysis demon was sitting down in the chairs she had chosen for Shane’s living room, looking like the reincarnation of Apollo, and looking at Shane like he couldn’t believe his luck.
Huh, guess Yuna had to add him to the family’s group chat now.
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Hayden was sprawled across Shane’s couch, a bag of recently sliced carrots held loosely in his right hand, while he upped the volume on the TV with his left. His zapping ended at an NHL stream: OTTAWA CENTAURS vs. TORONTO GUARDIANS. He groaned, and suddenly there were twin shouts from behind him:
“Leave it on!”
There are a lot of things Hayden knows about life, and one of them he knows for sure is that Yuna Hollander diluted all of her Hockey DNA right into Shane’s. They sounded identical right now, and always did, when it came to the sport.
They took his silence—he was shoveling some carrots into his mouth to buy time, sue him—as acceptance, and he was abruptly surrounded by two Hollanders, their eyes fixed on the screen. David sent him a quick commiserating smile, but he also sat down, right onto the loveseat by the sofa.
Fuck. He did not want to watch Ilya fucking Rozanov on his day off. That was so not what he wanted to do today. Why couldn’t he land on a reality show? Why?
Sullenly, he settled into it. It was done. It was way too late to back down now. He was surrounded by the Hollanders, and he was merely a guest, so he had to suck it the fuck up.
Yuna’s yell overshadowed the commentator's voice, suddenly: “Fuck off! That was a foul by the Guardians! Why are they—”
Shane was nodding along, completely sucked in on the game, his eyes laser-focused and scary. He looked as concentrated as he usually did on ice himself. Captain Hollander was in the building.
“Look at him evading all of those tackles, though! He’s showing them!”
David Hollander’s voice praising Ilya Rozanov made Hayden want to pinch himself. Surely, this was a nightmare. Surely, he didn’t wake up today, and he was still drooling on his and Jackie’s mattress.
“He definitely deserves it, though.” He heard himself say it, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth, and suddenly he was under the steady stares of the Hollanders™️.
“Hayden,” Yuna’s voice cut through his mental babble, “are you saying a player deserves to be fouled like that? Especially our son-in-law?”
Fuck, Rozanov already got the son-in-law title? It had taken Hayden three years to earn it from his in-laws, and here was Yuna Hollander, the most tenacious woman he had ever met, calling the Russian Menace her son-in-law.
Not fucking fair.
Hayden gulped, feeling bewildered and chastised at the same time. He moves his head to the side, furrowing his brow and quickly shaking his head no.
“Son, no one deserves to get fouled like that. We are lucky Ilya has good reflexes and a hard head.” David’s voice was steady and no-nonsense, and he could see Shane nodding to the words. “Just because he’s your rival, doesn’t mean he has to get hurt. Shane would not like his fianceé getting hurt. Think about that for a second.”
Shane was not saying anything, but he had a flush on his face after his father uttered the word fiancée. Still, his eyes betrayed his feelings as he looked at Hayden, the furrow on his brow showing him how disappointed Shane was with him.
“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking–”
Yuna stared at him for a long second, scrutinizing him, before nodding to herself, focusing back on the screen, where Rozanov was battling for the puck again.
“C’mon, Roz.” He heard Shane mutter, his hand covering his mouth while he bit at the sleeves of his hoodie. “Show ‘em.”
Hayden couldn’t help but stare at him. Since when did Shane fucking Hollander root for any team that wasn’t the Metros? What the fuck? Even if it was his boyfriend's team, it was a crazy sight to see, Shane Hollander completely immersed in the game as he watched his boy toy score two goals into the net in less than one period.
Fucking show-off. Ugh. Hayden hated Ilya Rozanov with a passion that should worry him, perhaps, but he didn’t dwell on it too much until he found out that motherfucker was dating his best friend.
Nowadays, it was like Hayden was living his worst nightmare, seeing Yuna and David, who usually only rooted for their kid, were staring at the TV with the same focus as Shane, cheering when Rozanov did anything remotely impressive. God, what a fucking weird life.
