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If you plan on moving to Ottawa, a word of warning: don’t walk to practice in the winter in your tennis shoes.
By the time camp ends for the day, Luca’s shoes are still soaked through when he tries to shove them on in the locker room. Great. He’d have to remember to put newspaper in them tonight, try to dry them out a bit.
Frostbitten toes and a long walk home are a small price to pay though to get to be one of the lucky scholarship recipients at the Irina Foundation camp.
Ilya Rozanov — like the Ilya Rozanov — had helped him with his backhand today. He was going to be riding that high for the rest of his life. It would probably make him giddy enough all night that the empty house and the emptier pantry wouldn’t even bother him at all.
His stomach gave a low growl.
Okay, maybe they would still bother him a little bit.
Before that could dampen his glowing mood, the Ilya Rozanov, followed by his husband, the Shane Hollander (!!) came strolling into the locker room.
Luca froze in his attempts to shove his foot back into the too small, too wet shoe. A loud clap of hands from Coach Rozanov had everyone else freezing too.
“Alright, listen up, small people.” His grin only widened at the grumbling that term of endearment induced. “We are here to say that you all did very good, yes yes—” he waved off their immediate cheers, “you are all superstar. Now come get the high fives and go back to your homes.”
There was a flurry of activity as kids scrambled to finish shoving shoes on feet and gear in bags before stumbling over each other to form a small line in front of the coaches.
Coach Hollander gave the first few campers a high five and a good work, until he spotted his husband giving out overly enthusiastic fist bumps. Apparently not one to be outdone, Hollander upped his game and gave the last few kids elaborate looking handshakes.
Luca was the last one to finish getting ready, hopping up once he was changed out and ready for the long walk home. He hesitated, realizing the locker room had cleared out of everyone but him and the coaches.
“Sorry.” He said, wincing at his own slowness and shifting on the balls of his feet.
Coach Rozanov raised an eyebrow at him. “You are faster on ice than off.”
Luca wasn’t sure if he was blushing more because Coach thought he was slow off the ice or because he was pleased that he thought Luca was fast on it. Either way it was going in his diary tonight.
Coach Hollander rolled his eyes, elbowing Rozanov in the ribs. “That was Ilya’s poor attempt at a compliment, I promise.” He gave Luca a small smile that had Luca wanting to ask if they could take a selfie really quick so he would have proof of the moment.
(He didn’t ask. But only barely).
When Coach Rozanov held his hand up, Luca just stared at it blankly for a few seconds. Coach blinked back at him before finally slapping his own palms together. “Like this, yes?”
Oh. right.
Luca high fived Coach Rozanov’s hand. He caught onto Coach Hollander’s fist bump faster, thankfully.
Cheering team rounds complete, Luca expected the two men to take off out of the locker room without a backwards glance. But, as he went back to his locker to gather up his gear bag, Luca didn’t hear the sound of any exiting feet.
When he turned back around, they were still standing there, waiting on him.
Coach Rozanov held the heavy door open for him and Hollander as they left the locker room, the three falling in line together with Luca in the middle.
He offered them a small smile. “Sorry for taking so long. You guys didn’t have to wait with me.”
Coach Rozanov made a clicking sound with his tongue. “It’s not a problem. We do not want any hockey babies stuck in the locker room all night long.”
Luca furrowed his brows together. “Has that happened before?”
“Yes,” Coach nodded, looking all solemn, “this is why there is a ghost in the locker room. It haunts the showers now.”
There was like a 95% chance that was a joke. But that remaining 5% must have shown on his face because Coach Hollander elbowed his husband before patting the top of Luca’s head. “He’s teasing. Nobody’s been trapped in the locker room. But we do need to make sure that you make it out to your parents at the end of the day.”
They’d reached the main doors to the rink now, Coach Rozanov opening one side and holding it so Luca and Hollander could slip out.
Luca shook his head. “My parents aren’t coming to get me today, so I would’ve been alright.”
“Oh?” Coach Hollander cocked his head. “Who’s coming then?” He glanced around the parking lot — empty, except for a sleek looking car that must belong to the two coaches.
“I’m walking.” Luca jerked his thumb in the direction of the street he needed to head down. When both coaches blinked at him, he felt the need to add, “I don’t live very far.”
Coach Hollander hesitated. “It’s pretty cold outside.”
What did that have to do with anything?
Luca shrugged at the topic change, going with it. “Yeah, it’s supposed to snow again overnight.”
“Right.” Hollander looked like he expected something, but Luca had no clue what.
Taking a shot in the dark, Luca nodded slowly, “Guess we’ll need to shovel tomorrow.”
Not the right answer, judging by the quick look his coaches exchanged.
Too tired to keep making small talk, Luca took a couple steps back. “Thanks for camp today. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” He didn’t miss the way they frowned, watching him trudge through slushy snow piles as he headed home.
The end of the second day at the Irina Foundation Camp proceeded much of the same, with a few weird differences. Coach Rozanov and Hollander walked him out of the locker room again (because, despite trying to pick up the pace, Luca was still the slow turtle left behind by the other campers). When they saw that no one was there to pick him up again, Coach Hollander again started talking about the weather, about all the new snow they’d gotten overnight. It seemed like his favorite conversation topic, so Luca tried to play along, nodding and commiserating about having had to wake up at four a.m. just to shovel his front steps. But that had gotten him strange looks from the coaches again, so maybe Luca should just start nodding along instead of chiming into Coach Hollander’s weather discussions.
Before they’d let him escape for home that day though, Coach Rozanov had done something strange. He’d taken the toque off his own head, plopping it down on top of Luca’s. Coach had tucked it down, covering up Luca’s ears, all warm and cozy, and finished his weird activity off with a pat to the top of Luca’s head. “Та-дам. There, now you are snug like little bug.”
