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Ilya Rosanov hates Will Smith. Shane is acutely aware of this, thanks to the fact that Ilya mentions it at the barest provocation. After years of patiently asking for a legitimate reason for his husband’s hatred of their son’s best friend and linemate and getting only ridiculous responses in return (Shane isn’t sure why he’s surprised, but he is), Shane has given up asking and instead greets every complaint with a half-hearted defense and a loving suggestion to get the fuck over it.
“You laugh now, but he will become problem someday,” Ilya warns. “Then, you will be sorry and I will say ‘told you so’.”
Shane raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “How is Will going to be a problem?”
Privately, Shane really likes Will. He’s not only a great player, but he’s been a great friend to his son for years. Though he has an intensity of his own, Will softens Macklin a bit while also continuing to challenge him. Where Macklin is bouncing off the walls, breaking windshields and always ready for a fight, Will is careful and discerning. Unfortunately for Will, this leads to him taking the brunt of Mack’s force and, occasionally, getting his windshield broken.
Shane is hopeful that a bit of Will’s calm will rub off on Macklin eventually, but he’s not confident based on what he’s seen so far. Part of him feels guilty for even having the wish, considering Macklin would’ve picked it up from him if he was around more often in Mack’s earlier years.
When Shane and Ilya decided it was time for them to grow their family, they were both still playing for the Ottawa Centaurs, coming off their fifth Stanley Cup together and thinking hard about how they wanted their future to look. It terrified Shane initially when they realized that they weren’t aligned on their next move.
“We are old.” Ilya rolled his eyes at the murderous look Shane gave him. “I am old. And tired. I do not want to be like Scott Hunter, playing until I am skeleton. We win Ottawa five cups. Is enough for me. I want something different.”
Shane also wanted to start the next chapter of his life with Ilya. He wanted birthday cakes with too few candles and to be woken up early on Christmas morning. He wanted to wrap his and Ilya’s world around something bigger than them, to nurture and love someone through the process of life the way his parents did for him. Sure, he was terrified. He realized having a child would mean kissing any sense of control goodbye.
“You never stop worrying,” Yuna had warned him. “It’s not torture. Well, not most of the time. But you’re always thinking about ways you can protect them. Even when they’re old enough to start protecting themselves.”
But even so, Shane knew he was ready. There was a time in his life when he was worried he’d never have kids because of who he is. By the time this conversation rolled around, he had realized it wasn’t just a possibility, but a part of the plan. There was only one issue.
“I don’t think I do,” Shane admitted. “Not in that way. Not entirely. I want to start a family with you, but hockey is still my life. I don’t think I’m done yet.”
In the end, they decided to do what was best for themselves and for their family. Shane continued on with the Centaurs for four more seasons, winning another Cup before deciding to hang up his jersey for good. In the meantime, Ilya retired and used his newly abundant free time to focus on their family and become a full-time dad.
The adoption process was hell, even with the privileges their wealth and status allowed them, but every arduous trial they were forced to deal with was completely forgotten the moment Shane and Ilya held Macklin in their arms for the first time.
Those first few years were tough for them. The summers were a great respite, holed up at home or in the cabin, playing in the yard and watching their son grow up before their very eyes. But that’s only three months out of the year, less than that when you factor in off-ice training in July and August. Shane was gone so often that at times it felt like Ilya was raising Macklin by himself, especially in those early years when Mack was too young to travel. Macklin had become something entirely new every time Shane saw him. And as he got older, it saddened Shane to see so little of himself reflected in his son.
There was a silver lining, though. Watching the way Ilya raised Macklin showed Shane a glimpse of how Ilya was raised. The good parts, the parts Ilya was excited to share with their son. Watching Macklin adopt Ilya’s loud, boisterous laugh, his snarky and deadpan sense of humor, his kindness and generosity. It more than made up for the ways Macklin was different from him.
Could Shane have done without Macklin emulating Ilya’s spending habits, sugar cravings, temper, and propensity to mutter Russian swear words under his breath? Yes, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Ilya crosses his arms stubbornly. “He is terrible influence.”
“Our son taunts people from the penalty box.”
“What is wrong with being funny?”
“He breaks more sticks on purpose than he does on accident.”
Ilya waves Shane off, suddenly needing to tend to his sauce. “Our son is perfect. If you have issues, that is your fault.”
