Archive of Our Own

David Hollander was used to being the steady one in his family. Yuna had always been… excitable. And Shane was delicate. Someone needed to be the rock. He was used to it. He loved his family. He found Yuna’s rants funny, and he adored their quirky son. It had never been a burden. But Yuna was driving him up the wall.

Obviously, it was worse for her, but she was hardly sleeping. In two days, she’d read a book about supporting your adult queer child and one about how to build a community if your family rejected you for coming out. When David held it up, mystified, she said, “Shane picked Ilya, we have to pick him too. They’ve been together for years. His family is Russian, David, they’re not going to be supportive.” He didn’t argue.

She knew everything about the Russian penal system and kept telling him horrible facts. She also knew everything about getting citizenship in the U.S. and Canada. He listened patiently to everything she passed on to him. Finally, the night before they were going to the game and would see the boys, David got out her melatonin gummies and held out the bottle.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Honey, you look like you haven’t slept in two days,” he said, which was the exact situation. “Shane’s anxiety ramps up when he sees other people are anxious and the cameras will be on his booth if we’re there. So, you need sleep.”

“Yeah,” she said. Then she said, “I just want to be prepared.”

“I know. I get it. We’ll be there for them but there is only so much preparation you can do. Sleep is one step of preparation that you need.”

Melatonin always knocked Yuna out, and David held her close, planning out the next day. The day shot by. He left work early to hit the store. He had texted Shane, making sure his puttanesca bianco didn’t break any diet rules Ilya had to follow. Shane had replied, “Ilya’s diet is just to bulk at all times because he’s naturally skinny. He’s way easier than me: dairy, meat, simple carbs, he eats it all.”

David got regular pasta and the chickpea pasta that Shane ate. He also got a nice loaf of whole-grain bread to make garlic bread. Shane would have one slice as long as he made it with olive oil instead of butter. Ilya could eat a lot of it. He put everything in a cooler. They would park at Shane’s, but he didn’t want to go upstairs when Ilya might not be mentally prepared for them. David was used to handling the emotions of people who needed gentle handling, and he didn’t want to startle Ilya when he wasn’t ready for them.

They drove to Montreal with Yuna researching to calculate how much Ilya was getting paid. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“He’s going to be a free agent come July and I think he should be switching to Ottawa.”

“You,” he said, feeling shocked, “you, Yuna Hollander, think a player should abandon the team that drafted him?”

“I think it can take almost twenty years to get citizenship in America — even for a celebrity. It’s three to five years in Canada.”

“He’s a restricted free agent,” David reminded her. Ilya could renegotiate his contract, but moving was incredibly difficult before you had been in the League for seven years.

“Yeah, he might have to grovel to the owners,” she nodded with a grim face.

“Honey, he knows how much he gets paid. Stop doing mental math. He’ll tell you if he wants you to know.”

The game was good, not great. Shane was wonderful, scoring a hat trick. It was a game against Pittsburgh, and it was a shutout and not that exciting. They were put up on the Jumbotron, and they waved. The Jumbotron cut to Shane, sitting on the bench. He waved back with a grin. It was nice to watch Shane shine even if the game was lackluster. It always felt amazing to watch Shane in his element. They waited in the hall that led to the locker rooms, where family members were allowed to wait.

A bunch of the team came out, rowdy and happy. J.J. hugged Yuna, shouting, “Mrs. Hollander!”

“Hi, J.J., good game.”

“It was fine,” he shrugged. “We’re going out drinking. You coming?” he joked, making the guys he was with laugh.

“I’m cooking for Shane,” said David. “We haven’t seen him in a little while.”

“Shane can come too,” said J.J., making everyone laugh again. “You can bring him.”

A couple of minutes later, Shane came out with Hayden, and Hayden hugged both of them, as did Shane. “You guys meeting Boston Lily?”

David hadn’t heard that name, but he knew that the whole Scott Hunter fiasco had outed Shane to Hayden. He smiled and said, “Yeah, we’re going over to Shane’s so I can make dinner.”

Hayden nodded and said, “Cool, well, good luck.” He patted Shane’s back. “Love you, man.”

“Love you, Hayd, say hi to Jacki,” said Shane. Once it was just the three of them, he adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “Did you guys drive?” asked Shane as they all started walking toward the underground parking lot where the reserved parking was.

“No, we parked at your place and got a taxi,” said Yuna.