Luca blinked a few times, reaching his hand up to touch the hat. It had a fuzzy pom pom on the end. “What?”
Before he could question the strangeness any further, Coach Hollander joined in on the weird ritual. He removed his own scarf, then wrapped it around Luca’s neck, winding the long thing several times around him. It was big enough to come up and cover Luca’s chin, tickling his lip with its fuzziness.
When he had started to protest, he was immediately waved off by the two men and shooed along home, warmer than before.
The third day was when they got all pushy.
Arriving outside the rink once again at the end of the day, Luca had been fully prepared to skip their usual weather chit chat and move right on to walking home. It had been a long day, made even longer by one of the other campers earning them all bag skates at the end of the day for copping an attitude about having to clean up the pucks. But he was halted by a hand clamping down on his shoulder. Coach Rozanov’s big paw turned him around, steering him in the opposite direction of the sidewalk home, and instead guiding him towards the lone car in the parking lot.
“Coach?”
“We will drive you home. It is on the way.”
Luca frowned. “You know where I live?”
Rozanov shrugged. “Okay, it is only probably on the way.”
Coach Hollander got the back door open for Luca, making no moves to stop his husband from bundling Luca right into the car despite his feeble protests. So this had been a premeditated plan, then. Got it.
It was hard to complain too much about being all but kidnapped from the rink when the inside of their car was so nice and warm. Plus, his tennis shoes had started to develop a little hole in the toe, so it would be nice to give them a day off from dragging his feet the eight kilometers home.
The two coaches got into the front seat, Hollander in the driver and Rozanov sitting passenger. Coach Hollander glanced at Luca in the rearview mirror. “You just tell me where to turn, alright?”
Luca nodded, leaning his head against the frosted window, the tip of his nose leaving a little smudge on the glass. He directed Coach Hollander down the winding streets home. The further they drove, the more side eyed glances his coaches exchanged in the front seat.
“You walk home this way everyday?” Coach Hollander asked.
Luca nodded. “Yeah. I’d take the bus but we aren’t very close to any stops. Plus it only runs like every hour, and doesn’t start until seven a.m.”
Coach Rozanov turned around in his seat, looking at Luca. “You walk to practice too? In the morning?”
“Of course.” Luca shrugged. How else would he get there?
The looks the coaches gave each other then seemed a bit more emphatic.
Soon enough, they’d pulled up outside Luca’s house. Luca was hopping out of the car before it had come to a complete stop, eliciting a displeased tsk from Coach Rozanov.
“Thanks for the ride!” Luca called, pulling his gear bag from the backseat and taking off at a brisk walk up the steps to his house. He offered a final wave over his shoulder before stepping inside and shutting the door tight. He leaned back against the front door, sucking in a deep breath. At least his shoes weren’t wet.
The fourth day of camp ended with Luca once again being shooed into the Hollander-Rozanov car.
This time though, Coach Hollander must have enabled the child locks on the car’s back doors, preventing Luca from making a hasty retreat from the vehicle. Damn.
He waited patiently for the doors to be unlocked. Unfortunately, when Coach Hollander did so, he also swung his own door open, stepping out on the street. Coach Rozanov did the same, getting out on his side.
“Where are you guys going?” Luca asked, quickly scrambling out of the car.
Coach Rozanov pointed at Luca’s own in-need-of-a-paint-job house. “This is where you live, yes?”
Luca nodded, slowly. “Yes?”
“Then we are going to go in there. We will say hello to your mama and papa.”
Rozanov said it like it was a no brainer rather than something that was setting off warning bells in Luca’s head.
Coach Rozanov’s hand clasped Luca’s shoulder, steering him towards his own home, Hollander hot on their heels.
Luca thought desperately of the messy house he had left behind this morning — the piled up laundry he hadn’t bothered to do yet and the empty cereal boxes he left out in the hopes that a little fairy may come by while he’s out and replenish them. He tried not to die of embarrassment over the idea of his hockey heroes seeing the disrepair he’d let the home fall into.
Rozanov stopped their procession at the front door, wrapping his knuckles against the wood. They paused, waiting a few seconds. When no one came to the door, Luca let Rozanov knock a second time, despite knowing nobody was ever going to answer.
Finally, Luca shrugged, going for casual. “Must not be home. Oh well. Thanks for trying.” He tried to duck under Rozanov’s arm, but was snagged easily once more.
“When will they be back?” Coach Hollander was looking around, like a car might be about to pull up.
“Don’t know.” Luca said honestly. “Soon probably.” He added, less honestly.
After they all just stood there for another few awkward seconds, Luca finally shrugged Coach Rozanov’s grip off. He stepped towards the door, one hand on the knob and the other fishing in his pocket. “I have a key though. So it’s alright. Thanks for dropping me off.” He put a little emphasis on the dropping off bit, a clear non-invitation inside.
Message received, his coaches took a couple steps back down the stairs of his small porch. Coach Hollander pursed his lips, but then seemed to give in with a small sigh. “Alright, well, if they aren’t back soon, just let us know. Alright? You have our cell phone numbers?” Luca nodded. They had been in the welcome packets for the camp. “Good. You can call us anytime.”
Coach Rozanov looked less sold on the idea of not going inside, but he nodded too. “Yes. Anytime. We do not need any extra beauty sleep.” He gestured at his own face, then Coach Hollander’s.
Luca bit back a smile. “I will. Thanks for the ride.”
He waited until they had walked away and gotten back in their car before opening his door and going inside.
A loud knocking interrupted Luca deciding which t-shirt was the cleanest to wear to camp Friday morning.
Jesus Christ. If it was the power company come by to officially shut the electricity off, Luca was going to completely lose his shit.
