Chapter Text
November 2000 – Ottawa
“Hollander, shoot, god dammit!”
From her place on the bleachers, Yuna winced, watching with dismay as her perfect, wonderful, talented athlete of a son seemed to full-body shudder at his coach’s shouted instructions. All momentum gone, Shane swung his stick in an awkward wobbly arc, letting off a shot that Yuna could immediately tell was going to miss… badly. The ‘unusually tall for his age’ nine year old they had in goal for practice didn’t even flinch, merely watching the puck sail by, a meter or so wide of the left post. Shane visibly deflated, skating back to the neutral zone with his linemen to reset the play as the coach continued to berate him for his hesitation. It was not the first time.
“Poor thing,” Ethan’s mom faux-whispered from her spot a few rows down. Her coven of blonde hockey moms tittered at the aside.
Yuna almost scoffed. Ethan was also being evaluated as a center on their competitive U10 team, but in her expert hockey opinion, he was hardly a better fit. Shane had the edge in terms of speed and agility on the ice and he was showing signs of being a high-IQ playmaker to boot, even at his young age. He just… needed to score a little more consistently.
Or at all, she thought, frown deepening.
The whistle blew.
“Hollander, eyes up! Let’s run that again!”
For the briefest of moments, Shane glanced over to the stands and met her eyes. The sheer determination in his gaze — even as his lips wobbled with nerves — warmed her heart as much as it broke it.
Her son loved hockey. Yuna would make sure it loved him back.
- 🥅 -
Later that night, as she helped Shane with his homework at the kitchen table, she dared to ask him about it.
"Shane, honey, I was just wondering, what exactly happens when you—"
"Freeze?" he cut in, looking miserable, "Overshoot so bad the other boys chirp me for sucking at math for an Asian?"
Yuna inhaled sharply. She knew, of course, what it could be like. What Ottawa was like, in general, even. Still, it hurt to be reminded that she could not always keep Shane safe, visibly different as he was, even amongst a group of otherwise well-meaning children parroting stereotypes. The Western last name offered protection, but he still had her eyes.
"It's like I see everything at the same time," Shane was explaining, always so logical and articulate beyond his years. "I could shoot or pass. But if I think about shooting, then another option comes up in my brain. Like which corner? And when? And that makes even more options appear. A spider web." He sighed, world-weary in a way that endeared her as often as it scared her a little. "And then... of course, I want to choose the best one. But there's no time. So I freak out."
She regarded him fondly. Her too-smart boy. "Do you know what instinct is, Shane?"
"I know the word," he replied, wrinkling his nose, "I don't think I have it."
"You do," she argued gently, "I'm sure there are things that come naturally to you. Automatically, even. Like skating?"
Shane just stared back at her, eye contact a little unnerving, like he was trying to make sense of the sensation through her own physical response instead.
"What makes your brain go quiet?" she continued, trying a different approach, "Something you don't even have to think about, it's that calming and easy."
Shane's frown only deepened as he considered the concept. "I don't think my brain has ever been quiet," he said, head tilting, "Does yours do that?"
Yuna blinked. "Well, yes. When I'm really focused on one thing or else nice and relaxed."
Her nine-and-a-half year old wunderkind shrugged his shoulders, almost sitcom-style. "I don't think I've been that either."
She snorted out a laugh. "Sure, my little drama king. But listen, I asked because I want to help you figure out how to overcome this barrier to your play. How to start thinking instinctually, rather than so analytically all the time."
Shane sighed again. "Can we finish these practice problems first, please? If you want me to relax, hockey stuff won't help."
Yuna bit the inside of her cheek, deciding to back off for now.
She would work with Shane though. To play the hockey he deserved.
They both loved it, after all.
- 🥅 -
May 2003 – Ottawa
It wasn’t a surprise, really, when Coach Smythe requested to meet with them in a spare office at the community sports complex.
“I want to talk about Shane,” he said, arms folded atop the desk.
Yuna blinked, feigning ignorance, though she could feel her stomach begin to churn in ugly anticipation. David remained a silent but comforting presence beside her, as he often did when it came to difficult moments like this. He knew she preferred to be the one to handle the Shane Things between them, even if it tore her apart in the process.
She smiled, arranging her features into something perfectly pleasant, and then asked, “What about him, Coach?”
The man leaned back in his chair, sighing deeply. His jaw worked as he seemed to mull over his subsequent choice of words. “Look, we all saw him in the tournament. He’s damn fast, crazy smart, and unselfish with the puck — the whole package on paper really — but Yuna… you and I both know he’s not a center. He can’t be. Not if he’s going to freeze up when it matters.”
