Work Text:
2014
David never drinks this much.
Typically, he’s a one glass of vodka while he settles onto the couch with an episode of Jeopardy kind of guy.
But this calls for more. This calls for…David sighs, traces a thumb along his phone. He reads the text from Yuna again: I promise we’re okay honey. We can talk about it more when you get home.
What more is there to talk about? He’s not satisfying his wife. He knows it’s been a problem for awhile. He does. But having his wife sit him down with articles about…about domination…
God, he needs another drink.
“Are you okay?”
He glances up to see a guy who’s vaguely familiar, though he can’t place where he’s seen him before. It doesn’t help that he’s barely seeing him now. The bar is dimly lit and after this much vodka, David’s a little fuzzy.
Maybe the guy reminds him of an actor. He could be one. He probably isn’t, considering David’s business trip has brought him to Boston. It’s not like it’s a Hollywood hotspot.
But this guy…Jesus. He’s got curly blonde hair, a twinkle in his eye, and frankly ridiculous muscles. He kind of reminds David of himself when he was younger. Back when his body had no concept of a refractory period. Back when he could make his wife come over and over and she was satisfied enough to not forward him articles about how to please her.
David sighs.
“That bad?” The guy frowns, sitting down at the bar. He has an accent, David realizes. Russian maybe?
“Just some personal stuff,” David says. Okay, maybe he slurs it.
“Try me.”
“No, no, don’t worry about me. You should be out dancing, or—or on a date. Not listening to an old man’s marital troubles.”
The guy shrugs. “I’m bored. My friends are boring. All the girls here are boring. Entertain me, come on.”
“I’m pretty boring myself,” David admits.
The kid honest to God whines. “Come onnnnn, I want to hear your boring marriage problems.”
“Why?”
“My life…” He rubs his thumb over his gold chain. “Is not so good lately. Or ever, maybe. Then I see you and I think, well, it could be worse. I could be like that sad American man.”
David laughs. “I’m Canadian.”
This makes the guy’s eyes light up for some reason. “Even better! Boring Canadians are my favorite.”
“Oh yeah?”
“There is this girl I see sometimes. Canadian, very boring—until you get her in the bedroom.” He waggles his eyebrows. David feels his cheeks heat. He’s not the type to talk about sex. Ever. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe if he could just talk to someone, anyone… “Ah. These marriage problems…they are about sex?”
Damn, this guy’s perceptive. “I shouldn’t say.”
“Why not? I am a stranger. Who would I tell?” He flags the bartender down, orders two shots. David hasn’t done a shot in forever. He considers it for all of ten seconds before downing it, wincing.
“My wife…she…” David rubs the back of his neck. “We’ve been married a long time. I love her more than anything. But she wants…more in the bedroom.”
“More what?” The man doesn’t look phased. On the contrary, he’s acting like it’s completely normal to talk about sex with a stranger.
“Well, she wants me to…” He hesitates, but what damage could it do? Tomorrow, he’ll be on a plane back to Ottawa and he’ll never see this man again. “She wants me to try being more dominant.”
The Russian grins. “Oh, you have met the right person.”
Eventually, they migrate from the bar to a booth, drinks in hand. The Russian starts talking about his sex life in much more graphic detail than David would like to hear, but it’s certainly interesting.
“So I tell her she has to beg me to go down on her, yes? That I will not get on a dirty bathroom floor without her asking.”
David nods, trying to keep up. “And this is…after you’d gone six months ignoring her?”
“Yes,” he says nonchalantly. David can’t help but cringe. He hopes Shane treats women with more respect than this. Or, as he’s beginning to think lately, men. They deserve respect too though, right? “So I make her say it. I make her ask. And then, you know what I do once she’s batted her pretty eyes at me and begged?”
“You…perform cunnilingus?”
The Russian grins. “Nope. I tell her no.”
David balks. “No?”
“See, my girl, she is like yours. Let me guess, your wife…is she uptight? Career woman, obsessed with having control?”
“Dead on,” David says with a wistful sigh. That’s his Yuna. He’s only been gone for two days, but he misses her so much. He hates attending these conferences. He was never meant to be away from her.
“That’s why she wants you to tell her what to do. Everyday, she calls the shots. She wants someone else to make decisions for once.”
David sips his drink. When the guy puts it like that, it sounds a lot less daunting. Still, none of this is really adding up. “You ignored her for six months and then bossed her around because she’s…overwhelmed by work?” The kid shrugs. There’s more to it, David’s sure, but he figures he shouldn’t push it. “Alright. So you told her no and then what?”
“We were…up for the same award. We work in the same field. I told her, look, we will go back out there. You will be nice and…wet for me all night. Then, we will see who wins and if you do, maybe I will do more than go down on you. Maybe.”
David lets out a low whistle. He struggles to imagine bossing a woman around like that now. He can’t imagine doing it in his twenties. “And this was in a public bathroom?”
“Yup.” The Russian leans back, smug, with more confidence than one human should ever possess. David almost asks if it was the men’s room or the women’s, but he’s pretty sure that’s irrelevant. “Then I won, of course, so I took my prize.”
“But how do you…” David turns his head, considering his own question. Words aren’t too easy to come by at the moment. “Okay, I’ll be honest with you. We tried the domination thing once, and I was no good at it. My wife, she has these beautiful brown eyes, and I just want to give her anything she asks for.”
“My girl is like this too!” He claps his hands. “Like Bambi. Very hard to resist. But you have to remember…this is what she wants, you know? My Jane…she is hungry for it. She was born to be pinned down and told what to do.”
David feels like he should be taking notes. “Okay. Yeah. Huh.” And then, with a glint in his eyes, he adds, “So, what was your prize anyway?”
Because, okay, sitting here, chatting sex with some twenty-something heartthrob, David feels young again. He feels like he’s just enjoying a night out in Montreal. That come tomorrow, he’ll head to class, pick Yuna up for a date after practice.
He doesn’t feel like David Hollander, trusted government worker, father of a boy always meant to eclipse him. He just feels like Dave.
The Russian grins. “I asked her to show off for me.”
“Show off for you?”
“Finger herself while I watched.” Even in the dim light, David can see the blush in his cheeks. “Beg me to step in and fuck her.”
“Wow. And she liked that?”
“Loved it. She’s a needy little cockslut, my Jane.” He gets a far-off look in his eyes.
“You shouldn’t speak about a young woman like that,” David says firmly. “Or any woman.”
The guy startles, like maybe he forgot it’s 2014, not 1914. “Yes, well…my Jane likes it.”
“How long have you been together?”
“Oh no. No, no. We aren’t together. Just…” He gestures vaguely.
“Just?” David frowns. “Just what?”
“Just sex.”
“Ah.” David nods like he gets it. Like he didn’t start drawing up a marriage certificate in his mind the moment he laid eyes on Yuna.
“I am telling you, go home, boss your wife around. Remember, you’re not being mean. This is what she wants, yes?”
“Yeah. Okay. It’s what she wants.”
“Now what I want is more vodka.” The guy orders them yet another round.
David wakes up the next morning certain that this is it. He’s dead.
He’ll miss a lot. Shane’s first Cup and all the ones that follow. His eventual marriage to a handsome lawyer. Or a personal trainer. That sounds more Shane’s speed.
Grandkids. Oh, David would love to be a grandfather. Too bad he died last night after the sixth drink. His alarm blares yet again and he drags his corpse out of bed, haphazardly packing his stuff.
It’s not until he’s taking off the clothes he wore out last night (ew), that he finds it: a piece of paper with a phone number on it.
He stares at it for a moment, horrified. What happened last night? He didn’t get a woman’s phone number, did he? No. No, he would never.
He turns it over and finds a scrawled note: Tell me how it goes! I order you to order her around ;)
David chuckles to himself, bits and pieces of last night coming back to him. Right. That Russian guy who plied him with vodka and wouldn’t let him pick up the tab. He ordered David a cab to his hotel and insisted he “report back” about how dominating his wife went.
That kid sure was something, David thinks, grabbing his bag and heading to the airport.
He sits at the airport bar, sipping a ginger ale, watching a highlight reel of Shane’s game against New York last night. It’s a shame they just missed each other. Once David gets back to Ottawa, Shane will be heading to Boston to play.
Admittedly, he’s not mad about missing a Boston game. Those games are objectively great hockey, but David’s so far from objective.