“You parked at my place?” he asked, eyes going wide.

“We haven’t met Lily. We just dropped the car,” David assured him. It was a slight maze of corridors to get to the car. They talked about the game, Shane’s three goals, how good he looked gliding over the ice.

Shane smiled, “Well, even when the game is boring, hockey is still phenomenal, y’know?”

“I hear you,” agreed David. “You made it worth watching.”

“Is Sorren okay? That one puck hit him weird and he did not look right for the rest of the game,” Yuna had a sixth sense about injuries. If she said Soren Miitka was injured, he probably was.

Shane shrugged. “He said he was fine. the medics couldn’t spot anything immediately. He is going for a more comprehensive check out.”

They got to Shane’s car, and Yuna said, “Range Rover said yes, by the way. So did Canada Dry. I’m still working through things with the others. And I don’t have details for Range Rover or Canada Dry.”

“But that’s cool,” said Shane.

“Yeah, pretty exciting,” she agreed.

As they climbed into the car, Yuna took the backseat, and David sat next to Shane and said, “We’re really excited to meet him, and we both love you so much. It’s really exciting to meet someone you care about.” He reached out to stroke Shane’s cheek.

Shane, who so rarely made eye contact, looked him in the eye as he said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” asked David, feeling lost.

“I was supposed to be a role model,” said Shane.

“Is dating code for murder nowadays?” David asked. Shane huffed. “Is Ilya your boyfriend or is he dealing you steroids?” Shane rolled his eyes. “Are you throwing games?” Shane just shook his head. “So, you’re two consenting adults with private lives. Nothing about this stops you from being a role model.”

As they left the parking lot, Shane said, “I’m worried you won’t like him. Because his sense of humor.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” said Yuna.

“One time I was late to meet you guys for lunch because I couldn’t stop laughing at an interview of his. And then I met up with you and you were so pissed at him, Mom, you didn’t find it find it funny at all.”

“What was it?” asked Yuna, sounding confused. David couldn’t remember either. Yuna was always pissed at something the man had said.

“Our rookie year, no one had ever media trained him. You put me through media training when I was still in the under eighteens. No one ever taught him what not to say. He made the mistake of actually giving them a number when they asked him how many goals he was going to score in the season. He said forty. Then, when we were halfway through the season he knew he would surpass forty and he wanted to push himself, wanted to make sure he was striving to be the best he could. Saying it out loud forces you to work for it. But, y’know, English was still hard for him, especially during interviews when there were a ton of microphones in his face. So when he was asked if he was standing by his forty goal prediction, he said a liar said he would score forty and he had said fifty. They were all too shocked to ask follow-ups. It was so funny: he fully committed to the bit. He’s always been so good at selling a joke with a deadpan look. Even when he could speak about a hundred words of English, he could tell a joke. But, not everyone finds him funny, and I think that’s sad, because he’s the funniest person I know.”

“Okay, so if he says something that makes me have the kneejerk reaction of thinking he’s an asshole, I will remind myself that he’s a nice boy and I’m just missing the joke. Deal?” she asked.

“Okay, deal,” agreed Shane.

At the condo, Shane helped David carry up the groceries. Opening his front door, he called, “Hey, we’re here.”

Ilya Rozanov came to meet them. He was wearing one of Shane’s flannel shirts and a pair of jeans. None of these kids were ever out of athleisure unless they were dressed for clubbing. David wondered if this was his best attempt at looking respectable for parents.

It was like seeing a ghost. The young man was holding himself so rigidly, hands clasped in front of him. He was smiling very politely at them. But his position was braced for being struck verbally or physically. He was ready for impact. All David could see was Yuna, almost thirty years ago, scared shitless of meeting his parents.

David hadn’t been scared to meet her dad. David had brought him a good bottle of sake, put on nice clothes and expected to be liked. Watching her with his parents had led him down a research rabbit hole (long before YouTube) about the way kids in the East interacted with their parents vs. the way kids in the West did — the way family and responsibility were viewed. He had been grateful his minor was in psychology because he was dating a complicated woman, and he wanted to marry her someday. Understanding her enough to not step on landmines was step one in the process.

“Hi,” said Ilya softly.

“Ilya,” said David with a smile, “it’s great to finally meet you. I’m David.” He held out a hand to shake.

“Hello,” said Ilya, politely nodding as he shook his hand.