A flash of memory, then. Shane with the puck, moving fast. Shane hesitating just a moment too long, eyes unfocused, absorbing the check with his entire body. Shane on the ice, unmoving.
Yuna found herself reaching over to grab her husband’s hand, squeezing tightly to dispel the mix of fear and anger that boiled up just below the surface of her composed exterior. Blowing out a shaky breath, she replied, “Then put him somewhere else.”
Coach Smythe shook his head. “We’ve tried that. But we already have strong wingers and this is a competitive roster, as you well know. Shane has the drive, there’s no doubt, but I need leadership and execution just as much as skill here. He’s talented, Yuna, but mentally this sport isn't doing him any favors. I think…” he trailed off, suddenly avoiding direct eye contact. “I think it’s time we consider that elite travel hockey isn’t what’s best for him.”
Yuna bristled. “What’s best for him?” she hissed, feeling David’s hand squeeze back harder in warning. “What’s best for him is letting him do what he loves. This is a league for children. Isn’t this meant to be fun?”
Coach Smythe swallowed, the discomfort clear on his face. “I don’t disagree with you, Yuna, at least in principle. But the reality is that fun at this level means winning. It means turning the heads of academy scouts and getting these boys into the pipeline to professional level play. Shane is twelve now. He’s had his chances. I just don’t think this team can give him any more.”
The rejection stung like a physical slap to the face. The money they’d invested, the loyalty they’d shown, all rendered meaningless just because her burgeoning hockey prodigy of a son was a little… anxious? Her visceral anger morphed rapidly into cold indifference as Coach Smythe started suggesting some nearby community leagues with lower stakes play that Shane might try instead. The nerve. Blessedly, David carried the rest of the tense discussion until they finally escaped out to their car.
Later, if Yuna had been asked to recall anything at all from that conversation, she would not have been able, every sensation around her numbed and distant as David pulled out of the lot.
Halfway home, however, she found herself switching into action-oriented mode, as was her nature. There had to be another way forward. Shane was ridiculously talented, everyone said so. The best skater on that god forsaken ice. He was just… under a lot of pressure. Maybe she could get him into private coaching lessons? Or booked in with a sports psychologist? Or they could move, even… let Shane start anew in a different city. The youth hockey world in Canada was big enough to give him a little anonymity and Vancouver really was nice in the—
“Yuna,” David said firmly, interrupting her spiral just as she’d begun to vocalize all her plans aloud. “Stop plotting.”
She scoffed from the passenger seat, hot tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “I’m trying to help our son.”
He nodded, voice softening as he replied, “I know, dear. But why don’t we start with asking Shane what he wants first?”
Yuna bit her lip, already picturing Shane’s wide, devastated eyes upon learning that he would not be invited back to tryouts in the fall. She sniffed, even as David reached over to place a gentle hand on her thigh.
“Listen, I know it’s… harder… for you, and for him, in a sport like this, that looks the way it does,” he said, gaze locked on the road ahead. “And I want to fight alongside you, I do. But maybe there are just too many sacrifices to make right now? Dreams shouldn’t have to hurt like this, Yuna. He’s so young.”
Though she knew deep down that David might be right — that some of this could be… personal for her in ways that had very little to do with Shane at all — Yuna simply could not accept the idea of giving up. Of quitting entirely. Not now when they— when Shane had invested so much in a sport that still hesitated to accept him.
Her son still loved hockey, didn’t he? So, she would make new plans.
- 🥅 -
September 2003 – Montreal
Pulling into the arena’s circular drive for pickup, Yuna was shocked to see Shane walk through the sliding doors carrying a much larger equipment bag than what he’d arrived with.
She popped the trunk, confusion mounting as her son stowed his unfamiliar items and climbed into the second row of seats, smile wide in the rearview mirror.
“Hi, mom,” he greeted… happily?
She peered at him more closely: a healthy preteen with bright, alert eyes and rosy cheeks stared back, not at all resembling the sullen and withdrawn boy she’d dropped off seven weeks ago.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she replied slowly, keeping her voice neutral despite the growing suspicion that something had changed. “How was camp?”