He’s not fond of the whole rivalry. He knows it’s good for Shane’s career, that it will only help cement him as a legend. But Shane has never liked the media circus and David doesn’t like it for him.
I just want to focus on the game. That’s Shane’s logline when he’s tired of reporters pushing too hard about Rozanov’s various wins and losses and taunts.
David wants that for him. The trouble is, Rozanov laps up the attention. He keeps the rivalry in the spotlight, openly provokes Shane on camera, wink and all.
David’s long since stopped watching his interviews, playing Words with Friends on his phone whenever that big head is on his TV. He’d much rather only see it partially obscured by a helmet.
He pulls out his phone, texts Shane a hasty: Fly safe today and good luck against Boston! Show Rosanov who’s boss 😀
There are three unread texts above it. Shane isn’t the most active texter, and that’s okay. It’s fine. David just hopes that Shane somehow hears every text he’s holding himself back from sending.
I love you and I miss you and Are you eating? and Come for dinner soon and Your mother and I are worried about you and Did you hear about that professional skier who came out? You know that could be you, right? You could be yourself and the world would be so much better for it.
Shane replies: Thanks
Followed by: It’s Rozanov. With a Z.
David responds telling him that he loves him. Shane doesn’t reply and it’s alright. It’s okay. He’s a busy guy working his dream job. That’s all any parent wants, right?
He finishes off his ginger ale, tips the bartender, and boards his plane. Usually, he does sudoku to pass the time, but when he tries, the numbers all swarm together.
He closes his eyes instead and daydreams of Yuna. Yuna, pinned against a wall. Yuna, mouth parted in a moan. Yuna, knuckles clenched around sheets.
When his plane descends, he remembers the Russian’s words.
She wants this, he reminds himself as he takes a cab home. She needs this, he reminds himself as he steps over the threshold and pins her against the wall of the entryway without so much as a hello.
This is good for her, he reminds himself when he avoids her every attempt to kiss him. Instead, he trails his lips up her neck, to that tender spot beneath her earlobe.
Instead, he whispers, “touch yourself. Show off for me, I want to watch you.” She stares up at him, dazed, as he pulls her to the bedroom, pushes her roughly to the bed, and sits in a chair in the corner of the room.
He leans back and enjoys the view.
Admittedly, David forgets about his new friend for a few days. Are they friends if he doesn’t know his name? Considering how many orgasms he’s given his wife because of the guy, David thinks so.
He’s doing the laundry, checking the pockets before he puts it in the wash, when he finds that scrap paper with the phone number again. He rubs it with his thumb, considering it.
Surely he owes this man a thank you. That one conversation has breathed new life into Yuna. David can hear her in the other room humming while she reviews contracts. Humming! He can’t recall the last time she hummed.
He starts the laundry and types in the number. He hesitates over the contact name, drawing a blank. He could just ask for his name, but it feels a little late for that.
In the end, he saves the number to his contacts under Mr. Boston. It’s fitting, with how commanding the kid was. Besides, he has a vague memory of the night ending in a ten minute rant from him about Mr. Boston and other “inferior” American vodka brands.
Once he’s saved it, he fires off a text, not giving himself the chance to overthink it.
David: Hi. This is Dave, the man from the bar you gave relationship advice to. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I just wanted to thank you. Your advice sure paid off!
Mr. Boston: DAVE!!! You dog 🐶 Of course I remember you. Tell me everything!!!
David: Haha well I’m not sure I should kiss and tell, but I’ll just say my wife is definitely more satisfied now
Mr. Boston: I knew you had it in you!!! 😁🎉💦
David: 😀
David: How are things going with your girl? Jane, right?
Mr. Boston: Yes, Jane
Mr. Boston: Great! I saw her recently for the first time in months, it was amazing. I fucked her so hard she cried 😎
David: Wow. I’m not sure I would like that honestly. I think it would break my heart to see my wife cry. 💔
Mr. Boston: Oh Dave, you are so sweet
David puts the laundry through and heads into the dining room, chuckling. Is this how all young guys are these days? Probably not. David can’t imagine that Pike kid speaking so gleefully about making his wife cry.
“Who are you texting?” Yuna asks, smiling. She’s basically been smiling nonstop the past few days. He can’t help but kiss her.
“Just a new friend.”
“A new friend? From work?”
“Kind of?” He sits down at the table as another text comes in. Yuna glances at it.
“Mr. Boston? What, are you friends with the Monopoly man?”
“I don’t know his name,” he admits sheepishly. “He’s some young Russian guy I met at a bar my last night of the conference. He gave me some advice, actually. About our sex life.”
“David!” She slaps his arm. “You can’t talk about our sex life with strangers. What if he was a reporter? What if he sold what you said to TMZ?”
“What kind of story would that be? Shane Hollander’s dad tries out domination in bed?”
“Shane Hollander comes from a family of sexual deviants,” she says seriously. David will never admit it, but he misses when Shane was just their boy, not the standee at Tim Hortons. When strangers didn’t hear David’s last name and raise their eyebrows, ask jokingly if he was related to Shane Hollander. Always, always jokingly.
“Relax,” David says. “You know no one recognizes me outside of Ottawa. Besides, I told him my name is Dave. He didn’t even give me his name. We just talked about relationships. And sex. You know, guy talk.”
“Guy talk.” She rolls her eyes. “Since when do you guy talk?”
“I’m a guy! I can guy talk just fine!” He makes a show of puffing his chest out and she laughs, reaching out to run her hand along it. They end up keeping busy until the clothes are ready to be switched to the dryer.
It’s not until after that he actually reads the Russian’s latest text.
Mr. Boston: Don’t worry, my Jane loves to cry and beg for my dick. It’s her favorite thing in the world!
David: I’ll take your word for it
They don’t text too often.
David’s a busy guy and it’s a busy year. Shane wins his first Cup and David sobs so hard his nose bleeds. Work is hectic as always and he helps his mother through a hip replacement.
Every now and then though, a message comes in. Usually, it starts with a question. "Is it normal if...?" "Have you tried...?" "Do you think she'd like...?"
Nothing is off limits. Nothing is too shameful, too weird, too much. They discuss shower sex, sex bets, safe words, the last of which David strongly recommends he starts using.
It's a relief, having someone he can speak to candidly about this stuff. He's pretty sure his golf buddies would blanch if he asked them their thoughts on using a paddle in bed. He's certain they wouldn't reply: YES DAVE! Buy it and tell me how it goes. I want one! 😁
For his part, the guy gushes about Jane a lot. About her pretty pout when she begs. About how hot it is when she rolls her eyes at him. About how gorgeous her freckles look covered in his cum, on the rare occasion she doesn’t swallow.
David's favorite conversations though are the ones where he asks for advice. Sometimes, it has nothing to do with sex. It's questions like "can you iron silk?" and "help, my car is making a weird blender noise?"
It becomes clear to David that he doesn’t need a friend. He needs a father. A father he divulges too much information to, but a father nonetheless.
And David, well, he doesn’t mind being needed. Shane sits in the living room of their cottage, texting like he has for the last hour he’s been here.
Yuna keeps doting on him, offering him food, drinks, a congratulations message from a neighbor Shane hasn’t spoken to in years.
Shane waves it all off. When a call comes in from his Boston friend, David’s almost excited.
He takes it, leaving the room.
“Dave!” a Russian accent answers cheerily. “Help. My car is making that noise again.”
David smiles. “Lemme hear it.”
“Is sort of like…” The sound he makes resembles a bleating goat crossed with a bear’s growl.
“It’s hard to go off of just that. Can you afford to take it into a shop?”
“Yes, but I wanted to fix it myself. I am so bored,” he whines.
“No Jane to entertain you?”
“No no. We have summers off, I won’t see her until the fall,” he says almost wistfully. Not for the first time, David wonders what his job is. But he doesn’t want to share his own, not when last week they were discussing the best spanking methods, so he doesn’t ask. “We have been texting though.”
“Oh yeah?”
“About how much she misses my dick mostly.”
David laughs. “You know, it might be nice to tell her what you miss about her. As a person.”
“Eh, I don’t think my Jane would like that,” he says. “Don’t worry, she’s happy.”
“Uh huh.”
“She is! Okay, fine, I will send her some videos I took earlier.” He sighs. “There. Now she will be very happy.”
“You sure know the way to a woman’s heart,” David says drily.
“If only I knew the way to my car’s heart. Really, what do you think?” He starts mimicking the noise again. This time, it sounds like the goat-bear is dying.
