Chapter Text
“Douche canoe!”
Yuna looked up from her phone mid-text to David to see which of the Canadian boys was
chirping off ice.
Hayden was covering his mouth with his balled fist and playacting a fake coughing fit. The Canadian table was already chaotic, strewn with plates, cups, wadded up napkins, and stacked team jackets. Hayden buried his face in the stacked team jackets to muffle his laugh.
There was an unwritten hockey rule to keep the trash talk to the ice, but this wasn’t just any game. The boys were under immense pressure to win for Canada, prove their potential and worth to NHL teams with the draft looming.
“Hayden,” Yuna muttered.
Hayden’s antics set off a chain reaction and chorus of ‘douche canoe’ fake coughs from his teammates. Shane looked unimpressed and scowled at Hayden, stabbing an avocado slice mercilessly with his fork. Normally, Hayden was one of the few people Shane found amusing (sometimes) and he could usually illicit a slight smile from Shane. Not today.
Yuna quickly texted Hayden’s mom: *Where are you? Better get here before your son starts a restaurant brawl.*
The response came in the form of a steam of consciousness text:
*sorry forgot to plug in my van last night then the fucker barely turned over this morning… my boy is just busting their balls and almost there i swear i have been doing 115 klicks all the way nearly got caught on the speed trap on the no 1 at moosomin. gotta go hubby calling.*
Yuna sat alone at the end of the long row of restaurant tables claimed by the seasoned hockey parents, with all the others clustered at the opposite end. The empty seat next to Yuna was always saved for Rachel Pike.
After years of shared bleachers and tournament hotels, the moms instinctively occupied the same space as a form of team solidarity, but Yuna more often than not sat either alone or with a selective inner circle. Parkas were draped haphazardly over chair backs, while Yuna’s cream maxi coat and cashmere scarf were neatly folded over the back of her chair.
Rachel came into the restaurant stomping the snow off her Sorels and unwrapped her knitted scarf. She had a matching homemade knit pom-pom toque with Hayden’s number emblazoned beside a lop-sided maple leaf. Rachel was wearing a tshirt clearly decorated by Hayden’s younger siblings declaring *Hayden rules!* and *Team Pike* with glitter.
Rachel mouthed the word ‘sorry’ to Yuna and she plopped down her huge purse on table top. She had her cracked flip phone cradled to one ear and wedged to her shoulder as she finished her conversation clearly with her husband, “No, Bruce,
I don’t know where her hockey socks are… check the dryer. No, I don’t know where either of their skates are if they aren’t with the hockey bags. I told you to take the skates out of the minivan before I left for Regina. If you can’t find them, then there’s a pair of Hayden’s old ones in the garage that’ll do. The ones with the red laces. Seriously, I gotta go. Yuna’s here. Bruce says hi….” Rachel sighed and waved to Yuna, then continued, “Yeah, yeah, just leave the TV on for the twins when you take the girls to the rinks and put out cereal. Love you, too. Tell the twins for the love of all that is holy to leave the goddamn dogs alone. Remember, they have Timbits tomorrow. Yeah, I’ll tell Hayden to give ‘er. I’ll call you later… maybe.” Rachel hung up the phone with another heavy sigh and exasperated eye roll. “He’s the one who wanted a goalie in the family. Seriously, that man is useless.”
“In his defence, you left that poor man at home with four-“
“Four at home and 0.5 with me,” she corrected, pointed down to her slightly rounded belly.
“Again?” Yuna sputtered a little, then shook her head, “Congrats, but seriously, get off of that man.”
Rachel shrugged and smiled. “What can I say? I have a type.”
“A man missing teeth?”
“Oh, shut up,” Rachel said with a bright laughter. “My ol’ man might be missing a few chicklets and he didn’t play for a fancy pants university, but he has his moments.”
“All of them between the sheets?”
“You bet,” Rachel repsonded, “David coming?”
“Not this time. He had to stay to cover a committee meeting.”
Over the years Yuna and Rachel shared countless early mornings and late nights, driving through blizzards, whispered conversations in cold arenas, and the occasional splash of Baileys slipped into coffee cups before dawn games. Rachel couldn’t afford to make all of Hayden’s games, but had driven out for this tournament.