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Hayden would love to be anywhere but here. Even under the gruelling practices Coach put them through whenever the Shane Hollander Factor couldn’t carry them to victory. Fuck, shit, dude.
He looked around the room, where his litter of kids surrounded Ilya fucking Rozanov like he was the second-coming of Jesus Christ, and Jackie, his beloved wife, looked at said man with a fond look on her incandescent green eyes. It felt like the beginning of a nightmare, and he had to fight the urge to pinch himself again.
“It’s really good to see you guys again.” Jackie whispered, not daring to wake the gremlins sleeping soundly while somehow still surrounding Rozanov on the couch. Shane sat beside him, a hand buried under the blond curls of his husband. “I wanted to ask something I’m really curious about. How’s playing in the same team?”
And that. That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Hayden had spent all of his career being a footnote in Shane Hollander’s wikipedia, a name you see but don’t pay attention to, and now that he was drifting alone with the Metros, and Shane was racking up wins and trophies with his husband, he realized how little he mattered unless he was put beside the now Hollander-Rozanov.
“It's good.” Rozanov whispered back, careful not to move, soaking the scratches from Shane, and the weight of Hayden’s kids on top of him. “It’s almost peaceful. Shane is more relaxed, after a bit of a rough patch. And Anya is happy to have us both at home.”
“My parents, too. They enjoyed Ilya’s company a little too much while I stayed in Montréal, but now… Now it truly feels like a family.”
And that hurt. Hayden had always thought that he was part of Shane’s family, of his life, but it seemed that everything he thought was his, was quickly stamped with Ilya Rozanov’s name as quickly as it could, now that Shane left Montréal, and with it, Hayden.
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They had thought it would be funny, honestly. Harris, too, so they had the go-ahead. And God, did they regret their actions as they looked up to the stony look on Shane fucking Hollander as their Captain stared at the floor.
“Who’s idea was it?” Hollander’s voice snapped them out of their shameful silence, the locker room tense with the guilt they were carrying. “Because let me tell you, it was a fucking bad one.”
“Mine.” Harris came to the rescue, even though it wasn’t entirely truthful. “Well, the boys came to me to get it approved. Of course, after this, the video is not seeing the light of day.”
There were a few coughs echoing around the almost full room, and the atmosphere was so dense it almost made Troy choke on it. God, how would he feel if the guys put the same prank towards him and Harris? Especially after being forced to hide for years? Not fucking good, I bet.
“A PDA jar? Really?” Hollander snarled, just as Rozanov finally looked up, disappointment dripping out of his pores. They looked tired, as if the weight of the years hiding had caught on with this. “Do you guys know how hard it was for us? We had to hide for so long that we almost forgot how to be a couple outside of four walls. I had to psych myself to hold Ilya’s hand in public. Do you know what that does to a person?”
Everyone shook their heads, faces flush with guilt as Hollander kept going.
“We’ve been together in one way or another for almost ten years, and we still don’t know how to couple because of how long we hid. This joke is not only in bad taste, but a very dumb one.”
“You guys know.” Rozanov finally broke his silence, voice flat. “How hard it was for us to get here, to… not break under the pressure of everyone watching us. So, why do this? Why put the pressure on again?”
“It was meant to be a joke.” Troy broke under the guilt that was festering inside his gut. “Put a dollar or more with every…” God, even saying it now sounded horrible. Fuck. “kiss, or whatever, and we would donate it to the foundation.”
“So you humiliate us for being in love with each other, and showing it, like everyone fucking else, then make a donation to our own foundation?” Hollander asked, as if needing clarification, but everyone seemed to understand that he was just confirming it. “Wow. Guys, this is really fucked up.”
“Da. Fucked up. You feel uncomfortable when I kiss Hollander? Huh? Want me to go back to before, hiding everything?”
