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Mother’s Weekend.
A weekend that many NHL players looked forward to every few years. It was an NHL tradition started as an opportunity for players to spend some rare quality time with the women who helped them to get to where they were today. An opportunity to show off the lives that these women had helped them to build. After years of spreading themselves thin, pinching pennies to pay for new skates and equipment, early mornings spent going to the rink instead of enjoying mimosas with the girls, the moms would get the opportunity to enjoy their labors of love.
Ilya had had one of those moms. He had many wonderful memories of her that lived in the forefront of his mind. He would often think of the nights spent on the couch while she read beautifully written, joyful stories to him, while he anxiously flipped the pages so that they could fit in just one more story before bed. At the time it felt like a simple act of love, but as he has gotten older he had come to realize that this was his mothers attempt to erase or repair some of the daily traumas that Ilya was enduring living under the same roof as his father. It was her final attempt to bring them both peace as the days would come to an end. Ilya thought about the hugs, tender and warm—something that he had been missing so much before he had Shane. He thought about her stunning smile, her beautiful laugh, and he wished so much that he could remember the sound of it better. He had learned to live with the good memories of his mother, allowing them to ebb and flow like a tide, sometimes strong enough to take him out, and other times where he allowed them to gently wash over him.
In the same way that Ilya built up his walls with the people in his life, he was able to build them within his mind, not allowing the bad memories to breach his daily thoughts. It would be easy to assume that these are the memories surrounding her death, but as much as those hurt, they weren’t the memories that could bring him to his knees. The rink is where Ilya felt most at home as a child, but his mother was the foundation to that home. If he allowed himself to remember her face in the crowd while she jumped excitedly after he had scored, or the moments after a loss when she would engulf him in a hug, reminding him that he was worth more than the goals he scored—he could crumble. The only thing more stable and reliable than hockey was his mother’s presence in the crowd. When she was gone, it was never quite the same.
Ilya was thinking of his mother right now, as he cut up apples and added them on a tray, with peanut butter on the side for dipping. A regular snack that she would offer him before bed as a child. He could feel Shane watching him from the couch, uneasy and worried, as usual.
“Shane?” Yuna said, snapping him out of his own head.
“Sorry, mom. What?” he replied, confused raising the phone back up to his ear.
“Are you coming back tonight, or are you going to head right to the airport tomorrow morning? I can just meet you there if you are planning on staying in Ottawa tonight.”.
It was Yuna’s third Mother’s Weekend, and she was a seasoned veteran at this point. Get to the airport, fly to the visiting team’s city, enjoy a team meal, watch the game, try not to embarrass your boy too much, come home. For both her and Shane, it was more about figuring out logistics now, and the buzz had quieted for them both. They had always enjoyed each other’s company, and a team road trip wasn’t necessary for them to reconnect, but it was still a fun weekend—getting to know all of the other moms and seeing the team dynamic shift into something softer and more tender. This year, they were headed to Washington.
“I think I’m going to stay here for the night, but I’ll meet you tomorrow and we can drive back to Montreal together,” Shane replied finally. There was no sense in taking two vehicles.
Shane was lying on the couch, watching Ilya across the room as he mindlessly prepared some diet-friendly snacks for the two of them. He was unfocused, his mind stuck on Ilya and how his weekend would play out.
“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning. Grab us coffee on your way,” Yuna said, sensing the conversation wasn’t going any further.
“Sounds good, mom. I love you,” he said before hanging up the phone and turning his attention to Ilya.
“How are you feeling about this weekend?” Shane asked quietly, as if Ilya would be more receptive to it with the volume turned down.
Teams didn’t all participate in Mother’s Weekend at the same time, but as luck would have it, both the Metros and the Centaurs were. Shane had never really thought about how this weekend would feel to the players who didn’t have a mom in their lives, and that left him with a tinge of guilt. He had certainly taken his own for granted.
Ilya sighed loudly, frustrated. “Shane, this is not my first time. I have had eighteen years with no mother. I will be okay. It is just another trip to boring Calgary.”
“Yeah, but this is the first time…”
“Shane.” Ilya interrupted. “Enough. Enjoy your weekend with Yuna. I will be just fine.”
Ilya knew what he was going to say. This would be the first Mother’s Weekend since he had spoken publicly about his mother at the Irina Foundation press conference. It wasn’t that he had been lying about her before that. It wasn’t a lie to say, she is not coming, but he knew it wasn’t the whole truth either. That half-truth bought him peace from his teammates. No one would ask. No one would linger or glance his way in those tender moments between the team and their mothers. He was sure this year was going to feel different, but he wasn’t about to tell Shane that.