Shane rolls his eyes and returns his attention back to the cucumber he’s chopping. It’s a few days after Macklin’s birthday and he and Will are in town to visit and celebrate. Will is heading back to Massachusetts later today and Shane suggested that they prepare a send-off lunch before he leaves for his flight. Ilya, proclaiming this a celebration, insisted on making David’s famous chicken parm. Instead of helping, Shane is making a salad that he doubts Ilya will even look at.
“I’m just saying. You’re a worse influence on him than Will is.”
A loud, dramatic gasp sounds from behind Shane and suddenly Ilya’s standing at his side, looking scandalized. “Me? He is the one giggling with him during interviews and distracting him on bench.”
“Our perfect son can get distracted?”
Ilya’s eyes narrow into slits. “I want divorce. I get custody.”
Shane only shrugs, used to the threat. “Macklin’s not going anywhere without Pork.”
“What’s happening with Pork?”
Macklin and Will appear in the entryway of the kitchen, sweaty and out of breath. Macklin has an old soccer ball tucked under his arm.
“Your father is threatening to leave me and take you with him,” Shane informs him.
Macklin doesn’t skip a beat. “I go wherever Pork goes.”
Will can’t help but chuckle. “That’s still such a stupid name, dude.”
Shane and Macklin wear matching frowns. Ilya, the loudest naysayer of Pork’s name and general existence, goes suspiciously quiet. It doesn’t escape Shane’s attention. “Unfortunately, Ilya agrees with you.”
“Mr. Rosanov to you.”
Will gives Ilya a sideways glance. “I didn’t even say your name yet.”
Ilya returns Will a cruel gaze. “Let us keep it this way, yes?”
Anya trots into the kitchen, stretching out languidly and shaking off the nap she just took. Ilya reaches a hand down instinctively to accept licks and nuzzles, but Anya passes by Ilya without a second glance. Instead, she sits at Will’s feet, looking up at him expectantly. It’s all Shane can do not to laugh as Will reaches down and scratches Anya behind the ears, oblivious to the irate glare Ilya trains on him. Macklin isn’t nearly so slick, chuckling and barely covering his face to hide it.
The second Anya flops onto her side and starts whining for belly rubs, Ilya whistles high and sharp. Within seconds, Anya is on her feet and at Ilya’s side, unaware of the betrayal she’s just perpetrated.
“Lunch will be ready in a few minutes,” Shane manages to say through the laughter. “You boys go wash up.” Macklin practically drags Will out of the kitchen, snickering to himself. Shane hears the clamor of their hurried footsteps on the stairs as they disappear to Mack’s room. It’s silent in the kitchen for a moment– until Shane can’t resist. “Anya seems to like Will just fine.”
“She is confused. She is getting old. I am worried.”
Shane just shakes his head and carries on with his salad. A few minutes later, Ilya finishes plating the food and wipes his hands off on a dish towel. “I will get Mack and his unfortunate friend.” Ilya pecks Shane’s cheek on his way out of the kitchen and disappears up the stairs.
Not long after, Shane hears a scream of horror. “What the fuck?!”
Shane nearly drops the glass bowl he’s holding, his heart jumping into his stomach and racing a mile a minute. He takes the stairs three by three, rushing into the first open door to find Ilya staring at a stunned Macklin and Will where they sit on the floor. Shane’s eyes scan for threats or injuries. Nothing broken, no blood. He forces himself to take a deep breath. “What happened?”
Ilya points straight at Will, whose face is flushed redder than Shane has ever seen it. “That monster has defiled our son!”
The confusion wipes any residual anxiety out of Shane’s system. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I can explain.” Macklin stands from his seat on the ground next to Will, a wild blush on his face as well. He runs a hand through his messy hair and the motion shifts his loose t-shirt, shifting it down an inch. Shane’s eyes widened at the small bruise blooming on his son’s collarbone.
“Please do. Quickly.”
Macklin moves to speak, but Ilya beats him to it. “Is ‘defile’ not English word? Is this one you do not know?”
Shane cuts Ilya with a look. “You need to rein it in.”
“I am not the problem here.”
Macklin huffs a heavy sigh. “Papa, it’s not that big of a deal.”
Ilya balks. “Not big deal? That you’re kissing the bane of my existence?” The Russian syllables slice the air in uneven, oblong pieces and Macklin’s shoulders slump impossibly lower. It’s a well-known fact in this household that when Ilya goes full Russian, the battle is already lost.