A throat clears. He looks up to see Shane hovering in the entryway to the kitchen. His eyes are wild and he’s weirdly sweaty.
“I gotta go,” David says. “Get that checked out, okay?”
The kid blows a raspberry. “Have a good summer, Dave. Tell your wife I say hi.”
David rolls his eyes. He can practically hear the wink through the phone. He hangs up, smiles at Shane. “You doing okay, kiddo?”
“Yeah, I just gotta get going. Gonna do some…yoga. Afternoon yoga. It’s good for the…metabolism. Um. Thanks. For lunch.”
“Of course,” David says. Unable to help himself, he adds, “We’re always here. You know that, right?”
Shane goes very, very still. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”
David doesn’t dominate Yuna in the bedroom every time. But whenever he can tell she’s overwhelmed by work and by Shane pulling further and further away, he takes his time taking her apart.
It’s been happening more and more lately. Shane’s won his second Cup. He should be happy. Instead, he’s…well, not unhappy necessarily. Just distant. Almost like he’s somewhere else entirely.
David shares an article on Facebook about Leah Campbell, an NWHL player who recently came out as bisexual. Shane doesn’t use Facebook though, he knows. He feels like he’s screaming his love into the void.
He’s considering calling Shane just to say hello, just to hear him breathe, when a text comes in.
Mr. Boston: Hi Dave. Can I ask your advice on something?
It’s almost pathetic, how happy it makes him.
David: Of course! Any time.
Ten minutes pass, then twenty, with no response. He can’t stop himself from tacking on another text.
David: What’s going on? We’ve been trying out rope play lately if that’s something you need help with.
Unsurprisingly, it’s the perfect bait.
Mr. Boston: Dave!! Look at you go! 😏
Mr. Boston: No, nothing like that. I’m having my girl over tomorrow. I’m hoping she will stay the night for the first time and I’m not sure what food to order? Maybe Italian?
David: Is this the same girl you’ve told me about?
Mr. Boston: Yes. Jane.
David: And you’ve been together for a long time now, right?
Mr. Boston: Not together. But I have been rocking her world since 2010
David lets out a low whistle. They’ve been hooking up for six years and she’s never spent the night before?
David’s evolved. He knows that for some people, sex is just sex. He read an article last week all about the “art of the booty call”. But after that long? And with the way he beamed in that dimly lit Boston bar every time he talked about her? It’s hard to believe.
David: In that case, I wouldn’t order anything. You should definitely cook for her.
Mr. Boston: You think I can cook? 😂 All I can make is fried eggs
David: Make something simple like a grilled cheese. Or maybe a tuna melt? I have an easy recipe I can send you.
Mr. Boston: You are my hero Dave 🙏
David sends off the recipe. He considers sending it to Shane too, a thinking of you. But who is he kidding? Shane would never eat that.
He scours his recipe app, finds one for seared ahi tuna instead, sends it off. Shane replies with a thumbs up.
It’s something, David reminds himself. It’s something.
The following day, he’s making dinner when he gets another text.
Mr. Boston: I fucked up.
Mr. Boston: He ran out on me.
Mr. Boston: She**
David frowns at his phone. Before having Shane, he wasn't sure if he’d have paternal instincts. Sometimes, he still doubts that he does.
But in this moment, he acts before he thinks and calls the poor kid.
“Hello?” It’s clear in those two syllables that he’s been crying. David’s heart aches. He remembers being that age, every little conflict feeling soul crushing.
“Hi kiddo,” David says. After all this time, he still doesn’t know his name. “I take it she doesn’t like tuna melts?”
The guy chuckles, but it sounds forced. “No. No, she liked the sandwiches but we…I did too much. Pushed too hard. She left.”
David blows out a breath. “By pushed too hard, do you mean…”
“We keep things casual for a reason and I—I think I got greedy. Is it so bad that I want more of hi—her?” He takes a deep breath. “Fuck, Dave. I didn’t want to lock her down, I just—one night. Is it awful that I wanted her to stay?”
“No. No, it’s not bad at all.” He walks away from his chicken alfredo, paces. It’s not the first time today the kid’s almost used “he” pronouns. It makes him think of Shane. Of the time last week that he tripped over half his words around an obviously gay waiter. Of the time last month that he grew very quiet when David mentioned going to the vow renewal of his friend Len and his husband.
Len’s made a few Facebook posts about how much easier it is for gay kids these days, how lucky they are. David knows, on a theoretical level, that he’s right. But then he sees his son, strung so tight that David's terrified it's only a matter of time before he snaps completely.
“What do I do?” the voice on the other end of the phone says. Soft. Scared. Russian. God, no wonder he’s been stretching those pronouns, even to a total stranger. “You have been married for many years, yes? You must know how to fix this.”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “My wife and I got serious pretty quick. We never had a casual stage.”
“Right.”
Ugh, he’s so bad at this. No wonder Shane hasn’t come to him and exhaled that breath he’s perpetually holding. He didn’t even come to David when he dumped his high school girlfriend. David asked if she’d be coming for dinner soon and Shane said, “Oh, we broke up.” Nonchalantly. Like an afterthought.
“Maybe give them time,” David offers. “Some space to process. Then reach out?”
“Right,” he says again. “Okay. I’m sorry to…”
“No, no, don’t be sorry at all.” He wants to say: You’re doing far more for me than I am for you. He wants to say: You can tell me about him. You don’t have to talk around him, not with me. What’s his name? What’s your favorite thing about him, besides the sound of his moans? “Anything else I can do for you?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then, he says, “Yes, tell me about this rope play with your wife. That would cheer me up.”
David laughs. "Well, I don’t think I can divulge too much. You haven't done it before, have you?"
"No. But I am...curious."
"Right. I recommend starting with a pair of handcuffs, see if you like it, and go from there.”
“Interesting.”
At least for a moment, David can hear the smile in his voice.
David finds out about Rose Landry from a tabloid.
He stands in the grocery store, staring numbly at his son’s hand wrapped around the biggest movie star in Hollywood.
He pulls out his phone, takes a picture, and sends it to his group chat with Yuna and Shane, a string of question marks attached.
He lowers his phone and finds the checkout clerk smirking at him. It’s a new kid behind the counter, one he doesn’t recognize. “Unreal, right?”
David blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Hollander bagging Rose Landry,” he says. “I mean, the guy’s not ugly, don’t get me wrong. But have you seen his interviews? He’s awkward as fuck.”
“I don’t know,” the woman in line behind him says. “They seem like a good fit. They’d make beautiful babies.”
The older woman checking out catches David’s eye, offers a sympathetic frown. Either she hates celebrity gossip or she knows who he is. It’s not like it’s a secret around Ottawa that he’s Shane Hollander’s dad. Still, so many strangers look at a man like David and can’t pick up that thread forever tying him to Shane.
It’s a well-worn hurt, but it chafes more than usual as he considers buying the damn magazine. There’s a good chance he’ll glean more from it than he will from Shane.
His phone lights up with a reply before he has the chance: Sorry, I’ve been meaning to tell you guys. Things have been hectic. And it’s not that serious anyways.
David scoffs. Does anyone date seriously these days?
Over the next few weeks, the texts from his Boston friend become…alarming feels like an understatement.
There’s one night in particular that has David considering crossing the border for a wellness check. It starts with a rather unconvincing declaration.
Mr. Boston: Actually I’m happy she left. I am.
David: Really?
Mr. Boston: Yup. She always came soooo fast. Where’s the fun in that?
Mr. Boston: And every joke I tell, she rolls her eyes. Like we get it, I’m annoying. Get some new material!
David: You’re not annoying. Maybe take some time to cool off? :(
And two hours later, after David’s already gone to sleep:
Mr. Boston: She smelled weird. Like clean laundry. And sweat.
And an hour after that:
Mr. Boston: I donnt even mnow what the fuck she wtbinks she’s going to get oit of this. ??
Mr. Boston: nooem on can make her come like I can. No one.
Mr. Boston: ooooh I’m so hot and my freckles are so pretty and my hole is so tight!! No one fucking cares!
Mr. Boston: Davee u don’t understand! The first time I asked to eat her out she whimpered! I didnt even DO ANTTGING and she whimpered
Mr. Boston: that’s how badly she wants me. That’s how badly she needs me. And she thinks, what? She can get this Frkm some second rate dlower ?? 😂😂😂😂😂😂
Mr. Boston: No one else will govee here what she needs. Only ME
Mr. Boston: before me her sex life was dry cement. Come on!!
