Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble & Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Yuna Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Shane Hollander & Yuna Hollander, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry & Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Original Children of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, Svetlana Vetrova, Troy Barrett, Wyatt Hayes, Rose Landry, Hayden Pike, Luca Haas, Original Characters

Additional Tags:

Mpreg | Male Pregnancy, Past Character Death, Character Death, Minor Character Death, David dies early on in the story :(, Childbirth, Graphic Description, Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Sadness, Grief/Mourning, Five Stages of Grief, Baby, Boy dads, Hopeful Ending, Premature Birth, preterm labor, Traumatic birth, Panic, Panic Attacks

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-27 Words: 25,392 Chapters: 1/1

Arlo and the Robin

Summary

“Shane?” Ilya dropped down beside him instantly, panic flooding his voice. “Shane! l’ubímyj? What is happening? What did she say?”

Shane couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His brain repeating it over and over and over again.

Gone.

The word echoed, hollow and impossible.

“I-it’s - fuck. M-My dad…” he choked out. “He- he’s-”

Or…

Shane finds out he is pregnant with his and Ilya’s first baby the same day his dad unexpectedly passes away.

Notes

Soooo there’s a lot of angst in this one and I want to apologise in advance for the tears it’s going to cause! Love you all :))

Their cottage was their sanctuary. From that very first summer they spent together , to the weeks they spent there after their honeymoon. It had been Shane and Ilya’s home from home. The place they felt safest from all the crazy in the world. It made sense that it would become the place they’d discover the most life altering news. 

The bathroom was small, sun-warmed, and smelled faintly of lake water and that fresh citrus soap Shane liked. The window was cracked open, letting in the soft hum of summer, wind in the trees, the occasional cry of a loom echoing faintly. It should have felt peaceful. Steady. 

Instead, Shane’s hands were shaking.

“Ilya…” His voice came out thinner than he wanted. “I don’t- what if this is stupid?”

Behind him, Ilya hovered in the doorway, too big for the space, arms crossed tight like he was barely holding himself together. “Is not stupid,” he said, his accent always grew thicker when he was nervous. “You feel- how you say- ah .. off. For many weeks now. We try, da? This is logical next step.”

Shane huffed out a weak laugh. “Logical. Right. Because this is totally something you can just be chill about.”

Ilya didn’t smile. His blue eyes were locked on the test in Shane’s hand like it might explode. “I am not chill,believe me,” he admitted quietly. “I am… terrified. But also-” He swallowed. “I am hoping.”

That did something to Shane’s chest, tightened it, softened it all at once. 

They’d talked about this for months now. Late nights after games playing together for the Ottawa Centaurs. Just the two of them, lying tangled together, too wired to sleep. It had started as a joke, almost. What if, maybe someday? and then before either one of them knew it , it stopped being a joke. 

It stopped being a joke after Shane admitted he was tired. Not of hockey, exactly, but of the grind, the constant pressure, the way it left no room for anything else. “I think I want… more,” he’d said once, staring at the ceiling.

Ilya had turned his head slowly, studying him like he was trying to memorize every word. “More like… with us or with your career?”

“Yeah,” Shane whispered. “Us. A family.”

And Ilya, who never rushed anything, who weighed every decision like it mattered, had simply nodded. “Then we make it happen. We will have a baby.” 

Now, standing barefoot on cool tile, that decision felt very, very real for the both of them. 

Shane looked down at the test.

“I can’t,” he laughed nervously again. “You look.”

Ilya blinked. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Because I think I may pass out.”

“That is not reassuring.”

“Please.”

For a moment, Ilya didn’t move. Then, slowly, he stepped forward, taking the test like it was something sacred. His fingers were careful, almost reverent.

The silence stretched.

Shane watched his face instead of the test. He watched the way Ilya’s brows pulled together, the way his lips parted slightly. 

Seconds ticked by, each one louder than the last. “Ilya?” Shane’s voice cracked. “Say something.”

Ilya didn’t. Not at first. He did, however, take in a  sharp breath.  His eyes snapped up, wide and disbelieving. “Shane…”

Shane’s stomach dropped. “Oh my god, just tell me- it’s not-”

“It is-” Ilya’s voice broke, and he looked back down like he needed to confirm it again. “It is positive.”

The world went very, very quiet.

“...What?”

“Positive.” Now Ilya was laughing, breathless, shaky. “We-we did it. You are- Fuck.” He gestured helplessly, emotion overtaking language. “You are pregnant.”

For a heartbeat, Shane just stared at him.

Then everything hit at once.

“Holy shit.” The words came out as a sob, and suddenly he was moving, grabbing onto Ilya, pulling him close like he needed to make sure he was real. “Holy shit, Ilya-are you serious? Are you sure? Let me see!”

Ilya shoved the test into his hand, already half-laughing, half-crying. “I check three times. Is same symbol every time. You are pregnant, Solnyshko.” 

Shane looked. Two lines stared back at him. Clear as day. “Oh my god.” His knees nearly gave out, but Ilya caught him instantly, arms wrapping tight around his waist.

“We did it,” Shane whispered, voice trembling. “We actually did it. We made a baby.”

“Yes.” Ilya buried his face in Shane’s shoulder, his breath uneven. “Yes, we did.”

They clung to each other in the cramped bathroom, laughing and crying all at once, the kind of overwhelming joy that left no room for anything else. Shane pressed his forehead against Ilya’s, both of them a mess.

“I thought it would take longer,” Shane admitted. “I thought maybe -I don’t know. Maybe it wouldn’t happen for us.” 

“I never think that,” Ilya said fiercely. “I just think, when it happens, it will be the right time. And this-” He let out a shaky breath. “This feels like right time.”

Shane nodded, wiping at his face. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

They stayed like that for a while, letting it sink in. The future suddenly felt huge and bright and terrifying in the best possible way.

Eventually, their breathing slowed. The tears turned into soft smiles, then into quiet disbelief.

“We’re going to have a kid,” Shane said softly, like he was testing how it sounded. “A mini Rozanov-Hollander.” 

Ilya smiled back, gentler now. “Our kid.”

Shane laughed under his breath. “You’re going to be such a scary dad.”

“I am not scary.”

“You are absolutely terrifying.”

“Good,” Ilya said, completely serious. “Means nobody will try to mess with our little one.”

That made Shane laugh again, really laugh this time—and he leaned in, pressing a quick, emotional kiss to Ilya’s lips. “I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too.”

 Their bubble of peace was broken as Ilya’s phone rang. The sharp sound cut through the moment like a knife.  Ilya frowned, pulling back slightly. 

“No don’t- please just ignore it,” Shane said immediately. “Just for now, I don’t-”

Ilya glanced at the screen. His expression changed from annoyance into something softer. “Is your mother,” he said.

Shane blinked. “My mom?”

The phone kept ringing. Ilya hesitated, then answered. “Yuna? Hello-”

The sound that came through the other end of the line wasn’t words. It was sobbing. Raw. Uncontrolled. Terrified.

Ilya’s posture stiffened instantly. “Hey, hey, is okay. Slow down, please, Yuna. Is too many English words- I cannot understand-”

Shane’s stomach dropped. “Ilya?” he said, already moving closer. “What’s wrong?”

“She is crying,” Ilya said quietly, covering the receiver for a second. “Very upset.”

On the other end, Yuna tried to speak, but her voice broke apart, words tangling in grief. “Where- Ilya where is Shane?” she managed. “Why- why isn’t he answering his phone?”

“We are both here,” Ilya said quickly, his tone softening. “He is here with me. I give him phone, okay? Just- I do not know- please, try to breathe.”

He handed it over. Shane took it with suddenly numb fingers. “Mom?” he said, panic already rising. “Mom, what’s going on? Why are you crying?”

There was a broken sound on the other end. “Shane…” she gasped. “Shane, I- oh baby,”

His heart started pounding. “Mom, you’re scaring me. What happened?”

Silence. Then-  “It’s your dad.”

Everything in Shane went still. “What about him?” he whispered. “W-what’s happened?”

Yuna sobbed harder. “He- he collapsed this morning. They said it was his heart. A-a sudden cardiac arrest and—” Her voice shattered completely. “They couldn’t- oh god I’m so sorry baby.” 

The words didn’t make sense. They couldn’t.

“No,” Shane said immediately, shaking his head like she could see him. “No, that’s- no, he was fine. I just talked to him last night mom, he was- he was fine. Told me to come over for dinner later. H-he’s making Ilya’s favourite.”

“I know,” she cried. “I know, I know you spoke to him- I know how hard this is honey. B-but  he’s gone, Shane. He’s- oh god he’s gone. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

The world tilted.

Shane’s grip on the phone loosened. “No,” he said again, weaker now. “No, that’s not-” His knees gave out. The phone slipped from his hand, clattering against the tile as he hit the floor.

“Shane?” Ilya dropped down beside him instantly, panic flooding his voice. “Shane! l’ubímyj? What is happening? What did she say?”

Shane couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His brain repeating it over and over and over again. 

Gone.

The word echoed, hollow and impossible.

“I-it’s - fuck. M-My dad…” he choked out. “He- he’s-”

The rest wouldn’t come.

Ilya’s face went pale. “No…”

“He’s dead,” Shane whispered. “Cardiac arrest- Ilya. H-he’s dead.”

The bathroom, the sunlight, the warmth of moments ago, all of it felt distant now, like it belonged to someone else.

Ilya grabbed his shoulders, voice steady but his body shaking . “Hey. Hey, look at me.” His voice was urgent, breaking. “We figure this out, okay? We go to your mom. We support one another Da? We- shit.”

Shane just stared past him, eyes unfocused, the weight of it crashing down all at once.

Joy and grief, colliding in the same breath. And Ilya, holding him together as best as he could. 

The drive to the hospital felt endless and too fast all at once.

Ilya barely remembered grabbing the keys, barely remembered getting Shane into the car. One moment they were in the cottage, sunlight and joy and something new blooming between them, and the next, they were on the road, the world narrowed down to asphalt, speed, and the sound of Shane’s uneven breathing.

Shane hadn’t said much.

At first, he tried. Just some half-formed sentences, disbelief spilling out in fragments. “It doesn’t make sense… he was fine… Mom must have- maybe they’re wrong? They could be wrong right?” But the words kept breaking apart, dissolving into silence.

Now he just stared out the window.

Ilya kept one hand on the wheel, the other gripping Shane’s tightly. He spoke when he could, voice low, steady, even as the panic clawed at his own chest. “We will get there soon,” he said. “You will see her. We figure everything step by step, okay?”

No answer.

“Shane… look at me.”

Slowly, Shane turned his head. His eyes were glassy, distant. Like he wasn’t fully there.

“I’m here,” Ilya said firmly. “You are not alone in this. I am with you. Always.”

A long pause.

Then, barely audible, “I know.”

Hospitals always had the same smell.  Too clean. Too sharp. Like something trying to erase everything human that passed through it. Ilya hated it. 

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as they rushed through the corridors. Shane’s grip on Ilya’s hand tightened the closer they got, like he was bracing for impact.

“This way,” a nurse said gently, guiding them.

Every step felt heavier. And then—

The room.

Yuna sat in a chair just outside, her face streaked with tears, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap her knuckles had gone white.

“Mom!”

She looked up at Shane’s voice, and whatever fragile composure she had left shattered instantly. “Shane!” she sobbed, standing so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor.

He was across the space in seconds, pulling her into his arms. “Mom, oh god. I’m here, I’m here-”

She clung to him like she might fall apart if she let go. “I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t know how to tell you! I-i didn’t want to do it over the phone-”

“It’s okay,” Shane whispered, though his voice trembled. “It’s okay, I’m here now.”

Ilya stood just behind them, watching.

This was real.

There was no more space for doubt, no chance this was some horrible misunderstanding. The grief in that hallway was too heavy, too undeniable. He felt his heart shatter. David was gone. The man who taught him the most about life and what it means to love your family— Was gone. 

A nurse approached quietly after a moment, her expression soft with practiced sympathy. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know… we’ll need to move him soon. If you’d like to say your goodbyes, this would be the time.”

The words landed like a final blow.

Yuna let out a broken sound, her hand flying to her mouth. She shook her head weakly. “I-I’ve been with him,” she whispered. “I’ve said- w-what I needed to say.” Her eyes turned to Shane. “You should go baby,” she said gently, though her voice trembled. “He would want you to have that time.”

Shane froze.

For a moment, it looked like he might refuse, like he might run in the opposite direction and pretend none of this was real. But then he nodded. “Okay,” he said quietly.

He stepped toward the door. Then stopped. Turning back to Ilya, panic flickering briefly through the numbness. “I-I-”

“I am right here,” Ilya said immediately. “Take your time. As long as you need.”

Their eyes held for a second, something soft and unspoken passing between them. Then Shane went inside.

The room was still. Too still. As he entered with trembling breaths. 

The machines were silent now, pushed aside, their purpose finished. The only sound was the faint hum of the lights overhead.

His dad just lay there on the bed, hands folded neatly over his chest, like he was just… resting.  Like he might wake up any second. Peaceful in a way that felt all too wrong. 

Shane stopped just inside the doorway.

“No,” he breathed. “P-please dad, no-” His chest tightened painfully as he took a step forward. Then another.

This couldn’t be real.

This couldn’t be his dad.

This was the man who had taught him to skate. Who had stood in freezing rinks at six in the morning, cheering louder than anyone else. Who had called after every game, win or lose, just to say he was proud. The man who had held him together and walked him down the aisle the day of his wedding. The man who had accepted the man he loved and made him a son without any form of hesitation. 

The center of Shane’s everything.

“Oh, Dad…” Shane’s voice broke immediately.

He reached out slowly, like he was afraid the moment would shatter if he moved too fast, and took his father’s hand.

Cold.

The reality of it slammed into him.

A strangled sob tore from his chest as his knees buckled, and he collapsed beside the bed, gripping his father’s hand like he could anchor him back.

“I’m here,” he choked. “I’m here, I’m so sorry it took so long-I should’ve- I should’ve answered my phone.” The guilt came rushing in, sharp and merciless. “I thought you were fine,” he whispered. “You were always fine…”

His vision blurred with tears.

“I don’t- this can’t be happening,” he admitted, voice small, breaking apart. “You’re- you’re supposed to be here for all of it. For everything.” His free hand pressed against his stomach instinctively.

A shaky breath.

“Dad, I- I didn’t even get to tell you,” he said, tears spilling freely now. “I was going to wait. I wanted it to be perfect, you know? Some big moment where you’d laugh and Mom would cry and—”

His voice cracked completely.

“I’m pregnant, Dad.”

The words hung in the air, fragile and devastating all at once.

“We-we just found out,” he sobbed. “Like, an hour ago. You’re-you’re going to be a grandfather.”

A broken laugh escaped him, quickly dissolving into another sob. “You would’ve loved that. You would’ve been so annoying about it, too. You’d probably be calling every day, giving advice I didn’t ask for—”

His grip tightened on his father’s hand.

“You were supposed to meet them,” he whispered. “They were supposed to know you.”

His shoulders shook as the grief finally took him fully, overwhelming and unstoppable.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” he cried, leaning forward, pressing his forehead against the still hand he refused to let go of. “I don’t know how to be any of this without you.”

Outside of the room, the silence felt just as heavy.

Yuna had sunk back into the chair, her face buried in her hands, her entire body trembling with quiet sobs.

Ilya hesitated for only a second before stepping closer. “Hey,” he said softly. “Is okay mama, I’ve got you.” 

She looked up at him, eyes red and lost. And then she broke all over again.

He caught her instinctively, guiding her into his arms as she clung to him, grief pouring out in waves. “I don’t know what to do,” she cried. “He’s been my whole life for so long, I-God. H-how do I-”

“I know,” Ilya murmured, even though he didn’t. Not fully. But he understood enough, the shape of this kind of loss, the way it hollowed everything out. Losing his mother had been the hardest moment of his life. He can’t bare the thought of ever losing Shane, he knows it will end him. “You don’t have to know right now. You just-  breathe. One moment at a time.”

She held onto him tighter.

And Ilya, who was used to being the strong one on the ice, the unshakable presence, felt something inside him twist painfully.

Because inside that room, Shane was breaking. And out here, his mother was breaking too. Their mother. She had stepped up for the both of them in ways Ilya knew his birth mother would be grateful for. 

And Ilya couldn’t fix any of it to help her.

His gaze flicked to the closed door, his jaw tightening. He had never felt so helpless. But he adjusted his hold on Yuna, steady and careful, grounding her as best he could.

“I’ve got you,” he said quietly. “Both of you.”