Shane knew better than to push, so he let it drop as Ilya sank down next to him with the tray of snacks.
Shane had to be up before the sun to make it back to Montreal in time for takeoff. He rolled over at the sound of the alarm, reaching out for Ilya, scooting closer so he could hold him for just a moment before a new day took him away. Ilya rolled over slowly, coming nose-to-nose with Shane. Lifting a gentle hand to his face, Ilya pulled him closer to share a slow, tender kiss.
“Have a good flight, my love,” he said groggily after Shane pulled away, reminding him that he had to go.
Shane had a fifteen-minute drive to his parents’ house to pick up his mom, and those fifteen minutes were enough to make his head spin with the worst kind of thoughts. He had always known there was some darkness that lived in Ilya’s mind and heart, but he didn’t know the cause until that night at the cottage when Ilya had shared the story of his mother. Before then, Shane had chalked it up to a cruel country, and an even more cruel father. He realized that night that it wasn’t darkness, but rather a void that could never be filled by money, Stanley Cups, fast cars, or even Shane. It was a deep sadness that was likely never going to leave him. Shane could honestly say that the thought had never left him, either.
Every time he watched Ilya with Yuna, soaking in the love and warmth she offered him, it struck a chord in Shane, and he wished so badly that life could have been fairer to Ilya. And to Irina. By the time he reached his mom, he could no longer hide the heaviness in his mind.
“Where is the coffee?” Yuna asked, buckling her seatbelt.
“Shit, sorry mom. I forgot,” he replied, staring blankly out the windshield, his face sinking faster than what simple coffee forgetfulness deserved.
“I figured you might have gotten distracted this morning, so I had a cup before you got here. Did you have a goodnight?” she asked cheerfully. “Shane?” she prodded after a delay.
“Uh. Yeah. It was good. We just watched a movie and went to bed.”
They drove in silence after that, nothing playing on the radio. Yuna had come to know this version of Shane over the years—the quiet, focused version of her son. He was likely feeling overwhelmed. A combination of leaving Ilya, the logistics of the weekend, and the upcoming games. She accepted him as he was and was happy to ride in silence.
She was surprised when he nervously blurted out, “Mom… can you fly to Calgary tomorrow?”
“From Washington?” she replied, confused.
“This is Ilya’s first Mom’s Weekend where people know he doesn’t have one anymore. I just want him to… I don’t know.” He trailed off, not really knowing what he wanted.
“You want him to have a mom,” she replied softly, reaching for his hand lovingly. “Are you sure that is what he would want, honey? I’m not sure I’m a good replacement for his mother.”
Shane tilted his head back briefly, taking a deep breath, rethinking his request. Then he committed. “I know you can’t replace his mom, but you still love him like one. I just want him to have someone.”
Yuna picked up her phone and began to type aggressively.
“What are you doing?” Shane asked, a little flustered.
“I’m booking a flight,” she replied.
Shane was immediately more anxious. Had he overstepped his boundaries with Ilya? Would he hate him for this? How was this going to work exactly?—it isn’t exactly normal for your rival’s mom to show up to Mom’s Weekend. Is she going to just show up at the hotel? Team supper?—That would be a horrible idea.
Yuna could see that Shane was reeling, drowning in his own thoughts.
“Shane, you’re doing a good thing. It’s your job to love him. If that is your intention, we will figure out the rest as it comes. I am happy to be there for him,” Yuna said, causing Shane to finally exhale.
Yuna removed her hand from his and turned on the radio, breaking the silence for the rest of their drive.
Their arrival to the airport tarmac Montreal snapped Shane back to the present. As he and Yuna exited the shuttle vehicle to the plane, they were greeted by his teammates and their mothers like they had been twice before. This time felt different, because Shane was now a veteran on the team and he had formed connections over his decade with the team, getting to know his teammates more personally in the process. He had known many of their parents for years, so moments like this felt like coming home. He was greeted warmly, hugged and held by many of the women who had raised his friends and teammates. His mother was greeted with the same enthusiasm by his teammates. Everyone knew that Yuna was an absolute boss, but she could banter with the best of them. She was well loved by his team, and he loved to see her be appreciated the same way he had always appreciated her.
There were also some new faces to meet. Every year, new young teammates would be welcomed, many participating in their first mother’s weekend. As the leader of the team, Shane always felt it was important to shake their mothers’ hands and thank them for raising good men. This was the same courtesy that had been extended to him and Yuna in their early years with the team.
