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The faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights alongside his own nervous foot tapping were the only sounds David Hollander had heard in the last half hour.
“Before I forget,” Hayden broke the silence, reaching into the backpack resting on the floor between his feet and taking out a paper bag. “Blueberry muffins. Jackie made these for you and Yuna, we know how awful those vending machine snacks can be.”
David took the container and smiled at his son’s best friend, understanding why Shane kept him around. The last 48 hours had been awful for everyone, and yet there he was, sitting by his side in that hospital hallway, bringing him homemade food his wife had made with that kind smile on his face.
He knew, despite the brave face, that Hayden was scared too. No amount of lighthearted jokes or kind gestures could hide the bags under his eyes or the restless pacing up and down the corridor.
David knew he was trying his best to keep it together, mostly for his’ and Yuna’s sake, and he appreciated it.
“Thank you, Hayden, for everything. And please, thank Jackie from us too,” he patted the man on his back and nodded towards the end of the hallway. “I’ll text you any updates, go home to your wife and kids.”
He watched as Hayden nodded and shot another glance at the closed door of Shane’s room before getting up. The sound of a distant door opening and abruptly shutting made both of them turn their heads, but the corridor remained as empty as it had been all day.
David made a mental note of thanking the hospital for respecting Shane’s privacy and putting him as far from the rest of the rooms as they could.
Hayden had one more glance towards Shane’s door before grabbing his bag and reminding David he could call him with updates day or night. David reminded him that he would, and reassured him that everything was going to be okay.
However, as soon as Hayden was out of sight, David let himself sink in his seat and put his head in his hands.
He had been trying to keep it together as best as he could for Hayden’s sake. But the truth was, he was scared. The doctors had said that the prognosis was positive, that despite a hard fall and losing consciousness, there were no signs of internal bleeding or anything else to worry about. He was being kept under observation but it was only a matter of time for him to wake up. He’d be concussed, nothing they couldn’t handle.
As reassuring as it had sounded over the phone as he and his wife were driving to Montréal immediately after seeing the hit on their TV, it was a terrifying ordeal. David Hollander wasn’t good with hospitals. Never had been. Seeing his son lying there motionless, tubes coming out of his arms, hooked up to a machine was the stuff of nightmares.
He’d been in there with him the night before and earlier that morning, but seeing them take blood samples and adjusting the IV lines was too much for him to handle. Hence why he had offered to wait outside with Hayden.
The nurse had eventually stepped out and assured them everything was okay, but David took the opportunity to offer to wait outside in the hopes that his wife would take him up on the offer of taking a nap. Not that she needed it, but she deserved it.
Yuna was brave enough for the two of them, she always had been. She’d kept a straight face and a positive outlook the entire journey there, talking him through the panic that was hiding behind his silence. She had a way of knowing exactly what he needed without him needing to say it, and he was so thankful.
Before stepping out, he’d taken the armchair from across the room and pushed it next to Shane’s bed, so she could be beside him in case he woke up. He just hoped it was comfortable enough for her to get some well deserved sleep.
He looked down at the paper bag he’d placed on the metal chair next to him, thinking he’d let her rest just a bit more before going downstairs to buy her a big cup of coffee to have with the muffins Hayden had brought.
That’s when he heard that distant noise again. But this time, out of the corner of his eye, saw someone walking down the deserted corridor. He expected it to be a doctor, another nurse even, but it was a tall man dressed in black.
He wasn’t expecting any visitors. Hayden had been an exception, but the rest of Shane’s teammates had been told not to come until Shane was awake and in the right state to receive guests.
It took David a moment at first, but as the man got closer, he recognized him.
How could he not have? His name and face had been in tandem with Shane’s since before they were drafted. It was always them, on every news article, commercial or sports broadcast. It was always Hollander and —
“Rozanov.”
David watched as the man came to a half in front of him. He was fully dressed in black, eyes darting around, nervously looking for something. They settled on Shane’s door for a second, before turning back to David.
“Hello.” The tall Russian breathed, sounding quite worked up. “Mr. Hollander, yes?”
“Yes,” he replied, without thinking. He was beyond surprised to see none other than the Boston Bears’ Ilya Rozanov standing in front of him right there and then.
Sure, it wasn’t uncommon for the opposing team’s captain to visit a hospitalized player, especially when it was his team’s fault. But he thought they had made it crystal clear to both teams that any visits were to wait until Shane was conscious.