Yuna said, “Hi, we almost met, once, in an elevator. I’m Yuna.”

“Yes, after the CCM commercial. I remember,” he agreed, shaking her hand.

“I’m shocked you remember that,” she said.

He shrugged, “Any time I got to spend time with Shane, is burned into memories.”

David said, “I’m going to start cooking. I know you have an early flight.”

“That’s very thoughtful,” said Ilya, still stilted. He sounded loose and amused when talking to reporters. Now he was definitely scared. “Good job on game, Shane, you were good.”

The open plan meant they were all in the dining room and kitchen together. It wasn’t a meal David needed help with, but he liked the company. Everyone got drinks and settled at the breakfast bar, Shane between Yuna and Ilya.

“Sory it wasn’t more of a show,” agreed Shane, making the young man laugh.

“Pike’s assist was impressive,” said Ilya, like he was searching for something to be nice about.

“It’s fine to say it was a boring game,” said Shane. “I was bored and I was playing.”

“So boring, and not in the good way,” agreed Ilya. “But you were good. And you were amazing with the press.”

“You did press?” asked Yuna.

“Not a conference, just the line before the game. They asked if Ilya and I actually cared about our games, if we took it seriously. I said it was like being twelve and your best friend from school is on a different team and then you get to play against each other. It’s so exciting because you get to test who is the best, see how the other one has improved, get bragging rights that you can rub in the other person’s face. I said that Boston is my favorite team to play because I get pushed the hardest and I feel like I’m always bringing my A game. And I said that the scoring race matters to both of us because we have our own non-monitory, personal wager going and I’m not losing to him. I added that the consequence sucks this season. I said we agree on it before the start of the season every year and the dread mounts as we get closer to the play offs.”

David was facing the oven, getting two pots of water boiling, so he couldn’t see the man, but he heard the laughter in Ilya’s voice when he asked, “What’s the consequence of losing the scoring race?”

“When the press asked, I said that was private,” said Shane. Ilya laughed, sounding delighted. “I guess we could think of one. They had a lot more questions, but I got pulled for the game. After the game, couch didn’t want me for the sit down. I guess he wanted it to be about the game, not me and Ilya.”

David got a cutting board to put on the island so he could dice up a ton of garlic while facing his family. “Y’know, I love a love story. So, when did you kids get together?”

Shane half blanched, and Ilya’s face tightened, “Oh, well, that’s um complicated. It was um… circuitous?” He went from being too pale to blushing.

“Wow, wow, Shane,” said David. “I’m not asking if you were friend with benefits.”

Shane’s face contorted in horror, “Who taught you that phrase?”

“Mila Kunis and Justin Timberlake,” said David. “It was a cute movie.”

“Okay, well, stop saying it,” said Shane, looking panicked.

“Okay,” said David. “I’m just asking when you guys felt sparks. I’m asking for a watercolor, not a diagram, if you’re okay with it.”

Shane still looked horrified. Ilya put a hand on the back of Shane’s neck and squeezed it gently, “Well, for me it was from the first time we met. I had never been to a place that spoke English so exclusively. And we were in the place with the horrible name no one can say.”

“Saskatchewan,” Shane supplied.

“Yes,” Ilya nodded, “no one can say. And I understood more English than I could speak. I could write more English than I could understand by listening. And I could read more English than I could write. So being here, where people kept speaking to me in English… it was overwhelming. And people thought I was an idiot because I couldn’t understand or find the words to reply. And they would slow down their words. That doesn’t help. Over pronouncing words just makes them unrecognizable to someone who is still learning English. It’s like…” he turned to Shane, “the movie with the fish where the blue tang says she speaks whale but really she just talks English slowly? Pike’s kids must watch it?”

“Of course you remember that Dory is a blue tang but can’t remember it’s Finding Nemo,” said Shane. “You and your nature documentaries.”

Ilya shrugged, “It’s a children’s movie. I babysit Cliff’s kids. They like it. I like the cute animals not the plot.”

Shane laughed. “I’m sorry people made it harder.”