Shane doesn’t have the chance to feel sorry for Macklin before his husband's words finally reach him. “You were kissing Will?” Shane’s own Russian is only passable and not nearly as threatening as Ilya’s. To be fair, Ilya did have a three-decade head start.
“Not really!” Macklin rushes to correct. He pauses, thinking it over. “Well, yes, but it’s not what you think–”
“I think I just saw my son with a gremlin’s tongue down his throat.”
Macklin’s blush grows impossibly brighter. “It wasn’t down my throat. We were barely even touching each other this time.”
“Any touching is too much touching when it’s that asshole.”
Will gaze snaps up to Ilya’s. “Asshole? Are you still talking about me?”
Macklin winces before Ilya’s gaze can even find him again. His voice is cold and toneless. “You taught him Russian? Why not just kill me? Is less painful.”
Shane raises a hand between his husband and son, hoping to quell the storm before Will has the chance to observe a Russian screaming match. “This time? Mack, how long have you two been together?”
Macklin and Will both blanch at the question, shifting slightly away from each other. “We’re not,” Will corrects. “We were just practicing.”
The response stops both Shane and Ilya in their tracks. Ilya’s initial anger is downgraded to a confused frustration. “For what, theater camp?”
“To get better at it!” Macklin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose the way Shane does when Ilya tries to justify buying another car. “I just– Do you remember Stacey?” Shane nods. Stacey was a girl Mack met not long after moving to San Jose. The two dated briefly before splitting amicably, or that’s what Macklin had told them at the time. The look he’s giving Shane and Ilya tells him that there might be more to the story. “Things weren’t… I mean, they were good. She’s really cool. We just didn’t– Well, she didn’t–”
Will groans. “She dumped him because he’s a bad kisser.” He winces when Macklin punches him in the shoulder. He’s about to punch back before Shane cuts in.
“Boys, come on.”
“This does not make sense to me still.” Ilya crosses his arms, his expression more stern than outraged. “You tell us scheduling is too difficult. Why do you lie to us?”
Macklin gives Ilya a look, but just gets a confused shrug in response. “It’s embarrassing! I was planning on taking it to the grave.”
“But you tell Will?”
Macklin shrugs. “Well, yeah. It’s Will.”
Ilya buries his face in his hands. “I cannot do this. Shane, handle please.”
“So, Stacey broke up with you, so you… started kissing Will?” Though Shane can generally trace the thoughts, the logic still alludes him. He ignores the voice in the back of his head that tells him there’s no logic to be found.
“To practice,” Macklin reminds them. “I thought that if I got better at it, then I could win her back. And Will’s really good at it. Honestly, he’s better than Stacey.”
Will suddenly finds a spot of carpet incredibly interesting.
Shane blinks. “So, you enjoy kissing Will more than you enjoy kissing Stacey?”
Macklin frowns, turning the thought over. He glances at Will, catching his eye. Something passes between them that Shane can’t name, can hardly notice. Ilya peeks at them between his fingers, groans, and covers his face again. “I mean, yeah? Kinda? It’s less…”
“There’s less pressure,” Will supplies, seeming to come to the same conclusion. “We don’t have to think about it as much.”
Shane tries his best to tread carefully. “Would you say it felt more natural?”
Macklin snaps, nodding. “Yes! That’s the perfect word for it.”
“More natural than kissing girls?”
Will shrugs. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s kind of all the same, you know?”
Macklin buffers, then nods along. “...Yeah. It’s all the same.”
Shane pauses, unsure of how to continue. What are the ethics of telling your son that he might be kissing boys because he enjoys it? He glances at Ilya for support, but Ilya just rubs his temples and shrugs. He might be lost to Shane for the rest of the day.
“And you two are… good? This hasn’t changed anything between you?”
They both shake their heads. “It’s just practice, Dad. Really. It’s honestly not that crazy.”
Shane glances between Will and Mack, desperate to say something but having no idea what could possibly be said. After a moment of contemplation, Shane sighs heavily. “Okay. Food’s ready.”
Ilya’s eyes snap into focus, landing on Shane with a quizzical look. “Okay?”
“Did you have any words of wisdom you wanted to share?”
“Well, no, but–”
“Great. We’ve only got an hour before we have to drive Will to the airport. Would you like to eat or not?”