The NHL also hosted Father’s Weekend, of course, but something always hit differently with the moms. Dad’s felt the need to talk shop, to talk hockey, and to talk stats. There were egos beyond that of the players in the room. But with the moms, there was an overwhelming sense of pride for their sons as people, and not numbers on a score sheet. The plane was never quiet when the moms were around. They knew how to capitalize on every interaction with both their sons and their fellow mothers in a way that put everyone at ease. Most importantly, the boys never felt the need to show off in from of their moms. The versions of them that Shane saw on this weekend were probably the truest version of them to exist. Moms did that—their maternal energy just made everything feel like home.
Home. When Shane’s mind thought of home, he had realized that he didn’t think of a place. He thought of his parents. Once again, this thought brought him back to Ilya and the pit in his stomach grew. Did home exist to Ilya? What did he think of when he thought of that word? Shane looked up to see his mother talking to another one of his teammates as they boarded the plane, smile spread widely across her face as she teased him about his new haircut, and he decided he wasn’t going to allow his mind to go further down the hole today. Today was for Yuna.
The next few hours were filled with the kind of moments that Shane knew would live on in the boys’ memories forever, especially the ones experiencing this for the first time. It was the kind of flight that created genuine laughter and joy, as veterans shared embarrassing stories about their younger teammates, but also expressed their pride and admiration for them in a way that left the moms beaming with pride. Mother’s and Father’s Weekends doubled as a vessel for men to share their love for one another, through conversations with their parents. By the time they landed, everyone’s cups felt full.
Shane knew that no matter what happened on the ice on Mother’s Weekend, they were all winning.
Ilya made the trip to the airport later that day. He had convinced himself that it would be like any other road trip, with a larger plane. When he arrived, he was happy to be greeted by Coach Wiebe. It was a sad thing to feel some kind of happiness knowing you share the same trauma as somebody else. In this moment, he felt just a pinch of comfort knowing that Wiebe had also lost his mother as a child, and his father just a few years back. He had reached out to Ilya after the foundation was started to let him know that he wasn’t alone in what they now lovingly refer to as the “Sad Orphans Club”. Ilya knew he’d be the last to arrive, because it was by design. He wanted to avoid the tarmac introductions and hugs that come with 25 excited mothers. Every year there would be the innocent question of “and which one is your mom” when meeting one of the lovely, blissfully unaware women. He wasn’t up for it this year, and maybe Wiebe wasn’t either.
“You ready for this Rozy?” Wiebe said with an exasperated sigh, handing his bag off to a handler.
“No.” Ilya said simply as Wiebe slapped him on the back in agreeance as they boarded the plane.
NHL flights all operated the same way, players at the back, coaches at the front. This is a tradition that starts in your earliest years of playing, piling on to buses to head to the nearest town to play in a tournament, and continues into your pro career. Some of the more superstitious guys had been sitting next to the same person for years, others liked to move around. Ilya thought as team captain that it was important to switch it up and get to know someone new every week. Today though, Ilya was happy to see two empty seats near the front of the plane reserved for him and Wiebe by chance. He was quick to take the window seat to limit access to what was sure to be his busy mind for the duration of the flight.
Before Wiebe sat down, he addressed and welcomed the boisterous plane of women and their kids—no matter their age, these guys really did become kids around their moms and made Ilya wonder how long it had been since he felt that way. He already knew the answer though.
As the wheels lifted, Ilya could hear the fun-loving banter coming from behind him. Row upon row of genuine memories being made. In previous years, he sat near the back and got involved in conversations he was invited into, and he could force himself to have a good time. This year, he felt like he had earned some privacy and grace, having shared his story earlier in the year. No one would fault him for checking out. And he did. As he popped his headphones in, he felt a hand briefly rub and then tap his thigh as Coach Wiebe offered a silent “I see you” as he glanced over, and Ilya continued to noise cancel his way to some peace.
Peace couldn’t be found—instead his mind flooded with those memories. His mom in the stands, the post game hug, and her hand on his thigh in the backseat of the car as his father berated him for “only scoring one goal tonight”. He closed his eyes to prevent them from showing what he was really feeling inside, and he tried to bring his thoughts back to her smile and those childish books he so loved when life still felt safe.
Ilya could score a hat trick and win by a landslide this weekend, and he would still feel lost and alone.
Ilya was jolted awake when the plane touched down. He had nodded off around the halfway point of the flight and when he took his headphones out, the plane had levelled out in more ways than one. What was once the mindless excited chatter of families catching up had turned into regular background noise as people were fatiguing from the flight. It felt nice. Normal.