Ilya smiled at him, then turned back to David as David made garlic bread and put it in the oven. Ilya squared his shoulders as he readied himself to speak. David realized the young man was tense and delivering it like a mission report. “I had done all my research on my competition. I knew Shane Hollander was a hockey machine who was unfriendly, unsociable, didn’t talk to people and didn’t like anyone. So, I knew my job was to crush him. I was feeling worn out and frayed, and I went and found myself an isolated corner of the parking lot to have a cigarette without my coaches finding me. And Shane Hollander — the unfriendly machine — came up to me. And in a very measured, even way, he said, ‘Ilya Rozanov? I’m Shane Holander. I wanted to introduce myself.’ It was almost, ‘You Tarzan, me Jane.’ But it was so nice and evenly paced that I understood all of it. Then he shook my hand. And that was so nice and not robot-like. And he had beautiful freckles and a friendly smile. Then he said something fast that meant something like, ‘You can’t smoke here.’ I don’t know exactly. But he mimed smoking and pointed to the no-smoking sign as he said it. It wasn’t condescending; it was helpful. It was the first time someone was helpful. And I thought… every time I made a joke, people thought I just didn’t know what they were saying; they thought I was too stupid to be making jokes. But Shane seemed nice. So, I looked at the sign, looked at Shane, took a drag, and said, ‘Okay,’ and Shane laughed.”

Now, Shane laughed again, remembering it, “Yeah, I said, ‘I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke here.’ And you crushed, ‘Are you a cop?’ into one word.”

“I really needed a cigarette, Shane. And then you very clearly and evenly said, ‘You’re an awesome player to watch.’ And I thought, ‘Well, he’s already laughed at one joke,’ So I agreed. I nodded and said, ‘Yes.’ And you laughed again.”

Shane laughed, “You’re so cocky.”

“Yeah, but I’m so much fun to watch. And then you leaned against the wall for a minute and I tried to think of anything to say but I just couldn’t put a sentence together fast enough and after about a minute, you said something very fast while pointing away that was clearly about leaving and you offered me your hand again, which was nice cause it go me up close to your freckles again. You started to leave and I’d gotten the sentence organized in my head and as you walked way I said-”

Shane interrupted him, “‘You will not be so nice when we beat you.’ And I started laughing again, even as I told you that wasn’t how it would go down.”

“Yes, I got three laughs all three times I opened my mouth from the boy the internet said would be mean. And the internet didn’t say you had freckles. And then I promised to see you in the Finals. So, I had to win my two last games to make sure I could keep my promise and beat you.”

“Promise? Promise? That was a threat,” said Shane, grinning widely.

“No, I was showing off for you, like peacock,” said Ilya. “You were so pretty and nice. And I was so cool.”

“You were so dorky.”

“No… Then I went home to Russia and paid no attention to any of school because all I did was study English. I needed to be ready for the Draft.”

“It was December you had almost a full year until September when you would meet your team,” said Shane. “And you’re brilliant; your English was going to be fine.”

“No, I had until June when there would be the actual Draft, and I could chat with you. Then you were in such a bad mood.”

“I wanted to be picked first,” said Shane with a pout.

“The Raiders had first pick. You didn’t want to be a Raider. You were the first pick for your first pick,” Ilya said.

“I’m sorry I was a brat to you. You kept bumping my hand when they were taking the pictures and I was so overwhelmed.”

“I wanted our hands touching in the picture.”

“Is that what you were doing? I thought you were just being obnoxious,” said Shane.

“No, if I knew your face then like I know it now… you were overwhelmed and wanted out so badly. I was just so excited to be there with you.”

“That event was… more than one of the owners assured me that they didn’t even care that I was Asian and that they were a team that loves breaking boundaries.” Ilya made a disgusted noise. “So many people kept touching me. There was so much going on, and I couldn’t process any of it.”

“Back then, I thought you looked sad and angry. Now,” Ilya shrugged. “I’d probably say, ‘Oh, there’s really interesting historical picture in lobby Hollander has to see. I will show him. We’ll be back.’ And I would get you to the quiet lobby bar for a ginger ale.”

Shane smiled, “Yeah, that’s now. Then, I just had to white knuckle it.”

“It was scary, but you were brave,” agreed Ilya. “You got through. And, as reward, you got to go to gym with me.”

Shane seemed to suddenly remember they weren’t alone, and he said to David, “We, um, that night in the gym, we kinda… we messed about on the bikes, overdoing it and showing off. Going way too hard. When we finally gave up, Ilya had to share his water bottle because I hadn’t brought one, and then we talked about our future in the League and how frequently we would get to see each other while bumping our feet together. That was a great night. That was when I felt sparks.”

“I can’t believe it took you that long,” Ilya shook his head, but his voice was definitely teasing. “I was already studying English for you.”