The knocking came again, incessant.
“Just go away, we’ll pay you later!” Luca called through the door, pulling the semi-clean shirt on over his head.
Another knock.
“For the love of —” He grumpily swung the door open, ready to chew out the bill collectors. Instead, he was greeted with a paper to go cup being shoved in his eye sight.
“You like cocoa, yes?” It took Luca a second to register the voice as Coach Rozanov’s. Once he did, Luca blinked a few times, craning his neck around the to go cup. His coaches were standing on his front stoop, looking far too chipper for it being this early in the morning.
“Huh?” was all Luca could come up with.
“Hot cocoa? Chocolate? You like this, yes?” Rozanov gave the cup a little enticing wiggle in Luca’s direction.
“You… brought me hot chocolate? You came here to bring me hot chocolate?”
Despite what Coach had tried to claim yesterday, Luca knew his home was definitely not on the way to the rink for them.
“We’re here to bring you to camp.” Coach Hollander chimed in. He lifted up a paper Tim’s bag. “And we also come bearing breakfast sandwiches. You hungry? You like bacon?”
Luca’s stomach gave a growl in response. No sense denying it after that. “Yes please.” His manners were rewarded with a smile and a hot wrapped sandwich being deposited in one of his hands, a cup of cocoa in the other.
“Do you have your stuff all packed up?” Coach Hollander asked.
Before Luca could answer, or stop them, the two men were stepping uninvited past him and into the threshold of his house.
“Um, yeah.” Luca floundered for a second, nearly dropping his breakfast in an attempt to hurry after them. “I’m not supposed to have people inside when my parents aren’t home, though.” He quickly tacked on. “I can get my stuff and meet you at the car.”
He hadn’t moved fast enough to stop them. Hollander paused in the entryway, but Rozanov ignored the suggestion entirely, moving further into the house.
“Your parents aren’t home?” Coach Hollander cocked his head. “Still or again?”
Luca tried to think of the best answer, but he was distracted by the sight of Rozanov starting to poke around the messy kitchen. He could hear cabinets being unsubtly opened and closed. And there goes the fridge door. “What?” Luca shook his head. “Still, I guess. I don’t know.”
Coach Hollander took on that same pursed lip face, the one that was becoming all too familiar to Luca. Instead of commenting, he just nodded at the bag in Luca’s hand. “Eat your breakfast, buddy. Ilya and I will get your gear bag out to the car.” He raised his voice slightly, “Ilya, come give me a hand.”
Luca decided not to comment on the fact that it definitely didn’t take two of them to bring his gear bag to their car. He could hear their rapid whispers to each other as they hauled his stuff out the door together, although he couldn’t make out the exact words being said.
Flopping down on the couch, Luca decided that was a problem for future him. Present him was just going to go ahead and focus on enjoying some bacon.
It really shouldn’t have surprised Luca to wind up heading in the opposite direction of his house after camp that day. Really, the fact that his coaches had been acting all day like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred that morning should have been a red flag.
Luca was maybe color blind though, because he didn’t pick up on that one until they were already several kilometers further from his home.
“Um, Coach?” Luca undid his seatbelt so he could lean forward from the backseat, sticking his face between the two front seats. “Where are we going?”
“Seatbelt.” Coach Hollander immediately chided. He waited until Luca had sat back again and redone his seatbelt. Once secured, Hollander continued, “We’re going to our house. Mine and Ilya’s.”
“What for?”
“For dinner. And sleep. And maybe to watch movie with ice cream if you are good.” Coach Rozanov chimed in.
That short circuited Luca’s brain long enough that they were pulling into a long circular driveway by the time he managed to figure out an answer. Unfortunately, that answer was just an uneloquent, “Huh?”
His coaches didn’t bother answering that. Hollander parked the car, the men getting out and leaving Luca alone inside, lingering in his confusion. Not for long though. Knuckles wrapped lightly against the car window on Luca’s side. “Come. We are making chicken with pasta.” Coach Rozanov called through the closed window.
Dumbly, Luca opened the car door and got out. Hollander had already grabbed his gear bag from the trunk, so he just followed along inside the house in Rozanov’s wake.
A barking dog greeted them at the door. It ran a lap around Rozanov before bounding over to Luca, nearly knocking him over by jumping up on his front.
“Whoa, hi there.” Luca couldn’t help but grin, bending down so the dog could properly lick his whole face.
“Anya, do not smother our guest. We like him alive.” Rozanov called, toeing his shoes off and leaving Luca to be slobbered over in the foyer. He didn’t mind though, giving the friendliest puppy in the world some belly scratches.
When he finally extracted himself from Anya’s clutches — although she still followed after him, close on his heels — Luca wandered further into the house. The main area was an open kitchen and living room, both of his kidnappers currently occupying the kitchen area.
Coach Hollander glanced over at him, smiling warmly before nodding towards the sink. “Go ahead and wash up. Then you can help me with chopping the veggies. Ilya stinks at it, so it’s all on us.”
Coach Rozanov looked offended. “I do not stink at anything.
“You cut the carrot slices all into stars last time instead of just doing it normal.” Hollander shook his head.
Rozanov threw his hands up, giving Luca a can you see what I put up with? look. “I make your boring cutting fun. So sorry, lock me up, Officer.”
Hollander rolled his eyes. “It took ten times as long as it needed to.” He slid a cutting board and bowl of vegetables over to Luca once the boy had washed his hands. “You’re going to do a lot better.” Hollander winked at him.
Luca nodded eagerly. “I’ll do a good job.”