Mr. Boston: how make freckles looo ugly
Mr. Boston: sorry that was ofr google
Mr. Boston: does she miss me too?
Mr. Boston: No. I know. Inknow
Mr. Boston: no one has ever missed me before. Why start now?
Mr. Boston: Their kids wll have pretty freckles. But ours would have moles too.
Mr. Boston: Oh I’m so fucked Dave
By the time David wakes up, there are three new texts asking him to delete everything.
David never meets Rose Landry and honestly, he’s fine with that. Nothing against the girl, she seems nice. But the pictures are hard enough to look at.
Shane’s smile never meets his eyes. He touches her hand like it has the potential to burn him. And the one photo of them kissing…David doesn’t even feel like he’s intruding by looking at it. He has an old photo of Shane as a kid kissing a teddy bear that he had more chemistry with. Probably because said teddy bear was wearing a Centaurs jersey.
When he gets a text in January that they’ve broken up, he heaves a sigh of relief. He honestly expects that a coming out might follow, but it doesn’t. Maybe in the off season?
He does, however, get a text from his Boston friend.
Mr. Boston: We are back together! 🎉
At least someone’s figuring it out.
David: Great! Did you win them over with the promise of rope play?
Mr. Boston: 😂 No but I would love a link to the handcuffs you use 😏
David: Here ya go
David: https://wickedwandas.ca/products/edge-handcuffs
Mr. Boston: Thank youuuu 🙏
David: I’m not sure if they ship to the US or not
Mr. Boston: No worries, I’m sending them to Jane’s place. We made a bet I'm sure she will lose
David: 👍
David: So are you dating now?
Mr. Boston: No. But we are…something. I think.
David: Why can’t you be a couple?
Mr. Boston: Too complicated with our jobs :// And I have a lot of family stuff going on
David: That’s a shame. You seem to really like each other.
Mr. Boston: Yes. I think we do.
Well. At least that’s a start.
2017’s going to be a good year. He can feel it.
Shane hits the ice hard and David feels a piece of his soul dislodge.
He thinks of his father, lying still the last time he ever saw him.
He thinks of Yuna, almost losing consciousness after giving birth.
He thinks of Shane, small enough to fit in his hands. “Think he’ll take after his old man? Play hockey?”
David always laughed at the question, said like it was just a joke and not the rawest truth he could share: “God, I hope not.”
Shane’s drugged out of his mind, concussed, and has a broken collarbone, but he’s alive. David has to remind himself of this fact repeatedly. He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.
David repeats this like a mantra when he heads to a nearby cafe to get Yuna some breakfast. She’s been hard at work fielding conversations with Shane’s doctors, PT, and coach. She deserves something better than hospital food.
Still, he’s antsy leaving Shane alone. What if something happens? What if he needs them? It’s not like he has access to his phone right now.
David goes as fast as his legs will carry. After twenty long minutes, he bursts into Shane’s hospital room, to go bag in hand, breathing hard.
Shane’s alive. He’s okay. Actually, he looks more than okay? His lips are stretched into a wide smile.
“Daaaad,” Shane says. He hasn’t sounded that happy saying the word since he was six-years-old and David was his only friend. “Guess who visited me?”
“Who, bud?” David asks, crossing the room.
“Ilyaaa,” he says dopily.
“Ilya?” David frowns. The door opens again, Yuna sweeping through and snatching the large coffee out of his hand, taking a gulp.
“Mooom! Guess who visited me?”
“Who, honey?”
“Ilyaaaa,” Shane says again, all sing-songy. “He was making sure I was okay. Isn’t that nice?”
Yuna’s eyebrows furrow. She looks to David, who shrugs. “Ilya…Rozanov?”
“Yup. Rozanov.” He says the name in an unnaturally deep voice. “Rozanov came for a captain visit. You know. Captain to captain. Because we’re both captains. That’s a weird word. Captainnnn.”
“O captain my captain,” David offers meekly. Shane bursts out laughing, even though David’s sure he’s never watched Dead Poets Society, let alone read Whitman.
“Riiiight. Right. Right. Captains. Captainnn Crunch. Hey, do you think there’s a Captain Slurp too?”
“He was really here?” Yuna looks around, like maybe Rozanov’s hiding behind a curtain, waiting to jump out at them.
“Yeah. Nice, huh?”
“How…sportsmanlike of him,” Yuna concedes.
David can see how much it kills her. He nods in agreement. “Very thoughtful of him,” he says sincerely. It’s nice to know that there’s a human being behind all those smirks.
“Mmmhmmm. He’s a thinker. Thinking…a lot.” It’s only a minute before Shane falls back asleep.
Not wanting to disturb him, Yuna and David take their food out to the car. They already encountered one nosy reporter during their last attempt to eat in the hospital cafeteria.
The press is waiting, ready to pick Shane apart. It almost feels like some of them want his first major injury to be big, career ending. Wouldn’t that be a hell of a story?
It’s unfortunate timing that Shane is coming off of a very high profile relationship. There’s more investment in this than there would have been a year ago, Yuna tells him as they eat their sandwiches. Gossip rags are standing by, rather than just sports journalists. A seedier tabloid already leaked some deranged story about him having amnesia and forgetting his one true love Rose Landry.
David’s phone is flooded with texts from friends, family, coworkers, neighbors, all trying to parse news from reality. It’s unfair, but it bothers him that this many people can ask, that he doesn’t get to demand privacy. It’s hard to feel like a father when he can’t do something as simple as protect his son.
Maybe that’s why he says it. “We should tell him that we know.”
“Hmm?” Yuna doesn’t look up from her phone where she’s pivoting between reading headlines and texting Farah, Shane’s agent.
“We should tell him that we know he’s gay.”
Yuna freezes. They haven’t exactly talked about it. Mostly, they talk around it, posing meandering unfinished questions. Do you think he maybe wants…? Is it possible that he’s not interested…?
David just can’t stop thinking of Shane, lying in a heap on the ice.
There is a universe, maybe one nearby, where the most bloodthirsty reporters got their wish. Shane Hollander, golden boy of Canada, with a slowing pulse that never learned to pick back up.
Has he ever said the word aloud? Has he ever kissed a man? Does he know what it’s like to love someone?
Not PR approved smiles and a hand wrapped timidly around the nearest Hollywood starlet. Real love. The type that makes you search the crowd for them after every win, crumble in their arms after every loss. The type that makes your pulse feel like a hammer and that hammer feel like it has the power to destroy you from the inside out. The type that makes the present clearer, the future brighter.
It pains David to imagine his son never getting to have that, maybe not even knowing that he’s allowed to want it.
“We can’t,” Yuna says. “If we’re not a hundred percent sure…”
“How much surer can we be?” he asks. “He’s almost twenty-six. He’s had one real girlfriend and he barely talked about her. And whenever we got him new underwear with a male model on the packaging, it took an alarmingly long time for it to end up in the recycling.”
“You noticed that too?” Yuna shakes her head. “Even if we’re right, we’re supposed to wait for him to come to us, remember?”
In true Yuna fashion, she did research the first time they talked around this. She bought a parenting book, marked it up before passing it onto David. She scoured for notes on PFLAG meetings, since they’d never be able to attend one themselves.
There was a clear consensus: You can’t pressure your kid to come out. You have to wait until they’re ready.
So that’s what they’ve done. David’s dropped a hint or two, sure, but only tiny ones. Pucks dropped so quickly that even Shane’s stick can’t connect to them.
David’s reaching the same point he did when Shane was six and struggling to make friends: he wants to do it for him. He wants to cross the playground and convince every child to take a chance on Shane, play with him on the damn monkey bars. He wants to reach his fingers into the minds of every hockey fanatic across North America and physically pry them wider.
His phone buzzes and he instinctively pulls it out of his pocket. He almost puts it right back, assuming it’s another person asking too many questions under the guise of wishing Shane well.
It’s from Mr. Boston though. David breathes easier at the prospect of getting to be Dave, even for thirty seconds.
The feeling doesn’t last long.
Mr. Boston: What do you do when your world feels like it’s falling apart?
Mr. Boston: Jane’s in a tough spot. I’m scared. Scared for her. Scared for us. Scared that I can’t be the man she needs me to be.