Even if he didn’t know how to carry this kind of weight. He knew one thing for sure, he wasn’t going anywhere.

The first few days passed in a blur of paperwork, phone calls, and quiet, relentless grief.

Shane didn’t stop moving.

It was like if he did, if he paused for even a second, everything would collapse in on him. So he kept going. He spoke to the funeral director. He coordinated with distant family. He answered messages, made decisions, and signed forms.

He took the lead in everything.

Yuna barely had to ask. “I can handle it,” Shane said every time she tried to step in, his voice gentle but firm. “You just… be with Ilya , okay? I’ve got this.”

And he did.

He moved through it all with a kind of hollow efficiency that unsettled Ilya more than if he’d fallen apart completely.

Because Shane wasn’t really there.

Not in the way he should have been.

At night, they stayed at Yuna and David’s house. The house that Shane had grown up in, now heavy with absence. Ilya would find him in the kitchen at odd hours, staring at nothing, or sitting at the table with a cup of ginger tea gone cold in his hands.

“Come to bed,” Ilya would say softly.

“In a minute.”

But the minutes stretched. And stretched. Until Ilya would eventually guide him there himself.

Shane never mentioned the pregnancy.

Not once.

The test, the moment in the cottage, that fragile, glowing joy… it was like it had been sealed away somewhere unreachable. At first, Ilya understood. Of course he did. Grief like this didn’t leave room for anything else. It swallowed everything in its path, even happiness.

So he didn’t push.

He stayed close, steady, patient. He made sure Shane ate, even if it was just a few bites. He brought him water. Sat beside him through long silences. Held him when the grief broke through in quiet, devastating waves late at night.

And still—Nothing.

Two weeks passed before he knew it and they found themselves standing at the graveside saying goodbye to a man they truly wished had lived forever.

The funeral had been planned down to the smallest detail. Shane delivered the eulogy with a voice that barely wavered, even as his hands trembled. He stood beside his mother through every condolence, every embrace, every whisper of “I’m so sorry.” And “He was such a kind man, our David.”

He never let himself fall apart in public. Only in fragments. Only when no one was really looking.

And Ilya? Ilya watched it all.

And waited.

Because he could see it, the way Shane had split himself in two. One half was grief, duty and loss. And the other half, the part that had lit up in that bathroom, that had laughed and cried and whispered ‘we’re going to have a baby’

That part had gone quiet. Ignored. 

 Ilya tried to remind himself that  it was only temporary. That Shane just needed time. But time kept passing. And the silence around it grew heavier.

It was late at night when the breaking point finally hit.

Yuna had gone to bed hours ago. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed in from all sides. Shane stood at the kitchen counter, sorting through paperwork again, there was always something else to organize, something else to finalize.

“Shane.”

He didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“We need to talk.”

A pause. Then a soft sigh. “Can it wait? I just need to finish-”

“No. No it cannot wait, moy lyubov'.”

That made Shane glance up.

Ilya stood across from him, arms crossed, his expression tight in a way Shane hadn’t seen in months. Something in his chest twisted. “Okay… w-what’s going on?”

Ilya hesitated, like he was choosing his words carefully. “You cannot keep doing this,” he said finally.

Shane frowned. “Doing what?”

“This.” Ilya gestured vaguely. “Acting like nothing else exists except this house, this funeral, this loss. You are not caring for yourself. You are walking around like you are made of stone, is very scary to witness.”

Shane’s expression hardened slightly. “My dad just died, Ilya.”

“I know that,” Ilya said quickly, frustration bleeding through. “I am not saying you should not grieve. Fuck, I am grieving just the same. We lost an incredible man! You should grieve. You must. But you are…” He struggled for the word. “You are shutting down everything else.”

Shane’s jaw tightened. “What else is there, exactly? What else do I have to focus on huh?”

A beat. And there it was.

“That,” Ilya said, voice quieter now but heavier. “That right there is problem.”

Shane looked away, back to the papers. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to acknowledge it,” Ilya said, his voice rising slightly. “I want you to remember that two weeks ago, we found out we are going to have a child.”

Silence.

Thick. Immediate.

Shane’s hands stilled on the counter. “Ilya-”

“You have not said one word about it,” Ilya continued, the hurt finally surfacing. “Not one. Like it never happened. Like baby does not exist! Like you do not need to care for them.” 

Shane’s shoulders tensed. “Because I can’t deal with that right now. It’s too much okay? I just can’t deal with it!” 

“Why not?”

“Because I just lost my dad!” Shane snapped, the words sharp and sudden. “That’s why!”

“And you think pretending this doesn’t exist, that it is not happening, you think it will help?” Ilya shot back. “This is not something you can just ignore until it is convenient!”

“I’m not ignoring it,” Shane said, though even to himself it sounded weak.

“You are,” Ilya said firmly. “And I am trying to understand, I really am, but you are not the only one I have to care about in all of this. This is my baby too. I may not be carrying them, but they’re still mine and I want them to be acknowledged.” 

Shane flinched.

“I know that,” he said, quieter now, but strained. “I just-I don’t have room for both right now, okay? I can barely breathe as it is.”

Ilya’s expression softened for a second, but only a second. “I am not asking you to be happy,” he said. “I am asking you to not erase this completely. Because it hurts, Shane. It hurts to feel like this… this thing we wanted so much means nothing now.”

“It doesn’t mean nothing,” Shane insisted, his voice breaking slightly. “It just-it can’t be everything right now.”

“I am not asking for everything!”

“Then what do you want from me?” Shane demanded, frustration finally spilling over. “Because I’m doing the best I can here!”

“I want you to care!” Ilya snapped.

“I do care!”

“Then act like it! Start eating! Start sleeping! Ask for some fucking help!” Ilya shot back, his composure cracking. “You are pregnant, Shane, not just grieving!”

The words echoed louder than either of them expected.

And then a sharp intake of breath alerted them to the fact that they weren’t alone. “…You’re what?”

Both of them froze.

Yuna stood in the doorway, pale, her eyes wide with shock. The silence that followed was suffocating.

Shane’s stomach dropped. “Mom, I-”

“You’re pregnant?” she repeated, her voice trembling, not with anger, but with something more fragile. “And I’m just- I’m just hearing about this now?”

Guilt hit Shane like a physical blow. “I was going to tell you,” he said quickly, panic rising. “I just, I didn’t know how, with everything going on-”

“With everything going on?” she echoed, tears welling again. “Shane, this is… this is your baby. You’re going to have a baby. This is something good. I could have handled hearing something good. I needed to hear something good.” 

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking. “I know, I just-”

“But you didn’t tell me,” she said softly, the hurt clear.

Shane swallowed hard, his chest tightening painfully. “I didn’t want - Fuck, I didn’t want this to be how you found out.”

And now it was.

Because of this. Because of the argument. Because he hadn’t been able to hold both things at once. His gaze flicked to Ilya, hurt flashing there too. “You shouldn’t have said it like that. You shouldn’t make me feel bad for struggling with this, that’s not fair.” 

Ilya’s expression faltered immediately. “Shane, I-”

But it was too late.

Shane shook his head, backing away. “I just-I can’t do this right now.”

“Shane-”

“I need a minute.”

He turned and walked out before either of them could stop him. The door closed harder than he intended. And the house fell into a heavy, fractured silence.

Ilya stood there, the weight of what had just happened settling over him like something suffocating.

Yuna sank slowly into a chair, her hand pressed to her mouth, tears slipping down her face again but this time, there was something else mixed in.

Shock. Confusion. A fragile, aching kind of hope.

“He’s- you’re  having a baby,” she whispered.

Ilya closed his eyes briefly. “Yes,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him. “And he’s been carrying that secret whilst grieving his father this whole time?”

The guilt twisted deeper in Ilya’s chest. “I think… he did not know how to carry both,” he admitted. “So he chose to put grief first. I understand why, I just- I am worried. He is not eating, he is taking on too much. Is too much for him, all of it.” 

Yuna nodded slowly, her expression breaking again. “That sounds like him- taking the weight of the world on his shoulders.” 

Ilya ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “I pushed too hard,” he said. “I just-I didn’t want to lose that part of us too. And I am scared that maybe we might if he does not start caring for himself.” 

Yuna reached out, placing a trembling hand over his. “You won’t lose it Ilya,” she said softly. “He’s just… trying to survive right now.”

Ilya nodded, though it didn’t ease the ache in his chest.

Across the house, somewhere behind a closed door, Shane was falling apart all over again. And this time, Ilya didn’t know how to reach him.

———————————————————————

Two days passed in nothing but silence. Not exactly complete silence. There were still the odd words said in passing, technically.

“Coffee?”

“Thanks.”

“Your mom’s asking if you want breakfast.”

“Nope.”

Small things. Functional things. The bare minimum required to move through the same house without completely pretending the other didn’t exist.

But Shane hadn’t really spoken to Ilya since the argument. Hadn’t looked at him for more than a second at a time. Hadn’t reached for him. 

And that hurt way more than Ilya wanted to admit.

He kept trying to tell himself this was temporary. That Shane was grieving, overwhelmed, drowning in too much at once. That this wasn’t rejection, not really. He’d come around in the end and they could start building a life around David’s loss, a life that included their baby.  But his fear had a way of making every silence louder. At night, Ilya lay awake on the edge of the bed in the guest room they’d been sharing, listening to Shane’s breathing on the far side.

So close.

And yet still so impossibly far.

He wanted to reach across the mattress and pull him close, wanted to whisper that they would be okay, that he wasn’t angry, that he just wanted them back.

But Shane stayed turned away. Rigid. Closed off.

So Ilya said nothing.

Instead, he got up in the mornings and forced himself into routine. He made coffee for Yuna. He tidied the kitchen. He answered messages from their many teammates asking how Shane was doing. He smiled when he had to. He kept himself useful because if he stopped moving, the fear would catch up.

And the fear was simple: What if I pushed too hard? What if I have broken something I cannot fix? What if I lose him?

That thought lived in the back of his mind now, constant and cold.

He had lost people before. Teammates traded away. Practically his whole family back in Russia, the ones who remained distant in every sense of the word. Friends who had faded. David- god that one hurt the most. 

But Shane- fuck. Just the idea of Shane choosing to shut him out for good made his chest ache in a way that terrified him.

So he stayed quiet. And hoped that despite the aching urge to reach Shane and not being able to, that the other man would eventually come to him and fold. Show Ilya that he wasn’t alone in all of this. 

By the time the second morning of avoidance came around , Yuna had had enough. The house had become too quiet again. Not peaceful, never that. Just… strained. Like every word was being measured before it was spoken, and most of them weren’t worth the effort anymore.

Shane sat at the kitchen table, shoulders slightly hunched, staring into a cup of tea that had long gone cold. He hadn’t slept. Yuna could tell. “I booked you an appointment,” she said. Voice cutting the tension. 

Shane blinked, dragged back into the moment. “Y-you? What?”

She stepped closer, placing a folded piece of paper in front of him. “An appointment. You. For tomorrow morning. A private clinic.” 

He frowned, picking it up. And then his expression shifted into something similar to hurt.  “An ultrasound ?” he said slowly. “You booked me an early pregnancy scan?”

“Yes.”

Shane stared at her. “Mom, why would you do that?”

There was no softness in his tone, just confusion, edged with something sharper.

Yuna didn’t flinch. “Because you haven’t,” she said simply.

Shane let out a disbelieving breath, pushing the paper back across the table. “That’s not your decision to make.”

“No,” she agreed. “It is not. But watching you shut down completely is something I can respond to. So this is me responding.” 

His jaw tightened. “I’m not shutting down.”

“Shane.” The way she said his name, quiet, steady, made him look up. “According to Ilya, you haven’t said a single word about this baby since the day you found out,” she continued. “Not to me. Not to him.”

Shane’s expression hardened instantly. “Ilya shouldn’t have said anything like that to you.”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?” Yuna asked gently. “How me and my son in law confided in one another whilst you sat shutting us both out?”

“Yes,” Shane snapped. “Because it wasn’t his place to talk about my pregnancy–”

“It is his place,” she cut in, not raising her voice but firm enough to stop him cold. “That’s his child too.”

The words landed.

Shane looked away. “I just-” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I can’t deal with any of that right now, okay? I don’t have space for it.”

Yuna’s face softened. “I know,” she said quietly. “I know you feel like you don’t.”

He exhaled shakily, some of the fight draining out of him. “Then why are you pushing this?”

The look on Shane’s face broke something in Yuna. Because for a moment, just a moment, he looked like her little boy again. Overwhelmed. Lost. But she couldn’t cave , she had to see this through. 

“Because I would give anything, absolutely anything ,” she said, her voice trembling now, “to have one more moment with your father.”

Shane went still.

“One more conversation. One more argument. One more chance to just… be with him.” Her eyes filled, but she didn’t look away. “And I will never get that.”

The weight of it settled heavily between them.

“You still can,” she whispered.

Shane swallowed hard. “Mom-”

“Ilya is here,” she said. “He loves you. He is trying to reach you, and you keep shutting him out.”

Shane’s chest tightened.

“I’m not-”

“You are,” she said softly. “And I understand why. You’re hurting. You’re trying to survive this.” Her voice broke slightly. “But don’t lose something good because you’re afraid to feel more than one thing at once.”

Silence hit the room once more. Thick and heavy.

“You don’t know how much time you get in this world ,” Yuna continued. “None of us do. I thought I had decades left with your father.” Her hand pressed briefly to her chest. “I didn’t.”

Shane’s eyes dropped to the table.

“That baby?” she said gently. “That’s a piece of your future. A piece of your dad, too, in a fascinating and wonderful way. It’s life continuing his legacy.”

His throat moved as he swallowed.

“And Ilya…” she added. “He’s your husband. Not someone you can just come back to when you feel ready.”

That one hit. Shane’s fingers curled slightly against the table.

“You need to decide,” Yuna said softly, “if you want to keep pushing him away, or if you want to fight for him.”

A long silence followed. 

“…When is it?” Shane eventually asked quietly.

Yuna blinked. “Tomorrow. Nine a.m.”

He nodded once, still not looking at her. “Okay.”

Her expression softened, relief mixing with lingering sadness. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “I’ll go.”

Not I want to. Not I’m ready. Just—I’ll go.

But it was something. And right now, it had to be enough.

The rink smelled like cold air and sweat and sharpened blades as Shane entered the familiar building. The sound of practice echoed through the arena, pucks slamming into boards, skates carving ice, coaches shouting drills.

Shane come to a stand behind the glass, arms folded tightly across his chest. He hadn’t been here since his father died. Seeing his team, his friends, out there, moving through drills like everything was normal, felt surreal.

One of the assistant coaches noticed him and waved toward the bench.

A few minutes later, Ilya skated off. The moment he saw Shane waiting, something in his face shifted. There was a flash of hope, sudden and cautious. He pulled off his gloves quickly, breathing hard as he stepped closer. “Hello you,” he said, voice careful.

“Hey.”

The awkwardness settled immediately.

Shane looked everywhere except at him. “I, uh…” He pulled the folded paper from his pocket. “My mom booked us an appointment. For an early ultrasound. Tomorrow morning.”

For one brief second, that flash of hope flickered brighter in Ilya’s eyes. “A baby scan?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah.”

Ilya searched his face. “You want to go?”

The question hung between them. Shane shifted uncomfortably. “It’ll make her happy.”

The light in Ilya’s expression dimmed. “Shane,” he said quietly. “I asked if you want to go.”

Shane’s jaw tightened. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

He finally looked at him then. “I’ll do anything if it means making my mom happy right now.”

The words hit harder than Shane seemed to realize.

Ilya went still. Because that wasn’t an answer he was expecting . That wasn’t a response Shane from a few weeks ago would have given. It wasn’t I want this or I’m ready or even let’s try.

It was an obligation. Duty. The same hollow place Shane had been living in for two weeks. And suddenly Ilya felt foolish for the hope that had flared so fast. “Oh,” he said.

It was one small word.

But the hurt in it made Shane’s stomach twist. “Ilya-”

“No,” Ilya said softly, looking away for a second as he fought to steady himself. “Is okay.”

But it wasn’t.

Shane could see it in the way his shoulders dropped, the way his expression closed.

“I just thought…” Ilya let out a breathless laugh with no humor in it. “Never mind.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Shut down and act like I’ve done something horrible.”

Ilya stared at him in disbelief. “You said you are only doing this for your mother.”

“Because she wants us to fix this!”

“And what do you want?” Ilya asked, hurt sharpening his voice. “I keep asking you, and you keep giving me everyone else’s answer.”