Ilya opens his mouth to reply before thinking better of it. He pouts, sending Will a quick glare before heading back to the kitchen. Will and Macklin follow after him, seemingly having a whole conversation with pointed looks and expressions. Shane takes a beat before leaving the room, breathing deeply and steadying himself.
“You never warned me about this, Mom.”
***
The rest of Will’s visit goes as smoothly as can be expected, at least from Macklin’s perspective. Conversation over lunch is a bit awkward at first, but the four of them quickly settle into the comfort of Papa’s cooking. They leave for the airport not long after and before Macklin knows it, he’s stepping out of the car to give Will a hug before he heads inside.
“Thanks for coming, dude.”
“Dude, of course! Happy birthday!”
Macklin hesitates for a beat, his hand coming up to scratch nervously at his neck. “I’m sorry about earlier with my dads. They totally overreacted.”
Will only chuckles at the memory. “No worries. It was my fault, anyway. I thought we had more time.”
Macklin nods. “You don’t think… It’s not weird that we’re doing this right? Like, it’s normal to practice like this?”
“I think so. I’ve done it before with other friends and no one has ever found it weird.” The knowledge sets Macklin at ease, but there’s a pang of something uncomfortable writhing underneath it. Will bumps his shoulder before he can examine it. “Besides, you really needed the practice.”
Macklin bumps him back, smiling. “Shut up, I wasn’t that bad.”
“You definitely were, but don’t worry. You’re way better now.”
It’s not an unusual comment. It’s not even particularly new for the two of them. But for some reason, this time it makes Macklin blush. He glances down at his shoes, hopeful that Will doesn’t notice. “I guess it’s paying off then.”
Later, Macklin lays on his bed, passing the old soccer ball he and Will played with earlier between his hands as he thinks through the past few days. That wasn’t the only time he and Will practiced while he was visiting, but for some reason, it feels like something changed in that moment. Maybe his parents’ reactions were getting to him, making him feel like he and Will were doing something wrong. Were they? He’s never told anyone about what they did together. Not because he’s ashamed, though maybe that could be a subconscious factor he never considered. He just felt that his sessions with Will were private. Sacred, almost. Just a friend helping another with something vulnerable and embarrassing.
Losing Stacey hurt. Her reasons for breaking things off only added insult to injury. Macklin felt like a total loser for weeks until he finally confided in Will and got his help. The first time they kissed was weird, a dry, awkward peck that had them both wincing and laughing at each other.
The second kiss was different. Natural, like his dad said. The second kiss made Macklin think that this could actually fix him. Now, he wonders if he’s just created more problems.
Macklin tosses the ball across the room with a groan and peels himself off the bed. Stewing in his confusion was only going to make matters worse. He needed a calm hand to still his frantic mind.
He finds Shane in the kitchen, methodically washing and drying the dishes from dinner. He looks up and smiles at Macklin when he walks up to him. Macklin instinctively smiles back, warmed from the inside out. “Need any help?”
Shane raises an eyebrow at his son, giving him the same once-over scan Mack has gotten a million times.
“Dad is like Baymax,” Ilya had joked once when Macklin was a kid. “Always scanning for danger.”
Shane had rolled his eyes at the comment at the time, but it made perfect sense. It still does. Macklin reaches for Ilya in times of motion. Loud victory celebrations, violent Mario Kart battles. Moments of pure kinetic energy. But when Mack needs stillness, when the world becomes altogether too much and he feels himself sinking, there are chats by the fire. There are action plans so detailed that Mack doesn’t have to think. There are silent hugs where others would try to shove in meaningless words. There’s Shane.
Shane smiles. “Yeah, thanks. You want to dry for me?”
Macklin nods and grabs a clean rag from the drawer, taking the spot next to his father and working quietly while he builds up the nerve to speak.
“Hey Dad? When did you start having feelings for Papa?”
When Macklin glances over, Shane is scrubbing at a greasy pan with a small smile on his face. “Honestly? I’m not really sure. Every time I think about it, I pick a moment earlier and earlier in our story.” Shane rinses the pan and passes it to Macklin. He meets his son’s curious gaze with a shrug. “I think a part of me knew the moment we met.”
“But you said Papa was an asshole when you met?”
Shane chuckles. “He still is.”
Macklin sets the pan aside to face his father properly. Shane frowns, likely upset that Mack is ruining his efficiency, but he says nothing. “So when did you realize you were interested in him in that way?”
