Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories:

F/M, M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Alexei Rozanov's Daughter & Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova, Cliff Marlow & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Alexei Rozanov's Daughter, Svetlana Vetrova, Cliff Marlow, Ilya Rozanov's Teammates, Sasha | Ilya Rozanov's Coach's Son

Additional Tags:

Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov & His Niece - Freeform, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Parent Ilya Rozanov, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Sad, Character Death, Minor Character Death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e04 Rose (Heated Rivalry), Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-11 Updated: 2026-09-26 Words: 81,296 Chapters: 17/?

when it snows

Summary

Alexei is dead. Anastasia is his. And Ilya has no idea how to be a parent, a captain, and a heartbroken man all at once.

The only thing harder than keeping a five-year-old alive might be keeping himself together.

 

[set after shane walks out on ilya in episode 4]

Notes

okay basically this fic is set in the heated rivalry (tv) universe.

it's like set a couple weeks after shane walks out on ilya in episode 4. the beginning of this fic is set in those months we don't see in the show and once we get to the florida, it'll be a bit of canon divergence (not too much tho dw, just stuff but with his niece there)

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Ilya wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing. He ignores it at first, groaning and putting the pillow over his head, trying to drown the noise out. 

Then something hits his back with an annoyed voice following right behind the throw, “Come on, Roz. Pick up the fucking phone. It’s been ringing non-stop for fifteen minutes!” Cliff Marlow says.

“Shut up,” Ilya mumbles. 

He groans and tosses the pillow aside before sitting up. His eyes are still half closed as he grabs it off the nightstand and presses accept. 

He presses the phone against his ear, “Hello?” He answers in English. 

“Ilya,” His father says, voice barely above a whisper. “Ilya, are you alive?” 

Ilya immediately awakens. He sits up in the bed and swallows, “Yes, Papa, I am alive,” He answers in Russian. 

“Okay,” The older man mumbles. A few moments pass in silence before he speaks again. “Alexei is gone. My son is gone. He’s dead.” 

Ilya freezes, his heart sinking to his stomach. Alexei? What the hell is his father saying? 

“Papa, what are you talking about?” Ilya asks, trying to stay calm. He rubs at his face, still disoriented. “I talked to Alexei last night, he’s fine.” 

His father ignores him, “Alexei… he passed… I don’t know what to do.” 

Ilya’s heart is racing now. He tries to calm down by telling himself that his father is just having another episode because of his dementia. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“It’s just another episode, Papa. You are confused,” Ilya says softly. “Is Polina close to you? Let me talk to her.” 

But his father’s incoherent mumbling just continues. 

“Alexei… dead… car… accident…”

Ilya’s blood runs cold. A car accident? No, his father doesn’t even know what day it is, he obviously has no idea what he’s talking about. 

“Papa, calm down. It’s okay,” He says. “Where’s Alexei? I’ll call him.” 

His father doesn’t respond and there’s a long silence before the call abruptly ends. Ilya stares at the phone, holding it away from his ear. His mind is racing. Alexei? Car accident? 

It doesn’t make sense. His brother had just called him the night before and they argued about money. Ilya had been planning to send him money as he could get out of the hotel this morning. But this? It’s too much. 

He immediately calls Alexei. The phone rings and rings but there’s no answer. 

“Fuck,” He mumbles under his breath in Russian, running a hand through his hair. “What the fuck?” 

Ilya stands up from the bed, walking to the window, trying Alexei’s number again. 

“Roz, is everything good?” Cliff asks, sitting up in his bed now as well. 

Ilya waves him off with his hand and calls Alexei’s number for the fourth time. It rings until it reaches his voicemail each time. 

Fuck, why can’t his brother pick the phone up and yell at him for being a dick or something? With each call Alexei doesn’t pick up, Ilya begins to believe that maybe his father wasn’t having an episode. 

He feels utterly helpless. He’s in a fucking Buffalo hotel room, about to play a hockey game in twelve hours and his family is basically falling apart in Russia. 

“I need air,” He mumbles, snatching his hoodie from the chair. 

He pulls it over his head, quickly pulls on his sneakers and steps out into the hallway. He slides down the wall, squatting with his back against the wall. He’s gripping his phone so tight that his knuckles are white. 

He’s not sure how long he’s sitting out in the hallway. Time doesn’t feel real anymore. Nothing feels real right now. 

His phone rings, making him flinch. The screen lights up, a call from his step-mother, Polina. 

He swallows and answers the phone, bringing it to his ear. He doesn’t say anything, he’s scared that if he does it might make this all too real. 

“Ilya?” 

“Polina.” 

“Ilya, you need to come home. Now,” The older woman says. 

“What happened?” 

“Alexei and his wife have passed.” 

It feels like the world has stopped spinning. 

“They passed away in a car accident earlier this morning,” Polina continues. “I don’t know what to do. You need to come back here now. Your father is not capable of handling anything right now. The identification, the paper, the funeral… the child. This is all too much for me or your father.” 

Alexei is dead. His brother is gone. His brother who hasn’t even turned thirty yet is dead. He’s gone. 

“I–” Ilya’s voice cracks. He swallows the lump in his throat, blinking back tears, “I’ll book the first flight.” 

There’s a long silence on the other end. 

“Please, Ilya,” Polina finally says. “We need you, don’t wait any longer. You need to be here. You are the head of the family now.” 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” He mumbles. 

He hands up the phone without another word. For a while, he just stays frozen in the hallway, the phone in his hand. At first, he felt absolutely nothing. 

And then, it slowly begins weighing down on him. He’s living in a world without his brother, without his mother, and a father clinging onto the last months of his life. 

Head of the family. 

Fuck, those words are absurd. He’s not the head of any fucking family. He’s just a hockey player, a party boy, Hollander’s secret. 

He finally pushes himself up, his legs numb. He opens the hotel room door and steps back inside. 

Marlow is fully awake now, leaning against the headboard, watching him, “Dude, what the fuck is going on? You look like you’re seen a ghost.” 

Ilya wakes to the edge of his bed, staring at the texture of the hotel carpet. 

“Roz, seriously, what is going on?” 

Ilya takes a deep breath, “I have to go to Moscow.” 

“Okay?”

“My brother is dead.” 

It’s cold in the morgue. That’s the first thing Ilya notices when he steps inside to identify the bodies of Alexei and his wife, Anna. 

He stops a few steps away from the stainless steel tables, staring at their bodies. They’re covered with white sheets. He should be prepared for this, right? He should have expected it, but somehow, he’s not. He’s not ready to see his brother like this, to see anyone like this. 

The sheet covering Alexei’s body is pulled back just enough to reveal his face. His lips are blue, his skin pale and his eyes shut. 

Ilya isn’t sure how long he stands there, just paralyzed with fear and guilt. He reaches for the edge of the table, his fingers shaking as they brush against the cold metal. 

The body is still. His brother is still. His brother, who had been yelling at him just a week ago about money, about Ilya’s lifestyle, his absence, his irresponsibility, is gone. He’s dead.

Fuck, Ilya feels like he can’t breathe. He feels suffocated, like the walls are closing in on him. 

“Sir?” The medical examiner says, snapping Ilya out of his thoughts. 

Ilya swallows, his throat dry. He stares at his brother's body before nodding, “This is him. It’s Alexei.” 

The medical examiner steps forward and nods, “Thank you, Mr. Rozanov.” She walks towards Anna’s body and pulls back the sheet to reveal her face. 

She looks so small and fragile. She and Ilya had barely even spoken to each other directly since she had been in Alexei’s life but Ilya still feels his chest tightening as he looks at her face. 

He quickly nods. He just needs to get out of here. He needs to leave this room before it swallows him whole and he’s also another body in this morgue. 

“I need to go,” Ilya mumbles before turning around and out the door. 

As soon as he’s outside the building, he doubles over, clutching his stomach. It feels like he’s been punched in the gut. The world around him is spinning too fast for him and for a moment, he can’t remember where he is. 

And then he’s throwing up and all Ilya can do is hold onto the cold stone of the building. Nothing is making sense. Nothing feels real anymore. When he’s done, he leans back against the wall, gasping for air. 

His brother is gone. His brother, who had been so fucking angry at him for leaving. His brother, who had never even been there for him, never understood him. The brother who turned their relationship into a competition of who’s the bigger failure. 

And still, Ilya feels like he’s lost something irreplaceable. The anger, the bitterness, and the hatred all feel so insignificant now.  

Ilya’s standing beside the graves, face numb as he watches the priest begin the funeral rites. 

Alexei and Anna are buried besides each other, in a secluded cemetery where his mother had been buried thirteen years ago. 

He can barely bring himself to look at the priest as he speaks the words of blessing, God, and afterlife. The prayers sound like background noise to him, blending into the constant ringing in his ears. 

Ilya balls his shaking hands into fists. 

He didn’t even have the chance to properly mourn their strained relationship. No matter how hard he tries to think about it, he can’t remember the last words him and Alexei spoke to each other. All he knows is that the last time they talked, they fought.

He finally glances to his side and that’s when he notices his niece, Anastasia.  She’s standing off to the side, clutching onto Svetlana’s hand, eyes never leaving Ilya’s. She’s so tiny, so small and in that moment, Ilya realizes that she’s the only part of Alexei and Anna left in this world. 

For a while, Ilya doesn’t move. His heart is beating so fast, he feels like he’s going to pass out. He’s not sure how to approach her. He feels like an imposter in his own family. 

He’s supposed to be the one who steps up, but all he thinks about is how unprepared he is. He hasn’t really even spoken to Anastasia. He brought gifts and made sure she was taken care of, but he’s never really even given her a hug. 

He takes a deep breath before making his way to her. He crouches down to her level, unsure of what to do with his hands. 

“Uncle is here now, okay?” He says quietly. 

Her little face crumples and she bursts into tears. It feels like a slap to his face. She’s just a little girl, a baby. And she’s lost everything. Her mother, her father, her home.

Ilya takes a shaky breath, unsure of what to do. He just wants to hold her, to comfort her somehow but he’s not even sure where to begin. 

Before he can act, Svetlana bends down to wrap her arms around Anastasia, pulling her into a gentle embrace. 

Ilya watches helplessly. 

He doesn’t remember how long he’s been sitting at the memorial dinner before he stands up abruptly. Svetlana looks up at him from across the table but Ilya doesn’t meet her gaze. 

“I need air,” He mumbles, pushing past the other and stepping outside. 

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one. He inhales, but it does nothing to calm him down. He exhales the smoke before pulling his phone out of his back pocket. 

There’s hundreds of missed messages. Most of them are from his teammates, coaches, and his manager. He scrolls down until he sees the name. 

Jane: Hey, I heard about your brother. I’m really sorry. 
Jane: If you need to talk, I’m here. 

The words feel so strange coming from Shane, especially after everything that happened. After everything they went through. 

Ilya doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Maybe it’s because Shane’s moved on with Rose, or maybe it’s because he never really got any closure. But Shane’s always been kind, always the one who wanted to talk. 

Seeing the text just breaks him and he can’t hold it in anymore. 

He puts the cigarette out and holds his head in his hands, sobbing. He hasn’t cried at all. He didn’t cry out the moment Polina confirmed Alexei's death. He didn’t cry when he was in the airplane on his way back to Moscow. He didn’t even cry when he identified the bodies. 

But he can’t do this anymore. 

He feels a hand on his back. He flinches and looks up to see Svetlana there. She sighs before pulling him into her arms. 

“Ilya, it’s okay,” She says. “I’m never leaving your side, I promise.” 

But even as she holds him and whispers comforting words into his ear, Ilya feels like he’s drowning. 

Ilya’s sitting across from Olga, their family lawyer handling Alexei’s estate. 

Olga pulls out several folders of documents from her briefcase, “We’ve been able to settle most of the matters regarding Alexei’s estate.” 

Ilya nods, staring down at the table. 

“There’s not really much to go over. As you know, Alexei didn’t have much in terms of assets. A few personal belongings, a small bank account, and a handful of debts. There’s no real property, no savings to speak of. It’s all relatively straightforward.” 

“Okay,” Ilya mumbles, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“However,” Olga continues. “There is a matter we need to address. It concerns your niece, Anastasia.” 

Ilya looks up at the older woman. She’s been staying with his father and step-mother since he’s been back. He knew, deep down, that it was only a matter of time before they would have to talk about her. 

“She’s the only living child of Alexei and Anna, as you know,” Olga says. “I spoke with Mrs. Rozanov, your step-mother, and she has declined to take her in. And as we’ve discussed before, your father is not in a position to care for her due to his condition. So that leaves you, as her only living relative.” 

“What about her mother’s family?” Ilya asks.

“We haven’t been able to trace down any of her family, she was a child of the state until she reached adulthood,” Olga explains. 

Ilya clenches his fists, taking a deep breath. He knows what this means, he doesn’t need Olga to spell it out for him. His father is incapable, Polina has already rejected the responsibility, and Ilya is the only one left. 

Olga watches him carefully, “I’m afraid that unless you are willing to take responsibility for her, Anastasia will be placed in an orphanage. She will remain there until a suitable family is found for adoption.”

The thought of Anastasia, a five-year-old girl, abandoned and alone in an orphanage, shakes him to his core. But he doesn’t speak, unsure of what he could possibly say. 

“I understand that this is a difficult decision,” Olga continues, her tone softening. “But we have to proceed with a decision. If you don’t accept guardianship, there’s little else we can do at this point.”

“I–it’s difficult with my career,” Ilya finally says, voice rough. “I’m always traveling and training and I–I can’t be the guardian she needs.” 

“I understand,” Olga nods. She picks up her pen, “Well, then, I’ll look into group homes she can be placed in and begin looking for a suitable family she can be–” 

“No,” Ilya mumbles, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I’m sorry, just, wait. I just need a minute to think,” Ilya says, standing up. “Excuse me.” 

He makes his way out of the study and into the hallway. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. 

Ilya knows that this is far too much for him to handle on his own. He doesn’t have the capacity to deal with this. He’s already stretched thin with his career, losing Shane and his brother, trying to care for his father. How is he supposed to take care of a five-year-old girl?

Fuck. But he can’t just say yes to sending her off to an orphanage, where only god knows if she will actually be adopted or not. And if she is adopted, how can Ilya guarantee that it’s to a kind, loving family? 

But there’s also a chance that she could be taken in by a family who truly cares for her, who is able to provide her with a stable life. 

He rubs his face with both hands. The apartment is too quiet, it’s only making him freak out even more. 

She’s only five-years-old.

She’s barely lived, barely had time to form real memories and already the two people who matter to her the most are gone. 

Ilya closes his eyes. He can’t do this, he thinks again. He doesn’t know how to pack lunches or brush hair or explain death to a child. He doesn't know how to come home after a game and still have something left to give. 

And yet the image of Anastasia alone in an orphanage makes him sick to his stomach. He can see her crying herself to sleep the first night, then the second, then eventually learning that crying doesn’t help. 

His mother flashes through his mind. The way he grew up thinking he might’ve been the unluckiest child in the world for finding his mother’s corpse. How meaningless his pain is in front of Anastasia’s. 

But what if he fails her? What if she begins to resent him for not being enough? What if he can’t be enough? 

Despite all these questions he knows one thing, he can’t say now. He just can’t. 

It’s not even a moral decision at this point, it’s just instinct. It’s something deep in his chest that aches every time he imagines her being handed off to strangers while he walks away and gets on a plane back to Boston. 

He exhales and leans forward, resting his forehead against the wall, “Fuck,” He whispers. 

This is going to ruin him, or change him, or maybe fucking both. But abandoning her would destroy him. 

Ilya straightens slowly, rolling his shoulders back and fixing his cross before stepping back into the study. 

Olga looks up, expression neutral, “Have you come to a decision?” 

“Yes,” He says. 

“Yes?” 

“I’ll accept guardianship,” Ilya says. “There’s no need to look for placements or group homes or anything like that.” 

“Mr. Rozanov,” She says slowly, “I need to be very clear with you. This is not a temporary arrangement. Guardianship carries long-term legal and financial responsibilities. Anastasia will be your responsibility until she reaches adulthood unless circumstances change.” 

“I know,” Ilya says. “I’m not–I’ve thought this too.” 

“Okay,” Olga says, setting her pen down. “We’ll begin the process immediately. Even with an expedited legal process, I don’t think you’ll be able to take Anastasia back with you for at least six weeks.” 

“Six weeks?” Ilya repeats. 

Olga nods, "Unfortunately." 

“I can’t afford to stay in Moscow for another six weeks,” Ilya says, shaking his head. He sighs, “I’ll– I’ll ask if Polina will stay with her and then I’ll come back or something but six weeks, I can’t do that.” 

“Okay, well you can discuss your options with family and friends and let me know what you’d like to do,” Olga says, nodding. “I’ll start with the paperwork and get in contact with family lawyers.” 

“Money isn’t a problem,” Ilya says. “I just need this to happen as fast as possible.” 

“Of course,” Olga nods again. 

Ilya takes a deep breath, he doesn’t know how he’s going to do this. He just knows that he has to. 

Chapter End Notes

ahh i've been really wanting to see a fic with ilya and his niece and smth along these lines but i haven't found one, so i've decided to just write it 😭

lmk what u guys thought of the first chapter in the comments and tysm for reading!!

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Ilya’s standing in the entryway of his father’s apartment, putting his coat on. Anastasia is sitting on the rug near the door, holding onto a stuffed rabbit that Svetlana bought her two days ago. The rabbit is already missing one eye. 

Polina is hovering near the hallway, arms crossed across her chest. His father is asleep in his room, or maybe he’s awake. It’s hard to tell anymore. 

Ilya crouches slowly in front of Anastasia, lowering himself until they’re eye to eye. He forces himself to softly smile, “Hey.” 

Anastasia looks up at him, eyes red-rimmed but dry as if she’s cried herself empty already, “You’re going.”

Ilya swallows before nodding, “I have to.” 

She frowns, “Why?”

He knew this was coming and he had practiced the answers in his head, trying to find the right words. But everything he’s come up with still feels like a betrayal. 

“I have to go back to work," He says. “I play hockey, remember?” 

“Why?” She repeats. 

“I–” Ilya stops, taking a deep breath. “My team needs me there.” 

She twists one ear of her rabbit around her fingers, “Why can’t you play here?” 

Ilya reaches out, carefully untangling the rabbit’s ear from her hand and smoothing it out before placing the rabbit back in her lap, “Because my team is in America. That’s where I live.” 

She furrows her eyebrows in confusion, “I thought you live here.” 

“I do,” He clarifies. “But only in the summers.” 

She turns her head back, turning to glance at Polina before quickly turning back to him. 

“You said I was coming with you,” She says. “You said.” 

“I know,” Ilya says quickly. “And you are. I promise.” 

“Now?”

It physically hurts him to shake his head, “Not yet.” 

Her face crumples a little, like she’s trying very hard not to let it fall apart completely, “Why not?” 

“There’s paperwork,” He explains, hating every word. “And a visa. It’s a thing you need to travel. It takes time.” 

She stares at him, “What’s visa?” 

“It’s…” He falters, shoulders shagging. “It’s like permission for you to come live with me.” 

Her eyes brighten just a little at that, “Live with you?”

“Yes,” He says. “With me. Forever.” 

“How long will it take?” She asks, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Soon,” He assures, not believing his own words. “As soon as I can make it happen.” 

She doesn’t look satisfied, moving closer to him until her knees bump against his, “You promise?” 

“I promise,” He says without hesitation. 

Anastasia glances back again before whispering, “She’s mean.” 

Ilya bites back a sigh. 

Polina isn’t cruel, not exactly. She’s a typical Russian step-mother who is efficient, detached, and kind of annoyed that she married a man she now has to take care of. But Ilya knows she feeds Anastasia, keeps her clean, and sends her off to school. 

It’s just that Polina speaks to her like she’s a task that she needs to manage and not a child who needs comfort. And to a five-year-old who has just lost everything, that feels like meanness. 

“I know,” He says quietly. “I know she’s not… warm.” 

Anastasia scoots even closer, her knee pressing into his thigh, “She doesn’t smile and she yells at Grandpa all the time and she tells me not to touch things. Even the TV remote.” 

Ilya swallows the lump forming in his throat and reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, “You’ll be safe here,” He says. “She won’t hurt you. And if anything, we will call every night so you can tell me, okay?” 

“But you won’t be here,” Anastasia says.

“No,” He admits. “I won’t.” 

Her eyes fill with tears despite her best effort to not cry. A tear slips down her cheek and Ilya wipes it away immediately. 

“I don’t like it here,” She whispers. “I miss Mama and Papa.” 

“I know,” He says, voice cracking a little as well. He clears his throat, “I know. I’m sorry. If I could stay, I would and if I didn’t have to go back right now, I would wait with you. I swear.” 

She lets go of her bunny and holds his face with her small hands, “You won’t forget me?”

“Never,” Ilya says. “I could never forget you. And whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me.” 

“You have to take me with you.” 

“I promise,” He assures. “As soon as the visa is done, you’re coming to live with me, okay? And we’ll even go to Disneyland and visit all of the princesses in their castles, okay?” 

She sniffles, “All the princesses?” 

He lets out a small laugh before nodding, “All the princesses. Even if I have to track them down one by one.” 

She hesitates before nodding, “Okay.” 

He leans forward and pulls her into his chest. She freezes for a second, probably not used to this level of affection from her absent uncle, but then her arms come up around his neck and clings onto him. 

“I’ll be back,” Ilya mumbles into her hair. “I swear.” 

After a moment, Polina clears her throat, “Ilya, you will miss your flight.” 

He exhales and pulls back, resting his forehead briefly against Anastasia’s, “Uncle love you,” He says before he can stop himself. 

“You do?” She says, blinking at him. 

“Yes,” He assures. “Very much.” 

She nods before letting go of him. 

He stands up slowly before grabbing his suitcase. His hand lingers on the door handle and he glances back at Anastasia. 

“Promise?” She asks again. 

“Promise.” 

The locker room is already loud when he walks in. Someone’s playing music too loud from a speaker and everyone is talking over each other. For half a second, no one notices him. 

Then Cliff does. 

“Holy shit,” Cliff says. “Rozy’s back.” 

The room freezes and everyone turns to the door, conversations stopping. There it is, he thinks, the look. It’s sympathy which is poorly disguised curiosity with a bit of fear. 

 Ilya grins, wide and cocky, “What?” He says, spreading his arms out. “No applause. I leave for one funeral and now I am old news?” 

Laughter erupts through the room, breaking the tension instantly. 

“Jesus, fuck you,” One of the goalie’s, Kabir, says. 

“Missed you too,” Ilya replies, dropping his bag at his stall. 

The guys start moving again, the room filling back up with noise and movement. One by one, they all come up to him offering him claps on the shoulder and condolences. 

“Sorry about your brother, man.” 

“Keeping you in my prayers, Cap.” 

“Let us know if you need anything.” 

Ilya nods, smiles and deflects like he knows best, “He would have hated all this serious shit. Don’t make it weird.” 

That earns a few relieved laughs. 

Cliff stops on his way out and gives him a look, “You good, man?” 

Ilya nods, “Yeah, man.” 

It’s a lie that is so smooth that it barely feels like one anymore. 

On the ice, he feels like himself for the first time in weeks. He’s sharp, fast, and focused. The coaches watch him closely, mumbling to each other but they don’t pull him aside. They don’t need to, he’s doing his job and he’s doing it well. 

During a break, someone skates by and bumps his shoulder deliberately, “Good to have you back, asshole.” 

Ilya grins, “Trying to keep up.” 

When practice ends, the guys cluster around him again in the locker room as he changes. 

“So,” Kabir says. “You ready to bring the Cup back home this year?”

Ilya doesn’t even think about it, “Well, we’ve got to break the Metros winning streak somehow.” 

The locker room erupts into cheers and yelling. 

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Let’s do it.”

Ilya nods, feeding off their energy. This is easy and familiar. Being the captain, being the leader, and being the guy who doesn’t crack under pressure when it comes to hockey is all easy. This is a role he knows how to play. 

They don’t see the way his hands shake slightly as he unlaces his skates. They don’t see the way he begins to feel uneasy when the locker room starts to empty out and noise fades. 

By the time he gets home, the sun has already set and the house is completely silent. 

His house is a nice place. It’s honestly too nice for just one person. He bought it because it was close to the rink but in a quiet enough suburb that no one would bother him. He bought it because he felt like it was the right thing to do and he could afford it. But he doesn’t really care for it. 

It never felt like home. 

Nothing feels like home. 

It feels worse now. It feels too big and empty. 

Ilya drops his keys on the counter and stands there for a moment, just breathing. He drops his bag down to the floor beside him. He glances at the couch and then the memory of Shane leaving, saying he can’t do this anymore, hits him out of nowhere. 

He hasn’t really let himself think about it. He knows that if he starts, he’ll never stop thinking about what he might’ve done wrong that day. 

If he’s being honest, he hasn’t really even had the time to think about it. Because Alexei died. And then Anastasia. 

It’s too much. It’s all too much, stacked on top of each other, giving him no room to breathe. 

Ilya drags a hand down his face, exhales, fixes his cross and begins wandering through the house aimlessly. It’s as if he’s looking for something he never really lost in the first place. 

He stops in the doorway of the spare bedroom, the one he’s always called the guest room, even though no one ever really stayed in it. 

He exhales slowly when he realizes that this is where Anastasia will sleep. 

A five-year-old. A child who barely speaks English. A girl who has already lost her parents and her home and now has been left behind again, even if only temporarily.

What the fuck is he doing? 

He steps into the room and sits down at the edge of the bed. His phone buzzes in his pocket but he doesn’t bother checking it. Instead, he stares at the blank wall and tries to imagine it differently. 

He tries to imagine it brighter and a warmer color. He tries to imagine toys scattered across the floor, drawings taped up on the wall, a small bed with annoyingly pink sheets. 

He imagines Anastasia standing there, looking at him with those wide, trusting eyes.

You promise?

Fuck, he promised. 

He’s never thought of himself as someone’s safe place. He’s never had to be. Hockey has always come first. There’s no manual for this, no playbook he can study. 

All he knows is that he can’t fail her. 

The next few weeks begin to blend together in a way that makes Ilya feel like he’s constantly five seconds behind his own life. 

Mornings start even earlier than they used to. Most mornings, he wakes up before the alarm because he barely slept the night before. As soon as gets up his brain is already spilling through a mental list of everything he forgot to do the day before. 

Some days, it’s hockey. Other days it’s everything he still hasn’t done for Anastasia: forms, phone calls, catching up on timelines that make no sense to him. 

Most days, it’s actually all of it at once. 

He still shows up at the rink on time, skates hard, still leads his team like a good captain is supposed to. No one can tell him he isn’t doing his job, or that he’s doing it poorly. If anything, he’s sharper than usual, playing with an aggression that wasn’t there before. 

Even the press buzzes about how “locked in” the captain looks this season. 

If only they knew. 

After practice, instead of lingering in the locker room or heading out for food with the guys, Ilya showers fast, changes and heads straight for his car, driving to another meeting with his manager and lawyer. 

They go over everything in excruciating detail: travel schedules, media exposure, privacy agreements. They discuss how to keep Anastasia out of the press as much as possible. What happens if he gets injured. What happens if he gets traded. What happens if–

“Okay, stop,” Ilya says finally, running a hand through his hair. “I am not getting traded.” 

“I know,” His manager, Olivia, says. “I know, but legally, we have to talk about these contingencies.”

Ilya stares down at the table. He hates this part. Hates how every conversation turns into a list of worst-case scenarios like the universe hasn’t already thrown enough at him. 

“And school?” Ilya asks. “She has to go, yes?” 

“Yes, of course,” His lawyer, Anthony, chimes in. “Which brings up to online education.” 

That’s how Ilya finds himself on a Zoom call with a woman who speaks very slowly and very cheerfully about accredited online schooling, later that evening. Ilya nods along, trying to look like he understands what she’s saying while his brain lags. 

“So, what I’m trying to say is that she will be able to travel with you during the season,” The woman says. “Lessons can be done asynchronously when needed, and we can arrange for supplemental tutoring if there are language barriers.” 

“Language barriers,” Ilya repeats, nodding. “Right. Yes.”

He writes it down even though he doesn't know why. He already knows there will be language barriers. Anastasia’s English is limited to a handful of words and whatever cartoons she’s picked up on YouTube. He doesn’t even know where to begin helping her with that. 

When the call ends, he sits there and stares at the laptop until the screen goes dark. 

He feels stupid. 

Not in the self-deprecating, joking way he usually does but in a way that makes him feel so stupid that he feels like he’s going to have a stroke trying to process information. 

He’s good at hockey. He understands hockey. He’s good at the social part of it too. 

But he is not good at this. 

He doesn’t know how visas work, or the American schooling system, or how to pick out the perfect nanny. 

The nanny part is overwhelming to say the least. 

Svetlana helps, sending him contacts and agencies she’s heard good things about. Still, finding a Russian nanny who is willing to travel for half of the year proves to be hard. And the interviews? They might just be the worst part of it all. 

They sit across from him, smiling politely, resumes neatly printed, and speaking with a confidence that makes Ilya feel uneasy for some reason. They feel like robots, not actual humans. 

“And how do you feel about travel?” Ilya asks. 

“Oh, I love it,” One of them says. “I’ve traveled extensively with families before.”

“International?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Hockey schedule?”

She pauses for a second, “I’m sure we could make it work.”

He nods, unsure of what the right answer is supposed to even be. He doesn’t even know the questions he should be asking. All he knows is that at the end of every interview, his head hurts. 

And between all of this, he still has captain duties. He has to pick the team up after a loss, has to remind them to still work hard after a win, and check in with the players. There’s media appearances he can’t get out, no matter how much he wants to. 

“So, Ilya,” A reporter asks, microphone too close. “How are you balancing personal hardship with leading the team?”

“Hockey helps,” Ilya says, smiling for the camera. “Gives me something to focus on. We’re all focused on the same goal.” 

They eat it up.

That night, he finally turns his attention to the guest room.

He steps inside and begins his cleaning with the closet because it feels the most practical. He slides the door open and stares at the mess inside. 

“Okay,” He mumbles to himself. “Easy.” 

He pulls everything out piece by piece, dumping it into the hallway. By the time the closet is empty, his shoulders are already aching. 

He goes through the dresser next. He opens the top drawer and finds nothing. The second drawer has a few folded towels. The third has an old hoodie he hasn’t worn in years. 

He tells himself not to think.

He tells himself to just keep moving.

But his body doesn’t listen.

Somewhere between cleaning the nightstand and stripping the bed down to the mattress, it all just stops. 

He’s tired. 

He’s so fucking tired. 

He sits down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. For a few seconds, he just breathes. In. Out. In. Out. The same way he’s been taught to do a thousand times when a game gets too intense. 

It doesn’t work. 

He just wants a break. He hasn’t let himself admit it but all he wants is a break. 

He wants a day where his phone doesn’t buzz with emails and texts with updates and questions he doesn’t know the answer to. He wants a night where he doesn’t wake up gasping. He wants to not be the captain, not be the guardian, not be the responsible one holding everything together. 

And fuck, he just wants Shane. 

He wants to talk to him, to text him and remind him that they have a game in Montreal in a couple of days. He just wants to cuddle with him. He wants to be held. 

He lets out a sob before he can stop himself. 

He doesn’t know how to do this anymore and there’s no one to help him. There’s not even anyone around who is going to tell him that it’s going to be okay. 

He knows the truth. 

There’s no break coming. 

Anastasia is still in Moscow, waiting for him. The season isn’t slowing down for him. The team needs him sharp and present. His father’s health isn’t going to improve. 

And Shane. 

Shane is gone. 

Shane walked away, and even if Ilya lets himself imagine what it would be like to text him, to call him and to admit how much he needs him, the fantasy always collapses. Shane has moved on. 

Shane has moved on with a woman. Someone he can build something new and something stable with. 

There are no second chances here. 

He stays like that for a while, just crying. Eventually, he reminds himself that he’s a grown man and he has no reason to break down like this. He wipes his face and gets up. 

He can’t lose himself. 

Not when Anastasia needs him more than he needs himself. 

It’s his first match against Montreal since he’s been back from Russia. Ilya changes quickly, not even giving himself a moment to think since they landed in Montreal. He knows that if he stops moving, his brain will catch up to him and he can’t afford that right now.

When they head out for warmups, boos rain down the moment he steps out onto the ice. 

“Rozanov!” Someone yells from the stands. “You suck!” 

He grins and gives them a lazy wave direction, which only results in louder boos. He skates a few laps before stretching. As he’s stretching, he looks up and that’s when he spots him. 

Shane. 

He looks good. Fuck, he always looks good. 

He forces himself to look away, focusing on the ice instead. He tells himself that it doesn’t matter, he’s seen Shane across the ice a million times before. This is just another game. 

But it’s not. It never is. 

“Rozanov.” 

He freezes for half a second before continuing, eyes still on the floor. He doesn’t look up, he doesn’t need to. He knows exactly who’s there. 

“Rozanov,” Shane repeats, quieter this time. 

“What?” He says, tone flat. 

“I just–” Shane starts, then stops. He takes a deep breath, “I heard about your brother. I’m really sorry.” 

For a split second, something cracks inside of him. The image of Alexei’s lifeless face flashes in his mind. Anastasia’s small hands holding onto his jacket, promising him to come back. The guest room is half-packed, half-empty. The endless list of things he doesn’t know how to do. 

And Shane. It’s always Shane. 

He knows that if he lets Shane keep talking, if he lets him say one more kind thing, one more gentle word, he knows exactly what will happen. He’ll break. 

“Fuck off,” Ilya says. 

Shane blinks, “Okay, I just wanted you to know that if you ever–” 

“I said fuck off,” Ilya snaps, voice louder. “I don’t want to talk to you.” 

There’s a moment where Shane’s face falls before he clenches his jaw. He nods, “Fuck, okay.” 

Shane hesitates for one last second, before he skates back to his team. 

Ilya finally looks up, watching him. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Saying that to Shane, pushing him away like that, feels like he’s ripping something out of his chest. 

But it’s necessary. It has to be. 

Because if he lets Shane stay, even for a second, Ilya will start asking for things he can’t have. He’s going to ask for comfort, understand, and a chance to rewind time and do everything differently. 

And Shane can’t give him any of that anymore, not when he’s with Rose. 

So, it’s easier to be an asshole. It’s easier to be the villain Shane already thinks he is. 

Ilya stares at nothing as the coach talks about forechecks and matchups, clicking through videos on the screen. Ilya nods at the right moments, doing a good job of pretending like he’s listening. 

His phone vibrates, he quickly turns it off without checking who it is. 

It vibrates again. 

He subtly glances down at his phone. It’s Polina. Fuck, she’s calling because it’s bedtime in Moscow and Anastasia refuses to sleep unless she talks to him first. 

Ilya curses under his breath before lifting his hand slightly, “Coach,” He says. 

The coach stops talking and glances at him, “Yeah?” 

“Sorry,” Ilya says, standing up. “Need to take this. It’s family.” 

The coach sighs before nodding, “Yeah, go ahead.” 

“Sorry sorry,” Ilya repeats again before stepping out of the locker room and into the hall. He exhales before answering the call, “Hello.” 

“Uncle!” Anastasia greets, voice warm. 

“Hey,” He says, smiling softly. “Hey, bunny. Are you getting ready for bed?” 

“Yes,” Anastasia replies. “Are you at hockey?” 

“I am,” He says. “We have a game tonight.”

“Are you winning?” She asks. 

“No, the game hasn’t started yet.” 

“Oh,” She says, sounding disappointed. “You will win.” 

“Of course,” He replies. “We always do when you tell me to.” 

She hums. 

“How was your day?” He asks. 

“I went to school. And to English class. And ate chicken.” 

“Sounds fun,” Ilya hums. “What did you learn in English class?” 

“Words.” 

Ilya laughs, “What words?” 

She thinks for a moment, “Cat,” She says finally. “And… baby.” 

“Very good words,” He tells her. “Have you been practicing?” 

“Yes,” She says. 

“That’s good. English is important and you’re doing a really good job.” 

“Will you help me when I come?” 

“Of course. We’ll learn together.” 

“I already know cat,” She reminds him. 

He chuckles, “You’re already ahead of me.” 

There’s a yawn on the other end of the line. 

“Someone sounds tired,” Ilya says. 

“I am,” She admits. “It’s bedtime.” 

“I know,” He says. “Alright, well, Uncle has a game to win for his bunny. Wish me luck and go to sleep.” 

“Good luck, Uncle!” She exclaims before yawning again. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” 

He ends the call. He stays there for a moment, staring at the wall, trying to steady his breathing. He exhales, rolls his shoulders back, and heads back into the locker room. 

The meeting is over. 

Guys are finishing getting dresses, pulling jerseys over their heads, joking again. 

Cliff nods towards him, “Everything good?”

Ilya nods, forcing a small smile, “Yeah. Sorry. Family.” 

Cliff hums, “All good, Rozy.” 

Ilya puts his phone down and grabs his own jersey. As he finishes getting dressed, Cliff speaks again. 

“Who was it?” 

“My niece,” Ilya says, without really thinking. 

“Your niece?” Kabir asks, stopping in his tracks. 

“Yeah,” Ilya shrugs. “She is five so I guess good night is important or something.” 

That gets their attention. 

“Wait,” Cliff says, frowning. “I didn’t your brother–” 

“Yeah,” Ilya says before Cliff can finish his sentence. “She is his.” 

“Oh,” Cliff says. “Man. I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah,” Ilya says. “Thanks.”

“So she’s…?” Kabir trails off.

“Yeah, she is my responsibility now or whatever,” Ilya mumbles, trying to act nonchalantly. 

That catches everyone’s attention and suddenly it feels like everyone is staring at Ilya. 

“That’s huge,” Kabir says. 

“Yeah,” Ilya says with a humorless laugh. 

Cliff leans back against the bench, “Man, how’re you feeling about it?”

Ilya stares down at his skates, “Fuck. I am freaking out,” He admits finally. “I do not know how to do any of this.”

There’s a moment of silence before Mark, one of the older defensemen, speaks up, “Hey.” 

Ilya looks up. 

Mark smiles at him, “You don’t have to know any of it right now,” He assures. “My wife freaked out when we had our first kid. Like, full-on panic for nine months. Thought she was going to ruin his life.” 

“And did she?” Cliff asks dryly. 

Mark snorts, “Jury’s still out.” 

A few guys chuckle. 

“But seriously,” Mark says, turning back to Ilya. “No one knows what they’re doing at first. You learn.”

“And you don’t have to do it alone,” Kabir adds.

Ilya huffs, “But I am. I am literally doing it alone.” 

Cliff shakes his head, “Nah, man. We’ll get you on the WAGs group chat, they’ve got you covered.” 

“Yeah, I can text my wife,” Mark continues. “She loves organizing shit. Lives for it, actually.”

“So does mine,” Kabir says. “She’ll send you spreadsheets before you even know what hit you.”

Cliff grins, “My girlfriend’s already going to be pissed I didn’t think of this first. The WAGs will eat this up, man. Nannies, schools, tutors, they’ve got it all covered.” 

Ilya blinks, a little overwhelmed, “You will help?” 

“Of course,” Cliff says immediately. “Are you kidding?” 

Mark nods, “That kid’s part of your life now. Which makes her part of ours.”

Ilya nods, “Thank you,” He says quietly. 

Kabir claps him on the shoulder, “Anytime, Cap.” 

For the first time in weeks, Ilya feels like he might just have it in him to do this. 

Six weeks. 

It’s been six weeks since he hugged Anastasia. 

And now he’s here, standing at Logan Airport waiting for her to walk through the gate. He checks the arrivals board again even though nothing has changed. 

Landed. 

He exhales slowly, his palms sweating. He wipes them on his jeans and straightens out his coat even though there was no need. He scans the crowd pouring out of customs, every small girl with dark hair making his heart jump.

“Uncle!”

He feels like he’s in a movie when everything else, all the chaos and noise just ceases to exist. He glances over just in time to see her. 

Anastasia looks smaller than he remembers. Or maybe he’s just forgotten how little five-year-olds really are. She’s bundled up in a puffy jacket that makes her look like a marshmallow, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, backpack bounding against her shoulders. 

She breaks free from Svetlana’s hand and runs. 

“Anastasia!” Ilya says, dropping into a crouch and opening his arms. 

She slams into him with all the force her tiny body can manage, wrapping her arms around his neck. He rocks back slightly but holds her, one hand cradling the back of her head. 

“Hey,” He breathes out. 

She’s warm and she smells like Svetlana’s perfume. Her arms are strong around his neck, nearly knocking the breath out of him. 

“You’re here,” She says, voice muffled. 

“I’m here,” He says. “I told you I would be.” 

She pulls back slightly, “You promised." 

“I did,” He says. “I promised.” 

She nods and then hugs him again, just as tightly. 

Ilya closes his eyes. Something inside him finally, finally lets go. It’s like the tension, the pain, and the anxiety he’s been carrying around for weeks just drains out of him. 

Svetlana clears her throat after a few moments, “Well, I see I am no longer needed.” 

Ilya lets out a shaky laugh, pulling back just enough to look up at her, “Thank you,” He says, and it doesn’t even begin to cover it. “For everything.” 

Svetlana smiles softly and leans down to place a quick kiss to Ilya’s forehead, “Of course. You are family.” 

Ilya stands up carefully with Anastasia still wrapped around him. She immediately tightens her grip, hooking her legs to his waist like she’s afraid he’ll put her down. 

“You okay?” He asks her quietly. 

She nods, resting her head against his shoulder, “Mhm.” 

As they start heading outside, it hits Ilya. 

Fuck, he’s actually responsible for this tiny human being and he’s supposed to do everything in his power to not fuck her life up. 

Chapter End Notes

ok ok guys, sorry for like speed running through all the technical stuff of the adoption and the immigration of it all because i was like ok like that's boring and i just wanna get to the part where i get to write all the angst and ilya and his niece together and figuring out life and the drama

anyways, let me know what u guys thought of the chapter! thank u so much for reading and all of the love on the first chapter, like actually insane. none of my fics have gotten this much attention this fast like i'm gagged 😭

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

On the second day in Boston, Anastasia decides she wants her room painted pink while they’re eating breakfast. 

It’s not a dramatic announcement, she just looks up from her bowl of cereal and says it like she’s stating a fact that’s been obvious for a while. 

“Uncle?” She says. “Can my room be pink?”

Ilya looks up from his phone, “Pink?” 

She nods, “Light pink, with stars. And maybe flowers.” 

“Okay,” He says immediately. 

Her face lights up, “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Ilya shrugs, reaching for his coffee. “Sure. Pink is fine.”

She beams and goes back to her cereal, satisfied at the lack of resistance by Ilya. 

Ilya goes back to scrolling through the travel schedule, trying to piece together when he could take Anastasia with him and when she’ll have to stay in Boston. 

“And can I have a desk?” She adds, mouth full. 

“A desk?” 

“For school,” She explains. “All the kids in cartoons have them.” 

“Okay,” He nods. “Got it.” 

“And blue curtains,” She continues. 

“Curtains, desk, pink walls,” Ilya repeats absently. “Got it.” 

She watches him closely, as if she’s waiting for him to take it back. When he doesn’t, she relaxes and begins swinging her legs under her chair. 

“And a big bed?” She asks. 

He looks up at that, finally looking at her. She’s small in her chair, hair still tangled from sleep. There’s a faint smudge of chocolate milk on her chin. 

“You already have a big bed,” He says. 

She shakes her head, “No, I want a big bed. Like yours.” 

He snorts, “You want a king-size bed?” 

“Yes.” 

He laughs, “You’re five. “

“Still.” 

“Okay,” He says again. “We’ll see.” 

She smiles like she’s won something.

They eat in comfortable silence after that. Anastasia hums softly to herself while Ilya scrolls through his phone, making mental notes of all the errands he has to run on his day off. 

The doorbell rings. 

Anastasia perks up, “Who’s that?” 

“That must be Vera,” Ilya says, standing up. He puts his phone down, “She’s very nice.” 

“Vera?” Anastasia repeats, frowning slightly. 

Ilya makes his way to the door and opens it. Vera is standing in front of the door, suitcase in her hand. She’s shorter than he expected, but solid posture, sharp eyes and gray hair pulled back neatly. 

She looks like a Russian mother who runs a tight ship. 

“Mr. Rozanov,” She says in Russian, smiling. “Finally.” 

“Mrs. Romanova,” He nods, stepping aside to let her in. He helps her with her suitcase, “Good morning.” 

She steps inside, looking around as she goes, “Very nice place, it’s clean and bright. Good for a child.” 

Ilya closes the door behind her and sets the suitcase down to the side, “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” 

She waves him off, “It’s completely fine.” Vera steps into the kitchen area and smiles when she spots Anastasia, “Ah. You must be Anastasia.” 

Anastasia tightens her grip on her spoon, eyes darting to Ilya. 

“This is Mrs. Romanova,” He says, gesturing awkwardly between them. “She’s–uh, going to be helping us out.” 

“I am here to take care of you, Natsya,” Vera says, voice calm. “I will be here for anything you may need now.” 

Anastasia frowns, “Like a babysitter?” 

Vera smiles and nods, “Yes, something like that.” 

Ilya clears his throat, “I mean, she’s not replacing me or anything. I’m still–” 

“Your uncle is very busy,” Vera gently cuts in. “But he loves you. My job is to make sure you are safe and comfortable when he is working.”

Anastasia’s face falls immediately, “No. I don’t want that.” 

Ilya takes a step forward, “Natsya–” 

She shakes her head, “No. I want Mama. Not her.” 

“I can’t–” He begins to speak but she’s already running down the hallway. Ilya stands for a few moments, unsure of what to do. He clears his throat, “I should–” 

Vera steps forward, “I’ve got this.” 

“She’s upset.” 

“Yes.” 

“I should talk to her.” 

“You will talk to her later,” Vera assures. “Right now, she needs to get used to me being around. Not an explanation from you. I assure you, I’ve got this.” 

He hesitates. Every instinct in him tells him to go after Anastasia, to fix it, to say the right thing. But he also just feels so fucking tired, and the relief that someone else is stepping in is overpowering the guilt. 

“She’s just had a big change,” Vera continues. “Losing parents at such a young age, new country, new home, new language. She needs to feel like nothing else is changing.” 

“I didn’t mean to upset her,” He mumbles. 

“I know,” Vera says gently. “I’ll go speak to her.” 

Ilya exhales before nodding, “Thank you.” 

Vera walks down the hallway, knocks on Anastasia’s door once before opening it slightly, “May I come in?” 

There’s no response, but Vera enters anyway, closing the door behind her.

Ilya stands frozen in the kitchen, listening to the muffled sounds of voices he can’t quite make out. He tells himself it’s fine. That is why he hired her. That this is help.

He pours himself another cup of coffee he definitely doesn’t need and stares at the pink cereal bowl abandoned on the table. 

Pink walls. A desk. Blue curtains. 

Okay, he thinks. He can do this. 

The first playdate they get invited to is at Mark and his wife, Jessica’s, house. 

By the time Ilya arrives with Anastasia, tiny winter boots are lined up by the door, coats are piled over the banister and the living room has been converted into a mini playroom. 

Anastasia stands next, holding onto his finger and hiding behind him, watching the other children. 

The other kids are already playing together, talking over each other and laughing. Someone is lining toy cars up in rows. Another kid is going around the room with a stuffed dinosaur and is making it roar at anyone who passes by. 

They’re all around her age and far too young to care about accents or grammar, but old enough to understand when someone wants to join in. 

Ilya shakes Anastasia’s arm gently, “Are you okay?” 

She nods, but doesn’t move from behind his legs. 

“See the girl with the braids?” He says gently, nodding toward the far side of the room. “That’s Amara. I’m sure she likes princesses too.” 

Anastasia glances over at the girl, “She speaks English?” She asks, in Russian. 

“Yes.” 

“Only English?” 

“Yes.” 

She takes a deep breath, “Okay.” 

Before Ilya can say anything, one of Kabir’s sons, Arjun, runs straight up to her and holds out the dinosaur. 

“Wanna play?” He asks. 

Anastasia looks at the dinosaur, then at him, and then back at Ilya. 

“It’s okay,” Ilya says softly. “You can play.” 

She hesitates, then reaches out and takes the dinosaur. 

“Thank you,” She says slowly and carefully. 

Arjun grins and waves her over, “Come play!” 

And just like that, she’s escorted into the living room and already absorbed into the environment. Someone hands her a crayon, another kid tugs her sleeve and drags her towards a toy kitchen. 

Ilya exhales, nodding once to himself. Anastasia is going to be okay. 

“She’s adorable,” Jessica, Mark’s wife, says. 

“She is settling in,” Ilya says. He quietly adds, “I think.” 

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. Now come on, the rest of the moms are hiding in the kitchen while Michelle oversees this mess,” Jessica says, grabbing his arm.

“Michelle?” Ilya repeats. 

“Yeah, Cliff’s girlfriend,” Jessica clarifies. “She’s the only one child-free and quite frankly the rest of us need a break.” 

Jessica drags him to the kitchen where, true to her word, the rest of the moms are with glasses of wine in their hands. 

“Hey guys, this is Ilya but you all know that already,” Jessica says, gesturing towards Ilya. 

Ilya smiles awkwardly and raises his hand in a half-wave, “Hi.” 

One by one the women introduce themselves. Ilya makes a mental note of all the names and who is whose partner. Priya is married to Kabir and they have two kids together. Jessica is married to Mark and they have three children together. And finally, Mei who is married to Eric and they have one child together. 

“I’m really sorry about your brother, Ilya,” Mei says with a sympathetic smile. “It must be so hard for both you and your niece.” 

Ilya tilts his head slightly, “For my niece, yes. Not for me. My brother was um… asshole?” 

Priya snickers but quickly coughs to cover it up. She clears her throat and straightens, “Family relationships can be complicated.” 

“Yes,” Ilya nods. “Very.” 

“Do you want a beer?” Jessica asks, opening the fridge. 

“No, I’m okay,” Ilya answers, shaking his head. “Thank you, though.” 

“So,” Mei says, changing the topic. “How is Anastasia liking Boston?” 

“I think it’s okay. She has been home with nanny so… I don’t know,” Ilya shrugs. “Maybe after season, we will go somewhere to relax.” 

“You already hired a nanny?” Priya asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, yes. It’s hard for me to raise her as single parent who plays hockey,” Ilya mumbles, leaning against the kitchen island. He takes a deep breath, “Nanny is Russian so she is like… mother-figure or something for her.” 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Jessica nods along. “Don’t depend too much on the nanny, though. Anastasia’s lost a lot, I think she’d appreciate knowing you’re not going anywhere. Like actually bond with her and stuff like that.” 

Ilya hums, looking down at his fingers, “Yes. I am bringing her during traveling so she does not feel, um, neglected.” 

The moment the words “I am bring her during traveling" leave his house, the energy in the room shifts. It’s subtle but all three women clock it at the same time. 

“Oh,” Jessica says slowly. 

Ilya looks up immediately, “Oh… what?” 

Jessica exchanges a look with Priya before speaking, “Okay,” she says, setting her glass down on the counter. “I’m going to tell you a story.”

Ilya straightens and crosses his arms, “Okay.” 

“One season before our eldest started school, Mark and I thought it would be a great idea to travel together. All of us. Kids, me, nanny. Just one big happy family,” Jessica laughs at herself. “It was actual hell.” 

Priya snorts into her wine. 

Jessica continues, “Mark was playing like shit because every time he was on the ice, he was worried about whether someone had a fever, or if the kids were screaming in the hotel, or if I was losing my mind trying to keep them quiet during nap time.” 

Ilya grimaces. 

“And the kids?” Jessica says. “Miserable, constantly overtired, cranky and the tantrums? Tantrums over everything. They never adjusted because just when they’d get used to one place, we’d move again.” 

Priya nods, “It’s like every night a different bed, different time zone, different routines. There’s not any real structure.” 

“I thought bringing her would make her feel safe,” Ilya says. “Like I am not leaving her behind.” 

“I understand that instinct," Mei says. “Truly. But stability is what makes kids feel safe, not proximity.” 

Priya leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the island, “Especially right now. She’s lost both her parents. She’s moved halfway across the world. She’s living with her uncle who is suddenly her entire world.”

“Traveling is exciting for the adults but for kids, it’s just pure chaos,” Mei adds. 

Jessica nods, “And for the players, it’s a distraction. You’re the captain. You have like twenty adult kids who are depending on you. You can’t be worrying about your actual kid in the middle of the game.” 

“I just–” Ilya pauses, searching for the right words. “I do not want her to think I am abandoning her.” 

“Oh honey,” Jessica sighs. “She won’t. I promise you.” 

“Not if you do this right,” Mei adds. 

“She needs a place that stays the same,” Priya says. “A school. Friends she sees every day. Teachers who understand her.” 

“We send out kids to a private school nearby,” Mei says. “There’s small classes, great ESL support, and they’ve had kids come in mid-year before.” 

Jessica nods, “You could probably fast-track her enrollment for spring semester. After Christmas break.”

Ilya’s heart drops, “So… six, seven weeks?”

“Yes,” Mei says gently. “Which honestly is perfect. She can focus on her English, take her time adjusting and get comfortable.” 

“And it’s kindergarten,” Priya shrugs. “It’s not that deep. She won’t be behind.” 

“This is not what I plan,” Ilya huffs. 

Mei smiles sympathetically, “Well, welcome to parenting.” 

Ilya looks down at his hands again. Fuck, he suddenly feels very tired. 

“I am trying,” He says quietly. “I really am.” 

Jessica reaches out and squeezes his arm, “We know.” 

“And you don’t have to do this alone,” Mei says. “That’s the point.” 

“We play, what, half our games at home? Boston’s your anchor. When you’re here, be here,” Priya says. 

“Make that time with her count,” Jessica nods along. “Kids don’t need perfection. They can sense that you’re trying.” 

Ilya takes a deep breath before nodding, “Okay. I will think about school.” 

“Good,” Jessica nods once. She claps her hands together, “Now, tell me how far you got with the nanny process.”

“I hired nanny couple days before Anastasia came to Boston,” Ilya explains. “She is older Russian woman, name is Vera. She is um… nice, gentle, and experienced." 

“All the things you need in a good nanny,” Mei says. “And she’s a live-in nanny?”

“Uh, yes,” Ilya nods. He exhales through his nose, “I guess now that is more important. Uh… how do you trust to just leave child with her.” 