“You needed that for your job anyway,” Shane laughed.

Ilya studied Shane’s face then said to David, “What made it go from sparks to fully gone was the most disastrous press conference ever. A man asked a question that just went on and on and then said, ‘Ilya will answer then Shane.’ I didn’t know what the question was. Then Shane bumped my foot with his, and said he would prefer to answer first if I didn’t mind. He saved me and gave a long personal answer so I could jokingly say, ‘Ditto.’”

“It was a stupid question,” said Shane. “It was really long and it boiled down to, ‘How responsible are rookies for winning the Cup?’ But he made it a solid four sentences.”

“It’s rookie’s job not to vomit when they realize how many people are watching them every game,” said Ilya. “Rookies are puppies.”

“Yeah, I dressed it up and said something nicer, but you’re right,” said Shane. “I saw your face. I wasn’t going to let you struggle. I don’t know when I went from sparks to love… for me it was gradual. Sorry.”

Ilya shook his head, “You always need time to think things over and process and feel. Is okay. You just needed a second. You caught up.”

“I caught up,” agreed Shane.

David looked at them, smiling at each other like conspirators. It was adorable. David thought of all the years he had spent worrying that Shane was all alone. Now he was watching two young men bump shoulders, talking about years for memories, and he said, “Thank you, boys, for sharing. That’s a really beautiful love story.” The water had boiled, and he added the chickpea pasta to one pot and the regular one to the other as he started to make the sauce for the puttanesca bianco.

Yuna leaned around Shane to look at Ilya, “So, Sochi is coming up. I can’t imagine how complicated your feelings are.” The boy grimaced. “There’s such a huge disconnect between the West and the East,” she said, sounding reflective. “I was young when I realized my family was different than my Canadian classmates. I realized that my classmates didn’t interreact with their parents the way did. And there were a lot of expectations and responsibilities — concepts of honor — for me that there weren’t for my classmates. As I got older, when I would talk to friends, they would think my stories were either weird, or foreign or… I would tell a story and they would say it was abusive.” She shrugged. “Cultures are so different. My dad wanted what was best for me. He wanted me to achieve my best and he pushed me. But from a Western point of view, the ways he did that, weren’t okay. But from an Eastern standpoint he was doing his best, especially as a man of his generation. And it’s weird ‘cause I loved my dad but I didn’t like him… I was relieved he died while I was pregnant because I didn’t want him to meet Shane. David and I wanted to raise Shane as a pure Canadian. We didn’t want Shane to have all that shame and responsibility and self-doubt that can feel so intrinsic to an Eastern identity engrained into him… I’m not an athlete, but I can’t imagine what it would feel like to have to go back to compete in Japan. So, are you okay?”

He seemed to be picking words, thinking carefully, “You did good job making Shane Canadian. He asked how excited I was about the Olympics being in Russia.” He gave a small, dry laugh. He said, “Sometime teammates think I’m weird or I make them sad. People talk about stupid things they bought with signing bonus. It’s funny things: jet skis, crowns, pedigree puppies. I was seventeen when I signed. Papa had my bank account. He bought a house, gave my brother money that he spent on drugs and paid my rent. Then it was all gone. There were no puppies for me; Papa’s house is beautiful. My career is for my family. Cliff Marleau got upset about my bank account and made it all mine when I was nineteen. Now I give Papa money.”

“I put the downpayment on both my condos,” said Shane. “Two is a lot of condos. I’m sorry I kept talking about the Olympics.”

Ilya nodded, “Is going to suck. And it’s Sochi: it’s twenty hours from home. I can’t sleep in my own bed in my apartment in Moscow. Of my friends, only Svetlana will come because her father is government minister. Being in Russia is not home advantage it is home pressure. When we get to gold medal-game President Putin may be in arena. There isn’t an option: I have to win. But coaches won’t help. I’ve watched everyone on team’s tapes. I know their moves. But I don't know how they will be together. We've had just a few times to train and when I ask for basic team building activities I get told it’s American touchy-feely nonsense. Like the North Americans aren’t the ones with all the medals. I’m going to have to drag that team to the gold. Is going to suck, Shane. But Svetlana will be there.”

“Is Svetlana a good friend?” asked Yuna.

“Yeah, she gets it. Her dad is Sergi Vetrov. He is great goalie. Was a Raider. He was a Russian Olympian.”

