Chapter Text
Yuna left Rozanov behind in the hallway, trying to put the strange, disoriented look in his eye out of her mind, and stepped into her son’s hospital room.
Hockey was a contact sport. She knew this, she’d always known it, she’d grown up watching the sport and grown older watching Shane play it. They’d watched countless players slam against the boards or each other, hit the ice like lead over the years. She’d taken her son to the rink when he was six, watched him wobble on his skates like a baby deer, knowing that hockey was a contact sport. Driven him to practise, paid for his coaching, spoken to his coaches and captains and sponsorship negotiators knowing damn well the entire time that hockey was a contact sport and players could get hurt.
Knowing it wasn’t the same as feeling it. No amount of knowing, no theoretical understanding, no watching it happen to other people prepares a mother to see her son in a hospital bed.
Shane looked up lazily from where he was babbling to his father, his face lighting up in a dazed grin as he called out to her.
‘Mom! Mom, mama, ma-ma-made it, helloo~’ he trailed off, giggling to himself as Yuna crossed the room to his bedside, taking his hand tightly in hers, careful not to dislodge the needle taped into the back of it.
‘Hi sweetie,’ she smiled at him, squeezed his hand tighter, ‘How’re you feeling?’
‘M’fine,’ he sighed easily, letting his head sink back into the pillow, his eyes half shut, ‘All, all good. Great. M’fine, m’just,’ his brow furrowed and his lip pushed out in a pout, and she reached to stroke his forehead gently, smoothing it out, ‘Out for the playoffs. Don’t think we’ll win this year.’
‘Oh, baby,’ she soothed him, ‘That’s okay. You’re okay, you’ll get it next season.’ Trust her son to be disappointed about missing his chance for a third consecutive cup. Most hockey players would be happy to die after the first.
‘Boooo,’ he groaned, letting his free hand rise and drop limply against the sheets. His words slurred a little around the consonants, voice far more animated than it was normally, rising and dropping in pitch, ‘That’s so far away. Bored, boring, already died of boredom.’
‘Don’t be a drama queen,’ she chuckled, letting her hand fall away from his face, taking in the faint purple bruises along his nose and cheeks. Hockey was a contact sport. ‘What did the doctors say?’
‘Pshh. Concussion. Collarbone broken. Fractured, maybe. Can’t, mmn, can’t remember.’
‘That’s okay, champ,’ David patted his shoulder gently, ‘We’ll get it all sorted, keep you on your meds. Looks like they’re working, huh?’
Shane snorted, ‘Working great. Don’t even feel it, tell Marleau to come hit me again, I’ll just,’ he raised his free arm sloppily, a little unco-ordinated, ‘Bounce off ‘im. Like a ball. Bouncy ball, all bouncy,’ he snickered to himself again, dissolving into a fit of lazy giggles.
When he calmed down, he turned back to Yuna, frowning a little, ‘Thought you already asked the doctors. Dad said you were talking.’
Yuna looked up to glare daggers at her husband. David shrugged, ‘He asked where you were.’ She swallowed it with one last glare that said they would talk later, and turned back to her son.
‘Not to them, sweetie. I caught Rozanov in the hall, he said he came to see you.’
She was prepared for him to frown again. For a little playful trash talk, and for them to brush off Shane’s rival and talk about more important things. She was not prepared for her son’s complete and utter glee at hearing his rival’s name.
Shane’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, dark eyes sparkling in the gentle sun peeking through the curtains, ‘Ilya! Did you, you saw him? Is-- is he still here, is he coming back?’ He shuffled up in his bed, David’s steady hand on his chest easing him back down as Yuna’s brain struggled to rewrite its direction.
‘No, no honey. He was just leaving. But it was nice of him to swing by, huh?’
He let his father set him down gently in the bed, smiling to himself again.
‘He is nice,’ That was news to Yuna, ‘Nice to me.’ Breaking news, in fact. She wasn’t aware they even spoke off the ice, and had never heard anything from her son to contradict the idea that the two simply hated each other. The first inkling she’d gotten was from talking to Rozanov five minutes ago.
She thought back to what Rozanov had said about his reputation, about his and Shane’s. The Boston captain certainly had an image among fans and followers of the sport; cocky, carefree, and largely apathetic to anything except winning. Shane was the opposite - his quiet, boy-next-door persona carried true to who he actually was. Competitive, yes, but what professional athlete wasn’t? Her son was calm and sweet, polite to everybody, if a little awkward. Of course everyone thought they hated each other. They had been deadly rivals for nigh on a decade. They couldn’t be more different.