“Everything okay?” Yuna asks, because it’s not like him to ignore her in favor of a text.
He nods, sending off a quick response.
David: Deep breaths. I’m sure you’re already the man Jane needs you to be. You’re yourself, right?
The response is instantaneous.
Mr. Boston: I’m trying to be
David looks up at Yuna. “I know what all the parenting books say—but they’re not written for parents of NHL players, are they? He needs to know we’re okay with it. What’s the alternative? He comes out when he’s forty? He dies in the closet?”
Yuna flinches. “Okay. We need to wait until he’s better though.”
“When he’s better,” he repeats. Right about now, it's hard to imagine.
Shane reaches better little by little, from the bedroom he hasn’t called his in years.
It’s an adjustment having him back. Mostly because David’s grown accustomed to having his way with Yuna wherever he wants, whenever he wants, as loud as he wants. He complains to his Boston friend more than once about these woes of hosting family, earning a gratuitous amount of laughing crying emojis and a suggestion to use underwear as a gag.
Other than that, it’s nice having Shane back. Sometimes, David feels like he missed Shane’s adolescence entirely, with all his time on the road and at development camps.
This feels like making up for lost time. Shane retreats to his bedroom often, rolls his eyes even more. He spends a lot of time staring at his phone, smiling and doing more eye rolling.
It’s almost easy to believe that his son is sixteen, not on the verge of turning twenty-six.
Almost.
There’s still the matter of the Apartment Incident, as David’s come to call it to himself.
Shane was in no state to pack with his injury, so Yuna had the bright idea for David to throw a bag together for Shane while she was meeting with his doctors again. Eager to do something useful, David agreed.
The memory is burned in his brain: walking into Shane’s bedroom for some clothes and finding condoms, lube, and a pair of handcuffs waiting on his bedside table.
The handcuffs were unnervingly similar to the pair David owns, that he last used on Yuna only a few weeks ago. He’s been trying really hard not to think about that article he read once about kinks being genetic. Really, really hard.
He hasn’t told Yuna and he certainly hasn’t mentioned it to Shane. He can’t help but watch him closer though, notice the way his lips quirk up every time he gets a text. He almost looks fond.
David hates to admit it, but he hopes the lube was a good sign. That maybe, even while buried deep in the closet, he’s managed to find a nice young man.
Of course, it’s not like there’s no use for lube in a straight relationship. David and Yuna have their own bottle, a nice high quality type thanks to a recommendation from David’s Boston friend. He’s actually pretty sure it’s the same brand as the bottle he saw in Shane’s bedroom—
Okay, yeah, no, he’s not going to investigate that any further. He’d like to keep his brain intact.
Instead, he enjoys having his son back. He does the crossword puzzle, Shane by his side like when he was a kid. It’s not quite the same, of course. Shane used to sit thigh to thigh with him. He used to repeat the words David scribbled down like an adorable little parrot.
Now, he sits on the other end of the couch, texting and ignoring Yuna when she tells him to stop texting. It’s still nice, having his presence here through every episode of Jeopardy and every playoff game.
He and Yuna don’t gauge the conversation about Shane’s sexuality. It doesn’t seem fair to when Shane’s arm is in a sling and he literally can’t go anywhere else. David wants to nudge the conversation along, sure, but he doesn’t want to force Shane into it.
But then Scott Hunter does something brave and impossible and earth-shattering.
David holds his breath watching that handsome, denim-clad man slowly take the ice. It can’t be—but what if it’s—
It is and they do and Shane lifts his phone with a trembling hand, running out of the room without an excuse.
David looks to Yuna. She looks back, eyes damp. “Could this…?” he asks, too awed to finish his sentence.
Could this change everything? It feels naive, a painfully straight sentiment. But God, David wants to think it could.
He knows now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Shane has someone. David can’t make out every word he’s saying on the phone, but his voice is so much softer than he’s ever heard it. Like he’s talking to someone precious.
What if this is enough? What if it can all fall into place? Next Christmas, Shane could sit at their table holding hands with his sweet, personal trainer boyfriend. David’s determined he must be a personal trainer or maybe someone in sports medicine. He’d have to be to understand Shane.
“It could be,” Yuna says finally. Her lips are pressed tight and he knows she’s having a million and one thoughts right now. Reviewing contracts and brand deals and running through the Montreal roster, like maybe she can pin down their level of tolerance one by one.
David reaches out, wraps his arms around her waist, squeezes tight. He pulls back when Shane re-enters the room. Shane looks like he’s seen a ghost, but he looks pleased too, like the ghost was friendly.
“That sure is something, huh?” David says, nodding at the screen where the broadcast is now playing Hunter’s kiss on repeat.
Shane chews his bottom lip, carefully clears his face of any emotion. David’s heart clenches. “Yeah.”
“I think it’s great.” Yuna shoots David a pointed look that he knows means: now. Here. This is when we show up for him. “Maybe it will help other players come out.”
Shane’s eyes widen, then relax. “Um. Maybe.”
David looks at the screen, at the kiss playing again, this time in slow motion. He wonders if Hunter had anyone to talk to about this before tonight. He wonders if his Boston friend has anyone besides him.
He can’t do it. He can’t just hope that his son wakes up one day and realizes they’re a safe place to land. “I hope you know you can tell us anything,” he says. “Anything. This is exciting but it's also…a lot to process. Maybe a lot for you to process…in particular. You can talk about it with us. Really, you can.”
Shane’s eyes widen again. It’s much more forward than David would usually be. He’s learned a thing or two lately about being brave.
Apparently, that’s also genetic.
“I’m gay,” Shane says. He looks stricken, like his own words have surprised him. David wishes that he was small again. That he could pull Shane in his lap, whisper the crossword puzzle answers and hear them echo. That tickling his stomach and shinny in the backyard would be enough to make him smile.
“Oh honey,” Yuna says.
David's waited so long for this day. Now that it's here, he doesn't know what to say, how to say it in a way that will make Shane believe him. "Thank you for trusting us," he settles on. "It doesn't change a thing, okay?"
“I’m sorry.” Shane blinks a few times. “I’m sorry, I really tried…”
“No. We’re sorry. We should have…We should have said something sooner.” Yuna reaches out, cradles his cheek in her hand, and David knows she’s having the same fantasies of shrinking their son and all his fears along with him. “You have nothing to apologize for. Okay? Nothing.”
For the first time in years, David hears what it sounds like when his son breathes.
Shane doesn’t mention a boyfriend. Or an ex-boyfriend. Or a crush.
Yuna asks, in her Yuna way. “If you ever want me to put out an extra place setting…” she says.
“No,” Shane says immediately. “No, no. That’s…Hayden’s busy with his kids. So.”
They both play along, pretend that that’s what she meant. Secretly though, David’s a bit frustrated. He feels like the closet door has been cracked, but for some reason, Shane won’t push it open completely.
He’s so much more withdrawn than David would expect after such a big confession. He’s even been talking about taking a “silent retreat” next month. Yeah, that’s what he needs, more silence and isolation!
He reminds himself that it’s better than nothing. They watch the NHL awards and David openly gets teary over Scott Hunter’s speech. Yuna gushes over how cute Hunter is, how if only he was single, he’d be a great fit for Shane even though he’s a bit older. This makes Shane laugh really hard for some reason. It’s a nice sound.
Overall, their house feels closer, calmer. It doesn’t exactly hurt though, when David gets what seem to be drunk texts from his Boston friend the night of the NHL awards. Sue him, it’s nice to be needed.
Mr. Boston: Daveeeee!!! HEllllpppp
David: What’s up? You okay?
Mr. Boston: Yessss
Mr. Boston: Seeing Jane soon 😲
David: In the summer? That’s big
Mr. Boston: Yup. Biiiig!!!
David: How are you feeling about it?
Mr. Boston: Freaking the fuuuuck out
Mr. Boston: We dont do this, you know? Ever.
Mr. Boston: I’m starting to think we could be something. Real. But maybe that will change hwen she spends more time with me?
Mr. Boston: Maybe she won’t like what she ssees
David frowns down at his phone.
David: I’m sure that’s not true
David: Just be honest. When you see Jane, be open about how nervous you are. People value vulnerability like that.
Mr. Boston: Ughhhh ur so smart ty Dave
David: Of course! Drink water, will you?
Mr. Boston: Nooooo!!! Vodka forever!
David snorts. Even kids who aren’t his own don’t listen to him. Figures.