“Rule number one: cameras,” Priya answers immediately. 

“Cameras?” Ilya repeats. 

“Everywhere,” Priya says, unapologetic. “You want them in your common spaces, entryways, in Anastasia’s bedroom, obviously not in bathrooms. But enough that you can in whenever you want to.” 

“It’s not about spying, honestly,” Mei adds. “It’s about peace of mind. Especially when you’re on the road.” 

Jessica reaches for her phone and opens an app, “We use an app that lets us check the cameras whenever. Half the time I’m not even watching the kids, I’m just making sure the house hasn’t burned down.”

Ilya exhales, shoulder relaxing, “Okay, cameras. That makes sense.” 

“And background checks,” Priya adds. “References, employment history, those kinds of things.” 

Jessica tilts her head, “How did you find her, anyway?” 

“She is personal recommendation,” Ilya answers. “From my friend, Svetlana.” 

All three women perk up immediately. 

“Oh,” Jessica says, hiding her smirk behind her camera. 

“Svetlana,” Priya repeats, smiling. 

Mei glances between the three, “The Svetlana?” 

Ilya groans quietly, “Yes. That Svetlana.” He takes a deep breath, “She was Svetlana’s nanny when Svetlana’s father played in States. Long time ago. Svetlana is very… protective. She would not recommend someone she does not trust.” 

Mei nods, “That actually means a lot.” 

“It does,” Priya agrees. “Personal recommendation from another hockey family is gold.”

“Way better than pulling someone random from an agency,” Jessica says. “Those can be such a mixed bag.”

Ilya relaxes at that, “So you think… it’s okay?” 

“I think,” Mei begins. “That is Svetlana trusted her with her own childhood, that’s a very strong start.” 

“And you’re living in the house,” Priya says. “You’ll see how Vera interacts with Anastasia. You’ll know pretty quickly if something feels off.”

Jessica gestures toward him with her glass, “Plus, you’re not an absent parent. You’re just a new one.”

“She is very good with Anastasia,” He says. “I think. She is firm but kind, speaks in Russian, cooks food she knows.”

“That’s good,” Priya nods. 

Jessica leans her hip against the counter, “Okay, so nanny situation? You’re good. Cameras, trust your gut, personal recommendation. I think you’re doing fine.” 

“Doing better than fine if I’m being honest,” Priya says. 

Ilya nods, absorbing it all.

Fuck. He needs a cigarette. 

Ilya wakes up before his alarm goes off. He lies there for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling. It’s still dark out. 

Tomorrow, he leaves. 

A full week on the road, multiple games, different cities, different hotels. It’s a routine he’s lived for years now, and one that’s even comforting when his brain starts to think too much. But now, it’s different. 

Now, someone will be waiting for him to come back home. 

He exhales slowly and gets up, making his way to the kitchen. Vera is already awake when he steps into the kitchen. She looks up when she hears, slightly startled. 

“Good morning,” She says softly, in Russian. “You are awake early.” 

“Yes,” Ilya replies, rubbing his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

She nods before speaking, “I was going to start breakfast.” 

“That’s fine,” He waves her off. “Take the day off.” 

Vera pauses, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” He says. “I will take Natsya out today. It’s the last day before I’m gone for a week so I don’t want her to feel… upset or anything.” 

“That is good,” Vera smiles softly. “She has told me she’s been wanting to spend more time with you.” 

“I know,” Ilya nods. He sighs, “It’s just with practice and–”

“I understand, Ilya. You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Vera assures, cutting in gently. She looks around the kitchen before nodding once, “Very well, let me take the day to myself then.” 

“Thank you,” Ilya offers the older woman a polite smile. 

When Vera leaves, Ilya pulls on a jacket and steps out into the backyard. He leans against the wall and lights up a cigarette. 

He had quit for a little bit when he was deep into seeing Shane. It wasn’t anything, really. Shane had just refused to kiss him when he smelled and tasted like cigarettes so he stopped smoking before seeing him. And then soon, he forgot about them. 

But now. Fuck, now he needs them more than ever. 

He inhales, the first drag burning a little. He exhales slowly, the smoke disappearing into the air. 

He closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall. 

Okay. Fuck. He’s got this.

Anastasia is still asleep when he opens her door. She’s curled on her side, clutching the stuffed bunny Svetlana had gotten her. 

He sits on the edge of her bed and gently brushes a hand through her hair, “Natsya,” He whispers. 

She stirs, blinking sleepily at him, “Hm?”

“Good morning,” He whispers, leaning down and nuzzling his nose into her arm playfully. “Get up.” 

She rubs her eyes, “Is it school?” 

“No,” He shakes his head. “It’s Saturday, remember. No school or English lessons today.” 

Anastasia breaks out into a smile, “Really?” 

He chuckles and nods, “Really.” He brushes stray hairs away from her eyes, “Come on, you gotta get up so we go out and have fun today.” 

“Where are we going?” She asks, sitting up. 

“The aquarium,” He answers. 

“To see fish?” She gasps, eyes wide. 

“Yes,” Ilya nods. “And penguins!” 

“Penquins!” Anastasia squeals. She throws the blanket aside and climbs into his lap, “Come on, Uncle! I want my blue dress!” 

“It’s cold,” He reminds her, picking her up and carrying her to the bathroom. 

“I’ll wear my jacket.” 

He just laughs. 

Getting her ready takes longer than he expects. Sometimes the socks he picks out aren’t right, sometimes it’s the way he brushes her hair, and sometimes it’s just the way he looks at her. But still, he doesn’t rush her. He braids her hair into two pigtails the best he can, lets her change socks ten times, and looks away when she yells at him. 

He bundles her into her coat, zipping it all the way up to her chin and forces her to wear a hat. He wraps his own scarf high around his face, trying to keep some sort of anonymity. 

The drive into the city is quiet. Occasionally, he glances back at her through the mirror and sees her staring out the window and humming to herself. 

At the aquarium, Anastasia is basically a bungle of joy that can’t be contained. She presses her nose to the first tank they pass, eyes wide. 

“Uncle! Look!” She gasps dramatically. 

He lifts her onto his shoulders so she can see better, her hands gripping his head for balance, “Look,” he says, pointing. “That one is yellow.” 

She laughs, “It’s funny.” 

They move slowly, tank by tank. He names the fish he can, lies when he can’t remember. But she doesn’t care. She just points at everything, asks questions he can’t always answer and makes up stories about the fish she sees. 

At the penguin exhibit, she squeals so loudly a few people turn to look.

“They walk funny,” She points out. 

“Yes,” He agrees. “Like me after hockey practice.” 

At the gift shop, he doesn’t even pretend to say no. She wants a stuffed shark? Yes. A snow globe with fish inside? Of course. A sparkly headband shaped like a starfish? Why not?

They have lunch at a quiet restaurant nearby. 

Anastasia kicks her feet under the table, hitting his legs as she peels the skin off of her chicken. 

“When can I play with my friends again?” She asks suddenly. 

He looks up, “Friends.” 

“Yes, my friends. From the house.” 

“Oh,” He says. “Soon, I guess.” 

She nods, “Every day?” 

“Yes, when you start school.” 

“School?” She echoes. “Like my English lessons?” 

“No, like real school,” He explains. 

“In America?” 

He nods, “Yeah.” 

There’s a moment of silence. 

“I miss Russia,” She admits. “And my friends. And Mama. And Papa.” 

Ilya swallows the lump in his throat, “I know.” 

She looks up at him, “I like America,” she adds quickly, like she’s afraid of hurting Ilya’s feelings. “And the fish.” 

He smiles, “I’m glad.” 

He’s not sure what he could say to make a five-year-old not miss her dead parents. So, he doesn't say anything. 

After lunch, she sighs dramatically in the backseat, “I need more dresses.” 

He frowns, “More?” 

“Yes,” She insists. “I only have some.” 

He doesn’t argue. 

The mall is not too crowded for a Saturday afternoon, it could have been worse. He follows her from store to store, hands slowly filling up with shopping bags as she points at dresses, shoes, and sweaters she wants. 

“Do you like this?” She asks, holding up a pink dress. 

“Yes,” He says immediately. 

“And this?” 

This time it’s a blue one. 

“Yes.”

At some point, he realizes he’s stopped thinking entirely. This buying, saying yes, and watching her smile feels like something he understands. It’s tangible and concrete, something he can do right. 

By the time they get home, the sky has gone dark again. The shopping bags pile up by the door with Anastasia’s sparkly headband already abandoned on the coffee table.

They have pasta for dinner because it’s simple, fast, and he knows she’ll eat it without complaining. 

She talks through most of dinner, telling him about the fish again, the penguins, and about how the shark plush’s name is now Misha and how Misha is very brave. Ilya listens, nods, smiles, and laughs when she laughs. 

After dinner, he helps her brush her teeth, lifting her onto the bathroom counter so she can see herself in the mirror. She makes faces at her reflection while he stands behind her. 

In her room, she climbs into the bed without being asked. He straights her blankets and tucks her bunny next to her before sitting down on the edge of the mattress. 

“There’s something I need to tell you,” He says gently. 

“What?” 

“I have to go play hockey,” He says. “Tomorrow.” 

She frowns, “Tomorrow?” 

“Yes.”

“For how long?” 

“One week.” 

“You won’t be here?” She asks quietly. 

“No,” He says, hating the way the word sounds. “But Vera will be. And I will call you. Every day.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” He adds quickly. “I don’t want to go, but I have to.”

“Because of hockey.” 

“Yes.”

He reaches out, smoothing her hair back, “I will try to win every game,” He tells her. “And I will bring you a gift from every city I go to.”

She smiles at that, “Every city?”

“Yes,” He promises. “You can add them to your room.”

She nods. She’s silent for a moment before speaking, “Uncle?”

“Yes, Natsya?”

“You’ll come back, right?” 

“Yes,” He says immediately. “Of course I will.” 

“Promise?”

“I promise.” 

Her shoulders relax a little and she reaches out to touch his cross. 

“You always come back, right?” 

“Always,” Ilya says. “No matter what. I will always come back to you.” 

She nods, “Okay.” 

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks.

“Yes. Until I sleep.” 

“Okay.” 

He kicks off his shoes and lies down beside her. She scoots closer, pressing her forehead against his arm, her bunny tucked between them. 

He stays still until she falls asleep. He waits a little longer, just in case. Then he gently disentangles himself and stands. 

“I love you,” He whispers at the door, even though she can’t hear him. 

Back in his room, he sits on the edge of the bed and stares at the floor. 

He’s always been good at running away from this part. Ever since his mother died, he learned how to compartmentalize, how to bury things under training schedules and road trips and expectations.

But now there’s no place to hide his feelings. 

He doesn’t know how to do this.

He doesn’t know how to be enough.

Chapter End Notes

ahh lmk how u guys liked this chapter!! please ignore any grammar mistakes, i write all my fics at like 12am-3am so i'm legit always sleep deprived 😭

i'll re-read tmrw and fix all the mistakes

tysm for reading, commenting, and leaving a kudos! it means a lot to me!

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

For the time in weeks, Ilya feels like himself. Or at least the version of himself that he’s created for himself.

He’s in a crowded club, dancing in the middle of a dance floor with a tall woman pressed up against him. Half of the guys are already gone. Mark and Kabir said something about getting to bed early and Cliff said he had a pounding headache. Only the younger players are still around. 

The woman leans forward, “Should we get out of here?” She says, speaking over the music. 

Ilya nods, “Yeah. Sure.” 

They walk back to the hotel, it’s a short ten minute walk but it’s freezing. She hooks her arm through his as if they mean something to each other. 

When they get to the hotel room, she kicks off her heels near the door and glances around the room. She turns around and glances him up and down before taking a step closer. 

“Relax,” She mumbles. 

He rolls his eyes before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her mouth. This is fine, it’s good, it’s what he came for and most importantly, it’s familiar. 

He reaches for her again when his phone rings. He pauses and she pulls him closer to her, annoyed. 

“Just ignore it.” 

He gently pushes her away and takes his phone out of his back pocket. It’s Vera. 

“I–” He glances at the woman, offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Have to take this.” 

She scoffs and crosses her arms, “Seriously?” 

He doesn’t bother answering her. Instead he steps away, towards the bed, “Hello,” He answers in Russian. 

“Ilya,” Vera greets. “I’m sorry to call so late.” 

Ilya bites back a sigh, “No, it’s okay. Is everything okay?”

“Natsya has had a nightmare,” Vera begins. “She woke up crying. I tried to calm her down but she keeps asking for you.” 

“I’ll talk to her,” He says, looking up at the ceiling. 

There’s some rustling on the other end before he hears a sniffle, “Uncle?” Anastasia’s voice is groggy and shaky.

“Uncle is here, Natsya,” He replies. “I’m here.” 

“I had a bad dream,” She whispers. She sniffles, “That you didn’t come back.”

Ilya closes his eyes, “I will always come back, bunny. Remember, we talked about this? I’m working right now.” 

“You promise to always come back?” 

“Yes,” He says, softer. “I promise.” 

Behind him, the woman clears her throat loudly and gestures something towards him. 

Anastasia sniffles again, “It was dark. And you were gone. And I couldn’t find you. How I can’t find Mama and Papa.”

“I’ll be home soon, I promise," He says. “Vera is there with you, you’re safe.” 

“Okay,” She whispers. 

“Is there anything you want me to bring you?” 

“No,” Anastasia mumbles. “Just come back.”

“I’ll be back home on Sunday morning, I promise.” 

“Okay, bye.”

“Good night.” 

He waits for Anastasia to hang up the call before lowering his phone. He takes a deep breath and fixes his cross before looking at the woman. 

“So,” She says, annoyed. “That was your girlfriend?” 

“What.”

She lets out a sarcastic laugh, “Don’t play dumb. A woman calls you this late, you disappear for twenty minutes, start speaking Russian like it’s some private little thing—”

“That was my niece,” He says, rubbing the temples of his forehead. 

She scoffs, “Oh, come on.” 

“I’m serious.” 

The woman shakes her head, “You really expect me to believe that?”

“I do not care what you believe,” He says, tired now. “I have to take call, yeah?”

“You could’ve told me you were taken,” She snaps. “Instead, you bring me back to your hotel room and then talk sweetly to another woman right in front of me.”

“You’re crazy,” He mumbles, more to himself than to her. 

She grabs her shoes and purse, “You’re a cheating asshole. If you’re going to fuck around, at least have the decency not to do it while your girlfriend’s blowing up your phone.”

Then she’s gone, the door slamming hard enough to make him flinch. He stares at the closed door for a long moment before flopping back down on the bed. 

Fuck. 

There is no part of his life that this doesn’t touch. Parenthood isn’t something he can pause when it’s inconvenient, it’s going to follow him everywhere. 

Everything feels wrong. This hotel room feels wrong, this week feels wrong, he feels wrong. And no amount of noise, lights, or bodies is going to fix that anymore. 

They barely win in New York. But a win is a win, and the guys are riding high when they funnel back into the locker room. Ilya’s sitting on the bench, unlacing his skates slowly when his phone buzzes in his locker. 

He flips it over and looks at the screen. 

Sasha: saw ur playing in new york 
Sasha: let’s catch up 

He hasn’t seen Sasha in years, not since the Winter Olympics in Russia. But without fail, if Sasha is in the same city as him he gets a text. He’s never bothered to answer. 

Especially not after Shane. 

He rolls his eyes and shoves his phone into his bag. 

Twenty minutes later, he’s showered, dressed and halfway out the door when his phone buzzes again. 

Sasha: i’m seriously, i’m here in nyc
Sasha: on some business
Sasha: feels stupid not to see each other 

Ilya stops walking. 

This is a bad idea. 

He knows that is a bad, no scratch that, this is a horrible idea. But Sasha, in a weird way, is oddly comforting. Someone who has known all versions of him. 

Maybe he just needs this release. 

Ilya: fine
Ilya: hilton, room 1821

Sasha looks exactly the same. 

He gins the moment Ilya opens the door, “Jesus,” he says, looking Ilya up and down. “You still look like that.” 

Ilya steps aside to let him in, “Get in.” 

“You missed me,” Sasha says, shrugging out of his jacket. 

Ilya snorts, “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

They stand there for a moment, neither of them. Then Sasha steps closer and kisses him. 

For a little while, he lets himself forget. 

Sasha sits up first, “I gotta piss,” He says, swinging his legs over the bed. 

“Yeah,” Ilya mumbles, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

Sasha disappears into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him. Ilya stays where he is, elbows resting on his thoughts, staring at the carpet. 

Fuck, this was a mistake. 

Sasha has always been bad news. He was beautiful, magnetic, and reckless in a way that used to feel exciting when Ilya was younger and didn’t have anything to lose. 

Now he has everything to lose. 

He wouldn’t have answered Sasha if he was thinking clearly. If he wasn’t exhausted, if his head wasn’t spinning from the week, from Anastasia’s voice on the phone asking him to come back. 

If he didn’t miss Shane. 

He curses under his breath and stands up. He grabs his shirt and jeans from the floor and slowly pulls them back on. He doesn’t want Sasha here anymore, he wants this to be over. 

And he needs a cigarette. 

He pats down the pockets of his jeans, they’re empty. He groans, remembering that his pack of cigarettes are in his jacket hung in the bathroom. 

He makes his way to the bathroom, pushing the door open. His heart drops. Sasha is leaning over the counter, his back to the door with a rolled up dollar bill, inhaling. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ilya snaps. 

Sasha startles, standing up straight. He’s scared for a moment before he grins like nothing is wrong, “Relax, Ilya.” 

“Are you fucking out of your mind?” He says, stepping forward and grabbing the bill from Sasha’s hand. “You can’t do this shit in my hotel room.” 

“It’s fine,” Sasha says, already laughing. “Everyone does it.” 

“I don’t care,” Ilya says. “You could end my career. Do you understand that?” 

Sasha leans back against the counter, eyes glassy, “You’re overreacting.” 

“No,” Ilya says, sharply. “You’re disrespecting me.” 

Sasha tilts his head, “You’ve changed.” 

“Yeah. No shit,” Ilya mumbles. He runs a hand through his hair, “You fucking know that this shit isn’t about my anymore.” 

Sasha’s smile slightly falters. 

“I have responsibilities,” Ilya continues. “And whatever you’re fucking doing can’t be in my life.” 

Sasha scoffs, looking away, “You sound like a dad.” 

Ilya clenches his jaw, “I am.” 

That shuts Sasha up. 

“You need to get your shit together,” Ilya says. “And you need to leave.” 

Sasha steps forward and wraps his arm around Ilya in a clumsy, clinging hug.

“Don’t say that,” Sasha slurs into his neck. “Don’t make me leave. We just found each other again. It’s been so long. I don’t want to go.”

“Sasha, you are not well,” Ilya says, trying to pry him off. “You need to go home.” 

“My home is shit,” Sasha mumbles, holding on tighter. “This is better, you’re better. Do you remember how it was before you left? We were good. We were so good.” 

The manipulation is clumsy and pathetic. It might have worked on the part of Ilya that was still that lonely teenager, but the part that was Uncle Ilya was stronger. 

He shoves Sasha back, not violently but with a firmness, “It is over. That time is over, okay? Get dressed and get out.” 

Sasha curses under his breath before moving out of the bathroom. Ilya stays behind in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. When he comes out, Sasha is mostly dressed, fumbling with his belt. 

“I… I don’t have a car,” Sasha says. 

Ilya groans, throwing his head back. He can’t let him wander the streets of New York in this state, “Come on,” he grits out, pulling on a hoodie and grabbing his phone. “I’ll get you an Uber.” 

He grabs Sasha’s arms and steers him towards the door. He keeps his other hand on Sasha’s back, grabbing Sasha’s jacket to keep him upright. 

“Slow down,” Sasha slurs as Ilya drags him down the hallway. “Jesus, you’re always so dramatic.” 

“Shut up,” Ilya mumbles, pressing the down button on the elevator. 

When the elevator doors open, he half-pushes, half-throws Sasha inside. The doors are just starting to close when they open again.

Cliff steps into the elevator, one hand already reaching out to hit the button for the lobby. 

“Hey,” Cliff says, nodding at him. “Just going out for a smoke.”

Ilya forces his face to relax, “Hey.” 

For half a second, Cliff looks between Ilya’s hand that’s holding onto Sasha’s arm so tight that it’ll probably leave a bruise and Sasha himself, who is swaying on his feet and clearly not sober. He doesn’t comment on it, instead, stepping fully inside and letting the door slide shut behind him. 

Sasha leans into Ilya’s side, his shoulder knocking into Ilya’s chest. He squints at Cliff, tilting his head, “You are?” He asks, in English. 

Cliff blinks, confused, “Uh. Cliff.” 

Sasha hums, “You play with him?” 

Cliff nods, “Yeah.” 

“Thought so,” Sasha says, grinning. “You are like big, bad, hockey player.” 

Cliff awkwardly laughs, shaking his head, “And you are?” 

Sasha suddenly straightens a little, “I’m Sasha,” he answers. “One of Ilya’s oldest friends.” 

Cliff raises an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?” 

“We grow up together,” Sasha continues. He reaches out suddenly and grips Ilya’s upper thigh, “I know him, uh, how you say in English? I know him… inside and out?” 

Ilya reacts without thinking and smacks Sasha’s away, the sound loud in the space, “Don’t,” he snaps, in Russian.

Cliff freezes, eyes dating between them.

Sasha blinks, then laughs again, “Still so uptight.” 

Ilya’s face burns, “Shut the fuck up,” he says, voice low. 

Cliff doesn’t understand the words, but he understands the tone. His shoulders tense slightly and he looks away. 

Sasha stares at Ilya, his grin slowly dropping. Then, as if the effort of standing has finally become too much, his knees buckle and he slides down the wall of the elevator. He sits on the floor, back against the metal and he legs sprawled out. 

“There we go,” he mumbles. “That’s better.” 

“Jesus,” Cliff mumbles under his breath. 

Ilya closes his eyes for half a second before exhaling through his nose, “Sorry.” 

“You don’t gotta– I just–” Cliff gestures at Sasha, “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Ilya says immediately. 

The rest of the ride down feels excruciating slow. Sasha hums along to nothing, staring up at the glass ceiling of the elevator. Ilya keeps praying that no one else will enter the elevators. And Cliff is standing near the doors, doing his best to pretend like he isn’t witnessing something deeply uncomfortable. 

When the doors finally open to the lobby, Ilya moves fast. He bends down and grips Sasha by the upper arm and hauls him back to his feet, “Up,” he orders. 

Sasha groans but stumbles upright, leaning his full weight onto Ilya again. They move out of the elevator, Cliff trailing behind them. 

The lobby is quiet at this hour, which Ilya is beyond grateful for. He doesn't stop until they’re outside, the Uber already pulled up at the curb. 

“Come on,” Ilya mumbles, pushing Sasha towards it. 

Sasha digs his heels in weakly, “You’re kicking me out.”

“Yes.”

“You’re mad at me.”

“Yes.”

Sasha furrows his eyebrows in genuine confusion, “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

Ilya opens the door and shoves him gently but firmly into the backseat, “You did.” 

He slams the car door shut and steps back, rubbing a hand over his face. He waits until the car pulls away before stepping back towards the hotel. 

Cliff is standing there, leaning against the wall of the hotel, a cigarette between his fingers. He lifts it slightly, offering Ilya one. 

Ilya nods immediately, stepping beside Cliff and leaning against the hotel wall as well. He accepts the cigarette Cliff hands him. Cliff flicks the lighter on and lights up the cigarette. 

For a few moments, they just stand in silence, smoking together. 

“So,” Cliff says, breaking it. He keeps his eyes forward, “Is he actually your childhood friend?”

Ilya nods, "A little bit."

Cliff turns his head slightly. 

“He was, uh, my coach’s son,” Ilya explains. “Back in Russia.”

“Ah,” Cliff says softly. “That kind of friend.”

 “Yes,” Ilya nods. He takes another drag, then adds, “We were teenagers.” 

Cliff simply hums. 

“I am sorry… about that,” Ilya continues. “I did not know that it was that bad.” 

Cliff exhales smoke, “People change, man.”

“Yes,” Ilya nods once. 

They fall into silence again. Ilya watches the smoke disappear into the air, feeling wrung out. It feels like the adrenaline has carried him through the last hour and now he’s left hollowed. 

“For what it’s worth,” Cliff says, flicking ash onto the ground. “You handled it.” 

Ilya laughs bitterly, “Really?” 

“I really do,” Cliff shrugs. “You didn’t let it turn into something worse.” 

Ilya thinks about that, about how easily it could have spiraled, “Yeah. I guess.” 

Cliff clears his throat, “Listen, you don’t have to worry.” 

“About?” Ilya asks, even though he already knows the answer. 

Cliff turns to look fully at him, “Your secret is safe with me, man.” 

Ilya nods, staring out at the street, avoiding Cliff’s gaze, “Thank you.” 

Ilya’s in JFK waiting for his flight back to Boston when he realizes that he didn’t buy a souvenir from NYC. Fuck, he had promised Anastasia that he would get her something from each city he played in and he’s already failing. 

He stands up, stretching for a moment before walking. 

“Where are you going?” Mark asks, eyes still on his phone. 

“Just checking something out,” Ilya replies. 

Mark hums, “Bring me back a coffee if you love me.” 

Ilya snorts and keeps walking. He has to walk for a couple of minutes before he finally makes it to a souvenir shop. As he looks through the shop, he feel ridiculous. 

He owns watches that cost more than some people’s houses. He’s worn customs suits, driven cars that turn heads at red flights. And yet here is, considering a neon pink tourist t-shirt as if it’s the most important decision of his life. 

He stares down at the “I ❤️NYC” t-shirt. It’s simple but it’s obnoxious which means it’s perfect for Anastasia. He nods to himself before grabbing the t-shirt and making his way to the counter. 

“Cute choice,” The cashier comments as she checks him out. 

Ilya hums, “Thank you.” 

She rings him quickly, sliding the shirt into a bag. He takes it, thanks her, and leaves before she can say anything else. 

When he makes his bag to the gate, a few of the guys glance at him and then to the bag he’s holding. 

“Yo,” Kabir says. “What’d you get?” 

Ilya sits down in his seat, putting the bag down on the seat next to him, “Nothing.” 

Mark looks up, grinning slowly when he notices the bag, “That’s a bag, man.” 

“Mind your business,” Ilya mumbles, crossing his arms. 

Mark leans over, glancing into the bag, “Awh, is this a I Love New York t-shirt for little Anastasia.” 

“Oh my God,” Kabir says, laughing. “Never did I think I would see the day we saw Ilya Rozanov being a big ol’ softie.” 

“You are annoying and I will punch you,” Ilya says, nudging Kabir with his elbow. 

“Come on, Rozy, it’s not the worst thing in the world to have emotions,” Mark says, laughing as well. 

Ilya groans and pulls his hat down, covering his eyes, “Leave me alone.” 

He hates the whole conversation because they’re right. Even if it scares the shit out of him, he’s changed. He didn’t plan to, or want to. But each day he can a part of the persona he’s created for himself chipping away. 

He’s not sure if he should be grateful or scared.

By the time the Uber pulls up to his house, all he wants to do is sleep. He wants to have twelve hours to himself where no one needs him. But that isn’t how life works anymore. 

When he gets to the front door, he stops. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening it. He steps inside, the smell of cooking immediately hitting him. 

He steps his suitcase down by the door and takes his coat off, “Naysta?” He calls out. 

There’s a brief moment of complete silence before he hears squeals. 

“Uncle!” 

He barely has time to brace himself before he hears footsteps on the stairs. She appears at the top of the staircase, hair messy, smiling wide. 

“Careful!” He calls, stepping forward. 

She ignores him completely and launches herself off the last step and straight into his arms. He catches her easily, hugging her tightly as she buries her face into his chest. 

“I missed you so much!” She says. 

“I missed you too, bunny,” He says. “So much. But I’m home now.” 

She pulls back to look at him, “You came back.” 

“I told you I would,” He replies, lifting her to hold her on his hip, “I always come back.” 

Vera makes her way down the stairs slowly, “You made it, Ilya,” She says warmly. 

Ilya nods and offers the older woman a polite smile, “Yes. Thank you so much for staying with her. I hope she was not too much trouble.” 

Vera waves it off, “She was very good,” She replies. “Very brave.” 

Anastasia peeks over Ilya’s shoulder, “I was. I didn’t cry every night.” 

Ilya smiles softly and brushes hair from her forehead, “That’s my girl.” He puts her down but keeps a hand on her shoulder, “You are taking tomorrow off, right?” 

“Yes,” Vera nods. “We agreed on my days off being your days off, remember?” 

Ilya nods, “Of course,” He replies. “You can go home early today. I’m home so it’s all good. Get some rest.” 

Vera hesitates, glancing at Anastasia, “Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure,” He says gently. “Thank you. Really.” 

Vera nods before kneeling slightly to Anastasia’s level, “I will see you soon, my sweet girl,” She says. 

Anastasia hugs her, “Bye bye.” 

Vera kisses the top of her head, then straightens and grabs her coat. She pauses at the door, looking back at Ilya, “You did well, Ilya.” 

“Thank you,” He says, watching her go. He then looks down at Anastasia, “You hungry?” 

She shakes her head, “No. I wanna talk.”

He chuckles, “Okay, then tell me everything.” 

She takes his hand without hesitation and starts pulling him toward the living room. They collapse onto the couch together, Anastasia curling up beside him. 

“So,” He begins. “What did you do all week?”

Her face lights up at the question. 

“I went to my new friend Arjun’s house,” She says quickly. “He has a dog! Did you know he has a dog?” 

Ilya hums before shaking his head, “No, I didn’t know.” 

“It was so cute and fluffy and big,” Anastasia says. “Can we get a dog?”

“Not right now.” 

“Okay. When?" 

Ilya shrugs, “I’ll think about it.” 

“Okay, fine,” She says, rolling her eyes. “His mom made good food. Did you know that she makes good food?” 

Ilya nods, “I did know that.” 

“Okay and I also learned more English,” She says proudly. “And I watched cartoons, in English.” 

“Wow,” He says, sincerely. “That’s so good.” 

She moves closer to him, her shoulder pressing into his side, “I waited for you. Every day.” 

His smiles falter a little before he wraps an arm around her, “I know. I missed you so much.” 

“I made Vera auntie count with me,” She continues. “How many days were left.” 

“You counted?” 

She nods, “So I knew when you come back.” 

He swallows the lump in his throat and presses a kiss to the top of her head, “I’m here now.” 

She just hums. 

“Hey,” He says, changing the topic. “I brought something for you.” 

“You did?” She says, sitting up straight. 

“Really,” He says. He gets up and grabs and opens his suitcase before pulling out the gift bag. He makes his way back to the couch and hands her the bag, “Here.” 

She opens it carefully, pulling out the shirt and a few magnets from the other cities he played in. 

“Uncle! It’s pink!” She exclaims. 

“I know,” He says, smiling. “It says ‘I Love NYC.’”

“What’s NYC?” 

“It’s one of the cities I played in this week,” He answers. “We’ll go visit it together one day.” 

She holds it up against herself, grinning, “I love it.” 

He smiles before glancing down at his watch, “Okay, did you eat dinner?” 

“Yes, with Vera auntie,” She nods. 

“Okay, then it’s bedtime,” He says softly, standing up. 

She doesn’t argue. 

As he carries her upstairs, her head drops onto his shoulder. He tucks her into bed carefully, pulling the blanket up to her chin. 

“Will you stay?” She asks, already half-asleep.

Ilya nods, “Of course.” 

He’ll always stay for her.

Chapter End Notes

ahh i know there wasn't a lot of anastasia and ilya in this chapter but i wanted this chapter to just show how like ilya is slowly realizing how much of being a parent is going to affect quite literally every aspect of his life

like he can't avoid his feelings, he can't use sex as a distraction, and he can't even be tired because there is a tiny little human who is waiting for him

thank u so much for all of the comments and the support on this fic, it genuinely means so much to me!! i know i haven't replied to comments yet but i will get to it!!

also is like the author replying to comments annoying? i always do b/c i appreciate comments and just ignoring them feels mean idk why 😭. but idk if its annoying for the commentor or smth

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

The first thing Ilya wakes up to is Anastasia jumping on his bed. He groans and pulls the comforter over his head, hoping it’ll block the noise out. 

“Uncle,” Anastasia says, right by his ear. “Wake up.” 

“No,” Ilya mumbles into his pillow. “Go back to sleep.” 

There’s a pause before she begins jumping again. She hops onto his back, kneeing him in the ribs. 

“Ow,” He groans out, voice muffled. “Natsya.” 

“You’re awake now,” She says. 

“I am not,” He insists. “This is a lie.” 

He feels her move until she’s higher up on his back, basically sprawled across him like a determined cat. Her chin rests between his shoulder blades and he can feel her warm breath through his t-shirt. 

“It’s morning,” She says. 

“I know,” He replies. “And mornings are bad.” 

She hums thoughtfully, clearly considering the information. Then she slowly settles on his back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. 

For a blessed thirty minutes, nothing happens and Ilya lets his eyes stay closed. Each inch of his body aches and his mind has barely caught up with his actual life. Today is his first day off in what feels like forever and he just wants to sleep the day away. 

Anastasia sighs, “Uncle,” She says softly. 

“Yes,” He mumbles. 

“I’m hungry.” 

He wants to hit his head against the wall, of course she’s hungry. 

He exhales through his nose and finally opens his eyes. He glances at the clock on his nightstand, it’s barely past seven in the morning. 

“Jesus Christ,” He whispers. 

“What?” Anastasia asks. 

“Nothing,” He mumbles to himself, pushing himself up with a groan. 

Anastasia slides off his back and plops back onto the mattress, watching him. He stands up and rubs his face with both his hands, trying to wake himself up. His shoulders feel tense and his lower back aches. Quite frankly, he feels old. 

“You had a bad dream?” He asks, voice rough from sleep. 

“Nope,” She says. “I slept well.” 

“That’s good,” He nods. “I did not.” 

“Why?”

“Because I’m tired from working all week.” 

She nods before hopping off the bed, “We brush our teeth now?” 

“Yes,” He sighs. “We brush our teeth now.” 

In the bathroom, she insists on standing on the stool, holding onto the sink like she might float away. Ilya hands her the toothpaste and watches as she squeezes out far too much. 

“That’s enough,” He says gently. 

She shakes her head, “No.” 

“That’s seriously enough,” He repeats, tone firmer. 

She shrugs and starts brushing, the toothpaste immediately foaming at the corner of her mouth. He grabs his own toothbrush, splashes water on his face and stares at himself in the mirror while he brushes. 

He looks completely wrecked. There are dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking up, and his jaw hurts because he clenches it far too much. He watches Anastasia out of the corner of his eyes and she brushes. 

She catches him looking and grins. He shakes his head and smiles back despite himself. 

By the time they’re done, Ilya feels more awake. At least awake enough to function and actually be present for Anastasia. He follows the young girl into the kitchen where she immediately climbs onto a chair and sits cross-legged. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” He asks, opening the fridge. 

“Pancakes,” She answers immediately. “It’s Sunday.” 

He nods as if that makes sense, “Okay.” 

Making pancakes takes longer than it should, mostly because he’s moving at half the speed he usually does and she keeps trying to help. He hands her bowl and lets her stir the batter, even though more of it ends up on the counter than in the pan. 

She swings her legs under the chair, talking while she eats. The words come out in a mix of Russian and English as she eats and Ilya can’t help but smile. 

Ilya listens but he doesn’t say much. He nods, mumbles something about agreeing with her, refills her glass of juice when it’s empty, and drinks his own coffee. 

When she finishes eating, she slides off the chair and presses her face to the glass door, “Uncle. It’s snowing.” 

He hums, putting the dishes in the sink, “I know.” 

“Can we make a snowman?” She asks. 

“No,” He replies immediately. “It’s cold and you’re going to get sick.” 

She turns around and pouts, “Uncle please! We have to!”

He shakes his head, “I already said no, bunny.” 

Anastasia thinks for a moment before clasping her hands together and tilting her head slightly, “Please,” She says. “Please, please, please!” 

He closes his eyes and throws his head back, why does he even bother to disagree when he knows she’s going to win anyway? Ilya exhales before nodding once, “Okay, fine. But you’re doing all the work, okay? Uncle is tired.” 

She squeals and runs off towards her room to grab her snowboots. 

Bundling her up takes forever because she insists on doing things herself. Her mittens are on backwards, her hat is crooked, and her scarf is hanging too low on one side. Ilya sighs and adjusts her clothes before zipping her jacket all the way up to her chin. 

He pulls his own coat on and wraps a scarf around his neck before opening the door to the yard. The cold is brutal but Anastasia doesn’t seem to notice or care. She immediately scoops the snow up in her hands, laughing. 

Making the snowman, despite the ground rules that Ilya had set, is mostly his job. 

He rolls the base while Anastasia runs in circles, leaving her tiny footprints everywhere. He stacks the middle while she throws snow at his legs and down his jacket. He lifts the head into place, trying his best to make sure the whole thing doesn’t collapse.

Anastasia does the bare minimum, handing him two sticks she found when he’s done with the body. 

“It’s need a face, Uncle!” She exclaims, running back inside.

“You’re bringing snow into the house!” Ilya yells behind her, even though it’s really no use. 

A few minutes later, she comes outside with a plastic carrot from one of her toys and two chocolates for his eyes. When they’re done she jumps in excitement. 

“It’s so cute!” 

Ilya steps back, hands on his hips. He looks at the lopsided snowman and then at Anastasia smiling beside it, cheeks pink from the cold. 

He laughs softly, shaking his head before taking his phone out, “Okay, Natsya. Picture time. Smile!” 

Anastasia immediately poses next to the snowman, her hands on her hips and smiling with her teeth. 

“Like this?” She asks. 

“Yeah,” Ilya laughs. “Exactly like that.” 

He snaps a couple of photos before she changes her pose. She holds up a peace sign and leans against the snowman like it’s longtime friend. 

“Okay, okay,” Ilya says, laughing. “That’s enough, you’re going to freeze.” 

She rushes over to him, nearly slipping in the snow as she grabs his arm, “Show me!” 

He tilts the phone so she can see. 

“That’s me!” She says, delighted. “I look funny.” 

“You look very pretty,” He replies before pocketing his phone. He steers her toward the door, “Okay, inside. Now.” 

He slides the door shut behind them before helping her take off her jacket, scarf, and hat. She stands patiently for all of ten seconds before taking off her boots and running towards the living room. 

“I’m watching TV!” She announces, throwing herself onto the couch. 

He shakes his head and puts their coats down on the dining table before grabbing a towel to wipe up the melted snow. When he finally joins her in the living room, she’s curled up in the corner of the couch. 

He sits down on the other end and pulls out his phone again. He opens the photo gallery, smiling softly at the photos. 

He hesitates for a moment before sending them to the “WAGs + Ilya” group chat. 

Ilya: snowman duty completed

Jessica: OH MY GOD 😭
Priya: stopp, she’s adorable
Michelle: this is the cutest thing i’ve ever seen 

The thing about being home is that it’s supposed to make everything easier. At least that’s what people say, anyway. 

Ilya is in Boston for ten days straight as they’re playing games from their home arena. So on paper, it’s supposed to be perfect. He can see Anastasia every morning and put her to bed every night even if he is busy. 

In reality, it feels exhausting in a whole different way. 

Some mornings when he gets up, Anastasia is already awake, sitting on his bed playing with her toys or laying on his back. Other mornings, she’s still asleep in her room. 

Those mornings are the hardest. Because when she’s asleep, Ilya has to make a choice between leaving without saying anything or coming in.

On the good days, he goes in quietly and presses a kiss to her forehead. He whispers that he’ll be back for bedtime and leaves before the guilt has time to settle. On the bad days, he doesn’t wake her.

He tells himself that it’s better that way. She needs her sleep, he’s running late, and Vera will be with her. Everything is fine. 

He’s not sure if the mornings are worse or if it’s coming back home after a tough day of practice or a brutal match.

By the time he gets home, his whole body and mind feel hollowed out. He drops his bag by the door, takes his shoes off, and gives himself a moment to breathe before calling out for Anastasia. 

He never makes it in time for dinner so Anastasia stays up until he comes so she can do her bedtime routine. 

No matter how tired he is, he tries his best to do bedtime with her. It’s always a bath, pajamas, brushing her teeth, and a book. He sits on the edge of her bed while she curls up into her blankets. 

He stays until she falls asleep, no matter how tired he is. 

Afterwards, he goes into his own room and lies awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, wondering why being needed feels this heavy. 

But only manages to get through five days. 

The fifth day is a game day, and it’s one of those bad ones. By the time he’s in the locker room, getting dressed for the game, he decides to text Vera. 

He sits down on the bench and pulls out his phone, typing out the text before he changes his mind 

Ilya: Hi, Vera. Any chance you could handle bedtime? 

Vera: Of course, don’t worry.

That should make him feel better. This means that he can go home after this game and just sleep without having to worry about Anastasia or how she’s doing. 

It doesn’t. 

He locks his phone and shoves it into his bag. He stands up, rolls his shoulders back and forces himself to get into the rhythm of the game.

He plays well that night, better than he had been playing for the past few games. They win the game but it’s nothing spectacular, nothing that’s going to be talked about. 

When he gets home, the house is quiet. It’s obvious that Vera had put Anastasia to bed and then gone to sleep herself. 

He tells himself that it’s fine. Anastasia is asleep, warm, and safe. He assures himself that Vera would have told him if something had gone wrong. 

He goes into the kitchen, pouts himself a glass of water and leans against the counter as he drinks it. 

That night, he doesn’t go into Anastasia’s room. Instead, he goes straight on his own and lies in bed. He tells himself that he’ll do better tomorrow. 

Svetlana comes by two days later, on a Thursday afternoon. He’s on the couch, watching a hockey game in silence while Anastasia colors on the floor when the door opens.

For half a moment, he thinks it might be Vera coming in because she forgot something. He gets up anyway to check and sees Svetlana closing the door behind her, bundled up in a red coat.

She turns around and looks him up and down before frowning, “You look like shit.” 

Ilya snorts softly, “Hello to you too.” 

“I’m serious,” Svetlana says, taking her coat off and making her way closer to him. She reaches up and adjusts the collar of his hoodie without asking, “You look exhausted.” 

“I’m fine,” He mumbles, “Just busy.” 

She hums, not pushing him on it. 

Anastasia looks up from the floor the second she hears Svetlana’s voice, “Auntie Sveta!” She shrieks, scrambling to her feet. 

Svetlana smiles and crouches just in time for Anastasia to launch herself into her arms, “I missed you!” 

“I missed you too!” Anastasia says, wrapping her arms around Svetlana’s neck. 

Svetlana stands up straight and Anastasia immediately grabs her hand, tugging her toward the living room, “Come see! Uncle made a snowman and I drew it!” 

“Oh?” Svetlana says, letting herself be pulled along. “I have to see this.” 

Within seconds, Anastasia is talking nonstop, showing Svetlana her drawings, her toys, and her stuffed animals. Svetlana listens, responding with the same animated energy. 

Ilya exhales quietly, shoulders sagging. It’s strange how easily Anastasia slips into other people’s attention. How quickly she’s occupied, absorbed, and happy. He tells himself that's good, it means she’s adaptable and resilient. 

It means she doesn’t need him every second.

“I’ll get started on dinner,” Ilya says after a few moments. “Don’t bother Sveta too much, Natsya. She’s probably tired.” 

“Oh please, she could never bother me,” Svetlana says, looking over at Ilya. “You just worry about making your boring dinner.” 

Ilya rolls his eyes and waves her off, “You’re annoying.” 

He makes his way to the kitchen and begins pulling things out of the fridge. Cooking has become one of those things he can do without thinking too hard, which is exactly why he likes it. It’s simple with clear results. Well, most of the time. 

He makes pasta with a simple marinara sauce. It’s nothing fancy but he knows Anastasia will eat it, and that’s all that really matters.

He plates everything and calls out for the two girls, “Dinner!”

They eat together at the table. Anastasia swings her legs and talks with her mouth half-full until Ilya gently reminds her that she needs to chew first. 

Svetlana smiles at Anastasia before glancing over at Ilya, “So, when is going to school? Like real school?”

“I’ve got a meeting with the dean and principal at some private school all the Boston players send their kids to,” Ilya says, swallowing his bite. He shrugs, “All the moms and girlfriends recommended it and they’ll take her mid-year so it works out.” 

“My English is getting better!” Anastasia adds, smiling brightly. “I know all the ABCs.” 

Svetlana ruffles Anastasia’s hair, “That’s because you’re so smart, bunny.”

“Just like your uncle,” Ilya adds with a wink.

Anastasia looks up at Ilya, “Can I visit you at work?”

Ilya freezes for a moment, his smile slightly dropping, “At work?” He repeats. 

“Yeah, I wanna see you play,” Anastasia replies. 

He sets his fork down, rubbing his thumb against the edge of the table, “I don’t know, bunny. It’s loud and so busy. And I won’t even be able to pay attention to you.” 

“I won’t be annoying, I promise,” She says.

“That’s not the problem,” He replies, a little too quickly. He clears throat and softens his tone, “I’ll just be worrying about you the whole game.” 

Svetlana sets her fork down, “I can take her. I was planning on going to the game tomorrow night anyway.” 

Anastasia’s eyes widen, “Really?” 

Svetlana nods, “If Ilya says it’s okay.” 

Ilya leans back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment, “I don’t know.” 

“Come on, I promise you won’t have to worry about her, I’ll be there with her in the family suites with all the other WAGs,” Svetlana says, reaching over and patting Ilya’s hand. 

Ilya opens his eyes and gives her a pointed look, “So you’re a WAG now?” 

Svetlana scoffs, “You wish.” 

“Please! Please please please!” Anastasia says, bringing her hands together in a plea. 

Ilya groans and throws his head back, “Okay, fine.” 

Anastasia squeals before scrambling out of her chair and throwing her arms around his neck, “I’ll wave! Will you see me?”

He smiles despite himself, “I will try to look.” 

 After dinner, Svetlana insists on cleaning up. Ilya thanks her and leads Anastasia upstairs to her room. Bedtime is slower than usual because Anastasia drags it out in small ways. She takes extra time brushing her teeth, insisting on a different pajama shirt, asking her to fix her blanket even though it's already fine. 

By the time he gets her tucked in bed, he’s yawning himself. He sits on the edge of her bed, running a hand through her hair. 

“I’m excited,” She says, closing her eyes. 

“Really?” He mumbles. “I’ll play good hockey for you.” 

Her smile falters slightly, “I wish Mama and Papa were here. To see it.” 

Ilya freezes for a moment unsure of what he could possibly say to make the pain go away. He knows better than anyone what it feels like to miss a parent. 

“Me too,” He whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep, you have English lessons tomorrow.” 

“Okay,” She mumbles, turning to her side. 

Ilya stays longer than he needs to, just watching her sleep, memorizing the way her face softens when she’s finally resting. When he leaves the room, he finds his bedroom door open with the lights on. 

He walks down the hall and into his room. Svetlana is sitting on his bed, smoking a cigarette while watching TV. 

She glances up when he comes in, “She asleep?” She asks. 

“Yeah.”

He closes the door behind him and flops down on the bed beside her, staring at the ceiling. 

Svetlana takes a drag and watches him, “How are you doing?” She asks. “And don’t lie.” 

“I don’t even know how to answer that.” 

“Try.” 

He closes his eyes, “I’m tired,” He says. “More tired than I’ve ever been.”

She hums. 

“And I don’t really feel like myself anymore,” He admits. “I wake up and… already behind.” 

He swallows the lump in his throat. He doesn’t say Shane’s name, he knows he can’t say his name. He can’t begin to describe the hole that’s been left in his chest.

“I just want to do something right for once,” He continues. “I want to do right by her.” 

Svetlana flicks ash into a tray, “You are doing good. Better than Alexei ever did anyway.”

Ilya snorts quietly, “Still, he was her dad.” 

Svetlana sighs, “I know. And he loved her so much, despite all his flaws. In his own way, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Ilya mumbles. “And I never knew Anna well enough to judge either. But she misses them and… it makes sense. Kids miss their parents, even if they weren’t perfect.” 

Svetlana sighs, putting the cigarette out, “I know.” 

“I still miss my parents,” Ilya admits, voice barely above a whisper. “And my father was an actual dickhead.” 

“He’s not dead, Ilya.” 

“Might as well be,” Ilya mumbles, turning to his side, facing away from Svetlana. “Polina said the doctors said it’s late stages now. Doesn't have much time left now.” 

“Polina is a bitch for charging you,” Svetlana says. 

“He wasn’t exactly good to her either,” He exhales. “I don’t blame her.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence. After a while, Svetlana leans over and rests her head on his arm. 

Ilya’s doing warmups on the ice when he sees them. 

Svetlana is standing near the glass, holding Anastasia on her hip. She’s bundled up, her tiny Rozanov jersey proudly on display, the sleeves a little too long. Her dark hair pulled back into perfectly braided pigtails. 

When Anastasia sees him, her eyes light up and she waves. She presses her hands to the glass and leans forward so hard that Svetlana has to tighten her grip. 

Ilya grins and skates over before tapping the glass with his knuckles, watching her giggle like he’s the funniest person in the world. 

She points at herself and tugs at her jersey, “Look!” She yells. 

He nods dramatically and turns around to show her his jersey number before turning back around, “Eight-one!” He yells back. 

Svetlana shifts Anastasia slightly higher and mumbles something in her ear. Anastasia nods before turning back to Ilya. She dramatically blows him a kiss through the glass. 

Ilya reaches out, catching the imaginary kiss in the glove and presses his hand over his heart. Anastasia smiles before hiding her face against Svetlana’s shoulder. 

He winks at Svetlana who rolls her eyes and motions that they’ll be in the family suite. He nods and waves before pushing backward and skating back towards his team. 

“Well, well,” Cliff drawls out, looking up at Ilya as he stretches. “Didn’t know you were playing house with that Russian chick of your’s.” 

“She is not my Russian chick,” Ilya replies, giving him a look. “She has a name, Svetlana. And you already knew that.” 

“Come on, man, you two are cute,” Cliff says. “And she obviously likes your niece. Maybe it’s time to settle down.” 

“We are just friends. Childhood friends. Nothing more for both of us.” 

Cliff shrugs, “Listen, if things with that Montreal girl aren’t going to work, I think you should really take Svetlana into consideration. She’s smart, hot, and doesn’t take your shit. What more do you want?” 

Ilya’s smile drops so fast it feels almost comical. 

Cliff, oblivious, keeps going, “I mean, it’s not like that whole thing is going anywhere, right? You haven’t been texting her so thought it might’ve fizzled.” 

Ilya looks at him, “Fuck off,” He snaps. 

“Whoa–” 

“Just fuck off, Marlow,” Ilya repeats, louder this time. 

He skates off without another toward, toward the opposite end of the rink. His breathing is uneven and he feels too hot under his jersey. 

It’s so fucking stupid that just hearing about his “Montreal girl” can do this to him. He closes his eyes for a moment and tells himself to breathe and focus. It doesn’t work. All he thinks about is Shane. 

Shane. Shane. Shane. 

Stupid fucking Shane Hollander. 

He sees him when he’s not supposed to. When he’s just cooking or in the shower. He sees stupid Shane Hollander in his kitchen, in his shower, smiling softly. 

They weren’t anything, he knows that. 

But fuck, he misses him. 

He misses him in a way where there’s a constant ache. It doesn’t matter how many people he kisses or sleeps with, Shane never leaves his mind. 

He wonders if Shane misses him too. He knows the thought is a dangerous one. Because Shane has a stable life. Shane has two loving parents, a team that’s won back-to-back Stanley Cups, and a relationship with a woman. 

Shane has moved forward and Ilya needs to do the same. 

He straightens his shoulders and rolls them back, feeling the cool metal of his cross on his neck. He takes a deep breath in and out. 

This game isn’t about Montreal, or Shane, or even his fucking team. Today this game is about Anastasia and he’s going to win for her. 

The Boston Raiders win the game 4-2 and Svetlana insists they have to celebrate with an expensive dinner. That’s how Ilya ends up in a dimly light, far too expensive, Japanese restaurant with Svetlana sitting across from him and Anastasia next to him. 

“We won,” Anastasia says once they’re seated. “Right? Uncle won.” 

Svetlana smiles at her, “Yes, your uncle won.” 

“It’s because he’s so fast,” Anastasia says, nodding to herself. She turns to Ilya, “You go so fast, Uncle.” 

Ilya snorts softly, patting her hand, “I don’t go that fast. “

“Yes you do,” She argues back immediately. “Nobody could catch up to you.” 

“That’s just because they’re bad,” Ilya deadpans. 

Svetlana raises an eyebrow, “Great sportsmanship.” 

“You can’t say that, uncle,” Anastasia gasps. 

Ilya looks at her, “Why not? I thought I was the best?”

“Because,” She says, struggling to find the words. “Because you have to be… be… nice.” 

He laughs quietly, reaching over to straighten the hem of her jersey, “You’re right. I’ll try to be nice.” 

When the food arrives, Anastasia immediately quiets down and turns all her attention to her food. 

Halfway through dinner, when the initial excitement of it all shimmers down, Anastasia begins to slow down as well. She leans closer to him without even realizing she’s doing it, her shoulder pressing into his side. 

“You tired?” He asks quietly. 

She shakes her head, even as she yawns, “Nope.” 

“Mhm.”

A few minutes later, she’s fully curled into his side, her head resting in his lap. Her breathing evens out and she’s out cold. Ilya grabs his jacket and puts it over her, a makeshift blanket for the time being before turning his attention back to Svetlana. 

“How long are you in Boston?” He asks, picking at his rice with the chopstick. 

“Got a couple of deals I have to seal before I head to New York,” Svetlana answers. “When are you back on the road?” 

“Thursday,” Ilya replies. He rubs his eyes with his free hand, “It’s for a week and half. Longest I’ll be away from Natsya since she got here.” 

“Vera is amazing, I’m sure she’ll be fine.” 

Ilya nods once, “No, yeah. I mean, Vera is amazing and so good with her but I just don’t want Natsya to think I just up and leave. Last time she had nightmares about me not coming back.” 

Svetlana winces, “That makes sense, especially with everything she’s gone through. But…” She trails off, trying to find the right words. “I really do think she’s so smart for her age. I don’t think she’s going to think you’re abandoning her or anything like that.” 

“You think?” Ilya asks. 

