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Ilya stood on the front porch of the Hollander family home, a nice vintage bottle of wine in hand, trying to calm the waves churning in his stomach before he knocked on the door. Since he and Shane had become exclusive just over a year ago, he’d met Yuna and David a handful of times - but never on his own. Always as one half of Shane-and-Ilya, which he loved. Deeply. He hadn’t known what to expect when he received a text from Yuna inviting him to dinner, knowing that Shane was already back in Montreal preparing for the start of the season, but he’d felt it would be rude to decline, so here he was. He took in a deep breath to steady himself and knocked.
Yuna answered and swiftly ushered him into the house, directing him to hang his jacket on the end of the bannister and taking the wine into the kitchen. He followed, asking if there was anything he could help with.
“Oh, no, David has it all under control, but thank you, sweetheart.”
Ilya’s stomach flopped. It wasn’t the first time Yuna had called him sweetheart, but hearing such a sweet term of endearment from a mother, especially a mother who maybe cared about him, made his heart swell. It was a little embarrassing.
They sat down to dinner - chicken parmesan - which Ilya quickly learned he loved. He was shocked at how normal it all felt, despite his earlier nerves. Shane’s parents were easy to talk to and they asked lots of questions that weren’t all about hockey or Shane, which made sense because Yuna was already an expert in both.
“I picked up a pie from the bakery earlier to have as dessert,” Yuna said once they’d had their fill of dinner. “I hope you like blueberry.”
Ilya would have eaten any flavour of pie under the sun to continue having this wonderful evening with the two people in the world who adored Shane as much as he did.
“Blueberry is perfect,” he said.
Once dessert had been eaten and cleaned up, Yuna plopped a mug of tea in front of Ilya.
“So,” she said.
Oh no. They do want to talk about something serious. Maybe they do not think I am right for Shane after all? Have they heard some type of rumour?
“Now that you’re settling in here in Ottawa, I just want to make sure that you…” she began.
“I am still one hundred percent committed to Shane,” Ilya offered.
Yuna laughed. “Oh, honey, of course you are! There’s not a doubt in our mind. We just want to make sure you have everything you need.”
Ilya stared at her, perplexed. “Ottawa had plenty of cap space to afford me, I can get whatever I need no problem. Not to worry.”
Yuna smiled at him, then glanced at David, trying again to articulate her concern. “Of course, of course. But…who do you have in town? Who is your emergency contact?”
Ilya paused. No one had ever cared to ask him about that before, even when he’d been a foreign teenager freshly installed in Boston. “Ah, well, in Boston was my friend Svetlana. Old friend, from home in Russia, but she lives in Boston for many years now. I did not think to change, I ah…don’t know so many people here. In Ottawa.”
“That’s what I thought. Honey, what if something happens? Will your friend be able to help from all the way in Boston?”
Ilya shrugged. Nothing bad had happened before. What, was the team plane going to crash or something? No, he’d be fine. He was always fine.
“I’d like to be your emergency contact. If anything were to happen, even something at practice, I - we - want to support you.”
Ilya stared blankly at Yuna for what felt like a second, but was probably longer, as she raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.
“Oh. That is, um, very nice offer. But…I think it may raise some questions if I write ‘Yuna Hollander’ on my team paperwork. I know we work together now, for charity, but…people might not think we are so close.”
All Ilya could think about was what Shane would say. That it would make things obvious, there’s no reason for Ilya to be that close to Shane’s mom. People would ask questions. Despite all that, he wanted more than anything to say yes. To have a mom again. To know that if anything did happen to him, there would be someone who cared about him to answer the call. Maybe visit him in the hospital.
Ilya looked at Yuna’s brows knit together, and smiled to himself. Shane made the exact same expression when he was trying to work out a solution.
“What if…what if we use fake name? Like how Shane and I do, with our phones. So people don’t find out about us. I could put your phone number on form, but call you something else. Like…Anna,” Ilya offered, suddenly desperate to find a way to make this work.
“I like how you think, Ilya. Anna…hmm. What last name would make sense? Something Russian?”
“No, no. I don’t know any Russians here, is not so believable.”
Yuna and Ilya both startled at the sound of David’s voice. He’d been silently absorbing this entire interaction, though he’d known beforehand of Yuna’s plan. “What about Holt? It’s one of the root words of Holland, but I doubt anyone would put two and two together.”
Ilya had always loved boring, but in this moment, he was especially grateful for the very specific Hollander brand of boring.