The team was taken by bus to their hotel to check in, and get dressed for a mandatory team supper that had been booked in a beautiful Calgary restaurant with a mountain view. It would be a chance for the moms and sons to get dolled up and take advantage of a beautiful photo backdrop. Ilya really didn’t want anything to do with it. While they were awaiting room assignments, he did bring himself to introduce himself to some of the moms he had not met in past seasons.
When he reached Luca Haas, the up-and-coming star of the Centaurs, his eyes diverted immediately. This is what was different this year. In past years, his teammates knew his mother was not present for the weekend, but they didn’t know why, so conversation flowed normally and no one had to walk on eggshells around him. This in combination with the fact that Ilya had gotten very good at hiding his own childhood trauma and pain made for a very smooth weekend. This year, everybody knew he was in the long established dead mom club, and that it was the kind of death that everyone tip toes around.
Ilya put on a happy face, wrapping an arm around the young player. “Luca! Please introduce me to this beautiful lady you brought along for the ride”.
Luca finally lifted his head with a shy grin, making eye contact. “Please don’t flirt with my mom Rozanov.”
Ilya gasped dramatically, hand to his chest like he’d been personally wounded.
“I would never do such a thing. I am sure she already has a handsome husband to make a man as cute as you,” he said, easy and joking, already having clocked the ring on Luca’s mother’s left hand.
“Hi, Ilya,” she said warmly, her Swiss accent soft around his name. “It is so nice to finally meet you. I feel like I know you already from the posters in Luca’s room.”
Ilya turned just in time to see Luca Haas go scarlet, a full-body blush like he’d been caught committing a crime.
“Oh my god, Mom,” Luca groaned, voice cracking with embarrassment. “That was years ago.”
“Well,” Ilya continued, grinning like he was unbothered, “I am not that old, but I will take your word for it. If you have some on the walls back in Ottawa, I would be happy to sign them.”
The woman laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and she reached out to shake his hand.
“I am Rina,” she said. “Thank you for helping take care of my boy.”
Rina.
The name landed like a punch in the teeth.
Just one vowel off. One stupid, innocent, fucking vowel away from the one thing he couldn’t have this weekend.
For a moment, it felt like the air in the lobby thinned. Like someone had quietly turned down the oxygen.
Ilya’s smile stayed on his face because it had to. Because that was what he did. He was the captain. He was charming. He was easy. He was fine. He was always fine. Underneath, he knew he wasn’t fine at all.
His chest tightened as if a belt had been cinched around his ribs. Breath that had been normal a second ago suddenly wouldn’t go all the way in. He tried to inhale again, deeper this time, and it caught halfway, snagging sharp in his throat. His heartbeat didn’t just pick up. It reached a pace that he felt he couldn’t keep up with.
He swallowed reflexively, but his throat felt smaller, swelling shut around nothing, and the swallow didn’t help. It only made him aware of how close he was to losing the tight control he had on his face, on his eyes, on everything.
His palm was still in hers. He could feel the warmth of her skin, the polite squeeze as she waited for him to respond.
“You have a wonderful son, Rina,” he heard himself say, voice steady in that detached way it got when he was trying not to fall apart. “It was very nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your weekend.”
He let go of her hand a second too quickly.
He could already feel the edges of his vision sharpening, the lobby lights too bright. Suddenly he could hear nothing, but everything. He could hear laughter, the sound of suitcase wheels on the marble floor, his own ears ringing louder than he knew they ever could, but nothing made sense. It was all like static on a radio.
His skin had turned cold. Not chilled—cold, like the heat had drained straight out of him. He could feel sweat gather at his neck and across his head.
He could feel his pulse in his throat. In his wrists. In his ears.
He needed to get out. He needed to disappear.
Ilya turned before anyone could say anything else, before Luca could clock what was happening. Attention was the last thing he wanted or needed right now.
Every step felt wrong, like he wasn’t fully attached to the floor. Like the lobby was tilting by half a degree and his body was compensating just to stay upright.
He tried to anchor himself to something, anything. As his eyes moved around the room he saw the person he knew might be able to help him right now.
Near the front desk was Coach Wiebe, standing off to the side as a handler handed out room keys and assignments. Ilya clocked that he looked as exhausted as Ilya felt. He didn’t need this right now either, but he felt that Wiebe was his only choice.
Ilya opened his mouth to speak—to ask for his room, to say anything normal—but no sound came out at first. His lungs refused to cooperate, caught in that shallow, stupid rhythm that wouldn’t give him enough air to talk.