“Yeah, she’s so smart. She already knows that you play hockey and you have to travel for it but that you come back,” Svetlana assures. “Also once she starts school and she has a routine, I think she’ll really settle into the Boston of it all.” 

“Yeah,” Ilya hums. He sets his chopsticks down, “I mean, she’s been going to playdates with some of the other player’s kids so maybe that’s why she doesn’t feel like the odd one out?” 

“Yeah, probably.” 

Ilya sighs, “I can’t believe I have to go to a meeting to enroll a five-year-old into school.” 

Svetlana laughs, “Well, that’s how these fancy private schools work.” She reaches across the table and pats Ilya’s hand, “Don’t worry, you got this. You’re doing everything okay so far, I promise.” 

Svetlana watches him for a moment longer, eyes flicking between Ilya and Anastasia. Then she smiles to herself and reaches for her phone, “Okay, you two are being ridiculous.” 

Ilya glances up, “What?” 

“You,” She says, gesturing with her phone. “And Natsya look too cute right now. I need a picture.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head. 

Svetlana unlocks her phone and positions it, “Hold still.” 

“I look terrible,” He mumbles. “I just played a game and I’m sweating through my–” 

“Ilya,” She interrupts. “She’s asleep on you, you’re not allowed to argue.” 

Anastasia stirs slightly at the sound of their voices, nose wrinkling before she settles down again, her cheek pressing into his stomach. 

Ilya exhales through his nose, defeated, “Fine.” 

She doesn’t tell him to pose or to smile, she just captures it as it is. Ilya leaned back in his chair, shoulder relaxed for once with one hand resting protectively over Anastasia. 

Svetlana looks at the photo and hums, “This one is getting framed.” 

“Send it to me,” Ilya says with a soft smile. 

They finish dinner in relative silence after that. Ilya eats what he can one-handed, distracted, glancing down every few minutes to make sure Anastasia is still comfortable.

When it’s time to leave, he grabs his jacket first and puts it on the best he can, trying not to move Anastasia much. Then he gathers her up in his arms, her head lolling against his neck. 

As they walk to the car, Ilya tucks Anastasia closer to him, trying to protect her from the December cold. Svetlana is walking beside him, adjusting her scarf. 

Halfway to the car, Svetlana speaks, “I’m really happy for you,” She says softly. 

Ilya exhales. 

“I know things haven’t been… great but you’re doing so well, Ilya. Truly.” 

With his free hand, he pulls Svetlana into a one-armed hug, “Thank you, Svet. Seriously, I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

Svetlana laughs and playfully rolls her eyes, “Don’t be a drama queen.” 

Ilya snorts before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head, “I would be dead without you.” 

“Don’t say that,” Svetlana says, hitting his leg. 

Svetlana doesn’t understand how much Ilya really means it.

“Here comes the celebrity!” Mark yells from his stall as Ilya walks into the locker room. 

Ilya puts his bag down on his bench, “What are you talking about, dumbass?” 

Kabir grins, “Oh don’t play dumb, Rozy. No one was talking about our win last night, they were all talking about you and your mystery lady.” 

Ilya frowns, genuinely confused, “I have no fucking clue what you two idiots are talking about.” 

“Oh come on, don’t play dumb, Roz,” Cliff says, nudging him with his shoulder. “You’re all over the internet.” 

Ilya freezes for a moment, “I’m… what?” 

Kabir shoves his phone in Ilya’s face, “You seriously haven’t seen it yet?” 

“No,” Ilya says, grabbing the phone. “I do not get up and Google my name.” 

Ilya glances down at Kabir’s phone. On the screen is a headline in bold, obnoxious pink letters. 

BOSTON’S GOLDEN BOY? ILYA ROZANOV SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY WOMAN AND CHILD AFTER BIG WIN

Below the headline are photos. 

One of the photos is him walking toward the car, Anastasia dead asleep in his arms with Svetlana a few steps behind him. Another one is of him pulling Svetlana into his head, placing a soft kiss to the top of her hair. 

And then there’s a video of him from warmups, waving at Svetlana and Anastasia. 

“What the fuck?” He mumbles. 

“Oh, it gets better,” Kabir says, grabbing his phone and scrolling. “Listen to this part.”

Kabir clears his throat, “Sources speculate that Rozanov may have been keeping a child out of the public eye for years, possibly overseas, before quietly bringing his family stateside. Fans are already piecing together timelines—”

Mark laughs, “They’ve decided you knocked up Svetlana in Russia, hid the kid for five years, and then reappeared as a devoted family man.”

Ilya’s heart drops. He knew that Anastasia coming to the game would get some attention but he thought that people either wouldn’t care enough or they would connect the dots that this is his niece. 

“This is crazy,” Ilya  mumbles. 

“Welcome to the internet, man,” Cliff says, shaking his head. “You’re actually burying the whole Hollander and Rose Landry story.” 

“You’re literally more famous than Shane fucking Hollander and Rose Landry right now,” Kabir says, punching Ilya playfully in the shoulder. 

Ilya forces out a laugh, “People are fucking dumb. Svetlana is just a friend.” 

“Yeah, we know that. Not the whole world.” 

Ilya curses in Russian under his breath. 

During practice, he can’t focus because his mind won’t  shut up. Because somewhere in Montreal, Shane is scrolling and he can see this story. This is just going to reinforce Shane’s belief that Ilya never took them seriously. 

As he drives home, he tries to tell himself that it doesn’t matter what Shane thinks. Shane is probably busy with his pretty actress girlfriend. He tells himself a lot of things but none of them stick. 

When he gets home, the house is quiet. Anastasia is at a playdate and Vera won’t bring her back for another hour. He drops his keys on the kitchen counter and leans there for a moment.  

He then grabs his phone out of his pocket and opens Instagram. 

The photos and videos are everywhere with people commenting and speculating. 

He looks so happy :( 
Didn’t know he had a kid
The kid does not look like him or his chick
Why’d he hide the kid for so long, not like anyone really cares that much

He closes the app and puts his phone down on the counter, “Fuck,” He mumbles. 

He can’t stop thinking about Shane seeing this and believing that Ilya had a whole life he never mentioned. He knows that it’ll just validate Shane for feeling like whatever they meant nothing. 

Ilya rubs his face, fixes his cross, and grabs his phone again. He opens Instagram again and clicks the post photo. He picks out the photo Svetlana had taken of him and Anastasia at dinner. 

Without thinking, he begins typing. 

The last few months have been the hardest of my life. I lost my older brother, Alexei, and his wife, Anna, in a sudden accident. They left behind their daughter, my niece Anastasia. 

After my brother and sister-in-law’s passing, I became her guardian. Nothing could have prepared me for this change, but I am grateful everyday that I get to show up for her. 

Anastasia is brave, curious, and strong. She is slowly learning what it means to call Boston home. She is my family and my whole world. 

All I ask is for privacy and respect. Thank you for your kind comments and messages. 

When he posts it, he exhales. The post isn’t for the world. He doesn’t care what the world thinks. They could twist the photos in ten different angles for all he cares. 

He just wants the truth to get to Shane. 

No matter how pathetic that feels right now. 

Chapter End Notes

let me what u guys thought of the chapter in the comments!! i love to read all of the comments and reactions to the chapter :P

thank u sm for reading!!

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

tw: implied/referenced self-harm

Ilya stands in front of his bedroom mirror, fixing the collar of his button-down shirt for the third time. He exhales through his nose before fixing his cuff. 

“You look fine,” He mumbles to his reflection. 

He immediately frowns, fine isn’t good enough. Fine feels lazy and something you say when you’re lying. 

From down the hall, he hears Vera’s voice followed by Anastasia’s giggle. 

“Ilya,” Vera calls out. “Can you come here for a moment?”

Ilya grabs his overcoat and makes his way down the hall. 

When he steps into Anastasia’s room, Vera is crouched in front of her, smoothing down the skirt of a baby pink dress. Anastasia is sitting on the edge of her bed, feet swinging and her hair tied back with a ribbon. 

“Do I look pretty?” Anastasia asks, smiling up at him. 

He nods, swallowing, “You always look pretty, bunny.” 

She grins fully at the answers and nods once before hopping off the bed. Vera stands up as well, glancing between the two of them. 

“You clean up well, Ilya," Vera says, offering the younger man a warm smile. “You will do great today.” 

“Thank you,” Ilya replies, returning the smile. He clears his throat, “Shall we get going, Natsya? We would hate to be late, wouldn’t we?” 

Anastasia nods and grabs his hand, “Is it a big school?” 

“Very big with lots of kids,” He answers. 

“Do they have crayons?” 

He snorts, “I’m sure they have crayons.” 

That seems to settle her nerves but it does absolutely nothing for his.

The school is exactly what he expected to be and somehow still worse. The building is old but pristine, the kind of place that just screams “old money.” 

He squeezes Anastasia’s hand a little tighter as they walk in. 

Inside, they’re greeted by a woman with a smile that gives Ilya goosebumps. 

“Mr. Rozanov,” She greets, extending her hand. “Welcome in, I’m Principal Whitmore.” 

Ilya shakes her hand and offers her a polite smile, “Hello.” He glances over at the man standing next to her and shakes his hand, “Hello, I’m Ilya.” 

“Dean Caldwell,” The older man replies. He glances at Anastasia and offers her a soft smile, “And you must be Anastasia.” 

Anastasia hides behind Ilya’s leg, peeking out at them with wide eyes. 

“That is her,” Ilya says, offering a polite nod. “Thank you for meeting with us.” 

“Of course,” Principal Whitmore replies. “We’re so pleased you could come in today. If you’d like, we can start with a tour.” 

Ilya nods again, “Sure.” 

“Great,” Principal Whitmore says, gesturing towards the hallway. “If you’ll follow us.” 

They move deeper into the building, Anastasia sticking closer to Ilya’s side, her fingers wrapped around his thumb. 

“This is one of our kindergarten rooms,” Principal Whitmore explains, opening the door to the classroom. She steps inside, “We cap our classes at sixteen students to ensure individual attention.”

Ilya takes a glance around the room and hums, “Oh, okay. That’s nice.” 

“As you can see, we like to keep our classrooms extremely lively to create a welcoming environment for our students,” Dean Caldwell explains. 

They continue down the hall, making their way to the library.

“This is our library,” Principal Whitmore says as they step into a sunlit room filled with shelves and shelves of books. “We strongly encourage our students to engage in independent reading and borrow from the library.” 

“Uncle,” Anastasia whispers, tugging at Ilya’s hand.

“Yeah?” Ilya hums, looking down at her. 

“I don’t know how to read,” She mumbles. 

Dean Caldwell chuckles, “That’s what school is for, sweetheart. Soon, you’ll be able to read whatever you want from the library.” 

Anastasia glances at the older man and moves closer to Ilya’s legs.

Ilya chuckles awkwardly at the reaction, “She is just shy because English is new and all.” 

“That’s completely alright,” Principal Whitmore says gently. “We actually have an excellent ESL program here.” 

“Yes,” Ilya says, nodding once. “She has been taking English lessons so she speaks it with friends and other kids. She, uh, understands everything but she is shy about it.” 

Dean Caldwell nods, “That’s very normal, especially at her age. Five is still so young.” 

“And children learn languages incredibly fast,” Principal Whitmore adds. “Honestly, it’s one of the best ages to be immersed. She’ll catch up before you know it.” 

Ilya hums, “That is good.” 

They don’t linger longer in the library after that, instead moving down another hallway. Principal Whitmore gestures toward a wide window that looks out onto the back grounds. 

“And this is our playground,” The older woman says. “We have separate areas for different age groups.” 

Ilya steps closer to the glass and glances outside. There’s a wide open space that is covered in snow with colorful play structures peeking out. 

Anastasia presses her hand to the glass, “Can you play tag?” She asks Ilya in Russian. 

Ilya hums, “Maybe.” 

They move on further with the door, Dean Caldwell taking out as they walk past yet another set of doors, “We also place a strong emphasis on extracurricular involvement.” 

Ilya hums, nodding along, trying to keep up.

“These are our outdoor athletic facilities,” Dean Caldwell continues, leading them outside briefly. “We have tennis courts, a youth soccer field, and inside we have a ballet and movement studio.” 

They step back indoors and enter a mirrored room with polished black floors and barres. 

“This is nice,” Ilya says, smiling politely. He glances down at Anastasia, “You might like ballet, bunny.” 

Anastasia just shrugs and holds onto his hand tighter. 

Eventually, the tour ends and they’re brought into Principal Whitmore’s office. Anastasia is given paper and crayons, sitting down on the small table set up in the corner. 

Ilya sits across from the principal and dean, hands folded in his lap, “I just want to say, I really like the school. I have completed application process and send everything that was needed. I was told meeting is last step, yes?”

Principal Whitmore smiles, “Yeah, that’s correct. This meeting is largely a formality.” 

He almost laughs at that. Formality? For kindergarten?

“We do this with every incoming student, it’s usually done in groups during the beginning of the year but since Anastasia is a special exception, it came out to be one on one,” She explains. She looks down at her iPad before clearing his throat, “And we were extremely impressed with your application.” 

Ilya internally rolls his eyes. This is kindergarten at a private school he is paying for, not Harvard. 

“Especially the recommendation letter written by Mr. and Mrs. Kabir Randhawa,” Dean Caldwell says, offering Ilya a soft smile. 

“It was very thoughtful,” Principal Whitmore says. “We know Anastasia has been through a lot for a little girl but it’s obvious that you’re an incredibly dedicated and involved father-figure in Anastasia’s life.” 

His fingers curl slightly, grabbing the fabric of his pants. For half a second, he’s sure that his face must have given away how startled he feels, how wrong the words sound. 

“I–” He clears his throat. “I’m just her uncle.” 

“Yes,” Principal Whitmore says. “But guardianship is a tremendous responsibility. And from everything we’ve seen and read, you’re doing a wonderful job.” 

Ilya forces himself to breathe, “Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

Principal Whitmore hums, “Of course, we like to make sure our families feel supported.”

Ilya simply nods. 

Dean Caldwell flips to the next page on his clipboard, “Now, before we wrap up, there is one more thing we typically discuss with parents or guardians.” 

“Okay,” Ilya replies, nodding once. 

“We find that extracurricular activities are important for children,” Dean Caldwell says. “Especially for students who are new, having an activity outside the classroom can be incredibly beneficial. It helps them socialize, build confidence and establish a routine.” 

“That makes sense,” Ilya replies. 

“Is Anastasia currently enrolled in anything?” The older man asks.

Ilya shakes his head, “No, not yet.” 

“That’s completely fine,” Principal Whitmore jumps in, sensing the subtle tension in Ilya’s tone. “Many children don’t start extracurriculars until later in the year.” 

“But,” Dean Caldwell adds gently. “It’s something important to consider.” 

“I, uh, yeah. Sure. I will… look into it,” Ilya says. 

Dean Caldwell smiles, “That’s all we suggest. There’s no rush, but before the term begins would be ideal.” 

Ilya nods again, okay, so now he needs to get extracurriculars sorted out before January 11th. Another fucking dealine. 

“Of course,” Ilya says. “I will figure it out.” 

And he means it. Because the truth is, he feels like he’s always figuring it out, always catching up, always reacting. It feels like he's ten steps behind, always. 

“Well, everything else looks great,” Principal Whitmore says. “The enrollment packet is complete, and we’ll send over the final forms and the parent portal login.” 

“Thank you so much,” Ilya says, shaking hands and offering polite smiles. “I am sure Natsya will like it very much here.” 

Anastasia stands up as well, grabbing her drawing and Ilya’s hand. 

“Say thank you to the nice people, Natsya,” Ilya mumbles in Russian. 

“Thank you,” Anastasia whispers in English. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Principal Whitmore replies. 

Ilya offers them final goodbyes and smiles before heading out. As they walk to his parked car, Ilya lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“Are you hungry?” Ilya asks, buckling Anastasia into her car seat. He glances at his watch, “It’s time for lunch.” 

“Hm, can I get fries?” Anastasia asks with a hopeful grin. 

Ilya rolls his eyes, “We’ll have to see.” 

He drives to a nearby small, local restaurant. He orders for both of them: chicken tenders with fries for her and a club sandwich he knew he wouldn’t eat for himself. 

Anastasia begins talking, telling him about what she thought of the school, about the snowman outside the school that looked funny to her because it didn’t have a face. Ilya nods along, even though he only processes about half of what she’s saying. His thoughts are in a completely different place. 

“Uncle?” Anastasia whines, leaning forward in seat. 

“Hmm?” He mumbles, chewing on his bottom lip. 

Anastasia frowns, “Are you listening?” 

Ilya immediately nods, “Of course I’m listening,” He replies. He nudges her plate towards her, “Come on, focus on your food.” 

“Okay,” Anastasia says, drawing out the word. 

That gets Anastasia to be quiet for a few minutes as he makes a mental checklist of all of the things he has to do once he gets home. He has to order the uniform, add Vera to the authorized pick-up list, he has to figure out what extracurricular to put Anastasia in. 

“Will you come get me everyday?” 

Ilya’s eyes snap up, “What?” 

“From school?” Anastasia says, swinging her legs under the table. 

“As much as I can,” He says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’ll try, I promise.” 

She hums before nodding, “okay.” 

Eventually, her voice fades again and she focuses on her fries. Ilya stares out the window, trying to keep himself calm. He feels exhausted in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with hockey. 

Every choice feels like it matters too much. Every mistake feels catastrophic before it even happens. And he’s ten steps behind. Always.

//

They’re sitting on the couch, Anastasia surrounded by her toys while Ilya watches a hockey game. She’s building something that looks like a house, narrating the entire thing under her breath. 

“Arjun’s house has lights,” She says suddenly, not looking up. 

Ilya hums.

“And a tree,” She adds. “A really big one.”

He glances over at her, “Yeah?”

“And he said that Santa visits their house and brings presents,” Anastasia continues, stacking a block carefully. 

Ilya leans back against the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. He hasn’t really thought about Christmas even though it’s only a couple weeks away. It’s not really a big deal back home, New Year’s had always been the big thing. 

“Why don’t we have a tree?” Anastasia asks, finally glancing up at him. “Did Santa forget us?” 

“No,” Ilya says, sitting up straighter. “No, of course not. Santa definitely did not forget us.” 

She nods, relieved at the answer, “Then can we get one?” 

“Okay,” Ilya nods before he can overthink it. “Yeah, we can get one.” 

Her face lights up, “Really?” 

“Really?” 

“When?” 

“Uh,” He glances at the clock. “I think we have time to get it today and still be back home by dinner.” 

She gasps like he’s just told her they’re going to Disney World, “Now now?”

“Yes, now now.” 

She’s off the couch instantly, sprinting down the hallway, “I NEED MY COAT!” 

Ilya smiles to himself, shaking his head before pushing himself up to follow her. 

The tree lot is surprisingly quiet tonight. 

Ilya’s standing there, watching Anastasia dart between rows of trees like she’s been released into some kind of green maze. She touches branches, peers behind trunks, and circles trees twice like she’s evaluating them. 

“This one,” She says, pointing at a tree that is objectively crooked. 

“That one?” Ilya asks, walking over. He purses his lips together, inspecting it, “It’s a little… leaning.” 

“It is just sleep, Uncle,” Anastasia says, pouting. “Like you.” 

He snorts before nodding, “Okay, if you say so.” 

A man in a green vest and thick jacket approaches them, “Hi, are you guys looking for anything specific?” 

“Um, not me but I guess my niece is,” Ilya says, gesturing to Anastasia. “She’s the boss so whatever she picks is good with me.” 

“Alright, I can help with that,” The man says, offering them a warm smile.

They end up going with a medium-sized tree that’s fuller on one side than the other and smells strongly of pine. Anastasia insists on helping carry it, which means mostly holding onto a branch while Ilya does all the actual work.

“You’re doing great,” He tells her.

She nods confidently, “I know.” 

They stop by a store afterward for decorations. Ilya lets Anastasia pick almost everything, which means they walk out with an alarming amount of glittery ornaments, several that don’t match at all, and a pink star. 

Back home, Ilya wrestles the tree into the living room before setting into the stand. Anastasia narrates everything he’s doing in English to practice it. 

“Uncle is moving it. Very strong. Wow.” 

“Thank you,” He says solemnly. 

Decorating turns out to be exactly what he should’ve expected. Anastasia ends up the ornaments wherever she can reach and Ilya quietly rearranging them a little higher when she’s not looking. 

“Uncle,” She says, hands on her hips. “Why did the snowman move?”

“Magic,” He replies.

She narrows her eyes, “Hmm.” 

The lights take the longest. Anastasia insists on handing them one by one, which means they get tangled anyway. At some point, she decides that supervision is more important and sits on the floor, watching him. 

“You look funny,” She says. 

“Why?”

“You are so serious.” 

“This is serious business.” 

She giggles and Ilya bites back a smile. When the tree is finally done, they step back together to look at it. 

“It’s perfect,” Anastasia declares. 

Ilya exhales, “Yeah, it is,” he mumbles, patting her head. 

“Do you think princesses are real?” Anastasia asks as Ilya tucks her into bed. 

He brings the blanket up to her chin and nods, “I think so.” 

“Really?” Anastasia asks, eyes widening. 

“Of course,” He says, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. 

“Can I visit them one day?” 

“Maybe,” He says, nodding once. “Yeah, maybe one day.” 

She smiles, satisfied with that answer. Ilya sits down on the edge of the bed and slowly runs a hand through her hair. 

“Did you enjoy dinner?” He asks, referring to the box mac and cheese they had earlier. “It was… lazy dinner.” 

“I loved it,” Anastasia says. “It was fun. Tree was also fun. Was my favorite part of today.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes,” She nods. “Because we did it together. And I like it when you’re home.” 

He hums, hand freezing in her hair. 

“I miss you when you’re not home,” She adds quietly. 

He swallows the lump in his throat and forces his voice to stay steady, “I know. I miss you too.” 

She yawns, “You always come back.” 

“Always,” Ily promises. He takes a deep breath, “Okay, sleep now.” 

She nods, already half asleep. Ilya stays where her, watching her grip on the stuffed bunny loosen. 

//

Ilya’s driving to pick up Anastasia from a playdate with Arjun at Kabir and Priya’s house when he gets a call. 

He glances down at his phone. It’s his father. 

For half a second, he considers not answering and letting it ring out. He’s sure his father is another one of those episodes and he just doesn’t want to deal with it.

But it just keeps ringing and ringing. 

Ilya exhales and pulls over on the shoulder of the highway. He takes a deep breath before answering the phone, “Hello, Papa?”

“Where are you?” His father says, skipping greetings. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” 

Ilya throws his head back against the seat, “I am coming, Papa,” He answers, unsure of what else to say. 

“Coming from where? Practice started thirty minutes ago!” His father replies, words harsh. “Do you think your coach will wait for lazy boys?” 

“I am sorry,” Ilya says, closing his eyes. “The bus… it was late.” 

“Excuses,” His father says. “You think your coach cares about the bus?” 

“No,” Ilya says. “No, Papa.” 

“You will miss practice again,” His father continues. “Lazy. Always lazy.” 

“Sorry, I’ll do better.” 

His father laughs bitterly, “You always say that.” He drops his voice into a whisper, “You are just like your mother.”

Ilya’s heart drops and he swallows the lump in his throat.

“You’ll never be better,” His father continues. “She was weak and so are you.” 

Ilya presses his forehead to the steering wheel, exhaling, “I know.” 

“I don’t want you to say you're sorry,” His father says. “I want you to be better.” 

“I will, Papa. I promise. I’ll be better.” 

“You will be the best,” His father insists. “Or you will be nothing.” 

“Yes, Papa.” 

“And if I catch you trying to act like your mother again, if I see any of that nonsense–” 

Ilya’s heart races. 

“You will be sent away,” His father says. “You will be sent to military school and there will be no more hockey, do you understand me?” 

For a long moment, Ilya really does feel like he’s thirteen again. He feels like he’s standing in the bathroom of his childhood home, staring at his wrist as it bled. When his father found him, he backhanded him so hard Ilya fell.

“This was an accident, okay?” His father said, gripping Ilya’s chin. “Do you understand?” 

Ilya nods, staring at his bandaged wrist, “Okay, Papa.”

“Do not disappoint me again.” 

Ilya shook his head, “I promise, Papa.”

“I understand,” Ilya breathes out. “It will not happen again.” 

“Good, now get back home.” 

The line goes dead before Ilya can say anything else. His breathing is shallow and fast, and his chest aches. He drops the phone onto the passenger seat and brings both hands up to his hair, tugging at it slightly.

He’s not thirteen. He’s not in Russia. 

Fuck.

He’s in Boston and he’s adult and he’s–

His heart is racing and his palms are sweaty. Ilya straightens in his seat, fixes his hair and takes a deep breath. He pushes his jacket sleeve down, fingers brushing against the faint scar. 

He’s fine. He’s okay. 

He’s not thirteen, he’s not missing practice, and he’s on his way to pick up his niece from a playdate. 

 He’s fucking fine. 

By the time Ilya pulls into Kabir and Priya’s driveway, the shaking in his hands has mostly subsided. He sits in the car for a moment too long before rolling his shoulder back, and takes a deep breath. 

Get it together. 

He parks the car and steps out into the cold. He walks up the stairs and rings the doorbell. 

“Ilya!” Priya greets as she opens the door. “You’re right on time.” 

“Hi,” He replies, forcing a smile that he hopes looks convincing. “Sorry if I am early.” 

“You’re fine,” She laughs, stepping aside to let him in. “They’re having the time of their lives in there.” 

Ilya steps inside the house, the smell of cookies hitting him immediately. In the living room, there are toys everywhere, blocks scattered across the floor. 

Anastasia is sitting cross-legged next to Arjun, hair slightly messy and cheeks flushed. She’s holding her bunny in one hand and a blue block in the other. 

“Hey, Natsya,” Ilya greets in Russian. 

She looks up at him before looking back down at the blocks, “Hi,” She mumbles, distracted.

Arjun smiles up at Ilya, “We’re building a zoo!’ 

“That’s very cool,” Ilya says. He crouches slightly, “We have to go now, okay?” 

Anastasia doesn’t respond, pressing the blue block into place. 

Priya watches the interaction with a soft smile, “She’s been great, really,” she says. “I think she would stay all night if we let her. Arjun and her just love each other’s company.” 

Kabir appears from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his sweatpants, “Hey, man.” 

“Hey,” Ilya says, standing up straight. “Thanks again for having her.” 

“Anytime,” Kabir replies. “You want some coffee before you go?” 

Before Ilya can answer, Priya waves a hand, "Honestly, if she doesn’t want to leave right now, that’s totally fine. You can hang out with Kabir for a bit. The kids are having fun, I’d hate to break up the party right now.” 

Ilya sighs, “Are you sure? I do not want to bother you–” 

“It’s seriously fine, Ilya,” Priya says, patting his arm. “No rush.” 

Ilya glances down at Anastasia again. She’s leaning closer to Arjun now, shoulders touching as they stack their blocks. 

“Okay,” He says finally. “Just for a bit.” 

Kabir claps him on the shoulder, “Come on, let’s go out to the back,” he says, grabbing his jacket. 

The two of them step out to the back porch, the door shutting behind them. Kabir pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and offers one to Ilya. 

“Thank,” Ilya says, accepting it. 

Kabir lights both of them and takes a drag, “How are you holding up?” He asks, exhaling the smoke. 

Ilya takes a drag and shrugs. 

“You don’t have to be a mysterious Russian all the time, you know? You can talk about your feelings,” Kabir replies, shaking his head. 

“Russians do not have feelings,” Ilya mumbles, exhaling the smoke towards Kabir. 

 Kabir waves a hand in front of his face, “Asshole,” He mumbles, playfully rolling his eyes. 

For a while, they smoke in silence, just staring out at the snowy yard. Then Ilya stubs his cigarette out and glances at Kabir. 

“I wanted to say thank you,” Ilya says. “For recommendation letter. Principal said it was very good.” 

Kabir waves him off and takes one last drag of his cigarette, “It was nothing, man. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Still,” Ilya mumbles. He swallows, “Was very nice of you.” 

“It was easy to write because it was just the truth,” Kabir replies. “Seriously, if I was you I would be losing my shit right now. But you’ve got it all under control.” 

Ilya simply nods, unsure of what to say. He waits a few more minutes before checking his watch, “I should get her.” 

Kabir nods and stubs his cigarette, “Sure,” He says, opening the door. 

Ilya makes his way back to the living room where Anastasia is now laughing at something Arjun said. Ilya watches her for a moment before clearing his throat. 

“Natsya,” He says, tone gentle. “We have to go.” 

Anastasia doesn’t look up. Instead, she grabs a dinosaur and puts it up to Arjun’s face, “Where should we put him?” 

Arjun begins thinking, scrunching his nose. 

“Natsya,” He repeats, this time in Russian. “We really have to leave now.” 

She doesn’t even look at him. 

Priya awkwardly shifts behind him, “She’s been so good all afternoon, I think she’s just in the middle of something.” 

Ilya waves Priya off before crouching down so he’s at her eye level, “Natsya,” He says quietly, still in Russian.  “You can come back and play with Arjun another day. But playtime is over now. We need to go home.”

She finally looks at him, “No,” She says, in English. 

Ilya blinks, “What?” 

“No,” she repeats, then turns back to the blocks.

For a second, he thinks he misheard her. 

“Anastasia,” He says, tone firm. “I am not joking. We are leaving.”

She ignores him completely, leaning closer to Arjun as if Ilya isn’t there at all.

Something inside him snaps and he reaches out and takes the dinosaur from her hand and sets it down, “That is enough. You are being extremely rude right now.” 

Anastasia stares at him, lower lip trembling but chin up in defiance. 

Kabir and Priya, who can’t understand the words but know the tone all too well, take a step forward. 

“Hey it’s okay,” Kabir says, waving Ilya off. “If she wants to stay–” 

Ilya lifts his hand, still looking at Anastasia, “No,” he says, in English. “We are leaving.”

Anastasia’s eyes fill with tears, “No!” She screams. “I don’t want to go with you!” 

The words him harder than he expects and before he can stop himself, he scoops her up, one arm under her legs and the other around her back. She trashes immediately, small fists pounding against his chest. 

“Put me down!” She screams. “I don’t want to go! I don’t want you!” 

“Why?” He snaps. “Why are you acting like this?” 

“You leave!” She screams, sobbing now. “Arjun said his Papa is leaving. You leave too!” 

Ilya’s heart drops. 

“Stop leaving!” She cries, burying her face into his shoulder. “I don’t want you to leave!” 

Ilya holds her closer even as she fights him, “Natsya, we will talk at home, okay?” 

She doesn’t hear him. She’s crying fully now, the sobs shaking her small body. 

“I’m so sorry,” Ilya says quickly to Kabir and Priya, unable to look at them. “This is–”

“It’s completely fine,” Priya says immediately, tone gentle. “Truly. Kids have big feelings.” 

Kabir nods, “Don’t even worry about it.” 

Ilya nods once before grabbing Anastasia’s coat and carrying her out to the car. Her sobs are muffled against his jacket and her hands are holding onto his jacket like she’s scared he’ll disappear if she lets go. 

The drive home is quiet. 

Anastasia cries herself out in the backseat, the sobs tapering into sniffles and then into silence. Ilya keeps glancing at her in the rearview mirror at every red light.

When they get home, he parks the car in the driveway before opening the back door and gently unbuckling Anastasia. She doesn’t resist this time, letting him pick her up and carry her to the front door. 

Ilya unlocks the door and steps inside, taking his shoes off. He steps inside and sees Vera sitting at the dining table, reading. 

Vera looks up and offers him a soft smile, “Should I set up dinner?” 

Anastasia immediately lifts her head when she hears Vera’s voice, “Auntie!” She cries out, struggling again in Ilya’s arms.

Ilya sighs, putting Anastasia down and she immediately runs to Vera before hugging her, crying again. 

Vera immediately pulls her closer and stands up, rubbing circles on Anastasia’s back, “Shh, shh,” Vera says. “It’s okay, Natsya.”

Anastasia sobs into Vera’s shoulder, clutching onto her like her life depends on it. Ilya stands there, frozen, feeling useless.

Vera looks at him over Anastasia’s head, eyes softening, “I’ve got her,” She says gently. “Go, I’ll handle bedtime.” 

Ilya nods, “Thank you.” 

Vera gives him a nod, “Go,” She repeats. 

He nods once before up the stairs and to his room. He closes the bedroom door behind him and leans against the door. He takes a deep breath before sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor. 

He presses his forehead into his knees and finally lets himself cry. 

You leave.

Stop leaving.

His chest aches as he sees her face again, thrashing in his arms like he was something she needed to get away from.

He raised his voice and snapped at her. He took something from her hand and told her she was rude, that she was behaving badly. The worst part is that for a moment, it felt familiar and automatic like this was something wired into him long before Anastasia even existed. 

Just like his father. 

He hurt her like his father hurt him. 

He made himself big and loud and immovable, and made her feel small.

He wraps his arms around his knees, tears spilling down his cheeks but he doesn’t bother wiping them. 

What if this is who he really is? What if this is what happens when things get hard? What if underneath all the restraining, guilt and overthinking, he’s just… him? 

His father’s son. 

Chapter End Notes

guys for the conversation that anastasia and ilya have in priya and kabir's house i italicized the russian dialogue b/c it's hard to keep up with it. usually it's just implied that ilya and anastasia (and the other russian characters) are speaking in russian so i don't italicize but i felt it was important to clearly show which dialogue was in russian and what wasn't for that party

anyways, let me know what u guys thought of the chapter in the comments! thank u so much for all of the love on the last chapter, it means so much to me and i love reading everyone's comments so much!!

also shane pov chapter coming up soon, super excited to write that 🙂‍↕️

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

Ilya wakes up the next morning on his stomach and a weight pressed against his back. He smiles softly when he feels Anastasia shift, folding her tiny arms across his shoulders. He doesn’t want to startle her so he stays still for a moment, basking in the moment of comfort. 

He opens his eyes and blinks, “You awake, bunny?” He mumbles, voice groggy. 

Anastasia presses her chin lightly against his shoulder, “Yes,” She whispers. 

He hums, heart beginning to beat faster as he remembers the night before. He takes a deep breath, staring at the pillow next to him. 

“I’m sorry,” Ilya says, voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you last night.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Anastasia says after a few moments. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Ilya replies, tone gentle. 

“Yeah, I do,” She insists. “I was being mean.” 

“You were not being mean,” He assures. “You were just upset, it is a different thing.” 

“I said I didn’t wanna go with you. That was mean.” 

“You were just scared. And I did not explain things to you, it’s my fault. I should have told you I was leaving before Arjun told you his papa was leaving.” 

Anastasia doesn’t reply, instead she moves so she’s mirroring his position. She flops onto her stomach beside him, her bunny tucked under arm. She coots closer until their faces are only a foot apart. 

“Auntie Vera talked to me,” She says, playing with her stuffed bunny’s ear, “She said you gotta go because of hockey. And it is your job so if you don’t go then you don’t get money and stuff.” 

Ilya chuckles softly, “She is not wrong.” 

“She said you don’t like going,” Anastasia continues. “But you have to. Like when I don’t like eating carrots but I gotta.” 

“That is a very good comparison,” He agrees, hiding a smile. He sighs, “I don’t want to leave you, bunny.” 

“But you still go?” 

“Yes. Because hockey is my job. If I did not play hockey we wouldn’t be able to live here and I could not buy you all the pretty dresses.” 

She looks down at her rupanzal nightgown, “I like my pretty dresses.”

“I know,” He says softly. Ilya reaches out and brushes a piece a hair away from her face, “I’m sorry I leave.” 

“I just get scared,” Anastasia admits with a one shoulder shrug. “Mama and Papa left and they didn’t come back. They said they would but they didn’t.” 

“I understand why you’re scared,” Ilya says, forcing himself to speak despite the lump forming in his throat. “What happened to mama and papa was not fair, and very confusing. I also lost my mama when I was little.” 

Anastasia's lower lip trembles and she brings her bunny closer to her chest. 

“But listen to me very carefully, okay?” He continues. “I will always come back. I might leave for games but I will always come back home to you.”

“You promise?” She whispers. 

“I promise,” Ilya assures. “And I never make promises I can’t keep.” 

Anastasia takes a deep breath asking, “What if the plane breaks?” 

“Then I take a different plane.” 

“What if the car breaks?” 

“Then I take a different one.” 

“What if hockey breaks?” She asks, clearly running out of catastrophic scenarios. 

He chuckles before answering, “Then I quit hockey.” 

Her eyes widen, “Really?” 

“If it means I could not come back to you?” He says. “Yes, really.” 

Anastasia stares at him for a moment before scooting closer, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, “I don’t like it when you leave,” She admits. 

“I know.” 

“But I like when you come back. With gifts.” 

He smiles, “I like coming back too.” 

Anastasia wraps her arms around his torso in a tight hug. He bites back a sigh and pulls her closer, tucking her against his chest. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” She mumbles. 

“I’m gonna miss you too.” 

“Will you call?” 

“Every day.” 

“Even if you’re tired?”

He nods, “Even if I’m tired.” 

She nods and then curls closer to him. Ilya closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. They’re going to be okay. 

//

The road trip feels worse than any others he’s been on in the entirety of his NHL career. He’s not sure if it’s because this time, it’s five days longer than the last one or because this time he knows just how much Anastasia hates him leaving. 

He knows there’s not much he can do to make that feeling go away, especially not for a five-year-old who has already lost too much. But every morning and every night, without fail, Ilya calls Anastasia. Anastasia is a chatterbox, which Ilya is thankful for because he doesn’t have much to say. 

“Uncle, we made a gingerbread house! Mine has a blue roof!”

“Look, I made a picture of a reindeer! Vera auntie hung it up on the fridge so you can see it when you come back!” 

“Arjun came over today! We played in the snow and he fell and he cried but I shared my chocolate with him and he was all better after.” 

“Uncle, you’re coming home for Christmas, right?”

One the 6th night of their roadtrip, the team ends up at a steakhouse to have a celebratory dinner. Ilya doesn’t talk much, just answers questions when he has to, picking at his food. 

On the walk back to the hotel, he shares a cigarette with Kabir. 

“How is Anastasia?” Kabir asks, exhaling smoke. 

“Good,” Ilya says without thinking. He takes the cigarette from Kabir and takes a drag, “I mean she is okay. Okay as she can be.” 

“That’s good,” Kabir mumbles to himself. He clears his throat before asking, “How are you doing? Like actually?” 

Ilya glances over at Kabir and gives the older man a pointed look, “Did I not tell you Russians do not talk about their feelings?” 

“Come on, man, drop this fucking act,” Kabir says, shaking his head. “You need to talk about your feelings, you look like you’re going through some serious shit.” 

Ilya scoffs and rolls his eyes, putting the cigarette out with his shoe, “I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine, don’t act like you’re fine. It helps no one, just makes things worse.” 

Ilya crosses his arm and glances down at his feet. He clears his throat before speaking, “I am… tired.” 

“That makes sense, you’ve been through so much.” 

“Yes,” Ilya nods once. “I am just… very tired. I think Nastya can feel it too. I think she worries I am going to leave her because I am tired.” 

“Man,” Kabir begins, expression softening. “You’re a brand-new parent. Of course you are going to feel tired. And plus, you are dealing with this parent shit while you’re grieving your brother and sister-in-law.”

Ilya laughs bitterly, “I have been so busy I have not even thought about my brother or his wife,” He admits. “I have just thought about Nastya and hockey. No time for anything else.” 

Kabir hums softly, “That makes sense, though. You just haven’t gotten a moment to catch up and breathe, that’s all.” 

“It does not make any sense,” Ilya replies, shaking his head. “Alexei was my brother, we grow up together. And I do not even think about him as my brother. I am thinking about him like he was just Nastya’s father. And maybe that is because if I stop and think about him, everything will fall apart.” 

“You know what happens if you keep running like that?” Kabir asks. “You’re going to burn out. And that’s the last thing Anastasia needs.” 

“I know,” Ilya whispers, closing his eyes for a moment. “I know.” 

Kabir sighs, “When Arjun was born, I was on the road constantly. I felt like I was fucking missing everything. Missed his first laugh, when he started crawling, missed the first time he tried solid foods. I was miserable and I felt like I was failing as a dad. Like Priya was doing everything and I was just showing up for the highlight reel.” 

“That sucks,” Ilya mumbles. 

“Yeah, I know. But you know what Priya told me? She said Arjun isn’t going to measure love by how many hours I’m physically in the house. He’s going to measure it by what I do when I am there.” 

“I know,” Ilya says. “WAGs give me this talk already.” 

“Seems like you didn’t listen,” Kabir replies, raising an eyebrow. He stops in his tracks and grabs Ilya’s arm, forcing the younger man to face him. “Listen, Rozy, you gotta give yourself credit for showing up. Don’t let this guilt eat you alive.” 

Ilya lowers his gaze, avoiding Kabir’s eyes. 

“Kids pick up on that guilt, okay? They don’t need perfect parents, they need present ones,” Kabir continues. “You’re seriously one of the most involved parents I’ve seen, especially in this circle.” 

“Thanks,” Ilya mumbles. 

Kabir and Ilya begin walking again, slower than the rest of the group. For a few moments, they walk in silence again. 

“She talks about you nonstop, by the way,” Kabir adds casually. 

Ilya glances over at the older man, “What?” 

“Priya told me that when she’s at our house, she’ll bring you up whenever she can,” Kabir says. “Priya told her she was wearing a pretty dress and she said, ‘thanks, my uncle picked it out for me.’ And the last time she was over she randomly began telling Arjun that you make pancakes shaped like hearts just because she asked once. You’re like her entire world, dude.” 

Ilya swallows the lump in his throat, “I am scared of messing that up,” He admits. 

“Good,” Kabir says. “Fucking means you care. The most dangerous parents are the ones who aren’t scared.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“And you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to keep coming back. And when you’re there, be all there. That’s it,” Kabir concludes. 

Ilya exhales shoulders, the tension slowly melting from his shoulders. He shoves his hands in his jacket’s pocket and nods once, “Thank you, Kabir. Seriously.”

Kabir nudges his shoulder, “Anytime,” He says. “Also, for the record, your braiding is getting better.” 

“They are not,” Ilya mumbles, rolling his eyes. 

“They are less… wonky-looking now,” Kabir says. He nods towards the entrance of the hotel, “Come on, you’ve got a FaceTime call to make, don’t you?” 

Ilya huffs out a laugh and nods before following Kabir inside. 

// 

Ilya makes it back home on a Thursday night, 11:07 PM to be exact. He pushes the door open and drags his suitcase behind him, setting it to the side. He kicks the door shut behind him before taking a deep breath. 

For a moment, it feels like he’s so tired that he could just fall asleep right there on the floor. Then he hears cartoons talking, the sound faint. The sound snaps him out of his trance and he takes his shoes off, making his way further into the house. 

Vera is sitting on the couch, Anastasia curled into her side. She’s holding onto her bunny, head drooping forward as her eyes flutter. She’s very obviously losing a battle against sleep and Ilya can’t help but smile at the sight.

Vera is the first to notice him, “You’re home,” She says, standing up.

Anastasia’s head snaps up at the sound of Vera’s voice and she glances over at Ilya. In a moment, the tiredness is replaced by pure excitement. 

“UNCLE!” She shouts, scrambling off the couch.

In a moment, she crosses the space between them and hugs his legs, her arms wrapping around his knees. Ilya laughs and he bends down to scoop her into his arms. She wraps both arms around his neck, her bunny squished between them. 

“Hey, bunny,” He mumbles, kissing her head. “Why are you still awake, hm?” 

“I was waiting,” She says. “I wanted to see you.” 

She nods, her cheer pressed against his shoulder, “I didn’t wanna wait till morning.” 

He chuckles softly, moving her higher on his hip, “That makes sense.” 

Behind them, Vera smiles softly, “How was your flight? Do you need me to warm dinner for you?” 

Ilya shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I ate before we left for the flight.” 

“That is good,” Vera says, nodding once. “How was the trip?” 

“Too long,” He exhales. “But it is over now and I am back home.” 

Vera watches them for a moment, her expression softening, “She waited all evening and insisted she was not tired.” 

“I can tell,” He replies, holding onto Anastasia a little tighter as her grip around his neck loosens. “I’ll put her to bed.” 

Vera nods, “Of course.” 

By the time he carries her up the stairs and down the hall to her room, she’s out cold. He lays her gently, bringing the blanket up to her chin. He smooths her hair back and presses a kiss on her forehead. 

“Good night,” He whispers. He adjusts her bunny, tucking it gently under her arm, “There you go.” 

She sighs in her sleep and curls onto her side. Ilya stays there for a few moments before quietly slipping out of the room, leaving the door cracked open. 

Vera is waiting in the hallway when he turns around, leaning against the wall, “I wanted to make sure she settled,” She explains. 

“She is out,” Ilya replies. 

She smiles softly, “Good.” 

“Thank you,” Ilya says. “And I am sorry she kept you awake.” 

Vera waves the apology off, “Ah, you would not believe the times I had with Sveta when she was a child.”

Ilya huffs out a small laugh, “You really have to tell me more stories from her time in the States as a child.” 

“Nanny-child confidentiality," Vera jokes, winking. She straightens, “Do not worry, Ilya. Nastya is a very well-behaved girl.” 

Ilya nods once. 

“Oh,” Vera continues, gesturing towards his room. “The packages you ordered arrived earlier this week. I put them in your room.”

“Thank you,” He says again, softer this time. 

“Goodnight, Ilya.” 

“Goodnight.” 

Vera disappears down the hallway and towards her room. Ilya exhales slowly when he hears her bedroom door close. He nods once to himself before opening the door to his room and entering. 

The first thing he sees is boxes. They’re everywhere, taking up most of his room. Okay, so maybe he might have gone overboard with the gifts. 

“Okay, I got this,” He mumbles to himself.

He’s got this. He’s got this but first, he needs to take a long, hot shower. 

After his shower, he begins to slowly tackle the gifts one-by-one. 

First, he makes himself a little gift wrapping station on the floor. He’s got clear tape, Hello-Kitty wrapping paper (because apparently that is now a thing that little girls enjoy), and scissors. 

Then, he begins taking out the gifts out of the brown cardboard boxes and stacking them next to his gift wrapping station. He grimaces at the miniature tea set that he takes out because he’s almost certain it will result in him being forced to attend imaginary tea parties for the foreseeable future. 

Finally, he stares at the pile and thinks to himself, “How hard can this be?” 

The answer, he quickly learns, is that it can be extremely hard. 

He begins with a doll because he figures it’ll be the easiest. He unrolls the wrapping paper and puts the doll in the middle. He brings one side up and tapes it but when he moves to the other side he notices a two-inch gap. He ignores it and puts more tape, holding that it’ll bridge the gap. It doesn't. 

Ilya curses under his breath and unrolls more wrapping paper. He grabs the scissors and cuts a small piece before taping it to the part of the gift that wasn’t covered. 

He sits back on his heels and stares at the gift. It looks like it was wrapped by a child, not Santa Claus’ elves. 

“Fuck,” He curses under his breath before grabbing his phone. 

He opens YouTube and quickly types out: “how to wrap a present easy.” He clicks the first video that pops up and a video by a woman with an annoyingly perfect British accent begins. 

Ilya turns the volume down and props the phone against the base of his bedside lamp, watching carefully as she measures, cuts, and tapes the wrapping paper. He watches the video in full once before replaying it, this time following along with her. 

The wrapping job isn’t perfect, not as perfect as the woman’s was in the video, but it’s still a significant improvement. By the fourth present, he actually gets the hang of it, going through the steps in his head like it’s a practice drill. 

For two hours straight, all he does is wrap presents in complete silence. It’s actually oddly comforting, the repetition of it all. 

By the time he’s done stacking the presents in his closet so Anastasia doesn’t see them when she comes into his room, it’s 2:32 AM. 

He collapses onto his bed, exhaling slowly. Out of habit, he grabs his phone from the nightstand and scrolls through it. 

Without thinking, he opens the messages app and scrolls down until he finds Jane’s contact. He clips it open and reads the last text Shane had sent. 

Jane: Hey, I heard about your brother. I’m really sorry. 
Jane: If you need to talk, I’m here. 

He swallows the lump in his throat. He doesn’t want to think about Shane or the perfect Christmas he’ll be having with his perfect, movie-star girlfriend and perfect, supportive parents.

Fuck Shane. Shane left, he doesn’t deserve any of Ilya’s time or thoughts. At least that’s what Ilya tries to keep convincing himself. It’s far from the truth really. The few moments Ilya gets where he isn’t thinking about Anastasia or hockey, he’s thinking about Shane. 

He knows it’s pathetic, Shane’s moved on and they really were anything. He’s not sure why it still feels like the end of the world for him sometimes. 

//

Ilya wakes up Christmas morning to his door slamming open and yelling. For a few moments, he tries to convince himself that it’s just a dream. It’s probably one of those dreams he has about messing up during practice and Coach LeClaire yelling at him through a megaphone. 

But then he hears the inevitable, squeaky voice of Anastasia.

“Uncle! Santa came!” 

He groans and slowly opens his eyes. The next thing he knows, Anastasia climbs onto his bed and continues yelling. 

“He came! He came! He came!” She chants, grabbing his blanket and shaking it. 

Ilya groans and drags the pillow over his face like it might protect him from the noise, “Nastya,” he mumbles into the pillow. “It is too early for this.” 

“It’s Christmas time!” She yells, letting go of the pillow to jump on the bed instead. “The cookies are gone! And the milk is gone! He drank it all!” 

Ilya groans louder and covers both of his ears before rolling to his side. Just the work “cookies” is making him nauseous. 

He’s not sure why he decided at 2:30 in the morning that eating ten sugar cookies was the only option he had. He had briefly considered throwing them away but Anastasia had hovered while setting them up, explaining very seriously that Santa needed “energy for reindeer driving.” 

So, yeah, he didn’t have the heart to throw them away. He ate all ten of them and washed them down with a glass of milk that was too large. 

He’s pretty sure the cookies almost took him out. 

“Uncle!” Anastasia continues. She stops jumping and flops down onto the bed, shaking his shoulder,. “Get up! You have to see! He brought so many presents! And he didn’t even make a mess!” 

“Wow,” Ilya says, tone flat. “I am very proud of him.” 

Anastasia crawls closer, tugging his arm up with both of her hands, “Come on! Come on! Come on!” 

“I am coming,” He groans out. “Stop pushing me, I am fragile.” 

She immediately stops tugging and instead presses her face close to his, inspecting whether he’s actually awake. 

“You promised we open presents together,” She reminds him. 

“I did promise,” He admits. 

Ilya pushes himself up slowly, rubbing his face with both of his hands, trying to wake himself up. He yawns before stretching, cracking his back. 

“Okay,” He says, voice softer now. “You gotta wear the pajamas Auntie Sveta sent you. It was her one ask of the day.” 

“Okay,” Anastasia says, drawing the word out. She tilts her head, “Auntie Sveta said you gotta wear them too.” 

“I can’t,” Ilya says, immediately shaking his head. “I am a big, bad hockey player. I will look funny in snowman pajamas.” 

“No, you are my uncle!” Anastasia says, grabbing his face with her tiny hands. “Uncle, please!” 

Ilya closes his eyes for a long moment before nodding, “Okay, go get them on.” 

“Yay!” She says, scrambling off the bed and sprinting toward her room. 

Ilya drags himself out of bed and makes his way to his closet. He grabs the folded pajama set from the dresses and stares at it like it personally offended him. 

“I hate everything,” He mumbles, pulling the shirt over his head. 

Five minutes later, Anastasia bursts into his room, wearing her matching set, “We match!” She shouts. 

“Yes,” He says. “It is nightmare.” 

She giggles and immediately grabs his hand, “Come on! Santa is waiting!” 

“I don’t think Santa is physically still here,” He points out as she drags him down the stairs. 

Anastasia stops at the bottom of the stairs, gasping dramatically at the sight of the presents. 

“This is so COOL!” She says, turning around to look up at Ilya. “Can we open them now?” 

Ilya pulls out his phone from his pocket and nods, “Of course, bunny.” 

She immediately runs over to the tree, sitting on the floor and reaching for the first present she sees. She turns it over in her hands and squints at the tag. 

“Who is this from?” She asks. 

Ilya hits record on his phone and sits down on the couch, “This one is from Santa Claus.” 

Her face lights up and she tears into the wrapping paper. Ilya grimaces at the side of beheaded Hello Kitties on the floor. Within seconds, she pulls out with a stuffed unicorn with glittering hooves and a rainbow mane.  

 “HE KNOWS I LOVE UNICORNS!” She screams, hugging the unicorn. 

“Santa is very informed,” Ilya says, smiling softly. “He knows you are a good kid, not on the naughty list.” 

“Okay, next gift,” Anastasia announces, carefully placing her unicorn on the couch. 

Each present is met with full-body excitement. She narrates everything loudly, barely breathing to stop. 

“Look!” She gasps, holding up a puzzle. “A princess puzzle!” 

“Wow,” Ilya says, nodding along. He stops recording and puts his phone down, “Okay, next one.” 

She nods and grabs the next box, “Oh my gosh! It’s a Babrie but she has a horse!” 

“That’s so cool, bunny.” 

Anastasia grabs her next present. And the next. And the next. At one point she stops and looks up at him, dead serious. 

“American Santa Claus is VERY cool,” She declares. 

Ilya laughs despite himself, “I will make sure to pass along the feedback.”

She continues opening the gifts, occasionally pausing to hug random items before moving on. Eventually, she reaches three presents that were tucked towards the back. He had intentionally saved them for last. 

Anastasia grabs the first one and shows the tag to him, “Who is this from?” 

“This one is from Auntie Vera,” He says, grabbing his phone again. He hits record, “I’m sure she’ll wanna see your reaction.” 

She grins and carefully opens this one, slower than the others. Inside are a beautifully painted set of traditional Matryoshka dolls. 

“They stack, Uncle!” She says in awe, opening the largest doll and discovering the smaller ones inside. “There is more!” 

“I know, they’re so nice,” Ilya says.

She lines them up carefully in size order, “I love them!” 

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear,” He says, offering her a soft smile. 

She reaches for the next present, “Who is this from?” 

“That one is from Auntie Sveta.” 

She nods before tearing into the wrapping paper, revealing a kid-friendly makeup set filled with nail polishes, eyeshadow palettes, lip glosses and glittery brushes. 