“Yes, yes. You will get the gold star.” Coach Rozanov fondly cuffed the back of his head before returning to bickering lightly with Coach Hollander. Luca carefully cut up the vegetables, listening to the two squabble about whether or not Shane had seasoned the chicken enough (“some of us want to actually taste our food, lyubimy”) and answering questions when thrown at him (yes he liked school, no he would not tell them which was the better hockey player, yes he wanted chocolate ice cream later). The conversation continued to flow easily as Luca set the table and they all sat down to eat.
All things considered, it wasn’t the worst maybe-sorta-kidnapping. The dinner was good. And Anya was fun. And the house was warm. So maybe it wasn’t so bad being stuck here.
“Don’t forget your jacket, Luca.”
Mr. Hollander had said it no less than ten times this morning. Luca would be annoyed by the constant reminders, but technically speaking he was currently jacket-less while waiting by the front door, so maybe he wasn’t totally wrong to mention it.
“I won’t.” Luca focused on the more important task of getting his Centaurs ball cap shoved on his head. Mr. Rozanov had come home with a child sized one the other day and declared Luca their new good luck charm. He was supposed to wear the hat to watch weekend practices, and that meant the team would win their next game. It was clearly a very important responsibility, so Luca had to take it very seriously.
“Mr. Rozanov?” Luca stuck his head around the entryway corner into the kitchen.
“Yes, Mr. Haas?” Rozanov looked over at him from where he was gathering their water bottles.
“Do you think Mr. Hayes will let me shoot on him after you guys practice again?” The Centaurs’ goalkeeper had let Luca practice his shots on him the last couple practices once everyone was done — Luca’s U-13 coach had even told him he was really improving after their last game. Staying with professional hockey stars had so far had a few perks to it.
“Maybe, you have to ask him.” Mr. Rozanov brought the water bottles over to wait by the front door, ruffling Luca’s hair as he passed. “Did you remember your foam finger?”
Luca rolled his eyes. Mr. Rozanov had also bought him an Ilya Rozanov #1 foam finger. It had yet to be given any action at the rink because Luca was fairly certain Mr. Hollander wouldn’t make him the strawberry shakes he likes anymore if he picked a side like that. Maybe Mr. Rozanov could get him a second foam finger of Mr. Hollander too though. He had two hands after all.
“Mr. Rozanov?”
“Yes, Mr. Haas?”
Luca wrinkled his nose. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Da, this is what I was going to ask you.” Rozanov glanced at him with a half grin. “I hear mister mister mister from you all day long. Makes me feel like I am a very old man.”
Luca winced. “Sorry.”
“Do not be sorry, just call me Ilya. This way I sound like the very young person that I am.”
Mr. Hollander snorted as he came into the foyer, a gear bag over his shoulder. “Young person? Last night your knees popped so loudly they heard it in outer space.”
Mr. Rozanov — Ilya — rolled his eyes and gestured at Mr. Hollander. “Do you see how he treats me? Lying to our innocent baby about me.” He pinched Luca’s cheek. “This is an impressionable boy. What will he think now?”
Mr. Hollander opened the front door, giving Ilya a little push out. “That the old man he lives with needs to stretch more. Now get a move on, Gramps.”
Luca tried to follow after a grumbling Ilya, but a hand snagged the back of his sweater. Mr. Hollander — Shane? — gave him a gentle nudge back in the direction of the coat rack. “Luca, jacket.”
“Sorry!”
Living with Ilya and Shane was great. Shane helped him with his backhand shot on weekends and his math homework on weekdays. Ilya let him watch scary movies at night, and then didn’t even say I told you so when Luca wanted to sleep with the lights on. They both separately took him out for milkshakes sometimes but would make him promise not to tell the other about it. All in all, it was much nicer than camping out alone in a drafty house.
Sometimes Luca forgot that he did in fact like living here though. On days like today, where Ilya woke him up way too early on a Saturday for practice and Shane was insisting on making him one of those breakfast smoothies that were 99% kale and like a whisper of fruit.
Luca scowled at the green atrocity when Shane placed it in front of him on the counter. “Is it too much to ask to just have a bowl of cereal?”
Shane shook his head. “You’re going to be skating all morning, you need more than Captain Crunch.”
“What about Cheerios? Those are healthy.” Luca poked at the thick drink with the bendy straw stuck in it.
“No they aren’t.”
“Are too, they have a bee on the box and everything.”
Shane frowned. “A bee mascot doesn’t make something healthy. Just drink your smoothie, if you’re still hungry after I can make you a bagel too or something. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”
Well how was Luca supposed to be in a good mood when he was dealing with someone who doesn’t think bees were healthy?
Before he could point that logic out, Ilya came barreling into the room, dropping a kiss to the top of Luca’s head as he passed. “Good morning, malysh. You sleep good?”
“No, I’m tired.” Luca poked more forcefully at his smoothie.
Ilya tutted. “You will have an early night, then.”
“I don’t want an early night, I wanna go back to bed now.”
“You want to miss practice?” Ilya frowned, pressing the back of his hand to Luca’s forehead before Luca could bat him away. “Are you sick?”
“I’m not sick.” Luca pulled his head out of reach. He considered it for a second, pursing his lips. “I don’t wanna miss practice. I just want it to not be at ass o’clock in the morning.”
“Hey, language.” Shane cut in, narrowed eyes landing briefly on Luca before switching over to his snickering husband.
“It was English.” Luca huffed, giving up on poking his smoothie and pushing it away.
Ilya stopped his giggling, raising an eyebrow at Luca. “Oh? You are Mr. Sassiest Pants today.”
Luca shrugged while Shane blinked several times. “Where did you even learn that phrase?” Shane asked, brows furrowing.
Ilya shrugged. “I have my sources.”
“That means it’s my mother.” Shane dropped his voice lower, giving Luca a conspiring wink and tap on the head. It did enough to ease the tension in the room, Luca unable to keep a small smile from gracing his lips.