Shane looked away again. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” Ilya stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You come here after two days of barely speaking to me, tell me about our first ultrasound like it is an errand, and I am supposed to pretend that does not hurt?”

Shane’s face flushed. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are trying,” Ilya said, and that almost made it worse. “But I need to know if there is anything left for us in this.”

The vulnerability in his voice made Shane’s chest tighten.

“There is,” Shane said quickly.

Ilya searched his face. “Then tell me you want to go tomorrow because you want to see our baby.”

Shane opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Because the truth was, he didn’t know what he wanted.

And Ilya saw that.

The hope drained completely from his expression. He nodded once, slow and defeated. “Okay,” he said quietly.

Shane stepped forward instinctively. “Ilya-”

“I need to get back,” Ilya said, already pulling away. His voice was calm. Too calm. He grabbed his gloves from the bench, not meeting Shane’s eyes.

“Ilya, wait-”

But he was already turning back toward the ice.

Shane stood there helplessly as Ilya skated away, shoulders rigid, every movement sharp and controlled. He didn’t look back once.

The sounds of practice swallowed him up again.

And Shane remained behind the glass, the appointment paper crumpled in his fist, feeling like he had just watched something precious slip further out of reach.

For the first time in days, grief wasn’t the only thing hurting. Now there was this too. And somehow— That scared him more than anything else ever had.

Yuna’s house was quiet when Ilya got back. Too quiet. Not the heavy, grieving quiet he had grown used to over the past weeks, but something sharper and more intense. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

He closed the door behind him carefully, dropping his keys onto the side table without the usual noise. For a moment, he just stood there, listening.

Nothing.

No movement from the kitchen. No low murmur of the TV. No sound of Shane pacing like he sometimes did when he couldn’t settle.

A flicker of unease crept up his spine.

“Shane?” he called softly.

No answer. His chest tightened.

He moved further into the house, slower now, his eyes scanning each room as he passed. The kitchen was empty. The hallway dim. Yuna’s bedroom door was closed.

The living room was next. Ilya stopped in the doorway. Shane was sitting in David’s armchair. Not just sitting, practically folded into it, like he was trying to disappear inside something that still smelled like his father. His body was curled forward, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his hair.

And he was crying.

Not the quiet, restrained tears Ilya had seen before. This was different. This was raw. His shoulders shook violently, broken sobs tearing out of him like he couldn’t stop them even if he tried.

For a second, Ilya couldn’t move.

Because this,this was the grief that had been building, locked behind walls Shane had forced himself to hold up for everyone else.

And now those walls were gone.

“Shane-” He crossed the room in seconds.

Shane didn’t even look up at first, too lost in it, breath hitching, chest heaving like he couldn’t get enough air.

“Ilya-” His voice cracked on the name, barely there.

Ilya dropped to his knees in front of him, hands immediately finding his arms, grounding him. “Hey, hey, I am here,” he said quickly, voice soft but urgent. “Talk to me. What has happened?”

Shane shook his head, a helpless, broken motion. “I can’t-” he choked. “I can’t do this.”

Ilya’s heart clenched. “Do what?”

“All of it,” Shane gasped, finally looking at him. The devastation in his eyes made Ilya’s chest ache. “I can’t-I can’t breathe without him, Ilya, I don’t-” His voice broke completely. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live in a world where he doesn’t exist.”

Ilya moved closer without thinking, pulling Shane forward into him.

Shane collapsed instantly, like he’d been waiting for permission to fall apart, his hands clutching at Ilya’s shirt, holding on tight.

“I wasn’t there,” he sobbed into his shoulder. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve answered my phone-I should’ve-”

“No,” Ilya said firmly, one hand cradling the back of his head. “No, you don’t do that to yourself. You could not have known.”

“But he and mom were alone,” Shane cried. “What if he was scared? What if he-what if he needed me and I wasn’t there?” The guilt in his voice was unbearable.

Ilya tightened his hold. “Listen to me,” he said, softer now but steady. “Your father knew you loved him. That does not disappear because of one moment. It stays.”

Shane shook his head against him, crying harder.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I had so much more to tell him.”

“I know.”

Shane’s grip tightened, his whole body trembling. “And now I’m-” He sucked in a shaky breath, pulling back just enough to look at Ilya, panic and desperation flooding his face. “I’m ruining everything else too.”

Ilya frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been shutting you out,” Shane said, words tumbling over each other. “I’ve been pretending like-like the baby doesn’t exist and I didn’t even realize how much I was hurting you until today and I-” His voice broke again. “I’m so sorry.”

The words came out raw. Real.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Shane repeated, tears spilling over again. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I don’t want this-like I don’t want us-”

Ilya’s breath caught slightly. “Shane…”

“I was scared,” Shane admitted, his voice shaking. “Because it’s too much, all at once. Losing him and… and starting this. It feels like my heart’s being pulled in two different directions and I didn’t know how to hold both without breaking.”

Ilya stayed very still, listening.

“I thought if I just focused on one thing, if I just stayed in the grief, I wouldn’t have to deal with how terrified I am of losing something else,” Shane continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Because what if I let myself be happy about this and then something happens again? What if I lose the baby too?”

The words hit deep.

Ilya exhaled slowly, his hand tightening gently around Shane’s.

“You are not going to lose the baby,” he said quietly.

Shane shook his head quickly, panicked. “You don’t know that. No one thought my dad was going to- fuck. I feel like I’m losing you too.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Ilya said, more firmly now, forcing Shane to meet his eyes. “Do you understand me? You can push me away, you can ignore me, you can even make me angry, but I am still here.”

Shane’s face crumpled again. “I thought I already lost you honestly ,” he admitted. “At the rink… when you walked away…”

Ilya’s expression softened immediately. “No,” he said, almost instinctively. “I was hurt, yes. But I was not leaving you.”

Shane let out a shaky breath, his hands tightening on Ilya like he needed to be sure. “Don’t,” he said suddenly. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t leave me,” Shane whispered, his voice breaking completely. “I can’t-I can’t handle losing you too. I won’t survive that.”

Ilya’s chest ached at the desperation in his voice.

“I am right here,” he murmured, pulling him closer again. “I am not going anywhere.”

“I mean it,” Shane said quickly, pulling back again, frantic now. “I know I’ve been awful, I know I’ve been distant, but I don’t want that, I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You are not losing me.”

“I want this,” Shane rushed out, almost like he was afraid he’d lose the chance to say it. “I want the baby. I want our baby. I want us. I just-” His voice cracked. “I needed time to figure out how to feel everything at once.”

Ilya went still for a moment.

Because that, that was what he had been waiting to hear. Not perfection. Not certainty. Just the truth. “You want this?” he asked quietly, searching his face.

Shane nodded immediately, tears still falling. “More than anything.”

“And tomorrow?” Ilya asked carefully. “The ultrasound?”

Shane took a shaky breath. “I’m scared,” he admitted. “But… yeah. I want to go. Not just for my mom. For me. For us.”

Something in Ilya’s chest finally loosened. He reached up, brushing a tear from Shane’s cheek with his thumb. “Okay,” he said softly.

Shane let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his lungs for days. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

“I know,” Ilya said gently. “And I am sorry too. I pushed when you were already breaking.”

Shane shook his head. “No… I needed you to.”

A fragile silence settled between them. Not empty this time. Just a little softer.

Shane leaned forward again, resting his forehead against Ilya’s shoulder, his grip no longer frantic, just firm and grounded. 

And Ilya held him there, steady and sure, one hand resting protectively against his back, the other unconsciously settling over Shane’s stomach.

Both of them are still hurting. Both of them are still grieving. But they are no longer alone in it.

9am the following morning came around before either one of them knew it. The clinic was quiet in a way that felt completely different from a hospital.

Soft lighting. Muted voices. The faint hum of machines that didn’t sound urgent or final, just steady.

Shane sat in the waiting room, hands clasped tightly in his lap, his knee bouncing despite his best efforts to stay still. “I feel like I’m going to throw up,” he muttered.

Beside him, Ilya huffed a quiet breath. “You said that three times already.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still true.”

“You are not even the one doing anything yet.”

Shane shot him a look. “That is not comforting.”

It earned the smallest hint of a smile from Ilya, but it faded quickly, replaced with something softer as he reached over and took Shane’s hand.

“You are okay,” he said quietly. “I am here.”

Shane squeezed his hand back, grounding himself in it.

“Shane Hollander?” a nurse called gently.

Shane stood too fast. “Y-yes! T-That’s me.”

The exam room was small but warm, with a monitor set up beside the bed and a tray of medical supplies neatly arranged. The doctor greeted them kindly, going over the basics, asking questions about timing, symptoms, and last known dates. “And you believe you’re around six to eight weeks?” she confirmed.

“Yeah,” Shane said, glancing at Ilya briefly. “Somewhere in there or around there.”

“Alright,” she nodded. “Given that early stage, we’ll likely use a transrectal ultrasound. It gives us a clearer image this early on.”

Shane nodded, though his shoulders tensed slightly.

The doctor noticed. “I’ll walk you through everything,” she said reassuringly. “It might feel a bit uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t be painful. If you need me to stop at any point, just say so.”

“Okay,” Shane said, quieter now.

Ilya’s hand found his again immediately.

“You hear that?” he murmured. “You are in control here.”

Shane nodded once, taking a breath.

A few minutes later, Shane lay on the exam bed, a sheet draped over his lower half, trying very hard not to overthink what was about to happen.

“This is the probe,” the doctor explained calmly, showing it briefly before preparing it. “It’s covered and lubricated for comfort. I’ll insert it gently okay? and then we’ll begin the scan.”

Shane swallowed. “Okay.”

Ilya moved closer, standing right beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

Shane did.

“Breathe,” Ilya added.

Shane nodded, focusing on him instead of the tension building in his body.

The insertion was… uncomfortable. Strange. A pressure that made him instinctively tense, his fingers gripping the sheet.

“Try to relax,” the doctor said gently. “That will make things a little easier honey.”

“I’m trying,” Shane muttered through clenched teeth.

“I know you are.”

Ilya squeezed his shoulder lightly. “You are doing good,” he murmured. “Almost there.”

Shane exhaled shakily, forcing himself to loosen slightly.

The pressure settled into something more manageable.

“Okay,” the doctor said. “We’re in position.”

She turned her attention to the screen.

For a moment, it was just shapes. Shadows. Movement that didn’t mean anything.

Shane squinted. “I don’t- am I supposed to see something?”

“Give me a second,” the doctor said, adjusting the angle slightly.

Then— “There.”

She pointed.

A small shape appeared clearer on the screen. Tiny and unmistakable. 

Shane’s breath caught. “Oh my god…”

Ilya leaned closer, his grip tightening unconsciously. “Is that-?”

“That’s your baby,” the doctor said with a soft smile.

The room went completely still.

Shane stared at the screen like he was afraid it might disappear if he blinked. “That’s… that’s real,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said gently. “Very real.”

A rapid flicker appeared within the small shape.

“W-wait- is that?” Shane’s voice shook.

“The heartbeat,” the doctor confirmed.

The sound followed a second later.

Fast. Steady. Alive.

Something inside Shane broke open completely. A sob escaped him before he could stop it. “I can hear it,” he said, voice trembling. “Ilya, I can hear it- they’re okay.”

“I hear it,” Ilya said, his own voice thick now, eyes locked on the screen. “I hear it. Da, they are  okay baby, they are okay.”  He didn’t realize he was crying until Shane turned his head slightly.

“You’re crying,” Shane whispered.

Ilya let out a breathless laugh. “Of course I am crying.”

Shane laughed too, wet and shaky.

The doctor continued the scan, taking measurements, her tone still calm and professional.

“Everything looks very good so far,” she said. “Heartbeat is strong, development is right on track.”

Shane’s chest loosened slightly at that.

“All the stress… I lost my dad recently..” he murmured. “It didn’t-”

“There’s no indication of any issues,” she reassured him. “Right now, everything looks healthy.”

Relief flooded through him so quickly it almost made him dizzy. “Thank you,” he whispered.

She paused, studying the screen a little longer. “Actually,” she added, “based on these measurements… you’re a tiny bit further along than you thought.”

Shane blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’d place you closer to ten weeks.”

“Ten?” he repeated, startled.

Ilya looked at him, surprised. “That is… two weeks more. The night season ended.” 

Shane stared back at the screen. Ten weeks. For a brief second, confusion flickered, easing at Ilya’s words. Then it disappeared. Because none of that mattered. Not really. “Okay,” he said softly.

The doctor smiled. “Does that sound about right?”

Shane nodded, his gaze still fixed on the tiny flicker on the screen. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s… that’s perfect.”

And it was. Because their baby was right there. Alive. Strong. Still with him. They were okay.  He reached blindly for Ilya’s hand again, gripping it tightly. “I’m so glad we came,” he whispered.

Ilya squeezed back just as tightly. “Me too.”

They left the clinic with printed images in hand.

Shane must have looked at them at least ten times in the car alone. “That’s actually them,” he said again, almost disbelieving. “That’s our baby.”

“Yes,” Ilya said, softer now. “Our baby.”

There was something lighter in Shane’s voice now.

Not free of grief.

But no longer buried under it.

When they walked back into the house, Yuna was in the kitchen slaving away over a stove of what smelt like ridiculously delicious food. She looked up immediately. “How did it go?” she asked, her voice careful, hopeful, but afraid to push too far.

Shane didn’t say anything at first. He just walked over and handed her the photo. Her hands trembled slightly as she took it.

For a moment, she just stared. Then her breath hitched. “Oh…” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes almost instantly. Shane had gotten used to seeing tears in her eyes unfortunately, but these were different. Not hollow or broken. Not full of grief and pain. Full of love and hope. 

“That’s my grandbaby,” she said softly.

Shane smiled, the expression fragile but real. “Yeah.”

Yuna let out a small, tearful laugh, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I haven’t… I haven’t felt this kind of happiness since-” Her voice faltered.

Shane stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her gently. “I know,” he murmured.

She held onto him tightly, the photo still clutched in her hand. For the first time in over two weeks, her tears weren’t just from the agony of grief and it was an incredible feeling. 

And as Ilya stood nearby, watching the two of them hold onto something new together, he felt it too. Not the absence of pain. But something growing alongside it.

———————————————————————

The decision to leave Yuna alone in the house felt heavier than they ever imagined. 

Shane lingered by the front door, keys in his hand, his eyes drifting around the house like he was trying to memorize it all over again. Every corner held something, his childhood, his dad’s laugh, the quiet routines that used to feel permanent. Now everything just felt… fragile.  Like one loud noise and it would all fall to pieces. 

“Shane,” Yuna said gently.

He looked up.

She was standing in the hallway, arms folded loosely, her expression soft but steady in a way he hadn’t seen since before everything happened. “You can’t stay here forever,” she said.

His throat tightened. “I know, I just-”

“You’re not leaving me behind,” she added, stepping closer. “You’re just going home.”

Home. The word felt strange.

“I don’t like the idea of you being here alone,” Shane admitted.

Yuna smiled faintly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I won’t be alone. I’ll have my memories, and… I’ll have visits from you. Probably too many.” That earned a weak huff of a laugh from him. “And I need to do this,” she continued more quietly. “I need to figure out what life looks like now. On my own terms.”

Shane searched her face, still unsure.

“You’re stronger than you think,” she said softly. “And so am I.”

He swallowed hard.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” he said quickly. “And call you tonight. And-”

“I know,” she interrupted gently. “You always will.”

She pulled him into a tight hug, holding him just a second longer than usual. “I’m so, so proud of you,” she whispered.

Shane’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “I love you mom,” he murmured.

“I love you too.”

When they finally pulled apart, Shane hesitated again. But then, he nodded. “Okay.”

Ilya had been standing just behind him the whole time, quiet, giving them space. Now, as Shane stepped toward the door, he placed a steady hand on the small of his back.

“I will drive,” he said softly.

Shane didn’t argue.

The drive home was mostly peaceful. Compared to the last time they’d driven down these roads, it felt pretty nice. 

Shane stared out the window the whole time again , but this time around his hand rested over his stomach, absentmindedly, like it belonged there now.

Ilya noticed. He didn’t say anything of course. But something in his chest eased at the sight. It was a small display of affection in Shane’s book. 

Their house felt unfamiliar when they stepped inside. Not because anything had changed, but more because of the fact that they had.

The air was still, untouched, like it had been waiting for them to return and fill it again.

Shane barely made it past the living room before he dropped onto the couch. The weight of everything seemed to hit him all at once. “I miss him,” he said, voice breaking.