And Shane was not conscious… yet. The thought sent a shiver down David’s spine, who tried to rid that awful feeling by not focusing on what was inside that room, but outside with him.
“Sorry, Mr. Hollander…” Rozanov started, but was quickly interrupted.
He didn’t know if it was his tone or demeanor, but from the start, it didn’t come off as an official visit. It felt personal, so David couldn’t handle hearing the whole “Mr. Hollander” thing.
“You can call me David.”
He watched as the other man nodded and took a breath, still awkwardly standing in front of where he was sitting.
“Sorry, David,” he mumbled. “I know you do not expect me, but…” Rozanov hesitated, his eyes darting from his shoes to the ceiling to the door of Shane’s room before settling back on the ceiling. “I just want to know,” his voice nearly cracked at the last word, “I just want to know if he is ok.”
The surprise of Rozanov being there was quickly replaced with the shock of how the man in front of him was presenting himself. It wasn’t an official visit, that was for sure, but most shockingly, that wasn’t the Rozanov he had come to know.
That wasn’t the fearless captain David was used to seeing on the ice. The cocky smile and arrogant looks he had seen so often on TV were nowhere to be found.
In fact, everything about his demeanor was so different, it was like he was looking at a wholly different man. A man who had often been described as big and scary, suddenly appeared, despite his size, very small and… scared.
David watched as Rozanov’s eyes looked down from where they were staring at the ceiling and met his’, seeing for the first time a darkness that he recognized very well. That bloodshot, glassy look was not unlike his own just earlier that same morning. And if the bags under his eyes revealed anything, it was that he’d slept as little as he had.
“He’s still unconscious,” David said, and saw the other man’s jaw tense as he looked away again. David watched the way his body language changed, his shoulders slumping further down as he crossed his arms and covered his mouth with one of his hands.
He looked genuinely so distraught that he felt the need to elaborate. “The doctors say it’s normal, considering how hard he hit the ice.”
Rozanov’s head immediately turned back towards him, damp lashes blinking back at David with a look of hopefulness that could light up an entire room. “His vitals are okay, they expect him to wake up any minute, really,” David added. “Concussed, but fine, all things considered.”
David wasn’t sure why he was so set on making sure the man in front of him calmed down. This was Ilya Rozanov, a man whom on any other day, he’d have expressed hatred for. In fact, if anyone had asked him prior to that day, he’d probably have called him a smug asshole. Or something worse, even.
But seeing him there, in front of him, emotions on his sleeve, had made him question what he knew about him. Or thought he knew about him.
David had been around hockey long enough to learn that players weren’t always the same on the ice as they were in their day-to-day life. Some could talk big game and yell angry chirps all through a game, but were gentle and kind off the ice.
But when it came to Rozanov, from what he’d seen in interviews and heard throughout the years, that aggressive, conceited persona was far from being an act. Or so he had assumed.
He watched as Rozanov took a deep breath, nodding to himself and wiping what appeared to be a tear from his eye.
It was at that point that David Hollander began to question his own sanity. How long had it been since he’d last eaten? Maybe this whole interaction was nothing but a sleep deprivation induced hallucination.
Had Hayden even really been there with him? He hadn’t seen his wife in a while, had she tricked him into napping?
“Can I?”
His train of thought was interrupted by a thick Russian accent bringing him back to reality. It wasn’t a dream, Rozanov truly was standing there, asking if he could sit down next to him on one of the chairs outside of Shane’s hospital room.
“Of course,” he replied, trying to sound as normal as possible.
Rozanov crashed into the metal seat, throwing his head back in something David wasn’t sure if relief or desperation.
“He will be okay,” Rozanov either said or asked, his voice trembling too much for him to be certain.
To put it plainly, the guy was a mess.
David took another look at him, as if he still couldn’t believe he was truly there. But he was, sitting next to him in all black, his hair sticking out from underneath a cap that looked like a remedy for a bad case of bedhead. He couldn’t help but wonder if Rozanov had also spent the night tossing and turning, trying to get some sleep but not being able to shake the thought of waking up to Shane not being there anymore.
He knew him and Yuna had. Shane was their entire world, they loved him more than words could express and losing him would destroy them.
But why Rozanov?