The tension returned the moment they were settled in the car. It was one of those rare weekend mornings where Ilya and Shane had a home game that evening, so no morning practice for their team. It meant that they both were able to come watch Luca’s team practice, something that should have had Luca in a good mood.
Instead, he was busy getting upset because the backseat of Shane’s car was suddenly way too small for him to get comfortable.
“Move forward.” He complained for the third time, giving the back of Ilya’s seat a kick.
“Luca, do not kick.” Ilya turned his head around to give him a frown.
“I wouldn’t even be able to reach you to kick if you moved your dumb seat forward.” He gave the seat another hefty shove.
“Hey!” Shane whistled to get his attention, glancing quickly at him in the rearview mirror. “Knock it off, Luca. It’s dangerous to do that while we’re driving.”
“But you’re driving, he’s not.”
“It’s dangerous and distracting. Stop it or I’ll pull over.” Shane wasn’t big on idle threats. While Ilya was prone to dramatics (“turn the video game off now or I will destroy all video games in the entire world” “if you do not get up I will put your bed in the ocean”), Shane never said what he didn’t mean. (Luca had learned that the hard way when he had, in fact, been made to sit at the kitchen table all evening until he tried a bite of okra).
Despite knowing this, Luca gave the back of Ilya’s seat another, harder, kick.
And then their tires were crunching over the gravel on the side of the road, and they were rolling to a stop.
Shit.
Eyes wide, Luca watched Shane put the car in park and turn around in his seat. “Young man,” uh oh, not a good start, “do I need to turn this car around? We can miss practice and spend the day thinking about how to have a better attitude in your room.”
That was definitely not an idle threat.
Luca shook his head hard enough that his curls bounced around his face. “No thank you.”
Ilya, the kinda-sorta-victim of this situation, jumped in on his behalf. “It’s alright, Shane. He is going to be good now.”
Shane was less convinced, eyes still trained on Luca. “Are you going to behave today? You going to sit still and keep your limbs to yourself?”
“Yes…” Luca squirmed under his gaze.
“Are you sure?” Shane raised a single eyebrow. “You’re eleven. That’s old enough to know better than to act like that in a car. Have you remembered how to act now? Or do we need to jog your memory?”
Unable to bear the scolding much longer it seemed, Ilya threw up his hands. “He is a baby, Shane!” He gestured widely at the very-much-not-a-baby. But, hey, if it saves his butt, Luca could be a baby for a second. “He does not know better. But he knows now.”
Luca widened his eyes as far as he could, going for cherubic but likely landing somewhere around creepy possessed anime character instead.
Shane looked unswayed. “Well?” He prodded Luca.
“I’m sorry, I won’t kick anymore.” Luca promised, making a little x over his heart. “I promise.”
Shane nodded once, then turned back around and restarted the car, pulling back onto the road.
In hindsight, he should’ve just taken the out and let Shane turn the car around.
Luca’s attitude was most definitely not skated away on the ice.
He managed to make it a solid half hour into practice with just a few borderline chirps to show for it. That was until Joey Holmberg — who’s supposed to be his friend! — checked him a little too hard into the boards during a scrimmage.
“Shit, Luke, my bad—” Bergy didn’t get to finish the apology before Luca was shoving him right back, knocking him into the glass twice as hard. A whistle blew somewhere on the sidelines, but Luca hardly heard it.
“What the hell was that for?!” Now Bergy was mad too, pushing Luca right back. Good. Everyone should be mad.
Luca pulled his gloves off, like he’d seen the older professional players do in games — like he’d seen Ilya do a time or ten (and on one memorable occasion, he’d seen Shane do. That little brawl had earned them an absolutely preening Ilya all night long).
Something nobody had thought to mention before? Turns out, punching someone hurts. Like, actually hurts.
“What the fuck?” Luca looked down wide eyed at his own now-red knuckle. He’d hit Bergy’s shoulder pads too, so he was now the only one in any pain.
Despite his lack of pain, Bergy still didn’t seem too thrilled to have taken the punch. He dropped his own gloves, swinging back at Luca. And. Okay. Yeah actually, it still hurts to get punched, even through the padding. Both boys winced simultaneously, Bergy clutching his fist with his other hand and Luca putting his own on his stomach.
The sound of skates gliding across ice came from right near them. Coach Stubbs skated over to them, kicking up a small sprinkling of ice as he stopped. He didn’t look thrilled. “What the hell does a whistle blowing mean to you boys?” When neither answered, he stuck his hands on his hips. “It means knock it off, not start swinging!”
Two voices that may have said sorry coach mumbled out.
Coach shook his head before jerking his thumb towards the doors of the rink. “Get changed out. You’re both done for the day.”
Both boys immediately started to protest. “No, Coach, we’re sorry—” But were cut off by Coach blowing his whistle once more. (And, yes, it was much louder up close and personal). Coach just pointed towards the doors again, and they got the message.
Skating back slowly, just behind Bergy, Luca’s stomach was feeling all twisty. He was pissed that Coach wouldn’t let them just say sorry and stay. Pissed because Bergy! had started it by checking Luca first. But there was this also terrible feeling of worry that was leaving behind a bunch of flapping butterflies. He hadn’t had the guts yet to check out Ilya and Shane’s reactions from the stands, but he didn’t imagine they were looking thrilled.
As he left the ice, he walked right past their front row seats, keeping his eyes locked on the floor as he trudged off towards the locker room.
He was only alone in there for a few seconds — Bergy having pulled his own skates off on the sidelines and left for home with his mom just like that — before Shane and Ilya decided to barge in after him.
“Get out, I’m changing.” Luca snapped at them, yanking his practice jersey over his head.