“This is so cool!” She exclaims, showing Ilya. “Does this mean I’ll like Auntie Sveta now?” 

Ilya shutters, “I am already afraid.” 

She opens one of the tiny nail polish bottles, “I can paint your nails now,” She says. 

“Abosutely not.” 

Anastasia pouts before closing the nail polish bottle, “Okay, later.” 

“No, it’s never happening,” Ilya says, shaking his head. 

Anastasia ignores him and reaches for the last present. It’s the biggest one, wrapped in the neatest paper because he had to redo it three times.

“Who is this from?” She asks.

Ilya stops recording and puts his phone down, “That one is from me.” 

She smiles brightly before ripping the wrapping paper. When the box finally opens, she freezes. Inside is a full set of princess dress-up costumes along with tiaras, tiny shoes, and glittering capes. 

“You got me ALL the princesses?!” She says, turning back towards him. 

“Of course,” He replies with a shrug. “You deserve nothing less.” 

Anastasia launches herself at him without warming, wrapping her arms around his neck so hard and he leans back against the couch. 

“Thank you thank you thank you!!” She squeals. “This is the best Christmas ever!” 

He laughs and hugs her back, blinking back tears, “I am very glad you like it, bunny.” 

Anastasia pulls back, turning around to look at the gifts and wrapping paper scattered across the living room floor. She gasps softly, like she’s just now realizing the magnitude of everything.

“So many toys,” She whispers. 

“So many toys,” Ilya agrees, glancing around at the mess. “And so much cleaning.”

Anastasia scrambles, “I can help!” 

Ilya watches as she begins gathering wrapping paper into a messy pile, missing half of it and accidentally stepping on the rest. He laughs under his breath and stands up, grabbing a trash bag from the kitchen before turning to her side. 

“Okay,” He says, opening the bag. “We clean together. That is the rule.”

She nods and starts handing him crumpled paper one piece at a time. It takes significantly longer than if he did it himself, but he doesn’t rush her. She talks as they clean, explaining which presents were her favorites and which ones she plans to play with first.

They carefully organize the gifts afterward. The Matryoshka dolls get placed gently on the bookshelf where she insists they can “watch TV with them.” The makeup kit gets stored in a small basket near her play corner and the princess dresses get hung over the back of a chair because she can’t decide which one she loves the most yet.

By the time they finish, the living room looks somewhat normal again. Anastasia sits down onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. 

“I am tired from Christmas,” She says. 

“That makes sense,” Ilya says, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “Christmas is very exhausting.” 

“Can we watch Christmas movie?” She asks. 

“Of course.” 

He scrolls through the movies available for streaming as she leans against his head. He ends up picking some cartoon Christmas movie he’s never seen but Anastasia seems to enjoy. 

About halfway through the movie, Ilya feels her fidgeting with her unicorn’s mane, twisting it around her fingers. 

“Uncle?” She asks softly.

“Yeah?”

She hesitates, staring at the TV but clearly not watching it anymore. 

“I like Christmas,” She says. 

“I’m glad.”

“But…” She trails off. “I wish Mama and Papa were here too. Then it would be perfect Christmas.” 

Ilya swallows, silent for a long moment, unsure of what to say. 

“I wish that too,” He finally says. 

“You do?” She asks. 

“Yes,” He says, nodding once. “I miss them very much. They should be here.” 

She nods again like it makes sense, and moves closer to him. 

They continue watching the movie in silence after that. Eventually, she rests her head in his lap. He immediately adjusts and drapes a blanket around her. 

Ilya runs his fingers through her hair, smoothing strands away from her face without thinking. Within minutes, her breathing slows down and she's fast asleep. 

When Ilya shows up to their next practice with bright pink nail polish, no one questions it. 

Chapter End Notes

ahh let me know how u guys liked the chapter!!

i am not russian or even slavic, so i really only know the american christmas or it all 😭

also next chapter is shane's little pov chapter, super excited to write that b/c after shane's chapter it's the all stars game and THEY FINALLY REUNITE AND SHANE AND ANASTASIA MEET so super excited to write that

also please forgive any grammar mistakes, i cringe when i have to reread my writing so there might be some mistakes

ok ok thank u guys sm for all of the comments, kudos, and support. thank u sm for reading and lmk what u guys thought of this chapter in the comments!!

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

Shane finds out that Ilya’s brother passed away on ESPN, cuddling with Rose on his couch. He’s not really watching what’s playing, just hums along with whatever work gossip Rose was telling him about. 

And then he hears the name. 

“Boston Raiders’ captain Ilya Rozanov…” 

Shane’s eyes immediately snap towards the TV, seeing an image of Ilya standing on the ice with his helmet tucked under his arm. 

The anchor continues, “...will be stepping away from the team for several games following the death of his older brother, Alexei Rozanov, in Russia earlier this week. The organization released a statement earlier today expressing their condolences and confirming that Rozanov has returned home to be with family.”

The screen transitions to a brief clip of Boston’s coach, LeClaire, speaking at a press conference. His face is solemn as he says, “It’s an incredibly difficult time for him and his family. Obviously, hockey is secondary right now and we’re giving him all the time and support he needs.” 

Shane doesn’t even realize that he’s leaning forward until Rose moves beside him, adjusting her head on his shoulder. 

“That’s awful,” She says quietly, tone sincere. “He’s so young, too. I can’t imagine losing a sibling.” 

Shane hums, his eyes still locked on the screen as ESPN replays a highlight of Ilya playing. His hands curl in his lap and he swallows. 

Rose sighs softly, “That must be so hard for him, especially being so far from home most of the year.” 

Shane nods once, eyes never leaving the screen, “Yeah.” 

Rose rests her hand against his forearm, “Do you know him? Like… personally, I mean.” 

“No,” Shane immediately answers. He finally looks away from the screen and towards Rose, “I mean, I’ve played against him a lot but… we don’t really know each other.” 

It technically isn’t a lie, they really don’t know much about each other. At least not in the way Shane had so desperately wished that they knew each other. 

Rose nods, “Still, that’s really sad.” 

Shane just hums again, his chest feeling tight. 

When Rose leaves, Shane stays in the same place on the couch, just staring at the TV. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“Hollander,” Ilya called out from the kitchen, only in his jeans. He looked away from the fridge, “Does your boring fridge not have coke?” 

“No,” Shane replied, pulling his shirt over his head. “Why would I? I don’t like coke.”

“Because maybe the man who fucks you wants a coke,” Ilya said, rolling his eyes. 

Ilya made his way back to the couch and squeezed Shane’s ass. Shane yelped and Ilya ducked his head, kissing Shane’s neck.

“You should keep refreshment for guest,” Ilya said, breath hot against Shane’s skin, “Especially one who fucks you so well.” 

Shane rolled his eyes, shoving at Ilya’s chest, “You’re an asshole, get your own damn coke.” 

Ilya pulled back, grinning. He stole another kiss, “Fine, I will suffer.” 

Shane opens his eyes and drags a hand down his face. There’s still a single, remaining can of coke from a six-pack he had bought. 

He knows that there’s no one but himself to blame for what’s happened to him and Ilya. He’s the one who got up and walked out. He’s the one who began dating Rose. 

Shane reaches for his phone without thinking, unlocking it. He hesitates before opening the messaging app and scrolling down until he sees Lily.

He takes a deep breath and opens the messages. He begins typing. 

Jane: hey, i heard about your brother 
Jane: hey, i heard about you|
Jane: hey, i heard ab|
Jane: hey|
Jane: h|

Shane groans and locks the phone, leaning back against the couch. What the fuck is he thinking? That’s he just going to text Ilya as if nothing has happened to them? 

The next few days, Shane throws himself into practice with a level of intensity that earns him a raised eyebrow from his couch and a comment from JJ about him trying to kill himself. He laughs it off and shrugs it off.

Every time his phone buzzes, his heart drops before he even checks the screen. But it’s never Ilya. It’s always everyone but Ilya. 

He checks Boston’s game schedule more times than he wants to admit, tracking which games Ilya misses and when he might come back. 

One night, alone in his apartment, he opens the ESPN app and reads the same short article three times in a row. It contains no information beyond what he already heard on the TV but he reads it anyway, as if there might be hidden meaning between the lines.

He starts typing messages constantly. 

Jane: i heard about your brother
Jane: i heard about|

Jane: how are you holding up?
Jane: how are|

Jane: i’m sorry
Jane: i’m sorr|
Jane: i’m sor|
Jane: i’m so|
Jane: i’m s|
Jane: i’m|
Jane: i|

He deletes every version before finishing them and by the fourth day, the silence begins to feel worse than the possibility of rejection. 

Shane’s sitting on the edge of his bed at night when he opens the messages thread again. He stares at the keyboard on his phone for too long.

He tells himself that this is normal and this is what decent people do. This is the social protocol. You check in when someone you know loses someone important. It doesn’t have to mean anything else. It shouldn’t mean anything else. 

He types out a message, forcing himself not to overthink each word like he has.

Jane: Hey, I heard about your brother. your brother. I’m really sorry. 
Jane: If you need to talk, I’m here. 

His thumb overs over the send button long enough the screen dims slightly. He takes a deep breath and presses send before he can talk himself out of it. 

Almost immediately, panic begins to set in but he tells himself that it’s fine. This is completely fine and normal. People text condolences all the time, this doesn’t mean anything. 

Just a colleague checking on a colleague. 

He repeats the phrase in his head until it starts to sound convincing. 

//

After the breakup with Rose, Shane begins to think about Ilya more than he should. 

Rose’s words echo in his head more often than he’d like to admit. It was the first time he admitted that he liked men, that he might just… be gay. And since that admission, a small part of him keeps hoping that maybe, just maybe, Ilya might want more. 

Because if he’s being honest with himself, everything between him and Ilya was always far more than just sex. 

After being ghosted for six months by Ilya and the rough sex with him after the awards, Shane began to compartmentalize. He began to tell himself that Ilya was just convenient, fun, and something familiar. Told himself that it meant nothing, that it had to mean nothing. 

Except it hadn’t felt like nothing when slowly, Ilya would stay longer than necessary, cuddling after sex. It hadn’t felt like nothing when Ilya called ginger ale disgusting but had it stocked in his house. 

And it definitely didn’t feel like nothing when Ilya asked him to stay the last time they slept together. 

A couple days after his conversation with Rose, Shane begins to tell himself that he should probably text Ilya. Even though his last text was still left on read, the most logical decision was to text Ilya and apologize. 

Jane: i’m sorry for how i left. i think we should talk sometime if ur ok with that
Jane: i’m sorry for how i left. I think|
Jane: i’m sorry for|

But no matter how many times he types and deletes the same text over and over again, he can’t bring himself to send it. 

When would they even talk? Montreal and Boston don’t play each other again until after New Year’s. And more importantly, would Ilya even want to talk to him? Especially after he ran out?

Slowly, his days begin to feel like an endless loop of almost. 

He almost texts. 

He almost calls. 

He almost admits to himself that this is bigger than he’s comfortable with. 

Shane’s sitting in the locker room one afternoon, hair still wet from the showers and phone in his hand. The message thread with Lily is open again. 

Jane: i think i mis|

As he’s typing, someone calls out for him and his heart drops, scared that he’s been caught somehow. He quickly locks his phone and shoves it in his cubby before looking up. 

“Yo, Shane!” Hayden calls out again, waving him over to JJ’s cubby. 

“Yeah?” Shane answers, trying to sound normal. 

“Come here. You need to see this,” Hayden says, a faint smirk on his lips. 

Shane bites back a sigh before making his way over to his two friends, “What’s up?” 

JJ doesn’t answer and instead just shoves his phone directly into Shane’s hand, “Look.” 

BOSTON’S GOLDEN BOY? ILYA ROZANOV SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY WOMAN AND CHILD AFTER BIG WIN

Shane’s heart drops so abruptly that for a second it feels like the floor is going to swallow him whole. He clenches his jaw, trying his best to not give an obvious reaction. He scrolls down and sees the photo. 

The first photo is of Ilya outside of what looks like a restaurant, holding a small child in one arm. The child is asleep in his arms, face hidden in his shoulder. And tucked into his other side is Svetlana, her arm looped around Ilya’s waist and Ilya bending down to place a kiss in her hair. 

Shane keeps scrolling and then there’s a video. It's grainy fan footage from warms showing Ilya skating towards the glass, smiling and waving at Svetlana and the girl. 

Hayden snorts, “Man, leave it up to Rozanov to have a hidden kid and wife.” 

JJ laughs, “Right? Dude lives up to the rumors of him being a dickhead.” 

Shane forces himself to chuckle, “Yeah.” He swallows, eyes still fixed on the screen, “But I mean, it’s probably not even his kid. How would he hide a whole child for this long?” 

“Please, Shane, people have hid worse,” Hayden says, shrugs.

JJ grabs his phone from Shane and scrolls through the article, “People on Instagram and Twitter are saying that the woman is the daughter of some big time Russian minister who used to play for Boston too. So I guess it tracks. They’re both from the hockey world or whatever.” 

“Yeah, probably just hid them out in Russia,” Hayden says. 

JJ keeps reading pieces of the article out loud for them, mocking the dramatic wording. Hayden keeps laughing under his breath and calling Ilya a certified asshole. 

Shane barely hears any of it. All he can see is Ilya holding that child like it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. It feels like Ilya has an entire life that Shane has never even had a glimpse of. 

Eventually, JJ lowers his phone, “Wild, though, right?” 

“Yeah,” Shane mumbles.

He steps back towards his dubby before they can say anything else. He sits down on the bench and begins to slowly put his socks and shoes on. 

He tries to tell himself that this doesn’t matter because they weren’t anything. They were just fuck buddies so obviously Ilya owed him nothing. 

Of course.

Of course Ilya wouldn’t tell him something like that. Why would he? Who was Shane to Ilya? Nothing. So Ilya owed him nothing.

Shane swallows the lump forming in his throat and blinks rapidly. 

They were never dating, never exclusive, and never anything that required honesty beyond convenience and physical chemistry. That’s exactly what Shane told himself when he walked out of Ilya’s house and when he started seeing Rose. 

Hiding a child from someone who might matter to you isn’t fucking normal. 

Unless that someone never mattered in the first place. 

He’s so fucking stupid. He’s so stupid to think that whatever he and Ilya had, whatever that was, might have meant something more. 

Shane’s been staring at the same page for nearly twenty minutes. He’s been trying to read for the past forty minutes but he hasn’t been able to process anything. 

He keeps rereading the same paragraph, trying to comprehend what he’s reading but Ilya’s face keeps appearing uninvited. He groans and bookmarks the page before closing it and placing it on his nightstand. 

He shouldn’t feel like this. Logically, he understands that he has absolutely no right to feel betrayed. But still, they’ve known each other for eight years. Maybe those eight years didn’t mean much to Ilya but it isn’t nothing either. 

He closes his eyes, mind drifting back to that photo of Ilya, that child in his arms, and Svetlana. Svetlana looked like she belonged with Ilya, like she’s always belonged there. 

This shouldn't feel personal because it objectively, isn’t personal. 

They were fuck buddies, that’s it. He repeats the phrase in his head, hoping that it’ll help him ignore these complicated and annoying feelings. It does nothing. 

Ilya had so casually brought up Svetlana in Boston, and he sounded so convincing when he told Shane that Svetlana really was just a friend he slept with and nothing more. Has Ilya always lied to his face so easily? 

Because if this child was theirs, if Ilya and Svetlana had built an entire hidden life together, then nothing about what he said to Shane was honest. And Shane can’t decide if he’s more hurt by the idea that Ilya lied to the possibility that Shane simply never mattered enough to deserve the truth. 

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. Shane takes a deep breath before grabbing it and unlocking it. It’s a message from Hayden.

Hayden: *screenshot attached*
Hayden: well now i feel like the asshole 

Shane clicks on the screen shot attached, his heart immediately dropping. 

It’s an Instagram post from Ilya’s page. The photo is of Ilya sitting in what looks like a sushi restaurant booth. He’s wearing a simple black sweater, hair slightly messy. Curled across his lap is the same little girl from the article. She’s asleep, her cheek pressed into his thigh and one tiny hand holding onto the fabric of Ilya’s sweat. 

The last few months have been the hardest of my life. I lost my older brother, Alexei, and his wife, Anna, in a sudden accident. They left behind their daughter, my niece Anastasia.

After my brother and sister-in-law’s passing, I became her guardian. Nothing could have prepared me for this change, but I am grateful everyday that I get to show up for her.

Anastasia is brave, curious, and strong. She is slowly learning what it means to call Boston home. She is my family and my whole world.

All I ask is for privacy and respect. Thank you for your kind comments and messages.

Relief hits him so hard that it almost makes him dizzy. His shoulders drop slightly and he exhales.

Fuck. Okay. 

Anastasia isn’t some secret child he had with Svetlana or another woman. She’s his niece, his brother’s daughter. That means Ilya hadn’t lied, he didn’t lie to Shane. 

The relief quickly turns into guilt. He stares down at the caption again, rereading it. 

While he was spiraling about his own bruised ego and jealousy and whatever undefined feelings he has for Ilya, the other man has been burying his brother and taking in a child. Ilya has been rebuilding his entire life and Shane’s been upset about a crush like some school girl. 

And most importantly, Shane hasn’t been there. Shane had walked out months earlier, slamming the door behind him and convincing himself that it’s easier this way. 

Over the next few weeks, Shane develops a habit that he refuses to acknowledge. At first, it starts out small and mindless. 

It starts a couple days after Hayden texts him the screenshot of Ilya’s Instagram post. He finds himself actually opening Instagram and finding the Boston Raider’s Updates account. He scrolls through the page, stopping when he finds a video of Ilya they had posted. 

Shane watches the clip three times before he realizes he’s even doing it. 

Eventually, he opens Ilya’s personal account again, telling himself that it’s just to confirm that the post Hayden had sent him was real. 

The first photo he sees is a photo of a small, lopsided snowman sitting in Ilya’s backyard. The snowman’s carrot nose is slightly crooked and Anastasia has her arms around it. 

Shane smiles softly before scrolling down. 

There’s a blurry selfie taken from slightly below eye level. Ilya is leaning into the frame, expression soft, and pressed into his side is Anastasia making a silly face at the camera. 

He double taps the screen automatically and then freezes when the heart turns red. He immediately unlikes it, heart racing like he’s caught doing something illegal.

Over the next couple of weeks, it becomes a routine. When he’s alone in bed, he’ll open up the app and automatically go to Ilya’s page. There’s usually new photos, they’re not always of Anastasia but sometimes they’re just photos of a crayon drawing, toys scattered on the floor, or just breakfast. 

Each time, Shane feels himself smiling wider. He hates how easy it feels. 

The first person who notices it is actually his mother on Christmas.

“What are you looking at?” Yuna asks, glancing over at his phone as they watch a Christmas movie.

“Nothing, just some hockey update account,” Shane says, locking his phone. 

“That was Rozanov,” Yuna says, raising an eyebrow.

Shane nods once, staring at the TV, “Yeah, it was just a compilation of all the hockey players' Christmas.” 

“Oh,” Yuna mumbles, humming. “His reputation has really softened up in the past couple of months.”

“Well, can you blame him?” David says from his armchair. “Kid’s been going through hell. And having a kid takes the edge off people.” 

Shane hums, “Yeah. Guess they do.” 

Later that night in his childhood bedroom, Shane lies awake staring at the ceiling.

The room feels smaller than he remembers, even though he was here a couple of months ago. The walls are still the same baby blue his parents let him paint when he was fifteen. How his old dresser is in the same place he put it when it was bought. Nothing has changed at all and yet he feels like someone entirely different lying in it. 

He exhales slowly and rolls onto his side, facing the window. Snow is falling outside, slowly piling up. It’s quiet. It’s quiet in the way only childhood rooms are. 

And in the silence, he thinks about Ilya. He tells himself, again, that this shouldn’t matter. He’s built this into something bigger than it ever was. 

But no matter how many times he repeats it, the truth is that Ilya matters. Ilya matters and Shane fucking needs him. 

It’s so easy to be around Ilya. Even when things were messy and undefined, there was a comfort Shane felt when Ilya would walk into his apartment or hotel room. 

Shane misses him in a way that has nothing to do with sex. 

He misses the way Ilya would sit too close on the couch. He misses the way Ilya would touch his feet under the table at press conferences. He misses the way Ilya would play with his hair. And he especially fucking hates the way Ilya remembred the small things. 

He’s been lying to himself that it’s just physical for years. But the truth feels undeniable now. 

He feels like himself around Ilya. 

He doesn’t have to be the version of himself that performs for the league, the media, and his parents. He doesn’t have to be carefully curated and easy to digest Shane. He can just be himself and Ilya would accept him. 

Fuck, he might actually like Ilya. 

No matter how much time has passed between their texts, meet-ups, or talks, Shane always thinks about Ilya. He always needs Ilya. 

He knows that during the All-Star Weekend, he could easily avoid Ilya if he wanted to. But that thought makes his chest ache. He doesn’t want to avoid Ilya. 

He wants to look at him, talk to him, be near him. He wants to hear Ilya’s voice for the first time in months and not have to reach it through an Instagram caption. He wants to know how Ilya is actually doing, not the polished version the media gets or the softened one Instagram gets. 

Shane wants to be there. He wants to be there even if Ilya ignores him, even if Ilya tells him to fuck off. He wants to be there even if Ilya is angry and closed off. Even if Ilya curses him out, even if he hits him. 

All-Star Weekend. 

He’ll find Ilya, he’ll walk up to him and say something and just the rest happen the way it happens. All he knows is that he isn’t going to sit around and be passive. 

Shane’s checking in at the front desk of the hotel when he sees Ilya. 

As the receptionist is checking him in, Shane mindlessly begins scanning the lobby. He spots a couple of players and their families near the front of the lobby. And then his eyes land near the elevators. 

Ilya’s standing a few yards away, waiting for the elevators. He’s dressed in a simple white t-shirt and black sweatpants but he looks impossibly handsome. Shane wants to scream. 

Ilya’s holding his niece, who is fast asleep in his arms. Her face is tucked into the crook of his shoulder and a pale pink blanket is wrapped around her carefully. 

The sight of Ilya and his niece hits him harder than he expects. 

Beside Ilya is an older woman who Shane doesn’t recognize. She’s speaking softly in Russia and Ilya responds quietly, his tone softer than Shane has ever heard. 

They’re smiling. It’s nothing big or exaggerated, it’s just a comfortable one. 

Ilya adjusts Anastasia higher against his chest without waking her up. His hand comes up and tugs the blanket a little tighter around her shoulder. It’s so careful and instinctive that it makes Shane feel fuzzy. 

Ilya says something else in Russia and the older woman chuckles softly, patting his arm affectionately. Then he turns slightly, glancing back. 

Shane immediately looks away and stares at the marble pattern of the front desk. His heart is beating so fast that he can feel the thump in his ears. 

“Mr. Hollander?” The receptionist’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. 

Shane quickly looks up, “Yes, sorry.” 

She smiles politely and slides a key card across the counter, “You’re all set. You’re on the fourteenth floor. Enjoy your weekend.”

He nods, picking up the card, “Thank you.” 

Shane steps away from the desk and adjusts his duffel back on his shoulder before turning toward the elevators. Ilya’s gone. 

He exhales slowly through his nose and nods once to himself. 

Okay. This is it.

Chapter End Notes

oh my god, ok a couple of things

1. STOP THE SUPPORT ON THIS FIC HAS ACTUALLY BEEN INSANE, I'M SO OVERWHELMED LIKE TRULY... thank u guys so much for reading and commenting like it means so much for me

2. i haven't been replying to the comments (there's so many like truly i've never gotten this much attention on any fic before) but trust i have been ready each and every one of them !!

3. i'd love to heard ur guys opinion on what u think ilya and shane should do about their whole little life plan now that ilya does have a lot more to lose if he leaves boston. SPOILER ALERT BUT like my original plan was to really go by what canon does and ilya and anastasia move to ottawa after ilya's contract with boston is up (and have them build a little community there as like moving as a child really isn't uncommon). but i've been reading the comments and just thought i'd hear what u guys thought

anyways, how did u guys like the chapter? i know it was a bit shorter than my other chapters but if it makes it better the next chapter is going to be full of shane and ilya and nastya interactions so !!

thank u sm for reading!!

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

“Uncle, are you sure Rapunzal will be there?” Anastasia asks, skipping alongside him as he pushes their luggage. 

“Yes, I will make sure she is there,” Ilya replies, stopping to scan for their Uber. 

Anastasia fist bumps the air, “Disney World is gonna be so cool,” She whispers to Vera. 

“Of course, Nastya,” The older woman replies, smiling down at her. 

Originally, Ilya had no intention of bringing Anastasia to the All-Star weekend. He figured she wouldn’t like the travel and he could use the weekend to reset a little. 

But then Kabir wouldn’t stop talking about it. 

 “Arjun’s already packed his Mickey Mouse ears,” Kabir says, grinning. “Everyone with kids is probably gonna end up at Disney World so it’ll be like a little NHL circus but the kids’ll love it.”

So, Ilya figured that it wouldn’t hurt to bring Anastasia if other kids and families are going to be there. Plus, it would give him a chance to fulfill his promise of showing her all of the princesses. 

He called Svetlana first, trying to bribe her into coming with a Louis Vuitton bag. She had just laughed and told him that she would come for free if it meant spending time with Nastya but she was going to be in Chicago for back to back meetings.

Then he sheepishly asked Vera if she wanted a break from the Boston winter. The older woman just sighed and nodded her head yes.

Their Uber pulls up to the curb, and Vera helps Anastasia climb into the backseat while Ilya loads their luggage into the trunk. By the time he slides into the other side of the back with them, Anastasia is already leaning sideways against Vera. 

When they pull in front of the hotel, Anastasia is completely asleep. 

Ilya exhales quietly, “I’ll get the bags,” He says. 

Vera nods and moves to free Anastasia from her seatbelt. She wraps the pale pink blanket tighter around Anastasia’s shoulder. 

After getting their luggage out and onto the curb, Ilya gently picks Anastasia and settles her into his arms. She melts into him instantly, her head drooping against his shoulder. 

“Got her?” Vera asks quietly.

Ilya nods and they walk into the hotel lobby. Vera pulls the rolling suitcases while Ilya carries Anastasia, careful to not jostle her as he walks. 

Check-in is quick and soon they’re waiting for the elevators. 

“Vera, you should just take the day off when we’re at Disney World,” Ilya says softly. 

“Oh, it’s no problem, you need help with Nastya,” Vera assures, waving Ilya off. 

Ilya shakes his head, “Seriously, take the day off. Disney World is too much walking and you have been working so much. Enjoy the resort.” 

Vera hesitates for a moment before asking, “Are you sure?” 

“Of course,” Ilya assures the older woman. 

The elevator ride is quiet except for Anastasia’s soft breaking. When they reach their floor, he helps Vera settle into her room first, which is adjacent to his. Then he swipes the keycard to his room and nudges the door open with foot. 

The room is spacious with large windows overlooking the resort pools. There are two queen beds side by side. He walks to the closest bed and carefully lowers Anastasia onto the mattress. 

He watches her for a moment before sitting down on the edge of his bed. He takes a deep breath before flopping down and staring at the ceiling. 

For the first moment since he’s stepped off the plane, he thinks of Shane.

Shane is here. 

Not only is Shane here but they’re on the same team. And Shane is his captain. Which means no matter how hard he tries, he won’t be able to avoid Shane. 

The Shane– no, his Shane is here. Shane, who he hasn’t seen in months, hasn’t heard his voice outside of his memory. 

He inhales slowly through his nose, forcing himself to calm down. This weekend is about playing a fun game of hockey and going to Disney World. That’s it. 

Everything else, he’ll deal with later.  

As soon as Anastasia gets up from her nap, she asks if they can go to the pool. 

“We can,” Ilya says, standing up and scratching the back of his neck. “Vera is resting, so it is just you and me.” 

Anastasia gets off the bed instantly and runs to her bright pink suitcase, “Okay! I want my blue swimsuit with the sparkles.”

Ten minutes later, Anastasia is standing beside him in the hallway and holding a tiny beach tote bag filled with pool toys she insisted on packing. Her swimsuit is indeed bright blue with glittery sequins. 

As they wait for the elevators, they each voice down the hallway behind them. 

“I told you, Arjun, you cannot run inside hotel hallways–” 

They both turn as Kabir approaches with Priya behind him, Arjun racing ahead while Sahil holds onto his mother’s hand.

“Anastasia!” Arjun shouts as he runs. 

Anastasia squeals in delight and shoves her tote into Ilya’s arm before wrapping her arms around Arjun into a full body hug. 

“You came!” Arjun says. 

“I said I was gonna!” She replies. 

Behind them, Sahil peeks around Priya’s leg to wave slowly. Anastasia immediately waves back. 

“Hi, Sahil!” She says. 

Sahil grins but stays beside Priya’s side, clearly deciding that waving is currently his maximum level of social engagement. 

Kabir steps forward and claps Ilya’s shoulder, “You make it through travel with a five-year-old. That alone deserves the All-Star MVP.” 

Ilya snorts softly, “Barely. She asked if Rapunzel would be present to pick her up at the airport.” 

“That is a valid question,” Priya laughs, adjusting the tote bag in his arm. 

“What are you guys doing?” Kabir asks, glancing at Anastasia and Arjun. The two are already discussing something involving pool diving rules and imaginary mermaid kingdoms. 

“We’re heading to the pool,” Ilya replies. 

“Same,” Kabir nods. “Kids have been asking since the moment we landed.” 

Priya studies Ilya for a moment, her expression softening, “You know you don’t have to hover around her. I’ll be right there with the kids and besides, most of the moms are going to be there sunbathing and watching the kids. She’ll be fine.” 

Ilya hesitates, it’s subtle but Priya immediately notices. 

“I mean it,” Priya assures, offering him a soft smile. “She’ll be safe and you should really relax. You deserve a break and some time with your teammates.” 

He glances down at Anastasia, biting back a sigh. The idea of stepping away, even for an hour, is making him feel anxious. 

But Kabir bumps his shoulder, “She’s got a whole hockey-approved security team over there. You’re good.” 

“Okay,” Ilya says finally, nodding once. “Thank you.” 

The elevator doors slide open and they all pile inside. When they reach the pool, Anastasia immediately looks at Ilya.

“Can I go?” She asks. 

“Okay, but behave,” Ilya says, tone firm. He hands her tote bag, “You will listen to Arjun’s mom and no running or deep water. Stay where Priya can see you, okay?” 

“I promise,” She says quickly. 

Ilya leans down and places a quick kiss on her forehead, “Okay, be nice.” 

“I will!” Anastasia replies, grabbing Arjun’s hand and making their way to the pool. 

Ilya stays until he sees Priya and Sahil settle into a lounge chair near the water with the other moms. Then he allows himself to relax. 

“Come,” Kabir says, nodding towards the bar. 

Ilya nods and follows Kabir inside. They sit down onto the stools and Kabir immediately orders two beers for them. For a while, the two men sit in comfortable silence. Ilya occasionally glances out the window and towards the pool. 

“So,” Kabir says, clearing his throat. “Crazy, right?” 

Ilya glances over at him, “What is?” 

Kabir raises an eyebrow, “You and Hollander being on the same team for the first time in your entire careers.” 

Ilya shrugs, trying to keep his expression blank, “Not a big deal.” 

Kabir snorts softly, “Yeah, sure.” 

“It is All-Star game,” Ilya continues, taking a sip of his beer. “Nothing serious.” 

The older man studies him for a moment but lets it go with a shrug, “If you say so.” Kabir glances behind him and immediately straightens, “Oh, shit. That’s Carter.” 

Ilya follows his gaze and spots Carter Vaughn laughing near a cluster of players by the far end of the bar. 

“I’m gonna go say hi,” Kabir says, clapping Ilya’s shoulder as he stands. “Don’t brood too hard while I’m gone.” 

“Stop using weird English words,” Ilya mumbles, rolling his eyes. 

Kabir grins knowingly before disappearing into the crowd. Just like that, Ilya is alone. He takes a deep breath and takes another sip of his beer. 

For a moment, he actually succeeds in relaxing. All he focuses on is his beer and glancing towards the pool and making sure Anastasia is okay. 

Then he sees Shane. 

The first thing Ilya notices is how different Shane looks. 

He doesn’t look physically different. Shane is still Shane with the annoying freckles and bambi eyes. But something about him looks sharper and more deliberate now. His hair is styled instead of falling onto his forehead and he’s wearing clothes that are obviously expensive. Even the way Shane is carrying himself feels polished. 

Ilya’s throat tightens, of course he would look like that, he has a movie star girlfriend. 

He quickly looks away, “Okay,” He mumbles to himself before taking a long sip of his beer and finishing it. 

Ilya refuses to look at Shane as he slides into the stool next to him, fidgeting with thumb instead. 

“Can I offer you something to drink?” The waiter asks, approaching the two men. 

Shane smiles, “I’ll have the same as my teammate, please.”

Ilya gestures to the man to make it two and the waiter nods, “Of course,” before walking away.

Say something. Say something. Say something.

Ilya clears his throat and speaks before he can change his mind, “So what, are they out of ginger ale, Captain?” 

What the fuck? What kind of question is that?

“I’m feeling a bit wild,” Shane replies, glancing at Ilya. “So this should be fun, huh? I’ve always wondered what it would be like to play on the same team.” 

Ilya raises an eyebrow, still staring ahead of him, refusing to look at Shane, “Have you?”

“Yeah, I have,” Shane immediately replies, smiling softly. “Nice that it’s in Florida this year, right?” 

Ilya nods and glances out the window towards the pool again. He shrugs before nodding, “Yes.” 

The waiter comes back with two beers and places them in front of the men, “Here you go.” 

“Thanks,” Shane says immediately. 

Ilya offers the waiter a thankful smile before exchanging his empty bottle of beer with the new one. He finally glances at Shane before asking, “Did, uh, did you bring anyone with you?” 

Please say no. Please don’t say you brought Rose Landry with you.

Shane meets Ilya’s eyes before shaking his head, “Uh, my parents thought about coming, but they’re going to Mexico in, like, two weeks, and they’ve been to these before, so…” 

Ilya nods along, it’s not the answer he wanted but he says, “Ah,” anyway.” 

“Also, I didn't feel like being managed this weekend,” Shane admits. “Did you, uh, bring anybody?” 

Ilya meets Shane’s eyes again before nodding, “Yup,” He replies before taking a sip of his beer. 

Shane looks away, nodding once, unsure of what to say. 

Ilya glances down at Shane’s blazer before looking back up at his lips, heart racing. Fuck, he’s missed Shane so much and all he wants to do is kiss him but he can’t. 

“Nice shirt,” Shane comments, smirking softly. 

Ilya glances down at his ridiculous tropical, red shirt. Anastasia had actually laughed at him when he put it on but he wore it anyway.

“Thanks,” He replies, reaching down and tugging at it softly. “I like to, you know, get into the spirit.” 

Shane licks his lips, “You’re pulling it off,” He says.

Before Ilya can reply, he hears Carter’s voice and arm around his shoulder, “Cats and dogs!” Carter says, laughing. “Look at this! Fucking beauties!” 

Shane laughs along, “Yeah, should be a fun time.” 

“Be careful with this guy,” Carter says, patting Ilya’s shoulder. “You can never trust him.” 

Ilya raises his eyebrows, “One black coffee, please,” He says.

“I’m just fucking with you, Rozy,” Carter assures, nudging him. “I’ll be hell of a time. Let’s go, Easy boys! Woo-hoo!”

Carter nudges the two men one last time before walking away, making his way to the other players. 

Shane chuckles to himself, “I feel like we’re gonna get a lot of that sort of thing this weekend.” 

Ilya finds himself smiling, “It should give us a chance to get to know each other,” He says with a soft shrug. “Who knows what we might have in common.” 

Shane smiles and nods, unsure of what to say. 

Ilya glances back down at Shane’s clothes. Fuck, Shane looks pretty. He doesn’t care if Shane’s brought his girlfriend, he can’t stop himself from staring.

“You’re looking very pretty today,” Ilya says before can stop himself. 

“Hmm?” Shane hums, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Different, maybe?” Ilya continues. He takes a quick breath before asking, “Someone take you shopping?” 

Please don’t say Rose.

Shane anxiously touches his lip before speaking, “If I, um… if I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone or make fun of me?”

Fuck. He’s going to tell me Rose took him shopping. 

“Well, it depends,” Ilya replies. 

“Seriously.” 

Ilya nods once, “Yeah sure,” He says, looking away for a moment.

He’s going to tell me it was Rose.

“I hired a stylist,” Shane admits. 

Ilya immediately stops fidgeting in his seat and stares at Shane in disbelief for a moment before breaking out into a chuckle. 

“Fuck you,” Shane says, laughing under his breath. 

Ilya covers his mouth, “Sorry,” He says quickly. “Wow. Of course you did.” 

Because truly, of course Shane would hire someone and pay them to tell him what he should wear. 

“I shouldn’t have told you,” Shane says, glancing back at Ilya. 

“No, no,” Ilya says. “I love it. I love it. You got, what, tired of looking like shit?” 

“I didn’t look like shit,” Shane weakly protests. “I just wore, like, athletic stuff.”

Ilya shakes his head, “Mm, I know what you wore.” 

I was the one taking it off.

“And some of the guys in the league are so fashionable,” Shane continues. 

“Yeah, so very,” Ilya teases. 

“Not you,” Shane quickly adds, grinning. “Some of the guys.”

“In the league?”

“Other players, not you.” 

Ilya nods, “Okay.” He glances out towards the pool again before asking, “So, this has nothing to do with Rose Landry?” 

Please say no.

Shane shakes his head, “No,” He answers. “Well, I mean, yeah she always dressed, um, very well, and so do her friends, but… I just wanted to stop looking like I was always going to the gym. I never really cared about clothes.” 

“So, uh, you and her are not…?” Ilya asks.

Maybe Shane finds the questioning annoying but Ilya needs to know. 

Shane shakes his head again, “We’re not,” He confirms. “She’s great, but, uh…we’re just not… compatible, I guess.” 

Relief immediately rushes through Ilya and he hums. It takes him everything to not smile at the confirmation. Shane and Rose are not together. Fuck. They’re actually not together.

“So, uh, who’d you bring?” Shane asks after a few moments. 

Ilya takes a sip of his beer, “My niece.” 

Shane nods once, “I, uh, I’m really sorry about your brother and sister-in-law.” 

“Thanks,” Ilya mumbles, glancing down at his hand. He takes a deep breath before looking at Shane, “You should probably–” 

Shane nods, cutting him off, “Yeah, I should circulate, I guess.” 

“You have new clothes to show off,” Ilya teases, smirking softly. 

Shane huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he pushes himself off the barstool. As he steps past Ilya, his arm brushes Ilya’s shoulder. 

The touch is faint and it wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else standing in the room. But it sends a shiver down Ilya’s spine. It’s been months since they’ve touched, months since he had fallen asleep with Shane in his arms. 

Shane continues walking without looking back and within seconds, he’s laughing at something Carter is saying as if nothing just happened. Like he didn’t just leave Ilya sitting there trying to remember how to exist in his own body. 

Ilya stares down at his beer bottle before forcing himself to take a sip, trying to calm himself down. 

Fuck. 

Shane isn’t with Rose. 

Or at least that’s what it sounds like. Ilya goes through the conversation in his head, picking apart every word, every pause, every glance Shane had made while talking. Shane had said they weren’t compatible. 

Huh. Compatible. 

Ilya frowns, he’s definitely heard that word before and he is almost certain he understands the general meaning but not enough to trust his interpretation. English continues to betray him in the worst moments possible. 

Does it mean they broke up nicely? Does it mean they were never serious? Does it mean Shane is single? 

He’s definitely going to have to Google that later. 

But if Shane really is single, then that means things could go back to the way they were. They way they had been easy and comforting. They way they were before Ilya decided to mess things up. 

They could go back to meeting up in hotel rooms or Shane’s apartment. Go back to texting each other only when they wanted to hook up. 

Even if Shane only wants that again, it would be enough. It would be more than enough. 

Because being around Shane has always felt like breathing easier without understanding why. Like stepping into a version of himself that doesn’t constantly feel stretched thin between responsibility, grief, and expectations he never asked for. 

With Shane, he doesn’t have to be the Boston captain. He doesn’t have to be a sudden guardian trying desperately not to mess up a five-year-old's life. He doesn’t have to be the son pretending he isn’t terrified about his father’s disease. 

With Shane, he can just be Ilya. 

Shane’s stretched out onto the pool chair, sunglasses on. Hayden’s sitting on the edge of the lounge chair next to him, scrolling through his phone and occasionally glancing up at the pool. 

Hayden’s been talking for the past few minutes about something to do with travel schedules and how Jackie’s already planning the twins’ next birthday party but Shane isn’t catching a word he says. 

He’s too busy watching Ilya.

Ilya’s waist deep in the water, listening to something Anastasia is telling him. Arjun is beside her, nodding along like it’s an important meeting. Ruby and Jade float nearby with arm floaties, whispering between themselves and giggling. 

Then Anastasia splashes him directly in the chest. Ilya gasps and clutches his chest like he’s been wounded and the kids erupt into high pitched laughter. He lunges forward a second later, scooping water towards them and all of the kids scramble and screen. 

Shane smiles softly at the sight. 

“And Jakcie says if I even think about letting them eat candy before lunch again, she’s divorcing me,” Hayden is saying. 

“Mm,” Shane hums, eyes still on Ilya. 

Hayden glances sideways at him, raising an eyebrow. 

In the pool, Anastasia climbs onto Ilya’s back and wraps her arms around his neck. She says something in his ear and Ilya snorts before carrying her piggyback through the water while she points toward Ruby and Jade. 

Shane’s heart races. He can’t stop imagining that one day, that could be Ilya with their kids. He shuts the thought down before it can develop any further. This is getting ridiculous. Absolutely fucking ridiculous. 

They’re not even anything. Well, not really and definitely not in the way that involves shared futures or family hypotheticals or whatever the hell his brain is trying to come up with. 

He tells himself that he’s just projecting because Ilya is so good with his niece. Anyone with eyes could notice that. 

“Looks like Ruby and Jade are actually becoming friends with Rozanov’s niece,” Hayden says.

Shane blinks and follows Hayden’s eyes, watching as Anastasia and the twins huddle together near Arjun. 

“Yeah,” Shane says. “Looks like it.”

“They’re picky about who they like,” Hayden continues casually. “So that’s… something.” 

Shane hums again. 

“Kid seems really sweet,” Hayden adds. “Honestly, kind of surprised.” 

Shane glances over at him, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Hayden shrugs, leaning back slightly, “I mean… Rozanov’s always been kind of an asshole.”

Shane snorts softly. 

“But,” Hayden nods towards the pool, “He looks like Gru from Despicable Me right now.” 

Shane lets out a laugh and nods once, “Okay, yeah,” He admits.

“Right?” Hayden says. “Dude went from league menace to fluffy dad energy.” 

His smile lingers longer than he intends. 

Hayden gets up and stretches his arm overhead, “I’m gonna grab a beer. Want one?”

Shane shakes his head without looking away from the pool, “I’m good.”

Hayden nods and wanders towards the bar, leaving Shane alone. 

He exhales slowly, letting himself relax. Shane knows that he shouldn’t stare this much but it feels impossible to look anywhere else. 

He watches Ilya herd the kids toward the pool steps, saying something that makes Anastasia groan dramatically but listen anyway. One by one, the kids climb out, grabbing towels and collapse on nearby chairs. 

Ilya climbs out of the pool, water dripping down his back and legs. He grins before shaking his hair out towards Shane. Shane flinches slightly at the cold water and grins up at Ilya. 

“Hey, Hollander,” Ilya says, slightly breathless. “Can you give these kids some money? I don’t have my wallet.” 

Shane doesn’t answer him, instead just looks up at him with a soft smile. Fuck, he’s falling for Ilya. He’s falling for Ilya and there’s nothing he can do or say to make this feeling go away. 

“Yeah,” Shane says finally, sitting up and taking his wallet out of his shorts. “Yeah, I got it.” 

He pulls out a few bills and hands them over, fingers brushing against Ilya’s hand. 

Ilya nods in thanks and turns to hand the money to Anastasia, “Share with your friends, okay?” 

Anastasia nods and says something in Russian before running off to where her friends were sitting. 

The team dinner is loud and obnoxious.

The restaurant is overlooking the rest of the resort and a long cluster of tablets have been pushed together for players, coaches, and league staff. 

Ilya should feel relaxed. It was a low stakes game, which they won, he and Hollander played together with great chemistry, and the obligations were done. Most importantly, Anastasia is happy and currently somewhere inside the restaurant demolishing chicken tenders with the other kids. 

But his pulse hasn’t settled since he sat down. Because Shane is sitting across from him. And every time someone makes an odd comment or laughs too loud, Shane glances up at him and the two make eye contact. 

Jesus Christ, he feels a teenager looking at their first crush. The way his heart skips a beat, the way he waits for Shane to glance at him, the way he internally begs for a smile. 

Ilya takes a sip of his drink, hoping it’ll calm the fluttering in his stomach. 

“Rozy, you alive over there?” Carter asks from two seats down, waving a hand in his direction. 

“Yes,” Ilya mutters, offering Carter a tight lipped smile.

“You have been mad quiet, man,” Carter says, shaking his head. 

“You are just telling boring stories, Vaughny,” Ilya says, playfully rolling his eyes. 

The table erupts in laughter and Carter brings a hand over his heart dramatically, “Asshole.” 

The attention shifts away from him slowly and eventually everyone returns to their own conversations.

Across from him, Shane is laughing at something Hayden is saying. The overhead lights make the fabric on his shirt shine, making him look like he stepped out of some magazine spread instead of a hockey team dinner. 

Ilya glances down at his Adidas sweatpants and tank top, and suddenly feels severely underdressed. He inhales through his nose before clearing his throat, quietly excusing himself before pushing his chair back. 

He makes his way to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He takes a deep breath before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.

Then, he googles: compatible 

(of two things) able to exist or occur together without conflict.

Shane and Rose are not compatible. Meaning they don’t work together and aren’t suited. Which means they are not together. 

Ilya begins smiling before he can stop it and he immediately bites his bottom lip, trying to stop it. 

“Idiot,” He mumbles to himself.

He locks his phone and slides it back into his pocket, turning towards the sink. He washes his hands before grabbing a paper towel and drying his hands. He glances at himself in the mirror and tries to keep his expression flat. 

He tosses the paper towel into the trash and makes his way out. Instead of immediately going back to his table, he makes his way toward the kids’ section. 

Anastasia is exactly where he left her, sitting in between Vera and one of Hayden’s twins. Along with them are Jackie, Priya, and their kids as well. Priya is talking animatedly with Vera, Jackie laughing along. 

“There he is,” Priya says as Ilya approaches. “Star of the night.” 

“Please do not encourage him,” Vera says, shaking her head. 

Jackie smiles, “You played really well.” 

“Thank you, ladies. Your praise means the whole world to me,” Ilya says, offering them a cheeky smile. He places his hand on the back of Anastasia’s chair, “Nastya, are you behaving?” 

“Yes, I promise!” Anastasia says, looking up at him. She picks up her fry and offers it to Ilya, “Ask Vera auntie!”

Ilya takes a dramatic bite of the fry which makes Anastasia and the other kids on the table giggle. He brushes back her hair, “I trust you.” 

“Uncle, we’re gonna go to Disney World tomorrow, right?” Anastasia confirms, raising an eyebrow. 

“Of course,” Ilya nods, “I always keep my promises, right?”

Anastasia grins before nodding, “Yeah.” 

“Okay, finish your food now,” He presses a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Behave.” 

“Okay!” She says, already turning back to her food and talking with the other children. 

Ilya straightens, exchanges grateful nods with the moms and Vera before heading back toward the main table. He slows down when he reaches the table, immediately noticing that Shane’s chair is empty. 

“Where’s Hollander?” He asks, trying to keep his tone flat.

Hayden shrugs, “Oh, he finished eating a little while ago. Said he was gonna head out.”

Ilya hums, nodding once before mumbling, “I’m gonna go out for a cigarette,” He says. 

He heads out of the restaurant and begins walking towards the beach. That’s where he sees him. 

Shane’s sitting alone near the waterline, shoes kicked off beside him. He’s leaning back on his hands and staring out at the ocean. 

Ilya takes a deep breath, touching his cross before slipping out of his slides. He picks them and begins walking towards Shane. 

He sits down a foot away from Shane, mirroring his position, leaning back on his hands. He glances at Shane, “Found you.” 

Shane stares straight ahead, “So you were looking for me?” 

“Of course not,” Ilya replies without missing a beat. He inhales through his nose, “Oh, I looked up that word, uh, 'compatible.'"

“What?” Shane asks.

Ilya glances at him, “Compatiable,” He repeats. “I thought I knew what it meant but I wanted to be sure.” 

“Oh,” Shane hums. 

“So you and Rose Landry are not…?”

Shane nods, “Yeah, not compatible.” He pauses before adding, “Not in that way, anyway.” 

Ilya nods, looking out at the sunset again. He waits for a moment before glancing back, there’s no one out by the board walk behind them. 

“When do you fly out?” Shane asks. 

“Early Monday morning.” 

“Same. Columbus.” 

“Back to Boston.”

Ilya slowly moves his thumb forward until it softly caresses Shane’s. The touch alone makes Ilya’s heart skip a beat and he keeps looking forward, trying to hide his smile.

Shane swallows, “I’m in room 1210,” He says, finally meeting Ilya’s eyes.

For a moment, neither of them speak. Ilya can feel Shane’s eyes on him before he moves his hand closer. Shane exhales softly and their shoulders tilt toward each other.

“Uncle!” 

Both of the men flinch, hands immediately separately. Ilya twists around just in time to see Anastasia running towards him. 

“Nastya, don’t run–!” Ilya barely manages to get his sentences out before she launches herself directly onto his back. 

She wraps her arms around her neck, nearly knocking him forward into the sand. 

“Oof–” Ilya laughs, reaching back to steady her as she clings to him like a koala. “You are trying to kill me, yes?” 

“Uncle! Where’d you go?” She asks, slightly out of breath. 

“I was done eating,” He answers, pulling her around. 

Anastasia scrambles down beside him and immediately climbs in his lap. She wiggles to get comfortable before leaning back against Ilya’s chest. 

Only then does she notice Shane. She blinks at him and Ilya clears his throat, smoothing her hair back. 

“Nastya,” He says gently. “This is my good friend, Shane Hollander.” 

“Like Auntie Sveta?” She whispers in Russian. 

“Yeah, like Auntie Sveta,” Ilya assures. 

Anastasia turns full towards Shane, sitting upright in Ilya’s lap, “Hi,” She greets. “I’m Anastasia.” 

Shane smiles immediately before leaning forward slightly and extending his hand toward her, “Hi, Anastasia. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Ilya bursts into laughter before he can stop himself. Shane freezes mid-handshake, blinking in confusion. 

“What?” Shane asks, cheeks flushing. 

“Why are you shaking hands with a five-year-old?” Ilya says, shaking his head. 

“Oh,” Shane quickly moves his hand back. “Right. Yeah. I just, uh, thought I should make a good first impression.” 

Anastasia giggles, covering her mouth with both hands. She composes herself before announcing, “My new friend Jade says you’re the best hockey player.” 

Shane’s expression softens instantly. He glances at Ilya for a moment before looking back at Anastasia. 

“Oh yeah?” He says, lowering his voice dramatically. “You wanna know a secret?” 

Anastasia gasps, eyes widening before she eagerly nods. 

Shane leans closer, lowering himself so that he’s at eye level with her. He glances around like he’s checking for spies before cupping his hand beside his mouth. 

“You uncle,” He whispers, “Is actually the best player.” 

Anastasia stares at him for a second before breaking out into a huge grin, “I already knew that,” She says proudly. 

Ilya lets out a surprised laugh, tightening his arm around her. Shane laughs too, head drooping slightly as he shakes it. 

“Of course you did,” Shane says. 

Anastasia smiles, clearly proud of herself. 

“Do you like hockey?” She asks suddenly, turning back to Shane. 

Shane nods, “Yeah, I love playing hockey. It’s my favorite thing in the world.” 

She hums, leaning her head back against Ilya’s chest again, “I don’t wanna be a hockey player. Ever.”

Ilya raises an eyebrow, “Oh?” 

Anastasia shakes her head, “No. Hockey players go away from home so much.”

Ilya’s smile falters slightly and he gently rests his chin on her head, “I know.” 

Shane nods slowly, “Yeah. That part does suck sometimes,” He says, gently. “But, it can feel worth it when you win. Or when you get to do something you really, really love.” 

She considers that, nodding once. 

“I still think Imma be a… maybe princess vet,” She says finally. 

Ilya snorts, “A what?” 

“A princess vet,” She repeats, like he is the slow one in the conversation. “Princesses are pretty and fun. And I like animals.” 

Shane bites back a laugh, nodding, “That sounds like a great career plan.” 

Anastasia grins at his agreement, “I’m gonna start school,” She adds, swinging one foot against Ilya’s thigh. 

“Oh yeah?” Shane says. “Are you excited?” 

She nods, “Yes.” 

“Are you scared at all?” He asks carefully. 

She shakes her head, “Nope. My friend Arjun will be there too.” 

“That helps,” Shane agrees. 

She hesitates, fingers twisting in the fabric of Ilya’s pants, “I wish Mama was here though,” She admits. “She did my hair pretty. With butterflies.” 

Ilya swallows and presses a soft kiss in her hair before she can notice the silence, “I have been practicing,” He says, tone gentle. “I am getting better, yes?” 

Anastasia tilts her head up to look at him before bursting into laughter, “You make it look so bad, Uncle.” 

“No I don’t!” Ilya protests. “They look so pretty and nice.” 

“No they don’t,” She insists, giggling. 

Before he can defend himself further, she turns towards him fully and attacks his face with an explosion of tiny, enthusiastic kisses. 

“Hey–!” Ilya laughs, unsuccessfully trying to dodge as she places loud kisses across his cheek, nose, and forehead. “You are attacking me!” 

She keeps going, shrieking with laughter, and he finally gives up trying to stop her. Instead, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into a tight hug.

Beside them, Shane watches quietly. There’s something soft in his expression, watching the way Ilya cradles her and the way Anastasia melts into him like she trusts him with her entire world.