And then he started crying. Not as violently as before. But deeply. Openly. No longer hiding behind the walls he’d built in the weeks after losing David. 

Ilya closed the door quietly behind them and walked over without hesitation, sitting beside him and pulling him close.

Shane leaned into him immediately, curling in, his face pressed into Ilya’s chest as the tears came. “I keep thinking I’m going to call him,” Shane whispered. “Or that he’s going to text me about something stupid, like a board game or-” His voice cracked. “And then I remember.”

Ilya rested his cheek against the top of Shane’s head, his hand moving slowly up and down his back.

“I know,” he said softly.

“It doesn’t feel real,” Shane admitted. “Like… like he’s just somewhere else and I’ll see him again.”

Ilya didn’t rush to correct that. Grief didn’t work like that. Instead, he held him a little tighter. “It will feel real, slowly,” he said gently. “Not all at once. And that… that is okay.”

Shane let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want it to feel real,” he whispered.

“I know.”

A long pause. Then Ilya shifted slightly, enough to look down at him. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “Right now, it feels like open wound. Like nothing will ever close it.”

Shane nodded weakly against him.

“But it will not always be like this,” Ilya continued. “One day, you will think of him and it will hurt less sharp. Still there, but softer. Like… scar, not cut.”

Shane didn’t respond right away. But his breathing started to slow. “You really think so?” he asked eventually, his voice small.

“I know so,” Ilya said. “I did this with my mother, remember? I feel your pain my love.” 

Shane pulled back slightly, looking at him with red, tired eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admitted.

Ilya gave a small, sad smile. “You do not have to find out.”

That earned the faintest flicker of something lighter in Shane’s expression.

They sat like that for a while longer, the quiet settling around them, allowing them the time to feel their emotions.

Eventually, Shane shifted, wiping at his face. “Okay,” he said softly, taking a breath. “Okay.”

Ilya studied him. “Better?”

“A little.”

“Good.”.

 Shane reached for his phone. “I downloaded one of those pregnancy apps mom was talking about,” he said, almost shyly. “While you were in the shower yesterday. I just… didn’t show you.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow slightly. “Ah?”

Shane huffed quietly. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I am not making it weird.”

“You are absolutely making it weird.”

“I am curious,” Ilya corrected.

Despite everything, Shane smiled faintly. “Come here.”

Ilya shifted closer as Shane opened the app, tapping through it.

“So apparently,” Shane said, squinting at the screen, “at ten weeks, the baby is about the size of… a strawberry.”

Ilya leaned in, studying it like it was the most important information he’d ever received. “Strawberry.”

“Yeah.”

“That is very small.”

“Well, yeah, it’s a fetus, not a watermelon.”

“I know what fetus is,” Ilya said, mildly offended.

Shane snorted softly. “It says here the heart is fully formed and beating regularly,” he continued, his tone softening again. “We heard that.”

“Yes,” Ilya said quietly. “We did.”

They both went quiet for a second, remembering.

Then Shane scrolled again. “Oh my god,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“It says the baby can start making tiny movements.”

Ilya’s eyes widened slightly. “Already?”

“Apparently.”

He looked down at his stomach instinctively, his expression shifting, still fragile, but softer now. “That’s… kind of insane.”

Ilya reached out slowly, placing his hand over Shane’s. “Not insane,” he said. “Amazing.”

Shane glanced up at him, something warm flickering in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Amazing.”

They kept scrolling.

Reading.

Occasionally laughing, quiet, disbelieving little laughs that felt strange but good. And for the first time since everything had changed— They weren’t just surviving the grief. They were starting to make space for something else, too.

Eventually nighttime came around. The house settled down into routine. 

Upstairs, Shane was asleep. Really asleep. Not the broken sleep he had become accustomed to. Ilya had stayed with him until his breathing evened out, until the tension left his body and his hand went slack where it rested over his stomach. He had watched him for a while after that, just to be sure.

Only then had he slipped out of bed.

Now, he stood alone in the living room.

The lights were low. The world outside had gone still. No traffic, no voices, just the faint hum of the house and the distant ticking of the clock.

For a long time, Ilya didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at nothing. That’s the moment it finally hit him.Not all at once. But enough for him to take notice of what he had been feeling.  And suddenly the weight he had been holding up, carefully, quietly, for Shane, for Yuna, for everyone- 

It slipped.

Ilya sat down heavily on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, his hands coming up to cover his face. His breath hitched. “...shit,” he whispered under it.

He hadn’t let himself do this.

Not properly.

Not yet.

There had always been something more urgent. Shane breaking, Yuna grieving, the baby, the tension, the distance, the fear of losing something else. So he had pushed it down. Told himself he would deal with it later.

Later had come.

And it didn’t ask permission.

A quiet, broken sound escaped him as he pressed his palms harder into his eyes. “He’s gone,” he murmured, like maybe saying it out loud would make it make sense.

It didn’t.

His chest tightened painfully.

David.

The man who had greeted him with suspicion at first, protective, careful, not sure what to make of the intense, blunt Russian defenseman who had suddenly become part of his son’s life. The man who had given him a chance. The man who had taken the time to learn about him. Slowly. Patiently. Who had asked questions, even when Ilya struggled to find the right English words. Who had waited, never rushing him, never making him feel small for the things he couldn’t say. Who had made space for him.

Ilya let out a shaky breath, lowering his hands, his eyes red and glassy. “I did not even say goodbye,” he said quietly to the empty room.

Another wave hit. Stronger this time.

He leaned forward further, his shoulders shaking as silent tears slipped down his face.

David had never tried to change him. Never asked him to be softer, or quieter, or easier to understand. He had just… accepted him.

“You’re good for him,” David had said once, clapping him on the shoulder after a game. “He needs someone solid. Someone who doesn’t let him believe any of the nonsense the team or the public has to say about him.”

Ilya had blinked at him, confused. “You are… trusting me with this?”

David had laughed. “Son, I’ve been trusting you for a while now. You just didn’t notice.”

That had stayed with him.

More than he ever said out loud.

His throat tightened painfully at the memory. “You made it easy,” Ilya whispered. “To be here. To be… part of this.” A tear slipped down his cheek, followed by another. He wiped at them quickly, almost instinctively, like he had to hide it, even now.

But there was no one here to see.

Except himself.

His breath trembled as he leaned back slightly, staring up at the ceiling. “You were like father to me,” he said quietly. “Not just Shane’s father. Mine too, in a way.”

The words felt strange. But they were true. Painfully true. His jaw clenched as another wave of grief hit him. “He needed you,” Ilya continued softly. “He still needs you.” His gaze dropped, unfocused. “And our baby…” His voice faltered slightly. “They will never meet you.”

That one hurt more than he expected.

A hollow kind of ache.

“They would have loved you,” he said, a faint, broken smile flickering for just a second. “You would have been… very annoying grandfather.” A shaky breath. “Too many opinions. Too much advice.”

His voice cracked. “But good.”

Always good.

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling unsteadily.

“I wish you could be here,” he admitted. “For him. For all of this.”

Silence answered him.

Heavy.

Final.

Ilya bent forward again, pressing his hands together this time, unsure as to why, but it was something instinctive. A quiet, private prayer. “Take care of him,” he murmured. “Wherever you are. And please help me take care of them here.” His voice softened further. “I will try to be what he needs. What they need.” He paused. “I promise.”

The words lingered. Then slowly, the storm raging inside of his head passed..

Ilya sat there for a few more minutes, letting the last of it settle, his breathing gradually evening out. He wiped his face properly this time, scrubbing away any trace of tears.

Because Shane needed him steady. He needed him to be strong.

And Ilya would be that.

He always would be.

One last deep breath. Then he stood.

The house was still quiet as he made his way upstairs, careful with each step.

When he reached the bedroom, he paused in the doorway. Shane hadn’t moved. Still curled slightly on his side, one hand resting unconsciously over his stomach.

Still breathing evenly.

Still here.

Ilya’s chest tightened, but this time, it wasn’t just grief. It was something steadier.

He crossed the room quietly and slipped back into bed, careful not to wake him. For a moment, he just watched him again. Then he reached out, resting his hand gently over Shane’s.

Grounding.

Real.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, barely audible.

He let himself believe it. It was the only way he knew how to survive this. 

———————————————————————

By sixteen weeks, things felt a little differently.

Not easier, exactly. But lighter in places that had once felt impossible to reach.

Shane stood in the kitchen, barefoot, hoodie hanging loose over the slight but undeniable curve of his stomach, staring intensely at the cutting board in front of him.

“Ilya.” He paused dramatically. “Ilya, I need more.”

Ilya leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with poorly hidden amusement. “You said that five minutes ago.”

“That was five minutes ago,” Shane shot back, completely serious. “This is now.”

Ilya huffed a quiet laugh. “You have eaten half a pineapple already.”

“And?”

“And I am concerned,” Ilya said dryly.

Shane turned, holding up his last slice like it was evidence. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”

“You say that about everything lately.”

“Not true. Only pineapple.”

He took another aggressive bite, eyes closing briefly like he was having a spiritual experience.

Ilya shook his head, but there was something soft in his expression. Something fond. “You are obsessed.”

“I am thriving,” Shane corrected.

“You are terrifying.”

Shane grinned slightly, juice already sticky on his fingers. “You love it.”

“I do,” Ilya admitted easily.

Shane rolled his eyes, turning back to the cutting board. He hesitated slightly before speaking.  “…You know what’s weird?”

Ilya raised a brow. “Many things. Be specific.”

Shane huffed. “My dad loved pineapple.”

The words settled into the room. Shane stared down at the slice in his hand, a small, surprised smile tugging at his lips. “Like, he used to eat it all the time,” he said quietly. “Mom used to complain that the house always smelled like it. A little dramatic in my opinion but it used to make dad laugh.” 

Ilya didn’t speak. He just watched him. Because this—This was new.

Shane let out a soft breath, shaking his head slightly. “Maybe the baby’s taking after him. Do you think that’s even possible?”

Another small smile. And this time, it stayed.

Ilya stepped forward slowly, closing the distance between them. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Shane’s temple. “I do.”

“F-feels weird smiling like this when I talk about him now.” 

“It is okay to smile when you talk about him,” Ilya murmured. “Do not feel guilty for this.” 

Shane stilled for a second. Then nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I think… I think he’d like it. Seeing me at peace with things.” 

“He would. He is in fact. I know he is proudest father.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Now get ready for appointment! We are seeing baby today!” 

Shane chuckled fondly. “You’re like an over excited puppy.”

“I do not care. I am happy to see the little being we created. If it makes me excited puppy, then I am excited puppy.” Ilya stated sternly. “Go! Please!” 

“I’m going, I’m going!” The pregnant man laughed, rushing up the stairs, pausing as he took in the sight of the messed up bed covers. 

The morning had felt different from the moment they woke up. Shane had lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, one hand resting over his stomach like it belonged there now. “Sixteen weeks,” he’d murmured.

Ilya, still half-asleep beside him, shifting closer. “You have said that three times already.”

“Because it’s weird,” Shane had responded. “There’s actually… a whole person in there now.”

Ilya opened one eye, glancing down at where Shane’s hand rested. His expression softened immediately. “Da,” he said quietly. “Our person.”

Shane had only huffed softly, but there was no bite to it. Just nerves. “I’m excited,” he admitted after a moment. “And also kind of terrified.”

“That is correct reaction,” Ilya had said with finality. The craving for pineapple hit not long after breaking up the moment. But it still felt special to Shane. 

He quickly moved to grab a pair of sweats from Ilya’s side of the wardrobe. There was no reason to make an effort. He’d learnt from his past two ultrasounds that the gel they use gets everywhere. He’d ruined enough of his good clothes. The hoodie and sweats look was the only way forward for these sorts of things. Plus, it allowed him to hide from the paparazzi and public a little easier. 

The clinic felt more familiar now. Less clinical. Less intimidating. It had become a sort of safe place for Shane. It’s why he had decided to stay at the private clinic. Sure it cost a fortune, but it’s not like they couldn’t afford it. He really enjoyed sitting and chatting to the staff whilst they waited to be called in. It felt nice to only be known for who he is and not his label in the media. He felt respected. 

Ilya was a nervous wreck by the time Shane’s name was finally called. He still found it a little difficult trusting the staff. It was understandable, it’s not like he knew these people personally, he was trusting them with a lot of important things. 

Shane lay back on the exam bed, hoodie pushed up slightly, the cool gel making him flinch. “I still hate that part,” he muttered.

Ilya smirked faintly from beside him. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s always cold.”

Doctor Lewis smiled as she adjusted the probe. “I’ll try to be quick about it.”

The screen flickered to life. And this time, there  was no need for searching. No need for guessing and fliddling around for the best angles.  The image was clearer. Bigger. More defined.

Shane’s breath caught instantly. “Oh-”

“You can see a lot more now,” Doctor Lewis said gently. “Head is perfectly formed here… spine along here… little legs stretching and curling.” 

The baby shifted slightly.

Actually moving, no longer just twitching and wriggling. 

Ilya leaned closer without even realizing it, his hand finding Shane’s automatically. “Did you see that?”

“Yeah,” Shane whispered, eyes locked on the screen. “Yeah, I saw- oh my god that’s so weird.”

There was something surreal about it.

Four weeks ago at his twelve week ultrasound it had been a tiny figure, hard to see if you weren’t zoomed in. Kind of alien like.

Now it was a baby. Their baby.

“Everything looks very healthy,” Doctor Lewis continued. “Growth is right where we want it.”

Relief settled into Shane’s chest, steady and grounding. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s… really good.” He swallowed, blinking quickly. “I was worried,” he admitted quietly. “With everything that happened…”

Doctor Lewis’s voice softened. “Stress is something we monitor, but right now? There’s no sign of any impact. Strong heartbeat, good development.”

Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand gently. “You hear that?”

Shane nodded, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Yeah.”

The doctor continued her measurements, humming happily under her breath as she turned to them. 

“Would you like to know the sex?” She asked.

Shane glanced at Ilya. Ilya looked back at him. A small moment passed between them, unspoken, but understood.

“Yeah,” Shane said.

“Yes,” Ilya added.

Doctor Lewis adjusted the angle slightly, focusing in.

Shane held his breath without realizing it. A few seconds passed.

Then—

“Well,” she said with a small smile, “congratulations.”

Shane’s heart pounded.

“You’re having a boy.”

Everything stilled.

“A… boy?” Shane echoed, his voice barely there.

Ilya’s grip tightened slightly, something shifting across his face, something deep and emotional and a little stunned. “A son,” he said quietly.

Shane let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh.

“We’re having a son,” he repeated.

His eyes filled without warning, but this time the tears didn’t feel like ones of sadness. . He looked back at the screen, watching the small, moving shape. “I wish my dad could have seen this,” he said softly.

Ilya leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. “He would be very proud,” he murmured. “A little grandson.”

Shane nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, he would.”

By the time they got home and everyone arrived later that evening, their house felt alive again.

Voices echoed through the living room, laughter spilling into the kitchen, the energy warm and familiar in a way Shane hadn’t realized he’d missed.

A few of their teammates from the Ottawa Centaurs had come by Troy, Luca, and Wyatt spread out across the couch and floor like they belonged there.

On the other side, Svetlana sat comfortably with a drink in hand, while Hayden and Rose were mid-argument about something completely irrelevant.

“-I’m just saying,” Hayden insisted, gesturing wildly, “if he comes back mid-season, that changes everything.”

“You’re assuming he wants to come back mid-season,” Rose countered.

“Okay, why is everyone talking about me like I’m not here?” Shane cut in.

Wyatt shrugged. “Because it’s more fun this way.”

Shane rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know when I’ll be back just yet,” he admitted. “I miss it. But things are… different now.”

Ilya, sitting beside him, rested a quiet hand on his knee. Supportive. Present.

There was a small lull in the conversation. Shane felt it, that moment. The moment to share it their news had arrived. He glanced at Ilya.

Ilya met his gaze, giving a small, steady nod.

So Shane took a breath. “Okay, uh- there’s something I should tell you guys. Especially now that you’re all close to taking bets on when I’ll be back.” 

The room quieted almost instantly.

Shane shifted slightly, nerves flickering, but something steadier underneath.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence hit before the joyful cheers and explosions took over. 

“-No fucking way,” Troy said.

Luca blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Wyatt leaned forward. “You’re not joking?”

Svetlana just raised an eyebrow. “I had suspicion.”

“Of course you did,” Ilya muttered, looking at his oldest friend with amusement. 

Hayden stared at him. “Dude-holy shit. You’re gonna have a baby?” 