“What the hell was that Luca?” Shane asked, ignoring his demand and coming further into the room, Ilya hot on his heels.
“I said get out.” Luca tugged at his pads, trying to get free of the constricting material. They were new ones, courtesy of the Hollander-Rozanovs, with new buckles and clips that weren’t so worn down they came right undone like Luca’s old ones. Stupid dumb not broken pads.
Shane reached out and deftly undid the clasps for him, helping him out of the material like a big show off jerk.
“I had it.” Luca snapped at him, yanking away and shrugging off the rest of the gear. He turned his back on them and redressed, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. It was warm and smelled like laundry detergent, just like all his stupid clothes these days. Irritation growing with the smell of ocean breeze filling his nose, he shot Shane and Ilya a scowl. “I don’t need you getting involved in all my shit all the time.”
“Hey, now.” Shane’s voice took on a tilt of sharp warning. “I know you’re upset, but that’s not called for.”
Luca scoffed, taking a seat on the bench and focusing his attention on his skates. “Whatever.”
“Luca, we need to talk about what that was on the ice. You know better than to pick a fight like that.” Shane’s voice had softened back to normal, but it still had Luca angrily banging the blade of his skate against the tiled floor.
Pick a fight?! “He hit me first!”
“He checked you, yes. But you didn’t have to react like that.”
Jesus Christ. What was with them and micromanaging every one of Luca’s reactions today? It was all don’t roll your eyes, Luca and don’t kick the seat, Luca. Seriously, what did they do all day before they had Luca around to focus on all the damn time.
Luca yanked hard on the stupid laces on his new stupid nice skates, trying to get them undone. When Shane crouched down and reached out to help, he all but bared his teeth. “Don’t!” He snapped, swatting away the man’s gentle hands.
“Luca.” Ilya cut in, sharp and immediate. It spiked Luca’s blood pressure, his teeth grinding together on their own accord.
“I can undo them myself.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Yes? Then do this.” He waved a hand at Luca’s skates. “And do this without biting at Shane like grumpy puppy.”
Luca’s responding snarl didn’t help with refuting that. Ilya didn’t even look intimidated, just curled his lip in a slight smirk. “I need rolled newspaper to whack the mean puppy.”
Shane rolled his eyes, standing back up. “Please, you’ve never whacked a dog with a newspaper in your life. You once gave Anya a new set of slippers to chew up after she had destroyed mine.”
Ilya sniffed. “I encourage her hobbies.”
While the two bickered lightly, Luca managed to pull his skates off, dropping them on the floor and shoving his sneakers on instead.
This garnered their attention again. Ilya turned back to face him, looking expectant. “You are ready to have a little talk now, yes?”
“Nope.”
“That was not an option.” Ilya shrugged, sitting down beside him on the bench, Shane standing in front of them with his arms folded.
“Why did you hit Joey, Luca? You’re friends, aren’t you?” Shane looked genuinely baffled by the whole situation.
“Because he checked me. That’s what you do when someone checks you.” Like, duh. He knew Shane wasn’t keen on picking fights in games, but he would’ve expected at least Ilya to get it. But, no, the other man was looking at him just as perplexed.
Shane didn’t look persuaded. “That’s not what you do when your teammate accidentally skates too hard into you, Luca. I know that you know the difference between that and a sanctioned fight in a game.”
Luca rolled his eyes. They were so dumb sometimes. “We were on opposite teams for scrimmage. So he wasn’t even my teammate.”
“That’s still your teammate. It’s just a practice, Luca. There should be no fighting at all.” That sounded like it was really Alternate Captain Hollander speaking, and Luca felt a stab of pity for the rookies on the Centaurs that were subject to Ilya and Shane’s double team scolding on a regular basis at practices.
It wasn’t even fair. He’d been checked first. And he’d only done what any other hockey player does! The crowd always cheers when Ilya drops his own gloves in a game.
In a fit of red hot anger, Luca picked up his previously removed skate and chucked it hard at the far wall. The thing clattered loudly against the wall, and even from here he could see the blade take a chip out of one of the tiles.
The three of them all just stared at the fallen skate for a few moments.
Ilya was the first to break his reverie, standing up from the bench quickly enough that his knees made little popping sounds. (Luca would have to remember to tease him about being old once he doesn’t look ready for homicide).
With a tight hand clamped around Luca’s bicep, Ilya pulled him clean up and off the bench. “And now the time for a little talk is done. We will move on to a big talk.”
Big talk really didn’t sound like anything Luca wanted to be moving on to. It kind of felt like they were skipping over the middle talk grounds, and he would actually very much like to try that one first.
But he wasn’t given his goldilocks opportunity to try it. Instead, Ilya frog marched him right out of the locker room, Shane hot on their heels and carrying Luca’s gear bag. And hopefully his chucked skate. It was a good skate. It didn’t deserve to get left behind.
“Ilya…” Luca tried to squirm away from the man’s unrelenting grip with a pathetic little plea (that usually worked!) and actual squirming.
He must’ve unknowingly already used up all his pre-earned cute kid points today though because Ilya’s grip just tightened in response.
When Luca gave a harder yank to try and free his arm, Ilya did finally halt their quick pace out of the rink.
Unfortunately, he did so only to spin Luca around to face him. Ilya bent lower, getting eye to glaring eye with Luca. His other hand came up to grip Luca’s previously un-manhandled right arm too.
“We are going to the car.” Ilya started, voice low enough that Luca doubted even Shane could hear them.
The, “Clearly,” escaped Luca’s lips before he could force a lid on the sarcasm.