He looked over again, his eyes now closed as his head rested against the wall, softly breathing in and out as his feet continued to nervously tap on the floor.
Who would’ve thought? Ilya Fucking Rozanov. Since the first day of Shane’s professional hockey career, their names had been said in the same breath by everyone in the industry.
But it had always been less ‘and’ and more ‘vs’.
His first season, Rozanov had been bragging about how many goals he was going to score, how he was going to beat Shane to every title, every award. Shane, who had always been very sportsmanlike, had celebrated every goal against him. It was like he was determined to prove that coming second in the draft had nothing to do with him being number one.
They were rivals, in the purest sense of the word. Archrivals, one could even say.
Ilya Rozanov wasn’t a term of endearment in their home, to put it lightly. David had never had too much of a problem with the Boston Bears until he joined, finding himself celebrating their losses like it was personal.
Wasn’t it personal?
Yet there he was, sitting next to him outside of Shane’s hospital room, appearing to be just as nervous and devastated as his own father.
“I was scared.”
The voice timidly left Rozanov’s mouth, just slightly above a whisper as he continued to stare at the ceiling.
“When I saw Marlow hit him,” he turned to David, “He is very sorry, by the way. He did not mean to hurt him.”
David nodded, offering a soft smile in the other man’s direction.
“Shane,” Rozanov’s voice cracked again. “He… He was there on the ice and he did not move,” his voice got louder and shakier with every word. “I watched them take him but he would not wake up.”
He nearly broke down at the last word, turning face away from David and sniffling into the hand that was now covering his mouth.
“He’s going to wake up,” David tried to reassure him.
He spoke again, still unable to face David. “I asked them, ‘is he okay?’ but they would not tell me.”
“Rozanov…”
“Ilya.” He finally turned back to David, who noticed the man’s clenched jaw and the tears pooling in his red eyes. “Please, call me Ilya.”
David took a second to take it all in, but before he could reply or fully acknowledge everything that had happened, his thoughts were interrupted again.
“I asked so many times, ‘please, tell me if Hollander is okay’. They said nothing. I said, ‘just fucking tell me’ and they wanted to send me to penalty box.” He let out a stifled laugh.
“They wanted to punish me. For caring.” Ilya took another breath, and in barely a whisper added “I just wanted to know if he was okay.”
Then, to David’s surprise, Rozanov fully broke down. Tears streamed out of his eyes as he audibly sobbed into both his hands. If he had seemed emotional before, this was confirmation that Shane’s accident meant so much more to Ilya than David could have ever expected.
He realized in that moment, that he had been wrong about Ilya Rozanov all along.
There was a complete separation between the man he thought he’d known for all those years and the kid crying next to him. Rozanov, the big, scary Russian half the MHL was terrified of, who was a menace both on the ice and on camera, was not the man who was crying next to him.
That was Ilya.
A boy who, very much like his own son, had been pushed into the crazy rollercoaster that was the professional hockey league and for whom a narrative had been created. Where Shane was Canada’s wunderkind, Ilya was Russia’s threat. Roles based on certain aspects of their personality, but that never captured them as people.
It was a narrative that had been so carefully spun by people far removed from them, that it had even convinced those closest to it.
For once, David Hollander was not afraid. He was also, not angry. He did not see his son’s arch rival anymore, but instead, a kid that loved hockey just as much as his’.
He couldn’t help but realize that Ilya’s career had mirrored Shane so closely (albeit so differently) that yes, this time, it was Shane who had landed in the hospital, but it could just as easily have been him.
And what if it had been him?
He remembered that Ilya’s father had passed away not too long ago, and he didn’t know if he had any other relatives in the States.
Who would have been waiting outside his hospital room for him? Would anyone have baked them muffins?
He couldn’t blame the kid for taking it to heart. It reminded him of a few years back, when his buddy Andy had a heart attack. Throughout David’s life, heart attacks had always been something that old people got. It was something that happened to his friends’ dads, not them. Because that meant that they and by proxy, him, were now old.
That entire week, this one thought just kept coming back to David. It could have been me.
He couldn’t help but wonder if that was what had gone through Ilya’s head for the past two days.
As he continued to sob, David couldn’t help but to place a hand on the guy’s shoulder, gently squeezing it as he said, “It’s alright, son. He’s gonna be okay.”