“It’s a Gong Show over by the buffet,” Rachel said and fluffed her her toque hair, then the stuffed the toque, scarf, and garbage mitts into the sleeve of her parka. “I heard our boys shit talking the Russians all the way from the lobby.”
“They should save it for the Americans, even if they don’t stand a chance this year.”
Rachel nodded in agreement. “Hey, you save me any coffee?”
“You can’t have coffee. Order a decaf tea,” Yuna told her but still motioned to the carafe and mug opposite of her, waiting for Rachel to continue with her tirade. Rachel flung her bulging coat on the empty chair next to Yuna where no one else dared to sit.
“Fuck off, I’m allowed one cup. I need it after I deadheaded it here on the number one.” Rachel poured a cup of tepid coffee and continued, “I even heard some bilingual trash talk none-the-less. They’re upping their game. That boy from Quebec…
Jean-Jacques-“
“He prefers J.J.”
“Fine, J.J. He was all like ‘grosse poubellea’ and called the Rozanov boy a ‘boss des bécosses’. True, I suppose, but they’re all lucky there’s no media or coaches around.”
“I’ve heard better chirps from a dead bird,” Yuna commented.
“They need to save it for the ice.”
“They’re just getting under the Russians’ skin. Two rival teams aren’t supposed to stay in the same hotel for a reason,” Rachel complained and looked over at the price on the laminated menu with slight wince. Yuna had a plate of ‘extra’ pancakes she had taken and pushed in front of Rachel without comment. Rachel made pleased sound and reached for the maple syrup. “Hell, we did that even back in U11. Keep ‘em separate. Only adds fuel to the fire.”
“Regina’s a small city. There’s only so many places you can put a whole hockey team last minute when dealing with a burst pipe.”
Rachel flashed a grateful smile at Yuna. “Thanks for the pancakes.”
Yuna made a pained face when the boys tossed a coffee creamer at the Russian table. “They’re old enough to know better.”
“Shane Hollander is better than than that,” Rachel mocked fondly in a voice imitating Yuna. She huffed, then smiled at the old shared joke. “I know, I know… not your perfect baby boy. He acts like an 40 year old, not a 17 year old. Hell, Shane’s the only one on the team that doesn’t have hockey hair. He’d look cute with some wings.”
“He acts and looks like the serious professional athlete he is,” Yuna said and glanced over at her only child. “This isn’t just a game. It’s his life… our life. Besides, you may want to keep your own house in order since Hayden just tossed a pancake frisbee as a Declaration of War.”
Rachel shrugged, used to Hayden’s antics. “It better’ve hit true. Mama’s lil’ pest.”
“We don’t need a food fight that would make the news. You always turn a blind eye.”
“Shane has his specialties and Hayden has his. It’s why they’re good together on the ice and best friends. Speaking of starting shit, I swear the Rozanov boy hit on me in the elaborator yesterday,” Rachel bragged smugly to Yuna. “That one is going to be trouble. I guarantee it.”
Yuna glanced up at Ilya who was holding court at his own table. “The demon man-child in question no doubt knew you’re Hayden’s mom and he’s doing it to mess with Hayden.”
“Based on that logic, shouldn’t Rozanov be hitting on Shane Hollander’s mommy dearest?”
“He wouldn’t dare.”
Rachel gasped and pretended to clutch fake pearls, fluttered her eyelashes at Yuna. “Even the coaches are terrified of you.”
“It’s called respect.”
“You’re just jealous.” Rachel managed to keep a straight face until she cracked a smile. “I’m not serious. God, they’re all still babies. I still can’t believe we’re at the International Prospect Cup. Next stop the draft and prospects for The Show. It seems like just yesterday I was wiping Hayden’s runny nose.”
“That was yesterday. Shane would kill me if I did that.”
Rachel snorted. “Hell, Hayden still forgets to clean his hockey bag.”
Yuna wrinkled her nose. “I know. Shane complains about that walking science experiment every time they room or carpool together.”