Thankfully, Ilya steamrolled on, not acknowledging any smartass-ery. “You are going to walk to the car. No fighting. No running off. No sassy mouth.” Okay, maybe his smartass-ery hadn’t been completely ignored. “If I have to remind you again, we will find nearest bathroom for me to smack your bottom in. It is not a short drive home. You will want to sit comfortable for it.”
Threats sufficiently made, and Luca sufficiently horrified into complacency, Ilya straightened back up and hauled Luca off once more towards the parking lot.
The drive home sucked. Being sent to his room to wait sucked even more.
Laying back on his bed, in his nice green-because-it-was-his-favorite-color bedroom, Luca felt hot tears burning the backs of his eyes. The terrible awful worst part of today was that he actually liked it here. He liked — loved — living with Shane and Ilya. He liked game nights and being told to wear a jacket and even the green smoothies.
And now he’d gone and fucked it all up, just like he was always going to.
There was no chance, not a single teeny tiny one, that these two guys — who only even had Luca here because they felt bad for him and were like obligated to be nice as his camp coaches — were gonna want him to stay after all this shit. Why would anyone want to live with a surly kid who gets into fights and throws the nice new skates you bought him?
Should he leave? It wasn’t that far — give or take a dozen kilometers — to his old house. The power had definitely been shut off by now there, but it wasn’t as freezing outside anymore so he’d probably be okay there.
Shoving off his bed, Luca went to his closet and pulled down a well worn duffle bag. It was his old one from home, he didn’t want to steal any of the new stuff Ilya and Shane had gotten him. Plus, nice things like that shouldn’t go back to a not nice house. Ruffling through the floor of his closet, he found an old hoodie and some holey jeans that had been his for a few years now. He shoved them into his bag.
He was in the middle of trying to decide what to do about shoes, since his old ones had all been tossed in the trash, when there was a knock on his bedroom door. Ilya and Shane entered a second later, both scanning the room until they spotted him half in the closet.
Shane furrowed his eyebrows together. “Not really the moment to do some spring cleaning, buddy, but I appreciate the initiative.”
Luca just shrugged, duffel bag hanging from his grip.
Ilya looked between Luca and the bag a few times before making a scoffing sound in the back of his throat. “Nyet. Put this away, now. You are not leaving.” He made a shooing gesture, striding over and snagging the bag from Luca only to unceremoniously dump its contents back on his closet floor. “You are being silly.”
Luca was ushered out of the closet and back over to his bed, the closet door being swung shut behind him.
“Leaving? Luca, you weren’t leaving were you?” Shane frowned, taking a seat beside him on the bed.
“I thought…” He didn’t really know how to finish, ears burning as he ducked his head.
He evidently didn’t need to clarify because Ilya halted that train of thought right away, “You thought wrong. You have not been thinking right all day, it seems like.”
Shane nudged him lightly. “What’s going on with you, Luca?”
Luca shrugged. His stomach felt weird again. And his eyes were still all burning, and his cheeks too now.
“Come on,” Shane didn’t sound mean, but he also still didn’t sound like the day was about to be swept under the rug, “Talk to us.”
“I just…” Luca pinched his lips together, trying to find the words. “I just had a shit day, I guess. Sorry, language I know,” he added before Shane could pipe up with a demand for a swear jar contribution, “I was just upset already. And Bergy made me more upset. And I’m sorry. And I know that means I probably have to go back home.”
Ilya clicked his tongue, already shaking his head. “I just said you are not leaving. Did you not hear this the first time? I will say it louder,” he cupped his hands around his mouth, amplifying his voice slightly, “you are not leaving, Luca.”
Luca blinked. What? He knew Ilya had taken his bag away, but he’d figured he just meant like… not yet? Like they were gonna yell at him still first.
“Like… not right now?”
Ilya sighed, looking put upon. “He is helpless.” He said to Shane, gesturing at Luca, before returning his attention to the boy again. “Not ever. You maybe can leave when you are all grown up and go to play for professional hockey team. But, also that team will probably be Centaurs, so you will just live here with me and Shane still then and forever, problem solved.”
Well that was a lot to unpack. Starting with the most important bit, Luca asked, “Wait, you think I could play professionally?”
Ilya didn’t hesitate before nodding. “Yes, you will be — what is it called? Ah, a nepo baby.” He stuck airquotes around the phrase. “But at least you will actually be good.”
Perking up, Luca sat forward eagerly. “Do you think we’d play on the same team? Will you guys still be playing then?”
“Da, I will play forever. Shane will play for another year maybe, until his weak backhand gives out.”
“Alright,” Shane, future retiree apparently, cut in, “As much as I love a good planning session, let’s save this for later, okay? We still need to close out the chapter on today.”
“He is being our sweet malysh again, Shane. Chapter closed.” Ilya sat down on the other side of Luca on the bed, cupping a protective hand over the back of Luca’s head and tugging him towards his chest. The idea that Luca would ever need protecting from the man who had routinely expressed a desire to wrap Luca up in bubble wrap to keep him from ever so much as getting a scrape was almost laugh worthy, but Luca managed to keep his giggle back.
“Ilya.” Shane sounded just as stern as when he told Luca off in the car. Just like then, it cowed Ilya the same it had Luca. Ilya released his hold on Luca, nodding.
“We still need to handle this, Luca.” He agreed. Traitor.
“I feel pretty well handled already.” Luca tried, looking between the two with wide eyes.
“Good. You will feel very well handled then soon.” Ilya said, all reasonable and dumb.
Luca had briefly hoped that the two of them would squabble over who had to do the smacking portion of this chat — because there was very little doubt after their little ice rink discussion that someone would be doing some ass smacking. Maybe they’d bicker long enough, or want to draw straws, so that Luca could slip out of the room and by the time they’d realized they would have forgotten all about the trouble he got into.