(The elite summer hockey academy outside the city had cost them a small fortune, but Shane had seemed agreeable enough when she’d presented the idea back in the spring. ‘You’ll get the one-on-one attention you need,’ she assured him. ‘Build up your confidence, so you can get over your… challenges… on the ice.’ Hesitating, she added, ‘Make some friends, even’ and watched her sweet, sensitive son’s face darken with a quiet hurt she felt out of her depth to soothe. They were both trying in their own ways. It never felt like enough.)
“Really good,” Shane said, still grinning, “I’m a goalie now.”
Yuna flinched so hard her foot nearly slipped off the pedal. “You… are?”
“Yep,” he replied easily, “and Coach Roy said I’m really good at it.”
She hesitated. “Well, that was… a nice summer experiment, wasn’t it?”
Shane’s expression lost some of its hopeful luster. “I’m not leaving the crease, mom,” he said sharply, adding, “Hayden Pike, number sixty-four, right-handed—”
“Shane, I told you not to do that, baby,” she cut in, trying to be gentle.
While Yuna was admittedly a hockey fiend herself, her son’s encyclopedic interest in the sport bordered on unsettling. She hated to see the way a stranger’s eyes would shift to something pitying when they realized he wasn’t doing a bit — that he didn’t know, honestly, how he came across. She was optimistic it would be corrected naturally as he got older. Shane, for all his differences, deserved… normalcy. She would help him construct a pathway to it.
“Hayden,” Shane amended, though his frustration with her correction was evident in the way his eyebrows furrowed. "He scored twelve goals combined on the other teams during our mini tournament last week. But I didn’t let a single shot of his in.”
“And that’s wonderful, Shane,” she assured him, even as her fingers tightened minutely around the steering wheel, “But… it’s not what we— you’ve worked for. You’ve been skating since you could walk, my love, and your skills have always been focused offensively.”
An eternity of silence stretched between them, and then: “If you don’t like me in goal, I’d rather quit.”
Yuna briefly disregarded road safety rules, whipping her head around to look her son dead in the eyes. “Shane Hollander.”
“What?” he spat, tone furious as she turned back. “I love hockey, mom, but I hate being a forward. It makes me feel sick. All I do is overthink and ruin it for everyone else. I don’t care how good anyone says I am, or should be, or... or my stupid potential." He hissed out the word like it was acid on his tongue. "I’m not happy out there.”
In the rearview mirror, she watched his shoulders deflate in a familiar way, a horrible full-bodied sag of resignation like when he sent yet another shot wide of the net.
“You’re my mom,” he said, softer, eyes shining wetly, “You’re supposed to want me to be happy.”
Yuna took a sharp breath, heart shattering in her ribcage at the doubt in his voice.
“I do, Shane,” she replied, any lingering exasperation in her tone dissolving into pure concern. “Of course I do. This is just very sudden. You’ll need new equipment and—”
“Coach Roy let me keep the basics,” Shane cut in, gesturing to the bag behind him, “And he already recommended me for a goaltending clinic in November in Kingston. Plus, there’s a U14 team in Stittsville that might have an opening next season, if I can get my skills up by then.”
Yuna blinked. It was the most words in a row that she’d heard from her son in… well, a very long time. And certainly never with such unbridled enthusiasm shining through his typically flat affect.
“You’re… really serious about this?” she ventured.
Shane nodded, rubbing his fingers together in rhythmic circles like he was savoring the feeling.
“I can’t explain it. The way that everything goes quiet when I’m in the crease. Like it’s my space, for me to control.” He shifted in his seat, shrugging. “Like I finally belong on the ice. Even if it’s sort of by myself.”
Yuna swallowed and nodded back.
Although she rarely understood Shane's emotions, she still knew him well enough to see just how much this meant to him, that this summer had changed him irrevocably somehow. Sighing, she let the tension seep from her shoulders and pulled at a mental thread until it unknotted; the fifty-step plan in her brain to have Shane drafted as a star center at eighteen rearranged itself into something a little more modest. She could work with this. It might be good, even. Her wonderful, strange boy behind a mask, tucked away from the other boys who might hate him or harm him, in an actual delineated bubble of his own… safe. Or, well, as safe as facing down a firing squad on ice could be.
“Okay, baby,” she said finally, watching the sunlight return to his face in an instant. “We’ll figure this out together.”
“Thank you,” Shane breathed, euphoric, his smile blooming so big it scrunched up the freckles on his cheeks.
Yuna let out a breath of her own, so full of adoration for her first and only son that it threatened to spill over into mushy words she knew he would hate.
So, her son loved hockey. Not in the way she’d hoped, exactly.
But maybe in a way that could be his.