A long silence stretches out as Shane’s eyes drift into the middle distance. Macklin is about to shake him back to consciousness when Shane speaks. “We talked one night after we did a CCM photo shoot together. We… got along better in private.”
His father’s suddenly clipped and nervous tone confuses Macklin, but he decides to push through it in favor of seeking his own answers. “And it felt different from, like… two friends getting along?”
Mack doesn’t meet his dad’s gaze, but he can feel the weight of it as it flicks to him, suddenly focused and lucid. He knows he shouldn’t be scared; he can talk to his dads about anything, but this feels especially hard for some reason. It feels consequential.
“In some ways. It’s not a completely different feeling. Also, you have to remember I was basically being paid to hate him. That made things a little more complicated.” Shane nudges Mack lightly but he doesn’t look up. Shane doesn’t wait for him to. Mack knows it’s just a reminder that he’s here. “But Ilya… Things were more specific when he was involved.”
Shane must know how confusing that sounds because when Mack is finally brave enough to look at him, he’s scrunching his nose up in contemplation. Mack jumps in to help. “Like, the feeling was more specific? Different for him than everyone else?”
“Kind of? I mean, yes. My feelings for your father are like nothing I’ve ever experienced, but it’s still love, right? Like what I feel for you and your grandparents. It’s just…” Shane has abandoned the plate in his hand, all of his focus drilling down into the daunting task of explaining such a complex feeling. After a few moments of thinking, the furrow in his brow softens and he turns to face his son properly. “It’s kind of like crunch time on the ice. You know how you get, like, tunnel vision during really tough games? Like everything blurs except for what’s explicitly necessary?”
Macklin scoffs. “Of course I do. You and Papa drilled it into me.”
“You’re damn right.” They both chuckle, a much-needed moment of levity. Shane continues with the dishes. “That’s what it feels like to love your father. Even when the rest of the world isn’t blurry. Even when I’m with a bunch of people I love, he’s in sharp focus. I think sometimes love is just being aware of someone. I’m more aware of Ilya than I am of anyone else in the world— besides you.”
Shane gives Macklin a sweet grin, but it falls off his face at the sight of Macklin’s pale stare.
He understands exactly what his father means. Being aware. Noticing someone. The whole world falling away except for one thing. A sliver of open net, a puck being passed to him. The person passing it. Mack always assumed it would feel foreign. Fireworks. Butterflies. He thought it would announce itself, or at the very least that he would notice it.
But he’s felt it before. He’s felt it all the time for years now.
A firm weight rests on Macklin’s shoulder and his head snaps up to meet Shane’s worried gaze. “You alright, Mack?”
He forces a smile. “Yeah, sorry. Just got distracted.”
Shane doesn’t look convinced, but instead of pushing it, he gives Mack’s shoulder a squeeze. “We should do a movie tonight. Anything you want.”
Macklin perks up. “Transformers One?”
The pain that twists Shane’s face pulls a laugh out of Macklin. “Again?”
“You said anything!”
Before Shane can argue, the front door opens and Anya’s happy barking fills the house. Shane takes the rag out of Macklin’s hand and spreads it on the counter near the kitchen entrance. Moments later, Anya bounds in, jumping up to put her paws on Macklin’s legs. He scratches behind her ears, which he thinks probably comforts him more than it does her.
Pork, who has thus far been watching Macklin bear his soul with little interest from underneath the dinner table, gets up and saunters out of the room– likely to get away from Anya. The plan backfires, though, because his movement catches Anya’s attention and she promptly ditches Mack to go bother her best friend/mortal enemy.
Ilya ambles into the kitchen not long after, dumping the armful of saliva and dirt-covered toys onto the counter without bothering to look. Macklin might’ve thought that the toys landed on the rag Shane had placed by pure accident before the conversation he just had. But he sees it now. The way Shane frowns, but still leans in to peck Ilya’s lips. The way Ilya rubs a comforting hand over Shane’s back and tension that Macklin hadn’t even noticed until that moment completely dissolves out of his body. He’s always loved his parents’ relationship, but it’s never felt this familiar before.
Or maybe it always has. Maybe that’s why he never noticed.
“I think I’m gay for Will.” The words are out of Macklin’s mouth before he can think twice about it.
Shane and Ilya stare at their son, their faces matching slates of shock until Ilya throws his hands up in frustration. “This is worst day of my life.”