“Shane‘s too fussy and a founding member of the mama’s boy club with the fancy executive perks card,” Rachel teased. “He still wears the clothes you buy him. Please buy the poor something other than boring neutrals.”
“He’s has better things to do than to go clothes shopping,” Yuna said and absently waved her hand at the team table. “Why does Hayden always look like he slept in his clothes?”
“Because he did sleep in them. Men in some ways and still babies in so many ways. I used to have to untie his skates between periods and his rub feet to warm them, up” Rachel sighed and looked nostalgic, “We just had to replace his skates before the tournament.”
“Hayden needs sponship deals.”
“Hayden isn’t Shane,” Rachel told her. “Hey, does Shane have a girlfriend yet?”
Yuna swirled the coffee in her half filled mug. “He doesn’t have time for a girlfriend. How are all of Hayden’s fans?”
“Puck bunnies aren’t girlfriends. He tells me he’s keeping his options open. One day I pray he’ll find a girl to keep him in line.”
Rachel leaned back in her chair, bracelets clinking softly, mouth curved in a smile that had nothing to do with warmth. She and Yuna had known each other too long for pretense. Their sons had played together for years in elite youth leagues and hockey training camps.
Across the room, Hayden flicked a piece of bacon through the air at Shane. It struck Shane squarely on the shoulder and slid down his hoodie. Shane flushed caught staring at the Russian table, colour rising fast across his cheekbones. He brushed the bacon off with a sharp, irritated motion.
When Shane was flustered and something (or someone) that got under his skin in a way he didn’t understand, Shane went still in the wrong places and restless in the others. Shane’s shoulders angled forward without him realizing it. Yuna watched his foot bouncing under the table, heel tapping the stained carpet in a tight steady rhythm. He drew up the string of his hoodie and started to chew on it. Yuna knew something (more likely someone) had Shane flustered.
Yuna watched her son watch Ilya Rozanov. Ilya sat with his legs stretched out, chair tipped back, posture loose and arrogant. His dirty blonde curls were still damp from the early morning practise at the rink, darkened at the nape of his neck, and his jacket hung open to expose his black tank top. He laughed too loudly at something one of his teammates said, head tipping back, throat exposed and the gold chain on his neck swung.
Yuna watched Shane catch the other young man smirk at him and wink, then watched the way Shane’s jaw tightened.
“Earth to Yuna. Come in, Yuna. I heard rumours Shane’s been scouted by Montreal,” Rachel said, stirring two packets of sugar into her coffee and a warm up. “Centre for the Metros? Posed to be a legend in the making and all set to be deep down the middle? Thought you’d be angling for Ottawa to keep him close to home.”
“Metros, or die,” Yuna replied without hesitation.
“I didn’t think you’re capable of cutting the apron strings.”
“If I have my way he’ll retire from Montreal,” Yuna said loftily. “There’s something to be said for loyalty.”
“At least he’ll stay in Canada. And your dream first line?” Rachel pressed. “Hayden on the left, Shane in the middle… all you need is a stellar right wing.”
“Montreal has a solid veteran right wing,” Yuna stated a fact they both already knew, “He just has to keep up with Shane.”
“You know… Hayden told me that Shane went to watch Rozanov practise.”
“I was with him.”
“No, not that time,” Rachel clarified and leaned in to whisper lower, “Hayden said Shane has been watching Rozanov other times. Odd, don’t you think?”
“Tactical.”
“Okay,” Rachel replied, drawing out the word, and smacked Yuna’s hand. “Is this like his thing where he can tell you anything and everything about hockey?”
Rachel had always been kind to Shane. Hayden had never been cruel about Shane obsession and hyper-fixation on all things hockey.
“Maybe.”
Once Shane was proven to be a top notch athlete, perceptions and judgments from teachers and outsiders had shifted from ‘obsessed’ to passionate… from ‘lacking social skills’ to dedicated to the sport. Shane always had a certain look when it came to his deep interest and he has that look as he starred at certain Russian player.
“You always do reconnaissance on Shane’s rivals,” Rachel prompted, “Spill.”