When given a choice between fight or flight, David soars.
This was true when he was fourteen and walked in on his brother kissing Faye Levin from down the block. It was true at twenty-four when he and Yuna got in a petty fight about the electric bill.
It’s true now, watching a hand move lower to his only son’s ass.
There’s a brief, horrifying second when the man attached to the hand opens his eyes. David can’t do it. He can’t stay. He can’t meet the question in this man’s eyes any more than he’ll be able to meet the fear in his son’s.
So David does what he’s always done: he flees. He, quite literally, hightails it out of there. He drives back to his cottage over the speed limit and thinks about failure.
That’s what this is, isn’t it? He failed. It took them years to get Shane to open up, to come out to them. And even then, he couldn’t trust them with the whole truth.
Somewhere along the way, Shane became someone who kept something from them, then everything. That’s a parental failing. It has to be.
It’s not necessarily a terrible crime to keep a relationship private at first. Granted, it’s not something David personally relates to. He was overeager introducing Yuna to his parents, crossing that bridge maybe six months too soon. He didn’t care. He needed them to know her, to come to love her like he loved her.
For most couples though, taking some time to yourself at first is normal. Except…this was Shane’s cottage. He doesn’t let anyone come over, Farah had to beg him to host that camera crew.
Pike hasn’t been there with his gaggle of children. Neither has J.J. For Shane to let someone in…it would have to be serious. Very, very, serious. Like, potentially years together serious. One year minimum, he’s sure.
Plus, the way that man touched him…it was only a few seconds, sure, but David saw enough to know that it was practiced, familiar.
David swallows. Apparently, he’s reached the driveway. At some point, he parked. At some point, the car stopped moving. It’s hard to tell when his whole body still feels like it’s rocking forward in anticipation.
He shuffles inside, joins Yuna on the couch. She looks so peaceful. This is going to destroy her.
“You okay?” she asks. “What’s wrong? Did you get the charger?”
Fuck. No, he didn’t get his damn charger in the end. How is he supposed to beat his brother at Words with Friends now?
“No,” he says. “Shane has…uh. A guest.”
“Oh?” she says. “Oh.”
She wants to ask a million questions, he’s sure. But she knows him well enough now to stay silent, to give him a moment. She makes it a whopping four minutes, which he loves her for. “Who was he?” Yuna asks.
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look at him,” he admits. There was something in his gaze that looked familiar, certainly. But maybe he just looked a little too much like Faye Levin, that raw terror. David got out of dish duty for a month after witnessing that.
The sound of tires meets gravel. Yuna stands, turns her head. Hesitantly, David follows.
“Hey it’s me, Shane,” Shane calls. Like he’s a visitor, a guest in the very place he’s spent so many summers losing to his mother at Scrabble, beating his father at sewer ball. “Hi.”
There’s a man trailing behind him. His head is bent, but the curly hair and Boston Bears t-shirt are enough for David to get the picture.
Oh. Oh.
“I left my charger at your place,” David blurts out. “And it’s the old one that fits into my phone and all the other chargers we have are newer, so…” Literally what is he saying? He’s just talking to talk, filling the silence that comes from watching your son’s ass get palmed by, apparently, his sworn rival.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Shane says far too considerately. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have found out that way.”
“Found out what, exactly?” Yuna asks.
Rozanov looks up finally, meets her eyes. They scan slowly to David, like a gazelle approaching a pack of lions, assessing its survival odds.
Only, when his eyes meet David’s, they widen, nearly popping out of his head.
“Um. This is Ilya,” Shane says, “Rozanov. But you already—”
“Dave?” Rozanov interrupts. Shane turns to him, clearly confused—but David’s not.
It’s one syllable, but it’s enough. He’s heard it on the phone plenty of times. Heard it laughing, heard it close to tears, heard it waxing poetic about Jane.
Jane.
Canadian Jane. Jane who works in the same field as him. Jane, who has freckles that he likes to…
Oh God. Oh God.
David’s not particularly religious. He was raised going to temple, but he fell out of the habit over the years. Now though, David sends a prayer up. Because he’s going to kill this man.
“You…” David says eloquently. He clenches his fists. Unclenches them.
His wife and son are giving him matching confused looks. For their sake, he tries to break this down into digestible pieces, to swallow every single one. Just like Jane loves to swallow—fuuuuck.
Okay. Okay. So Shane’s having sex. Fine. He’s in his mid-twenties, that’s normal. That’s healthy. That’s expected, especially after the Apartment Incident.
Shane’s having gay sex. Even better! He would much rather Shane be true to himself than whatever the hell he was doing with Rose Landry.
But this guy? This fucking guy? This guy who talks like a fucking sailor and looks like a fucking porn star? This guy who isn’t with Shane for his heart or his soul or his sweet personality.
No, all he cares about is Shane’s mouth. He called it a gift from God once. Like Shane randomly fell from the heavens, like David didn’t guide him through his first steps, his first time on skates, patching up every scraped knee along the way.
To make matters much, much worse, Rozanov is Shane’s rival. This is a game to him. It must be. He manufactured the perfect, sadistic way to have his rival at his beck and call. When he asks, Jane answers. When he commands, Jane obeys. What an advantage that must be, huh?
David clenches his fists again, considers for a moment what it would be like to be the type of person who lets them collide with flesh and bone. Ultimately, he heads to the door.
Flight. He picks flight. Maybe literally this time. He’ll fly across the country, at least for a few weeks. Banff is nice this time of year.
“David?” Yuna calls after him.
“Dad,” Shane chokes out. “I’m sorry.”
This makes David freeze in his tracks. Shane sounds so small. He sounds like he did when he was little, stumbling into their bedroom, whispering I threw up again.
“I know he’s not the easiest option,” Shane says. “But he’s it for me.”
David can’t help it. He laughs. It’s loud, delirious, as pained as Shane looks right now. “Did you know?” he asks Rozanov.
Rozanov shakes his head swiftly. “No sir. I…Shane and I don’t swap family photos.”
“Right. You’re far too busy for that.”
“We’re not—”
“Uh,” Shane says. “What’s happening?”
David doesn’t know how to explain that he knows the exact brand of handcuffs Shane uses in bed. That he personally picked them out. Hell, he recommended a paddle too. Oh God. He’s going to be sick.
Except maybe he’s wrong? Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe Rozanov has a fetish for names that rhyme.
He never wants to know for sure. He has to know for sure.
“Is he Jane?” David asks lowly.
“How does he know that?” Shane shrieks. “How do you know that? What is happening?”
Well. That answers that.
“Your…father and I…” Rozanov starts, stops, stumbling over that word, father. “We…”
“Oh my God,” Shane whispers, the last vestiges of color draining from his face. “Did you sleep with my DAD?”
Yuna lets out a yelp crossed with a startled laugh. “NO!” Rozanov shouts. “No. No. We’re friends.”
Shane looks back and forth between them. “You’re…friends?”
“What do you mean you’re friends?” Yuna asks.
“We met in 2014,” David offers.
“2014?” Shane says. “The year you won the Cup?” Of course that’s where his mind goes.
“Yes. A few months after.”
“Wait…Is he your Russian friend from Boston?” Yuna asks.
“Yes,” David says. “Apparently…I…yes.”
“But you—” Yuna slaps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my.”
“What?” Shane asks, increasingly more panicked. “You what?”
Something weird happens then. Rozanov reaches out, rubs a soothing circle over Shane’s back. Like they’re married or something. Like Rozanov didn’t once coyly describe him as God’s most dedicated disciple because he belongs on his knees.
“We give each other advice,” David says. Right about now, he wants to advise Rozanov to get the hell away from his son.
“Advice?”
“Relationship advice,” David offers meekly, at the same time that Rozanov says, “Sex advice.”
David inhales sharply. It’s not a word that should exist in the same room as his son.
He fancies himself open-minded, but they’re not those kinds of parents. Shane leaves the room when sex scenes play during movies, and David’s always secretly been grateful for that.
“WHAT?” Shane’s screech is earsplitting. “What the fuck? You get sex advice from my dad?”
“Mmm, sometimes?” Rozanov scratches behind his ear. “Mostly, I give him advice.”
“That’s worse! You realize that’s worse, right?” Shane looks at David, then Yuna, then David, then the floor, like he’s realizing in real time that his parents do indeed have sex and is desperate to forget it. “And what do you mean sometimes? What are you—what do you need advice on?”