He tried again, quieter.
Still nothing.
His hands were starting to tingle. The tips of his fingers felt wrong, but he tried to stay composed. He was fine. He just needed Wiebe to hand him his key so he could go be alone.
One single name sent him in a downward spiral, and he just needed it to stop.
“Roz?!... Ilya?!” Wiebe said as quietly as he could manage as he crossed the last five feet to meet Ilya. He could see in his face something was very wrong.
“Come here, kid.” He said, more sternly now, as he grabbed his arm and dragged him around the corner and down the hall out of sight.
A minute later, Ilya could feel warm hands on his face as Wiebe was doing everything he could to snap Ilya out of it.
“Hey buddy, I think you’re having a panic attack. Breathe with me, Roz. Let’s get you down.” Wiebe said with the utmost care and attention.
He grabbed the back of Ilyas head and planted it firmly in the center of his chest as he gently guided his back down the wall to a sitting position. He rearranged himself so he could sit next to him as his body fell slowly into his lap, shaking and struggling to breathe.
This wasn’t new to Wiebe. Though he had never been on this side of a panic attack, he knew what he needed in moments like this and that is all he had to offer Ilya now. He moved one hand aggressively up and down the length of Ilyas arm, trying to ground him and bring him back to reality, while his other hand gently tousled his hair in an attempt at some kind of tenderness.
“Breathe, Ilya. Breathe. You’re good here.” He repeated, reminding himself to do the same.
They sat like that for what felt like hours but was likely only a few minutes. Ilyas breathing began to level out and they both felt the relief of it. Eventually, Ilya lifted his head. Just moments ago he was looking at his blushing teammate, and now his own face was ten shades redder, streaked with tears from a combination of heartbreak and fear.
When Ilya felt that his voice had returned from the dead he was able to squeak out a quiet, breathless thank you. Wiebe took a deep breath and squeezed Ilyas hand with no words, not knowing what to say.
The two men sat for their impromptu Sad Orphans Club meeting for a little longer until Wiebe finally asked the question.
“Does that happen to you a lot?”
Ilya took another deep breath and answered.
“Never. I feel sad sometimes, but nothing like that.”
Wiebe took a moment deciding on how much he wanted to share but decided that Ilya could probably use someone to relate to right now.
“I have had panic attacks my entire life,” he began, “they can come out of no where. You’re not weak, you know. I think sometimes the kettle just boils over and our bodies don’t know what to do about it.”
“Her name is Rina.” Is all he managed to get out before the tears fell again, calmly this time.
“I am sorry you’ve gotta deal with this weekend. I know it sucks.” Wiebe was Ilyas favorite kind of person. He knew when to offer solutions and when to just say what was true and move on. There was no solution to this kind of problem.
Wiebe continued as he began to stand up, “if you’re okay, I can go grab your room key. I think you could use the night off.”
“I am okay. I might need to do this more often if I can get out of mandatory team activities.” Ilya said as he reached out for Wiebe’s hand to help him up.
Both men grinned, and Wiebe returned to the lobby to retrieve Ilya’s bag and room key, sparing him the additional stares that were sure to be waiting.
In Washington, the Metros were just wrapping up what felt like an eternity-long photoshoot with the moms. After so many seasons and technological advancements, Shane was always shocked that the moms had yet to figure out that not everyone needed to take the same photo with their phone. There were ways to share them these days, and better yet, there was a professional PR person who could take professional-level photos. But the boys humored their adoring mothers. They always did.
They were all dolled up and about to head out to one of Washington’s finest restaurants, within walking distance of their hotel. Shane and Yuna were at the back of the pack, Yuna’s arm slung through Shane’s as he guided her down the street.
“It really is beautiful here,” Yuna began. “I am grateful I get to have moments like this with you, you know. I feel like we don’t get to see each other as often as we used to.”
Shane smiled. “Mom, we spend every summer fifteen minutes apart.”
Yuna rolled her eyes. “I know, but you’ve been a little more… occupied lately.”
Shane laughed. “You love him too, Mom,” he said quietly to avoid being heard by his teammates. They were so wrapped up in conversations just like these that they likely wouldn’t have heard him anyway.
“Have you heard from him today?” Yuna asked.
“No. I texted him earlier, but he didn’t reply. I’m sure he’s out with the team, and you know the strict no-phones-at-the-table rules when you moms show up.”
It was a real rule that the moms enforced with an iron fist. It was a fair compromise—giving their full attention to the women who once tied their skates—and Shane thought they all enjoyed quality time without screens.