“No!” Luca yelled, startling everyone in the vicinity. “Please, no. We are sorry, Cap. We didn’t really think. We want you to be happy.”
Rozanov took a glance around the room, staring into their goddamned souls, then nodded, and looked at Hollander. “Your choice, malysh.”
“You guys understand why this is fucked up, right?” Hollander asked quietly, his flat tone coming back. “We don’t have time to explain the why, and if any of you have a functioning brain, you would know by now.”
“We know.” Hayes whispered from his place on the bench, making everyone else nod in agreement. God, they had fucked up majorly. They had trusted them with a major new chapter of their life, learning to be open about their love, and the team had fucked it all up for a cheap joke. “And we won’t do anything like this ever again. You have our word.”
“Good.” Hollander approved, as if he were a King giving their servants his blessing. “Because if you ever do anything like this again, Ilya and I are leaving the team and going to your direct rivals. Get your head together, guys. For fuck's sake.”
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The laughter around them made J.J settle into his seat, Hayden by his side as Shane was sitting before them, faces aflame with the alcohol they were sharing. People J.J should know passed them by, all giving Shane a wave or passing word. God, since when was Shane sociable? Where was the guy that managed and succeeded as their Captain, carrying towards many cups, yet anything outside of that seemed to be out of his reach?
“Mon ami, I didn’t even know you knew this many people!” He aimed for a joke, but Shane’s face stuttered for a second. “Not that it’s anything bad. We all knew you were a blast to be around, dude, but holy shit!”
“Mmm.” Shane mouthed around the neck of his bottle, a dreamy smile taking over his face. “My husband makes it easier to be sociable, honestly. I was never good at it before—I overthink everything. But he carries the conversations when I get overwhelmed. He always knows. God, I love him.”
Hayden’s face seemed to dull, a frown making him look ten years older. His eyes seemed full of disdain, and J.J. heard the alarms blaring immediately. Fuck, this again? J.J. had thought that Hayden’s dislike—loathing, honestly—towards Rozanov would end, after getting to know him and see how good he was to Shane. But judging by his facial expression, the hatred seemed to be alive and well.
And sure, yeah, J.J. had been skeptical at first. He had even put his foot on his mouth during Shane’s last day as a Metro, but even he couldn’t deny the unconditional love they both had for each other.
And honestly? After meeting the real Rozanov, not the one in interviews who wore his assholeness as a weapon, J.J. really fucking liked the man.
He was the perfect companion for Shane, and J.J. swore that somehow, Rozanov got new sides of Shane that no one else but him got to see. A sweet, lovesick one, of course, but the one that surprised J.J. the most was cocky Shane Hollander who went stat for stat with his husband in the middle of a random conversation, wherever they were, just because they knew each other’s buttons to push.
It was so fun to watch, how the humble Shane he had known for years suddenly transformed in front of them. It was, also, fucking creepy.
“Can’t you go an hour without thinking about him? God, Shane, he has you in a spell or some shit.”
“What the fuck?” Shane seemed to snap out of his lovesick daze, a switch so serious that J.J. almost got whiplash. Almost. Hayden looked at J.J. as if expecting him to agree, and he couldn’t help but laugh hysterically. He shook his head at him, disappointment sitting on his lower stomach as he realized that Hayden had finally done it; he had crossed a line so massive that he couldn’t uncross it. “What the fuck was that, Hayden? Huh?”
Hayden looked like a fish out of water, opening and closing his mouth as if searching for an excuse for his fuckass behavior. There was none. Not even Rozanov had antagonized him tonight, as he was schmoozing with the donors while he gave Shane time alone with the trio, as he called it.
“You’ve got no fucking excuse, man.” J.J. sighed, annoyed that the good mood they had been feeling had evaporated, just because Hayden Pike wanted to bitch at his supposed best friend’s husband. “Ilya didn’t even do shit tonight. Didn’t even look at you. Is that what bothers you? You have a crush or something?”