Rose’s hands flew to her mouth, eyes already shining. “Shane…”

Shane laughed a little, overwhelmed but smiling. “Yeah. Sixteen weeks.”

The full reactions came all at once after that, shock turning into excitement, voices overlapping.

“That’s insane.”

“That’s amazing.”

“You’re going to be a dad-”

“We are going to be dads,” Ilya corrected automatically.

Wyatt pointed. “Yeah, that.”

Shane huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “And-” he added, glancing briefly at Ilya, “we actually found out the gender today.”

That immediately grabbed everyone’s attention again.

“No way,” Hayden said. “Already?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah. But we’re not telling my mom until they’re born, so you guys have to keep it quiet.”

A chorus of agreements followed.

Rose leaned forward eagerly. “Okay but you’re still going to tell us now, right?”

Shane hesitated for half a second. Then smiled. “We’re having a boy.”

The room erupted.

“No way! Arthur’s going to love having a boy around!” Hayden exclaimed, rushing to hug Shane close  “That’s amazing you guys.”

“Congrats!” Troy beamed. Wyatt fist bumping Ilya as he gave Shane a friendly pat on the back. 

Rose was fully crying now, laughing through it.

Svetlana raised her glass. “To the little man.”

Ilya shook his head faintly, but he was smiling too, soft, proud, something deep in his eyes.

Shane leaned back into him, laughter still lingering in his chest. A boy. Their son.

And this time, when he thought about his dad, It didn’t hurt in the same way it had before. 

The pain wasn’t gone. Never gone. But it was softer now. Easier to breathe through.

And somehow, that made the moment feel even bigger.

———————————————————————

One thing Shane had learnt over the past few months was that grief was something you most definitely could learn to live with. 

It had settled into the corners of his world like something permanent, no longer sharp enough to cut with every breath, but still present, still heavy. 

And yet, life kept on insisting on itself.

Shane leaned back into the couch, one hand resting over the gentle curve of his stomach. Twenty-one weeks. The number still surprised him when he said it out loud, as if time had moved both too slowly and far too fast all at once. Beneath his palm, there was a flutter, soft at first, easy to miss if he wasn’t paying attention. But he always was.

“There you are,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. “He’s awake again.”

Ilya looked up immediately from where he sat on the floor, surrounded by a scattered mess of name books, his expression shifting in an instant. Concern, curiosity, and something softer, something that had grown deeper over the past months.

“Can I?” he asked, already moving closer.

Shane nodded, guiding Ilya’s hand to the exact spot. “He’s been active all morning. I think he likes when you talk.”

Ilya huffed a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Or he’s already stubborn and only comes out of hiding at night.”

“Definitely yours, then.”

That earned him a faint smirk, but it didn’t linger. Ilya’s focus returned entirely to Shane’s stomach, his large hand splayed carefully, as if the slightest pressure might disturb something fragile. For a moment, nothing happened. Just warmth, steady breathing, the quiet hum of the room.

“He’ll do it again,” Shane whispered. “Give him a second.”

Ilya stayed perfectly still.

Another flutter, stronger this time. A definite push.

Ilya’s breath caught. His eyes widened, the reaction immediate and unfiltered. “That-was that?”

Shane’s smile softened, tinged with something deeper. “Yeah. That’s him.”

For a second, Ilya didn’t speak at all. His hand remained where it was, as if he didn’t trust himself to move. There was awe in his expression, but also something else, something close to realisation but not quite. The kind of emotion that had nowhere simple to go.

“He’s real,” Ilya said quietly, almost to himself.

Shane’s throat tightened. “Yeah. He is.”

The weight of that reality lingered between them, threaded with everything they’d lost. His dad should have been here for this. He should have been the one making jokes, teasing Shane, insisting on ridiculous name ideas just to see him roll his eyes.

The absence was impossible to ignore.

Shane swallowed, glancing down at his stomach again. “We still haven’t settled on a name.”

Ilya exhaled slowly, pulling himself back just enough to sit beside him instead of kneeling. “We’ve rejected at least a hundred.”

“Because you keep suggesting names that sound like Bond villains.”

“They sound strong.”

“They sound like he’d grow up trying to take over the world.”

A faint flicker of amusement passed between them, brief but needed.

Shane reached for the notebook on the table, flipping it open to the page they’d been working on for days. A list of names, some crossed out aggressively, others circled, a few with question marks beside them.

His fingers hovered over one combination they’d written but hadn’t said out loud together yet.

“I keep coming back to this one,” he admitted softly.

Ilya followed his gaze.

Arlo David.

The room shifted again, quieter in a different way.

Shane traced the name lightly with his fingertip. “It feels… right. Arlo’s different. Not too common, but not strange. And David…” His voice wavered just slightly. “I want him to have that piece of him. I don’t want his memory to just … disappear.”

Ilya didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tightened for a moment, emotion flickering across his face before he steadied it.

“It won’t disappear,” he said, low and certain. “Not with us around. Not with him around.”

Shane nodded, blinking back the sting in his eyes.

“Arlo David,” Ilya repeated, testing it. “Arlo David Hollander-Rozanov.”

A quiet breath left Shane, something like relief settling into his chest. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Ilya looked at him, searching, making sure.

“You’re sure?”

Shane’s hand returned to his stomach, instinctive, grounding. “I’m sure.”

Another movement pressed gently against his palm, almost as if on cue.

Shane let out a soft laugh, the sound edged with emotion. “I think he agrees.”

Ilya’s expression shifted again, softer this time, something warm breaking through the grief. He placed his hand back over Shane’s, more confident now.

“Arlo,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with something deeper than he could easily name. “That’s your name, little one.”

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

And then— A strong, unmistakable kick.

Ilya froze, his eyes snapping to Shane’s, disbelief written all over his face.

“He- wow that was very strong, did you feel that?”

Shane was already laughing, tears slipping free despite himself. “Yeah I felt it. Kinda carrying the kid inside of me Ilya. That was a big one.”

Ilya let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, though it trembled at the edges. His hand stayed pressed there, as if chasing the sensation again.

“Arlo,” he repeated, softer now, like he was trying to anchor the moment. “Arlo David.”

Another small movement answered him, less forceful but deliberate.

That was enough.

Ilya bowed his head slightly, his forehead resting gently against Shane’s shoulder, overcome in a way he didn’t try to hide.

Shane leaned into him, one hand threading into his hair while the other stayed protectively over their son.

It wasn’t a perfect moment. The ache of David’s absence was still there, woven into everything, impossible to separate from the joy.

But somehow, both things existed together.

Grief and love. Loss and something new beginning.

Shane pressed a soft kiss to Ilya’s temple, his voice quiet but certain.

“He knows his name.”

Ilya nodded against him, his hand still resting over the place where their son had made himself known.

“Yes,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “He does.”

By twenty-eight weeks, the secret had started to feel too big to keep tucked safely between just the two of them.

It wasn’t only the visible curve of Shane’s stomach now, impossible to hide beneath hoodies and layered jerseys. It was the way their lives had shifted entirely, the quiet preparations, the whispered conversations, the moments that already felt too important not to share.

Shane stood in the middle of the rink long after the teams practice had ended, gloved hands resting on his hips as he looked around thoughtfully. The ice had been freshly cleaned, the surface smooth and untouched, reflecting the overhead lights in a soft glow.

“This feels right,” he said, turning slightly toward Ilya.

Ilya leaned against the boards, arms crossed, watching him with that steady, grounding presence he’d come to rely on. “You’re sure you want it here?”

Shane nodded. “Hockey’s our whole life. It’s how we met, it’s everything we’ve built together.” His hand drifted instinctively to his stomach. “It should be part of this too.”

The idea had come together slowly over the past few days. Nothing extravagant, nothing overdone. Just something that felt like them.

A tiny jersey, custom made of course. Sat folded neatly on the bench nearby. The colors of the Ottawa Centaurs bold and bright, but the name on the back stuck out the most. Hollander-Rozanov. Beneath it, a pair of impossibly small skates rested side by side, laces tied carefully. A puck sat in front, marked with a simple handwritten note:

Coming soon.

Shane stepped off the ice and picked up the jersey, holding it gently like it already belonged to someone. “He’s going to be so spoiled,” he murmured.

Ilya huffed quietly. “He already is.”

They worked together setting everything up, adjusting small details until it felt just right. Ilya made sure the lighting hit the ice cleanly, while Shane fussed over the placement of the skates more than he’d ever admit out loud.

At one point, Shane paused, looking down at the setup, his expression shifting.

“My dad would’ve loved this,” he said softly.

Ilya didn’t try to redirect the moment. He stepped closer instead, resting a hand against Shane’s back.

“He does love it,” he said, voice low but steady. “He sees everything and I know he is proud of you.”

Shane swallowed, nodding once before taking a breath and straightening slightly. “Okay. Let’s take the picture before I cry and ruin everything.”

It took a few tries. A couple of laughs when Ilya insisted on adjusting angles like a perfectionist. One moment where Shane had to sit down because Arlo decided to stretch dramatically at the worst possible time.

Eventually, they got it.

Simple. Meaningful. The kind of photo that didn’t need explanation, but would get one anyway.

Later that night, they sat close together on the couch, Shane tucked into Ilya’s side as they both stared at his phone.

“Ready?” Ilya asked.

Shane hesitated for just a second, thumb hovering over the screen.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Let’s do it.”

They posted at the same time.

Two separate accounts, two slightly different photos from the same moment, both tagged with each other.

The caption was identical.

We’ve been holding onto this for a while, and it finally feels like the right time to share.

Our little one is on the way 🤍

This baby is already so loved, and we see him as a gift—one that carries a piece of someone we miss more than words can say. Shane’s dad will always be part of this journey with us.

We’re taking things one step at a time and would really appreciate your continued respect for our privacy. We’ll share more when the time comes.

Thank you for all the support you’ve already given us. It means more than you know.

Shane exhaled shakily once it was done, immediately setting his phone down like it might explode if he held onto it too long. “Well,” he said, attempting a small laugh. “No taking that back.”

Ilya pressed a kiss to his temple. “No. But you do not need to.”

For a few minutes, nothing happened. Or at least, it felt that way.

Then Shane’s phone buzzed. And buzzed again. And again.

He picked it up cautiously, almost bracing himself.

The notifications were already flooding in.

Comments. Messages. Mentions.

He opened the post, his eyes scanning quickly at first before slowing as the words started to sink in. Nothing but love and support.  Teammates chiming in with jokes and congratulations. Fans leaving heartfelt messages. People sharing their own stories, their own experiences with loss and new beginnings.

Shane’s breath caught.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

Ilya leaned closer, reading over his shoulder.

One comment in particular made Shane pause. It was someone writing about how beautiful it was that their baby would carry on their grandfather’s legacy forward. Another thanking them for being open, for sharing something so personal.

Shane blinked hard, but the tears came anyway. “I didn’t think it would… feel like this,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly.

Ilya didn’t say anything right away. He just wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer. “It’s a lot,” he said quietly.

Shane nodded, pressing the heel of his hand against his eyes, though he was smiling through it. “It’s good though but, yeah..” he managed. “It’s just… a lot.”

Another notification popped up. Then another.

The love didn’t stop.

Shane laughed softly through the tears, shaking his head. “He’s not even here yet and he’s already got a whole fan club.”

Ilya smirked faintly. “He gets that from you.”

Shane nudged him lightly, but his hand drifted back to his stomach, resting there with a kind of quiet awe. “They don’t know anything about you yet,” he murmured softly. 

No mention of the name. No mention of the fact that they already knew he was a boy. That part still belonged to them. And to Yuna.

Shane’s expression softened at the thought of her. “She’s going to lose her mind when she finds out.”

“At the hospital, you still want this, yes?” Ilya added.

Shane smiled, a little emotional all over again. “Yeah. I want to see her face when she hears Doctor Lewis announce ‘a healthy baby boy’  for the first time.”

He leaned back into Ilya, their hands overlapping over the steady, growing life between them.

Outside, the world now knew. But here, in this quiet space, some things were still just theirs.

For a little while longer.

———————————————————————

Dinner at Yuna’s place had become something steady in their lives. Since the moment they moved back home after David’s death, Shane made it his mission to spend at least two nights a week having dinner there. 

The kitchen was warm, filled with the scent of garlic and soy, the rhythmic sound of chopping against the wooden board grounding in a way Shane hadn’t realised he needed. Music played softly in the background, something familiar from his childhood, and for a little while it felt almost normal.

Ilya had practice for the afternoon , so it was just the two of them.

“You’re cutting those too big,” Yuna said lightly, glancing over at him.

Shane huffed. “They’re fine.”

“They’re not. They won’t cook evenly.”

“They absolutely will.”

She gave him a look but didn’t argue further, a small smile tugging at her lips. Moments like this had started to come easier between them again, less weighed down by everything they’d lost.

Shane shifted slightly on his feet, adjusting his stance. There was a dull ache in his lower back. It had been going on since early that morning.  Nothing too sharp or alarming. At least, it wasn’t until now. 

He paused for a second, pressing his hand subtly against the area, rolling his shoulders as if that might ease it.

“You okay?” Yuna asked without looking up this time, instinct already tuned to him.

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Just a bit sore. They’ve been moving a lot today. I think they’re pressing on a few raw nerves.” 

That part wasn’t a lie. Arlo had been active all afternoon, stretches and kicks that made Shane both laugh and wince depending on how hard they landed.

Yuna hummed. “Sit if you need to.”

“I’m fine, Mom.” He went back to cutting vegetables, but the ache didn’t fade. It shifted.

Slowly, it began to wrap around his sides, creeping from his lower back toward the front of his stomach. Not constant yet, more like a tightening, a pressure that built and then eased just enough for him to question it.

Shane inhaled slowly, trying to ignore it.

Braxton Hicks, he told himself. Practice contractions. He’d read about them, been told to expect them.

Still— The next wave came around sharper than the last.  His hand stilled mid-motion, the knife pausing against the cutting board as his breath hitched.

“Shane?” Yuna’s voice sharpened immediately.

“I’m okay,” he said quickly, though it came out tighter than he intended. “Just- just give me a second.”

The pressure eased again, but it left something behind. A lingering discomfort that made his stomach feel too heavy, too tense. He set the knife down. “I’m just gonna use the bathroom,” he muttered.

Yuna turned fully toward him now, eyes scanning his face. “Do you want me to-”

“No, I’m fine,” he insisted, already moving. “Just need a minute.”

He walked carefully down the hall, one hand braced against his lower back, the other resting protectively over his stomach.

Once inside the bathroom, he closed the door and leaned against it for a second, breathing through the tightness. “It’s nothing,” he whispered to himself. “You’re fine.”

Another cramp, low, pulling, more defined this time. “Okay,” he breathed, trying to stay calm. “Okay…”

He moved to the toilet and sat down, more out of instinct than anything else. That’s when he felt it. A faint, uncomfortable dampness.

His stomach dropped.

Slowly, almost afraid to confirm it, Shane reached down, fingers brushing against the fabric of his boxers. Sticky and most definitely not normal. 

His breath came faster now, shallow and uneven as his hands started to shake. He pushed his sweats and boxers down just enough to see.

There it was.

A small amount of blood.

Not heavy. Not soaking through his pants or anything.  But it was there and it was sounding off alarm bells as he wiped it away with some tissue. 

“No-” The word came out in a broken whisper.

At thirty-two weeks, he knew enough to understand what this could mean. Spotting wasn’t always catastrophic, but paired with pain like this?

His heart started pounding, panic rising so fast it made him dizzy. “No, no, no…”

Another cramp hit, stronger, tightening across his lower abdomen, radiating from his back to the front in a way that made him gasp out loud. “Mom!” he cried, voice cracking. “Mom!”

The door opened almost immediately.

Yuna took one look at him, sitting there, pale, shaking, tears already spilling down his face—and everything in her expression changed.

“What happened?” she demanded, already moving closer.

Shane held up the tissue in his trembling hand, streaked faintly with red.

“There’s blood,” he choked out. “I-I didn’t-It just-”

Yuna’s breath caught, but she didn’t let panic take over. Not outwardly.

“Okay,” she said firmly, kneeling in front of him. “Okay, I see it.”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Shane sobbed. “It hurts, Mom- it’s like-it just keeps-” Another wave interrupted him, and he doubled slightly, a strained sound leaving his throat.

Yuna’s hand came up to cradle his face briefly. “Listen to me. We’re going to the hospital. Right now.”

“Is he?” Shane couldn’t finish the sentence.

“We don’t know anything yet,” she said quickly, steady but urgent. “But we’re not waiting.”