Eventually, the storm of kisses slows down and Anastasia settles back into Ilya’s lap. Her energy drains as quickly as it had arrived, the day catching up to her in real time. Her words start slurring slightly and she begins speaking in Russian again. 

“I’m gonna tell Arjun tomorrow… that you and Shane Hollander are friends,” She mumbles. 

“Okay,” Ilya says softly. 

“And that you’re the best hockey player,” She adds, eyes already fluttering. 

“Obviously,” Ilya replies. 

Within a few minutes, Anastasia’s breathing evens out and she falls asleep against Ilya’s chest. Shane watches the rise and fall of Anastasia’s chest for a moment before speaking. 

“She sounds like a mini you,” He says softly. “She has your accent.” 

Ilya glances down at her and smiles, “Yeah,” He mumbles. “She picked up English very quickly but unfortunately with my accent.” 

“No,” Shane says quickly. “It’s very cute.” 

Ilya glances at Shane and smiles softly before nodding once. For a moment, neither of them move, basking in the moment. Then Ilya exhales slowly and adjusts his grip under Anastasia’s legs and back. He gets up before looking down at Shane. 

“I’ll text you,” Ilya says quietly. 

Shane nods, “Yeah. Okay.” 

Ilya turns and slips his slides back on before walking back to the hotel. He’s halfway through the lobby when he hears footsteps catching up behind him. 

“Ilya,” Vera says as she approaches him. Her eyes land on Anastasia and she smiles softly, “She has had a very busy two days.” 

“Yes, made a lot of new friends,” Ilya says, glancing down at Anastasia in his arms. 

Vera hums and steps into the elevators when the doors open. The older woman presses their floor and stares straight ahead. 

Ilya takes a deep breath before clearing his throat, “Vera…” 

She glances back at him and raises an eyebrow, “Yes, Ilya?” 

He shifts Anastasia slightly higher against his chest, avoiding the older woman’s eyes.

“Would you…” He pauses before trying again. “Would you mind staying with her for… maybe a couple hours?”

Vera’s lips twitch and she gives him a long, pointed look that makes him immediately flush. 

“You are only young once,” She says finally. 

Ilya exhales, “Thank you.” 

“I will stay,” She continues, tone neutral. “Do not rush, she will be fine.” 

The elevator dings open onto their floor and they exit, walking quietly down the hallway. Ilya unlocks the room and pushes the door open with his shoulder. 

He lowers Anastasia onto the bed. She moves slightly but doesn’t wake as he pulls the blanket up to her chin. He smooths her hair back from her forehead and places a soft kiss. 

Behind him, Vera sits down on the edge of the other bed, “I will stay right here. Go.” 

Ilya nods, “Thank you.” 

He makes his way back to the elevators. The elevator ride to Shane’s floor feels long, despite it only being two floors up. 

When the doors open onto Shane’s floor, Ilya steps out and glances down both ends of the hallway. Then he pulls out his phone and quickly texts Shane as he walks up to his room.

Lily: here

He barely has time to lock his screen before Shane’s door opens. He steps back immediately, inviting Ilya in. He then shuts the door behind him. 

For a split second, Ilya expects Shane to pull him forward into a messy kiss. Instead, Shane walks past him. 

He makes his way to the edge of the bed and slowly sits down, staring down at the carpet. 

Ilya blinks, thrown off by the energy. He leans against the wall and raises his eyebrows, “This looks serious.” 

Shane looks up to meet his eyes and exhales.

Chapter End Notes

ok guys THANK U SM for all of the comments on the last chapter. i seriously appreciate them so much because genuinely it got me thinking about planning the future of shane, ilya, and anastasia because it was supposed to just end off similar to canon and but a lot of you guys have brought up really good points about the move and how it would be positive and negative to ilya and anastasia. legit i've reread the commnets on the last chapter a couple of times and i think i'll keep having to until i come up with a decision so yes again, thank you so much for commenting.

i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! i know it stops at like the most important moment of episode 5 but this chapter is already 6.2k words and i wanted to merge the important talk with the disney world of it all.

anyways, a bit of a spoiler but once again just wanted to get your guys opinion. is there any specific scene you wanted to see with shane and ilya/ shane and anastasia at disney world for the next chapter?

okay finally, this chapter was insane and a lot so let me know what you guys thought of it in the comments. i know i didn't write the hockey of it all but i truly do not understand how hockey works or how to write it so 😭 i hope you enjoyed it still though!

Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

dialogue that has italicized is them speaking in russian!

Ilya blinks, thrown off by the energy. He leans against the wall and raises his eyebrows, “This looks serious.” 

Shane looks up to meet his eyes and exhales, “It’s not.” He pauses before adding, “I mean, yeah. I guess. Can you just sit down or something?”

Ilya bites back a sigh before begrudgingly moving over to the desk set up against the wall and leaning against it. He looks at Shane and raises his eyebrows again.

Shane looks straight ahead as he speaks, “It’s not just me, right?” He looks up and meets Ilya’s eyes.

“Not just you, what?” 

“You feel it too, don’t you?” 

“Feel what?” He asks.

“Last time we were together, it was different.” 

Ilya shrugs, trying to be dismissive, “What was different? That you ran away?” He says before pinching his nose.

He knows it’s a low blow. He knows that because Shane flinches like he’s been hit but Ilya can’t stop now. Shane is inching too close to something real, something that can cut them both and Ilya has too much to lose now. He has a little girl sleeping two floors down who depends on him not to fall apart.

 Shane scoffs, “Look, I’m– I’m sorry I freak out, okay?” 

“Freaked out over nothing,” Ilya says, looking away. 

“It wasn’t nothing,” Shane replies, voice rising. “Don’t act like that. This is hard enough without you being an asshole.” 

“What do you want, Hollander?” Ilya asks, glancing over at Shane again. 

Shane looks away and takes a deep sigh, trying to calm himself down. 

Ilya inhales before speaking, “We get together, we fuck. It’s simple,” he lies. 

“Simple?” Shane scoffs. 

“It’s simple for me.” 

Another lie.

Shane sees right through him, “Bullshit!” He looks down and takes a deep breath before speaking again, “I think I’m gay.” 

Ilya laughs before humming, “Oh yeah?” He nods, “What–what makes you think that?” 

“Fuck you, you’re not gay,” Shane says.

“No, not completely.” 

“Yeah, well, I think I am. Completely.” 

“Okay, so you’re gay, so what?” He asks, gesturing vaguely with his hands. 

They’ve been hooking up for the past five-six years, Ilya had figured out that Shane could be gay. It obviously didn’t bother him, he’s not sure why they even need to be having this conversation. 

“Well, it’s kind of a big deal,” Shane admits. “To me, at least.” 

Ilya bends forward a little, fuck, is he the first person Shane is telling?

“Sorry if I’m being boring again,” Shane admits, voice lower. 

He groans, letting his hands drop to his knees. Fuck, Shane isn’t leaving without talking about this. He takes a deep breath, pushing himself off the table and sitting down next to Shane on the edge of the bed. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Ilya asks. 

“Who else am I going to tell?” Shane replies. He looks over at Ilya, who is staring straight ahead, “It’s… not just being gay. It’s you. It’s this. Being gay is one thing but fucking your arch-rival is another thing.”

Ilya stares down at his feet, “That’s why it is a secret.” 

“I know, but last time…” He pauses to take a breath, “And for the record I am sorry about last time, okay? I’m sorry I freaked out.” 

Ilya glances up, eyes still refusing to meet Shane’s. 

“But before that…” He trails off. “...it was nice.” 

Ilya nods, “It was.” 

Shane glances at Ilya before nodding, “And it felt like we were something.” 

He shakes his head, “We can’t be something, Hollander.” 

“Would you want to be, if we could?” Shane asks.

The tone Shane asks the question makes Ilya want to scream and cry. Fuck, he loves Shane so much and all he wants is to tell him but he knows he can’t. 

“We can’t,” Ilya answers. 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

Ilya finally looks at Shane, “What does it fucking matter?” He snaps. 

Shane flinches and looks away, “I don’t think I can keep pretending I don’t like you anymore.” 

“You don’t like me,” Ilya says, voice cracking. 

“Yeah, I do,” Shane replies. “I think I like you maybe a little too much.” 

“Don’t. Don’t fucking do this, Hollander,” Ilya begs. “I’m not…” He takes a deep breath to compose himself, “I wouldn’t be able to go home again. Ever. Do you get that?” 

“Becuase of your family?” Shane asks, meeting his eyes. 

“Because Russia!” Ilya exclaims, patience wearing out. “I would not be able to go back to Russia!” 

“What would happen to you?” 

“I don’t want to find out,” Ilya admits. “I can’t find out. Not with Anastasia.” 

“But would your parents…” 

Ilya sighs, “My father is police.” 

“And your mother?” 

“Dead.” 

“I’m sorry,” Shane says softly. 

Ilya shakes his head, “I was young.” He exhales before adding, “My father is very old fashioned. And sick.”

“Sick like crazy?”

“That too, a little, but no, sick more like…”

“Oh, like cancer?” Shane asks. 

“Demenita,” Ilya answers. 

“That’s awful.”

Ilya’s ears heat up and he can feel himself on the verge of tears. He turns his head away from Shane just in time for a tear to slip down his cheek. 

“Hey,” Shane says, voice gentle as he places his hand on Ilya’s thigh. He moves closer to Ilya, “Hey…” 

“Sorry,” Ilya says, shaking his head, voice shaking. 

He moves closer until he’s settled in Ilya’s laps. His hands come up to cradle Ilya’s cheek and neck and then he leans it. The kiss is soft at first but Ilya deepens it, tongue slipping against Shane’s. 

Shane pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against Ilya’s before wrapping his arms around Ilya’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug. Ilya’s arms lock around Shane’s waist, pressing his face into the other man’s neck. 

For the first time since his mother’s death, Ilya cries in someone's arms.

Shane’s laying with his back pressed against Ilya’s chest, their breathing in sync. Ilya’s arm is draped over his waist and Shane can’t remember the last time he felt this safe. 

Ilya presses a gentle kiss on his shoulder, “You awake?” Ilya mumbles against his skin. 

“Mhm,” Shane says, eyes still closed.  “Barely.” 

A comfortable silence falls between them, the kind that once used to feel impossible after they fucked. Before, it had always been about getting dressed, about not letting the quiet part mean anything. This was different, this felt like staying. 

Shane turns his head slightly, “What are you doing tomorrow?” 

“Taking Nastya to Disney World,” He answers. “Randhawa and his wife are taking their kids as well, so thought it would be fun.” 

Shane twists in his arms, turning to face him. 

“No way,” Shane says, grinning. “I’m going with Hayden and Jackie. They wanted to take the twins and Aruther, even though he’s too young to understand what’s going on. Small world, right?” 

Ilya stares at him for a moment, butterflies in his stomach from Shane’s innocent smile. He leans in and kisses Shane, unable to help himself. 

When he pulls back, he whispers, “Maybe we will run into each other tomorrow.” 

Shane’s smile softens, “Maybe we will.” 

They lay there for another moment, chest to chest. Ilya rubs small circles on Shane’s hip, like he’s grounding himself. Then he exhales and moves, “I have to go.” 

Shane nods and moves slightly so Ilya can pull his arm from underneath Shane’s head. He watches Ilya sit up, the sheets pooling around his waist. Ilya reaches for his boxers, then his sweatpants. 

When Ilya sits on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on, Shane moves and wraps his arms around Ilya from behind. His chest presses against Ilya’s back and he rests his chin on Ilya’s shoulder. 

“I’m glad,” Shane says quietly. “That we talked. That this happened.” 

Ilya doesn’t move for a moment, processing the words. Then he turns his head, just enough to press a kiss to Shane’s temple. 

“Me too,” He whispers. 

They stay like that for a moment longer, Shane wrapped around him like he might never let go. Then Ilya squeezes his arm once and Shane lets go. 

Ilya stands, checking his pockets for his phone and keycard. 

“Well, now I will have to go and have a very awkward conversation with Vera,” Ilya grimaces. 

Shane chuckles, “What? Why?” 

“Well, I could not leave Nastya alone in hotel room so I asked Vera to stay with her for couple of hours,” Ilya explains. He shudders, “Will be very weird to face her when she knows what I have done.” 

“Come on, you’re an adult,” Shane says, rolling his eyes. “She knows you have sex.” 

“Yes, but I don’t know want her to know about it,” Ilya says, sighing. He makes his way to the door. He pauses and glances back at Shane. 

Shane is still watching him from the bed, an amused smile on his face. 

“What?” Ilya asks. 

Shane shakes his head, “Nothing.” 

Ilya holds his gaze for a moment longer before smiling and nodding once, “Good night, Shane.” 

“Good night, Ilya.” 

Ilya’s arm goes off at 4:45 a.m. 

He slaps his hand over it before it can ring a second time, blinking up at the dark ceiling. He takes a deep breath before turning his head. Anastasia is still curled into a tight ball under her blanket. 

Ilya pushes himself upright, rubbing a hand over his face. He didn’t get much sleep after coming back from Shane’s room. His mind had been too loud, rethinking their every moment together.

He knows that their relationship has changed forever. They both know it. There’s no going back to the way things were before. They can’t go back to pretending that they were just two guys who occasionally slept together.

He exhales slowly, stands, and stretches before walking over to Anastasia’s bed. He kneels down beside it and gently brushes her hair back from her forehead. 

“Nastya,” He mumbles softly. “We have to wake up.” 

She groans dramatically and rolls onto her back, “Noooo,” She whines, eyes still closed. 

“Come on, we're finally visiting all the princesses today,” He reminds her gently. “They wake up early, remember?” 

Her eyes flutter open at that, “They do?” She asks. 

“Yes,” He says. “Very early.” 

She squints at him suspiciously but then pushes herself upright, “Okay, but only because of Rapunzel.” 

“Of course.” 

Within twenty minutes, the hotel room is in chaos. Ilya and Anastasia brush their teeth, Anastasia sitting on the sink. He supervises her bath from his perch on the closed toilet lid, one eye on the clock, one eye on making sure she doesn’t slip or flood the bathroom. She narrates her entire washing process.

“Rapunzel has really long hair,” She informs him, patting soap onto her own much shorter strands. “Like, really long. Longer than you are tall, probably.” 

“Probably,” He agrees. 

"Are we going to see her first?"

"We will see whoever we see first. Lines will decide."

She frowns slightly, “Lines are not the boss of me.” 

"They are unfortunately the boss of all of us today."

When she’s finally rinsed and wrapped in a towel, the real work begins. Drying her off is a process, she’s wiggly, impatient and more interested in planning her princess strategy than standing still. 

The outfit selection proves to be its own ordeal. After riling through half her suitcase, she lands on denim shorts and a bright yellow Rapunzel t-shirt. 

“This,” She declares. 

“Very practical,” Ilya agrees. 

He sits her down between his legs and parts her hair carefully down the middle, “Hold still.” 

“I am holding still.”

“You are wiggling.”

“I’m not!”

He snorts but starts braiding anyway, carefully making two neat French braids. He’s been practicing at night on Youtube before she goes to sleep. The first attempts had been… tragic. 

Today, though, the braids are even and not too tight. He ties the ends with matching elsatics and gently turns her toward the mirror. 

“Okay,” She nods, looking at herself in the mirror. “These are good.” 

He smiles like he’s just won a Stanley Cup. Once she’s dressed and satisfied, he lifts her onto the bed, opens Youtube and hands her his phone. 

“Ten minutes,” He warns. 

While she watches some animated videos about animals, Ilya showers quickly. He shaves, dressed in comfortable sweatpants and a simple t-shirt, and brushes his damp hair back. When he steps back into the room, Anastasia is giggling at something on the screen. 

“Time to go,” He says. 

She hands the phone back and immediately reaches for him. He scoops her up, settling her on his hip. She wraps her arms around his neck as Ilya grabs her backpack with snacks and drinks before heading for the door. 

They meet Kabir, Priya, and the kids just after six. Arjun runs up to Anastasia immediately and greets her with a hug. 

“You’re late!” He comments, pulling away from the hug but still holding onto her wrist. 

“We’re not late,” Ilya replies, shooting him a wink. 

“You’re a little late,” Kabir replies, playfully rolling his eyes. 

Before Ilya can respond, the lobby doors slide open again. Hayden and Jackie walk in, Ruby and Jade holding their mother’s hand and baby Arthur strapped to Hayden’s chest. Behind them is Shane wearing sunglasses despite it barely being light out yet.

Ilya’s stomach flips. 

As their wives greet each other with hugs, Hayden claps Kabir on the shoulder, “Where are you guys headed?” 

“Disney World,” Kabir answers casually. 

Hayden grins, “No way. Us too.” 

Ruby and Jade gasp in perfect unison. Anastasia gasps right back and Arjun joins in. Within seconds, the four older kids crash into each other in a chaotic group hug right in the middle of the lobby. 

“We’re going together!” Jade yells. 

“Princess day!” Anastasia shouts. 

“All the rides!” Arjun says. 

The adults exchange glances before laughing. 

Kabir shakes his head, “Well, looks like we’re spending the whole day together.” 

Hayden shrugs easily, “Not the worst way to spend it. Kids’ll have more fun with the crew anyway.” 

Ilya pretends he isn’t hyper-aware of Shane standing slightly off to the side, hands tucked in his pockets, watching the kids with a soft expression.

They split toward their respective cars in the parking area. Ilya buckles Anastasia into the back seat of his rental car. He glances over and notices Shane heading toward Hayden’s SUV. Specifically toward the back row, where Ruby and Jade are already fighting. 

Ilya hesitates for half a second before calling out, “Hollander.” 

Shane turns around, eyebrows lifting, “Yeah?” 

Ilya gestures toward his own car, “You can ride with us.” 

Shane blinks, “Uh, what?” 

Ilya shrugs, trying to look casual, “I feel bad for my precious captain. You will be crushed back there, bad for hockey. Will not be so fun to play with you if you suck.” 

Anastasia pops her head out the window, “We’ll sing songs!” She announces. “It will be fun!” 

Shane looks between them, clearly caught off guard. 

“I mean,” Ilya adds lightly. “Unless you want to play bad.” 

Shane huffs a small laugh, “No, I–yeah. Sure.” He turns to Hayden and Jackie, “I’ll just meet you there.” 

Hayden shrugs, “Have fun with your new friends.” 

“We’re not friends,” Shane mumbles before waving goodbye. “See you.” 

He walks over and slides into the passenger seat of Ilya’s car. Ilya bites back a smile as he starts the engine. Within five minutes on the highway, Anastasia begins singing loudly, off-key. 

At one point, during a dramatic high note from Anastasia, Ilya reaches over casually and tugs at Shane’s earlobe. Shane immediately smacks his hand away. 

“Focus on driving,” Shane mumbles, hiding a grin. 

“Your ear is in my way,” Ilya replies innocently. 

“It absolutely was not.” 

Anastasia squints at them from the back seat, “Why are you touching his ear?” 

“Because it is very touchable,” Ilya says. 

“You’re weird,” She comments. 

Shane turns his face toward the window, hiding his smile. 

Magic Kingdom is exactly as chaotic as Ilya expected. Actually, it’s worse. 

The second they step through the gates, it’s like stepping into another universe. Anastasia gasps like she’s just been dropped into a fairytale. 

“It’s real,” She whispers, stopping in front of the castle at the of Main Street. 

“It’s very real,” Ilya confirms.

Shane is standing to his left, sunglasses pushed up onto his head and scanning the crowd like he’s preparing for a faceoff instead of navigating theme park traffic. 

Keeping the group together proves nearly impossible. Arjun wants to run toward every ride he can see. Ruby and Jade are already arguing about whether to go left or right. Sahil is clinging to Priya, overwhelmed by the noise and color. 

Kabir tries to corral everyone toward Adventureland. Jackie pulls toward Fantasyland. The kids have their own agendas entirely.

By eleven a.m., they've managed three rides: Dumbo, the carousel, and the Winnie the Pooh ride. Ilya’s phone is already full of photos: Anastasia’s face mid-laugh on Dumbo, her on his shoulders as he carries her through the crowds, and one of her sharing cotton candy with Shane. 

Lunch is a negotiation that takes forty-five minutes and results in chicken nuggets being consumed at three different tables because no one could agree on where to sit.

After lunch, they decide to split up. 

Kabir’s sons are ride-obsessed and Ruby and Jade have caught the fever too. Anastasia, however, has other priorities. 

She tugs at Ilya’s sleeve, “Rapunzel. You promised.” 

Ilya looks at the group, “We have other priorities, see you at the parade?” 

Kabir glances back and nods, giving him a thumbs up, “Got it, watch out for texts.” 

“Got it,” Ilya nods. 

Priya waves as they go, Arjun already dragging her toward the nearest ride. Jackie follows with the twins, Hayden adjusting Arthur’s carrier on his chest. 

Shane starts to move with them before Anastasia’s hand grabs his wrist.

“Where you going?” Anastasia asks, looking up at Shane with wide eyes. 

Shane looks down at her small fingers wrapped around him, then up at Ilya, then back at her, "Uh. With them?" 

“Why?” She asks, furrowing her brows in confusion. “We are more fun. We are seeing princesses.” 

"I—" Shane starts.

“You are fun,” Anastasia says. “You sing with me in the car, Uncle didn’t. You have to come, please.” 

Hayden turns back with a loud laugh, “Did you hear that, Hollander. Someone thinks you're fun. Might be a first."

“Hey, stop that,” Jackie says, smacking Hayden’s arm. 

Shane’s ears go slightly pink, “I’m fun,” He mumbles.

“You’re really not,” Hayden calls back, already walking away. “Have fun with the princesses! Send pictures!"

And just like that, Shane is abandoned. 

Anastasia grins up at him, “Now you gotta come!” 

Shane looks at Ilya, who is trying his best to keep his face neutral. Ilya shrugs, fighting a smile, “She is persuasive.” 

“Yeah,” Shane says, smiling softly. “Gets it from her uncle, I guess.” 

“Fudge off, Hollander,” Ilya says, rolling his eyes. 

The three of them set off toward Fanstayland, Anastasia holding both their hands, swinging them. Shane blushes at the idea of people probably assuming they’re a family. The thought should feel strange but it makes the two men want it more. 

The wait for meeting Rupanzel and Tiana is forty five minutes. Anastasia is less than pleased when Ilya informs her. 

Anastasia groans and leans her head against Ilya’s leg, “Uncle, how long is forty-five minutes?” 

“That’s not so bad,” Shane says, checking his watch. “We sang in the car for an hour, remember? This is less than that.” 

She considers the logic then nods slowly, “Okay, but we have to talk the whole time so it goes faster.” 

“Deal,” Ilya agrees. 

Anastasia lasts approximately four minutes before she starts shifting her weight from foot to food. 

“I’m tired,” She announces. 

“Same,” Shane immediately replies with a sigh. 

Ilya looks over at Shane and snickers before looking down at Anastasia, “You have only been standing for, like, five minutes.” 

She groans, “My legs are tired from standing. And walking.” 

Ilya sighs dramatically before bending down and scooping her up, settling her on his hip. She wraps her arms around his necks and rests her head on his shoulder with a content sigh. 

“Better?” He asks. 

“Much better,” She pats his back approvingly. “Good job.” 

Shane snorts beside him, trying to hide a smile behind his hand. 

"Don't," Ilya warns.

"I'm not saying anything."

"You're thinking it."

"Can't help what I think."

Anastasia lifts her head, looking between them, “Whatcha talking about?” 

“Nothing,” The two men answer in unison. 

She narrows her eyes but lets it go, too excited to dwell. Almost immediately, she’s off again, bouncing on Ilya's hip as much as someone can bounce while being held.

“When we meet Rapunzel, I’m gonna tell her I have long hair too,” She begins, touching her own braids. “It’s not as long as hers but still long. And I’m gonna tell her Uncle does my braids now. He was bad but he is getting good now. And… I’m gonna ask if she likes Pascal and if he is here and if he can say hi–” 

Ilya shifts her to his other hip. She continues talking, eventually mixing Russian in with English when she runs out of words. Shane is listening with genuine interest, asking follow up questions. 

“And then maybe she can let me touch her hair? Do you think she’ll let me touch it? It’s so so so long. I think it’s longer than Uncle, I bet,” Anastasia says, glancing at Shane. 

“Probably longer,” Shane agrees. “She has had a lot of time to grow it.” 

“Yes, in the tower,” Anastasia nods. “All alone. That is sad. But it’s okay, she found her family. Like I found Uncle after Mama and Papa.” 

Ilya smiles at that and places a soft kiss on her forehead, “That’s right, Nastya.” 

She begins talking again. Ilya moves her to his other side again, arm starting to ache. She’s not heavy at all but the angle is awkward and they’ve been standing in this line for what feels like an eternity. He spends a good thirty minutes of holding her, adjusting, and trying to find a comfortable position that doesn’t put too much strain on his lower back. 

He doesn’t say anything, he’s a professional athlete for God’s sake. He can hold a five-year-old for forty-five minutes. 

But Shane notices anyway. 

He catches Ilya’s eye and raises an eyebrow. Ilya shakes his head immediately to assure Shane that he’s fine. 

“Hey, Anastasia,” Shane says gently. 

She glances at him. 

"I can hold you for a while if you want," Shane offers. "Give your uncle's arms a break."

“It’s really fi–” Ilya begins to refuse. 

Anastasia cuts him off, “You’ll hold me?” 

“Yeah,” Shane shrugs. “If you want. Jade and Ruby said I give the best piggy-back rides.” 

She looks at Ilya, checking. Ilya opens his mouth to say no, it's fine, I've got her. Shane gives him a look and Ilya closes his mouth before nodding. 

Anastasia immediately reaches for Shane, “Okay! Your turn!” 

Ilya passes her over, trying not to think about how natural it looks. She wraps her arms around Shane’s neck the same way she does with Ilya. 

“You’re warm,” She informs Shane. 

“Thank you, you’re light as a feather,” Shane says, grinning. 

“Thank you, I am a feather,” Anastasia says, returning the grin. 

The line moves forward and slowly the conversation shifts to hockey for some reason. Ilya wants to kiss Shane when he notices the way the other man’s face lights up at the mention of it. 

“Did you know that in hockey, when you get a penalty, you have to sit in a special box?" Shane begins. “It's called the penalty box. You have to stay there for two minutes usually, sometimes more if you did something really bad."

Anastasia furrows her brows in confusion, “Like timeout?” 

“Exactly like timeout,” Shane confirms, nodding seriously. “But instead of sitting on a step or in your room, you're sitting in this little box right next to the ice where everyone can see you being bad."

Ilya bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Shane is seriously explaining hockey penalties to a five-year-old with actual intensity. 

“Why would you be bad?” Anastasia asks, genuinely curious. 

“Well, there are rules,” Shane continues. “You can't hit someone with your stick the wrong way. And you can't grab them and hold them back when they're trying to go somewhere."

“So like when Arjun grabs my braid on the slide? That’s a penalty?” 

Shane pauses, clearly running the comparison through his mental rulebook, "Yes. Actually. That would be holding. Definitely a penalty."

Anastasia nods along, “Do you follow rules?” 

“I mean, yeah, I try to follow the rules,” Shane says. 

“Do you and Uncle play together?” She asks. 

Shane nods, “Uh, yeah, we do. But our teams play against each other.” 

“That’s silly,” Anastasia says. “You should be on the same team. Then you could both win.” 

“That would be nice,” Shane says quietly. “Maybe someday.” 

The line moves and they get closer. They’re close enough to see the elaborate backdrop where Rapunzel sits on a small stool, her golden braid trailing across the floor like a rope. Anastasia gasps when she spots her.

"That's her! That's Rapunzel! Uncle, look!"

"I see her.” 

"Her hair is SO long. I told you. I told you it was longer than you."

"You were right," Ilya admits. "Much longer than me."

When the family ahead of them finishes their photos, it’s their turn. Shane puts her down and Ilya immediately puts a hand behind her back. 

Anastasia freezes. 

Ilya crouches down beside her, voice gentle, “Nastya. It's okay. You can go talk to her."

She shakes her head slightly, eyes fixed on the princess. 

Rapunzel notices and kneels down, bringing herself to Anastasia's level, "Hi there," She says softly. "I love your braids. Who did them for you?"

“My uncle,” Anastasia whispers. 

"They're beautiful. You must have a very special uncle,” Rapunzel replies, smiling brightly. 

Ilya nudges her gently, “Go on, Nastya, tell her what you practiced.” 

Anastasia takes a deep breath before nodding and taking a step forward. 

What follows is something Ilya will replay in his mind for the rest of his life.

Anastasia talks, really talks to her, opening up about moving to America, about her new school starting soon, about her best friend Arjun. She shows Rapunzel her Rapunzel shirt and explains that she wore it specially for today. She asks about the tower and Flynn and whether Pascal the chameleon is hiding somewhere nearby.

Rapunzel listens like every word is the most important thing she's ever heard. She compliments Anastasia's bravery. She tells her that moving to a new place is hard, but that's how you find your own adventure.

When they finally hug goodbye, Anastasia wraps her arms around the princess tightly. Ilya has to look away for a moment, blinking rapidly. Shane’s hand brushes against his as he takes the phone to take the photos. The touch is intentional, Shane’s way of telling Ilya that he’s here. 

When it’s finally time to leave, Anastasia waves so enthusiastically she nearly trips over her own feet.

“Bye, Rapunzel! Bye, Tiana!”

“Have a magical day!” Rapunzel calls after her.

Anastasia holds onto Ilya’s hand tightly, “She talked to me, Uncle. She really talked to me.” 

“She did,” Ilya agrees, voice soft. 

“She said I’m brave.” 

“You are.”

“She liked my braids.”

“I told you they were good,” Ilya says smugly.

Shane laughs beside them, “They were objectively solid braids.”

“Objectively?” Anastasia repeats carefully. 

“It means like… without doubt?” Shane translates. 

“Oh,” She nods. “Yes, they were objectively.” 

Ilya bites back a grin, shaking his head softly. As they round the corner toward the castle, Anastasia’s eyes land on the large gift shop near the entrance. She stops walking and immediately turns. 

“Uncle,” She says, shaking his hand. 

“No,” Ilya immediately says. 

“You didn’t even know what I was gonna say,” Anastasia says, pouting. 

“I know exactly what you were going to say.” 

She tilts her head, “You don’t.” 

Shane watches the exchange with pure amusement.

“What were you going to say?” Ilya challenges. 

“Can we go into the shop?” She asks, sweetly. 

Ilya sighs dramatically, “We went to a gift shop this morning.” 

“That was small shop. This is big shop.”

“That is not argument.”

“It is.”

Shane leans down, “I think we should at least look.” 

Ilya narrows his eyes, “You are enabling.” 

“I prefer supportive,” Shane says with a shrug. 

Anastasia gasps, “Yes! Supportive!”

Ilya exhales through his nose but he’s already turning toward the entrance. The second they step inside, it’s over.

Anastasia disappears into a sea of glitter and pastel fabrics. 

“Stay where I can see you!” Ilya calls after her, already knowing it's a losing battle.

"I'm right here!" she yells back from two racks away, her voice muffled by the dresses. 

Shane hovers beside Ilya, hands shoved into his pockets, “You're about to lose a lot of money."

“I know,” Ilya says. He glances over at Shane who has his eyes on Anastasia, “By the way…” 

Shane’s eyes never Anastasia, “Yeah?” 

“Thanks,” Ilya whispers before glancing back at Anastasia, who is looking at a dress similar to Rapunzal’s. “For today. And last night.” 

Shane looks down, a blush creeping up. He just hums. 

Anastasia emerges holding a lavender dress that looks suspiciously similar to Rapunzel’s.

“Uncle.”

“No.”

She holds it to her chest, “But I need it.”

“You do not need it.”

“I do. Rapunzel said adventure is important. How can I have an adventure without a dress?”

Shane coughs into his fist to hide his laughter.

Ilya pinches the bridge of his nose, “You can have an adventure in shorts.”

“That’s not how it works,” She shakes her head sadly, pitying his ignorance. 

Then she’s gone again, darting off before he can formulate a response. Ilya groans before following her.

Ten minutes later, Ilya is holding a pile of dresses, a Pascal plushie, headbands that she absolutely does not need, and a tiara. 

Anastasia grabs the tiara from his hand, placing it on her head. 

“Does it fit?” Shane asks. 

"It fits perfectly," Anastasia declares. She twirls once, “I look like a princess.” 

“You look like a menace,” He mumbles but there’s no real annoyance behind it. 

Shane smiles at him softly. 

They compromise eventually: two dresses instead of three, the tiara (non-negotiable, apparently), the Pascal plushie and a small light-up wand. When they finally make it to the register, Anastasia is vibrating with joy.

“Best day ever,” She whispers as the cashier scans her stuff.

They regroup with the rest of the group near the central hub. Kabir is carrying Sahil, who looks half-asleep already. Ruby and Jade are clutching matching balloons. Arjun is mid-story about Space Mountain, speaking at full volume.

“There you are!” Priya says. “We thought you got lost.”

“We were shopping,” Shane answers.

“Of course you were,” Hayden snorts.

Anastasia proudly shows off her tiara to Ruby and Jade, who immediately squeal and demand to see the dress too.

“Okay, okay,” Jackie laughs. “Everyone find a spot before it gets worse.”

Without being asked, Ilya bends and lifts Anastasia onto his shoulders. She settles there easily, small hands resting in his hair, chin on the top of his head.

“You comfy?” He asks. 

“Mhm.” 

Shane steps up beside them again, holding Arthur. They’re close enough that their arms brush. As the fireworks begin, Anastasia gasps and points excitedly. 

A few minutes into the show, Anastasia leans forward slightly, “Uncle.” 

“Yes?” 

“This is better than YouTube.” 

He huffs, “I would hope so.” 

Anastasia goes quiet for a few minutes before speaking again, “Thank you for bringing me.” 

“You’re welcome,” Ilya says, grip tightening gently around her calves. 

She rests her chin more firmly on his head, “I’m really, really happy."

His throat tightens, “I’m glad.” 

“And I love you."

The words are so simple and certain. His chest feels like it might split open from it. He tilts his head back slightly, pressing a quick kiss to her knee. 

“I love you too, Nastya.” 

She hums and turns her attention back to the sky. 

In the middle of the noise and color and chaos, Ilya feels like he has everything for once. 

Chapter End Notes

thank u guys so much for reading, leaving a kudos and commenting! it means so much to me!!

i really hope you guys were able to enjoy this chapter. it was a bit of a slow one but i tried to write disney world the best i could with the limited information i had (okay realistically i could've extensive research for it but i am a struggling college student 😭). also i will forever believe in the trope that ilya is a typical immigrant girl dad who can't say no to his daughters no matter what

omg also just saw a tweet that said fics where ilya and shane adopt ilyas niece after alexei dies are a little played out and now im like 😧😧 uh not the public turning while im in the middle of writing one 😭. anyways i hope this is too TOO played out

let me know what u guys thought of the chapter in the comments!!

Chapter 11

Chapter Notes

“Good morning,” Ilya greets as he walks into the kitchen. He glances at the lunch Vera is preparing and raises an eyebrow, “Very fancy today.”

“Good morning, Ilya,” Vera replies, closing the lid of the bento box. “I thought she would enjoy a comforting meal for her first day.” 

“Thank you, you are the best,” Ilya replies, pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“You are up early,” Vera comments, raising an eyebrow. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” He explains before taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ll handle getting her ready.” 

Vera nods, “Her uniform is pressed and hanging on the back of her door.”

“Got it.” 

He finishes his coffee quickly, rinsing the mug out in the sink and heads back upstairs. He pushes the door open to her room before sitting down on the edge of the mattress. 

“Nastya,” He whispers, reaching out to brush her hair back from her eyes. “Time to wake up.” 

Anastasia makes a small noise and burrows deeper into the pillow, bringing the blanket up over her head.

“It’s the first day of school, remember?” He says, tone gentle. 

“No,” She replies, voice muffled. 

Ilya chuckles, “If you want to have butterflies in your hair, we have to start now.” 

There’s a brief moment of complete stillness before she peeks out from under her blanket, squinting at him suspiciously, “How many butterflies?” 

"However many you want. But they don't put themselves in, these things take time.” 

She hums, “You promise they’ll look good?” 

He places a hand over his heart and nods, “I promise they will look very objectively good.” 

There’s another pause before she sits up and reaches for him, arms outstretched, “Carry me.” 

He laughs softly and lifts her. She loops her arms around his neck and buries her face against his shoulder. 

“To the bathroom,” Anastasia mumbles. “But slowly because I’m still sleeping.” 

“You’re the boss.” 

He carries her down the hall before setting her down on the counter of the sink in the bathroom. She turns around and glances at herself in the mirror, making faces. 

“Okay, brush,” He mumbles, reaching for her toothbrush. 

She pouts, “Can you do it today? Please?” 

Ilya rolls his eyes but nods anyway. He brushes her teeth slowly and gently. Anastasia sits there, swinging her legs which gently hit his thighs. 

Back in Anastasia’s room, Ilya helps her put on her uniform. It’s a navy sweater with the school crest embroidered on the pocket, a crisp white blouse, a dark plaid skirt, and white thighs. It feels absurdly formal for a five-year-old but who is Ilya to comment on fashion. 

Anastasia stares at herself in the mirror with a dramatic grimace, “That’s my outfit?” 

“That’s your uniform,” Ilya corrects. “All the kids are going to be wearing it.” 

She looks at the mirror to him and back again, “I hate it.” 

Ilya huffs and rolls his eyes playfully, “You’ll get used to it, kid.” 

“I wanted to look like a princess,” She mumbles before turning away. “Okay, now hair with butterflies.” 

He settles her on a stool in front of her dresser where Vera had laid out a small collection of clips and bands. He works slowly and parts her dark hair down the middle with a comb. After carefully braiding two pigtails. Then comes the important part, the butterflies. He clips three small butterflies down her braid. 

When he finishes, she tilts her head left and then right. She examines his work carefully before nodding one. 

“They’re good,” She says with a smile. “Really good. Auntie Svetlana would be proud.” 

“Yeah?” Ilya grins. 

“Yes. You are getting better at girl hair.” 

“Thank you, your praise means the whole world,” Ilya says, tapping the top of her head. 

She grins at him and for a moment, she looks so much like her mother, Anna, that it steals his breath. The same crinkle around the eyes, the same eyes, and the same full cheeks. Then she’s off the stool and running for the door. 

“Breakfast!” She yells, running down the hall. “Auntie Vera said I need breakfast for my brain!” 

Breakfast is waiting when they get downstairs. Anastasia clubs into her chair and smiles up at the older women. 

“Thank you, Auntie,” She says, picking up a piece of toast. 

Vera places a kiss on the top of her head before putting some fruit on her plate, “Big day today, sweetheart.” 

The three of them eat together, Anastasia chattering between bites. She talks about the butterflies in her hair and how cool it would be if they came to life and about Arjun.

About halfway through, Vera sets down her cup of coffee and looks at Anastasia, “Are you nervous?” 

Anastasia shrugs, “Only about the English, I guess,” She admits. “I sound funny when I talk.” 

Ilya reaches across the table and taps her small hand with his pointer finger, “You don’t sound funny. Do I sound funny to you?” 

Anastasia shakes her head. 

“Then why would you sound funny?” He questions. He pinches her cheek, “Don’t worry, bunny, you’ll do great.” 

“And you will have Arjun with you,” Vera adds, offering her a soft smile. 

Anastasia smiles at that, “You’re right, Arjun will be there with me.” 

The car ride is around twenty minutes through morning traffic. Anastasia stares out the window, swinging her legs in her booster seat. About halfway there, she speaks, eyes never leaving the window. 

“Uncle? Will you pick me up too?” 

Ilya’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, “I can’t today, bunny,” He answers, keeping his voice gentle. “I have practice this afternoon. But Vera will be there and if you ask nicely she might even take you to get some ice cream as a reward.” 

Anastasia just hums. 

He clears his throat before continuing, “I probably won’t be able to do drop off most mornings either. I’m going to try, I will really try but sometimes I have to leave early for practice, or I”m not back from games yet. I’m sorry I have to leave so much. I know you don’t like it.” 

She shrugs, “It’s okay.” 

He glances at her in the rearview, furrowing his eyebrow, “It’s okay?” 

“Yeah,” She picks at a loose thread on her backpack. “Remember Auntie Vera and I talked about it.” 

“Still, I’m sorry.” 

“I promise not to be sad about it if I can,” Anastasia assures, finally glancing at him. 

Ilya smiles softly and nods. 

When they get to the school, Ilya finds a parking spot near the back of the lot. Anastasia stares at the building through the window, her face unreadable. 

“Ready?” Ilya asks. 

She takes a deep breath and nods once, “Ready.” 

He gets out, circles the car, and opens the door. She unbuckles herself and slides down onto the pavement. Her small hand finds his hand immediately, holding onto him like her life depends on it. 

Inside, the hallway is buzzing with energy as kids return from winter break. Teachers are standing at classroom doors, greeting students by name. 

Anastasia’s grip on his hand tightens as they approach her classroom. He kneels down, bringing himself to her level. 

“Hey,” He begins. He waits until her eyes meet his before continuing, “You’re going to do great today.” 

"What if I'm sad?"

He considers the questions, as if it’s the most important question he’s ever been asked, “If you're sad, you're allowed to curse. Only once and in Russian, under your breath. It’s for emergencies only.” 

She grins, “Vera Auntie said curse words are not good.” 

“And she is right,” Ilya confirms. “But emergencies happen, right?” 

She giggles, “I’m not gonna say any curse words. Vera would know because she knows everything.” 

“Vera does know everything,” He agrees, scrunching his nose. He taps her nose, “Don’t worry, bunny, you’ll do great.” 

She nods and he pulls her into a hug, holding her against his chest. When he pulls back, he cups her face in his hands. 

“Go be brave, bunny,” He whispers. “I’ll see you tonight." 

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to her forehead. Anastasia nods and takes a deep breath, fixes her posture and turns toward the classroom. 

At the door, she pauses before looking back and waving. 

He waves back and mouths, “I love you.” 

She smiles and disappears inside. Ilya takes a deep breath before making his way out of the school. The parking lot is starting to empty out. He’s almost to his car when a familiar voice calls out. 

“Ilya!” 

He turns and sees Jessica walking toward him, looking way too put together for someone who just dropped off multiple children. Priya and Mei are a few steps behind her, holding onto cups of coffee. 

"Look who survived drop-off," Priya says, grinning.

"Barely," Ilya admits.

“First one hits different, doesn’t it?” Jessica asks. 

“I think I need a cigarette,” He says. “And I am trying to quit smoking.” 

Mei laughs, “That’s called parenting, welcome to the club.” 

They walk together toward the row of cars. Ilya gestures toward the school, “Seems like all of the Raiders send their kids here.” 

Jesssica nods, taking a sip of her coffee, “It’s a good school with small classes. Plus most of the players live in Boston full time anyway so it’s convenient.” 

“Makes sense,” Ilya agrees. 

“How is Anastasia doing?” Priya asks, tone soft. “Settling in?” 

“I think so. She’s nervous about the English, but…” He trails off and shrugs. “She has Arjun so that helps.” 

“Arjun adores her,” Priya says. “He’s always talking about ‘Anastasia this’ and ‘Anastasia that’ since they’ve met. I think you’re stuck with us now.” 

“I could think of worse things,” Ilya winks. 

They reach Jessica’s car first and stop walking, huddling into a loosely formed circle. 

Mei glances at him, “So, seriously. How are you feeling? First drop-off is a whole thing."

Ilya considers lying because it’s simply the easier thing to do. But something about the way these women have shown up for him since Nastya arrived, makes him want to be honest. 

“I don’t know why it feels like I left a piece of myself in that building,” He says quietly. “She’s going to be fine, I mean I know she is going to be fine but…” 

“Yeah,” Jessica nods. “That doesn’t go away, by the way. My oldest is eight and I still feel it every time.” 

Ilya hums and the group fall into a comfortable silence. Then Ilya remembers something that’s been nagging at him since the interview, “Actually, since I have all of you here can I ask something?” 

Priya immediately nods, “Of course.” 

“For extracurriculars, how did you decide what to put your kids in?” He asks. “Everyone keeps telling me she needs activities and I don’t know where to start.” 

Mei hums, “At this age, it’s really just experimenting. You try things until something sticks. They’ll tell you pretty quickly what they hate.” 

"And what they love," Jessica adds. "If Anastasia's expressed interest in anything specific, start there. Makes it easier."

Ilya thinks about it, what does Anastasia love? 

“Princesses,” He finally says. “And makeup. That’s really it at this point. She likes princesses and she likes watching me struggle with her hair clips."

Priya laughs, “Well, for what it’s worth, she and Arjun have full dance parties at our house when she’s over. They clear the living room and just go at it. So maybe start with dance?” 

Ilya nods along, “Okay. Maybe ballet then? I have a friend I can ask about that, she did ballet growing up.” 

Jessica raises an eyebrow, “A friend? Is that friend perhaps Svetlana?” 

He rolls his eyes but he’s fighting a smile, “Maybe.” 

"Oh, definitely Svetlana," Mei confirms, laughing.

Priya joins in, "The mysterious Russian childhood friend who just happens to be gorgeous and wonderful with Anastasia? That friend?"

“She’s just a friend,” Ilya protests. 

Jessica pats his arm, “Sure she is, buddy.” 

“You two are so cute,” Mei says. “Honestly, when are you finally going to settle down with her? You’ve got the kid, the career, and the perfect woman who clearly adores both of you. What are you waiting for?” 

Ilya tries not to let his smile drop. 

He thinks of Shane and his hands cupping Ilya’s face in the hotel room. Thinks of Shane’s voice cracking when he said I think I like you maybe a little too much. Thinks of the way he spent his day at Disney World trying to impress Anastasia, trying to show that he’d fit right in without any complications. 

He shakes his head and shrugs, “I’m a lone wolf.” 

Jessica snorts, “Sure you are.” 

He rolls his eyes and glances down at his watch before clapping his hands together, “Alright ladies, I have to get back home and get ready for practice.” 

“Try not to torture our husbands too much,” Jessica says, waving. 

Priya and Mei echo similar goodbyes as Ilya waves back and walks to his car. He climbs into it and sits there for a moment. Then he takes his phone out and pulls up messages. 

Lily: *image attached*
Lily: first day of school in america

Shane’s reply comes thirty seconds later. 

Jane: she’s adorable
Jane: tell her i wished her luck 

Lily: no
Lily: she already likes you too much

Jane: 🙄
Jane: at least someone in ur house likes me too much

Lily: whatever
Lily: i will not let her fall for shane hollander propaganda

Jane: hm 
Jane: should i gift her a metro’s jersey?

Lily: don’t u dare
Lily: don’t turn her to the dark side, she is only 5

Ilya smiles at the thought of Anastasia in a little Hollander jersey going to watch a game with him. He shakes his head and puts his phone in the cup holder before starting the car, he’s going crazy. 

On his drive back home from practice, he calls Svetlana. Usually he takes the time to decompress and gather his thoughts but he really needs to figure this extracurricular situation out before anything else. 

Svetlana picks up on the last ring, “Ilya! To what do I owe this honor?” 

“I can’t just call my friend?” Ilya replies, rolling his eyes. 

“Well, you usually don’t so I’m a little sure that something is wrong,” She says. 

“Nothing is wrong,” Ilya assures. 

“Sure,” She mumbles. There’s a slight pause before she asks, “How was the All-Star game?”

“It was fine.”

“Just fine?”

“I mean, it’s a friendly game so nothing serious,” He shrugs. 

She hums, “The internet seems to think that it was very serious.” 

He frowns, “What does that mean?” 

“Oh, nothing,” She says innocently. “Just that apparently you and Shane Hollander have incredible chemistry together.”

Ilya groans, “Please do not start.” 

“I’m not starting anything,” She insists. “I’m simply reporting what the internet is saying.”

“The internet is stupid.”

“Probably,” Svetlana agrees. “But the clips of you two playing together are kind of impressive and taking over the internet by storm.” 

“We have played against each other for years now,” He says. “Of course we know how the other plays.” 

“Ah yes,” She replies. “Purely professional familiarity.” 

“Yes, exactly.” 

“Makes total sense considering you are parading around Disney World together.” 

Ilya’s eyes widen, “What?” 

“Oh come on,” She says. “You think I wouldn’t see that? It’s all over the internet. People are saying it’s the greatest enemies to friends arc in hockey history. Apparently the NHL’s two biggest rivals spent the day at Disney World like long lost friends.” 

Ilya sighs, “It was not like that.” 

“Of course.” 

“It was a group trip, I swear,” Ilya insists. “It’s not my fault Nastya decided to latch onto him and made him her new best friend.” 

“That’s genuinely hilarious,” She says, giggling. “Leave it up to Nastya to befriend your arch rival and force you two to spend the day together.” 

Ilya just groans, choosing that it’s best to not respond. After a few seconds, he changes the topic. 

“You did ballet growing up, right? How was it?” 

“That’s a very random question,” Svetlana comments. 

Ilya hums, “I know but just answer it.” 

There’s a long pause before Svetlana answers, “I mean it was fun at first.” 

“At first?” 

“Well,” She begins. “It also gave me some pretty intense body image issues.” 

“Fuck, really?” 

She hums, “Yup. A lot of yelling about posture and telling kids that their hips are too wide. That kind of thing.” 

“Well, Nastya is not going to be yelled at about her hips,” Ilya mumbles, already upset at some imaginary teacher even daring to comment on Anastasia’s body. “I will fight someone.” 

“Wait, you’re asking for Anastasia?” 

“Yeah.” 

Svetlana chuckles, “You’re going to make her a walking Russian stereotype. A Russian ballerina? Doesn’t get better than that.” 

“Well, she is not going to be a ballerina now,” Ilya says, rolling his eyes. “I have to put her in extracurriculars and because she likes dancing I thought ballet but that doesn’t seem like a good idea anymore.” 

“I would say try to find a good teacher but the culture is pretty toxic,” Svetlana says. “Honesty, if it’s something she really wants to do, we can try to find someone.” 

“No no, it’s fine,” Ilya assures. “I’ll ask her if she wants to do music or something like that. Something that does not give her body image issues at five.” 

“Good idea,” She pauses before asking, “By the way, how are you doing, loser?” 

“I am okay.” 

“The truth, please,” Svetlana demands. 

Ilya chuckles, “Seriously, I am doing better than before. Still feels like I am doing everything wrong but it’s not as bad as before.”

“It’s good you worry, though,” Svetlana says gently. “Bad parents don’t lose sleep wondering if they’re bad parents.” 

He hums and taps his fingers against the steering wheel. 

Svetlana clears her throat, “Listen, if you ever need a weekend or even a week off from… everything, I could take her somewhere. Like on a girls trip or something.” 

“Girls trip?” 

“Yes, girls trip,” She repeats. 

“What? Where would you even take her?” 

“I don’t know,” She answers. “Somewhere fun, maybe New York or maybe even a spa.” 

“She’s five.” 

“Fine,” She sighs. “Disney again.” 

Ilya laughs at that before humming. 

“I am serious though,” She continues. “You don’t have to do everything alone. Just give me a call and I’ll do my best.” 

He appreciates the offer more than he can say but he declines it anyway, “I think we will be okay but I’ll keep you posted.” 

“Okay,” She says softly. 

“Visit soon, though.” 

“Oh don’t worry,” She assures. “I plan to.” 

The house smells like cooking when Ilya walks through the doors. He drops his bags by the entrances and takes his shoes off. 

When he walks further he sees Anastasia sitting at the table, hair wet and in her home clothes. She’s frowning at the worksheet in front of her, pencil in her hand. When she hears footsteps she immediately looks up and gasps. 

“Uncle!” She yells, dropping her pencil and jumping off the chair. 

She runs into his arms and Ilya catches her easily, lifting her and spinning her to hear her giggle. Then he hugs her and places a soft kiss in her damp hair. 

“I missed you so much,” He mumbles. “So so so much.”

“I missed you too!” She replies, pulling back to look at him. “School was so awesome.” 

“Really?” He asks, carrying her back toward the table. He sits down onto a chair with her on his lap, “Tell me everything.” 

“Well, first of all,” She begins. “My teacher, Mrs. Patterson, is like totally cool. She has sparkly glasses that go on a string. And she was so nice to me and made everyone say hi to me and explained that I was new and from Russia but that I was very excited to start school.” 

“Seems like a lovely lady,” Ilya comments, picking a fluff off of her eyebrow. 

Anastasia nods, “She is.” She grabs Ilya’s cheeks and squishes them in her hands, “And there’s a class hamster named Mr. Whiskers who ran on his wheel all day and then fell asleep in his food bowl. There’s also a reading corner but I don’t know how to read so Mrs. Patterson reads to us. Oh and… Arjun sits next to me and during snack time he traded his crackers for my apple slices. Also…. OMG!” 

“What what?” Ilya asks, voice coming out muffled as Anastasia squishes his lips. 

“I think I made a new friend today!” Anastasia explains. “Her name is Chloe and she also likes princesses but her favorite one is Elsa. But I think that’s okay because then we can play together and be Elsa and Rapunzal together. Do you think she could come to our house to play? Like Arjun does?” 

Ilya shrugs, “I think that depends on what her mom thinks, bunny.” 

Anastasia pouts but nods, “Okay, I will ask her tomorrow.” She turns in his lap and grabs her worksheet, “Look at my homework. I have to write the names of these animals.” 

“Okay, I will help.” 

She nods and gets off his lap, settling into the chair next to his as they work through it together. Kindergarten homework, it turns out, is deceptively simple and somehow still takes forty-five minutes. 

First Anastasia gets distracted by the color of her pencil. Then by a noise outside. Then by her own hand making shadow puppets on the table. Then by the fact that’s too hungry, then that she’s too tired and finally that she’s been sitting too long. 

Ilya redirects her gently each time. And despite every instinct in his body, he doesn’t sigh or show frustration. By the time they finish the last question, he feels like he’s run a marathon. 

“Done!” Anastasia throws her hands up in victory. “I’m a genius.” 

“You are absolutely a genius,” He agrees. “The smartest person in Boston." 

“The world,” She corrects. 

“The world, obviously,” Ilya agrees, dramatically slapping himself in the head which makes her giggle. He takes his phone out, “Okay, now hold up your first ever homework in America and pose with it.” 

She nods and immediately holds it up and strikes a pose. Ilya smiles softly and takes a couple of photos before setting his phone down again. 