But nope. Ilya made the executive decision instead.
Reaching over, Ilya plucked Luca up under his arms. He maneuvered him with more expertise than someone fresh into this parenting game should have, getting Luca sprawled over his lap easily enough.
Luca couldn’t decide yet if he was glad it was Ilya who was the one doleing this out or not. He’d never received a full on over the knee ass whooping session from either man, just a stray swat or two. Based on those quick rebuffs, he had a strong feeling that Ilya had a harder hand, but Shane had a lower BS tolerance.
Hopefully he never actually got to compare the two men’s spanking styles.
An arm wrapped around Luca’s waist, holding him securely to Ilya’s middle. He could barely squirm his lower half now, so he’d just have to make do with some epic arm flailing.
“Ilya…” He whined, kicking his feet as much as he could.
“Yes, yes. We are so mean, not letting you get away with starting fights or throwing tantrums.” Ilya’s hand came to rest on Luca’s backside, making him jump with a startle.
Luca huffed. “It wasn’t a tantrum.” That made it sound so babyish. It had been a strongly worded disagreement. Involving a skate that may or may not have gotten thrown. There were no security cameras, so it would be their word against his.
Apparently their word counted for more though, because Ilya simply raised his hand up and brought it down sharply across the center of Luca’s bottom.
“Ilya!” Now he was full on yelling. All it got him was an identical whack to the left side, then the right. “Shane, make him stop!” The other man was still posted up beside them on the bed, like one of those Buckingham Palace guards who won’t crack a smile no matter how ridiculous or dire the situation.
Ilya snorted above him. “What is that expression? Barking at the wrong tree? Shane is not going to save you from a sore bottom, malysh.”
Luca turned his head enough to catch Shane nodding. “Luca, it’s okay to have a bad day.” Oh good, Shane was going to be the voice-of-lecture while Ilya whacked away, “but you can’t take that out on other people. Whether that’s us, or your teammates, or just some stranger on the street. You don’t throw things or hit just because you’re upset.”
Luca’s face flushed. He felt like a kindergartener being taught about keeping your hands to yourself. He was eleven, not five.
“I’ll pay for the wall! I’ll fix the chip!” It might take him several years worth of allowance but he’d do it eventually. “And maybe I’ll even say sorry to Bergy.”
“Maybe?” Ilya didn’t sound pleased, and his hand didn’t feel pleased either, aiming harder and lower at Luca’s thighs.
“No, definitely! I’ll say sorry now. I’ll text him right now, just lemme up.” He made an effort to stand, but no luck. Ilya must have one of those metal arms, like in that Captain America movie they’d watched the other night. It was probably a documentary about him, actually.
He really should’ve thought about putting on a few extra layers of pants before they got up here. The thin sweats he’d worn to the rink this morning weren’t doing much in terms of ass-protection. Hell, he probably should’ve just left his hockey pads on at this rate. Weren’t they meant for blocking things flying towards him? That must include your kinda-sorta-guardian’s hand.
At a particularly sharp spank over an already well-smacked portion of Luca’s right cheek, he couldn’t stop the audible sob from bubbling up. Pressing his face into the duvet on the bed, Luca let the tears that had been threatening to fall all morning finally come.
A hand combing through the side of his hair was an odd contrasting comfort to the hand still batting the ability to sit out of his backside. Shane was the best at giving head scratches though, always knowing exactly how to get Luca to fall asleep on the couch with a few well placed scritches.
Ilya paused a moment, hand resting uncomfortably on Luca’s too-heated bottom. “What have we learned about fights, Luca?”
What had he learned? “Not at practice? Not with a teammate?”
“Yes, good.” Despite it being right, he was still only rewarded with another firm swat. “You can fight any other time, but not then.”
“Not any other time, Ilya.” Shane cut in, although it sounded more like Ilya was getting the lecture than Luca, so that was okay. “Only in a game. Only if they started it.”
Ilya hummed noncommittally, as if he was worried agreement would also lock him into that system. But he must’ve ultimately decided that being a good role model here was more important, so he gave a short, “Yes, Shane is right,” and quickly switched topics, “And what have we learned about tantrums?”
Luca again whimpered at that word, but said, voice all clogged with tears, “Not to throw stuff. Not to be mean.”
Ilya seemed to soften, his next swat barely more than a firm pat. “Yes, you are not a mean boy. You are our good, sweet boy. Remember this, yes?”
Luca nodded. “I’ll remember.” He sniffled noisily, causing Shane to reach over for a box of tissues by the bed. That must have been the unspoken signal to end this whole debacle because Ilya’s hand fell back to his side while Shane dabbed at Luca’s exposed face with a wad of tissues.
Once the gunk had mostly been wiped off, they must have deemed him sufficiently suited to sit up. He was once again lifted under the arms by Ilya, and dropped down to sit on the bed between them.
That wouldn’t do.
Immediately, Luca jumped up, clutching at his scorched backside. “Ow!”
Ilya looked more amused than the guilty Luca had been going for. “Ahh, too sore to sit, malysh?”
“Yes!” Luca scowled, using the back of his non-backside-clutching hand to wipe at any fresh tears making their way down his face.
“Don’t tease him, Ilya.” Shane chided, opening his arms to Luca. “Come here, buddy.”
There. Now that was some proper post-smacking behavior. With a pointed huff in Ilya’s direction, Luca launched himself into Shane’s chest, allowing himself to be held snuggly.
“Oh, so you think you can cut me out of cuddle?” Ilya looked affronted. “Nuh uh.” He scooted closer to them, wrapping his arms around both Shane and Luca and tugging them to him.
Luca smothered a grin in Shane’s shoulder. “I’m bringing a pillow to watch your game tonight. Those stupid benches are way too hard.”