Chapter Text
Yuna is a mother.
Above all else, she's Shane's mother.
One day, when Shane decides to hang the skates, and Yuna no longer has to politely (and sometimes not-so-politely) intimidate brands on his behalf so he doesn't get shortchanged by men in badly tailored suits who complain about DEI hires to their white golfing buddies in equally badly tailored suits behind closed doors, she'll still be his mother.
She's obviously many other things besides that—a cunning businesswoman, of course; a killer Yahtzee player; David Hollander's loving wife; a longtime and sometimes long-suffering Montreal Metros superfan; someone who doesn't quite like waking up early and only ever drinks coffee for the energy boost. She’s all that and more.
But she's Shane's mother. She's the person who brought him to this world, the person who dreamed him into being; she's the first person to ever know about his existence; the first person to ever love him.
It’s hard to shake that.
It was hard to shake when Shane first became a mite and the other kids began throwing their weight around, checking each other onto the boards and getting into the odd brawl seemingly for laughs and kicks; when mites became squirt became peewee became bantam and Yuna realized Shane was serious about hockey, and she and David had started to have real conversations about training camps, about billeting, about the very real possibility of Shane turning 18 and getting drafted far enough that they would either have to uproot their entire lives to follow him or resign themselves to seeing him only a couple times during the season at least until his rookie contract was up—and then maybe even beyond that, if the team was a good fit and he decided to stay.
It was hard when they got the first inklings that maybe Shane might like men, when Yuna realized she couldn't protect him from the worst of hockey culture, that she couldn't singlehandedly overhaul the NHL overnight for him, give him a kinder, better world.
It's hard now—perhaps the hardest it's ever been, with her crying son crumpled into her embrace, asking for her forgiveness of all things, because Yuna made him feel—she made him feel like he couldn't be himself, made him feel like he had to apologize for being himself.
Motherhood is unshakeable, and Yuna sits on her dining table with her son and her husband, and this man that she's never quite liked, but that her son apparently loves, and she goes into manager mode because it's safe, because it's the one thing she can do right now for her son other than offering her unconditional love, but God—she's so worried about this man not taking this seriously enough, about him breaking Shane’s heart, and she and David having to pick up the pieces one by one.
“You’ll play in Ottawa?”
The question isn't meant to be malicious, and neither is the following line of inquiry, Yuna cares about hockey, but beyond that she cares about loyalty, and beyond that she just needs reassurance, because this man is—Yuna doesn't know what he is at all, is the thing, and that's one of the scariest parts in all this.
Because there seems to be a whole side to him that Yuna can't even begin to imagine, beyond the cockiness and the womanizer fame, and the time spent in the penalty box for getting too rough and too mouthy during games.
God, she's doing her best to be a rock for her son but she's also worried sick and full of so many questions about how all this came to be under everyone's noses, and about him and—and then her son is panicking, and then—
And then the running commentary in her mind grinds to a halt.
“Hey, hey, hey. We are good here. Your family is here… Your boyfriend is here… You’re good here, okay?”
Ilya's voice is softer and sweeter than Yuna (and probably anyone in the whole NHL) has probably ever heard it, and his body curls towards Shane's in such an obvious display of care and tenderness that Yuna just… deflates.
Ilya goes in for a soft kiss, and Shane's eyes slip closed as their lips touch and Yuna's never seen him like this—she's seen him committed, confident, triumphant, on top of the world, achieving his dreams, but never like this.
They part, eyes still on each other, and Yuna reaches a sudden moment of clarity and understanding.
“Since rookie season.” The words slip out, wet and somewhat broken but hopefully full of all the love and the relief she feels.
And then David—the wonderful man she chose to embark on this journey of parenthood and that she’s so glad to spend her life with—jokingly says,“Summer before.”
And as they both chuckle lightly, Yuna’s worries slowly start to fade.