“He’s in the Hall of Fame,” said Yuna.

Ilya nodded, “Yes, he was amazing. He is also really great dad. I think… living in America made him… Svetlana was born in America and people say she’s spoiled and loud because he didn’t hit her enough. Now, he is government minister. If you bring honor for Russia, when your visa runs out for you get government job.”

“Do you want that?” asked Yuna.

Ilya snorted, “No. If Papa weren’t alive I would never go to Russia again. Svetlana splits her time between Russia and Boston. She could leave flowers at my mama’s tomb for me. But getting a green card for America is hard, getting citizenship is harder. So.” He clicked his tongue and shrugged as if to say, “that’s that.”

“I’m going to overstep,” she said.

“Mom,” said Shane, a soft warning.

She nodded, “I know, I know. But I didn’t sleep for two nights after Scott Hunter’s stunt. I had to knock myself out last night with melatonin. I know far too much about immigration and the Russian penal system.”

“Not as much as Shane knows about Russian penal systems,” said Ilya, clearly trying to lighten the mood, but Shane looked horrified.

“Ilya,” he hissed, “don’t make dick jokes to my mother.”

“Shane, it was funny,” David assured him.

“It was funny,” echoed Yuna. “Everything I learned about Russia’s anti-gay laws isn’t. That’s scary.”

“Yes,” agreed Ilya.

“Canada takes less than five years, potentially even four and Ottawa is in the middle of a five-year rebuild plan you could be the cornerstone of that. And before you say they’re a terrible team, the reason the Raiders had first pick in the draft was because they were dead last in the league and they haven’t won the Cup in over a decade. They’re good because you’re there. You can help build the Centaurs into a winning team. And ninety-nine times out of a hundred I would never, ever suggest leaving the team that drafted you. But… Russia. Your contract is up at the end of June. You won’t be an unrestricted free agent. You won’t be able to switch teams easily. But, would you be interested in changing countries?” he nodded silently. “Would you like my advice or should I be quiet?”

“I would appreciate advice. I rarely get advice, I get orders. I won’t go home to Russia again once Papa is gone and… Papa isn’t well.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Yuna. “I know that’s difficult. So, to get to Ottawa, when you go home tomorrow you request a meeting with management and you say you know you can’t get American citizenship during the length of your career. You say you can’t stop thinking about how you don’t want a future in Russia. Does anyone know you have a romantic partner in Canada?”

“A few of the guys know about ‘the Montreal girl,’” he nodded. “I smile too much at my phone.”

“Good. I’m glad there’s a social record,” she nodded. “Ask to be traded to Ottawa before your contract runs out. You tell them you and your Montreal girl have gotten serious and exclusive but obviously you would never, ever want to go to the Metros. You point out that Ottawa sucks and aren’t a threat to the Raiders as the Raiders are cohesive and the Centaurs are a mess. With all the press around Sochi — the anti-gay laws, the potential doping, the wild dog culling — the anti-Russia sentiment is probably higher than it’s been since the Cold War. But there’s no anti-Russian citizen sentiment. People feel badly for Russians living with a difficult government. I think management would love to see themselves as your saviors who get to rescue you by trading you to a Canadian team. Can you cry on demand?”

“No,” Ilya shook his head.

“Okay, well, a plea for citizenship, a desire to be closer to your girlfriend, a request to be traded to a bad team before your contract is up? They’ll give it to you. It will save them drama and bad press and they can get a couple of players and some better draft picks in exchange for Ottawa picking up the remainer of your contract. Then, when it comes time to renegotiate your contract, you get a ‘no trade’ clause added so that you get to stay at Ottawa for as long as you want to be there.”

“I would never leave Canada if I could,” said Ilya with conviction.

The man was cozied up, shoulder to shoulder, with Shane. Looking at them, David got the feeling that maybe he meant he wouldn’t leave Shane. Just a few days ago, it would have seemed impossible that the two were so close. Now, seeing them together, he didn’t know how anyone didn’t see it. And now that he was here, David wanted him to stay.

David Hollander was used to being the steady one in his family. As he started to dish up the food and watched the boys together, he realized that he had one more person to be steady for. Just like his wife and son, Ilya had his own quirks and picadilloes. And, just like with Yuna and Shane, David was ready to figure it all out to help make Ilya’s life easier. Life was hard enough for a closeted Russian hockey player without added obstacles. David was going to be a rock for his family.