Yuna Hollander pushed down her surprise and returned her focus to Shane, staring dreamily at nothing. But her curiosity got the better of her. Call it a mama bear instinct. ‘He is?’
‘Yeah,’ Shane giggled again. ‘When he’s not being an asshole,’ That was more like the Rozanov she’d heard about, ‘But he got me ginger ale. Thought I wouldn’t notice, like it was just lying around, but I know he hates it. Got it for me.’
Ah. Now it made sense, ‘I think you’re getting confused, sweetie,’ she said softly, reaching up to smooth down his hair, ‘Hayden and Jackie get ginger ale for you, when you go to dinner.’
Hayden had messaged her a few hours ago, when he’d first been in to see Shane. Rozanov had come in shortly after. Of course Shane would confuse the two right now.
She thought back to something else Rozanov had said, his eyes alight with nerves. Shane’s meds made his head foggy, and he said things that he didn’t mean, or weren’t true. Her stomach blanched, hoping her son hadn’t embarrassed himself too badly in front of the Boston captain, whether or not he was enough of an asshole to use it against him.
But Shane shook his head, frowning hard enough to squeeze his eyes shut, ‘No,’ he said petulantly, ‘Ilya got me ginger ale. And he made me a tuna melt. But you can’t tell anyone,’ his eyes flew open, locked onto hers, wild and frantic. His voice dropped into a poor attempt at whispering, ‘You can’t tell anyone, it’s a secret, shhh.’
‘Okay, honey, okay. I’m not going to tell anyone,’ she coaxed him into calming down, looking up frantically at David, just as shocked as she was.
‘You can’t tell anyone,’ he said again, but softer this time, ‘Or he’ll freak out. Won’t come to the cottage.’
Yuna blinked, ‘He’s coming to the cottage?’
Shane grinned again,evidently proud of himself, ‘Maybe. He said maybe. I hope he comes. Don’t,’ he fumbled around a bit, fidgeting his hands nervously as his grin dropped, ‘Don’t want him to go back to Russia. Just makes him sad.’
Her head was spinning a thousand miles an hour. Shane never invited anyone, save herself and David, and occasionally Hayden and his family, to the cottage. It was his private sanctuary, his safe space. But he’d apparently, all hopped up on hospital grade painkillers, invited Rozanov? And Rozanov, probably just to placate him in his current state, had said maybe?
She wondered how much she’d failed to pick up on. Her son’s entire friendship, however far it went, with his ten year archrival, was something she’d clearly missed. As much as she wanted to believe that it was, like Rozanov had said, just Shane being loopy, part of her couldn’t. Shane didn’t want Rozanov to go back to Russia because it upset him, and would rather bring the Boston captain into his home than let him go back to his own.
A million questions flit through her brain. How did he know how Rozanov felt about his country? When had they spoken about it? And, maybe most importantly, why was it such a secret?
‘I’m sure he’ll come,’ she murmured, completely unsure, ‘It’s very kind of you to think about him.’
‘Mm, always think about him,’ he mumbled, ‘How-- was he okay when you saw him? Did he seem okay?’
‘He’s alright,’ she soothed him, ‘Said he’s sorry you’re hurt. Glad you’re okay.’
Shane hummed, letting his eyes slip shut, ‘Good,’ he said quietly, ‘Didn’t… didn’t want him to worry.’
‘Okay champ,’ David interjected, ruffling Shane’s hair, ‘You’d had a lot of action recently. Why don’t you go take a nap, alright? We’ll go speak to the doctors, let you rest, then come back to take you home.’
‘Okay dokay,’ Shane went down easy, sinking into the sheets, already half asleep. Yuna looked at her husband over his gentle snores.
They’d had a few conversations, mostly before Shane briefly dated Rose Landry, about their son. As his parents, they weren’t blind to the fact that he hadn’t seemed as… let’s say preoccupied, with the fairer sex as most of his teammates. Broadly, she’d swept that under the rug of his single minded obsession with the sport.
This was different, at least it seemed so. Yuna knew her son well enough to know not to bring it up when he was lucid, but this was a long way away from being too busy for girls.
‘David,’ she whispered, ‘You, you don’t think…?’
‘I don’t know,’ he confessed, looking back over to Shane, checking he was out cold, ‘Maybe.’
Whatever secrets her son was keeping, he was old enough to keep them now. As much as she hated it. As much a mother was never ready to let her baby go.
She could only pray that she’s raised her son to have better taste in men than Ilya Rozanov. Even if he was secretly a nice young man that bought ginger ale and waited around outside his hospital room and said maybe when Shane invited him into his house.
Maybe.