“I don’t know. Things. Stuff. Bondage.” Rozanov seems to realize too late that he should stop talking.
“Oh my God.” Shane staggers backward, practically collapsing on the couch. “Is this hell? God’s real and he’s punishing me for being gay, isn’t he? And for skipping half my chemistry tutoring in high school to work out.”
“You what?” Yuna gasps.
“Oh come on, that cannot be the biggest shock here.” Shane drops his head into his arms.
“I’m mostly confused.” Yuna takes a seat across from him. She folds her hands in her lap like she’s in a business meeting. “Why were you swapping sex advice with Ilya Rozanov?”
“I didn’t know it was him,” David admits.
“How?” Shane shouts. He sounds distinctly sixteen, fighting with his mother yet again about his failed chemistry tests. No wonder she feels betrayed. They spent a small fortune on that tutoring. “Literally how? He lives on our TV.”
“It was dark. And he got me very drunk,” David says sheepishly.
Admittedly, there was one moment earlier this year where he almost connected the dots.
It was back in January. David was focused on a puzzle, because the all star game is sort of like that improv show he used to watch: everything's made up and the points don’t matter.
He only glanced up every now and then, mostly when Yuna’s reaction indicated that Shane was scoring.
He caught a celebration after a goal, Rozanov kissing Shane on the cheek. It was a classic, over the top, Rozanov way to celebrate. It was better than the season he kept licking his opponents.
But there was this moment, a brief one, where Rozanov smiled. A real smile, so far from his smug interview smile or even his smile when celebrating with his Boston teammates.
A jolt of familiarity shot through David. It reminded him of that night, that smile from his friend when he talked about “Jane”.
David immediately dismissed the thought. It wasn’t conceivable when just that morning, they were discussing the merits of being called sir in bed (David’s not a fan, his friend was more open to it). There was no way he had that conversation with Ilya Rozanov. Besides, he was pretty sure he was being xenophobic, confusing one Russian man for another.
His face turns red at the memory. Rozanov’s, at least, looks similar.
“I guess we have met once or twice before?” Rozanov says to David.
David nods. “The draft. And briefly at the first NHL awards.”
“I didn’t recognize you," he says. "But seeing you today, knowing Shane’s dad is named David…it clicked.”
“I don’t—I can’t—” Shane blows out a breath. “This still doesn’t…Dad, why are you swapping sex tips with a stranger in his twenties at a bar? Why is that a part of your life?”
“Older people have sex, Shane,” Yuna says, tsking. “You’ll see when you’re our age.”
“Ew! I’m not—I didn’t mean—Why the hell are you talking about it with a stranger? And what, you stayed in touch? You became sex pen pals or something? You…Oh my God.” He slaps Rozanov on the arm. “You recommended lube to him, didn’t you? The ‘old sex freak’ you asked me to review lube for is my dad?”
Shane does something then that David hasn’t seen him do since he was a kid. He turtles. He lifts his t-shirt and pulls it up over his head.
“Hey. Hey.” Rozanov rubs a hand over his back again. It’s firm, David realizes. Shane can’t stand light touches, but most people don’t seem to realize that. “Shane. Shane. Hey, hey, hey, hey. I know this is weird. I know. But it’s okay. We’re good here. Your family is here. Your boyfriend is here. You’re good here, okay?”
Amazingly, Shane emerges from his shirt. Usually, he turtles for hours. “My boyfriend?” he whispers.
“I mean, yes. I think so. Probably.”
“Probably?” David scoffs. “He’s probably your boyfriend? You text me six times about what clothes to bring on your ‘romantic getaway with Jane’ for probably?”
“You did that?” Shane’s eyes turn all gooey.
This doesn’t make sense. Rozanov isn’t serious about him. Rozanov talks about his mouth and his chest and his hole.
But he also…
What do you do when your world feels like it’s falling apart?
He sent that when Shane was in the hospital. He visited when Shane was in the hospital. Shane smiled around his name that day, a smile that David attributed to drugs. But maybe. Maybe…
“So this is serious?” David asks. “You’ve been together for…seven years? Right?”
“Seven years?” Yuna draws in a sharp breath. “Well…Just…”
They’re a perfect match, really. Yuna chooses flight too.
As soon as the door's shutting behind her, Shane’s inside his body enough to stand. “I should bring her her sweater,” he says, even though it’s warm out. “Can I—”
“Go,” David says in sync with Rozanov. They exchange a wary look, but Shane doesn’t notice. He’s a man on a mission, chasing after his mother. He’s sweet like that. Far too sweet to be with someone who rates his performance in bed (always as a ten out of ten, but still).
For a moment, they’re both quiet. Rozanov’s such a boisterous man, on television and on the phone. Here, he almost seems small, like he’s physically trying to shrink himself.
“Old sex freak, eh?” David says lightly. Somehow, he thought this would alleviate the tension. Rozanov looks like he’s been stabbed.
“I’m so sorry sir. It was a bad joke.”
David frowns. “Please don’t call me sir.”
“Right. I forgot you don’t like that.” Rozanov’s eyes widen, like he can’t believe his own words. David lets out a surprised laugh.
“I need a drink. Vodka?”
Rozanov nods. David goes to the kitchen, fashioning two glasses. He downs a few sips, then pours some more. He gestures for Rozanov to join him at the table. The couch would be too intimate, he thinks.
They sit there in silence, drinking. David isn’t sure what to say. He promised himself that he would never be like Yuna’s father who took one look at him and deemed him unfit for his precious daughter.
But God, it’s not like Yuna’s dad knew what David knows. It's not like he knew that—
“You don’t use a safe word,” he blurts out.
Rozanov’s eyes, somehow, go wider. “S–sorry?”
“You told me you don’t need a safe word,” David says tersely. “Because Jane will never say no to anything.”
“I…If he tells me to stop, of course I will stop.”
If. Not when. If. Like Shane asking him to stop is purely hypothetical. Whether it makes things better or worse, the fact of the matter is that Shane is an active participant in…this. Whatever this is.
“What is this?” David asks. “Are you gay? I thought you were a ladies man.”
“I am bisexual,” he says.
“Bisexual.”
“It means—”
“I know what bisexual means,” David snaps. “What I don’t understand is what you’re doing with my son. Is this some kind of game to you?”
What do you do when your world feels like it's falling apart? Born to be pinned down. Is it so bad that I wanted more of him? My Jane loves to cry and beg for my dick.
Every word swats by him like a horde of obnoxious fruit flies.
“No. No, I…I care about him, Mr. Hollander,” he says softly. “Very much.”
“Okay,” David says, wanting so badly to take his word for it. “Okay. Look, forgive me if I find it hard to believe that this is something real to you…The way you’ve talked about my boy…” What a mouth. Amazing at following orders. He shudders.
Rozanov, to his credit, has the decency to look embarrassed. “I’m very sorry. I know what I said, but you must know…I love him.” David isn’t sure what surprises him more: the words or the certainty that Rozanov says them with.
“What happened to ‘just’?” David waves his hand back and forth in a so-so gesture.
“Scott Hunter,” he says. “In a different world, we would be together years ago, I think. But with the league, the rivalry, Russia…”
David takes another sip. Fuck. Would it have killed Shane to pick someone simpler? “Why you then?” he asks. Rozanov surprises him by flinching. “I just mean…like you said, it’s very, very complicated.” And God, all David wants for Shane, more than Cups, more than his number in Montreal’s rafters, is simplicity.
“I don’t know,” Rozanov says. “I have been asking myself that all week.” His eyes are downcast, his lip trembling, like he’s on the verge of tears.
“Oh no, don’t…” David can’t stop himself from clasping a hand on the poor boy’s shoulder. Because he is, at the end of the day, just a boy. “Look, knowing what we know now, it’s deeply mortifying, yeah. But…I guess you must care about him, huh? You never talked about anyone else."
And there must have been someone else. Many, many someones. David's seen the pictures, the various women hanging off of Rozanov's arm. He never texted about any of them, bragged about them, beamed about them. Just Jane. Only ever Jane.
Rozanov blushes. "I can't talk about him with my teammates much. They will ask for pictures, you know? You never did. It was...nice."
"We could have avoided a lot of awkwardness if I had," David says lightly. "You're a good guy. A good friend. I see why Shane likes you."
"I'm not—"
"You are," he says. Now that the initial shock has settled, he's acutely aware of how true it is. "You saw an old guy alone at a bar, having a tough night, and you lent an ear. That's more than most people your age can say.”