Ilya cleared his throat and took a deep breath, wiping his tears and looking at David with an expression he couldn’t fully comprehend. He seemed relieved, appreciative, but there was also something there he couldn’t quite grasp.
“You know, Ilya, I have to admit,” he tried to lighten the mood, “I was very surprised to see you here.”
That made him laugh, and sit back in his chair, a more relaxed posture. Ilya rolled his eyes in a way that screamed yeah, no shit.
“But I see now,” David added, “That you and Shane have been through a very similar career path. I can tell you have a lot of respect for him.”
Ilya smiled politely, but that unknown something was still lurking in the back of his gaze.
“Yes,” he said. “I respect him very much. More than I realize sometimes.”
David didn’t doubt it for a second. There was something so raw and honest in the way he had been speaking about Shane, in the fact that he’d shown up the way he did, that he knew it must be true.
“I’m sure Shane will be very honored to know you came to see him, I’ll make sure to tell him when he wakes up.”
Ilya nodded, his eyes once again glancing at the closed door of Shane’s room.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, only disrupted by David assuring Ilya that Shane would be okay, and that somebody would let him know as soon as he woke up.
Ilya took a long breath before standing up and turning to David, his hand stretched out.
“Thank you, David.”
David stood up as well, shaking his hand and thanking him. He couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that after all these years, he’d finally had a real interaction with Ilya Rozanov. Despite having crossed paths so many times, it felt like he had finally met the man he’d heard so much about.
“It was nice to finally meet you, Ilya.”
He couldn’t help but think about Ilya as he watched him walk away. The man who had always come across as unbreakable, had just broken down in front of David Hollander of all people.
There were a few things he’d learned about Ilya Rozanov that day, and a main takeaway was that he was strong, but not in the way people thought.
About half an hour later, when David walked into Shane’s room with a fresh cup of coffee and food for his wife, both her and his son were still asleep.
Later that day, when Shane had finally woken up and the heavy pain medicine had made him somewhat lucid, Yuna handed Shane his phone from the bag the team had brought from the locker room.
Yuna had offered to spend another night with him at the hospital, but Shane had insisted they go back to his house and rest.
“Before I forget,” David said as his wife finished packing up her stuff, “You might wanna shoot Rozanov a text.”
“Ilya?” Shane wondered, at the same time as Yuna asked “Rozanov?!”
“Yes.” He said as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and it took him a second to realize that they hadn’t had the interaction that he’d had with him and most likely still saw him in the same negative way David had earlier that day. Then added, “He was here this morning.”
“He was?” They both replied, at vastly opposing levels of excitement.
“Just let him know you’re okay, alright kiddo?”
He watched as a dopey grin formed on his son’s face, and for a second, wondered if maybe they should have waited until the pain meds wore off a bit more before giving him his phone back. But Shane was doing okay, he was high as a kite, but he’d started making sense, after spending the first hour awake just babbling about summer at the cottage for some reason.
It had been an excruciatingly long two days, and all David wanted was for everyone in his family to have a good night’s sleep, himself included.
When he woke up the following morning, he was surprised to see his wife still fast asleep beside him. Despite him insisting she get some well-deserved rest, she had stayed up late messaging everybody back and letting them know that Shane was doing okay. Okay meaning a fractured collarbone and a light concussion, but awake, thankfully.
He admired her dedication, the way she had been keeping everyone in touch despite the stress she was under. “It helps me keep my mind off of it, David, I promise,” she’d said when he’d suggested she take a break.
He checked the time on his phone, it was only 5:30, but he was wide awake. So he quietly slid out of the bed and downstairs into the kitchen. He knew he had to be as quiet as a mouse, as to not wake his wife.
What he wanted, more than anything, was a coffee. The problem was that he had no idea where Shane kept it. He looked around the counter but he didn’t see any and he was afraid of waking Yuna by rummaging through the cupboards.
He took one glance in the fridge, just in case there was some cold brew, and was surprised to find a pack of Coke’s that he knew Shane would never drink, but no coffee.
He wondered if Shane had gotten any sleep, and thought why not kill two birds in one stone and go for coffee and ask Shane himself. He scribbled a note on a piece of paper for Yuna, afraid of waking her if he texted her and drove himself towards the hospital, stopping for a coffee on the way.