“Perfect, my pretty girl,” Ilya assures, getting up. He kisses the top of her head, “Let’s get ready for dinner.” 

Dinner is uneventful. Most of Anastasia’s energy is directed toward eating her favorite meal, pelmeni. Vera and Ilya make some small talk but it’s mostly just comfortable silence. 

After dinner, Ilya takes Anastasia upstairs for dinner as Vera cleans up. She’s yawning by the time they reach her room, but she immediately sits up and rubs her eyes as he reaches for her pajamas. 

“Uncle?” 

“Yes?” 

She brings her hands together in a plea and pouts, “Can I watch TV in your room? For thirty minutes? Please please please?" 

He raises an eyebrow, "Thirty minutes?” 

“Twenty?” She negotiates. “Maybe twenty-five?” 

“Twenty,” Ilya confirms. “And then you have to brush your teeth and sleep, okay?” 

She grins and grabs his hand, tugging him toward his bedroom. In his room, she scrambles onto his bed and arranges pillows behind her. He puts on cartoons on his TV and sits down next to her. Anastasia immediately curls into his side, leaning against his arm. 

He grabs his phone from his pocket and sends Shane the photo of Anastasia with her homework from earlier. 

Lily: *image attached*
Lily: first homework

Jane: she spelled parrot wrong

Ilya smiles at that, of course Shane would catch a spelling mistake on a kindergarten’s homework and care to mention it.

Lily: english is not my first language

Jane: of course
Jane: did she like school?

Lily: yup
Lily: said it was awesome

Jane: awh, glad to hear that
Jane: i loved school, never understood why kids hated it

Lily: 🙄
Lily: of course u did

Jane: hey
Jane: what is that supposed to me

Lily: figure it out

Ilya bites his lip nervously before typing out another message. 

Lily: how was ur day?

He glances at Anastasia whose eyes are fixed on the screen. Then he glances back down at his phone, wondering if he should send the text. 

His thumb hovers the send button and he curses under his breath. He can ask Shane about his day, right? He’s quite literally been in Shane, asking about his day shouldn’t feel too intimate. He hits send before he can talk himself out of it. 

The minute Shane doesn’t reply feels like the longest minute of his life. 

Jane: it was ok 
Jane: hayden asked me about boston lily today

Lily: he knows abt me?

Jane: not abt u
Jane: just thinks i meet up with some girl named lily every time in boston
Jane: don’t worry 
Jane: he won’t figure out that it’s you

Lily: duh
Lily: he is like
Lily: 15th best metro

Jane: don’t be an asshole
Jane: anyway
Jane: how was ur day
Jane: other than anastasia’s first day, of course

Lily: was ok

Lily: i missed u
Lily: i missed|
Lily: i mi|
Lily: i|

Jane: can’t wait to see u

Lily: awh 🙁
Lily: miss my dick already
Lily: you’ve lasted longer than that, hollander

Jane: fuck off
Jane: don’t u? 

Lily: don’t i what?

Jane: miss me? 

Lily: more than anything
Lily: more than any|
Lily: more than|
Lily: more|

Lily: hmmmm
Lily: i guess

Jane: ur such an asshole

Lily: 😈

Ilya puts his phone down on his nightstand and glances at Anastasia. She’s out cold, mouth slightly open and one hand still holding onto the edge of his shirt. 

He smiles softly and carefully frees himself from her grip. He picks her up and carries her down the hall to her room. He gently lays her in bed, pulls the blanket up to her chin, and tucks her bunny under her arm. 

He takes a deep breath before placing a soft kiss on her forehead, “Good night.” 

He closes her door softly and walks back to his room. His phone is still on the nightstand where he left it but the screen is glowing. It’s a call from Polina. 

The soft smile on his face immediately drops. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment before picking up. 

“Polina,” He greets.

“Ilya,” She replies. 

Ilya sits down on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, “How is he?” 

There’s a long pause before she answers, “The same… worse, I would say. The medication they have him on makes him out of it. He doesn’t remember much these days. Yesterday… he asked when Alexei was going to visit.” 

Ilya closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Polina mumbles. She clears her throat, “The doctors say it’s late stages, very late. They don’t know how much longer he has. Weeks, at best.” 

He swallows the lump in his throat and hums, “I understand.” 

He should feel something. Grief or sadness or even relief that the suffering will end soon. Instead, there’s a hollow numbness. 

“I’m worried about myself… after all of this. I’ve given years to this family and your father. I need to know I’ll be taken care of,” Polina says. 

Ilya just nods, “I’ll wire some money tomorrow.” 

Polina hums, “You’re doing your duty, Ilya. As the only remaining child.” 

“I know,” Ilya mumbles. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Goodbye.” 

After the call, Ilya sits there and tries to calm his racing hand. 

The only remaining child.

Of course, that makes sense. Alexei is dead. His father is dying. His mother died more than a decade ago. And everything that’s happened to him, he’s still here with a five-year-old sleeping down the hall who depends on him for everything. 

He really can never catch up. 

At twelve, he walked into his parents’ room and found his mother’s dead body. He desperately tried to wake up, praying that she was just sleeping. 

That moment should have been enough trauma for a lifetime. A twelve year old boy shaking his mother’s shoulder, whispering, “Mama, wake up, you're scaring me," before the truth finally dawned on him should’ve been the end of it. 

The universe should have looked at that child and said, “Enough. He’s paid his due.” 

But the universe doesn’t work that way. 

Instead, the universe gave him a father who looked at his grieving son and saw only weakness. A father who backhanded him for crying, called him soft, told him he was just like her. A father who made sure every accomplishment was met with “You could have done better,” and every failure with silence. 

It gave him a brother who somewhere along the way turned into a stranger who looked at Ilya with resentment and contempt. Looked at him like he was the villain for getting out and escaping. 

Ilya made Boston his sanctuary. This was his, just his and nothing his father or brother could do would ever ruin that. 

And then his father got dementia. 

The irony isn’t lost on him. The man who had terrorized his childhood was now the one who needed him. And Ilya did everything he could. He paid for the best doctors, best treatment and paid Alexei to take care of him so his father could be protected. 

Then Alexei dies. 

Just fucking dies. A car accident on an icy road and suddenly the brother who hated him was gone. He’s gone and he left behind a five-year-old girl whose world is now Ilya. 

He didn’t have time to grieve. He still hasn’t had the time. Every time he thinks about Alexei, he has to shove it back away before everything comes crashing down.

And now his father is dying and he’s not going to be there. 

His father is going to take his last breath, and Ilya won’t be in the room. He’ll be here, in this city, trying to hold himself together, be what Anastasia needs and pretend that the death of his father won’t affect him. 

His phone buzzes. 

Jane: goodnight, lily
Jane: sleep well

Ilya stares at the message until his vision blurs. 

Shane is the light in all of this, beside Anastasia. He’s the one person who makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, he’s allowed to want something for himself. And even that, especially that, has to be hidden and a secret. 

The world won’t let him have this. His father’s ghost won’t let him have this. 

He closes his eyes and lets the tears stream down his face. 

Chapter End Notes

AHH OK FIRST OF ALL, i am so sorry for ghosting u guys for a month. i've legit had a test every week on a monday so i spend my whole weekend studying. this is the first weekend where i don't have an exam to study for so i wrote this chapter

second of all, thank u guys so much for reading, leaving a kudos, and commenting!! it means the world to me. i am going to try to reply to comments when i can but there are so many (AND THANK U SM FOR THAT LIKE THE RESPONSE TO THIS FIC HAS GENUINELY BEEN SO OVERWHELMING IM SO GRATEFUL 🫶🏽) so i will have to reply when i'm on the train or smth 😭

third of all, i read all the commnets on the last chapter and thank u guys for letting me know that u are not tired of reading ilya and his niece fics. i hope this one can be enjoyable!!

also i just wanted to clarify that ilya's depression is going to come back (like ik these past few chapters he's been really happy and it's been abt reconciling with shane and cementing his relationship with his niece). realistically ilya's depression isn't going to magically go away with shane coming back to his life, he's just genuinely really happy to be with him rn so he's pushing these feeling back. ilya's depression is going to get worse in this fic before it gets better (dw nth like suicide or self harm), especially when shane is injured and he has to go through playoffs (which i found out is crazy intense) and be a dad all at once

ok ok lmk what u guys thought of the chapter in the comments! i know it was a bit of a filler chapter but i still hope u guys were able to enjoy it!

Chapter 12

Chapter Notes

When the light hits Ilya’s face he groans and rolls onto his side, pulling the pillow over his head. He landed in Boston at midnight last night and by the time he got home and went to bed, it was two in the morning. It was a short road trip but he’s so exhausted and all he wants to do is sleep for the rest of the day. 

But now something is poking his shoulder, getting more insistence with each poke. 

“Uncle.” 

He doesn’t move. Maybe if he ignores her, she’ll go away. She’s done it before. She’ll climb into his bed, get bored when he doesn’t wake up and go back to her room to play with her dolls. 

“Uncle.” 

The poking continues and Anastasia’s voice gets higher. 

Ilya groans, “Go back to sleep. Too early. Sun is not up.” 

Anastasia giggles, “The sun is up! I saw it. Look, it’s up.” 

“The sun is lying,” He mumbles, pulling the comforter up to his chest. “Go back to sleep. We are sleeping now.” 

He rolls onto his stomach and shoves his face deeper into the pillow. For a few seconds, there’s silence and he lets himself foolishly believe that she’s given up. Instead, there’s a dramatic sigh before he feels her climbing onto the bed. She settles against his back, sprawled across his shoulder blades like she does most mornings. 

“You’re crushing me,” He mumbles as her chin digs into neck. 

“No, Shane Hollander said I’m light as a feather,” She corrects. “Maybe he is a better hockey player.” 

He huffs out a laugh but doesn’t move. She’s warm and the weight of her is comforting and he feels himself slipping into sleep again. He’s in and out of sleep, feeling her moving occasionally. At one point she starts humming the ABCs. 

He’s awoken again when something warm and wet presses against his ear. He flinches, nearly pushing her off his back, “Did you just lick me?” 

She’s grinning when he turns to look at her, “You weren’t waking up. It’s time to wake up now.” 

“It’s not time,” He groans.

“I want to play princesses,” She announces, sitting up on his back like she’s riding a large, grumpy horse. “You always do this. I have to wake you up every morning.” 

“Not true.” 

“Yes it is!” 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

“No.”

“Uncle,” Anastasia whines, gently tugging on Ilya’s hair with her small hands. “I missed you when you were at hockey. I wanna play with you.” 

Ilya groans, “Fine fine, we will play princesses because I missed you too.” 

She squeals and bounces on his back. He grunts at the movement and looks back at her, “But first you have to walk on my back.” 

Her bouncing stops and she looks at him like he’s suggested she eat a worm, “What?” 

“Walk on my back,” He repeats, settling back down. “Like a little massage. I am old and my back hurts.” 

“I don’t wanna,” Anastasia whines, throwing her head back. 

He hums and shrugs, “Well, I don’t wanna play princesses either.” 

She immediately perks up and stands up, planting her feet on his back, “No no, I’ll do it!” Anastasia begins walking up and down his back, nose scrunching in concentration. His back cracks in three places and he lets out a satisfied sigh. “Did it work?” She asks. 

Ilya hums, “Yes.” 

“Good,” She grunts out, “I’m done now.” 

Anastasia flops down onto the bed beside him. Before he can open his eyes, she’s leaning over him and prying his eyes open. Her small thumb forces his lid up like she’s checking if he’s still alive. 

“I’m awake,” He mumbles, batting her hand away. 

She grins, “Now you have to play princesses.” 

He sits up slowly and rubs his eyes. Anastasia is already bouncing on the mattress, ready to launch herself toward the door. He reaches out and catches her by the ankle before she can make her escape. She yells as he lifts her, dangling her upside down. 

“One day,” He says. “You will want to sleep in as a teenager and I will have the pleasure of waking you up. At six in the morning with a bucket of water.” 

She squeals, thrashing around in his grip, “Nooo! Uncle!” Her giggles fill the room. 

“Yes,” Ilya says, swinging her gently. “Revenge will be so sweet.” 

He pulls her up and settles her in his lap. She’s breathless, cheeks pink and her hair a mess. She turns around in his arms until she’s facing him. Then she leans forward and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“I missed you so much when you were playing hockey,” She mumbles before hugging his neck. “Did we win?” 

“I missed you too,” He whispers, hugging her tight. “We won some.” 

She pulls back and grins, “Good. Now princesses,” She reminds him, scrambling off his lap. 

He sighs dramatically but he’s smiling when he follows her out of the room. By the time they reach her room, Anastasia has already planned out the entire morning. 

“You are the king,” She explains, opening her closet door. “And I am the princess. There is a dragon in the kingdom and you have to save me.” 

“A dragon,” Ilya repeats, leaning against her doorframe. “Where did a dragon come from?” 

She pulls out the yellow Belle dress Ilya got her for Christmas and holds it up against herself, “It was hiding in the mountains. It was very sneaky and you didn’t see it because you were doing king things.” 

“Ah,” He nods once, crossing his arms. “And what are king things?” 

She tilts her head, “Taxes.” 

He chokes on a laugh, “Taxes? Where did you learn about taxes?” 

Anastasia shrugs, “It’s very boring work and that’s why the dragon came. You weren’t paying attention.” 

He raises his hands, “Fair. That is a fair critique of my kingship.” 

She giggles and hands the dress to Ilya so he can help her get dressed. Getting her into the dress and her hair pulled into a ponytail takes approximately four minutes which is a new record.

“Now the crown,” She says when Ilya fluffs her dress.

“The crown,” He mumbles to himself, scanning her dresser. He spots the tiara he bought her from Disney and plucks it up and settles it onto her head. “Good?” 

She turns, assessing every angle before nodding, “Good. Now you need your crown too.” 

“I need a crown?” Ilya asks, pointing to himself and raising an eyebrow. 

“You are the king. Kings wear crowns,” Anastasia answers, rolling her eyes. 

Ilya stifles a laugh at the sassiness before nodding, “Okay. What crown do I get?” 

She runs off to the corner of her room and rumages through her toy boxes before pulling out a spare tiara. It’s more pink than hers and a bit smaller but it’ll have to do for now. She climbs onto her bed and stands up so she can reach up and place it on Ilya’s head. 

“There,” She says, grinning. “Now you look like a king.” 

“I don’t think kings wear pink tiaras but thank you,” Ilya says, glancing at himself in the mirror. 

She shrugs before jumping into Ilya’s arms, “Now we go to the tower!” 

The “tower” is in the corner of the living room, where she’s arranged pillows from the couch around a small stool. The dragon is invisible, or perhaps it’s sleeping. The rules seem to change every few minutes, and Ilya has stopped trying to keep track. Instead, he follows her lead and basically does everything she tells him to do. He kneels when she tells him to kneel, pretends to fight the dragon when she waves her invisible sword, and declares her the bravest princess in the kingdom when she insists that she rescued herself. 

At some point, the plot line of the game has completely changed. The dragon is dead, the kingdom is saved and Anastasia decides that they should have a feast instead. She forces him to drag her play kitchen and tea seat from the storage closet and set it up for her in the middle of the living room. 

She brings him cups of imaginary tea, plates of invisible cake and talks about the kingdom’s state after the dragon. He tries his best to keep up with her chatter, engaging to the best of his ability but soon his mind begins to drift. 

One moment he’s in the living room and the next, he’s back in his Moscow. He’s twelve, standing in the door of his parents’ bedroom and his mother is on the bed. She isn’t moving and he can’t seem to make his legs work. He can’t do anything except stand there and wait for someone to tell him that this isn’t real, that it’s a mistake. 

His phone rings, pulling him out of his trance. Anastasia frowns but grabs the phone from the coffee table and hands him it. 

It’s Polina. Ilya bites back a sigh. He knows that this is going to be another call about his father, another update about medications or doctors or how much time the older man has. It’s just another reminder that his father is dying in Moscow and he can’t be there with him. 

He presses the power button and slides his phone back into his pocket. 

“You’re not gonna answer?” Anastasia asks, stepping into the space between his legs. She settles down in his lap and leans the back of her head against his chest, “Who is it?” 

“No one important,” Ilya answers before placing a soft kiss in her hair. “You hungry?” 

Anastasia nods eagerly, “A lot.” 

Ilya nudges her up before standing up as well, “Then breakfast we shall make.”

Anastasia demolishes her pancakes with an impressive speed for a five-year-old. There’s a streak of syrup in the corner of her mouth and Ilya just knows her hands are sticky. He’s sitting beside her at the kitchen island, sipping on his coffee. 

“These were good pancakes,” Anastasia comments, picking up a grape from her bowl of fruit. 

“Thank you, bunny,” Ilya replies, leaning over to kiss the side of her head. 

For a few moments, they fall back into their comfortable silence. It’s a Sunday, there’s nowhere to be and nothing to rush towards. Then, Anastasia slaps her forehead with her palm. 

“Oh! Oh! I almost forgot!” She scrambles off her stool so fast that it rocks. 

Ilya catches the stool quickly, steadying it with one hand, “Careful!” 

“I have to get something!” Anastasia yells, already running. “Don’t move!” 

“Slow down!” He calls after her. “You’re going to get hurt!” 

“I’m fine!” She yells back, halfway up the stairs. 

He shakes his head and smiles despite himself. A few minutes later she climbs back onto her stool. She’s slightly out of breath and her cheeks are pink. 

“I made you something at school,” She explains, putting her hands behind her back. 

“For me?” 

She nods and then holds out her hands. It’s a Valentine’s Day card. The construction paper is pink and a little wrinkled. There’s a heart that’s glued to the front and inside, in very shaky handwriting, it says: I LOVE YOU UNCLE

“It’s because of Valentine's Day,” Anastasia explains. “Everyone made one for someone they love. Arjun made one for his mom.” 

She says it so simply, like it’s obvious. Like of course she would make one for him. 

“This is for me,” He says, voice barely above a whisper. 

“You’re my uncle,” Anastasia says, swinging her legs. “Arjun said he loves his mom because she’s his mom so I love you because you’re my uncle.” 

Ilya grins and leans over, pressing a kiss to her cheek, “Thank you, bunny. This is the best Valentine I have ever gotten.” 

She giggles and squirms before sighing dramatically, “You didn’t get me anything.” 

He winces. He hadn’t even thought about it, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think–” 

“It’s okay,” She cuts him off with a shrug. “Arjun got me candy. And a flower. And you know what?” 

“What?” 

“He said I was his best friend,” Anastasia continues, grinning. “And he also said that I was pretty. He said that I was the prettiest girl in the class.” 

Ilya freezes, his smile immediately dropping, “He what?” 

Anastasia is oblivious to the change in his voice and shrugs, reaching for a piece of watermelon, “It was nice.”

“That was… very nice of him,” Ilya forces himself to say, reminding himself that Arjun is just another harmless child. 

Anastasia hums and reaches for another piece of watermelon, “He said he was gonna marry me someday. But I told him no because then I’d have to move to his house and I like my room.” 

“Good,” Ilya says, voice coming out sharper than he intends. “That is very smart. You should not marry Arjun. Or anyone. Ever.” 

Anastasia looks at him and gives her infamous “stank” face as Svetlana had branded it. 

“You’re being weird again, Uncle,” She comments. 

“I am not being weird,” He insists. “I am being realistic. You are five, you do not need to be thinking about marriage.” 

“I wasn’t. He was.” 

“Well, he shouldn’t be thinking about it either,” Ilya runs a hand through his hair. “Both of you are five. You should be thinking about... about coloring. And the alphabet. And not... proposing to people."

Anastasia squints at him, "What's proposing?"

The word make his eye twitch, “Nothing. Something you don't need to know about for a very, very long time."

She shrugs, “Okay. Can we watch Doc McStuffins today on TV?” 

Ilya blinks at her, shocked. She’s already moved on and this whole Arjun situation has apparently resolved itself. He forces himself to take a deep breath, he is losing his mind over a five-year-old giving his niece a flower.

“Okay,” He finally says. 

Anastasia cheers. 

Later in the day, Ilya makes sure to text two people. 

Ilya: why is your CHILD giving my CHILD flowers? and proposing marriage?

Kabir: lol
Kabir: chill he’s 5

Ilya: u better watch ur back
Ilya: it’s NOT funny
Ilya: 😐

Kabir: …

It takes him more courage to text the second. 

Lily: happy valentines day janeee

Jane: happy valentines day lily :) 

// 

Lily: what time do you leave tomorrow? 

Jane: early. why? 

Lily: what are you doing right now? 

Jane: nothing. at the hotel. 

Lily: come over? 

Jane: i can’t! we have a game tonight!

Lily: come on, not for long. anastasia is at school, finally have the house to myself.
Lily: an hour?

Jane: no! come on, it’s a terrible idea 

Lily: everything we do is a bad idea

The door opens a few seconds after Shane knocks. They share a quiet look before Ilya pulls him inside the house, fisting the front of Shane's jacket. 

Ilya pulls Shane into a hungry kiss. Shane’s back hits the doorframe and he pulls him closer. He tilts his head, letting Ilya deepen it. For a few moments, the two men are just lost in each other. And then something crinkles between them. 

Ilya freezes and he pulls back just enough to look down. Shane suddenly becomes hyperaware of the small brown paper bag he’s holding.  

“What is that?” Ilya asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Nothing,” Shane mumbles, face heating up. 

“You have brought something?” Ilya says, grinning. “For me?” 

Shane rolls his eyes and pushes past Ilya. He places the bag on the kitchen island and turns around to face Ilya again, “Should we continue?” 

“You brought gift for me?” Ilya asks, ignoring Shane. 

He grabs the bag from the island and pulls out a book. It’s a children’s book: The Three Little Pigs. Ilya turns it over in his hand, examining it with a soft smile. 

“Awh for me,” Ilya says, looking back at Shane. “Because I am known for my love of reading.” 

Shane snatches the book back, “Don’t be an asshole.” 

Ilya laughs and Shane wants to be annoyed but it’s impossible when Ilya looks so unguarded and soft. 

“It’s for Anastasia,” Shane says. He sets the book on the counter, “I saw it at a shop near the hotel. I know she’s really into fairy tales but I asked the girl who worked there and she said that everything they had in the fairy tale genre was in the 3rd to 5th grade reading level. The Three Little Pigs was my favorite story growing up so I thought– I mean it’s whatever. It’s not a big deal.” 

Ilya is quiet and Shane finally makes eye contact with him. Ilya is watching him with an expression that makes his heart skip a beat. 

“What?” Shane demands. 

“Nothing,” Ilya says. He bites back a laugh, shaking his head. “You want to make a good impression on five-year-old.” 

“I don’t–” Shane stops himself. Because he does want to make a good impression, “She’s an important five-year-old.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Shane looks down at his hands and then back at Ilya. “She’s yours.” 

Ilya stares at Shane for half a second before pulling him into another kiss. This time they kiss slower and deeper. Shane runs his hands through Ilya’s hair. 

Ilya’s pulling on his shirt when his phone buzzes again. He glances at the nightstand, it’s Polina again. Shane pauses as he’s pulling his socks on and glances at Ilya. He doesn’t comment on it, not after Ilya’s little comment about asking too many questions. It’s obvious that Ilya doesn’t want to talk about it, so he won’t ask. 

Ilya cuts the call and pockets his phone. He presses a quick kiss to Shane’s mouth, “Come on, I’ll walk you out and wait until your Uber comes.” 

“Thanks,” Shane mumbles, biting back a smile. 

He finishes pulling on his socks and shoes and follows Ilya out of the bedroom. They’re halfway down the stairs when Ilya hears the front door opening followed by Vera and Anastasia’s voices. 

Shane freezes mid-step and snaps his head towards Ilya. His eyes are wide and he closes and opens his mouth. The reaction is almost comical if it wasn't for the genuine panic across his face.

“Relax,” Ilya mumbles, voice low. “They already know we’re friends because of hockey. You spent the whole day with us at Disney.” 

“Right,” Shane nods once. “We’re friends.” 

“Exactly,” Ilya squeezes his arm. “Just act normal.” 

“Normal,” He mumbles to himself. 

Ilya nods and starts walking down the remaining stairs, forcing his posture to remain relaxed. Behind him, he hears Shane take a deep breath and follow. They round the corner into the living room just as Anastasia is pulling off her coat and talking to Vera in Russian. The older woman is beside her, unwinding her scarf and already looking up at the sound of footsteps. 

Anastasia sees Shane first and her entire face changes. She gasps, “Shane Hollander!” 

She drops her coat on the floor, which Vera immediately picks up, and launches herself across the room. Shane barely has time to brace himself before she collides with her legs. Her small arms wrap around his knees.

“You came to visit?” She asks, tilting her head back to look up at him. “Are you staying for dinner? Uncle kinda sucks but I think Vera auntie will make something nice.” 

Shane laughs before crouching down to her level, “I can’t stay for dinner unfortunately. I have to get back. We have a game tonight.” 

Anastasia’s face falls, “Hockey,” She says with clear disdain. “Hockey always ruins everything.”

“I know,” Shane says, nodding solemnly. “But it’s my job.” 

“I know,” She sighs dramatically. “Uncle says the same thing. But you could stay for a little bit? We could color. I have new crayons."

“I wish I could but I really have to go,” He says, pinching her cheek lightly. “Maybe next time?” 

Anastasia nods slowly, “You promise?” 

She holds out her pinky and for a moment Shane immediately hooks his pinky through hers. 

“I promise,” He replies.

She nods and finally takes a step back towards Vera. Shane stands up and smoothes his sweater down. He glances at Vera and offers her a polite smile. 

“Hello,” Shane says. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“You as well,” Vera says, returning the smile. 

Ilya steps forward, placing a hand on Shane’s shoulder and steering him gently toward the front door, “I’ll walk him out. Be back.” 

“Bye!” Anastasia waves, grinning. 

“Bye bye, wish me luck!” Shane says, glancing over his shoulder. 

“I can’t! I want Uncle to win!” Anastasia yells back as their distance grows. 

Shane snorts and shakes his head. When they reach the front door, they step out together on the front steps. Shane’s Uber isn’t here yet, the app showing it’s still two minutes out. 

Ilya shoves his hands into his pocket, rocking back on his heels, “So.” 

“So,” Shane repeats, biting back a smile. “I hope Anastasia likes the book.” 

“She will like it, don’t worry,” Ilya assures, rolling his eyes playfully. “Thank you.” 

Shane hums and glances towards the street, “Good luck tonight,” He glances back at Ilya and smirks. “You’ll need it.” 

Ilya laughs and shakes his head, “You’re in a good mood. Good. Will be better for you when you lose.” 

“Fuck off,” Shane laughs, nudging him with his shoulder. He glances down at his phone, “Alright, my Uber is a minute away. I’ll go now.”

“Bye, Shane,” Ilya says, voice soft. 

“Bye, Ilya.” 

Ilya sets his duffel bag on the kitchen island. Anastasia is sitting on the stool, a worksheet in front of her. She’s supposed to be tracing letters but her attention has drifted to the window. 

“Are you gonna leave now?” She asks without looking at him. Her voice is quiet and it’s obvious she’s trying her best to not be sad. 

“I have to, bunny,” Ilya answers, leaning against the counter. 

She nods slowly, still staring out the window. 

He nudges her arm, “Hey. Look at me.” 

She turns, and he can see her face clearly now. She’s pouting slightly and her shoulders are sagging. 

“Come here,” He holds out his arms. 

Anastasia huffs dramatically and stands on the stool so she’s at eye level with him. It’s a move Vera would absolutely not approve of but she’s not here to comment so Ilya’s going to let it slide.

“You’re gonna be late,” Anastasia says.

“I have time,” He says, tilting his head. “I need something before I go.” 

“What?” 

“A good luck kiss,” He taps his cheek. “Fr the game.” 

She wrinkles her nose and shakes his head, “No.” 

“No?” 

“No,” She grosses her arms, fighting back a smile. “You don’t need a kiss.” 

“I do,” He insists, leaning in. “Without a good luck kiss, I will lose. Everyone will laugh at me. The other team will point and say ‘Look, Ilya Rozanov has no one to kiss him good luck.’ It will be very embarrassing.” 

She giggles but shakes her head anyway, “That's not true."

“It is true,” He says. "Hockey players are very mean. They will make fun of me all night."

“Uncle,” She whines, laughing and trying to push his face away with her small hands 

“You want them to make fun of me?” He clutches his chest dramatically. “You want your poor uncle to be humiliated in front of thousands of people.” 

“Stop it!” She’s fully giggling now. 

“I cannot stop,” He says, leaning closer. “Not until I get a good luck kiss. It is the only cure."

She taps her chin, pretending to think long and hard. Then she grabs his face, squishing his cheeks together. She kisses him everywhere: his forehead, nose, chin, and each cheek twice. She’s laughing the whole time, pressing kisses so fast he can barely keep up and he’s laughing too, trying to catch his wrist. 

“Okay, okay!” He gasps, trying to pull back. “That’s enough.” 

She doesn’t stop, getting his eyebrow, “More! More luck!” 

“Too much luck!” He finally manages to catch her hands. “If you give me too much, I will be too powerful. The other team will not stand a chance. It would be unfair."

“Okay,” She decides, breathless. “Enough luck.” 

He drops her hands and pulls her into a proper hug. She wraps her arms around his neck and holds on. 

“Win,” She says. 

“I will win,” He promises. 

"You said that last time."

“Last time I only had a few kisses. Tonight I have many,” He pulls back to look at her. “I am unstoppable now.” 

She grins and Ilya’s heart breaks a little. He can Alexei, Anna and a little bit of himself in the grin. He presses a kiss to her forehead, right between her eyebrows. 

“I will win for you, bunny,” He assures. “I promise.” 

“No no, it’s not true. I said you fuckers owe me a thousand dollars for every goal I score,” Ilya yells, walking to his cubby. He takes his helmet off, “You each owe me three thousand fucking dollars.” 

“Fuck off, Rozy!” Cliff yells. 

“You all agreed, huh?” Ilya replies, raising his brows. 

His phone vibrates and he grabs it from his cubby. When he sees it’s Polina, his smile immediately drops. 

“What do you want?” Ilya snaps. 

“Your father has passed, you need to come to Moscow,” Polina replies, tone indifferent. 

Ilya’s heart drops so fast he feels it in his stomach and there’s a sudden ringing in his ears. 

“Okay,” Ilya chokes out. He swallows, “I will be on the next flight.” 

“Good,” She says before ending the call. 

He stares at his phone for a moment. The call log shows her name and the duration of the call: forty-three seconds. Forty-three seconds to dismantle whatever was left of his childhood. 

“You good, Cap?” 

He blinks. Kabir is looking at him from two stalls over, taking his shoulder pads off. Ilya opens his mouth but nothing comes out. 

“Ilya,” Kabir says, setting his gear down and takes a step closer. “What’s going on?” 

The words feel like they’re stuck in his throat. His eyes are burning and his hands are shaking. 

Cliff looks over, grin fading, “Rozy you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“I need to go back to Moscow,” Ilya chokes out. 

“Moscow?” Cliff repeats, immediately alert. “Why? Did something happen with your–” 

“My dad died,” The words come out flat and emotionless. “He’s dead. I need to go. I need to book a flight.” 

The locker room falls dead silent. Ilya can feel them watching him and their attention presses down on his shoulders. He starts moving without meaning to, grabbing his duffel bag. 

“I need to tell Nastya,” He hears himself saying. “She has school tomorrow. I need to book flights.” 

His hands are shaking too much to unzip the bag. He swallows the lump in his throat, “I need to– I need to tell her that her grandfather is dead.” 

The word grandfather feels weird, it doesn’t fit. His father had never been a grandfather, not really. Anastasia barely knew him. She would be sad, maybe, because she was supposed to be but not because she lost something real. He’s not sure if it makes it better or worse. 
 
“Ilya, breathe, man,” Cliff says. 

Breathe. Right. He should breathe. But no matter how hard he tries, it doesn’t feel right. He keeps thinking of his father’s hands. How they felt on his face, gripping his chin and forcing him to look up at him after the funeral. Don’t be weak. Don’t be like her.

He thinks of the last time they spoke. That phone call where his father screamed at him for missing practice, for being lazy and for being just like her. And Ilya had to sit in his car on the side of the highway and let it happen because it was easier. 

Fuck. His father is dead. 

“I need to go,” He says again, reaching for his bag again. 

“Hey,” Kabir says, grabbing Ilya’s wrist gently. “Just stop for a second.” 

Ilya looks up. Kabir is right there, close enough that the rest of the room blurs to the background. 

“I can’t,” Ilya’s voice cracks. “There’s so much I need to–” 

“Nothing you need to do right this second,” Kabir says. “Nothing that can’t wait for five minutes.” 

“I have to bury him,” Ilya blurts out, eyes glassy. 

Kabir pulls him into a hug. For a moment, he just stands there with his face pressed into Kabir’s sweaty shoulder. A tear slips out before he can stop it. He tries to blink them back and swallow them down but they keep coming. 

His father is dead. 

The man who made him, broke him, called him weak and made him feel like nothing, is dead. Ilya is twenty-five years old and he has no parents. 

He’s so fucked.

Chapter End Notes

i hope u guys enjoyed this chapter! i tried to include a good mix of anastasia and ilya moments as well as ilya/shane.

i haven't read the books so i don't really know how shane and ilya's dynamic is between the tampa scene and the cottage. for the purposes of my fic i wanna keep it a little like they're just testing the waters and being more couple-y and romantic (like very very little but it's there). but when shane gets injured their dynamic does stay somewhat the same over text but ilya has to think a lot more abt anastasia and how to deal with having a good balance of putting her first but taking care of himself.

oh also for the walking on the back scene, i added it bc i feel like it’s just a small little thing that adds to the immigrant dad ilya of it all 😭. like the amount of times i walked on my dads back as a child

oh also, i’ve heard russians are superstitious people. i mean indians are too but im not sure if any of them overlap. if anyone russian is reading this fic, please lmk some so i can add them to the fic. ALSO ALSO IF THERE ARE ANY RUSSIANS READING: please give me any tips or tricks on anything i should add or you’d like to see in anastasia and ilya’s dynamic to make it more accurate. thank u!

anyways, thank u sm for reading!! lmk what u guys think in the comments!!

Chapter 13

Chapter Notes

when it's just russian speakers, the dialogue in russian isn't italicized and it should be assumed that they're speaking russian. however, when it's around non-russian speakers, the dialogue in russian will be italicized !

i did all the russian dialogue italicized in one chapter and italicizing them again on ao3 (the format doesn't stay the same when you copy and paste from google doc to ao3) literally took fifteen minutes so it's not worth it for me

Anastasia looks at herself in the mirror, “I wore this for Mama and Papa,” She comments quietly, running her hand over the black dress. 

Ilya swallows and nods, “Yes.”

“It’s small now.” 

“You are growing,” He replies. 

She nods slowly before turning to face him, “Grandpa was your papa, right?” When Ilya nods, she quietly asks, “Are you sad, Uncle?” 

The question makes him feel sick to his stomach. Instead of answering, he reaches for her hairbrush and begins brushing her hair. 

“When Mama and Papa left,” Anastasia begins. “Polina said they went to the stars. She said they’re always watching me.” 

“She said that?” Ilya mumbles, eyes still focused on her hair. 

Anastasia nods, “She said when I’m sad, I can look up and they’ll be there.” She’s quiet for a moment before she adds, “Is Grandpa in the stars now too?”

He parts her hair down the middle and nods, “Yeah.” 

“Does that mean you can see him? If you look up?” 

Ilya thinks about his father and about looking up at the night sky and trying to find a cruel man. He’s not sure he ever wants to meet his father again. Even if he was all that was left of his family. 

“Maybe,” Ilya lies. 

She nods to herself and Ilya begins braiding her hair. For a few minutes, all he can focus on is trying to make sure her braids are neat. 

“Are you sad?” Anastasia asks again, voice barely above a whisper. 

Ilya doesn’t answer. He finishes the first braid and tires it off with a small, black elastic and starts the second. 

“Uncle?” 

“I am…” He pauses, trying to find the right word. Sad isn’t wrong but it’s not the whole truth either. Sad is too simple of a word to describe the complicated knot of grief, relief and guilt. He finally says, “I am tired.” 

She turns her head, trying to look at him, “Like when you come home from hockey?” 

“A little like that.” 

She considers that, nodding to herself, “Then you need a nap. Maybe.” 

He chuckles softly despite himself, “Maybe.” 

Ilya finishes the second braid and ties it off. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to the side of her head, “There. All done.” 

“Thank you,” Anastasia says, turning around and smiling up at him. 

He helps her with her shoes and coat. When he’s done, she looks like the only light Ilya has in the darkness of Moscow. 

As they walk out to his car he quietly assures her, “I’m okay, bunny. I promise.” 

The funeral is a blur. Ilya feels like he’s underwater the whole time and nothing feels real. Everything is muffled and it feels like his mind has checked out completely. 

He shakes hands, accepts condolences and says the right words in the right order but he does not look at the casket. It feels easier this way because if he doesn’t look, he can pretend like he’s somewhere else completely. 

Anastasia stays close to his side, her hands in his and face unreadable. Once, Ilya was twelve standing next to his father as they buried his mother. Now, he’s twenty five and burying his father with his niece standing by him.

At the funeral dinner, he feels on edge. Compared to the burial, everything feels too loud and sharp. 

Anastasia is sitting beside him, her legs swinging beneath the table. She’s picking at a piece of bread and tearing into small pieces but not eating. 

“Eat a little,” Ilya says, putting down his fork and picking up hers. He stabs a piece of meat and gently brings it to her lips, “Please.” 

“I wanna go home,” Anastasia mumbles, pushing his hand away and leaning on his arm. “Can we go home?” 

“Just a couple more hours and we’ll be back to the apartment,” Ilya assures quietly. 

Anastasia groans and closes her eyes, “No I wanna go back to Boston.” 

The words hit him in his chest. Moscow isn’t even a home to her anymore. Her whole world has become Boston. 

“Soon,” He promises, placing a kiss in her hair. “Soon, bunny.” 

On Anastasia’s other side, Svetlana reaches out, “Come here, baby,” She mumbles. She moves in her chair and guides Anastasia gently toward her, “Rest for a bit. It’s been a long day.” 

Anastasia doesn’t argue, letting Svetlana pull her close and resting her head in the older woman’s lap. Within minutes, she’s fast asleep. 

“I need a breather,” Ilya mumbles, getting up before Svetlana can respond. 

He grabs his jacket and steps outside. He lights up a cigarette as soon as he’s out and takes a long drag. His hands are shaking. They’ve been shaking all day and no matter how many cigarettes he smokes to calm himself down, it’s not working. 

He has a few minutes of silence before he hears the door open behind him. He turns and finds Polina standing there, arms crossed, staring at him. 

Ilya stares back, putting the cigarette out with his foot. He’s so fucking tired. He’s tired of the grief that hasn’t left his life since his mother’s death, he’s tired of pretending and he’s tired of all the expectations he never asked for. 

“What?” Ilya asks, voice flat. 

Polina narrows her eyes, “Now what?” 

He blinks at her, confused for a moment, “Now what?” 

“Yes,” She shifts her weight to her other foot. “What happens now? What do you do?” 

Ilya laughs bitterly, “I don’t know, Polina. My father just died. I don’t have a plan.” 

She scoffs, her arms tightening across her chest, “Please. Don’t stand there and pretend you’re heartbroken, Ilya. We both know you’re not that upset about Grigori.” 

He stares at her, “What the fuck is that supposed to me?” 

“You know exactly what it means,” She replies without missing a beat. “You’ve been gone for years. You weren’t her. You didn’t have to watch him forget who he was. You didn’t have to hold his hand while he asked for your mother and Alexei. You didn’t have to be here.” 

Ilya’s hands ball into fists. He wants to scream. He wants to tell her about the phone calls, the ones where his father screamed at him for being lazy, for being weak, for being just like his mother. He wants to tell her about the scar on his wrist that doesn't seem to fade away with the years. He wants to tell her that the twelve-year-old boy who found his mother’s dead body is fucking done with this. 

He doesn’t say any of it. He knows it won’t change anything. 

“I’m not doing this with you,” He mumbles, trying to walk away. 

Polina grabs his wrist, her fingers digging into his skin, “What about me?” Ilya stops in his tracks and looks at her. “What about me?” She repeats, voice shaky. 

He pulls his arm away, “What about you?” 

“I’m only thirty eight, Ilya,” She says, straightening up again. “I married your father when I was twenty eight, thinking that– I gave him ten years. I gave him everything. And now he’s gone and I have nothing. Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do?” 

Ilya stares at her. He never understood why Polina would willingly choose to marry his father, doesn’t know what she would ever get out of it. 

“That’s not my problem,” He says. He knows it’s cruel but he can’t bring himself to care. “It’s not my fault you married a man thirty years older than you.” 

Polina slaps him so fast that he doesn’t have the time to dodge it. His head snaps to his side and his cheek stings. He turns back slowly, eyes glassy. Polina’s face is flushed and her chest is heaving. 

“You think you’re better than me?” She asks, eyes red. “You think because you got out and because you have your whore Svetlana playing mommy to Anastasia that–” 

“Don’t,” He says, cutting her off. “Don’t fucking bring them into this.” 

She laughs, “Oh, I forgot. You don’t want to talk about the things you really care about, do you? You never have. You run away from everything. From your father, from this family, from–”

“You don’t know anything about me.” 

“I know enough,” She steps closer, her face inches away from his. “I know what you are. I’ve known you since you were fifteen. You’re a f**got, Ilya. What gives you the right to stand there and judge me?” 

Ilya closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He exhales slowly before opening them again. He stares at Polina with a blank face, “What do you want from me, Polina?” 

“I need to be taken care of,” Polina replies. “I deserve something.” 

He nods slowly, “You can have everything under his name. The house, the money in the accounts, the car. All of it is your’s. I don’t want any of it.” 

Polina crosses her arms again, trying to protect herself from the breeze and nods. 

“And I don’t want to see you again,” He continues. “I don’t ever want to hear from you again. We were never a family to begin with and with father dying, it ends whatever the fuck this was.” 

Polina stares at him for a few seconds before she nods. She smooths her jacket, “Fine.” 

Without another word she turns around and walks back toward the restaurant. Ilya closes his eyes and curses under breath. 

Svetlana drives Ilya and Anastasia back to his apartment. Ilya carries Anastasia inside, Svetlana a couple steps behind him. He tucks her into bed and places a soft kiss on her cheek before walking back to the living room where Svetlana was standing.

Ilya stops a few feet away and sighs, “I don’t deserve you.” 

Svetlana steps forward and grabs his hand, “Yes, you do.” She assures. Then she gently adds, “But you don’t want me.” 

Ilya glances down at their hands, “You know I love you.” 

“I know you do. But it’s not the same as it is with Jane, is it?” She says. 

Ilya’s heart drops and he stays silent. 

“I love you too,” Svetlana assures. “And whatever you need, I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere. I just hope Jane knows how lucky he is.” 

Ilya’s heart drops, unable to form any words. Svetlana leans forward and places a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

She takes a step back and exhales, “I have to go. Are you going to be okay?” 

Ilya just nods. 

Svetlana gives Ilya one last smile before heading out. Ilya stands in the middle of his living room after the front door shuts behind Svetlana. The apartment feels suffocating but he doesn’t move. 

He closes his eyes and tries to calm himself down but it’s to no resolution. He slides down and rests his back against the couch, knees bent. He sits on the floor like a child, staring at nothing. 

She knows. She’s one of the most important people in Ilya’s life but he doesn’t want her, not like that. He loves her fiercely, the way you love someone who has seen every version of you and stayed anyway. But it’s not the same. 

Svetlana said he. 

She knows. Svetlana knows him better than he knows himself at this point. She knows that he would never hide a woman from him. 

He grabs his phone from the coffee table and mindlessly opens his messages with Shane.

Lily: are you alone? 

The reply is almost instant. 

Jane: yeah

He stares at his phone for a moment before dying out.

Lily: can i call you?

Jane: yes

Ilya presses the call button before he can talk himself out of it. 

Shane picks up on the third thing, “How are you?” 

“Okay,” Ilya answers. Then he adds, “Not good… Probably bad.” 

“How’s you, uh, family?” Shane asks, tone hesitant. 

“You mean what’s left of them?” Ilya bitterly laughs. “My step-mother is… I don’t know. Scared. It makes her terrible. And it makes me terrible back.” 

“Is it… very upsetting?”

“Yes,” Ilya  nods once, to himself. “But maybe I am upset about the wrong thing.” 

“You mean not your father?” 

Ilya takes a deep breath, “Maybe… I…” He trails off, struggling to find the right words. “I wish it could be different. I wish he could know me, or…” He exhales. “I don’t know. I don’t know. English is too hard right now.” 

“I wish I spoke Russian,” Shane admits earnestly. 

Ilya hums, “Yeah, you could probably learn it in a week. No accent. Perfect. Bonjur.” 

“That’s French, Ilya.” 

Ilya sighs, “Yeah, I know, Shane.” 

“Where are you?” 

“Just put Nastya to bed,” Ilya answers. “Just me and her in the apartment.” 

“Hey, uh, I have an idea,” Shane begins. “How about you tell me everything that’s on your mind, but in Russian? I won’t understand but maybe it’ll help.”

Ilya pauses before whispering, “Okay.” Ilya inhales slowly, “I never want to come back here again. I fucking hate it here. And they all fucking hate me. I pay for everything. I make sure everyone has clothes they like. I make sure the food is perfect, that Father is buried next to his parents, that the tomb is perfect. And the only fucking word I ever hear is: ‘I want more, Ilya. I need more, Ilya, more, more, more!’ And I have nothing for these people! I give them everything… but I feel fucking empty. They don’t care. They look at me and they see a bank. Or an enemy. Or I don’t even know what.” 

Shane closes his eyes, focusing on Ilya’s voice. 

“My brother, he always hated me. And I know why, but…” Ilya shakes his head. “... it kills me that we never fixed things before he died.” 

Ilya pauses, eyes watering, “And it kills me that he got more time with my father than I did. But I couldn’t! I wasn’t here. Everyone but me was here. I still paid for it all. But it’ll never make up for the time I lost with Father. For any of it.” 

“I have no one now,” Ilya continues. “No brother, no father… no mother. Well, not no one. I have Nastya. She’s… my whole world now. She’s the only reason I can get out of bed and go on with living this fucked up life. And I have… Svetlana. She loves me. And I love her. But not like…” 

He trails off, bowing his head, “Fuck me,” he whispers. It takes him a few moments to collect himself and continue speaking, “But not like I love you. That’s the worst fucking part of all this is… that all I want is you. It’s always you. I’m so in love with you and I don’t know what to do about it.” 

//

They’ve been back in Boston for two days. It’s been two days of waking up at odd hours, of staring at the ceiling, of going through the motions of being a parent while feeling utterly tired and hopeless. 

Things have been quieter though. Even Anastasia, who will usually talk his ear off, has been quieter since the funeral. He’s not sure if she has the emotional intelligence to understand what Ilya is going through but it’s nice to have a quiet couple of days. 

He knows he should be at practice and on the ice. Hockey has always been a stable and consistent distraction from his fucked up like but Coach LeClaire had been firm.

“You just buried your father, Rozanov,” The older man said. “And you have a five-year-old at home. Take a week or two. We’ll still be here when you come back.”

So now Ilya is at home. And home, without hockey, has become a place where his thoughts have nowhere to hide. 

He’s in love with Shane. 

The realization isn’t new. He’s known it for months, maybe even for years. But knowing something and accepting it are two different things. And in Russia, he had no choice but to accept it. 

He’s in love with Shane Hollander. 

The man who plays for the rival team. The man who lives in a different country. The man whose entire career would implode if anyone found out about them. The man who until recently couldn’t even admit to himself that he was gay.

Loving Shane is impossible. It’s too complicated for the world they live in, for the hockey world that expects them to be enemies and most importantly, straight. It’s too complicated for Ilya’s already complicated life. 

And yet, when Shane had said “I wish I spoke Russian” with that earnest sincerity, when he tried his best to mold himself to Anastasia’s liking just because she was Ilya’s niece, when he put everything out there in Tampa, how was Ilya not supposed to love him? 

What would loving Shane even mean? Beyond the flirty texts and hotel rooms? Are they supposed to make things official? Would Shane tell his family? Would Ilya try to carefully explain to Anastasia that Shane is a part of their lives in a way she could never tell anyone? 

Does Shane even love him back? 

Shane had said he likes him, said he likes him maybe a little too much. But was that going to be enough for Shane to put up with Ilya’s complicated life? 

Ilya’s picking up Anastasia from school for the first time. And he’s got a plan. 

Ice cream first, obviously. Then maybe the park, if she’s not too cold. Then home for a movie, something with princesses or talking animals or whatever she’s into this week. It’s simple and most importantly it’s exactly what she needs. It’s a normal afternoon with her uncle, no funerals, no Moscow, and no grief lurking in the corners. 

The front doors open and children spill out, teachers herding them toward the pickup line. Ilya spots Anastasia’s class immediately. She’s at the back of the group, shoulders slumped and a clear frown on her face. 

When he reaches her, she immediately walks over and leans against his leg, “Hey, Uncle,” She greets, voice muffled. 

“Hey, bunny,” He replies, brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong?” 

“I wanna be picked up,” She says, looking up at him with glassy eyes. “I’m tired.” 

He frowns and immediately lifts her up, settling her on his hip. She’s warmer than she should be. But he’s been cold all day and his own body temperature is unreliable, so he doesn't think much of it. 

“Hey, Anastasia!” Arjun says, tugging at his mother’s hand. “Do you wanna come to my house today? We can play dinosaurs!” 

Anastasia shakes her head, not even looking at him. She just buries her head deeper into Ilya’s neck. 

Priya’s expression shifts as she takes in Anastasia’s posture, “Everything okay?” 

“I think she’s just tired,” Ilya says with a small shrug. “Maybe a little overwhelmed. It’s been a lot.” 

“I understand,” Priya reaches and places a soft kiss on Anastasia's shoulder. Feel better, sweetheart.” 

Arjun’s face falls, “But I wanted to show her my new–” 

“Arjun,” Priya warns the small boy, giving him a look before whispering something in Punjabi. Arjun frowns but he doesn’t push it. Priya kisses Ilya on the cheek as a goodbye and guides her son toward their car. 

Ilya begins walking toward his SUV, “You want to tell me what’s going on?” 

"No."

"No?"

"No."

He doesn't push. He opens the back door and tries to set her in her booster seat, but she clings to him, arms locked around his neck.

"I need to buckle you in,” He says softly. 

“No.” 

“Nastya.” 

“I don’t wanna.” 

He sighs, gently prying her arms loose. She whines but lets him lower her into the seat. Her face is flushed, cheeks pink. He buckles her in, fingers brushing her neck as he checks the straps. That’s when the realization hits him that she’s burning up with a fever. 

He presses the back of his hand to her forehead and curses under his breath, “Fuck.” 

“You said a bad word," Anastasia mumbles. 

“Sorry, bunny,” He mumbles, closing the door and making his way to the driver's seat. 

His mind is already spinning. Okay, she has a fever. How long has she been sick? Why didn't Vera say something? Why didn't he notice?

The drive home takes forever. Anastasia is quiet in the back, her head lolling against the window, and Ilya keeps glancing at her in the rearview mirror, heart racing. 

She’s fine, he tries to assure himself. Kids get fevers all the time. He had fevers all the time. It’s probably nothing. 

Vera meets them at the door, concern evident in her voice, “She was quiet this morning. I thought she was just tired from the trip."

“It’s not your fault,” Ilya assures, carrying Anastasia inside. “She’s burning up.” 

“I’ll get the thermometer,” She says, before rushing upstairs. 

He settles on the couch with Anastasia in his lap. She curls into him and he presses a kiss to her forehead. When Vera returns with the thermometer, that’s when the real battle begins. 

“No,” Anastasia whines, turning her face away. “I don’t wanna.” 

“It’ll just take a second, sweetheart,” Ilya tries to assure. 

“No!” 

"It's just a little beep. You won't even feel it."

"Liar!" She squirms, trying to escape his lap. "You're a liar, Uncle!"

Vera stands nearby, thermometer ready, her expression caring but firm, “Nastya, we need to see if you are sick. This will help you feel better.” 

"I don't want to feel better!"

Ilya sighs, catching her flailing hands, “If you let us take your temperature, I’ll let you watch TV in my room tonight.” 

She stops struggling, “Promise?” 

“Promise.”

Vera steps forward and quickly takes Anastasia’s temperature. When the thermometer beeps, she reads it outloud, “One hundred and one.” 

"One hundred and one?" Ilya repeats, his voice rising. “That’s– is it bad? That seems bad.” 

“It’s a fever but it’s nothing to worry about,” Vera says. “We’ll give her medicine, keep her hydrated, and monitor her. If it gets higher, we’ll call the doctor.” 

Ilya nods, even though his heart is still racing, "Okay. Okay. Medicine. We can do medicine."

Anastasia groans, pressing her face into his chest, “I don’t want medicine.” 

Ilya sighs, “It’ll help you feel better.” 

“Liar.” 

Vera shakes her head at the little girl’s antics fondly before making her way to the kitchen. She returns with a small cup of pink liquid, “This will help you feel better, faster.” 

Anastasia eyes it like it’s poison, “No.” 

“Anastasia,” Vera sighs, kneeling down to be on eye-level with her. 

“Please,” Anastasia whines, kicking in Ilya’s lap. “Auntie Vera, I don’t wanna.” 

“You can have a chocolate after,” Vera bargains. 

Anastasia considers this, lower lip jutting out. Then she shakes her head, “Two chocolates.” 

Vera raises an eyebrow, “One.” 

"Two," Anastasia insists, coughing at the end of the word.

Ilya runs a hand over her forehead, still burning up. He hates this. He hates seeing her like this, “Nastya, please. For Uncle?” 

She looks up at him, eyes classy, “You’ll stay with me?” 

"I'm not going anywhere."

She takes a deep breath, squares her tiny shoulders like she's preparing for battle, and reaches for the cup. She downs the medicine in one go, grimacing immediately.

"That's disgusting," She announces, sticking out her tongue.

Vera already has a small chocolate in her hand, unwrapping it quickly, "Here."

Anastasia shoves the chocolate into her mouth, still grimacing. “So gross,” She mumbles. 

Ilya huffs out a small laugh, pressing a kiss to her temple, "You were very brave."