“He’s very good,” Yuna confirmed.
“As good as Shane?”
“No one can hold a candle to Shane,” Yuna shot back. “Not even Ilya Rozanov. He’s not quite a goon, more a pest and favours chippy play. Cocky and talented. Hockey is his get of Russia free ticket. He’s motivated and likely to go to Boston.”
“The media and league already smell blood with Shane and that Rozanov.”
“Rivalries sell,” Yuna said simply, “Winners sell.”
“You’re more his manager than mom some days. Mom-ager,” Rachel admonished. “Fuck, those boys haven’t even finished growing into their shoulders. Are you sure it’s not too much pressure for him?”
“Shane can handle it.”
The was riot of deep voiced laughter from the Canadian table that drew their attention to the other side of the restaurant. They watched as Hayden tossed another pancake at Ilya and it landed on his breakfast plate with a sad thud. Shane glared at Hayden and punched his friend in the shoulder, hissing something low into his ear than made Hayden scowl back.
Ilya’s jaw tightened and his fingers curled into fists. He leaned forward, murmured something to the teammate beside him, then pushed his chair back with a glance over his shoulder at Shane. The scrape of Shane’s chair against the floor cut through the dim of the restaurant. As Ilya passed the hockey mom’s table he nodded respectfully at Yuna and winked at Rachel. Hayden swore under his breath and stared to stand up, but sat back down when Shane glared at him.
“Freeze it. Keep the shit talking between the boards,” Shane reprimanded his teammates and shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. “The Captains’ll handle it.”
Ilya left the hotel restaurant with long strides and Shane followed after him, shoulders tense and gaze on the floor.
“Are you going to intervene?”
Yuna watched her son’s back as they the young men went into the fire escape. “Not yet.”
“The team can’t afford to have Shane suspended or injured.”
Yuna gave it a few minutes and kept checking her watch and the closed stairwell door. “Keep an eye on the team. I’m going to go check on them.”
Yuna left the restaurant and found herself climbing a quiet stairwell at the backside of the hotel. She rounded the corner of the stairwell and stopped dead in her tracks.
Shane was pressed back against the of the wall, hands fisted in the front of Ilya’s black tank top, as Ilya pressed in close and locked in a kiss. Yuna quickly first checked to see if there security cameras and once she confirmed there weren’t any, she cleared her throat.
Ilya reacted first, spinning slightly, one arm coming up automatically to shield Shane. Shane didn’t pull away, but he turned and saw his mother.
Shane burrowed closer, face turning inward, hiding against Ilya’s neck. His ears were blazing red, embarrassment written into every line of his body. Ilya tried to stare her down, bravado snapping into place like a mask, but Yuna saw through it instantly. Those blue eyes were wild. Terrified. He looked like a cornered animal.
“Gentlemen,” Yuna said calmly, “this is kind of international relations isn’t appropriate.”
“Mom… gross,” Shane protested automatically in mortification and kept his face hidden again Ilya’s chest.
“Shane, sweetie,” Yuna said softly, her voice gentler now. “It’s alright. I’m not mad, but not here.”
Shane made a small, wounded sound and nodded into Ilya’s collarbone.
“We need to talk about this some place private,” Yuna continued in full preventative damage control mode, carefully neutral and tried to coax Shane away from Ilya. Shane tightened his grip on Ilya and Ilya held him closer, attempting for a defiant glare that couldn’t hide his own terror.
“Both of you,” Yuna clarified quickly. “Both of you come up to my room. It’s safe and private. C’mon now. I’m not mad. We’ll talk and figure whatever this is out.”
“Just you?” Ilya asked, tilting his chin up.
“Just me.”
“Okay,” Illya said with a scowl and then made few calming noises to Shane. Yuna noticed that Shane stepped back, but kept his hand fisted in Ilya’s tank top.
“This is the worst…”
Ilya whispered close to Shane ear, “Is okay. Maybe not good… probably bad. If she is… not happy, I tell her I am so irresistible you cannot help it.”
Shane chocked out a half soft laugh, half-insult, “Asshole.”