She stood immediately, already pulling her phone from her pocket as she moved.

Shane tried to breathe, tried to steady himself, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Another cramp rolled through him, tight, rhythmic, wrong.

This wasn’t just discomfort anymore. This was something else.

Yuna dialed quickly, pressing the phone to her ear as she grabbed her keys. “Pick up, pick up…” she muttered under her breath.

It went to voicemail.

“Ilya,” she said the second the tone sounded, her voice tight but controlled. “It’s Yuna. Shane and I are going to the hospital, he’s having pain and bleeding. Meet us there. Now.”

She hung up without waiting, already moving back toward the bathroom. “Can you stand?” she asked.

Shane nodded weakly, though he didn’t feel steady at all.

“I’ve got you,” she said, helping him up carefully. “Slowly.”

He leaned into her, one arm wrapped around his stomach as if he could somehow protect the baby from whatever was happening inside him.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice small, breaking.

Yuna tightened her hold on him as they moved down the hall.

“I know,” she said softly. “I’ve got you. We’re going to get you both checked out, okay?”

Another wave of pain hit as they reached the door, sharper than before. Shane cried out, gripping her arm.

“Just breathe,” she urged. “In and out. Stay with me baby boy, focus.”

But all Shane could think about was the blood. The pain. And the terrifying possibility that something was going wrong far too soon.

The emergency department moved quickly the moment they heard “thirty-two weeks,” “pain,” and “bleeding.”

Shane barely had time to register the bright lights overhead before he was being transferred from triage onto a wheelchair and rushed down a corridor, Yuna’s hand gripping his hand the entire way.

“My back-” he gasped as another wave hit, sharper now, stealing the air from his lungs. “It’s getting worse-”

“I know, baby, I know,” Yuna said, her voice tight but steady as she kept pace beside him. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

A nurse pushed open a set of double doors. “Obstetrics, coming through, possible preterm labor, thirty-two weeks, reporting contractions and spotting.”

The word labor snapped something inside Shane.

“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head, panic surging. “No, it’s too early-he’s not-he can’t!”

“We’re going to take care of you,” the nurse assured him, already guiding him into a room. “Let’s get you onto the bed.”

They helped him up, hands firm but careful, easing him onto the hospital bed as another contraction tightened across his abdomen. This one didn’t fade as quickly. It built, peaked, and left him breathless.

A monitor was strapped around his stomach, one band for the baby’s heart rate, another for uterine activity.

The machine came alive almost instantly. A rapid, steady heartbeat filled the room. And beneath it—A pattern. Spiking and regular.

The nurse’s expression shifted, professional but serious. “These are contractions,” she said quietly.

Shane’s head whipped toward her. “No-no, they’re not! I-I’m only thirty-two weeks!”

“Shane,” Yuna said, stepping closer, but he was already spiraling.

“I need Ilya,” he choked out, tears streaming freely now. “Mom, I need him! P-please, call Coach Wiebe, he’s at practice, he won’t see his phone-please!”

“I’m calling,” she said immediately, pulling her phone out again even as her hands trembled. “I’ve got it.”

She stepped just outside the room, forcing herself to breathe as she dialed.

It rang once before the line connected. 

“Wiebe.”

Relief and urgency collided all at once. “Coach, it’s Yuna Hollander, Shane’s mom.”

There was a pause, his tone sharpening instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s in the hospital,” she said, the words catching despite her effort to stay composed. “They think he’s in preterm labor. Thirty-two weeks. He’s asking for Ilya, please, can you get him off the ice?”

There wasn’t even a second of hesitation.

“I’ve got him,” Coach Wiebe said firmly. “I’m going now.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, voice breaking slightly before she hung up.

When she stepped back into the room, Shane was gripping the sides of the bed, his breathing uneven, panic written all over him.

“They said it’s definitely contractions,” he said, shaking his head over and over. “Mom, they said contractions, I can’t- the baby’s not ready-he’s too small!”

Yuna moved to his side immediately, taking his face gently in her hands.

“Look at me,” she said softly but firmly. “Ilya is coming. Coach is getting him off the ice right now. You need to calm down.”

Shane let out a broken sob, nodding frantically. “Okay… okay”

The door opened again.

A doctor stepped in, already pulling on gloves. “Shane Hollander? I’m Doctor Horkinson.”

Shane barely registered the name, his entire body tensing as another contraction hit, stronger, more defined. He cried out, curling slightly.

Doctor Horkinson glanced at the monitor, then back at him. “I know this is scary, but I need to examine you to understand what’s happening, okay? I’ve been told there was a little blood.” 

Shane shook his head instinctively, fear spiking again. “No! I-I don’t-what if-”

“Shane,” Yuna said gently, brushing his hair back. “They need to check. It’s the only way to know how to help you and the baby.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly, tears spilling freely now. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m right here.”

The doctor’s voice softened slightly. “I’m going to do a cervical exam. It might feel uncomfortable, especially with the contractions, but I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Yuna stayed right beside him, holding his hand.

“Knees up,” she guided gently. “That’s it. And apart, just like that. You’re okay, baby. Just breathe.”

Shane followed, though his body was rigid with fear, every muscle tense.

The exam began. The feeling of pressure hit him hard. Deep, invasive, uncomfortable in a way that made him flinch and gasp.

Another contraction hit halfway through, tightening everything. “Please-” Shane cried, gripping Yuna’s hand hard. “It hurts!”

“I know, I know,” she soothed, her own heart breaking at the sound of his voice. “Just a second.”

Doctor Horkinson’s expression changed. Seriously. Focusing on her task. She withdrew slowly, pulling off her gloves.

The room felt like it stopped breathing.

Shane searched her face immediately. “What is it?” he demanded, voice shaking. “What’s happening?”

The doctor didn’t sugarcoat it.

“You are in labor,” she said clearly. “And your cervix is already dilated to six centimeters. The blood you saw earlier, that’s what we call a bloody show. It’s very common. It’s usually a sign that active labor is approaching.. I think that’s been the case here.” 

The words didn’t make sense at first. Then they did.

And everything around them shattered.

“No,” Shane said immediately, hysteria rising fast and uncontrollable. “No, that’s not possible- I just- it was a back ache! I was fine-”

“At six centimeters,” the doctor continued gently but firmly, “we are past the point where we can stop the labor.”

Shane let out a sob that tore straight from his chest. “No!no, no, no, the baby’s too early! H-he’s going to die-”

“No,” Doctor Horkinson said quickly. “Listen to me. Thirty-two weeks is early, yes, but babies born at this stage can do very well with the right care. We have a neonatal team ready-”

But Shane couldn’t hear it. “I can’t do this,” he cried, shaking violently now. “Ilya’s not here! I need him, please, I need him-” Another contraction hit, stronger than anything before.

His body reacted instinctively, tensing and bearing down slightly out of panic before he could stop himself, a strangled cry leaving his throat.

“Okay,” the doctor said quickly, shifting into action. “We need to manage this carefully. Try not to strain when the contractions come.I  know it’s hard, but we need to control things as much as possible.”

Yuna climbed onto the bed beside him, pulling him into her arms as best as she could around the monitors and wires. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, even as tears streamed down her own face now. “I’m right here.”

Shane clung to her, completely overwhelmed, terrified beyond anything he’d ever felt. “I want him here,” he sobbed. “I want Ilya-”

“He’s coming,” she promised, pressing a kiss to his hair. “He’s coming as fast as he can.”

Another contraction built five minutes later. And this time, there was no denying it. Shane was in fact in  labor. The contractions didn’t give him any space to think anymore.

By the time he was moved to Labor and Delivery, the rhythm had changed, stronger, closer together, each one cresting with a force that made his entire body tense. The monitors tracked everything: the steady, rapid thud of the baby’s heartbeat and the sharp peaks of uterine contractions climbing and falling in relentless waves.

A midwife had placed a gas and air mouthpiece in his hand, guiding him through it. “In through the mouthpiece as the contraction builds,” she instructed gently. “Slow breaths. Let it take the edge off.”

Shane nodded, though his hands shook as he brought it to his lips.

Another contraction surged.

He leaned forward over the bed instinctively, gripping the mattress with one hand while pressing the mouthpiece tight with the other, breathing in short, desperate pulls.

The gas dulled it, only slightly, but the pressure was still immense. Deep. Consuming. It wrapped from his back to his abdomen and downward, a heavy, dragging force that made him whimper despite himself.

“Good, Shane, that’s it,” Yuna murmured, standing beside him, one hand rubbing firm circles into his lower back. “Breathe through it, just like that.”

The door burst open. Footsteps rushing in amongst the chaos. Quick, uneven and urgent.

Ilya.

He barely looked like himself, hair damp with sweat, chest still rising and falling from exertion, practice gear half on, half forgotten in the rush.

His eyes locked onto Shane immediately. Everything else in the room disappeared .

Yuna saw him first. Relief flashing across her face as she nodded toward Shane without hesitation. “Come here,” she said softly.

Ilya didn’t need telling twice. He moved straight to the bedside, sliding into place where Yuna had been, his hands immediately finding Shane, one bracing his back, the other steadying his shoulder. “Shane, moya lyubov'”

Shane didn’t register him at first. The current contraction was still gripping him tight in its clutches.  His body curled forward as he breathed rapidly through the mouthpiece.

“In and out, good, just like that,” Ilya said, his voice low but firm, grounding.

Something about it cut through the gas tainted haze. Familiar and safe.  Shane’s eyes snapped open, glassy with tears as he turned his head slightly.

“I-Ilya?”

“I’m here.”

The words broke something open inside him. Relief hit all at once, overwhelming and raw. Shane sobbed, pulling the mouthpiece away as he reached for him. “You’re here- fuck, you’re here.”

“I’m here,” Ilya repeated, wrapping an arm around him, holding him steady as his body trembled.

“I’m sorry,” Shane cried immediately, the words tumbling out between uneven breaths. “I thought- it was this morning when it started, it just felt like-like the usual Braxton Hicks, I didn’t think-”

“Hey.” Ilya’s voice sharpened just enough to cut through the spiral. “No. Stop that.”

Shane shook his head frantically. “If I’d said something earlier-”

“Shane,” Ilya said firmly, gripping his face just enough to make him focus. “You are not blaming yourself for this. Do you hear me?”

Shane’s breathing hitched, tears spilling freely. “I-I should’ve known.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Ilya cut in. “Braxton Hicks feel like that sometimes, Da? Is confusing for many new parents. This is not on you.”

Another contraction hit.

Hard.

Shane cried out, folding forward again, grabbing the mouthpiece with shaking hands as his body tensed. “Ilya!” he choked around the gas, panic rising again as the pain peaked. “I’m scared, please, please don’t let anything happen to him!”

Ilya’s jaw tightened, emotion flashing across his face, but his voice stayed steady. “There is nothing more I can do to stop this,” he said honestly, brushing damp hair back from Shane’s forehead. “But I am right here. And he is strong. You hear me? He is strong.”

Shane shook, clinging to his words like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. “He’s too small.”

“He is a fighter,” Ilya said. “Just like you. And he has best guardian angel looking out for him up there.” 

Yuna stepped back in close, taking Shane’s free hand, squeezing it gently. “We’re not going anywhere,” she promised softly. “I’m right here. We both are.”

Shane nodded weakly, gripping her hand as another contraction began to build.

Time lost its meaning after that. The hours that followed blurred into cycles of pain, breath, and brief, fragile moments in between.

The contractions intensified, longer, stronger, closer together. The pressure in Shane’s lower body became overwhelming, a deep, instinctive urge that his body didn’t understand how to ignore.

Each time one hit, he leaned forward over the bed, gas and air pressed to his lips, breathing in quick, shallow bursts.

“Slow it down,” the midwife coached. “In… and out… don’t fight it.”

“I can’t-” Shane gasped, shaking his head as another wave climbed. “It’s too much.”

“You’re doing it,” Ilya said firmly, one hand braced against his lower back, applying counter-pressure where the pain was worst. “You’re getting through each and every one.”

A doctor returns periodically, Doctor Horkinson, Shane thinks that’s her name. Checking his progress.

“Alright, Shane, I need to examine you again.”

Each cervical check was uncomfortable, more so now with the intensity of the contractions. Shane tensed instinctively every time, gripping Ilya’s arm as the doctor assessed him.

“Seven centimeters,” she said at one point.

Then a little later on.  “Eight now. You’re progressing quickly.”

Quickly. Too quickly. Shane barely had time to process one stage before the next began.

The pressure changed again, not just tightening, but pushing downward, a heavy, involuntary force that made him gasp.

“I feel like I need to- fuck the pressure-” He cut himself off with a strained cry as another contraction took over.

The midwife looked up immediately. “That’s normal. It means the baby is moving down. Try to breathe through it, don’t push yet unless we tell you to you’re at nine honey, not long now.”

“I don’t know how not to!” Shane cried, panic spiking again. “My body’s pushing down!” 

Yuna squeezed his hand. “Just focus on your breathing, baby. You’re doing so well.”

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, tears slipping down his temples as he leaned heavily into Ilya. “I can’t.”

“You already are,” Ilya said, steady and unwavering. “You do not  have a choice, it hurts I know. But you are doing it.”

Another contraction crashed over Shane, stealing the rest of his words. He cried out, body trembling, every muscle engaged as he fought the urge to bear down too soon.

“Breathe, Shane, breathe-” Ilya murmured, keeping him anchored, his presence constant through every second.

The room was in a form of controlled chaos, monitors beeping, staff moving efficiently, quiet instructions being given and followed.

But at the center of it, Shane… terrified and exhausted.  And still fighting through every wave, holding onto the voices of the two people who refused to let him face it alone.

At some point, they needed him to change position.

“Shane, we’re going to get you onto the bed,” the midwife, Cheryl, said gently but firmly. “You’re working really hard, and we’re worried you’re exhausting yourself leaning forward like this. It’s putting a lot of strain on you.” 

“I don’t want to,” Shane cried, shaking his head weakly. “I can do it here.”

Another contraction tore through him, cutting him off. His body folded in on itself, gas and air clutched tight as he tried to breathe through it.

Ilya stayed right with him. “We’ll move together, is what is best okay?” he said quietly. “I’ve got you.”

Between contractions, with careful guidance, they helped him shift. It took effort, his legs felt unsteady, his body heavy and uncooperative. But eventually he was eased back onto the bed.

The moment he was lying down, something changed. The sense of control he’d been clinging to as fragile as it was, slipped.

“I don’t like this,” he said immediately, panic rising again. “Ilya, I don’t- this feels wrong!”

“I’m right here,” Ilya said, climbing onto the edge of the bed beside him, one arm already around his shoulders.

“I can’t-” Shane’s voice broke completely now. “I can’t do this- I can’t-”

Another contraction hit, stronger than anything before, stacking on top of the last with barely a break between them.

Shane cried out, the sound raw and desperate as his composure shattered entirely. “I want my dad!” he sobbed, the words ripped from somewhere deep and unguarded. “I want my dad!”

The room seemed to be still for half a second.

Yuna’s hand flew to her mouth, tears spilling instantly at the sound.

Ilya’s chest tightened painfully, but he didn’t hesitate. He leaned in closer, pressing his forehead briefly against Shane’s temple. “He is here,” Ilya said, voice low but unwavering. “He is with you. Right now. Guiding you, helping you.” 

Shane shook his head, sobbing, clutching at him. “I need him-”

“And he’d be so proud of you,” Yuna added, her voice breaking but strong. She moved closer, taking Shane’s hand again. “So proud. You hear me? He’s right here with us.”

Another contraction surged, leaving Shane gasping, his body trembling uncontrollably now. This was different. No real breaks. Just wave after wave, crashing into each other.

Transition.

“I can’t breathe.” Shane choked, bringing the gas and air back to his mouth, inhaling desperately. “It’s too much- holy shit , it’s too much!”

“You’re in transition,” Cheryl said calmly, though her eyes were watchful. “This is the hardest part, Shane, but it means you’re close.”

Close.

The word barely registered.

All Shane could feel was the overwhelming pressure, the intensity of his body taking over in ways he couldn’t control. His grip tightened painfully on Ilya’s arm as he cried through the mouthpiece.

Ilya kept him anchored, one arm wrapped firmly around his shoulders, the other bracing his hand.

“Stay with me,” he murmured. “Look at me, just focus on me.”

Shane tried, but his eyes kept squeezing shut as another contraction hit, his breath coming in broken, desperate pulls.

Across the room, Doctor Horkinson stepped closer to Yuna and Ilya, her voice low but clear enough to cut through the noise.