“That’s nice of you,” Rozanov says. “But I still…I know how much easier his life would be. Without me.”
“It can be easy with you. We just need a good plan.”
Rozanov’s face stretches into a smile. “No wonder I wanted to be your friend.”
“What?”
Then Rozanov says, like it’s obvious, like it’s an indisputable fact, “You’re just like him.”
“Oh.” David hasn’t heard that in years. Everyone says he takes after Yuna. “I don’t know about that.”
“You are. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.” He shakes his head. “Look, Mr. Hollander—”
“Dave.”
Rozanov’s smile widens. “Dave. I hope you won’t hold anything I said against Shane. You can hate me forever if you want, but please, please don’t hurt him.”
Just like that, David forgets about the vulgar messages and cocky grins, the smug interviews and hard checks into the boards.
Instead, he recalls those deranged drunk messages. In hindsight, he must have sent them when Shane was dating Rose Landry.
Oh I’m so fucked Dave, he said. Looking at this worried face, David knows in his heart that it’s true. He’s gone for his boy. What more could he ask for? Well, besides a swift case of amnesia.
“I could never hate you. Either of you. This is…I mean, there’s some stuff I’d like to forget. But I’m happy he has you.” He chuckles. “Figures he’d end up with another hockey player. I had my money on a personal trainer, but that wouldn’t be enough for Shane, huh?”
“I hope not.” Ilya’s eyebrows wrinkle, like he’s jealous of this hypothetical personal trainer. Hopefully Rose Landry has a strong security detail.
The door slides open and Shane walks through, frantically looking back and forth between the two of them, like he’s just realized he left them alone together. “Everything good?”
“Yes.” Ilya nods. “Your dad gets good vodka.”
“Thanks. I try to get the Russian stuff,” David says. He flashes Shane a look that he hopes is reassuring. “We’re okay. I promise. Ro—Ilya and I were just discussing how you two need a plan.”
“Yeah. I’ve come up with one,” Shane says, sitting at the table, folding his hands.
Oh, he’s his mother’s son. And maybe, David allows, his father’s too.
The next morning, David sits outside doing a crossword puzzle and watching the sunrise. It’s a habit he got into when Shane got serious about hockey and started traveling. It reframes the silence, makes it more pleasant, less deafening.
The door squeaks open, earlier than Yuna usually joins him for her morning emails. “What’s a six letter word for peaceful? It’s not sedate.”
“Hockey?”
David startles at the sound of his son’s voice. Shane hasn’t joined him out here since the day after the draft.
He was so quiet then, even more than usual. David assumed it was because he was upset about not getting picked first. Now, he knows it must have been more than that. It must have been Ilya, already lodged under his skin.
“Hi kiddo.” David pulls out a seat. “What’s up?”
“Just finished my morning run. Thought I’d, uh, stop by.” Shane drops into the seat. He’s flushed with sweat, his cheeks red.
David wonders how hard he pushed himself today. If he ever gives himself the morning off, now that the other half of his bed isn’t empty. It’s a nice thought.
Shane lifts his shirt for a quick second, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and David spots a small hickey on his hip. Okay. Maybe not a thought he wants to delve too deep into.
“Listen,” David says, “I don’t know how much Ilya told you, but I had no clue who he was, really. And I obviously had no clue you were…Jane.”
“Yeah, if you could never call me that again, that would be amazing,” Shane says, his ears turning as red as his cheeks. “But I actually…I wanted to thank you.”
“Thank me?” It’s a bit of a shock. David was starting to worry Shane would never look him in the eyes again—not that he did that much in the first place.
“It meant a lot to him, having someone to talk to. It means a lot to him. His dad…He’s gone now, but even before he passed, he wasn’t really there, you know?”
“Ah.” David remembers that now, the news of Ilya’s father passing. Poor kid. He never mentioned it in any of his texts. But maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe he had another Hollander to lean on. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah. And it’s weird. Like, really weird. But I’m glad he has you.”
“I’m glad to have him. And no more talk about rope play. Scout’s honor.”
Shane groans, buries his face in his hands. David can’t help but laugh, unsurprised when his son doesn’t join in. “Okay, but the Ottawa plan…what do you think? Is it terrible?”
“You want my opinion?”
“Yes. That’s why I asked.”
David can’t remember the last time Shane asked for his opinion. Never? No, he called when he was deciding between two accountants at eighteen.
David swallows thickly, steeling himself. He knows the rules of being a parent. He can’t show Shane how much this means to him, or he’ll never ask again.
“It’s not going to be easy moving to a new country, settling into a struggling team. But I think it’ll be good for you both, being so close, not being rivals anymore.”
“And you’ll be here,” Shane says.
“Yes. We’ll be here. Whatever he needs.”
Shane, like he so often does, falls quiet. In the distance, a loon calls. David scratches his pencil against the crossword puzzle, but he’s not doing a very good job pretending to focus. If Shane hasn’t left yet, it means there’s something else on his mind.
“When did you know?” Shane asks finally. “About me being…gay.” He says the word a bit lower, like maybe the loon will overhear and call TMZ.
“I’m not sure there was one exact moment. You just never really seemed interested in girls. I think a lot of it became clear in hindsight,” he says. “Do you remember Marlene?”
“Marlene Lessard? Yeah. Why? Is she gay?”
David laughs. “No, I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure she’s married to a man now. I just remember all the boys at your school drooling over her. I asked you what you thought of her. You were eleven, I think. Do you remember what you said?”
“No.”
“You said she was a slow runner. You were on the same relay team with her in gym class a few months before and you lost because of her. You were still so mad about it. That was all you cared about. Looking back, I think that was the first time I thought…maybe. Even if only for a minute.”
“Oh. Is that really gay though?” Shane asks. “I mean, I was a kid. Does anyone actually have crushes at that age?”
“Sure. Didn’t you?”
“No. I just cared about hockey.”
“Right. And got stars in your eyes every time Krolik from the Centaurs did an interview shirtless. And every time your friend Paul shared his snack with you. And every time the cashier at Farm Boy winked at you. And—“
“Alright, please stop with my gay greatest hits. And don't tell my boyfriend about Krolik, he’ll never let me live it down.”
David laughs. He likes the sound of that, my boyfriend. It’s nice that Shane belongs to someone. Someone who loves him enough to, for better or worse, spend years waxing poetic about him to a stranger.
“I wish I had been able to tell you guys about him,” Shane says, “but it would make it real. And it couldn’t be real and…I’m sorry. That I kept it from you. That Ilya was more honest with you than I was.”
“Shane. You have nothing to be sorry for. He was honest because he didn’t know me. I think it’s easier in a way, giving your heart to a stranger. There’s less to lose. But you’ll never lose me and your mother, okay? There’s nothing you could say that would drive us away.”
“Nothing?” Shane says so skeptically it almost kills him.
“Nothing. I mean, I know exactly how you celebrated Ilya winning MVP and I don’t love you any less.” He cringes. “Too soon?”
“Oh my God. Way, way too soon. Fifty years from now would be too soon.”
“Fair enough.” David mimes locking his mouth and throwing away the key.
Shane’s phone dings, then dings again. He pulls it out of the pocket of his shorts, smiles at it. It’s that smile David didn’t know existed until this year that he now sees all the time. “Ilya?”
Shane’s head snaps up. “Yeah. He just woke up. I should…”
“Of course. You’ll come by for dinner soon though, right?”
“Yeah, for sure,” Shane says distractedly, nose buried in his phone again. He’s walking to the door when it hits David.
“Serene,” David says.
“What?”
“Serene. A six letter word for peaceful.” It’s so obvious, now that he thinks about it. Why would it be sedate? Sometimes the clear answer goes right over his head.
“Serene,” Shane echoes. “That makes sense. Bye Dad. Love you.”
“I love you too,” David says, watching his son’s figure retreat, back to his own cottage, his own morning, his own love.
The quiet settles over David again. Serene. He scratches the letters down, nods at them, satisfied.
Yeah. That looks about right.
He’s moving onto the next row when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out to find a text from a familiar contact, one he hasn’t heard from in weeks.
Mr. Boston: Good morning! Please send my boyfriend back soon. His eggs are getting cold
He’s on his way, David writes, smiling to himself.
He’s about to lock his phone, but he thinks better of it.
First, he has a contact name to change.