On the drive over, he wondered if Shane had messaged Rozanov. Ilya, he corrected himself. He hoped he had. The thought made him laugh to himself. Never in a million years would David have guessed that he’d end up having a soft spot for the guy, yet there he was.
He couldn’t help but empathize with the fear and pain in Ilya’s expression, how he had seemed genuinely beyond himself at the situation. He clearly had a huge amount of respect for Shane, both as a player and as a person.
There had been no need for him to come to the hospital. There were no cameras or team obligations. It had come from him as a person, and David respected that.
The one thing he couldn’t shake was that certain something in Ilya’s expression that he hadn’t been able to grasp.
He’d felt so smart, realizing that he had cracked the code. He felt like after all those years, he’d come to understand the Hollander vs Rozanov rivalry better than anyone else, having figured out the truth behind the media fanfare.
Yet something escaped him.
As he walked down the corridor towards Shane’s room, he heard muffled sounds coming from inside. It sounded like laughter, but he was unable to distinguish the voices.
He wasn’t so surprised to hear Shane was already awake, but wasn’t expecting him to have any company that early on. It was most likely a doctor, or a nurse that he was talking to.
He looked through the small window in the door, and saw that the armchair that Yuna had been sleeping in, the same one that he’d placed back into the corner of the room the evening before had been pushed back beside the bed.
The back of the tall armchair was facing the door, and he couldn’t see if anyone was in it, but he could imagine there was. Shane was awake and sitting up in his bed, softly laughing at something he couldn’t hear.
He took a moment to take in the dopey smile on his son’s face. A smile so wide, yet so genuine, that he was not so certain was purely due to the pain meds. He watched as Shane’s arm stretched out towards whoever was sitting there, making him laugh like that.
Part of him wanted to know who was so important that they’d gotten there so early, or as he’d realize later on, probably had spent the night there.
But he also felt like he was maybe overstepping a boundary.
Shane was a grown man, and even though he hadn’t told him or his mother about any serious relationships, that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Sure, he had found out about Rose Landry at the same time as the rest of the world, but Shane had confessed shortly after that they had mutually decided they were better off as friends.
Why his son had decided not to pursue one of the world’s most beautiful and charming celebrities, was none of his business.
Maybe he should’ve texted, should have called Shane to let him know he was stopping by. Walking in on what clearly was an intimate scene felt like an invasion of his son’s privacy. What he got up to in his own time was not his concern.
He realized then, that the men’s shoes he did see, sitting beside the armchair, were also none of his business.
Having decided to keep his nose out of it, he drove back to Shane’s apartment, picking up some coffee beans so he could make his wife a cup when she woke up. The roads were still relatively quiet, giving him time to think about what had happened.
Ultimately, he decided to keep what he’d seen to himself. He never kept secrets from his wife, but this felt less like a secret and more of a white lie.
When he saw Shane later that day and he made no mention of any early morning visitors, it confirmed to David that he was not supposed to have seen anything.
He wanted to respect his son’s private life, and so he did. At least for a few weeks, until he walked into Shane’s cottage and again, saw something he knew he wasn’t supposed to see.
In David’s defense, this time he had called a few times in advance and genuinely wasn’t expecting anyone to be there. It wasn’t until he was walking down the hallway that he heard Shane’s voice in the distance. He couldn’t make out what he was saying, but there was a second voice laughing in response.
“Shane?” he called out, making his way into the kitchen. “Sorry, I called but you didn’t answer, I just came to—”
“Dad?!” Shane exclaimed from the living room area, such surprise in his voice it was clear he wasn’t expecting him in the slightest.
David turned the corner into the kitchen, where his charger was still on the counter where he’d initially forgotten it. But it was at that moment that he spotted the trail of clothes spread out across the floor and he started putting two and two together.
Scattered all over the room were two pairs of men’s pants, one of Shane’s shirts and a black t-shirt with yellow text he had no time to make out as he was just focusing on getting out of there as soon as possible.
He grabbed the charger and began making his way back out the house as he muttered apologies. It was like his mind had switched into autopilot, and it was just trying to navigate him back to his car, not hearing any of the noise coming from the living area nor his son calling out to him.
David knew that he’d interrupted something private, and he wanted to remove himself from the situation as quickly as possible. He was trying to block out everything around him and just beeline for the door. So much that he nearly tripped on a pair of shoes that were in the way.