When they got to the restaurant, they all settled in. Moms who hadn’t met had an opportunity to get to know each other, and the ones who had become friends over the years were always warm and welcoming to their new chosen family members. As Shane looked around the tables, he saw women of all ages, from all walks of life—many from different countries who spoke different languages—but they all shared something in common: their love and pride for their sons. You could feel it radiating from them, filling the room with so much care and devotion. Shane was proud to be a part of this.
Tomorrow they would play the evening game. His mom would be in the stands, cheering him on like she had for so many games before. Then she would be gone. Another city, to another son—and that was what Shane was proud of most of all. He was so lucky to have been raised by a woman who would get on a plane just to help the man that he loved feel that same radiating maternal devotion that they were surrounded by in this room.
Ilya got to his room after being granted permission to skip team supper, under the promise that he checks in with Wiebe before bed to let him know he was still okay. He felt that he owed him that. He didn’t unpack. He threw his bag to the side and crawled in bed, too tired to even take off his gross airplane clothes. Shane would be utterly disgusted with him.
He pulled out his phone to find a text from Shane. He must have missed it on the way to the hotel. He opened the text to find a selfie of Shane and Yuna and a message.
Shane: I picked up a hitchhiker on the way to the airport. I hope you had a good flight. I love you.
Ilya smiled. A genuine smile. As hard as this day had been already, he harbored no resentment towards Shane and Yuna, or any of his other mother-having teammates. He found great joy in watching Shane and Yuna interact. Their love always felt so intentional, so chosen. As much as his mom loved him, and he loved his mom, he had an awareness that it came from a place of survival—from a need to love so intensely that Ilya couldn’t feel the complete and utter lack of care from everyone else in his life. With the Hollanders, love was multiplied in a way he had never experienced. His mom had to give him all her love and care, leaving nothing for herself. He hated his father for that.
Ilya really wanted to reply with something happier than what he ended up typing, but he didn’t have the energy to filter himself anymore today.
Ilya: It’s been a very hard day. I am going to bed now. I love you.
He followed it up with a text to Wiebe.
Ilya: You probably haven’t even left yet, but I am ok. I am going to bed.
Before he rolled over, he thought to send one more.
Ilya: thank you for today.
Ilya hit send and didn’t bother waiting for a response. He curled on his side, still laying on top of the blankets, clothes unchanged and teeth unbrushed, and he fell asleep.
When Shane returned to the hotel and he and Yuna had settled in for the night, he pulled out his phone. He was happy to see a notification from Ilya waiting for him, until he opened the text.
Shane sat up in bed turning to Yuna.
“Mom, do you think you could take an earlier flight.”
Yuna’s flight took off only hours later. There was no way for them to know what Ilya meant by “it’s been a very hard day”, but it didn’t feel like something worth gambling on. They were sure he had other bad days, but those days felt out of their control. This felt like an opportunity to show up for him, and she took it.
She was able to sleep for the short flight and when she landed, she had an address waiting for her from Shane. Ilya and Shane had shared their locations with each other for years. They weren’t something they needed to check often, but Ilya was forever afraid that Shane might be eaten by a wolf on a run during their time together at the cottage. Shane decided to share his location, letting Ilya know that he could at least find his body now if the wolves got to him.
It was the middle of the night, and Yuna knew that Ilya would likely be fast asleep. She took her time exiting the airport into the crisp air of the Canadian Rockies and she ordered and Uber. While she waited, she thought about what she might say to Ilya. He did feel like her son, but just like with Shane, she did tend to overstep some boundaries. She was aware of it, but she wasn’t sure that Ilya would tolerate it as well as her biological child—he was kind of stuck with her in a way Ilya wasn’t.
She arrived at the hotel and decided to take all the sleep she could get, as Ilya would likely only begin his day around 9:00am. She knew that on weekends like this, the team had a more leisurely pace.
She woke up hours before she needed to and plotted out how to go about this in a way that wouldn’t bring any attention to the fact that she was the mother of a player on a rival team. She needed to be there for him but not seen by the team. She jumped online to purchase tickets to the game. She obviously wouldn’t be seated in the box with the other moms. Then she needed a way to get his room number. It seemed impossible, and this really wasn’t meant to be a knock on the door kind of surprise, so instead she asked Shane to just call him and tell him that he had a visitor in room 1283.
She drank coffee and ordered room service while she waited. She was nervous.
Ilya woke up the next morning not feeling rested in the slightest. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, until his phone rang. Shane. He should be having breakfast with his mom by now, and Ilya was sure that Yuna would be annoyed with him making any phone call during their time together, even if it was to Ilya.