"Now I get to watch TV in your room," She says, already leaning her head back against his chest.

"After dinner," He reminds her.

She groans, "No dinner."

"Yes dinner."

"Uncle."

"Anastasia."

She huffs, crossing her arms, but doesn't argue further. 

Vera watches them with a soft smile before heading back toward the kitchen, "I'll heat up the soup."

Ilya carries Anastasia upstairs to change her out of her school uniform. In her room, he sits her on the edge of the bed. 

“Arms up,” He says. 

She raises her arms just barely, letting him pull her sweater over her head. He reaches for her home clothes, soft leggings and an oversized t-shirt with a cat on it, and helps her into them. 

"You're doing everything," Anastasia comments. 

"Because you're sick."

"So you have to be nice to me?"

He snorts, pulling the t-shirt over her head, "I'm always nice to you."

“You are,” Anastasia agrees, slowly nodding. “Papa yelled a lot. You don’t.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ilya whispers, brushing her hair back. 

Dinner proves to be a struggle. Vera has set out bowls of chicken noodle soup along with bread and a salad. Anastasia stares at it like it’s personally offended her. 

"I'm not hungry," She says, pushing the bowl away.

"You need to eat something," Ilya says, pulling the bowl back toward her.

"No."

"Anastasia."

"No, Uncle. My tummy feels weird."

He exchanges a look with Vera, who shrugs slightly. He takes a deep breath and picks up the spoon. 

"Just a few bites," He coaxes. "For me?"

She shakes her head, pulling her knees up to her chest in the chair.

"One bite?"

"No."

"Half a bite?"

"You're annoying,” She mumbles. 

Ilya sighs, setting the spoon down. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to think. Then he picks up the spoon again and brings it to his own mouth, taking an exaggerated bite.

"Mmm," He hums, nodding. "This is so good. The best soup I've ever had."

Anastasia watches him, unimpressed.

"I think," He continues, taking another bite. "This might actually be the best soup in the entire world. Maybe even better than–” 

"Fine," She cuts him off, grabbing the spoon from his hand. "Stop being weird."

She takes a small sip of the soup, grimacing slightly. Then another. Then she pushes the bowl away again, “Done.” 

Ilya sighs, “That was only two sips.” 

Anastasia shrugs, “My stomach hurts.” 

He studies her face, trying to tell if she’s lying or genuinely uncomfortable. Her cheeks are still flushed and her eyes are glassy. He sighs and nods, "Okay. No more soup."

After dinner, Ilya and Anastasia make their way to his bedroom. She settles against the pillows on his bed as Ilya puts on cartoons on the TV. 

“Uncle?” She asks. 

Ilya glances over, still standing, “Yeah?” 

“You’re gonna stay, right?” 

He immediately nods and kicks off his slides before lying down next to her. She immediately scoots closer, pressing her forehead against his arm. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” He promises. 

Within minutes, her breathing events out and she falls asleep. The show plays on in the background as Ilya watches her sleep for a few minutes. He knows he should move her to her own room but every time he thinks about picking her up and possibly waking her up, he can’t bring himself to do it. 

So he doesn’t. Instead he reaches over and grabs the remote, turning the TV off. Then he places the blanket over her body and tucks her in. Lastly, he settles back against the pillows, letting Anastasia snuggle closer to his side. 

Ilya wakes up to the sound of gagging. For a moment, he doesn’t process what’s happening. Then he feels something warm and wet soaking through his t-shirt. 

“Shit,” He mumbles, sitting up fast. 

Anastasia is on her hands and knees beside him, heaving. Vomit spills onto the sheets, onto his arm, onto the pillow.

"Okay, okay," Ilya says, reaching for her. He gathers her hair back from her face with one hand, holding it away from the mess. "It's okay. You're okay."

She heaves again but nothing but bile comes out this time. Then she starts crying. 

"Hey," Ilya says softly, rubbing her back. "Hey, bunny. It's okay. Don't cry."

“I’m sorry,” She hiccups. 

“It’s okay,” He assures her, standing up and pulling her away from the  mess on the bed. "You have nothing to be sorry about. Nothing. You're sick. This happens."

She continues crying, grabbing onto his shirt. 

“I’m gonna get us cleaned up, okay? He says. "And then you're going to feel better."

She doesn't answer, just keeps crying.

He carefully carries her to the bathroom, trying to avoid any more of the vomit spreading on either of their clothes. In the bathroom, he sets her down on the closed toilet lid. 

"Stay here," He says, crouching in front of her. "Just for one minute. I need to get clean sheets and clothes.” 

She nods weakly, her eyes half-closed. 

He strips the bed quickly, bundling the soiled sheets into a ball and dumping them in the laundry basket. Then he grabs a clear t-shirt from his dresser, quickly pulls it on and grabs a pair of Anastasia’s pajamas from her room. 

Back in the bathroom, Anastasia hasn't moved. Her head is drooping forward and she seems pretty out of it. He gently helps her change out of her dirty clothes, wiping her down with a wash cloth before putting her in clean pajamas. The whole time, she’s barely conscious, head lolling. 

When he’s done, he grabs the thermometer from the bathroom drawer. He takes her temperature, the thermometer beeping after a few moments. 

His heart stops. 

It’s 103.9°F. That’s almost 104°F. 

He looks at Anastasia. Her cheeks are flushed, lips dry, she’s slumped against the toilet with her eyes closed and breathing shallow. 

“Nastya,” He says, shaking her shoulder gently. “Hey. Wake up.” 

She doesn't open her eyes.

"Anastasia,” He says, louder. He tapes her cheek, “Wake up.” 

She groans but her eyes stay closed. 

"Fuck," He breathes. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He scoops her up, cradling her against his chest, and carries her out of the bathroom and down the hall. He doesn't bother knocking on Vera's door, he just pushes it open. 

“Vera,” He says. “Vera, wake up.” 

The older woman sits up immediately, alert. Her eyes land on Anastasia and widen.

"She threw up," Ilya says, trying to keep his voice steady. "And she's burning up. I took her temperature, it's 104. She won't wake up. I can't get her to wake up."

Vera is already out of bed, pulling on a cardigan, “Okay. Okay. We need to take her to the hospital. I'll get dressed and grab the keys. You get her in the car." 

Ilya doesn’t argue. He carries Anastasia down the stairs, grabbing his jacket from by the door and wrapping it around her. 

"Come on, bunny," He whispers, slipping his sneakers on. “Stay with me.” 

Vera appears behind him, purse over her shoulder, keys in hand. They rush to the car. Ilya climbs into the backseat with Anastasia in his lap while Vera drives.

“Nastya,” Ilya says, shaking her gently. “Hey. Wake up. You need to wake up.” 

She shifts slightly, a small furrow appearing between her brows, but her eyes stay closed.

"Vera," Ilya says, voice cracking. "She won't wake up."

"Keep trying," Vera says, focused on the road. "Talk to her. Don't stop."

Ilya swallows the lump in his throat, “Remember when we made a snowman? And you made me do all the work? You said it needed a face, so you ran inside. You got snow all over the floor."

Anastasia doesn’t move. 

"And the aquarium," He continues, voice trembling. "You loved the penguins. You said they walked funny. Like me after practice. Remember that?"

Nothing. 

"And Disney World," He says. "You met Rapunzel. She said you were brave. She said you were so brave. You are so brave, Nastya. You're the bravest person I know. So you need to wake up now. Please. Please wake up."

Her eyelids flutter but don't open.

"Please," He whispers again, pressing his forehead to hers. "Please don't leave me. I can't—I can't do this without you. I can't."

They pull into the emergency room entrance. Vera barely has the car in park before Ilya is shoving the door open, Anastasia clutched to his chest.

He runs through the sliding doors, sneakers squeaking against the floor, “Help,” he calls out. "Please. Someone help."

A nurse spots him immediately, her expression shifting from professional to urgent. She waves over another nurse. Hands reach for Anastasia and instinctively Ilya pulls her closer to his chest. 

"Ilya," Vera says behind him, breathless. "You have to let them take her."

He knows this. He knows this is what needs to happen. But when a nurse tries to lift Anastasia from his arms, she stirs weakly. 

"No," Anastasia mumbles, barely conscious. "Uncle."

"It's okay, bunny," Ilya says, voice cracking. "It's okay. They're going to help you."

He has to peel her fingers off one by one. Each one feels like breaking a promise. Then she's in the nurse's arms, being placed on the gurney, and the team is moving.

Ilya follows until a hand presses gently against his chest. 

"You have to wait here," A doctor says. 

"I need to–” 

“I know,” The doctor cuts him off. "But you can't be in there right now. We'll take care of her. I promise."

The word promise should feel like comfort. It doesn't. Because the last person who promised Ilya something about someone he loved was his father, standing over his mother's grave, saying she was in a better place.

The gurney disappears through double doors and Ilya is left standing in the middle of the emergency room hallway, alone.

And then, for the first time since he was twelve years old, standing in his mother's bedroom with her cold hand in his, Ilya prays.

He doesn't know who he's praying to. He doesn't know if anyone is listening. But he prays. 

Please, he thinks. Please. I don't care what it costs. I don't care what you take from me. Take the money, take the career, take the house, take everything. Just don't take her.

Please.

Let her be okay.

Let her wake up.

Let me keep her.

Please.

Please.

Please.

Chapter End Notes

let me know how you guys liked this chapter in the comments!

for the show canon stuff, i didn't bother writing out the whole scene b/c we already knows what happened, i only added the stuff that had to be changed to accommodate the fic.

anyways, i'm not a parent so i have no clue what it's like to have a sick child. i tried to write it to the best of my abilities from what i've observed with my nieces and nephews.

thank u sm for reading and commenting!!

Chapter 14

Chapter Notes

when it's just russian speakers, the dialogue in russian isn't italicized and it should be assumed that they're speaking russian. however, when it's around non-russian speakers, the dialogue in russian will be italicized !

i did all the russian dialogue italicized in one chapter and italicizing them again on ao3 (the format doesn't stay the same when you copy and paste from google doc to ao3) literally took fifteen minutes so it's not worth it for me

Ilya’s standing with his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and staring at the doors Anastasia was taken into. He’s not sure how much time has passed but he hasn’t been able to think or process anything. 

Vera is sitting in a plastic chair a few feet away, hands folded in her lap. She’s been quiet since they arrived, which is somehow worse than if she was talking. 

He scratches the bridge of his nose before bringing his fingers down and grabbing his cross. His heart is beating too fast or maybe it’s too slow. He can’t tell anymore. 

The doors swing open and a doctor approaches Ilya, iPad in her hand, “Mr. Rozanov?” 

Ilya pushes off the wall, “Yes,” He answers. “How is she? Can I see her?” 

The doctor holds up a hand, “She’s stable. We’ve run blood work and a flu swab. I'm happy to say we've been able to rule out anything serious. It’s not anything like meningitis, pneumonia or a bacterial infection.” 

Ilya exhales, shoulders shagging, “Okay. Okay, good. That’s good.” 

“It’s a severe case of influenza,” The doctor continues. “Her fever spiked quickly, which caused the vomiting and the difficulty waking up. We've started her on fluids and fever-reducing medication, she’s responding well.” 

“Is she awake?” Ilya asks, voice cracking. 

“She’s sleeping now,” The doctor answers. “The medication makes them drowsy, and her body needs the rest to fight the infection.” 

Ilya nods, trying to process the words. 

“How long does she need to stay?” Vera asks from behind him. 

“We’d like to keep her for a couple of days,” The doctor says. "We need to monitor her fever and make sure it doesn't cause a febrile seizure. Once her temperature comes down and stays down, and she's keeping fluids down on her own, we'll discharge her."

Ilya’s heart drops at the mention of a seizure. 

“She’ll be okay,” The doctor assures, reading the panic on Ilya’s face. “Kids get the flu. It's scary, especially when fevers spike like this, but we're monitoring her closely. She's in good hands."

"When can I see her?"

The doctor smiles, "A nurse will take you to her room now."

Ilya quickly thanks the doctor and follows the nurse down a hallway. It feels like forever before a nurse stops outside a door and pushes it open. 

“She’s in here,” The older woman informs. “If you notice anything concerning, just press the call button."

Ilya swallows and nods before taking a step into the room. He doesn’t notice anything but Anastasia. 

The hospital is far too big for her. She’s laying on her back, hair sticking out of her braids. Her cheeks are still flushed but it’s not as bad as before. She’s also surrounded by wires. There’s monitors beeping behind her, displaying numbers he doesn’t understand. 

She looks so small. 

She is so small. 

His hands start shaking as he walks up to her bed. His eyes never leave her as he sinks into the chair beside Anastasia’s bed. He reaches out and touches her hand, careful of the IV. Her skin is warm but it’s not burning. 

She’s going to be okay. 

She has to be okay. 

No matter how much he repeats it to himself, the words don’t mean anything. Because Alexei was supposed to be okay. He was supposed to stay alive and Ilya was supposed to fight with him until they were 80. 

Okay isn’t a promise and it definitely isn’t a guarantee. Okay is just a word people say to you when they don’t know what else to say. 

He rests his chin on the bed railing, eyes fixed on Anastasia’s face. He could have lost her. She could have stopped breathing in his arms. She could have had a seizure on the way to the hospital. So many things could’ve gone wrong. 

He closes his eyes and he’s back in parents’ room. He sees his mother on the bed, her hand limp and cold in his grasp. He sees Alexei in the morgue. He sees his father’s casket. 

Everyone leaves. 

Everyone he loves, everyone who is supposed to stay, they leave. 

A tear slips down his cheek but he doesn’t bother to wipe it, he can’t find the energy to do it. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t take you to the doctor. I'm sorry I'm not–I'm sorry I can't–"

He doesn't know what he's apologizing for. For not being enough. For never being enough. For being his father's son, clumsy and angry and scared. For leaving so often. For everything. 

Anastasia blinks her eyes open slowly. Everything is fuzzy at first and when she turns her head on the pillow, it makes her wince. Everything hurts. 

Ilya is slumped in the plastic chair beside her bed, his head resting on his folded arms against the railing. His neck is bent at an awkward angle and his mouth is slightly open.

Anastasia smiles at the sight of her uncle. She carefully shifts onto her side and reaches out with her free hands, poking his cheek. He doesn’t move so she pokes him again, harder this time. 

“Uncle,” She whispers. 

Again, nothing. She pokes his nose and his face scrunches up in his sleep, making her giggle. She pokes his cheek again, and this time he flinches. 

“Uncle,” She says again, louder. 

Ilya’s eyes snap open. For a moment, he just blinks at her, disoriented. Then he sits up so fast that the chair scrapes against the floor. His hands are on her immediately. One hand cups her face and the other pressing against her forehead. 

“Nastya,” He breathes out, eyes glassy. "Hey, bunny. You're awake."

She nods and Ilya exhales slowly. His thumb brushes across her cheekbone, “How are you feeling?” He asks. 

“My head hurts,” Anastasia answers. Then she points to the IV taped to her hand, wrinkling her nose, "And this thing is annoying."

“Don’t touch that,” Ilya says quickly, catching her fingers before she can tug at it. “It’s helping you feel better.” 

"It's weird," She complains. "I don't like it."

"I know. But it's helping."

She huffs and looks around the room, taking in the monitors, the wires, the thin hospital blanket. She pulls at the edge of it with her free hand, pouting. 

“I don’t like this blanket either,” She adds. “It’s scratching.” 

Ilya’s expression softens and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead, “I know. But Vera went to the house and she’s getting some of your things. She’ll bring your favorite blanket.” 

Anastasia’s face brightens slightly, “She is?” 

“She is,” Ilya assures. “She’ll be back soon.” 

Anastasia nods, but her lower lip is still trembling slightly. She's tired and everything hurts and she wants to go home. She wants her own bed and her own blanket. 

“I wanna cuddle,” She settles on. 

Ilya hesitates, glancing at the wires and monitors, “Nastya, I don’t know if I should–” 

“Please,” She interrupts, reaching for him with both hands. “I wanna cuddle.” 

He exhales slowly and nods. He carefully climbs into the bed beside her, trying to take as little space as possible. When he settles on the bed, Anastasia immediately curls into his side. He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She presses her cheek against his chest and listens to his heartbeat. 

They stay like that for a while. Anastasia’s eyes keep drifting closed and opening again, like she doesn’t want to fall asleep again. 

“Uncle?” She yawns. 

Ilya hums, cheek resting against the side of her head. 

"When can we go home?"

He smells her hair and sighs, “A couple more days. When your fever stays down and you can eat and drink without getting sick. Then we go home."

"A couple more days," She repeats, unhappy.

"That's not so long."

"It is so long."

He huffs a small laugh, "Okay. It's a little long. But I'll be here the whole time. I'm not going anywhere."

“Promise?” She whispers. 

“I promise, Nastya,” Ilya assures. “I'll be right here when you wake up."

She nods against his chest and lets her eyes close. His hand is warm on her back, rubbing slow circles. She’s asleep within minutes. 

Ilya doesn’t move, lying there with Anastasia curled against his chest. Her temperature is lower now, it’s not normal but it’s improving. The doctor had come by earlier and said she was improving. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he moves carefully, reaching for it without distributing Anastasia. It’s a message from Shane. 

Jane: is everything okay? i saw that the raiders announced you’ll be out for an additional week

Ilya stares at the message for a moment. He had completely forgotten about hockey. 

Lily: coach told me to take two weeks off

Jane: are you ok?

Ilya hesitates, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He should just lie and tell Shane everything is completely fine and he just needs another week off because of his father’s death. That would be easier and keep Shane at a safe distance. 

But Shane wasn’t just another hookup. Shane was becoming something far too real to lie to. 

Lily: anastasia is sick, she is in the hospital

A few seconds later, Ilya’s phone vibrates in his hand and the screen lights up with “Jane’s” name. He glances down at Anastasia, she’s still fast asleep. 

Ilya sighs before answering, voice low, “Hey.” 

“What happened?” Shane asks, anxiety evident in his voice. 

“She had a fever yesterday when I picked her up from school,” Ilya begins. “I gave her medicine but then she threw up in the middle of the night. And then she– she wouldn’t wake up. I couldn’t get her to wake up.” 

“Shit, Ilya.” 

“Yeah,” He closes his eyes. “We rushed her to the ER. They ran tests, said it is severe case of the flu. But she will be okay. She is okay.” 

“She’s okay,” Shane repeats. 

“She’s okay,” Ilya confirms. “Scared the shit out of me, but she’s okay.” 

There’s a pause on the other end before Shane speaks, “I can come… I’ll rent a car and drive down from New York. It's not that far.” 

“No.” 

“Ilya–” 

“No, Shane,” Ilya repeats. “You don’t need to do that. And I don’t want you catching this, it’s bad and you’ll be miserable.” 

“I don’t care about that,” Shane replies. 

“I do,” Ilya says, voice softer. “I care. So stay in New York and play your game. I’ll text you updates.” 

Shane is quiet for a moment, “You promise?” He whispers. 

“I promise,” Ilya says. 

There’s another pause before Shane asks, “How are you doing?" 

Ilya looks down at Anastasia, “I’ve been better,” He admits. “But she’s okay and that’s what matters.” 

“Yeah,” Shane breathes out. 

Ilya clears his throat, “I’ll tell her you called. She’ll be happy. You’re her favorite hockey player.” 

“Her favorite?” Shane sounds surprised. “I thought you were her favorite.” 

“Calm down, she does not know anything about hockey,” Ilya teases, smiling softly. Then he adds, “I think you grew on her.” 

Shane chuckles, “God, you’re an asshole.” 

“Of course I am.” 

Shane hums, “Well, get some rest. And keep me updated.” 

"I will."

"Okay. Bye, Ilya."

"Bye, Shane."

The next  few days in the hospital are better. Anastasia’s fever has dropped to 100.2°F, which the nurses say is good progress. She’s kept down some applesauce and water. She’s still tired and cranky but she’s awake and talking. 

Ilya has barely slept. He’s been in the same chair since they arrived, only moving to use the bathroom or to get coffee. Vera tried to convince him to go home and shower, to sleep in an actual bed for a few hours. He had refused. He’s not leaving without Anastasia with him. 

Right now, he’s scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, occasionally glancing up to watch her as she watches cartoons. 

“Are you hungry?” Ilya asks. 

Anastasia shakes her head, eyes never leaving the TV, “Nope.” 

“Okay, will you tell me when you are?” 

“Yup.” 

“Good,” Ilya mumbles, glancing back down at his phone. 

There’s a knock at the door and Ilya turns, expecting a nurse or maybe Vera. Instead, the door swings open and Cliff’s head pokes through, a sheepish grin on his face. 

“Hey, Rozy,” Cliff says, voice uncharacteristically calm. “We come bearing gifts.” 

Behind him, Ilya can see a cluster of bodies in the hallway along with balloons. It’s a lot of balloons. And what looks like an entire zoo’s worth of stuffed animals. 

“What the fuck?” Ilya mumbles under his breath. 

Cliff pushes the door open fully and the parade begins. Cliff walks in first, holding a white and pink unicorn the size of his torso. 

Jackson, the rookie, walks in next. He’s holding a massive bouquet of Get Well Soon balloons in one hand and two stuffed dogs in the other. He looks deeply uncomfortable, like he’s not sure if he’s even breathing the right way. 

Behind him is Kabir, carrying a gift bag and looking far more relaxed than the others. The last to enter is Carter. He’s playing his sophomore year of hockey and in the two seasons he’s been playing Ilya, he’s been nothing but extremely quiet and calm. He’s carrying a stuffed penguin in a doctor’s uniform. 

Anastasia’s eyes go wide and she sits up straighter in the bed, forgetting the cartoons entirely. 

“Uncle,” She whispers, tugging at Ilya’s sleeve. “Uncle, look.” 

Ilya smiles softly, “I see them, bunny.” 

Cliff steps forward first, holding the unicorn like he’s presenting a sacred offering, “Hey, Anastasia. We heard you weren’t feeling great. So, we, uh, brought you some stuff.” 

Anastasia takes the unicorn and sets it down next to her, “Thank you. It’s very soft.” 

“Yeah,” Cliff nods, rocking back on his heels. “That’s– yeah. It’s, um, supposed to be soft. For cuddling… or whatever.” 

Ilya bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing. 

Jackson steps next, holding out the balloons and setting the stuffed dogs on the foot of the hospital bed. 

“We didn’t know what color you liked,” Jackson blurts out. “So we got all of them.” 

Anastasia’s eyes light up as Ilya takes the balloons and ties them to the railing of the bed, “I like all the colors.” 

“Cool,” Jackson says, exhaling like he’s just passed a final exam. “Cool, cool, cool.” 

“Are those for me?” Anastasia asks, tone gentle as she points to the stuffed dogs. The tone she’s using makes it seem like Anastasia’s the adult approaching a nervous child, not the other way around. 

Jackson eagerly nods, “Yeah. The lady at the store said they’re twins. So they shouldn’t be separated, you know.” 

“You dumbass,” Cliff says, smacking Jackson on the back of his head. “There were ten other stuffed dogs that looked the same. She just said that to get you to spend more money.” 

“Ouch,” Jackson mumbles, rubbing the back of his hands. His eyes are wide as he glances at Ilya, “Do you think so, Cap?” 

Ilya crosses his arms and nods solemnly, “I think you got scammed, kid.” 

Jackson pouts, “Awh, man. This always happens to me.”

Anastasia immediately reaches over and grabs the dogs, “No! I think they are twins!” She says, smiling. She points to the way their ears flop, “Do you see this?” 

Jackson leans forward and nods, “Yeah.” 

“They’re the same!” She says. “And their smiles and eyes are the same too. I think they are twins!” 

“You’re right,” Jackson agrees, exhaling. His shoulders sag, “You should name them.” 

Anastasia taps her chin, “I think you can name one and I’ll name one!” 

“Oh, that’s so nice,” Jackson says, earnestly. It earns a snicker of giggles from the others in the room. “I really like the name Biscuit.” 

“Okay! This one can be Biscuit," Anastasia points to one dog. Then she points to the next, “And this can be sushi. Because I like sushi.” 

Jackson grins, “Cool.” 

Carter rolls his eyes and kicks Jackson in the back of the leg, “Move, loser,” He mumbles before stepping forward. He looks at Anastasia with scared eyes before presenting the stuffed penguin, “This is for you.” 

“Thank you,” Anastasia says, accepting the animal. “This is really nice.” 

“It’s, um– I mean–” Carter stops to clear his throat before speaking. “When my little sister had her appendix surgery, I bought her a stuffed bear that was a doctor. It said it, uh, helped her not be scared. So I thought…” 

“Don’t worry, I’m not scared!” Anastasia assures, hugging the penguin. 

Kabir steps forward last, shaking his head at the chaos of his teammates. He reaches out and ruffles Anastasia’s hair, “Hey, kid. Arjun misses you.” 

Anastasia’s face immediately brightens, “He does?” 

“He does,” Kabir confirms, handing her a small gift bag. “He couldn’t come but he sent you this instead.” 

Anastasia takes the bag and peeks inside. She pulls out a folded piece of construction paper first. It’s covered in crayon drawings. There are three dinosaurs that look like green blobs with spikes and two stick figures holding hands. Then she pulls out four small plastic dinosaurs, each a different color. 

“He said these are his favorites,” Kabir adds. “Said he wants you to have them so you don’t feel alone.” 

Anastasia gasps, “I love them!” 

Ilya leans over and glances at the card, eyes landing on the stick figures. The stick figures are holding hands. He looks at Kabir and Kabir looks back, playing up his innocence. 

“Why are the stick figures holding hands?” Ilya asks, tone flat. 

Kabir shrugs, “Kid’s a romantic, can’t blame him.” 

Ilya’s eye twitches and he reaches over to grab the card from Anastasia’s fingers. 

“Hey!” She protests. “That’s mine!” 

“I’m keeping it safe,” Ilya says, tucking it back into the gift bag and setting the bag on the far side of the bedside table. 

Anastasia narrows her eyes at him but doesn't argue. She's too busy lining up the dinosaurs on her hospital tray.

Cliff snorts, “You should be the last person judging someone for shooting their shot.” 

The room goes dead silent and Ilya turns his head slowly, giving Cliff an unamused and vaguely angry look. Cliff’s smile freezes off his face and he clears his throat before looking away. 

“Right,” Cliff mumbles. “Forgot I was talking to a changed man.” 

Jackson, oblivious, trips over the rolling stool as he tries to sit down. It shoots out from under him and he barely catches himself on the edge of the bed, flailing.

"Whoa! Sorry– I didn’t–” 

“Smooth,” Carter mumbles under his breath, grabbing the stool and shoving it back toward Jackson.

Jackson sits down, face red. Carter leans against the wall beside the window, arms crossed, looking like he's trying very hard to appear casual and failing. Cliff perches on the windowsill, one leg dangling and Kabir leans against the wall near the door. 

For a few seconds, no one speaks. 

Anastasia looks up from her dinosaurs, glancing at each of the men in turn. They're all avoiding eye contact with her and with each other.

It's almost funny, watching four professional hockey players who are completely paralyzed by the presence of a five-year-old in a hospital bed.

"Why are you all being weird?" Anastasia asks finally.

Jackson chokes on air, Carter coughs and Cliff stares at the ceiling. 

Kabir chuckles softly, “They don’t know how to talk to kids, princess.” 

Anastasia tilts her head before sitting up straighter, deciding that she’ll just have to take matters into her own hands.

“What’s your favorite princess movie?” She asks. 

The men exchange panicked glances.

"Uh," Cliff says. "I don't really–I mean, I haven't–"

"You haven't watched princess movies?" Anastasia's eyes go wide with horror.

“Hockey players don’t watch princess movies,” Carter deadpans. 

“Uncle watches princess movies!” Anastasia says, crossing her arms. “And he’s a hockey player. He’s the best hockey player.” 

“Your uncle?” Carter snickers, rolling his eyes. “Your uncle, Ilya Rozanov? Ilya Rozanov has watched princess movies?” 

All eyes turn to Ilya. 

Ilya shrugs, unashamed, “They’re good.” 

Carter’s smile drops and his eyes widen slightly, “Really?” 

Jackson rolls back and forth on the stool, eyes fixed on the ceiling, “I’ve seen Frozen. My little sister made me watch it a lot.” 

Anastasia turns to him and grins, “Really?” 

“Yup,” Jackson looks over at her and smiles. “Olaf was my favorite.” 

“Mine too!” She says, perking up. She turns to the rest of them, “What about you guys?” 

Cliff clears his throat, "I watched Toy Story."

Anastasia frowns, “That’s not a princess movie.” 

"No, but–" Cliff stops, realizing he's already lost. "But Buzz Lightyear is cool?"

Anastasia thinks for a moment before shrugging, “I guess.” 

Carter jumps in, “Oh! What about The Lion King?” 

“Not a princess movie too!” She says, shaking her head with disappointment. 

“Simba is a prince,” Carter argues. "That's basically the same thing."

Anastasia squints at him, "No. Princesses wear dresses and have long hair. Simba has fur."

Carter opens his mouth, then closes it. He looks at Cliff for backup, who just shakes his head. 

Jackson raises his hand before speaking, “Wall-E is the best Pixar movie and I will die on that hill.” 

Cliff’s head snaps toward him, "What? No. Toy Story is the best. It's a classic."

"Wall-E has more heart," Jackson argues. 

"Toy Story has Woody and Buzz! And the claw!" Cliff shoots back.

"Wall-E has a plant and a love story that spans galaxies!" Jackson says. 

Carter jumps in, “What about Up? The first ten minutes of Up are better than both of those movies combined."

"Nobody cares about Up, Carter," Cliff says, waving him off.

Carter gasps, "I care about Up!"

Cliff rolls his eyes, "You're wrong!"

Anastasia giggles, watching the men argue with each other. She looks at Ilya, “They’re funny.” 

“They’re idiots,” Ilya whispers back. 

“You’re all wrong,” Kabir says calmly, not even looking up from his phone. “The best movie is The Lion King.” 

The room goes silent again. 

“That’s–” Jackson starts. 

“– actually not a bad take,” Cliff finishes. 

Carter nods slowly, "Simba's whole arc is pretty solid."

"I've never seen The Lion King," Anastasia announces.

Four heads turn toward her in unison. 

“Never?” Cliff asks, horrified. 

"It has lions," Anastasia says, shrugging. "I like princesses better."

"Okay, but–" Jackson runs a hand through his hair, clearly distressed. "But it's The Lion King. It's iconic."

“I don’t care,” Anastasia says, tone flat. 

The room erupts into laughter and Anastasia looks around, clearly confused about what’s so funny. 

Carter checks his watch, “Shit, we have to go.” 

The energy in the room changes. Jackson stops rolling around on the stool, Carter pushes off the wall and Cliff uncrosses his arms. 

“Right,” Cliff nods once. “Game’s in a few hours, we should probably head out.” 

Jackson stands up, nearly knocking the stool over again. Carter catches his arm again, steadying him, “Jesus, rook,” He mumbles. 

“Sorry,” Jackson mumbles, face red. He looks at Anastasia and waves awkwardly. “Feel better, okay?” 

“Thank you,” Anastasia replies, returning the smile. 

Carter pulls him toward the door by the back of his shirt, Come on. We're gonna be late." At the door, Carter pauses and looks back at Anastasia. His expression softens slightly, "The penguin's name is Dr. Waddles, by the way."

Anastasia holds up the stuffed penguin, examining its little white coat, "Dr. Waddles," She repeats, giggling. "That's funny."

Carter nods once, a small smile on his lips before disappearing into the hallway. 

“We’re gonna win this game for you, kid,” Cliff says, winking. He grins, “You’re our good luck charm, tonight.” 

Anastasia grins back, “Really?” 

“Really,” Cliff assures before waving, “Bye, feel better.” 

Kabir is the last to leave. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Anastasia's head, "You’re the bravest kid, I know. Don’t let Arjun know.” 

Anastasia giggles, “Okay!” 

Kabir straightens and looks at Ilya, "You need anything? Food? Coffee? A change of clothes?"

Ilya shakes his head, “I’m okay.” 

Kabir nods, claps him on the shoulder, and follows the others out.

Ilya glances at Anastasia. She's already turned back to her dinosaurs, lining them up in a row on the tray table. Dr. Waddles is propped up against her pillow, watching over her.

"I'll be right back," Ilya says. "I'm just gonna walk them out."

Anastasia waves without looking up, "Okay."

Ilya steps into the hallway and pulls the door mostly shut behind him. The guys are already halfway down the corridor, Cliff and Jackson arguing about something. Carter is walking between them, head down, scrolling through his phone.

"Hey," Ilya calls out.

They turn and Ilya catches up to them, shoving his hands in his pocket. 

“I just wanted to say thanks. For coming. And for all the... stuff,” He gestures toward the room. “You guys didn’t have to do that.” 

Cliff shrugs, “You’re family, man.” 

Ilya nods, glancing down, “Still.” 

Carter looks up from his phone, “We were excited to visit her. We had to draw straws because Coach said too many people would overwhelm her.” 

"You drew straws?" Ilya raises an eyebrow.

"I won," Jackson says, grinning. Then, quieter, "Well, I cheated. But still."

Kabir shakes his head, "I didn't cheat. I just volunteered because Arjun would've killed me if I didn't come."

Cliff claps Ilya on the shoulder, "Seriously, though. You need anything, anything at all, just call one of us. Doesn't matter what time. We'll figure it out."

Ilya nods, swallowing, “Thanks.” 

They start walking again, and Ilya watches them go. Cliff throws his arm around Carter’s shoulders and brings him close. Kabir’s in front of the duo, leading the group but Jackson’s a few steps behind the group. 

Then Jackson just stops walking. He turns around and walks toward Ilya. Before Ilya can ask what's wrong, Jackson's arms are around him. It’s not a manly, black-slapping hug. It’s a real, tight, full bodied hug. It’s the kind of hug you give someone who you think might really need it. 

Ilya freezes for a moment, arms hovering awkwardly at his sides. Then he relaxes slightly and pats Jackson on the back. 

“You okay, kid?” Ilya asks, confused. 

Jackson doesn’t let go, “You’re a really good captain, you know that? And a good friend.” 

Ilya blinks, “Jackson–” 

But Jackson pulls back just as abruptly as he'd grabbed on. His eyes are a little shiny, though he'd probably deny it if anyone asked. He nods once and then turns to walk back to the others. 

Ilya stands in the hallway for a long moment, watching them disappear around the corner. He shakes his head slowly, a small smile on his lips. 

They're idiots. Absolute idiots. The kind of idiots who bring a five-year-old an entire zoo's worth of stuffed animals and argue about Pixar movies in a hospital room. 

But they’re his idiots. 

Ilya closes the front door behind him, closing his eyes for a moment. He exhales. 

Anastasia is asleep in his arms, cheek pressed against his shoulder and one arm curls around Dr. Waddles. Her fever finally broke for good this afternoon so she was finally discharged. 

He carries her up the stairs carefully. He doesn’t want to wake her up. He doesn't want to risk anything.

In her room, he lays her down gently on the bed. She flinches slightly, mumbling something in Russian that he can’t quite make out. He pulls the blanket up to her chin and tucks her bunny under her arm beside Dr. Waddles. He smooths her hair back from her forehead. 

“Good night, I love you,” He whispers before placing a kiss on her forehead. 

Back in his room, he groans slightly and plops down on the bed. He reaches up and wraps his fingers around it. 

He hasn’t prayed since he was a child. His mother used to take him to church when he was young, before she got sick. After she died, his father stopped going. And Ilya stopped believing.

But in the hospital, with Anastasia's limp body in his arms, he had prayed desperately. He felt like a child begging for something he didn’t deserve. 

But someone had listened. 

He sits up before kneeling on his knees and bowing his head. He makes the sign of the cross the way his mother taught him and closes his eyes. 

“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner,” He whispers in Russian. “Have mercy on Nastya. Have mercy on us both.” 

He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat before continuing, “Thank you for saving her. Thank you for not taking her. I know I don't– I know I haven't been... I haven't been to church. I haven't prayed. I haven't been good. But she is. She is good. She is innocent. She didn't deserve to be scared and sick. Please keep her safe. Please let her wake up tomorrow and eat breakfast and complain about her braids. Please let her grow up. Let her have a long, happy life. I don't care what it costs me. I don't care what you take from me. Just don't take her."

“Through the prayers of our Holy Fathers, Lord Jesus Christ our God, have mercy on us and save us,” He makes the sign of the cross again. “Amen.” 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, pulling him out of his thoughts. It’s a call from Shane. 

Ilya picks up without thinking twice, “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Shane replies, voice tired. “How is she?” 

“Better,” Ilya says, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “We got discharged this afternoon.” 

“Oh, that’s– fuck, sorry. That’s great to hear,” Shane breathes out. 

“She is still weak but she just needs some rest and time,” Ilya adds. “She will be okay.” 

“She’ll be okay,” Shane whispers to himself. 

“Yeah.” 

There’s a pause before Shane speaks, “How are you? It’s been… um, an insane two weeks for you.” 

“I know,” Ilya hums. “But I am okay. Have Nastya so that’s all that matters.” 

“I know,” Shane whispers softly. He’s quiet for a moment before adding, “I, uh, miss you.” 

The words are soft and fragile, he’s not sure they’re allowed to say these kinds of things to each other. 

Ilya’s chest tightens and he blinks back tears, “I miss you too.” 

There’s another long silence. 

Then Ilya clears his throat, “It’s late–” 

“Yeah,” Shane breathes out. “We will… talk later.” 

“Goodnight, Shane.” 

“Goodnight, Ilya.” 

Chapter End Notes

i tried to make this chapter an apology for all the angst in the last one!

also jackson is now my baby and i must protect him. he's new on this earth

i hope u guys enjoyed the chapter and thank u so much for reading, leaving a kudos, and commenting. your support means the world to me!

Chapter 15

Chapter Notes

when it's just russian speakers, the dialogue in russian isn't italicized and it should be assumed that they're speaking russian. however, when it's around non-russian speakers, the dialogue in russian will be italicized !

i did all the russian dialogue italicized in one chapter and italicizing them again on ao3 (the format doesn't stay the same when you copy and paste from google doc to ao3) literally took fifteen minutes so it's not worth it for me

The locker room is pure chaos. 

Ilya is standing in front of his stall, still in his gear and staring at the wall. Someone is yelling, someone is throwing equipment while Coach LeClaire is saying something about the next game. 

Ilya isn’t processing any of it. All he can see is Shane’s face, the split second before the hit. He was looking at Ilya. 

"I can't believe it. I can't fucking believe it. It was clean. It was a clean hit. He just– he didn't–" Cliff’s voice snaps Ilya out of his trance. 

Ilya blinks and turns his head. Cliff is sitting on the bench in front of his stall, head in his hands. 

“I didn’t mean to– fuck!” Cliff says. “He just didn’t move. He didn’t get up. I thought– I thought I killed him.” 

The room goes quiet. The other players exchange glances, unsure what to say. Cliff is one of the loudest guys in the room, always cracking jokes, always running his mouth. Seeing him like this is unsettling.

Connors takes a step forward, “Marly, man, it wasn’t your fault.” 

Cliff ignores Connors and stands up to walk over to Ilya, “Rozy.” 

“Yeah?” Ilya mumbles, exhausted. 

“Are you okay?” Cliff asks, brows furrowed. His hands are shaking as he gestures vaguely at Ilya, “You’ve been out of it since the hit.” 

Ilya swallows and nods, “Yeah.” He gets busies himself by taking his jersey and gear off, “Just weird seeing Hollander like that after…” 

“Yeah,” Cliff nods to himself. “That makes sense.” 

“Don’t worry,” Ilya finds himself saying. “Hollander is tough, he will be fine. Has been hit before, he will be back.” 

He’s not sure if he’s saying it to assure himself to Cliff. 

Ilya is sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, still in his sweat and hair damp from the shower. He knows he should get up and eat dinner before calling Vera to check on Anastasia. But he can’t move. 

The hit keeps replaying his head on a loop. The way Shane just laid there is burned into his memory. Ilya closes his eyes, trying to calm himself down. 

Shane was looking at him. He wasn’t paying attention because he was looking at Ilya. If Shane hadn’t been looking at him, if Ilya hadn’t been there at all, Shane would have seen Cliff coming. 

Fuck. No. He can’t spiral right now. He opens his eyes and nods to himself once. He needs to do what he’s good at. He just needs to put these feelings into a box, close the lid and shove the box at the back of his mind. He needs to focus on hockey and Anastasia. 

He can do this. 

He’s been doing this since he was twelve. 

He can do it once again. 

When he’s in the parking lot of the hospital, the first thing Ilya does is pull out a cigarette and light it with shaking hands. 

Don’t go back to Russia.

He closes his eyes and leans against the lamppost. Shane had looked up at him with those glassy eyes, voice soft and unguarded. The way Shane spoke made it felt like he was holding those words in for months. 

And Ilya had just said maybe. 

He takes another drag of the cigarette, thumb brushing against his cross. His maybe isn’t even close to a yes. It’s a coward’s answer, a way to avoid breaking Shane’s heart while he’s lying in a hospital bed. 

Shane probably won’t even remember asking. Shane’s going to wake up tomorrow with a headache and no memory of the conversation at all. 

That’s what Ilya tells himself. But his hands won’t stop shaking. He stubs out the cigarette and immediately lights another. His chest feels tight and his breathing feels funny. 

Come to my cottage this summer. 

Ilya wants to. He wants to say yes and mean it. He wants to pack a bag and spend two weeks pretending that the real world doesn’t exist. He wants to wake up next to Shane every morning and make him coffee and listen to him talk about nothing. He wants to be normal. He wants to be Shane’s. 

But he can’t. That’s just the harsh truth. Anastasia has just settled in Boston, she’s finally starting to feel safe and feel like this is her home. She’s been through hell and she needs stability. She needs Ilya to be present, not disappearing to some cottage in Canada for two weeks. 

And Shane deserves better than a man who can only love him in secret. Shane deserves someone who can hold his hand in public, who can introduce him to his parents, who can build a life with him without looking over his shoulder. Shane deserves a real relationship, not this thing that Ilya can offer.

Ilya can’t give him what he needs. He can’t give anyone what they need. 

He’s his father’s son. He’s cold, distant and incapable of real connection. Or maybe he’s his mother’s son. Maybe he’s doomed to disappear into himself until there’s nothing left. Either way, he’s not the kind of man who builds a future with someone. He’s just surviving. 

Ilya throws the cigarette on the floor and stubs it out a little too aggressively. Nothing about this isn’t fair. But when has life ever been fair to him? There’s nothing he can do about that now. All he can do now is make sure Anastasia’s life is everything he wasn’t. 

//

6 weeks later: May 2017

The Boston Raider’s playoff run ends on a rainy Friday night. 

In the locker room, the silence is heavy. No one yells or throws equipment. Everyone slowly takes their gear off and gets ready for the showers. Coach LeClaire comes in and gives a short speech. It’s the same speech he gives every season, something along the lines of being proud of them and keeping their heads up.

Ilya nods along, but he’s not really keeping up with anything. His body is here, but his mind is already somewhere else. He’s already trying to figure out what comes next. What he’s supposed to do with himself now that there’s no hockey to distract him from the changes in his life. 

He showers slowly, the burn of the hot water feels good. When he finally turns the water off and steps out, the locker room is beginning to thin out. A few guys are already dressed, mumbling goodbyes. 

Ilya gets dressed quickly in jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He’s shoving his gear into his bag when Cliff walks up to him. 

“Hey,” Cliff says. “We’re heading to a bar. You in?” 

Ilya shakes his head without looking up, “No. I should get home. Anastasia’s probably waiting up.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Cliff mumbles. He pats Ilya’s shoulder, “Just one drink, though? The guys want to blow off some steam. It's been a long season."

Ilya bites back a sigh. What harm could one drink do? He could have one beer, show his face and still be home before midnight. But before he can answer, Jackson appears on Cliff’s side.

“Cap,” Jackson begins. “Please come. It’s my first season and– I mean, it’s no pressure but it would mean a lot. To have you there… “

“Fuck,” Ilya mumbles, closing his eyes. How could he say no to that face? 

By the time Ilya arrives with Cliff and Jackson, some of the team has already begun drinking. Kabir is three shots in and already slurring. Carter is nursing a beer and scrolling through his phone. Mark is telling a story about his first playoff loss, making the younger guys laugh.

Ilya slides into a seat at the corner of the table. A shot of vodka appears in front of him before he even asks for one. 

A woman slides onto the stool next to him somewhere around his third shot. She’s pretty, blonde and has a bright smile. 

“Tough night,” She says, leaning in. 

“Yeah,” Ilya agrees, nodding. 

“I’m Madison,” She offers. 

“Ilya.” 

"I know who you are," She says, smiling. "Everyone knows who you are."

He should feel something at that. Flattered or interested. She’s attractive and she’s clearly interested in him and this is exactly the kind of situation he would have leaned into six months ago. But all he can think of is Shane. 

Still, he smiles because it’s easier than to explain why he’s not interested, “Lucky me.” 

She laughs and touches his arm, “You played really well tonight. Even with the loss."

"Not well enough."

"Not your fault. You can't carry the whole team."

He shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. She stays and talks about the game, about the season and about how she’s been a Raiders fan since she was a kid. Ilya nods along, offering the occasional comment, letting her words wash over him. 

At some point, Cliff catches his eye from across the table and raises an eyebrow. Ilya ignores him.

Madison orders another round but Ilya doesn’t stop her. By his fourth shot, he’s started to feel out of it. By his fifth, he’s laughing at something she says, even though he’s not entirely sure if he was meant to. 

“You’re funny,” She says, leaning closer. 

“I’m hilarious,” He agrees. 

She grins and runs a finger along the collar of his shirt, “You wanna get out of here?” 

“No,” Ilya replies without missing a beat. “Not tonight.” 

Madison’s smile falters, “Oh. Okay. Did I–"

"No," He says again, softer this time. "You're–you're very pretty. I just... I can't."

She studies him for a moment before nodding, “Okay. Maybe another time.” 

"Yeah," Ilya says, even though they both know there won't be another time. "Maybe."

Jackson stumbles over sometime after midnight, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. It’s pretty obvious that he’s had far too much to drink but he’s still standing, which is more than Ilya expected. 

“Cap,” Jackson says, slumping into the seat Madison had vacated. “You’re the best captain ever.” 

Ilya snorts and shakes his head, “I’m really not.” He reaches over and flicks Jackson’s ear, “I’m also the only captain you’ve had.” 

“No, seriously,” Jackson insists, leaning forward. “Like, seriously. You’re so– you’re so cool. Even though you don’t really go out with us that much anymore. But I mean, that makes sense. Cause you’re like a dad now, you know? But– but still, you’re so cool. And you’re so good at hockey. And you’re like… you’re like a big brother.” 

“That’s the alcohol talking, kid,” Ilya says, rolling his eyes. 

“No, it’s not. I mean, yeah, maybe a little. But also–” Jackson hiccups. “Also, you came tonight. Even though you wanted to go home. And you are a retired fuck boy. You came for us.” 

"Of course I came," Ilya says. "You asked."

Jackson's eyes go shiny, "I love you, man."

"You're drunk."

"I know. But I still mean it."

Ilya sighs and reaches over, steadying Jackson's shoulder before he topples off the stool, "Come on, kid. Let's get you some water."

The Uber drops him off at home just before three in the morning. The house is dark and he has to put the code in three times before he gets it right. 

Inside, the house is dead silent. He toes his shoes off and makes his ways upstairs, trying to keep his steps as light as he can. He pauses outside Anastasia’s door, pushing it open just enough to see her. 

She’s sprawled across her bed, her bunny clutched to her chest. Dr. Waddles and Biscuit are on the floor, knocked off sometimes during the night. 

Ilya watches her for a few seconds. Tomorrow, he’ll be better and be the uncle Anastasia deserves. 

His alarm goes off at 9:00 AM. 

Ilya hears the annoying buzzing but he doesn’t move. His whole body feels so heavy, like he physically can’t bring himself to move it. The alarm stops eventually. He doesn't even remember pressing snooze. 

He knows he should get up. It’s Saturday so that means Anastasia will be awake soon. She’ll come bouncing into his room, climb into his bed and poke his cheeks until he opens his eyes. 

But he doesn’t move. It feels like he can’t move. 

Sometime after his alarm, the door opens. The bed dips as Anastasia climbs onto it, settling somewhere near his feet. Ilya keeps his eyes closed and his head under the covers. He can’t face her yet. He can’t make himself smile or be what she needs him to. Weirdly, she doesn’t try to wake him. 

Anastasia sits at the foot of the bed and begins playing with her toys. He hears the rustling and the mumbles as she assigns rolls to her dolls. She's playing doctor today, it sounds like. Dr. Waddles is doing a check-up on Biscuit while Sushi is the nurse. 

“Biscut has a tummy ache,” She whispers, voice serious. “He ate too many treats.” 

Ilya knows that he should open his eyes. He should tell her she’s being so gentle and so good at taking care of her toys. He should scoop her up and press kisses to her cheeks until she giggles. But he can’t. He just stays under his covers like a coward. 

After a while, Anastasia sighs and crawls closer. Her small hand pats his shoulder, “Uncle? Are you sleeping?” She whispers. 

He doesn’t answer her. 

She pats him again before settling back down. He feels her arranging her toys in a row along his side, “There, now you have friends to keep you company.” 

He drifts back into sleep after that. 

The next time he’s awake, the room is brighter. He doesn’t know what time it is but he doesn’t care. He feels even worse than he did in the morning. 

A few minutes after he wakes, the door creaks open followed by small footsteps. There’s a soft rustling and when Ilya cracks his eyes open, he sees Anastasia placing a folded napkin on his nightstand. 

She turns to face him and he closes his eyes again before she can see that he’s awake. He’s not ready. He’s not ready to be Uncle Ilya, the one who makes pancakes and plays princesses and promises everything will be okay. He can't.

But Anastasia doesn’t leave. Instead she climbs up before gently patting his cheek with her small hand. 

“Are you awake?” She whispers. 

Ilya internally groans. He should pretend to be asleep so she’ll leave but she’s touching his face so gently and he can’t lie to her. He can’t pretend he’s not here when she’s right there, being so careful. 

He opens his eyes slowly. Anastasia’s face is inches from his, hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. She immediately breaks out into a grin. 

“I missed you,” She says, placing a kiss on his cheek. 

“Hey, bunny,” Ilya croaks out. 

Anastasia leans forward and rests her head on his chest, right over his heart. The pressure hits his bruised ribs and he has to bite back a wince. It hurts like a bitch but it pulls him out of his brain fog. 

“Your heart is beating,” Anastasia observes, ear pressed against his chest. “Boom boom boom.” 

“That’s what hearts do, sweetheart.” 

“I know,” She huffs out, rolling her eyes. “I learned from Doc McStuffin.” 

“Obviously,” He mumbles, reaching up to smooth her ponytail. 

She moves, trying to get comfortable. Her elbows dig directly into his ribs and Ilya hisses through his teeth. 

“Sorry,” Anastasia says, not sounding sorry at all. She wiggles again, finally settling with her head on her shoulder instead of his chest, “Your bones are pokey.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

She sighs, “It’s okay.” 

For a few minutes, they just lie there. Anastasia plays with the collar of his t-shirt and Ilya closes his eyes again, resting. 

“I did stuff today,” Anastasia announces, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“Yeah?” Ilya asks, eyes still closed. 

“Yup,” She nods. “After I played in your room, Vera auntie and me went to Arjun’s house for a playdate.” 

“Arjun’s house?” Ilya asks, opening his eyes. 

“Mhm,” Anastasia nods, still focused on his collar. “His mom made chocolate chip cookies. They were so good, Uncle. Like, so so good. I ate three.” 

“Three?” 

“Maybe four,” She admits, grinning. “But I asked if I could take some home for you because they were so good and I wanted you to try them too and she said yes.” 

“You brought me cookies?” 

Anastasia nods, “They’re on your table, see?” 

Ilya turns his head and looks. There on the corner of his nightstand is a folded napkin with two chocolate chip cookies inside. One of the cookies has a bite missing. 

“Did you eat one of my cookies?” Ilya asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Anastasia’s eyes go wide, “No.” 

“Nastya.” 

“Maybe a little bite,” She admits. “But I was just making sure they were safe to eat for you because I’m a good niece.” 

Ilya chuckles before placing a kiss to her head, “You’re something.” 

They fall back into silence. Ilya’s hand finds her hair again and as he plays with it, he thinks about the playoffs. He should be upset but instead, he just feels nothing. It feels as if there’s an empty feeling in his chest that he can’t see to fill.

“Uncle,” Anastasia says, twisting so she’s facing him again. “Did you win last night?” 

“No,” He quietly answers. “I didn’t win.” 

Her face falls and hope drains out of her eyes. She doesn’t say anything for a moment. She just stares at him, like she’s trying to understand him. 

“That sucks,” She whispers finally. 

“It’s okay,” Ilya quickly assures. “It’s just hockey. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. That’s just how it works.” 

“But you’re the best,” She says, like that should matter. 

“Even the best lose sometimes,” He tells her. “Doesn’t mean I’m not good, just means that the other team was better that night.” 

Anastasia frowns, lips jutting out. 

“But hey, this means I’ll be home for a while,” Ilya says, smiling softly. “Won’t be going away for hockey.” 

“Really?” Her eyes go wide. “No more leaving?” 

“No more leaving,” Ilya confirms. “I’ll be home for the most part.” 

He expects her to be excited and cheer, to throw her arms around him and start listing all the things they’re going to do together now that hockey isn’t stealing him away. But she doesn’t. 

Instead, her frown just deeps and her lower lip trembles slightly, “Are you sad?” She whispers. 

“I’m just tired,” Ilya answers. “Just need some sleep.” 

“Okay,” She says. “You should sleep then.” 

“I should,” He agrees. 

She wiggles off her shoulder and sits beside him, “Biscuit and Dr. Waddles will protect you while you sleep, okay?” 

“Okay,” Ilya whispers, voice soft. 

Anastasia leans forward and places a kiss on his forehead. She pulls away, “Sleep.” Then she tugs the blanket up to his chest, tucking it around his shoulder, “You gotta get rest, Uncle.” 

“Thank you, bunny,” Ilya says, eyes glassy. 

“You’re welcome,” She replies. She gathers Dr. Waddles and Biscuit from where they’d been sitting on his bed and arranges them beside his head, one on each side. “There. Now you’re gonna be safe.”  

“I feel very protected.” 