A pair of shoes that, he’d later realize, looked somewhat familiar, but we’re definitely not Shane’s.
But right there and then, he didn’t think of anything but getting in his car and driving home.
It wasn’t until he was on the road that he allowed himself to take in a deep breath and go over the facts. He had guessed for a while now that his son was interested in men, possibly even seeing a man. But he had wanted to let Shane come out to them on his own time, so he hadn’t put any pressure on him.
But now he had caught him, and he felt like he had betrayed his son’s trust. He’d called and texted, he had hoped he’d made it clear that he was dropping by, he knew that he hadn’t done anything wrong per se, but he still felt like he had.
The anguish was blatant on his face when he walked into his own cottage, greeted by his wife who was reading a book on the couch.
“Are you alright, David? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He took a deep breath and sat down next to her, reaching out to hold her hand. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
He could see her putting the pieces together of all the suspicions over the years as he told her about the mystery male guest over at the cottage. He apologized for not telling her earlier, and she brushed it off, understanding his decision to at least try and let Shane explain it to them himself.
But now the cat was out of the bag, and it was only a matter of time until they’d have to have a conversation about it.
It was then that they heard a car pull up in the driveway, and they didn’t need to look out the window to see whose it was. They stayed where they were, holding each other’s hands on the sofa as they heard the front door open and their son calling out for them.
They called him over and watched as Shane walked into the living room, standing in front of his parents with terror in his eyes.
“Mom, dad, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Shane, really.” David couldn’t stand hearing the trembling in his son’s voice, he wanted him to know that the only thing he was angry at was himself for not giving him the possibility to speak to them on his own terms.
“I did not want you to find out like this.”
“Find out what, exactly?” Yuna said gently, the hand that wasn’t holding David reaching out to Shane who was still awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets.
“I’m gay.” He blurted out. “Fuck.” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Yuna immediately replied, getting up, putting her arms around her son.
“Sweetheart,” she said, softly caressing his hair. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”
David followed her, “I’m sorry Shane,“ he offered. “I didn’t mean to see anything.”
“About that…” Shane added, nervously looking back.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t actually see anything,” David tried to reassure him at the same time as Shane said “There’s someone I think you should meet.”
Both David and Yuna looked over towards the hall, where they heard the faint sound of feet shuffling and a figure eventually emerged.
“Mom, dad, this is—”
“Ilya,” David beamed.
“Rozanov?” Yuna exclaimed.
Shane sighed. “Ilya Rozanov, but you already know that.” He stepped out of his parents' embrace to join Ilya, before adding “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”
Which they did, gathered around the dining table with a bottle of the best vodka David kept around. It took a little while for the shock to wear off, but Shane, with great help from Ilya, explained everything. Or well, most of it.
“The All-Stars game, you two had such chemistry,” Yuna said, “Was that when you— Well, when it, uhm, started?”
“Before that,” Shane replied, nervously glancing over at Ilya, whose eyes were trying to communicate something David could not pick up on. A look he suddenly felt like he had seen before.
“That day at the hospital,” David turned to Ilya, all the pieces suddenly falling into place. “You were so distraught.”
Ilya pressed his lips together, and it was Shane who reached out to him this time, placing a hand on his forearm.
“I had no news for almost two days,” Ilya said, a light tremble to his voice, as if it had just been yesterday. “I couldn’t go to visit, I had no one I could ask.”
Yuna let out a worried sigh. “Oh, you poor thing, that must have been so hard.”
“Nobody knows about us,” he placed his own hand on top of Shane’s. “I went to coach for updates but he was quite annoyed about how often I asked, so I stopped.”
David took a deep breath. Of course. Ilya had been such a mess, those kinds of nerves could only come from a place of love.
“I couldn’t wait any more ,I convinced coach to let me miss practice and fly back later to Boston under excuse of wanting to make good impression from team when Shane woke up.” He swallowed. “But I was going crazy in that hotel room.”
David reached out to hold his own wife’s hand. He couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to know she was hospitalized but not be able to see her or get any updates.
“That day,” he turned to David, his voice lighter now, a small smile drawing on his lips. “I had to beg the hospital receptionist to tell me Shane’s room number. It was very pathetic, Russians do not beg.”
All four of them burst into laughter, a welcome sound that finally broke the remaining tension that had been hanging in the room.