“Hello,” he grumbled when he picked up the phone.
“How are you?” Shane asked innocently.
“I am okay,” he said honestly. “How is your mom? You are breaking the phone rule,” he added, deflecting the conversation.
“That rule is for the team dinner only. Are you having a better morning? I am sorry your day was hard yesterday.” Shane really did hope he was feeling better this morning, but he already knew Ilya wouldn’t tell him otherwise.
“I just woke up, but I am sure it will be better. I…” Ilya paused, deciding whether he should tell him about what had happened. He continued, “I just don’t really want to be here this weekend. I want to be with you.”
This both warmed and broke Shane’s heart in a single sentence.
Shane didn’t want this to go any further, so he moved right along to what he knew was coming.
“I hope you’re not mad, but I sent something… someone your way. In room 1283.”
Ilya stood up, his attention caught.
“What did you do, Shane?”
“Just get ready and head over there. Keep me on the phone if you want,” Shane said.
At this point, Ilya assumed he would be greeted by David. He was the only person they both knew who knew about them, and who was available.
“Well, I don’t need to get ready for your dad. I am still dressed from yesterday,” Ilya said, replaying the room number in his mind so he wouldn’t forget.
Shane hated that he had just admitted he hadn’t changed his clothes last night. Not because of the disgusting germs of it all, but because it meant that he was either too tired, or just didn’t care enough about anything last night to do it.
Shane could hear a hotel door opening. Ilya must be holding his phone in his hand, focused on getting to the room, because now he could hear the beeping of an elevator.
As Ilya reached 1283, he was excited. He knew this would be complicated, but he could use the company of someone who cared about him, even for just an hour or two behind closed doors. Enough time for a nice breakfast, or someone to watch mindless TV with before the game.
He knocked on the door and could hear footsteps approaching. Shane heard the knock and stayed on the line.
Ilya was grinning, looking at the floor. He hadn’t even put his shoes on before leaving the room. When the door opened, he lifted his head and Yuna stood in front of him. His face dropped immediately, and he said nothing.
In a single moment, a hundred thoughts flooded his mind. Where did she fly from? She was with Shane in the pictures. Did she even make it to Calgary? Had Shane given up his time with her for Ilya? Did anyone else know she was here? Why would she come all this way?
As the thoughts ran through his mind at a million miles an hour, he could feel his face begin to crack. This time, it wasn’t the silent, breathless kind of crying that left his body—it was a guttural, soul-crushing sob that could have been heard down the hall. He had no words. He stepped towards her, and she wrapped him in her arms, his head resting against hers as he wept. He knew Yuna had never seen him cry, and he didn’t care. The last eighteen years flashed through his mind, and he realized he had not known love like this since the last time he had hugged his mom.
Shane sat on the other end of the phone, an entire country away, and let his own tears fall. He could hear the pain escaping Ilya’s body, and he just hoped it could be replaced with the love of Yuna Hollander. He respectfully hung up the phone to allow the love of his life to share a moment alone with her.
Yuna gently pulled Ilya into the room, closing the door behind him. Tears ran down her own face now as the full weight of a grown man who needed his mom crushed her in a hug so full of love and pain that she thought he might break her.
“I didn’t know if you would want me here,” she cried into his shoulder, “but we didn’t want you to have another hard day if we could help it.”
Ilya took a deep breath, trying to stop the tears.
“I didn’t know I needed this until you opened the door,” he said, pulling back to look at her face.
Yuna took both hands and placed them gently on Ilya’s face.
“She would be so proud to be here if she could,” she said, looking into his sad eyes.
“I know,” he said, wrapping her back up into a hug.
They stood like that just inside the doorway for a while before breaking from their hug. Yuna ushered him in, where a brunch spread was waiting for them.
He gathered himself enough to speak and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“You didn’t have to leave him to come here, Yuna. I would have been okay.”
Yuna smiled at him softly. “The way I see it, I have two sons to spend Mother’s Weekend with.”
That was enough for the tears to well up in Ilya’s eyes once again.
“I don’t want to cry anymore. Russians don’t cry,” he said, close to laughter.
“Well, it’s a good thing you’re going to marry a Canadian then,” she replied cheekily.
Ilya smiled—a real smile. “Oh, is Shane proposing? Because I had no plan to do that. He’s not really my type, you know. Too needy. Too protective. He sends his mommy to check on me.”
Yuna reached over and hugged him one more time, whispering in his ear, “He fucking better.”