She nods once to herself before climbing off the bed, “Good night, Uncle.” 

“Good night, Nastya.” 

Then she opens the door and disappears down the hallway. After she leaves, Ilya stares at the ceiling. 

This shouldn’t be the way things are. 

Anastasia is five years old. She’s lost her parents, moved across the world, learned a new language, started a new school and is watching her uncle struggle to keep up. Still, she’s the one taking care of him. She’s the one tucking blankets around his shoulders and arranging stuffed animals to keep him safe. 

She deserves better. She deserves someone who can get out of bed. Someone who doesn’t lie there like a corpse while she plays quietly by him. 

He feels like his mother. 

He’s doing the same things his mother did to him. He’s letting her see him like this, he’s letting her learn this is normal. 

He forces himself to sit up. The room spins for a moment as he braces his hand against the mattress to steady himself. His head is pounding but he slowly stands up and walks to the bathroom. 

He brushes his teeth first. Then he turns the shower on as cold as it will go. He needs to wake up and get out of this weird funk he’s been in. After the shower, he steps out, dries off and gets dressed in clean clothes. 

He glances at himself in the mirror and practices a smile. He’s okay. He’s completely fine. 

He finds Anastasia and Vera in the living room. 

Anastasia is sprawled on the living room floor on her stomach. She’s watching a Disney movie on the TV and coloring at the same time, her tongue poking out in concentration. 

Vera is sitting on the couch with a cup of tea in her hands and watching Anastasia with a soft expression. She looks up when Ilya enters and her face immediately fills with relief. 

“Ilya,” Vera says. “You’re up.” 

Anastasia’s head snaps toward him so fast he’s surprised she doesn’t get whiplash. Her eyes go wide and then she’s grinning, scrambling to her feet. 

“Uncle!” She says. “Why aren’t you sleeping? I told you to sleep!” 

Ilya forces a smile and crouches down, opening his arms, “I know you did, but I miss you too much.” 

She launches herself at him. He catches her and lifts her, settling her on his hip. 

“You’re supposed to rest,” Anastasia scolds, poking his cheek. “That’s what Vera auntie says. When you’re sick, you rest.” 

“I’m not sick anymore,” Ilya says. “I just needed my little battery to recharge." 

She tilts her head in confusion, “Your battery?” 

“Yeah,” He says, tapping her nose. “You’re my battery and when I’m feeling tired, all I need to do to feel better is be near you.” 

“Okay, that makes sense,” Anastasia agrees, nodding. 

Vera clears her throat softly, “How are you feeling now, Ilya?” 

“Better,” Ilya answers, turning to face her. “I’m sorry about today. I should have–” 

Vera waves a hand, cutting him off, “You don’t need to apologize. You’ve had a difficult year.” She stands up, “Let me get dinner ready.” 

“Thank you,” Ilya says as the older woman makes her way to the kitchen. Then he puts Anastasia down, “What were you working on?” 

“I was drawing a picture for you because you were sad,” She answers, crouching over her piece of paper again. 

Ilya blinks back tears and clears his throat, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Do you wanna get ice cream?” Anastasia asks, eyes on her paper. “Ice cream makes me feel better when I’m sad.” 

“Yeah,” Ilya chokes out. “We can get ice cream.” 

Anastasia glances over at him and smiles. For a moment, Ilya really does feel like everything’s going to be okay. 

Jane: i’m sorry about playoffs

Lily: it’s ok
Lily: only so much you can do with an injured team

Jane: how are you ribs? 

Lily: killing me
Lily: how is your head?

Jane: it’s better
Jane: how is anastasia

Lily: she is ok
Lily: she makes me read her your book every night
Lily: i am bored huffing and puffing

Jane: lol
Jane: someone has to gift her books
Jane: it can be her uncle’s boring friend

Lily: my favorite boring friend 😉

Jane: boo

Chapter End Notes

im so sorry for the shorter chapter you guys, i usually try to write 5000+ words per chapter but there wasn't anyway to continue the chapter without it feeling like a drastic shift from the tone of the chapter

a couple of notes:
1. i didn't write the whole scenes from the show b/c we already know what happens and there's not much of a change from the show to this fic regarding those scenes
2. i originally wanted to end this chapter with ilya getting help for his depression symptoms but i felt like it was a little too quick, like i definitely do think that now that the season ended for ilya, he's going to be noticing his symptoms a lot more and then he decides to get help. for now, he feels that he's just having a hard day
3. i know in the show the new york admirals beat boston but for my fic i wanted boston to lose earlier off in playoffs just for the plot

ok now time for a question for you guys (just bc everyone was so helpful with the move question i asked a couple chapters ago)
1. do you think it would make sense for ilya to leave anastasia for a week to go visit shane at the cottage. like PERSONALLY, i am leaning towards no because he would never leave his kid (even tho it would be with svetlana) to go spend the week with shane, no matter how much he loves him. but also i don't want to make readers mad by changing the cottage up too much cuz i feel like that was really important for their relationship
2. do you guys have any suggestions on how i could tweak the cottage or have something equivalent to that?

let me know what u guys think in the comments! thank u sm for reading!

Chapter 16

Chapter Notes

Ilya is once again sitting on the floor of his bedroom wrapping presents in the middle of the night. But this time, Svetlana is sprawled across his bed, watching him with an amused expression. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” She says, for the fifth time. 

“No, I’m not,” Ilya replies, without looking up. “I wrapped the Christmas presents all by myself, and I did it perfectly.” 

“Sure you did, buddy,” Svetlana says, rolling her eyes. She glances at the pile of gifts, “Seems like you tapered down from Christmas.” 

Ilya shrugs, “She has a lot of toys, clothes, and basically everything. Plus, everyone coming tomorrow will bring presents too. She is going to be too spoiled.” 

Svetlana hums before nodding toward the pile of children's books, “I would cry if I got books for my sixth birthday.” 

“Yeah, because you were a spoiled brat,” Ilya replies. “I am raising Nastya to be humble and grateful and well read.” 

“She’s six, Ilya, all she cares about is toys and cartoons right now.” 

Ilya shakes his head, “Not true, she loves it when we read before bed.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” Svetlana scoffs, tilting her head. 

Ilya finally looks up and shoots her a glare, “What does that mean?” 

“Well, I just don’t think she enjoys reading with you, that’s all,” Svetlana clarifies. “You barely know how to read yourself.” 

“Fuck off,” Ilya huffs out a laugh and throws a piece of crumbled-up tape towards her.

“No, I’m being serious,” She insists. “Back in high school, I was glad you had hockey because… things were rough.” 

Ilya just rolls his eyes and continues wrapping the presents. 

“So,” Svetlana says, changing the subject. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” 

Ilya exhales, “It’s actually pretty mellow. I tried asking Nastya what she wanted but she didn’t give me much of an answer. Just kept shrugging and saying ‘I don’t know.’” 

“Huh,” Svetlana mumbles. “That’s not like her.” 

“I know,” Ilya sighs, setting the wrapped coloring book on the growing pile. “So I just… googled what kids' birthday parties have. And then I set that up."

Svetlana raises an eyebrow, "Googled?"

"Don't judge me."

"I'm not judging. I'm fascinated. What did Google tell you?"

Ilya counts on his fingers, "Bouncy castle. Face painter. Piñata. Slime."

Svetlana stares at him for a long moment before bursting out into laughter. 

“What?” Ilya demands. 

“Slime? You're going to have a house full of children playing with slime?" Svetlana questions.

Ilya shrugs, "Apparently kids love it."

Svetlana shakes her head, “Kids love it because it’s messy but parents hate it. You're going to regret this decision approximately thirty seconds after the first batch comes out."

Ilya groans, dropping his head into his hands, "Fuck. I didn't think about that."

"Clearly," Svetlana says, still laughing. "You know what you should have done? Hired a princess. Rapunzel, maybe. Or Elsa. Kids go crazy for Elsa."

“I asked her if she wanted Rapunzel to come to the party and she said no,” Ilya explains. He frowns to himself, “She actually insisted that Rapunzel doesn’t come.” 

Svetlana’s smile quickly fades, “What? But she’s obsessed with Rapunzel.” 

“I know,” Ilya sighs. He looks down at his hands, “It’s her first birthday without her parents. She doesn’t say it but I can tell she isn’t really feeling up to any of it.” 

“Have you thought about doing something tomorrow?” Svetlana asks carefully. “Just the two of you.” 

Ilya looks up, “Like what?” 

“I don’t know, you could do something small like light a candle, visit somewhere she feels close to them,” Svetlana says. “You could write them a letter and send it to the stars. She’s six, she doesn't need a grand gesture. I’m sure she just needs you to remember them with her.” 

Ilya stares at the pile of presents. He’s been so focused on making the party perfect and giving Anastasia a day full of distractions that he hasn’t once stopped to think about what she might actually need. 

“I’ll think about it,” He says finally.

They fall into a comfortable silence. Ilya goes back to wrapping up the remaining presents while Svetlana lies back down, scrolling through her off and occasionally offering unsolicited commentary on his technique. 

“A lot of the guys from the team are coming tomorrow,” Ilya says casually, putting another newly wrapped present to the side. 

Svetlana stops scrolling, “What?” 

“The guys from the team, they’re coming to the party,” He repeats. 

“You invited hockey players to a six-year-old’s birthday party,” Svetlana says slowly, like she’s trying to understand a different language. 

Ilya shrugs, “The guys with kids were already invited so I figured why not invite the rest? They needed a pick-me-up after playoffs and Nastya’s grown quite fond of them, you know?” 

Svetlana holds up her hands in surrender, “Hockey players coming to a children’s birthday party, what could possibly go wrong?” 

Ilya throws a piece of a tape at her, landing in her hair.

The next morning, Ilya wakes up before the whole house. He brushes his teeth, showers and gets himself ready before heading downstairs to the kitchen. Vera isn’t up yet, he let her know last night that she could sleep in and he just wanted to handle the morning alone. 

In the kitchen, he pulls out the pancake mix, the eggs and the milk. He works quickly, making three perfectly round pancakes. He plates them carefully; they’re stacked on top of each other with a smear of whipped cream on top. 

Then he rummages through the drawer until he finds the candles. He lights a pink candle with a match and then carries the plate upstairs.

Anastasia’s room is exactly as he left it last night. There are toys scattered on the floor and she’s sprawled across her mattress, her hair a mess. 

Ilya stands in the doorway for a moment, just watching her. She’s six years old. Six years of a life that has already lost too much. But she’s still here and smiling. 

He walks to the side of her bed and sits down on the edge, the plate balanced carefully in one hand. 

“Bunny,” He whispers, reaching out to brush her hair back from her forehead. “Nastya, wake up.”

She stirs, mumbling something that he can’t quite make out. She scrunches her nose but she doesn’t open her eyes. 

“Nastya,” He tries again, louder this time. “I made you something.”

Her eyes flutter open and she blinks at him, still half asleep. Then her gaze focuses on the plate in his hand and on the candle. 

“Whatca doing?” She asks, voice scratchy. 

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” He says softly. 

She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes with one small fist. She looks at the pancakes before glancing back up at him. 

“Make a wish,” Ilya says, holding the plate closer. 

She stares at the candle for a few moments before leaning forward and blowing the candle out. 

“There,” Ilya says, setting the plate down on the nightstand. “Now you’re six.” 

Anastasia doesn’t say anything. Instead, she reaches for him and wraps her around his neck and presses her face into his shoulder. 

“You’re six,” He repeats, quieter now. “How did that happen?”

Anastasia doesn’t answer, just holds on tighter. Ilya lets her know that she needs it. After a while, he pulls back and cups her face in his hands. 

“Are you excited?” He asks. “You’re six years old today, that’s a big deal.” 

Anastasia just hums. She doesn’t answer and instead she squishes his cheek between her hands, pressing them together until his lips puckers. It’s her favorite game to play with him when she doesn’t want to answer a question.

“Nastya,” He says, voice muffled by his squished cheeks. 

She giggles a little and then lets go to crawl into his lap. She settles against his chest, “I wanna cuddle,” She whines.

“But you just woke up,” Ilya says. “We’re supposed to get ready for the day.” 

“Please,” She draws out the word. “Just for five minutes.” 

Ilya huffs out a laugh and then crawls into bed properly, putting her with him. She curls against his side, her head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around her and rests his chin on top of her head.

"Okay," He says. "We can cuddle."

"Good," She mumbles.

An hour later, Ilya is half asleep and Anastasia is still curled against his side. He’s jolted back to the real world when Svetlana knocks on the door. 

“Rise and shine, birthday girl!” Svetlana sings, opening the door. 

She stops in the doorway, taking in the sight of Ilya still in bed with Anastasia sprawled across his chest. 

“It’s eight thirty, the party planner left a voice mail that she’s going to be here in an hour,” Svetlana says, crossing her arms.

Ilya groans and rubs his eyes with his free hand, “Can you just handle it?” 

“Handle it?” Svetlana repeats. 

“She’s a little clingy today so…” 

Svetlana sighs and glances at Anastasia, who is still fast asleep. Her expression softens, “Fine, I’ll handle the party stuff. You just worry about keeping the birthday girl happy.” 

“Thank you,” Ilya says. 

Svetlana gives him a look before turning around and heading back outside. 

Ilya exhales and looks down at Anastasia. He gently nudges her awake, “Hey, come on. We have a big day ahead of us.” 

Anastasia groans and buries her face deeper into his side, “No.” 

“Come on, you have pancakes to eat,” Ilya says, poking her cheek. “And you’re gonna have such a fun party and everyone is going to be there, even Jackson and Carter.” 

She nods slowly but doesn’t move, eyes still closed. Ilya waits for a few seconds before sitting up, pulling her up with him. She doesn’t resist, just lets him pick her up and take her to the bathroom. 

Their morning routine doesn’t take long today. Anastasia stands on her stool while Ilya brushes her teeth. She doesn't fight him when he takes over or insists on doing it herself like she normally does.

During her bath, she lets him wash her hair and help instead of insisting on playing with her bath toys. When he finishes and wraps her up in a towel, she lets him carry her to her room. 

Choosing an outfit is usually an event. Anastasia will pull out five different dresses, hold them up against herself, spin in front of the mirror, change her mind at least three times and then end up in the first thing she picked. 

Today, she sits on the edge of her bed as Ilya holds up different outfits for her. She shrugs at everything Ilya shows her until he picks for her. 

Most of their morning routine passes in silence today. The first time Ilya really says something is when he’s doing her hair. 

“You know,” He begins, working through the tangles in her damp hair. “I used to brush my Mama’s hair. It was just life your’s.” 

Anastasia glances at him in the mirror. 

“Well, her hair was lighter but it was the same texture and everything,” He continues, working the brush through a knot. “My favorite memory of her is when I got to brush her hair.” 

He doesn’t add that it was because his mother allowing him to brush her hair meant she was up and functioning. 

“Your hair is very pretty, just like hers was,” Ilya adds. 

“Thank you,” Anastasia whispers. 

Ilya clears his throat before adding, “I miss her a lot. It’s okay to miss your parents too, you know. You don’t have to hide it.” 

Anastasia glances down at her hands and nods, “I miss them all the time.” 

“I know you do,” Ilya says quietly. “I miss them too.” 

“You miss Papa?” She asks, innocently. 

“I miss him very much,” Ilya confirms, beginning the first braid. “You wanna know what our favorite game to play when we were little?” 

“What?” Anastasia asks, perking up. 

“Your Papa loved tag,” Ilya says, smiling softly. “He could run around for hours.” 

She giggles, “Did you like it too?” 

Ilya shakes his head, “No, not really. But I loved that it meant we could spend time together.” 

Anastasia hums, “I like playing tag too.” 

“Ah, then you are just like your Papa,” Ilya says, placing a headband in Anastasia’s hair. He pinches her cheek gently, “Mini version of Alexei.” 

Anastasia giggles again, “Mini version of Papa.” 

Ilya smiles softly and reaches for Dr. Waddles, “I think Dr. Waddles is saying something.” 

“What?” She asks, getting off the vanity chair and turning to face Ilya. 

Ilya holds the penguin up to his ear like he’s listening to something, “Uh huh,” He says, nodding seriously. “Oh wow, I see.” 

Anastasia jumps up a little, trying to grab the stuffed animal from Ilya’s hand, “What is he saying, Uncle?” 

Ilya brings the penguin in front of his face and puts on a high-pitched voice, “Happy birthday, Nastya! I heard there’s going to be cake today. Is that true? Because I love cake. I love cake more than ice. And I’m a penguin, so that’s saying a lot!” 

Anastasia’s lips twitch and she squints.

Dr. Waddles continues, “Also, I heard there’s going to be a bouncy castle. I’m not sure if penguins are allowed in bouncy castles, but I’m going to try anyway. What’s the worst that could happen? I fall on my beak? I’ve done that before!”

She laughs and shakes her head at Ilya’s antics. 

“Did she just laugh?” Ilya asks, turning Dr. Waddles toward him. “Did the birthday girl just laugh? I thinks he did, Dr. Waddles!” 

Dr. Waddles turns back to Anastasia, “Are you ready to have the best birthday ever? Because I am. I even brought my dancing shoes.” 

Ilya puts the penguin on the dresses and makes him do a little shuffle, wobbling on it’s stuffed feet. 

Anastasia laughs again, louder this time, her whole face lighting up. She reaches for the penguin, “Dr. Waddles can’t dance.” 

“Dr. Waddles can’t do a lot of things,” Ilya admits, handing him over. “But he tries his best. That’s what matters.” 

“Okay!” Anastasia agrees, hugging the stuffed animal. 

The backyard has been transformed. 

There are balloons everywhere, a massive bouncy castle, a long table covered in glittery pink tablecloth ready to be filled with food, and at the far end of the yard there’s a woman setting up her face painting corner. 

In the middle of it all is Svetlana standing with her hands on her hips. 

“Finally,” Svetlana says when she spots Anastasia and Ilya walking outside. “I was starting to think I would have to run this whole party by myself.” 

Ilya glances around, “I wholeheartedly thank you for your services.” 

“I will be charging you for my services,” Svetlana says, giving him a pointed look. She quietly adds, “Even though the party planner did most of the work.” 

Anastasia tugs at Ilya’s hand and pulls him forward, “Is that slime?” She asks, pointing to a table filled with small plastic containers.

“That’s slime,” Ilya confirms 

She takes a step toward it, but Ilya catches her hand and pulls her back gently. 

“Ah ah ah,” He says. “You have to wait for your friends to get here. It’s a group activity.”

“But I’m six now,” Anastasia argues, looking at him with wide eyes. “Six year olds shouldn’t have to wait! It’s my birthday!” 

“I know but we have to be fair,” Ilya explains gently. 

Anastasia groans loudly and rolls her eyes, “Fine.” 

Svetlana laughs, walking over to pinch Anastasia’s cheek, “You are going to give your uncle actual hell when you are a teenager. It’ll be his karma.”

Ilya rolls his eyes and shoots Svetlana a glare, “Stop.” 

“What does that mean?” Anastasia asks, innocently. 

“Nothing you need to worry about right now, bunny,” Ilya assures, patting her back. He quickly distracts her, “Have you thought about what you want to get for face paint?” 

Anastasia’s face brightens like she’s been given the whole world and nods, immediately launching into a detailed explanation about why she thinks getting a butterfly would be the best course of action. 

The first guests arrive twenty minutes later. 

Priya and Kabir appear at the sliding door with Arjun and Sahil. Kabir has a wrapped gift in one hand and a tray of cupcakes in the other. Arjun spots Anastasia immediately and takes off running across the law, nearly tripping over his own feet. 

“Anastasia!” He yells. “Happy birthday!’ 

Anastasia's face lights up and she scrambles off the chair she was sitting on to meet him. They collide in a hug that’s more of a crash, both of them giggling. 

Kabir reaches Ilya and hands off the cupcakes, "Sorry we're early. Someone couldn't wait,” He nods toward Arjun, who is already pulling Anastasia toward the bouncy castle. 

"It's fine," Ilya says, taking the tray. "Thank you for coming. And for the cupcakes."

"They're from Arjun," Priya says, reaching Ilya and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “He insisted on helping. There was a lot of taste-testing involved.” 

Ilya laughs and sets the tray on the table next to the other food. Behind him, Svetlana has already cornered Priya, pulling her into a conversation about something Ilya can't quite hear.

More guests arrive in a slow trickle after that. Chloe, Anastasia’s new friend from school, comes with her mother. Mark and Jessica arrive with their kids, followed by Mei and Eric and their daughter.

The kids scatter across the yard, some to bouncy castles, some to face painting tables and some just running in circles. The adults cluster near the food table, drinks in hand. 

Ilya circulates, greeting guests, making small talk, and pretending he’s not scanning the yard every few seconds to make sure Anastasia is still okay. She looks happy, or at least, she looks like she’s trying to be. 

The single guys arrive last. 

Ilya is helping Svetlana rearrange the snacks when Cliff’s voice booms across the yard, “Where is the birthday girl?” 

Ilya turns to see the trio making their way across the law. Cliff is in the front, sunglasses on and wearing a Lion King themed t-shirt. Carter is behind him, looking slightly less enthusiastic but still present, a gift tucked under his arm. Jackson is behind both of them, nearly tripping over the hose, with a massive pink gift bag in his hand. 

Anastasia’s head snaps up from where she’s been examining the slime table. Her whole face lights and she gasps. 

“Marly!” She shrieks, abandoning her friends and running across the yard. 

Cliff crouches down just in time for her to launch herself at him. She wraps her arms around his neck and he stands up, spinning her in a circle. She squeals, laughing, her legs kicking out.

“You guys came!” She says when he sets her down. 

“Of course we came!” Cliff says, patting her hair. “It’s your birthday, we wouldn’t miss it.” 

Carter steps forward next, holding out his gift, “Happy birthday, Anasastia. Your good luck carried us up to the playoffs so thank you.” 

Anastasia grins and accepts the gift, “You’re welcome.” 

Carter nods and looks around the yard. He looks like he’s not sure what to do with himself now that his social obligation is complete. Cliff clasps him on the shoulder. 

Jackson is last, still holding his gift bag, looking slightly overwhelmed. Anastasia turns to him and grins. 

“You’re here too!” She says, walking up to him. 

“Yeah!” Jackson says, mirroring Anastasia’s grin. “I brought you presents. I didn’t know what you would like so I got everything.” 

Anastasia accepts the bags and sets them on the ground. Then she opens her arms wide. Jackson hesitates for a few seconds before crouching down and letting her hug him. 

“Thank you for coming to my party,” Anastasia says. 

“Of course, we wouldn’t miss it,” Jackson says. He pulls away from the hug and pinches Anastasia’s cheek softly, “You know the next time my family is in Boston to visit, you should meet my little sister. She’s two years older than you but I’m sure you two will get along.”

Anastasia nods, “Okay!” And then she runs off back to her friends. 

Ilya bites back a smile. She really is his little superstar. 

he party progresses in a controlled chaos that comes with a yard full of children. 

The face painter sets up near the fence and within twenty minutes, every child in attendance has some variation of a butterfly or a tiger painted on their cheek. 

The pinata is a disaster in the best way possible. Cliff volunteers to hold it, standing on a chair with the unicorn-shaped pinata dangling from his hand. The kids take turns swinging at it, blindfolded and missing more often than not. Jackson nearly takes out Cliff’s knee at one point, and Carter has to physically restrain him from taking a second swing. 

It's Arjun who finally breaks it open, sending candy raining down onto the grass. The kids scramble, filling their pockets and their cups and, in one case, their shoes.

And then there’s the bouncy castle.

At first, it’s just for the kids. But somewhere around the time the candy rush starts to fade, Cliff climbs in. Then Carter. Then Jackson. And then Eric. And soon, the bouncy castle is full of grown men in their twenties and thirties, jumping around like they’re the ones who turned six.

Ilya stands and laughs at the men, despite himself. Cliff is trying to do a front flip and nearly lands on his head. Carter is curled in the corner, wheezing. Jackson is still jumping with his arms flailing, looking more like a six year old than any of the actual children. 

The slime table is, as Svetlana predicted, a disaster.

It starts innocently enough. The party planner sets out the ingredients and demonstrates the process. The kids gather around with wide eyes and hands already ready to work. Jackson volunteers to help, kneeling at the table next to Chloe and Arjun, measuring and mixing. 

Within ten minutes, the table is covered in sticky, colorful goo. Slime is basically everywhere. Some kids get it on their shoes, some on their clothes. And Jackson? Poor, earnest, overwhelmed Jackson has a glob of neon green slime in the front of his hair. 

Jackson turns to Ilya and frowns, a little slime on his chin, “Is it bad?” 

Ilya bites back a laugh and shakes his head, “No, no, it is not bad.” 

Carter walks up behind Ilya and laughs at Jackson, “Dude, it’s so fucking bad, don’t listen to Cap. I think you’re going to need to get a buzzcut.” 

“What?” Jackson says, reaching to pat his head with his slime-filled hand. “Are you serious? I don’t want to go bald. I look really bad bald.” 

Ilya grabs Jackson’s hand and forces it away from his head, “Do not do that, you will just make it worse." He grimaces at the slime, “Come here, I will wash it out.” 

He guides the younger man inside and into the kitchen. He pushes him toward the sink and Jackson bends over, putting his head under the faucet. Ilya turns on the water and works his fingers through the slimy strands. 

“You know,” Ilya says, scrubbing at a stubborn clump. “Most people do not need to hosed down at six year old’s birthday party.” 

Jackson winces as Ilya's fingernail scrapes against his scalp, “I didn’t think it would be this sticky.” 

Ilya chuckles and shakes his head. 

They fall into a comfortable silence. Ilya focuses on the slime, watching it slowly break apart under the water. Jackson grips onto the sink, knuckles nearly white. 

“Cap?” 

Ilya hums, “Yeah?”

“Are you going to re-sign with Boston?” Jackson asks quietly. 

Ilya’s hands pause for a few moments. Then he keeps working, face carefully neutral, “Why are you asking me that?” 

Jackson shifts on his feet, “I heard some of the guys talking. They said you haven’t really said anything about staying or about what you want.” 

Ilya doesn’t answer. 

“And I just–” Jackson continues, voice earnest. “You make the Boston Bears the Boston Bears, you know? The team isn’t the same without you. It would really suck if you left. And I would hate having to play against you and not with you.” 

Ilya turns the water off once he gets the last remnants of the slime. He grabs a paper towel and hands it to Jackson. Jackson dries his hair, nervously biting his lip. 

“Who said I was leaving?” Ilya asks. 

“No one,” Jackson answers. “I mean, no one said you were. They just said you haven't said you're staying. And with everything that's happened with your brother, and your dad, and your niece, and–” He stops, becoming aware that he’s probably making it worse. “I just mean that… if you need anything from the team, you just have to say it.” 

Ilya leans against the counter, his arms crossed.

“We love you, Cap,”  Jackson adds, quieter now. “As a captain and as a teammate. And especially as a really good fucking friend. We don’t want to lose you.” 

“You are so fucking dramatic,” Ilya says, quickly deflecting. He nudges Jackson toward the sliding door. "Go outside and eat cake. Stop getting slime in your hair."

Jackson opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, then closes it. He nods and heads for the door. 

Ilya stands alone in the kitchen, staring at the empty doorway.

He hasn't thought about re-signing. Hasn't thought about Boston or hockey or any of it. All he's thought about is Anastasia. He just wants to keep her safe and happy and make sure she always has it better than he had it. 

The truth is, he doesn’t know what he wants when it comes to hockey. He doesn’t know if he wants to stay in Boston. Doesn't know if he wants to keep playing. Doesn't know if he's capable of being the captain they need, the uncle Anastasia deserves, the man Shane–

He stops himself from finishing the thought. 

He fixes his cross, squares his shoulders and walks back outside.

The party winds down slowly. One by one, the guests filter out. Chloe leaves with her mother, holding onto a goody bag and waving over her shoulder. Mark and Jessica herd their kids toward the car. Eric and Mei carrying their two year old out. Arjun and his brother are the last to leave the kids, only agreeing to leave when they’re promised ice cream. 

When most of the party is gone, Svetlana makes spontaneous plans with Cliff, Jackson and Carter. 

She’s standing by the sliding door, purse over her shoulder and scrolling through her phone. Cliff, Carter, and Jackson are hovering near her, waiting.

"I'm going to show these idiots how to actually club in Boston," Svetlana announces, not looking up from her phone. "Apparently, they've been going to the same dive bar for three years."

Cliff shrugs, “It’s a good bar.” 

“It’s a sad bar,” Svetlana comments, finally looking up. She glances at Ilya, then at Anastasia, who is now curled up on the couch, cuddling with Dr. Waddles. “You sure you don’t want to come? I can stay with Anastasia instead.” 

Ilya shakes his head, “Not really my scene anymore. Show them how it’s done.” 

Svetlana studies him for a moment before stepping forward and pulling him into a tight hug, “You did good today. She’s happy.”

Ilya hugs her bag and nods, “Thanks.” 

When she pulls away, she kisses his cheek and then crouches down in front of Anastasia, “Goodnight, my little birthday girl. I love you."

"Love you too, Auntie Sveta," Anastasia mumbles, her eyes barely open.

Svetlana stands, nods at Ilya one last time, and then ushers the hockey players out the door.

After they leave, the house is finally quiet. 

Ilya stands in the middle of the living room, surrounded by the aftermath of some gift–opening that happened earlier. He knows he should clean up but instead, he walks over to the couch and sits down next to Anastasia.

She’s curled up into a small ball, her head on a pillow and Dr. Waddles now tucked under her arm. Her facepaint is smeared. The butterfly has lost one wing and the other is smudged across her cheek.

Ilya gently lifts her and settles into his lap. She stirs slightly, mumbling something that Ilya can’t make out. Then she curls back against his chest. 

"Did you have fun today, bunny?" He asks quietly.

Anastasia nods against his chest, "Mhm."

"Really?"

"Really," She says, her voice soft and sleepy. "It was so fun. The slime was so messy and Arjun fell in the bouncy castle. And I had a pretty butterfly on my face.” 

Ilya hums, “That does sound really fun.” 

“I think, next time, we should invite Rapunzel,” Anastasia mumbles before yawning. “I think she would have fun too.” 

“Okay,” Ilya agrees. “We can invite her next time.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence. Ilya runs his hand over her hair, smoothing the flyaways. 

“Hey, Nastya?” Ilya says. 

“Hmm?”

“If you want, we could do something to honor Mama and Papa for your birthday.”

Anastasia doesn’t answer and instead fidgets with the collar of his shirt. 

“It doesn't have to be anything big," He continues, voice gentle. "We could light a candle. Or write them a letter and send it to the stars. Or we could just... talk about them. If you want."

“I talk to them every day,” She says. “Remember the stars?” 

“Yeah.”

She yawns again, “I talk to them before bedtime ‘cause I look out the window, you know? I tell them I miss them and everything that happened that day and I tell them you’re taking good care of me ‘cause you are and ‘cause I don’t want them to worry.”

Ilya swallows the lump in his throat, “That’s good, bunny. That’s really good.” 

“They don’t need a letter ‘cause they’re always watching,” She adds. 

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, "Yeah. They're always watching." 

Anastasia's hand moves from his collar to his cheek, squishing the skin gently, “Squishy squishy squishy.” 

She squeezes his cheeks a few more times, pressing them together until his lips pucker. He makes a face at her and she giggles harder, her whole body shaking with it.

Then slowly, she lowers her hands and her eyes flutter. She falls asleep in his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest. 

Ilya doesn't move. He sits there on the couch and hotels her. 

He looks up at them through the window and thinks about Alexei and Anna. About his mother. 

"Thank you," He whispers, to no one in particular. "For letting me have her."

ilyarozanov_81 • 2 hours ago

[photo: Ilya kneeling in the grass, Anastasia perched on his hip. Her face is turned toward the camera as she shows off her butterfly. Ilya isn’t looking at the camera, he’s looking at her with a soft and unguarded smile.]

ilyarozanov_81
princess anastasia turned six 👑👑👑👑🎉🎉🎉🎂🎂🎂🎂🎈🎈🎈🎈

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kabirrandhawa happiest of birthdays to the coolest six-year-old we know 🎂
cliffmarleuofficial THE UNICORN PIÑATA WILL NEVER RECOVER. BEST PARTY EVER
jackson_hockey coolest party ever, happy birthday princess anastasia!!
svetlanavetrova my little butterfly 🦋
jessicajansen_ she is the sweetest little girl! happy birthday anastasia ❤️
priya_randhawa arjun hasn't stopped talking about the party. thank you for having us!
carterpatterson coolest face tat, happy birthday kid!
meichen what a perfect day, happy birthday sweet girl ✨

shanehollanderhockeyplayer Happy Birthday, Anastasia 🎈

Three days later, a package arrives. 

Ilya finds it on the front porch when he gets back from taking Anastasia to school. It's a medium-sized box, wrapped in plain brown paper, with no return address.

He carries it inside and sets it on the kitchen island. Vera is at the sink, washing dishes, and she glances over curiously.

"What's that?" She asks.

"I don't know," Ilya shrugs. 

After Vera leaves, Ilya opens it.

Inside the box, nestled in a bed of tissue paper, is a full set of children's hockey gear in bright pink. There’s a note on top of the box, tucked into a small envelope. 

Figured she should learn from the best. – S

Ilya laughs to himself.

Fuck off, Shane Hollander.

Chapter End Notes

GUYS IM SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING FOR SO LONG I WORK FULL TIME NOW AND AM A STUDENT SO THINGS ARE CRAZY ATM

anyways, thank u so much for reading i hope my audience hasn't forgotten me yet 😭

Chapter 17

Chapter Notes

“What are we gonna have for dinner tonight?” Anastasia asks, swinging her and Ilya’s hand as they walk into her school. “Can we have mac and cheese, please?” 

“It depends on Vera, bunny,” Ilya replies. “But I will make a special request for you.” 

“You’re the best,”  Anastasia giggles. 

Ilya pats her head, careful not to mess up her braids. Anastasia chatters the rest of the walk to her classroom, something about Mr. Whiskers the hamster had babies over the weekend. 

At the door to her classroom, they stop to do their morning ritual. Anastasia turns to face Ilya, he crouches down to her level, and they hug tight enough that her backpack digs into his forearm. Then she pulls back and kisses him on the cheek. Ilya returns the gesture before booping her nose. 

“Have a good day, sweetheart,” Ilya whispers. 

“You too, Uncle,” Anastasia replies. She grins before adding, “Even though you are so lazy these days.” 

Ilya scoffs, “Hey, you were the one who was praying that hockey would end so we could hang out all day.” 

Anastasia scrunches her nose, “But you sleep so much, it’s so boring.” 

“When you are an adult, you will understand why I sleep so much, okay?” Ilya says, ticking her stomach. He stands up, “Okay, be good in class. I’ll pick you up, alright?” 

Anastasia nods and waves one last time before walking into the classroom, already calling out to Arjun before she’s even fully through the door. Ilya turns around and is about to leave when he hears someone calling out for him. 

“Mr. Rozanov!” 

He turns back and sees Mrs. Patterson standing near the door holding a stack of papers. She smiles at him and waves him over. 

“Good morning,” Ilya says, stepping closer. 

“Good morning! I’m glad I caught you,” She says, taking a piece of paper and handing it to him. “I wanted to make sure you got this personally, since I know sometimes things get lost in backpacks.” 

Ilya glances down at the paper. KINDERGARTEN STEPPING UP CEREMONY is written in bold letters across the top. Below that is a date two weeks out and a time, and something about “cap and gown pickup” that means absolutely nothing to him. 

“Stepping up ceremony,” He repeats slowly, frowning slightly. 

“It’s basically their graduation,” Mrs. Patterson explains. “From kindergarten into first grade. We do a little ceremony in the gym, the kids each get called up one by one and they get a certificate and everything. They do a little song and dance performance, it’s all very sweet.” 

“There is graduation for kindergarten?” Ilya asks, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“I know it sounds like a lot for kindergarteners,” She says, laughing a little. “But it’s a big transition for them and their first real educational milestone.” 

“Ah, so they like a gown?” He asks, glancing back at the flyer. “Like high school?” 

“A little cap and gown, yes. Very small and very cute,” Mrs. Patterson answers.

“Okay,” Ilya says slowly. “Parents are invited, yes?” 

Mrs. Patterson nods, “I know your schedule is a little different than other parents with hockey and traveling. I completely understand if things come up. But I do want to say that it means so much to these kids when they look out and see their person in the crowd, even if it’s just for twenty minutes. Anastasia talks about you constantly, Mr. Rozanov. She would notice if you weren’t there.” 

“The season is over,” Ilya replies a little too fast. “For bears, we lost so I, uh– I will be there.” 

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Patterson smiles. “She’ll be so happy.” 

“Okay,” Ilya nods once, folding the flyer carefully. “Thank you for telling me about this.” 

“Of course. Have a good day, Mr. Rozanov.” 

Ilya nods again before turning around and walking back out to the parking lot with the flyer in his pocket. He’s still trying to figure out how much of a big deal he’s supposed to be making about this when he spots Priya crossing the parking lot toward her own car. 

“Priya,” He calls out, jogging to catch up to her. 

She turns around, “Oh, hey you. Everything okay?” 

“Yes, yes,” He says, stopping in front of her. “What is stepping up ceremony?” 

“Oh, right!” Priya says. “Yeah, it’s a nice little thing they do for the kids.” 

“I did not know this was a thing,” Ilya admits. “How big of a deal is it?” 

“It really just depends on the parents, if I’m being honest,” Priya answers truthfully. “The kids kind of don’t really care for it beyond the ceremony of it but some parents like to do little parties after the ceremony. I was thinking of doing a small thing at the house, just some cake and pizza. Anastasia’s invited of course. But that was really it.” 

“Ah, okay,” Ilya nods. “So I do not need to worry about party?” 

Priya shakes her head, “Not unless you want to. It doesn’t really make sense to do different things when all the kids really want is sweets and pizza. You can just bring her over to our house after the ceremony.” 

“Okay okay,” Ilya nods to himself again. He sighs, “Okay, thank you.” 

“Of course,” Priya replies. She checks her watch, “I have to run, but I’ll text you the details once we lock them in.” 

“Okay, got it,” Ilya says. 

“Anytime, Ilya.” 

She heads off toward her car and Ilya stands there for a moment before making his way to his own. Once he’s inside, he pulls out his phone before he’s even started the car. 

Lily: do you get gift for stepping up ceremony?

Shane replies back fast, which is usually how it is these days. Sometimes, Ilya thinks about strange it is how Shane and him have gone from a few texts a year to texting almost every day about almost everything. 

Jane: I don’t know
Jane: My parents just got me hockey gear
Jane: But I think that’s just because I begged them for it
Jane: Why? 

Lily: anastasia is having stepping up ceremony
Lily: it is graduation for little kids, yes?
Lily: i think she should get graduation gift
Lily: but i am not sure what 

Jane: Is there anything she’s said she wants? 

Lily: nope
Lily: she got so many gifts already

Jane: Maybe you can get her something that she can keep for a while
Jane: Hayden’s daughters really want a pony right now

Lily: do you think i could keep a pony in my house? 

Jane: No, I don’t think that would be possible
Jane: Maybe get her jewelry? 
Jane: She can use it throughout her life, it’s not like a toy that she’ll grow out of
Jane: She can keep it forever

Lily: really? 
Lily: you suggest such boring gifts

Jane: Hey, my grandma gave me a watch when I graduated high school and I still have it
Jane: I don’t wear it but I would never get rid of it

Lily: BOOOOOO
Lily: so boring

Jane: 🖕

Lily: 😘😘😘😘

When Ilya reaches home, he’s already yawning. He kicks his shoes off by the front door and makes a beeline for the stairs. Vera calls out a greeting from somewhere in the kitchen but he barely registers it. 

In his room, he collapses onto the bed, not even bothering to pull the covers up. The pillow is cool against his face and within minutes, he’s snoring. 

When he wakes up again, he squints and rolls onto his back. He rubs his eyes and glances at the clock on his nightstand. It’s 1:07 PM. He’s been asleep for almost five hours. He groans, closing his eyes again. He knows he should get up but the bed is so warm and life just feels so much easier when he’s asleep. 

Eventually, his stomach growls and he sighs before forcing himself to sit up. His head is pounding slightly as he makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen. Vera is at the counter, chopping vegetables. 

“Good afternoon, Ilya,” She says, setting down the knife. “I was wondering when you would emerge from your little cave.”  

Ilya grunts in response and heads straight for the coffee maker. 

“Did you sleep well?” Vera asks. 

“Mhm,” He hums. “I’ve been so tired since playoffs ended.” 

“I can see that,” She replies. “There’s leftover soup from last night if you want something. I can make you a sandwich as well.” 

Ilya shakes his head, “Coffee first, then I will decide.” 

Vera chuckles softly and goes back to chopping her vegetables. She steps aside, giving Ilya  more space to move around the kitchen. The coffee finishes brewing and Ilya pours himself a mug. 

“Anastasia’s school is doing a graduation ceremony for kindergarten,” Ilya says, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Ah, yes,” Vera says. “I remember when my kids had their stepping up ceremonies. It is very cute, the kids get very excited.” 

Ilya snorts, “Really?” 

“Really,” Vera confirms, laughing softly. “Both of you will have a good time.” 

“You should come,” Ilya says. “Anastasia would be so excited to see you there and I will have my partner in crime.” 

“Partner in crime?” Vera repeats, raising an eyebrow. 

Ilya gives Vera a pointed look, “Come on, Vera. You know better than anyone else that I am much funnier in Russian than I am in English.” 

Vera shakes her head and rolls her eyes playfully, “Of course, of course.” She sets the knife down and wipes her hands on a dish towel. “I wanted to talk to you about July.” 

Ilya straightens and nods, “Of course. What about July?” 

“I usually do mention this before I get hired but my hiring with you happened so fast that I forgot to bring it up but I take the month of July off,” Vera explains. “Both of my children will be back home from university. I always take the month off to just be their mom, you know?” 

“Of course,” Ilya replies immediately. “You’ve been so kind and giving with your time to us, Vera. You deserve more than a month off.” 

“Thank you, Ilya,” Vera smiles. “It’s okay if you need me to stay, though. I know this is a little last minute.” 

Ilya shakes his head, “There’s no reason why I would need to leave Anastasia alone in July, so I think you should be okay. Don’t worry about us, enjoy your time with your kids.” 

“Are you sure?” Vera asks.  

“Of course,” He assures. “Do you have any plans with your kids?” 

“We are going to go to Italy for a week and then France,” Vera answers with a soft smile. “My daughter is taking me.” 

“That’s the best,” Ilya smiles. “My mother took Alexi and I to Austria one summer. I think it was the best summer I ever had.” 

Vera’s expression softens at that, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Ilya says, a sad smile tugging on his lips. “I still remember that Alexei pushed me into the lake with my shoes still on. Mama was so mad but I didn’t care, I just loved that it was the three of us.” 

“That’s a beautiful memory to have,” Vera says gently. 

“Yeah,” Ilya whispers. He clears his throat and glances at Vera, “I hope you and your daughter have a good time in Europe.” 

“Thank you, Ilya,” Vera says. She folds the dish towel and sets it down before looking at him, “Can I ask you something?” 

Ilya nods, “Of course.” 

“You’ve been sleeping a lot lately,” Vera begins, gently. 

Ilya blinks in confusion, caught off guard by the shift, “I mean, the season just ended so I’m a little tired.” 

“You slept for five hours this morning after a full night of sleep,” Vera points out. “And this is not the first time it’s happened. Some days you don’t come down until late afternoon.” 

Ilya puts the cup down, suddenly feeling very exposed under her gaze, “I think I just need to get out of this weird funk. It’s just been a lot with playoffs and everything.” 

“I understand that,” Vera replies. “I do. But Ilya, I think you should see a doctor.” 

Ilya waves his hand, “My blood work is fine. I have physicals all the time with the team, if something was wrong I would know by now.” 

“I am not talking about a physical doctor,” She says. “I am talking about someone for your mind.” 

“Vera–” 

“I’ve watched you for months now, Ilya,” Vera says, cutting Ilya off. “You have been through in one year more than most people go through in a lifetime. That alone would break most people but you are still standing. But barely, sweetheart.” 

Ilya looks away. 

“You sleep too much,” She repeats. “You stay in your room for hours when Anastasia is at school and there is no one who needs you. You go very quiet, you sit on the couch and stare at nothing. You do not go with friends. You don’t have hobbies. You have nothing that is just for you anymore.” 

“I take care of Nastya,” Ilya mumbles. “That is enough for me.” 

“No, it is not,” Vera says firmly. “You are only twenty five years old, Ilya. You are still a young man. It makes no sense for you to live as if your only purpose on earth is to be her parent. She is the most important thing, yes. But if you pour all of you into her and leave nothing for yourself, you will not last.” 

“I have seen depression, Vera,” Ilya says, voice shaking. “I know exactly what it looks like. I am not that, okay. I am just tired. It was a very long season and my body is catching up. That is all.” 

Vera’s expression softens, “Ilya, I know you aren’t your mother. But depression does not always look the same in every person.” 

Ilya shakes his head, “I do not need help, Vera. Seriously. I am fine. I get Anastasia to school, I pick her up, I make sure she eats. I am doing everything I am supposed to do. I am a functioning human being. That is not depression.” 

“And when she is asleep?” Vera asks softly. “Or when she is at a friend's house? What happens when the house is quiet and there is no one to perform for? Then what happens?” 

Ilya stays silent. 

Vera takes a step closer, “I am not asking you to go tomorrow, I am not even asking you to decide right now. But you seriously need to think about it. For her sake, if not for your own. She needs you to be well, not just there.” 

He stares at the counter for a few seconds. Then he whispers, “I’ll think about it.” 

Vera nods once, “Good, that is all I am asking for.” 

She turns back to the vegetables and picks up the knife again, giving him the space to leave if he needs to. Ilya stays where he is for another few seconds before he finally walks out of the kitchen without another word. 

He closes the door behind himself when he enters his room and sits down on the edge of the bed. He stares out his windows. Vera is wrong. She is so wrong and she doesn’t even understand it. 

He is not his mother. He is able to function. He doesn’t forget to feed his child. He doesn’t leave her alone in a silent house with a bottle of pills on the nightstand. He’s completely fine. 

He lies back on the bed and pulls the pillow over his face, blocking out the afternoon light. In a few hours, he will have to get up again and put on the face of the capable uncle. He will drive to the school to pick up the little girl who thinks he is the strongest person in the world.

He lies there with the pillow over his face and thinks back to what Vera said. You don’t have hobbies. You have nothing that is just for you anymore. 

He wants to argue with her. He wants to sit up and march back downstairs and list all the things he does, all the ways he’s fine. But he can’t. The truth is, she’s not wrong. He doesn’t have hobbies. 

He used to. Or at least, he thinks he did. Before Anastasia, there was hockey and there was sex and there was partying. And there was Shane. That was it, that was his whole life. He’d wake up, go to practice, play the game and then find someone to lose himself in for a few hours. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

He never had hobbies. He had distractions. And now the distractions are gone.

He can’t party the way he used to. He can't drink until he forgets his own name. He can't pick up a random woman in a bar and bring her home, because this is his home now, and Anastasia sleeps down the hall, and he can't be that person anymore. He can't even hook up with Shane.

He pulls the pillow off his face and turns over on his stomach. The part that struck was Vera telling him that there’s nothing that’s just for him anymore because it’s the raw truth. Everything he does, everything he is, revolves around Anastasia. He wakes up for her. He makes breakfast for her. He drives her to school. He picks her up. He helps with homework. He makes dinner. He reads bedtime stories. He kisses her forehead. He promises he'll come back.

And in between all of that, he sleeps.

He sleeps because there's literally nothing else to do. He sleeps because when he’s sleeping, he doesn’t have to think about any of it or feel any of it. He doesn’t want to remember Shane’s voice when he asked to Ilya to come to the cottage. He doesn’t want to remember the look on Alexei’s face in the morgue. 

He sleeps because it feels like it’s the only escape he has left. 

Ilya doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep again until he wakes up to footsteps on the stairs. He blinks himself awake and squints at the clock. It’s 2:00 PM. He should be getting ready right now to pick up Anastasia. 

But it feels like he can’t move. 

Everyone will be there. Priya, Jessica and all the other parents. They’re going to be there and they’re going to be able to see him. What if they look at him the same way Vera looked at him this morning? What if they see the sleep in his eyes and the way his hands shake when he hasn’t eaten? What if they see the real him? 

He’s not a capable uncle. He's not the strong person Anastasia thinks he is. He's a mess. He's a fraud. He's his mother's son, destined to disappear into himself until there's nothing left.

There’s knocking on his door before he hears Vera’s voice. “Ilya?” The older woman says. “Are you going to pick up Nastya?” 

“I–” He exhales slowly. “Can you go? Please.” 

There’s a long silence on the other side of the door before Vera speaks again. “Ilya,” She repeats, the disappointment clearly evident in her voice. 

“Please,” He repeats. “My head hurts.” 

“Okay,” Vera says. “I will go.” 

After she leaves, there’s just complete silence. He knows that he should feel relieved but instead all he feels is a vast emptiness. It feels like it’s consuming him from head to toe. 

Vera is right. He’s not his mother but he’s on the same path. He’s walking the same road. And if he doesn't do something, he’s going to end up in the same place. But what is he even supposed to do? Where does he begin? 

He doesn't know who he is without hockey. He doesn't know who he is without the parties, the women, the endless distractions. He doesn't know who he is without Shane.

He doesn't know if he ever did.

Ilya doesn’t open his eyes when he hears his bedroom open. He hears Anastasia’s backpack hitting the floor and then her footsteps as she rushes towards his bed. 

“Uncle?” She says. 

Ilya doesn’t move, his head still under the comforter. 

“Uncle,” She says again, louder this time. “Uncle, wake up.” 

He doesn’t move. 

“Uncle,” She repeats, tone close to scolding. “You were supposed to pick me up, you promised. You said that now that hockey is over, you would come pick me up everyday. Why are you still sleeping?” 

He should answer but the words won’t formulate. 

“Uncle!” She says, louder. “Wake up! You’re being lazy again. You promised me you would pick me up!” 

He hears her small hand hit the mattress. 

“I don’t like this!” She says, voice getting higher. “I hate it when you sleep all day!” 

He squeezes his eyes shut together. 

There’s a long pause before he hears her kick her bag and run out of the room. She slams the door behind her. 

Ilya lies there, unable to move to cry. He just keeps breathing. Anastasia is angry at him and she has every right to be.

The next time Ilya hears Anastasia’s footsteps, he can tell that the sun has started to set even underneath the comfortable. 

He feels the bed dip as she climbs up. He waits for her to hit him again or yell but instead, she just crawls up the bed until she’s right next to him. 

“Uncle,” She whispers. “I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t move. 

“Auntie Vera said you’re sick,” She continues, her voice shaking. “She said you don't feel good and that's why you're sleeping so much. She said it's not your fault.” 

He feels her hand patting the comforter, trying to find him underneath.

"I'm sorry I was mad," She says. "I didn't know you were sick. You should have told me."

She finds the edge of the comforter and pulls it up enough to slip underneath. She crawls beside him. He feels her settle against his side, placing her head on his shoulder. She tucks herself against him like she belongs there. 

“I had a good day,” She says. “We made cards for our dads and grandpas but I made mine for you. Because you're my person. That's what Mrs. Patterson said. She said everyone has a special person and mine is you."

Ilya hums. 

“Arjun and me played tag at recess but I won because he's slow. He said it's not a fair race because his legs are shorter but that's not my fault. And Chloe brought in her new markers and she let me borrow the purple one because I don't have a purple one at home. Maybe we can get a purple one? Just one purple marker? Not a whole set. Just one.” 

She moves, getting more comfortable. She yawns, “I drew a picture of us. Vera auntie said she would put it on the fridge. That way you can see it when you wake up.” 

His eyes are burning with unshed tears but he refuses to let himself cry. 

“I’m gonna stay,” She mumbles, sleepiness evident in her voice. “So you’re not alone. ‘Cause when I’m sick, you stay with me. So I'm gonna stay with you. 'Cause that's what we do.” 

She drapes herself over him and falls asleep within minutes. He lies there under the comforter, hidden from the world, with a six-year-old asleep on top of him and tears rolling down his face.

Just this morning he was in the parking lot, texting Shane about graduation gifts. He was making a mental list of jewelry stores. He was laughing at Shane's boring suggestions. He was functional. He was fine.

And then he has one hard conversation about himself with Vera and it feels like he can’t move. He can’t even pull the blanket off his own face. One conversation and he’s fall apart.

Ilya wakes up to Anastasia still on top of him. He lies there for a few moments, unsure of what to do. He feels like he needs fresh air and he needs to move. 

Very carefully he slides one hand under Anastasia’s shoulders and the other under her knees. She makes a small sound when he lifts her but he doesn’t wake up. He settles her onto the mattress and tucks the comforter around her the way she likes it. 

It’s 2:37 AM. 

He opens the top drawer of the dresser as quietly as he can. The pack of cigarettes and lighter are both buried under a tangle of clean socks. He grabs them both and makes his way downstairs as quietly as he can. 

He makes his way out to the backyard and shudders as the night air hits him. He squats down and leans against the door as he lights the first cigarette. 

He smokes his way through five cigarettes before he has the courage to dig his phone out of his pockets and call Svetlana. It rings three times before she answers. 

“Ilya,” Svetlana says, voice rough with sleep. “What the fuck? It’s almost three in the morning.”

“I know,” Ilya mumbles. 

“Is everything ok? Is it Nastya?” 

“Everything’s fine.” 

“Okay,” Svetlana says slowly. She yawns before asking, “What happened?” 

Ilya leads his forehead against his knees, “Can you come to Boston?” 

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line before she replies, “What’s going on?” 

He closes his eyes, “I don’t feel good,” He whispers. 

The silence is longer this time. 

“I’ll be there by the end of the week.”

Chapter End Notes

another short chapter... i'm so sorry guys i promise i want to write longer chapters but i've been so busy

this was supposed to be a fluffy chapter but the angst monster took over and wrote this but at least we're getting towards ilya getting help before he visits shane at the cottage (or like whatever version of the cottage happens in my fic; i still haven't figured it out)

anyways, thank u for reading and commenting, lmk what u thought of the chapter!! also i really do read everyone's comments and i feel so bad because i always used to try and reply but i've just been so busy so i haven't been able to 😔