“When he starts pushing, we’re going to need both of you,” she said. “Unfortunately the baby is in a posterior position, sunny-side up, so it may be more difficult.”

Yuna nodded quickly, wiping at her tears, forcing herself to focus.

“You’ll each take a leg,” the doctor continued. “Bring his knees right up to his chest during contractions. Keep his back as straight as possible, it helps open the pelvis and gives the baby more room to rotate and descend.”

Ilya listened intently, jaw tight, committing every word to memory.

“And once the baby is delivered,” she added, softer now, “if we hear a cry, we’ll place him briefly on Shane’s chest before the neonatal team steps in.”

A cry.

That was all that mattered.

Ilya swallowed hard, his gaze flicking back to Shane as he silently, desperately prayed.

Please.

Shane couldn’t grasp the conversation , another contraction built before he had the chance —and this one was different.

Deeper. Heavier. Unstoppable.

Shane’s eyes flew open, panic surging as his body reacted instinctively.

“I need to push!” he gasped, voice strained. “Ilya- I can’t stop it- I’m pushing! Oh god!”

“That’s it,” Cheryl said immediately, moving into position to check. “Don’t fight it, you’re at ten now- listen to your body.”

Shane cried out as the pressure bore down, overwhelming, his body already starting to bear down without permission. “I’m pushing!” he sobbed, terrified. “I can’t-”

Cheryl’s hand slammed down on the emergency button beside the bed. A sharp alarm sounded.

“Alright,” Doctor Horkinson said, already moving into position, the room shifting instantly into focused urgency. “This is it.”

More staff rushed in. Equipment was adjusted. The energy changed completely.

Yuna moved to one side of the bed without hesitation. Ilya to the other.

“Bring his legs up,” the doctor instructed.

They did, each taking one, guiding Shane’s knees up toward his chest as carefully as they could while he trembled between them.

“I’ve got you,” Ilya said firmly, locking eyes with him. “Right here.”

Shane’s breath came in sharp, panicked bursts, gas and air still clutched in his hand. “I’m scared.” he cried.

“I know,” Yuna whispered, squeezing his hand. “But you’re not alone.”

Another contraction hit.

The room narrowed to a single purpose.

Everything else, fear, noise, time. It all blurred into the background as Shane’s body took over in a way that felt both instinctive and terrifyingly out of control.

“Okay, Shane,” Doctor Horkinson said, steady and clear. “With the next contraction, deep breath in, and push down like you’re trying to move all that pressure out. Hold it. Then again.”

Shane nodded frantically, chest heaving, tears streaking into his hair as he lay back, legs supported by Ilya and Yuna.

The contraction built fast.

“Now, push.”

Shane sucked in a breath, curling forward as much as he could, bearing down with everything he had.

It felt wrong. Too much pressure. Too much strain. “I can’t!” he cried, the effort shaking through his entire body. “It’s not working-”

“It is working sweetie! Hold it, hold it, good, Shane, keep going,” Cheryl encouraged.

The contraction eased.

Shane collapsed back slightly, gasping, shaking his head. “I can’t do it-”

“You are doing it,” Ilya said immediately, his voice tight but unwavering as he kept hold of Shane’s leg. “That was good. You’re moving him.”

It didn’t feel like it. It felt like nothing was happening except pain.

Minutes blurred into pushes. Push, breathe, recover. Barely recovered. Then repeat the cycle. Again. And again.

The contractions came one on top of another, leaving almost no space in between.

Shane cried through them, his voice hoarse, body trembling with effort as he tried to follow instructions.

Each push drained him further. Each one felt like it should be enough.

But it wasn’t.

“I can’t do this,” he sobbed at one point, shaking his head violently. “It’s too much, please, make it stop, just make it stop!”

Ilya’s chest ached hearing it, seeing him like this, exhausted, terrified, completely overwhelmed. “I know,” he said softly, brushing damp hair from Shane’s face. “I know it hurts. But you’re getting him closer every time. You’re not stuck.”

Shane didn’t believe him.

It had been so long.

His body burned, ached, stretched in ways that felt impossible. The pressure was constant now, deep and heavy, and every push seemed to take everything he had left.

“Again, Shane,” Doctor Horkinson instructed. “Deep breath and push.”

He did.

Screaming this time as he bore down harder, muscles straining, his entire body shaking with the effort.

“Good, good, keep that one going!”

Forty minutes.

Forty minutes of pushing, of pain, of fear creeping in that something wasn’t right, that he wasn’t enough to get his baby here safely.

“Ilya-” Shane sobbed, voice cracking completely. “I can’t- I can’t do it-” he must sound like a broken record. 

Ilya swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay steady, even as his own emotions threatened to break through. He glanced down—And froze.

There. Right there, was something new. .

“I can see him,” Ilya said suddenly, his voice catching despite himself. “Shane, hey! L-look at me, I can see his head.”

Shane’s eyes snapped open, unfocused at first.

“W-What?”

“He’s right there,” Ilya said, stronger now, desperate for him to hear it. “He has hair, there’s so much of it!”

A broken sound left Shane’s throat, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No-” he breathed, disbelief flooding his face. “Really?”

Yuna leaned in, her own tears falling freely now as she looked. “Yes, baby,” she said softly. “He’s right there. You’re doing it.”

The reality hit all at once. He wasn’t stuck. His baby was right there.

Doctor Horkinson’s tone softened slightly, though her focus remained sharp. “You’re doing very well, Shane. The baby's heart rate is still strong. We just need a few more good pushes to bring him down.”

Shane nodded weakly, tears streaming, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay…”

He brought the gas and air to his mouth, taking a deep, steadying breath this time, trying to gather what little strength he had left.

Another contraction built.

“Alright,” the doctor said. “This one, big push.”

Shane inhaled deeply— And pushed.

Harder than before. With everything he felt he had left. A cry tore from him as his body strained, muscles tightening, bearing down with a force that made his vision blur.

“There you go! That’s the one, keep going! don’t stop!”

The pressure changed. It sharpened and stretched. Then—

Fire.

A burning, intense stretching that made him scream, his body instinctively trying to pull away.

“I can’t!” he cried, shaking his head frantically. “I can’t do it! It burns! Mom- it hurts so bad - Ilya tell them I  can’t-”

“You’re crowning,” Doctor Horkinson said firmly. “That burning means his head is right there. You’re so close.”

“I can’t!” Shane sobbed, panic overtaking him again. “It’s too much! Y-you don’t get it! I can’t get past it!”

Ilya tightened his grip on Shane’s thigh, grounding him, his voice low but urgent.

“You can’t stop now,” he said, eyes locked on him. “Do you hear me? You’re right there.”

Shane shook, tears spilling, completely overwhelmed. “I can’t-”

“Our baby needs you,” Ilya said, his voice breaking slightly but still firm. “You’ve brought him this far. You don’t get to give up now.”

That hit. Through all of the fear. Through all of the pain.

Shane’s breath stuttered, his grip tightening as another contraction began to rise.

Yuna squeezed his hand. “One more, baby,” she whispered. “You can do one more.”

Shane nodded weakly, gathering himself, every part of him trembling.

The contraction surged.

“Okay, Shane,” the doctor said. “Deep breath and push.”

And he did.

The next push after that changed everything.

“Okay, Shane, this is it for his head,” Doctor Horkinson said, steady but encouraging. “Deep breath, and push through the contraction. He’s a tiny little one, so a quick strong push will do it.” 

Shane dragged in a breath, his entire body trembling as the pain built again, strong, consuming, impossible to ignore.

“It hurts so much,” he whimpered, already shaking his head.

“You can do this love,” Ilya said immediately, pressing a kiss to his sweat-soaked brow, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re right there. I’ve got you.”

Yuna squeezed his hand tightly. “One more, baby. Just one more like that.”

The contraction peaked.

Shane cried out as he pushed, every muscle straining, his body bearing down with everything it had left.

The burning returned, sharp, stretching further and further. Until —

Release.

A sudden, overwhelming rush of pressure followed by a warm gush of fluid as the baby’s head delivered. Shane screamed through it, his entire body jolting with the sensation.

“Head is out,” Doctor Horkinson announced quickly, her tone lifting slightly. “And he’s got a full head of dark hair.”

A broken sob escaped Shane as he collapsed back against the pillows, shaking, completely overwhelmed.

“I did it?” he choked out, barely able to process it. “I got his head out?”

“You did,” Ilya breathed, his voice cracking as he pressed another kiss to Shane’s forehead. “You did that.”

Ilya’s eyes flicked down again, awe and disbelief written all over his face. Their baby, their son, was right there.

The room shifted again, the neonatal team stepping closer, ready.

“Okay, Shane,” the doctor continued. “With the next one or two pushes, we’ll have the rest of him out.”

Yuna brushed her thumb over Shane’s knuckles, her own tears falling freely now. “You’re almost done,” she whispered. “You’re so brave. Just a little more.”

Shane nodded weakly, though fear crept back in just as quickly.

Another contraction started to build.

He felt it differently now, the pressure lower, heavier, his body already starting to push without him asking it to.

“No-” he gasped, panic rising again. “He’s too small, he’s too small, I can’t let him come.”

“It’s okay,” Cheryl reassured gently. “Your body knows what to do. Don’t fight it. He will be absolutely fine , we have the best team on standby.” 

“I’m scared!” Shane cried, his voice breaking as the contraction took over.

Ilya tightened his hold on him. “I know. I know. But he’s coming. You’re doing it.”

The contraction surged.

Shane moaned, reluctant, shaking his head, but his body bore down anyway, the force instinctive and unstoppable.

“That’s it,” Doctor Horkinson encouraged. “Good, Shane, keep going.”

The sensation was overwhelming, pressure, stretching, movement— Then it eased slightly.

“One more,” the doctor said. “Just one more push.”

Shane’s chest heaved, his entire body trembling with exhaustion and fear. “I can’t-” he whispered.

“You can,” Ilya said, his voice low but firm, his forehead pressed briefly to Shane’s. “I am right here. He is right there. One more.”

Yuna squeezed his hand again. “Finish it, baby.”

The final contraction hit.

Hard.

Shane cried out, loud, raw, filled with fear and effort as he pushed with everything left in him.

And the finally …

Release.

A sudden, complete emptiness where there had been pressure. A small, fragile weight sliding into waiting hands.

For a split second—Nothing.

The room held its breath in anticipation. Praying for the moment every new parent dreams of. 

Doctor Horkinson moved quickly, clearing the baby’s airways, her movements precise. Before a sound is heard.

Sharp. Loud. Alive.

A cry that cut through everything. Relief crashed over the room all at once.

“He’s crying,” the doctor said, a smile breaking through. “He’s crying very loudly! Nice and strong.”

Shane sobbed immediately, the sound tearing out of him as his body finally gave in to exhaustion. “Oh my god! Holy shit he’s here.” 

Ilya broke beside him, gripping his hand tightly as tears streamed freely down his face.

“That’s him,” Ilya choked. “That’s our baby boy.”

The tiny baby, still slick and impossibly small, was quickly assessed, but true to their promise, he was brought over.

“Just for a moment,” Doctor Horkinson said gently.

And then— He was placed on top of Shane.

Shane gasped softly, his entire body trembling as he instinctively pulled the baby close to his chest, cradling him as carefully as he could. He was so small. So warm. So real.

“Hi,” Shane whispered brokenly, pressing trembling kisses into his damp, dark hair. “Hi, baby. Oh hi, that was quite the entrance huh?” Tears blurred his vision as he held him closer. “I’m your daddy,” he murmured. “And your papa’s right here. God, we love you so much. So , so much little man.”

Ilya leaned in closer , one hand resting gently against the baby’s back, his forehead touching Shane’s as he looked down at their son. “I love you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “So much, Arlo.”

For a moment, it was just them. Nobody else existed but the three of them. 

Then a gentle voice interrupted.

A doctor stepped forward, calm and kind. “I’m Doctor Robinson, from the specialist neonatal team. I’m so sorry, but we need to take him now so we can support his breathing and keep him stable.”

Shane’s grip tightened instinctively, panic flickering again. “No, no please. He’s mine- I- I need to stay with him.”

“You won’t be without him for long. Just a little while whilst these lovely ladies clean you up. Then you can come visit,” Doctor Robinson said softly. “We’ll take very good care of him.”

Shane sobbed, nodding weakly, knowing he didn’t have a choice. He needed Arlo to be okay. 

He looked down at his son again, memorising everything, the tiny features, the warmth, the sound of his small breaths. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss to his head. “We’ll be right there, okay? We love you.”

Ilya leaned in, pressing a firm kiss to the baby’s head as well. “Grandpa’s got you, he’s watching over, Da?,” he murmured. “Go with them. Be strong my boy.”

Reluctantly, heartbreakingly, Shane let him go.

The warmth left his arms. The space felt immediate.

Empty.

The NICU team moved quickly, taking Arlo with them, their movements efficient as they left the room. The door closed behind them. And everything fell apart.

Shane broke into sobs, his body shaking violently as he clutched at Ilya, who pulled him in immediately, holding him tightly despite his own tears.

Yuna stood beside them, numb, her hand covering her mouth as quiet sobs slipped through.

Her boys.

Both of them.

Broken open in the wake of something both miraculous and terrifying.

But their baby - their baby, had cried.

And that meant there was hope. Hope that within a few weeks he will be home with them where he belongs. 

The room felt different once it was over, quieter, but not calm. The kind of quiet that comes after something enormous has torn through and left everything rearranged.

Shane barely registered delivering the placenta, his whole body trembling as he cried out for his baby, voice raw and broken. It was instinct, pure and desperate. Each and every part of him reaching outward for someone he hadn’t even properly seen yet.

Yuna moved quickly, gently but firmly stepping into that space before panic could fully take hold.

“It’s a boy,” she said, her voice thick with emotion but steady. “Shane… you’ve got a little boy.”

That cut through.

He stilled, breath catching, eyes wide and unfocused as the words landed.

“A boy.. yeah he’s a boy,” he rasped. “O-oh, I- you didn’t know…”

Yuna nodded, brushing damp hair back from his forehead. “You two kept it from me,” she added softly, a faint, tearful smile breaking through. “All that time… you wanted it to be a surprise.”

Shane let out a shaky, almost disbelieving laugh that turned into another sob. “We did… yeah…”

“Well,” she said, squeezing his hand, “it was special. More than special.” Her voice wavered now. “He’s… he’s my whole world already.”

That anchored him. Kept him present.

While she spoke, while Ilya hovered close—silent, pale, eyes never leaving Shane—the doctor worked efficiently. A few stitches. Careful, practiced movements. Shane flinched once or twice but barely reacted otherwise, too consumed by everything else.

By the time it was done, the room had softened. The urgency drained away, replaced by exhaustion and something fragile and new.

It took Shane nearly half an hour to gather enough strength to move.

His limbs felt like they didn’t belong to him anymore. They were heavy, hollowed out—but determination burned underneath it all. Nothing was going to keep him from his baby.

With Yuna and Ilya’s help, he managed to stand, swaying slightly before steadying himself. “I’m okay,” he insisted, though his voice betrayed how wrecked he felt.

The shower helped, barely.

Hot water cascaded over him, washing away the physical remnants of what he’d just endured, but it couldn’t touch the deeper ache, the adrenaline crash, the overwhelming need clawing at his chest.

He leaned one hand against the tile, eyes closing briefly.

My son.

The thought didn’t feel real. Not yet.

But it was enough to keep him moving.

When he came back out, pale but dressed in an oversized T-shirt Yuna kept in her car and a pair of hospital pants, Cheryl, the midwife—was waiting with a wheelchair and a small handful of breakfast bars. “You’re not going anywhere on an empty tank,” she said, not unkindly.

Shane gave her a tired look. “I’m going to go regardless.”

“I know,” she replied. “That’s why I brought something on the go.”

Despite everything, he managed a faint huff of a laugh.

He sank into the chair without argument this time, hands still trembling slightly as he unwrapped one of the bars. He didn’t taste it. Just forced himself to chew and swallow.

Fuel. That’s all it was.

Ilya stayed close, one hand resting lightly on Shane’s shoulder the entire time, as if grounding him.

Yuna followed just behind, quieter now, but watchful.

The walk, or rather, the ride, to  the NICU felt too long and too short all at once.

Every turn of the corridor tightened something in Shane’s chest.

When they finally arrived, the doors sliding open with a soft mechanical hush, the atmosphere shifted again. Dimmer lighting. Controlled warmth. The steady chorus of monitors, beeping, humming, breathing.

Life, measured in numbers and rhythms.