Something suddenly clicked in David’s memory.
“The following morning, that was you in Shane’s room?”
Everyone at the table turned their heads at him, with an expression of shock and confusion.
“I never told any of you,” he turned to his wife with an apologetic smile, “It’s my turn to apologize for keeping a secret.”
His wife nudged him to continue talking as Shane and Ilya looked at each other, clearly confused.
“I woke up early the next morning and drove over to the hospital to see you, Shane. But when I looked through the room’s window, I saw you weren’t alone, but I couldn’t see who was sitting there with you. I saw a pair of men’s shoes, that’s all.”
His son looked at him, his brow furrowed “So, you— you knew? About me? All this time?”
“I had a hunch,” David clarified. “But I knew it was up to you if you wanted to share that with me. With us.”
Shane let out the breath he’d been holding, relieved. At the same time, Yuna let out a loud gasp, turning everyone’s heads in her direction.
“The nurse!” she exclaimed.
“What?” all three men asked.
Yuna burst into laughter as the rest of the table looked at each other, wondering if they’d missed something.
“Your nurse,” she turned to Shane, still laughing. “She pulled me aside and told me you’d had an unexpected visitor.”
“So much for patient-doctor confidentiality,” Shane mumbled, rolling his eyes.
“She told me it happened the morning after you woke up. And well, I knew that Rozanov, sorry, Ilya, had spoken to your father the morning before, so I just presumed she got the days mixed up.”
“You’re telling me I’ve been keeping this secret and there’s a nurse in Montréal who knows even more than me?” David joked.
They all laughed, and finally, all weight had been lifted. There was no tension left in the room. For the first time in a long time, everyone was on the same page.
It was getting late, and Yuna convinced the boys to stay over for dinner. They chit-chatted, attempted to make up for time lost, and although everything mostly went well, David had a feeling that his son was still somewhat overwhelmed.
His wife, who could read him so much better than he ever had, noticed immediately and stepped outside with him, leaving David alone with Ilya once again.
“Can I just say, Ilya” David started, watching as the other man met his eyes. “I’m so happy it’s you.”
Ilya nodded, like he understood every word but something was escaping him.
“You do not hate me?” he asked, what seemed to be only half jokingly. That boyish fear that David had seen once before creeping up beneath his usual confidence.
“No, Ilya,” David reassured him. “There was a time where I thought I did. But then I met you.”
Ilya looked up, meeting David’s eyes with a hopefulness he recognized.
“That day in the hospital, everything made sense to me. The rivalry, the whole Hollander vs Rozanov thing, I realized it was fabricated.” He took a breath. “You reminded me so much of him.” He nodded towards the outside of the cottage, where Shane was talking with his mother.
“I worried about him,” David said, lowering his voice. “He has a lot of pressure on him, a lot of that coming from himself. I worried that he wouldn’t find somebody who could understand that.”
“As you know, hockey is such a big part of his life. Whoever he met, would have to be able to understand that and willing to share his attention like that.”
Ilya nodded, offering David a soft smile in return.
“It can be lonely, at the top. And there is no one who better understands that than you.”
“Me and Shane, we want the same things,” Ilya said. “Winning cups, of course, but also a life outside of hockey. Together.”
“I still won’t cheer for Boston,” David joked, “Ottawa maybe, we’ll see. But I just want you to know, you’re welcome in this family.”
“Thank you,” Ilya responded, blinking away tears.
The front door opened and closed, and before they could say anything else, Shane was standing in front of them.
“What are you guys talking about?” he asked, eyes darting between them.
David tried to come up with an appropriate response, but Ilya beat him to it.
“Your weak backhand,” he said, causing Shane to roll his eyes and let out a grunt.
“He has a point, Shane…” David added, giving Ilya a quick wink and a smile.
Shane threw up his arms in desperation. “Can we not do this?”
“You’re right, it’s time for dessert.” Yuna chimed in, kissing her son on the cheek. “Ilya, come help me in the kitchen, I need someone tall and strong.”
“Mom!” Shane exclaimed, “Not you too!” But no amount of exasperation could hide the fact that it was obvious he was thankful about how easily they had fallen into such domesticity.
David laughed, gesturing for his son to come sit down with him. He felt that for the first time in a long time, that everything was in its place.
All the cards were out on the table, and it was a great hand.