“Anna Holt,” Yuna repeated. “Perfect. Okay, Ilya, when you go in for your next practice, request a change to your paperwork, and update your emergency contact to Anna Holt. You already have my number.”
A grin broke across Ilya’s face. “Okay,” he said. “I will do that.”
—-
Shane and Ilya wandered into their kitchen after Ilya’s…extensive team initiation ritual. He hadn’t expected it would be so hot to have his team captain take him apart slowly, methodically, deliciously while he wore his own hockey jersey…but it had certainly done something for him.
Shane had changed out of his now-rumpled Ottawa Centaurs kit, leaving the Hollander #24 sweater neatly folded over the back of a chair in their bedroom. He smiled to himself, as he often did when he remembered that these rooms were theirs. He’d been living with Ilya in Ottawa for a few months, now, but it was still sinking in - Ilya is his husband. This is their house. They play for the same team. Everything they’d hoped for, at first secretly, and then out loud, for the last thirteen years…was all theirs. And, Shane thought to himself, he’d get to have hot sex with his captain whenever he wanted. Hell. Yes. Well…except on the ice. Or in the arena, or practice facility…but. Whenever he wanted, within reason.
The sound of Ilya’s voice broke him out of his little daydream. “Huh?” Shane grunted.
“Oh my God, Hollander. Do you want lunch?”
“Oh, yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”
Ilya rolled his eyes, and then opened the fridge. Shane sidled up behind him, and slid his arms around his waist.
“I thought you said you want lunch,” Ilya said, suppressing a laugh.
“I do. Maybe I just wanted a snack first,” Shane quipped back.
“Shane. Was all that upstairs not enough for you?” Ilya grinned, turning around and leaning in to kiss his husband. They melted into each other, kissing comprehensively, until the fridge started to beep.
“Oh shut up,” Ilya groaned, grabbing the rest of the ingredients and shutting the door.
They sat down at the kitchen island to eat. They still lived for these small domestic moments together, and now that Shane had been to the Centaurs offices to sign his contract and fill out his team paperwork, the rest of the day stretched out ahead of them.
“Hey, uh…so I had to put down an emergency contact when I filled out my paperwork,” Shane said, rubbing a finger along the edge of his now-empty plate.
“Yes, of course you did. Is normal, no? You not have emergency contact in Montreal?” Ilya replied.
“Well, I did. I just…at first I thought about putting you down, since, you know, we’re married.”
“Yes, Hollander, I know. I was there.” Ilya held up his left hand, wiggling his ring finger in Shane’s face.
“Well, yeah. I know. But then I thought…how would that make any sense? We’re on the same team…so if anything happened to just me, you’d already be there. And if anything happened to both of us, like with the bus, or the plane…”
Ilya winced at the words, the trauma of the Centaurs near-plane crash flooding back to him.
“…or anything like that, well. You wouldn’t exactly be reachable. So. I put down my mom.” Shane finished, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He’d been nervous to have this conversation, though he couldn’t exactly pinpoint why.
“Makes sense. Your mom is very on top of things. Is good person to contact in emergency.”
“But then I was thinking…who is your emergency contact? Is it your brother? Or…like, a friend or something? I know it wouldn’t have been me, because people didn’t know about us…before…when I was in Montreal…”
Ilya let out a long sigh. “Hollander, you are so boring. Why does this matter? Is just paperwork.”
“I just want to know. You know, who you picked. Who is there to support you. Aside from me. Obviously,” Shane all but mumbled.
“Is Yuna,” Ilya said, offering no further details.
Shane smiled. “That’s good. But that must be new, right? Who was it before?”
Ilya chuckled. “Still Yuna. But with fake name.”
Shane’s eyes went wide. “What?! Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“We both thought you would freak out.”
“How long has my mom been your emergency contact?!”
“Since I got to Ottawa. First season here. Before that was Svetlana, but she is no help all the way in Boston. Yuna offered, so I said yes. Is simple.”
Shane sat back in his seat, stunned. He was often quiet, but that was by choice. Now, he was truly at a loss for words. His gut instinct was to panic - that people might have found out, questioned Ilya’s connection with Shane’s mother. But, he reminded himself, that hadn’t happened. Everything had been fine. Well, almost everything, but that was Brad’s fault, not Ilya’s. Or his mother’s.
Ilya was looking at him, waiting for him to say something. He looked nervous, like maybe he had unknowingly crossed some unstated boundary, and he needed reassurance from Shane.
“Well, I guess that makes sense. She does love you, you know,” Shane finally replied.
Ilya smiled, his icy blue eyes twinkling. “Yes, she does.”