They were met almost immediately.

“Shane and Ilya?” A calm, composed figure stepped forward.

“Doctor Robinson,” he introduced himself. “We met briefly in the delivery room.”

Shane straightened slightly in the wheelchair, fingers gripping the armrests. “Our son-”

“He’s stable,” he said, anticipating the panic. “I promise, you’re about to see him. But let me explain a few things first.”

Shane nodded quickly, jaw tight.

Doctor Robinson gestured for them to follow him a few steps further in.

“He was born at thirty-two weeks,” he began. “That places him in the moderately preterm category. At this stage, babies are typically very viable, but they still need support while their bodies finish developing.”

He spoke clearly, not sugarcoating, but not alarming either.

“His lungs are functioning, which is excellent. He’s breathing on his own, but he may experience what we call apnea of prematurity. That’s where the brain occasionally forgets to signal the body to breathe regularly.”

Shane’s stomach dropped.

“We monitor that continuously,” he added quickly. “If it happens, it’s usually brief and self-correcting. Sometimes we use gentle stimulation or medication if needed, but many babies outgrow it as their nervous system matures.”

Ilya swallowed hard beside him.

“He also has a nasogastric feeding tube,” he continued. “At thirty-two weeks, coordination between sucking, swallowing, and breathing isn’t fully developed yet. The tube allows us to ensure he’s getting consistent nutrition without exhausting himself.”

Shane nodded slowly, trying to absorb everything.

“His weight is very encouraging,” he said. “Four pounds exactly. That’s a strong weight for his gestational age.”

That… helped.

A little.

“He’ll likely stay here for several weeks,” Doctor Robinson went on. “We’ll be watching his breathing patterns, feeding progression, temperature regulation, and weight gain. Our goal is to support him until he can do all of that independently.”

Shane exhaled shakily. “But… he’s okay?”

He met his eyes directly.

“He’s as healthy as we could hope for at thirty-two weeks.”

That was enough.

It had to be.

“Would you like to see him now?”

Shane didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded.

They were guided to an incubator tucked among several others, but somehow it felt like the entire room narrowed down to that one space.

Shane’s breath hitched the moment he saw him. So small. So impossibly small.

A tangle of wires and monitors surrounded him, a tiny chest rising and falling beneath soft, fragile skin. A feeding tube rested gently in place, tape securing it to his cheek.

And yet— Perfect.

“He’s…” Shane’s voice broke completely.

Ilya let out a soft, shattered sob beside him, one hand flying to his mouth.

The baby shifted slightly, fingers curling instinctively.

Shane didn’t hesitate.

With careful guidance from the nurse, he reached into the incubator, his hand trembling as he offered a single finger.

Their son’s hand, so tiny it barely wrapped halfway, closed around it.

And Shane lost it. “Hey… hey, little man…” he whispered, tears spilling freely now. “I’m here… daddy is right here.”

Ilya was crying openly now, shoulders shaking as he leaned close.

“You’re not alone,” Shane repeated, over and over, voice soft but fierce. “Do you hear me? You’re not alone. We’ve got you. We’ve got you…”

The baby’s grip tightened slightly, as if in response.

It undid them both.

“He looks like you,” Ilya choked out through tears. “He actually looks like you…”

Shane let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah?”

“But his eyes…” Ilya leaned closer, voice trembling. “The shape… and his curls… that’s me.”

Shane glanced up at him, eyes full, overwhelmed. “We made him.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment after that.

They just stayed there, hovering, holding, memorizing. Four pounds. Thirty-two weeks.

Wires and tubes and uncertainty.

And yet, somehow— Everything.

Yuna allowed them their space. Happy to sit back and watch as she sent a silent prayer up to the heavens. 

I knew you’d keep him safe. Please keep them steady my love. 

———————————————————————

The NICU became its own kind of special place for them, measured in alarms, quiet victories, and the slow rewriting of fear into routine.

Arlo changed slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. A gram here, a slightly steadier breath there. But in a place like this, even the smallest shift meant everything.

Miley was there for all of it.

She was one of his primary NICU nurses—calm, efficient, with a softness in her voice that never seemed to leave even when she was adjusting lines or checking monitors. She had a way of speaking about Arlo like he was already more than a patient.

“He’s a fighter,” she told Shane one morning, adjusting the tubing of his nasal cannula. “Look at him, he’s already trying to boss us all around.”

Shane, exhausted but smiling faintly, watched through the incubator glass. “He gets that from his papa,” he murmured.

Miley grinned. “I figured.”

Ilya sat beside him, elbow resting against the chair, eyes never leaving Arlo. It still didn’t feel real sometimes.

Their son.

Still so small, but no longer fragile in the way he had been at birth. There was structure now, strength building underneath the wires.

The first major shift came just after the end of his first week. Miley approached them with a careful smile. “We’re ready to try a kangaroo hold today.”

Shane’s head snapped up immediately. “He’s stable enough?”

“Very,” she confirmed. “His oxygen requirements are down, his temperature regulation is improving, and his heart rate’s been steady for forty-eight hours. Skin-to-skin contact will help even more.”

Ilya’s hand tightened around Shane’s.

Shane swallowed hard. “Ilya can go first. H-he didn’t get to hold him when he was born.” 

Miley didn’t hesitate. “Ilya, if you’re ready.”

Ilya froze.

For a moment, he just stared at her, like he hadn’t quite processed the words.

Then, slowly, “Yeah. I’m ready.”

But his voice shook.

The process was careful, deliberate.

Monitors were adjusted. Wires organized and gently re-secured. Arlo was lifted from the incubator in a way that made him look even smaller, curled instinctively, his tiny face scrunching briefly before settling again.

When Miley placed him against Ilya’s bare chest, everything in Ilya broke at once.

A sound left him, half sob, half laugh—as his arms instinctively wrapped around the tiny weight.

“Oh my god…” Ilya whispered, his accent thick. “He’s-he’s actually-”

“Right there,” Miley said gently. “You’re doing great.”

Shane stood close, phone shaking slightly in his hands as he tried to take photos. He kept missing the focus because his vision kept blurring.

“Hold him a little higher,” Miley instructed softly. “Perfect… just like that.”

Arlo’s tiny hand shifted, resting against Ilya’s chest as if it belonged there.

Ilya bent his head down, pressing a careful kiss to his forehead. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you…moy mal'chik”

Shane finally managed to get a photo. And then another. He didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

By week two, the NICU rhythm had become almost familiar.

Miley taught them everything. They learnt how to check Arlo’s cues, how to support his breathing when he had brief apneic spells, and how to recognize the difference between discomfort and overstimulation.

“There,” she said one afternoon, pointing gently as Arlo’s oxygen saturation dipped slightly. “That’s a mild apnea episode.”

Shane immediately tensed.

Miley stayed calm. “Watch, he’ll usually resolve it himself.”

A few seconds passed.

Then Arlo stirred, gave a tiny reflexive gasp, and his monitor stabilized again.

Shane exhaled shakily. “It’s terrifying,” he admitted.

“It is,” Miley said honestly. “But he’s learning. His brain just needs time.”

Ilya nodded slowly. “And he’ll get it?”

She smiled. “He’s already getting it.”

The moment that changed everything for Yuna came quietly, without ceremony.

She had been standing a little apart that afternoon, watching Arlo through the incubator glass as Miley made small adjustments to his lines.

“Mom,” Shane said gently, noticing her expression. “We’ve… we’ve got something to show you.”

She turned, uncertain.

Miley carefully guided her over. “We’ve finalized his full name,” she said softly. “Birth certificate is all official, I think they’d like to introduce you..” 

Shane’s hand tightened slightly around Ilya’s.

Yuna blinked. “You have his name?”

Shane nodded once, throat tight. “We always did . We just waited. We… we wanted to do it properly.”

Ilya stepped closer. “It’s Arlo.”

A pause.

Then Shane added, quieter, “Arlo David Hollander–Rozanov.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Yuna’s hand flew to her mouth. “David…” she whispered.

Shane nodded, eyes already glassy. “After dad.”

For a moment, she didn’t speak. She just stared at the tiny baby in the incubator, her chest rising unevenly.

Then her breath broke. “Oh…” Yuna whispered, voice trembling. “Oh, my darling boy…”

She reached out instinctively, pressing one hand lightly to the incubator glass. “I see him,” she said softly. “I see so much of him.”

Shane frowned slightly, confused through his tears. “See who?”

Yuna turned to him, eyes shining. “Your father,” she said simply.

That undid him.

Shane’s face crumpled instantly, a raw sound leaving him as he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. “Holy-you can’t say stuff like that to me.. ” he choked out. “Mom..”

She held him just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head like she used to when he was small. “He lives in him,” she whispered fiercely. “He’s in your son. I can see it. The same strength. The same quiet fight.”

Ilya stood frozen for a second, then stepped in behind Shane, wrapping an arm around both of them.

Even Miley looked away for a moment, giving them space.

Shane’s shoulders shook as he held onto Yuna. “He should be here,” he whispered.

Yuna pulled back just enough to look at him.

“He is,” she said firmly. “He is here.”

Week three brought along their first feeding attempts.

Small ones at first, drops, then syringe feeds, then the introduction of chestfeeding support.

Miley guided Shane through it carefully, positioning Arlo against him. “He might not latch fully yet,” she explained. “But skin contact and stimulation help him learn.”

Shane nodded, nerves tightening.

When Arlo was placed against his chest, something instinctive happened. The baby rooted. Weakly, but unmistakably. Shane froze. “He’s- he’s trying.”

“He is,” Miley said softly. “Just let him lead.”

Tears filled Shane’s eyes immediately. “Hey, buddy…” he whispered. “You don’t have to rush…”

But Arlo tried again. And this time— It worked. A tiny, unsteady latch.

Shane broke completely. “Oh my god! H-he’s-he’s actually doing it.” 

Ilya covered his mouth, crying openly now.

Miley just smiled, adjusting the monitor. “That’s it, Arlo. That’s perfect.”

Shane kept one hand gently supporting his head, the other trembling as he held him closer.

“You’re doing it,” he whispered. “You’re really doing it…”

Week four arrived quietly. And with it, the main amount of progress. Weight gain. Stronger feeds. Fewer apnea episodes. Longer stretches of stable breathing.

Miley came in that morning with a different kind of energy, still calm, but with something lighter beneath it. “He’s gained steadily this week,” she said, checking his chart. “And he’s responding really well to oral feeds now.”

Shane sat up straighter. “That’s good, right?”

“It is,” she confirmed. “Very good.”

She paused.

“Now, if he gains another three ounces over the next few days, and continues to maintain his oxygen levels… we may be looking at discharge planning.”

The room went still.

Ilya blinked. “Home?”

Miley nodded. “Home.”

Shane stared at Arlo through the incubator glass.

Home.

The word didn’t feel real yet. Not even close.

But Arlo shifted slightly, fingers curling, as if responding to something none of them could measure.

Shane stepped closer.

“You hear that, buddy?” he whispered. “You might get to come home.”

Arlo’s monitor beeped steadily.

Strong. Steady. Present.

And for the first time since the NICU doors had closed behind them weeks ago— Shane let himself believe it.

The NICU discharge morning came around about a week later. And it felt unreal in a way none of them could quite name.

Even after a week of steadily improving numbers, even after Miley had started using words like “discharge planning”and Doctor Robinson had begun speaking about “home readiness,” Shane still half-expected an alarm to go off, or someone to stop them at the last second.

But nothing stopped them.

Not this time.

Arlo weighed in at 5lbs 2oz—small still, but sturdy in a way he hadn’t been before. His breathing was steady, unassisted. His feeding was consistent. The monitors, once so loud and constant, were now little more than background reassurance rather than necessity.

Miley stood with them at the incubator for a long moment before they began disconnection.

“He did it,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

Shane let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in him for weeks. “You helped him do it.”

Miley shook her head gently. “He did the hard part.”

Doctor Robinson approached next, hands folded, expression softer than it had been at their first meeting weeks ago. “He’s exactly where we want him,” he said. “You’ve got a healthy preterm baby going home.”

Ilya exhaled sharply, blinking hard. “Going home,” he repeated, like he needed to hear it again.

Doctor Robinson nodded. “Going home.”

Then, unexpectedly, he extended a hand.

Shane shook it first, gripping tightly.

“Thank you,” Shane said, voice breaking on the second word. “For everything.”

Doctor Robinson nodded once. “You did the hardest job. We just supported him.”

Ilya stepped forward next, shaking his hand too, but he didn’t let go immediately. “Thank you for keeping him here,” he said quietly. “For not giving up on him.”

Doctor Robinson’s expression softened. “We don’t give up on fighters like him.”

Miley stepped in then, unable to hide the emotion in her face anymore. She didn’t speak at first—just gently adjusted the tiny blanket around Arlo one last time. “He’s a good one,” she said softly. “I’m going to miss him.”

Shane’s face crumpled instantly. “Don’t say it like that,” he managed, half laughing through tears. “You’re going to make this harder.”

Miley smiled, eyes glassy. “It’s supposed to be hard.”

Ilya stepped forward and hugged her first.

It was brief, careful, but tight enough to say everything neither of them could find words for.

Then Shane followed, holding on longer.

“Thank you,” he whispered again, voice breaking completely now. “For loving him.”

Miley pulled back just enough to look at him.

“I always will,” she said simply.

When they finally left the NICU, it wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. The storm they’d been battling through for the last ten months had finally passed. 

Ilya carried Arlo in his car seat, holding it like something sacred, every step measured and careful. Arlo slept through it all, his tiny face relaxed for the first time without wires or tape or sensors.

Shane walked slightly behind him for a moment, just watching.

Then he stopped a few steps behind, pulling out his phone. And without a second thought, took a photo.

Ilya standing there in the hospital corridor, holding their son like he was the most important thing in the world.

Shane’s hands shook as he opened Instagram. He didn’t overthink it.

He just wrote:

“Arlo David. Home at last 🩵.”

Then posted.

And for the first time in weeks, he felt something like peace settle in his chest.

The drive home was quiet at first. Arlo slept in the back, bundled and secure, small sounds of breathing occasionally filling the car when one of them turned to check on him.

Shane stared out of the window for a long time before speaking. “Can we stop somewhere?” he asked quietly.

Ilya glanced at him immediately. “Yeah. Of course. Where?”

Shane swallowed. “Dad’s grave.”

There was no hesitation.

“Yes,” Ilya said softly. “We should.”

The cemetery was still, the air cool and gentle in a way that felt almost intentional.

They wrapped Arlo carefully before taking him out of the car seat, holding him between them like something too precious for the world.

Shane led the way.

Ilya followed, one arm supporting Arlo, the other steadying Shane without needing to be asked.

When they reached the headstone, Shane stopped.

His breath caught. “Hey, Dad,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around here much. I’ve been a little busy- I er- I made a baby. I did tell you I was pregnant… don’t really know if you- anyway.” 

Ilya lowered himself carefully to his knees beside him, Arlo still cradled safely between them.

“This is him,” Shane said, voice shaking. “This is Arlo. Arlo David. Mom seems to think he’s exactly like you.. I see more of Ilya personally, no offence.” 

For a moment, everything was still. Then there was a  small movement in the nearby trees.

A Robin.

It fluttered down, light as breath, landing directly on the headstone.

Shane froze. Ilya did too. Neither of them spoke. The moment felt too sacred to disturb. Robins had been one of David’s favourite bird, second to a loon of course. 

The bird tilted its head slightly, then settled.

That’s when Shane broke. A sound tore out of him. It was deep and wrecked. Completely overwhelmed. “Dad…” he choked. “T-that’s - god I hope that’s you..” He sank down slightly, one hand going to the stone, the other tightening around Arlo. “I did it,” he sobbed. “I didn’t think I could,  I didn’t think I’d get him here but I did.”

His voice cracked completely. Reintroducing his son with more confidence than before.  “This is your grandson  Arlo. He’s-he’s everything. He’s my reason. I’m going to keep going, I swear. I’ll make you proud. I will.”

The Robin stayed, still and present as it watched the tiny baby.

Ilya stayed quiet beside him, one hand resting gently on Shane’s back.

Arlo stirred slightly in Shane’s arms, waking just enough to let out a tiny sound before settling again. And Shane laughed through his onset of tears. “Even you’re saying hello,” he whispered.

The Robin eventually lifted, circling once before landing— Not on the stone this time.

But on Ilya’s knee.

Ilya froze, breath catching. Shane looked up at him through tears. The moment held.

Ilya swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the bird. Then softly, almost reverently—

“Hello, David. I hope I kept my promise…”