Ilya played well that night, and the weekend felt more like home once Yuna had arrived. For the first time, he felt like he had someone in the crowd cheering as loudly for him as the moms were from the box. He didn’t even know where Yuna was sitting, but it didn’t matter. He knew she was there.
After the game was over, Ilya pulled Wiebe into an office at the arena to put in a special request.
“I had someone come to town to be with me last night after I texted you,” he said. He took a deep breath and continued. “I know I missed the team supper last night, but would you be okay if I spent some time with them tonight and flew home separately tomorrow?”
The team had one last mother-son dinner planned that night and would fly home the next morning. Ilya felt like a bad captain, but he wanted to go home—with Yuna. He would charter a flight just for the two of them. It was the best way to spend some time with her after she had come all this way.
Wiebe put a hand on Ilya’s shoulder and said, “If you have someone here to support you, let them. I don’t care how you get home.”
Ilya was grateful for Coach Wiebe. He had a good heart, which Ilya knew was hard when it was so broken.
Before Ilya texted Yuna to let her know the plan, he pulled out his phone to text Shane.
Ilya: I love you so much. I can’t wait to show you how much this means to me.
On the bus back to the hotel, Ilya grabbed the seat closest to Rina and Luca. He felt like there was more conversation to be had with them, and with his newly found, Yuna-induced joy, he made sure to have it. Though he assumed he had made it out of the last conversation without any suspicion of things going awry, he would never have wanted Luca to suspect any kind of involvement in Ilya’s collapse. Rina was lovely, and he was glad he had the chance to get to know her a little bit better.
When he got back to the hotel, Ilya threw on his most comfortable clothes and searched high and low for a good Russian restaurant online. He landed on one and put in a request to have it delivered. Then he headed to Yuna’s room, where she was waiting for him, dressed up as usual.
“Change into your pyjamas. I ordered us supper. I don’t want to go out tonight,” he said, likely a little bossy for her liking, but she obliged.
“What are we eating?” she asked when she returned, dressed much more comfortably.
“Russian food. I figured it is what my mother and I would have done. I hope you don’t mind.” He watched her face for a bad reaction, but didn’t find one.
“I think that’s a great idea, Ilya.”
They sat together on her bed, backs against her headboard, and enjoyed their supper together while they watched Shane’s game. This part wasn’t new for them. They had watched many of his games together in Ottawa, but something about this night was different. Special.
Before tonight, Ilya had always felt like an extension of Shane—someone they loved because Shane did. This trip, this night, it felt like Ilya was just an extension of the Hollanders. A piece of the puzzle just as important as any of the others in creating the bigger picture. He felt loved beyond words, in a way that only one other woman had ever been able to make him feel.
“He’s lucky to have you, Yuna,” Ilya said wholeheartedly. “And David of course… but mostly you,” he added, trying to bring the mood up again.
“I think he’s just as lucky to have you. We all are.”
He grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “Thank you for coming. This has been a great day.”
Ilya and Yuna beat everyone back to Ottawa, perks of flying private. Shane had landed in Montreal shortly after and decided to make the two-hour drive home to Ottawa for the night. He would need to be back at the rink early the next morning, back to reality, but he wanted that night with Ilya.
Ilya had seen the lights turn into the driveway, and he was standing at the door eagerly. When Shane walked in, he couldn’t even get his bag down before he was wrapped up in Ilya’s arms.
This wasn’t the passionate kind of hug that the steamy things tended to follow. This was different. Tender. Warm.
Shane just held Ilya like that for a while. When he pulled back, he expected to see tears rolling down Ilya’s face. It just felt like that kind of hug. Instead, he was met with the most beautifully subtle smile, and a twinkle in his eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen them look like that. They looked… peaceful. Like the pain that had been living in them for as long as Shane had known him had found a new temporary home. Maybe not gone forever, but certainly not present in that moment.
“Thank you for sharing her with me,” Ilya said quietly. “I love you so much.” He continued, going back in for another hug.
“I am happy to share them both,” Shane said honestly. “It’s you that I don’t want to have to share with them,” he added dryly.
Ilya pulled back, keeping his hands on Shane’s shoulders. “Well, that is too bad, because I think I love her more than I love you… and I think they might love me more than they love you too.”
"Well that is rude" is all Shane could get out before Ilya had his lips pressed to his. This was the passionate kind of kiss that the steamy things tended to follow.
They both laughed as they stumbled their way up the stairs. There was much that had yet to be shared about the weekend that had just unfolded, but right now, Shane wanted to live in those peaceful, love-filled eyes of Ilya’s. The rest could wait until tomorrow.