Hayden spluttered, a horrified look covering his flushed face. Shane, meanwhile, looked like a soldier walking straight into a battle. His shoulders were hunched, his posture strong, and his face resembled the one J.J. had seen many times: Captain Hollander. And when Captain Hollander came out to play, it was to rip the other person apart.
“I let it slide, many times.” Shane’s voice didn’t waver, and it seemed that all the alcohol in his body had evaporated, somehow. Or maybe, it was pumping Shane’s veins with adrenaline, because he looked ready to murder Hayden on the spot. “Ilya told me not to worry about you, that he didn’t care about your weak chirps, or your inability to be kind towards him, but now?”
Shane shook his head, disappointment coating each and every one of his expressions. He closed his eyes and sighed, and J.J. wondered if he could help the situation somehow, if saying something was even worth it after all.
“You’re pathetic.” Oof. Auch. “At first, I thought that your behavior would get better, you know? I gave you many warnings, after all. But you keep digging your fucking grave, Pike. You think that I want you around, when all you seem to do successfully is badmouth my husband?
Holy fucking shit. J.J. looked around for help, and seemed to catch Ilya’s eyes across the room. He tried to signal help, sos, world fucking three over here. It seemed to work, but J.J. didn’t know if the message was conveyed or if his crazy eyes were enough red flag for Rozanov to come running.
“Shane, I–”
“Shut the fuck up, Pike. You’ve used all your words tonight. I am tired. Every time I see you, you seem to find a way to sneak a dig towards my husband. Don’t you get it? My husband! I choose him, Pike. He’s my choice. And you belittle that, day in and day out. Who do you think you are, dude?”
Rozanov came around the corner right at that moment, and the supposedly ice cold persona seemed to drop as he stared at his husband, tearing Hayden Pike a new asshole. A blush seemed to cover his face, and if J.J. didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he was imagining it.
“Shane, malysh, what’s going on?”
Hayden looked up at Rozanov as if he was his fucking savior, and it made J.J.’s blood boil. How dare he badmouth him yet seemingly act on his best behavior around him? Pathetic, Shane’s voice echoed in his mind.
“Rozanov, hey.” J.J. talked over Hayden, ignoring his protests. “This connard is trying to make you save him. But don’t let him fool you. He deserves this.”
“J.J!” Hayden implored, trying to look as guilty as possible.
“Don’t J.J. me, dude. You brought this upon yourself. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Have you asked yourself why we don’t hang out lately?” Shane continued, seemingly not even hearing Hayden’s pleas. “Huh? Have you ever used that brain of yours and connect the fucking dots? That the more you badmouth my husband, the less I want you around? Such a weird thing, I’m sure.”
“Oh, malysh…”
“I’m done with you, Pike. We are done. You don’t respect my decisions, any of them, so I don’t respect you either. Go home. And leave us the fuck alone.
+
“Are you okay, solnyshko?” Ilya’s soft voice as he parked the car on their street roused Shane out of his sleepy trance, and the smile on his husband’s face as Shane snored himself awake made his heart clench awkwardly.
“I think so, yeah.” He whispered back in the sacred space of their suv. “It was a long time coming, I guess.”
“Well, from what J.J. told me, Pike really got the Captain Hollander treatment.”
“Shut up, I don’t do that. There’s absolutely no way I do that enough for it to have a name.”
“Well, Captain Hollander, you seem to do it quite a lot lately.” A smirk painted his beautiful husband’s face, and Shane felt himself bloom against it. “But I’ll tell you a secret.”
“Mmmm-mh?” Shane mouthed, suddenly finding himself with his face perfectly positioned over Ilya’s heart, the familiar melody soothing him back to sleepiness, all of his fight completely gone from his body.
“I really like that side of you, malysh. Wanted to eat you alive while you were screaming at Pike. Like a feisty kotenok. Mine.”
“Yours.” He nuzzled into Ilya, satisfied. “And you could still eat me, if you wanted to…”